Beadle's Pocket Library (no. 427) (1892 03 16)
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« Copyrighted, 1402, by Buapi= anp pa AN Entered as Second Class Matter at the New York, N. ¥., Pout Office, March 16, rch 16, 1892, : Published Weekly by Beadle and Ada ; No.427, 832. Codec be rae and ams, ie Su Vol, LOU XXXII BESSIE, THE BORDER GIRL. il | i
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iy is h he y i i Queen Bessie, THE BORDER GIRL. A Romance of the Kanawha. a BY HENRY J. THOMAS, CHAPTER I, BESSIE, “Hark!” “J didn’é hear anything!” **T did—listen! It was a human scream!” “Your ears are sbarper ’n mine, then. “Iwas some bird, I reckon.” ‘““No! there! Do you believe me now?” ex- claimed the first speaker, as through the woods from a distance came a voice, evidently that of @ woman, whether in terror or distress, or in mere frolic, it was hard to determine. “What on airth kin it mean, I’d like to know!” returned the other, in a low tone. ‘* The infernal red-skins round ag’in like as not. Look well to your primin’, Bently, an’ keep two sharp eyes out!” * Never mind me, John,” replied the younger hunter, with a dry smile; ‘take care of your- self. I was never yet caught napping when danger was around!’ Toe surroundings of the speakers were that of a dense, wild forest—such as covered the hills and vales of that portion of the ‘‘Old Do- minion,” later know as Western Virginia. The time was nearly a century ago, The solemn silence, of those lonely recesses was seldom broken, save by the stealthy tread or discordant cry of some beast of prey, the ringing notes of birds, or perhaps the sharp crack of the huater’s rifle, as he brought low the tempting game; and, alas! there sometimes were heard the yells of hate, the shout of triumph and despair, the cries of pain and terror, when the merciless and blood-loving savage, bursting in from his lair like a wild animal, strove to exterminate the “pale-face” settler, whose ax and plow threat- ened to tura those hunting-grounds into tilled le The two men whose quick ears had caught the unusual sounds were of the hardy race of nae to whose strong arms and matchless eroism this country owes much of its great- ness—men who seemed born to pilot civilization in its struggle with barbarism and nature in its primeval estate. They stood now in the glade made by the passage of a small stream, where it crossed the narrow and imperfectly cleared road leading from Fort Kyle to the plantation beyond, up the noble Kanawha valley. They were dressed in hunting frocks, coonskin caps, buckskin breeches, leggings and moccasins, with the in- dispensable powder-horn at their side, and the trusty blades in their belts, ready at all times for an encounter with their foes, either human or animal. es ste Canta John Ryan, the elder of the twain, was a silddie-aged man, of well-knit frame, resolute Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. bearing, and a keen, dark eye, that betokened @ courage and will equal to any danger, and et the kindly expression which really charac- rized his rough, bearded face, indicated the man of admirable social qualities—the agreeable companion. The younger was quite a contrast in personal appearance. Although equally resolute in spirit and hardy in frame, there was about him an air of refinement, a charm of face, and a mel- lowness of voice, that revealed the gentle- man born, independent of the polish of refined society. In character, neither cold nor caleu- lating, nor yet enthusiastic to excess, Will Bently was ever ready, with heart and hand, to serve a friend or neighbor. After listeaing and watching for a few mo- ments in silence, the younger man again spoke: “It didn’t seem to be a scream of terror. I should almost think it was laughter if this wasn’t such an unlikely place for it,” John Ryan smiled as though a new thought had struck bim: “Tl bet my capI know now what skeered us so! Hold on a minnit. I bear the clatter of horses’ feet, and I reckon I know whoit is a- comin’. Jest step aside to this tree, kinder out of sight till they come up; you kin see them afore they’ll see you. Here they come!” By this time the sharp beat of horses’ hoofs was heard close at hand, and in another moment there appeared around the abrupt bend in the road just before them two women upon horse- back,one of whom was mounted in a manner that drew an exclamation of surprise and admiration from Bently, as he involuntarily stepped from bis hiding-place in order to get.a better view of the equestrians. The foremost rider, a shouting, laughing girl, stood wpright upon the back of her unsaddled horse, holding a rein lightly in one hand, looking back upon her rival in the race, who followed close behind, mounted, as was very common in those days among the wo- men of the frontier, astride, like a man. No wonder Bently gazed almost like one spell- bound, for the dark eyes of the flying damsel gave one swift, electrical grape directly into his own as she sped past, and drew his gaze after her, until the queenly form, so firmly and grace- fully poised upon the back of the fleet animal, disappeared in a hollow iu the wood. Scarcely bad the last rider passed from view when a thrill of fear startled the blood in the oung man’s veins. ‘The leading horse, rider- ess, was rushing up the opposite slope. In a moment Bently was at the scene of accident, to discover the girl upon the ground where she bad fallen from her steed. Fe.ring that she was seriously injured, be hastened to her side, but, before he quite reached the spot where she lay, she rose to her feet, and looking aroundin a half-bewildered manner, as though scarcely realizing her situation, encountered the anxious gaze of Bently. “Miss Ryan, are you much hurt?” be ex- claimed, hurriedly. ‘Oh, nol Only a little stunned. Lightfoot stumbled at a moment when I was looking back for Mrs. Ryan, who, it seems, means to desert me! “I think it was you who deserted her!” said Bently, smiling.
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hahaha i pf ee SP Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, “Well, at all events, she has had time to come up. I wonder what detains her?” ‘You need not be alarmed about her; her husband was with me by the brook, Did you not see him as you passed?” “Why, no, I didn’t, I suppose I shall re- ceive a scolding if brother John saw me riding in that style.” “Well, here they come,” replied Bently. “If you need a protector, call upon me.” : “T can defend myself, thank you!” replied Bessie Ryan, with a saucy smile in her bright eyes. ‘Well, Bess!” said John Ryan, as he and his wife came up, ‘ you and Will seem to be hay- ing a pleasant chat. Where’s yer horse?” ** Gone home, I reckon; he had his head that way the last I saw of him!” replied the girl. ‘“Ha-ha, my girl! He throwed ye, did he? Well, I’ve told ye more’n once that you’d break yer neck yet, with yer reckless capers!” ‘¢ My neck’s as sound as ever, brother John. Why didn’t you lay your authority on Kate? She rode as hard as J.” “You may ride as hard as yer please, ef ye’ll ride the same way she does,” answered Ryan, half-laughing, and pinching the red cheek of bis sister till it glowed with a still deeper hue. “But come! get up bebind Kate, and let’s make fur home; it’s gittin’ late!” The Ryan plantation lay about three miles below Fort Kyle and the little village of log- cabins which clustered around it, John Ryan, tempted by the beauty of the spot, had settled upon it several years before, and, although many times obliged to abandon it and fly with his family to the fort for safety, yet, with a per- severance and bravery that at times were reck- less, he returned again to the place, and erect- ed a new cabin upon the ruins of the old, which had been destroyed by the disappointed and re- vengeful enemy. There had been qnite a long time of compara- tive peace and safety. The Indians seemed dis- posed to be friendly, and the settlers, feelin more secure, ventured further from the fort an village, and made rapid progress in the clearing and improving of their farms, well back from and down the river. A brief glance at the bis- tory of Bessie Ryan wi!l explain the unusual cir- cumstance of a young woman of her beauty and refinement living amid such wild scenes and so rude a society. Born in one of the oldest cities of the Atlantic coast, Bessie had enjoyed superior advantages of education. Many years before, and while Bessie was_yet a child, her brother Jobn bad assed the Blue Ridge, and penetrated beyond he then frontier; and when, about two years before the time of this narrative, her parents died, leaving her without a permanent home, or any near relations, she resulved to seek her brother, and gratify a Jong-cherished desire to share the fortunes of those courageous people for whose daring and fortitude she entertained the highest admiration. A mingling of romance, enthusiasm, and thor- ough good sense in her character, formed a rather unusual combination of active qualities, and made her a leading spirit in the settlemen' where she soon became known as “‘ Queen Besa, A fearless and most skillful rider, a good rifle- shot, she was admirably ‘‘at home” in the forest, and among the rough, wild men whom she met almost daily, she moved a veritable forest qaeen—a kind of pride and pet of all, She was, indeed, born for a heroine and—be- came one! CHAPTER II. THE SHADOW. Tue rude but comfortable log-cabin in which Jobn Ryan’s family resided, stood upon the summit of a long and gentle slope, at the foot of which ran a deep river, while a sparkling little brook, which issued from a spring near at hand, bubbled and danced by the door. Be- yond the house was a young apple-orchard, whose thrifty growth gave promise of an ample reward for the labor bestowed upon it; upon the south side of the slope was a nursery of peach trees; stretching away to the west were the cleared fields, where the broad, dark-green leaves of the thriving corn waved in the sum- mer breeze; all—the settler’s whole estate— was encircied by the wall of mighty forest, which stretched to the’south, north and west in immeasurable distances, A narrow, zig-zag path led from the door of the cabin, down to the Kanawha and up to the spring head, over which was a platform, con- sisting of one large, white slab of-stone, through which an aperture had been cut sufliciently large to admit of a bucket in dipping up the water. By its side stood a large spring-house, built also of stone, and not yet quite finished— still lacking a roof. In the cheerful light of the early midsummer morning, every thing wore an aspect of peace and quiet loveliness, which—should the destroy- ing hand of the rutbless savage but be withhe ld —would soon spread over the surrounding wil- derness, Bessie Ryan, as she tripped through the dewy grass on her way to the spring-house, with her rich black hair twined round her stately head in long, evciicling braids, and her queen-like form clad in the simple muslin dress of the times, formed a picture charmingly appropriate to the scene. In her happiest mood, she was singing a favorite melody, in a voice of exquisite sweetness, that came back to her from forest and hill in mocking echoes, She sung: “*On the shore the shell is lying. Sadly for the blue depths sighing, And the low-voiced waves replying, ‘Thine yo more, the pearl-strewn seal’ *Bear me to the sea-isles, glowing In the emerald light down-flowing, Where my soul is ever going To its home beneath the sea.” “So all day my heart is singing Low and plaintive pleadings—bringing, Mem’ries sweet, that, round it clinging, Draw me still, beloved, to thee.” As she finished ber song, she was startled by | an apparition which caused ber to pour a por- tion of the foaming mik in her pail, upon the flags of the spring-house floor, instead of into 1 the brights pans prepared to receive it, The
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Queen Bessie, the Border Giri, rich color in her cheeks deepened to a bright crimson. “Draw me, still, beloved, to thee!” echoed from the lips of Bently, as he appeared in the spring-house door, and a roguish smile betrayed his enjoyment of her confusion. “You nearly surprised me!” she exclaimed, recovering herself, ‘‘and you see the mischief you have done!” “ Yes, I see; but I thought you too much of a backwoods heroine to be taken by surprise; though you were caught off your guard the other day when you fell off your borse and did- n’t wait for me to pick you up.” “Tl profit by the lesson, and be more on my uard in the future,” she answered, arcbly. ‘Even the real Queen Bess, you know, could surprised into nervousness by too much ga!lan- try on the part of her courtiers,” “ Well, Bessie, seriously, we have all of us oc- casion to be 1 at our guard. Reports are com- ing in daily of the depredations of the Indians; they are said to be again upon the war-path, and I am about setting out with asmall party of scouts to ascertain their whereabouts and numbers.” ‘“When are you coming back?” asked the maiden, with a face at once sobered into serious- Doss, “It is not likely that we will be gone many days; but, if I shouldn’t come back at all, what then?’ he asked, in a manner half earnest, half esting. d és We must not think of such an ‘if,’” said the young woman, quietly; ‘‘and yet,” she added, with compressed lips and flashing eyes, ‘if barm should befall you, you shall be avenged!” “What a heroine you are, Bessie!” said Bent- ly, laughing. ‘Do you really sunpone that you could bit an Indian if you should fire at one?” ‘You seem to doubt my skill,” she replied, as if annoyed by his want of faith in her forest ac- complishments; and taking the rifle from his eat she proceeded down the path toward the house, until they came opposite a tall elm stump that stood across the brook, ' “Do yousee that target yonder?” she said, ‘I placed it there yesterday, for an hour’s prac- tice. If I hit thecenter, you must do the same!” And taking aim, the young gir! fired. The performance was greeted by a shout of eigen. voices just behind ber, and, turning, Bessie discovered. that a number of men, the companions of Bently upon the scouting expe- dition, were looking on. Twoof them started for the target, and, returning, reported but a slight variation from the center, . : *“ Well done!” exclaimed Bently, with evident “T confess to no doubt, now, as to your skill.” “ Mighty well done, fur a gal! By Jinks! I don’t think many of us fellers could beat that ar’!’ cried a rough-looking fellow named Joe kes, Br You must ’a’ taken a heap of pains a-trainin’ of er sence she come out here in the woods,” re- echoed another of the group, to John Ryan, who now came up. admiration, “No, she took it of her own accord,” quietly | i sf kes every thi ag Ryan, just as she ta ery thing “She oughter bs called King Bess, then,” add- done of the settlers, laughing, “She's the right grit, by Jinks!” again ex- ‘aimed Joe Sykes, quite carried away in his vlmiration, ‘* We'll have to make her Capting Bass—bo! ho! Ill goin for high private in her company, by Jinks!’ ay Wel , boys, let’s be a-movin’,” exclaimed an- other of the company. ‘' We ar’ out on service. If the reds ar’ around us, we mustn’t let our shoes freeze to the ground.” The men, shouldering their rifles, began to wind down the narrow path leading from the house to the broader road which ran along the river—Joe Sykes, whose special peculiarity it was that be could never entertain more taan one idea at a time, muttering to himself all the way down, ‘‘ Nice gal, by Jinks!” A few days after this Jobn Ryan rode over to the fort to learn the report of such scouts as bad come in, and to ascertain the probabilities of an attack by the Indians, The news brought in was gloomy enough. Unprotected settlers in every direction bad been murdered, and their cabins and crops destroyed. As he rode slewly back toward bis farm, he thought of the years of hard labor bestowed up- on that spot in the wilderness; of the hardships endured, of the dangers but barely escaped; of the brave little wife, the innocent children, the lovely and dependent sister—all, all might be swept away in one brief moment, as it were, by the hands of the red fiends. As he reached the door, he flung himself from the saddle, and giving tbe bridle into the hands of the black boy who stood waiting to receive it, he sat down upon the door-step and removed his hat, to wipe the perspiration from bis brow. His wife hastened to the door, “ What is the news, John?” she exclaimed, “ Bad!” be replied. ‘‘The very miscbief is to pay. The reds have broken loose, and blood is running. We are in for another run to the fort, I fear.” *Has anything been heard from the men who went from here the other morning?” asked Bessie. ‘* Yes; they have gone on down the river to t such information as they can, ‘Two scouts, S from the Cheat river, report the Shawnees and Delawares to be on the war-path, and that’s not far off, you know.” ‘*We must go to the fort!” exclaimed Mrs, Ryan, in her quick, emphatic way. “I’ve had a feelin’ fur some time that something was goin’ to bappen; an’ last night I dreamt of seein’ yer heart’s blood, John, an’ that’s a sure sign!” “IT know thur’s trouble abead, te; it’s mighty queer, but I’ve had my signs, too,” The strong, brave man spoke despondingly. “What hev you seen, John? I thought you didn’t b’lieve in signs an’ warnin’s,” said his wife, now thoroughly aroused. ‘No more 1 don’t,” replied the pioneer; still, it’s kind ©’ curious. As I was a-comin’ along home, I saw somethiw’ layin’ in the road that looked like a big clot o’ blood. Wal, I got down an’ tuk a stick an’ turned it over, an’ found ’twas a piece of fresh liver. Ther wa’n’t no signs of anything else anywhar else around, , fur I looked all round keerfully. Now, how it i .
