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Buchan, John, 1875-1940

"Salute to Adventurers"


When the last man had gone we crawled back to the clump, now gloomy
with the dusk of evening. I saw that Ringan was very weary, but Shalah,
after stretching his long limbs, seemed fresh as ever.
"Will you come with me, brother?" he said. "We must warn the
Rappahannock."
"Who are they?" I asked.
"Cherokees. More follow them. The assault is dearly by the line of the
Rappahannock. If we hasten we may yet be in time."
I knew what Shalah's hastening meant. I suppose I was the one of us
best fitted for a hot-foot march, and that that was the reason why the
Indian chose me. All the same my heart misgave me. He ate a little
food, while I stripped off the garments I did not need, carrying only
the one pistol. I bade the others travel slowly towards the mountains,
scouting carefully ahead, and promised that we should join them before
the next sundown. Then Shalah beckoned me, and I plunged after him into
the forest.
On our first visit to Ringan at the land-locked Carolina harbour I had
thought Shalah's pace killing, but that was but a saunter to what he
now showed me. We seemed to be moving at right angles to the Indian
march. Once out of the woods of the ridge, we crossed the meadows,
mostly on our bellies, taking advantage of every howe and crinkle.


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