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CHAPTER XIV.
THE ATTACK IN THE WOOD

The storm which threatened during the afternoon broke forth toward night and raged until morning. Little rain fell, but the wind was terrific, as it howled around the settlement and screamed through the forest. What rain fell came almost horizontally, and rattled like hailstones against the cabins.

All night long the dim, yellow light burned in the block-house, and the shadowy form of a shivering sentinel was never absent from the platform. It was such a night as to make one relish the comforts of a shelter. Chilly, windy, and dismal without, it was all light and sunshine within. A huge fire of hickory logs was roaring in the fireplace, lighting up the bronzed faces of the hunters and rangers without the aid of the torch that smoked further back in the room. Now and then the men were furnished with drinks of whisky, and their spirits were light and jovial. Dingle and Peterson were there, relating and listening to stories as usual, and "all went merry as a marriage-bell."

Little apprehension of an attack was felt, as the late repulse had taught the Indians a lesson which they could not but heed. The shivering sentinel paced his walk, slowly and gloomily, while the keen wind whistled round his ears. As he heard the merry laugh of those within, he breathed more than one earnest prayer that the time would hurry by and bring a relief to take his place. He could not be said to keep a very vigilant watch, as the darkness was so intense as to prevent; and when the windy rain was hurtled in his face, he felt more like covering it up with his great cloak than in peering toward the hoarse, soughing wilderness. He had first whistled a tune, then hummed it, and was now counting his steps, to pass away the time. He had calculated the number of turns he should be compelled to make before his watch would be up, and was now noting by this means the minutes as they slipped away.

His watch extended from nine o'clock until midnight. About half of it had transpired, and he was completely absorbed in enumerating his steps, when he was brought to a sudden stand-still, and felt a thrilling chill creep over him, as a voice, faint and suppressed, but yet distinct and clear, called out from the direction of the clearing:

"Hello there?"

The sentinel stopped abruptly and looked in the direction from which the voice came. Once, it seemed, the outlines of a man was discernible, but it was only an illusion. He reflected that it might be an artifice, and hesitated before replying. "It's like enough he wants to find out where I stand, and then blaze away. However, I'll fix it so that I can answer him."

Leaning himself as much as possible behind the protection of the platform, he called out:

"What's wanting out there?"

"Admittance; I am half frozen to death. Will you let me in?"

"You must wait till morning, my dear sir."

"But I will perish. Have you a man in the fort named Jim Peterson?"

"Yes; what of it?"

"Call him; he will admit me if you will not."

"I don't know about that. Who are you?"

"Tell him Madison Drake wishes to see him."

The sentinel was too wary to leave his post. He suspected that this was a stratagem of the man to attack the gates; and yet, he reflected, that if he was innocent of any evil design, it was not right that he should be denied shelter. The commander had given imperative orders that no one should unfasten the gates after nightfall. So the sentinel adopted an artifice. He answered that he would call Peterson, and, at the same moment opened and closed the door. But he shut himself upon the outside, and remained a few moments listening. Hearing nothing, he concluded it was no risk to call the ranger. Accordingly he partly opened the door, put his head in quickly, and said in a loud tone:

"Peterson, there is a man named Madison Drake out here who wants to see you."

Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of Peterson it could not have startled him more. He was in the midst of a story, all life and animation, when the gruff words of the sentinel broke in so abruptly upon him. And yet it was not the words alone, but the name pronounced that so affected him, for Jim Peterson would have taken his solemn oath that that man was killed months before. He was sure of it, and what could the sentinel mean by breaking in upon them with such intelligence? He looked around upon the faces all turned expectantly toward him, waiting for the remainder of his story. He believed he must have been mistaken.

"What did that feller say?" he asked, looking half ashamed at asking the question.

"He said there was a man named Drake who wanted to see you. What makes you look so scared, Jim; I hope you don't owe him anything."

"Wal, by the eternal, that gits my time. Ef that man's alive, then I'll swear that men don't die now-a-days unless they want to."

"Why, what's up now?" asked Dingle.

"Don't you remember that name?" asked Peterson, turning towards our hero.

"I was just thinking I had heard it somewhere."

"Wal, sir, he was on the flat-boat with me when all was killed 'cepting me. Yes, sir."

Peterson shook his head meaningly and slapped his hand upon his knee as he uttered these words:

"Like enough it's him," said Dingle, "Freeze me to death, if you can tell what's goin' to happen now-a-days."

