The Scouts of the Valley

Nor did their operations cease until they had supplied “The Alcove” plentifully with food, chiefly jerked deer meat, although there was no way in which they could store water, and for that they had to take their chances. But their success, the product of skill and everlasting caution, was really remarkable. Three times they were trapped within a few miles of “The Alcove,” but the pursuers invariably went astray on the hard, rocky ground, and the pursued would also take the precaution to swim down the creek before climbing up to “The Alcove.” Nobody could follow a trail in the face of such difficulties.

It was Henry and Shif’less Sol who were followed the second time, but they easily shook off their pursuers as the twilight was coming, half waded, half swam down the creek, and climbed up to “The Alcove,” where the others were waiting for them with cooked food and clear cold water. When they had eaten and were refreshed, Shif’less Sol sat at the mouth of “The Alcove,” where a pleasant breeze entered, despite the foliage that hid the entrance. The shiftless one was in an especially happy mood.

“It’s a pow’ful comf’table feelin’,” he said, “to set up in a nice safe place like this, an’ feel that the woods is full o’ ragin’ heathen, seekin’ to devour you, and wonderin’ whar you’ve gone to. Thar’s a heap in knowin’ how to pick your home. I’ve thought more than once ‘bout that old town, Troy, that Paul tells us ‘bout, an’ I’ve ‘bout made up my mind that it wuzn’t destroyed ‘cause Helen eat too many golden apples, but ‘cause old King Prime, or whoever built the place, put it down in a plain. That wuz shore a pow’ful foolish thing. Now, ef he’d built it on a mountain, with a steep fall-off on every side, thar wouldn’t hev been enough Greeks in all the earth to take it, considerin’ the miserable weepins they used in them times. Why, Hector could hev set tight on the walls, laughin’ at ‘em, ‘stead o’ goin’ out in the plain an’ gittin’ killed by A-killus, fur which I’ve always been sorry.”

“It’s ‘cause people nowadays have more sense than they did in them ancient times that Paul tells about,” said Long Jim. “Now, thar wuz ‘Lyssus, ten or twelve years gittin’ home from Troy. Allus runnin’ his ship on the rocks, hoppin’ into trouble with four-legged giants, one-eyed women, an’ sech like. Why didn’t he walk home through the woods, killin’ game on the way, an’ hevin’ the best time he ever knowed? Then thar wuz the keerlessness of A-killus’ ma, dippin’ him in that river so no arrow could enter him, but holdin’ him by the heel an’ keepin’ it out o’ the water, which caused his death the very first time Paris shot it off with his little bow an’ arrer. Why didn’t she hev sense enough to let the heel go under, too. She could hev dragged it out in two seconds an’ no harm done ‘ceptin’, perhaps, a little more yellin’ on the part of A-killus.”

“I’ve always thought Paul hez got mixed ‘bout that Paris story,” said Tom Ross. “I used to think Paris was the name uv a town, not a man, an’ I’m beginnin’ to think so ag’in, sence I’ve been in the East, ‘cause I know now that’s whar the French come from.”

“But Paris was the name of a man,” persisted Paul. “Maybe the French named their capital after the Paris of the Trojan wars.”

“Then they showed mighty poor jedgment,” said Shif’less Sol. “Ef I’d named my capital after any them old fellers, I’d have called it Hector.”

“You can have danger enough when you’re on the tops of hills,” said Henry, who was sitting near the mouth of the cave. “Come here, you fellows, and see what’s passing down the lake.”

They looked out, and in the moonlight saw six large war canoes being rowed slowly down the lake, which, though narrow, was quite long. Each canoe held about a dozen warriors, and Henry believed that one of them contained two white faces, evidently those of Braxton Wyatt and Walter Butler.

“Like ez not they’ve been lookin’ fur us,” said Tom Ross.

“Quite likely,” said Henry, “and at the same time they may be engaged in some general movement. See, they will pass within fifty feet of the base of the cliff.”

The five lay on the cave floor, looking through the vines and foliage, and they felt quite sure that they were in absolute security. The six long war canoes moved slowly. The moonlight came out more brightly, and flooded all the bronze faces of the Iroquois. Henry now saw that he was not mistaken, and that Braxton Wyatt and Walter Butler were really in the first boat. From the cover of the cliff he could have picked off either with a rifle bullet, and the temptation was powerful. But he knew that it would lead to an immediate siege, from which they might not escape, and which at least would check their activities and plans for a long time. Similar impulses flitted through the minds of the other four, but all kept still, although fingers flitted noiselessly along rifle stocks until they touched triggers.

