Chapter XIV. The Return

by Joseph A. Altsheler

　　Wareville lay in its pleasant valley, rejoicing in the youngspring, so kind with its warm rains that the men of the villageforesaw a great season for crops. The little river flowed in asilver current, smoke rose from many chimneys, and now and thenthe red homemade linsey dress of a girl gleamed in the sunlightlike the feathers of the scarlet tanager. To the left were thefields cleared for Indian corn, and to the right were thegardens. Beyond both were the hills and the unbroken forest.Now and then a man, carrying on his shoulder the inevitableKentucky rifle, long and slender-barreled, passed through thepalisade, but the cardinal note of the scene was peace andcheerfulness. The town was prospering, its future no longerbelonged to chance; there would be plenty, of the kind that theyliked.

　　In the Ware house was a silent sadness, silent because these werestern people, living in a stern time, and it was the custom tohide one's griefs. The oldest son was gone; whether he hadperished nobody knew, nor, if he had perished, how.

　　John Ware was not an emotional man, feelings rarely showed on hisface, and his wife alone knew how hard the blow had been tohim-she knew because she had suffered from the same stroke. Butthe children, the younger brother Charles and the sister Marycould not always remember, and with them the impression of theone who was gone would grow dimmer in time. The border tooalways expected a certain percentage of loss in human life, itwas one of the facts with which the people must reckon, and thusthe name of Henry Ware was rarely spoken.

　　To-day was without a cloud. New emigrants had come across themountains, adding welcome strength to the colony, and extendingthe limits of the village. But danger had passed them by, theyhad heard once or twice more of the great war in the far-awayEast, but it was so distant and vague that most of them forgotit; the Indians across the Ohio had never come this way, and sofar Henry Ware was the only toll that they had paid to thewilderness. There was cause for happiness, as human happinessgoes.

　　A slim girl bearing in her hand a wooden pail came through thegate of the palisade. She was bare headed, but her wonderfuldark-brown hair coiled in a shining mass was touched here andthere with golden gleams where the sunshine fell upon it. Herface, browned somewhat, was yet very white on the forehead, andthe cheeks had the crimson flush of health. She wore a dress ofhomemade linsey dyed red, and its close fit suggested the curvesof her supple, splendid young figure. She walked with strongelastic step toward the spring that gushed from a hillside, andwhich after a short course fell into the little river.

　　It was Lucy Upton, grown much taller now, as youth developsrapidly on the border, a creature nourished into physicalperfection first by the good blood that was in her, thendeveloped in the open air, and by work, neither too little nortoo much.

　　She reached the spring, and setting the pail by its side lookeddown at the cool, gushing stream. It invited her and she ran herwhite rounded arm through it, making curves and oblongs that weregone before they were finished. She was in a thoughtful mood.Once or twice she looked at the forest, and each time that shelooked she shivered because the shadow of the wilderness was thenvery heavy upon her.

　　Silas Pennypacker, the schoolmaster, came to the spring while shewas there, and they spoke together, because they were greatfriends, these two. He was unchanged, the same strong gray man,with the ruddy face. He was not unhappy here despite the seemingincongruity of his presence. The wilderness appealed to him tooin a way, he was the intellectual leader of the colony and almosteverything that his nature called for met with a response.

　　"The spring is here, Lucy," he said, "and it has been an easywinter. We should be thankful that we have fared so well."

　　"I think that most of us are," she replied. "We'll soon be a bigtown."

　　She glanced at the spreading settlement, and this launched Mr.Pennypacker upon a favorite theme of his. He liked to predicthow the colony would grow, sowing new seed, and already he sawgreat cities to be. He found a ready listener in Lucy. This tooappealed to her imagination at times, and if at other timesinterest was lacking, she was too fond of the old man to let himknow it. Presently when she had finished she filled the pail andstood up, straight and strong.

　　"I will carry it for you," said the schoolmaster.

　　She laughed.

　　"Why should I let you?" she asked. "I am more able than you."

　　Most men would have taken it ill to have heard such words from agirl, but she was one among many, above the usual height for heryears; she created at once the impression of great strength, bothphysical and mental; the heavy pail of water hung in her hand, asif it were a trifle that she did not notice. The master smiledand looked at her with eyes of fatherly admiration.

　　"I must admit that you tell the truth," he said. "This West ofours seems to suit you."

　　"It is my country now," she said, "and I do not care for anyother."

　　"Since you will not let me carry the water you will at least letme walk with you?" he said.

　　She did not reply, and he was startled by the sudden change thatcame over her.

