fruitless was the eager search of murdock and bob after traces of the lost girl.
giving it up at last as hopeless, the two returned to point pleasant.
alarmed at the long absence of his daughter and the young stranger, the old general, with several of the best woodmen of the station, had earnestly searched for her.
the party had penetrated into the ravine where virginia had been captured and the young man wounded.
the keen eyes of the woodmen quickly detected the marks of blood upon the rocks where the stranger had fallen; then they discovered the footprints of the attacking party. these they followed till they led into the broad trail by the river. there the scouts halted, baffled.
“it’s no use, general,” said jake jackson, who led the scouts, shaking his head sagely. “the trail ends hyer. thar’s too many gone along this path for us to pick out our men.”
“what is your opinion of the affair?” asked treveling, anxiously.
“well, it’s just hyer,” said jackson, slowly. “your darter and the young feller were in the ravine. they were attacked by the three that we’ve been tracking. one on ’em wounded—probably the young feller—and then both on ’em carried away by the ones that attacked ’em, ’cos thar’s no marks of their footsteps.”
“think you that the attacking party were indians?” asked treveling.
“nary injun!” responded jackson, tersely. “they’re white as i am.”
“what could be the motive of such a daring outrage?” said the old general, whose heart was sorely tried by the loss of his daughter.
“it’s hard to say, general,” said jackson, dubiously, “unless you’ve got some enemies, and this is the way they are taking their revenge.”
“i can not understand it,” treveling spoke, sorrowfully, and his brow was heavy with grief. “if my virginia is lost, it is the second blow of the kind that has fallen upon me.”
“the second?” said jackson, in wonder.
“yes; my eldest daughter, augusta, was stolen from me years ago. she wandered forth beyond the borders of the settlement, one bright summer’s afternoon, and never returned. whether she was eaten up by the wild beasts that roamed the forest, or fell beneath the tomahawks of the hostile indians, i never was able to discover. and now my second daughter, all that i have left to me in this world, is gone. my lot is hard to bear, indeed.”
the old man bent his head in agony. the rough woodmen looked upon him with pity. fathers themselves, they knew how bitter were the feelings of the old man.
“well, general, i don’t know what to do about this matter,” said jackson, thoughtfully. “i s’pose there’s nothin’ to[21] be done just at present but to return to the station, and then get up a party to search the country around thoroughly. it’s bad that it happened just at this time, too, ’cos we’ve got an injun war on our hands, and we ain’t got any too many men to fight the red devils; but i guess we kin spare a few to help you out of this difficulty. i’ll go for one.”
“and i,” said another of the woodmen.
“and i, and i!” chimed in the rest of the little party.
and so it was settled that first they should return to the station, make there all the needed preparations, and then set out in search of the girl.
silently and sorrowfully they took the trail leading to point pleasant.
to return to virginia.
quietly she remained in the little log-cabin, waiting the return of the stranger who had rescued her from the terrible peril that she had been placed in.
virginia had but little idea that she had escaped one danger only to encounter another more terrible still.
innocent and unsuspecting, she readily believed the words of the stranger.
so patiently she waited in the lonely cabin for his return to conduct her to point pleasant, and restore her once more to the arms of her father.
one sad recollection was in virginia’s memory—the untimely death of the young stranger to whom she had freely given all the best love of her girlish heart.
sorrowfully she mourned for his death, as the memory of his handsome face and frank, honest bearing came back to her. he was the first and only man that she had ever loved.
“oh, my fate seems bitter, indeed!” she murmured. “why did providence ever bring us together and implant the germs of love in our hearts, if it was fated that we should be torn apart thus rudely? i thought that we should be so happy together. i looked forward to a bright and blissful future. but now the past is full of dreadful memories, and the future does not show one single ray of sunlight to brighten up the darkness of my life.”
if virginia’s thoughts were so dark and gloomy now, with the prospect of being restored to her home and friends before her, what would they have been had she known the truth? had she guessed that she was in the power of a man more terrible and merciless in his nature than any red savage that roamed the wild woods?
it is, perhaps, a mercy sometimes that we can not guess the future.
virginia had been in the lonely cabin some five hours, wrapped in these gloomy thoughts. then the man who had called himself benton stood again upon the edge of the clearing.
