How it all happened was never clearly established, but it is not to be supposed that in the tumult, the swirl, the confusion, the firing, shouting and dashing to and fro, that the coolest-headed Shawanoe or most self-possessed ranger could any more than keep a general idea of the hurricane rush of events. Special incidents were noted by different persons, as the circumstances favored them, while others saw and knew nothing of what took place under their very eyes.
Mr. and Mrs. Ashbridge hurried down the wooded slope in the gloom, each holding a hand of Mabel between them. At the side of the flatboat, where there were crowding in increased excitement, the parents released the child, and the father turned to help in the defence against the Indians, who immediately attacked them. Mabel entered the boat near the bow, and had crouched there several minutes, in obedience to the order of the missionary, to avoid the bullets that were whistling about, when the idea seized her that there were much better quarters at the stern, where the pushing was less.
The best way, as it struck her, to reach the spot, was by bounding ashore and darting the few paces thither. She made the attempt, and was in the act of leaping back when her arm was gripped by a warrior, who hurried her from the spot.
Although bewildered and partly dazed by the rush of events, the child resisted and screamed for help, but she was powerless in the hands of the sinewy savage, who forced her from the edge of the river.
It must be remembered, that in addition to the confusion it was night, and the partial moon in the sky was obscured at intervals by passing clouds. Beside, among the shadows of the wood the gloom was so deepened that the wonder is, not that none of Mabel's friends saw her capture but that Simon Kenton observed it.
He did so a minute later, and knew at once that the little one, if saved at all, must be saved instantly. He cleared most of the intervening space with his tremendous bound, and made for the Shawanoe like a cyclone. He had noted the point where the warrior had passed from view, as well as the general direction taken by him; consequently a quick dash in the right course ought to overtake him.
Such was the dash made by the ranger, at the imminent risk of colliding with tree-trunks, limbs, and boulders, and with the result that within twenty feet of the river he ran plump against the Indian who had the terrified child in charge, and with no suspicion of his furious pursuer.
The attack of the Bengal tiger upon the hunter that is throttling its whining cubs, is no fiercer, more resistless and lightning-like, than was the assault of Simon Kenton upon the buck that was making off with the little daughter of Norman Ashbridge.
It mattered not that the gloom was well-nigh impenetrable, and the eye could not direct or follow the blow. The ranger knew he had his man in his grasp, and within a few seconds the affair was over.
Had there been only the slightest illumination of the wood at this point to aid the eye, the rescue of Mabel would have been effected, but she knew not the meaning of the terrific struggle, and the instant her captor loosened his grip upon her arm, so as to defend himself, she hurried off in the gloom in the hope of joining her friends on the flatboat.
"I say, gal, where be you?" called Kenton, grasping with one hand, and expecting every moment to touch her form.
But the little one heard him not, or if she did, had no suspicion of his identity, and a few moments only convinced the ranger that the child once within his grasp was gone again, he knew not where.
He held a strong hope, however, that she had started on her return for the boat from which she had been taken in such hot haste by her abductor. If so, the attempt on her part offered a chance of saving her if the ranger moved promptly; for, by hastening to the same point he was sure to meet her, even though amid enemies; but, if he delayed, she must inevitably fall into the hands of the Shawanoes again.
It was apparent to Kenton that none of those on the boat were aware of the loss of the child, and if it became known to her friends they could give her no help. The ranger was fortunate, indeed, that in the flurry he was not assaulted in turn by some of the hostiles.
He picked his way as best he could to the river's margin, carefully keeping himself back in the gloom while he made his observation. The moon was still unobstructed, and showed him the flatboat fifty feet away and increasing the space every minute.
Thus it came about, that as the craft was laboriously worked into mid-stream and towards the Ohio shore, two of the whites were left behind amid the merciless members of The Panther's band.
The situation was of little moment to Simon Kenton, for more than once he had been in a situation of much greater peril. He felt abundantly able to take care of himself, his great concern being for the little one to whom fate had been so cruel.
Inasmuch as there was not one chance in a thousand of accomplishing anything by groping in the gloom among the trees, he adopted the single course that promised success, and that was only to a slight degree indeed.
The flatboat was now so far out in the river that the firing had ceased on both sides. Kenton did not know to what extent his friends had suffered, but he was certain that in addition to the warrior whom he had picked off in time to save Jethro Juggens, several others must have gone down in the fusilade.
When The Panther brought his band together to effect the ambuscade at Rattlesnake Gulch, he must have established some sort of camp or headquarters beyond that point, where it could not be noted by the fugitives until on the other side of the dangerous section. Hoping, with a shudder of misgiving, that the little child would be taken to this camp instead of being tomahawked, he began searching for it.
The task was less difficult than would be supposed. A veteran like Kenton had no trouble in avoiding the warriors moving about. As he expected, he passed but a short distance beyond the gulch, when he caught the twinkle of the campfire just beyond the hollow in which the Shawanoes had arranged to blot out the whole company of settlers and pioneers.
Carefully threading his way through the undergrowth and among the trees, he reached a point from which he gained an unobstructed view of the camp without any risk of discovery on his part. The scene in many respects resembled that which he had looked upon times without number.
There was the fire of sticks and branches that had been burning several hours, for it contained many glowing embers, in the middle of an open space. A circle of diminishing light was thrown out several rods in all directions. Upon a fallen tree, on the other side of the blaze, sat three warriors, painted and decked in the hideous manner adopted by the people when upon the war-path. Armed with rifles, tomahawks and knives, they were talking excitedly, and one had just had his wounded arm bandaged, proving that he failed to go through the battle unscathed.
Two other Shawanoes were standing at the right of the fire, also talking with great animation. Further back, where the light was less, were others, most of them seated on the ground. Kenton's scrutiny satisfied him that more than one of these had been "hit hard," and their companions were looking after them as best they could.
Nothing was seen of those that had fallen, though the American Indian is not the one to forget his stricken comrade, and the warriors that had started on their journey to the happy hunting grounds were certain to receive due attention. As nearly as the spy could judge there were from twelve to fifteen Shawanoes in camp. Since Boone had reported the party as about double that number, several of them—not counting those that had fallen—were still absent.
