"We can do it. One rush will overpower them. But remember—the young squaw must not be harmed. She ismine—for my squaw," earnestly added Young.
"It is well. One Eye shall have her," and then the chief spoke a few words to his followers, who drew together and made a heavy rush against the door.
It flew open so suddenly that one-half their number fell in a sprawling heap upon the floor, half-way across the room. Then with wild yells and cries Young and the chief sprung over their forms, and glared around for their anticipated victims.
But where were they? Why did not their cries of wild alarm and terror break forth upon the air? Surely there had been noise enough made to awaken them from the soundest slumber!
Raging furiously, Young rushed into the second room, but silence met him there, as well. He could no longer doubt the truth.
"A light—quick!" he snarled fiercely, in his rage speaking in English. "They cain't all hev gone. Cusses on that drunken fool!"
A light was speedily struck, and applied to a heap of clothing that lay upon the floor. As the blaze shot up, the interior of the cabin was rendered visible. Here, as at Wilson's, the disordered furniture and various articles strewn about the floor, told of a hasty and recent flight.
The half-breed quickly ran through the rooms, and found nothing there to wreak his fury upon. The loft, likewise, was empty. His anger and disappointment was fearful.
Led by him the Indians procured lights and ran outside to find, if possible, some trace of the fugitives. While some searched for a trail, others sought among the brush and hollows along the hillside, in the faint hope that the fugitives had sought shelter there.
A faint ruddy glow now appeared upon the sky in the south-east, growing momentarily more vivid and clear. One of the Indians pointed it out to Sloan Young, who replied with a diabolical grin:
"It is the work of Dusky Dick. He has had better fortune than we."
Then as if this sight had reminded him of it, the renegade ran to the building and stirred up the dying fire, piling on clothes, bed-ticks, furniture and every thing movable, that would burn. Then he retreated once more, uttering a fiendish yell of delight.
Soon the flames burst through the open doorway, roaring and crackling as though in high glee at thus being turned loose to work its will. A torch was applied to the straw-thatched stables, and then as the affrighted stock ran lowing or neighing around their corrals, the dusky demons shot them down, uttering wild yells of diabolical exultation.
But the half-breed and his chief glided around, striving to decipher the meaning of the many tracks that covered the ground. They were moving toward the forest, where their own party had not so defaced the ground with their trampling to and fro, when an unexpected sound startled them.
It was a cry, long and unearthly, seeming like, yet unlike a human voice. But if indeed one, then it must proceed from some person either in agonizing pain or mortal terror.
Again and again it came to their ears, with increasing distinctness, and even more startling than at first. And the dusky crowd glanced at each other in mute alarm.
They knew not what to make of it. Wherever they turned, from that point the horrible shrieks seemed to issue. If they looked, it appeared to come down from the skies.
The savages ceased their work of barbarous destruction and gathered together. They felt alarm, that was rapidly increasing, at they knew not what.
The chief was scarcely less impressed, but Sloan Young did not exhibit the same symptoms. His face was eagerly turned toward the blazing cabin, through whose roof the flames were now ascending. Then as another yell broke upon his hearing, he said:
"It is from the lodge! The pale-faces have hidden beneath it, and are beingroasted alive!"
The terror of the savages quickly gave place to emotions of anger, at thus being cheated out of the coveted scalps. The heat was now too intense for them to accomplish any thing in the way of releasing the sufferers.
Then they started back with cries of wondering dismay. A shrill shriek of fearful torture rung out, and then a figure sprung from the fiery furnace and darted toward them; its arms flung wildly aloft, its garments dropping in charred fragments from its limbs.
Then with another long-drawn cry, it sunk to the ground, almost at the feet of Sloan Young. The half-breed bent over it, but shrunk back at the horrible stench of burning flesh that arose from the body. Still he had recognized the unfortunate, burned and disfigured though it was.
"It is Bob-tailed Horse!" he exclaimed, turning to the chief.
And such was the case. He had been cast down the pit bound and gagged, as detailed, but soon recovered his senses. There he lay until he heard the angry voices of his confederates above him, and heard himself blamed for the disappointment.
He strove to cry out, but the gag had been firmly applied and his limbs were useless. In striving to free himself, he rolled over upon his face.
Then he heard the ominous crackling above him, and the pungent smoke that soon came to his nostrils, told him of a new and fearful peril. And yet he was helpless to avert it. His bonds would not give, nor could he utter even a groan.
The heat increased until the sweat streamed from every pore. The air became so close and hot that he nearly suffocated. At every breath it was like inhaling molten lead.
His prison became lighter, and he knew that the floor was being burned through. And still he struggled to burst his bonds; strove in vain. The skin cracked and shriveled up beneath the intense heat, and his tortures were excruciating.
The floor above him was one mass of coals. Then cinders fell upon his bare neck, hot and glowing. He shook his head, but the coal adhered to the hissing flesh.
Another and another fell, until his body was literally covered with the blazing sparks. Either the cords had been weakened by fire, or else the torturing coals had given Bob-tailed Horse a fictitious strength, for with one mighty effort he burst them asunder, and snatching the gag from his mouth, uttered a wild cry for help.
His hair caught fire and blazed furiously about his face. His flesh was fairly hissing beneath the heat, and it seemed as though he was one mass of fire. He screamed and yelled with frantic fury.
He sprung upward and caught at one of the glowing sleepers. It broke beneath his weight, and he fell back, covered with the hotly-blazingdebris. Again he sprung to his feet and essayed to gain the level floor; and again he fell back, screeching—dying.
More of the floor crumbled away, and then he sprung upon the edge of the narrow pit. With yet another cry, he fell forward upon his face in the glowing mass of coals.
He tottered to his feet and rushed blindly forward, sinking nearly knee-deep in the burning embers. He ran against the still standing logs and staggered back; his eyesight was gone.
But he did not fall, and sprung ahead once more. This time he emerged from the doorway, and then with a gasping yell, he fell to the ground.
And yet, after all this torture, he still lived. Though he had undergone enough to have killed a half-score of men, the spark of life still flickered faintly in his breast.
He knew he was among friends, and cried out for water. More from his gestures, than aught else, he was understood, and Young hastened to supply his wants. Not from motives of pity, but because he hoped to gain some valuable information from the dying wretch.
The spring was close by, and a hatful of cold water was brought the scarred and mangled sufferer. He drank it down eagerly and begged piteously for more.
"Tell me first," said One Eye, in the Sioux dialect, "where are the pale-faces?"
"Gone—water—water!" gasped the wretch.
"Where?" sternly cried Young. "Tell me all or you shall perish for want of a drop of water. Tell me and you shall have all you wish."
"Gone to—overthere," was the husky reply.
"To Wilson's?" asked Young, in English.
"Yes—young brave tell 'um—they go—run 'way—"
One Eye sprung to his feet with a peculiar cry. He had learned all he wished.
"Water—water!" gasped the sufferer, but his plea was unheeded.
He could be of no further service to them. He might die a dog's death, as he had lived a dog's life. What cared they?
