The Wolf Slayer

In 1800 the most of the State of Ohio, and nearly all of Indiana, was a

dense wilderness, where the gaunt wolf and naked savage were masters of

the wild woods and fertile plains, which now, before the sturdy blows of

the pioneer's axe, and the farmer's plough, has been with almost magical

effect converted into rich farms and thriving, beautiful villages.



In the early settlement of the west, the pioneers suffered not o ly from

the ruthless savage, but fearfully from the wolf. Many are the tales

of terror told of these ferocious enemies of the white man, and his

civilization. Many was the hunter, Indian as well as the Angle-Saxon,

whose bones, made marrowless by the prowling hordes of the dark forest,

have been scattered and bleached upon the war-path or Indian trail of

the back-woods. In 1812-13, my father was contractor for the

north-western army, under command of Gen. Wm. Henry Harrison. He

supplied the army with beef; he bought up cattle along the Sciota valley

and Ohio river, and drove them out to the army, then located at

Sandusky. Chillicothe, then, was a small settlement on the Sciota river,

and protected by a block house or rude fort, in which the inhabitants

could scramble if the Indians made their appearance. My father resided

here, and having collected a large drove of cattle, he set out up the

valley with a few mounted men as a kind of guard to protect the drove

against the prowling minions of Tecumseh.



The third day out, late in the afternoon, being very warm weather, there

arose a most terrific thunder-storm; the huge trees, by the violence of

the wind and sharp lightning, were uprooted and rent into thousands of

particles, and the panic-stricken herd scattered in every direction. I

have seen the havoc made in forests through which one of these tornadoes

has taken its way, or I should be incredulous to suppose whole acres of

trees, hundreds of years old, could be torn up, or snapped off like

reeds upon the river side.



The fury of the whirlwind seemed to increase as the night grew darker,

until cattle, men and horses, were killed, crippled and dispersed. My

father crawled under the lee of a large sycamore that had fell, and

here, partly protected from the rain and falling timber, he lay down. I

have camped out some, and can readily anticipate the comfort of the old

gentleman's situation, and not at all disposed was he to go to sleep

mounted upon such guard.



At length the work of destruction and ruin being done, the storm abated,

the rain ceased to pour and the winds to wag their noisy tongues so

furiously. A wolf howl, and of all fearful howls, or yelps uttered by

beasts of prey, none can, I think, be more alarming and terrific to the

ear than the wolf howl as he scents carnage. A wolf howl broke

fearfully upon the drover's ear as he lay crouched beneath the sycamore.

It was a familiar sound, and therefore, and then the more dreadful.

The drover carried a good Yeager rifle, knife, and pistols, but a man

laden with arms in the midst of a troop of famished wolves, was as

helpless as the tempest-tossed mariner in the midst of the ocean's

storm. The howl had scarcely echoed over the dark wood, before it was

answered by dozens on every side! And as the drover's keen eye pierced

the gloom around him, the dancing, fiery glare of the wolf's eyes met

his wistful gaze.



The forest now resounded with the maddened banqueting beast, and as the

glaring eyes came nearer and nearer, the drover hugged his Yeager

tightly, and prepared to defend life while yet it lasted. Suddenly the

sharp crack of a rifle was heard, and then a loud scream or cry of

terror burst upon the air, a rushing sound, a man pursued by a troop of

wolves fled by the drover and his cover; scream after scream rent the

air, and the drover knew that a companion had fell a victim to the wolf

in his attempt at self-defence. The night was a long one, and thus,

among the savage beasts, a fearful one. The report of another rifle

again broke upon the ear, and again, and again did the hunting iron

speak, and the wolf howl salute it. A pair of eyes glared hurriedly upon

the drover, and he could not resist the desire to use his Yeager, and

the wolf taking the contents of the rifle in his mouth, rolled over,

while a score rushed up to fill his place. Oh! how dreadful must have

been the suspense and feelings of the drover as he lay crouched under

the old tree, surrounded by this horde of glaring eyes, his ears split

with their awful howl, and their hot and venomous breath fairly in his

face! But the wolf is a base coward, and will not meet a man eye to eye,

and so protected lay the drover, with his clenched teeth and unquivering

eye, that the wolf had no chance to attack, but by rushing up to his

very front. The red tongue lapped, the fierce teeth were arrayed and the

demon eyes glaring, but the drover quailed not, and the cowardly wolf

stood at bay. The sharp crack of the distant rifle still smote upon the

air and the loud howl still went up over the forest around. The first

faint streaks that deck the sky at morn, the fresh breath of coming day

caught the keen scent of the bloody prowlers, and they began to skulk

off. The drover gave the retreating cowards a farewell shot from his

pistols, tumbled a lank, grey demon over, and the wolf howl soon died

off in the distance.



