“Was I scalped?” he gasped. (See [page 115])

CONNECTICUT BOYS
=======IN THE=======
WESTERN RESERVE.

A TALE OF THE MORAVIAN MASSACRE

...BY...

James A. Braden.

AUTHOR OF
“FAR PAST THE FRONTIER,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY
W. Herbert Dunton
C

AKRON, OHIO
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING CO.
NEW YORK CHICAGO
MADE IN U. S. A.

Copyright, 1927
By
The Saalfield Publishing Company

CONTENTS

I. [A RAINY NIGHT.] 9 II. [TALL TODD’S WARNING.] 23 III. [A MYSTERY OF THE FOREST.] 38 IV. [THE LONE INDIAN.] 52 V. [HIDDEN TREASURE.] 67 VI. [THE CABIN BY THE RIVER.] 84 VII. [THE REWARD OF VIGILANCE.] 101 VIII. [THE FATE OF BLACK EAGLE.] 117 IX. [THE CAMP IN THE TREE-TOP.] 134 X. [THE QUAKER’S STORY.] 148 XI. [HELPING THE DELAWARES—DANGER.] 165 XII. [BANDS OF BLACK.] 181 XIII. [A CRY FROM THE DARKNESS.] 197 XIV. [CAPTURED.] 212 XV. [THE SEARCH.] 227 XVI. [THE CAVE OF THE FORTUNE HUNTERS.] 242

CHAPTER I.
A RAINY NIGHT.

A dismally wet and cold September day had come early to a close and thick darkness had settled down an hour since, when the horse attached to a heavy, canvas-covered, two-wheeled emigrant wagon stopped, at its driver’s command, before an inhospitable looking house, from one window of which a feeble light was shining. The rain splashed drearily, the wind moaned in a ghostly way about the structure whose dim outlines were just visible, and flapped the canvas over the wagon fitfully.

The barking of a gruff-voiced dog from somewhere near the house gave certain sign that the arrival of the cart had been noticed by that animal, as a tall, broad shouldered boy sprang lightly down from the vehicle and walked briskly toward the door of the gloomy building.

“Now, never mind, Ring,” spoke a young, but full and pleasant voice from the front of the wagon, as a large dog that stood beneath growled deep in its throat in answer to the barking of the other canine. Instantly the dog was quieted and at the same moment came the sound of knocking at the door of the partially lighted house. A full minute passed, and the knocking was vigorously repeated before there was a response.

“This ain’t a tavern any more; we can’t keep ye,” said a man who put his head out, before the caller could speak.

“This is the Eagle tavern, isn’t it?” the boy inquired calmly, and the light through the half-open door showed him to be a muscular youth of probably eighteen years, though the serious look about his eyes and mouth, and his dark hair gave him a somewhat older appearance.

“It used to be the Eagle tavern, but it ain’t now. Is that all?” the man in the doorway replied gruffly.

“Why, no, it is not all,” the lad returned. “There are two of us with a horse and wagon and we want to stay all night. The storm is growing worse, and though we had intended to camp by the roadside, we pushed on through the mud and darkness to reach this place. We expect to pay for our lodging.”

“It don’t make no difference, I tell ye! We ain’t keeping a public house.”

“Come, come, Mr. Tavern-keeper, my friend and I have both been here before, and if we are willing to stay, you should surely be willing to keep us.”

“That’s the talk!” called the one who remained in the wagon, “and let’s have a lantern out here, and lose no further time about it!”

The man in the door moved aside to let the light fall more directly on his caller’s face.

“Yes, I rec’lect ye,” he said slowly. And then, his face brightening suddenly, he added more pleasantly, “Wait a jiffy.”

He closed the door and a murmur of voices sounded for a short time from within. Presently, however, the man reappeared with a tallow candle set in a round tin box full of small holes, which he carried by a ring in its top, as a lantern, and followed the young men who had summoned him, to the cart drawn up by the roadside.

“The Eagle tavern’s been closed all summer and we hadn’t ought to keep ye,” the man explained, standing by while the two boys unhitched their horse and led the animal into the log barn across the road from the house. “Ye kin pull yer cart under this shed out o’ the rain,” he went on, indicating a lean-to beside the barn.

In a few minutes the horse had been fed and the host led the way into the house, entering a long, low room, where, in a fireplace, a smoky, cheerless blaze was flickering. On a table set against the wall opposite the fireplace, a candle was burning, and toward the farther end of the dingy apartment two men were seated, their chairs tilted back in careless attitudes.

“There ain’t much here to eat,” the landlord said, as he motioned his guests to a settle in the chimney corner. “My wife died an’ I quit keepin’ a tavern. I’ll git ye what I kin.”

The two boys he thus ushered in did not sit down, but stood before the blaze to allow their clothes to dry; the one who had remained in the wagon while the other went to the door, turning about after a minute or two and stirring the fire till it burned more brightly. He was seventeen years old or thereabout, more slender than his companion and not so tall. His brown hair grew long, and about his blue eyes there was a twinkle of merriment, as he said: “Wood is cheap; we may as well have enough fire to do some good.”

“Right you are, young man,” spoke one of the two strangers still sitting in the semi-darkness. “It’s a nasty night.”

“Right you are,” said the lad, still stirring the fire, adopting the stranger’s own words.

One of the two men arose and stepping up to the blaze seated himself on the settle. He was a villainous looking fellow, his curly black hair cut short, his nose very large, red and sharp pointed, his chin unnaturally prominent, his eyes small, black, and deep-set, marks of smallpox adding further to make his face an unpleasant one. His age was not less than forty-five years.

So disagreeable, indeed, did the two boys find this man’s appearance that instinctively both looked more closely to see what his companion was like. They beheld a man ten years younger than the other, though his hair was turning gray, and his hardened leather-like skin made him seem older than he was. He had fairly honest eyes, however, though he turned them away and looked steadily in another direction when he found that he was observed.

“I was just tellin’ my friends here about Ichabod Nesbit bein’ killed, when you chaps come along,” said the landlord a few minutes later, as he came bringing in some cold meat and a loaf of bread, which he placed on the table. Then asking his young guests to sit down and help themselves, which they proceeded to do, he went on:

“I rec’lect that you boys was sort o’ interested in Nesbit, an’ I heard that it was you two that brought the news East of how he was killed.”

“Yes,” said the older of the two lads in a disinterested way, while the other gave him a quiet pinch under the table.

“Killed by an Indian, you said, didn’t you?” put in the villainous looking man.

“An Injun named Black Eagle,” said the landlord.

Neither boy made any move to join in the conversation and the tavern-keeper took another tack.

“Most forgot how to be polite,” he said. “I don’t rec’lect your names, young men, but make you acquainted with Mr. Samuel Duff and Mr. Lon Dexter, travelers same as you be. My name’s Quilling, ye know that.”

It was to the name Samuel Duff that the villainous looking man answered. His better appearing companion arose as the name Lon Dexter was pronounced.

“My name is Kingdom,” said the older of the two boys, rising to shake hands as the men came forward.

“And mine is Jerome,” said the more slender lad, with none too much friendship in his tones.

