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CHAPTER XVII
THE LONG CLEARING

Deerfoot, the young Shawanoe, despite his extraordinary exertions and his own wonderful woodcraft, had fallen into the hands of the hostile Wyandots, and with a grim satire upon the skill which had given the youth his great fame, Waughtauk, chief of his enemies, had decreed that his life should be staked upon the result of a race with the fleetest runners of the tribe.

The captive would have welcomed such a contest, could it have been conducted on anything like equal terms, but he seemed in a pitiable condition, unable to bear the weight of his body for more than a second on one foot. Had it been otherwise, Waughtauk never would have made the conditions what they were.

The promised enjoyment was so eagerly looked for by the warriors that the chief decided to gratify them and himself, without delay.

It was now near noon, and the sun shining overhead gave no indications of the clouds and snow-fall that came with the close of day. The "Long Clearing," of which the chief spoke, was an open space, beginning fifty rods north of the block-house and extending for a third of a mile, parallel with the Licking river. It had a width varying from a hundred feet to five times that extent. It was a natural clearing or opening, which, it would seem, offered a much better site for a block-house than the one selected by Colonel Preston, when he erected the building now placed in such danger.

It presented an open space for the distance named, and, before the founding of the settlement, was often used by Indians for their games and athletic contests: no more suitable place could have been found for the extraordinary contest decreed by Waughtauk, chief of the Wyandots.

As this exhibition was ordered during the time when the siege was to be maintained, it was impossible that more than a fractional part of the warriors could take part in or witness it. Waughtauk selected six of his men who were to be the actors in the tragedy, he himself purposing to be the leader and director.

As the wolf, before destroying the lamb, sought a pretext for his cruelty, so the chief assumed a certain air of justice in arranging for what might be termed a race for life.

The warrior who had struck Deerfoot was given his bow, the youth being allowed to retain his knife, tomahawk, and quiver. None of the Wyandots were permitted to carry their guns, the only weapon of that kind being in the hands of the chief, who was also magnanimous enough to give the fugitive a start of some fifty yards.

Deerfoot was too proud to open his lips, when the conditions were explained to him. He stood grim and silent, watching the preparations and noting the exultation which often reached boisterousness.

"Great is Deerfoot, the swiftest runner of the Shawanoes!" said one mockingly; "he is the eagle, and he will leave the Wyandots far out of sight, as the great bird leaves the smaller ones in his flight through the heavens!"

"Deerfoot is the friend of the Yenghese and the Long Knives, who have come to take away the hunting-grounds of the red man."

"The pale-faces will come to the help of Deerfoot, for who has been a better friend to them than he?"

These and similar taunts fell upon ears which appeared to hear them not. Those who uttered the cruel words came close to the youth and peered into his face, with hideous grimaces, but he stood calm and silent. He was a shade paler, and there was a strange gleam in his black eyes, but he looked beyond his tormentors at Waughtauk, who deliberately paced off the distance, giving liberal measure, as it is only justice to record.

When the fifty steps had been taken, Waughtauk stopped, stamped the heel of his moccasin in the earth, and, turning about, beckoned to Deerfoot to approach. The young Shawanoe, as he hobbled painfully forward, presented a spectacle which ought to have excited the pity of the hardest heart; but the Wyandots laughed and were impatient for the contest, if such it may be called, to open.

Deerfoot limped the greater part of the distance and then stopped to rest a moment, seemingly unable to advance another step. Several taunting exclamations followed this display of weakness, and, summoning his energies, the youth resumed his labored advance, finally reached the side of Waughtauk, who concealed, as well as he could, his impatience.

"Deerfoot will stand here," said he, pointing to the indentation the heel of his moccasin had made in the ground; "when he hears Waughtauk give forth the war-whoop of the Wyandots, he will teach my warriors how to run."

The young Shawanoe opened his lips to make answer, but they closed more tightly than before, and not a word was uttered. His self-restraint was perfect.

Waughtauk walked back to the edge of the Long Clearing, where the six warriors eagerly awaited the signal for the sport to begin. Despite the usual stoicism and indifference of their race, the braves were as frolicsome as so many school-boys. They elbowed and crowded each other for their places, and one or two vigorous wrestling bouts occurred, before the chieftain placed them in line.

