"I fear it will be difficult, Mary, but we must try it," replied the young man, as he assisted her to mount. Then, turning to the stranger, he added: "But won't you accompany us, sir?"

"No, it can do no good; besides I'm afoot, and would only cause delay, and thar's been too much o' that already."

"At least, sir, favor me with your name."

"The first white hunter o' old Kaintuck," answered the other, stroking the neck of the fiery beast on which the lady was now sitting.

"What!" exclaimed the other, in a tone of surprise: "Boone! Colonel Daniel Boone?"

"Why, I'm sometimes called colonel," returned the hunter, dryly, still stroking the horse's neck; "but Daniel's the older title, and a little the most familiar one besides."

"I crave pardon for my former rudeness, Colonel," said the other, advancing and offering his hand; "but you were a stranger to me you know."

"Well, well, it's all right—I'd have done exactly so myself," answered Boone, grasping the young man's hand with a cordiality that showed no offence had been taken. "And now—a—how do you call yourself?"

"Henry Millbanks."

"Now, Master Millbanks, pray be speedy; for while we talk, our friends may die, and it goes agin nater to think on't," said Boone, anxiously.

As he spoke, he led forward the lady's horse past the other carcass; while Henry, springing upon his own beast, followed after. Having seen them safely out of the ravine, the noble hunter turned back to wait the arrival of the expected assistance. He had just gained the center of the thicket, when he was slightly startled again by the growl of his dog, and the tramp of what appeared to be another horse, coming from the direction of Younker's. Hastily secreting himself, he awaited in silence the approach of the new comer, whom he soon discovered to be an old acquaintance, who was riding at a fast gallop, bearing some heavy weight in his arms. As he came up to the carcass of Ella's horse, he slackened his speed, looked at it earnestly, then gazed cautiously around, and was about to spur his boast onward again, when the sound of Boone's voice reached, his ear; requesting him to pause; and at the same time, to his astonishment, Boone himself emerged into the path before him.

"Ha! Colonel Boone," said the horsemen, quickly; "I'm glad to meet ye; for now is a time when every true man's wanted."

"What's the news, David Billings?" inquired Boone, anxiously, as he noticed a troubled, earnest expression on the countenance of the other.

"Bad!" answered Billings, emphatically. "The Injens have been down upon us agin in a shocking manner."

"Heaven forbid thar be many victims!" ejaculated Boone, unconsciously tightening the grasp on his rifle.

"Too many—too many!" rejoined Billings, shaking his head sadly. "Thar's my neighbor Millbanks' family—"

"Well? well?" cried Boone, impatiently, as the other seemed to hesitate.

"Have all been murdered, and his house burnt to ashes."

"All?" echoed Boone.

"All but young Harry, who's fortunately away to a wedding at Wilson's."

"Why, the one you speak of war just now here," said Boone, with a start; "and I sent him back to raise a party to trail the red varmints, who've been operating as you see yonder: Good heavens! what awful news for poor Harry, who seems so likely a lad."

"Yes, likely you may well say," returned the other; "and so war the whole family—God ha' mercy on 'em! But what's been done here?"

"Why, I suppose Ella Barnwell—Younker's niece, you know—and a likely young stranger who war along with her, called Reynolds, have been captured."

"Ha! well it's supposed Younker and his wife are captives too, or else that thar bones lie white among the ashes of thar own ruins."

"Good heavens!" cried Boone. "Any more, David?"

"Yes, thar's Absalom Switcher and his wife, and a young gal of twelve; and Ephraim Stokes' wife and a young boy of five; who war left by themselves, (Stokes himself being away, and his son Seth at the wedding, as was a son o' Switcher's also) have all bin foully mardered—besides Johnny Long's family, Peter Pierson's, and a young child of Fred Mason's that happened to be at Pierson's house, and one or two others whose names I disremember."

"But when did this happen, David?"

"Last night," replied the other. "It's suspected that the Injens ha bin warting round here, and took advantage of this wedding, when the greater part on 'em war away. It's thought too that thar war a white spy out, who gin 'em information, and led 'em on—as a villainous looking chap war seed about the vicinity not long ago."

"Do they suspicion who war the spy?" asked Boone.

"Why some thinks as how it war that thar accussed renegade, Simon Girty."

"Wretch!" muttered Boone, grasping his rifle almost fiercely; "I'd like to have old Bess, here, hold a short conflab with him. But what have you got thar in your arms, that seems so heavy, David?"

"Rifles, Colonel. I've bin riding round and collecting on 'em for this mad party of Younker's, who went off without any precaution; and I'm now on my way to deliver 'em, that they may start instanter arter the cussed red skins, and punish 'em according to the Mosaic law."

"Spur on then, David, and you may perhaps overtake some o' them; and all that you do, arm and send 'em here as quick as possible—for I'm dreadful impatient to be off."

The colloquy between the two thus concluded, the horseman—a strongly-built, hard-favored, muscular man of forty—set spurs to his horse; and bounding onward toward Wilson's (distant some five miles—the ravine being about half way between the residence of the groom and bride,) he was quickly lost to the sight of the other, who quietly seated himself to await the reinforcement.

In the course of half an hour, Boone was joined by some three or four of the wedding party, who bad been overtaken by Billings, learned the news, accepted a rifle each, bidden their fair companions adieu, and sent them and the horses back to the house of the bride, while they moved forward to meet danger, rescue the living, and seek revenge.

In the course of an hour and a half, Billings himself returned, accompanied by some seven or eight stout hearts; among whom were young Switcher, Stokes, Millbanks, and, lastly, Isaac Younker, who had been roused from the nuptial bed to hear of the terrible calamity that had befallen his friends. Isaac, on the present occasion, did not disgrace his training, the land which gave him birth, nor the country he now inhabited. When the messenger came with the direful news, although somewhat late in the morning, Isaac had been found in his bed, closely folded in the arms of the god of sleep. On being awakened and told of what had taken place, he slowly rose up into a sitting posture, rubbed his eyes, stared searchingly at his informant, gathered himself upon his feet, threw on his wedding garments, and made all haste to descend below; where he at once sought out his new wife, Peggy, who had risen an hour before; and grasping her by the hand, in a voice slightly tremulous, but with a firm, determined expression on his features, said:

"Peggy, dear, I 'spect you've heard the whole on't. Father, mother, Ella and Reynolds—all gone, and our house in ashes, I'm going to follow, Peggy. Good bye—God bless you! Ef I don't never come back, Peggy"—and the tears started into his eyes—"you may jest put it down I've been clean sarcumvented, skinned, and eat up by them thar ripscallious Injens;" and turning upon his heel, as his tender-hearted spouse burst into tears, he seized upon same provisions that had graced the last night's entertainment, gave Black Betty a long and cordial salute with his lips, shook hands with his wife's father and mother, kissed Peggy once again, pulled his cap over his eyes, and, without another word, set forth with rapid strides on the eastern path leading to the rendezvous of Daniel Boone.

On the faces of those now assembled, who had lost their best and dearest friends, could be seen the intense workings of the strong passions of grief and revenge, while their fingers clutched their faithful rifles with a nervous power. The greatest change was apparent in the features of Henry Millbanks. He was a fine-favored, good-looking youth of eighteen, with light hair and a florid complexion. The natural expression of his handsome countenance was an easy, dignified smile, which was rendered extremely fascinating by a broad, noble forehead, and a clear, expressive, gray eye; but now the floridity had given place to a pale, almost sallow hue, the forehead was wrinkled with grief, the lips were compressed, and the smile had been succeeded by a look of great fierceness, aided by the eye; which was more than usually sunken and bloodshot.

But little was said by any of the party; for all felt the chilling gloom of the present, so strongly contrasted with the bright hours and merry jests which had so lately been apportioned to each. Boone called to Caesar and bade him seek the Indian trail; a task which the noble brute flew to execute; and in a few minutes the whole company were on their way; with the exception of Billings; who, by the unanimous request of all, returned to Wilson's; to cheer, console and protect the females; and, if thought advisable, to conduct them to Bryan's Station—a strong fort a few miles distant—where they might remain in comparative security.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE INDIANS AND THEIR PRISONERS.

While the events just chronicled were enacting in one part of the country, others, of a different nature, but somewhat connected with them, were taking place in another. In a dark, lonely pass or gorge of the hills, some ten miles to the north of the scene of the preceding chapter, where the surrounding trees grew so thick with branches and leaves that they almost entirely excluded the sunlight from the waters of a stream which there rolled foaming and roaring between the hills and over and against the rocks of its precipitous bed, or, plunging down some frightful precipice, lay as if stunned or exhausted by the fall in the chasm below, mirroring in its still bosom with a gloomy reflection the craggy steeps rising majestically above it—in this dark and lonely pass, we say, was a party of human beings, to whom the proper development of our story now calls us.

The company in question was composed of eight persons, five of whom were Indians of the Seneca tribe;[5] the others—a thin-faced, gaunt, stoop-shouldered man past the middle age—a rather corpulent, masculine looking woman, a few years his junior—a little fair-haired, blue-eyed, pretty-faced girl of six—were white captives. Four of the Indians were seated or partly reclining on the ground, with their guns beside them, ready for instant use if necessary, engaged in roasting slices of deer meat before a fire that had been kindled for the purpose. The fifth savage was pacing to and fro, with his rifle on his arm, performing the double duty of sentinel and guard over the prisoners, who were kept in durance by strong cords some ten paces distant. The old man was secured by a stick passing across his back horizontally, to which both wrists and arms were tightly bound with thongs of deer skin. To prevent the possibility of escape, both legs were fastened together by the same material, and a long, stout rope, encircling his neck, was attached to a tree hard by. This latter precaution, and much of the former, seemed unnecessary; for there was a mild look of resigned dejection on his features, as they bent toward the earth, with his chin resting on his bosom, that appeared strongly at variance with any thing like flight or strife. His female companion was fastened in like manner to the tree, but in other respects only bound by a stout thong around the wrists in front. The third member of the white party, the little girl, was seated at the feet of the old man, with her small wrists also bound until they had swollen so as to pain her, looking up from time to time into his face with a heart-rending expression of grief, fear and anxiety.

