MONOWANO; BHE SHAWNEE SPY LONDON: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, | THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE. PUBLISHERS’ NOTE, an this romance of “the Dark and Bloody Ground ”—as Kentucky is baptized in her early history—the reader is introduced once mora to the inimitable Peter Jenkins, and Dick Dingle the ranger, whose appearance in “ The Frontier Angel” added so much to the inter- est of that popular and enticing romance. They will be welcomed, for their part now is that of principals: and their singular charac- ters, their adventures in the celebrated Nickajack Expedition and in the rescue of the Mordaunt party, their relations to the Spy of the story, all serve to render the Trail Hunters men to be remembered. > THE SHAWNHE SPY. CHER PEE Ts. 6 THE TRAIL-HUNTERS “T caw see the use of the Injins acting so mean all the time. They’re always trying to rob and kill the people along the frontier ;and if a fellow like me undertakes to go into their country to look at things, he’s sure to get chased out again, and ef he happens to get catched they won’t take any apology or excuse, but court-martial him on the spot. Con- found them! it’s time they learned better.” The speaker was Peter Jenkins, who, while uttering the above remarks, was coiled up in the branches of a luxuriant oak, where he deemed even the gleaming eye of a Shawnee tould not reach him. For miles around stretched the wilds of Western Kentucky, swarming with Indians and wild beasts, with here and there a solitary block-house or settlement. The time was in the early summer of 1794, a short period previous to the celebrated battle and treaty of Wayne. : It would have been almost impossible to discover the hiding-place of Jenkins. He had been ranging through the country for the past week, and was now returning homeward. To avoid pursuit, he had concealed his trail as much as pos- sible, and had spent the night in the tree as the most certain Tetreat from discovery. He had but just awakened and was communing with himself. Peter was a long, gaunt personage, With dangling feet and arms, and yet, withal, a person of un- common activity. His face was homely, but expressive of goeod-humor and frankness. He bad large, innocent blue eyes, 6 ie THE SHAWNEE 8PY. a huge nose, and irregular features. His costume was the same as that worn by the hunters of the day, consisting of the usual leggins, hunting-shirt, etc. “Tt ¢ strange how them Injins will go on; they’re all the time up to some deviltry. Shouldn’t wonder at all if there’s a lot following me. If there don’t too many come, I don’s care. When I first come out here, I own = was somewhat skeerish ; but Pm getting over that, though there 7s something about the painted imps that always makes me feel nervous. Dingle has cured me of ‘the fear I used to have, though now and then them fainting fits will come over me, just when they shouldn’t. Well, well, I suppose—hello! who shot that!” The last exclamation had good cause for its utterance; for the report of a rifle, a few rods away, was followed by the sharp cutting of a bullet through the leaves, within almost a hair’s breadth of Jenkins’ head. The startled trail-hunter nervously ducked his head, and shrunk still closer to the limb of the tree upon which he had ensconced himself. “That's mean, by thunder! to treat a fellow that way!” he indignantly exclaimed to himself. “S’pose I’m hit with a bullet, just see what a fall I must have! It would break my neck as sure as the world! Now, Pete Jenkins, bring your biggest powers into play.” ; As he uttered these words, he extended himself in a horizontal position upon the limb, and skillfully worked his way toward the trunk of the tree. ‘When he reached this he glided as dextrously as a squirrel to the opposite side from which the shot came, where, hump- ing himself up like a coon, he settled down into the hollow formed by the insertion of a huge limb, and carefully listened. For nearly an hour, not the slightest sound betrayed the -presence of a foe. At the end of that time, he detected the crackling of a twig, as though made by the cautious passage of a person. He strained himself to the utmost to catch a glimpse of his enemy, but the dense foliage of the oak prevented. “You can hunt around in the bushes there as long as you’ re a mind to, so you don’t get another crack at me. If I can only draw bead on your ugly picture once, you'll be sorry that you ever waked up Peter Jenkins. He is a dangerous man when he is once aroused.” DODGING THE BULLETS. 7 Again the speaker ducked his head, for a bullet gouged the limb upon which he was sitting, and glancing upward, shot out into mid-air, with that peculiar eip-cip, made by the pass- age of a bullet through the foliage of a tree. This second shot so alarmed Jenkins that he nestled still closer to the trunk, hardly daring to even whisper to himself. A. half-hour of silence, disturbed only by the distant cawing of a crow, passed away without further incident. Jenkins, gathering courage from the long silence, began to peer cautiously downward, circling his head like the bewMdered serpent. Through the interstices of the leaves, he suddenly dis- tinguished two small, starlike eyes, gleaming like a basilisk’s from the undergrowth, and fixed with an intense brightness upon himself. “What infarnal looking eyes! They shine exactly like Tecumseh’s,” exclaimed Jenkins, gliding hurriedly to the op- posite side of the tree. Here he ensconced himself as securely as circumstances would permit, and again sought for the hid- ing-place of his enemy. He discovered it instantly, the orbs still fixed, and scintillating with a frightful gleaming. “Tf you haven’t got more manners than to look at a fellow like that, Pl teach you,” said Jenkins, reaching and feeling aboye him for his rifle, which he had laid across a couple of limbs. As his hand rested on the stock, a jet of fire flamed from the hiding-place of his enemy, and at the same instant a jar shook the rifle in his hand so-suddenly, and with sueh ¥ singular, stunning effect, as to unloose his grasp and cause the weapon to fall end over end through the limbs to the ground. “Well there! that was well done, if it was a redskin that done it. You hit the barrel with your bullet and knocked tay gun clean out of my hand before I could use it. The next shot I s'pose will serve me the same way.” If such was Jenkins’ expectation, he did his utmost te avoid it, for he ascended still further and concealed himself still more. While gazing in the direction where he judged his enemy to be concealed, the forest again rung with the sharp echo of the latter’s rifle, and the messenger of death whistled so close to the trail-hunter’s face, that for an instant he believed he was shot. A moment more, however, showed that he was entirely unharmed: THE SHAWNEE SPY. It was now obvious to Jenkins that whoever had fired at him had purposely missed him. A marksman who had evinced such remarkable skill could-not have failed so often. It required but a moment for Jenkins to satisfy himself of the meaning of all this. It was a direct summons to surrender, and, in his present defenseless state, much as he regretted it, there was no alternative. He reflected 2 moment, and then called out : “ Halloa, you, down there, don’t shoot any more. I come to terms! JI sfirender, for it can’t be helped. But I want you to understand it’s a conditional surrender. My rights are to be respected, my property preserved, and personal safety sworn to. There mustn’t be any tomahawks, or knives, or such things in circulation. If these conditions are submitted to, I descend.” He did not wait to receive the reply of his captor, but com- menced descending with a wonderful celerity and readiness. In a few moments he dropped lightly to the ground, and looked around for his enemy. ‘But no one was to be seen. Jenkins’ eyes kindled as he beheld his rifle lying upon the ground a few yards away, and he instantly resolved to recover it, and reconsider his “ conditional surrender.” He glanced fur- tively around, and detecting no signs of his foe, stepped hur- riedly toward the coveted object. Instantly a deep, rumbling voice commanded : “ Stop p? Jenkins felt his hair fairly rise on end at the startling com- mand. He wheeled around but still failed to see the speaker. ,Vexation, in part at the whimsical orders to which he was submitting, now took the place of his fear, and he exclaimed : ‘ “Why don’t you show yourself, whoever you are? S’pose you're afraid, the way you're sneaking around. Come out here like a man, and Pil talk over matters with you.” Jenkins fairly sprung in the air as a low, familiar, taunting ' laugh reached his ears. At that moment he would have rather heard the war-whoop of Tecumseh and encountered him in a hand-to-hand struggle, than have met the man in whose presence he now stood. _ “J know who you are. Come out here.” The next moment the undergrowth parted, and a large, powerfully formed hunter stepped into view. er, ne nt re ty or od ita) THE MARKSMAN, - “ How are you, Dingle? Glad to see you!” said Jenkins, stepping forward, and offering his hand. The person addressed, instead of accepting the proffered hand, placed his own against his side, and, without speaking, looked in Jenkins’ face with a faint, tantalizing smile. The latter, disconcerted and vexed, said: “Tf you're too proud to shake hands, I don’t care! I’m as good as you are. I can get along without you, I guess!” “Tt’s a ‘conditional surrender,” said Dingle, without stirring. “ No it isn’t, either !” replied Jenkins, catching up his rifle. “What do you mean ?” demanded Dingle, his brow lower ing like a thunder-cloud. Jenkins threw his gun over his shoulder, and, in turn, asked : ; “What do you mean, Dick ?” “ Jenkins, you’re a pretty good fellow,” said Dingle, with- out heeding the question. ‘ When you first come in these parts you was powerfule afraid of the redskins. Ever since that time I’ve been trying to cure you of it. I don’t believe you're as nervous now as you was then, but you’ve got too much of that thing about you yet.” “What would you have done, Dick, in my place ?” “ Sot still and got shot, before I’d’aye come down for a red. I don’t know though, Jenkins; you're improving, I think. You was in a bad fix, and you done the best you could. I jest shot to see how you would act. I didn’t expect you'd try to shoot me as you did. ‘Yes, Peter, ’m thinking you'll - be somethin’ one of these days.” “Tt seems to me it was rather a foolish thing in you, Dingle, to fire when you didn’t know but what it would bring down a whole pack of the dogs upon you.” “Dingle did know all about that,” significantly replied the ‘atter. “Tve been beating all around this neighborhood for the last day or two, and the only trail within ten miles of here is yours and mine. Where have you been ?” “Up the Sciota Valley, taking observations on the Shawnee | towns.” “What did you see?” > ' “Nothing uncommon. . Things are about the same. They . 