The Forest Runners | Page 2

water, and
when he undertook to return he merely went deeper and deeper into the
forest. Now the boughs, as they nodded before the gentle breeze,
seemed to nod to him in derision. He felt shame as well as alarm.
Henry would not laugh at him, but the born scholar would be worth, for
the time, at least, far less than the born trailer.
Yet no observer, had there been any, would have condemned Paul as he
condemned himself. He stood there, a tall, slender boy, with a broad,
high brow, white like a girl's above the line of his cap, blue eyes, dark
and full, with the width between that indicates the mind behind, and the
firm, pointed chin that belongs so often to people of intellect.
Paul and Henry were on their way from Wareville, their home, with
horses hearing powder for Marlowe, the nearest settlement, nearly a
hundred miles away. The secret of making powder from the nitre dust
on the floors of the great caves of Kentucky had been discovered by the
people of Wareville, and now they wished to share their unfailing
supply with others, in order that the infant colony might be able to
withstand Indian attacks. Henry Ware, once a captive in a far
Northwestern tribe, and noted for his great strength and skill, had been
chosen, with Paul Cotter, his comrade, to carry it. Both rejoiced in the
great task, which to them meant the saving of Kentucky.
Paul's eyes were apt at times to have a dreamy look, as if he were
thinking of things far away, whether of time or place; but now they

were alive to the present, and to the forest about him. He listened
intently. At last he lay down and put his ear to the earth, as he had seen
Henry do; but he heard nothing save a soft, sighing sound, which he
knew to be only the note of the wilderness. He might have fired his
rifle. The sharp, lashing report would go far, carried farther by its own
echoes; but it was more likely to bring foe than friend, and he refrained.
But he must try, if not one thing, then another. He looked up at the
heavens and studied the great, red globe of the sun, now going slowly
down the western arch in circles of crimson and orange light, and then
he looked hack at the earth. If he had not judged the position of the sun
wrong, their little camp lay to the right, and he would choose that
course. He turned at once and walked swiftly among the trees.
Paul stopped now and then to listen. He would have uttered the long
forest shout, as a signal to his comrade, but even that was forbidden.
Henry had seen signs in the forest that indicated more than once to his
infallible eye the presence of roving warriors from the north, and no
risk must be taken. But, as usual, it was only the note of the wilderness
that came to his ears. He stopped also once or twice, not to listen, but to
look at the splendid country, and to think what a great land it would
surely be.
He walked steadily on for miles, but the region about him remained
unfamiliar. No smoke from the little camp-fire rose among the trees,
and no welcome sight of Henry or the horses came to his eyes. For all
he knew, he might be going farther from the camp at every step.
Putting aside caution, he made a trumpet of his two hands, and uttered
the long, quavering cry that serves as a signal in the forest. It came
back in a somber echo from the darkening wilderness, and Paul saw,
with a little shiver, that the sun was now going down behind the trees.
The breeze rose, and the leaves rustled together with a soft hiss, like a
warning. Chill came into the air. The sensitive mind of the boy, so
much alive to abstract impressions, felt the omens of coming danger,
and he stopped again, not knowing what to do. He called himself afraid,
but he was not. It was the greater tribute to his courage that he
remained resolute where another might well have been in despair.

The sun went down behind the black forest like a cannon shot into the
sea, and darkness swept over the wilderness. Paul uttered the long cry
again and again, but, as before, no answer came back; once he fired his
rifle, and the sharp note seemed to run for miles, but still no answer.
Then he decided to take counsel of prudence, and sleep where he was.
If he walked on, he might go farther and farther away from the camp,
but if he stopped