“Going West, I take it,” said Duff, trying to speak pleasantly.

“Yes,” said the young man named Kingdom, as both boys reseated themselves and went on with their supper.

“So are we,” he of the evil appearance continued—“Dexter and I.”

“It is a great country—the Ohio country, I mean,” said Kingdom, his keen, dark eyes scrutinizing the fellow who had seemed to suggest that they might travel together, while he mentally decided that he would like no such arrangement.

“Yes, a great country and a big country. We’re just going to look around and see whether there would be a good chance to get hold of first-rate land to settle on when the Indian troubles are over,” Duff answered.

No immediate reply being made to his words, the fellow went on in a careless tone which anyone could have seen was assumed:

“But you won’t catch us staying around long where the Redskins have war paint on. That man Ichabod Nesbit, we were speaking of, would probably have been living yet if he hadn’t gone off to that blasted wilderness. What part of the country was he killed in, anyhow?”

“Beyond Pittsburg. Why?” quickly put in the lad Jerome, his interest aroused. For the thought came to him that Ichabod Nesbit was just such an outlaw as the fellow now inquiring about him looked to be.

“Ho! nothing in particular! You seem to be mighty suspicious, the way you ask ‘Why,’” Duff exclaimed, with anger he tried not to show.

“No harm ain’t be’n done, I don’t see. Jest hear it rain though!” put in the other of the two men, Dexter, speaking for almost the first time. His voice was a hoarse whisper, and gave the impression that he was frightened and afraid to speak louder.

“Why,” said Kingdom, “there is no secret about when and how and where the man Nesbit was killed. He had followed us all the way from this very tavern, clear across the mountains and the Ohio river. On the way West, he fired at us one night, as we were in camp, and happened to kill Northwind, the son of the Indian, Black Eagle. The long and short of it all is, that Black Eagle, after burying his son, found the trail of Nesbit and followed it—tracked him through woods and over mountains, though how he could do it is wonderful, and at last came up with him only a few minutes after Nesbit had fired on our camp a second time, killing our horse. They fought, and Nesbit was killed, but just how or where we do not know. We did not see the fight or know anything about it until Black Eagle told it himself, months afterward, and showed the man’s skull as certain evidence that he was dead.”

For a little time nothing more was said. The wind howled dolefully outside and the rain beating on the roof and windows added to the feeling of melancholy which seemed to pervade the whole place. Little wonder is it that the thoughts of the two boys went back to the terrible experiences they had had in a former trip from their home in Connecticut to the wilderness beyond the western frontier of Pennsylvania. They remembered how a robber and cut-throat by occupation, Ichabod Nesbit, had attempted to relieve them of their money at this very inn—the Eagle tavern—how they had shot at him and he had then secretly followed them, mile after mile, week after week, firing at them from a distance on two occasions and at last killing their horse when they were but a few miles from the spot where, beside the Cuyahoga river, they located and built a cabin.

They remembered, too, that Nesbit had been in search of a cousin, named Arthur Bridges, whom he would have killed had he found him, in order to palm himself off as Bridges, whom he closely resembled, and secure his property. And Nesbit was responsible from the beginning for Arthur Bridges’ never having returned home after the Revolutionary war, in which he was a soldier. They had met on the road and Nesbit told Bridges that his (Bridges’) mother had died and his father was cursing him and hoping never to see him again because he had joined General Washington’s army. And it was only by chance that Bridges had discovered through Tom Fish, a friend who had gone in search of him, that Nesbit had deceived him most cruelly.

“The Indian—did you say his name was Black Eagle?—is quite civilized, I understand,” said Duff, at last. “His home is in the East.”

“More civilized than some white folks,” spoke up young Jerome, remembering that the Redskin had been kind to him and Kingdom.

Duff growled an inaudible reply, in response to this thrust, and Kingdom, being tired and, moreover, wishing to avoid any trouble with this disagreeable fellow, suggested that it was time to go to bed.

The landlord, upon request of the boys, brought a candle and showed them into a small down-stairs room opening into a narrow passageway which led to the general living room where they had passed the evening.

“I wish we had not stopped at this wretched hole,” said Jerome when the boys were alone.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. It is pleasanter to be here, disagreeable as it is, than to be camped along the road,” Kingdom answered. “We could have slept in the wagon, but the horse couldn’t, and it is such a bad night! Make the best of it, old chap.”

For an hour the young friends lay awake talking of their journey and especially of the unusual interest the two strangers had shown in the death of Ichabod Nesbit.

“I must have a drink of water,” said Jerome, as Kingdom turned over to go to sleep; and slipping into his trousers he felt his way along the passage, and opened the door of the living-room. The landlord and Duff and Dexter were sitting beside the little table, their heads bent close to the candle, while they intently examined a frayed and time-worn piece of paper.

“It ain’t no use, it ain’t. I’ve studied it right side up an’ wrong side up an’ side ways an’ length ways, an’ it ain’t no use!” Quilling, the landlord, was saying when Jerome’s footfall attracted the attention of the men.

“Blast you, you blasted spy!” cried Duff, springing toward the boy.

“Don’t repeat that, mister,” was the lad’s cool answer. “I was not spying on you, and don’t intend to let any one call me such names.”

“He was only jokin’—only jokin’,” hoarsely whispered Dexter, trying to laugh.

CHAPTER II.
TALL TODD’S WARNING.

Having gotten a drink of water, as he had set out to do, Jerome quietly returned to his room. He told Kingdom what had happened and they wisely determined to sleep with one eye open. This they did, their trained senses ready to detect the first unusual sound, but nothing occurred to disturb them, and even Ring, their faithful dog, sleeping beside the bed, showed no sign of uneasiness.

“Mr. Duff and Mr. Dexter ain’t up yet,” the landlord explained, as he set out a scanty breakfast for the boys, when morning came. But the young friends made no comment, and though the man stood around hoping to hear some expression from them as to what they thought of the worthy pair of whom he spoke, his curiosity was unsatisfied.

An almost perfect autumn day followed the stormy night. The sky was flecked with clouds, but between them the sun shone bright and cheery and a soft, warm wind aided in drying the muddy roads. The young emigrants, safely on their way once more, were in the best of spirits. They talked at length of the strange actions of the men at the Eagle tavern, and although they could reach no satisfactory conclusion as to the meaning of the piece of frayed paper the fellows had had, they attached not a great deal of importance to it—far, very far, less than it deserved, as they were destined in time to learn.

A long journey lay before these two boys, whom readers of “Far Past the Frontier” will have recognized as Return Kingdom and John Jerome, on their way once more to the wilderness beyond Fort Pitt or Pittsburg. Six months earlier they had left their little cabin in the forests to return to their home in Connecticut. In company with them was Big Pete Ellis, whom they had rescued from the Indians, he and Return having escaped together from a band of Mingoes, who, headed by a Delaware Indian, Big Buffalo, had attacked the boys’ cabin and after a desperate fight captured Kingdom. Also with the lads when they went back to Connecticut, it will be remembered, was Tom Fish, the woodsman whose friendship they had formed on their first trip West, and Arthur Bridges, Tom’s friend, who was a cousin of Nesbit, the outlaw. Bridges had suddenly appeared one evening at the cabin, and as it had been believed that he was dead, there was great rejoicing. Gladly he had gone with Tom Fish and Kingdom and Jerome to Connecticut where for years his mother had been living upon the hope that he would sometime return.

