THE RESCUE.
Rosalind was a good distance from the Ohio, and consequently a long way
was to be traveled by Kent and Leslie. During the first night of their
journey, a bright moon favored them, and they continued on without
halting until morning. The hunter struck the trail at an early hour in
the day, and the two continued their pursuit with renewed ardor until
the sun was high in the heavens, when they halted for rest.
When they finally halted, it was on the banks of Big Sandy, at the point
where the West Fork unites with it. Here they discovered signs of the
encampment of a large body of Indians. Leslie felt hope increase, and
was impatient to pursue their way. They judged it best--or rather Kent
judged it best--to remain in their present position, and follow the
trail only during the day.
The hunter left Leslie in order to search for game, as they both were
exceedingly hungry. He returned in a short time, to the surprise of
Leslie, who had not heard the report of his gun. Kent informed him that
he had slain it without firing a shot, as he dared not to risk one. A
fire was started, it being concealed by the river-bank as much as
possible, and their food was cooked. This finished, the fire was
extinguished, and they partook of the repast.
A moon as bright as that of the preceding night arose, and the clear
river, glistening in the moonlight like liquid silver, was visible for a
great distance. Leslie was soon asleep, but Kent lay awake the greater
part of the night, revolving in his mind the best course to pursue in
regard to capturing Rosalind. At last he hit upon the plan, and having
fully determined what to do, he fell into a peaceful slumber.
"Now to the rescue," said Leslie, springing to his feet as soon as it
was fairly light.
"I'd advise you to put a stopper on that jaw of yourn, if you don't want
the whole pack down here in a twinklin'," quickly retorted the hunter,
slowly coming to the sitting posture.
"Why, what's the matter, Kent?"
"Oh, nothin'; only there's a few Injins squatted over on t'other shore."
"Ah! well, they can't see us, at any rate, for a thick fog has gathered
during the night and is resting upon the river."
"Wal, they can hear you easy 'nough, 'specially if you go on that way."
"Come, come, Kent, don't be cross. I'll wager that they haven't heard
me, and I promise that they shall not."
The two shouldered their rifles, and, as the mist was slowly rising from
the river, again commenced their journey. The trail was now easily
discovered, and followed without difficulty. It led most of the time
along the bank of the river, and its distinctness showed that the
savages had no fear or cared little for pursuit. Instead of proceeding
in Indian file, as they had at first, they traveled promiscuously and
carelessly, and their number could be easily made out by their
footsteps. During the course of the day Kent gave the exact number to
Leslie, and the precise time that they had journeyed over the ground.
Leslie, in the ardor of his hopes, still had a fear that they might not
really be upon the track of Rosalind. Might not some other party be
misleading them? Was it not possible that the party had subdivided, and
the one that held her taken an entirely different course? The
probability of error prevented him from experiencing the joyous
hopefulness that he might have otherwise felt. This worried and caused
him so much anxiety, that he expressed his fears to Kent.
"Don't know but what we are," returned the hunter, composedly.
"Do you _think_ that we are?" asked Leslie, earnestly.
"Can't say; I'll go back if you want to."
"Heigh! what's that?"
He sprung forward and caught a shred fluttering from a bush.
"That's it! that's it!" he shouted, fairly leaping with joy.
"That's what?" asked the hunter, seemingly disgusted at this display of
childlike emotion.
"Why, a piece of her dress, sure enough," responded Leslie.
Here the corners of Kent's mouth gave a downward twitch, and turning his
head so as to glance at Leslie, a deprecating grunt escaped him.
"She did it on purpose to guide us," added Leslie, not heeding him.
Kent's mouth jerked forward, and a loud guffaw was given.
"Let us hurry," said Leslie, starting forward.
"I allow," commenced the hunter, unable to restrain himself further,
"that if you play many more such capers you'll go alone. If the sight of
her dress sets you in such fits, what do you s'pose'll 'come of you when
you set your eyes on her? and I daresn't think of the consequences of
once gettin' your arm around her. Whew!"
"You must pardon my feeling, Kent; but the sudden assurance that we were
not mistaken or proceeding by guess, completely overcame me."
"Somethin' queer come over you, no mistake."
"Well, if you don't like to see it, I will try and repress it in
future."
"I hope you will when I'm about."
The two hurried on without further conversation for some time. At noon
they made a shorter halt than usual, as Kent informed Leslie that, by
pressing forward, they could gain the region of the savages by
nightfall. As the afternoon advanced, the experienced eye of the hunter
began to detect unmistakable signs of the presence of Indians.
