Produced by Demian Katz, Craig Kirkwood, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(Northern Illinois University Digital Library at
http://digital.lib.niu.edu/)
Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text
enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
BEADLE’S _New York_ Dime Library
COPYRIGHTED IN 1878, BY BEADLE & ADAMS.
Vol. IV. Complete In One Number. _Beadle & Adams, Publishers, No. 98
WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK._ Price, Ten Cents. No. 49
THE WOLF DEMON; OR, The Queen of the Kanawha.
BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,
AUTHOR OF “INJUN DICK,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN ROB,”
“KENTUCK, THE SPORT,” ETC., ETC.
[Illustration]
THE PROLOGUE. IN THE GLADE AND BY THE MOONLIGHT.
The great, round moon looked down in a flood of silver light upon the
virgin forest by the banks of the Scioto, the beautiful river which
winds through the richest and fairest valley in all the wide western
land--the great corn valley of the Shawnee tribe--those red warriors
who, in their excursions across the Ohio (the “La Belle” river of
the early French adventurers) had given to the plains and valleys of
Kentucky the name of “The Dark and Bloody Land.”
The tree-tops were green and silver; but under the spreading branches,
sable was the gloom.
The strange, odd noises of the night broke the forest stillness. One
hears all noises in the night even in a civilized land; how much more
wondrous then are the wild, free cries of the inhabitants of the great
greenwood, untrammeled by the restraining hand of man!
The free winds surged with a mournful sound through the branches of the
wood.
A ring around the moon told the coming storm.
Dark masses of clouds dashed across the sky, ever and anon vailing in
the “mistress of the night,” as though some unquiet spirit was envious
of the pale moonbeams, and wished to cover, with its mantle, the earth,
and cloak an evil deed.
A frightened deer came dashing through the aisles of the forest--a
noble buck with branching horns that told of many a year spent under
the greenwood tree.
Across a little open glade, whereon the moonbeams fell--kissing the
earth as though they loved it--dashed the deer, and then, entering
again the dark recesses of the forest, the brown coat of the
wood-prince was lost in the inky gloom.
Then in the trail of the buck, guided by the noise of the rustling
branches, came a dark form.
As the form stole, with noiseless tread, across the moonlit glade, it
displayed the person of an Indian warrior.
A red brave, decked out in deer-skin garb, stained with the pigments of
the earth in many colors, and fringed in fanciful fashion.
The warrior was a tall and muscular savage, one of Nature’s noblemen. A
son of the wilderness untrammeled by the taint of civilization--a brave
of the great Shawnee tribe, the lords of the Ohio valley from the oil
“licks” of the Alleghany stream to the level prairies where the Wabash
and the White pour their muddy tide into the great river of the New
World, the winding, smiling Ohio.
Fast on the trail of the deer he followed, although the chase was
almost hopeless.
Hardly had the warrior crossed the glade and entered the thicket, when,
on his track--following him as he was following the deer--came another
form through the forest.
A form that moved with noiseless steps; a form that cast behind it a
shadow gigantic in its hight.
The form did not pass across the glade, but skulked around it in the
shadow, as though it feared the moonlight.
The warrior penetrated into the thicket beyond the glade, but a hundred
yards or so. Then satisfied that the deer was thoroughly alarmed and
had sought safety in flight, the warrior began to retrace his steps.
The Shawnee brave dreamed not of the dark and fearful form--that seemed
neither man nor beast--that lurked in his track.
He had hunted the deer, but little thought that he, too, in turn was
hunted.
The red chief guessed not that the dread demon of his nation--the
terrible foe who had left his red “totem” on the breast of many a stout
Shawnee brave--was even now on his track, eager for that blood which
was necessary to its existence.
With careless steps the warrior retraced his way.
From behind a tree-trunk came the terrible form. One single blow, and a
tomahawk crashed through the brain of the red-man.
With a groan the Shawnee chief sunk lifeless to the earth.
The dark form bent over him for a moment. Three rapid knife-slashes,
and the mark of the destroyer was blazoned on the breast of the victim,
reddened with blood.
Then through the aisles of the forest stole the dark form.
All living things--the insects of the earth--the birds of the
night--shrunk from its path.
It crossed the glade full in the soft light of the moon.
The rays of the orb of night fell upon a huge gray wolf, who walked
erect like a man! The face of the wolf was that of a human. In the
paw of the beast glistened the tomahawk of the red-man, the edge now
scarlet with the blood of the Shawnee chief.
For a moment the moon looked upon the huge and terrible figure, and
then, as if struck with deadly fear at the awful sight, hid itself
behind a dark cloud.
