Wild Western Scenes Part 17

"That's a good child," said Roughgrove; "go in, now, and set about your task."

Mary bowed to her father, and glided away. The men then cl.u.s.tered round Boone, to hear the plan that was to avail them in their present difficulty.

"In times of peril," said Boone, "my knowledge of the Indian character has always served me. I first reflect what I would do were I myself a savage; and, in taking measures to provide against the things which I imagine would be done by myself, I have never yet been disappointed.

The Indians will not rashly rush upon us, and expose themselves to our bullets, as they storm the palisade. Had they the resolution to do this, not one of us would escape alive, for they would tear down the house. It is a very large war-party, and they could begin at the top and before morning remove every stone. But they shall not touch one of them--"

"I'm so glad!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Joe.

"Hush your jaw!" said Sneak.

"They will be divided into two parties," continued Boone; "one party will attack us from the west with their arrows, keeping at a respectful distance from our guns, while the other will force a pa.s.sage to the palisade from the east without being seen, for they will come under the snow! We must instantly plant a keg of powder, on the outside of the inclosure, and blow them up when they come. Joe, bring out a keg of powder, and also the fis.h.i.+ng rods I saw in the house. The latter must be joined together, and a communication opened through them. They must be filled with powder and one end placed in the keg, while the other reaches the inclosure, pa.s.sing through an auger hole. You all understand now what is to be done--let us go to work--we have no time to spare."

It was not long before every thing was executed according to the directions of Boone, and at nightfall each man was stationed at a loophole, with gun in hand, awaiting the coming of the savages.

CHAPTER VIII.

Night--Sagacity of the hounds--Reflection--The sneaking savages--Joe's disaster--The approach of the foe under the snow--The silent watch.

The night was beautiful. The moon sailed through a cloudless sky, and the north wind, which had whistled loudly among the branches of the trees in the valley at the close of day, was hushed, and a perfect calm pervaded the scene.

"What're you leaving your post for?" asked Sneak, as Joe suddenly abandoned his watch on the west side of the inclosure, and tripped across to Roughgrove.

"Mr. Roughgrove--Mr. Roughgrove," said Joe, in a low tone.

"Well, what do you want with me?" responded the old ferryman.

"I wanted to tell you that your two oarsmen are forgotten, and to ask you if we hadn't better call to them to come up here, where they'll be out of danger?"

"They are _not_ forgotten," said Roughgrove; "I sent them over the river to procure a.s.sistance, if possible."

"Thank you. I'm glad they're out of danger. I couldn't rest till I found out something about them," said Joe, retiring; but instead of resuming his watch, he slipped into the house.

"He's at his old tricks agin," said Sneak, when he observed him stealthily enter the door. "Come out, I say!" he continued, in a loud voice.

"What is the matter?" interrogated Glenn, from his station on the north.

"Why, that feller's crept into the house agin," replied Sneak.

"Well, but he's come out again," said Joe, reappearing, and walking reluctantly to his loophole.

"What did you go in for?" demanded Glenn.

"I just wanted to tell Miss Mary that the two oarsmen that helped us to bury Posin were gone over the river, and were safe."

"Did she ask for this information?" inquired Glenn.

"No, not exactly," responded Joe; "but I thought if I was uneasy about the young men myself, that she, being more delicate than a man, must be considerably distressed."

"A mere subterfuge! See that you do not leave your post in future, under any circ.u.mstances, without permission to do so."

"I won't," replied Joe, peering through his loophole.

Matters remained quiet for a great length of time, and Glenn began to hope that even Boone had been mistaken. But Boone himself had no doubts upon the subject. Yet he seemed far more affable and cheerful than he did before the plan of resistance was formed in his mind.

Occasionally he would walk round from post to post, and after scanning the aspect without, direct the sentinels to observe closely certain points, trees or bushes, where he thought the enemy might first be seen. He never hinted once that there was a possibility of escaping an attack, and the little party felt that the only alternative was to watch with diligence and act with vigor and resolution when a.s.sailed.

"Do you think they are now in this immediate neighbourhood?" inquired Glenn.

"They are not far off, I imagine," replied Boone; and calling the hounds from the stable, he continued, "I can show you in which quarter they are." The hounds well understood their old master. At his bidding they snuffed the air, and whining in a peculiar manner, with their heads turned towards the west, the vicinity of the savages was not only made manifest, but their location positively pointed out.

"I was not aware, before, of the inestimable value of your gift," said Glenn, gazing at the hounds, and completely convinced that their conduct was an unerring indication of the presence of the foe.

"Eh! Ringwood!" exclaimed Boone, observing that his favorite hound now pointed his nose in a northern direction and uttered a low growl.

"Indeed!" he continued, "they have got in motion since we have been observing the hounds. I was not mistaken. Even while we were speaking they divided their strength. One party is even now moving round to the east, and at a given signal the other will attack us on the west, precisely as I predicted. See! Ringwood turns gradually."

