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Yellow Creek Stories

Robert W. SCHILLING

Chapter XIV

The Salt Lick On North Fork

For ages it has been known that most wild animals love the taste of salt; and if a saline spring was found, they would congregate and stand for hours complacently licking the brine-soaked soil. Consequently the plant life near by was killed by the brine. The earth likewise would be stamped hard and bare by the many eager seekers, so that the open space about the "lick" advertised its presence to man and beast alike.

Early in 1782, such a salt lick was found on the North Fork of Yellow Creek, where the first small brook enters it on the right—now called Salt Run—originally called Salt Works Run.

It was during the late autumn of 1782—after a summer filled with Indian war parties making frequent forays against the river front settlement—that a period of "squaw winter" set in that heartened the many "squatters." Although this land was still recognized as Indian territory by ou Government, none could own land legally, but many did locate back in the deep valleys and escaped detection. All knew that Indian hostilities usually ceased with the advent of winter weather, and many rejoiced when that season arrived for the year 1782.

This sharp spell of "squaw winter" was followed by some unusually bright mild weather, and it was under these conditions that Isaac Forbes suggested to Joshua DOWNARD that they go to the North Fork salt lick, locate themselves in a tree and remain for the night and shoot deer by moonlight.

As Downard had a lame leg, the result of a recent fall, this method of hunting appealed to him favorably—a source of some needed income and winter food supply for both him and his wife.

Downard had taken a tomahawk claim and built a strong log cabin on the right bank of Yellow Creek opposite the entry of a tiny brook, now called rocky Brook.

Both Downard and FORBES, the latter having erected a small blockhouse at the mouth of Yellow Creek, knew Indian traits, tricks and treachery as if they had been past masters in teaching Indian warfare. Forbes was often known as Captain Forbes and his little log fort bore the name Forbes Blockhouse.

It was a late afternoon when the two hunters shouldered their flintlocks and moved cautiously along the north bank of Yellow Creek and the North Fork to the salt lick. There they crossed the latter creek, selected a large old willow tree, in which in a few minutes they constructed a place to secrete themselves and watch for any game that might approach the lick at their favorite hour soon after sunset.

Several hours passed, night came on, and the bright October moon filled the forested valley with plenty of light for night shooting. Later the air became rather chilly and their long inactivity was getting monotonous, when Forbes whispered, "Lissen an’ look! I hear somethin’ a-comin’ down the run."

Both men sharpened their ears and strained their eyes, and by focussing their attention in that direction they could distinctly hear the rustling of dry leaves. Later the measured tread of moccasined feet coming nearer and nearer, when finally in the moonlit open space of the "lick" emerged fourteen red warriors with trailing guns—a war party evidently seeking trouble.

Much more surprising to Downard and Forbes, as they looked down from the willow tree, was that this pesky war party was making preparations to camp at the "lick" for the night. The Indians quickly placed a pinch of gunpowder on some dry leaves, and were knocking into it a spark from an extra flint, and soon had a fire. Downard whispered in disgust,

"Ike, we’re in a helluva fix. Jes’ like two treed possums an’ fourteen dawgs down yander waitin’ to crack our bones."

"Yes, Josh," answered Forbes, "we was treed an’ waitin’ fur ‘em, an’ th’ varmints don’t know et enny better’n we."

Several times the two white hunters concluded to shoot it out. They figured that if everything worked right, that the surprised Indians would instantly scatter, and during the commotion they would climb down and make a break for Downard’s cabin. But there was the question whether the crippled leg of Downard would endure this rough treatment. Several times when about ready to pull the triggers, they would hesitate and discuss the advisability, or whether some other safer mode of departure could be adopted. They were reasonably safe to remain, but took chances to move.

Forbes listened intently to catch the conversation of two Shawnee Indians in this motley group, and grasped enough to know that they intended striking some place down at the river front at daybreak. They then gorged themselves with roasted meat, and later put out two guards, while the rest lay down with their feet towards the fire to sleep until morning.

"We’d only have two ter reckon with now Ike," whispered Downard

"An," replied Forbes, "id our guns empty, a dozen shootin’ at us."

