"You've hit it, younker, to a dot. You folks can see that a chap's eyes ain't of much account, so you must all make the best use of your ears."

"I can see a little," said Agnes Altman, "and I shall believe that our eyes are almost as likely as our ears to help us."

"You've got a wise head on your shoulders," said the ranger, admiringly. "About all that you folks need to remember is, that the varmints are all around us, and where there's one of 'em, he's sure to try some trick. Look out for him."

"Surely, Mr. Hastings, you don't mean that Mr. Altman and my son shall all stay in this spot, merely to keep company with our families, when every man is needed to guard the approaches to this enclosure."

"Wal, I'll own that was my idea, but we can turn you to use if you say so."

"We do say so, most decidedly," Mr. Altman was quick to remark.

"Come with me."

Thereupon, the leader of the rangers gave Mr. Altman, Ashbridge, and the son their several stations. Each had his rifle, and was simply to do his utmost to guard against the insidious approach of the Shawanoes, who, if they had not already located them, were certain to do so very soon.

The instructions of Hastings to his men was, that the moment they discovered an Indian they should wait only long enough to make sure of no mistake, and then shoot to kill.

"Every varmint counts at a time like this," he said, significantly, "and if any one is lucky enough to drop The Panther, it'll be worth a dozen warriors."

When all the male members were placed, they were crouching behind boulders, limbs, and ridges of dirt in the irregular three-quarter circle, and separated from each other by a space varying from two yards to a distance twice as great.

Whether intentional or otherwise, Hastings stationed George Ashbridge immediately on the left of Agnes Altman, while her mother, Mrs. Ashbridge, and Mabel were near at hand. The lovers were so close, indeed, that there was little risk in their exchanging a whispered word or two at intervals. When either raised his or her head, the other could catch the faint outlines of the loved one.

While the temporary refuge was a most fortunate thing for the distressed fugitives, it had several features which caused uneasiness to Hastings and his experienced rangers. Although the moon soon appeared in the sky, its light was treacherous and uncertain, because of the skurrying clouds. Sometimes an object would be visible for a number of rods on the river, and then it took a pair of keen eyes to identify a canoe at half that distance.

More serious, however, than all was the west wind. This blew steadily, and with considerable force, directly upon the river. It sighed among the trees, and so stirred the branches that the rustling was continuous. Thus it afforded a diversion that was wholly in favor of the Indians, for, without taking any special precaution, they could approach as near as they chose to the fortification, with little, if any, fear of detection.

That they would be quick to turn this to account was certain.

Hastings had not forgotten to impress his friends with the fact that they were awaiting the coming of Simon Kenton, and incidentally of Daniel Boone. Each, when he did appear, would do so with the noiselessness of The Panther himself, and too great care could not he taken to guard against mistaking them for enemies.

There really was little, if any, danger of this, since all understood the situation, and would run no risk of harming their friends. Furthermore, Kenton and Boone were sure to give timely notice of their coming by means of signals which every one of the rangers would understand.

The sleep of most of the men had been broken and scant during the past twenty-four hours, but the situation was so strained that there was no danger of any one falling asleep until the peril passed. If any one thing was certain, it was that the watch within that rough circle would be unremitting and vigilant while it lasted.

Mabel Ashbridge laid her head on the lap of her mother, who like Mrs. Altman, sat with her back against the splintered ash, and with little appreciation of the fearful shadow that rested upon all, soon sank into unconsciousness. The mothers were so nervous and unstrung that though they occasionally shut their eyes, the slumber was fitful and brief.

But among all the party there was none more alert than Agnes Altman. She had not yet quite forgiven herself for her weakness in showing mercy to the imprisoned Panther the night before, when he came within a hair of slaying her beloved George Ashbridge, and, without hinting her intention to any one, she determined that, with the help of heaven, she would do something to erase that criminal imprudence, as she viewed it, on her part.

It may have been this resolution, supplemented by her own consummate faculties of sight and vision, or, more properly, it was both, that brought to her a knowledge of peril before it was suspected by any one of the rangers, or even by George Ashbridge, who, as may be said, was at her elbow.

Agnes was seated on the leaves, the same as her mother, and with her back resting against a boulder, which rose a few inches above her head. In this posture she closed her eyes. They could be of no use to her, and by shutting them she was able to concentrate her faculties into the single one of listening; upon that alone she now placed her dependence.

And seated thus, and listening with absorbing intensity, she speedily became aware of a startling fact; some one was directly on the other side of the boulder, and separated by no more than three feet from her.

That that some one was a Shawanoe Indian was as certain as that her name was Agnes Altman.



CHAPTER XII.

CARRYING THE WAR INTO AFRICA.

Jethro Juggens, the brawny servant of Mr. Altman, the dusky youth with the strength of a Hercules, the intellect of a child, or a skill in the use of the rifle hardly second to that of Kenton and Boone, has a singular but momentous part to play in the incidents that follow. The reader must, therefore, bear with us when now and then we turn aside from the graver and more tragical sweep of incidents to follow the doings and the fortunes and misfortunes of the one who rendered such signal service to his friends, already related in "Shod with Silence."

Simon Kenton denounced himself times without number for bringing Jethro with him when he set out to recover the canoe that had been left at the clearing; and yet that act, ill-advised as it seemed, changed the whole course of events that followed quick and fast, and became the foundation of one of the most remarkable legends connected with the romantic Ohio and the stirring events that marked the history of the settlement of Ohio and Kentucky.

With no thought of the mischief he was likely to cause, Jethro Juggens, as the reader has learned, circled part way round the cabin in the clearing, passed through the door, drew in the latch-string, devoured nearly all of the bread that was left behind, and then lay down and went to sleep.

He had managed to gain so much slumber during the past twenty-four hours that he was in need of nothing of the kind. As a consequence, he remained unconscious less than an hour, when he opened his eyes, as fully awake as he ever was in all his life.

The room was in darkness, and he was so confused that for a brief spell he was at a loss to know where he was. Rising to a sitting position, he rubbed his eyes and stared around in the gloom.

"Am dis de flatboat, and am I in de cellar ob it?" he asked himself.

But a moment's reflection recalled what had taken place.

"Gracious! I wonder if anyting hab happened to Mr. Kenton?" he exclaimed, starting to his feet and stumbling headlong over one of the boxes, unnoticed in the gloom.

"Dar's no tellin' what trouble he may get into widout me watchin' and tookin' keer ob him. I's afraid I'm too late to help him."

He would have opened the door and hurried out, but at that moment his keen nostrils caught the appetizing odor of the loaves of bread, amid which he had created havoc a short time before.

"I hab an obspression dat I done eat some ob dat afore I took a nap, but I ain't certain; don't want to make any mistake, and I feels sorter hungry."

There was enough food left to furnish him another good meal, and he did not stop using his peerless teeth and massive jaws until he had secured it.

His rifle was leaning against the wall near the door, where he had left it. He took it in hand, with the intention of opening the door and passing out, when the first real thrill of alarm stirred him. He heard some one attempting to open the door.

He knew it was an enemy, for Kenton, the only friend he had in the neighborhood, would never come there to look for him.

The latch-string being drawn in, it was impossible for the door to be opened, except by great labor from the outside. Nevertheless, some one was pushing at it repeatedly, and with such vigor that there could be no mistake about it.

"Who dar?" demanded Jethro, in his deepest voice, holding his rifle ready to use it in case the Indian effected an entrance.

There was no answer, but the efforts on the outside ceased for a minute, to be resumed more guardedly than at first.

"Go way from der, I toles yo' or yo'll get into trouble," called the youth, in a louder voice, meant to be as threatening as he could make it.

Again the pushing ceased, and all became still.

Jethro heard the wind blowing strongly around the cabin and among the trees beyond. Standing in the open clearing, as did the cabin, no shadow was cast upon it. The narrow windows, therefore, were clearly outlined against the dim moonlight. The youth glanced furtively at them, comprehending more fully than at any time before the sad mistake he had made in disobeying the orders of Kenton. But for that he would not have been in his present plight.

But it was too late for regrets to avail him. All he could do was to fight it out as best he knew how to the end.

Stepping nearer the door, he bent his head and listened. The pressure against the structure had ceased, but he caught the murmur of voices when a few broken sentences were uttered. Their meaning, of course, was beyond his reach.

"Why don't dey be gemmen?" he asked himself, "or talk in American, so dat anoder gemmen can understand 'em? I don't know what dey's talkin' 'bout, and it sounds as if dey don't know demselves."

He could understand, however, that no immediate cause for fear existed.

A dozen brawny Shawanoes could not force the door, and the windows, as has been explained, were too narrow for any one to push his body through.

But, all the same, some mischief was afoot at one of the rear window's—the one into which Jethro Juggens had fired that very day with fatal effect. The disturbance was transferred from the door to the window.

The youth was standing in the middle of the lower apartment, gun in hand, watching and listening. The moon was so placed in the heavens that this particular opening was seen more clearly than any of the others, and peering intently at it, Jethro became conscious of some dark object that was slowly obtruding into his field of vision.

"What de mischief am dat?" he muttered. "Looks like a hobblegoblin, but I knows it am an Injin."

