It was daylight when with parting war-whoops the Indians left the scene
of the terrible fire they had kindled, dragging John Jerome by the
thongs which bound him. But they took with them flames which threatened
even greater danger to the Paleface boy--the fires of excitement, hate
and merciless cruelty which the night's barbarities had kindled in their
brains. John realized this full well. Though the savages had been rough
and brutal in their treatment of him before, now they were still more
so. No indignity, no suffering was too great to be inflicted upon him.
Little wonder is it that on his own account poor John wished for but two
things--the slightest opportunity to escape, or the end of it all
quickly. Only the thoughts of Return, and how his friend would be
searching for him everywhere, as soon as news reached his ears, buoyed
up the wretched lad's drooping spirits and gave him strength to endure
the cruelties heaped on his defenseless head.
Tired out after their night's carousal, most of the savages lay down to
rest upon their arrival at the village, and John was allowed also to
sink into a troubled sleep, though watched constantly. It was about noon
when he fully awoke, to find that something out of the ordinary was
taking place. By degrees he discovered what it was, learned that Captain
Pipe had returned and that explanations were being made concerning the
burning of the cabin.
Lone-Elk took upon himself the whole responsibility for the offense. The
Little Paleface was a witch, he declared, and his brother, the White
Fox, was a spy upon the Indians, and on the pretext of befriending
Fishing Bird, had gone to Wayne's camp to carry word of the movements of
the Delawares.
The Seneca would have put the loyalty of Fishing Bird himself to the
Delawares in question had he dared to do so, but he gained his point
without it; gained all he sought--praise for his own loyalty to the
cause of the Indians as a whole; no censure for the pillage and
destruction of the white boys' cabin, and last and greatest of all, the
assurance that the captive, Little Paleface, would be put to death.
Let him be burned at the stake, Lone-Elk argued. Some of the younger
Delawares had never seen a prisoner suffer by fire. It would warm their
blood and teach them how to punish their enemies.
"By fire, then, let the witch be killed," Captain Pipe had ordered, and
the terrible sentence reached John Jerome in his guarded hut a little
later.
Four warriors came. They roughly stripped him of all clothing excepting
his fringed buckskin trousers, and painted his face and body black. Thus
he was left for the time, as the hour of his torture was to be the
following morning. But he was told to prepare for death and formed
bluntly that with the rising of another sun he would bid farewell to
earth forever.
In vain did John ask to see Captain Pipe. The chief would not go near
him. He asked for Gentle Maiden, knowing that she would intercede for
him if she could. No word was taken to her. He asked for Neohaw. The old
medicine-man came. He heard the lad's appeal, and shook his head.
"Neohaw can do nothing," he declared. "Lone-Elk is in favor with all the
Delawares and with their great chief, Hopocon. No one can help the
Little Paleface. Neohaw believes not that the Paleface brother killed
Big Buffalo. Yet all the Delawares have harkened to the tale of the
Seneca and the white boy must die. Let him then go bravely to the fire.
Let him sing boldly to the last the death songs that his fathers taught
him."
John thanked the aged Indian for his sympathy and said no more. He did
feel better, somehow, to know that there was one friend left in the
village, where so many times he had been received with greatest favor in
days gone by, and resolved that if die he must, it would be bravely.
Something very like tears, however, dimmed his eyes as he thought of his
unhappy end. He held them back with an effort and, lest they come again,
and be taken as evidence of fear or cowardice, he prayed for strength to
meet the awful fate he must suffer like a man. He breathed a prayer for
comfort for Ree Kingdom and for the dear ones in far-away Connecticut,
when the news of his death should reach them.
It was night now. The Indians made the most of it. Their war cries, as
once again they engaged in the terrible dance, led, as always, by the
bloodthirsty Seneca, were frightful. But to John Jerome a peace which
passeth understanding had come, and with thoughts of all the happy days
his young life, so soon to close, had known, and in his heart a trusting
faith that One who died for others would be with him to the end, he fell
at last into soothing, restful slumber.
At dawn John awoke. The village was quiet. The two savages who stood
guard over him seemed to be the only ones not still asleep, save for a
trio of squaws rekindling the fires before their wigwams. The air was
chill and raw, but crows were cawing lustily, and a bluejay screeched
his harsh song near by. Soon the sun rose, pale but clear. It was a
pleasant morning to be alive, a most gloomy one to die.