It was in May that the boys and their friends had gone from the savage country where they had built their cabin; and now having worked as harvest hands during the summer, they were headed once more for the land of the Delawares, their cart packed with a well selected stock of supplies for their own use and a variety of articles for trade with the Indians.

On their previous venture, when they had first set out to make homes for themselves in the new country, the two friends had done well as traders; and though this time they meant to give more attention to clearing land for farms, they knew that the Indians would receive them more kindly if they came with merchandise to exchange for furs, while they would be quite unwelcome if they came only as settlers. Such at least, had been their former experience and, notwithstanding the trouble they had had with the Mingoes and Big Buffalo, they hoped to have no further difficulty, as Hopocon, or Captain Pipe, as the white men called him, the chief of the Delawares, had promised his protection when they had paid him for the land on which they built their cabin.

Indeed, they were certain that Big Buffalo would not have dared lead the Mingoes against their cabin, had it not been that Captain Pipe and most of his warriors had gone to the far northwest for fighting which was expected to take place there.

From Connecticut to Ohio in these days is not a very long journey. It was different in the year 1791 when Return Kingdom and John Jerome were making the trip over rough roads, through the forests and an almost unbroken wilderness, constantly growing wilder, as they progressed, and the way more dangerous, especially after passing Pittsburg. Steadily, however, they continued on. The weather was for the most part pleasant, and though the evenings were cool, blazing camp fires gave all the warmth desired.

Only one night after leaving the Eagle tavern did the boys spend under roof, for there were few inns along the way and as the borders of civilization were left farther and farther behind, none whatever. No adventure of importance befell them, however, until they reached Pittsburg, then a rough frontier hamlet built up about the fort from which it took its name. They had learned the road on their previous journey, and though a number of mishaps had occurred, including a hard fall John had had from a great rock he climbed in hope of getting a shot at a bear which had trotted across the rough trail some distance ahead of them, none of these were serious.

And thus, in the late afternoon of a hazy October day the young men drove slowly into the frontier settlement which would be the last sign of civilization they expected to see for a long time to come.

It might be years before they would return to Connecticut again. Return Kingdom, being an orphan, who had known no home except as the bound boy of Henry Catesby, had few near friends there. Mrs. Catesby and her daughter, Mary, had been very kind to him after Mr. Catesby’s death, but they were now living in town that Mary might attend school. Captain William Bowen, an old friend, was the only other person, unless it was Pete Ellis, who cared much about him, he thought. Why should he wish to return? There was only one other tie to bind him to Bruceville, his boyhood home. His mother’s grave was in the little churchyard there. She had been dead a long time, but he loved her memory. His father, killed in the Revolutionary war, he had never known.

As for John Jerome, he was one of a large family. His father was poor. Their little farm would scarcely support them all and work was scarce. That he would be missed John knew, but he also knew that his chances of getting along—of making something of himself—were better in the newer country. He would go home some day to visit, surely, but he had set out to make his own way, and it might be years before the opportunity again to see those he loved, would come.

Maybe both boys were thinking of the friends left behind, as very soberly they drove into Pittsburg. Their heavy, covered wagon drawn by one strong horse attracted no little attention as they passed down the main street of the rough, stockaded town of brick and log buildings, and with the easy familiarity of the early times many called out to them in a friendly, hospitable way to ask whence they came and whither they were going. There were words of astonishment, and grave shaking of heads when the travelers answered that they were bound for the unbroken West. Said one man in a worn-out soldier’s uniform:

“You’ll be safe enough if you go down the river with some big party, but you’ll be scalped, sure, if you go toward Sandusky Plains, as you say. Why, there’s terrible times! General St. Clair left Fort Washington not six weeks ago to march into that country and there’ll be murderin’ an’ scalpin’ to beat all get out! St. Clair was here in the spring, an’ all summer long he has been recruitin’ at Fort Washington for the biggest kind of fightin’; an’ it’s bound to come just as soon as he gets into the Redskins’ country. He’s got two boys o’ mine with him—young fellers ’bout same age as you, but I ain’t worried half like I would be if they was goin’ off by themselves, not a hundred miles west o’ here!”

As the boys drove up to the public house where they had stopped on their former trip to the West, they were recognized by a number of men seated on a split log bench just outside, smoking their pipes.

“Thunder an’ lightnin’! Where ye goin’?” exclaimed one of the loafers, a great, lanky fellow known as Tall Todd, as Kingdom and Jerome, rather enjoying the excitement their appearance caused, stepped up to shake hands with their acquaintances.

“Goin’ back to yer cabin beyond old Fort Laurens? By jinks, ye ain’t! It’s sartin death to both of ye. Wasn’t ye both purty near murdered an’ one of ye purty near burned to the stake? D’ye s’pose them Mingoes will hev forgot that ye killed three or four of the war party at yer cabin? D’ye s’pose that Big Buffalo devil will hev forgot his grudge ag’in ye? By jinks! a Redskin don’t never fergit these things! Fellers, we had all orter be hung fer murder if we let these young shavers throw their lives away, this here way!”

The vehemence with which Todd spoke, refusing to be interrupted, though both Kingdom and Jerome tried to break in on his exclamations, caused the boys some uneasiness; not so much for fear of their safety beyond the border, as for the possibility that their friends would be unpleasantly insistent that they must abandon their trip. They realized that their undertaking was hazardous, but they relied on their ability to make peace with the Indians as they had done before, and they were certain that if Captain Pipe, the Delaware Chieftain, were in his village, a few miles from which their cabin stood, Big Buffalo would not dare attack them again. When their horse had been led away to the stable, and all were seated before the door of the house which did duty as tavern, the young men explained these things to Tall Todd and the others.

“What was Tom Fish an’ Bridges doin’ that they let ye come ’way off here by yerselves?” suddenly asked Todd, who had been shutting his eyes and mouth tight, and shaking his head most emphatically, in answer to everything the boys had said.

“Oh, they said to wait until winter and they would come with us. But we did not agree to that, and as they lived so far away, we did not see them again. It was in July that we saw them last. When we got ready, we started. If they had come it would have been only for a little hunting, and we were afraid they would think they were obliged to go with us, if we sent them word.”

“It was only last week that a white man was found dead and scalped just beyond old Fort McIntosh,” said an elderly man, quietly. “About a month ago a chap named Keaton was tomahawked and his scalp taken, not a day’s march from this very spot. Both were killed in a mysterious way, too—one shot from ambush, the other attacked while he was cooking himself a meal; and he never knew what hit him, from all appearances, they say. It looks mighty bad. I’ve been through the woods a good many times, and I don’t get scared at my shadow, but honest to goodness I mean it, when I say that I wouldn’t care to go a great ways into the Ohio country alone, now.”

