CHAPTER III.
THE SHADOW OF DANGER.
"It's a canoe—one of them infernal Indian ones," added Hezekiah. "I know enough of 'em to be sure of it."
The object in question was close under the Ohio shore, and at the distance when first seen, might have been mistaken for a common log; but Waring, who had learned to regard every such manifestation with suspicion in the Indian country, was convinced that it was something more the instant he caught a glimpse of it. Besides, Hezekiah was positive, and if any individual was competent to judge in regard to the identity of such a vessel, his experience, as related at the commencement of this tale, should certainly have pointed him out as that man.
If there were any lingering doubts in the minds of the whites, they were instantly set at rest by seeing the canoe put out from the shore, and head across toward the Kentucky bank. The tufted heads of three Indians were visible, and their paddles flashed brightly in the sunlight, as the frail vessel shot swiftly over the surface of the water.
"I didn't mane to alarm yees, but maning no offince to the iligant lady present, might I vinture to suggest in the mildest terms possible, there'd bist be none but men on deck jist now."
"He is right," said Waring, in a lower tone to our heroine, "it is best that you go below."
"I will do so, if you think I should," she replied, suiting her action to her word. "Do you wish father to come up?"
"There is no need of it."
The girl closed the door, and Waring turned toward his friends.
By this time the canoe had nearly crossed the stream. A few moments later, it glided under the Kentucky banks, and three Indians sprang out.
It was with peculiar emotions that the inmates of the flat- boat gradually came opposite this canoe. They had just seen three of their deadly enemies withdraw under the protection of the shrubbery and undergrowth of the shore, and they had every reason to believe that there were others in the vicinity.
"It can't be that they are friendly," suggested Waring, who was all but certain that such could not be the case.
"Friendly divils!" repeated Pat Mulroony. "Every mother's son of 'em is in the war paint, and they'd sooner scalp all of us, not barring the lady—God bless her. Talk of friendly Injins in this part of the wurruld!"
By this time, the flat-boat was opposite the canoe, whose stern could be distinctly seen underneath the dense shrubbery that lined the bank. The conversation ceased of its own accord, and the three men carefully lowered their heads, so that no stray shot could reach them. In the sides of the boat were one or two small orifices, which Waring had had perforated for the purpose of gazing out, just at such times as these, and our friends used them on this occasion.
Looking out, Hezekiah discerned through the interstices of the undergrowth the forms of two crouching Indians, their eyes glowing, their faces all agleam with ferocity, and their bedaubed visages ten times more horrid in appearance than he could have dreamed it possible for a human being to be.
When just fairly abreast of them, a jet of fire was seen to flash among the shrubbery, and as the sharp report of a rifle broke the stillness of the woods, a bullet grated over the top of the flat-boat, and was plainly heard by all, as it plainly cut its way through the leaves on the opposite side of the river, with that peculiar zip-zip made by the rapid passage of a stone or other object through the trees of a forest.
"By the Howly Virgin! take that!" exclaimed Pat, springing up and discharging his rifle at the spot where he saw the faint wreath of smoke curling upward. "How does that faal?"
"They haven't felt it at all," whispered Waring. "Be careful and keep your head out of sight, or you'll be struck."
"How do you know he wasn't struck?" demanded Pat in high dudgeon. "Did you see the passage of the bullet?"
"A wild Indian always yells when a bullet hits him, and they haven't made the least noise."
"Begorrah! but you're right. I've struck a redskin afore to-day, and he always screamed like a painter. It was an uncomfortably close rub, faith, for all that."
Both shores were closely scanned, but nothing more of the savages was seen; and after drifting half a mile or so down stream, our three friends ventured occasionally to show their heads to any who might be lingering along the banks. This, however, was a dangerous proceeding almost at any time, and as there was no necessity for it, it was not often done by any of the three. The reason why Waring was not visible when Hezekiah and Pat first hailed the flat-boat, was not because he did not see or hear them, but because he had prudence enough to keep himself out of sight.
By this time the afternoon was considerably advanced, and Waring invited his two friends to descend into the cabin and partake of the dinner, which Virginia Lander had just announced.
"And who stays above, if I may be allowed to ask?" inquired Hezekiah, with an anxious expression of countenance.
