DEATH-DEALER,
                          THE SHAWNEE SCOURGE;
                                  OR,
                       THE WIZARD OF THE CLIFFS.


                         BY ARTHUR L. MESERVE.


                               NEW YORK,
                     BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
                           98 WILLIAM STREET.

       Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
                           FRANK STARR & CO.,
       In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.




                                CONTENTS


  I The Death-Dealer                                                   9
  II The Wizard’s Den                                                 16
  III The Cabin Conference                                            24
  IV Four Against Forty                                               32
  V Out into the Darkness                                             41
  VI The Midnight Ambush                                              47
  VII The Maiden’s Doom                                               55
  VIII The Trail Divided                                              61
  IX The Death-Dealer at Work                                         69
  X In the Shadow of Death                                            78
  XI What Will He Do With Her?                                        85
  XII Winding Up the Web                                              90




                   DEATH-DEALER, THE SHAWNEE SCOURGE;
                                  OR,
                        THE WIZARD OF THE CLIFFS




                               CHAPTER I.
                           THE DEATH-DEALER.


It was a sultry summer day, nearly a hundred years ago.

The heat was almost intolerable, and man and beast sought the cooling
shade of the forest, to spend the hours until it should in a measure
abate.

Not a breath of air was stirring.

In a leafy covert, a little removed from the right bank of the Scioto, a
form lay stretched at full length upon the earth.

One would have needed almost a second glance to have told whether the
object was human or brute.

Even then he might have said it was a cross between the two.

At first sight, a Barnum or a Darwin might have gone wild with delight.

The former would have thought that he had stumbled upon a veritable
“What-Is-It?”; while the latter would have declared that he had at last
found the long-looked-for connecting link between the human and brute
creation.

There was the human form, though ungainly in its shape; but covered with
hair from the crown of its head to the sole of its feet.

It was indeed a second Esau.

A great mass of bushy hair covered his head, which, from its appearance,
had not known the presence of a comb for months.

A beard of the same reddish color as his hair, and with a like unkempt
appearance, covered the lower part of his face, and reached up over his
cheeks almost to his eyes.

These were small and deep-set, though sharp and piercing, and overhung
by eyebrows of the same gigantic pattern as his beard and hair.

A strange and forbidding appearance the man presented about the head,
and his form kept it company.

It was covered with the skins of wild animals, worn with the hair-side
out, so that at a glance one would have supposed that it was his own
natural covering, so much in keeping was it with that about his head.

As he lay there, one could see that his form was crooked and distorted,
until it had hardly the shape of a human being.

But still it was not so noticeable as it was when he was upon his feet,
and as erect as it was possible for him to be.

His altitude then was not more than five feet, with a monstrous hump
upon his shoulders, which, if any thing, made him look shorter than he
really was.

A rifle, almost as long as himself, was lying by his side, so close that
he could place his hand upon it at a moment’s notice.

A huge knife was thrust into his belt, and the hand that rested upon the
handle thereof, showed plainly that it had the strength to use it to a
purpose when the occasion warranted.

Though that portion of his face which was not covered by a beard was
turned to a dark brown, an observer would have said that he was a white
man, though a long residence in the forest had almost changed his
appearance and his nature.

The name this uncouth person had once borne was Richard Higgins.

But this had been lost or forgotten long ago. His ears had not heard
that name for years.

When he had first appeared among the settlers along the river, as he had
done in the capacity of scout and Indian-hunter, they had known him
simply as Dick.

But as time wore on, another name became attached to him.

The Death-Dealer.

The red-skins gave him that, because his hand had slain more of their
number than any other scout west of the mountains.

So he had come to be called Dick, the Death-Dealer, and his real name
had been forgotten by any who by chance had ever known it.

Along the whole border there was not a man who could follow a trail as
well as he.

It seemed almost as though he possessed the instincts of a bloodhound,
for when once upon the scent he never lost it.

No matter how much in their cunning the savages might double upon
themselves, they could not deceive him.

He was sure to follow them to their lair, and there obtain the vengeance
he sought, if he did not get it before.

Could all the red-skins he had slain rise up before him, the number
would have startled him. Yet he had slain none for the mere love of
taking life. He hated a red-skin for the cruel deeds he done, yet he
never shot one down unless he was engaged in something detrimental to
the interests of the settlers.

The savages stood in mortal dread of him, and many were the plans they
laid to take his life. But thus far all of them had failed, and he went
on with his work as coolly as though danger was a thing unknown.

Slowly the sun declined toward the west, and at last a delicious
coolness pervaded the forest, in place of the heat, which had been so
oppressive.

The scout felt its influence, and after stretching out his limbs lazily,
he arose to a sitting posture, and taking up his rifle, he carefully
examined it, to make sure that it was in order.

The scrutiny revealed nothing amiss. It was in the best possible
condition, and he felt sure that it would not fail him when he should
have need to use it.

“Well, Dick, it’s about time that you were tramping,” he muttered to
himself, as he cast a look westward and saw that the sun had almost
touched the tree-tops. “You’ve got a powerful ways to tramp to-night,
and you got to make up for the time you’ve fooled away here. I wish I
felt a little bit clearer in my mind, as to what new deviltry the
red-skins are planning now. They’re up to something, that’s sure.
They’ve as busy for a day or two back as the devil in a gale of wind.
They’re hatchin’ something, and I would give a sixpence if I only knew
what it was. I must find out if I can afore they get ready to strike. I
wish thar wa’n’t but one blamed red-skin in the world, and he stood out
yander. We’d jest make an end of him in no time, wouldn’t we, Susannah?”

These last words were addressed to his rifle, which he patted
affectionately as though it was a thing of life and understood what was
said to it. Then he brought it to his shoulder and glanced along the
barrel toward the spot which he had designated for the savage to stand.

At that very instant, as though his wish had been gratified, a savage
suddenly appeared on the very spot which he had indicated.

So unexpected was his appearance, that for an instant the scout was
startled and sat as motionless in his place as though he was a block of
stone.

But the next moment his finger was playing with the trigger of his
rifle, and in a second more a bullet would have sped in the direction of
the savage, had he not bethought himself of the folly of the act.

A score of red-skins might be close at hand, and if so what benefit
would the death of one of them be to him.

The savage had not seen him, therefore he remained motionless, but with
the rifle still brought to bear upon him.

For the space of a minute the savage remained upon the spot where he had
appeared, gazing about him as though in some way he scented danger, and
then he moved on, and the next instant was lost to sight.

No sooner had he disappeared than the scout sprung to his feet, and
after listening intently for a moment, as though to catch the sound of
other footsteps, he glided swiftly away on the trail.

Hardly had two minutes elapsed from the time he had sprung to his feet,
when the bushes were parted, and another savage stepped upon the very
spot where the Death-Dealer had lain.

Carefully he bent down and examined the ground, and in a moment was
satisfied that it had but just been vacated.

The twigs and wild grass which had been bent down by the weight of the
scout’s body, were springing up, striving but vainly to stand erect
again.

This told him as plainly as words could have done that whoever had lain
there was only that moment gone.

The footprints about the spot told him that it was a white man; and
evidently the savage felt assured that it could be none other than the
Death-Dealer.

A mingled look of joy and rage came over his face, as he glanced eagerly
along the trail the scout had left behind him.

Only for the space of a minute did he linger about the spot, and then
glided swiftly along the trail which the scout had been at no pains to
conceal.

In the mean time Dick had gone out to the spot where the red-skin had
disappeared, and, taking the trail, hurried on after him.

That he was on some errand of mischief, and that he was not alone, he
felt assured.

From the signs he had seen during the last twenty-four hours, he knew
that the savages meant mischief to some of the settlements along the
river.

But the exact spot where the blow was to fall he was in ignorance of.

This, by following close on the movements of the savage, who had so
suddenly appeared before him, he was in hopes to discover.

He little thought that another savage was watching _his_ movements full
as closely; and only waiting for a chance to take his life and secure
his scalp, which would be prized higher by him than a score of ordinary
ones.

It would be no common triumph to boast that he had taken the scalp of
the Death-Dealer, the scout most feared in all that region of country.

On went the foremost savage, all unconscious that the terrible
Death-Dealer was upon his track.

Straight as an arrow from the bow was his way through the forest, and
never once stepping from the trail came the unerring scout.

And close behind him came the other savage, if possible more intent upon
his purpose than either of them.

For nearly a mile they went on in this way, and then the foremost savage
suddenly paused.

In an instant the scout followed his example, hastily putting the trunk
of a tree between them so that his presence might not be discovered.

The next moment the savage uttered a cry so much in imitation of an owl
that a less practiced ear than that of the scout might have been
deceived by it.

But he knew that it was a signal agreed upon between the savage and his
comrade, when he should have reached the place of rendezvous.

Hardly had it died away before its exact counterpart was heard away to
the right.

A moment later it was repeated on the left.

The woods were full of savages.

So it seemed to the scout, as he stood there as silent as death.

But as yet, though they came from every side, there were none behind
him.

Where the danger to him was the greatest, there was no sign given to put
him on his guard.

“Well, this is a lucky hit,” he muttered to himself. “All I’ve got to do
is to keep quiet, and I shall find out what the red-skins are up to.”

Hardly had the words left his lips when there was a whizzing sound like
an arrow cutting the air, and the next instant the deadly shaft was
quivering in the trunk of the tree, hardly an inch above his cap.

Glancing quickly about he saw the savage, bow in hand, hardly a dozen
paces from where he stood.

The quivering shaft told him that he was discovered, and quick as
thought he brought his rifle to his shoulder and ran his eyes along the
barrel.

The red-skin saw that he had missed, and turned hastily to cover himself
by the trunk of a tree. But he was too late. The finger of the scout was
on the trigger of his rifle, and the next instant the bullet it
contained was on its errand of death.

The aim was an unerring one, and the leaden messenger did its work well.

With a howl of agony, the savage went down to the earth, never to rise
therefrom.

His death-cry was echoed by one of rage on either side. Two others at
the same moment had caught a glimpse of the scout, and they closed about
him, determined that he should not leave the spot alive.

They felt now that they had the Death-Dealer in their power.

Dick knew that the odds were against him, but he was never more cool or
self-possessed in his life.

He had been in a good many snug places before.

With wondrous rapidity he reloaded his rifle, and before it was
accomplished a bullet whistled in unpleasant proximity to his ear.

To remain where he was until he was surrounded by the red-skins was no
part of his plan. His only safety lay in flight. The only red-skin close
upon him could not harm him now, for the barrel of his rifle was empty.
With a bound he sprung from behind the tree and fled away.

He got a glimpse of the red-skin reloading his rifle, and had he been so
minded he could have sent a bullet through his heart. But he did not
care to do it. He wished to keep it against a time when it would do him
a better service.

Ill-shaped and deformed as he was, it was wonderful how fast he got over
the ground.

His steps were rather bounds than strides, and could a stranger have
looked upon him as he fled away through the forest they would have said
that it was a wild beast instead of a human being.

With fleet steps, straining every nerve in the race, the red-skins came
after him.

But they stood but a poor chance of overtaking him. Their swiftest
runners were no match for him in this respect.

He knew that as soon as the sun went down and the twilight came on he
was safe.

It would be easy enough to elude his pursuers then.

Just as the sun went down, he paused on the summit of a slight eminence
and looked behind for his enemies.

Not one of them in sight.

But he knew that they were still upon his trail, and it would not be
long before they would show themselves, so he waited.




                              CHAPTER II.
                           THE WIZARD’S DEN.


One, two, five minutes passed, and the scout stood there as motionless
as stone, with his eyes fixed back over the way he had come.

He held his rifle before him ready for instant use, the moment a savage
should show himself.

He had made up his mind that there should be one the less to keep on his
trail.

At last his eye caught sight of a form moving among the trees.

“Now, Susannah, my girl,” he said, as he sighted along the shining
barrel, and look quick aim upon the foremost savage.

The next instant Susannah spoke, in a tone that woke the echoes of the
forest, and the eye of the scout noted the savage as he bit the dust.

“Well done, my girl,” he said, caressingly. “Now we’ll be going. By that
’ere yell, there’s a hull snarl of ’em ahint. Well, let ’em come on if
they want to. They’ll get a tussle afore they get you and I into their
clutches.”

Suiting the action to the word, the scout went on again, reloading his
rifle as he went; while each moment the dusk of evening grew in the
forest, telling him that the end of his race and the night were near at
hand.

Ever and anon as he paused for a moment, he could hear the savages
coming on behind him, but he had no fear of their overtaking him. In a
few minutes more he would be able to turn aside and let them go on in
the wild pursuit, while he could stand quietly by and laugh at the trick
he was playing upon them.

Deeper and deeper grew the shadows in the forest, and at last the
darkness was so well down that it was all that he could do with his
eyes, accustomed to the task, to mark the footsteps he was leaving
behind him.

The moment had come for him to give them the slip.

Summoning to his aid all the energies he possessed, he bounded forward
with the speed of the wind for some fifty rods on the course he had been
following.

Here he paused, and listened for a few moments.

As he expected, there was no sound of the footsteps of his pursuers.

Assured of this, he turned abruptly to the right, and, after keeping
this course for a few minutes, once more set his face in the direction
from which he had come.

A little later, and he heard the sound of the savages’ footsteps as they
hurried by him.

“Go it, ye varmints,” he muttered, “yer eyes have got to be sharper than
I think they are, if ye can keep the run of my trail. Thar ain’t nothing
like darkness to get a feller out of a fix as I knows on. It has saved
you and I, Susannah, more’n a hundred times since we come into these
parts.”

He patted the breech of his rifle affectionately, as if it was capable
of understanding what he said. In truth he was as much attached to it as
though it had been a human companion with whom he had spent an equal
number of years.

“Well, I’m rid of them. But I ain’t a bit wiser than I was an hour ago.
I ain’t got the least clue to what the varmints are up to. Thar’s
something in the wind or there wouldn’t be such a snarl of ’em in these
parts. There’ll be butchering and burning on the river somewhere afore
morning, I’m afraid. I wish to mighty I knew where it was that they mean
to begin their bloody work.”

He was silent for a few moments, turning the matter over in his mind,
and trying to determine what he had better do.

“Let me see,” he broke out, at length, as he gazed about him, as if for
the purpose of taking his true bearings. “That ere Wizard’s hole ain’t
far from here. If he’s only in the right tune perhaps I can find out
something by him. But, he’s a crafty old fox and sometimes I think he
plays me false. He pretends to be a friend of the whites—says he tries
to keep peace between them and the red-skins. But I’ve thought sometimes
that he set ’em on to their devilish work. At any rate I’ll give him a
call, and perhaps I can fine out something. I’m blind as a bat now,
about what to do.”

For a few moments longer the scout remained in the attitude of
listening, and then he threw his rifle over his shoulder and struck out
at a round pace through the forest.

A silence most profound was around him. There was no sign to show that
another living being was near. The savages, off the scent, had gone, he
knew not whither.

With rapid strides he hurried on, intent upon reaching his destination
as soon as possible.

Away to the eastward, the sky was lighting up with the rising moon, then
a little past its full. Soon its beams would make it as light as evening
in the forest.

For nearly an hour he kept on without once pausing; and at the end of
that time there rose before him a high, jagged hill, crowned with
splintered rocks, and stunted trees, bathed in the silver rays of the
newly risen moon.

He was close upon the dwelling-place of him he sought.

In the heart of the hill, beneath the jagged rocks, the Indian Wizard
had his home.

Both the white hunters and the red gave the spot a wide berth, for they
stood greatly in awe of the strange being who haunted the spot.

Of the former, none had ever held converse with him except the scout,
who now stood almost at the threshold of his den.

The red-men consulted him, when any thing of great moment was at stake;
but there was not one of them who was not glad when his back was turned
upon him.

Sometimes they brought their sick to him to heal, for he was reputed a
great Medicine, and his skill was often of great avail.

All this the scout knew well, yet he felt no fear as he approached the
spot. He had no fear of the unearthly powers which some said the Wizard
possessed.

Arrived at the foot of the hill, the scout paused, and glanced up at the
moonlit rocks above him.

No living thing was to be seen, and a silence like that of death brooded
around the spot.

“I wonder if the old fellow is asleep?” he muttered. “I’ve almost forgot
the way into his den, and am not sure that I can find it.”

At that moment the solemn hoot of an owl coming from the highest
pinnacle of the cliff above, broke the silence that reigned around.

“That’ll fetch him out,” muttered Dick. “That bird serves him better
than a red-skin would, perched up there. His eagle watches for him by
day and his owl by night, and I’ll defy anybody to come round here
without their knowing it. I don’t see how the old chap has got ’em
trained so well as he has. There he goes ag’in. I should think that one
such a hoot as that was enough to announce anybody. But hark! Somebody
else is coming. I’ll be darned if that ’ere bird don’t know more than a
human.”

A footstep only a few rods away had at that moment fallen upon the ear
of the scout.

Close beside where he stood was a huge bowlder which at some former time
had toppled down from the hight above, and it was only the work of a
moment for him to ensconce himself behind it in such a manner that he
would not readily be discovered.

“We won’t be hoggish, Susannah,” he said, in a whisper, as he placed his
rifle so that it would be ready for instant use. “We’ll let the Wizard
see this visitor first. I don’t see who in nater it can be who dares to
venture here arter dark.”

The footstep came nearer and nearer, and in a few moments the scout
caught a glimpse of a figure in the moonlight approaching the spot he
had just vacated.

To his astonishment he saw that it was an Indian maiden, and as the
moonlight fell full upon her features he saw that she was fair and
comely.

“Well, this is the master,” muttered the scout. “Who would have thought
that the old chap had such visitors as this?”

The Indian girl paused upon the very spot he had so lately vacated, and
despite the lack of determination upon her face, he could see mingled
with it, a look of apprehension as though she feared the interview she
had evidently come to crave of the Wizard.

For the space of a minute she remained motionless, gazing up toward the
spot from whence the hoot of the owl had come. A silence most profound
reigned around, and the scout in his hiding-place almost feared that the
loud beating of his heart would betray him.

Suddenly a voice came apparently from out of the very rocks, and so
close to them, that they both gave a start of surprise.

“Who is it, that seeks the Wizard of the Rocks when the night has come?
Let them speak, that he may know their errand at once.”

Out from among the rocks as though they had opened to give him egress,
strode the once tall form of the Wizard, now bent with years, and the
strange life he led. A sort of robe made of the skins of wild beasts
covered his gaunt form and fell nigh to his feet. His face was wrinkled
and old, but his eyes were as bright and piercing as they had been in
his youth. Age and the long life of a recluse had not dimmed them in the
least. In one hand he held a long staff, as though to give emphasis to
the question he asked. The moonlight falling upon him gave him a weird
look, and it was little wonder that those who saw him felt that there
was something unearthly about him, and which sent a feeling of awe to
their hearts.

