THE DEATH PATH.
Walter and Katie fled as fast as the thick brush, the
constantly-impeding grape-vines, and the soft and boggy ground would
allow, but still the bay came louder and rounder to their ears, and
they could but see the terrible tracker was swiftly gaining upon them.
They had gone about half the two miles which would have placed them in
comparative safety, when it became only too evident they must halt and
make a stand against the dog. He was now quite near, being only four
hundred yards behind. The rapid pace at which he was coming proved it
was their only resort--to stand and fight.
A good opportunity presented itself, and Walter, seeing it, availed
himself of it.
Near by, a knoll rose abruptly, in fact, horizontally. Before it, and
encircling one side of it, myriads of tough, matted grape-vines were
hung, forming an impenetrable barrier--at least sufficient to repel the
entrance of a man.
Walter drew his bowie, and after working energetically, soon had the
satisfaction of making an entrance sufficient to enable him to pass
through, which he did, followed by Katie, who bore herself admirably.
Then hauling and bending the leafy vines, he soon closed the entrance
so it would not be detected.
It was a rare place for a stand, and had Walter a dozen men with him,
he might have withstood a hundred. Behind him rose the knoll abruptly;
before him was a leafy, green, impenetrable wall of tough, obstinate,
fibrous grape-vine, so thick and leafy that persons before it could not
see through it.
But Walter had only his arm and weapons to depend on, and they might
fail. Still he spoke hopefully and encouragingly to Katie, and hoped
for the best.
On came the dog--quite near. They could hear the bushes rustle as
he darted through them, and at intervals out swelled the sonorous
bay--“Hong, hong!”
Walter gently put Katie away from him.
“I want room to work in,” he said, drawing his knife.
His good rifle was at his shoulder at a full cock, aimed through
the wall; in his trigger-hand he clutched the bowie-knife. Should
the former fail (as in all probability it would, owing to the thick
underwood) he could make a determined battle with the blade.
On came the dog, full of fiery and bloody desire. Glimpses of him were
caught at intervals, his dark brown body gleaming through the copses.
Now the patter of his feet came to their ears, and mixed with them,
shouts behind: the robbers were hotly following their fore-running ally.
Suddenly he appeared, coming on at a true bloodhound
pace--half-galloping, half-pacing--a sort of amble. He was only a few
yards away.
Walter, taking a cool, steady aim at the hound’s breast, fired.
A confused snarling and growling was heard, the smoke hanging
obstinately down, obstructing their sight. Gradually it lifted--just in
the nick of time.
For, as Walter was peering through the covered entrance, knife in hand,
the dog came on with a spring. He had been shot, as could be told by
the blood on his breast, but not fatally. It only maddened him to
stronger exertions.
Seeing Walter’s face at the entrance, the brute, with a fierce growl,
sprung at him, with red jaws, white, wicked teeth, and a gleaming,
bloodshot eye.
He was met half-way. As his fore-paws touched the barricade, Walter,
exerting all his nerve and muscle, drove the keen-edged bowie into
his breast--exactly in the bullet-hole. There was a maniacal, gasping
snarl, a convulsive movement of the feet, a rapid quivering throughout
his body, and the bloodhound fell to the ground, stone dead.
Katie was frightened as Walter drew back his knife and slowly wiped it
on the vine-leaves. She had never before seen a brave man at bay--she
had never seen such a fierce, passionate, and at the same time cool and
resolute look upon his face. His wrath was majestic--he was a brave
man at bay, battling for the one he loved.
His attention was quickly drawn to the approaching enemy by the sight
of a thickset man at the head of the column, which was coming at
Indian-file. He was short and squat, and his sable face proclaimed his
Ethiopian origin.
Could he be mistaken? He knew he was not mistaken. It was Cato the
Creeper, and beside him walked Captain Downing.
To see was to act with Walter. It was a life and death struggle now.
A stream of fire blazed from the barricade, a puff of smoke arose,
and Cato the Creeper, with a wild cry, tossed his arms aloft and fell
to the ground, a bullet driven into his brain. Cato the Creeper had
followed his last trail.
Completely surprised and astounded at the sudden discharge and its
fatal effect, the bandits flew to cover, where they remained quiet and
talked in whispers. How many men were behind that screen? Downing,
Fink, and another man were close together in a dense thicket.
After canvasing matters, it was decided to make a rush--Downing feeling
certain that only the young settler was there with the girl. The signal
for a rush was to be the discharge of the captain’s revolver, when
every man was to press forward on a run.
Soon a sharp report rung out, and simultaneously every sturdy ruffian
sprung from his cover, and rushed, gun and knife in hand, toward the
vines, yelling and swearing as they did so.
