Kitabı oku: «The Frontier Angel: A Romance of Kentucky Rangers' Life», sayfa 7
CHAPTER XII.
A MINGLING OF FEAR, DOUBT, AND HOPE
And so it happened that the terrible sentence, "He shall first be shot and then be burnt in the clearing and cast into the river," was never executed upon Tom McGable. The opportunity was never given.
The indignation at his escape could scarcely be repressed; but the version given by Jenkins so completely exculpated himself from blame, that he escaped entirely the shafts of indignation. There were some, it is true, who had their private opinion of this wonderful story; but, as there was no witness to disprove it, these opinions were unexpressed.
Jenkins affirmed that what first induced him to peep into the room was a strong smell of brimstone. Upon looking in, he saw McGable sitting astride of the devil, who was walking slowly toward the open door, holding a trident in one claw. Jenkins informed him that he was very sorry to oppose him, but nevertheless, he felt compelled by the stern dictates of duty to prevent his passage. At that, the father of all evil made a rush toward him, striking him in the breast with the trident, and grappling with him. They closed in with each other, and the struggle became fearful. Jenkins, securing the trident, used it as a "whip of scorpions," and was satisfied he gave some "strange horrors" with it. He believed he would have eventually triumphed, had he not been taken with one of his fainting fits at the critical moment. Victory thus secured, the arch-enemy galloped over his prostrate form, vanished in mid air, and left McGable skimming over the ground toward the sheltering wood.
More than one placed implicit faith in this story. Such is the superstition of the bravest of the brave – the border ranger!
But there was one thing which troubled the settlement more than the escape of the renegade: it was the fate of the Frontier Angel. There was no fear of what the Indians would do, for it was well known that a crazy or foolish person is regarded among them as one specially gifted by Manitou, and under no consideration will they venture to harm him; but it could hardly be expected that McGable would share in this superstition; and, now that his suspicions of the friendship of this being to the whites was resolved into an absolute certainty, some plan, it was rightly thought by the settlers, would be taken by him to close her lips forever. It was well known that there was no crime against the human race too great for the scoundrel to commit; and the weak, defenseless Frontier Angel, through the stupidity of the whites, would fall a victim to his vengeance.
"Freeze me to death, ef it shall be so!" exclaimed Dingle, who was discussing the subject with Peterson, the commander, and several others. "No, sir; ef that sperit is killed, her blood will be on us."
"If she is a spirit, she cannot be harmed by mortals," ventured Abbot.
"Wal, Tom McGable ain't a mortal; he's an infarnal imp."
"Whoever this strange being is, that you term Frontier Angel," remarked the commander, "it is evident to all that she is the firm friend of the whites. The timely warnings which she has so repeatedly given us, and, in fact, all the settlements along the Ohio, entitle her to their everlasting gratitude. If she is slain by McGable, as Dingle observes, the blood will be as much upon us. For it was ourselves who first told him she was our friend, and then allowed him to escape to do what he pleased with her. No, friends, it will never do. Some plan must be taken to warn her of her peril and afford her all the protection she will receive. Have you any plan?"
"Kill that renegade and then the matter will be set at rest," replied Peterson.
"That is easier said than done," remarked Mansfield. "If I may be allowed to give an opinion it is this: now that McGable has been convinced of our deadly enmity to him, and our anxiety to secure him, he will take particular care never to give us an opportunity. It will be only in battle where he will be likely to feel our will in regard to him. This Frontier Angel is still roaming through the forest, engaged in her truly angelic work of befriending the whites; and the plan that I propose is this: Let all the settlements which it is known she visits be notified of the whole circumstances, and instructed to warn her upon the first opportunity; and, besides this, let us all try to induce her to abandon the life she is leading, and to settle down and remain with us."
"Yes, do; tell her I'll marry her if she will," said Jenkins, all eager seriousness.
"Remember me and she is engaged," said Dingle.
"Didn't Mansfield just say you was going to get her to abandon savage life and become civilized; consequently, won't she have to leave you and come to me?"
