The Spirit of the Border and the Last Trail (15 page)

This outburst from their usually kind leader placed the earnest but awkward gentlemen in a terrible plight.

On the afternoon following the crisis Heckewelder took Mr. Wells to one of the Indian shops, and Jim and Nell went canoeing. Young and Edwards, after conferring for one long, trying hour, determined on settling the question.

Young was a pale, slight man, very homely except when he smiled. His smile not only broke up the plainness of his face, but seemed to chase away a serious shadow, allowing his kindly, gentle spirit to shine through. He was nervous, and had a timid manner. Edwards was his opposite, being a man of robust frame, with a heavy face, and a manner that would have suggested self-confidence in another man.

They were true and tried friends.

“Dave, I couldn't ask her,” said Young, trembling at the very thought. “Besides, there's no hope for me, I know it. That's why I'm afraid, why I don't want to ask her. What'd such a glorious creature see in a poor, puny little thing like me?”

“George, you're not over-handsome,” admitted Dave, shaking his head. “But you can never tell about women. Sometimes they like even little, insignificant fellows. Don't be too scared about asking her. Besides, it will make it easier for me. You might tell her—about me—you know, sort of feel her out, so I'd——”

Dave's voice failed him here; but he had said enough, and that was most discouraging to poor George. Dave was so busy screwing up his courage that he forgot all about his friend.

“No; I couldn't,” gasped George, falling into a chair. He was ghastly pale. “I couldn't ask her to accept me, let alone do another man's wooing. She thinks more of you. She'll accept you.”

“You really think so?” whispered Dave, nervously.

“I know she will. You're such a fine, big figure of a man. She'll take you, and I'll be glad. This fever and fretting has about finished me. When she's yours I'll not be so bad. I'll be happy in your happiness. But, Dave, you'll let me see her occasionally, won't you? Go! Hurry—get it over!”

“Yes; we must have it over,” replied Dave, getting up with a brave effort. Truly, if he carried that determined front to his lady love he would look like a masterful lover. But when he got to the door he did not at all resemble a conqueror.

“You're sure she—cares for me?” asked Dave, for the hundredth time. This time, as always, his friend was faithful and convincing.

“I know she does. Go—hurry. I tell you I can't stand this any longer,” cried George, pushing Dave out of the door.

“You won't go—first?” whispered Dave, clinging to the door.

“I won't go at all. I couldn't ask her—I don't want her—go! Get out!”

Dave started reluctantly toward the adjoining cabin, from the open window of which came the song of the young woman who was responsible for all this trouble. George flung himself on his bed. What a relief to feel it was all over! He lay there with eyes shut for hours, as it seemed. After a time Dave came in. George leaped to his feet and saw his friend stumbling over a chair. Somehow, Dave did not look as usual. He seemed changed, or shrunken, and his face wore a discomfited, miserable expression.

“Well?” cried George, sharply. Even to his highly excited imagination this did not seem the proper condition for a victorious lover.

“She refused—refused me,” faltered Dave. “She was very sweet and kind; said something about being my sister—I don't remember just what—but she wouldn't have me.”

“What did you say to her?” whispered George, a paralyzing hope almost rendering him speechless.

“I—I told her everything I could think of,” replied Dave, despondently; “even what you said.”

“What I said? Dave, what did you tell her I said?”

“Why, you know—about she cared for me—that you were sure of it, and that you didn't want her——”

“Jackass!”
roared George, rising out of his meekness like a lion from slumber.

“Didn't you—say so?” inquired Dave, weakly.

“No! No! No! Idiot!”

As one possessed, George rushed out of the cabin, and a moment later stood disheveled and frantic before Kate.

“Did that fool say I didn't love you!” he demanded.

Kate looked up, startled; but as an understanding of George's wild aspect and wilder words dawned upon her, she resumed her usual calm demeanor. Looking again to see if this passionate young man was indeed George, she turned her face as she said:

“If you mean Mr. Edwards, yes; I believe he did say as much. Indeed, from his manner he seemed to have monopolized all the love near the Village of Peace.”

“But it's not true. I
do
love you. I love you to distraction. I have loved you ever since I first saw you. I told Dave that. Heckewelder knows it; even the Indians know it,” cried George, protesting vehemently against the disparaging allusion to his affections. He did not realize he was making a most impassioned declaration of love. When he was quite out of breath he sat down and wiped his moist brow.