Dimly seen in the partial illumination, the resemblance to the head of a warrior was so close that all doubt was removed from the mind of Jethro Juggens.

"Dat's what I's waiting for," was his thought, as he brought his piece to a level, took the best aim he could in the darkness, and let fly.

The report within the close room was so thunderous that his ears tingled, but confident of the accuracy of his shot, he looked through the smoke at the moonlit opening.

"I didn't hear no yell, but I reckoned dat blowed de top ob his head off afore he could let out de war-whoop dat Mr. Kenton says an Injin always gibs when he cotches his last sickness—gracious hebbins! how's dat?"

Could he believe his eyes? The head at which he had fired only a few feet away had not vanished. There it was, the owner apparently staring in upon him, with the same interest he had shown from the first.

"Dat beats all creation! I knowed I hit him, 'cause I couldn't miss him if I tried. He must had a head as hard as mine—"

If Jethro Juggens was astounded by what had just occurred, he was almost lifted off his feet by what followed before he finished the expression of the thought that was in his mind. Through the narrow window at which he was gazing the muzzle of a gun was thrust and the weapon discharged, the ball passing so close that he felt it nip his ear.

With a howl of dismay the youth leaped a foot in the air and to one side. No one could have had a narrower escape than he, and he knew it.

"Tings are gettin' mixed most obstrageously," he muttered, stepping nearer to one side of the room and proceeding to reload his gun as best he could in the darkness.

Much as Jethro had blundered, and obtuse as he was in many things, he understood what had taken place. That which he supposed to be the head of an Indian was some object presented by the crouching warrior with the purpose of drawing his fire, and it succeeded in doing so. The flash of the negro's rifle revealed where he stood, and the Shawanoe, who was watching for that clew, lost no time in firing, missing by a hair's-breadth a fatal result. Thus it came about that not the least execution was done on either side.

Jethro waited some minutes in order to discover the next movement of his enemies. Nothing presenting itself, he had resort to the dangerous expedient of trying to peer through the different windows. Being enveloped in impenetrable gloom, he could not have been seen by the Indians had they been on the watch, though possibly they might have heard him. As it was, no shot was fired at him, nor was he able to detect anything that could give him the least information of what his enemies were doing, or what they intended to do. They may have been quite near, but he could not get the first glimpse of them.

"Dis yeah am gettin' ser'us," mused Jethro, leaning against the side of the house in order to think more clearly. "I's afeard dat somethin' may happen to Mr. Kenton, and if it does and he can't get back, nor me neither, what's goin' to become of de folks? I 'spose dey am most worried to def now."



Since it looked as if it would be impossible for him to leave the cabin for an indefinite time, the anxiety of the dusky youth to do so increased with every passing minute, until he formed the resolution to make the attempt, no matter what the consequences might prove to himself.

A dispassionate view of the situation would have pronounced Jethro as useful to the pioneers in one place as in another. Possibly, it might have been decided that it was better that he should remain away so long as the peril remained imminent, despite the fact that he had already done them most effective service.

Jethro could not so far forget the first law of human nature as not to debate and hesitate for a considerable while before taking the decisive step.

"I might leave de door open," he reflected, "so dat if any ob de heathen are hangin' round de outside waitin' for a chance to shet me off, I kin dodge back and slam de door in dar faces. Ef I don't see 'em till I git too fur to run back, I kin dive into de woods or hide."

All this sounded well enough in theory, but the young man could not lose sight of one thing: in point of fleetness he could not compare with any of the Shawanoes. They could run him down, as may be said, in a twinkling.

It was impossible for one so inexperienced as he to form a reasonable guess of the intentions of the red men. It was curious, to say the least, that one or two of them should linger in the vicinity of the cabin after the departure of the pioneers for the block-house. Even Simon Kenton could not have guessed their purpose.

"Dey couldn't hab seed me go in," thought Jethro, "for, if dey did, dey would hab hollered to me and asked me who I was lookin' fur; I'd gib 'em some sass, and den dar would hab been a row and some ha'r pullin'."

The youth leaned against the side of the apartment a brief while longer in intense cogitation, and then sighed.

"I ain't used to tinkin' so hard as dis; it exhorsts me."

To remedy which he groped his way to the huge bread box, a few paces away. There was enough, left to furnish a person of ordinary appetite with a good meal, but, when he ceased, nothing was left.

"Umph! dat rewives me; I feel stronger now—I'll do a little more hard tinkin'—graciousnation, I's got it!" he exclaimed, leaping from the floor in exultation; "why didn't I tink ob it afore? I'll hold one ob dese boxes ober me, so dey can't see nuffin' ob me, and den walk out ob de house and straight 'cross de clearin' to de woods. When I got dar, I'll flung de box off en run! Dat's de plan, suah I's born!"



CHAPTER XIII.

UNKIND FATE.

After setting out on his return to his friends with the canoe which he had recovered so cleverly from the drowsy Shawanoe, Simon Kenton gave little thought to Jethro Juggens. The youth had become separated from the scout through his own disregard of orders, and, as has already been said, the former regarded his highest duty to be to the pioneers, who, a mile or so away, were anxiously looking for his return.

It was during the first part of his voyage with the canoe that Kenton had his hurricane encounter with the warrior who withdrew it from the point along the bank where he left the craft for a few minutes only.

The scout was surprised and somewhat alarmed for his friends over one or two facts which thus came to light. The Indian who paid so dearly for this little trick he attempted upon the white man was not the one that sat on the bank near the clearing while the boat was withdrawn from before him. This proved that more than one Shawanoe was down the river between the pioneers and the cabin in the clearing. The cawing from the Ohio side showed that the lynx-eyed watchers were there, with the unwelcome certainty that the Shawanoes were far more numerous than either Boone or Kenton had supposed.

"Wa-on-mon has been doing some good work," reflected Kenton, "since he sneaked out of sight, instead of meeting me for our last scrimmage. Dan'l is right when he says the reason The Panther done that warn't 'cause he was afeared of me, but' cause he seed a chance of hittin' a powerfuller blow than in sending nobody but Sime Kenton under. That's what he's up to, with a mighty big chance of doing what he set out to do."

The signal from the Ohio bank, and the encounter with the redskin, drove all hesitation from the ranger's mind regarding the canoe. He drew it from the water and upon the dry land, his paddle and rifle lying inside, and then, with no little labor, dragged it among the trees to the other side of the open space, where it was launched again, uninjured by its rough experience.

"I hope there ain't many such places," he muttered, as he took the paddle in hand; "'cause if there is, this old boat will suffer."

But night was closing in, and, with the coming of darkness, the need of such extreme caution would pass. The wind too, was now blowing so strongly up the river that it was not necessary to use the extreme caution against making any noise while pushing his way along the bank.

To Kenton's disgust, he had gone a little more than a hundred yards further when he struck another of the very places he had in mind. It was twice as broad as the one he had flanked a few minutes before, and did not offer the slightest concealment.

He checked the canoe, with the nose on the edge of the opening, and took several minutes to look over the ground and decide upon the best course to follow.

To most persons it must seem like an excess of caution for Kenton to hesitate to propel his boat across this open space when it confronted him. That there was any dusky foe crouching in the woods, with his eyes fixed upon that "clearing" in the water and watching for the appearance of Kenton, was a piece of fine-spun theorizing that entered the realms of the absurd. It was preposterous to suppose anything of the kind. Simon Kenton was too much of a veteran in woodcraft to make such preposterous mistakes.

But the unwelcome truth which stared him in the face was that he had been followed from the clearing, and the signal from the other side of the river, resembling the call of a crow, he believed referred to him. It looked as if there was an understanding between the Shawanoe scouts on the Ohio and those on the Kentucky side of the river.

As the matter stood, however, Kenton decided not to drag the canoe among the trees again. In the gathering darkness he was liable to injure it beyond repair, and in a brief while the gloom itself would afford him the screen he needed.

The wind stirred the water into wrinkles and wavelets along the shore, which rippled against the canoe and the end of the paddle when held motionless. Further out in the river the disturbance was so marked that it would have caused some annoyance even to a strong swimmer.

Kenton's conclusion was to stay where he was for a brief while—that is, until the gloom increased sufficiently to allow him to paddle across the open space without the misgiving that now held his muscular arm motionless.

Sitting thus, with all his senses alert, he caught the distinct outlines of some large object on the surface of the river. It was moving with moderate swiftness from the Ohio bank in a diagonal direction to the Kentucky shore, making for a point but a short distance above where the ranger was waiting for a slight increase of darkness.

A second glance identified the object as an Indian canoe containing several occupants. But for the noise made by the wind and water he would have heard the dipping of the paddles, for there was no attempt in the way of secrecy of movement.

"That looks as though they didn't 'spect none of us was in these parts," mused Kenton, with considerable relief. "If the varmints thought Sime Kenton was loafin' anywhere near they'd be a powerful sight more keerful."

Since the new party were following a course which would ultimately take them up stream and nearer to the party of fugitives, the ranger decided to learn, if possible, something more of their intentions.

A moment's thought convinced him that there was more risk in following the Shawanoes in his canoe than on foot. He suspected the party intended to land. He could move with more freedom and effect among the trees, with liberty to return to his boat whenever he chose.

