CHAPTER XX.
The rain still fell; the wind still blew in fitful gusts. The canvas walls of the officers’ tents swelled in and out, and cracked and popped boisterously. In the shelter of the traverses, soldiers huddled together and smoked in silence. The parade ground was deserted; and the sodden and trampled earth, the dripping flags clinging closely to their staffs, and the cloaked figures of the sentries stubbornly pacing their beats, gave to the interior of the American fortification a gloomy and depressing aspect.
Ross Douglas left the blockhouse, where he had found the father he had never known, and at a rapid pace walked toward General Harrison’s quarters. The young man’s countenance reflected his contending emotions—the varied and exciting experiences through which he had gone. He was glad he had learned La Violette’s history—but sorry he had heard of his father’s misspent life; he rejoiced at the thought that the sweet girl loved him, that he loved her, that she was to be his wife—yet he grieved over his father’s impending fate. Then, also, he sincerely pitied Amy Hilliard, and worried that La Violette was still among the British and Indians. Indeed, his heart was torn and bleeding!
On reaching the commander’s tent, he pushedpast the orderlies at the door and stood in the General’s presence. He was preoccupied and did not stop for ceremony, but said abruptly:
“General, I have seen Hiram Bradford, and have returned, as you ordered.”
Harrison was closely studying a map that lay spread out upon a rough table before him. Without looking up, he made reply:
“And you found him much changed?”
“In many ways, General.”
The commander lifted his head and answered sharply:
“I noted no change in the scoundrel, except in his appearance. His health is broken; but he is the same cool, unscrupulous, defiant knave.”
Ross winced, but sturdily returned:
“We didn’t observe alike, General Harrison. I found him in ill-health, weak, repentant——”
The hero of Tippecanoe whirled about upon his stool. His rugged face darkened ominously. A storm was brewing.
“My young friend,” he interrupted in hard, cold tones, “you talk as if you came to plead his case.”
“I came to intercede in his behalf,” Ross replied calmly.
General Harrison sprang to his feet, his face black with rage.
“By heavens!” he cried. “You are——”
Then the grizzled warrior stopped suddenly. He bit his thin lips—and was silent. At last he said quietly, but firmly:
“What I would say, young man, is this: It’s useless to ask me to show clemency to Hiram Bradford—the spy, the deserter. I can’t blame you—Idon’tblame you—for feeling sorry for him. He has befriended you—in a way, perhaps. But you’re anAmerican—you love your country. And you mustn’t forget that this man is yourcountry’sbitter and avowed enemy. That’s not all. During the Tippecanoe campaign, he entered my service as a scout—he enlisted regularly. At that time, he was in the employ of the English—was their spy. He plotted against my life—he deserted. I needn’t tell you all this; you know it only too well.Youwere the first to arouse my suspicions.Youput me on my guard—and saved my life. After your escape from the savages—at Franklinton, you remember—you told me that Hiram Bradford had confessed all to you. As a spy, I should let him go; for his scheme failed—and his attempt upon my life was in another war. But a deserter once is a deserter forever;”—fiercely—“and the penalty isdeath! To-morrow a preliminary court-martial will be held; and you will appear as a witness against Hiram Bradford.”
Douglas dropped upon a stool, moaning:
“I can’t! Oh, God!—Ican’t!”
His keen, mental agony was shown in his face. General Harrison was surprised. Advancing, he laid a hand upon the young man’s shoulder and said kindly:
“You mustn’t take the matter so to heart, myboy. Hiram Bradford deserves to die. He shall have full justice; but no mercy will be shown him, if proven guilty. I cannot fathom why you—a pure-minded patriot—are so anxious to have a traitorous deserter escape merited punishment.”
“Let me tell you, General Harrison,” Ross cried, springing to his feet. “Then do as you will. Hiram Bradford, the English spy—the American deserter, is John Douglas—myfather!”
Had a British shell exploded within the tent, General Harrison could not have been more dumbfounded. He tried to speak, but failed. After staring blankly at his companion for some time, he commenced to pace rapidly up and down the room, clasping and unclasping his brown hands, in an agitated manner. At last he stopped in front of Ross, and said calmly:
“Sit down and tell me all about it.”
