That night Daniel found it hard to sleep. He turned from side to side, unable to find a comfortable position on the hard ground. For the first time since joining the pack-horse troop he thought with something like longing of his cornhusk pallet at the Worders’ homestead.
The campfire had burned to embers when he saw Timothy rise from his place nearby. Instinctively, remembering the man’s threatening glance, Daniel tensed in expectation of attack. But Timothy walked noiselessly around him, skirting the sleepers with the same care, and disappeared into the woods where the horses were hobbled.
Daniel half rose to go after him, but the thought of the dark woods held him back. Although Indians seldom attacked in the middle of the night, preferring the hush just before dawn, his mind peopled the forest with hundreds of Miamis and Shawnees.
And then he remembered the horses. Was Timothy the sort who would vent his spleen on helpless animals? Would he injure more of the pack-horses in some devious way? Without stopping to think further, Daniel rose to his feet with caution and slipped silently after the bulky figure ahead of him.
Once his eyes had adjusted to the gloom of the forest, he did not find it too difficult to follow Timothy who made no effort to be quiet when he was hidden from his comrades. But Daniel still held his breath and moved quickly from tree to tree.
The woods thinned suddenly to a natural glade and Daniel, his breath caught in a gasp, came to a halt. Ahead of him Timothy was walking forward confidently to greet another man. In the dimness and at this distance, Daniel could not tell whether it was a white man or an Indian, and at the thought that it might be the latter he began to tremble. There was a roaring in his ears as he fought his panic. Now he must be completely silent, he knew, for if it was an Indian, his life was surely forfeit. His hand sought the pewter button inside his shirt and touched it for comfort.
The two men talked together briefly and something passed between them, but Daniel could not see what it was. He was glad when the other man turned away at the conclusion of their talk and disappeared into the woods beyond. That gave Daniel the chance to edge around the tree which concealed him, so that Timothy would not see him. They returned to the campfire, Daniel always a good distance behind Timothy as before.
But now, when Timothy had once more lain down beside the others, Daniel faced a real problem. How could he return unnoticed? Not only by the others, but especially by Timothy. If Timothy were to suspect that Daniel had seen him at his rendezvous, and if that rendezvous was what Daniel thought it was, there was real trouble ahead.
Daniel paused at the edge of the forest. Had Timothy seen his empty place at the campfire? What could he do that would seem natural and unsuspicious? Suddenly he remembered that the injured horses were tethered nearby for the night, not roaming as freely as the others in the train. He headed toward them.
He made no effort to be quiet when he returned to the campfire. Josiah roused to a sitting position at once, his rifle in the crook of his arm. “Who is it?” he called out.
“It’s me—Dan’l,” came in a sleepy voice. “I just wanted”—he yawned hugely—“just wanted to see how the hosses were gettin’ on.” He rubbed some of the salve from his fingers onto the grass ostentatiously. Another yawn. “Sorry I woke you up.”
The others, half-roused, grunted and returned to their sleep. Only Timothy had not stirred. Yet Daniel had seen the firelight shine on the slits of his half-opened eyes.
All during the following morning, Daniel tried to decide whether he should speak to Josiah about what he had seen. There was nothing wrong with it, perhaps. It was possible that Timothy had a friend who had settled in these parts, and who made a point of meeting him like this whenever the pack-horse train was due at Fort St. Clair. But there were so many holes in this idea that he soon discarded it.
Did Timothy have an Indian friend? Was he, perhaps, one of the Legion’s spies, working in this way? None of these things sounded the right note to Daniel’s troubled mind. And by afternoon it was too late.
Each man had a ration of bear meat and parched corn which he was to eat on the road that day, for they were anxious to cover the distance to Fort Greeneville, the place where their loads would be delivered. There they might, if they were lucky, have a glimpse of General Anthony Wayne himself. Henry’s string was in the lead with Josiah, as always, in the forefront. Next came Simon’s string, with Amos and Daniel behind him. Last of all were the injured ponies, driven by Timothy.
Ben was often with him, but Ben’s job was to patrol the entire line. It was when he was in the van, talking to Josiah, that it happened.