The ranger was profoundly interested in two of these absentees. One was little Mabel Ashbridge, and the other The Panther, leader of the Shawanoes. The closest scrutiny failed to reveal either of them, and though he had no real cause for doing so, he could not help connecting their absence with each other.
His suspicion proved right, for only a few minutes passed when two figures strode from the gloom into the firelight. One was Wa-on-mon, whose hand gripped the arm of the young captive. He walked at a moderate pace to the fallen tree, where he motioned to Mabel to take her seat. She obeyed with the same promptness she would have shown had the command come from her father or mother.
The Panther remained standing, and the three who had been seated on the log also rose and advanced, several others drawing near and taking part in the conversation.
"Ah!" muttered Kenton, between his set teeth, with his flashing eyes fixed upon The Panther, "if I could only have come 'cross you and the little gal!"
Seated with the firelight falling upon her face, the ranger was able to see it quite plainly. She had lost the cute little homemade cap in the flurry, and her luxuriant hair hung loosely about her shoulder. She was neatly clad in homespun, though the dress, the stockings, and the shoes were of coarse texture.
The countenance wore the scared expression which showed that the child suspected her dreadful peril. The marks of weeping were noticed, but the ferocious Wa-on-mon had probably terrified her to that extent that she was forced to deny herself the relief of tears. Resting on the fallen tree, with her dimpled hands clasped, she hardly removed her eyes from the chieftain and his immediate companions. She appeared to feel they were about to decide her fate.
From his concealment, not far off, Kenton allowed nothing in his field of vision to escape him. He could not catch a word uttered by the Shawanoes, but he did not believe the chief was discussing with his warriors the question of what should be done with the little captive, for the reason that it was not his habit to debate such matters with his followers. His rule was so absolute that he made his own decisions, leaving to others to obey or take the consequences.
It was more probable that The Panther was seeking the views of his followers on what was the best step to prevent the fugitives from reaching the block-house, now that they had escaped the ambuscade that had been set for them.
While the ranger held his position he did a deal of thinking. The problem that wholly interested him was, as to what could be done to save the child, for that she was doomed by her captors, sooner or later, to death, he considered as certain as he did his own existence. It simply remained to be decided when she should be sacrificed.
Kenton was too much of a veteran to attempt anything rash. Had Mabel been an adult, on the alert for something of the kind, possibly he might have warned her of his presence without revealing himself to the captors, but it would have been fatal folly to try to effect an understanding with her.
He asked himself whether he could steal up behind the log, and then, by a sudden dash, seize and make off with her. There were a few minutes when he was much inclined to make the venture, but the more he reflected the more hopeless did the chances of success appear.
He could not run fast in the darkness among the trees, and burdened with the care of Mabel, The Panther and half a dozen warriors would be upon him by the time he was fairly started, with the absolute result that child and would-be rescuer would not live ten minutes.
"There's one thing powerful sartin'," muttered Kenton, keeping his eye upon the party, "if they decide that the gal shall be sent under while she's setting there on that log, the first move to harm a hair of her head means death to him as tries it."
So it would have been. The silent, sinewy figure, standing as rigid and motionless as the tree-trunk which sheltered him, let nothing escape him. Had The Panther, or any of his warriors, turned toward Mabel Ashbridge with hostile intent, he would have fallen forward with a bullet through heart or brain before he could have raised his hand to do evil.
The night wore along, with more hostiles returning at intervals, and still the discussion continued between the chieftain and his warriors. It was a puzzle to Kenton why the talk should continue so long, for to him there was nothing in the situation to cause much variance of opinion.
The ranger was still watching and wondering, when from the gloom of the wood another party strode into view, and walked up to the group gathered about The Panther, and, as he did so, it would be hard to decide whether they or Simon Kenton were filled with the greater amazement over the unexpected occurrence.
It is useless to dwell upon the grief and consternation of the occupants of the flatboat when the discovery was made that little Mabel Ashbridge was missing.
The parents and brother, after the first shock, bore the affliction with rare courage. By common impulse, they looked to the two persons best fitted of all to give counsel and hope, Missionary Finley and Daniel Boone.
Young George Ashbridge was the first to speak after the fearful lull that followed the cry of the stricken mother. Touching the arm of Boone, he asked:
"Can we not work the flatboat back to shore, charge upon the Shawanoes, and recover her before they have time to rally?"
"It might do," replied the pioneer, feelingly, "if we had daylight to help us, but not while the night lasts. I had a son shot down by the varmints just as I was entering Kentucky, and they ran off with a daughter of mine, whom I took back from them, but the sarcumstances was different from this."
"But we must do something; we cannot go to the block-house and leave the dear little one behind. I would give my life to save her."
"So would we all, so would we all," repeated Boone, touched by the memory of his own sorrows, "but we must not shut our eyes from seeing things as they are."
The youth groaned in anguish and said no more. The hardest thing of all was to remain idle while the cherished sister was in her dreadful peril.
"I'll let myself overboard," said the veteran, "swim back, and do what I can to help Simon."
"You can give him no help," gently interposed the missionary; "in truth, Kenton will do better without than with you."
"I'm of that way of thinking myself," said Boone, "though if Simon was expecting me it would be different."
"But he won't expect you; he saw what none else of us saw—the capture of the little one, and will do all that mortal man can do."
"I don't remember whether I told him the camp of The Panther and his party is just on t'other side of Rattlesnake Gulch or not."
"Probably you did tell him, but it matters little if you did not; he will speedily learn the truth. They are likely to take the child there, and she will not arrive in camp much sooner than Kenton will reach the vicinity."
The parents were quick to notice that Boone and the missionary spoke as if there were little, if any, doubt in their minds that this course would be followed.
"Suppose," said Mr. Ashbridge, in a tremulous voice, "she is not spared to be taken into camp?"
"We are all in the hands of our Heavenly Father," reverently replied the good man, "He doeth all things well, and we must accept His will with resignation. If the little one has not been spared, then it is already too late for us to give her aid; if she has escaped death, then I believe she is in the camp of the Shawanoes."
"And we can steal up and charge upon them," said the brother, to whom the inaction was becoming intolerable.
"Such a proceeding would insure her instant death," said Mr. Finley.
"And why? Boone can guide us to the direct spot, so there will be no mistake about that, and a quick rally and charge will decide it."
