Mad Anthony's Scouts or, The Rangers of Kentucky

MAD ANTHONY'S SCOUTS;

OR,

THE RANGERS OF KENTUCKY.

BY EMERSON RODMAN.

NEW YORK:

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by

FRANK STARR & CO.,

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

MAD ANTHONY'S SCOUTS;

OR,

THE RANGERS OF KENTUCKY.

CHAPTER I.

COMRADES OF THE FOREST.

"Haow dew yeou dew, cap.?"

"Fine, yer honor; and how is yerself?"

A tall, spare specimen of the backwoodsman, who was sitting by a smouldering camp-fire, had arisen and grasped the hand of a genial-faced Irishman, who was also clad in the habiliments of the forest.

"My name is Smith, Hezekiah Smith," said the former, "What is yours?"

"Pat Mulroony, lately from Tipperary, Ireland, may it plase yer honor."

"Haow did you—how was it you came to find me, if I may be allowed to inquire?" asked Smith, peering round in his face.

"I was jist thraveling through the forest, when I spied the shmoke of fire, and says I to meself, says I, 'There's ayther some graan youngster, or a band of haythen, as doesn't care who saas their camp-fire,' and with that, I pokes around in the wood till I spies you cookin' your legs over the blaze, when I knows by the swate expression of yer countenance, that ye was a gintleman, and, bedad, I finds I was right."

"What might you be doing? What's your business?" pursued Smith, laboring under a great curiosity.

"Faith, I'm an adventoorer, as the convict said. I've been wanderin' in these parts for siveral wakes, without catchin' glimpse of a white skin, till I came upon you."

"That ain't what I mean. What brought you out here in the first place?"

"Me legs," replied the Irishman, decidedly.

"Just so, just so; if you've no objection, I'd like to know your motive, not meaning any offence at all."

"Begorrah, but ye're axin' too much," replied Pat, with a shake of his head. "Niver ye mind the indoocement that I has for taking to the woods. If I may be so bold, what was the same motive that brought yerself here?"

"Nothing in particular—nothing in particular," replied Smith, as if the subject was distasteful to him.

It was plain that both of these characters had a secret history—a history which each was determined should remain a secret with himself. The short conversation recorded above had been sufficient for this fact to become evident to both, and as if by mutual consent, neither made any further reference to it. It sufficed that they were white, civilized beings, wanderers in a dangerous territory, where neither, for an hour, could be assured of his own safety, and where both lacked the great safeguard of experience. This was enough to make them firm and fast friends at once.

"Are you baound up or down the river," queried Hezekiah Smith, refering to the Ohio, which was but a few hundred yards distant.

"Faith, it's little difference where I'm bound, as the man said when then the haythen Injuns bound him to the stake. How is it wid yerself?"

"I'm goin' daown."

"So is meself, if ye's willin' to accept of me company."

"I'm right glad to have you, for I care mighty little abaout goin' much further in this all-fired country, without some one to keep me company. It's the ornerest piece of country I ever seed in all my born days."

"As we agraas so well on the principles, be the same token, we'll agraa on the partic'lars. I'm thinkin' I've seen more of this country pra'ps, than ye has yerself, but it's a mighty little I've seen, after all. But, be the howly powers, it's meself knows enough not to kindle a fire in broad daylight, in these parts."

"But, Pat, s'pose you fall in the creek, and get wet, as I did—how in the name of human nature are you to dry yourself?"

"Dry yourself, is it?" repeated the Irishman, surveying his friend from head to foot; "and what is it ye wishes to dry yerself fur? Bedad, you'll find, if you're long in these parts, you'll have to go wet and hungry more than once."

"About what time do you suppose it might be?" asked Hezekiah Smith, after a moment's pause.

Pat Mulroony squinted one eye up to the sky, as if he was looking at the face of a clock, and answered:

"It lacks an hour or so yet of noon. Are ye cravin' something to ate?"