"And you think the greatest danger is to be apprehended from those on the east?" said Glenn.

"Yes," said Boone, "for the others cannot approach near enough to do much injury without exposing themselves to great peril."

"But how can you ascertain that they will cut a pa.s.sage under the snow, and the precise direction in which they will come?"

"Because," said Boone, "we are situated near the cliff on the east, to the summit of which they can climb, without being exposed to our fire, and thence it is likewise the shortest distance they can find to cut a pa.s.sage to us under the snow. Mark Ringwood!" he continued, as the hound having made a semicircle from the point first noticed, became at length stationary, and crouching down on the earth, (where the snow had been cleared away at Boone's post,) growled more angrily than before, but so low he could not have been heard twenty paces distant.

"This is strange--very strange," said Glenn.

A sound resembling the cry of an owl was heard in the direction of the cliff. It was answered on the west apparently by the shrill howl of a wolf.

"The signal!" said Boone. "Now let us be on the alert," he continued, "and I think we will surprise _them_, both on and under the snow. Let no one fire without first consulting me, even should they venture within the range of your guns."

The party resumed their respective stations, and once more not a sound of any description was heard for a considerable length of time.

Roughgrove was at the side of Boone, and the other three men were posted as before described. The hounds had been sent back to their lair in the stable. Not a motion, animate or inanimate, save the occasional shooting of the stars in the begemmed firmament, could be observed.

While Glenn rested upon his gun, attracted ever and anon by the twinkling host above, a throng of unwonted memories crowded upon him.

He thought of his guileless youth; the uncontaminated days of enjoyment ere he had mingled with the designing and heartless a.s.sociates who strove to entice him from the path of virtue; of the hopes of budding manhood; of ambitious schemes to win a name by great and honourable deeds; of parents, kindred, home; of _her_, who had been the angel of all his dreams of paradise below: and then he contemplated his present condition, and notwithstanding his resolution was unabated, yet in spite of all his struggles, a tear bedewed his cheek. He felt that his fate was hard, but he _knew_ that his course was proper, and he resolved to fulfil his vow. But with his sadness, gloomy forebodings, and deep and unusual thoughts obtruded. In the scene of death and carnage that was about to ensue, it occurred to him more than once that it might be his lot to fall. This was a painful thought. He was brave in conflict, and would not have hesitated to rush reckless into the midst of danger; but he was calm now, and the thought of death was appalling. He would have preferred to die on a n.o.bler field, if he were to fall in battle. He did not wish to die in his _youth_, to be cut off, without accomplis.h.i.+ng the many ends he had so often meditated, and without reaping a few of the sweets of life as the reward of his voluntary sacrifice. He also desired to appear once more in the busy and detracting world, to vindicate the character that might have been unjustly aspersed, to reward the true friends.h.i.+p of those whose confidence had never been shaken, and to rebuke, perhaps forgive, the enemies who had recklessly pursued him. But another, and yet a more stirring and important thought obtruded upon his reflections. It was one he had never seriously considered before, and it now operated upon him with irresistible power. It was a thought of things _beyond_ the grave. The stillness of midnight, the million stars above him, the blue eternal expanse through which they were distributed--the repose of the invisible winds, that late had howled around him--the never-ceasing flow of the ice-bound stream before him, and the continual change of hill and valley--now desolate, and clothed in frosty vestments, and anon with verdure and variegated beauty--constrained him to acknowledge in the secret portals of his breast that there was a great, ever-existing Creator. He then called to mind the many impressive lessons of a pious mother, which he had subsequently disregarded. He remembered the things she had read to him in the book of books--the words of prayer she taught him to utter every eve, ere he closed his eyes in slumber--and he _now_ repeated that humble pet.i.tion with all the fervency of a chastened spirit. He felt truly convinced of the fallacy of setting the heart and the affections altogether on the things of this world, where mortals are only permitted to abide but a brief s.p.a.ce; and a hearty repentance of past errors, and a firm resolve to obey the requisitions of the Omnipotent in future, were in that hour conceived and engraven indelibly upon his heart.

"Mr. Boone--Mr. Boone--Mr. Boone!" cried Joe, softly.

"Dod! don't make sich a fuss," said Sneak.

"Be silent," whispered Boone, gliding to Joe, and gazing out on the snow, where he beheld about twenty savages standing erect and motionless, not eighty paces distant.

"I came within an ace of shooting," said Joe, "before I thought of what you had said. I pulled the trigger with all my might before I remembered that you said I musn't shoot till you told me, but as good luck would have it, my musket wasn't c.o.c.ked." Boone went to each of the other loopholes, and after scrutinizing every side very closely, he directed Sneak and Glenn to abandon their posts and join him at Joe's stand, for the purpose of discharging a deadly volley at the unsuspecting foe.

"Does it not seem cruel to spill blood in this manner?" whispered Glenn, when he viewed the statue-like forms of the unconscious Indians.