Accordingly, with hardly a moment's hesitation, he stepped out of the canoe again and drew the prow so far up the bank that there was no danger of its being swept away by the disturbed current. Then, with the noiseless celerity for which he was noted, he moved along the shore in the direction of the camp, where soon after his friends gathered and anxiously awaited his coming.

A disappointment came to the ranger. His supposition was that the Shawanoes in the canoe would run in close to shore or paddle up the stream at so moderate a speed that it would be easy for him to overtake them, but for some reason or other she shot forward with a swiftness fully double what he expected. Kenton's error, as will be seen, was in not sticking to his canoe, in which it would have cost him little effort to follow the other at a safe distance, ready to dart in under the protection of the overhanging limbs at the first danger of detection.

"They won't land till they get to Rattlesnake Gulch, or above it," was his new conclusion, "and I'm throwing away time by dodging among the trees."

Men of the stamp of the ranger follow their decisions by instant action. Turning about, he strode rapidly through the woods to the point where he had left his canoe but a short time before.

To his consternation it was gone.

Hardly crediting his senses, he made hasty search, with the speedy confirmation of the astounding fact.

He was too skilled in woodcraft to make any mistake as to the precise spot, just on the edge as it was of the open space which he hesitated to cross.

Whereas, the boat was there less than a quarter of an hour before, it was now nowhere in sight.

Inasmuch as he had taken pains to draw it far enough up the bank to prevent it being swept free by the current, only one conclusion was possible; a single Shawanoe or more had taken it away.

It may be doubted whether Simon Kenton in all his life was more chagrined, for he had been surprised and outwitted with a cleverness that was the keenest possible blow to his pride.

When he disposed of the single warrior that attempted precisely the same trick upon him, the pioneer accepted that as an end of the matter. He did not deem it possible that a second danger of that nature could threaten him.

What added special poignancy to his humiliation was the belief, formed without any tangible grounds, that the Indian who had outwitted him was the Shawanoe from before whom the canoe had been withdrawn while he was indulging in his afternoon siesta. This impression which fastened itself upon him, constituted the "most unkindest cut of all."

But, angered, exasperated, and mortified as he was, Simon Kenton was not the man to waste the minutes in idle lamentation. Since the first part of the former attempt to outwit him had succeeded, he felt there was no reason why the second part should triumph. He therefore started down the stream as rapidly as he could force his way in the darkness.

There was no duplication, however, of the second part of the programme. Whoever the dusky thief was that had withdrawn the canoe from the possession of the unsuspicious ranger, he was too wise to commit the fatal mistake of his predecessor. Instead of loitering close in shore, he had taken to the clear water, or propelled the boat with a deft swiftness that placed him beyond all danger from the irate white man.

So it was that the time quickly came when Kenton paused in his blind pursuit, convinced that the craft was irrecoverably gone.

"I'll be hanged if that varmint ain't a sharp one!" he muttered, with a feeling akin to admiration at the performance. "It ain't the first time Sim Kenton has been outwitted by his people, but it's the first time he had it played on him in that style."

It was a serious blow to the scheme which the pioneer had formed for the deliverance of his friends; for, as will be seen, it destroyed all chance of transporting the women and children to the Ohio shore in the canoe that had accompanied the flatboat a part of the way down the river.

The roughness of the water under the high, steady wind might well cause the men to hesitate over the other plan that had been spoken of—that of swimming the stream and bearing the women and children with them. The project of constructing a raft upon which to float them over was open to the fatal objection that the watchful Shawanoes were absolutely certain to discover it, and discovery could mean but one thing—not only those on the raft, but the men who might be swimming in the water, would be so utterly at the mercy of their enemies in their canoes that it would be but play to pick off every man, woman, and child.

Only one shadowy hope remained—the second canoe, which he hoped to find at the point where he had hidden it some weeks before, close to Rattlesnake Gulch. If that had remained undetected by the Indians, it could take the place of the one he had just lost.

Pushing out in the gloom, Kenton, with one at least of the rangers to bear him company, need have little personal fear, even if discovered by the Shawanoes; for they could drive the boat as fast over the water as could the most skilful of pursuers, and the gloom or woods of the Ohio shore once reached, all danger to them would vanish. But dare lie hope that such an opportunity would be presented to him? It would seem, that with their dusky enemies everywhere, some of them were certain to stumble upon the boat, though if they did so, it would be accident rather than design.

There was only one way, however, of settling the matter; that was to learn whether the boat was where it had been left or where he hoped to find it.

Kenton pushed along the shore with a haste which at times approached recklessness; but, as he drew near Rattlesnake Gulch, he called into play his usual caution, even with the wind and darkness in his favor.

With more anxiety than often troubled him, he groped his way to the spot where he had carefully hidden his canoe. His search, if quick, was thorough, and, alas! it told him the woeful truth that the second boat was as effectually beyond all possible reach as was the first one.



CHAPTER XIV.

THE INTRUDER.

It has been said that Agnes Altman, seated behind the boulder on the edge of the rude fortification near the river, was among the most alert of the pioneers that had taken refuge there until Simon Kenton could open the way for their escape across the Ohio.

To this fact may be ascribed the startling discovery she made that an Indian warrior was crouching on the other side of the boulder, no more than three feet from where she was listening with intensest attention, and in this discovery she preceded all other members of the company.

The Shawanoe, indeed, was so close that it may be said the slight noise he made shut out the rustling of the wind and the rippling of the current against the bank, the overhanging branches and around the twisted roots along shore.

She heard his body move along the surface of the rock, and, pressing her ear against it, caught the slight disturbance more distinctly. A solid substance, as every one knows, is a better conductor of sound than air, and the medium was of more help to her than she dreamed it could be.

What particular thing her mortal enemy was doing she could not surmise, nor did it specially concern her to know at that moment; there could be no doubt that he was in a state of pernicious activity.

The question which the maiden asked herself was, whether she should not acquaint George Ashbridge with what she had learned. He was almost at her elbow, as has been explained, and, brief as was the time, several whispered conferences had taken place.

But, if she should speak or move, the Indian on the other side of the boulder would take the alarm and make off. This, it would seem, was the very thing which a young woman in her situation ought to desire above all others, but Agnes thought the miscreant should not be allowed to escape in that manner, at least not before he and his people had been taught a well-needed lesson.

She concluded to remain quiescent and await developments.

The next thing decided upon may have been characteristic of her age and sex, but, all the same, it was a piece of recklessness almost the equal of the weakness shown when she placed the knife in the hand of The Panther. She decided to peep over the top of the rock and learn what the Shawanoe was doing.

Sufficient moonlight found its way among the branches to permit one to see indistinctly for a few feet. She was confident that she could give their enemy one quick glance and then drop back before he could do her harm.

Her heart beat a little faster than it was wont when, with the silence of a phantom, she began slowly raising her head, with her eyes fixed on the top of the rock, which she touched with her hands. Before she reached the elevation in mind, she discovered the Indian was doing the same thing, and, fortunately for her, was two or three seconds advanced with the action.

The crown of the warrior, with the projecting eagle feathers, were as if they were a part of the darkness itself, so vaguely were they outlined in the gloom, though their identity was as clear to the girl as if the noon-day sun was shining upon the painted features.

The head rose just high enough for the glittering eyes to peer over the horizon of the rock in the endeavor to learn something of the situation within the interior of the "fort."

Agnes was transfixed for a moment. She feared that if she sank lower, or changed her position, the Indian would detect it and use his knife or tomahawk, and the same unspeakable dread prevented her crying out to warn George Ashbridge or any of the others of their peril.

She had no weapon of her own at command, and very probably it would have made no difference if she had, for she was but an infant before this terrible embodiment of strength, treachery and hate. But she felt she must do something to teach the miscreant the risk he ran by his daring act.

Groping silently with her right hand among and under the leaves, she managed to clutch some gravel and dirt, which, with a quick flirt, she intended to fling in the face of the Indian. It would probably cause him some inconvenience and considerable surprise, though the weapon was too insignificant for him to make any use of it.

The result of the novel demonstration can only be guessed, since the opportunity to try it passed at the moment Agnes was ready to make the test. When in the act of drawing back her hand, the head of the Shawanoe vanished as noiselessly as it had obtruded on the scene.

It seems incredible that the savage could have gained any knowledge of the interior of the fortification or of the location of the defenders. The gloom was too deep to permit the use of any vision except that of the owl or cat. He had probably withdrawn to repeat his attempt at some other point.

Again, the marvelous delicacy of hearing told the girl that her enemy was in motion, not directly in front of the boulder, but on the left, in the direction of George Ashbridge. She peered intently at that point, wondering how much longer she ought to remain motionless and mute, and on the point of calling, in a suppressed voice, to her lover, when something whisked by her elbow, too quickly or too dimly seen for her to comprehend at once what it meant.

Then it flashed upon her.

"George!" she called, in an undertone, so full of dread and terror that he was at her side in an instant.

"What's the matter? What has happened?"

"There's an Indian within the inclosure!"

"Impossible! You are mistaken!"

"I saw him this minute."

"Where? Tell me how it was!" he whispered, seizing her hand, and quick to catch her excitement.

