BOUND TO THE STAKE.
Snarling with the intense ferocity of some wild beast, Abel Dare fell
upon the renegade, burying his fingers deep in the flesh of his throat,
shaking, worrying him much as a terrier handles a rat. Had he a weapon,
however small, the career of the White Wolf would have ended then and
there, for, though a strong man, the maddened lover handled him like a
child. Already his tongue protruded, his face blackened.
But then an Osage warrior recovered from the surprise sufficiently to
administer a sharp tap upon the back of Abel Dare's head that felled
him senseless upon Grable.
Grable staggered to his feet, gasping, rubbing his livid throat, his
tongue and eyes gradually assuming their usual position and appearance.
Speechless, he made signs that Abel should be firmly pinioned. Edith
crept to the side of her lover, as though to shield him from injury
with her own person. Cursing bitterly, Seth Grable tore her away.
Grable, having regained his voice, was frightfully enraged. He showered
curses the most horrible upon the helpless settler, spitting in his
face, buffeting, kicking him unmercifully. A whitish froth tinged his
lips--he seemed a madman.
At length he turned and uttered a few hasty words to his followers,
and a yell of fiendish delight greeted the speech, as the warriors
glided away to execute the order. Grable again crouched down beside the
captive, a devilish grin upon his face, as the words parted his lips:
"You heerd me tell the Injuns? But mebbe you don't understand the
lingo. Wal, I told 'em to git a lot o' wood an' pile it up down thar
at the foot o' the path. Goin' to hev a barbecue--d' y' know what thet
means?" and the brute laughed diabolically.
Abel made no reply. He did understand the renegade's meaning,
perfectly. He knew that he was doomed to perish horribly at the
fire-stake. Though a sickening chill crept over his frame at the
thought, he gave no outward sign that the words had made any impression
upon him.
Grable eyed him steadily for a moment, then turned hastily away, as
though afraid to trust his passions. He hated this man so intensely
that a single blow, though it carried death with it, would not satisfy
his revenge. Afraid to tempt himself, he strode hastily to the cave
opening.
"Abel--Abel Dare," faintly uttered a low, quavering voice.
"Edith--thank God! I feared you were dead!"
"No--better that I was, perhaps. But you, oh! Abel, why did you act so
rashly, when you were once safely beyond the reach of these demons?"
and Edith groaned.
"I saw him raise his coward hand and strike you--I saw you fall as
though dead, and it made a madman of me. I thought only of avenging
your murder, and--"
"So got caught yourself--'zactly so, my children," added the harsh
voice of Grable, as he advanced and seized Abel by the collar. "But
you've talked a-plenty fer now. Don't be impatient, little 'un; I'll
come fer you in a minnit."
He dragged the captive over the ground toward the outer rim of the
camp, which was in the rocky hollow from which the passage started.
Near this outer boundary of the spot was a deep rift or pit in which
to fall was to go to doom. Gaining the ledge, Grable lifted Dare upon
his feet, pointing one hand down to the plain below. The Indians were
hastily gathering fuel from among the rocks to the left, where it had
fallen down the cliff from the trees above. A considerable pile was
already collected.
"More'n enough to roast _you_ to a turn, anyhow," chuckled Grable. "I
put it down thar so the smell won't bother my new squaw in thar. We'll
set here, looking at ye. So screw up your courage--'member a woman 'll
be lookin' on."
Abel bit his lips hard, and threw all the strength of his frame into
one effort to burst his bonds; but in vain. The stout skin did not
betray its trust.
"No use, man--not a bit. You're booked fer--"
Why did Seth Grable pause so suddenly and turn his eyes down upon the
plain? Why did the savages drop their loads of wood and dash toward the
trail leading upward to the cavern? Why did Abel Dare utter such an
exultant cry?
Because the quick, heavy thud of horses' hoofs beating the turf in full
gallop, came to their ears. Because a body of horsemen, nearly one
score strong, burst into view around the spur of the mound, charging
with a hoarse cheer--their rifles and pistols playing rapidly upon the
fleeing forms of the surprised savages, who had left their weapons
within the cavern, laying out a full dozen of the dusky warriors,
writhing in death-agony, or lying motionless as they fell, their blood
staining the white shingle.
