Part 19 (2/2)

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PHANTOM BOAT.]

Glancing at the frightful object, the Shawanoe observed the figure of a st.u.r.dy, broad-shouldered man, standing near the bow with his rifle in his grasp. The sight was more than he could stand. With a frantic sweep of his paddle he drove the canoe like a swallow against the bank, leaped out and dashed into the woods.

”Dat chap acts as dough he am scared,” remarked Jethro, in doubt whether or not to fire; ”de next time, I 'spose, I oughter shoot fust and den make my obspectful inquiries afterward.”

The incident was hardly over when to the surprise and disappointment of the youth the progress of the boat began to slacken, soon ceased, and then it slowly floated down stream. The wind had died out more suddenly than it had risen. He quickly dropped the anchor overboard.

”Wonder how fur I've come,” he thought, peering at the bank and unable to locate himself; ”reckon I must hab come fifteen or twenty miles--but dat can't be either, for de folks at de block-house would hab seen me if I didn't see dem--hulloa! dat chap must tink he knows me; it ain't him after all.”

The canoe which had shot under the bank so suddenly, now emerged again and paddled straight towards the flatboat, only a short distance away.

The action so startled the dusky youth that he would have acted upon his own suggestion of firing before asking any questions, had he not perceived that the occupant was a white man.

”Dat can't be Mr. Kenton or Boone,” mused Jethro, closely studying the stranger. ”No, it am somebody dat hasn't de honor ob my obquaintance.

Him and me ain't neber met afore.”

As the individual came closer and was more plainly shown in the dim moonlight, he was seen to be a st.u.r.dy man in middle life, dressed much the same as Mr. Ashbridge and Altman--that is, with more regard for the fas.h.i.+ons of the age than was shown by men like Boone and Kenton.

”Good evening,” he called, nodding his head in salutation; ”may I come aboard?”

”Who am yo'? Am yo' name Girty?” asked Jethro, in doubt whether to permit the man to join him, now that his canoe was near enough to permit him to do so. His appearance was pleasing, and his voice had a hearty ring about it, but the African, since he was master of the situation, felt he could not be too careful of his company.

The stranger laughed at the question asked him, and replied:

”Bless me, that's the first time I was ever taken for Mr. Girty. You seem to be alone on the boat.”

Jethro suspected this to be a trick meant to make him unmask his weakness. He was not to be caught that way.

”No, sah! dar's whar yo's mistooken, sah. Dan'l Kenton and Simon Boone, and 'leven oder gemman am in dis boat wid me, and if yo'----”

”Tut, tut,” interrupted the stranger, with another laugh, so genial in its character that it disarmed the youth.

”'Scoose me; I meant to say dat dem folks would like to be wid me.”

”My son, you and I are the best of friends; you surely have no misgiving regarding me; my name is Finley.”

And, with this remark, he stepped over the gunwale and cordially shook the hand of Jethro, who was won by his looks and manner. He helped fasten the canoe at the side of the flatboat, and invited the visitor to seat himself upon the remaining sheets at the stern, an invitation that was so agreeably accepted that Jethro was certain he had never met so delightful a gentleman.

There may be some among my readers who have recognized the name of the man who paddled out in the canoe as among the most honored in the early history of the West. He was James B. Finley, the famous missionary, whose career is one of the brightest pages among the many stained by cruelty, vice and crime. For years he carried his life in his hands, traversing the vast stretches of wilderness with rifle over his shoulder, living on the game brought down by his own marksmans.h.i.+p, or what he could obtain in the lodges of the red men or the cabins of the pioneers. He slept in the woods, freezing by the lonely campfire, or sweltering in the smothering heat of the summer sun.

And wherever this devoted man went, he carried the message of his Master. He labored unceasingly in His vineyard, ill.u.s.trating precept by his own example, and winning many to the right way, not only among the rough bordermen, but from among the fierce warriors themselves.

Without turning aside in this place to refer more fully to Rev. Mr.

Finley, the interesting fact should be recalled that it was under his exhortation that Simon Kenton, years subsequent to the events we are now recording, professed conversion, and became a deeply devout man.

The missionary showed his tact by making no reference to the tremendous falsehood he had just brought home to Jethro Juggens.

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