At last the six Wyandots were drawn up in position, one foot thrown forward, while they swayed restlessly back and forth, inching along the advanced foot, like so many runners eager for the slightest advantage. Each carried his knife and tomahawk at his girdle, but the arms were free. He who claimed the bow of Deerfoot had thrown it aside, now that he was about to run.

Waughtauk looked at his men and then he placed himself in alignment at their right. He still held his loaded gun, probably as an emblem of his authority, and as a notification that he would use it in the event of any warrior disregarding orders.

The seven now looked out upon the Long Clearing at the fugitive who was to go through this mockery of a race with the sinewy-limbed Wyandots, eager and thirsting for his life.

The pose of Deerfoot was much the same as that of his enemies. His left foot was in advance of the other, while his weight gently oscillated back and forth, like the swinging of a long pendulum. Unnoticed by any of the Wyandots, he had edged fully ten feet beyond the proper starting-point. His face was turned as if looking at the autumnal woods on his right, but as his handsome profile was thrown against the sky beyond, his eyes were scrutinizing every action of his foes, as they arranged themselves and awaited the signal.

At this juncture it must have occurred to more than one that the Shawanoe was balancing himself with remarkable ease for one whose sufferings from a sprained ankle were so acute. If such a thought came to the Wyandots, they did not lose sight of the fact that the time for an investigation was past.

For a single minute complete quiet prevailed. The river on the left flowing calmly northward, the solemn autumn woods on the right, the stretch of the Long Clearing, with its irregular contour, – the single solitary youth poised as if he were a Grecian athlete, – the seven swarthy Indians, like so many fierce hounds, impatient for the moment when they might spring at the lamb and bury their fangs in its throat: – these made a picture striking beyond imagination in its details.

"Whoop! whoop! whoop!"

In quick succession the war-cry of the Wyandots rang out on the still air, and like an electric shock it thrilled through every being who heard the startling signal.

The ringing shout had scarcely left the lips of Waughtauk, when Deerfoot made a tremendous leap of nearly a dozen feet, and the instant he lightly struck the ground he bounded away with a burst of speed which astounded the spectators. There was no lameness now – there had never been the slightest. The young Shawanoe when he saw his capture was inevitable, resorted to this strategy with the quickness of inspiration. The sprained ankle was a fiction – a fiction not essayed with any thought that he would be subjected to such a special test, but with the belief that a chance might come in which he could make a break for freedom and for life.

A series of fierce shouts went up from the thunderstruck Wyandots, as they saw the fugitive ricocheting over the grounds, as may be said, like the ball from the throat of a Columbiad.

The halt and the lame who were the first to step into the pool of Siloam, after the angel had stirred the waters, were no more quickly healed than was Deerfoot by the ringing war-cry of the Wyandot chieftain.

A consuming anger like that of the wolf, when the panther robs him of his prey, must have fired the hearts of the Wyandots, at the moment they saw the trick played on them by this despised youth. He, a boy in stature and years, had pitted his skill, his strategy, his woodcraft, his brains against theirs, and he had won.

The readiness of Deerfoot added several rods to the advance originally given, so that a great advantage was thus obtained, and it was improved to the utmost.

The wonderful youth ran as never before. His lithe legs doubled under him with inconceivable quickness, the eye seeing naught but the twinkling of the beaded moccasins. The still wind cut by his face as though it was a gale. He was a gladiator stripped for the struggle, and every nerve and muscle was strained to the last tension. He seemed a swallow skimming close to the ground, or a shaft driven from his own bow, so graceful was his arrowy swiftness.

There were swift runners among the Wyandots, and the seven warriors included their fleetest, who now put forth every exertion of which they were capable. The difference in their speed was shown by their immediate separation, with rapidly increasing spaces between them; but the young Shawanoe drew away from them, as a child draws away from the stationary object which frightens it.

