Chapter VI: The Bowlder Bullets

Steadily Boone pressed on through the tangled forest, with the yells of the Osage warriors ringing clearly in his ears, and something of the fire of his younger days gleamed in his blue eyes and brought a flush to his bronzed cheek, as he felt himself once more pitted against the dusky heathen who had dealt him so many and bitter blows.

Close in his footsteps trod young Abel Dare, sullenly fleeing from the enemies he longed to turn upon and rend in his furious hatred. But the Wood King had gained a strange ascendancy over his mind, and he obeyed, though with an ill grace.

At the time he had given the word to separate, Boone diverged slightly to the right hand, bidding Dare follow him closely. And now they sped forward over the tangled ground with all the speed possible, while the Osages yelped like eager hounds close at his heels.

Thoroughly acquainted with the surrounding country, Boone sought to direct his course so as to avoid a serious obstacle that lay before them; but even under the best auspices it is difficult to keep a straight course through a thick wood; little wonder then that their rapid flight through the darkness caused him to err in his calculations.

Half an hour after leaving the Osage village, the veteran made this discovery, and a feeling of anxiety agitated his mind, more for the young man, who trusted in his skill and experience, than for himself. As was the case with Lightfoot, a few hours later, he was running headlong into a trap. Nor could he hope to shun it by turning aside. The pursuers were too near for that.

Then a cry burst from his lips. Like a revelation, there flashed upon him a scene from the past: a deep, narrow gorge, yet too wide for man to cross it by leaping--a hunter standing upon the verge, peering downward, supporting himself by a stout grape-vine that dangled from the horizontal limb of the gnarled elm tree. By its aid an active man could cross the ravine.

Calling upon Dare to increase his exertions, Boone darted forward with the speed of a hunted deer through the now less dense forest. The trees grew less thickly, the ground more broken, strewn with flinty bowlders. Through the clear moonlight could be seen distant hills rising darkly, with their covering of trees, or bleak and bare, their rocky summits scarce affording subsistence for a scant growth of shriveled, prematurely-growing grass.

True to his latter calculation, the Wood King reached the gorge at a point only a few steps from the vine-wreathed elm tree, and then one stroke of his keen knife severed the pendent grape-vine close to its root. Clutching this, he ran back a few paces, crying out to Dare as he did so:

"Watch me, lad--then foller. Ketch the vine as it comes back."

Then springing from the ground, he shot swiftly through the air, across the dark ravine, safely making the further side, whence he hurled back the novel rope. The yells of the Osages came more clear--their heavy tramp smote his ear, and Dare did not hesitate for a moment. Clutching the vine, he too was safely landed on the other side, where Boone was hurriedly driving home a well-battered bullet.

"What shall we do with this?" muttered Dare, still holding the vine.

"Let it go. 'Tain't long enough to tie, an' we cain't break it off. We kin keep 'em from crossin' with our rifles. Take to kiver, an' load up--for life!" hastily replied the Wood King, kneeling down in the shade cast by a huge bowlder, adroitly priming his rifle as he spoke.

With loud cries, the Osages rushed forward, but then paused, their tones altering greatly. Where were their anticipated victims? the swaying grape-vine answered, and so did the rifle of the old hunter.

Sharply, with a spiteful cadence, rung out its voice, the bright flame leaping half-way across the ravine, dazzling the eyes of the Osages; the eyes of all but one--and he sunk down in death, the blood gushing from a perforated skull. For a moment the savages stood amazed; then turned and sought cover. But before the friendly bowlders were gained, though so near at hand, the rifle of the young settler was discharged, and a second savage fell at full length, sorely wounded. A single cry of agony, then he silently dragged his maimed body over the rocky ground, seeking to gain cover.

"Now's our chance," said Abel, as he poured the wonderful black grains into his rifle. "We can get to a safe distance before they think of crossing."

