Home > Authors Index > Edward Sylvester Ellis > Phantom of the River > This page
The Phantom of the River, a novel by Edward Sylvester Ellis |
||
Chapter 13. Unkind Fate |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XIII. UNKIND FATE After setting out on his return to his friends with the canoe which he had recovered so cleverly from the drowsy Shawanoe, Simon Kenton gave little thought to Jethro Juggens. The youth had become separated from the scout through his own disregard of orders, and, as has already been said, the former regarded his highest duty to be to the pioneers, who, a mile or so away, were anxiously looking for his return. It was during the first part of his voyage with the canoe that Kenton had his hurricane encounter with the warrior who withdrew it from the point along the bank where he left the craft for a few minutes only. The scout was surprised and somewhat alarmed for his friends over one or two facts which thus came to light. The Indian who paid so dearly for this little trick he attempted upon the white man was not the one that sat on the bank near the clearing while the boat was withdrawn from before him. This proved that more than one Shawanoe was down the river between the pioneers and the cabin in the clearing. The cawing from the Ohio side showed that the lynx-eyed watchers were there, with the unwelcome certainty that the Shawanoes were far more numerous than either Boone or Kenton had supposed. "Wa-on-mon has been doing some good work," reflected Kenton, "since he sneaked out of sight, instead of meeting me for our last scrimmage. Dan'l is right when he says the reason The Panther done that warn't 'cause he was afeared of me, but' cause he seed a chance of hittin' a powerfuller blow than in sending nobody but Sime Kenton under. That's what he's up to, with a mighty big chance of doing what he set out to do." The signal from the Ohio bank, and the encounter with the redskin, drove all hesitation from the ranger's mind regarding the canoe. He drew it from the water and upon the dry land, his paddle and rifle lying inside, and then, with no little labor, dragged it among the trees to the other side of the open space, where it was launched again, uninjured by its rough experience. "I hope there ain't many such places," he muttered, as he took the paddle in hand; "'cause if there is, this old boat will suffer." But night was closing in, and, with the coming of darkness, the need of such extreme caution would pass. The wind too, was now blowing so strongly up the river that it was not necessary to use the extreme caution against making any noise while pushing his way along the bank. To Kenton's disgust, he had gone a little more than a hundred yards further when he struck another of the very places he had in mind. It was twice as broad as the one he had flanked a few minutes before, and did not offer the slightest concealment. He checked the canoe, with the nose on the edge of the opening, and took several minutes to look over the ground and decide upon the best course to follow. To most persons it must seem like an excess of caution for Kenton to hesitate to propel his boat across this open space when it confronted him. That there was any dusky foe crouching in the woods, with his eyes fixed upon that "clearing" in the water and watching for the appearance of Kenton, was a piece of fine-spun theorizing that entered the realms of the absurd. It was preposterous to suppose anything of the kind. Simon Kenton was too much of a veteran in woodcraft to make such preposterous mistakes. But the unwelcome truth which stared him in the face was that he had been followed from the clearing, and the signal from the other side of the river, resembling the call of a crow, he believed referred to him. It looked as if there was an understanding between the Shawanoe scouts on the Ohio and those on the Kentucky side of the river. As the matter stood, however, Kenton decided not to drag the canoe among the trees again. In the gathering darkness he was liable to injure it beyond repair, and in a brief while the gloom itself would afford him the screen he needed. The wind stirred the water into wrinkles and wavelets along the shore, which rippled against the canoe and the end of the paddle when held motionless. Further out in the river the disturbance was so marked that it would have caused some annoyance even to a strong swimmer. Kenton's conclusion was to stay where he was for a brief while--that is, until the gloom increased sufficiently to allow him to paddle across the open space without the misgiving that now held his muscular arm motionless. Sitting thus, with all his senses alert, he caught the distinct outlines of some large object on the surface of the river. It was moving with moderate swiftness from the Ohio bank in a diagonal direction to the Kentucky shore, making for a point but a short distance above where the ranger was waiting for a slight increase of darkness. A second glance identified the object as an Indian canoe containing several occupants. But for the noise made by the wind and water he would have heard the dipping of the paddles, for there was no attempt in the way of secrecy of movement. "That looks as though they didn't 'spect none of us was in these parts," mused Kenton, with considerable relief. "If the varmints thought Sime Kenton was loafin' anywhere near they'd be a powerful sight more keerful." Since the new party were following a course which would ultimately take them up stream and nearer to the party of fugitives, the ranger decided to learn, if possible, something more of their intentions. A moment's thought convinced him that there was more risk in following the Shawanoes in his canoe than on foot. He suspected the party intended to land. He could move with more freedom and effect among the trees, with liberty to return to his boat whenever he chose. Accordingly, with hardly a moment's hesitation, he stepped out of the canoe again and drew the prow so far