A WILD DIANA
I sat with my head upon my hands watching Winona, as with her nimble
fingers she fashioned a pair of moccasins from some soft deerskin. Two
months had I been here, the prisoner of the Cherokees.
Manteo had started back with a party of savages the morning after our
capture, bearing a short note from me to White, briefly telling him
that we were prisoners among the savages, and that our ransom was fixed
at a half-dozen hatchets, two swords, and some beads; also telling
him that Lady Margaret Carroll was a prisoner in the hands of Lord
Dunraven, further up in the wilderness; that I was helpless to stir
hand or foot to aid her until the ransom was forthcoming, and imploring
him to make what speed he could in sending the articles. I had heard
nothing of the party since, and knew not what to think. It might be
that in a country teeming with enemies they had fallen in some fight
with a hostile band.
Often in the dead of night I would toss and groan upon my pillow as I
thought of Margaret, a prisoner in the hands of Dunraven somewhere in
the depths of the unbroken forest, cut off from the world and all help,
at the mercy of one who feared neither man nor devil. My fevered brain
would conjure up every taunting phantom of fear and anguish that the
ingenuity of man could devise.
I would think of her struggling in his embraces, his kisses upon her
lips, calling upon me for help and succor, with none to hear her cries,
and at such times I would arise from my sleepless couch and with a
silent guard, who never left me, I would pace the streets of the
village until day. Often haggard and weary, I would never lie down to
sleep, but would sit all night staring into the camp fire, building air
castles and wondering what Margaret did. She was Bobby's but she could
not prevent me from thinking of her, and weaving happy dreams, that at
a touch would crumble and fall into dust.
The Cherokees ever watched my slightest motion; a brave would follow
me all day long, throughout all my journeys, and at night would sleep
in the doorway of my hut, so that I could not step outside without
awakening him. Several times I had accompanied the Indians upon their
hunts, but never did I have an opportunity to escape. Ever there kept
at my side one of the warriors, and twist and turn as I would I could
not shake him off. He clung to me with the tenacity of a leech, and so
finally in disgust I gave up the effort, and returned quietly to the
village.
I had watched every chance to free myself, but I could never find
a propitious opportunity. Someone was ever at my heels, and so I
waited as best I might for Manteo to return. I had craved pardon for
my suspicion of him before he left, and with his stately air he had
answered:
"It is nothing; the Eagle for a moment thought that Manteo would betray
him, but he knows better now, and Manteo's heart is glad. He but struck
up his brother's thunder tube because he knew that if a Cherokee had
fallen, then would the Eagle have been burned at the stake." And with a
smile he left me.
I had another friend in the sweet Indian maid, Winona. Often would I
find in my hut, when I returned from a long stroll, some choice fruit,
or a fat turkey, browned to a crisp. Once a deerskin doublet had hung
on the wall, at another time there had been a wampum belt, and I knew
whose deft fingers had been at work. When I had fretted myself into a
fever, it was Winona who brought me cool-water and nourishing food, and
with her light hands had soothed my fevered brow and waited upon me
until I had been myself again.
Often she would sing some wild love song of the savages to me, sitting
opposite and looking at me with a strange, sweet light in her dark
eyes, which had almost frightened me, for I feared that she had grown
to love me. I grieved that her warm young heart should be disappointed
and wounded, for there was but one woman for me, wild or civilized, and
that was the blue-eyed maid, who somewhere in yonder dim region which
loomed before me, chafed and fretted, a prisoner of Lord Dunraven.
And so it was with a heavy heart this bright morning that I sat
opposite the Indian girl, and saw that same warm, tender light in
her great black eyes--those eyes that were the envy of her girlish
companions, and the despair of all the young bucks of the village, who
scowled at me as I passed them on the street.
One of them in particular loathed me with a fierce, unbending hate,
the young brave Chawanook, who had found favor with Winona until I had
arrived upon the scene, when she straightaway turned her back upon
him, and would have naught more to do with the young warrior. He had
immediately saddled me with the blame, and but waited for a favorable
opportunity to revenge himself.
