at earliest light, with the dew heavy on the willows and the river line a coil of mist, shalah woke me for the road. we breakfasted off fried bacon, some of which i saved for the journey, for the indian was content with one meal a day. as we left the stockade i noted the row of meebaw scalps hanging, grim and bloody, from the poles. the borderers were up and stirring, for they looked to take the indians in the river narrows before the morning was old.
no two indian war parties ever take the same path, so it was shalah's plan to work back to the route we had just travelled, by which the cherokees had come yesterday. this sounds simple enough, but the danger lay in the second party. by striking to right or left we might walk into it, and then good-bye to our hopes of the hills. but the whole thing was easier to me than the cruel toil of yesterday. there was need of stealth and woodcraft, but not of yon killing speed.
for the first hour we went up a northern fork of the rappahannock, then crossed the water at a ford, and struck into a thick pine forest. i was feeling wonderfully rested, and found no discomfort in shalah's long strides. my mind was very busy on the defence of the borders, and i kept wondering how long the governor's militia would take to reach the rappahannock, and whether lawrence could reinforce the northern posts in time to prevent mischief in stafford county. i cast back to my memory of the tales of indian war, and could not believe but that the white man, if warned and armed, would roll back the cherokees. 'twas not them i feared, but that other force now screened behind the mountains, who had for their leader some white madman with a fire in his head and bible words on his lips. were we of virginia destined to fight with such fanatics as had distracted scotland—fanatics naming the name of god, but leading in our case the armies of hell?
it was about eleven in the forenoon, i think, that shalah dropped his easy swing and grew circumspect. the sun was very hot, and the noon silence lay dead on the woodlands. scarcely a leaf stirred, and the only sounds were the twittering grasshoppers and the drone of flies. but shalah found food for thought. again and again he became rigid, and then laid an ear to the ground. his nostrils dilated like a horse's, and his eyes were restless. we were now in a shallow vale, through which a little stream flowed among broad reed-beds. at one point he kneeled on the ground and searched diligently.
"see," he said, "a horse's prints not two hours old—a horse going west."
presently i myself found a clue. i picked up from a clump of wild onions a thread of coloured wool. this was my own trade, where i knew more than shalah. i tested the thing in my mouth and between my fingers.
"this is london stuff," i said. "the man who had this on his person bought his clothes from the bristol merchants, and paid sweetly for them. he was no rappahannock farmer."
shalah trailed like a bloodhound, following the hoof-marks out of the valley meadow to a ridge of sparse cedars where they showed clear on the bare earth, and then to a thicker covert where they were hidden among strong grasses. suddenly he caught my shoulder, and pulled me to the ground. we crawled through a briery place to where a gap opened to the vale on our left.
a party of indians were passing. they were young men with the fantastic markings of young braves. all were mounted on the little indian horses. they moved at leisure, scanning the distance with hands shading eyes.
we wormed our way back to the darkness of the covert. "the advance guard of the second party," shalah whispered. "with good fortune, we shall soon see the rest pass, and then have a clear road for the hills."
"i saw no fresh scalps," i said, "so they seem to have missed our man on the horse." i was proud of my simple logic.
all that shalah replied was, "the rider was a woman.'
"how, in heaven's name, can you tell?" i asked.
he held out a long hair. "i found it among the vines at the level of a rider's head."
this was bad news indeed. what folly had induced a woman to ride so far across the borders? it could be no settler's wife, but some dame from the coast country who had not the sense to be timid. 'twas a grievous affliction for two men on an arduous quest to have to protect a foolish female with the cherokees all about them.
there was no help for it, and as swiftly as possible and with all circumspection shalah trailed the horse's prints. they kept the high ground, in very broken country, which was the reason why the rider had escaped the indians' notice. clearly they were moving slowly, and from the frequent halts and turnings i gathered that the rider had not much purpose about the road.
then we came on a glade where the rider had dismounted and let the beast go. the horse had wandered down the ridge to the right in search of grazing, and the prints of a woman's foot led to the summit of a knoll which raised itself above the trees.
there, knee-deep in a patch of fern, i saw what i had never dreamed of, what sent the blood from my heart in a cold shudder of fear: a girl, pale and dishevelled, was trying to part some vines. a twig crackled and she looked round, showing a face drawn with weariness and eyes large with terror.
it was elspeth!
at the sight of shalah she made to scream, but checked herself. it was well, for a scream would have brought all of us to instant death.
for shalah at that moment dropped to earth and wriggled into a covert overlooking the vale. i had the sense to catch the girl and pull her after him. he stopped dead, and we two lay also like mice. my heart was going pretty fast, and i could feel the heaving of her bosom.