"You forget, George," responded the missionary, in his fatherly way, "that though The Panther has established his camp on the other side of the gulch, all his warriors are not there; some of them are watching us, as best they can, from the shore; by the time we turned about, and long before we could reach land, it would be known to The Panther, or the ambuscade he formed hours ago would be made as effective as though you had all pressed on without halt."
"Boone said a few minutes ago that if we had daylight instead of darkness to help us, there would be hope."
"And he is wise, as he always is, for we should have put back at once; and doing so, immediately on the heels of our flight, the Shawanoes would not have been given time to prepare a surprise for us; it is too late now, and the circumstances prevent any attempt of that nature."
"Then we can do nothing at all—nothing except to wait until Kenton makes his report," remarked the father, despairingly.
Instead of replying, the missionary turned to Boone, at his elbow, and whispered something. The pioneer answered in the same guarded manner, and the conversation, inaudible to others, continued for some minutes.
Meanwhile two of the rangers kept toiling at the sweeps, so gently that it did not interfere with what was said and done by the others, and the craft slowly approached the Ohio shore.
Starting up, the missionary looked around and inquired:
"What has become of the canoe Jethro and I brought with us?"
"It floated free during the fight," replied one of the rangers, "and he swam after it. I reckon he has reached the other side of the river, and is waiting somewhere along the bank."
A general turning of heads and peering in different directions followed, but nothing was seen of the missing youth. Several wondered why the reverend gentleman should have made the inquiry, when the more momentous subject was upon all minds, but he offered no explanation.
The wind that had brought the flatboat to this point on the river, and then died out, did not resume its force and direction. It blew gently, but veered around from the north, so that its tendency was to drive the craft back to the Kentucky shore. It required hard work at the sweeps to overcome the momentum, but as the Ohio side was approached the forest shut off and so lessened the power of the wind that the boat was forced in close to the bank and brought to a standstill, where all could leap ashore without difficulty.
And now had the missing child been with them all would have been as hopeful as could have been desired. Some seven or eight miles away, and on the same side of the river, stood the strong, rugged block-house, where the small garrison, under charge of the veteran Captain Bushwick, could laugh to scorn the assault of a force ten times as numerous as that under the leadership of The Panther.
A distinctly marked trail wound along the northern branch of the Ohio, so that it could be readily followed by the fugitives, even without the escort of the rangers that had been sent out to their assistance.
Mr. Finley gently suggested that the two families should push on to the block-house, leaving the others to do what they could for the help of the child. Mr. Ashbridge, as quietly but firmly, made answer that neither he, his son nor his wife would move a step until the fate of his child was determined beyond all doubt. Mr. Altman, his wife and daughter Agnes felt the same way, and the good man did not urge his proposal.
"I would probably feel and act the same if I were similarly placed," he said, with a touch of sympathy which impressed every one. "You have the sorrowful consolation of knowing that the suspense won't last long—"
"Ship ahoy, dar! Show yo' colors!" came in a sepulchral voice from the shadows along shore. All recognized the tones, and before any reply could be made Jethro Juggens paddled up against the prow in his canoe.
"Wasn't suah dat war yo' or de heathen," he added, stepping over the gunwale and joining his friends, who were all pleased to learn it had gone so well with him.
Called upon to explain, he promptly did so in characteristic style:
"While dat little flurry dat didn't 'mount to nuffin' was gwine on 'long shore, I seed one ob de heathen tryin' to run off wid de canoe. I wasn't gwine to stand nuffin like dat, and I was b'iling mad. So I flopped overboard and swam after de boat; de Injin seed me comin' and tried to dodge, but I cotched him by de heels and whanged his head agin de canoe; den I got in and paddled ashore and waited for yo' folks, and hyar I is, and mighty glad to see yo' all."
No one deemed it worth while to contradict this wild yarn, and Jethro naturally supposed it was believed.
"Friends," said Mr. Finley, amid the hush that fell upon all, "Mr. Boone and I, after talking over the matter, have made a change of plan. I shall cross the river to the other side and see what I can do, with the help of Heaven, for the little child."
Mr. Ashbridge was impelled to question the wisdom of this step, for it was hardly to be supposed that a man of peace, whose profession was the opposite of those around him, was the best person to attempt the perilous task; but, brief as was the acquaintance of all with the missionary, he had won their confidence.
Besides, the scheme, whatever it was, had the guarantee of Boone himself as to its wisdom, and was therefore beyond cavil.
"God go with you!" was the fervent exclamation of the father, as he took the hand of the good man. "Would that I could help."
"Gladly would I take you if I saw any possible aid you could afford, but the only aid, friends, that any of you can give me is your prayers."
"You will have them unceasingly," said Mrs. Ashbridge, clinging to the hand of the missionary, as if he was her only earthly comforter.
"I dare not tell you to hope for the best," he said, unwilling to awaken an expectation that was likely to be followed by bitter disappointment, "but I can only add that whatever may come, try to say 'God's will be done.' I shall count upon all of you remaining here until definite news reaches you."
"Have no fear of our going before that," replied Mr. Altman; "we are distressed as deeply as our friends, and can hardly bear the suspense."
As the missionary was stepping over the flatboat into the canoe, George Ashbridge caught his arm, and plead in a low, earnest voice:
"I am sure I can be of some help; please take me. I can't stand it to remain behind to wait and wait—not knowing what the tidings will be."
"My dear boy," replied Mr. Finley, laying his hand upon his shoulder, "if any one was to go with me it should be you, for none can be more capable, but be assured that your company would be a hindrance, as you would admit if you knew my plan."
The sorrowing brother still held his arm, but could not speak. The missionary gently removed his grasp, and, entering the canoe, paddled directly out upon the river. The figure of the boat and occupant quickly passed from view, and those who remained behind, though they listened intently, could not catch the faintest sound to betray his progress or change of direction.
Now that the party left in the flatboat had some leisure on their hands, they devoted it to looking after their own wounds, and in taking a precaution, which was only ordinary prudence, against surprise. Two of the rangers entered the wood, one passing a short distance up and the other down stream. Their duty was to guard against surprise from the Shawanoes.
