Chapter II. The Mysterious Hand

The Scouts of the Valley

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Henry slept until a rosy light, filtering through the leaves,
fell upon his face. Then he sprang up, folded the blanket once more
upon his back, and looked about him. Nothing had come in the night
to disturb him, no enemy was near, and the morning sun was bright and
beautiful. The venison was exhausted, but he bathed his face in the
brook and resumed his journey, traveling with a long, swift stride
that carried him at great speed.

The boy was making for a definite point, one that he knew well,
although nearly all the rest of this wilderness was strange to him.
The country here was rougher than it usually is in the great valley
to the west, and as he advanced it became yet more broken, range
after range of steep, stony hills, with fertile but narrow little
valleys between. He went on without hesitation for at least two
hours, and then stopping under a great oak he uttered a long, whining
cry, much like the howl of a wolf.

It was not a loud note, but it was singularly penetrating,
carrying far through the forest. A sound like an echo came back, but
Henry knew that instead of an echo it was a reply to his own signal.
Then he advanced boldly and swiftly and came to the edge of a snug
little valley set deep among rocks and trees like a bowl. He stopped
behind the great trunk of a beech, and looked into the valley with a
smile of approval.

Four human figures were seated around a fire of smoldering coals
that gave forth no smoke. They appeared to be absorbed in some very
pleasant task, and a faint odor that came to Henry's nostrils filled
him with agreeable anticipations. He stepped forward boldly and
called:

"Jim, save that piece for me!"

Long Jim Hart halted in mid-air the large slice of venison that
he had toasted on a stick. Paul Cotter sprang joyfully to his feet,
Silent Tom Ross merely looked up, but Shif'less Sol said:

"Thought Henry would be here in time for breakfast."

Henry walked down in the valley, and the shiftless one regarded
him keenly.

"I should judge, Henry Ware, that you've been hevin' a foot
race," he drawled.

"And why do you think that?" asked Henry.

"I kin see where the briars hev been rakin' across your leggins.
Reckon that wouldn't happen, 'less you was in a pow'ful hurry."

"You're right," said Henry. "Now, Jim, you've been holding that
venison in the air long enough. Give it to me, and after I've eaten
it I'll tell you all that I've been doing, and all that's been done
to me."

Long Jim handed him the slice. Henry took a comfortable seat in
the circle before the coals, and ate with all the appetite of a
powerful human creature whose food had been more than scanty for at
least two days.

"Take another piece," said Long Jim, observing him with
approval. "Take two pieces, take three, take the whole deer. I
always like to see a hungry man eat. It gives him sech satisfaction
that I git a kind uv taste uv it myself."

Henry did not offer a word 'of explanation until his breakfast
was over. Then lie leaned back, sighing twice with deep content, and
said:

"Boys, I've got a lot to tell."

Shif'less Sol moved into an easier position on the leaves.

"I guess it has somethin' to do with them scratches on your
leggins."

"It has," continued Henry with emphasis," and I want to say to
you boys that I've seen Timmendiquas, the great White Lightning of
the Wyandots."

"Timmendiquas!" exclaimed the others together.

"No less a man than he," resumed Henry. " I've looked upon his
very face, I've seen him in camp with warriors, and I've had the
honor of being pursued by him and his men more hours than I can tell.
That's why you see those briar scratches on my leggins, Sol."

"Then we cannot doubt that he is here to stir the Six Nations to
continued war," said Paul Cotter, "and he will succeed. He is a
mighty chief, and his fire and eloquence will make them take up the
hatchet. I'm glad that we've come. We delayed a league once between
the Shawnees and the Miamis; I don't think we can stop this one, but
we may get some people out of the way before the blow falls."

"Who are these Six Nations, whose name sounds so pow'ful big up
here?" asked Long Jim.

