THE MYSTERY DISSOLVED.
“To the woods!” said our hero, calmly, turning to his friends. “There’ll
be the Old Harry to pay directly. Wildcat has cheated Mossuit out of the
chieftainship, and everybody will be after our scalps in a few minutes.”
The words were uttered by the young Destroyer. How came he here at the
prison-lodge? Love, and anxiety to save those he loved, had led him to
the village, and the dead guards lying on the ground told the means used
to reach the prisoners. He had, one by one, by cunning artifice, lured
the four men from their posts, and the deadly knife did its work, which
the election of a new sachem, in the village, aided, for all the
Chippewas were so interested in this important event that the
prison-lodge was almost forgotten, and the braves left there to guard it
were more interested in the excited doings in the council-chamber than
in their allotted task. So the young Destroyer found his hazardous
enterprise greatly abetted, and his subtlety and nerve had freed his
friends, as we now find them.
They darted for the forest. Ahdeek bore Clearwater in his arms, and
Silver Rifle ran by the White Tiger’s side. She had really been unharmed
by the bullet meant to take her life.
The outskirts of the wood were gained as a pandemonium of yells rent the
air. It was the conflict in the village over the new election. Wildcat
had by artifice prevailed over the wily Mossuit, and the two factions
were at war, under which most fortunate circumstance the fugitives fled
on until the shores of the lake were reached. Then the miners’ castle
was sought, and a large canoe taken from a dark passage leading from the
main corridor.
The boat was launched without difficulty, but Ahdeek did not follow his
companions to a seat in the craft.
“Come, Ahdeek,” said Dorsey Webb, looking with surprise upon the youth’s
action. “What are you waiting for?”
“Ahdeek can’t go with his friends yet,” was the reply.
“Why, boy?”
“He must go to Snowbeard’s lodge.”
“His mind must be wandering,” continued the Destroyer to Silver Rifle.
“Boy, Snowbeard died with the other traders, and the fiends burned his
lodge to the ground.”
“Ahdeek go, anyhow. Snowbeard talk from his grave to him. Wait for
Ahdeek in the cave where the winds never sleep. He be there to-morrow
night.”
The next moment the half-breed was gone.
“What can he mean?” queried Silver Rifle, as he vanished.
“He seeks something regarding your history, I think,” was the White
Tiger’s reply. “The man whom we call Snowbeard was an eccentric old
trader, with whom Ahdeek spent many hours. He—the boy—used to tell me
that the old man had talking-papers which would tell something about a
girl, who knew not who she was. Snowbeard was massacred on the same
night that witnessed the extermination of the Lake Superior traders, and
Ahdeek struck more than one blow of vengeance for the old man.”
“Then I pray that he may greet us in the Cave of the Winds. I will
suppress my burning curiosity, and not open the ring until he returns.”
“Which will be to-morrow night, as he has said, for he is too cunning to
endanger us by seeking the cave in daylight.”
The voyagers, despite the storm that burst upon the lake soon after
Ahdeek’s departure, reached the Winds’ Cave and felt comparatively safe
around a fire in the second chamber.
Let us follow Ahdeek.
He hurried along the coast for several miles, until the hills came to a
termination, when he plunged into the wood again.
Soon again he struck the highlands, sparsely covered with trees, and at
last reached a line of bare cliffs, some of which stretched their long,
rough arms over the Stygian water, irritated by the storm.
On one of these cliffs Ahdeek found the ruins of a cabin, and soon stood
in the midst of half-burned logs. One corner of the hut had escaped the
ravages of the savage torch, and into this the half-breed suddenly
dropped upon his knees.
“This is the place where Snowbeard hide talking papers,” he said in a
whisper, and pretty soon he was digging in the dark earth with his
tomahawk.
He worked assiduously for several minutes, when his hatchet struck a
substance which could not be earth, and an ejaculation of joy parted his
lips. Then he ceased to dig, scooped up the loose dirt from the cavity
with joined hands, and drew forth a box covered with tanned deer-skin.
“Ahdeek no take box,” he said, prying the lid up with his knife. “He
want talking-papers, that all.”
The lid soon yielded, and he drew a small bundle of damp parchment from
the box.