A pink bloom tinged Kate's cheeks, and her eyes glowed with a happy light; but George never saw these womanly evidences of pleasure.

“Of course I know you don't care for me——”

“Did Mr. Edwards tell you so?” asked Kate, glancing up quickly.

“Why, yes, he has often said he thought that. Indeed, he always seemed to regard himself as the fortunate object of your affections. I always believed he was.”

“But it wasn't true.”

“What?”

“It's not true.”

“What's not true?”

“Oh—about my—not caring.”

“Kate!” cried George, quite overcome with rapture. He fell over two chairs getting to her; but he succeeded, and fell on his knees to kiss her hand.

“Foolish boy! It has been you all the time,” whispered Kate, with her quiet smile.

*   *   *

“Look here, Downs; come to the door. See there,” said Heckewelder to Jim.

Somewhat surprised at Heckewelder's grave tone, Jim got up from the supper table and looked out of the door. He saw two tall Indians pacing to and fro under the maples. It was still early twilight, and light enough to see clearly. One Indian was almost naked; the lithe, graceful symmetry of his dark figure standing out in sharp contrast to the gaunt, gaudily costumed form of the other.

“Silvertip! Girty!” exclaimed Jim, in a low voice.

“Girty I knew, of course; but I was not sure the other was the Shawnee who captured you and your brother,” replied Heckewelder, drawing Jim into another room.

“What do they mean by loitering around the village?” inquired Jim, apprehensively. Whenever he heard Girty's name mentioned, or even thought of him, he remembered with a shudder the renegade's allusion to the buzzards. Jim never saw one of these carrion birds soaring overhead but his thoughts instantly reverted to the frontier ruffian and his horrible craving.

“I don't know,” answered Heckewelder. “Girty has been here several times of late. I saw him conferring with Pipe at Goshhocking. I hope there's no deviltry afoot. Pipe is a relentless enemy of all Christians, and Girty is a fiend, a hyena. I think, perhaps, it will be well for you and the girls to stay indoors while Girty and Silvertip are in the village.”

That evening the entire missionary party were gathered in Mr. Wells' room. Heckewelder told stories of Indian life, Nell sang several songs, and Kate told of many amusing things said and done by the little Indian boys in her class at the school. Thus the evening passed pleasantly for all.

“So next Wednesday I am to perform the great ceremony,” remarked Heckewelder, laying his hand kindly on Young's knee. “We'll celebrate the first white wedding in the Village of Peace.”

Young looked shyly down at his boots; Edwards crossed one leg over the other, and coughed loudly to hide his embarrassment. Kate wore, as usual, her pensive smile; Nell's eyes twinkled, and she was about to speak, when Heckwelder's quizzical glance in her direction made her lips mute.

“I hope I'll have another wedding on my hands soon,” he said, placidly.

This ordinary remark had an extraordinary effect. Nell turned with burning cheeks and looked out of the window. Jim frowned fiercely and bit his lips. Edwards began to laugh, and even Mr. Wells' serious face lapsed into a smile.

“I mean I've picked out a nice little Delaware squaw for Dave,” said Heckewelder, seeing his badinage had somehow gone amiss.

“Oh-h!” suddenly cried Nell, in shuddering tones.

They all gazed at her in amazement. Every vestige of color had receded from her face, leaving it marblelike. Her eyes were fixed in startled horror. Suddenly she relaxed her grasp on the windowsill and fell back limp and senseless.

Heckewelder ran to the door to look out, while the others bent over the unconscious girl, endeavoring to revive her. Presently a fluttering breath and a quivering of her dark lashes noted a return of suspended life. Then her beautiful eyes opened wide to gaze with wonder and fear into the grave faces bent so anxiously over her.

“Nell, dearest, you are safe. What was it? What frightened you so?” said Kate, tenderly.

“Oh, it was fearful!” gasped Nell, sitting up. She clung to her sister with one hand, while the other grasped Jim's sleeve.

