CHAPTER VIII. THE BACKWOODS LEADER.

The morning dawned clear and bright over the fort and village of Harrodsburg; and to the eye of a novice there remained nothing to indicate that the Indian besiegers were anywhere in the vicinity. The forest was quiet, and yet full of life, the robins and blue birds came flitting round the houses, and the smaller “chippy” birds came down into the inclosure of the fort, and pecked about for scattered crumbs.

Harrodsburg was a typical village of its kind, the old frontier post fortified against Indians. Its houses were built in close rows around a square, the intervals between them protected by heavy palisades, forming a continuous line with the walls. At each angle rose a large block-house, flanking the bare curtains, and a small ditch encompassed the whole.

On the morning succeeding the daring entrance of Ruby and her two protectors to the fort, a handsome and distinguished looking man of about twenty-five, dressed in a curious but very picturesque mixture of military uniform and backwoods frock and leggins, stood in the upper story of one of the block-houses, looking out over the gate through a loophole, and talking to Ruby Roland.

This young man, whose peculiar air of intelligence and resolution marked him as a person of no common mold, was[36] none other than the afterward celebrated George Rogers Clark, a man who had already inspired more hope and confidence in the breasts of the people of Kentucky than any other leader had yet succeeded in doing.

Colonel Clark had just returned from the parent State of Virginia, with twelve hundred pounds of Continental money, a colonel’s commission, public orders “to defend Kentucky,” and private orders to—ah! that no one knew, though many would have given much to satisfy their curiosity. He had issued a call to the settlers of Kentucky to organize for a secret expedition, and companies had been formed at different points all along the frontiers of the present States of Pennsylvania, Virginia and Ohio.

And now, when his plans were almost ripe, the ardent young leader was caught and caged in Harrodsburg, by a miserable Shawnee chief named Blackfish, and less than three hundred warriors. Such are the accidents that conspire against the most successful military chiefs.

Colonel Clark was looking thoughtfully out of the loophole, but listening to the words of his fair companion with great attention, nevertheless. There were no eavesdroppers near, and the girl appeared to be talking very earnestly.

“If you will come, colonel,” she said in conclusion, “I can promise that you shall be welcomed by all the tribes of forest and prairie that obey my father. You will only have to contend with the British, for our people are already tired of the yoke, and long to throw it off.”

Colonel Clark remained silently looking out of the loophole, as if he had not heard what she said. He seemed to be absorbed in watching the maneuvers of a herd of cattle that had been driven out of the fort-gate as soon as daylight advanced, and when the besiegers had retired to a respectful distance.

This was done every day, and, curiously enough, the Indians seldom or never molested the herdsmen, as long as they kept within the clearing surrounding the fort.

Without answering Ruby, the young colonel pointed to the cattle, and said:

“There are Indians in the high grass behind those cows. See how they act.”

Ruby frowned a little impatiently, and answered:

[37]

“We are not talking of that, colonel. I brought you a certain proposition from Tabac, the Grand Sachem and Grand Door of the Wabash. Have you any answer for it?”

Clark smiled provokingly. He was a man of great penetration and tact, as the reader will discover in the course of this book, and for some reason he did not see fit to give the girl a full answer at the moment.

“You see that field,” he said, pointing; “now, Mademoiselle Roland, if you wait here half an hour I’ll show you some of the tallest kind of fun that you ever saw. And after that, I’ll be ready to talk business to you.”

So saying, he vanished from the block-house, with very scant ceremony for the lady it contained, leaving her overwhelmed with surprise and mortification, not unmixed with great anger at herself.

Ruby Roland, left to herself, clenched her little hands and stamped her foot angrily, saying:

“Why did I come here through all these dangers to meet this handsome, insolent American, who laughs at me? Does he think I am some common squaw, that he leaves me thus? Now, by heavens, if he does not treat me better at our next interview, he shall find that Ruby Roland can go out as she came in, and woe betide all here if she does, and his handsome, insolent face worst of all. Oh, I could strike him dead!”

From all which tirade, it became evident that Miss Ruby was very much piqued at Colonel Clark’s neglect, while, at the same time, much struck with his personal appearance. Whatever her proposition might have been, she was not destined to obtain an answer to it that morning, for events speedily took place which interested her in spite of herself.

Looking down toward the gate, she saw reckless Simon Kenton standing by its open leaves, with two or three other men, and saw Colonel Clark approach and give the scout some orders. Simon nodded, sauntered out of the gate, with Boone and five or six hunters, and strolled carelessly toward the field in front of the gate where the cows were feeding, and where the animals appeared to be very uneasy—a sure sign of Indians being near them.

Ruby, watching the length of the palisades, soon after saw[38] the colonel himself, with a long file of men, emerge from behind the block-house at the further angle of the fort, and steal off into the woods, in the very direction from which she had come the night before.

Interested in spite of herself, she watched and listened for signs of the enemy. All was quiet, and it seemed as if the besiegers must have retired from the place but for the behavior of the cattle.

She saw Simon and the hunters stop short in a turnip-patch which had been cleared close under the fire of the fort, and begin to thin the vegetables, as if at their ordinary work.

Every now and then one of the men in the field would shout out some witticism to those in the fort about the Indians having run away, and all this time the lurking savages gave no token of their whereabouts.

All of a sudden, a loud yell was raised from the woods, in rear of the field where the cattle were feeding, followed by a rattling volley of rifles; and the next moment Clark and his Kentuckians darted out of the cover, routing out some fifty Indians, who leaped up and stood bewildered.

At the same moment Kenton and the men in the turnip-patch raised a yell of triumph, and poured a second volley into the now demoralized savages, charging in at the instant of firing.

The Shawnees made a feeble, scattering return, and then fled in great haste, the borderers rushing out after them in hot pursuit—the sound of yells and shots dying away in the distance.

At least an hour elapsed before they returned, and then Ruby was at the gate to meet them. She was anxious to know what had happened. The first person she saw was Colonel Clark, who came up at the head of his men, smiling, as if greatly pleased.

He came straight to Ruby, and addressed her before all the people:

“Mademoiselle Roland, Blackfish decamped last night, as soon as he heard you had got in. We have driven away this little body of spies, and Harrodsburg is safe. Mademoiselle, I accept your proposition.”