“By jinks, it is queer how them two fellers was killed, ain’t it?” put in Tall Todd. “An’ it jest reminds me o’ ol’ man Crane that was killed the same way four days after he left here for the Moravian settlement. Nobody knew how, nor nothin’. Ye remember some fellers comin’ up river picked up his carcass. Not a thing he had was touched. Only his bullets an’ powder was gone—an’ his hair. His gun an’ knife—everything else was layin’ jest as he fell!”

“Well, who did it?” demanded John Jerome, quite abruptly.

“That’s jest it! Who did it?” Todd answered.

“There’s a story told,” said the quiet, elderly man, “that a Redskin who got away at the time of the massacre of the Christian Indians at the Moravian settlement, ten years ago, come next March, has lately come back to these parts and kills every white man he sees, on sight. A couple of hunters and traders coming in here from Kentucky told the tale. We don’t know how true it is.”

“There ain’t nothin’ of it, I’ll bet a gun,” said Todd. “I’ve heard the yarn, an’ it don’t stand to reason. ’Cause as you jest said, Eli, the Moravians was killed ten years ago, come March, an’ that score was all settled when Crawford was burned. An’ right there, youngsters, is somethin’ to put in yer nightcaps, when yer countin’ on the friendship of that ornery Delaware, Captain Pipe, by jinks! He was one of the critters that burnt Colonel Crawford!”

“Yes, we knew that before we ever met him,” said Kingdom cheerfully, lest his friend Jerome should be depressed by these alarming reports.

“I only started out to say that the killin’ of the Moravians was so long ago, that it ain’t likely any Injun has just now started out to hunt scalps and satisfaction on account of it,” Todd replied, somewhat taken back by the young traveler’s cheery reply to his doleful warning against Captain Pipe.

The sun had gone down as the men and boys were talking and now the guests at the place were called to supper. Only one of those who were sitting outside arose and went in with the boys. The others, being there only as loungers, remained where they were or went to supper elsewhere.

The man who accompanied Kingdom and Jerome to the table had little to say, but ate of the roast venison and corn bread which was placed before them, silently. He was a genteel appearing person, of about sixty years, wearing a wig and a riding suit of fine texture. His smoothly shaven face bore marks of refinement though there was a certain look of dissipation about him. He had not spoken outside and the two boys had not learned his name or business, though they knew from his sombre dress that he was a Quaker.

“I tell you, Ree, the stories of those chaps being killed so mysteriously bothers me more than anything else,” said John Jerome to his friend. “Honestly, I would think Ichabod Nesbit was still alive, shooting at people from behind, and all that, if I didn’t know positively that Black Eagle killed him.”

The stranger at the opposite side of the table gave a sudden start,—a start as if an unseen hand had struck him on the back, as the name of Nesbit was mentioned. He cast a quick, intent look toward the two young friends, and perceiving that his agitation had been noticed, put his hand before his mouth and coughed violently, plainly trying to make believe that some obstruction of his throat caused his sudden disturbance.

CHAPTER III.
A MYSTERY OF THE FOREST.

Much as Kingdom and Jerome wondered what interest this well dressed stranger had in Ichabod Nesbit, they were too polite to ask any questions, unless they were first spoken to; but their thoughts turned naturally to the frayed and old piece of writing which John had seen in the possession of the men at the Eagle tavern. They recalled how interested those men had been in learning just where Ichabod Nesbit was killed, and that Duff and Dexter had said they were on their way West.

Yet, much as they tried, neither of the boys could suggest a reason for the interest in the death of the dead robber which seemed to have so suddenly risen. They discussed the subject at much length, sitting alone in the moonlight that evening, on the heavy shafts of their wagon, beside the barn, when they had seen to it that their horse was fed and their dog had a comfortable place for the night on a blanket beneath the cart, insuring the perfect safety of the vehicle and its contents.

The lads had not seen Tall Todd after supper, but as they were going into the house to go to bed, he met them near the door and urged them most seriously to give up their plan to go on into the wilderness alone.

Todd was a good natured, kindly man and undoubtedly meant well by his friends, but by habit he spoke in an extravagant manner, and the young men believed that many of the alarming statements he made were exaggerated—either by himself, quite unintentionally, owing to his manner of speaking, or by those from whom he had heard them. They thought most seriously, however, of the report given by the quiet, elderly man, Eli Hopp, concerning the mysterious murders which had taken place along the extreme frontier, and prudence bade them investigate before venturing into the almost trackless forest alone. They probably would have remained in Pittsburg several days or more for this purpose, but for a remark made by the proprietor of the public house at which they remained over night, next morning.

“Tall Todd says you chaps have decided to stay here awhile and maybe wait for some party goin’ down river, to go along with.”

The words fired Kingdom’s pride. He was usually a cool, thoughtful lad; and though he showed no resentment or injured self-esteem in his tones, now, he answered instantly:

“No, he must be mistaken. We not only did not say that, but we are leaving to-day to go on to the cabin we built on the Cuyahoga river.”

“We have corn and other crops to harvest, if there is anything left of them. We had quite a farm, you know, when we left there last spring,” put in John Jerome jocularly.

The landlord’s face grew serious and he began telling of the Indian disturbances all along the border; but Kingdom adroitly turned the conversation in such a way that he was able without seeming over-curious, to inquire about the well dressed stranger who had sat at table with them the night before and had been so disturbed by mention of the name of Ichabod Nesbit.

“By vum, partner, you’ve stumped me,” the man replied. “That fellow came along here on horseback day before yesterday, engaged his keep, carried his saddle bags to a little room I let him have, as though they was both full of gold—he watched them that close—and this morning he paid his reckoning, got on his horse and away he went, saddle bags and all. Tall Todd couldn’t get anything out of him, so I knew ’twan’t any use my tryin’, though he did tell me what he didn’t tell Todd, and that was, that his name was Theodore Hatch and that he was a surveyor. But bless you! I don’t believe that. I think he’s a British spy, that’s what I think!”

“Pretty dangerous for him to be around here, if he is,” said young Jerome, bristling up as though he would personally assault the gentleman the next time they met.

“The woods are full of British from Detroit,” the landlord went on. “Talk about the war being over, what are the pestiferous Red-coats always setting the Indians against our settlers so, for? We will have to set about licking them out of their boots again, the way they are behaving! But what most of all makes me think this Mr. Theodore Hatch is a Britisher is that he rode off down the river right toward bad Injun country alone. He wouldn’t dare do it, if he wasn’t a Britisher and friendly with the Redskins. And what did he have in them saddle bags, do you suppose? He had gold for the Mingoes and the Delawares and the Wyandots and every red mother’s son of the savages, he had. Now that’s what I think!”

The two boys did not mention the stranger’s agitation of the night before, but they could not understand how a British spy could have any interest in Ichabod Nesbit, and as they talked the subject over by themselves, they concluded that on that point the landlord was probably mistaken.

It was true, nevertheless, that then and for many years afterward there were agents of the British government going among the Indians, rousing them to deeds of violence against the American settlers. British soldiers helped in the defeat of General St. Clair by the Indians that very fall of 1791,—only a month later than that day when Kingdom and Jerome, some time after their talk with the landlord, said goodbye to him and to Tall Todd and others they knew, and set forth again upon their journey on into the western wilds.