Daylight now appeared, and the drover crawled from his lair. His loud

whoop! to the disbanded men and drove was answered by the neigh of a

horse, who came galloping up, and proved to be his own good hunter, who

seemed happy indeed to meet his master. Another whoop-e brought a

responsive shout, and finally four men out of the twelve, with seven

horses and a few straggling cattle, were mustered. The forest was strewn

with torn carcasses of cattle and horses, mostly killed by the falling

timber, and partly devoured by the ravenous wolves. A few hundred yards

from the tree where the drover lay, was found a few fragments of

clothes, the knife and rifle, and a half-eaten body of one of the

soldiers. He had fought with the desperation of a mad man, and the dead

and crippled wolves lay as trophies around the bold soldier. In a hollow

near the river they found a horse and man partly eaten up, and several

cattle that had apparently been hotly pursued and torn to death by the

rapacious beasts. They started out in search of the spot from whence the

drover had heard the firing in the night. They soon discovered the

place; at the foot of a large dead sycamore stump, some twelve feet high

lay the carcasses of a dozen or twenty wolves. Each wolf had his scalp

neatly taken off, and his head elaborately bored by the rifle ball. An

Indian ladder, that is, a scrubby saplin', trimmed with footholds left

on it, was laying against the old tree, at the top of which was a sort

of a rude scaffold, contrived, evidently, by a hunter. At a distance, in

a hollow, was seen a great profusion of wolf skulls and bones, but no

sign of a human being could there be traced. The party made a fire, and

as beef lay plenty around, they regaled themselves heartily, after their

night of horror and disaster. Having finished their repast, they

separated, each taking different courses to hunt and drive up such of

the stray cattle as could be found. My father, whom I have designated as

the drover, pursued his way over the vast piles of fallen, tangled

timber, leaping from one tree to the other. As he was about to throw

himself over the trunk of a mighty prostrate oak, he found himself

within two feet of one of the largest and most ferocious wolves that

ever expanded its broad jaws and displayed its fierce tushes to the eye

of man. Both parties were taken so suddenly by surprise, by this

collision, that they seemed to be rooted to the spot without power to

move. I have heard of serpents charming birds, said the drover, but I

never believed in the theory until I found myself fairly magnetized by

this great she-wolf. The wolf stood and snarled with its golden fiery

eye bent upon the drover, who never moved his steady gaze from the

wolf's face.



There is not a beast in existence that will attack a man if he keeps his

eyes steady upon the animal, but will cower and sneak off, and so did

the wolf. But no sooner had she turned her head and with a howl started

off, than a blue pill from the drover's Yeager split her skull, and

brought her career to a speedy termination.



Whoo-ep!



A shout so peculiar to the lusty lungs of the western hunter made the

welkin ring again, and as the astonished drover turned towards the

shouter, he beheld a sight that proved quite as formidable as the wolf

he had just slain.



"Well done, stranger; you're the man for me; I like you. That shot done

my heart good, though I was about to do the old she devil's business for

ye, seeing as you war sort o' close quartered with the varmint."



"Thank you," responded the drover, addressing the speaker, a tall,

gaunt, iron-featured, weather-beaten figure, with long grey hair, and a

rude suit of wolf-skin clothing, cap and moccasins. He held in his long

arms a large rifle, a knife in his belt, and a powder horn slung over

his side. He seemed the very patriarch of the woods, but good humored,

and with his rough hilarity soon explained his presence there.



"Well, stranger," said he, "you have had a mighty chance of bad luck yer

last night, and I never saw them cursed varmints so crazy afore."



"Do you live in these parts?" inquired the drover.



"Ha! ha! yes, yes," replied the hunter. "I live yer, I live anywhar's

whar wolf can be found. But you don't know me, I reckon, stranger?"



"I do not," said the drover.



"Ha! ha! well, that's quare, mighty quare. I thought thar warn't a man

this side the blue ridge but what knows me and old kit here, (his

rifle.) Well, seeing you are a stranger, I'll just take that old

sarpent's top-knot off, and have a talk with ye."



With this introductory of matters, the hunter in the wolf-skins scalped

the wolf, and tucking the scalp in his belt, motioned the drover to

follow. He led the way in deep silence some half a mile to a small

stream, down which they proceeded for some distance, until they came to

a low and rudely-constructed cabin. Here the hunter requested the drover

to take a seat on a log, in front of the cabin, while he entered through

a small aperture in his hut, and brought forth a pipe, tobacco, and some

dried meat. These dainties being discussed, old Nimrod the mean time

kept chuckling to himself, and mumbling over the idea that there should

be a white man or Ingin this side the blue ridge that didn't know

him.



"Ha! ha! well, well, I swar, it is curious, stranger, that you don't

know me, me that kin show more Ingin skelps than any white man that

ever trod these war paths; me, who kin shoot more wolves and fetch in

more of the varmints' skelps in one night than any white man or Ingin

that ever trod this wilderness. But I'm gittin' old, very old,

forgotten, and here comes a white man clean and straight from the

settlements and he don't know me; I swar I've lived to be clean ashamed

o' myself." And with this soliloquy, half to himself and partly

addressed to the drover, the old hunter seemed almost fit to cry, at his

imaginary insignificance and dotage.



