DEATH-DEALER,
THE SHAWNEE SCOURGE;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE CLIFFS.
BY ARTHUR L. MESERVE.
NEW YORK,
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS
I The Death-Dealer 9
II The Wizard’s Den 16
III The Cabin Conference 24
IV Four Against Forty 32
V Out into the Darkness 41
VI The Midnight Ambush 47
VII The Maiden’s Doom 55
VIII The Trail Divided 61
IX The Death-Dealer at Work 69
X In the Shadow of Death 78
XI What Will He Do With Her? 85
XII Winding Up the Web 90
DEATH-DEALER, THE SHAWNEE SCOURGE;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE CLIFFS
CHAPTER I.
THE DEATH-DEALER.
It was a sultry summer day, nearly a hundred years ago.
The heat was almost intolerable, and man and beast sought the cooling
shade of the forest, to spend the hours until it should in a measure
abate.
Not a breath of air was stirring.
In a leafy covert, a little removed from the right bank of the Scioto, a
form lay stretched at full length upon the earth.
One would have needed almost a second glance to have told whether the
object was human or brute.
Even then he might have said it was a cross between the two.
At first sight, a Barnum or a Darwin might have gone wild with delight.
The former would have thought that he had stumbled upon a veritable
“What-Is-It?”; while the latter would have declared that he had at last
found the long-looked-for connecting link between the human and brute
creation.
There was the human form, though ungainly in its shape; but covered with
hair from the crown of its head to the sole of its feet.
It was indeed a second Esau.
A great mass of bushy hair covered his head, which, from its appearance,
had not known the presence of a comb for months.
A beard of the same reddish color as his hair, and with a like unkempt
appearance, covered the lower part of his face, and reached up over his
cheeks almost to his eyes.
These were small and deep-set, though sharp and piercing, and overhung
by eyebrows of the same gigantic pattern as his beard and hair.
A strange and forbidding appearance the man presented about the head,
and his form kept it company.
It was covered with the skins of wild animals, worn with the hair-side
out, so that at a glance one would have supposed that it was his own
natural covering, so much in keeping was it with that about his head.
As he lay there, one could see that his form was crooked and distorted,
until it had hardly the shape of a human being.
But still it was not so noticeable as it was when he was upon his feet,
and as erect as it was possible for him to be.
His altitude then was not more than five feet, with a monstrous hump
upon his shoulders, which, if any thing, made him look shorter than he
really was.
A rifle, almost as long as himself, was lying by his side, so close that
he could place his hand upon it at a moment’s notice.
A huge knife was thrust into his belt, and the hand that rested upon the
handle thereof, showed plainly that it had the strength to use it to a
purpose when the occasion warranted.
Though that portion of his face which was not covered by a beard was
turned to a dark brown, an observer would have said that he was a white
man, though a long residence in the forest had almost changed his
appearance and his nature.
The name this uncouth person had once borne was Richard Higgins.
But this had been lost or forgotten long ago. His ears had not heard
that name for years.
When he had first appeared among the settlers along the river, as he had
done in the capacity of scout and Indian-hunter, they had known him
simply as Dick.
But as time wore on, another name became attached to him.
The Death-Dealer.
The red-skins gave him that, because his hand had slain more of their
number than any other scout west of the mountains.
So he had come to be called Dick, the Death-Dealer, and his real name
had been forgotten by any who by chance had ever known it.
Along the whole border there was not a man who could follow a trail as
well as he.
It seemed almost as though he possessed the instincts of a bloodhound,
for when once upon the scent he never lost it.
No matter how much in their cunning the savages might double upon
themselves, they could not deceive him.
He was sure to follow them to their lair, and there obtain the vengeance
he sought, if he did not get it before.
Could all the red-skins he had slain rise up before him, the number
would have startled him. Yet he had slain none for the mere love of
taking life. He hated a red-skin for the cruel deeds he done, yet he
never shot one down unless he was engaged in something detrimental to
the interests of the settlers.
The savages stood in mortal dread of him, and many were the plans they
laid to take his life. But thus far all of them had failed, and he went
on with his work as coolly as though danger was a thing unknown.
Slowly the sun declined toward the west, and at last a delicious
coolness pervaded the forest, in place of the heat, which had been so
oppressive.
The scout felt its influence, and after stretching out his limbs lazily,
he arose to a sitting posture, and taking up his rifle, he carefully
examined it, to make sure that it was in order.
The scrutiny revealed nothing amiss. It was in the best possible
condition, and he felt sure that it would not fail him when he should
have need to use it.
“Well, Dick, it’s about time that you were tramping,” he muttered to
himself, as he cast a look westward and saw that the sun had almost
touched the tree-tops. “You’ve got a powerful ways to tramp to-night,
and you got to make up for the time you’ve fooled away here. I wish I
felt a little bit clearer in my mind, as to what new deviltry the
red-skins are planning now. They’re up to something, that’s sure.
They’ve as busy for a day or two back as the devil in a gale of wind.
They’re hatchin’ something, and I would give a sixpence if I only knew
what it was. I must find out if I can afore they get ready to strike. I
wish thar wa’n’t but one blamed red-skin in the world, and he stood out
yander. We’d jest make an end of him in no time, wouldn’t we, Susannah?”
These last words were addressed to his rifle, which he patted
affectionately as though it was a thing of life and understood what was
said to it. Then he brought it to his shoulder and glanced along the
barrel toward the spot which he had designated for the savage to stand.
At that very instant, as though his wish had been gratified, a savage
suddenly appeared on the very spot which he had indicated.
So unexpected was his appearance, that for an instant the scout was
startled and sat as motionless in his place as though he was a block of
stone.
