WHAT HAPPENED IN A CAVE.
It was far from Coleola’s intention to leave the country when she
parted in rage from the war-party on the banks of Cahokia Creek, as
described in chapter sixth. She retraced her steps to the hunted
Peoria’s hidden home, where for many hours, like the jungle-tiger, she
lay in wait for her prey. But that noble prey came not; some unseen
power held Swamp Oak aloof from the snare, and, when tired of lying
in ambush, the Snake Queen left the cave, and sought for the Yellow
Bloodhound and his pale prisoners.
Between these two ferocious characters an inseparable gulf had ever
rolled, and each succeeding year it grew wider.
For a long time the Bloodhound and Coleola had lived at knife-points,
and even in times of peace had attempted each other’s life.
She found Bardue’s trail without any difficulty, for she was an expert
trailer, and came up with her great enemy in his own cave, when the
rifles of our friends covered his cowardly heart, and when he held the
lives of all in his hands.
The Snake Queen did not comprehend the situation, else she would not
have fired without sober second thought. She did not realize the danger
she was in, and flushed with anger, hightened by the presence of those
whom she hated with all the bitterness of a mad-woman’s hatred, her
rifle spoke the words of doom.
Well might Bob Somerville’s heart sink into the slough of despair when
he comprehended his hopeless situation--when he saw Kate in the gripe
of the mad Snake Queen, and found himself bound.
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Coleola, fastening her baleful eyes upon the
trader’s daughter, whose cheeks had suddenly assumed the hue of the
undriven snow. “The Lone Dove is Coleola’s at last, and her mate with
the long plumage is hers, too. Coleola and her braves saw the Ojibwas
and the white Hunter creep along the willowed banks, and when they
entered the bushes she followed, and lo! here she is. Yellow dog!” and
tossing Kate Blount to one of her giant followers, she turned abruptly
upon the prostrate Frenchman, who was glaring at her like a tiger. “Ha!
the yellow dog is in the folds of the Snake Queen, and they are going
to squeeze him to death. The pale-faces will hear him yelp with pain,
directly, and then they shall yelp themselves. Coleola’s enemies are
all here save one--Swamp Oak, the Peoria dog. Oh, if he were here, and
oh, if there stood at his side the girl who has no tongue!”
A moment’s silence followed Coleola’s bitter words, and then one of the
braves jerked the creole to his feet.
He was dragged across the cave and stood upright against the wall
composed of very soft limestone rock. He made no effort to escape;
he knew that his strength would accomplish nothing, but he glanced
wistfully from the fire to the powder-funnel. Oh, if he were free a
moment! How quickly would he spring to the fire and hurl a torch upon
the explosive heap--thus, at one fell swoop, sending his enemies as
well as himself to eternity.
Coleola saw his glance, and laughed fiendishly at his despair.
“The black dirt shall not become fire by the Yellow Bloodhound’s
claws,” she cried. “Warriors, nail him to the stones!”
Jules Bardue groaned aloud at this announcement of his doom, and he
saw the Snake Queen’s Indians snap the steel ramrod belonging to Big
Moccasin’s musket, and approach him, griping the improvised nails and
their tomahawks.
They were going to nail him to the soft rocks!
Then he knew the knife would be resorted to, and he would be flayed
alive!
At the thought of such a terrible doom, his limbs quaked like aspen
leaves, and that cowardice which always nestled in his heart now rose
up and bubbled from his throat.
“Mercy! mercy! Coleola,” he cried, his face as white as ashes. “Spare!
and I will leave this country, never, never to return. Woman!--”
“Nail the white dog to the stones!” was the unpitying command that
rudely interrupted the creole’s pleadings. “To the hound’s cries
Coleola is deaf; she couldn’t hear him were he to cry as loud as the
great cataract far toward the big ice-seas.”[2]
The renegade bit his lips till the blood trickled over his chin, and in
silence he permitted the warriors to push him against the rock.
He shrieked like a dying fiend when the first stroke of the tomahawk
drove the pointless nail into his palm, and each succeeding blow was
followed by a like shriek, until Coleola sprung forward and choked him
into silence.
Under the Snake Queen’s gripe, and the pain occasioned by the nails,
Jules Bardue lost his senses, and when he hung from the wall by both
hands, Coleola stepped back and awaited the return of consciousness.
“The creole’s doom is terrible, but just!” murmured young Somerville,
who had witnessed the red-men’s work in horrified silence, not knowing
how soon he would be subjected to the same fearful torture. “I am
doomed to some fearful death, but I can die more like a man than that
dog gives promise of doing. For myself I care not, but for Kate yonder,
I care much--all. I wonder where Doc is? Oh, if he knew that we were in
the hands of that mad snake-woman, he’d hasten hither and with his own
strong arm tear us from her. Freedom! freedom! Oh, were ye mine for one
moment!”
As he uttered the exclamation, the young scout tugged at his bonds; but
across the cave he saw the wish which had lately leaped from his heart
traced upon Nehonesto’s face.