"I saw the top of his head peeping over this very rock in front of me. I was about to call to you, when he dropped down again. The next moment he passed over the spot where you are. He did it so quickly and silently that I heard nothing, and caught only the most shadowy glimpses of him."

"Can it be possible? I cannot dispute you, and yet—"

A tall figure, walking erect, assumed form in the gloom, and was upon the startled lovers before they were aware of it.

Young Ashbridge was in the act of bringing his rifle to a level, when Weber Hastings spoke.

"Not too fast, younkers. I'm afeared I didn't do the best thing in the world, when I placed you two so near each other."

"No matter where you placed her," replied the youth, "you did a good thing for the rest. She has sharper eyes than any of us, for she has seen what nobody else saw."

"What's that? What's that?"

"Within the last three minutes," said Agnes, "one of the Shawanoes passed by this boulder behind which I have been sitting, and is now somewhere within the inclosure. Oh, I wonder if he means any harm to your folks, George, or mine!"

And spurred by her new terror she hurried across the brief intervening space to where her mother and Miss Altman were sitting trembling, and occasionally whispering in the darkness.

Thank heaven! no harm had befallen them, and since there was no call for her to return to George Ashbridge and Weber Hastings, she remained with those that were so near and dear to her.

"Them varmints are gettin' pow'rful sassy," was the comment of Hastings, who, now that the truth was known, seemed to lose all the excitement he had first shown. "You don't think the gal was mistook?"

"I am sure she was not."

"So am I; stay right here where you be, while I look around for that varmint; keep a lookout yourself, for he may try to sneak out this way."

"All I want is a chance at him."

"That's right—helloa!"

It so happened that Jim Deane, fully recovered from the effects of the rattlesnake antidote he had taken earlier in the evening, was on guard at a point almost opposite where Agnes Altman had made her alarming discovery. Instead of being sheltered by boulders and rocks, he had lain down behind some branches and logs, which he himself had helped place in position weeks before, when he and his companions were caught in their desperate straits.

Stretched at full length upon his face, with one hand grasping the barrel of his rifle in front and hearing nothing, he felt something softly touch his foot. The ranger did not speak or move a limb, but with rare cleverness, suspected the astonishing truth; one of the Shawanoe had entered the fort and was making a tour of inspection. The miscreant would offer harm to no one until he had gathered the knowledge he sought. Then he doubtless meant to deal some swift, terrible blows with his knife, and make off before anything could be done in the way of punishment.

The ranger turned his head and peered over his shoulder behind him. Lying flat on the ground, while the one that had touched him was on his feet, the advantage was with the white man. The almost impalpable outlines of a crouching figure that had paused upon touching his foot was revealed, and all doubt vanished from the mind of Deane.

His posture, as will be perceived, was an awkward one compared with that of the Shawanoe. It was necessary for the white man to change it before he could assume the offensive, and during the making of that change was the time for the hostile to get in his effective work.

The possibility of his doing so caused no hesitation on the part of Jim Deane. He flirted himself upon his back, snapped his feet beneath his body, and came to a standing position in a twinkling. In the act of doing so, he cocked his rifle.

The click of the hammer warned the intruder of his danger. His situation was not one in which to make a fight, and he turned to flee. The white man heard him, and dashed through the gloom to gain sufficient sight to warrant a shot. The fugitive must have been as familiar with the ground as was his pursuer, for he showed no hesitation as to his course, nor did he give any evidence of blundering.

He was so near the side of the inclosure that he had to run but a few steps when he made a leap which lifted him several feet above the obstruction, and it was this temporary elevation which gave the ranger the chance he was seeking. At the moment the figure was at the highest point of the arch, with his feet gathered beneath him, the ranger brought his gun to his shoulder and let fly.

A flash, a resounding report, a rasping shriek that resounded through the woods, and the Shawanoe sprawled forward on his face, with his hands clutching the leaves and dirt, and then all was still.

"That 'ere varmint ought to have knowed that 'cause a man happens to git bit by a rattler and takes an over-dose of antidote, it ain't no reason for stubbin' your toe agin him, and thinkin' he's forgot how to shoot off a gun."

"You managed that purty well, Jim," quietly remarked Weber Hastings, appearing that moment at his elbow. "Glad to see you don't forget to reload as quick as you kin."

"I larned that long ago; wonder if there are any more of the varmints 'bout."

"If there is, they'll be a little more keerful, but there's no saying what'll be the next thing—sh!"

Through the arches of the forest stole the soft, tremulous notes of a night bird—so faintly heard that even the trained ears of the ranger could do no more than guess the distance.

"That's Kenton," he remarked, in a guarded voice; "I'm powerful glad of it, for now something will be done."



CHAPTER XV.

A DARK PROSPECT.

Weber Hastings waited only a few seconds after hearing the soft, tremulous bird call that stole among the leafy arches, when he replied with an imitation so exact that it might well have been mistaken for an echo of the first.

Nothing more was done, for that was sufficient. Groping around among the "hornets' nests," as Kenton declared it to be, eluding the Shawanoes, who seemed to be everywhere, the pioneer found it impossible to locate his friends, until, as a last resort, he had recourse to the signal, which he knew would be recognized by Hastings, provided it could be projected to him.

Ten minutes later, the pioneer appeared within the enclosure as silently as if he had risen from the very earth. He sat down on the ground to consult with Hastings after his arrival had been made known to the rest. He would have willingly talked to them all, had it been feasible, but the exciting incidents a brief time before proved that not a man could be spared from his station. There was no certainty as to the schemes of the Shawanoes, and nothing less than the utmost vigilance could save the fugitives.

"What do you think of things?" inquired Hastings, the moment they were alone.

"They look bad—powerful bad; fact is, I don't see how they could look much worse."

"How did you make out?"

"Didn't make out at all," growled the ranger, not yet recovered from his keen disappointment; "I went back to the clearin', and yanked out that canoe from right under the nose of one of them varmints; when I had fetched it purty near here, I left it a few minutes to reckynoiter, and when I went back I'll be hanged if the same varmint hadn't yanked it back agin."

He made no reference to the first affair, which resulted in a fatal failure to the Indian attempting it. That didn't count in the light of the success which followed it.

"Of course, you hadn't any chance of getting it back again, or you'd done it?"

"You're correct; it was growing dark, and, though I hunted powerful lively for the varmint, I didn't get the first show for drawin' a bead on him."

"You said somethin' about another canoe of your'n that you hed among the bushes some time ago, near where we are now."

"I found the spot, but didn't find no canoe; the varmints had been ahead of me; I shouldn't wonder, now, if the boat which I seed comin' over from the Ohio side was the identical craft that I was looking for."

Kenton indulged in a forceful exclamation, for the occasion was one of the rare ones in which his chagrin and self disgust became intolerable. Nevertheless, he was very much of a philosopher, and soon talked with all his self-possession, betraying a hopeful vein in his composition which did much to sustain him in the great trials to which he was subjected in later years.

"I counted on two boats," he added, "and did git one; now, I haven't got any. But it don't do any good to kick."

"No," assented his companion; "we must make the best of it."

"Though there doesn't seem to be any 'best' about the bus'ness. Haven't heard anything of Boone since I left you?"

"Not a word."

"A good deal depends on what he says. He went more among the varmints than I did, though I found 'em plenty 'nough—confound 'em! But Boone is wiser than me. I don't think the varmints hate him quite as bad, and that gives him a better show for learning what they're up to."

"The Ingins must have one or two canoes," suggested Hastings, hinting at a scheme that had assumed form in his mind.

"I know what you mean, Web. There ain't no one that would try it quicker'n me, if I had the least chance."

"You stole a boat from one of 'em not long ago."

"But the varmint was asleep, and there was only that one. Here there's twenty of 'em at least—most likely more—and every varmint of' em is as wide awake as if he had been asleep seventeen years and a half. No," grimly added the veteran, "there ain't nothin' that would suit the varmints better than to have Sime Kenton try to steal one of their canoes from' em. The style in which they would lift his hair would be beautiful. They'd be powerful glad to give me a chance if they believed I'd try it."

"Wal," remarked Hastings, with a sigh, "it looks to me as if it's going to be the same game over again that Jim Deane and the boys had played on 'em some months ago, 'cepting there won't be half the chance there was then."

"Why not?"

"Wal, with them there war'nt nobody beside themselves and all knowed how to fight, and they did fight, too—there's no mistake. But we've got two women, a likely gal and a little girl, and of course there isn't one of us that'll knock under or run as long as they're above ground."

"Of course not; them's the sentiments of every one of us."

"When daylight comes the varmints will be on all sides of us. They can keep behind the trees and pick off one of us whenever he shows his head."

"They can do a great deal better than that," suggested Kenton.

"How?"

"Starve us out; we have eat nothin' since leaving the clearin', though that time is so short it don't count, but there isn't a mouthful of food in this party, and no way of getting it."

"It does look bad," remarked Hastings, feeling deeply the views expressed by his companion.

"I wish Boone would come, so him and me could agree on something to try, whether it will win or not."

Simon Kenton was not the man to sit down and fold his hands in despair, no matter how desperate the situation, but he had expressed the wish that was strong within him, that he might have the counsel of the man who was twenty years his senior, and who had turned his steps westward before Kenton knew that Kentucky and Ohio existed.

