by Zane Grey
CHAPTER V.
During the last few days, in which the frost had cracked open thehickory nuts, and in which the squirrels had been busily collectingand storing away their supply of nuts for winter use, it had beenIsaac's wont to shoulder his rifle, walk up the hill, and spend themorning in the grove.
On this crisp autumn morning he had started off as usual, and hadbeen called back by Col. Zane, who advised him not to wander farfrom the settlement. This admonition, kind and brotherly though itwas, annoyed Isaac. Like all the Zanes he had born in him an intenselove for the solitude of the wilderness. There were times whennothing could satisfy him but the calm of the deep woods.
One of these moods possessed him now. Courageous to a fault anddaring where daring was not always the wiser part, Isaac lacked thepractical sense of the Colonel and the cool judgment of Jonathan.Impatient of restraint, independent in spirit, and it must beadmitted, in his persistence in doing as he liked instead of what heought to do, he resembled Betty more than he did his brothers.
Feeling secure in his ability to take care of himself, for he knewhe was an experienced hunter and woodsman, he resolved to take along tramp in the forest. This resolution was strengthened by thefact that he did not believe what the Colonel and Jonathan had toldhim--that it was not improbable some of the Wyandot braves werelurking in the vicinity, bent on killing or recapturing him. At anyrate he did not fear it.
Once in the shade of the great trees the fever of discontent lefthim, and, forgetting all except the happiness of being surrounded bythe silent oaks, he penetrated deeper and deeper into the forest.The brushing of a branch against a tree, the thud of a falling nut,the dart of a squirrel, and the sight of a bushy tail disappearinground a limb--all these things which indicated that the little grayfellows were working in the tree-tops, and which would usually havebrought Isaac to a standstill, now did not seem to interest him. Attimes he stooped to examine the tender shoots growing at the foot ofa sassafras tree. Then, again, he closely examined marks he found inthe soft banks of the streams.
He went on and on. Two hours of this still-hunting found him on thebank of a shallow gully through which a brook went rippling andbabbling over the mossy green stones. The forest was dense here;rugged oaks and tall poplars grew high over the tops of the firstgrowth of white oaks and beeches; the wild grapevines which coiledround the trees like gigantic serpents, spread out in the upperbranches and obscured the sun; witch-hopples and laurel bushes grewthickly; monarchs of the forest, felled by some bygone storm, layrotting on the ground; and in places the wind-falls were so thickand high as to be impenetrable.
Isaac hesitated. He realized that he had plunged far into the BlackForest. Here it was gloomy; a dreamy quiet prevailed, that deep calmof the wilderness, unbroken save for the distant note of thehermit-thrush, the strange bird whose lonely cry, given at longintervals, pierced the stillness. Although Isaac had never seen oneof these birds, he was familiar with that cry which was never heardexcept in the deepest woods, far from the haunts of man.
A black squirrel ran down a tree and seeing the hunter scamperedaway in alarm. Isaac knew the habits of the black squirrel, that itwas a denizen of the wildest woods and frequented only places remotefrom civilization. The song of the hermit and the sight of the blacksquirrel caused Isaac to stop and reflect, with the result that heconcluded he had gone much farther from the fort than he hadintended. He turned to retrace his steps when a faint sound fromdown the ravine came to his sharp ears.
There was no instinct to warn him that a hideously painted face wasraised a moment over the clump of laurel bushes to his left, andthat a pair of keen eyes watched every move he made.
Unconscious of impending evil Isaac stopped and looked around him.Suddenly above the musical babble of the brook and the rustle of theleaves by the breeze came a repetition of the sound. He crouchedclose by the trunk of a tree and strained his ears. All was quietfor some moments. Then he heard the patter, patter of little hoofscoming down the stream. Nearer and nearer they came. Sometimes theywere almost inaudible and again he heard them clearly anddistinctly. Then there came a splashing and the faint hollow soundcaused by hard hoofs striking the stones in shallow water. Finallythe sounds ceased.
