CHAPTER X.

FLAMING MESSENGERS.

Mrs. Preston laughed and asked the boys to pardon her for having forgotten, in the excitement of the occasion, the duty of hospitality. The morning meal had been furnished the others, and she now gave her nephew and Blossom Brown the best she could prepare.

The two were ahungered and ate heartily. It was a striking commentary on the perils of the life of the early settlers that, while they were thus engaged, the sound of the rifles was heard, as they were fired from the upper story, in answer to the shots from the Wyandots.

But we can become accustomed to almost any danger, and the appetites of the re-enforcements were not affected by what was going on around them. The windows on the first floor admitted several bullets from the guns of the dusky marksmen, but every person was careful to keep out of range. When the meal was finished, all climbed the ladder to the second story, where the boys were welcomed by the men who stood at the loopholes with their smoking guns in their hands.

There was more security there, because the openings through which the leaden balls could enter were much smaller; but, as evidence of the marksmanship of their enemies, Jo Stinger informed them that three bullets had struck the interior walls, one of which actually came along the barrel of a gun, narrowly missing Megill who was in the act of thrusting it forth.

"That is well for the Wyandots," said the Colonel, "but have you done anything to teach them that the skill is not all on their side?"

"We suspect we have: Jim caught sight of a warrior creeping along for a position behind the cabin yonder, and when he fired, the fellow acted as though something struck him."

"And have not _you_, the best marksman in the company, succeeded in doing as well as he?"

"He has done better," replied Turner; "for one of the rascals in the cabin out there had the impudence to thrust forth his painted face in plain sight; and when Jo drew bead on him and fired, he dropped out of view and has not been seen since."

"I hope it was the one who flung his tomahawk at me, and which is still sticking in the door," said Ned Preston.

"It couldn't have been," said the hunter, with an expressive shrug, "for if it had been, I would have missed him. I never made such a mess in all my life as I did a while ago."

"Accidents will happen," laughed the Colonel; "and we have every reason to congratulate ourselves that no one has been harmed, though we have been exposed to great danger. It was a most providential thing that I learned of the coming of the war party, before they were ready for the attack."

"Have you any idea of the number in the woods?" asked Jo Stinger.

"My nephew Ned tells me that Deerfoot the Shawanoe, who ought to be the best authority, says there are certainly fifty, for he saw nearly that many, and he thinks it more than likely there are twice that number."

"I have no doubt there are all of a hundred," observed Jo Stinger, "judging from the way they sent in the shots a few minutes ago; but they have stopped, because they must see that nothing can be gained by such wild firing."

The hunter was right in his last remark, the stillness being as profound as if no living person was within miles of them.

Colonel Preston told all that had been learned through his nephew of the doings of Deerfoot the Shawanoe.

"He has put himself in a bad fix," said Stinger, with another shake of the head: "I know he is one of the cutest varmints in the wilds of Kentucky, but there are some things which he can't do, and I believe he has undertook one of 'em now."

"I am afraid so, but I hope not."

"There has been something going on out there by the Licking, where that arrow of his came from, and, if I ain't mistook, it means they have dropped down on him this time."

Ned Preston heard these words with a pang, for the death or suffering of the Shawanoe youth would have been an affliction to him like the loss of a brother. There was that unswerving loyalty, self-sacrificing friendship, and astonishing woodcraft which go to make up the ideal American Indian, and which, though rarely encountered in these later days, still actually existed a century or more ago, as it does now among the aboriginal inhabitants of our country. Not often was it seen, but there are historical facts which attest the truth of such characters belonging to the Algonquin family of red men.

"It looks to me as if Heaven raised up Deerfoot to be such a friend to the white people, as Pocahontas was during the early New England settlements."

Such was the thought that had come to Ned Preston more than once and which thought was the echo of the one uttered by his father months before. The lad did not repeat the words now, but the expression of pain which crossed his face, told his anguish more impressively than the words themselves could have done.

Without making reply, the youth stepped to one of the loopholes on the western side of the block-house and looked out toward the river, fixing his gaze on the point where he had parted company with the Indian youth.

Everything was as quiet as at "creation's morn." The glimmer of the flowing Licking, the dim, solemn woods, the unsightly stumps on the clearing, the blue sky above and beyond--all these wore the peaceful look they wore when no peril threatened the diminutive settlement.

Only one figure--that of the Wyandot warrior, stark and stiff in the sunlight--spoke of the dreadful scenes that had been enacted on that spot such a brief while before.

Ned scrutinized the little clump of bushes which had sheltered the young Shawanoe, when making his marvelous shot with his bow and arrow, but not the first sign of life was visible.

"I don't know whether to take heart from that or not," said the lad to himself; "for, if they had captured Deerfoot, I should think they would make some display over it, so as to impress us."

"If they got the young redskin," observed Jo Stinger, standing at the elbow of Ned, "it wouldn't have been _there_; that varmint would have made a fight, and he would have given them a good run before they brought him down."

Ned Preston felt the force of this declaration, but he stood silent several minutes longer, still watching the bushes with a weak hope that they would give some sign that would bid him take heart.

But he was disappointed, and, withdrawing his gaze, he looked at the well which stood very near the middle of the square within the stockade.

"Uncle," said Ned, addressing his relative without regard to his military title, "I heard you tell father that you meant to dig a well inside the block-house, so the Indians could not cut off the water."

"I did intend to do so, and it ought to have been done long ago, but you know that men, like boys, are apt to put off till to-morrow that which should be done to-day."

"The Wyandots can destroy that well any night, or they can tear away some of the stockades so as to shoot any one who goes near it."

"That is self-evident, I am sorry to say."

"You have a barrel of water in the house?"

