The Trail of the Seneca

by James A. Braden

And so thinking, encouraged by the absence of any alarming sound, Kingdom breathed easier, and was glad John had gone along the river instead of trying to cross the stream just at the cabin’s rear and so gain the cover of the trees more quickly, as he had originally proposed, and would have done but for the possibility that even on the opposite bank of the stream there were watchers in hiding.

But safe and certain as John’s escape seemed to Ree, the truth was that during these past few minutes that young man had been in decidedly greater danger of losing his scalp than he cared ever to be again.

Creeping on hands and knees close to the wall whose dark background would help conceal his movements, John had made his way out of the barn and around to the rear of the cabin. Almost flat on his stomach, he drew himself slowly along the bluff and so descended to the valley where the river bank was not nearly so steep and comparatively low, rising only a few feet above the level of the water. Crawling cautiously along the narrow strip of slippery beach between the river’s edge and the bank, he progressed steadily toward the woods. Often he paused to listen, and even when he moved on again he strained his ears and tried his utmost to see; but so deep was the darkness that, except for the denser black wall in the distance, which he felt rather than saw was the woods, he was certain that his situation, so far as seeing went, would be the same with his eyes shut as with them wide open.

In one of his pauses to hearken closer than he could do when moving, John thought he heard a low, hoarse “Ugh!”—an inarticulate sound, but one which seemed to express impatience, weariness, and “What’s the use?” combined. He fancied he could see the shrug of the Indian’s shoulders who, he was sure, was responsible for the guttural noise. For a long time the boy did not move. The rain came dripping down almost noiselessly. The wind whispered ever so softly in the lower parts of the valley and seemed to make no sound whatever save in the woods. To John it seemed that he waited an hour, though in fact it was but a few minutes. Over his shoulder he could see the ray of light from the cabin’s open door. How far away it looked! Still that was fortunate. He would not have had it nearer for a great deal. Now he would try again. Softly—softly he raised one hand from the ground; softly, softly he raised a foot.

“Ugh!” Again it came; scarcely audible was the sound but the fierce howl of a wolf directly in his ears would not have startled, and frightened more the young white man crouching by the water.

The danger seemed nearer now—not more than three yards from him, John was certain—perhaps only two. He felt that he could put out his hand and touch the place from which it came. Again he was quiet, so quiet that he breathed in noiseless little gasps, a thing so trying on his throat and lungs that he would have felt as comfortable had he tried not to breathe at all.

But soon came another sound. Instantly John recognized it—the stealthy dipping of the paddle and low murmur of water against the nose of a canoe. Where was the canoe headed? That was the question. Toward him? Either that or up stream. The murmur of the current indicated that the craft ran not with it but against it. Now he heard the canoe touch the half submerged grass close in to shore. It was just abreast of him and within two arms’ length. Now it grated ever so lightly upon the grass which, before the fall rains, had been quite up out of the water.

Again light as a feather came the dip of the paddle, again the soft murmur of the water barely heard above the quiet, even patter of the rain. At the same moment John felt himself slipping. Slowly the wet ground was giving way beneath him. He must move. It was a case of two dangers, either stand still and slide violently into the river, or move on a step and—

He must run the risk. Faster and faster he was sliding down. He must step quickly, and step quickly he did. He made no noise himself, he thought, but some pebble or bit of earth, loosened by his movement, rolled down and dropped with a splash into the water. Again came the muttered “Ugh!” something lower than before, and oh! Heaven be praised! no longer abreast but some yards from him.

Again came the low dipping of the paddle. They were patrolling the river for him, John knew now; but they would not find him. They might paddle silently up and down the whole night long, if they wished. In fact he rather hoped they would, and chuckled inwardly at the thought.