Manteo in an instant had fallen, without a sound, flat upon his face. "Down," he whispered. "Quick!"
I followed his example as quickly as I could, and just in time. For, from the trees in front of me, there stole silently a painted figure; tall, fierce, savage, he strode from the dusk, and after him another, and another, until I had counted fifty warriors, walking in single file, their glaring eyes seemingly fixed upon me, as with bated breath I watched them. They were naked, save for the breech cloth about their loins, their bodies hideously daubed with the juice of wild berries and clay; from their coarse black hair there dangled the feathers of an eagle or hawk. I had seen nothing like this before in all my wanderings. Noiselessly, like a shadow, they faded one by one into the gloom opposite.
Long it seemed to me we lay there quietly; finally Manteo arose to his feet. "A party of Cherokees on the war path," he whispered, and we resumed our journey. Searching the ground about us for many minutes the Indian moved, now peering under some stone or leaf, now turning some tuft of grass aside to look beneath it. At last with a low grunt he led off again, striding along at his rapid gait.
"How knewest thou that thou wouldst find their trail here?" I asked.
The Indian grunted. "Had the Eagle looked closer, he would have seen the mark upon the bank where a canoe had landed," he said.
"But how knewest thou that it contained the party whom we seek?"
"Their canoe had been broken and the prow had been mended; I saw that it had landed here, for the mark of it was upon the bank."
I trod in silence behind him, and wondered at this almost superhuman knowledge of the forest that could observe such things as these, which to me were as a closed book. My musketoon in my right hand, I had hurried on after him, but now I halted in an instant, for again I heard the cawing of the crow in the woods, seemingly in front of us. The Indian too had stopped suddenly, and we stood motionless. As we stood there from every bush and tree there seemed to rise a hideous, painted figure. With a yell, so horrible and ferocious that my blood almost congealed in my veins at the sound, they were upon us with brandished tomahawks and clubs.
Like a flash I struck flint and steel, and ignited the fuse of my gun; at least one of these demons would be silenced forever. Leveling my gun at the foremost one as he leaped at me, I pulled down, but even as I did so, Manteo with one quick blow of his arm struck the gun upwards, so that it harmlessly exploded in the air.
Before I could draw my sword, a score had caught me by the arms and shoulders, and hurled me headlong to the ground. My companion made no defense, and a dozen grasped and in the twinkle of an eye disarmed him, and secured his arms with thongs of deerskin. Several had bound my hands behind me, and they now jerked me to my feet—I stood disarmed, a prisoner among the Cherokees.
Without a word they placed us in the midst of the band, and at a long swinging trot began a journey to the north-west. My heart was bitter within me as I hurried along. I had been betrayed by one whom I thought was my friend and as true as steel; he had doubtless decoyed me here so that he could deliver me into the hands of these Indians, probably allies of Dunraven, and they were now most likely carrying me away to deliver me into his hands. There was one melancholy consolation in it—I would see Margaret once more, though it be under such circumstances as these.
All day long they kept up this swift pace, stopping only a few moments for dinner, and the evening was beginning to deepen into twilight, but still they kept on their steady way. Manteo trotted by my side, but I said no word to him, and he had said naught to me. I had begun to despair of ever resting again, when the loud shouts of our captors and the answering yells in reply informed me that we were about to enter their encampment.
Emerging from the forest, many smoking torches could be seen approaching, and the beating of drums and the shouts of the advancing crowd produced a noise that was almost deafening. The embers of several camp fires lit up the thirty or forty rough bark huts which were grouped before us into a semicircle. At our heels there tagged a crowd of men, women, and children, who shouted and danced with glee, as surrounded by our guards we entered the village. Fierce savage faces peered at us from the doorways; little half-naked boys and girls shouted to each other in wonder at my white skin; the wrinkled squaws hissed and grunted. I only saw hatred, curiosity, surprise; nowhere pity or sympathy for a friendless stranger.
Yes, in one face I saw pity, sympathy, or was it admiration? It seemed to me, that as I saw the face for an instant I could discern something akin to that in the dark eyes. It was a young Indian maid of perhaps nineteen or twenty summers, who stood in the doorway of one of the largest huts. Slender, shapely, graceful as a young fawn, with black eyes, large and liquid, and straight black hair, she might have stood as a model for some picture, representing savage beauty. She was clad in a mantle of soft deerskin, with leggins of the same material fringed with bear claws, and upon her small feet were moccasins of the same soft skin.
I took all this in at a glance, as I stood motionless among my guards, for they had halted here. A few words were spoken to the girl. She stood aside, and the brave dragged Manteo and myself to the entrance and thrust us inside, leaving several warriors at the open door, while the babble of tongues wrangled and argued upon the outside, as they craned and twisted to get a glimpse of me.
For several minutes we lay there; then a wrinkled old warrior pushed by the braves who stood at the door and bending down he cut the thongs that bound Manteo, and motioned for him to follow; they strode out of the place, leaving me alone. An old hag came in to bring me a pot of some kind of meat, and with her came the pretty maid whom I had seen outside, who brought me a skin to lie upon.
I thanked her in the native tongue, at which she looked at me with wide open eyes.
"How knowest thou our tongue?" she asked, while the old crone stood peering at me as though I were a ghost.
"It matters not," I answered. "And who art thou, my pretty maid, who dost remember a poor prisoner?"
The rich color surged up into her dark face as she answered shyly, "I am Winona, daughter of the chief Windango."
At that moment there entered the same wrinkled old chief.
"What dost thou here, Winona?" he said sternly. "This is no place for thee."
"I came but with Occoma, father," she answered. "She brought the pale man some venison."
"Begone!" he said, and turning his back upon her, he bent over and cut the thongs that bound me. "Come," he said.
I followed him, escorted by the two guards who had each taken an arm and were holding to me with an iron grasp. Passing down the street of the encampment, we halted in front of a long, low building, which stood in the center of the place. Drawing aside the curtain of deer skin, Windango, for such was my guide, motioned for me to enter. I did so, and dropping the curtain he followed.
I found myself in a long, low room, its walls made of rude, unfinished logs, with a thatched roof. A large fire burned in the center of the room, and around it there squatted upon the hard mud floor the whole band of warriors, their fierce faces scowling at me through the smoke; for there was no opening in the roof, and the smoke from the fire was so dense that it was almost impossible to see. Almost blinded, my eyes stinging and watering from the thick haze which hung over the room, I staggered to a place in the front rank to which Windango motioned me.
A deep silence reigned. From hand to hand a great long-stemmed red pipe, decorated with feathers, was being passed, each warrior as it reached him taking a puff, and then solemnly passing it on to his neighbor. It was handed to me by Windango, and taking a puff, I passed it on. A full hour it was in going the rounds, and when the last warrior had been reached, the old chief by my side arose.
"The ears of the Cherokees are open to hear the words of my brother Manteo. Let him speak."
