The Wilderness Fugitives

CHAPTER XXI.

A CURIOUS DISCOVERY

"Stay here," said the Mohawk, as soon as they halted; "Lena-Wingo go look for Iroquois – soon be back – don't go away – don't make noise, listen – watch, don't go away."

"But suppose some of them come down upon us, Jack?" asked Ned, determined to understand the situation as fully as possible.

"Keep out way – won't come down – stay away."

"Well, if you are enough satisfied to give me a written guarantee, that's all there is about it. How long do you expect to be gone?"

"Not long – soon be back."

This was not very definite, but it was all the Mohawk would say, and without any more words he took his departure, walking back over the trail which they had been following since leaving the river.

"I can't understand why he is sure that no one will make a call on us while he is gone," said Jo Minturn to Ned, as the three once more seated themselves, this time on a fallen tree.

"The only reason that suggests itself to me is that he believes we are so far off the track of the Iroquois that the only possibility that can lead them this way is by their discovering our trail, and if they attempt that, they will run against him, as he is going backward over it."

"That seems to be a pretty good reason, but he may miss it, nevertheless. There may not be much danger of an invasion from any other direction, and yet there's no telling, either, from what point of the compass these wretches may come."

"You ought to have explained all that," said Rosa. "I am quite sure that Lena-Wingo would be grateful for all the instruction you can give him in the ways of the woods. But you know he is so much younger than you, and has had so little experience, that you must be charitable, and not judge him too harshly."

Jo laughed and shook his head at his sister, who persisted in "touching" him up on every occasion.

"As we are to stay here indefinitely," said Ned, "there can be no harm in taking an observation and learning something for ourselves."

"How are we to do it?" asked his friend.

Ned pointed to the towering trees which stood on every hand.

"Climb up among those branches; what better outlook can one ask than he can get among those limbs?"

"What a nice target a man would be, too, if an Indian should catch sight of him!" said Rosa, as she looked up at the leaves gently swaying in the slight morning breeze. "But after what Lena-Wingo said, I don't think there's much to be feared of that, and I look upon your idea as a good one, Edward."

"If my sister considers the idea a good one," said Jo, "that settles it, and you need have no further fear."

"Of course not," was the prompt assent of Ned, who moved to the tree which he had selected as his lookout.

As there was a remote possibility that some such a contingency as the one intimated by their fair companion might occur, Jo and Rosa stationed themselves beneath the tree to guard against surprise, Jo holding his gun ready, while Ned left his own piece in the hands of Rosa, who, should the occasion arise, knew how to employ it effectively. It was the work of a few minutes for the athletic young man to make his way to the top of the tree, which was one of the tallest in the neighborhood, and gave him the opportunity he wished. Ned remembered the words of Rosa, which, uttered in jest as they were, contained a good deal of sense. While making his way among the limbs, he frequently paused and carefully scrutinized the ground below, on the lookout for lurking Indians.

The most rigid scrutiny failed to reveal anything alarming, and reaching as high a point as was prudent, he settled himself among the luxuriant branches, and then, like the shipwrecked mariner, looked long and searchingly over the waste around him.

Peering to the northward, from his elevated perch, Ned saw the stretch of woods, cultivated fields, the broad, smoothly-flowing Susquehanna, with the faint view of the ruins of Fort Wintermoot and of Forty Fort beyond. The view was a lovely one, as seen in the clear sunlight of this summer morning, and it was hard to realize that the fair vale had been desecrated within so brief a time by the merciless white and red men, who had not yet left the valley. No wonder that the beauties of this enchanting spot have drawn the tribute of the poets of the Old and New World.

Ned Clinton had often gazed on the attractions of his native vale, and he appreciated them always, but he restrained the admiration which he might have felt at any other time. The first glance over the extended scene failed to discover any signs of life; but when he had looked again, he detected the figure of a canoe crossing the river, the distance making it appear but a speck, while the number of occupants was indistinguishable. To the southwest, almost in the line of the Susquehanna, he observed a black cloud resting like a smirch of dirt against a clear, blue sky. This, he had no doubt, was the smoke from some conflagration of the night before.

The little primitive town of Wilkesbarre, with its rude fortifications, lay also along the bank of the river, but owing to some intervening trees of tall growth, standing close to the fort, the view in that direction was not as complete as in others. Having scanned the outer boundaries of the field, Ned attended to those portions which lay nearer to him. It was a long time before he could fix upon any spot that promised to give him information of friend or foe. Nothing could be seen of Lena-Wingo, who was pursuing his investigations in his own way, and was not likely to return until he had accomplished something upon which to base an intelligent course of action. But by and by, as the youth was scanning a point two or three hundred yards away, his eye fell upon something which promised to give him the very knowledge he was seeking.