It was not to be expected that The Panther and his party, after being once repulsed, would accept that as final. They knew the fugitives were provided with a strong escort, and were on their way to the block-house. Even though they could not be wholly cut off, great damage might be inflicted, and more of the intending settlers placed beyond the power of invading the hunting grounds of the red men. That they would make the attempt was to be set down as one of the certainties of the immediate future.
One of the rangers had been killed during the attack and three others severely wounded; but when, with the assistance of the women, their hurts had been bandaged or attended to, they made light of them, insisting that they were as ready for effective service as before. Indeed, it was one of the wounded men that threaded his way up the river bank to help guard against surprise from their enemies.
Another change of direction was noted in the wind. Beginning by blowing directly up stream, it had continued to veer until its course was almost directly opposite, so that, had the flatboat ventured out in the current with its sail still spread, its progress down stream would have been more rapid than ever before.
"Marse George," said Jethro, "whar does dis riber flow?"
Wondering at the meaning of the question, the youth replied, after a moment's hesitation:
"It flows into the Mississippi."
"And what becomes ob dat?"
"It empties into the Gulf of Mexico, which joins the Atlantic Ocean."
"And dat runs along de oder side ob Wirginny, I hab heard."
"Yes, such is the fact."
"I've an idee; let's put out in de middle ob dis riber, and go scootin' down de Massipp to de Gulf ob Mexico, and den up de ocean to Wirginny; dar we'll carry de flatboat ober land till we strike de Ohio ag'in, and den come down to de block-house from de oder side. It'll be a round-about way, but we'll got dar, suah."
Two white men had set out to do whatever lay in their power to rescue little Mabel Ashbridge from the hands of the Shawanoes, and their policy was diametrically opposed to each other.
Simon Kenton, it may be said, had but one law—that of fighting fire with fire. Against cunning, woodcraft and daring he would array precisely the same weapons. In short, he knew of no other method, and would have laughed to scorn any different line of procedure, with the single exception of its attempt by the one man who now resorted to it.
Mr. Finley, the missionary, knowing the futility of the course laid down by Kenton, Boone and those of his calling, determined to go directly into the camp of The Panther, and try to induce the fiery chieftain to surrender the little girl to her friends.
What task could be more hopeless?
The unquenchable hatred of Wa-on-mon toward all who belonged to the Caucasian race has been learned long ago by the reader. He belonged to the most untamable of his people, and had proven a continual stumbling-block in the path of the missionary. He shut his ears resolutely against the pleadings of the good man, and forbade him to speak to him of the God who taught gentleness, charity, love and the forgiveness of enemies.
And yet, as Finley told Jethro Juggens, he had hunted with The Panther, slept in his lodge and trusted his life in his hands many times, and under ordinary circumstances would not hesitate to do so again.
But those were periods when comparative peace reigned on the frontier, and the missionary, like many others of his sacred calling, found little trouble in passing back and forth among the Shawanoes, Wyandots, Pottawatomies, Delawares and other tribes. Indeed, many converts were gained, as was shown in the case of the Moravian Indians.
When hostilities broke out, however, and the fierce red men daubed their faces with paint and rushed upon the war-path, the missionaries were wise enough to leave them alone and keep out of the way until the tempest had passed.
War was coming again, of that there could be no doubt, and on its threshold, at its very opening, Wa-on-mon, the tiger-like chief, known even among his own people as The Panther, had been subjected to an indignity at the hands of the pale-faces, such as in his life had never been put upon him before. He had been flung down, struck repeatedly, bound and kept a prisoner for many hours.
Then escaping by the usual weapon of the red man—treachery—he had laid a cunning ambuscade for the destruction of the large party of pioneers and rangers. The scheme had miscarried, and several of the foremost of the Shawanoe warriors had fallen before their deadly fire.
The only panacea for this terrific chagrin was the capture of the single small child attached to the families of the settlers. She, the tender little flower, had been plucked by the merciless chieftain, and none knew better than he what sweet revenge could be secured through her upon the older ones.
Yes; she was in his power, and it was beyond the ability of any one to take her from him.
And lo! at this moment, the man who preached humility and love and gentleness and forgiveness of enemies was on the way to the camp of The Panther to ask him to return the captive to her friends.
Missionary Finley did not need to be reminded of all this, and it must be confessed that he would not have ventured upon the attempt, so utter did he consider its hopelessness, but for an extraordinary suggestion that Daniel Boone whispered in his ear.
This suggestion foreshadowed a complication, as among the possibilities, from which a diversion might be created in favor of little Mabel Ashbridge; but the possibility was so remote that the missionary did not deem it right to awaken false hopes in the hearts of the parents and brother by making known the scheme that had taken shape in the most veteran of all pioneers.
Aside from all this was the fearful risk run personally by Finley, in thus venturing into the hostile camp while, as may be said, the echoes of the rifle shots were still lingering among the trees. The chances were that, from The Panther down, there was not one who would not shoot the missionary the instant he could draw bead on him.
But this was a feature of the business that gave Finley the least concern. It must not be supposed, however, that he was a reckless man, who acted on the principle that Providence would take care of him without the putting forth of any effort on his part. He was a practical believer in the doctrine that God helps them that help themselves.
When he paddled from the side of the flatboat, therefore, in the cause, he put forth as much care and skill as Kenton or Boone himself would have done.
Glancing over his shoulder, he noted the moment when the dim outline of the wooded shore loomed to view. Then, the swinging of his arms ceased for a few seconds while he peered off in the gloom and listened. Nothing was seen or heard to cause misgiving, or to show that any one had detected his approach.
"From what Kenton told me, the Shawanoes have a larger canoe hidden somewhere along the bank. It has not yet appeared among these sad troubles, but it must have a part to play, and I fear it will be used to carry the warriors to the other side that they may hurry my friends on their way to the block-house."
He did not cross the river in a direct line, but headed so far up stream that his canoe became diagonal. His intention was to strike the shore above Rattlesnake Gulch, thus keeping clear, as he hoped, of the canoe with the warriors who might be making ready to embark on it. At the same time, he was assured that he would thus shorten the path to the campfire, where he expected to find The Panther.
