SKINE DALE '>^-.^r^^ Wf 1^ ZJm^ ^ JOHN FOX J/r. r5 El CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY HENRY WILLIAMS SAGE PS 1702 E*™" """"""y '^""'V 3 1924 021 975 002 The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021975002 ERSKINE DALE — PIONEER >5««S ^M I-- a^a^. '^^^^ fi 'j0^ J f^4 ImPi^^^ JiPi ,, J m ^L^iS^ it ? ^^^•'^ ^jjllffCT ^BKm OK li > ^^^M V {h s ^H'S H^Si f ' u : j /y^^hiL ^ ^^^i^9^9 i ' -- I'm^ ^r^ li ^ ^Mlm'^h "^w >4p«HIBL!|i 1 1 B^^^^Wt^^W b /* mjp |V ^iWBK'^d- y\ ^^^1^^^ fSBs,' "^s^^SBBBsSMR' 1 ^ P^ . S^si ^^^^^s HBbH ^^m-j I ^^^H ^^K \^M^' ' fl^ ^^^K^^^H 1^^^^^ ' A H^^Ih M^^ CjJm ^r^^^ ^ Pp^^^ 8' 'i»**^ ^^ *-"* **^ n ■''^ L^™^ F 6. ><0*.«^ r -''^»al^H 1^';" " " 1 'p^' ' .^aj^^M^^H 1 , ^^ Behind the house spread a little king- dom, divided into fields of grass, wheat, tobacco, and corn, and dotted with white- / washed cabins filled with slaves. Already the house had been built a hundred years of brick brought from England in the builder's own ships, it was said, and the second son of the reigning generation, one Colonel Dale, sat in the veranda alone. He was a royalist officer, this second son, but his elder brother had the spirit of daring and adventure that should have been his, and he had been sitting there four years before when that elder brother 28 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 29 came home from his first pioneering trip into the wilds, to tell that his wife was dead and their only son was a captive among the In- dians. Two years later still, word came that the father, too, had met death from the savages, and the little kingdom passed into ColoneJ Dale's hands. Indentured servants, as well as blacks from Africa, had labored on that path in front of him; and up it had once stalked a deputation of the great Powhatan's red tribes. Up that path had come the last of the early colonial dames, in huge ruffs, high-hieeled shoes, and short skirts, with her husband, who was the "head of a hundred/* with gold on his clothes, and at once military com- mander, civil magistrate, judge, and executive of the community; had come officers in gold lace, who had been rowed up in barges from Jamestown; members of the worshipful House of Burgesses; bluff planters in silk coats, the governor and members of the council; dis- tinguished visitors from England, colonial gentlemen and ladies. At the manor they had got beef, bacon, brown loaves, Indian corn-cakes, strong ales, and strong waters 30 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER (but no tea or coflFee), and "drunk" pipes of tobacco from lily-pots — ^jars of white earth — lighted with splinters of jyniper, or coals of fire plucked from the fireplace with a pair of silver tongs. And all was English still — books, clothes, plates, knives, and forks; the church, the Church of England; the Governor, the representative of the King; his Council, the English House of Lords; the Burgesses, the English Parliament — so- cially Aristocratic, politically republican. For ancient usage held that all "freemen" should have a voice in the elections, have equal right to say who the lawmakers and what the law. The way was open as now. Any man could get two thousand acres by service to the colony, could build, plough, reap, save, buy servants, and roll in his own coach to sit as burgess. There was but one seat of learning — a^ Williamsburg. What culture they had they brought from England or got from par- ents or minister. And always they had seemed to prefer sword and stump to the pen. They" hated towns. At every wharf a long shaky trestle ran from a warehouse out into the river to load ships with tobacco for Eng- ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 31 land and to get in return all conveniences and luxuries, and that was e^nough. In towns men jostled and individual freedom was lost, so. Ho ! for the great sweeps of land and the sway of a territorial lord ! Englishmen they were of Shakespeare's time but living in Virginia, and that is all they were— ^save that the flower of libert;^ was growing faster in the new-world soil. The plantation weht back to a patent from the king in 161 7, and by the grant the first stout captain was to "enjoy his landes in as large and ample manner to all intentes and purposes as any Lord of .any manours in England doth hold his grounde." This gentleman was the only man after the "Starving Time" to protest against the aban- donment of Jamestown in 1610. When, two years later, he sent two henchmen as burgesses to the first general assembly, that august body would not allow them to sit unless the captain would relinquish certain high privi- leges in his grant. "I hold my patent for service done," the captain answered grandiloquently, "which noe newe or late comers can meritt or chal- 32 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER lenge," and only with the greatest difficulty was he finally persuaded to surrender" his high authority. In that day the house was built of wood, protected by a palisade, pre- scribed by law, and the windows had stout shutters. Everything within it had cpme from England,. The books were ponderous folios, stout duodecimos encased in embossed leather, ■ and among them was a folio contain- ing Master William Shakespeare's dramas, collected by his fellow actors Heminge and Condell. Later by many years a frame house supplanted this primitive, fort-like home- stead, and early in the eighteenth century, after several generations had been educated in England, an heir built the noble manor as it still stands — an accomplished gentleman with lace collar, slashed doublet, and sable silvered hair, a combination of scholar, court- ier, and soldier. And such had been the mas- ter of the little kingdom ever since. In the earliest days the highest and reddest cedars in the world rose above the under- brush. The wild vines were so full of grape bunches that the very turf overflowed with them. Deer, turkeys, and snow-white cranes ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 33 were in incredible abundance. The shores, were fringed with verdure^^ The Indians were a "kind, loving people." Englishmen called it the "Good Land," and found it "most plentiful, sweet, wholesome, and fruitful ©f all others." The east was the ocean; Florida was the south; the north was Nova Francia, and the west unknown. Only the shores touched the interior, which was an untravelled realm of fairer fruits and flowers than in Eng- land; green shores, majestic forests, and blue mountains filled with gold and jewels. Bright birds flitted, dusky maids danced and beck- oned, rivers ran over golden sand, and toward the South Sea was the Fount of Youth, whose waters made the aged young again. Bermuda Islands were an enchanted den full of furies and devils which all men did shun as hell and perdition. And the feet of all who had made history had trod that broad path to the owner's heart and home. Down it now came a little girl — the flower of all those- dead and gone — and her coming was just as though one of the flowers about her ha;d stepped from its gay company on one or ti^ other side of the path to make through 34 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER them a dainty, triumphal march as the fair- est of them "all. At the dial she paused and her impatient blue eyes turned to a bend of the yellow river for the first glimpse of a gay barge that soon must come. At the wharf the song of negroes rose as they unloaded the boat just from Richmond. She would go and see if there was riot a package for her mother and perhaps a present for herself, so with another look to the river bend she turned, but she moved no farther. Instead, she gave a little gasp,^ in which there was no fear, though what she saw was surely startling enough to have made her wheel in flight. In-i > stead, fehe gazed steadily into a pair of grave black eyes that Were fixed on her from Tinder a green branch that overhung the footpath, and steadily she searched the figure standing there, from the coonskin cap down the fringed hunting-shirt and fringed breeches to the moccasined feet. And still the strange figure stood arms folded, ' niotionless and silent. Neither the attitude nor the silence was quite pleasinjg, and the girl's supple slenderness stif- fened, her arms went rigidly to her sides, and a haughty little snap sent her undimpled chin upward. ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 35 "What do you want ?" And still he looked, searching her in turn from head to foot, for he was no more strange to her than she was to him. "WIio are you and what do you want ?" It was a new way for a woman to speak to a man; he in turn was not pleased, and a gleam in his eyes showed it. "I am the son of a king." She started to laugh, but grew puzzled, for she had the blood of Pocahontas herself. "You are an Indian?" He shook his head, scorning to explain, dropped his rifle to the hollow of his arm, and, reaching for his belt where she saw the buckhorn handle of a hunting-knife, came toward her, but she did not flinch. Drawing a letter from the belt, he handed it to her. It was so worn and soiled that she took it daintily and saw on it her father's name. The boy waved his hand toward the house far up the path. "He live here?" "You wish to see him ?" The boy grunted assent^ and with a shock of resentment the little lady started up the 36 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER path with her head very high indeed. The boy slipped noiselessly after her, his face un- moved, but his eyes were darting right and left to the flowers, trees, and bushes, to every flitting, strange bird, the gray streak of a scampering squirrel, and what he could not see, his ears took in — the clanking chains of work-horses, the whir of a quail, the screech of a peacock, the songs of negroes from far- off fields. V On the porch sat a gentleman in powdered wig and knee-breeches, who, lifting his eyes from a copy of The Spectator to give an order to a negro servant, saw the two coming, and the ftrst look of bewilderment on his fine face gave way to a tolerant smile. A stray cat or dog, a crippled chicken, a neighbor's €hild, or a pickaninny — all these his little daughter had brought in at one time or an- other for a home, and now she had a strange ward, indeed. He asked no question; for a purpose Very decided and definite was plainly bringing the little lady on, and he would not have to question. Swiftly she ran up the steps, her mouth primly set, and handed him a letter. "The messenger is the son of a king" ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER , 37 "The messenger is the son of a king." "A what ?" "The son of a king," she repeated gravely. "Ah," said the gentleman, humoring her, "ask his highness to be seated." His highness was looking from one to the other gravely and keenly. He did not quite understand, but he knew gentle fun was being poked at him, and he dropped sullenly on the edge of the porch and stared in front of him. The little girl saw that his moccasins were much worn and that in one was a hole with the edge blood-stained. And then she be- gan to watch her father's face, which showed that the contents of the letter were astounding him. He rose quickly when he had finished and put out his hand to the stranger. "I am glad to see you, my boy," he said with great kindness, x "Barbara, this is a little kinsman of ours from Kentucky. He was the adopted son of an Indian chief, but by blood he is your own cousin. His name is Erskine Dale." IV I The little girl rose startled, but her breed- ing was too fine for betrayal, and she went to him with hand outstretched. The boy took it as he had taken her father's, limply and without rising. The father frowned and smiled — how could the lad have learned manners .? And then he, too, saw the hole in the moccasin through which the bleeding had started again. "You are hurt — ^you have walked a long way?" The lad shrugged his shoiilders carelessly. "Three days— I had to shoot horse." "Take him into the kitchen, Barbara, and tell Hannah to wash his foot and bandage it." The boy looked uncomfortable and shook his head, but the little girl was smiling and she told him to come with such sweet im- periousness that he rose helplessly. Old Han- nah's eyes made a bewildered start ! "You go on back an' wait for yo' company, little Miss; I'll 'tend to him!" 3« ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 39 And when the boy still protested, she flared up: "Looky here, son, little Miss tell me to wash yo' foot, an' Fse gwinter do it, ef I got to tie you fust; now you keep still. Whar you come from ?" His answer was a somewhat haughty grunt that at once touched the quick instincts of the old negress and checked further question. Swiftly and silently she bound his foot, and with great respect she led him to a little room in one ell of the great house in which was a tub of warm water. "Ole marster say you been travellin' an* mebbe you like to refresh yo'self wid a hot bath. Dar's some o' little marster's clothes on de bed dar, an' a pair o' his shoes, an' I know dey'll jus' fit you snug. You'll find all de folks on de front po'ch when you git through." She closed the door. Once, winter and summer, the boy had daily plunged into the river with his Indian companions, but he had never had a bath in his life, and he did not know what the word meant; yet he had learned so much at the fort that he had no 40 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER trouble making out what the tub of water was for. For the same reason he felt no sur- prise when he picked up the clothes; he was only puzzled how to get into them. He tried, and struggling with the breeches he threw one hand out to the wall to keep from falling and caught a red cord with a bushy red tassel; whereat there was a ringing that made him spring away from it. A moment later there was a knock at his door. I "Did you ring, suh ?" asked a voice. What that meant he did not know, and he made no answer. The door was opened slightly and a woolly head appeared. "Do you want anything, suh ?" "No." "Den I reckon hit was anudder bell — Yassuh." The boy began putting on his own clothes. Outside Colonel Dale and Barbara had strolled down the big path to the sun-dial, the colonel telling the story of the little Kentucky kinsman — the little girl listening and wide-eyed. "Is he going to live here with us, papa ?" "Perhaps. You must be very nice to ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 41 him. He has lived a rude, rough life, but I can see he is very sensitive." At the bend of the river there was the flash of dripping oars, and the song of the black oarsmen came across the yellow flood. "There they come!" cried Barbara. And from his window the little Kentuckian saw the company coming up the path, brave with gay clothes and smiles and gallantries. The colonel walked with a grand lady at the head, behind were the belles and beaux, and bring- ing up the rear was Barbara, escorted by a youth of his own age, who carried his hat under his arm and bore himself as haughtily as his elders. No sooner did he see them mounting to the porch than there was the sound of a horn in the rear, and looking out of the other winjlow the lad saw a coach and four dash through the gate and swing around the road that encircled the great trees, and up to the rear portico, where there was a joyous clamor of greetings. Where did all those people come from ? Were they going to stay there and would he have to be among them ? All the men were dressed alike and not one was dressed like him. Panic as- 42 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER sailed him, and once more he looked at the clothes on the bed, and then without hesita- tion walked through the hallway, and stopped on the threshold of the front door. A quaint figure he made there, and for the moment the gay talk and laughter quite ceased. The story of him already had been told, and al- ready was sweeping from cabin to cabin to the farthest edge of the great plantation. Mrs. General Willoughby lifted her lorgnettes to study him curiously, the young ladies turned a battery of searching but friendly rays upon him, the young men regarded him with tolerance and repressed amusement, and Bar- bara, already his champion, turned her eyes from one to the other of them, but always see- ing him. No son of Powhatan could have stood there with more dignity, and young Harry Dale's face broke into a smile of wel- come. His father being indoors he went for- ward with hand outstretched. "I am your cousin Harry," he said, and taking him by the arm he led him on the round of presentation. "Mrs. Willoughby, may I present my cous- in from Kentucky?" ERSKI^E DALE— PIONEER 43 "This is your cousin, Miss Katherine Dale; another cousin. Miss Mary; and this is your cousin Hugh." And the young ladies greeted him with frank, eager interest, and the young gentle- men suddenly repressed patronizing smiles and gave him grave greeting, for if ever a rapier flashed from a human head, it flashed from the piercing black eye of that little Ken- tucky backwoodsman when his cousin Hugh, with a rather whimsical smile, bowed with a politeness that was a trifle too elaborate. Mrs. Willoughby still kept her lorgnettes on him as he stood leaning against a pillar. She noted the smallness of his hands and feet, the lithe, perfect body, the clean cut of his face, and she breathed: " He is a Dale — and blood does tell." Nobody, not even she, guessed how the lad's heart was thumping with the effort to conceal his embarrassment, but when a tinge of color spread on each side of his set mouth and his eyes began to waver uncertainly, Mrs. Willoughby's intuition was quick and kind. "Barbara," she asked, "have you shown your cousin your ponies ?" 44 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER The little girl saw her motive and laughed merrily: "Why, I haven't had time to show him any- thing. Come on, cousin." The boy followed her down the steps in his noiseless moccasins, along a grass path between hedges of ancient box, around an ell, and past the kitchen and toward the stables. In and behind the kitchen negroes of all ages and both sexes were hurrying or lazing around, and each turned to stare wonderingly after the strange woodland figure of the little hunter. Negroes were coming in from the fields with horses and mules, negroes were chopping and carrying wood, there were negroes everywhere, and the lad had never seen one before, but he showed no surprise. At a gate the little girl called imperiously: "Ephraim, bring out my ponies !" And in a moment out came a sturdy little slave whose head was all black skin, black wool, and white teeth, leading two creamy- white little horses that shook the lad's com- posure at last, for he knew ponies as far back as he could remember, but he had never seen the like of them. His hand almost trembled ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 45 when he ran it over their sleek coats, and unconsciously he dropped into his Indian speech and did not know it until the girl asked laughingly: ~^ "Why, what are you saying to my ponies ?" And he blushed, for the little girl's artless prattling and friendliness were already be-' ginning to make him quite human. "That's Injun talk." "Can you talk Indian — but, of course, you can." "Better than English," he smiled. Hugh had followed them. "Barbara, your mother wants you," he said, and the little girl turned toward the house. The stranger was ill at ease with Hugh and the latter knew it. " It must be very exciting where you live." "How?" "Oh, fighting Indians and shooting deer and turkeys and buffalo. It must be great fun." \ "Nobody does it for fun — ^it's mighty hard work." "My uncle — ^your father — used to tell us about his wonderful adventures out there." 