Wild Western Scenes Part 25

"Ha! ha! ha! you were born to be hanged," said Roughgrove, coming forward with Boone and Glenn, and laughing heartily.

"He has been hung," said Boone.

"And almost quartered," said Glenn.

[Ill.u.s.tration: They sprang up with fearful snarls and yells. Joe yelled likewise, and doubled his knees up to his chin.--P. 136]

"Oh, goodness! Jump up here, Sneak, and cut me loose," said Joe, beseechingly.

"There's no danger of you ever dying," said Sneak.

"Oh, please don't laugh at me, Sneak, but cut me down; that's a good fellow. The string is beginning to cut my wrist like fury!"

"How did you git in such a fix?" continued Sneak.

"Oh, hang it, Sneak, just get me out of the fix, and I'll tell you all about it."

"It's hung _now_--didn't you say 'hang it, Sneak?'" continued Sneak.

"Oh, come, now," continued Joe; "if you were in this way, don't you think I'd help you?"

"Cut him down, Sneak," said Boone; and in a twinkling Sneak was up in the tree, and the string was severed. Joe came down with great force, his feet foremost, and running through the snow-crust to a great depth.

"I wish some of you would help me out of this," said he, after struggling some time in vain to extricate himself.

"You'll want me to carry you home next, I s'pose," said Sneak, a.s.sisting him up. Joe made no reply; but as soon as he could cut the string away from his wrist, seized Sneak by the throat, hurled him on his back, and springing upon him, a violent struggle ensued for a few moments before they could be separated.

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Glenn, dragging Joe away from his prostrate victim.

"What did you do that for?" asked Sneak, rising up and brus.h.i.+ng the snow from his head and face, his fall having broken the icy surface.

"You rascal, you! I'll show you what for!" cried Joe, endeavouring to get at him again.

"Joe!" said Glenn, "if you attempt any further violence, you shall not remain another day under my roof!"

"He boxed my ear like thunder!" said Sneak; "I didn't think the fellow had so much pluck in him! I like him better now than ever I did. Give us your paw, Joe." Joe shook hands with him reluctantly, and then wiped a flood of tears from his face.

"He told me to put some asafetida on my hoots, and said I could then kill more wolves," said Joe; "and it came within an ace of making them kill me."

"It was very wrong to do so, Sneak," said Boone, "and the boxing you got for it was not amiss."

"I believe I think so myself," said Sneak. "But it did make him kill more wolves after all--jest look at 'em all around here!"

Joe soon recovered entirely from the effects of his swing, his fright, and his anger, and looked with something like satisfaction on his many trophies lying round him; and when he disengaged his musket from the bough of the tree, he regarded it with affection.

They moved homeward, entirely content with the result of the excursion. Boone explained the reason why so many of the wolves were congregated about the island. He stated that the vines and bushes on which the deer feed in the winter were abundant and nutritious in the low lands along the river, and that great numbers of them repaired thither at that season of the year. The wolves of course followed them, and having now destroyed all the large deer in the vicinity of the island, and the small ones being enabled to run on the snow-crust, they found it necessary to muster in the chase as great a number as possible, and thus prevent their prey from escaping to the prairies.

He said that the wolves preferred the timber, being enabled to make more comfortable lairs and dens among the fallen trees than out in the cold prairies. But their guns had wrought a fearful destruction among them. Perhaps three-fourths of them fell.

The party soon reached Glenn's house. As they entered the inclosure, they were surprised to see Ringwood running wildly about, whining and snarling and tearing the snow to pieces with his teeth. Jowler was more composed, but a low, mournful whine issued continuously from his mouth.

"Dod! what's the dogs been after?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sneak.

"Go in, Joe, and ask Mary what it means," said Rough grove.

"I'd rather not--the house may be full of Indians," replied Joe, relapsing into his natural cowardice.

"Mary," said Roughgrove, approaching the door and calling affectionately. Receiving no reply, the old man entered and called again. A silence succeeded. Roughgrove reappeared a moment after, with a changed countenance. Boone gazed at his pale features, and asked the cause of his distress by a look, not a word.

"She's gone! gone! gone!" exclaimed Roughgrove, covering his face with both hands.

Boone made no answer, but turning his face in the direction of the southern valley, he called upon the name of Mary three times, in clear and loud tones. He listened for her reply, in a motionless att.i.tude, several minutes. But no reply came. Now a change came over _his_ features. It was a ferocity from which even the blood-thirsty savages would have fled in horror!

"My eternal curse upon them! They have seized her! I have been deceived! I will have vengeance!" said he, in a low, determined tone.

"Will they kill her, or keep her for a ransom?" inquired Glenn, in extreme and painful excitement.

"A ransom," said Boone; "but they shall pay the weight of the silver they demand in blood!"

"May Heaven guard her!" said Roughgrove, in piteous agony.

"Cheer up--we will get her again," said Boone; and then giving some hasty directions, preparations were made for pursuit.

