Harvey Winthrop had been the guest of the old General some three days,
and during those three days he had discovered that he loved the fair
girl, Virginia, whose life he had saved, and he had reason to believe
from her manner toward him that she was not indifferent to that love.
Our hero determined to learn the truth. He was not one of those who
believed that it needed years to foster and ripen love. Within his
heart he felt that he loved Virginia with a pure and holy passion. He
was sure that he could not have loved her any better if he had known
her all his life.
Virginia guessed that she was loved by the young man--what girl does
not guess when she is loved?--and, perhaps, willing to give him a
chance to declare that love, she suggested an excursion to the ravine
where she had been rescued from the bear by him.
Gladly Winthrop announced his willingness to accompany her.
So the two set out for the ravine.
They passed down through the station and took the trail leading up the
Kanawha.
As they walked onward, chatting gayly together, they had no suspicion
that they were closely followed by three men, who, holding a
consultation together on the edge of the timber, had noticed them as
they passed.
Leaving the trail, the girl and the young man walked into the ravine.
The three men, who had followed him so closely, paused at the entrance
to the gorge, apparently to consult together.
“The fellow is her lover, as I guessed,” said the foremost of the
three, the one who had been the most eager to follow the two.
“It looks like it,” said the taller of the two others, who was the dark
skinned stranger, who had called himself Benton. The third one of the
party was a worthless fellow who hung about the station, ready to drink
“corn-juice” when he could get it, and fit for but little else. He was
known as Bob Tierson.
“I’d gi’n him a load of buckshot ef he came arter my gal!” said Bob,
who was somewhat given to boasting.
“Perhaps I may,” replied Murdock, who was the leader of the party. He
spoke with an angry voice, and a lowering cloud was upon his sallow
face.
“If the young fellow was out of the way, this would be a good
opportunity to try the Indian game,” said Benton, suggestively.
“Ef it was me, I’d put him out of the way mighty doggoned quick!”
exclaimed Bob, who seldom lost an opportunity of telling what he would
do.
“For the first time in your life, Bob, you’ve said a wise thing,” said
Murdock.
“Fur the first time!” cried Bob, in indignation. “Wal, I reckon now, I
don’t take a back seat to any man in the station--”
“In drinking whisky? No, you don’t, to do you justice,” said Murdock,
sarcastically. “But, Benton, can you fix up for the Indian now?”
“Yes, easily enough,” replied the one addressed. “I’ve got the pigment
to paint our faces with in my pouch. Just lend me your hunting-shirt,
and take my coat.”
“How about your hair?”
“Tie a handkerchief over it, nigger-fashion,” suggested Bob.
“Yes, that will do,” said Murdock. “The girl will be so frightened that
she won’t be apt to notice you much. Tie a handkerchief over her eyes
the moment you grab her.”
“And the young feller?” asked Bob.
“Leave him to me,” and Murdock tapped the butt of his rifle
significantly.
“And you’ll leave him to the wolves, eh?” said Bob, with a grin.
“I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Murdock, dryly.
“But the report of the rifle--if it should be heard at the station--”
“A hunter after game, that’s all,” said Murdock. “But come, let’s tree
our game; I’ve an idea that there’ll be a love-scene between the two up
the ravine, and I’d like to be a looker on.” Murdock ground his teeth
at the very thought.
So, cautiously and slowly, the three left the little trail by the banks
of the Kanawha, and followed in the footsteps of Virginia and Winthrop
up the ravine.
The girl and the young man reached the spot where the encounter with
the bear had taken place, and there they halted.
The quick eye of the girl caught sight of the drops of blood dried upon
the rock, where the bear had fallen and died.
“See,” she said, pointing to the spots upon the rock; “but for you my
blood would have stained the stone instead of the brute’s.”
“And but for that strange girl who came so aptly to my rescue, my blood
might have been there, too,” said Winthrop.
“It was a moment of terrible peril,” and Virginia half-shuddered at the
bare remembrance.