"Their name is as big as it sounds," replied Henry. They are
the Onondagas, the Mohawks, Oneidas, Senecas, Cayugas, and
Tuscaroras. They used to be the Five Nations, but the Tuscaroras
came up from the south and fought against them so bravely that they
were adopted into the league, as a new and friendly tribe. The
Onondagas, so I've heard, formed the league a long, long time ago,
and their head chief is the grand sachem or high priest of them all,
but the head chief of the Mohawks is the leading war chief."

"I've heard," said Paul, "that the Wyandots are kinsmen of all
these tribes, and on that account they will listen with all the more
friendliness to Timmendiquas."

"Seems to me," said Tom Ross, "that we've got a most
tre-men-je-ous big job ahead."

"Then," said Henry, "we must make a most tremendous big
effort."

"That's so," agreed all.

After that they spoke little. The last coals were covered up,
and the remainder of the food was put in their pouches. Then they
sat on the leaves, and every one meditated until such time as he
might have something worth saying. Henry's thoughts traveled on a
wide course, but they always came back to one point. They had heard
much at Pittsburgh of a famous Mohawk chief called Thayendanegea, but
most often known to the Americans as Brant. He was young, able, and
filled with intense animosity against the white people, who
encroached, every year, more and more upon the Indian hunting
grounds. His was a soul full kin to that of Timmendiquas, ;and if
the two met it meant a great council and a greater endeavor for the
undoing of the white man. What more likely than that they intended to
meet?

"All of you have heard of Thayendanegea, the Mohawk?" said
Henry.

They nodded.

"It's my opinion that Timmendiquas is on the way to meet him. I
remember hearing a hunter say at Pittsburgh that about a hundred
miles to the east of this point was a Long House or Council House of
the Six Nations. Timmendiquas is sure to go there, and we must go,
too. We must find out where they intend to strike. What do you
say?"

"We go there!" exclaimed four voices together.

Seldom has a council of war been followed by action so
promptly.

As Henry spoke the last word he rose, and tile others rose with
him. Saying no more, he led toward the east, and the others followed
him, also saying no more. Separately every one of them was strong,
brave, and resourceful, but when the five were together they felt
that they had the skill and strength of twenty. The long rest at
Pittsburgh had restored them after the dangers and hardship of their
great voyage from New Orleans.

They carried in horn and pouch ample supplies of powder and
bullet, and they did not fear any task.

Their journey continued through hilly country, clothed in heavy
forest, but often without undergrowth. They avoided the open spaces,
preferring to be seen of men, who were sure to be red men, as little
as possible. Their caution was well taken. They saw Indian signs,
once a feather that had fallen from a scalp lock, once footprints,
and once the bone of a deer recently thrown away by him who had eaten
the meat from it. The country seemed to be as wild as that of
Kentucky. Small settlements, so they had heard, were scattered at
great distances through the forest, but they saw none. There was no
cabin smoke, no trail of the plow, just the woods and the hills and
the clear streams. Buffalo had never reached this region, but deer
were abundant, and they risked a shot to replenish their supplies.

They camped the second night of their march on a little
peninsula at the confluence of two creeks, with the deep woods
everywhere. Henry judged that they were well within the western range
of the Six Nations, and they cooked their deer meat over a smothered
fire, nothing more than a few coals among the leaves. When supper
was over they arranged soft places for themselves and their blankets,
all except Long Jim, whose turn it was to scout among the woods for a
possible foe.

"Don't be gone long, Jim," said Henry as he composed himself in
a comfortable position. "A circle of a half mile about us will
do."

"I'll not be gone more'n an hour," said Long Jim, picking up his
rifle confidently, and flitting away among the woods.

" Not likely he'll see anything," said Shif'less Sol, but I'd
shorely like to know what White Lightning is about. He must be
terrible stirred up by them beatin's he got down on the Ohio, an'
they say that Mohawk, Thayendanegea is a whoppin' big chief, too.
They'll shorely make a heap of trouble."

"But both of them are far from here just now," said Henry, "and
we won't bother about either."

