As Kate left the lodge and turned to the right toward the river, she
found herself suddenly confronted by her father, David Kendrick.
There was a peculiar grin upon the face of the renegade as he looked
upon his daughter.
“Been in to see the little gal, hey?” he asked.
“Yes,” Kate replied.
“Been making a neighborly call, hey? Does the critter know you?”
Kate felt that deception would be useless, so she answered truthfully.
“Yes.”
“Where did you ever meet her?”
“At Point Pleasant.”
“How does she feel?”
“Badly, of course.”
“Well, that’s nat’ral,” said the renegade, with another grin.
“I should think so.”
“I s’pose you told her that it would be all right--that the chances
were that she would be taken back to the station ’fore long, hey?”
“Yes, I did tell her so,” Kate said, puzzled at the odd manner of her
father.
“Now, see how good I am at guessing. I ought to set up to onc’t for a
Great Medicine Man,” and the renegade laughed, discordantly.
Kate cast a searching glance into her father’s face, but she found
nothing there to aid her in guessing the meaning of his strange conduct.
“Have you any thing else to say to me?” and Kate made a movement as if
to pass the renegade and proceed on her course.
“Hold on, gal!” cried Kendrick, hastily. “I’ve got a heap to say to
you. Jist foller me off a piece, whar we’ll be out of ear-shot of any
skulker, and then I’ll talk to you like a Dutch uncle,” and again the
renegade laughed discordantly.
With a mind ill at ease Kate followed her father. His manner boded
danger. Yet she could not imagine in what shape that danger would come.
The renegade led the way toward the wood.
On the border of the thicket he paused.
Close to where he stood was a fallen tree--a huge sycamore.
“Sit down, gal!” and he indicated with his hand the tree-trunk, as he
spoke.
Kate obeyed the command.
“Now, jist wait quiet a moment, till I scout round and see if thar is
anybody in the timber nigh us.”
Then into the thicket he went.
Five minutes’ search convinced the renegade that there was no one near.
Then he returned to the spot where he had left Kate and took a seat on
the tree-trunk by her side.
“Thar, gal, we kin talk here without any danger of any pryin’ sucker
a-hearin’ our talk.”
“Have you any thing particular to say that you are so afraid of being
overheard?” asked Kate.
“Well, yes,” replied Kendrick, after a pause. “I would rather a heap
sight that only two pair of ears should hear what we’re going to say.”
“Well, what is it?”
Kate spoke calmly, yet she had a presentiment that a storm was about to
burst over her head.
“Gal, you don’t play keerds of course, but I guess you understand what
I mean when I tell you to play with your keerds on the table and not
under it,” said the renegade, significantly.
“No,” said Kate, calmly, “I do not understand what you mean.”
“Oh, you don’t,” and the tone of the renegade was clearly one of
unbelief. “Shall I speak plainer then?”
“Yes, if you wish me to understand,” Kate said, quietly.
Kendrick looked at his daughter in wonder. Her calmness staggered him.
“Well, you are a cool hand. If I wasn’t certain of my game now, I
should think that, like a green dog, I was barking up the wrong tree.
But the trail is too clear for me to be throw’d off.”
“What do you mean?” Neither Kate’s voice or face showed the least sign
of alarm or excitement.
“I must spit it right out, hey?”
“Yes.”
“If so be, so good. Well, gal, I’ve got a powerful long pair of ears.
I were a-passing back of the wigwam where the little gal is, a few
minutes ago, and I heerd something that made me want to hear more.”
“Indeed?” Kate’s face was as impassible as the face of a statue, and
her voice as cold as ice.
“So I listened and heerd a good deal.”
“What did you hear?”
“’Bout all you said to the little gal,” replied Kendrick, with a grin.
“I heerd you tell her ’bout the young feller that you saved in the
ravine. I s’pose he’s the one I saw in your cabin t’other day, hey?”
“Yes,” Kate replied.
“Well, I thought so when you spoke of him. And then it struck me what a
funny idea it was for you to be ’tending and fussing over another gal’s
feller.”
