Chapter IX: Peter Jenkins--A Couple of Speeches

"CONSARN her, I don't care nothin' for her. I was just fooling; I only got down to see where she had put my rifle. Wonder where she got it from! She's awful ugly. S'pect Dingle has been telling her some lies about me. By gracious! if I'd only thought about her shooting that arrer at me, she'd have cotched it. Wonder if it would have killed a feller if he'd touched her! I wouldn't risk it, no how. She is purty--_somewhat_. Never mind, I don't care, though I should like to know who she is. It's time I was tramping home, or the folks will begin to worry about me!"

Soliloquizing thus, Jenkins took his rifle, which he saw was still loaded, and once more turned his face homeward. Let us precede his arrival at the settlement.

Dingle, upon starting, after he deemed it useless to wait for Jenkins, had made all haste through the wood, and proceeded much faster than the war-party which started the next day. Nothing occurred to interrupt his journey, and in due time he made his appearance before the block-house. He was joyfully welcomed back by all. The fate of Jenkins was sincerely regretted by every one, but under the circumstances it could not be helped. He was known to all, and although from his suspected cowardice he commanded little respect, his loss was none the less mourned.

"They're paintin' and greasin' themselves, so that they can slip around easy like, and they're just ready to start agin some settlement. More than that, boys, they've started afore now, and their faces are turned this way and you've jest got time to git ready to invite 'em in."

"How many?" inquired the commander of the post.

"Can't tell, but a powerful heap. Howsumever there ain't more than we can give 'Hail Columbia.' I don't think there'll be any Shawnees except from the upper town on Mad river. The imps in the other towns have got enough other deviltry to attend to, and I s'pect this is a kinder independent affair for the Piqua skunks."

The news of Dingle, as might be expected, occasioned the greatest excitement throughout the little encampment. The settlers, with compressed and silent lips, commenced moving the most valuable part of their furniture into the block-house, while the women, "whispering with white lips," moved hurriedly about, uttering their supplications continually.

As for the men in the block-house, they were in the highest of spirits. It had been a long time since anything had occurred to break the monotony of their life, and they hailed with delight the prospect of storms ahead. When one of the men became so boisterous, that the commander endeavored to check him, by telling him that the fight would probably be a desperate and bloody one, the fellow actually sprang off his feet, swung his hat over his head, and shouted, "Glory!"

Peterson had returned the day before Dingle, but without any news to alarm the settlement. The Indians in the Sciota valley were as quiet as usual, and there was no evidence to show that they intended a hostile expedition. The attack, as said by Dingle, and also by the Frontier Angel, was most probably contemplated by those at the Piqua town alone.

After most of the preparations had been completed, Abbot called Dingle aside, and asked him whether he had learned anything of McGable.

"He wasn't in that village," he replied.

"I suppose you are sure of it."

"Yes, for I surrounded the village two or three times, and if he'd have been thar', I'd seen him. I seen the chiefs, and could have shot any reds I'd been asked to."

"Peterson says he is not in the towns either, which he visited, for he examined each most thoroughly. How can it be? Where is he?"

"I've found out that he is at the village at the head of the Little Miami most of the time. Thar's where he is now, you may bet a considerable."

"Do you suppose he will be with the attacking Indians?"

"P'r'aps so, though it can't be told for a startin thing. I s'pose you'd like to know where me and Jim are going to catch him. You needn't think we're going to give it up. We ain't, 'cause we've set our hearts on it; and as soon as these reds as ar' comin' here get a little taste of us, the thing's going to be done. 'Cause why? Dick Dingle and Jim Peterson has said so."

"I hope you will learn of the fate of poor Marian, for I believe her mother will not live three months longer if you do not. When she finds out for certain, that her child is dead, and gone to her rest, she may bear up under this great affliction."

"Hold still a minute," said Dingle, as if a sudden thought had struck him. "Now there's Frontier Angel; she knows all about the Injin affairs, and I shouldn't wonder ef she could tell you somethin' about her. Freeze me to death, why didn't I think of it? I know she can."

"Frontier Angel, who is she? I have heard her spoken of as an Indian maiden, of whom nothing is known except that she is one of the best friends the settlers ever had."

"So she is--so she is; ef it hadn't been for her two or three times, thar' would have been some big ha'r raising done by the reds. She finds out nearly all their deviltry, and she's bound to let the whites know it."

"Do you know where she is now?"

"Tellin' the settlements to keep their eyes peeled, or maybe she's gone up to Heaven a little while. You needn't laugh, for she's a _sperit_--she's an angel, sure. Lew Whetzel says so, and I know she is, too."

"Why do you suppose she is such a being?"

"She's jest like one. She's as purty and as good. No one knows whar's she has come from, or whar' she goes to. She is allers alone, and goes about in the night. She ain't afeared of nothin', while everything is afeared of her."

"How are you going to get, then, the information of which you speak?"

"Just ax her the next time I see her. She knows me, and we've often talked together. She come and told me the other night 'bout the reds comin' down this way, and said I must go up and look 'round."

"Well, Dingle, find out what you can; I've no doubt you will. Perhaps it is time we separated, as there is enough for all to do. Mansfield, I believe, wishes to speak with you. Ah! here he comes."

