Chapter III. The Hut on the Islet

The Scouts of the Valley

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Henry Ware waited at least a quarter of an hour by the creek on
the exact spot at which he and Solomon Hyde, called the shiftless
one, had parted, but he knew all the while that his last comrade was
not coming. The same powerful and mysterious hand that swept the
others away had taken him, the wary and cunning Shif'less Sol, master
of forest lore and with all the five senses developed to the highest
pitch. Yet his powers had availed him nothing, and the boy again
felt that cold chill running down his spine.

Henry expected the omnipotent force to come against him, also,
but his instinctive caution made him turn and creep into the thickest
of the forest, continuing until he found a place in the bushes so
thoroughly hidden that no one could see him ten feet away. There he
lay down and rapidly ran over in his mind the events connected with
the four disappearances. They were few, and he had little on which
to go, but his duty to seek his four comrades, since he alone must do
it, was all the greater. Such a thought as deserting them and
fleeing for his own life never entered his mind. He would not only
seek them, but he would penetrate the mystery of the power that had
taken them.

It was like him now to go about his work with calmness and
method. To approach an arduous task right one must possess freshness
and vigor, and one could have neither without sleep. His present
place of hiding seemed to be as secure as any that could be found.
So composing himself he took all chances and sought slumber. Yet it
needed a great effort of the will to calm his nerves, and it was a
half hour before he began to feel any of the soothing effect that
precedes sleep. But fall asleep he did at last, and, despite
everything, he slept soundly until the morning.

Henry did not awake to a bright day. The sun had risen, but it
was obscured by gray clouds, and the whole heavens were somber. A
cold wind began to blow, and with it came drops of rain. He shivered
despite the enfolding blanket. The coming of the morning had
invariably brought cheerfulness and increase of spirits, but now he
felt depression. He foresaw heavy rain again, and it would destroy
any but the deepest trail. Moreover, his supplies of food were
exhausted and he must replenish them in some manner before proceeding
further.

A spirit even as bold and strong as Henry's might well have
despaired. He had found his comrades, only to lose them again, and
the danger that had threatened them, and the elements as well, now
threatened him, too. An acute judge of sky and air, he knew that the
rain, cold, insistent, penetrating, would fall all day, and that he
must seek shelter if he would keep his strength. The Indians
themselves always took to cover at such times.

He wrapped the blanket around himself, covering his body well
from neck to ankle, putting his rifle just inside the fold, but with
his hand upon it, ready for instant use if it should be needed. Then
he started, walking straight ahead until he came to the crown of a
little hill. The clouds meanwhile thickened, and the rain, of the
kind that he had foreseen and as cold as ice, was blown against him.
The grass and bushes were reeking, and his moccasins became sodden.
Despite the vigorous walking, lie felt the wet cold entering his
system. There come times when the hardiest must yield, and be saw
the increasing need of refuge.

He surveyed the country attentively from the low hill. All
around was a dull gray horizon from which the icy rain dripped
everywhere. There was no open country. All was forest, and the
heavy rolling masses of foliage dripped with icy water, too.

Toward the south the land seemed to dip down, and Henry surmised
that in a valley he would be more likely to find the shelter that he
craved. He needed it badly. As he stood there he shivered again and
again from head to foot, despite the folds of the blanket. So he
started at once, walking fast, and feeling little fear of a foe. It
was not likely that any would be seeking him at such a time. The
rain struck him squarely in the face now. Water came from his
moccasins every time his foot was pressed against the earth, and, no
matter how closely he drew the folds of the blanket, little streams
of it, like ice to the touch, flowed down his neck and made their way
under his clothing. He could not remember a time when he had felt
more miserable.

He came in about an hour to the dip which, as he had surmised,
was the edge of a considerable valley. He ran down the slope, and
looked all about for some place of shelter, a thick windbreak in the
lee of a hill, or an outcropping of stone, but he saw neither, and,
as he continued the search, he came to marshy ground. He saw ahead
among the weeds and bushes the gleam of standing pools, and he was
about to turn back, when he noticed three or four stones, in a row
and about a yard from one another, projecting slightly above the
black muck. It struck him that the stones would not naturally be in
the soft mud, and, his curiosity aroused, he stepped lightly from one
stone to another. When he came to the last stone that he had seen
from the hard ground he beheld several more that had been hidden from
him by the bushes. Sure now that he had happened upon something not
created by nature alone, he followed these stones, leading like steps
into the very depths of the swamp, which was now deep and dark with
ooze all about him. He no longer doubted that the stones, the
artificial presence of which might have escaped the keenest eye and
most logical mind, were placed there for a purpose, and he was
resolved to know its nature.

