Chapter XVII. The Deserted Cabin

The Scouts of the Valley

by Joseph A. Altsheler

When the last soldier had disappeared among the trees, Henry
turned to the others. "Well, boys," he asked, "what are you thinking
about?"

"I?" asked Paul. "I'm thinking about a certain place I know, a
sort of alcove or hole in a cliff above a lake."

"An' me?" said Shif'less Sol. "I'm thinkin' how fur that alcove
runs back, an' how it could be fitted up with furs an' made warm fur
the winter."

"Me?" said Tom Ross. "I'm thinkin' what a snug place that
alcove would be when the snow an' hail were drivin' down the creek in
front of you."

"An' ez fur me," said Long Jim Hart, "I wuz thinkin' I could run
a sort uv flue from the back part uv that alcove out through the
front an' let the smoke pass out. I could cook all right. It
wouldn't be ez good a place fur cookin' ez the one we hed that time
we spent the winter on the island in the lake, but 'twould serve."

"It's strange," said Henry, " but I've been thinking of all the
things that all four of you have been thinking about, and, since we
are agreed, we are bound to go straight to 'The Alcove' and pass the
winter there."

Without another word he led the way, and the others followed.
It was apparent to everyone that they must soon find a winter base,
because the cold had increased greatly in the last few days. The
last leaves had fallen from the trees, and a searching wind howled
among the bare branches. Better shelter than blankets would soon be
needed.

On their way they passed Oghwaga, a mass of blackened ruins,
among which wolves howled, the same spectacle that Wyoming now
afforded, although Oghwaga had not been stained by blood.

It was a long journey to "The Alcove," but they did not hurry,
seeing no need of it, although they were warned of the wisdom of
their decision by the fact that the cold was increasing. The country
in which the lake was situated lay high, and, as all of them were
quite sure that the cold was going to be great there, they thought it
wise to make preparations against it, which they discussed as they
walked in, leisurely fashion through the woods. They spoke, also, of
greater things. All felt that they had been drawn into a mightier
current than any in which they had swam before. They fully
appreciated the importance to the Revolution of this great rearguard
struggle, and at present they did not have the remotest idea of
returning to Kentucky under any circumstances.

"We've got to fight it out with Braxton Wyatt and the Iroquois,"
said Henry. "I've heard that Braxton is organizing a band of Tories
of his own, and that he is likely to be as dangerous as either of the
Butlers."

"Some day we'll end him for good an' all," said Shif'less
Sol.

It was four or five days before they reached their alcove, and
now all the forest was bare and apparently lifeless. They came down
the creek, and found their boat unharmed and untouched still among
the foliage at the base of the cliff.

"That's one thing safe," said Long Jim, "an' I guess we'll find
'The Alcove' all right, too."

"Unless a wild animal has taken up its abode there," said
Paul.

"'Tain't likely," replied Long Jim. "We've left the human smell
thar, an' even after all this time it's likely to drive away any
prowlin' bear or panther that pokes his nose in."

Long Jim was quite right. Their snug nest, like that of a
squirrel in the side of a tree, had not been disturbed. The skins
which they had rolled up tightly and placed on the higher shelves of
stone were untouched, and several days' hunting increased the supply.
The hunting was singularly easy, and, although the five did not know
it, the quantity of game was much greater in that region than it had
been for years. It had been swept of human beings by the Iroquois
and Tory hordes, and deer, bear, and panther seemed to know
instinctively that the woods were once more safe for them.

In their hunting they came upon the ruins of charred houses, and
more than once they saw something among the coals that caused them to
turn away with a shudder. At every place where man had made a little
opening the wilderness was quickly reclaiming its own again. Next
year the grass and the foliage would cover up the coals and the
hideous relics that lay among them.

They jerked great quantities of venison on the trees on the
cliff side, and stored it in "The Alcove." They also cured some bear
meat, and, having added a further lining of skins, they felt prepared
for winter. They had also added to the comfort of the place. They
had taken the precaution of bringing with them two axes, and with the
heads of these they smoothed out more of the rough places on the
floor and sides of "The Alcove." They thought it likely, too, that
they would need the axes in other ways later on.

