CHAPTER X.
THE RESCUE AND WHAT FOLLOWED.
The night was not far advanced when Kenowatha and the Girl Avenger reached the vicinity of the Indian village, and concealed themselves in the tall weeds that flourished there on the banks of the Maumee. Beside the flambeaus, they had borne disguises down from the cave, which they now proceeded to don. Kenowatha had laid aside the gray fox-tails that had formed a portion of his fantastic head-dress, divested himself of all the characteristic ornaments that were wont to distinguish him as the renegade’s youngprotege, and disguised himself as a common Indian boy—one of the many little red vagabonds that run about the Indian villages deep in mischief, long after their staider parents had yielded to the wooings of the somnolent god. He realized the peril attached to the expedition he had undertaken, he knew that a decree of outlawry had been passed against him, that the common warrior who took his scalp should forthwith be promoted to a full chief, and lead three hundred braves against the Black Snake, who at that hour was marching from Defiance to Victory.
Never before had he inaugurated action so perilous as the present one, and it seemed the pinnacle of rashness for two children—for in stature and years the avengers might be styled thus—to attempt to rescue a white spy from the midst of a tribe that could muster five thousand warriors.
The young twain felt no fear, and prepared for work as calmly as though getting ready for a great festival. They resolved before entering the woods to submit to no captivity.
“Better,” said Nanette, “to fall striking dead those who spared not our own parents, than to undergo the terrible tortures inflicted by the Indians and their scarlet queen.”
“Ay, ay,” returned Kenowatha, “we will not fall into their hands alive. If they get us at all, it will be bereft of life. But they will not capture us, girl. As yet I have not struck a single blow of vengeance. I am not to die thus, no! no! It is decreed by high Heaven that my chosen mark—the red cross—shall become as terrible as your bloody crescent.”
When the twain rejoined each other in the woods—for they had separated to don their disguises—a silent pressure of hands, followed, accompanied by a look that told how inseparably their fates were linked together, by the strangest circumstances that ever existed in the untraveled forest wilds.
Their guns were concealed in the grass, and armed but with their knives, concealed but ready for use, about their persons, they stood erect, listened a moment, then marched boldly forward. The most careful observer would have proclaimed the couple what they seemed to be—what they counterfeited—an Indian boy and girl—for though they kept together they roamed about the village with a nonchalance that would deceive the most suspicious. Still, as a precautionary measure, they kept in the shadows as much as possible, yet did not shrink from walking into the glare of the ground fires whenever necessary. No suspicion seemed to attach itself to the young would-be-rescuers, and the lazy savages little dreamed that their deadliest foes were in their very midst.
By-and-by in their seemingly aimless saunterings they approached the prison cabin wherein a noble man waited for them—waited behind strong logs and a guard of stalwart braves, whose eyes noted every thing that came near in the fitful starlight.
The avengers were prepared to find the prison strongly guarded, and knew that to rescue the young spy they must have recourse to a strategy seldom if ever used in red villages. The strategy, as perilous and startling in its character as it was unique, found birth in the Girl Avenger’s brain, and Kenowatha joined in the scheme. Crouching in the gloomy shadow of a lodge, the twain remained silent until the opaque clouds that crept over the western horizon had completely clothed the sky in blackness, and vailed the shining faces of the stars.
The prison-hut was built of strong beech logs, dove-tailed, after the usual mode of constructing cabins in the West, and the roof was composed of three layers of bark, each two inches thick, and secured by strong wooden pins. The hut had been built for the express purpose of securing prisoners, under the eye of the Girty brothers, and other renegades, and many a noble red and white captive had marched, in the noon of life, from its gloomy recesses to the fatal stake, beneath a pellucid sky. The inmates of the prison-hut were secured to a stake in the center of the structure, thus preventing them from self-escape.
Kenowatha and the Girl Avenger crept to the rear of the hut without attracting the attention of the guards who stood at the door, and with the noiseless and ghostly movements of the lizard, as it ascends the slimy wall, Nanette began to ascend the cabin to its roof. Breathless, and with drawn knife Kenowatha waited below, ready to give the signal of danger or drive the keen blade into the heart of the first red-man who approached.
