Patsy stood in the doorway of the Davis cabin when I approached to pay my respects. She was wearing a linsey petticoat and a short gown for an overskirt. Her mass of wonderful hair was partly confined by a calico cap, and on her feet were my gift moccasins. She believed she was conforming to the frontier standard of dress, but she was as much out of place as a butterfly at a bear-baiting. Before I could speak she was advancing toward me, her hands on her hips, her head tilted back, and demanding: “What do you say now about the influence of trade and the trader?” She did not ask that she might learn my opinion; she firmly believed there was but one thing I could say. She was in an exultant mood and happy to parade her triumph. Of course she was proud of her father and was viewing him as the deliverer of the settlement. Without waiting for me to answer she excitedly continued: “And your long rifle! And the rifles of all these I would not have shaken her pride in her father even had that accomplishment been possible. To convince her—which was not possible—that her father’s success was no success at all, that Black Hoof’s behavior was simply an Indian trick to lull us into a foolish sense of security, would mean to alienate even her friendship, let alone killing all chance of her ever reciprocating my love. While not deeply experienced with women, my instinct early taught me that my sex is most unwise in proving to a woman that she is wrong. She will hold such procedure to be the man’s greatest fault. It is far better to let her discover her own errors, and even then pretend you still cling to her first reasoning, thereby permitting her to convince you that she was wrong. On the other hand there was, I sensed, a peril in the situation, a peril to Howard’s Creek, that made my seeming acquiescence in her opinion very distasteful Cornstalk, according to his blood, was a great man. Under certain conditions I would trust him with my life as implicitly as I would trust any white man. Under certain conditions I would repose this same trust in him although he was at war with my race. But when placed among the combatants opposing him, I knew there was no subterfuge even that great warrior would not use to attain success. So I said nothing of my doubts, nothing of my vague suspicions concerning John Ward. I felt a strong antipathy toward the fellow, and I realized this dislike might prejudice me to a degree not warranted by the facts. To put it mildly, his status puzzled me. If he were an escaped prisoner then he had committed one of the gravest sins in the red man’s entire category. To be taken into the tribe, to be adopted after his white blood had been washed out by solemn ceremony, and then to run away, meant the stake and horrible preliminary tortures should he be recaptured. As a prize such a runaway would be more eagerly sought than any settler. And yet the fellow “What’s the matter with you, Basdel?” demanded the girl sharply as she turned and walked by my side toward the Davis cabin. “You act queer. Do you begrudge giving my father his due? Aren’t you thankful he was here to stop the attack?” “If he were here alone, yes. But I am terribly worried because you are here, Patsy.” “But that’s doubting my father’s influence!” she rebuked, her eyes lighting war-signals. “When one has loved, one stops reasoning,” I quickly defended. “I can not bear to see even a shadow of a chance of harm come to you.” “That was said very pretty,” she smiled, her gaze all softness. Then with calm pride she unfastened several strings of white wampum from around her slender waist and holding them up simply said: “My father’s belts.” Among the strings was a strip some seven or eight rows in width and two hundred beads long. It was pictographic and showed a man leading a pack-horse along a white road to a wigwam. The figures, like the road, were worked in white beads, the background being dark for contrast. Refastening them about her waist, she said: “There is no danger for me here so long as I wear my father’s belts. There are none of the Ohio Indians who would refuse to accept them and respect them. When they see the Pack-Horse-Man walking along the white road to their villages they will lift that belt up very high.” “When one sees you, there should be no need of belts,” I ventured. She smiled graciously and lightly patted my fringed sleeve, and ignoring my fervid declaration, she gently reminded: “Even if I had no belts I am no better than any of the other women on the creek. Don’t think for a moment I would hide behind my father’s trade wampum. The belts must protect all of us, or none of us. But there is no more danger for me than there is for them even if I threw the belts away. Not so much; because I am Ericus Dale’s daughter. Basdel, it makes me unhappy to fear that when we leave here