“I was looking out into the dark, when suddenly I beheld a face, a terrible face!” cried Nell. Those who watched her marveled at the shrinking, awful fear in her eyes. “It was right by the window. I could have touched it. Such a greedy, wolfish face, with a long, hooked nose! The eyes, oh! the eyes! I'll never forget them. They made me sick; they paralyzed me. It wasn't an Indian's face. It belonged to that white man, that awful white man! I never saw him before; but I knew him.”

“Girty!” said Heckewelder, who had come in with his quiet step. “He looked in at the window. Calm yourself, Nellie. The renegade has gone.”

The incident worried them all at the time, and made Nell nervous for several days; but as Girty had disappeared, and nothing more was heard of him, gradually they forgot. Kate's wedding day dawned with all the little party well and happy. Early in the afternoon Jim and Nell, accompanied by Kate and her lover, started out into the woods just beyond the clearing for the purpose of gathering wildflowers to decorate the cabin.

“We are both thinking of—him,” Jim said, after he and Nell had walked some little way in silence.

“Yes,” answered Nell, simply.

“I hope—I pray Joe comes back, but if he doesn't—Nell—won't you care a little for me?”

He received no answer. But Nell turned her face away.

“We both loved him. If he's gone forever our very love for him should bring us together. I know—I know he would have wished that.”

“Jim, don't speak of love to me now,” she whispered. Then she turned to the others. “Come quickly; here are great clusters of wild clematis and goldenrod. How lovely! Let us gather a quantity.”

The young men had almost buried the girls under huge masses of the beautiful flowers, when the soft tread of moccasined feet caused them all to turn in surprise. Six savages stood waist-deep in the bushes, where they had lain concealed. Fierce, painted visages scowled from behind leveled rifles.

“Don't yell!” cried a hoarse voice in English. Following the voice came a snapping of twigs, and then two other figures came into view. They were Girty and Silvertip.

“Don't yell, er I'll leave you layin' here fer the buzzards,” said the renegade. He stepped forward and grasped Young, at the same time speaking in the Indian language and pointing to a nearby tree. Strange to relate, the renegade apparently wanted no bloodshed. While one of the savages began to tie Young to the tree, Girty turned his gaze on the girls. His little, yellow eyes glinted; he stroked his chin with a bony hand, and his dark, repulsive face was wreathed in a terrible, meaning smile.

“I've been layin' fer you,” he croaked, eyeing Nell. “Ye're the purtiest lass, 'ceptin' mebbe Bet Zane, I ever seed on the border. I got cheated outen her, but I've got you; arter I feed yer Injun preacher to ther buzzards mebbe ye'll larn to love me.”

Nell gazed one instant into the monster's face. Her terror-stricken eyes were piteous to behold. She tried to speak; but her voice failed. Then, like a stricken bird, she fell on the grass.

 

CHAPTER XIV

 

Not many miles from the Village of Peace rose an irregular chain of hills, the first faint indication of the Appalachian mountain system; these ridges were thickly wooded with white oak, poplar, and hickory, among which a sentinel pine reared here and there its evergreen head. There were clefts in the hills, passes lined by gray-stoned cliffs, below which ran clear brooks, tumbling over rocks in a hurry to meet their majestic father, the Ohio.

One of these valleys, so narrow that the sun seldom brightened the merry brook, made a deep cut in the rocks. The head of this valley tapered until the walls nearly met; it seemed to lose itself in the shade of fern-faced cliffs, shadowed as they were by fir trees leaning over the brink as though to search for secrets of the ravine. So deep and dark and cool was this sequestered nook that here late summer had not dislodged early spring. Everywhere was a soft, fresh, bright green. The old gray cliffs were festooned with ferns, lichens, and moss. Under a great, shelving rock, damp and stained by the copper-colored water dripping down its side, was a dewy dell into which the sunshine had never peeped. Here the swift book tarried lovingly, making a wide turn under the cliff, as though loath to leave this quiet nook, and then leaped once more to enthusiasm in its murmuring flight.

Life abounded in this wild, beautiful, almost inaccessible spot. Little brown and yellow birds flitted among the trees; thrushes ran along the leaf-strewn ground; orioles sang their melancholy notes; robins and flickers darted beneath the spreading branches. Squirrels scurried over the leaves like little whirlwinds, and leaped daringly from the swinging branches or barked noisily from woody perches. Rabbits hopped inquisitively here and there while nibbling at the tender shoots of sassafras and laurel.