Ellis Edward Sylvester
The Wilderness Fugitives

CHAPTER XXII.
ANOTHER FUGITIVE

At the end of five or ten minutes Ned Clinton, with his eyes fixed upon the broad, flat rock, was sure he saw the figure of a man behind it. It was only the top of his head, thrust a little above the edge of the stone, as if the stranger were seeking a view of the one who was watching him without his purpose being detected. The slouched hat and the eyes and forehead were in plain sight for a minute or two, when they sank down again and all was as before.

"If he is a friend," thought Ned, "he is very timid, or he has a queer way of showing his good will."

The distance between the two was too great for either to do anything in the way of shooting, but the youth was inclined to send a rifle shot in that direction, as a challenge for the strange craft to come out and show its colors.

He called down to Jo again, to watch for the approach of any foe, for he was compelled to give close attention to this particular stranger, and another might steal up beneath the very tree without the one in the branches detecting his danger. In this way nearly an hour passed without any change in the situation, and the fugitives began to look for the return of the Mohawk, he having promised not to stay away long.

"I wish he would come," said the watchman, to himself, "for it wouldn't take him a great while to find out what that fellow is driving at. I don't see that I have much chance of learning without his help."

If there was any opportunity for the stranger to withdraw, Ned would have suspected the man had done so, but he was satisfied it was impossible for him to elude him in that way, and consequently he must still be behind the rock. Clinton at last grew tired and called to Jo that he was about to fire his gun, to compel the stranger to let him know who he was and what he wanted. Before doing so, he scanned the wood in his immediate vicinity, fearing that some other questionable character had stolen near enough to take a shot at him.

He was relieved, however, when after the closest search he was unable to find any cause for fear. There seemed to be no grounds for further delay, and pointing his weapon at the spot where he had last seen the head, he took a quick aim and pulled the trigger. It was a strange coincidence that at this very instant the man was in the act of rising to view again, and the poorly aimed shot, even when the distance was so great, came near proving fatal to the stranger. The smoke was scarcely wafted from the muzzle of the rifle, when the man sprang up from behind the rock, and standing erect, called out in a voice that penetrated far beyond the point aimed at.

"What the mischief are you trying to do?"

"I was trying to make you show yourself," replied the amazed Ned Clinton, "and that seemed to be the only way to do it."

"Well, I can't admit that I fancy that style of saying how-de-do to a fellow. Why don't you sing out to him and ask him what he is after?"

As the individual asked this question in the same loud voice, he unhesitatingly stepped from behind his concealment and began walking toward the one that had used him as a target. Ned accepted this proceeding as a proffer of good will, and although he was not quite satisfied, yet he began descending the tree, so as to be on the ground to meet him. He had barely time to acquaint Jo and Rosa Minturn with what had occurred, when the stranger appeared at the base of the tree and seemed not a little surprised to meet another young man with his handsome sister.

The new-comer was a man apparently in middle life, with a yellow, shaggy beard, reaching nearly to his eyes, dressed in rather tattered garments, that had more of the look of the farmer than the military about them. His face, so far as it could be seen, was by no means a pleasing one; the eyes were of a gray color, but with a strange, restless glitter. His appearance would lead one to set him down as a vagabond settler – one who was so lazy that he spent the greater part of his time in hunting the woods for game, or searching the streams for fish.

He was sharply scrutinized as he came to view, while he, in turn, keenly surveyed the fugitives.

If he were a settler, as he appeared to be, there was not one of the three who remembered seeing him before. To Jo Minturn there came a faint impression that he had met him at some time, though he could not recall where or when it was. But the stranger quickly recovered from the temporary embarrassment he showed upon finding himself confronted by three, where he expected to see only one person.

"Well, now, I am glad to meet you," he said, in a hearty way that suggested the Mr. Perkins whom they had met when on the other side of the river. "I cotched sight of that young man climbing a tree, though I couldn't satisfy myself for a long time whether he was a friend or foe. I suppose you know me, don't you?"

Ned answered for the others:

"I have no recollection of having ever seen you before."

"Why, I remember you very well. You are Ned Clinton, and that young gentleman is Jo Minturn, with his sister Rosa."

"You are certainly right, as far as that goes, but you are none the less a stranger to us for all that!"

"My name is Worrell, and I am a settler, living about a mile up the river. I have often seen your father – both of them – at Forty Fort."

"That, I suppose, is where you have met us, also?"

"Yes, and at your homes near there. I do a great deal of hunting, and have sold Mr. Minturn and Mr. Clinton a good deal of game."

