those two days in the stockade were like a rift of sun in a stormy day, and the next morn the clouds descended. the face of nature seemed to be a mirror of our fortunes, for when i woke the freshness had gone out of the air, and in the overcast sky there was a forewarning of storm. but the little party in the camp remained cheerful enough. donaldson and bertrand went off to their trapping; elspeth was braiding her hair, the handsomest nymph that ever trod these woodlands, and trying in vain to discover from the discreet ringan where he came from, and what was his calling. the two borderers knew well who he was; grey, i think, had a suspicion; but it never entered the girl's head that this debonair gentleman bore the best known name in all the americas. she fancied he was some exiled jacobite, and was ready to hear a pitiful romance. this at another time she would have readily got; but ringan for the nonce was in a sober mood, and though he would talk of breadalbane, was chary of touching on more recent episodes. all she learned was that he was a great traveller, and had tried most callings that merit a gentleman's interest.
the day before, shalah and i had explored the range to the south, keeping on the west side where we thought the enemy were likely to gather. this day we looked to the side facing the tidewater, a difficult job, for it was eaten into by the upper glens of many rivers. the weather grew hot and oppressive, and over the lowlands of virginia there brooded a sullen thundercloud. it oppressed my spirits, and i found myself less able to keep up with shalah. the constant sight of the lowlands filled me with anxiety for what might be happening in those sullen blue flats. gone was the glad forgetfulness of yesterday. the promised land might smile as it pleased, but we were still on the flanks of pisgah with the midianites all about us.
my recollection of that day is one of heavy fatigue and a pressing hopelessness. shalah behaved oddly, for he was as restive as a frightened stag. no covert was unsuspected by him, and if i ventured to raise my head on any exposed ground a long brown arm pulled me down. he would make no answer to my questions except a grunt. all this gave me the notion that the hills were full of the enemy, and i grew as restive as the indian. the crackle of a branch startled me, and the movement of a scared beast brought my heart to my throat.
then from a high place he saw something which sent us both crawling into the thicket. we made a circuit of several miles round the head of a long ravine, and came to a steep bank of red screes. up this we wormed our way, as flat as snakes, with our noses in the dusty earth. i was dripping with sweat, and cursing to myself this new madness of shalah's. then i found a cooler air blowing on the top of my prostrate skull, and i judged that we were approaching the scarp of a ridge. shalah's hand held me motionless. he wriggled on a little farther, and with immense slowness raised his head. his hand now beckoned me forward, and in a few seconds i was beside him and was lifting my eyes over the edge of the scarp.
below us lay a little plain, wedged in between two mountains, and breaking off on one side into a steep glen. it was just such a shelf as i had seen in the carolinas, only a hundred times greater, and it lay some five hundred feet below us. every part of the hollow was filled with men. thousands there must have been, around their fires and teepees, and coming or going from the valley. they were silent, like all savages, but the low hum rose from the place which told of human life.
i tried to keep my eyes steady, though my heart was beating like a fanner. the men were of the same light colour and slimness as those i had seen on the edge of the mist in clearwater glen. indeed, they were not unlike shalah, except that he was bigger than the most of them. i was not learned in indian ways, but a glance told me that these folk never came out of the tidewater, and were no cherokees of the hills or tuscaroras from the carolinas. they were a new race from the west or the north, the new race which had so long been perplexing us. somewhere among them was the brain which had planned for the tidewater a sudden destruction.
shalah slipped noiselessly backward, and i followed him down the scree slope, across the ravine, and then with infinite caution through the sparse woods till we had put a wide shoulder of hill between us and the enemy. after that we started running, such a pace as made the rush back to the rappahannock seem an easy saunter. shalah would avoid short-cuts for no reason that i could see, and make long circuits in places where i had to go on hands and feet. i was weary before we set out, and soon i began to totter like a drunken man. the indian's arm pulled me up countless times, and his face, usually so calm, was now sharp with care. "you cannot fail here, brother," he would say, "on our speed hang the lives of all." that put me on my mettle, for it was elspeth's safety i now strove for, and the thought gave life to my leaden limbs. every minute the air grew heavier, and the sky darker, so that when about five in the afternoon we passed the gap and struggled up the last hill to the stockade, it seemed as if night had already fallen.
elspeth and ringan were there, and the two trappers had just returned. i could do nothing but pant on the ground, but shalah cried out for news of grey. he heard that he had gone into the woods with his musket two hours past. at this he flung up his hands with a motion of despair. "we cannot wait," he said to ringan. "close the gate and put every man to his post, for the danger is at hand."
