Chapter XVI. A Girl's Way

by Joseph A. Altsheler

　　Lucy left her father's house one of these dry mornings, and stoodfor a few moments in the grounds, inclosed by the palisade,gazing at the dark forest, outlined so sharply against the blueof the sky. She could see the green of the forest beyond thefort, and she knew that in the open spaces, where the sun reachedthem, tiny wild flowers of pink and purple, nestled low in thegrass, were already in bloom. From the west a wind sweet andsoft was blowing, and, as she inhaled it, she wanted to live, andshe wanted all those about her to live. She wondered, if therewas not some way in which she could help.

　　The stout, double log cabins, rude, but full of comfort, stood inrows, with well-trodden streets, between, then a fringe of grassaround all, and beyond that rose the palisade of stout stakes,driven deep into the ground, and against each other. All was ofthe West and so was Lucy, a tall, lithe young girl, her facetanned a healthy and becoming brown by the sun, her clothing ofhome-woven red cloth, adorned at the wrists and around the bottomof the skirt with many tiny beads of red and yellow and blue andgreen, which, when she moved, flashed in the brilliant light,like the quivering colors of a prism. She had thrust in her haira tiny plume of the scarlet tanager, and it lay there, like aflash of flame, against the dark brown of her soft curls.

　　Where she stood she could see the water of the spring near theedge of the forest sparkling in the sunlight, as if it wished totantalize her, but as she looked a thought came to her, and sheacted upon it at once. She went to the little square, where herfather, John Ware, Ross and others were in conference.

　　"Father," she exclaimed, "I will show you how to get the water!"

　　Mr. Upton and the other men looked at her in so much astonishmentthat none of them replied, and Lucy used the opportunity.

　　"I know the way," she continued eagerly. "Open the gate, let thewomen take the buckets-I will lead-and we can go to the springand fill them with water. Maybe the Indians won't fire on us!"

　　"Lucy, child!" exclaimed her father. "I cannot think of such athing."

　　Then up spoke Tom Ross, wise in the ways of the wilderness.

　　"Mr. Upton," he said, "the girl is right. If the women arewilling to go out it must be done. It looks like an awful thing,but-if they die we are here to avenge them and die with them, ifthey don't die we are all saved because we can hold this fort, ifwe have water; without it every soul here from the oldest mandown to the littlest baby will be lost."

　　Mr. Upton covered his face with his hands.

　　"I do not like to think of it, Tom," he said.

　　The other men waited in silence.

　　Lucy looked appealingly at her father, but he turned his eyesaway.

　　"See what the women say about it, Tom," he said at last.

　　The women thought well of it. There was not one border heroine,but many; disregarding danger they prepared eagerly for the task,and soon they were in line more than fifty, every one with abucket or pail in each hand. Henry Ware, looking on, saidnothing. The intended act appealed to the nature within him thatwas growing wilder every day.

　　A sentinel, peeping over the palisade, reported that all wasquiet in the forest, though, as he knew, the warriors were nonethe less watchful.

　　"Open the gate," commanded Mr. Ware.

　　The heavy bars were quickly taken down, and the gate was swungwide. Then a slim, scarlet-clad figure took her place at thehead of the line, and they passed out.

　　Lucy was borne on now by a great impulse, the desire to save thefort and all these people whom she knew and loved. It was shewho had suggested the plan and she believed that it should be shewho should lead the way, when it came to the doing of it.

　　She felt a tremor when she was outside the gate, but it came fromexcitement and not from fear-the exaltation of spirit would notpermit her to be afraid. She glanced at the forest, but it wasonly a blur before her.

　　The slim, scarlet-clad figure led on. Lucy glanced over hershoulder, and she saw the women following her in a double file,grave and resolute. She did not look back again, but marched onstraight toward the spring. She began to feel now what she wasdoing, that she was marching into the cannon's mouth, as truly asany soldier that ever led a forlorn hope against a battery. Sheknew that hundreds of keen eyes there in the forest before herwere watching her every step, and that behind her fathers andbrothers and husbands were waiting, with an anxiety that none ofthem had ever known before.

　　She expected every moment to hear the sharp whiplike crack of therifle, but there was no sound. The fort and all about it seemedto be inclosed in a deathly stillness. She looked again at theforest, trying to see the ambushed figures, but again it was onlya blur before her, seeming now and then to float in a kind ofmist. Her pulses were beating fast, she could hear the thump,thump in her temples, but the slim scarlet figure never waveredand behind, the double file of women followed, grave and silent.

　　"They will not fire until we reach the springs," thought Lucy,and now she could hear the bubble of the cool, clear water, as itgushed from the hillside. But still nothing stirred in theforest, no rifle cracked, there was no sound of moving men.

　　She reached the spring, bent down, filled both buckets at thepool, and passing in a circle around it, turned her face towardthe fort, and, after her, came the silent procession, eachfilling her buckets at the pool, passing around it and turningher face toward the fort as she had done.

