CHAPTER VI

SIMON GIRTY, THE RENEGADE

"WHO are they, Pat?" asked Bob, half under his breath, as he saw Blue Jacket gravely salute the other Indian, whom he knew to be a chief among the fierce Miamis, both by the feathers he wore in his scalplock, and by the trimmings on his buckskin hunting shirt and nether garments.

"The Injun is Little Turtle, the greatest chief among the Miamis," replied the Irish trapper, also lowering his voice, for he saw the two white men frowning in his direction. Bob noticed that his old friend kept his long-barrelled rifle close under his arm, and his finger touching the trigger.

"And the two others?" Bob went on. "I have never met either of them before, that I can remember; and yet I have seen most of the white men who roam the woods in this region of the Ohio."

"Wull," whispered Pat, "ye niver missed much, thin, for, by the same token, there niver lived greater rascals than the same precious pair ye say before yees this minute. The wan ag'inst the tree, wid the scowl on his black face, is none ither than the infamous Simon Girty; while his frind's name it do be McKee; and there are hapes av people thot say he be the blackest renegade that iver wint over till the Injuns, to wage war on his own kind." (Note 5.)

Both boys heard what Pat said, although he had lowered his voice to a whisper; and, of course, they were chilled to the marrow at the idea of looking upon such notorious persons, for already their names were being held up to execration among all honest settlers. Both Girty and McKee had been seen in the ranks of the hostile Shawanees when attacks were made on frontier settlements; and there were threats going the rounds as to what fate awaited them should the fortunes of war ever throw them into the hands of the whites.

To the eyes of the pioneer boys they looked doubly ugly on this night, when met so unexpectedly in company with a noted Miami chief, whose hostility towards the invading palefaces was so well known.

Meanwhile the two Indians were engaged in a conversation that by degrees became more and more heated. Indeed, neither Bob nor Sandy could ever remember seeing their young friend, Blue Jacket, quite so worked up. He made dramatic gestures when he talked, and seemed to be replying to the taunts of the older chief.

It began to look as though there might be trouble, and Sandy fingered the lock of his gun, taking a sly look down to make sure that there was powder in the pan, for the spark from flint and steel to reach, in case it became necessary for him to depend on a quick discharge of the musket.

"What are they talking about, Pat?" asked Sandy; for he knew that the Irish trapper was able to follow what the two Indians said in their warm discussion.

"Sure, thot scum av the aarth, Little Turtle, do be taunting Blue Jacket wid bein' frinds-like wid the palefaces," the other replied, cautiously, keeping one eye all the while upon the pair of treacherous renegades, whom he would not trust for a single second to get behind his back. "He tills him thot ivery ridskin ought to be the mortual foe av the palefaces who would stale their land away from thim. He kapes on sayin' thot he hates the white men as hotly as the sun shines in summer, and will niver, niver make frinds wid the same." (Note 6.)

"But, no matter what he says, it will not cause Blue Jacket to turn against the Armstrong family, even if he some day takes up the hatchet against the whites," Sandy went on to say, with a confidence born of an intimate acquaintance with the young Shawanee brave, whose name was also fated to figure in the history of the times.

"Av yees could but hear what he do be sayin' this blissed minit," declared Pat, "sure, it's on a good foundation ye build yer faith. Listen to him till that he was sore wounded, and how ye two byes did bring him intil yees own wigwam, h'alin' his hurts, so that instead av dyin' he lived. Now, it is av thot same kind mither av yees that he do be spakin', and how she bound up his bullet wound wid salve, an' trated him as though he might be her own boy. For thot he can niver be anything but the frind av the Arrmstrong family. An' already has he parrt convinced Little Turtle, becase, ye know, gratitude is the bist trait av the ridskins."

"But now the other seems to be changing his talk, and appealing to him in another way. Tell us what he is saying, Pat, please," insisted Sandy.

The Irish trapper listened for a minute, and then nodded.

"That wor a cliver shot av Blue Jacket, on me worrd," he muttered. "Yees say, the ould chief he do be tillin' him that his brothers, the Shawanees, are always on the warpath aginst the palefaces; and that, while it may be all right for him to keep frinds wid yer family, he ought to take up arrms aginst the rist av the sittlement. But Blue Jacket replied by tillin' him av what ye byes did for the great sachem, Pontiac, only last autumn, and what it meant for the sacred wampum belt of the same to be hangin' in the Arrmstrong cabin."

"Oh! yes," Sandy went on; "that ought to convince Little Turtle that Pontiac is the friend of our settlement, just because we live there; and an injury to one would be an injury to all. All these months, now, while other places have been attacked, there has come no evil against our neighbors. Much though they feared the coming of the Indians, not once has a hostile shot been fired since that day when Pontiac gave us his wonderful belt."

"Do you notice, Pat," remarked Bob just then, in a whisper intended only for the ears of the one he addressed, "that the man you called Simon Girty is edging off to the left, a little at a time? I do not like the look in his eye. He scowls as though he meant us harm."

"'Tis mesilf that do be after watchin' the sarpint av the forest," replied the trapper. "And yees spake rightly whin ye say he has evil in his mind; but me finger is on the trigger, an', be the powers, wan hostile move on his parrt manes for me to fire. I cud hit the eye av a rid squirrel at this distance, and surely must find his black heart wid me bullet."

