THE LAST RECOURSE.
The night was well along when Missionary Finley determined to appeal to
his last recourse for saving the life of little Mabel Ashbridge.
In unnumbered ways the Shawanoes showed that stoicism and indifference
which they take pains to display when in the presence of strangers,
though not always among themselves. A number lolled on the ground, some
were standing, and two had sat down on the fallen tree. Another took
upon himself the duty of keeping the fire vigorously burning. From time
to time he walked off among the trees, and came back with sticks and
brush in his arms, which were flung on the flames. Although the air was
colder than on the preceding night, the additional warmth was not
needed; it was simply the light that was required.
The action of all these Shawanoes was as if their chieftain and his
white visitor were one hundred miles distant. None approached, addressed
or seemed to hear a word that passed, though in the stillness many of
their words, especially those uttered by the chieftain, were audible to
the farthest point of the camp.
The observant eye of Finley told him a significant fact. Allowing for
those that had fallen in the attack upon the flatboat, fully half a
dozen of the warriors were absent. They were watching the movements of
the whites who had crossed the river, and would soon report to The
Panther.
The absence of these warriors, we say, was suggestive, but caused the
missionary no concern. With the pioneers were Daniel Boone and his
rangers, while Simon Kenton was somewhere between the hostile forces.
After the late escape of the party from The Panther and his men, no
great fear was to be entertained of them.
Mabel Ashbridge, wondering, distressed and sorrowful, sat on the fallen
tree, now and then looking around the camp and following the movements
of the painted men as they passed to and fro, some of them occasionally
glancing toward her with a scowl and gleam of the black eyes, which
terrified her, but most of the time her gaze rested upon the chieftain
and white man talking near her.
How odd their words sounded! She could hear everything said, and yet it
was in another language, and seemed as if they were mumbling over
gibberish, like a couple of children for their own amusement, except
that the chief most of the time acted as though he was angry at the
white man, who looked so pleasant and kind that she was sure he must
have a little girl at home.
But strange, novel and exciting as all this seemed, it soon became
monotonous to her. Unable to learn of its meaning, she became drowsy,
and, leaning over and laying her head on the log beside her, she closed
her eyes in slumber.
Thus matters stood when the missionary said:
"The white and red children of the Great Spirit, I fear, will always
fight each other. The missionary has tried to make them live in peace,
but he can do nothing. The Shawanoes have made captive a little girl
over whose head only the moons of a pappoose have passed. A few hours
ago the pale-faces made captive the great chieftain Wa-on-mon, but the
white hunter let him go free."
The Panther was about to interrupt angrily, when the missionary
continued, with the same calm evenness of voice:
"The white hunter did not set Wa-on-mon free because he loved him, but
rather because he hated him. He wished to meet him in combat; but when
he went to the place where Wa-on-mon promised to meet him, the chieftain
was not there. The great Wa-on-mon was not afraid of the white man;
therefore, he must have made a mistake and gone elsewhere."
"Wa-on-mon made haste to meet his warriors, that he might lead them
against the pale-faces and slay them all."
"He lost more braves than did the pale-faces, but the white hunter must
not think the mighty Wa-on-mon is afraid of him."
The remark was as near an untruth as the conscience of the good man
would permit him to go. No one, not even Simon Kenton, suspected The
Panther was afraid to meet any white man that lived in a personal
encounter. But the statement hit the chieftain in the most sensitive
spot.
"Does the white hunter think Wa-on-mon is afraid to meet him in the
depths of the wood, where no eye but that of the Great Spirit shall see
them?"
"How can he help thinking so when Wa-on-mon agrees to meet him, and the
white hunter goes to the spot, and waits for Wa-on-mon, who does not
come?"
"But Wa-on-mon has told the missionary the reason," said The Panther,
with a threatening movement and flash of his eyes.
"Wa-on-mon has not told the white hunter," returned the unruffled
Finley.
"The missionary can tell him."
"And he will do so, but what shall he tell the white hunter when he asks
whether Wa-on-mon will meet him again and prove he is not afraid?"
"Tell the white hunter that Wa-on-mon will meet him!" exclaimed The
Panther, with a concentrated fury of voice and manner surpassing that
which he had yet shown. He placed his hand threateningly upon his knife,
as though in his wrath he would bury it in the body of the good man as a
means of relief for the cyclone of hate that was aroused by his words.
It was the precise point for which Missionary Finley had been playing.
The preliminary conversation had been aimed to bring The Panther to see
that the only way he could save himself from the charge of cowardice was
by meeting Kenton in mortal combat. Such an issue, in which one of the
contestants must fall, was extremely distasteful to the man of peace.
There could be only one combination of circumstances that would justify,
in his judgment, that supreme test; that combination now existed.
With the skill of a trained diplomat, with his perfect knowledge of the
Indian character, Finley kept matters moving.
"It will delight the heart of the white hunter to meet Wa-on-mon, as
they were to meet only yesterday, and I know it will make glad the heart
of Wa-on-mon to meet the white hunter in the woods, where no one can see
them. Shall I tell the white hunter that these are the words of
Wa-on-mon?"