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, 6 come thar, right in my path, is what puzzles me. “Some animal may have been killed near there, and a part of it dropped in the road; or, perbapsit was earried there by some wild beast,” suggested his sister. ** No, po!’ exclaimed her sister-in-law, excit- edly, ‘it’s a warnin’—L know it is.” “Wal, I haven’t told you about the blood at the spring yit. When 1 went down there yes- terday mornin’ fur water, I saw three drops of blood on the stone. I put my hand up to my nose to see if if was bleedin’, but ’twasn’t bloody; then I stooped over to dip up the water, and jest exactly three drops of blood fell from my nose. Now, wa’n’t that kind 0’ queer#? ‘*T tell you we’re warned, and must go to the fort to save us all from bein’ murdered!” repeat- ed Mrs, Ryan, looking around apprehensively at her two children, and her dark eyes glowing with a superstitious fear, ‘Wal, Vl take you over to-morrow. Ill have to come back, though, to see to things. Thecorn must be booed, and them boys wouldn’t begin to stay ef I warn’t here too,” “T think that the corn had better suffer than for you to expose your life,” said Bessie. “T kin take keer of myself if you women an’ children ar’ in a safe place. Ef the fort is really attacked before I git back there, they must con- trive to let me know, fur they’ll need all the sac they ken scare up to defend it.” rs. Ryan remained silent and serious, though baie bog herself in making Lia pare for going to the fort in the morning. The superstition so pecvadent in those days bad a strong hold upon er mind, and in the perilous times at hand, the incidents of the liver and the drops of blood had great significance to her. They retired to their beds, prepared for an attack and almost expecting it, but daybreak found them unmolested; and the cheerful influ- ence of a bright summer morning dispelled much of their fear. Still, they hastened their preparations for departure, and early in the forenoon they took leave of the ‘“‘ Silver Spring Plantation.” CHAPTER III. THE FIRST BLOW. REACHING the fort, they found that the con- dition of things fully juscified them in leaving | the farm. The settlers were rapidly gathering from all quarters, in great alarm, seeking the protection afforded by the fort. As the danger did not seem to be immediate- ly at hand, John Ryan determined, the next morning, to go over to his farm for the day, promising his wife, however, that he would re- turn before night. Receiving over and over again her emphatic charge to ‘“‘be watchful, and take keer of himself,” he went forth—alas! to return no more. , A busy scene was now presented at the fort, though but five men were left within it—most all the band having sallied out to obtain some- thing like a definite knowledge of the foe sup- posed to be lurking near. Some of the women were making a great ado; others were calmly and industriously helping to get things into a state of order and preparation; bullets were molded, patches were cut, water was brough while all anxiously watched for the return o the. scouts. Women, straining their eyes at the loop-holes of the block-house, strove to dis- cover some token of tbe return of husband, fatber or brother. Children were there—some with terrified countenances listening to the ex- cited talk of their elders; others bravely de- claring their ability to take a part in defend- ing themselves and the fort; but all dreading what each hour might bring forth. Whether the result should be a return to their homes, or the opening of actual hostilities, a few hours must determine, ‘* What do you see Kate?’ asked Bessie com- ing up behind Mrs. Ryan, as she stood at one of the loop-holes, anxiously gazing down the river-road over which John Ryan must come on his return, “Don’t see nothin’. WishI did!” was the reply, in the sharp, short manner peculiar to herself, as Mrs. Ryan turned away from her long scrutiny. “You can’t expect John back so early in the day as this,” replied the younger woman quietly, though her own face was indicative o extreme anxiety, and her nervousness could scarcely be suppressed, “He'd better ’a’ left everything on the place goto ruin than to give his scalp to the red- skins. Vm afeard we'll never see him ag’in, Them warnin’s went fur nothin’!” replied Mrs, Ryan, Sloomily, “We must hope for the best,” said Bessie, asshe took the station her sister-in-law ha just left. bour, she was about to retire from her post, when she caught sight of an object that riveted her attention, ‘Kate! come here. she exclaimed, Mrs. Ryan hastened to the spot. “Lord a-mercy !” she cried, in great agitation ‘it’s Pete runnin’ fur dear life! I knowe somethin’ would happen!” and she wrung her hands in aperfect frenzy of excitement, then rushed out toward the gate, followed by Bessi who was the first to question the negro “ boy,’ after he was admitted within the gate, \ “Oh, Missee Kate! it’s clean done—da’s bofe killed dead!” exclaimed the terrified creature, as quickly as he could recover breath enough to speak. The horrified listeners besought him to ex- plain, but he seemed scarcely to realize that he was out of danger, and could not, for several moments collect his thoughts sufficiently to give any thing like aclear account of the oc- currence, When the announcement of her husband’s death first greeted her ears, Mrs Ryan seemed utterly overwhelmed with despair—wringing her hands, and looking from one to another in speechless agony; but after a few moments, she became suddenly calm and quiet—turnin away from all attempts at consolation, wit! ae compressed painfully close, and a peculiar eam in her black eyes, which seemed to er Isn’t this Pete coming?” li & more intense, as she listened to the deta the murder, F a After watching for more than an~ Ss:
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. We will not undertake to relate the story in the words of Black Pete, broken as it was by frequent interruptigns from the eager listeners gathered around, but will give the substance of the black’s account: Ryan was plowing, while bis two men, not far away, were hoeing corn. Suddenly, with- out a note of warning, they heard the sharp erack of a dozen rifles and Ryan's horse fell dead in the furrow. One of the slaves, also, dropped where he stood, mortally wounded; the other, Pete, managed to gain the woods under cover of the tall corn, while the Indians were intent upon the death of his master. Ryan started to run for the house, making his course as zig zag as possible, to confuse the aim of his pursuers, but before he had gained half the distance he was struck by a rifle-ball. He continued running, however, until be bad reached the nursery of peach-trees, where he fell lifeless. He was a long-desired victim, for his indomit- able energy, bravery and skill had made him an object of special hatred to the Indians, The savages, overjoyed at his death, rushed forward with yells of triumph, and gathering around the still warm body, they tore off the scalp. Then, kindling a fire, they began their deliberate pre- parations for a horrid rite. First they cut open the breast, and took out the so lately beatiug, heart, This they solemnly proceeded to roast before the fire, It was then gravely divided and eaten. This rite was performed in accord- ance with a belief prevalent among the savages, that to partake of the heart of a briuve warrior would impart the like quality to those who ate it. Githe sorrow that might have crushed Kate Ryan at another time, seemed to be turned into a fierce and burning hatred of the Indians, and every cag, oe was at once directed toward revenge. From the loving wife, she became the implacable widow, whose sorrow for her great loss was reserved for the night, when she could weep and no eye behold her. As evening came on, all was excitement and confusion within the fort. With but five men, and an attack during the night almost certain, no wonder there were forebodings among those ze had sought refuge within the strong log walls, Bessie Ryan, too much shocked and grieved at the awful fate which had befallen her brave and trusty brother, to mingle with those who athered in groups te discuss the one topic of nterest, stood silunt and sad at one of the loop- holes of the block-house, gazing out toward the wilderness, The sun was sinking below the horizon, tangling the golden trail of his mantle among the interlacing boughs, and leaving its bright fragments on tree-top and distant bill. As length her quick eye caught sight of a form emerging from the forest-path; her beart beat more rapidly, and a slight flush rose to her pale cheek; it was Will Bently who approached, Soon another and another appeared, he good tidings quickly spread, and ina few moments the gate was opened ty admit the scouts within the fort. “Tt ig a great satisfaction to find you here,” said Will, to the sorrowing girl, the first time he had an opportunity of speaking toher. ‘TI was fearful that John might delay, and your escape be cut off.” * As, in ‘eed, it very nearly was; we narrowly missed sharing the fate of poor John, If Le had but staid here with us!” replied Bessie, with a trembling voice, Night fell, and passed quietly. Morning came, and found the little garrison still awaiting the aftack—a morning destined to adda new grief to that which had already wrung the heart of Kate Ryan. A woman in the fort, who hada paintul gathering upon her hand, had sent her own boy and little Johnny Ryan, without his mother’s knowledge or consent, out of the post inclosure to a large walnut-tree, which stood close to the bank of the river, to rocure a green walnut for use upon her hand. rs. Ryan, attracted by the screams of some women, rushed to the spot. from which they were gazing, to discover the two boys strug- gling in the grasp of two stalwart Indians. The mother became almost frantic at the sight. ‘Let me gol I kin save him!” she screamed; but strong arms held her back from certain destruction. Tbe Indians probably had intended to capture the boys, but the one engaged with Johnny Ryan became exasperated at his sturdy resistance, and afraid to expose himself longer asamark forthe shots from tbe fort, he sunk his tomahawk io the skull of the devoted boy, tore off the seolp, and left him dying on the banks of the Kanawha, The other child was taken away, and his fate never was known, The combat then was opened, Every man was at his post, while the willing hands of the women molded bullets, and kept up the supply of ammunition, that the men might nos be obliged to leave their stations. The clearing around the fort, and the little cluster of log- cabins near it, literally swarmed with a host of yelling, screeching human wolves, whose _hide- ously painted bouies, fierce gestures, and wild cries made them seem more like demons than human beings. An old bunter rather incautiously exposed his the at one of the loop-holes, and a musket- all from the ever-watchful enemy shattered his right arm, and rendered him unable to do further service. ; ‘Here! I want that ar’ rifle! [ve been waiting fur one!” exclaimed Mrs. Ryan to the wounded man, as he turned away from his OSb. 4 ‘“Wal, take it! an’ I hope ye’ll have more sense ’n I had, an’ not stick yerself up fora mark for them red devils,” exclaimed the man, as he handed her his weapon, “Tf I don’t make some of ’em dance ter the’r own music, l’m uncommonly mistaken!” was the sharp reply, and the little woman, after procuring a large block of wood to stand upon, took the post vacated by the disabled man, *““How weary you lock,” remarked Bently, observing the pale cheeks and anxious counte- nance of Bessie, as she furnished him with a fresh supply of ammunition. ‘Not more sothan you. I'm afraid the men will give out if there is not some relief before night,” she replied. “Ob, no! Wecan hold out a long while yet;
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. v and the recruits which have been sent for will surely be here before long,” replied Bently. “If T had but a rifle!” exclaimed the resolute girl, ‘‘I could be of some use; any one can mold bullets and serve out ammunition.” “There! Your last new ball has settled one of the varmints,” said Bently, turning to her again, after discharging his piece. Just then a shrill laugh from Kate Ryan caused Bessie to hasten to her. “What is it, Kate?’ she asked, somewhat startled and shocked at such a sound from her, “That Injun that I hit jest now, bounded up and shook his legs in the air, like he war dancin’ a jig!” returned Mrs. Ryan, again laughing. “ Now I’m goin’ to make another of ’em jump,” and she began rapidly to reload her piece, “Kate, let me take your place for awhile; you are getting too much excited, and will be down sick next,” pleaded Bessie, but her sister- in-law would not listen to the request, “No! Pll stand here as long as thur’s an Jnjun in sight, ora breath of life in my body!” she answered, sharply; and realizing that it was useless to remonstrate, the young woman turned away. , As day after day passed, and no reinforce- ments arrived, the little garrison was compelled to endure great privations, The supply of water and provisions was so nearly exhausted as to oblige all to be put upon short allowance. Some of the less heroic women thus imprisoned and required to suffer, would complain bitterly of their hardships, when, with great sharpness, and in her own abrupt, sarcastic manner, Mrs, Ryan would exclaim: ‘‘Look at me! Haven’t I endured as much as any of ye? DoJcomplain? Jest quit it and goto work, Ye kin stand suffering jest as well as the hard-worked men. Don’t be babies.” “The Indians are drawing off at last. We are victorious, are we not?” exclaimed Bessie, as, one morning, the savages seemed to be mak- ing preparations to raise the siege, “We are not yet sure; but, it seems like it,” replied ecg : ‘Well, at least we can breathe freely once more.” “Yes, The poor wretches will have enough to do for a while to take care of their wounded and bury their dead.” At length the garrison became assured that the enemy had retired, for a time, at least. The first thing to be done was to renew tho stock of provisions from the surrounding farms, A party was detailed for this purpose. “There's a heap of provender at our house. Nothin’ to do but go an’ git’em,” said Kate Ryan to a group of men, who were discussing the arrangements for the expedition ‘“‘That’s uncommon lucky, by Jinks! Jist tell us whar to find ’em, an haven’t got ’em, you better believe they won't stay thar long!” said Joe Sykes, with a broad grin on his rough face. as he glanced from Mra, Ryan to Beésie. ‘I kin eat shoe-leather may: self, I kin; but I kinder want you wimmen-fol an’ children to fill up ag’in on bread an’ meat.” “Tell ye whar to git’em!” cried the indignant little woman, twitching her bead round in a manner iar to herself, ‘I intend to go ef the red rips | ea Yem myself! Ef you want to go "long, you in!’ ‘Now look here, Mrs. Ryan,” protested the honest Joe, ‘‘’tain’t safe fur you to go, ye’da heap better keep inside of this fort fur a while yit, an’ let us men do the outside work.” “Don’t ye trouble yerself "bout me,” an- swered the indomitable Mrs. Ryan, turning her flashing eyes poe the speaker. ‘“ I’m a-goin’, an’ ye needn’t borrow trouble on my account, neither. Jest git yerselves ready, an’ ye won't be kept waitin’ fur me!” “Rate, I shall go too,” said Bessie, quietly. “You!” exclaimed Bently, in astonishment, The young girl laughed, and making no other reply, followed Mrs. Ryan, who had already left the spot to begin her preparations for the expedition. “The very lightnin’s in the Ryan women!” muttered one of the group of men, as he turned away. a Lightnin” exclaimed Joe. “Not a bit of it! It’s cl’ar grit, as sure as yer born. Ef the wimmen says go, go it is.” At length a Perey consisting of ten men and the two self-willed females, were ready for a start. A unique picture did they present, as they filed out of the fort upon the river-path: the little but lithe figure of the widow, habited in the short, wide skirt of homespun stuff, which did not interfere with convenience in riding, working, or walking, mounted in her peculiar style upon her own favorite horse, a noble gray steed of unusual sagacity; near her rode Bessie, whose gentle but fearless ess presented a charming picture of grace an ready skill. Then the armed pioneers in their border suits, a part of them taking the lead as they entered the forest, and struck into the trail-like road which wound around River Hill, and then on, through the woods, down to the Ryan circiegaetn ut little conversation transpired as they rode along. The knowledge that they were still in peril induced the exercise of the greatest caution and vigilance. Suddenly Mrs. Ryan’s horse stopped. “Get up, Selim! Get on, sir!” with a smart stroke of the whip; but the resolute Selim only tossed his head the higher, without advancing @ step. Pie smells an Injun!” was Mrs. Ryan’s brief comment. “TI lieve thur ts something wrong by Jinks!” remarked Sykes. “ll bet an old gun that the red varmints are around, Look to yer pa boys!” “Some of us had better go ahead and recon~ noiter, like; thur mought be an ambush t’/other side of yon hill,” said one of the men. ‘It’s ruther risky business to go ahead with- out findin’ out fust whether thar’s a trap set fur us over the hill,” remarked an old hunter. “Three or four of us had better slip quietly round through the wovuds, and see if thar’s any thing hid thar.” No one offered to start, and Mrs, Ryan ex-_ claimed, in a sarcastic voice: “Dil go; I’m not afeard.” A curious expression flitted over the counte- nances of the men at this flattering implication, —_
