E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
The RIFLEMEN OF THE OHIO
A STORY OF EARLY DAYS ALONG "THE BEAUTIFUL RIVER"
BY JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
AUTHOR OF "THE YOUNG TRAILERS," "THE FOREST RUNNERS," "THE FREE RANGERS," ETC.
NEW YORK AND LONDON D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1922
Copyright, 1910, by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
"The Riflemen of the Ohio," while a complete story in itself, continues the fortunes of Henry Ware, Paul Cotter, and their friends, who were the central characters in "The Young Trailers," "The Forest Runners," "The Keepers of the Trail," "The Eyes of the Woods," and "The Free Rangers."
"The head came up on the other side."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.—The Eye of the Fleet CHAPTER II.—The Wyandot Chief CHAPTER III.—The Song of the Leaves CHAPTER IV.—The Forest Village CHAPTER V.—Play and Council CHAPTER VI.—The Gantlet CHAPTER VII.—Alone in the Wilderness CHAPTER VIII.—The Shadow in the Water CHAPTER IX.—The Gathering of the Five CHAPTER X.—The Great Borderer CHAPTER XI.—The Race of the Five CHAPTER XII.—The One Who Arrived CHAPTER XIII.—At the Fort CHAPTER XIV.—Six Figures in the Dusk CHAPTER XV.—The Deed in the Dark CHAPTER XVI.—The Return Trail CHAPTER XVII.—Picking Up the Strands CHAPTER XVIII.—The Halting of the Fleet CHAPTER XIX.—The Watery Pass CHAPTER XX.—The Trumpet's Peal CHAPTER XXI.—Forces Meet CHAPTER XXII.—The Speech of Timmendiquas CHAPTER XXIII.—On the Offensive CHAPTER XXIV.—The Decisive Battle
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THE RIFLEMEN OF THE OHIO
CHAPTER I
THE EYE OF THE FLEET
The fleet of boats and canoes bearing supplies for the far east turned from the Mississippi into the wide mouth of the Ohio, and it seemed, for a time, that they had come into a larger river instead of a tributary. The splendid stream, called by the Indians "The Beautiful River," flowed silently, a huge flood between high banks, and there was not one among the voyagers who did not feel instinctively the depths beneath him.
A single impulse caused every paddle and oar to lie at rest a few moments, and, while they swung gently with the slow current just beyond the point where one merged into the other, they looked at the two mighty rivers, the Mississippi, coming from the vast unknown depths of the northwest, rising no man knew where, and the Ohio, trailing its easy length a thousand miles through thick forests haunted by the most warlike tribes of North America. The smaller river—small only by comparison—bore the greater dangers, and they knew it.
It was the fleet of Adam Colfax, and the five who had gone to New Orleans and who had come back, triumphing over so many dangers in the coming and the going, were still with him. Henry Ware, Paul Cotter, and Shif'less Sol Hyde sat in the foremost boat, and the one just behind them contained Silent Tom Ross and Long Jim Hart. After the great battle on the Lower Mississippi in which they defeated the Indians and desperadoes under Alvarez, the voyage had remained peaceful as they pulled up to the Ohio.
"It's our own river again, Henry," said Paul. Both felt a sort of proprietary interest in the Ohio.
"It's so, and I'm glad to look on it again," replied Henry, "but the Shawnees, the Miamis, the Wyandots, and others will never let us by without a fight."
He spoke with gravity. But a boy in years, the many stern scenes through which he had passed and his natural instinct for the wilderness made him see far. He was thinking of the thousand miles, every one with its dangers, that they must travel before they could unload their supplies at Pittsburgh for the struggling colonists.
No concern of the future troubled the soul of Long Jim Hart. He was once more in the region that he loved. He looked at one river and then at the other, and his eyes glowed.
"Ain't it fine, Henry?" he said. "These two pow'ful big streams! Back uv them the firm, solid country that you kin tread on without the fear uv breakin' through, an' then the cool steadyin' airs that are blowin' on our faces!"
"Yes, it is fine, Jim!" said Henry with emphasis.
He, too, ceased to think, for the moment, of the future, and paid more attention to the meeting of the rivers. The Ohio, at that point, although the tributary, was wider than the Mississippi, and for some distance up its stream was deeper. Its banks, sloping and high, were clothed in dense forest and underbrush to the water's edge. Nothing broke this expanse of dark green. It was lone and desolate, save for the wild fowl that circled over it before they darted toward the water. The note of everything was size, silence, and majesty.
"We begin the second stage of our great journey," said Adam Colfax to Henry.
Then the leader raised his hand as a signal, hundreds of oars and paddles struck the water, the fleet leaped into life again, and boats and canoes, driven by strong arms, swung forward against the slow current of the Ohio. Some rower in a leading boat struck up a wild song of love and war, mostly war, and others joined, the chorus swelling to twenty, fifty, then a hundred voices. It was a haunting air, and forest and water gave back the volume of sound in far, weird echoes.
But fleet and song merely heightened the effect of the wilderness. Nobody saw them. Nobody heard them. Desolation was always before them, and, as they passed, closed in again behind them. But the men themselves felt neither lonely nor afraid. Used to victory over hardship and danger, their spirits rose high as they began the ascent of the second river, the last half of their journey.
Adam Colfax, stern New England man that he was, felt the glow, and Paul, the imaginative boy, felt it, too.