Cautiously peering from behind the tree Isaac saw a doe standing onthe bank fifty yards down the brook. Trembling she had stopped as ifin doubt or uncertainty. Her ears pointed straight upward, and shelifted one front foot from the ground like a thoroughbred pointer.Isaac knew a doe always led the way through the woods and if therewere other deer they would come up unless warned by the doe.Presently the willows parted and a magnificent buck with widespreading antlers stepped out and stood motionless on the bank.Although they were down the wind Isaac knew the deer suspected somehidden danger. They looked steadily at the clump of laurels atIsaac's left, a circumstance he remarked at the time, but did notunderstand the real significance of until long afterward.
Following the ringing report of Isaac's rifle the buck sprang almostacross the stream, leaped convulsively up the bank, reached the top,and then his strength failing, slid down into the stream, where, inhis dying struggles, his hoofs beat the water into white foam. Thedoe had disappeared like a brown flash.
Isaac, congratulating himself on such a fortunate shot--for rarelyindeed does a deer fall dead in his tracks even when shot throughthe heart--rose from his crouching position and commenced to reloadhis rifle. With great care he poured the powder into the palm of hishand, measuring the quantity with his eye--for it was an evidence ofa hunter's skill to be able to get the proper quantity for the ball.Then he put the charge into the barrel. Placing a little greasedlinsey rag, about half an inch square, over the muzzle, he laid asmall lead bullet on it, and with the ramrod began to push the ballinto the barrel.
A slight rustle behind him, which sounded to him like the gliding ofa rattlesnake over the leaves, caused him to start and turn round.But he was too late. A crushing blow on the head from a club in thehand of a brawny Indian laid him senseless on the ground.
When Isaac regained his senses he felt a throbbing pain in his head,and then he opened his eyes he was so dizzy that he was unable todiscern objects clearly. After a few moments his sight returned.When he had struggled to a sitting posture he discovered that hishands were bound with buckskin thongs. By his side he saw two longpoles of basswood, with some strips of green bark and pieces ofgrapevine laced across and tied fast to the poles. Evidently thishad served as a litter on which he had been carried. From his wetclothes and the position of the sun, now low in the west, heconcluded he had been brought across the river and was now milesfrom the fort. In front of him he saw three Indians sitting before afire. One of them was cutting thin slices from a haunch of deermeat, another was drinking from a gourd, and the third was roastinga piece of venison which he held on a sharpened stick. Isaac knew atonce the Indians were Wyandots, and he saw they were in full warpaint. They were not young braves, but middle aged warriors. One ofthem Isaac recognized as Crow, a chief of one of the Wyandot tribes,and a warrior renowned for his daring and for his ability to makehis way in a straight line through the wilderness. Crow was a short,heavy Indian and his frame denoted great strength. He had a broadforehead, high cheek bones, prominent nose and his face would havebeen handsome and intelligent but for the scar which ran across hischeek, giving him a sinister look.
"Hugh!" said Crow, as he looked up and saw Isaac staring at him. Theother Indians immediately gave vent to a like exclamation.
"Crow, you caught me again," said Isaac, in the Wyandot tongue,which he spoke fluently.
"The white chief is sure of eye and swift of foot, but he cannotescape the Huron. Crow has been five times on his trail since themoon was bright. The white chief's eyes were shut and his ears weredeaf," answered the Indian loftily.
"How long have you been near the fort?"
"Two moons have the warriors of Myeerah hunted the pale face."
"Have you any more Indians with you?"
The chief no
dded and said a party of nine Wyandots had been in thevicinity of Wheeling for a month. He named some of the warriors.
Isaac was surprised to learn of the renowned chiefs who had beensent to recapture him. Not to mention Crow, the Delaware chiefsSon-of-Wingenund and Wapatomeka were among the most cunning andsagacious Indians of the west. Isaac reflected that his year'sabsence from Myeerah had not caused her to forget him.
