Chapter I. The Call

The Free Rangers

by Joseph A. Altsheler

The wilderness rolled away to north and to south, and also it
rolled away to east and to west, an unbroken sweep of dark, glossy
green. Straight up stood the mighty trunks, but the leaves rippled
and sang low when a gentle south wind breathed upon them. It was the
forest as God made it, the magnificent valley of North America, upon
whose edges the white man had just begun to nibble.

A young man, stepping lightly, came into a little glade. He was
white, but he brought with him no alien air. He was in full harmony
with the primeval Woods, a part of them, one in whose ears the soft
song of the leaves was a familiar and loved tune. He was lean, but
tall, and he walked with a wonderful swinging gait that betokened a
frame wrought to the strength of steel by exercise, and, weather, and
life always in the open. Though his face was browned by sun and
storm his hair was yellow and his eyes blue. He was dressed wholly
in deerskin and he carried over his shoulder the long slender rifle
of the border. At his belt swung hatchet and knife.

There was a touch to the young man that separated him from the
ordinary woods rover. He held himself erect with a certain pride of
manner. The stock of his rifle, an unusually fine piece, was carved
in an ornate and beautiful way. The deerskin of his attire had been
tanned with uncommon care, and his moccasins were sewn thickly with
little beads of yellow and blue and red and green. Every piece of
clothing was scrupulously clean, and his arms were polished and
bright.

The shiftless one-who so little deserved his name-paused a
moment in the glade and, dropping the stock of his rifle to the
ground, leaned upon the muzzle. He listened, although he expected to
hear nothing save the song of the leaves, and that alone he heard. A
faint smile passed over the face of Shif'less Sol. He was satisfied.
All was happening as he had planned. Then he swung the rifle back
to his shoulder, and walked to the crest of a hill near by.

The summit was bare and the shiftless one saw far. It was a
splendid rolling country, covered with forests of oak and elm, beech,
hickory and maple. Here and there faint threads of silver showed
where rivers or brooks flowed, and he drew a long deep breath. The
measure of line and verse he knew not, but deep in his being Nature
had kindled the true fire of poetry, and now his pleasure was so keen
and sharp that a throb of emotion stirred in his throat. It was a
grand country and, if reserved for any one, it must be reserved for
his race and his people. Shif'less Sol was resolved upon that
purpose and to it he was ready to devote body and life.

Yet the wilderness seemed to tell only of peace. The low song
of the leaves was soothing and all innocence. The shiftless one was
far beyond the farthest outpost of his kind, beyond the broad yellow
current of the Mississippi, deep in the heart of the primeval forest.
He might travel full three hundred miles to the eastward and find no
white cabin, while to westward his own kind were almost a world away.
On all sides stretched the vast maze of forest and river, through
which roamed only wild animals and wilder man.

Shif'less Sol, from his post on the hill, examined the whole
circle of the forest long and carefully. He seemed intent upon some
unusual object. It was shown in the concentration of his look and
the thoughtful pucker of his forehead. It was not game, because in a
glade to windward at the foot of the hill, five buffaloes grazed
undisturbed and now and then uttered short, panting grunts to show
their satisfaction. Presently a splendid stag, walking through the
woods as if he were sole proprietor, scented the strange human odor,
and threw up his head in alarm. But the figure on the hill, the like
of which the deer had never seen before, did not stir or take notice,
and His Lordship the Stag raised his head higher to see. The figure
still did not stir, and, his alarm dying, the stag walked
disdainfully away among the trees.

Birds, the scarlet tanager, the blue bird, the cat bird, the jay
and others of their kin settled on the trees near the young man with
the yellow hair, and gazed at him with curiosity and without fear. A
rabbit peeped up now and then, but beyond the new presence the
wilderness was undisturbed, and it became obvious to the animal tribe
that the stranger meant no harm. Nor did the shiftless one himself
discern any alien note. The sky, a solid curve of blue, bore nowhere
a trace of smoke. It was undarkened and unstained, the same lonely
brightness that had dawned every morning for untold thousands of
years.

Shif'less Sol showed no disappointment. Again all seemed to be
happening as he wished. Presently he left the hill and, face toward
the south, began to walk swiftly and silently down the rows of trees.
There was but little undergrowth, nothing to check his speed, and he
strode on and on. After a while he came to a brook running through
low soft soil and then he did a strange thing, the very act that a
white man travelling through the dangerous forest would have avoided.
He planted one foot in the yielding soil near the water's edge, and
then stepping across, planted the other in exactly the same way on
the far side.

When another yard brought him to hard ground he stopped and
looked back with satisfaction. On either side of the brook remained
the firm deep impression of a human foot, of a white foot, the toes
being turned outward. No wilderness rover could mistake it, and yet
it was hundreds of miles to the nearest settlement of Shif'less Sol's
kind.

