Cover art
"Jack saw that it was a boy not much older than himself" (see page [43]).
THE
BOY HUNTERS
OF KENTUCKY
BY
EDWARD S. ELLIS
Author of "Red Feather," "Blazing Arrow," "The Forest Messengers,"
"Wolf Ear, the Indian," etc, etc.
SIXTIETH THOUSAND
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, Toronto, Melbourne and Sydney
1889
Uniform With This Volume
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Lost in the Rockies
Captured by Indians
The Daughter of the Chieftain
Red Feather
Wolf Ear, the Indian
Astray in the Forest
Bear Cavern
River and Forest
The Lost River
The Boy Hunters of Kentucky
Printed in Great Britain
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
[TRAINING A KENTUCKY RIFLEMAN]
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE
BOY HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY.
CHAPTER I.
A YOUNG PIONEER.
There was no happier boy in all Kentucky than Jack Gedney on the morning that completed the first twelve years of his life, for on that day his father presented him with a fine rifle.
Now, you must know that some of the best riflemen in the world have been born and reared in Kentucky, where the early settlers had to fight not only the wild beasts, but the fierce red men. The battles between the Indians and pioneers were so many that Kentucky came to be known as the Dark and Bloody Ground.
Some of you may have heard that the most famous pioneer in American history was Daniel Boone, who entered all alone the vast wilderness south of the Ohio, and spent many months there before the Revolution broke out. The emigrants began flocking thither as soon as it became known that the soil of Kentucky was rich, and that the woods abounded with game.
Among those who went thither, towards the close of the last century, were Thomas Gedney and his wife Abigail. With a dozen other families, they floated down the Ohio in a flat boat, until a short distance below the mouth of the Licking, when they landed, and, taking the boat apart, used the material in building their cabins.
It happened at that period that there was less trouble than usual with the red men. Some of the settlers believed that the Indians, finding themselves unable to stay the tide of immigration that was pouring over the west, would move deeper into the solitudes which stretched beyond the Mississippi. Instead of putting up their cabins close together, a part of the pioneers pushed farther into the woods, and began their houses where they found better sites. Most of them were near natural "clearings," where the fertile soil was easily made ready for the corn and vegetables, without the hard work of cutting down the trees and clearing out the stumps.
Thomas Gedney and his wife were among those who went farther than the spot where they landed from the flat boat. Indeed, they pushed deeper into the woods than any one else who helped to found the little settlement that was planted a hundred years ago on the southern bank of the Ohio. Their nearest neighbours were the members of the Burton family, who lived a mile to the eastward, while a mile farther in that direction were the little group of cabins that marked the beginning of one of the most prosperous towns of to-day in Kentucky.
Mr. Gedney was fortunate enough to find a clearing of an acre in extent, with a small stream running near. Since he had helped his neighbours to put up their cabins, they in return gave him such aid that in a few days he had a strong, comfortable structure of logs, into which he moved with his wife and only child, Jack, then but six years old.
The sturdy men who built their homes in the depths of the wilderness a century ago were never in such haste that they forgot to make them strong and secure. The red men might be peaceful, and might make promises to molest the white people no more, but the pioneers knew better than to trust to such promises. There are no more treacherous people in the whole world than the American Indians, and no man is wise who places much faith in their pledges.
But I have not started to tell you the history of the pioneers who came down the Ohio in the flat boat, but to give an account of some strange adventures that befell Jack Gedney, shortly after his rifle was given to him by his father. Jack had been trained in sighting and firing a gun as soon as he could learn to close his left eye while he kept the other open. His father's rifle was too heavy for him to aim off-hand, but kneeling behind a fallen tree, or a stump, or rock, his keen vision was able to direct the little bullet with such precision, that Daniel Boone himself, who one day watched the little fellow, gave him much praise.
In those days there was nothing in which a Kentuckian took more pride than in his skill with his rifle. Thomas Gedney had never met his superior, and he meant that if his boy Jack lived the same should be said of him. And so, while the mother gave the boy instruction in reading and writing, the father took many long tramps with him through the woods, and taught him how to become a great hunter. He showed him the difference between the tracks of the various game, and told him of the peculiar habits of the wild animals and the best method of outwitting them. More than all, he did his best to teach Jack how to guard against his most dangerous of all foes--man himself.
Mr. Gedney was a man who took great precautions when constructing his cabin. He built it just as strongly as it was possible to make it. The windows were so narrow that no grown person could force his body through, the roof was so steep that the most agile red man could not climb it, and the heavy door, when closed and barred inside, was really as stout as the solid walls of logs themselves.
I have not time to tell you about several incidents that proved his wisdom in taking so much pains to guard himself and family against their dusky foes the Indians, but the time came when the woodcraft thus taught to the boy proved of the greatest value to him.
Among the important rules laid down by the father for the son's guidance was that the very first thing to be done after firing his rifle was to re-load it; that in tramping through the woods he should bear in mind that he was always in danger, and that he must look not only in front but beside and behind him; that he must take all pains to hide his trail whenever there was the least cause to fear the red men; that he must use the utmost precaution when lying down to sleep for the night; that in communicating with his friends he must do so by means of signals that a foe could not understand; that he must always be on the watch for signs of an enemy's presence; and that, when brought face to face with a foe, he must remember that a second's forgetfulness or impatience was almost certain to give the other the decisive advantage over him.
These were but a few of the rules that were impressed upon Jack by his father, who, as I have already told you, spent many hours with him in the woods, the two afterwards coming back to the cabin laden with game that kept the family well provided with food for many days.
Mr. Gedney had sent eastward for the gun which he gave to his son on his birthday. It was of fine make and somewhat lighter than his own, for several years must pass before Jack would be strong enough to handle a man's weapon. The piece would not have been looked upon in these days as of much account, for it was a muzzle-loader with a flint-lock. When Jack wished to load it, he emptied the charge from his powder-horn into the palm of his hand; this was carefully poured into the muzzle of his gun, and then the round bullet, enclosed in a piece of greased cloth or a damp bit of paper, was rammed down upon it. The ramrod was afterwards pushed back in place on the under-side of the barrel, and, raising the clumsy hammer, which clasped the piece of yellow flint, the pan beneath was filled with powder, connecting by means of a touch-hole with the powder in the barrel behind the bullet.