Crow untied Isaac's hands and gave him water and venison. Then hepicked up his rifle and with a word to the Indians he stepped intothe underbrush that skirted the little dale, and was lost to view.
Isaac's head ached and throbbed so that after he had satisfied histhirst and hunger he was glad to close his eyes and lean backagainst the tree. Engrossed in thoughts of the home he might neversee again, he had lain there an hour without moving, when he wasaroused from his meditations by low guttural exclamations from theIndians. Opening his eyes he saw Crow and another Indian enter theglade, leading and half supporting a third savage.
They helped this Indian to the log, where he sat down slowly andwearily, holding one hand over his breast. He was a magnificentspecimen of Indian manhood, almost a giant in stature, with broadshoulders in proportion to his height. His head-dress and the goldrings which encircled his bare muscular arms indicated that he was achief high in power. The seven eagle plumes in his scalp-lockrepresented seven warriors that he had killed in battle. Littlesticks of wood plaited in his coal black hair and painted differentcolors showed to an Indian eye how many times this chief had beenwounded by bullet, knife, or tomahawk.
His face was calm. If he suffered he allowed no sign of it to escapehim. He gazed thoughtfully into the fire, slowly the while untyingthe belt which contained his knife and tomahawk. The weapons wereraised and held before him, one in each hand, and then waved onhigh. The action was repeated three times. Then slowly andreluctantly the Indian lowered them as if he knew their work onearth was done.
It was growing dark and the bright blaze from the camp fire lightedup the glade, thus enabling Isaac to see the drooping figure on thelog, and in the background Crow, holding a whispered consultationwith the other Indians. Isaac heard enough of the colloquy to guessthe facts. The chief had been desperately rounded; the palefaceswere on their trail, and a march must be commenced at once.
Isaac knew the wounded chief. He was the Delaware Son-of-Wingenund.He married a Wyandot squaw, had spent much of his time in theWyandot village and on warring expeditions which the two friendlynations made on other tribes. Isaac had hunted with him, slept underthe same blanket with him, and had grown to like him.
As Isaac moved slightly in his position the chief saw him. Hestraightened up, threw back the hunting shirt and pointed to a smallhole in his broad breast. A slender stream of blood issued from thewound and flowed down his chest.
"Wind-of-Death is a great white chief. His gun is always loaded," hesaid calmly, and a look of pride gleamed across his dark face, asthough he gloried in the wound made by such a warrior.
"Deathwind" was one of the many names given to Wetzel by thesavages, and a thrill of hope shot through Isaac's heart when he sawthe Indians feared Wetzel was on their track. This hope was shortlived, however, for when he considered the probabilities of thething he knew that pursuit would only result in his death before thesettlers could come up with the Indians, and he concluded thatWetzel, familiar with every trick of the redmen, would be the firstto think of the hopelessness of rescuing him and so would notattempt it.
The four Indians now returned to the fire and stood beside thechief. It was evident to them that his end was imminent. He sang ina low, not unmusical tone the death-chant of the Hurons. Hiscompanions silently bowed their heads. When he had finished singinghe slowly rose to his great height, showing a commanding figure.Slowly his features lost their stern pride, his face softened, andhis dark eyes, gazing straight into the gloom of the forest, bespokea superhuman vision.
"Wingenund has been a great chief. He has crossed his last trail.The deeds of Wingenund will be told in the wigwams of the Lenape,"said the chief in a loud voice, and then sank back into the arms ofhis comrades. They laid him gently down.
A convulsive shudder shook the stricken warrior's frame. Then,starting up he straightened out his long arm and clutched wildly atthe air with his sinewy fingers as if to grasp and hold the lifethat was escaping him.
Isaac could see the fixed, sombre light in the eyes, and the pallorof death stealing over the face of the chief. He turned his eyesaway from the sad spectacle, and when he looked again the majesticfigure lay still.
