The Keepers of the Trail Part 39

"I can hear more than one bow tw.a.n.ging now, Sol. The turkeys must be plentiful hereabouts, but even with bows and arrows only used against 'em they're bound to take alarm soon."

"Yes, thar go some o' 'em gobblin' now, an' they're flyin' this way."

They heard the whirr of wings carrying heavy bodies, and frightened turkeys flew directly over their heads. As the Indians might come in pursuit, Henry and Shif'less Sol lay down among the bushes. A shouting broke out near them, and the forest, for a wide s.p.a.ce, was filled with the whirring of wings.

"The biggest flock o' wild turkeys that ever wuz must hev roosted right 'roun' us," said Shif'less Sol, "'cause I seem to see 'em by the dozens."

"More likely fifteen or twenty flocks were scattered about through the woods, and now they have all joined in a common flight."

"Mebbe so, but whether one flock or twenty j'ined, this is suttinly Turkeyland. An' did you ever see sech fine turkeys. Look at that king gobbler, Henry, flyin' right over our heads! He must weigh fifty pounds ef he weighs an ounce, an' his wattles are a wonder to look at. An' I kin see him lookin' right down at me, ez he pa.s.ses an' I kin hear him sayin': 'I ain't afeared o' you, Sol Hyde, even ef you hev got a gun in your hand. I kin fly low over your head, so low that I'll brush you with my wings, and with my red wattles, which are a wonder to see, an' you da.s.sn't fire. I've got you where I want you, Sol Hyde. I ain't afeard o' anything but Injuns tonight.'"

Shif'less Sol's words were so lugubrious that Henry was compelled to laugh under his breath. It did look like an injustice of fate, when hunters so keen as they, were compelled to lie quiet, while wild turkeys in hundreds flew over their heads, and although the shiftless one may have exaggerated a little about the king gobbler, Henry saw that many of them were magnificent specimens of their kind. Yet to lie and stir not was the price of life, as they soon saw.

Indians came running through the great grove, discharging arrows at the turkeys, many of which flew low, and the air was filled with the tw.a.n.ging of bow strings. Not a rifle or musket was fired, the warriors seeming to rely wholly upon their ancient weapons for this night hunt.

They appeared to be in high good humor, too, as the two crouching scouts heard them laughing and chattering as they picked up the fallen birds, and then sent arrows in search of more.

Shif'less Sol became more and more uneasy. Here was a grand hunt going well forward and he not a part of it. Instead he had to crouch among bushes and flatten himself against the soil like an earthworm, while the tw.a.n.ging of the bows made music, and the eager shouts stirred every vein.

The hunt swept off to the westward. The dusky figures of warriors and turkeys disappeared in the brush, and Henry and Shif'less Sol, ceasing to be earthworms, rose to their knees.

"They didn't see us," said the shiftless one, "but it was hard to stay hid."

"But here we are alive and safe. Now, I think, Sol, we'd better go on straight toward their camp, but keep a lookout at the same time for those fellows, when they come back."

They could not hear the tw.a.n.g of bowstrings now, but the shouts still came to them, though much softened by the distance. Presently they too died away, and with silence returning to the forest Henry and Shif'less Sol stood upright. They listened only a moment or two, and then advanced directly toward the camp. Crossing the brook they went around a cl.u.s.ter of thorn bushes, and came face to face with two men. Shif'less Sol, quick as a panther, swung his clubbed rifle like lightning and the foremost of the two, a Shawnee warrior, dropped like a log, and Henry, too close for action, seized the other by the throat in his powerful hands.

It was not a great and brawny throat into which those fingers of steel settled, and its owner began to gasp quickly. Then Henry noticed that he held in his grasp not an Indian, but a white man, or rather a boy, a fair English boy, a youthful and open face upon which the forest had not yet set its tan.

He released his grasp slowly. He could not bear the pain and terror in the eyes of the slender English youth, who, though he wore the uniform of a subaltern, seemed so much out of place there in the deep woods. Yet the forester meant to take no needless risk.

"Promise that you will not cry out and I spare you," he said, his blue eyes looking straight into those of the lad, which returned his gaze with defiance. The steel grasp settled down again.

"Better promise," said Henry. "It's your only chance."

The obstinate look pa.s.sed out of his eyes, and the lad nodded, as he could not speak. Then Henry took away his hand and said:

"Remember your word."

The English youth nodded again, gurgled two or three times, and rubbed his throat:

"'Twas a mighty grip you had upon me. Who are you?"

"The owners of this forest, and we've jest been tellin' you that you've no business here on our grounds," said the shiftless one.

The boy--he was nothing more--stared at them in astonishment. It was obvious to the two forest runners that he had little acquaintance with the woods. His eyes filled with wonder as he gazed upon the two fierce faces, and the two powerful figures, arrayed in buckskin.

"Your forest?" he said.

"Yes," replied Henry quietly, "and bear in mind that I held your life in my hands. Had you been an Indian you would be dead now."

"I won't forget it," said the youth, who seemed honest enough, "and I'm not going to cry out and bring the warriors down upon you for two very good reasons--because I've promised not to do so, and if I did, I know that your comrade there would shoot me down the next instant."

"I sh.o.r.ely would," said Shif'less Sol, grimly.

"And now," said Henry, "what is your name and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Roderick Cawthorne, I'm a subaltern in the British army, and I came over to help put down the rebels, in accordance with my duty to my king and country. All this land is under our rule."

"Do you think so?" asked Henry. "Do you think that this wilderness, which extends a thousand miles in every direction, is under your rule?"

The young subaltern looked around at the dark forest and shivered a little.

"Technically, yes," he replied, "but it's a long way from Eton."

"What's Eton?"

"Eton is a school in England, a school for the sons of gentlemen."

"I see. And would I be considered the son of a gentleman?"

Young Cawthorne looked up at the tanned and powerful face bent over him.

He had already noted Henry's good English, and, feeling the compelling gaze of one who was born to be a master, he replied, sincerely and cheerfully:

"Yes, the son of a gentleman, and a gentleman yourself."

"An' I'm a gentleman too," said Shif'less Sol. "My good rifle says so every time."

"It was the power of earlier weapons that started the line of gentlemen," said Cawthorne. "Now what do you two gentlemen propose to do with me?"

"Do you know what would be done with us if things were changed about?"

asked Henry, "and we were the prisoners of you and the colonel and the red men with whom you travel?"

"No. What would it be?"

"You'd have the pleasure of standing by and seeing the two of us burned alive at the stake. We wouldn't be burned quickly. It can be protracted for hours, and it's often done to our people by your allies."

The young Englishman paled.

"Surely it can't be so!" he said.

"But surely it is so!" said the young forester fiercely.

"I'm at your mercy."

"We ain't goin' to burn you now," said Shif'less Sol. "We can't afford to set up a big torch in the forest, with our enemies so near."

Cawthorne shivered.

"Do you still feel," asked Henry, "that you're the ruler over the wilderness here, five thousand miles from London?"