Patiently the prisoner of the Delawares awaited the executioners. They
soon would come, he thought, and nerved himself to meet them without a
tremor. His lip quivered the least bit and a lump came in his throat,
but outwardly he was so calm that the Indians watching him marveled at
his courage, and told one another in whispers that witches were more
than human.
The morning went quickly by. Expecting each minute to see Lone-Elk and
others coming for him, time seemed to John to go both slow and fast;
slow, that no one came; fast, because each minute was so precious. Hope
had not wholly left him, either. It might be, even now, he thought, that
Neohaw or Gentle Maiden, or maybe Long-Hair or Little Wolf, had
successfully interceded in his behalf.
At last two Indians came to relieve those who guarded the prisoner. The
Delawares were stirring about in numbers now. John asked the new guards
for food and it was brought to him. Then Neohaw came. In a kindly way he
told the boy that the time of the burning had been changed and the
torture fire would not be lighted until night. Against Lone-Elk's
wishes, Captain Pipe had decided on this, as he had no wish to
participate in the terrible festivities. He planned to go away near
evening and leave everything to the Seneca.
All day the more cruel of the Delawares exhibited their impatience. All
day squaws were busy adding to the collection of wood about the
burning-post, set firmly in the ground at the edge of the collection of
huts and wigwams that comprised the town. Between the logs of his prison
John could plainly see all that went on.
It was late in the afternoon. Night's shades were deepening. The sun had
nearly sunk from view and a soft, golden light rested for a time on the
bosom of the little lake.
With a glad cry an Indian came leaping into the village. Fishing Bird it
was, and his joy at being safe at home once more was great. In a moment,
however, his happiness vanished. In a trice he discovered the
burning-post and the fagots piled near it. He guessed its meaning
instantly, and his fears were immediately confirmed as he made inquiry.
Captain Pipe was just leaving the village but stayed a few seconds to
give Fishing Bird greeting. He listened gravely to the younger Indian's
plea that the Little Paleface be spared. He shook his head. Then Fishing
Bird told of the rapid ride Return Kingdom had made through the woods to
save a Delaware's life, and called Long-Hair and Little Wolf to tell of
the part they had had in that undertaking.
"A council shall be held. The Delawares will give the one accused of
witchcraft a fair trial," said the chief at last. "If then it is found
that, as a witch, the Little Paleface killed a warrior of the Delawares,
he must suffer the penalty. Fishing Bird can ask nothing more."
Very soberly the friendly Indian approached the place of the white boy's
confinement and told him that for the present his life was spared.
John's happiness in seeing the loyal fellow once again, and in having
another friend at hand, was inexpressible. Soon he had learned all that
the Delaware could tell him concerning Ree and what the latter had been
doing.
"One thing, then, Fishing Bird, you must do for me," he said. "Let Ree
Kingdom know that I am to have a trial. Get Captain Pipe to let you
bring him and his friends here."
"Fishing Bird will bring them. Tell nobody," the Indian whispered, and
withdrew.
Before the coming of another day the Indian friend of the boy pioneers
had left the village. He had found that the time of the council the
Delawares would hold to place Little Paleface on trial would be the
following afternoon. The torture fire would be lighted in the evening,
if the boy was found guilty, as was very certain to be the case. It was
with great news to tell and many conflicting thoughts in mind,
therefore, that he sped through the woods to meet Return Kingdom at the
spot agreed upon.
Thus while Fishing Bird hastened to the meeting place from one point,
Ree was making his way toward the same ledge of rocks from another.
Without the least difficulty the lone occupant of the mysterious camp
had been captured and taken away. While Jim Small and another of the
woodsmen watched the camp from the bushes to surprise and make prisoners
of any confederates of the fellow, should such put in an appearance,
Sergeant Quayle and the fourth of his squad held the murderer in close
quarters at the hollow whitewood. Search of the camp would not be made,
it was agreed, until Kingdom's return with Fishing Bird.
Ree and the Delaware reached the place of meeting at about the same
time. As the redskin came up, Kingdom searched his face anxiously for
some clue to the tidings he brought. It was vain to do so. Indian-like,
he could conceal his thoughts completely and he wanted the pleasure of
telling what he had accomplished before its substance was surmised.
He soon did tell, however, all that had happened and very soberly,
indeed, did Ree receive the news. How glad he was that Fishing Bird had
reached the village so opportunely need not be told. The great question
was what could be done to rescue John Jerome?
"We'll ask the Sergeant what he thinks about it," said Kingdom as the
Delaware told more fully of the desperate situation their friend was in.
"Come, we must hurry. There'll be not a minute to lose."
