The German Pioneers Part 10

"So I think, too," said Catherine, "and for that reason I will ask a favor of you, Lambert. You have on my account slightly neglected your duty. Had you returned alone you would yesterday already have seen and spoken with your friends, for you would have taken the road through the valley instead of through the woods. To-day it is fortunate that your friend Adam has found us, for you might easily have failed to be where you belong. This is not right, and lies heavy on my mind. Now you have a long ride. I know well that Hans can carry us both, but he will go better if you alone ride him. And then what would be the result should everyone, on such an occasion, drag his wife with him? The others also stay at home. You will leave me here, Lambert. Is it not so?"

"Now it is getting to be time," said Adam Bellinger, coming out of the door.

Lambert stood irresolute. He saw no danger in leaving Catherine alone, but it was very trying for him to separate himself from her just at this time.

"Conrad may come back to his dinner and find the house deserted. Surely it is better, Lambert, that I stay here."

"Well, as you will," said Lambert.

He again unbuckled the pillion that he had put upon Hans.

"Does not the maiden go along?" asked Adam, who was already mounted.

Lambert did not answer.

"Well then, good-bye, young lady; and best thanks. Hot! Mare!"

He turned his horse, which left the crib unwillingly.

Catherine flew into Lambert's arms.

"May you live happy, beloved. I hope you are not displeased with me?"

"With you?"

His lips trembled. Silently he pressed Catherine to his breast; then with a mighty effort he tore himself away, swung himself upon Hans, galloped after his companion, who was trotting ahead on his long-limbed horse, and at every step of the animal flew up in the air, while his sharp elbows moved up and down like wings.

CHAPTER VIII

Lambert soon overtook the awkward rider. The two young men trotted on for a time side by side without speaking, until suddenly the mare, panting, stood still. Adam, having thus been thrown upon the neck of the beast, remarked that the mare was a very intelligent creature, and well knew that it was impossible for her to keep going at such a gait; that in such a case she always stopped to give the rider time for reflection; and that he had always found that one also finally reaches his destination by going on a walk, and that far easier.

"But also so much later," said Lambert, impatiently. "If you are absolutely unable to keep up with me I must leave you and ride on ahead."

"For G.o.d's sake!" cried Adam, and thrust his heels so forcibly into the sides of the mare that she sprang forward, and again fell into a trot.

"For G.o.d's sake! that will soon fail."

"You are a coward," said Lambert, "in that you are put to the blush by a girl."

He turned back in the saddle toward the blockhouse before it should disappear from his sight behind the forest-encompa.s.sed, rocky hill around which they were winding. Catherine had not left her place in front of the door. Though uncertain whether she could see the salutation he waved his hand to her, and then the rocks hid her from his sight.

An indescribable sadness fell upon Lambert and it did not lack much but he would have turned Hans about and gone back at full speed. But with a strong determination he overcame his painful emotion. "I am just as great a coward," said he to himself, "and even a greater one, for I know better about what is going on, and nothing that I do for her should be burdensome to me."

"You may well talk," Adam broke in upon Lambert's self-communings.

"Why?" asked Lambert.

"Should they pull the scalp from over your ears no rooster would crow after that; but my mother would weep her eyes out."

"Perhaps there may be somebody who would rather see my scalp on my head than on an Indian's girdle."

"Do you mean the young lady?" asked Adam, opening his mouth from ear to ear, and for a moment letting go of the horn of the saddle, and pointing back over his shoulder with his thumb.

"Perhaps," said Lambert.

"Don't trouble yourself about that," said Adam, in a comforting tone.

"Then I will marry her. It is already a long time since mother wanted me to marry. But you know I would not take just anybody. The girl pleases me."

"So!" said Lambert.

"Yes," said Adam. "Barbara and Gussie and Annie would doubtless at first cry a little, but that would come right in time. I believe that Fritz and August Volz are already engaged to Barbara and Gussie, and we have always thought that you would marry Annie."

"With or without a scalp?" asked Lambert.

Adam thought this such a capital joke that he stopped the mare to press his fists into his sides and break out in ringing laughter. A fish-hawk, which had plunged into the creek among the reeds, flew away frightened, while his warning voice rang out.

"My G.o.d!" said Adam, "I really thought it was already one of the mean French, or red-skins."

"Have you during this time of terror heard of them?" asked Lambert as they were riding along.

"Once," said Adam, "about a month ago. Father went to Schenectady with the wheat, and I was alone in the field, when little Anton came running and cried out: 'The Indians have swum across the creek and are at our house.' Fear so flew into my legs that I did not know where my head stood, and I wanted to go right home to help the women. But when I again got my breath I was standing before Eisenlord's door. The old man was at home, and at once sent his youngest son to Peter Volz', whence soon there came the old man himself and Fritz and August. Then we went courageously forward, though the crying women did not want us to go. On the way Christian Eisenlord and young Peter Volz joined us, so that we were six or seven, although apparently there could not much reliance be placed on me, since I almost cried my eyes out from pity and heartache that I should now find our house burned down, and my beautiful Bless and the four English hogs, that I had just that morning bought of John Martens, driven away, and mother and Barbara and Gussie and Annie scalped. But as we came out of the woods, through which we had carefully skulked, there stood our house undisturbed; and the women were standing before the door scolding little Anton, who was crying bitterly."

"How about the Indians?" asked Lambert.

"You must not interrupt me, if I am to tell my story in an orderly way," said Adam. "Where was I?"

"At Anton, who was crying bitterly."

"The poor boy!" said Adam. "I could not blame him. He should have gone in and covered the Indian--who was about naked, so that the women were ashamed."

"Then there really was one there?"

"Yes, indeed; and he had swum through the creek, and lay on the hearth as drunk as a red-skin can be, and snored so that we could hear him outdoors. Then the others had a good laugh at my expense, and, since, they have constantly jeered me about the drunken fellow, though one should not paint the devil on the wall. I indeed could do nothing about it. But little Anton should have been wiser. On account of what took place then, they would not believe my message to-day; and had I not said and sworn that Herkimer himself had told my father, they would have remained at home, except Aunt Ursul, who immediately saddled both her horses."

"So! Has uncle also gone along?" asked Lambert.

"We shall soon know," said Adam. "I will call." They stopped before the Ditmar house. Adam rose in his stirrups, put both hands to his mouth and screamed so loud that the doves on the roof were frightened, and Melac, the watch-dog, in the yard, began to bark and howl fearfully.

"He, holla! Christian Ditmar! holla, he!" However the long figure of old Ditmar did not appear at the upper-half of the door, through which one could see the interior.

Lambert thought best to go right on and not call at William Teichert's.

His farm lay somewhat to one side, at the edge of the woods which here bore back from the creek in a great bend and came back to it again near Peter Volz' yard. Here indeed they had to stop, for mother Volz had seen the riders from a distance, and stood before the door with a pitcher of home-brewed beer in each hand, which Peter, her youngest son, had just drawn fresh from the barrel. Mother Volz was much excited, and great tears rolled over her big cheeks as she handed the pitchers to the riders, at the same time scolding the French and her Peter, who would go to the meeting and leave her--an old, helpless woman--alone, the good-for-nothing!

"If I am good for nothing," said Peter, "I cannot help you, mother. But I must always stay at home and play the baby; that is just as it is."

"Yes, that is the case," said Adam, smacking his lips forcibly over his beer, "and the rest of us must have a hard time of it."