Only once during these arrangements did they pass the trail of
Indians, and that was made by a party of about twenty, at least ten
miles from "The Alcove." They seemed to be traveling north, and the
five made no investigations. Somewhat later they met a white runner
in the forest, and he told them of the terrible massacre of Cherry
Valley. Walter Butler, emulating his father's exploit at Wyoming,
had come down with a mixed horde of Iroquois, Tories, British, and
Canadians. He had not been wholly successful, but he had slaughtered
half a hundred women and children, and was now returning northward
with prisoners. Some said, according to the runner, that
Thayendanegea had led the Indians on this occasion, but, as the five
learned later, he had not come up until the massacre was over. The
runner added another piece of information that interested them
deeply. Butler had been accompanied to Cherry Valley by a young Tory
or renegade named Wyatt, who had distinguished himself by cunning and
cruelty. It was said that Wyatt had built up for himself a
semi-independent command, and was becoming a great scourge.

"That's our Braxton," said Henry. "He is rising to his
opportunities. He is likely to become fully the equal of Walter
Butler."

But they could do nothing at present to find Wyatt, and they
went somewhat sadly back to "The Alcove." They had learned also from
the runner that Wyatt had a lieutenant, a Tory named Coleman, and
this fact increased their belief that Wyatt was undertaking to
operate on a large scale.

"We may get a chance at him anyhow," said Henry. "He and his
band may go too far away from the main body of the Indians and
Tories, and in that case we can strike a blow if we are watchful."

Every one of the five, although none of them knew it, received
an additional impulse from this news about Braxton Wyatt. He had
grown up with them. Loyalty to the king had nothing to do with his
becoming a renegade or a Tory; he could not plead lost lands or exile
for taking part in such massacres as Wyoming or Cherry Valley, but,
long since an ally of the Indians, he was now at the head of a Tory
band that murdered and burned from sheer pleasure.

"Some day we'll get him, as shore as the sun rises an' sets,"
said Shif'less Sol, repeating Henry's prediction.

But for the present they "holed up," and now their foresight was
justified. To such as they, used to the hardships of forest life,
"The Alcove" was a cheery nest. From its door they watched the wild
fowl streaming south, pigeons, ducks, and others outlined against the
dark, wintry skies. So numerous were these flocks that there was
scarcely a time when they did not see one passing toward the warm
South.

Shif'less Sol and Paul sat together watching a great flock of
wild geese, arrow shaped, and flying at almost incredible speed. A
few faint honks came to them, and then the geese grew misty on the
horizon. Shif'less Sol followed them with serious eyes.

"Do you ever think, Paul," he said, "that we human bein's ain't
so mighty pow'ful ez we think we are. We kin walk on the groun', an'
by hard learnin' an' hard work we kin paddle through the water a
little. But jest look at them geese flyin' a mile high, right over
everything, rivers, forests any mountains, makin' a hundred miles an
hour, almost without flappin' a wing. Then they kin come down on the
water an' float fur hours without bein' tired, an' they kin waddle
along on the groun', too. Did you ever hear of any men who had so
many 'complishments? Why, Paul, s'pose you an' me could grow wings
all at once, an' go through the air a mile a minute fur a month an'
never git tired."

"We'd certainly see some great sights," said Paul, "but do you
know, Sol, what would be the first thing I'd do if I had the gift of
tireless wings?"

"Fly off to them other continents I've heard you tell about."

"No, I'd swoop along over the forests up here until I picked out
all the camps of the Indians and Tories. I'd pick out the Butlers
and Braxton Wyatt and Coleman, and see what mischief they were
planning. Then I'd fly away to the East and look down at all the
armies, ours in buff and blue, and the British redcoats. I'd look
into the face of our great commander-in-chief. Then I'd fly away
back into the West and South, and I'd hover over Wareville. I'd see
our own people, every last little one of them. They might take a
shot at me, not knowing who I was, but I'd be so high up in the air
no bullet could reach me. Then I'd come soaring back here to you
fellows."

