so many without."

"I'll watch him, I reckon, Marian; and by the Eternal, the first real genuine sign of treachery I see, I'll shoot him! You may bet on that."

As these words were uttered by the indignant Jim Peterson to Marian, he stood looking upon the object of his remarks with flashing eyes, and gesticulating earnestly with his long, bony, muscular arms as though he ached to get him once fairly within his grasp. In fact, Jim Peterson would have been a dangerous customer for any man. He was now about thirty years of age, and eight years of his life had been spent as scout and ranger. He had served under St. Clair and Gen. Harmar, and when the former suffered such a disastrous defeat, he became so disgusted with the generalship of his leaders, that he left the country and settled down in the village mentioned at the commencement of this work. Here he had remained until the present time; but the daring, wandering, reckless spirit was so strong within him that he could resist no longer, and he joined the present party with the full determination of taking to the woods again as soon as they arrived at their destination.

He was over six feet in height, of a thin, attenuated frame, capable of panther-like strength and activity, with a keen, restless gray eye, and a sharp-featured visage.

Marian, after the conversation with him, descended to the cabin; but her mind was in such a tumult of fear and apprehension that she could not restrain her agitation. She now firmly believed that the stranger above was an enemy, and that, even with the shrewdness of Jim Peterson to protect them, they were all still in the utmost peril. But she knew of no course to pursue, except to invoke Divine protection. Should she impart her suspicions to the females around her, they would either ridicule her or become so terrified themselves, that the case would be infinitely worse. She concluded, at last, that there was nothing she could do, and, under Heaven, the case must be left to Peterson.

In a short time night commenced settling over the woods and river. The emigrants had now made such progress upon their way, that they were about half way between the Big Sandy and Sciota. The dense forests of Kentucky and Ohio shut down upon either hand, and not a sign of civilization met the eye.

Before it was fairly dark, the flat-boat was suddenly hailed from the shore. A white man, limping and apparently in great distress, besought them to run in and take him on board before the Indians reached him.

"He's a decoy," remarked the stranger, who had intently watched him from the first.

"How do you know he is, colonel?" asked Peterson, who had intently watched the stranger all the time.

"How do I know he is?" repeated the latter. "I reckon as how any fool as has one eye could tell the same mighty quick."

"You're sure of it then, eh?"

"In course I am, ain't you?"

"Yas, sir."

With this the ranger turned on his heel, satisfied that they had a traitor on board. This may seem strange to the reader, but it would not be to a backwoodsman who understood the case. The eagerness and quickness this man had evinced to point out danger, ever since he joined our friends, was good reason in itself for suspicion. Had he been a genuine ranger, he would have hesitated before giving his opinion, and not defeat his own ends by showing too much knowledge of what was unknown to the rest.

Peterson walked away from him, and communicated his suspicions to several of his friends. Just as he expected, they laughed at him, and accused him almost of meanness. Stung by this rebuke, the ranger became silent and sullen and left them.

In the meantime, the man upon shore was bellowing louder than ever. Not content with being once refused, he was limping along shore, and be[Pg 31]
[Pg 32]
[Pg 33]seeching them in more piteous tones than ever. Still the whites resolutely turned their ears against him, and would not have noticed him at all, had not the stranger spoken.

"I declare, it looks queer anyhow. I never knowed one of them decoys to hang on like that."

"You have no notion that he is anything else but one, or that he has any object except our own destruction?"

"I didn't think different at first, but it begins to look doubtful. Just let me say a few words to him."

With this, he stepped to one side of the boat, and called out, "What's your name?"

"John Haggart."

"How come you to git in such an ugly fix?"

"I was out scouting it, and was cotched by the Shawnees, and have just got away from them. For God's sake, come and take me off, for they're after me."

"For God's sake come and take me off, for they are after me."

"Jump into the river and swim out to us."

"My hurt is too bad; I've got a bullet clean through my thigh, and can just drag the leg after the other. Yonder is the smoke of their wigwams up on the hill and they ain't fur off. My God! don't leave a white man thus! Heaven would curse you if you did."

Our friends looked in the direction he indicated, and could faintly discern in the gathering gloom a thin wreath of smoke rising from the trees. The suffering man, as if aware of their thoughts, called out:

"That is whar' they are, and their runners are out after me. May God forever curse you, if you leave me here."

"What do yer think?" asked the stranger, turning round with an air of perplexity to the others. "I believe that man ain't a decoy, not at all; and ef he isn't, we orter not leave him there to be cooked by the red devils. Still, I shouldn't say nothing, but leave it with you."

"It will never do to run the boat ashore," said several of the men, firmly.

"Oh, I didn't mean that. In course, it would be all-fired foolish to do that ar' thing. But I've been thinking"—and the man dropped his eyes, as if in great perplexity—"that we orter help that man off. To do sich a thing we ain't compelled by any duty to expose ourselves to any danger. What is your views, friends?"

"Why, if the thing can be done without imperiling ourselves, it is our Christian duty to do it; but we are at a loss at present to understand how we could manage it thus."

"Oh, easily enough; just run the boat in about half way where the water is so shallow that the fellow can wade out to us. Keep your eyes open, and if there is the least sign of treachery, we can fall into the current again and float off."

"A good plan, and I see no reason for not carrying it out."

All echoed this sentiment, with the exception of Peterson, who still stood apart, in a sullen, pouting mood, leaning against the side of the boat, with his head dropped upon his breast.

"Come, Jim, what do you think of it?" asked one of the emigrants, and the others all turned toward him for a reply.

"I think, in the first place, you are all a set of the thunderingest fools I ever heard of, not to see you've got a sneaking decoy right among ye, who's doing his purtiest to git you into shore to please that other trap."

"Outrageous! shameful!" exclaimed several, horrified at the blunt, plain-spoken answer they had received.

"Go on, and do what you please, but don't ax me nothin' more, for I've got nothing at all to say," added Peterson, who was touched to the quick by what he had heard in reply.

The stranger, it was observed, said nothing at all, except, after a