“Snowbeard talk after he dead,” said the young half-breed, thrusting the
papers into his medicine-pouch. “Now he go back to friends, and Silver
Rifle know all ’bout yellow money.”
He carefully replaced the box in the hole, and rose to his feet, as,
with a sharp cry of triumph, an Indian leaped upon him!
The half-breed went to the ground beneath the onslaught, but a moment
later the savage rolled from him with a death-groan. The knife of Ahdeek
had done its work.
He sprung to his feet to confront three new foes, who threw themselves
upon him with the fury of tigers.
His knife stretched one Indian dead upon the plain, and he hurled
another into the water, then closed with the last.
All at once the madmen paused for breathing time.
“Ahdeek find papers that talk ’bout gold,” said the Indian. “Little Fox
heard Snowbeard tell Ahdeek ’bout ’um by his fire last winter. Little
Fox mus’ have talking-papers.”
“Little Fox wasn’t born to hear Snowbeard’s papers talk,” replied
Ahdeek, calmly, and then they went at it again.
For several minutes they struggled, when suddenly, by a wrench, Little
Fox secured the medicine-pouch and disengaged himself from his foe.
Then, with a yell of triumph, he stepped back for a spring, by which he
hoped to make his escape. But Ahdeek disconcerted him by following him
up, and suddenly a yell of terror broke from his lips. He was tottering
on the verge of the cliff! He tried to regain his equilibrium, and
Ahdeek essayed to snatch him from his doom, but he fell backward, and
left Ahdeek empty-handed.
“Talking-papers gone!” he shrieked. “No! no! Ahdeek get them again or
die!” and as he spoke, he, too, sprung into the darkness, down into the
stormy waves of Gitche Gumee!
Landing safely in the deep water, Ahdeek listened, with his feet on a
rock near the shore. Suddenly something struck his body, and turning
quickly he caught it in his arms. It was Little Fox, who had been, for a
short time, stunned by the fall, but who now again grappled with his
foe.
But the struggle was brief. The half-breed’s hand closed on the Indian’s
throat, and soon Ahdeek heard the death-gurgle.
Then he felt for the medicine-pouch, but it was gone!
He uttered a cry of despair, when something light struck his thigh.
“The pouch!” he shouted, clutching after the object.
His fingers touched the beaded fringe of the bag; but before he could
grab again, a wave bore it from him!
* * * * * * *
“I wonder why Ahdeek does not come!” said Silver Rifle to the young
Destroyer, on the night that followed their arrival in the Cave of the
Winds.
“Something must have gone wrong,” was the reply. “He said he would be
here, and if he lives, he surely would not tarry longer than this night.
Girl, if you but knew how I love that boy! And if the red hounds have
killed him, by heavens! I’ll resume the trail of vengeance, and for
every drop of his blood shall flow a crimson river from the Chippewas’
hearts!”
The youth rose to his feet as he paused, and for the fiftieth time that
night stepped toward the mouth of the cave to listen for the half-breed.
He had taken but two strides when something, hurled from the gloom, fell
at his feet.
He started back with ready rifle, and saw that the object was an Indian,
freshly slain and scalped.
The youth was bewildered, and before he could recover, a figure darted
forward.
He recognized it with a joyous cry of “Ahdeek!”
Silver Rifle started to her feet, and Clearwater rose from the couch,
and echoed the name of her lover.
“Ahdeek just in time,” said the youth, pointing to the dead Indian. “Red
spy find Cave of Winds, and his rifle was aimed at Nahma, when Ahdeek
leaped upon him like the panther, and his life went out over the waters
of Gitche Gumee to the other land.”
“But, Ahdeek, think you he was the only savage hereabouts?” questioned
the White Tiger, anxiously.
“Yes, he was alone. Ahdeek come back sooner, but Indians catch him on
the cliff; he fight ’em all; lost medicine-pouch in Gitche Gumee; but
rock catch it for him, and—here, Silver Rifle, talking-papers.”
The Girl Trailer sprung eagerly forward and clutched the roll of damp
paper which the half-breed extended.