A number of officers entered the tent, before the tale was concluded. The commander paused long enough to say:—“Be seated, gentlemen; I shall be through presently.”—And again he gave Douglas his attention. At last the two arose. Taking Ross’s hand, the commander murmured:
“Circumstances change the aspect of many plain cases. Your father shall not be tried for his crime; he shall go free. But the matter must forever remain a secret between ourselves—even your trusty comrades mustn’t know. This afternoon an officer and escort will bear a flag of truce to the British camp, to complete arrangements for an exchange ofprisoners. You will take your father and accompany them. Bring the young woman back with you; but leave your father there, with the injunction that he is to make his way to Canada and never set foot upon American soil again. Wait a moment—I’ll give you an order for his release.”
A quarter of an hour after, father and son issued from the blockhouse together—and John Douglas was a free man. In the full light of the murky day, he looked bent, worn, and feeble; and he kept close to his stalwart son’s side, as though looking to him for guidance and protection.
Shortly after noon, the two joined the officer and escort, who were setting out for the British encampment. On their way toward the eastern gate of the fortification, they were joined by Farley, Bright Wing, and the hound.
“Where’ve you been all the forenoon, Ross?” the old woodman demanded in an injured tone. “Me an’ the Injin an’ dog’s been huntin’ you all over the place. Duke nosed ’round, an’ said you was down at that blockhouse”—pointing with the barrel of his gun.—“But me an’ the Injin knowed that couldn’t be, ’cause ther’s pris’ners in there—an’ you wouldn’t have no business with them. Then the houn’ took up a ’maginary trail, and tracked you to Ol’ Tippecanoe’s tent. We knowed that was a lie, too; ’cause we peeked in, an’ you wasn’t there. So we’ve kind o’ lost faith in the purp. The smell o’ blood, yisterday, must ’ave spiled his scent. But where’ve you been?”
Scarcely slacking his pace, Douglas replied briefly: “I was at the blockhouse and at General Harrison’s quarters. Duke told you the truth.”
“You was!” Joe ejaculated. “Well, dang my skin if the dog didn’t know more’n a couple o’ human critters—he did, by Tabithy! Purp, I beg y’r pardon. But where’re you goin’ now, Ross?”
“To the English camp.”
“I’ve heerd it said,” Farley grumbled, “that the burnt child dreaded the fire; but you seem to be an ’xception to the rule. Ross Douglas, what in the name o’ goodness ’re you goin’ over there fer? Oh, I’m an ol’ fool! I might ’ave knowed. You’re goin’ over to git that little red-headed gal, of course——”
He suddenly stopped speaking. His watery eyes bulged; his jaw dropped. He had caught a square look at Ross’s companion.
“W’y, dang—it—all—to—dingnation!” he mumbled. “If that ain’t the scar-faced scout that was with Gener’l Harrison, at Tippecanoe, it’s his ghost. An’ he looks more like a ghost ’n a mortal man—he does, by cracky!”
“Ugh! Scar Face—much sick, sight lean,” Bright Wing grunted.
Ross made no reply; John Douglas did not glance around, even. By this time, the squad of soldiers had reached the gate and were passing through. Father and son hastened to overtake them. Farley and his companion kept close upon the heels of those in advance; and with them left the fortification.Ross thought his comrades had stopped within the walls—and felt relieved. He did not notice their presence, until he stood at the water’s edge.
“What are you doing here, Joe?” he demanded sharply.
“We’re goin’ with you,” Farley returned coolly.
“You cannot,” Ross said firmly. “Take the dog and return to the fort.”
But Joe and the Wyandot stubbornly shook their heads; and Duke, dropping upon his haunches, looked appealingly into his master’s face.
“Take Duke and go back to the fortification,” Ross repeated, with difficulty repressing a smile at the childlike pertinacity of his friends.
“We ain’t a-goin’ back,” Farley answered sullenly.
“Ugh! No go back—go with Fleet Foot,” the Indian muttered.
