“durn the critter! he’s right in the way!” muttered the old hunter, as his eyes fell upon the figure of the savage, sitting in the pathway leading to the river.
just then, too, the moon shone out bright and clear.
the position of boone was one of danger. although the shelving bank hid him from the view of any one that might be on the level plain above, yet he was in full view of the savage in the horse-path, if that worthy chose to turn his head and look in his direction.
“what in thunder was the use of that terrible critter—whatever he was—a-gettin’ me out of the wigwam, if i’m goin’ to be captivated ag’in, right on the jump?”
boone did not dare to move lest the noise might reach the ears of the indian.
“if the moon would only go under a cloud ag’in, i might be able to skulk round him; but then, the chances are ten to one that some one of the indians in the village would see me. this is a pesky fix now, for sure.”
boone was in a quandary. to advance was clearly out of the question. to remain where he was would be sure to lead to his discovery and recapture, for the indian might turn his head at any moment. there was but one course open to him.
“i must take the back track and try to get into the thicket on the upper side of the village. that will be difficult, ’cos the lodges above are nigh the river, and the injuns may diskiver me a-creepin’ along under the bank. it’s got to be did, though.”
just as the hunter came to the conclusion to try the desperate chance for escape that was yet open to him, a great black cloud came sailing over the face of the moon.
the silver rays hid by the cloud, darkness again vailed the earth.
boone could just distinguish the figure of the indian before him, and that was all.
“by hokey!” muttered the scout, in doubt, “i ought to be able to skulk around that red heathen in this hyar darkness, if it will only last!”
and then the old hunter looked searchingly at the heavens above him.
the cloud was passing slowly along the darkened vault above. in its track came another cloud fully as large and as black as the first.
“i kin do it,” muttered boone, decidedly. “i know i kin do it; i kin get past that critter afore the moon shines out ag’in. i’ll risk it, anyway. it will be a narrow shave, but a miss is as good as a mile. so here goes.”
slowly and cautiously, on his hands and knees, the daring woodman crept forward.
he gained the level of the bank, and in his course commenced to describe a semi-circle that would carry him wide of the squatting chief and yet bring him to the bank of the scioto again.
many an anxious glance the fugitive scout cast upward to the sky as he proceeded on his way.
the cloud was still over the moon, but was rapidly growing less and less dense, and the silver rays were beginning to struggle feebly through it.
“by jingo!” muttered boone, in dismay, although he still[20] kept steadily on in his stealthy way, “that confounded moon will be out, ’most as clear as daylight, in a minute. i shall be in a worse fix than i was under the bank. i shall have to lie still and hug the yearth. then s’pose that heathen takes it into his head to return to the center of the village, or any of the other red devils comes to the river’s bank for water? they’ll diskiver me, sure. well, now, i am in a scrape!”
by this time the hunter had completed about half of the semicircle, and was some hundred paces from the indian. a straight line drawn from the chief to the center of the village would have touched boone.
suddenly, almost without warning, the cloud parted and the moonbeams shone brightly over the earth.
boone crouched to the ground, lying flat upon his face. the back of the savage was toward him, so that, unless the indian turned around, he was in no danger of being discovered for the present.
the breath of the scout came quick and hard.
anxiously he looked up to the sky. the remainder of the cloud had broken into fragments, and these, in passing over the face of the “mistress of the night,” though somewhat dimming the luster of her smile, yet did not hide the light from the earth.
the second black cloud seemed, also, likely to break into pieces like the first, thus destroying the hope that boone had of escaping from his present dangerous condition when its mantle should hide the rays of the moon.
“oh, ’tarnal death!” groaned boone; “to come so fur, and now to be stopped! if i could only get near enough to give that pesky critter a clean dig—but what am i talking about? i ain’t got any we’pon. the ’tarnal heathens took good care of ’em for me. if this ain’t a fix, then i never was in one.”
boone looked upward to the heavens, but there could not see any thing that seemed to favor his escape. then his glance wandered restlessly over the earth around him. he looked to the indian village; he could just distinguish the forms of the warriors as they passed to and fro in the circle of light thrown out by the blazing fires. then he looked to the river, and there sat the brawny shawnee chief.