“The Indian girl hears the words of the great Medicine. She has come to
seek him that she may know of a thing that is dear to her heart. She has
come through the forest alone, that no others may hear the words that
may be spoken. Will the great Medicine listen to what she has to say?”

“Why does the Indian girl come hither to the Hollow Rocks, and speak
with a forked tongue? Let her words be as straight as the flight on an
arrow, and they shall be hearkened to. Why does she say that she came
hither alone, while the watch-bird up yonder tells that there were two
of them?”

“The Indian girl scorns a lie. Her tongue is not forked and she has not
told an untruth. She came through the forest alone, and she knows not
that others are near.”

The Wizard did not speak for a moment, but he fixed his piercing eyes
full upon her face. She bore the scrutiny without flinching, and at last
as though satisfied of her truthfulness he said:

“The tongue of the Indian was right. The watch-bird needs more training.
It has been many moons since he spoke falsely before.”

The scout in his hiding-place breathed freer. He did not fear harm if he
was discovered, but he had a purpose in remaining concealed for some
time longer. Somehow he felt impressed that he might learn something of
the errand on which he had come if he remained undiscovered. Besides, he
was curious to know why it was that the Indian girl had come hither to
hold a conference with the Wizard.

Meanwhile she stood silent, as though waiting for him to question her.

“Let the Indian girl speak,” said the Wizard, at length. “Let the
daughter of the chief make known her errand.”

“Then the Wizard of the Rocks knows the Indian maiden. He calls her the
daughter of the chief, and he spoke truly,” said the girl, proudly.

“Who has not heard of Minora, the Red Rose of the forest, the daughter
of Leaping Panther? Many maidens of the tribe are fair, but none can
compare with her. The eyes of Rushing Water have seen it, and his heart
is full of her. He has asked her to go to his lodge, and she is willing.
Before many moons shall go, the young chief will have carried her
thither, and great will be the rejoicing of the tribe.”

A strange look of mingled disappointment and hate came over the face of
the Indian girl, as these words fell upon her ear.

The scout could see it from his hiding-place behind the rock, and the
Wizard noted it from the spot where he stood. Uncertain as the moonlight
was, there was no mistaking it.

“The Wizard of the Rocks has heard the idle tale that has been told by
the tribe; or it may be that Leaping Panther has told to his ears his
hopes for his child. Moons ago this might have been. Rushing Water did
woo the Red Rose and asked her to share his lodge with him. But his
heart is turned from her now. His love is given to another, and it is of
this that the daughter of the chief has come here to-night.”

“The Red Rose’s words are strange ones. The Wizard of the Rocks can
hardly credit the words she utters. Why should Rushing Water break his
faith and turn away from her. Where in all the lands of the red-men can
he find a mate that can compare with her?”

“Rushing Water seeks not for a mate among his people. His heart is
turned away from the maidens of his own race. He has given it into the
keeping of a pale-face girl whose lodge stands in the wilderness apart
from her people. Minora has seen her often, and she wishes now that her
knife had found her heart.”

A look of deadly hate was on the face of the girl, and her hand as she
spoke nervously sought the spot where her weapon rested.

The scout gave a start, and muttered to himself:

“She means Sam Wilson’s cabin; and little Ruth whom she would like to
murder. Well, I’m glad I’ve found so much out. I guess, Min, you won’t
get a chance to murder her, and Rushing Water, as you call him, won’t
find a bride in that quarter. To my sartin knowledge she’s promised to
Ned Tapley, and he won’t be cut out by a red-skin, I don’t believe.”

“Does the white maiden care for the chief?” demanded the Wizard.

“No. Her heart is given to one of her own race. She will never willingly
go to the lodge of Rushing Water.”

“That’s a fact,” muttered the scout. “She’s hit the truth once,
Susannah.”

“Then why need the Red Rose fear, so long as the white maiden cares not
for him? Let her do her best to win back the love she has lost.”

“The Red Rose can do nothing. The time for her to work upon his heart,
has gone by. But when he brings her to his lodge she shall die. Minora
has sworn it by the Great Spirit. To-night with his warriors he has gone
to fetch his bride. Before the sun comes again the sky will be red with
the flames of the burning lodge, and all the pale-faces will die, but
her.”

The scout gave a start which almost brought him to his feet. He had
learned now, whither it was that the red-skins were bound. Little need
was there now to consult with the Wizard as he had intended. Everything
was plain to him.

He looked eagerly about him for a chance to steal away without being
observed, but the moon was shining so brightly that he saw that he could
not do it without being observed. So, though anxious to hurry away as
soon as possible, he was obliged to remain quiet and listen to the
remainder of the conversation.

The Wizard was silent for the space of a minute and then he said:

“Rushing Water is a foolish chief. He should have chosen for a bride one
of his own people. But, why has the Red Rose come hither? What is it
that she seeks?”

“The Wizard of the Rocks is wise, and he is a great Medicine. He knows
of deadly plants, the juice of which is sure to kill. The Red Rose would
have a potion to give to the pale-face maiden when she comes. Let it be
safe and sure, so that she shall be sent at once to the spirit-land.”

The scout gave another start. He was so nervous now that he could hardly
keep in his hiding-place. Yet he thanked his stars that he was where he
chanced to be.

“Let the Red Rose go back to her wigwam, and fear not. Rushing Water
shall never take the pale-face maiden to his lodge. If it need be, the
Indian maiden shall have the deadly potion for which she asks. The
Wizard of the Rocks will see to it. Let her have no fears, and she shall
yet live in the lodge of the chief.”

“The Red Rose is content. She knows that the great Medicine will keep
his word. When the morrow’s eve shall come, will he be at the Indian
village?”

“The Medicine has promised. He will be there.”

No more words passed between them. The Indian girl turned and
disappeared the way she had come, and a minute after, the rocks seemed
to open their jagged jaws and swallow the Wizard up again.




                              CHAPTER III.
                         THE CABIN CONFERENCE.


The scout kept quiet until both of them had disappeared, and then he
rose up from his cramped position behind the rock.

“Well, this is a pretty go,” he muttered to himself. “Both sides have
got their plans laid kinder cute. But I guess I shall have a word to say
in this ’ere business. Wal, we’ll have a reckoning some day. If I could
see yer old head up thar among the rocks, I should be tempted to put a
bullet through it. I’ll be darned if I hain’t a good mind to shoot yer
owl off his perch, anyway. You thought he was fooling ye, but he wa’n’t.
I was here myself, all the time. But I guess I’ll let him alone. The
bird ain’t to blame, anyway. Jest git yer p’izen ready for little Ruth
if you want to. I guess it will be some time before you’ll have a chance
to give it to her. It will, anyway, if I and Susannah can get to Sam
Wilson’s cabin afore the red-skins. They’ve got some the start, but they
can’t come in. ’Tain’t no use. Dick, the Death-Dealer, will get there
afore ’em, and if they don’t get a good peppering out of yer mouth,
Susannah, then I miss my guess. Come on now, for we mustn’t let the
grass grow under our feet.”

Thus addressing his mute companion, Dick threw it over his shoulder, and
turning his back upon the abode of the Wizard, he dashed away through
the forest at a pace that few could imitate.

Already since the moment when he had been started from his resting-place
by the appearance of the first savage that afternoon, he had traversed
many miles, a portion of which he had been obliged, as the reader
already knows, to run for his life.

Still he felt not the first inclination of weariness, as most any man
would have done. His powers of endurance were great, and he had been
schooled in the work until it was a second nature with him.

The long rest he had had through the heat of the day was greatly in his
favor, and at this moment he would have said that he felt as fresh as he
did when he first rose from the earth from his nap.

Of only one thing did he think he stood in need, and that was food.

He had not broke his fast since morning. But he had often gone longer
than this without eating, and now there was neither time nor opportunity
for him to do so.

He knew that the safety of Sam Wilson and his family depended upon his
reaching their cabin as soon as he could.

Over two hours had elapsed since he had given his pursuers the slip, and
the distance they were in advance depended upon how much time they had
spent in searching for him after they had lost his trail.

But be that as it might, he knew well that he had no time to lose, and
therefore he bent every energy to the task of getting over the ground as
fast as possible.

The moon had now risen high above the tree-tops, throwing a flood of
silver light down into the forest, rendering it in places almost as
light as day.

This was very much to his advantage, and aided him in various ways.

It enabled him to avoid difficult places, where his progress would have
been slow, and it also served to keep him in a straight line toward the
place of his destination.

Never turning from the point toward which his mind was set, the scout
went onward.

But one thought was in his mind.

Should he be too late to save his friends from the terrible fate which
threatened them?

Over and over again he asked himself this question.

He could only answer it by hoping for the best.

More than once had he warned Sam Wilson to leave his cabin in the forest
and take up his abode in some settlement where he would not be so much
exposed; but he would not listen to him.

He was as safe in one place as another, he always declared, but now the
hour had come when he would find out his mistake.

It was near a half-dozen miles to the nearest settlement, and thus he
was as completely cut off from aid as though he were in the heart of the
wilderness.

On he went, never for a moment flagging in his pace.

The moon rose higher and higher, and at last he judged from it that
midnight was near at hand.

He could not be far from the clearing now. Were the red-skins before or
behind him?

The sky as yet gave no evidence of fire near at hand, and though he
paused and listened he could not hear the slightest sound.

A calm unbroken by aught reigned around.

But it was always the stillest before a storm.

Would it prove so in this case?

From what he heard that night he could think it would be otherwise.

At last the broad field of moonlight which lay through the trees before
him told him that he was close to the edge of the clearing.

A few minutes more and his suspense was at an end.

The cabin stood unharmed in the center of the clearing, and a light
gleaming out from the window told him that they had not all retired as
yet.

“Thank fortin we’re in time, Susannah,” he exclaimed, as he paused for a
moment to wipe the profuse perspiration from his brow. “I wonder what it
is that keeps ’em up so late? I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Ned
Tapley was here sitting Ruth up. I hope he is, ’ca’se thar’ll be one
more shot on our side. Ned can handle a rifle nigh about as well as I
can you, Susannah.”

He did not lose many moments here, but with long strides he crossed the
clearing and approached the cabin. Noiselessly he came up and peered in
through the crevice of the window through which the light shone out.

He was right in his surmises. Ned Tapley was seated within, with Ruth’s
head resting upon his shoulder. His arm was about her waist, and in
their happiness they had little thought of the danger which menaced
them, or that other eyes than their own were looking upon them.

Dick hugged his rifle close to him.

“They’re as loving as you and I,” he said to himself. “We’ve been in
pretty ’tarnal tough scrapes afore now, Susannah, and if signs don’t
fail they’ll be too, afore they’re out of this. I hate to disturb ’em
but it’s got to be done. So here goes.”

Suiting the action to the word, he rapped loudly upon the door, bringing
the startled lovers to their feet.

“Who is there?” demanded Ned.

“Dick. Open the door and let me in.”

“It is the scout,” said Ruth. “Where can he have come from at this time
of night?”

As Ned could not answer this question of Ruth’s, he unbarred the door,
giving admittance to the scout that he might reply for himself.

“Come in. I’m glad to see you,” exclaimed the young man, grasping him by
the hand. “You are the last person that I would have thought of turning
up to-night.”

“Am sorry to interrupt yer courting, youngster, but it had better be me
than somebody else. Anyway I’m glad to see you here. I wish there was a
dozen more from the settlement, for I’m afraid we shall need ’em afore
morning.”

“What do you mean? Is there danger abroad to-night?” demanded Ned,
anxiously, while Ruth’s hand which she had placed in that of the scout’s
trembled in spite of her efforts to prevent it.

“’Tain’t no use to try to deceive you,” said Dick, after he had returned
the greeting of Ruth. “I ain’t got the time, even if I wanted to. Call
up Sam and I’ll tell you what I know. But first mind that the door is
barred strong. There’s no telling when the red-skins may be upon us, and
it’s best to be prepared.”

“I’m here,” exclaimed the settler, emerging from the other apartment
with his rifle in his hand. “What is the matter, Dick? Are the red-skins
on the rampage ag’in?”

Ned had been looking to the door, and now he came back again, and all
waited anxiously for the scout to speak.

He did not keep them long in suspense, but in as few words as possible
he made them acquainted with the danger they were in.

Though the face of Ruth was as white as snow, she did not cry out, when
she comprehended the danger she was in, but the mother who had joined
the group in season to hear the burden of the scout’s communication gave
utterance to her fears.

“Oh, Ruth, my child, what shall be done?” she cried. “I was fearful the
other day when the savage was here that you had offended him; but I did
not think he would plan so terrible a thing as this.”

“I don’t know why you didn’t,” said the scout, bluntly. “You can’t trust
one of the race half so far as you can see ’em. That I found out long
ago. They never enjoy themselves half so much as they do when they are
burning, and cutting, and slashing round and raising scalps. That’s what
they were made for I suppose, and I don’t know as they can help it.”

“Do you think that they are close at hand?” asked Ned, as he took his
rifle from the corner of the room and carefully examined the priming.

“Yes, I expect ’em any moment. It was a wonder that they didn’t get here
afore me. I guess they hunted longer for my trail than I thought they
would. But they had ought to know better by this time, than to think
they could catch me arter I’ve got wind of what they’re up to.”

“What had we better do?” asked the settler, anxiously. “Stick by the
cabin, hadn’t we?”

“Yes. It’s all the sight we’ve got. If we run for the woods, like as not
we shall stumble right into their clutches. The walls of the cabin ar’
thick, and we’ve got three rifles to help ourselves with. We’re safer
here than we should be anywhere else.”

“But there is another one to help us,” said Ruth. “The man up in the
loft. He must be sound asleep not to hear us. Had we not better call
him?”

“I’m a-coming,” cried a voice, overhead. “I’ll be down thar jest as soon
as I can get my legs into my trowsers. Rot the luck, that ain’t the
right hole anyway. I never could get on my fixin’s in the dark.
Jerusalem! there goes a gallows-button! Right down through a crack in
the floor as sure as preaching. Say, below there! Ye didn’t hear it
drop, did ye?”

No answer was made to this inquiry, while the scout stared upward for a
moment as if in astonishment, and then turned his inquiring gaze into
the faces of those about him, as though he was mutely demanding who the
stranger was.

But they had no chance to answer him, before a huge pair of feet
appeared upon the upper round of the ladder, followed by a pair of legs
so long that Dick began to wonder if any body would follow at all. But
it did at length, crowned by a head, and the whole of the stranger was
revealed to his wondering gaze.

Long and lank, it seemed to Dick as though he must be at least seven
feet in hight. He had only stopped to half clothe himself, and the rest
of his garments he carried upon his arm. His face was sharp and thin,
and the lower part of it was covered with a long, thin beard, which
stuck out in every direction like the quills of a porcupine. His eyes,
which were small and restless, had a sharp look about them, and his tone
and twang proclaimed him at once to be a Yankee.

If the scout gazed upon him curiously, the new-comer returned it with
interest. Evidently he had never seen such an extraordinary figure as
that presented by the scout. Evidently he wished to make some remarks
upon him, but he contented himself with a single exclamation.

“Whew!”

“Who are you?” demanded Dick, a little impatient of the scrutiny the
other had bestowed upon him, forgetting that he himself had been guilty
of the same.

“Wal, I don’t mind telling ye,” answered the Yankee, as he went on with
his toilet. “My name is Peleg Parker, and I hail from New Hampshire. I
was raised in Pigwaket, right up under the shadder of the White
Mountains. I couldn’t make money fast enough up there, and so I took to
peddling, and so wandered away out into these ’ere parts. My pack is up
in the garret, and I’ve got as good an assortment in it as ever was seen
this side of the mountains. Prehaps I can trade a little with ye in the
morning? Will sell cheaper than dirt. There didn’t any of you see that
button drop down here, did ye? I wouldn’t lose it for a fourpence, for I
couldn’t match it out in these parts.”

Mrs. Wilson replied in the negative, and then Ned Tapley said:

“You don’t know, perhaps, the danger we’re in. We’re expecting every
moment that the savages will attack the cabin.”

“I know it, and I’m worried nigh about to death about my pack. If the
red-skins get hold on it I’m ruined. My hull fortin is in it—ev’ry
darned cent I’m worth. Say, Mister, you don’t think they can break in
here, do you?”

This was addressed to Dick, who replied somewhat angrily:

“I wouldn’t wonder if they did. They’ll do their best to, at any rate.
You had better worry about yer scalp than about that ’ere pack o’
your’n. If you wa’n’t asleep when I came here, you wouldn’t ask such a
question as that.”

“Asleep! I’ll be darned if I’ve slept a wink to-night. I knew the young
folks were courting down here, and it put me in mind of the time when I
used to be in that business myself. I’ve courted more’n a dozen gals,
off and on, up in New Hampshire, and nigh about every one of ’em give me
the mitten in the end.”

“I don’t wonder at it,” muttered the scout.

“Wal, I thought of ’em down here for a good while, and got a-wondering
if I couldn’t sell ’em a good bargain out of my pack if they were going
to housekeeping, and then I rolled over and was just going to sleep,
when you made that thundering racket at the door. And now here I am up
ag’in without having got a wink of sleep to-night.”

“You’ll be lucky if you ever do again,” muttered the scout. “If we can’t
keep the red-skins out of here, you’ve taken your last nap and cheated
the last one you ever will.”

The Yankee was about to make some rejoinder to this, when Sam Wilson
broke in:

“This won’t do for us to stand talking here. We must keep a watch
without. I will go up into the loft and station myself at one of the
loopholes there. We mustn’t let the red-skins get up under the walls of
the cabin unless we want to be smoked out.”

“I will go,” said Ned, making a move toward the ladder. “Do you stay
here and make ready for their coming. I’ll keep my eyes open, and give
the alarm the first glimpse I get on them.”

“I swan, I wish I was in New Hampshire,” exclaimed Peleg. “I’ll bet a
dollar that ’ere pack will go afore I get out of this scrape.”

“What have you got for weapons?” demanded the scout, sharply. “We shall
have need of every thing in that line afore morning. Have you got a
rifle?”

“How in the name of Jerusalem do you think I can carry a rifle along
with a pack? I guess you never was in the peddling line, was ye?”

“No.”

“So I thought. And jest at this time I wish I wa’n’t neither. I guess it
would be money in my pocket if I was out of this scrape.”

“But what have you got?” demanded the scout, impatiently. “Any pistols?”

“Yes, a pair of beauties up in my pack. But I don’t want to dirt ’em up
in this scrape if I can help it. I calculated to make a good thing out
of ’em when I found the right customer.”

Dick gave utterance to something which sounded very much like an oath.

“You’ve got a customer for ’em now, and if you save yer scalp in the
trade you’ll make the best bargain you ever did. Bring them down and
load them up at once. We ain’t got a moment to lose in getting ready.”

