It was some hours after the capture of the scout, and the warriors had returned from the unavailing pursuit of Charles Markley. Five had fallen during the day, nearly a third of their number. Although two daring foes were in their power, one at least still wandered through the forest. Adverse fate seemed upon them, and they were moody and silent. The villagers were still astir, as the exciting events precluded the possibility of sleep, even from Indian braves. They feared some dire retribution breaking upon them, and mourning and lamentations were rife.
A solitary figure approached the village, casting anxious and suspicious glances about him. The disturbed manner of the inhabitants, who seemed scarcely to notice his presence, filled him with vague wonder and alarm. As he observed the unusual disorder, the renegade, for it was no other, gave vent to his feelings in sundry mutterings and ejaculations.
“I wonder what in the name o’ Satan has been goin’ on here to-night? Needn’t tell Bill Ashbey that all’s right and tight, not by any means. Thank my good fortin’ I’m come home, and can soon find out what all this rumpus is about.”
He sprung up to the door of his cabin, and raised the wooden latch, but it was barred upon the inside. Giving a peculiar whistle, it was opened, and the savage stood aside with a grunt of welcome for his superior to enter. The renegade strode into the room, and looked about with a searching gaze. Two other savages were within, who had started to their feet at his approach. Giving them a simple stare of recognition, he turned to the one who had admitted him.
“Wal,” he growled, “you’ve got home, I see. What luck? Is the gal safe?”
The Indian known as Dark Cloud paused a moment, then slowly replied:
“White Bird sleep there,” indicating the apartment beyond. “Pale-face no cross trail of red-man. Pale brave come after; try to steal White Bird from her chief.”
“So that’s it, is it?” He spoke carelessly, as if to inspire himself with courage. “Some fool’s come to steal away the gal! But d’ye know these pale-faces? Have you ever seen them before?”
“Pale-Face Long-Leg kill one brave,” the Indian returned, holding up one finger by way of emphasis. “Leg no long enough to run ’way! Me throw tomahawk—knock him down—”
A movement upon the part of the renegade broke off the communication.
“So Davy Barring has got into my hands again!” hissed the renegade. “We’ll see if he’ll git away slick as he did afore. I’ll have Sall up an’ git my supper. While that’s cookin’ I’ll over and look at the birds.”
Unbarring the door, the three passed quietly in. The scout rose upon their entrance. For a few momenta those two men, so opposite in character and disposition, stood regarding each other in silence.
“Well, old Davy, I’m glad to see you again,” Ashbey exclaimed.
“I can’t say I’m glad to see ye,” the scout returned, gazing steadily in the eye of the other; “but if any person on the face o’ the earth’s got to be cussed by the sight o’ yer miserable face, why, it may as well be Davy Barring as anybody.”
He bit his lip, to check the words which would have followed, while the other ground his teeth with rage.
“That’s bold talk for a man what’s got to die to-morrow!” the scoundrel muttered. “You may forget that yer in my hands now, and ye shall die like a dog? You’ve took too many liberties with me and mine for me to forget it. The day of reckonin’ has now come, and we will bring all these things out right.”
He paused to note the effect of his words, but the scout calmly replied:
“It may be Davy Barring dies to-morrow; thar’s certain about life but death, and maybe my time has come. I do not fear death, Bill Ashbey; I kin meet it if necessary; can you say the same?”
“You’d better tell that to someone else,” returned the renegade, endeavouring to assume a careless tone. “You needn’t tell Bill Ashbey you ain’t afraid to die, for I know better.”
“You kin only judge me by yourself,” said David, in a calm voice. “If ye’re not ready to meet yer Maker, I advise you, as a friend would, if ye had any friends, to git ready. Maybe that I shall die to-morrow, or it may be not; but, I can tell you, Bill Ashbey, I shall see your body a corpse long afore my own hour comes. I know that—mind you!”
The renegade turned pale, and shivered with a mortal terror.
“So-ho!” he exclaimed, with an attempt at bravado; “you think to scare me, old chap. To try your skill, suppose I have your head cut off at once; it will save the trouble of roastin’ ye, and a host of other inconveniences.”
“If you are ready to die, I’ll not object,” was the calm reply. “It were enough for one life to rid the earth of such a cuss as you!”