Of the Indians themselves, we presume it would be difficult to find, among all the tribes of America, five more blood-thirsty, villainous looking beings than the ones in question. They were only partially dressed, after the manner of their tribe, with skins around their loins, extending down to their knees, and moccasins on their feet, leaving the rest of their bodies and limbs bare. Around their waists were belts, for the tomahawk and scalping knife, at three of which now hung freshly taken scalps. Their faces had been hideously painted for the war-path; but heat and perspiration had since out done the artist, by running the composition into streaks, in such a way as to give them the most diabolical appearance imaginable. On each of their heads was a tuft of feathers, some of which had the appearance of having recently been scorched and blackened by fire, while their arms and bodies were here and there besmeared with blood.

The four around the fire were in high glee, as they roasted and devoured their meat, judging from their nods, and grins, and grunts of approbation, whenever their eyes glanced in the direction of their prisoners—the effect of which was far from consoling to the matron of the latter; who, having eyed them for some time in indignant silence, at length burst forth with angry vehemence:

"Well, now, jest grin, and jabber, and grin, like a pesky set o' natural born monkeys, that's ten times better nor you is any day of your good for nothing, sneaking lives. Goodness, gracious, marsy on me alive!" continued the dame, whom the reader has doubtless recognized as Mrs. Younker; "I only jest wish you had to change places with me and Ben here for about five minutes; and ef I didn't make your old daubed, nasty, villainous, unyarthly looking faces grin to another tune, I hope I may never be blessed with liberty agin in creation, as long as I live on the face o' this univarsal yarth!"

"Ugh!" ejaculated the sentinel, turning towards the speaker, as she concluded her fierce tirade, at the same time placing his hand on the tomahawk in his belt with an angry gesture: "Ugh! me squaw kill—she no stop much talky!"

"You'd kill me, would ye? you mean, dirty, ripscallious looking varmint of the woods you, that don't know a pin from a powder horn!" rejoined the undaunted Mrs. Younker, in a vehement tone: "You'd kill me for using the freedom of tongue, as these blessed Colonies is this moment fighting for with the tarnal Britishers? You'd kill me, would ye? Well, it's jest my first nateral come at opinion, as I tolled Ben here, not more'n a quarter o' an hour ago, that you war jest mean enough for any thing, as ever war invented, in the whole univarsal yarth o' creation—so ef you do kill me, I won't be in the leastest grain disappinted, no how."

"Don't, Dorothy—don't irritate the savage for nothing at all!" said her husband, who, raising his head at the first remark of the Indian, now saw in his fierce, flashing eyes, angry gestures, and awful contortions of visage, that which boded the sudden fulfillment of his threat: "Don't irritate him, and git murdered for your pains, Dorothy! Why can't you be more quiet?"

"Don't talk to me about being quiet, Benjamin Younker, away out here in the woods, a captive to such imps an them thar, with our house all burnt to nothing like, and our cows and sheeps and hosses destructed, and—"

Here the speech of the good woman was suddenly cut short by the whizzing of a tomahawk past her head, which slightly grazed her cheek, and lodged in the tree a few feet beyond. Whether it was aimed at her life and missed its mark, or whether it was merely done to frighten her, does not appear; though the manner of the savage, after the weapon was thrown, inclines us to the latter supposition; for instead of rushing upon her with his knife, he walked deliberately to the tree, withdrew the tomahawk, and then turning to her, and brandishing it over her head, said:

"Squaw, still be! Speak much, me killum!"

Be the design of the Indian what it might, the whole proceeding certainly produced one result, which nothing had ever been known to do before—it awed to silence the tongue of Mrs. Younker, just at a moment when talking would have been such a relief to her overcharged spirit; and merely muttering, in an under tone, "I do jest believe the ripscallious varmint is in arnest, sure enough!" she held her speech for the extraordinary space of half an hour.

Meantime the other savages finished their repast; and having offered a portion of it to the prisoners, which the latter refused, they proceeded to destroy their fire, by casting the burning brands into the rushing waters of the stream below. This done, they extended their circle somewhat—each placing himself by a tree or rock—and then in the most profound silence stood like bronzed statuary, apparently awaiting the arrival of another party. At last—and just as the sun was beginning to peep over the brow of the steep above them, and let his rays struggle with the matted foliage of the trees, for a glimpse of the roaring waters underneath—one of the Indians started, looked cautiously around, dropped flat upon the earth; and then rising, and motioning with his hand for all to be silent, glided noiselessly away, like the shadow of some evil spirit, into the surrounding thicket. He had scarcely been absent three minutes, when a slight crackling among the brush was heard near at hand; and immediately after he rejoined his companions, followed by a party of eight Indian warriors, and two white prisoners, headed by a low browed, sinister, blood-thirsty looking white man, in a garb resembling that worn by a subordinate British officer. His coat was red, with facings of another color, underneath which was partially displayed a handsome vest and ruffled shirt. About his waist passed a broad wampum belt, in which were confined a brace of silver mounted pistols, another pair of less finish and value, a silver handled dirk, a scalping knife and tomahawk, on whose blades could be seen traces of blood. Around his neck was a neatly tied cravat, and dangling in front of his vest a gold chain, which connected with a watch hid in a pocket of his breeches, whence depended a larger chain of steel, supporting in turn three splendid gold seals and two keys. His nether garments were breeches, leggins, and moccasins, all of deer skin, and without ornament. His hat, not unlike those of the present day, was on this occasion graced with a red feather, which protruded above the crown, and corresponded well with his general appearance.

The Indian companions of this individual were not remarkable for any thing, unless it might be ferocity of expression. They were habited, with but one exception, like those previously described, and evidently belonged to the same tribe. This exception was a large, athletic, powerful Indian, rather rising of six feet, around whose waist was a finely worked wampum belt, over whose right shoulder, in a transverse direction, extended a red scarf, carelessly tied under the left arm, and in whose nose and ears were large, heavy rings, denoting him to be either a chief or one in command. His age was about thirty; and his features, though perhaps less ferocious than some of his companions, were still enough so to make him an object of dread and fear. His forehead was low, his eye black and piercing, and his nose rather flat and widely distended at the nostrils. He was called Peshewa: Anglice, Wild cat.

As the prisoners of the latter party came in sight of those of the former, there was a general start and exclamation of surprise; while the sad faces of each showed how little pleasure they felt in meeting each other under such painful circumstances. The last comers, as the reader has doubtless conjectured, were Algernon and Ella. Immediately on their entering the ravine, as previously recorded, they had been set upon by savages, their horses shot from under them, and themselves made captives. This result, however, as regards Algernon, had not been effected without considerable effort on the part of his numerous enemies. At the first fire, his horse fell; but disentangling himself, and drawing his pistols, he sprung upon the side of his dying beast, and discharged them both at his nearest foes—one of which took effect, and sent a warrior to his last account. Then leaping in among them, he drew his knife and cut madly about him until secured; though doubtless he would have been tomahawked on the spot, only that he might be reserved for the tortures, when his brutal captors should arrive at their destination. Meantime the animal which bore the lovely Ella, being wounded by the same fire which killed her companion's, bounded forward some twenty paces, when a blow on the head with a tomahawk laid him prostrate, and she was secured also. The party then proceeded to bury the dead, at some little distance, and start upon their journey, to join their companions—which latter we have just seen accomplished.

As soon as mutual recognitions had passed between the prisoners, the individual habited in the British uniform stepped forward, and said, jocosely:

"So, friends, we all meet again, do we, eh?—ha, ha, ha!"

At the sound of his voice, the old man and his wife, both of whom had been too intently occupied with Algernon and Ella to notice him before, started, and turning their eyes suddenly upon him, simultaneously exclaimed:

"Mr. Williams!"

"Sometimes Mr. Williams," answered the other, with a strong emphasis on the first word, accompanying it with a horrible oath; "but now, when disguise is no longer necessary, Simon Girty, the renegade, by ——!—ha, ha, ha!"

As he uttered these words, in a coarse, ruffianly tone, a visible shudder of fear or disgust, or both combined, passed through the frame of each of the prisoners; and Algernon turning to him, with an expression of loathing contempt, said:

"I more than half suspected as much, when I sometime since contemplated your low-browed, hang-dog countenance. Of course we can expect no mercy at such hands."

"Mercy!" cried Girty, turning fiercely upon him, his eyes gleaming savagely, his mouth twisting into a shape intended to express the most withering contempt, while his words fairly hissed from between his tightly set teeth: "Mercy? dog! No, by h——l! for none like you! Hark ye, Mr. Reynolds! Were you in the damnable cells of the Inquisition, accused of heresy, and about to be put to the tortures, you might think yourself in Paradise compared to what you shall yet undergo!"

As he uttered these words, Ella shrieked and fell fainting to the earth. Springing to her, Girty raised her in his arms; and pointing to her pale features, as he did so, continued:

"See! Mr. Reynolds, this girl loves you; I love her; we are rivals; and you, my rival, are in my power: and, by ——! and all the powers of darkness, you shall feel my vengeance!"

"You love her?" broke in Mrs. Younker, who, in spite of her previous dangerous warning, could hold her peace no longer: "You love her! you mean, contemptible, red headed puppy! I don't believe as how you knows enough to love nothing! And so you're Simon Girty, hey? that thar sneaking, red-coat renegade? Well, I reckon as how you've told the truth once; for I've hearn tell that he war an orful mean looking imp o' Satan; and I jest don't believe as how a meaner one nor yourself could be skeer'd up in the whole universal yarth o' creation."

"Rail on, old woman!" replied Girty, as he chafed the temples of Ella with his hands; "but in a little lower key; or I shall be under the necessity of ordering a stopper to your mouth; which, saving the tortures of the stake, is the worst punishment for you I can now invent. As for you, Mr. Younker," continued he, turning his face to the old man, with a peculiar expression; "you seem to have nothing to say to an old friend—ha, ha, ha!"

