Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 101: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- creek! A Scout for Virginia QI I paused at every habitation and inquired for the travelers. Always the same reply; two men and a woman had been observed. When I finally reached the Greenwood cabin at Dunlap’s Creek I learned I had gained a day because of Patricia’s need for rest. She was an odd bundle of contradictions. She felt superior to frontier women, and how they. would have smiled at the thought of recuper- ating after the easy travel from Salem to the Many of the women on the Greenbrier had walked the entire distance over the moun- tains so that the pack-animals might be used in carrying the jealously guarded and pitiably few household-goods. It was amazing to contemplate what a differ- ence two or three hundred miles could make in one’s environment. Patricia Dale, soft and dainty, was used to the flattery of the town, and, I feared, the attention of many beaux. Her parents had known none of the comfort- able places in life at her age; and yet she had responded to her environment, had been petted by it, and now she was a domestic kitten. I wondered if she would respond to her ancestry if placed among arduous experiences. I knew the kitten would, and therein I found hope for Patsy Dale. I had been greatly shocked when told the girl was being taken over the mountains. Now by some peculiar mental twist I was beginning to enjoy secretly the prospect of seeing her again and in surroundings which harmonized with long rifles and hunting-shirts. On the surface I persisted in my anger at Dale and vehemently wished her back at Salem. Yet my guilty anticipation endured, and as a sop to conscience I tried to make myself believe there was no danger. Howard’s Creek could not be conquered so long as the settlers kept close to the cabins and fort. I believed that, or I should have urged a return of all the women to the east side of the mountains. If the enemy, in force, should lay a protracted siege, Howard’s Creek would be remembered among other bloody annals. But I knew there would be no prolonged at- tempt to massacre the settlement. Cornstalk was too wise a warrior to weaken his forces for a score of scalps when a general engagement was pending. Let him win that and he could take his time in blotting out every cabin west of the Alleghanies. So after all it was neither difficult nor illogical to convince myself the girl would be safe so long as she kept close to the creek. Even Dale would not plan to take his- daughter beyond the creek. If he attempted it there were men enough to prevent the mad act. Across this line of thought came the recol- lection of the Grisdols’ fate. The girl would be safe at Howard’s Creek, but death lined the trace leading thereto. My reason assured me Black Hoof’s band had long since departed from the mountains. My fear that the girl was being led into an ambush threw me into a fine sweat; and I pushed on the faster. I reviewed all the cir- cumstances which would preclude the possibility of an Indian attack on the three travelers. There could be no Indians between Dunlap’s and Howard’s. Black Hoof’s losses at the Grisdol cabin, the venomous hatred of young Cousin stalking them day and night and the appearance of Baby Kirst{ would surely hasten their retreat. But there would obtrude the terrible pos- sibility of a few raiders hiding along the trace, determined to strengthen their medicine with more white scalps. But never once did I count in favor of the girl, Dale’s boasted friend- ship with the Shawnees. Even my most visionary listing of assets could not include that. I made a night-camp half-way across the mountains and dined on cold provisions procured from the Greenwoods. d=. THE morning brought optimism. By (£5 this time the girl was safe in the Davis cabin. I finished my prepared food and resumed my journey. I had covered a mile when a mounted figure turning a twist in the trace ahead sent me to the ground. The two of us struck the ground at about the same moment. Our rifles slid across the saddles as if we were puppets worked by the same string. Then a voice called out— “T won’t shoot if you won't.” Of course he was white. “Jesse Hughes!” I exclaimed, vaulting into the saddle. “These are queer hunting-grounds for you.” Then in sudden terror, “Are ,the Indians back here in the mountains?” “Devil take worse luck! No,” he grumbled as he trotted to meet me. “I’m going out to Greenwood’s to see if I can’t git a few shots of powder.” “Have you seen Ericus Dale, the trader?” I anxiously asked. “Ves, I seen the fool. He was making the creek when I come off, His gal was with him and John Ward. Come pretty nigh potting that Ward feller. He’s a white man, but —— me! I can’t git it out of my noodle that he ain’t a Injun.” “How did Dale’s girl stand the journey?” The query surprized him, and he looked puzzled. “Stand it?” he slowly repeated. ‘‘Why, she ain’t sick or hurt, is she?” I said something about her not being used to riding long distances. “Long distances!” he snorted. “Wal, if a woman can’t foller a smooth trace on a good hoss for a day’s ride, she ain’t got no business COPMICLOOOKS (CO)