"There, that will do," interrupted the commander. "The plan proposed by Mansfield strikes me as being the best, and I am in favor of adopting it at once."
"It's my opine it's the real thing," said Peterson. "What do you think, Dick?"
"It's the ticket, and h'yer's as moves we stop talkin' and go to workin'."
A short time longer was spent in consultation, when the following course was decided upon: Peterson was to go up the Ohio, and state the case at the different settlements, all the time seeking an interview with her, while Dingle and Mansfield were to range the vicinity of the Indian towns in the hope of meeting her.
This plan, with characteristic vigor, was acted upon at once, and in the afternoon of the day succeeding the escape of McGable, the three men were in the forest, seeking out the Frontier Angel. Dingle and Mansfield as said, took a northwest direction, toward the Shawnee towns, which they reached in due time. They remained in their neighborhood several days, and during that time gained one or two glimpses of McGable, but could see nothing of the being for whose benefit they came. At last they were satisfied she was not in them, and must either be in the Sciota valley, or engaged upon some errand of mercy or – had she already fallen a victim to revenge?
Some time after, Dingle and our hero were in the Sciota valley, carefully reconnoitering the Indian villages, but they obtained no further information, and were reluctantly compelled to the belief that she was either at the eastern settlements, or she had already been murdered by McGable. The latter, as Mansfield remarked, took such care of his person, that there was little hope of again obtaining possession of it. Several days were spent in the neighborhood, without further success, when they turned their faces homeward, convinced that they had done all that it was possible for them to do in this direction, although that all was nothing.
They reached the settlement and reported themselves, and then all waited anxiously for the return of Peterson. Before going out all knew the wishes of Abbot, and it was expected that something definite would be gained of the fate of poor Marian.
It was a week before Peterson came in; but, when he did come, he had a report to give that thrilled every heart in the settlement. At the first village he reached, he was told the Frontier Angel had left there that morning, and that her manner was so wild and strange as to induce the settlers to use everything except force, to retain her. From her rambling, incoherent manner, and several remarks she made, they gathered that her life had already been attempted by McGable, and that the memory and thoughts of it made her act so singularly.
From this settlement, he went on to the next, but she had not been seen here for several weeks. Having been instructed to visit all of the frontier villages, Peterson did so, but learnt nothing more of her. From this he supposed that, if not in the Shawnee towns, she could be at no great distance from the settlement first mentioned. Accordingly, he spent several days searching the woods and streams in the hope of obtaining some trace of her. He failed to find her, but was discovered himself by her.
He had lain down one afternoon to rest himself, and was just falling into a doze, when he was startled to his feet by her suddenly appearing before him.
"Are you looking for me?" she asked.
"Yes; but, confound it, how did you know it?"
"Do you, too, seek my life?" she asked, gazing at him with the most painful anguish and terror depicted in her face.
"No; I wouldn't hurt you for ten hundred thousand million pounds in British money. I'm looking for you to tell you, you must keep your eyes peeled, 'cause there's sunkthin' in the wind."
There was a wildness in her look which, despite himself, made Peterson restless and ill at ease, although he took occasion to show by his words and manner that he had no such thoughts. The girl stared at him a moment, and then asked:
"You do not want to kill me, then, do you?"
"No; I wouldn't do no such thing, and I would raise the ha'r of the man that tried it, if he was my own brother."
"He tried to; he shot at me, and chased me with his knife."
"Who did so?"
"That bad man; he is hunting now for me, and wants to kill me."
"Who do you mean? McGable?"
"Yes, it was he – he nearly killed me."
"He may kill you yet. Won't you go with me where he can't hurt you?"
"Oh, no – no – I live alone, and God will take care of me."
She turned to depart, and Peterson, who all the time had felt fidgety and nervous, was glad to be alone, when it suddenly occurred to him there were several questions which he must yet ask, to gain the desired information for Abbot and Mansfield. So he called her back.