"O ginger, no! S'pose we set out upon our journey, as I don't exactly see how we're goin' to gain anything by standing here."

"Who laids the way?"

"I'll follow you, as you know more of the woods than I do."

Pat Mulroony struck out toward the Ohio River, closely followed by Hezekiah Smith. Each took long, regular strides, frequently snapping the twigs beneath their feet in spite of the care and caution exercised by each. They were two noticeable personages as they thus pressed forward, each with a long, beautiful rifle slung over his shoulder, and each attired in a demi-savage dress. The New Englander being some five or six inches the taller, was constantly peering over the shoulders of his leader, his curiosity being almost sufficient several times to make him take the lead himself.

They had walked some distance, when Hezekiah caught the shimmer of water through the trees, and knew they were approaching the Ohio. Moving several yards further, they were almost upon the bank, when Pat Mulroony fell flat upon his face as suddenly as if his feet had been tripped from beneath, and Smith, perfectly dum-founded at this curious movement, gazed bewildered at him for a second. Then thinking he had fallen and injured himself, he stooped to assist him to his feet. Motioning him off, Pat spoke rapidly in a ghostly whisper:

"Drop down on yer face! hide quick! down wid ye! quick! quick! the devil himself is coming down the river."

This overwhelming intelligence caused Hezekiah also to "come down," as suddenly as the Irishman, and for a moment nothing but the deep breathing of each could have been heard. But at the end of that time, the curiosity of Smith began to show itself.

"What does he look like, Pat?"

"Did you ever set eyes on a tappin-snarkle?"

"Yes; one of them once bit half of my big toe off, when I was wadin' in a mill-pond."

"Well, bedad, when I cotched the glimpse of him, he looked like a tappin-snarkle, as big as a house."

The curiosity of Hezekiah Smith was roused to its highest pitch. Such a dreadful monster as had been seen by the Irishman, if coming down the river, must soon pass before his view also; and he accordingly lifted his head slowly, until he had raised it and his shoulders perhaps a couple of feet, when he suddenly dropped it again, as if a thousand pound weight had fallen upon his head.

"Did ye see it?" inquired Pat, not daring to lift his own head.

"No; but I was afraid it might see me," replied Hezekiah, slowly raising his head again.

Taking courage from his immunity, Pat Mulroony gradually straightened his arm until he had brought his head nearly on a level with his companion's, when they both looked long and searchingly through the trees, but without discovering the Satanic personage that had been announced.

While gazing thus, a sudden rushing sound was heard, and the heads of our two friends dropped so suddenly that Hezekiah bit his tongue sorely, and the chin of the Irishman dented far into the earth.

"Jerusalem! he hadn't wings, had he?" asked Hezekiah, turning his face around so as to speak to the Irishman.

"He was paddlin' when I saw him, and was too big to flit among the trees here—howly mother! there he comes agin!"

As he spoke, several quails sped overhead with that whirring noise peculiar to the bird. This explained the cause of their fright.

Familiarity with danger breeds contempt, and our two friends, gathering courage every moment, again raised their heads, and looked steadily and unflinchingly out among the trees upon the river. And while thus engaged, they saw what at first appeared to be a small house floating down the river. As it drifted slowly past, the two rose to their feet, and ventured nearer the shore.

"O thunder!" exclaimed Hezekiah Smith, with a sigh of relief, "that's what they call a flat-boat."

"How do you know?" asked Pat; "ye says ye have never been in these parts, and how do you know what one is?"

"When I was at Pittsburgh, I seen two set out down the river, and they looked just like that."

"Be jabers! if it's a flat-boat there must be some one aboard of it," added Pat, his countenance lighting up; "and if there's some one aboard of it, be the same token, there's a chance of our getting down the river."

Hopeful and joyous, both scrambled headlong down the bank with the brilliant idea in their heads. The flat-boat was in the centre of the current, and, had the appearance of a square box; or, perhaps, a better idea of it could be given by comparing it to a cabin resting upon a scow, whose gunwales run higher than usual on every side. A long, sweeping oar was hung at either end, for the purpose of keeping the vessel in the channel, and guiding it through eddies and dangerous passages in the river. Not a living soul upon it was visible.