"Come—there is no time to lose. We must hasten or they will escape us yet. Follow me, and their scalps shall hang at our girdles before another sun!" yelled One Eye, as he dashed away from the burning cabin, closely followed by the savages, leaving the dying wretch as he lay, to gasp out his feeble remnant of life in fruitless appeals for water!
CHAPTER VI.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
AsDusky Dick turned from the loft, after his fruitless search, a loud, shrill yell from one of his braves without, told him that the trail had been found. He uttered a little cry of exultation and flung his blazing brand upon the bed, as he dashed out of doors.
The trail-hunters had found where the beasts had been mounted, and then from that point the tracks led in a straight line toward the forest. There seemed but one solution of this. The settler had taken alarm at the threats of Dusky Dick, and had resolved to journey to the lower settlements. The renegade bitterly cursed his precipitancy, and his folly in losing sight of his intended victims even for a moment, when the game was entirely in his own hands.
"Look! the lodge is burning!" exclaimed a savage, to Dusky Dick.
The brand the latter had thoughtlessly flung upon the bed had done its work. The flames were shooting up, leaping hither and thither, roaring and crackling as if in fiendish glee.
"Let it burn. It will shelter no more of our enemies," and he turned away with a grim smile.
John Stevens was standing near, under guard of two brawny braves, who kept a vigilant watch over him. His blood was boiling within him at this last act of wanton malignancy, but fortunately he controlled his anger before it broke forth into words, that, while they could do him no good, might be productive of harm, in the wrathful mood of his captors.
Dusky Dick now renewed his instructions to the guards to keep careful watch over the captive, and then set forward after such of his braves as were tracing out the course of the fugitives by torchlight. The hoof-tracks crossed the clearing, and entered the trail leading to the lower settlements.
Thus far it was plain sailing, and Dusky Dick thought he divined the plans of the fugitives. He believed they were pressing on at a hot pace for the safer country below, and resolved to give them chase.
He could not proceed rapidly enough by torchlight trailing, and indeed, knowing the lay of the country so well, he did not think there was any further need of this aid. On foot he could proceed much more rapidly than the fugitives upon horseback, through the tangled woods.
But it would be impossible to carry his prisoner along. There would be too great a risk of losing him, and besides, he would only delay them.
So Dusky Dick turned to the two guards and bade them take Stevens and hasten at once to the lodge by the great rock, where they were to deliver him to Sloan Young, according to the bargain already made. Then he and his braves dashed away at headlong speed along the trace.
Ever since his capture, John had been busy. He knew that unless he could effect his escape that night, his chances for life were very slim. He would die by torture, most probably, for Sloan Young was a bitter, relentless enemy.
His hands had been bound behind him with strong deer-skin thongs. Then another cord had been wound several times around his body, thus pinioning his arms close to his sides. It seemed as though escape from these bonds, unaided, was an impossibility.
John had thoroughly tested the strength of the thong securing his wrists, and knew that he could not break it while his arms were so confined that he could not exert his strength to any advantage. He saw that he must first rid himself of the cords around his arms and body.
And to this end he had been working since before the cabin was reached. While the search was being prosecuted, he had been backed up against the building's side by his captors. Here he had caught one of the cords upon a knot, and had succeeded in pulling it down over his hands; thus the most difficult part of the task was accomplished.
The rest was comparatively easy. The one turn, thus loosened, gradually divided its surplus with the others, until John could work his hands slightly up and down. When the party entered the woods, along the horse trail, only one cord bound his arms!
Then that slipped down, and during the consultation, John, with a quick, dextrous twist, brought his bound hands up over his head, and dropped them in front; the movement not being noticed in the gloom. Cautiously raising his hands, Stevens applied his strong, sharp teeth to the thongs, and though he had barely half a score moments to work in, he improved this time so well that the thong parted at a quick pull upon it.
His first impulse was to turn and flee for life, but that would be too great a risk, and the young settler had sufficient good sense to await a more favorable opportunity.
Then he was given to the two braves, to be conducted to the half-breed, One Eye. Stevens felt a thrill of delight at this, for he felt that his escape was all but assured. Surely, during the long three miles he could effect an escape, now that only two were left to guard him.
But a danger threatened him, that he had not foreseen. He was being led back to the blazing cabin, and once within the broad circle of light cast around it, it was highly probable one of the red-skins would notice that the cord was broken around his wrists.
However, that must be chanced, and as the young settler managed to screen the broken ends, holding them under his hands, again crossed behind his back, he believed they would pass muster. The clearing was entered, a red-skin walking upon either side of him, clutching a shoulder.
The building was now blazing furiously, and Stevens felt a choking sensation as he gazed upon it. Many a happy hour had he spent beneath that roof, with those who, for aught he knew to the contrary, might even then be lying cold and still in the embrace of death.
He strove manfully to banish these ideas, but was not entirely successful. There was a heavy weight at his heart, and a premonition of coming evil rested upon his spirit.
As the clearing was crossed, the cabin being left directly behind the trio, a low cry broke from John's lips. Before them, afar off, was a ruddy glow, lighting up the skies high above the tree-tops. It needed not a second glance to tell the young settler the meaning of this. The position plainly revealed that. It was the conflagration built by One Eye; the blazing of the second cabin.
The Indians urged John along rapidly. One walked before, the other behind, within arm's length of their prisoner. Evidently they did not intend throwing away a chance, but were resolved to convey him safely to his destination.
They had not proceeded far from the Wilson cabin, when the foremost Indian paused with a low hiss, and bent his ear toward the ground. To the right and front he could distinguish the tramp of horses' hoofs.
"Perhaps 'tis One Eye, crossing with horses captured from the people of the lodge by the great rock," muttered the savage, whose hand rested upon John's shoulder.
"It may be. Let Tichenet wait here with the pale-face, while Asamee goes to see," hastily muttered the other, arising and gliding away in the forest, choosing a course so as to intercept the horsemen, whoever they might be, leaving the other two where they stood.
John believed that the time had now come for him to make a bold stroke for freedom, assured that no other so good a chance would be given him. And so, while waiting for Asamee to gain a safe distance, he entirely freed his hands.
Stealing a glance at his guard, Stevens saw that one hand rested upon a knife-haft, while his head was bent in an attitude of acute attention. His thoughts were mainly with his comrade, and the probable issue of his venture.
Stevens tightly clenched his hand, and gently drew it back. Suddenly there came a startling interruption. A clear, spiteful crack echoed through the forest, slowly followed by a wild, shrill yell, unmistakably that of an Indian, probably that of Asamee, as the direction corresponded with the one taken by him.
Tichenet uttered a low cry, and, dropping his grasp from the prisoner's shoulder, he started forward a pace, his nostrils dilating like those of a hound upon a breast-high scent. The golden opportunity was offered, and John was not a man to neglect it.
His wiry right arm shot out, the tightly-clenched fist alighting full beneath the red-skin's unguarded ear, felling him to the ground like a dog, the blood gushing from his mouth and nostrils. Stevens did not trust to this, but sprung upon the senseless form, plucking the half-drawn knife from the nerveless grasp, he drove it deep down into the red-skin's broad breast.