Still watching and listening, the missionary edged his way up stream, until he had gone as far as he wished, bearing off so that only the keenest eye of suspicion would have noticed his presence from the shore. Then, turning the prow straight toward land, he sent it skimming, like a swallow, over the surface by means of a half-dozen powerful strokes, ducking his head as it glided among the overhanging limbs, and its nose slid up the bank. He was out of the little craft in a twinkling, and drawing it still further so as to hold it secure, he set out, rifle in hand, to meet Wa-on-mon, chief of the Shawanoes.
It need not be repeated that the missionary comprehended the danger into which he was running, but, aside from the personal intrepidity that distinguished him through life, he was controlled and impelled by the highest of all motives that can direct the conduct of men—the desire to please God.
Careful meditation over what had taken place convinced him that it was his duty to enter the camp of the hostiles; and, with that conviction, ended everything in the nature of hesitation.
Having landed, it remained for him to find The Panther. There might be some persons, in the place of the reverend gentleman, who would have conceived it the proper thing to enter the hostile camp without carrying anything in the nature of a weapon; it may be said, indeed, that his errand was in the nature of a flag of truce, in which that course was demanded.
But Mr. Finley understood too well the nature of the people with whom he was dealing to attempt anything of that nature. Such sentimentality would be wasted. Besides he conceived it to be quite likely that he might be called upon to defend himself, in which event the gun would come in "mighty handy."
Engaged on the business described, the messenger did not add to his peril by trying to steal noiselessly up to camp, though the act might have been possible.
"I must advance openly," was his thought, "when near the camp, and it is better I should do so from the first."
It was hard work picking his course through the dense and tangled undergrowth, but, quite confident of the right direction to take, he pushed on until the gleam of a light apprised him that no mistake had been made.
And then, when within sight of The Panther and his ferocious party, and half suspecting he was already under the eye of some dusky sentinel, the missionary came to a halt, and, kneeling in the solemn depths of the woods, spent several minutes in prayer.
The sound of a rustling near him did not hasten the end of his devotions. When he had asked his Heavenly Father for all that was in his mind, he rose to his feet and resumed his advance upon the camp.
He knew he was followed, and that every step was watched, and it was then that his own manner of procedure saved him. The Shawanoe must have reasoned that no scout or person with hostile purpose would act thus recklessly, and, though the dusky sentinel followed and watched his course until the messenger came within the circle of firelight, yet no harm was offered him.
Probably, by that time the Indian recognized the visitor as the white man with such strange views, and so different in his words and conduct from most of those of his race. If so, he must have wondered at the temerity of the individual in entering the camp of The Panther at so critical a time.
While yet some rods distant the missionary recognized the chieftain, standing among his group of warriors, in excited conversation. The back of Wa-on-mon was toward him, so that he did not observe the white man; but he was quick to note the looks in the faces of the others, and the general turning of eyes in one direction. The chief also wheeled, and, to his astonishment, saw the man of God approaching him.
There was no mistaking the expression that overspread the painted countenance of The Panther. He was angered at this intrusion of a white man into his council of war, as it may be called. A muttered exclamation escaped him, which those near interpreted as an utterance of impatience that the visitor had been permitted to come even thus far. He must have been identified long before, and, in accordance with Indian custom, should have been shot or cut down ere he could disturb the chieftain and his cabinet.
But here he was, showing no more hesitation than had marked his course from the moment he left the side of the flatboat.
Mr. Finley, clad in his partly civilized costume, and with his gun grasped in his left hand, walked forward, neither timidly nor with an assumption of confidence it was impossible for him to feel. He was not only too well aware of the situation himself, but knew the Shawanoes could not be deceived by any such pretence on his part.
Wa-on-mon had leaned his rifle against the fallen tree upon which the three warriors were sitting when he first came up, so that he stood with arms folded and in an attitude of natural and unconscious grace, glancing from one painted countenance to another, as he asked a question or listened to whatever they chose to say to him.
It was evident that these were the most trusted of his warriors, for while the consultation was going on, no one ventured near. They may be considered as making up the chieftain's cabinet, and when they were in session all other business had to wait.
The missionary was quick to note the expression on the face of the terrible Wa-on-mon. He had seen a look there not so long before which told more plainly than words that he was welcome, but that time had passed.
Mr. Finley advanced with the same dignified step to the chief, and, making a half-military salute, said in Shawanoe:
"I greet my brother Wa-on-mon, in whose lodge I have slept in safety when there was no other place to lay my head."
As he spoke he extended his hand, but The Panther, with his serpent eyes fixed upon the face of his visitor, made no motion to unfold his arms. He continued to scowl, and his lips remained mute.
This was embarrassing to a certain extent, though the missionary knew the cause. He continued, in the same gentle persuasive voice.
"Why does Wa-on-mon frown when he looks upon his pale-faced brother—"
"He is not my brother," interrupted The Panther, with a scowl and look of indescribable fierceness. "He is a dog, and he shall die!"
The Panther was in the ugliest mood conceivable. Missionary Finley was well aware of this before approaching and addressing him. Consequently, when the chieftain called him a dog and declared he should die, the good man was neither silenced nor overthrown, though it would be untrue to say he was not alarmed for his own safety, but he had counted the cost before making the venture.
"Wa-on-mon did not always look upon the missionary as a dog," he said, with gentle dignity; "he once called him brother."
"It was because he spoke with a single tongue and was the friend of the red man," The Panther made haste to say, with no abatement in the ferocity of expression or manner.
"The missionary always speaks with a single tongue, and he will be the friend of the red man as long as he lives."
If possible, the wrath of voice and action became more venomous on the part of The Panther. He unfolded his arms, so as to give facility of gesture, and with one step forward placed himself so near the white man that the two could have embraced each other with little change of position. Then he bent his hideous countenance until the gleaming eyes, the dangling hair, the white teeth and the painted features were almost against the mild, beneficent face, which did not shrink or show the slightest change of looks.
One of the warriors then threw additional wood on the fire, and the blaze of light lit up the scene as if at noon-day. The Shawanoes instinctively drew back, so as to leave the principal figures not only in prominent view, but apart from the others. No one presumed to take any part in the disputation, but in the stillness and general hush the words of both were audible to every warrior present.