The moon sailed out from behind a cloud and shed its mellow lightdown on the little glade. It showed the four Indians digging a gravebeneath the oak tree. No word was spoken. They worked with theirtomahawks on the soft duff and soon their task was completed. A bedof moss and ferns lined the last resting place of the chief. Hisweapons were placed beside him, to go with him to the Happy HuntingGround, the eternal home of the redmen, where the redmen believe thesun will always shine, and where they will be free from their cruelwhite foes.
When the grave had been filled and the log rolled on it the Indiansstood by it a moment, each speaking a few words in a low tone, whilethe night wind moaned the dead chief's requiem through the treetops.
Accustomed as Isaac was to the bloody conflicts common to theIndians, and to the tragedy that surrounded the life of a borderman,the ghastly sight had unnerved him. The last glimpse of that stern,dark face, of that powerful form, as the moon brightened up the spotin seeming pity, he felt he could never forget. His thoughts wereinterrupted by the harsh voice of Crow bidding him get up. He wastold that the slightest inclination on his part to lag behind on themarch before them, or in any way to make their trail plainer, wouldbe the signal for his death. With that Crow cut the thongs whichbound Isaac's legs and placing him between two of the Indians, ledthe way into the forest.
Moving like spectres in the moonlight they marched on and on forhours. Crow was well named. He led them up the stony ridges wheretheir footsteps left no mark, and where even a dog could not findtheir trail; down into the valleys and into the shallow streamswhere the running water would soon wash away all trace of theirtracks; then out on the open plain, where the soft, springy grassretained little impress of their moccasins.
Single file they marched in the leader's tracks as he led themonward through the dark forests, out under the shining moon, neverslacking his rapid pace, ever in a straight line, and yet avoidingthe roughest going with that unerring instinct which was thisIndian's gift. Toward dawn the moon went down, leaving them indarkness, but this made no difference, for, guided by the stars,Crow kept straight on his course. Not till break of day did he cometo a halt.
Then, on the banks of a narrow stream, the Indians kindled a fireand broiled some of the venison. Crow told Isaac he could rest, sohe made haste to avail himself of the permission, and almostinstantly was wrapped in the deep slumber of exhaustion. Three ofthe Indians followed suit, and Crow stood guard. Sleepless,tireless, he paced to and fro on the bank his keen eyes vigilant forsigns of pursuers.
The sun was high when the party resumed their flight toward thewest. Crow plunged into the brook and waded several miles before hetook to the woods on the other shore. Isaac suffered severely fromthe sharp and slippery stones, which in no wise bothered theIndians. His feet were cut and bruised; still he struggled onwithout complaining. They rested part of the night, and the next daythe Indians, now deeming themselves practically safe from pursuit,did not exercise unusual care to conceal their trail.
That evening about dusk they came to a rapidly flowing stream whichran northwest. Crow and one of the other Indians parted the willowson the bank at this point and dragged forth a long birch-bark canoewhich they ran into the stream. Isaac recognized the spot. It wasnear the head of Mad River, the river which ran through the Wyandotsettlements.
Two of the Indians took the bow, the third Indian and Isaac sat inthe middle, back to back, and Crow knelt in the s
tern. Once launchedon that wild ride Isaac forgot his uneasiness and his bruises. Thenight was beautiful; he loved the water, and was not lacking insentiment. He gave himself up to the charm of the silver moonlight,of the changing scenery, and the musical gurgle of the water. Had itnot been for the cruel face of Crow, he could have imagined himselfon one of those enchanted canoes in fairyland, of which he had readwhen a boy. Ever varying pictures presented themselves at the range,impelled by vigorous arms, flew over the shining bosom of thestream. Here, in a sharp bend, was a narrow place where the trees oneach bank interlaced their branches and hid the moon, making a darkand dim retreat. Then came a short series of ripples, with merry,bouncing waves and foamy currents; below lay a long, smooth reach ofwater, deep and placid, mirroring the moon and the countless stars.Noiseless as a shadow the canoe glided down this stretch, the paddledipping regularly, flashing brightly, and scattering diamond dropsin the clear moonlight.