Then John seized the fallen rifle, assuring himself it had received no injury; after which he secured the ammunition and belt, placing in it, when buckled around his waist, the knife and hatchet of his dead foe. He could scarcely restrain a cry of exultation, as he felt himself once more a free man, provided with means of offense or defense, as the occasion might require.
There was no need to repeat the blow. It had been delivered by a true and strong hand. The red-skin's heart was literally cloven in twain.
John paused and listened intently. He could hear no sounds save the usual ones of a summer night in the forest; the hum of countless insects, the chirp of the tree-toad, the sighing of the gentle breeze amid the tree-tops.
He knew that his friends were somewhere in the forest; the two blazing cabins told him that, but just where, he had no means of knowing. But he believed the party fired at by Asamee—if indeed it was his rifle they had heard—were none other than his relatives, under convoy of Fred Wilson, who had taken horses and were hastening toward the cabin he had so lately left.
But surely they must have noted the glare of the blazing building, and it would tell them that foes were, or had lately been there. Then they would naturally give it a wide berth, which would account for their being off the main trail.
Still, John thought it strange he heard no further sounds. If they had fired at Asamee, why did not that worthy return? His yell had comeafterthe shot; neither was it a death-cry. That much Stevens felt confident of.
"John Stevens, you're a fool!" he disgustedly muttered, apostrophizing himself, after a brief hesitation. "If you want to find out, why don't you go where you can, instead of standing here like a simpleton."
Acting upon this sensible advice, John turned and glided from the blood-stained trace into the forest, as nearly as he could guess, in a direct line toward the point from whence had proceeded the alarm. But the delay had somewhat confused him, and he bore considerably to the left.
He was forced to advance slowly, for fear of coming into unexpected collision with Asamee, and some little time was consumed ere he gained the vicinity—as he believed—of the spot. Then he remained silent, listening intently for some sound to tell him how matters stood.
After what seemed an age—but in reality, only a few moments—he fancied he could distinguish a faint rustling noise, at only a few yards' distance; but if so, the person, whoever it might be, was going from him, as the next moment he lost the sound entirely. John felt if his weapons were in readiness for use, and then glided forward, as noiselessly as possible, toward the point from whence had proceeded the suspicious noise.
Again he heard the sound, and now could quite plainly distinguish the fall of irregular footsteps, evidently made by a human being. Believing they were those of Asamee, and burning to wreak a bitter revenge upon him for the threats and abuse he had so plentifully bestowed upon him when a captive, Stevens drew his knife and followed the footsteps, displaying considerable skill for one so little versed in woodcraft as he was, making scarcely more noise than the velvet-pawed panther when stealing upon its prey.
In this manner John had proceeded for several hundred yards, then growing warm in the chase, pressed on with more speed than caution, eager to bring affairs to a termination. Suddenly the sound of footsteps ceased, and he imitated the movement.
But it was quite evident that he had been heard, despite his promptness, and that the fugitive had taken the alarm, for the sound was almost immediately resumed, this time evidencing more speed and less caution than before. Stevens sprung forward, determined to overtake the fugitive at all hazards.
It was a difficult matter, this running through the tangled woods, but above the noise made by himself, Stevens could hear that of the other, showing that both had to encounter the same difficulties. Then came a low, gasping cry—a heavy fall, and then John was upon the fugitive, with knife uplifted to deal the fatal blow.
But the gleaming weapon descended harmlessly, and also a cry of wonder broke from his lips as he touched the prostrate form.He felt the flowing drapery of a woman's dress!
"Mercy—mercy!" gasped the latter, in a voice trembling with fear and apprehension.
That voice! How well John knew it! No danger of his confounding it with any other.
"Annie—you here!" he uttered, in a tone of wondering surprise.
"Mercy—have mercy!"
It was evident that the maiden did not recognize his voice. Her terror construed it into that of a deadly foe, thirsting for her life.
"Annie—don't you know me? It is John—John Stevens," and he bent over the prostrate and trembling form, winding his arms tenderly about her, pressing his lips to her cold brow.
It was the first time he had ever ventured so far, but the strange and exciting circumstances must be his excuse. And the course, too, answered a good purpose, for the maiden recognized him then, and with a low cry, flung her arms around his neck, sobbing hysterically.
The trying events, the sudden alarm, the heavy fall and shock, the long chase and agony of feeling herself lying helplessly at the mercy of a vindictive enemy, had proved too much for the usually strong, self-reliant spirit of the girl. She had been a heroine once that night; now she was only a weak and trembling woman.
"John—thank God!" murmured Annie, sobbing from excess of joy. "I thought it was an Indian."
"No, it is me," he added; a rather needless assertion, but he was hardly accountable for his words or actions then, as he clasped the lovely form closely to his breast, and pressed more than one fervent kiss upon her lips, now unresisting.
But then Annie started up with a little cry. The truth had flashed upon her mind, and brought her back once more to the stern realities of this life.
"I forgot—my father, mother—where are they?"
"Don't you know? Where did they leave you? And you have not told me how it is I find you here alone, at night," added John, curiously.
"We were afraid of the Indians, and left home, intending to call for your folks and then try to reach the lower settlements. But something—somebody shot at us and frightened the horses. Mine ran beneath a low limb, and I was brushed from his back. The fall must have stunned me for a time, because I heard nothing more of them. Then as I got up and walked away, trying to find where they went, I heard you after me, and thought it was an Indian. The rest you know," hurriedly explained the maiden.
"I'm afraid we're all in a bad fix, Annie. If you look, you can see the light from your house now. Dusky Dick set it on fire.Ourhome is on fire, too. No—don't be frightened; the folks were not in it. Fred came there and alarmed us, and I started on ahead to tell your folks the news, but got captured by the Indians. Fred said he would bring on the others to your house, when we all could go together."
"And father is on the way up there! He will get killed—I know it!"
"You said Tobe Castor was with them?"
"Yes; he came just before dark."
"Then he will save them from that. He is too old and cunning to walk blindly into such a scrape. ButyouI am troubled the most about now."
"Hark!" whispered Annie, as a startling sound broke the stillness of the air.
It was a loud, hoarse shout, closely followed by a shrill yell; and then the confused noise as of a mortal struggle between strong men. John quickly divined the cause.
"It is your friends, returned to look for you. They have met the Indian who was with the one I killed. Do you stay here, while I go forward and help them."
"No, I will go along," and then the young couple glided rapidly toward the spot from whence proceeded the confused sounds.
It was indeed as John had surmised. Tobe Castor had come into collision with Asamee, and, well matched in point of strength and dexterity, they were now rolling over the ground in a life and death grapple.
Tobe had made one blow, his knife sinking deep into the shoulder of the savage, inflicting a painful flesh wound, but in nowise disabling him. As he received the wound, Asamee gave a quick twist, that wrenched the knife from Castor's hand, tearing it from the wound, and hurling it several yards away.
However, he found his own hands full without attempting to draw a weapon, and it bade fair to result in a test of relative strength and endurance; their arms wound about each other, as they strove desperately for the mastery. But such was not to be the case.