"Josh, I calcilate I’ve summed up this tarnation predicament so it’s git us outer this fuss, with no noise or shootin’…now lissen!"

According to Forbes’ scheme, he would remove his heavy horsehide boots and await for a small cloud to darken the moon, when he would climb to the ground on the far side of the tree. It was a nerve-wracking wait until the moonlight was darkened by a cloud. Several times the savages awoke and grabbed their guns, making Forbes’ proposition look rather flimsy. Once a flying squirrel was so badly scared by the hunters that it fell beneath the willow, which brought all the reds running to the base of the tree to investigate. No sooner had they gone back to the fire and lain down, when the expected cloud was beginning to darken the moon. Now was Forbes’ time to act, and he was down the tree like a cat. He had, as a last order, told Downard that if the red sentinels detected any further noise, he should pitch a small piece of bark in the opposite direction and during the resulting disturbance he could at least get to the bank of the North Fork. The clouded moon proved a perfect screen, and this latter precaution was not needed.

Just as Forbes started to cross the creek, a large muskrat leaped into the water ahead of him, which caused him to jump and almost yell aloud with surprise and perplexity.

Forbes, now over on the left bank of the North Fork, soon quickened his pace and a half hour later was approaching one of the blockhouse guards. He was soon issuing orders, the same to be hastily and silently put into operation. Two scouts wee sent across the river to notify those at NESSLEY’s blockhouse; ten were sent to Downard’s cabin opposite Rocky Run, the rest to look after the blockhouse. The Blockhouse guards were doubled, and told to shoot at any approaching Indians, and then swiftly retreat inside the fortified walls. Forbes left in the moonlight for the entrance of Rocky Run, and secreted himself in a small cavern along the narrow trail that hugs the left bank of Yellow Creek and was not seen until the next day.

With Downard up in the willow tree at the salt lick all was deathly quiet until near morning as he had expected. The sentinels now awoke the sleeping Indians, then covered the fire with damp earth, with all started noiselessly down the west bank of the North Fork. He made sure that the entire fourteen savages had left their night camp at the lick, and now felt reasonably safe in descending from the willow tree. From former experience in Indian scouting Downard knew it was a dangerous policy to follow their trail down the west bank of the creek. It was not an unusual trick for a red warrior to drop in the rear of the party to trap anyone who might be following them.

Downard had debated every contingency, and as soon as he reached the ground, he took the left side of the North Fork expecting soon to meet Forbes, as previously arranged, at the little stone cavern at the mouth of Rocky Run. Although he exercised great precaution, he was at Yellow Creek sooner than he expected, and so far had neither heard nor seen the red war party. As he was anxious to meet Forbes, he increased his speed along the narrow, rough, hillside trail, and at last as he arrived at the arranged meeting place, he saw three flashes from three flintlocks in the direction of his cabin across the narrow creek bottom.

Downard stepped off the trail, towards the cavern, as Forbes stepped out to meet him, when he quickly inquired of the captain,

"Wats a doin’, Ike? Whar’s the dodblasted varmints? They left the lick morin’ an’ hour ago. I’m itchin to see em bite dust."
"Josh," Forbes whispered, "jes’ kape yore shootin’ iron ready. Ef things be workin’ right they’ll be commin’ back past here lak crippled buck deers—but not alookin’ fur salt licks. Lissen" dyer hear thet!"

As Forbes listened he heard the outside guards down at his blockhouse fire a dozen shots, only a few seconds apart. He knew the Indians instead of the guards, had been surprised, also that the retreating Indians would not pass any point along the trail in a group, but singly and quite a distance apart, for this was their long standing custom.

Soon in the morning dawn the first red devil could be seen coming up the narrow trail, and when opposite the cavern he was quickly knocked into the water of Yellow Creek with one sure shot, at close range. A minute or so later the next victim was delivered the same treatment. The Indians never detected the trap, so when daylight came, nine bodies were lodged against an old tree top lying across Yellow Creek.

Everything now seemingly safe, Downard went across to his cabin, where he noticed three Indians lay dead, his house full of scouts, and his wife safe and happy. A few hours later all fourteen Indians were accounted for—all dead.



 

 

Janice Garlock Donley
700 Tenth Street • Oakmont, PA 15139 USA

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