The stepping stones led him about sixty yards into the swamp,
and the last thirty yards were at an angle from the first thirty.
Then he came to a bit of hard ground, a tiny islet in the mire, upon
which he could stand without sinking at all. He looked back from
there, and he could not see his point of departure. Bushes, weeds,
and saplings grew out of the swamp to a height of a dozen or fifteen
feet, and he was inclosed completely. All the vegetation dripped
with cold water, and the place was one of the most dismal that he had
ever seen. But he had no thought of turning back.

Henry made a shrewd guess as to whither the path led, but he
inferred from the appearance of the stepping stones-chiefly from the
fact that an odd one here and there had sunk completely out of
sight-that they had not been used in a long time, perhaps for years.
He found on the other side of the islet a second line of stones, and
they led across a marsh, that was almost like a black liquid, to
another and larger island.

Here the ground was quite firm, supporting a thick growth of
large trees. It seemed to Henry that this island might be seventy
or eighty yards across, and he began at once to explore it. In the
center, surrounded so closely by swamp oaks that they almost formed a
living wall, he found what he had hoped to find, and his relief was
so great that, despite his natural and trained stoicism, he gave a
little cry of pleasure when he saw it.

A small lodge, made chiefly of poles and bark after the Iroquois
fashion, stood within the circle of the trees, occupying almost the
whole of the space. It was apparently abandoned long ago, and time
and weather had done it much damage. But the bark walls, although
they leaned in places at dangerous angles, still stood. The bark
roof was pierced by holes on one side, but on the other it was still
solid, and shed all the rain from its slope.

The door was open, but a shutter made of heavy pieces of bark
cunningly joined together leaned against the wall, and Henry saw that
he could make use of it. He stepped inside. The hut had a bark
floor which was dry on one side, where the roof was solid, but
dripping on the other. Several old articles of Indian use lay about.
In one corner was a basket woven of split willow and still fit for
service. There were pieces of thread made of Indian hemp and the
inner bark of the elm. There were also a piece of pottery and a
large, beautifully carved wooden spoon such as every Iroquois
carried. In the corner farthest from the door was a rude fireplace
made of large flat stones, although there was no opening for the
smoke.

Henry surveyed it all thoughtfully, and he came to the
conclusion that it was a hut for hunting, built by some warrior of an
inquiring mind who had found this secret place, and who had
recognized its possibilities. Here after an expedition for game he
could lie hidden from enemies and take his comfort without fear.
Doubtless he had sat in this hut on rainy days like the present one
and smoked his pipe in the long, patient calm of which the Indian is
capable.

Yes, there was the pipe, unnoticed before, trumpet shaped and
carved beautifully, lying on a small bark shelf. Henry picked it tip
and examined the bowl. It was as dry as a bone, and not a particle
of tobacco was left there. He believed that it had not been used for
at least a year. Doubtless the Indian who had built this hunting
lodge had fallen in some foray, and the secret of it had been lost
until Henry Ware, seeking through the cold and rain, had stumbled
upon it.

It was nothing but a dilapidated little lodge of poles and bark,
all a-leak, but the materials of a house were there, and Henry was
strong and skillful. He covered the holes in tile roof with fallen
pieces of bark, laying heavy pieces of wood across them to hold them
in place. Then he lifted the bark shutter into position and closed
the door. Some drops of rain still came in through the roof, but
they were not many, and he would not mind them for the present. Then
he opened the door and began his hardest task.

He intended to build a fire on the flat stones, and, securing
fallen wood, he stripped off the bark and cut splinters from the
inside. It was slow work and he was very cold, his wet feet sending
chills through him, but be persevered, and the little heap of dry
splinters grew to a respectable size. Then he cut larger pieces,
laying them on one side while he worked with his flint and steel on
the splinters.

Flint and steel are not easily handled even by the most
skillful, and Henry saw the spark leap up and die out many times
before it finally took hold of the end of the tiniest splinter and
grew. He watched it as it ran along the little piece of wood and
ignited another and then another, the beautiful little red and yellow
flames leaping up half a foot in height. Already he felt the
grateful warmth and glow, but he would not let himself indulge in
premature joy. He fed it with larger and larger pieces until the
flames, a deeper and more beautiful red and yellow, rose at least two
feet, and big coals began to form. He left the door open a while in
order that the smoke might go out, but when the fire had become
mostly coals he closed it again, all except a crack of about six
inches, which would serve at once to let any stray smoke out, and to
let plenty of fresh air in.

