Like a phantom the tall form of Solomon Strange glided through the
forest after Black Bear.
Now and then the renegade would stop and gaze around him as though he
felt a presentiment of lurking danger, and then again move on.
Half a mile from the Indian encampment was a little glade through which
ran the trail the chief was following. As he neared the edge of it, the
madman quickened his pace, and just as the renegade stepped into the
moonlit space, a wild voice called out:
“Stop!”
The renegade involuntarily stopped and turned around.
At this moment the tall form of Solomon Strange sprung from the forest
shadows, and dealt the chief a blow with his club that felled him
lifeless at his feet.
Bending over the prostrate form, he scrutinized it.
“Yes, life is extinct,” muttered he, and dropping upon his knees
he began removing the bear’s skin from his body. This done, a low,
triumphant laugh escaped Solomon Strange’s lips, and he lifted the
lifeless form in his arms, and carried it a short ways into the woods
and hurled it down into a deep, black gorge.
Ten minutes later, a dark, hairy form appeared in the glade. It was the
form of Solomon Strange disguised in the bear’s skin.
No one could have told him from Blufe Brandon. Their movements were
similar, and their size exactly the same.
“So far I have been successful,” he murmured. “I stand in Black Bear’s
disguise; and now if I can only have the nerve and cunning to occupy
his position among the red-skins for a few days, I will make these old
hills stand aghast with wonder and startling revelations. The Cheyenne
tongue I can handle to a demonstration, and I believe I can imitate
Black Bear’s voice exactly.
“And then, there’s Duval Dungarvon; but I can hoodwink him easy
enough. Yes, to-morrow noon I will meet him at the Lone Pine, get a
synopsis of the ‘initiatory ceremony’ into the order of road-agents and
cut-throats. Ah, Solomon Strange! a desperate game is yours, and for
what?--to solve a dark mystery, and rub out the stains of a dark crime
that lays concealed behind it, but--”
His musings were here brought to an abrupt termination, by suddenly
entering the opening in which stood the Indian encampment, while a few
paces off sat an Indian sentinel.
“Will he challenge me?” the false chief mentally asked.
Then he knew that the sentinel would see that it was Black Bear’s
disguise, and allow him to pass. And so he did, with only a low,
guttural exclamation at sight of the great chief.
As Strange entered the outskirts of the village, he saw that a large
fire was burning in front of the council-lodge, and that a number of
warriors were singing and dancing around it.
“I’ll swow,” muttered Strange, “I’m going to be drawn right into
business, the first thing. I’d rather kept a little to myself a day or
so, until I got the exact run of things--heavens!”
As if to favor his wish, at this moment a wild scream was heard
overhead, and lifting his eyes, the mysterious Solomon Strange beheld
the Aërial Demon floating over the village; so horrifying in its
appearance that his blood seemed turned to ice.
Had a bomb-shell exploded in the midst of the exultant warriors that
were dancing around the council-fire, they would not have scattered and
fled in greater fear and terror.
The moment that the false Black Bear saw the young warriors flee with
terror to their respective lodges, he hurried across the square and
entered the lodge to the right of the council-house, which he knew to
be the renegade’s.
All was dark within this lodge, so Strange went and procured a torch
from the deserted council-fire. With it, he rummaged the room, making
himself acquainted with every thing, nook and corner within it.
He then extinguished the torch, threw himself upon a couch of skins in
one corner, and curious to say, this mysterious madman, who after all
was _not_ a madman, fell asleep and slept soundly until morning.
He was awakened by the sound of voices without, and rising from his
couch he peered out.
At this moment a light footstep was heard approaching. The skin hanging
at the door of his lodge was raised, and a beautiful Indian woman
entered, carrying upon a tray of woven rushes some slices of venison
and roasted fish.
It was the wife of Allacotah, Silver Voice!
Solomon Strange started like a wild man at sight of the woman, but she
failed to notice it.
“The chief of the Cheyennes must be hungry, since he had no supper,”
said Silver Voice, handing him the venison and fish.
Again Solomon Strange started--this time at sound of the woman’s voice,
though his disguise concealed his emotion. As he took the provision,
however, Silver Voice caught sight of his eyes that glowed like burning
coals of fire through the hairy mask, and caused a strange feeling to
pervade her breast.
“Yes, Black Bear is quite hungry,” Strange replied, watching to see if
his voice attracted her notice.
It did. The woman started and turned to flee with sudden fear.
“_You are not Blufe Brandon!_” she exclaimed.
Solomon Strange seized her by the arm and prevented her escape.
Then he stooped and whispered something in her ear. She would have
involuntarily screamed, but Strange placed his claw-clad hand over her
mouth and prevented her.
“Hush! for God’s sake!” he exclaimed in an undertone, “do not expose
me, but help me.”
Here was more mystery. What could this strange, wild man be to Silver
Voice? And what she, to him? And why did he have the power to hold her
spell-bound--speechless? Alas! why, and for what?
For fully ten minutes Silver Voice remained in the lodge with the
false chief, in a low and earnest conversation. Then she went out and
returned to her own lodge to the left of the council-lodge.
Presently, her husband, Allacotah, entered Black Bear’s tent. He found
the supposed great chief lying upon the couch of skins.
“Is the great Black Bear unwell?” asked the young chief.
“He is,” returned Solomon Strange, hoarsely; “exposure to the night air
is fast telling upon the Black Bear’s lungs. It hurts him to speak. He
is hoarse, but he wished to speak to the brave young chief, Allacotah.”
“The ears of Allacotah are open,” returned the young chief, “he harkens
to the voice of the great Black Bear.”
“Since I am unable to take the war-path,” began Solomon Strange, his
hoarseness seeming to grow worse each moment, “I want the brave young
Allacotah to take all my warriors and go away in the hills toward the
rising sun and search for the white maiden. Should you find her, harm
not a hair of her head, or the vengeance of the great Manitou will rest
upon you. Should you find _any_ pale-faces, harm them not, but bring
them before Black Bear, even the great White Ranger whose sword has
slain our braves in the heart of our encampment. Black Bear has spoken.”
“Allacotah has heard, and will do his bidding with joy and pride,”
returned Allacotah, “but he is sorry the great chief is unwell, and can
not lead his warriors upon the trail. But he must rest and he will be
well soon. Allacotah has spoken.”
The young chief turned and left the tent, and in a few moments the
wildest excitement prevailed throughout the village. Laughing to
himself at his novel situation and splendid success, Solomon Strange
peered out at a hole in his lodge, and saw that Allacotah was gathering
his warriors for the war-path.
In less than an hour every warrior able to bear arms had left the
village.
Black Bear, or Solomon Strange, now arose and walked away through the
encampment and plunged into the woods.
He was on his way to Lone Pine to meet Duval Dungarvon.