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SETH JONES.

BEADLE AND COMPANY.

NEW YORK: 118 WILLIAM ST.LONDON: 44 PATERNOSTER ROW.

A. Winch, Philadelphia

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Glorious “Old Kentuck!”

Beadle’s Dime Novels, No. 60

TO ISSUE THURSDAY, OCT. 1st,

Will embody one of the most gratifying Novels of the year, viz.:—

JO DAVIESS’ CLIENT;
OR,
‘COURTING’ IN KENTUCKY.

BY MRS. M. V. VICTOR.

Author of “GOLD HUNTERS,” “MAUM GUINEA,” etc.

In this fine story we have reproduced, to the life, the Kentucky of the year 1800. It is one of the most exciting and absorbing of stories, embracing such characters and incidents as only Kentucky can produce. Jo Daviess was one of the most remarkable men of that remarkable period. He plays in the novel such a part as only Jo Daviess could play in and out of court. The great charm of Mrs. Victor’s works is heightened by the fact that her characters are historically true. In reading her novels we have, besides the story, real expositions of men and veritable events. This her last, is, also, one of her best. It will not fail to command a wide sale.

BEADLE AND COMPANY, Publishers, 118 William St., N. Y.
SINCLAIR TOUSEY, General Agent, N. Y.

Entered according to Act of Congress, In the Year 1863, by Beadle and Company, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

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SETH JONES;
OR, THE
CAPTIVES OF THE FRONTIER

BY EDWARD S. ELLIS.

BEADLE AND COMPANY,
NEW YORK: 118 WILLIAM STREET.
LONDON: 44 PATERNOSTER ROW.

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Entered according to Act of Congress, In the Year 1860, by

IRWIN P. BEADLE & CO.,

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York.

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SETH JONES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE;
OR, THE
CAPTIVES OF THE FRONTIER.

CHAPTER I.
THE STRANGER.

The clear ring of an ax was echoing through the arches of a forest, three-quarters of a century ago; and an athletic man was swinging the instrument, burying its glittering blade deep in the heart of the mighty kings of the wood.

Alfred Haverland was an American, who, a number of years before, had emigrated from the more settled provinces in the East, to this then remote spot in western New York. Here, in the wilderness, he had reared a humble home, and, with his loving partner, and a sister, laid the foundation for a settlement. True, this “settlement” was still small, consisting only of the persons mentioned, and a beautiful blue-eyed maiden, their daughter; but Haverland saw that the tide of emigration was rolling rapidly and surely to the west, and, ere many years, the villages and cities would take the place of the wild forest, while the Indians would be driven farther on toward the setting sun.

The woodman was a splendid specimen of “nature’s noblemen.” His heavy coat lay upon a log a short distance away, and his swelling, ponderous chest was covered only by a close-fitting under garment, with the collar thrown open, showing the glowing neck and heaving breast. Substantial pants met the strong moccasins which encased his feet. A small raccoon-skin cap rested upon the back of his head, exposing his forehead, while his black hair swept around his shoulders. His features were regular and strongly marked. The brow was rather heavy, the nose of the Roman cast, and the eyes of a glittering blackness. So he stood with one foot thrust forward; his muscles, moving and ridging as they were called in to play, betrayed their formidable strength.

Still the flashing ax sank deeper and deeper into the oak’s red heart, until it had gone clean through and met the breach upon the opposite side. Then the grand old forest king began to totter. Haverland stepped back and ran his eye to the top, as he noticed it yielding. Slowly it leaned, increasing each second, until it rushed seemingly forward, and came down to the earth with a thundering crash and rebound. He stood a moment, his hot breath issuing like steam from his chest, and then moved forward toward its branches. At that instant his trained ear detected a suspicious sound, and dropping his ax, he caught up his rifle and stood on the defensive.

“How de do? how de do? ain’t frightened I hope; it’s nobody but me, Seth Jones, from New Hampshire,” said the new-comer in a peculiar accent. As the woodman looked up he saw a curious specimen of the genus homo before him. He is what is termed a Yankee, being from New Hampshire; but he was such a person as is rarely met with, and yet which is too often described now-a-days. He possessed a long, thin Roman nose, a small twinkling gray eye, with a lithe muscular frame, and long dangling limbs. His feet were encased in well-fitting shoes, while the rest of his dress was such as was in vogue on the frontiers at the time of which we write. His voice was in that peculiar, uncertain state, which is sometimes seen when it is said to be “changing.” When excited, it made sounds singular and unimaginable.

The woodman, with characteristic penetration, read the man before him at a glance. Changing his rifle to his left hand, he extended the other.

“Certainly not, my friend; but then, you know, these are times, in which it behooves us all to use caution and prudence; and where one is placed in such a remote section as this it would be criminal to be careless, when more than one life is dependent upon me for support and protection.”

“Very true, very true, you’re right there, Mr. —— ah! I declare, I don’t know your name.”

“Haverland.”