The old chieftain, Windango, adored his bright young daughter, and
she twisted him about her fingers, as the saying goes, until he would
believe that black was white if she but said so. She had been brought
up free from all the toil that had bowed the hearts and bent the backs
of her companions, and while they were fast becoming withered and
faded, she was strong and graceful, a veritable wild Diana. She could
follow the chase as well as any brave, and strike down with her arrows
the wild deer. Often had I seen her return from a day's hunt fresh and
smiling, while behind her there lagged some warrior worn and footsore.
But even the old chief had begun to admonish his daughter to give ear
to the soft sighs of the young braves, and become the squaw of some
warrior. She was long past the age when her companions had wedded. Why
did she still remain alone? Here was Chawanook, who would some day be
a great chief. Why not go into his wigwam and cook his venison? It was
of this that Winona spoke as she finished one moccasin, and laying it
aside, began to embroider the other with the bear claws.
"Do the maidens beyond the seas go into the lodges of the braves so
soon?" she asked, with a bright smile at me.
"Some," I answered, smiling gently at her question. "Many of them do
not go at all."
She broke into a low clear laugh.
"Would that I dared to tell my father that, but he would tear my head
from my shoulders, did I dare to hint such a thing. He wishes me to
become the squaw of Chawanook; to slave and toil for him--and he ugly
and awkward," and she frowned, her eyes still upon me, as though she
wished to draw me out.
"Why dost thou not listen to Chawanook?" I answered. "He is a brave
young warrior, and will some day become a chief. That he would be kind
to thee, I doubt not."
She laid down the moccasin and looked at me intently, the smile gone
from her face.
"And thou wouldst counsel that," she said in a low voice. "I thought
that thou wert the friend of Winona."
"Even so," I replied; "and it is because I think much of Winona that I
speak thus."
"Dost some fair maid await across the great sea for the Eagle?" she
asked eagerly, changing the conversation with the artfulness of a woman.
I shook my head. "No," I replied sadly, "no one waits for the Eagle--he
is alone."
She still sat opposite looking at me, the half-finished moccasin beside
her.
"The squaw of the Eagle is in the forest above the head of the river,"
she said. "Is that why the Eagle walks abroad in the moonlight, when
all are slumbering, and sighs to himself until day? Does he love the
fair young maid, who is in the hands of his foes?"
"The squaw belongs to one of the Eagle's friends," I replied gently,
for the girl did not know that she touched a raw and bleeding wound.
"He seeks her for one whom he loves as a brother."
The girl looked at me; plainly she was debating something in her mind.
Finally she spoke hesitatingly, and bending forward she whispered in a
low voice:
"A sun after the Eagle had folded his pinions among us, there passed
up the great river a canoe, and in it a single pale man, with hair and
beard the color of the night. He stopped not, but passed on in the
direction of the great mountains, towards which the pale squaw had
gone. Is he the friend thou speakest of?"
"No," I answered, "he is not the one;" for I knew not of whom she
spoke, unless it might be DeNortier. "Did he have a curved nose, like
that of thy father?" I asked; "thin lips, and a high forehead?"
"Yes," she answered quickly, clapping her hands, "it is the one."
It was DeNortier most probably; like a sleuth hound after his quarry he
would run them to earth before he slackened pace. But the lady would be
in as bad conditions in his hands as in Dunraven's.
"Winona," I said, bending over nearer to her, "wilt tell me something?"
"Yes," she answered, looking up at me with her soft black eyes
perilously close to mine, a deep red color in her cheeks. "What is it
that the Eagle wishes?"
I drew back hurriedly and sat down, for I liked not those soft looks.
"Where is the white squaw?" I asked.
She hesitated and drew back. "It would mean my death," she whispered,
"should they find it out, and yet I will tell thee. They are four days'
journey above us, near the banks of the great river."
Four days' journey from me--and yet I sat here with folded arms, while
she, a captive in the hands of Dunraven, wrung her white hands and
endured I knew not what. No, I would make one attempt to break loose
from the Cherokees to rescue her, though I lost my life in the effort.
The Indian maid had finished the moccasins, and with them in her hands
had risen to go.
"I must go," she said demurely, as though she had not sat with me for
two hours alone. "Occoma will be searching for me if I stay longer. Let
the Eagle take the moccasins," she continued shyly, as she extended
them to me, "for of a truth he needs them," with a ringing laugh. And
evading my outstretched hands, she ran from the hut.
