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Frank R. Stockton - "Rudder Grange"

Gaston Leroux - "The Phantom of the Opera"

Honore de Balzac - "A Prince of Bohemia"

Booth Tarkington - "Penrod and Sam"

The Scouts of the Valley

J >> Joseph A. Altsheler >> The Scouts of the Valley




It was a grim reply, but it was unanswerable, and Standish
recognized the fact. His wife had felt the truth in the tones of
the strangers, and was begging him to go. Their children were
crying at visions of the tomahawk and scalping knife now so near.

"We'll go," said Standish. "At any rate, it can't do any harm.
We'll get a few things together."

"Do not wait for anything! "exclaimed Henry. "You haven't a
minute to spare! Here are more blankets! Take them and run for
the boat! Sol and Jim, see them on board, and then come back!"

Carried away by such fire and earnestness, Standish and his
family ran for the boat. Jim and the shiftless one almost threw
them on board, thrust a pair of oars into the bands of Standish,
another into the hands of his wife, and then told them to pull
with all their might for the fort.

"And you," cried Standish, "what becomes of you?"

Then a singular expression passed over his face-he had guessed
Henry's plan.

"Don't you trouble about us," said the shiftless one. "We will
come later. Now pull! pull!"

Standish and his wife swung on the oars, and in two minutes the
boat and its occupants were lost in the darkness. Tom Ross and
Sol did not pause to watch them, but ran swiftly back to the
house. Henry was at the door.

"Come in," he said briefly, and they entered. Then he closed the
door and dropped the bar into place. Shif'less Sol and Paul were
already inside, one sitting on the chair and the other on the
edge of the bed. Some coals, almost hidden under ashes,
smoldered and cast a faint light in the room, the only one that
the house had, although it was divided into two parts by a rough
homespun curtain. Henry opened one of the window shutters a
little and looked out. The dawn had not yet come, but it was not
a dark night, and he looked over across the little clearing to
the trees beyond. On that side was a tiny garden, and near the
wall of the house some roses were blooming. He could see the
glow of pink and red. But no enemy bad yet approached.
Searching the clearing carefully with those eyes of his, almost
preternaturally keen, he was confident that the Indians were
still in the woods. He felt an intense thrill of satisfaction at
the success of his plan so far.

He was not cruel, he never rejoiced in bloodshed, but the
borderer alone knew what the border suffered, and only those who
never saw or felt the torture could turn the other cheek to be
smitten. The Standish house had made a sudden and ominous change
of tenants.

"It will soon be day," said Henry, "and farmers are early risers.
Kindle up that fire a little, will you, Sol? I want some smoke
to come out of the chimney."

The shiftless one raked away the ashes, and put on two or three
pieces of wood that lay on the hearth. Little flames and smoke
arose. Henry looked curiously about the house. It was the usual
cabin of the frontier, although somewhat larger. The bed on
which Shif'less Sol sat was evidently that of the father and
mother, while two large ones behind the curtain were used by the
children. On the shelf stood a pail half full of drinking water,
and by the side of it a tin cup. Dried herbs hung over the
fireplace, and two or three chests stood in the corners. The
clothing of the children was scattered about. Unprepared food
for breakfast stood on a table. Everything told of a hasty
flight and its terrible need. Henry was already resolved, but
his heart hardened within him as he saw.

He took the hatchet from his belt and cut one of the hooks for
the door bar nearly in two. The others said not a word. They
had no need to speak. They understood everything that he did.
He opened the window again and looked out. Nothing yet appeared.
"The dawn will come in three quarters of an hour," he said, "and
we shall not have to wait long for what we want to do."

He sat down facing the door. All the others were sitting, and
they, too, faced the door. Everyone had his rifle across his
knees, with one hand upon the hammer. The wood on the hearth
sputtered as the fire spread, and the flames grew. Beyond a
doubt a thin spire of smoke was rising from the chimney, and a
watching eye would see this sign of a peaceful and unsuspecting
mind.

"I hope Braxton Wyatt will be the first to knock at our door,"
said Shif'less Sol.

"I wouldn't be sorry," said Henry.