With evident reluctance the Yankee turned away and clambered once more
up to the loft. It took him some little time to search them out in the
dark, but when he returned he had them in his hands.

The scout took them from him, for the purpose of examining them to see
if they were properly loaded and in good order.

“Come,” said Peleg. “What will you give me for ’em? I’ll sell ’em
’tarnal cheap. Speak out. I stump you to make me an offer.”

The sound of footsteps was heard above their heads, and the next moment
the excited face of Ned was thrust down through the opening.

“They are coming; a half-score of them at least are crossing the
clearing.”

Mrs. Wilson and Ruth grew paler if possible than before, while Sam and
the scout exchanged glances, which told of the apprehension they felt.
As for the Yankee, he only muttered:

“Darn it, why couldn’t they have waited a minute longer. They’ve sp’iled
a trade.”




                              CHAPTER IV.
                          FOUR AGAINST FORTY.


It was only for a moment that the look of apprehension remained upon the
face of the scout. Then it vanished and a look of stern determination
took its place.

“Look well to the door, Sam,” he said. “There’s a crack there atween the
logs by it, and if you get a good chance give ’em a shot that will tell.
I’ll go up with Ned, and if we don’t pick off a couple of ’em at least
afore they get here, why we’ll make some bad shots, that’s all.”

“What shall I do?” said the Yankee. “Keep the wimmin folks company?”

“Stay here with Sam, and if you find a chance to use them shooters, why
_do_ it,” said Dick, as he bounded up the ladder, and felt his way along
to the spot where Ned Tapley was kneeling before a loophole which had
been left between the logs for the very purpose for which it was now
employed.

“Look,” said the young man, moving aside so as to give him a chance to
peer into the outer world. “There is more of them than I thought. As
near as I can make out there is a good two score of them.”

“So there is,” said Dick, as he glanced hastily through and noted the
red-skins that as silently as so many spirits of evil were gliding
toward the cabin.

“Rushing Water has got half his warriors with him, I guess. He don’t
mean to fail in this thing if he can help it.”

“And I am afraid that he will not,” said Ned, in a low tone. “How can we
ever contend against such a horde as that which is pouring down upon
us.”

“If the cabin walls only prove true to us, we will make a good fight,
and send howling away what we don’t leave stretched out about us. So
here goes for one of ’em, Susannah. Mind, old gal, that you do yer
duty.”

He thrust the muzzle of his rifle out between the logs and ran his eye
along the barrel. Taking good aim upon the foremost savage, he pulled
the trigger. There was a report and the savage lay stretched upon the
earth.

A shout of rage burst from the throats of the savages, making the echoes
of the forest ring on every side.

“There’s one of them gone under,” said the scout, exultingly. “Hear them
howl. But they shall have a chance to again before we are done with
them. Now, Ned, here is a chance for you.”

He moved aside, hastily reloading his rifle as he did so, and the young
man took his place. A glance without showed him that the savages had
widely separated, and were hurrying at the top of their speed toward the
cabin.

They knew that when once beneath its walls that the marksmen within
would not have the chance upon them that they had now.

Ned singled out one of them, and brought his rifle to bear upon him. The
next instant, and the messenger of death sped forth upon its errand of
destruction, and when the smoke cleared away he saw the savage lying
motionless upon the field.

Another moment, and Sam’s rifle spoke from beneath them, and glancing
out Ned saw that he, too, had been successful.

The scout’s rifle was reloaded now, and Ned hastily moved away to give
him another chance. But, it was too late. The field between the cabin
and the clearing was emptied of savages, except those who would never
move again. They had gained the shelter of the cabin walls, and each
felt a shudder run through his frame, as he thought how near the savage
horde was to them, and only the walls of their little fort between them
and destruction.

Were it not for the helpless women, and the terrible fate which
threatened Ruth, they would hardly have given their situation a thought.
Both had been in a tight fix before, and this time if it was fated that
they were to go under, why they would do so with the best grace they
could. But they would not give up so long as they had life and strength
left them.

Dick withdrew his rifle and stepped back from the loophole.

“Stay here, Ned, and keep a good look without. It may be that you will
get a shot at one of the varmints by and by when they are getting kinder
keerless. I’ll go down and see what Sam and that long-legged Yankee are
up to. To my mind the red-skins will be trying the door afore long.
There! I knew they would.”

As he uttered these words, the flooring beneath their feet trembled, and
there came a sound from the outside as though a blow had been dealt with
great force against the cabin.

Hurriedly Dick descended the ladder, and joined Sam, whose form he made
out standing by the door.

The light had been extinguished so that the savages could not see what
was passing within the cabin.

The darkness hid the forms of Ruth and her mother, and that of the
Yankee was invisible.

“Well, Sam, how goes it?” he demanded, in a low tone.

“Well, so far,” returned the settler. “I’ve done for one of ’em, and you
and Ned for two more. They’ve tried the door once, but they did not stir
it a peg. I should think a half dozen of them threw themselves against
it at once.”

At that moment another blow fell upon it, causing it to start back a
little, for the instant; only to firmly resume its place when the force
of the blow was spent.

“It stands it bravely,” exclaimed the scout. “They’ve got to put on more
force than that if they break in here. I guess you built that door, Sam,
for jest such a time as this.”

“I hope they won’t get in,” exclaimed a voice from a dark corner of the
apartment. “If they should and carry off my pack, I’m a ruined man. Say,
mister, what will you give me for it now, and take yer chances?”

“You had better worry about yer scalp than that pack of your’n,”
returned the scout. “If you lose that, I don’t think yer knick-nacks
will amount to much to ye.”

“Oh dear, I wish I was in New Hampshire! What a ’tarnal fool I was to
come out here anyway! Aunt Betsey alwa’s told me that a rolling stone
gathered no moss. I wish I had sot down as flat as the big rock in the
sheep-pasture afore I had come out here. Jerusalem! but I du believe
they will stave the house down.”

Another blow had fallen upon the door with such tremendous force, that
it had started a little inward, throwing down the barricade of movable
articles which had been piled against it to help strengthen it, making
such a clatter that the Yankee asked if the side of the cabin was
falling in.

But still the door was not driven from its place, and hastily the two
men went to building up the barricade again.

“They used a log of wood that time,” said Sam. “But they have got to
deal it a heavier blow than that, before they will batter it down. I may
be mistaken, but I think it is good for all they can bring against it.”

“I hope so,” said Dick. “But they are in earnest about getting in here,
and I’m afraid they will, some way. Rushing Water will tear this cabin
to pieces, but what he will get Ruth into his hands.”

“But while I live, or so long as one log lays upon another, he shall
never have my child,” said the settler, in a low, determined tone.

“And I say amen to that,” said Dick, fervently. “The Death-Dealer has
not gone under yet, and while he has life he will not leave her.”

“Heaven bless you,” said the settler. “Had it not been for you we should
have been butchered by this time, and Ruth in their power.”

Again and again the blows descended upon the door, but it resisted them
stoutly, and at last the savages apparently made up their minds they
could not gain an entrance in this way.

Therefore the blows ceased, and for the space of five minutes not a
sound came from without.

Mrs. Wilson and Ruth came forward from the spot where they had been
anxiously waiting the course of events.

“What means this silence, father?” said the latter, in a low tone. “Do
you think they have given it up and gone away?”

“Gi’n it up? No, not by a jug-full,” exclaimed the scout, speaking
before the settler could answer. “I tell you they won’t give it up so
easily. They’re planning some new sort of deviltry. That’s what they’re
up to. I know the varmints pretty well and they won’t leave this spot in
a hurry unless we make it too hot to hold ’em, and the chances are that
they’ll make it too _hot_ for us. Thar, Ned’s picked off another of ’em,
I’ll be bound.”

The report of a rifle rung out above their heads, and hardly had it died
away before the voice of Ned was heard summoning the scout to him.

Dick bounded up the ladder, and in a moment was at his side.

“What is it?” he asked, eagerly.

“Look. They’re going to see what fire will do to us.”

The scout uttered an exclamation of alarm, and bending down, peered out
through the loophole. A glance showed him that the words of Ned were
true.

A huge stack of straw, which stood a little way off, had been brought
and heaped against the side of the cabin.

This he saw at a glance, and the next moment all was darkness without.

The moon had managed to struggle for a moment through the great mass of
black clouds which had suddenly covered the sky, giving signs that a
thunder-storm was close at hand.

It was under the cover of these, that they had heaped the combustible
material against the walls of the cabin, and Ned had not been able to
see what plan they were preparing to carry out, until they had well-nigh
done their work.

One of them he had caught a glimpse of as the last armful was being
carried, and had sent a bullet crashing through his head.

“What is to be done?” asked Ned in a whisper. “They will fire the straw
in a moment now, and the roof of the cabin, owing to the heat, must be
as dry as tinder.”

“We must be smoked out like a coon in a hollow tree,” answered the
scout. “When it comes to that we must go out and fight hand to hand for
our lives.”

“It will be a fearful odds.”

“I know it. But we must take them. At least they shall know that the
Death-Dealer is here, and he will not go under until he has made a
half-dozen of them bite the dust.”

“They have fired the straw,” cried Ned. “I can smell the smoke—and
look—see the light flashing in through the crevices here. The cursed
red-skin would burn up her, whom he would have for his bride.”

It was even as he said. The crackling of the flames outside could now be
heard, and all along the side of the cabin the light was flashing in
through the slight crevices between the logs. A danger more terrible
than any which had before threatened them was upon them now.

In a minute more the loft was so full of smoke that they could not stay
there.

Feeling their way to the ladder they descended to the apartment below,
where they found their friends also aware of the new danger that
threatened them.

“Jerusalem and the Prophets,” cried the Yankee. “That pack of mine will
be burned up as sure as preaching.”

No heed was paid to this lament, and Sam Wilson exclaimed:

“The red-skins are trying a new dodge, are they. Do you think they can
make the cabin burn?”

“I am afraid so,” answered the scout, and then he told them what they
had taken to kindle the flames with.

The roaring of the flames could now be plainly heard as they leaped up
the side of the cabin.

“If it catches upon the roof there is no hope for us,” said the settler,
despondingly.

“It is there already,” cried Mrs. Wilson, who was gazing up through into
the loft. “Father in heaven help us, for we can do nothing of ourselves.
Put forth Thy hand and save us from this terrible fate.”

A shout arose from the throats of the savages at that moment; but as
though in answer to her prayer, a loud clap of thunder resounded above
their heads, drowning the shouts of their enemies. The scout uttered a
joyful exclamation.

“That sound does my heart good,” he cried. “If the rain will only come
down in ten minutes we are saved.”

“The cabin will be one mass of flames before that time,” cried Ned. “The
flames have caught upon the roof and it is blazing like tinder. Pray
Heaven that the rain may come at once.”

“Amen,” responded all.

The flames roared and surged without, half drowning the exultant shouts
of the savages, who now felt sure of their victims. The smoke poured
into the cabin through every crevice, until it was all they could do to
breathe. Still though the thunder-peals sounded nearer, the wished-for
rain held aloof, as though on purpose to tantalize them and augment
their fears.

“Lie down close to the floor,” cried the scout. “You can breathe better
there. If it don’t rain in three minutes’ time, we must trust ourselves
to the red devils outside.”

They obeyed his direction, but hardly had they stretched themselves out
before they were startled by an object which came down from the loft and
went bouncing across the floor.

Before they could make up their minds what it was, another object came
crashing down upon them.

It was the Yankee and his pack.

He had gone up for it, fearful that the fire might consume it before it
fastened upon him.

Come what would he was bound that they should go together.

“Jerusalem and the Prophets, I’m killed, I know I am. Plague take the
smoke. I missed the top round and down I come kerwollups.”

“You have nigh about killed me, anyway,” exclaimed Sam. “You fell right
acrost my back. I hope you’ll be able to take that pack to the other
world with you.”

“Sho! you don’t say so. Well, I can’t say—”

What more he would have said there is no knowing, but the smoke just
then set him into a fit of coughing, so the rest of it was lost.

It was a terrible moment.

Above and around them the red flames were crackling; their forked
tongues eating their way into where they were. Without, the howling
savages were waiting for them to come forth to meet as terrible a fate.

Nothing could save them but the prayed-for rain from heaven.

Would it never come?

Were they surely doomed to death?

It would seem so.

At last the scout cried, chokingly:

“Open the door. We may as well die one way as another. We can’t live
longer here.”

At that moment, when all indeed seemed lost; when there appeared no
other alternative but to throw themselves out upon the savages, a new
sound broke upon their ears.

The floodgates of heaven were at last unloosed, and the rain was
descending in torrents.

Never was rain more welcome to human beings than to them.

“Heaven be thanked, we are saved!” cried Sam Wilson, joyously. “The fire
can’t stand such a flood as this.”

“That it can’t,” exclaimed the scout. “We’re all right now and the
red-skins are balked ag’in.”

For a few moments the rain and the flames fought for the mastery, and
then the latter succumbed.

It was no match for its opponent, and in a few minutes the battle was
over.

The settlers were saved from danger by the fire.

Silently they stood grouped together, listening to the warring of the
elements without, and wondering what had become of the savages.

They had no sign to tell them what they were about.

They did not believe they had given up the errand on which they had
come, and departed.

They all knew the nature of the savages too well to expect that.

Sam Wilson demanded of Dick what he thought they were up to.

“Planning some other deviltry, no doubt. They ain’t far off. I shouldn’t
wonder if they had took to the forest for shelter till the shower is
over.”

“Heaven grant that they may not return again,” said Mrs. Wilson.

“But they will. You can bet on that,” answered the scout. “But where
does this water come from, Sam? I didn’t know that your cabin leaked
like this.”

“It did not. The fire must have burned the roof away, and so let it in.”

The rain was pouring down upon them in torrents as though there was
indeed no covering above their heads.

The scout gave a quick start, as this idea of new danger was forced home
to his mind.

“If the roof is burned away we can’t stay here,” he cried. “Stay where
you are, and I will try and find out.”

He moved away from them, and they heard him feeling his way up the
ladder.

Not three minutes had passed before he was back again.

“Well?” said Sam Wilson, anxiously.

“_Half of the roof is burnt to a cinder, and part of it has tumbled
in!_”

His words struck to their hearts like ice.

“What is to be done?” said Ned, almost in a tone of despair. “If this be
so, we can’t keep the savages out, the moment they discover how matters
stand.”

“And then my pack will be gone, as sure as preaching,” groaned the
Yankee, who had stood with his hand upon it, ever since he had tumbled
down from the loft.

“Yes, they’ll be pouring in upon us thicker than the lice of Egypt. I
can’t see but one way. We’ve got to get out of this shell as soon as we
can.”

“Where can we go? The moment we go out we fall into the hands of the
red-skins.”

“Prehaps not. I’ve got it into my head that they ain’t hanging round
here now. They ain’t further off, I’ll allow, than the edge of the
forest, but I don’t believe that they are standing out here taking this
pelting. At any rate we’ve got to find out, and thar’s no time to lose
in doing it.”

“How are we to know?” asked Ned.

“_I’m going out to see_,” answered the scout, coolly.

An exclamation of surprise broke from the lips of each of the group.

“You will go to your death if you do,” said Sam Wilson.

“And death will come to all of us if we stay here,” said Dick. “If we
can get acrost the clearing into the edge of the woods without the
varmints knowing it, our sight will be enough better than to stay here.
I don’t believe there’s a savage near us, and now is our time. The rain
may stop any moment and then it will be too late. It ain’t lightened any
lately, and ’cording to that the shower is passing off. Keep quiet here
till I come back. If I have good luck I won’t be gone long.”

He turned toward the ladder, instead of the door as they expected.

“How are you going out?” called Ned after him.

“Through the roof. There’s a hole big enough there to let out a giant.
 If you hear three knocks upon the door you can open it, and let me in.
All will be right then.”

They held their breath to listen. They heard him for a moment moving
about upon the floor of the loft, and then the beating of the rain
drowned all further sound.




                               CHAPTER V.
                         OUT INTO THE DARKNESS.


It was by the sense of feeling alone, that Dick went up the ladder and
moved along the loft with a cautious step.

The darkness was so great that it could almost be felt.

Only here and there above his head, a dull, red light shone on the
charred beams, telling that a trace of the fire still lingered there.

But the coals were dim, and gave out no light to serve as a guide to his
footsteps.

The rain had well-nigh extinguished them, and if it continued for a few
minutes longer they would go out in deeper blackness.

Slowly the scout moved along until he came to a spot where the rain came
down without hindrance upon his head.

Feeling with his outstretched hands in the darkness, he found that the
aperture in the roof at this point was sufficiently large to admit of
his passing through without any difficulty.

Thrice he made the attempt, but each time was unsuccessful.

The charred wood was not strong enough to support his weight, and it
gave way, letting him back again.

But the fourth time he got a firmer hold and drew himself out upon the
roof.

The rain seemed to beat down upon him with redoubled fury, as though it
meant to drive him from his perch.

But he did not care for this. His only solicitude was for fear that the
roof between him and the eaves was not strong enough to hold him, and
that he would fall through into the loft again.

Slowly he moved down over the inclined plane.

It was no easy job to keep his hold good, and at the same time make sure
that the roof was strong enough to bear his weight.

The rain made it slippery, and had it not been for the action of the
fire upon the timbers of which it was composed, he could never have kept
good his hold there.

But slowly and carefully he went on, and at last drew close to the
eaves.

It was something like ten feet to the earth, but this was nothing for
him to leap down.

On more than one occasion when his life was threatened, he had leaped
more than double that distance.

He was close to the edge of the roof now, and was preparing himself for
the spring.

He tried to peer down into the darkness to see if the coast was clear of
enemies, but the gloom was so dense that he could not see an arm’s
length before his face.

At that instant, as luck would have it, a pale flash of lightning
lighted up the scene for a moment.

The scout used his eyes well, and thereby made a discovery.

The ground about the cabin was free from savages, except at one point,
where a single one stood wet and forlorn.

Evidently he had been left to watch the cabin while his comrades sought
shelter in the forest until the rain should be over.

It was a wonder that he caught a glimpse of the savage, for he was
immediately beneath him, and had he sprung down he must have landed
directly upon his head.

The flash was gone in a moment, and then if possible it was darker than
before.

For a minute the scout was undecided what to do.

He could not retreat up again over the roof, the way was so difficult;
and if he could, it would amount to nothing for him to do so.

There was but one feasible course before him, and that he decided upon.

It was to leap down upon the head of the unsuspicious savage, bear him
to the earth and slay him before he could utter a sound of alarm.

Taking his knife from his belt, he placed it between his teeth, and then
fixing his hands firmly upon the eaves he was ready for the spring.

For only an instant did he hesitate, and then he went down upon the
unsuspicious savage, whose first intimation of danger was the full force
of the descending scout upon his head and shoulders.