46 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "He had no chance to tell me." "But yours must have been more wonder- ful than his." The boy gave the little grunt that was a survival of his Indian life and turned to go back to the house. "But all this, I suppose, is as strange to you." "More." Hii'h was polite and apparently sincere in interest, but the lad was vaguely "Ah!" thought Erskine. Within the old chief called faintly and the Indian woman motioned the lad to go within. The old man's dim eyes had a new fire. "Talk!" he commanded and motioned to the ground, but the lad did not squat Indian fashion,- but Stood straight with arms folded, and the chief knew that a conflict was coming. Narrowly he watched White Arrow's face and bearing — uneasily felt the strange new power of him. "I have been with my own people," said the lad simply, "the palefaces who have come over the big mountains and have built forts and planted corn, and they were kind to me. I went over those mountains, on and on almost to the big waters. I found my kin. They are many and strong and rich. They have big houses of stone such as I had never seen nor heard of and they plant more corn than all the Shawnees and Iroquois. They, too, ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 117 were kind to me. I came because you had been kind and because you were sick and be- cause you had sent for me, and to keep my word. "I have seen Crooked Lightning. His heart is bad, I have seen the new prophet. I do not like him. And I have seen the white woman that you are to burn to-morrow." The lad stopped. His every word had been of defense or indictment and more than once the old chief's eyes shifted uneasily. "Why did you leave us .""' "To see my people and because of Crooked Lightning and his brother." "You fought us." "Only the brother, and I killed him." The dauntless mien of the boy, his steady eyes, and his bold truthfulness, pleased the old man. The lad must take his place as chief. Now White Arrow turned questioner: "I told you I would come when the leaves fell and I am here. Why is Crooked Light- ning here ? Why is the new prophet ? Who is the woman ? What has she done that she must die ? What is the peace talk you wish me to carry north ?" ii8 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER The old man hesitated long with closed eyes. When he opened them the fire was gone and they were dim again, "The story of the prophet and Crooked Lightning is too long," he said wearily. "I will tell to-morrow. The woman must die because her people have slain mine. Be- sides, she is growing blind and is a trouble. You carry the white wampum to a council. The Shawnees may join the British against our enemies — the palefaces." "I will wait," said the lad. "I will carry the white wampum. If you war against the paleface on this side of the mountain — I am your enemy. If you war with the British against them all — I am your enemy. And the woman must not die." "I have spoken," said the old man. "/ have spoken," said the boy. He turned to lie down and went to sleep. The old man sat on, staring out at the stars. Just outside the tent a figure slipped away as noiselessly as a snake. When it rose and emerged from the shadows the firelight showed the malignant, triumphant face of Crooked Lightning. XI The Indian boys were plunging into the river when Erskine appeared at the opening of the old chief's tent next morning, and when they came out icicles were clinging to their hair. He had forgotten the custom and he shrugged his shoulders at his mother's inquiring look. But the next morning when Crooked Lightning's son Black Wolf passed him with a taunting smUe he changed his mind. "Wait!" he said. He turned, stripped quickly to a breech-clout, pointed to a beech down and across the river, challenging Black Wolf to a race. Together they plunged in and the boy's white body clove through the water like the arrow that he was. At the beech he whipped about to meet the angry face of his competitor ten yards behind. Half-way back he was more ,than twenty yards ahead when he heard a strangled cry. Perhaps it was a ruse to cover the humiliation of defeat, but ilg I20 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER when he saw bucks rushing for the river-bank he knew that the icy water had brought a cramp to Black Wolf, so he turned, caught the lad by his topknot, towed him shoreward, dropped him contemptuously, and stalked back to his tent. The girl Early Morn stood smiling at her lodge and her eyes followed his white figure until it disappeared. His mother had built a fire for him, and the old chief looked pleased and proud. "My spirit shall not pass," he said, and straightway he rose and dressed, and to the astonishment of the tribe emerged from his tent and walked firmly about the village until he found Crooked Lightning. "You would have Black Wolf chief," he said. "Very well. We shall see who can show the better right — ^your son or White Arrow" — a challenge that sent Crooked Light- ning to brood awhile in his tent, and then secretly to consult the prophet. Later the old chief talked long to White /pcTow. The prophet, he said, had been with them but a little while. He claimed that the Great Spirit had made revelations to him alone. What manner of man was he, ques- ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 121 tioned the boy — did he have ponies and pelts and jerked meat ? "He is poor," said the chief. "He has only a wife and children and the tribe feeds him." White Arrow himself grunted — it was the first sign of his old life stirring within him. "Why should the Great Spirit pick out such a man to favor ?" he asked. The chief shook his head. "He makes muzzi-neen for the young men, shows them where to find game and they find it." "But game is plentiful," persisted the lad. "You will hear him dninmiing in the woods at night." "I heard him last night and I thought he was a fool to frighten the game away." "Crooked Lightning has found much favor with him, and in turn with the others, so that I have not thought it wise to tell Crooked Lightning that he must go. He has stirred up the young men against me — and against you. They were wairing for me to die." The boy looked thoughtful and the chief waited. He had not reached the aim of his 122 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER speech and there was no need to put it/in words, for White Arrow understood. "I will show them," he said quietly. When the two appeared outside, many braves had , gathered, for the whole village knew what was in the wind. Should it be a horse-race first I Crooked Lightning loo)ced at the boy's thoroughbred and shook his head — Indian ponies would as well try to outrun an arrow, a bullet, a hurricane. A foot-race ? The old chief smiled when Crooked Lightning shook his head again — no brave in the tribe even could match the speed that gave the lad his name. The bow and arrow, the rifle, the tomahawk? Per- haps the pole-dance of the Sioux ? The last suggestion seemed to make Crooked Light- ning angry, for a rumor was that Crooked Lightning was a renegade Sioux and had been shamed from the tribe because of his evasion of that same pole-dance. Old Kahtoo had humor as well as sarcasm. Tomahawks and bows and arrows were brought out. Black Wolf was half a head shorter, but stocky and powerfully built. White Arrow's sinews had strengthened, but he had scarcely used bow ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER ia3 and tomahawk since he had left the tribe. His tomahawk whistled more swiftly through the air and buried itself deeper into the tree, and his arrows flashed faster and were harder to pull out. He had the power but not the practice, and Black Wolf won with great ease. When they came to the rifle. Black Wolf was out of the game, for never a buU's-eye did White Arrow miss. "To-morrow," said the old chief, "they shall hunt. Each shall take his bow and the same number of arrows at sunrise and re- turn at sundown. . . . The next day they shall do the same with the rifle. It is enough for to-day." The first snow fell that night, and at dawn the two lads started out — each with a bow and a dozen arrows. Erskine's woodcraft had not suffered and the night's story of the wilderness was as plain to his keen eyes as a printed page. Nothing escaped them, no matter how minute the signs. Across the patch where corn had been planted, field-mice had left tracks like stitched seams. Crows had been after crawfish along the edge of the stream and a mink after minnows. A musk- 124 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER rat had crossed the swamp beyond. In t/ie woods, wind-blown leaves had dotted and dashed the snow like a stenographer's note- book. Here a squirrel had leaped along, his tail showing occasionally in the snow, and there was the four-pointed, triangle-track of a cottontail. The wide-spreading toes of a coon ha4 made this tracery; moles had made these snowy ridges over their galleries, and this long line of stitched tracks was the trail of the fearless okunk which came to a sudden end in fur, feathers, and bones where the great horned owl had swooped down on hi|m, the only creature that seems not to mind his smell. Here was the print of a pheasant's wing, and buds and bits of twigs on the snow were the scattered remnants of his breakfast. Here was the spring hole that never freezes — the drinking-cup for the little folks of the woods. Here a hawk had been after a rab- bit, and the lengthening distance between his triangles showed how he had speeded up in flight. He had scudded under thick briers and probably had gotten away. But where was the big game ? For two hours he tramped swiftly, but never sign of deer, elk, bear, or buffalo. ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 125 And then an hour later he heard a snort from a thick copse and the crash of an un- seen body in flight through the brush, and he loped after its tracks. Black Wolf came in at sunset with a bear cub which he had found feeding apart from its mother. Hp was triumphant, and Crooked Lightning was scornful when White Arrow appeared empty-handed. His left wrist was bruised and swollen, and there was a gash the length of his forearm. "Follow my tracks back," he said, "until you come to the kill." With a whoop two Indians bounded away and in an hour returned with a buck. "I ran him down," said White Arrow, "and killed him with the knife. He horned me," and went into his tent. The bruised wrist arid wounded forearm made no matter, for the rifle was the weapon next day — but White Arrow went another way to look for game. Each had twelve bullets. Black Wolf came in with a deer and one bullet. White Arrow told them where they could find a deer, a bear, a bufi^alo, and an elk, and he showed eight bullets in the 126 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER palm of his hand. And he noted now that the Indian girl was always an intent observer of each contest, and that she always went swiftly back to her tent to tell his deeds to I the white woman within. There was a feast and a dance that night, and Kahtoo could have gone to his fathers and left the lad, young as he was, as chief, but not yet was he ready, and Crooked Lightning, too, bided his time. XII Dressed as an Indian, Erskine rode forth next morning with a wampum belt and a talk for the council north where the British were to meet Shawnee, Iroquois, and Algonquin, and urge them to enter the great war that was just breaking forth. There was open and angry protest against sending so young a lad on so great a mission, but the old chief haughtily brushed it aside : "He is young but his feet, are swift, his arm is strong, his heart good, and his head is old. He speaks the tongue of the pale- face. Besides, he is my son." One question the boy asked as he made ready: "The white woman must not be burned while I am gone ?" "No," promised the old chief. And so White Arrow fared forth. Four days he rode through the north woods, and on the fifth he strode through the streets of a town 127 128 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER that was yet filled with great forest trees: a town at which he had spent three winters when the game was scarce and the tribe had moved north for good. He lodged with no chief but slept in the woods with his feet to the fire. The next night he slipped to the house of the old priest, Father Andre, who had taught him some religion and a little French, and the old man welcomed him as a son, though he noted sadly his Indian dress and was distressed when he heard the lad's mis- sion. He was quickly relieved. " I am no royalist," he said. "Nor am I," said Erskine. "I came be- cause Kahtoo, who seemed nigh to death, begged me to come. There is much intrigue about him, and he could trust no other. I am only a messenger and I shall speak his talk; but my heart is with the Americans and I shall fight with thehi." The old priest put his fingers to his lips : " Sh — h — h ! It is not wise. Are you not known ?" ^ Erskine hesitated. Earlier that morning he had seen three officers riding in. Following was a youth ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 129 not in uniform though he carried a sword. On the contrary, he was dressed like an Eng- lish dandy, and then he found himself face to face with Dane Grey. With no sign of recognition the boy had met his eyec squarely and passed on. "There is but one man who does know me and he did not recognize me. His name is Dane Grey. I am wondering what he is doing here. Can you find out for me and let me know?" The old priest nodded and Er- skine slipped back to the woods. At sunrise the great council began. On his way Erskine met Grey, who apparently was leaving with a band of traders for Detroit. Again Erskine met his eyes and this time Grey smiled : "Aren't you White Arrow.?" Somehow the tone with which he spoke the name was aa insult. "Yes." "Then it's true. We heard that you had left your friends at the fort and become an Indian again." "Yes ?" "So you are not only going to fight with I30 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER the Indians against the whites, but with the British against America ?" "What I am going to do is no business of yours," Erskine said quietly, "but I hope v/e shall hot be on the same side. We may meet again." Grey's face was already red with drink and it turned purple with anger. "When you tried to stab me do you re- member what I said ?" ErSkine nodded con- tdmptuously. "Well, I repeat it. Whatever the side, I'll fight you anywhere at any time and in any way you please." "Why not now ?" "This is not the time for private quarrels and you know it." Erskine bowed slightly — an act that came oddly from an Indian head-dress. "I can wait — and I shall not forget. The day will come." The old priest touched Erskine's shoulder as the angry youth rode away. "I cannot make it out," he said. "He claims to represent an English fur company. His talk is British but he told one man — last ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 131 night when he was drunk — ilhat he could have a commission in the American army, " The\ council-fire was built, the flames crackled and the, smoke rolled upward and swept through the leafless trees. Three Brit- ish agents sat on blankets and around them the chiefs were ringed. All day the powwow lasted. Each agent spoke and the burden of his talk varied very little. The American palefaces had driven the Indian over the great wall. They were kill- ing his deer, buff^alo, and elk, robbing him of his land and pushing him ever backward. They were many and they would become more. The British were the Indian's friends — the Americans were his enemies and theirs; could they choose to fight with their enemies rather than with their friends? Each chief answered in turn, and each cast forward his wampum until only Erskine, who had sat silent, remained, and Pontiac himself turned to him. "What says the son of Kahtoo ?" Even as he rose the lad saw creeping to the outer ring his enemy Crooked Lightning, but he appeared not to see. The whites looked I3Z ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER surprised when his boyish figure stood straight, ahd they were amazed when he addressed the traders in '^French, the agents in English, ' and spoke to the feathered chiefs in their own tongue. He cast the belt forward. "That is Kahtoo's talk, but this is mine." Who had driven the Indian from the great waters to the great wall I The British. Who were the Americans until now.? British. Why were the Americans fighting now ? Be- cause the British, their kinsmen, would not give them their rights. If the British would drive the Indian to the great wall, would they not go on doing what they charged the Americans with doing now ? If the Indians must fight, why fight with the British to beat the Americans, and then have to fight both a later day ? If the British would not treat their own kinsmen fairly, .was it likely that they would treat the Indian fairly? They had never done so yet. Would it not be better for the Indian to make the white man on his own land a friend rather than the white man who lived more than a moon away across the big seas ? Only one gesture the lad made. He lifted his hand high and paused. Crooked 'That is Kahtoo's talk, but this is mine" ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 133 Lightning had sprung to his feet with a hoarse cry. Already the white men had grown un- easy, for the chiefs had turned to the boy with startled interest at his first sentence and they could not know what he was saying. But they looked relieved when Crooked Light- ning rose, for his was the only face in the assembly that was hostile to the boy. With a gesture Pontiac bade Crooked Lightning speak. \ "The tongue of White Arrow is forked. I have heard him say he would fight with the Long Knives against the British and he would fight with them even against his own tribe." One grunt of rage ran the round of three circles and yet Pontiac stopped Crooked Lightning and turned to the lad. Slowly the boy's uplifted hand came down. With a bound he leaped through the head-dress of a chief in the outer ring and sped away through the village. Some started on foot after him, some rushed to their ponies, and some sent arrows and bullets after him. At the edge of the village the boy gave a loud, clear call and then another as he ran. Something black sprang snorting from the edge of the woods 134 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER with pointed ears and searching eyes. An- other call came and like the swirling edge of a hurricane-driven thimder-cloud Firefly swept after his master. The boy ran to meet him, caught one hand in his mane before he stopped, swung himself up, and in a hail of arrows and bullets swept out of sight. XIII The sound of pursuit soon died away, but Erskine kept Firefly at his best, for he knew that Crooked Lightning would be quick and fast on his trail. He guessed, too, that Crooked Lightning had already told the tribe what he had just told the council, and that he and the prophet had already made all use of the boy's threat to Kahtoo in the Shawnee town. He knew even that it might cost him his life if he went back there, and once or twice he started to turn through the wilderness and go back to the fort. Winter was on, and he had neither saddle nor bridle, but neither fact bothered him. It was the thought of the white woman who was to be burned that kept him going and sent him openly and fearlessly info the town. He knew from the sullen looks that met him, from the fear in the faces of his foster-mother and the white woman who peered blindly 13s 136 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER jTrom her lodge, and from the triumphant leer of the prophet that his every suspicion was true, but all the more leisurely did he swing from his horse, all the more haughtily stalk to Kahtoo's tent. And the old chief looked yery grave when the lad told the story of the council and all that he had said and done. ^ "The people arp angry. T^ey say you are a traitor ^d a spy. They say you must die. And I cannot help yOu. I am too old and the prophet is too strong." "And the white woman?" "She will not burn. Some fur traders have been here. ' The white chief McGee sent me a wampum belt and a talk. His mes- senger brought much fire-water and he gave me that" — he pointed to a silver-mounted rifle — "arid I promised that she should live. But I cannot help you." Erskine thought quickly. He laid his rifle down, stepped slowly outside, and stretched his arms with a yawn. Then still leisurely he moved toward his horse as though to take care of it. But the braves were too keen and watchful and they were no^ fooled by the fact that he had ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 137 left his rifle behind. Before he was close enough to leap for Firefly's back, three bucks darted from behind a lodge and threw them- selves upon him. In a moment he was face down oil the ground, his hands were tied be- hind his\})ack, and when turned over he looked up into the grinning face of Black Wolf, who with the help of another brave dragged him to a lodge and roughly threw him within, and left him alone. 