Little Mabel Ashbridge was perplexed and uncertain what she ought to say or do, if indeed, she could say or do anything. She did not recognize the white man who suddenly appeared and addressed the dreadful Indian in a tongue she could not understand, for it will be remembered that, although the missionary had joined the company of fugitives some time before, she saw his countenance for the first time when it reflected the glow of the firelight.
Had Finley given her one encouraging word, or even look, she would have rushed to his arms and begged him to take her to her parents and brother. This would have been a dangerous diversion, and, dreading it, the missionary carefully acted as though he had no knowledge of her presence, but she was in his field of vision, and while talking with the savage chieftain he knew the child, mute and wondering, was seated on the log and intently watching both.
As The Panther stepped forward in the manner described, and thrust his baleful countenance into that of the white man, he said, with atrocious fierceness:
"The missionary lies; he has the forked tongue of the serpent, and like all the pale-faces, he is the enemy of the red man."
"But Wa-on-mon once said he was the friend of the missionary; why does he say now that he is an enemy?"
"Did he not fight against the Shawanoes this night? Did he not help the pale face dogs to flee across the river in the boat?"
These questions were expected by Finley, and his tact, delicacy and skill were tested to the utmost in meeting them. Following the practice of The Panther, he continued referring to himself in the third person.
"The missionary gives his days and nights to help those that are in need of help, and he does not ask whether their color is white or black or red. He was on his way to visit the red men that Wa-on-mon once said were the brothers of the missionary, when he came upon some of his own people who were in sore distress. He did what he could to help them, and then left to speak to Wa-on-mon."
"And why does he wish to speak to Wa-on-mon?"
It was a subtle question. The cunning Indian suspected the errand of the good man, but its avowal at this juncture would have been fatal; it must be parried.
"When the missionary last entered the lodge of Wa-on-mon, he did not ask him why he wished to speak to him, but gave him welcome. Wa-on-mon now speaks in another way."
"Because the missionary does not seek Wa-on-mon for himself, but for another; the missionary's heart is not red, but is white."
"It is red and white, for it loves the white man and the red man. The heart of Wa-on-mon is red, and he therefore loves his people. Should not the missionary feel thus toward those whom the Great Spirit is pleased to make white?"
"The Indian is the child of the Great Spirit; the pale-face is the child of the evil spirit; these are the hunting grounds of the red man, and the pale-face has no right here."
It was the same old plea which Finley had heard from the first day he held converse with a member of the American race, and which he knew would be dinned into his ears to the very end, but he never listened to it with impatience.
"The hunting grounds are broad and long, the streams are deep and full of fish, the woods abound with game, there is room for the red men and pale-faces to live beside each other."
"But they can never live beside each other!" exclaimed The Panther, with a deadlier flash of the eye; "the pale-faces are dogs; they steal the hunting grounds from the Indians; they rob and cheat them; they shoot our warriors and then call us brothers!"
No words can picture the scorn which the chieftain threw into these expressions. He flung his head back with an upward graceful swing of the arms, which added immense force to his declaration. It was an unconscious but a fine dramatic effect.
The chief difficulty in a "pow-wow" of this nature was that the balance of argument was invariably on the side of the Indian. The white men had invaded the hunting grounds of the aborigines. The French and Indian war was a prodigious struggle between the two rival nations of Europe as to which should own those hunting grounds; neither thought or cared for the rights of the red man; they had never done so.
The history of the settlement of this country, as has been said, is simply a history of violence, wrong, fraud, rapine, injustice, persecution, and crime on the part of the Caucasian against the American, relieved now and then, at remote periods, by such wise and beneficent acts as the Quaker treaty under the old tree at Shackamaxon, and stained with the hue of hell by such crimes as the massacre of the Moravian Indians, the capture of the Seminole chieftain Osceola under a flag of truce, the slaughter in later days of Colonel Chivington, and innumerable other instances of barbarity never surpassed by the most ferocious savages of the dark continent.
"Many of the pale-faces are evil," said the missionary. "The words of Wa-on-mon are true of a great number, I am sorry to say, but they are not true of all."
"They are true of all. They are true of the missionary."
The firelight showed a deeper flush that sprang to the face of the good man, who was not, and never could be, fully freed of much of the old Adam that lingered in his nature. His impulse was strong to smite the chieftain to the earth for his deadly insult, but Finley always held such promptings well in hand, and the duskier hue on each health-tinted cheek was the only evidence that his feelings had been stirred. His voice was as low and softly modulated as a woman's. He folded both arms over the muzzle of his rifle, whose stock rested on the leaves at his feet, and remained calmly confronting the savage chieftain, who more than once seemed ready to snatch out his knife and drive it into the heart of the man of God.
"The eyes of Wa-on-mon are not in the sunlight; the smoke is in them; when the sun drives away the smoke he will see the missionary as he saw him when they hunted the deer and buffalo and bear together, and when they helped the Wyandot, Kush-la-ka, to his wigwam."
This allusion was to an incident only a few months old. Kush-la-ka was almost mortally wounded in a death struggle with an immense bear, and would have perished had not The Panther and Finley looked after him and helped him to his own home.
The good man hoped the recall of the occurrence would stir a responsive chord in the heart of the chieftain, and open the way for uttering the prayer which he had not yet dared to hint; but the failure was absolute; the mood of The Panther was too sullen, too revengeful, too deeply stirred by the memory of recent wrongs for it to be amenable (as it occasionally had been) to gentle influences. He persisted in regarding the missionary as a presumptuous and execrated enemy.
"Wa-on-mon is on the war-path," he fairly hissed; "he is the enemy of all the pale faces."
"Wa-on-mon is a great chieftain; the heart of the missionary is grieved. Wa-on-mon speaks as he feels, and the missionary will dispute him no more."
This abrupt collapse, as it may be termed, of the visitor was unexpected by the Shawanoe. It was a masterful stroke, and produced an immediate effect, though so slight in its nature that a man less observant than Finley would have failed to perceive it.
"Why does the missionary come to the camp of Wa-on-mon when more than one of the Shawanoes have fallen by the rifles of the pale-faces?"
"And the rifles of the Shawanoes have done grievous harm among the pale-faces?"
"The heart of Wa-on-mon rejoices to learn that!" exclaimed the chieftain; "how many of them have fallen?"
"There is mourning among my people; one of them fell dead at my side, and others are grievously hurt."
