SMOHOLLER’S ANGEL.
When the smoke of the rifles cleared away the fiend had vanished from
the cliff, and the crimson light had died away. The silvery beams of the
moon played hide and seek among the projections and depressions of the
cliff’s peak.
The gazers rubbed their eyes. What they had seen appeared to them
already like a fantastic dream. But a new vision awaited them, a new
wonder was to be presented to their eyes.
Another light began to glow from the cliff, but this time it was of a
bluish tint, and the smoke that arose from it was white and fleecy. And
this light grew dense, as the other had done, and assumed a form and
shape—a shape of ethereal loveliness.
As the other vision thrilled the beholders with a kind of supernatural
awe, so did this one excite their wondering admiration. It bore the
shape they supposed an angel would wear.
The face was that of a girl, angelic in its beauty. Her long black hair
floated in wavy masses upon her neck and shoulders, and was confined
upon the forehead by a golden coronet in the center of which gleamed a
diamond star, which emitted scintillating rays of light. Her arms and
legs were bare, revealing their faultless perfection, and the alabaster
purity of her skin. Her only garment was a long white tunic, of some
snowy, fleecy fabric, confined at the waist by a golden cestus, which
was studded with large rubies glittering with blood-red rays.
This angelic vision held in her right hand a kind of glittering dart.
For a minute she transfixed their wondering gaze, then hurled the dart
into their midst.
The fire around her grew more vivid, the volume of white smoke increased
in density, obscured her figure from view, and then began to roll away.
When the light of the fire faded and the smoke lifted from the face of
the rock, the platform was vacant, the lovely vision had disappeared.
The surveying party gaze inquiringly into each other’s faces. Lieutenant
Gardiner expressed the general opinion by asking the hunter, Glyndon:
“What do you think of that?”
Glyndon shook his head dubiously.
“Did you ever see a girl as pretty as that one was?” he asked.
“Well, no, I can’t say that I ever did,” the lieutenant admitted, with a
smile; “and if she is a human I should like to become better acquainted
with her.”
“All women have something angelic about them,” said Glyndon,
reflectively, and his voice had a strange touch of pathos to it as he
spoke—“particularly when they are good and true women. I knew one
once—an angel couldn’t have had a better disposition, and she—” His
voice broke here. “Well, well, the murdering red-skins sent her to
heaven before her time!” he resumed, huskily. “And our little one went
with her. Perhaps it was best so—but I’ve often thought I could have
stood it better if she had been spared. Do you know, leftenant—it was an
odd idea, but when I looked at that bright spirit-angel or whatever it
was—up on the cliff yonder—I thought to myself, my little girl, maybe,
looks just like that up in heaven.”
The hunter turned away his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his
bony hand. His hearers respected his grief for they knew the story of
Glyndon’s bereavement.
Percy Cute picked up the javelin and the dart, if they could be called
by these names, for they were of singular construction, as we shall see
anon.
“Here’s the telegrams,” he said; “they may tell us what the meaning of
the diorama was. A piece of birch bark is wrapped around each.”
“I must examine them,” exclaimed Gardiner, taking possession of them.
“Freshen up the fire, my boy, so we can have a little more light upon
the subject.”
“Better post the sentinels again,” suggested Glyndon. “This deviltry may
be only the forerunner of mischief.”
“You are right. It behoves us to use every precaution.”
Two other sentinels were posted, and then the balance of the party
returned to the camp-fire in the grove, which the two boys had started
into a blaze again.
One of the missiles hurled from the cliff was about four feet in length,
the other two. The javelin was a stout stick of wood, apparently the
shoot of a tree, about an inch in diameter, and was painted a blood-red
color. It was blackened at one end, as if it had been loaded with some
kind of firework, on the rocket principle. Around the middle of it a
strip of flexible bark was secured by a leathern string.
The dart was formed of the bone of the fore leg of an antelope, and was
gilded, as if by the application of that kind of gold-leaf known to
printers as “Dutch Metal.” This also had a strip of bark around it, but
it was secured by a long black hair, soft and glossy, as if plucked from
a woman’s head.
“Funny gim-cracks, those,” said Glyndon, as Lieutenant Gardiner
unfastened the strips of bark.
“Yes; nothing very supernatural about these,” he replied. “But let us
see what Smoholler has to say this time.”
He read the words upon the strip of bark taken from the javelin first:
“_Begone, or fear my vengeance!_”
“Good! So speaks the Fiend. Let’s hear what the Angel has to say.”
He read the second strip:
“_Depart in peace, and escape the destruction that threatens you._”
Lieutenant Gardiner passed the pieces of bark to the surveyors for their
inspection.
“Well, gentlemen, what do you think of this?” he asked.
Blaikie and Robbins examined the billets of bark curiously.
“There is one thing singular about this affair,” said Blaikie.
“What is that?”
“These communications, like the one sent on the arrow, are written in
English, either with a red pencil or a piece of red chalk, and
apparently by the same hand, for the characters appear to be alike in
each.”
“There’s nothing strange in that,” said Glyndon. “Many Injuns have
learned English from the numerous trappers and traders who have visited
them at different times. A man as smart as this Injun Prophet must have
had frequent dealings with the traders, and would be sure to get a
smattering of the language.”
“The man who wrote these communications had more than a smattering,”
returned Robbins. “This Smoholler is determined that we shan’t run our
railroad through his country, that’s evident.”
“Yes; and he has begun by trying to frighten us away.”
“And if that don’t do it, he’ll try fighting us away next,” responded
Glyndon.
“Likely; but I don’t scare worth a cent,” rejoined Robbins. “This
supernatural trickery may do among the Indians, but it won’t answer with
us. I’m going to survey this country in spite of Smoholler’s angels or
devils—though I wouldn’t mind a closer inspection of the angel.”
“Nor I,” laughed Gardiner. “Girl or angel, she was certainly a vision of
beauty. By Jove! suppose we search the cliff—we might find her there.”
He started impulsively to his feet, under the excitement of this idea.
“I will go with you!” cried Percy Vere, always ready for an adventure.
“Count me in!” added Percy Cute; the idea was firmly impressed upon his
mind that wherever Percy Vere went, he must go also.
“Sit down,” said Glyndon, in his calm, deliberate manner. “You might as
well attempt to find a needle in a haystack as search that cliff
to-night. You’d only break your necks attempting it, and not find
anybody, either. If there’s a way up that cliff, they know how to get up
and down it, and they won’t stop there until we come to look for ’em.
Wait until morning.”
“They’ll be gone then.”
“They’re gone _now_. If we could surround the cliff, it might have been
of some use; but it joins the range beyond, as you can see, and they
probably came from the back of it, through some crevice, which we can’t
see from here. I’ll take a scout up that way in the morning, and see.”
“My idea is to fortify our position here to the best of our ability, and
await an attack, which is sure to come. We might repulse it here.”
“You are right every way, leftenant,” replied Glyndon. “This is a good
p’int. While I take a scout to-morrow, just cut down a few of these
trees, and make a breastwork. We can send to Fort Walla Walla for help
if we are hard pushed; but I have an idea that if we pepper a few of
Smoholler’s followers, he’ll get sick of it and let us alone. The
railroad’s bound to go through, and he can’t help it. Perhaps I can get
a talk with him, and convince him that we are not going within a hundred
miles of his village. We’ll see to-morrow. Now just sleep, all who want
to. I’m going to keep an eye on that cliff for the balance of the
night.”
He took his rifle and walked to the edge of the timber; but his
vigilance appeared to have been uncalled-for, as the quiet of the camp
remained undisturbed through the night.