“so far, so good,” he muttered to himself, in joy, a smile lighting up his dark face as he spoke. “now to take the bird from this cage and place it in one more secure; and then, that task done, to visit my foe, let him know the vengeance that has already fallen upon his head, and the more terrible vengeance that is still to come. it has taken years to ripen it, but the fruit will be bitter indeed.”
then he crossed the little clearing and entered the cabin.
virginia started up with joy as she saw who it was.
to her the dark-browed stranger was as a guardian angel—one destined to protect and save her from the terrible danger that menaced her.
“you have seen my father?” she cried, anxiously.
“yes.”
“and he is coming to save me?”
“no.”
“not coming?” and virginia looked the surprise she felt.
“no; your father is quite sick, and unable to leave the station.”
“my father ill?”
“yes; the fearful anxiety that your unexplained absence caused him came near resulting fatally; luckily, my timely arrival with the news of your safety gave him hope, and enabled him to fight against the illness that threatened his life.”
“oh, my poor father!” murmured virginia, sadly.
“do not be alarmed. the danger is over now,” benton said. “i shall soon restore you to his arms, and your presence will do him more good than all the medicine in the world.”
“then you will take me to him soon?”
“yes, almost immediately.”
“are my friends near at hand?” asked virginia, looking anxiously toward the door as she spoke, as though she expected to see the stalwart form of jackson, or some other friend of her father, filling the doorway.
“no.”
“will they be here soon, then?”
“your father did not think that it was wise to send a small party after you, and could not send a large one, as the settlement is in danger of being attacked by the indians at any moment; so it was decided that it was best for me to return alone and conduct you to point pleasant. the danger of two being discovered by the savages is less than that attending a large party. and if the indians should discover us, no party that could be spared from the settlement in this hour of peril would be sufficient to withstand their attack.”
this appeared reasonable enough to virginia.
“i am ready at any moment,” she said.
“we will set out at once, then,” benton replied, moving to the door as he spoke.
“the sooner the better,” virginia cried, earnestly. “i wish that i could fly like a bird to the side of my dear father.”
“we are not far from the station; it will be only a few hours’ travel through the woods. a party from the settlement will meet us at a place fixed upon by your father and myself. if we can only reach that spot without being discovered by the lurking savages, all will be well.”
“let us hasten at once,” said virginia, in a fever of impatience.
the blows of misfortune were falling thick and heavy upon her head. first, her lover struck down lifeless at her feet; then her capture by the hostile red-skins; and now the dangerous illness of her only parent.
“tread cautiously and lightly,” said benton, in warning, as they passed through the door of the cabin. “we can not tell which bush or tree may conceal a lurking indian. the very leaves of the grass beneath our feet may hide a foe.”
“oh, i will be very careful!” said virginia, earnestly.
then the two set out upon the dangerous journey.
silently on through the wood they went.
after proceeding for a short time, virginia began to wonder at the manner in which the stranger led the way. a girl reared on the border, she was somewhat familiar with border ways.
what astonished her was that the man who was guiding her was proceeding straight onward, apparently without caution as if he had no fears of stumbling without warning upon any red foes.
virginia’s thought, however, was that he knew the path so well, and had passed over it so recently, that he did not apprehend danger.
soon they came to a place where the bank stooped down to meet the river. they had followed the kanawha in their course.
from the thicket that fringed the stream, the guide drew a “dug-out,” and by its aid the two crossed the river. on the opposite bank, benton again concealed the “dug-out” in the bushes.
and then again they proceeded on their way, following the broad trail that led to point pleasant.
but in a half mile or so, benton left the trail and struck into the woods to the right of the path.
virginia followed in wonder, for she knew well that they had left the direct road to point pleasant and were going away from, instead of approaching the station.
