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

Carpenter dropped the muzzle of the rifle. He had fought in the battle, too, and he recognized the great youth and his comrades who had been there with him.

“What do you want of us?” asked he.

“Nothing,” replied Henry, “except to help you.”

Carpenter looked at them with a kind of sad pathos.

“You don't belong here in Wyoming,” he said, “and there's nothing to make you stick to us. What are you meaning to do?”

“We will go with you wherever you intend to go,” replied Henry; “do fighting for you if you need it, and hunt game for you, which you are certain to need.”

The weather-beaten face of the farmer worked.

“I thought God had clean deserted us,” he said, “but I'm ready to take it back. I reckon that he has sent you five to help me with all these women and little ones.”

It occurred to Henry that perhaps God, indeed, had sent them for this very purpose, but he replied simply:

“You lead on, and we'll stay in the rear and on the sides to watch for the Indians. Draw into the woods, where we'll be hidden.”

Carpenter, obscure hero, shouldered his rifle again, and led on toward the woods. The long line of women and children followed. Some of the women carried in their arms children too small to walk. Yet they were more hopeful now when they saw that the five were friends. These lithe, active frontiersmen, so quick, so skillful, and so helpful, raised their courage. Yet it was a most doleful flight. Most of these women had been made widows the day before, some of them had been made widows and childless at the same time, and wondered why they should seek to live longer. But the very mental stupor of many of them was an aid. They ceased to cry out, and some even ceased to be afraid.

Henry, Shif'less Sol, and Tom dropped to the rear. Paul and Long Jim were on either flank, while Carpenter led slowly on toward the mountains.

“'Pears to me,” said Tom, “that the thing fur us to do is to hurry 'em up ez much ez possible.”

“So the Indians won't see 'em crossing the plain,” said Henry. “We couldn't defend them against a large force, and it would merely be a massacre. We must persuade them to walk faster.”

Shif'less Sol was invaluable in this crisis. He could talk forever in his-placid way, and, with his gentle encouragement, mild sarcasm, and anecdotes of great feminine walkers that he had known, he soon had them moving faster.

Henry and Tom dropped farther to the rear. They could see ahead of them the long dark line, coiling farther into the woods, but they could also see to right and left towers of smoke rising in the clear morning sunlight. These, they knew, came from burning houses, and they knew, also, that the valley would be ravaged from end to end and from side to side. After the surrender of the fort the Indians would divide into small bands, going everywhere, and nothing could escape them.

The sun rose higher, gilding the earth with glowing light, as if the black tragedy had never happened, but the frontiersmen recognized their greatest danger in this brilliant morning. Objects could be seen at a great distance, and they could be seen vividly.

Keen of sight and trained to know what it was they saw, Henry, Sol, and Tom searched the country with their eyes, on all sides. They caught a distant glimpse of the Susquehanna, a silver spot among some trees, and they saw the sunlight glancing off the opposite mountains, but for the present they saw nothing that seemed hostile.

They allowed the distance between them and the retreating file to grow until it was five or six hundred yards, and they might have let it grow farther, but Henry made a signal, and the three lay down in the grass.

“You see 'em, don't you!” the youth whispered to his comrade.

“Yes, down thar at the foot o' that hillock,” replied Shif'less Sol; “two o' em, an' Senecas, I take it.”

“They've seen that crowd of women and children,” said Henry.

It was obvious that the flying column was discovered. The two Indians stepped upon the hillock and gazed under their hands. It was too far away for the three to see their faces, but they knew the joy that would be shown there. The two could return with a few warriors and massacre them all.

“They must never get back to the other Indians with their news,” whispered Henry. “I hate to shoot men from ambush, but it's got to be done. Wait, they're coming a little closer.”

The two Senecas advanced about thirty yards, and stopped again.

“S'pose you fire at the one on the right, Henry,” said Tom, “an' me an' Sol will take the one to the left.”

“All right,” said Henry. “Fire!”

They wasted no time, but pulled trigger. The one at whom Henry had aimed fell, but the other, uttering a cry, made off, wounded, but evidently with plenty of strength left.

“We mustn't let him escape! We mustn't let him carry a warning!” cried Henry.

But Shif'less Sol and Tom Ross were already in pursuit, covering the ground with long strides, and reloading as they ran. Under ordinary circumstances no one of the three would have fired at a man running for his life, but here the necessity was vital. If he lived, carrying the tale that he had to tell, a hundred innocent ones might perish. Henry followed his comrades, reloading his own rifle, also, but he stayed behind. The Indian had a good lead, and he was gaining, as the others were compelled to check speed somewhat as they put the powder and bullets in their rifles. But Henry was near enough to Shif'less Sol and Silent Tom to hear them exchange a few words.

“How far away is that savage?” asked Shif'less Sol.

“Hundred and eighty yards,” said Tom Ross.

“Well, you take him in the head, and I'll take him in the body.”

Henry saw the two rifle barrels go up and two flashes of flame leap from the muzzles. The Indian fell forward and lay still. They went up to him, and found that he was shot through the head and also through the body.

“We may miss once, but we don't twice,” said Tom Ross.

The human mind can be influenced so powerfully by events that the three felt no compunction at all at the shooting of this fleeing Indian. It was but a trifle compared with what they had seen the day and night before.

“We'd better take the weapons an' ammunition o' both uv 'em,” said Sol. “They may be needed, an' some o' the women in that crowd kin shoot.”

They gathered