On the other side of the fire Manteo stood erect. Extending one hand, he spoke. The fitful firelight lit up the bronze faces of his listeners, and played strange pranks with their fierce, motionless features, as now in light, now in shadow, it came and went upon the walls, and threw into strong relief the face of the speaker. He began in a low voice which penetrated to every corner of the wigwam.
"My brothers," he said, "many moons have passed since Manteo has seen his neighbors, the Cherokees. His heart warms within his breast as he looks upon them, for was not the father of Manteo a friend of the Cherokees?"
He looked around, while a chorus of grunts went up from the circle.
"He has journeyed far to see his red brothers, but he comes not alone, he brings with him a great chief of the pale men, who live far beyond the wide waters. He floated back with Manteo upon a great wigwam with white wings to see these warriors of whom he has heard so much. He has brought for his red brothers six shining tomahawks, like the one that was taken from Manteo, and two long knives, together with many blue beads, which are now on board the wigwam ready for the Cherokees."
"Ugh," said Windango at this amazing lie, and his fellow braves all followed suit with a resounding "Ugh." I could feel that they were covertly glancing at me to see whether he told the truth.
"But the Eagle has come also to ask the help of his red brothers," continued the speaker. "A wolf has crept into the lodge of the pale chief, and even as he slept, has carried away the favorite squaw of the Eagle, and fled with her into the country of the Cherokees. The Eagle, to show that there is no cloud between him and the face of his red brothers, has come alone into their land, to tell them of the presents that he has brought for them, and to ask their aid to regain his squaw and to punish the wolf. Have my brothers seen aught of the pale one with the squaw?" and he looked around inquiringly.
Windango answered: "It is but two suns since down the stream there floated a canoe with three of the pale men, even like the Eagle, and with them a red dog, a Tuscarora, and a pale squaw, who gleamed as fair as the winter snow and whose hair shone like copper. We had no canoes and could not follow them, so they passed on down the river.
"Let the Eagle follow them," said Manteo, "and he will send a speaking paper back to the wigwam with my brother, that they may have their presents. So shall my brothers be the friends of the Eagle, and their corn shall flourish and be green. If the Eagle frowns upon them, then shall famine and pestilence sit in the cabins of the Cherokees; the Tuscaroras will slay their braves, and their hearts will quake within their breasts, for the Eagle is a great chief, and wields a magic tube that thunders death from it. Listen, and the Eagle will speak to the Cherokees in their own tongue," and he motioned to me.
Arising to my feet, I spoke with as much majesty as I could command at such short notice:
"Manteo speaks true; if my red brothers will free me so that I may pursue my squaw, then six shining tomahawks, together with two long knives, and much beads are theirs. If you seek to detain me, death and destruction shall stalk among the wigwams of the Cherokees," and I seated myself.
Windango arose. "The hearts of the Cherokees sing within them that the great Eagle has soared down to them. Let it be as he says; let the Eagle but fold his pinions for a brief season to rest among his red brothers. They will send some of their braves back with Manteo to the great wigwam, that they may receive the gifts the Eagle has brought them. Then upon Manteo's return, their braves will accompany the great chief, so that he may take his squaw."
"Let Manteo stay with his red brothers, while the Eagle journeys on to regain his squaw," said Manteo. "Then shall the Eagle be glad, for the wolf may have carried the squaw far, while he feasts with the Cherokees."
I chimed in with the same request, but plainly the cunning old fellow had no idea of releasing me till he got the hatchets. He was too afraid I would give him the slip.
"Would the Eagle fly from among his brothers," he answered reproachfully, "after he has journeyed so far to see them? The Cherokees would moan, and their hearts would be as lead within their breasts, did my brother do this. No, let the Eagle feast with us a little season, then he shall fly again."
And with this I was fain to be content. But my lips parted that night in a faint smile as I thought of what my lady would say, could she but know that the pet and belle of London was to the Indians only a squaw—of less value than their bows, only useful to till the ground and carry the burden, the plaything of an idle hour.
I sat with my head upon my hands watching Winona, as with her nimble fingers she fashioned a pair of moccasins from some soft deerskin. Two months had I been here, the prisoner of the Cherokees.
Manteo had started back with a party of savages the morning after our capture, bearing a short note from me to White, briefly telling him that we were prisoners among the savages, and that our ransom was fixed at a half-dozen hatchets, two swords, and some beads; also telling him that Lady Margaret Carroll was a prisoner in the hands of Lord Dunraven, further up in the wilderness; that I was helpless to stir hand or foot to aid her until the ransom was forthcoming, and imploring him to make what speed he could in sending the articles. I had heard nothing of the party since, and knew not what to think. It might be that in a country teeming with enemies they had fallen in some fight with a hostile band.
Often in the dead of night I would toss and groan upon my pillow as I thought of Margaret, a prisoner in the hands of Dunraven somewhere in the depths of the unbroken forest, cut off from the world and all help, at the mercy of one who feared neither man nor devil. My fevered brain would conjure up every taunting phantom of fear and anguish that the ingenuity of man could devise.
I would think of her struggling in his embraces, his kisses upon her lips, calling upon me for help and succor, with none to hear her cries, and at such times I would arise from my sleepless couch and with a silent guard, who never left me, I would pace the streets of the village until day. Often haggard and weary, I would never lie down to sleep, but would sit all night staring into the camp fire, building air castles and wondering what Margaret did. She was Bobby's but she could not prevent me from thinking of her, and weaving happy dreams, that at a touch would crumble and fall into dust.
The Cherokees ever watched my slightest motion; a brave would follow me all day long, throughout all my journeys, and at night would sleep in the doorway of my hut, so that I could not step outside without awakening him. Several times I had accompanied the Indians upon their hunts, but never did I have an opportunity to escape. Ever there kept at my side one of the warriors, and twist and turn as I would I could not shake him off. He clung to me with the tenacity of a leech, and so finally in disgust I gave up the effort, and returned quietly to the village.
I had watched every chance to free myself, but I could never find a propitious opportunity. Someone was ever at my heels, and so I waited as best I might for Manteo to return. I had craved pardon for my suspicion of him before he left, and with his stately air he had answered:
"It is nothing; the Eagle for a moment thought that Manteo would betray him, but he knows better now, and Manteo's heart is glad. He but struck up his brother's thunder tube because he knew that if a Cherokee had fallen, then would the Eagle have been burned at the stake." And with a smile he left me.
I had another friend in the sweet Indian maid, Winona. Often would I find in my hut, when I returned from a long stroll, some choice fruit, or a fat turkey, browned to a crisp. Once a deerskin doublet had hung on the wall, at another time there had been a wampum belt, and I knew whose deft fingers had been at work. When I had fretted myself into a fever, it was Winona who brought me cool-water and nourishing food, and with her light hands had soothed my fevered brow and waited upon me until I had been myself again.