He was lying on some leaves at the foot of a tree with his arm
under his head and his blanket over his body. He had a remarkable
capacity for dismissing trouble or apprehension, and just then he was
enjoying great physical and mental peace. He looked through half
closed eyes at his comrades, who also were enjoying repose, and his
fancy could reproduce Long Jim in the forest, slipping from tree to
tree and bush to bush, and finding no menace.

"Feels good, doesn't it, Henry?" said the shiftless one. " I
like a clean, bold country like this. No more plowin' around in
swamps for me."

Yes," said Henry sleepily, " it's a good country."

The hour slipped smoothly by, and Paul said:

" Time for Long Jim to be back."

"Jim don't do things by halves," said the shiftless one. "Guess
he's beatin' up every squar' inch o' the bushes. He'll be here
soon."

A quarter of an hour passed, and Long Jim did not return; a half
hour, and no sign of him. Henry cast off the blanket and stood up.
The night was not very dark and he could see some distance, but he
did not see their comrade.

"I wonder why he's so slow," he said with a faint trace of
anxiety.

"He'll be 'long directly," said Tom Ross with confidence.

Another quarter of an hour, and no Long Jim. Henry sent forth
the low penetrating cry of the wolf that they used so often as a
signal.

"He cannot fail to hear that," he said, "and he'll answer."

No answer came. The four looked at one another in alarm. Long
Jim had been gone nearly two hours, and he was long overdue. His
failure to reply to the signal indicated either that something
ominous had happened or that- he had gone much farther than they
meant for him to go.

The others had risen to their feet, also, and they stood a
little while in silence.

"What do you think it means?" asked Paul.

"It must be all right," said Shif'less Sol. "Mebbe Jim has lost
the camp."

Henry shook his head.

"It isn't that," he said. "Jim is too good a woodsman for such a
mistake. I don't want to look on the black side, boys, but I think
something has happened to Jim."

"Suppose you an' me go an' look for him," said Shif'less Sol,
"while Paul and Tom stay here an' keep house."

"We'd better do it," said Henry. "Come, Sol."

The two, rifles in the hollows of their arms, disappeared in the
darkness, while Tom and Paul withdrew into the deepest shadow of the
trees and waited.

Henry and the shiftless one pursued an anxious quest, going
about the camp in a great circle and then in another yet greater.
They did not find Jim, and the dusk was so great that they saw no
evidences of his trail. Long Jim had disappeared as completely as if
he had left the earth for another planet. When they felt that they
must abandon the search for the time, Henry and Shif'less Sol looked
at each other in a dismay that the dusk could not hide.

"Mebbe be saw some kind uv a sign, an' has followed it," said
the shiftless one hopefully. "If anything looked mysterious an'
troublesome, Jim would want to hunt it down."

"I hope so," said Henry, "but we've got to go back to the camp
now and report failure. Perhaps he'll show up to-morrow, but I don't
like it, Sol, I don't like it!"

"No more do I," said Shif'less Sol. "'Tain't like Jim not to
come back, ef he could. Mebbe he'll drop in afore day, anyhow."

They returned to the camp, and two inquiring figures rose up out
of the darkness.

"You ain't seen him?" said Tom, noting that but two figures had
returned.

"Not a trace," replied Henry. "It's a singular thing."

The four talked together a little while, and they were far from
cheerful. Then three sought sleep, while Henry stayed on watch,
sitting with his back against a tree and his rifle on his knees. All
the peace and content that be had felt earlier in the evening were
gone. He was oppressed by a sense of danger, mysterious and
powerful. It did not seem possible that Long Jim could have gone
away in such a noiseless manner, leaving no trace behind. But it was
true.

He watched with both ear and eye as much for Long Jim as for an
enemy. He was still hopeful that he would see the long, thin figure
coming among the bushes, and then hear the old pleasant drawl. But
he did not see the figure, nor did he hear the drawl.

Time passed with the usual slow step when one watches. Paul,
Sol, and Tom were asleep, but Henry was never wider awake in his
life. He tried to put away the feeling of mystery and danger. He
assured himself that Long Jim would soon come, delayed by some trail
that he had sought to solve. Nothing could have happened to a man so
brave and skillful. His nerves must be growing weak when he allowed
himself to be troubled so much by a delayed return.