“Now I shall know all!” she cried, turning to the fire, and filled with
curiosity, the two gathered around her.
Ahdeek shook with emotion, and kept his large, lustrous eyes,
half-filled with tears, fixed intently upon her.
“The ring first, Silver Rifle,” he suggested, in a tremulous tone, and
the girl laid the papers aside.
The ring had been taken from the dead hand of the brave but ill-fated
Doc Cromer, and the member buried amid the water rocks of the lake.
She soon discovered that the large jewel of the ring could be removed,
and in a short time she had accomplished this and held a small fold of
paper.
Her fingers shook while she unfolded it, and the trio watched with bated
breath.
Suddenly the girl looked up and fastened her eyes upon Ahdeek.
He rose to his feet.
“My brother!” cried Silver Rifle, stepping toward him with outstretched
hands. “I own you, brave boy; a nobler brother than Ahdeek I would not
wish to own!”
“Ahdeek Silver Rifle’s brother,” said the young Avenger, drawing the
girl to his heart. “His mother sleeps in the forest; Silver Rifle’s
among the white man’s lodges.”
For a moment silence reigned in the cave.
“The mystery of my life is solved,” she said, turning to Dorsey Webb,
who had not yet recovered from this unexpected _denouement_. “My father
was the trader whose death my brother here has avenged. He came to these
shores when lies estranged him and mother, long ago. I was born after
his departure; so I never saw his face. But he tells me all—who I am,
what I am. In his seclusion he wedded a chief’s daughter, who gave him a
son—Ahdeek—then died. I am of noble blood; father tells me so. Oh
Heaven, I thank thee that I have not hunted in vain for the ring. It has
told the story that sealed mother’s lips. Now, Ahdeek, the papers!”
She unrolled the wet papers, and all present bent over them to decipher,
if possible, the strange diagrams traced upon them.
“They tell of wealth,” said the White Tiger. “Ahdeek, where is this
cliff marked here? I never saw it.”
The half-breed looked carefully at the diagram, and after deep thought,
started to his feet.
“Cliff right ’bove us!” he cried, as he snatched a torch from the fire.
All was plain to the half-breed now; the cliff beneath which the old
trader’s wealth was deposited stood above them; the hiding-place was the
Cave of the Winds, not named, merely marked, on the rude map.
The interior of the cave was rudely but thoroughly traced on the
parchment, and at last Ahdeek suddenly dropped the torch, and began to
disturb the stony earth with his tomahawk.
He struck the right spot, and presently the trader’s earnings during
seventeen years of highly successful toiling rewarded their labors.
The quartette started back with exclamations of wonderment at the heap
of coin.
“If I could reward you with this heap, willingly would I do it,” said
Silver Rifle, turning to the young Destroyer. “To your bravery I owe the
happy thoughts of this hour.”
“Girl, I do claim a reward,” and Dorsey Webb took her hand. “This,” and
he raised the _petite_ member to his lips, “this, Silver Rifle, is the
reward I claim, but I ask too much.”
Then the beautiful eyes dropped to the ground, and after long silence,
the lips murmured:
“If this hand can reward thee, White Tiger, it is thine!”
He drew her to his heart in the ecstasy of his joy.
“Ahdeek ask Clearwater long ago,” said the half-breed at this juncture.
“He take her beyond Gitche Gumee now.”
“Yes, Ahdeek, Clearwater is my sister,” and Silver Rifle—Marie
Knight—embraced the Indian Girl. “The light has broken at last.”
“No, not yet,” shouted the half-breed, suddenly throwing himself before
the girls. “The red dogs come once more!”
His rifle flashed as he spoke, and a savage staggered forward in the
agonies of death.
Then the cave resounded with wild yells, and the parties closed in the
final combat.
The battle raged for many minutes, but the hunted ones fought with a
fury that had never nerved their arms before, and, at last, they stood
over the victorious ground.
Rigid in death lay Mossuit, and Silver Rifle bent tenderly over him.
“He saved my life once,” she said, pushing aside the scalp-lock that
shaded the stony face. “Peace to his ashes.”