"Say, will you let me ax you a thing or two?"
She answered by turning around and silently facing him.
"You know McGable in course, and must know he's the all-firedest varmint that tramps. Wal, last spring he and a lot of Shawnees attacked a flat-boat, and sliced 'em all up 'cepting the best-looking one of the lot – him as is squatted afore you. Wal, that ain't much to do with the matter, 'cept to illusrate the point. There was a gal on board – that I tried to jump overboard with, but she got shot just as I was ready, and I left her behind. She wan't dead then, but about so. Howsumever, her folks never'll be satisfied till they know all about it. Might be you've heard of the gal?"
"No," replied the Frontier Angel, shaking her head with a pensive, saddened look.
"S'pect you did. Sorry, 'cause I'd like to find out. Never heard McGable say nothin' 'bout her?"
"No."
"Qu'ar. Oh! is that renegade your husband?"
The maiden simply gave him a wondering stare without making a further reply. Now that Peterson was fairly started, he determined to learn all he could of her.
"The name of the gal was Marian Abbot," observed the ranger, suddenly recollecting that he had not mentioned her name. As he uttered it, his heart fairly stopped beating, at the manner of the mysterious being before him. She started, her dark eyes opening so strangely, and her breath coming so short and gaspingly, that Peterson averred he felt his hair lift his coon-skin cap clean from his head.
"Marian Abbot – Marian Abbot – Marian," she repeated, as if communing with herself, and gazing, not at Peterson, but over his head, far away into the horizon where the purple and golden clouds were then blazing with the fire of heaven.
"Yes, that was her name," said Peterson anxious to help her. "Splendid looking gal – looked some like me – little shorter than you – purty near as good looking."
"Marian Abbot – Marian Abbot," she still repeated, drawing her hand over her forehead as if engaged in intense thought.
"Yes – I've told you that was her name."
"Have I heard of her, you ask? Have I heard of Marian Abbot? – no – yes – let me see – I remember. I saw her – no I know nothing of her!" she replied, dropping her hands from her forehead, and looking up at him with the same wild, fiery look.
"Think agin," urged Peterson, much disappointed at her manner. "You jest now said you remembered her. Put your thinkin' cap on and p'r'aps you'll find out arter all."
"No; I can't remember anything. Don't ask me to, for it hurts my head so much. Wait a moment – " she said, pressing her hand quickly to her temple again. "Marian Abbot – yes – there was such a girl – I remember her —I saw her among the Indians!– "
At this point, she turned deadly pale, and sank to the earth. That singularly foolish notion, that it was fatal to touch the Frontier Angel, prevented Peterson from springing forward to her assistance. She did not faint, however, but instantly recovered herself and bounded away in the wood without uttering another syllable.
This information, conveyed in substance, to the breathless listeners, by the ranger, thrilled every one, as we said, to the heart. It awakened, both in the father and Mansfield, a strange hope, that, from its every intensity, produced a deadly heart-sickness. Abbot reeled to his home, where, for a long time, he strove to control his agitation. He said nothing to his wife, for he was nearly unmanned, and feared he should turn crazy himself.
"O merciful Father! can my daughter be alive? Did she escape that awful massacre? Is this a dream? Am I going mad? Oh, grant that no hope may be awakened to be dashed from me again!"
Mansfield was equally excited. The cold sweat came upon his face, and it seemed as if his heart stood still, and could never recover its power. It is difficult to conceive of a keener torment – a more excruciating agony than that which is produced by the awakening – the sudden bringing to life of a long-buried hope. The extremes of joy and pain are the same, but the culminating point of the latter is reached, when doubt – almost and yet not quite uncertainty– is a part of the former. It is impossible for a human being to quietly bear it. Relief must be found in some direction, or the sufferer's reason will flee.