Another turn in the stream and a sound like the roar of anapproaching storm as it is borne on a rising wind, broke thesilence. It was the roar of rapids or falls. The stream narrowed;the water ran swifter; rocky ledges rose on both sides, graduallygetting higher and higher. Crow rose to his feet and looked ahead.Then he dropped to his knees and turned the head of the canoe intothe middle of the stream. The roar became deafening. Looking forwardIsaac saw that they were entering a dark gorge. In another momentthe canoe pitched over a fall and shot between two high, rockybluffs. These walls ran up almost perpendicularly two hundred feet;the space between was scarcely twenty feet wide, and the waterfairly screamed as it rushed madly through its narrow passage. Inthe center it was like a glancing sheet of glass, weird and dark,and was bordered on the sides by white, seething foam-capped waveswhich tore and dashed and leaped at their stony confines.
Though the danger was great, though Death lurked in those jaggedstones and in those black waits Isaac felt no fear, he knew thestrength of that arm, now rigid and again moving with lightningswiftness; he knew the power of the eye which guided them.
Once more out under the starry sky; rifts, shallows, narrows, andlake-like basins were passed swiftly. At length as the sky wasbecoming gray in the east, they passed into the shadow of what wascalled the Standing Stone. This was a peculiarly shaped stone-facedbluff, standing high over the river, and taking its name from Tarhe,or Standing Stone, chief of all the Hurons.
At the first sight of that well known landmark, which stood by theWyandot village, there mingled with Isaac's despondency andresentment some other feeling that was akin to pleasure; with aquickening of the pulse came a confusion of expectancy and bittermemories as he thought of the dark eyed maiden from whom he had fleda year ago.
"Co-wee-Co-woe," called out one of the Indians in the bow of thecanoe. The signal was heard, for immediately an answering shout camefrom the shore.
When a few moments later the canoe grated softly on a pebbly beach.Isaac saw, indistinctly in the morning mist, the faint outlines oftepees and wigwams, and he knew he was once more in the encampmentof the Wyandots.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Late in the afternoon of that day Isaac was awakened from his heavyslumber and told that the chief had summoned him. He got up from thebuffalo robes upon which he had flung himself that morning,stretched his aching limbs, and walked to the door of the lodge.
The view before him was so familiar that it seemed as if he hadsuddenly come home after being absent a long time. The last rays ofthe setting sun shone ruddy and bright over the top of the StandingStone; they touched the scores of lodges and wigwams which dottedthe little valley; they crimsoned the swift, narrow river, rushingnoisily over its rocky bed. The banks of the stream were lined withrows of canoes; here and there a bridge made of a single treespanned the stream. From the camp fires long, thin columns of bluesmoke curled lazily upward; giant maple trees, in them garb ofpurple and gold, rose high above the wigwams, adding a furtherbeauty to this peaceful scene.
As Isaac was led down a lane between two long lines of tepees thewatching Indians did not make the demonstration that usually markedthe capture of a paleface. Some of the old squaws looked up fromtheir work round the campfires and steaming kettles and grinned asthe prisoner passed. The braves who were sitting upon their blanketsand smoking their long pipes, or lounging before the warm blazesmaintained a stolid indifference; the dusky maidens smiled shyly,and the little Indian boys, with whom Isaac had always been a greatfavorite, manifested their joy by yelling and running after him. Oneyoungster grasped Isaac round the leg and held on until he waspulled away.
In the center of the village were several lodges connected with oneanother and larger and more imposing than the surrounding tepees.These were the wigwams of the chief, and thither Isaac wasconducted. The guards led him to a large and circular apartment andleft him there alone. This room was the council-room. It containednothing but a low seat and a knotted war-club.
Isaac heard the rattle of beads and bear claws, and as he turned atall and majestic Indian entered the room. It was Tarhe, the chiefof all the Wyandots. Though Tarhe was over seventy, he walked erect;his calm face, dark as a bronze mask, showed no trace of hisadvanced age. Every line and feature of his face had race in it; thehigh forehead, the square, protruding jaw, the stern mouth, thefalcon eyes--all denoted the pride and unbending will of the last ofthe Tarhes.