The hammer was let down so as to hold the powder in place. When the owner wished to fire the gun he drew back the hammer, sighted, and pulled the trigger. The flint nipped against a piece of steel, giving out a spark of fire, which set off the grains in the pan, the latter also touching off the powder in the breech of the barrel, which drove out the bullet.
CHAPTER II.
TRAINING A KENTUCKY RIFLEMAN.
I really think that if Jack Gedney had not known of the present his father meant to make him he would have been too delighted to act like a sensible boy. As it was, he could hardly keep from hugging the handsome little gun when his father placed it in his hands, and told him that it was his so long as he proved that he knew how to use it, and that he had enough sense to be trusted alone in the woods.
Unwilling to accept Jack's promises, his father took down his own weapon from the deer's antlers over the broad fireplace, and went a short distance with him to test the new piece. On the edge of the clearing he paused until the lad loaded the weapon with powder and ball (for, of course, the cow's horn and bullet pouch went with the present), and then, looking among the branches overhead, where several grey squirrels were whisking along the limbs, he told Jack he might take his choice. During the few seconds that the boy was darting his quick glances at the lively creatures his father quietly cut a piece of hickory as thick as his thumb, and three or four feet long. Jack looked askance at him; he knew well what it meant.
Since the youth had not yet fired his new gun, he decided to make his task as light as he could. He raised his piece and sighted at a squirrel less than a hundred feet away, but before he could make his aim sure his father spoke sharply--
"Take the black one on the tree beyond."
It was a long and difficult shot, but Jack's nerves were steady, and a few seconds after he raised his rifle he pressed the trigger. The gun "hung fire" scarcely a moment, when a jet of flame shot from the muzzle, and Mr. Gedney, who had his eyes fixed on the squirrel, saw it vanish over the limb, and then come tumbling and overturning through the branches to the ground.
"Fetch it here," commanded his father.
Without moving a step, Jack deliberately began re-loading his piece, never pausing until the powder was poured in the pan and the hammer let down in place. The father half smiled, for he had expected his boy to forget in his natural excitement the rule about re-charging his gun.
Having finished, Jack walked forward to the foot of the tree, picked up the small furry body where it lay among the leaves, and brought it to his parent. The latter took it from his hand, glanced down, and then flung it aside, tossing the hickory after it.
Shall I tell you why he cut that stick just before his boy fired at the squirrel? When he looked at the little animal he saw that its head had been shot off. Had the bullet missed the head and struck any other part of the body he would have plied that stick about the legs and back of his boy until he yelled for mercy. He had done it more than once, and he, like many another Kentuckian, considered that that was the right way to train his child how to shoot.
"Bark that one up there," said Mr. Gedney, pointing at another of the creatures that was skurrying along one of the upper limbs, its bushy tail spread out like an angry cat.
Crack!
As the sharp report rang out among the trees the squirrel at which the boy fired flew up nearly a foot above the limb along which it was running, as though thrown aloft by a steel spring, and then it dropped through limbs and leaves to the ground, where it lay stone dead.
An examination showed no wound upon it. The bullet had been sent directly beneath the body so as to chip off some of the bark, which flew against the squirrel with such force as to knock the life out of it. This is called "barking," and is sometimes practised for the fun of the thing by skilful marksmen.
Having viewed the work of his boy, Mr. Gedney could find no fault. Indeed, he did not expect him to do so well, knowing his agitation over his present. He did not seem to think it worth while to praise Jack, but, with a twinkle of his eye, he merely said--
"You'll do; off with you!"
And without another word, Mr. Gedney, with his heavy rifle slung over his shoulder, strode off to his cabin, leaving his boy to spend the day as he chose, well knowing how he would pass it.
As I have told you, the nearest neighbours to Mr. Gedney were the Burton family, who lived about a mile to the eastward. Mr. Burton was more fortunate than Mr. Gedney in the way of children, for he had two boys, William and George, the one a year younger and the other a year older than Jack, while Ruth, the daughter, was a sweet girl of seven years.
It was natural that the two families should become fond of each other, and that there should be much visiting on the part of the parents as well as by the children. There was hardly a night that Jack was not at the Burton cabin, or his friends were not at his own home. They did a good deal of hunting together, and the Burton boys were skilful with their guns, each one owning a weapon light enough to be handled by its youthful owner. I must add, however, that neither of them was the equal of Jack, as was proven in many contests between them.
Now Will and George Burton had known for several weeks of the present that was to be made to Jack, and they were as pleased as they could be over his coming good fortune. What could be more natural, therefore, than that Jack should set out for the home of his young friends, that they might rejoice with him over the prize that had fallen to his lot?
It was a bright sunshiny day in October when the proud boy set out over the winding but well-worn path that led to the cabin of the Burtons a mile away. The leaves on the trees were beginning to turn yellow and red before, aflame with the beauties of autumn, they fluttered to the ground. It was a royal time for hunting, for the deer, bears, buffaloes, and indeed all kinds of game, were in prime condition. The heart of the boy beat high with the thought that many of these prizes must fall before that splendid weapon of which he had just become the owner.
I am sure you would have said that Jack Gedney was a fine fellow, could you have seen him as he strode along the path through the Kentucky forest a hundred years ago. In the first place, he was rather large for his years, and erect, sturdy, and strong. His brown eyes sparkled with high health, and his round cheeks glowed like the pulpy fulness of a red apple. The life that the young pioneers led was one that was sure to make them strong, rugged, and vigorous.
If you had met Jack in the streets of London or New York you would have been struck by his dress. His cap was formed by the deft fingers of his mother. It was of brown thick cloth, without any forepiece, soft, warm, and able to stand a great deal of wear. Its make and pattern were such that no matter how it was put on its head, it was in place.