0|i the way he saw his foster-mother's eyes flashing helplessly, saw the girl Early Morn indignantly telling her mother what was going on, and the white wom- an's face was wet with tears. He turned over so that he could look through the tent-flaps. Two bucks were driving a stake in the centre of the space around which the lodges were ringed. Two more were bringing fagots of wood and it was plain what was going to be- come of him. His foster-mother, who was fiercely haranguing one of/ the chiefs, turned angrily into Kahtoo's lodge and he could see the white woman rocking her body and wring- ing her hands. Then the old chief appeared and lifted his hands. "Crooked Lightning will be very angry. 138 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER _ The prisoner is his — not yours. It is for him to say what the punishment shall be— not for you. Wait for him ! Hold a council and if you decide against him, though he is my $on — he shall die." For a moment the prep- arations ceased and all turned to the proph- et, who had appeared before his lodge. "Kahtoo is right," he said. '^The Great Spirit will not approve if White Arrow die except by the will of the council — and Crook,ed Lightning will be angry." ^.There was a chorus of protesting grunts, but the preparations ceased. The boy could feel the malevolence in the prophet's tone and he knew that the impostor wanted to curry further favor with Crooked Lightning and not rob him of the joy of watching his victim's torture. So the braves went back to their fire-water, and soon the boy's foster-mother brought him some- thing to eat, but she could say nothing, for Black Wolf had appointed himself sentinel and sat rifle in hand at the door of the lodge. Night came on. A wildcat screeched, a panther screamed, and an elk bugled far away. The drinking became more furious and once Erskine saw a pale-brown arm ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 139 thrust from behind the lodge and place a jug at the feet of Black Wolf, who grunted and drank deep. The stars mounted into a clear sky and the wind rose and made much noise in the trees overhead. Ohe by one the braves went to drunken sleep about the fire. The fire died down and by the last flickering flanie the lad saw Black Wolf's 'chin sinking sleepily to his chest. There was the slightest rustle behind the tent. He felt something groping for his hands and feet, felt the pbint of a knife graze the skin of his wrist and ankles — ^felt the thongs loosen and drop apart. Noiselessly, inch by inch, he crept to the wall of the tent, which was carefully lifted for him. Outside he rose and waited. Like a shadow the girl Early Morn stole before him and like a shadow he followed. The loose snow muffled their feet as the noise of the wind had muffled his escape from the lodge, and in a few minutes they were by the river- bank, away from the town. The moon rose and from the shadow of a beech the white woman stepped forth with his rifle and powder-horn and bullet-pouch and some food. She pointed to his horse a little farther down. I40 ERSKINE DALfe— PIONEER He looked long and silently into the Indian girl's 6yes and took the white woman's shak- ing hand. Once he looked back. The Indian girl was stoic as stone. A bar of moonlight showed the white woman's face wet with^ tears. Again Dave Yandell from a watch-tower saw a topknot rise above a patch of cane now leafless and winter-bitten — saw a hand lifted high above it with a palm of peace toward him. And again an Indian youth emerged, this 'time leading a black horse with a drooping head. Both came painfully on, staggering, it seemed, from wounds or weak- ness, and Dave sprang from the tower and rushed with others to the gate. He knew the horse and there was dread in his heart; perhaps the approaching Indian had slain the boy, had stolen the horse, and was inno- cently coming there for food. Well, he thought grindy, revenge would be swift. Still, fearing some trick, he would let no one outside, but himself stood waiting with the gate a little ajar. So gaunt were boy and beast that it was plain that both wereistarv- ing. The boy's face was torn with briers ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 141 and pinched with hunger and cold, but a faint smile came from it. "Don't you know me, Dave?" he asked weakly. " My God I It's White Arrow !" XIV Straightway the lad sensed a curious change in the attitude of the garrison. The old warmth was absent* The atmosphere was charged with suspicion, hostility. Old Jerome was surly, his old playmates were distant. Only Dave, Mother Sanders, and Lydia were unchanged. The predominant note was curiosity, and they started to ply him with questions, but Dave took him to a cabin, and Mother Sanders brought him some- thing to eat. "Had a purty hard time," stated Dave. The boy nodded. "I had qnly three bullets. Firefly went lame and I had to lead him. I couldn't eat cane and Firefly^ couldn't eat pheasant. I got one from a hawk," he explained. " What's the matter out there ?" "Nothin'," said Dave gruffly and he made the boy go to sleep. His story came when all 142' ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 143 were around the fire at supper, and was lis- tened to with eagerness. Again the boy felt the hostility and it made him resentful and haughty and his story brief and terse. McTst fluid and sensitive natures have a chameleon quality, no matter what stratum of adamant be beneath. The boy was dressed like an Indian, he looked like one, and he had brought back, it seemed, the bearing of an Indian — his wildness and stoicism. He spoke like a chief in a council, and even in English his phrasing and metaphors belonged to the red man. No wonder they believed the stories they had heard of him — but there was shame in many faces and little doubt in any save one before he finished. He had gone to see his foster-mother and his foster-father — old chief Kahtoo, the Shaw- jnee — because he had given his word. Kah- too thought he was dying and wanted him to be chief when the Great Spirit called. Kahtoo had once saved his life, had been kind, and made him a son. That - he could not forget. An evil prophet had come to the tribe and through his enemies, Crooked Light- ning and Black Wolf, had gained much in- 144 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER fluence. They were to burn a captive white woman as a sacrifice. , He had stayed to save her, to argue with old Kahtoo, and carry the wampum and a talk to a big council with , the British. He had made his talk and — ( escaped. He had gone back to his tribe, had been tied, and was to be burned at the stake. Again he had escaped with the help of the white woman and her daughter. The tribes had joined the British and even then they were planning an early attack on this [ very fort and all others. The interest was tense and every face was startled at this calm statement of their imme- diate danger. Dave and Lydia looked tri- umphant at this proof of their trust, but old Jerome burst out : "Why did you have to escape from the council — and from the Shawnees ?" The boy felt the open distrust and he rose proudly. "At the council I told the Indians, that they should be friends, not enemies, of the Americans, and Crooked Lightning called me a traitor. He had overheard my talk with Kahtoo." 'What was that?" asked Dave quickly. "1 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER i^S "I told Kahtoo I would fight with the Americans against the British and Indians; and with you against him!" And he turned away and went back to the cabin. "What'd I tell ye !" cried Dave indignantly and he followed the boy, who had gone to his bunk, and put one big hand on his shoulder. "They thought you'd turned Injun agin," he said, "but it's all right how." "I know," said the lad and with a muffled sound that was half the grunt of an Indian and half the sob of a white man turned his face away. Again Dave reached, for the lad's shoulder. "Don't blame 'em too much. I'll tell you now. Some fur traders, came by here, and one of 'em said you was goin' to marry an Injun girl named Early Morn; that you was goin' to stay with 'em and fight with 'em alongside the British. Of course I knowed better but " "Why," interrupted Erskine, "they must have been the same traders who came to the Shawnee town and brought whiskey." "That's what the feller said and why folks here believed him." 146 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "Who was he ?" demanded Erskine. "You know him — Dane Grey." All tried to make amends straightway for the injustice they had done him, but the boy's heart remained sore that their trust was so little. Then, when they gathered all settlers within the fort arid made all preparations and no Indians came, many seemed again to get distrustful and the lad was not happy. The winter was long and h^rd. A blizzard had driven the game west and south and the garrison was hard put to it for food. Every day that the hunters went forth the boy was among them and he did farmore than his share in the killing of game. But when winter was breaking, inore news came in of the war. The flag that had been fashioned of a soldier's white shirt, an old blue army coat, and a red petticoat was now the Stars and Stripes of the American cause. Burgoyne had not cut oflf New England, that "head of the rebellion," from the other colonies. On the contrary, the Americans had beaten him at Saratoga and marched his army off under those same Stars and Stripes, and for the first time Erskine heard of gallant Lafayette — ^how he had run ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 147 to Washington with the portentous news from his king — that beautiful, passionate France would now stretch forth her helping hand. . And Erskine learned what that news meant to Washington's "naked and starving" sol- diers dying on the frozen hillsides of Valley- Forge. Then George Rogers Clark had passed the fort on his way to Williamsburg to get money and men for his great venture in the Northwest, and Erskine got a ready per- mission to accompany him as soldier and guide. After Clark was gone the lad got restless; and one morning when the first breath of spring came he mounted his horse, in spite of arguments and protestations, and set forth for Virginia on the wilderness trail. He was going to join Clark, he said, but more than Clark and the war were drawing him to the outer world. What it was he hardly knew, for he was not yet much given to search- ing his heart or mind. He did know, however, that some strange force had long been work- ing within him that was steadily growing stronger, was surging now like a flame and swinging him between strange moods of de- pression and exultation. Perhaps it was but 148 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER the spirit of spring in his heart, but with his mind's eye he was ever seeing at the end of his journey the face of his little cousin Bar- bara Dale. XV A STRIKING figure the lad made riding into the old capital one afternoon just before the sun sank behind the western woods. Had it been dusk he might have been thought to be an Indian sprung magically from the wilds aijd riding into civilization on a stolen thor- oughbred. Students no longer wandered through the campus of William and Mary- College. Only an occasional maid in silk and lace tripped along the street in high- heeled shoes and clocked stockings, and no coach and four was in sight. The governor's palace, in its gred:t yard amid linden-trees, was closed and deserted. My Lord Dunmore was long in sad flight, as Erskine later learned, and not in his coach with its six milk-white horses. But there was the bust of Sir Walter in front of Raleigh Tavern, and there he drew up, before the steps where he was once nigh to taking Dane Grey's life. A negro servant came forward to care for his horse, but a coal-black young giant leaped around the 149 ISO ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER corner and seized the bridle with a wel- coming cry: "Marse Erskine ! But I knowed Firefly fust." It was Ephraim, the groom who had brought out Barbara's ponies, who had turned the horse over to him for the race at the fair. "I come frum de plantation fer ole marse," the boy explained. The host of the tavern heard and came down to give his welcome, for any Dale, no matter what his garb, could al- ways have the best in that tavern. More than that, a bewigged solicitor, learning his name, presented himself with the cheerful news that he had quite a little sum of money that had been confided to his keeping by Colonel Dale for his nephew Erskine. A strange deference seemed to be paid him by everybody, which was a grateful change from the suspicion he had left among his pioneer friends. The little tavern was thronged and the air charged with the spirit of war. Indeed, nothing else was talked. My Lord Dunmore had come to a sad and unbemoaned end. He had stayed afar from the battle-field of Point Pleasant and had left stalwart General Lewis to fight Cornstalk and ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 151 his braves alone. Later my Lady Dunmore and her sprightly daughters took refuge on a man-of-war — ^\ /hither my lord soon followed them. His fleet ravaged the banks of the rivers and committed every outrage. His marines set fire to Norfolk, which was in ashes when he weighed anchor and sailed away to more depredations. When he intrenched him- self on Gwynn's Island, that same stalwart Lewis opened a heavy cannonade on fleet and island, and sent a ball through the indignant nobleman's flag-ship. Next day he saw a force making for the island in boats, and my lord spread all sail; and so back to merry England, and to Virginia no more. Mean- while, Mr. Washington had reached Boston and started his duties under the Cambridge elm. Several times during the talk Erskine had heard mentioned the name of Dane Grey. Young Grey had been with Dunmore and not with Lewis at Point Pleasant, and had been conspicuous at the palace through much of the succeeding turmoil — ^the hint being his devotion to one of the daughters, since he was now an unquestioned loyalist. Next morning Erskine rode forth along a 152 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER sandy road, amidst the singing of birds and through a forest of tiny upshooting leaves, for Red Oaks on the James. He had for- sworn Colonel Dale to secrecy as to the note he had left behind giving his, birthright to his little cousin Barbara, and he knew the con- fidence would be kept inviolate. He could recall the road — every turn of it, for the woods- man's memory is faultless — and he could see the merry cavalcade and hear the gay quips and laughter of that other spring day long ago, for to youth even the space of a year is very long ago. But among the faces that blos- somed within the old coach, and nodded and danced .'ike , flowers in a wind, his mind's eye was fixed on one alone. At the boat- landing he hitched his horse to the low-swung branch of an oak and took the path through tangled rose-bushes and undergrowth along the bank of the river, halting where it would give him forth on the great, broad, grassy way that led to the house among the oaks. There was the sun-dial that had marked every sunny hour since he had been away. For a moment he stood there, and when he stepped into the open he shrank back hd^stily ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 15^ — a girl was coming through the opening of boxwood from the house^coming slowly, bareheaded, her hands clasped behind her, her eyes downward. His he?rt throbbed as he waited, throbbed the more when his ears caught even the soft tread of her little feet, and seemed to stop when she paused at the sun- dial, and as before searched the river with her eyes. And as before the song of negro oarsmen came over the yellow flood, growing stronger as they neared. Soon the girl fluttered a hand- kerchief and from the single passenger in the stern came an answering flutter of white and a glad cry. At the bend of the river the boat disappeared from Erskine's sight under the bank, and he watched the girl. How she had grown! Her slim figure had rounded and shot upward, and her white gown had dropped to her dainty ankles. Now her face was flushed and her eye flashed with excite- ment — it was no mere kinsman in that boat, and the boy's heart began to throb again — throb fiercely and with racking emotions that he had never known before. A fiery-looking youth sprang up the landing-steps, bowed gallantly over the girl's hand, and the two 154 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER turned up the path, the girl rosy with smiles and the youth bending over her with a most protecting and tender air. It was Dar^ Grey, and the heart of the watcher turned mortal sick. XVI A LONG time Erskine sat motionless, won- dering what ailed him. He had never liked nor trusted Grey; he believed he would have trouble with him some day, but he had other enemies and he did not feel toward them as he did toward this dandy mincing up that beautiful broad path. With a little grunt he turned back along the path. Firefly whin- nied to him and nipped at him with pla3rful restlessness as though eager to be on his way to the barn, and he stood awhile with one arm across his saddle. Once he reached upward to untie the reins, and with another grunt strode back and went rapidly up the path. Grey and Barbara had disappeared, but a tall youth who sat behind one of the big pillars saw him coming and rose, bewildered, but not for long. Each recognized the other swiftly, and Hugh came with stiff courtesy forward. Erskine smiled: "You don't know me ?" Hugh bowed: "Quite well." The woodsman drew him- I5S IS6 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER self up with quick breath — ^paling without, flamiifg with^ — but before he could speak there was a quick step and an astonished cry within the hall and Harry sprang out./ "Erskine! Erskine!" he shouted, knd he leaped down the steps with bothj hands outstretched. "You here! You — ^you old Indian — ^how did you get here ?" He caught Erskine by both hands and then fell to shak- ing him by the shoulders. "Where's your horse ?" And then he noticed the boj^s pale and embarrassed face and his eyes shifting to Hugh, who stood, still cold, still courte- ous, and he checked some hot outburst at his lips. "I'm glad you've come, and I'm glad you've come right now — ^where's your horse .?" "I left him hitched at the landing," Er- skine had to answer, and Harry looked puz- zled: "The landing! Why, what—" He wheeled and shouted to a darky: "Put Master Erskine's horse in the barn and feed him." And he led Erskine within — to the same room where he had slept before, and poured out some water in a bowl. ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 157 "Take your time," he said, and he went back to the porch. Erskine could hear and see him through the latticed blinds. "Hugh," said the lad in a low, cold voice, "I am host here, and if you don't like this you can take that path." "You are right," was the answer; "but you wait until Uncle Harry gets home." The matter was quite plain to Erskine within. The presence of Dane Grey made it plain, and as Erskine dipped both hands into the cold water he made up his mind to an understanding with that young gentleman that would be complete and final. And so he was ready when he and Harry were on the porch again and Barbara and Grey emerged from the rose-bushes and came slowly up the path. Harry looked worried, but Erskine sat still, with a faint smile at his mouth and in his eyes. Barbara saw him first and she did not rush forward. Instead she stopped, with wide eyes, a stifled cry, and a lifting of one hand toward ' her heart. Grey saw too, flushed rather painfully, and calmed himself. Er- skine had sprung down the steps. "Why, have I changed so much ?" he cried. IS8 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "Hugh didn't seem to know me, either." His voice was gay, friendly, even affectionate, but his eyes danced with strange lights that puzzled the girl. "Of course I knew you," she faltered, paling a little but gathering herself rather haughtily — a fact that Erskine seemed not to notice. "You took me by surprise and you have changed — but I don't know how much." The significance of this too seemed to pass Erskine by, for he bent over Barbara's hand and kissed it. "Never to you, my dear cousin," he said gallantly, and then he bowed to Dane Grey, not offering to shake hands. "Of course I know Mr. Grey." To say that the gentleman was dumfounded is to put it mildly — this wild Indian playing the courtier with exquisite impudence and doing it well ! Harry seemed like to burst with restrained merriment, and Barbara was isorely put to it to keep her poise. The great dinner- bell from behind the house boomed its sun> mons to the woods and fields. "Come on," called Harry. "I imagine you're hungry, cousin." ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 159 "I am," said Erskine. "I've had noth- ing to eat since — since early morn." Bar- bara's eyes flashed upward and Grey was plainly startled. Was there a slight stress on those two words ? Erskine's face was as expressionless as bronze. Harry had bolted into the hall. Mrs. Dale was visiting down the river, so Barbara sat in her mother's place, with Er- skine at her right, Grey to her left, Hugh next to him, and Harry at the head. Harry did not wait long. "Now, you White Arrow, you Big Chief, tell us the story. Where have you been, what have you been doing, and what do you mean to do ? I've heard a good deal, but I want it all." Grey began to look uncomfortable, and so, in truth, did Barbara. "What have you heard ?" asked Erskine quietly, "Never mind," interposed Barbara quickly; "you tell us." "Well," began Erskine slowly, "you re- member that day we met some Indians who told me that old Kahtoo, my foster-father, was i6o ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER ill, and that he wanted to see me before he died ? I went exactly as I would have gone had white men given the same message from Colonel Dale, and even for better reasons. A bad prophet was stirring up trouble in the tribe against the old chief. An enemy of mine. Crooked Lightning, was helping him. He wanted his son. Black Wolf, as chief, and the old chief wanted me. I heard the Indians were going to join the British. I didn't want to be chief, but I did want influence in the tribe, so I stayed. There was a white woman in the camp and an Indian girl named Early Morn. I told the old chief that I would fight with the whites against the Indians and with the whites against them both. Crooked Lightning overheard me, and you can im- agine what use he made of what I said. I took the wampum belt for the old chief to the powwow between the Indians and the British, and I found I could do nothing. I met Mr. Grey there." He bowed slightly to Dane and then looked at him steadily. "I was told that he was there in the interest of an English fur company. When I found I could do noth- ing with the Indians, I told the council what ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER i6i I had told the old chief." He paused. Bar- bara's face was pale and she was breathing har^. She had not looked at Grey, but Harry had been watching him covertly and he did not look comfortable. Erskine paused. "What !" shouted Harry. "You told both that you would fight with the whites against both ! What'd they do to you ?" Erskine smiled. "Well, here I am. I jumped over the heads of the outer ring and ran. Firefly heard me calling him. I had left his halter loose. He broke away. I jumped on him, and you know nothing can catch Firefly." "Didn't they shoot at you .?" "Of course." Again he paused." "Well," said Harry impatiently, "that isn't the end." " I went back to the camp. Crooked Light- ning followed me and they tied me and were going to burn me at the stake." "Good heavens!" breathed Barbara. "How*d you get away ?" "The Indian girl. Early Morn, slipped under the tent and cut me loose. The white woman got my gun, and Firefly — ^you know i62 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER nothing can catch Firefly." The silence was intense. Hugh looked dazed, Barbara was on the point of tears, Harry was triumphant, and Grey was painfully flushed. "And you want to know what I am going to do now?" Erskine went on. "I'm going with Captain George Rogers Clark — ^with what command are you^ Mr-. Grejy?" "That's a secret," he smiled coolly. "I'll let you know later," and Barbara, with an inward sigh of relief, rose quickly, but would not leave them behind. " But the white woman ?" questioned Harry. "Why doesn't she leave the Indians ?" **Early Morn — a half-breed — is her daugh- ter," said Erskine simply. "Oh !" and Harry questioned no further. "Early Morn was the best-looking Indian girl I ever saw," said Erskine, "and the brav- est." For the first time Grey glanced at Bar- bara. "She saved my life," Erskine went on gravely, "and mine is hers whenever she needs it." Harry reached over and gripped his hand. As yet not one word had been said of Grey's misdoing, but Barbara's cool disdain made ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 163 him shamed and hot, and in her eyes was the sorrow of her injustice to Erskine, In the hallway she excused herself with a courtesy, Hugh went to th€ stables, Harry disappeared for a moment, and the two were left alone. With smouldering fire Erskine turned to Grey. "It seems you have been amusing yourself with my kinspeople at my expense." Grey drew himself up in haughty silence. Erskine went on: . "I have known somq liars who were not cowards." "You forget yourself." "No— nor you." "You remember a promise I made you once .?" "Twice," corrected Erskine. Grey's eyes flashed upward to the crossed rapiers on the wall. "Precisely," answered Erskine, "and when?" 'At the first opportunity." ^ 'From this moment I shall be waiting for nothing else." Barbara, reappearing, heard their last "1 i64 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER , words, and she came forward pale and with piercing eyes: \ "Cousin Erskine, I want to apologize to you for my little faith. I h6pe you will for- give me. Mr. Grey, your horse will be at the door at once. I wish you a safe journey — to your colnmand." Grey bowed and turned — furious. ^ Erskine was on the porch when Grey canie out to mount his horse. "You will want seconds \" asked Grey. "They might try to stop us — no !" "I shall ride slowly," Grey said. Erskine bowed. "I shall not." XVII Nor did he. Within half an hour Bar- bara, passing through the hall, saw that the rapiers were gone fjrom the wall and she stopped, with the color fled from her face and her hand on her heart. At that moment Ephraim dashed in from the kitchen. "Miss Barbary, somebody gwine to git killed, I was wukkin' in de ole field an' Marse Grey rid by cussin' to hisself. Jist now Marse Erskine went tearin' by de landin' wid a couple o' swords under his arm." His eyes tdb went to the wall. " Yes, bless Gawd, dey's gone!" Barbara flew out the door. In a few moments she had found Harry and Hugh. Even while their horses were being saddled her father rode up. "It's murder," cried Harry, and Greiy knows it. Erskine knows nothing about a rapier." ^ Without a word Colonel Dale wheeled his tired horse and soon Harry and Hugh dashed after him. Barbara walked back to the I6S i66 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER house, wringing her hands, but on the porch she sat quietly in the agony of waiting that was the role of women in those days. Meianwhile, at a swift gallop Firefly was skimming along the river road. Grey had kept his word and more : he had not only rid- den slowly btit he had stopped and was wait- ing at an oak-tree that was a corner-stone between two plantations. "That I may not kill youT)n your own land," he said. Erskine started. "The consideration is deeper than you know." They hitched their horses, and Erskine followed into a pleasant glade — a grassy glade through which murmured a little stream. Erskine dropped the rapiers on the sward. "Take your choice," he said. "There is none," said Grey, picking up the one nearer to him. "I know them both."^ Grey took off his coat while Erskine waited. Grey made the usual moves of courtesy and still Erskine waited, wpnderingly, with the point of the rapier on the gtound. "When you are ready," he said, "will you please let me know ?" ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 167 "Ready!" answered Grey, and he lunged forward. Erskine merely whipped at his blade so that the clang of it whined on the air to the breaking-point and sprang back- ward. He was as quick as an eyelash and lithe as a panther, and yet Grey almost laughed aloud. All Erskine did was to whip the thrusting blade aside and leap out of danger like a flash of light. It was like an inexpert boxer flailing according to rules un- known — ^and Grey's face flamed and actually turned anxious. Then, as a kindly fate would have it, Erskine's blade caught in Grey's guard by accident, and the powerful wrist behind it seeking merely to wrench the weap- on loose tore Grey's rapier from his grasp and hurled it ten feet a^vay. There is no greater humiliation for the expert swords- man, and not for nothing had Erskine suf- fered the shame of that long-ago day when a primitive instinct had led him to thrusting his knife into this same enem37*s breast. Now, with his sword's point on the earth, he waited courteously for Grey to recover his weapon. Again a kindly fate intervened. Even i68 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER as Grey rushed for his sWord, Erskine heard the beat of horses' hoofs.^ As he snatched it from the ground and turned, with a wicked smile over his grinding teeth, came Harry's shout, and as he rushed for Erskine, Colonel Dale swung from his horse. The sword-blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth in a way to make a swordsman groan — land Colonel Dale had Erskine by the wrist and Was be- tween them. "How dare you, sir?" cried Grey hotly. "Just a moment, young gentleman," said Colonel Dale calmly. " Let us alone. Uncle Harry — I " "Just a moment," repeated the colonel sternly. "Mr. Grey, do you think it quite fair that you with your skill should fight a man who knows nothing about foils .?" "There was no other way," Grey said sullenly., "And you could not wait, I presume?" Grey did not answer. "Now, hear what I have to say, and if you both do not agree, the" matter will be arranged to your entire satisfaction, Mr. Grey. I have but one question to ask. Your country is at war. She needs every man for her defense. The sword blades clashed, Erskine whipping back and forth in a way to make a swordsman groan ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 169 Do you not both think your lives belong to your country and that it is selfish and un- patriotic just now to risk them in any other cause ?" He waited for his meaning to sink in, and sink it did. "Colonel Dale, your nephew grossly in- sulted me, and your daughter showed me the door. I made no defense to him nor to her, but I will to you. I merely repeated what I had been told and I believed it true. Now that I hear it is not true, I agree with you, sir, and I am wiUing to express my regrets and apologies." "That is better," said Colonel Dale heartily, and he turned to Erskine, but Erskine was crying hotly: "And I express neither." "Very well," sneered Grey coldly. "Per- haps we may meet when your relatives are not present to protect you." "Uncle Harry — " Erskine implored, but Grey was turning toward his horse. "After all. Colonel Dale is right." "Yes,'* assented Erskine helplessly, and then — ^"it is possible that we shall not always be on the same side." "So I thought," returned Grey with lifted I70 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER eyebrows, "when I heard what I did about you !" Both Harry and Hugh had to catch Erskine by an arm then, and they led him struggling ' away. Grey mounted his horse, lifted his hat, and was gone. Colonel Dale picked up the swords. "Now," he said, "enough of all this— let it be forgotten." And he laughed. "You'll have to confess, Erskine — ^he has a quick tongue and you must think only of his temptation to use it." Erskine did not answer. As they rode back Colonel Dale spoke of the war. It was about to move into Vir- ^nia, he said, and when it did — Both Harry iand Hugh interrupted him with a glad shout: "We can go !" Colonel Dale nodded sadly. Suddenly all pulled their horses in simul- taneously and raised their eyes, for all heard the coming of a horse in a dead run. Around a thicketed curve of the road came Barbara, with her face white and her hair streaming be- hind her. She pulled her pony in but a few feet in front of them, with her burning eyes on Erskine alone. ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 171 "Have you killed him — have you killed him ? If you have — " She stopped helpless, and all were so amazed that none could an- swer. Erskine shook his head. There was a flash of relief in the girl's white face, its recklessness gave way to sudden shame, and, without a word, she wheeled and was away / again — ^Hany flying after her. No one spoke. Colonel Dale looked aghast and Erskine's heart again turned sick. XVIII I The sun was close to the uneven sweep of the wilderness. Through its slanting rays the river poured like a flood of gold. The negroes were on the way singing from the fields. Cries, chaflSng, and the musical clank- ing of trace-chains came from the barnyard. Hungry cattle were lowing and fuU-uddered mothers were mooing answers to bawling calves. A peacock screamed from a distant tree and sailed forth, full-spread — a great gleaming winged jewel of the air. In crises the nerves tighten like violin strings, the memory-plates turn abnormally sensitive — and Erskine was not to forget that hour. The house was still and not a soul was in sight as the three, still silent, walked up the great path. When they were near the portico Harry came out. He looked worried and anxious. "Where's Barbara ?" asked her father. "Locked in her room." "Let her alone," said Colonel Dale gently. X72 E^SKINE DALE— PIONEER 173 Like brother and cousin, Harry and Hugh were merely irritated by the late revelation, but the father was shocked that his child was no longer a child. Erskine remembered the girl as she waited for Grey's coming at the 'sun-dial, her face as she walked with him up the path. For a moment the two boys stood in moody silence.' Harry' took the rapiers iri and put them in their place on the wall. Hugh quietly disappeared. Erskine, with a word of apology, went to his room, and Col- onel Dale sat down on the porch alone. As the dusk gathered, Erskine, looking gloomily through his window, saw the girl flutter like a white moth past the box-hedge and down the path. A moment later he saw the tall form of Colonel' Dale follow her — and both passed from sight. - On the thick turf the colonel's feet too were noiseless, and when Barbara stopped at the sun-dial he too paused. Her hands were caught tight and her drawn young face was lifted to the yellow disk just rising from the far forest gloom. She was unhappy, and the colonel's heart ached sorely, for any unhappiness of hers always trebled his own. 174 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "1 'Little girl!" he called, and no lover's voice could have been more gentle. -"Come here \" , She turned and saw him, with arms out- stretched, the low moon lighting all the tendernes^ in hi^ fine old face, and she flew to him and fell to weeping on his ,brea§t. In wise silence he stroked her hair until she grew a little calmer. "What's the matter, little daughter?" "I— I— don't know." "I understand. You were quite right to send him away, but you did not want him harmed." "I — I — didn't want anybody harmed." "I know. It's too bad, but none of us seem quite to trust him." "That's it," she sobbed; "I don't either, and yet " "1 'I know. I know. My little girl must be wise and brave, and maybe it will all pass and she will be glad. But she must be brave. Mother is not well and she must not be made unhappy too. She must not know. Can't my little girl come back to the house now? She must be hostess and this is Erskine's last ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 175 night." She looked up, brushing away her tears. "His last night ?" Ah, wise old colonel ! "Yes — ^he goes to-morrow to join Captain Clark at Williamsburg on his foolish cam- paign in the Northwest. We might never see him again." "Oh, father!" "Well, it isn't that bad, but my little girl must be very nice to him. He seems to be very unhappj', too." Barbara looked thoughtful, but there was no pretense of not understanding. "I'm sorry," she said. She took her father's arm, and when they reached the steps Erskine saw her sn^iling. And smiling, almost gay, she was at supper, sitting with exquisite dignity in her mother's place. Harry and Hugh looked amazed, and her father, who knew the bit of tempered steel she was, smiled his encouragement proudly. Of Erskine, who sat at her right, she asked many questions about the coming campaign. Captain Clark had said he would go with a hundred men if he could get no more. The rallying-point would be the fort in Kentucky 176 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER where he had first come back to his own people, and Dave Yandell would be captain of a company. He himself was going as guide, though ^he hoped to act as soldier as well. Perhaps they might bring back the Hair-Bi^yer, General tjamilton, a prisoner to Williamsburg, and then he would join Harry and Hugh in the militia if the war came south and Virginia were invaded, as some prophe- sied, by^Tarleton's White Rangers, who had been ravaging the Carolinas. After supper the little lady excused herself with a ^miUng courtesy to go to her mother, and Erskine found himself in the moonlight on the ' big portico with Colonel Dale alone. ."Erskine," he said, "you make it very didicult for me to keep your secret. Hugh alone seems to suspect — he must have got the idea from Grey, but I have warned him to say nothing. The others seem not to have thought of the matter at all. It was a boy- ish impulse of generosity which you may re- gret " "Never," interrupted the boy. "I have no use — less than ever now." "Nevertheless," the colonel went on, "I ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 177 regard myself as merely your steward, and I must tell you one thing. Mr. Jefferson, as you know, is always at open war with people like us. His hand is against coach and four, silver plate, and aristocrat. He is fighting now against the law that gives property to the eldest son, and he will pass the bill. His argument is rather amusing. He ,says if you will show him that the eldest son eats more, wears more, and does more work than his^ brothers, he will grant that that son is en- titled to more. He want's to blot^ out all distinctions of class. He can'ti do that, but he will pass this bill." "I hope he will," muttered Erskine. "Barbara would not accept your sacrifice nor would any pf us, and it is only fair that I should warn you that some day, if you should change your mind, and I were no longer living, you might be too late." "Please don't. Uncle Harry. It is done — done. Of course, it wasn't fair for me to consider Barbara alone, but she will be fair and you understand. I wish you would re- gard the whole matter as though I didn't exist." 