　　First a look of wonder showed on her face, then she turned white,every particle of color leaving her cheeks. The master could nottell what her expression meant, and he followed her eyes whichwere turned toward the wilderness.

　　From the forest came a figure very strange to Silas Pennypacker,a figure of barbaric splendor. It was a youth of great heightand powerful frame, his face so brown that it might belong toeither the white or the red race, but with fine clean featureslike those of a Greek god. He was clad in deerskins, ornamentedwith little colored beads and fringes of brilliant dyes. Hecarried a slender-barreled rifle over his shoulder, and he cameforward with swift, soundless steps.

　　The master recoiled in alarm at the strange and ominous figure,but as the red flooded back into the girl's cheeks she put herhand upon his arm.

　　"It is he! I knew that he was not dead!" she said in an intensetremulous whisper. The words were indefinite, but the masterknew whom she meant, and there was a surge of joy in his heart,to be followed the next moment by doubt and astonishment. It wasHenry Ware who had come back, but not the same Henry Ware.

　　Henry was beside them in a moment and he seized their hands,first the hands of one and then of the other, calling them byname.

　　The master recovering from his momentary diffidence threw hisarms around his former pupil, welcomed him with many words, andwanted to know where he had been so long.

　　"I shall tell you, but not now," replied Henry, "because there isno time to spare; you are threatened by a great danger. TheShawnees are coming with a thousand warriors and I have hastenedahead to warn you."

　　He hurried them inside the palisade, his manner tense, masterfuland convincing, and there he met his mother, whose joy, deep andgrateful, was expressed in few words after the stern Puritancode. The father and the brother and sister came next, but theyounger people like Lucy felt a little fear of him, and his oldcomrade Paul Cotter scarcely knew him.

　　He told in a few words of his escape from a far Northwesterntribe, of the coming of the Shawnees, and of the need to takeevery precaution for defense.

　　"There is no time to spare," he said. "All must be called in atonce."

　　A man with powerful lungs blew long on a cow's horn, those whowere at work in the fields and the forest hastened in, the gateswere barred, the best marksmen were sent to watch in the upperstory of the blockhouses and at the palisade, and the women beganto mold bullets.

　　Henry Ware was the pervading spirit through all the preparations.He knew everything and thought of everything, he told them themode of Indian attack and how they could best meet it, hecompelled them to strengthen the weak spots in the palisade, andhe encouraged all those who were faint of heart and apprehensive.

　　Lucy's slight fear of him remained, but with it now cameadmiration. She saw that his was a soul fit to lead and command,the work that he was about to do he loved, his eyes were alightwith the fire of battle; a certain joy was shining there, andall, feeling the strength of his spirit, obeyed him withoutasking why.

　　Only Braxton Wyatt uttered doubts with words and sneered withlooks. He too had become a hunter of skill, and hence what hesaid might have some merit.

　　"It seems strange that Henry Ware should come so suddenly when hemight have come before," he remarked with apparent carelessnessto Lucy Upton.

　　She looked at him with sharp interest. The same thought hadentered her mind, but she did not like to hear Braxton Wyattutter it.

　　"At all events he is about to save us from a great danger," shesaid.

　　Wyatt laughed and his thin long features contracted in an uglymanner.

　　"It is a tale to impress us and perhaps to cover up somethingelse," he replied. "There is not an Indian within two hundredmiles of us. I know, I have been through the woods and there isno sign."

　　She turned away, liking his words little and his manner less.She stopped presently by a corner of one of the houses on aslight elevation whence she could see a long distance beyond thepalisade. So far as seeming went Braxton Wyatt was certainlyright. The spring day was full of golden sunshine, the fresh newgreen of the forest was unsullied, and it was hard to conjure upeven the shadow of danger.

　　Wyatt might have ground for his suspicion, but why should HenryWare sound a false alarm? The words "perhaps to cover upsomething else" returned to her mind, but she dismissed themangrily.

　　She went to the Ware house and rejoiced with Mrs. Ware, to whom ason had come back from the dead, and in whose joy there was noflaw. According to her mother's heart a wonder had beenperformed, and it had been done for her special benefit.The village was in full posture of defense, all were inside thewalls and every man had gone to his post. They now awaited theattack, and yet there was some distrust of Henry Ware. BraxtonWyatt, a clever youth, had insidiously sowed the seeds ofsuspicion, and already there was a crop of unbelief. Byindirection he had called attention to the strange appearance ofthe returned wanderer, the Indian like air that he had acquired,his new ways unlike their own, and his indifference to manythings that he had formerly liked. He noticed the change inHenry Ware's nature and he brought it also to the notice ofothers.

