Fruitless was the eager search of Murdock and Bob after traces of the
lost girl.
Giving it up at last as hopeless, the two returned to Point Pleasant.
Alarmed at the long absence of his daughter and the young stranger,
the old General, with several of the best woodmen of the station, had
earnestly searched for her.
The party had penetrated into the ravine where Virginia had been
captured and the young man wounded.
The keen eyes of the woodmen quickly detected the marks of blood upon
the rocks where the stranger had fallen; then they discovered the
footprints of the attacking party. These they followed till they led
into the broad trail by the river. There the scouts halted, baffled.
“It’s no use, General,” said Jake Jackson, who led the scouts, shaking
his head sagely. “The trail ends hyer. Thar’s too many gone along this
path for us to pick out our men.”
“What is your opinion of the affair?” asked Treveling, anxiously.
“Well, it’s just hyer,” said Jackson, slowly. “Your darter and the
young feller were in the ravine. They were attacked by the three that
we’ve been tracking. One on ’em wounded--probably the young feller--and
then both on ’em carried away by the ones that attacked ’em, ’cos
thar’s no marks of their footsteps.”
“Think you that the attacking party were Indians?” asked Treveling.
“Nary Injun!” responded Jackson, tersely. “They’re white as I am.”
“What could be the motive of such a daring outrage?” said the old
General, whose heart was sorely tried by the loss of his daughter.
“It’s hard to say, General,” said Jackson, dubiously, “unless you’ve
got some enemies, and this is the way they are taking their revenge.”
“I can not understand it,” Treveling spoke, sorrowfully, and his brow
was heavy with grief. “If my Virginia is lost, it is the second blow of
the kind that has fallen upon me.”
“The second?” said Jackson, in wonder.
“Yes; my eldest daughter, Augusta, was stolen from me years ago.
She wandered forth beyond the borders of the settlement, one bright
summer’s afternoon, and never returned. Whether she was eaten up by the
wild beasts that roamed the forest, or fell beneath the tomahawks of
the hostile Indians, I never was able to discover. And now my second
daughter, all that I have left to me in this world, is gone. My lot is
hard to bear, indeed.”
The old man bent his head in agony. The rough woodmen looked upon him
with pity. Fathers themselves, they knew how bitter were the feelings
of the old man.
“Well, General, I don’t know what to do about this matter,” said
Jackson, thoughtfully. “I s’pose there’s nothin’ to be done just at
present but to return to the station, and then get up a party to search
the country around thoroughly. It’s bad that it happened just at this
time, too, ’cos we’ve got an Injun war on our hands, and we ain’t got
any too many men to fight the red devils; but I guess we kin spare a
few to help you out of this difficulty. I’ll go for one.”
“And I,” said another of the woodmen.
“And I, and I!” chimed in the rest of the little party.
And so it was settled that first they should return to the station,
make there all the needed preparations, and then set out in search of
the girl.
Silently and sorrowfully they took the trail leading to Point Pleasant.
To return to Virginia.
Quietly she remained in the little log-cabin, waiting the return of the
stranger who had rescued her from the terrible peril that she had been
placed in.
Virginia had but little idea that she had escaped one danger only to
encounter another more terrible still.
Innocent and unsuspecting, she readily believed the words of the
stranger.
So patiently she waited in the lonely cabin for his return to conduct
her to Point Pleasant, and restore her once more to the arms of her
father.
One sad recollection was in Virginia’s memory--the untimely death of
the young stranger to whom she had freely given all the best love of
her girlish heart.
Sorrowfully she mourned for his death, as the memory of his handsome
face and frank, honest bearing came back to her. He was the first and
only man that she had ever loved.
“Oh, my fate seems bitter, indeed!” she murmured. “Why did Providence
ever bring us together and implant the germs of love in our hearts,
if it was fated that we should be torn apart thus rudely? I thought
that we should be so happy together. I looked forward to a bright and
blissful future. But now the past is full of dreadful memories, and
the future does not show one single ray of sunlight to brighten up the
darkness of my life.”
If Virginia’s thoughts were so dark and gloomy now, with the prospect
of being restored to her home and friends before her, what would they
have been had she known the truth? Had she guessed that she was in the
power of a man more terrible and merciless in his nature than any red
savage that roamed the wild woods?