I looked down at my worn-out boots. She had spoken the truth, for I
needed them if ever mortal did. Stooping, I took off my ragged footgear
and replaced them with the soft new moccasins, and then, like a little
child with a new toy, I paraded down the streets.
A party of braves were gathering around the great council hall, their
bows and clubs in hand, and as I neared them I saw the light form of
Winona running to and fro among them. Windango was there too, and the
fierce, scowling Chawanook. As I looked at them a sudden thought struck
me. There were only about fifteen warriors in the party; it might be
that in the hurry of the chase I could escape from them. So, stopping
beside Windango, I said:
"Where goes Windango? Does he strike the Tuscaroras?"
"No," grunted the old warrior, as he busied himself with his weapon.
"Windango but goes to hunt the deer, and to supply the village with
venison."
"The Eagle will fly with his red brothers, and strike down the quarry
with them," I continued, with a glance at the other braves.
I thought that he did not look particularly pleased at the suggestion,
though he only nodded his head, and falling in by his side, we took
the trail for the forest. A few minutes and we had passed out of the
village, and headed northward, a direction in which I had never been
before.
The old chief, who trod in front, spoke but seldom, and then only about
the journey. Soon tiring of his grim silence, I fell back a pace by
Winona, who, bow in hand, trod swiftly along behind her father. Behind
me was Chawanook, who eyed me as though he would gladly have cut my
throat if he but dared. Noticing the frown with which he regarded me,
I turned to him, and with an air of great anxiety inquired of him if
he were ill. His only answer was a savage grunt, much to the amusement
of the dusky flirt at my side, who, little minx, knew well enough what
ailed the young brave, and seemed to enjoy his air of discomfiture.
The men had scattered somewhat, for we were nearing a famous deerlick,
which great herds of the wild game were wont to frequent. A small band
under Windango had crept around to the right of the grove of trees, to
scare up the quarry, while the remainder of the party, with whom were
Winona and I, had deployed in a long line so as to head off the deer.
The Indian girl was standing under a great leafy tree, her weapon in
hand, while I, unarmed and empty-handed, stood some ten paces away, a
little behind Chawanook, who seemed determined to keep his eye on me.
With a rush a dozen deer had started up at the first crackling of the
leaves, which heralded the advance of the party of Windango, and with a
bound dashed towards us. The quick twang of the bows and four or five
fell, the rest darting by us and into the woods. With a shout Winona
sprang forward, and drawing a little steel knife that I had given her,
cut the throat of a lordly buck with wide-spreading antlers, which she
had brought down.
"Let the Eagle come forward and help me to bear the buck under the
tree, and I will cook some of the flesh so that we may eat," she cried
out to me, with a triumphant air.
Smiling I came to where, with face aglow with exultation, she bent over
the deer.
"Well done!" I said; "thou art a veritable Diana." And taking hold of
the animal, I dragged it over under the great tree.
The maiden had followed me, a frown of perplexity upon her bright face,
and as I threw the bleeding carcass down, she spoke:
"Who is this Diana of whom thou speakest? Is it some lady of thy own
country?" And with a pretty look of eagerness she glanced up at me.
"She is a goddess," I answered. "One who descends from above to lead
the chase, and to ensnare the hearts of men, even as thou," and I
laughed at her confusion. For with a deep blush, she had dropped her
long lashes over her black eyes, and stood fingering the fringe of her
deerskin tunic.
"I ensnare not the hearts of men," she answered in a low voice. "Some
there are who crave but to be caught, and those I care not for; others
mayhap would struggle to be free, if by any chance they should fall a
victim, and those I would not take prisoners against their will," and
she raised her eyes bravely to mine, with the warm light which she
vainly endeavored to conceal burning deep in them.
It was my turn to be confused now, and I mechanically sought in my
mind for something to say that would change the conversation from this
awkward topic, for I knew at that moment that the dark-eyed maid loved
me. I could give her no encouragement, and yet I grieved that I should
wound her young heart, and even as I stumbled for words to say, Fate,
that old master, with a jerk caught the reins from my hands and mounted
the box.
