The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  It was this step which he revolved in his mind while dashing across the last fourth of the narrow plain, but a single fact restrained him; he doubted his ability to make a successful leap. Although he had been over the path several times, and might be considered familiar with it, he had never studied it closely enough to settle the question without another inspection, and there was not a minute to spare for making that.

  If he could make the leap it would be a great gain; if he should fail, the disaster would be irreparable, for among the wood, brush and undergrowth he could neither conceal himself nor travel as fast as the Shawanoe, who would quickly have him at his mercy. The risk was too great to incur, and he decided not to take it. He did a thing, on the contrary, which was like an inspiration. Making the short turn, he ran a few rods, when he glanced toward the plain. Blazing Arrow was invisible, and would remain so for several minutes, despite the speed with which he was approaching.

  The youth made a powerful leap aside from the path, and dodged behind the trunk of an oak large enough to shelter his body. Then he stood panting, alert and watchful, awaiting the coming of his enemy. He saw him a minute later, through the trees, running with undiminished speed, and like an engine that was absolutely tireless. The Shawanoe was more familiar with the course of the trail than the youth, and therefore knew of its looping, which had puzzled the latter for a few brief moments. The course adopted by the Shawanoe was peculiar, and for a time assumed an almost ludicrous phase.

  The quick glance which he cast down the path failed to show him the fugitive, who he must have supposed was still running over it and would speedily reappear as he rushed up the incline. By leaping the ravine he would head him off and have him at his mercy.

  The pursuer decided to adopt this course, and with only a slight slackening of pace he dashed toward the gorge; but when almost on the brink he must have concluded the chances of success were against him, and he changed his mind. But he did not succeed in changing the course of his body, as he meant to do. He would not have failed had the bank of the ravine been as firm as he supposed it was. He checked himself with the skill of an experienced runner; but the ground gave way, and despite everything he could do he went floundering, scrambling and struggling to the bottom of the ravine, which was almost perpendicular and fully thirty feet deep.

  Had he given less attention to the effort to save himself and looked where he was going it would have been better; for, as it was, although the fall was considerable, it was so broken that it would have amounted to little had not his head come in collision with the base of one of the trees growing in the bottom of the gorge. The impact was violent, and must have jarred the tree. It jarred Blazing Arrow to that extent that he tumbled over on his back senseless.

  Wharton Edwards was watching matters like a cat waiting for a mouse. When he saw the Shawanoe disappearing he ran cautiously forward from his hiding-place, and, not forgetting to screen himself, peeped over the edge of the ravine.

  “I’m afraid he hasn’t broken his neck,” he muttered, as he noted the shock the other had received, “though that crack against the trunk of the tree was enough to kill anyone.”

  This unlooked-for incident insured the safety of the fugitive, who, if he chose, could have continued his flight to the block-house; but two considerations led him to take a different course. He could not desert Larry Murphy, who, beyond all question, was in imminent peril, and he disliked beyond expression to lose his rifle, which was a birthday gift from his father, and a superior piece of workmanship. It was this act that led him to attempt a feat worthy of Simon Kenton himself.

  Leaping lightly from the edge of the ravine, he grasped the branches of a tree near at hand. It bent low with his weight and broke; but he seized another, and that also, after dipping downward, gave way and let him fall. By that time he was so near the ground that he dropped lightly to his feet. He paused and glanced at Blazing Arrow lying outstretched on his back, with his face upturned, as if he were dead. But he was not; he was only senseless.

  “If he will only stay that way for a few minutes I shall be all right; but if he awakes—”

  Aye, if he awoke, what vengeance he would take on the youth who dared not only to beat him at running, but to steal like a beast of prey upon him!

  But young Edwards had determined upon his line of action, and it was now too late to turn back.

  CHAPTER VII

  A Check

  It was characteristic of Larry Murphy and Wharton Edwards that each should hasten to risk his own life for the other.

  When the latter made his leap across the chasm, through which the water rushed, with his rifle that had been left there, he had no thought of the peril in which he placed himself. Had he turned on the instant, or sprang back to the bluff he had just left, he would have had a companion, with a good weapon between them, even though he possessed no gun himself.

  But that would have placed the Irish lad in the extremity of peril, as Wharton well knew, and he determined to face the danger alone, reasoning that it was useless to involve both as long as it could be prevented.

  The earnestness of Wharton caused Larry to withdraw from the gorge until he was among the trees beyond, when he halted for a moment, and, reflecting on the situation, read the purpose of his friend.

  “I see through the trick,” he muttered, angry with himself that he had been duped even for a few moments, “and it won’t work on me. Larry Murphy isn’t to be left out of this business.”

  It was all well enough to form this resolution, but the youth was confronted by the query as to how his friend was to receive any practical benefit from his efforts. Peering from the trees in the direction of the gorge, he saw nothing of him, nor of the Indians who he was sure were there.

  Nothing would have pleased Larry more that to repeat the performance of Wharton, and thereby place himself on the other side of the gorge; but he saw no way of doing it without a fatal delay. It was utterly beyond his power to make the leap which was so easy for the other. He knew that if he attempted it he would plump down into the torrent and go over the falls again, unless he swam out, as did the bear, on the same side from which he entered.