the shallow glen was full of folk, most of them going on foot. i recognized the cherokee head-dress and the long hickory bows which those carried who had no muskets. 'twas by far the biggest party we had seen, and, though in that moment i had no wits to count them, shalah told me afterwards they must have numbered little short of a thousand. some very old fellows were there, with lean, hollow cheeks, and scanty locks, but the most were warriors in their prime. i could see it was a big war they were out for, since some of the horses carried heavy loads of corn, and it is never the indian fashion to take much provender for a common raid. in all virginia's history there had been no such invasion, for the wars of opechancanough and berkeley and the fight of bacon against the susquehannocks were mere bickers compared with this deliberate downpour from the hills.
as we lay there, scarce daring to breathe, i saw that we were in deadly peril. the host was so great that some marched on the very edge of our thicket. i could see through the leaves the brown skins not a yard away. the slightest noise would bring the sharp indian eyes peering into the gloom, and we must be betrayed.
in that moment, which was one of the gravest of my life, i had happily no leisure to think of myself. my whole soul sickened with anxiety for the girl. i knew enough of indian ways to guess her fate. for shalah and myself there might be torture, and at the best an arrow in our hearts, but for her there would be things unspeakable. i remembered the little meadow on the rapidan, and the tale told by the grey ashes. there was only one shot in my pistol, but i determined that it should be saved for her. in such a crisis the memory works wildly, and i remember feeling glad that i had stood up before grey's fire. the thought gave me a comforting assurance of manhood.
those were nightmare minutes. the girl was very quiet, in a stupor of fatigue and fear. shalah was a graven image, and i was too tensely strung to have any of the itches and fervours which used to vex me in hunting the deer when stillness was needful. through the fretted greenery, i saw the dim shadows of men passing swiftly. the thought of the horse worried me. if the confounded beast grazed peaceably down the other side of the hill, all might be well. so long as he was out of sight any movement he made would be set down by the indians to some forest beast, for animals' noises are all alike in a wood. but if he returned to us, there would be the devil to pay, for at a glimpse of him our thicket would be alive with the enemy.
in the end i found it best to shut my eyes and commend our case to our maker. then i counted very slowly to myself up to four hundred, and looked again. the vale was empty.
we lay still, hardly believing in our deliverance, for the matter of a quarter of an hour, and then shalah, making a sign to me to remain, turned and glided up lull. i put my hand behind me, found elspeth's cheek, and patted it. she stretched out a hand and clutched mine feverishly, and thus we remained till, after what seemed an age, shalah returned.
he was on his feet and walking freely. he had found the horse, too, and had it by the bridle.
"the danger is past," he said gravely. "let us go back to the glade and rest."
i helped elspeth to her feet, and on my arm she clambered to the grassy place in the woods. i searched my pockets, and gave her the remnants of the bread and bacon i had brought from the rappahannock post. better still, i remembered that i had in my breast a little flask of eau-de-vie, and a mouthful of it revived her greatly. she put her hands to her head, and began to tidy her dishevelled hair, which is a sure sign in a woman that she is recovering her composure.
"what brought you here?" i asked gently.
she had forgotten that i was in her black books, and that in her letter she forbade my journey. indeed, she looked at me as a child in a pickle may look at an upbraiding parent.
"i was lost," she cried. "i did not mean to go far, but the night came down and i could not find the way back. oh, it has been a hideous nightmare! i have been almost mad in the dark woods."
"but how did you get here?" i asked, still hopelessly puzzled.
"i was with uncle james on the rappahannock. he heard something that made him anxious, and he was going back to the tidewater yesterday. but a message came for him suddenly, and he left me at morrison's farm, and said he would be back by the evening. i did not want to go home before i had seen the mountains where my estate is—you know, the land that governor francis said he would give me for my birthday. they told me one could see the hills from near at hand, and a boy that i asked said i would get a rare view if i went to the rise beyond the river. so i had paladin saddled, and crossed the ford, meaning to be back long ere sunset. but the trees were so thick that i could see nothing from the first rise, and i tried to reach a green hill that looked near. then it began to grow dark, and i lost my head, and oh! i don't know where i wandered. i thought every rustle in the bushes was a bear or a panther. i feared the indians, too, for they told me they were unsafe in this country. all night long i tried to find a valley running east, but the moonlight deceived me, and i must have come farther away every hour. when day came i tied paladin to a tree and slept a little, and then i rode on to find a hill which would show me the lie of the land. but it was very hot, and i was very weary. and then you came, and those dreadful wild men. and—and——" she broke down and wept piteously.
i comforted her as best i could, telling her that her troubles were over now, and that i should look after her. "you might have met with us in the woods last night," i said, "so you see you were not far from friends." but the truth was that her troubles were only beginning, and i was wretchedly anxious. my impulse was to try to get her back to the rappahannock; but, on putting this to shalah, he shook his head.