The painful affliction of Abbot and his wife was known to the entire settlement, and they had the heartfelt sympathy of every one. It was believed by all that the wife was dying of a broken heart. She was silent and remained at home, seeking the society of no one. She had become pale and fearfully emaciated, seeming resigned and anxious for the death that was so fast approaching. Her only desire was to rejoin her sainted child, where no murderer's hand could ever separate them.
After the father had, in some degree, regained command of himself, he passed out of the house again, without speaking to his wife, and made his way back to where a knot of the settlers were discussing the all-absorbing question. Here he found with painful joy– for those two words express exactly his emotion – that the belief was quite general that Marian might possibly be alive and a prisoner among the Indians.
"I tell you it won't be the fust time such a thing has happened," remarked Dingle impressively, "there's no tellin' what capers them Shawnees are up to. In course, there's a powerful heap of chances that the gal has gone under, but h'yer's as thinks it ain't noways onpossible that the gal is kickin' yet. Now, Jim Peterson, tell the truth for once; is you sartin that gal died when you dropped her on the boat? Mind you're on your oath."
"No, by the eternal, I don't know she is dead, though I'd swear to it, on the Bible this minute."
"Wall, sir, h'yer's is goin' to the Shawnee towns and findin' out whether that gal is livin'."
"But," persisted Abbot, who seemed determined to receive no false basis for his hope, "how can she be there? Have you not been to all the towns, and had an opportunity of judging. You certainly would have heard of her before this time."
"No; I don't know as I would. Them Shawnees ar' all the time up to such tricks that no one can begin to keep track of 'em. Freeze me, and Lord bless you, man, I don't want to make you think I am going to find your gal for you and then have her dead all the time. You must be ready for disappointment."
"I am ready for anything, I trust," faintly replied Abbot, who felt that he could not survive such a cruel dashing of the cup of hope from his lips.
CHAPTER XIII.
DARK
The excitement in relation to the Frontier Angel and the lost Marian, was greatly increased by two circumstances, that occurred on the day following the return of Peterson. It had been determined, as the reader has already learned, by Dingle, that he should start to the Shawnee towns in search of tidings of Marian. In this dangerous undertaking it was agreed that Peterson should join him. The latter, having undergone considerable toil and fatigue, was compelled to remain over night by the commander, in order to be prepared for what was before him.
Shortly after the sun had risen, and while the two scouts were preparing to start upon their expedition, the sentinel on the platform of the block-house reported an Indian canoe visible, far up the Ohio. The scouts including Abbot, Mansfield, Jenkins, and several others instantly ascended the platform to view the suspicious object. It was at a great distance – so great that it resembled a duck, or something similar, slowly swimming the river. It was not crossing, as first supposed, but coming down stream, and would if it continued, pass by the settlement.
"Hello!" exclaimed Dingle, "there comes another one right behind it. What does that mean? Looks qu'ar I declar'."
Our friends continued gazing at the two canoes now visible with an intense interest. The last one had just rounded a bend in the river, and followed in the wake of the first. Whether it was in pursuit or not was impossible to tell at the great distance; but, if so, their progress was so similar, that they seemed like moving automata, connected with each other under the water, and propelled by the same power. They kept the center of the current, in a direct line with each other, and moved steadily and rapidly as could be easily seen even at the distance they were away. They did not swerve a foot from a straight line, as seemingly anxious were they to hurry forward.
"Can't you make anything of it?" asked Mansfield.
"I can see their paddles shinin' in the water," replied Dingle, "and – I – think – " he added, speaking slowly with his eyes fixed upon the canoes – "I think – yes, – I know there is only one in the first boat and there is – yes, two in the last. It is a race, sure as thunder!" he exclaimed, standing and looking around upon the others.
"Perhaps only a friendly one, between a couple of Indian canoes," suggested Abbot.
"We don't have such races on the 'Hio this time of year," replied the ranger with a quiet smile.
It was certainly singular that the same suspicion should enter the heads of all at the same time, and yet not one mention it, until it grew into a certainty. All continued watching the canoes, until it was evident that one person was pursued by a couple, and that the race was a most determined one upon both sides.