At their head rode one--tall, muscular, his face and long gray hair
stained with black swamp mud; yet through this disguise Abel Dare
recognized the Wood King, Daniel Boone! Loud and clear, above the
tumult, he cried:
"Help! for the love o' God! Edith Mordaunt is held captive up in
this--" But then his speech was abruptly checked as Grable hurled him
heavily to the rocky ledge, at the same moment sinking out of sight
himself.
But the words were heard and understood. The captive settler had been
seen and recognized. And with a simultaneous yell, the borderers sprung
forward, abandoning their horses, treading hard upon the heels of the
fleeing red-skins as they scrambled up the narrow trail.
Cursing horribly, Grable dragged Dare into the passage along with
Edith; then seizing an armful of weapons, both muskets and bows and
arrows, he darted back to the ledge, just as the foremost Osage gained
it. A few hasty words--then the White Wolf leveled a musket, and fired
at the leading pale-face. A deep groan--then the slain man fell back
upon his comrades, momentarily checking their advance. Thus encouraged,
the Indians followed the example set them, and rained arrows and
bullets down upon the foe. Without means to return the compliment, the
settlers consulted prudence and hastily retreated, seizing their rifles
and seeking cover behind the bowlders, while the savages yelled loudly
in triumph. And above all rung the taunting laugh of the renegade.
The Osages seemed intoxicated with their victory. At that moment one
word from the White Wolf would have sent them headlong down the hill,
charging upon the pale-faces. But Grable did not utter the word--nor
did he even think of it. Besides being a rascal, he was a coward.
However, their dance was abruptly terminated, as a single report came
from below, and a savage dropped to the ledge, shot through the brain.
The next moment not a living soul was to be seen.
Five minutes later a strong voice from the plain called out:
"Hellow, you fellers up thar! kin any o' you talk white man's lingo? 'F
so, step out an' show yourself."
"Thet you may hev the fun o' takin' a crack at me, eh, Jim Fosdick?"
returned Grable from the ledge.
"No--honest Injun. We want to see 'f we can't come to some sort o'
tarms. Show up--we won't tetch ye."
"Wait a minit, an' I will."
Grable hastened to where the two captives lay bound, and stooping
raised Edith in his arms. An angry cry broke from Abel's lips, and he
strove desperately to break free, but in vain. The next moment Seth
Grable stood upon the ledge, holding the maiden before him in such a
manner as to perfectly shield his body; and laughing, he demanded:
"Now what ye want? Here I be--talk quick, though."
"What'll ye give for us to let ye go free?" asked Fosdick.
"_You_ let _us_ go free? Why, ye pesky fool, we're two to one now. You
cain't keep us here one minnit, 'f so be we want to git away," sneered
Grable.
"Lyin's cheap, or you'd starved to death long ago. But never mind thet
now. The matter's jist this. You're up thar, we're down here. Yon
cain't come down unless we say so. We've got nineteen rifles--sixteen
men to han'le 'em, sence you rubbed out three. We kin pick ye off one
by one as fast as ye putt fut over the edge. An' it's either that or
starvin'. They ain't much game up thar, I don't reckon. Then you'll
sca'cely drown'd yourself, 'ca'se water's too sca'ce. Thar it is in a
bullet-mold. How d' y' like it?"
"Even s'posin' it was all true--which it ain't by a durned sight, mind
ye--it'll be nice fun to think thet while you was starvin' _us_, you
was doin' the same to your fri'nds; to this gal an' Abel Dare."
"It wouldn't be very scrumtious, I know," coolly returned Fosdick, "but
then, sich is life. 'F you fellers hold out, bein' durned contrairy
fools, why then they's got to suffer, thet's all. But I said tarms, a
bit ago. We want to give ye a chaince. Send down the boy an' gal, safe
an' sound, an' we'll 'low ye till mornin' to git to a safe spot. Mind
ye, 'tain't 'ca'se we love ye any, but we don't want to hurt the boy
an' gal, if so be we kin help it."
"S'pose I say I won't do it?" sullenly replied Grable.
"Then we'll do one of two things," abruptly cried the Wood King. "We'll
either take you by storm, or lie here until we starve you out. Now
decide, quick!"
"I must talk 'th my braves fust," and Grable stepped beyond view of
those below, his face corrugated.
