A VOICE IN THE NIGHT.
Near the close of a beautiful day, an Indian sat in a saddle on the
banks of the Arkansas, not far from James’ Peak, and gazed at an
object which rapidly approached from the north-east.
That object appeared to be a horse, and the Pawnee watched it
intently, with shaded eyes, as it rose and fell like a ball on the
plain that separated them.
He did not speak or look at the beautiful girl whose waist his bare
arm encircled, and held before him on his black steed.
She, too, saw the object which had attracted the savage’s attention,
and when its identity was plainly revealed, the Pawnee started and
uttered an exclamation of wonder.
Mabel Denison looked up at him, questioningly, curiously, but did not
speak.
“The Pale Pawnee seeks the Apaches,” said the Indian, Wolf Eyes, in a
low tone, which still bore traces of inward astonishment. “Why does
he ride thither now? Has the storm of the chiefs broken overhead? and
has he stolen from the Pawnees at night, and ridden like the wind
from the lodges where he once reigned like a king?”
The approaching horseman answered Wolf Eyes’ questions, for when he
suddenly checked the career of his beast, the Pawnee saw the burden
the “buck-skin” bore. He glanced at Mabel, but, seeing that she had
not recognized Lina Aiken, he kept his lips closed, and executed the
Pawnee signal of peace with the rich sash which he had plundered from
some New-Mexican hacienda in days gone by.
A peculiar motion proclaimed his identity, and presently the renegade
rode forward again.
They met on the river’s bank, and a sharp cry of recognition rose
from the throats of the captive girls.
Lovingly they put forth their arms for an embrace; but the distance
was too great for them to feel heart beat against heart. Tom Kyle saw
this and rode nearer Wolf Eyes.
“There, Lina, embrace your friend,” he said, softly, lifting his
captive forward. “God knows I wouldn’t deprive you of such happiness
at this hour. I thought Wolf Eyes far away from this spot, and I
expected to meet the Old Harry here as much as the chief.”
The girls encircled each others’ necks, and mingled their
tears--tears of joy at meeting in the darkest hour of adversity, when
not a hand was near to chase the clouds away, and show them the sun.
“I thought you were with the Sioux,” said Tom Kyle, addressing the
chief, who watched the captives with a stoicism that proved him as
devoid of feeling as a stone.
“When Wolf Eyes saw White Lasso fall, he knew that he dared not ride
into the wigwams of the Sioux alone; so, he turned his horse’s head
toward the Apaches’ land, and, behold! he has met his white brother
journeying to the same place.”
“Yes,” answered the renegade. “The storm broke at last over my head,
and for my life I had to fly. The Apaches have waited for me long;
Tarantulah has sent me offer after offer, and I told him that, in the
hour of need, I would fly to his lodge, and teach his people war, as
I have taught the Pawnees. Oh, the rich haciendas I can ride through!
Oh! the golden crosses I can snatch from gilded shrines!”
Wolf Eyes caught his king’s enthusiasm, and uttered an exclamation of
joy.
“If Gold Feather still lived, Wolf Eyes would not ride to Apache
land,” said the Indian, suddenly relapsing into seriousness again.
“Gold Feather is dead?”
“Yes,” and there was a flash in the midnight eyes. “Wolf Eyes found
him wounded once on the banks of the Platte--wounded by a buffalo
bull; and he tossed him into the water. The Manitou’s lights shone
then, and Wolf Eyes saw his enemy sink to the swallowing sand. He
rode toward the Pawnee lodges to slay Wolf Eyes, but the buffalo
stretched him by the clear water.
“Then, of course, you’ll be safe among the Apaches, and I will stand
by you. But, if Gold Feather was alive I could not rescue you from
his vengeance.”
The Pawnee shook his head.
A moment later the girls, who, during this time, had conversed in low
tones, were gently separated by the renegade.
Before departing, they surveyed the land that stretched from them to
the north and east, and the last rays of the setting sun fell upon
the two captors fording the Arkansas, with their horses’ heads turned
toward Apachedom.
Long, lone and drearisome days had intervened between Tom Kyle’s
escape from Frontier Shack, and meeting with Wolf Eyes on the bank of
the Arkansas.
He had encountered wandering bands of Indians; but, aided by his
knowledge of plains life, he had managed to elude them. Once he
narrowly escaped running into an emigrant train, which Lucy Aiken had
signaled, hoping thereby to escape from his clutches. The signal was
seen, a number of men had pursued the fugitive, but he outgeneraled
them completely.
After leaving the Arkansas in their rear they did not fear pursuit.
Tom Kyle knew that the boys would not attempt to follow, when their
friend the trapper was dead, for he believed that his ball had
penetrated Shackelford’s brain, instead of merely grazing his temple,
and rendering him half-paralyzed, as was the case. And, with the
start which he had from the Pawnee village, he felt assured that his
red enemies could not overtake him, even if they were to ride their
swiftest horses.