There was a shout from the boys and Simon as Timothy’s string broke loose and went racing into the forest at either side. “Stay here!” Amos shouted to Simon, and he and Daniel ran after the disappearing horses at full speed.
Daniel could hear Ben shouting farther on, and knew that he and Josiah had joined the search for the lost animals. Timothy was nowhere to be seen.
Once Daniel glimpsed one of the ponies in the distance. It was running free, the rope which normally tied it to its fellows flying in the wind. The rope did not look as if it had snapped. The end had been neatly severed.
He turned to tell Amos of what he had seen, but Amos was not there. Suddenly Daniel realized that he was alone in the forest, without a gun, without a companion, and that the troop was gone from sight and hearing.
His breath rasped in his throat—not from his running, but from stark fear. Which way had he come? Where were the others? For a moment sheer panic overcame him and he shouted wildly, hopelessly.
Josiah’s voice reached him, bringing him to his senses like a shock of cold water. “Those hosses didn’t break loose for nothin’,” Josiah said, coming from the deep woods with an angry frown between his bright blue eyes. Even his beard seemed to bristle with anger. “Simon says mebbe a bear scairt them, but there’s no sign of bear that I can see, and the hosses in Simon’s string and yours wasn’t scairt, so what was it?”
Daniel said, still trembling from his fright, “I saw one of the hosses just now, and it looked to me like his lead rope had been cut.
“If you saw him, why didn’t you catch him?” Josiah demanded.
“He was too far away,” Daniel admitted.
“If he was too far away to catch, I’d think he was too far away to see a thing like that,” Josiah snorted.
“But that’s not all!” In his eagerness to justify his suspicions of Timothy, Daniel told his story wrong. “Timothy met a man in the woods last night—a stranger—and—”
“How do you know?” The gaze Josiah bent upon him was impatient and skeptical.
“I followed him when he got up from the campfire. Everybody else was asleep. Do you think—”
“I think,” said Josiah harshly, “that you’re imaginin’ things. Do you expect me to believe you went wanderin’ in the woods at dead of night, when you were so scairt right now in the daylight that you were hollerin’ your head off?” He turned away in disgust, and Daniel, hating himself for his fear, would have liked to turn in the other direction, but dared not.
Of the string of ten, only two horses were caught. Josiah checked the loads with a wry twist to his mouth. “Flour and ammunition,” he said. “You’ll pay for this carelessness, Timothy,” But Timothy, although he put on a show of distress, did not seem too disturbed.
All the way to Greeneville they had to hurry, for the mishap had made them late and they were determined to get to the fort before darkness fell. “Thank heaven it’s summer, and stays light for a long time,” Amos murmured.
“Does your pa run this pack-horse train in the winter, too?” Daniel asked, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
“No, it don’t pay enough then. There’s no forage for the hosses, so we’d have to carry their feed. A hoss’ll eat a third of its load in feed.”
Daniel was scarcely listening. Twice he opened his mouth to tell Amos his suspicions of Timothy, and twice he closed it again, for he dared not risk his new friend’s scorn. If Mr. Gregg thought so poorly of him, Amos might think worse, for Amos was closer to him.
There was not too much breath for talking anyhow. Every bit of strength was needed to urge the tired animals onward, to see that they did not stray from the military road, to tighten insecure packs and girths, to watch out for tree stumps and mudholes.
When at last the pickets of the fort loomed in sight, Daniel drew a deep breath. Now he could rest; now there would be real safety for them all.
Josiah went to find the quartermaster to whom he was to deliver his supplies. The boys stood quietly by their animals, hot and tired and hungry, and Daniel thought to himself that at least this goal had been reached. He wondered how many goals there would be in his life to strive for, to attain, and, perhaps, to pass.
“That’s him! Over there! Look!” Amos poked Daniel in the ribs so hard that it hurt.
“Who? Where?”
“Over there! Don’t you see him? Old Toney himself!”
Daniel craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the tall, florid man who walked slowly and with a limp between two of his officers. He was disappointed, somehow. In his mind’s eye, he had envisioned General Anthony Wayne as splendidly lithe, with classic features and hawks’ eyes.
All he could find to say in his disappointment was, “I didn’t know he was lame.”