When it again came forth, the strange and terrible being, that wore the
figure of a wolf and the face of a man, had disappeared, swallowed up
in the gloom of the forest.
Once again the creatures of the night came forth. Again the shrill
cries broke the stillness of the wood.
CHAPTER I. THE MARK ON THE TREE.
Two rifle-“cracks” broke the stillness of the wilderness, that
stretched in one almost unbroken line from the Alleghany and Blue Ridge
peaks to the Ohio river. The reports re-echoed over the broad expanse
of the Kanawha and Ohio rivers, for the shots were fired near the
junction of the two streams--fired so nearly at the same time that the
two seemed almost like one report.
Then, before the smoke of the rifles had curled lazily upward in spiral
rings on the air, came a crash in the tangled underbrush, and forth
into a little open glade--the work of Nature’s master hand--dashed
a noble buck. The red stream bursting from a wound just behind the
shoulder and staining crimson the glossy brown coat of the forest lord,
told plainly that he was stricken unto death.
The buck gained the center of the glade, then his stride weakened; the
dash through the thicket was the last despairing effort of the poor
brute to escape from the invisible foes whose death-dealing balls had
pierced his side.
With a moan of pain, almost human in its expression, the buck fell upon
his knees, then rolled over on his side, dead.
The brute had fallen near the trunk of a large oak tree--a tree
distinguished from its neighbors by a blazon upon its side, whereon, in
rude characters, some solitary hunter had cut his name.
Scarcely had the death-bleat of the buck pierced the silence of the
glen, when two men came dashing through the woods, each eager to be the
first to secure the game.
One of the two was some twenty yards in advance of the other, and
reached the body of the dead buck just as his rival emerged from the
thicket.
Placing his foot upon the buck, and rifle in hand, he prepared to
dispute the quarry with the second hunter, for both men--strangers to
each other--had fired at the same deer.
The hunter who stood with his foot upon the buck, in an attitude of
proud defiance, had reloaded his rifle as he ran and was prepared to
defend his right to the game to the bitter end.
In person, the hunter was a muscular, well-built man, standing some six
feet in hight. Not a clumsy, overgrown giant, hardly able to bear his
own weight, but a man as supple and as active as a panther. He was clad
in buck-skin hunting-shirt and leggins, made in the Indian fashion,
but unlike that fashion in one respect, and that was that no gaudy
ornaments decorated the garments. Upon the feet of the hunter were a
pair of moccasins. A cap rudely fashioned from a piece of deer-skin,
and with the little flat tail of the animal as an ornament, completed
the dress of the hunter.
The face of the man was singular to look upon. The features were large
and clearly cut. The cold gray eye, broad forehead, and massive,
squarely-chiseled chin, told of dauntless courage and of an iron will.
A terrible scar extended from the temple to the chin on the left side
of the face.
The hunter was quite young--not over twenty-five, though deep lines of
care were upon the face.
The second hunter, who came from the tangled thicket, but paused on the
edge of the little glen on beholding the threatening attitude of the
hunter who stood with his foot on the deer, was a man who had probably
seen forty years. He, too, like the other, was of powerful build, and
his muscular frame gave promise of great strength.
He was dressed, like the first, in the forest garb of deer-skin, but
his dress was gayly fringed and ornamented.
In his hand he bore one of the long rifles so common to the frontier
settler of that time, for our story is of the year 1780.
The clear blue eye of the second hunter took in the situation at a
glance. He readily saw that the man who stood so defiantly by the deer
was not disposed to yield his claim to the animal without a struggle.
So the second hunter determined upon a parley.
“Hello, stranger! I reckon we’re both after the same critter,” said the
hunter who stood on the edge of the little glade.
“Yes; it ’pears so,” replied the other, who stood by the deer.
There was something apparently in the voice of the last comer that
impressed the first favorably, for he dropped the butt of his rifle to
the ground, though he still kept his foot upon the deer’s carcass.
“Well, stranger, we can’t both have the game. I think I hit him, an’
of course, as it is but nat’ral, you think so, too. So I reckon we’d
better find out which one of us he belongs to; ’cause I don’t want
him if my ball didn’t finish him, an’ of course, you don’t want him
if he’s mine by right,” said the second hunter, approaching the other
fearlessly.
“You’re right, by hookey!” cried the other, yielding to the influence
of the good-humored tone of the other.
“Let me introduce myself, stranger, ’cos you seem to be a new-comer
round hyer,” said the old hunter. “My name’s Daniel Boone; mayhap
you’ve heard of me.”