Now Henry, all his preparations made, no detail neglected,
proceeded to luxuriate. He spread the soaked blanket out on the bark
floor, took off the sodden moccasins and placed them at one angle of
the fire, while he sat with his bare feet in front. What a glorious
warmth it was! It seemed to enter at his toes and proceed upward
through his body, seeking out every little nook and cranny, to dry
and warm it, and fill it full of new glow and life.

He sat there a long time, his being radiating with physical
comfort. The moccasins dried on one side, and he turned the other.
Finally they dried all over and all through, and he put them on
again. Then he hung the blanket on the bark wall near the fire, and
it, too, would be dry in another hour or so. He foresaw a warm and
dry place for the night, and sleep. Now if one only had food! But
he must do without that for the present.

He rose and tested all his bones and muscles. No stiffness or
soreness had come from the rain and cold, and he was satisfied. He
was fit for any physical emergency. He looked out through the
crevice. Night was coming, and on the little island in the swamp it
looked inexpressibly black and gloomy. His stomach complained, but
he shrugged his shoulders, acknowledging primitive necessity, and
resumed his seat by the fire. There he sat until the blanket had
dried, and deep night had fully come.

In the last hour or two Henry did not move. He remained before
the fire, crouched slightly forward, while the generous heat fed the
flame of life in him. A glowing bar, penetrating the crevice at the
door, fell on the earth outside, but it did not pass beyond the close
group of circling trees. The rain still fell with uncommon
steadiness and persistence, but at times hail was mingled with it.
Henry could not remember in his experience a more desolate night. It
seemed that the whole world dwelt in perpetual darkness, and that he
was the only living being on it. Yet within the four or five feet
square of the hut it was warm and bright, and he was not unhappy.

He would forget the pangs of hunger, and, wrapping himself in
the dry blanket, he lay down before the bed of coals, having first
raked ashes over them, and he slept one of the soundest sleeps of his
life. All night long, the dull cold rain fell, and with it, at
intervals, came gusts of hail that rattled like bird shot on the bark
walls of the hut. Some of the white pellets blew in at the door, and
lay for a moment or two on the floor, then melted in the glow of the
fire, and were gone.

But neither wind, rain nor hail awoke Henry. He was as safe,
for the time, in the hut on the islet, as if he were in the fort at
Pittsburgh or behind the palisades at Wareville. Dawn came, the sky
still heavy and dark with clouds, and the rain still falling.

Henry, after his first sense of refreshment and pleasure, became
conscious of a fierce hunger that no amount of the will could now
keep quiet. His was a powerful system, needing much nourishment, and
he must eat. That hunger became so great that it was acute physical
pain. He was assailed by it at all points, and it could be repelled
by only one thing, food. He must go forth, taking all risks, and
seek it.

He put on fresh wood, covering it with ashes in order that it
might not blaze too high, and left the islet. The stepping stones
were slippery with water, and his moccasins soon became soaked again,
but he forgot the cold and wet in that ferocious hunger, the attacks
of which became more violent every minute. He was hopeful that he
might see a deer, or even a squirrel, but the animals themselves were
likely to keep under cover in such a rain. He expected a hard hunt,
and it would be attended also by much danger - these woods must be
full of Indians - but be thought little of the risk. His hunger was
taking complete possession of his mind. He was realizing now that
one might want a thing so much that it would drive away all other
thoughts.

Rifle in hand, ready for any quick shot, he searched hour after
hour through the woods and thickets. He was wet, bedraggled, and as
fierce as a famishing panther, but neither skill nor instinct guided
him to anything. The rabbit hid in his burrow, the squirrel remained
in his hollow tree, and the deer did not leave his covert.

Henry could not well calculate the passage of time, it seemed so
fearfully long, and there was no one to tell him, but he judged that
it must be about noon, and his temper was becoming that of the
famished panther to which he likened himself. He paused and looked
around the circle of the dripping woods. He had retained his idea of
direction and he knew that he could go straight back to the hut in
the swamp. But he had no idea of returning now. A power that
neither he nor anyone else could resist was pushing him on his
search.

