By the northern bank of the Kanawha, some five miles from the
settlement of Point Pleasant, stood a lonely cabin. A little clearing
surrounded it.
The cabin was situated about half a mile from the broad trail leading
from Point Pleasant to the Virginia settlements.
A narrow foot-path led from the broad trail to the lonely cabin, but so
little was it used and so dense had grown the weeds and rank grass of
the forest about it, that it would almost have required the practiced
eye of the savage, or his rival in woodcraft, the white borderer, to
have discovered the existence of the path.
The cabin itself, though situated far from the line of civilization,
showed evident signs of human occupation.
The wild vines of the forest, transplanted from their native fastness,
twined and bloomed about the rough logs that formed the walls of the
cabin. And with the wild children of the wood grew red and white roses,
the floral gems that art had plucked from nature.
A little garden patch, that showed plainly the traces of careful
tending, was on the further side of the cabin and extended down near to
the bank of the Kanawha.
This lonely cabin, far off in the wild woods, remote from civilization,
was the home of the strange, wayward girl whom the settlers at Point
Pleasant called Kanawha Kate, and whom the red chiefs, in their
fanciful way, termed the “Queen of the Kanawha.”
In the interior of the lonely cabin a strange scene presented itself to
view.
On a rude couch of deer-skins lay a man. He was moaning, helplessly, as
if in great pain.
The shirt that covered his manly breast was stained with blood.
From the position in which the wounded man lay--on his side, with his
face buried in the folds of the deer-skin--his features were concealed
from view, yet from the pallor of the little part of his face that was
visible, it was evident that the man had been stricken nigh to death.
By the side of the suffering man knelt the brown-cheeked beauty,
Kanawha Kate.
Anxiously she bent over the stricken man. A little cup of the muddy
water from the Kanawha was by her side, and with her hands, wet with
the discolored drops, she bathed the feverish temples of the wounded
man.
Tender as a mother nursing her first-born, the girl laved the hot flesh.
As the cooling touch of the wet, brown hand passed softly over his
temples, it seemed to ease the pain that racked the muscular limbs.
The rigid lines of the face, distorted by the agony of pain, grew soft.
The moans of anguish were stilled. The simple treatment of the girl was
relieving the torture felt by the stranger.
Eagerly the girl watched the face, and smiled when she saw the muscles
relax and the painful breathing become low and regular.
“He will not die!” she cried, in joy, but barely speaking above a
whisper for fear of disturbing her patient.
“He will live and owe that life to me. Oh! what joy in the thought!”
Then a few moments she remained silent, watching the pale face before
her with many a long, loving look.
Few of the settlers at Point Pleasant who had seen Kanawha Kate
roaming the forest, rifle in hand--as good a woodman as any one among
them--would have guessed that, within the heart of the forest-queen was
a world of tenderness and love.
They had seen her bring down the brown deer with a single shot, wing an
eagle in his airy circle in the sky and bring the kingly bird tumbling
to earth; had seen her when the Ohio, lashed into white, crested waves
by the mad winds, bid defiance to the boldest boatman to dare to cross
it, launch her dug-out and fearlessly commit herself to the mercy of
the dashing waters.
How could they guess that with the dauntless courage of a lion, she
also possessed the tender and loving heart of a woman? But so it was.
“It was Heaven that sent me to his aid,” she murmured, gazing fondly
on the white face. “How beautiful he is; how unlike the rough fellows
in yonder settlement,” and the girl’s lip curled contemptuously as she
spoke.
“He is a king to them. Oh! what would I not give to win his love; but
that thought is folly. I am despised by all; but no, there is one who
speaks fairly to and thinks kindly of me--Virginia Treveling. She has
a noble heart. She is the only one in yonder settlement who has not
treated me with scorn and yet fate has decreed that we shall stand in
each other’s way.” Mournful was the voice of the girl as the words came
from her lips; sorrowful was the look upon her face.
“It is a hopeless passion that I am nourishing in my heart. I must not
love him, for I can never hope to win a return of that love.”
Sadly she looked upon the wounded man.
A footfall outside the cabin attracted her attention. Quickly she
bounded to her feet and seized the rifle that hung over the rude
fire-place. Then she stood still and listened.
“Who can it be that seeks the home of the outcast girl?” she murmured,
as with eager ears, every sense on the alert, she listened.
“Can it be one of the settlers from Point Pleasant? No; but few of them
know of my dwelling-place, and fewer still would care to seek it. Is
it a red-skin? No; I would not have heard his footfall if he comes in
malice.”
Then the girl heard the sound of footsteps approaching the house.