“You’re right, as I said, Mr. Have-your-land, or Haverland as the case may be. I tell you these are dubious times—no disputin’ that, and I am considerably s’prised when I heard the ring of an ax down in these parts.”

“And I was equally surprised to meet your visage when I looked up. Jones, I believe you said was your name.”

“Exactly:—Seth Jones, from New Hampshire. The Jones’ are a numerous family up there—rather too many of them for comfort,—so I migrated. Mought be acquainted perhaps?”

“No; I have no acquaintances, to my knowledge, in that section.”

“Haven’t, eh? Thought the Jones’ were pretty generally known through the country. Some remarkable geniuses have sprung from the family? But what under the sun keeps you out in this heathen country? What brought you here?”

“Enterprise, sir; I was tired of the civilized portion of our country, and, when such glorious fields were offered to the emigrant, as are here spread before him, I considered it a duty to avail myself of them, and I have done so. And now, sir, be equally frank with me, and let me know what induced you to visit this perilous region when you had no reason to suppose that a settlement had yet been commenced by the whites. You look to me as if you were an Indian hunter or scout.”

“Wal, perhaps I am. At any rate I have been. I was scout among the Green Mountain Boys, under Colonel Allen, and staid with them till the Revolution was finished. After that, I went down on the farm and worked a while with the old man. Something occurred in our neighborhood that led me to think, it was best for me to leave, I won’t say what it was, but I will say it was no crime I committed. I stopped at the settlement down the river a few days, and then come to the conclusion to take a tramp in these parts.”

“I am very glad you have come, for it isn’t often you get sight of a white face. I hope you will take the welcome of a backwoodsman, and make your home with us as long a time as you can—remembering that the longer you stay, the more welcome you will be.”

“I shall probably stay till you git tired of me, at any rate,” laughed the eccentric Seth Jones.

“As you are from the East, probably you can give information of the state of feeling among the Indians between that section and us. From your remarks, I should infer, however, that nothing very serious threatens.”

“Don’t know ’bout that,” replied Seth, shaking his head and looking to the ground.

“Why so, my friend?”

“I tell you what, you, I heerd orful stories ’long the way. They say since this war, the darned red-coats have kept the Injins at work. Leastways it’s pretty sartin they are at work, anyhow.”

“Are you sure?” asked the woodman, betraying an anxiety in his speech.

“Purty sure. There’s a little settlement down here some miles, (I have forgot the name,) sot on by the imps, and burned all up.”

“Is it possible? Reports have reached me during the past three or four months, of the deadly hostility existing between the whites and reds, but I was glad to doubt it. Although, I sometimes felt it was wrong.”

“’Twas so; and if you vally that ar wife of your bussum, and your little cherubims, (as I allow you’ve got,) you’d better be makin’ tracks for safer quarters. Why, how have you stood it so long?”

“My conduct toward the Indians has ever been characterized by honesty and good will upon my part, and they have ever evinced a friendly feeling toward me, and my helpless ones. I place great reliance upon this state of feeling, in fact, my only reliance.

“Just so; but I tell you, it won’t do to trust an Ingin. They’re obstropertous. Go to put your finger on them, and they ain’t thar. Jest so, by gracious.”

“I fear there is too much truth in your suspicions,” replied Haverland, in a saddened tone.

“I’m glad I’ve tumbled onto you, coz I begin to git skeerish, and I like to do a feller a good turn, and I’ll stick to you, bein’ I’ve found you.”

“Thank you, friend, and let us now proceed homeward. I intended to spend the day in work, but your words have taken away all desire.”

“Sorry to do it; but it’s best, ain’t it?”

“Certainly, it would have been wrong, had you not warned me of impending danger. Let us go home.”

So saying, Alfred drew on his coat, slung his rifle and ax over his shoulder, and struck into a path in the forest, which he himself had used, and with a thoughtful tread, made his way homeward. Close behind him, followed his new-made friend.

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CHAPTER II.
THE DARK CLOUD.

During the walk homeward, Haverland spoke but few words, although his loquacious friend kept up a continual, unremitting stream of talk. The woodman’s heart was too heavy to join him in his humorous, pointless words. Although dark and fearful suspicions had flitted before him, he had closed his eyes upon them, until he could no longer shun them, they appeared at every turn, and now resumed a terrible certainty.

Although at the time of which we refer, the Revolutionary struggle of the colonies had closed, and their freedom was placed upon a firm basis, yet universal peace by no means reigned. Dark, sanguinary, and bloody tragedies were constantly enacted upon the frontiers for a generation afterward. The mother country, failing in her work of subjugation, continued to incite the Indians to revolting barbarities upon the unoffending inhabitants. They found them too-willing instruments, and, instigated by them, a protracted war was long maintained; and, when the moving cause was removed, the savages still continued the unequal conflict. As every one acquainted with our history must know, the war on the frontiers has been an almost interminable one. As the tide of emigration has rolled westward, it has ever met that fiery counter-surge, and only overcome it, by incessant battling and effort. And even now, as the distant shores of the Pacific are well nigh reached, that resisting wave still gives forth its lurid flashes of conflict.