But the new hours came, one by one, and Long Jim came with none
of them. The night remained fairly light, with a good moon, but the
light that it threw over the forest was gray and uncanny. Henry's
feeling of mystery and danger deepened. Once he thought he heard a
rustling in the thicket and, finger on the trigger of his rifle, he
stole among the bushes to discover what caused it. He found nothing
and, returning to his lonely watch, saw that Paul, Sol, and Tom were
still sleeping soundly. But Henry was annoyed greatly by the noise,
and yet more by his failure to trace its origin. After an hour's
watching he looked a second time. The result was once more in vain,
and he resumed his seat upon the leaves, with his back reclining
against an oak. Here, despite the fact that the night was growing
darker, nothing within range of a rifle shot could escape his
eyes.

Nothing stirred. The noise did not come a second time from the
thicket. The very silence was oppressive. There was no wind, not
even a stray puff, and the bushes never rustled. Henry longed for a
noise of some kind to break that terrible, oppressive silence. What
he really wished to hear was the soft crunch of Long Jim's moccasins
on the grass and leaves.

The night passed, the day came, and Henry awakened his comrades.
Long Jim was still missing and their alarm was justified. Whatever
trail lie might have struck, he would have returned in the night
unless something had happened to him. Henry had vague theories, but
nothing definite, and he kept them to himself. Yet they must make a
change in their plans. To go on and leave Long Jim to whatever fate
might be his was unthinkable. No task could interfere with the duty
of the five to one another.

"We are in one of the most dangerous of all the Indian
countries," said Henry. "We are on the fringe of the region over
which the Six Nations roam, and we know that Timmendiquas and a band
of the Wyandots are here also. Perhaps Miamis and Shawnees have
come, too."

"We've got to find Long Jim," said Silent Tom briefly.

They went about their task in five minutes. Breakfast consisted
of cold venison and a drink from a brook. Then they began to search
the forest. They felt sure that such woodsmen as they, with the
daylight to help them, would find some trace of Long Jim, but they
saw none at all, although they constantly widened their circle, and
again tried all their signals. Half the forenoon passed in the vain
search, and then they held a council.

I think we'd better scatter," said Shif'less Sol, "an' meet here
again when the sun marks noon."

It was agreed, and they took careful note of the place, a little
hill crowned with a thick cluster of black oaks, a landmark easy to
remember. Henry turned toward the south, and the forest was so dense
that in two minutes all his comrades were lost to sight. He went
several miles, and his search was most rigid. He was amazed to find
that the sense of mystery and danger that he attributed to the
darkness of the night did not disappear wholly in the bright
daylight. His spirit, usually so optimistic, was oppressed by it,
and he had no belief that they would find Long Jim.

At the set time he returned to the little hill crowned with the
black oaks, and as he approached it from one side he saw Shif'less
Sol coming from another. The shiftless one walked despondently. His
gait was loose and shambling-a rare thing with him, and Henry knew
that he, too, had failed. He realized now that he had not expected
anything else. Shif'less Sol shook his head, sat down on a root
and said nothing. Henry sat down, also, and tile two exchanged a
look of discouragement.

"The others will be here directly," said Henry, "and perhaps
Long Jim will be with one of them."

But in his heart he knew that it would not be so, and the
shiftless one knew that he had no confidence in his own words.

" If not," said Henry, resolved to see the better side, we'll
stay anyhow until we find him. We can't spare good old Long Jim."

Shif'less Sol did not reply, nor did Henry speak again, until
lie saw the bushes moving slightly three or four hundred yards
away.

"There comes Tom," he said, after a single comprehensive glance,
"and he's alone."

Tom Ross was also a dejected figure. He looked at the two on
the hill, and, seeing that the man for whom they were searching was
not with them, became more dejected than before.

