_MACHECAWA SCALPS THE "EENGLISHMAN."_
1815.
Rug had been at "The Landing" for several hours awaiting the arrival
of the _Colombo_, which was unusually late. His father had written
from Quebec to have someone meet him and Abbie with a double-seated
waggon on that evening.
The night was extremely dark. A high wind was blowing from the west
when the lights of the boat were seen as it rounded the headland on
its way to the wharf.
"We have two trunks," said the Chief, after a mutual exchange of
greetings. "You had better make them secure to the rack with ropes,
for we could ill afford to lose the small one."
"Or the large one either," added Abbie, "for it contains a number of
very valuable purchases."
"Abbie contemplates beginning housekeeping soon," said the Chief, as
they drove off together.
"The longer she postpones the evil day the better for all parties
concerned," muttered Rug, who alighted from the waggon to lead the
horses over a treacherous place in the road, which was unsafe enough
even in daylight. In addition to the deep ruts worn by vehicles, the
road was obstructed by boulders too large to be easily removed, while
deep ditches bounded it on either side. Here and there the branches
of trees swept their hats off or scratched their faces. It was well
that the horses knew the road and that they had a careful driver.
Chilled by her brother's remark, Abbie retorted:
"Is it necessary for me to be constantly bored with such remarks?"
"Yes, it is necessary--unfortunately--if you would be saved from
lifelong association with a bore," responded her brother.
Abbie sat back in the farthest corner of the conveyance and, biting
her lips, gave herself up to a host of unhappy meditations. The boys
had never given her one word of encouragement, nor had Chrissy or her
mother. There had somehow stolen upon her, from time to time, an
uneasy feeling that there might possibly be some grounds for their
want of confidence; but she would dismiss such a thought as soon as
it presented itself and try to convince herself that their eyes were
blinded by jealousy, dislike, or indifference. Far better be the
wife of an educated man and a gentleman, who may not be immaculate,
she reasoned, than be the slave of a mere farmer.
"I have seen something of his business dealings," resumed Rug, with
evident reluctance, "which has filled me with uneasiness. That he
has been guilty of 'shady' and even dishonest transactions is
certain."
On reaching the summit of the hill they were met by the full blast of
the wind, which had risen to a gale, and which, together with the
hoarse roar of the falls and the swish of the driving rain, produced
a chorus of melancholy sounds.
"What was that?" said Abbie in a startled voice, "I thought I heard
something fall."
"Just a tree in the forest," said her father, complacently, "it is
not the first I've heard this evening."
"But hark!" said Abbie. "What was that?" Her ear had caught what
sounded like a wild "whoop," followed by a scream, which was drowned
in a gust of wind more concentrated and more fierce than before.
"Timid child," said the father, taking her hand in his, "owls and
eagles are being disturbed from their peaceful slumbers. Your
nervous temperament and fervid imagination easily throw you into a
panic. There is nothing to fear--nothing, nothing."
At last they stood before the gates of the White House. A flickering
light was in the window. Abbie bounded into the hall and into the
arms of her mother, who had been watching and waiting their arrival
for hours.
In the meantime consternation prevailed outside. The Chief and his
son had discovered that the small tin trunk containing several
thousand dollars was missing. The ropes had evidently been cut.
With his heart beating violently with apprehension of an irreparable
loss, or a passage at arms with a band of highway robbers, the Chief
hurriedly gathered all the fire-arms, ammunition, lanterns and axes
in the place and sat down to wait for Rug, who had gone to arouse
some of the employees in connection with the works. He tried to
remain quietly where he was, but felt so nervous and excited that he
could not sit still for a moment. He seemed to think that he was
losing time unless he was moving. It was an absurd idea, he knew,
but he could not resist it, so he hastened down to Mr. Wrenford's
boarding-house to secure his assistance, and found that that
gentleman had gone out early in the evening and had not returned.
Rug having arrived with a number of brave, faithful men, they
hastened back over the road to the steamboat landing. Cautiously
they crept along, scanning each blackened stump which stood out in
the darkness like a fortress of the enemy, until at last the Chief,
who was in advance of the search party, gave a shout:
"Come on, boys, come on!"