“jerusalem! what’s that?” muttered boone. his eyes wandering to the river, caught sight of a dark mass extended on the prairie, a few paces from where the savage sat. the dark object was a little in the rear of the savage, and of course was not in the range of his vision.
boone was astonished.
“i’ll sw’ar!” he muttered, “that air heap of something wasn’t thar when i looked afore.”
boone bent a searching gaze upon it. the eyes of the scout, trained from infancy to the life of the woods, were as keen as the eyes of a hawk, yet he could make little of the dark object that broke the level of the plain.
“it looks like a buffler-skin,” he said, after a long and careful examination, “but the injuns wouldn’t leave a hide lying round loose like that; ’sides, i’m sure that it wasn’t thar when i looked a moment ago. ’tain’t likely that it could have been thar and me not notice it.”
then, to the utter astonishment of boone, the dark object moved. little by little it seemed to creep nearer and nearer to the savage, who sat so still in silent meditation.
the hunter rubbed his eyes; he could hardly believe that he had seen aright. but a second look convinced him that his eyes had not deceived him. the dark object that looked so much like the skin of a buffalo had moved a dozen paces or more toward the shawnee chief.
a horrible suspicion seized upon boone. for the first time he guessed what the dark form was, and had a suspicion regarding the silent stranger who had freed him from the bonds that bound him in the indian lodge.
cold drops of perspiration stood upon the bronzed brow of the old indian-fighter.
“jerusalem! to think that thing has had its paws on me,” he muttered. “i ain’t afeard of any human that walks the yearth, but this—well, it’s proved a good spirit to me, if it’s a bad one to the red heathen.”
slowly the dark form drew near to the savage. unconscious of danger, the chief sat silent and motionless as a statue.
the shawnee brave knew not that the dark angel was nigh—that the dread scourge of his nation was about to add him, another victim, to the long list of those who had fallen as his prey.
“if my guess is right, thar’ll be a dead injun round here in about two minutes.”
like one fascinated, boone gazed upon the scene before him with staring eyes.
the dark form had crept quite close to the savage. it was now hardly a dozen paces from the chief.
a portion of the fleeting cloud passed over the moon; for a single moment the silver light was vailed, and the mantle of darkness cast over the earth.
hardly had the gloom settled upon the plain, hiding the form of the indian and the dark, mysterious object that had approached him so stealthily, from the gaze of the scout, when a dull sound, like an ax cutting into a rotten tree, came from the direction of the river; it was followed by a moan of pain.
boone shivered when the noise fell upon his ears. he guessed only too well what had transpired.
no other sound broke the stillness of the night.
the moon came forth again in its splendor. again the silver light flooded the prairie, and made the night like unto the day.
boone, with horror-stricken eyes, looked toward the river.
the indian chief had disappeared.
only a dark mass, motionless on the prairie, met the eyes of the hunter.
earnestly boone swept his eyes along the horizon. no form was in sight—bird, beast or human.
the scout felt his blood congeal within his veins with horror.
“i can’t stand this,” he muttered, nervously; “i must see what’s been goin’ on. if i ain’t wrong, my way to the wood is clear now.”
then boone cast a rapid glance behind him in the direction of the village. he saw nothing there to alarm him.
“here goes,” he muttered.
slowly and cautiously the old hunter crept near to the dark form lying so still upon the prairie.
some dozen paces from the shapeless mass the hunter paused.
“by jingo!” he muttered, “i’m almost afear’d to look at it, yet i’ve seen death a hundred times, but i never seen a human killed by a demon before.”
then again the hunter went on.
the rays of the moon were shining down full upon the earth as boone crept to the side of the silent form that paid no heed to his approach.
the sight that met the wondering eyes of the scout was strange indeed.
on the prairie, extended on his back, lay a stalwart shawnee chief.
his head was smoothly shaven, except where the eagle-plumes twined in the scalp-lock.
the blood was gushing freely from a terrible wound in his head.
an awful gash, the work of a muscular arm and a keen-edged tomahawk, told of the manner of his death.
and on the naked breast of the savage were three lines of blood.
the red arrow blazed there.
the wolf demon had marked his victim!
