Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 21) (1877 12 24)
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A (aml laa ‘Platelet tata (mt tL Single Number. (Qopyrighted 1861 by Beadle & Co.) The Frontier Angel. A Romance of Kentucky Rangers’ Life. BY EDWARD S8. ELLIS, AUTHOR OF ‘SETH JONES,” “BILL BIDDON,” “NAT TODD,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE DEPARTURE, In the western part of Pennsylvania, near the commencement of the Ohio River, stands a small town, which at the close of the last century, num- bered about thirt dwellings. Although properly a border settlement at the time mentioned, there were so many others beyond, that it was hardly regarded as being in the “Mighty West." The inhabitants were mostly farmers, possessed of large and beauti- ful farms, who commenced their labors in the morn- ing, and retired to rest in the evening, without much fear of the molestation of their sav: brethren. True, a few years previous, the latter had commit- ted murders and depredations even further east than this, and the settlers never allowed themselves fally to give way to an undue sense of security. But, unless a most une triumph should crown the sti les of the Indians, there was little occasion for apprehension on the part of the whites. The time on which we visit this village, is an even- Copyrighted in ‘1877, by BEADLE AND ADAMS, No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. ing in the spring, toward the close of the last centu- ry. The night is dark and cloudy, and the houses are invisible in the deep egg 8 but there are numer- ous twinkling lights in the different dwellings, which give it the appearance of a constellation set in the vast sky of darkness around. Broad fields of cleared land stretch for a long distance into the background, while there are numerous other dwellings further eastward, toward Pittsburg, and many cabins further westward in Ohio and Virginia; so that they are not without neighbors, and may properly be said still to be in the land of civilization. Near the western end of the vi , stood a lar, frame house, in the lower story of which a bright light was burning. Within, seated around a large fire, were four individuals, meet in conversation. The first was a pleasant, middle-aged man, rather tgs | and good-natured; the second was his wife, a 2w years younger, with an equally pleasant face, and a cheerful, musical voice. Upon the opposite side of the fire sat a young man, of a hardy, muscular frame, and a rather handsome appearance. Beside him was a maiden of eighteen or twenty years, who, = semen exaggeration, might be pronounced beauti- The first couple, as said, were man and wife. The second two intended to be at some future time— they were lovers. : The name of the parents was Abbot, and the maiden was Marian Abbot, their daughter, They were farmers, who, not having succeeded as well as the anticipated, had come to the determination to e are wu of tucky. A flat-boat was to start the next rther west—in fact, into the very heart | = zy | q | WRU), NWI M. ORB Co MMO . Tee BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, neighbors were going, and in which they intended to send Marian; but the parents themselves were com- pelled to wait several months in order to bring their affairs to a settlement. Their resolution had been taken rather suddenly, but, as said, they were com- pelled to wait before fulfilling it. The flat-boat which was to start on the morrow. carried with it more men than Abbot expec would Rceompany, him, and hence he deemed it much safer for Marian that she should go with it, and in their western home, wait for his coming. The young man to whom we have referred, was Russel Mansfield, the only son of his parents, as was Marian the only daughter of hers, An attachment had existed between them for a year or two, and it was generally expected by the parents of both, that, as soon as wey were in a proper condition, they would be united for life, The parents of ."ansfield united with Abbot in their resolution, andi. was their in- tention to depart at the same time witn him. The same causes that led to his detention, produced theirs; and, as it was their wish that Russel should remain with and accompany them, he had consented. The young man disliked very much the idea of a separation, even for so short a period as a few months, from his beloved; but reflection and sober sense told him it was best that it should be so. Nearly a dozen well-armed and courageous men woul Bpotee her, while, should her going be defer- red until his, there would hardly be half that num- ber. Thus it was that the present turn of affairs ——. at the beginning of “Tf we ve a storm at the ing of our jour- ney, will it not be a bad omen, father?” asked morning down the river, in which a number of their | Marian, with a smile, \ \\ W )\ Wie a \ ‘‘xegP OFF! KEEP OFF! YOU WILL ALL BE KILLED!” SHE CRIED, IN A BESEECHING VOICE.—Page 3.
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2 “Tut, dear, don’t speak of such things. I would that your mother such a body-guard when she follows you.” = Oh; well, I meant nothing. I have no apprehen- on. “There is danger, it is true,’’ remarked Mansfield; “but it only threatens weakness and bs lm Your are strong, and they have enough experience, to avoid all stratagems and decoys of their enemy.” “Yes darling, don’t let such thoughts trouble you. There is One who is able to protect the weakest in the hour of the greatest peril. Dangers will beset you on every hand, but there will be strong and friendly hearts around you, and a strong and friend- ly Heart overhead,” added the mother. “But one thing seriously troubles me,’”’ remarked Abbot, gravely, “‘and that is the thought of that MecGable. He has now been absent a year, and you remember, he threatened vengeance against you, Marian, when he left.” “Why, father, how can he injure me?” asked Marian in surprise; ‘who knows where he has one?”’ : “T have been told that he was in the West,” an- swered Abbot, — % ‘* Well, and what of that? I am sure there is noth- ing in that need frighten us.” ‘IT have heard a darker story of him,’’ added the father, in a lower tone, and glancing around, as if he feared other ears might hear him. ‘“* What was it?” asked Marian, breathlessly. *“T have been told by those whose word could not be doubted, that he has turned renegade, and that his atrocities equal those of Girty, McGee, Proctor, and the other fiends.” ‘“* Where does he generally commit his outrages?” asked Mansfield. “*T do not wish to alarm you, Marian, and I think there is no reason for your being alarmed; but, as all the others who accompany you know the same thing, there can be no harm in wa ou. At first, when he joined the British and Indians, he united with the parties who attacked the defenseless settlements and travelers; but heis cowardly, and there is too much danger in that. He is nowa aw 8 along the Ohio river, and uses all the means in ape to entice the passing flat-boats to shore. ‘he devil himself seems to aid his invention, for he contrives such ingenious schemes that it is said he has outwitted some of the old backwoodsmen and hunters themselves.” ‘* What does he do with his prisoners?” “He has never been known to give sea to any one, All are consigned to the tomahawk or the Peas the women perhaps to a still more dread- ul fate.” ** What induced him to turn traitor?” “His own devilish disposition, I suppose. He has more than once given out that you will suffer, daughter, for your rejection of him; and next to you = especial enmity seems to be against Mansfield, ere.’ “T only ask Heaven that we two may meet on — ground. He would never shame the race to which he belongs, again,” exclaimed our hero, in- oN Poth Russel—perh erhaps you may, Russel—perhaps you may. Ah! is that thunder?’ All listened for a moment, and heard the distant booming of thunder, and the soughing of the wind through the trees that stood near the house. A storm was, indeed, gathering. Dark clouds were wheeling through the sky, and, as Mrs. Abbot looked out, she could ern by the aid of the fire blazing on the broad hearth, the tops of the trees swaying and hear the night-wind howling through and around the village. “There is a storm gathering, but I am in hopes that it will pass off before morning,” she remarked, as she resumed her knitting and seat in the family roeking-chair. ‘*T guess it will not last long,” added Mansfield. Silence now reigned for a time in the house. Ab- bot sat in the corner, slowly smoking his pipe, and gazing meditatively in the fire, watching the glow- ng embers as they fell apart, and conjuring up ictures and images in the coals. The mother con- inued knitting, her chair gently , and giv- ing out the same pleasant squeak that it had done for years. Now and then she raised her eyes a moment to glance at her husband or daughter, and then let them fall again to the work before her. A kitten was tumbling over the floor, play- ing antics with her ball of yarn, or whirling around in a circle in an attempt to grasp the end of its tail. Failing in this, it stood a moment, as if in medita- tion, and then, with a plunge, it lit upon the back of a big Maltese, quiet umbering at the feet of Ma and fixed its claws in his head, eyes, or any _— t offered. The old fellow bore it unflinch- ngly for a moment, until becoming unendurable, he sot the mischievous creature by the head, and holding it thus a moment gave it a spat, and then quietly resumed his half-sitting posture and shut his eyes again. Upon the other side of the fire was stretched Hero, the house-dog. _ He was of the hound species, and a noble fellow. As he lay, his long nose dropped heD the hearth, between his two paws pt turned toward the fire, probably he suspec ' mischief, for now and then he slowly raised the eorner of one eyelid, and Poe at the kitten. and then with a twitch and start slightly shifted his position. Once or twice he flapped long ears, as if to give warning that he was not yet asleep, and it would be dangerous to trifle with But the demon of mischief seemed to } the young kitten. It walked straight up to him, | Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. laid its paw on his cold nose, and then scratched terribly. The dog, in turn, raised one of his huge ws, and gave it a cuff that rolled it to the mid- of the floor again. The kitten rose demurely, and had recourse to the ball of yarn once more. Hero seeing this, dropped his head with a threat- ening look, and ~~ oe : The old clock ticked lou ly upon the mantel; the wind roared down the chimney, and moaned around the house. Soon several drops of rain rat- tled against the window, a terrific crash of thun- der burst overhead, and the storm came in all its fury. Ié lasted but a short time, when a lull occurred. Just at this moment the clock struck the hour of nine. Abbot knocked the ashes from his pipe, took down the old, wooden-covered Bible, and commenced reading a chapter. The mother laid aside her knit- ting, folded her hands upon her lap, and Mansfield and Marian paid a ve ee attention. The chapter finished, all sunk nee Nah Bhan their knees, and the earnest monotone of Abbot ascended to the Protector of all. Thedesolate moaning of the tempest added solemnity to the scene, and gave a a appropriateness to the petition that was offered. As the parents rose, they bade Russel good-night and retired. Left alone with Marian, he glided to her side, took her hand within his own and pulled her head over upon his bosom. ** What are you thinking of, Marian?” “T was wondering at what father said.” ** Are you alarmed?”’ “T feel some apprehension, I confess. You know what a wicked man he is, and what terrible passions he has. I know more of him than you do, Russel.”’ aah | rage you do,” he replied, in a tone of slight reproof. *What do you mean by that?” she asked, looking up in his face with a reproachful expression in her mild blue eyes. “Oh, not !” he laughed, kissing her glowing cheek. “T mean I know more of him, Russel, because he has plagued me more with his presence than he has you. I dreaded him as I did a serpent, and when I at last told him I never wished to see him again, he left me with a curse. Oh, Russel! it was not me alone that he cursed, but you/ He swore that he would kill you, for he knew you were the cause of it, and he TI should suffer, too.”’ “You are not alarmed for me, Marian?’’ ‘** Yes, for I shall fear his power as long as he lives. Talmost wish that father would remain here, but there is no persuading him, and I shall not falter at the last moment.”’ “T can not share your Igy ace, oa You are going to a settlement which is well guarded, and whose inhabitants are experienced in Indian warfare. I can see no reason for fear,” **T trust there is not, but if I ever get there I shall look anxiously for my parents’ and your arrival.” The two conve longer upon the departure to- morrow, and discussed their plans for the future, until, when the storm had ceased, our hero took his departure. eb the reader has surmised, the person referred to by the parents and the lovers, had once sought the hand of Marian. He had made his ap- pearance in the village a year or two previous, and gave his name as Tom McGable. Further than this, nothing was known. He professed to belong to the Eastern States and had no relations or acquaintances in the . He was a thin, nervous, sharp-fea- tured man, with long Indian hair, dark, restless eyes, and a forbidding cast of countenance. He was a person of terrible passions, and was dreaded by all who knew him. Marian turned from his advances with loathing, but he pertinaciously persisted until he was driven from her house. He left, vowing re- yongsi and rumor shortly after reached the village that he had gone further west and united with the Indians against the whites. There was good reason for this report, as all knew that he was a man who would stop at nothing that might gratify his vindic- tive feelings. CHAPTER Il. THE FATE OF THE FLAT-BOAT. As was predicted, the storm soon cleared away, and the morning dawned bright and beautiful. B were singing and flitting from limb to limb, the water ohare upon the grass and twigs, and by the time it was fairly light, the whole village was astir. Down in the water, but safely moored to shore, rested a flat-boat waiting for its living freight, before being loosened from its fastenings. As the commo- tion in the village increased, numbers commenced wending their way toward the river, and in a short time nearly all stood upon the shore. The majority carried furniture and utensils with them, which, by over several planks, were deposited upon the ven. There were ten ves, besides Marian, so hteen. With the ex- t. The farewells were now men, seven of whom had that the entire number was ception of the latter, these embarked all of their wealth and possessions upon this perilous un- dertaking ie Rg ee pa ce, and, as she over th , en- countered Mansheld. °P “*Good-by,” she said, gayly; “I shall soon expect you.” pe took her hand, and, holding it a moment, said: : “T trust-we shall be separated but a short time, dear Marian. I have lain awake all night thi of this, and I believe there is danger—danger no only upon the river, but after you have reached vour | ‘curred during this day. destination. You know to whom I refer—and oh! let me-beseech you to be careful of your- self. God bless you! Good-by, and may we soon meet again.”’ : He wrung her hand as she passed over the boat; the plank was drawn on board, the fastenings un- loosened, and the flat-boat commenced slowly mov- ing with the current. *Good-luck to you!” called out Abbot. ‘Look out for danger, have your _ ms, Sa for decoys, and don’t, under any pretense, induced to leaye the center of the stream.” The flat-béat slowly swept out into the stream, and, after a time gaining the center of the current, moved forward with greater rapidity. Numbers = stood upon the shore, waving their farewells; but the boat soon rounded a bend, and they all disap- peared from view. Those on board now withdrew their eyes from the shore, and made shy “owe ore for the perilous jour- ney before them. The flat-boat was a large, un- wieldy affair, built like all similar ones, so as to float with the current alone. The sides were bullet-proof, and the shape of the thing was. similar to a box. About three-fourths of the length were taken up as a cabin, which communicated with the other part by means of a small door. A long, sweeping oar was hung at each end, and balanced:so as to dip into the water. There was a small space at either end of the boat which could be reached by passing through the cabin. The latter was divided into two compart- ments, and, as regarded comfort and convenience, probably the flat-boat could have been little im- proved. The occasion and season of the year were such that none could help feeling buoyant and hopeful. The sun was now up in the heavens, shedding its warm and cheering rays — forest and river. rain-drops hung like pendent jewels and the river Glstened | like molten gold. A thin mist was rising along the shore as the sun’s warmth grew ater. Now and then a woodman’s cabin was passed, and it could be seen nestling in the small clearing, and ap- parently as comfortable as though no enemy had ever threatened it. Perhaps the settler himself came forth with his wife to wonder and view the passing boat, and exchange salutations with the first white rsons they had seen for months. Toward noon hey detected a solitary form standing below them upon a bend in the river. A nearer approach show him to bea hunter. He waved his coon-skin cap over his head as they came abreast, gave a cheering hur- rah and called out: “Keep a gaan look-out for reds, you, fur they’re thick as flies in August down toward the Big Sandy and Scioto. W they is, strangers; and if you. gits through without gittin’ a taste of thar compliments, why here’s as will stand treat all round.” After giving this warning, the hunter watched them a few minutes longer, and then turned and disappeared in the forest. Some miles further down they passed a small set. tlement which had been commenced but a few months before. A block-house, however, was erect ed and stood at one end, as if to ward off all ap. proach. It was a clumsy, awkward building, but, abundantly able to answer every purpose for which it was intended. It was two stories in hight, the upper one so much smaller than the lower one that it had the appearance of standing upon a platform. The outer edge of this projection was protected by palisades, inclosing it, except at one point where the gaping mouth of a swivel gave warning of the re- sistance it was capable of giving. The instrument was of brass, and so brightly burnished that it could be seen gleaming in the s ght by those upon the flat-boat. A sentinel was pacing — around the block-house, a long rifle ao nm his shoulder, and his keen eye sweeping the horizon at a glance. As he caught sight of the flat-boat, he raised his cap and saluted it; and shortly after several others ap- peared beside him and did the same, Our frien returned the salutation, and continued watching the tiny settlement until the intervenlng forest hid it from view. : This block-house was constructed somewhat differ- ently from those generally. upon the frontiers, al- wp h now and then a similar one is found even at ay. The settlements and solitary cabins were still pass- ed at long intervals, and the night proved so dark and cheerless, that they put in to shore near a small cluster of houses and spent the night. As they were hardly yet in Cop, or territory, they committed no indiscretion in doing this. At sunrise the boat was loosened, and our friends were once more floating forward, a day’s journey nearer their destination. Nothing worth noting oc- The settlements became more rare, and the faces of their kindred scarcer. Late in the afternoon they passed the mouth of the Muskingum, and at night a small river which put in from the Virginia side. There was a slight Fnoon _— _—, vigilant watch, of course, was ™ain- ni In the morning they were opposite the point where the Great Kanawha obouchan into the Ohio. The settlement here was termed Point Pleasant, by whieh name it is known at the prosent day. It was at this — that they wére joined by a man who stated hat he was a ing to e’s Station down hoot thé tenes mistrust or suspicion our the Ohio. Wit: e ai ae him on board, a ae floating +) own the beautiful river. This day, when at the mouth of the B and great bend in the Ohio, an ust at ti Ibow of the j en P them ashore. The attempt was made to decoy stranger whom they had take: en board, instantly varied theto of their danger, and told them that
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The Frontier Angel. “~ . 3 they must a Sd attention to the entreaties of the Ww. men. e emigrants, as the case stood, would not have deviated from their course, but the earnest- ness of their new-found friend made them esteem poo ny pd and congratulate themselves upon having sec such an ally. ; All, we = thought thus; but there were two ex- ceptions—Marian and a tall, bony, unmarried man by the name of Peterson. This fellow looked upon eir new acquaintance with distrust the minute he pag upon the boat. “Tl be darned, Marian,” he said, in an undertone, after they had the decoy, *‘ ef I don’t s’picion that chap. He's mighty clever, and the trouble is he is a leetle too clever.” “Do you really fear him?’ asked Marian, fright- ened at finding that another shared her suspicions. ** Fear him?—I'd like to see the man J’m afraid of. All I'd ask would be to just git them are paws on old Simon Girty or that McGable that Reorte allow is out in these parts, or that man thar if he ain’t what he orter be, which I allow is the case.”’ “At any rate, watch him, Jim, for it won't do to have a traitor within when there are so many with- out.” “Tl watch him, I reckon, Marian; and by the Eternal, the first real genuine sign of treachery I see, I'll shoot him!” Peterson stood looking upon the object of his re- marks with flashing eyes, gesticulating earnestly with his jong, bony, muscular arms as though he ached to get him once fairly within his grasp. Peter- son would have been a Leg, Nh customer for any man, He was now about thirty years of age, and eight years of his life had been spent as scout and ranger. He had served under St. Clair and Gen. Harmer, and when the former suffered such a disas- trous defeat, he became so disgusted with the gen- eralship of his leaders, that he left the country and settled down in the village mentioned at the com- mencement of this work. Here he had remained until the present time; but the daring, Mfoccecynirs J reckless spirit was so strong within him that he co d resist no longer, and he joined the ere td with the full determination of taking to the w nas soon as they arrived at their destination. 6 was over six feet in hight, of a thin, attenuated frame, capable of panther-like strength and activity, with a keen, restless gray eye, and a sharp-featured vis- e. i or after the conversation, descended to the cabin, but her mind was in such a tumult of fear and apprehension that she could not restrain her agita- tion. She now firmly believed that the stranger above was an enemy, and that, even with the shrewd- ness of Jim Peterson to protect them, they were all still in the utmost peril. But she knew of no course to pursne. Should she impart her suspicions to the females, ge 4 would either ridicule her or become so terrified that the case would be infinitely worse. She concluded, at last, that the case must be left to Peterson. In a short time night commenced settling over the woods and river, e Si aeren had now made such progress upon their way, that they were about half- way between the Big Sandy and Scioto. The dense forests shut down upon either hand, and not a sign of civilization met the eye. Before it was fairly dark, the flat-boat was sudden- ly hailed from the shore. A white man, limping and 4 hee in great distress, besought them to runin and take him on board. “ He's a decoy,” remarked the stranger, who had’ intently watched him from the first. “Haw do you know he is, colonel?’ asked Peter- a who had intently watched the stranger all the e. “How do I know he is?’ replied the latter. “I a as how any fool could tell the same mighty quick.” *You’re sure of it then, eh?” “Tn course I am.” The r turned on his heel, satisfied that ne was a traitor. This may seem strange to the rea- der, but it would not be to a backw man who un- derstood the case. The eagerness and quickness this man had evinced to point out danger, ever since he joined our friends, was good reason for suspicion. Had he been a genuine ranger, he would have hesi- tated before giving his opinion, and not defeat his own ends by showing too much knowledge of what was unknown to the rest. Peterson walked away from him, and communi- cated his suspicions to several of his friends. Just as he expected, they laughed at him, and accused him almost of meanness. Stung by this rebuke, the ranger became silent and left them. eanwhile, the man upon the shore was ee louder than ever. Not content with being refused, he was limping cena heme and beseeching them in more piteous tones ever. The whites resolute- ly turned their ears him, and would not have noticed him at all, not the stranger spoken. “T declare, it looks quite queer, anyhow. I never knowed one of them decoys to hang on like that.” “You have no notion that he is any thing else but one, or that he has any object except our own de- struction? “T didn’t think different at first, but it begins to look doubtful. Just let me say a few words to With this he ste to one side of the boat, and called ou “ Wee our name?” : “ i) ” “How came you to get in such an ugly fix?” “I was out ‘eeou tt, and was cotched by the Shawnees, and Cone got away from them. For God's sake, come and take me off, for they’re after me.” ** Jump in the water and swim out to us.” “My hurt is too bad; I’ve got a bullet clean through my thigh, and can just the leg after the other. Yonder is the smoke of their ba up on the hill, and they ain’t fur off. My ! don’t leave a white man thus!” : Our friends looked in the direction he indicated, and could faintly discern in the gathering gloom a thin wreath of smoke rising from the trees. Thé suffering man, as if aware of their thoughts, called t out: “That is whar they are and their runners are out after me. May God forever curse you, if you ever leave me here.”’ “What do yer think?” asked the er, turn- ing round with an air of perplexity to the others. “T believe that man ain’t a decoy, not at all; and ef he isn’t, we ortér not leave him there to be cooked by the red devils. Still I shouldn't say nothing, but leave it with you.” “Tt will never do to run the boat ashore,” said several of the men, firmly. