A Virginia Scout. Hugh Pendexter
href="#ulink_60764f3b-26c7-5e6b-b481-6674677d04a3">Table of Contents
INDIAN-HATERS
I journeyed up the Cheat and left its head waters and proceeded down the Greenbriar without observing any signs of the red peril which was creeping upon the country. A great gray eagle, poised at the apex of my upturned gaze, appeared to be absolutely stationary; a little brown flycatcher, darting across my path, made much commotion. Red-crested woodpeckers hammered industriously in dead wood for rations. So long as their tappings resounded ahead of me I feared no ambush.
Wherever nut-trees stood the squirrels made more noise than did the House of Burgesses when dissolved by Governor Dunmore for expressing revolutionary sentiments. A most gracious country, and because of its fairness, most fearfully beset. That which is worthless needs no sentinels. I met with no humans, white or red; but when within a few miles of Patrick Davis’ home on Howard Creek I came upon a spot where three Indians had eaten their breakfast that very morning.
I knew they must be friendly to the whites as they had not attempted to hide their temporary camp. They had departed in the direction of the creek, which also was my destination. I planned resting there over night and then crossing the main ridge of the Alleghanies during the next day, stopping the night with the Greenwood family on Dunlap’s Creek.
Thence it would be an easy ride to Salem where I would find Colonel Andrew Lewis, commander of the county militia. I hoped he would provide a messenger for forwarding my despatches to Governor Dunmore in Williamsburg. I had no desire to visit the seat of government, nor was my disinclination due to the bustle and confusion of its more than a thousand inhabitants.
A mile from where the Indians had camped I came upon two white men. They were at one side of the trace and curiously busy among some rocks at the top of a fifty-foot cliff. They were hauling a rope from a deep crack or crevice in the rocks and were making hard work of it.
We discovered each other at the same moment, and they called on me to lend them a hand. Leaving my horse in the trace, I hastened over the rough ground to learn what they wanted. As I drew nearer I recognized them as Jacob Scott and William Hacker, confirmed “Injun-haters.”
“How d’ye do, Morris,” greeted Hacker. “Catch hold here and help haul him up.”
“Who is it?” I asked, seizing the rope which was composed of leather belts and spancel-ropes.
“Lige Runner,” grunted Hacker, digging in his heels and pulling in the rope hand over hand. Runner, as I have said, was another implacable foe of all red men.
“All together!” panted Scott.
My contribution of muscle soon brought Runner’s head into view. We held the rope taut while he dragged himself on to the ledge.
“Did you git it?” eagerly demanded Hacker.
The triumphant grin was surety for his success down the crevice. He rose and tapped a fresh scalp dangling at his belt.
“I got it,” he grimly replied. “Had to follow him most to the bottom where his carcass was wedged between the rocks. Morning, Morris. Traveling far? Seen any Injun-signs on the way?”
I shook my head, preferring they should not learn about the three Indians making for Howard’s Creek.
“What does all this mean, Runner? Do scalps grow at the bottom of holes?”
“This one seemed to,” he answered with a deep chuckle. “Didn’t git a fair crack at him, as he was running mighty cute. Rifle held fire the nick of a second too long. I knew he was mortal hit, but he managed to reach this hole. Then the skunk jumped in a-purpose to make us all this bother to git his scalp.”
“Who was he?”
“Don’t know. He was a good hundred and fifty yards away and going like a streak when I plugged him. It’s too dark down in the hole to see anything.”
“For all you know he was a friendly.”
“We never see no friendlies,” Hacker grimly reminded.
“ ’Cept when they’re dead,” ironically added Scott. “Our eyesight’s terribly poor when they’re alive.”
“I call it dirty business. I wouldn’t have hauled on the rope if I had known.”
Runner lowered at me and growled:
“You’re too finicky. A’ Injun is a’ Injun. Sooner they’re all dead, the better. I kill ’em quicker’n I would a rattlesnake. A rattler gives notice when he’s going to strike.”
“If you’ve killed a friendly this work will cause much suffering among the outlying cabins.”
“Bah! If we took good corn cakes and honey to the red devils they’d kill us every chance they got. We ain’t forgitting what happened at Keeney’s Knob, at the Clendennin farm on the Greenbriar; nor the scores of killings up in Tygart’s Valley, and in other places. Give ’em the pewter every chance you can! That’s my religion.”
“That’s the talk, Lige!” cried Scott. “Ike Crabtree would ’a’ liked to been in this fun.”
“He’ll feel cut up when he hears about our luck,” said Hacker.
“Crabtree’s feelings do him credit,” added Runner. “But his natural hankering to raise hair is stronger’n his courage when he thinks there’s more’n one Injun to dicker with. Young Shelby Cousin would be the best one for this business if it wa’n’t for his fool notions about killing near a settlement.”
“Cousin says you killed old Bald Eagle. I saw the Delaware floating down the Cheat in his canoe.”
Runner laughed in huge delight, and cried:
“The world’s mighty small after all. Ain’t it the truth! So you seen him? Did he have the chunk of johnny-cake in his meat-trap?”
“He was friendly to the whites and harmless. It was a poor piece of work.”
“The reason why we didn’t sculp him was that it would ’a’ spoiled the joke,” defended Hacker. “With his hair on and the johnny-cake in his mouth, folks would think he was still alive till they got real close.”
“The three of us done that,” informed Scott, as though jealous of Runner’s receiving all the credit.
“Morris means it was a poor job because the chief was said to be friendly to white folks,” explained Runner, scowling at me.
“Morris, you’d better go up to David’s and tell Ike Crabtree that,” jeered Hacker.
“Crabtree is there, is he?” I said, deeply concerned for the safety of the three Indians.
“He started for there. He’ll feel mighty well cut up when he hears about us and this Injun in the hole,” gravely declared Scott.
“How many cabins on Howard’s Creek now?” I asked; for a cabin could be put up in a few hours and the population at any point might greatly increase in the space of twenty-four hours. I had no desire to quarrel with the three men, and I realized that there was nothing I could say which would change their natures, or make them act in a human manner toward friendly Indians.
Runner was inclined to harbor resentment and refused to answer me. Hacker, however, readily informed me:
“There was five when I come through there last. With outlying settlers pouring in, there may be a dozen by this time. All I know is that the call’s gone out for fifteen or twenty miles, asking every one to come in to the big log-rolling.
“Davis and t’others swear they won’t come off the creek till they’ve