The Iroquois war fleet moved slowly on, the two renegades never dreaming of the danger that had threatened them. An unusually bright ray of moonshine fell full upon Braxton Wyatt’s face as he paused, and Henry’s finger played with the trigger of his rifle. It was hard, very hard, to let such an opportunity go by, but it must be done.

The fleet moved steadily down the lake, the canoes keeping close together. They turned into mere dots upon the water, became smaller and smaller still, until they vanished in the darkness.

“I’m thinkin’,” said Shif’less Sol, “that thar’s some kind uv a movement on foot. While they may hev been lookin’ fur us, it ain’t likely that they’d send sixty warriors or so fur sech a purpose. I heard something three or four days ago from a hunter about an attack upon the Iroquois town of Oghwaga.”

“It’s most likely true,” said Henry, “and it seems to me that it’s our business to join that expedition. What do you fellows think?”

“Just as you do,” they replied with unanimity.

“Then we leave this place and start in the morning,” said Henry.

CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST BLOW

Summer was now waning, the foliage was taking on its autumn hues, and Indian war parties still surged over the hills and mountains, but the five avoided them all. On one or two occasions they would have been willing to stop and fight, but they had bigger work on hand. They had received from others confirmation of the report that Long Jim had heard from the hunters, and they were quite sure that a strong force was advancing to strike the first blow in revenge for Wyoming. Curiously enough, this body was commanded by a fourth Butler, Colonel William Butler, and according to report it was large and its leaders capable.

When the avenging force lay at the Johnstown settlement on the Delaware, it was joined by the five. They were introduced to the colonel by the celebrated scout and hunter, Tini Murphy, whom they had met several times in the woods, and they were received warmly.

“I’ve heard of you,” said Colonel Butler with much warmth, “both from hunters and scouts, and also from Adam Colfax. Two of you were to have been tomahawked by Queen Esther at Wyoming.”

Henry indicated the two.

“What you saw at Wyoming is not likely to decrease your zeal against the Indians and their white allies,” continued Colonel Butler.

“Anyone who was there,” said Henry, “would feel all his life, the desire to punish those who did it.”

“I think so, too, from all that I have heard,” continued Colonel Butler. “It is the business of you young men to keep ahead of our column and warn us of what lies before us. I believe you have volunteered for that duty.”

The five looked over Colonel Butler’s little army, which numbered only two hundred and fifty men, but they were all strong and brave, and it was the best force that could yet be sent to the harassed border. It might, after all, strike a blow for Wyoming if it marched into no ambush, and Henry and his comrades were resolved to guard it from that greatest of all dangers.

When the little column moved from the Johnstown settlement, the five were far ahead, passing through the woods, up the Susquehanna, toward the Indian villages that lay on its banks, though a great distance above Wyoming. The chief of these was Oghwaga, and, knowing that it was the destination of the little army, they were resolved to visit it, or at least come so near it that they could see what manner of place it was.

“If it’s a big village,” said Colonel Butler, “it will be too strong to attack, but it may be that most of the warriors are absent on expeditions.”

They had obtained before starting very careful descriptions of the approaches to the village, and toward the close of an October evening they knew that they were near Oghwaga, the great base of the Iroquois supplies. They considered it very risky and unwise to approach in the daytime, and accordingly they lay in the woods until the dark should come.

The appearance of the wilderness had changed greatly in the three months since Wyoming. All the green was now gone, and it was tinted red and yellow and brown. The skies were a mellow blue, and there was a slight haze over the forest, but the air had the wonderful crispness and freshness of the American autumn. It inspired every one of the five with fresh zeal and energy, because they believed the first blow was about to be struck.

About ten o’clock at night they approached Oghwaga, and the reports of its importance were confirmed. They had not before seen an Indian village with so many signs of permanence. They passed two or three orchards of apple and peach trees, and they saw other indications of cultivation like that of the white farmer.

“It ain’t a bad-lookin’ town,” said Long Jim Hart. “But it’ll look wuss,” said Shif’less Sol, “onless they’ve laid an ambush somewhar. I don’t like to see houses an’ sech like go up in fire an’ smoke, but after what wuz done at Wyomin’ an’ all through that valley, burnin’ is a light thing.”