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. In course, it would be foolish to do that. But I’ve been thinking,” and the man dropped his eyes, as if in t perplexity, > sp Mag orter oy t man off. to do such a thing we ain’t compe C) a te ourselves to danger. What is your views, friends?” “Why, if the thing can be done without imperil- ing ourselves, it is our Christian duty to-do it; but we are at a loss at present to understand how we could manage it.” “Oh, easily enough; just run the boat in about half-way, where the water is so shallow that the fel- low can wade out to us. Keep your eyes open, and if there’s the least sign of treachery, we can fall into the current again and float off.” ‘A good plan, and I see no reason for not adopt- ing it. "A echoed this sentiment, with the exception of Peterson, who still stood apes ] against the side of the boat, with his head dropped upon his reast. “Come, Jim, what do you think of it?” asked one of the emigrants, and the others all turned toward him fora reply. “T think in the first place, Ree are all aset of fools, not to see ior got a sneaking decoy right among ye, who’s doing his purtiest to git you in to shore to please that other trap.” “Outrageous! shameful!” exclaimed several, hor- pee at the blunt, plain-spoken answer they had re- ceived. “Go on, and do what you please, but don’t ax me no more, for I've got nothing at all to say,’’ added Peterson, who was touched to the quick by what he The sti had heard in de : ranger, it was observed, said nothing at all, except after a few minutes, to urge the matter upon our friends. It was now quite dark, but the form of the man on shore could seen struggling along, and calling out in tones that were really heart-rend- ing. The men consulted a while longer, and then de- termined to follow the suggestion of their friend. The long guiding-oars were dip into the water, and with a loud plas a few feet, when the sagas 4 flat-boat began slowly sidling in toward shore. It moved very tardily, however, and it was noticed that its progress down-stream was continu- ally growing less and less. This was accounted for by the fact they were getting out of the current, and moving in shallow water. © « They had hardly commenced rowing, when Marian asked Peterson whether there was not another per- son upon the bank. : “Tt is a female, and see how motionless she stands! She is just below that man.” “Yes, I see her~she is waving herhands. Hark!” “Keep off! keep off! You will all be killed!” a out the person alluded to, in a beseeching voice. sad Who is she?’ asked Marian, growing more exci- “She's the Frontier Angel. Haven't you heard of her? When she warns a white, he can Keon bn 18 she means what she says. This ain’t the fust time she has done this thing.” “Oh, Jim!” implored Marian, “this is awful; tell them before it is too late. They can but heed you.” The ranger hesitated a moment, as he remembered the cutting rebuff he had received; but the implor- ing voice of Marian, together with his own sense of duty, conquered, He turned his head and looked at the oarsmen. They had paused as the warning voice reached them. cH als ue rotate Sake ae a e Frontier Angel that you've heard the boys talk about at the settlement. Ef any of you wants red night-caps, don’t mind her; ef you doesn't, jest get back into the channel as soon as them oars take you.” “T’ve heard that that gal you call the Frontier An- gé is nobody but a crazy squaw,” said one of the Sys - * hesitating. . on, then,” said Peterson, stung to the quick by this second repulse. “I sha’n’t say no more” he fool?” said added, in a lower tone, to Marian. “Didn’t you know that gal is a crazy ‘Of course she is, and I Ef Fay ka going to hel ” the stranger, sneeringly. thought you knowed. it. that dyin’ feller, you've got to be quick about ‘cause the reds can’t be far off. Thus appealed to, the oarsmen commenced, al- though it cannot be said all were free trom misgiv- ing. But in the face of the suspicious actions of the Prontice Angel, ‘the Satboor cretisily aperoectod rontier e < approac’ its doom. veral of the men eTecady halt. mted Meer rg stood ae of painfal doubt upon e shore, an expression oubt upon their features. Peterson saw all these manifestations, and thus communed with himself; “No use of talkin’,they’re all goin’ sure, and, Jim Peterson, the question what you pro to do. You can ‘tend to yourself well enough, but how *bout Marian? It won’t do to leave her. ou hain’t forgotten, Jim, the time them same reds butchered your No, Jim, you never forgot that, and state OD and how do you pose Mansfield will feet ef you leave his gal in the same fix? "Twon’t do, *twon’t do, Jim. you swim; Marian?”’ he asked, turning toward her. “Yes; why do you ask?” “Tt’s what has got to be done, Marian. You see we'll be in shore in a few minutes. Stick by me, and T'll take you overboard,” = not now, Jim?” “You see it’s geti dark fast, and every minute will help us. By the Eternal! do you know that fel- ler = shore? it is McGable! Hello! the boat has struck!” Such was the case, and what was more alarming, they were but a few rods from shore. It was no- ticed, too, that the wailing tone of the decoy had ¢ ed to a more commanding one, while the Fron- tier Angel had disappeared. ‘“What does this mean, sir?” asked one of the oarsmen, thoroughly alarmed. ‘ “ You are my prisoner, sir!’ replied the stranger. “Don't get excited—it’s no use. That man is McGable and the Shawnees are waitin’ fur yer ha’r. Ef you undertake to fight, youll be tomahawked in.a minute, but ef you give in nice like, p’raps some of yer’ll be let alone. Ef you've no objec- tions, I'll give the signal fur °em to come aboard.” All except Peterson were oo! ee with horror, and seemed utterly speechless. He stepped delib- erately forward and said: “Td like to ax a question afore you does that ey Stan yer going to do with me?” - and you as soon as we get ashore.” un rather reckon not, old hoss, How does hut SU 2] Before even his victim divined his intention, the paneer, broeh his rifle to his shoulder and fired, his assing clean through the breast of the Villain. The latter gave a spasmodic start and gasp, and fell forward. 4 ‘“Hyer’s as opines as how it won't be that'll. toast Jim Peterson just yit,”’ remarked ranger, coolly fastening his rifle to his back. : ~ God! w: shall we do?” frantically wailed the seitlers. “Fight! you was so anxious to see McGable, you'll have the chance now. Ef yer’d minded what me and the Frontier Angel said, you would- n't got into this fix. It won’t do no to touch ae Yer fast in the mud, and have got to , &. nstantly the shore became alive with savages. Yells that curdled the blood rent the air, and the whole mass of sw bodies plunged into the shallow water, and made for the flat-boat. The whites discharged their shots, but the numbers of their enemies were irresistible. Onward they pour- od. shouting like madmen, and, clambering up the es, a scene of butchery took place that sickens the heart to contemplate. SS gen saw the ign # po gs had arrived, and catching Marian by waist, he ruig upon the gunwale, intending to leap over. But that in- stant a volley was poured into the boat, and a bullet struck her, The ranger felt her becoming a. dead weight, at the same moment that a stream. of hot blood poured over his hand. He bent his head’ down, and peered into her face. The dark- blue eyes were slowly shutting, and her head dropped heavily. “T am dying, Jim,” she murmured. ‘‘God bless you for your effort. Give my last love to Russel, mother, and father—good- ‘f . “Heaven bless you!” said the ranger, laying her gently L ups the deck, in spite of the scene t commenced. ‘You've escaped that Mc- een %0'th ale, with an almost Pp 6 gunwale, an super- human leap Petersun bounded outward inte the darkness and disappeared. CHAPTER II, Oariate oie Chait ae his NE day in spring, a er ranger was making way through the cane-brakes of Kentucky, in what is now called Lewis county. For a ona of nearly half a century, the valleys of the Ohio, Scioto, , Mad, and humerous other rivers, were constantly scoured by these ran- gers, who gen went alone, but sometimes in Conan, very paren in r companies. The warlike, revenge’ wees, a mig. and power- ful nation in themselves, had so stirred up the other tribes, that nothing but eternal wa ess could the settlers from the knife and tomahawk. long years was the government compelled to keep an independent force to protect the frontier. The disastrous results of many of these campaigns but prolonged the war; and the final success of our arms is much more due to the prowess of these bor- with cau- from any suspicion of r. Were there sa’ in the vicinity, not the slightest noise would have ed his presence to the most wa‘ A moment after, the bushes parted, and the ran- ger, in a ‘%alf-crouching snipe ge wrned 7] into the ° wood, Here he osed a frame wondrousl Tall, sinewy, and t almost to emacia- tion, with a featured face, half covered by a—-
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A , ling beard, and eyes of such glittering Bladeness that they fairly scintillated fire in excite- men He stood a moment, as if listening, and then strode rapidly forward, trailing a long nitid rifle as he did so. Reaching the pie ld the river, he sud- denly halted and darted behind a tree. His quick eye discovered “‘sign.’”” From this point he ea cautiously out, and then instantly jerked his ad back again. This movement was repeated "several times, until at last he held his head in a sta- tionary position, muttering: “Yes, it’s a flat-boat und, sure as my name’s Dick Dingle. Things look s’pishus the way it’s stick- in the mud thar, Some of the Shawnees’ work, Til sw’ar; and I’ll bet my head that Tom McGable’s been at the bottom of the whole. Ef I could only meet that dog in a fair stand-up fight, I wouldn’t ax no other boon. I’d go home, fold my arms, and with a smile upon my brow, lay down and softly go under, Jest keep docile now, Dick Dingle, and look around afore you gets nigher that concern out thar.” For over two hours Dingle reconnoitered the flat- boat, and all the time kept himself carefully con- Siar If fromm erie tetogualnay position that coulA ‘be ng rom eve! e on that co e — from the shore. At last he seemed satis- ed, ** Whosomever is in that flat-boat ain’t /ivin’, that’s sartin: and whosomever is watchin’ it from shore ain’t nigh enough to hurt you, Dingle, so hyer goes,” With this, he stepped softly into the water, and waded out toward the flat-boat. After reaching it, he again paused a moment, glancing toward the shore, and then placing his hand upon the | ar bounded over into the boat. The sight that met his eye was enough to freeze with horror, for a moment, even him who was used to meeting death in every repulsive shape! ‘They've tomahawked ’em all, and pitched ‘em overboard. Ef that ain’t enough to make a minister or even a scout swear, then my name ain’t Dick Dingle. McGable’s been hyer, sure, ’cause whar he’s been nobody lives. Wal, w ; it’s bad business, I like scoutiag it when the killin’ is all on our side; but it ain’t, bya heap. Ef it war we wouldn't need to scout; but McGable is bound to squar’ accounts with me for this night’s business.” e ranger remained a short time longer, examin- ing the flat-boat, which, as the reader has surmised, was the one whose sad fate has been recorded. Sat- isfied that not a soul had survived the frightful mas- saere, after a few minutes’ further delay, he again into the water, and made his way to land. **Old Mad Anthony sent me down in these parts to find out what the ar’ drivin’ at, and I reckon as how I’ve found.” The ranger disa) like a shadow, for he be- came aware that some other Ene besides himself was in the wood. The instant of discovery he drop- ped a his hands and knees, and glided swiftly and noiselessly away to reconnoiter the stranger. Now, itso happened that the latter was in precise- Ba same situation, and it was a singular coinci- . dence that both should make the discovery of the Yother’s presence, and commence seeking to know him at the same moment, The stratagems, maneuvers, and artifices resorted to by each to accomplish his ends, were extraordin- . For nearly two hours they dodged and feinted, set sal reo, inert coming any meee success, an made the ‘overy by ent. ingle came te the conclusion that whdever might be rival he certainly was a genuine woodman, and, if an Indian, one who was well worthy of coping » with him. But the consummate tact and skill dis- played, led him to suspect the other was a white man, and for this reason he became more careless in his movements. The consequence was that, after he had flitted from one tree to another, he heard his name called. 5 “Shoot me, if that ain’t you. Dick le! Why Sat ou come out and shake paws an old ‘friend?’ ny the next minute, Jim Peterson stepped boldly orth, “Wal, Jim, I might’ve knowed that was your ugly* ~eesnee” Whar'd you come from?” ta. ~The two egy ong hands, and gave, what Edward Everett terms, the genuine tourniquet shake. They had been brother rangers through General St. Clair's war, and had ever been together, encountering all imaginary dangers, and were the joint heroes of most wonderful esca And when we say that neither had seen the face of the other for over six years, it may well be supposed that their meeting was most ble. As they stood grasping hands, and smilingly exchanging jocose remarks in their char- acteristic way, the resemblance between them was remarkable. In fact, they had often, when in ser- vice, been taken for brothers, and their identity often contounded. The Shawnees, who knew them rather more than they cared about, termed them the ives.” Both were tall, graceful and sinewy, as straight as arrows, and, to increase lexity of wepareting them, they dressed pre- in, light gray color, and a nose of Grecian cast. ‘Come, Dick, what are you doin’ in these parts?” “Out fur Mad Anthony, and have been taking look at the flat-boat there. Ah! bad business! bad business, Jim! . “Yas, if you'd have only see’d it, Dick, you might ‘ 80.” XD you know any thing "bout it? Who the poor swretch es was?—when t’was done?—how they came ‘to do it?—and who done it? asked Dingle, exsttedty. ‘I war on boat, and the only one who saved 2 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. ‘The only one, Jim?”’ “The 0 one; and when I gotclean off, I jist clapped my hand on my head to see ef my was thar still, fur I had strong doubts of it. I was the only one! I took a long jump, and a dive for it.” “Let me ax you one thing,” said Dingle. when he had finished. ‘Do you know whether McGable had any thing to do with this business?” “He was the decoy himself; but a feller come on board up at the Kanawha who got the poor fools to run in to shore.” “Was he a short, squashy-looking imp?” “He war exactly so.” “Then ‘twas Pete Gammock. I know him. He and McGable have hung together fur three—four years that way. That’s his plan; he’s tried the same trick afore. He goes on the flat-boats at some lace up that way, and purtends he’s one of us going own the river to the ‘‘ Three Islands,” Maysville, or some of the forts. After he gets on, he fixes so as to pull the wool over thar eyes, and when McGable spt out fur ‘em to come ashore, he persuades ‘em o it.’ ‘He'll never do it again, fur I settled the business with him soon as he owned up he’d come the gam- mon game. I feel sorry, Dick, mighty sorry fur them poor whites that was served that mean trick; but thar was one among ’em that went under, and I ain’t ashamed to own it makes me feel watery to think on it. I left her dyin’ on board just as I jump- ed over and the imps clambered up.” Peterson drew the sleeve of his hunting-shirt across his eyes, and Dingle, with respect to his feelings, re- mained silent a moment, when he returned: “ P’raps she ain’t gone under, Jim; may be the reds have gone off with her.” ‘*No they haven't; she’s out in the river yender somewhar. . The reds tomahawked every one. I kinder had”a faint hope she might be among ‘em and I’ve been follerin’ them to find out, I see’d all the Injuns, and that infarnal McGable among ‘em. They had plenty of hair hangin’ to their girdles, but they hadn’t a captive wen | ‘em. That ‘ar McGa- ble tried to get Marian Abbot, and because she wouldn’t have him, he has done this. I b’lieve he fired the gun that killed her, when I had her in my arm just goin’ to jump overboard to take a swim fur it. d, Dick, I swear that I'll never rest till that renegade McGable pays for this.”’ ed jine you in that!” said Dingle, taking his hand. “We'll hunt him ther. He’s murdered enough of his own blood, and we'll stop it right off.” “T’ve got to and tell the old folks of it, and youn nsfield. I know it'll break their hearts, and I'd rather be burnt than doit: but it’s got to be done, and I must do it.”’ * Are you going now?” “Yas, right away. As soon as I see ’em I'll be pegs ag’in, I'll wait fur you down at the fort be- ow.’ “ And what then, Jim?” “We'll start off on that hunt,” said Péterso low tone, and the two rangers took different tions in the forest, CHAPTER IV. THE FAINT HOPE. Wuen Peterson communicated the dreadful intelli- gence of the fate of Marian to her parents, the mother swooned, and for nearly a week remained more in death than life. The father received the shock like the oak when riven by the thunderbolt— firm and phen diag but still shattered in the ve heart. He groaned in spirit, but, for the sake of wife, bore up with superhuman calmness. But it well-nigh him; and his wife, when she was pulled from the grasp of death, felt that she would never recover; her heart was broken. Russel Mansfield bore the affliction likeaman. He held up in the presence of others; but there were ina moments when alone in which he gave way to his great woe. We have no desire to dwell upon this painful scene, but hasten forward. The resolution of Abbot to e te still further. to the West, instead of being weakened by this sad calamity, was stre ened into a determination. Why it was, he would almost have been at a loss to tell, We all know that when death for the first time strikes down some one near and dear to us, it is difficult to believe that such is the case; it is a long time before we can bring ourselves to realize it. ere is a lar, linge doubt, the faint shadow of a hope that after all it is not death, and that through the subtle power of medicine the lost one will still return to us. And even after burial, for a long time there will be moments when we give way to the same Ny tana 9A hope and find our- selves indulging in dreams of fancy in which the lost one is again found. - Those who have had a similar experience to this will appreciate the feeling that led Abbot and his stricken wife to emigrate to the scene which was so full of horror to-them. The same motive strength- ened the determination of Mansfield, although his parents now refused to accompany the party. Sev- eral of the other families also refused, so that the company bid fair to be alarmingly small. Peterson had whispered to Mansfield the intention of Dingle and himself of seeking out McGable and revenging themselves upon him, and he was anxious to either join them or be so situated that he could receive the earliest intelligence of their success, Accordingly, one morning in September, another flat-boat floated away from the village rete 0 at the commencement of this work, cone with it four families only, together with young Mansfield. The weather continued fine, and they experienced no difficulty in reaching their destination. Just be- fore they reached the Scioto, a desperate attempt was made to get them ashore, Mansfield, shrewdly suspecting that it was McGable himself who acted the part of a decoy, his rifle with the intention of shooting him; but the wily demon secreted him- self before Mansfield could secure his aim, The lat- ter, however, fired, and eame so uncomfortably close that the decoy ceased his entreaties, and, by the way of a return for the compliment, a whole volley was fired at the flat-boat ‘i the concealed savages. Some of the bullets struck the boat but did no dam- *eThe settlement which was the destination of our friends, was a few miles further down the river, and they came in sight of it about the middle of the af- ternoon, As Peterson had given the settlers notice of their coming they were expected and joyfully welcomed. The flat-boat was swept in to shore and fastened, and with the aid of the willing settlers, its contents removed in an incredibly short space of time. The boat itself was then hauled as far up the bank as possible, and taken carefully apart and its timbers preserved for building purposes. As this village is to be the location of many of the succeeding incidents of our story, we will here briefly describe it. The settlement consisted of about twenty cabins. and numbered a hundred inhabitants. A sma block-house was erected near the lower end of the village for immediate refuge in case of sudden at- tack; though the Governor of the territory had or- dered a larger one to be erected and continuall manned by men well skilled in border warfare, This first block-house was erected in advance of the set- tlement itself, so as to better guard the approach of anenemy. It stood in a broad giey. protected on the one hand by a swamp, and the o her by the Ohio river. The block-house consisted of two stories. The lower one was about thirty feet square, and the upper one about thirty-three, so that it projected over the lower, giving those within an opportunity of einige ben. te door and windows in case a deter- mined attack was made. A well had been sunk in one corner, so that if besieged they could not be brought to terms by thirst. e roof was so steeply- shelving as to prevent any hag missiles from re- maining upon it, and the planks themselves were so smooth-shaven that the most e savage could not maintain a sition upon it for an instant. The sides were built of solid green logs of some eighteen or twenty inches in diameter, dove-tailed at the ends in the usual manner, and the interstices filled in with mortar. The doors and windows and shutters were made of ponderous puncheons, by massive bars of wood on the inside. The ea story was pierced with loop-holes, through which a large force could keep up a constant fire upon their assailants. . The block-house was surrounded by a substantial wall of palisades. These were made by cutting trees _of a foot in diameter into pieces of fifteen feet in length. These pieces were then eeeres hewed off sharply at one end, and driven four feet into the solid ground, leaving eleven feet above. The pali- sades were kept firmly in their places by means of stout braces and wall-pieces upon the de; and, as they were set with their smooth side outward, and close together, no force could scale them without the aid of ladders. . A flagstaff stood a few feet from the block-house, and the stars and stripes ever waved from the sum- mit. At the second story was a projection, meng the forest, upon which the sentinel most o his time while on duty, and whi re tebe a swivel, so hung that it could be brought to bear u on almost any point from which danger was to be apprehended. fort was quite celebra and being manned by the Governor with an active force, was much re- sorted to by the scouts and rangers oe fron- tiers. Dick Dingle was enrolled as a member of this com , although the Governor and the command- er of the fort knew there was no use of undertaking to bring any such character under discipline. He was allowed to go and come when he pleased, and it may be said, in fact, that the whole class of fron- tier rangers were a set of Border Zouaves. They were ever in the most perilous situations, did the most dangerous service, and acknowledged no lead- er other t their own free will. The commander and several of his leading men had served in the Fo of rangers, and were adepts in Indian war- are. It was the duty of Dingle to range through the ad- joining country, to keep a constant, watch upon the movements of the Indians, and to return as often as ssible with his report to the commander. At this ime there were other scouts performing similar duties in other situations, who have since become celebrated in history. McArthur, White, McCleland, and Davis, and the Wetzel brothers are the ones to whom we refer. They occasionally visited the fort singly, but never in company, and sometimes re- mained several daysin conversation and feasting with their friends. Peterson ee his return with Dingle, had had his name enrolled as a member of the company at the block-house; and they already had made several ex~ cursions in company. When Abbot and his friends arrived at the settlement, these two scouts had just returned from a journey up the Scioto valley to one of the Shawnee towns. e settlers, havin known of the coming of their new friends, showed their good-will by erecting several cabins and pre- senting them to the new-comers ne ely upon their arrival. By dusk, Abbot, with his wife and Mansfield, were’ snugly domiciled in theirs, and ready to join their hbors, on the morrow, in clearing the forest, or whatever their duty might chance to be, Although Abbot had not seen Peterson, he had heard that he was in the settlement, and sent for
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him in the ev nm hearing the his Louse. nm both ger, for he well knew the feelings that must be awakened by his presence. The conversation turned upon ordinary subjects, and each carefully refrained from any allusion that might bring up the matter that was in the mind of every one. In the course of a half-hour or so, the quic oe of Mrs. Abbot saw her presence was a rest: t upon something her husband wished to say; and she made an excuse for withdrawing and retired for the night. ifter she had gone, utter silence fell upon all. ** Jim,” said Abbot, rN around, ** Jim, I must once more speak about ‘hat.”” “Wal?” queried the ranger, uneasily. **T must ask you once more to narrate, as particu- larly as is in your power, the account of the attack upon the flat-boat, and the death of Marian. I will not ask you to give any thing else but that alone.” “T dunno as I can tell any thing more, but, how- somever, I can tell that over in if you want it,” and thereupon he proceeded give, with fearful vividness, the dying words and actions of Marian Ab- bot. The father heard him all through without a p legsare of interruption, keeping his eye fixed upon the smoldering fire before him. ae ou think, Jim, then, that she is—she must be ‘““Why, Abbot, s’posen I had fifty bullets right smack through this hyer noddle of mine, and you should ax me if I had any s’picions I’d survive, and I should tell you I was as dead as a door-nail, wouldn’t you believe me?” ; “Wal th ~ thea T to say it, there ain’t : en, though I’m sorry to say ere a bit more hope for her. She never see’d the devils that climbed over the boat. She died afore I got away twenty feet.”’ “You are certain of it?” ** Yes, sir; I’m certain.” ‘You must wonder at my talking thus, Jim; but Thave no hopes either; I have given her up long since. I have still one wish—to know what fate at- tended her body.” ‘*She was thrown overboard with the others.” “You did not see that done, Jim, and can not be sure of it.” The ranger was about to contradict him, and tell that he had followed the murderers and seen that bore no body with them; but he did not, and Abbot continued: “Tt is this doubt—this uncertainty that still trou- bles me. When that has been cleared upI shall never speak of the subject again. Russel has told me that yous and Dingle are going to seek revenge upon Mc- able?’ ; “We aren’t goin’ to seek it; we are goin’ to get | aga “T profess to be a Christian, and the Bible teaches me that vengeance is not for but for One alone. And, Jim, I can really say that I have no desire that McGable should suffer at your hands. God knows that he has broken two hearts, but the time will come when he will have to answer for it.” “ That’s my idea, exactly, and I reckon as how ‘twill be a little sooner than he expects.” * He knows, if any human being does, the fate of Marian. Obtain, if possible, first of all, the truth from him.” “T can’t see just now, Abbot, how that’s gwine to be done.” : . , ‘Take him captive and bring him in, and we will make him answer. bal fing not think you and your com on may succeed in capturing him?” A so—bein’ it’s your wish we'll do our best to do it.” “Get him, S te Jim, and you will confer a favor that I’ shall never be able to repay.” ‘Never mind about that; ‘he thing will be done!” Shortly after this, Peterson took his departure, CHAPTER V. THE MYSTERIOUS WARNING, Ir was a mild September night in179-. The day ‘had been one of those warm, hazy ones which some- times ap at that season of the year, and the ht ued ast with delicious coolness, There was a faint moon in the heavens, and several flaky clouds were drifting past it, causing their fantastic shad- ows to glide fike phantoms over the settlement, As the hour had grown late, there were few, if any, Fae oe stirring through the village. A few neils of light issued from the upper port-holes of he block-house, showing that those inside were still up; and a hearty laugh ringing out now and then told as plainly that they were engaged in their us story-telling and joking, Peterson was inside relat- ing one of his earlier experiences, which infinitely amused them all, the commander not hesitating to join in the merriment. - : On the outside, the measured tread of the sentinel as heard, and form could be seen against the wall of the block-house, as he walked to and fro u on the platform. His keen eye never failed to take in at each turn every noticeable object before him. At one end of the projet he had a view of the river now glistening like liquid silver; but during the remainder of his walk, his vision rested upon the hyoas.. foam, , murmuring forest, stretching mile after mile batore him, until, at Jast, it joined the sky away in the faint horizon. it was Dick Dingle, whose watch extended until midnight. While in the act of turning on his heel, at the end of the platform he suddenly stopped as something The Frontier Angel. omsamegenbes sl near the middle, convinced him that here was but one person init. When about three- ringing any new suspicion to him; t this delay was as reason for apprehension, as could have been the noise of approach, *“You don’t cotch Dingle asleep when there is a red about. Now let’s see. Dingle, you old fool, what do you s’pose the aT. are up to now? Jestgo an to meditatin’, will you cipher it out. In the first lace, and afore any ing else they’re up to sunk- hin’ ; and that ar’ sunkthin’ is the Conse- poi A it’s a p’inted fact, that beng Ay up to the evil, and therefore there’s sunkthin’ in the wind; so mind your eye and look out for lead. Wish they’d hurry up, ‘cause it’s gettin’ well on to that green feller’s watch, and I'd like to have an idee of their intentions ef they've no particular objections,”’ By this time, it was near mid t, and shortly after, a man appeared beside him to relieve him of his watch. This new-comer was known as Jenkins, and was what the ers termed a “ green hand,’ that is, he had seen little or nothing of Indian ser- vice, and was not one who could be relied upon in an emergency. Several practical jokes had been play- ed upon , the result of which had given one or two a suspicion that he was lacking in courage, and would show the white feather if hard pressed. Pe ie and not get a-snoozin’ tonight,” remark- ed Dingle. “Why? You don’t suppose I would, do you?” “Didn’t know but what you might; thought I'd ye JON anyway, *cause it won’t do lo shut your eyes ‘o-n 4 a hy? What's up, eh?’ queried Jenkins, eager- ly. ‘cae nothin’ in particklar; only I’ve seen Injins ¥ w! don’t say so? Your joking, Dick?” “Ef you think so, jest think on, but ef you don’t see sights afore mornin’ it'll be ’cause you can’t see; ae all,” and Dingle turned to enter the block- ouse. ’ “Oh say, Dick, that ain’t fair!’’ said Jenkins, lay- ing his hand on his shoulder. ‘What's the matter? Ain’t scart, be you?” de- manded the ranger, confronting him with an angry countenance, ; “Oh no, I ain’t scart—not at all; I only want you ‘a °% a feller all about it. You might do thatI nk,” “Wal, then, I see’d four or five Shawnees skulk- ing out yonder near the wood, t ” to draw bead on me, and I had to do some tall to hender them. You'll have to hop around rather agile, but I a you can steer clear. Ef you git hit, holler and ou in and let you die inside.” “Oh, thunder! hold on, Dingle, don’t go and leave rol this way. I don’t think it’s a fair shake at “What in blazes do you want?’ demanded the ranger, again indignantly facing him, ‘Why, I was a-goin to say—just to kind of make the observation, you know—that—perhaps—that is —I would like know if you wouldn’t just as lief stay here a while?” ‘What for?” “Oh, just for company. I'll do the same favor for you some of these times.” “TI never want anybody out hyer when I’m stand- in’ watch.” And the scout turned and entered the block-house. But it was by no means his intention to intrust the safety of the settlement to such hands as Jenkins’s; he only wished to test his courage, and create a little diversion for his own individual benefit. He shut the door and listened. He could hear Jenkins walking along the form, stamping his feet bravely upon it, and whist- ling as loudly as his lips would permit, Dingle ven- tured to open the door very avo § and peep out. He saw him with hands thrust deep down in his poc- kets, his rifle leaning against the block-house, and shooting his feet far out in advance, and slapping them down on the planks with such effect as to set the men within growling and snarling at each other, as they half awoke from their slumbers. His hat was jammed down on the back of his head, his hair dashed away from his forehead, the white of his eyes galy being visible, as the pupils were constantly turned tow the dreaded wood. His mouth re- sembled the letter O, fringed around the edges, as he resolutely maintained its position. ‘‘Old Hundred ” came out loudly, the fall of each foot being empha- sized by a desperate burst of wind and music, and a rage jerk of the head now and then. When the whistle, at_ ti became more windy than ide he rested his lips by communings with him- ‘Darn the Injins! I wish they were all dead! I can’t see what en want poking round here when I’m standing watch. If I catch sight of one, Ill bet lat- suspicious caught his eye, Far up the Ohio, he sawa | he will wish he never heard of Pete Jenkins! Let 3 me see: I was turning ‘Old Hundred,’ I believe."*- The tune was now resumed and time, when he again broke forth. will peuy. stay away till morning I won't care, it would be all the same to me, an Paci gs just as well if they didn’t come then, either. I was thinking—hello! Jerusalem! I seen som move then, as sure as the world!” D all the while, now le, Ww as that it was time to venture forth, and, clos- g the door behind him, stood upon the platform, Jenkins, whose eyes were turned toward the w —, nothing of him, until he tumbled over his be ‘orm. “Thunderation! that you, Dingle? what you do- scrambling 6 he exclaimed, to his feet ain, “wg n an Lh] me thought T did out yonder near the edge of the wood. Dingle looked intently toward the point indicated a few moments, and then became satisfied Jenkins was right—a person was there. While gazing he | purposely kept his body concealed by the guard around the platform. He continued his watch upon the suspicious object, and at last satisfied himself of re nena of the person who had thus alarmed his end, “All right!”* he muttered to himself. “It’s the Frontier Angel. She’s got sunkthin’ to tell, an’ she’s waitin’ to see ef I’m about. Howsumever, I'll keep shady awhile, just to see how this long-legged feller hyer ye jump when she gives notice she’s around.” 5 a makes you stoop down, Dick?’’ whispered en , “T can see better; ef you're afraid you'd better oF. too. “T ain’t afraid at only— Oh, Lord, I’m shot!’* suddenly exclaimed Jen falling down. Dingle was not surprised; he had heard the tw: of a bow, the whiz of the arrow, and now saw it sticking sev- eral feet above him in the wood of the block-house. Thus -that mysterious being, known along the bor- der. as the ‘Frontier Angel,” gave notice of her presence. “Get up, you fool,” he commanded, giving his. moaning companion a kick, and now thoroughly rovoked at the cowardice he had shown. ‘Get up tell you. Nobody has fired at you, or tried to hit ou,” “Didn't they? Come to think, I believe they didn’t; but the fact, is, Dingle, I’ve been subject to fits tina I was a bo NP iaclcge pp a you Bay to say I fell on purpose?’’ deman enkins, denly regaining his mpriese ition and his courage at the same time, at ng he was ed, “No; but it’s kinder queerish the way you fell.” Yes, them pi falling fits take me any ime—’ t : ‘Never mind about the fits, or I'll give you some more. You stay hyer and keep wa while I go down to the gate,” “ What—what you going to do there?” “There’s somebody as wants to see me.” “You won't be gone long, will you? Who is it?” “The one that that arrow up there at you.” “Jerusalem! and so they shot me after all. I . Wal, oe that f still, ‘ll git . eep aw of yourn or you shot at, and won’t nisied, either. I'll be back pretty soon.” Dingle descended and made his way to the pe at the palisades, to receive the message of the Frontier CHAPTER VI. ax parson Telorrel tof the preceding chapter person as the Frontier Angel, had recived that craelipaiin from the scouts and rangers, who had known her for several years. We say had known her, but be- oe the mere fact of her existence, not! was nown. Who she was or where she had come from was a m to She was ever painted and dressed in fantastic costume of an Indian, but many supposed her to be a white per- son, and gave as a reason that her lan was pre- cisely 1 the bei ee by gic erg we at dis- carded en ly the extravagan -flown. figures so much in vogue among the North American In- dians, and which often renders their meaning unin- telligible to ordinary persons. She was always alone, and rarely if ever seen In the da 6 ie whole object of her life seemed to be t of befriending the settlers. More than once her ay bag had saved scores of whites from the of the savages. Sometimes she would make her appear- ance among the settlements in the Scioto Valley, and after giving full in nce of the movemen of their enemies, would e her departure. The next to be heard of her, would be that she had per- formed a similar office for the further east. She became known to all the rangers, nearly all of whom regarded her not as either a white person or an Indian, but as a spirit—an el; and it was thus that she had gained the name t we have men- tioned. These hardy, but superstitious beings, reve- renced her as something far above them, whose. touch would be instant death. No wonder that . le felt some trepidation, as he hastened down, un- ao the massive gate, and saw her standing be-- side him, : “What news have you to-night?” he asked. Boo news. Why have you remained at home» so long?” “T’ve no reason, I s’pose.” “Then hasten to the woods, for there is much for | you todo. The Shawnees and Wyandots are bs | ing great preparations for taking the war-path.”
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. ‘‘ Whar am they kickin’ up this muss?” ues rae th visit. Anything i “Yas; “wi em & : more?’ “That is all, Cwill now depart.”’ og a unbarred the gate, allowed her to out, and r sec it, made his way to the block- house again. As he passed out on the platform, Jenkins demanded: “Who is that you was talking with?” ** 4 gal that comes down to see me once ina while.” “An Injin?” *“*A half-breed. lendid critter.” “Jerusalem! she looked purty. What in the name of 3 that’s human made her shoot that arrer at me?” “She thought you'd jist come out to show yerself and try and cut me out. It made her all-fired mad.” “Did you tell her all about it?” “Yas; but I can’t tell you what she said. I’m go- in’ in to sleep now. Don’t whistle so loud, nor your hoofs down so, or git to talkin’. I might come out and make you shut up.” With these words, the er opened the door of the block-house and ente , leaving Jenkins com- pletely dumbfounded at what he had said. peal iors: how did he know what I said? Ill bet that ernal Injin gal is down there yet, and waiting for a chance to shoot. I'll kill her, if she tries it, just as sure as I live. She'll wish she never knowed anyt of Pete Jenkins.”’ But no attempt was made upon the sentinel’s life, and when the morning dawned, the forest and river “inthe niorming Dingle impart this f he morning, e message 0 the Frontier er to the commander of the post, and offered to visit the Piqua village and ascertain the meaning of their movements, “Tf she says there is mischief afoot, you may de- pend that there is. Yes, Dingle, you had better go. Take who you please, find out what you can, and get back as soon as ible.” The visit of this strange being was only a night or two after the interview between Abbot and Peter- son, so that the latter had not yet started upon his hunt after McGable. Upon consulting with Dingle, it was agreed between them that, as there was no need of usrying in-such a matter, they would defer their expedition until after their return from Piqua. The safety of the settlement was paramount to all other considerations. Besides, it was at probable that the renegade was in the village named, and soak were just as likely to accomplish the object of bot their journeys at the same time. The rangers held a consultation, and the conclusion they came to took all 1 Based le It was that Peterson should visit the Shawnee town in Paint Creek valley, while Din- gle, in company with the redoubtable Jenkins, would recornnoiter Piqua. There was wisdom in the plan certainly, but many thought it singular that the two should separate, when they had never been known to do such a thing before when in service. Shawnees were the great enemies of the whites, and to them may be traced nearly all of the long and bloody wars on the frontier. ey were a vindictive, revengeful, “restless people, Serko’ in wars.’ Their very name, as been remarke was a word of terror or of execration to the early settlers among the canebrakes of Kentucky or upon the rich bottoms of Ohio. When this country was discovered, the Shawnees occupied the southern part of Georgia and Florida. Here they, at last, became so obnoxious to the other Indians by. their continual murders and_ robberies, that a combination of the most powerful tribes— ‘the Choctaws, Cherokees, and Cree: was effected. and eg , unceasing war was declared nst them. Finding the country too hot to hold them, the Shawnees emigated north, settling on the Ohio and its tributaries. The Wyandots welcomed them, and they increased to a mighty and powerful nation, retaining their characteristic traits. From the com- mencement of the old French war, in 1775, down to the final struggle between Tecumseh and the whites, nearly sixty years after, they were continually en- gz in some murderous foray interrupted only by = ozen years of quiet, succeeding the treaty of ayne, © e all Indian nations, the Shawnees were subdivided into tribes, and these subdivided into families: The names of but four of these tribes are now known: the Piqua, Kiskapococke, Chilicothe and Mequachake. qua, in the Indian tongue, means a man rising from thé ashes, and there is a tra- dition among them, that it was thus the division ated. ey had a e village at the head of Massie’s Creek, a short distance north of where Xenia now stands, and another named Piqua, on Mad River, a few miles below Springfield. Their principal head- rs were in the valley of Paint Creek and Scioto ver, ‘ The simple Macks ye anita of the scouts were made, and it was agreed they should start in a few hours upon their perilous journey. CHAPTER VIL THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES. Pererson’s destination being the Scioto valley, he left the settlement and proceeded eastward, up the Ohio, until the mouth of the Scioto was reached, when he ePrsecites his journey in a northerly di- rection. ving him to continue his duty, we will follow the fortunes of the other two, Dingle had two reasons for taking Jenkins with him. The first was for his own good, and the second was for his own—that is the ranger’s—amusement, He counted on little difficulty in ascertaining all that he wished, and believed that his.companion would be so tractable in his hands that little trouble need be epprehended from his erratic disposition, His a) ted. Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. plan was to proceed westward, following the course of the Ohio, until che mouth of the Little Miami was reached, up which he p: ed inacanoe. As he had often visited the same town, he took occasion, when upon one of his expeditions, to “ borrow ” an Indian canoe, as he expressed it, and concealed it at the on of this river to be used for the purpose named. * Confound it! what did you want to take me along for?’ demanded Jenkins, spitefully, after they were fairly in the wood. “Why, to scout around, and obsarve the fecoo- liarities of the Shawnees,” replied Dingle. t “Yes, s’pose so! darned if I don’t shoot every one see!"” ‘Good! give us your paw on that, Jenkins; you're some, after all.” “ After all what?’? demanded the wrathful man, not at all relishing the eagerness with which the ranger took his threat, ‘After all the dodgin’ and sneakin’ you’ve done when the reds were around.” ‘*See here now!” exclaimed Jenkins, stepping in front of and controning the ranger “T want to know what you mean by that? at’s a reflec- cae my courage which I never intend to per- t. ’ Dingle, concluding it best not to offend him at present, answered: “I meant the time you fell down so flat when the Frontier Angel her arrer at ou.”’ “Do you know what made me doit, sir?” ba Oh} yes—I mind me now, you had a fit just en.’ * Well, sir, don’t let me hear anything more about that, then; i have explained all about them fits, and you must remember.” . “Wal, never mind, Jenkins, it won't do to get them now, coz why, if you do, when you come to ain, you'll find you’ve cotched another kind of fits—wal, you will, ole feller.” “Do you s’pose, Dick, they'll watch us close?” asked Jenkins, in a tone so ¢ from his brag- gadocio style to that of earnest inquiry, that Dingle could not conceal a smile. “Mighty clus, you'll find out. Howsumever, ef you tend to your business and mind what I tell you, you'll come out all right, I guess.” “My ious! I wish we was only on our way back. I don’t like Injins no way you can fix it.” a we neither, so less pike ahead and hold in for a while.” The journey continued in silence. They were on the Ohio side of the river, having crossed it at the commencement of their expedition. Late in the af- ternoon they were obliged to swim a small stream that put in from the Ohio, This was accomplished easily, as both were excellent swimmers, Jenkins ful- ly equal to the Mery med On the shore of this they halted, and spent a few moments in eating a portion of the food they had brought with them. By this time darkness had settled over the forest, but the moon was quite pee and they kept on for several hours. At the end of that time they reached a soli- tary block-house, standing on a clearing, where it was the intention to shortly commence a settlement. There was a small force stationed there by the Gov- ernor of the territory some months previous. The sentinel was on the look-out and detected the ap- proach of Dingle as soon as the latter became aware of the block-house. He was instantly challenged, but a word set the matter oe in amoment one of the force descended, unba: the gate, and joy- fully welcomed him in. Lew Wetzel, to whom we have before referred, was in the block-house, and the meeting between him and Dingle was cordial on both sides. There were eight soldiers besides, all adepts in Indian warfare. The commander produc- ed his cups, poured out whisky, and none, save Jen- kins, needed an invitation to drink. The latter was a perfect novice, and with wondering eyes followed the motions and actions of Dingle. The consequence was, before any one suspected it, he commenced nodding, and shortly dropped upon the floor. One of the men rolled him into the corner, where he slept until morning. The journey was resumed early on the morrow. and continued without incident worthy of note until nightfall. Not an Indian or white man was encount- ered through the day. Just at dusk, they reached a river, which as Dingle informed Jenkins, was the Lit- tle Miami. “M ious! has that got to be swum, too?” asked the latter, in astonishment, ‘*No! we'll row over, I guess.” “Row over? How can we do that?” “Don’t ax too many questions and you'll see.”’ With this, Dingle proceeded some distance up- stream, and then halted before a large, tangled mass of unde wth. Here he stooped down, and pulled out a small birchen canoe, almost as light as paper. A couple of oars lay beside it, which he instructed Jenkins to bring forth. As he eee the boat in the pikes it danced as uneasily and buoyantly as an egg-shell. e Where under the sun did you get that thing?” asked Jenkins. A “That belongs to the Frontier Angel. It's the one we used to &o go in when we was young.” “ Pshaw, Dick, you’re joking,’’ replied Jenkins, in- credulously. “T should think you knowed enough of me to know that I never joke when I'm scouting it. Jest jump in while I give it a shove.” Now if any of our readers have ever seen a small Indian canoe, they will detect at once fhe mischiev- ous object of Dingle in_asking his companion to “jump into.” this one. It is an impossibility for a person who does not understand them, to spring in without going overboard. It is precisely similar to putting on a pair of skates for the first time. Unless you have tried it before, and know how to do it, you are sure to be deceived. But Jenkins had no suspi- cions, ju from the last remark of Dingle that he ves q ved serious. rig e made a spring, stru e thing near the bow, and it shot like a bolt backward in to shore, and he disap with a loud splash beneath the sur- face of the water. “Blast that boat! what made it do that?” hesplut- tered, scrambling in to shore again. “You're a smart one!’’ remarked Dingle, without changing a muscle of his face. ‘I'd ‘vise you to practice a little at rod in a boat, when you've got anes I s’pose I'll have to hold it for you, t ime. _ And so he did, seizing it by the stern, and holding it firmly while Jenkins carefully deposited himself in the front part. Dingle then stepped in, seated him- self near the middle, and dipping his oars into the water, shot rapidly toward the opposite bank. It was now quite dark, and by xeering near the center of the stream, he felt secure from observa- tion from either shore. An hour or two he sped swiftly forward, encountering no suspicious object, and exchanging not a syllable with his companion. After a time the moon arose, and as it slowly rolled above the wilderness, it shed such a flood of light as to make it extremely dangerous to continue as here- tofore. The tall forest trees towered up on both sides, throwing a wall of shadow far out into the stream. Dingle ran his canoe in under protection of these, upon the left bank, and dipped his oars more deeply and silently, commanding Jenkins not to utter a syllable. 3 Dingle paddled hour after hour, until toward mid- night he touched the bank, — out and ex- changed places with Jenkins, who took his turn at the paddle. At first he made several feints, nearly upsetting the canoe, but in a short time he ame uite an expert, and did his duty without a murmur. nother exchange, another long pull, and the ranger ran his canoe in to shore, pulling it up and conceal- ing it on the bank. Day was dawning and they had reached that point where it was necessary to take to the forest again, and strike across toward Mad river. In doing this, our friends were compelled to pass the Indian village mentioned as being a short dis- tance below where Xenia now stands. This being a .smaller and less important one than Piqua, Dingle concluded to visit it on his return. The river at the point where they disembarked made a bend to the eastward, so that by taking a direct north-west. course toward Mad river, it was not even necessary to make a detour to avoid it. They had now progressed so far upon their jour- ney that Dingle knew they could reach Piqua long before night. Accordingly he crawled into a dense mass of undergrowth, followed by Jenkins, who carefully restored the bushes behind him to their enya Fe so as to remove all signs of their trail. Here they both lay down and slept soundly. Dingle possessed that power, which is so singular and yet so easily acquired, of waking at the precise moment he wished. About noon he opened his eyes. arose to a sitting position, gave Jenkins a kick, and ordered him to make ready to start. After a hearty meal upon the last of the venison they had brought with them, they emerged from their resting-place and once more resumed their journey. As they gradually approached the neighborhood of the Indian settlement, Dingle became more and more cautious in his movements, until Jenkins was in a perfect tremor of ap rehension. “Don’t fall behind!” Gincaihed the ranger, un- mercifully. ‘““My gracious, I won't! Every time you stop, I bump against you. I’ve mashed my nose already.” Pi ever mind; we're gettin’ nigher every min- ute.” “T know we are, and that’s what troubles me so much. If we were only going the other way I wouldn't mind it,” Several times they came upon Indian trails, some of which were so fresh that Dingle made several de- tours, painfully tedious to Jenkins, who every minute was getting into a feverish state. Before dark they ascended a sort of ridge, which seemed the boundary of a valley on the left. Jenkins followed his guide so closely that he hardly took his eyes off him, much less did he know where he was going. He saw they were ascending a rising ground, and that, after about an hour’s labor he came to a halt. ‘Take a look down there!’’ whispered Dingle, part- ing the bushes in front of him. Jenkins followed the direction of his finger and saw spread out be- fore him, in the valley below, the entire Indian vyil- lage. “it was evident to any eye that the savages below them ware making preparations for some hostile expedition. Dingle judged it was against their own village from what the Frontier gel had said, Most of the warriors were collected upon a large, ‘open space near one end of the village. Here sev- eral of their orators—stump speakers is a better term —were constantly haranguing them. The excited sticulation, the bobbing of the head, and now and hen a word could be heard by our two friends in concealment. The men were arrayed in the gaudy hideousness of war-paint, and to all ap- pearances hugely delighted with the oratory that greeted their ears. Men were continually arriving and departing, sometimes nearly @ Score passing in- to the wood, and then reappearing in a short time again. Every second several shouts or yells pierced the air. The whole village was in commotion, and Dingle could as well have departed at once with the information that the Shawvees were again taking the war-path, and the settlement was most probably
