On the Kentucky Frontier: A Story of the Fighting Pioneers of the West. Otis James
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never think of leaving the cabin in daylight, when you know beyond a peradventure that the savages are watching it?" my mother said in alarm, and Kenton turned away as if realizing the truth of her words.
It is not possible for me to set down on paper such as will enable another to understand our feelings during this time when we knew white men were struggling for life, and needing the aid which we were powerless to give.
It seemed little short of the veriest cowardice to remain within shelter at such a time, and yet all of us knew full well that speedy death would come to him who should venture out.
Five minutes after the first report was heard all was silent again, for mayhap half an hour, during which time each of us, even Kenton, had come to hope the Indians were baffled in their effort to murder, and with that hope came into my mind a most intense regret that we had not been able to give warning of our sore need.
I persisted in believing that some of Major Clarke's men had been near at hand, and said to myself we might have escaped all our perils could it have been possible to give an alarm.
When half an hour had passed the firing broke out again, not in volleys, but with a shot at intervals of ten or fifteen seconds, and then we all fancied screams of pain and exultation could be heard.
"The savages have succeeded!" Kenton said curtly. "Whoever blundered this way has already paid for the mistake, or will before the sun rises again."
Mother, her mind once more in the past, turned pale as death and I trembled like one with an ague, for it seemed at the moment as if this was a token of what our fate would be.
The breakfast which mother had been preparing was neglected until some time later, when Simon Kenton said with an evident effort at cheerfulness:
"We're playin' the fool to stand here as if waitin' for the painted scoundrels to do their will. We have no reason to despair because they have captured some unfortunate; but should be all the more determined to worst them."
Then he deftly finished the work mother had begun, and insisted upon our sharing in the meal, for, according to his belief, there was no reason why we need stand close guard now that the sun had risen.
Under such circumstances it was difficult to eat, at least I found it so; food well-nigh choked me, but I forced it down because of his stern command, and we made at least the semblance of eating breakfast, with as much zest as you can fancy people display under the shadow of the gallows.
When the pretense of a meal had come to an end, Kenton got up from the table and stood at the loophole in the door an instant, giving vent to a low exclamation of surprise or dismay as he peered forth.
In a twinkling I was by his side, and there saw that which caused the cold chill of fear to run down my back.
Directly in front of the cabin, toward the river, beyond range of our rifles, stood a man and a boy, each bound hand and foot to a tree trunk.
It was the report of their guns that we heard, and fortune had been unkind to them, else death would have come during the fight. It had been delayed that it might be accompanied by the keenest torture.
"Are they neighbors of yours?" Kenton asked.
"So far as I know, there are no settlers nearabout."
"Then this man and boy have come lookin' for a place to make a clearin', or are workin' their way eastward from some point below on the river."
This did not seem a reasonable explanation, to my mind, for if the prisoners had been coming up the river they would not have ventured so far away as must have been the case when the Indians discovered them; but my heart was too heavy to admit of making any argument against his assertion, which, as a matter of fact, was of but little consequence now that they were doomed to a cruel death.
And that they were doomed we knew full well. The savages were counting on torturing them where we might have a full view of the horrible spectacle, and we could not hope anything would happen to prevent it.
On the evening previous Simon Kenton had told us the story of a settler who was beset even as we were then, and whose nearest neighbor was tortured at the stake within his range of vision that the helpless man might see what was in store for him when he could no longer make any defense.
While hearing the story it was impossible for me to realize how agonizing must have been the position of the besieged man. Now I understood it keenly, and resolved not to look out from that side of the house again, lest the painted fiends should begin their horrible work before night came.
Mother knew from our conversation what it was we gazed at, and remained nearabout the fireplace striving to choke back the sobs of grief and sympathy which shook her frame.
After gazing upon the helpless captives five minutes or more, as if to picture indelibly upon his mind all the surroundings, Simon Kenton began moving to and fro across the end of the room, not on the alert against the enemy, but apparently plunged in deep thought.
After a time he said curtly to me:
"Keep a lookout on either side, lad, for some of the snakes may grow careless, an' you will get a shot."
Then he fell to pacing to and fro again, and after what seemed a very long time of most painful silence, said to me as if announcing the most commonplace fact:
"I count on lendin' a hand to those poor fellows yonder."
"Lending a hand!" I repeated in amazement. "Haven't you declared it was impossible to leave this house without being shot down?"
"Yes, an' I reckon that comes pretty near being the truth."
"Then how may you give them any assistance?"
"I am not countin' on tryin' to do anything just now. There's like to be plenty of time, for unless something happens to interrupt the curs, they will not torture the prisoners until evening. When the sun goes down I shall creep out."
"And then is the time when the Indians will keep a closer watch," I ventured to say.
"Ay, lad, you are right, and yet we must contrive to outwit them. Instead of openin' the door, I'll make my way through the small window at the rear, which can be the better guarded by you and your mother while the shutter is unfastened."
"I shall go with you," I said, speaking on impulse, and hardly realizing the meaning of the words.
"You'll do nothing of the kind. Your duty is here, and mine there."
CHAPTER III.
THE VENTURE
I could not believe Simon Kenton would dare to make the venture of which he had spoken, for of a verity it seemed no less than the killing of one's self.
We knew beyond a peradventure that the Indians secreted in the thicket round about us were keeping sharp watch over the cabin, on the alert for a movement of such a kind, and there was not a single chance in a hundred that one of us could even show his head out of either window or door without being shot down.
That being the case, and there seemed no doubt about it, how might one venture forth so far as where the poor captives were lashed to the trees looking forward with almost certainty to all the terrible tortures which these brutes could devise?
Thinking over the matter after Simon Kenton had declared his purpose, I said to myself that he had spoken out of the fulness of his heart, and not with a belief that he might carry his proposition into execution. I argued, mentally, that his desire to aid the unfortunate creatures had caused him to believe the impossible might be accomplished; but after he should have time to consider the matter thoroughly, he would realize that he could effect nothing more than his own death.
After having said what he would do, Kenton paced to and fro, keeping sharp watch upon the thicket, and saying nothing.
Once I would have spoken concerning the time when Major Clarke's party might be expected at Corn Island; but he motioned me away as if he had no inclination for conversation.
I had promised myself not to look out in the direction where the unhappy captives were to be seen; but it was as if their helplessness fascinated me to such a degree that I could not keep my eyes