The rough exterior of the logs aided the young She-wolf in her perilous undertaking, and presently she found herself grasping the bark coverings of the hut.
For a moment she paused, but no signal or sound coming up from below, she went to work. Bracing herself against the jutting logs at the corner of the structure, her hands, by dint of toil, withdrew several of the wooden pins, which she thrust into her bosom, and a strip of bark was laid aside. Another and another noiselessly followed it, and then, like a cat, the girl dropped from the roof into the interior of the hut. The blackness of palpable darkness surrounded her, and in the lowest of whispers she whispered a name:
“Mark Morgan!”
A noise—no voice—guided her to the captive, and a moment later her knife noiselessly severed his bonds.
“I thought you never were coming,” whispered the young spy; “but better late than never, you know, girl. The guards are dead? You found the door too well secured for your little hands, eh?”
“The guards are as watchful as ever,” was the response. “We’ve stolen a march on them—Kenowatha and I.”
Mark Morgan could scarcely repress an exclamation of astonishment at the daring feat.
“Come!” whispered the Girl Avenger, “our work is but half-done. You are not free yet. Go up first; I’ll follow.”
In silence Morgan groped his way to the corner, and clambered toward the opening in the rock. While he was performing this action, Nanette crept back to the post, upon whose worn surface she hastily cut her dreaded crescent which she reddened with her own blood, drawn with the point of her knife.
“They will know who’s been here when they open the door,” she murmured, as she completed her work. “In my native country—La Belle France—visiting people leave their card, and this is mine. They’ve seen it before,” she added, with an inaudible chuckle, “for I am a frequent, though not very welcome, visitor in these parts.”
The rescued spy reached the ground in safety; but as Nanette was about to descend, a signal of danger came up from Kenowatha. She paused on the roof, and awaited developments. Vainly she tried to pierce the gloom, as she listened attentively. Suddenly, just the slightest noise floated up to her, and then followed Kenowatha’s signal for her to recommence her descent. The danger was passed.
A moment later, she stood onterra firma, and Kenowatha grasped her hand.
“Stoop!” he whispered in her ear, while he drew the little stained hand nearer the earth.
She obeyed.
Lower and lower the boy thrust her hand, until it touched a man’s face, still warm, and covered with what she well knew to be blood. Kenowatha allowed the girl’s hand to rest on the dead face for a moment: then he took her finger and ran it through two deep gashes on the bloody forehead, which formed his red mark—the cross.
“He came from the lodges, no doubt, to assassinate our spy,” whispered Kenowatha, proud of his work. “But his work is ended. They who wear my cross never admire it. Let us go; the guards may scent their brother’s gore.”
The Girl Avenger rose to her feet, and a moment later the trio were speeding toward the hidden guns, which reached, they resumed their journey until they paused on the banks of the Maumee several miles below the Ottawa town.
“You may tell her all now,” said Mark Morgan, as he took his rescuer’s hands to say farewell. “I owe you a life, and if you guard the girl—my white flower—well, I shall owe you another. I will not be gone long. I will meet my General marching this way, and you shall receive his thanks for what you have done to-night. Now mind you, watch the girl well; keep sleepless eyes on these persons—Wacomet the trader and Rudolph Runnion. When his wound permits, unless watched, that red-coat will attempt something desperate, for I tell you he has sworn that Effie shall not become my bride—before that happens he will take her life, or worse.”
“We will watch those whom you mention as we watch over our own lives against the Death League,” said Kenowatha. “Have no fears on that score; the first hand that is raised against the girl drops in death.”
Again Mark Morgan wrung the hands of the hunted twain, promised to return in a few days with Wayne, with whom they yearned to fight, and was gone.
“Now for the She-wolf’s den,” said Kenowatha, looking into Nanette’s face. “We have not broken our word. We told Effie that we were going deer-hunting, and if we haven’t hunted and saved one dear, to her, then I’ve no judgment. Won’t the girl open her eyes when we tell her all about her lover, and won’t that red-coat wish that the red-skins had scalped him before we found him? Yes, yes, girl, that man must be watched. Mark was right; he’s a dog. I’ve a mind to give him over to them who want him. I’ll warrant you that he shot young Campbell in cool blood, for I’ve seen the very devil in his black eyes. I tell you, girl—Nanette—I’m in for giving him up. I can get to the fort before dawn; the English will not give me over to those who seek my heart’s blood. I will appoint a place for a small portion of the garrison to meet me, say, to-morrow night, and then we will deliver the murderer over to justice.”