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The Frontier Angel. the object of their fury. But he determined to know more before he went back. As it was getting darker and the shrubbery and the undergrowth were so dense as to afford a sure concealment in spite of the moon, which rose at a late hour, he felt no hesitation at making a much nearer approach. ne In ashort time they were within a hundred yards of the upper end. Here they both nestled down, and = some time before making a further move- ment, “Keep powerful quiet, while I look around!’ ad- monished Dingle, crouching down and commencing to move off in the darkness, ; “Here, hold on a minute,” whispered Jenkins, eagerly catching hold of his hunting-dress; ‘‘ how long are you going to be gone?” at don’t know—'sh!” The Sponabene of some one were now heard break- ing through the bushes, Dingle and Jenkins bent low, and in a moment discerned, looming oh agate the light in the village, the dark form of an ian. The hunter loosened his knife in his belt, for an encounter seemed unavoidable. The Indian came right straight ahead, in a line toward them; but when within ten feet, unconsciously to himself, per- haps, he turned to the left and passed on, thus es- caping a collision and his own doom at the same time. “Now don’t stir from hyer till I come back,” whis- pered Dingle, again. “How long are you going to be gone?” ‘*P’raps an hour or two. ‘What must I do all that time?” ““Why, lay still—don’t budge an inch, ’eept you want to lose your ha’r.”’ “Oh! I don’t want to lose it. S’pose the Injins come poking around here, what's to be done then?” “Keep docile, and like as not they won’t see you; but if they does, why, jump up, give ’em a lunge with your nife, and put to the woods. You can run fast “nough to give ‘em the slip. In coorse, you'll have to make some tall dodgin’ to do it, but I guess you are able.” With this, Dingle moved away as silently as a snake, and disappeared instantly. He made way toward the pycoume side of the village. It was not his intention roceed thus far at first, but cireum- stances compelled him. It seemed im ible to gain the view he wished. At every point, some ob- struction presented itself. The Indians, too, were so continually passing through the wood, that dis- covery sometimes ap inevitable. They made their appearance so suddenly, that they were not seen until almost upon him, and then it was o by the most labored caution that they could be avoided. Several times, indeed, had it come to that point, that he clutched knife, and stooped to spring; but kind fortune still screened him. Dingle had been absent about a couple of hours, and had reached a spot from which he believed he could obtain all the information he wished, when he was startled by the report of a rifle, and a series of from the quarter in which he had left Jenkins! e heard the rush of feet through the bushes and . the signals of alarm all about him. . ‘* That all-fired fool has got himself in a fix,” mut- tered the eg gl retreating several yards, so as to be concealed by the wood, and h ing around to- ward the spot in which he had left . He reached it in a few minutes, but all of commotion had ceased. An extraordinary stillness reigned over the village. He signaled for Jenkins, but no answer was returned, He found, at last, the precise spot in which he had left him.. But he was gone, most cer- tainly. “~ Pas, the fool’s in a fix, sure. Sarved him So He'll arn sunkthin’ afore he gets back to the settle- ment again,”’ CHAPTER VII. . A MAN IN TROUBLE. ° Dine.e waited in the wood until mo , Search- ing and ing for Jenkins, but without success. He hoped at first that he had made his escape; but he was compelled, after caref: wa e vil- lage for a long time, to the belie that he been captured. In fact, it was certainly with the ranger. He understood the actions of the Shawnees well enough to be satisfied upon that point. “Now, Dingle, what’s to be done?” queried the ranger meditatively. ‘He's in their claws—that’s a sure case, and it don’t look right for you to leave him thar. But jest hoid on a minute. The great question is this: which ar’ to be saved—him or the whole settlement? Ef I sta dyer, pokin’ round for him, like as not T'll get cote myself—no, I won’t either, for Dick Dingle don’t get t thing done to him. The reds ar’ goin’ on a ha’r-raise, that’s sure; and they'll leave Jenkins till they come back afore they roast him. Consequently, he’ll have time to look round and git acquainted with his friends, and 7 make a bargain to let him off on a visit. Ko, ingle, you must make tracks fur home power- ful fast. : This decision arrived at, the ranger lost no time in putting it into execution. He knew he could not get much start of his enemies; and, although they would be armed at the settlement, yet it was imperatively necessary they should have more definite knowledge of the intended assault. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he turned his face to the south and plung- ed into the forest. . In the mean time Peter Jenkins had managed to fall into an unpleasant predicament. ; Upon the departure of Dingle, he made up his mind to obey every letter of his instructions. Ac- cordingly, he squeezed himself into the smallest space possible, and curled obediently up on the ground. He lay thus perhaps a half-hour, when he felt sound. asleen.;,..‘Thie. was unintentional: bat the | passed fatigue of the expedition, and the time he had without slumber, were too much for him, and he finally succumbed. ‘yr4 He would have slept, in all probability, until the return of Dingle, it not been for a purely acci- dental circumstance. As his slumbers grew more heavy, he gave two or three jerks, and finally straighten out upon his back. In doing this, he naturally threw his hands backward, by the merest accident in the world, struck a toad that sat blinking a foot or two distant. The creature made a startled leap.and plunged down square in his face, but immediatel yg = Bose ain. It, however, seemed to awaken Jenkins, who rose to the sit- ting position, and entirely unmindful of where he ve commenced talking, ina mumbling tone to him- ' se a ‘Like to know who that feller was that hit me in the face. Liked to knock me out of bed; s’pose it was Dingle, though—just like him—makes my nose feel awful cool. Queer a feller can’t sleep when he wants to—all-fired mean to ’sturb a person that way. Lay over on your own side, Dick. Hello! he ain’t here! Thunderation! where am I?” He stared pewideritely about him. Gradually a recollection of his situation came to . And then he was filled with apprehension lest he had betrayed ne He — fica < a oe minutes, ut hearing nothing, judged matters were right; and, as he was excessively sleepy, he drop- ped moray back again, and was falling rapidly in- to a state of unconsciousness, when he was waked ain. “Sethe fact was he had been overheard by a couple of brawny Shawnees who, at that moment, were i within a few feet of him. They dro their way toward him. In the mean time, one a u ked his cold nose inst his bark that electrified Jenkins of Dingle; to “ fire and run, Even then he _— have effected his escape, had it not been for the dog mentioned. Tne Indians sus- pecting he was a scout, were taken all aback by the unexpected manner in which he acted, and hesitated so long before following, that, as we said, he might have escaped, had it not been for the dog. ‘The crea- ture was unhurt by his shot, and with a yelp of alarm, sprungin front of him. Jenkins was con- fused to notice him, the dog got entangled between his legs, and he pitched h ong to the ground. Be- fore he could rise the Indians were upon him, and yelling with exultation. “We kill—if fight—no run,” muttered one in brok- en English. One of the savages had already secured his rifle; and, as he one stood on either side of him and took a firm ah te arms. wad we there were a score of other savages around, dancing and yelling; andin the midst of them Jenkins was mare. into the center of the Indian village. Immediately a score of Shawnees scattered into the wood, to ascertain whether there were any more whites lurking in the vicinity, while Jenkins was hurried into a lodge, thrown upon his face, hands tied securely behind him, and his feet locked as Sighs together as if they had been screwed in a se. “*Consarn it, what’s the use in serving a feller that way? You ugly old heathen; standing there by the door, grinning at me, just loosen these cords will ou?” said Jenkins. e Indian still paying no at- ntion to his entreaties, Jenkins supposed he did not understand the English language; and he re- ted his est in a louder tone, as though that pea would assist understan But with no better effect. ‘I don’t want the co: loosened—wouldn’t coe bap untied if you wanted to do it,” he added, enly. is his caghowe still evinced no desire to do any- Leap | more than watch him, he resigned himself his fate, and ceased speaking. The night wore slowly away. Sleep, under the cir- cumstan was out of the question, and Jenkins contented himself—if the expression is allowable— with maintaining a moody silence, varied now and then by a gratuitous insult to those around, which, luckily for him, they failed to comprehend. While this sleepless guard was being kept there was another tribunal, as sleepless and vast! ia Chieftai in led haléa h e chie ’s lodge were assemb a hun- dred warriors, debating the matter of life or death. It could be said that there was a debate, for all agreed that their victim should die—agreed that he should not only die, but be burned at the stake / They were considering only when this should be done. It could not be expected that there would be a single dissenting voice as to his fate, and there was none. But the question was whether the war expe- dition should be deferred by consummating the tor- ture, or whether it should be left until they returned. It was their intention to start upon the morrow for the settlement which we have so often referred to; and rightly fearing that every hour of delay was a 8 8 = to their intended victims, it was at last de- cided that Jenkins should be kept until their return, when he should suffer the awful torture of death by fire. They knew their passions would be inflamed to that pitch that the agonies of the prisoner’s tor- — would be the most exquisite pleasure they could enjoy. : Most fortunate, indeed, for Jenkins, was it that the renegade was not present at that council. Had he more im- 7 been, he never would have seen the light of another morning; for he had learned long ore that no white prisoner was sure to them until he had been a victim to their vengeance. The renegade had left only a day or two before for the Indian towns in the Scioto valley, and consequently knew nothing of Jen- kins’s —— When the morning dawned, there was com- motion throughout the village. The final prepara- tions were made for the departure of the Rita 8 Jenkins heard the confusion and clamor around him, but was in no mood to care what they were doing. A sort of stolid indifference had succeeded to the excessive fear he had at first evinced. “T don’t care what they do! They can burn and eat me, if they want to! tem blaze away!” Shortly after daybreak the war-party departed. About a dozen men remained behind to d the village, and see that no attempt was made to free the prisoner, while a whole host of squaws and chil- dren raised Bedlam. The lodge in which Jenkins was confined was completely beset by them, At first his guards allowed them to torment him in their charac- teristic manner—such as pulling his hair, pinching, and striking him with sticks. his patience became exhausted. ‘* By thunder! if you don’t take these things off I'll kill every one of them!” he exclaimed, furiously, i m, and tugging. _ his Lan e enjoy: € sport hugely, the impotent wrath he layed. The [oe spin pe tempt to restrain the excited multitude, until they became so numerous and boisterous, that for their own convenience, they cleared the lodge of the tor- mentors. “You'd better done that just then,” said the pris- oner. “I was just getting ready to knock some of their confounded brains out.” At noon he was given some meat and drink, and he ate ravenously, for his situation seemed to have little effect upon his appetite. His usual fear and su uent indifference had now given way to a perfect recklessness. Goaded to madness, he cared not a straw what he did. He swore within himself that he would make his escape before morning, though how to effect it wasn’t plain even to himself. His guard maintained their sullen watch until dark, when the clamorous crowd commenced prosing around. They were restrained from enter- inward, Those pressing — it were so numer- ous that — poured irresistibly forward, piling in a mass upon Jenkins, kicking and struggling to free themselves, and making the confusion perfectl horrid by their yells. To make the matter s worse, = aoe we nd the Far pa had e e e burning tore so that all was in total darkness. “i Jenkins, feeling the mass upon him, became ey Se and made furious efforts to free himself. But the cords were too firm, and he finally gave up in despair. gee gig Mig felt some one fingering around him; and to inexpressible astonishment found os cords at his = phe — fates & Pike! now perfectly free. He no time advantage of this ote eg intercourse of some one. Spring - ing to feet, he turned to make a dash throug! the open side of the lodge. At that moment a soft hand touched his, and some one, pulling his head downward, whispered eagerly in his ear: “Don’t stop! run as fast as you can!” “You may bet I'll do that,” he replied, although he scarcely heard his own voice in the deafening uproar around him. Of course, in the darkness, it was im ble to dis the prisoner. When the building crushed inward, two or three savages hurried off for torches, while several more sprung to the opening to inter- cept his flight, should he attempt it. As they knew his bonds were too firm to be broken, they had little fear of this, but adopted these precautions in obe- dience to their cautious instincts. But Jenkins avoided them all. He made a spring outward, a literal “ as the dark,” ran a short distance, until, as might be expected, he brought up all stand- ing against a lodge that happened to be in his way. There were none inside, for the tumult in the village had drawn them out, and he suffered no injury ex- cept afew scratches, Without stopping to ascertain the es, he made an abrupt turn to the left, and hurryi onward, found himself in a few sec- onds clear of the town and in the dark wood. The lights were soon recovered and brought to the lodge from which he had fled. Held in the entrance, they revealed a swarm of dark, struggling bodi piled pell-mell upon each other.. Under the light “of the pericige Bee = these regained their feet in an incredible short space of time. Then, to the unut- terable astonishment of the Shawnees, it was found that the te g escaped. The Indians stood completely dumbfounded for a moment, totally unable to realize that such was the case. But a Shawnee Indian rarely gives way to his emotions, and when he does, it does not last long. A long, wild, lengthened howl conveyed the dismal intelligence that the white man had fled. Now the pursuit and search commenced. Lights were gleaming and flitting through the trees, like frantic fire-flies, and the r savages were darting and yelling in eve direction. Signals were given and returned, and all i ble artifices adopted. But a ‘pursuit under such disadvan could hardly be —— to be successful, And it did not rove so in this case. Jenkins knew well how to use is legs, especially when his life depended upon , but they continu —_ § and pressing against the lodge till, all at once, the side gave way, and fell | them; and the manner in which he flew through the forest would have made an ‘ordinary Indian despair at once. He had nearly the entire night before
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; i i * CN 8 ae ee ee bis, and he hardly halted for brea -time until morning. The moon arose toward ‘ht, and so lit up the wood that it would have been ex- ceeding’ rous for him had his pursuers been anywhere in the vicinity. But they were not, and he had it all to himself. At morning he was so exhausted that he threw himself upon the ground, at the roots of a fallen tree, and slept heavily. Slept until the middle of the afternoon, and then he would not have awak- ened had not a visitor helped him to recall his wits. He ae his eyes and started with unbounded astonishment at spon Deere him that mysterious sing known as the Frontier Angel. She stood a e few feet away, surveying him with a look of mild {°7, and holding in her right hand a rifle which he nstantly recognized as his own. : ‘“*So you made your escape, did you?’’ she remark- ed, that he said nothing. - “Hello! how are you? Glad to see you. How's 7one folks? Been well?’ asked Jenkins, suddenly hinking he had been remiss in his usual politeness. These questions were accompanied by a profound bow and scrape of his foot upon the earth. The being before him no attention to these de- monstrations, but repea her remark: “So you made your escape, did you?” “Very well, I thank eee how’s your health?” *“You have escaped, I say?” “Oh! yes, a pleasant day. The personage paused and looked at him in aston- ishment. The truth of the matter was, Jenkins was so confused that he did not comprehend a single re- mark madeby her. He continued bowing and scrap- ing and spe ing incoherently until, at last, his sens- es returned, e Frontier Angel merely gazed at him with a wonde expression in which not a par- ticle of mirth could be seen. Waiting a few mo- ments, she once more repeated her remark. “Oh—you spoke of escape, did you? Yes, Iman- aged to get away myself.” “Were you not bound?” “Oh, yes: with tremendous big cords.” “ How did you free yourself of them?” “Broke them all by my giant strength, ma’m,”’ he replied, valiantly. ‘You are mistaken, sir.” “Oh! was it you that cut them when we wasin the muss?”’ he asked, eagerly. “T cut them and admonished > nd to fly. You should not take the credit to yourself,” mildly replied e visitor, “T didn’t know as you done it, or I wouldn't said so,’’ said Jenkins, somewhat crestfallen at being so caught, Flow came you to be captured?” she continued, standing in front of him, and keeping her dark eyes fixed upon him. *“Overpowered py main force! I'd like to see the man that could withstand forty-three Shawnee Indians.” ‘Were there that many who assailed you?” “Well, I couldn’t say positively gee gins more or less. Tospeak within bounds, we’ it forty-two.” ’ **And where is he who was with you?” “ Who?—Dick Dingle? He wouldn’t stay and fight, but_run and left me behind to meet all the danger.’ “You were scouts, then, sent to reconnoiter the Indians, I suppose. In doing so, you were captured by your enemies, while Ad companion escaped, But, thanks to the great Ruler above, you were delivered from death. Your friend, from what I know of him, leads me to the belief that he — enough knowledge of the Indians to answer all pur- poses. And he will be able to give all information to the settlements which I was unable to give,”’ “*Spect so. Leastways I know, when t home, T'll be able to give our settlement a great deal of in- formation that they never knowed or dreamt on be- 0 ” re. “*T have followed your trail, my friend, to come up with you and find out what I have just learned, _Ire- oice to learn that it has turned out thus. And now will bid you good-by. Do not delay, for although you are a great way from the Indian town, there may be many and swift pursuers pee your trail.” “Say! hold on a minute!” called out Jenkins, sprin toward her, first reaching out his hand, and then suddenly withdrawing it, as he remember- ed what he had heard said would be the consequen- ces of such an act. ““What do you want?’ she asked, turning round - and comme 4 him, Now, the truth of the matter was, Jenkins had fallen desperately in love with this si person- age. And, all things considered, it could not be wondered at. Arrayed in her fantastic Indian dress, her beauty was certainly wild and wonderful. Gay, pees eagle and porcupine quills, formed a flery ead-dress, which contrasted well with the long, luxuriant hair of jetty blackness, that rolled unre- strained down her shoulders. The face was small and a delicate oval, the eyelashes long and black, the nose thin and small, and the teeth of pearly ae gem Viewed from the side, the profile was per- ectly straight from the upper of the forehead to the base of the nose, from which point it slightly retreated to the chin. The eyes were dark, and when fixed upon a person, wore a meek, mild ex- pression; at other times they fairly blazed with fire, A dress of dazzling colors reached from the shoul- ders to the ankles, and was confined at the waist by a band of gleaming red. The feet were incased in small, ornamented moccasins, which displayed the symmetrical limbs to advantage. Several rows of wampum were hung around the neck and waist, and the whole dress was such as an Indian chief would put upon his princess, When she turned so abruptly and faced Jenkins, Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. he was considerably disconcerted. Upon any other occasion, he would have hesitated and stammered much, before he would have come to the point; but, he well knew there were but a few minutes left him, and he said: ‘ ae want to a word with you: I s’pose ou know Dick Dingle, don’t you? that feller that * Well, I was just going to say—that is—I wouldn’t him. He is an awful mean “7 more times are you going to ask me?” 8 ** Yes—no—hold on!”’ ‘* What else do you wish?” “T want to know—if—if—you don’t like him, do you now?” suddenly broke forth Jenkins. ~The maiden began ae strangely. Her eyes brightened, og quivered, and she seemed striv- ing to say something. She controlled her emotion, in a moment, and sweeping her hand over her eyes, looked calmly at her questioner, but without delgn. a reply. ng Don't you—don’t you—don’t you love me now? I do you!” besought our friend, going down on his knees, in true sentimental style. The Frontier Angel calmly on him a mo- ment, then raised her eyes, turned on her heel, and disappeared in the forest. CHAPTER IX. PETER JENKINS—A COUPLE OF SPEECHES. * Consarn her, I don’t care nothin’ for her. I was just fooling; I only got down to see where she had put my rifle. Wonder where she got it from! She’s awful ugly. S’pect Dingle has been telling her some lies about me. By ——_ if I'd only thought about her shooting that arrer at me, she’d have cotched it. Wonder if it would have killed a feller if he'd touched her! I wouldn't risk it, nohow. She is urty—somewhat. Never mind, I don't care, though should like to know who she is. It’s time I was tram home, or the folks will begin to worry about me!”’ cts rm thus, Jenkins took his rifle, which he still loaded, and once more turned his face saw was a te Let us precede his arrival at the settle- men Dingle, upon starting, after he deemed it useless to wait for Jenkins, had made all haste through the wood and proceeded much faster than the war-party which started next day. Nothing occurred to inter- rupt his journey, and in due time he made his ap- pearance before the block-house. He was joyfully welcomed back by all. The fate of Jenkins was sin- cerely tted one. He was known to ev all, and although from —— cowardice he Somsmanded little respect, his loss was none the less mourned. ** They’re paintin’ and greasin’ themselves, so that they can slip around easy like, and they’re just ready to start ag’in’ some settlement. More than that, boys, they’ve started afore now, and their faces are turned this way and you've jest got time to get ready to invite ’em in.” the up towns boisterous that the commander endeavored to check him by telling him that the fight would probably be a desperate and bloody one, the fellow sprung off oe ine swung his hat over his head, and shouted, ry!’ Peterson had returned the day before Dingle, but without any news to alarm the settlement. The In- dians imthé Scioto valley were as quiet as usual, and there was no evidence to show that Shige intended a hostile expedition. The attack, as said by —— and also by the Frontier Angel, was most probably contemplated by those at the Piqua town alone. After most of the preparations had been complet- ed, Abbot called Dingle aside, and asked him wheth- er he had learned any thing of McGable. “He wasn’t in that village,” he replied. **T suppose you are sure of it?” ‘Yes, for T surrounded the village two or three times, and if he’d been thar, I’d seen him. I seen the chiefs, and could have shot any reds I’d been asked to.’ ‘* Peterson says he is not in the towns either, which he visited, for he examined each most thoroughly. How can it be? Where is he?” “Tye found out that he is at the village at the head of the Little Miami most of the time. Thar’s where he is now, you may bet a considerable.”’ “Do you suppose he will be with the attacking In- ; ? “P’raps so) though it can’t be told for a sartin thing. I s’pose you'd like to know when me and Jim are going to catch him. You needn’t think we're going to ag itup. We ain’t, ‘cause we've set our hearts on and as soon as these reds as ar’ comin’ here get a little taste of the thing’s going to be done. *Cause why? Dick le and Jim Pe- terson has said so,”’ oq a you will learn of the fate of Roce Marian, for I believe her mother will not live three months longer if you do not. When she finds out, for cer- tain, that her child is dead, and Rone to rest, she may bear A) under this great affliction.” . “ Hold a minute,” said. Dingle, as if a sudden thought had struck him. ‘Now, there’s Frontier Angel; she knows all about Injun affairs, and I shouldn’t wonder ef she could tell you somethin’ about her. Freeze me to death, why didn’t I think of it! I know she can.” “Frontier Angel—who is she? I have heard her spoken of as an Indian maiden, of whom nothing is known except that she is one of the best friends the settlers ever had.” “So she is—so she is; ef it hadn’t been for her, two or three times, thar would have been some big ha’r raising done by the reds. She finds out near- = g2 deviltry, and she’s bound to let the whites ow ee “Do you know where she is now?” ‘Tellin’ the settlements to keep their eyes peeled, or maybe she’s gone up to heaven a little while. You needn't laugh, for she’s a bh tees an angel, sure, Lew Wetzel says so, and I know she is, too.” S Why do you suppose she is such a being?” “She's jest like one, She’s as purty and as good. No one knows whar she has come from, or whar she goes to. She is allers alone, and goes about in the night. ' She ain’t afeard of nothin’, while every thing is afeard of 4 ae tiie its teed is “ How are you going to get, then, the information of which you speak?” “ Just ax her the next time Isee her. She knows me, and we've often talked together. She come and told me the other night "bout the reds comin’ down this way, and said I must go up and look ’round.” “Well, my: find out what you can; I’ve no doubt you will. Perhaps it is time we separated, as there is enough for all to do. Mansfield, I believe, wishes to - with you. Ah! here he comes.” Mansfield approached. His inquiries at first were the same as Abbot’s, and receiving the same an- ar he continued J 4 ns Spas ‘How soon, Dingle, do you suppose the a will be made?” “To-night, sir.” **So Peterson said, and I suppose you must be right. You have no fears of the result?” ‘No, sir; the Shawnees always attack in the night- time, I understand their capers. Ef it wa’n’t for Frontier Angel, there would be a hard scratch, for we wouldn’t have been fixed up so snug for ’em. I shouldn't wonder if thar wa’n’t much fight after all, when they find how things is.” a If they are to attack to-night, they cannot be far rs) 7 ~ ‘* No; they ain’t many miles out of the way. It’s now "bout noon, They’llsend thar scouts ahead, and » when the news reaches them that they are jous- 1 ape they'll hurry up and git along afore ark.” “What will be their object in doing that?” “You'll see; they’ll hoot and yell, and make hes to scare us, and make believe there’sa heap of ‘em. They'll order us tosurrender, or theyll blow us to flinders. You'll Varn sunkthin’, you will Freeze me to death, if you don’t.” The afternoon gradually wore away, and the words of Dingle were found to be true. Vigilant sentinels were watching every point in the wood, and, at last, they discovered several Indians reconnoitering them. Every inhabitant wea palneres into the block-house. All the men were ly armed and anxious for the affray. Dingle and Peterson volunteered to enter the wood and spy out the movements and inten- tions of their enemies; but the commander would not permit it. He believed hye 4 could not esca being drawn into ambush, by the outlying scouts. Besides, he could not see what good could result from such an attempt. He peremptorily forbade any man recklessly ing himself, or to attempt to execute any unde ing without orders. ear the middle of the afternoon, some six or seven Indians were continually seen, flitting from tree to tree, and approaching the settlement as nigh as they dared. They seemed to make no oeaaie to conceal themselves, and often bodily exposed them selves upon the edge of the clearing. — ey viewed the settlement from every point possible for them to reach, and could not avoid the discovery that the whites were aburidantly prepared for the assault. ~ Gro bolder and bolder, at the continued si- lence wi the block-house, one of the Indians strode fearlessly out into the clearing, and stepping upon a large re: shook his hand in a warning manner toward it. hat instant there was the crack of a rifle; the Indian made a hurried jum from the stump, and hobbled away into the wood. As he did so he could not help hearing the loud laugh that ted his exit, . ‘**Guess he run a splinter in his foot!” remarked Peterson, who had fired the shot. “ Forgot sunkthin’, I guess,” added Dingle, * Hello! the reds have come!” — * Ofers were now visible, aoe pete increas- ng, the wood appeared sad rith them. The passed and repassed; and finally the majority an peared upon the edge of the clearing. Here they re- mained stationary @ moment, and then entered the wood again. “Heavens! there are five hundred of them!” ex- claimed Mansfield, in consternation,