"How is it you didn't recognize me when you saw me in the tree?"

"I couldn't make sure, because I couldn't get a fair look at you."

"How is it, too, that you are abroad at this time, when the Indians and Tories are playing havoc in the valley?"

"That's just the reason," was the ready response of Worrell. "A party of them came so near my home that I had to dig out. That was day before yesterday, and I have been roaming about the woods ever since, not daring to go back home again."

"What did they do with your family?"

"I haven't got any family, so there was nothing done with them."

"What were you doing when you observed me?"

"I had just reached that rock and had sat down to rest myself, when I was scared by happening to look toward you and seeing you climbing the tree. I have been dodging the redskins and Tories all of two days, and have had pretty sharp work, I can tell you, and a good many narrow escapes. I had three scrimmages with redskins, and came so near losing my scalp in the last case that I have been mighty careful ever since as to how I went up to a stranger and shook hands with him till I was pretty sure he was a friend, which is why I waited so long with you."

"Well, you were cautious, indeed, but perhaps it was as well, for one can't be too careful at such a time as this."

"Then I take it you're dodging the same parties that I am?" said Worrell, taking a seat on the log, as if he meant to unite forces with the little party.

"Yes," replied Ned Clinton, willing to tell their new companion all their purposes, and glad of his company. "Yes, we set out for Wilkesbarre, but there are so many Indians in the path that we find the task a hard one."

"Are you alone?"

"Not exactly," was the answer. "We have an Indian scout with us."

"Who is he? Lena-Wingo, the Mohawk?"

"The same."

It may have been fancy on the part of Rosa but at that moment she saw an expression flit over the small part of the man's face that was visible, that she thought betokened disappointment at these words.

CHAPTER XXIII.
DOUBT AND PERPLEXITY

The fugitives felt like congratulating themselves upon the acquisition of so valuable a man as the patriot Worrell. A hunter like him, who had spent years in wandering through the woods, must be acquainted with all those places that were the most available as a means of concealment. There were many retreats which had proven of the greatest benefit to other fugitives, but they were those that had been seized upon in the frenzy of flight, when the thirsting pursuers were as eager as those whom they were hunting, and the slightest incident was frequently sufficient to turn aside the human bloodhounds. But something had now become necessary, for there was the danger of a carefully managed hunt by the Indians themselves, in which case the whites would need to take advantage of every expedient possible. What more likely, therefore, than that this man could give them the very assistance they needed in that respect?

The thought occurred to Ned Clinton and Jo Minturn at the same moment. Rosa remained seated when he came up, bowing politely to the stranger, but contenting herself with merely looking on and studying him as best she could. She was not much disturbed until she saw the expression of disappointment on the upper part of his face when he learned that Lena-Wingo, the Mohawk, had charge of the party and was expected soon to return. The opportunity of studying the character of the man from his face was limited on account of the shaggy, luxuriant beard; but woman has an intuitive perception, which avails her more than the reasoning power of man; and, although the maiden felt it was possible she was mistaken in what she saw there, the impression remained that he was one who ought to be regarded with distrust, if not suspicion. And yet she determined to say and do nothing that could interfere with any plans of her companions. She felt that she had already said much in that direction, and well convinced as she was that they were abundantly qualified to take care of themselves, it seemed to her the crisis was too grave for her to delay any movement by objections for which she could give no valid reason.

"You've had that Mohawk to help you ever since you left Forty Fort?" was the inquiring remark of Worrell, in answer to the information of Ned Clinton that the Indian was a member of the party.

"Yes; we couldn't have gotten along without him. There can be no doubt that we would have fallen into the hands of the Iroquois long ago but for his presence."

"Me and Red Jack – though I believe he likes his name of Lena-Wingo the best – have been on many a hunt together, and he beats anything I ever saw."

"There is no cause for his being otherwise, when he has spent so many years as a hunter and scout. The Iroquois would give a great deal to secure his scalp."

"You can just bet they would, and so would Colonel Butler, Captain Bagley or any of the Tories. You know that the fellow has done too much against the scamps to be forgiven. But where has he gone?"

"He is off taking a look through the neighborhood to see how the land lies, and what is the best thing for us to do."

"When do you expect him back?"

"We expect him from this time forward till he comes, but there is no telling when that will be. He is master of his own motions, and will return, I suppose, when he deems the hour is best for him to do so."

"I found that out long ago, but you don't know where he has gone?"

"No more than you. You seem interested."

"Well, Red Jack and me are old friends, and if I knowed where he was I might go out to hunt him up and give him a point or two about the lay of the land in these parts."

