The Frontiersmen Part 15

"Come, Miss Ruth; the Indians will take the cottage; and your father has directed me to take charge of you and lead you to a place selected by him and his companions for a _rendezvous_. There is no time for thought: come instantly."

Ruth arose, astonished by this sudden intelligence.

"My father," she exclaimed, "is he safe?"

"Yes," replied Guthrie, "they are all safe; but they have been compelled to retreat towards the forest. Come instantly, or you are lost."

Deceived by the earnestness of Guthrie, Ruth immediately followed him to the window. In a moment a small ladder which had been constructed for exit by the windows, in any emergency similar to the present, was let down upon the ground, and Ruth descended, followed by Guthrie. Taking her by the hand, and partly leading and partly carrying her, they proceeded rapidly towards the south-east into the forest. When they arrived at the base of the hill, near the sh.o.r.e of the pond, instead of meeting her father and his companions, she found herself in the midst of a small party of Senecas. She saw at once that she was betrayed, and shrieked for help.

"None of that, Miss Ruth," cried Guthrie, roughly; "it won't do you any good. Them Colony men at the cottage, have got as much as they can do, just now, to save their own scalps."

"Wretch--villain!" cried Ruth, and she fell fainting upon the ground.

By this time, it was apparent that the contest at the cottage had terminated; and a rough frame-work of light saplings and boughs was constructed, upon which Ruth was placed, and conveyed in the direction of the temporary lodges of the Senecas. Before arriving there, she had recovered from her swoon, when she realized the dangerous situation in which she was placed. Arming herself with the fort.i.tude which was not uncommon among the women of the period, she commended herself to the protection of that Divine Being, upon whom she was wont to rely for aid and consolation.

When they reached the huts of the Senecas, and the Indians ascertained who was their prisoner, their exultation was announced in the shouts of triumph which Ichabod had heard. Ruth, however, without suffering any rudeness or ill-usage such as might have been expected, perhaps, in the present excited state of mind of the savages, was conveyed, by the direction of Panther, to the lodge occupied by Singing-Bird. She was not bound or confined in any manner, the savages relying upon their watchfulness to prevent her escape; and also upon the apparent fidelity of Singing-Bird.

When Ruth saw the entire absence of restraint in which Singing-Bird lived, and her apparent friendliness towards the savages, her mind recurred to the imaginative picture she had formerly drawn of the young squaw, separated by force from a husband she loved, and restrained by captivity, among enemies who were thirsting for his blood, she could not reconcile the present conduct of Singing-Bird with her own ideas of what should have been her conduct; and she felt a degree of disgust towards the young Indian beauty, who could so soon forget a husband so worthy of her affection as the Tuscarora.

"Can this be Singing-Bird, of whom I have heard so much?" asked Ruth.

"Who heard it from?" inquired Singing-Bird.

"I heard it at the cottage, of a Tuscarora chief who had lost his squaw by the treachery of the Senecas, and who were now seeking his life."

"Yes, Eagle's-Wing kill Seneca--and Panther must have Eagle's-Wing's scalp. Bad for Eagle's-Wing to kill Seneca."

"Can it be possible?" asked Ruth, "--no, it cannot be--that you are the Singing-Bird of whom I have heard."

The young Indian placed her hands upon her breast, as struggling with a violent emotion, and then looked at Ruth with an expression of entreaty which was not lost upon her.

"Hush!" faintly whispered Singing-Bird, "Seneca comes."

Ruth saw at once that Singing-Bird was acting a part, and appreciated that she did so from a feeling of necessity for the safety of herself, and perhaps of her husband. Scarcely had Ruth caught the whisper, ere the Indians who had stood by the door of the lodge departed, when Singing-Bird advanced towards Ruth, and said--

"Pale-face girl does not know Singing-Bird. She loves Eagle's-Wing.

Hates Panther ever so much. _Do_ tell me 'bout Eagle's-Wing."

Ruth related what she knew of the Tuscarora, and of the attack upon the cottage. Singing-Bird listened intently; and when Ruth had concluded, she placed her arm gently about her neck, and said--

"We sisters now; but look out for Seneca. They think me friend; but I want Eagle's-Wing to get all their scalp."