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ee Ee Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. «“T won't take that, by Jinks!” muttered Joe Sykes. ‘‘ Boys, Isay: half of ye stay here and guard these women, while t’other half goes ahead.” “Guard yerselves!” snapped out Mrs, Ryan, with a suddenness and fire that made those near her instinctively draw back; “I kin take keer of myself!” ‘¢There is no need of any of you staying with us,” interposed Bessie, ‘‘We are, both of us, well armed and well mounted, and can either fight or fly,” she added, smiling. Joe Sykes, taking the smile exclusively to himself, felt ready to rush at once upon any number of ambushed foes, and accordingly dis- mounted without further parley. The others of the party doing the same, they fastened their horses and started off, rifle in hand, to recon- noiter. “Selim seems bewitched to-day; I don’t fnow what ails the critter,” said Kate Ryan to her sister-in-law. “Kate, I hear music! And see! thero are the men rushing up the hill from every direction. Hurrah! hurrah! the Flag!” and Bessie stood up in her stirrups to catch sight of the troops which were just coming in view over the brow of the Il. The stirring notes of the fife, and the re sounding beat of the drums vibrated through the forest, and cheer upon cheer rent the air aé the long-expescted reinforcement made its ap pearance. wee Ninety-five well-armed and disciplined men, most of them accustomed to Indian warfare, were indeed a welcome addition to the defensive force of this little settlement. CHAPTER IV. A “ REGULAR” SUITOR. “Wao is she?” The question was asked by a soldierly-looking fellow, one of the late recruits, as Bessie Ryan assed from the fort to one of the cabins in the ittle village near it, “A beautiful girl! Do you know her?” the same speaker added. “Know her? I reckon I do,” growled the roughly-clad, hearty old frontiersman ad- dressed, ‘‘and it’s little she’d keer fur the likes of you! She don’t take to new-fledged soldiers, as has never scalped a red-skin, I can tell ye!” The young soldier regarded the old forester witha mingled expression of amusement and ique, but with the air of one whose self-con- Bdaacs precluded all danger of his being burt by insinuations of an uncomplimentary na- ture. To a casual observer he was handsome, with his sparkling blue eye, dark “ wavy” hair, well-proportioned figure, and of good address generally. Conscious to the fullest extent of his repossessing appearance, he conceived himself fo be a favorite with all women of taste, for | whom he could only feel a gentle sympathy, where their too-impressible hearts yielded to, his manifold charms. paving several times had brief glimpses of the forest beauty, he found himself becoming decidedly interested in her, | ry y we De na ee aaa ee without having made her a i and without having yet even learned her name, ‘* Who did you say she was?” be asked again, with easy indifference to the backwoodsman’s previous rebuff. *Didn’t say, as I knows on,” was the cool reply. R Does her father live in the village?’—offer- ing a plug of tobacco to the uncommunicative an. ““Wal—much obleeged—she hain’t got none, asfarasI know. She’s a Ryan; her brother was killed by the Injuns ot afore the siege. P’raps you heerd about it?” *“Yes; then she’s a sister-in-law of that queer little widow that hates the Indians so much, is she?” “Yeas an’ she hates ’em too; an’ if you’ve any notion of sparkin’ around her, ye’ll hev to show yer grit, I kin tell you!” Saying which, the old man rose from his seat upon the ground, took his gun from its place against the wall of the block-house, and strolled off toward the village. As Bessis Ryan passed along the stockade street on her way home—for Mrs, Ryan and herself now lived in the village—she stopped at Simon Grey’s cabin, to have a few moments’ chat with Jessie Grey, who was a fast friend and ardent admirer, and two or three years her junior. Concluding her chat upon other matters, Bessie made inquiry of Jessie, concerning the young soldier who had saluted her so politely, as she passed out of the fort, “Do you know him?” she asked. ‘* Jessie’s cheeks flushed. “Yes: he has been here several times; his name is Wilmot—Harry Wilmot!” ‘‘Oh! he has been here, has he!” cried Queen Boss, teasingly. “He'll be sure to fall in love with you, Bess—you are so beautiful!” retorted Jessie, half sadly. ‘You little goose, how silly you are! He's already head-over-ears in love with youl sus- pect, if he has already been here several times; and here he comes again!” added Bessie, in a lower tone, In a moment Captain Wilmot was at the door, Of course an introduction to Miss Ryan followed, The young officer exerted himself to make a favorable impression; but Bessie maintained a dignified and formal manner, determined that Jessie Grey’s apprehensions should not be realized. Not many days after this, however, Captain Wilmot called at Mrs, Ryan’s, and, being received politely, took it for granted that his visits would be welcome. So, without further ceremony, he became a frequent guest, “T wish Captain Wilmot would ’tend to his own business a little better, and not come here quite so much!” muttered Mrs, Ryan as the door closed upon that personage, late one evening in September. The little woman dincapred oe by ees ou, 6 helped to mak lonely for you, ‘Kate™ i Rein “Wal. I don’t keer. I ain’t goin’ to hey
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, 9 him comin’ here in this wayany more. One on man as Will Bently, is wuth a dozen of m ! “JT wonder what has become of Will. He hasn’t been heard of for a long time!” said the girl, musingly. “*T reckon he wouldn’t keer about comin’ back at all, if he knew of all the doin’s goin’ on here,” replied her sister-in-law, significantly. Bessie was silent. She knew that it would be useless to contend with her eccentric relative; and, sitting down by the large open fire-place, in which glowed a pile of hickory coals, she reflected long and earnestly Bee the subject which filled her heart. Will Bently’s long absence, upon a hunting expedition, was to her a source of anxiety, and the persistent attentions of Captain Wilmot were beginning to be a real annoyance, Since the arrival of the new force at the gar- rison, a feeling of comparative security pre- vailed in its immediate vicinity, and the more courageous of the women and children of the lit- tle town would sometimes venture out beyond its limits. One beautiful day in autumn it was |g) gra that a party of the young people should go nut- ting, a short distance into the woods, scarcely out of sight of the fort, Bessie Ryan and Jessie Grey, attended by the assiduous Harry Wilmot, were of the number. Hach one of the girls pro- vided herself with a small basket of luncheon, that they might enjoy a long day’s ramble, without the necessity of returning for dinner, The four or five young mien of the party were well armed, and declared their intention to fur- nish a supply of squirrels, or some other game for dinner. A fire was to be kindled upon the banks of the little stream, which murmured along near by, over a bed of glistening pebbles, Bessie, naturally of a tical temperament, was in her element. The beautiful day—the swaying of the tall trees with their many- colored foliage—the bright leaves fluttering to the ground, the singing of the birds, the splash- ing of the dimpled water—all combined to ani- mate her spirits to the highest degree. She laughed, and sung, and chattered—mock- ing the surprised squirrel that peeped down at her from his seat upon a lofty limb; or balanced herself upon some fallen tree, that spanned the stream, giving herself up utterly to the joyous- ness that the surroundings inspired. Poor Captain Wilmot at length began to look | despondent, for Bessie seemed entirely oblivious | to his thousand-and-one attentions; so self-satis- fied and happy, as to be quite provoking. was near her, though she had nefther seen nor heard any thing to warn her of another’s pres- ence, Glancing hastily over her shoulder, she beheld, just behind her, the paizited face of a stalwart Indian. Her first impulse, of course, was to scream; but she did not utter a cry; her second thought was to flee; but, before she could rise from the ground, the savage caught her by her arms, and quickly pinioned them bebind her. “Injun want squaw; come ’long!” he said, in broken English. Knowing that she could not run with much swiftness with her arms bound, Bessie stood, for a moment, perfectly still, undetermined what course to pursue, ‘Then, reflecting that her companions could not be very far away, she gathered her full strength for a scream, and | gave it with a will and force that startled the tall savage by her side. “ Big yell! Come "long now—mus’ run,” he said, taking her by the shoulder and pushing ber rapidly before him into the depths of the forest. Determined upon as much delay as greg the captive purposely stumbled and fell to the ground, The savage, evidently suspectIng the ruse, scowled at her, and, drawing his tomahawk, exclaimed: : “Come fast; no fall again, or me kill!” and | taking hold of one of the long braids of hair which had become loosened in her fall, he led her swiftly on. Bessie saw the horse belonging to her captor tethered to a sapling at a little distance in the woods. She noticed, too, that he bad left his rifle there. If once placed upon the animal be- fore her captor, she realized that she would be past present rescue. \ So, while he was untethering the animal, with a desperation that was past feeling the pain which she inflicted upon herself, she wrenched her wrists apart, lacerating the flesh, cai ing much of the skin off in doing so; and whirling suddenly round, ran toward the little stream, The Indian was in pursuit in an instant, Find- ing that she could run as well as yell, he threw his tomahawk after her, but it whizzed harm- lessly past. On she flew, her pursuer close behind. She could hear his bard, quick breathing, and when she felt that he was about to seize hold of her again, she suddenly stooped, and the warrior pitched headlong over her, quite knocking her Bessie wandered about, sometimes searching for nuts, quite as often watching the wild in- habitants of the woods, or losing herself in con- templation of the scenes around her—once in a while pausing to answer the echoing calls of her companions. Thus she had almost unconscious ly mraree on, until she found herself within a natural glade by the side of a stream, where the sunshine swept down in broad gleams. She sat down upon the grass, flinging off her sun-bon- net, while she gazed up at the flakes ef white cloud, stretching themselves like thin vails be- tween earth and sky. Suddenly she felt, with en instinctive sense of danger, that some one over also, Clutebing both hands full of the soft, dry, yellow sand of the soil, she arose just as the Indian sprung forward to seize her, and, scarce- ly knowing what she did, hurled the sand full | into his open mouth and eyes. He made a grasry at her, stopped—sputtered—danced wildly about in frantic rage for a moment, and then dashed toward the water—Bessie, meanwhile, continuing her flight. Soon she saw Captain Wilmot and another one of the young men of the party coming toward her with all possible speed. She pointed toward the stream, unable for a moment to speak, and Wilmot, seeing an Indian dodging along the banks trying to, es- cape, rushed forward, determined to take at _ least one svalp, that he might no longer be re
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eae ae proached by the old frontiermen, who loved to taunt him with his ‘* freshness” and inexperi- ence, For a time the banks of the water-course pro- tected the savage, who ran stooping, until he should reach the bend in the creek, where the trees and underbrush grew nearly to the water’s edge, under whose protection he hoped to es- cape. But, Wilmot was a good marksman, if he had not practiced upon red-skins, and as the fugitive rose from his bent position to dart into the woods, the captain fired, and the savage fell to rise no more, To obtain the scalp of bis fallen foe was the next thing to be done; but, though Wilmot ar- dently desired to possess it, yet he could not re- press a cold shudder at the thought of taking such atrophy. But, have it he must; so, after another moment’s hesitation, he proceeded to the task, and, had it not been for pride’s sake, he would have thrown it from him even after securing it, Noticing, a little further on, the tethered horse, he took possession of it, then hastily retraced his steps and soon overtook the whole party, which now had all gathered—every one in a state of alarm and excitement, Bessie, whose pale face showed how much she was suf- fering from her lacerated wrists, and overcome by the excitement she had undergone, was seat- ed upon the captured horse, and the whole party hastened homeward. Captain Wilmot placed himself at the bridle- rein, and, as they emerged from the woods and turned toward the village, he exclaimed in a low, agitated tone: “Oh, Bessie! I can scarcely realize that you are safe, though I do realize how dear—how very dear you are to me, Your pale face al- most breaks my heart!” “No, no! you must not say that!” said Bessie, quickly. ‘“‘I—” “T will say it! You are dear to me; you have long known it—you must have known it!” “No, Captain Wilmot; I never imagined that our heart was in the matter at all. We have en friends—we can still be friends, but noth- ing more,” replied Bessie, in calm, decided tones. ‘¢ More than friends, Bessie Ryan—more than friends—or less. It is either love or hate with me!” he answered in suppressed tones, through his set teeth. Bessie did not reply, but, shaking the bridle loose from his hand, she joined some others of the party, and Captain Wilmot, with a cold bow, strode off in the direction of the fort, Quite an excitement reigned in the little vil- lage when the adventure became known, A small band of men went out to scour the woods, and ascertain whether there were Indians. lurk- ing near, but the only thing discovered was the fact that a party of red-skins, on a hunting ex- jition, had passed near the vicinity of the set- Fioment. The supposition was, that one of the number while roving through the forest, by chance espied Bessie alone and unprotected, and conceiving that it would be an easy matter to secure her as a captive, had made the attempt. He lost his prize and his life; and Bossie—she won 8 suitor, Queen Bessie, the Border Giri. CHAPTER V. A MAIDEN'S CHOICE AND A MAIDEN’S LOSS. Anout two weeks after the nutting-excur- sion, Mrs. Ryan announced her determination to visit her late home, with a view to obtaining some useful articles which bad never yet been removed, What she proposed was usually ac- quiesced in, for those well acquainted with ber knew that opposition but added to her determi- nation to carry her point, whatever it might be; so Bessie made no objection; and seeing her sister-in-law’s preparations for the expedition a desire to revisit the old homestead also seize her. a Kate! I believe I will go with you; what do ou we You kin do as you like, I reckon!” was the reply, which signified the widow’s entire will- ingness that Bessie should accompany her. * And do let me go, too!” exclaimed Jessie Grey, who bad, according to custom, run over to spend a part of the afternoon with her friend Bessie. ““ What d’ye s’pose I keer?” replied Mrs, Ryan, “But, ye’d better ask yer own folks about it, ‘fore ye calkelate too much on’t.” Mrs. Grey was willing that Jessie should go, but stipulated that the trip should be postponed until the next morning, and a larger party made up, which should include one or two men as a protection against danger, Thus the matter was finally arranged, and Captain Wilmot, hearing of the proposed ex- cursion, called at Mr. Grey’s and offered him- self as Jessie’s escort, which added exceedingly to the anticipated pleasure of the young girl. The following morning, the little party, con- sisting of Mrs. Ryen, Bessie, Jessie Grey, Cap- tain Wilmot and Mrs. Ryan’s man, Pete, set out for the plantation—the three first mounted each upon her own favorite horse, and in high spirits with the prospect which the fine day af- forded. Bessie led the way—a thing so common with her as to beexpected. Captain Wilmot’s man- ner was just the same as usual; he did not seem to remember that soy wing unpleasant had assed between himself and Bessie, but laughed and chatted with Mrs. Ryan and Jessie Grey, with an occasional remark to Bessie, when she chanced to linger within conversational dis- tance, If her calm indifference of “manner signified anything to him he would not allow it to ap- pear; aud so, when they had nearly reached the farm, he left Jessie Grey to the society of her friend, Mrs. Ryan, and urged bis horse on until he came alongside of Bessie, who then seemed absorbed in a fit of musing. “A penny for your thoughts,” he said, gayly, looking into her face, as though he expected what he desired—a revelation. **T am not in the retail business!” and Bessie softened the abruptness of her reply with a faint smile. “Perhaps you would wholesale them, then, which would suit me much better,” was the re- turn ca ha thoash P * No. ve no thoughts for you in an way,” was the rejoinder, 7
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, Rae Ee ee a a 1S LR ee ee! Sa eee al acon Captain Wilmot’s face flushed and paled several times before he found voice to reply: “You have trifled wita me, Bessie, and you shall repent of it. A man’s beart is not a mere plaything, to be cast aside as worthless, after affording a moment’s amusement!” “T have never given you the faintest reason to suppose that I cared for you, other than asa friendly acquaintance, and I tell you now, and once for all, that 1 do not lov- you, and if you knew me as others know me, you wonld never give me occasion to repeat what I now have said,” Wilmot was silont for a moment; then, as they came in sight of the deserted farm-house, thinking it bis best opportunity, be remarked: “Neither do you kno v me, Bessie, or you would not think of this being the end!” and drawing in his rein a little, he allowed Bessie to precede bim up tha path to the house, while he rejoined Jessie Grey. After spending an hour or two about the place, and securing such things as she had come to ob- tain, Mrs. Ryan signified her readiness to return to the village. As they were winding slowly down the slope which led from the house to the river-path, an exclamation from Mrs. Ryan directed the at- tention of the party to a band of hunters ad- vancing through the woods directly toward them. The tall form of Will Bently was all that Bessie cared to see, and the bright flush of pleasure mantled her cheek and glowed in her eye as they met, but there was an indescribable | something in his manner toward her for which she could not account; and after the warmth and surprise of the first greeting were over, he scemed to grow strangely reserved, “f wonder what it means?” she thought; and glancing toward him with an inquiring look upon her face, she found bim regarding her intently. She smiled involuntarily, and Bently, smiling in return, came up to her as the party was about to move on. Bessie waited for Mrs. Ryan and Jessie to ass on before; Captain Wilmot waited for essie; but, she showed no sign of moving from the spot, At length, as the position was becoming awkward, Bessie turned her horse's head, determined to thwart Wilmot’s purpose of riding back with her; and, addressing Bent- ly, who stood with his rifle on his shoulder, waiting to see them off, she directed his at- tention to the desolate appearance of the homestead, and seemed utterly oblivious to the presence of the waiting cavalier. At length she asked; Che are going to the fort now, are you no! “So Lintended,” he replied; moving forward with ber, and not aitempting to conceal bis amusement at the discomfitnre of Captain Wil- mot, who, accepting the situation, rode on to join the others of the party. ‘What has kept you away so long?” inquired Bessie, “Well,” began Bently, besitatingly, “I have not—trath told—been gone as long as you sup- gone out again, without.so much as letting us know of it, have you?” ‘Not exactly. I came within a few miles of home and stopped over night with an old friend settled further up the river, and finally I resolv- ed on a change of plan, and went out again without seeing home.” “‘ Of course ycu had a reason for it, which I am not going to ask,” said Bessie, half-laugh- ing and blusbing a little; ‘but I want to tell you one thing: when you ‘hear stories about me, don’t believe them till you know them to be true, “T shall not, certainly. I may understand, | then, that there is no truth in certain rumors I have heard?” and he spoke with enger earneste ness. scanning her face, as she replied: “f can, of course, only surmise what you may have heard; but, I can truly say tuere is no ground for any rumors concerniag me,” ‘* Bessie!” Se WHT” There was a clasping of hands; each under- stood the other; there was no need of words. Contrary to expectations, Bessie’s inveter- ate suitor continued as blaud and attentive as ever, True, he gave ber no further oceasion to re- peat her decision, but persistently displayed bis unvarying devotion, by attaching himself to her whenever and wherever he could do so without danger, or receiving a direct rebuff, being particularly careful not to place bimself in a position which would afford Miss Ryan an opportunity of administering cone, Powered bis rival, Will Bently, bis manner was, at first, overbearing and supercilious, but gradually became conciliating, and finally end- ed in direct overtures of friendship. He volunteered his own confidence, think- ing perhaps to secure Bently’s; but, Will’s only revelations were concerning his stirring and adventurous life in the woods, and among the savages and frontiersmen—never alluding, in the remotest manner, to the one person so dear to him, Not so, however, with Captain Wilmot; he seemed to have a special delight in dwelling upon every trifling circumstance of his association with Bessie, enlarging LUvAah upon any word or action of hers, which might be construed into an indication of interest in himself. “‘T never told you, did 1, Bently?” he said, one | day, as the two sat before a fire in one of the block-houses, cleaning their rifles, “of that ad- venture of mine and Miss Ryan’s, that hap- os last fall? Came near being a serious af- air for her, I can tell you!” “Why, no, I don’t remember that I ever heard of it from you; what is it?” “Well, of course it is something that I don't speak of to every one; it seems rather egotisti- cal to mention it at all, and 1 wouldn’t do it if we were not friends, and [ know you take al- most as much interest in the young lady as I do, Well, one day early in the fa!!, two or three of us went out into the woods to spend the day. and gather rome ~uts. Bessie wandered off by herself. I cautioned her not to go off too far, “ Tndeed! You haye been home, then, and | but she isn, wueh afraid of anything, and so
