THE FOREST TRAGEDY.
We will now turn to and trace up the fortunes of the little party whom
we left just quitting the "lodge by the rock," and entering the gloomy
forest.
A longing, lingering look was cast back at the rude but loved
structure, which had sheltered them for so long a time. But there was
no retreating now.
Fred was probably the most anxious one of the party, for he knew,
better far than they, the real extent of the peril that menaced. He
knew that they would be fortunate indeed, were all members of both
families alive and well at the next day-dawning.
He was not without some experience in Indian fighting, for before they
removed to Minnesota, he had spent several winters trapping in the
Blackfoot country, and with Tobe Castor, had, more than once, made
his mark upon the persons of the dusky-skinned heathen. And since
his residence here, Fred had kept his woodcraft brushed up, by long
hunting excursions with the old scout.
So he cautioned his companions to step lightly and to avoid all
conversation, while he glided on some yards in advance, trusting to
discover any impending danger long enough beforehand to guard them from
it. Their progress was necessarily slow, but the value of the young
ranger's precautions was soon made apparent.
Fred's keen ear caught the sounds of approaching footsteps, and rapidly
falling back, he drew his companions to one side on the narrow trace,
where they crouched down amid the bushes. Fred knelt before them, his
weapons ready for instant use, in case a collision was unavoidable.
The light pattering sound drew nearer, and then one form after another
glided directly past the fugitives, who even held their breath, so
imminent seemed the risk of discovery. Then the last link of the living
chain passed by, and was lost to view amid the dense shadows.
Not until the last sound died utterly away, did Fred venture to move or
speak. Then his voice was low, but full of uneasiness.
"It was Sloan Young's gang. I recognized him. They have gone to your
home, and when they find their plans are discovered they will be after
us, half-wild."
"Then let us hasten on at once," impatiently muttered Stevens. "We can
reach your house by the time they get to ours. With such a start there
is no danger of their overtaking us."
"Not so. You forget that Dusky Dick's gang is somewhere near here, and
if we run across him, then we are lost indeed. A rifle-shot would call
those devils back, and then we would be massacred in a moment--or else
saved for the torture. No, we must use more caution now than ever. Will
you be guided by me? I have had more experience in these matters than
you have, or I should not ask such a thing," added Fred, modestly.
"Yes--we will do as you say. Only be quick!"
"Then we will go on as before. Only be as cautious in stepping as
possible, and don't press too close upon me."
Fred reƫntered the path and glided on in advance. He felt extreme
anxiety as to the probable result of the venture, now that he knew foes
were both before and behind.
He was also anxious regarding the result of John Stevens' errand. If he
had been delayed, or had any thing happened to prevent his gaining the
cabin, matters would be gloomy indeed.
Dusky Dick was evidently up to mischief, and as he was not with Sloan
Young, what more likely than that he would pay a visit to the Wilson
cabin? Should he do so, and find the inmates unsuspicious of their
danger, an easy victory would be his. No wonder the young settler felt
worried.
And then he abruptly paused, with a slight exclamation of dismay.
Before him he could distinguish the fast widening trace of a
conflagration; the sky was rapidly reddening with what he knew must be
the glare of a burning cabin--and that cabin none other than his own!
"See! the devils are at work!" he hissed, in a strained and unnatural
voice, as his companions drew nearer. "It is our cabin on fire!"
The little party stood in mute anxiety. Their eyes roved from one face
to another. A terrible fear was upon them.
They could just distinguish the sound of shrill yells, as of Indians,
borne to their ears by the favoring breeze. It sounded like the
death-knell to all their hopes.
"What will you do now, Fred?" asked Stevens, breaking the painful
silence.
"I must go ahead and see what that means. If John has been delayed by
any thing, I fear the worst--all is lost. And it looks that way, for I
hear no shooting."
"Will it be safe?"
"Not for the rest of you. You must stay here until I can find out how
the ground lies. It would be worse than folly to go forward now, not
knowing who we may meet. Come out here--it will be safer. So if any
red-skins chance along the Trace, they will not discover you, if you
are anyways careful."
Fred did not pause for a reply, but led the way out a few yards from
the trail. Then he bade the fugitives crouch down amid the underbrush
and await his return, which would be as speedy as possible.
"Would it not be better for us to keep right on toward the settlements?
It seems dangerous to waste time waiting here, like this."
"No, it would never do. You would only lose your way, if indeed you did
not run into some ambush. You must stay here until I come back. It is
the best you can do, now."