"Drat the luck!" exclaimed Hezekiah Smith, after stumbling along the shore for several minutes.

"Be the powers, but we'll boord the craft, and take possession!"

Hezekiah caught at the idea, and had already stepped into the water to carry it into execution, when Pat, with an exclamation of astonishment and alarm, caught him by the shoulder and drew him back.

---

CHAPTER II.

BOARDING THE FLAT-BOAT.

The cause of Pat's alarm was immediately manifest to Hezekiah. The head and shoulders of a man were visible on the flat-boat, as was also the muzzle of a rifle he held in his hand. Thinking he was about to speak or fire, our two friends drew back and waited for his words. To their surprise, however, his head almost immediately disappeared, and their most urgent calls and entreaties could not induce him to show himself again.

By this time, the flat-boat had drifted some distance below them, and they ran down the bank so as to recover their lost ground.

"We've got to boord it," said Pat, as they took their station.

"How is it to be done?"

"Why, you jist wade out and climb up the side."

"And what are you going to do?"

"I'll stay on the bank to cover your retrate if you gits licked."

"Cover my retreat," repeated Hezekiah, as if he found it difficult to understand the exact meaning of his friend.

"Suppose that man fires at me and kills me?"

"Be that token, Pat Mulroony will consider that it's dangerous for him to follow yees, and will retrate, like a wise gineral, into the woods."

Hezekiah still debated whether it was his duty to run such a risk for the benefit of his companion or not, but finally compromised the matter by offering to carry him upon his back.

"The water ain't very deep," said he, "and as my legs are a yard or two the longest, I'll keep you dry, and you'll run the same chance of being struck that I will."

"It's a bargain," said Pat, immediately mounting the back of Hezekiah.

For the convenience of the latter, the Irishman took the guns of both, and with his heavy load upon his back, Hezekiah Smith stepped cautiously into the river. He had entered it some distance below the flat-boat, so that he would have no trouble in intercepting it, and he now strided as rapidly as possible through the water.

He had gone, perhaps, two-thirds of the distance, and the water reached almost to his waist, when the head of the man on the flat-boat again appeared, and pointing his rifle over it, he called out:

"You infernal decoys, what do you mean by coming out here? I'll give you just two seconds to reach the shore again, and if you come a foot nearer, I'll blow daylight through you."

Instead of turning round and retreating, Hezekiah ducked his head at this sudden command, so as to bring the Irishman as a sort of shield before him. Throwing him too far forward, the consequence was, that Pat went completely over his head into the water. At sight of this discomfiture of both, the man in the flat-boat evidently concluded their presence could be of little danger to him, and accordingly called out.

"Come out to the boat, and I'll help you on board."

"Murther! Can't ye pick us up?" cried Pat, floundering through the water. It being very manifest that such a feat, under the circumstances, was impossible, our two friends made the best of their way forward, and upon reaching the side of the boat were assisted on board by the man who, a few minutes before, had ordered them away so peremptorily.

"Who are you?" he demanded, as soon as they had recovered breath.

"Patrick Mulroony, from Tipperary, Ireland, at your service, sir."

"Hezekiah Smith, also."

"Isn't there any one else ashore?"

"Not that we knows of. Are you the only one on these premises?"

"No, sir, you will see my companions shortly."

The speaker was a young man of rather prepossessing address, one who, to judge from appearances, was as much a stranger in these wilds, as our two friends, who have been already introduced to the reader.

He was attired in a plain, homespun dress, such as, at the period of which we write, were more often seen in civilized communities, than as far west as this portion of the Ohio. He had a keen, black eye, dark, flowing hair, a pleasant face, considerably embrowned, and bearing the unmistakeable impress of a firm will, and iron determination. He scanned his visitors as they came aboard, and seemed to gather from a glance their character.