"There shall be more mourning, for not one of them shall be spared to reach the block-house! They shall all be cut off."
"The will of the Great Spirit shall be done."
"And why does the missionary come to the camp of Wa-on-mon? He has been asked the question before."
"And has answered," Finley was quick to say, hesitating to avow the whole truth, even though it was evident it was known from the first to the chieftain.
"Cannot the missionary speak with a single tongue? Does he come to seek Wa-on-mon alone?"
"No," was the prompt response.
"Who comes he to see?"
"The little captive in the hands of Wa-on-mon."
"She is there," said the chief, pointing to the fallen tree upon which little Mabel sat; "he can see her; he may speak to her."
"The missionary thanks Wa-on-mon—may he call him his brother?"
"No," was the sharp response, "the missionary and Wa-on-mon were once brothers, but they are so no longer."
"The missionary thanks Wa-on-mon, but he is not, as yet, ready to talk to the suffering little one."
"Little time remains to do so; she dies at sunrise."
"That is several hours distant; in the meanwhile, the missionary would speak to Wa-on-mon of the child."
"What does he wish to say?"
"He has a prayer to make."
"What is the prayer?" asked the chief, well aware what it was.
"Wa-on-mon has two little ones, a warrior and a sweet girl. The missionary has played and talked with them and held them on his knee; does Wa-on-mon believe that the missionary would not risk his life to save them from harm?"
Finley paused, but there was no response. The way had been opened at last, and it was too late now to turn back. He must press forward to the final solution, no matter what that should prove to be, but all the signs were ominous of the worst.
The question was anything but pleasing to the chieftain. He was silent a minute, and replied by means of a pointed question himself:
"Is the child on the tree the child of the missionary?"
"No, but she is the daughter of a friend; she is not a warrior who fires a gun at the Shawanoes of Wa-on-mon; she has harmed none of them."
"But her parents did; to harm her will hurt them more than will a bullet fired from the gun of the chieftain; therefore, Wa-on-mon will kill her."
"Let Wa-on-mon listen to the good spirit that whispers in his ears; let him show the same kindness to the prisoner that the missionary will show to the pappoose of the great chieftain; that the father of the captive would show to the children of Wa-on-mon if the Great Spirit gave them to him."
"The missionary speaks with a double tongue; he lies; he is a dog, and he must say such words no more!" broke in The Panther, with a voice, a manner, and a glare that showed his patience was exhausted. "The missionary deserves the death of a dog, but he may go back to his people; he cannot take the child with him; she shall die when the sun rises."
"If the missionary cannot take the child of his friend with him then he will not go back to him."
"If he stays till the sun shows itself above the woods then he shall die."
Finley saw it would not do to hesitate longer. The moment had come for him to fall back on the last and only recourse left, and much as he regretted the act (for it was at variance with his principles), he now made it promptly and with a skill, a cunning and a delicacy that could not be excelled.
The night was well along when Missionary Finley determined to appeal to his last recourse for saving the life of little Mabel Ashbridge.
In unnumbered ways the Shawanoes showed that stoicism and indifference which they take pains to display when in the presence of strangers, though not always among themselves. A number lolled on the ground, some were standing, and two had sat down on the fallen tree. Another took upon himself the duty of keeping the fire vigorously burning. From time to time he walked off among the trees, and came back with sticks and brush in his arms, which were flung on the flames. Although the air was colder than on the preceding night, the additional warmth was not needed; it was simply the light that was required.
The action of all these Shawanoes was as if their chieftain and his white visitor were one hundred miles distant. None approached, addressed or seemed to hear a word that passed, though in the stillness many of their words, especially those uttered by the chieftain, were audible to the farthest point of the camp.
The observant eye of Finley told him a significant fact. Allowing for those that had fallen in the attack upon the flatboat, fully half a dozen of the warriors were absent. They were watching the movements of the whites who had crossed the river, and would soon report to The Panther.
The absence of these warriors, we say, was suggestive, but caused the missionary no concern. With the pioneers were Daniel Boone and his rangers, while Simon Kenton was somewhere between the hostile forces. After the late escape of the party from The Panther and his men, no great fear was to be entertained of them.
Mabel Ashbridge, wondering, distressed and sorrowful, sat on the fallen tree, now and then looking around the camp and following the movements of the painted men as they passed to and fro, some of them occasionally glancing toward her with a scowl and gleam of the black eyes, which terrified her, but most of the time her gaze rested upon the chieftain and white man talking near her.
How odd their words sounded! She could hear everything said, and yet it was in another language, and seemed as if they were mumbling over gibberish, like a couple of children for their own amusement, except that the chief most of the time acted as though he was angry at the white man, who looked so pleasant and kind that she was sure he must have a little girl at home.
But strange, novel and exciting as all this seemed, it soon became monotonous to her. Unable to learn of its meaning, she became drowsy, and, leaning over and laying her head on the log beside her, she closed her eyes in slumber.
Thus matters stood when the missionary said:
"The white and red children of the Great Spirit, I fear, will always fight each other. The missionary has tried to make them live in peace, but he can do nothing. The Shawanoes have made captive a little girl over whose head only the moons of a pappoose have passed. A few hours ago the pale-faces made captive the great chieftain Wa-on-mon, but the white hunter let him go free."
The Panther was about to interrupt angrily, when the missionary continued, with the same calm evenness of voice:
"The white hunter did not set Wa-on-mon free because he loved him, but rather because he hated him. He wished to meet him in combat; but when he went to the place where Wa-on-mon promised to meet him, the chieftain was not there. The great Wa-on-mon was not afraid of the white man; therefore, he must have made a mistake and gone elsewhere."
"Wa-on-mon made haste to meet his warriors, that he might lead them against the pale-faces and slay them all."
"He lost more braves than did the pale-faces, but the white hunter must not think the mighty Wa-on-mon is afraid of him."
The remark was as near an untruth as the conscience of the good man would permit him to go. No one, not even Simon Kenton, suspected The Panther was afraid to meet any white man that lived in a personal encounter. But the statement hit the chieftain in the most sensitive spot.
"Does the white hunter think Wa-on-mon is afraid to meet him in the depths of the wood, where no eye but that of the Great Spirit shall see them?"