"Freeze me to death on a stump!" suddenly exclaimed Peterson, "if that person in the first canoe ain't that Frontier Angel, then shoot me!"
"That's so," added Dingle, "and the one as is chasin' of her is our old friend Mr. McGable and an Injin!"
Several, as said, had entertained suspicions that the mysterious Frontier Angel was in the first canoe, but not one, save Dingle, had any idea that it could be the notorious renegade in pursuit. Even as it was, the commander of the post refused to believe he would venture so soon within sight of the block-house.
"It's him," continued the ranger with complete assurance, "I never was mistaken 'bout him, you can bet a powerful heap on that."
"If so, you are standing here and going to see our best friend captured," said the commander in a tone of severe rebuke.
"She ain't agwine to be captured," coolly replied Dingle. "I guess McGable and his Shawnee will have to take a few instructions in rowing of the canoe, afore they'll stand a chance to cotch the Frontier Angel."
"Can he not shoot her?" asked the commander more sternly than before. "Dingle, you and Peterson hurry into the wood to her assistance, for she will need it. Shoot that McGable, and I will give each of you twenty pounds a piece, besides reporting you to the general."
"He can shoot," said Dingle to himself. "Come, boys, let's hurry. We orter started long ago, and we might've stood some chance. He can kill her now ef he takes a notion afore we can draw bead on him."
The two, accompanied by Mansfield, hurried out to the gate, were permitted to pass out by a man stationed there, and away they sped across the clearing and into the wood, as fast as their legs could carry them.
"Foller me!" called Dingle, ducking his head and plunging through the bushes with a wonderful celerity, while Mansfield and Peterson strung along behind him with equal fleetness.
In the meantime, those upon the platform were watching the canoe with intense and painful interest.
"The old rapscallion is gainin' on the beautiful angel," remarked Jenkins, excitedly. "Oh, if I was only where I could get my grasp on that feller's throat, I'd choke him to death in five seconds! Oh! oh! oh! wouldn't I?"
"No; I do not think he has gained at all upon her," remarked Abbot. "At any rate, the race cannot be continued much longer, for they will soon be nigh enough to run into danger. If we could only hit them with the swivel," he added, looking toward the commander.
The latter shook his head.
"The swivel is only to be used in cases of great emergency. We did not use it when the Shawnees made the night attack, because we could get along without its aid. Besides, it is not loaded with a single ball, but filled with slugs, bullets, and bits of iron, so as to do as much destruction as possible upon an enemy nigh at hand. No; the firing of the swivel, however well aimed, could effect no good purpose."
"I wonder at the presumption and daring of McGable," said Abbot, turning his gaze once more up the river. "They say he only differs from Simon Girty in point of cowardice. His heart is as black, but his face is often white with fear. But this looks like bravery, to see him venture so nigh the spot which he knows is so dangerous to him."
"He won't come much nigher. I only hope that Dingle will get him within range of that rifle of his. It is all folly to undertake to capture him. If we should secure him, he would manage to get off again through the help of that fool of a Jenkins."
The commander did not notice that the individual he referred to stood directly behind, and was gazing completely dumbfounded at him. Had he known it, he would not have cared, for the thought of the foolish escape of the renegade was ever a source of irritation to him, and he took no pains to conceal his opinion of Jenkins' cowardice. But this was the first time the latter had heard him speak thus, and, as said, he was astonished in no small degree.
"Why, didn't I tell you how it was? how the Old Boy carried him off, and I fought like blazes to stop him, but happened to have one of my fainting fits just then. Think you'd believe a feller when he tells the truth."
"I do," dryly rejoined the commander.
"I tell you," said Abbot, excitedly, "if McGable comes much further he will surely run against Dingle's bullet. He is so eager he does not seem to notice where he is running to. Look how that Shawnee pulls!"