"Easy, lad," and Boone laughed silently. "Thar's plenty of time afore us. The varmints won't ventur' to cross over as long's they think two sech rifles as our'n is ready to dispute their passage, so we may as well get a little more breath while we kin. There--hear them yelp!" he added, as two or three subdued cries came from the opposite side. "The fools--do they think to blind the eyes of one who has known them a lifetime? Poor fools--they're sadly out."

"What do you mean?" quickly asked Abel Dare.

"This: they're yellin' there to make us think they're very busy hatchin' some plan to git at us, and so keep us still a-watchin' to drive 'em back when they try to cross. Now, though layin' bets is not my natur', I'd stake my scalp ag'inst that of any red heathen among 'em, that the biggest part of the lot has gone round the ravine so's to take us unbeknown in the rear," quietly replied the veteran woodsman.

"Then why stay here, losing precious time that--"

"As I told you, to git ready for another hard tramp. It's full half a mile to the nearest end or crossin'-place, an' the ground is mighty rough. But we'll go now."

As he spoke, Boone raised his rifle and fired at one of the bowlders beyond, though none of the savages were visible. Taunting yells greeted this shot, but he knew that his object was gained. The Osages would believe that the scouts had resolved to defend the pass, and so would make no attempt at crossing until their friends completed the surround. And this, Boone felt, would give them ample time to reach safety.

Loading his rifle, as he proceeded, Boone led the way over the rocks, after crawling stealthily until beyond view of the ravine. Abel, comparatively inexperienced in such matters chafed restlessly at the deliberate motions of the old hunter but knew the uselessness of remonstrating. Thus they proceeded for fully half an hour, when from the direction of the ravine, there came, borne upon the brisk breeze, angry yells of rage and disappointment. The Osages had discovered the flight of their enemies.

"Now, lad, sence we've got our new wind, mebbe it'd be as well to do a little more tall travelin', for we've a long trail afore us to the place I told the chief we'd meet him at," said Boone, breaking into a trot.

For half a mile more Abel kept close at the veteran's heels, but then his foot slipped, and in recovering his balance, the knife dropped from his belt. A little incident, but one that was fated to produce important changes in the lives of both the scouts.

Picking up the weapon, Abel thrust it securely into his belt, then resumed his course. Boone had not heard the slip, and now Abel just caught a glimpse of his form as he passed around a huge bowlder. When Abel gained this point, Boone had disappeared around another. Expecting with every moment to overtake the hunter, Dare pressed on through the broken country. The trail was winding and intricate, one among a hundred others, though this fact the young settler was hardly aware of, since the moon was already paling before the approach of day, and a dim, uncertain light shrouded the earth, revealing outlines vague and indistinct.

For several minutes Abel Dare pressed on with as great speed as was practicable under the circumstances; still nothing was to be seen or heard of Boone. Then pausing, he called aloud, gently at first, then louder; but only the mocking echoes answered back. Where could the hunter be?

For a few minutes Dare deliberated whether or no he should retrace his steps and try to rejoin his friend; but he felt by no means sure that he _could_ do this, so many passages and trails seemed winding through this rocky tract. And then, too, he knew that the Osages would be searching for the fugitives. To return would be to rush into their arms.

"No, I'll go on," he at length muttered, decisively. "This tract can not extend much further, and once in the open ground, I can easily manage to rejoin Boone. If not, then I'll strike for the settlements and try to raise enough men to set poor, darling Edith free, whether or no!"

Acting upon this resolve, Abel Dare turned his face toward the north, and pressed on at a rapid gait, all-unconscious of the danger that was rapidly nearing him--that, in fact, he was advancing to meet.

For an hour more he toiled on. The broken, rocky tract was left behind him. The ground was now almost like a rolling prairie, thinly wooded save in the deeper valleys where some small creek, sluggishly wound its way. The sun had risen, clear and bright. The wind had nearly died away. The day was lovely, inspiriting, and despite his weary limbs, his hunger, the young settler pursued his way with a free, springy step.