up the bank that there was no danger of its being swept away by the disturbed current. Then, with the noiseless celerity for which he was noted, he moved along the shore in the direction of the camp, where soon after his friends gathered and anxiously awaited his coming. A disappointment came to the ranger. His supposition was that the Shawanoes in the canoe would run in close to shore or paddle up the stream at so moderate a speed that it would be easy for him to overtake them, but for some reason or other she shot forward with a swiftness fully double what he expected. Kenton's error, as will be seen, was in not sticking to his canoe, in which it would have cost him little effort to follow the other at a safe distance, ready to dart in under the protection of the overhanging limbs at the first danger of detection. "They won't land till they get to Rattlesnake Gulch, or above it," was his new conclusion, "and I'm throwing away time by dodging among the trees." Men of the stamp of the ranger follow their decisions by instant action. Turning about, he strode rapidly through the woods to the point where he had left his canoe but a short time before. To his consternation it was gone. Hardly crediting his senses, he made hasty search, with the speedy confirmation of the astounding fact. He was too skilled in woodcraft to make any mistake as to the precise spot, just on the edge as it was of the open space which he hesitated to cross. Whereas, the boat was there less than a quarter of an hour before, it was now nowhere in sight. Inasmuch as he had taken pains to draw it far enough up the bank to prevent it being swept free by the current, only one conclusion was possible; a single Shawanoe or more had taken it away. It may be doubted whether Simon Kenton in all his life was more chagrined, for he had been surprised and outwitted with a cleverness that was the keenest possible blow to his pride. When he disposed of the single warrior that attempted precisely the same trick upon him, the pioneer accepted that as an end of the matter. He did not deem it possible that a second danger of that nature could threaten him. What added special poignancy to his humiliation was the belief, formed without any tangible grounds, that the Indian who had outwitted him was the Shawanoe from before whom the canoe had been withdrawn while he was indulging in his afternoon siesta. This impression which fastened itself upon him, constituted the "most unkindest cut of all." But, angered, exasperated, and mortified as he was, Simon Kenton was not the man to waste the minutes in idle lamentation. Since the first part of the former attempt to outwit him had succeeded, he felt there was no reason why the second part should triumph. He therefore started down the stream as rapidly as he could force his way in the darkness. There was no duplication, however, of the second part of the programme. Whoever the dusky thief was that had withdrawn the canoe from the possession of the unsuspicious ranger, he was too wise to commit the fatal mistake of his predecessor. Instead of loitering close in shore, he had taken to the clear water, or propelled the boat with a deft swiftness that placed him beyond all danger from the irate white man. So it was that the time quickly came when Kenton paused in his blind pursuit, convinced that the craft was irrecoverably gone. "I'll be hanged if that varmint ain't a sharp one!" he muttered, with a feeling akin to admiration at the performance. "It ain't the first time Sim Kenton has been outwitted by his people, but it's the first time he had it played on him in that style." It was a serious blow to the scheme which the pioneer had formed for the deliverance of his friends; for, as will be seen, it destroyed all chance of transporting the women and children to the Ohio shore in the canoe that had accompanied the flatboat a part of the way down the river. The roughness of the water under the high, steady wind might well cause the men to hesitate over the other plan that had been spoken of--that of swimming the stream and bearing the women and children with them. The project of constructing a raft upon which to float them over was open to the fatal objection that the watchful Shawanoes were absolutely certain to discover it, and discovery could mean but one thing--not only those on the raft, but the men who might be swimming in the water, would be so utterly at the mercy of their enemies in their canoes that it would be but play to pick off every man, woman, and child. Only one shadowy hope remained--the second canoe, which he hoped to find at the point where he had hidden it some weeks before, close to Rattlesnake Gulch. If that had remained undetected by the Indians, it could take the place of the one he had just lost. Pushing out in the gloom, Kenton, with one at least of the rangers to bear him company, need have little personal fear, even if discovered by the Shawanoes; for they could drive the boat as fast over the water as could the most skilful of pursuers, and the gloom or woods of the Ohio shore once reached, all danger to them would vanish. But dare lie hope that such an opportunity would be presented to him? It would seem, that with their dusky enemies everywhere, some of them were certain to stumble upon the boat, though if they did so, it would be accident rather than design. There was only one way, however, of settling the matter; that was to learn whether the boat was where it had been left or where he hoped to find it. Kenton pushed along the shore with a haste which at times approached recklessness; but, as he drew near Rattlesnake Gulch, he called into play his usual caution, even with the wind and darkness in his favor. With more anxiety than often troubled him, he groped his way to the spot where he had carefully hidden his canoe. His search, if quick, was thorough, and, alas! it told him the woeful truth that the second boat was as effectually beyond all possible reach as was the first one. _ |
||