"That would shorely be a grand trip, Paul," said Shif'less Sol,
" an' I wouldn't mind takin' it in myself. But fur the present we'd
better busy our minds with the warnin's the wild fowl are givin' us,
though we're well fixed fur a house already. It's cu'rus what good
homes a handy man kin find in the wilderness."

The predictions of the wild fowl were true. A few days later
heavy clouds rolled up in the southwest, and the five watched them,
knowing what they would bring them. They spread to the zenith and
then to the other horizon, clothing the whole circle of the earth.
The great flakes began to drop down, slowly at first, then faster.
Soon all the trees were covered with white, and everything else, too,
except the dark surface of the lake, which received the flakes into
its bosom as they fell.

It snowed all that day and most of the next, until it lay about
two feet on the ground. After that it turned intensely cold, the
surface of the snow froze, and ice, nearly a foot thick, covered the
lake. It was not possible to travel under such circumstances without
artificial help, and now Tom Ross, who had once hunted in the far
North, came to their help. He showed them how to make snowshoes,
and, although all learned to use them, Henry, with his great strength
and peculiar skill, became by far the most expert.

As the snow with its frozen surface lay on the ground for weeks,
Henry took many long journeys on the snowshoes. Sometimes be hunted,
but oftener his role was that of scout. He cautioned his friends
that he might be out-three or four days at a time, and that they need
take no alarm about him unless his absence became extremely long.
The winter deepened, the snow melted, and another and greater storm
came, freezing the surface, again making the snowshoes necessary.
Henry decided now to take a scout alone to the northward, and, as the
others bad long since grown into the habit of accepting his decisions
almost without question, be started at once. He was well equipped
with his rifle, double barreled pistol, hatchet, and knife, and he
carried in addition a heavy blanket and some jerked venison. He put
on his snowshoes at the foot of the cliff, waved a farewell to the
four heads thrust from "The Alcove" above, and struck out on the
smooth, icy surface of the creek. From this he presently passed into
the woods, and for a long time pursued a course almost due north.

It was no vague theory that had drawn Henry forth. In one of
his journeyings be had met a hunter who told him of a band of Tories
and Indians encamped toward the north, and he had an idea that it was
the party led by Braxton Wyatt. Now he meant to see.

His information was very indefinite, and he began to discover
signs much earlier than he had expected. Before the end of the first
day he saw the traces of other snowshoe runners on the icy snow, and
once he came to a place where a deer had been slain and dressed.
Then he came to another where the snow had been hollowed out under
some pines to make a sleeping place for several men. Clearly he was
in the land of the enemy again, and a large and hostile camp might be
somewhere near.

Henry felt a thrill of joy when he saw these indications. All
the primitive instincts leaped up within him. A child of the forest
and of elemental conditions, the warlike instinct was strong within
him. He was tired of hunting wild animals, and now there was promise
of a' more dangerous foe. For the purposes that he had in view he
was glad that be was alone. The wintry forest, with its two feet of
snow covered with ice, contained no terrors for him. He moved on his
snowshoes almost like a skater, and with all the dexterity of an
Indian of the far North, who is practically born on such shoes.

As he stood upon the brow of a little hill, elevated upon his
snowshoes, he was, indeed, a wonderful figure. The added height and
the white glare from the ice made him tower like a great giant. He
was clad completely in soft, warm deerskin, his hands were gloved in
the same material, and the fur cap was drawn tightly about his head
and ears. The slender-barreled rifle lay across his shoulder, and
the blanket and deer meat made a light package on his back. Only his
face was uncovered, and that was rosy with the sharp but bracing
cold. But the resolute blue eyes seemed to have grown more resolute
in the last six months, and the firm jaw was firmer than ever.

It was a steely blue sky, clear, hard, and cold, fitted to the
earth of snow and ice that it inclosed. His eyes traveled the circle
of the horizon three times, and at the end of the third circle he
made out a dim, dark thread against that sheet of blue steel. It was
the light of a camp fire, and that camp fire must belong to an enemy.
It was not likely that anybody else would be sending forth such a
signal in this wintry wilderness.