“Well, I reckon I have!” exclaimed the other, in astonishment. “Thar’s
few men on the border but what have heard on you. I’m right glad to see
you, kurnel.”
“How may I call your name?” asked Boone, who had taken a fancy to the
brawny stranger.
“Thar’s my mark--my handle,” said the stranger, pointing as he spoke to
the name carved on the tree-trunk by which the deer had fallen; “that’s
me.”
Boone cast his eye upon the tree.
[Illustration: ABe LARK HiS MARK]
Such was the inscription blazoned upon the trunk of the oak.
“You see, kurnel, the buck evidently thought that it was a ball from my
rifle that ended him, ’cos he laid down to die right under my name,”
said the hunter, with a laugh.
“Abe Lark!” Boone read the inscription upon the tree aloud.
“Yes, that’s me, kurnel; your’n to command,” replied the hunter.
“Stranger in these parts?” questioned Boone.
“Yes,” replied the other; “I’ve jest come down from the north. I
camped hyar last night, an’ this morning I jest put my mark onto the
tree, so that folks might know that I was round.”
“I’m right glad to meet you,” and Boone shook hands warmly with the
stranger hunter. “And while you’re in these parts, just take up your
quarters with me. I’m stopping down yonder, at Point Pleasant, on a
visit to some friends of mine.”
“Well, I don’t mind, kurnel; I’ll take your invitation in the same good
spirit that you offer it,” said Lark.
“Now for the deer; let’s see who the animal belongs to,” cried Boone,
kneeling down by the carcass.
“Why, kurnel, I resign all claim. It ain’t for me to dispute with
Kurnel Boone!” exclaimed Lark.
“Resign your claim?” cried Boone, in astonishment. “Not by a jugful.
I’ll wager my rifle ag’in’ a popgun that you’re as good a hand at the
rifle as myself. It’s just as likely to be your deer as mine.”
Then the two carefully examined the carcass. They found the marks of
the two bullets easily; both had struck the animal just behind the
shoulder, but on opposite sides. It was difficult to determine which
had inflicted the death-wound.
“Well, now, this would puzzle a lawyer,” muttered Boone.
“S’pose we divide the animal, share and share alike,” said Lark.
“That’s squar’,” replied Boone. “We’ll take the buck in to the station.
By the way, what’s the news from the upper settlements?”
“Well, nothing particular, ’cept that the red devils are on the
war-path ag’in,” replied Lark.
Boone was astonished at the news.
“On the war-path ag’in, eh? What tribe?”
“The Shawnees and the Wyandots.”
“The Shawnees and the Wyandots!” cried Boone: “then we’ll see fire and
smell gunpowder round these parts before long.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said the other.
“Well, I’m glad that you have brought the news. We’ll be able to
prepare for the imps.”
“You can depend upon it,” said Lark; “a friend of mine has been right
through the Shawnee country. They are coming down onto the settlements
in greater force than was ever known before. They’ve been stirred up
by the British on the border. I did heer say that the British Governor
agrees to give so much apiece for white scalps to the red savages.”
“The eternal villain!” cried Boone, indignantly.
“The Injuns are a-goin’ to try to wipe out all the settlements on the
Ohio. It will be a blood-time while it lasts,” said Lark, soberly.
“We’ll have to face it,” replied Boone. “Did your friend hear what
chief was goin’ to lead the expedition ag’in’ us on the south?”
“Yes; Ke-ne-ha-ha.”
“The-man-that-walks,” said Boone, thoughtfully. “He’s one of the best
warriors in all the Shawnee nation. Blood will run like water along our
borders, I’m afeard.”
“Yes, and the renegade, Simon Girty, is to guide the Injuns.”
“If I had him within reach of my rifle once, he’d never guide another
Injun expedition ag’in’ his own flesh and blood,” said Boone, and his
hand closed tightly around the rifle-barrel.
“I was jest on my way to the settlement at Point Pleasant when I
started up the buck this morning,” said Lark.
“Well, I’m right glad that it happened as it did, ’cos I shouldn’t
have had the pleasure of meetin’ you,” said Boone. “Now, s’pose we
swing the buck on a pole an’ tote it in to the station. I reasonably
expect that there’ll be some white faces over yonder when they hear
that Ke-ne-ha-ha an’ his Shawnees, to say nothin’ of Girty, are on the
war-path.”
“There ought to be good men enough along the Ohio to whip any force
these red devils can bring,” said Lark.
“Well, they’re awful scattered, but I reckon that now that we know
what’s goin’ on, we can get men enough to give the Shawnees all the
fighting that they want.”
Then the two slung the buck on a pole and started to the station known
as Point Pleasant.