“Why?” the young man asked impatiently.
“You may need us,” Farley explained. “We don’t over an’ above like the company you’re keepin’.”—With a jerk of his thumb toward John Douglas.
Ross dropped his eyes to the ground. His face flushed hotly. He was in a quandary; he did not know what to do or say.
The soldiers had launched a boat, and were scrambling into it.
“Come on—don’t delay us,” the officer called.
“Here are two of my comrades who desire to accompany me,” Ross hastened to explain.
The officer cut him short with:
“Bring them along—but be quick about it. The boat will accommodate us all.”
A few minutes later, the entire party had landed on the opposite shore and were making their way toward the British encampment. There the American officer engaged in a consultation with General Proctor and his staff, while Ross Douglas and his companions went to the quarters of Tenskwatawa and La Violette, at Fort Miami.
John Douglas led the way into the stockade of the old fort. The place was filled with Indians and white prisoners. Some of the latter were ill-fated settlers; others were the luckless Kentuckians of General Clay’s command. Several of the militiamen knew Ross Douglas and, calling to him, asked what were the prospects of a speedy exchange. He answered their questions briefly as he hurried along. Occasionally a guttural voice exclaimed—“Fleet Foot!”; and the young man became aware that many of the savages recognized him and were scowling at him. But they did not offer to impede the progress of the small party. Scar Face, whom they hated and feared, was leading it.
On reaching the farther side of the inclosure, John Douglas stopped and whispered to his son:
“Here’s the cabin Violet occupies. You’ll enter with me; your friends will remain outside—on guard. The Indians are dissatisfied—restless—and ready for any desperate venture. I don’t think they’ll dare to interfere with us in any way—butthey may. Caution your comrades to be discreet—to give no heed to threatening words and gestures, unless the savages offer to attack them.”
Ross, turning to Farley, said in a low tone:
“You and Bright Wing will keep Duke with you and guard the door. Do nothing rash—you understand?”
Joe nodded gravely; and Ross continued:
“We’ll transact our business and get out of here, as soon as possible; the place is unsafe. Be careful of your words and actions, and restrain the hound.”
Again Joe nodded. For a wonder, he did not utter a word in reply.
Just as father and son were about to enter the low door of the hut, the latter caught sight of a burly, thick-set Indian swaggering up to the spot. His fat and flabby features were grotesquely and hideously painted. He wore a complete suit of coarse cloth, and carried an English rifle. Nearing the group at the door, he stuck his tongue into his cheek and leered impudently.
Ross started. There was something about the obese brave that seemed familiar; yet the young man could not recall that he had ever seen the bloated wretch.
“Who is the greasy knave?” Ross murmured to himself.
Farley caught the words and muttered in reply:
“I don’t know—but I’ve seen him somewheres. He’s as sassy as a pet fox—he is, by Jerushy!”
“Ugh!” Bright Wing ejaculated explosively—and was silent as a graven image.
“Come,” John Douglas said, plucking his son by the arm. “Things are not to my liking. You must take Violet and be off.”
Together the two passed into the cabin. The place was in semi-darkness. Ross heard a startled exclamation in the far corner of the room. Then he became aware that someone had arisen and was moving toward him. His eyes grew accustomed to the gloom; and he dimly perceived a sylphlike figure advancing toward the center of the floor. There it stopped. The murky light streaming in at the hole in the roof fell upon it.
Ross Douglas distinctly saw a halo of red-gold hair, the outlines of a fair, sweet face—and murmured tenderly:
“La Violette!”
“Fleet Foot!” was the joyful exclamation.
She stood leaning far forward, her hands clasped in front of her; but she did not offer to move nearer to him. Ross swept a hurried glance about the interior. He was alone with her; his father had left the cabin. The young man heard her quick respirations—saw her attitude of indecision—and opening his arms, he called softly:
“I love you, darling! Come to me!”
With a glad cry, she flew to him and nestled in his arms. He strained her to his breast—too happy to speak. At last he breathed into her ear the needless question:
“Do you love me, La Violette?”