"Whensomever I mention the name o' Simon Girty," replied Younker, in a deliberate and startlingly solemn tone, "I al'ays call down God's curse upon the fiendish renegade—and I do so now."

"By ——! old man," cried Girty, casting Ella roughly from him, and starting upright, the perfect picture of a fiend in human shape; "another word, and your brains shall be scattered to the four winds of heaven!"

As he spoke, he brandished his tomahawk over the other's head; while the child, before noticed, uttered a wild scream, and sprung to Mrs. Younker, at whose side she crouched in absolute terror.

"Strike!" answered Younker, mildly, with an unchanged countenance, his eye resting steadily upon the other, who could not meet his gaze in the same manner. "Strike! Simon Girty; for I'm a man that's never feared death, and don't now; besides, I reiterate all I've said, and with my dying breath pray God to curse ye!"

"Not yet!" rejoined Girty, smothering his rage, as he replaced his weapon. "Not yet, Ben Younker; for you take death too easy; and by ——! I'll make it have terrors for you! But what child is this?" continued he, grasping the little girl fiercely by the arm, causing her to utter a cry of pain and fear. "By heavens! what do we with squalling children? Here, Oshasqua, I give her in your charge; and if she yelp again, brain her, by ——!" and he closed with an oath.

The Indian whom we have previously noticed as the sentinel, stepped forward, with a demoniac gleam of satisfaction on his ugly countenance, and taking the child by the hand, led her away some ten paces, where he amused himself by stripping her of such apparel as he fancied might ornament his own person; while she, poor little thing, afraid to cry aloud, could only sob forth the bitterness of her heart.

Meantime Girty turning to Ella, and finding her gradually recovering, assisted her to rise; and then motioning the chief aside, he held a short consultation with him, in the Indian dialect, regarding their next proceedings, and the disposal of the prisoners.

"Were it not, Peshewa, for his own base words," said the renegade, in reply to some remark of his Indian ally, "I would have spared him; but now," and his features exhibited a concentrated expression of infernal hate and revenge; "but now, Peshewa, he dies! with all the horrors of the stake, that you, a noble master of the art of torture, can invent and inflict. The Long Knife[6] must not curse the red man's friend in his own camp and go unpunished. I commend him to your mercy, Peshewa—ha, ha, ha!" and he ended with a hoarse, fiend-like laugh.

"Ugh!" returned Wild-cat, giving a gutteral grunt of satisfaction, although not a muscle of his rigid features moved, and, save a peculiar gleam of his dark eye, nothing to show that he felt uncommon interest in the sentence of Younker: "Peshewa a chief! The Great Spirit give him memory—the Great Spirit give him invention. He will remember what he has done to prisoners at the stake,—he can invent new tortures. But the squaw?"

"Ay, the squaw!" answered the renegade, musingly; "the old man's wife—she must be disposed of also. Ha! a thought strikes me, Peshewa: You have no wife—(the savage gave a grunt)—suppose you take her?"

Peshewa started, and his eyes flashed fire, as he said, with great energy: "Does the wolf mate with his hunter, that you ask a chief of the Great Spirit's red children to mate with their white destroyer?"

"Then do with her what you —— please," rejoined Girty, throwing in an oath. "I was only jesting, Peshewa. But come, we must be on the move! for this last job will not be long a secret; and then we shall have the Long Knives after us as hot as h——l. We must divide our party. I will take with me these last prisoners and six warriors, and you the others. A quarter of a mile below here we will separate and break our trail in the stream; you and your party by going up a piece—I and mine by going down. This will perplex them, and give us time. Make your trail conspicuous, Peshewa, and I will be careful to leave none whatever, if I can help it; for, by ——! I must be sure to escape with my prisoners. If you are close pressed, you can brain and scalp yours; but for some important reasons, I want mine to live. We will meet, my noble Peshewa, at the first bend of the Big Miama."

The Indian heard him through, without moving a muscle of his seemingly blank features, and then answered, a little haughtily:

"Kitchokema[7] plans all, and gives his red brother all the danger; but Peshewa is brave, and fears not."

"And do you think it's through fear?" asked Girty, angrily.

"Peshewa makes no charges against his brother," answered Wild-cat, quietly.

"Perhaps it is as well he don't," rejoined Girty, in an under tone, knitting his brows; and then quickly added: "Come, Peshewa, let us move; for while we tarry, we are giving time to our white foes."

Thus ended the conference; and in a few minutes after the whole party was in motion. Following the course of the waters down to the base of the hills, they came to a sloping hollow of some considerable extent, where the stream ran shallow over a smooth, beautiful bed. Into this latter the whole company now entered, for the purpose of breaking the trail, as previously arranged by Girty; and here they divided, according to his former plan also.

If the unhappy prisoners regretted meeting one another in distress, their parting regrets were an hundred fold more poignant; for to them it seemed evidently the last time they would ever behold on earth each others faces; and this thought alone was enough to dim the eyes of Ella and her adopted mother with burning tears, and shake their frames with heart-rending sobs of anguish; while the old man and Algernon, though both strove to be stoical, could not look on unmoved to a similar show of grief. Since their meeting, the captives had managed to converse together sufficiently to learn the manner of each others capture, and give each other some hope of being successfully followed and released by their friends; but now, when they saw the caution displayed by their enemies in breaking the trail, they began to fear for the result. Just before entering the stream, they passed through a cluster of bushes that skirted the river's bank; and Ella, the only prisoner whose hands were unbound, by a quick and sly movement succeeded in detaching a portion of her dress, which she there left as a sign to those who might follow, that she was still alive, and so encourage them to proceed, in case they were about to falter and turn back.

The separation being now speedily effected, the two parties were quickly lost to each other—Girty and his band going down the bed of the stream some two hundred yards before touching the bank; and the others, headed by Wild-cat, going up about half that distance.

Leaving each to their journey, let us now return to the band already in pursuit.

[Footnote 5: Some historians have stated that the Indians here alluded to were Mingoes, and not Senecas; and that they were a remnant of the celebrated Logan's tribe.]

[Footnote 6: Sometimes Big Knife—first applied to the Virginians by the Indians.]

[Footnote 7: Great Chief—a term sometimes given to Girty by the Indians.]



CHAPTER IX.

THE PURSUERS.

About a hundred yards from where Boone and his young companions set forth, the dog, which was running along before them, paused, and with his nose to the ground, set up a fierce bark. When arrived at the spot, the party halted, and perceived the body of an Indian, slightly covered with earth, leaves, and a few dry bushes. Hastily throwing off the covering from his head, they discovered hideous features, wildly distorted by the last throe of death, and bloody from a wound in his forehead made by a ball. His scalp had been taken off also, by those who buried him—from fear, probably, that he would be found by enemies, and this secured as a trophy—a matter of disgrace which the savage, under all circumstances, ever seeks to avoid, both for himself and friends.

"Well done, Master Reynolds!" observed Boone, musingly, spurning the body with his foot, turning away, and resuming his journey: "You're a brave young man; and I'll bet my life to a bar-skin, did your best under the sarcumstances; and ef it's possible, we'll do somewhat for you in return."

"Well, ef he arn't a brave chap—that thar same Algernon Reynolds—then jest put it down as how Isaac Younker don't know nothing 'bout faces," returned the individual in question, in reply to Boone. "I never seed a man with his fore'ed and eye as would run from danger when a friend war by wanting his sarvice."

"Ay, he is indeed a clever youth!" rejoined Boone.

"Well, Colonel, he's all that," again returned Isaac; "and I'll al'ays look 'pon't in the light o' a sarvice, that you jest placed him in my hands, when he war wounded; for to do sech as him a kindness, al'ays carries along its own reward. And Ella—my poor, sweet cousin, as war raised up in good sarcumstances, and lost her all—she too I reckon feels kind o' grateful to you, Colonel, besides."

"As how?" asked Boone.

"Why, I don't know's it's exactly right for me to tell as how," replied Isaac, shrewdly, who was fearful of saying what Ella herself might wish kept a secret.

"I understand ye," said Boone, in a low tone, heard only by Isaac; and the subject was then changed for one more immediately connected with their present journey.

In the course of conversation that followed, it was asked of Boone how he chanced to be in the vicinity, and learned of the calamity that had befallen Algernon and Ella, before any of the others; to which he replied, by stating that he was on his way from Boonesborough to Bryan's Station, and coming into the path just above the ravine, had been indebted to his noble brute companion for the discovery—a circumstance which raised Caesar in the estimation of the whole party to a wonderful degree. Nor was this estimation lessened by the conduct of Caesar himself in the present instance; for true to his training, instinct, and great sagacity, he led them forward at a rapid pace, and seemed possessed of reasoning powers that would have done no discredit to an intelligent human being. One instance in point is worthy of note. In passing through a dense thicket on the Indian trail, the noble brute discovered a small fragment of ribbon, which he instantly seized in his mouth, and, turning back to his master, came up to him, wagging his tail, with a look expressive of joy, and dropped it at his feet. On examination it was recognized as a detached portion of a ribbon worn by Ella; and this little incident gave great animation and encouragement to the party—as it proved that she at least was yet alive, and had a hope of being followed by friends.

Some two hours from their leaving the ravine, they came to the dark pass, where we have seen the meeting between the two Indian parties. Here our pursuers halted a few minutes to examine the ground, and form conjectures as to what had taken place—in doing which, all paid the greatest deference to the opinions and judgment of Boone, who was looked upon by all who knew him as a master of the woodman's craft.

After gazing intently for some time at the foot prints, Boone informed his companions that another party had been in waiting, had been joined by the others, and that all had proceeded together down the stream; and moreover, that there was an addition of white prisoners, one of which was a child. This caused a great sensation among his listeners—many of whom had lost their relatives, as the reader already knows—and Hope, the cheering angel, which hovers around us on our pathway through life, began to revive in each breast, that the friends they were mourning as dead, might still be among the living, and so made them more eager than ever to press on to the rescue.

