The Lost Trail, Edward Sylvester Ellis [best classic literature TXT] 📗

of the gentle wife of Harvey Richter. He supported himself against the door and seemed undecided whether to enter or not. The alarm of Cora Richter was so excessive that she endeavored to conceal it.

"What do you wish?" she asked.

"Where Misser Richter?"

"Gone to the village," she replied, bravely resolving that no lie should cross her lips if her life depended upon it.

"When come back?"

"In an hour or so perhaps."

"Where Ted?"

"He has gone hunting."

"Big lie--he drunk--don't know nothing--lay sleep on ground."

"How do you know? Did you see him?"

"Me gib him fire-water--much like it--drink good deal--tumble over like tree hain't got root."

"Did you ever give it him before?" asked the young wife, her curiosity supplanting her alarm for the moment.

"Gib him offin--gib him every day--much like it--drink much."

Again the wife's instinctive fear came back to her, and she endeavored to conceal it by a calm, unimpassioned exterior.

"Won't you come in and rest yourself until Mr. Richter returns?"

"Don't want to see him," replied the savage, sullenly.

"Who do you wish to see then?"

"You--t'ink much of you."

The wife felt as if she would sink to the floor. There was something in the tones of his voice that had alarmed her from the first. She was almost certain this savage intended rudeness, now that he knew the missionary himself was gone. She glanced up at the rifle which was hung above the fireplace. It was charged, and she had learned how to fire it since her marriage. Several times she was on the point of springing up and seizing it and placing herself upon the defensive. Her heart throbbed wildly at the thought, but she finally concluded to resort to such an act only at the last moment. She might still conciliate the Indian by kindness, and after all, perhaps he meditated no harm or rudeness.

"Come and sit down then, and talk with me awhile," said she, as pleasantly as it was possible.

The savage stumbled forward a few feet, and dropped into a seat, where he glared fully a minute straight into the face of the woman. This was the most trying ordeal of all, especially when she raised her own blue eyes, and addressed him. It seemed impossible to combat the fierce light of those orbs, although she bore their scrutiny like a heroine. He had seated himself near the door, but he was close enough for her to detect the fumes of the liquor he had drank, and she knew a savage was never so dangerous as when in a half-intoxicated condition.

"Have you come a long distance?" she asked.

"Good ways--live up north."

"You are not a Sioux, then?"

"No--don't like Sioux--bad people."

"Why do you come in their neighborhood--in their country?"

"'Cause I want to--_come see you_."

"You must come again--"

At this juncture, the child in the cradle awoke and began crying. The face of the savage assumed an expression of ferocity, and he said, abruptly:

"Stop noise--me tomahawk if don't."

As he spoke he laid his hand in a threatening manner upon his tomahawk, and the mother sprung up and lifted the infant in her arms for the purpose of pacifying it. The dreadful threat had almost unnerved her, for she believed the savage would carry it out upon the slightest pretext. But before that tomahawk should reach her child, the mother must be stricken to the earth. She pressed it convulsively to her breast, and it quickly ceased its cries. She waited until it closed its eyes in slumber and then some impulse prompted her to lay it upon the bed, and to place herself between it and the Indian, so that she might be unimpeded in her movements if the savage should attempt harm to her or her offspring.

Several moments now passed without the Indian speaking. The interval was occupied by him in looking around the room and examining every portion upon which it was possible to rest his gaze. The survey completed, he once more fixed his scrutiny upon the young wife, and suddenly spoke in his sententious, abrupt manner.

"Want sunkin eat."

This question was a relief, for it afforded the wife an opportunity of expressing her kindness; but, at the same time, it caused a more rapid beating of her heart, since to procure what was asked, she would be compelled to pass out of the door, and thus not only approach him much more closely than she was willing, but it would be necessary to leave him alone with her infant until her return.

She was in a painful dilemma, to decide whether it was best to refuse the visitor's request altogether or to comply with it, trusting to Providence to protect them both. A casual glance at the Indian convinced her that it would be dangerous to thwart his wishes longer; and, with an inward prayer to God, she arose and approached the door. As she passed near him, he moved and she involuntarily quickened her step, until she was outside. The Indian did not follow, and she hurried on her errand.

She had gone scarcely a yard, when she heard him walking across the floor, and detected at the same moment, the cry of her infant. Fairly beside herself with terror, she ran back in the house, and saw the savage taking down her husband's rifle. The revulsion of her feelings brought tears to her eyes, and she said:

"I wish you would go away, I don't like you."

"Kiss me--den I go!" said he, stepping toward her.

"Keep away! keep away!" she screamed, retreating to the door and yet fearing to go out.