His coat was of the same material, and it was intended to last a good long time. In some respects it resembled the suits often worn by bicyclists of the present day, having a band that enclosed the body just below the waist, while the skirt was only a few inches in length. The coat was buttoned down the front, and contained several pockets within. Underneath the coat was the homespun shirt, made by the spinning-wheel, under the guidance of his mother.
The resemblance of the dress to the bicycle suit of to-day was made more striking by the trousers ending at the knee, below which were the thick woollen stockings and heavy shoes. During very cold weather the stockings were protected by leggings, reaching from the knee to the shoes. I suppose you know that the fashion of the trousers worn by you was altogether unknown during the days of your great-parents.
Now, I am sure that none of us can blame Jack if, on this beautiful October morning, when he slung his pretty rifle over his shoulder, he threw his head a little farther back than usual, and stepped off with a prouder step than he had ever shown when carrying the heavy gun of his father.
"Ain't she a beauty?" he asked himself, stopping short and bringing the weapon round in front, so that he could admire it. "Father thought when I aimed at that first squirrel that I couldn't knock his head off; and," he added, with a smile, "I had some doubt myself, but I noticed that he cut a bigger stick than usual, and I didn't want it swinging round my legs. I never clipped off a squirrel's head more neatly, though I barked the next one just as well. I wouldn't mind now if I should meet a bear or a deer."
He had resumed his walk, and he looked sharply to the right and left among the trees, but no game worthy of drawing his fire was to be seen, and he kept on along the path, as alert and vigilant as ever.
About half-way between Jack's home and the cabin of his friends the path descended into a slight hollow, through the bottom of which wound a brook or small creek. It was some ten feet in width, and hardly half as deep. For a short time after a violent rainfall this stream was swollen to three or four times its ordinary volume, but for a number of years it had not risen high enough to carry away the bridge by which people crossed the stream.
This bridge was simply the trunk of a tree which had been felled so as to lie with the stump across the stream. While this could not give as secure a footing as you would like in passing over it, yet it was all that was wanted by those who had to use it. Had the means and all the necessary materials been at their command, they would probably not have taken the trouble to put up a better one.
CHAPTER III.
THE MEETING ON THE BRIDGE.
Jack Gedney walked down the slight descent, and stepping upon the fallen tree, moved to the other bank. As he came up again to the general level, he still looked around for some game, but nothing met his eye.
"There's one thing certain," he added: "I'm not going any farther without shooting off this gun."
A hundred yards ahead he saw the whitish trunk of a spreading beech which grew near the path. A patch of the bark about as big as his hand was stained a darker colour than the rest, as though some object had rubbed against and soiled it. The target was a good one, and he took a quick aim and fired.
"That makes three times that I have tried her," he said, with a glow of pleasure, as he examined the tree and saw the bullet embedded in the centre of the spot, "and she hit the eye every time."
He now walked at a more rapid pace than before, and it was not long before he reached the log cabin of the Burton family. The two or three acres of natural and artificial clearing had been well cultivated, and Mr. Burton and his two boys were busy gathering corn and the produce that yet were left out of doors. Mrs. Burton and Ruth were busy within.
As soon as Jack appeared, Mr. Burton and his boys gathered around him to examine and praise the present, which, it may be said, they saw the moment the owner came in sight.
"To-morrow," said Mr. Burton, "you must come over and go with the boys on a hunt: that will be the best test for your gun."
"I had hopes that Will and George could go with me to-day," remarked Jack, reading aright the wistful looks of his friends.
"No," was the kind but decisive reply of the father; "there is enough work to keep them busy until dark."
The boys knew better than to plead with their father after he had once given his decision, so, like the manly fellow that he was, Jack leaned his rifle against a tree, and fell to work with the boys to help in the task.
The work was finished just as the sun was setting, and Jack, declining to stay to supper, once more slung his gun over his shoulder and set out for home, promising his young friends that he would be ready at daylight the next morning to join them in a big hunt.
"It's a pity I didn't get a chance to use her to-day," thought Jack, as he turned his face homeward, little dreaming how soon he would be forced to call upon the weapon to help him out of a peril that threatened his very life.
It was the season of the year when the days were quite short, and Jack knew that the night would be fully come before he could reach his home. He cared nothing, however, for that. He had gone over the trail (or path) many a time when the hour was much later, and it may be said that he knew it so well that he could have walked the entire length with his eyes shut.
The youth had advanced only a little way when he noticed that the darkness had closed in, and, though the moon was shining above the thick branches, the gloom was so deep in most portions of the forest that he could see only a short distance along the path, even when it took a straight course: which was not often the case.
You must not think that our young friend had any such emotion as fear. Most boys who have spent their lives in the city would shrink from such a journey after nightfall, for it was a fact that Jack Gedney was walking through a stretch of woods in which not only wild animals abounded, but through which the fierce red men hunted, and he was liable to meet both the former and the latter; but he had no more hesitation than he would have felt in climbing from the lower floor of his cabin home to the loft where he slept every night.
You must not forget, too, that he carried his new rifle, and that made him feel secure.
A youngster in the situation of Jack may do a good deal of thinking as he walks briskly along, but, if he has been rightly trained he always keeps his wits about him. So it was that his eyes and ears were always open. He stepped as lightly as an Indian, peering as far ahead as he could in the gloom, glancing from side to side and behind him, and now and then halting for a moment to catch any sound that might fall on his ear.
In this manner he had gone a third of the distance when he became sure that something was following him. He stopped several times and looked back, but could see nothing. His quick ear, however, had caught the soft footfall in the trail, which left no doubt that either a man or an animal was dogging his footsteps.
It is hard to think of a more trying situation than that of Jack Gedney, for, aware as he was that some danger threatened, he did not know its nature.
His first belief was that it was an Indian who was trying to steal upon him. The stealth which marked its movements led him to think so, for few would have been as quick as the lad to learn its presence.
But, whatever it might be, the young hunter determined that it should not find him unprepared. He brought his gun around in front, where he could grasp it with both hands, softly raised the hammer, and then stood for a full minute as rigid as the trunk of one of the trees beside him. His head was turned sideways, so that he could look in both directions. He neither saw nor heard anything.