At the river's bank, the sagacious Caesar discovered another piece of ribbon—dropped there as the reader knows by Ella—which he carried in triumph to his master, and received in turn a few fond caresses.

"Here," said Boone, as himself and companions entered the streamlet, whose clear, bright waters, to the depth of some three inches, rolled merrily over a smooth bed, with a pleasing murmur: "Here, lads, I reckon we'll have difficulty; for the red varmints never enter a stream for nothing; and calculating pretty shrewdly they'd be followed soon, no doubt they've taken good care to puzzle us for the trail. Ef it be as I suspect, we'll divide on the other side, and a part o' us go up, and a part down, till we come agin upon thar track. But then agin," added Boone, musingly, with a troubled expression, "it don't follow, that because they entered the stream they crossed it; and it's just as likely they've come out on the same side they went in; so that we'll have to make four divisions, and start on the sarch."

Accordingly on reaching the other shore, and finding the trail was lost, Boone divided the party—assigning each his place—and separating, six of them recrossed the stream; and dividing again, two, headed by Isaac, went up, and two, led by Henry Millbanks, went down along the bank; while Boone and Seth Stokes, with the rest, proceeded in like manner on the opposite side; and the dog flew hither and yon, to render what service he could also. For something like a quarter of an hour not the least trace of the savages could be found, when at last the voice of Isaac was heard shouting:

"I've got it—I've got it! Here it is, jest as plain and nateral as cornstalks—Hooray!"

In a few minutes the whole company was gathered around Isaac, who pointed triumphantly to his discovery.

"That's the trail, sure enough," observed Boone, bending down to scan it closely; "and rather broad it is too. It's not common for the wily varmints to do thar business in so open a manner, and I suspicion it's done for some trickery. Look well to your rifles, lads, and be prepared for an ambush in yon thicket just above thar, while I look carefully along this, for a few rods, just to see ef I can make out thar meaning. They've spread themselves here considerable," continued the old hunter, after examining the trail a few minutes in silence; "but ef they think to deceive one that has been arter 'em as many times as I, they've made quite a mistake; for I can see clean through their tricks, as easy as light comes through greased paper."

"What discovery have you made now?" inquired young Millbanks, who, together with the others, pressed eagerly around Boone to hear his answer.

"Why I've diskivered what I war most afeard on," answered the woodsman. "I've diskivered that the varmints have divided, for the sake of giving us trouble, or leading us astray from them as they cares most about. See here!" and bending down to the ground, Boone pointed out to his young companions, many of whom were entirely ignorant of that ingenious art of wood-craft, whereby the experienced hunter knows his safety or danger in the forest as readily as the sailor knows his on the ocean, and which appears to the uninitiated like a knowledge superhuman—Boone pointed out to them, we say, three distinct foot prints, which he positively asserted were neither made by the Indians nor the captives of the ravine.

"But I'd jest like to know, Colonel Boone, how you can be so sartin o' what you declar, ef it would'nt be for putting you to too much trouble," said one of the party, in surprise.

"Obsarve," replied Boone, who, notwithstanding it would cause some little delay, was willing to gratify his young friends, by imparting to them what information he could regarding an art so important to frontier life: "Obsarve that print thar (pointing with his finger to the largest one of the three;) now that war never made by Master Reynolds, for it's much too big; and this I know from having got the dimension o' his track afore I left the ravine to trail him; and I know it war never made by one o' the red heathen, for it arn't, the shape o' thar feet,; and besides, you'll notice how the toe turns out'ard from the heel—a thing an Indian war never guilty on—for they larn from children to tread straight forward. The next one you'll obsarve turns out in like manner; and though it's smaller nor the first, it arn't exactly the shape of Reynold's, and it's too big for Ella's; and moreover I opine it's a woman's—though for the matter o' that I only guess at it. The third you perceive is the child's; and them thar three are the only ones you can find that arn't Indian's. Now note agin that the trail's spread here, and that here and thar a twig's snapped on the bushes along thar way; which the red-skins have done a purpose to make thar course conspicuous, to draw thar pursuers on arter 'em, prehaps for an ambush, prehaps to keep them from looking arter the others."

"In this perplexity what are we to do?" inquired young Millbanks.

"Why," answered Boone, energetically, "Heaven knows my heart yearns to rescue all my fellow creaters who're in distress; but more particularly, prehaps, them as I know's desarving; and as I set out for Master Reynolds, and his sweet companion, Ella Barnwell, God bless her! I somehow reckon it's my duty to follow them—though I leave the rest o' ye to choose for yourselves. Ef you want to divide, and part go this trail and part follow me, mayhap it'll be as well in the end."

This plan seemed the best that could be adopted under the circumstances; and after some further consultation among themselves, it was finally agreed that Isaac, with six others—two of whom were Switcher and Stokes—should proceed on the present trail; while Millbanks and the remainder should accompany Boone. Isaac was chosen as the most suitable one to lead his party, on account of his foresight and shrewdness, and, withal, some little knowledge which he possessed of the country and the woodsman's art, previously gained in a tour with his father, when seeking a location, together with an expedition of considerable extent shortly after made with Boone himself.

To him, as the leader, the noble old hunter now turned, and in a brief manner imparted some very important advice, regarding his mode of proceeding under various difficulties, particularly cautioned him against any rash act, and concluded by saying, "Wharsomever or howsomever you may be fixed, Isaac, and you his companions, (addressing the young men by his side) don't never forget the injunction o' Daniel Boone, your friend, that you must be cool, steady and firm; and whensomever you fire at a painted varmint, be sure you don't throw away your powder!"

He then proceeded to shake hands with each, bidding them farewell and God speed, in a manner so earnest and touching as to draw tears from many an eye unused to the melting mood. The parting example of Boone was now imitated by the others, and in a few minutes both divisions had resumed their journey.

Dividing his party again as before, Boone proceeded with them to examine closely both banks of the stream for the other trail. Commencing where they had left off on the announcement of Isaac, they moved slowly downward, taking due note of every bush, leaf and blade as they went along—often pausing and bending on their knees, to observe some spot more minutely, where it seemed probable their enemies had withdrawn from the water. Caesar, too, apparently comprehending the object of their search, ran to and fro, snuffing at every thing he saw, sometimes with his nose to the ground and sometimes elevated in the air. At length he gave a peculiar whine, at a spot about twenty yards below that which had been reached by his master, on the side opposite Isaac's discovery; and hastening to him, Boone immediately communicated to the others the cheering intelligence that the trail had been found.

Each now hurrying forward, the old hunter was soon joined by his young friends; not one of whom, on coming up, failed to express surprise that he should be so positive of what their eyes gave them not the least proof. The place where they were now assembled, was at the base of a hill, which terminated the flat or hollow in that direction, and turned the stream at a short bend off to the left, along whose side its waters ran for some twenty yards, when the arm projection of the ridge ended, and allowed it to turn and almost retrace its path on the opposite side—thus forming an elliptical bow. At the point in question, rose a steep bank of rocks, of limestone formation, against which the stream, during the spring and fall floods had rolled its tide to a height of six or eight feet; and had lodged there, from time to time, various sorts of refuse—such as old leaves, branches and roots of trees, and the like encumbrances to the smooth flow of its waters. On these rocks it was that the eyes of the party were now fixed; while their faces exhibited expressions of astonishment, that the old hunter should be able to distinguish marks of a recent trail, where they could perceive nothing but the undisturbed surface of what perhaps had been ages in forming.

"And so, lads, you don't see no trail thar, eh?" said Boone, with a quiet smile, after having listened to various observations of the party, during which time he had been carelessly leaning on his rifle.

"Why, I must confess I can see nothing of the kind," answered Henry.

"Nor I," rejoined another of the party.

"Well, ef thar be any marks o' a trail here, jest shoot me with red pepper and salt, ef ever I'm cotched bragging on my eyes agin," returned a third.

"That thar observation'll hold good with me too" uttered a fourth.

"Here's in," said the fifth and last.

"You're all young men, and have got a right smart deal to larn yet," resumed Boone, "afore you can be turned out rale ginuine woodsmen and hunters. Now mark that thar small pebble stone, that lies by your feet on the rock. Ef you look at it right close, you'll perceive that on one side on't the dirt looks new and fresh—which proves it's jest been started from its long quietude. Now cast your eyes a little higher up, agin yon dirt ridge which partly kivers them thar larger stones, and you'll see an indent that this here pebble stone just fits. Now something had to throw that down, o' course; and ef you'll just look right sharp above it, you'll see a smaller dent, that war made by the toe of some human foot, in getting up the bank. Agin you'll observe that thar dry twig, just above still, has been lately broke, as ef by the person war climbing up taking hold on't for assistance; but that warn't the reason the climber broke it—it war done purposely; as you'll see by the top part being bent up the hill, as ef to point us on. By the Power that made me!" added Boone, gazing for a moment at the broken twig intently, "ef I arn't wondrously mistaken, thar's a leaf hanging to it in a way nater never fixed it."

"Right, there is!" cried Henry, who, looking up with, the rest, chanced to observe it at the same moment with Boone; and springing forward with a light bound, he soon reached the spot, and returned with it in his hand. It was a fall leaf, which had been fastened in a hasty manner to the twig in question, by a pin through its center. On one side of it was scrawled, in characters difficult to be deciphered:

"Follow—fast—for the love of Heaven!—E."

As Millbanks, after looking at it closely, read off these words, Boone started, clutched his rifle with an iron grasp, and merely saying, in a quiet manner, "Onward, lads—I trust you're now satisfied!" he sprang up the rocks with an agility that threatened to leave his young companions far in the rear.

All now pressed forward with renewed energy; and having gained the summit of the hill, which here rose to the height of eighty feet, they were enabled, by the aid of Caesar, to come quickly upon the trail of the Indians, who, doubtless supposing themselves now safe from pursuit, had taken little or no pains to conceal their course. Of this their pursuers now took advantage, and hurried onward with long and rapid strides; now through thick dark woods and gloomy hollows; now up steep hills and rocky barren cliffs; now through tangles and over marshy grounds—clearing all obstacles that presented themselves with an ease which showed that notwithstanding some of them might be inferior as woodsmen, none were at all events as travelers in the woods.