“We’re bound to strike back with all our might,” said Paul, who had the softest heart of them all.

“Now, I wonder who’s in this here town,” said Tom Ross. “Mebbe Timmendiquas an’ Brant an’ all them renegades.”

“It may be so,” said Henry. “This is their base and store of supplies. Oh, if Colonel Butler were only here with all his men, what a rush we could make!”

So great was their eagerness that they crept closer to the village, passing among some thick clusters of grapevines. Henry was in the lead, and he heard a sudden snarl. A large cur of the kind that infest Indian villages leaped straight at him.

The very suddenness of the attack saved Henry and his comrades from the consequences of an alarm. He dropped his rifle instinctively, and seized the dog by the throat with both hands. A bark following the snarl had risen to the animal’s throat, but it was cut short there. The hands of the great youth pressed tighter and tighter, and the dog was lifted from the earth. The four stood quietly beside their comrade, knowing that no alarm would be made now.

The dog kicked convulsively, then hung without motion or noise. Henry cast the dead body aside, picked up his rifle, and then all five of them sank softly down in the shelter of the grapevines. About fifteen yards away an Indian warrior was walking cautiously along and looking among the vines. Evidently he had heard the snarl of the dog, and was seeking the cause. But it had been only a single sound, and he would not look far. Yet the hearts of the five beat a little faster as he prowled among the vines, and their nerves were tense for action should the need for it come.

The Indian, a Mohawk, came within ten yards of them, but he did not see the five figures among the vines, blending darkly with the dark growth, and presently, satisfied that the sound he had heard was of no importance, he walked in another direction, and passed out of sight.

The five, not daunted at all by this living proof of risk, crept to the very edge of the clusters of grapevines, and looked upon an open space, beyond which stood some houses made of wood; but their attention was centered upon a figure that stood in the open.

Although the distance was too great and the light too poor to disclose the features, every one of the scouts recognized the figure. It could be none other than that of Timmendiquas, the great White Lightning of the Wyandots. He was pacing back and forth, somewhat in the fashion of the white man, and his manner implied thought.

“I could bring him down from here with a bullet,” said Shif’less Sol, “but I ain’t ever goin’ to shoot at the chief, Henry.”

“No,” said Henry, “nor will I. But look, there’s another.”

A second figure came out of the dark and joined the first. It was also that of a chief, powerful and tall, though not as tall as Timmendiquas. It was Thayendanegea. Then three white figures appeared. One was that of Braxton Wyatt, and the others they took to be those of “Indian” Butler and his son, Walter Butler. After a talk of a minute or two they entered one of the wooden houses.

“It’s to be a conference of some kind,” whispered Henry. “I wish I could look in on it.”

“And I,” said the others together.

“Well, we know this much,” continued Henry. “No great force of the Iroquois is present, and if Colonel Butler’s men come up quickly, we can take the town.”

“It’s a chance not to be lost,” said Paul.

They crept slowly away from the village, not stopping until they reached the crest of a hill, from which they could see the roofs of two or three of the Indian houses.

“I’ve a feeling in me,” said Paul, “that the place is doomed. We’ll strike the first blow for Wyoming.”

They neither slept nor rested that night, but retraced their trail with the utmost speed toward the marching American force, going in Indian file through the wilderness. Henry, as usual, led; Shif’less Sol followed, then came Paul, and then Long Jim, while Silent Tom was the rear guard. They traveled at great speed, and, some time after daylight, met the advance of the colonial force under Captain William Gray.

William Gray was a gallant young officer, but he was startled a little when five figures as silent as phantoms appeared. But he uttered an exclamation of delight when he recognized the leader, Henry.

“What have you found?” he asked eagerly.

“We’ve been to Oghwaga,” replied the youth, “and we went all about the town. They do not suspect our coming. At least, they did not know when we left. We saw Brant, Timmendiquas, the Butlers, and Wyatt enter the house for a conference.”

“And now is our chance,” said eager young William Gray. “What if we should take the town, and with it these men, at one blow.”

“We can scarcely hope for as much as that,” said Henry, who knew that men like Timmendiquas and Thayendanegea were not likely to allow themselves to be seized by so small a force, “but we can hope for a good victory.”

