Part 23 (2/2)

”Dat'll come handy,” thought Jethro. ”When he sticks out his head to get a bref ob air, I'll whack him wid de paddle till he s'renders.”

After manoeuvring about the canoe for some minutes, a suspicion of the truth dawned upon the youth. Even when under the water he was able to hear the deadened reports of the rifles above, and he believed that one of the shots must have reached the occupant of the boat, whose frenzied leap capsized it.

Gathering courage after a few minutes, he grasped the canoe and managed to swing it back into proper position, but it contained so much water as to forbid its use until it was emptied. This could be done only by taking it ash.o.r.e. Jethro therefore tossed the paddle inside, and grasping the gunwale with one hand, swam with the other toward Ohio. It may be added that he reached it without further event, and there for a time we will leave him to himself.

”Lie down!” thundered the missionary, seeing that his first order was only partially obeyed. ”My good woman, I beg your pardon, but it must be done.”

His words were addressed to Mrs. Ashbridge, who, in her anxiety for her husband and son, was exposing herself in the most reckless manner. As he spoke, he seized her in his arms as though she were but an infant, and placed her not too gently flat in the bottom of the boat.

”There! spend these minutes in prayer--no; that will never do,” he added, grasping the shoulder of Agnes Altman, who, at that moment, attempted to rise; ”keep down--all that is between you and death is that plank.”

”But--but,” pleaded the distressed girl, ”tell father and George to be careful, won't you, please?”

”We are in the hands of G.o.d, my child, and have only to do our duty.

Help us by causing no anxiety about yourselves.”

The great necessity, as has been explained, was to work the flatboat away from land. The most direct means of doing this was by pus.h.i.+ng with the poles that had been taken on board for that use; but they were fastened in place as supports for the sail that had brought the craft to this place. The sweeps would accomplish this work, but only slowly and by frightful exposure on the part of those swaying them.

Nevertheless, Jim Deane seized the bow sweep at the moment another ranger grasped the rear one, and both wrought with right good will.

Dark forms appeared in greater number along sh.o.r.e and near the craft itself. The gloom was lit up by flashes of guns, and the air was rent by the shouts of the combatants, for the white men could make as much noise as their enemies in the swirl and frenzy of personal encounter and deadly conflict.

Boone, Kenton, the missionary and most of the men had leaped into the flatboat and crouched low, where all seemed huddled together in inextricable confusion. The two were toiling at the sweeps, and the craft worked away from the sh.o.r.e with maddening tardiness. To some of the terrified inmates it did not seem to move at all.

”A little harder, Jim,” called the missionary ”shall I lend a hand?”

”No,” replied Deane; ”I'll fetch it, I don't need you--yes I do, too.”

As he spoke, he let go of the sweep and sagged heavily downward.

”Are you hit?” asked the good man, raising the head upon his knee.

”I got my last sickness that time, parson--it's all up--good-by!”

The missionary would have said more, would have prayed with the fellow, despite the terrifying peril around him, had there been time to do so, but Jim Deane was dead.

”G.o.d rest his soul!” murmured the good man, gently laying down the head, and drawing the body as closely as he could to the gunwale, where it would be out of the way.

As from the first, the missionary exposed himself with the utmost recklessness, and, where the bullets were hurtling all about him, the wonder was that he had not already been struck; but the life of Rev. J.

B. Finley was one of sacrifice, peril, suffering and hards.h.i.+p, in which his last thought was for himself. He was ready for the call of the dark angel, whether he came at midnight, morning, or high noon, and the angel did not come until after the lapse of many years, when the scenes such as we are describing had long pa.s.sed away.

A strange and for a time wholly unaccountable occurrence took place near the stem of the flatboat, only a moment before Jim Deane was mortally smitten.

Simon Kenton had just withdrawn his attention from Jethro Juggens and his canoe, and was looking toward the bank at his elbow, when he uttered an exclamation, the meaning of which no one caught, or, if he did, failed to notice it in the tumult and hullabaloo. At the same moment the ranger gathered his muscles into one mighty effort, and made a leap toward sh.o.r.e.

Superb as was his skill in this direction, the distance was too great to be covered, and he stuck in the water, but so near land that he sank only to his waist. He struggled furiously forward, seemingly in the very midst of the Shawanoes, and was immediately lost to sight.

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