Winthrop looked with amazed eyes upon his preserver, for that the girl
had saved his life by coming so timely to his rescue, there was hardly
a doubt.
The young man saw a beautiful girl, clad in the Indian fashion, her
garb gayly fringed and decorated with colored beads. But though clad in
the garb of the Indian, more white blood than red leaped in the veins
of the forest child.
Her skin was of a rich olive tinge; a peculiar skin--so thin, despite
its darkness, that it showed the quick play of the surging blood in the
veins beneath.
Dark-brown hair floated in tangled masses from the fillet of deer-skin,
adorned with eagle-plumes, that encircled her head. Her eyes were dark
brown in their hue, and large and full as the eyes of the deer.
Grace was in every motion, yet one could easily see that the graceful
limbs were strong and sinewy--muscles of steel beneath the silken skin.
Lightly the girl bounded down, from rock to rock, until she reached the
bottom of the defile wherein stood the two by the carcass of the dead
bear who had fallen by the rifle of this forest fay.
Nor was Virginia less astonished at the sudden appearance of the
dark-hued maiden than the young stranger.
She gazed with amazement on the girl who was so unlike all of her sex
in looks and dress.
“A lucky shot!” exclaimed the wood nymph, kneeling by the side of dead
Bruin, and examining the wound that had given him his death.
“I owe you my life!” cried Winthrop, impulsively; “for had I once got
into the grim hug of the brute, I’m afraid he would have made sad work
of me.”
“No, not to me,” replied the girl, “but to the great One above who
first sent me to your aid, and then gave me the skill to send the ball
home to the heart of the bear.”
“I shall thank you, though, all the same,” replied the young man. “You
have saved my life, and, while I live, I shall never forget it.”
“Don’t speak of it any more, please,” said the girl, a blush mantling
to her cheeks at the earnest gaze of the young forester. “You threw
yourself into danger to save this young lady; Heaven sent me to your
aid, for it was not right that you should be sacrificed while acting so
nobly.”
“Yes; and I must thank you, sir, for periling your life in my behalf,”
said Virginia, in her low, sweet voice, that thrilled like pleasant
music through the heart of the young adventurer.
“You make me ashamed of my simple service,” replied Winthrop. “I would
have done the same for any one in peril. It is our duty in this life
to help our fellow-creatures, and I would be unworthy of the name of
man had I stood by and witnessed your peril without making an effort to
save you.”
The forest maiden watched the girl’s face while the young man was
speaking, with a peculiar expression in her dark eyes.
“I am Virginia, daughter of General Treveling, of Point Pleasant; if
you are going thither, I am sure my father will thank you heartily for
the service you have this day rendered his only child.”
“I _am_ going to Point Pleasant, and shall be pleased to meet your
father, whom I have heard highly spoken of many times on my way here,”
said Winthrop. Then he turned to the girl in the Indian garb, who stood
leaning upon her rifle, with her eyes intently fixed upon the two.
“Lady, may I not know the name of her whose well-directed shot saved
me? There may come a time when I can repay the service.”
“Do not ask my name,” said the girl, in a mournful tone; “it is better,
perhaps, that you should _not_ know it.”
Winthrop looked his astonishment at this strange speech.
“I really do not see how that can be, lady,” he said, after a moment’s
pause. “I am sure I shall never forget the service, nor your name, if
once I hear it.”
“I repeat that it is better that you should not know it,” said the
girl, slowly.
“Why so?” demanded the young man, while on the face of Virginia was
written strong curiosity to know the meaning of the girl’s words.
“You think you owe me a debt of gratitude,” said the dark-hued maiden.
“It is a pleasant thought for me to know that _some_ one thinks well of
me. If I tell you my name, perhaps the gratitude that you now think you
owe will vanish, and in its place will come loathing.”
“You speak in riddles,” said Winthrop, unable to guess her meaning, but
plainly seeing that some mystery was concealed in her words. “I do not
see how the knowledge of your name will change my sentiments in any way
whatsoever. I beseech you, tell me what it is. I can never forget the
name of the one who saved my life.”