Stevens dashed up, and paused before the contestants, with ready knife. He could not distinguish one from the other; and then, resolving to chance it, he spoke out.
"Who is it—white or red?"
"Both, I reckon—I kin answer fer the white, anyhow," muttered Castor, the words issuing by jerks. "Who're you?"
"John Stevens—let me help you," and the young man strove in vain to gain a fair stroke at Asamee.
"Gi' me the knife, hyar!" and as he spoke, Castor wrenched one arm loose, and then dashed his fist with crashing force full in the red-skin's face, who fell back, confused and bewildered.
Then Castor seized the proffered weapon. One quick, deadly thrust, and the contest was ended. Tobe coolly wrenched off the scalp, and then arose, puffing and blowing like a human porpoise.
"Wolf! Tough dogthet, fer a red. E'ena'most squoze my outsides in; durned ef he didn't! But how'd you come here? Hain't see'd nothin' o' ary stray gal—"
"Uncle Tobe, where are father and mother?" said Annie, springing forward, now assured that the strife was ended, by the conversation.
"Ge—thunder!" ejaculated Tobe, in amazement. "What next? The gal—ef 'tain't, then I'm a liar!" and the old scout clasped Annie to his breast, in a genuine "bear's hug," at the same time carrying the simile further, by an uncouth shuffle, quite as graceful as some of bruin's most finished antics.
"Don't—you'll smother her!" cried John; and, lover-like, there was a tinge of uneasiness in his tones, as he beheld another perform the same thing he had, only a few minutes before; butthenit was all right.
"Nary time—will it honey? Gals ain't easy smotheredtheta-way. B'ar a good deal o' huggin', them critters will. Kinder comes nat'ral to 'em, I guess. Lord bless ye, honey! I've a good mind to scold ye, right peert, now, fer your skeerin' us all so pesky bad!" but instead, Tobe smacked her lips right heartily.
"There, there, uncle Tobe!" and Annie twisted from his grasp. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself—at such a time, too. But where are they?"
"The old folks? Out yonder. They hid while I kem back to hunt you up, a'ter you jumped off to huntthisfeller up. Did, didn't you? Then how did you chance to find him?"
"This is hardly the time for joking, Castor," rather crustily interjected John.
"Right, you be. Thar—I'm sober as a judge. But findin' thet honey-bird thar, jest sorter sot me crazy. Did, fer a fact! Jest sot me right on eend, like. Made me feel good—kinder squirmish all over, an' it had to come out or bu'st; which wouldn't 'a' be'n pleasant—the bu'stin' part, I mean. But come—the old folks 'll be mighty oneasy ontil we git back. Gi' me your hand, honey, an' you, John, keep cluss op."
"Where do you intend going, Castor?"
"To your house, a'ter t'others."
"Our house is like that of Mr. Wilson's—on fire, or burned to the ground by this time. You can't see the light from here; but we did, a little back."
"You don't—then whar's your folks?" exclaimed Tobe, anxiously.
"Out in the woods, somewhere. Fred gave the alarm—he overheard the plan as he was coming through the woods toward our house. He sent me on. He sent me ahead to warn Mr. Wilson, but Dusky Dick's devils captured me. I saw him set fire to Wilson's house."
"Then how'd you git away?"
"He set off after you—along the Lower Trace—and sent me with two Indians, as guards, to join Sloan Young's gang. We heard your horses, and one of them ran out to see who it was. I killed the one left with me. You finished the other, just now," hastily explained John.
"You don't tell me! Gi' me your hand—no, thar hain't no time for thatnow, but you're a trump, anyhow, if Idosay so. It's a peskier job 'n I 'lotted on, durned if 't'aint, now! Hev to use right smart head-work to git out on it, too, ef we don't mind.Dratthe imps—what's got into 'em, anyhow?" and Tobe spoke in a voice of intense disgust.
"What do you think best to be done, now?"
"Don't talk—I've got tothink. Take the gal, an' keep cluss ahind me. Thar—so."
John passed one arm around the lithe waist of the maiden, who shrunk back at first, but then, as his pressure increased, she yielded, and felt all the better for so doing. Really, despite their ominous surroundings, the young couple were progressing finely.
Not another word was spoken until Tobe Castor paused and uttered the agreed upon signal; the cry of the night-hawk. Then Wilson and his wife sprung forward from their covert.
"Annie—our child—where is she?" gasped the mother, breathlessly.
"Here, mother!" and then the trio were locked in a close and warm embrace.
Tobe touched Stevens upon the arm, and drew him to one side. They were the only ones of the party fit for sober consultation, now.
"You say that pesky half-breed, Sloan Young, was at your house?" asked the old scout.
"Yes. I heard Dusky Dick say so."
"You don't think he—that is, you think the folks got out safe?"
"I do. If not, we would have heard of it. There was no shooting. Besides, Fred got there soon after dark, and was to start right away for here. He feared an attack would be made upon his people, too."
"Then they're on the road,some whars. They must 'a' see'd the light, as they hed higher ground to look frum, 'n we had. O' course Young 'd set out a'ter 'em, hot-fut. Then you say Dusky Dick went out torst the settlements?"
"Yes. Along the Lower Trace. He believed you had gone that way."
"I 'lowed he should. But mayhap 'twould 'a' bin better if we hed 'a' kep' on, as 't turns out now. We'll hev 'em both afore an' ahind, now—durn 'em! But we'll hev to run the chances, fer all I see," gloomily muttered Tobe.
"But our folks—what about them?" and there was a deep anxiety visible in the young man's voice, as he spoke.
"They're in the hands o' the good Lord, boy. We cain't do nothin' fer 'em now, onless we stumble onto 'em, like. The boy's with 'em, you say, an' he's wuth a heap in a muss like this 'ere. If so be it's to be, they'll git through all safe; but if not, then the Lord have marcy on thar souls!" solemnly added the hunter.
"Amen! But I fear the worst. I wish I was with them, now."
"You could do them but little good, if the worst is to come. Fred is thar, an' now you must kind o' take his place here. We'll need our best licks to bring 'em through, I'm afeerd."
"Tobe," said Wilson, approaching him, "what've we to do, now? Annie says Fred is not at Stevens'."
"We must turn 'bout face, an' strike fer the settlements. Not deerect, thar, fer Dusky Dick is 'tween us an' them; but by a sort o' circumbendibus like, thet'll throw them off o' the scent. We'll b'ar to the east—"
The further speech of the old hunter was abruptly cut short, by a series of thrilling sounds. Full well the little party knew the meaning of these, and each one shuddered convulsively at the dire visions conjured up before their mind's eye.
A rifle-shot, a shrill yell—other shots, followed by more cries and yells; then a wild uproar, as of deadly strife, at close quarters.
CHAPTER VII.
THE FOREST TRAGEDY.
Wewill now turn to and trace up the fortunes of the little party whom we left just quitting the "lodge by the rock," and entering the gloomy forest.
A longing, lingering look was cast back at the rude but loved structure, which had sheltered them for so long a time. But there was no retreating now.