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i eS ee as Nw Re Sse ae sree ewe kept on until she came to a sunny spot on the banks of the creek, and there she sat down to rest, never rang of the danger near.” “Tt was very careless of you, | think, to leta young girl stray off into the woods alone, in such times as we have had!” interrupted ntly. ‘Well, it was; but I kept my eyes and my ears open, and when I heard her scream, it didn’t take me long to reach the spot where she was. There I saw an Indian, painted and look- ing like the devil himself, trying to make off with her; but, this rifle of mine soon ended his maneuvers, and Bessie had the pleasure of a ride home on the red-skin’s horse.” Bently remained silent, busily engaged upon his rifle. After a few moments of silence, Cap- tain Wilmot resumed: “You cannot think it strange, then, that a warm-hearted girl like Miss Ryan, should bave some liking for the man who saved her life!” ‘*No; and I heard some time ago, that you were really engaged, but the report was after- ward contradicted, by what I considered good authority. How is it?’ said Bently, wishing to hear what answer Wilmot would give to so direct a question. “T don’t actually say that we are engaged,” said Wilmot, with emphasis; ‘but I do sa that if any one has a chance in that quarter, have!” : “That’s a very different thing from the im- ression you have tried to convey,” replied ntly, coolly, and shouldering bis rifle, he left the fort. and struck into the road that led into the forest. The young hunter’s feelings were not as unruffled as they appeared to be. He loved the forest beauty passionately, and when he saw the handsome young soldier—even more refined and accomplished than himself—constantly be- sieging her with his attentions, and practicing the many little arts of pleasing of which he himself was quite incapable, he could but allow the fear to enter: his heart, that, perhaps after all he should jose the love he was once so sure of hg pes He decided, however, that he would, without further delay, ask Bessie, plainly, how the mat- ter stood—whether she loved him and would be gars Me Xaity th ing of th r , early in the evening of this same day, ri turned his steps toward Mrs, Ryan’s house. It was after dark, but a bright light from the great blazing fire in the rude fire- roa shone through the little uncurtained win- iow. He paused a moment on the steps before knocking, his heart beating more rapidly than usual with the thought of his errand. A voice within—Bessie’s voice—came to his ears, “Captain Wilmot, you'll crush my hand!” A light laugh from the one addressed followed this exclamation. “Doas I say, then, and I will release it.” A silence succeeded, suggesting compliance on the part of the lady. Bently let fall his uplifted hand, and turned to retrace his steps, “This is scarcely just,” thought he, pausing. im nob be hasty in judging her; I will go Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. In returning toward the house, he glanced at the little window, through which the scene within was plainly apparent. Almost unconsciously he allowed himself to gaze in upon the occupants of the room. Mrs. Ryan, with her child upon her lap, sat with her back toward the two principal figures, Bessie and Wilmot. Wiimot was stand- ing before the fire, with his back to the window hdlding both of Bessie’s hands in bisown. She stood passive, and apparently well content, with the light of the cheerful fire playing upon her beautiful features. “If she dislikes him, really, as she bas given me reason to suppose, it is impossible that she, with her lofty pride and womanly reserve, would permit such freedom. Oh, Bessie, can it be that I have been deceived in you, or you de- ceived in yourself?” Saying which, im a tone that was almost a groan, Bently turned and strode away through the darkness, In the morning he was gone, In company with some hunters and trappers, who had been tarrying in the settlement for a day or two, he bad started on another expedition, telling his friends at the fort to look for him when they saw him coming—not before, Winter passed, and still no news of Will Bent- ly reached the little settlement around Fort Kyle. Spring advanced, with its life-renewing power, bringing fresh beauty to wild-wood and glade, but the season did not bring its accus- tomed gladness to Bessie Ryan, The impress of the consuming anxiety in her heart began to appear in her face, from which the snows of winter appeared to have chilled out the old rose bloom, Her eye lost much of its sparkling brightness, her laugbter its silver ring, and her pee bearing its animation and independence. ore and more reserved did she become toward all; and a nervous watchfulness, whenever she heard a heavy step, betrayed that she was con- stantly listening and waiting for a footstep that did not come, Toward Captain Wilmot her manner was that of decided dislike, so apparent as to be an effectual preventive against any further atten- tions from him. Believing him to have been guilty of some underhand measure to cause estrangement between herself and Bently, she did not care to dissemble her real feelings of dislike for him, CHAPTER VL GONE INDEED. ** Bap news, Bess!” i “What is it, Kate?” she asked, anxiously, “ Lightfoot is missing.” ‘* Missing?” “Yves; not hair or hide of him to be found no- whar.” ¢ ‘Stolen, of course!” said Bessie, excitedly. “‘Reckon not; leastways, 'tain’t likely they’d ‘2’ took one and left t’other. Pete found the stable-door open, when he went out thar this mornin’, I told Pete to go ’long to the field an’ I’d look him up; s’posed he was round the vil- lage somewhar; but he ain’t. Tye been lookin’ | fur bim fur more’p an hour,” et
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. 13 So oe came eae EES ES EEE GE EE Re oa ee eh ee | ee gone to the farm, of course,” added the girl. “Wal, I thought of that, but don’t know, neither,” said Mrs, Ryan. “Til walk out in that direction and see if I can find any trace of him,” said Bessie, taking up her sun-bonnet, ‘‘ Better take the gray, an’ then you won’t be gone so long. Time some of them den-seeds | was inthe grouod. Never will be, | reckon, at this rate. Not a chick nor a child te do a hand’s turn, an’ us women-folks runnin’ round after | stray critters!” scolded the little widow, as she turned back into the house, Noon came, and no appearance of Bessie, or the ungallant Lightfoot who had so unceremo- niously walked off tbe night before. Sunset, and the men returned from the fields; still no Bessie Ryan, Twilight, and Mrs. Ryan, now seriously alarmed, left her house and ran over Mr. Grey’s, begging him to gather up a number of the neighbors and goin search of the absent girl. In a short time the news of Bessie’s ab- sence was spread over the little village. All were thrown into a state of anxiety and alarm, A_ party of men struck out immediately for the Ryan farm, expecting to meet her on the way unless something serious had befallen her. At the village, all waited in the most trying suspense, almost counting the moments until the return of the searching party. Not until some hours after dark did the men come in, ang then they brought no tidings of the missing girl. In the morning a number of the soldiers and several of the settlers sallied forth to renew the search, The friends of the family were vainly endeavoring to conjecture the probabilities of her whereabouts, As noone had recently seen Indians in the vicinity, the general impression was that she had become lost in the woods, where she had, or might, become the prey of | some wild animal. On the afternoon of tho day after the girl’s disappearance, Captain Wilmot came slowly riding into town, leading the missing horse of which she had gone in search. Until then, no one had thought of his absence. He looked haggard and very much fatigued. 6 was immediately besieged by inquiries as to where he had been, and whether he knew i ge of Miss Bessie. His answer was that he had seen her out in an old pasture lot, where he had accidentally encountered her; that he then first learned of her loss, and urged her to return home while he himseif continued the search; that she had refused his offers and started off alone; that after she had disappeared he started for the Ryan plantation, but striking the horse’s , trail late in the day found the missing horse; and that in returning he had undertaken a cross- cut through the woods, and got bewildered and delayed, and had only now succeeded in finding his way home, Several days passed. The men who had gone out in search returned, but brought no tidings of the lost one. They had found but one clew to her appearance, e cabin of a settler, situ- sted far out in the forest, several miles away = from any other habitation, was found fn ashes, among which they discovered the bones of sev- eral human beings. It was highly probable that Indians bad been the cause of their destruction; but, as the dep- redators had had ample time to escape before the discovery was made, it was deemed advisa- ble that the party should return home, except- ing two or three of the most experienced and hardy hunters, who would keep the trail of the Indians and discover, it possible, whether they had Bessie Ryan in their possession. Within a week the scouts returned, and re- he having followed the trail of the band of ndians supposed to have murdered the settler’s family, and upon coming up with them bad carefully reconnoitered the camp, and satis- ne themselves that they had no captive with them. And so poor Bessie was mourned as among the dead. After an absence of many months Will Bent- ly returned to the settlement which be bad left so abruptly. He seemed to have changed greatly. The handsome, genial, careless Will of old had become the most reserved and jun- approachable of men. * What ails Captain Wilmot?” he asked of an acquaintance soon after his arrival, *‘He | seems rather downin the mouth, and quite un- like the man he used to be.” “He knows what's thought of himin these parts, I reckon,” was the Ee “ Well, what is that? ou forget that I have been away from here for many months.” “ Folks thinks as how he knows what went wrong with Bessie Ryan, if he’d only tell it,” ‘““What do you mean?” demanded Bently, in astonishment, starting up, and advancing to- ward the speaker. “Don’t know what I mean! Now, Bently, you’re runnin’ on me. There ain’ta child in this whole settlement as don’t know the whole story.” “How should J know, a hundred miles | away?” said Bently, with increasing agitation, “Wal then, the long an’ short of the mat- ter is,” said the old man, considerably surprised at Bently’s manner, ‘she disappeared one day last spring and nothin’s ever been seen or heerd of her sence.” Bently glared at the speaker for a moment in silent consternation, then exclaimed: “ Were there no men in this settlement? Why has she not been found, dead or alivef” “No use, Bently. Every thing was done as could be done. Not a glimmerin’ of her could ever be found or heard of, an’ Jately folks have been hintin’ round that Captain Wilmot knows more about it than he lets on to.” “TP find out what be knows of the matter if I have to tear his coward’s heart out!’ mut- tered Bently to himself, ashe turned toward the village and made his way directly to Mrs, Ryan’s house, | ‘The little widow was delighted to see him, | “Thank the Lord, ye’re here at ast!” she ex- claimed, ‘ Now there'll be some chance of find- in’ out somethin’ about Bess!” | Tye come to you to hear the whole story,” , replied Bently,
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With many gesturés and expressions of indig- pation, she related rhe circumstances connected with the maiden’s disappearance, and of tho at- tempts made for her recovery, not sparing ber censure when speaking of the want of persever- ance in those engaged in looking for her, and ended her recital with an allusion to Captain Wilmot. “Have you avy rasons for supposing Wil- mot could have desired to injure ber? 1 thought they were the best of friends!” said Bently. “Wal, they wasn’t. She almost hated him, an’ he swore be’d be revenged on her. They badn’t spoke together fur some time afore she was lost!” replied Mrs. Ryan. “J don’t understand it. They seemed—” “Yes, I know,” interrupted Mrs, Ryan, im- patiently; and with a degree of loquacity very unusual with ber, she proceeded to give the full details of the state of affairs between Bessie and Wilmot, not omitting an explanation of the scene which had caused Bently’s sudden de- parture from the village. Wilmot had come there that evening and renewed his suit in the most impetucus and ar- dent manner, seemingly determined upon obtain- ing an encouraging reply to his proposal. Draw ing his chair near to Bessie, he bad seized ber hand with a force that drew an exclamation of pain from her—refusing to release it, unul she should say ** Yes” to his suit, When sherose from her chair, the better to extricate berself the captain possessed himself of both hands de- claring he would never let them go until one was promised to him, Bessie ceased to strug- gle finding it useless to do so, and, after stand jog thus passive and silent, for a moment, she Lad given bim one of the most decided, scorn- ful and indignant dismissals that ever sent a suitor on his way. ; The suspicion which bad fallen on him, grew out ofa threat of. revenge be bad been beard to utter against ber; and the circumstance of his absence about the time of ber disappearance, as well as his reappearance with ber borse, served to confirm the general impression of his guilt. The feelings of Bently, regarding Bessie, were completely revolutionized. In the place of dis- trust, there sprung up a stronger confidence, a warmer admiration than he ever had enter- tained, and he could but Llame himself severe- ly forhis hasty conduct. Had he remained at home, it might never kave bappened, or, bap- pening, he would have been there to trace ber up and rescue ber if in the world of the living, But, somethiug might be done even yet. Sao was not known to be dead, and there still was a chance of recovering her. In any case, life could baye no other object or interest for him, until the mystery was solved, and he had expiated his wrong to ber by devotion to her memory. Returning to the fort, be beard, as he ap- proached the inclosure, the loud aud angry tones of some one within. Pas-ing through the ate, he found Joe Sykes standing, pistol in tnd indignantly addressing Captain Wilmot, who stood facing him with a cool composure that would hardly have been expected of bim, “Nobody but a coward and a sneak would ~ ae ae. PI gs) 0 n> Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. take that, by Jinks! Now, tell the truth, or fight—quicker!” “What is this, Joe?” interrupted Bently. “T vow, by Jinks! ef he does know any thing about that gal, I’m bound to make him tell it, said Joe, with considerable bluster, Bently’s face clouded, and turning toward Wilmot, with a glance that seemed to search him through and through, he said: “Wilmot, this is no child’s play. If you know any thing whatever concerning the fate of Bessie Ryan, have the manliness to reveal it. You either know, or you do not know. ‘Teil the truth, whatever it is!” Wilmot stood facing his accusers, armed as they were, but showing no disposition to accept Joe’s invitation to fight. There are times in which all the nobility ina man’s nature will start up, asif from slumber, and assert itself. Whatever of soldierly quali- ties Wilmot possessed, he bad not made much display of them. Now he turned to bis inter- locutor, with a calm countenance, not devoid of a tinge of melancholy, saying: “You assail me as if | were a villain of the blackest sort. Once for all, then: I know as little concerning the loss of Bessie Ryan as yourselves. It you want to fight, say the word; am ready!” Joe looked at Bently as if waiting for orders, “ What I want in this matter,” said the lat- ter, after a moment’s silence, ‘tis to learn all that is possible of the circumstances of her dis- appearance, “T was absent at the time, unfortunately for myself as well as for Bassie; and only know what I have heard from others,” Upon this, Bently turued away, closely fol- lowed by Joe Sykes, who remarked, in an un- dertone: “Shows grit—don’t he? I kinder thought I could skeer it out of him, ef he knowed any thing ’bout it. By Jinks! it mout be he’d do fur a rei after all?’ “ atta “ Wal, Bently, what is it?” * Are you ready for a tramp?” “ Ready, by Jinks! I’m on the way this min- nit, if ye say so?” “Well, I’ve a plan in my head,” said Bently, in a thoughtful, abstracted manner, “Hev ye? I reckon I know what ’tis, with- a yer tellin’ me, Yekin count on me, sar- umn! ‘Say, then, we start this afternoon?” “The sooner the better, fur as I’m consarned. Got grub enough jerked fur two months’ ra- tions, and feed enough for old smooth-bore, here, for a siege, and my legs jist achin’ for a two hundred mile stretch.” CHAPTER VII. THE SECOND BLOW. Brssrz RYAN, on leaving the house of her sister-in-law, burried out to \he road leading to the Ryun farm, hoping to find her horse Light- fcot, grazing along upon the new grass at the roadside, Thinking that he might have been seen by some of the inmates of the cabins in that direction, and stopping at several places to ut?