10 THE SHAWNEE SPY. are painting, and yelling, and flinging the tomahawk the same as ever, but I couldn’t make out exactly what they intended to do. Have they been up to any of their caperx in these parts while I was gone ?” “Not exactly in these parts, but they've raised thunder down in Tennessee. A whole pack have been tearing through the country, burning houses, blowing up flat-boats, and making a general wiping out.” “Why don’t the people rise up in their wrath and devour them ?” “There ain’t enough whites in them regions, and they’ve sent up several runners axing us to help’em pitch imto the varmints.” “Ts it going to be done ?” “ Going to be done? In course it is!” “ Who's going to do it ?” “They've axed old Captain Bill Whitley to scare up a hundred boys and bring ’em down. I’ve promised him that me and you will go, and he has sot down our names as the Trail-Hunters of the party. In course, there’ll be others adoptin’ the same profession, but we'll have to do the big business, and ain’t there fun ahead? Whoop!’ The joyous Dingle gave a leap in the air, and executed a sort of double-shuffle in the bushes for a few moments, when he asked : “What do you think of it, Peter ?” “T always wanted to be an Indian-fighter like you, Dingle, but there has always been a drawback—a feller is likely to get killed. If I was sure I wouldn’t get hurt, wouldn’t I walk into the business? Where is Jim Peterson? Is he going ?” “ Freeze me to death, do you s’pose he’d go? Hes willing enough, and kind of itches to be off; but since he’s settled down with that Frontier Angel she won’t let him think of it. But if these imps keep at their tricks much longer, he and Mansfield have both told me they'll make a free fight of it, sure.” oe “Wal, I s’pose a man feels different when he gets a pair of white arms around his neck and a couple of blue eyes looking right through him. ’Pears to me J should.” And Jenkins assumed a most ludicrous expression of visage, while he wrapped his arms lovingly around his rifle. A REMINISCENCE. : 10 “ He does—that’s a fact,” added Dingle. “How do you know, Dick? I heard Peterson once say you’d been married, and the Shawnees done ynu an ugly turn. Is it so?” The hunter made no reply fora moment., The stock of his long rifle rested upon the earth, while his arms were folded over the muzzle, and his eyes had the dreamy, vacant look of profound revery. Presently he drew a deep breath and answered, in a voice softened and modulated by feeling : “T have been married, Jenkins, and I once had a child—a little boy. He was the only one I had. There was Injin blood in his mother’s heart, but they didn’t spare her for that. When they come on old Wetzel’s house, they saved Lew and the other two boys, and wiped out the old folks. It was a long while ago, when Boone and me was young men together. Him and me was off hunting, and it was done while I was gone. They carried ’em both off first, till the little boy told ’em his father’s name, when they tomahawked ’em both. Peterson come out in these parts about then, and, as -he_ believed they’d served his gal—that Frontier Angel—the same way, we clapped hands and declared war aginst the whole Injin race. Jim has got his gal back agin, and he has stopped fightin’ for awhile. When I get my boy back I'll stop. But that can’t be, and so I expect to fight till I go under by some of ’em.” q “ Jenkins,” resumed Dingle, after a pause, “never agin speak of this as long asI live. If I-go under before you, you may tell of it then, but not before.” Great, manly tears rolled from his eyes down over his rough cheeks, which he © bent over his rifle to hide. For a few moments not a word. was spoken by erther. When Dingle looked up his face had lost all traces of emotion, and wore the same stolid expression that characterized it. “Wal, Jenkins,” he said, drawing a deep breath, and throwing his rifle’over his shoulder, “it’s getting well along, and the clearings - a good tramp from hereabouts. So let’s pull up moccasis.” With this the two trail-hunters turned and disappeared in the forest. THE SHAWNEE SPY. CWA P:TER, FIs TNE INTERVIEW IN THE FOREST. AN unusual. commotion was felt along the frontier. In nearly all the settlements there were evidences of excitement. Men were seen hurrying to and fro; scouts were arriving and departing daily ; now and then an Indian runner made his appearance, and, merely halting, hurried away into the forest again. It was plainly evident that some important movement was on foot. From Western Tennessee the voice of supplication had come. ‘The feeble settlements in that section were exposed - to the fury of the savages. Every night the sky was illumined with the flames of cabins, and the agonized shrieks of the white victims pierced the air. First an Indian runner (a faith- ful Moravian, who had survived the terrible and unholy mas- sacre at Gnadenhutten, by the whites) arrived with a message to William Whitley, imploring him to repair at once to their assistance. This brave man, like a true Kentuckian, without, 1 waiting to petition government, Si pledged himself and called ‘for volunteers. His own settlement could not be cate to furnish even one-half the required number. He therefore dispatched his scouts to the villages above them on the Ohio, for assistance in the expedition. At the time named the work was only commenced, but it was progressing nobly. The inhabitant — of Ohio or Kentucky was never the one to resist the appeal of the weak and suffering. The settlement to which we ask particular attention for a . time, is the seat of Captain Whitley’s operations, and which | may properly be termed his head-quarters. It was built muck after the manner of the Old Fort at Boonesborough : that is, — village, It had two gates, constantly guarded, as also were ‘a wall of buildings and palisades inclosed and protected the — Pee ke Ore ene eT ae NN Se, _ aeawvrnrr * THE DIN OF PREPARATION. Ses 3 _ the forts at the corners. The whole arrangements of forts and houses were a model of a frontier settlement. Within the inclosure were some thirty or forty cabins, clumsy and unsightly, but precisely what their inhabitants desired. They ‘were built without regard to appearance, and were located according to the taste of their builders. On ene side of the village, about a dozen rods distant, flowed the Ohio, while on the opposite stretched the almost interminable forests and cane-brakes of Kentucky. The.intervening clear ing was dotted by black, charred stumps which the fire had failed to destroy. On the day in question, the gates were thrown open, and the forms of men were constantly passing ‘and repassing through them. Now and then the painted plumes of a savage witted among the somber-looking whites, and, on several occasions, their long, thrilling signals awoke the forest-echoes. Far down the gleaming Ohio, canoes were moving like tiny birds in the distance. Animation was visible in every coun- tenance, and promptness in every movement. Prominent among the settlers was the gallant Dingle, moving to and fro, and assisting as much by his counsel as by his actions. His — tall, muscular form was ever conspicuous. But, to an ordinary observer, Peter Jenkins would have seemed the most important. He really appeared to be omni- — present. . Now giving some parting word to one as he rowed | away in a canoe; hurrying across the clearing to communicate _ with some returning scout; asking of the most prominent whether “it wasn’t best to wear uniform,” and also if “it wouldn’t be a good plan to kill every Indian in the country.” Several times he might be heard giving orders to those aroun him. The only difficulty in the latter case was that no one gave the least heed to them. All through the day the din and confusion of preparation _ went on. Captain Whitley himself had the majority of vol- unteers on a broad space within the clearing, where he was putting them through all sorts of movements, drills and maneuvers, which could possibly come in use in the contem- plated expedition. His eye sparkled with exultation as he Saw their enthusiasm and the aptness with which all his orders were executed, There was not a laggard in the whole settlement, 2 14 ; THE SHAWNEE SPY. As night settled over the wood, all drew within the pall sades, the gates were closed, every thing secured, and the sentinels stationed. There was no expectation of an attack, but the habit of caution had almost become an instinct on the frontier, both among the settlers and Indians. Captain Whitley advised all who were not on guard to retire for the night; but the thoughts of the morrow were too strong and | exciting