　　It seemed as the brilliant day passed peacefully that Wyatt wasright and Henry, for some hidden purpose of his own, perhaps tohide the secret of his long absence, had brought to them thissounding alarm. There was the sun beyond the zenith in theheavens, the shadows of afternoon were falling, and the yellowlight over the forest softened into gray, but no sign of an enemyappeared.

　　If Henry Ware saw the discontent he did not show his knowledge;the light of the expected conflict was still in his eyes and histhoughts were chiefly of the great event to come; yet in aninterval of waiting he went back to the house and told his motherof much that had befallen him during his long absence; he soughtto persuade himself now that he could not have escaped earlier,and perhaps without intending it he created in her mind theimpression that he sought to engrave upon his own; so she wasfully satisfied, thankful for the great mercy of his return thathad been given to her.

　　"Now mother!" he said at last, "I am going outside."

　　"Outside!" she cried aghast, "but you are safe here! Why notstay?"

　　He smiled and shook his head.

　　"I shall be safe out there, too," he said, "and it is best for usall that I go. Oh, I know the wilderness, mother, as you knowthe rooms of this house!"

　　He kissed her quickly and turned away. John Ware, who stood by,said nothing. He felt a certain fear of his son and did not yetknow how to command him.

　　As Henry passed from the house into the little square Lucy Uptonovertook him.

　　"Where are you going?" she asked.

　　"I think I can be of more help out there than in here," hereplied pointing toward the forest.

　　"It would be better for you to stay," she said.

　　"I shall be in no danger."

　　"It is not that; do you know what some of them here are saying ofyou-that you are estranged from us, that there is some purpose inthis, that no attack is coming! Your going now will confirm themin the belief."

　　His dark eyes flashed with a fierceness that startled her, andhis whole frame seemed to draw up as if he were about to spring.But the emotion passed in a moment, and his face was a brownmask, saying nothing. He seemed indifferent to the publicopinion of his little world.

　　"I am needed out there," he said, pointing again toward the darkline of the forest, "and I shall go. Whether I tell the truth ornot will soon be known; they will have to wait only a little.But you believe me now, don't you?"

　　She looked deep into his calm eyes, and she read there onlytruth. But she knew even before she looked that Henry Ware wasnot one who would ever be guilty of falsehood or treachery.

　　"Oh yes I know it," she replied, "but I wish others to know it aswell."

　　"They will," he said, and then taking her hand in his for onebrief moment he was gone. His disappearance was so sudden andsoundless that he seemed to her to melt away from her sight likea mist before the wind. She did not even know how he had passedthrough the palisade, but he was certainly outside and away,There was something weird about it and she felt a little fear, asif an event almost supernatural had occurred.

　　The sudden departure of Henry Ware to the forest started theslanderous tongues to wagging again, and they said it was a trapof some kind, though no one could tell how. A sly report wasstarted that he had become that worst of all creatures in histime, a renegade, a white man who allied himself with the red tomake war upon his own people. It came to the ears of PaulCotter, and the heart of the loyal youth grew hot within him.Paul was not fond of war and strife, but he had an aboundingcourage, and he and Henry Ware had been through danger together.

　　"He is changed, I will admit," he said, "but if he says we aregoing to be attacked, we shall be. I wish that all of us were astrue as he."

　　He touched his gun lock in a threatening manner, and BraxtonWyatt and the others who stood by said no more in his presence.Yet the course of the day was against Henry's assertion. Theafternoon waned, the sun, a ball of copper, swung down into thewest, long shadows fell and nothing happened.

　　The people moved and talked impatiently inside their woodenwalls. They spoke of going about their regular pursuits, therewas work that could be done on the outside in the twilight, andenough time had been lost already through a false alarm. Butsome of the older men, with cautious blood, advised them to waitand their counsel was taken. Night came, thick and black, and tothe more timid full of omens and presages.

　　The forest sank away in the darkness, nothing was visible fiftyyards from the palisade and in the log houses few lights burned.The little colony, but a pin point of light, was alone in thevast and circling wilderness. One of the greatest tests ofcourage to which the human race has ever been subjected was athand. In all directions the forest curved away, hundreds ofmiles. It would be a journey of days to find any other of theirown kind, they were hemmed in everywhere by silence andloneliness, whatever happened they must depend upon themselves,because there was none to bring help. They might perish, one andall, and the rest of the world not hear of it until longafterwards.