He took another look at the footsteps, smiled again and resumed
his journey. The character of the country did not change. Still the
low rolling hills, still the splendid forests of oak and elm, beech,
maple and hickory, and of all their noble kin, still the little
brooks of clear water, still the deer and the buffalo, grazing in the
glades, and taking but little notice of the strange human figure as
it passed. Presently, the shiftless one stopped again and he did
another thing, yet stranger than the pressing-in of the foot-prints
beside the little stream. He drew the hatchet from his belt and cut
a chip out of the bark of a hickory. A hundred yards further on he
did the same thing, and, at three hundred yards or so, he cut the
chip for the third time. He looked well at the marks, saw that they
were clear, distinct and unmistakable, and then the peculiar little
smile of satisfaction would pass again over his face.

But these stops were only momentary. Save for them he never
ceased his rapid course, and always it led straight toward the south.
When the sun was squarely overhead, pouring down a flood of golden
beams, he paused in the shade of a mighty oak, and took food from his
belt. He might have eaten there in silence and obscurity, but once
more the shiftless one showed a singular lack of caution and
woodcraft. He drew together dry sticks, ignited a fire with flint
and steel, and cooked deer meat over it. He let the fire burn high,
and a thin column of dark smoke rose - far up into the blue. Any
savage, roaming the wilderness, might see it, but the shiftless one
was reckless. He let the fire burn on, after his food was cooked,
while the column of smoke grew thicker and mounted higher, and ate
the savory steaks, lying comfortably between two upthrust roots. Now
and then he uttered a little sigh of satisfaction, because he had
travelled far and hard, and he was hungry. Food meant new
strength.

But he was not as reckless as he seemed. Nothing that passed in
the forest within the range of eyesight escaped his notice. He heard
the leaf, when it fell close by, and the light tread of a deer
passing. He remained a full hour between the roots, a long time for
one who might have a purpose, and, after he rose, he did not scatter
the fire and trample upon the brands after the wilderness custom when
one was ready to depart. The flames had died down, but he let the
coals smoulder on, and, hundreds of yards away, he could still see
their smoke. Now, he sought the softest parts of the earth and trod
there deliberately, leaving many footprints. Again he cut little
chips from the trees as he passed, but never ceased his swift and
silent journey to the south. The hours fled by, and a dark shade
appeared in the east. It deepened into dusk, and spread steadily
toward the zenith. The sun, a golden ball, sank behind a hill in the
west, and then the shiftless one stopped.

He ascended a low hill again, and took a long scrutinizing look
around the whole horizon. But his gaze was not apprehensive. On the
contrary, it was expectant, and his face seemed to show a slight
disappointment when the wilderness merely presented its wonted
aspect. Then he built another fire, not choosing a secluded glade,
but the top of the hill, the most exposed spot that he could find,
and, after he had eaten his supper, he sat beside it, the expectant
air still on his face.

Nothing came. But the shiftless one sat long. He raked up dead
leaves of last year's winter and made a pillow, against which he
reclined luxuriously. Shif'less Sol was one who drew mental and
physical comfort from every favoring circumstance, and the leaves
felt very soft to his head and shoulders. He was not in the least
lonesome, although the night had fully come, and heavy darkness lay
like a black robe over the forest. He stretched out his moccasined
toes to the fire, closed his eyes for a moment or two, and a dreamy
look of satisfaction rested on his face. It seemed to the shiftless
one that he lay in the very lap of luxury, in the very best of
worlds.

But when he opened his eyes again he continued to watch the
forest, or rather he watched with his ears now, as he lay close to
the earth, and his hearing, at all times, was so acute that it seemed
to border on instinct or divination. But no sound save the usual
ones of the forest and the night came to him, and he remained quite
still, thinking.

Shif'less Sol Hyde was in an exalted mood, and the flickering
firelight showed a face refined and ennobled by a great purpose.
Leading a life that made him think little of hardship and danger he
thought nothing at all of them now, but he felt instead a great
buoyancy, and a hope equally great.

He lay awake a full three hours after the dark had come, and he
rose only twice from his reclining position, each time merely to
replenish the fire which remained a red core in the circling
blackness. Always he was listening and always he heard nothing but
the usual sounds of the forest and the night. The darkness grew
denser and heavier, but after a while it began to thin and lighten.
The sky became clear, and the great stars swam in the dusky blue.
Then Shif'less Sol fell asleep, head on the leaves, feet to the fire,
and slept soundly all through the night.

He was up at dawn, cooked his breakfast, and then, after another
long and searching examination of the surrounding forest, departed,
leaving the coals of the fire to smoulder, and tell as they might
that some one had passed. Shif'less Sol throughout that morning
repeated the tactics of the preceding day, leaving footprints that
would last, and cutting pieces of bark from the trees with his sharp
hatchet. At the noon hour he stopped, according to custom, and, just
when he had lighted his fire, he uttered a low cry of pleasure.

