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
How long we were thus unconscious I am unable to say; but it seemed to
me as if I had no more than crossed the borders of dreamland before I
was awakened by the pressure of a heavy hand over my mouth.
In the forest one becomes accustomed to awakening quickly, and without
starting up.
When the eyes are open the first thought is as to the reason for thus
being aroused, and due heed is given to all the surroundings before any
movement is made.
Therefore it was I understood at once that Simon Kenton's hand was
covering my mouth, and that he was hurriedly burying the light embers
with ashes.
Pressing his arm to let him know I was thoroughly aroused, I rose to a
sitting posture.
No sound brake the stillness of the night, for, sheltered as we were by
the scrub, even the moaning of the wind failed to reach our ears.
Kenton was awakening Paul, and he, brave lad, made as little disturbance
on thus being aroused as if all his life had been spent on the frontier.
It was to my mind a certainty that the scout had heard or seen savages,
and I drew up my rifle to assure myself it was in proper working order.
It is by no means soothing to the nerves to be thus aroused and forced
to remain on the alert in ignorance of what threatens. I know of no
situation more trying, and while I inwardly trembled with apprehension,
my eyes sought out Paul in the gloom to learn how he was bearing up
under what many old, experienced hunters have told me was, in their
opinion, the most trying of all border warfare.
The lad sat silent and motionless, his rifle in hand, and though it was
impossible to distinguish his features, I knew full well he was as calm
and placid as when we remained concealed in the thicket just beyond the
stockade at Kaskaskia, when I believed a desperate battle was before us.
During perhaps half an hour we three remained in the same position as
when first having been awakened, and then Simon Kenton began to creep
cautiously out through the underbrush, having first motioned for us to
remain quiet.
He was bent on learning what had alarmed him, and but for advertising
myself as a coward, I would have insisted, as well as I might by
gestures, upon his remaining with us, for to me, almost anything was
preferable to separation.
I checked the impulse, however, but moved closer to Paul, and he, dear
lad, pressed my hand as if to give me courage.
That he, whom I had at the outset considered the weakest of the party,
should be the one to encourage, shamed me, and I threw off his hand as
if in anger, when in reality it was nothing save nervous fear which
prompted the movement.
As nearly as I could judge, Simon Kenton had been absent ten minutes
before we heard anything whatsoever, and then the report of a musket,
followed by a scream of pain, caused the blood to bound in my veins.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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