Fred was probably the most anxious one of the party, for he knew, better far than they, the real extent of the peril that menaced. He knew that they would be fortunate indeed, were all members of both families alive and well at the next day-dawning.
He was not without some experience in Indian fighting, for before they removed to Minnesota, he had spent several winters trapping in the Blackfoot country, and with Tobe Castor, had, more than once, made his mark upon the persons of the dusky-skinned heathen. And since his residence here, Fred had kept his woodcraft brushed up, by long hunting excursions with the old scout.
So he cautioned his companions to step lightly and to avoid all conversation, while he glided on some yards in advance, trusting to discover any impending danger long enough beforehand to guard them from it. Their progress was necessarily slow, but the value of the young ranger's precautions was soon made apparent.
Fred's keen ear caught the sounds of approaching footsteps, and rapidly falling back, he drew his companions to one side on the narrow trace, where they crouched down amid the bushes. Fred knelt before them, his weapons ready for instant use, in case a collision was unavoidable.
The light pattering sound drew nearer, and then one form after another glided directly past the fugitives, who even held their breath, so imminent seemed the risk of discovery. Then the last link of the living chain passed by, and was lost to view amid the dense shadows.
Not until the last sound died utterly away, did Fred venture to move or speak. Then his voice was low, but full of uneasiness.
"It was Sloan Young's gang. I recognized him. They have gone to your home, and when they find their plans are discovered they will be after us, half-wild."
"Then let us hasten on at once," impatiently muttered Stevens. "We can reach your house by the time they get to ours. With such a start there is no danger of their overtaking us."
"Not so. You forget that Dusky Dick's gang is somewhere near here, and if we run across him, then we are lost indeed. A rifle-shot would call those devils back, and then we would be massacred in a moment—or else saved for the torture. No, we must use more caution now than ever. Will you be guided by me? I have had more experience in these matters than you have, or I should not ask such a thing," added Fred, modestly.
"Yes—we will do as you say. Only be quick!"
"Then we will go on as before. Only be as cautious in stepping as possible, and don't press too close upon me."
Fred reëntered the path and glided on in advance. He felt extreme anxiety as to the probable result of the venture, now that he knew foes were both before and behind.
He was also anxious regarding the result of John Stevens' errand. If he had been delayed, or had any thing happened to prevent his gaining the cabin, matters would be gloomy indeed.
Dusky Dick was evidently up to mischief, and as he was not with Sloan Young, what more likely than that he would pay a visit to the Wilson cabin? Should he do so, and find the inmates unsuspicious of their danger, an easy victory would be his. No wonder the young settler felt worried.
And then he abruptly paused, with a slight exclamation of dismay. Before him he could distinguish the fast widening trace of a conflagration; the sky was rapidly reddening with what he knew must be the glare of a burning cabin—and that cabin none other than his own!
"See! the devils are at work!" he hissed, in a strained and unnatural voice, as his companions drew nearer. "It is our cabin on fire!"
The little party stood in mute anxiety. Their eyes roved from one face to another. A terrible fear was upon them.
They could just distinguish the sound of shrill yells, as of Indians, borne to their ears by the favoring breeze. It sounded like the death-knell to all their hopes.
"What will you do now, Fred?" asked Stevens, breaking the painful silence.
"I must go ahead and see what that means. If John has been delayed by any thing, I fear the worst—all is lost. And it looks that way, for I hear no shooting."
"Will it be safe?"
"Not for the rest of you. You must stay here until I can find out how the ground lies. It would be worse than folly to go forward now, not knowing who we may meet. Come out here—it will be safer. So if any red-skins chance along the Trace, they will not discover you, if you are anyways careful."
Fred did not pause for a reply, but led the way out a few yards from the trail. Then he bade the fugitives crouch down amid the underbrush and await his return, which would be as speedy as possible.
"Would it not be better for us to keep right on toward the settlements? It seems dangerous to waste time waiting here, like this."
"No, it would never do. You would only lose your way, if indeed you did not run into some ambush. You must stay here until I come back. It is the best you can do, now."
"But hasten, then," and the settler composed himself to await the result with such patience as he could summon.
As Fred glided noiselessly away through the gloom, a chill fell upon the spirits of the little party, that seemed a premonition of coming danger. Stevens started to his feet, intending to venture all, rather than remain there in suspense, but the women finally persuaded him to abide by the decision of the young ranger, whose experience in such matters was far the greatest.
To increase their anxiety, they now perceived the glow that marked the destruction of their own home. The circle of death seemed narrowing around them with each passing moment, and the suspense was absolutely killing. Any thing, however bad, seemed preferable to this torture.
The minutes rolled on, each one seeming like an hour of ordinary time, and still no signs of Fred's return. Then came a rifle-shot from some point not far distant—a wild yell, followed by the loud crashing of what seemed horses' hoofs, passing through the forest at headlong speed. Tremblingly the three fugitives awaited the result, fearing to move from their covert.
The glowing beacons upon either hand of them, grew more faint as the moments passed on, and then were entirely shut out from view by the gathering clouds, and the thickly clustering tree-tops.
And still no sign of Fred's return. Stevens could stand the suspense no longer, but arose to his feet, saying:
"I will wait no longer. Something must have happened, or he would have been back long ago. It is throwing away our only chance by stopping here. Come, let us go."
"But Fred said"—uttered Jennie, falteringly.
"I know that, but something must have happened to hinder his coming back. If we stay here, we will only be smelled out and killed by these murdering red-skins. Come on," decisively added Stevens, as he moved away from the spot.
The women well knew that all resistance would be in vain, and arose to obey.
Stevens did not think it prudent to travel in the beaten Trace, lest he should meet some of the enemy, and so kept along through the forest, using such skill as he was possessed of, to proceed silently.
But the danger foreseen by Fred, proved well founded. In the very outset the borderer went astray. He had lost his bearings, and instead of proceeding toward the lower settlements, he was pursuing an almost directly opposite direction, or nearly toward his own cabin—or where that had previously stood.
In evading the tree-trunks and clumps of bushes, he deviated from a direct course, now bearing to the right, now left, until he almost struck the beaten trail they had lately traversed, when led by Fred Wilson. And then Stevens ran headlong into the very danger he was most anxious to avoid.
The settler came first, then his wife, and after her, Jennie. The dress of the latter caught upon a root, and she paused to loosen it; a fact that probably saved her life.
For just then a wild yell rung out from close before Stevens, accompanied by a sharp crack and broad glare that lighted up the scene for a moment, with startling vividness. By it the settler saw the dusky figures of some half-score savages, and with impulse of the moment, he threw up his rifle, firing at the foremost one.
A thrilling death-yell that followed told that his shot had not been spent in vain, but then a return volley rung out, and he staggered back, wounded unto death. He stumbled over the prostrate form of his wife, whom the first shot had stricken down, but recovered himself as the enemy sprung forward with exultant whoops and yells.
For a brief moment the settler battled with frantic fury, but all was in vain. The bullet that first struck him had reached the seat of life, and then a knife pierced his side. Still defiant, he sunk down, with a hoarse cry, upon the body of his murdered wife. And over them raged the red-skins, fighting for the coveted scalps like demons incarnate.
