Gradually, Norton's mind settled out of chaos into order. The girl was no daughter of Abel Grigg; so much was certain. He felt a hot anger at thought of her in the hands of such a man. There was no chance that Grigg had lied to her about the eagle, for his very use of the term "just a bauble" showed Norton that the backwoodsman had not known what it was. No man who was a member of the Cincinnati but reverenced the order and all it stood for, and whenever he thought of those words Norton felt hot anger thrilling him.
Turning to his own situation, he dismissed the remembrance of Kitty Grigg for the present. Had her father overheard their conversation? If so, there was a bare chance of finding trouble waiting near Blue River. He saw, however, that she had suggested the wisest course to him. Half an hour later, coming to a fork in the trail, he promptly turned off to the south.
His best plan now lay in finding the man Red Hugh, of whom Boone had spoken, and enlisting his services. There might also be a messenger at Dodd's Tavern, if Ayres kept his word.
Norton perceived very plainly that he had been neatly driven out of Louisville as a fugitive, but he firmly intended to return otherwise—for divers reasons. If he was to detect the river-pirates or whoever formed the band of Blacknose, he must do it by means of scouting along the river. It might require weeks and months of arduous work and woods-living, and such a man as Red Hugh would prove invaluable. Were Boone right in his description of the man who slew Indians—and Norton knew of too many such to doubt—this Red Hugh would be more than apt to know all the river-haunts this side the Mississippi.
"After all," he told himself cheerily, "things seem to have turned out very well! If Ayres does not forget his promises, we may yet bring Blacknose to book."
He passed one or two scattered cabins that afternoon, shot a wild turkey, and camped for the night beside a creek, in perfect content. In case Grigg had not overheard his plan, he decided to let the man think he had followed the Tennessee trail; he was not at all sure that Duval and Grigg were not leagued against him, and knew better than to trust in the lawyer's seeming apology. Kitty's words rang in his mind—"If Charles Duval gave you an apology, look to your steps!"
"She knew the breed all right," he reflected, the next morning. "I should have known better myself. Well, now for the north and west!"
He made no effort to hide his camp. As the creek ran north, seemingly to the Ohio, he led his horse along its bed for a good mile, picked hard ground for the emergence, and rode off, leaving a carefully covered trail. Even were he followed, his pursuers would be a day or two later, he knew, so before noon he flung off all care and rode on through the woods.
Another turkey and a small deer fell to his rifle that morning, after which he wended his solitary way in peace, with meat and to spare. Stopping at noon, he lighted a small fire and proceeded to smoke enough of his fresh meat to last for a few days, as he was going on to the river, where game was thinned out. He had been following no trail and had seen no one all that morning; the forest seemed limitless and desolate, empty of all human life.
Norton, however, did not relax his vigilance. While he was engaged with his meat, he paused suddenly, caught up his rifle, and drew the feather from the touch-hole. He heard no sound, but he had a subtle warning that someone was near; before he had unstopped his powder-horn, the bushes opposite were flung aside and two Indians appeared.
"How!"
They gazed at him, motionless, with only the single word of peace, and Norton returned the stare with interest. Both men were dressed in beaded buckskin; both wore medals and carried Kentucky rifles, and both were unpainted; the larger man was strikingly handsome, while the other, who possessed but one eye, had a wild ferocity in his features.
Without a word more, the larger man laid his rifle on the ground and made an inquiring motion toward the meat. Norton told them to help themselves, and endeavoured to make them talk; but neither would say a thing, save for a swift exchange of gutturals between themselves.
He watched them in no little interest as they ate, and came to the conclusion that they were no ordinary warriors. He knew little of the northern tribes, but from the fact that the one-eyed man wore moccasins of unmistakable Cherokee make, he guessed the two had been on a trip to the south. Having none of the Kentuckian's contempt for the Indian, Norton went on about his work quietly though watchfully, rather perplexed by the oddity of their silence. Pouring fresh powder into his pan, he set his rifle ready to hand, whereat he thought the handsome Indian smiled a little.