"Kiss me--tomahawk pappoose!" said the savage, placing his hand upon the weapon.

The young wife placed her hands over her face and sobbed aloud. She did not hear the cat-like footsteps of the savage, as he approached. His long arm was already stretched forth to clasp her, when the door was darkened, a form leaped into the room, and with the quickness of lightning, dealt the savage a tremendous blow that stretched him limp and lifeless upon the floor.

"Move a limb and I will kill you!" shouted the young missionary, his face all ablaze with passion. "Cora, has he harmed you?"

"No, no, no, Harvey; have you not already killed him?"

"Pity that I haven't. He is not fit to live."

"Dear Harvey, you are carried away by your passion. Do restrain yourself."

Woman-like, the only emotion of Cora Richter was that of commiseration for the poor wretch that had been stricken down by the hand of her husband. She saw the blood trickling from his face and knew that he was dreadfully injured. The missionary, too, began to become more calm and collected; and yet, while regretting the occasion, he could but think he had done his simple duty to his insulted wife. Had he been prepared as he entered the door, he would have shot the savage dead in his tracks.

Harvey picked up his rifle that lay in the middle of the floor, and approached the prostrate Indian. After pushing and shaking, he gave signs of returning consciousness, and at length arose to his feet. His nose had bled copiously, and one eye was "closed," as if he had been under the manipulation of some pugilist.

The wife brought a basin of water, and offered a bandage, while Harvey proffered his assistance. But the Indian, without speaking, motioned them aside, and made his way out the door. On the threshold he paused a moment and looked back--and that look Harvey Richter will remember to his dying day.

Both breathed freer when he had gone. They then looked in each other's faces a moment and the wife sunk into her husband's arms.

"Did I not do right, Cora?"

"Yes; oh, yes; but, Harvey, this will not be the last of it. You have made an enemy of that Indian, and he can never be made a friend."

"Such is often the result of doing your simple duty. Let us therefore trust to God and say no more about it. Ah! here comes Teddy."

The Irishman at this moment entered the door. He was still under the influence of liquor though he made ludicrous efforts to conceal it. The wife found opportunity to communicate to her husband all that had been told her, before the conversation had progressed far. The peril which she had so narrowly escaped decided the missionary to be severely just with his servant.

"Teddy, where have you been?"

"Won't that spake for itself?" he replied, holding up a handsome string of fish. "Begorrah, but it was mighty poor luck I had hunting."

"I should judge you had discovered something unusual from your strange actions."

The face of the Irishman flushed scarlet, and his confusion was distressing. "Teddy," he continued, "I am displeased at the manner in which you have acted for the last week or two. Had it not happened that I left the village sooner than usual to-day, most probably my wife and son would have been killed."

The fellow was completely sobered.

"What is it ye say, Mister Harvey?"

"For several days you have failed to return in the time you promised, so that I have been compelled to leave them alone and unprotected. This afternoon, an Indian came in the house and threatened the life of both my wife and child--"

"Where the divil is he?" demanded Teddy, springing up; "I'll brake ivery bone in his body."

"He is gone, never to return I trust."

"Be the powers! if I could but maat him--"

"Do not add falsehood to your conduct. He said that you and he have met constantly and drank liquor together."

The expression of blank amazement was so genuine and laughable that the missionary could hardly repress a smile. He felt that his last remark was hardly fair. Teddy finally burst out.

"'Twas that owld Mahogany copperskin; but did I iver 'xpact he was up to _sich_ a trick and he would niver have l'aved me a-fishing. Oorah, oorah!" he muttered, gnashing his teeth together. "What a miserable fool I _have_ been. He to come here and insult me mistress after professin' the kindest regards. May I be made to eat rat-tail files for potaties if iver I trust red-skin honor again!"

"It strikes me that you and this precious savage had become quite intimate. I suppose in a few weeks longer you would have left us and lived with him altogether."

The tears trickled down Teddy's cheeks, and he made answer in a meek, mournful tone:

"Plaise forgive me, Mister Harvey, and Miss Cora. Yees both knows I would die for yees, and it was little I dr'amed of a savage iver disecrating this house by an ungentlemanly act. Teddy never'll sarve yees the like agin."

"I have no faith in the promises of a man who is intemperate."

The Irishman raised his hand to heaven:

"May the good Father above strike me dead if I iver swallow another drop! Do yees belave me now. Mister Harvey?"

"You must not place the reliance in your own power, Teddy. Ask His assistance and you'll succeed."

"I'll do so; but, ye saa, the only mill where I could get the cursed stuff was of this same Indian, and as I politely towld him I'd practice wid me gun on him if he offered me anither drop, and, as I'd pick him off now,