"But hasten, then," and the settler composed himself to await the
result with such patience as he could summon.
As Fred glided noiselessly away through the gloom, a chill fell upon
the spirits of the little party, that seemed a premonition of coming
danger. Stevens started to his feet, intending to venture all, rather
than remain there in suspense, but the women finally persuaded him to
abide by the decision of the young ranger, whose experience in such
matters was far the greatest.
To increase their anxiety, they now perceived the glow that marked the
destruction of their own home. The circle of death seemed narrowing
around them with each passing moment, and the suspense was absolutely
killing. Any thing, however bad, seemed preferable to this torture.
The minutes rolled on, each one seeming like an hour of ordinary time,
and still no signs of Fred's return. Then came a rifle-shot from some
point not far distant--a wild yell, followed by the loud crashing of
what seemed horses' hoofs, passing through the forest at headlong
speed. Tremblingly the three fugitives awaited the result, fearing to
move from their covert.
The glowing beacons upon either hand of them, grew more faint as the
moments passed on, and then were entirely shut out from view by the
gathering clouds, and the thickly clustering tree-tops.
And still no sign of Fred's return. Stevens could stand the suspense no
longer, but arose to his feet, saying:
"I will wait no longer. Something must have happened, or he would have
been back long ago. It is throwing away our only chance by stopping
here. Come, let us go."
"But Fred said"--uttered Jennie, falteringly.
"I know that, but something must have happened to hinder his coming
back. If we stay here, we will only be smelled out and killed by these
murdering red-skins. Come on," decisively added Stevens, as he moved
away from the spot.
The women well knew that all resistance would be in vain, and arose to
obey.
Stevens did not think it prudent to travel in the beaten Trace, lest he
should meet some of the enemy, and so kept along through the forest,
using such skill as he was possessed of, to proceed silently.
But the danger foreseen by Fred, proved well founded. In the very
outset the borderer went astray. He had lost his bearings, and instead
of proceeding toward the lower settlements, he was pursuing an almost
directly opposite direction, or nearly toward his own cabin--or where
that had previously stood.
In evading the tree-trunks and clumps of bushes, he deviated from a
direct course, now bearing to the right, now left, until he almost
struck the beaten trail they had lately traversed, when led by Fred
Wilson. And then Stevens ran headlong into the very danger he was most
anxious to avoid.
The settler came first, then his wife, and after her, Jennie. The dress
of the latter caught upon a root, and she paused to loosen it; a fact
that probably saved her life.
For just then a wild yell rung out from close before Stevens,
accompanied by a sharp crack and broad glare that lighted up the scene
for a moment, with startling vividness. By it the settler saw the dusky
figures of some half-score savages, and with impulse of the moment, he
threw up his rifle, firing at the foremost one.
A thrilling death-yell that followed told that his shot had not been
spent in vain, but then a return volley rung out, and he staggered
back, wounded unto death. He stumbled over the prostrate form of his
wife, whom the first shot had stricken down, but recovered himself as
the enemy sprung forward with exultant whoops and yells.
For a brief moment the settler battled with frantic fury, but all was
in vain. The bullet that first struck him had reached the seat of life,
and then a knife pierced his side. Still defiant, he sunk down, with a
hoarse cry, upon the body of his murdered wife. And over them raged the
red-skins, fighting for the coveted scalps like demons incarnate.
Jennie was sheltered by the intervening tree-trunk, and although more
than one bullet shattered the rough bark, she was unharmed. Terror held
her enchained to the spot, despite herself.
Then she heard the dying cry of her father, and knew that all was lost.
With a low cry of agony she turned and fled through the forest, half
dead with horror.
The red-skins scrambling for the coveted trophies, heard her not, but
one other ear did; that of Sloan Young, and divining the truth, he
sprung forward after the fleeing girl, and knew that the coveted prize
he feared was lost, was now just within his grasp. He gave vent to a
long, loud yell of diabolical exultation.
But Jennie's feet seemed gifted with more than mortal speed, and she
fled over the rough ground, through the bushes and tangled shrubbery,
fully holding her vantage-ground, hard as the half-breed strove to
overtake her. Uttering furious curses, he dashed madly on--_to his
death_!
Jennie sped on, blindly, half unconsciously. A horrible sound filled
her ears--the death-cry of her father--the gasping groan of her
murdered mother. She knew not her own danger; she only felt some
frightful danger was driving her on, she knew not whither.
She sped on past a dark, crouching form, and then felt, rather than
saw, another figure rise up before her. With a low gasping moan she
sunk unresistingly into the outstretched arms; her senses fled and she
fainted.