to permit slumber to visit many. The majority, after a time, withdrew to the cabins, while others clustered in groups, and spent the night in speculations upon their future movements. An hour or so before midnight, the faint call of the whip- © powil was heard in the forest. Almost immediately the form of a female emerged from a cabin, at one extremity of the _ village, and made her way toward the western gate. She stole her way carefully along, as if fearing observation. ‘When at the gate, she shrunk silently within its shadow, where she remained a few moments, as though irresolute and undecided. In a moment, she uttered a suppressed call to the sentinel. “Hello, Miss Maude, is that you?” was the call in return. “Yes; hurry and let me through.” “JT don’t know, Maude, whether I should. I ‘shouldn’t wonder if there’s somebody in them woods besides Monowano. I heard his call just now, but, confound them Shawnees, there’s no trusting them.” “Tet me out, Tom; there’s no danger, I assure you.” “The fact is, you know, I’ve got orders not to open this gate after nightfall for white or red. Howsumever, I believe it’s generally understood that we are to let you go. So hurry along with you, and don’t remain in the woods too long, or you may be shut out for the night.” With this, the sentinel carefully withdrew the bolt, and Maude glided quickly out. She sped across the clearing, and, in a moment, disappeared in the wood. Within this, she hurried some twenty or thirty rods, and then paused beside a large fallen tree. A moment after, a light step was heard, and a lithe, graceful form, clad in the habiliments of an Indian wartior, glided beside her. “T heard your call, Monowano,” she said, as the Indian took - her you tep an hei eve tre thi ae MONOWANO. F 16 her hand, “ but I was delayed so long at the gate that I feared you had gone.” “Monowano never fled from the light of the Evening Star,” replied the warrior, using the figurative language of his race, and giving to Maude the name by which hé always addressed her. ‘ When the light of morning comes, and the star of the evening departs, then Monowano seeks the home of his people.” “Have you seen the preparations to march against you ?” “ Monowano has hid in the woods, and from his seat in the tree-tops counted their number. They are many, and when the other Long Knives unite, they will drive back tie Shaw- aee warriors from the Ohio.” “ And what will you do in this struggle ?” “These hands of mine,” said the warrior, pressing those of Maude, “have never shed the blood of a pale-face, and shall never be raised against him.” “Will you fight with our people ?” The savage started, as if stung, and quickly replied: “ And never shall Monowano fight against the Shawnees. we shall befriend both people. When the red-men gather like the autumn-leaves in the forest-hollows, he shall warn the pale-faces; and when the Shawnee sleeps, and dreams of his squaw and children, and the Long Knife steals like the serpent upon him, Monowano shall shout and save his kindred.” “Be careful,” said Maude, lowering her voice; “the whites are angry, and they will kill you if they oe you help your people.” “Monowano is known to his white brothers, iia can he not die for his people?” asked the savage, haughtily. “If the pale-faces seek to slay him, he cares not.” “They will not,” said Maude, affectionately, “unless you provoke them. Don’t do it, Monowano, for my sake. Will you remain here when they go forth ?” “When the Long Knives take the war-path, Monowano will follow them, as the dog follows the deer. He will never slumber.” “T do not fear—” “Hist !? interrupted the Indian, turning his head; “some One watches.” Both listened, but Maude heard nothing, save the beating 16 THE SHAWNEE SPY. of her own heart, and the faint sighing of the wind overhead. © Her attendant had drawn his knife, and stood in that crouch- | ing, panther-like attitude of intense attention, in which one of those curious similarities between the animal and Indian is so plainly brought out. The light of the moon, piercing the tree-tops, shone full upon his face, revealing one of singular beauty.. His brows were contracted, and his head bent, so that the ornamented scalp-lock suffered the eagle-feathers to dangle before his waist. One arm was rigid, and closed tightly over his knife, while the other rested upon the handle of his tomahawk at his waist. Neither stirred for a few moments, when Maude asked : “Do you hear any thing more ?” “He has fled. Some one has heard our words, and will spread them to the winds. It is well that he is not here now.” The Indian replaced his knife as he spoke, and turned toward Maude. The latter, looking up in his face, asked: “When shall I see you again ?” . Her companioa pointed at the moon, now in its crescent. “When she is full and round, and lights up the war-path which the Long Knives have taken, and the Shawnees have fled before them, then Monowano will return. When the shadows fall upon the forest, and the whippowil calls, let the Evening Star shed its light for Monowano.” “She will ever listen for the song of the whippowil, for it is the sweetest song of all the birds of the wood.” “And the light of the Evening Star is the life.of Mono- wano,” added the Indian, his eyes flashing with. the warmth of his words. For a half-hour longer the two conversed, each heart glowing with love and affection for the other, and yet no demonstration, more than the mere pressing of the hands of Maude by her Indian lover, was offered. Finally, they sepa- rated as silently as they had come together; the warrior disappeared like a shadow in the wood, and the maiden sped noiselessly across the clearing to the gate, where the sentinel admitted her, and she hurried to her own cabin. Monowano was the name of one who was well known to the settlement referred to in this chapter. He was supposed to be the son of a chieftain of the Shawnees; but his singulaz eaeso Sa ewe 5 ie Fe ee _ ad. ch- one 1 is the ooo MAUDE. 2 17 beauty led many to the supposition that he was part white Others affirmed he was a younger brother of Tecumseh, who was coming into notice at this time. He was of the same stature and form as that renowned chief, and was as graceful and athletic in his movements. He was always clothed in the gaudy dress of the sachems, with a head-dress of eagle feathers dyed in many brilliant colors. The majority believed him to be a devoted friend to the whites, but there were not wanting a number who secretly envied the savage his popu- larity, and did their utmost against him. They reported him a spy, and assured their credulous friends that the time would come when his treachery would evince itself. This feeling of distrust and suspicion had gained considerable ground during the last few weeks. The unusual absence of the Indian, together with the petition from the settlers in West Tennessee for succor, confirmed many in the belief that he was in league with the hostile Shawnees. In short, Monowano had been made aware that he would be running a great risk by showing . himself to the settlers in their present state of feeling. About a year before, while in the settlement, this Indian participated in a drill of the militia, and discovered a wonder- ful amount of military knowledge, imparting to the whites many useful hints in regard to the execution of different maneuvers and stratagems. This rendered him a person of importance in the eyes of the settlers, and, at the same time, an object of suspicion to the few referred to. It was on this occasion that he became acquainted with Maude Burland, an orphan, and the ward of a Mr. Mordaunt, one of the most influential settlers. The handsome, manly form of the Indian made its impression upon the heart of Maude; and, at the same time, he did not strive to conceal his admiration for the modest, dark-eyed maiden. Mordaunt detected the attachment at once, and endeavored to prevent its consummation; but he soon saw that-this was impossible, and, like a sensible man, said no more about it. } For a while Monowano visited Maude at her home in the Settlement; but he never felt easy under the suspicious glances of those around him, and ever since the snow had melted from the forest, the two had met within it. Twice every week the Indian’s signal was heard by the sentinels, and ¢ 18 THE SHAWNEE SPY. Maude was allowed to pass out of the gates to him. In spité of the suspicion attending his movements, he had not failed to enter occasionally the village, until the last few weeks, during which time none but Maude had seen him. CHAT YT2 WATT INCIDENTS BY THE WAY. “Tm morn brought the marshaling in arms,” and the day; “hbattle’s magnificently stern array.” Ere the sun was fairly abuve the wilderness, the whole settlement was in commotion. A runner had arrived during the night with the intelligencé that the depredations of the Shawnees were continued, and the people, such as were able, were arming themselves. Colonel Orr had promised to meet Captain Whitley, at 9 rendezvous which the latter had appointed, with five hun- dred volunteers, and the utmost dispatch was required. Orders were issued by the captain for preparations to be made for marching at once. All forces expected from neigh- boring settlements were on the ground, when it was found they numbered about a hundred men. These were summoned on the clearing in front of the settlement, where Captait Whitley briefly addressed them. It needed no eloquence of his to inspire them with ardor. He read their determination in flashing eyes and heaving breasts. Each man clutched his rifle, and seemed impatient for the coming contest. At niné@ o’clock the order of march was taken up. Amid the tears and farewells, the cheers and good wishes of those left behind, ‘the’ gallant little band wound across the clearing, like some huge serpent gliding into the mighty forest. This expedition against the Nickajack towns is the first one in American history which has the credit of using mounted artillery. Whitley (who was now constituted colonel by his own troops) mounted a swivel upon his horse, 30 arranged that he could wheel and fire in any direction. He was also provided with nearly fifty balls of wrought iron, Oo kK. he sp (a oe oe? ae oe ee pite iled eks, lays irly MARCH OF THE EXPEDITION. 