The White Fox’s proposition found favor in Nanette’s eyes. She felt that Rudolph Runnion was a murderer, deserving a murderer’s reward, and then he was the enemy of those who were her friends. Under these circumstances she believed that they would be justified in delivering him over to the avengers of youthful blood, and thus spoke to Kenowatha.
They were nearer the fort now than they would be when at the hidden home, and intent upon accomplishing the work they had resolved upon, Kenowatha glided from his companion’s side, and a moment later was lost in the gloom. He promised to meet her in the cave some time during the coming day.
Freed from the renegade’sprotege, the young She-wolf resumed her journey to her home, and at length crept into the gloomy opening from whence they had executed their exit a few hours before. She never dreamed of the thrilling events that had transpired during her absence, and glided along the underground corridor entirely unsuspicious of danger. When near the cave proper, she noted a smoldering fire ahead, and very naturally concluded that Effie and the British criminal had fallen asleep.
On, on, she glided, and at length entered the large apartment wrapped in demi-gloom, despite the efforts of the dying blaze to the contrary. The walls, in which a score of natural niches or holes remained, were shrouded in almost impenetrable gloom, while the deathlike silence boded ill for the hunted beauty. When she crossed the threshold, she turned to the couches; but before her eyes could greet them, a terrific yell broke the stillness, and the niches poured forth the members of the Death League!
For hours Joe Girty and his band had waited for the coming of the hunted ones, nor had they darted from their concealment until they were satisfied that Kenowatha was not with the Girl Avenger. The bloodthirsty band hemmed her in on all sides save one, for with the yell of triumph, perhaps untimely given, she had sprung against the wall, and faced her enemies with a stern defiance that proclaimed to them that she asked no quarter, expected none, and none would give. Startled at her demeanor, the seven—for Wacomet, with his fertile budget of lies, had joined the band—paused before the hunted one, with drawn knives and uplifted tomahawks, eager to drink her blood. They scarce expected resistance on the girl’s part; they thought that their numbers would awe her into submission; but in such thought they found themselves sorely mistaken.
While thus the Death League stood, inwardly admiring the bravery and seeming rashness of the hunted girl, the ornamented rifle shot to her shoulder, a loud report filled the cavern, and the Speckled Snake shrieked and fell dead upon the stones!
Then the Death League were roused to action; then the rifle of the Girl Avenger described rapid circles around her head, for, with a cry of defiance, she had sprung from the wall; and the battle for the mastery, against the greatest odds that pale-face ever fought, raged in that gloomy place.
When Nanette darted forward, she kicked the dying brands into the faces of her foes, through whose numbers her clubbed rifle cut a swath, that closed a moment later, and had to be opened again. At length, with half of her enemies placedhors du combat, she reached the opposite wall, and the remainder darted forward to end the conflict.
No clubbed rifle met them; they brought up suddenly against the limestone rock, and realized that the young She-Wolf was gone!
Turkey-foot, whose cheek the lock of the Girl Avenger’s weapon had dreadfully mangled, was the first to regain his composure. He snatched an ember from the floor and fanned it into a flame by whirling it over his head.
“The She-wolf shall not escape the Death League!” he cried, darting forward, followed by Wacomet and several others.
The torch revealed a passage leading into the rock, and with a shout of triumph the chief sprung into it.
The corridor was almost devoid of angles, and suddenly Turkey-foot reached its termination against rocks that gave forth no hollow sound.
With a cry of dismay the chief turned to his brethren, and all threw an inquiring stare into each other’s faces.
Had the She-wolf dissolved into the damp air that filled the passage?
While this mental interrogative puzzled the brains of the revengers, a shout from behind drove an ejaculation of horror from their lips.
The Girl Avenger was in their rear.