Fear in the Forest Read online

  There was nothing to learn from their faces except that they would probably be glad to have him gone. He knew he had never been too welcome, but on the frontier one took in a neighbor’s waif almost as a matter of course, and the Worders had done their duty, albeit with poor grace. They had fed him, as best they could, for three years now. Had he the right to stay on? Was the work that he could do repayment enough?

  Mr. Reese clapped him again on the shoulder, and gave him a little push. “No need to answer now. Sleep on it, why don’t you? Tell me in the morning what you decide.”

  Daniel stumbled up the ladder after the other boys as if he were climbing it in his sleep. Yet, when he had stretched out on his cornhusk pallet, he found himself wide awake. Long after the boys had begun to snore he stared into the darkness, shivering. Go farther into the wilderness, where bands of Indians lay in wait to massacre the unwary? Not he! And yet...perhaps he ought to.

  Once he rose, and went toward the ladder, to tell Mr. Reese that the whole decision was too difficult for him. There was still enough light for him to make out the forms of Mr. Reese and his foster father standing by the stranger’s quilt, spread before the hearth. He held his breath for a moment, and in that short space of time heard Mr. Worder say, “No, no, I’d really be glad if the young-un left. There’s sometimes not enough food for so many hungry mouths. We’ve seven of our own, and another one comin’, if all goes well. You can see how crowded we are here.”

  Daniel stole back to his bed and buried his face in his arms. He thought suddenly, This is the last night I’ll be sleeping here. Where will I be tomorrow night? And all the tomorrows after that?

  Two tears crept slowly from behind his tightly closed lids, and he brushed them away fiercely. From now on he would have to be on his own, like a man....Only he wasn’t a man yet.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Daniel hardly slept that night. Long before the first gray light appeared, he was up. He went silently down the ladder, his bare feet making no sound, and stepped over the sleeping forms on the cabin floor. Outside there was a faint chill in the air. This was the hour, he thought suddenly, when Indians often struck—the hour when sleep was sweetest, and there was no dream of danger. Silencing the dog with a reassuring hand, he closed the door behind him.

  He stood for a moment, scanning the dark blur of the woods with an anxious eye, then moved beyond the lean-to where Mr. Reese’s horse was tethered, until he came to the corncrib. It was nearly empty at this time of the year, and Daniel knew there would be lean weeks ahead until the new crop could be harvested. At the far end of the crib, he stooped and began to dig in the earth with his hands. When he touched something hard he gave a little grunt of satisfaction. The object was small and round, and he rubbed it against his deerskin leggings to remove the dirt. Then, thrusting it into the front of his shirt, he went back to the cabin.

  There were signs of life by this time. Mrs. Worder was up and stirring, and Mr. Worder could be heard calling to the boys. Daniel tried to slip into the cabin unnoticed, but the sky was lighter now, even though the cabin was still dark, and when he opened the door enough of the dawn light came in with him to give him away.

  “Why, Dan’l, you up a’ready?” Mrs. Worder said. “Best fetch me a couple logs, if we’re goin’ to have anything for breakfast.”

  He went out again, hurrying on his errand, for he did not want to miss Mr. Reese’s departure. When he brought in the logs, Mr. Worder told him to saddle the horse for their visitor. The other boys came tumbling down from the loft. Mr. Reese sat up and stretched. Daniel did not move. He felt he must speak now or never.

  “What’s the matter, lad? Didn’t you hear me tell you—” Mr. Worder began, a hint of anger in his voice.

  “Yes, I know. I’ll saddle up in a minute,” Daniel said. His breath came short. “But afore I do, I wanted to ask—I wanted to say,” he gulped, “that I’m goin’ with Mr. Reese. I’d like to—to join one of the pack-horse brigades.” His tongue almost refused the lie, but he managed to say it.

  Mrs. Worder whirled around from the fireplace, and the children gawked at him. “You?” Abel cried, and his laugh was a hoot of derision. “You, that won’t even go into the woods for fear you’ll be scalped? What would you do, walkin’ the trails with supplies the Indians would give their eyeteeth for?”