Paul was sitting in a chair near the fire, and he said nothing.
He hoped the waiting would be very short. The light was
sufficient for him to see the faces of his comrades, and he
noticed that they were all very tense. This was no common watch
that they kept. Shif'less Sol remained on the bed, Henry sat on
another of the chairs, Tom Ross was on one of the chests with his
back to the wall. Long Jim was near the curtain. Close by Paul
was a home-made cradle. He put down his hand and touched it. He
was glad that it was empty now, but the sight of it steeled his
heart anew for the task that lay before them.

Ten silent minutes passed, and Henry went to the window again.
He did not open it, but there was a crack through which he could
see. The others said nothing, but watched his face. When he
turned away they knew that the moment was at hand.

"They've just come from the woods," he said, "and in a minute
they'll be at the door. Now, boys, take one last look at your
rifles."

A minute later there was a sudden sharp knock at the door, but no
answer came from within. The knock was repeated, sharper and
louder, and Henry, altering his voice as much as possible,
exclaimed like one suddenly awakened from sleep:

"Who is it? What do you want?"

Back came a voice which Henry knew to be that of Braxton Wyatt:

"We've come from farther up the valley. We're scouts, we've been
up to the Indian country. We're half starved. Open and give us
food!"

"I don't believe you," replied Henry. "Honest people don't
come to my door at this time in the morning."

Then ensued a few moments of silence, although Paul, with his
vivid fancy, thought he heard whispering on the other side of the
door.

"Open!" cried Wyatt, "or we'll break your door down!" Henry said
nothing, nor did any of the others. They did not stir. The fire
crackled a little, but there was no other sound in the Standish
house. Presently they heard a slight noise outside, that of
light feet.

"They are going for a log with which to break the door in,"
whispered Henry. "They won't have to look far. The wood pile
isn't fifty feet away."

"An' then," said Shif'less Sol, "they won't have much left to do
but to take the scalps of women an' little children."

Every figure in the Standish house stiffened at the shiftless
one's significant words, and the light in the eyes grew sterner.
Henry went to the door, put his ear to the line where it joined
the wall, and listened.

"They've got their log," he said, "and in half a minute they'll
rush it against the door."

He came back to his old position. Paul's heart began to thump,
and his thumb fitted itself over the trigger of his cocked rifle.
Then they heard rapid feet, a smash, a crash, and the door flew
open. A half dozen Iroquois and a log that they held between
them were hurled into the middle of the room. The door had given
away so easily and unexpectedly that the warriors could not check
themselves, and two or three fell with the log. But they sprang
like cats to their feet, and with their comrades uttered a cry
that filled the whole cabin with its terrible sound and import.

The Iroquois, keen of eyes and quick of mind, saw the trap at
once. The five grim figures, rifle in hand and finger on
trigger, all waiting silent and motionless were far different
from what they expected. Here could be no scalps, with the long,
silky hair of women and children.

There was a moment's pause, and then the Indians rushed at their
foes. Five fingers pulled triggers, flame leaped from five
muzzles, and in an instant the cabin was filled with smoke and
war shouts, but the warriors never had a chance. They could only
strike blindly with their tomahawks, and in a half minute three
of them, two wounded, rushed through the door and fled to the
woods. They had been preceded already by Braxton Wyatt, who had
hung back craftily while the Iroquois broke down the door.




CHAPTER IX

WYOMING


The five made no attempt to pursue. In fact, they did not leave
the cabin, but stood there a while, looking down at the fallen,
hideous with war paint, but now at the end of their last trail.
Their tomahawks lay upon the floor, and glittered when the light
from the fire fell upon them. Smoke, heavy with the odor of
burned gunpowder, drifted about the room.

Henry threw open the two shuttered windows, and fresh currents of
air poured into the room. Over the mountains in the east came
the first shaft of day. The surface of the river was lightening.

"What shall we do with them?" asked Paul, pointing to the silent
forms on the floor.

"Leave them," said Henry. "Butler's army is burning everything
before it, and this house and all in it is bound to go. You
notice, however, that Braxton Wyatt is not here."

"Trust him to escape every time," said Shif'less Sol. "Of course
he stood back while the Indians rushed the house. But ez shore
ez we live somebody will get him some day. People like that
can't escape always."

They slipped from the house, turning toward the river bank, and
not long after it was full daylight they were at Forty Fort
again, where they found Standish and his family. Henry replied
briefly to the man's questions, but two hours later a scout came
in and reported the grim sight that he had seen in the Standish
home. No one could ask for further proof of the fealty of the
five, who sought a little sleep, but before noon were off again.