It is, perhaps, a mercy sometimes that we can not guess the future.
Virginia had been in the lonely cabin some five hours, wrapped in these
gloomy thoughts. Then the man who had called himself Benton stood again
upon the edge of the clearing.
“So far, so good,” he muttered to himself, in joy, a smile lighting up
his dark face as he spoke. “Now to take the bird from this cage and
place it in one more secure; and then, that task done, to visit my foe,
let him know the vengeance that has already fallen upon his head, and
the more terrible vengeance that is still to come. It has taken years
to ripen it, but the fruit will be bitter indeed.”
Then he crossed the little clearing and entered the cabin.
Virginia started up with joy as she saw who it was.
To her the dark-browed stranger was as a guardian angel--one destined
to protect and save her from the terrible danger that menaced her.
“You have seen my father?” she cried, anxiously.
“Yes.”
“And he is coming to save me?”
“No.”
“Not coming?” and Virginia looked the surprise she felt.
“No; your father is quite sick, and unable to leave the station.”
“My father ill?”
“Yes; the fearful anxiety that your unexplained absence caused him came
near resulting fatally; luckily, my timely arrival with the news of
your safety gave him hope, and enabled him to fight against the illness
that threatened his life.”
“Oh, my poor father!” murmured Virginia, sadly.
“Do not be alarmed. The danger is over now,” Benton said. “I shall soon
restore you to his arms, and your presence will do him more good than
all the medicine in the world.”
“Then you will take me to him soon?”
“Yes, almost immediately.”
“Are my friends near at hand?” asked Virginia, looking anxiously toward
the door as she spoke, as though she expected to see the stalwart form
of Jackson, or some other friend of her father, filling the doorway.
“No.”
“Will they be here soon, then?”
“Your father did not think that it was wise to send a small party after
you, and could not send a large one, as the settlement is in danger of
being attacked by the Indians at any moment; so it was decided that
it was best for me to return alone and conduct you to Point Pleasant.
The danger of two being discovered by the savages is less than that
attending a large party. And if the Indians should discover us, no
party that could be spared from the settlement in this hour of peril
would be sufficient to withstand their attack.”
This appeared reasonable enough to Virginia.
“I am ready at any moment,” she said.
“We will set out at once, then,” Benton replied, moving to the door as
he spoke.
“The sooner the better,” Virginia cried, earnestly. “I wish that I
could fly like a bird to the side of my dear father.”
“We are not far from the station; it will be only a few hours’ travel
through the woods. A party from the settlement will meet us at a place
fixed upon by your father and myself. If we can only reach that spot
without being discovered by the lurking savages, all will be well.”
“Let us hasten at once,” said Virginia, in a fever of impatience.
The blows of misfortune were falling thick and heavy upon her head.
First, her lover struck down lifeless at her feet; then her capture by
the hostile red-skins; and now the dangerous illness of her only parent.
“Tread cautiously and lightly,” said Benton, in warning, as they passed
through the door of the cabin. “We can not tell which bush or tree may
conceal a lurking Indian. The very leaves of the grass beneath our feet
may hide a foe.”
“Oh, I will be very careful!” said Virginia, earnestly.
Then the two set out upon the dangerous journey.
Silently on through the wood they went.
After proceeding for a short time, Virginia began to wonder at the
manner in which the stranger led the way. A girl reared on the border,
she was somewhat familiar with border ways.
What astonished her was that the man who was guiding her was proceeding
straight onward, apparently without caution as if he had no fears of
stumbling without warning upon any red foes.
Virginia’s thought, however, was that he knew the path so well, and had
passed over it so recently, that he did not apprehend danger.
Soon they came to a place where the bank stooped down to meet the
river. They had followed the Kanawha in their course.
From the thicket that fringed the stream, the guide drew a “dug-out,”
and by its aid the two crossed the river. On the opposite bank, Benton
again concealed the “dug-out” in the bushes.
And then again they proceeded on their way, following the broad trail
that led to Point Pleasant.
But in a half mile or so, Benton left the trail and struck into the
woods to the right of the path.
Virginia followed in wonder, for she knew well that they had left the
direct road to Point Pleasant and were going away from, instead of
approaching the station.