“It is strange, isn’t it?” said Kate, with a peculiar look. Her father
did not notice the odd look.
“Well, I thought it was; but then, you were always a cranky piece, full
of odd notions.”
“Then you know that I have promised to rescue the girl from her present
dangerous situation?”
“Yes, of course I do,” replied Kendrick; “don’t I tell you that I heard
the whole thing as you talked it over?”
“Do you know why I wish to save the girl from Girty?”
“No, unless you’ve got the milk of human kindness so strong in your
breast that it urges you to save the gal, ’cos she’s in a tight place,”
said the renegade, thoughtfully.
“No, it is not that.”
“What then?”
“I love the same man that she does.”
“Jerusalem!” cried Kendrick, in wonder.
“It is the truth.”
“You mean this young feller, Harvey Winthrop?”
“Yes.”
“Does he care any thing about you?”
“How can he when he is in love with this girl?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“That is the reason that I wish to take her from here.”
The renegade looked at Kate in wonder.
“I don’t understand,” he said, in utter amazement. “You say that you
love the feller, and yet you are going to give your rival to him.”
“Oh, how dull you are!” cried Kate, impatiently.
“Well I may be,” said Kendrick, doggedly. “Anyway, I can’t make head
nor tail out of your words. If you love the young feller and want him,
I should think that giving him the girl that he likes better than he
does you, was jist the way _not_ to get him.”
“What will be the fate of the girl if she stays here in the Indian
village?”
“Well, I suppose Girty will make a sort of left-handed wife out of her.
I believe that’s his idea.”
“But is there not a chance that she may escape or be rescued by her
friends?” demanded Kate.
“Of course there’s the chance. It ain’t likely, but still it _might_
happen so.”
“And if she should escape I could never hope to win the love of Harvey
Winthrop.”
“Well, I s’pose that’s Gospel truth.”
“You may be sure that it is the truth!” exclaimed Kate, earnestly. “But
if she never returns to the settlement of course he will never see her
again. Then he will forget her. I have a double claim to his gratitude
if not to his love. Twice have I saved his life.”
“But gratitude ain’t love.”
“No, father; but the space that separates the two sentiments is but a
slight one. Once this girl is out of the way he will learn to love me;
I am sure of it.”
“But you say you are going to give the girl back to him?”
“When you go upon the war-path do you openly tell the foe that you are
coming and bid him prepare to meet you?”
“Well, no; not generally, gal,” replied the renegade, who began to have
a dim perception of his daughter’s plan.
“Neither do I. Cunning is my weapon. The girl thinks me her friend.
Willingly she will consent to be guided by me. By stealth we will leave
the Indian village. Once within the fastness of the thicket, what will
prevent me from removing my rival forever from my path?”
Kendrick gazed at his daughter in admiration.
“You’re a cute gal, by hookey; but what will Girty say when he
discovers that the gal is gone?”
“What can he say, or what do I care what he says?” demanded Kate,
spiritedly. “You do not owe Simon Girty many favors, father.”
“I don’t owe him any,” replied the renegade. “It’s nothing to me if the
gal does get away from him. I sha’n’t worry over it.”
“I will manage it so carefully that not one in this village--be his
skin white or red--will be able to trace us,” said Kate, proudly.
“I’ll back you ag’in’ the whole Shawnee nation for woodcraft,” said
Kendrick, with evident pride.
“I do not think that you would have cause to regret your confidence.”
“Then your plan is to make the gal think that you are taking her back
to the station; then, when you get her into the thicket, you’ll settle
her for this world?”
“Yes,” said Kate, coldly; not a tone of her voice trembled as she spoke.
“_Won’t_ Girty swear when he finds that his little gal has
absquatulated and nary sign of her left!” and Kendrick chuckled over
the idea.
“I care nothing for his anger; besides, he will not be apt to suspect
that I had a hand in her escape.”
The two then returned to the village.
Girty had little idea that his prey was in danger of slipping from his
grasp.