WACOMET’S DEATH-SONG.
The Briton had not escaped any too soon, for, ere a half-hour had
passed, the Ottawa’s form darkened the opening. Advancing hurriedly to
the chamber he paused, his face contorted with sudden passion. Then a
half-howl, half-shriek burst from his lips.
Startled by the cry, Ewana sprung to her feet to find a great hand
closed upon her beautiful throat, and a choking sensation almost
rendering her unconscious.
“Where’s the white girl and the red-coat?” shrieked Wacomet, as he
shook the girl at arm’s length, still griping her throat. “Tell
Wacomet what’s become of his captives, or he’ll shake Ewana till her
eyes drop from her head.”
He released her throat to clutch her arm with his left hand, while his
clenched right one itched to beat the life out of her frame.
“Now speak!” he hissed, “speak before the Ottawa’s hand gives you but
one eye.”
As he uttered this threat he raised his iron fist.
“They’re--gone,” she said, gaspingly, instinctively shrinking from the
irate chief. “Wacomet intended to make the white girl his squaw, and so
the red-coat bore her from his cave.”
“Where was Ewana, then?”
“Braiding her hair,” was the truthful reply, couched in a courageous
tone.
“And you let them go?” yelled Wacomet, at the top of his voice, for his
passion was now utterly ungovernable. “You listened to the tale that
lying dog breathed into your ears and turned your face away while they
went?”
“Ewana did all this--she did it because she loved Wacomet--because she
did not want a White Rose to nestle in his bosom.”
A shriek of rage that would have done credit to demons was the Ottawa’s
reply, and his clenched hand descended upon the girl’s face once,
twice, thrice in rapid succession.
Then he hurled her from him, drew his tomahawk and darted upon the body.
But not to strike.
Two pairs of eyes had followed his steps through the woods and two
pairs of stealthy feet had penetrated the dark corridor.
Kenowatha and the Girl Avenger were there!
As the Ottawa whirled his weapon to strike it was knocked from his
grasp by a blow that broke his strong right arm.
With a shriek of mingled rage and pain, he dropped the senseless girl,
and turned upon his antagonists. The Girl Avenger’s rifle covered his
heart, while Kenowatha looked upon the dramatic tableau with folded
arms!
“Wacomet, your time has come at last,” said the Girl Avenger, calmly,
yet with an unconcealed tone of triumph. “One night four years ago,
come the 24th of November, a band of red-skins surrounded a cabin near
the mouth of the Maumee. The flames of their happy home was the first
warning of the inmates’ danger, and when they sprung from their beds
the butchery had begun. A father, crippled by disease, an aged mother,
two brothers, and three sisters, fell beneath the hatchets of the red
demons, and but one of that sweet household--one destined by God to
be the avenger of her race--escaped the work of death. Unseen by the
butcherers she flew to the forest, and has since been a terror to your
accursed race. Wacomet, you were there; I saw you strip Josie’s golden
scalp from her baby head, and I swore that this hand should take yours.
“Of all who participated in that dark night’s work, but three are left:
yourself, Turkey-foot, and Joe Girty, the white dog, for in the woods,
this night we have met and slain the wolf’s whelp, Leather-lips. Not
one has died a natural death--all have fallen by my hand--these fingers
have torn their black scalps from their heads. Your time is here, and
as you are the bravest chief in the red tribe, I grant you what I have
granted to no red-man--time to sing his death-song. Therefore, Wacomet,
soon to see Watchemenetoc, if you would, sing while there is yet time.”
The Girl Avenger spoke in the Ottawa tongue, but not a muscle moved on
the doomed chief’s face. He knew that his last hour had come, knew,
too, that his doom was just, and presently from his lips pealed the
first notes of his death-song. He did not make it tedious; in few
words, he recounted his warlike deeds, craved a corner in the Manitou’s
lodge, besought victory for his countrymen again Wayne, regretted that
he could not prove a red whirlwind against the pale-faces in the coming
struggle, and then closed.
The avenger of her slaughtered race glanced at Kenowatha, as the chief
finished, then her gaze flitted along the glistening barrel, and a
report no louder than the bursting of a percussion-cap broke the
stillness, and Wacomet was with his fathers!
“But two left!” she murmured, as she turned to Kenowatha, “and ere
many hours they, too, will be gone. But, boy, we must rouse that girl
and gain from her all the information we can about Effie and that
villainous major. I scarcely doubt but that ere this he has struck the
Canada trail.”
A moment later the twain bent over senseless Ewana, whom they at length
restored to herself.
“Speak fast, Ewana,” said Nanette. “Where are the White Rose and the
red-coat?”
“In the great woods going toward the homes of the king’s white people,”
was the reply, when the girl recovered from her astonishment, at seeing
the two forms bending over her.
“When did they leave, Ewana?”
“Just before Wacomet came to his cave. What! is _he_ dead?” and her
eyes flashed with triumph, when they fell upon the motionless form of
the Ottawa. “Then Ewana can go back and kiss her old father before he
dies.”
The death of the chief whom she once loved now seemed a relief to the
poor red girl.
“We must leave Ewana,” said Nanette, “and she can now go back to her
parents. We seek the White Rose and the red-coated dog.”
The Indian girl stretched forth her hands, the youthful avengers
grasped them in a silent, fervent pressure, and left her alone with her
dead chief.
“They can not be far away,” said the Girl Avenger, as she and Kenowatha
glided through the dark corridor. “We will soon overtake them, and
should the red-coat raise his hand against us or the girl, there’ll be
no hanging in Fort Miami. I’m so glad that it is broad daylight now,
for we can follow their trail faster than they can travel.”