The skeleton scout; or, The border block

The scene opens upon one of those great rivers of the West, in the country which Tecumseh claimed and fought for so gallantly. The forest was at rest, save only the songs of birds and the splash of the fish leaping in the river. A thicket of bushes which bordered the path down to the water, was suddenly pushed aside and a grim face peered out, a face rendered doubly fierce by its war-paint, for it was that of an Indian of Tecumseh's noble race.

Satisfying himself that no one was in sight, the Indian rose slowly, stalked out into the path, and took his course toward the river.

Another and another followed, until ten had come into view, gliding in silence down the forest-path.

Each savage was naked save the breech-cloth and moccasins. Only the man who first showed himself, was differently dressed. He was a tall, stately warrior, bearing upon his naked breast the totem of his tribe painted in bright colors, and wearing upon his dark hair the plumed head-dress of a chief.

Each Indian carried a rifle of the most approved make in the English service, together with the inevitable scalping-knife and tomahawk.

Not one of them spoke, but followed their chief's cautious steps down to the water's edge, where, sheltering themselves behind the bushes, they peered across the stream.

It was late in the afternoon, and the sun was already out of sight behind the tree-tops on the western shore. But, not upon the glories of nature did the eyes of those fierce-visaged sons of the forest rest. What then?

Upon the other shore, close to the river, stood a log cabin of the largest size, with heavy walls and doors, calculated to resist any ordinary attack. The fields around it were green with varied crops, for it was now near the end of summer.

A strong wall of logs, hewn smooth, and leaving no chance to a climber, surrounded the house. It was plain that the builder, whoever he might be, was fully awake to the dangerous position he occupied in the midst of the Indian country, but that he did not apprehend any immediate attack was apparent, for his huge stockade gates were off the hinges and leaning against the walls on either side.

The Indians lay under cover of the bushes, their gleaming eyes riveted upon their expected prize, but they made no movement, for they beheld a man standing upon the point which stretched out into the stream, a rifle in his hand, pacing up and down as if on guard.

As they gazed a strange sight greeted their astonished vision. Something was coming down the river in mid stream. It seemed to be a man, seated in a canoe.

The current swept him rapidly downward, and, as the nondescript craft came near, they saw a man seated astride of a log, keeping its head down the current by the aid of a flat stick which he held in his hand. As he neared the stockade he began to paddle vigorously, and whirled the head of the log more toward the shore. By this time the watcher on the point had run down to the water's edge, and the click of a rifle-lock sounded.

"Ahoy, there!" he shouted.

"Hello!" replied the man on the log. "How de dew?"

"Hadn't you better come ashore?" said the sentry, persuasively, pointing his rifle.

"Seeing it's yew, I donno but I had," replied the navigator, coolly. "Yew seem mighty pressing, somehow."