The broiling about the land court, too, was suddenly hushed.Men stopped in their tracks, staring fixedly at three forms which had come out of the woods into the clearing.
``Redskins, or there's no devil!'' said Terrell.
Redskins they were, but not the blanketed kind that drifted every day through the station.Their war-paint gleamed in the light, and the white edges of the feathered head-dresses caught the sun.One held up in his right hand a white belt,--token of peace on the frontier.
``Lord A'mighty!'' said Fletcher Blount, ``be they Cricks?''
``Chickasaws, by the headgear,'' said Terrell.``Davy, you've got a hoss.Ride out and look em over.''
Nothing loath, I put the mare into a gallop, and I passed over the very place where Polly Ann had picked me up and saved my life long since.The Indians came on at a dog trot, but when they were within fifty paces of me they halted abruptly.The chief waved the white belt around his head.
``Davy!'' says he, and I trembled from head to foot.
How well I knew that voice!
``Colonel Clark!'' I cried, and rode up to him.``Thank God you are come, sir,'' said I, ``for the people here are land-mad, and the Northern Indians are crossing the Ohio.''
He took my bridle, and, leading the horse, began to walk rapidly towards the station.
``Ay,'' he answered, ``I know it.A runner came to me with the tidings, where I was building a fort on the Mississippi, and I took Willis here and Saunders, and came.''
I glanced at my old friends, who grinned at me through the berry-stain on their faces.We reached a ditch through which the rain of the night before was draining from the fields Clark dropped the bridle, stooped down, and rubbed his face clean.Up he got again and flung the feathers from his head, and I thought that his eyes twinkled despite the sternness of his look.
``Davy, my lad,'' said he, ``you and I have seen some strange things together.Perchance we shall see stranger to-day.''
A shout went up, for he had been recognized.And Captain Harrod and Ray and Terrell and Cowan (who had just ridden in) ran up to greet him and press his hand.
He called them each by name, these men whose loyalty had been proved, but said no word more nor paused in his stride until he had reached the edge of the mob about the land court.There he stood for a full minute, and we who knew him looked on silently and waited.
The turmoil had begun again, the speculators calling out in strident tones, the settlers bargaining and pushing, and all clamoring to be heard.While there was money to be made or land to be got they had no ear for the public weal.A man shouldered his way through, roughly, and they gave back, cursing, surprised.He reached the door, and, flinging those who blocked it right and left, entered.
There he was recognized, and his name flew from mouth to mouth.
``Clark!''
He walked up to the table, strewn with books and deeds.
``Silence!'' he thundered.But there was no need,--they were still for once.``This court is closed,'' he cried ``while Kentucky is in danger.Not a deed shall be signed nor an acre granted until I come back from the Ohio.Out you go!''
Out they went indeed, judge, brokers, speculators--the evicted and the triumphant together.And when the place was empty Clark turned the key and thrust it into his hunting shirt.He stood for a moment on the step, and his eyes swept the crowd.
``Now,'' he said, ``there have been many to claim this land--who will follow me to defend it?''
As I live, they cheered him.Hands were flung up that were past counting, and men who were barely rested from the hardships of the Wilderness Trail shouted their readiness to go.But others slunk away, and were found that morning grumbling and cursing the chance that had brought them to Kentucky.Within the hour the news had spread to the farms, and men rode in to Harrodstown to tell the Colonel of many who were leaving the plough in the furrow and the axe in the wood, and starting off across the mountaills in anger and fear.The Colonel turned to me as he sat writing down the names of the volunteers.
``Davy,'' said he, ``when you are grown you shall not stay at home, I promise you.Take your mare and ride as for your life to McChesney, and tell him to choose ten men and go to the Crab Orchard on the Wilderness Road.
Tell him for me to turn back every man, woman, and child who tries to leave Kentucky.''
I met Tom coming in from the field with his rawhide harness over his shoulders.Polly Ann stood calling him in the door, and the squirrel broth was steaming on the table.He did not wait for it.Kissing her, he flung himself into the saddle I had left, and we watched him mutely as he waved back to us from the edge of the woods.
** ** ***
In the night I found myself sitting up in bed, listening to a running and stamping near the cabin.
Polly Ann was stirring.``Davy,'' she whispered, ``the stock is oneasy.''
We peered out of the loophole together and through the little orchard we had planted.The moon flooded the fields, and beyond it the forest was a dark blur.I can recall the scene now, the rude mill standing by the water-side, the twisted rail fences, and the black silhouettes of the horses and cattle as they stood bunched together Behind us little Tom stirred in his sleep and startled us.
That very evening Polly Ann had frightened him into obedience by telling him that the Shawanees would get him.
What was there to do? McAfee's Station was four miles away, and Ray's clearing two.Ray was gone with Tom.I could not leave Polly Ann alone.There was nothing for it but to wait.
Silently, that the children might not be waked and lurking savage might not hear, we put the powder and bullets in the middle of the room and loaded the guns and pistols.For Polly Ann had learned to shoot.She took the loopholes of two sides of the cabin, I of the other two, and then began the fearful watching and waiting which the frontier knows so well.Suddenly the cattle stirred again, and stampeded to the other corner of the field.There came a whisper from Polly Ann.
``What is it?'' I answered, running over to her.