"It may be a decoy of McGable," added the commander. "It is unnecessary to caution you, Peterson. Nevertheless, I will accompany you."

The two went out on the platform. The wind was so strong as to nearly lift them off their feet, and the darkness so great that they barely discerned the form of the sentinel beside them.

"Where is he?" asked the commander.

"He will speak in a minute."

They listened, and finally the suffering man called out:

"Hello there, sentinel; hain't Peterson come out yet?"

"Yes, here I am; what do you want?" replied and asked the ranger.

"Don't you know me, Peterson? Don't you remember Madison Drake who was on the flat-boat with you?"

"Yes; but the one I knowed war killed that night. Be you him?"

"I am he. I was not killed, although well-nigh so. But, if you will not admit me, I will not live long, as I am nearly perished now."

"Have patience, Drake, a few minutes and I will see about it."

"Do you believe he is not trying to deceive us?" asked the commander, in a low tone.

"That's his voice – I'd swear to it 'mong ten thousand. But I'll swear, too, that he has been killed once!"

"Fudge! Jim, you ain't such a fool as that? Go down and let him in, if you ain't afraid. Remember what I said and be careful."

The ranger, without a word, turned and made his way downward. As he passed out toward the gate, it was not without considerable misgivings and a hearty wish that matters and things in general would not take it into their head to assume such mysterious and inexplicable a form to him. He had no fear of anything mortal, but he would have rather faced a dozen yelling Shawnees than the ghostly apparition which he believed was waiting for him upon the outside.

"Where'n thunder ar' you?" he demanded spitefully as he approached the gate.

"Here, just on the outside, half chilled to death," was the reply from the rattling teeth of the sufferer.

"Sure there ain't no reds about as ar' goin' to try to dodge in atween your legs?"

"No, no; and in Heaven's name, how much longer are you going to keep me here?"

"Wal, you needn't be so cross 'bout it."

With these words, Peterson cautiously unbarred the gate, and opened a small space. Instantly, a cold, wet skeleton-apparition glided through and stood trembling beside him.

"How are you, Jim? You don't appear glad to see me," it said, pushing a cold, bony hand toward him.

"Just wait – wait till I fasten this gate and then I'll go up to the block-house with you," replied the ranger, working at the massive bolts, and at the same time, glancing furtively over his shoulder, at what he believed to be a veritable ghost beside him.

"Now, give us your hand, Jim, for, if ever a white man was glad to see another, I am glad to see you: Jeh-u-u-u! ain't it cold?" exclaimed the apparition desperately, as a regular spasmodic shock shook him, and apparently ejected the words in a most unceremonious hurry from his rattling teeth. Peterson could not refuse the proffered hand; but, as he took it, he felt a cold chill crawl, from the finger ends of the ghost, up through his arms, clean to the crown of his head where it seemed to halt, gather in a big mass, and then separating into a number of arrowy needles, shoot through every part of his system, even contracting his very toes.

"How —how'r yer – 'tis cold – let's go in," he said, turning toward the block-house, and walking hurriedly away.

We should like to know whether any of our readers have been in a situation, where their greatest desire has been to get ahead as fast as possible, and yet they felt ashamed to either look behind them, or to increase their gait. If they have, they can appreciate the peculiar sensations of the really brave-hearted Peterson. Imagine yourself, on a dark night, when within a few rods of your own door, where you know your friends are peering into the darkness in expectation of your momentary arrival – we say imagine that, just at that moment, you hear a footfall behind you! You start and your heart commences to throb, and you hastily debate whether it is best to walk unconcernedly along, as though such a thing as fear never entered your head, or to glance behind you, and break into a regular run for the door. But ridicule, more potent than fear, prevents you, and you walk, it is true, a little faster, but as you push open the door, you cannot help shoving yourself in rather hurriedly, as your friends judge.

It was with feelings somewhat similar to these, that Peterson walked toward the block-house, his unwelcome visitor stalking after him.

"H'yer we is," he exclaimed, as he ushered him into the warm glowing room of the block-house, where the hardy backwoodsmen sat conversing.

"A dismal night, gentlemen," said Drake, bowing to the men, and approaching the fire, against which he turned his back and gazed composedly at the men. "A reg'lar snorter this night is; thought I'd freeze to death. Jeh-u-u-u! that fire feels good. But I can't blame you for your tardiness and suspicion in such times as these. Though Mad Anthony has taught the Indians manners, it seems that they forget them once in a while."