"it is too late," he said. "if you seek certain death, go towards the rappahannock. she must come with us to the mountains. the only safety is in the hill-tops."
this seemed a mad saying. to be safe from indians we were to go into the heart of indian country. but shalah expounded it. the tribes, he said, dwelt only in the lower glens of the range, and never ventured to the summits, believing them to be holy land where a great manitou dwelt. the cherokees especially shunned the peaks. if we could find a way clear to the top we might stay there in some security, till we learned the issue of the war, and could get word to our friends. "moreover," he said, "we have yet to penetrate the secret of the hills. that was the object of our quest, brother."
shalah was right, and i had forgotten all about it. i could not suffer my care for elspeth to prevent a work whose issue might mean the salvation of virginia. we had still to learn the truth about the massing of indians in the mountains, of which the cherokee raids were but scouting ventures. the verse of grey's song came into my head:—
"i could not love thee, dear, so much,
loved i not honour more."
besides—and this was the best reason—there was no other way. we had gone too far to turn back, and, as our proverb says, "it is idle to swallow the cow and choke on the tail."
i put it all to elspeth.
she looked very scared. "but my uncle will go mad if he does not find me."
"it will be worse for him if he is never to find you again. shalah says it would be as easy to get you back over the rappahannock as for a child to cross a winter torrent. i don't say it's pleasant either way, but there's a good hope of safety in the hills, and there's none anywhere else."
she sat for a little with her eyes downcast. "i am in your hands," she said at last, "oh, the foolish girl i have been! i will be a drag and a danger to you all."
then i took her hand. "elspeth," i said, "it's me will be the proud man if i can save you. i would rather be the salvation of you than the king of the tidewater. and so says shalah, and so will say all of us."
but i do not think she heard me. she had checked her tears, but her wits were far away, grieving for her uncle's pain, and envisaging the desperate future. at the first water we reached she bathed her face and eyes, and using the pool as a mirror, adjusted her hair. then she smiled bravely, "i will try to be a true comrade, like a man," she said. "i think i will be stronger when i have slept a little."
all that afternoon we stole from covert to covert. it was hot and oppressive in the dense woods, where the breeze could not penetrate. shalah's eagle eyes searched every open space before we crossed, but we saw nothing to alarm us. in time we came to the place where we had left our party, and it was easy enough to pick up their road. they had travelled slowly, keeping to the thickest trees, and they had taken no pains to cover their tracks, for they had argued that if trouble came it would come from the front, and that it was little likely that any indian would be returning thus soon and could take up their back trail.
presently we came to a place where the bold spurs of the hills overhung us, and the gap we had seen opened up into a deep valley. shalah went in advance, and suddenly we heard a word pass. we entered a cedar glade, to find our four companions unsaddling the horses and making camp.
the sight of the girl held them staring. grey grew pale and then flushed scarlet. he came forward and asked me abruptly what it meant. when i told him he bit his lips.
"there is only one thing to be done," he said. "we must take miss blair back to the tidewater. i insist, sir. i will go myself. we cannot involve her in our dangers."
he was once again the man i had wrangled with. his eyes blazed, and he spoke in a high tone of command. but i could not be wroth with him; indeed, i liked him for his peremptoriness. it comforted me to think that elspeth had so warm a defender.
i nodded to shalah. "tell him," i said, and shalah spoke with him. he took long to convince, but at, the end he said no more, and went to speak to elspeth. i could see that she lightened his troubled mind a little, for, having accepted her fate, she was resolute to make the best of it, i even heard her laugh.
that night we made her a bower of green branches, and as we ate our supper round our modest fire she sat like a queen among us. it was odd to see the way in which her presence affected each of us. with her grey was the courtly cavalier, ready with a neat phrase and a line from the poets. donaldson and shalah were unmoved; no woman could make any difference to their wilderness silence. the frenchman bertrand grew almost gay. she spoke to him in his own tongue, and he told her all about the little family he had left and his days in far-away france. but in ringan was the oddest change. her presence kept him tongue-tied, and when she spoke to him he was embarrassed into stuttering. he was eager to serve her in everything, but he could not look her in the face or answer readily when she spoke. this man, so debonair and masterful among his fellows, was put all out of countenance by a wearied girl. i do not suppose he had spoken to a gentlewoman for ten years.