They met more fugitives, and it was now too dangerous to go
farther up the valley. But not willing to turn back, they
ascended the mountains that hem it in, and from the loftiest
point that they could find sought a sight of the enemy.

It was an absolutely brilliant day in summer. The blue of the
heavens showed no break but the shifting bits of white cloud, and
the hills and mountains rolled away, solid masses of rich, dark
green. The river, a beautiful river at any time, seemed from
this height a great current of quicksilver. Henry pointed to a
place far up the stream where black dots appeared on its surface.
These dots were moving, and they came on in four lines.

"Boys," he said, "you know what those lines of black dots are?"

"Yes," replied Shif'less Sol, "it's Butler's army of Indians,
Tories, Canadians, an' English. They've come from Tioga Point on
the river, an' our Colonel Butler kin expect 'em soon."

The sunlight became dazzling, and showed the boats, despite the
distance, with startling clearness. The five, watching from
their peak, saw them turn in toward the land, where they poured
forth a motley stream of red men and white, a stream that was
quickly swallowed up in the forest.

"They are coming down through the woods on the fort, said Tom
Ross.

"And they're coming fast," said Henry. "It's for us to carry the
warning."

They sped back to the Wyoming fort, spreading the alarm as they
passed, and once more they were in the council room with Colonel
Zebulon Butler and his officers around him.

"So they are at hand, and you have seen them?" said the colonel.

"Yes," replied Henry, the spokesman, "they came down from Tioga
Point in boats, but have disembarked and are advancing through
the woods. They will be here today."

There was a little silence in the room. The older men understood
the danger perhaps better than the younger, who were eager for
battle.

"Why should we stay here and wait for them?" exclaimed one of the
younger captains at length-some of these captains were mere boys.
"Why not go out, meet them, and beat them ?"

"They outnumber us about five to one," said Henry. "Brant, if he
is still with them, though be may have gone to some other place
from Tioga Point, is a great captain. So is Timmendiquas, the
Wyandot, and they say that the Tory leader is energetic and
capable."

"It is all true!" exclaimed Colonel Butler. "We must stay in the
fort! We must not go out to meet them! We are not strong
enough!"

A murmur of protest and indignation came from the younger
officers.

"And leave the valley to be ravaged! Women and children to be
scalped, while we stay behind log walls!" said one of them
boldly.

The men in the Wyoming fort were not regular troops, merely
militia, farmers gathered hastily for their own defense.

Colonel Butler flushed.

"We have induced as many as we could to seek refuge," he said.
"It hurts me as much as you to have the valley ravaged while we
sit quiet here. But I know that we have no chance against so
large a force, and if we fall what is to become of the hundreds
whom we now protect?"

But the murmur of protest grew. All the younger men were
indignant. They would not seek shelter for themselves while
others were suffering. A young lieutenant saw from a window two
fires spring up and burn like torch lights against the sky. They
were houses blazing before the Indian brand.

"Look at that!," he cried, pointing with an accusing finger, "and
we are here, under cover, doing nothing!"

A deep angry mutter went about the room, but Colonel Butler,
although the flush remained on his face, still shook his head.
He glanced at Tom Ross, the oldest of the five.

"You know about the Indian force," he exclaimed. What should we
do?"

The face of Tom Ross was very grave, and he spoke slowly, as was
his wont.

"It's a hard thing to set here," he exclaimed, "but it will be
harder to go out an' meet 'em on their own ground, an' them four
or five to one."

"We must not go out," repeated the Colonel, glad of such backing.

The door was thrust open, and an officer entered.

"A rumor has just arrived, saying that the entire Davidson family
has been killed and scalped," he said.

A deep, angry cry went up. Colonel Butler and the few who stood
with him were overborne. Such things as these could not be
endured, and reluctantly the commander gave his consent. They
would go out and fight. The fort and its enclosures were soon
filled with the sounds of preparation, and the little army was
formed rapidly.

"We will fight by your side, of course," said Henry, "but we
wish to serve on the flank as an independent band. We can be of
more service in that manner."

The colonel thanked them gratefully.

"Act as you think best," he said.

