CHAPTER VIII

THE MASSACRE OF A PACK-TRAIN

Jed Packerson’s story was soon told. His party had first seen the Indians while crossing a high hill where a landslide had carried down many trees of the forest to the valley below. As soon as discovered the red men had run for shelter. Half an hour later one of the frontiersmen had given the alarm, and the next moment a shower of arrows had fallen around them, hitting one man in the shoulder. Then two guns had been discharged and a horse had been hit in the thigh and had stampeded. The whites had returned the fire of the Indians, who, however, had kept under cover. At least one red warrior had been wounded, and then the whole party had taken themselves to parts unknown. The horse to run away was still missing and Packerson had decided to let him go rather than lose time on a trail that appeared so dangerous.

The fight had occurred two days before, and the spot where the Indians had opened fire was less than sixteen miles away. This was disturbing news to Rodney and his friends, and after Packerson had continued on his way a council of war was held.

“We’ll have to be on our guard night an’ day,” said Sam Barringford. “The advance guard will have to spread out purty well an’ beat the brush thoroughly. At the first sign o’ danger, whistle or fire a gun and then come to the center.”

The old frontiersman had been selected as a leader, and the others agreed to follow his advice. The bordermen and the regulars spread out into a regular circle around the pack-horses and those with the steeds, and Mrs. Dobson and the children were cautioned not to wander off by the roadside under any circumstances.

That evening the party encamped by the side of a stream at a point where there was a good-sized opening in the forest. Guards were stationed on both sides of the watercourse, every man being on duty four hours during the darkness. The horses were tethered in a circle and in the center a small tent was pitched, in which Mrs. Dobson, Nell, and the twins might rest.

Sam Barringford remained on guard duty from eight o’clock to midnight, his post being to the north of the camp proper, where the stream made a turn between some rocks and tall trees. The old frontiersman was tired out by his day’s tramp, but did not grumble over being compelled to keep awake.

“It’s got to be done, an’ thet’s all there are to it,” he said to Rodney, “Reckon we kin sleep a week when we git to hum.”

“I shan’t mind staying awake, when my turn comes,” answered Rodney. “But I do hope the Indians won’t appear. I shouldn’t care so much if we were alone, but with Mrs. Dobson, Nell, and the twins it is different.”

The night was a fairly clear one, with countless stars showing between the drifting clouds. There was no breeze worth mentioning and the stillness, away from the somewhat restless horses, was intense.

Barringford walked slowly up and down the watercourse, occasionally mounting one of the rocks to get a better look at the surroundings. His trained eyes took in a good portion of territory, and the least movement among the trees would have attracted his attention. He was sleepy, but he did not allow his eyes to close for an instant.

He had just climbed down from the rocks for at least the tenth time, when he heard a rustle in some bushes at a distance. He listened with strained ears, at the same time dropping flat upon the ground, so that a possible enemy might not see him too readily.

All became silent, and he waited patiently for several minutes. Then came the crack of a twig, as some weight pressed upon it. A moment more and a figure ran through the bushes, not towards the camp but from it.

“Help!” came in a woman’s voice. “Help!”

“Mrs. Dobson, by ginger!” ejaculated the old frontiersman. “What’s the matter with her?”

The fleeing woman was some distance away, and he made after her with all possible speed. She crashed through the bushes and he came after her.

“Mrs. Dobson!” he called. “What is the matter? Stop!”

His cries, and those of the frantic woman, aroused the entire camp, and Dobson himself came rushing toward Barringford, followed by Rodney.

The old frontiersman soon gained the immediate rear of the woman. As he did so, he heard a rush through the thickets ahead and caught a glimpse of an Indian. Then he saw another red warrior rise up from behind a rock, tomahawk in hand. This fellow made a leap for Mrs. Dobson, but before he could use his weapon, Barringford brought his long rifle into play and the Indian pitched forward, fatally wounded in the breast. The other Indian continued to run, and so did several others who could be heard but not seen, and soon their footsteps died away in the distance.

“Maria, what is it?” cried Asa Dobson, catching his wife by the arm. “What is it?” And he gave her a shake. Then he saw her open her eyes and stare at him. “Creation! Be you asleep?” he gasped.

“Asa! Oh, save me!” she screamed. “Save me from the Indians! Don’t let them scalp me!” Then she gazed around in bewilderment. “I—I thought we were at the fort and the Indians had come in after us,” she faltered.

“You were dreaming,” said her husband. “We are on the journey to Cumberland and Baltimore.”

“Yes, yes, I know; but—but——” She stared around her. “I—I—where is the tent, and the horses?”