178 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "I can't do that, my boy. I am your steward and when you want anything you have only to let me know!" Erskine shook his head. "I don't want anything — ^I need very Httle^ and when I'm in the woods, as I expect to be most of the time, I need nothing at all." Colonel Dale rose. "I wish you would go to college at Wil- liamsburg for a year or two to better fit your- self-^in case — — " "I'd like to go — ^to leafn to fence," sriiiled the boy, and the colonel smiled too. "You'll certainly need to know that, if you are going to be as reckless as you were to- day." Erskine's eyes darkened. "Uncle Harry, you may think me foolish, but I d6n't like or trust Grey. What was he doing with those British traders out in the Northwest ? — ^he was not buying furs. It's absurd. Why was he hand in glove with Lord Dunmore ?" "Lord Dunmore had a daughter," was the dry reply, and Erskine flung out a gesture that made wojrds unnecessary. Colonel Dale crossed the porch and put his hand on the lad's shoulders. ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 179 "Erskine," he said, "don't worry — and — don't give up hope. Be patient, wait, come back to us. Go to William and Mary. Fit yourself to be one of us in all ways. Then everything may yet come out in the only way that would be fitting and right." The boy blushed, and the colonel went on earnestly: "I can think of nothing in the world that would make me quite so happy." "It's no use," the boy said tremblingly, "but I'll never forget what you have just said as long as I live, and, no matter what becomes of me, I'll love Barbara as long as I live. But, even if things were otherwise, I'd never risk making her unhappy even by trying. I'm not fit for her nor for this life. I'll never forget the goodness of all of you to me — I can't explain — but I can't get over my life in the woods and among the Indians. Why, but for all of you I might have gone back to them — I would yet. - I can't explain, but I get choked and I can't breathe — ^such a longing for the woods comes over me and I can't help me. I must go — ^and nothing can hold "me." "Your father was that way," said Colonel i8o ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER Dale sadly. "You may get over it, but he never did. And it must be harder for you because of your early associations. Blow out the lights in the hall. You needn't bolt the door. Good night, and God bless you." And the kindly gentleman was gone. Erskine sat where he was. The house was still and there were no noises from the horses and cattle in the barn — none from roosting peacock, turkey, and hen. From the far-away quarters came faintly the merry, mellow notes of a fiddle, and farther still the song of some courting negro returning home. A drowsy bird twittered in an ancient elm at the corner of the house. The flowers drooped in the moonlight which bathed the great path, streamed across the great river, and on up to its source in the great yellow disk floating in majestic serenity high in the cloudless sky. And that path, those flowers, that house, the barn, the cattle, sheep, and hogs, those grain-fields and grassy acres, even those singing black folk, were all — all his if he but said the words. The thought was no temptation — it was a mighty wonder that such a thirxg could be. And that was ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER i8i all it was — a wonder — to him, but to them it was the world. Without it all, what would they do ? Perhaps Mr. Jefferson might soon solve the problem for him. Perhaps he might not return from that wild campaign against the British and the Indians — he might get killed. And then a thought gripped him and held him fast — he need not come back. That mighty wilderness beyond the mountains was his real home — out there was his real life. He need not come back, and they would never know. Then came a thought that al- most made him groan. There was a light step in the hall, and Barbara came swiftly out and dropped on the topmost step with her chin in both hands. Almost at once she seemed to feel his presence, for she turned her head quickly. "Erskine!" As quickly he rose, embar- rassed beyond speech. "Come here! Why, you look guilty — what have you been thinking?" He was startled by her intuition, but he recovered himself swiftly. "I suppose I will always feel guilty if I have made you unhappy." i82 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "You haven't made me unhappy. I don't know what you have made me. Papa says a girl does not understand and no man can, but he does better than anybody. You saw how I felt if you had killed him, but you don't know, how I would have felt if he had killed you. I don't myself." She began patting her hands gently and helplessly together, and again she dropped her chjn into them with her eyes lifted to the moon. "I shall be very unhappy when you are gone. I wish you were not going, but I know that you are — ^you can't help it." Again he was startled. "Whenever you look at that moon over in that dark wilderness, I wish you would please think of your little cousin — ^will you V She turned eagerly and he was too moved to speak — he only bowed his head as for a prayer or a benediction. "You don't know how often our thoughts will cross, and that will be a great comfort to me. Sometimes I am afraid. There is a wild strain on my mother's side, and it is in me. Papa knows it and he is wise — so wise ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 183 — I am afraid I may sometimes do something very foolish, and it won't be me at all. It will be somebody that died long ago." She put both her hands over both his and held them tight. "I never, never distrusted you. I trust you more than anybody else in the whole world except my father, and he might be away or" — she gave a little sob — "he might get killed. I want you to make me a prom- ise." "Anything," said the boy huskily. "I want you to promise me that, no matter when, no matter where you are, if I need you and send for you you will come." And Indian-like he put his forehead on both her little hands. "Thank you. I must go now." Be- wildered and dazed, the boy rose and awk- wardly put out his hand. "Kiss me good-by." She put her arms about his neck, and for the first time in his life the boy's lips met a woman's. For a moment she put her face against his and at his ear was a whisper. "Good-by, Erskine!" And she was gone i84 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER — swiftly — leaving the boy in a dizzy world of falling stars through which a white light leaped^ to heights his soul had never dreamed. XIX With the head of that column of stalwart backwoodsmen went Dave Yandell and Er- skine Dale. A hunting-party of four Shawnees heard their coming through the woods, and, lying like snakes in the undergrowth, peered out and saw them pass. Then they rose, and Crooked Lightning looked at Black Wolf and, with a grunt of angry satisfaction, led the way homeward. And to the village they bore the news that White Arrow had made good his word and, side by side with the big chief of the Long Knives, was leading a war- party against his tribe and kinsmen. And Early Morn carried the. news to her mother, who lay sick in a wigwam, The miracle went swiftly, and Kaskaskia fell. Stealthily a cordon of hunters sur- rounded the little town. The rest stole to the walls of the fort. Lights flickered from within, the sounds of violins and dancing feet came through crevice and window. Clark's tall figure stole noiselessly into the i86 ERSKINE DAL&-PIONEER great hall, where the Creoles were making merry and leaned silently with folded arms against the doorpost, looking on at the revels with a grave smile. The light from the torches flickered across his face, and an In- dian lying on the floor sprang to his feet with a curdling war-whoop. Women screamed and men rushed toward the door. The stranger stood motionless and his grim smile was un- changed. "Dance on!" he commanded courteously, "but remember," he added sternly, "you dance under Virginia and not Great Britain !" There was a great noise behind ^ him. Men dashed into the fort, and Rocheblave , and his officers were prisoners. By daylight Clark had the town, disarmed. The French, Clark said next day, could take the oath of allegiance to the Republic, or depart with their families in peace. As for their church, he had nothing to do with any church save to protect it from insult. So "that the people who had heard terrible stories of the wild woodsmen and who expected to be killed or made slaves, joyfully became Americans. They even gave Clark a volui\teer company ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 187 to march with him upon Cahokia, and that vi^ge, too, soon became American. Father Giblault volunteered to go to Vincennes. Vincennes gathered in the church to hear him, and then flung the Stars and Stripes to the winds c^f freedom above the fort. Clark sent one cajkain there to take command. With a handful of hardy men who could have been controlled only by him, the dauntless one had conqiiered a land as big as any Euro- pean kingdom. Now he had to govern and protect it. He had to keep loyal an alien race and hold his own against the British and numerous tribes of Indians, bloodthirsty, treacherous, and deeply embittered against all Americans. He was hundreds of miles from any American troops; farther still from the seat of government, and could get no ad- vice or help for perhaps a year. And those Indians poured into Cahokia — a horde of them from every tribe between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi — chiefs and warriors of every importance; but not before Clark had formed and drilled four companies of volunteer Creoles. "Watch him !" said Dave, and Erskine did. i88 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER marvelling at the man's knowledge of the Indian, He did not live in the fort, but al- ways on guard, always seemingly confident, stayed openly in town while the savages, sul- len and grotesque, strutted in full war pan- oply through the straggling streets, inquisitive and insolent, their eyes burning with the lust of plunder and murder. Fox days he sat in the midst of the ringed warriors and listened. On the second day Erskine saw Kahtoo in the throng and Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf. After dusk that day he felt the fringe of his hunting-shirt plucked, and an Indian, with face hidden in a blanket, whispered as he passed. "Tell the big chief," he said in Shawnee, **to be on guard to-morrow night." He knew it was some kindly tribesman, and he wheeled and went to Clark, who smiled. Already the big chief had guards concealed in his little house, who seized the attacking Indians, while two minutes later the townspeople were under arms. The captives were put in irons, and Erskine saw among them the crestfallen faces of Black Wolf and Crooked Lightning. The Indians pleaded that they were trying to ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 189 test the friendship of the French for Clark, but Clark, refusing all requests for their re- lease, remained silent, haughty, indifferent, fearless. He still refused to take refuge in the fort, and called in a number of ladies and gentlemen to his house, where they danced all night amid the council-fires of the bewil- dered savages. Next morning he stood in the centre of their ringed warriors with the tas- selled shirts of his riflemen massed behind him, released the captive chiefs, and handed them the bloody war belt of wampum. "I scorn your hostility and treachery. You deserve death but you shall leave in safety. In three days I shall begin war on you. If you Indians do not want your women and children killed — stop killing ours. We shall see who can make that war belt the most bloody. While you have been in my camp 3«Du have had food and fire-water, but now that I have finished, you must depart speedily." The captive chief spoke and so did old Kahtoo, with his eyes fixed sadly but proudly on his adopted son. They had listened to bad birds and been led astray by the British 190 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER — ^henceforth they would be friendly with the Americans. But Clark was not satisfied. "I come as a warrior," he said haughtily; "I shall be a friend to the friendly. If you choose war I shall send so many warriors from the Thirteen Council-Fires that your land shall be darkened and you shall hear no sounds but that of the birds who live on blood." And then he handed forth two belts of peace and war, and they eagerly took the belt of peace. The treaty followed next day and Clark insisted .that two of the prisoners should be put to death; and as the two selected came forward Erskine saw Black Wolf was one. He whispered with Clark and Kahtoo, and Crooked Lightning saw the big chief with his hand on Erskine's shoulder and heard him forgive the two and tell them to depart. And thus peace was won. Straightway old Kahtoo pushed through the warriors and, plucking the big chief l^y the sleeve, pointed to Erskine. "That is my son," he said, "and I want him to go home with me." "He shall go," said Clark quickly, "but he shall return, whenever it pleases him, to me." ^ ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 191 And so Erskine went forth one morning at dawn, and his coming into the Shawnee camp was Hke the coming of a king. Early Morn greeted him with glowing eyes, his foster- mother brought him food, looking proudly upon him, and old Kahtoo harangued his braves around the council-pole, while the prophet and Crooked Lightning sulked in their tents. "My son spoke words of truth," he pro- claimed sonorously. "He warned us against the king over the waters and told us to make friends with the Americans. We did not heed his words, and so he brought the great chief of the Long Knives, who stood without fear among warriors more numerous than leaves and spoke the same words to all. We are friends of the Long Knives. My son is the true prophet. Bring out the false one and Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf, whose life my son saved though the two were ene- mies. My son shall do with them as he pleases." Many young braves sprang willingly for- ward and the three were haled before Erskine. Old Kahtoo waved his hand toward them and 192 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER sat down. Erskine rose and fixed his eyes sternly on the cowering prophet: "He shall go forth from the village and shall never return. For his words work mis- chief, he does foolish things, and his drum- ming frightens the game. He is a false proph- et and he must go." He turned to Crooked Lightning: "The Indians have made peace with the Long Knives and White Arrow would make peace with any Indian, though an enemy. Crooked Lightning shall go or stay, as he pleases. Black Wolf shall stay, for the tribe will need him as a hunter and a warrior against the English foes of the Long Knives. White Arrow does not ask another to spare an enemy's life and then take it away him- self." The braves grunted approval. Black Wolf and Crooked Lightning averted their faces and the prophet shambled uneasily away. Again old Kahtoo proclaimed sonorously, "It is well !" and went back with Erskine to his tent. There he sank wearily on a buffalo- skin and plead with the boy to stay with them as chief in his stead. He was very old, and ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 193 now that peace was made with the Long Knives he was wiUing to die. If Erskine would but give his promise, he would never rise again from where he lay. Erskine shook his head and the old man sorrowfully turned his face. XX And yet Erskine lingered on and on at the village. Of the white woman he had learned little other than that she had been bought from another tribe and adopted by old Kahtoo; but it was plain that since the threatened burning of her she had been held in high respect by the whole tribe. He be- gan to wonder about her and whether she might not wish to go back to her own people. He had never talked with her, but he never moved about the camp that he did not feel her eyes upon him. And Early Morn's big soft eyes, too, never seemed to leave him. She brought him food, she sat at the door of his tent, she followed him about the village and bore herself openly as his slave. At last old Kahtoo, who would not give up his great hope, plead with him to marry her, and while he was talking the girl stood at the door of the tent and interrupted them. Her mother's eyes were growing dim, she said. Her mother wanted to talk with White Ar- 194 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 195 row and look upon his face before her sight should altogether pass. Nor could Erskine know that the white woman wanted to look into the eyes of the man she hoped would be- come her daughter's husband, but Kahtoo did, and' he bade Erskine go. His foster- mother, coming upon the scene, scowled, but Erskine rose and went to the white woman's tent. She sat just inside the opening, with a blanket across the lower half of her face, nor did she look at him. Instead she plied him with questions, and listened eagerly to his every word, and drew from him every detail of his life as far back as he could remember. Poor soul, it was the first opportunity for many years that she had had to talk with any white person who had been in the Eastern world, and freely and frankly he held nothing back. She had drawn her blanket close across her face while he was telling of his capture by the Indians and his life among them, his escape and the death of his father, and she was crying when he finished. He even told her a little of Barbara, and when in turn he questioned her, she told little, and his own native delicacy made him understand. She, 196 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER too, had been captured with a son who would have been about Erskine's age, but her boy and her husband had been killed. She had been made a slave and — ^now she drew the blanket across her eyes — after the birth of her daughter she felt she could never go back to her own people. Then her Indian husband had been killed and old Kahtoo had bought and adopted her, and she had not been forced to marry aglin- Now it was too late to leave the Indians. She loved her daughter; she would not subject her or herself to humili- ation among the whites, and, anyhow, there was no one to whom she could go. And Erskine read deep into the woman's heart and his own was made sad. Her concern was with her daughter — ^what would become of her ? Many a young brave, besides Black Wolf, had put his heart at her little feet, but she would have none of them. And so Er- skine was the heaven-sent answer to the mother's prayers — ^that was the thought be- hind her mournful eyes. All the while the girl had crouched near,' looking at Erskine with doglike eyes, and when he rose to go the woman dropped the ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 197 blanket from her face and got to her feet. Shyly she lifted her hands, took his face be- tween them, bent close, and studied it search- ingly: "What is your name ?" "Erskine Dale." Without a word she turned back into her tent. At