There was one among the Indians who viewed their fair captive with no
great favour.
It was Maracota.
His devotion to Oluski had been so blindly true that, in his
narrow-minded memory of the old chief's wrongs, he had become
bloodthirsty and remorseless. Naturally of a revengeful disposition, he
saw, in the leniency of both Wacora and Nelatu towards the pale-faced
maiden, too much of forgiveness.
This stirred his evil passions to their depth, and he sought for an
opportunity to do her an injury.
With a shrewd guess at the truth, he looked upon Cris Carrol's escape as
another evidence of that toleration which ill consorted with his
sanguinary hatred of the white race.
He dared not take open measures, but insidiously strove to turn the
people of the tribe against their white captive, as well as Wacora.
His success was not commensurate with his wishes. They admired their
chief too much to believe anything to his prejudice, and Maracota became
himself looked upon as a restless agitator--a subject more zealous than
loyal.
He saw, accordingly, that any injury to the captive must be accomplished
by his own agency; the more so, as he had already endeavoured to excite
a feeling of jealousy in Nelatu's mind, of which she and Wacora were the
objects. The generous youth not only refused belief, but angrily
reproved the slanderer, for daring to couple his cousin's name with an
act so unworthy!
When a person resolves upon mischief it is astonishing how many
opportunities present themselves.
Alice, although unsuspicious of the enmity of which she was the object,
avoided Maracota. She did so from a different motive. She knew that it
was he who had fired the fatal shot at her brother, and could not help
regarding the act with abhorrence. His sister, how could she?
And, as his sister, how could she look upon his executioner without
repugnance--more than repugnance--with horror?
The exigencies of the war had kept Maracota away from the town, and for
long periods; but the same causes that brought Wacora back, also
controlled his return.
He felt that now, if ever, was the time to carry out his schemes of
malignity.
He accordingly watched her every movement; amongst others, the many
lonely visits she paid to the ruined fort.
There was the opportunity he wanted, if he could only find the means to
avail himself of it.
In a community of red men, where everything is reduced, even in times of
a temporary peace, to dull routine, it was not difficult to devise a
plan of revenge. But it must be unnoticed, or go unpunished, for he had
a wholesome dread of Wacora's displeasure, and was not disposed to incur
it.
Some days had elapsed since the interview described between the chief
and his captive, during which time they had seen nothing of each other.
Wacora, with great delicacy, had avoided her, and she had kept herself
within the dwelling assigned to her, afraid to meet him, yet pondering
deeply over what he had said.
In spite of a natural prejudice against the Indian race, she was
startled and wonder-stricken at the nobility of thought and rare talent
he had exhibited. She did not doubt but that a portion, at least, of
his argument was based on false reasoning, but she was not subtle
enough, or perhaps indisposed, to detect the erroneous argument. We are
very apt to acknowledge the truth of what we admire, whilst admitting
its errors.
Alice Rody was in this predicament.
She had learned to respect the Indian chief, and her respect was tinged
with admiration of his good qualities.
This mental ratiocination had occupied her during the days of her
seclusion.
She endeavoured to divert her mind to other subjects, and to this end
determined to pay another visit to the old fort. She was prompted to it
by a thought of having too long forgotten the Indian maiden who slept
within the ruins.
It was a glorious morning as she set forth for a walk to the place.
The way was through a belt of timbered land leading to a creek, spanned
by a rude wooden bridge. On the other side lay the ruin.
The wood was passed in safety, and she reached the water's edge. To her
amazement she found the creek greatly swollen; this often happened after
heavy rains, though she had never before seen it in that condition.
She proceeded along the causeway leading to the bridge, that seemed to
offer a safe means of crossing.
She paused to contemplate the current, bearing upon its bosom the torn
trunks of trees caught in its rapid course.
In another moment she was upon the bridge, and had got midway over it,
when a tremulous motion of the planks caused her to hesitate. As she
stood still the motion ceased, and smiling at her fears she again
proceeded.
Not far, however. Ere she had made three steps forward, to her horror
the motion re-commenced with greater violence.
She saw it was too late to retreat, and sped onward, the planks swaying
fearfully towards the water.
Believing it best to proceed, she took courage for a fresh effort, and
kept on towards the other side. It was a fatal resolution.
Just as she had prepared for her last spring the planks gave way with a
creaking sound, and she was precipitated into the stream.
Her presence of mind was gone, and in an instant she was submerged
beneath the seething current of the flood.
She rose again, gave utterance to a shriek, and was again swallowed up,
her wail of agony being uttered in the water.
At that moment a face that expressed fiendish delight appeared through
the bushes, on the bank; nor did it vanish until assured that all was
over, and Alice Rody had sunk below the surface, never more to return to
it alive.
Then, and not till then, the form emerged from out the underwood, and
scrambling to the rude pier from which the planks had parted, stood
surveying the scene.
It was Maracota!
"Good!" cried he. "So perish all who would make the red man forgive the
injuries of his race. She was the child of a villain--the sister of a
fiend!"
He stooped down and examined the broken fragments of the bridge.
"Maracota's axe has done the deed well," said he, continuing his
soliloquy, "and he has nothing to fear. Her death will be attributed to
accident. It was a great thought, and one that Oluski's spirit will
approve. Maracota was his favourite warrior, and to please his shade
has he done this deed, and will do more. Death to the pale-faces--death
to their women and children! Death and extermination to the accursed
race!"
The vengeful warrior rose from his stooping position, cast one hurried
glance upon the turbulent stream, and once more entering the underwood,
disappeared from the spot.