Deerfoot saw the half mile sweeping under his feet, as the steel rails glide under the plunging engine, and the single glance he threw over his shoulder told the glad fact that he had not misjudged his own matchless ability as a runner. Muscle and nerve and sinew never did their work more splendidly than now, when their existence was staked on the manner in which that work was to be done. Human ingenuity could never construct a piece of mechanism which could do such marvelous service, as did those limbs of the flying fugitive on that crisp autumn day nearly a century ago, in Kentucky.

Although, as we have stated, there were many rapid runners among the Wyandots, there was not one who could attain and hold the terrific pace of the Shawanoe, whose victory, it may be said, was assured from the beginning. Fired by their fury and chagrin, they made prodigious exertions to run down the youth, or at least to approach close enough to hurl their tomahawks; but this was useless, and with an exasperation beyond expression they saw their victim slipping irrecoverably from their grasp.

Suddenly a shot rang out on the frosty air. Waughtauk, the chieftain, and the only one who had a rifle, came to a dead halt and fired point blank at the vanishing youth, hoping at least to disable him, so he would fall into their hands. Deerfoot heard the firing of the bullet, as it nipped his cheek, but he did not hasten his pace, because he was unable to do so, and no need existed. From the first he had done his best, and there was no room for an increase in the way of speed.

A third of a mile is soon traversed at such a rate of travel, and in a brief while Deerfoot approached the end of the Long Clearing. His swiftness was unabated, but, when he once more glanced around and saw that the whole seven Indians had given up the pursuit and were standing at varying distances from each other looking at him, he instantly slackened his pace.

Coming to a dead halt he faced about and, swinging his arms over his head, gave utterance to whoops and taunting exclamations.

"Have the Wyandots learned to run? Who is Waughtauk, that a youth of the Shawanoes should teach him to walk? Let the Wyandots go back to their lodges and tell their squaws that Deerfoot has taught them knowledge! Are the Wyandots tired that they must sit down and rest? Shall Deerfoot come back to them and show them what to do, when their enemies are around them?"

No more stinging taunts than these can be imagined, and the Wyandots felt their full force. They were silent, possibly because their tongue contained no words which could give suitable expression to their feelings.

Clearly it was idle to maintain the pursuit any longer, and the seven Wyandots, including Waughtauk the chieftain, stalked back toward the block-house, for the purpose of pressing the siege with more vigor than ever.

Up to this point they had in reality accomplished nothing toward the reduction of the place. They had lost several of their warriors, and Deerfoot, as they all agreed, would make all haste to Wild Oaks to procure help for the beleaguered garrison.

An individual capable of such speed as he, would reach the Ohio before nightfall; and, under the stress of necessity, the settlers would be at Fort Bridgman before the sun could cross the meridian on the morrow.

Such was the reasoning of Waughtauk, and all of his counsellors agreed with him. A brief while before they would not have believed it possible that help could be brought before the following night; but since the occurrence just described they were prepared to believe Deerfoot capable of doing almost anything.

The precise conversation between the maddened red men, of course, can never be known to the historian, and it is not desirable that it should be; but the parties concerned were so interested in the words that they were close to the stockade of the block-house before it was recalled that the long valuable bow taken from Deerfoot was left lying on the ground where the new owner threw it when ready to join in the chase.

This was too valuable a trophy to be lost, and the Wyandot immediately turned about and hastened toward the Long Clearing to recover it, while the others passed on to mingle with those who were striving so hard to encompass the destruction of the little party in the garrison.

The Indian who hurried back, it will be remembered, was the one that had struck Deerfoot when he was a captive. He had been the most cruel in his taunts, and his hatred of the youth seemed more malignant, if possible, than that of the others.

He ground his teeth together, as he dropped into a walk, and recalled the inimitable cleverness with which the young warrior outwitted them.

"Why did we not know the dog spoke with two tongues? Why did we not make sure he could not run? Why did not some of our warriors lie in the woods at the end of the Long Clearing to catch him, if he should escape us?"

"He is a dog – he is a traitor!" muttered the fierce Wyandot, approaching the spot where he had thrown the bow, "and he shall yet fall by my hand – "

He was about to stoop forward to pick up the weapon, when a slight exclamation caught his ear, and he straightened up like a flash.

Less than twenty feet distant stood Deerfoot the Shawanoe, quietly looking at him. Both had reached the spot on the same errand, and thus they met.