He spoke louder than before, and for a reason. Evidently his words must have reached the ear of the renegade, for he no longer tried to keep on moving, a little at a time, toward the left. Doubtless Girty knew well what a splendid shot Pat O'Mara was; and also that the trapper would willingly rid the border of such a pest, if given half an excuse.

The two Indians had by this time come to an understanding. What Blue Jacket had told concerning the gratitude of Pontiac, and the bestowing of his wampum belt on the young pioneers, because of their saving his life, must have impressed the Miami chief greatly. At that time Pontiac's name was one to conjure with among the confederated red men of the region lying between the Alleghenies and the Mississippi; while Little Turtle had not yet come to the zenith of his fame.

Turning to his white allies the Miami chieftain spoke in a rapid tone. Although Bob could understand only a word or two, nevertheless he grasped the meaning of what Little Turtle said; and knew that he was warning Girty and McKee not to think of injuring either of the boys who had been taken under the especial protection of Pontiac, the master schemer.

"Are they going to let us pass on, or do they mean to start a fight?" asked Sandy, whose manner showed that he was by no means averse to trying conclusions with the two ugly desperadoes who had thrown their fortunes in with the Indians, so that they could no longer find a friendly greeting at the cabin of a single white settler.

"No danger of our being halted," Bob hastened to reply, fearful lest the impulsive Sandy might attempt some sort of play that would open hostilities, when there was no necessity.

"Come, we'd bist be on our way, av we hope to rach the sittlement before the flood arrives," said Pat, beginning to retreat, still keeping watch on the renegades; for no white man who had his senses about him would ever be so foolish as to turn his back on such a treacherous snake in the grass as Simon Girty.

They were soon far enough away from the camp to feel safe, especially since the keen eyes of Blue Jacket saw that not one of the three whom they had left there had made any move toward following them.

"How is your ankle going to hold out, Sandy?" asked Bob, who feared the worst.

"It's just got to do," was the determined reply. "I mean to go on until I drop; but I shall keep up with you. If the worst comes, you can leave me behind somewhere, and the rest push on, for, unless the warning is received, our people may be caught asleep in their cabins, and carried away, like that log was."

Sandy was possessed of considerable grit, inherited from his sturdy Scotch ancestors, no doubt. When he set those teeth of his firmly together it meant that he was just bound to do, or die. And in many a tight hole that stubborn trait served him a good turn, just as it had also gotten the boy into heaps of trouble.

When he limped, Bob threw an arm around him; or it might be the genial trapper gave him such assistance as lay in his power. Indeed, deep down in his own mind, though he did not say as much, Pat O'Mara was determined that if he had to take the lame boy upon his broad back, as an Indian squaw would her little papoose, he was bound to see to it that Sandy reached his home with the rest of them.

But Blue Jacket was familiar with every trail of the forest. He could lead them over cut-offs that even the trapper did not know and which saved many a weary step.

The boys began to recognize their surroundings after a while, although the night was so dark that only the general conformation of the country could be noticed.

"We're getting there, Bob," said Sandy, hopefully.

"To be sure we are!" declared the other. "See, that must be the tree we shot the wildcat from, when he was eating the mink taken from our trap."

"And that means only another mile or so to go before we reach home," remarked the younger boy gladly; for Sandy was fast reaching a point where even his remarkable grit could not carry him along, and he must admit defeat.

But every step he knew took him that much closer to home. Even the thought of his mother and father, as well as Kate, anxiously awaiting news of the two who had crossed the raging river on the preceding afternoon, buoyed him up, and lent him new strength.

By degrees they were coming near the settlement. This had been built along a small elevation on the bank of the Ohio, from which the pioneers were afforded a magnificent view up and down the river. At the time of its selection by Daniel Boone, who had long admired the site as an ideal place for a growing town, no one had so much as dreamed that a flood might sooner or later come sweeping down from the hills away beyond Fort Duquesne, and threaten the little colony with disaster. But it had come, and this night was likely to prove the blackest in the history of the settlement.

Now they could see the blockhouse that had been erected on the very crown of the ridge, so that in times of danger all those having cabins lower down along the face of the hill might flee thither for refuge. And the wily Indians could not find any higher point whence to send their arrows, winged with flame, to stick in the roof of the fort, and set it ablaze.

"I can see a light in our cabin window," declared Sandy, presently, his voice trembling with eagerness. "See, it is on the side that looks down the river. I am sure mother must have put it there to serve as a guide for her boys, if they chanced to be afloat on the dark waters. Oh! how glad we will be to see her again."

The roar of the river was in their ears as they advanced further; but their coming must have been detected by some sentinel, for a minute later a harsh voice rang out, calling upon them to halt and explain who they were, on pain of being fired on.

"It's we, Mr. Harkness," cried out Sandy, recognizing the voice of a near neighbor, "brother Bob and myself; but with us come Pat O'Mara, and our friend, Blue Jacket, the last bringing news that will tell you his friendship still holds good. Oh! where will we find our mother and father; can you direct us, sir?"

"They are at the cabin," replied the sturdy settler, as they advanced to where he stood, gun in hand, "though I saw Neighbor Armstrong but a few moments ago, and he was much cast down because his sons had not arrived. Hasten then, and convince him of your safety; and meanwhile we would like to know the nature of this warning brought by the Indian."