“within a week every red brave in the shawnee nation will be on the war-path, and with the shawnees are the wyandots and the mingoes. thar’s a bloody time ahead, gal.”
“and you are leagued with the red fiends,” said kate, indignantly.
“and ar’n’t i red now, too?” returned kendrick, with a frown—“red at heart, although my skin may be white. but, gal, i’ve come to give you warning of this attack, so that you can look out for yourself in your expeditions in the forest. the indians will be as thick as bees between here and the ohio. and if they should come across you in the forest your scalp might adorn the belt of some one of my red brothers. not that i think that any of the shawnee tribe would harm a hair of your head, that is, if they knew who you was. but in the wood they won’t be apt to examine very closely, till they put a bullet through you.”
“i am not afraid,” said the girl, scornfully. “i do not think there are many of the shawnee warriors that are a match for me in woodcraft.”
“that’s so, gal; i’ll back you ag’in’ ‘lifting a trail’ with any red-man that ever stepped.”
“do not fear for me; i can take care of myself.”
“by the way, gal, thar’s one thing i want to ask you,” said the renegade, suddenly. “in your wanderings about in the forest, did you ever see a strange-looking creature with the body of a wolf and the face of a human?”
“no,” said the girl, in wonder.
“i don’t know what to think of it, gal. thar’s something—whether man, beast, or demon, no one knows—a-hunting the shawnee nation. it attacks the warriors, singly, in the forest. kills them with a single lick of a tomahawk, and then cuts on their breasts three knife-slashes, making a red arrow.”
“have you ever seen it?” asked the girl.
“me? no,” replied the renegade.
“it is probably but an indian fable; such a creature as you describe can not exist.”
“but i’ve seen the dead indians, though, with the red arrow cut on their breasts; thar’s no mistake about that,” said kendrick.
“i have never met any such figure as you describe in the forest.”
“well, i reckon it’s the devil, after all.”
“father, you understand the treatment of wounds, do you not?”
“yes, a little.”
“can you not extract the ball from this stranger’s wound?”
“well, i kin try.”
and then the renegade bent over the sleeping man. with his keen-edged hunting-knife he ripped open the stranger’s shirt.
silently, for a few moments, kendrick examined the wound; then with his strong arms he turned the stranger over, gently.
“it’s all right, gal; ’tain’t nothing but a flesh wound. the ball has passed right through the side just under the shoulder. he’s suffering more from loss of blood than any thing else. a few days will fix him all right. just bind up the wound. put on a bandage and a poultice of these leaves,” and the renegade drew a handful of leaves from the indian pouch that hung by his side, and gave them to the girl. “it’s a shawnee medicine and powerful healing. just chew the leaves up and apply them wet to the wound. and now, i must be going. it ain’t much use for you to waste your time curing this young fellow, because, if he stays round hyer, the savages will have his scalp afore he’s a week older. look out for yourself, now.” and, with this parting injunction, the renegade left the house.
“and to think that this man, a renegade to his country and his kin, a consort with the red indians, is my father,” the girl muttered, bitterly.
then she proceeded to dress the wound of the stranger. she applied the leaves as directed by the renegade. then bound them tightly in their place with strips of cotton.
the cooling influence of the simple savage remedy seemed to give almost instant relief to the wounded man.
anxiously she watched the expression of his face.
a few minutes of silence ensued. then the stranger, with a sigh, turned, restlessly, on the deer-skin couch and awoke.
the wounded man was harvey winthrop.
wolf and carrion-bird alike had been cheated of their banquet of blood by the timely arrival of the kanawha queen.
in astonishment, winthrop looked around him.
“where am i?” he muttered, in a haze.
“in safety, in my poor cabin,” said kate, softly.
winthrop gave a slight start as the tone of her voice fell upon his ear.
he turned his glance upon the girl, and in a moment recognized her.
“kate!” he exclaimed, in astonishment.
a warm blush, accompanied by a look of delight, swept over the girl’s face as winthrop pronounced her name.
“you remember me, then?” she said, in joy.
“yes, of course. am i likely to forget one who saved my life? and now i suppose i owe a double debt, another life; for, as i guess, to you again i owe my existence.”
“i found you in the forest, wounded and senseless,” said the girl, simply.
“in the same ravine where i met you, was it not?”
“yes.”
[17]
“strange that twice in that one spot i should have come so near to death and yet escaped it.”