Jennie was sheltered by the intervening tree-trunk, and although more than one bullet shattered the rough bark, she was unharmed. Terror held her enchained to the spot, despite herself.
Then she heard the dying cry of her father, and knew that all was lost. With a low cry of agony she turned and fled through the forest, half dead with horror.
The red-skins scrambling for the coveted trophies, heard her not, but one other ear did; that of Sloan Young, and divining the truth, he sprung forward after the fleeing girl, and knew that the coveted prize he feared was lost, was now just within his grasp. He gave vent to a long, loud yell of diabolical exultation.
But Jennie's feet seemed gifted with more than mortal speed, and she fled over the rough ground, through the bushes and tangled shrubbery, fully holding her vantage-ground, hard as the half-breed strove to overtake her. Uttering furious curses, he dashed madly on—to his death!
Jennie sped on, blindly, half unconsciously. A horrible sound filled her ears—the death-cry of her father—the gasping groan of her murdered mother. She knew not her own danger; she only felt some frightful danger was driving her on, she knew not whither.
She sped on past a dark, crouching form, and then felt, rather than saw, another figure rise up before her. With a low gasping moan she sunk unresistingly into the outstretched arms; her senses fled and she fainted.
The half-breed also heard the cry and answered it with one of exultant triumph, for he believed that the fugitive must soon drop from exhaustion, when she would become an easy prey to him. But he was doomed to a bitter disappointment.
He noted the abrupt cessation of Jennie's footsteps, and tricky himself, he suspected some ruse upon her part; most probably an attempt at doubling upon him. To defeat this he paused and listened intently.
He saw a dark figure rise up almost within arm's length of him, and believing it to be his intended victim, he sprung forward with outstretched hands, crying:
"You may as well gi' up, my dear—"
Thus far he spoke, and no further. For a strong hand clutched his throat, and as the tall form towered above him, the gleam of a descending knife-blade filled his eyes. The half-breed made one desperate effort to free himself; he was not given time for more.
But he was held like a child, and then the keen knife hissed down—then with a horriblethud, the hilt fairly struck against his chest. The long blade had cloven his heart in twain.
Still he made a desperate effort—his death-throe, it was—and freed his throat from the vise-like grip fastened upon it. A single wild yell broke from his lips, and then he sunk a lifeless weight in the arms of his conqueror, a corpse.
Still the alarm was given, and that last cry bade fair to avenge its author's death. For it had reached the ears of the still scuffling savages, and awoke them to their folly.
They recognized the voice of their leader, and one of them had placed the sound; and he quickly communicated it to his comrades. Then with shrill yells of anger they sprung forward, eager to assist or avenge their chief, as the case might be.
"Put the gal down, Jack," muttered Tobe Castor—for it was indeed him—speaking in a quick tone. "The imps is a comin' hot fut. Let the women hunker down cluss ahind the log. It'sfightnow, an' we'll hev our hands full 'thoutthem!"
The trio—Castor, Wilson and Stevens—drew together, the better to meet the shock they knew must soon come. They could not avoid it by flight; that course would be certain destruction, as they well knew.
The three women had been placed in a clump of bushes bordering and overhanging a large fallen tree and against this, on the opposite side, the men backed, as by it they secured themselves from being assailed upon all sides at the same time. Tobe again spoke:
"Fire as I do, an' then drap down on yer faces. Ef they shoot at the bleeze, thet'll mebbe save us. Then do the best you know how, with cold steel an' clubbed rifles, ef so be they make a rush."
There was no time for further instructions, if such had been needed. But the others knew what lay before them well enough. They knew it would probably result in a hand-to-hand combat, that could scarcely end otherwise than in their destruction. And yet they did not flinch. They had dear and helpless ones to fight for, as well as their own lives.
The yelling red-skins came on at full speed, until within a short distance of the borderers, when they abruptly paused; the ominous stillness awed them. They could not comprehend it.
One Eye did not answer; then he must be dead. Nothing could be heard of his slayer or slayers. Therefore they could not have fled, or the sound of their footsteps would have been heard. And would they have remained here, unless in strong force, sufficient to successfully resist the braves of the dead half-breed?
But then the more impatient of the Sioux, excited by the slight taste of blood they had in the death of the two fugitives, gave a cry and sprung forward. The rest followed, in a compact mass; a fatal move upon their part.
The three men standing beside the fallen tree could now faintly distinguish the enemy, as they surmounted a slight knoll. Knowing the advantage of a first blow, Castor leveled his rifle, the action being closely imitated by his comrades, and then fired.
The three reports sounded almost as one, and carried death and dismay into the ranks of the Sioux. The horrible death-yells and groans of agony told how fatal had been the discharge, and, as with one impulse, the survivors broke and fled, without firing one shot.
But this panic was only momentary. Then they rallied, and proceeded to concert some plan for the revenge the blood of their fallen comrades demanded at their hands.
The three borderers dropped to the ground, as agreed upon, but this precaution was needless, as we have already seen. Then they began hurriedly re-charging their weapons, full well knowing there would be further need of them, ere the affair was over.
"They are driven back—why not take the women and slip away?" whispered Wilson, cautiously, he being nearest to Tobe.
"Don't be a fool, Ed—don't, fer marcy's sake. They'd hear us, an' then we'd be in a nice fix—I guessnot. Thet's jest what they want the most. They don't know how we're fixed now, and 'll fight shy fer a time. No, we must stick it out here—fer a time, anyhow."
Their weapons recharged, the three men crouched down in anxious waiting. Especially was John Stevens troubled.
He feared the worst. He had found Jennie, his sister, fleeing from a spot where had been going on a desperate fight for life. But where were the others? his father and mother? Were they dead, or also fugitives in the forest?
That was a query he feared to answer, but something down in his heart told him that a great calamity had occurred: that he was now parentless. Still, there was a faint hope. Jennie had escaped with life; then might not the others have fared equally as well?
Fortunately he had something to distract his thoughts, in a measure. Otherwise he would have gone mad. But now he must bear up for the sake of his sister—his loved one and her friends. They were in imminent peril, and upon his arms partly depended their hopes of preservation.
The groans of the dying wretches had ceased, and all was once more still in the forest. Even the insects had seemed to cease their humming, and the faint breeze to die utterly away. The stillness was awful—depressing in the extreme.
For despite this seeming peacefulness, they well knew that bloodthirsty and unscrupulous foes were busily compassing their destruction. They knew that some subtle plot was being concocted by the savages, who would be fairly wild with rage and thirst for revenge. This suspense was harder to bear than the deadliest strife would have been, for while they knew their peril was imminent, they knew not in which direction it would first appear, nor the shape it would assume.
But they had not long to wait for the knowledge. A faint rustling sound at some little distance first met their vigilant ears, although no human form could be seen. This for a time puzzled them, as the sound appeared confined to a circumscribed space, near the little knoll upon which the Indians had stood when the fatal volley was discharged at them.
