The Devil's Own: A Romance of the Black Hawk WarParrish, Randall
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The Devil's Own: A Romance of the Black Hawk War
Parrish, Randall
Black Hawk War, 1832 -- Fiction
"Then that probably is the explanation. Rene, would you be afraid to
remain here alone for a little while?"
She glanced about into the gloom of the surrounding woods, her
hesitancy answering me.
"It is not a pleasant prospect I admit, but there is no possible
danger. Kirby has gone, beyond all question, but I wish to learn, if I
can, the direction he has taken. All this must have happened only a
short time ago--while we were at the cabin. The keel-boat can scarcely
be entirely out of sight yet on either river, if we could only find a
place to offer us a wide view."
"But could I not go with you?"
"Hardly with me, for I intend to swim the creek and try to reach the
point at the mouth of the Illinois, from where I can see up and down
the Mississippi. I am going to send Sam back through the woods there
and have him climb that ridge. From the top he ought to have a good
view up the valley of the Illinois. I suppose you might go with him."
"Ah sure wish yer wud, Missus," broke in the negro pleadingly. "Ah
ain't perzackly feered fer ter go 'lone, but Ah's an' ol' man, an' Ah
reckon as how a y'ung gal wus likely fer ter see mor'n Ah wud. 'Pears
like Ah's done los' my glasses."
A faint smile lighted up her face--a mere glimmer of a smile.
"Yes, Sam, I'll go," she said, glancing up into my eyes and holding out
her hand. "You wish me to, do you not?"
"I think it will be fully as well. I have some doubts as to Sam, but
can absolutely trust you. Besides there is nothing to be done here. I
shall not use the boat, then if anyone does chance this way, they will
find nothing disturbed. You still retain the pistol?"
She nodded her response and without delaying my departure longer, I
lowered myself into the water and swam toward the opposite shore,
creeping forth amid a tangle of roots, and immediately disappearing in
the underbrush. Sam had already vanished, as I paused an instant to
glance back, but she lingered at the edge of the wood to wave her hand.
I found a rough passage for the first few rods, being obliged to almost
tear a way through the close growth and unable to see a yard in
advance. But this ended suddenly at the edge of the sand flat, with
the converging waters of the two rivers visible just beyond. My view
from here was narrowed, however, by high ridges on both sides, and,
with a desire not to expose myself to any chance eye, I followed the
line of forest until able to climb the slope, and thus attain the crest
of the bluff.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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