A MINGLING OF FEAR, DOUBT, AND HOPE.
AND so it happened that the terrible sentence, "He shall first be shot
and then be burnt in the clearing and cast into the river," was never
executed upon Tom McGable. The opportunity was never given.
The indignation at his escape could scarcely be repressed; but the
version given by Jenkins so completely exculpated himself from blame,
that he escaped entirely the shafts of indignation. There were some, it
is true, who had their private opinion of this wonderful story; but, as
there was no witness to disprove it, these opinions were unexpressed.
Jenkins affirmed that what first induced him to peep into the room was a
strong smell of brimstone. Upon looking in, he saw McGable sitting
astride of the devil, who was walking slowly toward the open door,
holding a trident in one claw. Jenkins informed him that he was very
sorry to oppose him, but nevertheless, he felt compelled by the stern
dictates of duty to prevent his passage. At that, the father of all evil
made a rush toward him, striking him in the breast with the trident, and
grappling with him. They closed in with each other, and the struggle
became fearful. Jenkins, securing the trident, used it as a "whip of
scorpions," and was satisfied he gave some "strange horrors" with it. He
believed he would have eventually triumphed, had he not been taken with
one of his fainting fits at the critical moment. Victory thus secured,
the arch-enemy galloped over his prostrate form, vanished in mid air,
and left McGable skimming over the ground toward the sheltering wood.
More than one placed implicit faith in this story. Such is the
superstition of the bravest of the brave--the border ranger!
But there was one thing which troubled the settlement more than the
escape of the renegade: it was the fate of the Frontier Angel. There was
no fear of what the Indians would do, for it was well known that a crazy
or foolish person is regarded among them as one specially gifted by
Manitou, and under no consideration will they venture to harm him; but
it could hardly be expected that McGable would share in this
superstition; and, now that his suspicions of the friendship of this
being to the whites was resolved into an absolute certainty, some plan,
it was rightly thought by the settlers, would be taken by him to close
her lips forever. It was well known that there was no crime against the
human race too great for the scoundrel to commit; and the weak,
defenseless Frontier Angel, through the stupidity of the whites, would
fall a victim to his vengeance.
"Freeze me to death, ef it shall be so!" exclaimed Dingle, who was
discussing the subject with Peterson, the commander, and several others.
"No, sir; ef that sperit is killed, her blood will be on us."
"If she is a spirit, she cannot be harmed by mortals," ventured Abbot.
"Wal, Tom McGable ain't a mortal; he's an infarnal imp."
"Whoever this strange being is, that you term Frontier Angel," remarked
the commander, "it is evident to all that she is the firm friend of the
whites. The timely warnings which she has so repeatedly given us, and,
in fact, all the settlements along the Ohio, entitle her to their
everlasting gratitude. If she is slain by McGable, as Dingle observes,
the blood will be as much upon us. For it was ourselves who first told
him she was our friend, and then allowed him to escape to do what he
pleased with her. No, friends, it will never do. Some plan must be taken
to warn her of her peril and afford her all the protection she will
receive. Have you any plan?"
"Kill that renegade and then the matter will be set at rest," replied
Peterson.
"That is easier said than done," remarked Mansfield. "If I may be
allowed to give an opinion it is this: now that McGable has been
convinced of our deadly enmity to him, and our anxiety to secure him, he
will take particular care never to give us an opportunity. It will be
only in battle where he will be likely to feel our will in regard to
him. This Frontier Angel is still roaming through the forest, engaged in
her truly angelic work of befriending the whites; and the plan that I
propose is this: Let all the settlements which it is known she visits
be notified of the whole circumstances, and instructed to warn her upon
the first opportunity; and, besides this, let us all try to induce her
to abandon the life she is leading, and to settle down and remain with
us."
"Yes, do; tell her I'll marry her if she will," said Jenkins, all eager
seriousness.
"Remember me and she is engaged," said Dingle.
"Didn't Mansfield just say you was going to get her to abandon savage
life and become civilized; consequently, won't she have to leave you and
come to me?"
"There, that will do," interrupted the commander. "The plan proposed by
Mansfield strikes me as being the best, and I am in favor of adopting it
at once."
"It's my opine it's the real thing," said Peterson. "What do you think,
Dick?"
"It's the ticket, and h'yer's as moves we stop talkin' and go to
workin'."
A short time longer was spent in consultation, when the following course
was decided upon: Peterson was to go up the Ohio, and state the case at
the different settlements, all the time seeking an interview with her,
while Dingle and Mansfield were to range the vicinity of the Indian
towns in the hope of meeting her.