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. 16 make inquiries, she was finally told that he had been seen, not long before, leisurely making his way out to the old place. “Very likely, then, I can overtake him, and if I get within calling distance I shall have no trouble to catch him,” she said. ‘Ye mou’t, if ye’r’ spry, Miss Bess,” replied the woman of whom she received the informa- tlon; ‘‘but, I’m thinkin’, *twould ’a’ been a heap better ef ye’d a-took a critter yerself.” “Very true,” replied Bessie, laughing: ‘‘ but Iama good walker, and hope to have my own horse to ride back on; another would be just one too many.” “T know ye’r’ right-down smart; but thena loose critter fillin’ bis mouth with fresh grass, ain’t so dretful easy to come up to, ye know!” Patting the fat cheek of the little child that had caught hold of the skirt of her dress with its chubby hands, and with a cheerful ‘ good- morning” to the pleased mother, Bessie placed her foot on a bar which served as a gate, sprung over it with a light bound, and hurried away. The ground was still wet with the heavy dew which had fallen the previous night, and the tracks of a borse here and there were easily distinguished for some distance, and the young woman was sure that they were those of her favorite, Lightfoot. She followed on for nearly a mile when they left the path and were lost in the beaten and trampled spot before the bays of the village pasture-field, which were ah | down, as though some one had recently entered, intending to return soon. Here was a dilemma, Could it be that she had all this time been following a wrong trail? It seemed almost certain that she had. Some- what discouraged, she sat down for a moment upon a log, deliberating what to do, and wish- ing that she had taken the widow’s gray, as Mrs. Ryan had advised, when a noise behind startled her. She turned round to see Captain Wilmot just inside of the gap. He evidently had been back in the pasture after his borse, wnich he was leading, being mounted upon an- other, The situation was rather embarrassing to both, as each had avoided tke other for some time; but Wilmot, with an easy nonchalance of manner that overcame all appearance of con- straint, gave her a smiling ‘‘ Good-morning,” and inquired if Miss Ryan was “looking for the cows,” “Tm in search of Lightfoot, and followed what Isupposed to be his trail as far as this,” she replied, quietly. “Those are tbe foot-marks of the horse I rode out here,” said Wilmot. ‘Vm sorry they misled you. J’ll make what amends I can, and ee search of Lightfoot myself, if you desire “Oh, no,” was the answer. “I donot wish to trouble you. I will return home now, and send Pete after him in the morning.” ‘Will you accept of my borse to take you home?” asked Wilmot. “Tam not tired, and prefer to walk,” was the ly. *t Well, then, I shall ride on to the farm and see if Prd horse {s there;” and so saying, he turned his horse’s head in the direction of the plantation, and after waiting a moment to see Bessie begin her homeward walk, rode away. The road which Bessie had followed was so winding and circuitous as to make it conveni- ent sometimes to take a short cut through the woods. A scarcely perceptible path, with an occasional “ blazed” tree, marked this shorter route to the village, and it occurred to the maid that Lightfoot might have strayed into it, as it was one with which be was familiar. Bessie was of a romantic disposition. Though eminently practical in all the concerns of every- day life; she was possessed, in a high degree, of that quality which the pbrenologists designate as ideality. The grand, whispering solitude of the mighty forest inspired her with a reverential worship. Its sublimity, together with its less imposing, but scarcely less attractive minor beauties—of trembling leaf and fragile flower— of flickering sunbeam and fickle shadow—all combined to draw her thoughts away and cen- ter them on the beauties of the glorious spring day. Thus, somewhat unmindful of her ste and believing herself to be following the right path, she wandered on, until the impression nied struck her that she ought to be near nome, She looked around, expecting Ito see through some opening the clearing in which the village stood. But, nothing of the kind was to be seen; not one familiar landmark met her searching gaze. The more she tried to identify the spot, the more bewildered she became. A swift con- sciousness of her situation flashed upon her:— she was lost in the boundless woods! “How could I have been so careless?” she exclaimed, aloud. ‘‘I seemed to bein the path, I know that only u little way back I saw a blazed tree. Yes! thank Heaven! there it is!” and with renewed confidence, she retraced her steps to the tree, expecting it to indicate the trail she had so unconsciously deserted. “It is not the path I’m looking for, after all,” she exclaimed, after examining the indications around her. ‘ How foolish I have been! At all events there’s but one thing I can do, and that is to follow the trail that I have struck; it must lead somewhere |” Bessie hastened on, not knowing whither she went. Her situation now was truly alarming. Faint and weary with her long walk, anxious through fear of a night in the woods inhabited by beasts of prey, she began to grow heart-sick, At length, when hope and strength both seemed about to desert her, she thought she heard the tinkle of a distant bell. She listened Laren almost ceasing to breathe lest she might lose the faint and far-away sound. All | was silence, and thinking it must have been altogether in her own imagination, she was about to move on, when the lowing of cattle, ‘unmistakably distinct, caused her heart to ; bound: with ty; Hastening on, she soon became | assured that the path she was following was nearing some habitation—for it was becoming more Sistinct and well-beaten, and the way- marks more frequent. Unmindful now of her «”
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ié excessive fatigue she quickened her steps, and, ere long, reached a small clearing, in the midst of whick stood a rude cabin of unhewn logs. A delicate wreath of gray smoke curling up from the broad stick-chimney told her that it was inhabited. As she drew near the door, a great, savage- looking dog commenced growling in such a ferocious and threatening manner that she paused, scarcely knowing whether to venture further or not; but, in another moment, two or three white-headed, bare-footed children came out of the cabin, and stood gazing upon her in open-mouthed wonder, when the dog, seeing them take the matter quietly, subsided upon his haunches and assumed a much less threatening attitude. The children soon were followed by their mother, a midle-aged, affable woman, who respectfully made way for her to enter. Bessie took the proffered seat, fairly droppin into it, so mer is 4 overcome with fatigue, aud the reaction of her feelings, as to be unable for a few moments to command her voice. At length she explained to her wondering hostess the accident which had led her thither, and con- cluded by asking the woman how far it wu’ from there to the fort. ‘*Bout sixteen mile, I reckon,” was the reply. ‘Well, it is too late for me to return home to-day, and my friends will be in great distress, I am so sorry; if they but knew that I am safe!” “Wal, ye’ll jest have to make yerself as easy as ye kin about it. They’l] be inan awful sweat, to be sure, but my man ’ll take ye back to- morrer or next day, and ye'r’ welcome toa sheer of all we’ve got here, which ain’t much to brag on; but I reckon ye kin stand it that long, anyway.” “ Oh yes! and many thanks for your kind- ness,” replied the thankful girl. ‘*T reckon ye’r’ purty well tuckered out,” con- tinued the woman, with a glance of sympathy at the young person so unexpectedly thrown upon her hospitality. ‘‘ I'll bang the kittle over the fire right off and git ye a bite of somethin’ to eat, fur I know ye’r’ powerful hungry.” Bessie smiled and expressed her grateful ap- preciation of the kindness bestowed upon her, and the good woman bustled about with please alacrity, setting forth the best her seanty stores afforded; and, although the guest did ample justice to the fare provided, her hostess could hardly be satisfied that she bad eaten heartily enough to make up for the long walk and the lack of a dinner. At sundown the farmer came in from his field, and learned from his wife the circum- nr a of Bessie’s arrival before entering the cabin. ‘“‘She comes the neardest to bein’ a lady of anybody I’ve seen sence I come over the Ridge —an’ to think of her bein’ lost in the woods! E erpect her folks is almost crazy ’bout it by this ime! The rough-looking frontierman greeted bis visitor with a hearty ‘‘ How d’e do?’ as he came into the house, = a oi tas es th “Ts mighty luc’ or ye thet ye on the trail thet inate h of an’I don’t thew but Pu be goin’ over to the settlement to-morrer, an’ ef : 14s Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. ye’rea mind ter ride bebind me, { reckon the old critter ken take us thet fur. An’ ef he can’t carry double, I guess as how I kin foot it. It'll do me good to accommodate, in any way, any of John Ryan’s kin, John an’I war friends. John war great on a scout, and the reds hated him worse’n p’izen. But they wiped him out at last, and who knows but the imps may come down on Jim Macarty’s cabin?” The hardy, sun-browned settler for a moment looked grave and thoughtful, casting his eyes instinctively upon the rifle hanging on the hook overhead, Then he added, |cheerily—‘t But ye’re welcome, an’ to-morrer we'll tramp to- ward the fort, “T shall be very glad to go, and I feel very thankful for your kindness,” replied Bessie. It was with a feeling of almost childish happi- ness, at the prospect of the morrow, that the weary girl rested her overtasked limbs upon the soft, clean bed, prepared for her ia the eabin loft, The stars, which she could see glimmering through the chinks between the logs, seemed to her like guardian angels, to watch over her in her co But, after a short slumber she found herself wide awake, and quite unable to regain her lost hold upon the mantle of the gentle god of sleep, Every effort seemed but to chase it farther from her, while her mind, with capricious willful- ness it almost seemed, dwelt with uncommon acuteness upon every sound, however insignifi- cant, that disturbed the silence. As midnight drew on, the starlight became obscured, leaving her room in complete dark- ness. Below, she could hear the heavy breath- ing of the father and mother, and occasionally the nestling of the children in their bed. Lying thus, her mind was drawn from its wandering fancies by the low, savage growl of the dog out- side, She starte up, just asared light, like that of a blazing torch, flashed across the room through the openings between the logs, then left all in darkness again. Too well schooled in the signs of danger to mistake the meaning of this, she sprung from the bed, and swiftly and noiselessly hurried on her clothes, and then, with extreme caution, crept down the ladder to awaken her friends below. But she was anticipated. Almost as soon as herself were they up, and preparing for what evidently awaited them—an attack by the Indians. “There, wife, take my knife; you kin use it if yer druv to it,” said the husband in a whisper. essie seized the rifle, always in readiness upon the hook. The pioneer’s own weapon, prepared for such an emergency as this, was in his hands, There were two doors, on opposite sides of the house. It was the work of a moment to turn the bed from its corner around before the door, already strongly barred, and to pile upon it the immense chest which contained the family store of spare clothing and bedding. It now remained for them to guard the remaining door and the little window beside it. Bessie stationed herself at the side of this window fur- thest from the door, just as a heavy blow from a tomahawk fell upon it. At once the rifle of the pioneer was leveled toward it, and ae
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at Queen Bessie, the Border Giri. 17 the sharp crack of his rifle was followed by a ye of agony, which assured him that one of is foes was disposed of. The next moment, a perfect shower of blows assailed the door near which they stood, and similar sounds began to be heard upon the other. At length, before the repeated and deter- mined assaults of the savages, the door began to give way, but as often as an Indian showed himself at the aperture made, either Bessie or the pioneer was ready to send a ball straight to the mark; and s0, for a time, the bloodthirsty savages were kept at bay, but the resistance met with, and the loss they sustained, only made them the more furious, and with yells of rage and defiance they dashed at the two doors simultaneously. Ina moment the room was filled with hide- ously-painted figures, whose demon-like ap- pearance well suited the work they were en- Baged in. he struggle grew desperate; the settler dis- charged his rifle and one of the Indians fell to the floor; then, unable to reload, be struck about him with the butt end of his weapon, in & vain and desperate endeavor to protect his wife and children. The woman, armed with an ax, and surrounded by the terrified and screaming children, dealt rapid and effective blows upon those who attempted to reach her, and received, in return, numerous strokes from the tomahawks aimed at her bead, Such a contest could not last long; the shriek- ing children were snatched from the protection of the agonized mother, and their bleeding and mutilated bodies thrown toward her; then a hatchet, aimed from a distance, crashed through her own skull, and she sunk to the floor just in time to escape the sight of her husband’s cruel deeth, for at length he had been overcome, and fell bleeding from a dozen wounds; and before his dying agonies had ceased, one of the in- human brutes had torn bis scalp from his head, Bessie had not been anidle spectator of the horrid butchery. As the excited savages rushed in, bent upon destroying the principal defender of the house, they did not at once perceive her, and she had time to aim her piece at one stal- wart fellow, more ferocious-looking than the others, The rifle cracked, and he fell. Of course she could no longer escape the glaring eyes around her,and she was quickly surrounded with uplifted tomahawks. he fought resolutely. beating off their weapons with her rifle, until she gained a corner. But the brave girl felt that her fate was sealed, for she almost preferred death to captivity, and was determined to fight to the last. Suddenly one of their number made a gesture commanding those assailing her to desist; upon which they paused, and he addressed them in his own language, which, of course, Bessie did not understand; but her quick perception at once comprehended that she was to be taken prisoner, The ferocious expression of the scowl- ing faces turned toward her, boded no good from the reprieve. A sickening horror ran through her frame as she thought of the proba- bilities before her, and she sunk to the floor faint and exhausted, They left her thus awhile, until having borne out their dead, and assisted the wounded as much as possible, they prepared to leave the cabin, They then bound her arms firmly with thongs and motioned her out into the yard, Here she was left in charge of three or four of their number, while the remainder set to work to fire the house and outbuildings, and to butch- er every living thing belonging to the place, ex- cepting the settler’s horse, which they reserved for their own use. The captive scarcely dared to move, every motion she made being followed by threatening gestures from her guards. She would fain have turned her back upon the cruel sight as the eager flames mounted to the roof which had so kindly sheltered her a few hours before; but it seemed a part of their purpose to compe! her to witness the scene. Hours passed thus, To poor Bessie the fire seemed to delight in lingering over its terrible work, and she almost wished that her body, too, was lying with those of her murdered friends, consuming within, Their sufferings were over; hers, she feared, were scarcely yet begun. Realizing the hopelessness of escape from the watchful savages, of whom there seemed to be a large DREN and weak from her previous fatigue as well as from the exertions and excite- ment of the struggle so unhappily ended, she fell into a state of passiveness which was almost a stupor, At length the approaching dawn began to streak the eastern sky, and the savages mado their final arrangements for leaving the spot. Separating into two parties, the smaller one took the prisoner and their wounded comrades, and turned toward their distant villages, while the others, taking a different course, pursued their career of plunder and massacre on the out- skirts of the frontier. A wearisome journey lay before the poor young captive, alone and help- less, in the keeping of vindictive enemies, Had it been possible, she would have left some indication of their route, but, as she was kept constantly bound, and closely guarded, there was no opportunity of SoH ng J any shred of garment by which she might be traced, She was allowed to ride the horse, which they had taken from the stable of the settler, during the first few days of the journey; but, as they drew nearer their own region of the country, she was compelled to walk and keep pace with the long dimbed, stalwart fellows who constituted her guard, Finally they so far relaxed their severity as to unbind her arms,and for the first time a thought of attempting to escape entered ber mind. Knowing the necessity for extreme caution, she was careful not to appear any more hopeful or observant than before; yet, hour after hour, as they traveled the weary path, she studied the signs of the way, and pondered upon the plan of escape. Sure that she could not render her case a worse one, there was a possibility of bet- tering it; escapes such as she meditated had been made; why could she, too, not succeed? All night she lay awake, watching for an op- portune moment of stealing unperceived from among her guards, but their vigilance seemed
