Marching on Niagara/Chapter 4
CHAPTER IV
BURNING OF THE CABIN
It was not long before the two young hunters heard the Indians quite plainly. Evidently the red-men did not deem it necessary to advance with more than ordinary caution for they conversed with each other in a low tone, to which Dave and Henry listened with interest, although they could understand little of what was said.
Presently one warrior took up a position in front of the crevice and not over five yards from where the youths lay concealed. Evidently he was listening for some sound from them, and they hardly dared to breathe. As might be expected Dave at that instant felt a strong inclination to sneeze, but he suppressed the desire, although almost bursting a blood vessel in consequence.
Soon another Indian came up and then a third. A talk lasting several minutes followed, and one warrior started to light a torch. But the others stopped this, fearing it might draw the fire of the whites. Then one redman shifted to the right, another to the left, while a third crawled up over the rocks and through the bushes growing above the opening.
By the time the Indians were out of hearing, and they dared to breathe more freely, the darkness of night had settled heavily and high overhead the stars came peeping forth one by one. They waited a little longer and then Henry caught Dave by the arm.
"What do you think?" he whispered. "Are they gone?"
"I think so," returned the younger lad. "But there is no telling when they will be back. Still I reckon we had better get out of here."
"I agree. But we can't take the course we were following. I think the best we can do is to turn further to the left and strike Risley's from the west," added Henry.
Dave was willing, and as cautiously as possible they climbed back out of the crevice the way they had come. Just as Dave was about to step into the clearing a sudden whirr of noise caused him to jerk back.
"What's that?" came quickly from his cousin.
"Some wild animal," was the answer after a pause.
"Did it attack you?"
"No, but it came pretty close. I thought first it was an Indian leaping up out of the grass."
They moved off, side by side, and each with his gun ready for use. As Henry was the hunter of the Morris family and knew the forest better than anyone, Dave allowed him to do such guiding as seemed necessary. They pursued their course over one rise and then another, and after that followed the windings of a tiny brook which Henry said ran to within gun-shot of the Risley homestead.
They were just making a bend of the watercourse when another wild animal started up directly under Henry's feet. It was a fox resting in a hollow log, and in its anxiety to get away the animal struck against Dave's legs, upsetting him.
"Oh!" cried Dave as he went down. "Help! shoot him!"
"It's a fox!" ejaculated Henry, and as the animal shot past him he made a dive and caught the beast by the brush. The fox gave a snarl and tried to bite him, but ere the head came around the young hunter swung the fox in a circle and brought him down with a dull thud on the log. The first blow was followed by another, which crushed the beast's skull as though it were an egg-shell.
"There! he'll never bother anybody again," said Henry, as he threw the beast down. "Wish I had time to skin him. But we had better not lose a minute."
"Henry, you're a wonder of a hunter!" burst out Dave. "I don't believe I could have done that. It was much better than shooting him, for it saved powder and saved making a noise too."
"Sam Barringford taught me that trick—although not on a fox. I once saw him hammer the life out of a limping wolf that way, and he often catches up snakes by the tail and snaps their heads off, whip fashion."
Leaving the fox where it had fallen, they coninued on their way along the stream until a tiny clearing was gained. Beyond this was a belt of tall and heavy timber, which, on the opposite side, marked the boundary of Uriah Risley's new land claim, one he had obtained, through Colonel Washington, from old Lord Fairfax, who still resided at Greenway Court.
"I see a light!" said Dave, as they stopped on the edge of the timber. "Look!"
Henry did so. It was a small blaze, apparently, and in the direction where stood Risley's cabin.
"Can that be an Indian camp-fire?" went on the younger hunter.
"I don't think so, Dave. It's worse than that."
"Worse? Oh, Henry, do you think it is Risley's cabin that is burning?"
"Just what I do think. See, the flame is growing brighter. Either it's the cabin or that cattle shed he has been building. Come on; we'll soon know."
Henry now set off on a run through the timber, picking the way with all the skill of an old frontiersman. Dave kept close behind his cousin. As they advanced they saw the fire more plainly and beheld it spread out and mount further skyward. It was Uriah Risley's cabin beyond a doubt, and now the new cattle shed had caught and was also being consumed by the devouring element.
