CHAPTER XXIII

THE RAFT PILOT'S HOME

"Here easy quiet, a secure retreat, A harmless life that knows not how to cheat, With home-bred plenty--the owner bless, And rural pleasures crown his happiness; Unvexed with quarrels, undisturb'd with noise, The country king his peaceful realm enjoys."

--_Dryden_.

There was the steady tramp, tramp of horses' feet o'er the woodland trail and, by the moon's shimmering gleam that sifted down through the shadowy forest screen o'erhead, two horsemen could be perceived picking cautiously their way in the darkness of the shadow. In clear places, where the moonlight beamed unhindered, they pressed forward into a brisk trot and then again slowing down to a steady tramp as they plunged once more into some shadow. The road was uncertain, filled with pitfalls, stumps of fallen forest giants, and other hindrances that necessitated careful procedure. It was Ande and Dick on their way to the home of Hugh Lark, raft-pilot, and squatter on a ridge of hills, the watershed between the Great and Little Lycamahonings that poured their floods into the Allegheny River. The hoot of a night owl sounded dismally in the neighbouring forest and then, as if his call was the waving of an orchestra leader's baton, forth burst in full chorus hundreds of other birds of night, the most with the weird song "Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will."

The effect was grewsome and Ande shivered slightly.

"Dick," said he, "I had a dream last night that troubled me much."

Dick was all attention.

"It seemed in my dream that I had found somewhere a pearl of great price and I cherished it as I did my own soul. In the upper Big Lycamahoning district I found a large, silver ingot. In seeking to grasp the ingot I lost the pearl, and I was filled with sorrow, and then the ingot turned into a diamond of the first water and I was glad. I awoke then, and the sun was beaming brightly in through the tavern window on my face."

Ande ceased speaking. Dick was silent for he was thinking, and, though a good, sincere Methodist, was slightly superstitious.

"God knows, Ande, what it all means, but it seems to me that ee'll lose summat and gain summat better."

Dick had spoken partly in the old Cornish dialect, which they frequently spoke when by themselves.

"Aye, I guess that's the interpretation," said Ande, thoughtfully. The way was pursued in silence for some time, unbroken save by the tramp of horses' feet and the whirring wings of some bird whose solitude was disturbed.

A mile or so was passed over and then through the trees ahead was the gleam of a light, and after a time they rode into Hugh Lark's clearing. The log house, two stories in height, loomed up darkly in the dusk of evening. The moonlight touched up its clap-board roof and the edges of its huge stone chimney, lighting them fantastically, and through the greased paper-paned window came the glow of a fire within, evidently from the great fireplace. There was the baying of a hound, and then the quick bark of a shepherd dog in concert, and then the door opened and the frame of Hugh was outlined against the inner light.

"Get back, you dogs! Back to your kennel, Shep, and you, Jack, over to the barn with you!" he bellowed, and the dogs, that looked most aggressive, slunk off at the word of their master. The horses were soon fastened to the rail fence and the horsemen approached the house to be greeted on the threshold with the outstretched hand of Hugh.

"Come in, mon, come in. It's a cauld nicht, as they ca' it in auld Scotland," and he grasped each man's hand welcomingly and drew them within and up to the great fireplace, for though spring had come, yet the nights were cold. Hugh had greeted them as a Scotchman can. Though a tolerably educated man, yet he loved to drop now and then back into his mother tongue. The pilot's wife, a comely dame but little younger than himself, sat near the light of the fireplace busily spinning. His two chubby children had been put to bed in the room o'erhead and the scene within was that of quiet, home comfort. Bunches of dried herbs and a few hams and flitches of dried bacon and deer meat depended from the rafters of the ceiling. A few common prints adorned the rude white-washed walls and o'er the mantle piece, supported by deer antlers, was an old-time flint-lock rifle of great weight and heavy bore. The pilot introduced his wife, who, having made the customary courtesy, resumed her spinning, the whir, whir of the wheel mingling with the cracking of the fire-logs.

Hugh drew forward two home-made chairs for his visitors, and Ande sat down, but Dick was interested in the great rifle o'er the mantle piece. Hugh noticed his concentrated look on the old rifle.

"Aye, ye are looking at a highly prized relic in that rifle. Test the weight of it, sir; notice the large bore capable of carrying a ball the size of a schoolboy's marble."

Dick took down the gun and examined it.

"That rifle could tell many a tale, Mr. Dick, if it could speak. It was my father's, Captain Ande Lark's gun. Ye ken that captains of sharp-shooters in the days of Washington carried guns. A gun was more use to them then than all of the swords made. Father fired the last shot out of it in 1794, when he was mortally wounded by Indians on the Kiskiminatas. It was this way," said Hugh, seeing the look of interest on the faces of his visitors. "After the Revolution, the nation was heavily indebted, and not even the efforts of Robert Morris could save the nation from financial ruin had not many patriots, among whom was my father, withheld their claims for service. Some speculating jobber offered to trade father a thousand acres of land, where Braddock met his defeat, for the commission papers and his claims. Father accepted, and loading up his goods on a flat boat he floated down the river Kiskiminatas. He was attacked by lurking savages along the river side and, although he succeeded in bringing down several of them by bullets from 'Old Thump,'"--and the pilot waved his hand expressively toward the old rifle,--"yet he received a wound himself from which he afterward died."

