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* * * * *
THE
FRONTIER ANGEL
[Illustration]
EDWARD S. ELLIS
[Illustration: JIM PETERSON QUESTIONING THE FRONTIER ANGEL.]
THE
FRONTIER ANGEL
A ROMANCE OF
KENTUCKY RANGERS' LIFE
BY
EDWARD S. ELLIS
AUTHOR OF "BILL BIDDON, TRAPPER," "FAMOUS AMERICAN
NAVAL COMMANDERS," "GOLDEN ROCK," ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1910,
BY
HURST & COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Night before the Departure 9
II. The Fate of the Flat-Boat 21
III. The Two Scouts 46
IV. The Faint Hope 59
V. The Mysterious Warning 70
VI. The Frontier Angel--The Shawnees 83
VII. The Pursuit of Knowledge Under Difficulties 90
VIII. A Man in Trouble 105
IX. Peter Jenkins--A Couple of Speeches 127
X. In which there is a Future Account of the Shawnees,
the Speakers, and Jenkins 139
XI. A Prize Gained and Lost 151
XII. A Mingling of Fear, Doubt, and Hope 174
XIII. Dark 189
XIV. The Attack in the Wood 201
XV. "All's Well that Ends Well." 225
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Jim Peterson Questioning the Frontier Angel FRONTISPIECE
PAGE
"For God's sake come and take me off, for they are after
me." 33
The Frontier Angel 39
"Onward they poured, shouting like madmen." 45
"Whosomever is on that flat-boat ain't living, that's
sartin." 51
"'O Lord, I'm shot,' suddenly exclaimed Jenkins." 81
"Before he could rise the Indians were upon him." 108
"The Frontier Angel gazed calmly on him a moment." 126
"'Mr. Thomas McGable, Esq., I believe,' said Peterson with
much gravity, without removing the aim of his rifle." 156
"'Quick! water; she has fainted,' exclaimed Mansfield." 229
"Then die--!" 244
THE FRONTIER ANGEL:
A ROMANCE OF
KENTUCKY RANGERS' LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE DEPARTURE.
IN the western part of Pennsylvania, near the commencement of the Ohio
river, stands a small town, which, at the close of the last century,
numbered about thirty dwellings. Although properly a border settlement
at the time mentioned, there were so many others beyond, that it was
hardly regarded as being in the "Mighty West." The inhabitants were
mostly farmers, possessed of large and beautiful farms, who commenced
their labors in the morning, and retired to rest in the evening, without
much fear of the molestation of their savage brethren. True, a few years
previous, the latter had committed murders and depredations even farther
east than this, and the settlers never allowed themselves fully to give
way to an undue sense of security. But, unless a most unexpected triumph
should crown the struggles of the Indians, there was little occasion for
apprehension upon the part of the whites.
The time on which we visit this village, is an evening in the spring,
toward the close of the last century. The night is dark and cloudy, and
the houses are invisible in the deep gloom; but there are numerous
twinkling lights in the different dwellings, which give it the
appearance of a constellation set in the vast sky of darkness around.
Broad fields of cleared land stretch for a long distance into the
background, while there are numerous other dwellings further eastward,
toward Pittsburg, and many cabins further westward in Ohio and Virginia;
so that they are not without neighbors, and may properly be said still
to be in the land of civilization.
Near the western end of the village, stood a large frame house, in the
lower story of which a bright light was burning. Within, and seated
around a large, crackling fire, were four individuals engaged in
conversation. The first was a pleasant, middle-aged man, rather portly
and good-natured; the second was his wife, a few years younger, with an
equally pleasant face, and a cheerful, musical voice. Upon the opposite
side of the fire sat a young man, of a hardy, muscular frame, and a
rather handsome appearance. Beside him was a maiden of eighteen or
twenty years, who, without the least exaggeration on our part, might be
pronounced beautiful.
The first couple, as said, were man and wife. The second two intended to
be at some future time--that is, they were lovers.
The name of the parents was Abbot, and the maiden was Marian Abbot,
their daughter. They were farmers, who, not having succeeded as well as
they anticipated, had come to the determination to emigrate further
west--in fact, into the very heart of Kentucky. A flat-boat was to start
the next morning down the river, in which a number of their neighbors
were going, and in which they intended to send Marian; but, the parents
themselves were compelled to wait several months in order to bring their
affairs to a settlement. Their resolution had been taken rather
suddenly, but, as said, they were compelled to wait before fulfilling
it.
