SAVED BY HER SLIPPER

A ROMANCE OF THE BORDER

"When greater perils men environ, Then women show a front of iron; And, gentle in their manner, they Do bold things in a quiet way."

THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH

I.--IN FORT PATRICK HENRY

The Indians were out again!

The sharp rattling of a drum frantically beaten rolled through the little hamlet. The silent, pine-clad hills rising above the clearing on the bank sent the echoes clattering back over the river.

Scarcely had the peacefulness of the evening been broken by the first note of the clamor when from every door of hut or cabin the excited people poured out into the clearing and ran toward the stockade.

First came half-grown boys and girls, yelling half in terror, half in sport; then frightened mothers clasping crying babies to their troubled b.r.e.a.s.t.s with one hand, and with the other dragging stumbling little children. Then the men of the settlement, coatless, hatless, clad as they were in the various occupations in which they had been engaged at the moment, brought up the rear.

Some of the men endeavored to drive a few bewildered cattle; others helped to bring the younger children; but, whatever his action, each one carried a long, deadly rifle, as with grim, set faces they hurried toward the open gate of the fort on the sh.o.r.e. A panting horse stood by the gate, his drooping head giving evidence of the exhaustion following a desperate ride.

Inside the fort a young man, dressed in the usual fringed hunting-shirt and leggings, eternal garment of the Western pioneer, leaned upon his tall rifle and with eager gestures poured out the details of that message which had started the rolling of the drum.

The Indians were out,--the fierce Wyandotte, the b.l.o.o.d.y Mingo, the ruthless Shawnee. A huge war-party accompanying a band of British rangers from Detroit had been discovered in the woods early that September morning in 1777. They were marching toward Fort Patrick Henry on the banks of the Ohio, a rude white-oak stockade some sixteen feet high, extending along the river where now the mighty furnaces of Wheeling toss smoke and flame high into the air.

The Indians were yet some distance away; but the messenger, young Hugh McCullough, the bravest, most daring, most gallant young man among the thirty families cl.u.s.tered about the fort, and the one surest to hit his mark with the rifle, could not tell how soon they might be there.

But they might appear at any moment; and Colonel Sheppard, the commander, deemed it best to bring all of the settlement people into the fort at once. Hence the sudden alarm and call to arms.

Presently the little enclosure was filled with crying children, boastful boys, frightened girls, serious women, and thoughtful men.

The gates were shut; the younger children, under the care of the older women, sent to the safest room in the four corner block-houses, while the matrons set about preparing food, moulding bullets, making cartridges, and lending to the contemplated defence such other a.s.sistance as they could. The men and youths fell in with their respective companies and repaired immediately to their several stations, long practice and frequent alarms having made them familiar with the duties expected of them.

A long time they watched that evening, but no plumed, painted, savage figure could be seen through the trees, no sound broke the wonted stillness of the hills. Some of the little band of frontiersmen looked askance at young McCullough. Had he given a false alarm? himself deceived, taken them from their needed labors only to array them against some imaginary peril?

But no; he was the keenest scout and best woods-man in the settlement.

A long row of sinister notches on the stock of his rifle marked the red marauders he had sent to their last account. It could not be; yet, if the Indians were coming, why did they not present themselves?

Old Colonel Sheppard and Major Ebenezer Zane, his second, did not hesitate; they trusted the young man. Requests to return to their homes were refused, the gates were kept closed, and by and by the women and children who could do so disposed themselves for the troubled sleep of an anxious night. There were keen watchers on the walls, but nothing broke the usual stillness.

The morning was dull and gray. Clouds of mist and fog dropped silently from the crest of the hills, sending down long, ghostlike arms writhing through the treetops over the town; still no sign of the enemy.

Smarting under the curious glances and sneers of some of the men, McCullough at last volunteered to go out and reconnoitre. Colonel Sheppard accepted his offer. While some one saddled his magnificent black horse, he broke from the group surrounding him and walked across the parade toward the farthest block-house, a room in which had been allotted to the family of Major Zane.

A tall, striking-looking young woman stood in the door-way. Most of the women in the fort wore linsey-woolsey frocks of the plainest cut, and, while some had Indian moccasins on their feet, the majority were barefoot. This girl was dressed in the fashion of, say, some six months before. There was a touch of brightness and color in her smart frock, albeit a few months of frontier wear had sadly dimmed its gayety. Shining silver buckles overspread her small, daintily shod, arched instep. Her short sleeves, extending only to the elbow, left bare her young brown arms, which had been white when she came to the settlement. The kerchief, crossed over her breast, but open at the neck, afforded a ravishing glimpse of her beautiful throat. Under her fair hair blue eyes sparkled, lighting, in spite of herself, with feeling as she comprehended the manly figure of young McCullough.

He was fluent enough in speech ordinarily; but now he blushed, hesitated, and stumbled awkwardly, as he dragged off his c.o.o.nskin cap and bowed low before her.

"Good-morning, Mistress Elizabeth," he at length managed to stammer out; "how pa.s.sed you the night?"

"As well, sir, as one could on a hard floor "twixt crying children, frightened mothers, and quarrelling lads."

""Tis not like Philadelphia, mistress?"

"No, indeed. To think that six months gone I was there, a girl in school, and now----"

"Now you are a teacher yourself, Mistress Zane, and we be all learning from you."

"Learning what, pray?"

"The game of hearts."

"Faith, Master McCullough, if rumor belie you not, I think you must have been a past master at that game before I came upon the scene."

"Nay, not so. Dame Rumor does me wrong, but----"

"Well, let it pa.s.s, Master McCullough. You brought the alarm, I believe. Was it real? Are there any Indians about?"

"We have not seen any as yet in the valley, but----"

"And was it you, sir, who tramped all night on the block-house over our heads?"

"I did, indeed, watch over--you, but----"

"Could you not have done it more softly, sir, and not add to the confusion the clatter of your feet and the thud of your gunstock? I knew it was you."

"Knew you my step, Mistress Elizabeth?" he queried eagerly, flushing with hope.

"Nay, sir," she answered, coolly; "none other had been so foolish; but the Indians?"

"I go to seek them now and would fain say good-by."

"What!" cried the girl, breathlessly, dropping her mood of airy banter, her face gone white in a moment. "What! you leave the stockade?"

"Ay, Mistress Elizabeth, and I am come to beg you--to wish you--to bid me good-speed."

"Where are you going and why?"

"Up the valley to beat up the red devils; to find them if they be not gone."

"Why, sir, you will be in danger!" cried the girl, piteously, stepping from the door-way and coming nearer to him.

"I am in more danger from your bright eyes than from any Indian that walks."

"A truce to this trifling, sir!"

"Nay, "tis no trifling. My heart"s gone to you. You have known it long since. Is it not so?"

She stopped with downcast head before him.

"They--they did not teach us things--like that--in Philadelphia."