In a pleasant valley, stood the humble home of Alfred Haverland. His own vigorous arm had cleared off a space on all sides, so that his residence stood at some distance from the forest, which rolled away for miles. In the clearing still remained the stumps of the fallen trees, and in some places the rich, virgin soil had been broken, and was giving signs of the exhaustless wealth it retained in its bosom, waiting only for the hand of man to bring it forth.

The house itself, was such as are generally found in new settlements. A number of heavy logs, placed compactly together, with an opening for a door, and one for a window, were all that could attract attention from the outside. Within, were two apartments, the lower and upper. The former was used for all purposes except that of sleeping, which, of course, was done in the upper. In building it, Haverland had made little preparations for defence, as he fondly hoped it would never be needed for such, and it seemed to him that the idea of danger would ever be before him, should he construct it thus. And, besides, should he use his utmost skill in the purpose mentioned, he knew it would avail him little. He had no means of withstanding a protracted siege, and a handful of assailants could bring him to any terms.

As he stepped forth into the clearing, Ina, his daughter, caught sight of him, and bounded out the cabin to meet him.

“Oh, father! I am glad you have come back so soon, but dinner isn’t ready. Did you think it was? I was just telling mother——”

She paused suddenly, as she caught sight of a stranger, and with her hand on her mouth, stood, fearing to approach, and afraid to yield to the impulse of turning, and running into the house again.

“No, I didn’t think dinner-time had come, but as I had a friend to visit me, I thought I could entertain him at home better than in the woods. But where is your kiss, dear?”

The father stooped, and touched his lips to the ruby ones of his blooming child, and taking her hand, moved forward toward the cabin.

“Whew! if that ain’t a purty flower, then kick me!” exclaimed Seth Jones, in admiration. “Was she originated in these parts? Darter, I s’pose? Perhaps not, though?”

“Yes, she is my daughter, although she was not born in these parts.”

“Dew tell. Darned if she ain’t a beauty, and that makes what I said——”

The father motioned to him that the theme was forbidden, and they walked silently toward the house.

It was no wonder that Ina Haverland drew forth such encomiums from Seth Jones. She was, indeed, a beautiful creature. She had seen some fifteen or sixteen summers, several of which had been spent in the wilderness, which was now her home. She was rather small in stature, but graceful as a gazelle, free from the restraints which the conventionalities of life impose upon those of her age. She had dark hair, gathered in a roll behind, fine expressive blue eyes, a perfect Grecian nose, thin lips, and full chin, rendering the profile perfectly straight from the forehead downward. Her face was oval, and her complexion almost too light for a full enjoyment of health. Her dress was a semi-civilized one, consisting of a short skirt, with leggins beautifully wrought, and a loose sack, similar to the ones worn at the present day. Her small feet were encased in tiny mocassins, elaborately wrought with beads and Indian ornaments, and a string of wampum hung around the neck.

She led the way toward the house, and the three entered.

Haverland introduced his friend to his sister and wife, as a man who had chanced down in this direction, and who would probably tarry a few days. But the quick eye of his wife caught the thoughtful expression upon her husband’s face, and she felt there was something yet unrevealed—something deeper and more important, that was to be disclosed. She, however, forbore questioning or hinting, knowing that he would communicate what was necessary, when he deemed the proper time had come.

A common-place conversation was maintained until the meal was prepared by the busy housewife, when they all gathered around the board. An earnest blessing was invoked upon the humble food, and it was partaken of in silence.

“Wife,” said Haverland tenderly, “I will depart awhile with this friend here, and you and Mary may busy yourselves as you think best till I return. Probably I will not be back until toward night. Take no anxiety upon my account.”

“I will endeavor not to, but, dear husband, go not far from home, for strange fears have come over me since morning.”

Even the usually staid and calm face of Mary, betrayed an unusual expression of anxiety.

“Fear not, wife, I will not go far.”

Haverland now stepped outside, where he saw Seth, all agape, gazing at Ina, as she passed to and fro in the house.

“By gracious, you, I’m goin’ to fall in love with that gal. No ’bjections, hope?”

“No,” answered Haverland, with a faint smile, “her heart is unfettered, and I hope it will remain so for a long time.”

“Oh! I don’t mean to love her as you dew yer old woman—yer wife. I mean jest as I would my darter, yer know. She’s too small to think about lovyers yit. Don’t you let sich a thing git inter her head for five years or more.”

“I’ll try not to; but let us take a walk. I have something to say, which I would that they should not know for the present.”

“All right—but jest hold on a minute.”

At this juncture, Ina appeared with a small vessel, as if she intended bringing some water from some spring nigh at hand.

“Hold on a minute, gal, my beauty,” said Seth, stepping forward, and reaching for the pail. “That’s too big a load for you to carry.”

“No, I have done it often, thank you, but it is no work for me.”

“But jest let me fetch it this time, if only to show my good will, and my activity.”