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— ae Sy rE ib eS ve ce ecm = S SSS = i Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. to be sleepless, and morning dawned without her having had the faintest chance of release from savage surveillance. The next night they camped upon the banks of a small stream, in a spot comparatively clear of brush and underwood, and covered with a thick growth of soft, fine grass, This the watch- ful girl considered was in her favor, and she determined to make the attempt then and there, Feigning unusual fatigue and drowsiness, she laid down to rest as soon as she had partaken of the frugal supper, for she felt that her tired limbs needed rest before she began her flight, Tedious, indeed, were the hours that passed be- fore her keen-eyed guards showed signs of slumber. The whole party lay around her in a close circle, and around the hand of one of them was strapped a deer-skin thong, which was se- curely knotted at the other end eround one of the captive’s slender wrists, Bvssie knew that if she tightened the cord in the least in attempt- ing to move, it would instantly be perceived; 80, after waiting until she was certain that the whole party was sound asleep, she began slow- ly and cautiously to turn her body so as to bring her head ape ber arm without moving that member at all, It seemed to her as though one whole hour was consumed in this; and then the sharp little teeth went to work to sever the thong. For two long hours did the determined girl persevere in her efforts before the thong gave way. Then, still holding on to it, so that in case it should be pulled upon, it might not betray her, she slowly rose to her feet. It was but a few steps to the water. Breathlessly, she crossed the narrow space, and cautiously ad- vanced into the stream, thinking to make it more difficult for her pursuers to find her trail when they should discover her flight. The cban- nel of the stream was not deep, but was often obstructed by tangled brush and fallen trees, so that it was sometimes difficult to find a way in the darkness, An hour passed, and Bessie began to think that the savages would not discover her absence until morning. If they did not, she felt certain that she ould evade their search and finally es- cape. But, suddenly, a distant yell smote her ears, and convinced hs that she was missed and that the Indians were on her track. Looking anxiously around fora place of concealment, she perceived a great oak log lying near the bank of the stream, surrounded by the rubbish of broken trees, wild grass, and other drift, lodged HL ee it by the swollen current during times of high water. At once she dashed for it as a cover, and, creeping in among the shelter- ing mass, she stretched herself close beside the 0; There she waited, with palpitating heart, the result. Nearer and nearer came the hurried aa tony voices—so near, at last, that sbe could war their footsteps. Were they stopping? Would they never pass by? Yes, yes! ed go on; their voives die in the distance, and the imprisoned, hunted maid once more dared to breathe. But, hark! There are others more slowly and cautiously following the trail; she shuts her eyes; she feels that she cannot escape now. In another moment a cold, rough hand passes over her face; her mental herofsm gives way, and she sinks into insensibility. When Bessie again opened her eyes, it was daylight; she was lying upon a blanket before acamp-fire. At first the scene was incompre- hensible; but, slowly and painfully, soon came the consciousness that she was again a captive securely bound and surrounded by a redouble watchfulness, which was cognizant of her every motion. When the journey was resumed, it was neces- sary to place her on the stolen horse, her weak- ness being so great that she was altogether un- able to walk; but she was not allowed to guide it fora moment. An Indian strode along on each side of her, and one before, holding the bridle in his hand, while the rest of the party followed close at their heels. ' Bessie knew what to expect on their ar- rival at the Indian towns, The merciless fiends who spared neither infancy nor womanhood were not likely to show leniency to one who had cost them so dear. They knew that she had killed at least one of their war- riors, and wounded others. She therefore strove to fortify her mind beforehand, to en- dure the insult, annoyance and torture which undoubtedly layin store for her; she resolved to meet her fate witb a firmness and calmness which should deprive the savages of half their triumph. At the first Indian town which they reached, they were joined by a large war-party, which was on its return, and would accompany them the remainder of the way. Among them was a young brave, of commanding appearance, whose dress and bearing, as well as the defer- ence with which he was treated by the rest, in- dicated his rank as chief. He seemed possessed of superior intelligence, and from his manner toward her, the captive concluded that he wa like all truly brave men, magnanimous an comparatively humane, It was soon apparent to Bessie, as well as to those around her, that he was interested in her, and, in consequence of it, more respect was shown her, and she was permitted to go less painfully bound, Though not mingling with those immediately about her, she judged that he was informed of the full particulars of her capture, her resistance, and her attempt to es- cape. Contrary to expectations, and through the interference of the young chief, she was spared the painful annoyances which she had looked for, and was prepared to encounter, at the hands of the women and children of the vil- lages through which they passed, CHAPTER IX. “GREAT MEDICINE,” AT last their destination was reached. The returning warriors were received with loud and clamorous demonstrations both of grief and joy —grief for those who had been slain, and joy at the sight of the etl upon whom they anti- cipated the gratification of revenging the death of their slain braves. Bessie was taken to the council-house and left there, alone, firmly bound, and with a large number of women near enough to watch the premises, They were the most watchful, because the most up-
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~—Yy Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, 19 forgiving, of her foes, A lovely woman in their power was, indeed, a feast for their hyena- like natures, Slowly the excitement grew, until a great commotion existed in the village; almost every inbabitant, man, woman and child, was eager that the prisoner should be given up to fhem, that they might glut their vengeance upon her, The young chief, already introduced, Tonowa by name, addressed them with many gestures and persuasive arguments, seeking to induce them to adopt the prisoner into the tribe; but his oratory seemed to be wasted, and after some hours of huboub and excitement, the mul- titude carried the day, and the captive was brought forth to witness the preparations for her torture, and to receive the taunting looks and fiendish gestures of the assembled crowd. Women and children hastened to gather materials for building a fire. The feelings of the helpless girlcan better be imagined than described, as she saw the piles of fuel heaped around a tree with a method in the arrange- ment that plainly signified the’ use for which it was intended. When all was ready, she was rougbly driven toward the spot, surrounded by a perfect Bubel of gibes, jeers and hootings, and, with her arms still pinioned, she was firmly bound to the tree, This, then, was to be her fate. With a dignity and fortitude that would have done honor to any of the martyrs of history, Bessie Ryan resigned herself to the horrible execution—looking with a calm and proui in- diff-renee upon the distorted faces of ber de- moniacal tormentors, But, the fire was not lighted. The principal men of the village were summoned to assemble at the council-house. There the question was reargued, and the energetic and influential Tonowa exerted all his eloquence to carry his point, Had the captive known this, she might have dared to hope; as it was, she almost regretted the delay which prolonged the cruel suspense, It was sunset before the council brokeup. Then the astonished girl found herself unbound, and taken to a wigwam, where she was provided with some supper, and a couch of skins, upon which she could repose, A strong guard was placed around her hut, and, not knowing whether to be thankful or sorry for the respite, ste threw ber tired body upon a pile of skins, and soon fell into a deep slumber which lasted, undisturbed, through the whole nigbt. Morning came, and once more Bessie was led forth; but, instead of going to the stake, as she expected, she was taken to the council-house, where the old chief of the tribe, and father to Tonowa, had »ssembled the chief men to await her coming. What their object could be was a matter of curiosity to her—as her face and per- g00 seemed to be to them—for they scrutinized her appearance with marked interest. The old chief, through an interpreter, who managed to speak a little unintelligible Eng- lish, addressed her in a sbort harangue, eulogiz- ing the bravery of his warriors, and dilatin upon the power and numbers of his tribe, an to a rifle in the hands of one of the men. Bessie replied that she could, He then asked her if “she liked Injunf” This question was rather more difficult to an- swer, but, in view of the interest at stake, she replied that she liked ‘“ friendly Injun.” He then, with much gesticulation, made her com- rehend that they intended giving ber a chance for her life, as they had been informed by the Great Spirit, who bad come in a dream to Tonowa, that she would become, if kept among them for twelve moons, a “great medicine”; and the wise men and warriors of the tribe es agreed to decide the matter by a test whic’ should be considered as a proof of the truth of the dream, The dignified bearing and queenly form of Bessie made Tonowa’s stratagem—if such it was—the more easily successful, for the Indian is very susceptible to the influence of a majestic orcommanding manner. The captive was to be allowed to fire at a mark set up for the pur- pose, ata distance of about one bundred and twenty yards from the standing-point before the council house. If sbe hit the mark twice out of three times, it would be taken as a favor- able omen, and she would be adopted as the daughter of the old chief. If she failed, she would be consigned to the fate previously de- termined upon. Bessie, with perfect colmness, indicated that she would accept the al‘ernative; but the re- vulsion of feeling from the certainty of death to a prospect of life, produced a tremor of the nerves which required a strong and determined effort of her wili to subdue. By the time Tonowa entered with the rifle loaded for her use, she bad very nearly recoy- ered her aceustomed animation and confidence in ber powers. As they passed out to the open ground where the trial was to be made, Bessie observed a bird pluming itself upon a tree out in the center of the village common. Directing the attention ot her judges to the unconscious mark, Queen Bess took aim, and fired. The next instant the bird fluttered to the ground, lifeless. Still maintaining an unmoved countenance, the maid motioned for ammunition to reload her rifle, but the old chief, addressing those around bim in a short speech which seemed to meet with) approval, signified that they were satisfied, and Bessie was taken to a wigwam, where she was soon provided wiih a breakfast of the most deti- cate game which was to be procured, and fur- nished with such other things as were considered necessary to savage comfort. It was hard to realize the change—a chance to rest her overwearied body and mind—a hold on life again—a prospect, even though remote. of once more joining ber friends. It was almos the acme of bliss, From the lowest depths of suffering and despair, she was lifted to a heaven of hope. No wonder she felt her heart swell with thankfulness and prayer. Summer waned. There was no prospect of release for the captive, who, though a queen among them, and much beloved by the family into which she had been adopted, and whose ended by asking her if she could shoot, pointing | sfrections she had studied to win, yet, pain-
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fully, ceaselessly yearned for her home and Se aa red, and for one, dearer than a sister or end, The young Tonowa, her first friend—and in fact her actual deliverer—did not fail in bis ad- miration of the beautiful ‘‘ Bye-of-Night,” as be named her, in compliment to her dark and sparkling eye; but, on the contrary, as was quite natural, he had formed a devoted attach- ment for her—one which Bessie reciprocated as far as gratitude, and appreciation of bis many noble qualities would permit, She accepted his numerous kindnesses in a manner that, while it increased the reverence he seemed to have for her as for a superior being, yet kept their rela- tions upon a footing of mere friendship. Returning from the chase, this young chief's ise? trophies were brought to ber wigwam, he wolf-skin robe, the eagle’s wing, the choic- est game, anything that could minster to her pestis, were both secretly and openly laid at er door for her acceptance. In return, she wrought beautiful moccasins, under the direc- tion of her skillful foster-mother, wbo was won- derfully expert in the arts of Indian handiwork, She ornamented the robes and leggins for his wear, and made, as a mark of distinguished honor, a sash of antelope-skin, beautifully fring- ed with beads and gay feathers, Bessie did not fear to trust TonoWa, believing him to be greatly under ber influence, and rely- ing upon her own tact and skill to turn his re- pe for her to her advantage. When he came n from his war expeditions and proudly re- hearsed the scenes of his triumphs, the maiden often shuddered with ill-concealed horror; then he would add, in a gentler voice and with a softened look, in the language with which she bad become somewhat familiar: “Tonowa does not harm women and cbil- dren—neither is he cruel to the long-knife brave.” Some pleasant variations came to break the monotony of the captive’s life. Though there was no enjoyment in the society of the savage and uncivilized people among whom she was thrown, a perpetual feast of soul was found in the wild and sublime beauties of nature by which she was surrounded. Her love of the icturesque and grand afforded her many an hour of consolation and rest from the melan- choly and homesickness that would otherwise have preyed upon her. Sometimes she rode, accompanied by an In- dian girl, sometimes by Tonowa himself, whose pride in the art of DORPEEDRTEDEE delighted in the rivalry with which Eye-of-Nigbt amused him. Sometimes she practiced archery, or schooled herself in the use of arms, or sat for hours upon the banks of the lonely river, dan- gling ook and line, and watching the ripples go gliding and sliding past. ne glorious September afternoon, Bessie sat in a favorite nook on the river’s brink, idly watching the shadows of the clouds upon the water, absorbed as usual when alone in medita- tions upon the future and the past, The voice of Tonowa aroused her. “ What does the Eye-of-Night see in the water that she gazes into it so many hours?” “She sees the faces and hears the voices of Queen Bessie, the Border Girt CD ae aaekas aun Pg en esac lmmamenliamandam eines her friends, They long to see her, and know tbat she yet lives,” was the sad and earnest an- swer. “ Hiye-of-Night has friends here. Why should she mourn for others that are far away?” “Does not Tonowa’s soft heart pity a young bird, lost from its nest, and pining for its mother’s sheltering wings?” ** Tonowa loves to hear it sing in his own free forest.” ‘‘ But its songs are those of a captive,” plead- ed the maid, as a tear glistened in her eye. The young chief looked upon her with a search- ing, balf-suspicious gaze. ““Why does Eye-of-Night speak thus?’ he asked. **Does the deer love its woodland haunts?— the silver-scaled fish its sunny stream? Does the child of the forest love the hunting-grounds of his fathers, and the white captive not pine for her distant home?” returned she, with ani- mation, “Has any one dared offer harm to the child of the aged chief?” “No, Tonowa, not one. She has many friends; they are very kind to her; but she cannot forget her home and the loved ones there, who watch to see her coming.” pear she uttered this, and with trembling ips. Tonowa was silent for a time, and a deep shadow rested upon bis brow, while a gloomy, uncertain light flickered in biseye, At length he asked: “Does Eye-of-Night think she will ever go eit the wigwam of her father, who saved her ife? Tears flowed from the eyes of Bessie. In her longings for home, she had forgotten the scene which this allusion recalled, and she realized at once, as it were, the uninterrupted kindness she had received from the old chief and her foster- mother. “He is a kind father. The poor captive will never forget him!” she exclaimed, “Then why should she leave him desolate, after staying with him many days, and break the heart that is old and weak, like a woman’s?” The maid sighed. She had, almost uncon- sciously to herself, cherished a hope that she would be allowed to return to her friends when an opportunity should offer; but she now real- ized how little realization was to crown her longings. Tonowa resumed, in a tone of tenderness: “Let the brave and skillful maiden dwell in the wigwam in the witderness. She isa spirit of light, sent by the Great Father, to bright- en the home-of a brave warrior! Is not the fearless brave, who follows the war-path, and chases the deer and the bear in his own forest, better than the pale-face, who digs the ground like asquaw? Shall not one who is strong to smite his foe to the earth, guard the white child of his chief from danger? Let the pale maiden answer,” Bessie felt bewildered; and a thrill of fear | shot through her heart, as she comprehended the meaning of his words, but she answered witb calmness:
