rskine Dale—Pioneer
I
Streaks of red ran upward, and in answer the great gray eye of the wilderness lifted its mist-fringed lid. From the green depths came the fluting of a lone wood-thrush. Through them an owl flew on velvety wings for his home in the heart of a primeval poplar. A cougar leaped from the low limb of an oak, missed, and a shuddering deer streaked through a forest aisle, bounded into a little clearing, stopped rigid, sniffed a deadlier enemy, and whirled into the wilderness again. Still deeper in the depths a boy with a bow and arrow and naked, except for scalp-lock and breech-clout, sprang from sleep and again took flight along a buffalo trail. Again, not far behind him, three grunting savages were taking up the print of his moccasined feet.
An hour before a red flare rose within the staked enclosure that was reared in the centre of the little clearing, and above it smoke was soon rising. Before the first glimmer of day the gates yawned a little and three dim shapes appeared and moved leisurely for the woods – each man with a long flintlock rifle in the hollow of his arm, a hunting-knife in his belt, and a coonskin cap on his head. At either end of the stockade a watchtower of oak became visible and in each a sleepy sentinel yawned and sniffed the welcome smell of frying venison below him. In the pound at one end of the fort, and close to the eastern side, a horse whinnied, and a few minutes later when a boy slipped through the gates with feed in his arms there was more whinnying and the stamping of impatient feet.
“Gol darn ye!” the boy yelled, “can’t ye wait till a feller gits his breakfast?”
A voice deep, lazy, and resonant came from the watch-tower above:
“Well, I’m purty hungry myself.”
“See any Injuns, Dave?”
“Not more’n a thousand or two, I reckon.” The boy laughed:
“Well, I reckon you won’t see any while I’m around – they’re afeerd o’ me.”
“I don’t blame ’em, Bud. I reckon that blunderbuss o’ yours would come might’ nigh goin’ through a pat o’ butter at twenty yards.” The sentinel rose towering to the full of his stature, stretched his mighty arms with a yawn, and lightly leaped, rifle in hand, into the enclosure. A girl climbing the rude ladder to the tower stopped midway.
“Mornin’, Dave!”
“Mornin’, Polly!”
“I was comin’ to wake you up,” she smiled.
“I just waked up,” he yawned, humoring the jest.
“You don’t seem to have much use for this ladder.”
“Not unless I’m goin’ up; and I wouldn’t then if I could jump as high as I can fall.” He went toward her to help her down.
“I wouldn’t climb very high,” she said, and scorning his hand with a tantalizing little grimace she leaped as lightly as had he to the ground. Two older women who sat about a kettle of steaming clothes watched her.
“Look at Polly Conrad, won’t ye? I declare that gal – ”
“Lyddy!” cried Polly, “bring Dave’s breakfast!”
At the door of each log cabin, as solidly built as a little fort, a hunter was cleaning a long rifle. At the western angle two men were strengthening the pickets of the palisade. About the fire two mothers were suckling babes at naked breasts. A boy was stringing a bow, and another was hurling a small tomahawk at an oaken post, while a third who was carrying wood for the open fire cried hotly:
“Come on here, you two, an’ he’p me with this wood!” And grumbling they came, for that fort harbored no idler, irrespective of age or sex.
At the fire a tall girl rose, pushed a mass of sunburned hair from her heated forehead, and a flush not from the fire fused with her smile.
“I reckon Dave can walk this far – he don’t look very puny.”
A voice vibrant with sarcasm rose from one of the women about the steaming kettle.
“Honor!” she cried, “Honor Sanders!”
In a doorway near, a third girl was framed – deep-eyed, deep-breasted.
“Honor!” cried the old woman, “stop wastin’ yo’ time with that weavin’ in thar an’ come out here an’ he’p these two gals to git Dave his breakfast.” Dave Yandell laughed loudly.
“Come on, Honor,” he called, but the girl turned and the whir of a loom started again like the humming of bees. Lydia Noe handed the hunter a pan of deer-meat and corn bread, and Polly poured him a cup of steaming liquid made from sassafras leaves. Unheeding for a moment the food in his lap, Dave looked up into Polly’s black eyes, shifted to Lydia, swerved to the door whence came the whir of the loom.
“You are looking very handsome this morning, Polly,” he said gravely, “and Lydia is lovelier even than usual, and Honor is a woodland dream.” He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I really couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?” asked Polly, though she knew some nonsense was coming.
“Be happy even with two, if t’other were far away.”
“I reckon you’ll have to try some day – with all of us far away,” said the gentle Lydia.
“No doubt, no doubt.” He fell upon his breakfast.
“Purple, crimson, and gold – daughters of the sun – such are not for the poor hunter – alack, alack!”
“Poor boy!” said Lydia, and Polly looked at her with quickening wonder. Rallying Dave with soft-voiced mockery was a new phase in Lydia. Dave gave his hunting-knife a pathetic flourish.
“And when the Virginia gallants come, where will poor Dave be?”
Polly’s answer cut with sarcasm, but not at Dave.
“Dave will be busy cuttin’ wood an’ killin’ food for ’em – an’ keepin’ ’em from gettin’ scalped by Indians.”
“I wonder,” said Lydia, “if they’ll have long hair like Dave?” Dave shook his long locks with mock pride.
“Yes, but it won’t be their own an’ it’ll be powdered.”
“Lord, I’d like to see the first Indian who takes one of their scalps.” Polly laughed, but there was a shudder in Lydia’s smile. Dave rose.
“I’m goin’ to sleep till dinner – don’t let anybody wake me,” he said, and at once both the girls were serious and kind.
“We won’t, Dave.”
Cow-bells began to clang at the edge of the forest.
“There they are,” cried Polly. “Come on, Lyddy.”
The two girls picked up piggins and squeezed through the opening between the heavy gates. The young hunter entered a door and within threw himself across a rude bed, face down.
“Honor!” cried one of the old women, “you go an’ git a bucket o’ water.” The whir stopped instantly, the girl stepped with a sort of slow majesty from the cabin, and, entering the next, paused on the threshold as her eyes caught the powerful figure stretched on the bed and already in heavy sleep. As she stepped softly for the bucket she could not forbear another shy swift glance; she felt the flush in her face and to