19 Perhaps, might have been properly termed a fort in himself. As he remarked, in case of pursuit he would be able to halt and stand quite a siege. As soon as the forest was fairly entered, the scouts scattered, © ind betook themselves to their several duties. They were instructed to outlie the troops, constantly communicate with each other, and, in 20 cases, except as a signal of danger, were any, save the two hunters in the rear, to discharge their Tifles. Dingle and Jenkins were denominated the tratl-hunters of the party, and were to scour the forest in front, to guard against any ambush of their enemy, and to detect and report every sign of their presence. A fatal policy seems to have attended, for a time, every Moyement of the Americans against their Indian enemies. The disastrous defeats of Bowman, Clark, Harmar, and St. Clair followed each other in succession, and will ever be a blot upon our military achievements on the frontier. In all of these campaigns the causes will be found to be the same— the incompetency of their leaders. That they were brave Men can not be denied ; but they lacked that perfect command and control over their troops, without which no general can successfully meet an enemy in any way equal. That perfect discipline can not always repel an Indian assault, is proved by the sad fate of the British general, Braddock, and his force; but it was their admirable discipline that in the end prevented their total extermination. Had this brilliant com- mander possessed one tithe of the knowledge of Indian tactics _ that our own generals had, it can not be doubted that his Courage would have prevailed. The troops, by not hesitating to put themselves under the directions of young Washington, at the fall of their leader, saved themselves, as said, from &nnihilation. Captain Whitley was a man to whom these defeats taught their lesson, and he has properly received credit for the Masterly manner. in which he conducted the “ Nickajack Expedition.” s The one hundred volunteers marched rapidly to the rendez- Yous, where, as expected, they found Colonel Orr awaiting them with five hundred men. Whitley and Orr, poth colonels, _ concluded to cast lots for the command. This was done, and - _ it was found that Whitley was chosen, 20 THE SHAWNEE SPY. The six hundred fell into order at once, and, turning their faces toward Tennessee, plunged into the forest. Nearly twenty miles of the intended route lay through a range of mountains, which it was determined were to be crossed at night. On either side of this force were some half-dozen scouts flitting silently through the wood. Sometimes theif forms could be discerned coiled up in the limbs of a tree, and the next instant they would rise from behind some log, or whisk through the bushes like startled animals. Now and then the shots in the rear showed that the hunters were not unmindful of their duty. On the western side of the force were three men who were numbered among the most skillful scouts and Indian-fightert on the frontier. These three, about noon, might have been seen together, their heads bent, and conversing in low tones. One had stooped, and was carefully raking the leaves with the stock of his rifle. “What do you make of it, Jim?” asked one of his com- panions. “A moccasin.” “Delaware, Wyandot, or Shawnee ?” “Ugh! who are we huntin’ for? If a Shawnee hasn’t broke that stick less than an hour ago, then a red has never yelped in old Kaintuck.” _ “Only one ?” “Only one; some infarnal spy, somewhere ’round us now. ’T won’t do for him to get into Nickajack with the news. We must get his top-knot.” ' “ How is it Dingle hasn’t seen the trail ?” “-Spect he has, but didn’t think it worth while to tell ug "bout it. ’Tain’t in his line to see it.” : The three scouts now knelt, and on their knees examined the trail. Suddenly one gave a suppressed laugh : “Call that Shawnee, do you? Toes turned out! Ha! ha!” “Freeze me if it ain’t so, Jim,” added the other. “ Whatt the matter with your peepers ?” ‘ “Nothing,” returned the one addressed as Jim. “ Toes twisted inward or outward, it’s a Shawnee.” The others gazed at him as if they suspected his sanity. of you ever heard of a Shawnee called Monowano ?” “You needn’t stare at me so,” he retorted. “Have either “stan.” 21 An expression of intelligence flashed over the faces of the two addressed. All three knew Monowano well, and were Aware of a curious fact in regard to hn. The Indian had a habit of slightly inclining his feet outward when walking, a Peculiarity which no other savage had evinced, and which had Often been remarked by the settlers. One of these same scouts , Was the most inveterate enemy of the Shawnee. “What business has he sneaking ’round us this way ?” “Looks suspicious, that’s a fact.” _ “Pye always said that fellow had mischief in him, though it seemed hard to make the others believe it. Injin is Injin Wherever you find him; and if Colonel Whitley was of my Mind, that Monowano wouldn’t trouble him much longer.” “Tt may be that Dingle hasn’t seen this trail, so Pll give him the hint.” With this, Jim Botts shot silently off to the left, and a few Minutes after made his appearance beside Dick Dingle, who Was just then conversing with Jenkins. As he heard Botts’ footsteps he turned toward him, inquiring, by the expression °f his countenance, what his errand was. “Sign 2” interrogated the latter. “Yes; what of it.” “You know him ?” “ Monowano.” “All right; remember, Whitley has given orders to bring . €very spy we can lay hands on.” . Monowano ain’t a spy,” replied Dingle, quietly. ; . P'raps so,” added Botts, with a meaning shake of his head. Do you know he is?” asked Dingle, fixing his keen eyes ‘Pon the speaker. b “All Pye got to say is that if I cotched a man trying to "eak into my house, I’d venture to set him down as a robber; “0d if I cotches a redskin skulking through the woods, keep- Watch upon a lot of soldiers, I’d undertake to suspect him & spy.” al, Jim Botts, you can allow ‘them pegs of your’n to oo you away from here about as quick as you please. °wWre a good hunter, but you know you've no business to Monowano wants to harm us. I don’t stick up fur ins generally, but J does for that chap. Howsumever, when « THE SHAWNEE SPY. we encamp I'll bring him before Whitley, and you may question him as much as you please. You needn't take the pains to come to me agin with any of your idees.” “There’s no need of getting mad about it,” replied Botts, with a rueful countenance, as he moved away. So soon as he was out of hearing, Dingle turned toward Jenkins. “This looks bad for Monowano, Pete. Id swear my life if that paint was rubbed off his face you’d find white skin under it; and as for him bein’ a spy, the thing is onpossible. He’s hangin’ round fur sunkthin; and if the boys see him, he'll be shot if they can’t capture him; so he'll have to be brought in if we can find him.” “T don’t see how youre going to lay hand on the mink, for he takes to the woods like a duck to water, and I even doubt my ability to entrap him, so cunning and careful is he.” “fe isn’t fur off, and if he thinks we want him, the fellow will come in, for he prides himself a heap upon his honor. |- Let’s move on, and keep your peepers peeled fur sign.” With this, the two moved forward in their usual cautious manner. It was not until the middle of the afternoon, how- ever, that they again found visible signs of Monowano’s presence. Jenkins’ attention was attracted to Dingle by a low, peculiar whistle of the latter. “ What’s up now 2” “Look! he replied, pointing downward upon a piece of moss. Jenkins did as directed, and saw the two well known prints of the Indian’s moccasins. “‘He’s done it on purpose; he’s within call.” Dingle gave a sharp, suppressed whistle, as a signal whica was well known to the savage. This was repeated several times, but no answer was received. “Perhaps he’s forgotten how to whistle,” said Jenkins. “Wait till he has practiced a little, and you’ll hear him.” “Monowano has no fear of the white man,” repeated that individual himself, stepping from behind a tree, and approach: ing the two whites. “Hello! that you? how are you?” ejaculated Jenkins with a visible start, and partly retreating behind Dingle. “Monowano, you must go with me,” said the latter, ste ping forward to meet him. Pero eae ee aw en ich ral ; ins. A PRISONER. 23 “Where ?” asked the savage, with a slight recoil. “To the encampment; the men have found out that you’re tangin’ round, and it'll be the safest plan.” . The Indian folded his arms, signifying his willingness to tomply with the hunter’s wish. “You don’t think, Monowano, Id play you false?” asked Dingle, in a tone of uncertainty. “Monowano has no fear of his White Father,” replied the Indian, quietly. ‘ “All right ; I'll answer for your safety. I don’t think Captain Whitley vould dare to hurt you if he knew I was set agin it. I-don’t think he would dare,” repeated Dingle, as if talk- ing to himself. “He has known me long enough to know my temper, and if Captain Whitley or any of his men should shoot this Injin, P'd shoot him!” “ How is it there’s such a friendship between you and him? |. 