Ina laughingly yielded the vessel, and watched him as he took long, awkward strides toward the point where the path led into the forest.

“How far is it off?” he asked, turning round, as he reached the point mentioned.

“A short distance,” answered Haverland, “the path leads to it.”

Seth made some unintelligible answer, as he jerked his head back and disappeared.

This simple occurrence that we have just narrated, although trivial in itself, was one of the circumstances which often controls important acts, and which seem to show that an all-wise Ruler, orders them to suit His purpose, and to bring about good in the end. Seth Jones had no object other than a little amusement in his course, yet before he returned, he saw how fortunate it was.

He strode rapidly forward, and after passing a short distance, reached the spring. As he stooped, he was sure he heard a movement in the bushes beyond; and, as he was about to dip the vessel, he saw in the smooth face of the water, a movement in the shrubbery. He had too much cunning and prudence to affect knowledge of it, and he filled the vessel without betraying any signs of suspicion. As he rose to the upright position, he gave an apparently careless sweep of his vision, and not twenty feet distant he saw the crouching forms of two Indians! As he turned his back, there was a peculiar, uncomfortable feeling, as he knew that it was the easiest matter in the world to receive one or two cold bullets. He, however, quickened his step not in the least, and manifested no uneasiness, as he came to view in the clearing; and laughingly handed the water to Ina.

“Come, let us go,” said Haverland, moving toward the spring.

“Not that ar way, by a long shot!” said Seth, with a meaning shake of his head.

“Why not?”

“I’ll tell you purty soon.”

“Let us to the river, then?”

“That’ll do, ’specially as it ain’t fur from your house!”

Haverland looked searchingly at him, and he saw there was a deep meaning behind these words, yet he said nothing, and led the way toward the river.

This stream was but a few hundred yards from the house, and flowed in a northerly and southerly direction. It was very smooth at this point, and not very wide, yet a mile or so farther down, it debouched into a large, broad, and deep river. The banks were lined, most of the distance, by close, impenetrable shrubbery, overreached by lofty trees, which were the edges of the almost interminable wilderness that then covered this part of the State, and of which great portions remain unto the present day.

Haverland moved to a spot where he had often stood and conversed with his wife, when they first entered the place. Resting his rifle upon the earth, and folding his arms over the muzzle, he turned around and looked Seth full in the face.

“What did you mean, by telling me not to go far from the house?”

“Jest hole on a bit,” replied Seth, bending his ear as if to listen. Haverland watched him earnestly, and he also heard something unusual—as if some one were rowing a canoe in the water. His companion then stepped down to the water’s edge, and signalized for him to approach. Haverland did so, and looked down the river. Some hundred yards off he saw a canoe rapidly moving down stream, impelled by the oars of three Indians!

“That is what I meant,” said he in a whisper, stepping back.

“Did you see them?” asked Haverland.

“I reckon I did. They were at the spring, watching for your gal to come, so that they mought run off with her.”

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CHAPTER III.
THE DARK CLOUD BURSTS.

“Are you certain?” asked Haverland, with a painful eagerness.

“As sure as I live!”

“How? when? where did you see them? Pray, answer quick, for I feel that the lives of precious ones stand in peril.”

“The facts are few—they are. When I went down to the spring, I seed them pesky varmints thar, and I knowed they war waitin’ for your little booty, ’cause if they wa’n’t, they’d have walloped me thunderin’ soon. I seed ’em sneaking ’round, and purtended as though I didn’t ’spicion nothin’. They’ve found I’s about, and have gone down for more help. They’ll be back here to-night with a whole pack. Fact, by gracious!”

“You speak truly; and, as matters stand thus, it is time for action.”

“Exactly so; and what is it you propose to dew?”

“As you have afforded me such signal aid thus far, I must again ask you for advice.”

“Pshaw! don’t you know what to dew, man?”

“I have a plan, but I would hear yours first.”

“Wal, I can give it purty soon. You know well enough you’re in tight quarters, and the best thing you can do is to git away from here a leetle quicker nor no time. You know the settlements ain’t more nor twenty miles off, and you’d better pack up and be off, and lose no time, neither.”

“That was my plan, exactly. But hold! we must go by water, and will it not be best to wait and go by night, when we will have the darkness to protect us? We have just learned that the river contains enough enemies to frustrate our designs should they be known. Yes, we must wait till night.”

“You’re right there; and, as there is no moon, we’ll have a good chance, especially as we have to go down stream instead of up. I tell yeou, the war is going on. When I left home, I had an idee things would be fixed so as to stop these infarnal redskins from committin’ on their depredations, although they looked mighty squally; but ’tain’t no use, and it won’t do to trust these critters.”

Shortly after, Haverland turned and entered the house, followed by Seth. He called his wife and sister in, and explained, in a few words, the circumstances. It was but a realization of the fears entertained, and no time was lost in useless laments. Preparations were immediately made for the removal. The woodman owned a large boat, somewhat similar to the flat-boats seen at this day upon the western waters. This was hauled in beneath the shrubbery which overhung the bank, and into this their things were placed. During the removal Seth remained along the river-bank, keeping watch of the stream, lest their enemies might return unawares.