ringan gave his orders. the big log gate was barred, the fire trampled out, and we waited in that thunderous darkness. a long draught of cold water had revived me, and i could think clearly of elspeth. her bower was in the safest part of the stockade, but she would not stay there, i could see terror in her eyes, but she gave no sign of it. she made ready our supper of cold meat as if she had no other thought in the world.
waiting on an attack is a hard trial for mortal nerves. i am not ashamed to confess that in those minutes my courage was little to boast of. i envied ringan his ease, and bertrand his light cheerfulness, and donaldson his unshaken gravity, and especially i envied shalah his godlike calm. but most of all i envied elspeth the courage which could know desperate fear and never show it. most likely i did myself some wrong. most likely my own face was firm enough, but, if it were, 'twas a poor clue to the brain behind it. i fell to wondering about grey still travelling in the woods. was there any hope for him? was there hope, indeed, for any one of us penned in a wooden palisade fifty miles from aid, a handful against an army?
presently in the lowering silence came the scream of a hawk.
an uncommon sound, half croak, half cry, which only hill dwellers know, but 'tis an eery noise in the wilderness. it came again, less near, and a third time from a great distance. i thought it queer, for a hawk does not scream twice in the same hour. i looked at shalah, who stood by the gate, every sinew in his body taut with expectation. he caught my eye.
"that hawk never flew on wings," he said.
then an owl hooted, and from near at hand came the cough of a deer. the thicket was alive with life, which mimicked the wild things of the woods.
then came a sound which drowned all others. from the inky sky descended a jagged line of light, and in the same second the crash of the thunder broke. never have i seen such a storm. down in the tidewater we had thunderstorms in plenty during the summer-time, but they growled and passed and scarce ruffled the even blue of the sky. but here it looked as if we had found the home of the lightnings, where all the thunderbolts were forged. it blazed around us like a steady fire. by a miracle the palisade was not struck, but i heard a rending and splintering in the forest where tall trees had met their doom. the noise deafened me, and confused my senses. out of the loophole i could see the glade that sloped down to the gap, and it was as bright as if it had been high noonday. the clumps of fern and grass stood out yellow and staring against the inky background of the trees. i remember i noted a rabbit run confusedly into the open, and then at a fresh flare of lightning scamper back.
something was crouching and shivering at my side. i found it was elspeth, whose courage was no match for the terrors of the heavens. she snuggled against me for companionship, and hid her face in the sleeve of my coat.
suddenly came a cry from shalah on my left. he pointed his hand to the glade, and in it i saw a man running. a new burst of light sprang up, for some dry tindery creepers had caught fire, and were blazing to heaven. it lit a stumbling figure which i saw was grey, and behind him was a lithe indian running on his trail.
"open the gate," i cried, and i got my musket in the loophole.
the fugitive was all but spent. he ran, bowed almost to the ground, with a wild back glance ever and again over his shoulder. his pursuer gained on him with great strides, and in his hand he carried a bare knife. i dared not shoot, for grey was between me and his enemy.
'twas as well i could not, for otherwise grey would never have reached us alive. we cried to him to swerve, and the sound of our voices brought up that last flicker of hope which waits till the end in every man. he seemed actually to gain a yard, and now he was near enough for us to see his white face and staring eyes. then he stumbled, and the man with the knife was almost on him. but he found his feet again, and swerved like a hunted hare in one desperate bound. this gave me my chance: my musket cracked, and the indian pitched quietly to the ground. the knife flew out of his hand and almost touched grey's heel.
with the sound shalah had leaped from the gate, picked up grey like a child, and in a second had him inside the palisade and the bars down. he was none too soon, for as his pursuer fell a flight of arrows broke from the thicket, and had i shot earlier grey had died of them. as it was they were too late. the bowmen rushed into the glade, and five muskets from our side took toll of them. my last vision was of leaping yellow devils capering from among blazing trees.
then without warning it was dark again, and from the skies fell a deluge of rain. in a minute the burning creepers were quenched, and the whole world was one pit of ink, with the roar as of a thousand torrents about our ears. as the vividness of the lightning, so was the weight of the rain. ringan cried to us to stand to our places, for now was the likely occasion for attack; but no human being could have fought in such weather. indeed, we could not hear him, and he had to stagger round and shout his command into each several ear. the might of the deluge almost pressed me to the earth, i carried elspeth into her bower, but the roof of branches was speedily beaten down, and it was no better than a peat bog.
that overwhelming storm lasted for maybe a quarter of an hour, and then it stopped as suddenly as it came. inside the palisade the ground swam like a loch, and from the hill-side came the rumour of a thousand swollen streams. that, with the heavy drip of laden branches, made sound enough, but after the thunder and the downpour it seemed silence itself. presently when i looked up i saw that the black wrack was clearing from the sky, and through a gap there shone a watery star.
