IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH.
Hope fairly abandoned the heart of Ruth when she was separated from her
friends, and obliged to go on her way with Rushing Water with none of
them beside her.
In vain it was that she had implored him not to separate her from them;
to remember the promise he had made her, when they had fallen into his
hands.
Her prayers and entreaties had no effect. He had promised, he said, that
their lives should be spared them, and he had kept his word.
He had not said that they should remain in her company, and it was not
his will that they should do so, any longer.
He wished for none but her whom he had chosen for his bride beside him,
so he had sent the others away.
A terrible fear took possession of her mind that he had sent them apart
to take their lives, that it might not be done before her very eyes.
Filled thus with terror and despair, she went onward, while every step
her strength seemed to fail her, while her heart lay like lead in her
bosom.
Through the rest of the day until night came on, she managed to keep her
feet, but when the shadows gathered thick in the forest she sunk down
upon the earth and declared that she could go no further.
A short halt was made here, in which some food was prepared and offered
her; but she could not eat a mouthful.
It seemed to her that it would have choked her, but she attempted to
swallow a morsel.
Finding that it was in vain to urge her to do so further and seeing also
that she was unable to proceed of herself, the chief raised her in his
own strong arms, and again they went forward.
He would not feel sure of his bride until he had her in his own lodge
and among his own people.
So long as they were in the forest, there was a chance that she might be
wrested from him.
He knew and feared the Death-Dealer, and it was in part to mislead him
that he had divided the party.
He knew that the dreaded scout was a host in himself, and that his
deadly blows fell ofttimes where and when they were the least expected
by his enemies.
Once among his own people and in the heart of their village, he felt
that he would be safe from him, and that there would be no one who could
wrest his chosen bride from him.
So all through the first hours of the night he hurried onward. The moon
rose and climbed high into the heavens and when it had reached the
zenith, the village was gained, and with his almost unconscious burden
in his arms he stood before his lodge.
No human being save his companions were stirring about him, and with a
word he sent them to their several lodges, and then lifting the skin
that hung in the doorway he bore Ruth within his own.
A lamp of rude construction, swinging from the roof, and which emitted a
pale light, half dispelled, half revealed the darkness which filled the
lodge.
Squatted almost beneath it, and apparently buried in slumber, though
gently swaying back and forth, was an old Indian woman; Nekomis by name,
who for many moons had kept the lodge of the chief and prepared his
food, when he was not absent in the chase or upon the war-path.
Approaching a couch which lay in one corner of the apartment, the chief
placed his almost unconscious burden upon it, and then stepping to the
side of the Indian woman he said, as he touched her upon the shoulder:
“The fingers of sleep must be heavy upon the eyes of Nekomis, that she
hears not the footsteps of the chief when he comes. Let her awake, for
he has need of her.”
The old squaw awoke with a start and staggered to her feet.
“You were sleeping soundly, good Nekomis,” he said. “But wake. The chief
has work for you to do.”
“The spirit of sleep was heavy upon the eyelids of Nekomis, and her ears
were dull that she heard not the footsteps of Rushing Water. But she is
awake now and ready to do his bidding. There is plenty of maize and
venison in the lodge and it shall soon be ready so that the chief may
break his fast.”
“Rushing Water is not hungry. It’s not to prepare him food that he has
roused Nekomis from her sleep. It is that she may care for his pale-face
bride whom he has brought hither.”
The old Indian woman gave a great start, and her eyes followed the
direction of his outstretched hand, as he pointed toward the couch upon
which Ruth lay. He did not see her features as her eyes rested upon the
form of the girl. If he had he would have seen a look of most malignant
hate resting there, which could not help having awoke suspicions and
alarm in his breast, and made him fearful for the life of her upon whom
he had set his affections.
She did not speak, but stood with her eyes fixed upon Ruth, as
motionless as a statue.
Again the words of the chief fell but half heeded upon her ear.
“Let Nekomis wait upon her, and see that she has every wish. Let her
watch by her side until the morning comes. Let her stir not from the
lodge, for she must answer for the maiden with her life.”
Again that look of hate came over the face of the Indian woman. But it
was gone in a moment as she answered:
“Nekomis will watch and care for her well. When the chief comes in the
morning he shall find her here.”
“It is well,” answered the chief. “The eyes of Rushing Water are heavy
for want of sleep. He will lie down in the outer room till the sunlight
comes again. The couch of Nekomis will to-night be as soft to him as his
own.”
He lifted the curtain which connected the two apartments, and passing
out, let it fall behind him. It was the one usually occupied by old
Nekomis, and throwing himself upon the couch it contained, he was soon
buried in slumber.
The old Indian woman stood where he had left her in the main apartment.
Her eyes were fixed upon the form of Ruth, and she never stirred in her
tracks more than though she had been made of stone. But a fierce emotion
shook her frame, and it was evident that she was laboring under great
excitement. But the look upon her face as her eyes rested upon the form
of Ruth, told plainer than words could have done the terrible hate with
which she regarded her.
At length she turned her face away, and muttered to herself so low that
it would have been impossible for her words to have reached the ears of
Ruth, even had she been trying to have caught the burden of them.
“The pale-face bride of the chief must die. Before the light of the
morning sun, she must be in the spirit-land. Never will Nekomis see her
in the lodge of the chief. Minora is the bride the tribe has chosen for
him, and none other shall take her place. She is of the same blood of
Nekomis, and she shall never stand aside for one of a hated race. She
has willed it to be so, and the great Medicine of the Rocks has
furnished the deadly draught. Before the morning light, the pale-face
maiden shall have taken it, and shall lay yonder, as pale and white as
the winter’s snow.”
