The Riflemen of the Ohio Part 19

"Paddles," said Henry, speaking low, "and those paddles belong to Indian canoes, at least a dozen of them. They are coming down the creek, which must empty into the Ohio not a great many miles from here."

"If we run along the bank uv the creek we give them behind us a chance to gain," said Tom Ross.

"And then be enclosed between the war party and the canoes," said Henry.

"No, we must swim for it at once. Every fellow tie his ammunition around his neck, and hold his rifle above his head. If we have to fight we must have weapons for the fighting."

His counsel was quickly taken, and then there was a plunk as he sprang into the creek. Four more plunks followed almost instantly, as every one leaped into the water in his turn. Four heads appeared above the surface of the stream and, also, four outstretched arms holding rifles. It was not such an easy task to swim with a single arm, but all five had learned to do it, and across the creek they went, still in single file, Henry leading the way. Here, with no boughs and leaves to intercept it, the moonlight fell with uncommon brilliancy upon the water. The entire surface of the creek, a deep and placid stream, was turned to molten silver, shimmering slightly under the night wind. The heads, necks, and outstretched arms of the swimmers were outlined perfectly against it.

Every feature of the five was disclosed, and behind them, shown clearly, was the crumbling wake of every one.

They were compelled to swim somewhat with the stream, because the opposite bank was so steep that to climb it would take time that could not be spared. Henry, as he swam, with the strong, circular sweep of a single arm, listened, and he heard the rhythmical sweep of the paddles growing louder. The creek curved before him, and the steep bank, too deep to climb at such a moment, was still there. He saw, too, that it ran on for at least a hundred yards more, and meanwhile the canoes, with nothing in their way, were coming swiftly. He could almost count the strokes of the paddles.

He glanced back and looked into the eyes of Shif'less Sol directly behind him. He knew by his comrade's look that he, too, had heard. The faces of the others showed the same knowledge.

"Swim as fast as you can, boys," he whispered, "but be careful not to splash the water!"

They scarcely needed this advice, because they were already making supreme efforts. Meanwhile, the unconscious pursuit was coming nearer.

Only the curve that they had just turned kept them hidden from the occupants of the canoes.

It was a terribly long hundred yards, and it seemed to all of the five that they scarcely moved, although they were swimming fast.

"I've been chased by the Injuns through the woods an' over the hills an'

across the prairies," groaned Shif'less Sol, "an' now they've took to chasin' me through the water. They'd run me through the sky if they could."

"Look out, Sol," said Henry. "The Indians are so near now that I think I can hear them talking."

The sound of low voices came, in fact, from a point beyond the curve, and now they could hear not only the beat of the paddles, but the trickle of the water when one was lifted occasionally from the stream.

In another minute the canoes would turn the curve, and their occupants could not keep from seeing the fugitives.

Henry swam desperately, not for himself alone, but to lead the way for his comrades. At last he saw the shelving bank, twenty yards away, then ten, then five. His feet touched bottom, he ran forward and sprang ash.o.r.e, the water running from him as if from some young river G.o.d. But rifle and ammunition had been kept above the flood, and were dry.

Just as he reached the bank a shout of triumph, having in it an indescribably ferocious note, filled all the forest and was returned in dying echoes. The Indians in their canoes had turned the curve and had instantly seen the fugitives, four of whom were still in the creek.

Exultant over this sudden find and what they regarded as a sure capture, they plied their paddles with such a spasm of energy that the canoes fairly leaped over the water.

Henry, on the bank, knew that only instant and deadly action could save his comrades. He threw up his rifle, took a single glance along the polished barrel, which glittered in the moonlight, and fired. An Indian in the foremost canoe, uttering a cry which was all the more terrible because it was checked half way, dropped his paddle into the water, fell over the side of the canoe, hung there a moment, and then sank into the creek.

The boat itself stopped, and the one just behind it, unable to check its impetus, ran into it, and both capsized. Despite Indian stoicism, cries arose, and six or seven warriors were struggling in the water.

Meanwhile, Shif'less Sol and Ross also gained the land and fired.

Another warrior was slain, and another wounded.

All the canoes, menaced by such a deadly aim, stopped, and several of the occupants fired at the five on the bank. But firing from such an unsteady platform, their bullets went wild, and only cut the leaves of the forest. Henry had now reloaded, but he did not pull the trigger a second time. He had noticed a movement in the woods on the opposite bank of the creek, the one that they had just left. Bushes were waving, and in a moment their original pursuers came into view. Henry sent his bullet toward them, and Shif'less Sol did the same. Then the five turned to flee.

A great medley of shouts and yells arose behind them, yells of anger, shouts of encouragement as the two Indian parties, the one from the canoes and the other from the woods, joined, and Henry heard splash after splash, as pursuing warriors sprang into the water. He knew now that, in this instance, at least, the race would be to the swift, and the battle to the strong.

They did not run in Indian file, but kept well abreast, although Henry, at the right end of the line, made the course. No one spoke. The only sounds were the light, swift tread of moccasins and of rapid breathing.