“it was providence that sent me to your aid. i know not why i directed my steps to that spot,” and a half blush was on her face as she spoke, for, to speak truthfully, she should have said that it was a secret but earnest wish to look again upon the scene where she had met the handsome stranger, that led her to the ravine. but that truth she would not own even to herself.
“i thank both heaven and yourself for the timely rescue,” said winthrop, earnestly.
“how did you receive your wound?” asked the girl.
“i do not know,” replied winthrop, with a puzzled air.
“you do not know!” exclaimed kate, in astonishment.
“no, i was shot down without warning. i heard the sharp report of the rifle, then felt the burning sensation of the bullet tearing through my side, and then—i knew no more, until i awoke from my swoon a moment ago.”
“i can not understand it,” said kate, thoughtfully.
“nor can i. i have not an enemy in the world, that i know of, and here too in the west i am a stranger; have only been here a few days; hardly time enough to make acquaintances, let alone enemies. perhaps, though, it was one of the savages that attacked me; to them all white men are foes.”
“no indian bullet stretched you on the earth,” said kate, decidedly. “had it been an indian that shot you, he would have taken your scalp instantly, as a trophy of victory; such is the custom of the red-men. you must have been insensible for some time when i reached your side, for quite a little pool of blood, that had flowed from your wound, was on the ground, and, as i came up, a huge gray wolf stole away into the thicket, and a crow winged its flight up through the tree-tops. had there been indians near, the wolf and crow would not have been by your side.”
winthrop shuddered when he thought of what his fate would have been but for the timely arrival of the girl.
“it is all a mystery to me,” winthrop said, absently. “i can not understand why any one should desire my death.”
“and whoever attempted your life has a white skin, and not a red one; of that you may be sure,” said kate, decidedly.
“i can not guess the riddle.”
then for the first time to winthrop’s mind came the thought of virginia treveling.
“and miss treveling?” he exclaimed.
kate looked at him in wonder. she could not understand the meaning of the exclamation.
“miss treveling?” she said.
“yes; was she not with me, when you discovered me helpless?”
“no,” said kate, in utter astonishment.
“why, this is a greater mystery than even the attack on me. miss treveling was with me in the ravine when i was shot.”
“she was?”
“yes; what could have become of her?”
“i can not guess.”
“could she have returned to point pleasant for assistance?”
“she would not have left you to bleed to death.”
“you did not see her?”
“no.”
“would you have met had she gone to the station? did you come from that direction?”
“no, i entered the ravine from the east by an old indian trail.”
“and my rifle, my knife?” exclaimed winthrop, glancing around the room, as though he expected to see his weapons in some corner.
“there were no weapons near you.”
“i have it at last—a clue to this mysterious attack,” exclaimed winthrop, excitedly. “miss treveling has been carried off. the ruffians, whoever they are, shot me down that they might secure her.”
as he spoke, in kate’s mind came the dreadful suspicion that her father, the renegade, might have had something to do with the attack on winthrop; but then in an instant she dismissed the thought as unworthy of belief, for her father had not acted toward the wounded man as if he had been his assassin.
“there are many wild and dangerous characters on the borders of the ohio. men whose lawless lives have driven them from civilization to the forest wilds; yet i should not think that there would be any one of them desperate enough to seize upon general treveling’s daughter, nor can i understand what they would gain by so doing.”
“you are sure that the attacking party were not indians?”
“yes; first, because they would have taken your scalp; second, there is now peace along the ohio border between the white men and the red, although no one can tell how soon the tomahawk will be again uplifted.” the words of her father, the renegade, relative to the indian expedition, were fresh in her mind as she spoke.
“i am certain that i was shot down like a dog, without mercy, that she might be carried away. the pain of my wound is nothing now to the pain in my heart when i think of what may be her fate.”
deep with anguish were the tones that came from the lips of the young man, and sorrowful was the cloud that darkened his face.
mournfully kate gazed upon him, but she spoke not.
“lady, you can judge of my sufferings when i tell you that virginia treveling is my plighted wife. the words binding her life to mine had just passed her lips when the shot of the assassin struck me to her feet.”
each word that he spoke was like a dagger-thrust to kate. she felt a deathlike faintness come over her, but with an effort that tried all her powers, she repressed the agony that was tearing her heart.
“she is to be your wife?” she said, rising.
“yes.”
“i will find her. if she is within a hundred miles of the ohio, wood, swamp or village shall not hide her from me.”
she snatched her rifle from the wall, and in a moment was gone.