This plan, with characteristic vigor, was acted upon at once, and in the
afternoon of the day succeeding the escape of McGable, the three men
were in the forest, seeking out the Frontier Angel. Dingle and Mansfield
as said, took a northwest direction, toward the Shawnee towns, which
they reached in due time. They remained in their neighborhood several
days, and during that time gained one or two glimpses of McGable, but
could see nothing of the being for whose benefit they came. At last they
were satisfied she was not in them, and must either be in the Sciota
valley, or engaged upon some errand of mercy or--had she already fallen
a victim to revenge?
Some time after, Dingle and our hero were in the Sciota valley,
carefully reconnoitering the Indian villages, but they obtained no
further information, and were reluctantly compelled to the belief that
she was either at the eastern settlements, or she had already been
murdered by McGable. The latter, as Mansfield remarked, took such care
of his person, that there was little hope of again obtaining possession
of it. Several days were spent in the neighborhood, without further
success, when they turned their faces homeward, convinced that they had
done all that it was possible for them to do in this direction, although
that all was nothing.
They reached the settlement and reported themselves, and then all waited
anxiously for the return of Peterson. Before going out all knew the
wishes of Abbot, and it was expected that something definite would be
gained of the fate of poor Marian.
It was a week before Peterson came in; but, when he did come, he had a
report to give that thrilled every heart in the settlement. At the first
village he reached, he was told the Frontier Angel had left there that
morning, and that her manner was so wild and strange as to induce the
settlers to use everything except force, to retain her. From her
rambling, incoherent manner, and several remarks she made, they
gathered that her life had already been attempted by McGable, and that
the memory and thoughts of it made her act so singularly.
From this settlement, he went on to the next, but she had not been seen
here for several weeks. Having been instructed to visit all of the
frontier villages, Peterson did so, but learnt nothing more of her. From
this he supposed that, if not in the Shawnee towns, she could be at no
great distance from the settlement first mentioned. Accordingly, he
spent several days searching the woods and streams in the hope of
obtaining some trace of her. He failed to find her, but was discovered
himself by her.
He had lain down one afternoon to rest himself, and was just falling
into a doze, when he was startled to his feet by her suddenly appearing
before him.
"Are you looking for me?" she asked.
"Yes; but, confound it, how did you know it?"
"Do you, too, seek my life?" she asked, gazing at him with the most
painful anguish and terror depicted in her face.
"No; I wouldn't hurt you for ten hundred thousand million pounds in
British money. I'm looking for you to tell you, you must keep your eyes
peeled, 'cause there's sunkthin' in the wind."
There was a wildness in her look which, despite himself, made Peterson
restless and ill at ease, although he took occasion to show by his words
and manner that he had no such thoughts. The girl stared at him a
moment, and then asked:
"You do not want to kill me, then, do you?"
"No; I wouldn't do no such thing, and I would raise the ha'r of the man
that tried it, if he was my own brother."
"He tried to; he shot at me, and chased me with his knife."
"Who did so?"
"That bad man; he is hunting now for me, and wants to kill me."
"Who do you mean? McGable?"
"Yes, it was he--he nearly killed me."
"He may kill you yet. Won't you go with me where he can't hurt you?"
"Oh, no--no--I live alone, and God will take care of me."
She turned to depart, and Peterson, who all the time had felt fidgety
and nervous, was glad to be alone, when it suddenly occurred to him
there were several questions which he must yet ask, to gain the desired
information for Abbot and Mansfield. So he called her back.
"Say, will you let me ax you a thing or two?"
She answered by turning around and silently facing him.
"You know McGable in course, and must know he's the all-firedest varmint
that tramps. Wal, last spring he and a lot of Shawnees attacked a
flat-boat, and sliced 'em all up 'cepting the best-looking one of the
lot--him as is squatted afore you. Wal, that ain't much to do with the
matter, 'cept to illusrate the point. There was a gal on board--that I
tried to jump overboard with, but she got shot just as I was ready, and
I left her behind. She wan't dead _then_, but about so. Howsumever, her
folks never'll be satisfied till they know all about it. Might be you've
heard of the gal?"
"No," replied the Frontier Angel, shaking her head with a pensive,
saddened look.
"S'pect you did. Sorry, 'cause I'd like to find out. Never heard McGable
say nothin' 'bout her?"
"No."
"Qu'ar. Oh! is that renegade your husband?"
The maiden simply gave him a wondering stare without making a further
reply. Now that Peterson was fairly started, he determined to learn all
he could of her.
"The name of the gal was Marian Abbot," observed the ranger, suddenly
recollecting that he had not mentioned her name. As he uttered it, his
heart fairly stopped beating, at the manner of the mysterious being
before him. She started, her dark eyes opening so strangely, and her
breath coming so short and gaspingly, that Peterson averred he felt his
hair lift his coon-skin cap clean from his head.
