Robertson having written a letter to Colonel Daniel Boone,--shut up in the fort at Boonesboro,--should we be so fortunate as to reach Kaintuckee: and another to a young gentleman by the name of George Rogers Clark, apparently a leader there.Captain Sevier bowed over Polly Ann's hand as if she were a great lady, and wished her a happy honeymoon, and me he patted on the head and called a brave lad.And soon we had passed beyond the corn-field into the Wilderness again.
Our way was down the Nollichucky, past the great bend of it below Lick Creek, and so to the Great War-path, the trail by which countless parties of red marauders had travelled north and south.It led, indeed, northeast between the mountain ranges.Although we kept a watch by day and night, we saw no sign of Dragging Canoe or his men, and at length we forded the Holston and came to the scattered settlement in Carter's Valley.
I have since racked my brain to remember at whose cabin we stopped there.He was a rough backwoodsman with a wife and a horde of children.But I recall that a great rain came out of the mountains and down the valley.
We were counting over the powder gourds in our packs, when there burst in at the door as wild a man as has ever been my lot to see.His brown beard was grown like a bramble patch, his eye had a violet light, and his hunting shirt was in tatters.He was thin to gauntness, ate ravenously of the food that was set before him, and throwing off his soaked moccasins, he spread his scalded feet to the blaze, and the steaming odor of drying leather filled the room.
``Whar be ye from?'' asked Tom.
For answer the man bared his arm, then his shoulder, and two angry scars, long and red, revealed themselves, and around his wrists were deep gouges where he had been bound.
``They killed Sue,'' he cried, ``sculped her afore my very eyes.And they chopped my boy outen the hickory withes and carried him to the Creek Nation.At a place where there was a standin' stone I broke loose from three of 'em and come here over the mountains, and I ain't had nothin', stranger, but berries and chainey brier-root for ten days.God damn 'em!'' he cried, standing up and tottering with the pain in his feet, ``if I can get a Deckard--''
``Will you go back?'' said Tom.
``Go back!'' he shouted, ``I'll go back and fight 'em while I have blood in my body.''
He fell into a bunk, but his sorrow haunted him even in his troubled sleep, and his moans awed us as we listened.
The next day he told us his story with more calmness.It was horrible indeed, and might well have frightened a less courageous woman than Polly Ann.Imploring her not to go, he became wild again, and brought tears to her eyes when he spoke of his own wife.``They tomahawked her, ma'am, because she could not walk, and the baby beside her, and I standing by with my arms tied.''
As long as I live I shall never forget that scene, and how Tom pleaded with Polly Ann to stay behind, but she would not listen to him.
``You're going, Tom?'' she said.
``Yes,'' he answered, turning away, ``I gave 'em my word.''
``And your word to me?'' said Polly Ann.
He did not answer.
We fixed on a Saturday to start, to give the horses time to rest, and in the hope that we might hear of some relief party going over the Gap.On Thursday Tom made a trip to the store in the valley, and came back with a Deckard rifle he had bought for the stranger, whose name was Weldon.There was no news from Kaintuckee, but the Carter's Valley settlers seemed to think that matters were better there.It was that same night, I believe, that two men arrived from Fort Chiswell.One, whose name was Cutcheon, was a little man with a short forehead and a bad eye, and he wore a weather-beaten blue coat of military cut.The second was a big, light-colored, fleshy man, and a loud talker.He wore a hunting shirt and leggings.They were both the worse for rum they had had on the road, the big man talking very loud and boastfully.
``Afeard to go to Kaintuckee!'' said he.``I've met a parcel o' cowards on the road, turned back.There ain't nothin' to be afeard of, eh, stranger?'' he added, to Tom, who paid no manner of attention to him.The small man scarce opened his mouth, but sat with his head bowed forward on his breast when he was not drinking.We passed a dismal, crowded night in the room with such companions.
When they heard that we were to go over the mountains, nothing would satisfy the big man but to go with us.
``Come, stranger,'' said he to Tom, ``two good rifles such as we is ain't to be throwed away.''
``Why do you want to go over?'' asked Tom.``Be ye a Tory?'' he demanded suspiciously.
``Why do you go over?'' retorted Riley, for that was his name.``I reckon I'm no more of a Tory than you.''
``Whar did ye come from?'' said Tom.
``Chiswell's mines, taking out lead for the army o'
Congress.But there ain't excitement enough in it.''
``And you?'' said Tom, turning to Cutcheon and eying his military coat.
``I got tired of their damned discipline,'' the man answered surlily.He was a deserter.
``Look you,'' said Tom, sternly, ``if you come, what Isay is law.''
Such was the sacrifice we were put to by our need of company.But in those days a man was a man, and scarce enough on the Wilderness Trail in that year of '77.So we started away from Carter's Valley on a bright Saturday morning, the grass glistening after a week's rain, the road sodden, and the smell of the summer earth heavy.
Tom and Weldon walked ahead, driving the two horses, followed by Cutcheon, his head dropped between his shoulders.The big man, Riley, regaled Polly Ann.
``My pluck is,'' said he, ``my pluck is to give a redskin no chance.Shoot 'em down like hogs.It takes a good un to stalk me, Ma'am.Up on the Kanawha I've had hand-to-hand fights with 'em, and made 'em cry quits.''
``Law!'' exclaimed Polly Ann, nudging me, ``it was a lucky thing we run into you in the valley.''
But presently we left the road and took a mountain trail,--as stiff a climb as we had yet had.Polly Ann went up it like a bird, talking all the while to Riley, who blew like a bellows.For once he was silent.