　　Lucy now felt her greatest fear when she began the return journeyand her back was toward the forest. There was in her somethingof the warrior; if the bullet was to find her she preferred tomeet it, face to face. But she would not let her hands tremble,nor would she bend beneath the weight of the water. She heldherself proudly erect and glanced at the wooden wall before her.It was lined with faces, brown, usually, but now with the pallorshowing through the tan. She saw her father's among them and shesmiled at him, because she was upheld by a great pride andexultation. It was she who had told them what to do, and it wasshe who led the way.

　　She reached the open gate again, but she did not hasten herfootsteps. She walked sedately in, and behind her she heard onlythe regular tread of the long double file of women. The forestwas as silent as ever.

　　The last woman passed in, the gate was slammed shut, the heavybars were dropped into place, and Mr. Upton throwing his armsabout Lucy exclaimed:

　　"Oh, my brave daughter!"

　　She sank against him trembling, her nerves weak after the longtension, but she felt a great pride nevertheless. She wished toshow that a woman too could be physically brave in the face ofthe most terrible of all dangers, and she had triumphantly doneso.

　　The bringing of the water, or rather the courage that inspiredthe act, heartened the garrison anew, and color came back tomen's faces. The schoolmaster discussed the incident with TomRoss, and wondered why the Indians who were not in the habit ofsparing women had not fired.

　　"Sometimes a man or a crowd of men won't do a thing that theywould do at any other time," said Ross, "maybe they thought theycould get us all in a bunch by waitin' an' maybe way down at thebottom of their savage souls, was a spark of generosity thatlighted up for just this once. We'll never know."

　　Henry Ware went out that night, and returning before dawn withthe same facility that marked all his movements in thewilderness, reported that the savage army was troubled. All suchforces are loose and irregular, with little cohesive power, andthey will not bear disappointment and waiting. Moreover thewarriors having lost many men, with nothing in repayment weregrumbling and saying that the face of Manitou was set againstthem. They were confirmed too in this belief by the presence ofthe mysterious foe who had slain the warriors in the tree, andwho had since given other unmistakable signs of his presence.

　　"They will have more discouragement soon," he said, "because itis going to rain to-day."

　　He had read the signs aright, as the sun came up amid the mistsand vapors, and the gentle wind was damp to the face; then darkclouds spread across the western heavens, like a vast carpetunrolled by a giant hand, and the wilderness began to moan. Lowthunder muttered on the horizon, and the somber sky was cut byvivid strokes of lightning.

　　Nature took on an ominous and threatening hue but within thevillage there was only joy; the coming storm would remove theirgreatest danger, the well would fill up again, and behind thewooden walls they could defy the savage foe.

　　The sky was cut across by a flash of lightning so bright that itdazzled them, the thunder burst with a terrible crash directlyoverhead, and then the rain came in a perfect wall of water. Itpoured for hours out of a sky that was made of unbroken clouds,deluging the earth, swelling the river to a roaring flood, andrising higher in the well than ever before. The forest aboutthem was, almost hidden by the torrents of rain and they did notforget to be thankful.

　　Toward afternoon the fall abated somewhat in violence, but becamea steady downpour out of sodden skies, and the air turned raw andchill. Those who were not sheltered shivered, as if it werewinter. The night came on as dark as a well, and Henry Ware wentout again. When he came back he said tersely to his father:

　　"They are gone."

　　"Gone?" exclaimed Mr. Ware scarcely able to believe in thereality of such good news.

　　""Yes; the storm broke their backs. Even Indians can't stand anall-day wetting especially when they are already tired. Theythink they can never have any luck here, and they are goingtoward the Ohio at this minute. The storm has saved us now justas it saved our band in the flight from the salt works."

　　They had such faith in his forest skill that no one doubted hisword and the village burst into joy. Women, for they were theworst sufferers gave thanks, both silently and aloud. Henry tookRoss, Sol and others to the valley in the forest, where thesavages had kept their war camp. Here they had soaked in themire during the storm, and all about were signs of their hastyflight, the ground being littered with bones of deer, elk andbuffalo.

　　"They won't come again soon," said Henry, "because they believethat the Manitou will not give them any luck here, but it is wellto be always on the watch."

　　After the first outburst of gratitude the people talked little ofthe attack and repulse; they felt too deeply, they realized toomuch the greatness of the danger they had escaped to put it intoidle words. But nearly all attributed their final rescue toHenry Ware though some saw the hand of God in the storm which hadintervened a second time for the protection of the whites.Braxton Wyatt and his friends dared say nothing now, at leastopenly against Henry, although those who loved him most werebound to confess that there was something alien about him,something in which he differed from the rest of them.

　　But Henry thought little of the opinion, good or bad in which hewas held, because his heart was turning again to the wilderness,and he and Ross went forth again to scout on the rear of theIndian force.