The youth had the advantage of detecting the other first, and, as a consequence, was prepared. In the language of the west, it would have been said, under similar circumstances, that Deerfoot "had the drop" on the other Indian.

The latter, as he looked up, saw that the hand of the youth grasped his tomahawk, which was held so far back of his hip that only a glimpse of its edge could be seen. The arm extended straight down so that it needed to be thrown upward and backward, before the formidable missile could be launched.

Fate seemed to favor Deerfoot that day; for not only had he escaped from a cruel death, but the being whom he hated above all others, and with an intensity which only a barbarian can feel, now stood before him.

There was no misunderstanding the situation on the part of either. The Wyandot would have resorted to any treachery to slay Deerfoot, and he was aware that Deerfoot knew it. He had inflicted indignities upon the young Shawanoe which nothing less than the grace of heaven will enable the North American Indian to forgive.

The two gazed fixedly at each other without speaking, and for a second or two neither stirred a muscle. Then, while the Wyandot centered his burning gaze upon the bronzed face before him, his right hand began slowly stealing up from his hip to his girdle. It was seeking the handle of his tomahawk, but, guarded as was the movement, the Shawanoe saw it.

So absolute was Deerfoot's faith in his own prowess and unequalled celerity that, knowing as he did the meaning of his enemy's action, he permitted the hand to touch the weapon, before he affected to notice it.

The instant the Wyandot griped the tough wooden handle, he snatched it forth with surprising quickness and threw his hand back over his head with the purpose of hurling it at the defiant youth.

But the latter was the quicker. His left hand made one lightning-like sweep, and the tomahawk shot from his grasp with the suddenness of the thunderbolt. Although the Wyandot threw his almost at the same instant, yet there was just enough difference in time to make one a success and the other a failure.

Deerfoot's weapon sped as direct as a rifle-ball, and clove the skull of the Wyandot as though it were card-paper. The tomahawk of the latter, which was in the act of leaving his hand, was so disarranged by the shock that it was thrown up in the air and fell at his feet, as he toppled over backwards, with a shriek which reached Waughtauk and his warriors, and whose meaning they knew too well.

Deerfoot advanced and recovered his tomahawk, that had done this terrible execution. Then he picked up his valued bow from the ground and examined it to make sure that it had suffered no injury.

He did not stoop to take the scalp of the dead warrior, who hoped so ardently a brief while before to capture his. The Shawanoe had never scalped a vanquished foe; but when he caught sight of several Wyandots hastening to the spot, he flourished his bow defiantly in the air, gave utterance to several taunting cries, and, turning his back upon them, plunged into the wilderness with such speed, as to render all thought of pursuit out of the question.

And as he sped like a hound on a trail, the face of Deerfoot the Shawanoe was turned toward the settlement of Wild Oaks on the far-away Ohio.

CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIERY ENEMY

Every one in the block-house, with the exception of the two little girls of Colonel Preston, was wide awake. The conviction was so strong that the crisis was at hand, that even Blossom Brown hunted out his young master Ned Preston, and placing himself by his side, said —

"I's awoke, suah's yo' bo'n."

"It is best that you keep awake too," replied Ned, "for it is a good deal better than to be awakened by fire and Indians."

"I can't understood why de Injines don't fight fair," said Blossom, with a tone of impatience; "we don't use fire on dem, and why can't dey do de same wid us? If I could talk de Injine language, I'd go down dar and try to argy de matter wid 'em; I'd show 'em de – de – onscrupulousness ob usin' de flames to burn us out. If we could only make 'em 'shamed, dat would be a big p'int gained."

"It is nonsense to think of anything like that, Blossom; the Wyandots are determined to burn down the block-house if there is any way to do it – "

He abruptly stopped, for the tramp of feet was heard outside, close to the front door. Megill and Stinger instantly fired down in the darkness, guided only by the sense of sound; but the cry that rang out on the snowy air, proved that execution was done.

Instantly there followed such a prodigious shock, from a blow against the door, that the whole building shook. Before the men could bring their guns to bear, the sound of rapidly running feet showed that the Indians had dropped their battering ram and hurried off in the darkness.

