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
Never once did he speak of his reason for leaving home, and there was a
certain something in his manner which prevented me from asking any
questions. He told so much of his life story as seemed to him proper,
and we were content, believing him to be a young man of proven courage
and honest purposes.
Kenton and I slept on the skins in front of the fireplace, where I had
ever made my bed, and so little fear had we the enemy might be near,
that I never so much as looked out of doors after mother went up the
ladder which led to the rough attic she called her chamber.
It was the first time since my father's cruel death that I had not
circled around the cabin once or more to make certain everything was
quiet; the coming of this young man had driven from my mind all thought
of possible danger.
Those who live on the frontier sleep lightly, it is true; but they do
not waste much time in tossing about on the bed before closing their
eyes in slumber--and I was in dreamland within a very few moments after
stretching out at full length.
It seemed as if I had but just lost consciousness when I awakened to
find a heavy hand covering my mouth, and to hear Simon Kenton whisper:
"There is need for us to turn out. The sneakin' redskins have surrounded
the cabin. Are you awake?"
I nodded, for it would have been impossible to speak while his hand was
like to shut off my breath, and he rose softly to his feet.
It is not necessary for me to say that we on the Ohio in 1778 thought
first in the morning of our rifles, and never lay down at night without
having the trusty weapons where we could grasp them readily. Thus it was
that, when I followed Kenton's example, I rose up ready for a struggle.
Not a sound could I hear, save the soughing of the wind among the trees;
but I knew my companion had good cause for giving an alarm, and had
probably been on the alert while I was composing myself to sleep.
"Get word to your mother; but do not let her come down here," he
whispered when I joined him at the shuttered window, where he stood with
his ear to the crevice. "Make no noise, an' it may be we can take the
painted snakes by surprise, which will be a fine turnin' of the
tables."
I did as he directed, and heard my mother say in a low voice as I turned
to descend the ladder:
"Be careful, Louis, and do not expose yourself recklessly in order to
give our visitor the idea that you can equal him in deeds of daring."
Under almost any other circumstances I could have laughed at the idea
that I might even hope to equal such as Simon Kenton in bravery; but
with death lurking close at hand one does not give way to mirth, and I
hastened to the young man's side as a prayer of thankfulness went up
from my heart because it had so chanced he was with us when an
experienced head and arm were needed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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