the danger may return to these people. I carry my safety with me. I wish I could leave it for them. I wish a general and lasting peace could be made.” “God knows I wish the same,” I cried. “As for being no better than these other women, I agree to that.” And she became suddenly thoughtful. “In judging from a Howard’s Creek standpoint you are not so good in many ways. Rather, I should say, not so valuable.” “You measure a woman’s value as you do your guns and horses,” she murmured. Her calmness was rather ominous, and I feared I had bungled. Yet my meaning should have been transparent even to a child. To make sure she had not misconstrued me I explained: “You know what I mean, no matter how I appear to measure you. In making a new country a woman on the edge of things must have certain qualities that the town woman does not possess, does not need to possess. It’s because of these qualities that the new country becomes possible as a place to live in; then the town woman develops. Two hundred miles east are conditions that resulted from the rugged qualities of the first women on the first frontier. “Those first women helped to make it safe for their children’s children. Now it’s behind the frontier and women of your kind live there. In other words”—I was growing a trifle desperate, for her gaze, while persistent, was rather blank—“you don’t fit in out here. I doubt if you know how to run bullets or load a gun or throw an ax. I’m sure you’d find it very disagreeable to go barefooted. It isn’t your place. Your values shine when you are back in town. That’s why I’m sorry you’re here.” “I haven’t shot a rifle, but I could learn,” she quietly remarked. “I believe that,” I heartily agreed. “But could “It’s hardly sensible to ask if I could have done this or that. Who knows what I could have done? I shall never have to deal with what is past. And there was a time, I suppose, when all these women were new to the frontier. At least I should be allowed time to learn certain things before you apply your measuring-rod, sir!” “That’s right,” I admitted. “I was rather unjust, but the fact remains that just now you are out of place and not used to this life and its dangers.” “I feel very cross at you. You pass over my father’s great work for the settlement with scarcely a word. You complain because I am here and look different from Mrs. Davis. I can’t help my looks.” “You are adorable. Already see the havoc you’ve wrought among the unmarried men. Observe how many times each finds an errand that takes him by this cabin door. How slow they are to scout the woods and seek signs. No; you can’t help your looks, and it results there are few men who can resist loving you. There’s not a youngster in this settlement who’s not up to his neck in love with you already. And there’s not one of them who “I’m glad to hear just what you believe about me,” she muttered. “But you’re bewildering. It seems I’m a rare prize for any man and a most uncomfortable burden.” “Oh, dash it all, Patsy! You understand that what I’ve said applies to Howard’s Creek. If we were standing two hundred miles due east I should say directly the opposite.” Of course she understood my true meaning, and of course in her heart she agreed with it. She was town-bred and therefore was intended for the town. Yet so strangely stubborn and eccentric is a woman’s reasoning that she can feel resentment toward a man because he has brains enough to comprehend the same simple truth that she comprehends. Had there been no danger from the Indians I could have scored a bull’s-eye with her by baldly declaring her to be the most valuable asset the frontier ever had received; and she would have dimpled and smiled and but faintly demurred, knowing I was a rock-ribbed liar for asserting it, and yet liking me the more for the ridiculous exaggeration. That is one reason why it is more sensible and much more satisfactory to quarrel with a man than a woman. With the tenacity which her sex displays when believing a male is trying to avoid some issue, she coldly reminded: “Talk, talk, but not a word yet as to what my father did two nights ago.” “It was one of the most splendid exhibitions of faith and moral courage I ever witnessed.” Her gaze grew kindly again and she halted and stared up into my eyes, flushed with pleasure, and waited to hear more encomiums. “I never before saw one man rush out and confront a war-party. Then his going out alone last night and prowling about through the dark forest! That was magnificent. Your father is one of the bravest men I ever saw.” She rubbed a pink finger against her nose and tilted her head and weighed my words thoughtfully. Obviously I had omitted something; for with a little frown worrying her fair forehead she began: “But—but there’s something else you haven’t said. What about his influence over the