One of the white red-skins--for the two who had seized Virginia were
the dark-skinned stranger, Benton, and the tool of Murdock, Bob
Tierson, painted and disguised as Indians--tied a handkerchief tightly
over the eyes of the senseless girl, completely blindfolding her.
When this had been accomplished, Murdock came from his covert in the
bushes, and approached the two.
The blackened muzzle of Murdock’s rifle told plainly that it was he
who had fired the shot which had stricken the young stranger, Harvey
Winthrop, to the earth, even while the kisses of the girl he loved were
fresh upon his lips.
“The girl has fainted,” said Benton, who supported the light form of
the hapless Virginia in his arms.
“So much the better!” exclaimed Murdock; “it aids our purpose. We must
convey her at once to the lonely cabin of the Kanawha.”
“And this critter?” said Bob, kicking the motionless form of Winthrop
with his foot, carelessly, as he spoke.
“Is he dead?” asked Murdock.
Bob knelt down by the side of the young man.
“Yes, he’s gone dead,” replied the borderer, after a slight examination.
“I did not think it likely that he lived,” said Murdock, with a grim
smile. “I seldom have to fire twice.”
“Well, you’ve settled him, for sure,” observed Bob, with a grin.
“Leave him alone, then; the crows and wolves will finish him before the
morrow,” said Murdock.
“He ought to have known better than to fool round this piece of
calico,” observed Bob, with another grin.
“He won’t be apt to do it again.”
“No, dog my cats if he will!” cried Bob, expressively.
“Can you carry the girl, Benton?” asked Murdock.
“Yes, easily,” replied the one addressed, raising the motionless form
of the young girl in his arms, apparently without an effort.
“Let us be going, then. If we can reach the cabin before she recovers,
so much the better for my plan.”
Murdock led the way, followed closely by Benton carrying the girl while
Bob brought up the rear.
Swiftly through the forest they went.
A half-hour’s march up the Kanawha and Murdock halted by the bank of
the river. Drawing a dug-out from its concealment in some bushes that
overhung the water, by its aid the party crossed the river.
On the other bank of the stream, they again plunged into the
forest--first, however, carefully concealing the dug-out in a similar
hiding-place to that in which they found it.
After a three hours’ tramp through the thicket, they came to a little
log-cabin in the center of a little clearing. The cabin bore the marks
of decay, and the long grass that grew thick over the threshold told
that the builder had long since abandoned the dwelling.
Virginia had recovered from her faint some time before the party had
reached the solitary cabin.
Terrible indeed were the feelings of the young girl. A prisoner in the
hands of the merciless red-men--for she had no suspicions that her
captors were white--she shrunk from the thought of what her fate would
be. Then, too, when she remembered that she had seen her lover fall
before her eyes, perhaps mortally wounded, she felt as if her heart
would break.
The two disguised men placed the girl in the cabin; then Bob left
Benton alone with the maid. Murdock was afraid that Virginia might
recognize the borderer in spite of his disguise; but as Benton was a
stranger there was but little danger that the girl would suspect her
captors to be of her own race and blood.
Benton removed the bandage from the eyes of the girl.
“Squaw--prisoner to Shawnee,” said the disguised white, imitating the
manner and speech of the red-skin. “No try to run or warrior take
scalp.”
Then Benton joined the other two on the outside of the cabin, closing
the door carefully behind him.
“Well, the game is treed,” said Bob, with a chuckle.
“Yes,” replied Murdock, a grim smile of satisfaction upon his sallow
face. “Now you two keep watch here and be sure that the girl does not
escape. I will return to the station. Her absence will be discovered
before long and search will probably be made. If they discover the body
of the stranger, this Winthrop, in the ravine, which they will be sure
to do if any saw them leave the settlement together, which is probable,
it will lead all to suspect that the man was murdered by some strolling
red-skins and the girl carried off by them.”
“But may they not trace us?” asked Benton, shrewdly. “There are keen
scouts in the station. If they once strike our trail, they’ll be apt to
run us to earth.”