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soy Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. 21 “fye-of-Night is not afraid in the wigwam of her father, nor among her pale faced friends; the Great Spirit watches over ber, She walks in thought whither she pleases; but when she bebe not with those she loves, she is very sad. “ Rye-of-Night understands the meaning in Tonowa’s words,” he replied, looking straight into her face, Bessie made no answer, but sat gazing into the water, and Tonowa resumed: “The war-cry has startled the wolf from his den, and to-morrow Tonowa goes out upon the war-path, to punish the tribes of the north—the dogs of the Pottawatomies; but be- fore he goes, he seeks a promise, Hoe will re- turn with the spoils of his slaughtered foes; he will come with his plumes dipped in the red blood of many victims; when he has slain a bundred of his enemies, then will not Eye-of- Night come to his wigwam and be the light of his life?” ‘“Tonowa,” said the maiden, with an agitated countenance, “remember, Eye-of-Night speaks only the truth: Never can she live in Tonowa’s | wigwam. She will remain with her father, and be Tonowa’s sister, and let not the fire of | anger burn out the love he had for her, for Eve- of-Night wishes to be the friend of her kind brother.” “She will learn to love Tonowa; he will wait!” “Tonowa must seek some other maiden. Eye- of-Nigbt will not leave the wigwam of her good father.” **Let the proud maiden beware! Tonowa is strong; his heart is big; he will not be scorned.” The young warrior was deeply agitated, **Your adopted sister loves a white brave in her distant home. She may never see him again, but she will dye the green carpet of earth with her heart’s blood, rather than give herself to any other. This is why she cannot live in Tono- wa’s wigwam.” ‘‘The maiden speaks proudly; she is worthy to mate witha great chief. Tonowa will some day seek tho young white brave of her choice; his scalp shall hang at Tonowa’s belt when he returns;” and without another look at the agi- tated girl, he stalked proudly away. Bessie sat just where he had left her, | silently pondering upon her fate, and revolv- | ing over and over again in her mind, the possibilities of an escape, while the warriors were absent upon their expedition against a hostile tribe. At length an unpleasant odor, strange and peculiar, seemed to pervade the air, and caused her to look searchingly about her, to discover the cause. She started with sudden horror; a | huge snake had drawn its repulsive body toa spot but afew feet distant, and lay with do- mon-like, fascinating eyes, fixed upon her, A cold chill ran over her frame; her beart beat so thickly as almost to smother her; she dared not move, but mentally calculated the chances of escape, A close thicket was behind her, but she could not hope to penetrate it with the ra- pidity of the reptile, which she knew belonged to a species that chased its victim, The open- ing on the bank extended but a short distance, and then the thicket closed down on it to the water's edge. Oh, for a weapon of some kind! One shot from her trusty pistol would quench the horrid gleam of those glittering eyes, but she had nothing—not even a stick or stone, She had heard of frightening the most ferocious wild animals by asudden maneuver or terrifying yell, but it was a questionable plan in this case, The long neck began to stretch forward, the coils to unwind. For ‘an instant every nerve which she possessed seemed paralyzed and inca- pable of action; it seemed impossible to stir. Then—the snake lay writhing in its own blood. A little spiral of smoke floated away down the stream, and the reverberation of the uuerring shot died out in the dusky woods, Bessie had been in greater danger than she was aware of. 1. Tonowa, when he left her sitting by the river, | had turned his steps toward the village, with his heart full of rage and jealousy. In the intensity of his anger and disappointment, he determined the pale-facedjlover, whom he scorn- ed, should never possess that which had beeu | just denied to him; and entering the village, he had dispatched runners to summon his war- riors, to prepare instantly for the war-path, and to meet him at acertain point down the river at sunset. He then furnished himself with his arms and accouterments, and retraced his steps, fully re- solved to slay the girl who had scorned his love, and then seek his own speedy death in battle with his foes. But, as he stole noiselessly toward the spot, where she still sat as he had left her, and beheld herdanger and her terrified belplessness,an entire revulsion of feeling came over him, and raising his rifle, which a few moments before had been devoted to her sacrifice, he aimed at and killed the huge reptile; and then without a word, or even a glanceat the maiden, he hastened away in the direction of the appointed rendezvous, CHAPTER X. THE TWO FRIENDS. “ Reapy, Joe?” “Reckon I am, Will. Two sparks in every pull of the trigger, and my rib-tickler as keen as a eee i gatane “Then say good-by to all. “Not a bie ot it. ‘Whose business is it when or whar I go?” The two men, that evening, bent their steps down the river-road, and at dark paused upon the deserted Ryan plantation. ‘““What do you say, Joe, to spending the night here?” ; **Good idea, by Jinks! I’d jest like to nose around here whar Miss Bess used to be a-doiu’ pretty work, Now, don’t bristle up, Bently, cause, ef ye do, I’m off on this tramp alone.” Bently could but laugh, and then he added, cheerily: “No, Joe, ’'m not willing to lose you, and if Miss Bessie is found, end she is not as grateful to you as to me, then Yl turn todian.” “ Here’s my hand, Will Bentiy! I loved that gal powerful; but, Lordy me! so might a cata- mount love her, she was so overpowerin’! Buty
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ae a Sewn a AT — Kre# aes ee. ars Ra SRS = as BOT as Sere =p SE Virginia rattlesnake Queen Bessie, the Buwier Girl. she’s not for the like of me—not by a river-full; an’ ef you'll only jest let me help you find her— for I know we'll fetch her, ef we have to go to the Lake—I’ll be the happiest feller in the set- tlements.” Joe Sykes read Bently’s heart in a rough, rude way, but read it nevertheless, and it would have been hard to say bow much bis admira- tion for Will was due to the fact that he was Bessie’s ape ny and evident choice, Leaving Will to bis thoughts, Joe scouted and nosed around, evidently in search af some- thing. He returned, at nightfall, to find that Bently had prepared a good repast in the cabin, “*That’s my contribution!” he said, flinging down upon the rough bench—a woman's shoe! “ That’s hers, Will, for no gal in the settlement could stand in such a toy as that but Queen Bess!” It was a neatly-fitting but well-worn gaiter, which evidently had been thrown away as worthless, and so Will remarked, “Then you don’t want it, eh?” cried Joe. ade what should I do with it?’ asked i “Do with it? Well, by Jinks, that’s a pooty question! Why—why—dang it all—pvut it in your weskit, to be sure! You're a nice chap!— don’t know what to do with that ar’? Jes’ gi’n it to me, old feller!” and placing it in his ‘* wes- kit,” he evidently thought himself possessed of a charm, **T found something else, Will—John Ryan’s old dug-out, jest whar he left it, poor feller, afore he was wiped out. It’s good as new, but fullof water.” ‘What do you propose to do with it, Joe?” “Why, godown-stream, to be sure. I take it that our tramp is fur the Obio country, and the dug-out’ll take us down tothe trader~’ posts below as slick as the oil of a deer’s tail.” “That’s a very good idea, Joe; but, as good foresters hadn’t we ought to scout along the banks, for you know the redsmay be on us at any time?” “Oh, ll answer fur that. You shall keep the stream an’ [ll cut off the bends with a it was finally so arranged; so, early on the following morning the two friends, lifting the canoe from its cover, cleaned it out nicely, ard went gliding down the clear, deep river, whose swift current rendered the paddle unnecessary, save to steer, All day long they sped on, Joe Sykes occasionally landing for a scout, over- land, while Will pursued the tortuous water- course around through the hills, At night mee made a landing at .the foot of a bluff whic rose almost perpendicularly from the stream, and under its ledges found a safe retreat, “Look out for rattlers, Will; here’s jest [the place for the varmints, 1 bate ’em wuss’n the reds.” The words were bardly out of bis mouth be- for the sharp, metallic like tvemolo of the real (Crotalus Durissus) Lovina both men to move hastily to the water’s e3 ic he is!” cried Joe, as he seized the pad- ** And « monster he is,” said Bently, who raised bis rifle as if to shoot it. “Hold thar! A rifle-shot mought bring something un us wuss’n rattlers,” In his excitement, Will bad forgotten the danger from ‘uman foes. Joe proceeded to confront the huge snake whose slumbers they had disturbed, but stepped backward quickly, with a bound wkich landed him in the stream. The water bein, deep and the current strong, both doe and thw paddle were quickly going down the river, Bently, pushing oi the canoe, sought to fol- low to the rescue, but the impetus given the boat sent it too far out in the stream, add poor Joe was left floundering, (en feet away. Without a paddle, or any means of directing the cance’s course, if promised tw Jeave Joe to his fate, and to place his compunion in anything but a safe predicament, Tossing and tumblix;:, Joe still was kept by the current close upor the shelving shore, where, strikirg a rock, he secured a foothold, His presence of mind bad aot deserted him, and no sooner was hesate than he turned his atten- tion to Bently, who was fast drifting off. The paddle was seen floating close inshore, a few feet away. Joe, therefore, began to creep along the stony bank in pyirsuit, when full a dozen of the vicious rattesnakes sprung up in coils in his path. With a _balf-suppressed howl, the now exasperated feliow flung himself into the stream, struck out boldly for the canoe, and reached it after fvch floundering and porpoise-like efforts in making headway. “Don’t try to pull me in, Wél', or the dug- out will upset; jest try and keep her head around, while | kick her inshore,” This was easier said than done, bi\t, at length, after puffing and splurging like a d.edging ma- cbine, Joe bad the i: finite satisfacti\\1 of seeing his «fforts crowned with success, ‘ho paddle was secured, when the two pulled on down- stream for less infested quarters, “What do you say, Joe, toa nigh, of it in the canoe? Tll watch and steer wile you sleep. « Skeer work, Will, IJt’llsoon be «ark as a pocket, 1 these bills, But, you know thar’s an island somewhere below. I don’t jest know how fur we’ve come, but it’s my guess that it isn’t many miles away. We'll drive ahead, and erbaps strike it before the moon goes clean out, Poor thar’s a but thar, and devil a snake on it: so let’s put abead.” Silently as a shadow the little craft sped on. Standing on his knees in the boat’s head, while Will held the steering-paddle, Jue kept bis eyes and ears on the alert for danger. ot a word was spoken, as the gloom deepened around them. The hills and giant trees shut in the stream like huge bastions, and the stars overhead twinkled as if seen through a telescope—so very far off they seemed. The minutes became so solemnly impressive that both men heartily wished for the island to heave in sight. They were not the first stout hearts that were awed by the night intoa feeling of actual physical dread. Suddenly a fire-flash came from the northern bank, then a rifle-grack broke the stillness and
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, a ball whizzed so closely to Joe’s head as to “ wind” his coon-skin cap, “Down, Joe!” said Will, in a low tone, “*There’s Indians on our track. Ill head for the other shore.” “Take keer of yerself, Will, fur the red devils will bore yer ears out.” A second shot followed, but the ball went wide of the mark. It evidently was so dark that no aim could be taken, and the canoe soon reached the opposite shore in safety. “ Blast my powder, Will, but I’d rather fight the reds than land here, ef we're to meet more rattlers. There! I hear one cracking his j’ints, © my name isn’t Joe Sykes.” “Hist! Are you trying to make our where- abouts known?” said Will, sternly. “Now, look here, Will Bently; ef yer think I’m goin’ to put my moccasins into rattlesnakes’ aws, yer’ mistaken. Til see ye bedurned fust, y Jinks, so I will,” and with that he sat down in the canoe again. ““Who be you?” growled a gruff voice, not ten feet away, in a clump cf underbrush, ‘““T'm a man as can lick you, any day, by Jehokey!” instantly answered Joe, as he sprung from the canoe as it shot out of it, dashing for the underbrush, before Bently fairly realized what was transpiring. A noise of men struggling followed, and be- fore Will could ground the canoe and effect a landing the two combatants came crashing and rolling down to the very water’s edge. A knife leamed, and Bently was just in time to arrest its stroke, Pulling Joe away, he said, in a low voice: ‘Fools, do you want the reds down on us?” Joe arose to his feet, still clasping the knife, The prostrate man did not stir. “Have you hurt him, Joe?” asked Bently, bending over the body. ‘Shouldn’t wonder ef I had kind o’ shortened his wind, an I'd ’a’ sp’iled his supper ef you hadn’t mixed in.” The man stirred, gasped _and struck out with his hands, as if in pain, Will raised him to a sitting posture. “Guv us a drink, ole hoss!” were the first words uttered. “ Are you much hurt?” asked Bently. “Hurt? Wal, let’s see. Mebbe thar is a hole somewhar in my carkiss.” Joe here presented his coon skin cap filled with water. “Stick yer nose in that, you old rip, an’ ye’ll feel better.” The stranger took a deep drink, and then arose to his feet. ‘“Who be you, anyhow?” he demanded. “We are Fort Kyle men on a scout,” replied as “Why in thunder didn’t ye say so then, when I fust bawled out?’ “And who be you, you old night-hawk?” rather irately asked Joe. “ Wal, seein’ it’s you, Dll tell ye when T gits ready; but, by Jehosaphat, I’d ruther try that tussle over again than be jabberin’. ill rede g to-morrow, when we kin hewdaylight ‘ur ” “Ta course J will! I kin lick ye en’ yor peyr daddy’s two best brats, to boot, allat onc’t. So now give us yer name and business.” “Yera sassy purp, ye ar’, an’ I guess I won’t tell ye nothin’ to-night, So here goes,” and he proceeded to move off up the bank. “Shall I wing him, Will?’ said Joe, seizing his rifle from the canoe. “No, no; put down or gun. Stranger, I must insist that you tell me who you are and, as the Indians are around, we bad better talk and act with caution. Who are you?” “Till answer you, mister, but not that other chap. I’m named Bill Bigger, an’ we ar’ a-trampin’ up to Fort DeKane (DuQuesne,) me an’ a dozen other fellers, who’ve been out ona long pull, an’ hey had good luck, an’ the other feliers are, some on ’em, on t’other side o’ the river, an’ I s’pects it was they as shot at yer, thinkin’ ye war Injuns, an’ that’s the whole story. “Blast thar powder!” ejaculated Joe; “to shoot at decent white men a-thinkin’ we was In- juns! Why, Bill Bigger, yer party is drunk!” “Not a drop o’ whisky or rum in the crowd, an’ that’s the reason the boys is a-goin’ in to the fort,” answered Bill. ** Now, see here, Mister Bigger; you jest put yerself in this dug-out an’ we’ll pull over to tother shore an’ hold an inquest on yer testi- mony; an’ ef yer wants to fight that scrimmage out in the mornin’, ’m yer man.” “ Allright, boys! Jes’ help me find my shoot- in’-iron, an’ we’re off.” After some searching, by feeling, in the brush, Bill’s gun was recovered, and the three men proceeded to cross to the opposite bank—Bill ing stuck up in the front, as Joe said, to take all the lead his friends might happen to spill out of their rifles. No accident, however, opt en- ed, and, ere long, the camp was entered: They were found tobe a setof traders and trappers, bound * up-stream ”"—which then meant for Fort Pitt (now Pittsburg). They were heavily loaded with packs, and moved very atic f short stages, camping as pleasure or inclination dic- tated such a jolly, rollicking, hardy dozen of men as only that time and locality could pro- duce. Just faintly perceiving the canoe, they bad fired upon it, recklessly indifferent as to whether lnuians or whites were in it,and re- garded the whole affair as a good joke. : But, Will found in them valuable guides. Having ‘“‘beat” the country for game and trade, over a wide region, they were fully in- formed of every thing going on in the Indian towns; and by the closest questioning, Bentl obtained a faint clew to what he deemed evi- dence of Bessie Ryan’s existence. It was buta faint clew, for such men rarely interested them- selves in other matters than ‘ business;” to know any thing in regard to captive women and children was not “in their line.” ’ The camp did not subside into stillness until a late hour; but, with the earliest dawn, Bently was awake, ready to resume his journey. “Yer ain’t a-goin afore I hev a chance to fin- | ish up Bill Bigger, are ye?” anxiously inquired Joe Sykes. “Of course Iam,” was the answer, ‘Into | the dug-out at once, Joe, if you want to go along | with me,”
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24 Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. “Wal,I am a-goin’ with ye, as sure as I’m | ment, whose wandering lives afforded them the auras but I want to lick Bill Bigger powerful fe When the sun glinted the tree-tops on the lofty hills, the canoe was heading rapidly down the wild Kanawba, and in two days more the voyageurs reached the stockade, a kind of hunt- er’s head-quarters on the Obio, at the point known as Kenton’s crossing. It was a queer lace, at once a rendezvous, storehouse and fort, inhabited by two or three old frontiermen who couldn’t rest easy in the settlements Thither headed most all bands of traders and trappers penetrating to the Cumberland country, on the south, and to the Shawnees’ Muskingum towns on the west; hence it was a most favorable spot for Bently’s operations. Not doubting that Bessie had been caught by the Shawnees, and borne to the west, be hoped to glean from the hunters and rangers coming, information enough to direct his steps aright. The clew obtamed from the party encountered on the Kanawha was this:—two rangers, who had been scouting toward the northwest, had told of a mighty pretty girl which they had there seen. These men were still out on their scout, and every day were looked for at the stockade; but weeks—weary weeks—passed, and et they did not come. Accompanied by Joe, ently pierced the forest in many directions but dared not go too far, for fear of missing the expected rangers. Many parties camefin,but from them not a rey of hope was won. Captives were reported in several instances, but they were all from the Kentucky settlements. This delay so irritated both Willand Joe, that, one morning in Sep- tember, they sallied out on a prolonged scout, to the Shawnee and Wyandot towns, leaving word at the stockade that in about a month’s time they would again come in when, if no in- formation had been left for them, they would try the Delaware country, taking all of October for the search in that direction. CHAPTER XI. A GLEAM AND AN ECLIPSE. Art the settlement affairs went on very much asusual, During the summer, a band of hardy, enterprising men, with’ their families—some seven oreight of them—joined that advance- guard of civilization, and caused the Fort Kyle settlers to feel that, as their numbers increased, 80 also did their safety and their power. The excitement which the mysterious disa pearance of Bessie Ryan had occasioned sub- sided into a quiet, settled grief in the hearts of those to whom she was dear, It was hardly possible not to hope and believe that she still lived; and thatthe sagacity and faithful perseverance of Will Bently, prompted, as they knew him to be, by an interest far beyond that which had actuated those who first sought her, would eventuate in obtaining some clew to her whereabouts, or, at the worst, in ascertaining her actual fate if she was no lon- ger living, Jessie Grey—like the true-hearted girl she was—never ceased to mourn for her lost friend, and never omitted an opportanity of inquiring of those bunters, passing through the settle- means of hearing of the existence of such a prisoner among the Indians, should there be one, Toward Captain Wilmot, she had, invaria- bly, since suspicion fell upon him of having something to do with her friend’s disappearance, maintained a reserve that precluded the ad- vances he seemed disposed to make, As time passed, Jessie could not fail to per- ceive a change in him, which, in spite of prein- dice, went far toward restoring him to his former place in herregard. He seemed to have much less of that exalted esteem for himself which once had been so prominent an element in bis character, and showed a corresponding] greater respect for the merits of others, He was, as it were, tempered by sorrow to new merit, Had it not been for the unpleasant suspicions which still clung to him, few of his acquain- tances in the settlement but would bave valued him highly. . Jessie was one day standing at ber father’s gate, conversing with a neighbor who was just in leaye, when she saw Captain Wilmot ap- po ing as if to address her. Hastily bidding her friend good-by, she turned to re-enter the house, but not soon enough to avoid him, for he was but a few steps from the gate, and spoke to her before she reached the door. “ Are you afraid of me, Jessie, that you run when you see me coming?” he asked, in a tone half-jesting, half-reproachful, The pretty girl blushed, and looked very much —— fora moment, and then replied can- idly: “No, Captain Wilmot, it is not that I am afraid of you, I have other reasons, but—” **T know your reasons,” interrupted Wilmot; “but let me ask if you have been altogether just or generous in not allowing me an oppor- tunity of vindicating myself from the charges which inconsiderate persons and spiteful ene- mies have made against me?” “* Perhaps not,” said Jessie, thoughtfully. “T have long wished for a chance to talk the matter over with you,” he continued, ‘ but * ped have constantly avoided me, and behaved as though you were convinced T was the monster rumor represented me to be.” “I have been perverse, perhaps, and will be glad to listen now to anything you can say that will clear up this mystery,” said Jessie, favor- ably impressed by the ardor and sincerity of his manner, “You have believed with the rest, I suppose, that I was in some way connected with Bessie Ryan’s loss, I cannot understand how I could be thought capable of injuring one whom I always admired and respected, and, for a time, loved. It would be most unnatural to harm one we love,” “True, Captain Wilmot,” said Jessie, gently, ‘but you had been heard to pat that she should be made to suffer for trifling with you,” Wilmot started. “Can that foolish remark have been the foundation for all this suspicion and prejudice? —an idle threat of a disappointed and vanity- wounded man! I remember that I did say something of the kind when] wag angry and “