In an open space at the distance mentioned, he observed a large flat rock, which had nothing peculiar in its appearance, but which, it was evident, was being used by some one as a means of concealment, while he in turn took a survey of the young man in the tree. Ned was under the impression that no matter how much he played the sentinel, he was invisible to all outsiders that might be attempting to steal toward him and his friends. It happened that he glanced directly at the object at the moment that a man, whose dress showed him to be of the same race as the young scout, rose to his feet, stood a second or two, and then dropped down out of sight again. His action was such as a man would make when he suspected that some one else was trying to obtain a closer scrutiny than was agreeable. Ned was not a little puzzled by what he witnessed. He looked down to his friends, and spoke in a careful undertone:

"Keep a sharp lookout; I have discovered something which I want to study a while."

"All right," called back Jo; "manage your end of the rope as you ought, and we'll take care of ours."

Left thus free, the sentinel devoted himself to the task of watching the movements of the stranger, and learning what his intentions were in conducting himself in the manner described.

"He can't get away from where he is without my seeing him," was the reflection of the watcher, "and if he means mischief, I shall detect it in time to prevent his hurting us."

The stranger at this period was invisible, as he must continue to be so long as he kept behind the rock; but it was hardly likely that he would stay there long.

"It may be he is some fugitive like ourselves," added young Clinton, "and he doesn't feel certain enough of our identity as yet to trust himself within reach."

CHAPTER XXII.

ANOTHER FUGITIVE

At the end of five or ten minutes Ned Clinton, with his eyes fixed upon the broad, flat rock, was sure he saw the figure of a man behind it. It was only the top of his head, thrust a little above the edge of the stone, as if the stranger were seeking a view of the one who was watching him without his purpose being detected. The slouched hat and the eyes and forehead were in plain sight for a minute or two, when they sank down again and all was as before.

"If he is a friend," thought Ned, "he is very timid, or he has a queer way of showing his good will."

The distance between the two was too great for either to do anything in the way of shooting, but the youth was inclined to send a rifle shot in that direction, as a challenge for the strange craft to come out and show its colors.

He called down to Jo again, to watch for the approach of any foe, for he was compelled to give close attention to this particular stranger, and another might steal up beneath the very tree without the one in the branches detecting his danger. In this way nearly an hour passed without any change in the situation, and the fugitives began to look for the return of the Mohawk, he having promised not to stay away long.

"I wish he would come," said the watchman, to himself, "for it wouldn't take him a great while to find out what that fellow is driving at. I don't see that I have much chance of learning without his help."

If there was any opportunity for the stranger to withdraw, Ned would have suspected the man had done so, but he was satisfied it was impossible for him to elude him in that way, and consequently he must still be behind the rock. Clinton at last grew tired and called to Jo that he was about to fire his gun, to compel the stranger to let him know who he was and what he wanted. Before doing so, he scanned the wood in his immediate vicinity, fearing that some other questionable character had stolen near enough to take a shot at him.

He was relieved, however, when after the closest search he was unable to find any cause for fear. There seemed to be no grounds for further delay, and pointing his weapon at the spot where he had last seen the head, he took a quick aim and pulled the trigger. It was a strange coincidence that at this very instant the man was in the act of rising to view again, and the poorly aimed shot, even when the distance was so great, came near proving fatal to the stranger. The smoke was scarcely wafted from the muzzle of the rifle, when the man sprang up from behind the rock, and standing erect, called out in a voice that penetrated far beyond the point aimed at.

"What the mischief are you trying to do?"

"I was trying to make you show yourself," replied the amazed Ned Clinton, "and that seemed to be the only way to do it."

"Well, I can't admit that I fancy that style of saying how-de-do to a fellow. Why don't you sing out to him and ask him what he is after?"

As the individual asked this question in the same loud voice, he unhesitatingly stepped from behind his concealment and began walking toward the one that had used him as a target. Ned accepted this proceeding as a proffer of good will, and although he was not quite satisfied, yet he began descending the tree, so as to be on the ground to meet him. He had barely time to acquaint Jo and Rosa Minturn with what had occurred, when the stranger appeared at the base of the tree and seemed not a little surprised to meet another young man with his handsome sister.