With a rustle of the leaves there bounded down through the air from
the tree overhead, a long, dark body, which alighted at the very feet
of the girl. As she started back horrified, she tripped, and losing
her balance, rolled down to the feet of the beast, who, with a hoarse
growl, put one paw upon her body, and with gently moving tail stood
glaring down at the helpless girl. He was a long bony animal with a
round cat head and shining green eyes, perhaps measuring some six feet
from muzzle to tail, his color a dark brown. His little short ears
erect, he stood there as though to challenge the world.
A huge club lay at my feet, where one of the warriors had dropped it
as he pursued the deer. An instant I stood as though spellbound by the
spectacle of this ferocious beast, which had dropped as though from
the clouds among us, and then with a yell, I caught up the club and
sprang at him. Before he could turn upon me, I had raised the heavy
bludgeon and brought it down on his head, with a resounding whack; as
I did so, I heard the screams of the girl, the shouts of the warriors
as they hurried towards us, and with a shrill snarl of rage, the brute
recovered from the shock, and then sprang full at my face.
I threw up my left hand to shield my head, and it was on this arm that
the great brute, his eyes gleaming with rage and pain, alighted. I
felt his sharp claws as they sank deep into my shoulder and arm, his
teeth seeking to reach my throat, his hot, fetid breath in my face. I
tottered with the weight a moment, and then went down, the animal upon
me. Luckily he had his fangs fastened into the chain which held my
breastplate in position, and growling and snarling he strove to free
himself, his claws rasping and scraping upon my steel plate.
As we struggled thus, a half-dozen arrows from the bows of the braves
whistled into him. The warriors, with clubs and tomahawks sprang to my
rescue; a short, sharp struggle, and the huge brute toppled over me
and fell. The Indians helped me to my feet, the blood spurting from
the flesh wounds in my arm and shoulder, and with looks of wonder
and admiration they stood about me. I had plainly risen in their
estimation, for there is nothing the savage appreciates like bravery.
Winona pushed through them as they stood there, a soft deerskin in her
hand. I saw she had torn from her own shoulders the light robe that she
wore, and now with quick commands she dispatched one brave for water,
another to get some herbs from the woods, as with deft fingers she cut
away the frayed cloth from the wounds. Before I could prevent her, she
bent her head, and pressed her lips to the bleeding flesh.
"Did not the Eagle risk his own life to save Winona?" she cried, as I
remonstrated vainly with her. "Had it not been for him, Winona would
now sleep with her fathers."
The silent Indians stood around me; no sound or gesture did they make
as they watched the girl, though their dark eyes followed her every
motion. Looking up quickly as Winona finished, I caught the deep,
implacable look of hate which Chawanook cast at me, and I knew that
I had here a bitter and undying enemy, who would go to any length to
injure me; and at the thought my heart grew heavy, for here was one
more complication in the net that surrounded me. The love of Winona,
with which I knew not what to do, and the hate of Chawanook, who would
watch me like a hawk, would prove obstacles in the way of my escape.
"Art hurt, Winona?" I asked, as she bent over me, impatiently waiting
for the messengers to return.
"No," she answered; "thanks to a warrior." And she cast a taunting look
at Chawanook, who leaned gloomily on his club behind her.
At that moment the young braves returned; one with water in my steel
cap, the other with a bunch of some peculiar looking herb in his hands.
With deft fingers the girl washed the wounds, binding the leaves to
them. Windango, his wrinkled old face gleaming with excitement, had
arrived, and was listening to the account of my rescue of Winona. As
the braves finished, the old chief strode forward to where I stood, and
taking my hand in his, he said:
"The Eagle has saved the life of Winona. Windango will not forget;
perhaps he may repay the Eagle some day." And with that, he turned and
led the way in silence back to the village.
The Indians held high carnival to-night, for it was the feast of the
Sun God, which Winona had endeavored to explain, as she stood before
me clad in all her savage splendor, a wild flower in her dusky hair.
In vain she tried to enlighten my ignorance as to the celebration. All
that I knew when she had finished, was that it was the feast of the Sun
God, and was a great time for them; that the maids and young braves
decked themselves in all their finery, and danced and shouted together
until day.