Then he ran lightly and rapidly for full a hundred feet, stopping short again, and using his eyes and ears to the utmost. This time he not only heard, but saw something.
The same soft "pit-a-pat" struck his ear, but to his amazement it came from a point in front. While he was looking he caught the shadowy glimpse of some animal as it whisked over a part of the trail where a few rays of moonlight struck its body.
It was as large as a big dog, with a longer body and a sweeping tail. It was trotting not towards, but away from Jack, who decided at once that it was the wild beast known in the American forests as a panther, but called on the frontier a "painter."
There could be no doubt that he meant to make a supper off the young Kentuckian, for there are not many meals more tempting to such a creature than a plump boy about a dozen years old.
"If you capture me you've got to have a fight," muttered sturdy Jack Gedney, pressing his lips together and shaking his head; "but I wish the sun was shining, so that I could have a fair chance at you."
The panther was circling around the lad, gradually drawing nearer, and on the watch to leap upon him as soon as he dared to approach close enough to make the spring. The boy knew all about the treacherous animals, for he had been with his father when they were killed, and he had shot one within the preceding three months. But on all those occasions they had the daylight to help make their aim certain.
"He may get pretty close to me before I know it," thought Jack, "though he will have hard work to do it; but I don't think he can land on my shoulders at the first jump."
The boy now walked as lightly and as fast as he could. He varied his gait, for if he advanced at a regular pace the panther would have less trouble in securing his intended victim. Jack therefore advanced slowly, then stopped, and then ran with all the speed he could for fifty or sixty steps.
When he paused the third time after such a spurt, he had reached the log lying across the stream in the little hollow of which I have already spoken. Here the trees were so scant that the whole space was lit up by the moonlight, and a small object could be seen quite clearly.
You may be sure that before stepping upon the rude bridge Jack peered long and earnestly in every direction. The tall columns of trees rose to view on each side of the stream, whose soft murmur mingled with the deep moaning of the woods, which comes to us in the night like the hollow roar of the distant ocean.
"Well, I don't mean to wait here all night," concluded Jack, stepping on the smaller end of the trunk, and beginning to pick his way to the other side; "I am ready to meet the painter whenever he wants to see me, but----"
The boy had advanced only three steps when the beast trotted rapidly from the gloom on the other shore, sprang upon the trunk of the tree which supported Jack Gedney, and lashing his tail and growling savagely, came straight towards him.
The panther did not trot after landing on the trunk, but crouched low, and moved slowly like a cat when about to spring on its prey.
Instead of retreating, as Jack was inclined at first to do, in order to get a more secure footing, he brought his gun to his shoulder, and aiming at a point midway between the glaring eye-balls, let fly at the instant the panther gathered his muscles for the leap meant to land him on the shoulders of the lad.
As it was, the beast did leave the log, but instead of bounding forward, he went straight up in the air, to a height as it seemed of six or eight feet, with a resounding screech, falling across the trunk, from which, after scratching, and clawing, and snarling for a few seconds, he rolled with a splash into the water, still struggling furiously, and scattering the spray upon both shores.
"I don't think you'll try to stop any more peaceable Kentucky boys on their way home at night----"
The lad had no more than spoken these words when a warning growl caused him to turn his head. There, no more than a dozen feet distant, and stealthily approaching, was a second panther--no doubt the mate of the first. And poor Jack Gedney's new rifle was empty!
CHAPTER IV.
THE HOME OF JACK.
While Jack Gedney stood on the fallen tree which spanned the stream, watching the panther's dying struggles in the water below, he suddenly learned that its mate was creeping upon him from the rear.
Jack did not stand still, but the next instant ran across the log to the solid ground on the other side. There he faced about, and began re-loading his rifle with the utmost haste, for you will admit that he had no time to lose.
The young hunter did not lose sight of the brute for a moment while hurrying the charge into the barrel of his weapon. He expected to be attacked before he could ram the bullet home, and he meant in such an event to club his gun, and using the butt once on the skull of his foe, draw his hunting knife from his inner pocket, and then have it out with him.
You will conclude that this was a big contract for a boy only twelve years old. So it was indeed, but, like a young pioneer, he had learned to depend on Heaven and himself, and he awaited the trial with as much coolness as his father could have done, even though he knew that the chances were ten to one against winning in a fight against such a muscular and ferocious beast.
The panther came forward on its slow, soft walk, until one paw rested on the log along which the lad had run only a moment before.
The animal formed an interesting figure as, placing the second paw beside the other on the log, he pushed his head forward, so as to peer over at the dark body drifting down stream. The action of the beast lifted his front so that his back sloped down towards his tail, which for the moment was motionless. The shoulder-blades were shoved in two lumps above the line of the neck, which, because of the nose thrust forward, looked unusually long.
Jack Gedney poured the powder from his horn into the palm of his left hand at the moment the panther rested both paws on the log. He noted the pause of the beast, and his heart leaped with the hope that there was a possibility of getting his gun loaded in time. Leaning his rifle far over, so as to make an inclined plane, he rapidly brought it up to the perpendicular as the black, sand-like particles streamed down the barrel.
Next he whipped out a bullet and the little square piece of greased cloth, shoving both into the muzzle of the weapon. Still the panther peered over the log at his lifeless mate.
As the loading of the weapon progressed Jack could hardly control his excitement. He snatched out the ramrod with such violence that it fell from his hand. Like a flash he stooped, caught it up, and began shoving the bullet down the tight-fitting bore of his gun.
He saw the panther move. With a fierce jamb the bullet was stopped by the thimbleful of powder nestling in the bottom of the barrel. Jack made sure the ball was pressed home when he snatched out the ramrod and let it fall to the ground: no time now to put it back in its place.
Only one more step--to pour the priming into the pan of his weapon. Jack's hands trembled as he drew back the iron jaw which gripped the flint, and dashed some powder into the cavity prepared for it. He was overrunning with hope.
