From one of the largest of the dwellings that composed the little
frontier settlement of Point Pleasant came a young girl.
She was about sixteen, and was as pretty as one of the wild flowers
that bloom unseen amid the rocky ravines through which ran the
tumultuous Kanawha.
Dark-brown hair rippled in wavy masses back from her olive-tinged
brow, browned by exposure to the free winds of the wilderness and the
sunbeams that danced so merrily over the surface of the rolling river.
The bright color in the cheeks of the girl, her free step, that
possessed all the grace and lightness of the bounding fawn, told of
perfect health, as also did the sparkling brown eyes and rose-red lips
that seemed to hold such dewy sweetness in their graceful curves.
The maiden was known as Virginia Treveling. She was the daughter
of General Lemuel Treveling, a man who had great experience as an
Indian-fighter on the Western border, and who had settled down in Point
Pleasant, and was reputed to be by far the wealthiest man in all the
country around.
So, by virtue of her father’s wealth, as well as by the aid of her own
beauty, Virginia Treveling was the belle of the station known as Point
Pleasant.
Her right to the title was not disputed, and few envied her, for
Virginia was as good as she was beautiful.
Many of the young men of Point Pleasant and of the neighboring stations
had sought to gain the favor of the winsome maid, but to all she said,
_nay_!
The man to whom the fair girl would freely give her heart had not yet
met her eye; but Virginia was young--scarcely old enough to be wooed
and won.
The maid was clad in simple homespun garments, the work of her own
hands, for she was a true American girl, a daughter of the frontier,
and looked not with favor upon the gaudy trappings of fashion.
The little tin pail that she carried in her hand told her mission.
The great blackberries were shining in huge purple clusters in
the rocky passes that surrounded Point Pleasant, and, like the
fortifications of the olden time, seemed to forbid approach.
With her light, graceful step, the girl passed through the village, and
taking the trail that led to the south, along the bank of the stream,
soon left the settlement behind.
There was little danger in this incursion into the deep woods, for the
Indians were on the northern bank of the Ohio; and then, too, there had
been peace between the settlements and their red neighbors for some
time.
The girl followed the trail for about half a mile, then, turning
abruptly to the east, entered a little defile, where the blackberries
grew thick and rank.
Picking the berries as she went slowly along, she soon lost sight of
the trail leading from the town.
The maiden had not been gone from the path many minutes when the
hoof-stroke of a horse rung out with a dull “thud” on the still air of
the forest.
A horseman was approaching from the south. A traveler, probably, from
Virginia.
Then the horseman came into sight. He was a young man, dressed plainly
in a homespun suit of blue. Upon his head he wore a broad-leafed felt
hat, that shaded the sun from his eyes. A short, German rifle, carrying
a ball of forty to the pound, and richly ornamented on the stock with
silver, was resting across his saddle in front of him. A keen-edged
hunting-knife, the blade some eighteen inches in length, was thrust
through the leather belt that girded in his waist.
The face of the young horseman was a frank and honest one. The full,
steel-blue eyes showed plainly both courage and firmness. The handsome,
resolute mouth confirmed this.
In figure, the rider was about the medium size, but his well-built,
sinewy form gave promise of great muscular power.
The rider was named Harvey Winthrop. A descendant was he of one of the
staunch old Puritan fathers. And now he was seeking his fortune in the
far Western wilds, for the fickle goddess had not smiled upon the young
man. A student at a foreign university, he had been hurriedly called
home by the sickness of his father, his only parent. He arrived just
in time to close that father’s eyes. And when he came to settle up his
parent’s estate, instead of finding himself--as he had expected--the
possessor of a goodly fortune, he discovered that some few hundred
dollars was all in the world that he could call his own.
Young Harvey Winthrop, though, had the right stuff in his nature.
Bidding his friends adieu, he set forth to make new ones, and to carve
out for himself a fortune by the banks of the “Beautiful River” the
Ohio.
So it is that, on that pleasant summer’s day, the young Bostonian
found himself on the trail leading to Point Pleasant, and was fast
approaching that station.
“The settlement can not be far off now,” he said, musing to himself as
he rode along, and, rising in his stirrups, he strove with his gaze to
penetrate through the mazes of the almost trackless forest before him.
Then, to the astonished ears of the young man came a woman’s scream,
evidently given under great alarm.
The traveler checked his horse and snatched the rifle from the saddle.
Again on the still air rung out the scream, shrilly, coupled with a cry
for help. The cry came from the ravine on the right.
In a second he leaped from the saddle, and, rifle in hand, plunged into
the ravine. His horse--a well-trained beast--remained motionless on the
spot where his rider had left him.
The young man dashed up the steep ascent at break-neck speed.
The noise made by his steps fell upon the ears of the woman who uttered
the scream. She knew that help was near.
A few steps more and the young man beheld a scene which nearly froze
his blood with horror.
Fleeing down the ravine came a young girl--who, even at this moment of
excitement, he noticed was beautiful, almost beyond expression; and
behind her, in full pursuit, was a huge black bear.
The girl was Virginia Treveling. In her search for berries she had
stumbled upon the bear, who was busily engaged feasting upon the
luscious fruit.
But Bruin, in a twinkling, forsook the berries for the human.
Then from the lips of the girl came the shrill screams that had brought
the traveler to her rescue.
The girl reached the young man.
“Keep on, Miss,” he cried, quickly; “fly for your life! I’ll keep the
brute at bay.”
Small time was there for conversation, for the bear, at his lumbering
trot, was coming rapidly onward.
“He will kill you!” cried the terrified girl.
“Yes, and you, too, if you don’t run,” said the young man, coolly. “One
life is enough; so save yours.”
“I will not go!” exclaimed the girl. “Give me your powder flask and a
bullet. After you fire, if you miss him, I can load.”
The hunter threw a glance of admiration at the heroic maid who seemed
so cool at this moment of danger; but he did as she requested. Then, as
the bear came on, he leveled his rifle at the brute, and sighting one
of his eyes, fired. But the bear swerving in its course at the moment,
the ball glanced across his bony head and shot off as if it had been
but a boy’s marble.
The beast paused for an instant, shook its head as if annoyed, then,
with an angry growl, he came straight upon the young man.
Winthrop had handed his rifle to the girl, and, drawing his knife,
awaited the onset. His only hope of escape was to close in with the
animal, and stab him in some vital part before he could use the
terrible claws and teeth.
The bear reared on its hind legs and prepared to seize the young man
with open mouth.
Winthrop felt that the crisis had come.
The young man raised his knife to plunge it into the shaggy breast
before him, while, with eager but trembling hands, the girl reloaded
the rifle.
But the sharp crack of a rifle came quick on the air.
Winthrop heard the “hiss” of a bullet that whirled past, close to his
ear. Then, with a grunt of agony, the bear fell over on its side,
clawed the air wildly for a moment--growled in pain, and sunk into the
silence of death.
The rifle-ball which had passed so near to the ear of the young man had
entered the body of the bear between the fore-legs and buried itself in
the great red heart.
Winthrop could hardly believe his eyes when he beheld the grim king
of the forest lying in death at his feet; when he saw the huge paws
motionless that he had expected to feel tearing his own flesh.
He had been saved almost by a miracle.
A timely shot, and a good one, for an inch either way would have missed
the heart of the bear or killed the young hunter.
Winthrop felt that both he and the beautiful girl had been saved by the
shot of the, as yet, hidden friend.
The young man looked for his preserver. Judge of his astonishment when
forth from the bushes that fringed the rocks, with a rifle in hand--a
very forest queen--came a young girl!