The young captain rode quickly back to his comrades with the news, and, led by the five, the whole force pushed forward with all possible haste. William Gray was still sanguine of a surprise, but the young riflemen did not expect it. Indian sentinels were sure to be in the forest between them and Oghwaga. Yet they said nothing to dash this hope. Henry had already seen enough to know the immense value of enthusiasm, and the little army full of zeal would accomplish much if the chance came. Besides the young captain, William Gray, there was a lieutenant named Taylor, who had been in the battle at Wyoming, but who had escaped the massacre. The five had not met him there, but the common share in so great a tragedy proved a tie between them. Taylor’s name was Robert, but all the other officers, and some of the men for that matter, who had known him in childhood called him Bob. He was but little older than Henry, and his earlier youth, before removal to Wyoming, had been passed in Connecticut, a country that was to the colonials thickly populated and containing great towns, such as Hartford and New Haven.

A third close friend whom they soon found was a man unlike any other that they had ever seen. His name was Cornelius Heemskerk. Holland was his birthplace, but America was his nation. He was short and extremely fat, but he had an agility that amazed the five when they first saw it displayed. He talked much, and his words sounded like grumbles, but the unctuous tone and the smile that accompanied them indicated to the contrary. He formed for Shif’less Sol an inexhaustible and entertaining study in character.

“I ain’t quite seen his like afore,” said the shiftless one to Paul. “First time I run acrost him I thought he would tumble down among the first bushes he met. ‘Stead o’ that, he sailed right through ‘em, makin’ never a trip an’ no noise at all, same ez Long Jim’s teeth sinkin’ into a juicy venison steak.”

“I’ve heard tell,” said Long Jim, who also contemplated the prodigy, “that big, chunky, awkward-lookin’ things are sometimes ez spry ez you. They say that the Hipperpotamus kin outrun the giraffe across the sands uv Afriky, an’ I know from pussonal experience that the bigger an’ clumsier a b’ar is the faster he kin make you scoot fur your life. But he’s the real Dutch, ain’t he, Paul, one uv them fellers that licked the Spanish under the Duke uv Alivy an’ Belisarry?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Paul, who did not consider it necessary to correct Long Jim’s history, “and I’m willing to predict to you, Jim Hart, that Heemskerk will be a mighty good man in any fight that we may have.”

Heemskerk rolled up to them. He seemed to have a sort of circular motion like that of a revolving tube, but he kept pace with the others, nevertheless, and he showed no signs of exertion.

“Don’t you think it a funny thing that I, Cornelius Heemskerk, am here?” he said to Paul.

“Why so, Mr. Heemskerk?” replied Paul politely. “Because I am a Dutchman. I have the soul of an artist and the gentleness of a baby. I, Cornelius Heemskerk, should be in the goot leetle country of Holland in a goot leetle house, by the side of a goot leetle canal, painting beautiful blue china, dishes, plates, cups, saucers, all most beautiful, and here I am running through the woods of this vast America, carrying on my shoulder a rifle that is longer than I am, hunting the red Indian and hunted by him. Is it not most rediculous, Mynheer Paul?”

“I think you are here because you are a brave man, Mr. Heemskerk,” replied Paul, “and wish to see punishment inflicted upon those who have committed great crimes.”

“Not so! Not so!” replied the Dutchman with energy. “It is because I am one big fool. I am not really a big enough man to be as big a fool as I am, but so it is! so it is!” Shif’less Sol regarded him critically, and then spoke gravely and with deliberation: “It ain’t that, Mr. Heemskerk, an’ Paul ain’t told quite all the truth, either. I’ve heard that the Dutch was the most powerfullest fightin’ leetle nation on the globe; that all you had to do wuz to step on the toe uv a Dutchman’s wooden shoe, an’ all the men, women, an’ children in Holland would jump right on top o’ you all at once. Lookin’ you up an’ lookin’ you down, an’ sizin’ you up, an’ sizin you down, all purty careful, an’ examinin’ the corners O’ your eyes oncommon close, an’ also lookin’ at the way you set your feet when you walk, I’m concludin’ that you just natcherally love a fight, an’ that you are lookin’ fur one.”

But Cornelius Heemskerk sighed, and shook his head.

“It is flattery that you give me, and you are trying to make me brave when I am not,” he said. “I only say once more that I ought to be in Holland painting blue plates, and not here in the great woods holding on to my scalp, first with one hand and then with the other.”