The panther, as if satisfied with the last sight of his mate drifting down stream, turned his head and looked at the sturdy boy at the other end of the log. He slowly lashed his tail, and growled savagely, his looks and manners seeming to say--
"So you're the young gentleman who has just shot my mate! Such being the case, it is my duty to put it out of your power ever to do anything of the kind again. I am now going to eat you!"
All four feet were on the bridge, and the frightful beast took a couple of steps towards his victim. Then a resounding screech broke the stillness of the night, and the animal, leaping straight up in air, rolled back into the water, hardly making another struggle, for the second bullet of Jack Gedney had entered his neck and passed straight through his heart.
Stooping to the ground, the youth picked up his ramrod, and, without moving from the spot, re-charged his weapon. He did so with as much coolness as when firing a match with Mr. Burton and his boys.
"I don't think there are any more painters near," was his thought; "but I am ready for them if they will come one at a time, and far enough apart to give me a chance to load up."
And resting his gun on his shoulder, he took to the path, and walked steadily homeward.
His father and mother had just sat down to the supper table as he entered. The table was of the simplest make, and was without any cloth covering. Several pine boards rested on four legs--one at each corner--but it was as clean as it could be, and the pewter tea-pot and few dishes shone brightly enough to serve for mirrors. The bread was of dark colour, but sweet and light, and the bacon might not suit delicate palates, but those who ate of it did so with a relish as great as though it were roast turkey.
Mr. Gedney took turns with his wife and boy in asking a blessing upon each meal of which they partook. He nodded to Jack to signify that it was his turn, and the boy, closing his eyes, and reverently bending his head, begged in a few simple words the blessing of God upon the bounty which He had given them.
"Well," said the father in his cheery voice, as the meal began, "have you and the boys left any game in the woods for other folk?"
"Will and George had some work to do to-day, and their father could not spare them. But they promised to go with me on a hunt to-morrow."
"How have you spent the day?" asked the mother.
"I helped the boys until near night, and then started for home."
"Then you haven't had much chance to try your gun?" was the inquiring remark of the father.
"Not as much as I hoped, but we had a shooting match after dinner."
"A shooting match? How did you succeed?"
"Mr. Burton beat me."
"He is one of the finest shots in the West; he has actually beaten me once or twice! How about the boys?"
"They have never beaten me," was the smiling answer of Jack.
"Nor must they or any one else beat you," added Mr. Gedney, with a warning shake of his head. "But haven't you brought down any game?"
"Well, I shot a couple of painters on my way home," replied Jack, in the most indifferent manner, as he buried his big sound teeth into a slice of bread and butter.
"Did you kill them both?" asked the mother between her sips of tea.
"Both are so dead that they couldn't be any deader," was the reply of Jack.
"After supper you can tell us about it," said the father, showing no more interest than if they were talking about the "barking" of a couple of squirrels.
Now, brave and cool as was Jack Gedney, he felt some pride in his exploit, for it is not often that one is able to kill two such fierce animals as the American panther without receiving a scratch himself. But he was not the boy to force his story upon his friends, and so he finished his meal, and finally sat down by the broad, cheerful fireplace.
Opposite to him was his father, smoking his pipe, and his mother, having cleared away the supper things, took up her knitting for the evening. The only light came from the blazing logs on the hearth. This was enough to fill the large room, and render a candle or lamp unnecessary. The plain calico curtains were not drawn across the narrow windows, and the latch-string was left hanging outside, so that any one who chose could enter without knocking.
Jack waited until asked by his father to tell how it was he came to kill two "painters." Then he gave the story as it has been given to you.
The mother did not stop her knitting during the narration, nor did the father cease to smoke in his deliberate way, nor ask any question until it was finished. Then he made some natural inquiries, and remarked that he did not see how Jack could have done better than he did.
After this the conversation took a general turn, and lasted perhaps a couple of hours. Finally, the latch-string was drawn in, a chapter read from the Bible, prayer offered up by the father, after which the little family went to bed.
CHAPTER V.
THE YOUNG WYANDOT.
The next morning was a perfect day for the young hunters. The sun shone brightly from the unclouded sky, and the air was crisp and keen with the breath of autumn. The experienced eye of the father told him that there was not likely to be any change very soon, and in his mild way he congratulated his son on the prospect of the pleasant hunt that was before him and his young friends.
The agreement with the latter was that they were to wait at their home for Jack, when the three would start into the interior on a hunt that was likely to last two, if not more, days. Mr. Gedney was not one of those who thought his boy was too young to work. There were always a number of small jobs known in the West as "chores," which it was the duty of Jack to attend to, and which he dared not slight.
Thus it came about that, although the boy rose at an unusually early hour, and his mother hurried his morning meal for him, yet when he started eastward along the path leading to his friends, the sun was creeping above the horizon.
The preparations for the journey were few. All the bullets that were likely to be needed had been made by Mr. Gedney himself several days before; the powder-horn was filled, and nothing was lacking in that line. Then Jack, like his father, always carried a flint and steel with him, so as to be able to start a fire when he wanted it. (The lucifer match was not invented until a good many years after.) Then he had a pinch of mixed pepper and salt, wrapped in a piece of paper, and meant to be used in seasoning the game which they ate. A few other knick-knacks were stowed away in his inner pocket, and, kissing his parents "good-bye," he entered the path at the other end of the clearing, and walked briskly towards the home of his young friends.
When he reached the crossing where he shot the panthers the night before, he naturally looked for the carcases of the animals. They were not in sight, having been carried away by the current.
"They've got mighty sharp claws," Jack said to himself, as he looked down at the scratches in the wood made by the beast before it dropped into the water. "It was well for me that I was able to shoot that other fellow before he could pounce upon me."
On the other side of the stream was a small area in the path, where the ground was so spongy that it showed any light imprint upon it. Jack looked at the impression left by his own heavy shoe, and then uttered an expression of astonishment.
And well he might do so, for there, beside the imprint of his shoe, was that of an Indian moccasin (or foot covering), made, too, since Jack had passed that way the evening before.
