THE BLOODY MEETING.
The flying moments seemed endless to Eudora Morriston, who sat in her
lodge waiting for the coming of her rescuers.
Hour after hour flitted past, and the fearful captive listened in
vain for her lover’s step. The two guards, tired of gambling, stood
like statues before the birchen portals of the strong wigwam, their
ears catching every sound, and their vigilant eyes noting every dark
form that crossed their line of vision.
At last a footfall greeted her ear but it was not her lover’s.
His well-known tread she could not mistake for another’s, and,
wondering who approached she moved to the door, and peered through a
crevice upon the scenes beneath the stars.
She saw the form of an Indian nearing the guards. He made no
pretensions to stealth, for he walked erect, and when near the lodge,
one of the guards demanded his mission.
“I am Giangomah, the Black Whirlwind,” he answered, with much
pomposity. “I have a message for the ear of Chabaro.”
Chabaro hastened eagerly forward, but Giangomah waved him back.
“Let Chabaro not desert his post,” he said, advancing, with his right
hand hidden from sight, in an unsuspicious manner.
The guard resumed his post.
Eudora’s heart beat high, for she doubted not that Giangomah was
Mayne’s red friend sent by him to deliver her.
Giangomah walked to Chabaro, and placed his lips to the listening
ear. Then, with the unexampled rapidity of thought, his hand flew
from beneath his blanket, and a knife glided noiselessly into the
guard’s side. Not a groan, not a gasp, escaped the lips of the
stricken Shawnee, and while he was sliding from Giangomah’s grip, the
second sentinel felt a hand upon his throat. Useless, on the sentry’s
part, was the brief struggle that followed, for Giangomah’s gory
knife cleft his heart, and he sunk to the earth--dead.
Seeing the action, Eudora burst the door open, and stepped beyond the
threshold.
“I am here, Giangomah,” she said. “Oh, how brave you are!”
The savage was taken aback by her action, but soon recovered his
composure. He stood the dead savage against the lodge, and, taking
Eudora’s hand, hurried from the scene.
Believing that she was being conducted to her lover, the girl did not
speak, as she was being hurried through the village, and suddenly
Giangomah paused before the prison hut.
Then Eudora, wondering at the halt executed in such a strange place,
was about to question the chief, when a figure crept from the shade
of the building. It was habited in Indian costume, and she was about
to whisper her lover’s name, when the figure revealed itself. _Jim
Girty!_
Involuntarily a shriek bubbled to her lips; but the Renegade stifled
it with his hand, ere it grew into life.
“Girl, I am saving your life,” he whispered, in her ear. “When my
brother comes to his senses he will kill you and me, too. We must fly
to the Mingoes.”
“Never, Jim Girty,” said Eudora, firmly. “Murderer of my parents, I
will not fly with you, even though it be to a place of safety. Help!”
Loud and clear that cry rung through the Indian village, and an
instant later the tramp of feet was heard.
Maddened beyond control, the renegade drew his hatchet, and caught
Eudora’s arm as the weapon was raised above his head.
There was the flash of murder in his blood-shot eyes, and he grated
his fiendish intention through clenched teeth.
“Girl, they are here!” he cried, as hurrying forms loomed up between
him and the gray lodges. “My brother’s captive you become--but a
captive reft of life!”
The tomahawk trembled on the eve of a deadly descent, when a dark,
limp object left the hands of the foremost of the advancing band, and
the renegade was hurled back by the stroke.
“Mine!” cried a plumed person, springing to Eudora, and drawing her
to his heart.
It was Mayne Fairfax!
“No words!” cried the hermit, seizing the young man’s arm. “The
river! the river! Her cry has roused some braves!”
The young hunter caught the girl in his arms, and turned to the
right, to behold a dozen forms sweeping down upon them.
“Save your lives!” cried Eudora, seeing the imminent danger. “They
dare not harm me, and your second attempt at rescue will prove
successful.”
“Never!” cried Fairfax, throwing himself before Eudora, while he drew
a hatchet from his belt. “We can not escape if we would. If captured,
instant and disgraceful death await us. We will fight!”
The last word still trembled on Mayne’s lips when the Medicine’s
rifle cracked, and the foremost savage sunk to the earth, where he
writhed in the agonies of death. Okolona’s shot was answered by
Oonalooska’s rifle, and a second Shawnee’s life went out in death.
Then the band closed around the little party, who drew nearer Eudora,
for the purpose of shielding her from the blows that fell on every
side like rain.
Jim Girty had gained his feet, and was foremost in the conflict. If
he could drive his hatchet to Eudora’s brain he could seek safety in
flight, and thus avoid his brother’s vengeance.
The white party, being armed with guns, kept the savages at arm’s
length, for the Indians fought with tomahawks and knives, which now
and then were hurled at the brave defenders.
Every moment added to the numbers of the Indians, and the
extermination of the defenders was but a question of time, in their
eyes.
Never was such a gallant fight made in Shawnee village.
Suddenly a yell very near the combatants rent the air, and a dark
object came whirling through the atmosphere, and fell upon the breast
of a stalwart Shawnee.
It was a wolf!
Another quickly followed. Its claws laid bare the renegade’s cheek,
as it whizzed past his head, to fall upon a brave, in his rear.
The Wolf-Queen had taken part in the battle!
The noise of the strife roused her from refreshing slumber. A glance
proved Fairfax’s couch empty, and with her wolfish guard yelling at
her heels, for already they scented Indian blood, she bounded toward
the startling scene.
Her wild eye fell upon Fairfax, shielding Eudora with his form, and
her wolves were sent into the midst of her enemies.
Jim Girty shrieked with pain, at the work of the wolf’s claws, and,
with an oath, he darted upon Alaska, whose eye caught his action.
“Curse you, mad woman!” he hissed. “No longer shall you baffle me!”
and, as she sent the fourth wolf from her hands, his hatchet went
whizzing through the air.
The renegade saw the mad queen stagger forward, as the wolf’s teeth
sunk into his own throat, and he fell to the earth insensible, with
the mad animal drinking his blood.
Scarce had the battle between Alaska and the renegade ended, when a
loud whoop broke from the forest that crowned the hills that bounded
the village on the north, and down among the lodges swarmed a large
band of savages, with Tecumseh at their head.
Like a whirlwind the great sachem of the Shawnees sprung among the
combatants, and his voice was distinctly heard above the din of
conflict:
“Back!” he cried, thrusting the foremost brave from him. “Back,
warriors! Tecumseh speaks!” and his tomahawk towered threateningly
above his head.
His command, freighted with mystery to his warriors, was instantly
obeyed; and he threw himself between the brave little band and the
battled red-skins.
“Tecumseh returns from the war-path with many scalps!” he said,
addressing the Indians. “A pale-face saved Tecumseh’s life when a
mad white squaw sought it, and Tecumseh swore to free every white
prisoner in the Shawnee village. If the red-men want blood, let them
take Tecumseh’s.”
A loud shout greeted the conclusion of the chief’s speech, and he
turned to the hermit:
“The pale-faces are free,” he said. “Tecumseh’s tongue is not forked.”
Hewitt, covered with wounds, grasped the Sachem’s hand.
“The Lone Man will never forget Tecumseh,” he said, and then he
glided to the side of the Wolf-Queen.
“Must my doubts remain undissipated?” he cried, as he knelt over the
mad one.
No.
A convulsion passed over the woman’s frame, and her lids unclosed.
Instantly the hermit noticed a great change--a new light--in her eyes.
Reason, so long lost, had returned!
“Oh, God! I thank thee for this moment!” he cried, as her eyes fell
upon him. “I shall know all now!”