Scouting Dave. Bowen James
Scouting Dave The Trail Hunter
CHAPTER I.
DAVID BARRING
The scene opens in the Far West. In the forest the evening’s gloom already was settling, though here and there, through some narrow vista, a rich ray of sunlight poured its golden flood far into the shadowy depths. The place was lonely and drear, yet wild and grand. Approaching civilization had driven out the red-man, while his place had not, as yet, been filled by the spreading white. Deep silence reigned, disturbed only by the myriad sounds of animal and insect life, called forth by the rare beauties of the evening. The sights and sounds of civilization were not there; and yet, we should, perhaps, make a single exception.
Stealing cautiously along, with a tread as light as that of a shade, was one of that famed and daring class, met nowhere save on the advance of American settlements – the border scouts, who, born to danger and inured to hardship, become, as a race, the very embodiment of bravery, endurance, strategy and recklessness. These are the ruling characteristics of the class, though as varied in individuals as are the personalities of “citizens of the world.”
The person to whom we have referred was a worthy specimen of his class. Tall, erect and graceful in every motion, with eyes and ears from which not the slightest sign or sound could escape, David Barring, or “Davy the Scout,” as he was often called, was fitted, both by nature and education, for the rough life which he was called upon to lead. Though taller than the average of men, his compact frame and symmetrical proportions served, in a great measure, to disguise his real height.
His dress was in keeping with his life and habits. Bearskin cap, deerskin leggins, and Indian moccasins, in addition to the ordinary hunting suit, tended to enhance the wild character of his person.
There was little necessity for the extreme caution which David still continued to exercise. It sprung more from habit and long practice than from any present danger. That the scout was deeply agitated, might readily be gathered from the manner in which he mused, half aloud, as he proceeded:
“Four years, since I’ve travelled through this place. But it’s bad news I bring ’em this time, so it is. Wouldn’t blame ’em if they didn’t believe me, not a bit; but ’twould be bad times for ’em if they shouldn’t. Them as knows Davy Barring won’t doubt his word in Injin matters, not by a long shot. Wonder, though, how the settlers will like the idee o’ runnin’ away from these four tribes of heathens, with old Black Hawk and all his crew yellin’ round their ears? Blame me if I don’t wish there were a hundred or two men jis’ like myself, to rally here and give ’em a warmin’! Wouldn’t there be a skittish time, though? But there isn’t; so we may as well take things as they come. Maybe, arter all, the reds will strike another way, and give these folks a chance to take the back track. But it does come hard to give up all a man’s done for six or ten years, and leave it to such ornery villains. It’s a consolation there isn’t as many o’ the redskins as there would have been if Davy Barring hadn’t been born; and it’s sure there’ll be less yet, if nothin’ happens to Mister Davy, and his old rifle don’t miss fire.”
The scout spoke with an air which showed his sincerity and determination. Indeed, the mission upon which he was engaged was one of no ordinary moment. Scouting upon the western shore of the Mississippi, then unsettled by white men, he had learned the intent of the savages, who, under Black Hawk, their renowned chief, had determined to repossess themselves on the soil from which they had been driven. Justly concerned for the fate of his friends, David at once had set out to warn them.
“I wonder how the Hinton family will receive this news?” he mused, as he stole along. “It may be they have moved away, though I presume not. However, it’s not more’n five miles further to their cabin, and then I can satisfy myself. Pretty Emily Hinton! A sweeter girl than she never crossed the path of a mortal man. If I ever hoped to wed, there’s no other woman I ever saw that would take my fancy like her. But that can’t be. I never could give up this kind o’ life, and it’s no life for a woman to share. I always hoped that Charles Markley and Emily would come together. But that is none of my business.”
The scout paused and looked around. The sun had been for some time below the horizon, and darkness had spread itself over the forest depths. David had travelled a long way. He was hungry and weary. For some moments he stood irresolute.
“It will be three hours before the moon rises,” he said, at length, “and I can do no better than to wait for it. Perhaps I could find the cabin in the dark; but more likely I’d miss it, seein’ I haven’t been over the ground in so long. Leastwise, I’ll reach it sooner to wait till the old maid overhead gets up a little, and I shall have to use all my strength in time to come. So I’ll couch here, and may be get an hour or two of sleep.”
The scout felt no sense of danger, believing that his foes had not yet left the Mississippi’s banks. Wearied by the severe exertions of the past few days, he was soon unconscious in profound sleep.
How long he had slept, David could not have determined. He was suddenly awakened by that ever-present instinct which warns the trained forester of danger.
It was not the moon which had lifted the weight from his eyelids. Something of life and motion had been the means of arousing him. Instead of starting quickly up, he remained perfectly silent. The moon was not yet sufficiently above the horizon to lighten the forest to any considerable degree. Still, the acute vision of the scout at once enabled him to define his disturber.
Bending over him, and peering intently down upon the spot where he lay, was the dusky form and burning eyes of a savage! David could see more than this. Grasped in the right hand of the Indian, ready for instant use, was a heavy tomahawk, clearly defined against the pale sky above him.
The savage form bending above him, and the careless tramp of many feet around him, revealed but too plainly to the startled scout that the invaders were upon him – even between himself and the friends he would have warned.
The warrior, in carelessly passing the sleeping scout, had struck his foot against the prostrate form, and, being sensible that something unusual was in his path, grasped his weapon, and peered cautiously down upon the object beneath him. Observing the slight start of Barring, the unsuspicious Indian bent still closer, bringing his head within a foot of the scout’s face. That was the moment for action.
With a motion like lightning, and a grasp like steel, the scout clutched the savage by the throat, and, before the astonished barbarian could collect himself, he was thrown violently to the earth. The quickness of the motion hurled the tomahawk many yards away, while the supple white threw himself full upon his gasping victim. Exerting all his fearful strength, David compressed his grasp, until it seemed the very fingers would meet through the neck of the writhing savage.
The utmost efforts of the strangling Indian proved insufficient to warn his fellows, and thus summon assistance. Finding it impossible to effect this, he adopted another method. Ceasing to struggle, he lay gasping and immovable. But the wary scout was not thrown from his guard. Tightening his hold with the left hand, he cautiously moved his right to where the haft of his knife protruded from his belt. In another moment the blade had done its work. There was one convulsive effort of the tawny frame, then a deep, long shudder, and the scout rose from the still form of his dead adversary.
A moment’s close observation gave Barring a clear perception of his surroundings. Fortunately, he was not in the direct path of the savage horde, who were sweeping past him to the northward and eastward. He perceived that it was a large party – perhaps, indeed, the main body of the warriors.
The savages were marching in the direct line toward the cabin of the Hinton family; hence it was a matter of doubt if the scout could reach the place before it was too late. But he was not the man to hesitate, and he set forth at once.
The distance to the cabin was nearly passed, yet the anxious man had not succeeded in outstripping his foes. The cautious and circuitous route he had of necessity pursued, and neutralized his superior speed and skill. Suddenly the horde paused, and, dividing into separate parties, moved rapidly to the right and left. Too well the scout knew the meaning of this movement, and the clenched hand and compressed lips showed the stern thoughts which moved him.
“I’ve been a fool!” was his earnest mental ejaculation, as he worked himself free from the presence