8nd what makes him call you his ‘White Father?” asked Jenkins. “Tvs what he has always called me—jist a notion of his Ispose. If I thought Monowano, standing there, was a spy, ‘d saye the captain the trouble of shooting him; but I’ve know’d him long enough to know we hayen’t got a better friend than him; and though I hate all his people like rank Pizen, ’'m bound to see that /e’s used right. Yes, sir.” The trail-hunter compressed his lips and shook his head €terminedly, as he uttered these words. “Just so,” added Jenkins. “I see the light is fading around Us, and the men have probably camped.” “We'll go in then.” As Dingle moved away, he glanced at the Indian, who had Temained as indifferent as a statue during the conversation With Jenkins. The sayage followed him with a deliberate Pace, and a few minutes later the three made their appear- 4Nce at the spot where the army had encamped. There was Some commotion as the Indian strode proudly forward, with a Step as haughty and dignified as the greatest chieftain of his ple. He walked directly in front of Dingle, where he halted and gazed around upon the encampment. His dark ®Yes shone proudly as their eagle-gaze encountered the dif- t officers, as though he were the leader and master of all © saw. — THE SHAWNEE SPY. “Ah! who have you there, Dingle ?” asked Captain Whit ley, coming forward. “Our old-friend Monowano, eh? Iv# a long time since I have met you, Monowano ; and yet I mus! confess I am rather sorry to meet you under these circum stances. Nevertheless, I greet you.” Whitley extended his hand as he spoke; but the Indial remained with folded arms, and, with a look that would have). stung a king, deliberately turned his back upon him. “What are you sorry to meet him fur, captain?” asked Dingle. “Because it looks bad for him, Dick; I have been told several times during the day, that he was skulking through the wood and watching our movements. Such a thing that you know would be your or my death-warrant if caught I have good reason to believe that Monowano ts a spy !” “Whoever told you that, Captain Whitley, lies. Yot haven’t a truer man in your company than that Injin, and I'l] see justice done him.” “How is it, friend Dingle, that you are the one who hag brought him in?” “T know’d he was in the wood, I know’d what this talk was about him, and brought him in that he might havea trial.” “ And that you may rest assured he shall have. You t men there, bring the Indian to my camp, and see that he # well watched.” : “All right, but don’t you undertake to bind him,” said Dingle to the two men. ‘“ There’s no danger of his tryin’ 10) run away. Ef there was, he wouldn’t have come in so easy.” The Indian followed the two men, who appeared as though they were menials clearing the way for an emperor. He was ushered into a tent, where were seated Captain Whitley and a number of officers. A seat was offered Monowano, but hé declined it, and remained standing, his arms folded in thé usual manner, and his face perfectly calm and stoical. “Monowano,” said Captain Whitley, respectfully, << would fain believe you to be a true friend to us. But yout actions for the past few months have given us good reason tO doubt you. Why do you watch us thus? What reaso# have you for thus dodging through the wood ?” nit oe ust im” ial rve xed old igh ht. rou i hat was DINGLE THREATENS. 35 “Why does the eagle sail above the clouds? Why does the deer live in the woods? Has Manitou told them that the bale-face forbids it ?” asked the Indian, bending his dark cyes Upon those of his interlocutor. “All true—all true,” replied Whitley. “We don’t pretend %r wish to prevent the deer or Indian from roaming over his °Wn hunting-ground. We don’t object to that at all; but the _ Geer flees from the white man; he does not follow him.” “The eagle watches the antelope from the clouds, and “Cllows him whither he wills.” E Very true, Monowano, but the eagle does that, you know, ‘o fall upon and slay the antelope at last. And it is the same object, we fear, that leads you to follow and watch us as vou ive.” q As this direct charge was uttered against the Indian, his head tuned as quick as lightning upon Whitley. The latter expect- ga reply, braved his glance. But the Indian said nothing. T waiting a few moments, the captain repeated his charge, ‘td asked several questions. But it was ali in vain. The Ds of the Indian were sealed, and no mortal threats or power Could open them. Whitley and his officers consulted together, fais} ‘ud the Indian was led away, when Dick Dingle, the trail- Unter, made his appearance. He was questioned closély, aud Save every particular of the capture—if such it could be ed—of the Indian. He was then allowed to remain and Yelp determine what should be done. He found that Whitley and every one was in favor of having him shot at once, To Dingle demurred, and becoming somewhat , excited, Wound up by swearing that he would shoot the man or every ®te who assisted in his execution; after which he declared he Would turn renegade, and spend the rest of his life in warring *Sainst the whites. After this forcible expression, Whitley informed Dingle at he might retire, and the fate of Monowano would be termined without further aid from him. “Tt is strange,” said the captain, after the trail-hunter had Parted. “Iam unwilling as any one to believe that our “soner is guilty; yet, positively, I can see no other view’ / Which can be taken of this affair, Monowano’s conduct is ®xplicable ; indeed, he makes no attempt to explain it, If, 26 THE SHAWNEE SPY. he be a spy he ought to die, and shall die, too, if there is any power in what I say. I do not like this threat of Dingle’ as I know he would carry it out, and he is too valuable a mal to lose; yet, it should not deter me in my duty. Dingl@ would not be so positive in the innocence of the Indian nad he not good reason for it. Were it any other man, I should D® tempted to doubt his honesty; but there is no treachery i him.” ; “Could we not compromise the matter by eis Mono wano as a prisoner, until our expedition has“terminated ” asked one of the officers. Captain Whitley shook his head. “He would escape, and would then most certainly be ow inveterate enemy. No; I must admit that I am in a dilemmé caused by the lingering doubt of the Indian’s guilt.” A long consultation was held, the result of which was th acquittal of Monowano. Captain Whitley could not rid him self of the partial belief in his innocence, and he was tO conscientious a man to punish him under such circumstanc®} Several. of the officers finally agreed that this course seeme) best.. The soldiers themselves were considerably surpris¢ for they counted upon the Indian’s death as certain. Captain Whitley, in a private conversation with Dingl@ informed him of his decision, adding that it resulted entirelf from the doubt of which we have spoken, and from no threa¥ of his. He further informed the hunter that he might tab Monowano to a distance from the camp; and, after giving hit some good advice, allowed him to depart. At alate hour, Dingle, accompanicd by the Indian, stru@ off into the wood. Not a syllable was spoken by either unl’ they reached the bank of a large creek. Here Dingle hal and, turning toward his companion, said: “We must part on this spot, Monowano. I don’t kn? what your notion is in hangin’ round us so, and [Id adv you to try some other means of amusin’ yourself. But, g' luck to you.” _ The Indian stepped in front of Dingle, and raising his < pointed to the moon. “Before that is round and full, Monowano will show 3 White Father that he remembers him; Monowano will nev” forget.” ; JENKINS STRIKES A TRAIL. 27 With this brief but expressive remark, the Indian strode wn the bank of the stream, and, turning off to the left, was St to view in the wood. Dingle remained motionless a Moment, as if in deep thought, and then made his way to the id Qcampment. CHAPTER Iv. THE MOST REMARKABLE TRAIL-HUNT ON RECORD. Tr was the determination of Whitley that the distance of €n miles which led over the mountains should be crossed Uting the night. This was necessary in order to make the tise of the Nickajack towns complete. They lay upon _-© opposite side, and unless Monowano should prove treach- . ous, could as yet have no knowledge of the expedition *Sainst them. p The mountains were reached in the early part of the after- | *on, when a halt was made to continue until nightfall. The Nal sentinel and guards were stationed, when Dingle and “nkins set out in the woods to ascertain whether any suspi- “ous trails wére to be seen in the vicinity. A mile from the “amp, Jenkins said: I propose, Dingle, that we part and hunt for sign sepa- A ‘ately, I flatter myself that I won’t cross any thing suspicious } thout observing it, and the chances, you see, are thus Ubled for each of us.” “All right,” responded Dingle. “You see the captain is be Wishful that the Injins shouldn’t find out that we're », ct, and so, I take it, it would be best to spend your time dight in searching the wood.” My sentiments exactly.” nd the two separated. Dingle, we may remark, after te ‘tal hours’ careful search, discovered nothing upon which Could hang a suspicion, and reported the fact to Whitley gj MPon his return in the evening. Jenkins had a different ience, however, 28 THE SHaWNEE SPY After parting from Dingle, he spent an hour in wandering |- aimlessly forward, not heeding or caring where his steps led him, as he well knew he could find his way back to camp ngain. Suddenly he discovered the print of a footstep upon | the leaves before him. “Hello!” he exclaimed with a start, “there’s sign as suré as the world. Some infarnal Injin is scouting through the woods. Wonder whether it’s Monowano? No; the print is too big for him. Some chief, Pll warrant. There’s a mighty | responsibility resting upon me. Perhaps the success of the Nickajack expedition depends entirely upon my exertions. I must follow up the trail, and either kill or capture the auda- cious spy.” Ducking his head downward, like