Their pursuers, too, had ceased to shout. Not a single war cry was uttered, but every one of the five knew that the warriors would hang on hour after hour, throughout the night, and then throughout all the next day, if need be.

For an hour they sped through the woods, and once or twice in the more open places, as Henry looked back, he saw dim brown figures, but they were never near enough for a shot. Then he would increase his pace, and his four comrades would do the same.

Fortune, which had favored them so many times, did not do so now. It persisted in remaining an uncommonly brilliant night. It seemed to Henry's troubled mind that it was like the full blaze of noonday. The moon that rode so high was phenomenal, a prodigy in size, and burnished to an exasperating degree. Every star was out and twinkling as if this were its last chance.

They reached the crest of a little hill, and now they saw the dusky figures behind them more plainly. The Indians fired several shots, and Henry and Tom Ross replied, reloading as they ran.

"Faster! A little faster!" cried Henry, and their breath grew shorter and harder as they dashed on. The muscles of their legs ached. Little pains smote them now and then in the chest, but they could not stop. It was just such a border fight and pursuit as the woods, both north and south of the Ohio, often witnessed, and of most of which there was never any historian to tell.

Their speed was now decreasing, but they knew that the speed of the Indians must be decreasing, too. All were trained runners alike, pursuers and pursued, but they could not go on at such a high pace forever.

Fortunately the far side of the hill and much of the ground beyond was covered thickly with hazel-nut bushes. Into these they dashed, and now they were hidden again from view. The closeness of the bushes caused them to drop once more into Indian file, and now Henry, with those keen backward glances of his, examined his comrades with an eye that would not be deceived.

Paul showed signs of great weariness. He swayed a little from side to side as he ran, and the red of exertion in his face gave place to the white of exhaustion. Henry reckoned that he could not last much longer and he prayed for darkness and deep thickets without end.

He looked up again. Surely the dazzling splendor of that exasperating moon had been dimmed a little! And among the myriads of stars some were twinkling with less fervor, if he could believe what he saw. Would bad fortune turn to good? He looked again in five minutes, and now he was sure. A cloud, light and fleecy, but a cloud, nevertheless, was drawing itself closely across the face of the moon. Many of the stars, actually grown bashful, were not twinkling now at all, and others had become quite pale and dim. The thickets, too, were holding out, and their pursuers were not now in sight. They continued thus for a half hour more, and the blessed clouds, not clouds of rain, but clouds of mists and vapors, were increasing. The moon had become but a dim circle and the last reluctant star was going. The forest was full of shadows. Henry turned once more to Paul, whose breath he could hear coming in gasps.

"Turn north, Paul," he said. "They will follow us and they will miss you in the darkness and these thickets. Hide in some good place and we'll come back for you."

He held out his hand, Paul gave it one clasp, and turned away at a sharp angle. He ran northward while the pursuit rushed past him, and then he fell down in a thicket, where he lay panting.

The four, who had been a few minutes before the five, kept on, saying nothing, but all thinking of Paul. They had not deserted him. It was in the compact that even one should continue as long as he could. They would return for him. But would any one live to come back?

The way grew rougher. Once, as they crossed a hill, they were outlined for a moment on its crest, and a half dozen shots were fired by the pursuers. Long Jim checked an exclamation, but Shif'less Sol heard the slight sound.

"What is it, Jim?" he asked.

"Nuthin'," replied Long Jim, "'cept I stumbled a little. Them must be Wyandots an' Shawnees follerin' us, Sol, from the way they hang on."

"It don't make much difference what they are so long ez they don't quit."

The four went on now with measured tread under the dusky heavens, over hillocks, down little valleys, and across brooks, which they leaped with flying feet. It seemed that they would never tire, but the trained warriors behind them were no less enduring. Once, twice, thrice they caught sight of them, and when a longer period of invisibility pa.s.sed they knew, nevertheless, that they were still there. Now Long Jim suddenly wavered, but gathered himself together in an instant and continued his long leaps. Henry glanced at him and saw a patch of red on the sleeve of his buckskin hunting shirt.

"You've been hit, Jim," he said.

"It's nuthin'," said Long Jim doggedly, but he staggered again as he spoke.

"Turn to the north, Jim," said Henry sharply. "We'll come for you, too!"

Long Jim lifted a face of agony to the heavens. It was not agony of the body, but agony of the spirit, because he could not go on with the others.

"Go, Jim, while they can't see you," repeated Henry.

Long Jim waved his hand in a gesture of farewell, and, turning abruptly, disappeared in the bushes as quickly as if great waters had closed over him.

The three, who had been a minute before the four, did not look back.

There were still life and strength in them, and the power to run. The Ohio could not be far away now, and they ought to strike it before morning.

"I'd like to stop an' fight," breathed Shif'less Sol. "I don't partickerly mind bein' chased sometimes, but I do mind bein' chased all the way back to New Or-lee-yuns."

Henry, despite their desperate situation, could not withhold a smile, which, however, was hidden from the shiftless one by the darkness.

"No choice seems to be left to us," he said. "It's run, Sol, run and keep on running."