"And they are gaining upon her as sure as the world. She is wearied and well-nigh tired out. Heavens! it is too much to stand here and witness that," exclaimed the commander, half beside himself. "Why, in the name of heaven, don't Dingle shoot him? He would have been nigh enough if he had only walked. I cannot comprehend it!"
"Look! McGable is going to shoot!"
"It cannot be – yes – "
At that instant, a bright flash was seen to flame out in the front of the rear canoe, a thin wreath of smoke curled upward, and a moment after, the faint report of the renegade's rifle was heard.
"Is she hit? Curse it, where is Dingle?" exclaimed the commander, fidgeting and moving about as though unable to contain himself.
"She is wounded, but not killed. See! she is coming in to shore."
The canoe of the Frontier Angel was now hurrying in toward the Kentucky shore, swiftly followed by that of the renegade. She had approached so nigh as to be hidden to the view of those at the block-house, but was still at a considerable distance. It was at this moment that the Indian accompanying McGable dropped his paddle, rose to his feet, and had the gun already at his shoulder, when two simultaneous reports were heard, and he threw his arms wildly over his head and sprang headlong into the river, upsetting the canoe at the same time. McGable, who was a most excellent swimmer, dove deep and came up a long way from the canoe, whose bottom formed a black spot on the surface. His head hardly appeared before it sank again, and Dingle and Peterson really believed he was drowning. But it was only a feint of the wary wretch. His head was descried still farther down-stream, when it finally disappeared altogether. But, after a while, he was seen to rise too far away to be within rifle-range, and walked away in the forest.
The reason of his escaping all the shots of the whites was this. In the hurry of departure, Mansfield had never once thought of taking his rifle with him, so that there were really but two shots. Dingle and Peterson had hurried to their utmost, notwithstanding the remark of the commander, who was not so situated as to be able rightly to judge of duration. Upon coming in view, they both raised their guns together and took aim at the form of the renegade. That instant the savage rose and aimed at the Frontier Angel. His immediate death could only save her; there was no time for consultation, so that one might accomplish this. The danger was too imminent, and, naturally enough, they both fired together. The canoe instantly upset, and the skillful manner in which the renegade effected his own escape has already been shown.
Our three friends remained watching for his reappearance, until it was made at a great distance down-stream. This, of course, was a considerable time after the shooting of the Indian, and during the interval their attention had never once been directed to the Frontier Angel. Now, as they turned to look for her, she was nowhere to be seen. Remembering the point toward which she was hastening, they searched along the shore, and, at last, found her canoe, pulled high upon the bank and secreted beneath the bushes, but there were no signs of her. A careful examination of the canoe and the ground around, failed to show the least sign of blood, so that they were compelled to the joyful belief that she had escaped the shot of McGable without being even wounded.
How this could be, the two rangers were at a loss to tell, for the renegade was so close at hand, and the object was so well-presented, that even an ordinary marksman could scarcely have failed.
"That settles the matter," said Dingle, compressing his lips and shaking his head; "that's the second time he's tried to kill her and couldn't do it. I s'pose some will say she ain't a sperit now – but you needn't tell Dick Dingle so."
"Nor Jim Peterson," added that individual himself.
"There ain't even a trail of her, and she ain't nowhere about h'yer– she's gone up, she has. You might shoot at her all day, and not hurt her. H'yers as don't undertake any such foolery as to warn her – 'cause why? thar ain't no need of it. She ain't in danger, and never was or will be."
"Wonder why she don't kill that devil McGable?" remarked Peterson, leaning on his rifle and gazing meditatively down the river.
"She'll give it to him awful 'fore he gets through – see ef she don't. His time ain't come yet."
Some further time was spent in similar remarks, when the three set out for the block-house. It was the intention of Dingle and Peterson to start for the Shawnee towns, but the commander instructed them to remain over until the next morning, when, if nothing unusual happened, they would be allowed to pursue their journey. The rangers were not very unwilling to this, as the sky gave appearance of another storm, and the adventure with McGable had its effect upon them.
The morrow came, but the rangers went not, and it was ordered that they never should again.