a crouching animal, and trailing his rifle, he started upon a half-trot, and a half-walk. He had a keen eye, and followed the trail readily. He was | very careful not to disturb it, buc to keep to one side. The last wish of Jenkins was to encounter the Indian who, he believed, was thus leading him on. His long companionship with Dingle had given him much skill in tracking a foe; and he felt confident that his ignorance would not bring him into @ collision. From the evidence of the different signs, he was satisfied that he was an hour or so only in the rear. “Whoever he is, he certainly has no suspicion that Peter | Jenkins is upon his trail. He appears as though he invited his own destruction. The tracks are hardly large enough to be those of the chief Big Foot, and they slightly incline out- ward. Ah! I understand it it’s an artifice to deceive us. But Peter Jenkins is too shrewd a person to have the wool pulled over his eyes in that manner. Yes, sir, a8 Dingle says.” j The pursuit was maintained with the persistency of thé blood-hound, and soon resulted in another most important discovery. Jenkins came upon a spot where the Indian had encountered another of his tribe. They appeared to have consulted together a few moments and then to have separated and taken different directions. Jenkins halted but a moment, and then resumed his duty, determined to keep the original trail. Nearly en hour afterward, and to his unbounded amaze ot a? i ee moa pt el ee po = he a er 1t- 0] rle 2 int ad ive red nt, % -A WHEW AND A WHISTLE. , 29 * Ment, he discovered that he was not follewing one Indian but two! The tracks were too plain to be- mistaken, and he Stopped a few minutes to think the matter over. “Things begin to look dangerous,” he muttered. “ Here are two prowling savages within a few miles of the camp. They must be reconnoitering in the woods this very minute. I must learn more of this, although it’s a terrible risk I run in chasing up two infuriated denizens of the wilderness. Dingle and the boys, from their actions, seem to think I’m “fraid to do what they have sometimes done, and I'll show them I ain’t. I might signal for Dingle to come and help Me, but then, like as not, he’d have something to say about My being scar’t. So, I'll go it alone for a time yet at any Tate.” He moved with the greatest caution, as he felt he was - gradually gaining upon his enemies. If he should un- €xpectedly stumble upon them, the consequences, to say the €ast, would be unpleasant. Moving thus forward, and oc- asionally communing with himself, he was brought to a Stand-still once more, with a “Whew! by thunder!” The fact was, the leaves before him showed unmistakably the footprints of three savages! “Matters are getting more serious every minute. There is Some deep plot on foot. It may be that a large Indian force 18 outlying in the woods and meditate an attack this evening. Should like to discover their whereabouts and intentions Myself; but it is too prodigious an undertaking, and I must ve the co-operation of Dingle.” Placing his fingers in his mouth, he gave a sharp, peculiar Whistle, repeating it three times. A moment after, an answer Came from toward the mountains, and, leaning against a tree, awaited the appearance of Dingle. “What's up ?” asked the latter in a whisper, as he emerged View. Jenkins answered by pointing to the trail before tai The hunter examined it a moment, and then merely “Lead the way and I'll foller.” The two glided forward as noiselessly as serpents. The und disappeared rapidly beneath them, and Jenkins’ heart 9% THE SHAWNEE §8PY. beat high as he reflected that he was leading the most . distinguished scout in their force upon a duty that would reflect the highest credit upon him when its result came to be reported to the captain. It was nearly sunset, when Jenkins’ hair fairly lifted the hat from his head as he saw the footprints before him all at once increase to five. As Dingle said nothing, however, he kept on, determined to maintain the hunt as long as his companion dared follow. How much longer this remarkable trail-hunt might have continued, it is impossible to tell. Jenkins was electrified by hearing a suppressed chuckling noise behind him. Turning instantly, he saw Dingle leaning against a tree, seemingly ready to drop to the earth with the excess of his mirth. A light flashed upon his brain, and he gasped : “My Heavens! Dingle, don’t tell any one of this!” “ Follerin’ your own trail!” exclaimed the hunter, suppress- ing his mirth for the instant. CHAPTER V. THE ATTACK AND THE RESULT. As the shades of night settled over the forest, preparations were made for commencing the march through the mountains. Before it was fairly dark, the men were under way and the, first range was reached. Here a formidable difficulty was experienced. The thick forest made the darkness intense; and, as but one or two knew the direction to the Indian ~ towns, there was great danger of the different companies becoming separated and bewildered. The success of the expedition depended upon a quick and well ordered march. A war-path led in a direct line to the Indian towns, and it was imperatively necessary that this path should not be lost by one of the men. A few minutes’ reflection gave Captain Whitley the means of relief. A number of knots of resinous pine were fired and | JENKINS NABS HIM. 81 Meariea at the heal of each party, and the march was renewed with certainty and vigor. They formed a singular and ghostly company, these volun- teers. A long train of shadowy forms, gliding like specters over the narrow war-path, the flaring torches serving to light _ up a few of the bronzed faces, and the only sound heard, the dull, regular tramp of the numerous feet. Several hundred yards in advance, some six or eight scouts, led by Dick Dingle, | and driven by Peter Jenkins, could now and then be discerned as they crossed the different openings in the wood. In the pale moonlight, they looked like a company of chained cul- prits, marching to the scaffold. Their heads were bent, and their ears constantly on the alert for the least suspicious sound. Sometimes they made their appearance upon the banks of a creek or smaller stream, and halted a few moments until the main body came up. They then stepped noiselessly into the water, and ascended the opposite bank like so many beavers, and wound into the wood again. Mile after mile was passed through the gloomy arches of the forest, through the tangled undergrowth, up the rugged defiles of the mountains, down the precipitous sides, over streams and gullies, and, by midnight, they were within five miles of the Nickajack towns. _ They were ascending the last range, when Jenkins jumped put of the path, and, running forward to Dingle, whispered : “ There’s an Injin or an animal following ys! Tye — him along side of me two—three times.” “T know it,” replied Dingle; “I heard him, and am on the look-out for him. Jest keep your place, Pete, and be earefal he don’t nab you. If you see him, rush in and grab him, and if you hold him till I come up Ill promise neyer to let out a word about that trail-hunt. Ogh!” “Tir be darned if I don’t do it.” Jenkins slipped back to his place in the rear. He askev the man in front of him to carry his rifle a short time, unde: some pretense, in order that he might have his arms free for the desperate duty he had resolyed upon. As may be sup- posed, it required a great deal of mental torment for Jenkins to bring himself to this point. But he succeeded at last, THE SHAWNEE SPY. Byer since his unfortunate adventure at the block-house with the Frontier Angel, he had beem anxious to accomplish some deed that would free Dingle of the doubt and suspicion he entertained of his courage. Of course this could not be done unless he really underwent some danger, for his companion was too shrewd a man to be deceived by any artifice he could invent. The present, therefore, was a good occasion for him to retrieve his good name, not only with Dingle, but with the rest of his acquaintances. In a‘few minutes he heard the stealthy footstep again. Fearful that the others might also detect it, and prevent him carrying out his determination, he resolved to lose no time. He strained his eyes to pierce the intense gloom, and finally believed he could now and then detect a shadowy form flitting beside him. Drawing a deep breath, he made a bound toward it, and, spreading out his arms, closed them around the form of an Indian ! “Tve got him! quick! help! or he'll get away !” Before the men, near as they were, could reach him, Jenkins felt a pair of vice-like arms close around him»and lift him bodily from the ground. The next instant he went spinning through the air like a frog, and fell directly upon the head of Dingle, who had not left the war-path. ~ “Who is this—white or red?” demanded the indignant hunter, seizing him with his right hand and fairly twisting — him to the earth. “Me! me! Pete Jenkins! Ob Lord! you'll kill me!” Dingle relinquished his grasp, and darted away in the wood. As quick as lightning the identity of Jenkins’ enemy flashed upon him. He had gone but a rod or so, when a noise like the hiss of a serpent attracted his attention. “ Monowano !” he called, in a husky whisper. “My White Father,” was replied at his elbow. . “ Keep further away! keep further away, Monowano! Ef % you’re cotched agin I can’t do nothin’ fur you. Keep off— remember.” “ Monowano will heed the words of his White Father.” A minute after, Dingle was leading the scouts onward, as though nothing had occurred to alarm them. | Witb the exception of Dingle and Jenkins, no one had the — | + Sod THE BATTLE. 