Hugh Lark was silent and his usually pleasant face was sober and sad. There was a long pause, unbroken save by the puffs and clouds of ascending tobacco smoke.

"Light the lamp, Mary," he at length said.

Mrs. Lark arose from her work and took from a receptacle in the wall a species of lamp much used by the woodsmen. It consisted of a turnip, split, and hollowed out within. A stick, around which was wrapped a strip of oiled linen, was inserted upright in the centre, and the vessel having been filled with deer grease was ready for use. The visitors gazed at this primitive vessel, that at best gave forth but a dismal light and a far more disagreeable odour.

"Candles are too much of a luxury for us at present, so we still use the old turnip lamp. But to get down to business. I wanted to speak to you of prospecting."

Hugh poked the fire logs a little, and Mrs. Lark arose and brought in a pitcher of home-made cider and some drinking vessels, and then retired.

"Ye must ken that the Indians kenned more of this country than we do, having lived here longer," said Hugh, as he raked a brand from the fire and lit his pipe; and then without pausing for an answer he continued: "I have read much for a backwoodsman and know of how the spirit of jealousy has ruled nations as well as people. The same spirit of jealousy that led the Asiatics to conceal from Europeans their arts and sciences is within the Indian breast. The Ph[oe]necians, so I have read, hid so truly their art of making their beautiful colour called Ph[oe]necian purple that to-day we know nothing of it. The pyramids to-day are monuments of the lost sciences of the ancients. There is much wealth in the hills of the country, known to the Indian alone. Father thought the same as I did and was convinced of it by a wound he received in an Indian expedition with the famous Sam Brady. His wound was probed and the bullet ye see tied to the old lock by a cord was the one taken out of the wound." Both examined the silver bullet that was attached to the lock of "Old Thump."

"He found the mine. Then you know its location, Mr. Lark?"

"Perhaps we had best have an understanding first, before I say much more. If ye are agreed to give me a fair share with yourselves we will go ahead."

"We are perfectly agreed, and more. If you give my friend, Dick, a share, I desire nothing."

Hugh looked mystified at Ande and said partly in the Scotch dialect, "And ye're not after the siller yoursel'?"

Ande seeing that he must explain, related the tale of his grandfather's dishonour, and Hugh, with various nods and puffs, listened.

"Aye, I see, I see," said Hugh; "and ye think the unearthing of this Indian mine will bring to light your family honour. Ye said the other night that ye were prospecting for character, and we thought it was a joke on the tavern keeper," and Hugh's features relaxed into a smile. "But now for my tale. Indians appear here, from the Shawnee tribes in the west, every few years. They remain for a time and then disappear. Some say they come for hunting, some for to visit the graves of their tribe, but I always had my own opinions. Some years ago there was a great flood and we raftsmen went down to get the rafts in safer positions. I was busy piloting when I thought I saw something out on the waters. It was not a rock nor a piece of driftwood, and after I had almost wearied my eyes I saw it was the head of a man. I gave the oar to Tom, the fellow ye saved from the tree the other day, Mr. Dick, and flung out a rope. It fell nigh the fellow and we dragged him in, and if it wasn't a half-breed Indian, a Canadian, so he afterward told me. He was far from his tribe and people and had hurt himself in some scrimmage or other with a wild animal. After we got the raft safe in good quarters, we took him up to our place here and nursed him for many a day until he was ready to leave, and then he showed what stuff he was made off. He wanted to reward me for my kindness. By his directions I got some paper and a pen and drew off a rude map of the Big Lycamahoning region. After it was made he put his brown finger on a certain section and said, 'If white man know what under there they shoe their oxen with silver.' Here's the map," and Hugh took from an inner pocket of his woollen wamus a rude roll of paper which he spread out for their view near the old turnip lamp. Ande took out his father's map and compared it with the other.

"Ye have a map, too," said Hugh.

"The one sent me years ago by my father."

The two maps coincided in all the essential features.

"And now we know the place and the only thing that remains for us is to set the date of going on our search. The first night of the full moon would be best suited to our purpose. And there must be another let into the secret, for we can't get along handily without the use of the only canoe on the Big Creek, and that's Hunter Tom of the Loop," said Hugh.

"Who's Hunter Tom?" asked Dick.

"He's a queer old character, and has been in the neighbourhood of the Big Creek for the--well--as long as any of us around here, and for a great time longer. He's a hunter and has a cabin over in a little clearing alongside of the Big Creek."

"The very man we ate dinner with the other day," said Ande, and turning to Hugh he related the circumstances of their adventure.

"The very same man, and a better guide and hunter none ever saw," replied Hugh, emphatically. Good-nights were now spoken, and, mounting, the young men rode back to Burgtown.