MARKLEY.
Another scene opens, upon the same afternoon, in the wide-spread
forest, some miles from the cabin of the Hinton family. Around the rude
but strong cabin of a settler, several acres of the primitive forest
had been felled, allowing the full sunlight to kiss the dark-brown
cheek of the sleeping earth. Wild fields were there, into which the
seed already had been placed, to germinate and fructify during the
coming season.
Upon the borders of this clearing stood a young man, busily engaged
in felling one of the forest monarchs. Although not above the medium
height, his broad chest and muscular development proclaimed him a true
son of the border. The heavy axe he wielded rose and fell with regular
strokes, sending showers of chips flying merrily through the air.
Already the work was half done, and, resting his axe upon the ground,
Charles Markley threw his bearskin cap beside it; then, drawing a worn
handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the beaded sweat which stood in
great drops upon his brow. Throwing the handkerchief upon the cap, the
youth changed his position, and opened another shower of blows, which
rung merrily through the old wood.
At length the giant trembled beneath the steady strokes; then wavered
and toppled for a moment, as if in uncertainty. Once, twice, thrice
the axe was planted heavily, and, with a steady sweep, like that of a
rushing cloud, the old oak thundered to the ground.
The young man regarded his work for a moment in a satisfied manner,
then glanced at the sinking sun—picked up the neglected cap, and seated
himself upon the large trunk. For some moments he remained in a reverie.
“I’d like to see Emily,” he mused, “but I think I’d better not go over
to-night. ’Tis just a year to-day since her poor mother died, and it
must be a sad recurrence to them. Poor Emily; it was a terribly hard
blow to her, and the sorrow it caused is not all effaced yet. But she
will soon be my wife; then, I feel sure she will forget those old
sorrows in her new joys.”
Rising from his seat, the young man gazed about him for a moment; then,
throwing his axe upon one shoulder, he turned toward the cabin which
stood in the centre of the clearing.
The scene within the cabin, an hour later, was pleasant, and
characteristic of the settler’s surroundings. The evening meal was
over, the duties of the different parties had been duly attended to,
and, while a ruddy fire glowed upon the hearth, a delicious feeling of
comfort spread itself around. The four persons composing the household
sat in a group around the fireside. There was the father—a sturdy,
deep-chested backwoodsman; the mother—a pleasant woman of forty-five,
and the two vigorous athletes, whom the father invariably designated as
“the boys!” Such was the group.
Philip Markley was a man of fifty winters; and, though time showed its
marks upon his brow, he was still hale and vigorous. Hester Markley,
the mother, was a whole-souled Christian, a good wife, and an exemplary
parent. Around her household no shadow ever was allowed to fall, which
a cheerful face or pleasant words could drive away. Alfred, the younger
of the brothers, was now twenty-two years of age—frank, handsome,
and manly; possessing a great deal of fire and energy, though well
tempered with discretion. He was somewhat taller than Charles, erect
and finely-formed, with an eye like that of an eagle, and a strong arm
to execute the promptings of his brave heart.
Philip and his younger son sat beside the wide chimney, sending huge
clouds of tobacco-smoke up the dark passage. After the pipes were
exhausted, each sat for some time in silence; then the father rose, and
took his rifle from the peg upon which it hung.
“Upon my word!” he exclaimed, ruefully, as he turned the weapon in his
hand, “I had no idea my poor gun was so badly neglected. I haven’t
burned a charge of powder in it since last fall. I don’t take the
pleasure with a rifle that I used to. Game is plenty enough, but my
eyes are not as clear, or my hand as steady as it once was.”
Lifting down the small box which contained the many belongings to the
weapon, he set himself to the work of rejuvenating its appearance.
Alfred now watched the movements of his father for a short time, then
arose, and taking his own piece, proceeded to a minute inspection of
condition.
“What is the matter?” laughed Charles, laying down the well-known
volume which had been engrossing his attention. “One would think you
expected an attack from Indians. But, I may as well join the circle.”
Reaching for his own rifle, the young man set about the task. With
rifle-cleaning, bullet-molding, and conversation, the evening passed
quickly away. Then arms and ammunition all in order—though little
dreaming of the fearful use for which it would be required—the family
at length retired.
Profound slumber was upon the inmates of the cabin, and their pleasant
breathing fell in regular cadence upon the still night air. No thought
of danger was there to disturb the quiet serenity. Midnight was at
hand—all was hushed.
Suddenly there sounded without a springing footstep, and a heavy blow
upon the door, repeated, as if given by the stock of a rifle. The
four sleepers heard the noise, but could not readily determine from
whence it sprung. Again came the summons, and, as the sound died away,
a strong voice called aloud for the sleepers to awake. In a moment
the four persons were astir, and hastily preparing themselves for any
emergency. Again the same summons, calling upon them to hasten, as they
valued life.
“Coming—wait a moment,” exclaimed the father, half impatiently, half
wonderingly.
“Hurry—hurry! minutes are years, now,” responded the voice. “If ye care
for yer scalps, be speedy.”
Philip Markley had produced a light by this time, and, satisfying
himself that but one person was at the door, hastily unbarred it.