By noon the party had advanced some considerable distance, and were probably not far in the rear of the pursued—at least such was the opinion of Boone—when they were again, to their great vexation, put at fault for the trail, by the cunning of the renegade, who, to prevent all accidents, had here once more broken it, by entering another small streamlet—a branch of Eagle river; and although our friends set to with all energy and diligence to find it, yet, from the nature of the ground round about, the darkness of the wood through which the rivulet meandered, and several other causes, they were unable to do so for three good hours.

This delay tended not a little to discourage the younger members of our pursuing party, who, in consequence, began to be low spirited, and less eager than before to press forward when the trail was again found; but a few words from Boone in a chiding manner, telling them that if they faltered at every little obstacle, they would be unfit representatives of border life, served to stimulate them to renewed exertions. To add to the discomfort of all—not excepting Boone himself—the sun, which had thus far shone out warm and brilliant, began to grow more and more dim, as a thick haze spread through the atmosphere overhead, foretokening an approaching storm—an event which might prove entirely disastrous to their hopes, by obliterating all vestiges of the pursued. As the gallant old hunter moved onward with rapid strides—preceded by the faithful brute, which, on the regular trail, greatly facilitated their progress, by saving the company a close scrutiny of their course—he from time to time cast his eyes upward and noted the thickening atmosphere with an anxious and troubled expression.

For some time the sun shone faintly; then his rays became entirely obscured, and his position could only be discerned by a bright spot in the heavens; this, ere he reached the horizon, became obscured also; when the old hunter, who had watched every sign closely, looking anxiously toward the west, observed:

"I don't like it, lads; thar's a storm a brewing for sartin, and we shall be drenched afore to-morrow morning. Howsomever," he continued, "it arn't the wetting as I cares any thing about—for I'm used to the elements in all thar stages, and don't fear 'em no more'n a dandy does a feather bed—but the trail will be lost, in arnest this time; and then we'll have to give in, or follow on by guess work. It's this as troubles me; for I'm fearful poor Ella and Reynolds won't get succor in time. But keep stout hearts, lads," he added, as he noticed gloomy expressions sweep over the faces of his followers; "keep stout hearts—don't get melancholy; for in this here world we've got to take things as we find 'em; and no doubt this storm's all for the best, ef we could only see ahead like into futurity."

With this consoling reflection the hunter again quickened his pace, and pressed forward until the shadows of evening warned him to seek out an encampment for the gathering night. Accordingly, sweeping the adjoining country with an experienced eye, his glance soon rested on a rocky ridge, some quarter of a mile to the right, at whose base he judged might be found a comfortable shelter from the coming rain. Communicating his thoughts to his companions, all immediately quitted the trail and advanced toward it, where they arrived in a few minutes, and found, to their delight, that the experienced woodsman had not been wrong in his conjectures. A cave of no mean dimensions was fortunately discovered, after a short search among the rocks, into which all now gathered; and striking a light, they made a small fire near the entrance; around which they assembled and partook of the refreshments brought with them—Boone declaring he had not tasted a morsel of food since leaving Boonsborough early in the morning. The meal over, the young men disposed themselves about the cave in the best manner possible for their own comfort: and being greatly fatigued by their journey, and the revels of the night previous, they very soon gave evidence of being in a sleep too deep for dreams. Boone sat by the fire, apparently in deep contemplation, until a few embers only remained; then pointing Caesar to his place near the entrance, he threw himself at length upon the ground, and was soon imitating the example of his young comrades.

Early in the evening it came on to blow very hard from the east; and about midnight set in to rain, as Boone had predicted; which it continued to do the rest of the night; nor were there any signs of its abatement, when the party arose to resume their journey on the following morning.

"What can't be cured must be endured," said Boone, quoting an old proverb, as he gazed forth upon the storm. "We must take sech as comes, lads, without grumbling; though I do'nt know's thar's any sin in wishing it war a little more to our liking. Howsomever," he added, "prehaps it won't be so much agin us arter all; for the red varmints mayhap 'll think as how all traces of 'em have been washed away, and, feeling safe from pursuit, be less cautious about their proceedings; and by keeping on the same course, we may chance upon 'em unawares. So come, lads, let's eat and be off."

Accordingly, making a hasty breakfast, and securing the remainder of their provision as well as ammunition in the ample bosoms of their hunting frocks—which were always made large for such and similar purposes—tightening the belts about their bodies, and placing their rifles, locks downward, under the ample skirts of their frocks, to shield them from the rain, the whole party sallied forth upon their second day's adventure. Regaining the spot they had quitted the evening before, Boone took a long look in the direction whence they first approached; and then shaping his course so as to bear as near as possible on a direct line with it, set forward at a quick pace, going a very little west of due north.

In this manner our pursuers continued their journey for some three or four hours, scarcely exchanging a syllable—the storm beating fiercely against their faces and drenching their bodies—when an incident occurred of the most alarming kind.

They had descended a hill, and were crossing an almost open plain of some considerable extent—which was bounded on the right by a wood, and on the left by a cane-brake—and had nearly gained its center, when they were startled by a deep rumbling sound, resembling the mighty rushing of a thousand horse. Nearer and nearer came the rushing sound; while each one paused, and many a pale face was turned with an anxious, inquiring glance upon Boone; whose own, though a shade paler than usual, was composed in every feature, as he gazed, without speaking, in the direction whence the noise proceeded.

"Good heavens! what is it?" cried Henry, in alarm.

"Behold!" answered Boone, pointing calmly toward the cane-brake.

A cry of surprise, despair and horror, escaped every tongue but the old hunter's—as, at that moment, a tremendous herd of buffaloes, numbering thousands, was seen rushing from the brake, and bearing directly toward the spot where our party stood. Escape by flight was impossible; for the animals were scarcely four hundred yards distant, and booming forward with the speed of the frightened wild horse of the prairie. Nothing was apparent but speedy death, and in its most horrible form, that of dying unknown beneath the hoofs of the wild beasts of the wilderness. In this awful moment of suspense, which seemingly but preceded the disuniting of soul and body, each of the young men turned a breathless look of horror upon the old hunter, such as landsmen in a terrible gale at sea would turn upon the commander of the vessel; but, save an almost imperceptible quiver of the lips, not a muscle of the now stern countenance of Boone changed.

"Merciful Heaven!—we are lost!" cried Henry, wildly. "Oh! such a death!"

"Every man's got to die when his time comes—but none afore; and yourn hasn't come yet, Master Harry," replied Boone, quietly; "unless," he added, a moment after, as he raised his rifle to his eye, "Betsey here's forgot her old tricks."

As he spoke, his gun flashed, a report followed, and one of the foremost of the herd, an old bull, which had gained a point within a hundred yards of the marksman, stumbled forward and rolled over on the earth, with a loud bellow of pain His companions, which were pressing close behind, snorted with fear, as they successively came up; and turning aside, on either hand, made a furrow in their ranks; that, gradually widening as they advanced, finally cleared our friends by a space of twenty yards; and so passed they on, making the very earth tremble under their mighty trend.[8]

It was a sublime sight—to behold such a tremendous caravan of wild beasts rushing past—and one that filled each of the spectators, even when they knew all danger was over, with a sense of trembling awe; and they stood and gazed in silence, until the last of the herd was lost to their vision; then advancing to the noble hunter, Henry silently grasped his hard, weather-beaten hand, and turned away with tearful eyes—an example that was followed by each of the others, and which was more heart touchingly expressive of their feelings, than would have been a vocabulary of appropriate words.

Our party next proceeded to examine the wounded bull, which was still bellowing with rage and pain; and having carefully approached and despatched him with their knives, they found that the ball of Boone had entered a vital part. Taking from him a few slices of meat, to serve them in case their provisions ran short, they once more resumed their journey—the wind still easterly and the storm raging.

About three hours past noon the storm began to show signs of abatement—the wind blew less hard, and had veered several points to the north—an event which the old hunter noted with great satisfaction. They had now gained a point within ten miles of the beautiful Ohio; when the dog—which, since he had had no trail to guide him, ran where he chose—commenced barking spiritedly, some fifty paces to the left of the party, who immediately set off at a brisk gait to learn the cause.

"I'll wager what you dare, lads, the pup's found the trail," said Boone.

The event proved him in the right; for on coming up, the footsteps of both captors and captives, who had evidently passed there not over three hours before, could be distinctly traced in the soft earth. A shout—not inferior in power and duration to that set up by crazy-headed politicians, on the election of some favorite—was sent away to the hills, announcing the joy of our party; which the hills, as if partakers also of the hilarious feelings, in turn duly echoed.

This new, important, and unexpected discovery, raised the spirits of all our company to a high degree; and they again set forward at a faster gait than ever, so as to overtake the pursued if possible before they crossed the Ohio river. The trail was now broad and distinct; and the footprints of the Indians, as also those of their captives, Algernon and Ella, could be clearly defined wherever the ground chanced to be of a clayey nature. In something like two hours our pursuers succeeded in reaching the river; but unfortunately too late to intercept their enemies and rescue their friends, who had already crossed sometime before. By trailing them to the water's edge, they discovered the very spot where the canoes of the savages had been secreted on the beach, behind some drift-logs, nearly opposite the mouth of the Great Miami.

"Ef we'd only been here a little sooner," observed Boone, musingly, "we'd ha' saved some o' the varmints the trouble of paddling over thar; or ef we only had the means o' crossing now, we'd be upon 'em afore they war aware on't. Howsomever, as it is, I suppose we'll have to make a raft to cross on, and so give the red heathen a little more time."

"Is it not possible, Colonel," answered Millbanks, in a suggestive way, "that the Indians, forming the two parties, may all be of the game tribe, and have crossed here together, when they came over to make the attack? and that the boats of the other division, unless they have recrossed, may still be secreted not far hence?"

