on the long marches and the lonely nights … even the bright dawns, with meat
cooking.
We slept that night with the stars seen through the branches, with the sound of
things that move in the night, and the little sounds the mountains make, the
faint creakings and groanings and rattles of changing temperature and wind.
Before first light Jeremy was gathering dry branches, and Pim had gone to the
stream for fish.
On the morning of the third day we started back. I had brought with me several
well-tanned deerskins, and upon these I made a map of the country so far as we
had seen it. The route by which we returned was different from the outer route.
This was only partly because we wished to see new country, but it was never well
to retrace a path where an enemy might lie in wait.
During the weeks that followed we made several such trips, and upon one of them
Abby joined me. She was a good walker, and loved the country as much as I, and
we brought Kin with us, carrying him Indian-style. Many of the mountain tops
about were bare of trees, and this we could not understand although Pim Burke
believed the Indians might have burned them off to offer a better view of the
country around. Of this I was not too sure, for over much of it one saw only the
tops of trees while enemies could move close under their cover.
Cold winds blew down from the north. We built our fires higher, and had no
trouble finding the chinks in our log walls that had been left when we applied
mud to the cracks. The cold wind blew through each of them and made us only too
aware.
Meanwhile we gathered fuel, hunted a little, and cleared ground for spring
planting, moving rocks into piles, cutting out the larger roots until we had
several acres ready.
With the onset of colder weather we went into the higher mountains and set out
traps.
“What of the furs?” Slater asked.
“We will go to the coast,” I said. “Tilly will return with the fluyt, or other
ships will come. We will go downstream by boat, sell our furs and what else we
have, and then return here.”
Often, I talked with Wa-ga-su about the lands beyond the mountains, and from his
memory he dredged tales told by Catawba wanderers from other eras. Returning to
the long-nosed animals, I learned again from him that no Catawba he had heard of
had actually seen such an animal, but there were stories of them and he believed
they might exist beyond the mountains.
Yet the stories, he agreed, might be very old, told of a time long ago.
We had climbed one day high up on Double Mountain, Wa-ga-su, Jeremy Ring, and
Tim Glasco. Abby was with us, and we had stopped, enjoying the cold with its
freshness and the smell of pines and cedar.
Suddenly Wa-ga-su said, “We go now. Indian come.”
Experience had taught me to react quickly. I wasted no time in asking foolish
questions. I said not what nor where, but catching Abby by the arm, started off
the bald where we were and into the brush.
Below us was a level stretch of ground and on the far side a huddle of boulders,
cast off by the mountain into a jumbled shape. There was a small spring there,
as we had lately learned, and Wa-ga-su led us there, at a fast trot.
We had almost reached it when there was a sudden whoop behind us and a flight of
arrows, yet we scrambled into the rocks and I turned at once to look the way we
had come.
Nothing …
Wa-ga-su had retrieved one of the arrows. “Seneca,” he said, “very old enemy of
Catawba.”
There were four muskets amongst us, and Jeremy and I each carried two pistols.
“We must not let them catch us unloaded,” I said. “Wa-ga-su, do you fire with
me. Let Jeremy and Tim hold their fire while we reload.”
Several times I glimpsed movement at the forest’s edge, but they were wary. I
think they knew not how many we were, but guessed at once where we lay, for the
rocks offered a good position, and perhaps they, too, although from far away,
knew of the spring.
Abby put Kin in the shelter of some rocks and we lay still, waiting. A Seneca
near the edge of the timber lingered too long in one place, and Wa-ga-su fired.
We saw the Indian stagger, then fall. A chorus of angry yells sounded again and
there was a flight of arrows, and two of them fell within the cluster of rocks.
It was not a circle, rather a mere cluster perhaps sixty feet long, half again
as wide, with some rocks looming up in the center. Kin lay in a narrow crack in
one of the largest of these.
They circled closer, daring us to fire. An Indian darted into the open, then
dove back to shelter. Several times they darted out, trying to draw our fire. It
was obvious they had encountered guns before, probably from the French or
English far up the country from which they had come, for the home of the Senecas
was several hundred miles away to the north. Yet Wa-ga-su assured me they often
raided the Catawba as well as other peoples of the area.
The Catawba, he said proudly, were such noted warriors that every Seneca wished
to kill one, to have his scalp to boast of.
Suddenly, they charged. The distance was scarcely twenty yards, and there were
at least a dozen. Wa-ga-su had reloaded. He fired first, catching the big Indian
in mid-stride. Deliberately, I held my fire, then when they had come on two
strides further, I fired. Passing my musket back to Abby to reload, I drew both
my pistols.
Jeremy fired, then Glasco, and I fired a pistol. Four Senecas were down and the
attack broke, the Indians scattered in all directions. Wa-ga-su fired again …
missing.
Yet they had managed to carry off three of their men. Two others lay exposed.
One was in plain sight upon the grass, the second lay over a slight rise and we
could see only his hand, although the rise was of a few inches only. Yet the
hand did not move.
The cold wind blew, a few spatters of rain fell. “Keep your powder dry,” I said,
needlessly, for we all understood the necessity.
Five Indians down … it had been a costly attack for them.
“How many were there?” I asked.
Wa-ga-su shrugged. “I think not many, but they are strong fighters. We must
watch. They will try to get others and return.”
Wa-ga-su lay quiet, watching. I could not but reflect on what our coming had
meant to him, and what he had gained in knowledge he had lost in prestige within
the tribe. He had no place among them now, for his word was doubted. At the same
time, they could see that he stood high with us, as indeed he did.
He had indeed traveled farther, perhaps, than any member of his people. He spoke
English very well, for he had much opportunity. That he was a man of keen,
active intelligence was obvious.
Rain began to fall, a light, misting rain. I took a blanket and covered the
crack where Kin lay. He laughed at me and waved his arms, making small noises.
In one hand he clutched an arrow that must have fallen near him. When Abby saw
it she was frightened and hastily took it from him lest the point be poisoned.
Suddenly a Seneca darted from the brush. I fired, but he dropped as my musket
came up and the shot was a clean miss. The Seneca lay on the grass, nowhere
visible, yet there. He lay perfectly still, and we watched, determined to get
him when he should rise from the ground.
Only he didn’t rise. Some minutes later, Ring nudged me and pointed. The hand
that we had seen was gone. Somehow the Seneca had succeeded in retrieving that
Indian, and had vanished with him.
The other lay in plain sight. We waited. “Two muskets,” I said. “We must get
him.”
Suddenly, Wa-ga-su darted from the rocks. He ran swiftly forward, dropped flat
beside the dead Indian, and with his knife made a quick circular cut, then
grasping the hair he jerked off the scalp.
Rising to full height, he shook the bloody scalp and shouted taunts. Instantly,
there was a flight of arrows, but he wheeled and ran, darting this way and that,
to the shelter of our rocks.
I had heard of scalp taking, but had not seen it done before.
Slowly, the winter passed. The springs which had frozen into crystal cascades
over the edges of cliffs-sheets of glistening ice that could be seen from afar