THE FOREST TRAGEDY.
When at last the party had got comfortably settled around the cheerful
camp-fire, Rob asked:
“Are those mounds up near the Devil’s Den the graves of white people,
Woodranger?”
“One is and one isn’t, lad, though I reckon the good angel has writ out
their records alike. Them graves were made for an Indian maid and her
white lover. It was one o’ them ’fairs with which these parts be all
writ over.”
“So there is a story, Woodranger,” said the four boys, in a chorus.
“You must tell it to us.”
“Mebbe it will while away a few minutes, and if you’ll pile a leetle
more bresh on the fire, I’ll tell you the sad story o’ Princess
Avawanda.
“Among the first white settlers in this vicinity was a Frenchman by the
name o’ Le Roche. He built him a cabin six or eight miles, as the crow
flies, to the east o’ this place. His wife came with him, and a son
about one and twenty.
“This youngster, whose name I disremember, was fond o’ the chase,
which shows to me that he was above dissembling. I opine he was a
likely lad. During one o’ his perambulations o’ the woods he run ’pon
a deer. It was just above here, and, heedless o’ any harm from it, he
shot the varmint. Scurcely had it toppled over before half a dozen reds
leaped out o’ their ambushment and caught him as fast as a fish in a
net. He was taken to their camp on a goodish sized stream which flows
into the pond.
“The youngster, Le Roche, was knowing to leetle o’ Indian warfare,
but he supposed the reds weren’t on the warpath at that time. So they
weren’t, but this was their fishing and hunting grounds, and, ’cording
to their idee, the deer hereabouts belonged to ’em. But the older
warriors seemed to persuade the younger into the belief that it was
best to let the young man off, on the expectation that he would do
better. Not understanding a word o’ that which was said to him, the
youngster was ’lowed to depart in peace, though he was not given back
his gun.
“Joyed to get off so easy, he didn’t mind his loss, but when he come
along hereabouts, he was overtaken by the chief’s daughter, Avawanda,
who had brought his gun. She told in that tongue which he did not
understand that he must leave that corner at once. She told him some o’
the warriors were ill-pleased with ’lowing him his liberty. More by her
gestures than her words, she made him realise the risk she had run in
coming to him, and the danger o’ his situation. She had seen him during
the council o’ her race, and in the manner o’ a woman’s way her heart
had gone out to him. I don’t say she told him as much as this, though
it was an Indian’s way.
“The youngster went boldly on his way, but he hadn’t gone twenty yards
afore some arrows whistled around his head, and two reds leaped in
front o’ him flourishing their tomahawks and howling like wolves.
“Though taken unawares, the youngster killed the foremost, and engaged
in a hand-to-hand grapple with the other. It must have been a tough
battle, for at last, when the Indian girl, attracted by the cries and
struggles, reached the spot, both lay as if dead.
“In the short time she had known the young Frenchman he had awakened a
strong passion in her breast for him, and she bent tenderly over him to
see if there was any sign o’ life left. After a hasty examination, she
was joyed to find that he lived. But it would be impossible for him to
reach home. Not daring to leave him there, she carried his well-nigh
lifeless body to the cave. Laying it down on a bed o’ leaves, she
started for his home, to tell his father what she had done.
“It was a bolder amazement than she knew in going to the youngster’s
father with the story of his adventure, but she was honest and
fearless, as the innocent ever are. When Le Roche heard o’ the fate
o’ his boy, at first he could ne’er believe it. But Avawanda seemed
honest, though he swore she should die if she had deceived him. Poor
child! As if she had not risked enough in going there to him. Should
her father l’arn o’ it, he would put her to death at once. But Le Roche
got two or three friends to go with him, and started for this place,
under the lead o’ the girl.
“’Pon getting here, the wounded youngster was not to be found. Sartin,
then, that Avawanda had led him into a trap, Le Roche swore he would
kill her. She fled for her life, and he and his companions follered her.
“Their anger making them resky, the leetle party crept down to the
Indian village. There they see the boy a captive, and undergoing a
course o’ torture. It seemed the reds had found him at the cave while
Avawanda was gone, and, knowing he’d killed two o’ their number, set
about avenging their deaths. Maddened by the sight, Le Roche called
upon his friends to attack ’em with him.
“A bloody fight must have followed, though none o’ the whites were
killed. But do his best, Le Roche did not manage to bear off his son,
who somehow was lost in the scramble. At last, having killed three o’
the reds, and his companions being so hard hit they could do no more
fighting, the Frenchman was fain to get away.
“He was coming up the path just below here, when he was surprised to
see the Indian girl coming toward the cave, with his boy’s body in her
arms. Without stopping to think that she might have resked her life to
save his son, and was then trying to get him away from his enemies,
though they were her kin, Le Roche could think only o’ treachery.
Believing she was trying to hide his body, he shot her dead with her
loved one in her arms.
“Upon reaching the side o’ his boy, he found that the same bullet o’
his which had taken Avawanda’s life had given him his death-wound! The
youngster lived long enough to tell his father that she had saved him
from the torture, and was bearing him to that place until she could
find some way to get him home.
“‘She died for me, father! and the same bullet has cost me my life, for
otherwise I might have got well. I have one favour to ask. Bury us here
side by side.’
“The grief-stricken father could promise nothing less, and so you see
their graves here on this little hill, within sight of the beautiful
sheet o’ water Avawanda loved so well. The granite walls o’ the
hillside, which were silent witnesses o’ that day’s awful work, guard
through the long years their lonely rest. But don’t let the sad story
rob you o’ your evening’s enj’yment. How beautiful old Massabesic looks
under the starry eyes o’ the night. So your gun is getting to be
onsartain, Zack. Is as glum as a beetle when you want it to talk, and
pops off in the most onreasonable way when it should hold its tongue,
eh?”
By this time Bitlock had got his clothes pretty well dried, and he
had also got into a more amiable frame of mind, so it was a free and
cheerful group gathered there under the pines amid the solitude of the
forest. For a long time the six talked about the topics interesting
them most, the Woodranger filling in the waste places of conversation
with many incidents of his checkered life, until at last he signified
that it was time to seek rest.
Scraping a few leaves together, and selecting a moss-covered stone
for a pillow, he stretched his stalwart figure at full length on his
primitive couch. In a brief time he sank into a child-like slumber, a
smile, now and then, hovering over his bronzed and bearded countenance,
as if some sweet vision of happy days gone by had flitted through his
dreams. Bitlock was soon snoring loudly close by the fire. Norman and
the other boys gladly lay down on their simple beds of leaves and
boughs, covered with their skin robes, and were soon enjoying their
well-earned rest.