He had seen nothing of Boone, though he had searched keenly, had halloed, once even discharging his rifle, but all without the result wished for. Not daring to waste further time in the hope of finding him, Dare turned his face toward the quite distant settlement, eager to put into operation his plans for the rescue of Edith. For that she was still alive and a captive, he firmly believed, from the reasonings of the old hunter.

His mind was filled with such thoughts, when, upon the ridge of a considerable hill, Abel abruptly paused. Upon his left, fully half a mile distant, his keen glance detected a score human figures, crossing the hill in an opposite direction to that followed by himself. For this reason he had not discovered them before.

Quick as thought Abel flung himself flat upon the ground, but he was too late to avoid observation. He saw the human figures turn toward him, gesticulating violently. Even as he lay they could see him, for the grass was short and scanty.

Whatever doubts he might have entertained as to their identity, were quickly solved. The bright sun shone clearly upon them. Even at that distance he could distinguish the long flowing hair, the plumed beads, the bronze, naked forms; all telling of savages, and consequently enemies.

Feeling assured that naught save another horrible, heart-sickening flight could avail him here, Abel partially arose and cast a swift glance behind him. In that direction, if any, must he flee, for in his present jaded state he would need all the advantage he possessed.

Fully two miles away a considerable-sized hill arose from the level ground around. Though its crest was densely crowned with trees, the sides and base were bare of vegetation, an uneven, dirty grayish cast. Around its base lay scattered a number of bowlders that must be, to be so distinctly visible at that distance, of large size. The thought flashed upon Dare that if he could not find a secure covert there, at least he could gain a position from whence he could sell his life dearly.

He had time for no more than one glance and its accompanying thought. Though in silence, the Indians rapidly advanced along the ridge toward him. Leaping to his feet, Abel turned and darted away at full speed, casting a quick glance over his shoulder as he did so. That showed him the savages bounding forward in hot pursuit, while their yells came slowly to his ears.

With eyes fixed upon the goal, Dare ran, as he had never ran before, along the gradually-descending ridge. The turf was smooth, springy, free from all obstacles. A more favorable spot for a race could not have been picked out. And yet Abel knew that the savages were gaining upon him, though slowly. The difference in the occasional yells plainly told him that. Still, when one-half the distance had been traversed, he glanced back, and felt assured that, barring accident, he would not be overtaken before reaching the hill.

On--on the competitors sped. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the distance separating them lessened. But then the rocky mound now loomed up quite near, and Abel could plainly distinguish the irregular seams and fissures in its surface. Surely, in some of these he could find a refuge? Hope sprung up anew in his heart, though he knew that he must round the point of the hill before attempting to secrete himself, if he wished to make the attempt successful, and every additional yard to be run was adding to the task already sufficiently arduous.

Panting heavily, his limbs trembling, his brain madly throbbing, Abel Dare gained the foot of the hill. Still he did not pause, even to glance back at his pursuers, but pressed on round the point at full speed. Yelling madly the savages dashed on after him, knowing that the end was nigh by his uncertain strides.

A little stream of water was before Abel, and a wild, whimsical thought was called up by it. Skirting the hill-base, he came upon what seemed the source of the stream, where the water, clear, sparkling and cold, came gushing through a round black hole, as though from the bowels of the rocky mound. Here Abel paused, dropping upon his hands and knees, plunging his head in the water, swallowing great mouthfuls of the grateful liquid.

"At any rate, I'll not die thirsting," was his thought, and regardless, as it seemed, of the rapidly approaching enemy, he acted upon the idea.

But this was only momentary. Scarce had he touched the water, when he started. A clear, wild-sounding laugh filled his ear, apparently coming from the empty air above his head. And following the laugh came these words:

"Does the hunted deer halt to appease his thirst or hunger while the wild wolves snarl at his heels? Go learn wisdom from the dumb beasts. Up, man! up and away--the blood-thirsty heathens are upon ye!"