There by the roadside stood a tall, powerful-looking man, bending
over the missing trunk. Quick as thought they surrounded him. He
stood firm and erect. He moved not an inch, nor manifested any
desire to escape, and as they closed in upon him, to their amazement
they found it was Machecawa. In his left hand was a scalp of long
auburn hair; in his right was a bag of gold, which he held up
triumphantly.
"Eenglishman, he no rob White Chief no more," he said, his dark eyes
flashing in the dim light of the lanterns. "Eenglishman, he no burn
White Chief's mills no more. Eenglishman, he no tie White Chief's
girl to tree no more," and he shook the auburn hair and danced round
the box in high glee.
The Chief was stunned. Visions of the decapitated Wrenford rose up
before him. He stood gazing at the Indian with mingled feelings of
horror at the atrocious crime he had evidently committed, and of
incredulity as to the veracity of the charges brought against his
unfortunate clerk.
Machecawa advanced, and laying his hand upon the Chief's shoulder,
explained that he was crossing the road, when he observed a man climb
on to the rack behind the waggon, sever the ropes that bound the
trunk securely, and deliberately throw it into a mossy bank, after
which he let himself down gently and proceeded to force open the lock.
"He was looking in the box," said Machecawa, "when I pounced on him
and grabbed him by the hair, which came off in my hands."
He then passed it round as an object of curiosity, and after
examining it closely, the Chief said, with a sigh of relief:
"It is a wig, boys, only a wig. Let us trust that the poor fellow
has escaped the scalping-knife after all."
"More's the pity," growled one of the men.
The Indian proceeded with his story. Wrenford escaped to the woods,
followed by himself in hot pursuit, and just as he was about to step
into a canoe at the river's bank the Indian captured him and tied him
to a tree, while he overturned the canoe on shore, emptying it of all
its contents. Then, placing his pistol at Wrenford's clean-shaven
head, he said:
"You deserve to be shot."
The robber pleaded for mercy, and the Indian promised to release him
if he would never again show his face in the settlement under penalty
of death. He was then permitted to escape in his canoe.
The Indian led them through a path to the river, where they found an
old carpet-bag filled with cash, a common grain sack containing
family plate, a bag of provisions, and a valuable gun.
No further evidence was needed to convince the Chief of the perfidy
of his clerk. He leaned against a tree unable to utter a word.
There was the deerskin bag which Mary had made for the cash and which
was in the safe the night of the fire. There were valuables which he
had left in charge of his clerk before leaving for Quebec. The truth
was only too evident. At length he was able to say:
"Thank you, Machecawa; you have done me good service to-night. I
shall not forget it."
While these events were transpiring, Abbie and her mother were too
anxious and excited to think of sleep. Mrs. Wright sat before the
fire which roared and crackled on the spacious hearth. The angry
wind whistled and howled about the house. It seemed as though the
elements had gone mad with fury.
Abbie went to the window and peered out into the night. The face of
heaven was dark, so dark that it seemed to frown upon her. As she
stood gazing abstractedly into the darkness her attention was
suddenly attracted by the flickering light of lanterns and torches.
That wild shriek which had almost paralyzed her with fear echoed and
re-echoed in her ears and carried with it strange forebodings of
evil. She walked up and down the room, nervously stopping now and
then before the window to observe the progress of the search party on
its return. Soon her father entered, looking pale and haggard.
"Did you find it, Philemon?" asked Mrs. Wright, with bated breath as
she approached him.
"Yes," he replied.
Suddenly Abbie sprang towards him, and putting her arms round his
neck and pressing her head against his cheek, whispered:
"I'm so glad."
"My dear child," he said, stroking her head caressingly, "though we
have found what we lost, we have sustained a greater loss in Mr.
Wrenford. You have cause to thank God for the greatest deliverance
of your life, for he has proved himself unworthy of you. It is not
necessary for you to know all the unhappy circumstances."
"Tell me all," she whispered. "Withhold nothing."
The Chief gave a brief resume of what had happened. Abbie groaned
and staggered and would have fallen had not her father's strong arms
caught her and carried her upstairs to her own room.
Months elapsed before Abbie recovered from the shock. She could not
escape from the sensation of having had a terrifying nightmare.
Natural emotion could not be suppressed. She could do nothing but
weep, and would fly to her own room, lay her face on the pillow and
give full vent to her feelings. It was a long time before she was
able to rise above the overwhelming sense of disappointment and loss.