The hunters were not men to sit silent and unsocial when a stranger claimed their hospitality. They saw it was no ghost, but a veritable flesh and blood human being who stood before them. He was a tall, cadaverous-looking man, his face all hair and eyes, and yet his voice showed him to be a good-natured gentleman. His garments were soaked with water, which slowly dropped from his ragged shirt, and every turn of his clothes, and steamed constantly from them on account of his proximity to the fire. He was without weapons of any kind. Without waiting as long as it has taken us to introduce this description, the commander replied:

"A cold and dismal night indeed. Let me give you something to warm you within, for it is plain you need it."

"Thank you," replied Drake, taking the proffered cup of raw whiskey and swallowing it. "No more, thank you. I feel considerably better now."

"Why, Drake, that is you," suddenly exclaimed Peterson; "give us your hand and tell us how you are getting along."

"Ha! ha! has it taken you all this time to discover my identity? I thought you acted strangely when you admitted me into the gate."

"I own up, Mat, I took you for a spook, and it goes hard yet to think as how it is you standin' thar lookin' so jolly, when the last I seed of you, you had knocked under. Come, you've got warmed up a little, let's hear how it was."

"Well. I will."

And thereupon, the new-comer related his experience, which may be summed up briefly, as follows:

This Madison Drake, as the reader has probably suspected, was one of the number on the flat-boat, whose sad fate was related at the commencement of this work. When the Shawnees made their rush upon it, he, with all the rest, was too bewildered to offer the slightest resistance. He remembered seeing Peterson spring overboard, and attempted to follow him; but he was not soon enough to escape a terrible blow from an Indian's tomahawk. As he descended into the water, his wound rendered him perfectly crazy, and, without knowing it, he swam in to the Ohio shore. Here he was immediately seized by several savages, who made no attempt to offer him further injury. After the massacre was completed, the Indians assembled upon the bank, and the others then noticed his presence. But, instead of killing him, a strange whim possessed them to spare his life. He was too frightened to utter a complaint about the horrible wound in his back, as he knew it would be relieved only by death. They traveled all night and most of the next day without halting. After a time, they reached the Shawnee towns in the Sciota Valley, where he had remained a prisoner until the day before. An opportunity had then offered of escaping, which he instantly seized. He knew the location of the settlement and made all haste toward it, where, as shown, he effected his arrival.

All listened breathlessly to this recital. Before he had fairly finished, Peterson asked:

"Are you the only one, Mat, 'ceptin' me that got off?"

"I am the only one."

"Are you sure? Did you ever hear anything of Marian?"

"I am sure I am the only person the Indians took from that boat."

"But, I follered them that night and part of the next day, and I didn't see nothin' of you, and you might seen nothin' of her."

"Our party just after starting, separated and did not reunite until just before we reached the Shawnee towns. You followed the wrong one. You might easily have done this, as both parties were large. No; do not hope that Marian or any one besides us had escaped, I could not have helped knowing it."

"That settles the matter, then," said the commander, "we will tell Abbot, in the morning. Poor man! I pity him and his wife."

"Is he here?" asked Drake, "I do pity him then; it was a hard blow for him."

"But, I have heard," continued the commander, who saw that Mansfield was painfully affected, "that there was a female captive among them."

"Yes; there was one; but she was captured from a settler on the Virginia frontier. Poor creature! she died long ago from her sufferings. But, friends, you will excuse me I trust. I have had a hard run for freedom; and, if you have no objections, I will now turn in for the night."

"Certainly; let me help you to another snifter, to make you sleep soundly."

Drake did not refuse the offered drink. At it was now late, the sentinel was called in, another sent to take his place, and those within stretched themselves out upon the floor, where, wrapped in their blankets, they were soon oblivious to external things.

All excepting Mansfield, who sat listening to the howling wind without, and gazing into the glowing embers with feelings which we shall not attempt to describe.

When the morning broke, the slumberers were astir. The storm cleared off toward daybreak, and the sun came out bright and cold. Mansfield, who had not slept one moment, arose and took himself toward Abbot's house with a heavy, painful heart. Deeming that it would be a relief to his wife to hear his intelligence, he introduced it before them both, stating what Drake had said and that there could now be no room for further hope. It would be presumption, they all felt, to entertain the slightest hope that Marian could still be living.

"I have cherished no hope of again seeing her on earth," said the mother. "I thank my heavenly Father that I am satisfied now that she was killed outright. I have nothing now to do but to wait until He calls me to rejoin her."