Lifting her golden head and reproachfully fastening her violet eyes upon his face, she answered:
“Can you ask me such a question, Ross Douglas? YouknowI love you—have loved you ever since you saved my life. But do you really loveme?”
In answer he kissed her ripe lips and murmured:
“I worship you, dear—love you better than I love anyone else on earth. I’ve loved you ever since I first met you. But I was betrothed to another; and I wouldn’t admit to myself, even, that I loved you. But to-day I am free. I have come to take you from this place—from this life. Will you go with me, La Violette?”
“To the ends of the earth,” she whispered.
Holding her from him at arm’s length, he asked playfully:
“Violet Brownlee, will you be my wife?”
“Ah! you know all,” she returned smilingly.
“I know all,” he returned soberly. “My father has told me.”
“Your father?” she remarked wonderingly.
“Yes, my father—Scar Face, Hiram Bradford, John Douglas.”
Again she nestled in his arms, and for a moment was silent. Presently she murmured musingly:
“I used often to wonder why Hiram Bradford took so great an interest in me. A few months ago he told me my history. Then I fell to wondering why he had kept you a prisoner against your will, yet was anxious for your welfare. Nor could I understandwhy he was so worried over your escape and the fact that he could not find you. Now all is plain.”
He stroked her red-gold hair, but made no reply. He would have been content to hold her thus for hours. Suddenly she lifted her head from his shoulder, and whispered:
“Ross.”
“Well, darling?”
“Let me see your hand. No, the other. Ah! you still wear Tenskwatawa’s ring. You carried off the Sign of the Prophet; now you come to carry off his daughter.”
He bent his head and breathed in reply:
“I valued the Sign of the Prophet; it assured my safety. I value his daughter much more; she assures my happiness.”
Standing upon tiptoe and pulling him down, she fondly kissed him and answered:
“This is a fit reward for your pretty speech. But Tenskwatawa will be here presently; your father has gone for him. Do not let him see the ring. He has lost much of his power; and it is better so. He and Tecumseh have deceived their people and led them astray. I see it all now. The wisest of them are but ignorant savages. And the English—my own people—have made tools of them——”
She stopped speaking and hastily withdrew from her lover’s embrace. He turned to discover the cause of her action, and observed Tenskwatawa entering the door.
Not deigning to notice the young man, the Prophet walked up to La Violette and, laying his hands upon her shoulders, murmured gutturally:
“My daughter, Scar Face has told me that you mean to leave the tribe—your father, forever. Is it so?”
“Tenskwatawa, my father, it is true.”
“Has Fleet Foot stolen your heart, my daughter?”
“He has, my father,” she replied in a voice hardly audible.
“And La Violette will accompany him to his lodge and dwell there?”
The girl looked her interrogator in the face and nodded. Tenskwatawa remained silent. The stillness of the room was oppressive. At last the Prophet removed his hands from her shoulders and, bowing his head, muttered brokenly:
“It is well. Where her heart is, La Violette should be. She is a paleface maiden; she loves a paleface brave. She shall be the light of his lodge—as she has been the light of Tenskwatawa’s life.”
Then, extending his hand to her:
“My daughter, farewell. The Great Spirit gave you to me—he takes you from me. Great is my sorrow; but I will bear it as becomes a Shawnee. My sign is lost; my power has departed. My children spurn my words of advice; the English laugh at my undoing. My sorrow is great. I can bear it—I am a Shawnee. My daughter, farewell—farewell,forever!”
Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck and sobbed upon his breast.
“Tenskwatawa, my father, you have been kind to me. I have tried to be a daughter to you. Now I am about to leave you forever—to return to my own people. The Great Spirit wills it so. My father, I would exact one promise from you at parting.”
Gently he disengaged himself from her embrace, and answered:
“What my daughter desires, I will do.”
“Then,” she cried, “use all your influence—all your power—to dissuade your children from fighting longer under the English banner. The Seventeen Fires will conquer in the end. The Great Spirit wills it. The redmen will lose their lives and their lands to no purpose. Promise me you will do what I ask.”