"But, friend," said the drover, "as you have not yet informed me by what

name I may call you--"



"Call me, stranger? why I am"--and here his eyes glared as he threw

himself into a heroic attitude--"Chris Green, old Chris Green, the

wolf slayer! But, God bless ye, stranger, p'r'aps you're from t'other

side the ridge, and don't know old Chris's history."



"That I frankly admit," replied the drover.



"Well, God bless ye, I love my fellow white men, yes, I do, though I

live yer by myself, and clothe myself with the varmints' skins, go but

seldom to the settlements, and live on what old kit thar provides me.



"Well, stranger, my history's a mighty mournful one, but as yer unlucky

like myself and plenty of business to 'tend to 'fore night, I'll make my

troubles short to ye.



"Well, you see about thirty years ago, I left the blue ridge with a

party of my neighbors to come down yer in the Sciota country, to see it,

and lay plans to drive the cussed red skins clean out of it. Well, the

red skins appeared rather quiet, what few we fell in with, and monstrous

civil. But cuss the sarpints, there's no more dependence to be put in

'em than the cantankerous wolves, and roast 'em, I always sets old kit

talkin' Dutch to them varmints, the moment I claps eyes on 'em. The

wolf's my nat'ral inimy--I'd walk forty miles to git old kit a wolf

skelp. Well, we travelled all over the valley, and we gin it as our

opinion that the Sciota country was the garden spot o' the world, and if

we could only defend ourselves 'gainst the inimy we should move right

down yer at once. We went back home, and the next spring a hull

settlement on us came down yer. My neighbors thought it best for us all

to settle down together at Chillicothe, whar a few Ingin huts and cabins

war. I had a wife, and son and da'ter; now, stranger, I loved 'em as

dearer to me 'nor life or heart's blood itself. Well, the red skins soon

began to show their pranks--they stole our cre'ters (horses), shot down

our cattle, and made all manner o' trouble for the little settlement. At

last I proposed we should build a clever-sized block house, strong and

stanch, in which our wimen folks and children, with a few men to guard

'em, could hold out a few days, while a handful o' us scoured Paint

hills and the country about, and peppered a few of the cussed red

devils. We had been out some four or five days when we fell in with the

inimy; it war just about sunset, and the red skins war camped in a

hollow close by this spot. We intended to let 'em get through their

smoking and stretch themselves for the night, and then squar our

accounts with 'em. Stranger, I've lived in these woods thirty years, I

never saw such a hurricane as we had yer last night, 'cept once. The

night we lay in ambush for the Ingins, six-and-twenty years ago, thar

came up a hurricane, the next mornin' eleven of the bodies of my

neighbors lay crushed along the bottom yer, and for a hundred miles

along the Sciota, whar the hurricane passed, the great walnuts and

sycamore lay blasted, root and branch, just as straight as ye'd run a

bee line; no timber grow'd upon these bottoms since. Five on us escaped

the hurricane, but before day we fell in with a large party of red

skins, and we fought 'em like devils; three on us fell; myself and the

only neighbor left war obliged to fly to the hills. I made my way to the

settlement.



"Stranger, when I looked down from the hills of Paint creek, and saw the

block house scattered over the bottom, and not a cabin standin' or a

livin' cre'ter to be seen in the settlement of Chillicothe, my heart

left me; I become a woman at once, and sot down and cry'd as if I'd been

whipped to death." The old man's voice grew husky, and the tears

suffused his eyes, but after a few sighs and a tear, he proceeded:



"Well, you see, stranger, a man cannot always be a child, nor a woman,

either; my crying spell appeared to ease my heart amazin'ly. I

shouldered old kit here, and down I went to examine things. The

hurricane had scattered every thing; the fire had been at work too, but,

great God! the bloody wolf had been thar, the settlement was kivered

with the bloody bones of my own family and friends; if any had escaped

the hurricane, the fire or wolf, the Ingins finished 'em, for I never

seen 'em afterwards; I couldn't bear to stay about the place, I'd no

home, friend, or kindred. I took to the woods, and swore eternal death

to the red skins and my nat'ral inimy, the wolf! I've been true to my

word, stranger; that cabin is lined with skelps and ornamented with

Ingin top-knots! Look in, ha! ha! see there! they may well call old

Chris the Wolf Slayer!"



The drover regaled his eyes on the trophies of the old forlorn hunter,

and then visited the perch, which was situated close by a "deer lick,"

where wolves resorted to fall upon their victims. And from this perch

old Wolf Slayer had made fearful work upon his nat'ral inimy the night

previous. The old hunter assisted, during the day, to collect such of

the scattered drove as yet were alive or to be found; the men came with

another of their companions, and the small drove and men left the scene

of terror and disaster, wishing a God-speed to the Wolf Slayer.