Often she would sing some wild love song of the savages to me, sitting opposite and looking at me with a strange, sweet light in her dark eyes, which had almost frightened me, for I feared that she had grown to love me. I grieved that her warm young heart should be disappointed and wounded, for there was but one woman for me, wild or civilized, and that was the blue-eyed maid, who somewhere in yonder dim region which loomed before me, chafed and fretted, a prisoner of Lord Dunraven.
And so it was with a heavy heart this bright morning that I sat opposite the Indian girl, and saw that same warm, tender light in her great black eyes—those eyes that were the envy of her girlish companions, and the despair of all the young bucks of the village, who scowled at me as I passed them on the street.
One of them in particular loathed me with a fierce, unbending hate, the young brave Chawanook, who had found favor with Winona until I had arrived upon the scene, when she straightaway turned her back upon him, and would have naught more to do with the young warrior. He had immediately saddled me with the blame, and but waited for a favorable opportunity to revenge himself.
The old chieftain, Windango, adored his bright young daughter, and she twisted him about her fingers, as the saying goes, until he would believe that black was white if she but said so. She had been brought up free from all the toil that had bowed the hearts and bent the backs of her companions, and while they were fast becoming withered and faded, she was strong and graceful, a veritable wild Diana. She could follow the chase as well as any brave, and strike down with her arrows the wild deer. Often had I seen her return from a day's hunt fresh and smiling, while behind her there lagged some warrior worn and footsore.
But even the old chief had begun to admonish his daughter to give ear to the soft sighs of the young braves, and become the squaw of some warrior. She was long past the age when her companions had wedded. Why did she still remain alone? Here was Chawanook, who would some day be a great chief. Why not go into his wigwam and cook his venison? It was of this that Winona spoke as she finished one moccasin, and laying it aside, began to embroider the other with the bear claws.
"Do the maidens beyond the seas go into the lodges of the braves so soon?" she asked, with a bright smile at me.
"Some," I answered, smiling gently at her question. "Many of them do not go at all."
She broke into a low clear laugh.
"Would that I dared to tell my father that, but he would tear my head from my shoulders, did I dare to hint such a thing. He wishes me to become the squaw of Chawanook; to slave and toil for him—and he ugly and awkward," and she frowned, her eyes still upon me, as though she wished to draw me out.
"Why dost thou not listen to Chawanook?" I answered. "He is a brave young warrior, and will some day become a chief. That he would be kind to thee, I doubt not."
She laid down the moccasin and looked at me intently, the smile gone from her face.
"And thou wouldst counsel that," she said in a low voice. "I thought that thou wert the friend of Winona."
"Even so," I replied; "and it is because I think much of Winona that I speak thus."
"Dost some fair maid await across the great sea for the Eagle?" she asked eagerly, changing the conversation with the artfulness of a woman.
I shook my head. "No," I replied sadly, "no one waits for the Eagle—he is alone."
She still sat opposite looking at me, the half-finished moccasin beside her.
"The squaw of the Eagle is in the forest above the head of the river," she said. "Is that why the Eagle walks abroad in the moonlight, when all are slumbering, and sighs to himself until day? Does he love the fair young maid, who is in the hands of his foes?"
"The squaw belongs to one of the Eagle's friends," I replied gently, for the girl did not know that she touched a raw and bleeding wound. "He seeks her for one whom he loves as a brother."
The girl looked at me; plainly she was debating something in her mind. Finally she spoke hesitatingly, and bending forward she whispered in a low voice:
"A sun after the Eagle had folded his pinions among us, there passed up the great river a canoe, and in it a single pale man, with hair and beard the color of the night. He stopped not, but passed on in the direction of the great mountains, towards which the pale squaw had gone. Is he the friend thou speakest of?"
"No," I answered, "he is not the one;" for I knew not of whom she spoke, unless it might be DeNortier. "Did he have a curved nose, like that of thy father?" I asked; "thin lips, and a high forehead?"
"Yes," she answered quickly, clapping her hands, "it is the one."
It was DeNortier most probably; like a sleuth hound after his quarry he would run them to earth before he slackened pace. But the lady would be in as bad conditions in his hands as in Dunraven's.
"Winona," I said, bending over nearer to her, "wilt tell me something?"
"Yes," she answered, looking up at me with her soft black eyes perilously close to mine, a deep red color in her cheeks. "What is it that the Eagle wishes?"
I drew back hurriedly and sat down, for I liked not those soft looks.
"Where is the white squaw?" I asked.
She hesitated and drew back. "It would mean my death," she whispered, "should they find it out, and yet I will tell thee. They are four days' journey above us, near the banks of the great river."
Four days' journey from me—and yet I sat here with folded arms, while she, a captive in the hands of Dunraven, wrung her white hands and endured I knew not what. No, I would make one attempt to break loose from the Cherokees to rescue her, though I lost my life in the effort.
The Indian maid had finished the moccasins, and with them in her hands had risen to go.
"I must go," she said demurely, as though she had not sat with me for two hours alone. "Occoma will be searching for me if I stay longer. Let the Eagle take the moccasins," she continued shyly, as she extended them to me, "for of a truth he needs them," with a ringing laugh. And evading my outstretched hands, she ran from the hut.
I looked down at my worn-out boots. She had spoken the truth, for I needed them if ever mortal did. Stooping, I took off my ragged footgear and replaced them with the soft new moccasins, and then, like a little child with a new toy, I paraded down the streets.
A party of braves were gathering around the great council hall, their bows and clubs in hand, and as I neared them I saw the light form of Winona running to and fro among them. Windango was there too, and the fierce, scowling Chawanook. As I looked at them a sudden thought struck me. There were only about fifteen warriors in the party; it might be that in the hurry of the chase I could escape from them. So, stopping beside Windango, I said:
"Where goes Windango? Does he strike the Tuscaroras?"
"No," grunted the old warrior, as he busied himself with his weapon. "Windango but goes to hunt the deer, and to supply the village with venison."
"The Eagle will fly with his red brothers, and strike down the quarry with them," I continued, with a glance at the other braves.
I thought that he did not look particularly pleased at the suggestion, though he only nodded his head, and falling in by his side, we took the trail for the forest. A few minutes and we had passed out of the village, and headed northward, a direction in which I had never been before.
The old chief, who trod in front, spoke but seldom, and then only about the journey. Soon tiring of his grim silence, I fell back a pace by Winona, who, bow in hand, trod swiftly along behind her father. Behind me was Chawanook, who eyed me as though he would gladly have cut my throat if he but dared. Noticing the frown with which he regarded me, I turned to him, and with an air of great anxiety inquired of him if he were ill. His only answer was a savage grunt, much to the amusement of the dusky flirt at my side, who, little minx, knew well enough what ailed the young brave, and seemed to enjoy his air of discomfiture.
The men had scattered somewhat, for we were nearing a famous deerlick, which great herds of the wild game were wont to frequent. A small band under Windango had crept around to the right of the grove of trees, to scare up the quarry, while the remainder of the party, with whom were Winona and I, had deployed in a long line so as to head off the deer. The Indian girl was standing under a great leafy tree, her weapon in hand, while I, unarmed and empty-handed, stood some ten paces away, a little behind Chawanook, who seemed determined to keep his eye on me.