The removal occupied most of the afternoon, and it was not until the shadows were lengthening across the river, that the last article was placed on board. This completed, all seated themselves in the boat, and waited for the rapidly approaching darkness, to glide out into the stream.

“It is hard,” said Haverland, somewhat moodily, “to leave one’s home after all the difficulty in rearing it is finished.”

“Fact, by gracious!” added Seth, whom Mary eyed very closely, as if not satisfied with the fellow’s ways and looks.

“But it is best, dear husband. Let us hope, now, that the war is ended, and that, as we have passed through as great dangers as those that now threaten us, the time is not far distant when we may return to this spot with safety.”

“We can but die once,” said Mary, abstractedly, “and I am ready for any fate.”

Seth studied her face with a quick, keen glance, then smiled, and said: “Oh, you look a here, now. I am captain here, by your leave, my dears, and I ain’t goin’ to allow any sick stomachs in this here crew.” His sunny face seemed greatly to encourage the little band.

“I wouldn’t fear to remain here now,” said Ina, bravely; “I am sure we soon may return. I feel it.”

Haverland kissed his child, but made no further reply, and all relapsed into a stillness, and ceased further conversation. There was something in the gathering gloom around, something in the peculiar situation in which they were placed, that imparted a despondency to all. The boat was still fastened to the shore, and the time for loosening it was close at hand. Mrs. Haverland had passed within the rude cabin, the door of which remained open, while Seth and the husband remained in the stern. Ina sat near at hand, and had fallen into the same silence that rested upon the others.

“Doesn’t it look dark and awful back there?” she asked, in a whisper, of Seth, pointing toward the shore.

“It does somewhat, I think.”

“And yet I wouldn’t be afraid to go back to the house.”

“You’d better stay in the boat, young ’un.”

“You think I am afraid, do you?” she said, bounding out the boat to the shore.

“Ina! Ina! what do you mean?” asked the father, sternly.

“Oh, nothing; only I want to take a little run to ease my limbs.”

“Come back here instantly!”

“Yes—oh, father! quick! quick! come take me!”

“Seize the oar and shove out!” commanded Seth, springing into the water, and shoving the boat off.

“But, for God’s sake, my child!”

“You can’t help her—the Injins have got her. I see ’em; drop quick, they’re goin’ to fire! Look out!”

At that instant there was the sharp crack of several rifles from the shore, and several tongues of fire flamed from the darkness, and the wild yell of a number of Indians pealed out in horrid strength.

Had it not been for Seth all would have been lost. He comprehended every thing in an instant, and saved the others.

“Oh, father! mother! The Indians have got me!” came in agonized accents from the shore.

“Merciful God! must I see my child perish without heeding her cry?” groaned Haverland, in spirit.

“No, they won’t hurt her, and we must take care of ourselves while we can. Don’t stand up, for they can see you.”

“Father, will you leave me?” came again in heart-rending tones.

“Don’t be scart, young ’un,” called out Seth; “keep up a good heart. I’ll git you agin ef you behave yourself. I will, as sure as I am Seth Jones. Just keep up pluck, little one.” The last words were shouted loudly, for the boat was fast gliding into the stream.

The mother had heard all, and said nothing. She comprehended it, and with a groan sank back upon a seat. Mary’s eyes flashed like a tigress at bay; and she did not cease to cast looks of indignation at Seth, for leaving the child to her horrid fate so coolly. But she said nothing—was as quiet and pale as a statue. Seth eyed her like a lynx; his eyeballs seemed like fire. But he was as cool as if at his ease perfectly; and he quickly made all feel that he was born for such appalling emergencies.

They were now within the center of the stream, and moving quite rapidly. The darkness was so great that the shores were now vailed from sight. And with hearts in as deep a gloom the fugitives floated downward.

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CHAPTER IV.
THE LOST HOME AND A FOUND FRIEND.

It was on the morning of the day which we have just seen close. As will be remembered the air was clear and the day one of the most beautiful and pleasant of the year. The air was perfectly still, and had that peculiar, bracing sharpness, which is only felt when it is in a perfect state of rest. It was such a morning as would make every healthy person feel that to merely live was pleasure.

That part of the State of New York in which the first scenes of this life drama are laid, was a country at this time cut up and diversified by numerous streams—the greater number of comparatively small size, but a few of considerable magnitude. Skirting and between these were thousands of acres of thick luxuriant forest, while in some places were plains of great extent entirely devoid of timber.

It was about the middle of the day referred to, that a single horseman was slowly skirting one of these open patches of country, a few miles distant from Haverland’s home. A mere glance would have shown that he had come a great distance, and both he and the animal he bestrode were jaded and well-nigh worn out. He was a young man, some twenty or twenty-five years of age, attired in the costume of a hunter; and, although fatigued with his long ride, the watchfulness of his motions would have shown any one that he was no stranger to frontier life. He was rather prepossessing in appearance—had fine dark eyes, curly hair and whiskers, an expressive Roman nose, and small and finely formed mouth. In front, a long polished rifle rested across the saddle ready for use at a second’s warning. His horse’s sides were steaming and foamy, and the animal made his way along with painfully evident weariness.

