village on the Tuscarawas.
That night they lay on the western side of a mountain. Now not a river alone but a great wall was between them and the Peshtank country. Next morning their legs put a still bigger mountain behind them, and now they went on the path with less caution. Freely they baked cakes of Indian meal over their fire and roasted game shot by the striped rifle. Oh, they hid quickly enough from any armed men they saw who might take a fancy to their hair. But the deeper they went in the forest, the nearer they felt to home. They tramped a deep, long valley; saw sleeping cabins for white traders; drank from a spring around which you could see great numbers of red and white men had once camped; passed the Shades of Death where two mountains stood close and dark with ancient pines and hemlocks between.
At a fork in the trail, they took the northbranch. Always they kept apart from the Bedford road to the south where the Peshtank men might seek them. Three times in one day the trail forded the same river. They passed an old Indian town and traversed the longest Narrows either of them had ever seen, stopping to see a curious stone as high as three men and only a few inches square, pointing to the heaven.
“I have heard of this stone,” Half Arrow said. “Now if those that spoke knew the truth, only one mountain stands between us and the Tuscarawas.”
They came on that mountain next day. Their breath grew short on the way up, for this was the tallest hill of all. But when they reached the top they found this was no mountain like the others, a steep way up, a steep way down and a sharp summit. The top of this mountain was very wide, stretching on and on, a high country with immense timber. They passed a few cleared fields, old Indian cabins, some beaver dams and a deer lick many miles long. So they kept on for two days until they met a river flowing strong and deep through the forest.
An Indian track went up and down, and on the bank stood the log buildings of a trader. A few Indians loafed in front. Through the open door theeyes of the two boys caught the glitter of much goods. Once the trader himself came out to take oars from one of the smaller of two dugouts bobbing at the landing. The two boys did not venture close but sat on the roots of a buttonwood at the edge of the water.
“I have heard of this river,” Half Arrow told. “They call it the Alleghi Sipu. From here, it is said, a fish can swim to the Forks of the Muskingum.”
“Maybe it is so,” True Son agreed, “but we are not fish.”
“No, but if a fish can swim, a boat can float, and the Father of Heaven has already provided two boats at the landing.”
True Son considered.
“I see the two boats. But they belong to the trader.”
“Cousin. You have been too long among the whites. They have corrupted you in your thinking. You have believed their false claims that justify their plunder and pillage. Now, all we Indians know it is not stealing to take back from the whites what they took from us. Cousin. What have they taken from us? Land, woods, game, streams, fish and our happiness. Cousin. Look at the whitetrader’s fine house and all his possessions. Think how much he must have stolen from the poor Indians who trade with him.”
“He is only half white and half Indian, I think.”
“Then we will take only half of his boats,” Half Arrow answered brightly. “I think we will choose the larger, for there are two of us and only one of him. He will thank us tomorrow morning for leaving him any boat at all.”
“The trader has dogs,” True Son reminded him. “The dogs won’t thank us for coming to the landing at night.”
“Only a white man would go up on a trader’s landing at night,” Half Arrow said. “First my father would cut a dry wind-fallen pole. Then he would float down the river like two sticks of wood in the night. His knife would cut the boat’s thong. The dugout would float willingly downstream with him till out
That night they lay on the western side of a mountain. Now not a river alone but a great wall was between them and the Peshtank country. Next morning their legs put a still bigger mountain behind them, and now they went on the path with less caution. Freely they baked cakes of Indian meal over their fire and roasted game shot by the striped rifle. Oh, they hid quickly enough from any armed men they saw who might take a fancy to their hair. But the deeper they went in the forest, the nearer they felt to home. They tramped a deep, long valley; saw sleeping cabins for white traders; drank from a spring around which you could see great numbers of red and white men had once camped; passed the Shades of Death where two mountains stood close and dark with ancient pines and hemlocks between.
At a fork in the trail, they took the northbranch. Always they kept apart from the Bedford road to the south where the Peshtank men might seek them. Three times in one day the trail forded the same river. They passed an old Indian town and traversed the longest Narrows either of them had ever seen, stopping to see a curious stone as high as three men and only a few inches square, pointing to the heaven.
“I have heard of this stone,” Half Arrow said. “Now if those that spoke knew the truth, only one mountain stands between us and the Tuscarawas.”
They came on that mountain next day. Their breath grew short on the way up, for this was the tallest hill of all. But when they reached the top they found this was no mountain like the others, a steep way up, a steep way down and a sharp summit. The top of this mountain was very wide, stretching on and on, a high country with immense timber. They passed a few cleared fields, old Indian cabins, some beaver dams and a deer lick many miles long. So they kept on for two days until they met a river flowing strong and deep through the forest.
An Indian track went up and down, and on the bank stood the log buildings of a trader. A few Indians loafed in front. Through the open door theeyes of the two boys caught the glitter of much goods. Once the trader himself came out to take oars from one of the smaller of two dugouts bobbing at the landing. The two boys did not venture close but sat on the roots of a buttonwood at the edge of the water.
“I have heard of this river,” Half Arrow told. “They call it the Alleghi Sipu. From here, it is said, a fish can swim to the Forks of the Muskingum.”
“Maybe it is so,” True Son agreed, “but we are not fish.”
“No, but if a fish can swim, a boat can float, and the Father of Heaven has already provided two boats at the landing.”
True Son considered.
“I see the two boats. But they belong to the trader.”
“Cousin. You have been too long among the whites. They have corrupted you in your thinking. You have believed their false claims that justify their plunder and pillage. Now, all we Indians know it is not stealing to take back from the whites what they took from us. Cousin. What have they taken from us? Land, woods, game, streams, fish and our happiness. Cousin. Look at the whitetrader’s fine house and all his possessions. Think how much he must have stolen from the poor Indians who trade with him.”
“He is only half white and half Indian, I think.”
“Then we will take only half of his boats,” Half Arrow answered brightly. “I think we will choose the larger, for there are two of us and only one of him. He will thank us tomorrow morning for leaving him any boat at all.”
“The trader has dogs,” True Son reminded him. “The dogs won’t thank us for coming to the landing at night.”
“Only a white man would go up on a trader’s landing at night,” Half Arrow said. “First my father would cut a dry wind-fallen pole. Then he would float down the river like two sticks of wood in the night. His knife would cut the boat’s thong. The dugout would float willingly downstream with him till out
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