CHAPTER XV.
SILVIA’S PERILS.
Silvia paddled the canoe, with the Cheyenne concealed under its projecting rim, under the falls; and having landed, she raised the sweep to let the waters close, then she took the lamp from where the ranger had left it in a niche, and wended her way back to her apartment, seated herself and burst into tears.
The discovery that she had made had sorely wounded her young, loving heart, and left her confused mind wrapped in blind mystery.
Purle, the panther, was crouched at her feet, and as her eyes sought the floor, the animal started up, his ears laid back like those of a maddened cat, his tail moving slowly from side to side, and his eyes glaring like coals of fire.
Silvia looked in the direction indicated by his burning gaze, and to her horror she beheld a Cheyenne Indian gazing in upon her from the door of the apartment.
Silvia uttered a low sob and fell unconscious to the floor with affright, the paper falling on the table by the lamp.
The savage, not seeing the panther, advanced into the room, but the next instant the beast leaped forward and dragged him to the floor.
A fierce struggle ensued. But it was as brief as decisive. The panther tore the savage almost into shreds.
A few minutes later a footstep sounded in the rocky hall. The next moment Rodger Rainbolt entered the room. As his eyes fell upon the mutilated form of the savage, the prostrate form of Silvia, the blood upon the panther’s jowls, the paper upon the table by the lamp, he staggered under the sight.
Springing forward he raised Silvia tenderly in his arms and placed her upon the couch in the corner. He then turned to change the light in a better position, and as he did so the paper arrested his attention.
He glanced at the first word. A cry burst from his lips. His eyes became fixed upon the paper like one in a trance. He could not, he did not move them, until he had read the last word. Then he turned away, his whole frame trembling violently.
He removed the body of the savage; then, taking a vessel, hurried down to the falls to bring some cool water with which to bathe the brow of the maiden.
When he returned he was surprised to find her recovered, and sitting up on the bed, gazing about in a kind of bewilderment.
“Silvia, my darling!” exclaimed the ranger.
She looked around, her senses returning.
“Oh, Rodger!” she exclaimed, springing from the couch and snatching the paper; “but you must not see it.”
“But I have seen it, Silvia.”
“And read it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Rodger! I promised never to breathe a word of it to you.”
“Promised who?”
“Silver Voice, the Indian woman, the wife of Allacotah.”
“You have kept your promise, Silvia. I saw the paper by accident.”
“Then you know all, Rodger?”
“Yes, Silvia; but how came you to get the paper from the Indian woman, and where?”
Silvia told him all.
The ranger sighed painfully. He was silent for a moment, then said:
“But Silvia, that paper is a falsehood. I will admit that I have been married to a woman that was an angel, but were she living I would not be here. No, no, Silvia! God knows I loved my wife—yea, adored her, worshiped her; but a cruel fate separated us; death took my darling wife, and in you, Silvia, I had hoped to find her equal.”
“But you have no proof, Rodger, to prove to me that the statement in this paper is untrue—that your wife is dead.”
“I can procure evidence, Silvia, in an hour, yes, in a moment, to prove to you that my wife is dead. But, tell me, my dear Silvia, does the handwriting of this note resemble any person’s handwrite that you know?” and he handed her the note.
Silvia took the paper and examined the writing closely. A shade of sadness came over her face, as she replied:
“Yes, Rodger, it resembles my poor sister Florence’s writing a great deal, though she was a better writer.”
“Then you have a sister?”
“I had, but poor Florence is dead now!”
“Are you certain that she is dead?” the ranger asked.
“Why, Rodger, you are getting excited,” she replied, with much surprise at the ranger’s question. “Of course I would not tell you a falsehood about my sister being dead, since it is nothing to you.”
“But it is something to me, Silvia; it is something to me; but, let us drop the question, before it gets to be painful. I must go and search for your father and that Indian woman who gave you the paper. Have you any fears to remain here alone?”
“None at all since I have such a noble companion and protector as Purle, the panther.”
“Then I will take my departure, entertaining hopes that the mystery that enshrouds us will be cleared away, and that I may yet insist for an answer to the question of my love for you,” said the ranger, and as he concluded he turned and left the maiden alone.
When his footsteps had died away in the distant hall, Silvia threw herself upon her couch and wept bitterly.