Searching the gloomy horizon again, he saw against the dark sky
a thin and darker line that he knew to be smoke. He inferred, also,
with certainty, that it came from an Indian camp, and, without
hesitation, turned his course toward it. Indian camp though it might
be, and containing the deadliest of foes, he was glad to know
something lived beside himself in this wilderness.

He approached with great caution, and found his surmise to be
correct. Lying full length in a wet thicket he saw a party of about
twenty warriors-Mohawks he took them to be-in an oak opening. They
had erected bark shelters, they had good fires, and they were
cooking. He saw them roasting the strips over the coals-bear meat,
venison, squirrel, rabbit, bird-and the odor, so pleasant at other
times, assailed his nostrils. But it was now only a taunt and a
torment. It aroused every possible pang of hunger, and every one of
them stabbed like a knife.

The warriors, so secure in their forest isolation, kept no
sentinels, and they were enjoying themselves like men who had
everything they wanted. Henry could hear them laughing and talking,
and he watched them as they ate strip after strip of the delicate,
tender meat with the wonderful appetite that the Indian has after
long fasting. A fierce, unreasoning anger and jealousy laid hold of
him. He was starving, and they rejoiced in plenty only fifty yards
away. He began to form plans for a piratical incursion upon them.
Half the body of a deer lay near the edge of the opening, he would
rush upon it, seize it, and dart away. It might be possible to escape
with such spoil.

Then he recalled his prudence. Such a thing was impossible.
The whole band of warriors would be upon him in an instant. The best
thing that he could do was to shut out the sight of so much luxury in
which he could not share, and he crept away among the bushes
wondering what he could do to drive away those terrible pains. His
vigorous system was crying louder than ever for the food that would
sustain it. His eyes were burning a little too brightly, and his
face was touched with fever.

Henry stopped once to catch a last glimpse of the fires and the
feasting Indians under the bark shelters. He saw a warrior raise a
bone, grasping it in both hands, and bite deep into the tender flesh
that clothed it. The sight inflamed him into an anger almost
uncontrollable. He clenched his fist and shook it at the warrior,
who little suspected the proximity of a hatred so intense. Then he
bent his head down and rushed away among the wet bushes which in
rebuke at his lack of caution raked him across the face.

Henry walked despondently back toward the islet in the swamp.
The aspect of air and sky had not changed. The heavens still dripped
icy water, and there was no ray of cheerfulness anywhere. The game
remained well hidden.

It was a long journey back, and as he felt that he was growing
weak he made no haste. He came to dense clumps of bushes, and
plowing his way through them, he saw a dark opening under some trees
thrown down by an old hurricane. Having some vague idea that it
might be the lair of a wild animal, he thrust the muzzle of his rifle
into the darkness. It touched a soft substance. There was a growl,
and a black form shot out almost into his face. Henry sprang aside,
and in an instant all his powers and faculties returned. He had
stirred up a black bear, and before the animal, frightened as much as
he was enraged, could run far the boy, careless how many Indians
might hear, threw up his rifle and fired.

His aim was good. The bear, shot through the head, fell, and
was dead. Henry, transformed, ran up to him. Bear life had been
given up to sustain man's. Here was food for many days, and he
rejoiced with a great joy. He did not now envy those warriors back
there.

The bear, although small, was very fat. Evidently he had fed
well on acorns and wild honey, and he would yield up steaks which, to
one with Henry's appetite, would be beyond compare. He calculated
that it was more than a mile to the swamp, and, after a few
preliminaries, he flung the body of the bear over his shoulder.
Through some power of the mind over the body his full strength had
returned to him miraculously, and when he reached the stepping stones
he crossed from one to another lightly and firmly, despite the weight
that he carried.

He came to the little bark hut which he now considered his own.
The night had fallen again, but some coals still glowed under the
ashes, and there was plenty of dry wood. He did everything decently
and in order. He took the pelt from the bear, carved the body
properly, and then, just as the Indians had done, he broiled strips
over the coals. He ate them one after another, slowly, and tasting
all the savor, and, intense as was the mere physical pleasure, it was
mingled with a deep thankfulness. Not only was the life nourished
anew in him, but he would now regain the strength to seek his
comrades.

When he had eaten enough he fastened the body of the bear, now
in several portions, on hooks high upon the walls, hooks which
evidently had been placed there by the former owner of the hut for
this very purpose. Then, sure that the savor of the food would draw
other wild animals, he brought one of the stepping stones and placed
it on the inside of the door. The door could not be pushed aside
without arousing him, and, secure in the knowledge, he went to sleep
before the coals.