“You’ve had a nightmare, and it did us a heap o’ good,” broke in Sam Barringford. “Your runnin’ around has scared off some redskins, I reckon.”

By this time half a dozen were near. They gazed at the red warrior whom Barringford had laid low.

“He is done for,” said Rodney. “He is too far gone even to question him.” But even as the young soldier spoke the red man raised up suddenly and flung his tomahawk squarely at Barringford. The fling was a weak one and the weapon fell short of its mark. Then the warrior sank back, gave a gasp, and was dead.

“Game to the last,” muttered Barringford. “Don’t know as I blame him. Might be I’d do likewise, ef one o’ the varmin plugged me,” he added philosophically.

It took several minutes for Mrs. Dobson to settle herself. Her husband stated that she often arose in her sleep. She had been terribly worked up over the red men ever since leaving Fort Pitt, and this had gotten on her nerves.

The alarm kept the entire camp “on edge” until daybreak. Barringford and two others made several tours in the immediate vicinity, but could see or hear nothing more of the enemy.

“They have either cleared out entirely, or else they know how to hide,” said the old frontiersman.

“Do you think it is the same party that Packerson met?” questioned Rodney.

“Like as not, Rodney. We ain’t seen or heard o’ anybody else on this trail.”

They went on as before, and the following forenoon made a discovery that filled even the stoutest of them with horror. Coming to a spot where the road led down to a ford over a good-sized brook they beheld a man lying beside a rock, with one ear gone and part of his scalp cut away. The man was shot through the body and was all but dead.

“Who shot you?” asked one of the frontiersman, running up.

“Th—the Indians,” was the low and hoarse answer. “Water!”

Water was brought, but the man was almost too weak to drink. One of the party recognized him as Stephen Banoggin, a trader well known in those days around Carlisle and Bedford. Banoggin had left Bedford ten days before, with a view of establishing a new trading post in the vicinity of Venango as soon as it seemed safe to do so.

“All dead—all killed by the Indians!” was about all he could say. “Fool, fool that I was to attempt it! All dead!” And that night he expired.

His tale was almost true, although not quite so. His pack-train had consisted of ten horses and nine men, including three negroes who were his slaves. The Indians—a mixed band under a chief called Crow Feather—had ambushed the train at the ford and slained or mortally wounded all but one negro and a white hunter named Sturm, a German from upper Pennsylvania. Sturm and the negro got away together, each however wounded. They traveled for four weeks in the forest, when Sturm went crazy. At last they reached a settlement, where the negro told his story. Sturm was placed under medical care and regained his reason some time later.

The sights presented to Rodney and the others at the ford were so revolting that Mrs. Dobson, Nell, and the twins were held back, that they might not see what had occurred. The slain were all scalped and an effort had been made to burn one at the stake. The bodies of the men and the dead horses lay together. Four horses were missing, and on these the Indians had packed such stores as they wanted, scattering the other goods or burning them.

“This is enough to make one sick!” said Rodney, as he turned away with a shudder. “These redskins must have been fiends!”

“They were certainly cold-blooded,” answered Barringford. “Poor Banoggin! He had better have stayed in the east.”

“Sam, this doesn’t look as if it would be safe for us to go any further.”

“Easily said, lad; but what are ye goin’ to do?”

“You mean it is as safe to go forward as to turn back?”

“Don’t it look thet way?”

“Maybe. But we are a little closer to Fort Pitt than we are to Fort Cumberland.”

“Thet’s true too. But I don’t reckon the Injuns will dare to go as far east as Cumberland—not after the lickin’ they got at Bushy Run.”

“The band that did this can’t be the band that tried to surround us.”

“No, they are another tribe, I think.”

“Then the forest must still be full of wandering bands, and we are not near as safe as we thought we were.”

“We’ve got to make the best on’t, Rodney. We must travel as fast as we can and keep our eyes peeled more’n ever before. It’s the only way out, so far as I kin see.”

The bodies of the slain were placed in a hollow, with some flat stones on top, to keep off the wolves and other wild beasts. The place was marked on the trees. A few of Banoggin’s possessions were taken along and the others left where they had fallen.

“Poor fellow, he will never want anything in this life again,” murmured Rodney, brokenly. And when the trader died they placed his body away with those of his followers. Fortunately he had been a bachelor, so there would be no widow or child to mourn his loss.

Early in the morning Rodney and those with him moved on again. Everybody in the party was exceedingly sober. All realized their great danger. The fate of Stephen Banoggin and his party was ever before their eyes and in their thoughts.