"How can he help thinking so when Wa-on-mon agrees to meet him, and the white hunter goes to the spot, and waits for Wa-on-mon, who does not come?"
"But Wa-on-mon has told the missionary the reason," said The Panther, with a threatening movement and flash of his eyes.
"Wa-on-mon has not told the white hunter," returned the unruffled Finley.
"The missionary can tell him."
"And he will do so, but what shall he tell the white hunter when he asks whether Wa-on-mon will meet him again and prove he is not afraid?"
"Tell the white hunter that Wa-on-mon will meet him!" exclaimed The Panther, with a concentrated fury of voice and manner surpassing that which he had yet shown. He placed his hand threateningly upon his knife, as though in his wrath he would bury it in the body of the good man as a means of relief for the cyclone of hate that was aroused by his words.
It was the precise point for which Missionary Finley had been playing. The preliminary conversation had been aimed to bring The Panther to see that the only way he could save himself from the charge of cowardice was by meeting Kenton in mortal combat. Such an issue, in which one of the contestants must fall, was extremely distasteful to the man of peace. There could be only one combination of circumstances that would justify, in his judgment, that supreme test; that combination now existed.
With the skill of a trained diplomat, with his perfect knowledge of the Indian character, Finley kept matters moving.
"It will delight the heart of the white hunter to meet Wa-on-mon, as they were to meet only yesterday, and I know it will make glad the heart of Wa-on-mon to meet the white hunter in the woods, where no one can see them. Shall I tell the white hunter that these are the words of Wa-on-mon?"
"They are Wa-on-mon's words; he will meet the white hunter."
This was all well enough, and the negotiation was progressing satisfactorily; but the most delicate work yet remained to be done.
The arrangements for the encounter were yet to be completed, and, above all, the stake must be fixed, or, no matter what the issue, everything would come to naught.
"The white hunter and my brother, the great and mighty Wa-on-mon, cannot meet in the darkness of the wood, for when they meet they must see each others' faces."
It was the first time the missionary had ventured to speak of the chieftain as his brother since he was angrily forbidden to do so. He made no objection in the present instance, though possibly it was due to his mental excitement that he did not notice it.
"They shall meet when the sun rises over the tree-tops; Wa-on-mon will be there and await the white hunter, if he does not run away."
"The white hunter will not run away," quietly remarked the missionary, refraining from making the stinging retort that rose to his lips; "but my brother, the mighty Wa-on-mon, is wise, let him say how he and the white hunter shall meet, and the missionary will see that it is done."
Before the chieftain could formulate a scheme, the shrewd Finley was ready with that which he had formed while crossing the river in the canoe.
"Let Wa-on-mon go to the rock that lies yonder," he said, pointing up the stream, "it is but a small way beyond this camp; the rock is only the size of a canoe, and it is hardly above the surface of the water; does my brother know it?"
"Wa-on-mon knows where his brother, the missionary, means," replied the chieftain, thrilling the good man by the term used.
"Will he be there when the sun appears above the tree-tops?"
"Wa-on-mon will be there, armed only with his knife."
"It shall be the same with the white hunter."
But the sagacious Panther saw the difficulties that still confronted them. His "brother" had clinched the confidence the chieftain held in him by his selection of the battle-ground for the Kentucky side of the Ohio, not far from the Shawanoe camp. This reduced, as far as possible, the chances of treachery by the white men, and conceded a most important point to those with whom treachery has always been a cardinal virtue.
"The missionary will see that the white hunter is by the rocks when it begins to grow light in the east."
"Then what will the missionary do?"
"He will come back to the camp of Wa-on-mon and await his return."
Had he expressed his wishes he would have added the words, "hoping he will never come back again," but he was too wise to say anything of that nature.
"Wa-on-mon will not keep him waiting long," was the confident declaration of the Shawanoe.
"And when he returns?"
"Then my brother, the missionary, shall go free."
"And the little one asleep there?"
"She dies."
"Wa-on-mon will not return until the white hunter has fallen before his knife."
"No; but that will not be long."
"Suppose Wa-on-mon does not come back?" remarked Finley, in a matter-of-fact, off-hand manner, but it was the crucial point of the whole matter.
"He will come back," was the response of the chieftain.
"Does he think the white hunter will spare him? No," added the missionary, answering his own question. "But suppose my brother, the mighty Wa-on-mon, does not come back?"
"Then my brother, the missionary, shall go back to his people."
"But that is the promise my brother gave before; will he not say that if Wa-on-mon does not come back, the missionary shall return to his people and take the little captive with him?"
"Wa-on-mon gives his brother that pledge; he has spoken."
It was settled! The scheme that had been in the mind of the good man from the moment he paddled away from the flatboat was fully assented to by The Panther. If the latter overcame Simon Kenton in the hand-to-hand encounter, he would return to camp and put innocent Mabel Ashbridge to death.
If, on the other hand, the ranger overcame The Panther, or the latter was seen no more among his warriors, then the missionary was at liberty to take the tiny hand within his own, and make his way back to her friends without let or hindrance from the Shawanoes.
In other words, the life of the child was the stake at issue.
"Let my brother make known his wishes to his braves," said the missionary, losing no time in following up the advantage he had gained.
As if aware for the first time of the presence of his people around him, The Panther now beckoned to several to approach. They did so with a prompt readiness which suggested a camp of highly-disciplined soldiers. The chief explained what had been agreed upon, and made his orders so explicit that there could be no misconception on the part of any one. Finley watched closely while he listened, and saw that in this matter at least all was above board. The chieftain's self-confidence was so ingrained and deeply set that he could not doubt his own triumph.
But he astounded Rev. Mr. Finley by an unprecedented proof of faith in his honor.
The combat was to take place as near sunrise as could be arranged. As it was impossible to say beforehand precisely when The Panther would be due in camp, it was his order that the decision of the question should be left wholly with the missionary.
When he should declare to the leading Shawanoes that the time that had elapsed was so great that it was certain Wa-on-mon had been overthrown and would not come back to his warriors, then the missionary was free to take the little captive by the hand and walk away, and no one should say them nay.
It was an unprecedented compliment in respect to the integrity and honor of the good man; but, oh, what a temptation, when it promised to settle the question of life and death for the precious child!