The half-breed also heard the cry and answered it with one of exultant
triumph, for he believed that the fugitive must soon drop from
exhaustion, when she would become an easy prey to him. But he was
doomed to a bitter disappointment.
He noted the abrupt cessation of Jennie's footsteps, and tricky
himself, he suspected some ruse upon her part; most probably an attempt
at doubling upon him. To defeat this he paused and listened intently.
He saw a dark figure rise up almost within arm's length of him,
and believing it to be his intended victim, he sprung forward with
outstretched hands, crying:
"You may as well gi' up, my dear--"
Thus far he spoke, and no further. For a strong hand clutched his
throat, and as the tall form towered above him, the gleam of a
descending knife-blade filled his eyes. The half-breed made one
desperate effort to free himself; he was not given time for more.
But he was held like a child, and then the keen knife hissed down--then
with a horrible _thud_, the hilt fairly struck against his chest. The
long blade had cloven his heart in twain.
Still he made a desperate effort--his death-throe, it was--and freed
his throat from the vise-like grip fastened upon it. A single wild yell
broke from his lips, and then he sunk a lifeless weight in the arms of
his conqueror, a corpse.
Still the alarm was given, and that last cry bade fair to avenge its
author's death. For it had reached the ears of the still scuffling
savages, and awoke them to their folly.
They recognized the voice of their leader, and one of them had placed
the sound; and he quickly communicated it to his comrades. Then with
shrill yells of anger they sprung forward, eager to assist or avenge
their chief, as the case might be.
"Put the gal down, Jack," muttered Tobe Castor--for it was indeed
him--speaking in a quick tone. "The imps is a comin' hot fut. Let the
women hunker down cluss ahind the log. It's _fight_ now, an' we'll hev
our hands full 'thout _them_!"
The trio--Castor, Wilson and Stevens--drew together, the better to meet
the shock they knew must soon come. They could not avoid it by flight;
that course would be certain destruction, as they well knew.
The three women had been placed in a clump of bushes bordering and
overhanging a large fallen tree and against this, on the opposite side,
the men backed, as by it they secured themselves from being assailed
upon all sides at the same time. Tobe again spoke:
"Fire as I do, an' then drap down on yer faces. Ef they shoot at the
bleeze, thet'll mebbe save us. Then do the best you know how, with cold
steel an' clubbed rifles, ef so be they make a rush."
There was no time for further instructions, if such had been needed.
But the others knew what lay before them well enough. They knew it
would probably result in a hand-to-hand combat, that could scarcely end
otherwise than in their destruction. And yet they did not flinch. They
had dear and helpless ones to fight for, as well as their own lives.
The yelling red-skins came on at full speed, until within a short
distance of the borderers, when they abruptly paused; the ominous
stillness awed them. They could not comprehend it.
One Eye did not answer; then he must be dead. Nothing could be heard of
his slayer or slayers. Therefore they could not have fled, or the sound
of their footsteps would have been heard. And would they have remained
here, unless in strong force, sufficient to successfully resist the
braves of the dead half-breed?
But then the more impatient of the Sioux, excited by the slight taste
of blood they had in the death of the two fugitives, gave a cry and
sprung forward. The rest followed, in a compact mass; a fatal move upon
their part.
The three men standing beside the fallen tree could now faintly
distinguish the enemy, as they surmounted a slight knoll. Knowing the
advantage of a first blow, Castor leveled his rifle, the action being
closely imitated by his comrades, and then fired.
The three reports sounded almost as one, and carried death and dismay
into the ranks of the Sioux. The horrible death-yells and groans of
agony told how fatal had been the discharge, and, as with one impulse,
the survivors broke and fled, without firing one shot.
But this panic was only momentary. Then they rallied, and proceeded to
concert some plan for the revenge the blood of their fallen comrades
demanded at their hands.
The three borderers dropped to the ground, as agreed upon, but this
precaution was needless, as we have already seen. Then they began
hurriedly re-charging their weapons, full well knowing there would be
further need of them, ere the affair was over.
"They are driven back--why not take the women and slip away?" whispered
Wilson, cautiously, he being nearest to Tobe.
"Don't be a fool, Ed--_don't_, fer marcy's sake. They'd hear us, an'
then we'd be in a nice fix--I guess _not_. Thet's jest what they want
the most. They don't know how we're fixed now, and 'll fight shy fer a
time. No, we must stick it out here--fer a time, anyhow."
