On the Kentucky Frontier: A Story of the Fighting Pioneers of the WestOtis, James
History
On the Kentucky Frontier: A Story of the Fighting Pioneers of the West
Otis, James
United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction
To me it seemed foolish to continue on any further, if our only purpose
was to scan both sides of the river carefully, and I was on the point of
saying as much to Kenton when a tiny puff of smoke darted out from amid
the foliage to the right of us, hardly more than fifty yards away; a
sharp report like unto the crack of a whip could be heard, while the
splinters flew from the paddle in the scout's hand.
It goes without saying that I was startled; but not to such an extent as
to deprive me of my wits.
I knew full well none but a savage would have fired at us, and the
knowledge that the villainous enemy was so near served to make me forget
the fear which had beset me a short time previous.
Within five seconds from the instant the tiny puff of smoke darted out
like the tongue of a snake, I had fired, using the curl of vapor for a
target, and Simon Kenton said approvingly, but with no trace of
excitement in his tone:
"That was well done! A lad who is so quick with a shot should not be
taken at a disadvantage, whatever turns up."
He had forced the bow of the dugout from the shore even before I fired,
and, bending low, was paddling with all his strength as if the one idea
of escape was all that occupied his mind.
Paul had neither spoken nor moved; at the moment his back was toward me,
a fact which I regretted because I could not see his face to learn if he
changed color.
We were no more than in mid-stream before a second shot was heard, this
time coming from a point lower down the river; but the bullet flew
harmlessly over our heads.
I made no effort to return the shot, for the very good reason that there
was no chance I could do any execution at such a distance, even though
he who had fired remained motionless, which was hardly to be expected.
Kenton pulled around the next bend, hugging the eastern shore closely,
and when we were come to a small creek he forced the canoe up the tiny
water course until it was completely hidden by the foliage.
"We might have gone on without fear," I said in a whisper, surprised by
this manoeuver, "We were traveling faster than the savages could walk,
and might easily have outstripped them."
"Which is exactly what we don't count on doin'," he said quietly,
speaking in an ordinary tone, and thus showing he had no thought of
danger while we remained on this side the river.
"Why not?" Paul asked mildly.
"Because it's our business to know how many of the reptiles are on
yonder bank."
"But how will you find out?"
"Go back there, an' have a look at 'em. In less than an hour we can do
the trick in fine style."
Paul and I looked at each other in mingled fear and amazement while one
might have counted ten, and then I turned my eyes away, understanding by
this time that to gather such information was the only reason why we had
come down the river ahead of the volunteers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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