Todd was still loud in his declarations that it was nothing less than murder to permit the boys to continue into the wilderness, but their determination overbalanced all his objections and, though cautioning them repeatedly, other men really admired their pluck, as they watched the two friends drive slowly away.

“We will reach the Cuyahoga river within two weeks if we have good luck, Ree,” said John. “That will give us all the time we need to get our corn harvested, if there is any of it left, and to get our little house all in good shape for winter before cold weather comes.”

“I think we will be able to gather some nuts, there are plenty of hickory-nuts and butternuts, too, along the river and back among the hills.”

So with the most hopeful conversation the boys passed the time. Had they fully realized the dangers which would surround them they could not have been so care-free. They knew that they must keep their wits about them and their eyes open wide, and this they did; but they were far from expecting the adventures which were in store for them.

The roads east of Pittsburg had been scarcely worthy of the name, but west of that frontier settlement there were practically none. Neb—short for Nebuchadnezzar—the big black horse the lads drove, had all he could do in many instances to pull the well loaded cart up the little hills which were encountered, and through the swampy places which must now and then be crossed. The trail followed was the same as that taken by the boys upon their previous journey West, the preceding fall, and the work done at that time in opening a roadway where it was impossible otherwise for the cart to pass, stood them in good stead now. But at best their progress was slow, and Colonel Boquet, whose famous Indian expedition many years earlier, traveled in part the same course as that these two sons of Connecticut were now taking, moved as fast as they did, though he made but from seven to ten miles a day.

For several miles, soon after leaving Pittsburg, the trail the boys followed kept them close to the Ohio river. There they discovered the tracks of a horse which had preceded them. Rightly they guessed that the hoof prints were those of the steed of the mysterious stranger who had called himself Theodore Hatch.

“I wish we could overtake him,” said John, speaking of the tracks they saw.

“It is strange that he should be going into this country alone and with practically no baggage,” said Kingdom. “I can’t make out what he’s up to, unless it be true that he is a British agent. Of course it might be that he is a missionary going to the Moravian villages, but he did not look much like one.”

“I should say not. He looked like a soldier, I thought—an army officer dressed up as a Quaker.”

The prospect that the boys might fall in with the mysterious stranger seemed to increase daily. Though he undoubtedly traveled faster than they, it was apparent that he was pursuing the same general course as themselves and much the same trail. They saw places where he had encamped for the night, and often during the day the tracks of his horse. Still there was nothing to indicate the man’s identity.

It was late in the afternoon of the sixth day after leaving Pittsburg. The young travelers had found level land and comparatively easy traveling that day, and having gone a long distance, were casting about for a camping place.

“I’ll forge ahead and see if there is running water in the little valley yonder,” said John. “If there is, we need go no further.”

Hastening forward, he came to the edge of the hill sloping down to the shallow gully of which he had spoken. He heard the trickle and splash of a stream of water, and in another moment would have turned to go back, but his quick eye caught the outlines of a horse’s flank among some low bushes near the brook, and he paused.

Carefully he watched but the animal did not stir. Ree was not more than a hundred yards away, and hurrying to him, John told of the discovery.

“It must be our Britisher,” said Kingdom, thoughtfully, “so few of the Indians have horses. But we will soon find out. Come on.”

Leaving their cart where it was, for Neb could be trusted not to run away, the boys walked with as great a show of unconcern as possible down into the valley. They took pains to speak to each other in tones moderately loud, as though they were looking only for a place to camp, hoping to attract the stranger’s attention. But their approach seemed entirely unnoticed. They could see only the flanks and back of the horse which was standing among the low bushes, and were somewhat surprised to notice that the animal was saddled. So perfectly still did the creature stand, too, they were puzzled more and more.

Suddenly the horse raised its head, looked backward with great, sorrowful eyes for a moment, then with a low, pitiful whinny turned and trotted toward the boys.

“Something’s wrong here,” said Kingdom, beneath his breath. “My goodness, I hope—”

The sentence was cut short by John speaking to the dapple gray that had now come close up to them, plainly doing its best to talk.

“Show us what it is—what’s the matter, old fellow?” said Jerome, patting the horse’s forehead.

Kingdom did not wait for an answer to his companion’s question, but stepped quickly forward among the underbrush. He pushed his way through to a small, clear space beside the stream, and as he reached it a little cry of surprise and dismay escaped him. Then swift as a deer he leaped to the center of the open space, and in another instant was kneeling beside the body of—Theodore Hatch, the Quaker.

The man lay face upward upon the leafy ground, the pallor of death upon his cheeks, the scalp cut from his head. Beside his body the ground was ploughed deep by the hoofs of the horse, showing clearly how the faithful beast had watched and waited for a word from the master who could not speak. A few feet distant were the dead ashes of a tiny fire, and a small coffee dipper burned black still setting among them, its contents long since evaporated.

“Oh, Ree!”

John Jerome could say no more as, followed by their faithful dog and the stranger’s horse, he hastened through the brush to his friend’s side and at a glance saw what was there.

“He’s alive—sure as the world, the body is still almost warm!” cried Ree in an undertone, and seizing the blackened dipper, filled it at the brook and bathed the stranger’s death-like face.

“See if there is brandy or anything in his saddle bags, John,” he next commanded. “Oh, if we can save him!”

Instead of taking the chance of finding nothing to the purpose among the stranger’s baggage, John dashed away across the valley and up the hill to their cart. He knew there were restoratives in a small medicine chest they carried beneath the seat of that vehicle, and in a minute or two he had selected what he wanted and returned. He found that Ree had loosened the stranger’s collar and placed his own coat beneath his head.

“Where is the wound, Ree?” he asked in a whisper.

“I haven’t looked,” Kingdom answered, drawing open the stranger’s mouth and putting between his lips a tiny quantity of the stimulant Jerome had brought. “Help rub his hands.”

As both boys pressed and chafed the stricken man’s fingers, palms and wrists, they felt a feeble warmth in them—so feeble, indeed, that they feared their task was hopeless. But they worked on and on, again administering a portion of the stimulant. At the end of twenty minutes they could see that freer circulation of blood had been established and were hopeful.

A very little later the stranger’s eyelids fluttered and opened. His horse, which had watched, with almost human intelligence, everything that had been done, gave a soft, low whinny of gladness.

CHAPTER IV.
THE LONE INDIAN.

“Steady, Phœbe,” murmured the stranger in a dazed, uncertain way, recognizing the voice of his faithful mare, but not realizing where he was. “Sweet Phœbe,” he whispered again, his eyes closing dreamily as the horse answered to his words with a delighted little neigh.

“Out of his head,” whispered John Jerome in tones of sympathy.

“He must have lain here since last evening, at least,” Ree answered, “and his horse has not moved from the spot. He had probably ridden up here to camp for the night and had not even unsaddled his mare when he was shot. We must keep our eyes wide open, old chap.”

“It is just such another sneaking murder as they told about at Pittsburg, Ree.”

“You go back and bring up the cart, John. We may as well camp right here. It is the safest spot we can find, according to the old saying that ‘lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place.’”

