The Frontier Angel Part 23

"_My heavens! I know that girl!_"

"Who is she?"

"Never mind now. I understand the meaning of Peterson's conduct. Leave me alone, Russel, and it shall all be made plain to you in the morning."

Our hero withdrew, and the commander was left alone with that being who has figured as the Frontier Angel in these pages. She sat bolt upright in the bed, staring at him with a look as fixed and intense as that of a wild animal.

"Lie down, _Myra_!" he spoke gently.

"Lie down!" she repeated half to herself. "What does all this mean?--Why am I here?--Have I been wounded?--Why is my head bandaged?--Am I dreaming?"

The commander approached and laid her head back upon the pillow. In this position she pressed her hand to her forehead and commenced muttering to herself. The commander listened, and now and then caught her words.

"Reason has returned, or is now striving to regain its place," he thought. "She is, in fact, in her right mind already, but it is no wonder that her recollections still confuse her. Strange! strange! who would have thought the Frontier Angel could have been _her_?"

Soon the patient slept--a troubled, dreamy sleep. She talked incessantly--now in soft, beseeching tones to Peterson and Holmes (the commander), then fairly shrieking the name of McGable, and once or twice she spoke the name of _Marian Abbott_!

The wind howled around the old block-house, moaning through the forest and ridging the Ohio till the dismal beat of its waves could be heard, when an occasional lull occurred. The rain rattled through the village like the incessant volleys of shot, and the pale flickering light shining through the loop-holes of the fort was the only visible sign of life.

The commander paced the floor a while and then sat down and gazed into the face of the sufferer. Her eyes were closed and her face was of unearthly whiteness. Now and then the thin lips moved and the broken words came forth. Once the brow compressed as if a twinge of pain ran through her, and then she started and gasped:

"Oh, don't! don't! McGable, you will kill her! Let her alone!"

"What can she mean?" wondered Holmes. "Yes--it is Marian--there! she spoke her name then."

All at once, the patient come to the sitting position, and opening her eyes to their fullest extent, stared apparently through the very walls of the block-house out into the wilderness. Then, raising her hand, she repeated these words:

"I see them!--they are hastening to the cave!--they will kill her!--she cannot get away!--she will die."

"You are excited--lie down again!" pleaded the commander. But she heeded him not. Her dark eyes glowed with tenfold light, and she added:

"I see them! they are Indians going to kill Marian Abbot! There are two Shawnee warriors, and they are now picking their way through the forest.

She will die! she will die, if she is not saved at once!"

The patient seemed as if speaking in a trance. She was in that state which baffles all human knowledge to understand, and, without attempting to explain what never can be understood, we give the facts alone. What the Frontier Angel saw on that stormy night, when neither the impenetrable walls of the block-house, nor the miles of wilderness could bound her vision, was really occurring. And the commander, rapt, wondering, and believing, listened. When she had finished, she turned toward him.

"Franklin Holmes, I understand all, not all either; but I feel I have pa.s.sed through some dreadful darkness, and light is again dawning upon me. There is a white captive in danger this moment. She must be rescued!

I can lead the way!"

"But--but, Myra, you cannot. Hear how the storm rages," pleaded the commander.

"Have I not pa.s.sed through more fearful storms than this?" she asked, stepping upon the floor and confronting him. "Yes," she added in a low, meaning tone, "if you value the life of Marian Abbot, _who is now living_, it must be done. Get me one or two companions and I will lead the way."

Holmes believed that it was his duty to do so, and answering her that her wish should be gratified at once, he pa.s.sed out. He aroused Dingle and Mansfield, but Peterson was nowhere to be found. He imparted to the ranger the ident.i.ty of their guide, and the absence of Peterson was then understood. Preparations were made at once to start, and the impatience and excitement of Mansfield was painful to witness.

The Frontier Angel--as we shall call her for a time--arrayed herself in her usual garments, wrapping a large shawl around her form, and covering her head securely, and was ready when Holmes reentered the room.

"How many are going?" she asked.

"Two well-tried and reliable men."

"That is plenty. Let us wait no longer."

She pa.s.sed out without a word, and the two men joined her. The commander unbarred the gate and saw them move off in the darkness, adding no unnecessary caution or question.

"Keep close to me and move as fast as possible," she said as soon as they were alone.

The rain was still falling, and the wind howled dismally overhead. The Frontier Angel led the way to the river, where they entered one of the canoes that were always there, and were propelled across by Dingle. As they reached the Ohio side the ranger saw a dark form suddenly appear beside him and glide along as silently as a shadow.

"h.e.l.lo! who are you?" he demanded.

"You know well enough--don't speak my name. I knowed you'd be on some such a tramp as this."

Mansfield recognized the voice of Peterson, and to set their fair guide at ease, he informed her that it was merely a friend who had joined them.

The speed with which the Frontier Angel moved through the wood was wonderful. She neither seemed to run nor walk, but to glide as silently and swiftly as a specter over the ground. Her companions did not run, but they executed an amount of what might properly be termed "tall walking."

On--on she led them like the _ignis fatuus_, brushing through the dripping branches, tumbling over the gnarled and twisted roots, splashing through the watery hollows, tearing their way through the tangled undergrowth, until after many a mile had been pa.s.sed and hours had elapsed, she halted and said:

"Here is the spot."

At first, our friends were unable to pierce the darkness; but, after gazing steadily for a few moments, they discerned the faint outlines of a hill or swell in the ground in front. Still at a loss to understand how this could be their destination, Mansfield inquired:

"What is there here that can a.s.sist us in our search?"

"--Sh! some one approaches!" admonished the guide.

The snapping of a twig was heard, and presently the footsteps of persons. Our friends sank to the earth and silently waited their approach. Scarcely more than ten feet away they halted, and presently the guttural voice of a savage was heard. What he said was of course unintelligible to Mansfield, although Frontier Angel and Peterson understood every word. Despite the rain which was still falling, a huge torch instantly flashed out and displayed the gleaming visages of two Shawnees, stealing forward like the panther. At the very base of the hill or knoll alluded to, they halted. Here by the aid of the flickering torches, our friends were enabled to gain a view of its peculiarities.

It merely resembled a ma.s.s of solid green earth, with a number of stones piled at the base. A moment later, the dusky warriors entered the cave, and swinging their torch overhead called out: "Pauquachoke!

Pauquachoke!"

A shuffling, sliding over the ground was heard, and a bent, withered, old squaw appeared. For the benefit of our readers we will translate the Indian tongue into the English.

"What seeks the Shawnee chiefs?" asked the old squaw.

"The captive pale-face, bring her at once."

Thus commanded, the squaw clapped her hands three times, and with feelings which we leave to the imagination of the reader, our friends beheld _Marian Abbot_ approach! She said nothing, but stood with her head meekly bent as if awaiting her doom. She appeared the same as when Mansfield had last seen her, except she was paler and more dejected.

The Frontier Angel had entered the cave behind the savages, so that all save Peterson were now within it. He had purposely remained outside to conceal his ident.i.ty. The savages standing with their backs toward the entrance failed to see the shadows behind them, which might be said to be in fact a part of the gloom itself, so faint was the light of the torch.

There was no mistaking the meaning of the savages. Their glowing visages, doubly hideous in their horrid war paint, their weapons, their att.i.tude, all showed they were upon the work of death. Mansfield felt ready to spring forward and rend the demons limb from limb; but an emotion, that was ever after unaccountable to him, held him in his place.

One of the savages, placed his hand upon the knife in his belt and addressed Marian in broken English.

"White man, McGable dead--white gal die too."

"I am ready if you wish to kill me," she replied meekly.