With a rush a dozen deer had started up at the first crackling of the leaves, which heralded the advance of the party of Windango, and with a bound dashed towards us. The quick twang of the bows and four or five fell, the rest darting by us and into the woods. With a shout Winona sprang forward, and drawing a little steel knife that I had given her, cut the throat of a lordly buck with wide-spreading antlers, which she had brought down.
"Let the Eagle come forward and help me to bear the buck under the tree, and I will cook some of the flesh so that we may eat," she cried out to me, with a triumphant air.
Smiling I came to where, with face aglow with exultation, she bent over the deer.
"Well done!" I said; "thou art a veritable Diana." And taking hold of the animal, I dragged it over under the great tree.
The maiden had followed me, a frown of perplexity upon her bright face, and as I threw the bleeding carcass down, she spoke:
"Who is this Diana of whom thou speakest? Is it some lady of thy own country?" And with a pretty look of eagerness she glanced up at me.
"She is a goddess," I answered. "One who descends from above to lead the chase, and to ensnare the hearts of men, even as thou," and I laughed at her confusion. For with a deep blush, she had dropped her long lashes over her black eyes, and stood fingering the fringe of her deerskin tunic.
"I ensnare not the hearts of men," she answered in a low voice. "Some there are who crave but to be caught, and those I care not for; others mayhap would struggle to be free, if by any chance they should fall a victim, and those I would not take prisoners against their will," and she raised her eyes bravely to mine, with the warm light which she vainly endeavored to conceal burning deep in them.
It was my turn to be confused now, and I mechanically sought in my mind for something to say that would change the conversation from this awkward topic, for I knew at that moment that the dark-eyed maid loved me. I could give her no encouragement, and yet I grieved that I should wound her young heart, and even as I stumbled for words to say, Fate, that old master, with a jerk caught the reins from my hands and mounted the box.
With a rustle of the leaves there bounded down through the air from the tree overhead, a long, dark body, which alighted at the very feet of the girl. As she started back horrified, she tripped, and losing her balance, rolled down to the feet of the beast, who, with a hoarse growl, put one paw upon her body, and with gently moving tail stood glaring down at the helpless girl. He was a long bony animal with a round cat head and shining green eyes, perhaps measuring some six feet from muzzle to tail, his color a dark brown. His little short ears erect, he stood there as though to challenge the world.
A huge club lay at my feet, where one of the warriors had dropped it as he pursued the deer. An instant I stood as though spellbound by the spectacle of this ferocious beast, which had dropped as though from the clouds among us, and then with a yell, I caught up the club and sprang at him. Before he could turn upon me, I had raised the heavy bludgeon and brought it down on his head, with a resounding whack; as I did so, I heard the screams of the girl, the shouts of the warriors as they hurried towards us, and with a shrill snarl of rage, the brute recovered from the shock, and then sprang full at my face.
I threw up my left hand to shield my head, and it was on this arm that the great brute, his eyes gleaming with rage and pain, alighted. I felt his sharp claws as they sank deep into my shoulder and arm, his teeth seeking to reach my throat, his hot, fetid breath in my face. I tottered with the weight a moment, and then went down, the animal upon me. Luckily he had his fangs fastened into the chain which held my breastplate in position, and growling and snarling he strove to free himself, his claws rasping and scraping upon my steel plate.
As we struggled thus, a half-dozen arrows from the bows of the braves whistled into him. The warriors, with clubs and tomahawks sprang to my rescue; a short, sharp struggle, and the huge brute toppled over me and fell. The Indians helped me to my feet, the blood spurting from the flesh wounds in my arm and shoulder, and with looks of wonder and admiration they stood about me. I had plainly risen in their estimation, for there is nothing the savage appreciates like bravery.
Winona pushed through them as they stood there, a soft deerskin in her hand. I saw she had torn from her own shoulders the light robe that she wore, and now with quick commands she dispatched one brave for water, another to get some herbs from the woods, as with deft fingers she cut away the frayed cloth from the wounds. Before I could prevent her, she bent her head, and pressed her lips to the bleeding flesh.
"Did not the Eagle risk his own life to save Winona?" she cried, as I remonstrated vainly with her. "Had it not been for him, Winona would now sleep with her fathers."
The silent Indians stood around me; no sound or gesture did they make as they watched the girl, though their dark eyes followed her every motion. Looking up quickly as Winona finished, I caught the deep, implacable look of hate which Chawanook cast at me, and I knew that I had here a bitter and undying enemy, who would go to any length to injure me; and at the thought my heart grew heavy, for here was one more complication in the net that surrounded me. The love of Winona, with which I knew not what to do, and the hate of Chawanook, who would watch me like a hawk, would prove obstacles in the way of my escape.
"Art hurt, Winona?" I asked, as she bent over me, impatiently waiting for the messengers to return.
"No," she answered; "thanks to a warrior." And she cast a taunting look at Chawanook, who leaned gloomily on his club behind her.
At that moment the young braves returned; one with water in my steel cap, the other with a bunch of some peculiar looking herb in his hands. With deft fingers the girl washed the wounds, binding the leaves to them. Windango, his wrinkled old face gleaming with excitement, had arrived, and was listening to the account of my rescue of Winona. As the braves finished, the old chief strode forward to where I stood, and taking my hand in his, he said:
"The Eagle has saved the life of Winona. Windango will not forget; perhaps he may repay the Eagle some day." And with that, he turned and led the way in silence back to the village.
The Indians held high carnival to-night, for it was the feast of the Sun God, which Winona had endeavored to explain, as she stood before me clad in all her savage splendor, a wild flower in her dusky hair. In vain she tried to enlighten my ignorance as to the celebration. All that I knew when she had finished, was that it was the feast of the Sun God, and was a great time for them; that the maids and young braves decked themselves in all their finery, and danced and shouted together until day.
In despair at getting no more information, I put on my steel cap (about all that was left of my original garments) and followed her down the long street of the village, now alight with torches, and thronged with young braves and maidens, while from the lodges there peered out the faces of the squaws. Before the doors gathered the old warriors, pipes in hand, talking over the hunt and planning some foray against their enemies. The hum of many voices arose as we passed through the crowd down to where the feasters gathered.
I might almost at first glance have passed for an Indian myself in the twilight, for my doublet and hose had long since worn out. I now wore the deerskin and leggins of the savages, and the moccasins that Winona had made me were on my feet.
No day had passed since I had been a captive among them, that I had not planned to escape, but someone was ever watchfully at my heels. My weapons had been taken from me, and I seemed as far from escape as I had ever been. Of Manteo and the party who had gone to Roanoke there had been heard no word, and I had given them up for lost. Windango and a band of his warriors had only yesterday taken the trail for a scout against their enemies, the Tuscaroras. The braves only awaited his return to muster their fighting men to the war path.