The flat-boat which was to start on the morrow, carried with it more men
than Abbot expected would accompany him, and hence he deemed it much
safer for Marian that she should go with it, and, in their western home,
wait for his coming.
The young man to whom we have referred, was Russel Mansfield, the only
son of his parents, as was Marian the only daughter of hers. An
attachment had existed between them for a year or two, and it was
generally expected by the parents of both, that, as soon as they were in
a proper condition, they would be united for life. The parents of
Mansfield united with Abbot in their resolution, and it was their
intention to depart at the same time with him. The same causes that led
to his detention, produced theirs; and, as it was their wish that Russel
should remain with and accompany them, he had consented. The young man
disliked very much the idea of a separation, even for so short a period
as a few months, from his beloved; but reflection and sober sense told
him it was best that it should be so. Nearly a dozen well-armed and
courageous men would protect her, while should her going be deferred
until his, there would hardly be half that number. Thus it was that the
present turn of affairs came about.
"If we have a storm at the commencement of our journey, it will be a bad
omen, will it not, father?" asked Marian with a smile.
"Tut, tut, dear, don't speak of such foolish things. I would that your
mother had such a body-guard when she follows you."
"Oh, well, I meant nothing. I am sure I have no apprehension."
"There is danger it is true," remarked Mansfield, "but it only threatens
weakness and inexperience. Your party are strong, and they surely have
had enough experience, to avoid all stratagems and decoys of their
enemy."
"Yes, darling, don't let such thoughts trouble you. There is One who is
able to protect the weakest in the hour of the greatest peril. Dangers
will beset you on every hand, but there will be strong and friendly
hearts around you, and a strong and friendly Heart overhead," added the
mother.
"There is but one thing that seriously troubles me," remarked Abbot,
gravely, "and that is the thought of that McGable. He has now been
absent a year, and you remember, Marian, that he threatened vengeance
against you when he left."
"Why, father, how can _he_ injure me?" asked Marian in surprise; "who
knows where he has gone?"
"I have been told that he was in the West," answered Abbot, quietly.
"Well, and what of that? I am sure there is nothing in that, that need
frighten us."
"I have heard a darker story of him," added the father in a lower tone,
and glancing around as if he feared other ears might hear him.
"What was it?" asked Marian breathlessly.
"I have been told by those whose word could not be doubted, that he has
turned renegade, and that his atrocities are equal to those of Girty,
McGee, Proctor, and the other similar fiends."
"Where does he generally commit his outrages?" asked Mansfield.
"I do not wish to alarm you, Marian, and I think there is no reason for
your being alarmed; but, as all the others who will accompany you, know
the same thing, there can be no harm in warning you. At first, when he
joined the British and Indians, he united with the parties who attacked
the defenseless settlements and travelers; but he is cowardly, and there
was too much danger in that. He is now a decoy along the Ohio river, and
uses all the means in his power to entice the passing flat-boats to
shore. The devil himself seems to aid his invention, for he has
contrived such ingenious schemes that it is said he has outwitted some
of the old backwoodsmen and hunters themselves."
"What does he do with his prisoners?"
"He has never been known to give quarter to any one. All are consigned
to the tomahawk or the stake, and the women perhaps to a still more
dreadful fate."
"What induced him to turn traitor?"
"His own devilish disposition, I suppose. He has more than once given
out that you will suffer, daughter, for your rejection of him; and next
to you his especial enmity seems to be against Mansfield here."
"I only ask Heaven that we two may meet on equal ground. He would never
shame the race to which he belongs, again," exclaimed our hero,
indignantly.
"Perhaps you may, Russel--perhaps you may. Ah! is that thunder?"
All listened for a moment, and heard the distant booming of thunder, and
the soughing of the wind through the trees that stood near the house. A
storm was, indeed, gathering. Dark, tumultuous clouds were wheeling
through the sky, and, as Mrs. Abbot looked out, she could discern by the
aid of the fire blazing on the broad hearth, the tops of the trees
swaying, and hear the night wind howling through and around the village.
"There is a storm gathering, but I am in hopes that it will pass off
before morning," she remarked, as she resumed her knitting and seat in
the family rocking-chair.
"I guess it will not last long," added Mansfield.
Silence now reigned for a time in the house. Abbot sat in the corner
slowly smoking his pipe, and gazing meditatively in the fire, watching
the glowing embers as they fell apart, and conjuring up pictures and
images in the coals. The mother continued knitting, her chair gently
rocking, and giving out the same pleasant squeak that it had for years.