"I do myself; have no apprehension upon that score."
His alarm thus quieted, Hezekiah hesitated no longer.
In the cabin he found a plain, substantial meal prepared, to which he, Pat, Mr. Lander, and our heroine seated themselves. The elderly personage besought the blessing of God upon the food spread before them, and spoke not a another word during the meal.
Great as was Hezekiah's hunger, his curiosity was equally great, and, accordingly, as he masticated the food, he kept his eyes rolling continually about him in search of knowledge. He noticed that the cabin was divided into two compartments, one of which he naturally concluded was devoted to the exclusive use of the young lady who presided at the table. Several times he was on the point of asking permission to take a look into this. But his sense of propriety prevented him, and he devoured his victuals in silence.
As for Pat, he was hungry—that was sufficient. Excepting the food itself, nothing presented the least attraction to him, and he devoured this with a gusto that put to shame the achievements of the others.
The meal finished, the two returned to the deck, and took the place of Waring, while he partook of his dinner. As our two friends looked out upon the still, solemn forest, and the placid, unruffled river, down which they were so noiselessly gliding, they could hardly realize that the profound silence that then held reign was as treacherous as the calm which precedes the marshaling of the storm king's forces upon the ocean. And yet they well knew that within the depths of this wilderness lurked the Indian, whose life was devoted to the one object of exterminating the white race: that he was as cunning and crafty as years of war and bloodshed could make him, and that no means would be left untried to encompass the death of themselves and those with them.
"Hezekiah," said Pat, upon whom this impressive scene had not been entirely lost, "have you ever been in these parts before?"
"Never in all my born days, and I wish to Heaven I wasn't here now."
"What's the trouble now? Begorrah, ye isn't scart, be yees?"
"Yes, Pat, I ain't ashamed to own it—I am scart. I tell you, 'twixt you and me, there's danger hangin' over this craft. I can smell it in the air, I can feel it in my bones. If we don't see trouble afore to-morrow morning, then I'm most mightily mistaken."
"I incline to the same opinion, though I wouldn't be saying it afore the lady down there, and frightenin' the wits out of her. I'd like to know, be the same token, what that old curmudgeon is doin' on this boat?"
"You mean the old man? I should think it would be the last place for him. Never mind, Pat, let come what will, you and I stick together, don't we?"
"Of course we do."
There is nothing that will make friends as soon as a sense of impending danger hanging over both. Let two entire strangers meet under circumstances like these, and in ten minutes they will be on as good terms, and devoted to each other, as though they had been bosom friends for a dozen years. The cause of this is very plain—it is the interest of both to be so.
Hezekiah thought he had never met so fine a fellow as Pat Mulroony; one, whose kindness of heart was so great, and whose friendship was as disinterested; and as for the Celt, although he did not express himself thus, his opinion of the New Englander was very nearly the same.
"You asked awhile ago," said Hezekiah, after a moment's pause, "whether I had ever been in these parts. If you have no objection, I should like to know whether you have been here?"
"Yes, I was about this place last summer with a party, but we didn't go any farther down the river."
"I understood that you were further west than you had ever been before; but then I might have been mistaken. If you have no objection, I should like to hear the particulars of your visit."
"Can't tell it now," replied the Irishman, as though the subject were distasteful to him.
At this moment Waring made his appearance, and was shortly followed by Mr. Lander, who, taking a seat near the cabin, maintained a strict silence during the conversation of the others.
Hezekiah merely glanced at the young man, and saw, as if by instinct, that the same sense of impending danger that so troubled himself, was shared by him also. There was an anxious expression upon his countenance that he had not seen there before; a certain restless nervousness in his manner, which he sought in vain to conceal.
"We are going to have a dark night of it," said he, looking up to the sky.
"As dark as Egypt," added Hezekiah. "I recollect that I nearly battered my brains out, last night, in trying to walk through the woods."
"The moon will not be up till three o'clock in the morning, and, I might as well be plain with you, friends, it will be life and death with us before that time."
"Just what we're thinkin'. Drat the Indians," exclaimed Hezekiah. "I can feel it in my bones that I am going to get into a scrape to-night.”