Winona had halted by the open space, around which the crowd had gathered. It was perhaps a hundred feet square, and now within it there leaped and shouted a medicine man in his skins and paint, a great round club in his hand which he shook fiercely to and fro, as he sang a wild ditty, keeping time to the music with his feet. With a loud yell, he threw himself upon his face.
"What is this for, Winona?" I whispered to the girl as we stood watching him.
"It is to frighten away evil spirits," she replied gravely, in the same low tone.
And now a party of maidens sprang into the cleared space. Their long hair wreathed with wild flowers, decked in their finest garments, with branches of green leaves in their hands, they stood motionless an instant at the further end of the square.
"Wait for me here," whispered the girl by my side. "I go to join them," and she darted rapidly away. A few minutes later, I saw her take her place among the throng.
And now they raised a loud chant, and with waving branches began a marvelous dance, now advancing, now retreating, winding in and out among each other to the sound of their voices. Slowly forward they moved toward the other end of the square, their merry, laughing faces making a pretty picture against the black background of the night. Their clear voices arose upon the air like the sound of some wild strains of barbaric music. Faster and faster they turned, until they only seemed one dark mass of moving figures, twisting in and out among one another.
The wreaths had fallen from their heads in the rapidity of their motion, and they trampled upon them unheeded, as they whirled by. From the words that I could catch, it seemed a wild invocation to the Sun God to send them peace and plenty, and that their braves might triumph over all the enemies of the Cherokees. I looked in vain among the throng for Winona, but the figures moved by so quickly that I could not discern her face among the many dark heads that glided past.
Faster, faster, faster they moved; several had fallen in exhaustion, and the old crones, who stood on the outskirts of the crowd, had rushed in and dragged them out of the rush. Their companions still danced on; it seemed to me as though they must all be weak from exhaustion by this time, but still they kept up their mad pace until, with one loud cry, they halted and stood still. A chorus of cries and loud "ughs" of approval from the bystanders arose. They had danced well.
And now into the ring rushed the young braves, stripped to the breech cloth, their bronze bodies shining in the light. They caught each other around the waist, and tugged and strained, each seeking to cast his antagonist to the ground. For many minutes they wrestled, their chests heaving, as with every muscle strained they exerted themselves to the utmost.
The warriors and squaws looked on, delight pictured upon their faces. Now and then a deep-chested "ugh" would go up, as some brawny brave would cast another upon the ground, and the defeated one would withdraw, leaving the victorious wrestlers to struggle among themselves.
The braves thinned slowly but steadily; finally only two were left in the arena, the warrior Chawanook, and another lusty Indian, called Okisco. An instant they stood facing each other, then slowly, cautiously, like cats, they moved about, each seeking for an opportunity to catch the other unawares. Finally, with a dull crash they came together. Okisco had caught Chawanook under the arm pits, and with bent body was endeavoring to bear him down, while his antagonist, his toes dug deep in the sand, was steadily resisting every effort the other made to throw him.
Great drops of sweat ran down their faces, as they staggered about the square, locked in each other's arms. The ground was trodden into deep furrows, where they dug their moccasins into the soft earth. Both were now becoming weak from the long bout, and even while I looked the end came.
Okisco, giving a shrill yell, threw all his bull strength into the effort, and with a fury nothing could withstand, bore the other to his knees. A loud cry went up from the crowd. At the sound, as though beside himself with rage, Chawanook sprang to his feet, and catching both hands around the waist of the triumphant Okisco, and bending his body with a power that seemed superhuman, he cast him backward upon the ground. With a proud gesture, Chawanook stood erect, the blood pouring from his nostrils as the result of his great effort.
And now there tottered into the square an old feeble man, the eldest of the village. With his sunken face and dim eyes he looked as though he was ready for the grave. With a gesture he held up his hands, and silence fell upon the noisy throng.
"My brothers," he said, "from the time of our fathers, when the mind of man runneth not to the contrary, it has been our custom that the oldest man of the village should at the feast of the sun present to the maiden who had danced the nimblest a belt of wampum; to the most valiant young brave a necklace." And he held up in his withered hand a blue wampum belt, and a necklace of blue stone of some strange pattern, but I was not near enough to discern them well.
"The judges have decided that unto Winona, the daughter of Windango, should the belt belong, and unto the young brave Chawanook, the necklace. Step forth," he continued, "and receive them." And from the crowd I saw Winona and the warrior Chawanook come forward and receive the belt and necklace.
As the maiden turned, and scanning the dark faces about her, moved rapidly down the ranks, I heard the murmur of the savage tongues about me.
"To whom will she give the belt?" asked an old hag by my side.
"I know not," said her companion. "Perhaps to the young Chawanook. They would make a brave pair," and she moved aside to let Winona, who was coming toward me, pass by.
Too late I realized what was about to happen, and for her sake as well as my own I would have turned and fled, but the golden moment had passed; there was naught to do but to stand my ground.
The girl stood in front of me, the wampum belt in her hand. A deep flush was upon her face, and she bent her head for a moment in embarrassment, for the whole crowd was gazing at her in silence. For an instant she stood thus, twisting the girdle nervously in her hand, and then she raised her face. It was transfigured and glorified by the light of a great love—a love that would face all things and undergo all agony or sorrow for the sake of the one she loved; that could endure the cold gaze of the world, and fear it not, happy in the knowledge of the light within. Who counted all things as naught compared with this.
I had heard often of the love of some frail woman, who would face death calmly and unafraid, would endure the thumbscrew and the stake with a smile upon her face and a song within her soul, for the sake of one she loved, and I had doubted the story; but as I looked upon the face of this Indian maiden, I knew that such things as these could be, that here was one who would die for me, if needs be, because she loved me.
"It is a custom," she murmured softly, so softly that I had to bend my head to catch the faint sound, "that the maiden who wins the girdle should bestow it upon some valiant warrior. I know of no warrior who is more worthy to wear it than the Eagle, who at the risk of his own life dared to rescue an Indian maid." And with that she bent forward shyly, and with fingers that trembled fastened the blue wampum belt around my waist.
"I Know of No Warrior Who is More Worthy to Wear
It than the Eagle"
I dared not look around me, as she bent her dark head over the clasp, her hair just brushing my face. For an unconscionably long time, it seemed to me, she fumbled over it, and then with a little sigh of satisfaction, she straightened up. "There," she said, with a nervous laugh.
"Winona," I said gravely, for in truth I was in the most awkward position in which I had ever been placed, "the Eagle thanks thee for thy courtesy, and will wear the belt always to remind him of thee. It will be a bright spot in his life, which he will cherish, when he has returned again to his own far distant country." And extending my hand, I caught her little brown one in mine, and carrying it to my lips as though she were some princess, I kissed it.
She flushed again happily, her dark eyes soft with light as she looked at me.