"Paul's our last chance," he said, as he joined them. He's
gen'rally a lucky boy, an' mebbe it will be so with him to-day."

I hope so," said Henry fervently. " He ought to be along in a
few minutes."

They waited patiently, although they really had no belief that
Paul would bring in the missing man, but Paul was late. The noon
hour was well past. Henry took a glance at the sun. Noon was gone
at least a half hour, and he stirred uneasily.

"Paul couldn't get lost in broad daylight," he said.

"No," said Shif'less Sol, "he couldn't get lost!"

Henry noticed his emphasis on the word "lost," and a sudden fear
sprang up in his heart. Some power had taken away Long Jim; could
the same power have seized Paul? It was a premonition, and he paled
under his brown, turning away lest the others see his face. All
three now examined the whole circle of the horizon for a sight of
moving bushes that would tell of the boy's coming.

The forest told nothing. The sun blazed brightly over
everything, and Paul, like Long Jim, did not come. He was an hour
past due, and the three, oppressed already by Long jim's
disappearance, were convinced that he would not return. But they
gave him a half hour longer. Then Henry said:

"We must hunt for him, but we must not separate. Whatever
happens we three must stay together."

I'm not hankerin' to roam 'roun jest now all by myself," said
the shiftless one, with an uneasy laugh.

The three hunted all that afternoon for Paul. Once they saw
trace of footsteps, apparently his, in some soft earth, but they were
quickly, lost on hard ground, and after that there was nothing. They
stopped shortly before sunset at the edge of a narrow but deep
creek.

"What do you think of it, Henry?" asked Shif'less Sol.

"I don't know what to think," replied the youth, "but it seems
to me that whatever took away Jim has taken away Paul, also."

"Looks like it," said Sol, "an' I guess it follers that we're in
the same kind o' danger."

"We three of us could put up a good fight," said Henry, " and I
propose that we don't go back to that camp, but spend the night
here."

"Yes, an' watch good," said Tom Ross.

Their new camp was made quickly in silence, merely the grass
under the low boughs of a tree. Their supper was a little venison,
and then they watched the coming of the. darkness. It was a heavy
hour for the three. Long Jim was gone, and then Paul-Paul, the
youngest, and, in a way, the pet of the little band.

"Ef we could only know how it happened," whispered Shif'less
Sol, "then we might rise up an' fight the danger an' git Paul an' Jim
back. But you can't shoot at somethin' you don't see or hear. In all
them fights o' ours, on the Ohio an' Mississippi we knowed what wuz
ag'inst us, but here we don't know nothin'."

" It is true, Sol," sighed Henry. "We were making such big
plans, too, and before we can even start our force is cut nearly in
half. To-morrow we'll begin the hunt again. We'll never desert Paul
and Jim, so long as we don't know they're dead."

"It's my watch," said Tom. "You two sleep. We've got to keep
our strength."

Henry and the shiftless one acquiesced, and seeking the softest
spots under the tree sat down. Tom Ross took his place about ten
feet in front of them, sitting on the ground, with his hands clasped
around his knees, and his rifle resting on his arm. Henry watched him
idly for a little while, thinking all the time of his lost comrades.
The night promised to be dark, a good thing for them, as the need
of hiding was too evident.

Shif'less Sol soon fell asleep, as Henry, only three feet away,
knew by his soft and regular breathing, but the boy himself was still
wide-eyed.

The darkness seemed to sink down like a great blanket dropping
slowly, and the area of Henry's vision narrowed to a small circle.
Within this area the distinctive object was the figure of Tom Ross,
sitting with his rifle across his knees. Tom had an infinite
capacity for immobility. Henry had never seen another man, not even
an Indian, who could remain so long in one position contented and
happy. He believed that the silent one could sit as he was all
night.

His surmise about Tom began to have a kind of fascination for
him. Would he remain absolutely still? He would certainly shift an
arm or a leg. Henry's interest in the question kept him awake. He
turned silently on the other side, but, no matter how intently he
studied the sitting figure of his comrade, he could not see it stir.
He did not know how long he had been awake, trying thus to decide a
question that should be of no importance at such a time. Although
unable to sleep, be fell into a dreamy condition, and continued
vaguely to watch the rigid and silent sentinel.