Henry judged that the fire was several miles away, and
apparently in a small valley hemmed in by hills of moderate height.
He made up his mind that the band of Braxton Wyatt was there, and he
intended to make a thorough scout about it. He advanced until the
smoke line became much thicker and broader, and then he stopped in
the densest clump of bushes that he could find. He meant to remain
there until darkness came, because, with all foliage gone from the
forest, it would be impossible to examine the hostile camp by day.
The bushes, despite the lack of leaves, were so dense that they hid
him well, and, breaking through the crust of ice, he dug a hole.
Then, having taken off his snowshoes and wrapped his blanket about
his body, he thrust himself into the hole exactly like a rabbit in
its burrow. He laid his shoes on the crust of ice beside him. Of
course, if found there by a large party of warriors on snowshoes he
would have no chance to flee, but he was willing to take what seemed
to him a small risk. The dark would not be long in coming, and it
was snug and warm in the hole. As he sat, his head rose just above
the surrounding ice, but his rifle barrel rose much higher. He ate a
little venison for supper, and the weariness in the ankles that comes
from long traveling on snowshoes disappeared.

He could not see outside the bushes, but he listened with those
uncommonly keen ears of his. No sound at all came. There was not
even a wind to rustle the bare boughs. The sun hung a huge red globe
in the west, and all that side of the earth was tinged with a red
glare, wintry and cold despite its redness. Then, as the earth
turned, the sun was lost behind it, and the cold dark came.

Henry found it so comfortable in his burrow that all his muscles
were soothed, and he grew sleepy. It would have been very pleasant
to doze there, but he brought himself round with an effort of the
will, and became as wide awake as ever. He was eager to be off on
his expedition, but he knew how much depended on waiting, and he
waited. One hour, two hours, three hours, four hours, still and
dark, passed in the forest before he roused himself from his covert.
Then, warm, strong, and tempered like steel for his purpose, he put
on his snowshoes, and advanced toward the point from which the column
of smoke had risen.

He had never been more cautious and wary than he was now. He
was a formidable figure in the darkness, crouched forward, and moving
like some spirit of the wilderness, half walking, half gliding.

Although the night had come out rather clear, with many cold
stars twinkling in the blue, the line of smoke was no longer visible.
But Henry did not expect it to be, nor did he need it. He had marked
its base too clearly in his mind to make any mistake, and he advanced
with certainty. He came presently into an open space, and he stopped
with amazement. Around him were the stumps of a clearing made
recently, and near him were some yards of rough rail fence.

He crouched against the fence, and saw on the far side of the
clearing the dim outlines of several buildings, from the chimneys of
two of which smoke was rising. It was his first thought that he had
come upon a little settlement still held by daring borderers, but
second thought told him that it was impossible. Another and more
comprehensive look showed many signs of ruin. He saw remains of
several burned houses, but clothing all was the atmosphere of
desolation and decay that tells when a place is abandoned. The two
threads of smoke did not alter this impression.

Henry divined it all. The builders of this tiny village in the
wilderness bad been massacred or driven away. A part of the houses
had been destroyed, some were left standing, and now there were
visitors. He advanced without noise, keeping behind the rail fence,
and approaching one of the houses from the chimneys of which the
smoke came. Here be crouched a long time, looking and listening
attentively; but it seemed that the visitors had no fears. Why
should they, when there was nothing that they need fear in this
frozen wilderness?

Henry stole a little nearer. It had been a snug, trim little
settlement. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty people had lived there,
literally hewing a home out of the forest. His heart throbbed with a
fierce hatred and, anger against those who had spoiled all this, and
his gloved finger crept to the hammer of his rifle.

The night was intensely cold. The mercury was far below zero,
and a wind that had begun to rise cut like the edge of a knife. Even
the wariest of Indians in such desolate weather might fail to keep a
watch. But Henry did not suffer. The fur cap was drawn farther over
chin and ears, and the buckskin gloves kept his fingers warm and
flexible. Besides, his blood was uncommonly hot in his veins.

His comprehensive eye told him that, while some of the buildings
had not been destroyed, they were so ravaged and damaged that they
could never be used again, save as a passing shelter, just as they
were being used now. He slid cautiously about the desolate place.
He crossed a brook, frozen almost solidly in its bed, and he saw two
or three large mounds that had been haystacks, now covered with
snow.