But the next moment his finger was playing with the trigger of his
rifle, and in a second more a bullet would have sped in the direction of
the savage, had he not bethought himself of the folly of the act.
A score of red-skins might be close at hand, and if so what benefit
would the death of one of them be to him.
The savage had not seen him, therefore he remained motionless, but with
the rifle still brought to bear upon him.
For the space of a minute the savage remained upon the spot where he had
appeared, gazing about him as though in some way he scented danger, and
then he moved on, and the next instant was lost to sight.
No sooner had he disappeared than the scout sprung to his feet, and
after listening intently for a moment, as though to catch the sound of
other footsteps, he glided swiftly away on the trail.
Hardly had two minutes elapsed from the time he had sprung to his feet,
when the bushes were parted, and another savage stepped upon the very
spot where the Death-Dealer had lain.
Carefully he bent down and examined the ground, and in a moment was
satisfied that it had but just been vacated.
The twigs and wild grass which had been bent down by the weight of the
scout’s body, were springing up, striving but vainly to stand erect
again.
This told him as plainly as words could have done that whoever had lain
there was only that moment gone.
The footprints about the spot told him that it was a white man; and
evidently the savage felt assured that it could be none other than the
Death-Dealer.
A mingled look of joy and rage came over his face, as he glanced eagerly
along the trail the scout had left behind him.
Only for the space of a minute did he linger about the spot, and then
glided swiftly along the trail which the scout had been at no pains to
conceal.
In the mean time Dick had gone out to the spot where the red-skin had
disappeared, and, taking the trail, hurried on after him.
That he was on some errand of mischief, and that he was not alone, he
felt assured.
From the signs he had seen during the last twenty-four hours, he knew
that the savages meant mischief to some of the settlements along the
river.
But the exact spot where the blow was to fall he was in ignorance of.
This, by following close on the movements of the savage, who had so
suddenly appeared before him, he was in hopes to discover.
He little thought that another savage was watching _his_ movements full
as closely; and only waiting for a chance to take his life and secure
his scalp, which would be prized higher by him than a score of ordinary
ones.
It would be no common triumph to boast that he had taken the scalp of
the Death-Dealer, the scout most feared in all that region of country.
On went the foremost savage, all unconscious that the terrible
Death-Dealer was upon his track.
Straight as an arrow from the bow was his way through the forest, and
never once stepping from the trail came the unerring scout.
And close behind him came the other savage, if possible more intent upon
his purpose than either of them.
For nearly a mile they went on in this way, and then the foremost savage
suddenly paused.
In an instant the scout followed his example, hastily putting the trunk
of a tree between them so that his presence might not be discovered.
The next moment the savage uttered a cry so much in imitation of an owl
that a less practiced ear than that of the scout might have been
deceived by it.
But he knew that it was a signal agreed upon between the savage and his
comrade, when he should have reached the place of rendezvous.
Hardly had it died away before its exact counterpart was heard away to
the right.
A moment later it was repeated on the left.
The woods were full of savages.
So it seemed to the scout, as he stood there as silent as death.
But as yet, though they came from every side, there were none behind
him.
Where the danger to him was the greatest, there was no sign given to put
him on his guard.
“Well, this is a lucky hit,” he muttered to himself. “All I’ve got to do
is to keep quiet, and I shall find out what the red-skins are up to.”
Hardly had the words left his lips when there was a whizzing sound like
an arrow cutting the air, and the next instant the deadly shaft was
quivering in the trunk of the tree, hardly an inch above his cap.
Glancing quickly about he saw the savage, bow in hand, hardly a dozen
paces from where he stood.
The quivering shaft told him that he was discovered, and quick as
thought he brought his rifle to his shoulder and ran his eyes along the
barrel.
The red-skin saw that he had missed, and turned hastily to cover himself
by the trunk of a tree. But he was too late. The finger of the scout was
on the trigger of his rifle, and the next instant the bullet it
contained was on its errand of death.
The aim was an unerring one, and the leaden messenger did its work well.
With a howl of agony, the savage went down to the earth, never to rise
therefrom.
His death-cry was echoed by one of rage on either side. Two others at
the same moment had caught a glimpse of the scout, and they closed about
him, determined that he should not leave the spot alive.
They felt now that they had the Death-Dealer in their power.
Dick knew that the odds were against him, but he was never more cool or
self-possessed in his life.
He had been in a good many snug places before.
With wondrous rapidity he reloaded his rifle, and before it was
accomplished a bullet whistled in unpleasant proximity to his ear.
To remain where he was until he was surrounded by the red-skins was no
part of his plan. His only safety lay in flight. The only red-skin close
upon him could not harm him now, for the barrel of his rifle was empty.
With a bound he sprung from behind the tree and fled away.
He got a glimpse of the red-skin reloading his rifle, and had he been so
minded he could have sent a bullet through his heart. But he did not
care to do it. He wished to keep it against a time when it would do him
a better service.
Ill-shaped and deformed as he was, it was wonderful how fast he got over
the ground.
His steps were rather bounds than strides, and could a stranger have
looked upon him as he fled away through the forest they would have said
that it was a wild beast instead of a human being.
With fleet steps, straining every nerve in the race, the red-skins came
after him.
But they stood but a poor chance of overtaking him. Their swiftest
runners were no match for him in this respect.
He knew that as soon as the sun went down and the twilight came on he
was safe.
It would be easy enough to elude his pursuers then.
Just as the sun went down, he paused on the summit of a slight eminence
and looked behind for his enemies.
Not one of them in sight.
But he knew that they were still upon his trail, and it would not be
long before they would show themselves, so he waited.