CHAPTER XVI.
THE CURTAIN FALLS.
In the early evening of one of the balmiest days of October, 1794, two figures ascended the eastern declivity of a remarkable promontory whose western summit gave a commanding view to the eye of an Indian town of considerable dimensions, in the center of a prairie-like country far below their feet. The dress and features of the twain at once would proclaim them Kenowatha and Mark Morgan. They were a day or so in advance of Wayne’s army, which was sweeping through the country like a whirlwind, destroying thousands of acres of ripened corn and burning the villages of the Indians, thus inflicting upon them the direst punishment that they could receive.
After the victory of the Fallen Timbers—in which not only the She-wolf and her young companion performed a most thrilling part, but in which Effie St. Pierre had herself killed the old trader as he was in the act of sacrificing Mark to his fiendish vengeance—a wounded Indian had discharged his rifle at Kenowatha and inflicted a wound which had caused a great amount of suffering, and the morning of the day in question was the first that witnessed his stepping again upon the war path. Nanette had left him for a few days, for the purpose of scouting up the Maumee, and had promised to meet the army at a certain place; but the promise had not been kept. Where was she? At the battle of Fallen Timbers she had succeeded in closing the fearful list of her victims, by slaying Turkey-foot in a manner which struck double terror to his fierce comrades; and Kenowatha had, almost at the moment, dealt the detested and blood-bespattered Girty his death-blow in a contest which hate and a thirst for vengeance in both made especially relentless; so that both the She-wolf and her friend had now no particular enemies to hunt them down. Where then was she?
The youth was growing uneasy at the Girl Avenger’s absence and though Mark assured him that she was safe—when even he feared the worst—the renegade’sprotegewould not be comforted.
They had ascended the hill for the purpose of ascertaining whether the Indians intended to make a stand at this, their greatest village; but they soon learned that the panic still existed among the ranks of the red-men, for they were destroying their lodges, saving Wayne that labor.
The two spies had scarcely reached the summit of the mount, ere a yell announced that they had been discovered. A large party of stragglers returning to the village had caught sight of the heads elevated above the fissures of the promontory, and in less time than it takes the pen to relate it, the whole base of the mount was surrounded, and all hope of escape cut off!
Attack was not long delayed, for the savages had recognized the spies, and their hideous yells told them how they thirsted for their hearts’ blood. Still the twain possessed an advantage, for from the narrow backbone of the mount, they were compelled to advance toward them in single file, and the form of each warrior must momentarily be exposed to their unerring rifles.
Warrior after warrior fell beneath the spies’ rifles, when the savages prepared an attack on the flank, which could be successfully and fatally done by reaching an insulated rock lying in one of the ravines on the southern hillside. This rock once gained by the Indians, they could bring their foes under point-blank shot of their rifles and without possibility of escape.
The brave scouts saw the utter hopelessness of the situation, but like the truly brave never despaired. They looked into each other’s faces, and though they spoke not their eyes said: “We’ll fight to the bitter end: our lives shall cost the red-skins a score.”
Presently Kenowatha saw a tall and swarthy figure preparing to spring from a cover so near the fatal rock that a single bound must reach it and all hope be destroyed. Knowing that all might depend upon one advantageous shot, and although but one inch of the warrior’s body was exposed, he raised his rifle, and drew the deadly bead on the rash red-skin. But instead of the flint striking fire, and signing the brave’s death-warrant, it flew into a thousand fragments, and the youth cursed his misfortune from the depths of his heart. Morgan was some distance away, guarding another threatened point, and Kenowatha could expect no help from him. The savage continued to approach the rock while the youth proceeded to adjust another flint, though he felt that the labor would prove fruitless.
Suddenly the Shawnee made the spring with the agility of the forest deer; but, instead of reaching the rock, he leaped ten feet in the air, and, with a chilling death-yell, he fell to the earth, and rolled fifty feet down the hill, shot by an unknown foe! A hundred cries from below reëchoed the shout, and the advantage so mysteriously gained by the scouts proved of short duration, for another swarthy warrior was advancing toward the cover so lately occupied by his stricken brother. Now the attack in front claimed the scout’s attention, and while thus engaged the brave leaped for the rock only to fall dead by the same mysterious shot. This last shot cast dismay into the ranks of the attacking party, and at sundown they retired to plan anew for the destruction of the whites.
The heavens now became shrouded with opaque clouds, and presently a figure resembling an animal was seen crawling toward the scouts.
“An Indian!” whispered Kenowatha, and his rifle was brought to bear upon the dark object.
Already his finger touched the trigger, when the peculiar cry of the young She-wolf greeted his ears, and his rifle fell from his shoulder.
“Nanette!”
The figure rose to an erect posture, and the next moment the Girl Avenger grasped the hands of the scouts. It was she who had delivered the mysterious shots. She had reached the Mount a short time in advance of the spies, and when surrounded by the Indians, concluded that she could assist them from her place of concealment as much as though at their sides.
An escape was now thought of, and in the darkness the trio left their position. Before they deserted the mount, the bodies of no less than thirteen Indians lay scalpless thereon, and the brows of some bore a red crescent, those of others a bloody cross!
As Kenowatha placed his mark upon the forehead of the last brave slain by his rifle, he took Nanette’s hand.
“Girl,” he whispered, “do you recollect your promise in the cave?”
“Yes, boy.”
“Then to-night I sheathe my knife. Are you not tired of slaying? Have not the dead been avenged?”
“Yes, Kenowatha; the deeds of that night have been atoned for by the red perpetrators with the blood of the bravest of the hosts. I have no desire for further vengeance.”
“Nor I, girl; my mark has become as terrible to the Indians as yours; they have seen it in the thicket, the brake, by the stream, and on the hills. You will keep your promise?”
“Yes, boy. God forbid that I should break it.”
They avoided the guards at the base of the promontory, and though pursued, after leaving it, by a large party of Indians from the village, they made good their escape, and encountered Wayne’s army early the following day.
At the treaty of Greenville, solemnized August 30th, 1795, the assembled chiefs cast lowering glances upon the Beautiful Terror of the Maumee, who, standing beside Kenowatha, looked more beautiful than ever. The last cross and crescent on the butt of her rifle had received its complement of punctures, and the braves congratulated themselves that no longer would they live in fear of the ball that had sent so many of their brethren to the spirit-land. The fangs of the young She-wolf would molest them no more, and they breathed freer when beyond her presence at Mad Anthony’s side.
The end is at hand.
After the battle of Fallen Timbers, Wayne surrendered Rudolph Runnion over to justice, and one calm September day, in the presence of the entire garrison of Fort Miami, the death of Firman Campbell was avenged by the unyielding law.
Kenowatha, whose true name, Clinton Wilkinson, had been revealed by a chief who participated in the massacres of the year that witnessed the doom of the boy’s parents, accompanied by Nanette, turned their faces eastward, and a year later stood before a village altar, where they plighted vows of eternal constancy.
Long before this event, Mark Morgan called Effie his beautiful bride, and they witnessed the ceremony which made Kenowatha and Nanette one.
For all their trials in the wilderness of Ohio this was reward enough, and to-day their descendents number some of noblest of the nation.
The vengeance of the Girl Avenger was never obliterated from the minds of the Indians, and to-day the remnants of the dark tribes, dwelling on scanty reservations far toward the setting sun, relate the story of those dark times to shuddering listeners around the bivouac fires.
THE END.