8&8 @) Qeast suspicion that it was the Indian Monowano that had : “caused such a commotion for an instant among them. Jenkins affirmed positively that it was some ferocious wild animal— most propably a panther—that had used him so roughly, and Dingle, for evident reasons, sustained him in his assertions. An hour or two before daybreak, the scouts halted at the ‘base of the last range of mountains, and waited for the soldiers to come up. Shortly after, Captain Whitley and his officers made their appearance, and the whole force formed in order for battle. Dingle and three others were sent forward to reconnoiter the village, while Whitley and Orr consulted together. In a half-hour Dingle returned with the intelligence that the entire town was wrapped in slumber, and unsus- Picious of any danger. This was the town which Captain Whitley was the most anxious to attack. Its members had committed more ravages © in‘Tennessee than any other tribe. Scores of white scalps hung in their lodges, and their tomahawks were ever red with the blood of innocent victims.’ In the present weakened state of the government, the power of these savages was too great to be broken. Captain Whitley therefore determined to do his utmost to accomplish this by one stroke. ; Orders were given to surround the town as quietly as pos- sible. As all of the volunteers were skilled in Indian war- fare, this was accomplished successfully. Dingle and Jenkins, as usual, were in company. It was now nearly daybreak. The soldiers were hardly placed in position, when an Indian dog barked, and three Savages were seen moving through the village. Several guns were discharged, as a signal for attack, and the battle com- menced at once. © A murderous volley was poured into the wigwams, and a Simultaneous rush made upon them. The Indians, roused ‘tom slumber, fought with the fury of desperation. The tomahawk met the thrust of the knife, and the flash of the Indian rifle that of the American. ‘Wild, chilling whoops rent the air, and the stern order of the chiefs could be heard amid the shouts of the excited volunteers. A company of determined Indians made a break in the lines, and throagh this their squaws, children and themselves rushed pell-mell ¥\e so many Affrighted sheep. bi} THE SHAWNEE SPY. Dick Dingle was among the first who dashed forward, al” his exertions proved him a host within himself. Right and left the Indians fell around him, and, leaping over their fallen bodies, he burst into a wigwam. At this instant some one applied a torch, and in an incredible space of time the village was one sheet of flame. The combustible material of the different lodges flashed up like powder, and made the scene of the conflict as bright as noonday. As Dingle broke into the lodge, his head encountered something, and he fell, partly stunned, to the earth. Ere he could rise, half a dozen Indians _ pounced upon him, and he felt the iron twist of his matted hair preparatory to its being “ raised.” “You've got Dick Dingle at last,” said the hunter, as he ceased his efforts. ‘Hurry up and yank off his top-knot, and wipe him out as quick as you can make it convenient.” A hand wrenched his hair several times, and then his enemies seemed to dispute about something. Dingle reso- lutely kept his face to the ground, determined not ‘to look up as long as he could help. But, instead of being scalped’ and brained, he felt the great load upon him all at once removed, and himself dragged rapidly through the blazing lodge, out into the open air, where some one whispered excitedly in his ear : “Run! run! be careful !” Springing to his feet, he darted away into the thickest of the combat ; but not until he had given a look of thankfulness to his preserves Monowane. The battle ceased almost instantly. The town was in ruins, fifty Indians were slain, nineteen taken prisoners, and the rest had fled. It was now daylight, and Captain Whitley, taking with him twenty men, (including Dingle and Jenkins,) commenced a ‘rapid march toward the Running Water town, intending to ‘attack that also. But the alarm had reached it, and they were boldly met by a body of Indians, who charged upon chem at the tap of the drum. A regular running bush-fight now occurred. The parties were nearly equal in numbers and strength, and the warriors fought with the most deter- mined courage. Several times they were compelled to give ground, but their unerring rifles made the soldiers retreat. in ~~ eee ee” ae JENKINS CAPTURED. 85 ‘is # * turn; and the contest was extremely doubtful, until Dingle, heading a charge, routed them completely, killing several of _ the most prominent warriors. The others fled and escaped. ep Whitley, having fully accomplished the object of the expe- a dition, collected his men and set out on his return. He had the punished the Indians, and checked the daring outrages which bso they had so long committed. Several of his own men had ve been killed, and, before they had reached home, it was dis- tly covered that Jenkins was missing. From inquiries made by oa Dingle, it was rendered certain that in the charge which he iat headed, Jenkins had been captured and carried off by the retreating Indians. One of the men had seen him seized, and another affirmed that he saw him, in company with h 3 4 2554 = several warriors, tearing through the wood, as if in mortal 4 ‘fear of his own kindred. is O- Pp d 1, : C HA Per ie ed. o SHOWING THAT THE RACE IS NOT ALWAYS TO THE SWIFT. 3 How Peter Jenkins was captured by the Indians no one ever learned. Even that individual himself professed to be completely in the dark when he endeavored to account for it. The most probable explanation is the one given by himself. During the charge of Dingle, he unexpectedly found himself face to face with three swarthy Indians. Just as he was on the point of assaulting the whole three, he was most | unaccountably taken with one of his facnting-fits. When consciousness dawned upon him, he found he was running over the ground at a terrific rate, there being a savage on either side of him, with a firm hold upon his collar. He remonstrated against this, affirming that the Indians “tickled” him so much that he could scarcely breathe. He was, however, hurried forward with unabated speed, and in a short time arrived at Running Water town completely exhausted and out of breath. When his captors loosened their hold, he dropped like a rag to the ground; but two or three well applied kicks brought him to his feet again. THE SHAWNEE SPY. It is not to be supposed that Jenkins was insensible of the # great peril in which he was placed. Captured as he was, as an enemy, directly after the fearful defeat of the Indians, there could be no grounds for hoping for liberty or ransom. He was too well secured to think of freeing himself, and in the broad daylight it was utterly out of the question. Jenkins could only see one loop-hole of escape—if it even could be termed that—and that was Monowano. He knew the Indian was the soul of honor, and, when his unfortunate situation was discovered, would do all he could for him. But there were times when the highest chief of the tribe could not stay the fury of the warriors, and such a time he had every reason to believe was the present. Still, a man having the mortal fear of death that Jenkins had was not to be discouraged so long as the slightest hope remained. He was tied over and over again, and secured in one of the lodges near the center of the village, and guarded by several warriors. He believed the chiefs were debating his fate, and it would shortly be announced to him. So he determined to send for Monowano, while the opportunity remained. “ Any of you chaps know a feller named Monowano ?” The Indians standing around simply gave the prisoner a wondering stare, as though they did not understand his question. “ Monowano I said—any of you know him ?” The Indians now looked at each other and mumbled some- thing in their own tongue, in which Jenkins heard the name of Monowano mentioned once or twice. They then looked at him, as if to invite a repetition of the question. “ Monowano is the chap I mean. I want to see him,” said - Jenkins, elevating his voice to a high key, as though it would translate his words for them. The savages gave utterance again to their guttural words, and then turned their faces toward Jenkins, maintaining a strict silence and stoical indifference. He repeated ‘his question several times, but received no reply, and was about really to despair, when Monowano himself entered the lodge. He started as his eyes rested upon his white friend. An expression of pain flitted for an instant over his face, leaving it as cold and unimpassioned as before. AN EXCELLENT PROSPECT OF TORTURE. 