NICK ON A TRAIL.
Nick Robbins jumped back as if stung by an adder. Had a thunderbolt rent
the cloudless sky above him, he would scarcely have been taken more by
surprise than he was by the conclusion of the renegade’s last remark.
While listening to the conversation we have recorded, though certain the
chief was not an Indian, he had not once suspected that he was lying so
near that notorious traitor, who, in the last few years, had become the
terror of white settlers all through Kentucky and Ohio. _Simon Girty!_
That name, coupled as it is with some of the most atrocious deeds that
ever darken the pages of history, was, at that time, as familiar as
household words to every ear on the border. And the hunter, as he thought
of it, recalled the incident, as he had often heard it, connected with
this man’s desertion of his race. How General Adrian Lewis had employed
Girty as a scout for his army, which was then stationed at Point
Pleasant—how the cruel General had beaten him so unmercifully with his
cane, because this brave and valuable scout had dared to ask pay for his
services—how the latter had fled with a fearful vow of vengeance—and how
terribly that vow was fulfilled.
All this flashed through the mind of the eavesdropper, as that well-known
name struck upon his ear. But, quickly recovering from his surprise, he
leaned forward again and continued his listening, now with increased
interest.
“Good!” cried McCabe. “I am glad you enter into my scheme so willingly.
You are a first-rate friend.”
Simon Girty sneered.
“Pooh! pooh! man, you don’t understand me. I doubt if I could induce
myself to do this thing if you were the only one to be benefited by the
massacre, although I will try to secure that girl and place her in your
arms alive. Pshaw! I am not what I used to be. I would not enter so
willingly in your little scheme if it did not possess the attraction of
blood! Ha! ha! I’m an Indian now, and it is pastime to lift the scalps
of the detested pale-faces. Ah, McCabe, experience has taught me that
revenge is sweet, sweet, sweet! Depend upon it, I will see that every
mother’s son of the white-livered devils becomes food for the buzzards
before another dawn. But to help me to bring this about, you must do your
duty by causing them to linger on the island a sufficient length of time
after dark, and you will do well to put them off their guard at the same
time, if you can.”
“Trust me for that,” rejoined McCabe, earnestly. “I will go over to them
this afternoon, and the interval between this time and that, shall be
spent in planning the best way to deceive them. But how shall I get to
them? I have no means of going out to the island, unless I swim.”
“There is no need of that. Concealed in a little cove, a short distance
above the island, are the canoes in which I and my warriors came over
here. You will have no difficulty in finding them. Go; take one of them,
sharpen your wits and play your part.”
“I’ll do it, by Jove! Have no fears for me. If you don’t come off
victorious I shall not be to blame.”
“I suppose not—unless you play me false.”
“And you know I will not do that.”
“I am not certain.”
“Well,” laughed McCabe, “my deeds shall be proof of my fidelity. But
where will you remain till the time for action?”
“Here,” replied Girty. “I shall not leave this spot before sundown.”
“Very well; you know best how to act in a case like this. I will leave
you now, and as like as not I won’t see you again until after the fight
has taken place.”
“Why? I want you to come back here toward evening, and report your
success, or failure, in your part of the performance.”
“All right; I will do that, if you wish.”
“And, also,” continued the renegade, “I hope to find you somewhere near
the boats when we go to the river to embark, so that you can take part in
the fight. You will make an addition of one, you know, to our side, and
I have no doubt we will need your services. Of course you will be there,
ready to accompany us!”
“Ye-e-es, I suppose so,” was the hesitating answer. “But if I am _not_
there you need not wait for me, as you will readily understand that I am
on duty at some other point. At all events, I shall not be absent when it
comes to fighting.”
So saying, Jim McCabe turned on his heel and walked away, while Simon
Girty joined his warriors by the fire.
Nick Robbins, as soon as he saw that the conference was at an end, slid
off the rock, sprung lightly to his feet, and glided swiftly away from
the spot. Stopping suddenly, however, he quickly jumped behind a tree,
and then he looked cautiously forth from his concealment to watch the
movements of the man whose villainous plot he had overhead. He saw Jim
McCabe come out of the ravine, and walk leisurely off in the direction
of the river, and observed the smile of evil triumph that lighted his
countenance as he went.
The hunter’s mind was made up on the instant.
“I’ll follow him,” he said to himself. “I’ll dog his footsteps, nor let
him leave my sight. I’ll do even more than that, for I think—yes, I’m
sure—that he may be easily deceived.”
He slipped out from behind the tree, and started off in the tracks of
the unsuspecting ruffian, taking care to keep the latter in sight as he
followed.
“Low, cowardly traitor!” he hissed, as if addressing the man in front of
him; “who would have thought you were leagued with that most terrible of
the white man’s enemies? Wicked as I knew you to be, I am surprised to
learn that you are a friend of the Indians, and doubly so that you are a
confederate of the worst apostate and murderer that ever lived. Wretch!
Fiend! I can not believe God will permit you to succeed, and if the stain
on Russell Trafford’s name is not purged away before the setting of
to-morrow’s sun, I have overrated my ability. Poor Isabel Moreland! She
shall not fall into the hands of that man if I can prevent it, nor shall
the massacre be so complete as they have pictured it. I will put them on
their guard, and I believe they can build fortifications that will enable
them to repulse the assailants without loss. They will be astonished when
I tell them Simon Girty is to lead the attack.”
Thus cogitating, Nick Robbins followed the villain for some time longer,
neither allowing the distance between them to diminish nor increase. At
length Jim McCabe emerged from the woods, and stood upon the bank of the
river.
The hunter did not hesitate then, but strode boldly forward and, without
the least ceremony, laid his hand on McCabe’s shoulder.