"By the Power that made me!" exclaimed Boone, energetically; "a good thought, lad—a good thought, Master Harry—and we'll act on't at once, by sarching along the banks above here; for as the other varmints took off to the east, it am't improbable they've just steered a little round about, to come down on 'em, while these went right straight ahead."

At once proceeding upon this suggestion, Boone and his companions commenced a close examination along the shore; which finally resulted in their finding, as had been premised, not the canoes themselves, but traces of where they had recently been, together with the trail of the other party, who had also arrived at this point and crossed over. This caused no little sensation among our pursuers; who, scanning the footprints eagerly, and perceiving thereby that the prisoners were still along with their captors, scarcely knew whether most to grieve or rejoice. One thing at least was cheering—they were still alive; and could their friends, the present party, succeed in crossing the river during the night, might be rescued. But where was Isaac and his band, was the next important query. If, as they ardently hoped, he and his comrades had not lost the trail, they might be expected to join them soon—a reinforcement which would render them comparatively safe.

Meantime the storm had wholly subsided—the wind blew strong and cold from the northwest—a few broken, dripping clouds sailed slowly onward—while the sun, a little above the horizon, again shone out clear and bright, and painted a beautiful bow on the cloudy ground of the eastern heavens.

"Well, lads, the storm's over, thank God!" said Boone, glancing upward, with an expression of satisfaction; "and now, as day-light'll be scarce presently, we'll improve what there is, in constructing a raft to cross over on; and maybe Isaac and the rest on 'em will join us in time to get a ride."

As the old hunter concluded, he at once applied himself to laying out such drift logs as were thought suitable for the purpose, in which he was assisted by three of the others, the remaining two proceeding into the bushes to cut withes for binding them together; and so energetic and diligent was each in his labors, that, ere twilight had deepened into night, the rude vessel was made, launched, and ready to transport its builders over the waters. They now resolved to take some refreshment, and wait until night had fully set in, in the faint hope that Isaac might possibly make his appearance. With this intent, our party retired up the bank, into the edge of the wood that lined the shore, for the purpose of kindling a fire, that they might dry their garments, and roast some portions of the slaughtered bull.

Scarcely had they succeeded, after several attempts, in effecting a bright, ruddy blaze—which threw from their forms, dark, fantastic shadows, against the earth, trees and neighboring bushes—when Caesar uttered a low, deep growl; and Boone, grasping his rifle tightly, motioned his companions to follow him in silence into an adjoining thicket. Here, after cautioning them to remain perfectly quiet, unless they heard some alarm, he carefully parted the bushes, and glided noiselessly away, saying, in a low tone, as he departed:

"I rather 'spect it's Isaac; but I'd like to be sartin on't, afore I commit myself."

For some five or ten minutes after the old hunter disappeared, all was silent, save the crackling of the fire, the rustling of the leaves, the sighing of the wind among the trees, and the rippling of the now swollen and muddy waters of the Ohio. At length the sound of a voice was heard some fifty paces distant, followed immediately by another in a louder tone.

On hearing this, our friends in the thicket rushed forward, and were soon engaged in shaking the hands of Isaac and his comrades, with a heartiness on both sides that showed the pleasure of meeting was earnest, and unalloyed.

As more important matters are now pressing hard upon us, and as our space is limited, we shall omit the detail of Isaac's adventures, as also the further proceedings of both parties for the present, and substitute a brief summary.

The trail on which Isaac and his party started the day before, being broad and open, they had experienced but little difficulty in following it, until about noon, when they reached a stream where it was broken, which caused them some two hours delay. This, doubtless, prevented them from overtaking the enemy that day; and the night succeeding, not having found quarters as comfortable as Boone's, they had been thoroughly soaked with rain. The trail in the morning was entirely obliterated; but pursuing their course in a manner simitar to that adopted by Boone, the result had happily been the same, and the meeting of the two parties the consequence, at a moment most fortunate to both.

All now gathered around the fire, to dry their garments, refresh themselves with food, tell over to each other their adventures, and consult as to their future course. It was finally agreed to cross the stream that night; in the hope, by following up the Miami, to stumble upon the encampment of their adversaries; who were, doubtless, at no great distance; and who, as they judged, feeling themselves secure, might easily be surprised to advantage. How they succeeded in their perilous undertaking, coming events must show.

[Footnote 8: A similar occurrence to the above is recorded of Boone's first appearance in the Western Wilds.—See Boone's Life—By Flint]



CHAPTER X.

THE RENEGADE AND HIS PRISONERS.

The feelings in the breasts of Algernon and Ella, as they reluctantly moved onward, captives to a savage, bloodthirsty foe, are impossible to be described. To what awful end had fate destined them? and in what place were they to drain the last bitter dregs of woe? How much anguish of heart, how much racking of soul, and how much bodily suffering was to be their portion, ere death, almost their only hope, would set them free? True, they might be rescued by friends—such things had been done—but the probability thereof was as ten to one against them; and when they perceived the care with which the renegade sought to destroy all vestiges of their course, their last gleam of hope became nearly extinguished.

We have previously stated that Ella was left unbound; but wherefore, would perhaps be hard to conjecture; unless we suppose that the renegade—feeling for her that selfish affection which pervades the breasts of all beings, however base or criminal, to a greater or less degree—fancied it would be adding unnecessary cruelty to bind heir delicate hands. Whatever the cause, matters but little; but the fact itself was of considerable importance to Ella; who took advantage of her freedom, in passing the bushes before noticed, to snatch a leaf unperceived, whereon, by great adroitness, she managed to trace with a pin a few almost illegible characters; and also, in ascending the bank, which she was allowed to do in her own way, to throw down with her foot the stone, break the twig at the same instant, and pin the leaf to it, in the faint hope that an old hunter might follow on the trail, who, if he came to the spot, would hardly fail to notice it.

The freedom thus given to Ella, and the deference shown her by the renegade and his allies—who appeared to treat her with the same respect they would have done the wife of their chief—were in striking contrast with their manners toward Algernon, on whom they seemed disposed to vent their scorn by petty insults. Believing that his doom was sealed, he became apparently resigned to his fate, nor seemed to notice, save with stoical indifference, any thing that took place around him. This quiet, inoffensive manner, was far from pleasing to Girty, who would much rather have seen him chafing under his bondage, and manifesting a desire to escape its toil. But if this was the outward appearance, not so was the inward feelings of our hero. He knew his fate—unless he could effect an escape, of which he had little hope—and he nerved himself to meet and seem to his captors careless of it; but his soul was already on the rack of torture. This was not for himself alone; for Algernon was a brave man, and in reality feared not death; though, like many another brave man, be had no desire to die at his time of life, especially with all the tortures of the stake, which he knew, from Girty's remark, would be his assignment; but his soul was harrowed at the thought of Ella—her awful doom—and what she might be called upon to undergo: perhaps a punishment a thousand times worse than death—that of being the pretended wife, but in reality the mistress, of the loathsome renegade. This thought to him was torture—almost madness—and it was only by the most powerful struggle with himself, that he could avoid exposing his feelings.

For a time, after ascending the rocky bank of the stream and gaining the hill, the renegade and his Indian allies, with their captives, moved silently onward at a fast pace; but at length, slackening his speed somewhat, Girty approached the side of Algernon, who was bound in a manner similar to Younker, with his wrists corded to a cross bar behind his back; and apparently examining them a moment or two, in a sneering tone, said:

"How-comes it that the bully fighter of the British, under the cowardly General Gates, should be so tightly bound, away out in this Indian country, and a captive to a renegade agent?—ha, ha, ha!"

The pale features of Algernon, as he heard this taunt, grew suddenly crimson, and then more deadly white than ever—his fingers fairly worked in their cords, and his respiration seemed almost to stifle him—so powerfully were his passions wrought upon by the cowardly insults of his adversary; but at last all became calm and stoical again; when turning to Girty, he coolly examined him from head to heel, from heel to head; and then moving away his eyes, as if the sight were offensive to him, quietly said:

"An honest man would be degraded by condescending to hold discourse with so mean a thing as Simon Girty the renegade."

At these words Girty started, as if bit by a serpent—the aspect of his dark sinister features changed to one concentrated expression of hellish rage—his eyes seemed to turn red—his lips quivered—the nostrils of his flat ugly nose distended—froth issued from his mouth—while his fingers worked convulsively at the handle of his tomahawk, and his whole frame trembled like a tree shaken by a whirlwind. For some time he essayed to speak, in vain; but at last he hissed forth, as he whirled the tomahawk aloft:

"Die!—dog!—die!"

Ella uttered a piercing shriek of fear, and sprung forward to arrest the blow; but ere she could have reached the renegade; the axe would have been buried to the helve in the brain of Algernon, had not a tall, powerful Indian suddenly interposed his rifle between it and the victim.

"Is the great chief a child, or in his dotage," he said to Girty, in the Shawanoe dialect, "that he lets passion run away with his reason? Is not the Big Knife already doomed to the tortures? And would the white chief give him the death of a warrior?"

"No, by ——!" cried Girty, with an oath. "He shall have a dog's death! Right! Mugwaha—right! I thank you for your interference—I was beside myself. The stake—the torture—the stake—ha, ha, ha!" added he in English, with a hoarse laugh, which his recent passion made sound fiend-like and unearthly; and as he concluded, he smote Algernon on the cheek with the palm of his hand.

The latter winced somewhat, but mastered his feelings and made no reply; and the renegade resuming his former pace, the party again proceeded in silence.

Toward night, Ella became so fatigued and exhausted by the long day's march, that it was with the greatest difficulty she could move forward at all; and Girty, taking some compassion on her, ordered the party to halt, until a rough kind of litter could be prepared; on which being seated, she was borne forward by four of the Indians. At dark they halted at the base of a hill, where they encamped and found a partial shelter from the wind and rain. At daylight they again resumed their journey; and by four o'clock in the afternoon arrived at the river, which they immediately crossed in their canoes; and, as the water was found in a good stage, did not land until they reached the first bend of the Miami—the place agreed on for the meeting between Girty and Wild-cat.