As the day waned, the traveler looked about him with more interest and eagerness. He carefully examined the streams he crossed, and the pieces of woods, as though searching for some landmark or habitation. At length he manifested a pleasure in what he saw, as though the signs were as he wished, and hurried the lagging steps of his animal.

“Yes,” said he to himself, “the woodman’s house can not be far from this. I remember this stream, and that wood yonder. I shall then be able to reach it by night. Come, my good horse, go ahead with better spirits, for you are near your journey’s end.”

A short time after, he crossed a small stream that dashed and foamed over its rocky bed, and entered the broad tract which led to the clearing in front of Haverland’s door. But although he had a tolerably correct idea of his situation, he had sadly miscalculated the distance. It was already dusk when he struck the stream several miles above where we have seen the fugitives take it. This river, or creek, he knew led directly by the cabin he was seeking, and he determined to keep it until he had reached his destination. His progress was now quite tardy, from being often obliged to pass around the thick undergrowth which lined the river; and, when he reached a point that he knew was a mile distant from Haverland’s cabin, it was far in the night.

“Come, my good horse, we have had a longer tramp than I expected, but we are now very near the termination of our journey. Heigh! what does that mean?”

The last exclamation, or question, was caused by seeing directly ahead of him, a bright lurid glare shot high into the heavens.

“Can it be that the woodman’s house is fired? Impossible! and yet that is the precise spot. Heavens! something is wrong!”

Agitated by strong and painful emotions, Everard Graham (such was his name) now hurried his horse toward the spot from which the light emanated. In a short time he had proceeded as far as he dared with his horse, then dismounting, he tied him, and made his way cautiously forward on foot. The light was so strong that he found it necessary to pick his way with the greatest care.

A few moments sufficed to show him all.

He saw the house of Haverland, the one in which he expected to pass the night, but one mass of flame. And around it were a score of dark forms, leaping and dancing, and appearing in the ghastly light, like fiends in a ghostly revel.

Graham stood a moment spell-bound with horror and amazement. He expected to see the reeking bodies of Haverland and his family, or hear their groans of agony; but, as he continued gazing, he became convinced that they were either slain or had escaped, as there were no signs of their presence. He could not think they had escaped, and was compelled to believe they had been tomahawked, and perished in the flames.

It was a ghastly and almost unearthly sight—the small cabin, crackling and roaring in one mass of living flame, throwing strange shadows across the clearing, and lighting up the edges of the forest with a brightness almost as great as the sun at noonday—the score of dusky beings, leaping and shouting in wild exultation, and the vast wilderness, shutting down like an ocean of darkness around.

Gradually the flames lessened, and the woods seemed to retreat into the gloom; the shouts of the savages ceased, and they too, disappeared; and the building, which hitherto was a mass of crackling fire, was now a heap of slumbering coals and embers, which glowed with a hot redness in the darkness.

---

An hour or two afterward, a shadowy form could have been seen gliding stealthily and silently around the glowing ruins. He appeared like a specter as seen by the reflected light of the slumbering coals, or might have been taken for the shadow of some ruin of the building. At intervals, he paused and listened, as though he half expected to hear the footfall of some one, and then again continued his ghostly march around the ruins. Several times he stopped and peered into the embers, as though he supposed the whitened bones of some human being would greet his vision, and then he recoiled and stood as if in deep and painful thought. It was Everard Graham, searching for the remains of Haverland and his family.

“I see nothing,” he said musingly, “and it may be that they have escaped, or perhaps their bodies are now cooking in that heap of coals, and yet something tells me that they are not. And if it is not thus, what can have become of them? How could they have eluded the malignant vengeance of their savage foes? Who could have warned them? Ah, me! in spite of the unaccountable hope which I feel, my own sense tells me, that there are no grounds for it. Sad is the fate of the unprotected at this time.”

“Fact, by gracious!”

Graham started as though he had been shot, and gazed around. A few yards off he could just discover the outlines of a man, standing as if he were contemplating himself.

“And who are you?” he asked, “that appears upon this spot at such a time?”

“I am Seth Jones, from New Hampshire. Who mought be you that happens down in these parts at this pertickler time?”

“Who am I? I am Everard Graham, a friend of the man whose house is in ruins, and who, I fear, has been slaughtered with his family.”

“Exactly so; but don’t speak so loud. There mought be others about, you know. Jist let’s step back here where ’taint likely we’ll be obsarved.”

The speaker retreated into the darkness, while Graham followed him. At first he had had some slight misgivings, but the tones and voice of the stranger reassured him, and he followed him without distrust or hesitation.

“You say you’re a friend of Haverland’s, eh?” asked Seth in a whisper.