John hurried away to carry out this suggestion, while Kingdom prepared to build a small fire, taking the precaution to dig a hole in the earth for that purpose, and covering this nearly over with strips of green bark that the flame would be concealed and not bring the Indians down upon them.

In a short time John returned with Neb and the wagon and with blankets and fur robes a comfortable bed for the wounded stranger was soon made. While one lad prepared supper, then, the other unharnessed and unsaddled their own and the Quaker’s horse and tethered them by short ropes where they might drink or graze along the bank of the stream. It was apparent that the dapple gray had eaten nothing during the long watch over its wounded master for now the animal drank and ate most greedily.

A sort of broth, not unlike beef tea, was prepared from venison for the sick man and though the boys persuaded him to swallow some of it, he was still delirious and knew nothing of where he was or what had happened.

A more thorough examination of the stranger’s condition revealed the fact that he had been shot through the left side, just over the heart, and either in falling or from the butt of a rifle or some similar instrument had received an ugly wound on his head, just back of his right ear. These injuries, added to the fact that his scalp had been carried off, made it quite miraculous that he was still alive.

“But I have heard of men living after having been scalped,” said John. “Poor fellow!”

“It’s a bad business; but we must pull him through,” Kingdom replied with determination. “I’ll watch him and the camp till midnight or after. You get some sleep, John, while you can.”

As Jerome had fully expected, though he knew it was useless to remonstrate, Ree did not call him until almost daylight. Getting up, he hitched up Neb and saddled the stranger’s horse, which came up to him with perfect gentleness when he called “Phœbe,” the name he had heard the master use. A little later he broiled some venison steaks, and then called Ree to breakfast.

Theodore Hatch, if such was the stranger’s name, though the boys doubted it, had been very restless during the night. Often in his delirium he had spoken of a letter and twice had mentioned the name of Ichabod Nesbit. How so gentlemanly appearing a man could be connected with the dead robber was more than the boys could guess, though they now considered it certain that he, as well as the precious pair of rogues they had met at the Eagle tavern, had some mysterious interest in the man whom the Indian, Black Eagle, had killed.

As the stranger was still unconscious Ree and John had no fear of giving offense as they spoke of these things in his presence. Indeed, he had not the least understanding of what was taking place around him.

How to continue their journey, carrying the sick man with them, was considerable of a problem for the young travelers, as their cart was already heavily loaded; but they solved the difficulty by making a pack-horse of the stranger’s mare, thus providing room under the canvas of their covered wagon to prepare a bed for the injured stranger. They raised him up and placed him upon the blankets with much effort but successfully, and before the sun was an hour high, were once more on their way.

Fifty miles ahead of them was the lonely cabin by the Cuyahoga river. A somewhat greater distance on the backward trail was Pittsburg. To the south and west almost an equal distance was the only other semblance of civilization in all the surrounding wilderness—the missionary settlement of the Moravians.

Whether to take the wounded man to the latter place or back to Pittsburg or straight on to the cabin was a question the boys discussed at some length. The result was their decision to push on toward the Cuyahoga, and before nightfall they had traveled a good twelve miles. They saw no sign of an enemy during the day or the night which followed. The stranger continued insensible of all that was taking place, though he called out frequently, often speaking to his horse, his tones showing the deepest love for the animal. And the mare, pricking up her ears at every sound of her master’s voice, exhibited for him an attachment far beyond anything of the kind the boys had ever seen.

It may have been this very love the unhappy animal had for its stricken master which resulted in the mare’s giving the alarm when the two boys had almost forgotten the dangers constantly surrounding them. For suddenly, as the sun was going down in the afternoon of the second day after the discovery of the unconscious form of Theodore Hatch, when preparations were being made to camp in a convenient gully, the horse sniffed the air and snorted and neighed violently.

Quick to realize that something was wrong, Kingdom leaped for his rifle, and had no more than secured the weapon when a bullet shrieked close to his shoulder and buried itself in a tree behind him.

“Down, John!” Ree called, but not heeding the command, Jerome, who had gone a few rods away for water, sped forward to the camp before seeking shelter behind a tree trunk.

Vigilantly both boys watched for a sight of the would-be assassin. They could see nothing but a streak of smoke curling up in the direction from which the shot had been fired. Several minutes passed, and though no sound of footsteps was heard, there came just as suddenly as before, from another direction, the crack of a rifle and a bullet speeding so near John Jerome’s head that he dropped flat on the ground.

“It looks as if we were surrounded,” said Kingdom coolly, as John called out that he was not hurt.

The stranger’s dapple gray was trembling with fear, though Neb, the cart horse, was not in the least disturbed.

“There’s more than just a different degree of intelligence to cause that,” whispered Kingdom, crouching behind a tree and cautiously peering out, John having called attention to the behavior of the horses. “I’ll venture to say that the Redskins around us now are the same that scalped the stranger, and the horse knows it.”

No further sign of the attacking party was seen. What had become of the foe or foes neither Ree nor John could guess, and though, when the twilight had given way to dense darkness, they took turn about in making a half dozen scouting expeditions to learn if possible where the enemy was, and what might be expected from that source, no trace of savage or savages could be discovered.

Puzzled as they were, neither boy lay down to sleep that night, nor did they build a fire, whose light might make them easy targets.

While it was still dark Neb was hitched up, the still unconscious stranger in the cart made as comfortable as possible, and with the first light of the dawn of another day, the young emigrants were pushing on farther and deeper into the wilds, undaunted by the night’s experience.

All possible care was taken to guard against surprise, however, and with much coaxing and petting and painstaking instruction Ring, the big, yellow half-mastiff, was taught to give up the place he liked best, close beside Neb, for which horse he showed a deep friendship, and follow along a hundred yards or so in the rear. Ree went ahead an equal distance, except when it was necessary to help John clear the way of trees or logs for the cart to pass, and John himself kept a sharp lookout on either side, while driving.

So the day passed and nothing occurred further to alarm the two boys or retard their advance. But they reminded one another that they must not relax their watchfulness.

They hoped and fully believed that when they reached the country about their cabin—with all the woods near which they were well acquainted, their trouble would be at an end. If Captain Pipe, the Delaware chief, were in his village, he would permit no attack to be made upon them by Big Buffalo or any other of his tribe, and there would be only the wandering Mingoes to fear. Some of these and many others the lads had traded with and knew personally. A few presents would renew their friendship, and all would be well.

Until the cabin was reached, however, there were many dangers to be reckoned with, and these were increased by the fact that they were trying to save the life of the, to them, almost unknown man, who might have enemies they knew not of, and who could not help them one bit, while positively delaying their progress by adding to their load and the care with which they must travel, on his account.

Camp was made, the evening following the mysterious attack, in the center of a considerable open space, nearly bare of trees, which may have been at one time an Indian corn field. The horses were picketed close to the wagon and a defense of brush and small logs was built to a height of a few feet all about the cart. The wagon’s contents were then so arranged that the wounded man, who, though still delirious, seemed to be gaining in strength, was protected from stray bullets by boxes and other articles piled at either side of him.

“It seems actually foolish to go to all this trouble,” was Ree Kingdom’s comment as he surveyed the completed task.