A wounded savage told the victors that Mossuit had overcome Wildcat,
and, with a few of his braves, had trailed them to the cave. The Indian
whom Ahdeek slew when returning with the “talking-papers,” was Mossuit’s
spy, and after waiting beyond patience for his return, the chief and his
warriors sought the foe themselves.
“Our last battle has been fought,” said Dorsey Webb. “How I wish Cromer
could share this hour with us.”
But such wishes were vain ones, for Doc Cromer had taken his last scalp,
and peacefully slept in the top of a tree.
Luther Knight, Silver Rifle’s father, before confiding the ring to
Ahdeek, told him who he was, and made him swear that after three years
of vengeance he would seek out his daughter and surrender to her the
talking bauble. And Ahdeek had confided the maps to Snowbeard.
It had passed through its last adventure. It had proved fatal to more
than one person—indeed, it seemed death to possess it.
Dohma, waking from his trance in the grove in Silver Rifle’s cave,
allured by the glitter of its diamond, stole it from the shelf whereon
Ahdeek had placed it until he could find the Girl Trailer, and carried
it to the spot where he was choked to death, by the ill-fated trader.
“At last! at last!” cried our friends, one evening, several days after
the last battle, as they came in sight of a strong French settlement on
the lake shore.
Well might they shout for joy, for the dangers of the wilderness were
paused.
“The White Tigers have buried the hatchet forever. Henceforward yonder
woods echo no more to their tread. The Chippewa will see their crosses
on the trees, but he shall not shudder as of yore.”
Dorsey Webb was the speaker, and he stood in the gloaming of an August
day, pointing to the lodge of the Chippewa.
“The Past can never return, thank Heaven!” responded the beautiful
creature at his side. “The name of White Tiger has lost itself in that
of Dorsey Webb, and the wild cognomen of Silver Rifle in the softer one
of—”
“Wife!”
She blushed, gave him a cheek to kiss, as Ahdeek came up.
He held a little board in one hand, a piece of chalk in the other.
“Come, White Tiger,” he said, smiling, “make mark just once more.”
Then he broke the chalk, and for the last time the avengers made their
mark!
But this time it was not made red by blood.
FOOTNOTES
[1]The Indian name for Lake Superior—signifying “big sea water.”
DIME POCKET NOVELS.
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5—Nat Wolfe. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
6—The White Tracker. By Edward S. Ellis.
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10—The Island Pirate. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
11—The Boy Ranger. By Oll Coomes.
12—Bess, the Trapper. By E. S. Ellis.
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14—Long Shot. By Capt. Comstock.
15—The Gunmaker. By James L. Bowen.
16—Red Hand. By A. G. Piper.
17—Ben, the Trapper. By Lewis W. Carson.
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34—Old Lute. By E. W. Archer.
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47—The Man-hunter. By Maro O. Rolfe.
48—The Phantom Tracker. By F. Dewey.
49—Moccasin Bill. By Paul Bibbs.
50—The Wolf Queen. By Charles Howard.
51—Tom Hawk, the Trailer.
52—The Mad Chief. By Chas. Howard.
53—The Black Wolf. By Edwin E. Ewing.
54—Arkansas Jack. By Harry Hazard.
55—Blackbeard. By Paul Bibbs.
56—The River Rifles. By Billex Muller.
57—Hunter Ham. By J. Edgar Iliff.
58—Cloudwood. By J. M. Merrill.
59—The Texas Hawks. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
60—Merciless Mat. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
61—Mad Anthony’s Scouts. By E. Rodman.
62—The Luckless Trapper. By Wm. R. Eyster.
63—The Florida Scout. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
64—The Island Trapper. By Chas. Howard.
65—Wolf-Cap. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
66—Rattling Dick. By Harry Hazard.
67—Sharp-Eye. By Major Max Martine.
68—Iron-Hand. By Frederick Forest.
69—The Yellow Hunter. By Chas. Howard.
70—The Phantom Rider. By Maro O. Rolfe.
71—Delaware Tom. By Harry Hazard.
72—Silver Rifle. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
73—The Skeleton Scout. By Maj. L. W. Carson.
74—Little Rifle. By Capt. “Bruin” Adams.
75—The Wood Witch. By Edwin Emerson.