Then this rustling ceased, and another sound took its place. Castor uttered a grunt of dismay, as though he comprehended the meaning of this. Wilson whispered:
"What is it, Tobe?"
"Wait an' you'll see soon a plenty.Cussthe pesky imps!" and the old scout fairly ground his teeth with intense ire.
And in the course of a few moments theydidsee, sure enough. A faint, flickering glow—not a blaze, at least visible to them—shone forth upon the knoll, only a few yards distant from its crest. At this moment, Stevens and Wilson divined the truth, as Castor had already done.
The Indians were building a fire!
Their object in thus doing was plain. They felt assured their enemy had not fled, and by this light they counted upon discovering their covert, without serious risk to themselves.
"Cussthe imp!" hissed Castor, wrathfully. "He's hid behind a rock or log or somethin' else, or I'd soon sicken the dog, fer good. But we must git out o' here, jest the quickest!"
"But how? Surely they wouldn't leave a path open for us? They must have surrounded us, to guard against any move like that," muttered Wilson.
"I know thet—I ain't sech a pesky fool as to make arunfer it, yit. But ef we stay here tell thet light bleezes up—as'twillshortly—we're gone suckers, fer shore! But we must git over the log, here. Thar's a big fork in it, whar we kin hunker down, an' hev the bushes fer kiver, too. Then they cain't rout us out 'thout makin' a rush fer it; which they won't be apt to do afore day, anyhow. So up with ye, one at a time, an' git the wimmen onder kiver."
"You go first—if you know where the fork is."
"I'dorterknow—seein's as how I durned nigh broke my neck over the pesky thing a-tumblin' down whar we run up, a bit ago. But when you come, don't make no n'ise, 'less you'll hev a load o' lead in your karkidge as 'll be mighty onhandy to kerry about."
So speaking, the old scout cautiously rose up and crawled upon the log. The fire was now blazing up quite briskly, and already casting out a circle of light that nearly reached the tree-trunk. There was no time to be lost.
Jennie was still half-senseless, and, stooping, the old scout gently raised her in his arms, and, in a low, guarded whisper, bade the other two women follow him. Though trembling with apprehension, they obeyed, without a word.
Castor glided through the bushes, along the log for a few paces, and then pausing, lowered Jennie to the ground. It was a narrow space between two forks of the tree, that were here some two feet in thickness, while over and around them, grew a dense fringe of bushes and vines.
There was ample room for the entire party, and while hidden from the enemies' view, by lying down, they were protected in a great measure from any bullets that might be discharged into their covert. Upon this fact Tobe had counted when he determined to remove from the spot rendered untenable by the rapidly-increasing light of the fire.
The women safe placed, Castor turned and whispered to his comrades. Wilson was already over the log, and Stevens speedily followed his example. Then they sought the new refuge, where they knelt down with senses upon the keen alert, and rifles ready for use.
"You wimmen keep cluss," continued Castor. "Them pesky reds is mighty keerless, sometimes, an' one o' thar bullits mought chaince to hit ye. Hurt, too, they would; bet yer life theydo!"
"What do you think they will do now?" anxiously queried Wilson.
"Don't know. Tell you better a'ter a bit. But then you'll know jest as soon's I will, come to think o' it. Hist! jes' lis'en tothet!"
This exclamation was drawn forth by a series of sounds that suddenly broke the stillness of the forest. They seemed to come from every point of the compass, forming a terribly-significant concert, when the listeners so well knew the true performers.
The faint howling as of wolves; the whistle of the night-hawk; the chirp of the tree-toad or ground squirrel; the mournful cry of the rain-crow—with still other sounds, came from the forest depths, telling the fugitives that their foes were upon the alert—that they were surrounded by a cordon of bloodthirsty and cunning enemies, whose every power would be strenuously exerted to wreak a fearful vengeance upon the slayers of their fallen comrades.
The fire blazed higher and more brightly, casting a flood of light over all surrounding objects, plainly revealing the long log, behind which crouched the fugitives. But still, not a trace of the savages could be seen, though keen and practiced eyes swept every foot of the ground revealed.
Then the signals abruptly ceased, and even the fire appeared to burn without noise. A stillness as of death swept over the forest. The moment of action was evidently nigh at hand.
"Keep your eyes peeled, boys," muttered Tobe Castor, as his teeth clenched and his eyes glittered with a strange glow. "They know jest about whar we be, an' 'll show thar hands 'fore long. Plug the fust varmint as you kin draw a bead on, but don't waste 'ary shot."
It was evident that the savages had determined upon the position of the fugitives, but then a wide stretch was given them, for the log was some fifty or sixty feet in length, the entire body of it fringed with bushes, any point along it sufficiently dense for the fugitives to hide in. This fact alone kept the Indians from making a desperate onset at once.
Then a rifle-shot rung out from the gloom beyond the broad circle of light. The bullet sunk with a dull thud into the decayed log, some feet from the fugitives.
Another and another rung forth, from different points of the compass, but still not a cry or a sound came to tell the Indians of the exact spot occupied by their intended victims. One of the bullets tore its way through the cheek of Tobe Castor, but he did not flinch or move, save to brush the hot blood from his eyes.
Then a series of cries ran along the cordon of dusky warriors. Its meaning was comprehended by the old scout, who muttered:
"It's comin' in airnest, now, boys! Pick yer game an' drap it. Then load up, ef you hev time."
The words still hissed upon his lips, when a wild whoop resounded from every side of their position; and then a number of dusky figures appeared in view. But they did not advance boldly; instead, they sprung from side to side, yelling frightfully and brandishing their weapons in the air above their heads.
Castor was too wise a veteran to be fooled in the manner they evidently counted upon. His hands checked the less experienced men, whose eyes were already glancing along their rifle-barrels.
"Don't shoot—fer yer lives don't shoot yit!" he hissed, warningly. "They on'y want to find out whar we be. Don't ye see? Wait ontil they make a gineral rush."
His prudence was soon confirmed, for like magic the yelling crowd and the dim, phantom-like figures disappeared as though they had sunk into the ground. Evidently the red-skins were puzzled, knowing now that either their prey had fled, or else were far more cunning then they had given them credit for.
Thus another half-hour expired, and still no direct assault was made, although an occasional shot was discharged into the bush-screened log. An overruling Providence seemed to shield the fugitives, for as yet, the crease upon Tobe Castor's cheek was the only wound the party had received, though more than once the hissing missiles had passed so close that their venomous whistle could be distinguished by the besieged.
Then Tobe gave a faint hiss. His comrades gazed in the direction his finger pointed, and they beheld a faint, shadowy figure upon the ground, at only a few yards' distance. Under other circumstances this would hardly have been noticed, or if so, would have been thought a mere shadow; but now, with his senses sharpened by peril, Castor knew that it was the form of an Indian, who was crawling up toward them, evidently with the intention of learning their exact position; a sort of forlorn hope, in which he risked his life to benefit his comrades and work the ruin of his foes.
"Leave the imp to me," muttered Tobe; "keep a good look-out on your side fer more o' the same sort. Don't let 'em fool ye!"
CHAPTER VIII.