While the Snake Queen waited for the return of consciousness to her
great enemy, not a word was spoken.
Bob Somerville gazed into Kate Blount’s face, and in her eyes saw
hope encircled by despair. Her dark orbs twinkled, too, with terrible
determination.
What did it mean?
Why should the girl hope when not a ray illumined the cavern--when a
speedy and horrible doom stared her in the face with all the grinning
horror it could assume?
She was not bound; but the arm of her jailer encircled her waist, and
his fingers griped her arm like the jaws of a vise.
She saw the wish for freedom with the determination that accompanied it
in her lover’s eyes, and she seemed to be waiting for a certain moment.
Kate Blount was not the girl to submit tamely to doom. She resolved to
make a desperate struggle for freedom, and a glance at Nehonesto and
the scout told her that she would be ably seconded.
Their enemies numbered four--Coleola and three braves, and the trader’s
daughter felt confident of overcoming them by a sudden attack. She
waited for the right moment.
At last a groan escaped the Yellow Bloodhound’s lips, and he raised his
head!
Coleola sprung toward him with a cry of joy.
Now the devil’s work would begin.
Kate Blount noted this, and threw a look at her lover--a look which he
understood, for he returned a slight nod, and Nehonesto also proclaimed
himself ready to help, so soon as he was set at liberty.
The eyes of the Indians were fastened upon Coleola now, and the gripe
of Kate’s captor had suddenly, and to no little degree, relaxed.
The brave girl saw the opportunity, and seized it with a determination
worthy the bravest of her sex.
With no cry she sprung from the Delaware’s arms, snatching his
scalping-knife from his girdle as she executed the movement.
The savage with a shriek started forward; but suddenly he was hurled
backward by the young scout, whose bonds Kate had severed at a single
stroke.
All now was confusion!
Coleola uttered a wild yell and darted toward the trader’s daughter;
but all at once a dark object shot upward from the floor of the cavern,
and, despite her struggles, she found herself in the grip of Nehonesto.
He tore the twin snakes from her neck, and before they could bury their
fangs in his tawny arm, he hurled them into the fire, where they hissed
like demons in the agonies of death.
The savage who had guarded our heroine received a death blow at the
hands of the youthful scout, and another of Coleola’s red followers
dropped at the Yellow Bloodhound’s imprisoned feet, wounded to the
bitter end.
The third brave received reinforcements from the corridor which led to
the river!
The Snake Queen had penetrated the willows with seven braves, four of
whom she had left to guard the entrance, as she feared the return of
the trader, Doc Bell, or the avenging lover, Swamp Oak.
Now a peculiar shriek from the third savage who followed Coleola to the
cave caused the guards to leave their posts; and all at once, like a
quartette of devils, they rushed into the cavern, just as victory was
declaring for our friends.
Then the conflict was renewed again with tenfold fury.
Despite his arm which hung shattered at his side, Nehonesto caught a
warrior, and hurled him against the wall of the cave, at the foot of
which he sunk with a crushed skull.
Kate Blount, too, performed prodigies of valor. She stood with clubbed
rifle before the Snake Queen, beating back the savages who tried to
free the mad-woman.
Suddenly a brave kicked the fire hither and thither, and then the fight
continued in the semi-gloom.
At length, tripping over a dead Delaware, Bob fell to the earth, and
before he could rise, a tomahawk, hurled from a red-skin’s hand,
stretched him senseless and bleeding upon the stones again.
A moment later, as a firebrand caused brave Kate Blount to reel, three
dusky forms darted from the corridor, and she heard yells of despair
well from the throats of the now almost victorious savages. New and
unexpected antagonists had appeared upon the scene of action, and when
Kate had collected her scattered senses, she found herself in the arms
of Doc Bell, the Indian-fighter!
“Well, now, we got hyar jist in time!” cried the giant, looking down
into Kate’s colorless face. “It ar’ a good thing thet we heard ye
fightin’, fur ef ye hedn’t made sech a racket, I guess we’d be a good
piece from hyar now. This is the Bloodhound’s kennel, eh, girl?”
“Yes,” answered Kate.
“An’ where might the yaller dog be?”
“Yonder, nailed to--”
Kate Blount interrupted herself with a blank stare, and an exclamation.
“Why, he’s gone!”
Yes, the white rocks to which the renegade had been nailed exhibited
all their wonted ghostliness, and the Yellow Bloodhound was nowhere to
be seen!
“How did he git away ef he war nailed?” cried Doc Bell springing to
his feet. “The spirits don’t ginerally help such fellars. But he’s
gone--gone to come back to us ag’in some day. Yes, that devil is far
from dead.”
“No, he is not, Doc,” said Bob, who had regained his senses, and was
wiping the blood drawn by the tomahawk from his forehead. “I cut all
around his heart with my knife. Coleola’s ball entered his body, and
her red devils drove a ramrod through his hands. He can’t get over all
that.”