The sullen voice of Chawanook rang out behind me: "And so the daughter of a great chief stoops to bestow her love upon a nameless dog of a captive!"
The girl had raised her head proudly at his words, for there flowed in her veins the blood of a line of savage chiefs. She answered him scornfully:
"If Chawanook would meet his fathers let him face the Eagle alone in yon ring. As for me," and her voice rang out clear and full, "my love is my own, to bestow where I will; it shall never be given to such as Chawanook."
The young brave answered angrily:
"I sought Winona to bestow upon her the necklace of blue beads, for which many of the maidens sigh but I would bestow it upon the most beautiful, even upon Winona. What do I find here? That Winona shamefully has confessed before the whole village her love for the pale man, who is a captive among us, by bestowing upon him the wampum belt." And almost beside himself, Chawanook tore the necklace in his hands into a dozen fragments, and cast them from him.
The girl, her head erect, stood fearlessly looking at him.
"What if I love the Eagle?" she cried defiantly. "He is a great chief among his own people; he is no nameless brave like Chawanook." And with heaving breast and flashing eyes, she stood like some wild animal at bay.
The warrior whirled on me quickly.
"Thou shalt not live to boast of this!" he cried. "Die, pale dog!" And before I could turn my head, he had plucked from his belt a tomahawk, and cast it full at my head.
The excited crowd had surged about me in their eagerness to see what was going on, and even as he threw the weapon, an old woman had darted in front of me to shake her fist in my face. It proved my salvation, for as she sprang in front of me, the tomahawk crashed full into her head, and she fell over against me, the weapon still quivering in her skull.
In an instant I had plucked it from her, and with all my strength cast it at Chawanook. The tomahawk sped onward and struck him with a dull thud full in the face, braining him at a blow, and spattering blood upon those who stood beside him. Throwing up his hands, he fell at full length upon the ground. An instant thus I stood, with my hand raised as I had thrown the tomahawk, and then from somewhere back in the crowd there arose a voice, shrill and piercing:
"How long will the Cherokees bow their heads like squaws, while this strange Eagle soars into their lodges, winning their loveliest maiden, and strikes down with his talons their braves? The Cherokees are women and should till the ground. The Tuscaroras shall make war for them."
A low growl of fury went up from the mob as it gazed upon the body of the young warrior, as it lay before them. A brave leaped from among the throng. "Come!" he cried. "The Cherokees will clip the Eagle's wings!" and with a yell he sprang towards me.
The crowd stood still for a moment. They were as a magazine of powder, and wanted but a spark to ignite. The fire had been applied, and with a loud shout they streamed down in one wild mass of men and women upon me. I struck down the first who neared me with my fists, but I had as well attempt to catch the rain with my naked hand, as to break the fury of the attack in such style as this.
A dozen had caught me by each arm; several braves had clambered upon my back, and tugged and pulled to throw me from my feet. It was as though I was in the hands of the giants themselves, for with a rush they threw me to the ground, and bound me securely, hand and foot.
"What shall we do with the pale one?" they shouted.
A score of old women had rushed to where I lay, and shaking their fists in my face, they taunted and jeered at me. Some of them had thongs of deerskin with which they beat my helpless body, as I lay there bound and tied, and I firmly believe they would have torn me to pieces in their fury, had not the braves who guarded me interfered and driven them away.
And now they cleared an open space of about ten square yards about me, and two great braves, picking me up in their arms, carried me to the middle of it, and dumped me upon the ground, after which they placed a log of wood under my head. A great brawny warrior strode forward to where I lay, a jagged club in his hands. Leaning upon his weapon, he looked down at me.
"Does the heart of the Eagle faint within him?" he taunted.
I made no answer, for I thanked God that they were to end my suffering quickly with one blow, and not by the fire and stake or the gauntlet.
The warrior still looked at me, with a fierce smile upon his face.
"Were it not that the Cherokees expect at any moment the return of the chief Windango, who might save thee, we would put thee to the torture and the stake. Our time is short, and thou mayest thank the Great Spirit thy end will be quick and merciful."
And with that he raised the great club high above his head and as he did so a lithe figure darted out from among the throng, and caught his arm with a quick jerk as it descended. The weapon swerved to one side, and fell harmlessly upon the ground near my head. It was Winona.
"Thou shalt not kill him!" she wailed. "Put a weapon in his hands and let the Eagle face thee; then thou shalt know that he is a warrior."
With a growl of fury the Indian struggled to throw her aside, as, with the strength of despair, she clung to his arm with the grip of a bulldog.
"He shall die!" he answered fiercely. "Loose me, girl, or I will beat out thy brains with my fist." And with a threatening scowl upon his angry face, he raised his knotted fists.
"Loose him, Winona," I shouted to her. "Thou hast done thy best for me, for which I thank thee. Thou canst do no more."
"No," she sobbed, "he shall not slay thee." And she fought and struggled with the brave.
A dozen warriors now sprang to the rescue of their leader, and catching the girl by main strength, they dragged her from the panting and furious Indian. Holding her, weeping and struggling, they shouted for him to strike. A second time he raised his club to strike, but the girl, with superhuman effort, had wrenched herself loose from her captors, and bounding forward, cast herself upon my body.
"If thou slayest him," she sobbed, "thou wilt slay Winona also. Now strike, if thou darest."
Under ordinary conditions he would not have dared to slay the daughter of the chief, but he was infuriated beyond control and beside himself with rage.
"Then die!" he shouted, and with a fierce snarl he raised his club again.
I closed my eyes and waited for the weapon to descend. I could not think; my mind seemed only to whirl and throb in a chaos of broken thought which I could not connect. I wondered dimly whether a rough knot which I had seen upon one side of the gnarled stick would strike Winona or myself; whether the Indian would strike once or twice; whether Margaret would moan could she but know, and what she did at that moment; whether her hair still shone with the old golden splendor as of yore; whether her eyes were the same deep blue and her laugh as clear and ringing as in the old days.
It seemed to me that I lay there an eternity, waiting for the blow, and still it did not descend. Would it never come? "Strike!" I shouted. "Wouldst thou wait forever?"
No sound answered me, and I opened my eyes and looked up. There, a few paces from me, stood the would-be headsman, leaning upon his huge bludgeon, a sulky, frightened look upon his dark face.
A voice, loud and angry, rang in my ears:
"And so this is how the Cherokees treat a stranger who feasts with them, when Windango turns his back?"
Turning my head I saw the old chief, tomahawk in hand, standing fierce and motionless behind me, as he looked down disdainfully at the throng of savages, who had slunk away as a whipped dog will from his master.
"Speak!" he continued. "Have the Cherokees naught to say for themselves?"
A chorus of voices arose. "The Eagle had struck down Chawanook. Winona had given to the pale one the blue wampum belt. Could the Cherokees stand by and see such deeds as this? Then, when they would have slain the Eagle, Winona caught Mountawk's hand, and finally threw herself upon the Eagle, to protect his life at the risk of her own." And they pointed to the girl, who, pale beneath her dusky skin, had arisen and stood with bent head near the old chief.