No one taken at such a disadvantage could resist the shock, and the
red-skin went down to the earth as suddenly as though the cabin itself
had fallen upon him.

He tried to utter a cry of alarm, but it died away before his lips could
give it utterance.

The fingers of the Death-Dealer were upon his throat with a grip like
iron, and he could utter no sound.

Another moment, and the scout had his knife in his right hand, ready to
strike a fatal blow.

The savage struggled fiercely, but he was like a child in the hand of
his enemy.

The opportunity the scout sought came soon. The breast of the savage was
exposed, and he drove the knife to the hilt in his heart.

Coolly wiping the blade upon the garments of the savage, Dick rose to
his feet and quietly listened.

Not a sound met his ear except the beating of the rain and the distant
rumble of thunder away to the eastward.

“I wonder if thar is any more of the varmints sneaking round here,” he
said to himself. “It looks light up thar to the westward, and the rain
will be over soon I guess. I wish there would be another bit of a flash,
so that I might get another glimpse of matters round here.”

Hardly had the thought been expressed, when as though in answer to his
desire, another pale gleam of lightning lighted up the scene about him.

It was only momentary; but the scout used his eyes well, and was
convinced that there was no savage near except the one whose corpse lay
bleeding beside him. But he knew that the moment the rain held up a
little they would be back again. From the looks of the sky he felt
assured that they had only a few moments that they could call their own,
and that they must bestir themselves if they hoped to escape.

Hastily he passed round the cabin to make assurance doubly sure, and
then he approached the door and gave the three low raps upon it; the
signal they had agreed upon.

They heard it, for he could hear them removing the barricade inside, and
in a little time he heard the voice of Sam Wilson demanding as he opened
the door a little way:

“It is you, is it not, Dick?”

“Of course it is. Open the door. There’s no danger jest now.”

The settler complied, and the scout stepped within and the door was
immediately closed behind him.

“Are the savages gone?” demanded Ned.

“Yes, that is, they are now. I didn’t find but one of ’em there, and I
fixed him so that he won’t trouble us ag’in. I guess it puzzled him a
little to think where I come from when I landed on his head. But I did
not give him a great while to think about it, afore he had a touch of my
knife, which done for him so far as this world is concerned.”

Mrs. Wilson and Ruth shuddered. It made their blood run cold to hear him
talk so coolly of what to them, despite the circumstances seemed almost
like murder.

“And you still think that we had better leave the cabin?” said Ned.

“Of course. If we stay here a half-hour longer we can’t call our ha’r
our own. It will be hanging to the belt of some of the red-skins. Get
ready as soon as ye can. Don’t take any thing to weigh ye down for we
shall have all we can do to get away with our lives I’m afraid.”

“I shall take my pack,” cried the Yankee. “You don’t think I’ll leave
that behind, do ye? I had rather leave my ha’r than that. I might get
money enough to buy a wig, but I could never get a new pack ag’in.”

“Take it if you want to,” growled Dick; “but I’ll bet a dollar that the
red-skins will have the ransacking of it afore you’re out of this
scrape. I believe you think more of that bundle than you do of any thing
else in the world.”

“I guess you’re right,” chuckled the Yankee. “I do think a master sight
of it. Nigh about as much as I should of a wife if I had one. But I’ll
be deuced if I ain’t afraid that the rain will spile every thing there
is in it. Say, mister, hadn’t we better wait ’till it holds up a
little?”

“Can’t you hold that tongue of your’n?” cried the scout, angrily. “I
never saw such a thing to wag in my life. Stay behind if you want to,
and make a dicker with the red-skins if you can. Pass me Susannah, Ned,
I believe it was you that took her when I went up.”

“Who is Susannah?” inquired the Yankee. “I didn’t know that there was
any lady here by that name. Oh! it’s yer rifle, is it? I swan, I never
heard a gun called by that name afore.”

Each in obedience to the scout’s commands prepared to leave the cabin.

Hastily Mrs. Wilson and Ruth donned their outer garments so that in a
measure they might be protected from the rain.

They could take nothing with them. All they possessed they must leave
behind to the savages.

But they gave no thought to this. Could their lives but be spared they
would be content.

A few moments sufficed to make them ready for their flight, and then the
scout laid his hand upon the door and opened it a little way.

“Come,” he said, quickly. “The clouds are breaking and the rain will be
over in a minute. We haven’t got a moment’s time to spare.”

He stepped out into the darkness, followed by Ned, who held the hand of
Ruth in his own. Mrs. Wilson came next, and after her the Yankee with
his pack upon his back. The settler came last, closing the door of his
home behind him with a sad heart. It was not likely, he thought, that he
would ever set foot over its threshold again. Once in the hands of the
savages they would not leave it until it was a mass of blackened embers.

“Fasten it if you can in some way,” said the scout, in a whisper. “I
don’t want them to know that we are gone, if they get here within the
next ten minutes.”

There was no way to do this upon the outside, the settler said. The
scout hesitated for an instant. If he had felt sure of the time, he
would have gone within, made it fast, and come out by way of the roof as
he had done before. But he dared not do it, so he said:

“No matter, let it go. Perhaps they won’t think to try the door as soon
as they get back. Follow me close and don’t speak above a whisper. We
don’t know how near we may come to the red-skins in crossing the
clearing. There’s a chance that we may run full into ’em. But we won’t
take that so long as there is another. Come on, I’m afeard of them
clouds up yonder where the moon is. If they break away and it comes out
bright and clear afore we get to the edge of the woods it will be bad
for us. If the red-skins get their eye upon us our chances will be
slim.”

It was the shortest distance to the woods upon the south, but the scout
did not start off in that direction. He thought, and wisely, that the
savages would have fled to the nearest point for shelter when the rain
drove them from the cabin. Therefore he bent his steps in the opposite
direction, while the other fugitives followed close at his heels, hoping
that the cover of the forest might be gained in safety before the moon
by breaking forth should reveal them to their enemies.

Eagerly they pressed forward as fast as they were able. Despite the
symptoms the moon gave of breaking through the clouds, it was still
intensely dark. The way was rough, in some places over fallen trees, and
here they found it impossible to make the time they hoped to do. Hardly
a word passed between them, and when they did open their lips the words
they uttered were hardly above their breath. Each felt how much depended
upon secrecy and expedition, and therefore they used every caution which
was in their power.

“Courage,” whispered the scout. “In three minutes more we shall be safe.
I can see the dark line of the woods now, right ahead of us.”

Hardly had the words left his lips before through a rift in the dark
clouds a flood of moonlight passed down, revealing the clearing and all
it contained almost as plainly as the sunlight would have done.

“Quick! for your lives!” exclaimed the scout, as he broke into a run;
but before either of them had gained the shelter of the forest, a fierce
war-whoop behind them told that they were discovered.




                              CHAPTER VI.
                          THE MIDNIGHT AMBUSH.


A cry of terror and despair broke from the lips of Ruth and her mother,
as the shout of the savages fell like a knell of death upon their ears.

“Hush! keep quiet as you hope for your lives,” cried the scout, in a
thrilling tone. “It may be that they ain’t seen us arter all. Who knows
but what they g’in that shout when they got back to the cabin? We had
ought to thank our stars that we ain’t back there now.”

Dick looked backward as he said this, hoping that the words he uttered
might be true, though he felt sure that they need not hope for any such
good luck. That glance showed him how frail his hopes were. Between them
and the cabin he could see nearly a score of human forms coming swiftly
in their direction. As ill-fortune would have it, the moon had shone out
a few moments too soon, and an evil chance had revealed them to the
savages at that selfsame moment.

But, the moonlight did not linger long over the clearing. As if content
with the mischief it had done, it hid its face again behind the clouds
and a deeper gloom than before took its place.

“Courage,” cried Dick, urging them onward. “They’ve got to have sharp
eyes if they can find us in the forest afore daylight comes. Strike off
here to the left a little. We can fool them now if the moon don’t come
out ag’in.”

“Darn it all, I wish I was to hum,” muttered the Yankee. “If I was only
up in New Hampshire I’d give a dollar. I sw’ar I would now.”

The movement of the clouds over the face of the moon favored them, and
they were well in the shelter of the forest before it showed itself
again.

It was so dark here that they could hardly see their hand before their
face; but the scout did not allow them to pause for an instant, though
they almost had to feel their way along. Yet though they made the best
time they could, their pace was slow, for they had as it were to feel
their way along. Haste would only expose them to more danger, for they
would be liable to make some sound which would betray them. The snapping
of a twig might convey to the savages the knowledge of their
whereabouts, and expose them to capture or instant death.

For some twenty minutes after they had gained the shelter of the forest,
they kept on in this way, and then, in a low tone, the scout bade them
pause.

Each stood motionless in their tracks, their ears strained to the utmost
to catch the faintest sound of their pursuers.

A silence as profound as that of the grave was around them. The forest
seemed to be holding its breath in expectancy.

The savages, if they were following them close, were doing so with
noiseless feet, for not the slightest sound could they catch on either
side.

After a silence the scout spoke again:

“We’re all right now for an hour or two,” he said. “Unless they stumble
over us, they can’t find us more than they can a weasel in a wall.
Should the moon come out bright they may strike our trail and follow it,
but I hardly think they can. But they will do their best as soon as the
sun comes up. But by that time we must be a long way from here toward
the settlement. Rushing Water thought he was sure of the gal when he see
us, but he’ll find out afore he’s through that a bird in the hand is
worth two in the bush.”

“That’s what old Sal Fisher used to say up in New Hampshire,” said
Peleg. “She—”

What it was she said the company did not learn, for the scout broke in
with:

“Keep that tongue of your’n still, will ye? It’s wuss than a clapper to
a bell; and I shouldn’t wonder if it brought the hull tribe of savages
down upon ye. Follow me ag’in, and don’t one of ye speak above a
whisper.”

The Yankee muttered something in so low a tone that none of the rest of
them understood what it was; and they all moved forward in the wake of
the scout, who notwithstanding the darkness seemed familiar with every
step of the way, far more so than did the settlers who for years had
lived so close to where they were.

The hand of Ruth was yet in that of her lover, and though it still
trembled with fear, the words which he ever and anon whispered in her
ear, went far to reassure her and to give her courage.

Sam Wilson walked by the side of his wife, and behind them bringing up
the rear came Peleg Parker with his pack upon his back.

And so for an hour they went on, plunging deeper and deeper into the
forest, and leaving as they fondly hoped their enemies behind them.

Were they unable to find their trail before daylight, they were in hopes
to be so far on their way toward the nearest settlement, that they would
have no trouble in making their escape.

Now and then the moon would break through the clouds, deluging the
forest with a flood of silver light, and then it would hide its face
again leaving the night blacker than it was before.

The scout knew well that a savage, even, could not follow a trail under
these circumstances, and with every minute they remained unmolested his
spirits rose and he felt more sanguine of their escape.

Nearly an hour had passed, and they had kept steadily on their way; when
suddenly the scout who had glanced behind them, as the moon broke forth
brilliantly, bade them pause in their tracks.

“What is it? Did you see any thing?” demanded Ned Tapley, in a low tone.

“_Hist! the red-skins are close behind us!_” he answered, in a low
voice.

A thrill of alarm and fear struck to the heart of each at these words.

After all their hopes of escape, were they doomed to destruction?

“Are you sure it was savages you saw?” asked Sam Wilson, in a whisper,
as he cast a glance backward over the way they had come.

“Yes. There is one if not more upon our track. I saw him dart behind a
tree as plainly as I can see you now. Most like there are others along
with him though I did not see them.”

“What are we to do?”

“Circumvent the varmints if we can. I know some of their tricks, and I’m
going to play ’em off on them. The moon will be under a cloud ag’in in a
minute and then I’ll see what can be done. Till then let’s keep on as
we’ve been going.”

They went on for perhaps a dozen rods, and then the forest was buried in
darkness again.

“Now is our time,” exclaimed the scout. “I’ll let these red-skins know
that Dick, the Death-Dealer, is on their track yet. He’s sent a great
many of ’em under, and he ain’t got through with the business yet. You,
Sam, go slowly on with the wimmen, and Ned you come with me. You are a
good shot and it may be that I shall have need of you.”

“You don’t want me, I expect,” said Peleg. “I never was very good at
fighting, and besides I’ve got this ere pack to see to. If the red-skins
get hold on it, I’m ruined etarnelly.”

“No, I don’t want you,” answered Dick. “Stay where you are, and try to
keep that tongue of yours still. Mind your rifle, Ned, and come with
me.”

The young man gave the hand of Ruth a warm pressure, and whispered a
word of assurance in her ear. Then he allowed her to pass on, while he
came and stood by the side of the scout, who did not stir out of his
tracks until the others had moved on some dozen yards or more.

“What are you going to do?” he asked, in a low tone.

“Find out how many red-skins there is behind us, and shoot ’em all if we
can. You see that big tree yonder. Well, get behind it, and shoot the
first red-skin that shows himself. I’ll ’tend to the next one, that
comes to hand. We’ve got to fight ’em here, or the gal is Rushing
Water’s, and we lose our scalps in the bargain.”

“I am ready,” answered Ned. “I had rather die a dozen deaths and see her
a corpse, than she should fall into the hands of the red-skins.”

“I don’t doubt it a bit, youngster. But between you and I, I’m afeard
our chances are mighty slim. This is a ticklish scrape we’re in, and if
we all get out of it and save our ha’r, we shall do well. But let’s take
our places and see who comes along. If the red-skins have kept on track
of us, they’ll show themselves in a minute or two. Mind that you don’t
waste a bullet, for ev’ry shot is going to tell in this scrape.”

Ned moved to the spot the scout had assigned him, and took up his
position behind the trunk of the tree. Dick at once took a similar
position, and motionless they waited for the coming of their enemies.

One, two, five minutes passed, and there was no sign of their coming.

Could it be that the scout had been mistaken? Though it was dark it was
impossible that they should pass them without making their presence
known.

Two minutes more passed and then a flood of moonlight poured down upon
the spot.

So sudden did it come, that for a moment it almost blinded the eyes of
Ned, with its brilliancy. But they became used to it in a moment, and
glancing back along the way they had come, he saw a savage within two
rods of him.

He was moving slowly forward, half-bent to the earth, seeking for their
trail.

A better chance for a shot a man never had; and remembering the
injunction of the scout, he raised his rifle and took deliberate aim
upon the savage.

The next instant he pulled the trigger, and the sharp report of his
rifle startled the echoes of the forest while the bullet sped on its
deadly work.

It did it well, for the savage gave a leap into the air, and then fell
forward to the earth, where he lay as motionless as a log.

Another instant, and a second report mingled its echoes with that of the
first.

The eyes of the scout had singled out another enemy, and another bullet
had sped forth on its deadly mission.

But an exclamation of chagrin fell from his lips a moment after.

“I believe I’ve missed him. What’s the matter with you, Susannah? But
like’s not the fault’s in me. He was some ways off and the moonbeams
danced so that I wa’n’t over sure of my aim. But I’ll have him yet. It
won’t do to let him bring the rest of ’em here. Keep on arter the rest
of ’em, youngster. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Hastily reloading his rifle he sprung in the direction of the spot where
he had seen the savage, leaving Ned standing in his tracks putting
another charge into his rifle.

When he neared the spot where the savage had stood, he found that it was
untenanted.

But a glance upon the earth told him that his shot had not been so poor
a one as he had thought.

The leaves were covered with blood, telling that he had wounded him.

As he saw this he felt better in his mind.

It was seldom he missed an object he took aim upon, and he was fearful
he was losing his art.

“He bleeds like a stuck bison,” he muttered, to himself. “He can’t have
gone a great ways. I’ll make sure of him anyway.”

A bloody trail led away from the spot, and along this he hurried.

For some twenty rods he had no difficulty in keeping it, and then the
moon went under a cloud and he was at fault.

Impatiently he stood still, waiting for it to show its face again.

Five, ten minutes passed, and it gave no symptoms of doing so.

He began to grow impatient, and to think if he had not better turn back
and rejoin his friends, and hurry them onward as fast as possible.

“Let him go,” he muttered, to himself. “I guess he’s done for, so he
won’t trouble us again. But I would like to have made sure of him.”

He gave one more glance up to the clouded sky, and then along the way
the wounded savage had gone. Then he turned upon his heel and set his
face once more in the direction of the spot where he had left the
fugitives.

But he had not taken ten steps in that direction before he gave a sudden
start and then stood as though rooted to the spot.

As well he might, in the alarm and surprise he felt.

A fierce war-whoop, breaking as from a score of throats, resounded
through the arches of the forest.

It came from the direction of the very spot where he supposed his
friends must now be.

The next moment he had sufficient proof that in this he was not
mistaken.

A wild cry of terror and alarm, followed the shout of the savages, and
then the report of a rifle, and soon after, that of a pistol.

The cry came from the lips of Mrs. Wilson and Ruth, and the shots must
be fired by the settler and the Yankee.

The main body of the red-skins must have passed on before so noiselessly
that they had not been observed, and these had lain in wait for the
fugitives, who, all unsuspicious of danger in that direction, had walked
directly into the ambush thus prepared for them.

For only a moment did the scout stand riveted to the earth, as though
turned to stone by the knowledge of the fearful danger his friends were
in.

The next, he had shot forward as straight as an arrow from a bow,
directly for the spot from whence the tumult arose.

He heard the report of another rifle, which he doubted not was that of
Ned, and then two or three in quick succession, which he thought must
doubtless be in the hands of some of the savages.

The tumult continued until he was almost to the spot from whence it
came, and then it suddenly ceased.

“What could this mean?” he asked of himself, as he came to a sudden
halt.

Could it be that the red-skins had slain them all thus quickly?

A fear took hold upon his heart that this was so.

A moment more and his fear was confirmed. Another war-whoop rung out,
and went echoing away through the forest-aisles.

It was a shout of triumph.

There was no mistaking that.

It told the scout so, plainer than words could have done.

His worst fears were realized.

All the trouble and fatigue they had undergone that night had been for
naught. Their bright hopes of escape were at an end.

Rushing Water had secured the prize he coveted, and a worse fate than
that of death was in store for Ruth.

Still, it might be death after all, for had not the Indian girl made a
league with the Wizard to accomplish that end?

All these thoughts ran quickly through his mind as he stood there
uncertain what to do.

In times gone by he had accomplished much with fearful odds against him;
but what could his unaided arm do now against so many?

Perhaps all his friends but Ruth had fallen; but if they had, he would
not abandon her. So long as she lived he would work for her deliverance.

But he would not take that shout of triumph as evidence that all was
lost.

Something might be done yet, and he would see with his own eyes how
matters stood.

So he passed slowly onward, keeping a sharp look-out for the enemy.

The moon and clouds favored him, for no ray of light shot down into the
forest.

