WHITHER EDITH WENT.
The average American Indian is not a charming object. Treacherous,
bloodthirsty, cunning, he seems to need but the opportunity to show
himself a monster. Much may be said in extenuation; but, there will
still remain behind the hard array of facts. Was the author writing for
Cheyenne, Crow, Blackfoot, Comanche or Apache readers, perhaps he might
say the same of the white man, and the statement, on their limited
personal knowledge, be readily accepted. In the one case it is to be
hoped that the exceptions are in reality the rule, while in the other
we fear they prove it.
Edith Van Payne was well acquainted with the general character of the
dusky people into whose hands she had fallen. When War Hawk and his
daring followers had swooped down upon her, she had, at the first
shock, uttered a scream for help. In imagined security it was most
sternly startling to feel herself caught up and borne off like the
rush of the wind. The crack of a rifle, fired, she doubted not, by
one of Martin's men, recalled her, in some measure, to herself. Yet,
as she hung across the neck of the warrior's steed, and felt the
firm grip of his powerful hand, she might well lapse into a state of
semi-unconsciousness. When, at length, she again became fully awake to
her position, a long distance had been placed between her and her late
home.
When Edith found herself able to catch a confused glimpse of her
abductor, she thought she recognized his face. That thought gave her
some comfort at least, since it brought her a sense of relief from any
present positive danger.
The relations between Martin and the red-skins who surrounded him
had been heretofore those of peace. By a rare piece of good luck, at
the outset, and afterward by judicious management, he had so secured
their apparent good-will that he had been led to look upon them rather
as allies. With some of them he had carried on considerable traffic
in pelts and robes, and they came often to his ranche. Edith, with a
woman's curiosity, had scanned them narrowly, and the most of them had
accepted the gaze of her flashing eye in an unconcerned manner. In one
or two she detected answering glances of admiration that rather amused
her.
In the Indian who was now bearing her away she believed she recognized
War Hawk, one of those she had classed as her admirers.
By the time that War Hawk had joined the small party that was awaiting
him, Edith had settled in her mind the course which she intended to
pursue. Holding herself in constant readiness to accept any opportunity
to escape, she would keep up a bold front. She would not waste her
strength in vain endeavors, but in the hour of action be brave and
resolute.
War Hawk marked the phases of returning consciousness, bewilderment,
doubt and final determination. Though he could not fully understand,
he could appreciate much of the mental force which faced, in calmness,
such a situation. A thrill of pride ran through him at the thought,
that he had not been mistaken in the stuff of which his captive was
made.
"The White Bird need not fear. War Hawk would not harm. He hopes she
will some day neither fear nor wish to fly. She must not flutter now.
There is danger to both, and he will not die alone."
"For myself I fear not. I am in no present haste to flutter nor fly. I
remember you, sir; I know you. The years that you have passed among the
whites--for I know your story--should have taught you better. And you
will have to account for this, to not only the white people, but your
own tribe. Be sure that both will be ready to bring you to a reckoning."
"War Hawk has a heart to feel, and also is brave to dare. Now be still.
Shall he trust you to ride?"
It was during the momentary halt that this conversation took place.
She, seeing nothing to be gained by refusing, answered by an
affirmative motion of the head. In a moment she was transferred to the
back of a mustang, and all the preparations for blinding the trail
having already been made before she was fairly settled to a seat, both
parties had moved off. Unlearned as she was in wood and prairie-craft,
she had no difficulty in perceiving that an effort was being made to
deceive those who might follow after. From the smallness of the number
of men engaged in the affair, she did not doubt but that more than
ever, the red-skins intended to employ stratagem in preference to
force in their retreat. They knew, as well as did Edith, that, as the
trapping season was just about to open, there was an unusually large
number of hunters at Back Load Ranche. Doubtless, also, they believed
that pursuit would be immediately made.
For a time the pace was moderate. So slow did they seem to be
progressing, that Edith had hopes for a time of hearing the footsteps
of Martin and his men thundering on in their wake. She did not believe
War Hawk would execute his dark threat, even though she was aware that
prisoners had been killed to prevent their rescue or escape.
This slow rate of progress did not long continue. Again they were
hastening on, all attempts at concealment of their route being thrown
aside. They swept across the prairie for hours. The moon sunk in the
west, the night grew darker around them, but with untiring energy they
dashed on.
There is no need to chronicle in detail the history of the flight.
The night passed; the day broke, and still they pressed ahead. No
living human being crossed their path. There were no certain signs of
pursuit. Once, from the actions of the Indians, Edith had her attention
specially turned backward. She thought she caught, through the
marvelously clear prairie atmosphere, a glimpse of three dark objects
miles away. It might be a little clump of horsemen--more likely a herd
of antelope or elk.
They rode in silence. Neither the captive nor the captors felt much
disposition to converse. A feeling of suspense and uncertainty was
brooding in the minds of both. Edith, even, began to look forward with
a dim yearning for the time to halt to arrive. Weariness began to
oppress her, sleep to try at her eyelids.
At length they left the prairie; crossing a shallow stream, they went
up its bank for some distance; then, turning away from it, and picking
their way for perhaps half a mile over uneven and stony ground, they
entered a defile which, under the name of Straight Cañon, led through
the rocky range before them. In its gloomy recesses the spirits of
Edith sunk again. She would have prayed for a halt, had she not been
so unwilling to show weakness. Perhaps it was purely pride--perhaps it
was from good judgment. Physically so frail-looking she had the will
to brave fatigue. Had she allowed herself to falter at all, the result
would have been utter prostration.
War Hawk seemed at length to have an idea that he was, perhaps, tasking
his captive beyond her powers of endurance. More than once he scanned
her features narrowly. Her naturally pale cheek seemed to be no paler;
there was no tremor in her hands; her eyes blazed as brightly as ever.
"If the White Bird is worn out, let her ask and she shall stop. There
is no danger. She can rest. But a little further on, we come to a long
halt."
Without hesitation she responded:
"I am tired, but can go further."
Straight Cañon was threaded, and a narrow valley lay before them.
Beyond another range loomed up darkly.
Crossing the valley they began to ascend a gentle slope. They had not
gone far when at some little distance she heard a signal which was
immediately answered by one of the Indians beside her. A few moments
more, and the halting-place was reached.
Rude as were the accommodations, it was with a feeling of unutterable
relief that Edith Van Payne rested her wearied limbs in her little
prison-hut. She had scarce noticed the two or three lodges that were
scattered around.
How long a halt would be made there she scarce thought it worth while
to ask. The by no means unsavory viands that were brought her she put
aside for the time almost untasted, only too glad to be at rest and
alone.