She then informed Ruth that another party of the Senecas had also brought in a prisoner, and from the description which she gave of the appearance of the captive, Ruth concluded that the unfortunate prisoner could be none other than Ichabod. She conjectured, also, that the Senecas had made no other prisoners, and that her father, together with Ralph and the Tuscarora, still remained in possession of the cottage.

This fact at once gave relief to her mind; and she regained a serenity and composure which she had not before been able to feel since her capture.

"What are these Indians going to do with us?" asked she of Singing-Bird.

"Don't know what they do want with pale-face girl. P'raps want to trade for Eagle's-Wing. But Panther wants _me_ for his squaw--wants me to go beyond the lakes, in the Seneca country, to live in his wigwam. Won't do it, though; I kill myself first."

"I never shall consent to be exchanged for Eagle's-Wing," said Ruth. "I shall rely upon some other means of deliverance."

Singing-Bird thanked her by a grateful smile. "O, I _do_ want to get away," replied she. "Oneida and Tuscarora warriors come pretty soon, I hope. When they come, then I get away; p'raps before, if Eagle's-Wing know how. He great warrior."

"I have friends, too, who will a.s.sist; and I hope they will find means to deliver us," said Ruth.

"_What_ friend?" asked Singing-Bird, suddenly. "Have you got husband, too?"

Ruth smiled and shook her head.

"Got friend, then," asked Singing-Bird, "who like to look at you--who give you his heart?"

Ruth blushed, and this time she did not smile.

Singing-Bird continued, "If you got lover, then, why don't marry?"

"Perhaps I may, sometime," answered Ruth, still blushing; "but I cannot, you know, until these troubles are all over."

"It's pleasant to live in wigwam with husband. When he gone on war-path, or gone hunting, then you work in field--that good way to live."

"We pale-face women do not work in the field. We make the men do that."

"That squaw's business; men hunt deer, catch fish, take scalp--that warrior's business. I don't want to stay in wigwam and do not'ing, Eagle's-Wing wouldn't like that."

"You do not mean to say that Eagle's-Wing would make _you_ do labor in the field?" asked Ruth, in astonishment.

"No--Eagle's-Wing wouldn't _make_ me do that; but if I didn't, he t'ink me lazy, good for not'ing squaw--then he get another squaw, p'raps. _I_ shouldn't like that."

Ruth was not acquainted with this custom of the Indians; and her astonishment was unfeigned. She could scarcely believe that one so seemingly delicate as Singing-Bird, could accustom herself to a species of labor, that was severe enough for the stronger muscles of the manly portion of creation. Yet, it is true, that while the Indian warrior undergoes the fatigues of war, or of the chase, with uncomplaining fort.i.tude, when idle he never compromises his dignity by any servile employment. The cultivation of the field, and all of the severer domestic duties, are performed by the squaws, with as much patience and fort.i.tude as the warrior displays on the war-path.

"But," asked Singing-Bird, "what pale-face women _do_? sit still and do not'ing?"

"O, no; we have plenty of employment in attending to household matters.

We shouldn't think ourselves able to do labor out-of-doors, in tilling land."

It was now Singing-Bird's turn to be surprised; and while she was expressing her wonderment at this want of love for their husbands on the part of the women of the pale-faces, Panther was seen approaching the lodge. At the suggestion of Singing-Bird, Ruth immediately a.s.sumed an appearance of extreme sorrow, while the former took that of the careless indifference which she had first exhibited to Ruth.

Panther entered the lodge, and without seeming to notice the presence of Ruth, approached Singing-Bird and said:

"The pale-face prisoner does not believe that Singing-Bird loves to live in the lodges of the Senecas. Will my sister go and tell him whether she does or not?"

Singing-Bird obeyed without reply; and followed by Panther, she proceeded to the interview we have already described between her and Ichabod.

Ruth had been left alone but for a few moments, when she heard a slow but heavy step approaching the lodge. With a look of uneasiness, she gazed in the direction of the sound, and beheld Guthrie about entering the doorway.

"Good morning, Miss," said he with a rude and familiar voice, that grated harshly on her ears. "I thought I'd just see how you get along.

How do you like living with the Senecas?"

"Guthrie," answered Ruth, "in what manner has my father or have I, injured you, that you should commit the act you have, to-day?"