RETRIBUTION.
Let us return to the Night-Hawk and his prisoner.
To the former some of the events of Wolf Den was not unknown. Wolf-Cap
had spoken truly when he told his companions that the cave had once
served as the rendezvous of the outlaws, and as such a place, their
leader should be acquainted with its intricacies.
He saw that his captive needed rest, and Wolf Den naturally suggested
itself. Therefore, he made it his objective point after shooting Captain
Strong, and intended to hide among its dark chambers until Huldah had
fully recruited her strength.
“We’ll go up to the bat-chamber, girl,” he said, after entering the
mouth of the den. “It is rather a gloomy place; but the only one where
we can catch a breath of fresh air.”
So he lifted her from the ground and clambered up the great broken rocks
that obstructed the natural stairway.
Up, up, still up he bore the girl, and at last paused with a
long-fetched sigh of relief and satisfaction. He had reached the top of
the stair.
Funk here lowered the girl, and constructed a torch from a sleeve of his
hunting-frock.
“This cave used to swarm with bats,” he said, leading Huldah toward a
dark portal of elephantine proportions. “But we drove them out, and used
it for head-quarters. Yes, this is the place, here are the stones on
which we sat, and the giant night-hawk, which Sam Cole drew on the wall,
still remains. Now, girl— What? a bat?”
His exclamation was caused by the flapping of unseen wings, and then a
black object shot through the torchlight, accompanied by a demoniacal
chattering.
It was a bat, and a great one, too.
“I thought they would never return after the smoking we gave them,” he
continued, as a dozen of the hideous beings darted from the wall to
which they had been clinging. “But I’ll fight and drive them out now,
for we must take this chamber. Here, and here only, do we breathe fresh
air. It comes from the forest above us; the atmosphere in other chambers
is noxious.”
He thrust the torch into Huldah’s hands, and doffed his coat. Then,
catching it at the neck, he braced himself, and struck boldly at the
hideous, chattering, screeching bats.
The walls of the chamber, which were black upon the couple’s entrance,
were now gray, for they had been literally covered with the somber
mammals, which now flew about in every direction.
More than one great horned owl added to the terror of the combat, and
the monster wings brushed the cheeks of our heroine, who held the torch
above her head that the Night-Hawk might see what he was doing.
The heavy coat did good service. It knocked the bats to the right and
left, and dashed many to the feet of other characters of our story, as
the reader has seen.
“We’re whipping the demons, Huldah!” exclaimed Roy Funk, triumphantly,
glancing at the girl. “Already they are retreating to other fastnesses.
Aha! they know Roy Funk! they’ve met him before!”
He stood like a giant in the center of the cave, whirling the curious
weapon about his head, and dashing his enemies to the stones. His arm
never grew weary, nor did his blows weaken. But all at once he started
back, and, dropping the coat, picked up the musket, that lay at his
feet.
His face was turned toward the entrance to the cave, upon which the
firelight fell, and his eyes were riveted upon three figures standing
there.
They were Wolf-Cap, Mark Harmon, and Silver Hand. The outlaw saw this in
an instant.
To recover the musket was the work of a second, and quickly whirling
upon Huldah, he snatched the torch from her hand, and threw it above his
head for the purpose of sending it after the bats he had hurled to the
dark corridors below. In darkness he might hope to escape his new
enemies, who, alas for his plans, had been, for once, too quick for him.
The Indian darted forward like a rocket as the flaring stick shot aloft,
and his hand closed on the outlaw’s arm. But Funk wrenched his arm from
the gripe, and struck his foe across the face with the fiery weapon. He
renewed his blow, under which the Wyandot staggered, but recovered in a
second and hurled him back. With the desperation befitting his
situation, Roy Funk struggled manfully, but Silver Hand held him down,
while Wolf-Cap secured his limbs with ropes or cords.
“Well, boys, you’ve caught me at last,” he said, looking up into the
faces of his white hunters. “But if it hadn’t been for these infernal
bats, Roy Funk would have triumphed at last. I did my best to outwit
you, and if I was free I would do it again. Now, what are you going to
do with the outlaw?”
Wolf-Cap and the young borderman held a conversation in low tones.
“We are going to take you back to Fort Strong,” said Belt, at length
looking at the outlaw. “The settlers shall judge you according to your
deeds. I had intended killing you with my own hands, Roy Funk, but you
have wronged others more than you have wronged me. Where are your men?”
In a few words the outlaw narrated the attack on his camp by Colonel
O’Neill, and the destruction of the Night-Hawks.
“So you’re the last of ’em?” said Wolf-Cap.
“I am the last.”
“Do you want to go to Fort Strong?”
“I care not whither you take me. But if I have to depart, Card Belt, I
would reveal a secret before we quit this place.”
“Wal, drive ahead then, for we must get out o’ this hole in a few
minutes.”
“There was a time when the great pursuit of my life was the getting of
gold,” said the outlaw. “I was successful and my eagerness became
catching, for my men contracted it. We amassed wealth in Canada and
stored it in this very cave. It is nothing to me now. I will lead you to
the spot, and show you what now is yours.”
