The Phantom of the River | Page 4

that of Boone and Kenton that it was impossible to decide
whether it was further off or nearer than before.
There was no reply to the call, and it was uttered only three times in
each instance. The oppressive stillness that held reign throughout the
forest on that sultry summer afternoon enabled the two men to hear the
cawing with unmistakable distinctness.
In short, our friends interpreted it as a notice from the dusky scout to
his comrades that he was following the progress of the pioneers, which

was therefore fully understood by the war party that was seeking to
encompass their destruction.
When the signal sounded for the fourth time, the rangers seated on the
fallen tree looked in each other's faces without speaking. Then Kenton
asked, in his guarded undertone:
"What do you make of it, Dan'l?"
"There's only one thing to make of it; them Shawanoes are keeping
track of every movement of the folks behind us, and we can't hinder'
em."
"How many of the varmints are playing the spy?"
"There may be one, and there may be a dozen."
This answer, of necessity, was guess-work, for there was no possible
means of determining the number, since the hostiles in front so
regulated their progress that not a glimpse had been caught of the
almost invisible trail left by them.
And yet the matter was not wholly conjecture, after all.
"Dan'l," said Kenton, with a significant smile, "there's more than one of
'em, and you and me know it."
The older smiled in turn and nodded his head.
"You're right; there's two, and may be more--but we know there's two."
Nothing could show more strikingly the marvelous woodcraft of these
remarkable men than their agreement in this declaration, which was
founded upon this fact.
There was a shade of difference between the tone of the last signal and
those that preceded it. You and I would have shaken our heads and
smiled, had we been asked to distinguish it, but to those two past
masters in woodcraft it was as absolute as between the notes of a flute

and the throbbing of a drum.
It was as if, after a Shawanoe had cawed three times, he permitted a
companion to try his hand, or rather his throat, at it, and he who made
the attempt acquitted himself right well.
"Now, Simon," remarked the elder, "as I make it, it's this way--they
mean to ambush the party at Rattlesnake Gulch."
"You're right! that's it," remarked Kenton, with an approving nod of his
head, "and if we don't sarcumvent 'em the varmints will have every
scalp, including ours."
"Rattlesnake Gulch" was a name given to a deep depression on the
Kentucky side of the river, and within one hundred yards of the stream.
It was less than a half a mile in advance of where the two rangers were
seated on the fallen tree, as the summer day was drawing to a close.
A trail made by buffaloes, deer, and other wild animals led through the
middle of this densely-wooded section. No doubt this path had been in
existence at least one hundred years. Beyond the gulch it trended to the
right and deeper into the woods, terminating at a noted salt lick, always
a favorite resort of quadrupeds whether wild or domestic.
The forest was so deep and matted with undergrowth, both to the right
and left of this depression, that nothing but the most pressing necessity
could prevent a person from using the trail when journeying to the
eastward or westward through that section. Evidently, the Shawanoes
counted upon the settlers following the path, and such they would
assuredly do unless prevented by the advance scouts.
"Captain Bushwick was out on a little scout himself last summer,"
remarked Kenton, who, despite their alarming surroundings, seemed to
be in somewhat of a reminiscent mood, "when, on his way back, he
started through that holler. The fust thing he did was to step into a
rattler, which burried his fangs in his leggins, just missing his skin.
Afore the sarpent could strike again, the captain made a sweep with his
gun bar'l that knocked off his head. He was a whopper, and the captain

pulled out his knife to cut off his rattles to bring to the block-house,
when he catched the whir of another rattler just behind him, and if he
hadn't jumped powerful lively he would have catched it that time sartin.
Howsumever, the sarpint couldn't reach him, and the captain shot the
mate, and brought the music box of each home with him."
"It was Captain Bushwick who gave the name Rattlesnake Gulch to the
place, I 'spose," was the inquiring remark of Boone.
"Yes, he seemed to think that name was not only purty, but desarving,
though