When they had eaten the better half of his deer, they both drew out small pipes of the precious calumet stone—a thing which in itself marked them as men of rank. Norton silently proffered them tobacco. The handsome chieftain made the ceremonial of four puffs and handed his pipe to Norton, who repeated it, thinking they would now talk. In this he was mistaken. The one-eyed man emitted a grunt as Norton made the four puffs in Indian fashion to the four quarters of the heavens, but that was all. Although he ventured a question, neither replied.
With that Norton gave a shrug, rose, and began tying his smoked meat to his saddle. He wished that he knew more about the northern redskins, for these were certainly men of some importance, but his experiences had been confined to Creek, Cherokee, and Seminole, while these two were quite clearly of a different race—whether Shawnee, Miami, Wyandot, or Ottawa he could not tell.
As he turned to pick up his rifle, the larger man rose and came forward, smiling. He reached forth an empty powder-horn, which was finely carved, and indicated by signs that Norton was to give him powder; it was not a demand, but a courteous request. Norton, at first inclined to anger, found himself suddenly impressed by this unknown Indian; having plenty of powder himself, he at length assented and poured a few charges into the empty horn.
At this, the Indian gravely proffered him a shilling—and Norton noted that it was English money. He was well aware that he was going through a remarkable experience, there being little enough money in the settlements themselves, to say nothing of Indians using it—a thing unheard of.
"You're welcome," he smiled, waving back the coin. "I don't wish payment—you're quite welcome, though I don't suppose an Indian would ever hand me out free powder."
Whether he was understood or not, he could not tell. The one-eyed man, still sitting over his pipe, grunted out something; the other turned with swift anger in his face and poured forth a flood of words. Norton guessed shrewdly that the one-eyed man had expressed entire willingness to give him free powder at any time—from the end of a rifle.
Abruptly, the friendly chief turned to Norton again, and made signs for the latter to remove his moccasins—at the same time unfastening his own. Puzzled, the Louisianian hesitated a moment and finally obeyed, seeing that the other meant it. Then the Indian held out his moccasins—ankle-high, and elaborately beaded and quilled. Norton drew back, glancing at his own torn and stained and unbeaded pair, which he had obtained from a Creek squaw on his way north.
"You mean to exchange with me?" he asked, wondering. "No, I can't do that, man! Why, those moccasins of yours are magnificent! Want to sell them?"
A lightning flash of terrible anger shot into the swarthy features, but was gone instantly. Again the Indian nodded and held out his moccasins. Understanding that he was being paid in this fashion for his hospitality, Norton reluctantly accepted, amazed that an Indian should even think of payment. When he had donned the new and unusually fine pair of the Indian, he put out his hand—and met a smiling refusal to shake.
Frowning, he turned to his horse and mounted. As he rode away, his friend sent him a wave of the hand; then he splashed across the shallow creek near his camp, and the strange pair of redskins were lost behind him. It was odd, undoubtedly; that refusal to shake hands had been a very manly way of saying they were enemies, yet he knew there was no Indian war going on at present.
Unable to account for the whole experience, he dismissed it from his mind. It was one of the weird silent happenings which the wilderness holds in store for those who penetrate her fastnesses; strange things, memories which remain for ever, yet which may never react upon the future, the ebb and flow of Dead Sea tides leaving nothing upon the shores of life save the brine of wasted energy. Had John Norton known who his two guests were, however, he might not have considered the incident closed, so far as he himself was concerned. To them, indeed, it might well prove a momentary thing.
So he dismissed it lightly enough, and looked ahead. As he sat by his campfire that night and considered his situation, he found it good. He was to seek a certain unnamed settlement on the Indian shore, twelve miles this side of the Blue River, and on the Kentucky side would find Red Hugh; then on to Blue River, Dodd's tavern, and the messenger from Ayres. That afternoon he had seen the river hills to the north; so by keeping due west, getting off early, and pushing hard, he might find Red Hugh's cabin by the next night. He must have come a good twenty miles, he considered, of the forty-five lying between Louisville and his destination, for all that he had taken a circuitous course.