"The White Eagle is again in the power of Tarhe," said the chief inhis native tongue. "Though he had the swiftness of the bounding deeror the flight of the eagle it would avail him not. The wild geese asthey fly northward are not swifter than the warriors of Tarhe.Swifter than all is the vengeance of the Huron. The young palefacehas cost the lives of some great warriors. What has he to say?"
"It was not my fault," answered Isaac quickly. "I was struck downfrom behind and had no chance to use a weapon. I have never raisedmy hand against a Wyandot. Crow will tell you that. If my people andfriends kill your braves I am not to blame. Yet I have had goodcause to shed Huron blood. Your warriors have taken me from my homeand have wounded me many times."
"The White Chief speaks well. Tarhe believes his words," answeredTarhe in his sonorous voice. "The Lenapee seek the death of the paleface. Wingenund grieves for his son. He is Tarhe's friend. Tarhe isold and wise and he is king here. He can save the White Chief fromWingenund and Cornplanter. Listen. Tarhe is old and he has no son.He will make you a great chief and give you lands and braves andhonors. He shall not ask you to raise your hand against your people,but help to bring peace. Tarhe does not love this war. He wants onlyjustice. He wants only to keep his lands, his horses, and hispeople. The White Chief is known to be brave; his step is light, hiseye is keen, and his bullet is true. For many long moons Tarhe'sdaughter has been like the singing bird without its mate. She singsno more. She shall be the White Chief's wife. She has the blood ofher mother and not that of the last of the Tarhes. Thus the mistakesof Tarhe's youth come to disappoint his old age. He is the friend ofthe young paleface. Tarhe has said. Now go and make your peace withMyeerah."
The chief motioned toward the back of the lodge. Isaac steppedforward and went through another large room, evidently the chief's,as it was fitted up with a wild and barbaric splendor. Isaachesitated before a bearskin curtain at the farther end of thechief's lodge. He had been there many times before, but never withsuch conflicting emotions. What was it that made his heart beatfaster? With a quick movement he lifted the curtain and passed underit.
The room which he entered was circular in shape and furnished withall the bright colors and luxuriance known to the Indian. Buffalorobes covered the smooth, hard-packed clay floor; animals,allegorical pictures, and fanciful Indian designs had been paintedon the wall; bows and arrows, shields, strings of bright-coloredbeads and Indian scarfs hung round the room. The wall was made ofdried deerskins sewed together and fastened over long poles whichwere planted in the ground and bent until the ends met overhead. Anoval-shaped opening let in the light. Through a narrow aperture,which served as a
door leading to a smaller apartment, could be seena low couch covered with red blankets, and a glimpse of many huedgarments hanging on the wall.
As Isaac entered the room a slender maiden ran impulsively to himand throwing her arms round his neck hid her face on his breast. Afew broken, incoherent words escaped her lips. Isaac disengagedhimself from the clinging arms and put her from him. The face raisedto his was strikingly beautiful. Oval in shape, it was as white ashis own, with a broad, low brow and regular features. The eyes werelarge and dark and they dilated and quickened with a thousandshadows of thought.
"Myeerah, I am taken again. This time there has been blood shed. TheDelaware chief was killed, and I do not know how many more Indians.The chiefs are all for putting me to death. I am in great danger.Why could you not leave me in peace?"
At his first words the maiden sighed and turned sorrowfully andproudly away from the angry face of the young man. A short silenceensued.
"Then you are not glad to see Myeerah?" she said, in English. Hervoice was music. It rang low, sweet, clear-toned as a bell.
"What has that to do with it? Under some circumstances I would beglad to see you. But to be dragged back here and perhapsmurdered--no, I don't welcome it. Look at this mark where Crow hitme," said Isaac, passionately, bowing his head to enable her to seethe bruise where the club had struck him.