CHAPTER XI.

Mary--Her meditations--Her capture--Her sad condition--Her mental sufferings--Her escape--Her recapture.

When the men departed for the island in quest of the wolves, Mary was singing over her neglected flowers, at her father's house in the valley, and her clear ringing notes were distinctly heard by the whole party. After they were gone she continued her song, and lingered long over every faded leaf and withered blossom, with no thought of danger whatever, and none of pain, save the regret that her long cherished plants had been forgotten in the consternation of the previous day, and had fallen victims to the frost-king. But nothing had been touched by the savages. The domestic fowls cl.u.s.tered about her, and received their food from her hands as usual. The fawn was with her, and evinced the delight afforded by the occasional caress bestowed upon it, by frequently skipping sportively around her. Mary was happy. Her wants were few, and she knew not that there was such a thing as a malicious enemy in the world, save the wild savage. Her thoughts were as pure as the morning dew, and all her delights were the results of innocence.

She had never harmed any one, and her guileless heart never conceived the possibility of suffering ill at the hands of others. She smiled when the beautiful fawn touched her hand with its velvet tongue, and a tear dimmed her eye for an instant when she looked upon her stricken rose.

While looking at one of the homely shelves in a corner of the deserted house, Mary accidentally espied a small volume of poems, the gift of Glenn, that had been neglected. She seized it eagerly, and after turning over the pages the fiftieth time, and humming over many of the songs, she paused suddenly, and lifting her eyes to the bright sun-beams that streamed through the window, long remained in a listless att.i.tude. Something unusual had startled her simple meditations. At first a shade of painful concern seemed to pa.s.s across her brow, and then glancing quickly at the book she still held in her hand, a sweet smile animated her lips. But again and again, ever and anon, the abstracted gaze was repeated, and as often succeeded by the smile when her eyes fell upon the volume. Did her thoughts dwell upon the giver of that book? Undoubtedly. Did she love Glenn? This she knew not herself, but she would have died for him! She was ignorant of the terms courts.h.i.+p, love, and marriage. But nature had given her a heart abounding with n.o.ble and generous impulses.

At length she drew her shawl closely round her shoulders, and, closing the door of the hut, was in the act of returning up the hill, when she was startled by the furious and sudden barking of the hounds, which she had left confined in the inclosure on the cliff. She paused, and looked steadily in every direction, and was not able to discover, or even conjecture, what it was that had roused the hounds. Yet an undefinable fear seized upon her. The fawn at her side likewise partook of the agitation, for the hair stood upright on its back, and it often snuffed the air with great violence, producing, at each time, a shrill, unnatural sound.

Mary started briskly up the path, determined to shut herself up in Glenn's house until her father returned from the island. When she had proceeded about twenty paces, and was just pa.s.sing a dense thicket of hazel that bordered the narrow path, she heard a slight rustling on the left, and the next moment she was clasped in the arms of a brawny savage!

"Oh me! who are you?" demanded she, struggling to disengage herself, and unable to see the swarthy features of her captor, who stood behind her. No answer being made, she cast her eyes downwards, and beheld the colour of the arms that encircled her. "Father! Mr. Glenn! Mr. Boone!"

she exclaimed, struggling violently. Her efforts were unavailing, and, overcome with exhaustion and affright, she fainted on the Indian's breast. The savage then lifted her on his shoulder, ran down to the rivulet that flowed through the valley, and fled outwards to the prairie. When he reached the cave-spring, a confederate, who had been waiting for him, seized the burden and bore it onwards, in a westerly direction, with increased rapidity. Thus they continued the retreat, bearing the insensible maiden alternately, until they came to a small grove some distance out in the prairie, when they slackened their pace, and, after creeping a short time under the pendent boughs of the trees, halted in the camp of the war-party.

The Indians gathered round the pale captive, some with rage and deadly pa.s.sions marked upon their faces, and others with expressions of triumph and satisfaction. They now made preparations for departing.

Mary was wrapped in a large buffalo robe, enveloping her body and face, and placed in the snow-canoe. The party then deposited their tomahawks and other c.u.mbersome articles at the feet of their captive, and, grasping the leather rope attached to the canoe, set off rapidly in a southerly direction.

Ere long, Mary partially awoke from her state of insensibility, when all was dark and strange to her confused senses. She pulled aside the long hair of the buffalo skin that obscured her face, and looked out from her narrow place of confinement. The blue heavens alone met her view above. The incident of the seizure was indistinct in her memory, and she could not surmise the nature of her present condition. She turned hastily on her side, and the occasional bush she espied in the vicinity indicated that she was rus.h.i.+ng along by some means with an almost inconceivable rapidity. She could scarce believe it was reality. How she came thither, and how she was propelled over the snow, for several moments were matters of incomprehensible mystery to the trembling girl. At first, she endeavoured to persuade herself that it was a dream; but, having a consciousness that some terrible thing had actually occurred, all the painful fears of which the mind is capable were put in active operation. The suspense was soon dispelled.

