On the Kentucky Frontier Part 10

"He did not say that we should go up the river until sunrise. Why may it not be possible for us to help him?"

I shook my head, believing it was too late for us to effect anything in his behalf; but the suggestion, coming from a lad who was ignorant of all this wretched business, awakened me to a realization of my own folly.

"I am the one to go," I said decidedly "You shall stay here, in case he comes back."

"By so doing I could be of no a.s.sistance. We will go together."

Even now I fail to understand why my wits had so completely deserted me.

I had no thought of what might be the result if we two made off into the forest in the darkness; but before we met Simon Kenton again I realized my folly most keenly.

Without trying to persuade him to remain, as I should have done even in my foolishness, I whispered:

"You must move softly and keep close behind me, lest we be separated in the thicket where it might mean death to cry out. Follow my every motion, for I shall take the lead."

He grasped his rifle in a manner which told he at least was no coward, and clutched my hunting s.h.i.+rt to make certain of obeying the command I had given.

I stepped over the side of the canoe into the water; but not as silently as Simon Kenton had done, and we two waded ash.o.r.e with no heed as to where this rash move was likely to lead us.

Ashamed though I am to confess it, I took no heed as to the location of the boat we were leaving--made no attempt to seek out what would serve as a guide when we returned, if in deed we ever did; but had only in mind the idea of proceeding up-stream toward where the reports of the weapons had come from.

And into the blackness of the forest we plunged, I claiming to be better versed, in woodcraft than my companion, yet doing that which the most ignorant townsman would never have dreamed of attempting.

It was the act of a fool, and I was to receive the punishment due my folly.

CHAPTER VI.

ASTRAY.

It seemed to me that the noise of the firearms had come from a point about half a mile from the sh.o.r.e, and less than a third of this distance up-stream, therefore I bent my way in that direction, heeding nothing save the terrible fear that Simon Kenton had been taken prisoner, or killed outright.

Could I have learned that he was dead my heart might have been somewhat lighter, for I knew full well how terrible would be the torture inflicted upon him once the savages understood who he was.

In such case, Paul and I were bound to carry the sad news back to the volunteers without delay; but while there was a chance of our being able to give him succor, I held that it was our duty to make every effort in such direction.

When I was older grown, and had seen more of warfare, I came to understand that the life of one man counts for but little when compared with the general good, and had such fact been impressed upon my mind at this time, I would never have set out on the foolhardy errand which bid fair to lead Paul Sampson and me to our death.

The lad whom Simon Kenton and I had saved from the stake was an apt pupil, as he showed on this night when he followed close in my footsteps, betraying no signs of fear when he might well have been excused for betraying timorousness, and moving with the utmost caution.

It is not for me to say that we advanced as silently as the young scout could have done; but I was satisfied that we were not moving in a clumsy fas.h.i.+on, and began to feel a certain pride in thus showing Paul how we of the frontier followed on the trail of our enemies.

During perhaps half an hour we two went steadily but cautiously forward, and then it seemed to me as if we should have arrived at the spot from which the shots had come.

I halted and listened intently. Not a sound could be heard save the soughing of the wind among the foliage, or the countless faint noises of the night which tell of life when the world is supposed to be sleeping.

For the first time a sense of distrust in my own ability found lodgment in my mind. It seemed positive we had either traveled in the wrong direction, or the savages had left the vicinity where the encounter had taken place. Surely we ought to have come across Kenton, unless he made a wider detour than at first seemed probable, or, as I feared, had been taken prisoners.

A certain numbness as of despair took possession of me; I pressed forward with less heed than before to the direction I was taking, and again stood still to listen.

When we made this second halt I believed we were no less than two miles from where the canoe lay, and it was positive the enemy had not been so far away when the weapons were discharged.

Paul pressed my arm in token that he wanted to say something; but I clapped my hand over his mouth. The fact that I had made a most grievous mistake was beginning to find lodgment in my dull brain, and a nervous fear was creeping over me.

The thought that he, a lad from the east who knew nothing of woodcraft, had good reason to distrust my ability, angered me, and like a fool I advanced once more, this time at right angles with the course we had been pursuing, even though I should have known that such traveling at random was not calculated to produce the desired results.

When we had forced our way through the underbrush for a distance of perhaps another mile, we were halted by a swamp.

It was not possible that either the Indians or Simon Kenton had attempted to cross such a place where one must flounder around with noise enough to proclaim his every movement, and I leaned against the trunk of a tree fully realizing all the mischief I had wrought.

Again Paul gave token of wis.h.i.+ng to speak, and I no longer attempted to check him.

"If we are to hunt for Kenton, or count on learning what has become of him, would it not be better that we went back to the canoe, and waited for the coming of day?"

"Then it is our duty to push up stream to warn the volunteers," I replied moodily.

"We cannot hope to find him while it is dark, and it may be that we shall lose our way," he suggested mildly, whereupon, and without reason, I turned upon him angrily.

"We have lost it already!"

"Can you not retrace your steps to the river?" he asked mildly, and without show of fear.

"We should be able to strike the stream; but, having done so, I could not say whether we were above or below the canoe, and we might travel for hours in the wrong direction."

"We would be able to learn our course by the current, and if it be not possible to find the boat, then must we go up the river to warn the volunteers."

"And leave Simon Kenton in the hands of the savage brutes?" I asked angrily, grown unreasoning in my nervous fears and the knowledge that I had made a fool of myself.

"We are not leaving Kenton, because we have never found him, and since, as seems true, we only wander about aimlessly, would it not be wisest to think of the others, who rely upon us to point out the danger which may await them?"

Paul Sampson was speaking like a sensible lad, and I realized it fully.

He, the boy ignorant of woodcraft, should have been the leader, and I wished most devoutly I had consulted with him before setting out on this wild-goose chase.

While one might have counted twenty I stood unwilling to acknowledge my helplessness, and then something like a gleam of common sense came into my mind. I stood ready to confess that I had acted like a simple, and he must have understood something of the truth, when I said:

"It shall be as you propose, Paul, and we'll make for the river; but this time I am not counting on taking the lead, having already shown that I have no right to direct our movements."

"If you despair like this, then are we lost indeed," he said mildly.

"Remember that I know nothing whatever of such work. Go on as before, using your best efforts to lead us to the river. Then we should aim to meet the volunteers, so it seems to me, forgetting poor Kenton because of the many others who need to know exactly what has happened here."

Without attempting an argument, even had I been able to find one which would warrant our traveling to and fro as we had done, I acted upon his suggestion.

Either we had traveled in a southerly direction to where the river took a sharp bend, or were much deeper in the forest than had at first seemed possible to me, for a full hour was spent making our way through the tangled underbrush, now slowly because of the necessity for silence, and again pressing forward as rapidly as we deemed safe, and not until such a length of time had elapsed did we come to the bank of the stream.

That I had allowed myself to be completely turned around was proven by the current of the river, for without such evidence I would have gone toward the south, believing I was making my way northward.