In despair at getting no more information, I put on my steel cap (about
all that was left of my original garments) and followed her down the
long street of the village, now alight with torches, and thronged with
young braves and maidens, while from the lodges there peered out the
faces of the squaws. Before the doors gathered the old warriors, pipes
in hand, talking over the hunt and planning some foray against their
enemies. The hum of many voices arose as we passed through the crowd
down to where the feasters gathered.
I might almost at first glance have passed for an Indian myself in the
twilight, for my doublet and hose had long since worn out. I now wore
the deerskin and leggins of the savages, and the moccasins that Winona
had made me were on my feet.
No day had passed since I had been a captive among them, that I had
not planned to escape, but someone was ever watchfully at my heels. My
weapons had been taken from me, and I seemed as far from escape as I
had ever been. Of Manteo and the party who had gone to Roanoke there
had been heard no word, and I had given them up for lost. Windango and
a band of his warriors had only yesterday taken the trail for a scout
against their enemies, the Tuscaroras. The braves only awaited his
return to muster their fighting men to the war path.
Winona had halted by the open space, around which the crowd had
gathered. It was perhaps a hundred feet square, and now within it there
leaped and shouted a medicine man in his skins and paint, a great round
club in his hand which he shook fiercely to and fro, as he sang a wild
ditty, keeping time to the music with his feet. With a loud yell, he
threw himself upon his face.
"What is this for, Winona?" I whispered to the girl as we stood
watching him.
"It is to frighten away evil spirits," she replied gravely, in the same
low tone.
And now a party of maidens sprang into the cleared space. Their long
hair wreathed with wild flowers, decked in their finest garments, with
branches of green leaves in their hands, they stood motionless an
instant at the further end of the square.
"Wait for me here," whispered the girl by my side. "I go to join them,"
and she darted rapidly away. A few minutes later, I saw her take her
place among the throng.
And now they raised a loud chant, and with waving branches began a
marvelous dance, now advancing, now retreating, winding in and out
among each other to the sound of their voices. Slowly forward they
moved toward the other end of the square, their merry, laughing faces
making a pretty picture against the black background of the night.
Their clear voices arose upon the air like the sound of some wild
strains of barbaric music. Faster and faster they turned, until they
only seemed one dark mass of moving figures, twisting in and out among
one another.
The wreaths had fallen from their heads in the rapidity of their
motion, and they trampled upon them unheeded, as they whirled by. From
the words that I could catch, it seemed a wild invocation to the Sun
God to send them peace and plenty, and that their braves might triumph
over all the enemies of the Cherokees. I looked in vain among the
throng for Winona, but the figures moved by so quickly that I could not
discern her face among the many dark heads that glided past.
Faster, faster, faster they moved; several had fallen in exhaustion,
and the old crones, who stood on the outskirts of the crowd, had rushed
in and dragged them out of the rush. Their companions still danced on;
it seemed to me as though they must all be weak from exhaustion by
this time, but still they kept up their mad pace until, with one loud
cry, they halted and stood still. A chorus of cries and loud "ughs" of
approval from the bystanders arose. They had danced well.
And now into the ring rushed the young braves, stripped to the breech
cloth, their bronze bodies shining in the light. They caught each other
around the waist, and tugged and strained, each seeking to cast his
antagonist to the ground. For many minutes they wrestled, their chests
heaving, as with every muscle strained they exerted themselves to the
utmost.
The warriors and squaws looked on, delight pictured upon their
faces. Now and then a deep-chested "ugh" would go up, as some brawny
brave would cast another upon the ground, and the defeated one would
withdraw, leaving the victorious wrestlers to struggle among themselves.
The braves thinned slowly but steadily; finally only two were left
in the arena, the warrior Chawanook, and another lusty Indian,
called Okisco. An instant they stood facing each other, then slowly,
cautiously, like cats, they moved about, each seeking for an
opportunity to catch the other unawares. Finally, with a dull crash
they came together. Okisco had caught Chawanook under the arm pits, and
with bent body was endeavoring to bear him down, while his antagonist,
his toes dug deep in the sand, was steadily resisting every effort the
other made to throw him.