dusk Erskine stood by the river's brim, with his eyes lifted to a rising moon and his M thoughts with Barbara on the bank of the James. Behind him he heard a rustle and, turning, he saw the girl, her breast throbbing and her eyes burning with a light he had never seen before. "Black Wolf will kill you," she whispered. "Black Wolf wants Early Morn and he knows that Earl> Morn wants White Arrow." Er- skine put both hands on her shoulders and looked down into her eyes. She trembled, and when his arms went about her she surged closer to him and the touch of her warm, supple body went through him like fire. And then with a triumphant smile she sprang back. " Black Wolf will see," she whispered, and fled. Erskine sank to the ground, with his 198 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER head in his hands. The girl ran back to her tent, and the mother, peering at the flushed face and shining eyes, clove to the truth. She said nothing, but when the girl was asleep and faintly smiling, the white woman sat staring out into the moonlit woods, softly beating her breast. / XXI Erskine had given Black Wolf his life, and the young brave had accepted the debt and fretted under it sorely. Erskine knew it, and all his kindness had been of little avail, for Black Wolf sulked sullenly by the fire or at his wigwam door. And when Erskine had begun to show some heed to Early Morn a fierce jealousy seized the savage, and his old hatred was reborn a thousandfold more strong — and that, too, Erskine now knew. Meat ran low and a hunting-party went abroad. Game was scarce and only after the second day was there a kill. Erskine had sighted a huge buck, had fired quickly and at close range. Wounded, the buck had charged, Erskine's knife was twisted in his belt, and the buck was upon him before he could get it out. He tried to dart for a tree, stumbled, turned, and caught the infuriated beast by the horns. He uttered no cry, but the angry bellow of the stag reached the ears of Black Wolf through the woods, and he darted 199 200 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER toward the sound. And he came none too soon. Erskine heard the crack of a rifle, the stag toppled over, and he saw Black Wolf standing over him with a curiously triumphant look on his saturnine face. In Erskine, when he rose, the white man was predominant, and he thrust out his hand, but Black Wolf ig- nored it. "White Arrow gave Black W^olf his life. The debt is paid." Erskine looked at his enemy, nodded, and the two bore the stag away. Instantly a marked change was plain in Black Wolf. He told the story of the iight with the buck to all. Boldly he threw off the mantle of shame, stalked haughtily through the village, and went back to open enmity with Erskine. At dusk a day or two later, when he was coming down the path from the white woman's wigwam. Black Wolf confronted him, scowUng. "Early Morn shall belong to Black Wolf," l^e said insolently. Erskine met his baleful, half-drunken eyes scornfully. ' "We will leave that to Early Morn," he said coolly, and then thundered suddenly: ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 20i "Out of my way !" Black Wolf hesitated and gave way, but ever thereafter Erskine was on guard. In the white woman, too, Erskine now saw a change. Once she had encouraged him to stay with the Indians; now she lost no op- portunity to urge against it. She had heard that Hamilton would try to retake Vincennes, that he was forming a great force with which to march south, sweep through Kentucky, batter down the wooden forts, and force the Kentuckians behind the great mountain wall. Erskine would be needed by the whites, who would never understand or trust him if he should stay with the Indians. All this she spoke one day when Erskine came to her tent to talk. Her face had blanched, she had argued passionately that he must go, and Erskine was sorely puzzled. The girl, too, had grown rebellious and disobedient, for the chapge in her mother was plain also to her, and she could not understand. Moreover, Erskine's stubbornness grew, and he began to flame within at the stalking ^insolence of Black Wolf, who slipped through the shadbws of day and the dusk to spy on the two where- 202 ERSKINE Dale— PIONEER ever they came together. And one day when the sun was midway, and in the open of the village, the clash came. Black Wolf darted forth from his wigwam, his eyes bloodshot with rage and drink, and his hunting-knife in his hand. A cry from Early Morn warned Erskine and he wheeled. As Black Wolf made a vicious slash at him he sprang aside, and with his fist caught the savage in the jaw. Black Wolf fell heavily and Erskine was upon him with his own knife at his enemy's throat. "Stop them!" old Kahtoo cried sternly, but it was the terrified shriek of the white woman that stayed Erskine's hand. Two young braves disarmed tHe fallen Indian, and Kahtoo looked inquiringly at his adopted son. "Turn him loose!" Erskine scorned. "I have no fear of him. He is a woman and drunk, but next time I shall kill him." The white woman had run down, caught Early Morn, and was leading her back to her tent. From inside presently came low, pas- sionate pleading from the woman and an oc- casional sob from the girl. And when an hour later, at dusk, Erskine turned upward toward the tent, the girl gave a horrified ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 203 cry, flashed from the tent, and darted for the high cliff over the river. "Catch her !" cried the mother. "Quick I" Erskine fled after her, overtook her with her hands upraised for the plunge on the very edge of the cliff, and half carried her, struggling and sobbing, back to the tent. Within the girl dropped in a weeping heap, and with her face covered, and the woman turned to Erskine, agonized. "I told her," she whispered, "and she was going to kill herself. You are my son !" Still sleepless at dawn, the boy rode Firefly into the woods. At sunset he came in, gaunt with brooding and hunger. His foster-mother brought him food, but he would not touch it. , The Indian woman stared at him with keen suspicion, and presently old Kahtoo, passing slowly, bent on him the same look, but asked no question. Erskine gave no heed to either, but his mother, watching from^ her wig- wam, understood and grew fearful. Quickly she stepped outside and called him, and he rose and went to her bewildered; she was smiling. 204 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "They are watching," she said, and Erskine, too, understood, and kept his back toward the watchers. "I have decided," he said. "You and she must leave here and go with me." His mother pretended much displeasure. "She will not leave, and I will not leave her" — her lips trembled — "and I would have gone long ago but " "I understand/' interrupted Erskine, "but you will go now with your sen." The poor woman had to scowl. "No, and you must not tell them. They will never let me go, and they will use me to keep you here. You must go at once. She will never leave this tent as long as you are here, and if you stay she will die, or kill her- self. Some day — " She turned abruptly and went back into her tent. Erskine wheeled and went to old Kahtoo. "You want Early Morn?" asked the old man. "You shall have her." "No," said the boy, "I am going back to the big chief." "You are my son and ^ I am old and weak." ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 205 " I am a soldier gnd must obey the big chief's commands, as must you." "I shall live," said the old man wearily, "until you come again." Erskine nodded and went for his horse. Black Wolf watched him with malignant satisfaction, but said nothing — nor did Crooked Lightning. Erskine turned once as he rode away. His mother was standing outside her wigwam. Mournfully she waved her hand. Behind her and within the tent he could see Early Morn with both hands at her breast. XXII t)AWNED I78I. The war was coming into Virginia at last. Virginia falling would thrust a great wedge through the centre of the Confeder- acy, feed the British armies and end the fight. Cornwallis was to drive the wedge, and never had the opening seemed easier., Virginia was drained of her fighting men, and south of the mountains was protected only by a militia, for the most part, of old men and boys. North and South ran despair. The soldiers had no pay, little food, and only old worn-out coats, tattered linen overalls, and one blanket between three men, to pro- tect them from drifting snow and icy wind. Even the great Washington was near despair, and in foreign help his sole hope lay. Al- ready the traitor, Arnold, had taken Rich- mond, burped warehouses, and returned, but little harassed, to Portsmouth. In April, "the proudest man," as Mr. Jef- 206 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 207 ferson said, "of the proudest nation on earth," one General Phillips, marching northward, paused opposite Richmond, and looked with amaze at the troop-crowned hills north of the river. Up there was a beardless French youth of twenty-three, with the epaulets of a major-general. "He will not cross — hein?" said the Mar- quis de Lafayette. "Very well !" And they had a race for Petersburg, which the Britisher reached first, and straightway fell ill of a fever at " Bollingbrook." A cannonade from the Appomattox hills saluted him. "They will not let me die in peace," said General Phillips, but he passed, let us hope, to it, and Benedict Arnold succeeded him. Cornwallis was coming on. Tarleton's white rangers were bedevilling the land, and it was at this time that Erskine Dale once more rode Firefly to the river James. The boy had been two years in the wilds. When he left the Shawnee camp winter was setting in, that terrible winter of '79 — of deep snow and hunger and cold. When he reached ^askaskia. Captain Clark had gone to Kentucky, and Erskine found bad news. 2o8 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER Hamilton and Hay had taken Vincennes. There Captain Helm's Creoles, as soon as they saw the redcoats, slipped away from him to Surrender their arms to the British, and thus deserted by all, he and the two or three Ameri- cans with him had to give up the fort. The French reswore allegiance to Britain. Hamil- ton confiscated their liquor and broke up their billiard-tables. He let his Indians scat- ter to their villages, and with his regulars, volunteers, white Indian leaders, and red auxiliaries went into winter quarters. One band of Shawnees he sent to Ohio to scout and take scalps in the settlements. ' In the spring he would sweep Kentucky and destroy all the settlements west of the AUeghanies. So Erskine and Dave went for Clark; and that trip neither ever forgot. Storms had followed each other since late November and the snow lay deep. Cattle and horses perished, deer and elk were found dead in the woods, and buffalo came at nightfall to old Jerome Sanders's fort for food and com- panionship with his starving herd. Corn gave out and no johnny-cakes were baked on long boards in front of the fire. There was ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 209 no salt or vegetable food; nothing but the flesh of lean wild game. The only fat was with the bears in the hollows of trees, and every hunter was searching hollow trees. The breast of the wild turkey served for bread. Yet, while the frontiersmen remained crowded in the stockades and the men hunted and the women made clothes of tanned deer-hides, buffalo-wool cloth, and nettle-bark linen, and both hollowed "noggins" out of the knot of a tree, Clark made his amazing march to Vin- cennes, recaptured it by the end of February, and sent Hamilton to Williamsburg a prisoner. Erskine plead to be allowed to take him there, but Clark would not let him go. Permanent garrisons were placed at Vincennes and Ca- hokia, and at Kaskaskia. Erskine stayed to help make peace with the Indians, punish marauders and hunting bands, so that by the end of the year Clark might sit at the Falls of the Ohio as a shield for the west and a sure guarantee that the whites would never be forced to abandon wild Kentucky. The two years in the wilderness had left their mark on Erskine. He was tall, lean, swarthy, gaunt, and yet he was not all woods- 210 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER man, for his born inheritance as gentleman had been more than emphasized by his asso- ciation with Clark and certain Creole officers in the Northwest, who had improved his French and gratified one pet wish of his Hfe since his last visit to the James — ^they had taught him to fence. His mother he had not seen again, but he had learned that she was alive and not yet blind. Of Early Morn he had heard nothing at all. Once a traveller had brought word of Dane Grey. Grey was in Philadelphia and prominent in the gay doings of that city. He had taken part in a brilliant pageant called the "Mischianza," which was staged by Andre, and was reported a close friend of that ill-fated young gentle- man. After the fight at Piqua, with Clark Er- skine put forth for old Jerome Sanders's fort. He found the hard days of want over. There was not only corn in plenty but wheat, potatoes, pumpkins, turnips, melons. They tapped maple-trees for sugar and had sown flax. Game was plentiful, and cattle, horses, and hogs had multiplied on cane and buffalo clover. Indeed, it was a comparatively peace- ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 211 ful fall, and though Clark plead with him, Erskine stubbornly set his face for Virginia. Honor Sanders and Polly Conrad had mar- ried, but Lydia Noe was still firm against the wooing of every young woodsman who came to the fort; and when Erskine bade her good- by and she told him to carry her love to Dave Yandell, he knew for whom she would wait forever if need be. There were many, many travellers on the Wilderness Road now, and Colonel pale's prophecy was coming true. The settlers were pouring in and the long, long trail was now no lonesome way. At Williamsburg Erskine learned many things. Colonel Dale, now a general, was still with Washington and Harry was with him. Hugh was with the Virginia militia and Dave with Lafayette. Tarleton's legion of rangers in their white uniforms were scourging Virginia as they had scourged the Carolinas. Thrtugh the James River country they had gone with fire and sword, burning houses, carrying off horses, destroying crops, burning grain in the mills, laying plantations to waste. Barbara's 212 _ ER3KINE DALE— PIONEER mother was dead. Her neighbors had moVcd to safety, but Barbara, he heard, still Hved with old Manuny and Ephraim at Red Oaks, unless th^at, too, had been recently put to the torch. Where, then, would he find her ? XXIII Down the river Erskine rode with a sad heart. At the place where he had fought with Grey he pulled Firefly to a sudden halt. There was the boundary of Red Oaks and there started a desolation that ran as far as his eye could reach. Red Oaks had not been spared, and he put Firefly to a fast gallop, with eyes strained far ahead and his heart beating with agonized foreboding and savage rage. Soon over a distant clump of trees he could see the chimneys of Barbara's home — ^his home, he thought helplessly — and perhaps those chim- neys were all that was left. And then he saw the roof and the upper windows and the cap of the big columns unharmed, untouched, and he pulled Firefly in again, with overwhelming relief, and wondered at the miracle. Again he started and again pulled in when he caught sight of three horses hitched near the stiles. Turning quickly from the road, he hid Firefly in the underbrush. Very quietly he slipped ai3 214 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER along the path by the river, and, pushing aside through the rose-bushes, lay down where unseen he could peer through the closely matted hedge. He had not long to wait. A white uniform issued from the great hall door and another and another — and after them Barbara — smiling. The boy's blood ran hot — smiling at her enemies. Two offi- cers bowed, Barbara courtesied, and they wheeled on their heels and descended the steps. The third stayed behind a moment, bowed over her hand and kissed it. The watcher's blood turned then to liquid fire. Great God, at what price was that noble old house left standing .? Grimly, swiftly Er- skine turned, sliding through the bushes like a snake to the edge of the road along which they must pass. He would fight the three, for his life was worth nothing now. He heard them laughing, talking at the stiles. He heard them speak Barbara's name, and two seemed to be bantering the third, whose answering laugh seemed acquiescent and triumphant. They were coming now. The boy had his pistols out, primed and cocked. He was rising on his knees, just about to ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 215 leap to his feet and out into the road, when he fell back into a startled, paralyzed, inactive heap. Glimpsed through an opening in the bushes, the leading trooper in the uniform of Tarleton's legion was none other than Dane Grey, and Erskine's brain had worked quicker than his angry heart. This was a mystery that must be solved before his pistols spoke. He rose crouching as the troopers rode away. At the bend of the road he saw Grey turn with a gallant sweep of his tricornered hat, and, swerving his head cautiously, he saw Barbara answer with a wave of her hand- kerchief. If Tarleton's men were around he would better leave Firefly where- he was in the woods for a while. A jay-bird gave out a flutelike note above his head; Erskine never saw a jay-bird 'perched cockily on a branch that he did not think of Grey; but Grey was brave — so, too, was a jay-bird. A startled gasp behind him made him wheel, pistol once more in hand, to find a negro, mouth wide open and staring at him from the road. "Marse Erskine!" he gasped. It was Ephraim, the boy who had led Barbara's zi6 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER white ponies out long, long ago, now a tall,^ muscular lad with an ebony face and dazzling teeth. "Whut you doin' hyeh, suh ? Whar' yo' hoss? Gawd, Fse sutn'ly glad to see yuh." Erskine pointec}^ to an t)ak. "Right by that tree. Put him in the stable and feed him." The negro shook his head. "No, suh. 1*11 take de feed down to him. Too many redcoats piessin' round heah. You bettah go in de back way — dey might see yuh." "How is Miss Barbara ?" The negro's eyes shifted. N "She's welly Yassuh, she's well as com- mon." "Wasn't one of those soldiers who just rode away Mr. Dane Grey ?" The negro hesitated. /^ ' "Yassuh." *' What's he doing in a British uniform ?" The boy shifted his great shoulders uneasjily and looked aside. ^ "I don't know, suh — I don't know nuttin'." Erskine knew he was lying, but respected his loyalty. ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 217 "Go tell Miss Barbara I'm here and then feed my horse." "Yassuh." Ephraim went swiftly'and Erskine followed along the hedge and through the rose-bushes to the kitchen door, where Barbara's faith- ful old Mammy was waiting for him with a smile of welcome but with deep trouble in her eyes. "I done tol' Miss Barbary, suh. She's waitin' fer ynh in de h^U." Barbara, standing in the hall doorway, beard his step. *' Erskine!" she cried softly, and she came to meet him, with both hands outstretched, and raised her lovely face to be kissed. "What are you doing here ?" "I am on my way to join General La- fayette." "But you wiii be captured. It is danger- ous. The country is full of British soldiers." "So I know," Erskine said dryly. "When did you get here ?" "Twenty minutes ago. I would not have been welcome just then. I waited in the hedge. I saw you had company." ^i8 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "Did you see them?" she faltered. "I even recognized one of them." Bar- bara sank into a chair, her elbow on one arm, her chin in her hand, her face turned, her eyes looking outdoors. She said nothing, but the toe of her slipper began to tap the floor gently. There was no further use for indirec- tion or concealment. "Barbara," Erskine said with some stern- ness, and his tone quickened the tapping of the slipper and made her little mouth tighten, "what does all this mean?" "Did you see," she answered, without looking at him, "that the crops were all de- stroyed and the cattle and horses were all gope?" "Why did they spare the house ?" The girl's bosom rose with one quick, defiant in- take of breath, and for a moment she held it. "Dane Grey saved our home." "How?" , "He had known Colonel Tarleton in Lon- don and had done something for him over there." < "How did he get in communication with Colonel Tarleton when he was an oflSicer in ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 219 the American army?" The girl would not answer. "Was he taken prisoner?" Still she was silent, for the sarcasm in Erskine's voice was angering her. - "He fought once under Benedict Arnold — perhaps he is fighting with him now." "No!" she cried hotly. "Then he must be a " She did not allow him to utter the word. "Why Mr. Grey is in British uniform is his secrdt — not mine." "And why he is here is— yours." "Exactly!" she flamed. "You are a sol- dier. Learn what you want to know from him. You are my cousin, but you are going beyond the rights of blood. I won't stand it — I won\t standi it — from anybody." "I don't understand you, Barbara^ — I don't know you. That last time it was Grey, you — and now — " He paused and, in spite of her- self, her eyes flashed toward the door. Er- skine saw it, drew himself erect, bowed and strode straight out. Nor did the irony of the situation so much as cross his mind — that he should be turned from his own home by the 220 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER woman he loved and to whom he had given that home. Nor did he look back — else he might have seen her sink, sobbing, to the floor. When he turned the corner of the house old Mammy and Ephraim were waiting for him at the kitchen door. "Get Firefly, Ephraim 1" he said sharply, "Yassuh !" At the first sight of his face Mammy had caught her hands together at her breast. "You ain't gwine, Marse Erskine," she said tremulously. "You ain't gwine away?" "Yes, Mammy — I must." ,*'You an' Miss Barbary been quoilin*, Marse Erskine — ^you been quoilin'" — and without waiting for an answer she went on passionately: "Ole Marse an' young Marse an' Marse Hugh done gone, de niggahs all gone, an' nobody lef but me an' Ephraim — nobody lef but me an' Ephraim — to give dat little chile one crumb o' comfort. Nobody come to de house but de redcoats an' dat mean Dane Grey, an' ev'y time he come he leave Miss Barbary cryin' her little heart out. Tain't Miss Barbary in dar— hit's some other ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 221 pusson. She ain't de same pusson — ^no, suh. An' lemme tell jm — lemme tell yu — ef some o' de men folks doan come back heah somehow an' look out fer dat little gal — she's a-gwine to run away wid dat mean low-down man whut just rid away from heah in a white uni- form." She had startled Erskine now and she knew it. "Dat man has got little Missus plum* witched, I tell ye — plum' witched. Hit's jes like a snake wid a catl^rd." "Men have to fight, Mammy " "I doan keer nothin' 'bout de war.'* "I'd be captured if I stayed here- "AU I keer 'bout is my chile in dar " "But we'll drive out the redcoats and the whitecoats and I'll come straight here " "An' all de men folks leavin' her heah wid nobody but black Ephraim an' her ole Mammy." The old woman stopped her fiery harangue to listen: "Dar now, heah dat? My chile hollerin' fer her ole Mammy." She turned: her un- wieldy body toward the faint cry that Er- skine's heart heard better than his ears, and Erskine hurried away. 322 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "Ephraim," he said as he swung upon Firefly, "you and Mammy keep a close watch, and if I'm needed here, ccme for me yourself and come fast." "Yassuh. Marse Grey is sutn'ly up to some devilmint no which side he fightin' fer, I got a gal oveh on the aige o' die Grey planta- tion an' she tel* me dat Marse Dane Grey' don't wear dat white uniform all de time." "What's that— what's that.?" asked Er- skine. "No, suh. She say he got an udder uni- form, same as yose, an' he keeps! it at her uncle Sam's cabin an' she's seed him go dar in white an' come out in our uniform, an' al'ays at night, Marse Erskine — al'ays at night." ^ The negro cocked his ear suddenly: "Take to de woods quick, Marse Erskine. Horses comin* down the road." But the sound of coming hoof-beats had reached the woocisman's ears some seconds before the black man heard them, and al- ready Erskine had wheeled away. And Eph- raim saw Firefly skim along the edge of a blackened meadow behind its hedge of low trees. ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 223 "Gawd !" said the black boy, and he stood watching the road. A band of white-coated troopers was coming in a cloud of dust, and at the head of them rode Dane Grey. "Has Captain Erskine Dale been here?" he demanded. Ephraim had his own reason for being on the good side of the questioner, and did not even hesitate. " Yassuh — ^he jes' lef ! Dar he goes now V With a curse Grey wheeled his troopers. At that moment Firefly, with something like the waving flight of a bluebird, was leaping the meadow fence into the woods. The black boy looked after the troopers' dust. "Gawd!" he said again, with a grin that showed every magnificent tooth in his head. "Jest as well try to ketch a streak o' light- ning." And quite undisturbed he turned to tell the news to old Mammy. XXIV Up the James rode Erskine, hiding in the woods by day and slipping cautiously along the sandy road by night, circling about Tarle- ton's camp-fires, or dashing at full speed past some careless sentinel. Often he was fired at, often chased, but with a clear road in front of him he had no fear of capture. On the third morning he came upon a ragged sentinel — an American. Ten minutes later he got his first glimpse of Lafayette, and then he was hailed joyfully by none other than Dave Yandell, Captain Dave Yandell, shorn of his woodsman's dress and panoplied in the trappings of war. Cornwallis was coming on. The boy, he wrote, cannot escape me. But the boy — Lafayette — did, and in time pursued and forced the Englishman into a cul-de-sac. "I have given his lordship the disgrace of a re- treat," said Lafayette. And so— Yorktown! Late in August came the message that put 334 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 225 Washington's great "soul in arms/* Ro- chambeau had landed six thousand soldiers in Connerticut, and now Count de Grasse and a French fleet had sailed for the Chesa- peake. General Washington at once resorted) to camouflage. He laid out camps ostenta,- tiously opposite New York and in plain sight of the enemy. He made a feigned attack on their posts. Rochambeau moved south and" reached the Delaware before the British grasped the Yankee trick. Then it was too ' late. The windows of Philadelphia were filled with ladies waving handkerchiefs and crying bravoes when the tattered Conti- nentals, their clothes thick with dust but hats plumed with sprigs of green, marched through amid their torn battle-flags and rumbling cannon. Behind followed the French in "gay white uniforms faced with green," and martial music throbbed the air. Not since poor Andre had devised the "Mis- chianza" festival had Philadelphia seen such a pageant. Down the Chesapeake they went in transports and were concentrated at Wil- liamsburg before the close of September. Cornwallis had erected works against the 226 ^ ERSglNE DALE— PIONEER boy, for he knew nothing of Washington and Count de Grasse, nor Mad Anthony and General Nelson, who were south of the James to prevent escape into North Carolina. "To your goodness," the boy wrote to ' Washington, "I am owning the most beauti- ful prospect I may ever behold." Then came de Grasse, who drove off the British fleet, and the mouth of the net was closed. Comwallis heard ^he cannon and sent Clinton to appeal for help, but the answer was Washington himself at the head of his army. And then the joyous march. "'Tis our first campaign !" cried the French gayly, and the Continentals joyfully an- swered : "Tis our last !" At Williamsburg the allies gathered, and with Washington's army came Colonel Dale, now a general, and young Captain Harry Dal^, who had brought news from Philadel- phia that was of great interest to Erskine Dale. In that town Dane Grey had been a close intimate of Andre, and that intimacy ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 227 had been the cause of much speculation since. He had told Dave of his mother and Early Mom, and Dave had told him gravely that he must go get them after the campaign was over and bring them to the fort in Kentucky, If Early Mom still refused to come, then he must bring his mother, and he reckoned grimly that no mouth would open in a word that could offend her. Erskine also told of Red Oaks and Dane Grey, but Dave must tell nothing to the Dales — not yet, if ever. In mid-September Washington came, and General Dale had but one chance to visit Barbara. General Dale was still weak from a wound and Barbara tried unavailingly to keep him at home. Erskine's plea that he was too busy to go with them aroused Harry's suspicions, that were confirmed by Barbara's manner and reticence, and he went bluntly to the point: "What is the trouble, cousin, between you and Barbara ?" "Trouble .?" "Yes. You wouldn't go to Red Oaks and Barbara did not seem surprised. Is Dane Grey concerned ?" 228 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "Yes." Harry looked searchingly at his cousin: "I pray to God that I may soon meet him face to face." "And I," said Erskine quietly, "pray to God that you do not — not until after I have met him first." Barbara had not told, he thought, nor should he — ^not yet. And Harry, after a searching look at his cousin, turned away. They marched next morning at daybreak. At sunset of the second day they bivouacked within two miles of Yorktown and the siege began. The allied line was a crescent, with each tip resting on the water — Lafayette com- manding the Americans on the right, the French on the left under Rochambeau. De Grasse, with his fleet, was in the bay to cut off approach by water. Washington him- self put the m^tch to the first gun, and the mutual cannqinade of three or four days be- gan. The scene was "sublime and stupen- dous." ' Bombshells were seen "crossing each other's path in the air, and were visible in the form of a black ball by day, but in the night they ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 229 appeared like a fiery meteor, with a blazing tail most beautifully brilliant. They ascended majestically from the mortar to a certain alti- tude and gradually descended to the spot where they were destined to execute their work of destruction. When a shell fell it wheeled around, burrowed, and ^xcavated the earth to a considerable extent and, burst- ing, made dreadful havoc around. When they fell in the river they threw up columns of water like spouting monsters of the deep. Two British men-of-war lying in the river were struck with hot shot and set on fire, and the result was full of terrible grandeur. The sails caught and the flames ran to the tops of the masts, resembling immense torches. One fled like a mountain of fire toward the bay and was burned to the water's edge." General Nelson, observing that the gunners were not shooting at Nelson House because it was his own, got off his horse and directed a gun at it with his own hand. And at Washington's headquarters appeared the ven- erable Secretary Nelson, who had left the town with the permission of Cornwallis and now "related with a serene visage what had 230 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER been the effect of our batteries." It was nearly the middle of October that the two redoubts projecting beyond the British lines and enfilading the American intrenchments were taken by storm. One redoubt was left to Lafayette and his Americans, the other to Baron de Viomenil, who claimed that his grenadiers were the men for the matter in hand. Lafayette stoutly argued the superi- ority of his Americans, who, led by Hamilton, carried their redoubt first with the bayonet, and sent the Frenchman an offer of help. The answer was : "I will be in mine in five minutes." And he was, Washington watching the attack anxiously: "The work is done and well done." And then tlw surrender: The day was the 19th of October. The victors were drawn up in two lines a mile long on the right and left of a road that ran through the autumn fields south of York- town. Washington stood at the head of his army on the right, Rochambeau at the head of the French on the left. Behind on both sides was a great crowd of people to watch ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 231 the ceremony. Slowly out o£ Yorktown marched the British colors, cased drums beat- ing a significant English air: "The world turned topsyturvy." Lord Cornwallis was sick. General O'Hara bore my lord's sword. As he approached, Washington saluted and pointed to General Lincoln, who had been treated with indignity at Charleston. O'Hara handed the sword to Lincoln. Lincoln at once handed it back and the surrender was over. Betwee;n the lines the British marched on and stacked arms in a near-by field. Some of them threw their muskets on the ground, and a British colonel bit the hilt of his sword from rage. As Tarleton's legion went by, three pairs of eyes watched eagerly for one face, but neither Harry nor Captain Dave Yandell saw Dane Grey — nor did Erskine Dale. To Harry and Dave, Dane Grey's absence was merely a mystery — ^to Erskine it brought foreboding and sickening fear. General Dale's wound having opened afresh, made travelling impossible, and Harry had a slight bayonet- thrust in the shoulder. Erskine determined to save them all the worry possible and to act now as the head of the family himself. He announced that he must go straight back at once to Kentucky and Captain Glark. Harry stormed unavailingly and General Dale pleaded with him to stay, but gave re- luctant leave. To Dave he told his fears and Dave vehemently declared he, too, would go along, but Erskine would not hear of it and set fqrth alone. Slowly enough he started, but with every mile' suspicion and fear grew the faster and he quickened Firefly's pace. The distance to Willian\sburg was soon covered, and skirting the town, he went on swiftly for Red Oaks. Suppose he were too late, but even if he were 232 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 233 not too late, what should he do, what could he do ? Firefly was sweeping into a little hollow now, and above the beating of her hoofs in the sandy road, a clink of metal reached his ears beyond the low hill ahead, and Erskine swerved aside into the bushes. Some one was coming, and apparently out of the red ball of the sun hanging over that hill splrang a horseman at a dead run — black Ephraim on the horse he had saved from Tarleton's men. Erskine pushed quickly out into the road. "Stop!" he cried, but the negro came thundering blindly on, as though he meant to ride down anything in his way. Firefly swerved aside, and Ephraim shot by, pulling in with both hands and shouting: " Marse Erskine ! Yassuh, yassuh ! Thank Gawd you'se come." When he wheeled he came back at a gallop — ^nor did he stop. "Come on, Marse Erskine!" he cried. "No time to waste. Come on, suh !" With a few leaps Firefly was abreast, and neck and neck they ran, while the darky's every word confirmed the instinct and reason that had led Erskine where he was. 234 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "Yassuh, Miss Barbary gwine to run away wid dat mean white man. Yassuh, dis very night." "When did he get here ?" "Dis mawnin'. He been pesterin' her an' pleadin' wid her all day an' she been cryin' her heart out, but Manuny say she's gwine wid him. 'Pears like she can't he'p herse'f." "Is he alone.?" "No, suh, he got an orficer an' four sojers wid him." "How did they get away?" "He say ds how dey was on a scoutin' party an' 'scaped." "Does he know that Cornwallis has sur- rendered?" "Oh, yassuh, he tol' Miss Barbary dat. Dat's why he says he got to git away right now an' she got to go wid him right now." "Did he say anything about General Dale and Mr. Harry ?" "Yassuh, he say dat dey's all right an' dat dey an' you will be hot on his tracks. Dat's why Mammy tol' me to ride like de debbil an' hurry you on, suh." And Ephraim had ridden like the devil, for his horse was lath- ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 235 ered with foam and both were riding that way now, for the negro was no mean horse- man and the horse he had saved was a thoroughbred. "Dis artemoon," the negro went on, "he went ovah to dat cabin I tol' you 'bout an' got dat American uniform.y He gwine to tell folks on de way dat dem udders is his pris- oners an' he takin' dem to Richmond. Den dey gwine to sep'rate an' he an' Miss Bar- bary gwine to git married somewhur on de way an' dey goin' on an' sail fer England, fer he say if he git captured folks'U won't let him be prisoner o' war — dey'U jes up an' shoot him. An' dat skeer Miss Barbary mos' to death an' he'p make her go wid him. Mammy heah'd ever' word dey say." Erskine's brain was working fast, but no plan would come. They would be six against him, but no matter — ^he urged Firefly on. The red ball from which Ephraim had leaped had gone down now. The chill autumn dark- ness was settling, but the moon was rising full and glorious over the black expanse of trees when the lights of Red Oaks first twinkled ahead. Erskine pulled in. 236 ERSKINE D^LE— PIONEER "Ephraim!" "Yassuh. You lemme go ahead. You jest wait in dat thicket next to de corner o' de big gyarden. I'll ride aroun' through de fields an' come into the barnyard by de back gate. Dey won't know I been gone. Den I'll come to de thicket an' tell you de whole lay o' -de land." Erskine nodded. "Hurry!" "Yassuh." The negro turned from the road through a gate, and Erskine heard the thud of his horse's hoofs across the meadow turf. He rode on slowly, hitched Firefly as close to the edge of the road as was safe, and crept to the edge of the garden, where he could peer through the hedge. The hall-door was open and the hall- way lighted; so was the dining-room; and there were lights in Barbara's room. There were no noises, not even of animal life, and no figures moving about or in the house. What could he do? One thing at least, no matter what happened to him — ^he could number Dane Grey's days and make this night his last on earth. It would probably ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 237 be his own last night, too. Impatiently he crawled back to the edge of the road. More quickly than he expected, he saw Ephraim's figure slipping through the shadows toward ' him. "Dey's jus' through supper," he reported. "Miss Barbary didn't eat wid 'em. She's up in her room. Dat udder orficer been stormin' at Marse Grey an' hurryin' him up. Mammy been holdin' de little Missus back all she can. She say she got to make like she heppin' her pack. De sojers down dar by de wharf playin' cards an' drinkin'. Dat udder man been drinkin' hard. He got his head on de table now an' look like he gone to sleep." "Ephraim," said Erskine quickly, "go tell Mr. Grey that one of his men wants to see him right away at the sun-dial. Tell him the man wouldn't come to the house because he didn't want the others to know — that he has something important to tell him. When he starts down the path you run around the hedge and be on hand in the bushes." "Yassuh," and the boy showed his teeth in a comprehending smile. It was not long be- 238 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER fore he saw Grey's tall figure easily emerge from the hall-door and stop full in the light. He saw Ephraim slip around the corner and Grey move to the end of the porch, doubtless in answer to the hlack boy's whispered sum- mons. For a moment the two figures were motionless and then Erskine began to tingle acutely from head to foot. Grey came swiftly down the great path, which was radiant with moonlight. As Grey neared the dial Erskine moved toward him, keeping in a dark shadow, but Grey saw him and calkf} in a, low tone but sharply: "Well, what is it ?" With two paces more Erskine stepped out into the moonlight with his cocked pistol at Grey's breast. "This," he said quietly. "Make no noise — ^^and don't move." Grey was startled, but he caught his control instantly and without fear. "You are a brave man, Mr. Grey, and so, for that matter, is — Benedict Arnold." "Captain Grey," corrected Grey insolently. " I do not recognize your rank. To me you are merely Traitor Grey." "You are entitled to unusual freedom of speech — ^under the circumstances.