Ashbey gazed upon the man for a few moments in silence, then turned to Alfred. Bending upon the young man a look of contempt, he said:
“So, young puppy-face, you came out here, eh? Wal, I don’t wonder. I s’pose ye got so scart ye run any way. But ye’ll make a good roastin’-piece, and my braves will like the fun o’ toastin’ yer lamb’s carcass!”
“You can roast me if you choose,” the young man calmly replied; “but I think your braves will remember me for some time to come.”
“Of course, we’re glad to say ye did somethin’ afore ye died; but we don’t intend ye’ll ever harm us any more. But it seems you two weren’t alone; I hear thar’s another what run for’t.”
He waited some moments before either spoke. His manner gave them the assurance that Charles was still at large, and unharmed.
“I advise yer not ter pry into that,” David said, at length, in a decided manner; “ye’ll find out soon enough about it. Ye may think ye’re safe, now ye’ve got us two; I hope ye do; but ye kin remember what I told ye, an’ when yer last hour’s come, I hope ye’ll find yer conscience free, and go without any sorrow for what ye’ve done.”
The renegade turned and walked away, for he could not bear to hear such language, it touched him in a vulnerable spot. He came back, however, and added, in a tone of intense determination:
“Ye kin have the rest o’ the night to say yer prayers in; for when the sun gits up to-morrow mornin’, ye’ll come out, Davy Barring, and ye never’ll see that sun set again.”
Going to the door he called two of the Indian guards within, bidding them to keep a strict watch over the prisoners till morning.
* * * * * * * *
Morning came at length. The prisoners had conversed most of the night, having slept but very little after the departure of Ashbey. A commotion without the door was audible, and each looked with expectation.
“Are they coming?” asked Alfred, apprehensively.
“So it seems,” replied the scout. “I suppose they think I have lived long enough, and if it must come, I know not that it matters how soon.”
“Oh, my friend!” Alfred began, but his emotion choked him, and he could proceed no further.
“Be a man!” the scout returned. “If they are ready for me, I am prepared. Keep up courage; I may sarcumvent the serpents after all.”
The door was now opened, and two braves entered. Without a word they grasped the scout by the arms, and led him forth. The braves who had remained within followed; the door was shut and barred. Alfred was left alone to his own gloomy thoughts and fears.
It cost the scout an effort to maintain his composure, but he looked calmly around upon the crowd of exulting savages. David’s first thought was of the renegade, and he looked around to find him. He stood a little apart from the tawny throng, his arms folded, and a look of fiendish pleasure upon his features. He muttered a few words in the Indian tongue as the party passed him, and David was taken at once to the place of torture—the open place in front of the renegade’s cabin.
As usual, the gauntlet was first to be run. At a word from the renegade, the party formed themselves in two lines, prepared to shower vengeance upon the head and shoulders of the doomed scout. Two guards held him firmly by the arms, while a third proceeded to cut the bonds which held his hands.
“Now or never,” thought the scout, as his arms fell by his side.
David had noted carefully his surroundings. All had dropped their guns, save the two guards, who now held his arms. The nearest building was distant nearly twenty paces. If he could reach that, he might, under its cover, gain the forest, when he would care little for those who might pursue.
With his plans well and coolly formed, David twisted himself instantly from the grasp of his foes. Springing quickly aside, he drew forth his pistols, which had been, strangely enough, overlooked, and stood for a moment confronting them. The two Indians who had guns raised them, but the scout was too quick. Before they could fire, both his pistols belched forth their contents, sending death to the nearest, and severely wounding the other.
The sudden and unexpected movement caused a momentary consternation, and seizing one of the Indian’s guns, David sprung toward the hut. He reached it in safety, and, only turning his head, sped onward to the forest.
“Shoot him! Fire after the dog; you never can catch him!” bawled Ashbey.
In obedience to the peremptory order, the Indians stopped and fired away at random, no mark being in view. David had heard the order, and seeking the cover of a large tree waited till the scattering shots ceased. Then cautiously levelling the musket, he fired at the head of his most mortal enemy. The bullet missed its mark. It passed within an inch of Ashbey’s head, and killed a savage beyond. At the same moment a second shot followed, from no great distance, and a second brave rolled upon the ground. The survivors paused for a moment in confusion, then turned and fled frantically back to the cover of their village.