  Daniel did not answer him. He looked at Mr. Worder instead. “I’d like to go.” It was easier to say it the second time.

  “Good lad!” Mr. Reese’s hearty voice was like a steadying hand. “I’ll be glad to have your company, for I gather I’ll not be able to make much speed on this section of the road. And I’ll put in a word for you with my friend, Mr. Sutherland.”

  “Would you, sir?” Daniel tried to make his voice sound eager.

  Mr. Worder shook his head. It was not a motion of denial, but of wonderment. “I’d never have thought such would be to your likin’,” he said at last. “But if you want to go, why, there’s nought to stop you.”

  Mrs. Worder said hastily, “He’ll not be needin’ his extra shirt. Luke could be wearin’ that.”

  Daniel owned nothing but what he was wearing and that extra shirt, and Mrs. Worder had made that. Pride made him say, “Luke can have it.” This was only another proof that he was not welcome in this household, that they would be glad to have him gone.

  Later, when Daniel and Mr. Reese were moving down the road toward Columbia, he looked back on those last few minutes in the Worder household with disdain. Not only for the Worders, but for himself. If he had ever realized how little he was wanted, he would have left long since. A faint inner voice mocked at this, but he sternly silenced it.

  “Do you have any money, lad?” Mr. Reese asked him, when they had been traveling a while.

  “Money?” Daniel echoed. “No, sir.” The very idea made him smile.

  “But you didn’t take anything with you,” the man said, a slightly worried frown creasing his forehead. “Surely you must have had something left when your father was killed. I understand your cabin was burned, but were there no tools or animals—nothing to salvage?”

  Daniel’s face was greenish under his tan as he remembered that evil morning of discovery. “They stole our horse,” he said, as quietly as he could, “and they kilt the pigs, or druv them off. The cow was burned so bad she died later. And Mr. Worder kept whatever tools he could find—there weren’t many escaped the fire—to pay for my board. I guess they didn’t anywheres near do it, though. I’ve been with them almost three years.”

  “Then you have nothing? Nothing at all?”

  Daniel felt inside his shirt, where the round hard object he had dug up that morning lay snugly. “I have a button,” he said slowly. “It was Pa’s. They had ripped off the others, but this one was still there.” He glanced up shyly at Mr. Reese. “I buried it so’s the Worders wouldn’t know I had it. But I wanted something—” His voice would have broken if he hadn’t stopped then.

  He marveled that he should tell this to a stranger, when he had kept it secret all these many months from the Worders. But he had felt an instinctive trust in this man. Surely, now, his fortunes would take a turn for the better.

  They talked, occasionally, on the road to Columbia, but there was not always breath for conversation. When there was a good stretch in the road, the horse wanted to move a little faster, and Daniel had to run to keep up. Once or twice he rode pillion for a distance, and one time Mr. Reese dismounted, saying he wanted to stretch his legs a little, and insisting that Daniel mount in his place.

  They were in Columbia long before noon. It was almost four years since Daniel had been in a settlement of any kind. His father had landed at Columbia when they came down river to take up their land, but at the time Daniel had been so excited at thought of their new life in the woods, that he had scarcely noticed the life in the village. This time he was too excited at thought of what was coming when they reached Cincinnati, and so he was equally unobservant.

  They enjoyed a bri
ef rest with their meal, and then set off again. It was not far to Fort Washington, but the going was poor, and it was mid-afternoon by the time they reached it. Then Daniel really did gawk, for the sight of the trim soldiers, the stockade, and the five square blockhouses greatly impressed him.

  Mr. Reese gave his name and was received shortly by an officer brave in buff and blue, his powdered hair smartly queued with a black ribbon. Daniel stared as if he could never see enough. He did not mind it when Mr. Reese asked him to wait while he went inside to speak with his friend. He squatted in the dust, holding the reins of Mr. Reese’s horse, glad to rest for a while and eager to see as much of this strange place as possible. To think that yesterday, at this time, he’d not had the faintest idea of the new life that lay ahead of him!