"I'm glad of one thing," added the pioneer, after a moment's pause, "and that is, that this arrangement of yours is open on the side toward the river."

"Jim said that was done so as to give him and the boys a chance for the last plunge. If they hadn't done that them three chaps never would have seen the sun rise again."

"It may come to the same thing when there's only two or three of us left. Helloa! who's this?"

It was Mr. Altman, who, knowing where the two were in consultation, ventured to approach them, doing so with an apology.

"I have no wish to intrude," he added, "but I am disturbed over one matter, Kenton, about which I would like to ask a question or two."

"What's that?" inquired the scout.

"When you left us this afternoon you took my servant Jethro with you, but I have seen nothing of him since you came back."

"I'll be hanged if I hadn't forgot all about that younker!"

"Did you bring him back with you?"

"No; and I'm doubtful if you see him ag'in—leastways not very soon."

He then told all he knew about the fellow, his master listening, as may well be supposed, with the deepest interest. Keenly as he regretted the misfortune that had befallen the stupid fellow, he saw that no possible blame could be placed upon any one beside the youth himself.

"If he happens to fall into the hands of the Shawanoes, it will go hard with him," remarked Mr. Altman, with a shudder.

"So it will, so it will," repeated Kenton; "the varmints never fancy them of his color, and they've good reason to hate him."

"I heard that he did a powerful lot to help you folks," remarked Hastings.

"I should say he did; whenever one of the varmints was hit, you could make up your mind that it was the darky that done it. He had the confoundest luck, and at the same time can shoot a gun as well as Boone, or you or me. But worse than all that, he was the means of catching The Panther himself, and nearly pounded the life out of him."

"Wouldn't the chief like to lay hands on him?" said Altman.

"Much as he hates me and the rest of us, I think he would give any two for the sake of that darky. If he once gets hold of him it won't be any shootin' bus'ness, but Col. Crawford over agin."

The thought was a depressing one, but all were powerless to help the fellow, and the consciousness of the fearful danger which hung over all was a hundredfold sadder. The Ashbridges and Altmans saw the nearest and dearest ones on earth in the most imminent peril of their lives, and, so far as human agency was concerned, none were able to extend a helping hand.

"I've a feeling," remarked Hastings, after Thomas Altman had withdrawn to his station, "that whatever is done to help these folks has got to be done this very night."

"There ain't no speck of doubt about it—helloa, who's this?"

A second form approached them through the gloom. Dimly seen though it was, something in the gait or manner told Kenton who it was.

"Is that you, Dan'l?"

"Yes," replied the veteran, quietly sitting down near them as though he had been absent but a few minutes. "I had a hard time to find you, and was on the p'int several times of 'calling.'"

"Why didn't you do it? I did."

"There are too many Injins in the woods. I heerd 'em 'calling' to each other more than once, and it was all I could do to keep from bumpin' aginst 'em. If I had signaled, some of 'em would have answered, and things might have got mixed. I 'spected where you was, and therefore knowed the right spot to look."

"As I didn't, I 'called,' and come through all right. Wal, Dan'l, as you say, the varmints are powerful plenty in these parts. Since you and me hadn't any trouble gettin' into this fort, as Jim Deane calls it, it follers that if the varmints should try it they would find it jest as easy."

"So they won't," remarked Hastings; "but one of 'em found it rather risky gettin' out agin."

"I heerd a gun go off a while ago," said Boone, as though the matter had little interest to him.

Hastings related the occurrence which resulted in the death of the dusky intruder, and Kenton gave an account of what he had done, or, rather, attempted to do, for he was more unsparing in condemning his failures than his worst enemies would have been.

"Now, Dan'l," remarked his younger friend, "the past ain't of any 'count; it's the present, the now, that we've got to take care of. What do you think the varmints mean to do?"

"Wait where they are till mornin', and then begin shooting."

"And if they can't pick us all off, keep us here till we're starved out?"

"There ain't any doubt of that."

"I agree with you, Daniel; therefore, whatever we do for the folks has got to be done afore sun-up."

"That's as true as Gospel."

"How many of the varmints are there?"

"There seemed to be about twenty, more or less, this afternoon, but toward night some others come from 'cross the river, I reckon, as there must be all of thirty."

"Who has charge of 'em, Daniel?"

"That painted imp they call Wa-on-mon, or The Panther."



CHAPTER XVI.

SIMON KENTON IN A PANIC.

It was no surprise to Simon Kenton to learn that his old enemy, The Panther, was at the head of the formidable war party that were plotting with so much success against the pioneers. He had suspected the truth before he learned it from Boone.

The fact removed the last vestige of suspicion any one might have held as to the motive of the chieftain in failing to accept the challenge of Kenton to mortal combat. Wa-on-mon had made haste to hunt up the war party of Shawanoes that he must have known were in the vicinity, well aware that with them at his beck and call he could strike a thousandfold more effective blow than by the simple overthrow of Kenton, accompanied by the disablement of himself.

The ferocious leader was perilously near success, and it looked as if nothing could extricate the fugitives from destruction.

The reader need not be reminded that it was the presence and care of the four females that was a mortal handicap to the brave men who had set out to conduct them to the block-house up the river. Had they been already there, the pioneers and rangers would have given the Shawanoes a hot fight, and driven them off with the loss of more than one of their bravest leaders.

From what has been already made known, it will be seen that it was not a hard thing for a friend or enemy to enter the rough inclosure which had been dignified with the name of fort. The discovery of the Shawanoe's presence was in the nature of an accident; but for Agnes Altman he might have wandered almost at will among the men on guard, and, having learned all he had set out to learn, stole away without detection.

Kenton and Boone reversed the method when they appeared on the scene. They had but to make themselves known (an easy matter, since they were expected) to receive a welcome. At the same time they avoided detection by the Indians, who were hovering on all sides.

It has been shown that, in a certain sense, one part of the fortification was open, since nothing in the nature of a defence interposed between it and the river. The presumption was, that in this direction one would have a fair chance of stealing away undiscovered.

The fact, however, that such an opening presented itself was proof that it was under close surveillance. Possibly, in the gloom, some of the most skilful of the rangers, by swimming under water a long way, might elude the vigilance of the Shawanoes, but the attempt would be fatal to any one of the females, and to more than one of the men.

Kenton, Boone and Hastings held what might be considered a council of war, since the fate to all concerned depended upon the result of the conference.

"There seems but the one chance," remarked Boone, after each had expressed his views, "and that's a powerful slim one."

"So must every chance be," commented Kenton.

"From what we've learned to-night any one of us three can sneak out of this place and off in the woods. If that's so, what's to hinder two or three doing it, by treading on each other's heels?"

"Nothin'," was the prompt response of Hastings.

"'Spose, then, that I try it to the right and Simon to the left; 'spose that each of us takes two persons with him and that they are females?"

"And if you should get through the lines with 'em?" asked Hastings.

"That's all we want; once clear of the varmints, and with the better part of the night afore us, the road to the block-house will be so clear that sun-up will find us all there."

Kenton did not like this plan, and said so.

"It won't work," he asserted, with quiet emphasis. "You and me, Dan'l, might get through the lines, 'cause we've both done it this very night, but we couldn't take a woman or gal with us."

Boone held unlimited faith in the woodcraft of his friend, and meant to leave the decision of the question with him. Kenton condemned the scheme from the first; therefore it was abandoned.

"I've nothing more to offer," said the elder pioneer, disappointed by the emphatic veto of the other; "there seems but one thing left for us—to stay here and fight it out with the varmints to-morrow. We can drop some of 'em, and mebbe The Panther will be among 'em, but there won't be one of us left to rej'ice over his going under."

Kenton held his peace for several minutes. His companions knew he was thinking intently and that something, desperate though it might be, would come from it. Neither Boone nor Hastings could offer the first suggestion; they could only wait for their athletic companion to counsel or to act.

Without a word, Kenton rose to his feet.

The others did the same, even though their erect position offered a tempting target to any prowling enemies who might succeed in entering the inclosure.

"Dan'l, take my gun," said the younger ranger, impressively; "if I never come back, keep it in remembrance of the many times you and Sime Kenton have been on the trail together."

"I'll do it, Simon," replied Boone, accepting the weapon.

"But," interposed Hastings, with a nervousness he could not conceal, "can't me and Boone be of help to you?"

"Not the least; I must go it alone this time."

"But let us know what you're going to try to do."

"When you and me were talking awhile ago, Hastings, you remember I said there warn't no chance of stealing any canoe in these parts belonging to the varmints; you remember that?"

"Of course."

"All the same I'm going after the canoe I seed crossing the Ohio just as it was getting dark. I don't b'leve I'll get it, or if I do that I can make any use of it."

Boone was impelled to interpose, for understanding the hopeless character of the attempt, it distressed him unspeakably to have his brave friend sacrifice himself. The elder, however, held his peace. He knew that Kenton had weighed all the chances, and the time for protest had passed.

"Stay right where you are," said the younger, moving as coolly and deliberately as though making ready to retire for the night. "It ain't likely the varmints will try to disturb you afore morning, but you know better than to trust 'em. If I ain't back afore daylight you'll never see me ag'in, and God help you all."