The five stood near one of the gates, while the little force
formed in ranks. Almost for the first time they were gloomy upon
going into battle. They had seen the strength of that army of
Indians, renegades, Tories, Canadians, and English advancing
under the banner of England, and they knew the power and
fanaticism of the Indian leaders. They believed that the
terrible Queen Esther, tomahawk in hand, had continually chanted
to them her songs of blood as they came down the river. It was
now the third of July, and valley and river were beautiful in the
golden sunlight. The foliage showed vivid and deep green on
either line of high hills. The summer sun had never shown more
kindly over the lovely valley.

The time was now three o'clock. The gates of the fort were
thrown open, and the little army marched out, only three hundred,
of whom seventy were old men, or boys so young that in our day
they would be called children. Yet they marched bravely against
the picked warriors of the Iroquois, trained from infancy to the
forest and war, and a formidable body of white rovers who wished
to destroy the little colony of "rebels," as they called them.

Small though it might be, it was a gallant army. Young and old
held their heads high. A banner was flying, and a boy beat a
steady insistent roll upon a drum. Henry and his comrades were
on the left flank, the river was on the right. The great gates
had closed behind them, shutting in the women and the children.
The sun blazed down, throwing everything into relief with its
intense, vivid light playing upon the brown faces of the
borderers, their rifles and their homespun clothes. Colonel
Butler and two or three of his officers were on horseback,
leading the van. Now that the decision was to fight, the older
officers, who had opposed it, were in the very front. Forward
they went, and spread out a little, but with the right flank
still resting on the river, and the left extended on the plain.

The five were on the edge of the plain, a little detached from
the others, searching the forest for a sign of the enemy, who was
already so near. Their gloom did not decrease. Neither the
rolling of the drum nor the flaunting of the banner had any
effect. Brave though the men might be, this was not the way in
which they should meet an Indian foe who outnumbered them four or
five to one.

"I don't like it," muttered Tom Ross.

"Nor ' do I," said Henry, "but remember that whatever happens we
all stand together."

"We remember!" said the others.

On-they went, and the five moving faster were now ahead of the
main force some hundred yards. They swung in a little toward the
river. The banks here were highland off to the left was a large
swamp. The five now checked speed and moved with great wariness.
They saw nothing, and they heard nothing, either, until they went
forty or fifty yards farther. Then a low droning sound came to
their ears. It was the voice of one yet far away, but they knew
it. It was the terrible chant of Queen Esther, in this moment
the most ruthless of all the savages, and inflaming them
continuously for the combat.

The five threw themselves flat on their faces, and waited a
little. The chant grew louder, and then through the foliage they
saw the ominous figure approaching. She was much as she had been
on that night when they first beheld her. She wore the same
dress of barbaric colors, she swung the same great tomahawk about
her head, and sang all the time of fire and blood and death.

They saw behind her the figures of chiefs, naked to the breech
cloth for battle, their bronze bodies glistening with the war
paint, and bright feathers gleaming in their hair. Henry
recognized the tall form of Timmendiquas, notable by his height,
and around him his little band of Wyandots, ready to prove
themselves mighty warriors to their eastern friends the Iroquois.
Back of these was a long line of Indians and their white allies,
Sir John Johnson's Royal Greens and Butler's Rangers in the
center, bearing the flag of England. The warriors, of whom the
Senecas were most numerous, were gathered in greatest numbers on
their right flank, facing the left flank of the Americans.
Sangerachte and Hiokatoo, who had taken two English prisoners at
Braddock's defeat, and who had afterwards burned them both alive
with his own hand, were the principal leaders of the Senecas.
Henry caught a glimpse of "Indian" Butler in the center, with a
great blood-red handkerchief tied around his head, and, despite
the forest, he noticed with a great sinking of the heart how far
the hostile line extended. It could wrap itself like a python
around the defense.

"It's a tale that will soon be told," said Paul.

They went back swiftly, and warned Colonel Butler that the enemy
was at band. Even as they spoke they heard the loud wailing
chant of Queen Esther, and then came the war whoop, pouring from
a thousand throats, swelling defiant and fierce like the cry of a
wounded beast. The farmers, the boys, and the old men, most of
whom had never been in battle, might well tremble at this ominous
sound, so great in volume and extending so far into the forest.
But they stood firm, drawing themselves into a somewhat more
compact body, and still advancing with their banners flying, and
the boy beating out that steady roll on the drum.