Then he slid without noise back to the nearest of the houses
from which the smoke came. It was rather more pretentious than the
others, built of planks instead of logs, and with shingles for a
roof. The remains of a small portico formed the approach to the
front door. Henry supposed that the house had been set on fire and
that perhaps a heavy rain had saved a part of it.

A bar of light falling across the snow attracted his attention.
He knew that it was the glow of a fire within coming through a
window. A faint sound of voices reached his ears, and he moved
forward slowly to the window. It was an oaken shutter originally
fastened with a leather strap, but the strap was gone, and now some
one had tied it, though not tightly, with a deer tendon. The crack
between shutter and wall was at least three inches, and Henry could
see within very well.

He pressed his side tightly to the wall and put his eyes to the
crevice. What he saw within did not still any of those primitive
feelings that had risen so strongly in his breast.

A great fire had been built in the log fireplace, but it was
burning somewhat low now, having reached that mellow period of least
crackling and greatest heat. The huge bed of coals threw a mass of
varied and glowing colors across the floor. Large holes had been
burned in the side of the room by the original fire, but Indian
blankets had been fastened tightly over them.

In front of the fire sat Braxton Wyatt in a Loyalist uniform, a
three-cornered hat cocked proudly on his head, and a small sword by
his side. He had grown heavier, and Henry saw that the face had
increased much in coarseness and cruelty. It had also increased in
satisfaction. He was a great man now, as he saw great men, and both
face and figure radiated gratification and pride as he lolled before
the fire. At the other corner, sitting upon the floor and also in a
Loyalist uniform, was his lieutenant, Levi Coleman, older, heavier,
and with a short, uncommonly muscular figure. His face was dark and
cruel, with small eyes set close together. A half dozen other white
men and more than a dozen Indians were in the room. All these lay
upon their blankets on the floor, because all the furniture had been
destroyed. Yet they had eaten, and they lay there content in the
soothing glow of the fire, like animals that had fed well. Henry was
so near that he could hear every word anyone spoke.

"It was well that the Indians led us to this place, eh, Levi?"
said Wyatt.

"I'm glad the fire spared a part of it," said Coleman. "Looks
as if it was done just for us, to give us a shelter some cold winter
night when we come along. I guess the Iroquois Aieroski is watching
over us."

Wyatt laughed.

"You're a man that I like, Levi," he said. "You can see to the
inside of things. It would be a good idea to use this place as a
base and shelter, and make a raid on some of the settlements east of
the hills, eh, Levi?"

"It could be done," said Coleman. "But just listen to that
wind, will you! On a night like this it must cut like a saber's
edge. Even our Iroquois are glad to be under a roof."

Henry still gazed in at the crack with eyes that were lighted up
by an angry fire. So here was more talk of destruction and
slaughter! His gaze alighted upon an Indian who sat in a corner
engaged upon a task. Henry looked more closely, and saw that he was
stretching a blonde-haired scalp over a small hoop. A shudder shook
his whole frame. Only those who lived amid such scenes could
understand the intensity of his feelings. He felt, too, a bitter
sense of injustice. The doers of these deeds were here in warmth and
comfort, while the innocent were dead or fugitives. He turned away
from the window, stepping gently upon the snowshoes. He inferred
that the remainder of Wyatt's band were quartered in the other house
from which he had seen the smoke rising. It was about twenty rods
away, but he did not examine it, because a great idea had been born
suddenly in his brain. The attempt to fulfill the idea would be
accompanied by extreme danger, but he did not hesitate a moment. He
stole gently to one of the half-fallen outhouses and went inside.
Here he found what he wanted, a large pine shelf that had been
sheltered from rain and that was perfectly dry. He scraped off a
large quantity of the dry pine until it formed almost a dust, and he
did not cease until he had filled his cap with it. Then he cut off
large splinters, until he had accumulated a great number, and after
that he gathered smaller pieces of half-burned pine.