“It is too late,” he replied dejectedly. “My children are mad with the taste of blood. No longer will they listen to my voice. I helped to lead them into this; now I cannot drag them out. They are dogs for the English; they bay along the trail—they obey the lash. Tecumseh, my brother, has their ears; they will not hear my words. I have sinned; and thus the Great Spirit punishes me. My daughter, I shall see you no more. Farewell!”
Drawing his blanket over his head, to hide his emotion, the Prophet quitted the cabin. His thin lips were set; and his horrid, painted face wasdrawn and ashen. A moment afterward, John Douglas entered and remarked briskly:
“You must be off. Make haste! I’ll accompany you to the river.”
La Violette made a compact bundle of her few effects, and announced herself as ready. John Douglas led the way from the cabin. Farley and Bright Wing still stood without; and Duke was smelling around the door. As La Violette stepped into the open air, the dog fawned upon her, evincing his pleasure at again meeting her. Tears sprang to her eyes; and, patting the animal’s head, she murmured:
“Ah! You remember me, good fellow.”
“Duke forgets neither his friends nor his enemies,” Ross said smilingly.
Farley stepped forward and, doffing his cap and extending a grimy hand, remarked:
“So you’re La Violette, young woman. I’ve heerd somethin’ of you in the last day ’r so.”—He grinned maliciously at Ross.—“This youngster here couldn’t do nothin’ but talk ’bout you—he couldn’t, by ginger! I’m glad to meet you, I am. Thought I’d intr’duce myself—seein’ Ross Douglas wasn’t goin’ to do the job fer me. He’s ’fraid o’ my beauty, little gal—’fraid you might shine up tome. An’ this is Bright Wing, a Wyandot. He’s a purty good feller, if hehasgot a red skin. Me an’ the Injin’s Ross’s ol’ comrades. Lordy! Hain’t we been in many a scrimmage? Gol-fer-socks! I guess so.”
La Violette laughed musically at Joe’s absurdities; and, grasping the extended hands of each, said: “I trust we shall become better acquainted in the future—and be fast friends.”
“Ugh!” was the monosyllabic response of the Wyandot, as he stepped aside and, leaning upon his gun, fixed his black eyes upon a distant part of the stockade.
Farley had not yet had his say, however; and there was sincere admiration in his voice and manner, as he resumed:
“You’re a dang sight purtier ’n I ’xpected you to be, little gal—you are, by Katherine! As near’s I could git it from Ross Douglas’s ravin’s, you was a kind of red-headed Injin squaw—somethin’ like the Winnebago jade that wanted to marryme. You see, miss, the women’s alluz been afterme——”
“Joe—Joe!” Ross cried, smiling in spite of himself.
“It’s a fact, as sure’s my name is Joseph Peregoy——” the woodman began.
But John Douglas impatiently interrupted him with:
“This is no time to recount your love affairs, my friend. After you have reached the other side of the river, you may boast to your heart’s content. Let’s be off.”
With the words, he started toward the gate of the dilapidated palisade, the others of the party closely following him. Farley grumbled as he went along:
“Ol’ Pucker Face is as imperdent as a squawkin’ catbird—but he’sright. Ding-it-all-to-dangnation! WhenwillI learn not to let my limber tongue git the best o’ me?”
Then aloud to Ross:
“That fat an’ greasy redskin, that come sidelin’ up to us jest as you was goin’ into the hut, has been slippin’ ’round ’mong the other Injins an’ doin’ a heap o’ talkin’. I’ll bet a new ramrod he’s up to some devilment. I wish I could place him—I’ve seen him somewheres.”
Ross merely nodded; and, taking La Violette’s arm, hurried her onward. Just outside the walls, John Douglas turned and whispered in his son’s ear:
“We’ll proceed to the landing-place at once. If the officer who came over with us isn’t there with his soldiers, you must hail your friends on the other side and have a boat brought to you immediately. The Indians know and hate you and your comrades. There’s mischief brewing. Let’s hasten.”
