Wetzel, the Scout; or, The Captives of the WildernessEllis, Edward Sylvester
General
Wetzel, the Scout; or, The Captives of the Wilderness
Ellis, Edward Sylvester
Dime novels; Frontier and pioneer life -- Fiction; Ohio River Valley -- Fiction; Shawnee Indians -- Fiction
“There’s something suspicious-like down in this part. I have been up to
fort for an hour or two, talking to the boys. It was up at that one. I
was talking to Tom O’Daniels, when he pointed his finger down this way,
and axed me if I seen anything. I watched pretty closely, and after a
while I thought I did. He was going to fire his musket, but concluded it
wasn’t worth while, as it might scare all the people for nothing. I
started down this way, and was coming ’long quiet-like, when I heerd
you. So I just rose and come on as though I didn’t s’picion anything and
I suppose if there was anything going on I spoilt the sight of it.”
These words were spoken in a half whisper, but in such a manner as to
give the idea to any one who might see them that it was but a
commonplace conversation passing between them.
“Any idea of what it is?” asked Kingman.
“I suppose there have been Injins skulking ’bout the place every night
since the battle. The boys say they’ve seen something going on about
this time for two or three nights. They couldn’t make a mark big enough
to fire at, but the people know it, and don’t sleep so sound as they did
before. See here, Kingman, we must watch.”
“What I was thinking. Where shall we station ourselves?”
“Not a great distance apart, as we may need to help each other. You go a
little nearer the upper fort, and I will go down toward the river bank
and keep a look-out there. Move careful, for I s’pose you’ve learned by
this time that a Shawnee has sharp ears.”
“What signal between us shall call the other?”
“A whistle like the whippowil.”
The two parted. Moffat, as he proposed, made his way to the river bank,
while Kingman approached the picket at a point further above. The town,
it will be remembered, was inclosed by a strong, double row of pickets
planted firmly into the ground, and protected at each angle by a
compact, bullet-proof block-house. Kingman opened a sort of door or
entrance, which could only be opened from the inside, and passed out, so
that he was in the space between the two picket rows. Here he lay upon
the ground and listened.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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