Part 3 (1/2)
Hastings wanted one ob yo' or bofe ob yo' to come back again, as he had somethin' he wanted to see yo' about.”
Neither Boone nor Kenton made any comment on the singular course of Hastings in selecting Jethro Juggens to bear such a message, when, among all the male members of the company probably there was not one that was less qualified.
”I don't know what it means,” said Boone, rising from the tree, ”but it means something. You had better go back with this simpleton at once.”
”And you?”
”I'll push ahead and larn what I kin. It won't make any difference whether I'm with you or not, if there's a fight coming, but I'll do my best to jine you. I'm likely to run onto something ahead that we oughter know.”
”Do you expect to use any signallin' for me?” asked Kenton, who had also risen to his feet.
”Don't see that there'll be any need, but if there is you'll understand it. You and me are too used to each other, Simon, to make any slip up----”
Kenton raised his hand and smiled. While the words were in the mouth of Boone, the soft, faint cawing of the crow was heard for the fifth time.
At the same moment two interesting facts were impressed upon the rangers.
The call did not sound half so far away as in any one of the former instances, and it came from a throat which essayed it for the first time in the hearing of Boone and Kenton.
”Now we know there's three of 'em,” remarked the latter.
”They're wondering why me and the rest of 'em aren't pus.h.i.+ng faster through the woods. But off with you, Simon; we're losing time.”
Without another word these two great pioneers separated, the elder moving silently among the trees to the eastward, that is, up the Ohio and toward Rattlesnake Gulch, now a place of the first importance to all concerned. He did not look around to note what was done by the other.
But Kenton had taken only a few steps when he stopped and looked back.
Jethro Juggens was standing by the fallen tree with his gun on his shoulder and glancing inquiringly from the disappearing figure of Boone to that of Kenton, only a few yards away.
”What's the matter?” asked the latter. ”What are you waiting for?”
”Which ob yo' folks wants me, Mr. Kenton?”
”I don't think either one of us will die of a broken heart if we lose you; but come along with me.”
”Sure Mr. Boone won't feel bad if I don't go wid him?”
”Come along, keep close to me and don't make any noise, for the woods is full of the varmints.”
Enough has been told for the reader to understand the situation. The Altman and Ashbridge families were threading their way through the Kentucky wilderness, from the clearing where a cabin had been erected some weeks before, to the block-house ten miles distant and on the opposite side of the river. They were escorted by a number of rangers and scouts from the block-house, under the charge of Daniel Boone, and sent thither by Captain Bushwick, who discovered the imminent peril of the families after they had declined the invitation to tarry at the block-house, and had pa.s.sed beyond and down the Ohio in the flatboat.
Kenton was not mistaken in his theory about the return journey of himself and companion. Not the slightest sign of danger appeared, and in a comparatively short time they came upon their friends, who, from their appearance, might well have been taken for a picnic party on an outing of their own.
What more inviting opening could the crouching Shawanoes ask than was here presented to them? From their lurking places among the surrounding trees they could pour in a frightfully destructive volley that would stretch many of the helpless party lifeless on the ground.
And why did they not do so? Because they knew the cost to them. Those hunters and rangers were used to the Indian method of fighting. If the redskins could approach nigh enough to fire before detection, there would be enough white men left to make many of them bite the dust ere they could get beyond reach of the deadly rifles.
No; in the estimation of the Shawanoes there was a plan open to them that was a thousandfold more preferable.