The little party moved rapidly. John Douglas’s whispered words and anxious demeanor had warned his companions, of the gravity of the situation; and they realized that no time was to be lost, if they would escape. At last they came in sight of the place and, to their great relief, beheld the American officer and his escorts just ready to embark. An English officer and two subalterns were among the group upon the shore.
Ross frantically waved his hand and hallooed at the top of his voice. The American soldiers gave him a ringing cheer in reply, thus signifying they would await his arrival.
At that moment, a score or more of savages, quickly emerging from the shelter of the trees, confronted Ross and his companions.
Bright Wing uttered a sharp grunt and cocked his rifle. Farley did the same, muttering as he did so:
“Jest as I ’xpected! Ther’s that dang fat brave leadin’ ’em.”
Ross placed himself in front of La Violette, and looked to the priming of his weapon. John Douglas carried his own gun, which had been restored to him on leaving the blockhouse at Fort Meigs. Now he boldly stepped forward—his hollow eyes blazing—and shouted authoritatively, in the Shawnee tongue:
“Out of the way, you hellhounds! Do you not know me?”
From force of habit, the Indians retreated a few steps. But the thick-set warrior, who acted as leader of the band, scowled fiercely as he replied in blunt backwoods English:
“You needn’t fire any Injin lingo at me, Mr. Scar Face—as the redskins call you. I don’t understand it. But I know you—I’ve seen you ’round the camp. An’ I know what y’r little game is now—an’ I’m goin’ to block it.”
“George Hilliard!” Ross exclaimed.
“The low-lived critter!” Farley hissed, nervously fingering the trigger of his rifle.
The fat warrior overheard Ross’s exclamation, and returned savagely:
“Yes, I’m George Hilliard; an’ I’ve come to have a final settlement with you, Ross Douglas——”
“Out of the way, you infernal renegade!” John Douglas cried menacingly.
“Not till I’m through with my business, Mr. Scar Face,” Hilliard answered coolly. “An’ you’d better not be callin’ hard names, ’r you’ll git a dose o’ the same medicine we mean to give that young dandy at y’r side. I’m commandin’ this squad o’ redskins; an’ they don’t likeyoumuch better’n they dohim. You jest keep quiet till I git through with my business.”
Then turning his attention from father to son:
“Ross Douglas, you an’ me’s goin’ to have a final settlement right here. You toted off my wife last night—me an’ my gang trailed you ’cross the river. An’ now you’ve come to carry off the Prophet’s gal. You ain’t content with one woman—you want two. But then I happen to want this young miss myself—an’ I’m goin’ to have her. Fair ’xchange is no robbery. You can have my wife; I’ll take your plump little sweetheart. Hand her over peaceably, an’ you an’ y’r crowd can go on to the fort; refuse, an’ my warriors ’ll kill an’ scalp the last one o’ you. Do you understand?”
“I understand you—you devil incarnate!”Ross answered in a voice hoarse with rage. “Do your worst! You shall not lay your vile hands upon this pure being, as long as the breath of life is spared me!”
“Which won’t be very long!” Hilliard muttered with an oath.
Farley and Bright Wing set their teeth and calmly awaited the attack. Ross turned to his father and asked:
“What can we do?”
“Fight to the death!” was the cool and determined reply.
Slipping an arm around La Violette’s waist, Ross whispered:
“Good-by, darling! Lie down behind that mound, out of the way of flying bullets. As soon as the first discharge of firearms is over, run toward the boat at the top of your speed. If I escape death, I’ll rejoin you there.”
She was very pale; and her limbs were trembling. But she replied firmly:
“I will not leave your side, Ross. If you must die, I die with you!”
The soldiers on the shore had been witnesses of the whole proceeding. At the distance, they could not tell what was going on; but knowing that something was amiss, and fearing the worst, a number of them had left the boat and started toward the scene of disturbance. Now they came running at full speed along the bank. The Wyandot’s quick eyes caught sight of them and he grunted:
“Palefaces come—heap many. Ugh!”
“That’s a fact, Injin!” Farley muttered in reply. “If we can only hold the red devils off till——”
Ross Douglas was anxiously watching the actions of the savages. Suddenly he saw them quit talking and make a move to encircle their victims. An inspiration came to him. Taking a step forward, he raised his right hand and cried in ringing tones:
“Children of Tenskwatawa!”
