Part 19 (1/2)

CHAPTER XIX.

A FELLOW-Pa.s.sENGER.

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, accomplis.h.i.+ng about as much as if he had attempted to overturn a rock.

”Dat beats de d.i.c.kens!” 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 n.o.body 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 repet.i.tion 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 ma.s.ses of clouds, sometimes revealed the trees on his right sweeping backward and occasionally, when the light was wholly un.o.bstructed, he could catch the dim shadowy outlines of the Ohio sh.o.r.e.

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 sh.o.r.e 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.

More than that, it was almost upon him. Only by dextrous work could he save himself from being run down. Less than a dozen feet separated them.