  When Mr. Reese came out, still accompanied by the handsome officer, Daniel saw at once that his new friend was troubled. He called the boy over to him and said, “Dan’l, I hope I have not done you a disservice. I thought that surely there would be a place for a bright lad like you with one of the pack-horse brigades that the Legion sends out from here, but I am told that they are entirely composed of men enlisted for the purpose.”

  Daniel looked so puzzled that Mr. Reese had to smile a little. “I said ‘men,’ Dan’l, and you are not yet a man, though I doubt not you could give as good account of yourself as any man when it comes to work.”

  “Then there’s nothing for me here?” Daniel said quietly, but his heart sank down to his dusty toes. Where would he turn now? How would he live? He was quite sure that he would not go back to the Worders, no matter how difficult things became.

  “No, and I am sorry. But this gentleman tells me that there are civilian pack-horse trains in the employ of various contractors. There might be an opening for you with one of those. In fact, he has been kind enough to give me the names of several of the leaders, and some indication of where they may be found.”

  “I’d not want to take more of your time, Mr. Reese,” Daniel said slowly. “If you’d give me the names, I’d hunt them up myself.”

  “That’s a good lad,” the officer said. But his voice was casual, and he turned to Mr. Reese with relief. “Then you and I could go into this matter further. Since Mr. Sutherland is not here, I hope you will be my guest. I should be honored to introduce you to the mess.”

  Mr. Reese smiled. “Not a bad idea. But, mind you, my lad,” he turned an earnest gaze upon Daniel, “mind you, if you cannot find any of these men, or if you are unable to find employment with them, come back here, and I shall undertake further inquiries on your behalf.”

  “I believe there are only two of them in town at the moment,” the officer said. “Ask for Josiah Gregg at the White Horse, or for Robert MacLeish at the Green Tree tavern.”

  They turned back and Daniel, feeling suddenly very alone in the world, tied the horse to a hitching post and went slowly out through the gate of the fort. The sentry was kind enough to tell him how to reach the two taverns the officer had mentioned, and Daniel scuffed through the dust reluctantly, hardly glancing at the town ahead, or at the Ohio River on his left.

  “Josiah Gregg?” the tavern-keeper said. “Just left here a couple minutes past, nor do I know where he went, so don’t ask me. He’s a busy man and it might have been any one of twenty places.” His eyes took in Daniel’s ragged appearance, and hardened. “Was there anything else you wanted—some food or drink, perhaps?” But his voice showed all too plainly that he doubted if Daniel would have the money to pay for either.

  “Will he be coming back here?” Daniel asked, not answering the man’s question. “Because if he will, I’ll wait for him....Outside,” he added quickly, seeing the man’s frown.

  “He’ll be back. He owes me for feeding his men, and he’s honest so he’ll pay me.” The tavern-keeper turned away to raise a heavy stewpot hanging on the crane, and Daniel slipped outside.

  He squatted down with his back against the wall of the tavern to wait. He was tired and, although he knew he should be hunting for Mr. MacLeish since Josiah Gregg was not to be found, it felt good to sit here for a while and watch the passing stream of people. After life on the Worder farm, it seemed to him that at least half the people in the United States must be here on Cincinnati’s water front.

  A tall boy, older than he, came to sit beside Daniel after a few minutes. They sat in silence, each one too shy to start talking, until the boy said, and “You live here? I don’t recollect seein’ you.”

  Daniel said, “I come from north of Columbia. I been livin’ on a farm there.”

  “You down here for supplies?”

  “No.”

  “Your pa sold the place?”

  “No. Pa got kilt by the Indians three years ago.”

  “You ain’t been livin’ there all alone with your ma!” the other boy cried, startled out of his casual manner.

  “Ma’s dead. Died when I was eight. We lived in Pennsylvania then.”

  There was a silence until it dawned on Daniel that the other boy wanted to know with whom he had been living, if not with his ma. For it was obvious that he could not have been living by himself. He added, “I been livin’ with the Worders. They had the next farm. Do you know them?”

  “No.”

  For a while the conversation came to a standstill. Then, suddenly, Daniel realized that if this boy was a native of Cincinnati he might know something about the man he was searching for. “Do you know Josiah Gregg?” he asked.

