The Scouts of the ValleyAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
General
The Scouts of the Valley
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
Chemung River Valley (N.Y. and Pa.) -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Wyoming Valley (Pa.) -- Fiction
No means of theirs could stop so great a fire, and they stood in a sort
of stupefaction, watching it as it was fanned to greatest heights by the
wind.
All the remaining outbuildings caught, also, and in a few moments
nothing whatever would be left of the tiny village. Braxton Wyatt and
his band must lie in the icy wilderness, and they could never use this
place as a basis for attack upon settlements.
“How under the sun could it have happened?” exclaimed Wyatt.
“It didn't happen. It was done,” said Coleman. “Somebody set these
houses on fire while we slept within. Hark to that!”
An Iroquois some distance from the houses was bending over the snow
where it was not yet melted by the heat. He saw there the track of
snowshoes, and suddenly, looking toward the forest, whither they led, he
saw a dark figure flit away among the trees.
CHAPTER XVIII. HENRY'S SLIDE
Henry Ware, lingering at the edge of the clearing, his body hidden
behind one of the great tree trunks, had been watching the scene with
a fascinated interest that would not let him go. He knew that his work
there was done already. Everything would be utterly destroyed by the
flames which, driven by the wind, leaped from one half-ruined building
to another. Braxton Wyatt and his band would have enough to do
sheltering themselves from the fierce winter, and the settlements could
rest for a while at least. Undeniably he felt exultation as he witnessed
the destructive work of his hand. The border, with its constant struggle
for-life and terrible deeds, bred fierce passions.
In truth, although he did not know it himself, he stayed there to please
his eye and heart. A new pulse beat triumphantly every time a timber,
burned through, fell in, or a crash came from a falling roof. He laughed
inwardly as the flames disclosed the dismay on the faces of the Iroquois
and Tories, and it gave him deep satisfaction to see Braxton Wyatt, his
gaudy little sword at his thigh, stalking about helpless. It was while
he was looking, absorbed in such feelings, that the warrior of the alert
eye saw him and gave the warning shout.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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