Great drops of sweat ran down their faces, as they staggered about the
square, locked in each other's arms. The ground was trodden into deep
furrows, where they dug their moccasins into the soft earth. Both were
now becoming weak from the long bout, and even while I looked the end
came.
Okisco, giving a shrill yell, threw all his bull strength into the
effort, and with a fury nothing could withstand, bore the other to
his knees. A loud cry went up from the crowd. At the sound, as though
beside himself with rage, Chawanook sprang to his feet, and catching
both hands around the waist of the triumphant Okisco, and bending his
body with a power that seemed superhuman, he cast him backward upon the
ground. With a proud gesture, Chawanook stood erect, the blood pouring
from his nostrils as the result of his great effort.
And now there tottered into the square an old feeble man, the eldest
of the village. With his sunken face and dim eyes he looked as though
he was ready for the grave. With a gesture he held up his hands, and
silence fell upon the noisy throng.
"My brothers," he said, "from the time of our fathers, when the mind of
man runneth not to the contrary, it has been our custom that the oldest
man of the village should at the feast of the sun present to the maiden
who had danced the nimblest a belt of wampum; to the most valiant young
brave a necklace." And he held up in his withered hand a blue wampum
belt, and a necklace of blue stone of some strange pattern, but I was
not near enough to discern them well.
"The judges have decided that unto Winona, the daughter of Windango,
should the belt belong, and unto the young brave Chawanook, the
necklace. Step forth," he continued, "and receive them." And from the
crowd I saw Winona and the warrior Chawanook come forward and receive
the belt and necklace.
As the maiden turned, and scanning the dark faces about her, moved
rapidly down the ranks, I heard the murmur of the savage tongues about
me.
"To whom will she give the belt?" asked an old hag by my side.
"I know not," said her companion. "Perhaps to the young Chawanook. They
would make a brave pair," and she moved aside to let Winona, who was
coming toward me, pass by.
Too late I realized what was about to happen, and for her sake as well
as my own I would have turned and fled, but the golden moment had
passed; there was naught to do but to stand my ground.
The girl stood in front of me, the wampum belt in her hand. A deep
flush was upon her face, and she bent her head for a moment in
embarrassment, for the whole crowd was gazing at her in silence.
For an instant she stood thus, twisting the girdle nervously in her
hand, and then she raised her face. It was transfigured and glorified
by the light of a great love--a love that would face all things and
undergo all agony or sorrow for the sake of the one she loved; that
could endure the cold gaze of the world, and fear it not, happy in
the knowledge of the light within. Who counted all things as naught
compared with this.
I had heard often of the love of some frail woman, who would face
death calmly and unafraid, would endure the thumbscrew and the stake
with a smile upon her face and a song within her soul, for the sake of
one she loved, and I had doubted the story; but as I looked upon the
face of this Indian maiden, I knew that such things as these could be,
that here was one who would die for me, if needs be, because she loved
me.
"It is a custom," she murmured softly, so softly that I had to bend my
head to catch the faint sound, "that the maiden who wins the girdle
should bestow it upon some valiant warrior. I know of no warrior who is
more worthy to wear it than the Eagle, who at the risk of his own life
dared to rescue an Indian maid." And with that she bent forward shyly,
and with fingers that trembled fastened the blue wampum belt around my
waist.
[Illustration: "I Know of No Warrior Who is More Worthy to Wear It than
the Eagle"]
I dared not look around me, as she bent her dark head over the clasp,
her hair just brushing my face. For an unconscionably long time, it
seemed to me, she fumbled over it, and then with a little sigh of
satisfaction, she straightened up. "There," she said, with a nervous
laugh.
"Winona," I said gravely, for in truth I was in the most awkward
position in which I had ever been placed, "the Eagle thanks thee for
thy courtesy, and will wear the belt always to remind him of thee. It
will be a bright spot in his life, which he will cherish, when he has
returned again to his own far distant country." And extending my hand,
I caught her little brown one in mine, and carrying it to my lips as
though she were some princess, I kissed it.
She flushed again happily, her dark eyes soft with light as she looked
at me.
The sullen voice of Chawanook rang out behind me: "And so the daughter
of a great chief stoops to bestow her love upon a nameless dog of a
captive!"