Surely he knew that tall form, with that jet hair and sparkling
eyes. Four years had passed since they met, yet the recognition was
instantaneous.
“David Barring!—Scouting Davy!” were the exclamations which greeted the
new-comer, as he crossed the threshold.
“Stop!” he exclaimed, authoritatively; “it’s me, an’ I’m all right yet;
but ye must hurry if ye want to save yer hair. The Injins are upon us!”
“INDIANS!”
Three horrified voices repeated that fearful word. Charles Markley felt
too deeply for words. At the first mention of that—to him—horrible
word, his thoughts ran back to the little cabin which contained Emily
Hinton, and a feeling of dismay fell upon him. A host of questions were
being showered upon the scout, but he raised his hand, and all paused
before his voice sounded.
“Stop, don’t interrupt me; there’s no time to lose,” he vociferated.
“Several hundred Injins have crossed the river, and are on their way
to murder and destroy. They are sworn to gain possession of all this
State. It’s pretty sure they’ll have things their own way for a time.
You have horses?”
A silent assent.
“Then you, Mr. Markley, and Alf, jist put in yer best licks, and
harness up. And mind—not a minute is ter lose.”
“Can we fight them till assistance arrives?” asked Mr. Markley.
The scout shook his head.
“If fight war’ possible, Davy is the last one what would say ‘run.’ But
it isn’t. In half-an-hour at most, hundreds of ’em will be here, with
old Black Hawk and that devil’s own pup, Wild Bill Ashbey, at their
head. There’s nothin’ in this part to stop ’em, so jist hurry. And you,
Miss Markley, jist scratch up yer choicest things, and what ye’ve got
in the house that’ll do to eat.”
In a moment the three persons were busy at their appointed tasks, for
they felt the leading mind of the scout—knowing that when he directed,
they had but to perform. Charles had pressed near the scout, but, as
yet, he found no opportunity to speak. Now, the scout placed a hand
upon the shoulder of the young man, and drew him apace nearer himself.
“Young man,” he said, “I’ve somethin’ to tell ye.”
The fear which the young man had felt now deepened. His face grew
fearfully pallid, and his voice trembled.
“Is it of—of Emily you would speak?” he gasped.
“Well, you’re right. An’ now, unless you’re the gritty chap you should
be, you can never see her again.”
“Good Heaven! she is not—not—”
“She’s safe in body, young man; but let me tell ye all. The first thing
the Injins did was to burn out the Hintons. They set fire to the cabin,
an’ when the poor men rushed out, shot ’em down like dogs. Emily was
saved, an’ is a prisoner now.”
“My Emily a prisoner among the Indians! Oh, God!”
“She’s among them, but not in their power. Wild Bill, that most ornery
villain, has her in his own power, and sent her off under a lot of his
imps to his nest, over there.”
“Bill Ashbey? Impossible! Do you speak truly?”
The manner of Charles was excited, and he grasped the scout by the arm
with a force which would have caused most men to writhe with pain.
“True? Of course I do, young man. But it’s better than if the Injins
had her, for then she’d be tortured to death, sartin. Now, if you ain’t
afraid of a few bullets, an’ hev no particular objection to knockin’
the brains out o’ two or three of ’em, why, your Emily can be yours
still. I’ll go with ye, and help to git her back.”
“Oh, will you? Shall we then thwart them, and rescue Emily?”
“Nothin’ surer. As soon as I see yer father and mother on the way to
safety, I’m off on the trail.”
“I am with you, my friend, to the end. May Heaven reward you for your
noble efforts.”
“Don’t want any reward of that kind. If I can help to git back an angel
like Emily, that’s enough.”
“She is an angel, David, you may well say that,” remarked the youth,
impulsively. “But why may we not away at once?”
“No occasion for a hurry,” coolly replied the scout. “We must stay
an’ see the old folks on their way, for they will have hot work, most
likely. Then we will take the trail.”
“Then you are quite sure Mr. Hinton and George were both killed?” asked
Charles, with a tear in his eye.
“Yes,” the scout returned. “They were both killed. I fixed a couple
o’ the reds, one of ’em a chief at that, but I couldn’t save the poor
men. However, it’s time we were movin’, so jist collect the rifles and
traps, then hurry the rest up. I’ll go an’ see if there’s any signs o’
Injins.”
As David spoke he passed through the door, and was quickly in the
depths of the forest. Philip and his son had not lost a moment, and
soon the span of noble bays were attached to the strong wagon, and
driven around to the door. Even then the red light from the burning
cabin of the Hintons could be seen glaring above the tree-tops. Charles
was just driving home the bullet in the rifle, and the little stock of
articles which had been selected was soon placed on the vehicle.
At that moment a shadowy form appeared crossing the fields, but it was
soon apparent that it was none other than the scout.
“Into the wagon, quick!” he exclaimed, as he drew near. “The red-skins
are comin’.”
The persons in waiting needed no second bidding, but hastily scrambled
into the vehicle. With a bound, like that of a panther, the scout
followed them.
“Are yer shootin’-irons all right?” he asked, hurriedly.
An answer was given in the affirmative.
“Then drive ahead, for the cut-throats are close to us,” he commanded.
The horses sprung lightly forward under the direction of Alfred, who
held the reins.