“Ah!” exclaimed the girl, suddenly, as a thought flashed through her
mind; “perhaps it is his foes coming to seek him,” and her glance was
on the wounded man as she spoke. “If so they had better have sought
the den of the wolf, or the nest of the rattlesnake than my cabin. They
must kill me before they shall harm him.”
Hardly had the speech come from her lips when a bold knock sounded on
the door.
“Who is there?” cried Kate.
The door--a heavy one, braced strongly--was barred on the inside and
was fully stout enough to defy the strength of a dozen men, let alone
one.
“Open and you will see,” responded a hoarse voice.
The girl started when the tones fell upon her ear.
“Can it be he?” she muttered, and wonder was in her voice.
“Why don’t you answer, gal?” exclaimed the voice of the stranger.
“Don’t you know me, or have you forgotten your own flesh and blood?”
“It is my father,” she murmured, but there was little love in the tones.
Then, without further parley, she unbarred the door. It swung back
slowly on its rusty hinges and a tall, powerfully built man, clad in a
deer-skin garb fashioned after the Indian style, entered the room.
The stranger was the same man whom we have seen in the Shawnee village,
Girty’s companion, by name David Kendrick.
He, too, like Girty was execrated by the settlers. An adopted son of
the great Shawnee nation, with his red brothers he had stained his
hands in the blood of the men whose skins were white like his own.
There was little love expressed in the face of Kate as she looked upon
her father, for the renegade Kendrick bore that relation to her, though
by the inhabitants of Point Pleasant it was generally supposed that she
was some relation to Girty; but that was not the truth.
“Well, gal, how are you?” questioned the new-comer, roughly. But before
the girl could reply, the eyes of Kendrick fell upon the figure of the
wounded man stretched upon the couch of skins.
“Hullo! who’s this, eh? Hain’t been getting a husband since I’ve been
up in the Shawnee country, have you?”
“No,” answered the girl, scornfully and quickly.
“Needn’t get riled ’bout it,” said the father, bluntly. “Who is he,
anyway?”
“A wounded stranger whose life I have been trying to save.”
“I s’pose you’re in love with him, eh?” asked Kendrick, with a covert
glance from under his heavy brows at the girl.
“In love with him! What good would it do me to fall in love with any
decent white man? Am I not _your_ daughter? the child of a renegade?”
exclaimed the girl, bitterly.
“Better come with me and I’ll find you a husband in some of the great
chiefs of the Shawnee nation.”
“I’d blow out my brains with my own rifle first,” cried the girl,
angrily.
“Don’t get your back up; I only suggested it. You’ve got the temper of
an angel, you have. If you ever _do_ get a husband, you’ll comb his
hair with a three-legged stool, I reckon, whether his skin is white or
red.”
The girl made no reply, but turned away her head with a look of scorn.
“Seein’ as how I was ’round the clearing I thought I’d call in and
see how you was. I didn’t expect to find the old cabin turned into a
hospital.”
“Would you have had me leave this poor fellow to die in the wood, like
a dog?” asked the girl, spiritedly.
“Life ain’t worth much, anyway,” said the renegade, contemptuously.
“One man ain’t missed in this hyer big world.”
“What brings you so near to the station?” asked Kate.
“Ain’t it natural that a white man should want to see some of his own
color, once in awhile?” asked Kendrick, with a grin.
“Your color!” said the girl, in scorn, “though your face is white yet
your heart is red! yes, as red as your hand has been with blood. In
yonder settlement they call you the white Indian, and they would tear
you to pieces if they could get their hands upon you--show you as
little mercy as they would show a wolf.”
“That’s true, gal, true as preachin’; but do you suppose the hate’s
all on one side? I reckon not,” and the renegade laughed discordantly.
“I’ve seen many a white man dance while the red flames were burning his
life away, and I’ve laughed at the sight.”
“And the guilt and shame that belongs to you clings to me also. I
am your daughter, and that I am so is a curse upon my life. It has
made me an outcast--forced me to seek a home far from the bounds of
civilization. It has deadened all the good in my nature. It is a wonder
that I am not thoroughly bad, for all think me so.” The tone in which
the girl spoke showed plainly how deeply she felt the cruel truth.
“Inside of a month the settlers at Point Pleasant won’t jeer at you,”
said Kendrick, meaningly.
“What will keep them from it?” asked Kate, in wonder.
“Ke-ne-ha-ha and his Shawnees. There’s a hurricane coming, gal, and
Point Pleasant will be the first to feel it. Let ’em laugh now, they’ll
cry tears of blood soon.”