*' 'Make no noise, and don't move" ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 239 "I shall grant you the same freedom," Erskine replied quickly — " in a moment. You are my prisoner, Mr. Grey. I could lead you to your proper place at the end of a rope, but I have in mind another fate for you which perhaps will be preferable to you and maybe one or two others. Mr. Grey, I tried once to stab you — ^I knew no better and have been sorry ever since. You once tried to murder me in the duel and you did know better. Doubtless you have been sorry ever since — that you didn't succeed. Twice you have said that you would fight me with any- thing, any time, any place." Grey bowed slightly. "I shall ask you to make those words good and I shall accordingly choose the weapons." Grey bowed again. "Ephraim!" The boy stepped from the thicket. "Ah," breathed Grey, "that black devil !" "Ain' you gwine to shoot him, Marse Er- skine ?" "Ephraim!" said Erskine, "slip into the hall very quietly and bring me the two rapiers on the wall." Grey's face lighted up. "And, Ephraim," he called, "slip into the dining-room and fill Captain Kilburn's glass." He turned with a wicked smile. 240 Erskine dale-pioneer "Another glass and he will be less likely to interrupt. Believe me, Captain Dale, I shall take even more care now than you that we shall not be disturbed. I am delighted." And now Erskine bowexi. "I know more of your career than you think, Grey. You have been a spy as well as a traitor. And now you are crowning your infamy by weaving some spell over my cousin and trying to carry her away in the absence of her father and brother, to what unhappi- ness God only can know. I can hardly hope that you appreciate the honor I am doing you.^ "Not as much as I appreciate your courage and the risk you are taking." Erskine smiled. "The risk is perhaps less than you think." "You have not been idle ?" "I have learned more of my father's swords than I knew when we used them last." "I am glad — it will be more interesting." Erskine looked toward the hou§e and moved impatiently. "My brother officer has dined too well," noted Grey placidly, "and the rest of my — er ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 241 — retinue are gambling. We are quite se- cure." "Ah!" Erskine breathed — he had seen the black boy run down the steps with something under one arm and presently Ephraim was in the shadow of the thicket : "Give one to Mr. Grey, Ephraim, and the other to me. I believe you said on that other occasion that there was no choice of blades ?" "Quite right," Grey answered, skilfully test- ing his bit of steel. "Keep well out of the way, Ephraim," warned Erskine, "and take this pistol. You may need it, if I am worsted, to protect your- self." ' "Indeed, yes," returned Grey, "and kindly instruct him not to use it to protect you." For answer Erskine sprang from the shadow — discarding formal courtesies. "En garde I" he called sternly. The two shining blades clashed lightly and quivered against each other in the moonlight like running drops of quicksilver. Grey was cautious at first, trying out his opponent's increase in skill: "You have made marked improvement." 242 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "Thank you," smiled Erskine. "Your wrist is much stronger." '"Naturally." Grey leaped backward and parried just in time a vicious thrust that was like a dart of lightning. "Ah ! A Frenchman taught you that." "A Frenchman taught me all the little I know." "I wonder if he taught you how to meet this." "He did," answered Erskine, parrying easily and with an answering thrust that turned Grey suddenly anxious. Constantly Grey manoeuvred to keep his back to the moon, and just as constantly Erskine easily kept him where the light shone fairly on both. Grey began to breathe heavily. "I think, too," said Erskine, "that my wind is a little better than yours — ^would you like a short resting-spell ?" From the shadow Ephraim chuckled, and Grey snapped: "Make that black devil " "Keep quiet, Ephraim!" broke in Erskine sternly. Again Grey manoeuvred for the moon, to no avail, and Erskine gave warning: ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 243 "Try that again and I will put that moon in your eyes and keep it there." Grey was getting angry now and was beginning to pant. "Your wind is short," said Erskine with mock compassion. "I will give you a little breathing-spell presently." Grey was not wasting his precious breath now and he made no answer. "Now!" said Erskine sharply, and Grey's blade flew from his hand and lay like a streak of silver on the dewy grass. Grey rushed for it. "Damn you!" he raged, and wheeled furi- ously — patience, humor, and caution quite gone — and they fought now in deadly silence. Ephraim saw the British officer appear in the hall and walk unsteadily down the steps as though he were coming down the path, but he dared not open his lips. There was the sound of voices, and it was evident that the game had ended in a quarrel and the players were coming up the river-bank toward them. Erskine heard, but if Grey did he at first gave no sign — ^he was too much concerned with the death that faced him. Suddenly Erskine knew that Grey had heard, for the fear in his 244 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER face gave way to a diabolic grin of triumph and he lashed suddenly into defense — ^if he could protect himself only a little longer! Erskine had delayed the finishing-stroke too long and he must make it now. Grey gave way step by step — ^parrying only. The blades flashed like tiny bits of lightning. Erskine's face, grim and ineicorable, brought the sick fear back into Grey's, and Erskine saw his enemy's lips open. He lunged then, his blade went true, sank to the hilt, and Grey's warped soul started on its way with a craven cry for help. Erskine sprang back into the shadows and snatched his pistol from Ephraim's hand: "Get out of the way now. Tell them I did it." Once he looked back. He saw Barbara at the hall-door with old Mammy behind her. With a running leap he vaulted the hedge, and, hidden in the bushes, Ephraim heard Firefly's hoofs beating ever more faintly the sandy road. • XXVI YoRKTOWN broke the British heart, and General Dale, still weak from wounds, went home to Red Oaks. It wa,s not long before, with gentle inquiry, he had pieced out the full story of Barbara and Erskine and Dane Grey, and wisely he waited his chance with each phase of the situation. Frankly he told her first of Grey's dark treachery, and the girl listened with horrified silence, for she would as soon have distrusted that beloved father as the heavenly Father in her prayers. She left him when he finished the story and he let her go without another word. All day she was in her room and at sunset she gave him her answer, for she came to him dressed in white, knelt by his chair, and put her head in his lap. And there was a rose in her hair. "I have never understood about myself and — and that man," she said, "and I never will." "I do," said the general gently, "and I un- derstand you through my sister who was so 245 246 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER like you. Erskine's father was as indignant as Harry is now, and I am trying to act toward you as my father did toward her." The girl pressed her lips to one of his hands. "I think I'd better tell you the whole story now," said General Dale, and he told of Er- skine's father, his wildness and his wander- ings, his marriage, and the capture of his wife and the little son by the Indians, all of which she knew, and the girl wondered why he should be telling her again. The general paused : "You know Erskine's mother was not killed. He found her." The giri looked up amazed and incredulous. "Yes," he went on, "the white woman whom he found in the Indian village was his mother." "Father!" She lifted her head quickly, leaned back with hands caught tight in front of her, looked up into his face — her own crim- soning and paling as she took in the full meaning of it all. Her eyes dropped. "Then," she said slowly, "that Indian girl — Early Morn — is his half-sister. Oh, oh!" A great pity flooded her heart and eyes. ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 247 "Why didn't Erskine take them away from the Indians?" "His mother wouldn't leave them." And Barbara understood. "Poor thing — poor thing !" "I think Erskine is going to try now." "Did you tell him to bring them here?" The general put his hand on her head. "I hoped you would say that, I did, but he shook his head." "Poor Erskine!" she whispered, and her tears came. Her father leaned back and for a moment closed his eyes. "There is more," he said finally. "Er- skine's father was the eldest brother — and Red Oaks " The girl sprang to her feet, startled, ago- nized, shamed: "Belongs to Erskine," she finished with her face in her hands. "God pity me," she whispered, "I drove him from his own home." "No," said the old general with a gentle smile. He was driving the barb deep, but sooner or later it had to be done. "Look here!" He pulled an old piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. 248 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER Her wide eyes fell upon a rude boyish scrawl and a rude drawing of a buffalo pierced by an arrow: "It make me laugh. I have no use. I give hole dam plantashun Barbara." "Oh!" gasped the girl and then — "where is he ?" "Waiting at Williamsburg to get his dis- charge." She rushed swiftly down the steps, calling: " Ephraim ! Ephraim ! " And ten minutes later the happy, grin- ning Ephraim, mounted on the thorough- bred, was speeding ahead of a whirlwind of dust with a little scented note in his battered slouch hat : "You said you would come whenever I wanted you. I want you to come now. "Barbara." The girl would not go to bed,^ and the old general from his window saw her like some white spirit of the night motionless on the porch. And there through the long hours she sat. Once she rose and started down the ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 249 great path toward the sun-dial, moving slowly through the flowers and moonlight until she was opposite a giant magnolia. Where the shadow of i^ touched the light on the grass, she had last seen Grey's white face and scarlet breast. With a shudder she turned back. The night whitened. A catbird started the morning chorus. The dawn came and with it Ephraim. The girl waited where she was. Ephraim took off his battered hat. "Marse Erskine done gone. Miss Barbary," he said brokenly. "He done gone two days." The girl said nothing, and there the old general found her still motionless — ^the torn bits of her own note and the torn bits of Er- skine's scrawling deed scattered about her feet. XXVII On the summit of Cumberland Gap Er- skine Dale faced Firefly to the east and looked his. last on the forests that swept unbroken back to the river James. It was all over for him back there and he turned to the wilder depths, those endless leagues of shadowy woodlands, that he would never leave again. Before him was one vast forest. The trees ran from mountain-crest to river-bed, they filled valley and rolling plain, and swept on in sombre and melancholy wastes to the Mississippi. Around him were bifches, pines, hemlocks, and balsam firs. . He dropped down into solemn, mysterious depths filled with oaks, chestnuts, hickories, maples, beeches, walnuts, and gigantic poplars. The sun could not penetrate the leafy-roofed archway of that desolate world. The tops of the mighty trees merged overhead in a mass of tent-like foliage and the spaces between the trunks were choked with underbrush. And he rode on and on through the gray aisles of the forest 250 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 251 in a dim light that was like twilight at high noon. At Boonesboiough he learned from the old ferryman that, while the war might be com- ing to an end in Virginia, it was raging worse than ever in Kentucky. There had been bloody Indian forays, bloody white reprisals, fierce private wars, and even then the whole border was in a flame. Forts had been pushed westward even beyond Lexington, and 1782 had been Kentucky's year of blood. Erskine pushed on, and ever grew his hopelessness. The British had drawn all the savages of the Northwest into the war. As soon as the snow was oflF the ground the forays had be- gun. Horses were stolen, cabins burned, and women and children were carried off captive. The pioneers had been confined to their stock- aded forts, and only small bands of riflemen sallied out to patrol the country. Old Jerome Sanders's fort was deserted. Old Jerome had been killed. Twenty-three widows were at Harrodsbuig filing the claims of dead hus- bands, and among them were Polly Conrad and Honor Sanders. The people were ex- pecting an attack in great force from the 252 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER Indians led by the British. At the Blue Licks there had been a successful ambush by the Indians and the whites had lost half their number, among them many brave men and natural leaders of the settlements. Captain Clark was at the mouth of Licking River and about to set out on an expedition and needed men. Erskine, sure of a welcome, joined him and again rode forth with Clark through the northern wilderness, and this time a thousand mounted riflemen followed them. Clark had been stirred at last from his lethargy by the tragedy of the Blue Licks and this expedition was one of reprisal and revenge; and it was to be the last. The time was autumn and the corn was ripe. The triumphant savages rested in their villages unsuspecting and un- afraid, and Clark fell upon them like a whirl- wind. Taken by surprise, and startled and dismayed by such evidence of the quick re- birth of power in the beaten whites, the In- dians of every village fled at their approach, and Clark put the torch not only to cabin and wigwam but to the fields of standing corn. As winter was coming on, this would ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 253 be a sad blow, as Clark intended, to the savages. Erskine had told the big chief of his mother, and every man knew the story and was on guard that she should come to no harm. A captured Shawnee told them that the Shaw- nees had got word that the whites were com- ing, and their women and old men had fled or were fleeing, all, except in a village he had just left — ^he paused and pointed toward the east where a few wisps of smoke were rising. Erskine turned: "Do you know Kahtoo ?" "He is in that village." Erskine hesitated: "And the white woman —Gray Dove?" "She, too, is there." "And Early Morn ?" "Yes," grunted the savage. "What does he say.''" asked Clark. "There is a white woman and her daugh- ter in a village, there," said Erskine, pointing in the direction of the smoke. Clark's voice was announcing the fact to hh men. Hastily he selected twenty. "See that no harm comes to them," he cried, and dashed forward. Erskine in advance saw 2S4 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER Black Wolf and a few bucks covering the re- treat of some fleeing women. They made a feeble resistance of a volley and they too turned to flee. A white woman emerged from a tent and with great dignity stood, peering with dim eyes. To Clark's amaze- ment Erskine rushed forward and took her in his arms. A moment later Erskine cried: "My sister, where is she ?" The white woman's trembling lips opened, but before she could answer, a harsh, angry voice broke in haughtily, and Erskine turned to see Black Wolf stalking in, a' prisoner be- tween two stalwart woodsmen. "Early Morn is Black Wolf's squaw. She is gone — " He waved one hand toward the forest. The insolence of the savage angered Clark, and not understanding what he said, he asked angrily: "Who is this fellow?" "He is the husband of my half-sister," an- swered Erskine gravely. Clark looked dazed and uncomprehending: "And that woman ?" *'My mother," said Erskine gently. ERSEINE DALE— PIONEER 255 "Good God !" breathed Clark. He turned quickly and waved the open-mouthed woods- men away, and Erskine and his mother were left alone. A feeble voice called from a tent near by. "Old Kahtoo!" said Erskine's mother. "He is dying and he talks of nothing but you — go to him!" And Erskine went. The old man lay trembling with palsy on a buffalo- robe, but the incredible spirit in his wasted body was still burning in his eyes. "My son," said he, "I knew your voice. I said I should not die until I had seen you again. It is well ... it is well," he repeated, and wearily his eyes closed. And thus Er- skine knew it would be. XXVIII That winter Erskine made his clearing on the land that Dave Yandell had picked out for him, and in the centre of it threw up a rude log hut in which to house his mother, for his remembrance of; her made him believe that she would prefer to live alone. He, told his plans to nonfe. In the early spring, when he brought his motKer home, she said that Black Wolf had escaped and gone farther into the wilderness — ^that Early Morn had gone with him. His mother seemed ill and unhappy, Ers^kine, not knowing that Barbara was on her way to find him, started on a hunting-trip. In a few days Barbara arrived and found his mother unable to leave her bed, and Lydia Noe sit- ting beside her. Harry had just been there to say good-by before going to Virginia. Barbara was dismayed by Erskine's ab- sence and his mother's look of suffering and extreme weakness, and the touch of her cold fingers. There was no way, of reaching her 256 To his bewilderment he found Barbara at his mother's bedside ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER 257 son, she said — he did not know of her illness. Barbara told her of Erskine's giving her his inheritance, and that she had come to re- turn it. Meanwhile Erskine, haunted by his mother's sad face, had turned homeward. To his bewilderment, he found Barbara at his mother's bedside. A glance at their faces told him that death was near. His mother held out her hand to him while still holding Barbara's. As in a dream, he bent over to kiss her, and with a last effort she joined their hands, clasping both. A great peace trans- formed her face as she slowly looked at Bar- bara and then up at Erskine. With a sigh her head sank lower, and her lovely dimming eyes passed into the final dark. Two days later they were married. The woodsmen, old friends of Erskine's, were awed, by Barbara's daintiness, and there were none of the rude jests they usually flung back and forth. With hearty handshakes they said good-by and disappeared into the mighty forest. In the silence that fell, Erskine spoke of the life before them, of its hardships and dangers, and then of the safety and comfort of Virginia. Barbara smiled : 258 ERSKINE DALE— PIONEER "You choose the wilderness, and your choice is mine. We will leave the same choice . . ." She flushed suddenly and bent her head. "To those who come after us," finished Erskine. The End.