CHAPTER VIII

SIMON KENTON, THE BORDERER

WHEN the boys returned to the settlement, bringing with them the buck, and accompanied by Simon Kenton and his two companions, they were warmly greeted.

The story of how Sandy had braved the three crafty French trappers soon went abroad, and many congratulated the boy on his firm stand. They knew well that it was this secret French influence which was doing so much to make the Indians dig up the hatchet that had been buried at the treaty of Fort Stanwix some years previous; and in every breast existed the same detestation for the cowardly traders who, for the sake of gain, would encourage the savages to resort once more to the torch, and the murderous tomahawk.

Several men vanished from the post shortly after the boys returned. It was suspected that they had banded together with the idea of pursuing the trio of Frenchmen, and putting it out of their power to carry their news to other Indian villages; for Pat O'Mara, who was one of this band, declared it to be his belief that these men were messengers, sent to bear the wampum belt of the great leader, Pontiac, to chiefs who were even then hesitating over what to do.

The men came back on the next day, and, while none of them would say a word about the result of their mission, it was not believed that success had followed them, for they exhibited no symptoms of satisfaction.

Simon Kenton was a great favorite in this Ohio River settlement. As the boon companion of the leading pioneer he would have been warmly welcome; but, besides that, he had such a genial nature that he made friends wherever he went. Contact with Daniel Boone was also doing wonders for this fine young borderer. By slow degrees he was conquering his numerous faults in the line of hasty temper, and quick action, that in the past had brought him so much trouble.

His place among the men of the early days along the great river has long been recognized in history. While he lacked some of the wonderful qualities that made Boone beloved among the whites, and both feared and respected by the Indians, still Kenton has always held a strong place in the affection of those who know the wonderful exploits with which his life was crowned.

Although Kenton was possessed of a particularly amiable disposition among his friends, it is likely that his equal for recklessness was never known. History tells us that, during the course of his adventurous life along the border with Boone, and alone, he many times fell into the hands of the Indians, though they seemed unable to hold so slippery a customer.

Eight times he was condemned to run the gauntlet, always one of the most cruel of the Indian inventions of horror; three times was he tied to the stake, sentenced to be burned alive; and once he was nearly slain by an ax.

And yet, in spite of all these things, Simon Kenton lived to a green old age, dying in 1836 within sight of the very spot where the Indians, fifty-eight years before, had made preparations to torture him to death. (Note 3.)

While at the settlement of our friends Kenton and his two comrades made their headquarters in an empty cabin, deserted by a settler who had gone back to the fair fields of Virginia because his wife grieved for her family, and was too timid to stay where at any hour they could expect to hear the wild whoops of hostile Indians.

Of course, as soon as it could be done in secret, the head men of the settlement sought to find out from Kenton whether the news brought by Pat O'Mara was founded on facts, or the result of a lively imagination.

"I have been in the eastern country," replied the forest ranger, seriously; "and can only say this, that thar are all the signs of a big outbreak. Down in Kentucky Boone has had to be on the defensive all the time, because the Shawanees did not feel themselves bound by the Fort Stanwix treaty. My friends, I regret to say to you that the outlook is dark. Be on your guard. If this winter passes without a general war on the part of half a dozen tribes, some of us will believe that we are poor prophets."

And, later on, he told in detail what he and his friends had seen and heard. The news was distressing to these people, so many hundreds of miles away from help, and dependent on themselves alone to combat the gathering clouds.

But there were brave hearts among those early pioneers. Even the women refused to believe that they were to be overwhelmed, and made to perish from the face of the earth. From such stock have our forefathers sprung, and, looking back, we have need of every adjective at our command to express admiration for the valor of these Ohio pioneers.

David Armstrong felt that he had much to be thankful for in those days. His wife and little family were in perfect health; but there was one thing that seemed to be giving the pioneer anxiety.

Never did any one come from over the distant mountains but that Mr. Armstrong was eagerly inquiring whether the newcomer carried a letter for him. Thus far disappointment had always been his portion; yet, after each period of deep despondency, he would once more pick up fresh hope, and it was usually the brave soul of his gentle wife that put new ambitions in his breast.

Years ago in Richmond, Mr. Armstrong had been tricked by a cousin, in whom he placed implicit confidence. The result had been that this rascal had virtually stolen all of Mr. Armstrong's heritage, which he had brought from the old country.

David had gone to law about it, but, even in this early day, the delays were most vexatious; and for years had the case been pending. Mr. Armstrong never lost hope that, in the end, it would be decided in his favor, and that he would be summoned to Richmond to take back that which had been fraudulently wrested from his hands.

He indulged in many rosy-tinted dreams of what wonderful things he would bring back with him, to add to the happiness of his little brood, should such a wonderful piece of good luck come his way.

Mary and he had decided that they liked this beautiful country too well to ever return again to Virginia. Come what would, they belonged here on the river that flowed between forest-clad banks into the golden west.

Pat O'Mara still hung about the settlement, though at any time he was apt to disappear. While present, he made his home with the Armstrongs, and there never was a more welcome guest at a pioneer's cabin than the Irish trapper with these good friends.

Bob and Sandy took him over the line of their traps, and learned many clever little tricks that would count when the real time came for taking fur-bearing animals. Up to now their efforts in that line had been more in the way of experiments, so as to get used to handling traps, and keeping the sly little animals from scenting the presence of human beings around their haunts.

Kenton and his friends had gone on their way. They were really scouting, in the hope and expectation of learning something about the anticipated Indian uprising, so that the weaker settlements could withdraw in time to more secure quarters; for the winter, at least, combining with stronger posts.

"I wanted father to let me go with Simon Kenton," said Sandy, despondently, the day after the departure of the frontiersman.

"But of course he refused," said Bob, quickly; "and rightly, too. You are too young to be wandering around the country as he does, Sandy; and think, what would mother do without you? It's all well enough for Kenton, who is a man full grown, and has no home. You belong here, Sandy, with us. How could I attend to all the traps, and hunt in the bargain, without you? I am glad father said no; glad for my own sake, glad for mother, and glad for you, too."

The reference to his mother touched the heart of impulsive Sandy.

"Well," he said, slowly, "I guess it is best I stay for another year or so, anyway; but, some day, I'm going to follow in the footsteps of Simon Kenton."

Bob said no more, knowing the nature of his brother only too well, and by another day Sandy had apparently quite gotten over his grieving.

September was now moving along very fast, and, almost before they would be aware of it, the great forest trees must be taking on the red and gold of autumn hues, as the first frost came down from the north.

Each time the boys went out they set another trap, until the entire number they owned were in use. The prospect ahead looked rosy, indeed, if only that story in connection with the threatened Indian war could be forgotten.

Sometimes it came to Bob in the dead of night, to cause him more or less grave thought, for his was a nature unlike Sandy's lighthearted one; and, before Pat O'Mara departed, he had once more impressed upon the older lad the necessity for unusual care in making their rounds of the traps, or venturing into the surrounding forest in search of game.

And, on this night in question, it seemed to Bob that he awoke from a very vivid dream, in which the settlement was being attacked by countless painted Indians. So startling an effect did the dream have upon him that he even sat up on his cot and listened, as though he half expected to hear the distant yells of dancing red men as they surrounded the stockade.

All seemed still, however, and Bob was about to drop back again when, glancing in the direction of the little window, he was surprised to find that a flickering glow came and went, as though a fire might be burning without.

Hastily the boy crept from under his covers, and went over to open the door, in order to thrust his head outside; but, hardly had he done this, than he received a shock that dazed him, for he discovered that the entire side of the cabin was in flames!