He wrung the hand of each in turn, and facing toward the river and assuming a crouching posture, vanished as silently as a shadow in the gloom, not another word falling from the lips of the two whom he had left behind, until considerable time had elapsed.

Having stripped for the fray, as may be said, by leaving his cumbersome rifle behind, Kenton approached the edge of the river with the utmost circumspection. Suspecting, as he did, that the Shawanoes had left this point open for the very purpose of inviting such an attempt as he had in view, he was too wise to neglect every precaution to keep it secret. If by any remote possibility he should succeed in his daring purpose, it could only be by keeping his enemies in ignorance of his movements, at least up to the point of decisive action on his part.

He therefore availed himself of every screen that could be used to hide his body, and advanced for several rods, more after the fashion of a serpent gliding over the ground than of a man stealing forward on his hands and knees. More than a quarter of an hour was consumed in passing this slight distance. Patience is a cardinal virtue with men of his profession, a moment's undue haste often undoing the work of hours. When at last he was able to reach out his hand and dip it in the cool waters, he was quite certain that none of the Shawanoes suspected what he had accomplished.

At this crisis several conditions united to help the intrepid scout. The wind still blowing strongly up the river rustled the vegetation, and whipped the surface of the river into wavelets that veiled other sounds, and helped to conceal any disturbance of the water. A glance at the sky showed the moon hidden by clouds, but the keen survey of Kenton told him that they would soon float past the face of the orb, leaving it to shine with greater strength than before. There was not a moment, therefore, to spare.

He was still flat on the ground, not daring to raise his head more than a few inches. With the same indescribable movement he glided from the land into the water, sinking quietly and heavily below the surface as though he were an iron statue.

Close to the shore the depth was shallow, but he secured enough freedom of movement to work his way quickly into deep water, where he was at home. Swimming with prodigious power and skill, wholly beneath the surface, he turned on his back and allowed his nose to rise just high enough to give him one deep inhalation, when he sank again.

With the water crinkled and disturbed by the strong wind, the keenest-eyed Indian, peering out from the undergrowth along shore, would have discovered nothing upon which to hinge the faintest suspicion.

After another long swim, without the power to breathe, Kenton allowed his head to come up and opened his eyes.

As he anticipated, the moon was just emerging from the mass of drifting clouds, and the increasing light, spreading over forest and river, considerably extended his area of vision. Confident that his departure was unknown to any of the lurking Shawanoe scouts, he scrutinized his surroundings with more confidence than he would have felt had it been otherwise.

He could trace the dark outline of the shore he had just left, or rather the mass of trees and branches were clearly stamped against the background of sky. Above and below rippled the river in the dim moonlight, while a wall of indistinct blackness masked the Ohio shore.

Somewhere along the bank, which he had left but a brief while before, nestled the canoe he had set out to find and bring to a point where it could be used to help deliver the pioneers from their perilous environment, and, without giving another thought to the impossibility of success, he grimly resolved to do his utmost, no matter if certain death was to be the result.

Prudence required him to wait until the moon was obscured. Masses of vapor were continually passing in front of it, and he had to wait only a few minutes when the gloom permitted the attempt.

With the same cool promptness he swam toward shore, until the distance he had in mind was passed. Then carefully measuring the space, he sank below the surface again. The precaution seemed unnecessary, but such trifles sometimes decide the question of life and death. Not the slightest misgiving remained, when he noiselessly raised his head beneath the overhanging branches, that his departure and return were suspected by a single Shawanoe.

And yet he was only on the threshold of his enterprise. The real work now confronted him.

Having come in to shore at a point considerably above where he had left it, Kenton hoped the canoe for which he was searching was below him. He therefore decided to continue his hunt in that direction.

With the advantage gained, he required but a short time to do this, the result being a mistake on his part. He saw nothing of the craft.

He was about to turn again when he looked out upon the river, where the moon was shining with unobscured light.

He gave a start, and peered through the parted bushes a second time, and, as he did so, he received the greatest shock of his life. Never before or after that eventful night did he go through so astounding an experience.

So terrified indeed was the brave ranger by what he saw, that, forgetful of the Shawanoes, the imperiled fugitives, and everything except his own panic, he dashed through the intervening space, and, bursting into the inclosure where he had left his friends, called in a husky undertone:

"Boys, we're lost! we're lost! There's a ghost coming up the river!"



CHAPTER XVII.

A RUN OF GOOD FORTUNE.

We have now reached a point in our narrative where it once more becomes necessary to follow the fortunes of Jethro Juggens, whom we were obliged to leave in anything but a pleasant situation.

After a rather stirring experience in the cabin of Mr. Ashbridge, whither he had gone in total disregard of the instructions of Simon Kenton, he awoke to the fact that it would not do for him to tarry longer so far from his friends and exposed to so much personal danger. He must leave without further delay.

The proof received of the presence of one or more Shawanoes on the outside was too alarming for him to feel any of his old-time assurance in venturing across the clearing to the shelter of the surrounding forest. It will be remembered that he suddenly formed the decision to incase himself in armor, so to speak, by using one of the several boxes that had been brought down the river on the flatboat.

Filled with the scheme, he made ready for the extraordinary experiment. His plan was to invert one of the boxes over his head, and thus protected, stride across the open space to the woods; but second thought and considerable experimenting revealed difficulties which speedily became mountainous in their nature.

"Dat will be all right," he muttered, after he had emptied the box which had contained the food and some other articles; "but it's gwine to be a mighty bother to take dis ting and my gun too. Den as long as I keep it ober my head I won't be able to see where I'm gwine; I may keep walkin' round in a circle for two, free days, and fotch up ag'in de doah ob dis house ebery time. I'll hab to make a peep-hole in front."

To do this required work, but the pine wood was soft and his knife was sharp. Vigorous use of the implement soon opened a hole two or three inches in diameter, through which he could obtain a good view of his immediate surroundings.

"Dat will work," he muttered, with some satisfaction, as he felt of the opening, and found he could pass his hand through it; "it's a little bigger dan I meant to make it, but if I see one ob de heathen p'intin' his gun toward me I can slip my head to one side. I'll try it."

He lifted the receptacle over his head and shoulders, and found it fitted to a nicety. It could not have answered better had it been constructed for the express purpose of serving him as a shield.

He cautiously peeped through the windows, and discovering nothing to cause misgiving, drew back the door sufficiently to allow him to pass through with his turtle-like protection. Then he stepped forth upon the partially moonlit clearing, and, with considerable labor, inched along until perhaps a dozen feet distant from the building. His next act was to turn abruptly about and hasten back through the open door with such precipitation that he stumbled headlong into the room.

"Gorrynation! I's a big fool!" was his exclamation, and which, it is safe to say, none of his acquaintances would have disputed.

To his dismay he made several disquieting discoveries. In the first place, when he attempted to look through the peep-hole it was not there. Inadvertently he had put on the box in a reversed position, so that the opening was behind him. He attempted to shift the box about, but it would not work well. At the same moment he became aware that he had forgotten to bring his gun with him, and, worst of all, a sudden conviction flashed upon him that the soft pine in which he was enveloped was not strong enough to stop the course of a bullet. Therefore the wood was no protection at all.

These causes combined to throw the dusky youth into a panic, which sent him and the box crashing through the door before his novel experiment was subjected to a real test.

"It won't work," was his decision; "I hab to show my feet, 'cause dey's de biggest part ob me, and if de heathens shoot dem off dey'll hab me dead suah."

The only comfort he derived from the partial experiment was that nothing was seen or heard of the red men. It seemed to him that they would have made some demonstration had they observed him, and he was strongly tempted to make a dash for the wood, without encumbering himself with anything more than his gun.

Sufficient uncertainty, however, remained to hold him in check for a time, when, like an inspiration, a new suggestion forced itself into his brain.

Among the goods left behind in the cabin by the pioneers in their flight toward the block-house was considerable bedding, mostly in the shape of sheets, quilts and blankets. Why not swathe himself in these instead of using the awkward and cumbersome box?

The more he thought of the plan, the more he was pleased. He could wrap the tough linen sheets about his figure until the thickness would be doubly as effective as the wood. He could gather them round his head so that they would project above and protect it, and let them descend so low that his feet would be well armored and still leave opportunity to use them. He could readily carry his gun and leave a space in front of his eyes through which to make observations.

What was to prevent the complete success of the plan?

"Nuffin," he muttered, answering his own question. "I'll put so many ob dem sheets 'round me dat dey can bang away all night widout hurtin' nobody. Den, I've been told dat Injins am mighty skeery, and dey may take me for a hobblegoblin or ghost."

Absurd as the scheme of Jethro Juggens may seem, it was not wholly lacking in merit. At any rate, he took but a brief while to turn it over in his mind, when he set to work to put it to a practical test.

The toughness of the sheets made them preferable to the softer and more yielding blankets, and the youth decided to use them exclusively. Each, of course, had been put together by deft hands and spinning-wheel, and was of firm, strong texture. Jethro was so familiar with where these were stowed, through his work of loading and unloading, that he found no trouble when compelled to labor in total darkness.

One by one the sheets were drawn forth, until six of them were tumbled upon the floor at his feet. He opened wide the door, that the faint moonlight should give help in arraying himself in his novel costume. Then, making sure that the rifle was not forgotten this time, he wrapped himself round and round, again and again, until he resembled an enormous pillow stood on one end.

