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

“You say a wally will do all that fur me, Jim? Now, what under the sun is a wally?”

“I heard all about 'em from Paul,” replied Long Jim in a tone of intense satisfaction. “A wally is a man what does fur you what you ought to do fur yourself.”

“Then I want one,” said Shif'less Sol emphatically. “He'd jest suit a lazy man like me. An' ez fur your makin' me the King o' France, mebbe you're more'n half right about that without knowin' it. I hev all the instincts uv a king. I like to be waited on, I like to eat when I'm hungry, I like to drink when I'm thirsty, I like to rest when I'm tired, an' I like to sleep when I'm sleepy. You've heard o' children changed at birth by fairies an' sech like. Mebbe I'm the real King o' France, after all, an' my instincts are handed down to me from a thousand royal ancestors.”

“Mebbe it's so,” rejoined Long Jim. “I've heard that thar hev been a pow'ful lot uv foolish kings.”

With that he put his two blankets upon the floor, lay down upon them, and was sound asleep in five minutes. But Shif'less Sol beat him to slumberland by at least a minute, and the others were not more than two minutes behind Sol.

Henry was the first up the next morning. A strong voice shouted in his ear: “Henry Ware, by all that's glorious,” and a hand pressed his fingers together in an iron grasp. Henry beheld the tall, thin figure and smiling brown face of Adam Colfax, with whom he had made that adventurous journey up the Mississippi and Ohio.

“And the others?” was the first question of Adam Colfax.

“They're all here asleep inside. We've been through a lot of things, but we're as sound as ever.”

“That's always a safe prediction to make,” said Adam Colfax, smiling. “I never saw five other human beings with such a capacity for getting out of danger.”

“We were all at Wyoming, and we all still live.”

The face of the New Englander darkened.

“Wyoming!” he exclaimed. “I cannot hear of it without every vein growing hot within me.”

“We saw things done there,” said Henry gravely, “the telling of which few men can bear to hear.”

“I know! I know!” exclaimed Adam Colfax. “The news of it has spread everywhere!”

“What we want,” said Henry, “is revenge. It is a case in which we must strike back, and strike hard. If this thing goes on, not a white life will be safe on the whole border from the St. Lawrence to the Mississippi.”

“It is true,” said Adam Colfax, “and we would send an army now against the Iroquois and their allies, but, Henry, my lad, our fortunes are at their lowest there in the East, where the big armies are fighting. That is the reason why nobody has been sent to protect our rear guard, which has suffered so terribly. You may be sure, too, that the Iroquois will strike in this region again as often and as hard as they can. I make more than half a guess that you and your comrades are here because you know this.”

He looked shrewdly at the boy.

“Yes,” said Henry, “that is so. Somehow we were drawn into it, but being here we are glad to stay. Timmendiquas, the great chief who fought us so fiercely on the Ohio, is with the Iroquois, with a detachment of his Wyandots, and while he, as I know, frowns on the Wyoming massacre, he means to help Thayendanegea to the end.”

Adam Colfax looked graver than ever.

“That is bad,” he said. “Timmendiquas is a mighty warrior and leader, but there is also another way of looking at it. His presence here will relieve somewhat the pressure on Kentucky. I ought to tell you, Henry, that we got through safely with our supplies to the Continental army, and they could not possibly have been more welcome. They arrived just in time.”

The others came forth presently and were greeted with the same warmth by Adam Colfax.

“It is shore mighty good for the eyes to see you, Mr. Colfax,” said Shif'less Sol, “an' it's a good sign. Our people won when you were on the Mississippi an' the Ohio'—an' now that you're here, they're goin' to win again.”

“I think we are going to win here and everywhere,” said Adam Colfax, “but it is not because there is any omen in my presence. It is because our people will not give up, and because our quarrel is just.”

The stanch New Englander left on the following day for points farther east, planning and carrying out some new scheme to aid the patriot cause, and the five, on the day after that, received a message written on a piece of paper which was found fastened to a tree on the outskirts of the settlement. It was addressed to “Henry Ware and Those with Him,” and it read:

“You need not think because you escaped us at Wyoming and on the Susquehanna that you will ever get back to Kentucky. There is amighty league now on the whole border between the Indians and the soldiers of the king. You have seen at Wyoming what we can do, and you will see at other places and on a greater scale what we will do. “I find my own position perfect. It is true that Timmendiquas does not like me, but he is not king here. I am the friend of the great Brant; and Hiokatoo, Sangerachte, Hahiron, and the other chiefs esteem me. I am thick with Colonel John Butler, the victor of Wyoming; his son, the valiant and worthy Walter Butler; Sir John Johnson, Colonel Guy Johnson, Colonel Daniel Claus, and many other eminent men and brave soldiers. “I write these words, Henry Ware, both to you and your comrades, to tell you that our cause will prevail over yours. I do not doubt that when you read this you will try to escape to Kentucky, but when we have destroyed everything along the eastern border, as we have at Wyoming, we shall come to Kentucky, and not a rebel face will be left there. “I am sending this to tell you that there is no hole in which you can hide where we cannot reach you. With my respects, BRAXTON WYATT.”

Henry regarded the letter with contempt.

“A renegade catches something of the Indian nature,” he said, “and always likes to threaten and boast.”

But Shif'less Sol was highly indignant.

“Sometimes I think,” he said, “that the invention o' writin' wuz a mistake. You kin send a man a letter an' call him names an' talk mighty big when he's a hundred miles away, but when you've got to stan' up to him face to face an' say it, wa'al, you change your tune an' sing a pow'ful sight milder. You ain't gen'ally any roarin' lion then.”

“I think I'll keep this letter,” said Henry, “an' we five will give an answer to it later on.”

He tapped the muzzle of his rifle, and every one of the four gravely tapped the muzzle