"If you've no objection, what might be your name?" asked Hezekiah, in his gentle, insinuating voice.

"Luther Waring."

"Eh, yes, just so; glad to hear. Ain't married, now, I dare say?"

"No, sir."

"Might be engaged, perhaps?"

"Yes; to tell the truth, I am," replied Waring, "and, if I ever get safely through this infernal Indian country, down to the settlements, I'll be married."

"Where might the—where might the lady be now?" pursued Hezekiah, evidently determined to get all he could out of Waring.

"She and her father are in the cabin, and, I suppose, will soon show themselves."

"What might be her name, now—that is, if you have no objection to telling me."

"Certainly not," laughed Waring. "She is from the same village that I have left; and her name is Virginia: daughter of Mr. George Lander. Anything else that I can impart?"

"You are bound to the settlement, down the river, I suppose?"

"I have hinted as much; yes, that is our destination."

Hezekiah paused at this point, as he seemed to have run out of questions, seeing which, Pat Mulroony whispered—

"Begorrah, ye isn't going to sthop in this place, be yees?"

The querulous New Englander placed the stock of his rifle a few inches from his feet, and holding his arms over the muzzle, seemed to be engaged in a deep study for a few moments. Suddenly, slinging his right leg around the other, so that it rested upon the tip of the foot, he turned his beaming face toward Waring, and continued—

"Is the gal good-looking, now?"

Waring laughed outright.

"You shall be the judge, if you only wait a few minutes."

"Of course—of course—I only asked to—that is, I just asked——"

"To find out," put in Pat, with a comical expression, as he looked down and surveyed his clinging garments.

"Do you wish to change your clothes?" asked Waring, who had noticed the furtive glance of the Irishman.

"There bein' ladies in the neighborhood, p'rhaps they might 'bjact, as, be the token that we have no clouthes to put on, our costume would be rather picturesque, as the man said when he came out from the river, and found a cow had ate up his garments."

"We can furnish you with something I think."

"It's entirely unnecessary, entirely unnecessary," said Hezekiah, with a graceful wave of his hand. "The water is not cold at all, and the bathing was quite pleasant. But, I was going to ask whether the Indians had troubled you yet?"

"If you had examined the side of the boat as you came up, you would have seen several bullets imbedded in it. They were fired by Indians."

"Deu tell!" gasped Hezekiah.

"We paid no heed to them at first, in the hopes that they would leave us, when they found we were aware of their motives; but, as they kept following us, Mr. Lander and myself sent several shots among them, that made them howl, and send volley after volley after us in return."

"They didn't kill yer?"

"They did no damage, as our boats were constructed with a knowledge of all the exigencies that might arise. How is it with yourselves?"

"I haven't seen an Indian in a long time," replied Hezekiah; "but I have smelt their camp-fires several times."

"I've saan plenty of the haythen," added Pat, "but have given them a wide barth, and so I'm plased to state, I've suffered no harm up to this point in the prosadings."

"I have never been in this part of the country before," said Waring, speaking in a more serious tone than he had used thus far; "but I am aware of the perils and dangers that encompass us. Our immunity from danger thus far, leads me to hope for the best, as, from the knowledge that I gained before starting, the settlement, which is our destination, cannot be more than twenty miles distant, near enough for us to reach it to-morrow, if nothing unexpected occurs. I must say, however, I am filled with considerable misgivings. We are in the most dangerous point of the river; and I cannot help thinking that the crisis will come to-night. I am indeed glad that you two have come on board."

"Thunder! so am I," said Hezekiah, "for I was lost in the woods, and was beginning to get scart. We are bound with you for the settlement. Hello!"

At this juncture the cabin-door opened, and a man, some sixty years of age, made his appearance. He was very grey, with a feeble, attenuated frame, and the air of one who, for years, had not seen a day of perfect health.

