The Phantom of the River, Edward Sylvester Ellis [ereader with dictionary .txt] 📗

much longer she ought to remain motionless and mute, and on the point of calling, in a suppressed voice, to her lover, when something whisked by her elbow, too quickly or too dimly seen for her to comprehend at once what it meant.

Then it flashed upon her.

"George!" she called, in an undertone, so full of dread and terror that he was at her side in an instant.

"What's the matter? What has happened?"

"There's an Indian within the inclosure!"

"Impossible! You are mistaken!"

"I saw him this minute."

"Where? Tell me how it was!" he whispered, seizing her hand, and quick to catch her excitement.

"I saw the top of his head peeping over this very rock in front of me. I was about to call to you, when he dropped down again. The next moment he passed over the spot where you are. He did it so quickly and silently that I heard nothing, and caught only the most shadowy glimpses of him."

"Can it be possible? I cannot dispute you, and yet--"

A tall figure, walking erect, assumed form in the gloom, and was upon the startled lovers before they were aware of it.

Young Ashbridge was in the act of bringing his rifle to a level, when Weber Hastings spoke.

"Not too fast, younkers. I'm afeared I didn't do the best thing in the world, when I placed you two so near each other."

"No matter where you placed her," replied the youth, "you did a good thing for the rest. She has sharper eyes than any of us, for she has seen what nobody else saw."

"What's that? What's that?"

"Within the last three minutes," said Agnes, "one of the Shawanoes passed by this boulder behind which I have been sitting, and is now somewhere within the inclosure. Oh, I wonder if he means any harm to your folks, George, or mine!"

And spurred by her new terror she hurried across the brief intervening space to where her mother and Miss Altman were sitting trembling, and occasionally whispering in the darkness.

Thank heaven! no harm had befallen them, and since there was no call for her to return to George Ashbridge and Weber Hastings, she remained with those that were so near and dear to her.

"Them varmints are gettin' pow'rful sassy," was the comment of Hastings, who, now that the truth was known, seemed to lose all the excitement he had first shown. "You don't think the gal was mistook?"

"I am sure she was not."

"So am I; stay right here where you be, while I look around for that varmint; keep a lookout yourself, for he may try to sneak out this way."

"All I want is a chance at him."

"That's right--helloa!"

It so happened that Jim Deane, fully recovered from the effects of the rattlesnake antidote he had taken earlier in the evening, was on guard at a point almost opposite where Agnes Altman had made her alarming discovery. Instead of being sheltered by boulders and rocks, he had lain down behind some branches and logs, which he himself had helped place in position weeks before, when he and his companions were caught in their desperate straits.

Stretched at full length upon his face, with one hand grasping the barrel of his rifle in front and hearing nothing, he felt something softly touch his foot. The ranger did not speak or move a limb, but with rare cleverness, suspected the astonishing truth; one of the Shawanoe had entered the fort and was making a tour of inspection. The miscreant would offer harm to no one until he had gathered the knowledge he sought. Then he doubtless meant to deal some swift, terrible blows with his knife, and make off before anything could be done in the way of punishment.

The ranger turned his head and peered over his shoulder behind him. Lying flat on the ground, while the one that had touched him was on his feet, the advantage was with the white man. The almost impalpable outlines of a crouching figure that had paused upon touching his foot was revealed, and all doubt vanished from the mind of Deane.

His posture, as will be perceived, was an awkward one compared with that of the Shawanoe. It was necessary for the white man to change it before he could assume the offensive, and during the making of that change was the time for the hostile to get in his effective work.

The possibility of his doing so caused no hesitation on the part of Jim Deane. He flirted himself upon his back, snapped his feet beneath his body, and came to a standing position in a twinkling. In the act of doing so, he cocked his rifle.

The click of the hammer warned the intruder of his danger. His situation was not one in which to make a fight, and he turned to flee. The white man heard him, and dashed through the gloom to gain sufficient sight to warrant a shot. The fugitive must have been as familiar with the ground as was his pursuer, for he showed no hesitation as to his course, nor did he give any evidence of blundering.

He was so near the side of the inclosure that he had to run but a few steps when he made a leap which lifted him several feet above the obstruction, and it was this temporary elevation which gave the ranger the chance he was seeking. At the moment the figure was at the highest point of the arch, with his feet gathered beneath him, the ranger brought his gun to his shoulder and let fly.

A flash, a resounding report, a rasping shriek that resounded through the woods, and the Shawanoe sprawled forward on his face, with his hands clutching the leaves and dirt, and then all was still.