Bang!—pr-r-r-r-s-s-st! A bullet whizzed through the low breast-works and flattened itself on the iron tire of the cart, close to John’s left elbow.

“Look! There he goes!” cried young Jerome, and leveled his rifle at an Indian who leaped from tree to tree with most astonishing speed, traveling in a circle about the camp at a distance of eighty or ninety yards, loading his rifle as he ran, with the greatest dexterity.

In another moment, as he thought the chance was favorable, John fired. A second later Kingdom also let drive, but all to no purpose, for the next second there came from the side of the camp opposite that from which the first bullet had flown, another to keep it company, splitting a spoke in one of the cart’s wheels.

No sooner had he fired this second time than the Indian disappeared in the depths of the woods.

“Land o’ Goshen! What does the Redskin mean?” exclaimed John, as both boys saw him fleeing away.

“He’s the same fellow that fired at us last night. Look how nervous this poor mare is. That proves it if nothing else does,” answered Kingdom, boldly rising from behind the brush-work defenses, and patting the terror-stricken horse of the stranger.

“And did you see him run?” John added. “I’ve heard people talk of horses going like a streak of lightning, but I never saw anything on legs get over the ground the way that buck did. I wonder, now, how long he intends keeping up this game!”

Before Ree could answer the voice of Theodore Hatch was heard loudly calling, “Nay, do not shoot! Thou art my friend. Hast thou the letter, Ichabod—Ichabod Nesbit?”

They were the most connected and intelligible words the stranger had uttered, though often in his unconsciousness he had called out, but usually in a disconnected, incomprehensible way.

“Ichabod, dost thou not know me? Thou art not dead, Ichabod! Ah, I was deceived. They told me thou wert killed by an Indian in the forest.”

The boys looked questioningly one to the other. Their thoughts ran back to the frayed letter the men at the Eagle tavern had had, and back farther still to the death of Ichabod Nesbit at the hands of Black Eagle.

“I believe he is better,” said Kingdom, referring to the stranger. “His brain is clearer, though he doesn’t know anything. I’ll fix him up some fresh medicine.”

By turns the two boys slept and watched the long night through. As before, the mysterious enemy gave no further trouble after twice firing upon the camp, and another day came and passed without incident.

Fearful of a repetition of the attack of the two preceding evenings, the young travelers made camp early this day that they might make a more secure defense than before, ere nightfall. This work they completed to their satisfaction while the sun was still shining.

The rise of ground on which they had halted gave them an advantage over their foe which they had not had before. Impatiently they watched and waited for the expected appearance of the lone savage.

“The third time’s the charm, they say,” remarked John, with an uneasy little laugh. “I believe we will get him or he will get us, this time.”

Kingdom did not answer, and the minutes slipped slowly by. The sun was just disappearing from view, like an immense ball of red among the western trees, when the Indian came.

Both boys caught sight of him at the same moment, standing on a hill-top across a rugged little valley from themselves, quietly surveying them. As he was between them and the fading light, they saw his face, painted a bright red, and his buckskin clad figure most distinctly; and both were certain that a belt which hung loose about his waist was adorned with human scalps.

For several seconds the young savage stood gazing vacantly toward the lads. Then he saw that he was observed. Quick as magic, and as mysteriously, he disappeared.

CHAPTER V.
HIDDEN TREASURE.

“He will not come back tonight,” was Ree’s quiet comment, when the savage vanished.

“Great guns, but he’s swift!” exclaimed John, more excitedly.

“He knows we are expecting him, and we will have no trouble to-night,” said Ree, and time proved that he was right.

Early next morning the boys did have visitors, however. Two strange Indians strode up to their camp as they were preparing to move. They were the first the young men had seen in the wilderness, but they appeared friendly and remained and talked for some time.

The boys learned from the savages that nearly all the Redmen of the country had gone off to the northwest to join with the Delawares and others already there, in fighting which was expected. The Indians had kept a careful watch on the movements of General St. Clair and his troops, who, even then, were marching into the territory which now comprises northwestern Ohio, and a battle was looked for at any time.

These two Indians did not know, however, or declined to say, whether Big Buffalo, who had made the boys so much trouble on their first trip into the wilderness, had gone to join Captain Pipe and the other Delaware warriors. They likewise professed ignorance when John, in language not exactly diplomatic, demanded to know who the young Indian, who had twice fired upon them was. Shrugging their shoulders, the savages showed a desire to talk about other things, and both Ree and John were convinced that the fellows knew more than they cared to acknowledge.

For friendship’s sake the young pioneers gave each of the savages a small present as they separated, and the latter promised to send other Indians whom they met to trade with the young men as the hunting season progressed. However, as so many of the Redmen had gone off to the expected scene of war, the boys realized at once that their work as traders would not be so profitable as it had been the previous winter; but, on the other hand, they would, on that account, have more time for hunting and trapping, themselves, and could also work with less frequent interruptions in the many tasks necessary to the improvement of the land for which they had paid Captain Pipe.

The wounded stranger had become more and more restless during the journey of this day, but not once did he come to his senses. Ree and John gave him the best care they could and at the same time made all haste possible, believing that if they could but reach their cabin and place the sick man on a fairly comfortable bed, they could save his life. Nevertheless it was necessary to make camp some time before sundown to be on their guard against the return of the supposed assailant of the stranger, and this they did.

But the wily savage did not appear. Perhaps he knew that he would be expected; perhaps the journey of the boys was taking him too far from his accustomed haunts to pursue them farther. The lads did not attempt to decide the question, but remained ever closely on their guard, and kept Ring, their dog, on duty as a special scout on both flanks and front and rear, most of the time, while they worked their way steadily forward.

Ring’s scouting, though not so intelligent as that of a human being, of course, was very helpful to his masters; but most of all, it resulted in the making of a discovery which had a most important bearing upon the future and added a great deal indeed to the adventures which were in store for the two friends.

“It was not far from here that Ichabod Nesbit fired at us, killing our horse, last fall,” said John one evening as the boys were making camp.

“We must be somewhere near the spot. Very likely we shall pass it tomorrow,” Ree answered.

“It is not over a mile from here,” John insisted. “When Nesbit shot at us and ran back, Tom Fish and I followed after him, you remember, never thinking that Black Eagle was chasing him. I recollect noticing at the time that oak tree with the bark torn off by lightning over there. Why, it couldn’t have been very far from here that Black Eagle caught Nesbit and killed him.”

Ree had climbed into the cart to give the still unconscious stranger a drink of water and to make his bed more comfortable in preparation for the night, and gave no answer. So, thinking little more of the fate of the outlaw of whom he had been speaking, John strolled over to a fallen treetop at the edge of a little hill a dozen rods away, to gather an armful of dry wood for the fire. Ring had gone on ahead of him and now ran down into the valley where there was a stream of water. Thinking the dog was only wanting a drink, the boy paid no attention to him, and was starting back to camp when Ring came bounding forward, with some strange object in his mouth.

“What have you found now, old fellow?” demanded John, putting his wood down; for Ring was constantly discovering bones and other things in the woods, and carrying them into camp. For answer the dog dropped the strange object at his master’s feet.