“There is little danger in that,” replied Murdock. “After we left the
ravine we struck the regular trail leading up the river. There are many
fresh footprints on the trail; it will be difficult for even the best
Indian scout on the border to pick out the marks left by us from the
others. Besides, crossing the river would be apt to throw the keenest
trailer off the scent. I do not think that any one will discover or
even suspect our agency in the girl’s disappearance.”
“’Tain’t likely,” observed Bob.
“No, I think that you are right, and that you will succeed in your
plan regarding the girl,” said Benton. There was a strange sound in
the voice of the man as he uttered the simple sentence, and a peculiar
expression in his dark, snake-like eyes. Murdock did not notice the
strangeness of the tone nor the look.
“I can not fail,” said Murdock, decidedly. “You will need food for the
girl. Here in the hollow of this tree,” and Murdock led the way to a
small white oak, some dozen paces from where they stood, “is some dried
deer-meat. I think I shall rescue the girl to-morrow,” and Murdock
laughed slightly, at the idea, as he spoke. “There is a small hole
under the logs in the back of the cabin, by which I can creep inside
and appear to the girl in my new character of a saving angel, periling
all to rescue her from the hands of the red-skins.”
“Yes, but may she not discover this hole and escape through it?” asked
Benton.
“No, a heavy log on the outside, that can not be stirred from the
inside of the cabin, prevents that.”
“To-morrow, then, you’ll return?”
“Yes, to-morrow.”
Then Murdock left the twain to watch the cabin and the prisoner, and
plunging into the forest took his way back to Point Pleasant. And in
his heart, as he walked along, he gloated over the success of the plan
that had struck a hated rival from his path and given entirely into his
power the girl whose fortune he craved.
We will now return to the little ravine wherein, stark and ghastly, lay
the form of the young stranger, Harvey Winthrop; the man who had left
home and friends to carve out a future by the banks of the Ohio, and
who had fallen by the ball of the assassin, without even a chance to
struggle for his life.
The little ravine looked bright and beautiful; the rays of the
fast-dying sun glinted down, gayly, through the tree-tops, and played
in beams of lambent light upon the pale face, whose open eyes glared,
as if in mockery, on all around.
The rocky glade was as fair to look upon with the dreadful evidence of
man’s crime lying in its center, as when, but a short hour before, its
leafy branches had formed a living frame to a picture of true love.
A huge black crow flying high and lazily in the air caught sight of the
white face that so steadily stared with its stony and fixed eyes at the
sky.
The bird of evil omen swooped round in circling flight above the
motionless figure.
Each circle was smaller than the previous one, each second brought the
bird nearer to its destined prey.
Still stared the eyes upward--still on the white face played the
flickering sunbeams.
With a downward swoop, the carrion-bird alighted on the breast of the
stricken man.
The blood that stained the hunting-shirt of the silent figure crimsoned
the talons of the disgusting bird.
With a hoarse note the crow flapped its sable wings as if in gloating
triumph over the coming feast.
One short minute more and the great eyes would stare no more at the sky
above. The beak of the carrion crow would be scarlet with human gore.
But, ere ten seconds of that minute passed away, a slight rustle
came from the tangled thicket that fringed the ravine. The crow,
with a hoarse note of anger, spread its wings and, cheated of its
prey--cheated of the great eyes and the banquet of blood--soared lazily
upward.
Then from the thicket, with stealthy tread, came a gaunt wolf.
A moment later the beast stood upon the edge of the ravine. Then it
scented the blood that had trickled from the breast of the man who lay
motionless upon the rocks.
With noiseless steps the gaunt beast came onward. It halted by the side
of the motionless figure.
The fierce eyes of the wolf peered into the face of the human, and the
huge jaws opened and shut with an ominous clash.
Then from the tree-top the carrion bird stooped again to earth.
Alarmed for a moment by the flap of the wings, the wolf lifted its huge
jowl and displayed its white tusks in anger. The prowling beast was
willing to fight for the human banquet.
But the carrion crow and the huge gray wolf were comrades of old in the
great greenwood, and many a banquet had they shared together.
The crow opened its beak and the wolf licked its jaws as they stood by
the side of the fallen man.