87 “How do you do, Monowano ?” asked Jenkins, with as much cheerfulness as he could assume. The Indian took the proffered hand, and then dropping it, and shaking his head, he said, as he retreated a step and assumed the upright position : “ Sorry to see you here—sorry, Jenkins.” “Tm glad to hear it. I’m tremendous sorry myself, and I trust I can soon change my situation through your exertions.” “Tm afraid I can do nothing,” replied Monowano, com- pressing his lips, and averting his face. Jenkins fairly gasped for breath as the Indian uttered these words, and an overwhelming sense of his danger deprived him almost of consciousness. “But you can try, Monowano. Did not Dingle and I stand by you when you were in danger? You would have never been here, had it not been for what Dingle and I did for you.” “T know—all true,” replied the Indian, much moved. “ Monowano will try; but the war-spirit moves mightily in the hearts of his people, and his arm can not stay their will.” “Do you know what they intend doing with me ?” asked Jenkins, in a pleading, wailing tone. “ Can you bear it ?” asked the Indian, fixing his dark eyes upon the face of the helpless prisoner. ; “ Yes—yes, I can bear any thing,” replied the latter, while his whole appearance gave the lie to his words. “You are the only prisoner—” “T know that—I know that.” “Do you remember Colonel Crawford ?” “Oh Lord! yes; and I remember how he died, too.” _~ “ Could you bear such a fate ?” Jenkins’ eyes fairly blazed with horror. “You don’t mean—you can not—mean, Monowano, that they intend—to—to torture me—as they did him ?” The Indian maintained his fixed gaze upon the white- lipped prisoner, without a motion or look that could be taken for an answer. “Heavenly powers! Monowano, would they serve me thus? Ihave done nothing to deserve such a death. Say! Do they intend that ?” ; 88 THE SHAWNEE SPY. Monowano nodded his head forward, as he glided out of the door. “Let them do it, and be darned! By thunder! I don’t care a snap for the whole tribe !” Strange as it may seem, Jenkins felt exactly what he said. He had reached the utmost bounds of fear, and even passed beyond it. Satisfied now that nothing but death could remain tor him, a sort of recklessness seemed to take possession of him, and he was actually freed from fear.” “Yes, sir, I don’t care!” he added, talking aloud, yet to himself. “TI seen an Injin die at the stake once, singing his own death-song. I'll show these heathen that I can die as well as they can. As they pile on their fagots, and shoot their powder into me, I'll sing Yankee Doodle, and call ’em all the outlandish names I can think of. It would be fine if I could kind of bust loose and run away just then, but I don’t believe they'll give me the chance. When the boys up to the settle- ment hear how Peter Jenkins died, they'll admit he had courage, though I shouldn’t wonder if that old Dick Dingle would say I sung Yankee Doodle just to keep my spirits up, and wouldn’t have died at the stake if I could have helped myself. But the others will think better.” Jenkins saw the eyes of his captors fixed upon him with a sinister expression. But, as he felt just then, he did not care a whit for their anger, and continued talking as usual : “Yes; that will be the greatest event in my life—this dying at the stake. I wouldn’t mind it at all if it wasn’t for the © way the fire hurts. Let me see, I wonder if I remember Yankee Doodle.” : He bent his head a moment, as if to recall his recollection, and then suddenly burst out : “Oh, Yankee doodle, doodle do! Oh! it’s Yankee doodle dandy ; And so Yankee doodle, doodle do, And a doodle dandy. / “S§o strike the chorus, doodle do, And so doodle peony ; : So strike the chorus, doodie, And—and so strike the chorus. “There! I think that will make a grand effect—a great impression. I wish these heathen could only understand the Pee ' THE SHAWNEE SPY. him all that had passed between her and her guardian. But, as she was about to speak, her courage failed her and she only said: “ My father wishes to see you, in the village.” “The heart of the white man is deceitful, and Monowano’s shadow will no more darken their threshold.” “ Monowano,” repeated Maude, in a reproachful tone, and heightening in color, “ my father is not deceitful.” “Monowano has been upon the war-path; he has struck for his white brothers; and, when the arm of the Shawnee has been raised, he has seized the knife, and the blow has fallen harmless. And for this the white man seeks his.life.” This was the first direct reference the Indian had ever made to the suspicion which many of the settlers held against him. For a moment. Maude was at a loss to reply. “Your life is sacred in the village,” and, gathering courage as she proceeded, the maiden continued: “I have heard the call of the whippowil, and sought to come to you, but was prevented. I had, however, promised my father that I should not see you, and I am now about to give the reason.” The Indian stood as motionless as a statue, and Maude, not daring to encounter his gaze, recommenced : “There is a mystery about your movements as well as about yourself which justly creates this suspicion. And the refusal upon your part to disclose to me—” At this unlucky moment Maude chanced to look up, and. saw, not ten feet behind Monowano, the figure of Pete Jenkins surveying them both with an air of mischievous drollery. He seemed to have come upon them by accident, and was waiting now to see their actions for his own amuse- ment, not sensible that he could hurt the feelings of those whom he was watching. The Indian saw that something behind him had attracted the attention of the speaker, and instantly turned and confronted the grinning Jenkins. “Why is this?” asked Monowano, laying his hand upon the buckhorn handle of his knife, and suryeying him fiercely. “Oh, now, you needn’t appear so mad about it,” said Jenkins, waying his hand with the air of a father. “Ive suspected this all along, and won’t laugh at you. So, just go ahead with your love-making, and don’t let me bother you. Tl look on.” ; JENKINS TELLS HER FATHER. : 8B So saying, he complacently. seated himself’ upon the bg beside Maude, and awaited her movements. “TJ am not aware that this meeting is for your benefit,” said the latter, haughtily, rising and preparing to move toward the village. As she reached Monowano, she. said, in a low tone, - bat loud enough to be heard by Jenkins: “I will see you again, and explain what I wish to.” The Indian merely glanced at her, and then turned silently on his heel, and disappeared in the forest. “Tl be derned if that ain’t mean,” said Jenkins, indignantly. “T come out on purpose to see them perform, and both have fone off without obliging me. Never mind; Ill tell her father, to pay for this.” CHAPTER IX. A NIGHT OF EVENTS. TRUE to his word, Jenkins related to Mr. Mordaunt all the Particulars of the interview which he had witnessed, laying reat stress upon the parting sentence of Maude, i i which she Promised to see Monowano again. “Oh, my gracious! but they were loving as a couple of ‘doves. You oughter seen ’em !” Perhaps the rebuff which Jenkins had received tended Somewhat to an exaggerated color in his narration. At any Tate, Mordaunt’s idea of the interview was far from the truth. It caused him great uneasiness, to say the least. He saw that it was simply impossible to prevent any number of meet- ings between Monowano and his ward. While he had full faith j in her intentions, he felt that her surroundings were such 88 to overrule them; and he well feared that the Bet infatua-_ tion would some day lead his child to take her departure forever from his roof. He spent several days in thinking Carefully upon the matter; and more than once he consulted long and earnestly with the minister and several of his most intimate friends. The result of these deliberations was a rather startling ~ —+ =» o> WILLIAM DINGLE. 121 Monowano left them to befriend the other party, while they continued their way. They heard the faint discharge of guns during the night, and in the morning Caswell Britt appeared on shore and was taken on board. He gave an account of the attack, and stated that his life, and he believed that of one or two others, was saved by the. skillful maneuvering of Monowano. After “Mordaunt had finished, William Dingle (as he shall now be called) stepped forward and gave his story. He related how, when his mother was killed, in his father’s ab- seuce, he was carried off as prisoner’ and adopted into the Shawnee tribe. His mother was a Wyandot, but was toma- uawked by her own relations for marrying a white man. He was reared in the same tent with Tecumseh, and when quite « boy, was compelled, under pain of torture and death, to take an oath that he would not reveal himself to the whites. He was painted, and adopted their costume, and was believed to be one of their most loyal subjects. His prepossessing ad- dress led them to propose that he should act as spy for them, and he accepted the proposal for purposes of mercy. He had never forgotten his parent nor his people, and he had studied to befriend them whenever it lay in his power. Compelled to keep up the semblance of faith to the Indians, he necessa- rily ran a great risk. But his skill carried him through, though it came nigh failing him at the last moment. And there were other facts which came out in time, all of which proved the loyalty of the suspected spy to the whites. He stated that more than once he had been upon the point of revealing himself to his “ White Father ;” but his oath prevented, until it could not be avoided longer. It was not until two ycars later that William Dingle re- lated to his wife (Maude Burland Dingle) how nigh he had come to being executed on the very clearing in front of their cabin. It was a cold, gloomy night without when he related it, in his light-hearted manner, and she shuddered with terror as he laughingly painted the scene. But the fire upon their hearth was cheerful, and, as he turned his eyes upon his radi- ant wife, and his smiling father, the old trail-hunter, who sat upon the opposite side of the fireplace, he said: * 122 THE SHAWNEE SPY. “But the time has passed, and all are now satisfied that Monowano is their friend.” Young Dingle retained some of the characteristics of his Indian life as long as he lived. Among them was his habit of often using figurative language in conversation, and of be- ing reserved and dignified in company. He proved, in after life, his loyalty to the interests of the whites, by greater achievements than any we have referred to. Dick Dingle, true to his promise, gave over his wandering life, now that he had found his son, and spent the remainder of his days in the family of the latter, where, as his grand- children grew up around him, he diffused perpetual sunshine and cheerfulness by his eccentric and good-natured peculiari- ties. He lived to aripe old age, and his memory is still cherished by hundreds that occupy the scene of his former exploits. : As fer Pete Jenkins— Ah! what of him? We shall sxe!