CHAPTER XIV

A TARGET FOR ARROWS AND BULLETS

"LIE down, everybody!"

It was the voice of Mr. Armstrong that uttered these words; and hardly had the men who manned the sweeps and poles thrown themselves flat, than there came flashes of flame from the border of the trees, accompanied by the crash of firearms and the thud of striking bullets in the stout bulwark, behind which they had sought shelter.

Other missiles splashed in the water, falling short, or passing beyond the boat. Arrows also struck the cabin, to remain imbedded there as evidence of the muscular arms that sent them aboard.

But there was a way of working the sweeps from behind shelter; and so, by slow degrees, the imperilled pioneers were carried further and further from the shore.

No one fired back. In the first place, they saw but little of the Indians, who held the marksmanship of the borderers in too high respect to risk showing themselves needlessly. And then, besides, ammunition was too precious and costly a commodity to waste, unless the necessity seemed great.

Gradually the firing from the shore slackened, and finally died away altogether, as did also the cries of bitter rage and disappointment. Only for the warning of Blue Jacket the little company might have met with disaster thus early in their adventurous voyage. There were no longer heard murmurings because they had been compelled to make this hasty departure from so comfortable a resting-place. Indeed, every one was grateful to the young Shawanee, because of what he had done.

Blue Jacket wanted not their thanks. He had no love for the white men, who were coming to drive his race away from the lands where they had lived for many generations, carrying on their wars with neighboring tribes, hunting the buffalo and the deer, and worshipping the Great Manitou after the fashion of the red men.

He sat by himself, moody and silent. Perhaps he was thinking how sorry he would be to part forever from the two paleface lads whom he had grown to care for so much in this year he had known them. And then there was the kind, motherly woman who had helped nurse him back to life long ago, when he suffered from a severe bullet wound, received in a battle with the whites, and which would have caused his death had he not been found by Sandy, and taken into the care of the Armstrongs.

Then again, it might be that the young Shawanee brave was feeling the bitterness of his situation, placed as he was in a position where, for the time, he felt compelled by gratitude to warn these palefaces against the coming of his own people. Perhaps it was well that no shot had been fired from the flatboat; had a single Indian been killed as a result of his warning, Blue Jacket would have cause for feeling more moody than was now the case.

The boys must have guessed something of his feelings, for they did not attempt to break in upon his solitude, as he sat with bowed head.

For several hours the voyage down the river was continued by moonlight; and then Mr. Armstrong gave orders that they head in toward the shore, and put out the anchor that had been brought along for the purpose.

A strict watch was kept until dawn; then Blue Jacket, going on shore, soon signalled that there was no longer any danger; accordingly the boat was pushed in, and, some of them landing, started a fire, at which the breakfast of fresh fish was cooked.

So the waters and the woods were all made to pay tribute to the demands of the sturdy early settlers. The rivers were teeming with fish, and the forests contained innumerable deer, buffalo, and much smaller game, so that it was easy as a rule to supply the table, if a hunter dared venture abroad. Fear of an Indian surprise was the only thing that deterred them. There was ever this dread possibility hovering over their heads in the disputed land.

When the meal was over, Blue Jacket, with the same grave face that always marked his character, came up, and held out his hand to Mrs. Armstrong.

"Good-bye!" he said simply, with not a muscle quivering, such was the splendid control he had over his feelings.

To Bob and Sandy he also gave his hand, and looked at them long and earnestly, but said only that same one word:

"Good-bye!"

Then he turned and strode away, never giving any of the others so much as a single look, for they were nothing to the young Shawanee warrior, and, if ever he met any of them again, it would probably be with weapons in his hands, and hatred for the mortal enemies of his race in his Indian heart.

Neither of the boys ever saw Blue Jacket again, since their life trails parted there on the flowery bank of the beautiful Ohio. Destiny led them into the wilderness, to help clear a path for advancing civilization; while the same power took Blue Jacket back into the villages of his people, to carry out the scheme in life to which he was appointed.

For a full hour after he had gone Sandy sat there, looking out upon the river as the heavy craft glided steadily on its way, saying not a word to any one.

Then all at once he called aloud:

"Oh! there's a man down on that point below, and a white man, too! He seems to be in trouble, for he beckons to us all the while, and yet seems afraid to shout out. Perhaps he's escaped from the Indians who tried to catch us napping last night. It looks to me as if he wanted us to push in, and take him aboard."

Instantly every one rushed to that side of the boat to look. And, sure enough, there stood a white man, waving his hands to them in a most beseeching manner. His whole appearance would indicate that he had suffered all sorts of recent privations and was both hungry and desperate.

"Shall we push in closer?" asked Mr. Wayne, who knew less about Indian trickery than any one of the other men of the party.

"Not a foot!" declared Mr. Armstrong; "and every one keep low behind the shelter of the sides; for, by my faith, I fancy, even now, that I can see dusky figures gliding along back there among those trees."

The man, as they came opposite, commenced to run along the edge of the shore, and make more urgent gestures than before.

"Don't desert me, if you be men with hearts!" he cried out, in seeming agony.

"Who are you, and what ails you?" demanded Mr. Armstrong.

"My name is Elijah Fish, and with my mate I was taken prisoner by the bloodthirsty Shawanees a moon ago. They have tortured us both, and my comrade finally fell a victim to their savage hatred. I managed to escape four days ago, and they have been hunting for me ever since. If you leave me here, they will surely find me, and take my life. I beg of you to pull in at least part way, and let me come aboard!"