Waring immediately introduced him to the Irishman and New Englander, the former grasping him heartily by the hands, and the latter scraping his feet very elaborately, as he returned his pressure.

The face of the elderly personage was careworn, and he spoke but a few words, merely expressing his pleasure at meeting his two friends, when he returned to the cabin.

Hezekiah Smith was just on the point of asking a question concerning him, when the cabin-door again opened, and Virginia Lander made her appearance. She had the same black eyes and hair as her lover—a bright, hopeful expression of countenance, singularly in contrast with that of her parent, and a nervous restlessness of manner, such as is often seen in the mere child. She was not beautiful, but she was handsome, and inspired every one in her favor. Waring immediately introduced her, as he had her father. Hezekiah retreated a step or two, lifted his hat from his head, and was just in the act of making another sweeping scrape with his foot, when she brought these preparations to an end by taking his hand, speaking her pleasure, and turning to the Irishman, and doing the same.

"Extremely happy to meet you," said Hezekiah. "If you've no objection, I would like to know——"

"Be the powers! but look yonder jist!" interrupted Pat, pointing down the river. "What does that mane?"

Waring had already caught sight of the suspicious object, and turned to Hezekiah.

"What do you make of it?"

"A lot of Indians, as sure as thunder."

---

CHAPTER III.

THE SHADOW OF DANGER.

"It's a canoe—one of them infernal Indian ones," added Hezekiah. "I know enough of 'em to be sure of it."

The object in question was close under the Ohio shore, and at the distance when first seen, might have been mistaken for a common log; but Waring, who had learned to regard every such manifestation with suspicion in the Indian country, was convinced that it was something more the instant he caught a glimpse of it. Besides, Hezekiah was positive, and if any individual was competent to judge in regard to the identity of such a vessel, his experience, as related at the commencement of this tale, should certainly have pointed him out as that man.

If there were any lingering doubts in the minds of the whites, they were instantly set at rest by seeing the canoe put out from the shore, and head across toward the Kentucky bank. The tufted heads of three Indians were visible, and their paddles flashed brightly in the sunlight, as the frail vessel shot swiftly over the surface of the water.

"I didn't mane to alarm yees, but maning no offince to the iligant lady present, might I vinture to suggest in the mildest terms possible, there'd bist be none but men on deck jist now."

"He is right," said Waring, in a lower tone to our heroine, "it is best that you go below."

"I will do so, if you think I should," she replied, suiting her action to her word. "Do you wish father to come up?"

"There is no need of it."

The girl closed the door, and Waring turned toward his friends.

By this time the canoe had nearly crossed the stream. A few moments later, it glided under the Kentucky banks, and three Indians sprang out.

It was with peculiar emotions that the inmates of the flat- boat gradually came opposite this canoe. They had just seen three of their deadly enemies withdraw under the protection of the shrubbery and undergrowth of the shore, and they had every reason to believe that there were others in the vicinity.

"It can't be that they are friendly," suggested Waring, who was all but certain that such could not be the case.

"Friendly divils!" repeated Pat Mulroony. "Every mother's son of 'em is in the war paint, and they'd sooner scalp all of us, not barring the lady—God bless her. Talk of friendly Injins in this part of the wurruld!"

By this time, the flat-boat was opposite the canoe, whose stern could be distinctly seen underneath the dense shrubbery that lined the bank. The conversation ceased of its own accord, and the three men carefully lowered their heads, so that no stray shot could reach them. In the sides of the boat were one or two small orifices, which Waring had had perforated for the purpose of gazing out, just at such times as these, and our friends used them on this occasion.

Looking out, Hezekiah discerned through the interstices of the undergrowth the forms of two crouching Indians, their eyes glowing, their faces all agleam with ferocity, and their bedaubed visages ten times more horrid in appearance than he could have dreamed it possible for a human being to be.