Almost at the same moment Mrs. Preston, who was peering through the loopholes on the eastern side, saw an Indian arrow, wrapped with blazing tow, shoot upward from the edge of the woods, and going slower and slower, as it curved over, sweep downward with a whizzing rush, and strike the roof overhead, with the same abrupt thud that had been heard several times.

It was followed immediately by a second from the same point, which seemed to take the same course, for it lodged very close beside it, and also held its place.

Then another flaming missile rose from the northern side, then from the south, and then from behind the river bank, with still others mounting from intervening points, until a beautiful and terrifying scene presented itself.

The blazing shafts followed each other in such rapid succession, that there were fully twenty ascending and descending at the same moment. These made all manner of fiery parabolas in the snowy atmosphere. One archer, who sent his missiles from the upper window of the cabin near the block-house, and another, who discharged his from behind the pickets close at hand, pointed them so nearly perpendicularly that they seemed to shoot downward almost directly through the fiery trail they made in their ascent. Others came from such distant points that their parabolas were lengthy, and they only rose a short distance above the block-house itself, before they plunged into the slabs of the roof.

These struck the latter at every possible angle, and with every imaginable result. In some cases the arrow was so warped in its flight that it took a path almost as erratic as that of the Australian boomerang. Impinging against the roof at an acute angle, it would glance far upward, and, turning over and over, come tumbling to the earth, where it flickered a minute and died out.

Others hit the planks, and, like a mountaineer among the rocks, who could not retain his hold, slid down the steep incline to the ground. Still others missed the building altogether, and, plunging their flinty heads in the earth, were quickly extinguished.

But the alarming fact remained that the majority of the flaming missiles found a lodgment in the roof, where they burned with a fierceness which showed they were an improvement on those first sent. One could not but wonder where the Wyandots obtained all these weapons: they must have started on the expedition with the expectation of using this peculiar mode of warfare.

The fiery shower lasted but a few minutes, but at the end of that time there were fully thirty shafts sticking in the roof and burning vigorously. Viewed from the outside the block-house looked like some vast monster whose hide was pierced with flaming spears, but who slumbered on in the darkness, unmindful of the pests.

This lavish distribution of fire showed that the ground was covered with a fine sprinkling of snow, which was still floating downward at an almost imperceptible rate. There was no such mantle on the roof. It was so smooth and steep that most of the particles ran downward and off. A thin tiny line of snow-points was continually pouring over the eaves, where the wind blew it to atoms again.

The twists of flame made the air about the cabin luminous, and the millions of snow-flakes twinkled and glistened with starlike brilliancy, as they came out of the darkness and fluttered in the glow for a moment, ere they vanished again.

Several of the burning arrows were fired against the sides of the block-house, where they flickered a brief while. These, added to the other missiles on the ground, threw a dull reflection through the loopholes, that enabled the garrison to see each other "as through a glass darkly."

Their figures were easily distinguishable, as they moved carefully about, and now and then the glimpse of a face was so ghastly and unnatural that it was hard to recognize it. Blossom Brown was the only one who was distinguishable at the first glance, and even he scarcely looked like himself.

One unusually strong reflection from an arrow that imbedded itself in a corner disclosed the faces of the little sisters Mary and Susie, sleeping beside each other, with the warm comfortable blankets drawn close about them.

Each had thrown her arm over the other, and their dimpled cheeks almost touched, as they slumbered sweetly and peacefully, secure in that trust in their heavenly Father, whom they had asked to take care of them and their friends, while the wicked Indians tried so hard to hurt them.

Taking advantage of the illumination, six or eight of the Wyandots fired at the loopholes thus made visible; but the garrison knew the danger and kept out of range.

The most alarming fact about the attack was the numerous burning arrows on the roof. Colonel Preston and Jo Stinger agreed that, after all, this was the most vulnerable point of the block-house, and it was more than likely to ignite, if only a moderate number of the fiery shafts could be made to hold their place a short time.

Although some of the snow found a lodgment under the overlapping slabs, there was not enough to affect the bits of flame that were burning in many places.

"This is bad business!" exclaimed the Colonel, "and must be checked at once."