"I suppose you are acquainted with it all?"

"Well, I ain't the man to boast, and don't know that it is bragging to tell the truth. But if there is a spot I don't know all about in this neighborhood I'm ready to pay a good reward for a sight of the same."

"It seems to me you might be able to do us a good turn."

"I'll do anything in the world for you and the lady, if I have the chance. What have you in mind?"

"We feel that, as long as we occupy this position, we are in danger of being swooped down upon by the Iroquois – "

"You can bet on that! Didn't I tell you a minute ago how many narrer escapes I made while poking round in these woods? Why, it ain't an hour ago since I saw three Indians that must have been some of the painted Iroquois who are looking around for you!"

"Is that the case?" asked Jo Minturn, rising to his feet and walking closer to their visitor. "How far off were they?"

"Not more than a quarter of a mile at the most, and it took careful work on my part to keep out of their way."

The youths looked at each other with something like dismay, while Rosa became deeply interested.

"There can scarcely be a doubt that they were hunting for us," said Jo, in an undertone that was intended to escape his sister, but of which every word reached her ear. "It isn't a pleasant situation, with Lena-Wingo gone, and no one knowing when he will be back. He is the shrewdest fellow in the world, but no one is smart enough to save himself from mistake at all times. Who knows but that he has gone in just such a direction that he will escape seeing the very Indians from whom the visit is most likely to come?"

"I think that we had better get this fellow to take us to some good hiding-places where we can place Rosa – at least, till the Mohawk comes back. I don't believe he has any idea of trying to run into Wilkesbarre while it is day, but is getting up some plan for stealing in at night with her."

"It does look that way, which means our waiting in some place of hiding till the time shall come to make the attempt."

"And this isn't much of a hiding-place, when the minute I climbed a tree I was seen by Worrell, there."

"It makes Lena-Wingo angry," continued Jo, who felt a hesitation about running directly in the face of the well-known wishes of the dusky scout, "for us to disregard his instructions on a point like this; but I think if he understood the chance we have of helping him in this matter he would be glad for us to avail ourselves of it."

"Well, I can't see that there is any great risk run in allowing Worrell to conduct us to shelter. This will never be of any use to us, and I can't feel safe here one minute after what he has told us. I propose that we get him to find us other quarters."

"I'm favorable to the plan, because he is a good hunter, and while Lena-Wingo is operating in one direction, he may be of help in the way, also, of getting food for us."

And so it was that, look at the matter in whatever light they chose, it seemed a wise step for them to call in the services of the straggling patriot that had joined them in the rather curious manner already told. The only hesitation with the young men came from the consciousness that they were sure to violate either the expressed or understood command of the Mohawk. But they argued themselves into a justification of the step by the manifest advantages to be gained in taking it.

"Find out what Rosa thinks about it," finally suggested Ned, when the two had gone over all the arguments to each other.

Jo stepped over to where his sister was sitting and put the question to her.

"Whatever you think best," was her answer. "I don't feel, Jo, that I am competent to give advice."

"There can be no doubt that it is the best thing for us to do, but we hesitate because it will be a direct disregard of the wishes of Lena-Wingo himself."

"If the move is for the best, he will find no fault with you. But, Jo, are you sure that if you put yourself under charge of that man it will be for the best?"

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE NEW GUIDE

Minturn looked in the face of his sister a moment, as if he would read her very thoughts. Then he asked in a whisper that not even Ned Clinton overheard:

"Do you mistrust him, Rosa?"

She regretted her words, and answered:

"I ought not to have said it, Jo, but I didn't like his looks when he first joined us; have you ever seen him before?"

"I think I have, though I can't recall the place or occasion."

"Well, that makes a different matter of it; do as you think best."

Believing that his sister had come to his view of the case, Jo so stated to Ned, and there was no further hesitation. While this little conference was going on, Worrell remained seated, acting as if he had no concern in the matter. He busied himself in examining his rifle, and making sure it was in order. A minute or so before Jo was prepared to make a definite proposition to him, he rose to his feet, and assumed an attitude of intense attention, as though some faint signal had fallen on his ear. Then as the young scout turned to address him, he spoke first:

"Well, I guess I'll have to bid you good-morning."

"And why so?" asked Jo, in some surprise.

"To tell the truth, this is too dangerous a place to stay any longer. I hear sounds in the woods that lead me to think there are some of the redskins not very far off, and I prefer to dig out; maybe it'll be safer and better for you to wait till Lena-Wingo comes back, and he'll get you out better than I can."