Noiselessly and with the utmost caution he crept onward, until at last
he was close to the spot from whence the various sounds had come.

At that moment the moon broke forth from behind the clouds with a
splendor almost like that of the sun.

Hardly a dozen yards before him, he beheld a number of figures clustered
together.

By sight he could not tell whether they were all savages or not; but he
heard the voice of a woman weeping as though in the depths of despair.
But he was not destined to gaze long upon the scene! Hardly had he taken
it in, when an arrow, whizzing close to his head, told him that he was
discovered.

He gave one of the savages the contents of his rifle, and then turned
and fled, muttering, as he did so:

“I’ll leave ye now; but the Death-Dealer ain’t done with ye yet. He’ll
ye pay dearly for this night’s work.”




                              CHAPTER VII.
                           THE MAIDEN’S DOOM.


We will now go back for a few minutes, and note how it was that Ruth and
her friends fell into the clutches of the savages.

It will be remembered that the scout told them to move slowly onward in
the direction they were going; while he and Ned Tapley attended to the
savages whom he had seen hanging in their rear.

These orders they had obeyed, keeping a sharp look-out about them for
danger, until the moment when they had been startled by the shots fired
by their friends behind them.

Ruth, in spite of herself, uttered a cry of terror at the sound, fearful
that one of the reports might announce the death of her lover.

“Hush!” exclaimed her father, warningly. “Be calm, Ruth. You know that
Dick warned us not to speak above our breath.”

They were passing now through a little thicket of evergreens, whose
branches were so thick above their heads that the rays of moonlight
could not penetrate to the earth.

It was as good a place as the savages could have selected for an ambush;
but that there was really danger there, not one of them suspected.

That, they were looking for in their rear, where the rifle-shots told
them that their friends had already encountered it.

Suddenly the settler, who was leading the way, recoiled as though he had
received a blow.

As if by magic, a savage sprung up before him, directly in his path.

The next instant a cry of fear broke from the lips of his wife and
daughter.

On either side the forms of a half-dozen savages sprung up so close to
them that they could almost have touched them by reaching out their
hands.

Unmindful of the hopelessness of their situation, the settler raised his
rifle and discharged it at the breast of the savage before him.

But the bullet went wide of its mark, for as he pulled the trigger, a
savage upon his right caught hold upon it, and attempted to wrest it
from his grasp.

But this he did not succeed in doing, and pulling it from the clutches
of the savage, the settler brought it down with such force upon his head
as to stretch him senseless upon the earth.

Another savage had sprung upon Peleg Parker, and with one hand had
grasped his pack on his back, while the other he entwined in his long
hair, and attempted to pull him to the earth.

But the Yankee had no notion of parting with the former, even if he lost
his hair, and drawing a pistol he endeavored to shoot down his opponent.
But by some mischance it exploded, before he had taken aim, and throwing
it to the earth he had recourse to his fist.

“Take that, you thieving varmint!” he cried, as he dealt him a blow
between the eyes, that would have felled an ox; “I’ll l’arn ye how to
hanker arter other people’s property.”

The savage went down like a log, but he had so good a hold in the hair
of the Yankee that he took him along with him, and they both rolled upon
the earth together.

Peleg struggled hard to rise; but before he could do so another savage
was firmly planted upon his breast.

Meanwhile Sam Wilson had been assaulted by three or four of the enemy
and was at last borne to the earth; and one of them, catching him by the
hair, circled his scalping-knife above his head as though he would rob
his victim of his scalp, even before he took his life.

But, with a cry for mercy, Ruth threw herself beside the savage, and
implored him not to do the fatal deed.

“Take my life, if you will,” she cried, “but spare my father. He has
never harmed a red-man, and do not have his blood upon your hands.”

It was Rushing Water himself to whom she appealed, though she did not
recognize him in the darkness.

“And what will the white maiden give if no harm shall be done to her
friends?” he said, in a low tone.

Ruth felt a ray of hope steal into her heart at these words.

“Any thing she has,” she replied. “If Rushing Water has not a heart of
stone, let no harm be done to any.”

“The will of the white maiden is law to Rushing Water. The lives of her
kindred shall be spared as she asks. But let her remember the promise
she has made. The chief will claim it soon.”

He spoke a word of command, and coming at that moment it saved the life
of at least one of them. An instant later, and the Yankee would have had
no further use for his pack in this world. An arm was even at that
moment raised to take his life.

“Do not save me by any such promise as you have made,” cried her father.
“Think what it is that the chief will require of you. There is but one
thing he desires, and that is to take you to his lodge. Let us rather
die where we are, than this fate should be yours.”

Ruth felt her heart sink like lead in her bosom. But her promise had
been given and she would not revoke it. Of what use would it be for her
to do so. She was completely in his power, and he would do with her as
he chose, even though she stood out against him. Now she had his promise
that the lives of her friends should be spared, and that was more than
she had hoped for.

At this moment there was the report of another rifle, and a bullet
whistled above their heads.

Our friends knew well it came from Ned’s rifle, and that he was rushing
upon his own destruction.

But there was no help for it. Even before they had a chance to think, he
had dashed wildly in among them, dealing blows right and left with the
breech of his rifle.

But his career was of short duration. Valiant as he was, he could not
successfully contend against such fearful odds, and in less time than it
takes to tell it, he was thrown to the earth, where his limbs were
secured in such a manner that he was entirely powerless.

His life would have been taken in an instant, had it not been for the
promise the chief had given to Ruth, and who eagerly reminded him of it
when she saw the fearful danger her lover was in.

“Thank God, Ruth, you are alive,” cried the young man, as he hopelessly
wrestled with his captors. “I was fearful that you all had perished.”

“But we are unharmed, Ned. The chief has promised that for the present,
at least, our lives shall be spared. Therefore, make no more resistance
as it will only be worse for us all.”

Sam Wilson heaved a groan.

“But she throws herself away, Ned, to save us. Better by far that we
never move from this spot. Oh! that I should have ever lived to see this
hour when my child sells herself to save the lives of her friends.”

Ned Tapley started up, and strained at the bonds that fettered his limbs
with all his strength.

“What do you mean?” he cried. “Ruth, what is it that you have promised?”

“Let the white maiden be still. Rushing Water will answer the
pale-face’s words. She is to be the bride of the chief. When the Indian
village is gained, she will go to his lodge. Let her pale-face friends
keep as silent as the dead if they would live. If they do not, the chief
may forget his promise and slay them now. The white maiden will be his
all the same.”

Our friends knew by the tone in which these words were uttered, that the
chief meant what he said, and that he would not hesitate a moment to
carry out his threats. Therefore, they thought silence on their part was
the best thing for them now. It was hard for the settler, or Ned, to
contain themselves, yet they saw that they must if they would save their
own lives. Something might turn up before the Indian village was reached
which would help them to make their escape. As yet the scout was free,
and they hoped he would remain so; for it might be that he could achieve
their deliverance. If man could do it, they knew he would.

Each silently prayed that he might make good his escape, instead of
coming to their assistance now. He could do no good at present, and
should he fall into their hands his doom was sealed at once. No power on
earth could prevent their taking summary vengeance upon him. The
Death-Dealer had sent too many of their braves to the spirit-land, for
them to spare him, should they once get him into their clutches.

The work of securing their captives had hardly been completed, when one
of them caught a glimpse of the scout surveying the scene before him.

His form was too well known to them; too strange and uncouth to be
mistaken, and a flight of arrows was at once sent in his direction,
while they bounded forward toward the spot where he stood. A parting
shot from him, which made one of them bite the dust, was what they
received in return, and then he fled away, while they followed on for
awhile, in what they knew, from past experiences, would be hopeless
pursuit.

Meanwhile those that remained behind carefully secured those of their
prisoners that as yet had remained unbound.

Peleg Parker submitted to his bonds with very ill grace. With his hands
bound tightly behind him he felt that he had not so good a hold upon his
pack as he could have desired.

In fact now it was at the mercy of the savages whenever they saw fit to
explore its mysteries.

That they would find an opportunity to do so sooner than he liked he had
no doubt.

He had first tried to coax and then to hire the savages not to bind him.

He was magnanimous enough to offer them two dollars “and the darndest
best chance to trade they ever had in their lives” to let him go, but it
had no effect upon their hardened natures.

They kept at their work as unconcernedly as though he had not been
talking to them as fast as his tongue could run.

At first it had been in a low tone, but as he found he made no
impression upon them, he kept raising his voice, until at last it became
a whining sort of a howl.

At last Rushing Water thought it was about time for him to stop, and
striding up to where he lay he shook his knife threateningly at him.

“Let not the pale-face whine like a licked cur,” he said. “If the chief
hears more, the coward shall have a knife in his heart.”

Peleg thought it best to keep quiet, though he was half tempted to ask
him how he would trade the knife he held in his hand for one that he
carried in his pack. But the moonlight was shining upon the face of the
savage and he saw a look in his eye which told him that it would require
but little to make him put his threat into execution.

None of them had been spared the bonds. Even Mrs. Wilson and Ruth were
secured the same as their male friends, though perhaps their bonds were
a little softer and not drawn quite so tightly. Evidently Rushing Water
did not mean that any of his captives should escape him through any
fault of his.

In less than half an hour, those who had gone in pursuit of the scout,
returned. As their chief expected they came empty-handed. None of them
were fleet enough to overtake the Death-Dealer. They had tried that game
with him before and had always failed. There was not a savage on the
river who could keep pace with him when he done his best.

It was now near daylight. A little longer and the short summer night
would be gone and the East would grow gray with the coming morn.

The night had been one of toil and excitement to both parties and they
felt the need of rest. But Rushing Water decided that they could not
have it here. No time should be lost in getting away from the
neighborhood of the settlements, where danger might be apprehended
should the whites get a clue to what had been going on that night. Once
at the Indian village in the stronghold of his tribe he would defy any
force that might be sent against him.

Therefore he gave orders for them to start at once, and closely
surrounding their prisoners so that there might be no loophole of
escape, they set forth upon the long, wearisome way that lay before
them.

Rushing Water walked by the side of Ruth and her mother. He did not mean
to leave sight of her who had cost him so much trouble.

To the great delight of Peleg, he was made to carry his own pack. One of
the savages tried it but found it too heavy for his comfort. But the
Yankee would have borne double its weight rather than to have been
separated from it.




                             CHAPTER VIII.
                           THE TRAIL DIVIDED.


Leaving the savages to conduct their captives along the toilsome way
that led to the Indian village, let us return, and for a time follow the
movements of the scout.

Turning his back upon the spot where misfortune had overtaken his
friends, he struck off at a round pace through the forest, with the
red-skins following at his heels.

He had little doubt but that he would be able to distance them in the
race, though he was by no means so fresh as he might have been.

Since morn of the previous day, no food had passed his lips, and as the
reader is aware he had undergone a great deal of fatigue.

Still he did not doubt but what he could easily leave the savages behind
him.

And this he did. Before twenty minutes had passed he had left them so
far in the rear, that he could hear nothing of them, though he paused
and listened several times for the sound of their footsteps.

“You ain’t got the Death-Dealer into yer clutches yet,” he muttered to
himself. “He’s going to live to stop a good deal more of yer deviltry.
You’ve done pretty well to-night, but you ain’t out of the woods yet.
You’ve got a good deal of trouble still, afore you settle down to
housekeeping, Mister Red-skin. I don’t know but what I am mistaken, but
I think I shall have a hand in settling your hash myself. I’ve only
turned my back on ye for a little while. I shall be in yer company ag’in
full as soon as you’ll want me I guess.”

Thus communing with himself he went on slowly, stopping every now and
then to hearken for his pursuers. But there was no sign of them now.

Evidently they had given over the race, and returned to the spot from
whence they started.

Though assured of this the scout went on still further. He went on
aimlessly. He was bound for no particular place. He only wanted to get
so far from the savages that there would be no danger of their coming up
with him, while he stopped and refreshed himself. Though he had been up
thus much of the night he did not feel the want of sleep, for he had got
enough of that the day before. But he did begin to feel a little hungry,
and this demand of his appetite he determined to gratify as soon as he
should be at what he considered a safe distance from his enemies.

With this object in view, he went on for more than a mile from the spot
where he had seen the last savage. By this time daylight was breaking,
and he felt safe in setting about the work he had in hand. Keeping his
eyes about him, he soon caught sight of a noble deer, attempting to flee
away before him. Raising his rifle he brought it down before it had
taken a dozen leaps; and then reloading his piece, he approached the
spot where it had fallen.

To set a fire brightly burning, and to flay the deer, were but the work
of a few minutes with him; and in a little while he had a huge slice of
it roasting over the coals, the smell of which would have been grateful
to any man even if he had not broken his fast for the last twenty-four
hours.

All the while he kept a sharp look-out about him for danger. He did not
know but the report of his rifle might attract the savages toward the
spot, though he felt very sure that those in pursuit of him had long
since turned back. But there might be others prowling around in that
section, who might seek to find out who it was that had fired the shot.

But no one came to disturb him while he ate his fill of the venison; and
when his hunger was satisfied he cut other large slices from the deer,
which he proceeded to roast in the same manner he had the other. When he
had quite a quantity prepared in this way he made it into a compact
parcel, and bestowed it about him, so that he would have something by
him to appease his hunger, should he be placed in such a way that it
would be next to impossible for him to procure it as he had now done.

It seemed too bad to leave the remainder of the deer there for the wild
beasts to feast upon, but there was no help for it. So he consoled
himself with the thought, that there were plenty more of its like in the
forest, so that none need suffer for the needless waste he had made, and
then bethought himself of what was next to be done.

For a little time he hesitated which of two courses to pursue, in the
work he had laid out for himself.

It was no slight task as he knew to wrest the captives out of the
clutches of Rushing Water, with none but his own arm to aid him.

Yet this he was firmly determined to do.

Many were the conflicts he had had with the red-skins, and as yet he had
always come out victorious in the end.

He knew very well that Rushing Water would set out at once for the
dwelling-place of his tribe, and he hardly thought that he would pause
until he got there, so anxious would he be to place Ruth where there
could be no possibility of her escaping him.

He knew, also, that he must rescue her between now and the time she
should reach there, if he did so at all.

Once there and a new danger would threaten her.

The Indian girl, in her jealous rage, would soon find some way to
administer to her the deadly potion the Wizard had promised to prepare
for her.

He knew well the way to the Indian village, and the point he was now
trying to decide in his mind was this:

Should he hurry on before them for a considerable distance, and lay in
wait for their coming? or, had he better now take the trail and follow
on behind them, watching for the opportunity he sought?

The latter they might mistrust he would do, and so some of the red-skins
lay in ambush for him.

For some time he revolved this question in his mind, and then decided
upon the latter course.

He thought this the best way to accomplish his purpose, and he would
keep his eyes open for danger.

He knew that they stood in fear of the Death-Dealer, and that they would
give him a wide berth, unless by their numbers they hoped to match his
cunning and the strength of his arm.

His course decided upon, he leisurely took his way back in the direction
he had come.

He was in no hurry to reach the spot of the recent conflict, for he knew
that even though they had three or four hours the start of him, he could
easily come up with them before nightfall, until which hour he knew that
nothing could be done.

So he went on at a slow pace, and the sun was nearly three hours high in
the heavens, when he arrived at last at the spot where he had last seen
his friends in the hands of the red-skins.

He did not expect to find a living soul there, and in this he was not
mistaken.

The spot was as silent as the grave.

But he had had his fears that he might find the mangled remains of some
of his friends lying there, but to his joy he found that this was not
the case.

All of them had been spared for a short time at least.

A trail as plainly perceivable as the sun in the heavens, led away from
the spot, and he lost but little time in setting off upon it.

From the appearance of the ground he had made up his mind that they had
not tarried long on the spot after they had secured their captives, and
therefore they had several hours the start of him.

But this did not disturb him any. He knew they could not hurry the women
along very fast, so it would be an easy task for him to overtake them by
the time he desired to do so.

So he struck out upon the trail at his usual gait, feeling sure that by
the time the sun went down he would have come up with them.

He had no difficulty in keeping the trail. It lay broad and plain before
him. The red-skins had made no effort to conceal it. Perhaps they
thought they could not hide it from him if they tried to do so; and then
they may have thought that there would be little likelihood of his
attempting to follow them. He had fled away before them, and they could
hardly think that he would have the hardihood to return and contend with
the odds against him.

Only once during the day did he pause for a little rest. On the bank of
a small stream he sat down when the sun was at its meridian and partook
of a portion of the food he had prepared that morning. As yet he had
found no sign where the savages had paused for rest or refreshment, and
he knew that the captives must be well-nigh worn out for want of both.

The sun was hardly more than two hours high when suddenly the scout
paused, and looked about him with a puzzled look. The trail parted here.

This was something that he had not counted on. What reasons could the
savages have had for parting? Could it be that fearing pursuit from him,
they had done so for the purpose of misleading him?

Or did Rushing Water wish to separate Ruth from her friends?

The scout was puzzled to decide which, but so long as it was done it did
not matter so much why.

Carefully he examined the ground for a short distance along either of
the branches of the trail, and at last he was able to determine how the
prisoners had been divided between them.

The largest body had taken along with them all save one.

This the footprints showed to be a woman; and was either Ruth or her
mother.

He at once decided that it was the former.

A sudden suspicion occurred to his mind.

Had not Rushing Water separated them for some fell purpose of his own?

Though he did not know it, yet he felt sure that Ruth had purchased
their lives, by some promise she had made the savage.

Had she not done so, they would most assuredly have slain them all, as
soon as they had them in their power.

That this was the intention of the chief, he knew from what he had heard
the Indian girl confess to the Wizard.

Now, instead of taking them to the village, he had separated them from
Ruth, but for what purpose?

He had a strong presentiment that they were led away for sacrifice.

The more he thought on the subject the more convinced he was that he was
right, and the stronger were the fears he felt for their safety.

For a few minutes he hesitated, unable in his mind to decide what course
to pursue.

He wished to follow on, and try and rescue Ruth before she should reach
the Indian village; but if he did this he must abandon the others to
their fate.

He knew that she was not in immediate danger, while the others might
even now be falling beneath the blows of the savages.

He hesitated no longer.

It was his duty to try and succor those in the most imminent danger,
first.

After all it might prove that he was mistaken, but it was impressed upon
him that he had decided right.

With one more glance at the trail plainly marked by the footprints of
Ruth, he took the other, and hurried on at the top of his speed.

He felt now that the lives of at least three depended upon his
movements, and that it was no time to let the grass grow under his feet.

The sun sunk lower and lower as he bounded onward, and at last it was
hidden by the treetops.

Night was now fast coming on, and the trail would be hidden from his
gaze.

Little more than a half-hour of daylight remained to him, and every
instant of the time must be improved, if he hoped to accomplish the work
he had laid out for himself.