As the latter chief and his party had not yet made their appearance, Girty and his band went ashore with their prisoners, and took shelter under one of the largest trees in the vicinity, to await their coming. Of this expected meeting, the captives as yet knew nothing; and it was of course not without considerable surprise, mingled with a saddened joy, that they observed the approach, some half an hour later, of their friends and enemies.

Ella, on first perceiving their canoes silently advancing up the stream, started up with a cry of joy, which was the next moment saddened by the thought that she was only welcoming her relatives to a miserable doom. Still it was a joy to know they were yet alive; and as the sinking heart is ever buoyed up with hope, until completely engulfed in the dark billows of despair—so she could not, or would not, altogether banish the animating feeling, that something might yet interfere to save them all from destruction. As the canoes touched the shore, Ella sprung forward to greet her adopted mother and father; but her course was suddenly checked by one of the Indian warriors, who, grasping her somewhat roughly by the arm, with a gutteral grunt and fierce gesture of displeasure, pointed her back to her former place. Ella, downcast and frightened, tremblingly retraced her steps, and could only observe the pale faces and fatigued looks of her relatives and the little girl at a distance; but she saw enough to send a thrill of anguish to her heart; and Girty, who perceived the expressions of agony her sweet features now displayed, at once advanced to her, and, modulating his voice somewhat from its usual tones, said:

"Grieve not, Ella. I will endeavor to procure you an interview with your friends."

The kindness manifested in the tones of the speaker, caused Ella to look up with a start of surprise and hope; and thinking he might perhaps be moved to mercy, by a direct appeal to his better feelings, she replied, energetically, with a flush on her now animated countenance:

"Oh, sir! I perceive you are not lost to all feelings of humanity." Here the compression of Girty's lips, and a knitting together of his shaggy brows, warned Ella she was treading on dangerous ground, and she quickly added: "All of us are liable to err; and there may be circumstances, unknown to others, that force us to be, or seem to be, that which in our hearts we are not; and to do acts which our calm moments of reason tell us are wrong, and which we afterwards sincerely regret."

"I know not that I understand you," said the renegade, evasively.

"To be more explicit, then," rejoined Ella, "I trust that you, Simon Girty, whose acts hitherto have been such as to draw down reproaches and even curses upon your head, from many of your own race, may now be induced, by the prayer of her before you, to do an act of justice and generosity."

"Speak out your desire!" returned Girty, as Ella, evidently fearful of broaching the subject too suddenly, paused, in order to observe the effect of what had already been said. "Speak out briefly, girl; for yonder stands Wild-cat awaiting me."

"Oh, then, let me implore you to listen, and God grant your heart may be touched by my words!" rejoined Ella, eagerly, as she fancied she saw something of relentment in his stern features. "Look yonder! Behold that poor old man!—whose head is already sprinkled with the silvery threads of over fifty winters—beside whom stands the companion of his sorrows—both of whose lives have been spent in quiet, honest pursuits—whose doors have ever stood open—whose board has ever been free to the needy wayfarer. You yourself have been a partaker of their hospitality, in their own home—which, alas! I have since learned is in ashes—and can testify to their liberality and kindness. Is this a proper return therefor, think you?"

"But did not he, yon gray-headed man, then and there curse me to my face?" returned the renegade, fiercely, in whose eye could be seen the cold, sullen gleam of deadly hate; "and shall I, the outcast of my race—I, whose deeds have made the boldest tremble—I, whose name is a by-word for curses—now spare him, that has defied and called down God's maledictions on me?"

"Oh, yes! yes!" cried Ella, energetically. "Convince him, by your acts of generosity, that you are not deserving of his censure, and he, I assure you, will be eager to do you justice. Oh, return good for evil, where evil has been done you, and God's blessing, instead of His curse, will be yours!"

"It may be the Christian's creed to return good for evil," answered Girty, with a strong emphasis on the word Christian, accompanied with a sneer; "but by ——! such belongs not to me, nor to those I mate with! Hark you, Ella Barnwell! I could be induced to do much for you—for I possess for you a passion stronger than I have ever before felt for any human being—but were I ever so much disposed to grant your request, it is now beyond my power."

"As how?" asked Ella, quickly.

"Listen! I will tell you briefly. When first I saw, I felt I loved you, and from that moment resolved you should be mine. Nay, do not shudder so, and turn away, and look so pale—a worse fate than being the wife of a British agent might have been apportioned you. To win you by fair words, I knew at once was out of the question—for one glance showed me my rival. Besides, I was not handsome, I knew—had not an oily tongue, and did not like the plan of venturing too much among those who have good reasons for fearing and hating me—therefore I resolved on your capture. I had already meditated an attack on some of the settlers in the vicinity, and I resolved that both should be accomplished at one time. The result you know. Younker and his wife became my prisoners. This was done for two purposes. First, to revenge me for the insults heaped upon Simon Girty. Secondly, to spare their lives; for had it not been for my positive injunctions, they would have shared the fate of their neighbors. My design, I say, was to spare their lives and send them back, whenever it could be done with safety, provided they showed any signs of contrition. Did they? No! they again upbraided me to my face. I was again cursed. My blood is hot—my nature revengeful. That moment sealed their doom. I gave them up to Peshewa. They are no longer my prisoners. For their lives you must plead with him. I can do nothing. Have you more to ask?"

Girty, toward the last, spoke rapidly, in short sentences, as one to whom the conversation was disagreeable; and Ella listened breathlessly, with a pale cheek and trembling form; for she saw, alas! there was nothing favorable to be gained. As he concluded, she suddenly started, clasped her hands together, and looked up into his stern countenance, with a wild, thrilling expression, saying, in a trembling voice:

"You have said you love me!"

"I repeat it."

"Then, for Heaven's sake! as you are a human being, and hope for peace in this world and salvation in the next—restore me—restore us all to our homes—and to my dying day will I bless and pray for you."

"Umph!" returned the renegade, drily; "I had much rather hear your sweet voice, though in anger, than to merely think you may be praying for me at a distance. But I see Wild-cat is getting impatient;" and as he concluded, he turned abruptly on his heel, and advanced to Peshewa—who was now standing with his warriors and prisoners on the bank of the stream, some fifty paces distant, awaiting a consultation with him—while Ella hid her face in her hands and wept convulsively.

"Welcome, Peshewa!" said Girty, as he approached the chief. "You and your band are here safe, I perceive; and by ——! you have timed it well, too, for we have only headed you by half an hour."

"Ugh!" grunted Wild-cat, with that look and gutteral sound peculiar to the Indian. "Kitchokema has learned Peshewa is here!"

"Come! come!" answered the renegade, in a somewhat nettled manner; "no insinuations! I saw Peshewa when he arrived."

"But could not leave the Big Knife squaw to greet him," added the Indian.

"Why, I am not particularly fond of being hurried in my affairs, you know."

"But there may be that which will not leave Kitchokema slow to act, in safety," rejoined Wild-cat, significantly.

"How, chief! what mean you?" asked Girty, quickly.

"The Shemanoes—"[9]

"Well?" said Girty.

"Are on the trail," concluded Wild-cat, briefly.

"Ha!" exclaimed the renegade, with a start, involuntarily placing his hand upon the breech of a pistol in his girdle. "But are you sure, Peshewa?"

"Peshewa speaks only what he knows," returned the chief, quietly.

"Speak out, then—how do you know?" rejoined Girty, in an excited tone.

"Peshewa a chief," answered the Indian, in that somewhat obscure and metaphorical manner peculiar to his race. "He sleeps not soundly on the war-path. He shuts not his eyes when he enters the den of the wolf. He saw the camp-fires of the pale-face."

Such had been the fact. Knowing that his trail was left broad and open, and that in all probability it would soon be followed, Wild-cat had been diligently on the watch and as his course had been shaped in a roundabout, rather than opposite direction (as the reader might at first glance have supposed) from that taken by Boone, he and his band, by reason of this, had encamped, on the night in question, not haif a mile distant from our old hunter, but on the other side of the ridge. Ascending this himself, to note if any signs of an enemy were visible, Peshewa had discovered the light of Boone's fire, and traced it to its source. Without venturing near enough to expose himself, the wily savage had, nevertheless, gone sufficiently close to ascertain they were the foes of his race. His first idea had been to return, collect a part of his warriors, and attack them; but prudence had soon got the better of his valor; from the fact, as he reasoned, that his band were now in the enemy's country, where their late depredations had already aroused the inhabitants to vengeance; and he neither knew the force of Boone's party—for the reader will remember they were concealed in a cave—nor what other of his foes might be in the vicinity;—besides which, his purpose had been accomplished, and he was now on the return with his prisoners;—the whole of which considerations, had decided him to leave them unmolested, and ere daylight resume his journey; so that, even should they accidentally come upon his trail, he would be far enough in advance to reach and cross the river before them. Such was the substance of what Wild-cat, in his own peculiar way, now made known to Girty; and having inquired out the location distinctly, the latter exclaimed:

"By heavens! I remember leaving that ridge away to the right, which proves that the white dogs must have been on my trail. I took pains enough to conceal it before that night; but if they got the better of me, I don't think they did of the rain that fell afterwards—so that they have doubtless found themselves on a fool's errand, long ere this, and given up the search. Besides, should they reach the river's bank, they have no means of crossing, and therefore we are safe."

Wild-cat seemed to muse on the remarks of Girty, for a moment or two, and then said:

"Why did Mishemenetoc[10] give the chief cunning, but that he might use it against his foes?—why caution, but that he might avoid danger?"

"Why that, of course, is all well enough at times," answered Girty; "but I don't think either particular cunning or caution need be exercised now—from the fact that I don't believe there is any danger. Even should the enemies you saw be fool-hardy enough to follow us, they are not many in number probably, and will only serve to add a few more scalps to our girdles. However, we are safe for to-night, at all events; for if they reach the river, as I said before, they won't be able to cross, unless they make a raft or swim it; and you may rest assured, Peshewa, they will sleep on the other side, if for nothing else than their own safety."