Windango with a wave of his hand silenced them.
"Leave the girl to me," he said hoarsely. "I am a man, and can deal with my own lodge. Begone!"
"And what of the Eagle?" cried one, bolder than the rest. "Shall he not die?"
"Is not Windango a chief?" replied the old brave. "Cannot he deal with the pale one? Out of my sight, or I shall slay some of you in my rage."
A moment thus the dark throng stood, undecided. They were as some fierce wild beast, who, as he is about to feast upon his bleeding quarry, is driven from it by another stronger than himself. But the habit of obedience was strong within them. Even as they wavered, the chief put his fingers to his lips, and gave a long, quivering cry. An answer floated back from the trees, and the dark forms of the old warriors could be seen, as, weapons in hand, they hurried to the assistance of their leader.
Some twenty or thirty war-worn veterans had already pushed their way through the crowd and stood grouped around him, ready at a word to let fly their tomahawks, and as many more were hurrying to him. The whole village could muster no more than one hundred braves, and of these fully one-half would stand by Windango. They were the older and more experienced men, and the other braves would be as chaff before them.
The dark throng broke, and scattered into a hundred fragments.
A light hand shook me by the shoulder. I moved uneasily, and rubbing my eyes looked about the hut; all was inky darkness.
"Hist!" said a voice, which I recognized as Windango's, "let the Eagle follow silently behind me." And taking my hand in his, he led me quietly across the hut and into the night air.
As I looked down at the sleeping warrior in the doorway, I saw something red trickling slowly down his broad breast. Bending over him, I looked. A great gash was over the heart, and from it was streaming a torrent of blood. The old chief had taken this means of silencing him effectually, and so straightening myself, I stepped to his side, where he stood in the shadow of the lodge.
With a quick movement, he threw a deerskin over my head, so that nothing could be seen of my face. The night was dark and moonless, and from the deserted streets of the village no sound arose. He turned, and with me at his heels began a quick journey towards the woods. We met no one, as with bent heads we silently stole towards the shadow of the trees.
The cabin in which I had been confined that night lay at the northern end of the village, and it was only a few moments until we reached the outskirts of the place. I started back in alarm, for before us there trod to and fro upon his beat a sentry. We could not pass him without being seen; but the chief by my side reassured me in a word.
"It is a friend," he whispered. "Once I saved his life from the Tuscaroras, and he has not forgotten; the Eagle need not fear." And with head still bent, he stole silently by the motionless figure, who, with his back turned toward us, stood gazing intently into the night. He must have heard us as we passed, but if so he made no sign as we trod softly by, and in a few moments we had reached the friendly shadow of the trees.
Never for an instant did Windango relax his swinging trot, as he hurried through the forest. Twice I tripped upon some root or branch, and came to the ground; but I was up in an instant, and after his dark shadow, which I could partly discern before me. Through bushes and vines we tore, the briars scratching my hands and face; into trees I bumped, and stumbled into gulleys, as I hurried on after the chief.
Five good miles we must have trodden thus, and then crashing through a cluster of undergrowth and trees, we halted upon the banks of the river, the Roanoke the natives called it. Here, from underneath some bushes and vines, the Indian brought out a canoe, and placed it upon the water. Turning to me he spoke:
"Windango has kept his word, and has repaid the Eagle for the life of Winona, which he saved from the wild beast in the forest. It is not safe that the Eagle should remain longer with the Cherokees, for to-night they plot his life, and while it may be that Windango could save him for this once, yet in the end they would slay him. Let the Eagle depart," and with a wave of his hand, he motioned me toward the canoe.
"The Eagle will not forget Windango," I answered, as with a clasp of his hard hand, I stepped into the boat, and picking up the paddle dipped it into the water. "The memory of him will be as the sun upon the tired traveler after the storm has passed. But how shall the Eagle know when he has reached the lodges of the pale ones?"
"It is three suns' journey," answered the Indian. "The Eagle will see upon the banks of the river upon his right a broad rock which juts out into the water, and over it a withered oak. Let him alight there, and take the trail which he will see; in an hour he will be at the lodges of the pale men."
"The Eagle thanks his brother," I said, and with a wave of my paddle, I pushed the little canoe into the stream, and made rapidly towards the east, down its wide current.
I had left the Indian behind, and with strong strokes, I made haste toward Dunraven. Overhead brooded the night, dark, silent; before me lay the great river, and somewhere beyond those dark trees was Margaret. My foot struck something in the bottom of the canoe, which rang against the board. Stooping, I picked it up; it was my gold-hilted sword—the companion of my wanderings—and beside it lay some food and a jar of water, placed there by the same kind hand. Buckling the blade about my waist, around which was still fastened the blue wampum belt, I resumed my task, my mind engrossed in thought.
Why had not the Cherokees attacked the settlement of Dunraven, if they knew so well where it lay? It was only a few miles away, and I knew them too well to think they stood in awe of four men, however brave. No, there was something deeper than this somewhere. This was the secret of those steel hatchets and knives which I had seen among the Indians; he had bought their friendship with these trinkets, and bribed them to hold me a captive among them.
Ah! there was a long reckoning to settle with my lord, when we should meet again. One which had been long in the making, and such as one mortal man could seldom count up against another. If I could only reach him with my sword, I would give worlds for the opportunity.
A light sound of a paddle floated to my ears from behind me down the stream. Someone was evidently following, but who I did not know. With a quick stroke of the paddle, I turned the head of the canoe towards the bank, and shot in among the overhanging trees and bushes. Here I waited in silence; five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and I had almost persuaded myself that I heard only the sound of some beast from the forest, when again came that light sound. Nearer, clearer, it again struck my ears, and in a moment I saw the dark body of a canoe upon the water.
I strained my eyes to discover who were its occupants, but in the gloom I could see nothing. A pale glimmer of the moonlight for a moment came out from behind a cloud, and fell full upon the face of Winona, as with her raised head she looked around her for a glimpse of my canoe.
"Winona!" I called softly, and in an instant I had paddled out from my hiding place, and to where the boat rocked. "Thou must go back, child," I said. "What doest thou here?"
She only answered with a storm of sobs.
"Thou canst not follow me, a wanderer upon the face of the earth," I continued. "What will thy father think of this, after he has saved my life? No, turn again to thy people," and I pushed her canoe around with my hands.
"Winona cannot return!" she cried. "Her people will have naught to do with her after to-night. If the Eagle refuses to let her follow him, she will cast herself into the river."
I was sorely vexed; here I was about to go into the camp of the enemy; at the very time that I needed to be footloose, the Indian girl must needs follow me—a plague on her! And there was Margaret, Heaven only knew what she would think; but the lass had saved my life, and I could not leave her alone and friendless in the wilderness. If it be true that her friends had cast her out, there was naught to do but carry her with me, and so with a sigh I turned my canoe, and in silence continued my journey up the river, with her little craft behind me. And so we journeyed for two long days.