“They didn’t want my blood, particularly,” he would murmur, when he
thought about such matters as I have just penned; “they wanted me out
of their way, and they ought to be satisfied now. Ha! didn’t I outwit
Red Eagle! I never shoot at a creature twice. He won’t step into the
Pale Pawnee’s moccasins, and that leads me to think that blood will
flow over the question, ‘Who shall succeed Tom Kyle as ruler of the
Loups?’”
The renegade and his red companion gave their steeds but little rest.
They crossed the mountains in safety, and at last descended to the
beautiful plain-lands of New Mexico.
Here they were compelled to catch fresh horses, a duty which the
rifle and lasso performed, and after breaking the steeds, an
operation which lasted several days, the journey was resumed.
One morning, as the sun crept lazily over the mountains that border
Apache-land, the riders reached their journey’s end.
Boldly they rode into the great Apache village, amid demonstrations
of joy, for the renegade’s rich clothing had caused his recognition,
and Tarantulah had bidden his braves receive him as a great ally.
The council-square swarmed with savages of all ages and conditions,
and when the twain drew rein, a loud shout of triumph broke forth.
But, suddenly, Wolf Eyes uttered a low but terrible cry of terror,
and drawing back, he threw his horse upon his haunches.
The cause of the Pawnee’s agitation was easily discoverable.
A young chief, whose head-dress consisted of a single feather, dyed
to an ocherous tint, was fitting an arrow to a bowstring, and his
dark eyes were riveted upon Tom Kyle’s red comrade.
Tarantulah saw the action and sprung forward with a sharp, quick cry
of command, to arrest the frenzied arm.
Wolf Eyes still forced his horse back; but when he discovered that
stalwart Indians blocked his way, he tried to shield his heart with
Mabel Denison.
But the shaft left the bow as he threw the murdered agent’s daughter
before his brawny breast, and he fell from his horse with a loud cry!
Gold Feather complacently unstrung his bow, while he watched
Tarantulah snatch Mabel from under the mustang’s feet.
The old grudge between Pawnee and Apache had been settled at last.
Tom Kyle surveyed the sea of upturned faces. There existed, so far as
he could see, no enmity against him.
It is an Indian’s right to slay his enemy wherever he meets him, and
Gold Feather had exercised that right. He could not be arrested, by
savage law; it was justifiable homicide in the red-man’s eyes--not
cold-blooded murder, needing an expiation.
Tarantulah found a lodge for the pale captives, and when Tom Kyle had
departed, after wishing them happiness in their new quarters, they
came together in a sweet embrace.
“Now, Mabel, captivity begins in terrible earnest,” said Lina Aiken.
“The day for rescues has passed, for who is there to hunt us now?”
Mabel Denison looked up into the pale, sympathizing face that bent
over her, and answered, in a calm, determined tone:
“I do not despair, Lina. While there’s life there’s hope. We have
friends among these savages.”
“Friends!” echoed Lina Aiken, astonishment depicted on every
handsome lineament. “Friends among fiends! No, no, Mabel! You take
wishes for reality.”
Fair-eyed Mabel Denison glanced at the shadow of their guard, which
fell into the lodge, and drew nearer her sister.
“We have one friend, at least, among the fierce Apaches,” she
whispered, “and that friend is the chief whom we have heard called
Gold Feather.”
The night that succeeded the second day of the captives’ sojourn in
Apachedom was most beautiful to contemplate.
For hours Mabel Denison and Lina Aiken stood behind the lodge
curtains, and gazed through the narrow opening at the stars that
glittered in the azure deep of the sky.
They thought of friends who, secure in happy homes, far toward the
rising sun, slept and dreamed, perhaps of them.
Such thoughts sent more than one tear down the girls’ cheeks, and, as
they turned to the skin couches which red hands had prepared, a sigh
for the hopes, the joys, the pleasures of the past, escaped their
lips.
Sleep quickly followed their lying down, and near midnight Mabel
awoke from a strange dream, wherein home and deserts were wildly
commingled.
A slight noise, like the scratchings of a ’coon, against the back of
the lodge, saluted her ears. With her heart in her throat, she crept
from the couch without disturbing Lina, and put her ear against the
side of the structure directly opposite the noise.
Now she knew that a knife was at work, and at last the thin blade
slipped through the bark and grazed her cheek.
Then came a low voice.
“Do the pale girls sleep?”
“No!”
A slight exclamation of joy followed.
“Gold Feather’s mouth is full of good news. The pale-faces who love
the silver lilies are in the mountains! Can the pretty squaws be
ready to run for the hills?”
“Oh, yes, at once!” they both cried.
“Can the white squaws strike down the guard, if he opposes the way?”
“Try me!” said Mabel, with sudden fierceness which showed how much
she was willing to dare to escape.
“Then when you hear three owl-hoots, come forth, and Frontier Shack
and myself will be near at hand for the rescue,” and with that the
mysterious visitor glided away.