  There was no break in the bluffs across stream by which one could climb out above the falls, so that the only feasible way open to him to reach Wharton was by swimming the torrent below the falls. That, as we have said, involved a delay which, under the circumstances, was fatal to all chance of giving his friend any practical help. But Larry could not stand idle. In the blind hope of doing something, he hurried down stream and approached it again at the point where he had entered it before, and whence the bear had emerged.

  It was as he feared. He might as well have tried to climb the smooth face of a perpendicular wall as to leave the torrent at any point above the falls, to say nothing of the danger of being swept over the latter.

  A slight bend in the stream enabled him to discern the spot where Wharton had landed when he made his leap. He was looking fixedly in that direction, hoping he would reappear, when a Shawanoe Indian came into view and paused on the brink of the gorge.

  He held his rifle in one hand and was in war paint. He seemed to be looking at the water and the other bluff, as though measuring the distance preparatory to leaping the chasm. This indicated that the red man knew, or suspected, that another was near at hand, and on the other side of the stream.

  The leap was a good one, even for a trained warrior, and when this one made up his mind to attempt it, he stepped back several paces in order to gain the necessary momentum. When he paused, only the top of his head was visible to the watchful Larry, who knew very well what he intended to do.

  The Shawanoe suddenly ran the short distance, and made the leap with the ease shown by Wharton Edwards a short time before.

  At the moment the crouching form was in mid-air, with limbs drawn together and muscles set, the rifle dropped from his grasp, his arms went upward with a wild cry that rose above the waters, and his body, landing on the edge
of the bluff, rolled back in the torrent and instantly sank out of sight.

  “I can jump the stream myself. I don’t maan that such spalpeens as ye shall have the chance of doing the same,” muttered Larry, stepping back several paces and reloading his gun with the utmost haste.

  None knew better than he that the occurrence would stir up matters among the Indians on the other side, and he would have been a zany to invite a return shot by remaining a fair view to those who would investigate the matter offhand.

  Had he possessed one of the modern breech-loaders and repeating rifles, he might have secured a good position and held half a hundred Indians at bay; but with his clumsy though excellent weapon he could not hope to maintain his ground for any length of time.

  The moment his gun was ready he cautiously advanced to the edge of the stream and peered around the rocks. There was no warrior in sight, but he was shrewd enough to allow his vision to roam along the bluff on the other side down to the falls themselves.

  So far as he could judge, no one was near. A dark body, however, caught his eye in the water itself. It was going over the falls, a limp and inert mass, which he was quick to recognize, and at which he cast but a single glance.

  But the youth was not left long in suspense. His keen eyes were roving along the edge of the other bluff, which was sharply outlined against the blue sky, when a small protuberance suddenly appeared at the very point on which his eyes happened to rest.

  “It’s anither of ’em,” was his thought, as he screened himself so far as he could behind the ledge of rocks and brought his rifle to a level; “when his head rises high enough I’ll plug him in the eye. Whisht now!”

  The Indian was cunning. Instead of bringing his crown into sight, it sank out of sight again.

  Larry was standing with his gaze centred on the point where he had just seen the object, his gun loaded and ready to fire the instant a fair target was presented, when it shot up like a jack-in-the-box a dozen feet to one side, immediately dropping out of view again.

  The movement was so quick that the painted face had appeared and vanished before Larry could shift his aim.

  The Shawanoe must have known that some one was awaiting a favorable chance to serve him as the warrior was served who attempted to leap the gorge.

  “It saams to me,” growled the disappointed Larry, “that every one I’m getting acquainted wid is up to some of his tricks. Why couldn’t that spalpeen have showed himself where he made me expect him? It would be just like some of ’em to sneak across above or below, where I can’t head ’em off. I wonder what’s become of Whart?”

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Chat

  It was like approaching a sleeping tiger, likely at any moment to bound to his feet and rend the helpless victim, and Wharton Edwards, despite his well-proved courage, felt a misgiving as he drew near the terrible Shawanoe.

  Blazing Arrow in falling held the rifle fast so long as his senses remained with him; but when he came near splitting the tree trunk with his head, the weapon flew several feet away. This happened to be the side farthest from Wharton, who, therefore, was forced to walk around him in order to secure the gun.

  Everything depended on promptness; and when Wharton found himself within a few paces—too close to retreat—he took several quick leaps, and bending over, snatched up the weapon from where it lay on the ground.

  Words cannot picture the relief that came to him when his hands closed about his beloved rifle, and he knew that, from fleeing in terror before the fierce Shawanoe, he was now his master. He could not only defy his wrath, but Blazing Arrow was at his mercy.

  Quickly as all this took place, Wharton was not a second too soon. At the moment of stepping back and looking at the Shawanoe, the latter began rallying from the shock that had held him senseless for a briefer period than seemed to be the case. Doubtless he suffered a good deal of pain from the accident, but he was too stoical to show it. He moved uneasily, muttered something in his own tongue, and then came to a sitting posture with such suddenness that the startled youth recoiled several paces and grasped the weapon more firmly than before.