“I am, sir; I was acquainted with him before he moved out in these parts. He was an intimate friend of my father’s, and I promised to pay him a visit as soon as I could possibly do so, and I am here for that purpose.”

“Jest so, but you took a rayther ticklish time for it, I reckon.”

“So it seems; but, if I wished to wait till it would be perfectly safe, I am afraid my visit would never be made.”

“Fact, by gracious!”

“But allow me to ask whether you know any thing of the family?”

“I reckon that, perhaps, it mought be possible I do, seeing as how I’ve been around these times.”

“Are they slain, or captives?”

“Neyther.”

“Is it possible they have escaped?”

“Jest so, I helped ’em off myself.”

“Thank heaven! Where are they?”

“Down the river at one of the settlements.”

“How far distant is it?”

“A dozen miles, p’raps, though it mought be more, and then agin it mightn’t.”

“Well, let us then hasten to them, or, let me at least, as I have nothing to detain me here.”

“I’m willing,” said Seth, moving forward, “but I forgot to tell you the darter’s ’mong the Indians, I didn’t think of that.”

Graham started, for, perhaps, the shrewd reader has already suspected he had more than a passing interest in the fate of Ina. Visions of a fair childish face had haunted him, and his perilous journey was owing much to their enchantment. He had played with her in childhood, and while they were yet children, they had separated; but they had pledged their hearts to each other, and looked hopefully forward to a reunion in later years. Graham had dreamed of this meeting a long time; and, now that it was so cruelly thwarted, he felt agonized indeed. Years before, when still a boy, although quite a large one, he had visited this section, and the memory of that visit had ever been a bright dream in the past. He mastered his emotion in a moment, with a strong effort, and asked his companion calmly—

“What tribe has captured Ina?”

“Them infarnal Mohawks, I believe.”

“How long ago did it occur?”

“Only a few hours, as you can see by them coals there.”

“Will you be kind enough to give me the particulars?”

“Sartinly.”

And thereupon, Seth proceeded to narrate the incidents given in the preceding chapter, adding, however, that the parents and sister were safe. He had accompanied them himself down to the settlement mentioned, where, leaving them, he had made all haste back again, and had arrived just in time to meet Graham. At first he said he mistook him for a savage, and as he was alone, he came very near shooting him; but, as he heard him communing with himself he discovered at once that he was a white man.

“And what has brought you back here?” asked Graham, when he had finished.

“That’s a pooty question to ax me, I swow! What has brought me back here? Why, the same thing, I cac’late as has brought you—to find out what is to be found out ’bout Ina, that purty darter.”

“Ah—pardon me, friend, I am glad to hear it, and I am free to confess that that inducement has had more in bringing me here than any thing else. From your starting alone to rescue her, I presume you entertained hopes of recovering her, and, as you, alone, entertained such hopes, I judge there is greater room for them, when another one joins you.”

“Did I say, stranger, I ’spected to git that gal again?” asked Seth in a low tone.

“You did not say so in words, it is true; but from what you said, I judged such was your intention. Was I mistaken?”

“No, sir; that’s what I meant.”

“I see no reason why we should not be friends, as we are both actuated by a desire to rescue an unfortunate one from the horrors of Indian captivity, and I trust, without that fact, we would find nothing distasteful in each other.”

“Them’s my sentiments, ’zactly. Give us your hand.”

The two closed hands with a true friendly grip, and could each have seen the other’s face in the darkness, he would have beheld a radiant expression of friendship. They then retired further into the wood and continued the conversation.

We may remark in this place, that the Indians who had captured Ina, were, as Seth had remarked, members of the Mohawk tribe. This tribe itself, was a member of the “Five Nations,” including with them, the Seneca, Cayuga, Onondaga, and Oneida tribes, which have become quite famous in history. They are known among the French as the Iroquois, and among the Dutch as Maquas, while at home they are called the Mingoes, or Agamuschim, signifying the United People. The Mohawks, or Wabingi, first existed separately and alone. The Oneidas then joined them, and these in turn, were followed by the Onondagas, Senecas, and Cayugas. In the beginning of the last century, the Tuscaroras of the South, joined them, after which time they took the name of the Six Nations, although to this day, they are also known as the Five Nations. Of course, they were all united, and war made upon one tribe, was made upon all. They were truly a formidable confederation, and the Revolution testifies to what deeds they were sufficient when instigated by the British. During the predatory warfare which long existed upon the Old Frontier, the white settlers relied mainly upon stratagem to outwit their foes, and it was by this means alone that Seth Jones hoped to rescue Ina from their hands.

---

CHAPTER V.
ON THE TRAIL, AND A SUDDEN DEPARTURE FROM IT BY SETH.

“The Mohawks, you say, have then captured her?” remarked Graham, after a moment’s pause.

“Yes; I know it’s them.”

“Did you get a glimpse of them?”