As soon as the darkness was down it would be impossible for him to
follow the trail.

He would have to wait until the moon rose, and even then it would be
uncertain if he could keep it.

And then when he should come up with them it might be too late for him
to strike a blow in their behalf.

The sun went down, and the last rays of its light died out of the
forest.

The dusky shadows of evening took their place, stealing upon him almost
before he was aware of their presence.

It was all that he could do to mark their footsteps now, among the
withered leaves.

For once in his life the scout felt nervous, and fearful that he should
not accomplish the work he had laid out for himself.

“I’d give a good deal for one more hour of daylight,” he muttered, to
himself, as he made sure that he was going right by bending down close
to the earth.

“Consarn it all, I bothered too long this morning. If I had thought that
the red-skins had been up to this game, I would have been upon their
heels before now.”

He went on, but slowly, until at last the darkness was so great that it
was impossible longer to make out the trail.

“I’ve got to wait till the moon rises,” he said to himself. “’Tain’t no
use to try and get on in this way. But what is that? A light ahead, as
sure as I’m alive. Fortin ain’t deserted ye yet, Dick. But ye’ve got to
keep yer eyes and ears open. You’ve got a work afore ye that it won’t do
to blunder in. The red-skins will give more for yer scalp than they will
for any other on the Scioto. You’ve got to mind, Dick, and keep it under
yer cap and then it will be safe.”

Communing thus with himself, the scout moved cautiously forward toward
the spot from whence the light proceeded.

It was on the line of the trail he had followed, and there was no doubt
in his mind that it marked the spot where the savages were.

With footsteps so light that they gave out not the slightest sound, he
approached to within a half-dozen rods of the spot from whence the light
proceeded.

Here he paused and took in the scene which lay before him.

In a little hollow a camp-fire was kindled, and about it he counted
seven savages.

The body of a deer lay beside it, and they were engaged in cutting huge
slices therefrom and roasting them over the fire.

The light of the fire flashed out upon either side, but to the dismay of
the scout, he could see nothing of the captives on either hand.

A sudden fear took possession of his mind.

Could it be that he was too late?

Had the red-skins already accomplished their terrible work?

Had they slain the captives before they had reached this spot, and had
he passed them in the darkness?

He shuddered at the thought and glanced behind him as though he was
almost fearful that they might be lying close beside him.

But he saw nothing.

They had disappeared, but where?

With the utmost caution he crept nearer to the fire, keeping well in the
shadows of the trunks of the trees which stretched out like giants on
either hand.

Hardly a dozen yards now lay between him and the nearest savage.

Suddenly a well-remembered voice broke upon his ear, dispelling all his
fears at once.

“Jerusalem and the Prophets, but this is a hard one! I wish to mercy I
was to hum in New Hampshire. I’m as hungry as a ba’r, and that ’ere meat
smells as good as aunt Nancy’s baked beans used to, when I was a boy.
Don’t you think they mean to give us a mouthful?”

The scout glanced toward a spot where the shadows fell the thickest
about the fire, and there he saw the outlines of his friends’ forms,
bound to the trunks of the saplings standing there.




                              CHAPTER IX.
                       THE DEATH-DEALER AT WORK.


The scout had never fancied the voice of the Yankee or what he had to
offer; but now it was real music to his ears, for it told him that his
fears were groundless, and that his friends were yet alive.

He stood motionless trying to catch what might be said in answer to this
complaint on his part, but the rest of the captives were silent.

“Have all of ye lost yer tongues?” he exclaimed, a minute later, “and
ain’t ye got any appetite? I declare I’m as hungry as a mill-saw. Say,
Mister Red-skin, ain’t you going to share that ’ere meat with us? Do the
fair thing by us, and I’ll give ye a good trade arterwards. I’ve got
some ’tarnel nice things in my pack, jest what you want for yer wives
and sweethearts. It’ll make their eyes stick out to see the ribbons and
beads I’ve got. Be kinder naberly now and give us a hunk of that. I swan
it makes my mouth water to look at it.”

“How can you think of eating, when you know not but what this may be the
last hour we’ve got to live?” said the voice of Sam Wilson. “From what
the chief said when he parted us from Ruth, I do not think that they
mean for us to see the light of morning. I wish that we had died
fighting for our lives when they first came upon us, instead of trusting
to the promise of a savage. Ruth, then, would at least have died with
us, and so been saved from a fate far worse than death.”

A sob of anguish from the lip of a woman, told the scout how the heart
of Mrs. Wilson was torn with fears for her child.

“Now you don’t really believe they mean to kill us, do ye?” cried the
Yankee. “I guess if wuss comes to wuss, I kin hire ’em not to. I believe
if I had a chance to show ’em what there is in my pack, I could bribe
’em to let us go. But I declare if I was going to be killed I should
rather have the job done on a full stomach. Oh, dear! why in creation
did I ever come out into this heathen country. I shall be ruined, I know
I shall, afore I get out of it.”

“And I hope you will, you ’tarnal fool,” muttered the scout to himself.
“At any rate, I hope that pack of his will go under. I do believe he’d
rather see ’em all murdered than to lose that.”

The wish of the Yankee was gratified at length. After eating their fill,
the savages offered a portion of what was left to the captives. Mrs.
Wilson could not touch a morsel, and her husband and Ned partook but
sparingly. But the Yankee made up for them. He ate all that was offered
him, the moment his hands were set at liberty so that he could do so,
and begged that which they refused. When at last he was through he
declared that he felt better, and that if any of them wanted to trade,
he was ready for them. But for this the savages were not apparently
inclined, and his arms were at once secured behind him in the same
manner as before, much to his discontent and disgust, especially when he
saw one of the savages lay hands upon his pack, and bringing it close to
the fire, undo it, and begin to display its contents to his comrades.

In vain it was that he called upon them to desist. They were deaf to his
entreaties, and when at length his voice was raised to a high pitch, one
of the savages sprung from the earth, and grasping his tomahawk, he
whirled it about his head, threatening him with instant death if he made
again the slightest sound.

After this the agony of the Yankee was ludicrous to behold. He dared not
speak, and as he saw his treasures one after another in the hands of the
savages, there was the most doleful expression upon his face imaginable.
Of his own safety and that of his companions he gave not a thought. He
could think of nothing but the financial ruin to which he would be
subjected, did he lose his stock in trade, as he was apparently about to
do.

All this that was passing about the fire was observed by the scout.
Nothing escaped his eye from the place of his concealment behind the
trunk of a giant tree. There, silent and immovable as the tree itself,
he stood waiting for the moment to come when he could strike for the
deliverance of the captives. To him, each savage about the fire was
doomed. In his own mind he had surely decreed their death.

His plan for their destruction was laid, and when the proper moment
came, he had no fears but what he should carry it into execution.

More than the number now before him had died by his unaided arm, on
occasions before this.

The minutes glided on and told the hours, and at last the evening was
well advanced.

Satisfied at last with their inspection of the peddler’s pack, the
savages replaced its contents—much to the relief of the Yankee—and after
assuring themselves that the captives were firmly held in their thongs,
they gathered about the fire for rest.

From his hiding-place behind the tree, the Death-Dealer watched their
every movement.

He saw that the moment for action had nearly come—the time for the
deliverance of his friends was close at hand.

He knew that the savages had been without sleep the night before, and
when once they were buried in slumber they would not easily awaken.

Minute after minute went by, and at last the savages were as motionless
as though they were held in the icy fetters of death. Then, with his
rifle in his left hand, and his knife firmly clenched in his right, he
glided from his hiding-place behind the tree, and moved noiselessly
toward the camp-fire.

Only a pale light flashed out from it now. The flames had gone down, and
a few smoldering embers alone marked the spot where it had been,
revealing but partly the forms of the savages outstretched beside it.

The forms of the captives were hidden in darkness, but he had marked
well where they were, and could have laid his hand upon them with his
eyes shut.

Closer and closer he crept toward the unconscious savages.

He had doomed them all to death, and he was fearful lest some one of
them should escape him.

When within a couple of yards of the spot where they lay, the one
nearest to him stirred.

In an instant he was as motionless in his tracks as though he had been
turned to stone.

Could it be that the savage was awake, and that his quick ear had
detected his footsteps?

But no; the savage only turned a little, and then lay as motionless as
before.

Two more strides and the Death-Dealer stood by the side of his victim.

His right arm was upraised, and the next instant it descended, and the
knife was driven to the hilt in the breast of the red-skin.

Not so much as a groan escaped his lips. There was a slight convulsive
motion of his frame and then all was still.

The Death-Dealer had struck his first blow strong and well.

Stepping over the body of the lifeless savage, the scout aimed a blow at
the next who lay beside him.

His aim was as true as the other had been, and the spirit of the savage
followed that of his companion to the happy hunting-grounds of his
tribe.

Still not one of the warriors stirred. Buried in deep sleep they lay
unconscious of the presence of their terrible enemy.

Another blow descended, and another savage went the way of his dead
companions.

Three had fallen, while the remaining four still lay unconscious of
their fate.

Once more the knife descended to its deadly work and another savage was
numbered with the slain.

At that moment from some cause or another, a bright flame shot up from
the smoldering embers, illuminating the scene about it.

It did not have the effect of awakening the surviving savages, but the
next moment a voice exclaimed, in startling tones:

“Jerusalem and the Prophets! What in nater is going on here, I’d like to
know!”

The voice was that of Peleg Parker, and so shrill was it, that it
brought each of the surviving savages to his feet.

The scout saw his danger, and inwardly cursed the unlucky tongue of the
Yankee. But with the rapidity of lightning he sprung upon the nearest
warrior and plunged his knife into his heart.

With a howl the Indian fell backward to the earth, with the knife still
in the wound, for the scout could not spare the time to withdraw it.

The next instant a tomahawk whistled past his head, so close that it
seemed as though it had grazed the skin, but left him unharmed.

Quick as thought he brought his rifle to his shoulder and pulled the
trigger.

Quick as his aim had been, it proved a true one, and the red-skin fell
with a bullet through his brain.

One only of the seven was left, but at a glance he had taken in the fate
of his comrades, and as if struck with horror and the certainty of his
own death did he stay to do battle with the terrible Death-Dealer, he
turned and fled.

A shout of exultation broke from the lips of the scout as he saw himself
thus master of the field, and it was echoed in glad tones by the
captives, who were thus assured of their deliverance from the hands of
their enemies.

At this moment the moon which had risen some time before, now managed to
throw a flood of silver light down through the branches overhead, so
that the spot where the scout stood was brilliantly illuminated, and
they were able to recognize him and to see the work he had performed.

“Thank Heaven, it is the scout!” cried Mrs. Wilson, as he advanced
toward the spot where they stood, after he had assured himself that the
fleeing savage meant to make them further trouble. “Oh, if Ruth was only
with us now, how happy I should be. But, alas! I fear that I shall never
see her more in this world.”

“And I guess you will if you only live long enough,” said the scout, as
he cut the cords and set her free. “I’ll have the gal out of the
clutches of Rushing Water afore I’m two days older, or else I shall
never go for another red-skin.”

“God grant that you may!” exclaimed the parents and Ned in a breath.

“And I say amen to that,” said the Yankee. “But look here, mister, jest
cut these ’tarnal strings, will ye? They’ve nigh about cut into the
bone, I du believe.”

“You said amen afore you ought to jest now,” muttered the scout, as he
paid his attention to the thongs that bound Ned. “You had ought to wait
till you get through afore you call out. If you had done it a minute
sooner you would have spoiled the whole.”

“Jerusalem and the Prophets, who could help it?” cried Peleg. “I should
as quick have thought of seeing Satan himself there among the red-skins
as you at that time. But du cut these ’tarnal bonds, will ye? I’m mighty
anxious ’bout my pack thar. I’m afraid the varmints carried off
something that belonged to me.”

“I guess thar didn’t more than one of ’em carry any thing a great ways.
But I do believe that if the red-skins were a-scalping ye, you would
want to save yer pack in some way; and I guess it is a darned sight more
precious than your body. If it ain’t, it ain’t worth much.”

Despite the entreaties of the Yankee, he was the last one he freed from
his bonds, and no sooner were his limbs at liberty than he started off
at once for the spot where the pack was lying, so eager was he to be
assured that nothing had been taken therefrom. There couldn’t have been
very well, for his eyes had been upon the savages at the time they had
been engaged in looking it over, though he had been obliged to hold his
tongue for fear that he might lose his scalp.

The joy of the captives at their escape was great; but their hearts were
sad when they thought of Ruth, who was being hurried along by her savage
captor toward the lodges of his tribe, even if by this time they had not
already arrived there.

In response to their inquiries, the scout told them of his motions since
he had parted with them, which are already known to the reader, and then
he demanded to know why it was that Rushing Water had separated them
from Ruth.

In a few words they told him of their surprise and capture; of the death
that threatened them, and how it was averted by the promise of Ruth, and
also of the pledge the chief had given. But as they went onward toward
the Indian village he seemed to repent of the promise he had made, and
at last determined at least that they should not go thither. Neither
would he set them at liberty, for fear that they might try to rescue
Ruth.

They were almost sure that they heard him give orders for their
destruction, and then Ruth was torn from them, and they went their
respective ways.

Hope of escape they had none, for they thought that unaided, he would be
powerless to afford them assistance, even if he had escaped, which they
were by no means sure of. Aid they could expect in no other way, as they
could do nothing of themselves, and hope had well-nigh deserted them.

While these several narrations had been going on the Yankee had
carefully examined his pack, and now, with it upon his arm, he
approached the spot where they were standing.

“The darned snips didn’t get any thing,” he said. “I ’spected nothing
but what I was ruined when I see ’em afoul of it. I’m mighty glad
they’ve gone under for they had no business to meddle with what didn’t
belong to ’em.”

“I’m glad for your sake,” said Ned, trying, but not succeeding, in
restraining the look of scorn upon his face, which the moonlight might
reveal to the Yankee. “I’m glad it’s all right, for you seem to think
more of it than you do of your life, or all of us put together.”

“Wal, I can’t say but what I do. In there is every darned cent I’m worth
in the world, unless it is my part of the old rocky farm in New
Hampshire. Thar’s about a hundred acres of that, but when the old folks
drop off, it’s got to be divided between thirteen of us. Thar’s Stephen,
Solomon, Daniel, Joshua—”

“Don’t go any further!” cried Ned. “I don’t wonder you want to keep your
pack. Stick to it as long as you live, and I hope it will be the making
of your fortune. But now, Dick, what is to be done? We’re wasting time
here. I’m anxious to be at work.”

“So am I,” exclaimed Peleg. “I’m losing more’n a dollar a day. Thar
ain’t any trade in any of ye, and I shall be glad when I get back, so
that I can be earning an honest penny. I wish to gracious that I was in
Smith’s Settlement this very minute.”

“So do I,” cried the scout, angrily, “or anywhere else where I should
never hear that tongue of yours ag’in. Won’t you try if you can, and
keep it still for five minutes?”

Peleg gave a low whistle and was silent.

“Yes, Ned, you are right,” said the scout. “We are losing time here.
We’ve got now to find the other trail, and do our best to get the gal
out of the clutches of Rushing Water. I ’spects we’ve got a ticklish job
to do it, ’specially if he gets her to the village afore we come up with
’em. But we’ll do it, or the folks on the river sha’n’t see our faces
ag’in.”

“I hope we may,” said Sam Wilson. “But I know that we’ve got no easy
task before us. If she was only with us now, there is nothing in the
world that I would not give.”

“Or I,” said Ned.

“But wishing won’t bring her here,” said the scout. “It will take strong
blows like them I’ve give to-night to fetch her, and I wouldn’t wonder
if as many more red-skins had to go under as you can see stretched out
there. Rushing Water has set his mind upon the gal, and he’ll keep her
if he can. But he’ll find trouble in doing it or I miss my guess. But
there’s danger to the gal, too, that she don’t know of. That red gal,
who has a claim on him, will do all she can to get her out of the way.”

Mrs. Wilson shuddered, and uttered a cry of grief and alarm, at these
words of the scout. In the hurry and excitement of the last twenty-four
hours she had forgotten this danger of which the scout had spoken, when
he had first warned them of their danger. To save her from this they
must rescue her before she should enter the lodge of the chief.

“What do you propose to do now?” asked Sam Wilson, anxiously.

“Start off at once, and hit the other trail as soon as we can. But I’m
mighty ’fraid that we shall miss it, with only the moonlight to show it
to us. If we do, nothing can be done till daylight, and by that time
they will have got to the village.”

“Then let us start at once. Every moment we linger here makes the odds
greater against us.”

“I’m ready,” replied the scout. “I wish, marm, that you were safe at the
settlement, but you ain’t and so will have to go with us. But we will do
our best to take care of ye. If the woods wa’n’t full of savages you and
the peddler might try and get thar, but I’m afraid for ye to try it.”

“So am I,” said the Yankee. “But I’m losing money every step I follow ye
round. This ’ere scrape will be the ruination of me as sure as
preaching.”

The scout muttered something beneath his breath, the burden of which
was, that he hoped it would, and then he turned to Sam Wilson and said,
half-hesitatingly:

“I have half a mind that you leave Ruth to Ned and me, and make the best
of your way with your wife and this fellow here to the settlements. If
you kept a sharp look-out I think that you could do it, and perhaps it
would be best all round in the end.”

“No; I can not go back and leave Ruth in the hands of these red-skins. I
must do what I can to help to save her. Don’t ask me to do this. Lead
the way on at once, and if we are of no service to you, we will be no
drawback.”

“That we will not,” said Mrs. Wilson. “If I only had a weapon, I think I
could strike a blow for her deliverance myself.”

“You may have one of my pistols, marm, if you want it,” said the Yankee.
“I can’t use ’em both at once, and I’m always ready to oblige.”

No reply was made to this generous offer of Peleg. Hardly a dozen more
words passed between them, and then the scout led the way again through
the moonlit forest. The task of rescuing Ruth had begun.




                               CHAPTER X.
                        IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH.


Hope fairly abandoned the heart of Ruth when she was separated from her
friends, and obliged to go on her way with Rushing Water with none of
them beside her.

In vain it was that she had implored him not to separate her from them;
to remember the promise he had made her, when they had fallen into his
hands.

Her prayers and entreaties had no effect. He had promised, he said, that
their lives should be spared them, and he had kept his word.

He had not said that they should remain in her company, and it was not
his will that they should do so, any longer.

He wished for none but her whom he had chosen for his bride beside him,
so he had sent the others away.

A terrible fear took possession of her mind that he had sent them apart
to take their lives, that it might not be done before her very eyes.

Filled thus with terror and despair, she went onward, while every step
her strength seemed to fail her, while her heart lay like lead in her
bosom.

Through the rest of the day until night came on, she managed to keep her
feet, but when the shadows gathered thick in the forest she sunk down
upon the earth and declared that she could go no further.