"Marian Abbot--Marian Abbot--Marian," she repeated, as if communing with
herself, and gazing, not at Peterson, but over his head, far away into
the horizon where the purple and golden clouds were then blazing with
the fire of heaven.
"Yes, that was her name," said Peterson anxious to help her. "Splendid
looking gal--looked some like me--little shorter than you--purty near as
good looking."
"Marian Abbot--Marian Abbot," she still repeated, drawing her hand over
her forehead as if engaged in intense thought.
"Yes--I've told you that was her name."
"Have I heard of her, you ask? Have I heard of Marian
Abbot?--no--yes--let me see--I remember. I saw her--no I know nothing of
her!" she replied, dropping her hands from her forehead, and looking up
at him with the same wild, fiery look.
"Think agin," urged Peterson, much disappointed at her manner. "You jest
now said you remembered her. Put your thinkin' cap on and p'r'aps
you'll find out arter all."
"No; I can't remember anything. Don't ask me to, for it hurts my head so
much. Wait a moment--" she said, pressing her hand quickly to her temple
again. "Marian Abbot--yes--there was such a girl--I remember her--_I saw
her among the Indians!_--"
At this point, she turned deadly pale, and sank to the earth. That
singularly foolish notion, that it was fatal to touch the Frontier
Angel, prevented Peterson from springing forward to her assistance. She
did not faint, however, but instantly recovered herself and bounded away
in the wood without uttering another syllable.
This information, conveyed in substance, to the breathless listeners, by
the ranger, thrilled every one, as we said, to the heart. It awakened,
both in the father and Mansfield, a strange hope, that, from its every
intensity, produced a deadly heart-sickness. Abbot reeled to his home,
where, for a long time, he strove to control his agitation. He said
nothing to his wife, for he was nearly unmanned, and feared he should
turn crazy himself.
"O merciful Father! can _my daughter be alive_? Did she escape that
awful massacre? Is this a dream? Am I going mad? Oh, grant that no hope
may be awakened to be dashed from me again!"
Mansfield was equally excited. The cold sweat came upon his face, and it
seemed as if his heart stood still, and could never recover its power.
It is difficult to conceive of a keener torment--a more excruciating
agony than that which is produced by the awakening--the sudden bringing
to life of a long-buried hope. The extremes of joy and pain are the
same, but the culminating point of the latter is reached, when
doubt--almost and yet not quite _uncertainty_--is a part of the former.
It is impossible for a human being to quietly bear it. Relief must be
found in some direction, or the sufferer's reason will flee.
The painful affliction of Abbot and his wife was known to the entire
settlement, and they had the heartfelt sympathy of every one. It was
believed by all that the wife was dying of a broken heart. She was
silent and remained at home, seeking the society of no one. She had
become pale and fearfully emaciated, seeming resigned and anxious for
the death that was so fast approaching. Her only desire was to rejoin
her sainted child, where no murderer's hand could ever separate them.
After the father had, in some degree, regained command of himself, he
passed out of the house again, without speaking to his wife, and made
his way back to where a knot of the settlers were discussing the
all-absorbing question. Here he found with _painful joy_--for those two
words express exactly his emotion--that the belief was quite general
that Marian might possibly be alive and a prisoner among the Indians.
"I tell you it won't be the fust time such a thing has happened,"
remarked Dingle impressively, "there's no tellin' what capers them
Shawnees are up to. In course, there's a powerful heap of chances that
the gal has gone under, but h'yer's as thinks it ain't noways onpossible
that the gal is kickin' yet. Now, Jim Peterson, tell the truth for once;
is you sartin that gal died when you dropped her on the boat? Mind
you're on your oath."
"No, by the eternal, I don't _know_ she is dead, though I'd swear to it,
on the Bible this minute."
"Wall, sir, h'yer's is goin' to the Shawnee towns and findin' out
whether that gal is livin'."
"But," persisted Abbot, who seemed determined to receive no false basis
for his hope, "how can she be there? Have you not been to all the towns,
and had an opportunity of judging. You certainly would have heard of her
before this time."
"No; I don't know as I would. Them Shawnees ar' all the time up to such
tricks that no one can begin to keep track of 'em. Freeze me, and Lord
bless you, man, I don't want to make you think I am going to find your
gal for you and then have her dead all the time. You must be ready for
disappointment."
"I am ready for anything, I trust," faintly replied Abbot, who felt that
he could not survive such a cruel dashing of the cup of hope from his
lips.