The Scouts of the Valley, Joseph A. Altsheler [read 50 shades of grey txt] 📗

the floor, and glittered when the light from the fire fell upon them. Smoke, heavy with the odor of burned gunpowder, drifted about the room.

Henry threw open the two shuttered windows, and fresh currents of air poured into the room. Over the mountains in the east came the first shaft of day. The surface of the river was lightening.

“What shall we do with them?” asked Paul, pointing to the silent forms on the floor.

“Leave them,” said Henry. “Butler's army is burning everything before it, and this house and all in it is bound to go. You notice, however, that Braxton Wyatt is not here.”

“Trust him to escape every time,” said Shif'less Sol. “Of course he stood back while the Indians rushed the house. But ez shore ez we live somebody will get him some day. People like that can't escape always.”

They slipped from the house, turning toward the river bank, and not long after it was full daylight they were at Forty Fort again, where they found Standish and his family. Henry replied briefly to the man's questions, but two hours later a scout came in and reported the grim sight that he had seen in the Standish home. No one could ask for further proof of the fealty of the five, who sought a little sleep, but before noon were off again.

They met more fugitives, and it was now too dangerous to go farther up the valley. But not willing to turn back, they ascended the mountains that hem it in, and from the loftiest point that they could find sought a sight of the enemy.

It was an absolutely brilliant day in summer. The blue of the heavens showed no break but the shifting bits of white cloud, and the hills and mountains rolled away, solid masses of rich, dark green. The river, a beautiful river at any time, seemed from this height a great current of quicksilver. Henry pointed to a place far up the stream where black dots appeared on its surface. These dots were moving, and they came on in four lines.

“Boys,” he said, “you know what those lines of black dots are?”

“Yes,” replied Shif'less Sol, “it's Butler's army of Indians, Tories, Canadians, an' English. They've come from Tioga Point on the river, an' our Colonel Butler kin expect 'em soon.”

The sunlight became dazzling, and showed the boats, despite the distance, with startling clearness. The five, watching from their peak, saw them turn in toward the land, where they poured forth a motley stream of red men and white, a stream that was quickly swallowed up in the forest.

“They are coming down through the woods on the fort, said Tom Ross.

“And they're coming fast,” said Henry. “It's for us to carry the warning.”

They sped back to the Wyoming fort, spreading the alarm as they passed, and once more they were in the council room with Colonel Zebulon Butler and his officers around him.

“So they are at hand, and you have seen them?” said the colonel.

“Yes,” replied Henry, the spokesman, “they came down from Tioga Point in boats, but have disembarked and are advancing through the woods. They will be here today.”

There was a little silence in the room. The older men understood the danger perhaps better than the younger, who were eager for battle.

“Why should we stay here and wait for them?” exclaimed one of the younger captains at length-some of these captains were mere boys. “Why not go out, meet them, and beat them?”

“They outnumber us about five to one,” said Henry. “Brant, if he is still with them, though he may have gone to some other place from Tioga Point, is a great captain. So is Timmendiquas, the Wyandot, and they say that the Tory leader is energetic and capable.”

“It is all true!” exclaimed Colonel Butler. “We must stay in the fort! We must not go out to meet them! We are not strong enough!”

A murmur of protest and indignation came from the younger officers.

“And leave the valley to be ravaged! Women and children to be scalped, while we stay behind log walls!” said one of them boldly.

The men in the Wyoming fort were not regular troops, merely militia, farmers gathered hastily for their own defense.

Colonel Butler flushed.

“We have induced as many as we could to seek refuge,” he said. “It hurts me as much as you to have the valley ravaged while we sit quiet here. But I know that we have no chance against so large a force, and if we fall what is to become of the hundreds whom we now protect?”

But the murmur of protest grew. All the younger men were indignant. They would not seek shelter for themselves while others were suffering. A young lieutenant saw from a window two fires spring up and burn like torch lights against the sky. They were houses blazing before the Indian brand.

“Look at that!” he cried, pointing with an accusing finger, “and we are here, under cover, doing nothing!”

A deep angry mutter went about the room, but Colonel Butler, although the flush remained on his face, still shook his head. He glanced at Tom Ross, the oldest of the five.

“You know about the Indian force,” he exclaimed. “What should we do?”

The face of Tom Ross was very grave, and he spoke slowly, as was his wont.

“It's a hard thing to set here,” he exclaimed, “but it will be harder to go out an' meet 'em on their own ground, an' them four or five to one.”

“We must not go out,” repeated the Colonel, glad of such backing.

The door was thrust open, and an officer entered.

“A rumor has just arrived, saying that the entire Davidson family has been killed and scalped,” he said.

A deep, angry cry went up. Colonel Butler and the few who stood with him were overborne. Such things as these could not be endured, and reluctantly the commander gave his consent. They would go out and fight. The fort and its enclosures were soon filled with the sounds of preparation, and the little army was formed rapidly.

“We will fight by your side, of course,” said Henry, “but we wish to serve on the flank as an independent band. We can be of more service in that manner.”

The colonel thanked them gratefully.

“Act as you think best,” he said.

The five stood near one of the gates, while the little force formed in ranks. Almost for the first time they were gloomy upon going into battle. They had seen the strength of that army of Indians, renegades, Tories, Canadians, and English advancing under the banner of England, and they knew the power and fanaticism of the Indian leaders. They believed that the terrible Queen Esther, tomahawk in hand, had continually chanted to them her songs of blood as they came down the river. It was now