Before sunrise he was up and on his way again. Two hours later he drew up on a rising knoll amid the hills, and saw the signal-fire of Destiny awaiting him.
It was a spiral of blue smoke, ascending from the valley beyond, and perhaps a mile away. Norton sat watching it for a moment; to his trained eye it showed a fire of green wood, too small for a careless settler's building, too large for that of Indian or backwoodsman.
Since his meeting with the two redskins, Norton had regained his caution. He knew that the Kentucky woods were filled with adventurers and peculiar individuals of all descriptions, to say nothing of Indians who might or might not be hostile. So, having made certain that there were no settlers' cabins in the vicinity, he dismounted and went forward on foot. His horse, an Indian pony he had bought at Fort Massac, followed at a little distance behind him, treading almost as silently as did Norton himself.
After proceeding some distance, he tied the beast to a tree and went on more cautiously still, for that fire interested him. It was evidently built by someone who feared nothing in the woods, yet was a stranger to woods' ways, and Norton thought for a fleeting instant that he might have chanced upon the retreat of Blacknose. With his rifle ready loaded and primed, he stole forward, using all his woodcraft.
But his all was not enough, it proved. While he was crossing a thickly overgrown hollow, he flushed up two cardinals from a canebrake just ahead, and as the birds went up Norton realized that his cunning had been in vain. He was just about to plunge into the high canebrake when the tall yellowish stalks were brushed aside to disclose a figure of nearly his own height, and a white man stepped forth.
For a moment the two men stared at each other in mutual surprise and admiration, for both were striking in looks—Norton in his capable, alert, piercing-eyed way, the stranger in sheer manly beauty. He was an inch shorter than Norton, was this stranger who had risen from the midst of the cane; the effeminacy of the long hair curling over his shoulders was at once offset by a strong nose, large mouth, and square chin, and very large, deep-set, commanding dark eyes.
Norton was startled by the appearance of this man, who seemed not of the woods and yet a woodsman. He wore a magnificent ruffled shirt of finest French linen, flung open at the throat to display a neck as bronzed as Norton's own; his coat and knee-breeches were of black satin, his knee-high moccasins of rude home make; a watch fob-ribbon hung on one side of his belt, a powder-horn and hunting-knife opposite. Over one ear was stuck a long crayon, while in his hand he held a thin board with paper fastened to it.
"Parbleu!" exclaimed the stranger, then continued instantly in excellent English, staring hard at Norton: "Your coming was most unfortunate, sir! You frightened away the finest specimen of Kentucky cardinal I have seen this year!"
"Accept my apologies, monsieur," smiled Norton, speaking in French. "You are a Frenchman, then?"
"I? Not at all!" cried the other. "I was born in Louisiana, removing later to France, but this is my country. Who are you, sir, who speak French so excellently in this wilderness? Do you come from the French Grant up-river?"
"No, I gained that language in New Orleans," returned Norton, wondering greatly who this eccentric stranger might be. "I regret having frightened away your bird—I trust you did not anticipate dining upon him?"
The other looked bewildered.
"Eh? Dining? Do you eat such birds, sir?"
"Heavens, no!" And Norton laughed despite himself. "But what else could you want of him?"
The stranger broke into a frank laughter; so winning and direct was his whole attitude that the puzzled Norton felt an odd liking for the man.
"It seems we were both mistaken then! I was limning the bird—but come to the higher ground in here. Did you ever see a cardinal's nest?"
"I never looked for one," returned Norton curtly. He followed to a small patch of drier ground in the centre of the cane-brake, and the stranger eagerly pointed to a nest in the branches of a young cottonwood, to one side.
"Sit down—stay quiet!" commanded the other quickly. "They will return in a half-hour, sir——"
"Then I'll be on my way," broke in Norton drily, "for I have other business than watching birds, sir."