Their weapons recharged, the three men crouched down in anxious
waiting. Especially was John Stevens troubled.
He feared the worst. He had found Jennie, his sister, fleeing from a
spot where had been going on a desperate fight for life. But where were
the others? his father and mother? Were they dead, or also fugitives in
the forest?
That was a query he feared to answer, but something down in his
heart told him that a great calamity had occurred: that he was now
parentless. Still, there was a faint hope. Jennie had escaped with
life; then might not the others have fared equally as well?
Fortunately he had something to distract his thoughts, in a measure.
Otherwise he would have gone mad. But now he must bear up for the sake
of his sister--his loved one and her friends. They were in imminent
peril, and upon his arms partly depended their hopes of preservation.
The groans of the dying wretches had ceased, and all was once more
still in the forest. Even the insects had seemed to cease their
humming, and the faint breeze to die utterly away. The stillness was
awful--depressing in the extreme.
For despite this seeming peacefulness, they well knew that bloodthirsty
and unscrupulous foes were busily compassing their destruction. They
knew that some subtle plot was being concocted by the savages, who
would be fairly wild with rage and thirst for revenge. This suspense
was harder to bear than the deadliest strife would have been, for while
they knew their peril was imminent, they knew not in which direction it
would first appear, nor the shape it would assume.
But they had not long to wait for the knowledge. A faint rustling sound
at some little distance first met their vigilant ears, although no
human form could be seen. This for a time puzzled them, as the sound
appeared confined to a circumscribed space, near the little knoll upon
which the Indians had stood when the fatal volley was discharged at
them.
Then this rustling ceased, and another sound took its place. Castor
uttered a grunt of dismay, as though he comprehended the meaning of
this. Wilson whispered:
"What is it, Tobe?"
"Wait an' you'll see soon a plenty. _Cuss_ the pesky imps!" and the old
scout fairly ground his teeth with intense ire.
And in the course of a few moments they _did_ see, sure enough. A
faint, flickering glow--not a blaze, at least visible to them--shone
forth upon the knoll, only a few yards distant from its crest. At this
moment, Stevens and Wilson divined the truth, as Castor had already
done.
_The Indians were building a fire!_
Their object in thus doing was plain. They felt assured their enemy had
not fled, and by this light they counted upon discovering their covert,
without serious risk to themselves.
"_Cuss_ the imp!" hissed Castor, wrathfully. "He's hid behind a rock
or log or somethin' else, or I'd soon sicken the dog, fer good. But we
must git out o' here, jest the quickest!"
"But how? Surely they wouldn't leave a path open for us? They must have
surrounded us, to guard against any move like that," muttered Wilson.
"I know thet--I ain't sech a pesky fool as to make a _run_ fer it,
yit. But ef we stay here tell thet light bleezes up--as _'twill_
shortly--we're gone suckers, fer shore! But we must git over the log,
here. Thar's a big fork in it, whar we kin hunker down, an' hev the
bushes fer kiver, too. Then they cain't rout us out 'thout makin' a
rush fer it; which they won't be apt to do afore day, anyhow. So up
with ye, one at a time, an' git the wimmen onder kiver."
"You go first--if you know where the fork is."
"I'd _orter_ know--seein's as how I durned nigh broke my neck over the
pesky thing a-tumblin' down whar we run up, a bit ago. But when you
come, don't make no n'ise, 'less you'll hev a load o' lead in your
karkidge as 'll be mighty onhandy to kerry about."
So speaking, the old scout cautiously rose up and crawled upon the
log. The fire was now blazing up quite briskly, and already casting out
a circle of light that nearly reached the tree-trunk. There was no time
to be lost.
Jennie was still half-senseless, and, stooping, the old scout gently
raised her in his arms, and, in a low, guarded whisper, bade the other
two women follow him. Though trembling with apprehension, they obeyed,
without a word.
Castor glided through the bushes, along the log for a few paces,
and then pausing, lowered Jennie to the ground. It was a narrow
space between two forks of the tree, that were here some two feet in
thickness, while over and around them, grew a dense fringe of bushes
and vines.
There was ample room for the entire party, and while hidden from the
enemies' view, by lying down, they were protected in a great measure
from any bullets that might be discharged into their covert. Upon
this fact Tobe had counted when he determined to remove from the spot
rendered untenable by the rapidly-increasing light of the fire.
The women safe placed, Castor turned and whispered to his comrades.
Wilson was already over the log, and Stevens speedily followed his
example. Then they sought the new refuge, where they knelt down with
senses upon the keen alert, and rifles ready for use.