A short halt was made here, in which some food was prepared and offered
her; but she could not eat a mouthful.

It seemed to her that it would have choked her, but she attempted to
swallow a morsel.

Finding that it was in vain to urge her to do so further and seeing also
that she was unable to proceed of herself, the chief raised her in his
own strong arms, and again they went forward.

He would not feel sure of his bride until he had her in his own lodge
and among his own people.

So long as they were in the forest, there was a chance that she might be
wrested from him.

He knew and feared the Death-Dealer, and it was in part to mislead him
that he had divided the party.

He knew that the dreaded scout was a host in himself, and that his
deadly blows fell ofttimes where and when they were the least expected
by his enemies.

Once among his own people and in the heart of their village, he felt
that he would be safe from him, and that there would be no one who could
wrest his chosen bride from him.

So all through the first hours of the night he hurried onward. The moon
rose and climbed high into the heavens and when it had reached the
zenith, the village was gained, and with his almost unconscious burden
in his arms he stood before his lodge.

No human being save his companions were stirring about him, and with a
word he sent them to their several lodges, and then lifting the skin
that hung in the doorway he bore Ruth within his own.

A lamp of rude construction, swinging from the roof, and which emitted a
pale light, half dispelled, half revealed the darkness which filled the
lodge.

Squatted almost beneath it, and apparently buried in slumber, though
gently swaying back and forth, was an old Indian woman; Nekomis by name,
who for many moons had kept the lodge of the chief and prepared his
food, when he was not absent in the chase or upon the war-path.

Approaching a couch which lay in one corner of the apartment, the chief
placed his almost unconscious burden upon it, and then stepping to the
side of the Indian woman he said, as he touched her upon the shoulder:

“The fingers of sleep must be heavy upon the eyes of Nekomis, that she
hears not the footsteps of the chief when he comes. Let her awake, for
he has need of her.”

The old squaw awoke with a start and staggered to her feet.

“You were sleeping soundly, good Nekomis,” he said. “But wake. The chief
has work for you to do.”

“The spirit of sleep was heavy upon the eyelids of Nekomis, and her ears
were dull that she heard not the footsteps of Rushing Water. But she is
awake now and ready to do his bidding. There is plenty of maize and
venison in the lodge and it shall soon be ready so that the chief may
break his fast.”

“Rushing Water is not hungry. It’s not to prepare him food that he has
roused Nekomis from her sleep. It is that she may care for his pale-face
bride whom he has brought hither.”

The old Indian woman gave a great start, and her eyes followed the
direction of his outstretched hand, as he pointed toward the couch upon
which Ruth lay. He did not see her features as her eyes rested upon the
form of the girl. If he had he would have seen a look of most malignant
hate resting there, which could not help having awoke suspicions and
alarm in his breast, and made him fearful for the life of her upon whom
he had set his affections.

She did not speak, but stood with her eyes fixed upon Ruth, as
motionless as a statue.

Again the words of the chief fell but half heeded upon her ear.

“Let Nekomis wait upon her, and see that she has every wish. Let her
watch by her side until the morning comes. Let her stir not from the
lodge, for she must answer for the maiden with her life.”

Again that look of hate came over the face of the Indian woman. But it
was gone in a moment as she answered:

“Nekomis will watch and care for her well. When the chief comes in the
morning he shall find her here.”

“It is well,” answered the chief. “The eyes of Rushing Water are heavy
for want of sleep. He will lie down in the outer room till the sunlight
comes again. The couch of Nekomis will to-night be as soft to him as his
own.”

He lifted the curtain which connected the two apartments, and passing
out, let it fall behind him. It was the one usually occupied by old
Nekomis, and throwing himself upon the couch it contained, he was soon
buried in slumber.

The old Indian woman stood where he had left her in the main apartment.
Her eyes were fixed upon the form of Ruth, and she never stirred in her
tracks more than though she had been made of stone. But a fierce emotion
shook her frame, and it was evident that she was laboring under great
excitement. But the look upon her face as her eyes rested upon the form
of Ruth, told plainer than words could have done the terrible hate with
which she regarded her.

At length she turned her face away, and muttered to herself so low that
it would have been impossible for her words to have reached the ears of
Ruth, even had she been trying to have caught the burden of them.

“The pale-face bride of the chief must die. Before the light of the
morning sun, she must be in the spirit-land. Never will Nekomis see her
in the lodge of the chief. Minora is the bride the tribe has chosen for
him, and none other shall take her place. She is of the same blood of
Nekomis, and she shall never stand aside for one of a hated race. She
has willed it to be so, and the great Medicine of the Rocks has
furnished the deadly draught. Before the morning light, the pale-face
maiden shall have taken it, and shall lay yonder, as pale and white as
the winter’s snow.”

The deadly light in her eyes grew brighter as she muttered this to
herself. Evidently she rejoiced in the work of death and vengeance she
had before her.

Glancing about again toward her victim, she saw that Ruth had rallied
from the stupor which she had seemed to be in, and was now glancing
about the lodge as though in search of some one.

It might have been the chief she missed, and she waited for her to speak
if she would.

At length her eyes became fixed upon her, and she could see that she was
gazing upon her curiously.

As though emboldened by the sight of one of her own sex, Ruth raised her
hand and motioned for her to approach.

She obeyed her, and approaching the couch she squatted down by her side.

“Where am I?” said Ruth, with wild eyes, as though she hardly
comprehended her situation.

“The pale-face maiden is in the lodge of the great chief. Rushing Water
has sought her in her home, and brought her hither to be his bride.”

Ruth covered her face with her hands. She remembered all now. What upon
her first awaking from the sort of swoon that oppressed her, had seemed
a dream, was reality now. She was hopelessly in the hands of her enemy.

She was silent for a few moments, and then hope whispered again to her
heart. Was it not possible that she might escape him even now? Would not
her companion listen to her entreaties, and being melted thereby, help
her to escape? The hope was a faint one, but there could be no harm in
trying. If it amounted to nothing, her situation would be no worse than
it was now.

Turning eagerly to the old woman, she said, as she laid her hand upon
the brown and wrinkled one of her companion:

“The Indian woman likes not the pale-faces. That the white maiden can
see in her eyes. She had rather that the chief of the tribe would bring
to his lodge one of his own race. It is only right that she should. Let
her help the white maiden to fly. She wishes not to mate with the chief.
There is one among her own people to whom she has given her heart. Have
mercy and save me from the fate Rushing Water has in store for me.”

This appeal she had uttered in a low but earnest tone, as though she was
fearful that the sound of her voice might reach the ears of the chief,
and now that she was through she gazed up with such an appealing look
into the face of her companion that it would seem that none but a heart
of stone could resist it.

But it had no effect upon the heart of the wrinkled squaw. She knew that
there was no way for her to escape the fate she dreaded, except by that
to which she had doomed her. Death would relieve her from it, and that
alone. Had she been so disposed she could not have assisted her to
escape. The eyes of the chief would have been upon their movement and he
would have brought her back, while she would have been doomed to death
for her treachery. No. There was only one way by which Rushing Water
could be foiled in his purpose, and that was that the white maiden
should die.

“Nekomis has heard the words of the white maiden. She has spoken the
truth. The Indian woman does not like the pale-faces. Their heart is
black and evil is in their thoughts. She would see them scalped and
their lodges burned above their heads.”

So fierce was her looks, and so wild her gestures, that Ruth almost drew
back in alarm. But she was glad it was so, for perhaps now she would
help her. The Indian woman noticed her start of alarm and she softened a
little in her speech.

“The chief has chosen a pale-face for his bride, but the tribe like it
not. There are maidens fairer among them, than she. If she were gone,
the heart of Rushing Water might turn again to them.”

“The words of the Indian woman are those of truth,” exclaimed Ruth,
hopefully. “Help me to escape and all may be well.”

“The eyes of Rushing Water are sharp, and his ears are open to the
slightest sound. His anger is like the tempest when it is abroad in the
forest, and nothing can withstand its fury. But let the white maiden
content herself. She shall never become the bride of the chief.”

Could Ruth have seen the malevolent look that was upon the face of her
companion at this moment, she would have been struck with horror. But
her face was averted, and she thought only of the promise her words
implied. The hope so faint within her grew stronger, and she exclaimed
excitedly:

“Heaven bless you for your words,” she said. “But let us lose not a
moment’s time. Let us flee from this spot while we can.”

“The pale-face maiden can not stir forth to-night. Morning will come too
soon, and the chief would be upon her track. When all is well, Nekomis
will do what she can for her.”

Though disappointed, Ruth would fain accept this promise. The Indian
woman alone could help her now, and she must cling to her, and the hope
she gave her, and wait until such time as she should set for her to try
for her escape.

“Let the white maiden seek slumber now. She needs it to make her strong.
Nekomis will watch by her side and see that no harm shall come to her.”

Ruth sunk down wearily.

“I must trust you,” she said. “I do need sleep, and will try to seek it.
But first give me some water. I am very thirsty.”

The old woman arose and turned away from the couch. The moment for which
she had waited, had come. The fatal draught which the Wizard had
prepared could be given now.

Her hand trembled as she took the vessel that contained it, and brought
it forward to the couch. Ruth rose up and took it from her hand. Her
mouth was parched and dry, and she drained it eagerly to the very dregs.
Could she but have seen the look upon the face of the Indian woman she
would have dropped it as a thing of death. A look so exultant, and so
full of gratified rage would have struck terror to her very soul.

But she saw it not; handing back the vessel to her attendant, she sunk
down again upon the couch, where she lay as motionless as one dead.

Not once thereafter did she move so much as a hand; but sunk into a
deep, unbroken slumber, from which no sound or word could have awakened
her. The old Indian woman sat by her side with her sharp, snake-like
eyes fixed upon her face. Little by little her breath grew fainter,
until at last it seemed to have left forever her pallid lips. The fatal
draught had done its work, and she lay as cold and motionless as though
formed of ice.

Then with an exultant look upon her face, the Indian woman arose, and
with noiseless steps glided forth from the lodge.




                              CHAPTER XI.
                       WHAT WILL HE DO WITH HER?


Once out into the night, she hurried to another lodge standing but a
short distance away. Arrived at the entrance she lifted the curtain and
entered without ceremony.

It was so dark within that she could see but little; but she appeared to
be familiar with the way, and a few steps brought her to the side of a
couch upon which the dim outlines of a form could be seen lying.

Stooping down she whispered a single word: “Minora.”

In an instant the Indian girl was upon her feet confronting her.

“Has the white maiden come?” she demanded.

“The pale-face maiden is lying this moment in the lodge of Rushing
Water.”

“When did she come?”

“Only a little ago.”

“She has come to her death. She must not see the light of the morning’s
sun. Far better for her that she had died beneath the knife with
kindred. Let the fatal draught be given her at once.”

“The hand of Nekomis has already held it to her lips, and she has
drained it to the very bottom.”

“The heart of Minora is glad. She will soon be in the spirit-land.”

“She is there already. Even now she is lying on the couch of the chief,
as pale and cold as the snow in winter.”

“Nekomis has done her work well. Minora will not forget what she owes to
her when _she_ goes to live in the lodge of the chief. Does Rushing
Water know that the white maiden has left him forever?”

“No. He’s dreaming of her now in his sleep. He must not know it until
the Wizard is told, and has come hither. Minora remembers the words he
said. Let her fly to his home among the rocks and tell him that the
white maiden is dead.”

“Minora will go like the wind. Her heart is light now, and her feet will
be as fleet as those of the deer. In a little time she shall dwell in
the lodge of the chief where she has long wished to be.”

The two women passed out into the night, and while Nekomis returned to
watch by the side of her lifeless charge, Minora sped away through the
forest toward the dwelling-place of the Wizard among the rocks.

Her footsteps in due time brought her to the abode of the Wizard, and
the sentinel owl at once gave notice of her approach. No one that ever
visited the Wizard, be it by night or day, ever found him asleep, and
the Indian girl descried him standing at the entrance of his cavern as
though he had not stirred from the spot since her last visit to the
place.

She saluted him with profound reverence and then waited for him to
speak.

“What has brought the Red Rose to the dwelling-place of the Medicine?
Has any of the tribe need of his skill to-night?”

“The Red Rose has come because the great Medicine bade her do so when
she could bring tidings of the pale-face maiden.”

“And can she to-night?” asked the Wizard, hurriedly.

“The Red Rose has said as much. The pale-face maiden lies in the lodge
of Rushing Water.”

“Has the fatal draught been given her?” he demanded, quickly.

“Nekomis gave it to her with her own hand. The white maiden drank it to
the dregs and she now lies cold in death upon the couch of the chief.”

“And does Rushing Water know that he has been robbed of his bride?”

“No. The chief sleeps a deep sleep and will not wake until the rays of
the sun are again streaming through the forest. He gave the pale-face
maiden to the charge of Nekomis and bade her watch her through the
night.”

The Wizard was silent for a moment and then he spoke out hastily:

“Let the Red Rose return at once and say to Nekomis, as soon as the
darkness has fled away let her call the chief to the couch of the white
maiden, that he may see that her spirit has fled to the Shadowy Land.
Let her tell him that she knew nothing of her illness till she saw her
lying dead; but supposed that a heavy sleep was upon her. Then will the
chief want the Medicine, and he will be close at hand so that he will
not have to send hither for him. When the Red Rose has told Nekomis
this, let her go to her own lodge. The chief must not know that she has
been abroad to-night, or he may think she has had a hand in this.”

“The ears of the Red Rose have heard, and her fleet footsteps shall
carry the message to Nekomis.”

She turned at once and bounded away through the forest, anxious to reach
the village before the day should begin to break.

The gray light of the morning had begun to show in the east when she
summoned Nekomis from her watch beside the couch of the dead.

Hastily telling her the message the Wizard had sent, she retreated to
her own lodge, fearful that the chief might awake and find her there.

Nekomis went back to her place beside the couch and looked upon the
pallid face of her victim once. Then she turned away, and lifting the
curtain that divided the two apartments, she stood beside the still
sleeping chief.

Only for a moment did she hesitate to awaken him, and then she touched
him on the face, speaking his name at the same moment.

He awoke with a start, and in a moment was upon his feet, while an
anxious look took its place upon his countenance.

“What is it that Nekomis wishes?” he said. “No harm has come to the
pale-face maiden, for if there has she shall pay for it with her life.”

“Let the chief come out and look upon her. Nekomis thinks that her heart
is broken, and that her life has fled away to the spirit-land. She did
think that her eyes were closed in slumber, until the light of the
morning came, and showed her as pale and cold as the sun when the winter
is here.”

Pushing her aside with a force that almost sent her from her feet, the
chief sprung into the apartment and to the couch on which lay the
lifeless form of her who was so dear to him, and upon whom he had set
the highest wish of his heart. One glance at her pallid face told him
that Nekomis was not mistaken. Kneeling down by her side he felt that
there was no sign of life there. The prize that had cost him so much to
obtain, had slipped through his hands when he thought he had it surely
in his grasp.

Springing to his feet again, he drew his knife and turned it
threateningly upon Nekomis.

“You let her die,” he said, “and you shall follow her to the
spirit-land. Had you watched her as the panther does its young, you
would have seen when the death-sleep began to grow upon her. But you did
not, and now the worthless life of an old squaw shall follow hers.”

Nekomis folded her hands upon her breast and gazed without fear upon
him.

“Nekomis is ready to die,” she said. “But let the chief make haste to
send her to the spirit-land. Then he can send for the great Medicine,
who, it may be, can bring her back to life.”

The hand that held the weapon fell down to his side.

“The great Medicine shall come,” he said. “Nekomis shall live until he
has done his best to bring her back to life. If he can not she shall die
then.”

He rushed forth from the lodge, and sped away toward the edge of the
forest in the direction of the Wizard’s dwelling-place. But he had not
gone far before to his joy he saw the Medicine coming toward the
village. In a moment he was at his side urging him to hasten his
footsteps.

In answer to his inquiries, he told him the state of affairs, and then
eagerly demanded if there was a chance to hope.

“The Great Spirit holds the life of the red-man and the white in his
hand, and he calleth them away whenever he chooses. The Medicine will do
all that he can to bring the pale-face maiden back to life. He knows
many charms that work well, and it may be that he can save her. But if
the Great Spirit hath taken her away the Medicine can avail her
nothing.”

They found Nekomis at the side of the couch when they entered, and she
stepped back at their approach. Had the chief been less excited he might
have noticed a look of intelligence which passed between them. But he
did not, and the Medicine approached and bent above the form of his
victim.

For the space of two minutes there was a breathless silence within the
lodge.

Then the Wizard straightened up and looked into the face of the chief.

“The Medicine is not sure, but he thinks that the life of the pale-face
maiden has gone to the spirit-land. If he had her in his cavern among
the rocks he might work some charms upon her that might bring her back
to life. The way thither is long, but if the chief will bear her there,
he will do his best.”

“The arms of Rushing Water are strong and his steps are fleet. He will
bear her to the home of the Great Medicine, if he will do what he can to
restore her to him again. The warriors are not yet astir, and it may be
well that the tribe knows not of this. Nekomis will keep the secret, or
the knife of the chief will find a way to make her do it.”

He gazed threateningly at her as he said this, and then stooping down he
raised the form of Ruth in his arms. He shuddered as her lifeless form
touched his breast, and then he bore his burden out into the morning
air.

There was indeed no one stirring as yet about the village, and they were
enabled to gain the cover of the forest without being observed. Thence
onward they went as fast as they were able, and by the time the sun was
an hour high, they stood before the huge pile of stone that marked the
home of the Wizard.

The foot of no savage save his own had ever crossed the threshold, and
the chief looked into his face as though to ask if he would be allowed
to bear his burden in, and thereby catch a glimpse of its mysteries. But
this he evidently would not admit for he held out his arms, saying:

“Let the chief give the pale-face maiden into the keeping of the
Medicine. He will work his strongest charms and do all that he can to
bring her back to life. Let him come hither on the morrow at this time,
and he shall know whether the Great Spirit has claimed her for his own.”

He took the cold and rigid form of Ruth in his arms, and the chief
watched him until he had disappeared within the rocks. Then he turned
his back upon the spot, and bent his steps once more toward the village.




                              CHAPTER XII.
                          WINDING UP THE WEB.


Let us now return to the scout and his companions, and see how it has
fared with them since we parted company at the spot where Dick had dealt
the blows which delivered his friends from the savages.

The reader will remember that they had turned their backs upon this
place; and had set out to endeavor to find the other trail in the
moonlight, in the hopes of following it on, and overtaking Rushing Water
before he could reach the Indian village with his captive.

But that they had not succeeded in coming up with them, the reader
already knows, for he has seen what passed in the lodge after they had
gained it.

Aided by the moonlight, Dick had struck the trail without much
difficulty, and they had followed on, as fast as they could under the
circumstances.