"Let us go patiently at work, dear wife," said Abbot. "It is a relief to know that she was killed at once. It was a bitter cup for us to drink, but we have swallowed the bitterest portion. I thank God for this intelligence. And, you, Russel, is this a relief to you?"

"Yes," he faintly answered, turning his head away.

And so the hope which had been exhumed and fanned into a feeble life died again and was now reburied.

The expedition of search by the rangers for Marian, of course was now given up. It was still their determination to capture McGable, but the attempt was reluctantly deferred until a few months later, when it was rightly judged the caution of the renegade would be worn off, and an opportunity would present itself.

It was decided by a number of settlers to spend most of the time in the wood, felling trees. It was necessary to collect a large quantity of fuel, – besides it was in contemplation to erect one or two cabins. This was one of the duties, devolving upon the settlement, which was always dangerous, and yet one that must be done sooner or later.

So, a company of men numbering over a dozen, including Abbot, Mansfield, and Peterson, passed through the gate, across the clearing, each bearing a rifle and an ax. It was quite early in the forenoon; therefore they calculated upon doing a good day's work.

The spot selected for their operations, was three or four hundred yards from the clearing. Here they stacked their rifles and scattered themselves in such a manner, that the weapons would be safe from the reach of any foe, and commenced their labors right merrily. The clear ring of their axes, the fall of the trees like a rumble of thunder, and the shout and song, could be heard at the block-house and settlement.

They wrought vigorously until noon when they ceased, and seating themselves upon the fallen trees, partook of the lunch they had brought with them. They sat close together, joking and laughing, their faces all aglow with good-humor and exercise. The meal was finished, and several of the men had risen to recommence their labors, when a crashing in the undergrowth was heard, and the next moment the Frontier Angel burst in upon them, her arms outstretched, her hair flying, her eyes all agleam, and her whole appearance that of a raving lunatic.

"Quick! quick!" she exclaimed; "fly! he is coming! he is coming with a lot of Indians! No – you can't reach the fort – they are on that side of you! Take your guns quick! they are going to kill you all!"

Hardly were her words finished, before each man had seized his rifle, and stood waiting the orders of some one of their number.

"Get down between these two trees – I hear their tread!" commanded Mansfield, whose ears, quickened to supernatural strength, distinctly caught their tramp through the forest. "Hurry, boys, they're here!"

At the same instant he bounded over the fallen tree beside him, followed by all of the men, when, in a twinkling, they were so disposed that nothing but their heads and rifle-barrels were visible. Then, as they looked for the foe, they saw with horror that the Frontier Angel was still standing as if transfixed upon the same spot where she had uttered her warning.

"Fly, for God's sake!" exclaimed Mansfield, springing to his feet, and excitedly waving his hand toward her. "Fly, for your life, Frontier Angel! There they come!"

As he spoke she turned to flee, and, at the same moment, the sharp crack of a rifle was heard. She gave a scream, swung her arms wildly over her head and staggered further into the wood, where she was concealed from view. The woodman had no time to follow her, for immediately there was heard a rushing, and, as the bushes parted, near a score of Indians, led by McGable, bounded into the opening. As they caught sight of the settlers, they poured a deadly volley in upon them, whose fearful effect was told by more than one yell of agony.

"Now charge, boys!" exclaimed Mansfield, springing over the log and dashing straight at the yelling savages. There was an electric power in his words that thrilled every heart, and they charged with such enthusiasm after their gallant leader, that it was irresistible. The Indians were unprepared for any such movement. When nigh enough to touch them with their gun-muzzles, every rifle of the whites was discharged, and then swung over their heads.

"At them!" shouted Mansfield; "don't spare one!"

The rifles came down with murderous force, and, for a few moments, one of the fiercest hand-to-hand contests raged. But the number of the whites, after their discharge, was fully equal to the savages, and their fury could not be withstood. The Indians, in a short time, broke and scattered in the wood, and the panting whites suddenly gazed into each other's faces as they saw there was no foe left to encounter.

"Have they fled?" asked Mansfield, in astonishment.

"Not one is left – all are killed or fled! Any of us slain?"

"Yes; I heard some one groan when we started."

The whites turned back to the logs where they had first sheltered themselves; here they found two of their number dead, both having received a bullet through the brain, while several others had been given severe cuts.