Indians? You thought him foolish to take me over the mountains. You now admit you were foolish to think that?” She was waiting for me to complete my confessional. If the element of danger had been absent how gladly I would have lied to her! How quickly I would have won her approval by proclaiming myself the greatest dolt in Virginia and her father the wisest man in the world! But to accede to everything she said and believed would be an endorsement of her presence on the creek. I had had no “I still think it was most dangerous for you to come here. I believe your father acted very unwisely, no matter how much be believes in his influence over the Indians. And I would thank God if you were back in Williamsburg.” Her hands dropped to her side. The smiling eyes grew hard. “Go on!” she curtly commanded. “I’ve damned myself in your opinion already. Isn’t that enough? Don’t make me pay double for being honest.” “Honest?” she jeered. “You’ve deliberately dodged my question. I asked you what you thought of my father’s power with the Indians. You rant about his wickedness in bringing me here. For the last time I ask you to answer my question and finish your list of my father’s faults.” As if to make more steep the precipice down which from her esteem I was about to plunge there came the voice of her father, loudly addressing the settlers. “You people ought to wake up,” he was saying. “Was it your rifles, or was it trade that stopped an attack on these cabins night before last? When will you learn that you can not stop Indian wars As he paused for breath the girl quietly said: “Now, answer me.” And I blurted out: “I don’t have any idea that Black Hoof and his warriors will hesitate a second in sacking Howard’s Creek because of anything your father has said or could say. I honestly believe the Shawnees are playing a game, that they are hoping the settlers are silly enough to think themselves safe. I am convinced that once Black Hoof believes the settlers are in that frame of mind he will return and strike just as venomously as the Shawnees struck in the old French War and in Pontiac’s War, after feasting with the whites and making them believe the red man was their friend.” She straightened and drew a deep breath, and in a low voice said: “At last you’ve answered me. Now go!” I withdrew from the cabin and from the group of men. Dale’s heavy voice was doubly hateful in my ears. The settlement was a small place. Patsy had dismissed me, and there was scarcely room for me without my presence giving her annoyance. I went to the cabin where I had left my few belongings “Why do that?” I morosely asked. “You are safe from Indian attacks now the trader has told the Shawnees you are under his protection.” He leered at me cunningly and ran his thumb along the edge of the knife and muttered: “If some o’ th’ varmints will only git within strikin’-distance! They sure ran away night before last, but how far did they go? Dale seems to have a pert amount o’ authority over ’em; but how long’s he goin’ to stay here? He can’t go trapezin’ up ’n’ down these valleys and keep men ’n’ women from bein’ killed by jest hangin’ some white wampum on ’em.” “What do the men think?” “Them that has famblies are hopin’ th’ critters won’t come back. Younger men want to git a crack at ’em. Two nights ago th’ younkers thought Dale was mighty strong medicine. A night or two of sleep leaves ’em ’lowin’ th’ creek may be safe s’long as he sticks here. Some t’others spit it right out that Black Hoof is playin’ one o’ his Injun games. If that pert young petticoat wa’n’t here mebbe we could git some o’ th’ young men out into th’ woods for to do some real scoutin’. “If my eyes was right I’d go. As it is, th’ young folks keep runnin’ a circle round th’ settlement, lickety-larrup, an’ their minds is on th’ gal, an’ they wouldn’t see a buf’lo if one crossed their path. Then they hustle back an’ say as how they ain’t seen nothin’. I ’low some o’ th’ older men will have to scout.” “I’m going out. I’ll find the Indians’ trail and follow it,” I told him. “That’ll be neighborly of you. If they chase you back an’ git within stickin’-distance I’ll soon have their in’ards out to dry.” I decided to leave my horse, as the travel would take me through rough places. Shouldering my rifle, I struck for the western side of the clearing. Dale had disappeared, gone into the Davis cabin, I assumed, as John Ward was lying on the ground near the door. I hadn’t seen much of Ward for two days. Davis and Moulton were drawing leather through a tan trough, and I turned aside to speak with them. They noticed I was fitted out for a scout and their faces lighted a bit. “Ward’s been out ag’in and says the reds went north toward Tygart’s Valley. He follered ’em quite some considerable. If you can find any new signs an’ can fetch us word——” “That’s