The Little Red Foot Part 84

But now that I was truly an Oneida, and in absolute authority, I must act quickly.

"Come, then," said I in a shaky voice, "we People of the Rock must march on the Gates of Sunset. If my fate lies there, why then I am due to die in that place!... Make ready, Oneidas!"

The Screech-owl found a hollow under a windfall; and here we hurriedly hid our heavier baggage.

Then, when all had completed painting the Little Red Foot on their bellies, I stepped swiftly ahead of them and turned northwest.

"March," I said in a low voice.

We travelled as the honey-bee flies, and as rapidly while the going was good en route; but to cover this great triangle of forests we were obliged to use the tactics of hunting wolves and, from some given point, circle the surrounding country, in hopes of cutting the hidden British trail we sought.

This delayed us; but it was the only way. And, like trained hunting dogs, we even quartered and cut up the wilderness, halting and encircling Cherry Valley on the second day out, because I knew how familiar was Walter Butler with that region and with the people who inhabited it, and suspected that he might be likely to lead his first attack over ground he knew so well.

Ah, G.o.d!--had I known then what all the world knows now! And I erred only in guessing at the time of Cherry Valley's martyrdom, not in estimating the ferocious purpose of young Walter Butler.

On the afternoon of our second day out from Schoharie, while we were still beating up the bush of the Cherry Valley district, I left my Indians and went alone down into the pretty settlement in quest of information and also to renew our scanty stock of provisions. I found the lovely place almost deserted, save for a few old men of the exempts working on a sort of fort around Colonel Clyde's house, and a few women and children who had not yet gone off to Schenectady or Albany.

I stopped at the house of the Wells family. John Wells, the father of my friend Bob, had been one of the Judges of the Tryon County courts, sitting on the bench with old John Butler, who now was invading us, with Sir John, in arms.

Bob was away on military duty, but there were in the house his mother, his wife, his four little children, his brother Jack, and Janet, his engaging sister whom I had admired so often at the Hall, and who was beloved like a daughter by Sir William.

I shall never forget the amazement of these delightful and kindly people when I appeared at their door in Cherry Valley, nor their affectionate hospitality when they learned my purpose and my errand.

A sack of provisions was immediately provided me; their kindness and courtesy seemed inexhaustible, although even now the shadow of terror lay over Cherry Valley. Their young men under Colonels Clyde and Campbell had gone to join Herkimer; they were utterly dest.i.tute of defense against McDonald or Sir John if Schoharie were invaded, or if Stanwix fell, or if Herkimer gave way before St. Leger.

They asked news of me very calmly, and I told them all I had learned and something of the sinister rumours which now were current in the Mohawk and Schoharie Valleys.

They, in their turn, knew nothing positive of Sir John, but had heard that he was marching on Stanwix with St. Leger and Brant, and that a thousand savages were with them.

My sojourn at the Wells house was brief; the family was evidently very anxious but not gloomy; even the children smiled courageously when I made my adieux; and my dear little friend, Janet, led me by the hand to the edge of the brush-field, through which I must travel to regain the forest, and kissed me at our parting.

On the wood's edge, I paused and looked back at the place called Cherry Valley, lying so peacefully in the suns.h.i.+ne, where in the fields grain already was turning golden green; and fat cattle grazed their pastures; and wisps of smoke drifted from every chimney.

That is my memory of Cherry Valley in the sunny tranquillity of late afternoon, where ta.s.seled corn like ranks of plumed Indians, covered vale and hillock; and clover and English gra.s.s grew green again after the first haying; and on some orchard trees the summer apples glimmered rosy ripe or lush gold among the leaves;--ah, G.o.d!--if I could have known what another year was to bring to Cherry Valley!

There was no sound in the still settlement except a dull and distant stirring made by the workmen sodding parapets on the new and unfinished fort.

From where I stood I could see the Wells house, and the little children at play in the dooryard; and Peter Smith, a servant, drawing water, who one day was to see his master's family in their blood.

I could make out Colonel Campbell's house, too, and the chimney of Colonel Clyde's house; and had a far glimpse of the residence of the Reverend Mr. Dunlop, the aged minister of Cherry Valley.

From a gilded weather-c.o.c.k I was able to guess about where Captain M'Kean should reside; and Mr. Mitch.e.l.l's barn I discovered, also. But M'Kean and his rangers must now be marching with Herkimer's five regiments to meet the hordes of St. Leger.

The sun sank blood-red behind the unbroken forests, and the sky over Cherry Valley seemed to be all afire as I turned away and entered the twilight of the woods, lugging my sack of provisions on my back.