Now and then she raised her eyes for a moment to glance at her husband
or daughter, and then let them fall again to the work before her. A
kitten was tumbling over the floor, playing antics with her ball of
yarn, or whirling around in a circle in an attempt to grasp the end of
its tail. Failing in this, it stood a moment, as if in meditation, and
then with a plunge, lit upon the back of a big maltese, quietly
slumbering at the feet of Marian, and fixed its claws in his head, eyes,
or any place that offered. The fellow bore it unflinchingly for a
moment, until becoming unendurable, he grasped the mischievous creature
by the head and holding it thus a moment, gave it several digging kicks
that sent it into the middle of the floor, and then quietly resumed his
half-sitting posture and shut his eyes again.
Upon the other side of the fire was stretched Hero, the house-dog. He
was of the hound species, and a noble fellow. As he lay, his long nose
was dropped upon the hearth, between his two paws, and turned toward the
fire. Probably he suspected mischief, for now and then he slowly raised
the corner of one eyelid, and glanced at the kitten, and then with a
twitch and start, slightly shifted his position. Once or twice he
flapped his long ears as if to give warning that he was not yet asleep,
and it would be dangerous to trifle with him.
But the demon of mischief seemed to possess the young kitten. It walked
straight up to him, laid its paw on his cold nose, and then scratched
terribly. The dog in turn, raised one of his huge paws, and gave it a
cuff that rolled it to the middle of the floor again. The kitten rose
demurely and had recourse to the ball of yarn once more. Hero seeing
this, dropped his head with a threatening look, and again slept.
The old clock ticked loudly upon the mantel, and the wind roared down
the chimney, and moaned around the house. Soon several drops of rain
rattled against the window, a terrific crash of thunder burst overhead,
and the storm came in all its fury.
It lasted but a short time when a lull occurred. Just at this moment,
the clock struck the hour of nine. Abbot knocked the ashes from his
pipe, took down the old, wooden-covered Bible, and commenced reading a
chapter. The mother laid aside her knitting, folded her hands upon her
lap, and Mansfield and Marian paid a respectful attention.
The chapter finished, all sank devoutly upon their knees, and the
earnest monotone of Abbot ascended to the Protector of all. The
desolate moaning of the tempest, added solemnity to the scene, and gave
a beautiful appropriateness to the petition that was offered.
As the parents arose, they bade Russel good night and retired. Our hero
left alone with Marian, glided to her side, took her hand within his own
and pulled her head over upon his bosom.
"What are you thinking of, Marian?"
"I was wondering at what father said."
"What? about McGable?"
"Yes."
"Are you alarmed?"
"I feel some apprehension, I confess. You know what a wicked man he is,
and what terrible passions he has. I know more of him than you do,
Russel."
"I suppose you do," he replied in a tone of slight reproof.
"What do you mean by that?" she asked, looking up in his face with a
reproachful expression in her mild blue eyes.
"Oh, nothing!" he laughed, kissing her glowing cheek.
"I mean I know more of him, Russel, because he has plagued me more with
his presence than he has you. I dreaded him as I did a serpent, and when
I, at last, told him I never wished to see him again, he left me with a
curse. O Russel! it was not me alone that he cursed, but _you_! He swore
that he would kill you, for he knew you were the cause of it, and he
said I should suffer, too."
"You are not alarmed for me, Marian?"
"Yes, for I shall fear his power as long as he lives. I almost wish that
father would remain here, but there is no persuading him, and I shall
not falter at the last moment."
"I cannot share your apprehension. You are going to a settlement which
is well-guarded, and whose inhabitants are experienced in Indian
warfare. I can see no reason for fear."
"I trust there is not, but if I ever get there I shall look anxiously
for my parents and your arrival."
The two conversed longer upon the departure tomorrow, and discussed
their plans for the future, until, when the storm had ceased, our hero
took his departure.
As perhaps the reader has surmised, the person referred to by the
parents and the lovers, had once sought the hand of Marian. He had made
his appearance in the village a year or two previous, and gave his name
as Tom McGable. Further than this, nothing was known. He professed to
belong to the Eastern states, and had no relations or acquaintances in
the village. He was a thin, nervous, sharp-featured man, with long
Indian hair, dark, restless eyes, and a forbidding cast of countenance.
He was a person of awful passions, and was dreaded by all who knew him.
Marian turned from his advances with loathing, but he pertinaciously
persisted until he was driven from her house. He left, vowing revenge;
and rumor shortly after reached the village that he had gone further
west and united with the Indians against the whites. There was good
reason for this report, as all knew that he was a man who would stop at
nothing that might gratify his vindictive feelings.