A moment after, a dozen more men arrived from the block-house. They had heard the firing in the wood, and had been instantly dispatched by the commander; but their help was not needed, as not a foe was left, so signal had been the repulse. But, for the timely warning of the Frontier Angel, a most fearful massacre must have taken place. Several of the settlers picked up the two dead men and carried them to the settlement, as the commander had instructed them to return the minute they could. Mansfield, Peterson, Dingle, and Jenkins (the latter having come with the reinforcement) remained behind. Four Shawnees lay doubled up in death, while a fifth was rolling, and clutching, and flinging the leaves in his agony. Shortly, to the relief of all, death put him out of his misery.

"Who was killed?" asked Peterson.

"Smith and Thompson," replied Mansfield.

"Both single men; it is good for them that they have no women or children to mourn 'em. We've straightened out five of them, besides hacking a few more. By gracious, isn't that McGable h'yer? Ef I didn't hit him, then I'll never shoot agin," asked Peterson.

"He appears to have escaped. What is to be done with these dead Indians?"

"Why, leave 'em h'yer for the varmint, after we raises thar ha'r."

"In Heaven's name, Peterson, you are not going to do that?"

"I reckon I is. Eh, Dick?"

"In course, we must have their top-knots," replied Dingle, producing his hunting-knife.

"You are as much a savage as they are," said Mansfield, turning his back upon the sickening scene.

The two rangers were not to be deterred from scalping the Indians, although they had enough respect for the feelings of Mansfield, to go through the disgusting operation without their usual remark and braggadocio.

"They'd 've been glad to 've done that same thing for us," said Peterson.

"Freeze me," said Dingle, "if I don't believe thar is more of 'em round h'yer. S'posen we take a look? Jenkins, look through the bushes thar by you."

All, including Mansfield, now commenced searching the wood to see whether any of their number had crawled away to die in secret. Jenkins had beat about but a few minutes, when he exclaimed:

"Come here, quick! there's somebody under this bush! Just hear him groan!"

All hastened thither; and, as Dingle pulled aside the bush, the white, ghastly face of the renegade McGable was seen turned toward them.

"I thought I'd give you your last sickness," said Peterson, with a shocking want of feeling.

"Oh! let me alone, I am dying!" wailed the miserable wretch.

All feelings except pity left the heart of Mansfield, as he saw the poor man in his last moments. He hastily ran back, and, seizing an ax, cut away the bushes around him, so that the air could reach him. It was then seen that he had received the bullet of Peterson in his side. He was leaning upon his elbow, spitting blood, while his hands closed rigidly over the wound, and the blood oozed through them and pattered upon the leaves beneath.

"Can I do anything for you?" asked Mansfield, kneeling down beside him and opening his hunting-shirt.

"Oh, no! I can't live long. I deserve to die, but I don't want to. I thought – "

He paused as the blood in his throat choked him. Peterson and Dingle were both touched by his misery, and silently withdrew, followed shortly by Jenkins. Mansfield saw that he was alone, and determined to do his duty to the dying man.

"McGable, you are dying, it is true. Put away now all thoughts of this world, and turn your heart toward the hereafter. Your sins are great, but there is a God whose mercy is sufficient for everything."

"Do not talk of God and mercy to me," said the man with a look so full of horrible torment, that Mansfield shuddered to his very soul. "The day of mercy has passed with me. A thousand years could not atone for the crimes I have committed. If you can forgive me, Mansfield – "

"I forgive you all, and so does Abbot – fear nothing of that."

"I have harmed you and him more than you have dreamed. Oh! this wound! Can you not stay the flow?"

McGable removed his hand as he spoke, and before Mansfield could stanch it, such a quantity of blood spouted forth, that the miserable man fainted. The forgiving man bandaged it as well as he was able, and presently the sufferer revived.

"I have harmed you more than you suspect," he said, faintly, turning his dark eyes, all woe and misery, to him.

"You have not. What do you mean?"

"Marian!"

"How? – what? – McGable, you will not refuse me now."

"Mansfield, in a few minutes, you will have seen a monster die. Let me adjure you to remember it to your last breath. The pain of my wound is nothing to what I suffer in spirit. The awful torment is unutterable – "

"But what of Marian?" gently reminded Mansfield.

"Marian is – " muttered the man dropping his head back on Mansfield's arm and gasping for breath, "Marian was not killed on the flat-boat that night!"

"What do you say?" fairly shrieked our hero, believing that his mind was wandering.

"Marian was not killed that night! – but I killed her! – I see her angel face now! – Oh! is this death?"

The renegade McGable was dead!