Adventure Magazine Cover — page 173: what you’re looking at

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

RED STRIPES of nuts and raw squirsel meat. But he did know he was gazing on the Ohio and the Kentucky shore beyond. His problem now was to cross the river although it was very possible that would mean from pan to fire. He remembered poor Bryant’s advice to make for Massie’s Station, but he had no idea whether he was above or below it. Nor did he know how much time had elapsed since he struck Little Beaver and escaped from the Salt Creek camp. He crawled into a thicket of bushes as a befuddling sense of helplessness swept over him. His clothing consisted of a few rags. His moccasins were worn out. His feet and limbs and chest were scratched and torn by the wildness of his flight. As he stared at his poor feet he discovered he was weeping. He fought down the weakness, and was startled into lively perception by a slight splashing noise in the current above his hid- ing-place. As it sounded at regular inter- vals and appeared to be drawing nearer he forced his way closer to the bank to stare down through the tangled growth. He felt as if he were suffocating when he beheld a man in a canoe. The man was dressed like one of the Long Hunters who lighted the Kentucky fire. “Take me off! Save me!” Knight hys- terically called out. The canoe swerved in to the bank and out of sight. “Ym a white man! Save me!” he re- peated. As he received no response he cried again and again to the same effect. ‘“‘Who are you?” asked a curious voice behind him. He turned in frantic haste and beheld the man, his rifle across his left arm. The man had landed and mounted the bank and gained the rear of the fugitive’s position without being heard. N A recital that was almost incoherent | Knight told his story. The man re- laxed and rested the butt of his rifle on the ground. As Knight ceased talking the other squatted on his heels and checked off. “You're Virginny. Catched at the Big Sandy station. White man, named Bryant, was fetched in and got hisself killed. You busted loose. Injuns chasing you. That right?” “Yes, yes. And we must be going. Set me across, will you?”’ 171 “You forgot to say what band of Injuns was it,” prompted the man. “Little Beaver and his Wyandots. Cap’n Jimmy, the whites call him. Poor Bryant told me. Chief has red stripe up and down his back.’ ‘“That’s Little Beaver. All his men have red stripes till they quit his band. My name’s Kinsty. I’d like to obleege you. Too much risk. If Little Beaver is on your trail he’d cross into Kentucky quicker’n scat to overhaul you.” “Good heavens! You’re a white man. You don’t refuse to help me?” pleaded Knight. “T’m just saying I ain’t going to cross to t’other shore and run the risk of having a Wyandot or Shawnee ax sunk in my head. There’s a better way. Twenty-five miles down stream, by the Injun path, is Massie’s Station. It’s a bit longer by water. Know anybody there?” | “No one. Not a soul.” ‘(Makes no difference. They’ll be glad to take you in.” “Tf you won’t go with me then set me on the path. I must get somewhere that’ll be safe to close my eyes in, and sleep.” “T’ll lead you there,” assured Kinsty. “Then let’s get into your canoe and start now.” Kinsty shook his head. “Safer to foller the Injun path. Whose your folks back in Virginny?” Knight got to his feet and hurriedly told the names of his people. Kinsty worked inland and struck into the old trail. As he walked along in the lead he seemed hungry to be told things and asked many questions about Knight’s home life, his friends, and the like. Knight patiently answered the queries, as he had learned this was a char- acteristic of isolated people. The first four questions a traveler would be asked at a frontier cabin would be: “What’s your name? Where you from? Where you go- ing? What’s your business?” Knight talked until weary, and finally complained: ‘“‘Can’t we push forward faster? Seems like we was holding back.” ‘“‘No hurry so long’s we got to make one camp. Can’t do it on a stretch. Least- ways, you can’t. Won’t do to git tuckered out. You must be good for a long run if jumped by Injuns. You say you can’t speak nary a word of red lingo?” CoOmiclbool< (C@