"He talks straight, seems to me," declared young Amos Terry. "I don't see no sign of any Indians, and for one I'd hate to think I left a poor white man to be put to death. Ain't there some way he might be saved, Mr. Armstrong?"

For answer the leader of the expedition put his hands to his mouth, using them for a trumpet, and called aloud:

"We cannot come in any closer, because we must not risk chances of being beset by the Indians; but, if you wish to come aboard, why not enter the water, and swim out after us? That is your only chance, Elijah Fish, which, for one, I do not believe to be your name."

"Why, who do you take me for?" asked the man, still running along the sandy strip of shore between the edge of the water and the forest.

"Well, you might be the renegade, Simon Girty, or perhaps McKee. And so we must refuse to risk the lives of all on board in order to do you a good turn. If you can swim, enter the water. We will immediately anchor the boat, and wait for you to come aboard. But that is as far as we dare go!"

The man ceased running at hearing this.

"Yew must have broken his heart with that, Mr. Armstrong," said the Yankee, Amos Terry.

"Look again!" exclaimed Sandy, quickly.

The man was shaking his clenched fist after them, and, even as they looked, he uttered all sorts of horrible threats. Some one on board fired a shot, and the bullet threw up the sand close to the feet of the fellow, who, taking the hint, made haste to disappear in the bushes.

"Keep down!" called Mr. Armstrong; and hardly had he spoken than there was heard a crackling of guns here, there and everywhere among the trees, showing that the red foe had been cunningly concealed, in the hope that the defenders of the flatboat might be lured into approaching the shore.

This time those on board answered the fire, as they caught glimpses of dusky figures dodging from tree to tree.

The duel of guns was kept up for some little time. Many a bullet, as well as dozens of feathered barbs, struck the bulwarks or cabin of the flatboat; but, since the white defenders were wise enough to keep themselves well hidden, little damage resulted from the furious bombardment, one man alone receiving a slight wound from a bullet, that must have glanced off the side of the cabin wall.

On their part the pioneers believed that they had struck a number of the enemy, although they could not be positive about this, since they had not seen any actually fall. The Indians, however, found that they were getting more than they bargained for, and when another half-hour had passed the firing ceased.

"I hope they've given it up as a bad job," remarked Sandy, who had sent several shots during the exciting time. "I wonder if I really did wound that brave who was lying in that clump of bushes."

"I think you must have hit him," Bob replied; "because, as soon as you fired, he came tumbling out, and plunged into that hole behind the three trees, and I'm sure he acted as if something bothered him."

"That's so, Bob, he did make me think of the way I got around when that hornets' nest upset, and they all came out to get at me. It felt pretty warm for me just then; and I guess it did for that brave. But, do you think they have drawn off, and mean to let us alone?"

"I'm afraid that in some way, perhaps by means of the smoke signals, we know about, they may send word down the river of our coming; and that would mean, you know, Sandy, a continual war all along the line to the Mississippi. I'm afraid we'll have only too many just such fights on our hands, before we get to where we want to settle down."

But even such a prospect did not daunt the spirit of Sandy, which was not easily crushed.

"We have shown how easy it is to keep the Indians off, and we can do it again and again, as long as our powder and ball hold out," he declared, with the sanguine nature of youth, that borrows no trouble when the skies seem clear. "I'm sure Pat O'Mara must have laid more than one of those yelling rascals low, for every time he fired I saw him nod his head and look pleased."

All the rest of that day they floated on, undisturbed by any signs of an enemy. Once Sandy discovered a stately stag standing knee deep in the water, surveying the approaching craft as if in wonder, and, eager to land a shot that might give them a bountiful supply of fresh venison, the boy made a hasty jump for his gun.

But perhaps it was this sudden movement on the part of the impetuous Sandy that alarmed the deer, for, whirling like a flash, it vanished amidst the brush that at this particular spot lined the bank.

"Too bad!" said Pat, who had witnessed all this; "but, take me worrd for it, Sandy, av yees had been more deliberate like in your movements, chances are ye might 'a' had a shot. 'Tis the same ould story av too much haste, me bye. Next toime r'ach out yer hand, slow like, and pick up the gun widout takin' yer eyes off the game."

Sandy thought he might do even better, and keep his musket in his grasp; but, though he sat there faithfully for nearly two hours, the chance did not come again. It seldom does, once we allow it to slip past.

Of course, on that evening they decided that it was too risky to think of going ashore to make their fire; and so supper was prepared on board, after they had anchored.

So anxious were they to get as far as possible below the scene of their encounter with the treacherous renegade and his red allies, that they would have continued the voyage by moonlight, only that it had clouded up with the coming of late afternoon, and there was every prospect of a bad night ahead.

The weather had been very fair ever since the spring rains ceased; but, warmer weather having now arrived, Mr. Armstrong warned them that a storm was liable to swoop down upon them at any time, and they must be prepared for it.

So, on this night they tried the best they could to have the anchor well laid, for, if ever the wind came sweeping down the river, there was a chance that the cabin of the flatboat would offer such a resistance that, sooner or later, they must be swept away, to find themselves at the mercy of the storm. And that was a possibility none of them fancied very much.