He sighed deeply, but Solomon Hyde, reader of the hearts of men, only laughed.

Colonel Butler’s force stopped about three o’clock for food and a little rest, and the five, who had not slept since the night before, caught a few winks. But in less than an hour they were up and away again. The five riflemen were once more well in advance, and with them were Taylor and Heemskerk, the Dutchman, grumbling over their speed, but revolving along, nevertheless, with astonishing ease and without any sign of fatigue. They discovered no indications of Indian scouts or trails, and as the village now was not many miles away, it confirmed Henry in his belief that the Iroquois, with their friends, the Wyandots, would not stay to give battle. If Thayendanegea and Timmendiquas were prepared for a strong resistance, the bullets of the skirmishers would already be whistling through the woods.

The waning evening grew colder, twilight came, and the autumn leaves fell fast before the rising wind. The promise of the night was dark, which was not bad for their design, and once more the five-now the seven approached Oghwaga. From the crest of the very same hill they looked down once more upon the Indian houses.

“It is a great base for the Iroquois,” said Henry to Heemskerk, “and whether the Indians have laid an ambush or not, Colonel Butler must attack.”

“Ah,” said Heemskerk, silently moving his round body to a little higher point for a better view, “now I feel in all its fullness the truth that I should be back in Holland, painting blue plates.”

Nevertheless, Cornelius Heemskerk made a very accurate survey of the Iroquois village, considering the distance and the brevity of the time, and when the party went back to Colonel Butler to tell him the way was open, he revolved along as swiftly as any of them. There were also many serious thoughts in the back of his head.

At nine o’clock the little colonial force was within half a mile of Oghwaga, and nothing had yet occurred to disclose whether the Iroquois knew of their advance. Henry and his comrades, well in front, looked down upon the town, but saw nothing. No light came from an Indian chimney, nor did any dog howl. Just behind them were the troops in loose order, Colonel Butler impatiently striking his booted leg with a switch, and William Gray seeking to restrain his ardor, that he might set a good example to the men.

“What do you think, Mr. Ware?” asked Colonel Butler.

“I think we ought to rush the town at once.”

“It is so!” exclaimed Heemskerk, forgetting all about painting blue plates.

“The signal is the trumpet; you blow it, Captain Gray, and then we’ll charge.”

William Gray took the trumpet from one of the men and blew a long, thrilling note. Before its last echo was ended, the little army rushed upon the town. Three or four shots came from the houses, and the soldiers fired a few at random in return, but that was all. Indian scouts had brought warning of the white advance, and the great chiefs, gathering up all the people who were in the village, had fled. A retreating warrior or two had fired the shots, but when the white men entered this important Iroquois stronghold they did not find a single human being. Timmendiquas, the White Lightning of the Wyandots, was gone; Thayendanegea, the real head of the Six Nations, had slipped away; and with them had vanished the renegades. But they had gone in haste. All around them were the evidences. The houses, built of wood, were scores in number, and many of them contained furniture such as a prosperous white man of the border would buy for himself. There were gardens and shade trees about these, and back of them, barns, many of them filled with Indian corn. Farther on were clusters of bark lodges, which had been inhabited by the less progressive of the Iroquois.

Henry stood in the center of the town and looked at the houses misty in the moonlight. The army had not yet made much noise, but he was beginning to hear behind him the ominous word, “Wyoming,” repeated more than once. Cornelius Heemskerk had stopped revolving, and, standing beside Henry, wiped his perspiring, red face.

“Now that I am here, I think again of the blue plates of Holland, Mr. Ware,” he said. “It is a dark and sanguinary time. The men whose brethren were scalped or burned alive at Wyoming will not now spare the town of those who did it. In this wilderness they give blow for blow, or perish.”

Henry knew that it was true, but he felt a certain sadness. His heart had been inflamed against the Iroquois, he could never forget Wyoming or its horrors; but in the destruction of an ancient town the long labor of man perished, and it seemed waste. Doubtless a dozen generations of Iroquois children had played here on the grass. He walked toward the northern end of the village, and saw fields there from which recent corn had been taken, but behind him the cry, “Wyoming!” was repeated louder and oftener now. Then he saw men running here and there with torches, and presently smoke and flame burst from the houses. He examined the fields and forest for a little distance to see if any ambushed foe might still lie among them, but all the while the flame and smoke behind him were rising higher.