The shiftless one was gazing back upon his own trail, and the
singular look of exaltation upon his face deepened. He rose to his
feet and stood, very erect, in the attitude of one who welcomes. No
undergrowth was here, and he could see far down the aisles of
trunks.

A figure, so distant that only a keen eye would notice it, was
approaching. It came on swiftly and silently, much after the manner
of the shiftless one himself, elastic, and instinct with strength.

The figure was that of a boy in years, but of a man in size,
surpassing Shif'less Sol himself in height, yellow haired, blue-eyed,
and dressed, too, in the neatest of forest garb. His whole
appearance was uncommon, likely anywhere to attract attention and
admiration. The shiftless one drew a long breath of mingled welcome
and approval.

"I knew that he would be first," he murmured.

Then he sat down and began to broil a juicy deer steak on the
end of a sharpened stick.

Henry Ware came into the little glade. He had seen the fire
afar and he knew who waited. All was plain to him like the print of
a book, and, without a word, he dropped down on the other side of the
fire facing Shif'less Sol. The two nodded, but their eyes spoke far
more. Sol held out the steak, now crisp and brown and full of savor,
and Henry began to eat. Sol quickly broiled another for himself, and
joined him in the pleasant task, over which they were silent for a
little while.

"I was on the Ohio," said Henry at last, "when the trapper
brought me your message, but I started at once."

"O' course," said Shif'less Sol, "I never doubted it for a
minute. I reckon that you've come about seven hundred miles."

"Nearer eight," said Henry, "but I'm fresh and strong, and we
need all our strength, Sol, because it's a great task that lies
before us."

"It shorely is," said Sol, "an' that's why I sent the message.
I don't want to brag, Henry, but we've done a big thing or two
before, an' maybe we kin do a bigger now."

He spoke the dialect of the border, he was not a man of books,
but that great look of exaltation came into his face again, and the
boy on the other side of the fire shared it.

"It seems to me, Sol," said Henry presently, that we've been
selected for work of a certain kind. We finish one job, and then
another on the same line begins."

"Mebbe it's because we like to do it, an' are fit fur it," said
Sol philosophically. "I've noticed that a river genially runs in a
bed that suits it. I don't know whether the bed is thar because the
river is, or the river is thar 'cause the bed is, but it's shore that
they're both thar together, an' you can't git around that."

"There's something in what you say," said Henry.

Then they relapsed into silence, and, in a half hour, as if by
mutual consent, they rose, left the fire burning, and departed, still
walking steadily toward the south.

The country grew rougher. The hills were higher and closer
together, and the undergrowth became thick. Neither took any
precautions as they passed among the slender bushes, frequently
trampling them down and leaving signs that the blindest could not
fail to see. Now and then the two looked back I but they beheld only
the forest and the forest people.

"I don't think I ever saw the game so tame before," said Henry.
"Which means," said Sol, "that the warriors ain't hunted here fur a
long time. I ain't seen a single sign o' them."

"Nor I."

They fell silent and scarcely spoke until the sun was setting
again, when they stopped for the night, choosing a conspicuous place,
as Sol had done the evening before. After supper, they sought soft
places on the turf, and lay in peace, gazing up at the great stars.
Henry was the first to break the silence.

"One is coming," he said. "I can hear the footstep.
Listen!"

His ear was to the earth, and the shiftless one imitated him.
At The end of a minute he spoke.

"Yes," he said, "I hear him, too. We'll make him welcome."

He rose, put a fresh piece of wood on the fire, and smiled, as
he saw the flame leap up and crackle merrily.

"Here he is," said Henry.

The figure that emerged from the bushes was thick-set and
powerful, the strong face seamed and tanned by the wind, rain and sun
of years. The man stepped into the circle of the firelight, and held
out his hand. Each shook it with a firm and hearty clasp, and Tom
Ross took his seat with them beside the fire. They handed him food
first, and then he said:

"I was away up in the Miami country, huntin' buffalo, when the
word came to me, Sol, but I quit on the minute an' started."

"I was shore you would," said the shiftless one quietly.
"Buffaloes are big game, but we're huntin' bigger now."

"I was never in this part of the country before," said Tom Ross,
looking around curiously at the ghostly tree trunks.

"I've been through here," said Henry, "and it runs on in the
same way for hundreds of miles in every direction."

"Bigger an' finer than any o' them old empires that Paul used to
tell us about," said Shif'less Sol.

" Yes," said Henry.

The three looked at one another significantly. They wrapped
themselves in their blankets by and by, and went to sleep on the soft
turf. Henry was the first to awake, just when the dawn was turning
from pink to red, and a single glance revealed to him an object on
the horizon that had riot been there the night before. A man stood
on the crest of a low hill, and even at the distance, Henry
recognized him. His comrades were awaking and he turned to them.