"Ah, ha," he muttered, looking keenly about him, "there are Indians not far off; I wonder whether they are Shawnees, Hurons, Wyandots, Pottawatomies, or what? Are they hunting for scalps or wild game?"
It would seem that the most natural thing for the boy to do under such circumstances was to turn back home and tell his father about the discovery he had made; but Jack had no thought of that; he had started out for a hunt, and he was not going to let such a trifle as a few prowling Indians turn him back. The young hunter noticed that the toe of the moccasin pointed eastward--that is, in the direction he himself was travelling.
"Maybe the boys have seen something of him," was his thought, as he pushed along the path; "he may be some friendly warrior who has stopped to ask for something to eat."
Jack Gedney had not walked twenty steps beyond the bridge when he heard a fierce threshing among the trees and undergrowth, which he knew was made by an animal in its frenzied flight. The next moment a noble-looking buck broke cover on his right, less than a hundred feet away, and bounded straight across the path in front of the boy, whose trusty rifle was at his shoulder on the instant.
As the animal turned his broad side towards Jack the latter sent a bullet behind the fore-leg, at the point where it was sure to tear its way clean through the heart, and shatter bone and muscle as it skimmed into the woods beyond.
The buck took two more of his tremendous bounds, as if he were unhurt, and he might have gone still farther had he not crashed straight against the trunk of a tree, from which he recoiled, and sank to the ground limp and lifeless.
Jack started to run towards his prize, but recalling the warning of his father, checked himself, and re-loaded his gun before leaving the path. This was soon done, and then he broke into a trot which quickly took him to the side of the prize.
The young hunter's eyes sparkled.
"He's one of the finest animals I ever saw. Hallo!----"
He was looking at the tiny red orifice where his bullet had entered, and from which the life current was flowing, when he saw the feathered tip of an Indian arrow just under the fore part of the buck. Seizing the front legs, he rolled the animal over on the other side.
As he did so he saw that an arrow had been driven into the side of the deer, close to where his bullet had come out.
The wound thus made must have been mortal, though, as you may know, it is almost impossible to fire a shot that will instantly bring down one of these animals.
There could be but one meaning to this--an Indian had shot the buck before Jack fired at it.
"Of course he will claim it," thought the young hunter; "but I am not sure that it belongs to him, for from the way the deer was running it looked as if he was not going to give up for a long time, if indeed he would have fallen at all. But we shall soon know."
The cause of the last remark was the sight of the Indian who doubtless fired the arrow. Jack, on looking at him, saw with pleasure that he was not a full-grown warrior, but a boy who could not have been much older than himself.
The young Indian wore the fringed hunting shirt, leggings, and beaded moccasins of his people, had a row of beads around his neck, a quiver of arrows over his left shoulder, and a long bow in his left hand. In the belt which clasped the waist of his deer-skin hunting shirt were thrust a tomahawk and hunting knife, so that he was as fully armed as most of his people.
The face was broad, with high cheek-bones, small twinkling bead-like eyes, broad thick nose, and retreating chin, the whole daubed with greasy yellow, red, and black paint, in the shape of circles, dots, and all sorts of hideous devices for which room could be found.
From a glance at the colours used in the dress of the Indian and on his countenance, Jack formed the conclusion that he belonged to the Wyandot tribe, many of whom he had met.
The young Indian must have believed he was a terrible-looking fellow, and that no white lad dare dispute him, for he strode along like one who knows he is master, and stopping a few steps away, pointed down at the smitten buck.
"He mine," he muttered, in good English; "me shoot him."
"So I see," calmly remarked Jack. "And I shot him too."
As he spoke he pointed to the place where the ball had left the body, close to the entrance of the arrow. The Indian stooped down, and with some dexterity pushed the latter through the body of the deer, drawing it out on the other side. The head of such a missile, as you can well see, is so fashioned that it cannot be drawn back after being driven into any body.
Rising to his feet, the young Wyandot restored the shaft to its place in his quiver, and repeated his remark:
"He mine; me shoot him with arrow."
Now there was no cause for Jack Gedney having a dispute with the Indian. The latter was welcome to the game, for Jack could do nothing with it, unless to run back home and tell his father to come and claim it. It was within convenient reach, but rather than give the time that this would take, the youth would have preferred to lose several such deer.
He was anxious to join Will and George, who he knew were waiting impatiently for him; but he felt very much as you would have felt had you stood in his shoes. He thought the Indian was trying to bully him, and he was not willing to submit. Had the Wyandot asked him to let him have the game, he would have been glad to do so; but when it was not clear which of the two was the rightful claimant to the prize, the sturdy young hunter did not mean to be dictated to by a young Indian whose face was painted like his. Before yielding he would resist him.
CHAPTER VI.
THE WRESTLING BOUT.
"Now, see here," said Jack; after the young Indian straightened up, "you have told me more than once that that deer is yours. I don't know whether it is or not, for the creature didn't fall till I shot him----"
"He mine! he mine!" interrupted the other, laying his hand in a threatening manner on his knife. "My name Arowaka--me Wyandot; father, Hua-awa-oma--he great chief!"
"He may be a great chief among his own people, but you won't find him of much account among white folk. What I meant to say, Arowaka, is that your saying that the game is yours doesn't make it yours. You have your hand on your knife. I have a knife too, and I am not afraid of you."
The young Wyandot showed by his manner that he was surprised. Clearly he did not expect such a rebuff as this, and, though his swarthy hand still rested on his weapon, he did not draw it forth.
"What is your bow good for, any way?" continued Jack, with a smile at the primitive weapon. "You Indians can't do half as much with your bows and arrows as we can with our guns. I killed two painters with my rifle last night, and I'll warrant that that's more than you ever did in all your life."
At this point it struck Jack that he would do a foolish thing to engage in a quarrel with the young Indian over the ownership of so small a thing as the carcase of a deer. Since he had not only defied the other, but forced him to pause in his demands, the white youth felt more kindly towards him.