“It’s the gout, Pa says. Pa says he’s so lamed with it any other man would be in his bed and moanin’ for the leech, but Old Toney don’t let it get him down. He keeps an eye on everything, even if he has to be lifted up on his horse by his men.”
Perhaps he did have hawks’ eyes, then. The thought was consoling. After all, was not this the man who was to make the frontier safe from the Indians? If he failed, would not all the settlers who had braved the wilderness be doomed to failure, too?
The boys had not heard Ben come up behind them. “Know what the Indians call him?” Ben demanded suddenly. “No Toney Lumpkins for them! They call him the Whirlwind. Or, sometimes, the Black Snake. That’s what they think of him!”
“How do you know what they call him?” Amos asked. He grinned as he spoke. “You been makin’ talk with any Indians around here?”
“Next best thing,” Ben said laconically. “Spies.”
“Spies?” Both boys spoke at once, and their eyes lighted with excitement. Like everyone else, they had heard of the wonderful work accomplished against the enemy by General Wayne’s little band of trained men.
“D’you know Cap’n Kibby?” Daniel asked. “He’s from Columbia.”
“I know one of his men,” Ben admitted. “He’s been one of Kibby’s rangers right along. But the big news is about Cap’n Wells and his latest catch.”
His eyes twinkled as he saw how eager the boys were for his news. Captain Kibby’s rangers went afoot as scouts for the army. But Captain Wells and the few men attached to his command lived like gentlemen in the encampment. They were privileged to take any horse from the dragoons that they might need for their assignments, and their exploits made fine telling around the campfires.
“Of course, you know that Cap’n Wells was brought up among the Indians. And so was Henry Miller, one of his men. Well, it seems Miller left a brother with the Indians when he turned white again—fellow by the name of Christopher who liked the Indian life too well to leave it.
“A few days back, Old Toney sent the cap’n out to bring back an Indian’ prisoner so’s they could question him. They went away up along the Auglaize and there, on high ground, they surprised three Indians. Wells and Miller shot two of ‘em, and McClellan, who can run circles around a deer when he’s a mind to, took off after the third one. What does that Indian do but jump off a cliff into the river! The water was low and he sunk in the mud up to his middle and stuck there. Along comes McClellan, full speed, and jumps right in after him, mud or no mud. By the time Wells and Miller come up, McClellan had the Indian pretty well tamed.”
Daniel shivered. “All by himself?”
“Sure. One white man against one Indian. Why not?” Ben stopped to laugh aloud, and added. “Only this time it weren’t no Indian! When the others come up, and drug him out’n the river mud, and washed the war paint off’n him, he turned out to be a white man!”
“A renegade?” Amos asked. “Or a Britisher?”
“Neither. You’ll scarce believe it when I tell you it was Henry Miller’s brother Christopher that he hadn’t see for months. At first the fellow wouldn’t talk at all, but finally he admitted who he was. And,” Ben ended his story with a flourish, “he’s right here at Fort Greeneville in the guardhouse this very minute, with his brother Henry and Cap’n Wells tryin’ to git him to talk, and come over to our side.”
“It don’t seem possible a thing like that could happen,” Amos said doubtfully.
Ben bridled a little, then laughed again. “If you don’t believe me,” he said, “ask anyone. The story’s all over the place, and the latest word is that Christopher’s weakenin’. Myself, I don’t know whether I’d really trust a man that had been a white Indian ever since he was a lad.”
“Henry Miller is trusted,” Amos said quickly.
“Aye, but Henry Miller left the Indians of his own accord. And so did Cap’n Wells. This Christopher, now....I don’t know....”
Daniel turned away. Wherever he went there was this talk about Indians. It was natural, of course, for the whole purpose of this string of forts, the whole reason for the Legion and the spies and the reconnoitering, was the eradication of the Indian menace. Twenty times a day he wished that he could have been living safely in some place like Cincinnati until the campaign was over. Yet even in Cincinnati there were plenty of Indian alarms, despite the protection of nearby Fort Washington. Why, matters had become so serious in the neighborhood that a number of men had banded together only last month to offer bounties for Indian scalps.
Was there no safety anywhere on the frontier?