When just fairly abreast of them, a jet of fire was seen to flash among the shrubbery, and as the sharp report of a rifle broke the stillness of the woods, a bullet grated over the top of the flat-boat, and was plainly heard by all, as it plainly cut its way through the leaves on the opposite side of the river, with that peculiar zip-zip made by the rapid passage of a stone or other object through the trees of a forest.

"By the Howly Virgin! take that!" exclaimed Pat, springing up and discharging his rifle at the spot where he saw the faint wreath of smoke curling upward. "How does that faal?"

"They haven't felt it at all," whispered Waring. "Be careful and keep your head out of sight, or you'll be struck."

"How do you know he wasn't struck?" demanded Pat in high dudgeon. "Did you see the passage of the bullet?"

"A wild Indian always yells when a bullet hits him, and they haven't made the least noise."

"Begorrah! but you're right. I've struck a redskin afore to-day, and he always screamed like a painter. It was an uncomfortably close rub, faith, for all that."

Both shores were closely scanned, but nothing more of the savages was seen; and after drifting half a mile or so down stream, our three friends ventured occasionally to show their heads to any who might be lingering along the banks. This, however, was a dangerous proceeding almost at any time, and as there was no necessity for it, it was not often done by any of the three. The reason why Waring was not visible when Hezekiah and Pat first hailed the flat-boat, was not because he did not see or hear them, but because he had prudence enough to keep himself out of sight.

By this time the afternoon was considerably advanced, and Waring invited his two friends to descend into the cabin and partake of the dinner, which Virginia Lander had just announced.

"And who stays above, if I may be allowed to ask?" inquired Hezekiah, with an anxious expression of countenance.

"I do myself; have no apprehension upon that score."

His alarm thus quieted, Hezekiah hesitated no longer.

In the cabin he found a plain, substantial meal prepared, to which he, Pat, Mr. Lander, and our heroine seated themselves. The elderly personage besought the blessing of God upon the food spread before them, and spoke not a another word during the meal.

Great as was Hezekiah's hunger, his curiosity was equally great, and, accordingly, as he masticated the food, he kept his eyes rolling continually about him in search of knowledge. He noticed that the cabin was divided into two compartments, one of which he naturally concluded was devoted to the exclusive use of the young lady who presided at the table. Several times he was on the point of asking permission to take a look into this. But his sense of propriety prevented him, and he devoured his victuals in silence.

As for Pat, he was hungry—that was sufficient. Excepting the food itself, nothing presented the least attraction to him, and he devoured this with a gusto that put to shame the achievements of the others.

The meal finished, the two returned to the deck, and took the place of Waring, while he partook of his dinner. As our two friends looked out upon the still, solemn forest, and the placid, unruffled river, down which they were so noiselessly gliding, they could hardly realize that the profound silence that then held reign was as treacherous as the calm which precedes the marshaling of the storm king's forces upon the ocean. And yet they well knew that within the depths of this wilderness lurked the Indian, whose life was devoted to the one object of exterminating the white race: that he was as cunning and crafty as years of war and bloodshed could make him, and that no means would be left untried to encompass the death of themselves and those with them.

"Hezekiah," said Pat, upon whom this impressive scene had not been entirely lost, "have you ever been in these parts before?"

"Never in all my born days, and I wish to Heaven I wasn't here now."

"What's the trouble now? Begorrah, ye isn't scart, be yees?"

"Yes, Pat, I ain't ashamed to own it—I am scart. I tell you, 'twixt you and me, there's danger hangin' over this craft. I can smell it in the air, I can feel it in my bones. If we don't see trouble afore to-morrow morning, then I'm most mightily mistaken."

"I incline to the same opinion, though I wouldn't be saying it afore the lady down there, and frightenin' the wits out of her. I'd like to know, be the same token, what that old curmudgeon is doin' on this boat?"

"You mean the old man? I should think it would be the last place for him. Never mind, Pat, let come what will, you and I stick together, don't we?"

"Of course we do."