  The painted face was like that of a demon, as the Indian, fully understanding what had taken place, sat for a few seconds glaring at the youth, ten feet away, unable to speak, perhaps because of his overflowing wrath, but emitting a serpent-like hissing between his teeth, as if in warning of the blow he was about to strike.

  The law of the frontier would have justified young Edwards in sending a bullet through the one that had sought his life. Perhaps few would have condemned him if he had fired when Blazing Arrow’s face assumed the expression of hatred which is beyond description; but the lad, despite his training, could never have condoned such an act, now that his life was in no danger.

  Recalling that the Shawanoe spoke English tolerably well, Wharton, holding his rifle ready for instant use, addressed him:

  “Are you much hurt, Blazing Arrow?”

  “Yes—much hurt—can’t walk—can’t stand.”

  Had the wily red man been less prompt with his reply he might have deceived the youth. The latter could feel no pity for him, even though he knew he was suffering, but there was an eagerness in his manner which convinced Wharton that he was shamming, and was not injured to such an extent as to be unable to help himself.

  Blazing Arrow spoilt everything by adding, before the other could make response:

  “Help Shawanoe up—maybe he den walk,” and he reached out his hand toward the boy.

  “I rather guess not,” replied Wharton, with a faint smile and a meaning shake of his head; “if you can’t rise to your feet you can stay there, for all I care.”

  “Help little bit,” persisted the Shawanoe, making what seemed to be a futile effort, and sinking back with one hand still extended, as though he were a child.

  “No, sir,” replied the youth more emphatically, “I wouldn’t trust you, Shawanoe.”

  “No speak lie—Blazing Arrow no double tongue.”

  “You have always had a double tongue; you have always spoken lies. Was it not you who tried to kill me when we were about to run a race?”

  “Shawanoe drink fire-water—didn’t know nuffin’.”

  “You knew enough to run off in the woods before my friends could punish you. Why have you chased me so far today?”

  “Want to catch you,” replied the warrior frankly, evidently perceiving that this was an occasion in which truth would serve better than falsehood.

  “What hindered you from catching me?”

  “Brudder run faster dan Shawanoe.”

  “Did you run as fast as you could?”

  “Yes—run hard—run like thunder—brudder much run—beat deer—beat antelope.”

  “Then I can beat you?” asked Wharton with a meaning look at the subtle miscreant, who nodded his head with great vigor as he made reply:

  “Yes—beat Shawanoe—run faster—much more run.”

  If Blazing Arrow hoped by “acknowledging the corn” in this fashion to win the confidence of the youth he was mistaken. He could afford to own up when the only one that heard him was his conqueror. Little fear of his ever making the confession to his own people.

  “That’s the first truth you have told in a long time. What would you have done to me if you had outrun and captured me?”

  “Take back to Shawanoes.”

  “And what then?”

  “Run race wid me.”

  “Suppose I had beaten you?”

  “Den get away—like do now. No hurt brudder.”

  Wharton little doubted that such a chase would have been arranged, with the difference that no possible escape would have been left for him.

  “If I had outrun you would I have been allowed to go free?”

  “Yes—dat so—ugh!—yes.”

  “Well, being that I have just outrun you, I will keep a good distance between you and me.”

  And thereupon Wharton turned about and began walking along the ravine to
ward the point whence he came. As he did so he partly turned his head, so as to keep the wretch in his field of vision; he knew better than to trust him, even to the smallest degree. He half expected to see him leap to his feet and dash after him, but the wily warrior remained seated until the intervening trees shut him from sight. Wharton hurried along the ravine, and curved again and came back before he struck a place which permitted him to climb out. He did so, however, with little difficulty, and, reaching the path once more, began retracing his steps to the clearing, across which he had run with such great speed.

  This brought him to the spot where Blazing Arrow had met with his mishap. Stealing carefully forward, Wharton peered over. To his astonishment the Shawanoe was not in sight; he had disappeared as utterly as though he had never been. At the same moment the youth made another and more astounding discovery.

  CHAPTER IX

  Turning Back

  It is singular how, in the most critical moments, certain thoughts will obtrude themselves. While Wharton Edwards was peering over the ravine and wondering whither Blazing Arrow had vanished, a sudden suspicion caused him to raise his rifle and examine its lock.

  There was not a grain of powder in the pan and no charge in the barrel. All the time that it had been in the hands of the Shawanoe and himself it was as useless as a stick. It seemed incredible that such should have been the fact, and yet here was the evidence before his own eyes.

  What was equally apparent and more astonishing was that Blazing Arrow must have been unsuspicious of the truth. The youth had not reloaded the weapon after firing the last time, and it was, therefore, empty when he flung it across the ravine preparatory to making his leap. It had been picked up by the runner, who failed, in the excitement, to notice the oversight, taking it for granted that it was ready for use. In the rush of the pursuit he had no chance of examining it, and when he recovered his senses the gun was in the hands of its owner.