Leslie could not repress his agitation as he realized that every minute
was bringing him nearer and nearer to the object of his desires. Fear
and hope filled him, and he was alternately gladdened by the one and
tormented by the other.
He did not notice that Kent had changed his direction, and was
proceeding more cautiously than before; he only knew that he was
following closely in his footsteps, and relying entirely upon his
guidance.
All at once the hunter came to a stop, and laid his hand upon Leslie's
arm. He looked up, and there, before him, was the Indian village. Kent
had conducted him to a sort of rising ground, which afforded them a
complete view of it, while the forest gave them an effectual
concealment.
"Is this the place?" asked he, in astonishment.
"This is the place," answered the ranger.
Leslie feasted his eyes a long time upon the scene before he withdrew
his gaze. Every wigwam was visible, and the squaws and children could be
seen passing to and fro through the sort of street or highway. Many of
the warriors were gathered in groups, and reclined upon the ground,
lazily chatting; while their far better halves were patiently toiling
and drudging at the most difficult kinds of work.
Leslie scanned each form that came under his eye, in the hope of
distinguishing _one_; but he was disappointed, and compelled to see the
night closely settle over the village without obtaining a glimpse of
her. "After all," he thought, "she may not be there, and I am doomed to
be frustrated, at last." But again hope whispered in his ear, and
rendered him impatient for the hour when his fate must be decided.
The moon arose at about midnight, consequently, all that was to be done
must be done before that time. As soon as it had become fairly dark, so
that Leslie was unable to distinguish anything in the village, he seated
himself beside Kent to ascertain his intentions.
"The time," said he, "has arrove when we must commence business, and I
allow that we must be at it soon. Here's your part. You are to stay here
till I come back. I am goin' down into their nest to hunt her up, and
when I come back you'll know whether she's to be got or not. Keep quiet,
and don't stir from this spot till I give you the order. Remember, if
we're goin' to do anythin', you must do as I tell you. Take care of
yourself."
With these words the hunter departed--departed so silently and
stealthily, that Leslie hardly comprehended that he was gone.
Kent, while it was yet light, had taken a survey of the village, and
viewed it, too, with a scout's eye. He had distinguished the chief's
lodge from the others, and rightly conjectured that this would be the
most likely to contain Rosalind. Accordingly, he determined to direct
his footsteps toward it, before looking in any other direction. This was
situated in the center. He was, consequently, exposed to greater danger
in reaching it; yet he placed great reliance upon his disguise, which he
yet assumed, and determined to venture within the village in a short
time.
He stood at the extreme end, and now and then could discern a shadowy
form passing silently before him, or, perhaps, the voice of some warrior
or squaw; but soon these sights and sounds ceased, and he commenced
moving forward. Not a savage was encountered until he stood before the
lodge for which he was seeking. He had now reached the point where his
most subtle powers of cunning were called into requisition, yet thought
not of hesitating.
Standing a second in front of the lodge, he glanced about him, but not a
form was to be seen. Had he been observed he must have been taken for an
Indian, and attracted no further notice. Kent being certain that his way
was clear, sunk to the earth, and lying upon his face, worked himself
slowly and cautiously toward the lodge. He seemed to glide precisely
like a serpent, so easy and silent were his motions. In a moment he was
beside it, and, as he believed, within ten feet of the object of his
search. A dim light was burning. By its light he hoped to satisfy
himself shortly of the truth of his conjectures. Running the keen point
of his knife along the skin that formed the lodge, he had pierced it
enough to admit his gaze, when the light was suddenly extinguished.
For a moment the hunter's calculations were at fault. He had not counted
upon this, but had hoped to gain a view of the interior while the light
was burning. He felt barely able to repress his disappointment, as he
was again compelled to devise some other plan. For once he had been
frustrated in his design, and he felt it keenly.
But he determined to risk a look at all hazards. The aperture was
completed; Kent raised his head and peered in--and betrayed himself.
Pequanon was at his place in the inside as usual, watching, in the
nobleness of his soul, the life of Rosalind. His quick ear detected the
noise, slight as it was, occasioned by Kent's labor. The latter
supposing the inmates of the lodge would be slumbering, hoped for an
opportunity to do what he wished. But Pequanon was on the alert, and
detected him at work. When his face was placed at the opening, it was
brought between the sky and the darkness of the lodge, and the Indian
plainly observed the outlines of his face. His first impulse was to
seize a rifle and shoot the intruder instantly, for he believed that it
was the one who sought the life of Rosalind; but checking himself, he
arose and passed out noiselessly, determined to satisfy himself before
action.