"You wimmen keep cluss," continued Castor. "Them pesky reds is mighty
keerless, sometimes, an' one o' thar bullits mought chaince to hit ye.
Hurt, too, they would; bet yer life they _do_!"
"What do you think they will do now?" anxiously queried Wilson.
"Don't know. Tell you better a'ter a bit. But then you'll know jest as
soon's I will, come to think o' it. Hist! jes' lis'en to _thet_!"
This exclamation was drawn forth by a series of sounds that suddenly
broke the stillness of the forest. They seemed to come from every
point of the compass, forming a terribly-significant concert, when the
listeners so well knew the true performers.
The faint howling as of wolves; the whistle of the night-hawk; the
chirp of the tree-toad or ground squirrel; the mournful cry of the
rain-crow--with still other sounds, came from the forest depths,
telling the fugitives that their foes were upon the alert--that they
were surrounded by a cordon of bloodthirsty and cunning enemies, whose
every power would be strenuously exerted to wreak a fearful vengeance
upon the slayers of their fallen comrades.
The fire blazed higher and more brightly, casting a flood of light over
all surrounding objects, plainly revealing the long log, behind which
crouched the fugitives. But still, not a trace of the savages could be
seen, though keen and practiced eyes swept every foot of the ground
revealed.
Then the signals abruptly ceased, and even the fire appeared to burn
without noise. A stillness as of death swept over the forest. The
moment of action was evidently nigh at hand.
"Keep your eyes peeled, boys," muttered Tobe Castor, as his teeth
clenched and his eyes glittered with a strange glow. "They know jest
about whar we be, an' 'll show thar hands 'fore long. Plug the fust
varmint as you kin draw a bead on, but don't waste 'ary shot."
It was evident that the savages had determined upon the position of
the fugitives, but then a wide stretch was given them, for the log was
some fifty or sixty feet in length, the entire body of it fringed with
bushes, any point along it sufficiently dense for the fugitives to hide
in. This fact alone kept the Indians from making a desperate onset at
once.
Then a rifle-shot rung out from the gloom beyond the broad circle of
light. The bullet sunk with a dull thud into the decayed log, some feet
from the fugitives.
Another and another rung forth, from different points of the compass,
but still not a cry or a sound came to tell the Indians of the exact
spot occupied by their intended victims. One of the bullets tore its
way through the cheek of Tobe Castor, but he did not flinch or move,
save to brush the hot blood from his eyes.
Then a series of cries ran along the cordon of dusky warriors. Its
meaning was comprehended by the old scout, who muttered:
"It's comin' in airnest, now, boys! Pick yer game an' drap it. Then
load up, ef you hev time."
The words still hissed upon his lips, when a wild whoop resounded from
every side of their position; and then a number of dusky figures
appeared in view. But they did not advance boldly; instead, they sprung
from side to side, yelling frightfully and brandishing their weapons in
the air above their heads.
Castor was too wise a veteran to be fooled in the manner they evidently
counted upon. His hands checked the less experienced men, whose eyes
were already glancing along their rifle-barrels.
"Don't shoot--fer yer lives don't shoot yit!" he hissed, warningly.
"They on'y want to find out whar we be. Don't ye see? Wait ontil they
make a gineral rush."
His prudence was soon confirmed, for like magic the yelling crowd and
the dim, phantom-like figures disappeared as though they had sunk into
the ground. Evidently the red-skins were puzzled, knowing now that
either their prey had fled, or else were far more cunning then they had
given them credit for.
Thus another half-hour expired, and still no direct assault was made,
although an occasional shot was discharged into the bush-screened
log. An overruling Providence seemed to shield the fugitives, for as
yet, the crease upon Tobe Castor's cheek was the only wound the party
had received, though more than once the hissing missiles had passed
so close that their venomous whistle could be distinguished by the
besieged.
Then Tobe gave a faint hiss. His comrades gazed in the direction his
finger pointed, and they beheld a faint, shadowy figure upon the
ground, at only a few yards' distance. Under other circumstances this
would hardly have been noticed, or if so, would have been thought a
mere shadow; but now, with his senses sharpened by peril, Castor knew
that it was the form of an Indian, who was crawling up toward them,
evidently with the intention of learning their exact position; a sort
of forlorn hope, in which he risked his life to benefit his comrades
and work the ruin of his foes.
"Leave the imp to me," muttered Tobe; "keep a good look-out on your
side fer more o' the same sort. Don't let 'em fool ye!"