That night my Indians and I lay within rifle-shot of the Mohawk River; and at dawn we made a crow-flight of it toward Oneida Lake; and found not a trace of Sir John or of anybody in that trackless wilderness; and so camped at last, exhausted and discouraged.

On the fourth day, toward sunset, the Screech-owl, roaming far out on our western flank, returned with news of a dead and stinking fire in the woods, and fish heads rotting in it; and he thought the last ember burnt out some four days since.

He took us to it in the dark, and his was a better woodcraft than I could boast, who had been Brent-Meester, too. At dawn we examined the ashes, but discovered nothing; and we were eating our parched corn and discussing the matter of the fire when, very far away in the west, a shot sounded; and in that same second we were on our feet and listening like d.a.m.ned men for the last trumpet.

My heart made a deadened rataplan like a m.u.f.fled drum, and seemed to deafen me, so terribly intent was I.

Tahioni stretched out like a panther sunning on a log; and laid his ear flat against the earth. Seconds grew to minutes; n.o.body stirred; no other sound came from the westward.

Presently I turned and signalled in silence; my Indians crawled noiselessly to their allotted intervals, extending our line north and south; then, trailing my rifle, I stole forward through an open forest, beneath the ancient and enormous trees of which no underbrush grew in the eternal twilight.

Nothing stirred. There were no animals here, no birds, no living creature that I could hear or see,--not even an insect.

Under our tread the mat of moist dead leaves gave back no sound; the silence in this dim place was absolute.

We had been creeping forward for more than an hour, I think, before I discovered the first sign of man in that spectral region.

I was breasting a small hillock set with tall walnut trees, in hopes of obtaining a better view ahead, and had just reached the crest, and, lying flat, was lifting my head for a cautious survey, when my eye caught a long, wide streak of sunlight ahead.

My Indians, too, had seen this tell-tale evidence which indicated either a stream or a road. But we all knew it was a road. We could see the suns.h.i.+ne dappling it; and we crawled toward it, belly dragging, like tree-cats stalking a dappled fawn.

Scarce had we come near enough to observe this road plainly, and the crushed ferns and swale gra.s.ses in the new waggon ruts, when we heard horses coming at a great distance.

Down we drop, each to a tree, and lie with levelled pieces, while slop!

thud! clink! come the horses, nearer, nearer; and, to my astonishment and perplexity, from the _east_, and travelling the wrong way.

I cautioned my Oneidas fiercely against firing unless I so signalled them; we lay waiting in an excitement well nigh unendurable, while nearer and nearer came the leisurely sound of the advancing horses.

And now we saw them!--three red-coat dragoons riding very carelessly westward on this wide, well-trodden road which now I knew must lead to Oneida Lake.

I could see the British hors.e.m.e.n plainly. The day was hot; the sun beat down on their red jackets and helmets; they sat their saddles wearily; their faces were wet with perspiration, and they had loosened jacket and neck-cloth, and their pistols were in holster, and their guns slung upon their backs.

It was plain that these troopers had no thought of precaution nor entertained any apprehension of danger on this road, which must lie in the rear of their army, and must also be their route of communication between the Lake and the Mohawk.

Slap, slop, clink! they trampled past us where my Oneidas lay a-tremble like crouched cats to see the rats escaping on their runway.

But my ears had caught another sound,--the distant noise of wheels; and I guessed that this was a waggon which the three hors.e.m.e.n should have escorted, but, feeling entirely secure, had let their horses take their own gait, and so had straggled on far ahead of the convoy with which they should have kept in touch.

The waggon was far away. It approached slowly. Already the hors.e.m.e.n had ridden clear out o' sight; and we crept to the edge of the road and lay flat in the weeds, waiting, listening.

Twice the approaching vehicle halted as though to rest the horses; the dragoons must have been a long way ahead by this time, for it was some minutes since the sound of their horses' hoofs had died away in the woods.

And now, near and ever nearer, creeps the waggon; and now it seems close at hand; and now we see it far away down the road, slowly moving toward us.

But it is no baggage-wain,--no transport cart that approaches us. The two horses are caparisoned in bright harness; the driver wears a red waistcoat and is a negro, and powdered. The vehicle is a private coach which lurches, though driven cautiously.

"Good G.o.d!" said I, "that is Sir John's family coach! Tahioni, hold your Oneidas! For I mean to find out who rides so carelessly to Oneida Lake, confiding too much in the army which has pa.s.sed this way!"

Slowly, slowly the coach drew near our ambush. I recognized Colas as the coachman _pro tem_; I knew the horses and the family coach; saw the Johnson arms emblazoned on the panels as I rose from the roadside weeds.

"Colas!" I said quietly.