He suddenly saw Tom stir, and he came from his state of languor.
The exciting question was solved at last. The man would not sit all
night absolutely immovable. There could be no doubt of the fact that
he had raised an arm, and that his figure had straightened. Then he
stood up, full height, remained motionless for perhaps ten seconds,
and then suddenly glided away among the bushes.

Henry knew what this meant. Tom had heard something moving in
the thickets, and, like a good sentinel, be had gone to investigate.
A rabbit, doubtless, or perhaps a sneaking raccoon. Henry rose to a
sitting position, and drew his own rifle across his knees. He would
watch while Tom was gone, and then lie would sink quietly back, not
letting his comrade know that lie had taken his place.

The faintest of winds began to stir among the thickets. Light
clouds drifted before the moon. Henry, sitting with his rifle across
his knees, and Shif'less Sol, asleep in the shadows, were invisible,
but Henry saw beyond the circle of darkness that enveloped them into
the grayish light that fell over the bushes. He marked the particular
point at which he expected Tom Ross to appear, a slight opening that
held out invitation for the passage of a man.

He waited a long time, ten minutes, twenty, a half hour, and the
sentinel did not return. Henry came abruptly out of his dreamy
state. He felt with all the terrible thrill of certainty that what
happened to Long Jim and Paul had happened also to Silent Tom Ross.
He stood erect, a tense, tall figure, alarmed, but not afraid. His
eyes searched the thickets, but saw nothing. The slight movement of
the bushes was made by the wind, and no other sound reached his
ears.

But he might be mistaken after all! The most convincing
premonitions were sometimes wrong! He would give Tom ten minutes
more, and he sank down in a crouching position, where he would offer
the least target for the eye.

The appointed time passed, and neither sight nor sound revealed
any sign of Tom Ross. Then Henry awakened Shif'less Sol, and
whispered to him all that he had seen.

"Whatever took Jim and Paul has took him," whispered the
shiftless one at once.

Henry nodded.

"An' we're bound to look for him right now," continued Shif'less
Sol.

" Yes," said Henry, " but we must stay together. If we follow
the others, Sol, we must follow 'em together."

It would be safer," said Sol. " I've an idee that we won't find
Tom, an' I want to tell you, Henry, this thing is gittin' on my
nerves."

It was certainly on Henry's, also, but without reply he led the
way into the bushes, and they sought long and well for Silent Tom,
keeping at the same time a thorough watch for any danger that might
molest themselves. But no danger showed, nor did they find Tom or
his trail. He, too, had vanished into nothingness, and Henry and
Sol, despite their mental strength, felt cold shivers. They came
back at last, far toward morning, to the bank of the creek. It was
here as elsewhere a narrow but deep stream flowing between banks so
densely wooded that they were almost like walls.

"It will be daylight soon," said Shif'less Sol, "an' I think
we'd better lay low in thicket an' watch. It looks ez ef we couldn't
find anything, so we'd better wait an' see what will find us."

"It looks like the best plan to me," said Henry, " but I think
we might first hunt a while on the other side of the creek. We
haven't looked any over there."

"That's so," replied Shif'less Sol, "but the water is at least
seven feet deep here, an' we don't want to make any splash swimmin'.
Suppose you go up stream, an' I go down, an' the one that finds a
ford first kin give a signal. One uv us ought to strike shallow
water in three or four hundred yards."

Henry followed the current toward the south, while Sol moved up
the stream. The boy went cautiously through the dense foliage, and
the creek soon grew wider and shallower. At a distance of about
three hundred yards lie came to a point where it could be waded
easily. Then he uttered the low cry that was their signal, and went
back to meet Shif'less Sol. He reached the exact point at which they
had parted, and waited. The shiftless one did not come. The last of
his comrades was gone, and he was alone in the forest.