"That 'ere varmint ought to have knowed that 'cause a man happens to git bit by a rattler and takes an over-dose of antidote, it ain't no reason for stubbin' your toe agin him, and thinkin' he's forgot how to shoot off a gun."

"You managed that purty well, Jim," quietly remarked Weber Hastings, appearing that moment at his elbow. "Glad to see you don't forget to reload as quick as you kin."

"I larned that long ago; wonder if there are any more of the varmints 'bout."

"If there is, they'll be a little more keerful, but there's no saying what'll be the next thing--sh!"

Through the arches of the forest stole the soft, tremulous notes of a night bird--so faintly heard that even the trained ears of the ranger could do no more than guess the distance.

"That's Kenton," he remarked, in a guarded voice; "I'm powerful glad of it, for now something will be done."


CHAPTER XV.

A DARK PROSPECT.

Weber Hastings waited only a few seconds after hearing the soft, tremulous bird call that stole among the leafy arches, when he replied with an imitation so exact that it might well have been mistaken for an echo of the first.

Nothing more was done, for that was sufficient. Groping around among the "hornets' nests," as Kenton declared it to be, eluding the Shawanoes, who seemed to be everywhere, the pioneer found it impossible to locate his friends, until, as a last resort, he had recourse to the signal, which he knew would be recognized by Hastings, provided it could be projected to him.

Ten minutes later, the pioneer appeared within the enclosure as silently as if he had risen from the very earth. He sat down on the ground to consult with Hastings after his arrival had been made known to the rest. He would have willingly talked to them all, had it been feasible, but the exciting incidents a brief time before proved that not a man could be spared from his station. There was no certainty as to the schemes of the Shawanoes, and nothing less than the utmost vigilance could save the fugitives.

"What do you think of things?" inquired Hastings, the moment they were alone.

"They look bad--powerful bad; fact is, I don't see how they could look much worse."

"How did you make out?"

"Didn't make out at all," growled the ranger, not yet recovered from his keen disappointment; "I went back to the clearin', and yanked out that canoe from right under the nose of one of them varmints; when I had fetched it purty near here, I left it a few minutes to reckynoiter, and when I went back I'll be hanged if the same varmint hadn't yanked it back agin."

He made no reference to the first affair, which resulted in a fatal failure to the Indian attempting it. That didn't count in the light of the success which followed it.

"Of course, you hadn't any chance of getting it back again, or you'd done it?"

"You're correct; it was growing dark, and, though I hunted powerful lively for the varmint, I didn't get the first show for drawin' a bead on him."

"You said somethin' about another canoe of your'n that you hed among the bushes some time ago, near where we are now."

"I found the spot, but didn't find no canoe; the varmints had been ahead of me; I shouldn't wonder, now, if the boat which I seed comin' over from the Ohio side was the identical craft that I was looking for."

Kenton indulged in a forceful exclamation, for the occasion was one of the rare ones in which his chagrin and self disgust became intolerable. Nevertheless, he was very much of a philosopher, and soon talked with all his self-possession, betraying a hopeful vein in his composition which did much to sustain him in the great trials to which he was subjected in later years.

"I counted on two boats," he added, "and did git one; now, I haven't got any. But it don't do any good to kick."

"No," assented his companion; "we must make the best of it."

"Though there doesn't seem to be any 'best' about the bus'ness. Haven't heard anything of Boone since I left you?"

"Not a word."

"A good deal depends on what he says. He went more among the varmints than I did, though I found 'em plenty 'nough--confound 'em! But Boone is wiser than me. I don't think the varmints hate him quite as bad, and that gives him a better show for learning what they're up to."

"The Ingins must have one or two canoes," suggested Hastings, hinting at a scheme that had assumed form in his mind.

"I know what you mean, Web. There ain't no one that would try it quicker'n me, if I had the least chance."

"You stole a boat from one of 'em not long ago."

"But the varmint was asleep, and there was only that one. Here there's twenty of 'em at least--most likely more--and every varmint of' em is as wide awake as if he had been asleep seventeen years and a half. No," grimly added the veteran, "there ain't nothin' that would suit the varmints better than to have Sime Kenton try to steal one of their canoes from' em. The style in which they would lift his hair would be beautiful. They'd be powerful glad to give me a chance if they believed I'd try it."

"Wal," remarked Hastings, with a sigh, "it looks to me as if it's going to be the same game over again that Jim Deane and the boys had played on 'em some months