The Scouts of the Valley. Altsheler Joseph Alexander

the shiftless one.

      “Get back!” exclaimed Henry softly. “Don’t you see who’s passing out there?”

      “Braxton Wyatt,” said Sol. “I’d like to get my hands on that scoundrel. I’ve had to stand a lot from him.”

      “The score must wait. But first we’ll provide you with weapons. See, the Iroquois have stacked some of their rifles here while they’re at the feast.”

      A dozen good rifles had been left leaning against a hut near by, and Henry, still watching lest he be observed, chose the best, with its ammunition, for his comrade, who, owing to his semi-civilized attire, still remained in the shadow of the other hut.

      “Why not take four?” whispered the shiftless one. “We’ll need them for the other boys.”

      Henry took four, giving two to his comrade, and then they hastily slipped back to the other side of the hut. A Wyandot and a Mohawk were passing, and they had eyes of hawks. Henry and Sol waited until the formidable pair were gone, and then began to examine the huts, trying to surmise in which their comrades lay.

      “I haven’t seen ‘em a-tall, a-tall,” said Sol, “but I reckon from the talk that they are here. I was s’prised in the woods, Henry. A half dozen reds jumped on me so quick I didn’t have time to draw a weepin. Timmendiquas was at the head uv ‘em an’ he just grinned. Well, he is a great chief, if he did truss me up like a fowl. I reckon the same thing happened to the others.”

      “Come closer, Sol! Come closer!” whispered Henry. “More warriors are walking this way. The feast is breaking up, and they’ll spread all through the camp.”

      A terrible problem was presented to the two. They could no longer search among the strong huts, for their comrades. The opportunity to save had lasted long enough for one only. But border training is stern, and these two had uncommon courage and decision.

      “We must go now, Sol,” said Henry, “but we’ll come back.”

      “Yes,” said the shiftless one, “we’ll come back.”

      Darting between the huts, they gained the southern edge of the forest before the satiated banqueters could suspect the presence of an enemy. Here they felt themselves safe, but they did not pause. Henry led the way, and Shif’less Sol followed at a fair degree of speed.

      “You’ll have to be patient with me for a little while, Henry,” said Sol in a tone of humility. “When I wuz layin’ thar in the lodge with my hands an’ feet tied I wuz about eighty years old, jest ez stiff ez could be from the long tyin’. When I reached the edge o’ the woods the blood wuz flowin’ lively enough to make me ‘bout sixty. Now I reckon I’m fifty, an’ ef things go well I’ll be back to my own nateral age in two or three hours.”

      “You shall have rest before morning,” said Henry, “and it will be in a good place, too. I can promise that.”

      Shif’less Sol looked at him inquiringly, but he did not say anything. Like the rest of the five, Sol had acquired the most implicit confidence in their bold young leader. He had every reason to feel good. That painful soreness was disappearing from his ankles. As they advanced through the woods, weeks dropped from him one by one. Then the months began to roll away, and at last time fell year by year. As they approached the deeps of the forest where the swamp lay, Solomon Hyde, the so called shiftless one, and wholly undeserving of the name, was young again.

      “I’ve got a fine little home for us, Sol,” said Henry. “Best we’ve had since that time we spent a winter on the island in the lake. This is littler, but it’s harder to find. It’ll be a fine thing to know you’re sleeping safe and sound with five hundred Iroquois warriors only a few miles away.”

      “Then it’ll suit me mighty well,” said Shif’less Sol, grinning broadly. “That’s jest the place fur a lazy man like your humble servant, which is me.”

      They reached the stepping stones, and Henry paused a moment.

      “Do you feel steady enough, Sol, to jump from stone to stone?” he asked.

      “I’m feelin’ so good I could fly ef I had to,” he replied. “Jest you jump on, Henry, an’ fur every jump you take you’ll find me only one jump behind you!”

      Henry, without further ado, sprang from one stone to another, and behind him, stone for stone, came the shiftless one. It was now past midnight, and the moon was obscured. The keenest eyes twenty yards away could not have seen the two dusky figures as they went by leaps into the very heart of the great, black swamp. They reached the solid ground, and then the hut.

      “Here, Sol,” said Henry, “is my house, and yours, also, and soon, I hope, to be that of Paul, Tom, and Jim, too.”

      “Henry,” said Shif’less Sol, “I’m shorely glad to come.”

      They went inside, stacked their captured rifles against the wall, and soon were sound asleep.

      Meanwhile sleep was laying hold of the Iroquois village, also. They had eaten mightily and they had drunk mightily. Many times had they told the glories of Hode-no-sau-nee, the Great League, and many times had they gladly acknowledged the valor and worth of Timmendiquas and the brave little Wyandot nation. Timmendiquas and Thayendanegea had sat side by side throughout the feast, but often other great chiefs were with them-Skanawati, Atotarho, and Hahiron, the Onondagas; Satekariwate, the Mohawk; Kanokarih and Kanyadoriyo, the Senecas; and many others.

      Toward midnight the women and the children left for the lodges, and soon the warriors began to go also, or fell asleep on the ground, wrapped in their blankets. The fires were allowed to sink low, and at last the older chiefs withdrew, leaving only Timmendiquas and Thayendanegea.

      “You have seen the power and spirit of the Iroquois,” said Thayendanegea. “We can bring many more warriors than are here into the field, and we will strike the white settlements with you.”

      “The Wyandots are not so many as the warriors of the Great League,” said Timmendiquas proudly, “but no one has ever been before them in battle.”

      “You speak truth, as I have often heard it,” said Thayendanegea thoughtfully. Then he showed Timmendiquas to a lodge of honor, the finest in the village, and retired to his own.

      The great feast was over, but the chiefs had come to a momentous decision. Still chafing over their defeat at Oriskany, they would make a new and formidable attack upon the white settlements, and Timmendiquas and his fierce Wyandots would help them. All of them, from the oldest to the youngest, rejoiced in the decision, and, not least, the famous Thayendanegea. He hated the Americans most because they were upon the soil, and were always pressing forward against the Indian. The Englishmen were far away, and if they prevailed in the great war, the march of the American would be less rapid. He would strike once more with the Englishmen, and the Iroquois could deliver mighty blows on the American rearguard. He and his Mohawks, proud Keepers of the Western Gate, would lead in the onset. Thayendanegea considered it a good night’s work, and he slept peacefully.

      The great camp relapsed into silence. The warriors on the ground breathed perhaps a little heavily after so much feasting, and the fires were permitted to smolder down to coals. Wolves and panthers drawn by the scent of food crept through the thickets toward the faint firelight, but they were afraid to draw near. Morning came, and food and drink were taken to the lodges in which four prisoners were held, prisoners of great value, taken by Timmendiquas and the Wyandots, and held at his urgent insistence as hostages.

      Three were found as they had been left, and when their bonds were loosened they ate and drank, but the fourth hut was empty. The one who spoke in a slow, drawling way, and the one who seemed to be the most dangerous of them all, was gone. Henry and Sol had taken the severed thongs with them, and there was nothing to show how the prisoner had disappeared, except that the withes fastening the door had been cut.

      The news spread through the village, and there was much excitement. Thayendanegea and Timmendiquas came and looked at the empty hut. Timmendiquas may have suspected how Shif’less Sol had gone, but he said nothing. Others believed that it was the work of Hahgweh-da-et-gah (The Spirit of Evil), or perhaps