"What, therefore, does my brother propose?" asked Wild-cat.

"Why, I am for encamping, as soon as we can find a suitable spot—say within a mile of here—for by ——! I am not only hungry but cold, and my very bones ache, from traveling in this untimely storm, which I perceive is on the point of clearing up."

"Peshewa likes not sleeping with danger so near," replied the savage.

"Well, I'm not afraid," rejoined Girty, laying particular stress on the latter word; "and so suppose you take the prisoners, with a part of the band, and go forward, while myself and the balance remain behind to reconnoitre in the morning; for by ——! that will be time enough to look for the lazy white dogs. Yet stay!" he added, a moment after, as if struck by a new thought. "Suppose you take the two Big Knives, and leave the squaws with me—for being very tired, they will only be a drag upon your party—and then you can have the stakes ready for the others, if you get in first, so that we can have the music of their groans to make us merry on our second meeting."

To this latter proposition, the chief gave a grunt of assent, and the whole matter being speedily arranged, the council ended.

The conversation between these two worthies having been carried on in the Indian dialect, was of course wholly unintelligible to Mrs. Younker and her husband, who were standing near; and trying in vain, for some time, to gain a clue to the discussion, the good lady at last gave evidence, that if her body and limbs were weary, her tongue was not; and that with all the warnings she had received, her old habits of volubility had not as yet been entirely superseded by thoughtful silence.

"I do wonder what on yarth," she said, "that thar read-headed Simon Girty, and that thar ripscallious old varmint, as calls himself a chief, be coniving at?—and why the pesky Injens don't let me and Ella and the rest on 'em come together agin, as we did afore? Thar she stands—the darling—as pale nor a lily, and crying like all nater, jest as if her little heart war a going to break and done with it. I 'spect the varmints is hatching some orful plans to put us out o' the way—prehaps to hitch us to the stake and burn us all to cinder, like they did our housen, and them things. Well, Heaven's will be done!—as Preacher Allprayer said, when they turned him out o' meeting for gitting drunk and swearing—the dear good man!—but I do wish, for gracious sake, I could only jest change places with 'em—ef jest for five minutes—and I reckon as how they'd be glad to quit their gibberish, and talk like Christian folks, once in thar sneaking lives! Thar, they're done now, I do hope to all marcy's sake! and I reckons as how we'll soon have the gist on't."

The foregoing remarks of Mrs. Younker, were made in a low tone, and evidently not intended, like Dickens' Notes, for general circulation—the nearly fatal termination of a former speech of hers, having taught her to be a little cautious in the camp of the enemy. The conclusion was succeeded by a stare of surprise, on being civilly informed by Girty, that she was now at liberty to join Ella as soon as she pleased.

"Well, now, that's something like," returned the dame, with a smile that was intended to be a complimentary one; "and shows, jest as clear as any thing, that thar is a few streaks o' human nater in you arter all."

Then, as if fearful the permission would be countermanded, the good lady at once set off in haste to join her adopted daughter. Subsequent events, however, soon changed the favorable opinion Mrs. Younker had began to entertain of Girty—particularly when she discovered, as she imagined, that the liberty allowed her, had only been as a ruse to withdraw her from her husband—who, as she departed, had been immediately hurried away, without so much as a parting farewell.

Orders now being rapidly given by Girty and Wild-cat, were quickly and silently executed by their swarthy subordinates; and in a few minutes, the latter chief was on his way, with four warriors, the two male prisoners, and the little girl—Oshasqua, to whom the latter had been consigned by Girty, as the reader will remember, and who still continued to accompany Wild-cat, refusing to leave her behind.

When informed by Girty, in an authoritative tone, that he must join the detachment of Wild-cat, Algernon turned toward Ella, and in a trembling voice said:

"Farewell, dear Ella! If God wills that we never meet again on earth, let us hope we may in the Land of Spirits;" and ere she, overcome by her emotion, had power to reply, he had passed on beyond the reach of her silvery voice.

Immediately on the departure of Peshewa, Girty ordered the canoes to be drawn ashore and concealed in a thicket near by, where they would be ready in case they should be wanted for another expedition; and then leading the way himself, the party proceeded slowly up the Miami, for about a mile, and encamped for the night, within a hundred yards of the river.

[Footnote 9: Americans, or Big Knives. We would remark here, that we have made use altogether of the Shawanoe dialect; that being most common among all the Ohio tribes, save the Wyandots or Hurons, who spoke an entirely different language.]

[Footnote 10: Great Spirit.]



CHAPTER XI.

THE ENCAMPMENT OF THE RENEGADE.

It was about ten o'clock on the evening in question, and Simon Girty was seated by a fire, around which lay stretched at full length some six or eight dark Indian forms, and near him, on the right, two of another sex and race. He was evidently in some deep contemplation; for his hat and rifle were lying by his side, his hands were locked just below his knees, as if for the purpose of balancing his body in an easy position, and his eyes fixed intently on the flame, that, waving to and fro in the wind, threw over his ugly features a ruddy, flickering light, and extended his shadow to the size and shape of some frightful monster. The clouds of the late storm had entirely passed away, and through the checkered openings in the trees overhead could be discerned a few bright stars, which seemed to sparkle with uncommon brilliancy, owing to the clearness of the atmosphere. All beyond the immediate circle lighted by the fire, appeared dark and silent, save the solemn, almost mournful, sighing of the wind, as it swept among the tree-tops and through the branches of the surrounding mighty forest.

What the meditations of the renegade were, we shall not essay to tell; but doubtless they were of a gloomy nature; for after sitting in the position we have described, some moments, without moving, he suddenly started, unclasped his hands, and looked hurriedly around him on every side, as if half expecting, yet fearful of beholding, some frightful phantom; but he apparently saw nothing to confirm his fears; and with a heavy sigh, he resumed his former position.

What were the thoughts of that dark man, as he sat there?—he whose soul had been steeped in crime!—he whose hands had long been made red with the blood of numberless innocent victims! Who shall say what guilty deeds of the past might have been harrowing up his soul to fear and even remorse? Who shall say he was not then and there meditating upon death, and the dread eternity and judgment that must quickly follow dissolution? Who shall say he was not secretly repenting of that life of crime, which had already drawn down the curses of thousands upon his head? Something of the kind, or something equally powerful, must have been at work within him; for his features ever and anon, by their mournful contortions—if we may be allowed the phrase—gave visible tokens of one in deep agony of mind. It would be no pleasant task to analyze and lay bare the secret workings of so dark a spirit, even had we power to do it; and so we will leave his thoughts, whether good or evil, to himself and his God.

By his side, and within two feet of the renegade, lay extended the beautiful form of Ella Barnwell—with nothing but a blanket and her own garments between her and the earth—with none but a similar covering over her—with her head resting upon a stone, and apparently asleep. We say apparently asleep; but the drowsy son of Erebus and Nox had not yet closed her eyelids in slumber; for there were thoughts in her breast more potent than all his persuasive arts of forgetfulness, or those of his prime minister, Morpheus. Was she thinking of her own hard fate—away there in that lonely forest—with not a friend nigh that could render her assistance—with no hope of escape from the awful doom to which she was hastening? Or was she thinking of him, for whom her heart yearned with all the thousand, undefined, indescribable sympathies of affection?—of him who so lately had been her companion?—for the heart of love measures duration, not by the cold mathematical calculation of minutes and hours, and days and weeks, and months and years, but by events and feelings; and the acquaintance of weeks may seem the friend of years, and the acquaintance of years be almost forgotten in weeks;—was she thinking of him, we say—of Algernon? who, even in misery, had been torn from her side, had said perchance his last trembling farewell, and gone to suffer a death at which humanity must shudder! Ay, all these thoughts, and a thousand others, were rushing wildly through her feverish brain. She thought of her own fate—of his—of her relations—pictured out in her imagination the terrible doom of each—and her tender heart became wrung to the most excruciating point of agony.

By the side of Ella, was her adopted mother—buried in that troubled sleep which great fatigue sends to the body, even when the mind is ill at ease, filling it with startling visions—and around the fire, as we said before, lay the dusky forms of the savages, lost to all consciousness of the outer world. The position of Ella was such, that, by slightly turning her head, she could command a view of the features of the renegade; whose strange workings, as before noted, served to fix her attention and divide her thoughts between him, as the cause of her present unhappiness, and that unhappiness itself—and she gazed on his loathsome, contorted countenance, with much the same feeling as one might be supposed to gaze upon a serpent coiling itself around the body, whose deadly fangs, either sooner or later, would assuredly give the fatal stroke of death. She noted the sudden start of Girty, and the wildness with which he peered around him, with feelings of hope and fear—hope, that rescue might be at hand—fear, lest something more dreadful was about to happen. At length Girty started again, and turned his head toward Ella so suddenly, that she had not time to withdraw her eyes ere his were fixed searchingly upon them.

"And are you too awake?" he said, with something resembling a sigh. "I thought the innocent could ever sleep!"

"Not when the guilty are abroad, with deeds of death, and friends exposed," returned Ella, bitterly.

"Ah! true—true!" rejoined Girty, again looking toward the fire, in a musing mood.

"Well may you muse and writhe under the tortures of your guilty acts," continued Ella, in the same bitter tone; "for you have much to answer for, Simon Girty."

"And who told you the past tortured me?" cried Girty, quickly, turning on her a fierce expression.

"Your changing features and guilty starts," answered Ella.

"Ha! then you have been a spy upon me, have you?" said Girty, pressing the words slowly through his clenched teeth, knitting his shaggy brows, and fixing his eye with intensity upon hers, until she quailed and trembled beneath its seeming fiery glance; which the light, whereby it was seen, rendered more demon-like than usual; while it made shadow chase shadow, like waves of the sea, across his face: "You have been a spy upon my actions, eh? Beware! Ella Barnwell—beware! Do not put your head in the lion's mouth too often, or he may think the bait troublesome; and by ——! had other than you told me what I just now heard, he or she had not lived to repeat it."