IN GIRTY'S CABIN.
Kate Merriweather was quite exhausted when the renegade's forest home
was reached.
Her strange abduction, rescue and recapture had told upon her nature,
and she crossed Girty's threshold with a sigh of despair which did not
escape her companion's notice.
"Oh, you will not find Jim Girty's home so bad as your imagination has
pictured it," he said with a smile. "A British officer at Fort Miami
tells about a place that had over its door the words, 'who enters here
leaves hope behind;' but that isn't my home."
Kate shuddered at his heartless levity, which he applauded with a coarse
laugh.
She felt that the legend that blazed over the portals of Dante's hell
might with propriety have been inscribed above Girty's door.
She felt like abandoning hope, and resolved not to plead with the brute
into whose hands she had fallen.
But she determined to protect herself from insult while under his roof.
Of the coarse meal which the renegade sat before her Kate partook, for
fatigue had rendered her hungry, and Girty eyed her triumphantly while
she ate.
The breakfast was at last concluded, and Girty began to remove the
remains of the matutinal meal.
While engaged in this duty a quick step alarmed him, and a lithe young
Indian appeared in the door-way.
Girty stepped forward with a smile of recognition, for the youth was
clad in the scanty costume of a runner, and the message which he bore
was speedily delivered.
Buckhougahelas, the great sachem, and the confederate chiefs were about
to advance upon Wayne, and requested the White Whirlwind's presence.
During the delivery of the dispatch an uneasiness was visible in Girty's
face, which would not have escaped the notice of an older warrior. It
was evident that he did not expect the news at that hour.
"What says the Whirlwind?"
"I will come. Before the end of another sleep I will be with my braves."
The runner bowed, and snatching a piece of venison from the rough table,
he bounded away, eating as he ran.
"A pretty fix! a pretty fix!" muttered the renegade to himself, turning
from the door and glancing at his captive. "I am one of them as much as
Mataquan, the runner. I have helped on the war; I have stirred up the
nations; I have made them mad and bloodthirsty. Shall I desert them now,
because I have a woman on my hands? If I remained from the fight my life
would not be worth a leaf, for the survivors would hunt me down."
He stepped to the table with the last word on his lips, and his hand was
about to continue his work, when the door which he had closed was burst
open and two Indians leaped into the room.
There were but few savages whom the renegade had reason to dread, for
was he not virtually an Indian, though white-skinned and English? But he
turned quickly upon the intruders, and started back when he saw their
faces.
They were Parquatoc, and Sackadac, the Shawnee; the ring leaders of the
cabal against his life!
James Girty, ever quick to act in the face of danger, sprang to his
rifle; but before his hand could seize the trusty weapon, the Seneca
youth bounded upon him and bore him to the cabin wall.
It was the work of a moment, and no giant could have withstood the
terrible spring.
The outlaw recovered in an instant, and his great strength would have
released him from Parquatoc's power if the Shawnee had not flown to his
comrade's aid. Girty was in the hands of two men who had sworn to rid
the world of his detestable shape.
He was disarmed in a moment, and found himself at the mercy of his foes,
who confronted him with weapons, eager to drink his blood.
"Call white hunter," said the Seneca to his companion, and Sackadac went
to the door.
At a signal from his lips a third party joined the Indians, and as he
crossed the threshold a cry of joy was heard, and Kate Merriweather
leaped forward to fall into his arms. It was her lover, Oscar Parton.
Girty ground his teeth as he witnessed the meeting, and fixed his eyes
upon his captors.
"The blood of Parquatin is on the Whirlwind's knife!" said the Seneca.
"He cut his heart because he dared to talk for peace."
"Not for that!" grated the renegade. "He called me coward, and no man
calls me that and lives."
"The Whirlwind is a coward!" flashed the youth! "He kills a boy when he
stands before him unarmed. Parquatin was but a boy; he was wearing his
first eagle feathers, and he had never made love to a woman."
"And he never will!" said Girty with sarcasm which cut its way to the
Indian brother's heart.
Parquatoc raised his rifle with a meaning glance at the Shawnee, and
stepped toward the door.
"The Whirlwind has killed his last man!" the youth resumed, as the
barrel crept up to a level with the renegade's breast. "He will never
press the grass trails again with his moccasins, and the white women
will sleep in peace with their papooses at their side. Parquatin's blood
must flow over the Whirlwind's; the new moon must smile upon his
carcass."
"Shoot and be done with it!" Girty said, without a quiver of the
muscles. "I am in your power, and as every man can't live over the time
which has been marked out for him, I am not going to play the baby
here."
They say that murderers are cowards. A greater murderer than James Girty
never cursed the early west; but not a single instance of cowardice
stands against his record. He looked into Parquatoc's rifle without
fear, and his countenance did not change when the Indian's cheek dropped
upon the stock.
It was a moment fraught with the wildest interest, and in the silence
the beating of hearts was heard.
But that tableau was rudely broken, and that by a white man who suddenly
threw himself into the cabin and pushed the rifle of the Seneca aside.
Every eye was turned upon him, and the tomahawks of the Indians leaped
from their belts.
"I hate that man with all my heart," the new comer cried, addressing the
Indians as he pointed to the renegade, surprised with the rest. "I
wouldn't spare his life but for a little while. He knows something which
I must know; then my red brother's rifle may send the bullet to his
heart."
Girty looked, stared into the speaker's face.
"Who are you?" he asked before the Indian could reply.
"My name is Catlett."
"A spy of Wayne's?"
"Yes."
The savages exchanged looks, and Parquatoc spoke:
"The Blacksnake's spy has no right to step between Parquatoc and his
captive," he said.
"No!" hissed the Shawnee.
"Stand aside!" continued the Seneca, menacingly.
But Harvey Catlett did not stir.
The Indians advanced upon him.
"Hold!" cried Oscar Parton. "He will join us! He will wear the mark
which you gave me."
"No white spy shall wear it!" was the reply.
Face to face with the two savages stood Wayne's young scout, composed
and unyielding. He intended to kill the first savage who raised a hand
against him.
But all at once James Girty moved from the wall. With one of his
powerful bounds, he hurled himself upon the spy, whom he sent reeling
against Parquatoc, and the next moment he was running for life through
the forest.
It was in vain that Oscar Parton and the Shawnee, the first to recover,
tried to cover him with their rifles. The renegade was fleet of foot,
and a yell announced his escape and future revenge.
James Girty was at large again, but captiveless; for Kate Merriweather
had fallen into hands that would not desert her.
Harvey Catlett turned to the Indians when he had recovered his
equilibrium. He told then why he wished to spare Girty's life--for the
secret of Little Moccasin's parentage--and when he had finished,
Parquatoc said:
"The Blacksnake's spy must join us. All who hate the White Whirlwind
must wear the mark."
At Oscar's solicitation the young spy consented, and Parquatoc's knife
cut the sign of the banded brotherhood on his breast.
"Back to the white people with their child!" the Seneca said. "The big
fight is coming on."
They parted there--red and white--and Kate once more turned her face
toward her relatives.