There is nothing that will make friends as soon as a sense of impending danger hanging over both. Let two entire strangers meet under circumstances like these, and in ten minutes they will be on as good terms, and devoted to each other, as though they had been bosom friends for a dozen years. The cause of this is very plain—it is the interest of both to be so.

Hezekiah thought he had never met so fine a fellow as Pat Mulroony; one, whose kindness of heart was so great, and whose friendship was as disinterested; and as for the Celt, although he did not express himself thus, his opinion of the New Englander was very nearly the same.

"You asked awhile ago," said Hezekiah, after a moment's pause, "whether I had ever been in these parts. If you have no objection, I should like to know whether you have been here?"

"Yes, I was about this place last summer with a party, but we didn't go any farther down the river."

"I understood that you were further west than you had ever been before; but then I might have been mistaken. If you have no objection, I should like to hear the particulars of your visit."

"Can't tell it now," replied the Irishman, as though the subject were distasteful to him.

At this moment Waring made his appearance, and was shortly followed by Mr. Lander, who, taking a seat near the cabin, maintained a strict silence during the conversation of the others.

Hezekiah merely glanced at the young man, and saw, as if by instinct, that the same sense of impending danger that so troubled himself, was shared by him also. There was an anxious expression upon his countenance that he had not seen there before; a certain restless nervousness in his manner, which he sought in vain to conceal.

"We are going to have a dark night of it," said he, looking up to the sky.

"As dark as Egypt," added Hezekiah. "I recollect that I nearly battered my brains out, last night, in trying to walk through the woods."

"The moon will not be up till three o'clock in the morning, and, I might as well be plain with you, friends, it will be life and death with us before that time."

"Just what we're thinkin'. Drat the Indians," exclaimed Hezekiah. "I can feel it in my bones that I am going to get into a scrape to-night."

---

CHAPTER IV.

THE NIGHT ATTACK.

The night gradually closed down upon the flat-boat. Upon inquiry, Hezekiah found that their elderly companion, Mr. Lander, instead of being an assistant to them, was an encumbrance. A confirmed invalid, he was barely able to remain on his feet for more than a few moments, and had expressed the wish only that he might be allowed to reach the settlement and die.

He was totally unfit to handle a rifle, and had not attempted it for years, so that, although Waring had another weapon beside his own, it may be stated that he started upon this expedition entirely alone—a proceeding, that in its foolhardiness, was unaccountable.

As Waring had predicted, the night proved of intense darkness.

In a few hours, both shores became entirely invisible, and shortly after, it was almost impossible to see the length of the boat. Under these circumstances, it was proposed to work the flat-boat into shore, and tie up for the night. All were totally unacquainted with the windings of the river, and they were fearful that they might run aground in the darkness, and be unable to get the craft afloat again. They were pretty certain, too, that they had been constantly watched from the banks, and that it would not be long before the Indian canoes would be ranging up and down the river in search of them.

If this were the case, their only plans of escaping them would be by sweeping into shore, and remaining there until the moon arose. On the other hand, it was hardly probable that the flat-boat could approach nigh enough to the shore, to gain any protection from it.

The water was so shallow, that it was likely to ground when several rods distant, in which case, the situation of the fugitives would be far worse than if attacked while in the midst of the channel. And beside this, they also ran the chance of being discovered, even if they should reach the bank without grounding.

The savages would be passing up and down the shore; and as it would require considerable effort and some noise to work the lumbering concern out of the course it was pursuing, the trained ears of the redskins could hardly fail to detect it.

All these considerations being taken into account, it was decided that, for an hour or two at least, they would keep their position in the midst of the channel.

The greatest cause for alarm, as we have before hinted, lay in the fact that not one of the whites in the flat-boat was acquainted with the river.

They were drifting aimlessly downward, only conscious of their general direction. The Ohio River abounds, as all our readers are aware, with numerous islands, and many of these lying directly in the middle of the stream—our friends had good cause to apprehend running upon one of them.

The flat-boat had a long oar swung at either end, by which its motions were controlled, much in the same manner that the rafts which descend our rivers at this day are managed.