The enemy now came into full sight, and Colonel Butler deployed
his force in line of battle, his right resting on the high bank
of the river and his left against the swamp. Forward pressed the
motley army of the other Butler, he of sanguinary and cruel fame,
and the bulk of his force came into view, the sun shining down on
the green uniforms of the English and the naked brown bodies of
the Iroquois.

The American commander gave the order to fire. Eager fingers
were already on the trigger, and a blaze of light ran along the
entire rank. The Royal Greens and Rangers, although replying
with their own fire, gave back before the storm of bullets, and
the Wyoming men, with a shout of triumph, sprang forward. It was
always a characteristic of the border settler, despite many
disasters and a knowledge of Indian craft and cunning, to rush
straight at his foe whenever he saw him. His, unless a trained
forest warrior himself, was a headlong bravery, and now this
gallant little force asked for nothing but to come to close grips
with the enemy.

The men in the center with "Indian" Butler gave back still more.
With cries of victory the Wyoming men pressed forward, firing
rapidly, and continuing to drive the mongrel white force. The
rifles were cracking rapidly, and smoke arose over the two lines.
The wind caught wisps of it and carried them off down the river.

"It goes better than I thought," said Paul as he reloaded his
rifle.

"Not yet," said Henry, "we are fighting the white men only.
Where are all the Indians, who alone outnumber our men more than
two to one?"

"Here they come," said Shif'less Sol, pointing to the depths of
the swamp, which was supposed to protect the left flank of the
Wyoming force.

The five saw in the spaces, amid the briars and vines, scores of
dark figures leaping over the mud, naked to the breech cloth,
armed with rifle and tomahawk, and rushing down upon the
unprotected side of their foe. The swamp had been but little
obstacle to them.

Henry and his comrades gave the alarm at once. As many as
possible were called off immediately from the main body, but they
were not numerous enough to have any effect. The Indians came
through the swamp in hundreds and hundreds, and, as they uttered
their triumphant yell, poured a terrible fire into the Wyoming
left flank. The defenders were forced to give ground, and the
English and Tories came on again.

The fire was now deadly and of great volume. The air was filled
with the flashing of the rifles. The cloud of smoke grew
heavier, and faces, either from heat or excitement, showed red
through it. The air was filled with bullets, and the Wyoming
force was being cut down fast, as the fire of more than a
thousand rifles converged upon it.

The five at the fringe of the swamp loaded and fired as fast as
they could at the Indian horde, but they saw that it was creeping
closer and closer, and that the hail of bullets it sent in was
cutting away the whole left flank of the defenders. They saw the
tall figure of Timmendiquas, a very god of war, leading on the
Indians, with his fearless Wyandots in a close cluster around
him. Colonel John Durkee, gathering up a force of fifty or
sixty, charged straight at the warriors, but he was killed by a
withering volley, which drove his men back.

Now occurred a fatal thing, one of those misconceptions which
often decide the fate of a battle. The company of Captain
Whittlesey, on the extreme left, which was suffering most
severely, was ordered to fall back. The entire little army,
which was being pressed hard now, seeing the movement of
Whittlesey, began to retreat. Even without the mistake it is
likely they would have lost in the face of such numbers.

The entire horde of Indians, Tories, Canadians, English, and
renegades, uttering a tremendous yell, rushed forward. Colonel
Zebulon Butler, seeing the crisis, rode up and down in front of
his men, shouting: "Don't leave me, my children! the victory is
ours!" Bravely his officers strove to stop the retreat. Every
captain who led a company into action was killed. Some of these
captains were but boys. The men were falling by dozens.

All the Indians, by far the most formidable part of the invading
force, were through the swamp now, and, dashing down their
unloaded rifles, threw themselves, tomahawk in hand, upon the
defense. Not more than two hundred of the Wyoming men were left
standing, and the impact of seven or eight hundred savage
warriors was so great that they were hurled back in confusion. A
wail of grief and terror came from the other side of the river,
where a great body of women and children were watching the
fighting.

"The battle's lost," said Shif'less Sol,

"Beyond hope of saving it," said Henry, "but, boys, we five are
alive yet, and we'll do our best to help the others protect the
retreat."

They kept under cover, fighting as calmly as they could amid such
a terrible scene, picking off warrior after warrior, saving more
than one soldier ere the tomahawk fell. Shif'less Sol took a
shot at "Indian" Butler, but he was too far away, and the bullet
missed him.

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