The new-comer was a man apparently in middle life, with a yellow, shaggy beard, reaching nearly to his eyes, dressed in rather tattered garments, that had more of the look of the farmer than the military about them. His face, so far as it could be seen, was by no means a pleasing one; the eyes were of a gray color, but with a strange, restless glitter. His appearance would lead one to set him down as a vagabond settler – one who was so lazy that he spent the greater part of his time in hunting the woods for game, or searching the streams for fish.

He was sharply scrutinized as he came to view, while he, in turn, keenly surveyed the fugitives.

If he were a settler, as he appeared to be, there was not one of the three who remembered seeing him before. To Jo Minturn there came a faint impression that he had met him at some time, though he could not recall where or when it was. But the stranger quickly recovered from the temporary embarrassment he showed upon finding himself confronted by three, where he expected to see only one person.

"Well, now, I am glad to meet you," he said, in a hearty way that suggested the Mr. Perkins whom they had met when on the other side of the river. "I cotched sight of that young man climbing a tree, though I couldn't satisfy myself for a long time whether he was a friend or foe. I suppose you know me, don't you?"

Ned answered for the others:

"I have no recollection of having ever seen you before."

"Why, I remember you very well. You are Ned Clinton, and that young gentleman is Jo Minturn, with his sister Rosa."

"You are certainly right, as far as that goes, but you are none the less a stranger to us for all that!"

"My name is Worrell, and I am a settler, living about a mile up the river. I have often seen your father – both of them – at Forty Fort."

"That, I suppose, is where you have met us, also?"

"Yes, and at your homes near there. I do a great deal of hunting, and have sold Mr. Minturn and Mr. Clinton a good deal of game."

"How is it you didn't recognize me when you saw me in the tree?"

"I couldn't make sure, because I couldn't get a fair look at you."

"How is it, too, that you are abroad at this time, when the Indians and Tories are playing havoc in the valley?"

"That's just the reason," was the ready response of Worrell. "A party of them came so near my home that I had to dig out. That was day before yesterday, and I have been roaming about the woods ever since, not daring to go back home again."

"What did they do with your family?"

"I haven't got any family, so there was nothing done with them."

"What were you doing when you observed me?"

"I had just reached that rock and had sat down to rest myself, when I was scared by happening to look toward you and seeing you climbing the tree. I have been dodging the redskins and Tories all of two days, and have had pretty sharp work, I can tell you, and a good many narrow escapes. I had three scrimmages with redskins, and came so near losing my scalp in the last case that I have been mighty careful ever since as to how I went up to a stranger and shook hands with him till I was pretty sure he was a friend, which is why I waited so long with you."

"Well, you were cautious, indeed, but perhaps it was as well, for one can't be too careful at such a time as this."

"Then I take it you're dodging the same parties that I am?" said Worrell, taking a seat on the log, as if he meant to unite forces with the little party.

"Yes," replied Ned Clinton, willing to tell their new companion all their purposes, and glad of his company. "Yes, we set out for Wilkesbarre, but there are so many Indians in the path that we find the task a hard one."

"Are you alone?"

"Not exactly," was the answer. "We have an Indian scout with us."

"Who is he? Lena-Wingo, the Mohawk?"

"The same."

It may have been fancy on the part of Rosa but at that moment she saw an expression flit over the small part of the man's face that was visible, that she thought betokened disappointment at these words.

CHAPTER XXIII.

DOUBT AND PERPLEXITY

The fugitives felt like congratulating themselves upon the acquisition of so valuable a man as the patriot Worrell. A hunter like him, who had spent years in wandering through the woods, must be acquainted with all those places that were the most available as a means of concealment. There were many retreats which had proven of the greatest benefit to other fugitives, but they were those that had been seized upon in the frenzy of flight, when the thirsting pursuers were as eager as those whom they were hunting, and the slightest incident was frequently sufficient to turn aside the human bloodhounds. But something had now become necessary, for there was the danger of a carefully managed hunt by the Indians themselves, in which case the whites would need to take advantage of every expedient possible. What more likely, therefore, than that this man could give them the very assistance they needed in that respect?

The thought occurred to Ned Clinton and Jo Minturn at the same moment. Rosa remained seated when he came up, bowing politely to the stranger, but contenting herself with merely looking on and studying him as best she could. She was not much disturbed until she saw the expression of disappointment on the upper part of his face when he learned that Lena-Wingo, the Mohawk, had charge of the party and was expected soon to return. The opportunity of studying the character of the man from his face was limited on account of the shaggy, luxuriant beard; but woman has an intuitive perception, which avails her more than the reasoning power of man; and, although the maiden felt it was possible she was mistaken in what she saw there, the impression remained that he was one who ought to be regarded with distrust, if not suspicion. And yet she determined to say and do nothing that could interfere with any plans of her companions. She felt that she had already said much in that direction, and well convinced as she was that they were abundantly qualified to take care of themselves, it seemed to her the crisis was too grave for her to delay any movement by objections for which she could give no valid reason.