Hearing human voices ahead, and not readily comprehending the language, she hastily rose on her elbow. The party of Indians dragging her fleetly over the smooth prairie met her chilled view. But she was now comparatively collected and calm. Instantly her true condition was apparent. She watched the swarthy forms some moments in silence, meditating the means of escape. Presently one of the savages turned partly round, and she sank back to escape his observation. Again she rose up a few inches, and their faces were all turned away from her.

She gradually acquired resolution to encounter any hards.h.i.+p or peril that might be the means of effecting her escape. But what plan was she to adopt? The almost interminable plain of which she was in the midst afforded no hiding-place. Then, the speed of the flying snow-canoe, were she to leap out, would not only produce a hurtful collision with the hard snow-crust, but certainly cause her detection. The poor girl's heart sank within her, and, for a time, she reclined submissively in the canoe, and gave way to a flood of tears. She thought of her gray-haired father, and a piercing agony thrilled through her breast. And she thought, too, of others--of Boone, of _Glenn_, and her pangs were hopelessly poignant. Thus she lay for several long hours, a prey to grief and despair. But some pitying angel hovered over her, and kindly lessened her sufferings. By degrees, her mind became possessed of the power of deliberate and rational reflection; and she was inspired with the belief that the savages only designed to exact a heavy contribution from the whites by her capture, and would then surrender her up without outrage or injury. Another hope, likewise, sprang up in her breast: it was, that the Indian she had been instrumental in releasing from captivity might protect her person, and, perhaps restore her to her father. She also felt convinced that Boone and Glenn would join her father in the pursuit, and she entertained a lively hope that they would overtake her. But, again, when she looked out on the surface of the snow, and beheld the rapidity of the savages' pace, this hope was entertained but for a moment. She then resolved to make an effort herself to escape. If she was not successful, it would, at all events, r.e.t.a.r.d the progress of her captors, and she might also ascertain, with some degree of certainty, their purposes with regard to her fate. She rose as softly as possible and sprang upon the snow. The Indians, as she feared, instantly felt the diminution of weight, and halted so abruptly that every one of them was prostrated on the slippery snow-crust. Mary endeavoured to take advantage of this occurrence, and, springing quickly to her feet, fled rapidly in the opposite direction. But before she had run many minutes, she heard the savages in close pursuit and gaining upon her at every step. It was useless to fly. She turned her head, and beheld the whole party within a few paces of her. The foremost was a tall athletic savage, bearing in his hand a tomahawk he had s.n.a.t.c.hed from the snow-canoe, and wearing a demoniac scowl on his lip. Mary scanned his face and then turned her eyes to heaven. She felt that her end was near, and she breathed a prayer taught her by her buried mother. The savage rushed upon her, entwining his left hand in her flowing hair, and waving his tomahawk aloft with the other, was in the act of sinking the steel in the fair forehead before him, when the blow was arrested by a mere stripling, who came up at the head of the rest of the Indians. The Herculean savage whirled round and scowled pa.s.sionately at the youth. The young Indian (the chief just elected in the place of Raven) regarded him a moment with gleaming eyes, and a determined expression of feature, and then with much dignity motioned him away. The huge savage was strangely submissive in a moment, and obeyed without a murmur. Mary was conducted back to the snow-canoe by the young chief, who led her by the hand, while the rest walked behind. Once the young warrior turned and looked searchingly in the face of his fair prize, and she returned the gaze with an instantaneous conviction that no personal harm was intended her. The chief was not half so dark as the rest of his tribe, and his countenance was open, generous, and n.o.ble. (It may seem improbable to the unthinking reader that a timid and alarmed maiden should be able to read the character of a foe by his features under such circ.u.mstances. But those very circ.u.mstances tended to produce such acuteness. And this is not only the case with human beings, but even with dumb brutes--for, at the moment they are about to be a.s.sailed, they invariably and instinctively look the a.s.sailant in the eye, mercy being the only remaining hope.) Again the young warrior turned to behold his captive's face, and Mary was in tears. He paused abruptly, and, after gazing some moments in silence and deep thought, resumed his pace. When they reached the snow-canoe, and while in the act of lifting his captive into her couch, the young chief observed for the first time a ma.s.sive ring of curious workmans.h.i.+p on her finger (the glove she had hitherto worn being partially torn from her hand in the recent struggle,) and seemed to regard it with much interest. Mary saw that his eyes were riveted on the jewel, and notwithstanding it possessed a hallowed value in having been worn by her mother, yet she felt that she could resign it to the one who had saved her life, and whose n.o.ble bearing, so different from that of the rest, promised to s.h.i.+eld her from future harm. But he neither asked it as a gift nor tore it from her, but turned away in silence, and ordered the party to proceed. The command was instantly obeyed.