  The boy turned his head quickly, to look at him with a glance that was actually challenging. “You jokin’?” he said at last. “He’s my pa.”

  Daniel’s smile was so relieved that the other boy relaxed at once.

  “What do you know?” Daniel cried. “I been lookin’ for him. I want to ask him if he’ll hire me. Mr. Reese and the officer at the fort said he might. My name’s Dan’l. I’m right strong, and I can handle animals pretty well. Though the Worders didn’t have a horse—only an ox. Jonas was his name, and he was pretty poky, I can tell you. But I know I could—”

  “Hey! Wait a minute!” the other boy laughed. “Pa’s the one does the hirin’. I only work for him.”

  Daniel felt a little reassured. This boy might be fourteen, which was two years older than he was, but the very fact that Mr. Gregg had a lad working for him was a good sign. If he had one, maybe he’d take another one. The other boy was speaking again. “My name’s Amos,” he said. Then, with a searching look, “It’s hard work, you know. And it can be right dangerous. You sure that’s what you want to do?”

  Daniel lowered his eyes so that Amos would not see the fear in them. “Yes, it is,” he said stoutly.

  “Well, I’ll put in a good word for you, but that don’t mean much.” Amos started to laugh, but stopped abruptly and got to his feet. “Here’s Pa now,” he said, as a tall man approached them. “Pa, this is Dan’l. He ain’t got no folks, and he wants to work for you. You got a place for him?”

  “I got a place, but I don’t know if it’s for him,” the big man answered slowly. He stood before Daniel, towering over him and over his son—a good six feet of bone and muscle. His beard was thick and had a reddish tinge, and his eyes were a piercing blue. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and stared at Daniel. Daniel tried to stand straight and look strong and competent.

  “You ain’t got no folks, Amos says.” It was half a question.

  “His ma died in Pennsylvania, and his pa was kilt by the Indians,” Amos supplied.

  “Let the lad do his own talkin’, Amos,” Josiah Gregg said in a mild voice.

  “That’s right,” Daniel said at once. “I been livin’ with the Worders on their farm. It’s north of Columbia a ways. They had the farm nearest Pa’s.”

  “And why do you want to leave?”

  Daniel looked up, and found his eyes held by the bright blue ones of Josiah. He said truthfully, “They have seven children, and there wasn’t always enough to go around. I thought I better start makin’ my own way.�
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  “And how old are you?”

  “Twelve.” It didn’t sound like much when he said it. He hoped it sounded like much more to Mr. Gregg.

  “Twelve....Come to think of it, I believe I could use a boy of about twelve. Of course you’re not a man yet, so you’d not git a man’s pay. I hope you don’t mind hard work!”

  There was a twinkle in the man’s eyes, Daniel was sure. He said, with a gasp, “Not I, sir!”

  “Then I’ll put Amos in charge of you. Amos, see that he has what he needs—he ought to have a pair of moccasins—and feed him up a little, then come down to the camp. There’s plenty still to do, and I want to get started tomorrow. Now, make tracks.”

  He strode off, and Daniel, his eyes shining, stared after him. For the moment he had forgotten the dangers that might lay ahead, and only knew that here was a man he could trust, a man he’d be glad to work for.

  “Come on!” Amos said, starting off in the opposite direction. “When Pa says ‘Make tracks,’ we make tracks. There’s a place down here where we can git you a pair of moccasins.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The road was easy enough to follow. Soldiers had widened it, and their marching feet and the passage of many horses and supply wagons had packed it down in ruts in the dry places and had hopelessly mired it in the wet ones. Daniel strode along happily in his new moccasins.

  He kept his eyes fastened upon Amos ahead of him. Amos was big for fourteen. His frame showed promise of being as large, if not larger, than his father’s. His ready grin, whenever he looked back, warmed Daniel’s heart in a fashion he had never known. But then, he had never had a friend before.

  “Won’t git to Fort Hamilton afore nightfall,” growled Timothy, the man who drove the string of horses behind Daniel. He had a portly figure and a fat, petulant face beneath an untidy stubble of beard. He was inclined to lag, and Henry, the man who drove the string behind him, sometimes had to call out to him to press on a little faster.