The deadly light in her eyes grew brighter as she muttered this to
herself. Evidently she rejoiced in the work of death and vengeance she
had before her.
Glancing about again toward her victim, she saw that Ruth had rallied
from the stupor which she had seemed to be in, and was now glancing
about the lodge as though in search of some one.
It might have been the chief she missed, and she waited for her to speak
if she would.
At length her eyes became fixed upon her, and she could see that she was
gazing upon her curiously.
As though emboldened by the sight of one of her own sex, Ruth raised her
hand and motioned for her to approach.
She obeyed her, and approaching the couch she squatted down by her side.
“Where am I?” said Ruth, with wild eyes, as though she hardly
comprehended her situation.
“The pale-face maiden is in the lodge of the great chief. Rushing Water
has sought her in her home, and brought her hither to be his bride.”
Ruth covered her face with her hands. She remembered all now. What upon
her first awaking from the sort of swoon that oppressed her, had seemed
a dream, was reality now. She was hopelessly in the hands of her enemy.
She was silent for a few moments, and then hope whispered again to her
heart. Was it not possible that she might escape him even now? Would not
her companion listen to her entreaties, and being melted thereby, help
her to escape? The hope was a faint one, but there could be no harm in
trying. If it amounted to nothing, her situation would be no worse than
it was now.
Turning eagerly to the old woman, she said, as she laid her hand upon
the brown and wrinkled one of her companion:
“The Indian woman likes not the pale-faces. That the white maiden can
see in her eyes. She had rather that the chief of the tribe would bring
to his lodge one of his own race. It is only right that she should. Let
her help the white maiden to fly. She wishes not to mate with the chief.
There is one among her own people to whom she has given her heart. Have
mercy and save me from the fate Rushing Water has in store for me.”
This appeal she had uttered in a low but earnest tone, as though she was
fearful that the sound of her voice might reach the ears of the chief,
and now that she was through she gazed up with such an appealing look
into the face of her companion that it would seem that none but a heart
of stone could resist it.
But it had no effect upon the heart of the wrinkled squaw. She knew that
there was no way for her to escape the fate she dreaded, except by that
to which she had doomed her. Death would relieve her from it, and that
alone. Had she been so disposed she could not have assisted her to
escape. The eyes of the chief would have been upon their movement and he
would have brought her back, while she would have been doomed to death
for her treachery. No. There was only one way by which Rushing Water
could be foiled in his purpose, and that was that the white maiden
should die.
“Nekomis has heard the words of the white maiden. She has spoken the
truth. The Indian woman does not like the pale-faces. Their heart is
black and evil is in their thoughts. She would see them scalped and
their lodges burned above their heads.”
So fierce was her looks, and so wild her gestures, that Ruth almost drew
back in alarm. But she was glad it was so, for perhaps now she would
help her. The Indian woman noticed her start of alarm and she softened a
little in her speech.
“The chief has chosen a pale-face for his bride, but the tribe like it
not. There are maidens fairer among them, than she. If she were gone,
the heart of Rushing Water might turn again to them.”
“The words of the Indian woman are those of truth,” exclaimed Ruth,
hopefully. “Help me to escape and all may be well.”
“The eyes of Rushing Water are sharp, and his ears are open to the
slightest sound. His anger is like the tempest when it is abroad in the
forest, and nothing can withstand its fury. But let the white maiden
content herself. She shall never become the bride of the chief.”
Could Ruth have seen the malevolent look that was upon the face of her
companion at this moment, she would have been struck with horror. But
her face was averted, and she thought only of the promise her words
implied. The hope so faint within her grew stronger, and she exclaimed
excitedly:
“Heaven bless you for your words,” she said. “But let us lose not a
moment’s time. Let us flee from this spot while we can.”
“The pale-face maiden can not stir forth to-night. Morning will come too
soon, and the chief would be upon her track. When all is well, Nekomis
will do what she can for her.”
Though disappointed, Ruth would fain accept this promise. The Indian
woman alone could help her now, and she must cling to her, and the hope
she gave her, and wait until such time as she should set for her to try
for her escape.
“Let the white maiden seek slumber now. She needs it to make her strong.
Nekomis will watch by her side and see that no harm shall come to her.”
Ruth sunk down wearily.
“I must trust you,” she said. “I do need sleep, and will try to seek it.
But first give me some water. I am very thirsty.”
The old woman arose and turned away from the couch. The moment for which
she had waited, had come. The fatal draught which the Wizard had
prepared could be given now.
Her hand trembled as she took the vessel that contained it, and brought
it forward to the couch. Ruth rose up and took it from her hand. Her
mouth was parched and dry, and she drained it eagerly to the very dregs.
Could she but have seen the look upon the face of the Indian woman she
would have dropped it as a thing of death. A look so exultant, and so
full of gratified rage would have struck terror to her very soul.
But she saw it not; handing back the vessel to her attendant, she sunk
down again upon the couch, where she lay as motionless as one dead.
Not once thereafter did she move so much as a hand; but sunk into a
deep, unbroken slumber, from which no sound or word could have awakened
her. The old Indian woman sat by her side with her sharp, snake-like
eyes fixed upon her face. Little by little her breath grew fainter,
until at last it seemed to have left forever her pallid lips. The fatal
draught had done its work, and she lay as cold and motionless as though
formed of ice.
Then with an exultant look upon her face, the Indian woman arose, and
with noiseless steps glided forth from the lodge.