Bobby’s Twilight Dance

Bobby took the bucket, and passing through the palisade, walked in all the majesty of his boyhood toward the spring. There was a well within the wooden wall, but it had been dug for use in case of siege, and in the quiet times which had now lasted so long, everybody who wanted water went to the spring, where it could be dipped up, fresh and cool, as it spouted from the side of the hill. Bobby had been on such errands often, and had a full sense of their dignity and importance, though not reconciled wholly to the amount of labor involved.

The fountain was down the slope, sixty or seventy yards from the palisade, and a little distance beyond it rose the forest, cutting off the view, like a blind wall. It had been cleared away for a certain space by the axes of the settlers until no marksman hidden among the tree trunks could hit the palisade with a rifle ball; but beyond that space it stretched through endless miles.

Bobby had heard many stories of the forest, and he knew that the enemies whom all dreaded most—the savages—of whom the women told by the hearth-fires, came out of its depths. Its long line, black, impenetrable in the twilight, looked to Bobby like another and forbidden world that came up to meet his own, edge to edge.

The sun had gone and the moon had not come, and some of the upper branches which he could dimly see shook themselves at him in a threatening way. There was a moaning sound, but Bobby knew it was the wind driving through the forest, and he was not afraid.

Still, he had never gone for water quite so late and he did not like the gray darkness. He knew the forest was full of wicked things and all the women in the settlement feared it, though he had said stoutly, in the bright sunlight of noonday, that he did not.

He walked on slowly toward the spring and could see the branches of the trees still threatening him and growing more emphatic about it. Bobby resolved that he would not be awed by them, and turned to look at the block house, which he was sure was quite the strongest fortification in the world. In the twilight it swelled to magnificent proportions and the heavy logs, of which it was build, looked like gray stone. The second story projected beyond the lower, and riflemen posted in it could shoot anyone who approached the palisade; or if the palisade should be carried, could fire down at the heads of the enemy. It was a fine snug place—the strong block house, stored with rifles, powder and ball; he thought also of the cabins around the fort, with their plenty; skins and furs hanging on the walls, buffalo robes on the floors, venison and opossum frying over the red coals, sputtering in their juice and sending out odors most delicious to the nostrils of a boy. How hungry he grew at the thought! And supper would be ready for him, too, when he returned with the water. It was good to be a boy with the hunger of a man, and enough to gratify it.

Bobby turned toward the forest again. It appeared blacker and more threatening than ever. And the wind had the loneliest and dreariest sound.

He approached the spring, and it welcomed him with a gay little laugh as it rippled over the stones and dashed off down the hillside. It waters were shining silver in the dusk and some merry bubbles sailed along until each, in its turn, broke against a stone or the bank. The comradeship of the brook, which was one of his best friends and beside which he played many a day, cheered Bobby. The waters seemed to smile up at him and there was no mistake about their laugh. He could hear the echo of it, too, half a song, as the water ran over the level after its tumultuous dash down the slope.

Bobby set the bucket down and dipped his hands in the spring. He held them up and the beads of water which fell from them were, sure enough, silver. He threw up a palmful of it and the drops fell in a silver shower around him. He forgot the forest and in his sport capered about.

Some chips lay near and he dropped one in the spring, watching it as the water swept it away, like a ship driven by the waves to its wreck. He liked the sport so well that he tossed in another and then another and he could see the blots they made on the water, until they reached the level, but after that the darkness took them.

He tossed in the biggest chip and ran along by the side of the stream to see its fate. Once it was hurled by the swift whirl of an eddy against the bank, and Bobby thought it would stick there, but it floated away presently and, riding like a boat, swept triumphantly down a straight stretch of tumbling water, until it came to some rocks, through which it had a tortuous and troublesome passage, coming at last into the calm of the level where the water flowed tranquilly and without ripples and bubbles. Bobby has followed the course of the chip with eager eyes and he felt proud of it when it ran the rapids with such dash and entered like a staunch vessel into the smooth waters that lay beyond.

He reached the bottom of the slope and continued his walk by the side of the brook to see what would become of his ship, now going into the forest in which the stream hid itself.

Bobby looked up. The trunks of the trees stood in rows like dim columns. He marked one particular tree, and oak of giant size with wide outspreading boughs and deeply-ridged bark. He looked at the boughs first and then his eyes traveled down the trunk, following the ridges of the bark.

He saw a knot on the tree trunk four or five feet from the ground and he was surprised, for the knot was not there in the daytime. Two little points of light like fungus fire gleamed in the knot! He looked more closely and his blood froze. The knot was the head of an ambushed Indian; even in the gloom he could see the hideous war paint.

