Part 14 (1/2)

Rodney now began to store up, against the emergency he knew was approaching, a stock of dried venison, and hominy and parched corn.

His experience when surrounded by hostile savages had taught him the difficulty of securing food on the march.

As he lay in the shadow of a bush one day he noticed a little worm travelling along a twig. It was the variety commonly called an ”inch worm,” which advances by pulling its rear up to its forward feet, its back in a curve, and then thrusts forward its length. As the boy watched its laborious progress he thought, ”If one may only keep going he'll get there in time,” and somehow he felt encouraged. Had he not thought it his duty to remain and care for the old chief he would have set forth that very hour.

As he came near the village several guns were fired in quick succession down at the creek and he knew a party of savages had returned from one of their raids!

The inmates of the village hurried down to meet the newcomers, but the boy lagged behind. Soon they came running back and formed two lines.

Some captive must run the gauntlet!

The prisoner was a man of forty years or more. His hair was long and matted and his arms were bound. Evidently his captors had found him a difficult subject with whom to deal. In running the gauntlet he could not ward off the blows, his arms being tied, but he delivered one well directed kick that doubled a brave up in agony. He got through, but was horribly beaten. All the while he was yelling at the savages in derision, calling them old women and apparently doing everything in his power to enrage them.

A post was set in the ground in front of the encampment, and the prisoner was led out and tied to it. On the way he kicked an Indian, who in his rage would have killed him on the spot, had not another interfered. Sudden death in preference to torture was evidently what the captive sought, but it was not to be granted.

Thinking Ahneota might prevent the torture, which now seemed inevitable, Rodney hurried to the chief's lodge. Within, it was almost dark and he could but dimly see the figure of the man seated on a bear skin, his back against a bale of furs. His head was inclined forward, his chin on his breast.

”Ahneota!” called the boy loudly in his excitement, but there was no answer.

Thinking the Indian slept, the boy grasped him by the arm to wake him.

Ahneota had pa.s.sed to the ”happy hunting ground!”

CHAPTER XV

A WELCOME VOICE

Dense bushes fringed a bluff looking down on the Muskingum River. In these, concealed from view, lay a boy of fifteen. His face was worn and thin. His moccasins and leggins were frayed from much running through undergrowth. He was peering through the branches to a bend in the river. He had lain there hours, watching. That morning, a canoe containing two savages came up past him. The Indians were paddling vigorously. Why their haste? That was what the boy would know.

The reader has guessed the lad's name and so will readily understand that Rodney Allison concluded if the Indians were being pursued it was by white men.

Ah! was it? Yes, surely that was the shadow of a canoe. Now he could see its sides under the overhanging branches which concealed its occupants from his view.

”An' all tin twins o' thim great at shenannegan, An' all o' thim born in pairs.

Pat an' Terry, Tom an' Tim, Peter, Mary Ann--”

”Halloa!”

”There's one of 'em coming down through the bushes now, Nick,”

exclaimed a man in the stern of the canoe.

”I never could sing that song without interruption, Chevalier.”

The speaker had s.h.i.+pped his paddle and grasped his rifle, saying as he did so: ”Look out, boys, the voice is white but there may be red shenannegan behind it.”

Rodney Allison leaped to the beach below in full view of the party.

There he stood, panting and staring as though at a ghost.