The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-03-27

the bank, yet with paddles poised for sec
ond dash for freedom should the need arise.
| should have dipped forthwith to save the
precious minutes, but Jennifer stayed me.
Hist" he whispered. Hold steady and
listen. They cannot see us from above:
mayhap we've thrown them off the scent.
L thought it most unlikely, but his guess
was right and mine was wrong. Though
any of these savages could lift trail in
daylight. following it at top speed like a
trained bloodhound, yet now the darkness
baffied them
So there was some running to and fro in
the road above our heads, and then the
labored confab through the linguister,
broken in the midst by fury of hot oaths
from Falconnet. and then the chase swept
on toward the plantations and we were
left to make their losing of us sure by
whatsoever means We chose.
We padded slowly up stream in silence,
the tree fringe. When we came opposite
the glowing ruins of the hunting lodge
Jennifer backed upon his paddle.
you'll go ashOre?' said he.
1 said 1 would, adding: "They have
slaughtered poor old Darius. and 1 am
loath to leave his bones for the buzzards to
pick"
He made no comment other than to swear
in sympathy. When the pirogue grounded
the Indian was out like a cat, to vanish
phantom-wise among the trees. / followed
to keep the canoe, but half way up the hill
he Joined me and would not turn back for
all my urging. No. hang me IL III let
you out of eye-grip again." was all he
would say, and SO we went together and
were together at the seeing of what the
glowing ember heap would show us.
Poor Tomas had his sepuIture already.
His cord had burned in two and let him
down so close beside the cabin wall that
all the blazing debris from the overhang-
ing caves had made his funeral pile. Darius
lay as l had last seen him, and him We
buried in the maize clearing at the back,
with the ember glow for funeral lights.
1t was a chanceful thing to do. Since the
Cherokees had left their dead and wounded
and Falconnet the body of his trooper who
had yielded me the musket there was small
doubt they would return. Yet we had time
to dig a shallow grave for nv old hench-
man; to dig and fill it up again and after
ward to make a circuit around the burn
ing pile to reach the river side once more.
When we had launched the canoe and
were afloat and ready for the start the
Catawba was still missing.
Where is the chief, think your I asked; ;
but Dicks answer, if, indeed. he gave me
any, was lost in a chorus of ear-splitting
yells. rendering the silence of the night like
demon cries. Then a single ululation, long
drawn and fair blood chilling. answered
back, and Jennifer swept the pirogue stern
to strand with quick paddle stroke.
''Th& last was Uncanoola's war cry.
They've doubled back in time to catch him
at it, he cried. stand by to drive her
when give the word, Here he comes!''
Down the sloping hillside, looking, in the
red glow of the ember heap, more like a
q
ba, one hand gripping the scalping knife,
the other flung aloft to f1aunt his terrible
trophies in sight of his pursuers. They
were so close upon him that waiting prom
Used death for all of us, so Jennifer dipped
again to send the canoe a broad jump from
the bank.
Ready he cried. Hell take the water
like fish and we can pick him up after
ward. Now"
l heard the clean-cut dive of the Indian
and struck the paddle deep to balance
Jennifers stroke. But 1 bent to put my
back into 1t some flying missile caught me
fair behind the ear, and but for Jennifer's
quick wit should have swamped the crazy
shallop. In a flash he jerked me fiat be-
tween his knees and sent the pirogue with
a mighty thrust beyond the zone of fire
light.
At that though all the sense was beaten
out of me. 1 was alive enough to hear the
savage yels of disappointed rage behind us !;
these and the splitting crackle of a dozen
rifles fired at random in the darkness. But
afterward all sounds. save the rhythmic
dip and drip of Jennifer's paddle faded on
the sense of hearing TILL as it would seem,
this gentle monody of dipping blade and
tinkling drops became a grooming lullaby to
blot out all the years that lay between and
make me once again little child sinking
asleep in my young mothers arms.
IN