"See!" he said, pointing with a long forefinger.

Their eyes followed, and they too recognized the man.

"He'll be here in a minute," said Shif'less Sol. "He jest eats
up space."

He spoke the truth, as it seemed scarcely a minute before Long
Jim Hart entered the camp, showing no sign of fatigue. The three
welcomed him and gave him a place at their breakfast fire.

"I wuz at Marlowe," he said, "when the word reached me, but I
started just an hour later. I struck your trail, Sol, two days back,
an' I traveled nearly all last night. I saw Henry join you an' then
Tom."

Shif'less Sol laughed. He had a soft, mellow laugh that
crinkled up the corners of his mouth, and made his eyes shine. There
was no doubt that a man who laughed such a laugh was enjoying
himself.

"I reckon you didn't have much trouble follerin' that trail o'
ourn," he said.

Jim Hart answered the laugh with a grin.

"Not much," he replied. "It was like a wagon road through the
wilderness. The ashes uv your last camp fire weren't sca'cely cold
when I passed by."

"We're all here 'cept the fifth feller," said Tom Ross.

"The fifth will come," said Henry emphatically.

"Uv course," said Tom Ross with equal emphasis.

"And when he comes," said Shif'less Sol, "we take right hold o'
the big job."

They lingered awhile over their breakfast, but saw no one
approaching. Then they took up the march again, going steadily
southward in single file, talking little, but leaving a distinct
trail. They were only four, but they were a formidable party, all
strong of arm, keen of eye and ear, skilled in the lore of the
forest, and every one bore the best weapons that the time could
furnish.

Toward noon the day grew very warm and clouds gathered in the
sky. The wind became damp.

"Rain," said Henry. "I'm sorry of that. I wish it wouldn't
break before he overtook us."

"S'pose we stop an make ready," said Shif'less Sol. "You know
we ain't bound to be in a big hurry, an' it won't help any o' us to
get a soakin'."

"You're shorely right, Sol," said Jim Hart. "We're bound to take
the best uv care uv ourselves."

They looked around with expert eyes, and quickly chose a stony
outcrop or hollow in the side of a hill, just above which grew two
gigantic beeches very close together. Then it was wonderful to see
them work, so swift and skillful were they. They cut small saplings
with their hatchets, and, with the little poles and fallen bark of
last year, made a rude thatch which helped out the thick branches of
the beeches overhead. They also built up the sides of the hollow
with the same materials, and the whole was done in less than ten
minutes. Then they raked in heaps of dead leaves and sat down upon
them comfortably.

Many drops of water would come through the leaves and thatch,
but such as they, hardened to the wilderness, would not notice them.
Meanwhile the storm was gathering with the rapidity so frequent in
the great valley. All the little clouds swung together and made a
big one that covered nearly the whole sky. The air darkened rapidly.
Thunder began to growl and mutter and now and then emitted a sharp
crash. Lightning cut the heavens from zenith to horizon, and the
forest would leap into the light, standing there a moment, vivid,
like tracery.

A blaze more brilliant than all the rest cleft wide the sky and,
as they looked toward the North, they saw directly in the middle of
the flame a black dot that had not been there before.

"He's coming," said Henry in the quiet tone that indicated
nothing more than a certainty, fulfilled.

"Just in time to take a seat in our house," said the shiftless
one.

Sol ran out and gave utterance to a long echoing cry that
sounded like a call. It was answered at once by the new black dot
under the Northern horizon, which was now growing fast in size, as it
came on rapidly. It took a human shape, and, thirty yards away, a
fine, delicately-chiselled face, the face of a scholar and dreamer,
remarkable in the wildernesses, was revealed. The face belonged to a
youth, tall and strong, but not so tall and large as Henry.

"Here we are, Paul," said Shif'less Sol. "We've fixed fur
you."

"And mighty glad I am to overtake you fellows, said Paul Cotter,
"particularly at this time."

He ran for the shelter just as the forest began to moan, and
great drops of rain rushed down upon them. He was inside in a
moment, and each gave his hand a firm grasp.

"We're all here now," said Henry.

"All here and ready for the great work," said Shif'less Sol, his
tranquil face illumined again with that look of supreme
exaltation.

Then the storm burst. The skies opened and dropped down floods
of water. They heard it beating on the leaves and thatch overhead,
and some came through, falling upon them but they paid no heed. They
sat placidly until the rush and roar passed, and then Henry said to
the others:

"We're to stick to the task that we've set ourselves through
thick and through thin, through everything?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"If one falls, the four that are left keep on?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"If three fail and only two are left, these must not flinch."

"Yes! Yes!"

"If four go down and only one is left, then he whoever he may
be, must go on and win alone?"

"Yes! Yes!" came forth with deep emphasis.