He made sure that the folds projected above his hat, and would shut out all bullets that might hurtle against the unique helmet. At the same time the covering descended so low about his ankles that it trailed upon the ground, and portended disaster in case of haste upon his part.

Now that the essay was to be pushed to a conclusion, Jethro was wise in taking every possible precaution.

Peering through the door, he scanned the clearing to the river, as it was revealed by the moon, which just then was obstructed by passing clouds. Then he looked searchingly to the eastward, where, so far as he could tell, nothing threatened, and the same result followed a survey of the clearing in the opposite direction. Lastly, he peered through the rear window where had been displayed the flag of truce which he dextrously appropriated to his personal use.

This was the course he was inclined to take, and because of that he subjected it to the closest possible study.

Was it imagination, or did he really see the figures of one or two Indians standing motionless on the edge of the wood, as if waiting for him to come forth and place himself within their reach? Jethro stood intently watching them for some minutes, until in the obscured moonlight they vanished from sight.

"Guess dar ain't nobody dar," was his conclusion, as his spirits revived again; "anyway, I won't try to rout 'em out if dar is."

The uncertainty caused him to change his intention and decide to advance toward the wood near where Kenton had withdrawn the canoe from under the nose of the sleeping Shawanoe. A vague feeling of security hung around the flatboat. The youth was accustomed to that, having spent so much time on it, and if he were driven to it as a refuge, was confident of making a good defence with the aid of his rifle.

With that peculiar sensitiveness to little things which a man often displays in moments of danger, Jethro paused after reaching the outside, and, making sure that the latch-string was drawn inward, carefully closed the door behind him. Thus it was securely locked, and he reflected with a start that he had now burned his bridge behind him. If any enemies at that moment should charge upon him, he could not make use of the cabin, even though he stood near enough to it to reach it with his outstretched hand.

So far as he saw, no danger confronted him, and he resolutely struck off in the direction he had in mind, instantly discovering that the pains he had taken to protect his feet and ankles seriously interfered with his locomotion. He could take only very short steps, and naturally became impatient with his slow progress.

The figure that he cut was certainly grotesque to the last degree. His ample proportions were made much more ample by the many thicknesses of spotless linen in which they were arrayed. The folds, extended above his head, naturally added to his height, so that he suggested a ghostly giant mincing across the clearing to the river.

The strangely good fortune which had accompanied the dusky youth did not desert him now when entering upon the most remarkable experience of his career. We have shown how he entered the cabin unchallenged, when, had he made the attempt a little earlier or later, assuredly he could not have escaped the bullet of one of the two Indians in the vicinity.

From what was afterward learned, the theory of Kenton and Boone was probably reasonably correct, though it did not fully explain all that took place.

When Kenton returned to the clearing toward the close of that day, there were two Shawanoes lurking in the vicinity. It may have been that The Panther, arranging the ambuscade further away at Rattlesnake Gulch, held a suspicion that the pioneers might turn back on their own trail and make a stand in the cabin, and he instructed these two warriors to remain and signal the fact to him, probably by some peculiar discharge of their rifles.

While one of them was moving through the woods, the other remained near the canoe and fell into a doze. It was at this juncture that Jethro Juggens entered the cabin unobserved. Soon after, the second Indian returned to the neighborhood of the other, who had awakened, and noted with amazement the loss of the boat.

One of these warriors set out to recover it, with what result has already been made known. The other remained in the vicinity of the clearing to watch things until his return. Discovering the presence of one of the party in the building, but, without any means of knowing his identity, he set out to dislodge him.

The voices which Jethro insisted he heard outside the door could very well have been the voice of a single warrior, such subterfuges being among the most common with the American race. After the man[oe]uvring back and forth between this Shawanoe and the youth, the former must have grown uneasy over the prolonged absence of his companion who had set out to recover the canoe. Abandoning the cabin with one or more occupants, he hurried along the river bank. This enterprise was more successful than the other, for he recovered the boat without the slightest injury to himself.

Thus it came about that when Jethro Juggens emerged from the cabin, bandaged and swathed from above the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, the extraordinary precaution was useless, and he might have walked forth with the assurance of one who was master of the situation.

But had he done so that which we have now to make known could never have taken place.



CHAPTER XVIII.

"IT'S AN ILL WIND THAT BLOWS NOBODY ANY GOOD."

Although Jethro Juggens was not in the slightest danger of molestation by the Shawanoes from the moment he emerged from the cabin and started across the clearing, he was not to escape all danger and a great scare.

He chafed at the binding of the linen armor about his ankles. He was impatient to walk faster, and could not do so in that situation. His strength was great, but a Hercules could not have overcome the obstacle without loosening it. Glancing to the right and left and on all sides, and seeing nothing threatening, he decided to end the intolerable annoyance in the only way possible. He therefore stopped short and stooped over to loosen the bandages.

But lo! it was impossible. His body was so confined that he could only make a slight inclination. The hands, which were partly covered, would not reach further than a point just above his knees.

"I' clar to gracious!" exclaimed the alarmed Jethro, straightening up like a jack-knife, "I's committed sooicide. I'll nebber be able to get my feet free. I'll hab to lib dis way de rest ob my life, and dat won't be berry long."

But the first shock over, the truth gradually dawned upon him that inasmuch as he had wound himself up, he must possess the ability to unwind himself. All he had to do was to begin at the upper instead of the lower part of his body.

"Qu'ar I didn't tink ob dat," he said, with a chuckle at his own fright.

It was the work of but a few minutes to unwrap his body and limbs, when he kicked his feet free, and "Richard was himself again." By that time, however, he had entirely freed himself from the sheets, which he flung over his left arm, while he held his heavy gun in his right.

"What's de use ob smotherin' myself to def," he muttered. "Dar ain't no Injuns 'round, and dar won't be—gracious hebben."

From the edge of the wood, barely fifty feet away, a dark object issued and advanced straight upon him.

"Dat's de Panther! I knows him by his face; he wants to git eben wid me 'cause I wouldn't 'low him to stick his foot in my mouf."

Forgetful of the effective weapon he had in his hand, Jethro made a dash for the flatboat, his nearest refuge, and forgetful, too, of the voluminous folds over his arm, he tangled the lower ends about his feet and sprawled headlong to the ground. This completed the panic, and letting go of his rifle, he rolled over on his back and made desperate efforts to gather the mass of linen over his face and body, so as to protect him against bullet and knife and tomahawk, somewhat as a child covers its head at night to escape imaginary terrors.

There was so much of the stuff that the armoring of his head and limbs was quite effective, but his feet were left wholly unprotected. The only recourse left was to kick, which he proceeded to do with a vigor that would have sent any man flying had he come within reach of the whirring pedals.

When this had continued until Jethro was tired, he concluded that the demonstration had frightened off his enemy. Dropping his feet on the ground, he drew the covering of his face sufficiently to one side to permit him to peep forth. Seeing nothing, he ventured to raise his head a little higher and to look around.

The dark object that had thrown him into the panic was just disappearing from sight in the direction of the wood whence it came. There was enough moonlight at that moment for him to identify it.

"By gracious! it am a bar! I done forgot dat I had my loaded gun and could hab drapped him easy. If any ob de folks had come 'long while I lay on my back kickin' at de sky, dey would hab tought I had a bone in my froat and didn't know what to do wid it."

In all probability the bear, when he first appeared, intended to make an investigation, but the sight of a figure, smothered in sheets and with his feet thrumming in the air like a couple of drum sticks, must have frightened bruin into leaving the strange animal alone.

Jethro was disposed to make chase after the animal and bring him to account, but reflection showed the unwisdom of allowing any diversion to interfere with the plain dictates of duty.

"Dar's no tellin' what trouble Mr. Kenton may hab tumbled into widout habin' me dar to pull him out. De rest ob de folks don't know how to shoot Injuns half as well as me."

It was evident the youth felt quite proud of his exploits, and who can blame him? He surely had warrant for his pride. He had decided to pay a visit to the flatboat even though time was so urgent. It lay close against the bank, just as it had been left earlier in the day, after the cargo was removed. Abandoning it before a chance was given to break it up, and with the vague hope that they might be permitted to turn it to account some time in the future, the pioneers offered it no harm, nor was it injured by the Indians who, later, came upon the scene.

Jethro stepped over the heavy gunwale and looked about him with peculiar interest, for, as is well known, that craft was the scene of many stirring incidents during the preceding twenty-four hours.

There was the long sweeping oar, balanced on a pivot at either end, with the handle reaching almost to the middle of the boat. That portion considered the stern (although in no respect did it differ from the bow) had the covered space, used as sleeping quarters for the females. At the other end was where the cooking was done.

In the bottom lay the two long poles to be used in controlling the boat when necessary, and, groping about, Jethro noticed the pieces of rope that had served to bind The Panther, and which no one had deemed valuable enough to be removed. Other pieces of board and a few fragments of articles were scattered around, but none was of any account. Jethro flung down his big armful of linen at the bow, and, sitting upon them, gave himself over to characteristic meditation.