ringan took stock of our defences, and doled out to each a portion of sodden meat. grey had found his breath by this time, and had got a spare musket, for his own had been left in the woods. elspeth had had her wits sorely jangled by the storm, and in the revulsion was on the brink of tears. she was very tender towards grey's condition, and the sight gave me no jealousy, for in that tense hour all things were forgotten but life and death. donaldson, at ringan's bidding, saw to the feeding of the horses as if he were in his own stable on the rappahannock. it takes all sorts of men to make a world, but i thought at the time that for this business the steel nerves of the borderer were worth many quicker brains and more alert spirits.
the hours marched sombrely towards midnight, while we stayed every man by his post. i asked shalah if the enemy had gone, and he shook his head. he had the sense of a wild animal to detect danger in the forest when the eye and ear gave no proof. he stood like a stag, sniffing the night air, and peering with his deep eyes into the gloom. fortunately, though the moon was all but full, the sky was so overcast that only the faintest yellow glow broke into the darkness of the hill-tops.
it must have been an hour after midnight when we got our next warning of the enemy. suddenly a firebrand leaped from farther up the hill, and flew in a wide curve into the middle of the stockade. it fell on the partition between the horses and ourselves and hung crackling there. a shower of arrows followed it, which missed us, for we were close to the edges of the palisade. but the sputtering torch was a danger, for presently it would show our position; so bertrand very gallantly pulled it down, stamped it out, and got back to his post unscathed.
yet the firebrand had done its work, for it had showed the savages where the horses stood picketed. another followed, lighting in their very midst, and setting them plunging at their ropes.
i heard ringan curse deeply, for we had not thought of this stratagem. and the next second i became aware that there was some one among the horses. at first i thought that the palisade had been stormed, and then i heard a soft voice which was no indian's. heedless of orders, i flung myself at the rough gate, and in a trice was beside the voice.
elspeth was busy among the startled beasts. she had a passion for horses, and had, as we say, the "cool" hand with them, for she would soothe a frightened stallion by rubbing his nose and whispering in his ear. by the time i got to her she had stamped out the torch, and was stroking grey's mare, which was the worst scared. her own fear had gone, and in that place of plunging hooves and tossing manes she was as calm as in a summer garden. "let me be, andrew," she said. "i am better at this business than you."
she had the courage of a lion, but 'twas a wild courage, without foresight. another firebrand came circling through the darkness, and broke on the head of donaldson's pony. i caught the girl and swung her off her feet into safety. and then on the heels of the torch came a flight of arrows, fired from near at hand.
by the mercy of god she was unharmed. i had one through the sleeve of my coat, but none reached her. one took a horse in the neck, and the poor creature screamed pitifully. presently there was a wild confusion of maddened beasts, with the torch burning on the ground and lighting the whole place for the enemy. i had elspeth in my arms, and was carrying her to the gate, when over the palisade i saw yellow limbs and fierce faces.
they saw it too—ringan and the rest—and it did not need his cry to keep our posts to tell us the right course. the inner palisade which shut off the horses must now be our line of defence, and the poor beasts must be left to their fate. but elspeth and i had still to get inside it.
her ankle had caught in a picket rope, which in another second would have wrenched it cruelly, had i not slashed it free with my knife. this sent the horse belonging to it in wild career across the corral, and i think 'twas that interruption which saved our lives. it held back the savages for an instant of time, and prevented them blocking our escape. it all took place in the flutter of an eye-lid, though it takes long in the telling. i pushed elspeth through the door, and with all my strength tore at the bars.
but they would not move. perhaps the rain had swollen the logs, and they had jammed too tightly to let the bar slide in the groove. so i found myself in that gate, the mad horses and the savages before me, and my friends at my back, with only my arm to hold the post.
i had my musket and my two pistols—three shots, for there would be no time to reload. a yellow shadow slipped below a horse's belly, and there came the cry of an animal's agony. then another and another, and yet more. but no one came near me in the gateway. i could not see anything to shoot at—only lithe shades and mottled shadows, for the torch lay on the wet ground, and was sputtering to its end. the moaning of the horses maddened me, and i sent a bullet through the head of my own poor beast, which was writhing horribly. elspeth's horse got the contents of my second pistol.
and then it seemed that the raiders had gone. there was one bit of the far palisade which was outlined for me dimly against a gap in the trees. i saw a figure on it, and whipped my musket to my shoulder. something flung up its arms and toppled back among the dying beasts.
then a hand—donaldson's, i think—clutched me and pulled me back. with a great effort the bars were brought down, and i found myself beside elspeth. all her fortitude had gone now, and she was sobbing like a child.
gradually the moaning of the horses ceased, and the whole world seemed cold and silent as a stone. we stood our watch till a wan sunrise struggled up the hill-side.