what I’m going out for, Davis. How do you feel about the doings of night before last?” He scratched his chin and after a bit of hesitation answered: “Wife’s cousin is a mighty smart man. Powerful smart. I ’low he knows a heap ’bout Injuns. Been with ’em so much. But we’re sorter uneasy. More so to-day than we was yesterday. This waiting to see what’ll happen is most as bad, if not worse, than to have a fight an’ have it over with. Once a parcel of Injuns strikes, it either cleans us out or is licked an’ don’t want no more for a long time. Still Dale has a master lot of power among the Injuns. But we’ll be glad to know you’re out looking for fresh footing. Their trail oughter be easy to foller, as there was a smart number of ’em had hosses.” “I’ll find the trail easy enough, and I’ll satisfy myself they are still making toward the Ohio or have swung back,” I assured him. “While I’m gone keep the young men in the woods and post sentinels. Don’t get careless. Don’t let the children wander from the cabins. I’m free to tell you, Davis, that I don’t believe for a second that you’ve seen the last of Black Hoof and his men. Have all those living in the outlying cabins use the fort to-night.” After reaching the woods, I turned and looked back. Dale was standing in the doorway with one hand resting on the shoulder of John Ward. Ward was talking to Patsy, whose dainty figure could not be disguised by the coarse linsey gown. The man Ward must have lost some of his taciturnity, for the girl was laughing gaily at whatever he was saying. I observed that Dale was still feeling I found the trail where it turned back toward Tygart’s Valley, even as John Ward had reported, and followed it up the Greenbriar. The country here was very fertile on both sides of the river and would make rich farms should the danger from the Indians ever permit it to be settled. Farther back from the river on each hand the country was broken and mountainous and afforded excellent hiding-places for large bodies of Indians, as only rattlesnakes, copperheads, wolves and wildcats lived there. My mood was equal to overdaring, and all because of Patsy Dale. When the sun swung into its western arc I halted where a large number of warriors had broken their fast. I ate some food and pushed on. After two miles of travel I came to a branching of the trail. Two of the band had turned off to the northeast. My interest instantly shifted from the main trail to the smaller one, for I assumed the two were scouting some particular neighborhood, and that by following it I would learn the object of their attention and be enabled to give warning. That done, the footing would lead me back to the main band. The signs were few and barely sufficient to allow me to keep up the pursuit. It But why a squaw on a war-path? It was very puzzling. From the amount of moisture already seeped into the tracks I estimated the two of them had stood there within thirty minutes. My pursuit became more cautious. Not more than twenty rods from the spring I came to a trail swinging in from the east, as shown by a broken vine and a bent bush. The newcomer had moved carelessly and had fallen in behind the two Indians. I stuck to the trail until the diminished sunlight warned me it would soon be too dark to continue. Then I caught a whiff of burning wood and in ten minutes I was reconnoitering a tiny glade. My first glance took in a small fire; my second glance dwelt upon a scene that sent me into the open on the jump. An Indian sat at the foot of a walnut-tree, his legs crossed and his empty hands hanging over his knees. At one side crouched a squaw, her long hair falling on each side of her face and hiding her profile. In a direct line between me and the warrior stood Shelby Cousin, his rifle bearing on the warrior. My step caused him to turn, expecting to behold another native. The man on the ground made no “Don’t go for to try any sp’ilin’ o’ my game,” warned Cousin without looking at me. “They’re scouts from a big band of Shawnees now making toward Tygart’s Valley,” I informed him. “Can’t we learn something from them?” “I’m going to kill this one now. The squaw can go. Crabtree would snuff her out, but I ain’t reached the p’int where I can do that yet.” “You coward!” cried the squaw in excellent English. Cousin darted a puzzled glance at her. His victim seemed to be indifferent to his fate; nor did the woman offer to interfere. “She’s a white woman!” I cried. For a sunbeam straggled through the growth and rested on the long hair and revealed it to be fine and brown and never to be mistaken for the coarse black locks of an Indian. “White?” faltered Cousin, lowering his rifle. “Watch that devil, Morris!” I dropped on a log with my rifle across my knees. Cousin strode to the woman and caught her by the shoulder and pulled her to her feet. For