Foaming with anger, and almost wild with disappointment, Bill Ashbey turned his excited steps toward his own cabin. The prisoner had fled. Dumfounded, he stood for a moment, unable to speak or move.
Then his self-possession seemed to return. He had forgotten that Emily was left without a guard while they had joined in the pursuit of David. Such was the fact, and one which Emily in her fear had not been slow to discover. Sall Simms was absent, and, hardly realizing what she did, the maid stole from the hut, and took her way toward the forest with all speed.
The renegade readily comprehended these facts, and he knew that the maiden could have been gone but a moment. It was easily to find her trail, and he at once assembled his remaining braves. Ten of the number had been killed or disabled; eight only remained. Of these two must be left to guard the prison, and, as Wild Bill took the trail, a feeling of fear passed over him. What if they should again meet the scout? Well he knew a mortal terror possessed his few remaining braves, and but the appearance of their dread foe would send them back in utter affright.
Yet his savage heart knew no relenting, and nothing but death itself could shake his villainous resolves. In an hour they came upon the fleeing maiden. She had sunk upon a log, unable to continue her weary flight. At sight of her cruel pursuers, she started to her feet, and endeavoured to flee, but with yells of delight, the savages intercepted her.
“Ye needn’t try tew run any furder,” howled the miscreant, as he bounded toward her. “Ye’ve led me a good chase out here intew the woods, an’ I’ll jist take ye back, an’ maybe ye’ll git another chance o’ runnin’ away. Maybe ye will!” he added with emphasis.
“Remember what I told ye!” broke in a loud voice at no great distance.
Before any one could move, there came the sharp report of a rifle—the dull “thud” of a bullet, and the renegade fell back, motionless, to the earth. The warriors gazed around in horror, but, before they could form any idea of the danger which threatened them, two more reports followed, and two warriors fell beneath the deadly aim of the borderers.
With wild yells three athletic figures dashed from a cover near by, and, with clubbed rifles, rushed upon the fleeing natives. David Barring was foremost, and, with a sweep of his ponderous weapon one unlucky Indian measured his length upon the earth. The remainder flew with fear-given speed over the ground, and Charles and Alfred soon returned from the pursuit.
We need not describe the fond meeting between the lovers. No pen could do justice to the emotions of those happy hearts. After the first fond greeting was given, the maiden turned to Alfred.
“How did you escape?” she asked. “I supposed you still imprisoned.”
“It was very cleverly managed,” Alfred returned. “No sooner was David led forth, than a knife was slipped into my prison, with which I soon severed my bonds. To work my way through the roof during the excitement elsewhere was but a short task—when I at once took my way to the forest. There I was provided with a rifle, taken from the Indians. We saw the party which started in pursuit of you, and even gathered from their conversation their object. We followed them, and here we are.”
“Oh! my dear friends!” the maiden sobbed; “how can I ever, ever repay you?”
“Don’t talk of that, my girl,” broke in David. “Thar’s not one of us but would be glad tew die for yer sake, and as fer reward, ye kin fix the matter with Charley, here, when we git tew the settlements.”
Emily blushed at the honestly meant insinuation, while the brothers turned to the body of Ashbey. He was dead, the bullet having passed directly through his heart. So sudden, indeed, had been his transit, that the expression of his features still remained unchanged.
They turned from the spectacle with a shudder of horror.
“Let us leave this place,” said Emily, placing a hand upon the arm of Charles. “This is too dreadful!”
They moved from the spot, and slowly took their way through the forest, toward the distant river.
Days passed. The Mississippi was reached, the boat hidden by the scout was drawn forth, and the party launched upon the wide waters. Rowing by night, hiding and sleeping by day, their weary journey was continued.
It is not our purpose to follow them through the many trials and adventures which it was their lot to encounter. After many days and nights, they reached a place of safety, where the father and mother of the Markleys were anxiously awaiting them.
The subsequent history of the war is well known. At its conclusion our adventurers returned to their former possessions. Desolate, indeed, seemed the lone ruins of the Hinton cabin, but, under the energetic efforts of Charles, now the husband of Emily, the place soon resumed its pleasant aspect. Happiness and love reigned there, and only the remembrance of one fearful chain of events in the past, ever called a tear to the eye of the young and happy wife.
THE END.