Most to be feared were the Cherokees from the south or southwest, and the Tuscaroras from the north.
There came a day when I had taken my rifle from the hooks above the door, and with Kane O'Hara and Pim Burke I went far into the mountains.
"Do not be afeered," I told Abby, "if we come not back this night. We must look about and find a way into the farthest mountains, as well as to scout the land.
We may lay out a night or even two."
"Well ... have a care," she said, and went to join Lila, who muttered something about "going gallivanting."
We went up the bottom of Muskrat Creek and crossed the southern tip of the Chunky Gal Mountain and over the bald peak known to the Indians as Yunwitsulenunyi, meaning "where the man stood." Wa-ga-su had told us the story that once a great flying reptile with beady eyes and furry wings had dived down suddenly from the sky and seized a child. This happened several times and the Indians cleared the mountaintops with fire and set up a watch to warn them of the flying beast. Then its den was found in an inaccessible place on the side of the peak and the Indians invoked their gods to strike the monster dead, and the gods responded with crashing thunder and vivid lightning and the monster was set aflame, writhing about in its agony.
The Indian on watch on that bald peak fled in terror and so for surrendering to his fear the gods turned him to stone, and there he remains to this day, the so-called Standing Indian.
We killed a brace of wild turkeys and camped that night against the rock face of a cliff in a corner away from the wind, and shielded by several ancient hickories. Our camp was on a river I thought to be the one called Nantahala, but we were high up and in a lonely place.
"It is far from London," Jeremy commented.
"Do you miss it?"
"Not I ... I was nothing there, a soldier without a cause, a sailor without a ship. This ... this is grand, beautiful! Had I not come here I should never have known it existed."
Dark bent the trees above us, flickering the flames and their shadows; the fire crackled, and a low wind moved through the trees, mourning for a summer gone. We huddled above our fire yet thought how beautiful was fire, how much a companion on the long marches and the lonely nights ... even the bright dawns, with meat cooking.
We slept that night with the stars seen through the branches, with the sound of things that move in the night, and the little sounds the mountains make, the faint creakings and groanings and rattles of changing temperature and wind.
Before first light Jeremy was gathering dry branches, and Pim had gone to the stream for fish.
On the morning of the third day we started back. I had brought with me several well-tanned deerskins, and upon these I made a map of the country so far as we had seen it. The route by which we returned was different from the outer route.
This was only partly because we wished to see new country, but it was never well to retrace a path where an enemy might lie in wait.
During the weeks that followed we made several such trips, and upon one of them Abby joined me. She was a good walker, and loved the country as much as I, and we brought Kin with us, carrying him Indian-style. Many of the mountain tops about were bare of trees, and this we could not understand although Pim Burke believed the Indians might have burned them off to offer a better view of the country around. Of this I was not too sure, for over much of it one saw only the tops of trees while enemies could move close under their cover.
Cold winds blew down from the north. We built our fires higher, and had no trouble finding the chinks in our log walls that had been left when we applied mud to the cracks. The cold wind blew through each of them and made us only too aware.
Meanwhile we gathered fuel, hunted a little, and cleared ground for spring planting, moving rocks into piles, cutting out the larger roots until we had several acres ready.
With the onset of colder weather we went into the higher mountains and set out traps.
"What of the furs?" Slater asked.
"We will go to the coast," I said. "Tilly will return with the fluyt, or other ships will come. We will go downstream by boat, sell our furs and what else we have, and then return here."
Often, I talked with Wa-ga-su about the lands beyond the mountains, and from his memory he dredged tales told by Catawba wanderers from other eras. Returning to the long-nosed animals, I learned again from him that no Catawba he had heard of had actually seen such an animal, but there were stories of them and he believed they might exist beyond the mountains.
Yet the stories, he agreed, might be very old, told of a time long ago.
We had climbed one day high up on Double Mountain, Wa-ga-su, Jeremy Ring, and Tim Glasco. Abby was with us, and we had stopped, enjoying the cold with its freshness and the smell of pines and cedar.
Suddenly Wa-ga-su said, "We go now. Indian come."
Experience had taught me to react quickly. I wasted no time in asking foolish questions. I said not what nor where, but catching Abby by the arm, started off the bald where we were and into the brush.
Below us was a level stretch of ground and on the far side a huddle of boulders, cast off by the mountain into a jumbled shape. There was a small spring there, as we had lately learned, and Wa-ga-su led us there, at a fast trot.
We had almost reached it when there was a sudden whoop behind us and a flight of arrows, yet we scrambled into the rocks and I turned at once to look the way we had come.
Nothing ...
Wa-ga-su had retrieved one of the arrows. "Seneca," he said, "very old enemy of Catawba."
There were four muskets amongst us, and Jeremy and I each carried two pistols.
"We must not let them catch us unloaded," I said. "Wa-ga-su, do you fire with me. Let Jeremy and Tim hold their fire while we reload."
Several times I glimpsed movement at the forest's edge, but they were wary. I think they knew not how many we were, but guessed at once where we lay, for the rocks offered a good position, and perhaps they, too, although from far away, knew of the spring.
Abby put Kin in the shelter of some rocks and we lay still, waiting. A Seneca near the edge of the timber lingered too long in one place, and Wa-ga-su fired.
We saw the Indian stagger, then fall. A chorus of angry yells sounded again and there was a flight of arrows, and two of them fell within the cluster of rocks.
It was not a circle, rather a mere cluster perhaps sixty feet long, half again as wide, with some rocks looming up in the center. Kin lay in a narrow crack in one of the largest of these.
They circled closer, daring us to fire. An Indian darted into the open, then dove back to shelter. Several times they darted out, trying to draw our fire. It was obvious they had encountered guns before, probably from the French or English far up the country from which they had come, for the home of the Senecas was several hundred miles away to the north. Yet Wa-ga-su assured me they often raided the Catawba as well as other peoples of the area.
The Catawba, he said proudly, were such noted warriors that every Seneca wished to kill one, to have his scalp to boast of.
Suddenly, they charged. The distance was scarcely twenty yards, and there were at least a dozen. Wa-ga-su had reloaded. He fired first, catching the big Indian in mid-stride. Deliberately, I held my fire, then when they had come on two strides further, I fired. Passing my musket back to Abby to reload, I drew both my pistols.
Jeremy fired, then Glasco, and I fired a pistol. Four Senecas were down and the attack broke, the Indians scattered in all directions. Wa-ga-su fired again ... missing.
Yet they had managed to carry off three of their men. Two others lay exposed.
One was in plain sight upon the grass, the second lay over a slight rise and we could see only his hand, although the rise was of a few inches only. Yet the hand did not move.