THE TRAGEDY AT THE LAKE.
The dark line of Arapaho warriors stopped ere they had got within
reach of our two friends, for scarcely had their own war-cry pealed
from their own lips, when there arose another yell that seemed to
issue from the earth, the sky and the air, so loud and fierce that
the earth seemed to tremble beneath them.
Mahaska had been true to his word, and, with his warriors, had come
to the rescue; and, after all, the Arapahoes were the surprised
party, and like sheep they scattered and fled in every direction.
Half of their number, however, fell under the blows of the Sioux.
Tumult and Town. escaped without a scratch.
The following morning search was made among the dead for the body of
Rollo, but it was not there.
In consequence of the defeat of the Arapahoes, Old Tumult and Mahaska
became fast friends, and took another “pipe of peace” over the
victory.
The chief now sent scouts in all directions to keep a watch upon
the movements of the enemy, while Old Tumult and Town., accompanied
by Mahaska, set off toward the Arapaho village to reconnoiter the
situation.
Arriving in the vicinity of the village, they gained an eminence from
whence they could command a view of the encampment. They saw that
great commotion prevailed within the village, and that the leading
warriors were constantly going to and from the lodge of the prophet.
Mahaska smiled grimly as he watched these movements, for well he read
their import.
A squad of some fifteen warriors leaving the village and moving
in the direction of our friends, induced the latter to seek more
secluded quarters.
In case that the rescue of the maidens could not be effected during
the day, Mahaska had decided to make a night attack upon the village,
and for that purpose had dispatched a messenger to his village for a
reinforcement of warriors.
About two miles south of the Arapaho village was a small lake, which
the chief had selected as the point of rendezvous for his warriors
soon after nightfall; and as they saw there was not the shadow of a
chance to rescue the maidens during the day, the chief, Old Tumult
and Town. set off for the lake.
Arrived at the lake, the trio proceeded to procure some food, of
which they were feeling greatly in need. Some venison was soon
obtained and roasted, and a hearty meal made thereon. Then the party
retired to a secluded spot near the edge of the lake to await the
coming of night.
The day passed slowly away. To Town. it seemed as though night would
never come, and the more he thought of the trader’s lovely daughter
the more impatient he became.
At last the shades of evening began to gather over the silent forest.
The tree-frogs began their doleful piping and the crickets their
mournful chirps; and as the shadows continued to thicken, the deep
and solemn breathing of nature, peculiar to the wilderness after
nightfall, was heard in all around.
One by one the stars looked out through the blue vault of heaven as
the darkness increased.
The trio still remained within their covert, silent as the grave
itself.
Suddenly their ears caught the sound of voices, and the tramp of feet
coming up the stony path that wound along the shore of the little
lakelet.
Old Tumult and his companions bent their heads and listened closely.
They heard the voices again. They were the voices of white persons,
judging from the sound, a man and woman’s.
With eyes and ears strained to their utmost, the trio watched and
listened.
The footsteps came nearer and nearer, but the voices ceased.
A bare rock, over which ran the trail that the man and woman were
following, and which jutted out over the waters of the lake, lay
between our friends and the two unknown pedestrians.
Presently the latter emerged from the shadows of the woods into the
opening on the rock. Here they halted. Our friends saw that it was a
man and woman, sure enough. But who were they?
Neither spoke, and it was too dark to distinguish their features.
For several moments they stood upon the rock.
Al last the woman asked:
“Why do you stop here?”
Town. started. He recognized the voice, and its soft musical tone
seemed to echo through the chambers of his wildly-throbbing heart.
The man made no reply to her question, but turning, he seized
her, dragged her to the edge of the rock, and hurled her over the
precipice into the lake, twenty feet below.
There was a wild, despairing shriek--a loud plash in the water, then
all was over.
“Save her, for God’s sake, Mahaska!” whispered Town. to the chief,
who, like a shadow, glided from the young man’s side as he spoke.
Old Tumult cocked his rifle, and leveled it at the breast of the
unknown murderer, but he did not fire. The figure of another woman
was seen to glide from the shadow of the woods, and throw herself
into the open arms of the man.
“Thank God it is over with!” said the man.
“And we are rich--the Golden Horn is ours!” replied the woman.
Scarcely had the last word fallen from her lips, when two rifles on
the opposite side of the opening rung out--a cry of mortal agony
pealed from the lips of the man and woman--they staggered, reeled,
and sunk heavily to the earth.
Two Sioux Indians rushed from cover of the woods, and stooping, were
in the act of scalping the fallen man and woman, when Old Tumult and
Town. rushed from their covert and prevented the bloody act.