"They are Wa-on-mon's words; he will meet the white hunter."
This was all well enough, and the negotiation was progressing
satisfactorily; but the most delicate work yet remained to be done.
The arrangements for the encounter were yet to be completed, and, above
all, the stake must be fixed, or, no matter what the issue, everything
would come to naught.
"The white hunter and my brother, the great and mighty Wa-on-mon, cannot
meet in the darkness of the wood, for when they meet they must see each
others' faces."
It was the first time the missionary had ventured to speak of the
chieftain as his brother since he was angrily forbidden to do so. He
made no objection in the present instance, though possibly it was due to
his mental excitement that he did not notice it.
"They shall meet when the sun rises over the tree-tops; Wa-on-mon will
be there and await the white hunter, if he does not run away."
"The white hunter will not run away," quietly remarked the missionary,
refraining from making the stinging retort that rose to his lips; "but
my brother, the mighty Wa-on-mon, is wise, let him say how he and the
white hunter shall meet, and the missionary will see that it is done."
Before the chieftain could formulate a scheme, the shrewd Finley was
ready with that which he had formed while crossing the river in the
canoe.
"Let Wa-on-mon go to the rock that lies yonder," he said, pointing up
the stream, "it is but a small way beyond this camp; the rock is only
the size of a canoe, and it is hardly above the surface of the water;
does my brother know it?"
"Wa-on-mon knows where his brother, the missionary, means," replied the
chieftain, thrilling the good man by the term used.
"Will he be there when the sun appears above the tree-tops?"
"Wa-on-mon will be there, armed only with his knife."
"It shall be the same with the white hunter."
But the sagacious Panther saw the difficulties that still confronted
them. His "brother" had clinched the confidence the chieftain held in
him by his selection of the battle-ground for the Kentucky side of the
Ohio, not far from the Shawanoe camp. This reduced, as far as possible,
the chances of treachery by the white men, and conceded a most important
point to those with whom treachery has always been a cardinal virtue.
"The missionary will see that the white hunter is by the rocks when it
begins to grow light in the east."
"Then what will the missionary do?"
"He will come back to the camp of Wa-on-mon and await his return."
Had he expressed his wishes he would have added the words, "hoping he
will never come back again," but he was too wise to say anything of that
nature.
"Wa-on-mon will not keep him waiting long," was the confident
declaration of the Shawanoe.
"And when he returns?"
"Then my brother, the missionary, shall go free."
"And the little one asleep there?"
"She dies."
"Wa-on-mon will not return until the white hunter has fallen before his
knife."
"No; but that will not be long."
"Suppose Wa-on-mon does not come back?" remarked Finley, in a
matter-of-fact, off-hand manner, but it was the crucial point of the
whole matter.
"He will come back," was the response of the chieftain.
"Does he think the white hunter will spare him? No," added the
missionary, answering his own question. "But suppose my brother, the
mighty Wa-on-mon, does not come back?"
"Then my brother, the missionary, shall go back to his people."
"But that is the promise my brother gave before; will he not say that if
Wa-on-mon does not come back, the missionary shall return to his people
and take the little captive with him?"
"Wa-on-mon gives his brother that pledge; he has spoken."
It was settled! The scheme that had been in the mind of the good man
from the moment he paddled away from the flatboat was fully assented to
by The Panther. If the latter overcame Simon Kenton in the hand-to-hand
encounter, he would return to camp and put innocent Mabel Ashbridge to
death.
If, on the other hand, the ranger overcame The Panther, or the latter
was seen no more among his warriors, then the missionary was at liberty
to take the tiny hand within his own, and make his way back to her
friends without let or hindrance from the Shawanoes.
In other words, the life of the child was the stake at issue.
"Let my brother make known his wishes to his braves," said the
missionary, losing no time in following up the advantage he had gained.
As if aware for the first time of the presence of his people around him,
The Panther now beckoned to several to approach. They did so with a
prompt readiness which suggested a camp of highly-disciplined soldiers.
The chief explained what had been agreed upon, and made his orders so
explicit that there could be no misconception on the part of any one.
Finley watched closely while he listened, and saw that in this matter at
least all was above board. The chieftain's self-confidence was so
ingrained and deeply set that he could not doubt his own triumph.
But he astounded Rev. Mr. Finley by an unprecedented proof of faith in
his honor.
The combat was to take place as near sunrise as could be arranged. As it
was impossible to say beforehand precisely when The Panther would be due
in camp, it was his order that the decision of the question should be
left wholly with the missionary.
When he should declare to the leading Shawanoes that the time that had
elapsed was so great that it was certain Wa-on-mon had been overthrown
and would not come back to his warriors, then the missionary was free to
take the little captive by the hand and walk away, and no one should say
them nay.
It was an unprecedented compliment in respect to the integrity and honor
of the good man; but, oh, what a temptation, when it promised to settle
the question of life and death for the precious child!