But the chief and his companions were so far in advance that they stood
no show of coming up with them.

In fact the night was far gone when they drew near the Indian village.

Long before they reached this point, the scout had become satisfied that
they were too late, and that if they accomplished their object they had
got to do it under more difficulties than had yet beset them.

They had got to penetrate into the very lodge of Rushing Water, which
stood perhaps in the very heart of the village.

There would not be time to accomplish this to-night, even if it could be
done successfully.

They must lie quiet somewhere in the depth of the forest and wait until
the darkness of another night.

They followed the trail almost to the verge of the village, so impatient
were his companions to rescue Ruth if the thing lay in their power; and
then convinced that it did not, in the remaining hours of that night at
least, they were ready to comply with what the scout had to propose.

This was that they should retire back from the village for something
like a mile and lie through the day in some darksome covert, where there
would be little likelihood of their being discovered by the savages.

This plan was now carried into effect and by the time the day had fairly
broke they were snugly ensconced in their hiding-place.

The sun rose above the tree-tops, giving promise of a beautiful day, and
over and over again did they wish that Ruth was with them that they
might be hurrying toward a place of safety instead of lying idly there.

Fears that she would never be restored to them oppressed the heart of
the mother. The chief had her now securely in his power and how were
they ever to tear her from his clutches?

It seemed impossible to her that so few of them could do it.

Yet they were determined to accomplish the task before them, or lose
their lives in the attempt.

The scout knew that it could not be done by mere strength of arms alone;
but more than once had he accomplished his ends by outwitting the
savages and he meant to succeed in this way now.

Slowly the minutes went on and higher and higher the sun rose up into
the cloudless sky.

Suddenly the sound of a footstep struck upon the watchful ear of the
scout.

Glancing hastily out from their hiding-place, he saw a savage slowly
advancing toward the spot where they lay.

He did not seem to be seeking for any trail; but his head was bowed and
his eyes fixed upon the earth as though some grave subject occupied his
mind.

Sam Wilson’s gaze fell upon him a moment after, and as it did so he gave
a great start.

“It is Rushing Water,” he exclaimed in surprise. “Where is Ruth? What
could he have done with her?”

“You are right,” exclaimed the scout in a whisper. “It is the chief
himself. Now, boys, he must not leave us alive; but we must get him into
our hands unharmed, if the thing can be done. When he is close to us we
must spring out upon him. If we can get hold on him we are all right.
Stand by me, and I guess there is enough of us here to match any savage
that ever burned a cabin.”

Slowly the savage came on, apparently in deep thought, and unconscious
of all that was passing around him. They could see a look upon his face
that told something pained and troubled him.

Nearer and nearer he came, and at last the instant arrived for them to
act.

Noiselessly they crept forth from their hiding-place and approached
their intended victim.

Had he raised his eyes he must have seen them, but he did not.

With a spring like that of a panther the scout bounded upon him, and his
enemies followed his example.

The struggle was a short one.

With the odds against him, and taken thus by surprise, the chief could
make but slight resistance.

In a minute’s time he was thrown to the earth and his hands and feet
firmly secured with strong thongs which the scout produced from about
his person.

Not a word did the scout utter until this was accomplished, and the wily
savage lay a helpless prisoner before them.

Then with his knife held menacingly above his breast, the scout
demanded, while the rest of the party with eager looks gathered about
them:

“Where is the pale-face maiden? Speak! and let your words be true ones,
or you die at once.”

“Rushing Water is not afraid to die. The words of the Death-Dealer can
not frighten him. He will speak the same as though they were not
sounding in his ears. The Death-Dealer is a great warrior, but the chief
is not a squaw that he should be afraid of his words.”

Mrs. Wilson knelt down by his side and cried, appealingly:

“Where is my daughter? Tell me that she is unharmed, and restore her
again to my arms, and no harm shall come to you. Only give her back to
us, and we will forgive you the loss of our home, and all else that you
have done to us.”

“The pale-face mother can not have her child again. The chief has not
the power to give her again into her arms if he would. The Great Spirit
has called her home.”

“Oh, Heaven!” cried the agonized mother. “You do not mean to say that
she is dead? that you have killed her?”

Ned Tapley drew his knife, and with a face as pale as death, would have
sprung forward and plunged it into the heart of the savage, had not the
strong arm of the scout held him back.

“Let him speak, youngster,” he said. “If he has harmed so much as a hair
of her head, we will have vengeance.”

“The white maiden did not die by my hand,” said the chief, calmly. “The
Great Spirit himself called her home. When the daylight came, she lay
upon her couch as white and cold as the snow of winter. The Great Spirit
himself knows that Rushing Water harmed her not.”

A wail of agony broke from the lips of the parents, and Mrs. Wilson
staggered and would have fallen to the earth had not her husband
supported her.

“But you killed her as surely as though your hand had plunged a knife
into her heart, and for this you shall die!” cried Ned, as he made
another effort to deal the helpless savage a blow with his knife. But
this he was again prevented from doing by the scout, who exclaimed:

“But where is the white maiden lying now? We would look upon her, that
we may know that your words are not lying ones.”

“The form of the White Rose lies in the cavern of the great Medicine,
beneath the rocks. Rushing Water has carried her there to see if she can
not be brought back to life.”

“I know the spot,” cried the scout. “Let us go there at once, and see
whether this red-skin is lying or not. He’s bound so securely that he
cannot escape us, and we shall find him here when we come back. Let him
live till then, that we may know how to deal with him. If by his means
Ruth has died, a dozen deaths would not be enough for him.”

Ned was the last to assent to this. He was fearful that in some way the
chief might escape him. But he agreed to it at last, after he had seen
the savage gagged, so that it was impossible for him to call any one to
his assistance.

With hearts oppressed by sorrow and grief they hurried away toward the
dwelling-place of the Wizard. Arrived there, they found that his brute
sentinel had given notice of their approach, and that he was standing in
his accustomed place to receive them.

His astonishment was great when he saw who his visitors were, and their
errand he divined at once, before the scout could open his lips.

“The pale-faces have come for the white maiden,” he said. “It is well.
The Medicine is glad to see them. When the sun is half-way home in the
sky, she shall go with them.”

A cry of joy and gladness broke from the lips of all.

“Thank God! my child is then alive,” cried Mrs. Wilson, in a tone of
joyous thankfulness.

“The white maiden lives, but her strength has not come back to her yet.
But let the pale-faces enter so that the eyes of the red-men may not see
them. Then the Medicine will tell them all.”

They followed him into a sort of outer cavern, which was partly
illuminated by a small fire that was burning in one corner. Another
passage led further into the rocks, but thither they were forbidden to
go. A panther sat therein as though to guard the mysteries that lay
beyond, and who growled savagely at this unwonted intrusion, while
perched upon a projecting point of rock over his head was a huge owl who
looked down upon them with his great staring eyes, and who ruffled its
feathers as though it, too, did not like the appearance of the
strangers.

At a word from the Wizard, his companions were mute and motionless; and
then he turned toward a couch in one corner, which, owing to the
darkness, they had not perceived until this moment.

Stretched thereon was the form of Ruth, and no sooner did Mrs. Wilson
behold it, than she sprung forward and clasped it in her arms.

“Ruth, my Ruth!” she cried. “Speak to me.”

“Mother,” said the girl, faintly. “Oh, I am so glad that you have come,”
and she twined her arms about her neck.

Each one of the party now presented themselves, and a scene of joyous
greeting followed that our pen can not describe.

“How is this?” demanded the scout, turning upon the Wizard. “With my own
ears I heard you promise the Indian girl that little Ruth here should
die, should Rushing Water bring her to his lodge.”

“And so she has to them,” answered the Wizard. “I worked for the good of
my people and that of the pale-faces at the same time. I knew that the
red-men wanted not the chief to take a pale-face for a bride; but he was
so set upon it that he would have his own will. I prepared a potion for
her, that I knew would make her seem as though the Great Spirit had
called her home. Nekomis, the old woman that cares for the lodge of the
chief, gave it to her, and then called upon him to look upon his dead
bride. He was well-nigh stricken with grief, and came for me to try to
restore her to life. I had her brought hither, and when he had gone, not
to return until the morrow, I gave her another potion which restored her
to life. In a little while she will be as strong as ever again, and then
you must fly with her, before the chief comes.”

“Jerusalem! I guess that won’t be till somebody lets him loose,”
exclaimed the Yankee, who had been staring about him with all his eyes,
and who for a wonder had maintained silence until this.

“What does the pale-face mean?” demanded the Wizard. “The white warriors
have not harmed him?”

In a few words the scout told him of the condition in which they had
left the chief, and then added, that he desired the Wizard to set him
free when it could be done in safety to themselves.

“The white warriors have done well,” he said. “The Medicine will see to
him. The white maiden shall be as dead to him, and by and by he will wed
with Minora, the Red Rose of the tribe, and happiness will come to his
lodge again.”

“Wal, I swan you’ve got a long head on yer shoulders,” exclaimed the
Yankee. “You’ve planned matters pretty shrewd, I’ll be darned if you
ain’t. But, say, how’ll you trade that owl of your’n for some of the
notions in my pack? I should like to have him stuffed, and kerry him
home as a sort of trophy of this ’ere scrape.”

This proposition for a trade, on the part of Peleg, the Wizard declined,
and he now turned his attention to the further recovery of Ruth; and so
successful was he that in a couple of hours her strength was in a great
measure restored to her, and she declared that she was able to commence
her homeward journey at any time, when they were ready to depart. This
they were glad to do at once, and taking leave of the Wizard, with many
thanks on their part for his kind offices, they went forth from the
cavern, and set their faces once more toward the settlement.

An hour after their departure, the Wizard stood by the side of the
captive chief. He had no difficulty in finding the spot, for the scout
had described it so that he could not miss it. He looked up in the face
of the Medicine as he cut the bonds that held him, mutely asking the
question, the answer he so much feared to hear.

“The white maiden is gone, and none of the arts of the Medicine can
bring her back,” he said, simply.

“And the pale-faces, her friends—where are they?”

“Bearing her back to their home that the chief made desolate, that she
may be near them.”

The chief asked no more questions. Turning his back upon the Wizard, he
strode away in the direction of the Indian village, fully convinced that
the pale-face upon whom he had set his heart, had gone to the spirit
land.

He did not harm Nekomis as he had threatened to. On the contrary she
kept his lodge as usual, until, before a year had gone round, he brought
Minora to keep it for him. He was happy and contented with her. The
Wizard kept his secret well, and none among the savages ever knew of the
part he had played.

On through the forest our friends went, rejoicing in their escape from
the fiery furnace with hardly so much as a singe upon their garments.

The Yankee clung to his pack, which he had stuck to through thick and
thin, and which he was at last bearing out triumphantly. Ruth bore the
fatigue well, helped along as she was by the hand and strength of her
lover, and in due time the nearest settlement was reached, and they were
safe from any further dangers.

Sam Wilson did not return to his clearing, and so the cabin in the
wilderness was not reërected.

He had experienced dangers enough from living apart from the body of the
settlers, and was now content to abide with them. A piece of land was
taken up close to them, and two cabins erected thereon. Not long after
they were completed, Ned Tapley and Ruth were married and took up their
abode in one of them, while the parents of the latter dwelt in the
other.

Rushing Water neither of them saw again. Whether he was ever undeceived
they had no means of knowing. Happy themselves, they were willing that
he and Minora should be likewise.

Dick, the Death-Dealer, was ever a prized friend to them; and they were
glad to have him take up his abode with them whenever he was not abroad
upon his work in the forest. Many were the timely services he performed
for all of his settlers, and he was looked upon as the benefactor of
them all.

It may be some satisfaction to our readers to know that the Yankee made
one trade with our friends. Ruth’s wedding-dress was purchased of him,
and though he said that he was selling it so low for friendship’s sake
that he was ruining himself, he was afterward heard to chuckle and
declare that he had “made a darned handsome thing out of it,” as
doubtless he had.

Whether he ever went back to New Hampshire is unknown; but whether he
did, or remained in the West, there is one thing sure: he looked out for
Number One on all occasions, and that he and his pack stuck together
through thick and thin.


                                THE END.




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  5—Nat Wolfe. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
  6—The White Tracker. By Edward S. Ellis.
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  19—The Specter Chief. By Seelin Robins.
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  21—Wild Nat. By Wm. R. Eyster.
  22—Indian Jo. By Lewis W. Carson.
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  30—Eagle Eye. By W. J. Hamilton.
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  36—The Boy Pioneer. By Edward S. Ellis.
  37—Carson, the Guide. By J. H. Randolph.
  38—The Heart Eater. By Harry Hazard.
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  42—Lynx-cap. By Paul Bibbs.
  43—The White Outlaw. By Harry Hazard.
  44—The Dog Trailer. By Frederick Dewey.
  45—The Elk King. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
  46—Adrian, the Pilot. By Col. P. Ingraham.
  47—The Man-hunter. By Maro O. Rolfe.
  48—The Phantom Tracker. By F. Dewey.
  49—Moccasin Bill. By Paul Bibbs.
  50—The Wolf Queen. By Charles Howard.
  51—Tom Hawk, the Trailer.
  52—The Mad Chief. By Chas. Howard.
  53—The Black Wolf. By Edwin E. Ewing.
  54—Arkansas Jack. By Harry Hazard.
  55—Blackbeard. By Paul Bibbs.
  56—The River Rifles. By Billex Muller.
  57—Hunter Ham. By J. Edgar Iliff.
  58—Cloudwood. By J. M. Merrill.
  59—The Texas Hawks. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
  60—Merciless Mat. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
  61—Mad Anthony’s Scouts. By E. Rodman.
  62—The Luckless Trapper. By Wm. R. Eyster.
  63—The Florida Scout. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
  64—The Island Trapper. By Chas. Howard.
  65—Wolf-Cap. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
  66—Rattling Dick. By Harry Hazard.
  67—Sharp-Eye. By Major Max Martine.
  68—Iron-Hand. By Frederick Forest.
  69—The Yellow Hunter. By Chas. Howard.
  70—The Phantom Rider. By Maro O. Rolfe.
  71—Delaware Tom. By Harry Hazard.
  72—Silver Rifle. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
  73—The Skeleton Scout. By Maj. L. W. Carson.
  74—Little Rifle. By Capt. “Bruin” Adams.
  75—The Wood Witch. By Edwin Emerson.
  76—Old Ruff, the Trapper. By “Bruin” Adams.
  77—The Scarlet Shoulders. By Harry Hazard.
  78—The Border Rifleman. By L. W. Carson.
  79—Outlaw Jack. By Harry Hazard.
  80—Tiger-Tail, the Seminole. By R. Ringwood.
  81—Death-Dealer. By Arthur L. Meserve.
  82—Kenton, the Ranger. By Chas. Howard.
  83—The Specter Horseman. By Frank Dewey.
  84—The Three Trappers. By Seelin Robbins.
  85—Kaleolah. By T. Benton Shields, U. S. N.
  86—The Hunter Hercules. By Harry St. George.
  87—Phil Hunter. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
  88—The Indian Scout. By Harry Hazard.
  89—The Girl Avenger. By Chas. Howard.
  90—The Red Hermitess. By Paul Bibbs.
  91—Star-Face, the Slayer.
  92—The Antelope Boy. By Geo. L. Aiken.
  93—The Phantom Hunter. By E. Emerson.
  94—Tom Pintle, the Pilot. By M. Klapp.
  95—The Red Wizard. By Ned Hunter.
  96—The Rival Trappers. By L. W. Carson.
  97—The Squaw Spy. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
  98—Dusky Dick. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
  99—Colonel Crockett. By Chas. E. Lasalle.
  100—Old Bear Paw. By Major Max Martine.
  101—Redlaw. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
  102—Wild Rube. By W. J. Hamilton.
  103—The Indian Hunters. By J. L. Bowen.
  104—Scarred Eagle. By Andrew Dearborn.
  105—Nick Doyle. By P. Hamilton Myers.
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  107—Job Bean. By Ingoldsby North.
  108—The Wood King. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
  109—The Scalped Hunter. By Harry Hazard.
  110—Nick, the Scout. By W. J. Hamilton.
  111—The Texas Tiger. By Edward Willett.
  112—The Crossed Knives. By Hamilton.
  113—Tiger-Heart, the Tracker. By Howard.
  114—The Masked Avenger. By Ingraham.
  115—The Pearl Pirates. By Starbuck.
  116—Black Panther. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
  117—Abdiel, the Avenger. By Ed. Willett.
  118—Cato, the Creeper. By Fred. Dewey.
  119—Two-Handed Mat. By Jos. E. Badger.
  120—Mad Trail Hunter. By Harry Hazard.
  121—Black Nick. By Frederick Whittaker.
  122—Kit Bird. By W. J. Hamilton.
  123—The Specter Riders. By Geo. Gleason.
  124—Giant Pete. By W. J. Hamilton.
  125—The Girl Captain. By Jos. E. Badger.
  126—Yankee Eph. By J. R. Worcester.
  127—Silverspur. By Edward Willett.
  128—Squatter Dick. By Jos. E. Badger.
  129—The Child Spy. By George Gleason.
  130—Mink Coat. By Jos. E. Badger.
  131—Red Plume. By J. Stanley Henderson.
  132—Clyde, the Trailer. By Maro O. Rolfe.
  133—The Lost Cache. By J. Stanley Henderson.
  134—The Cannibal Chief. By Paul J. Prescott.
  135—Karaibo. By J. Stanley Henderson.
  136—Scarlet Moccasin. By Paul Bibbs.
  137—Kidnapped. By J. Stanley Henderson.
  138—Maid of the Mountain. By Hamilton.
  139—The Scioto Scouts. By Ed. Willett.
  140—The Border Renegade. By Badger.
  141—The Mute Chief. By C. D. Clark.
  142—Boone, the Hunter. By Whittaker.
  143—Mountain Kate. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
  144—The Red Scalper. By W. J. Hamilton.
  145—The Lone Chief. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
  146—The Silver Bugle. By Lieut. Col. Hazleton.

  147—Chinga, the Cheyenne. By Edward S. Ellis. Ready
  148—The Tangled Trail. By Major Max Martine. Ready
  149—The Unseen Hand. By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready
  150—The Lone Indian. By Capt. Chas. Howard. Ready March 23d.
  151—The Branded Brave. By Paul Bibbs. Ready April 6th.
  152—Billy Bowlegs, the Seminole Chief. Ready April 20th.
  153—The Valley Scout. By Seelin Robins. Ready May 4.
  154—Red Jacket, the Huron. By Paul Bibbs. Ready May 18th.

       BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.




                          Transcriber’s Notes


—Silently corrected a few typos.

—Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
  is public-domain in the country of publication.

—In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
  _underscores_.

—Created a Table of Contents based on the chapter headings.