Two consummate hunters were now maneuvering against each other. The
movements of both with respect to themselves were as much at fault as
though they were inexperienced youngsters. The noise of Pequanon was so
slight that it failed to awake either Rosalind or any of the inmates;
yet Kent heard it distinctly, and crouched down upon the ground and
listened. In an instant he caught the step upon the outside. He knew
that he could spring to his feet and easily make his escape; but in
doing so, he would raise an alarm, and thus effectually prevent anything
of use being done by himself. He therefore withdrew some ten or fifteen
feet, and trusted that the Indian would not search further; but he was
mistaken. Pequanon was determined to satisfy himself in regard to
Rosalind's secret enemy; and espying the shadowy form gliding along from
him, he sprung toward it, hoping and expecting that it might leap to its
feet.
The form leaped to its feet in a manner that he little suspected. Kent
saw that an encounter was unavoidable, when, concentrating his strength,
he bounded like a panther toward the savage, bearing him to the earth,
with his iron hand clutching his throat. Pequanon struggled, but was
powerless, and could not make a sound above a painful gurgle. Kent
whipped out his knife, and had just aimed at his breast, when the savage
found voice to speak a few words.
"Hold! you strike the white man's friend!"
The excellent English startled Kent, and he relaxed his hold.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Pequanon, the white man's friend."
"What did you come nosin' out here fur then?"
Kent's knees were upon the arms of the Indian, while he was seated upon
his breast. The hunter loosed his grasp.
"The pale-faced maiden. Pequanon wished to save her."
"Wal, see here, old red-skin, I'm after her. You's sayin' as how you's
her friend. Mind to help?"
The Indian answered in the affirmative.
"Wal, I'll let you up, pervidin' you'll go and bring her out. What you
say?"
"Is it her friends that wish her?"
"You've hit it there. Goin' to help?"
"Pequanon will lay his life down for the captive."
"I'll let you up then, and give you two minutes to trot her out. If you
undertake to come any of your tricks over me, I'll blow your brains
out."
Kent permitted Pequanon to arise, who departed silently for the lodge
without giving a reply to his remark.
The hunter was not to be deceived by any artifice of the savage, and to
guard against treachery, withdrew still further from the lodge. He
doubted very much whether the Indian would endeavor to assist him at
all, but he had done the best he could under the circumstances.
In a moment his doubts were put to flight by the reappearance of the
noble Indian, with Rosalind. As cool and collected as was the hunter, he
could not repress a joyous start as he gazed upon her form.
"That's the fust Injin, accordin' to my opine," he muttered to himself,
"that ever _was_ a man."
Rosalind, all trembling eagerness and anxiety, on coming up to Kent,
seemed unable to speak. The hunter noticed her action and forbore
speaking, making a motion, as an apology, for silence. For a second the
trio remained motionless and undetermined what course to pursue.
Pequanon noticed this and started toward the river.
"Hold on, cap'n!" said Kent; "there's another chap that come with me."
The hunter now took the lead; and leaving them hopefully pursuing their
way, let us glance at Leslie until they arrive.
Chafing, fretting, hoping, fearing and doubting sat Leslie, impatiently
awaiting the appearance of Kent. The falling of a leaf, or rustling of
the branches under some light breeze startled him; and when a
night-bird, that had been resting above him gave utterance to its
unearthly hoot, and swooped past, its voice he mistook for the yell of
his savage foes, and the flap of its wings for their approaching tread.
Now he pictured the bliss that he hoped to feel; then again he was the
prey of most poignant doubts and fears. Would he see her, and clasp her
to his bosom, or was she a hopeless captive? Was she living or dead?
Would Kent come back without information or hope? Suddenly there arose a
wild, prolonged yell, that fairly froze him with terror. Kent was
discovered, and all hope was gone! Oh, the agony of that moment!
Hardly comprehending the state of things, he formed a dozen different
plans at once. Now he was going to rush madly forward and rescue
Rosalind during the confusion, and then was about shouting for Kent.
All at once he heard a footstep. The pursuers were then at hand!
Resolved to lay one savage low, he rushed forward toward the approaching
figure. Could it be possible? Was it not a dream? There she stood before
his eyes. His limbs trembled, and he felt upon the point of falling.
"Is this Mr. Leslie?" asked a sweet voice that had thrilled him more
than once before.