“Yes; but it was evidently not your fate to die by the claws and teeth
of the bear.”
“What will my fate be?” said the girl, reflectively.
“A bright and happy one, I hope,” replied Winthrop. “I am sure that you
deserve none other.”
“Ah!” said the girl; “but we do not get our deservings in this world.”
As she spoke she sat down upon a rock that cropped out of the ground,
and looked up into the face of the young man with her clear, bright
eyes. In his heart Winthrop thought that he had never seen such clear,
innocent eyes before.
“You should get yours,” replied Winthrop, “or else there isn’t any
justice in this world.”
“I hope so,” said Virginia, half-sadly.
“How beautiful the forest is!” said the young man, glancing around him;
but in his heart he thought the fair girl at his side was far more
beautiful than any of her surroundings.
“How do you like our home by the banks of the Ohio?” asked Virginia.
“So well that I think the rest of my life will be spent in yonder
settlement,” replied Winthrop, quickly.
“Oh, I’m so glad of that!” The tone of the girl showed that the words
came directly from her heart. A warm flush came over the face of the
young man as the words fell upon his ears.
“I am so glad to hear you say that!” The earnest tone of Winthrop told
the girl that her suspicion was truth. She was loved.
“You are?” murmured Virginia, in a low tone. She felt that the words
that she wished to hear--for she loved the man that had risked his life
so nobly--would soon be spoken.
“Yes, I am! can you guess why?” The voice of Winthrop trembled as he
spoke.
Virginia glanced up shyly in the face of the young man, then dropped
her eyes to the earth again. She did not answer.
Encouraged by her silence, Winthrop spoke:
“Virginia, I have known you but a few days, but I feel as if I had
known you all my life. I have never met any one in the world that I
have liked as I do you--that I love as I do you; for, Virginia, I love
you with all my whole heart.”
Virginia hung her head; her glances shyly swept the ground. She did not
reply.
“You are not offended at my words, Virginia?” he said, earnestly.
“No--no,” she replied, slowly, looking up in his face with a half-smile.
Winthrop guessed the truth in the soft eyes that looked so lovingly
into his own.
“Virginia, may I hope that some day you will learn to love me?”
Winthrop asked, with eager hope patent in his voice.
Virginia Treveling was a truthful woman, and so she answered truthfully:
“No, not learn to love you, Harvey, for I _do_ love you already!”
A moment more, and the head of the fair young girl was pillowed on the
manly bosom of her lover.
Oh! the flood of joy that came over the young man when he discovered
that the love that he wished so to gain was all his own. That the heart
now beating so fondly against his breast was devoted to him, and to him
alone.
“Virginia, do you love me, then?” he asked.
“Yes,” she murmured, softly.
“You will be my wife?”
“Yes.”
“You will be mine, then, forever and forever?”
The young man gently raised the little head that nestled so snugly on
his breast. Virginia understood the movement, and anticipated the wish
of her lover. With a shy smile upon her face, and a coy look in her
dark-brown eyes, she gave her lips up to her lover’s caress.
The lips of the lovers met in a long, lingering kiss--the first proof
of love, so dear to all hearts. Lip to lip and soul to soul.
Virginia Treveling gave herself to Harvey Winthrop.
A moment only the lovers remained in each other’s arms.
Then the sharp crack of a rifle broke the stillness of the summer air.
With a groan of anguish Winthrop reeled from the fond embrace of the
young girl. He clutched wildly at the air, and then fell heavily on his
side upon the rocky surface.
With a shriek of terror Virginia knelt by the side of her lover.
The shriek of the young girl was answered by the shrill war-whoop of
the Indian.
Forth from their covert in the thicket sprung two painted braves, and
rushed with eager haste toward the young girl.
Virginia did not try to fly. Her senses were chilled to numbness by the
fall of the man who but a moment before had pressed the warm love-kiss
upon her willing lips.
Eagerly the two that came from the thicket seized the girl. With a moan
of anguish she fell fainting into their arms.
The bird was in the net.