The skeleton scout; or, The border block

by Albert W. Aiken

But, in spite of this feeling adjuration, the Wyandot persisted in keeping out of sight. To tell the truth, he was not yet certain whether his brain was quite clear of liquor, and was inwardly cursing Obisenay up hill and down dale for putting temptation in his way. He had met with a party of his own men, who were coming down the river to join the Prophet, and had enlisted them in the service, so that at least sixty men were ranged in the woods in front of the ancient fort. But, they were mostly young men, and though good hunters, the majority of them had never been engaged in a battle except with men of their own race. The loss of one of their number and the severe wounding of two others, had given them a wholesome awe of the deadly rifles of the hunted men. Willimack was beside himself with rage, and moreover was in deadly fear of the Skeleton Scout. He had not dared to tell the new-comers that this fearful creature had assailed them, and that it was by his hand that the unfortunate bottle-holder, Obisenay, had met his death, for he feared they would scatter in every direction and leave him to do the fighting alone. None of his original party remained, for they were doubtless running yet, satisfied that the Skeleton Scout was at their heels. Willimack knew his men, and determined to try an assault, and passed the word to that effect.

Hardly had he done so when there came bounding over the rocks toward the fort a score or more of painted figures, howling like demons, and brandishing their weapons in air.

"Crouch down, Madge," cried Floyd; "you may get hurt."

"Am I better than the rest?" replied Madge. "Give me a knife. I will not fall alive into the hands of Willimack if I can help it."

There was no time to hesitate. With a look of unutterable affection the young man gave her a small stiletto which he carried inside his coat, and whirling suddenly, shot a savage completely through the head who was coming too near—"throw'd him cold," as the Yankee said. Two more went down before the weapons of the scout and Dead Chief, and the rest swarmed on for vengeance. Will Floyd said nothing, but, grasping his rifle by the barrel, he poised it for defense. The Indians must advance upon them through a narrow space where more than three could not pass abreast, and were hemmed in by perpendicular walls of rock thirty feet high.

"Give 'em the pistols, Will," cried the Yankee, "and then charge 'em."

Both men drew their pistols, and fired into the coming savages. The Dead Chief had no pistol, but he stood with his lips apart as if after a race, his body thrown into a statuesque attitude, with his left foot advanced, and body slightly inclined toward the coming foe, ready for a spring. They could trust him to fight bravely. The discharge of the pistols at such close quarters into the compact body of savages, could not fail to make bad work, and groans and cries succeeded. Then, uttering wild yells which none but forest-men could imitate, the three brave men leaped over the stockade and rushed at the leading savages.

"Give 'em goss!" cried the Yankee.

They stood in the narrow way, Seth and the Indian, with hatchet and knife, and the young soldier with his clubbed rifle. The foremost Indians, unused to such enemies, would have fallen back if possible, but their companions in the rear pushed them forward, only to fall by the deadly weapons of their determined foes. Willimack, who had heard the polite request on the part of the Yankee that he would "come out and be a man," had prudently kept in the rear, and now found that his men were meeting a strenuous resistance, and indeed that they made no advance, while the groans and cries from the front, the clash of weapons, and the triumphant cries of the defenders, told that they had the best of it. Indeed, it could hardly be otherwise, for the Indians were so wedged into the narrow space that they could scarcely move their hands, while the others stood where they could fight freely. Seeing that he was gaining nothing by this mode of fighting, the Wyandot called off his men, only to find them sadly decimated by their encounter with the trio.