"See here, Arowaka," he added, "I think I have as much right to the game as you, but I don't want it half as bad. I'll let you have it. Why don't you pick it up and carry it off?"
The Wyandot, who must have understood these words, looked at the speaker with a curious expression, that is, so far as it could be seen through the paint with which his face was daubed.
"What your name?" he asked, in a lower voice than before.
"Jack Gedney, and I live only a short distance up the path yonder."
"Me know," said the other. "Jack have fine gun."
"You are right about that," was the proud answer of the lad.
"Me like see him."
Jack was too wise to trust his valuable weapon in the hands of the young scamp, who would be glad enough to steal it. Still, he thought it safe to let him have a better view of it than he could have so long as it was held in the two hands of the owner.
So our young friend was foolish enough to compromise. He leaned his gun against the nearest tree, where the eye could trace its whole beautiful shape, from the muzzle to the lowermost corner of the ornamented stock.
Jack took care to stand quite close to the piece, so that, if the young Wyandot should make an attempt to seize it, he could be ahead of him.
To the surprise of Jack, the Wyandot, instead of advancing towards the weapon, moved back several paces, just as a person does when he wishes to view all the points of some large object.
"He knows better than to try to take it from me," was the conclusion of Jack, "for I would fight him like a painter, and I would never give up that gun except with my life."
At this moment came the greatest surprise of Jack Gedney's life. He was looking admiringly at his weapon when the hand of an Indian warrior softly reached from behind the tree, and grasped the barrel. An instant later the figure of a Wyandot stepped into sight, holding his bow in one hand and the captured rifle in the other.
No one can imagine the consternation of Jack Gedney, who had allowed his prize to pass from his possession without so much as raising a finger to prevent it. It looked indeed as if the young Wyandot had been trying to get him to do the very thing that he had done. This, however, could not have been the case, for two Indians must have felt able to overcome so young a lad as Jack, even with his loaded gun.
Jack could hardly keep from crying, for his grief overflowed. The next instant he was filled with anger.
"That is mine," said he, stepping towards the Indian, and reaching out his hand.
The savage extended the weapon, as if he meant to pass it back to the lad; but before the latter could seize it it was withdrawn, and the Indian grinned more than ever.
The warrior was dressed similarly to Arowaka, the paint on his face being daubed in much the same fashion. From this, and the fact that several glances passed between the two, Jack Gedney rightly concluded that they were father and son, the warrior being Hua-awa-oma, who, as his offspring claimed, was a great chief.
"Want gun?" asked the savage, speaking for the first time.
"Yes, it is mine. I must have it! I will have it!"
In his indignation, Jack was ready to draw his knife, and leap at his tantalising enemy. Such a step could not have helped him, while it might have caused him much harm.
Hua-awa-oma showed that, like many an American Indian, he had a vein of waggery in his composition. The race to which he belonged is probably the most melancholy in the world, but there are times when its people show something akin to mirth. The chief set the gun against the tree where it was standing a few minutes before, and then beckoned to his son to come nigher.
Arowaka walked forward until he stood near the wondering Jack Gedney.
"You wrestle, you two!" said he. "One throw other, him have gun."
The meaning of this was clear enough: the ownership of the gun was to be decided by a wrestling bout between Jack Gedney and the young Wyandot.
The heart of the white youth gave a quick throb of delight, for there was no boy in the settlement within two years of his age whom he could not easily master in such a contest. He had thrown Will Burton, taller and older than he, with as much ease as he had every lad anywhere near his age.
The lads, having been told to begin, lost no time in doing so. It was fortunate for Jack that his opponent proved to be left-handed, since that gave Jack the hold which he wished. With their arms encircling each other, and the hands clasped in front, their heads bent slightly forward, so that they could watch each other's feet, the struggle began.
At this juncture the question came to Jack Gedney--
"If I do throw this fellow and win, will the chief keep his promise?"
It must be confessed that there was little reason to believe that Hua-awa-oma (He who fights without falling) would show the least regard for his pledge. This, however, did not weaken the arm of Jack Gedney, who, bending his body slightly forward and downward, suddenly caught his opponent on his hip and flung him on his back before the fellow could prevent it. Jack fell so heavily across him that he almost forced the breath from his body.
But Arowaka was on his feet scarcely a second behind Jack, who was given no time to see how the chief took it, when he found both shoulders seized by his opponent.
Jack was quick to do the same, so that the two contestants faced each other. The young Wyandot took a lesson from his fall, and he was so guarded that he defeated several efforts to catch him unawares.
All at once, like a flash, Jack, tightly grasping the arms of Arowaka, dropped his own shoulders, kicked the feet of the other from beneath him, and, with the most powerful effort he could put forth, lifted the Wyandot clear from the ground.
Finding himself going, Arowaka struggled desperately, his feet beating the air like frantic drumsticks, but he could not save himself. The next instant he shot over Jack's head as if fired from a gun, and struck the ground with a shock that seemed violent enough to break his neck.
CHAPTER VII.
JACK RESUMES HIS JOURNEY.
No one could have won the wrestling bout more fairly than did Jack Gedney, who, having thrown the young Wyandot by the usual side hold, had now tossed him over his head with such violence that the youthful redskin must have made a big dent in the earth where his crown struck it.
The victor was startled for a moment by the fear that he had seriously injured his opponent, and, running forward, he stooped over him.
"Is Arowaka hurt? I am sorry," he said, kindly. "I did not really mean to do it."
But the latter was on his feet like a flash, thus proving the toughness of his race. He was so angered that his small black eyes flashed fire. No doubt he ranked as a skilful wrestler among his own people, and he was chagrined beyond bearing by his defeat.
Grasping the handle of his knife, he drew it forth with the intention of rushing upon Jack; but before he could do so the chieftain, Hua-awa-oma, took part in the proceedings.
You know that the American Indians show little indulgence to their children, whom they rear much as wild animals rear their young. They are made to suffer hardships while infants that would prove fatal to you or me when double their age. The doctrine of forbearance, kindness, and patience, is unknown among those peculiar people.