"I am sorry," said Myeerah, gently.
"I know that I am in great danger from the Delawares."
"The daughter of Tarhe has saved your life before and will save itagain."
"They may kill me in spite of you."
"They will not dare. Do not forget that I saved you from theShawnees. What did my father say to you?"
"He assured me that he was my friend and that he would protect mefrom Wingenund. But I must marry you and become one of the tribe. Icannot do that. And that is why I am sure they will kill me."
"You are angry now. I will tell you. Myeerah tried hard to win yourlove, and when you ran away from her she was proud for a long time.But there was no singing of birds, no music of the waters, no beautyin anything after you left her. Life became unbearable without you.Then Myeerah remembered that she was a daughter of kings. Shesummoned the bravest and greatest warriors of two tribes and said tothem. 'Go and bring to me the paleface, White Eagle. Bring him to mealive or dead. If alive, Myeerah will smile once more upon herwarriors. If dead, she will look once upon his face and die. Eversince Myeerah was old enough to remember she has thought of you.Would you wish her to be inconstant, like the moon?'"
"It is not what I wish you to be. It is that I cannot live alwayswithout seeing my people. I told you that a year ago."
"You told me other things in that past time before you ran away.They were tender words that were sweet to the ear of the Indianmaiden. Have you forgotten them?"
"I have not forgotten them. I am not without feeling. You do notunderstand. Since I have been home this last time, I have realizedmore than ever that I could not live away from my home."
"Is there any maiden in your old home whom you have learned to lovemore than Myeerah?"
He did not reply, but looked gloomily out of the opening in thewall. Myeerah had placed her hold upon his arm, and as he did notanswer the hand tightened its grasp.
"She shall never have you."
The low tones vibrated with intense feeling, with a deathlessresolve. Isaac laughed bitterly and looked up at her. Myeerah's facewas pale and her eyes burned like fire.
"I should not be surprised if you gave me up to the Delawares," saidIsaac, coldly. "I am prepared for it, and I would not care verymuch. I have despaired of your ever becoming civilized enough tounderstand the misery of my sister and family. Why not let theIndians kill me?"
He knew how to wound her. A quick, shuddery cry broke from her lips.She stood before him with bowed head and wept. When she spoke againher voice was broken and pleading.
"You are cruel and unjust. Though Myeerah has Indian blood she is awhite woman. She can feel as your people do. In your anger andbitterness you forget that Myeerah saved you from the knife of theShawnees. You forget her tenderness; you forget that she nursed youwhen you were wounded. Myeerah has a heart to break. Has she notsuffered? Is she not laughed at, scorned, called a 'paleface' by theother tribes? She thanks the Great Spirit for the Indian blood thatkeep her true. The white man changes his loves and his wives. Thatis not an Indian gift."
"No, Myeerah, I did not say so. There is no other woman. It is thatI am wretched and sick at heart. Do you not see that this will endin a tragedy some day? Can you not realize that we would be happierif you would let me go? If you love me you would not want to see medead. If I do not marry you they will kill me; if I try to escapeagain they win kill me. Let me go free."
"I cannot! I cannot!" she cried. "You have taught me many of theways of your people, but you cannot change my nature."
"Why cannot you free me?"
"I love you, and I will not live without you."
"Then come and go to my home and live there with me," said Isaac,taking the weeping maiden in his arms. "I know that my people willwelcome you."
"Myeerah would be pitied and scorned," she said, sadly, shaking herhead.
Isaac tried hard to steel his heart against her, but he was onlymortal and he failed. The charm of her presence influenced him; herlove wrung tenderness from him. Those dark eyes, so proud to allothers, but which gazed wistfully and yearningly into his, stirredhis heart to its depths. He kissed the tear-wet cheeks and smiledupon her.
"Well, since I am a prisoner once more, I must make the best of it.Do not look so sad. We shall talk of this another day. Come, let usgo and find my little friend, Captain Jack. He remembered me, for heran out and grasped my knee and they pulled him away."