Thus directed, Abel Dare's eyes rested upon a tall, wild-looking figure, standing upon a sort of projecting platform, half-way up the hill. It was the same being who had warned the Mordaunt family of their danger--the being sometimes called "the hermit"--oftener the devil, by the settlers. Now for the first time, Abel beheld his face, though more than once, during his hunting experience, he had caught a fleeting glimpse of the rudely-dressed being.

But the one glance was all that Dare gave him now, for from round the hill-point came another series of yells from the pursuing savages, now close at hand. Yet in that glance Abel noted a rude, faintly-defined path leading up the precipitous hillside, ending at the platform where stood the hermit. It could be scaled by an active man.

Without pausing to consider whether such a course would be agreeable to the hermit, Abel sprung forward, clambering up the smooth trail with the agility of a cat. A peculiar cry broke from the hermit's lips, and he retreated from sight. Almost immediately Abel heard him rolling a heavy bowlder toward the point directly above him. At the same moment loud, eager cries from the ground below told that the savages had rounded the hill-point, and had discovered him.

A double peril seemed threatening him, yet, spurred on by the malignant whoops, Abel scrambled on and upward. Directly above his head hung a large, jagged bowlder, poised upon the edge of the platform by the strong arms of the hermit. To the young man, a look of devilish triumph seemed dawning in the big black eyes that peered down upon him over the top of the bowlder.

"Quick! the heathen are beginning to bethink themselves of their weapons. Reach me your hand--haste! Is life so worthless that ye would cast it away without an effort toward saving it?" cried the man, in tones so different from that first used that even Abel felt surprise.

Still, great though that surprise was, increased, too, by finding a friend when he had expected to meet an enemy, it did not prevent Dare from obeying the hermit by extending his hand, which was clutched by fingers like iron in their strength. Without any apparent effort the hermit drew Abel Dare up over the escarpment, landing him safely by his side, though now the rifles from below had begun to speak, the bowstrings to twang, and the feathered shafts to hurtle through the air. But the marksmen were unsteadied by their long race, and their aim any thing but accurate.

"Give them a taste of your metal, young man--take those with the rifles," sharply cried the hermit, seemingly changed from a wild enthusiast into a cool Indian-fighter.

Abel, nowise loth, obeyed. A savage dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. The hermit shook his head and frowned.

"You overshot--at least two inches too high. 'Tis better, even in dealing with such reptiles, to do your work neatly. But now hold this rock, while I go and get my arms. Your shot checked them for a time."

In a few moments the hermit returned, bearing in his hand a huge bow of second-growth white-oak, full six feet in length, more resembling a crow-bar, tapering slightly at both ends, than weapon to be used by human arm. Besides this he carried a skin quiver filled with long, flint-tipped arrows. Abel's eyes opened widely as he saw with what ease the hermit bent this bow, to test the string. But soon they had their hands full.

In silence a number of Indians broke cover and darted toward the narrow path leading upward, while a volley from those remaining concealed swept the platform. Crouching low down the two defenders coolly watched their movements, comparatively well shielded the while.

Half a dozen braves succeeded in scaling the path for fully half the distance, when, with a sudden push, the hermit toppled over the heavy bowlder. True to his intention, it dashed along the hollow trail, and tore resistlessly through the line of savages, crushing, mangling them horribly, leaving but one alive of the six, and as he picked himself up at the hill-foot, the huge bow was bent, and then an arrow passed entirely through the poor devil's body.

The savages yelled madly from their cover, but not one ventured to show himself. The hermit laughed loudly, then turned to Abel, who, pale and staring, was gazing over the platform:

"How do you like my style of working? But go and get some more of our jolly flint bullets--you'll find them yonder, in the cave behind you."

Awe-stricken, Dare rose to his feet to obey, but then paused as though transfixed. Then a joyous look overspread his face, as he sprung forward, crying:

"Edith, my darling! alive--thank God!"