As he had done in the previous instances the commandant drew a stool under the trap-door on one side of the roof, while Jo Stinger did the same on the other. When these were lifted a few inches, the sight which greeted them was enough to cause consternation. The light which entered the upper story through the opening thus made disclosed every object with great distinctness.

Jo Stinger saw that most of the coils of flame were not of a dangerous nature and would soon expire of themselves; but there were two or three that were gaining a headway that was likely to do alarming injury, unless checked.

"Be keerful, Colonel," said Jo, "the varmints are watching us, and you'll get a shot afore you know it."

The warning was none too soon. Several of the Wyandots were waiting a movement of the trap-door. They had stationed themselves in the upper story of the cabin, which gave them the necessary elevation, while the flaming missiles themselves afforded all the view required.

Two shots were fired at the slight gap made by the lifting of the covering, and the Colonel dropped it with a bang and an exclamation. But he quickly rallied and called into play some of the strategy he had learned during a long experience on the border.

The really dangerous shots (that is, those from the upper story of the cabin) must necessarily come from one side of the structure. The Colonel held a piece of planking so that it would act as a shield, and catch any of the bullets from that point. Grasping the stock of his rifle with one hand, he then stealthily reached out, and with much difficulty and labor managed to dislodge the most threatening brands in that direction.

This left only one in his "jurisdiction" which he really feared. With a skill that Jo Stinger could not restrain himself from praising, Colonel Preston managed to send this arrow with its fiery mane sliding down the roof, without receiving any harm, though more than one shot was fired at him.

Much the same task confronted Jo Stinger, and he performed it with the expertness that was to be expected of such a veteran; but when he had done all he could, there remained the most dangerous shaft of all. It had lodged in the very peak of the roof, near the southern end, which was the closest to the cabin that sheltered the Wyandots, and in direct range of their fire.

This was burning with a persistency which looked as if the tow had been soaked with some chemical, although such could not be the fact; but, having found a lodgment, there it stuck and grew, with every prospect of kindling a blaze that would soon spread to the entire roof and building.

Jo Stinger fortified himself as best he could, and took every precaution. Then, amid the dropping shots of the Wyandots, he carefully felt his way forward with his rifle, until he could not extend it an inch further: he still lacked more than a foot of reaching the dangerous spot.

The red men, who saw the failure, raised a shout, and the scout was compelled to draw back his weapon and muffled arm, without accomplishing anything toward the extinguishment of the blaze that threatened the destruction of the block-house and all within.

"You think 'cause Jo Stinger has played the fool, there's nothing left of his wit, but you'll soon larn he hasn't forgot everything he once knowed."

"Is it the only one that endangers the roof?" asked Colonel Preston, as Jo joined them.

"Yes; if we can get that out, the trouble is over for the present, though I don't know how long it will stay so."

"Suppose you cannot extinguish it?" asked Mrs. Preston.

"Then the block-house has got to burn."

This announcement caused dismay, for all felt that the few blunt words of the scout were the simple truth. They so affected Blossom Brown that he dropped back on a stool, and set up a howling that must have reached the ears of the Wyandots outside.

"It's all de fault ob dat Deerhead – I mean Deerfoot, dat was so orful anxious to run us into dis old place, when I told 'em it wasn't wise. I wanted to go back to Wild Oaks where I had some chores to do, but he obsisted, but took mighty good care to keep out de block-house hisself, as I took notice – "

Blossom Brown would have gone on for an indefinite time with his loud wailing, had not Stinger checked him by the threat to throw him out the trap-door upon the roof.

Afraid that his bluff answer to Mrs. Preston's question might have caused too much alarm, the scout added —

"If the varmints don't do any more than that, we're all right, for I'm going to put the blaze out."

"You know the risk," said Colonel Preston, apprehensive that Jo intended some effort that would expose him to extra peril.

"I reckon I do," was the response of the scout, who was the coolest one of the whole company.

The situation could not have been more trying to the bravest persons. In a manner almost unaccountable, a blaze had fastened itself in a point of the roof beyond the reach of those within. There it was burning and growing steadily, with the certainty that, unless checked pretty soon, it would be beyond control.