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**Git out!” laughed Peterson; ‘‘don’t you under- stand that trick? They're showin’ themselves half a dozen times over to scare us into knockin’ under. ‘Thar’s just "bout a hundred of ‘em, not one more, and they ain’t a little scart themselves.” ‘“Who is at the head of them?” ‘*Do you see that feller standin’ off at one end like, kinder hid behind that tree?” ‘*Yes; but he isn’t dressed like a chief.”’ “°Cause he ain’t a chief, nohow. Don't you know 9”? * No; I never saw him before.” “T reckon you have. That ar’ gentleman is Mr. Thomas McGable, that you’ve been wantin’ to see so long.” ‘At mention of this notorious renegade’s name, there was a sensation among the whites. Abbot, Mansfield and others stra: to get a view of him through the loop-holes, and expressions of indigna- tion were freely made. ** How nice I could pick him off,’ whispered Peter- son to Mansfield, and he ran his eye along the glisten- ing barrel of his rifle. ‘Don’t do it—don't do it,” admonished our hero, **Remember your promise to Abbot.’’ * You needn’t be afraid; shootin’ would be too good for him. He’s bound to know what the white men think of him afore he dies.”’ The marching, filing, and countermarching con- tinued a considerable time, when the commander within the block-house was heard to say: ‘Hello! we're going to hear something.” “Just as I s’pected,” said Dingle, ‘‘ McGable’s eotne mamehe wae iol holding e renegade made his appearance, ho a white handkerchief suspended on a stick over his head, as a flag of truce. He walked forward, wavin; the fluttering signal conspicuously, until about half- way between the forest and the block-house, when he mounted one of the stumps which were so numer- ous about him, and then he made a speech. First, he advised them as a friend to surrender; demonstrated the utter foolishness of hoping to resist such an over- whelming force as he haa at his back, and pledged his honor that they should be treated humanely. Warming with his subject, he informed them what a mighty man he was; what he had done, and what he would do, and haw all the white men knew better than to resist him, If his summons to surrender were not heeded, he would blow the whole settle- ment high, and tomahawk every man, woman, and child! After the renegade had finished, he seated himself upon the edge of the stump, and waited for the com- mander’s answer. The latter, without eon, him waiting, stepped boldly out _— the platform, and shouted, in a voice every syllable of which Jenking who was several miles away in the forest, afterward averred he distinctly heard: ‘Tom McGable! you may attack and be hanged!’ CHAPTER X. IN WHICH THERE IS A FURTHER ACCOUNT OF SHAWNEES, THE SPEAKERS, AND JENKINS. AFTER receiving the rae og reply of the com- mander of the. hicok-housle, ceGable arose, and without a word walked toward the wood. Here he seemed to spend a short time in consultation with the Indians; for they immediately after separated and disappeared among the trees. ‘* What does that mean?” asked Mansfield. ‘They've drawn off, and will wait till night ’fore they try any of their games,” replied Peterson. ‘‘ We ain’t done with ’em yet.” Such seemed to be the impression of all the others who had had any experience in Indian warfare. The Indians were too eager and well prepared to be sat- isfied with any thing short of an attempt to carry the block-house. The night set incold and stormy. The rain poured down in torrents, and the wind hurled it rattling ageines the block-house. The air, too, was of inky darkness, and the dismal sighing of the for- est, the dull, murmuring roar of the Ohio, made the scene gloomy enough to the settlers. Had it not been for the incessant light , the time could not have been more favorable for the assault of the In- dians. But the sharp, trembling streams of fire played constantl overhead, light up the forest ms clearing as if at noonday, and the “‘near crash- ing of the thunderbolt "’ seemed to inspire the timid with a sort of valor—a peculiar bravery that they were strangers to at other times. Dingle, Peterson, and the most experienced Indian- fighters never removed from their stations at the loop-holes during the night. The terrible storm that prevailed w.s of incalculable benefit to the whites in another particular. It prevented their assailants from using that most dreaded of all agencies—fire, in the assault. The sentinels mentioned kept a continued watch from all sides of the block-house upon the wood and clearing. They knew too well that the continued si- lence of their enemies was more dangerous t open demonstration. Some deep-laid plan was hatching which was expected momently to develop itself. Now and then a few syllables were exchanged be- tween those within, but these pap arse of conver- Sation only seemed to make the gloom more impres- sive. No lights were burning, and none could see his neighbor. They had all been ve stations by the commander, which they did not offer to leave or exch while some of the women and younger portion, overcome by watching and the confined air, on ae to their drowsiness and slept feverishly I uuly. _ The hours between midnight and morning are the invariable ones selected by the North American In- dian for making his attack upon his enemy. This THE The Frontier Angel. 9 ing ; all these are passions common to anda part of both. It was at that hour, just hapone mi ‘ht, the most weird and gloomy of all, when a sort of stupor of indifference had fallen upon all except the most experienced, that Dingle gave the intelligence of the Indians having been seen upon the clearing, in the rear of the block-house. Almost at the same instant Peterson added that they were also oe the front. Their course of action was now suspected at once; it was to attack the rear until the attention was con- centrated in this direction, when a rush would be made upon the front, and an attempt to scale the es Every man was now upon the alert. The lightning’ as if ordered of Providence, flamed more incessant ly, and nearly every step of the approaching savage could be seen. Some twenty were hal just neath the edge of the wood, and evidently waiting for amoment of darkness in which to make a rush. “Hyer they come!” said Peterson. The same instant all saw them half-way across the clearing, and almost immediately a dozen uts of flame flashed from as pe pon and nearly half the Indians leaped wil the air and rolled quivering to the ground. e others wavered for a ree ay and then scattered and took to the wood again. ‘Hyer they am now, sartin,” called out Dingle. The real attack was now attempted. Nearly the whole pack, yelling like so many tigers, rushed for- ward, and came bs against the palisades like a hur- ricane. Here, as their heads appeared, by the aid of the friendly lightning, they were shot down by the cool and deliberate fire of the whites. The fire was incessant as the lightning, and told with frightful effect upon the assailants. But the Shawnees are brave when excited, and they maintained the as- sault most determinedly. McGable was soon seen several times, and three of the soldiers, as they afterward said, aimed nearly all of their shots at him. But fate seemed to protect him. As the darkness blazed. forth with the living fire, the block-house loomed out clear and defined, stand- ing as it did, like a large, dark, motionless animal brought to bey by his dogged pursuers, and from whose hundred eyes the red bolts of destruction were hurled incessantly and wrathfully. The Shawnees continued their desperate attempts to scale the arpa growing more furious and re- vengeful at their repeated failures. But the steady, continual fire of the whites made dreadful slaughter, and they finally broke and fled in the wildest. confu- sion to the wood. The shots from the block-house continued as long as a single Indian was visible. pea do they now propose to do?” asked Mans- “To git home ’bout as quick. as their legs will al- low them,” “Good! Our success has been better than we could have hoped.” “Don’t get excited now, ’cause it ain’t noways sartin they've left yet.” “Tt makes no differenge whether they have or not; it is all the same to us. We haven't lost a single man, while they have had twenty killed. They can’t make a more vigorous attack than this last one, and bas cannot possibly meet with a more complete re- ulse,”’ “*T tell you that ef. it hadn’t been for the rain and the lightning we'd have found things considerably summat different. In the first place we wouldn't had the light to shoot by, and in the next, they would ’ve had some chance to give us a taste of what they had l’arned to do with fire.” “They’ve gone for Bees said Dingle decisively; sy bain won't bother us again very soon.” So it proved, An hour or two later it to be- come gray and misty in the east, the rain ceased falling, and gradually the light of morning stole over the wood and settlement. As the day broke the scene was dismal and cheerless. The appearance of the forest after a cold storm of rain has passed over it, always seems to wear its most di ble look. The a pping twigs, the branches loaded overhead with water, every rustle of which brings it down in torrents; the cold, sticky leaves, the wet, shining bark of the trees, and the chilling wind that soughs pegs i the wood, all induce a feeling of desolation and dislike. : Such a the forest the morning after the attack. In the clearing the bare, charred stumps seemed blacker than usual, and the beautiful river = el turbulent ne Sr ig Not a ig: of the was seen, ey isappeared, carryi with them their dead and wounded: and the oar vestiges of the conflict were numerous red spots in the —— earth which the storm had not complete- ly washed away. Before it was light, Dingle and Peterson entered the wood to ascertain whether the Shawnees had really fled or not. They now made their apponrenge with the intelligence that they were not in the neigh- borhood, and there was no further cause for fear. The settlers, thankful and joyous, poured out of the higck npwe Sari back their furniture and valu- ables, and by noon the settlement wore its usual appearance again, ne of the sentinels reported to the commander about this time, that there was still an Indian in the wood, apparently bent upon mischief. “Draw bead and shoot him. the first chance you get,’’ was the reply. With this determination, the sentinel betook him, self to watching He was the only person act. ing in that ca ty at this time, the commander deeming the assurance of Dingle and Peterson weigh- ty enough to allow his men a good half-day’s rest. Occasional glimpses of the supposed savage could be obtained; but it was a long time before the senti- nel could bring his rifle to bear upon him. He dodg- ed and flitted so ra) anf that it seemed impossible; but becoming impatient and provoked, the sentinel at last rai his , took a quick aim at what he pee to be his head, and blazed away. _ nsarn your old picter, who you shooting at?’ peed out the indignant Je , as he stepped into ec The sentinel dropped his gun in amazement, and stared all agape at the parm as he ——— him. Jenkins supposing his silence the result of fear, sud- denly became v t and again demanded: ‘Say, who you shooting at? S*pose you’d have hit me. Smart, ain’t you. You needn’t look so inno- cent and drop that gun, and pretend you didn’t do it. I seen you e aim and shoot, and I'll pay you for it, anges if I don’t!” By this time Peterson and several others appeared on the platfo and understanding how matters stood, their laughter was loud and continued. Jen- kins indeed presented a comical and curious appear- ance. Naturally thin and bony, he now seemed doubly elongated, from the fact that his clothes were completely saturated, and — tightly to his limbs. As he straddled indignantly forward, they — ether, and it would have been no great stretch of imagination to suppose him a post gliding over the ground, **Can’t you answer? WHO YoU SHOOTING AT?”’ ‘* Why at you, of course,”’ replied the commander, raw g ape nih to restrain his gravity. Jenkins was heard to give a loud ‘‘ Umph!”’ and seen to shake his hand in a warning manner, when he was admitted into the gate and strode hurriedly toward the fort. The sentinel, who had gained his senses by this time, enjoyed the fun as much as the others, and deter- mined to carry the joke through. He made no re- ly for the very —s of giving Jenkins the idea e was sorely frightened at his mistake. The indignant Jenkins soon made his appearance upon the platform, and observing the cowering sen- tinel shrinking behind the Pag tes = out: “You're the man, yes, sir! meé out here, and get half killed!” “That's right, Jenkins, give it to him. He'll ’arn better than to fire at youag’in,” said Dingle, with an ap. nce of just indignation, is, Go in, long-legs, and hammer him,” repeated the others. “Yes! come out here and take it, you old coward, ou!” shouted Jenkins, stepping around and rubbing is fore-arms as though he were rolling up his sleeves. ‘‘Come out here, I tell you!” The men now pushed the trembling man from be- hind them, and retreated so as to leave the two in an open ce and facing each other. The sentinel now put off all semblance of fear, and demanded in a tone: “What do you want?” “Why, I want you to stand still while I half ham- mer you to death!” ‘“Hammer away, but if your head isn’t cracked before five minutes, I'll stand treat, boys.” The astonishment shown by Jenkins at this unex- ted change was ludicrous in the extreme. His ands suddenly unclinched, and he stammered out: ‘** What—what did a a a: ys tine); ne , come on and fight,’’ rep e se bluste rgee ro as did Jenkins at first. “You shot at me, didn’t you?” “Yes; and I will do it again, too.”’ “I don’t think it was the right thing. I wouldn't do it to you.” * Because you are afraid.” “No—I don’t think I would.” “pen Pe roilat do it urpose d I won't “Ts’pose you didn’t do it on p' , and I won say anytl about it this time. t you mustn't do it again.’ **'Yea, I wi if I want to! I shot at you, aud am sorry I didn’t you. Come, I thought you was go- ing to whip me.” Yes, Jenkins, give it to him, You said you were going to,” cried the others. “I don’t s’pose he done it on purpose,”’ he replied, turning toward the others. ‘Yes I did, I told you so, and would as lief do it again as not.” ** Jewtsalem! here I’m standing in ~~ 4 wet clothes and catching cold every minute, This’ll never do.” And in spite of the jeers and laughs of the others, Jenkins, with an anxious look, hurried away “to change his clothes.” babes | CHAPTER Xt. A PRIZE GAINED AT LAST, JENKINS, as it afterward turned out, was in the wood reconnoitering the fort when the shot was fired which had well-nigh been so fatal to him. His object in — was to find out, before et to show himself, whether the Shawnees or whites held possession of the settlement. He had made the dis- covery of the attack when but a few miles off, and hearing the guns and beco alarmed for his own safety, he ascended a tree and remained there until every Indian had departed from the neighborhood. Some time after the clo scene of the last chap- ter, the sentinel confessed Jenkins that he m took him for an Indian when he fired, and he begged forgiveness for his great mistake. It is needless to | Say that the pardon was freely granted, and good humor held reign among them all. The day after the attack and repulse, Dick Dingle pene ee ee a cor ete eta teen tne tet a ce ete eee te ne ee ee ee ere ee ea eee >
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H LE a I oS nee a ne Te a a a 2 eS ~ a eae we ee ae Le for the first time in his life, was taken sick. He was not dangerously so, but so severely, that he was compelled to remain within doors. This happened unfortunately for Peterson, for the two eter- mined to pursue the retrea Indians for the pur- es of capturing the ren e. A short consulta- ion was held, when Peterson announced that he should make the attempt himself, accompanied only by Mansfield, who was all eagerness to join him. Accordingly at noon the two passed out of the gate and commenced the expedition by plunging into the forest. The trail of the retreating Shawnees was so recent that it had not been obliterated by the rain, and it was easily followed. It led up the river a couple of miles, when it crossed to the Kentucky shore and took a north-west direction directly toward Mad river. Our friends had not proceeded far when Peterson assu Mansfield that they were gaini ago upon the —_ The latter, incumbe by the dead and wounded, were —— their way very slowly through the wood, and evidently had no thoughts of pursuit, An hour or two later Peterson remarked: “We're goin’ too fast, Mansfield; we'll run our heads into some trap afore we know it. Let’s set down awhile.” The two seated themselves upon a fallen tree and en, in conversation. “ : we don’t stop we'll be up with them afore night,” said Peterson. “And why shouldn’t we?”’ ‘* Because—’sh! there’s some one back of us now.” Before they either had time to conceal themselves, the bushes parted, and the mysterious Frontier An- gel stood before them. ‘“ What are you doing here?’’ she asked, quietly. ** Looking for that renegade,” replied Mansfield. **Do you know how far the Shawnees are away?” “Can't be very fur, I think,” replied Peterson. “They are encamped a half-mile from here, and have sent scouts back upon their trail to see who pursues. If you remain here twenty minutes longer you will be seen and shot.” “ Whew! that’s more than we ed for,” re- marked Peterson; ‘‘if it’s all the same, we'll decline at present and slide.” **Do you know any thing of McGable—” Our hero me , for she had disappeared as quickly and quietly as she came, “1 don’t want wait hyer—reds is about,” ad- monished Peterson. No time was lost by our two friends in seeking safety. The trail of the retreating body was so broad and palpable that there was little fear of their pufsuit being noticed. The scouts sent back would take the direction of the back trail, and keep along- side of it to ascertain whether any force was follow- ing them. If so, an effort would be made to draw them in ambush, They had no suspicion, and cared nothing for such pursuit as was r ly made, Peterson and Mansfield proceeded in a direction at right angles with the main travel, for several hun- dred yards, where they secreted themselves. Here they remained for over an hour. By this time it was well toward night, and they ventured forth to resume the Shawnee trail again. After reaching it, they followed it a considerable distance, when find- ing that the Indian camp could be but a short dis- tance away, they halted and again made off in a side direction. It was while doing this, and when several hundred feet from it, that Peterson, who was slightly in ad- vance, suddenly halted and raised his hand over his head as a signal for Mansfield to remain quiet. Both stood motionless a moment, when Peterson took several stealthy steps forward and motioned for Mansfield to come to his side. The latter did so, his looks showing more than words the curiosity he felt. The ranger, by way of reply, pointed ahead and downward, Mansfield followed the direction o his finger, and he felt every nerve thrill within him as he saw, a few feet in advance, the extended and sleeping form of the renegade, McGable. “We've got him at last!” whispered Peterson, ex- ultingly. The man, from all appearances, had lain down to rest a short distance from the camp, to escape the hubbub and confusion occasioned by the presence of so many wounded and dying. That he was entirely — ; Pp _— of personal danger was evident from this fact, Mansfield was too excited and fearful of awaken ing him to even whisper or suggest anything to Peterson, The latter coolly and deliberately step forward and removed the rifle from the nerveless embrace of McGable; then, stooping gently, pulled his knives from his girdle. is done, Peterson cocked his own gun, and holding it pointed toward the breast of the renegade, said: ‘ ‘‘Now wake him, Mansfield—give him a kick on the shins, and don’t be afraid of hurting him.” Our hero gave him a gentle touch with his foot, which, failing to have effect, he increased to a kick. Seeing him make a movement as though awaken- ing, he stepped back as directed. The renegade. mumbling to himself, finally opened his eyes, an stared bewilderingly about him, seemingly totally unable to comprehend his whereabouts. “Mr. Thomas McGable, Esq., I believe,” said Peter- son, with much gravity, without removing the aim of his rifle. ‘“ Who are you?’ demanded the renegade. ‘* Your master, sir.’’ “We'll see about that. Where—” He paused as he reached for his rifle and found it gone; and his astonishment turned to furious indig- nation when he discovered that his knives had also been removed. ‘What in the name of the furies are you doing with my arms?” SS Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. Pee I sot ‘em on one side for fear you might hurt yo , _ “See here, I understand your game, but it won’t do. You think ['m your pacheasl eh? Did you know there is a hundred Shawnees within ing distance, who'd cut you to pieces ef they knowed you war here? Now, if you don’t hand me m fms and knives back, they'll do it. I'll call ’em, and en you may whistle.for your hair.” Peterson’s face grew as dark as a thunder-cloud, and his eyes fairly scintillated with fierceness. ‘Tom McGable,” said he, in a voice as deep and rumbling as the distant thunder, ‘‘we come after you. You've got to go back to the settlement with us, and it don’t matter whether you’re dead or alive! I’ve swore that I'll bring you back with me, and ef I thought it would be any trouble to drive you thar, I'd shoot you through your black heart this minute, ab you by the neck and drag you along. You can oller to the Shawnees, but it would never do you any good; you’d neve live tosee’em. Ef I hadn’t made a promise, I’d knife you this minute. Tom McGable, ee may take yer choice; re can either git up and walk along jist as we tell you, without making the least noise, or you can set still and be shot on the ground there. It don’t make a bit of difference to me, but one or t’other has got to be done. I'll give you four seconds anda half to decide in. Ef you ain’t started by that time, I'll shoot, by thunder!” During the utterance of these words, the renegade manifested a curious compound of emotions. t. indignation and blustering bravado were d icted upon his snaky face; this gave way to doubt and hesitation, and when the inst expletive fell from Peterson’s lips, he was the embodiment of trembling, craventicarted fear. * What—what will you do with me?” he asked, tremblingly. “Kill you, like as not.” “What do you want me for?” “Come, you to start? Your time's up.” Pale as death and: mutte a fearful curse, the renegade arose to his feet and faltered that he was ne No “Trot along then, and we'll foller.” “Which way hoe going? This way?” he asked, turning his face in the direction of the Indian camp. “T ruther guess not at present. Turn round tvother way ’zactly, don’t turn your head, or try to come any of your dodges, for the minute you do, yot'll be stuck.” cGable wheeled around in the direction indica- ted, and started forward, our two friends follow- ing him closely. It was now quite dark, and the gloom in the wood was intense. There was no moon, and the sky was still cloudy and obscured. When the darkness became so great, Peterson took the renegade by one arm, Mansfield by the other, and the trio thus proceeded. After wa an hour or so, the renegade ee bably necing ere was no immediate personal an- ger, regained in some degree his courage and ven- s'pose?” ‘Not as long as you’re respectful to your 'speri- ors,” replied the ranger. “Wal, then, how come you to find mef” “We looked for ye.” ot Tig , but you didn’t speck I was such a cuss- ed fool to 6° off in the woods to sleep, did you? Leastways, I didn’t s’pect I was myself.’ ‘“No; it was kinder accident that we found you.” “S’pose so. How was it 7 was so well fixed at the block-house for us? How did you find out we were coming?”’ Peterson reflected a moment before replying to this question. He was in doubt whether a disclo- sure would not be dangerous to the Frontier An- el. He asked Mansfield’s advice upon it, and the a fell behind and debated it in an undertone for a few moments. They came to the same conclusion, that, as McGable was already condemned to death, and there seemed no possibility of his escape, there could be no harm in letting him know _ the truth. This decided, they stepped forward, took him by the arms, and the r replied, or rather asked: “$s n we tell ou; what of it?” “Oh, nothin’, o ly I thought I'd like to know be- fore I died. There’sa gal that’s called the Frontier Angel, that I’ve had my ’spicion of. I’ve told the Shawnees of it, but she acts so good, they won’t be- lieve it, Didn't she have not to do with telling “Yes, she told us.” , “So I thought. It’s lucky the Injins won’t believe it, ” . Popes I wish to ask you a question,” said Mans- eld. ““ Wal, what is it?’’ “Who is Frontier Angel?” The renegade maintained silence for several min- utes till our hero repeated, in a louder tone: ‘*Who is the person they call Frontier Angel? Do you know?” “Yes, but I can not tell ou “Why not? Iam sure it can do no harm.” “P'r’aps not, but J can’t tell you. Let that be the answer.’ ‘“*T am not willing that it shall be. I insist that you tell or give some reason for not doing so.” “Tl give you the reason, then. I know who she is, but havé sworn never to tell a white, and I swear ag’in I never will. There’s one ORS ca sumever, I'll tell you without the axing. e gal they call the Frontier Angel is crazy/” 2 ee started. ‘“‘ What made her crazy?” he asked. “ Don’t ax me, fur I can’t tell you any more.”’ “She ain’t white, is she?” demanded Peterson. RL hurt yer, I guess, ef you let us know that much.’ “T won't tell you no more, so you can both dry u Pie Fine journey was now continued without a word being spoken by any. The renegade seemed suilen and moody and maintained silence. His remarks. had set both Peterson and Mansfield to thinking, It was not the first time they had both puzzled them- selves thus. Who could the singular Frontier Ange be? was the all-absorbing question. She was crazy! That accounted for the reverence and awe in which she was held by the Indians. And yet her manner had never awakened the remotest suspicion that such was the case among the whites with whom she had come in contact. That accounted for the teme- rity with which she executed the holy object of her life—that of befriending the whites in peril. Despite the improbability of the case, Mansfield could not avoid the thought that she was a white rson. He could form no anne reason for thus hinking, and yet the thought would present itself. At last he imparted his singular idea to Peterson. The latter dissipated it at once by telling him that such could not be the case. Dingle, who knew as much, if not more of her than any of the rangers. assured him that he had noticed her features and face to satisfy himself, as he entertained and had heard so many doubts expressed about it. She had the black eyes and hair of the Indian, although the rominent cheek-bones and several other character- tics of the race were wanting. But the skin showed unmistakably that she be- longed to the aboriginals. : ‘But where has she obtained that perfect knowl- edge of the English tongue that she evinced in her conversation ?”’ “Dick can’t answer that, but hyer’s as thinks that goes to show she’s a erit, sure, ‘cause if she ain't what else can she be?’ if This set Mansfield’s thoughts in another direction. A darker picture presented itself. The refusal of McGable w answer his question added life to the pic- ture, and our hero became satisfied that he had now struck the truth. “Isn't she your wife, Tom. McGable?”’ he asked, bending his mouth close to the ear of the renegade. The latter started as if stung by a serpent, trem- bled and breathed hard for a moment, but made no answer. Mansfield repeated his question in a more peremptory tone, but it was of no avail; the rene- gade had resolutely sealed his lips. This, together with his manner, demonstrated the certainty to Mansfield, that the Frontier Angel had been or was now the Indian wife of McGable. She had married him, he believed, when she dreamt not whiat a black heart she was taking to her bosom. Goaded bee! cruelty, and the su uent knowl- edge of his awful crimes against his own race, her reason had become dethroned. And the safety of the people that was the object of her eternal hatred to her husband, now became the burden of her life. The change from the natural ayersion which she, as an Indian, felt to the whites, to that of friendship and love for them, he believed was due to the un- bounded horror created in her mind by the atrocities of McGable. It was one of those singular phenome- na which the human mind often presents. Mans- field, previous to this, had felt some slight degree of compassion for their captive, but it was gone now. The maa who, independent of the last-named crime, could i Sh ped to forswear and mas- sacre his own kin without a shadow of provo- cation upon their part, he felt deserved any death that the ingenuity of man could invent, The march of the three was continued all through the night, and the halt in the morning was of but a few minutes’ duration, as Peterson felt fearful of pursuit in case the absence of the renegade was dis- covered. A short time after the settlement was in sight, and before twenty minutes more had passed Tom McGable, the notorious renegade, was ushered within the palisades by our two friends, The astonishment and rejoicing created by his capture were unbounded. He was taken at once to the block-house and placed in the upper story, from which it was impossible for him to escape. There had been quite a heavy reward offered forghis appre- hension, and the commander assured Peterson and Mansfield that as soon as it could be secured they should have it. The latter, however, refused to re- ceive any portion, as he had rendered no assistance worthy of mention in the capture of the prisoner, The excitement became so great among the set- tlers that the commander, to quiet them, gave out that the garrison would determine what should be done with McGable at once, Abbot, hear- ing this, ested the commander that he might be allowed, as a great favor, to see the prisoner alone for a short time,’ The culiar circumstances of the stricken father being known, this request was granted; and McGable, un- der ebarge of Dingle—who asserted that he had been cu by his capture—and the officious Jenkins, was conducted to Abbot’s house, There be but one door by which the lower story could be entered, the guards remained outside, and Abbot found him- self face to face with the man who had so well-nigh killed his entire family at one blow. Mrs. Abbot, not wishing to be present at such an interview, had purposel absented herself, and the two, the mur- erer and the murdered, we might almost s: -, were alone. Abbot gave the renegade a seat, a. then sat himself in front of him, where he could look di- =o, into his dena that 1 h “Thave petition a might see McGable,” SOmaInens bbot, in a low, eee rg in order that I might ask you something, which. perhaps, yoususpect. God knows that I have no de- | | ’ ’