The girl had raised her head proudly at his words, for there flowed
in her veins the blood of a line of savage chiefs. She answered him
scornfully:
"If Chawanook would meet his fathers let him face the Eagle alone in
yon ring. As for me," and her voice rang out clear and full, "my love
is my own, to bestow where I will; it shall never be given to such as
Chawanook."
The young brave answered angrily:
"I sought Winona to bestow upon her the necklace of blue beads,
for which many of the maidens sigh but I would bestow it upon the
most beautiful, even upon Winona. What do I find here? That Winona
shamefully has confessed before the whole village her love for the pale
man, who is a captive among us, by bestowing upon him the wampum belt."
And almost beside himself, Chawanook tore the necklace in his hands
into a dozen fragments, and cast them from him.
The girl, her head erect, stood fearlessly looking at him.
"What if I love the Eagle?" she cried defiantly. "He is a great chief
among his own people; he is no nameless brave like Chawanook." And with
heaving breast and flashing eyes, she stood like some wild animal at
bay.
The warrior whirled on me quickly.
"Thou shalt not live to boast of this!" he cried. "Die, pale dog!" And
before I could turn my head, he had plucked from his belt a tomahawk,
and cast it full at my head.
The excited crowd had surged about me in their eagerness to see what
was going on, and even as he threw the weapon, an old woman had darted
in front of me to shake her fist in my face. It proved my salvation,
for as she sprang in front of me, the tomahawk crashed full into her
head, and she fell over against me, the weapon still quivering in her
skull.
In an instant I had plucked it from her, and with all my strength cast
it at Chawanook. The tomahawk sped onward and struck him with a dull
thud full in the face, braining him at a blow, and spattering blood
upon those who stood beside him. Throwing up his hands, he fell at full
length upon the ground. An instant thus I stood, with my hand raised as
I had thrown the tomahawk, and then from somewhere back in the crowd
there arose a voice, shrill and piercing:
"How long will the Cherokees bow their heads like squaws, while this
strange Eagle soars into their lodges, winning their loveliest maiden,
and strikes down with his talons their braves? The Cherokees are women
and should till the ground. The Tuscaroras shall make war for them."
A low growl of fury went up from the mob as it gazed upon the body of
the young warrior, as it lay before them. A brave leaped from among the
throng. "Come!" he cried. "The Cherokees will clip the Eagle's wings!"
and with a yell he sprang towards me.
The crowd stood still for a moment. They were as a magazine of powder,
and wanted but a spark to ignite. The fire had been applied, and with
a loud shout they streamed down in one wild mass of men and women upon
me. I struck down the first who neared me with my fists, but I had as
well attempt to catch the rain with my naked hand, as to break the fury
of the attack in such style as this.
A dozen had caught me by each arm; several braves had clambered upon my
back, and tugged and pulled to throw me from my feet. It was as though
I was in the hands of the giants themselves, for with a rush they threw
me to the ground, and bound me securely, hand and foot.
"What shall we do with the pale one?" they shouted.
A score of old women had rushed to where I lay, and shaking their fists
in my face, they taunted and jeered at me. Some of them had thongs of
deerskin with which they beat my helpless body, as I lay there bound
and tied, and I firmly believe they would have torn me to pieces in
their fury, had not the braves who guarded me interfered and driven
them away.
And now they cleared an open space of about ten square yards about me,
and two great braves, picking me up in their arms, carried me to the
middle of it, and dumped me upon the ground, after which they placed
a log of wood under my head. A great brawny warrior strode forward to
where I lay, a jagged club in his hands. Leaning upon his weapon, he
looked down at me.
"Does the heart of the Eagle faint within him?" he taunted.
I made no answer, for I thanked God that they were to end my suffering
quickly with one blow, and not by the fire and stake or the gauntlet.
The warrior still looked at me, with a fierce smile upon his face.
"Were it not that the Cherokees expect at any moment the return of the
chief Windango, who might save thee, we would put thee to the torture
and the stake. Our time is short, and thou mayest thank the Great
Spirit thy end will be quick and merciful."
And with that he raised the great club high above his head and as he
did so a lithe figure darted out from among the throng, and caught his
arm with a quick jerk as it descended. The weapon swerved to one side,
and fell harmlessly upon the ground near my head. It was Winona.