"No one could do better than the Mohawk if he were only here, but the trouble is he isn't here just now, and we've come to the conclusion that it is not safe to wait for him. Where do you mean to go?"

"Oh, there's a little hiding-place up here a way, where I'll crawl into, for, when I'm in there, you may trot out all the redskins in the valley, and I'll go to sleep while they're hunting. I don't care if Lena-Wingo is among them. I ca'c'late to spend some time there till the Indians get a little scarcer."

"What will you do for food?"

"I've got that fixed," replied Worrell, in a voice and with a manner that implied there was nothing to fear on that score.

"Well, if you will allow us to go with you – "

"Allow you!" exclaimed the man, in a gushing mood. "Haven't I been wanting you to go with me ever since I stopped and found in what trouble you were? Why, come along, and I'll put you in a place where you can stay a month, if you want to, without a living soul finding out where you are."

"We'll do it, and be forever grateful for your kindness; but you say even Lena-Wingo will be unable to find out where we are hiding. We must let him know where we are when he returns and misses us."

"That can be fixed. When we see him looking for us, we can step out and let him know we are around, and he'll be there in a second, of course."

"All right, then; lead the way."

The man placed himself at the head of the party, Jo following, while Ned and Rosa brought up the rear. The first move of Worrell impressed the youths in his favor, for he headed toward the mountain close at hand, a course that would suggest itself to one who was hunting a hiding-place. It looked as if he understood his business, and knew where to take them to find what they wanted. There was no material change in the appearance of the forest through which they were making their way, except that it grew somewhat rougher and more difficult to traverse, though the company continued to journey without any hesitation in their rate of progress.

They pushed along for quite a distance in this manner, when their guide halted, as if he had again detected something that did not suit him. He stood with his head bent in the way they noticed before starting, but said nothing.

"What's up now?" asked Jo, who thought they might as well understand everything as they went along.

"It's queer," replied their companion, in a low voice, "but I've fancied once or twice that I heard signals in the woods just such as have caught my ear when I knew the redskins were looking for some of us. Night before last, I picked up a poor chap – Tom Haley, a settler living near me, and was on my way to another place to hide him, when we heard the same sort of sounds, and we stopped to listen to 'em, but we hadn't stood more than five minutes when they come down on us. The first notice we had was the banging of about a dozen rifles, and that was the last of poor Tom. I was lucky enough to get away, but I don't want to meet any more neighbors like that."

This was not cheerful or soothing information, and the three fugitives felt anything but comfortable.

"Haven't you heard the sounds?" asked Worrell, addressing the three.

None of them had noticed anything, and Rosa asked:

"What do they resemble?"

"Nothing so much as the faint call of the whip-o'-will, so low and soft that the ear can hardly catch it."

"It is strange that you should be the only one to notice it," she continued; "are you sure that you weren't mistaken?"

"It may be I was, but my experience with the Iroquois has made me very suspicious; but I do hope I was off the track, for it may prove a bad thing if I wasn't."

"Do you hear it now?"

"Hark! let us listen."

All stood motionless, and scarcely breathing. But nothing resembling the sounds described by their guide was noticed.

"It does look as if I was mistaken," said Worrell, brightening up. "I hope I was."

"It could be very well the other way," said Ned Clinton. "The Indians may have made a dozen calls to each other, but they were not likely to keep it up very long. A few signals would accomplish all they want."

Nothing was to be gained by argument over the question, in which all was conjecture, and they moved on once more. It was not five minutes before their guide paused again, but it was only for a moment, and he said nothing. He acted as if he fancied he caught something suspicious, but seeing the whites with the appearance of attention, concluded he was mistaken, so long as nothing of the kind fell upon their ears. By that time the afternoon was well advanced, and the day was somewhat warmer than before.

None of the fugitives had gained a moment's sleep during the preceding night, while the exhaustion and privation of the past few days were so severe that they experienced the need of rest and food. Ned and Jo felt that the man could not do them a greater favor and kindness than to lead them into some retreat where they could recuperate in this respect, – sleep being needed more than anything else. Jo turned about while they were walking cautiously forward, and whispered to Ned immediately behind:

"Watch the route we take."

Ned nodded his head to signify he understood him. At intervals they reached and crossed small spaces of natural clearings, where Rosa and the youths scanned all the country that could be brought under their field of vision. In no instance were these very extensive, and the view resulted in nothing tangible as regarded the movements of their enemies. Much of the ground which was passed was rough and covered with stones. Upon these they stepped so carefully that they left a trail which it would require the keenest eye of the Indian warrior to detect and follow.