The chief had watched the contest between his heir and the white boy, who was not as tall by several inches as the other. He had seen Arowaka beaten as if he were a child in the grasp of a giant. The chief was furious. Arowaka was in the very act of drawing his knife when his father seized one of his arms, and began belabouring him with his long bow, which he had caught up with the other hand.
Jack Gedney was so amazed for a few seconds that he could only stare in silence. Then he was pleased, for the son deserved his punishment, not because he was overthrown, but because he drew his knife upon the one who had fairly conquered him. In the midst of the odd scene Jack Gedney awoke to the fact that his darling rifle was leaning against the very tree where he first placed it for Arowaka to view. The chief and his son were closer to it than Jack, and the latter dared not make a rush to recover it while the Indian was in such a furious mood, but he stealthily edged that way, in the hope of getting near enough to seize it before the Wyandot could prevent him.
But Jack was disappointed. Such a severe punishment as the chieftain gave to his son could not, in the nature of things, last long. Probably a score of blows descended on the back and limbs of Arowaka when they ceased. The chief gave the youth an angry shove, as though he was ashamed of him, and then, turning about, he took a few quick paces and snatched up the gun.
As he seized the weapon, the Wyandot, without glancing at his disgraced son, who stood sullenly apart, looking askance at the scene, walked straight to Jack and handed it to him.
"Take him--brave boy--make great warrior--Hua-awa-oma love Jack."
Doubting the earnestness of the chief, the youth reached out his hand, expecting the weapon to be withdrawn as before; but it was not; and a thrill of delight passed through the lad when he felt that his rifle was once more in his own possession.
"Huo-awa-oma, I thank you; you speak with a single tongue; you are a brave warrior; you have spoken truth; we are friends for ever."
The Wyandot made no response to this, but turning his back alike on white and red boy, he strode angrily off in the woods, taking a direction that led him towards the clearing where stood the cabin in which Jack Gedney was born.
Hua-awa-oma had gone only a couple of rods when his son followed him. He did not speak, but as he moved away he turned his head for an instant and glanced at Jack.
What that look meant was beyond the power of the boy to guess, but he believed it was a threat--a warning that he had not yet finished with him.
However, Jack was not alarmed by the fierce glance of the dusky youth. He was so delighted over the restoration of his rifle that for a few minutes he could think of nothing else.
Making his way back to the trail, he resumed his walk towards the home of the Burton boys, who he knew were already impatient over his delay.
"It's very strange," he said, recalling the incidents that have just been described; "I don't believe that one Indian in a thousand would have kept his word like Hua-awa-oma. Having got hold of my gun, he would not have let go; but I suspect, after all, the chief is not such an honourable fellow as he seems to be from his actions. If Arowaka had made a better fight, even though I beat him, his father would have let him have the gun; but I threw him so easily that the chief was maddened, and he gave the gun back to me more because he was angry with his son than because of his promise to me."
I must say that this conclusion of Jack Gedney was worthy of one much older than he. You may think he showed an amazing amount of wisdom for a lad so young, but bear in mind that he was not only a bright boy, but he had the training that gave him a knowledge of the woods often denied to those of his years.
The presence of the two Indians in this neighbourhood could not fail to set Jack to thinking what it meant. The Wyandots were among those who had fought the white settlers with intense fierceness. Some of their leaders were the most daring and skilful of the combined tribes, and the warriors were as brave and treacherous as the Apaches of the present time.
The natural question that Jack asked himself was as to the meaning of the presence of this chief and his son so near to the settlement and the few scattered cabins of that section. One alarming fact could not be lost sight of: during the past summer and early autumn the Indians had been unusually hostile.
Some weeks before, Mr. Gedney was on the point of moving with his family to the settlement until the trouble should pass; but he disliked leaving the cabin and all the gains he had made since coming to the West. About that time, however, came news that drove away his fears, and he decided to stay, at least until more alarming tidings should reach him.
The thought that naturally came to Jack was that a chief generally had a number of warriors within call, and since they were Wyandots they were hostile to the whites, who were trying to take their hunting-grounds away from them. The chief himself had shown a friendship towards Jack which he might extend to his relatives, but of course that was mere guesswork.
While the boy found plenty of cause for serious thought, he took comfort in his faith in the bravery and address of his father. He had been through some of the most thrilling scenes on the frontier, and in all he had carried himself so as to win the praise of every one.
So it was natural, as you will see, that, though Jack was disturbed by his fears, he was able to find relief in his faith in his father.
"He knows all about Indians," said the youth to himself; "if they mean anything wrong, he will find it out; they will never be able to catch him asleep."
And with this conclusion the boy walked more briskly than before along the trail over which he had journeyed so many times.
CHAPTER VIII.
TRAVELLING SOUTHWARD.
All of Jack Gedney's doubts and misgivings left him for the time when he caught sight of the cabin of Mr. Burton. The moment he stepped into the clearing, where he could be seen, he was greeted by shouts from Will and George.
"We've been waiting more than a half-hour for you," called out the elder; "what kept you?"
"I didn't start quite as early as I wanted to, and I was stopped on the way by a couple of Indians."
Mr. Burton and his wife and daughter, who were within the cabin, came to the door when they heard this remark, for it was one in which it was natural that all should feel interest.
Jack followed the other boys into the house, where all sat down, and the visitor gave an account of his wrestling bout with the young Wyandot. When he came to relate how he sent the youth flying over his head, with his legs outspread like those of a frog, and of the trouncing the parent added to his defeat, every one of the listeners, including Mrs. Burton, laughed right merrily.
"It was bad enough to be tossed about in that fashion," said Mr. Burton, "but it was rough on the poor fellow to receive a whipping on that account."
"I would have given a good deal to see it," said Will who had been thrown more than once by the doughty Jack. "I can imagine how he felt when he went flying over your head, for I've been there myself."
"I was thinking," said Jack, more seriously, "that it might be that the chief and his boy are not alone in the woods. You know that a chief is pretty apt to have his warriors near him."
"More than likely you are right: what of it?" asked Mr. Burton.