"This is the work of the redskins," panted Henry, as they leaped over rough rocks and tore their way through a clump of saplings. "And it proves beyond a doubt that they are on the war-path."
While he was speaking a gun-shot sounded out, coming from a great distance. Another report followed and then all became as silent as before.
"That must be Risley, or somebody else, fighting the Indians off," said Dave. "We'll have to be careful or we'll run into a trap."
"Keep in the timber," answered Henry. "For all we know there may be a hundred redskins in this vicinity. Hark! They are around the cabin sure enough."
They listened and amid the crackling of the flames they now heard the whooping and yelling of a score of Indians, while the flickering glare showed to them the dusky forms moving in one direction and another. Some of the Indians had found a demijohn of liquor belonging to the Englishman and were gulping this down in great glee, while others paraded around with various spoils of war in their hands.
"I'd like to give 'em a shot—they deserve it," muttered Dave.
"Don't you do it," interposed Henry, hastily. "They'd be on us like a wind-fall."
"What do you suppose has become of Mr. Risley and his wife?"
"Heaven alone knows, Dave. I trust they have escaped."
"If that was Mr. Risley shooting, do you suppose his wife is with him?"
"There is no telling. Perhaps he wasn't home when the Indians came up. If that's so then Mrs. Risley is either dead or a prisoner."
"Was she alone?"
"I think so—at least I didn't hear of anybody going over lately."
"I wonder if we can't get a bit closer without being seen? Perhaps we can learn something to our advantage."
"We might skirt the timber a bit. But be careful, and if the Indians come for us we had better run without stopping to fire,—unless, of course, they get too close," added Henry.
Once again he led the way, slowly and cautiously, flitting from one tree to another in absolute silence. The fire was now at its height, lighting up the sky for a long distance around. The sparks were blowing in their direction, but the light fall of snow had wet the trees and brushwood, so no harm was done.
Presently they found themselves again close to the brook, which at this point crossed a garden patch that Uriah Risley had gotten into shape the season before. At the side of the brook was a roughly constructed milk-house, made of large stones for walls and untrimmed timbers for a roof. Behind this the boys crouched, to take another view of what was going on in the center of the clearing.
The Indians who had been drinking from the demijohn were growing hilarious and their wild whooping could be heard for a long distance. At the start of the fire some furniture had been hauled forth, a chest of drawers and a bureau, and now some of the redmen set to work to break open both articles, to see what they contained.
"They are after everything of value they can lay hands on," muttered Dave. "What a shame! Do you see anything of?"
The young hunter broke off short, for at that instant came a low moan of pain from the interior of the milk-house.
"Are you—you white people!" came in a gasp. "If you are, for the love of heaven—sa—save me!"
"It's Mrs. Risley!" burst out Dave, for he remembered that voice well. He raised his head up to a crack in the rude planking. "Mrs. Risley, are you alone?" he questioned. "It is I, Dave Morris, who is speaking."
"Dave Morris!" A groan followed. "Oh, Davy, lad, save me, won't you? I am almost dead!"
"I'll do what I can for you, Mrs. Risley. My cousin Henry is with me. We were out hunting when the Indians almost captured us. The woods are full of them. Is Mr. Risley around?"
"No, he went to Will's Creek on business. I saw the Indians coming and I tried to run away. But they shot at me with their arrows and one passed through my left shoulder. Then I pretended to go into the house and hide, and when they came in I leaped through a back window and ran for this place. I got into the water up to my shoulders and pulled a bit of a board over my head, to keep out of sight. They came down here and I thought sure they'd find me, but they did not. But I am nearly perished with the cold, and the wound from the arrow has made me very faint. You will help me, won't you?"
"To be sure we'll help you," put in Henry. "But all we can do at present is to lead you into the woods, and you can have my dry jacket if you want it. We had better start directly for our house."
"I see a glare of a fire. Have they—they?" The poor woman could not finish.
"Yes, I am sorry to say the cabin is about burnt up," said Dave. "But come, if your husband isn't around, we had better not waste time here. We may be needed at home. It may be just as bad there, you know."
Both of the young hunters crawled around to the milk-house door and went inside. The board was quickly raised and they helped Mrs. Risley from the watery hole in which she had been squatting with her chin resting on her knees. She was so chilled and stiff, and so weak from her wound, she could scarcely stand, and they had literally to carry her into the timber whence they had come.