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
Now Henry, as he looked at Timmendiquas, knew that report had told
the truth. The great chief would not be on the fringe of the Iroquois
country, if he did not have such a plan, and he had the energy and
ability to carry it through. Henry shuddered at the thought of the
tomahawk flashing along every mile of a frontier so vast, and defended
so thinly. He was glad in every fiber that he and his comrades had
remained to hang upon the Indian hordes, and be heralds of their
marches. In the forest a warning usually meant the saving of life.
The rain ceased after a while, although water dripped from the trees
everywhere. But the big fire made an area of dry earth about it, and the
warriors replaced the long boat in the water. Then all but four or five
of them lay beside the coals and went to sleep. Timmendiquas was one of
those who remained awake, and Henry saw that he was in deep thought. He
walked back and forth much like a white man, and now and then he folded
his hands behind his back, looking toward the earth, but not seeing it.
Henry could guess what was in his mind. He would draw forth the full
power of the Six Nations, league them with the Indians of the great
valley, and hurl them all in one mass upon the frontier. He was planning
now the means to the end.
The chief, in his little walks back and forth, came close to the edge of
the bushes in which Henry lay, It was not at all probable that he
would conclude to search among them, but some accident, a chance, might
happen, and Henry began to feel a little alarm. Certainly, the coming
of the day would make his refuge insecure, and he resolved to slip away
while it was yet light.
The boy rose a little in the boat, slowly and with the utmost caution,
because the slightest sound out of the common might arouse Timmendiquas
to the knowledge of a hostile presence. The canoe must make no plash in
the water. Gradually he unwrapped the blanket and tied it in a folded
square at his back. Then he took thought a few moments. The forest was
so silent now that he did not believe he could push the canoe through
the bushes without being heard. He would leave it there for use another
day and go on foot through the woods to his comrades.
Slowly he put one foot down the side until it rested on the bottom, and
then he remained still. The chief had paused in his restless walk back
and forth. Could it be possible that he had heard so slight a sound as
that of a human foot sinking softly into the water? Henry waited with
his rifle ready. If necessary he would fire, and then dart away among
the bushes.
Five or six intense moments passed, and the chief resumed his restless
pacing. If he had heard, he had passed it by as nothing, and Henry
raised the other foot out of the canoe. He was as delicate in his
movement as a surgeon mending the human eye, and he had full cause, as
not eye alone, but life as well, depended upon his success. Both feet
now rested upon the muddy bottom, and he stood there clear of the boat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account