a long minute the two stared. “Shelby?” The words dropped from her lips in a sibilous Cousin’s hands slowly advanced and pushed back the long locks. He advanced his face close to hers, and I knew his slight form was trembling. Then he staggered back and jerkily brought his arm across his eyes. “God! It’s my sister!” I heard him mutter. I leaped to my feet, crying out for him to be a man. He remained motionless with his arm across his face, helpless to defend himself. I turned to the woman. Whatever light had shone in her eyes when memory forced his name from her lips had departed. Her face was cold and immobile as she met my wild gaze. There was a streak of yellow paint running from the bridge of her nose to the parting of her brown hair. Her skin was as dark as any Shawnee’s, but her eyes held the blue of the cornflower. I tried to discover points of resemblance between her and the boy and succeeded only when she turned her head in profile; then they were very much alike. He lowered his arm to look over it, and she watched him without changing her expression. With a hoarse cry he straightened and answering the impulse in his heart, sprang toward her, his arms outstretched to enfold her. She gave ground, not hastily as though wishing to avoid his embrace, “You remember me. You called my name. You know I am your brother. You know we lived on Keeney’s Knob. You remember the creek——” “I remember,” she quietly interrupted. “A very long time ago. Very long. I am a Shawnee now. My heart is red.” Her words stunned him for a bit, then he managed to gasp out, “Who is this man?” And he glared at the warrior seated at the foot of the tree. “My husband.” The boy’s mouth popped open, but without uttering a sound he stooped and grabbed for his rifle. I placed my foot on it and seized his arm and pleaded with him to regain his senses before he took any action. During all this the warrior remained as passive as the tree-roots against which he half-reclined. After a brief hysterical outburst Cousin stood erect and ceased struggling with me. And all the time his sister had watched us speculatively, her gaze as cold and impersonal as though she had been looking at a rock. It was very hideous. It was one of those damnable situations which must end at once, and to which there can be no end. For the boy to kill his sister’s husband was an awful thing to contemplate. I pulled the lad back and softly whispered: “You can’t do it. The blood would always be between you two. She has changed. She believes she is red. Take her aside and talk with her. If she will go with you make for the mountains and get her to the settlements.” “An’ him?” “I will wait an hour. If you two do not return before an hour—Well, he will not bother you.” At first he did not seem to understand; then he seized my free hand and gripped it tightly. Taking his rifle, he approached the girl and took her by the arm. “Come,” he gently told her. “We must talk, you and I. I have hunted for you for years.” She was suspicious of us two, but she did not resist him. “Wait,” she said. She glided to the savage and leaned over him and said something. Then she was back to her brother, and the two disappeared into the woods. I drew a line on the savage and in Shawnee demanded: “Throw me the knife she gave you.” Glaring at me sullenly, he flipped the knife toward the fire and resumed his attitude of abstraction. I had never killed an unarmed Indian. I had never shot one in cold blood. The office of executioner did not appeal, but repulsive as it was it would not Nor would it do for a woman of Virginia to be redeemed to civilization with a red husband roaming at large. No. The fellow must die, and I had the nasty work to do. The glade was thickening with shadows, but the sunlight still marked the top of an elm and made glorious the zenith. When the light died from the heavens I would assassinate the man. This would give him a scant hour, but a dozen or fifteen minutes of life could make small difference. Then again, once the dusk filled the glade my impassive victim would become alert and up to some of his devilish tricks. He did not change his position except as he turned his head to gaze fixedly at the western forest wall. One could imagine him to be ignorant of my presence. “Where does Black Hoof lead his warriors?” I asked him. Without deflecting his gaze he answered: “Back to their homes on the Scioto.” “The white trader, the Pack-Horse-Man, spoke words that drive them back?” It was either a trick of the dying light, or else I detected an almost imperceptible twitching of the grim lips. After a short pause he said: “The Shawnees are not driven. They will pick “This white woman? You know she must go back to her people.” Again the faint twitching of the lips. When he spoke it was to say: “She can go where she will or where she is