"Thou shalt not kill him!" she wailed. "Put a weapon in his hands and
let the Eagle face thee; then thou shalt know that he is a warrior."
With a growl of fury the Indian struggled to throw her aside, as,
with the strength of despair, she clung to his arm with the grip of a
bulldog.
"He shall die!" he answered fiercely. "Loose me, girl, or I will beat
out thy brains with my fist." And with a threatening scowl upon his
angry face, he raised his knotted fists.
"Loose him, Winona," I shouted to her. "Thou hast done thy best for me,
for which I thank thee. Thou canst do no more."
"No," she sobbed, "he shall not slay thee." And she fought and
struggled with the brave.
A dozen warriors now sprang to the rescue of their leader, and catching
the girl by main strength, they dragged her from the panting and
furious Indian. Holding her, weeping and struggling, they shouted for
him to strike. A second time he raised his club to strike, but the
girl, with superhuman effort, had wrenched herself loose from her
captors, and bounding forward, cast herself upon my body.
"If thou slayest him," she sobbed, "thou wilt slay Winona also. Now
strike, if thou darest."
Under ordinary conditions he would not have dared to slay the daughter
of the chief, but he was infuriated beyond control and beside himself
with rage.
"Then die!" he shouted, and with a fierce snarl he raised his club
again.
I closed my eyes and waited for the weapon to descend. I could not
think; my mind seemed only to whirl and throb in a chaos of broken
thought which I could not connect. I wondered dimly whether a rough
knot which I had seen upon one side of the gnarled stick would strike
Winona or myself; whether the Indian would strike once or twice;
whether Margaret would moan could she but know, and what she did at
that moment; whether her hair still shone with the old golden splendor
as of yore; whether her eyes were the same deep blue and her laugh as
clear and ringing as in the old days.
It seemed to me that I lay there an eternity, waiting for the blow, and
still it did not descend. Would it never come? "Strike!" I shouted.
"Wouldst thou wait forever?"
No sound answered me, and I opened my eyes and looked up. There, a
few paces from me, stood the would-be headsman, leaning upon his huge
bludgeon, a sulky, frightened look upon his dark face.
A voice, loud and angry, rang in my ears:
"And so this is how the Cherokees treat a stranger who feasts with
them, when Windango turns his back?"
Turning my head I saw the old chief, tomahawk in hand, standing fierce
and motionless behind me, as he looked down disdainfully at the throng
of savages, who had slunk away as a whipped dog will from his master.
"Speak!" he continued. "Have the Cherokees naught to say for
themselves?"
A chorus of voices arose. "The Eagle had struck down Chawanook. Winona
had given to the pale one the blue wampum belt. Could the Cherokees
stand by and see such deeds as this? Then, when they would have slain
the Eagle, Winona caught Mountawk's hand, and finally threw herself
upon the Eagle, to protect his life at the risk of her own." And they
pointed to the girl, who, pale beneath her dusky skin, had arisen and
stood with bent head near the old chief.
Windango with a wave of his hand silenced them.
"Leave the girl to me," he said hoarsely. "I am a man, and can deal
with my own lodge. Begone!"
"And what of the Eagle?" cried one, bolder than the rest. "Shall he not
die?"
"Is not Windango a chief?" replied the old brave. "Cannot he deal with
the pale one? Out of my sight, or I shall slay some of you in my rage."
A moment thus the dark throng stood, undecided. They were as some
fierce wild beast, who, as he is about to feast upon his bleeding
quarry, is driven from it by another stronger than himself. But the
habit of obedience was strong within them. Even as they wavered, the
chief put his fingers to his lips, and gave a long, quivering cry.
An answer floated back from the trees, and the dark forms of the old
warriors could be seen, as, weapons in hand, they hurried to the
assistance of their leader.
Some twenty or thirty war-worn veterans had already pushed their way
through the crowd and stood grouped around him, ready at a word to let
fly their tomahawks, and as many more were hurrying to him. The whole
village could muster no more than one hundred braves, and of these
fully one-half would stand by Windango. They were the older and more
experienced men, and the other braves would be as chaff before them.
The dark throng broke, and scattered into a hundred fragments.