A STROKE FOR VENGEANCE.
Withpainfully throbbing heart, Fred Wilson left his companions and hastened along the narrow Trace toward the blazing cabin, to learn the fate of his family. He dreaded the worst, for a strange sensation of coming evil weighed heavily upon his mind.
He was not given to superstition or a belief in omens, but now it seemed as though the spirit of some loved one was hovering around him. A firm belief assailed him that he was doomed to suffer some deep and bitter loss.
And in vain he strove to cast this thought aside; it would return despite himself. And from a fancy, it became a settled conviction.
Still it did not prevent him from displaying his usual caution and skill, and he glided along the path, dark and gloomy though the woods were, with almost the certainty and ease he would have displayed in broad daylight. Only at times could he distinguish the reddish glow of the blazing cabin; at others the densely clustering boughs concealed it from his vision.
In this manner he had proceeded over half a mile, when he fancied he heard the faint sound of cautious footfalls before him. Instantly pausing, he bent his ear to the ground. He was not deceived; some person or persons were coming toward him.
With a wild hope in his heart, the young scout softly drew to one side of the Trace, and crouched down beside the trunk of a large tree, in such a position that the passers-by, whoever they might chance to be, would be momently outlined against a rift in the tree-tops beyond.
The catlike footfalls came nearer, and then the travelers passed before him. In the first one he recognized an Indian. He could just distinguish the nodding plumes upon his head.
And then the next one he noticed was the same. But he had, unfortunately, looked one moment too long upon the first passer. By so doing, he only caught a faint glimpse of the second. The last he saw more closely.
There were only three in number, and he believed them all Indians. Had he known the truth, the entire course of the after events of that memorable night would have been changed; perhaps for the better.
For had he known that his friend, John Stevens, was of the number, he would have dared all to rescue him, and thus learn definitely how the young settler's mission had terminated. But he was not aware of this, and so suffered them to pass by, unchallenged.
Fred then arose and pressed rapidly on, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. This party were coming direct from the burning building; then what was he fated to find there? All was still in that direction. Was the tragedy over?
And then the young man paused upon the edge of the clearing. With wildly-beating heart, he gazed out upon the scene of destruction that lay before him.
The cabin was one mass of glowing coals, though as yet the walls were standing. And though his eyes roved keenly around upon the smooth ground before the building, the dreaded sight met not his gaze. He had feared he would behold the dead and mangled corses of his family lying there, weltering in their blood.
But, as we know, this sight did not greet his eyes, and he derived some faint consolation from it. All might not yet be lost.
And with these thoughts, he began cautiously circling around the clearing, too wise to venture within the broad circle of light, while ignorant whether there might not be a score of his enemies lurking near, watching for some other unwary victim.
He had gained a position nearly opposite the point where he had first stood, when he received an evidence of the prudence of his caution. A tall, dark form emerged from the shadows near the mouth of the Trace, and then strode rapidly toward the building.
Just then the walls fell in with a loud jar, and as the sparks ascended skyward in a dense cloud, the blaze burst out afresh, and cast a still more brilliant light over the scene. By its aid, Fred could see that the new-comer was an Indian, and an angry glow filled his heart, as he reflected that this same savage might have been an active agent in the death of his family. For the young man still believed that he would find them dead. In no other way could he account for the strange depression that weighed upon his spirits.
And he resolved that this one, at least, should never live to boast of his bloody deeds. He should die, and by his hand. And then he set about compassing this end.
In this point again Fortune seemed favoring him. The red-skin stood motionless for a moment, his eyes roving keenly around the clearing; then his tall form stooped, and he glided to and fro, evidently searching for some sign.
Fred waited in eager anticipation for a moment more favorable than this, although the range was short, and he could easily have picked off the savage with his rifle. But this was a move he did not fancy, as he did not know how many red-skins might be within hearing, and with the lives of others partly depending upon him, Fred dared not run the risk of a shot. The blow must be dealt with cold steel, if at all.
The red-skin ceased his zig-zag movements, and now proceeded in a direct line. Fred knew that he was following some trail, and to his stern delight, found that trail led the Indian toward the Lower Trace.
With sternly-compressed lips and eyes glowing with a strange light, the young scout glided rapidly toward the point where the Trace began, a long, keen knife firmly clenched in his hand. He was none too soon, for scarcely had he crouched behind a tree-trunk, than the Indian entered the bushes, his head still bowed toward the ground.
Then he paused, with a slight grunt, as of disappointment. It was none other than the petty chief who had been with One Eye, or Sloan Young, and who had started off to put Dusky Dick upon the watch when it was found the Stevens family had fled.
Fred Wilson collected his energies and sprung upon the unprepared red-skin, knife in hand. Ere the assailed could lift a finger in self-defense, the keen weapon hissed through the air and then buried itself, with a peculiarthud, deep in his broad chest.
A low, gurgling cry arose to his lips, but then died away with the gush of blood that filled his throat. Then, as the knife was withdrawn, the tall form, so lately full of life and strength, tottered and sunk to the ground, a lump of lifeless clay.
"You are the first one—but will not be the last, by many more!" muttered the young scout, with a terrible depth of hatred and revenge in his tones, as he stooped over the dead man and adroitly removed his scalp.
Then he suddenly sprung erect. A significant sound met his ear. A rifle-shot—an Indian yell, at no very great distance.
It apparently proceeded from near the spot where he had left the Stevens family, and Fred feared they had been discovered by the Sioux. He could do no good by remaining here, as there were no traces of his family, and he resolved to return at once, though fearing it would be too late.
The young scout was not one to hesitate, when once his mind was made up, and securing the gory scalp to his waist, he entered the forest once more, gliding with speedy footsteps toward the point where he had left his friends in hiding. Still, despite his rapid progress, he was too late.
As he neared the covert, he uttered the signal agreed upon, but without an answer. Then he crept forward to the clump of bushes. He parted them and peered inside. They were untenanted by those whom he sought.
Fred stood in angry disappointment, not unmingled with apprehension. He did not know whether Stevens had disobeyed his strict injunctions, and ventured forth in an attempt to escape unaided, or whether he had been surprised and taken prisoner, and he dared not strike a light to discover, lest it should prove a beacon to guide a treacherous bullet or arrow to his life.
Then, as he stood there, another sound met his ear; one similar to that which had drawn him from the clearing, only louder and more protracted. Two single rifle-shots and then what seemed a united volley, accompanied by wild yells and whoops.
There could be no mistaking this. He knew that one party, at least, of his friends had been attacked by the Indians; most likely those whom he had taken under his own charge.
He did not hesitate, only long enough to determine the direction and probable distance of the strife from where he stood, and then pressed forward toward it, with as much speed as was consistent with safety. And now he displayed in an astonishing degree, the skill he had attained, thanks to the instructions of Tobe Castor.
He glided through the forest at a half-run, with apparently as much ease and celerity as though the intense gloom was replaced by broad daylight, seeming to avoid the tree-trunks and other obstacles by intuition. And his footfalls made scarcely more noise than those of the deer, traversing its course with unhasted steps.