"Yes, an abundance for every purpose, excepting----"

The Colonel hesitated and smiled: all knew what he meant. The most dangerous enemy they had to fear, was the very one against which no efficient provision had been made.

When the block-house was erected, and for a considerable time after, it was practically fire-proof, from the greenness of its timbers. The hewn logs, plastered between with dried clay, could not be easily ignited under the most favorable circumstances, if thoroughly seasoned by the elements; but, when they contained an abundance of sap, there was nothing to fear from such cause.

It was somewhat the same with the slabs which composed the roof. They were green at first, but they had been baked for months and years, and a dry summer had not been long ended, so that they were in reality in a very combustible state. Such solid pieces of oak do not take a flame readily, but, to say the least, there were grounds for grave anxiety.

Colonel Preston reproached himself more than did any of his friends, for this neglect, but it must be borne in mind that the peril was one which threatened almost every such station on the frontier during the early days, and it was one which the hardy pioneers had learned to combat, with a success that often defeated the most daring assailants.

As no immediate attack was feared, the occupants of the block-house disposed themselves as fancy prompted. Blossom Brown stretched out on a blanket in a corner and was soon sound asleep. Megill and Turner did the same, the others occupied seats, with the exception of Mrs. Preston, who, like a good housewife, moved hither and thither, making preparations for the noon-day meal of the garrison, while she kept her children under her eye and made sure they did not wander into dangerous portions of the building.

Ned Preston played with the little girls, told them stories and taught them numerous games of which they had never heard, and which he had picked up for their benefit.

Now and then he walked around the four sides of the room, looking carefully through the loopholes and exchanging theories with his uncle, who employed himself in much the same manner.

Thus the time wore on until the day was half gone. The sky was clearer than twenty-four hours before, and the sun was visible most of the time, but the air was crisp and wintry, and the slight warmth from the fire on the hearth down-stairs was pleasant to those who could feel the grateful glow.

Hours passed without any noticeable change. At noontime, there was a general awaking, yawning, and stretching of limbs, accompanied by peeps through the loopholes and an expression of views respecting the situation. Mrs. Preston passed the dinner to each, and they ate, sitting on chairs and the bench, drinking sparingly from the water that had been collected against such an emergency.

Most of the company were in good spirits, for the siege had not continued long enough for them to feel its irksomeness, nor had the demonstrations assumed a character to cause real uneasiness and misgiving of the issue.

After dinner, Colonel Preston and his nephew secured two hours' sleep, but both were too much concerned to remain unconscious as long as did the others.

When Ned recovered himself, he walked straight to the southern side of the room and peered through one of the openings. This gave him a view of the two cabins, deserted the day before by the pioneers who had occupied them so long.

He saw nothing alarming on or about these structures, but all at once something arrested his eye, just beyond the first cabin and on the edge of the forest. At first, he could not conjecture what it meant, but as he looked steadily, he observed that it was a smoking point, showing that an object was burning, although Ned was far from suspecting its real nature.

Once or twice, he fancied he saw a person moving directly behind it; but if such were the fact, the individual kept himself well hidden.

Suddenly a tuft of smoke and a fiery point were seen to rise swiftly in the air, and, curving over in a beautiful parabola, descend toward the roof of the block-house. A moment after it struck with a quick thud and then slid down the steep incline to the ground.

Although the burning shaft was intended to stick fast and communicate fire to the dry roof, it did not do so, but fell harmlessly to the earth, where it lay smoking and burning directly under the eyes of the startled garrison who looked down on it.

"I expected it," quietly remarked Colonel Preston, after surveying the burning missile.

"There will be plenty of fireworks to-night," added Jo Stinger, "for that's a fav'rit style with the varmints."

This new demonstration had the effect of driving all the garrison to the loopholes, Blossom Brown being among the most anxious to watch the actions of the Wyandots.

Even Mrs. Preston looked through the narrow openings with as much interest as did any of them, while little Mary and Susie must needs be given a peep at their familiar surroundings.

The red men having discharged one fiery arrow, waited a long time before repeating the demonstration. As it was deemed likely that the next missile would be sent from another point, a watch was maintained on every side of the block-house.

"_Hello, here she come agin!_"

It was Jo Stinger who uttered the exclamation, and he was facing the Licking river. There was a general rush across the room to gain a view of the flaming shaft, but before it could be done, it struck the roof above, held a minute, and then, as if its grip was burned away, it was distinctly heard as it fell over and slowly slid down the planks and dropped to the ground, as did the first one.

"If they do that every time," said Ned Preston, "they won't cause us much harm."

"I don't like it," replied the Colonel; "it kept its place too long on the roof."

"Not long enough to do any damage."

"I am not so sure: I must see."

Drawing a chair beneath the trap-door, he stepped on it and cautiously raised the planks a few inches. This permitted a view of all the roof on that side. He observed a scorched spot within reach of his hand, but there was no evidence of injury from the flaming arrow which struck and held a brief time.

The trap was closed again, and the Colonel stepped down from the chair. All looked expectantly at him, but beyond telling what he had seen, he said nothing.

The interest of the garrison was such that they kept their places at the loopholes, through which they scrutinized the clearing, the cabins and the woods beyond, watchful to detect the first evidence of what their enemies were doing.

This close attention caused the autumn afternoon to seem much longer than it really was, but nothing more took place to give the defenders any uneasiness. They saw the shades of night once more closing about them, while they were environed so closely on every hand by the vengeful Wyandots, that flight for any one was utterly out of the question.

"Wait till night comes," said Jo Stinger meaningly; "then you will hear music and see sights!"

Every one knew what the old scout meant by his quaint language, and every one believed he spoke the truth, as in fact he did.