There is no intellect so dull through which some bright thought does not now and then flash. It may come and go too quickly to be turned to account, but, all the same, it is that mystic throb which proves that all human souls are beating in unison with the divinity that created them.

Sitting thus at the prow of the flatboat, meditating upon the strange occurrences through which he had passed since leaving his old home in Virginia, a scheme gradually assumed definite form in the brain of Jethro Juggens, whose brilliancy and originality startled even himself.

And yet, when it comes to be analyzed, there was really nothing startling and brilliant in it. The wonder would have been, if any person, with a modicum of sense, could have held his place under similar circumstances and not thought of that which gradually worked its way into his consciousness.

There were the poles used in handling the flatboat; there were bits of rope scattered about the bottom of the craft. He was sitting upon almost half a score of tough, thin sheets of linen; he was the possessor of a sharp knife and was dextrous in its use; and the wind was blowing almost a gale from the west, and therefore directly up stream; why not sail the flatboat up the Ohio?

This was the question which at first held the youth breathless with the very grandeur and magnitude of the scheme; but, as fully considered, it became simple and more practical.

Jethro was far from suspecting the real use to which his scheme could be possibly put. He knew and suspected nothing of the desperate straits in which his friends were placed at that very hour. He had an altogether different project in view.

"Dey're pickin' dar way frough de woods, whar it's dark, and habing all sorts ob trouble. Dey can't see tings, and dat makes it wusser; de one dat's walkin' at de head will be sartin to hab a limb cotch him under his chin and raise him off his feet; den he'll feel like sw'aring, but will be afeared to do so, 'cause de heathen might oberhear him and stop him, and make him explanify de meanin' of his discumvations.

"De tramp wouldn't be much if de sun war shinin' so dat dey could walk long widout steppin' on snakes. When dey see me come sailin' up de ribber, why, dey will be so pleased dat Mr. Altman won't—dat is, he won't obsist on my workin' so hard, and Mrs. Altman won't frow out so many digustin' hints 'bout de bigness ob my appertite."

Having labored up to his decision, Jethro Juggens threw away no time in carrying it out. It really seemed as if everything had been directed for the last hour or two to prepare this very course to him. The failure of the wooden box to serve him as an armor, and the resort to the sheets of linen, the turning of his steps toward the flatboat, and, above all, that strong, steadily-blowing west wind—many persons would have seen something more than a mere coincidence in these things, and who shall say that this view would not have been right?

The task that presented itself to Jethro Juggens, though a hard one, was by no means impossible. His keen-edged knife soon fashioned excavations in the soft planking at the sides, through which he passed some of the pieces of rope and fastened one of the poles in an upright position, or nearly so, for he was wise enough to place it so that it leaned backward like the masts of ordinary sailing vessels. He secured this as strongly as he could, and then did the same with the second pole on the other side, and directly opposite the first.

He had now two strong uprights or masts. He examined and tested them until certain that nothing more could be done to add to their firmness. Then he set to work to knot or tie a number of the sheets together at the corners, until a sail was fashioned of the right dimensions, and this, in turn, was secured to the masts.

He went about the business with that deliberation and care which marks the skilled workman. Almost any one, placed as he was, would have been hasty, nervous and unfitted to do a good job. It would have been neglected at some point, and, consequently, disaster would have come at the beginning of the enterprise. Jethro wrought as though such a thing as danger was not within a hundred miles, and that, too, when he had recently passed through some terrifying incidents.

When the work was completed, he had a sail containing something like fifty square feet, the sheets secured together with no little skill, and the masts so strongly set that they could be relied upon, unless some unusual cause interfered with them. The only probable contingency to cause misgiving was the wind.

That would not always blow from the west, and it might cease within an hour, or even less time.

"It may get contrary," reflected Jethro, "and turn de oder way; if dat am de case, dis old boat will go kitin' down de Ohio till we strike de Massissip—and den—I done forgot what dat riber runs into, but if I discomember incorrectly, it am de Red Sea; don't want to go dar, so I'll jump ober board, if I can't stop de boat, and take to de woods.

"Mebbe de gale will twist 'round and come from de souf; under dem sarcummentions de boat'll bang in 'mong de trees and smash tings. If Mr. Kenton had managed to got 'long when I ain't wid him, and Mr. Boone don't fall down and hurt hisself, why dem two might got de Injins togeder and hold dem on de Kentucky shore, while I run ober' em wid de flatboat.

"Dat would gib' em such a good squshin' dat dey wouldn't bother us for a good while. It happens, howsumeber, just now dat de wind am blowin' right, and we kin sail up de Ohio as fur as we want, dat is," qualified Jethro, "if we don't want to go furder dan de wind will took us—but why don't the old ting start?"

The sail was spread, and the strong gale was impinging dead against it, and yet, strange to say, the flatboat remained as motionless as if sunk at the bottom of the river.



CHAPTER XIX.

A FELLOW-PASSENGER.

Jethro Juggens was alarmed on the very threshold of his strange enterprise by the threatened danger of failure. When everything was ready to start, the flatboat refused to stir so much as an inch.

In the hope of helping matters, he swung the bow oar a number of times, so as to turn the head out in the stream. It moved a foot or two, and then became stationary, gradually working back to its former position. Then he tried the same thing with the stern oar, accomplishing about as much as if he had attempted to overturn a rock.

"Dat beats de dickens!" muttered the puzzled youth, stopping to rest himself. "Qu'ar de wind am jes' strong enough to hold de boat stock still. I guess I'll onwestigate."

And, doing so, the mystery was speedily solved. He had forgotten to hoist the anchor, which lay imbedded on the bottom, on the outside of the boat near the stern.

"I'll neber tell nobody dat," he said, ashamed of the blunder. Lifting the heavy weight over his gunwale, he dropped it in the bottom of the boat, which immediately began gliding slowly up stream. With the aid of the long paddles, he easily worked the craft so far out in the stream that there was no danger of running into any of the overhanging limbs and vegetation.

Jethro did not make the mistake of paddling the flatboat into the middle of the current, which was so much stronger there as to impede, if not to check, its progress altogether. And, as before stated, there could be no saying how much longer this favorable wind would continue.

The dusky youth overflowed with complacency when he sat down at the prow and noticed the satisfactory trend of events.

He was within a dozen yards or so of the wooded bank, sometimes approaching still closer, in accordance with the configuration of the land. His desire to keep advancing, while the chance was his, led him to venture further in, in order to take advantage of the sluggish current. Once or twice he felt a projecting root graze the bottom, and again the craft came almost to a standstill from partially grounding in a shallow portion. Its momentum, however, carried it over into deeper water, when its speed instantly increased.

Seeing nothing for him to do, Jethro seated himself at the bow, with his rifle resting in the boat near him, and his feet hanging over the water.

"Mr. Kenton and Boone and Altman and Ashbridge and all de rest ob de folks couldn't hab tought ob dis if dey had put their minds altogeder onto it. It was Jethro Juggens dat trotted out de idee. Some folks tinks he ain't much more dan a fool, and mebbe he ain't, but he knows a ting or two, and when dey cotch sight—"

At that instant the flatboat struck a shallow portion with such suddenness that it instantly stopped, and the youth, unprepared for the shock, sprawled overboard with a loud splash.

Nothing more serious than a shock and wetting resulted, and when he clambered to his feet the water did not reach to his knees. Grasping the prow with his huge hand, and applying his prodigious strength, he easily forced the front of the boat into deeper water and swung himself over the gunwale.

"Dat sort of bus'ness am inconwenieut, and it musn't happen agin."

Several sweeps of the two oars, he grasped one in either hand, worked the craft sufficiently far from land to prevent any repetition of his mishap. Then, caring naught for his moistened clothing, he sat down at the prow again.

The boat was moving steadily up stream, with more speed, indeed, than it had ever shown descending it. So long as the strong wind blew from the west this progress would continue. The moon, veiled at intervals by the drifting masses of clouds, sometimes revealed the trees on his right sweeping backward and occasionally, when the light was wholly unobstructed, he could catch the dim shadowy outlines of the Ohio shore. Not only was the water rippled by the bow of the boat as it forced its way forward, but it was broken into tiny chopping seas by the action of the gale.

The roving eyes detected no sign of life in any direction. The gloom was not pierced even by the starlike twinkle of some Indian campfire or signal light, but the dull boom of a rifle report, rolling over the river from the direction of Rattlesnake Gulch, proved that life, fierce, alert and vigilant, still throbbed with terrifying intensity.

It so came about that the second Shawanoe, he who succeeded in recapturing the canoe from Simon Kenton, was returning in the direction of the clearing. The sagacious warrior knew the ranger would be quick to discover the theft of his property, and would make search for it. Only by the utmost care and skill could he escape an encounter with the terrible scout, whom he held in unspeakable dread.

It was natural, therefore, that he should give his closest attention to the shore he was skirting, confident that that was the only direction whence danger could come. So, while the canoe skimmed the water, he held his gaze on the bank, and watched and listened with the acuteness of long training.

"Who dar?"

The question was asked in a sepulchral voice, and would have startled the bravest man. The head of the Indian whirled about like a flash, and he saw that which, it is safe to say, no member of his race had ever seen—an Ohio flatboat gliding up stream, with a broad spread of white sail, and moving with a noiselessness of death itself.