"You've had that Mohawk to help you ever since you left Forty Fort?" was the inquiring remark of Worrell, in answer to the information of Ned Clinton that the Indian was a member of the party.

"Yes; we couldn't have gotten along without him. There can be no doubt that we would have fallen into the hands of the Iroquois long ago but for his presence."

"Me and Red Jack – though I believe he likes his name of Lena-Wingo the best – have been on many a hunt together, and he beats anything I ever saw."

"There is no cause for his being otherwise, when he has spent so many years as a hunter and scout. The Iroquois would give a great deal to secure his scalp."

"You can just bet they would, and so would Colonel Butler, Captain Bagley or any of the Tories. You know that the fellow has done too much against the scamps to be forgiven. But where has he gone?"

"He is off taking a look through the neighborhood to see how the land lies, and what is the best thing for us to do."

"When do you expect him back?"

"We expect him from this time forward till he comes, but there is no telling when that will be. He is master of his own motions, and will return, I suppose, when he deems the hour is best for him to do so."

"I found that out long ago, but you don't know where he has gone?"

"No more than you. You seem interested."

"Well, Red Jack and me are old friends, and if I knowed where he was I might go out to hunt him up and give him a point or two about the lay of the land in these parts."

"I suppose you are acquainted with it all?"

"Well, I ain't the man to boast, and don't know that it is bragging to tell the truth. But if there is a spot I don't know all about in this neighborhood I'm ready to pay a good reward for a sight of the same."

"It seems to me you might be able to do us a good turn."

"I'll do anything in the world for you and the lady, if I have the chance. What have you in mind?"

"We feel that, as long as we occupy this position, we are in danger of being swooped down upon by the Iroquois – "

"You can bet on that! Didn't I tell you a minute ago how many narrer escapes I made while poking round in these woods? Why, it ain't an hour ago since I saw three Indians that must have been some of the painted Iroquois who are looking around for you!"

"Is that the case?" asked Jo Minturn, rising to his feet and walking closer to their visitor. "How far off were they?"

"Not more than a quarter of a mile at the most, and it took careful work on my part to keep out of their way."

The youths looked at each other with something like dismay, while Rosa became deeply interested.

"There can scarcely be a doubt that they were hunting for us," said Jo, in an undertone that was intended to escape his sister, but of which every word reached her ear. "It isn't a pleasant situation, with Lena-Wingo gone, and no one knowing when he will be back. He is the shrewdest fellow in the world, but no one is smart enough to save himself from mistake at all times. Who knows but that he has gone in just such a direction that he will escape seeing the very Indians from whom the visit is most likely to come?"

"I think that we had better get this fellow to take us to some good hiding-places where we can place Rosa – at least, till the Mohawk comes back. I don't believe he has any idea of trying to run into Wilkesbarre while it is day, but is getting up some plan for stealing in at night with her."

"It does look that way, which means our waiting in some place of hiding till the time shall come to make the attempt."

"And this isn't much of a hiding-place, when the minute I climbed a tree I was seen by Worrell, there."

"It makes Lena-Wingo angry," continued Jo, who felt a hesitation about running directly in the face of the well-known wishes of the dusky scout, "for us to disregard his instructions on a point like this; but I think if he understood the chance we have of helping him in this matter he would be glad for us to avail ourselves of it."

"Well, I can't see that there is any great risk run in allowing Worrell to conduct us to shelter. This will never be of any use to us, and I can't feel safe here one minute after what he has told us. I propose that we get him to find us other quarters."

"I'm favorable to the plan, because he is a good hunter, and while Lena-Wingo is operating in one direction, he may be of help in the way, also, of getting food for us."

And so it was that, look at the matter in whatever light they chose, it seemed a wise step for them to call in the services of the straggling patriot that had joined them in the rather curious manner already told. The only hesitation with the young men came from the consciousness that they were sure to violate either the expressed or understood command of the Mohawk. But they argued themselves into a justification of the step by the manifest advantages to be gained in taking it.

"Find out what Rosa thinks about it," finally suggested Ned, when the two had gone over all the arguments to each other.