"I guess it's him or his spook," answered Kent, for him. "If there's
goin' to be any huggin' done, hurry up with it, fur they're follerin'
us."
This threw off all reserve. Leslie folded Rosalind to his breast. She
spoke not--resisted not--her trembling limbs and sobs told more than
words could have done.
"That'll do for the present," interrupted Kent, in a kind tone. "We must
be off now, fur the red-skins have smelt the rat, and I should judge by
the noise they're makin' that they're in a confounded muss. Never mind,
don't cry. When we get down home out of danger, I'll let you hug and cry
as much as you please. Which way, Mr. Red-skin?"
Pequanon turned to the left and took long, impatient strides. Kent
followed closely in his footsteps, while Leslie led the trembling
Rosalind. Often, regardless of the danger which threatened, he pressed
her to him and whispered words of which we can only guess the meaning.
On they hurried, half running, over the tangled underwood and fallen
trees until they paused upon the brink of the river.
Here, to the surprise and joy of all, Pequanon running to a clump of
bushes pulled forth a large canoe and shoved it into the stream. The
others needed no admonition to use it.
"Here," said their guide, "we part. May the great Spirit guide you."
"Say, you, you'll get into trouble, won't you, if you go back?" queried
Kent.
"The Great Spirit will protect me. Farewell."
"Wait, Pequanon," said Rosalind, rising from her seat.
"Pequanon has only paid his debt to the pale-faced maiden."
The Indian was gone.
Rosalind sunk back upon her seat in tears.
"He's the first Injin that I ever got my clutches on that has got away
after it, and the first one that I ever felt like lettin' go. Somehow or
other my old gun didn't burn and wriggle when I sot my eyes on him, as
it is used to doin' in such cases; and if it wasn't fur that red hide of
hisn' I wouldn't believe he was one of them."
All this time the shouts and yells of the savages could be heard, and
now and then it seemed to the fugitives that they must have been
discovered. Kent pulled the boat to the opposite shore, and as he
expressed it, "hugged the bank mighty close." He had little fear of
being discovered, but the utmost caution was to be used, for, in their
rage, the savages would use every means in their power to recapture
them.
Kent knew that by keeping on, he would in time reach the banks of the
Ohio. Their enemies would probably suspect the true nature of their
escape and take to the river in pursuit; and, as the Indians, in case of
discovery, could easily overtake and recapture them, they must
necessarily be saved by fortune and stratagem. Though scarce a ripple
was heard, the shadowy form of the boat shot swiftly under the hanging
trees and round the projecting points of the bank, like some serpent
gliding noiselessly over the surface.
Soon the edge of the great moon slowly rose above the dark line of the
forest, and its long rays streamed over wood and river; when it had
finally risen high up in the heavens, the stream shone as brightly as at
noonday. Its winding course could be discerned ahead until it was lost
in the forest, and for miles behind, its banks were as clearly defined
as it could have been under the sun's rays.
Now that the river and its objects were so plainly depicted, Kent kept
closer yet under the shadows of the friendly bank. Now and then he
hurried through some opening in the trees of the shore, where, for a
minute, he was exposed to any gaze that might chance to be given; then,
when the water was shallow, he struck the muddy bottom, and patiently
worked himself on again. Being engaged in rowing, his face was turned
toward the stern, and thus had a full sweep of the river which he had
passed over, the only point from which he had reason to apprehend
danger.
He was upon the point of speaking, when his quick eye detected a speck
in view around a bend in the river, some distance back. He halted, for
he knew its character.
"We're follered!" said he, guiding the boat in to shore.
A few minutes more and the boat could be plainly seen by all three. It
was in the center of the stream, and approaching rapidly. The heads of
four or five Indians could be discerned. Their object was plain to all.
Kent had run his boat against the shore, and the three were now waiting
breathlessly for their enemies to pass.
The Indians plainly had no suspicion that the fugitives were so close at
hand, and kept steadily onward. Hardly daring to breathe, our three
friends saw the long, sharp canoe, with five of their mortal enemies,
shoot past, and disappear.
"Did you see how my gun kept twitchin' and jumpin'? Why, I had all I
could do to hold him. Thunder! it's too bad to see them fellers give
you such a nice shot and then miss it," said the ranger, again taking
the oars.
Kent now guided the boat with greater caution, ever and anon turning and
looking ahead, not daring to leave the sole watch to Leslie, who had
other things far more interesting to himself with which to occupy his
mind.