“Boy, did Coleola’s bullet take ’im atween the eyes?” asked the giant
hunter, anxiously.
“No.”
“Then the yaller dog won’t die. Ye know how I hacked him up once?
Nothin’ under heaven but a half ounce of lead atween the peepers will
ever finish ’im. He’ll turn up in a few days again, afore we call
ourselves safe.”
A brief examination told the victors how the bloodhound had effected
his escape. Alone he could do nothing, but during the conflict Big
Moccasin must have freed himself, and borne his master from the cave,
for the giant guard too was missing.
I have said that two persons came to the rescue with Doc Bell.
The identity of one the reader can easily fix; the other was the hunted
Peoria--the vengeful Swamp Oak.
The giant and his tongueless companion had encountered the young chief
in the forest, not far from the Bloodhound’s cave. Upon the night when
Swamp Oak had saved the lives of the trader and the giant by shooting
Segowatha’s avenging son, he had followed the twain but had failed
to overtake them. Still he searched the forest, but the storm that
burst above the trees immediately after their escape, had completely
obliterated their trail, thus baffling the young Indian.
The meeting in the forest, mentioned above, was, no doubt, the
strangest that ever took place in America.
The young Peoria clasped Ulalah to his heart, but started back to find
her silent.
He then called upon her to speak, but still silent, she took his hand
and put it into her mouth.
He uttered a cry of horror, and then the hunter-giant told him all he
knew about Ulalah’s terrible misfortune.
The hunted lover listened in silence, and when he had finished, in the
dim light of a star, Doc Bell saw the Indian’s face grow black with
rage.
Again he kissed Ulalah, whispered “_vengeance_,” and she replied by
pressing his hand.
The revengeful pair did not see Coleola until the fight in the cave had
entirely ended, and Ulalah was the first to recognize her mother.
With a guttural noise, she sprung to her lover’s side and pointed to
the apparition.
For a moment the Peoria could not believe his senses, but when they
assured him that the object of his vengeance actually stood before
him--when he heard Coleola laugh triumphantly as she glanced from him
to her mutilated child--mutilated by her own mad hand--he shot toward
her with uplifted knife.
A single bound brought him face to face with his mad red mother-in-law.
“In whose power is Coleola now?” he hissed. “Ay, into whose hands
has she fallen? She has hunted long that she might stand within
arm’s-length of Swamp Oak, and she stands thus at last. She found the
Peoria’s cave, but first she found Swamp Oak’s sister, whose face
is almost like Ulalah’s. She bore the Drooping Willow through the
forests until she found the Peoria’s cave; she entered it; she slew the
Drooping Willow, and tore Ulalah’s tongue from her head. When Swamp Oak
returned with the Lone Dove,” continued the Indian, glancing at Kate,
“he found whom he thought to be his Ulalah. He caught her in his arms,
and her decaying body drove his brain on fire. Then Coleola came, and
he darted away. Ah! the Snake Queen could not catch the Peoria, and
when he stopped he found that he bore Drooping Willow, not Ulalah.
Vengeance then he swore, and vengeance now he will have. Ulalah.”
The speechless girl sprung forward, and, with wild eyes and trembling
knife, confronted her unnatural mother.
The Snake Queen faced her executioners with dignified mien, and upon
her face still gleamed that devilish expression of triumph.
Without a word Swamp Oak released one of Coleola’s hands, binding the
other fast to her body. Then he pushed her against the rock to which
she had lately nailed the Yellow Bloodhound, and placed her arm against
it.
“Coleola shall see her limbs torn from her trunk,” he hissed, “and then
her tongue shall be plucked from her mouth even as she tore her child’s
away; and when she has seen all this, then shall her eyes fly from
her head as the arrow flies from the Indian’s bow. Ulalah, come--the
tomahawk! This hand plucked out your tongue. Cut it off!”
A look of triumph flashed from the wronged girl’s eyes, and she
snatched from her lover’s hand the tomahawk it extended.
A second later she darted toward her mother.
The tomahawk flew above her head, and in the twinkling of an eye it
descended, severing Coleola’s right arm a few inches above the hand!
A soul-piercing shriek followed the avenging blow.
The mad queen shot forward, despite Swamp Oak’s strength, and it was a
giant’s.
He might as well have tried to hold a crazy rhinoceros.
Coleola darted toward the corridor in which the Bloodhound and Big
Moccasin had undoubtedly disappeared.
Kate Blount stood in her way, and noticed that her left arm was free.
“Back, Kate!” yelled the young scout.
Our heroine needed no summons to spring from the demoness’ path; but
ere she could shrink away, the left arm encircled her body, and she
found herself lifted from the ground.
She shrieked, as well she might.
Four brave men sprung forward to rescue her from the mad Snake Queen;
but their hands closed on emptiness!
Coleola and her beautiful captive had eluded them!
[2] Niagara.