76—Old Ruff, the Trapper. By “Bruin” Adams.
77—The Scarlet Shoulders. By Harry Hazard.
78—The Border Rifleman. By L. W. Carson.
79—Outlaw Jack. By Harry Hazard.
80—Tiger-Tail, the Seminole. By R. Ringwood.
81—Death-Dealer. By Arthur L. Meserve.
82—Kenton, the Ranger. By Chas. Howard.
83—The Specter Horseman. By Frank Dewey.
84—The Three Trappers. By Seelin Robbins.
85—Kaleolah. By T. Benton Shields, U.S.N.
86—The Hunter Hercules. Harry St. George.
87—Phil Hunter. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
88—The Indian Scout. By Harry Hazard.
89—The Girl Avenger. By Chas. Howard.
90—The Red Hermitess. By Paul Bibbs.
91—Star-Face, the Slayer.
92—The Antelope Boy. By Geo. L. Aiken.
93—The Phantom Hunter. By E. Emerson.
94—Tom Pintle, the Pilot. By M. Klapp.
95—The Red Wizard. By Ned Hunter.
96—The Rival Trappers. By L. W. Carson.
97—The Squaw Spy. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
98—Dusky Dick. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
99—Colonel Crockett. By Chas. E. Lasalle.
100—Old Bear Paw. By Major Max Martine.
101—Redlaw. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
102—Wild Rube. By W. J. Hamilton.
103—The Indian Hunters. By J. L. Bowen.
104—Scarred Eagle. By Andrew Dearborn.
105—Nick Doyle. By P. Hamilton Myers.
106—The Indian Spy. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
107—Job Dean. By Ingoldsby North.
108—The Wood King. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
109—The Scalped Hunter. By Harry Hazard.
110—Nick, the Scout. By W. J. Hamilton.
111—The Texas Tiger. By Edward Willett.
112—The Crossed Knives. By Hamilton.
113—Tiger-Heart, the Tracker. By Howard.
114—The Masked Avenger. By Ingraham.
115—The Pearl Pirates. By Starbuck.
116—Black Panther. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
117—Abdiel, the Avenger. By Ed. Willett.
118—Cato, the Creeper. By Fred. Dewey.
119—Two-Handed Mat. By Jos. E. Badger.
120—Mad Trail Hunter. By Harry Hazard.
121—Black Nick. By Frederick Whittaker.
122—Kit Bird. By W. J. Hamilton.
123—The Specter Riders. By Geo. Gleason.
124—Giant Pete. By W. J. Hamilton.
125—The Girl Captain. By Jos. E. Badger.
126—Yankee Eph. By J. R. Worcester.
127—Silverspur. By Edward Willett.
128—Squatter Dick. By Jos. E. Badger.
129—The Child Spy. By George Gleason.
130—Mink Coat. By Jos. E. Badger.
131—Red Plume. By J. Stanley Henderson.
132—Clyde, the Trailer. By Maro O. Rolfe.
133—The Lost Cache. J. Stanley Henderson.
134—The Cannibal Chief. Paul J. Prescott.
135—Karaibo. By J. Stanley Henderson.
136—Scarlet Moccasin. By Paul Bibbs.
137—Kidnapped. By J. Stanley Henderson.
138—Maid of the Mountain. By Hamilton.
139—The Scioto Scouts. By Ed. Willett.
140—The Border Renegade. By Badger.
141—The Mute Chief. By C. D. Clark.
142—Boone, the Hunter. By Whittaker.
143—Mountain Kate. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
144—The Red Scalper. By W. J. Hamilton.
145—The Lone Chief. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
146—The Silver Bugle. Lieut. Col. Hazleton.
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148—The Tangled Trail. By Major Max Martine. Ready Feb. 24th.
149—The Unseen Hand. By J. Stanley Henderson. Ready March 9th.
150—The Lone Indian. By Capt. Chas. Howard. Ready March 23d.
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Transcriber’s Notes
—Silently corrected a few typos.
—Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
is public-domain in the country of publication.
—Conjecturally replaced several illegible words (marked by {brackets}).
—In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
_underscores_.
—Created a Table of Contents based on the chapter headings.