A MERITED FATE.
The amazement of Ned Clinton was no greater than that of Captain Bagley
and the Indians over the sudden death of Worrell. For one moment the
comrades of the deceased stood transfixed, staring at the inanimate form
stretched on the ground before them. Then the Iroquois gave out their
war whoop, and sprang to the cover of the nearest undergrowth. This
brought them much nearer the youth than was pleasant. The thought struck
him that these warriors would believe the one who fired the fatal shot
was near by, and begin a search which must result in revealing Clinton
himself. The precautionary action of the redmen served to recall Captain
Bagley to his own situation, and he raised his gaze from the prostrate
figure, and looked affrightedly around him.
"It was that Mohawk who fired that shot!" he exclaimed, making a hurried
rush for the same cover that was sheltering the half dozen Iroquois.
As fate would have it, he crouched down in the undergrowth so close to
Ned Clinton that the latter believed discovery was inevitable. He was
well hidden, however, and flattened out until it seemed he must force
himself into the ground, while he feared if the Tory escaped seeing him,
he would learn of his presence from the throbbing of his heart. But
there was one thing in favor of the youth. The shot--by whomsoever
fired--had come from exactly the opposite direction, a fact which was
perceptible to the Iroquois themselves even if unnoticed by the young
man at the time.
Perfect stillness succeeded the report, and when some ten minutes
passed, the warriors appeared to suspect their inaction would permit the
daring Mohawk to escape, when there was a chance to secure his scalp. At
the end of the time mentioned, Ned, from his concealment, caught a
glimpse of two warriors stealing along the edge of the open space. Their
backs were toward him, thus showing they were pursuing an opposite
direction in quest of the one who had slain their leader. Shortly after
he detected others, and last of all went Captain Bagley himself, he
having changed from a leader to a follower. Thus in a brief time Ned
found himself alone, with no one in sight excepting the inanimate form,
now stark and stiff, telling its impressive story of a miscreant cut
down in the middle of his wicked career.
"I wonder whether it was Lena-Wingo who did that," mused the youth,
raising his head and peering through the undergrowth at the form.
"Captain Bagley believed so, and I guess he was right, for I can't think
of any one else who would do it."
After what had taken place, Ned was in doubt as to what his own course
should be. From the conversation which he overheard between Worrell and
Bagley, he knew that none of the survivors was aware of the location of
the cavern, so that the fugitives might stay within it in safety. The
youth concluded he had seen enough to carry back to his friends. He,
therefore, cautiously retreated from the hiding-place, not wishing to
encounter any of the Indians, who could be at no great distance, and
desirous, too, of avoiding another sight of the dead man. It took but a
short time to reach the tree, where he had first seen the one who had
attempted to betray them, and who had come near succeeding, too, in the
effort.
"I don't know that anything is to be gained by staying here, and I will
go back to where I left Jo and Rosa, and tell them they may take refuge
in the cavern without any danger or disturb--"
At that instant he heard a stealthy movement behind him, and he was in
dread of a collision with some of the Iroquois, who seemed to be almost
everywhere in the forest and on the mountain. As he wheeled about, there
was the redman, painted and with gun in his grasp; but it was the redman
whom, of all others, he was anxious to see, being no other than
Lena-Wingo, the scout.
"Thank the Lord!" was the fervent exclamation of the youth, as he rushed
toward the Mohawk and caught his hand. "Where have you been so long?"
Lena-Wingo took the proffered hand and shook it warmly, for he held the
youth in the highest estimation, as he had shown on more than one
occasion. At the same time, he put on his usual broad grin, and replied,
in his broken way:
"Lena-Wingo been watching you. Seen you hide in bushes when Iroquois
come, and he watch."
"That was you, then, who picked off Worrell?"
"Who Worrell?" demanded the Mohawk, sharply.
"Why, that chap that was shot while talking to Captain Bagley."
"His name not Worrell," said Lena-Wingo. "He Dick Evans."
"No!" gasped Ned, in return.
"That he--Lena-Wingo look good while for him--found him--shoot
him--won't kill any more women and babies."
And who was Dick Evans, that the mention of his name should cause so
much emotion on the part of those who heard it pronounced? He was one of
the most infamous wretches produced by the Revolutionary war. He had
been heard of in Wyoming valley for years before the invasion of the
Tories and Indians, and was looked upon as an outlaw who was compelled
to live in the woods to escape the penalty of his innumerable crimes
against civilization. There was no deed too dark for him to perpetrate.
When the Revolution broke out he turned against the land that gave him
birth, and committed atrocities that no other Tory or Indian had
exceeded. It was well known that he had slain women and children in more
than one instance, and when he held the power no one expected mercy at
his hands. He was one of the most wicked of beings and more than
deserved the death which came to him with the bullet aimed and fired by
the Mohawk.
The latter had declared to more than one person that he would shoot him
like a dog at the first opportunity. With the defiant nature of his
race, he sent the man himself word by a Seneca Indian that he was
looking for him, and intended to keep it up until able to draw a bead on
him. Evans sent word back in reply, that he was also looking for the
Mohawk, and dared him to shoot him if he could. The only palliating
characteristic of the despicable wretch was his bravery, and he really
did do his utmost to gain a shot at the Indian who had threatened him.
But he engaged in a game in which his antagonist was his superior, and
had paid the penalty.
The body was left where it fell, for another of the peculiarities of
Lena-Wingo was that, for a number of years, he had refused to take the
scalp of his fallen foe. At the time the Mohawk shot Evans, he suspected
he was leading the party in search of the fugitives in the mountain; but
the scout was so far removed from the two men while they were talking,
that he failed to gain the import of their words. He therefore knew
nothing of the scheme which had been so skillfully laid for entrapping
the three whites. When Ned came to tell him the story, the Indian was
astonished. He had not dreamt of any such thing, for he supposed that
his friends would await him where he told them to stay and not suffer
themselves to be persuaded to disobey him. He showed that he was
displeased, but he said little, and the feeling was not deep. Ned
Clinton generously assumed all the blame himself, and, like the
lightning-rod, it did not take him long to draw the lightning from the
wrathful cloud, so that all became serene again.