Wolf-Cap and Harmon exchanged glances, while Silver Hand looked on in
stern silence.
“Well, show us your gold!” said the trapper.
“Yonder door leads to it,” replied Funk, looking over his right shoulder
at a hole in the wall. “Light the way, somebody.”
Wolf-Cap started forward with the torch.
Silver Hand led the outlaw after the trapper, and Mark Harmon walked
beside Huldah.
The dark portal led to another cave smaller than the bat-chamber, but as
gloomy. A strange smile toyed with the outlaw’s lips, as he walked
forward, and there was a lurking triumph in his tone when he commanded
the party to halt.
“Now, Roy Funk, where’s your gold?”
“Beneath this bowlder,” answered the Night-Hawk, striking a huge rock
with his foot.
“It can not be moved,” said Harmon.
Royal Funk laughed.
“Who said it must be moved?” he asked. “If you can trust me, undo my
hands a moment, and I will show you the results of ten years’ toiling
for gold.”
Wolf-Cap drew his knife, but Silver Hand shook his head.
“Outlaw lie,” he said.
“The Indian does not like me,” said Funk. “I, and I alone, can reveal
the hidden gold, and when I have shown you it we may talk about a ransom
if you will entertain such a subject.”
“We will not, let me tell you this now. All the gold in the world could
not buy your freedom,” was Harmon’s reply. “But we will see your riches.
Now, mind you, Roy Funk, not a sign of treachery here. This pistol is
ready to speak, so play the man, if life is of any value to you.”
“If I betray your trust, shoot me,” the Night-Hawk said.
The next moment Wolf-Cap severed his bonds, and he stooped by the stone
and ran his hand beneath.
For a minute he fumbled there, glancing up at the quartette above.
“I touch the box now,” he said, at length, “and here it is!”
As he uttered the last word his hand shot from beneath the stone, and
threw a cloud of dust into the watchers’ eyes.
They started back; the outlaw sprung forward! He caught Huldah Armstrong
from the ground, and darted toward a precipice, dimly revealed by the
torch.
“Fiend!” rung from Mark Harmon’s lips, as he leaped after the outlaw,
his eyes half-blinded by the cunning trick.
He saw the Night-Hawk on the edge of the cave-cliff, and his hand shot
forward to save the woman he loved.
His fingers closed on her arm, and with all his strength he jerked her
toward him. Half over the precipice, the outlaw could not struggle, and
the young frontiersman tore Huldah from his grip and started back.
Then a despairing shriek welled from Roy Funk’s pale lips, and clutching
wildly at air he fell headlong into the darkness below!
* * * * * * *
“We’ll look down on the old fort from yonder hill,” said Wolf-Cap, on
the evening following the scenes just related. “Then, Huldah, you’ll
find a father; then—” he turned suddenly from the girl, and finished the
sentence under his breath—“then, I’ll take vengeance for the wrongs of
the past. Levi Armstrong—no, Ralph Morton rather, you shall tell me what
became of Bessie.”
A few steps brought them to the summit of the hill designated by the
trapper; but alas! Fort Strong did not greet their vision. A confused
heap of embers proclaimed where it had once stood!
The spectators stared blankly into each other’s faces, unable to speak.
Suddenly Wolf-Cap started forward without a word, and the others
followed.
Everywhere among the ruins the victims of savage atrocity scalped and
tomahawked, were to be seen.
“They’re all dead!” said Harmon. “May Heaven curse the fiends—”
A groan!
Wolf-Cap started forward, and lifted a log from the chest of a man.
It was Levi Armstrong. He opened his eyes and smiled.
“Oh, father! father!” cried Huldah, throwing herself upon him. “Tell me,
father, how all this happened.”
“Splitlog came back and took me unawares,” was the reply, in a feeble
voice. “But, Huldah, I—am not your father!”
She started.
“Belt, you know me,” and the glassy eyes wandered to the trapper.
“You are Ralph Morton.”
“Yes,” with a sigh. “My crime is too great to be forgiven. ’Twas all my
fault. Your Bessie fled because I threatened. Forgive her!”
“I did, long ago,” said Wolf-Cap, with tearful eyes.
“She is dead, then?”
“Yes. Huldah, this man is your father. He will tell you all. Card Belt,
you can not take vengeance now, for I am dying.”
But little remains to be told to complete our story now. Wolf-Cap guided
Mark Harmon to a minister in the beautiful Muskingum valley, and saw his
long-lost daughter take the vows of a bride. For many years the trio
dwelt in the then town of Mansfield; but in the city of the same name,
their descendants dwell and are honored to-day.
After all, it was well that Matt Hunter stole Huldah from Fort Strong,
for in the massacre that followed she would doubtless have perished.
Silver Hand lived to a good old age, a true friend to the Americans, and
the grasses of but four summers have waved over his grave.
As for Johnny Appleseed, who appeared in the opening of our romance, we
may say, that he, too, fell beneath death’s sickle, ripe for the harvest
of the simply just.
Roy Funk sleeps in Wolf’s Den, while the bones of his followers have
been covered by populous cities and flourishing towns.
THE END.
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Transcriber’s Notes
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