“I came up as soon as possible, and they were leaving at that moment. I saw one or two of them, and know’d it was them, sure ’nough. Howsumever, that don’t make no difference, whether it’s the Mohawks, Oneidas, or any of them blasted Five Nation niggers. They are all a set of skunks, and one would just as lief run off with a man’s gal, as not. There ain’t any difference atwixt ’em.”

“I suppose not. The same difficulties would have to be surmounted in each case. The point is not whether one shall make an attempt at a rescue, but how shall it be done. I confess I am in a maze. The Mohawks are an exceedingly cunning people.”

“That’s a fact, that needn’t be disputed.”

“But then, you know, if we outwit them, we will not be the first whites who have done such a thing in their day!”

“That’s a fact, too. Now, just hold on a minute, while I think.”

Graham ceased talking for a moment, while Seth remained as if in deep and anxious thought. Suddenly lifting up his head, he remarked.

“I have it.”

“Have what? The plan which must be pursued by us?”

“I cac’late I have.”

“Well, out with it.”

“Why, it’s this. We’ve got to git that gal, an’ no mistake.”

Despite the gloominess which had been upon Graham, he could not help laughing outright at the serious tone in which this was uttered.

“What are you laughing at?” indignantly demanded Seth.

“Why, I thought we had arrived at that conclusion long since.”

“I didn’t think of that; so we did. Howsumever, I’ve thort further—hey, what’s that off yonder? ’Nuther building burning?”

Graham gazed in the direction indicated, and saw that day was breaking. This he remarked to his companion.

“Yes; so ’tis, and I’m glad of it, for we want some light on this subject.”

In a short time, the sun appeared above the forest, and poured a flood of golden light over the woods and streams. Birds were singing their morning songs in every part of the wood, and every thing wore as gay a look, as though no deed of blood had been committed during the night. As soon as it was sufficiently light, Seth and Graham made their way toward the stream.

“As we shall shortly start,” remarked the latter, “I will attend to my horse, which I brought with me. He is not a short distance away, and I will be back in a moment.”

So saying, he departed in the wood. He found his horse, completely worn out, asleep upon the ground. He unloosened his fastening, and as there was abundant provender around, in the shape of young and tender twigs and luxuriant grass, he removed the saddle and bridle, and concluded to allow him free scope of the wood until his return, trusting to the rather doubtful chances of ever recovering him again. This done, he returned to his companion.

He found Seth leaning upon his rifle, and gazing meditatively into the silent stream flowing before him. Graham looked curiously at him a moment, and then said:—

“I am ready, Seth, if you are.”

The individual addressed, turned without a word and strode toward the clearing. When the ruins of the house were reached, they both halted, and in an undertone, he said:

“Hunt up the trail.”

Each bent his head toward the ground, and moved in a circle around the clearing. Suddenly Graham paused, and proceeding quickly several yards in the wood, halted and exclaimed:

“Here it is, Seth.”

The latter hastened to his side, and stooping a moment, and running his eye along the ground, both forward and backward, replied:

“This is the trail! They ain’t very keerful ’bout it now, but I reckon it’ll make us open our peepers wider to see it, after we get into the wood.”

“Well, as the starting point is now reached, we must perfect our arrangements. You must take the lead in following this up.”

“Can’t you?” asked Seth, looking up in his eyes.

“Not as well as you. From what little I have seen of you, I am sure you excel me in the knowledge of the forest. I have had some experience in fighting, but very little in tracing a foe through such a wilderness as this.”

“Don’t say? That’s just where you ’n I disagree. I was always the one to track the tories or red-coats for old Colonel Allen, and I remember one time—but I guess I won’t go to telling stories now, being as I haven’t much time; but I can say, though pr’aps I oughn’t to, that I can foller any red-skin as far as he can go, and I don’t care how much pains he takes to cover up his tracks. You see, if I undertake to foller this, I’ve got to keep my nose down to the ground, and won’t be likely to see any danger we’re running into: that’ll have to be your business. You just hang close to my heels, and keep yer eyes traveling all over.”

“I’ll endeavor to do my part, although I shall expect some aid from you.”

“I may give some, as I can tell purty near about when the imps have gone over the tracks I’m looking at. And now we must start. I promised Haverland that I wouldn’t show myself again, until I could tell him something about his darter, and I swow, I won’t. Come ahead!”

With these words, Seth started ahead on a rapid walk. He was slightly inclined forward, and his keen gray eye was bent with a searching look upon the ground. Graham followed him a few feet distant, with the barrel of his rifle resting in the hollow of his left arm, while the stock was held in his right so as to be ready at a moment’s warning.

The signs that led Seth Jones forward were faint, and to an ordinary observer, invisible. The Indians, although they had little fears of pursuit, were yet too cunning and experienced to neglect any caution that would mislead what enemies might be disposed to follow them. They traveled in Indian file, each one stepping in the track of the one before him, so that, judging from the tracks made, it would appear that but a single savage had been journeying in these parts. Ina was compelled to walk in this matter, and more than once when she inadvertently made a misstep, a cruel blow warned her of her task.