“By gravy! Where did that come from?” was John’s soliloquy, the indifference which had first marked his tones quickly disappearing.

With deep interest he examined a small, oblong, metal box, such as snuff was carried in many years ago, turning it over and over, and trying in vain to open it. The box was greatly discolored and so dingy that John was not sure of the quality of the metal, though he supposed it to be silver.

“Where’d you find it, Ring?” he asked, but the dog only wagged his tail as his head was patted.

“There’s a strange thing to find in such a place as this,” cried John, tossing the box to Ree, as he reached the camp. “Ring fetched it up out of the valley yonder.”

“Well! What’s in it?” Ree asked interestedly. “There’s no name on it. Open it.”

“I don’t know who has a better right,” was John’s reply, and without more ado Ree struck the edge of the box sharply against the heavy wheel of the cart. A piece of paper, yellow and water-stained, fell to the ground as the lid flew open.

“Maybe this will tell whose box it is,” said John, picking the paper up, “if it isn’t too dark to read it. Why, it’s only a piece of some old letter or something,” he added, unfolding a long half-sheet of the size commonly known as foolscap. “There’s no name at the beginning or the end, that I can see.”

“It is a woman’s writing,” said Ree, looking over his chum’s shoulder. “But I guess it doesn’t amount to much. Some poor chap’s sweetheart wrote it, maybe, and he must have carried it a long while before he lost it. I wish we knew just where Ring got hold of it; for”—and Kingdom’s voice sank to a whisper—“I am afraid, John, it may be another case like that of our friend in the cart here.”

“But let’s find out what it says,” John answered impatiently.

“It is too dark. It won’t do to make a target of ourselves by building enough fire to see by, and we will have to let it go till morning.”

The wisdom of Ree’s remark about too much firelight was very apparent, so John conquered his curiosity by joking his companion about the fear he had expressed that the snuff box might have been found upon the person of some white man cruelly murdered in the woods, as Theodore Hatch had so nearly been.

“I suppose Ring got the box out of the man’s inside pocket, then buttoned his coat up again,” he laughed.

It was so unusual for Ree to take a gloomy view of any circumstance or discovery, that, realizing there was not much probability, after all, that their dog had secured the box from the body of some unfortunate hunter or explorer, as he had suggested, he was quite bored by John’s fun. But he did not show it; that would have been more unlike him still.

It is rather strange that, notwithstanding that they had been talking of Ichabod Nesbit just a minute or two before the strange box was found by their dog, neither of the boys thought of the outlaw in connection with the odd discovery, in all their conversation about the matter during the evening. The box they rubbed and polished and made certain it was silver, but no name or sign of whose property it might have been did they discover, except the torn piece of paper, the writing on which it was too dark to read.

The night passed without incident, and by dividing the long hours of watching over the camp and wounded stranger, both Ree and John obtained some sleep and rest—enough that with the coming of daylight each felt more spry and fresh than at any time since the discovery of the unconscious form of Theodore Hatch had resulted in the breaking of their slumbers.

John watered the horses at the brook in the valley hard by and harnessed Neb while Ree broiled some venison and toasted some corn bread, brought from Pittsburg, for their breakfast. As they sat on a small log within their camp, eating and talking, the conversation turned at once to the silver snuff box and its written contents.

“And now read the letter, Ree; don’t keep a fellow waiting any longer,” John demanded.

Kingdom secured the box from a small chest in the cart, where it had been safely deposited over night, and as John ate away, a piece of bread in one hand, a piece of venison in the other, watching with much interest all that his friend did, the latter removed the lid and took out the yellow-stained paper.

“Why, it is not all here! The letter has been torn in two right through the middle!” he exclaimed. “We didn’t notice that last night.”

“Well, land o’ Goshen! Read what you can! I’ve been waiting all night to find out what the writing is, and now you behave as though we had no interest in the thing!” John cried with an impatient laugh.

“You read it! Look here! Now what can be made out of this?”

Together the young men studied the writing. As Ree had said, the document had been torn squarely in two lengthwise, and that which remained was so faded and so soiled that to read it was difficult. By degrees, however, the wording and letters were made out as follows:

Buried near Philadel

taining upwards of one

and hidden with it is oth

to mention several pieces

not to exceed two

explained to both of y

to each, my dear nep

for you when you shal

of this letter together,

the treasure which I

It will never be claim

shall never again re

nor have I in the na

than a few years to live.

never see either of you a

have placed in a cedar

jewels and silver are

you how to find the cask

the Bunch of Grapes inn

west, is a woodland wh

by the many charred st

trees, caused by a fire

forest there some years

great deal of damage

anyone can tell you. But

that now. It is a lonely

you will not need go at

the buried treasure. Grow

stone’s throw, or perhaps

from the road are three

together. There are no oth

money and valuables I ha

twelve yards directly

yards directly north of

three trees, which is on

as you approach from the

of mullen has grown up

where the chest is hid

shall find, only as I

my separate letters to each

both share in this property,

such pains to arrange for

and the silver and the jew

be the property of whom

But I have seen to it

too deep for the plowshares

and very like it will nev

by some strange fortune,

yourselves should be the

the two halves of this le

“Well, I wish we had the other part of that letter!” cried John Jerome, his eyes sparkling. “Somebody has been in this part of the country looking for hidden treasure!”

“It appears that that is what the whole thing is about, but it isn’t in this part of the country,” said Ree, more quietly. “Don’t you see, in the very beginning it says, ‘Buried near Philadel’? Why, the rest of that word, which is cut away, with the other half of the letter, would make it Philadelphia, of course.”

“My! but I’d like to stumble onto that chest, just the same,” was John’s reply. “Why, the letter tells of gold and silver and jewels—maybe it is pirates, Ree! For pity’s sake, let’s read it through again!”

Much less excited than his companion, Ree went over the writing once more, trying with John, but in vain, to supply the missing words at the end of each line. They could make out nothing definite, though the more they studied the more certain they were that some one had written a description of the hiding place of certain money and valuables, and then for some reason cut the paper in two.

The mystery about it all and the fascination which the possibility of finding hidden treasure has for every one, kept the two boys poring over the writing and talking of it much longer than they thought. Time passed so quickly that half the forenoon was gone ere they could put the subject by and prepare to resume their journey.

His brain cooler and his thoughts more calm than John’s, as he continued to think of the mysterious document, a happy idea came to Ree’s mind and he wondered that he had not thought of it before. Why not try, with the aid of Ring, to learn just where the silver snuff box had lain? There might be something to afford some clue to the owner of the box close by, or it might be that he had been right in suggesting that some poor fellow lay cold in death not far away.

Without delay Kingdom told John of his idea, and filled with a variety of expectations, hopes and fears, that young man hailed the thought with delight. Ring was called, and the silver box held where he could see and smell it.

“Take it back, you rascal! Take it where you found it!” commanded Ree, talking that tack with the dog, because he knew Ring would understand better than if he asked him where he had found the box.

John joined in the command, and a look of understanding coming to the dog’s eyes, though the poor fellow showed that he thought he was being scolded for having done something wrong, he seized the box in his teeth and trotted away.