made to go. If she is taken to the white settlements she will run away and go back to the Scioto. Her people are red. After the French War, after Pontiac’s War, it was the same. White prisoners were returned to the white people. Many of them escaped and came back to us.” His voice was calm and positive and my confidence in the girl’s willingness to return to civilization was shaken. She had been as stolid as her red mate in my presence, but I had believed that nature would conquer her ten years’ of savagery once she was alone with her brother. The light had left the top of the elm and the fleecy clouds overhead were no longer dazzling because of their borrowed splendor. I cocked my rifle. The savage folded his arms as he caught the sound, but his gaze toward the west never wavered. To nerve myself into shooting the fellow in cold “My brother is at the spring. You will find him there.” I rose and dropped the rifle into the hollow of my left arm and stared at her incredulously. It had happened before, the rebellion of white prisoners at quitting their captors. Yet the girl’s refusal was astounding. “You would not go with him?” “I am here. I go to my people,” she answered. “He is waiting for you. The squaws would laugh at him. He is very weak.” With an oath I whirled toward the Indian. Had he made a move or had he reflected her disdain with a smile, his white-red wife surely would have been a widow on the spot. But he had not shifted his position. To all appearances he was not even interested in his wife’s return. And she too now ignored me, and busied herself in gathering up their few belongings and slinging them on her back. Then she went to him, and in disgust and rage I left them and sped through the darkening woods to the spring where I had first seen the imprints of her tiny moccasins. Cousin was there, seated and his head bowed on his chest, a waiting victim for the first Indian scout who might happen along. I dragged him to his feet and harshly said: “Come! We must go. Your white sister is dead. Your search is ended. Your sister died in the raid on Keeney’s Knob.” “My little sister,” he whispered. He went with me passively enough, and he did not speak until we had struck into the main trail of the Shawnees. Then he asked: “You did not kill him?” “No.” “It’s best that way. There’re ’nough others. They’ll pay for it.” I abandoned my plan of following the war-party farther and was only anxious to get my companion back to the protection of Howard’s Creek. We followed the back-trail for a few miles and then were forced by the night to make a camp. I opened my supply of smoked meat and found a spring. I did not dare to risk a fire. But he would not eat. Only once did he speak that night, and that was to say: “I must keep clear o’ the settlements. If I don’t I’ll do as Ike Crabtree does, kill in sight o’ the cabins.” In the morning he ate some of my food; not as if he were hungry, but as if forcing himself to a disagreeable task. He seemed to be perfectly willing to go on with me, but he did not speak of the girl again. When we drew near the creek he began to look Now that we were back I was beset by a fear, that the sight of Patricia in all her loveliness would be an overwhelming shock to his poor brain. It was with great relief that I got him to the Moulton cabin without his glimpsing Patsy. “You can tell ’em if you want to. S’pose they’ll l’arn it some time,” he said to me as we reached the door and met Mrs. Moulton and her little girl. With that he passed inside and seated himself in a corner and bowed his head. I drew Mrs. Moulton aside and briefly explained his great sorrow. With rich sympathy she stole into the cabin and began mothering him, patting his shoulders and stroking the long hair back from his wan face. My own affairs became of small importance when measured beside this tragedy. I had no trepidation now in facing Patricia. I walked boldly to the Davis cabin and thrust my head in the door. Only Davis and his wife were there. “Where are the Dales?” I bruskly asked. “Gone,” grunted Davis in disgust. “Gone back home?” I eagerly asked. “What do you think!” babbled Mrs. Davis. “Good God! Why did you let them go?” Davis snorted angrily, and exclaimed: “Let ’em go! How ye goin’ to stop her? ’Twas she that was bound to be movin’ on. Just made her daddy go.” “When did they start?” “Right after you lit out. Seems ’s if th’ gal couldn’t git shut o’ this creek quick ’nough.” I ran from the cabin to get my horse and start in immediate pursuit. By the time I reached the animal, well rested during my absence, I became more reasonable. After all Black Hoof was traveling north. There would be small chance of another band raiding down the Clinch for some time at least. I needed rest. Night travel would advance me but slowly. I would start early in the morning. |