Another surprise awaited Ree when the old poplar was reached.
"Whist! The dirty British pig has tould iverything!" whispered Sergeant
Quayle, meeting Kingdom and the Indian at the edge of the thicket. "A
foine thing it is, too, so it is!" And with these words the disgusted
Irishman led the way forward.
Within the hollow tree there lay a great bulk of a fellow groveling on
the leaf-strewn earth, bewailing his fate, pleading for mercy, and
altogether making of himself a most miserable, loathsome spectacle.
"Oh, if I'd knowed it would come to this!" he blubbered. "Don't let them
punish me! Oh, kind gentlemen, save me! Let me go away and sin no more!
Won't some one speak a kind word to me?"
The abject fear of the craven, now that his crime had found him out,
would have been pitiable had his whole manner not been so utterly
contemptible.
Giving little heed to the guilty wretch, however, Ree at once apprised
the Sergeant of the news Fishing Bird had brought and the latter was
immediately sent to summon Jim Small and his companions for a
conference.
While he was gone Sergeant Quayle told, with many expletives and many
invectives against the British, the confession the murderer had made.
The fellow's name, it developed, was Lobb. He had been connected in an
unofficial way with the British garrison at Detroit and had served a
number of times as a go-between for the English officers in certain of
their more or less secret dealings with the Indians. In consequence of
these services he was chosen to accompany two men sent to encourage
hostilities among the savages to the south of Lake Erie and as near the
border of the American settlements as they should deem it prudent to go.
The party traveled by canoe, Lobb had said, and coasting along the
southern shore of Lake Erie, readied and ascended the Cuyahoga river. In
the course of this trip they fell in with Lone-Elk, roaming the woods
alone, as his frequent custom was. The Seneca was not unknown to the
men, for he had visited Detroit and offered his services to the British
when forced to flee from his home among his own people.
For various reasons, but principally because they feared some news of
their presence would reach Fort Pitt or Gen. Wayne, the men concluded to
do all their business with the Indians of the locality through Lone-Elk.
He would distribute their bounty, the powder and the bullets they
brought, also gold for those who cared for it.
Not long had the men been in the vicinity when they decided to visit the
salt springs of which they had heard a great deal. To conceal their
identity they concluded, also, that they would make some salt while
there, pretending that such was the sole purpose of their presence.
It was at the springs that Lobb's cupidity got the better of his natural
cowardice and what little decency he possessed. With a view to obtaining
the gold in the party's possession, and thinking then to escape to the
east in disguise, he concealed himself and shot both his comrades just
as they were preparing to leave the springs. To convey the impression
that Indians had done the awful deed he scalped both men. Then, filled
with fear lest the bodies be found before he could get away, he had
dragged them into the woods and covered them with brush.
"Well, why did he hang around here? What did he say about the lead
mine?" asked Ree, as the Sergeant finished.
"Sure, it's all the farther he wint with his black yarn, fer with 'ye
dirty cur, ye!' I give him a push an' a shove an' he landed where he's
still layin', hard an' fast ferninst the ground there."
Lobb was questioned further by Kingdom immediately. The boy believed he
saw in the loathsome creature's story reason to believe that the
Delawares had been grievously deceived by the Seneca.
Whining and groaning, the self-confessed murderer continued his story.
He had been afraid to go on east from the springs, he said, and made all
haste back to the Cuyahoga, where he and his companions had established
headquarters in a small cave, originally pointed out to them by
Lone-Elk.
From here he dared move in no direction. He was afraid to return to
Detroit--afraid to go east, west, north or south. Knowing of the
presence of the two boy pioneers, a few miles away, his fears were
greatly increased lest they discover him and guess his guilty secret.
Day after day, then, he had lived in the hole in the hillside, coming
out only at night to prepare food, or when forced to go in search of
fresh meat.
Imploring mercy and begging for freedom, the fellow concluded his
statement.
"You've told everything, have you!" Kingdom asked with as little
harshness as his feelings would permit.
"Aye, master, aye--everything," Lobb whined.
"So it was you, then, who supplied Lone-Elk with lead and bullets, and
his story of a lead mine was a story and nothing more?" the boy
demanded.
"I guess so. I don't know anything about a lead mine, master. Truly I
don't know anything about it. I do remember though, come to think, that
Lone-Elk said once that I was his lead mine and I must look out that the
Palefaces didn't find it out."
"You hear that, Sergeant?" exclaimed Ree, with some excitement. "Now let
us see whether that sneaking Seneca will continue to rule the
Delawares!"