Mansfield approached. His inquiries at first were the same as Abbot's, and receiving the same answers, he continued:

"How soon, Dingle, do you suppose the attack will be made?"

"To-night, sir."

"So Peterson said, and I suppose you must be right. You have no fears of the result?"

"No, sir; the Shawnees always attack in the night-time. I understand their capers. Ef it wa'n't for Frontier Angel, there would be a hard scratch, for we wouldn't have been fixed up so snug for 'em. I shouldn't wonder if thar' wa'n't much fight after all, when they find how things is."

"If they are to attack to-night, they cannot be far off?"

"No; they ain't many miles out of the way. It's now 'bout noon. They'll send thar' scouts ahead, and when the news reaches them that they are anxiously expected, they'll hurry up and git along afore dark."

"What will be their object in doing that?"

"You'll see; they'll hoot and yell, and make speeches to scare us, and make believe there's a heap of 'em. They'll order us to surrender, or they'll blow us to flinders. You'll larn sunkthin', you will. Freeze me to death, if you don't."

The afternoon gradually wore away, and the words of Dingle were found to be true. Vigilant sentinels were watching every point in the wood, and, at last, they discovered several Indians reconnoitering them. Every inhabitant was gathered into the block-house. All the men fully armed and anxious for the affray. Dingle and Peterson volunteered to enter the wood and spy out the movements and intentions of their enemies; but the commander would not permit it. He believed they could not escape being drawn into ambush, by the outlying scouts. Besides, he could not see what good could result from such an attempt. He peremptorily forbade any man recklessly exposing himself, or to attempt to execute any undertaking without orders.

Near the middle of the afternoon, some six or seven Indians were continually seen, flitting from tree to tree, and approaching the settlement as nigh as they dared. They seemed to make no attempt to conceal themselves, and often boldly exposed themselves upon the edge of the clearing. They viewed the settlement from every point possible for them to reach, and could not avoid the discovery that the whites were abundantly prepared for the assault.

Growing bolder and bolder, at the continued silence within the block-house, one of the Indians strode fearlessly out into the clearing, and stepping upon a large stump, shook his hand in a warning manner toward it. That instant there was the sharp crack of a rifle, the Indian made a hurried jump from the stump and hobbled away into the wood. As he did so he could not help hearing the loud laugh that greeted his exit.

"Guess he run a splinter in his foot!" remarked Peterson, who had fired the shot.

"Forgot sunkthin', I guess," added Dingle. "Hello! the reds have come!"

Others were now visible, and the number increasing, the wood appeared to swarm with them. They passed and repassed, and finally the majority appeared upon the edge of the clearing. Here they remained stationary a moment, and then entered the wood again.

"Heavens! there are five hundred of them!" exclaimed Mansfield, in consternation.

"Git out!" laughed Peterson; "don't you understand that trick? They're showin' themselves half a dozen times over to scare us into knocking under. Thar's just 'bout a hundred of 'em, not one more, and they ain't a little scart themselves."

"Who is at the head of them?"

"Do you see that feller standin' off at one end like? kinder hid behind that tree?"

"Yes; but he isn't dressed like a chief."

"'Cause he ain't a chief, nohow. Don't you know him?"

"No, I never saw him before."

"I reckon you have. That ar' gentleman is Mr. Thomas McGable, that you've been wantin' to see so long."

At mention of this notorious renegade's name, there was a sensation among the whites. Abbot, Mansfield, and others strained to get a view of him through the loop-holes, and expressions of indignation were freely made.

"How nice I could pick him off," whispered Peterson to Mansfield, and he ran his eye along the glistening barrel of his rifle.

"Don't do it--don't do it," admonished our hero. "Remember your promise to Abbot."

"You needn't be afraid; shootin' would be too good for him. He's bound to know what the white men think of him afore he dies."

The marching, filing, and counter-marching continued a considerable time, when the commander within the block-house was heard to say:

"Hello! we're going to hear something."

"Just as I s'pected," said Dingle. "McGable's goin' to exhort us."

The renegade made his appearance, holding a white handkerchief suspended on a stick over his head, as a flag of truce. He walked forward, waving the fluttering signal conspicuously, until about half way between the forest and the block-house, when he mounted one of the stumps which were so numerous about him, and then _he made a speech_. First, he advised them as a _friend_ to surrender; demonstrated the utter foolishness of hoping to resist such an overwhelming force as he had at his back, and pledged _his honor_ that they should be treated humanely. Warming with his subject, he informed them what a mighty man he was; what he had done, and what he would do, and how all white men knew better than to resist him. If his summons to surrender were not heeded, he would blow the whole settlement sky-high, and tomahawk every man, woman, and child!

We regret we have not space to give this remarkable speech _verbatim_. It was so long and windy that we feel compelled to be satisfied with the above synopsis.

After the renegade had finished, he seated himself upon the edge of the stump, and waited for the commander's answer. The latter, without keeping him waiting, stepped boldly out upon the platform, and shouted in a voice, every syllable of which, Jenkins, who was several miles away in the forest, afterward averred he distinctly heard:

"Tom McGable! You may attack and be hanged!"