And by the next tree was another knot and then another! A whole war party lay hidden in the forest ready to rush upon the settlers made careless by long immunity. The gate of the palisades was wide open.

Bobby knew well the danger. His face grew pale and his knees sank. He shook in the grip of fear.

But that was only for a few moments; then he regained the command of his muscles, though he seemed very cold.

He remembered now what his father, valiant man and skilful hunter had told him.

“Never let yourself be surprised, Bobby.” he would say, “and if you should be surprised, don’t show it.”

The boy ran over the sentence two or three times in his head, and looked down at the brook which was trickling along in its merry fashion just as if there were no Indians in the world. He took another furtive look at the forest; he saw what he had seen before.

He would pretend not to know! If he didn’t keep on playing the warriors, aware that they had been seen, would rush out, the chance for surprise gone, and capture or shoot him.

Trembling seized him again, and for a little while the blood in his veins was like ice. But he kept recalling and silently repeating his father’s advice how to become a border leader, and he felt that the fate of all the people in the settlement depended upon himself—himself alone.

He picked up a little stick and dropping it in the stream watched it float away. Then he dropped another and moved slowly back along the banks toward the place in the hillside from which it flowed. But he would stop now and then and go a step or two in the other direction, thus pretending—to fool the red men.

Bobby Dances

His knees were still weak and his tongue felt bitter in his mouth, but he made a mighty resolve to go through with his part. He danced back and forth with a show of gaiety. The rapid motion, the tension of his muscles, inflamed his brain and he felt his courage rising. Back and forth he danced, his little figure growing shadowy as the twilight waned into night. And all the time he knew that the warriors behind the trees were thinking that he was just a wild little boy at play, who knew nothing. His heart swelled with a kind of fearful hope and pride.

As he danced he moved slowly toward the palisade. He drew back farther and farther from the trees; now he could not see the gleaming eyes—could scarcely see the heads—and he felt a trifle more secure—but the boughs, moved by the wind, still threatened him—and he knew that they whom he had seen were still there in the dark. His knees grew weak and he was afraid that he would fall, but the effort of his will put strength into his legs and he danced again.

His foot struck against something and looking down he saw that it was his bucket. He had come all the way to the source of the brook, and the warriors had not pursued him, thought he was still within reach of their rifles. When he stopped dancing and was not buoyed up by the excitement of motion, that awful, weak feeling seized him again, and the will which had overcome it was growing tired. But Bobby felt that he could not come so far just to fail, and kneeling down at the side of the fountain he filled his bucket.

So doing he took another look at the forest. He saw, or thought he saw, shadowy figures moving about; at least there were shifting dark lines against the darker background of the trees. He had to set the bucket of water down—he trembled so, and was so weak. If they should rush upon him now or shoot him from the wood! A minute passed and, neither shot nor rush coming, Bobby felt a return of courage and strength.

He picked up the bucket again and, swinging it, he danced on toward the palisade, his back turned upon the warriors. He did not dare to look back now for fear of arousing their suspicions, and he trembled so much that tiny streams of water splashed out of the bucket, and often he could hear behind him the whoop of the warriors and the crack of their rifles, only to know the next moment that he was merely thinking it.

He spent hours walking toward the palisade, or at least it seemed so to him. He did not dare to walk fast. He must still be the boy, lazily doing his appointed task; so he set his bucket down two or three times that he might rest for a few moments, but all the while kept his back toward the warriors.

Now the palisade was nearer. A man appeared at the open gate and, seeing Bobby idling along with the bucket of water, told him to hurry. Bobby replied vaguely that he would be there in time; he still feared to hurry lest the Indians rush and gain the open gate.

There was comfort in the sight of the man and the sound of his voice. But the man disappeared in a moment and then the night seemed fearfully dark, and the wind groaned so. Before him rose the dark mass of the blockhouse and through the open gate of the palisade a cheerful light was shining.

He knew he must preserve his courage and presence of mind to the very end and the tiring will was summoned to its last effort. The gate was only fifteen feet away now, but Bobby jumped at the sound of rushing feet behind him. No, it was only the wind whipping the leaves through the grass, and he calmed himself and moved slowly on. His heart swelled with a sense of triumph, a belief that he had deceived the warriors, and he walked with a steadier step than before.

He had gone half the distance and all was silent behind him save the wind, but as the gate came nearer he felt a sudden relaxing of will and muscles. He was going to fall, he knew it, unless he made some violent effort, and suddenly casting the bucket of water from him he rushed in at the open gate shouting:

“The Indians! the Indians! they are in the woods! shut the gate!”

Then the boy fell over in a dead faint, while someone shut and barred the gate, and the armed settlers poured forward to the successful defense.

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