Part 9 (1/2)
”They've stopped their yowling. Look out for fresh deviltry!”
He nodded and walked to the front of the cabin. The horse neighed shrilly.
The call was repeated in the forest. The Indians continued silent. I heard it first; that is to recognize it. For I had heard it the day before. The voice of a man shouting fretfully, much as an angry child complains.
Cousin understood it when a whimpering note was added.
”Baby Kirst!” he softly cried. ”Black Hoof will 'low his medicine is mighty weak. Baby's out there an' in a bad frame o' mind. Somethin' is goin' ag'in' the grain. It's good medicine for us that he wandered up this way.”
I began sketching the happenings at Howard's Creek, but before I could finish the bushes on the hem of the woods were violently agitated and Baby Kirst rode into the clearing, his horse in a lather. When he beheld the dead cows and hogs he yelled like a madman and plucked his heavy ax from his belt, and turned back to the woods. He disappeared with a crash, his hoa.r.s.e voice shouting unintelligible things.
”Now you can go,” quietly said Cousin as he unbarred the door. ”Be keerful o' the Injuns to the east. They'll be a small band. I 'low I'll foller Kirst. If he don't drive 'em too fast there oughter be good huntin' for me.”
That night I rode into the Greenwood clearing on Dunlap's Creek without having seen any Indians along the way.
CHAPTER IV
I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS
A night at the Greenwood cabin and I resumed my journey to Salem on the Roanoke. Near this hamlet lived Colonel Andrew Lewis, to whom I was to report before carrying or forwarding Doctor Connolly's despatches to Governor Dunmore. The trip was free from any incidents and seemed exceedingly tame after the stress of over-mountain travel. All the settlers I talked with were very anxious to know the true conditions along the border.
As I pressed on and found the cabins more thickly strewn along the various waters I was impressed by the belief of many that the Cherokees would join the Ohio tribes before the war ended. One would expect to find this apprehension to be the keenest where the danger would be the greatest. But not so. Whenever I related how Isaac Crabtree had murdered Cherokee Billy, brother of the powerful Oconostota, the pessimists were positive that the Cherokee nation would lay down a red path.
Notwithstanding these natural fears the war remained popular with practically all the men with whom I talked. Various companies were being formed, and militia captains, to make sure of seeing active service, were not punctilious as to where and by what means they secured their men.
There was much ill-natured bickering over this rivalry, with several matters a.s.suming such proportions that only Colonel Lewis could straighten them out.
The war was popular because the people realized a farther western expansion would be impossible until the Indians had been crowded back and firmly held behind the Ohio. Anything short of a permanent elimination of the red menace was cried down.
Much resentment was felt against the hotheads in Pennsylvania for openly accusing the Virginians of inciting the war to establish their land claims. It was widely known that the Pennsylvania _Gazette_ had published charges against Doctor Connolly to the effect that his agents, acting under his orders, had fired on friendly Shawnees who were escorting white traders into Fort Pitt. Among these settlers east of the mountains the common complaint was about the scarcity of powder and lead.
When within a few miles of my destination I came upon a group of settlers who were gathered about a travel-stained stranger. For the first time since leaving Dunlap's Creek I found myself of second importance. This man was tanned by the weather to a deep copper color and wore a black cloth around his head in place of a cap.
I halted on the edge of the group and waited for him to finish his narrative which must have been of lively interest if the rapt attention of the men and women was any gage.
”--and using the ax I jumped over his body, got to the horse and rode away,” his deep voice concluded. He spoke with a palpable effort and almost with a sing-song intonation.
I dismounted and pressed forward, and told him:
”You talk like an Indian.”
”G.o.d's marcy, young sir!” cried an old dame. ”An', please sweet grace, why shouldn't he? Isn't he Johnny Ward, took by the Injums when a boy, an'
just managed to scoot free of 'em?”
The man slowly looked me over, his face as immovable as any Shawnee chief's. Then with the slightest of hesitation between each two words he calmly informed me:
”Escaped as the white woman says. Named John Ward. Indian name, Red Arrow.
Now I am back with my people. Now I am John Ward again. I talk bad. I talked with Indians most the time all these years. With my old friends I will grow to talk better.”