He turned, when the stranger set down the paper and board, on which only a few sketchy lines were visible, and caught at his arm.
"Pardon, sir—one moment! Are you lately from Louisiana? Do you know that country well?"
"I've lived there all my life, practically," said Norton. "Why?"
"Well"—and the other seemed to forget his birds temporarily—"I was but a child when I went to France, and last year I heard a monstrous strange story of Upper Louisiana, which I have never been able to authenticate. I met one of the men who had been on Colonel Burr's ill-fated expedition, and he assured me that on the banks of the Missouri there is a mountain of salt——"
"Travellers' tales," laughed Norton, but the other continued quickly:
"Wait, sir! He also stated very decidedly that had Colonel Burr succeeded in his venture, he would have been joined by a great tribe of Indians. This tribe inhabit a country of some nine hundred square miles, around the salt mountain, fight always on horseback, and are armed with the short Spanish carbines——"
"My dear sir," inquired Norton in frank wonder, "are you in earnest?"
"Of course I am!" And indeed there was no mistaking the eager interest of the stranger's handsome face. "I am a student of ornithology, sir—that is, I pursue the study in my spare time—but I am also keenly interested in such matters of ethnology, and if you could enlighten me as to this Indian tribe, I would appreciate it. You seem a person of no little refinement and culture——"
"Thank you," laughed Norton heartily. "Well, sir, I can assure you that this tale is a myth in all its branches, is not worthy of credence, and your informant was wholly wrong. I trust that is sweeping enough. Now, as I am in some haste, I will leave you to your birds and pursue my way. Do you know how far I am from the Blue River?"
"I do not, sir"—and the frank eyes twinkled at him. "I have been in camp here for a week past, watching this pair of birds at work. Fortunately my sketches are completed, but my provisions are gone, and I have lost my spare flints and cannot shoot. How say you—shall we seek the Blue River together, sir, and become gentleman adventurers through the wilderness?"
Something in the merry, careless, wholly engaging manner of this man made the Louisianian warm toward him. He could not mistrust that frank, sturdy, piercing-eyed face; here was a man in whom there was no guile, and almost involuntarily Norton struck his hand into that of the other.
"Done!" he laughed happily. "By thunder, sir. I like you! Hold on, though." He paused in dismay as a sudden thought struck him. "I must refuse your company, sir, for your own good. I am in some danger, and if you travelled with me it might turn out badly all around."
"Danger?" And when the other frowned Norton discovered a strange quality of power in the strong face. "Do not tell me you are a criminal."
"I'm not." Norton hesitated, in some embarrassment. Another steady look from the deep-set eyes of the stranger, and he concluded suddenly to open his heart to this man, to whom he felt so greatly drawn. "Frankly, sir, I am in Kentucky for the purpose of rooting out a gang of river pirates known as Blacknose's gang. Their organization has discovered my purpose, and——"
"Oh, is that all!" And the other laughed, passed his arm through Norton's, and gently urged him through the canes ahead. "Nonsense, friend! En avant!"
"I guess you don't know much about that gang," grunted Norton.
"Well, I ought to," retorted the other drily. "Last year I lost a dozen hogsheads of the finest tobacco, some prime ginseng cured in Canton fashion, and a good load of flax! I know them, and appreciate your danger. I am with you, sir, and with all my heart—there's the hand of John Audubon on it!"
"Audubon!" repeated Norton, his eyes kindling. "Why, I met your partner at Louisville—" He halted abruptly.
"And I'll wager that Rosier told you I was touched in the head, eh?" Audubon broke into a peal of ringing laughter. "Every man to his trade! Rosier cannot understand why I will not settle down behind the counter and make money. Nay, but I cannot! Now come along—here is my camp."
Norton followed into a small glade of cottonwoods, where a horse grazed beside a rudely erected brush shelter. He remembered that Rosier had said his partner was touched in the head, but he did not need to remember what else Rosier had said. He knew already that he could trust John Audubon—in fact, he felt that he could more than trust him.