The consultation was long and animated. Edith listened to their words,
though not comprehending the harsh dialect, and closely watched the
expression of each speaker. Her heart sunk deeply as the braves
followed each other. A new hope, faint though it was, had sprung up in
her bosom at the settlers' demand, but now it was destroyed. She knew
that the savages had refused to accept the terms offered them.
"Ye see, pet, ye're mine, beyond all hope," laughed the White Wolf, as
he again raised Edith before him.
"I'd rather die then--"
"It's like you _will_; but then you've got to be mine _fust_. You
cain't overjump _thet_ nohow." Then adding, in a raised voice: "Hellow,
you fellers! down thar!--our answer is, jest do your level durnedest.
But, mark my words. The very fust lick you strike at us, 'll be the
death o' these captives. We've got a big fire a-burnin' in thar. We'll
jest rake it out here, tie the boy an' gal together an' pitch 'em on
the coals an' let 'em sizzle right afore your eyes. Mind ye, now, I'm
talkin' right from the book--it's swore to."
"This is your last answer, then?" sternly demanded Boone.
"With a few words more, yas. You jist take your critters an' ride
straight away east until you git to the fur-hill whar the two trees
grows side by side. You 'light thar. A'ter thet you kin do jist as you
please. Come back a'ter us, if so be you think best. We'll be out thar
in the open, then."
"And if we refuse?"
"Jest what I told ye afore. Strike one lick, and you kill your fri'nds.
We've got the deadwood on ye thar!"
"Give _us_ ten minutes to think it over," added Boone.
Grable granted the request, and then returned with Edith to where Abel
Dare lay. Here he began taunting the young man with all the ingenuity
of a foul-mouthed rascal, until called hastily away by a shout from the
savages without. Rushing to the entrance, he found his braves greatly
excited. In a moment he learned the truth. The settlers were about to
attack them, despite his sanguinary threats.
Spreading out, holding their rifles primed and cocked, in readiness for
an instantaneous shot, the settlers were approaching the sloping trail.
A few yards from its base six of them halted, their weapons covering
the ledge. Two men glided up to each of the six, laying their rifles
at their feet, then making a rush for the mound. These last had their
knives and all the pistols belonging to the party. The other six were
to protect them while clambering up.
Several Indians rushed to where a good-sized bowlder lay, rolling it
to the edge. Two rifles cracked--two Osages dropped, shot through the
brain, having carelessly exposed their persons. The scaling party
shouted exultantly. Those who had fired dropped the empty weapons and
seized fresh ones, once more covering the ledge.
A savage drops flat upon his face, then pushes the bowlder forward by
main strength. It rests upon the edge--another effort, and it topples
over. A cry comes from the foremost man, now nearly at the top of the
trail.
It is Boone. The next behind him is Jim Fosdick. The latter bows his
head to the rock, clutching the sides of the hollow path. The feet of
Boone rests upon his broad shoulders. His open hands are flung up and
meet the bowlder. A moment of horrible suspense. If his muscles were
unequal to the task, their fate was sealed.
A desperate effort that causes the whole human line to quiver and
shake--then the bowlder is turned aside and goes thundering down the
mound, dashing far out upon plain, its jagged points stained only with
blood from the palms of the Wood King. Loud yell those below--the
Osages howl with baffled fury.
The White Wolf shouts a few words, then rushes into the cavern. The
Osages clutch their weapons and spring forward. The rifles of the
marksmen below speak rapidly, each bullet sounding a death-knell. A
savage kneels down and aims a vicious blow at the Wood King with a
hatchet. His arm raises--a pistol flashes--the Indian falls forward,
his skull shattered to atoms, his hot blood besprinkling Boone's face.
A yell, horrible and unearthly, comes echoing from the passage into
the hills behind them. Then a wild, maniacal laugh. Instinctively the
combatants pause, wondering, awe-stricken.
Two Osages dart into the darkness; they are sworn friends to the
White Wolf. They fear he has met harm. That thought conquers their
superstition, redoubles their courage.
Passing the fire, they pause. Where the captives laid, there is only
one body now--that of a man. They reach its side, stoop over it--start
back in horror. It is the gory form of the White Wolf!
And from out the gloom beyond comes the horrible laughter.