We were moving up the river, only a day's journey from Dunraven now, and with paddle in hand I pushed the little boat for all there was in her. But a few more hours and I would face my lord, and with sword in hand would end his troubles.
A low call floated out to me from the shore, and turning my head quickly, I saw standing upon the bank some fifty feet away, his face distorted by a ghastly smile, the apothecary, John Marsden. If I had seen a vision, I could not have been more surprised. I looked at him in amazement, as he raised his hands and beckoned me to approach him.
What ruse was this? Did he but attempt to lure me to the shore, so that I would fall into the hands of some of Dunraven's men, who concealed by the trees lay in wait for me?
"Quick!" he shouted, as my canoe lay motionless upon the water. "Quick, Sir Thomas! for I know not what moment Lord Dunraven may appear, and if I fall into his hands, it will all be up with me." And he shuddered in such terror that, half convinced that his fear was genuine, I paddled towards him.
"Let me but come aboard," he said, as my canoe touched land; and he rushed forward in the boat and seated himself in the stern. "Give me a paddle!" he cried, and seizing one, he never rested until we had pulled far out into the current; then he gave a sigh of relief. "If Lord Dunraven overtakes me, it will end the career of John Marsden," he said, with another uneasy look at me.
"What doest thou here?" I asked sternly, "and why flee from Lord Dunraven?—mind thee, the truth."
"'Twas on the day before yesterday at noon that I sat in the hut," he answered. "I was brooding over the failure of my lord to pay me the gold that he had promised, and the scornful way in which he treated me, when I approached him and begged for the reward which he held out to me. I heard a footfall on the floor behind me, and looking up I saw DeNortier."
"'Dost thou wish one thousand pounds sterling, Marsden?' he said in a low voice. 'If so, thou hast but to speak.' What could I do? Here was a vast treasure, sufficient to overthrow the honor of an angel and a way to revenge myself upon Dunraven; so I answered that I would do his bidding for one thousand pounds.
"'Then listen to me,' he said, glancing around cautiously. 'The Lady Margaret Carroll is imprisoned here, and languishes as the captive of Lord Dunraven. I would rescue and restore her to her lover, Sir Thomas Winchester, but it is not to be, for last night as I lay upon my bed I dreamed a dream. As I looked, lo! there stood beside me the dead Herrick, even as I had seen him often in life. I thought a look of sorrow was upon his face, and as I looked at him his lips opened and he spoke:
"'Thy time has come, my captain,' he said. 'Long have I waited in this far land for thee, but now thy end draws nigh, and I am sent to warn thee. Three days, and thou shalt join the shadowy throng of thy men; but do this before thou goest. Send a messenger to Sir Thomas Winchester to guide him to Lady Margaret Carroll, whom he loves, and perchance it will avail thee much in the end." As he said this he vanished.
"'I lay there in the silent room; I am not a person to fear either man or devil, but I feel within me this shade spoke truth, and it shall be as he has said. It matters little now, since I know that I cannot win the Lady Margaret Carroll, for death is better than a weary existence without her. Dost thou, therefore, Marsden, go to Sir Thomas Winchester and guide him here, while I stay and guard the lady until his arrival. Hasten back when thou dost give the message.'
"And he gave me the one thousand pounds, which I buried, and straightway I set out to find thee. Praise be to God I have done it!" And he looked at me with an air of joy.
"Dost expect me to believe this?" I asked incredulously.
"Believe it or not—it is the truth," he said doggedly. "Would I be likely to put myself in thy hands, if what I say were not true?"
We were all this time making our way swiftly down the river, Winona in her little boat behind us.
"Marsden," I said, "tell me the scheme of my abduction, all thou dost know of it—and then perhaps I may believe thee."
"DeNortier had watched for several days to carry thee away from London," he answered, his face lighting up at the thought. "When thou didst walk abroad that night Herrick was at thy heels. But thou gavest him the slip and they had given up all hope, until one of the crew who drank in a little inn saw thee come by and sent word to DeNortier. Immediately he posted men at every lane which led from the tavern. As luck would have it, thou didst come up to the very one which he himself guarded, and he but had time to engage in a discussion with the drunken fool Steele, when thou didst approach, and the rest thou knowest."
"Why did not DeNortier slay me when I was in his power?" I asked. "'Twas not like him to let the opportunity slip."
"He loved the same fair lady that Dunraven and thyself sought to win," Marsden replied. "Whilst he had thee in his hands, he could play thee off against my lord, and so hold him in check," and he burst into a roar of laughter.
"Why dost thou shout so?" I asked sternly. "I see naught to laugh at."
"I but thought of the tale I heard DeNortier tell one day in his cups, of how thou didst go into the cave to explore it. The old hag, Neulta, cried out from a secret panel in the wall, and blew the candle out of thy hand with some of her secret power, and thou didst dash out of the cave as though the devil were at thy heels." He laughed again apologetically, and rubbed his eyes with his sleeve.
"Thou knowest how Dunraven entrapped the Lady Margaret," he continued, "and how they set sail in the 'Betsy,' and making further south reached this coast a week before thou didst."
"Yes," I answered impatiently. "But how does the Lady Margaret bear her imprisonment?"
"Like an angel," he said, his crafty eyes lifted to mine to watch every expression. "Not a murmur has ever crossed her lips, and DeNortier protects her from harm, for he stands ever between her and Dunraven like a shield."
"But I have something here that nearly concerns thee," he continued, drawing from his doublet a square package. "'Tis thy father's will, which I stole from thy brother Richard one night, thinking perhaps to sell it to thee at a propitious moment. It is thine for ten thousand pounds," and he waited impatiently for my reply. "Wouldst give that much for the estates and title?"
"Thou art mad!" I replied. "Even if I thought thou didst speak truth and that it were my father's will, which I do not believe, still he had no power to will the title and land from Richard if he so desired, which is improbable, for the estates have been entailed for the benefit of the eldest son for ages."
"Old Sir Hugh Richmond, thy grandfather, broke the entail by suffering a common recovery," he replied. "Nay, do not look so incredulous, the proof is in this package. Wilt give ten thousand pounds for the document?"
"If what thou sayest be true, I am willing," I answered. "But how came my father to disinherit Richard?"
"'Tis the same old tale," Marsden rejoined. "Richard, thinking he had the game in his own hands, turned loose all his ill-humor upon thy father after thou hadst left England, making the old lord's life a perfect hell on earth with his abuse and ill-treatment. Four days before he died he sent for a scrivener, and deeded all of his property of whatsoever character to Sir Robert Vane to hold in trust for thee. As the estate has been held in fee simple since the common recovery was suffered, he could so fix it that Richard could not get at the property. I tell thee that old Sergeant Moore, who drew up the deed, has so tied up the estate that 'tis impossible to overturn the conveyance," and he chuckled at the thought.