Foremost came Captain Downing, ahead of his men; next came Parks and
Fink, all three being somewhat in advance.
Walter saw his arch-enemy, and full of rage and desire for revenge,
raised his gun and took a steady aim at him. But, just as his hand
was hard-pressing the trigger, Downing slipped, and stumbling, fell
headlong.
It was too late to hold his fire; Downing had scarcely dropped when the
bullet, speeding through the air where Downing’s head had been, went on
its way and lodged in the brain of Parks, killing him instantly. The
robber dropped without a groan, and Fink, pressing on close behind,
stumbled over him.
The remaining robbers, seeing three men prostrate, imagined there had
been a simultaneous volley from the vines, which had felled their
leaders. They stopped and hesitated.
But only for a moment. The leaders soon righted themselves, Downing
regaining his feet first. With a wild, profane oath he darted on,
beside himself with rage.
The men followed. Walter, knowing a critical and almost hopeless crisis
had come, threw down his gun, and brandishing the keen bowie, awaited
their attack.
It came. The robbers, anticipating an easy victory, rushed against the
barrier, supposing it would give to their combined weight and momentum.
But the vines were tough and strong, and though the robbers dashed in a
body upon them they resisted the shock. They swayed, bent, and creaked,
but, with their natural elasticity, immediately returned to their
natural position.
“Cut through the accursed vines!” howled Downing, white with rage. “Cut
through them! No quarter to the villain inside! Cut his throat the
minute you get at him!”
Drawing his knife, he set the example by cutting wildly and violently.
Fortunate it was for Walter the vines were tough and thick--fortunate
it was for him that he had an open space behind him to fight in.
“Get behind that log, yonder, Kate!” ordered Walter. “Else you may get
hit by a bullet.”
She obeyed. Now danger had come, now that an imminent crisis had
arrived, she, though pale, was calm and collected. Disregarding his
command to lie still, she seized his abandoned gun, and lying behind
the log, attempted to reload it. But she had no ammunition--it was
hanging to Walter’s shoulder.
Slipping up behind him, she quickly took off his powder-horn and
bullet-pouch, then retreated to the log and loaded the gun, finding
caps in the pouch. Then she watched her lover with the eye of a lynx.
He stood behind the only tree in his “fort,” watching, with snapping
eyes, the robbers as they energetically worked at the vines. Cutting
and twisting, they worked hard and swiftly, and soon Walter could see
their hands protruding through the leaves.
One hand in particular he noticed--a brown, horny hand, huge in
dimensions. A thought struck him. Creeping softly within easy striking
distance, he raised his knife, and taking a sure, deliberate aim,
struck it with all his force. At the same time Fink, outside, cried
aloud, and drawing his arm hastily back from his task, exposed it to
view.
His arm was without its natural appendage--the hand had gone at the
wrist.
The blood flowed so freely that directly he became faint, and
staggering to an adjacent log, sat down upon it, with a very white
face. The others desisted, and looking at him, now became chary of
their own hands, knowing the danger they ran in inserting them through
the leaves.
Downing, hearing the clamor, stopped in his frenzied work, and walked
up to Fink.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. Fink held his hand to his view.
With a fierce oath he cried:
“We _must_ get him. One hundred dollars to the man that kills him--five
hundred to the man that takes him alive.”
The men needed no other stimulus. With one accord they returned to
their task; and then they worked like tigers--cutting and twisting.
However, they were chary of their hands--the example before them was
too potent to be disregarded; and though working hard, they observed
great caution.
They had not much longer to work before they could reach him. To
prevent his escaping, men were sent to the rear of the knoll, with
orders not to harm him, but to take him alive if possible. Walter’s
chances were few indeed.
And now a cry came from one of the most industrious--he had opened
quite a breach.
The outlaws were quite near the close of their respective tasks, and,
fearing to lose the reward, worked like men for their lives.
The man who had opened his breach, becoming reckless, at once plunged
through, knife in hand. It was Jack Dark, the ferryman.
His recklessness and eagerness proved his death. Met half-way in the
narrow gap by Walter, he had no time to turn, no time to strike or
defend himself.
The glistening steel flashed in the air; the sturdy arm descended, and
with the blood spirting from his heart, Dark fell limp and lifeless in
his own gap, completely obstructing it.
Walter drew the reeking blade from the body, and was about to wield
another blow, when a faint shriek came to his ears--the voice of Katie.
Like lightning he turned toward her. She was crouching behind the log,
partially upright, pointing with white face to another part of the
barrier.
Walter followed her gaze, and saw a robber half through the vines.
He darted toward him.
The other saw him coming, and endeavored to spring through, but his
foot was fast in the vine. Then he endeavored to draw back; but too
late.