　　A moaning wind came up and sighed over the log houses, theyounger children-and few were too young not to guess what wasexpected-fell asleep at last, but the older, those who hadreached their thinking years could not find such solace. In thisblack darkness their fears became real; there was no false alarm,the forest around them hid their enemy, but only for the time.There was little noise in the station. By the low fires in thehouses the women steadily molded bullets, and seldom spoke toeach other, as they poured the melted lead into the molds. Bythe walls the men too, rifle in hand, were silent, as they soughtwith intent eyes to mark what was passing in the forest. LucyUpton was molding bullets in her father's house and they weremelting the lead at a bed of coals in the wide fireplace. Nonewas steadier of hand or more expert than she. Her face wasflushed as she bent over the fire and her sleeves were rolledback, showing her strong white, arms. Her lips were discolored,but as the bullets shining like silver from the mold they wouldpart now and slight smile. She too had in her the spirit ofwarlike ancestors and it was aroused now. Girl, though she was,she felt in her own veins a little of the thrill of comingconflict.

　　But her thoughts were not wholly of attack and defense; theyfollowed as well him who had come back so suddenly and who wasnow gone again into the wilderness from which he had emerged.His appearance and manner had impressed her deeply. She wishedto hear more from him of the strange wild life that he had led;she too felt, although in a more modified form, the spell of theprimeval.

　　Her task finished she went to the door, and then drawn bycuriosity she continued until her walk brought her near thepalisade where she watched the men on guard, their dusky figurestouched by the wan light that came from the slender crescent of amoon, and seeming altogether weird and unreal. Paul Cotter inone of his errands found her there.

　　"You had better go back," he said. "We may be attacked at anytime, and a bullet or arrow could reach you here."

　　"So you believe with me that an attack will be made as he said?"

　　"Of course I do," replied Paul with emphasis. "Don't I knowHenry Ware? Weren't he and I lost together? Wasn't he thetruest of comrades?"

　　Several men, talking in low tones, approached them. BraxtonWyatt was with them and Lucy saw at once that it was a group ofmalcontents.

　　"It is nothing," said Seth Lowndes, a loud, arrogant man, theboaster of the colony. "There are no Indians in these parts andI'm going out there to prove it."

　　He stood in the center of a ray of moonlight, as he spoke, and itlighted up his red sneering face. Lucy and Paul could see himplainly and each felt a little shiver of aversion. But neithersaid anything and, in truth, standing in the dark by themselvesthey were not noticed by the others.

　　"I'm going outside," repeated Lowndes in a yet more noisy tone,"and if I run across anything more than a deer I'll be mightybadly fooled!"

　　One or two uttered words of protest, but it seemed to Lucy thatBraxton Wyatt incited him to go on, joining him in words ofcontempt for the alleged danger.

　　Lowndes reached the palisade and climbed upon it by means of thecross pieces binding it together, and then he stood upon thetopmost bar, where his head and all his body, above the knees,rose clear of the bulwark. He was outlined there sharply, astout, puffy man, his face redder than ever from the effect ofclimbing, and his eyes gleaming triumphantly as, from his highperch, he looked toward the forest.

　　"I tell you there is not-" But the words were cut short, thegleam died from his eyes, the red fled from his face, and hewhitened suddenly with terror. From the forest came a sharpreport, echoing in the still night, and the puffy man, throwingup his arms, fell from the palisade back into the enclosure, deadbefore he touched the ground.

　　A fierce yell, the long ominous note of the war whoop burst fromthe forest, and its sound, so full of menace and fury, was moreterrible than that of the rifle. Then came other shots, a rapidpattering volley, and bullets struck with a low sighing soundagainst the upper walls of the blockhouse. The long quaveringcry, the Indian yell rose and died again and in the black forest,still for aught else, it was weird and unearthly.

　　Lucy stood like stone when the lifeless body of the boaster fellalmost at her feet, and all the color was gone from her face.The terrible cry of the savages without was ringing in her ears,and it seemed to her, for a few moments, that she could not move.But Paul grasped her by the arm and drew her back.

　　"Go into your house!" he cried. "A bullet might reach you here!"

　　Obedient to his duty he hastened to the palisade to bear avaliant hand in the defense, and she, retreating a little,remained in the shadow of the houses that she might see howevents would go. After the first shock of horror and surpriseshe was not greatly afraid, and she was conscious too of acertain feeling of relief. Henry Ware had told the truth, heknew of what he spoke when he brought his warning, and he hadgreatly served his own.