He was fully two hours doing this work, and the night advanced
far, but he never faltered. His head was bare, but he was protected
from the wind by a fragment of the outhouse wall. Every two or three
minutes he stopped and listened for the sound of a creaking, sliding
footstep on the snow, but, never hearing any, he always resumed his
work with the same concentration. All the while the wind rose and
moaned through the ruins of the little village. When Henry chanced
to raise his head above the sheltering wall, it was like the slash of
a knife across his cheek.

Finally he took half of the pine dust in his cap and a lot of
the splinters under his arm, and stole back to the house from which
the light had shone. He looked again through the crevice at the
window. The light had died down much more, and both Wyatt and
Coleman were asleep on the floor. But several of the Iroquois were
awake, although they sat as silent and motionless as stones against
the wall.

Henry moved from the window and selected a sheltered spot beside
the plank wall. There he put the pine dust in a little heap on the
snow and covered it over with pine splinters, on top of which he put
larger pieces of pine. Then he went back for the remainder of the
pine dust, and built a similar pyramid against a sheltered side of
the second house.

The most delicate part of his task had now come, one that good
fortune only could aid him in achieving, but the brave youth, his
heart aflame with righteous anger against those inside, still pursued
the work. His heart throbbed, but hand and eye were steady.

Now came the kindly stroke of fortune for which he had hoped.
The wind rose much higher and roared harder against the house. It
would prevent the Iroquois within, keen of ear as they were, from
hearing a light sound without. Then he drew forth his flint and
steel and struck them together with a hand so strong and swift that
sparks quickly leaped forth and set fire to the pine tinder. Henry
paused only long enough to see the flame spread to the splinters, and
then he ran rapidly to the other house, where the task was
repeated-he intended that his job should be thorough.

Pursuing this resolve to make his task complete, he came back to
the first house and looked at his fire. It had already spread to the
larger pieces of pine, and it could not go out now. The sound made
by the flames blended exactly with the roaring of the wind, and
another minute or two might pass before the Iroquois detected it.

Now his heart throbbed again, and exultation was mingled with
his anger. By the time the Iroquois were aroused to the danger the
flames would be so high that the wind would reach them. Then no one
could put them out.

It might have been safer for him to flee deep into the forest at
once, but that lingering desire to make his task complete and, also,
the wish to see the result kept him from doing it. He merely walked
across the open space and stood behind a tree at the edge of the
forest.

Braxton Wyatt and his Tories and Iroquois were very warm, very
snug, in the shelter of the old house with the great bed of coals
before them. They may even have been dreaming peaceful and beautiful
dreams, when suddenly an Iroquois sprang to his feet and uttered a
cry that awoke all the rest.

"I smell smoke!" he exclaimed in his tongue, "and there is fire,
too! I hear it crackle outside!"

Braxton Wyatt ran to the window and jerked it open. Flame and
smoke blew in his face. He uttered an angry cry, and snatched at the
pistol in his belt.

"The whole side of the house is on fire!" he exclaimed. "Whose
neglect has done this?"

Coleman, shrewd and observing, was at his elbow.

"The fire was set on the outside," he said. "It was no
carelessness of our men. Some enemy has done this!"

"It is true!" exclaimed Wyatt furiously. "Out, everybody! The
house burns fast!"

There was a rush for the door. Already ashes and cinders were
falling about their heads. Flames leaped high, were caught by the
roaring winds, and roared with them. The shell of the house would
soon be gone, and when Tories and Iroquois were outside they saw the
remainder of their band pouring forth from the other house, which was
also in flames.

No means of theirs could stop so great a fire, and they stood in
a sort of stupefaction, watching it as it was fanned to greatest
heights by the wind.

All the remaining outbuildings caught, also, and in a few
moments nothing whatever would be left of the tiny village. Braxton
Wyatt and his band must lie in the icy wilderness, and they could
never use this place as a basis for attack upon settlements.

"How under the sun could it have happened?" exclaimed Wyatt.

"It didn't happen. It was done," said Coleman. "Somebody set
these houses on fire while we slept within. Hark to that!"

An Iroquois some distance from the houses was bending over the
snow where it was not yet melted by the heat. He saw there the track
of snowshoes, and suddenly, looking toward the forest, whither they
led, he saw a dark figure flit away among the trees.