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The Frontier Angel. 11 sire to revenge myself upon you. O: t me this privilege, and I will ote yous ble, for the awful crime you have committed. Last spring I sent Marian upon a flat-boat, expecting to rejoin her in this settlement a few months later. Instead of reaching her destination, the boat was decoyed and all on board murdered, with the: exception of Peter- son, who effected his escape. He left Marian dying he believed, upon the boat as he sprung away. Had he left her dead, this interview would not have been sought by me. But there has been a doubt ever since in the mind of her mother and myself, of the manner in which she died—for we do not. pretend to hope that she survived. This doubt has so troubled us, that I have tried all means of solving it. You must know the circumstances, McGable, and now a broken-hearted father appeals to you to give this knowledge, and set his trouble forever at rest.” While Abbot was uttering these words, the rene- gade sat like a demon incarnate, his ng blazing with the most baleful passion. His teeth were set and he drew his breath hard and gaspingly through them. He controlled this whirlwind of fury in a measure, before Abbot had finished, and when he — it was in the low, frightful voice of suppressed passion. “Richard Abbot, your daughter refused me, and I swore I would be revenged. I joined the Shawnees as Simon Girty and others did, but I kept watch up- on your settlement. I found out that you was going to send her to this settlement in company with oth- ers. Then I ca’c'lated the time had come and was only sorry that you wasn’t there, that you could. have been tomahawked, too! I found out when the boat started, and it was dogged till it reached the right spot, when we came down upon it. Don’t ax me no more. I’ve had my revenge, and that’s enough.”’ The stricken-hearted man sat as pale and silent as death while these burning words were being uttered. It was not his emotions alone that made thus, but the mighty st le it took to control them. “Will you not tell me?” he asked, in a voice of va agony, that would have melted the heart of ‘ “* No; ti tell you nothing!” fairly shouted McGa- e. le. Such a sudden dizziness came over Abbot at this am ape for fear of fainting, he arose and hurried into the room which occupied the same floor, and which connected with the one in which he had ‘been sitting. He ho to return in a moment, and was so bewildered and overcome that he only thought of being alone until he could regain his -command. It is said the Evil One himself sometimes helps his favorites. Whether such is the case we are not en to say; but what now took place is enough make us skepti to say the least. Most singularly it eee that just before Ab- bot withdrew, Dingle felt a sudden return of his sick- ness of the morning. It was so violent that his iron will could not resist it, and he staggered away for the same purpose of being alone; for, if our readers have noticed it, it is almost invariably the case that when a man, unaccustomed to sickness, is eA taken, his first wish is to be alone with hi . He felt that perfect recklessness which is apt to come over us at such times, in regard to temporal matters, and had Dingle been admonished at this particular moment of his imprudence, his probable reply would ave been that McGable might go to perdition for all e cared. Thus it happened that the terrible rene- gade was left with no guard at all except Jenkins. Even then it might not have ha pees so unfortu- nately had not the last named ind vidual taken it in- tg his head to ascertain how matters were progres- inside. Being left without the ar cna of Dingle, it was B peninns wo natural that he shoul take this means of passing away time. Hollo! inside there, you, how you getting along?” he called out, poe his head in at the door. ceiving no reply, he shoved his head further in, and then made the discovery that the ren @ was standing alone in the middle of the floor, ‘“ Hello! all alone, eh? what you thinking about? Your sins, Is’pose. Shouldn’t wonder now if you did feel sort- er down - the — Pie * What do you want?” gruffly demanded McGable. “Oh, nothing in particular. Dick has just gone off to see the doctor to get some medicine to take for the gripes he has just got, and T thought I'd look in to pass away time till he comes back.’ “Where is he?’ asked the man, quickly, vainly striving to conceal his agitation.” “ Just off here, a little ways. If you want to see him, ll call him.” “Never mind.” *T s’pose now— Umph!”’ The last exclamation of Jenkins was perfectly in- voluntary, and caused by receiving a terrific blow from the foot of the renegade, directly in the stomach, which doubled him up like a jack-knife. As he gasped and rolled over upon the grass, Mc- Gable shot over his head like an arrow, and bound- ed away for the palisades. Nearly all the men were at the block-house, debating upon his fate, but sev- eral descried the flying fugitive, and shouted the alarm. An instant after he sealed the palisades and Peterson and several other saugery eyed across the clearing in pursuit. Dingle, who nearly recov- — raised a regular war-whoop and joined in the chase, Late at ht, several of the pursuers returned, moody Py a with their ill-success. In the morning, another made his appearance with the in- telligence that Dingle and Peterson were still in rapid pursuit, but there was little hope of overtaking the renegade, as he possessed a wonderful fleetness of foot, and in all probability had given them the slip during the night. So it proved. Some time after, the two rangers returned and confirmed this suspi¢ion. They had not even caught a glimpse of him after he crossed the clearing and entered the wood. CHAPTER XI. A MINGLING OF FEAR, DOUBT, AND HOPE. Tue indignation at McGable’s escape could scarce- ly be repressed; but the version given by Jenkins so completely exculpated himself from blame, that he escaped entirely the shafts of indignation. There were some, it is true, who had their private opinion of this wonderful story; but, as there was no witness to rove it, these opinions were unexpressed. Jenkins affirmed that what first induced him to peer into the room was a strong smell of brimstone. pon looking in, he saw McGable sitting astride of the devil, who was walking slowly toward the open door, holding a trident in one claw. Jenkins inform- ed him that he was very sorry to oppose him, but, nevertheless, he felt compelled by the stern dictates of duty to prevent his passage. At that, the father of all evil made a rush toward him, striking him in the breast with the trident, and grappling with him. They closed in with each other, and the struggle be- came fearful. Jenkins, securing the trident, used it as a ‘“‘ whip of scorpions,” and was satisfied he gave some “sti horrors” with it. He believed he would have eventually triumphed, had he not been taken with one of his fainting fits at the critical mo- ment. Victory thus secured, the arch-enemy gallop- ed over his prostrate form, vanished in mid-air, and left McGable skimming over the ground toward the eno Aye More than one placed implicit faith in this story. Such is the superstition of the bravest of the brave— the border ranger! But there was one thing which troubled the settle- ment more than the escape of the renegade, it was the fate of the Frontier Angel. There was no fear of what the Indians would do, for it was well known that a crazy or foolish person is arded among them’as one eee gi by Manitou, and under no consideration will they venture to harm him; but it could hardly be expected that McGable would share in this superstition; and, now that his suspi- cions of the friendship of this being to the whites was resolved into an absolute certainty, some plan, it was rightly thought by the settlers, would be taken by him to close her lips forever. It was well known that there was no crime against the human race too t for the scoundrel to commit; and the Meet efenseless Frontier Angel, Geyven he stupidity o the whites, would fall a victim to vengeance. “Freeze me to death, ef it shall be so,” ex-: claimed Dingle, who was the subject with Peterson, the commander, and several others. ‘ No, sir; ef that sperit is killed, her blood will be upon S “Tf she is a spirit, she can not be harmed by mor- tals,’’ ventured Abbot. oh Wal, Tom McGable ain’t a mortal; he’s an in- farnal imp.” being is, that you term “Whoever this stran Frontier Anes ” remarked the commander, ‘it is evident to all that she is the firm friend of the whites. The timely warnings which she has so repeatedly ven us, and, in fact, all the settlements ong, the hio, entitle her to their everlasting gratitude. If she is slain by McGable, as Dingle observes, her blood will be as much upon us. For it was ourselves who first told him she was our friend, and then allowed him to escape to do what he pleased with her. No, friends, it will never do, Some plan must be taken to warn her of her peril and afford her all the pro- tection she will receive. Have you any plan?” “Kill that renegade and then the matter will be set at rest,” replied Peterson. “That is easier said than done,’’ remarked Mans- field. ‘‘ If I may be allowed to give an opinion it is this: now that McGable has been convin of our deadly a to him, and our anxiety to secure him, he will take icular care never to give us an opportu- tunity. It will be only in battle where he will be likely to feel our will in regard to him. This Frontier Angel is still roaming through the forest, en in her truly angelic work of befriending the whites; and the plan that I propose is this: Let all the settle- ments which it is known she visits be notified of the whole circumstances, and instructed to warn her bt the first ry eA and, besides this, let us try to induce her to abandon the life she is lead- , and to settle down and remain with us.” “Yes, do; tell her I'll marry her if she will,” said Jenkins, all eager seriousness. «There, that will do,” interrupted the commander. The plan proposed by Mansfield strikes me as being the best, and I am in favor of adopting it at once.” ‘, It's my opine it’s the real thing,” said Peterson. It’s the ticket, and hyer’s as moves we stop talkin’ and go to workin’.” A short time longer was spent in consultation, when the follo course was decided upon: Peter- son was to go up the Ohio, and state the case at the different settlements, all the time ents an inter- view with her, while Dingle and Mansfield were to range the vicinity of the Indian towns in the hope of meeting her. This plan, with characteristic vigor, was acted upon at once, and in the afternoon of the day succeeding the escape of McGable, the three men were in the forest, seeking out the Frontier Angel. Dingle and Mansfield, as said, took a north-west direction, to- ward the Shawnee towns, which they reached in due time. They remained in the neighborhood several days, and during that time ined one or two gps of McGable, but could see nothing of the sing for whose benefit they came. At last they were satisfied she was not in them, and must either be in the Scioto valley, or engaged upon some errand ST AE EE SIT RT NEE TT) Of sanepy ats tae ag Seay See a victim to re- v Some time after, Dingle and our hero were in the Scioto valley, carefully reconnoitering the Indian vil- es, but obtained no further information, and were reluctantly compelled to the belief that she was either at the eastern settlements, or she had alread been murdered by MeGable. The latter, as Mansfiel remarked, took such care of his person, that there was little hope of again Ve a go ape of it. Several days were spent in the neighborhood, with- out further success, when they turned their faces homeward, convinced that they had done all that it was sible for them to do in this direction, al- though that all was nothing. They reached the settlement and reported them- selves, and then all waited anxiously for the return of Peterson. Before going out all knew the wishes of Abbot, and it was & ted that something defin- ite would be gained of the fate of poor Marian. It was a week before Peterson came in; but when he did come, he had a report to give that thrilled every heart in the settlement. At the first e he reeneea, he was told the Frontier Angel had left there that morning, and that her manner was so wild and strange as to induce the settlers to use every- thing except force to retain her. From her rambling, incoherent manner, and several remarks she made, they gathered that her life had already been at- tempted by McGable, and that the memory and thoughts of it made her act so singularly. From this settlement, he went on to the next, but she had not been seen here for several weeks. Hav- ing been instructed to visit all the frontier villages, Peterson did so, but learned nothing more of her. From this he + gee that, if not in the Shawnee towns, she could be at no great distance from the settlement first mentioned. gee TE he spent several days searching the woods and streams in the hope of obtaining some trace of her. He failed to find her, but was discovered*himself by her. He had lain down one afternoon, to rest himself, and was just falling into a doze, when he was. startled to feet by her suddenly appearing before him. ‘“Are you looking for me?”’ she asked. “Yes; but confound it, how did you know it?” “Do you, too, seek my life?” she asked, gazing at him with the most ) anguish and terror depict- ed in her face. : “No; I wouldn't hurt you for ten hundred thou- sand million pounds in British money. I’m pains | for you to tell you tA must keep your eyes pee ‘eause there's sunkthin’ in the wind.” There was a wildness in her look, which, despite himself, made Peterson restless and ill at ease, al- though he took occasion to show by his words and manner that he had no such thoughts, The girl stared at him a moment, and then asked: : “You do not want to kill me, then, do you?” “No; I wouldn’t do nosuch thing, and would raise the ha’r of the man that tried it, if he was my own brother.” “He tried to; he shot at me, and chased me with knife. ” “Who did so?” “That bad man; he is hunting now for me, and wants to kill me.” “Who do vou mean? McGable?”’ “Yes, it was he—he nearly killed me.” “He may kill you yet. on’t you go with me where he can’t hurt you?” **Oh, no—no—I live alone. God will take care of me.” She turned to de and Peterson, who all the time had felt fi y and nervous, was glad to be alone, when it suddenly occurred to him there were several questions*which he must i¢ ask, to gain the desired information for Abbot and Mansfield. So he called her back. “Say, will you let me ax you a thing or two?” She answered by turning around and silently fac- him. ing vou know McGable in course, and must know he’s the all-firedest villain that tramps. Wal, last spring he and a lot of Shawnees attacked a flat-boat, and sliced ’em all up ‘cepting the best-looking one of the lot—him as is squatted afore you. al, that ain’t much to do with the matter, ’cept to illustrate the point. There was a gal on board, that I tried to jump overboard with, but she got shot just as I was ready, and I left her behind. She wa’n’t dead then, but about so. Howsumever, her folks never ‘ll be satisfied till e know all about it. Might be you’ve heard of the gal?” “No,” replied the Frontier Angel, shaking her head with a pensive, saddened look. : “-*Speet you did. Sorry, ’cause I'd like to find out. — heard McGable say nothin’ "bout her?” “ No.” “Qu’ar. Oh! is that renegade your husband?” The maiden simply ey him a wondering stare without making a further reply. Now that Peter- son was fairly started, he determined to learn all he could of her. “The name of the gal was Marian Abbot,” ob- served the ranger, suddenly recollecting that he had not mention her name. .As he uttered it, his heart fairly stopped beating, at the manner of the mysterious being before him. She started, her dark aves opening so strangely, and her breath coming so short and gaspingly, that Peterson averred he felt his hair lift his coon-skin cap clean from his head. “ Marian Abbot-<biasti Abbot—Marian,” she re- peated, as if communing with herself, and gazing not at Peterson, but over his head, far away into the horizon where the purple and golden clouds were then blazing with the fire of heaven. aon that was her name,” said Peterson, anxi- ously. | { ; ; ' ; | } ' : 4 | : ; i | a ee oe fe en Oe ee a te
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"Marian Abbot—Marian Abbot,” she still t- ed, drawing her hand over her forehead as if en- gaged in intense thought. ‘Have I heard of her, you ask? Havel h of Marian Abbot ?—no—yes —let_ me see—I remember. I saw her—no, I know nothing of her!” she sopied, gh ony Peg hands from her forehead, and looking up at with the same wild, fiery look. ; “Think ag’in,” urged Peterson,’much disappointed at her manner. ‘You jest now said you remember- ed her. Put your thinkin’-cap on and p’raps you'll . find out arter all.” Don’t ask me ait a moment” **No; I can’t remember any thing. to, for it hurts my head so much, —she ng hag her hand quickly to her temple ain, ‘Marian sp a fy ere was such a girl —I remember her—J saw her among the Indians ” At this point she turned dead] the earth, That singularly foo notion, that it was fatal to touch the Frontier Angel, prevented Peterson from springing forward to her assistance, She did not faint; however, but instantly recovered herself and bounded away in the wood without ut- tering another syllable, Ss information, conveyed in substance to the breathless listeners by the ranger, thrilled every one, as we said, to the heart. It wakened, both in the father and Mansfield, a strange hope, that, from its very intensity, produced a deadly heart-sickness. Abbot reeled to his home, where, for a long time, he sttove to control his agitation. He said nothing to his wife, for he was nearly unmanned, and feared he should turn crazy himself. “Oh, merciful father! can my daughter be alive? Did she escape that awful massacre? Is this a dream? Am I going mad? Oh, grant that no hope may be awakened to be dashed from me again!” Mansfield was equally excited. The cold sweat came upon his face, and it seemed as if his heart stood still, and could never reeover its power. It is difficult. to conceive of a keener torment—a more excruciating earns than that which is produced by the awakening—the sudden bringing to life of a long-buried hope. The extremes of p°% and pain are the same, but the culminating point of the latter is reached, when doubt—almost and yet not quite uncertainty—is a part of the former. It is impossible for a human being to quietly bear it. Relief must ey eg in some direction, or the sufferer’s reason will flee. The painful affliction of Abbot and his wife was known to the entire settlement, and they had the heartfelt sympathy of every one. It was believed by all that. the wife was dying of a broken heart. She was silent and remained at home, seeking the society of no one, She had become pale and fear- fully emaciated, seeming resigned and anxious for the death that was so fast eed ype Her only desire was to rejoin her sainted child, where no murderer’s hand could ever separate them. After the father had, in some degree, ined command of himself, he passed out of the house again, without speaki to his wife, and made his way back to where a knot of the settlers were dis- cussing the all-absorbing question. Here he found, with painful Joy—for those. two words express ex- actly his emotion—that the belief was quite general that Marian might possibly be alive an among the Indians. “T tell you it won’t be the fust time such a thing has happened,” remarked Dingle, impressively; *‘there’s no tellin’ what capers them Shawnees are up to. Incourse, there’s a powerful heap of chances that the gal has gone under, but hyer’s as_ thinks it ain’t always onpossibfe that the gal is kickin’ yet. Now, Jim Peterson, tell the truth for once: is you sartain that gal died when you dropped her on the boat? Mind, you’re on your oath.” ““No, by the Eternal, I don’t know she is dead, though I’ll swear to it, on the Bible, this minute.” “Wal, sir, hyer’s as is goin’ to the Shawnee towns and findin’ out whether that gal is livin’.”’ “But,” persisted Abbot, who seemed determined to receive no false basis for his hope, “how can she be there? Have you not been to all the towns, and had an 1, wh of judging? You certainly would have heard of her before this time.” “No; I don’t know asI would. Them Shawnees ar’ allthe time up to such tricks that ho one can begin to keep track of ‘em. Freeze me, and Lord bless you, man, I don’t want to make you think I am going to find your_gal for you and then have her po e, and sunk to a prisoner allthe time. You must be ready for disap- ointment.” “T am ready for anything, I trust,” faintly re- plied Abbot, who felt that he could not survive such a cruel dashing of the cup of hope from his lips, CHAPTER XII. DARK, Tux excitement in relation to the Frontier Angel and :he lost Marian was greatly increased by two circumstances that occurred on the day following the return of Peterson. It had been determined, as the readerhas already learned, by Dingle, that he should start to the Shawnee towns in search of tid- ings of Marian, In this dangerous undertaking it was ed that Peterson should join him. The latter haying undergone considerable toil and fa- e, was compelled to remain over night, by the commander, in order to be prepared for what was before him. Shortly after the sun had risen, and while the two scouts were preparing to start upon their expedition, the sentinel on the platform of the block-house re- ported an Indian canoe visible, far up the Ohio. The | scouts, including Abbot, Mansfield, Jenkins, and Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. several Here, instantly ascended the platform to view the suspicious object. It was at a great dis- tance—so t that it resembled a duck, or some- thing s' , Slowly sw the river. It was not crossing, as first sup , but coming down- a, would, if it continued, pass by the set- ement. ‘Hello!’ exclaimed Dingle, ‘‘ there comes another one right behind it, What does that mean? Looks qu’ar, I declar’.”’ Our friends continued g: now visible with an intense interest. The last one had just rounded a bend in the river, and followed | in the wake of the first. Whether it wasin pursuit or not was impossible to tell at the great distance; but so, their progress was so similar, that they seemed e moving automata, connected with each other under the water, and propelled by the same power. They kept the center of the current, in a direct line with each other, and moved steadily and rapidly, as could be easily seen even at the distance they were away. They did not swerve a foot from a straight a so seemingly anxious were they to hurry for- wai - YY acts you make anything of it?’ asked Mans- eld. “T can see their paddles shinin’ in the water,” re- plied Dingle, “‘and—I—think—” he added, speakin, slowly, with his eyes fixed upon the canoes—‘‘ think—yes—I know there is only one in the first boat and there is—yes, two in the last. It is a race, sure as thunder!” he exclaimed, standing and look- ing around upon the others. ‘ Perhaps only a friendly one, between a couple of Indian canoes,”’ suggested Abbot. “We don’t have such races on the ’Hio this time of year,” replied the ranger, with a quiet smile, Il continued watching the canoes, until it was evident that one person was pursued by a couple, and that the race was a most determined one upon both sides. “Freeze me to death!’’ suddenly exclaimed Peter- son, “if that person in the first canoe ain’t Pvontier Angel, then shoot me!”’ “That’s so,” added Dingle, “‘and the one as is ae ap of her is our old friend, Mr. McGable and an n ” everal, as said, had entertained suspicions that the mysterious Frontier el was in the first canoe, but not one save Dingle had any idea that it could be the notorious renegade in pursuit. Even as it was the commander of the post refused to believe that the miscreant would venture so soon within sight of the block-house. “Tt’s him,” continued the ranger, with complete assurance, ‘‘I never was mistaken ‘bout him, you can bet a powerful heap on that.” “If so, are you going to see our best friend cap- puredy said the commander, in a tone of severe re- uke, ‘She ain’t agwine to. be captured,” coolly replied Dingle. “I guess McGable and his Shawnse. will have to take a few instructions in pulling a canoe a stand a chance to cotch the Frontier ngel.”’ ar Can he not shoot her?” asked the commander, more sternly than before. ‘“ Dingle, you and Peter- son h into the wood to her assistance, for she will need it. Shoot that MceGable, and I will ra each of ing ou twent, unds apiece, besides re you to the renerat = **He can shoot,” said Dingle to himself. ‘‘ Come, boys, let’s hurry. Weorter started long ago, and we might ‘ve stood some chance. He can kill her aed if he takes a notion afore we can draw bead on ™.’ The two, accompanied by Mansfield, hurried to the gate, were permi to pass out, and away they sped across the clearing, into the wood. In the mean time, those upon the platform were yo the canoe with intense and painful in- rest. “The old rapscallion is gainin’ on the beautiful angel,” remarked Jenkins, excitedly. ‘Oh, if I was 0 where I could get my grasp on that feller’s throat, [’'d choke him to deat five seconds! Oh! oh! oh! wouldn’t 1?”’ “No; Ido not think he has gained at all upon her,”’ remarked Abbot. ‘ At any rate, the race can not be continued much longer, for they will soon be nigh enough to run into danger. If we could only hit them with the swivel,” he added, looking toward the commander. - The latter shook his head. “‘The swivel is only to be used in cases of great emergency. We did not use it when the Shawnees made the night attack, because we could get along without its aid. Besides, it is not loaded with a sin- gle ball, but filled with slugs, bullets, and bits of iron, so as to do as much destruction as possible upon an enemy nigh at hand. No; the firing of the swivel, however well aimed, could effect no good purpose.” “T wonder at the ene a ag and daring of Mc- Gable,” said Abbot, turning his gaze once more up the river. ee say he age ers from Simon Meat Bie point of cowardice. His heart is as black, but face is often white with fear. But this looks like bravery, to see him venture so nigh this spot which he knows is so dangerous to him. “‘He won't come much nigher. I only hope that Dingle will get him within range. It is all folly to undertake to capture him. If we should secure him, he would e to get off again through the help of that fool of a Jenkins.” ; The commander did not notice that the individual he referred to stood directly behind, and was gazing, completely dumbfounded, at him, Had he known it, he would not have cared, for the thought of that feolish escape of the renegade was ever a source of irritation to him, and he took no pains to conceal his at the two canoes” opinion of Jenkins’s cowardice. But this was the first time the latter had heard him thus, and, as said, he was astonished in no i “Why, didn’t I tell you_how it was? How the Old Boy carried him off, and I fought like blazes to stop him, but happened to have one of my fainting fits indeed ? you’d believe a feller when he tells e truth,”’ ' “T do,” rejoined the commander. “T tell sone weg Abbot, excitedly, “if McGable comes much’ further he will se run ~ ye Din- gle’s bullet. He is so eager he does not seem to notice where he is running to. Look how that oT knd ther ar ning upon th a ey are gai upon her, as sure as the world! She is wearied and well-nigh tired out. Heavens! it is too much to stand here and witness that,” exclaimed the commander, half beside him- self. ‘‘ Why, in the name of heaven, don’t Dingle shoot him?’ He would have been h enough if he had only walked. I can not comprehend it! “Look! McGable is going to shoot!” “Tt can not be—yes.’ : At that instant, a bright flash was seen to flame out in the front of the rear canoe, a thin wreath of smoke curled upward, and a moment after, the faint report of the renegade’s rifle was heard. ‘Is she hit? Curse it, where is Dingle?” exclaim- ed the commander, fidgeting and moving about as though unable to contain himself. ‘* She is wounded, but not killed. See! She is com- ing in to shore!”’ ; e canoe of the Frontier Angel was now hurrying in toward the Kentu shore, swiftly followed b that of the renegade. She had a proached so ni 4 as to be hidden to the view of those in the block- house, but was still at a considerable distance, It was at this moment, that the Indian scomonnying McGable dropped his oars, rose to his feet and h the gun already at his shoulder, when two simulta- neous reports were heard, and he threw his arms wildly over his head and sprung headlong into the river, upsetting the canoe at the same time. Mc- Gable, who was a most excellent swimmer, dove deep and came up a long way from the canoe, whose bottom formed a black spot on the surface. His head hardly appeared before it sunk again, and Dingle and Peterson really believed be was drown- ing. But it was only a feint of the wary wretch. His head was d ed still further down-stream, when it finally seauecenne altogether. But, after a while he was seen rise too ad gare ca rifle-range, and walk away in the forest. The reason of his eacaptng all the shots of the whites was this. In the hurry of departure, Mans- field had never once thought of taking his rifle with him, so that there was really but two shots. Dingle and Peterson had hurried to their utmost, notwith- standing the remark of the commander, who was not so situated as to ightly judge of duration, Upon coming in view, ag 6 th raised their guns together and took aim at the form of the renegade. That instant the savage rose and aimed at the Frontier Angel. His immediate death could only save her; there was no time for consultation, so that one might accomplish this, The danger was too imminent, and naturally enough, they both fired together. The canoe instantly upset and the skillful manner in which the renegade effected his own escape has been shown. : Our three friends remained wate rie for his reap- pearance, until it was made at a great itream ance down- 8 . This, of course, was a considerable time after the shooting of the Indian, and during the in- terval their attention had never once been directed ign that, they were compelled to the joyful belief that she had escaped the shot of McGable without being even wounded, How this could be the two rangers were at a loss to tell, for the renegade wasso close at hand, and the object was so well presented, that even an o marksman could scarcely have failed. “That settles the matter,” said Dingle, compress- ing his lips and shaking his head; ‘ that’s the second time he’s tried to kill her and couldn’t do it. I 8’pose some will say she ain’t a spertt now—but you needn’t tell Dick Dingle so.” “Nor Jim Peterson,” added that individual him- “There ain’t even a trail of her, and she ain’t no- where about hyer—she’s gone up, she has. | You might shoot at her all day, and not hurt her. Hyer’s as don’t undertake any such foolery as to warn her —'cause why? thar ain’t no need of it. She ain’t in danger. and never was or will be.” * Wonder why she don’t kill that devil, McGable?” remarked Peterson, leaning on his rifle and gazing meditatively down the river, “She'll give it to him az/ful fore he gets through— see ef she don’t. His time ain’t come yet.” Some further time was spent in similar remarks, when the three set out for the block-house. It was the intention of Dingle and Peterson to start for the Shawnee towns, but the commander instructed them to remain over till the next morning, when, if noth- ing unusual happened, they would be allowed to pursue their journey. The rangers were not very unwilling to do this, as the sky gave appearance of another storm, and the adventure with MeGable had its effect upon them. The morrow came, but the rangers went not, and it was ordered that they never should again, >
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The Frontier Angel, CHAPTER XIV. THE ATTACK IN THE WOOD. Tue storm which threatened during the afternoon broke forth toward night and raged until morning. Little rain fell, but the wind was terrific, as it howled around the settlement and screamed through the forest, What rain fell came almost horizontally, and rattled like hail-stones against the cabins. F All night long the dim, yellow light burned in the block-house, and the shadowy form of a shive sentinel was never absent from the platform. It was such a night as to make one relish the comforts of a shelter, Chilly, windy, and dismal without, it was all light and sunshine within. A huge fire of hickory logs was roaring in the fire-place, lighting up the bronzed faces of the hunters and rangers without the aid of the torch that smoked further back in the room. Now and then the men were furnished with drinks of whisky, and their spirits were light and jovial. Dingle and Peterson were there, relating and tening to stories as usual, and “‘ all went merry as a marriage bell.” Little apprehension of an attack was felt, as the late repulse had taught the Indians a lesson which they could not but heed. The shivering sentinel paced his walk, slowly and gloomily, while the keen wind whistled around his ears. As he heard the merry laugh of those within, he breathed more than one earnest prayer that the time would hurry by and bring a relief to take his place. He could not be said to keep a very vigilant watch, as the darkness was so intense as to prevent; and when the windy rain was hurled in his face, he felt more like cove it up with his t cloak than in pee toward the hoarse, soughing wilderness. He had first whistled a tune, then hummed it, and was now count: his steps, to pass away the time. He had calculated the number of turns he should be compelled to make be- fore his watch would be up, and was now noting by this means the minutes as they slipped away. His watch extended from nine o'clock until mid- night. About half of it had transpired, and he was completely absorbed in enumera) his steps, when he was brought to a sudden stand-still, and felt a thrilling chill creep over him, as a voice, faint and suppressed, but yet distinct and clear, called out from the direction of the clearing: “* Hello, there!” The sentinel sto abruptly and looked in the di- the voice came. Once, it rection from which ) seemed, the outlines of a man were discernible, but it was only an illusion. He reflected that it might be an artifice, and hesitated before replying. “Tt's like enough he wants to find out where I stand, and then blaze away. However, I'll fix it so that I can answer him.,”’ Leaning himself as much as ble behind the @rotection of the platform, he ed out: ‘“What’s wanting out there?” ‘* Admittance; Iam half-frozen to death. Will you let me in?” “You must wait till morning, my dear sir.” “But I will perish. Have youa man in the fort named Jim Peterson?” “Yes; what of it?” “Call him; he will admit me if you will not,” “I don’t know about that. are you?” ‘Tell him Madison Drake wishes to see him.” ; and yet he reflected, that if he was innocent of any evil d it was not right that he should be denied shelter. The commander had iven imperative orders that no one should unfasten e gates after nightfall. So the sentinel adopted an artifice. He answered that he would call Peter- son, and, at the same moment, opened and closed the door. But he shut himself upon the outside, and remained a few moments listening. Hearing nothing, he eae ae it was no 1 ae the r. According’ partly o © door, put hig head in quickly, and said. in'& loud tones? > “Peterson, there isa man named Madison Drake out here who wants to see you.” Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of Peterson it could not have startled him more. He was in the midst of a story, all life and animation, when the words of the sentinel broke in so abruptly up- on him, And yetit was not the words alone, but the name pronounced that so affected him, for Jim Peterson would have taken his solemn oath that that man was killed months before. He was sure of it, and what could the sentinel mean = breaking in up- on them with such intelligence? He looked around upon the faces all turne SS, toward him waiting for the remainder of story. He believed he must have been mistaken. ‘What did that feller say?” he asked, looking half- ashamed at asking the question. ‘*He said there wasa man named Drake who want- ed to see you. What makes you look so scared, Jim? Tho ou don’t owe him any thing.” Val, by the Eternal, that gits my time. Ef that man’s alive, then I'll sw’ar that men don’t die nowa- days ‘less they want to.” “Why, what’s up now?” asked Dingle. “Ddn’t you remember that name?" asked Peter- son, turning toward our hero. “Twas just thinking I had heard it somewhere.” “Wal, sir, he was on the flat-boat with me when Peterson shook ead meaningly and sla) hand upon his knee as he uttered these words. me to death, ou can tell what’s goin’ to happen adays."’ 7 mander. “It igs caution you, Peter- son. Nevertheless, I will accom - all i ‘cepting me. Yes, sir.” was killed ‘cep Hem, 8 his Like enough it’s him,” said Dingle. ‘Tt may be a deooy of McGable’s,” added the com- to ‘ou. The two went out on the ucieetn. 7 The wind was so strong as to nearly lift them off their feet, and the darkness so great that they barely discerned the form of the sentinel beside them. “ Where is he?” asked the commander. * He will speak in a minute.” They listened, and finally the suffering man called out: . Hello there, sentinel; hain’t Peterson come out e Sab “Yes, here Iam; what do you want?’’ replied and asked the ranger. “Don’t you know me, Peterson? Don’t you re- oe adison Drake, who was on the flat-boat with you?” “Yes; but the one I knowed was Killed that night. Be = im?’ “Tam he. I was not killed, although well-nigh so. But, if you will not admit me, I will not live long, as Iam nearly perished now.” “ Have “een Drake, a few minutes, and I will see about it.”’ “Do you believe he is not trying to deceive us?”’ asked the commander, in a low tone. “That's his voice—i'd swear to it *mong ten thou- mae But I'll swear, too, that he has n killed once!” “Fudge! Jim, you ain’t such a fool as that? Go down and let him in, if you ain’t afraid. Remember what { said and be careful.” The ranger, without a word, turned and made his way downward. He had no fear of any thing mortal, but he would have rather faced a dozen yung Shawnees than the ghostly apparition which he be- lieved was waiting for him upon the outside. ““Where’n thunder ar’ you?’ he demanded, spite- ne as he approached the gate. “Here, just on the outside, half chilled to death,” was the reply from the Pep Berna of the sufferer. “Sure there ain’t no reds about as ar’ goin’ to try to dodge in atween your legs?” ‘“No, no; and in heaven’s name, how much longer are = going to keep me here?”’ “Wal, you needn’t be so cross "bout it.” With these words, Peterson cautio unbarred the gate, and opened a small apace. stantly, a cold, wet, pe ga glided through and stood trembling beside i ‘How are you, Jim? You don’t —— =~ to = me,” it said, pushing a cold, bony d toward “Just wait—wait till I fasten this gate and then I'll go up to the block-house with you,” replied the ranger, working at the massive bolts, and at the same time, glancing furtively over his shoulder, at what he believed to bea veritable ghost beside him. “Now, give us your hand, Jim, for, if ever a white man was glad to see another, Iam glad bthsie? eof Jeh-u-u-u! ain't it cold?” exclaimed the se ion, esperately, as a regular odic shock shook him, and apparently ejected the words in a most un- ceremonious hurry from his rattling teeth. Peter- son could not refuse the proffered hand; but, as he took it, he felt a cold chill crawl, from the r ends of the ghost, up — his arms, clean to the crown of his head, where it seemed to halt, gather- ing in a big mass, and then separating into a number of arrowy needles, shoot through every part of his system, even contracting his very toes. “ How—how’r yer?—’tis cold—let’s go in,” he said, turning toward the block-house. We should like to know whether any of our read- ers have been in a situation, where th sire has been to get ahead as fast as possible, and he they felt ashamed to either look behind them, or increase their gait. If they pent ot can appre- ciate the liar sensations of the really brave- hearted Peterson. Imagine yourself, on a dark night, when within a few rods of your door, where ou know your friends are’peering into the darkness e tation of your momentary arrival—we sa; im e that just at that moment, you hear a foo: fall behind you! You start and your heart commen- ces to throb, and you rage’ A ebate whether it is best to walk unconcernedly along, as though such a thing as fear never entered your head, or lance behind you, and break into a regular run for the door, But ridicule, more potent than fear, prevents you, and you walk, it is e, a little f. , but as you push open the door, you can not help shoving yourself in rather hurriedly, as A gd friends judge. It was with —- somewhat similar to these, that Peterson walked toward the block-house, his unwelcome visitor stalking after him. ? “Hyer we is,” he exclaimed, as he ushered him into the warm. yen room of the block-house. “A dismal nig t, gentlemen,”’ said ke, noms to the men, an henge t the fire, against whic he turned his back ‘and gazed composedly at the men. “A vo eget snorter this night is; thought I'd freeze todeath. Jehu-u-u! that fire feels fF . But I can’t blame you for your tardiness and suspicion in such times as these. Though Mad Anthony has taught the Indians manners, it seems that they for- get them once in a while,’’ The hunters were not men to sit silent and unsocial when a stranger claimed their hospitality. They saw it was no ghost, but a veritable flesh and blood human being who stood before them. He was a tall, cadaverous-looking man, his face all hair and vs i and yet his voice showed him to be a good-natu gentleman. His garments were re | with water. which slowly dropped from his ragged shirt, and every turn of his clothes, and steamed constantly from them on account of his proxi the fire. He was without weapons of any kind. Without wait- ing as long as it has taken us to introduce this de- scription, the commander replied: “A and dismal night indeed. Let me give you be to warm you within, fer it is p you nee “Thank you,” replied Drake, toking the proffered cup of raw w and swallow t. “No more, thank you. I feel considerably better now.” ‘*Why, Drake, that is you,” suddenly exclaimed Peterson; ‘“‘give us your hand and tell us how you are getting along.” y Kientity?. I thoaght you acted sireaguly when my identit thought you when wey Mat T took. sg k, and it “Town up, Ma ok you for a spook, an hard yet to think as how it is you standin’ thar lookin’ so jolly, when the last I see’d of you, you had knocked under. Come, you’ve got warmed up a lit- tle, let’s hear how it was.” “ Well, I will.” And thereupon, the new-comer related his experi- ence, which may be summed up briefly, as follows: This Madison Drake, as the reader has robably suspected, was one of the number on the flat-boat. whose sad fate was related at the commencement of this work. When the Shawnees made their rush — it, he, with all the rest, was too bewildered to offer the slightest resistance. He remembered see- ing Peterson spring overboard, and attempted to fol- low him, but he was not soon enough to escape a ter- rible blow from an Indian’s tomahawk. As he de- scended into the water, his wound rendered him per- a—<, crazy, and, without knowing it, he swam in to the Ohio shore. Here he was immediately seized by several sav who made no attempt to offer him further injury. After the massacre was completed, the Indians assembled upon the bank, and the others then noticed his presence. But, instead of killing him, astrange whim possessed them to spare his life. He was too frightened to utter a complaint about the horrible wound in his back, as he knew it would be relieved only by death. They traveled all night and most of the next day without halting. After a time, they reached the Shawnee town in the Scioto valley, where he had remained a prisoner until the day before. An opportunity had then offered of es- caping, which he instantly seized. He knew the loca- tion of the settlement and made all haste toward it, where, as shown, he effected his arrival. All listened breathlessly to this recital. Before he had fairly finished, Peterson asked: “ Are you the only one, ‘ceptin’ me, that got off?” **T am the only one.” *“Are you sure? Did you ever hear of Marian?’ “‘T am sure I am the only person the Indians took from that boat.” “But I follered them that night and part of the next day, and I didn’t see nothin’ of you, and you Pies tate Bos Sele east ted and did ‘ , Separa an not reunite until just before we reached the Shawnee towns. You followed the wrong one. You might easily have done this, as both parties were large. No; do not hope; had Marian or any one besides us escaped, I could not have helped kno it.” “That settles the matter, then,” said the com- mander; “ we will tell Abbot in the morning. Poor man! I pity him and his wife.” “Ts he here?’ asked Drake. “I do pity him then; it was a hard blow for him.” “But I have h * continued the commander, who saw that Mansfield was affected, “* that there was a female captive among them.” “Yes, there was one; but she was captured froma —, on ben Phhe ape oars ahd eee om she ong ago from her e “ ends, you will excuse me I trust. I have had a hard run for freedom; and if you have no objections, I will now turn in for the night.” “Certainly; let me help you to another snifter, to make you sleep soundly.’ Drake did not refuse the offered drink, As it was now late, the sentinel was called in, another sent to take his place, and those within stretched themselves out ta the floor, where, wrap in their blank- ets, they were soon oblivious to external things. All excepting Mansfield, who sat listening to the howling wind without, and gazing into the glowing pc RL feelings which we shall not attempt ‘to escri When the morning broke, the slhumberers were astir. The storm cleared orf toward break, and the sun came out bright and cold. Mansfield, who had not tone moment, arose and took himself toward Abbot's house with a heavy, painful heart. Deem- ing, hak it would be a relief to his wife to hear his in’ nce, he introduced it before them both, stat- ing what Drake had said and that there could now be no room for further hope. It would be presump- tuous, they all felt, to entertain the slightest hope that Marian could still be living. “T have cherished no hope of seeing her on earth,” said the mother. “Ithank my Heavenly Fa- ther that I am satisfied now that she was killed’ out- right. I have no now to do but to wait until He calls me to rejoin her.” : “Let us go patiently at work, dear wife,” said Abbot. “Tt is a relief to know that she was ed at once. It was a bitter cup for us to drink, but we have swal- lowed the bitterest portion. I thank God for this in- nce,- And you, Russel, is this a relief to away. And so the hope which had been exhumed and eoeoes into a feeble life died again and was now re- uried. The expedition of search by the rangers for Mari- an of course was now given i It was still their determination to Se Jat | McGa but the attempt was reluctantly deferred until a tew months later, when it was rightly ju the caution of the rene- gade would be.worn off, and an opportunity would resent itself. It was decided by a number of settlers to spend
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14 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. most of the time in the wood, felling trees. It was necessary to collect a large quantity of fuel—besides it wasin contemplation to erect one or two cabins, » This was one of the duties devolving upon the set- tlement which was always dangerous, and yet one that must be done sooner or later. So, a company of men numberin; including Abbot, Mansfield and Peterson, passe through the gate, across the clearing, each bearing a rifle and an ax. It was quite early in the forenoon; eo they calculated upon doing a good day’s work. The spot selected for their operations was three or four hundred yards from the clearing. Here the stacked their rifles and scattered themselves in suc amannor, that the weapons would be safe from the reach of any foe, and commenced their labors right merrily. The clear ring of their axes, the fall of the trees like a rumble of thunder, and the shout and song, could be heard at the block-house and set- tlement. They wrought vigorously until noon, when they ceased, and seating themselves upon the fallen trees, artook of the lunch they had brought with them. hey sat close her gna oking and laughing, their faces all aglow with good-humor and exercise. The meal was finished, and several of the men had risen to recommence their labors, when a crashing in the underbrush was heard, and the next moment the Frontier Angel burst in upon them, her arms out- stretched, her hair flying, her eyes agleam, and her whole pe ejecta that of a raving lunatic. 7 * Quick! quick!” she exclaimed; “fly! he is com- ing! he is coming with a lot of indians! No—you can't.reach the fort—they are on that side of you! fo 4 your guns quick! they are going to kill you over a soem, Hardly were her words finished before each man had seized his rifle, and stood waiting the orders of some one of their number. “Get down between these two trees—I hear their tread!’ commanded Mansfield, whose ears, quick- ened to supernatural strength, distinctly caught their tramp through the forest. ‘Hurry, boys, they’re here!” At the same instant he bounded over the fallen tree beside him, followed by all of the men, when, in a twinkling, they were so disposed that nothing but their heads and rifle-barrels were visible. Then, as they looked for the foe, they saw with horror that the Frontier Angel was still standing as if transfixed, upon the same spot where she had uttered her warn- ‘Fly, for God’s sake!” exclaimed Mansfield, spring- ing to his feet, and excitedly waving his hand toward her. “Fly, for your life, Frontier Angel! There they come!”’ As he spoke she turned to flee, and, at the same moment, the sharp crack of a rifle was heard. She gave a scream, swung her arms wildly over her head, and staggered further into the wood, where she was concealed from view. The woodman had no time to follow her, for immediately there was heard a rush- _dng, and, as the bushes parted, near a score of In- dians, led by McGable, bounded into the opening. As they caught sight of the settlers, the ured a deadly volley in upon them, whose fearful effect was told by more than one yell of seo. “Now charge, boys!’’ exclaimed Mansfield, spring- ing over the log and dashing straight at the yelling aay . There was an electric power in his words at thrilled every heart, and they charged with such enthusiasm after their gallant leader, that it was ir- resistible. The Indians were unprepared for any ‘such movement. When nigh enough to touch them with their gun-muzzles, every rifle of the whites was Ee ee and then swung over their heads. “ At them!” shouted Mansfield; “‘don’t spareone!”’ The rifles came down with murderous force, and. for a few moments, one of the fiercest hand-to-hand contests But the number of whites, after their discharge, was fully equal to the savages, aA their fury could not be withstood. The Indians, in a short time, broke and scattered in the woods, and the panting whites suddenly gazed into each Other's faces as they saw there was no foe left to encounter. “Have they fled?” asked Mansfield, in astonish- ment, aanen one is left—all killed or fled! Any of us n?”’ ‘Yes; I heard some one groan when we started.” The whites turned back to the logs where they had first sheltered themselves; here they found two of their number dead, both having received a bullet through the brain, while several others had been given severe cuts. ~ A moment after, a dozen more men arrived from the block-house, ey had heard the in the wood, and had been instantly dispatched by the com- mander; but their help was not needed, as not a foe was left, so signal had been the repulse. But for the timely warning of the Frontier Angel, a most fear- ful massacre must have taken place. Several of the settlers picked up the two dead men and carried them to the settlement, as the commander had in- structed them to return the minute they could. Mans- field, Peterson, Dingle, and Jenkins (the latter havi come with the reinforcements) remained behind. Four Shawnees lay doubled up in death, while a fifth was rolling, and clutching, and flinging the leaves in his agony. Shortly, to the relief of all, death put him out of his misery. ‘*Who was killed?’ asked Peterson. “Smith and Thompson,”’ replied Mansfield. ‘‘ Both single men; it is good for them that they have bbe ao ge to —— ‘em. bah bi straightened out five o: em, besi me bask & ew more. By us, isn’t that McGable hyer? Ef I didn’t hit then I'll never shoot ag’in,”’ asked Peterson. “ He ap to have escaped, What is to be done with these dead Indians?” “Why, leave ’em hyer for the varmint, after we raises their ha’r.”’ ‘In Heaven’s name, Peterson, you are not going to do that?” “‘T reckons Lis. Eh, Dick?” “In course, we must have their top-knots,” re- plied Dingle, producing his hunting-knife. “You are as much a savage as they are,” said Mansfield, turning his back upon the sickening scene. The two rangers were not to be deterred from scalping the Indians, although they had enough re- t for the feelings of Mansfield, to go through the disgusting operation without their usual remarks and braggadocio, ‘They'd ’ve been glad to ’ve done that same thing for us,’’ said Peterson. ‘* Freeze me,” said Dingle, ‘‘if I don’t believe thar is more of ’em round hyer. S’posen we take a look? Jenkins, look through the bushes thar by you.” All, including Mansfield, now commenced search- ing the wood to see if any of their number had | crawled away to die in secret. Jenkins had beat about but a few minutes, when he exclaimed: “Come here, es thar’s somebody under this bush! Just hear him groan!” All hastened thither; and, as Dingle pulled aside the bush, the white, ghastly face of the renegade McGable was seen turned toward them. “TI thought I'd give you your last sickness,” said Peterson, with a shocking want of feeling. “Oh! let me alone, I’m dying!” wail able wretch. All prea except pity left the heart of Mansfield, as he saw the poor man in his last moments. He hastily ran back, and, seizing an ax, cut away the bushes around him, so that the air could reach him. It was then seen that he had received the bullet of Peterson in his side. He was leaning upon his el- bow, spitting blood, while his hands closed + ed over the wound, and the blood oozed through them and pattered upon the leaves beneath. “Can I do anything for you?” asked Mansfield, a down beside and opening his hunting- shirt. ‘*Oh, no! I can’t live long. I deserve to die, but I don’t want to, I thought—”’ He paused as the blood in his throat choked him. Peterson and Dingle were both touched by his misery, and silently withdrew, followed sho by Jenkins. Mansfield saw that he was alone, and de- termined to do his duty to the dying man. **McGable, "hey are dying, it is true. Put away now all thoughts of this world, and turn your heart toward the hereafter. Your sins are great, but ae is a God whose mercy is sufficient for every- ing.’ “Do not talk of God and merey to me,” said the man, with a look so full of horror that Mansfield shuddered to_his very soul, “The day of mercy has passed with me. A thousand years could not atone for the crimes I have committed. If you can ee me, Mansfield—” forgive you all, and so does Abbot—fear noth- ing of that.” “T have harmed you and him more than you have dreees. Oh! this wound! Can you not stay the ow?” McGable removed his hand as he spoke, and be- fore Mansfield could stanch it, such a sranaiaty of blood issued, that the miserable man fainted. The forgiving man bandaged it as well as he was able, an f emg 2! the sufferer revived. ; ““T have harmed you more than you suspect,’’ he said, faintly, turning his dark eyes, all woe and misery, to him, *You have not. What do you mean?” “Marian!” 2 ** How ?—what?—McGable, you will not refuse me now?”’ ** Mansfield, in a few minutes, you will have seen a monster die. Let me adjure you to remember it to our last breath, The pain of my wound is nothing o what I suffer in spirit. The awful torment is un- utterable—”’ ‘ re what of Marian?” gently reminded Mans- eld, “Marian is—”’ muttered the. dropping his head back .on Mansfield’s arm and gas for ber ben ‘* Marian was not killed on the jlat that n i ? u What do you say?” fairly shrieked our hero, be- lieving that his mind was wandering. “Marian was not killed that night—but I killed her! is death?” the miser- McGable was dead! CHAPTER XV. ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL,” As the death-rattle was heard in McGable’s throat, Mansfield felt his head fall back upon hisarm. He looked down and saw that all was over. Laying his head gently back upon the leaves, he straightened his limbs, and arose and looked around for his com- panions. Peterson and Jenkins approached. “Tt is all over,” said our hero, y. ‘*Poor man! he has paid dearly for his sins. ray Heaven I may never witness another sucha death! Have you found any other bodies?” __. “We have not looked; Dingle is searc ay bs “Let us look further. We will return after- noon and bi McGable. Ah! here comes Dingle! What can be the matter with him, he looks so flus- tered?” The ranger approached them, pale and agitated. “ Boys, the NTIER ANGEL SITS OUT YONDER ON A LOG, AND SHE IS DYIN’!”’ Without a word, Mansfield dashed toward the point indicated. IT see her angel face now!— Oh! is That personage, known as the Frontier a in these pages, was sitting fa one of the trees felled by the choppers, her han — to her forehead, while blood could be seen pping from her face upon one of her m which was clotted and stained with it. She did not look up as our friends = 2 gma. and Mansfield paused before her and asked: ‘* Are you hurt much?” “Oh! I feel wretched—” Mansfield sprung forward and caught her head as she fainted. The sight made eventhe hardy rangers shudder. A rough wound was seen at the temple, from which a great amount of blood had issued. Her dark, waving hair hung loose around her shoul- ‘ders, while her half-closed eyes gave an unearthly terror to her countenance. “Quick! water! she has fainted!’’ exclaimed Mansfield. Peterson sprung away, and in an instant returned with a jug of water which had been brought by the woodmen in the morning for their use. Mansfield sprinkled some in her face, and in a moment she re- vived. Dingle, with ready wit, had prepared a band- | age by preci 4 his hunting-shirt to shreds, and this was carefully bound over her forehead. *“*She must be taken to the block-house at once. Bear a hand, friends,’’ said Mansfield to the two ran- ers who were looking on. That absurd fear made them hesitate for a moment; but, as if ashamed of their weakness, they sprung forward and made amends by sustaining her entire weight themselves, **Run ahead, Jenkins, and notify the commander of this,” said Mansfield, ‘‘and see that no crowd is in our way.” Jenkins darted. away, and the three moved care- fully through the wood toward the clearing. An oc- casional moan from their burden was the only sign of life she gave. Not*a word was spoken by the three, as they made their way forward. The rangers hardly dared to look down upon the form their arms sustamed, but gazed anxiously toward the block- house, evidently in fear of a curious multitude of people. The commander with praiseworthy fore- sight, had unbarred the gates, and prepared the block-house for her reception. Though nearly struck dumb with Jenkins’s intelligence, he did not allow it to interfere with his duty. He briefly informed those ary around what had happened, and besought em to retire and leave the way clear for him. " when Mansfield and the rangers brought their charge, there were only one or two to receive them. ‘Ts it a bad wound?” he asked, as he closed the doors of the block-house behind him. “T fear so; you will have to take charge of her.”’ * Place her on the litter, and remain with me a moment.” . The commander of the fort was the physician of the settlement. After the sufferer hes Seon placed in the lower room of the block-house, he desired all to depart, so that he might be left alone with her. His determination was to make an examination of her wound at once. He saw that she was hurt only in the corner of the forehead, where it seemed was a slight ciese of ser sa ps s he approac the , the Frontier Angel a feet and nani f in Mansfield and Peterson. The latter entered, and the sufferer meekly sub- mitted at oncé. Mansfield took her gently but firm- ly by one arm, and the ranger held the other, The physician then stepped forward, and with a simple instrument, ed the wound. A moment showed him the entire truth. A bullet, years before, had glanced over the forehead in such a manner as to press inward a thin strip of bone, directly upon the brain, This simple fact had caused that a. lar hallucination which she had so long evinced. The wound had become cicatrized, leaving the bone in this position. Another shot, precisely similar, had glanced in the same manner, reopening the wound and increasing her aberration. A simple operation of the physician removed this cause of her insanity. ‘Just wash the wound, Mansfield,” said the com- mander, “and we will then let her rest till morn- r hero proceeded to do as uested. A imo- ment later he exclaimed, in a suppressed voice: “ Heavens! see here—sSHE Is WHITE!’ Such was indeed the case, and the astonishment of all was unbounded. The water had washed off the pigment used among the Indians, and left the skin epertomey clear and transparent. ° “Wonderful!” exclaimed the commander; ‘“ what canit mean? Asitis nearly all removed from her face it shows what a beautiful woman she is. Hel- lo! what’s the matter with Peterson?” The r r had turned as pale as death and faint- ed—a weakness of which he had never been guilty oe taco ee keer tcc ace.and he came to. e about to- tall dagen oe = ther, Jim? te ‘Why, what’s the matter, ’ hed the commander. ‘Are you so tender-hearted ae — nc é a. 223 ‘Get me out of here, quic ‘ou valu he said, staggering to his feet, = ae
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) The Frontier Angel. 15 He was assisted to the door, where the physician asked: ‘‘ What does this mean, Jim?”’ “T'll tell you in the morning; don’t say anything to me aboutit now. Just bring her to her senses as soon as you can.” Wondering and perplexed, the commander passed into the room again. As he entered, he naturally turned his eyes toward his patient, and it was now his turn to evince en “What’s the matter with you, doctor?’ asked Mansfield. 3 ‘* Heaven save us! I know that girl!” “Who is she?” ‘Never mind now. Iunderstand the meaning of Peterson's conduct. Leave me alone, Russel, and it shall all be made plain to you in the morning.” Our hero withdrew, and the commander was left alone with that being who has figured as the Frontier Angel in these es. She sat bolt vores in the bed. staring at with a look as fixed and intense as that of a wild animal. “Lie down, Myra/"”’ he spoke gently. “Lie down!” she He, reps halt to herself. ‘‘ What does all this mean?—Why am I here?—Have I been bh oe ?—Why is my head bandaged?—Am I dream- ) Ad @ commander approached and laid her head back upon the pillow. In this position she pressed her hand to her forehead ahd commenced mutter- ing to herself. The commander listened and now and then caught her words, “Reason has returned, or is now striving to regain its place,’’ he thought. ‘She is, in fact, in her right mind already, but it is no wonder that her reco ec- tions still confuse her. Strange! strange! Who would have thought that the Frontier Angel could have been her?” Soon the patient slept—a troubled, dreamy sleep. She talk incessantly —now in soft, beseeching tones to Peterson and Holmes (the comniander) then fairly shrieking the name of McGable, and once or twice she spoke the name of Marian Abbot! The commander the floor awhile and then sat down and gazed into the face of the sufferer. Her eyes were closed and her face was of unearthly whiteness. Now and then the thin _ moved and the broken words came forth. Once the brow com- —- as if a twinge of pain ran through her, and en she started and gas : “Oh, don’t! don’t! McGable, you will kill her! "Ves Let her alone!” “What can she mean?” wondered Holmes. —it is Marian—there! she spoke her name then.” All at once, the patient came to the sitting eevee and opening her eyes to their fullest extent, stared ap ntly through the very walls of the block-house out into the wilderness. en, raising her hand, she repeated these words: ‘I see them!—they are hastening to the cave!— they will killher! she cannot get away! she will die!” “You are excited—lie down ag !" pleaded the commander. But she heeded him not. Her dark eyes glowed with tenfold light, and she added: “T see them! they are Indians going to kill Marian Abbot! There are two Shawnee warriors, and they are now picking their way through the forest. She will die! she die, if she is not saved at once.” The patient seemed as st ns in a trance. She was in that state which és all human knowl to understand, and, without attempting to expl what never can be understood, we give the facts alone, The commander, rapt, Les ang > and believ- ing, listened. When she had finished, she turned to- ward him. ‘*Franklin Holmes, I understand all, not all either; but I feel I have passed through some dreadful dark- ness, and light is again dawning upon me, There is a white captive in er this moment. She must be rescued! Ican1] the way!"’ * But—but, M you cannot. Hear how the storm ,.’ plead the commander. . “Have I not passed through more fearful storms than this?’’ she asked, Stepp ey the floor and confronting him. ‘ Yes,’ she added, in a low, mean- ing tone. you value the life of Marian Abbot, who is now living, it must be done, Get me one or two anions and I will lead the way.” ofelmes believed that it was duty to do so, and answering her that her wish should gratified at le and Mans- he passed out. He aroused D field, but Peterson was nowhere to be found. He im- ed to the ranger the identity of their guide, and he absence of Peterson was then understood. Pre- tions were made at once to start, and the impa- ience of Mansfield were painful to witness. The Frontier Angel arrayed herself in her usual ents, wrapping alarge shawl around her form, »¢ covering her head securely, and was ready when volmes re-entered the room. “How many are going?” she asked. ““Two well-tried and reliable men.” “ That is gee B She ow nece: caution or question. ve close to me and move as fast as possible,” she ads as soon as they were alone. The rain was still , and the wind howled dis- mally overhead. The Frontier Angel led the way to the river, where they entered one of the canoes that were always there, and were propelled across by Dingle. As they reached the Ohio side the ranger saw a dark form paatenty see beside him and glide as silently as a ow. Mansfield Peterson, and to set their fair de at ease, he informed her that it was merely a end who had qeinea them. The speed with which the Frontier Angel moved through the woods was wonderful. She neither seemed to run nor walk, but to glide as silently and swiftly as a specter over the ground. Her compan- ions did not run, but they executed an amount of what might properly be termed “ tall walking.” On—on she led them like the ignis fa’uus, teari f their way through the tangled undergrowth, un after many a mile had been passed and hours had ela , She halted and said: ‘Here is the spot.”’ , At first our friends were unable to pierce the dark- ness; but after = steadily for a few moments, they discerned the faint outlines of a hill or swell in the ground in front. Still at a loss to understand how this could be their destination, Mansfield in- quired: “What is there here that can assist us in our search?”’ Fg some one approaches!” admonished the guide. The snapping of a twig was heard, and presently footsteps. Scarcely more than ten feet away the halted, and the guttural voice of a savage was heard. What he said was unintelligible to Mansfield, al- though Frontier Angel and Peterson understood every word. Despite the rain which was still falling, a huge torch instantly flashed out and displayed the leaming visages of two Shawnees, stealing forward fie the panther. At the very base of the hill or knoll alluded to, they halted. ere, by the aid of the flickering torches, our friends were enabled to gain a view of its peculiarities. It merely resembled a mass of solid n earth, with a number of stones piled at the base. A moment later, the dusky warriors entered the cave, and swinging their torch called out: ‘‘ Pauquachoke! Pauquachoke!”’ A shuffling, sliding over the ground was heard, and a bent, withered old squaw appeared. ‘What seek the Shawnee chiefs?” asked the old uaw. ‘The captive pale-face; bring her at once.” Thus commanded, the squaw clapped her hands three times, and our friends beheld Marian Abbot approach! She appeared the same as when Mansfield had last seen her, except she was paler and more de- ected. ’ The Frontier Angel had entered the cave behind the savages, so that all save Peterson were now within it. He had moe remained outside to conceal his identity. @ savages standing with their backs toward the entrance failed to see the shadows behind them, One of the savages placed his hand upon the ee os his belt and addressed Marian in broken nglish. * Pale-face must die. McGable say kill white gal ef he no come back. He no come k—white gal must die.”’ “T’am prepared for death and expect nothing else at your hands.” She answered composedly, but, suddenly, she darted backward with a — shriek. The torch was dashed to the ground as her savage executioner sprung toward her. She had caught sight of a pale horror-struck face that shot in from mouth of the cave, and heard the words: “We are here, Marian! Don't be frightened. We'll clear the cave of these monsters in a second!” Marian had sp one side when the torch fell to the ground, and thins escaped the well-nigh fatal blow. All being blank darkness, her assassin was at fault, even had he repeated the attempt. But the Indians scenting er, whis out of the cave and were gone in a t ping the murder- ous onslaught Peterson had prepared himself to give them as they emerged. A few moments of necessary confusion followed the announcement of Mansfield’s presence. Guided by the unerring instinct of love, he soon had Marian clasped inhisarms, A fervent embrace and he led her forth. As they oe out of the entrance, the dark body of the old s‘jaaw brushed by them and skurried off in the darkness. “Thank God, the dead is alive!’ exclaimed Mans- field, pay, pressing a kiss upon the cold cheek of Marian. ‘Can you bear the walk, dear- est? It is a long way to your home; let me wrap this blanket around Pag “Tcan bear anything now/” she replied, in a low tone. ‘Are the Indians gone?” “None but friends are around you.” “T saw some one im now move by me.’ “Tt is Pe—a friend.” ‘ “Let us go on, then. Is this dear Frontier Angel b pas “Tt is to her your life is owing. She is no longer e #9 ~ Oh, this must be a dream!” cried Marian, as she was locked in the arms of her devoted friend. ‘It cannot—cannot be real.”’ For a few moments nothing but the sobbing of the two was heard. Peterson seemed restless, and moved See but said not “Let us go,” said the Frontier Angel, “for there isa er dhe aye to travel.” The storm had ceased, though the wind was stronger than ever. ug: ag Sean a swamps and thickets—over brooks and the ing bushes—until, as the mist; preaking over the scene, they” once more & — as use, feeble pen can never ge who, it seemed, had from the dead. @ Fron- tier Angel and Marian Abbot. When the identity and remarkable history of the former i known the settlement, there were many, even of | attacked by the Shawn | the mouth of the Great Scioto, and nearly all of the the most intelligent, who believed it nothing less than a miracl et le. If the reader, who has followed us through these pages, will examine the history of the West, he will nd that in the summer of 1778, three flat-boats were a short distance below inmates massacred. Two of the boats were sunk, and history states that every one on board was slain. On the remaining boat was a Methodist missio by the name of Tucker, who fought as only those valiant old Methodist pioneers can fight. There were several women, who loaded their dead hus- bands’ rifles and handed them to him, while he fired with such deadly effect, that his float finally es- caped, and he reached mys where, a few days after, he died of his wounds. In one of the boats which were sunk by the sava- ges, was & man named William Orr, with his family. very one of these, it is stated by historians, fell a victim to the fury of the Shawnees. And here we take the liberty of saying that, not for the first time. historical accounts are in error. The writer traveled over this section, where most of our scenes have been laid, some years since, and obtained from an aged man (who had known the seugets, Jim Peter- son and Dick Dingle, years before) the following ac- count of the affair. The boat which contained Orr and his family was the hindmost, and upon the second volley of the Shawnees, every one was killed, except Myra Orr, the youngest daughter. Even she was wounded. A bullet ed her forehead, pressing a piece of bone inw: upon the brain, in such a manner as to ren- der her crazy / In afew moments the savages came up and pro- ceeded to scalp their victims, when noticing that she was still alive, she was taken as a prisoner to the shore. It was subsequently ascertained that she was demented and no harm was offered her.* In time she was dressed and painted like the Indians, but she was never one of their number. She mingled with them, but her singular manner impressed them with the belief that she was something more than mortal. After a year or so, she took to the woods, and somewhere in its recesses she built herself a home. In the year 1790, she appeared in a settle- ment, and warned them of an intended attack, and from this time up to the closing scene of our story, she devoted her life to the one object of befriending the whites. In time she became known all along the frontier, and the unaccountable mystery which hung over her, gave rise to the superstitious belief that she was in reality an angel. Many attempts were made to discover her history, but none succeeded, until her reason was restored and she gave it herself. But what is perhaps nearly as sin r, is that Myra Orr, the “‘ Frontier Angel,” and Jim Peterson, the ranger, were lovers in their younger days. They had separated much in the same manner that Mans- field and Marian had. When the tragic fate of his love reached the ears of Peterson, he turned ranger and acted with the celebrated Bingle in that capaci- ty. He rarely referred to the great bereavement, but there were several who knew it. Among these, was Franklin Holmes, commander of the block- house, who was a eg with the Orr family, be- fore they removed from the East, It will be remembered that Peterson left Marian Abbot, as he believed, in a dying condition, when the flat-boat was attacked. She was desperately wounded, and without the utmost care would have died. McGable ee ey 3 her. as he boarded the flat-boat, and carried her to the shore, where he gave her in charge of an Indian runner, with instructions to carry her at once to Pauquachoke, one of their old “‘ medicine-women.”’ McGable instantly returned and joined in the massacre. A few days after he visited the medicine-woman, and learned that Ma- rian would recover, po it would necessarily’ require along time. In fact, she had not been able to walk until a month previous to her rescue. Es- cape was impossible, as Pauquachoke had been in- structed never to permit her to pass out of the cave. By an accident, the Frontier 1 became aware of the state of things and visited captive on several fearful of | he pera irher os "4 i ° prey through her means, he de- termined to kill her. His attempts and failures to do this have been referred to. e fearful exertion through which bs de Orr went, on the night of Ma- rian’s rescue, well-nigh proved fatal to her. Reason flickered and fled for a e, but finally returned in its full strength. : We wish our readers could have been down at the settlement, on the night of October 20th, 1798, It would have required immense room to bave accom- modated them, we suppose, but the woods were enough. There was. a double wedding there ht! Tit Paeraa gave up the ranger’s life and settled wo of Ek inaUneAaED how prominae nee wo 0 ns now prominent m in the city of Cincinnati. In the war of 1812, Russel Mansfield acted as Colonel, and at its close retired to his farm near Ma: ©, covered with honor and glo- . Here he lived with his children and , and it is only a few years since that he followed years of adventure and together. We i th with the ae ee that their expe- dd from the reader, and * A crazy or idiotic person is always regarded with superstitious reverence by the Nonb American In- THE END.
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BEADLE’S HALF-DIME LIBRARY. Every one of them ‘Live’ Stories by “‘ Live®? Authors. Each number a Complicte Novel, at the extraordinary price of a HALF-DIME,. DEADWOOD DICK, 1 Deadwood Dick, THe PRINCE OF THE Roap; or, Tae Buack Rimmer OF THE BLACK Hiuts. By Edward L. Wheeler. Yellowstone Jack; or, Tar TRAPPER OF THE ENCHANTED Grounp. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr., author of “ Pacific Pete,” etc. Kansas King; or, Tor Rep RIGHT Hann, By Buffalo Bill (Hon. Wm. F, Cody). The Wild-Horse Hunters. By Capt. Mayne Reid and Capt. Frederick Whittaker, Vagabond Joe; THE YounG WANDER- ING JEw. By Oll Coomes. 6 Bill Biddon, Trapper } or, LiFe IN THe Nortuwest. By Edward §. Ellis. fe The Flying Yankee ; or, THE OcEAN Ovurcast. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, bs, Seth Jones; or, THe CAPTIVES OF THE Frontier. By Edward 8. Ellis. +4) The Adventures of Baron Mun- chausen, 10 Nat Todd; or, THe Fate or THE Sioux Captive. A Sequel to ‘ Bill Biddon, Trapper.” By Edward 8, Ellis. 1 1 The Two Detectives; or, THE Fortunes oF A Bowery Giri. By Albert W. Aiken, author of ‘‘ The Spotter Detective,” ete. \ or, THE WONDERFUL 12 Gulliver’s Travels. A Voyage to Lilliput, and a Voyage to Brobdingnag. 13 The Dumb Spy. By Oll Coomes, author of “ Vagabond Joe,” ete. 1 ‘ Aladdin ; Lamp. 1 The Sea-Cat; or, Taz WircH or Darien. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker. 16 Robinson Crusoe. His Life and Surprising Adventures, (27 illustrations.) a Ry Ralph Roy, The Boy Bucca- neers; or, THE FUGITIVE YACHT. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 1 & Sindbad the Sailor. His seven voy- ages. From the Arabian Nights. 19 The Phantom Spy; or, THe Prior or THE Prarrre. By Buffalo Bill. 2 The Double Daggers; or, Drap- woop Dick’s Deriance. By Edward L. Wheeler, author of “ Deadwood Dick.” 21 Frontier Angel, <A Romance of Kentucky Rangers’ Life. By Edward §, Ellis, author of ‘* Seth Jones,” etc. 22 The Sea Serpent; or, THz Boy Rosrnson Crusoe. By Col. Juan Lewis. 2 Nick o’ the Night: or, Taz Boy Spy or 76. By T. C, Harbaugh. ROBINSON cRUSOE.—No, 16. 24 Diamond Dirk: or, Tae Mystery OF THE YELLOWSTONE. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham, author of “The Flying Yankee,”’ etc. 2 5 The Boy Captain: or, THe Prrate’s DaveutTer. By Roger Starbuck. 26 Cloven Hoof, the Demon. Edward L. Wheeler 2Q7 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By Oll Coomes, 2 Buffalo Ben, the Prince of the Pistol: or. DEapwoop Dick IN Disauise. By Edward L. Wheeler 2D The Dumb Page; or, Tae Docr’s Daveuter. By Capt. Frederick Whit- taker, author of ‘‘The Wild-Horse Hunters,” etc. 30 Roaring Ralph Rockwood, Tre Reckiess RANGER. By Harry St. George. By Keen-Knife, THE PRINCE OF THE Prairies, By Oll Coomes, —_ 32 Bob Woolf, the Border Ruffian: THE OCEAN BLOODHOUND.—No. 38. or, Toe Grrat Deap-SHor. By Edward L. | Wheeler, author of “ Deadwood Dick,” ete., etc. 33 The Ocean Bloodhound; or, THE RED PIRATES OF THE CaRIBBEES, By Samuel W. Pierce, author of ‘The Boy Detective,” etc., etc. 34 Oregon Sol; or, Nick WarrFves’ Boy Spy. By Capt. J. F.C, Adams, Ready March 19th, ANTELOPE ABE.—No, 27. 35 Wild Ivan, Tur Boy CLaupE DvvaL; or, THe BroTHERHOOD oF DEATH. Dead- wood Dick Romance No, 4. By Edward L. Wheeler. 36 The Boy Clown; or, THE QUEEN OF THE ARENA. By Frank 8. Finn. 3 7 The Hidden Lodge; or, Tur LITTLE HUNTER OF THE ADIRONDACKS. By T. C. Harbaugh, author of “ Nick o’ the Night,” etc. 38 Ned Wylde, Tuer Boy Scovr. Texas Jack. By 39 Death-Face, the Detective; or, Lire AND Love IN New York. By Ed- word L. Wheeler. Ready 40 Roving Ben. A story of a Young American who wanted to see the world. By John J. Marshall, Ready April 30th. Al Lasso Jack, THE YOuNG MUSTANG- ER. By Oll Coomes. Ready May 7th. A new issue every week. The Half-Dime Library is for sale by all Newsdealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on receipt of six cents each, BEADLE & ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. wittp IVAN.—No, 35.