Once more the steel flashed in mid-air, and the terror-stricken bandit,
looking up, saw it descend like a flash. The next moment, he was a
corpse.
“Four men down!” shrieked Downing, now completely frenzied. “Kill
him--kill him!”
Simultaneously, the men drew back a few paces, and then each one rushed
for the breach he had made.
Walter saw one man burst through with a yell; the next moment he was
upon him in close conflict.
Katie saw two more burst through, and, alive with fear raised the gun
and fired at the foremost.
The aim was true; with a horrible oath, he fell, mortally wounded.
The other, disregarding her, rushed by her, toward Walter, who was
fighting desperately with his adversary, a small, wiry fellow, with the
activity of a cat and the muscle of a bear.
She saw the last man hurry on with gun ready for instant use; she saw
others burst through the vines, with bloodshot eyes and inflamed
passions; she saw, as she thought, Walter fall, wounded unto death, and
knew no more.
As the whole gang effected an entrance and came rushing on Walter, he
succeeded in dealing his antagonist a fatal blow in the side. He fell,
with the blood surging from the wound.
At this critical moment, a loud cry came from the knoll above--a loud
hurrah--then a succession of rapid shots and cries of pain; then
another hurrah!
“Hold up, Walt! Keep cool!” came in ringing tones close by. Then came
another voice, louder and shriller:
“Charge, boys--charge! Give ’em fits!”
There was a rapid rush of feet from the hill above. The outlaws halted
and looked up.
Down the steep hill came a dozen men with the velocity of the wind, to
the rescue--the settlers, headed by Eben and the hunchback, had arrived!
Rolling, jumping, tumbling, on all fours, in their mad haste (for the
hill was perpendicular), some with their hair flying and hats off,
others with gigantic, reckless strides, down came the settlers to the
rescue.
The outlaws looked up, halted in their murderous design, turned, then
fled through the barrier--now a barrier no longer; and the brave young
man was saved!
Of the outlaws, Captain Downing alone remained. Drawing a revolver from
his belt, and with an oath, he presented it to the young man’s breast.
“Dog of a coward--die!” he yelled, and pulled the trigger.
Reckless act! In his excitement and frenzy, he pulled the trigger on an
empty barrel. Before he could draw the hammer to insure his murderous
deed, the hunchback tripped his feet from under him, and dealing him a
blow with his fist at the same time, felled him to the ground.
Then, as the settlers went hurrying by in hot pursuit of the outlaws,
and as Walter rushed to Katie, the deformed man grasped Downing by the
throat.
“Dog--villain!” he hissed. “Do you know me?”
Downing’s face, though pale, grew paler still. The Voice was speaking
to him--the same Voice he had recognized on the night that Katie
escaped from his toils. He now recognized the man.
“James Dunning!” he gasped.
“Yes, Robert Davis--James Dunning, the man whom you abused, maltreated
and crippled, is now your captor; the son of the rich banker in
Charleston whom you murdered, is now your master; the man who has
followed you, abetted your pursuers, foiled your attempts, and,
haunting the forest, has caused his voice to be heard at noonday and
midnight, has you now in his power; and he will use that power.”
“Let me rise--let me go!” demanded Downing, vainly endeavoring to rise.
“Unhand me, you villain!”
“Villain? Ha! you will bitterly regret that epithet, Robert Davis, mark
my words, you will.”
“Let me up! What right have you to detain me in this manner?”
“Right? Look at that young girl yonder--she is insensible from fright,
and all because of your misdeeds! Look at her father and lover beside
her--many have been the torments they have undergone because of you!
Look at the lifeless men lying here. They have ended their career upon
earth in the midst of vile wickedness, because of you! Look at me,
an orphaned and poverty-stricken son, and a cripple--yes, a cripple,
deformed and ugly, because of you, and then ask me what right I have to
detain you! You are mine--mine to do with as I will, and, as I told you
before, I will use my power.”
He looked around on the scene, still keeping a secure hold on Downing.
The settlers and outlaws were all gone, but they still kept up a
scattering fire far away in the forest. Fink had bled to death; Cato
lay lifeless on the ground; five dead robbers were stretched, grim and
ghastly, upon the neighboring scene; and Katie, now just recovered, was
weeping for joy in her father’s and lover’s arms.
His brow darkened, and he took a cord from his clothing and proceeded
to bind Downing. The latter, struggling and fuming, proving a hard
customer, he dealt him a blow between the eyes which rendered him
incapable of any further resistance.
Then he bound him securely, and casting a last look around him, he
took the unconscious robber chief in his arms as easily as if he had
been a child. Then he walked away into the swamp just as the sun was
setting--into Shadow Swamp, in Dead-Man’s Forest.