To guard as much as possible against the calamity mentioned, Hezekiah Smith and Pat Mulroony passed to the forward part of the boat, so as to be ready, not only to sheer the boat off, when "breakers" were discovered, but to be prepared for any venturesome Shawanoes that might choose this as their point of attack.

Mr. Lander and his daughter remained below, as both well knew their presence would be of no assistance to those above; and the whites were thus disposed when the incident we are about to describe took place.

Hezekiah stood leaning over the prow, listening intently for the least evidence of the approach of their enemies. The only sound as yet heard, was what might be characterized as the audible silence of the forest—that deep, solemn roar, like the distant voice of the ocean, that is as eternal as the great sea itself.

Now and then, the melancholy night wind moaned through the tree tops, with a dismal and lonely voice, in consonance with the feelings of the three listeners; and once or twice the far off scream of some denizen of the forest was borne faintly forward to their ear.

Then, again, the silence became so profound, that the soft ripple of the current could be heard against some projecting root, or dipping branch. But these sounds were all natural to the wilderness, and excited no emotions, except to add to the dreary loneliness of the scene.

The New Englander had stood in the attitude of attention for more than an hour, when he detected the cautious dip of a paddle. He instantly raised his head and peered out in the direction from which it came, but in the Stygian darkness could detect nothing at all. He maintained the same attitude for full an hour, during which he heard the sound repeated twice. Fully satisfied that strangers were in the vicinity, he gave utterance to a suppressed whistle, to place Waring on the guard, and leaning toward Pat, he asked in a whisper whether, if he had no objection to tell, he had detected any suspicious sound.

"There's a haythen canoe that has been following us for the last hour or more, or my name isn't Pat Mulroony."

"Hist! there it is again!" admonished Hezekiah, arching his neck, and gazing out in the darkness. Both listened, but Pat failed to hear that which had startled his companion.

"They're mighty oncareful is them same Injins," added the Irishman. "Whisht! but look! there's the divils this minute!"

As he spoke, Pat sprang up in great excitement, and pointed out on the river. Looking in the same direction Hezekiah caught the outlines of a long Indian canoe, filled with shadowy figures, which glided under the prow of the flat-boat, and came to rest as noiselessly as a phantom. Almost at the same instant a tufted head appeared above the gunwale, but it was crushed like an eggshell by a tremendous blow from the clubbed rifle of the Irishman. This was scarce done when the head and shoulders of another rose within a foot of where Hezekiah stood.

"Take that, you thundering redskin!" he exclaimed, striking him a terrible blow square in the face, that sent the dusky savage spinning out in mid-air, with the blood spouting from his nostrils. "Dern your picter! what business you got poking your head up here? I say, Waring, the Indians have come—look out for them."

In his excitement, Hezekiah Smith dropped his rifle, and springing up and down, as though the deck had suddenly become red hot, he delivered his fearful blows indiscriminately, while Pat kept his rifle swinging like the arms of a windmill.

"Begorrah! but the shillaleh comes natural to the Tipperary boys!" he exclaimed, between his set teeth, "and Pat Mulroony was born with one in his hand, and has been trained up to the illigant profession of breaking heads. Some of ye will go home to-night with bootiful faces, barrin' yer won't have any faces at all to go home with."

The Indians had evidently counted upon a surprise, and were not prepared for the furious courage with which they were received. They had followed the flat-boat until they judged the inmates were either asleep or off their guard, when they had come upon them in the stealthy manner narrated. The consequence was that in less than five minutes after the attack, the canoe had disappeared with the surviving Shawanoes, and nothing was heard save the slapping of Hezekiah's feet as he still sprang up and down the deck, and swung his arms around him ready for the next bronzed head that might offer. It required Pat some time to convince him that the danger for the present had passed, and there were no more enemies to contend against. By degrees he became quieted, and was able to converse rationally when Waring made his appearance among them.