When Wilderness Was King | Page 2

and a frantic effort to wave the stub of his poor old tail. It was such a homely, quiet scene, there in the heart of the backwoods, one I had known unchanged so long, that I little dreamed it was soon to witness the turning over of a page of destiny in my life, that almost from that hour I was to sever every relation of the past, and be sent forth to buffet with the rough world alone.
There were no roads, in those days, along that valley of the upper Maumee,--merely faint bridle-paths, following ancient Indian trails through dense woods or across narrow strips of prairie land; yet as I hung the gourd back on its wooden peg, and lifted my eyes carelessly to the northward, I saw a horseman riding slowly toward the house along the river bank. There were flying rumors of coming Indian outbreaks along the fringe of border settlements; but my young eyes were keen, and after the first quick thrill of suspicion I knew the approaching stranger to be of white blood, although his apparel was scarcely less uncivilized than that of the savage. Yet so unusual were visitors, that I grasped a gun from its pegs in the kitchen, and called warningly to my mother as I passed on to meet the new-comer.
He was a very large and powerful man, with a matted black beard and an extremely prominent nose. A long rifle was slung at his back, and the heavy bay horse he bestrode bore unmistakable signs of hard travelling. As he approached, Rover, spying him, sprang out savagely; but I caught and held him with firm grip, for to strangers he was ever a surly brute.
"Is this yere Major Wayland's place?" the man questioned, in a deep, gruff voice, reining in his tired horse, and carelessly flinging one booted foot across the animal's neck as he faced me.
"Yes," I responded with caution, for we were somewhat suspicious of stray travellers in those days, and the man's features were not pleasing. "The Major lives here, and I am his son."
He looked at me intently, some curiosity apparent in his eyes, as he deliberately drew a folded paper from his belt.
"No? Be ye the lad what downed Bud Eberly at the meetin' over on the Cow-skin las' spring?" he questioned, with faintly aroused interest.
I blushed like a school-girl, for this unexpected reference was not wholly to my liking, though the man's intentions were evidently most kind.
"He bullied me until I could take no more," I answered, doubtfully; "yet I hurt him more seriously than I meant."
He laughed at the trace of apology in my words.
"Lord!" he ejaculated, "don't ever let that worry ye, boy. The hull settlement is mighty glad 'twas done. Old Hawkins bin on the p'int o' doin' it himself a dozen o' times. Told me so. Ye 're quite a lad, ain't ye? Weigh all o' hundred an' seventy, I 'll bet; an' strong as an ox. How old be ye, anyhow?"
"Twenty," I answered, not a little mollified by his manner. "You must live near here, then?"
"Wal, no, but been sorter neighbor o' yourn fer a month er so back; stoppin' up at Hawkins's shebang, at the ford, on the Military Road, visitin'; but guess I never met up with none o' your folks afore. My name 's Burns, Ol' Tom Burns, late o' Connecticut. A sojer from out West left this yere letter fer yer father at Hawkins's place more nor a week ago. Said as how it was mighty important; but blamed if this was n't the fust chance he 's hed to git it over yere sence. I told him I 'd fetch it, as it was n't more nor a dozen miles er so outer my way."
He held out a square paper packet; and while I turned it over curiously in my hand,--the first letter I had ever seen,--he took some loose tobacco from an outside pocket and proceeded leisurely to fill his pipe.
My mother rolled my father's chair forward into the open doorway, and stood close behind him, as was her custom, one arm resting lightly upon the quaintly carved chair-back.
"What is it, John?" she questioned gently. Instantly aroused by her voice, I crossed quickly over and placed the packet in my father's thin hands. He turned it over twice before he opened it, looking at the odd seal, and reading the superscription carefully aloud, as if fearful there might be some mistake:
"Major David Wayland, Along the Upper Maumee. Leave at Hawkins Ford on Military Road." "Important."
I can see him yet as he read it, slowly feeling his way through the rude, uneven writing, with my mother leaning over his shoulder and helping him, her rosy cheeks and dark tresses making strange contrast beside his