“And you, Virginia Treveling,” said the girl, turning abruptly to the
General’s daughter. “Do you not know who I am?”
“No,” replied Virginia, “but I should like very much to know, for I
feel that, in part, I owe you my life too.”
“Blame yourself, then, if, after I have told you my name, you shrink
from me, and gratitude dies in loathing. _I am Kanawha Kate!_”
Virginia started when the name fell upon her ears. The quick eye of
Kate noticed the start. Winthrop did not manifest any emotion whatever.
It was the first time he had ever heard the name, and though he
wondered somewhat at the strange appellation, still he saw nothing in
it to alarm him in any way.
“You shrink from me,” said Kate, with a bitter smile--she was referring
to the almost unconscious start that Virginia had made when she heard
the name. “You know who I am. You have heard evil tongues talk of me,
and you are not so grateful now as you were a moment ago.”
“Nay, you wrong me,” said Virginia, gently. “In all my life I have
never heard evil spoken of Kanawha Kate. I have heard you called wild
and wayward--spoken of as one more like a boy than a girl--who liked to
roam about the forest better than to sit at home. But when I heard the
tongues of the settlers speak lightly of you, I have always remembered
that you were an orphan--without mother or father--with no one to tell
you what you should do.”
“You are right. I have grown up like a weed, uncared for by all”--there
was great bitterness in the tone of the girl’s voice--“my only relative
a renegade from his country and his race--a white Indian, far worse
than the dusky savages. Why should I not be an outcast, despised by
all, when my unhappy fate dooms me to such a life?”
“No, not despised by all,” said Virginia, firmly. “I do not despise
you; I love you--that is, if you will let me.” And the girl placed her
hand gently on the shoulder of the other.
“Oh, I thank you so much!” The words came in a half-sob from the lips
of the forest child.
“Let me be your sister. Come and see me at my home at the station.
Few will be bold enough to say aught against the sister of Virginia
Treveling.” Proudly the young girl drew up her form as she uttered the
words.
“Yes, and for want of a better, take me for your brother,” said
Winthrop, impulsively, “and the man who dares to breathe a word against
you will have to face the muzzle of my rifle.”
“It is many a long day since such kind words have fallen upon my ears,”
said Kate, sadly. “Perhaps I should not be so wild if my parents had
lived. But, Miss Virginia, I will come and see you.”
“Do, and I promise you a hearty welcome!” exclaimed Virginia.
“Oh, I _will_ come!” cried Kate, her eyes gleaming.
“Good-by, then,” and the rescued girl turned to Winthrop. “If you are
going to Point Pleasant, I will be your guide, and I am sure that my
father will be very glad to see you, particularly when he learns that
you have saved the life of his only child!”
Virginia embraced Kate heartily, and kissed her as if she had been
a sister; Winthrop shook her warmly by the hand, and then the two,
leaving the forest maid standing by the body of the dead brute,
retraced their way to the little trail that led to Point Pleasant.
Kate, leaning on her rifle, remained in a deep reverie, gazing absently
upon their departing figures.
Winthrop found his horse exactly where he had left him. Passing the
bridle over his arm, he walked by the side of Virginia toward the
station.
“What a strange creature that girl is,” he said, as they walked onward.
“Yes; I have often heard of her, though I have never happened to meet
her before. The settlers tell a great many stories about her. They say
that she can ride better than any man on the border. That she knows
every foot of the country for miles around, even to the Indian villages
on the other side of the Ohio. Then, too, they say she is a splendid
shot with the rifle, and can use the hunting-knife like a woodman.”
“We can vouch for her skill in marksmanship,” said Winthrop, and a
half-shiver came over him when he thought of the huge bear, with its
fierce eyes and shining teeth.
“Yes; poor girl, she is a niece of the renegade, Simon Girty, and that,
I think, makes the settlers dislike her--as if she should answer for
the misdeeds of her wicked uncle!” Virginia spoke with feeling; her
face lighted up, and Winthrop thought that he had never looked upon a
prettier maiden.