The attention of the Indians was arrested. They stopped and stared hard at the speaker.
“Behold the Sign of the Prophet!” Ross shouted.
At the same time, he slowly waved his hand to and fro, and, imitating the sinuous movements of the red hypnotist, advanced upon the semicircle of warriors. The effect was marvelous.
“The Sign of the Prophet! The Sign of the Prophet!” they wailed in terrified accents, shrinking away from him—their eyes immovably fixed upon the talisman.
For a moment George Hilliard was dumbfounded. He could not understand what was happening. Realizing that Ross, in some way, was sending terror to the hearts of the red fiends, the thick-set villain’s face grew purple with rage. He stormed and raved. But all to no purpose; the savages were spellbound—they could not hear his voice.
Slowly advancing—and continuing his serpentine movements—Ross continued:
“Children of the Prophet, I wear his sign—I have his power! I am doing the will of the GreatSpirit. Away—away! Go—ere I strike you blind——”
“Curse you, Ross Douglas!I’llstrike you blind!” Hilliard howled frantically.
Quick as a flash, he threw his gun to his shoulder and fired. But quick as his movements were, John Douglas’s were quicker. Just before the roar of the firearm rang out upon the air, the father sprang in front of his son. The next moment he sank to earth, mortally wounded. With a lionlike roar of rage, Duke leaped upon the murderer and dragged him to the ground. Three rifles cracked in rapid succession; and three painted braves met death.
The spell was broken. The savages gazed about in stupefaction. Then, dimly realizing what had happened, they broke and fled toward the cover of the woods, just as the soldiers, cheering lustily, dashed up.
La Violette dropped upon the ground and pillowed John Douglas’s head upon her lap. Ross bent over the dying man, and in a voice full of anguish asked:
“Father, can you see me—can you speak to me?”
The fast-glazing eyes looked steadily into those of the questioner, and the white lips whispered faintly:
“I see both of you, my—my children; but very—very dimly. Do not—move out of my sight. I’m dying! It is best so. I have givenmy life for you, my son; and I—I die happy. I am going—give me your hands! Good-by—I—I——”
With a deep, tremulous sigh, he closed his eyes. Twice the deep chest heaved spasmodically. And he was dead.
“My father—oh, my father!” Ross moaned, still clinging to the dead man’s hand.
Joe Farley overheard the words and muttered to himself:
“Ross Douglas’s father! Scar Face—Hiram Bradford—John Douglas—all one an’ the same. Dang-it-all-to-dingnation! Hang-it-up-an’-take-it-down-an’-cook-it! Won’t wonders an’ mysteriesnevercome to an end?”
Then, in a low tone, he said to the Wyandot:
“Injin, we’d better call Duke away from that painted lump o’ taller out there. I s’pect the dog’s worried the cuss a good ’eal by this time.”
“Ugh!” Bright Wing snorted contemptuously. “Duke no worry fat paleface-redman now; fat paleface-redman heap much dead. Me stick knife in him.”
“Huh!” Farley ejaculated. Then to the dog:
“Here, Duke, come away from that carcass. You’ll git p’izened nosin’ ’round such a varmint—you will, by Molly! Come away, I say!”
The hound obeyed.
Ross, had arisen, and stood silently gazing into the face upturned to the clouded heavens. La Violette was weeping bitterly. The English officeradvanced to Ross’s side and said with much feeling:
“I can’t tell you, young man, how sorry I am that this thing has happened. But the savages are unruly; they can’t be controlled——”
Then he abruptly stopped speaking and peered into the upturned countenance. Starting back, he exclaimed excitedly:
“Why, this is Hiram Bradford—one of our own men!”
Ross nodded stiffly.
“Curse the savage brutes!” the officer muttered as he turned and strode away. “Whom will they turn upon next?”
Taking with them the body of John Douglas—but leaving George Hilliard and his red associates where they fell—the company made their way to the boat, and embarked for Fort Meigs.