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“a Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. . v mortified, but little thinking or meanfng that I should ever do her harm. I have ielt as deeply as any other person the awfulness of her fate, and would freely give all that I possess to have her brought back alivo and unharmed.” “It was thought strange that you should have seen her, found her horse, and yet come home without knowing anything of her where- abouts,” said Jessie, determined, now that the subject had been broached, it sbould be thor- oughly canvassed. “There was nothing strange about it. I have explained it before. I met her at the pasture, and learned that she had followed my horse’s trail, thinking it to be that of her own. I of- fered her the use of my horse to go on to the Ryan plantation, but she refused it, and I then started off in search of the animal myself, and after a long ride, got on his track, and traced him up, but got bewildered and delayed in try- ing to find my way out of the woods. That is positively the whole truth regarding my share of the matter.” ‘Why have you never joined in any of the attempts to find her?” «¢One reason was, my duty here at the fort; another was, my inexperience in woodcraft. I knew J could never accomplish anything, where practical hunters and woodmen had failed.” “There is something in that; still, it would help to do away with the suspicions against you, if you should make an effort—even if you failed to accomplish anything.” ‘‘ Well, Jessie, 1 have been thinking so my- self, and have been arranging affairs so as to et a leave-of-absence for that purpose, and I ope to find those to go with me who will not make it an idle undertaking, So, if Bessie is found by re instrumentality, I shall expect to stand very igh in your favor!” and Captain Wilmot looked as though he were more in ear- nest than in jest, in his concluding sentence, Jessie Grey blushed, and looked pleased and happy. Captain Wilmot had convinced her, at least, that be was an innocent man, Not very long after this, Captain Wilmot had an opportunity to put his plan into execution. A trapper came into the settlement to procure some supplies of ammunition and other neces- saries, and after a few days’ stay was ready to start out into the wilderness again in pursuit of his business. Wilmot resolved to go with him, accompanied by two other young men who wished to make a hunting excursion, and were interested enough in his enterprise to assist him as much as possible. They took a course different from any that had been pursued before, passing through the forests bordering upon the Ohio river, intend- ing, if their efforts failed in that direction, to strike northward toward the Delaware towns, where Wilmot conceived that she was, if alive held prisoner. Their plan was, if she should be heard from, to endeavor, through some | friendly Indian or privileged trader, to secure her release by the offer of a large ransom, and if that was refused to give her aclew to their designs, and assist her to escape. They had been upon the tramp for several days, when an agreeable episode occurred to re- rm, * \ . Heve the monotony of their journey, One evening, as they were about camping for the night, they heard voices not far distant, as of men in animated conversation, After listening carefully, and taking the necessary precautions against danger, they cautiously approached the point from which the voices seemed to come, and soon discovered a group of white men, gathered around a camp-fire, and engaged in various ways, but all in the most cheerful spirits—laughing, talking, and smoking. Like the camp upon which Will Bently and Joo Sykes had stumbled on the Kanawha, these were trappers making their way home with the aero of asuccessful trip, and when joined y the other party, seemed determined to make a jolly time of it. So jokes, gossip and story- telling kept the whole party awake until a late hour, while the indispensable bottle went an oc- easional round. ‘The rough old hunters cast many inquisitive glances at the young soldicr, whose manners and language were so unlike their own, and at last one of them, less back- ward than the rest, said: “Pears like you don’t b’long in these parts. Come from over the mountains, I reckon.’ “TI belong wherever chanco happens to put me down,” replied Wilmot, laughing, “Wal, thet’s purty much our ne We'ro hur, an’ thar, an’ ev’rywhar luck favors us; but Ireckon ye foller somethin’ else besides huntin’ er trappin’, don’t yer?” ‘My business, just now,” replied Wilmot, not unwilling to be communicative on the subject, ‘ig neither to hunt bear nor to trap beaver; but Iam on a hunt, nevertheless, Have vee of you chanced to see or hear of a young white girl among the tribes in the regions you have been through? Perhaps you heard of the occurrence at Fort Kyle last spring?” The trapper knit his brows and shook the ashes from his Meng ‘Pears like I hev. Hello, Jim!” calling to another of the party who sat cross-legged on the ground, with his back propped against a huge tree, upon the opposite side of the fire, ‘* Didn’t I hear yo a-sayin’ thut thur was a mighty purty white gal up yonder among the Dela- wares?” “Wal, now, yer mou’é’a’ heerd me speakin’ on’t. S’posin’ I did now,” he continued, getting up and crossing over to where the firss speaker sat, and addressing himself to Wilmot, “Is she any akin to you, cap’n?” “Tf she is the one I am looking for, she is a friend of mine, and was one of the finest girls of the settlement,” replied Wilmot. * Oh-ho! thar’s whar the wind lays, is it? Wal, I s’pose thur all nice gals at the settlement,” and here he chuckled at his own wit. ** I’ve heern of heaps of nice gals, an’ seen some on ’em, too; but somehow ’nuther they never none on ’em seemed to take a shine to myold hide, Mou’t i ay I never hankered arter ’em much my- self. “ But where—in what tribe—did you see this girl?’ asked Wilmot, impatiently. “T never said, as 1 knows on, that ’d seenary gal,” replied the tantalizing trapper. ‘Bout six months ago, I come acrost some comeradeg as had bin down the river a good piece ona
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= se eS oN ae Sa sa 7 fers = Se rere, r So 4 ae = ¥ 26 Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. trappin’ > ihe they was a-talkin’ bout some gal they’d see’d one day, kinder by accerdent, 8s they war slippin’ round kinder sly—fur them Injuns down thar’s mighty sharp arter white men’s skalps, an’ they wusn’t quite ready to part with theyrn yit; an’ so they steered clear of her, tho’ they wus mighty cur’us to know how she come thar; an’ they said she wus a powerful purty cretur’ to look at,” “Then you know nothing definite about it?” said Wilmot, greatly disappointed, “See hyar, capt’in,” spoke up a tall, raw- boned fellow, who had been listening with great interest, and puffing vast clouds of smoke from his short-stemmed pipe at thesametime. ‘I b’lieve I kin tell yer somethin’ ’bout that ar’ my- self, Thar’s a gal not more'n two hundred miles from hyar, and lives ’mong the Delawares—an’ te she’s the ’dentical one yur been talkin’ out. ‘What would you take, comrade, to guide a party of us to the place?” asked Wilmot, now quite elated with hope. *Couldn’t do it, nohow, stranger. No offense, but I’ve other fish to fry jist now; hain’t seen my old woman an’ the young-’uns fur better’n @ year, au’ I’m on the home-tramp now with a good pile of plunder, an’ the devil himself couldn’t stop me.” The men all laughed, the speaker himself join- ing in. a Pll tell ye what tis,” added ancther of the party, after a moment’s silence, seeing the per- plexed expression on Wilmot’s face, “)’ve a notion that tbur’s another party out on this same hunt. I see’da young feller called Bill Bently not long ago, an’ he’d jest been out on a long tramp intew the western Injun country, lookin’ a’ter a gal, some relation of his’n, I reckon,” with a sharp look all round, and a strong emphasis on the pronoun—‘‘ an’ he was goin’ to start out ag’in “fore long. ’Spect ef yell be spry ye would come up to him fore he gils started, ‘Tam well acquainted with Bently,” said Wilmot, “and nothing would suit me better than to join company with him; but, as he had been gone so long without our having heard anything of him, we concluded to start out our- selves and see what we could do, I’m glad to bear that he’s alive and well. Can you tell me where to find him?” “Wal,” said the trapper, reflectively, “ when I see’d him he war makin’ tracks fur bP abd *bout forty mile furder down the river, an’ I ex- aes ye'll find out all ’bout him at the stockade low the Kanawha, on the Ohio,” It was with tho greatest difficulty that Cap- tain Wilmot could compose his mind sufficiently tosleep that night. Tho suspicion which had fallen upon him had been felt more keenly than was allowed to appear, and he had determined that Bessie Ryan should be found, or her fate ascertained, if the thing was within the range of human possibilities, He knew, too, that Bently was a thousand times more ikely to succeed in such an under- taking than himself, and he determined to join him, and put himself and his party under that leadership, Accordingly, early next morning, the little cae t: band turned {ts course southward, and after a steady two-days’ tramp, they reached the point mentioned by the ration Here they heard of tly, and his friend and companion, Joe Sykes. They were then on a seout to the south, but were expected at. the point in a few days to complete their arrange- ments for a protracted excursion into the vast forest stretching northward. Somewhat sooner than was expected, they made their appearance, The meeting between the two men, Bentl and Wilmot, was somewhat constrained. Wil- mot extended his hand, and Bently took it, but in a way that showed a great lack of cordiality. He was, in fact, half-inclined to sympathize with the inveterate Joe Sykes, who scowled gruffly, and kept his hands in his pockets; but, upon second thought, it occurred to him that ilmot might be the bearer of good news from the fort. v So, addressing him in a more friendly man- ner, he inquired after the friends at the fort, hardly daring to ask the question uppermost in his mind. “Lat us walk down by the river,” proposed Wilmot, to which Bently assented, “T presume you already have conjectured my object in meeting you?’ he continued, as they walked slowly away. Bently looked into his face with a searching AZO. “Tt can’t be that—our friend—Bessie Ryan, has got home?” he asked, “No—not that; but I have come to join you in your search for her, I could not remain at the fort any longer with such suspicions against me. Bently looked perplexed, and uncertain what to say for a moment, and then replied: “Let bygones be bygones, then. Since our object is the same, we will join hands to carry it out, though I confess that, thus far, I have met with nothing but failure.” ‘“‘ Perhaps I can give you a clew to follow,” said Wilmot. “I have beard ofa white girl among the Delawares, and I can’t help thinking it’s Bessie herself;” and he went on to impart the meager information he had gleaned from the trappers. “That’s the best news yet!” exclaimed Bent- ly, with more enthusiasm than he had betrayed for many months. ‘‘If it is indeed she, we will have her before another month passes away.” “Thick as mush, by Jinks! Id ’a’ thought of a fight sooner’n this!” exclaimed the loud voice of Joe Sykes just behind them, and he sauntered up to the spot. * Good news, Joe!” exclaimed Bently, with con- siderable animation. ‘‘ Wilmot has beard of a girl among the Delawares, and we're almost certain that it’s Bessie. Do you think we can find her?’ “T reckon we kin, an’ ef thar’s fire in flint we'll have her in less’n a month. Ef yer sure yer on the right scent, go ahead; but I’m gittin’ 80 jubous about these trappers’ yarns that I hain’t much belief in ’em.” “T have faith in this report, Joe. Weill make arrangements for an immediate start, Wilmot and his men will join us,” | |
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, 24 “Hooray fur him! Say we fine hands, ca Vin, an’ forgit old grudges. Reckon you hain’t no’bjections to shakin’ my paw.” Captain Wilmot responded cordially, perfect- ly willing to be on terms of friendship with bis rough companion, whose zeal on Bessie’s be- half could but command bis respect. “Man proposes, and God disposes.” Waiting fora few days for a scout to come in who was very familiar with the Delaware towns, and could speak the Delaware tongue, the party was astounded by the scout’s arrival, bearing the news that the Delawares were even then on his track, on the war-path in heavy force; and before twenty-four bours had passed, the woods around the stockade fuirly swarmed with the fierce foe. Bently waited several weeks, hoping for a change in the aspect of affairs, and thinking that a battle, which seemed to be imminent, might alter the situation so as to enable them to proceed. But, week after week the danger to the whites increased—so much so that it became necessary to collect ail the available force to be had, to keep off the plundering, murdering bordes that swarmed in on every side, of Shawnees and Delawares combined. Never backward where his strong erm and brave heart were needed for deeds of courage, Bently and those who were with bim—Wilmot having been required to return to the fort— joined the body of defenders, A bloody battle—long and desperate—finally occurred, in which many lives were Jost on both sides; but the Indians were completely defeated and di-heartened, and compelled to retire, leaving their dead, and those most severely wounded, upon the ground. It wasa battle in which Bently distinguished bimself among those who were neither weak ior cowardly. He felt that he owed them a double retribution, and throwing all the energy of his soul into the blocdy werk, he fought with a reckless daring that enraged while it beffled his desperate foes, who made him a special mark, It was hardly to be expected that one so prominent in the fight should escape unharmed; nor did he. When the lengthening shadows of the afternoon, and the failing energies of the enemy, caused a diminution of the struggle, he became aware that be was Josing strength by the flow of blood, and when the tide had fully turned, be sunk exheusted and faint to the i gee suffering from a severe wound in his side. He was carried back to the bravely-defended block-house on the banks of the iiver, where, under the rough buf loving attentions of the brave Joe Sykes, he was cared for in the best manner which the limited resources of the place permitted, But, weeks of helplessness—perhaps months—must elapse befere ke could resume bis cag indeed, he survived the effects at CHAPTER XT. RANSOMED AND LOST. A Gtortovs autumn sun enriched the beauty of the wild but placid scene, 1ts mellow, glimmering, liquid gold shone through a purple haze so ethe’ that it just faintly tinted the bright flood under it, and gave a look of enchantment to the Indian village i} nestled in the glade, around which the many-hued — circled on every side but the one toward the water. A dreamy stillness pervaded the air. All things seemed sunk into a soft repose, and Bessie Ryan, as she sat at her wigwam door, employing her hands with some bead-embroidery, and breathing the balmy air, gave herself up to visions of the future. Ever since her adoption into the tribe, Bessie had been the recipient of avery, favor and mark of kind- ness, which the hearts of her really loving friends could devise, She had a lodge of her own, construct- ed with much more care than was usual to any save that of a chief. Her own dress was adorned with the most fanciful embroidery, and the little deer-skin moccasin bore the imagé of wild blue violets and white lilies, With oth, ge seca head-dress of royal eagle-feathers, she looked a very Forest Queen as she moved among the women of the tribe, and as the chosen daughter of their oldest and most influential chief, she was loved and honored, Bessie was not unconscious of her power, but while with patient exertion she strove to reciprocate the kindness bestowed upon her, her heart over- flowed with yearnings for home and friends. As the time wore away, another trouble cast its shadow across her path. It was well known to the old chieftain that Tonowa had left her in disappoint- ment and anger, He had said nothing to her upon the subject as yet, but, that it was on his mind, was evident from the signs of displeasure which were but imperfectly concealed, when any allusion was made before her to the absent warrior. Bessie wisely avoided, as far as possible, all ap- roaches to the delicate subject, trusting to time to elp her out of the difficulty. But, the day came when it could no longer be put away. She was sitting in her wigwam door, on the beautiful autumn day, when the light step of an Indian girl broke up her reverie, “Our father waits in his wigwam for the coming of his pale-faced daughter; he would speak to her." Bessie turned to the messenger with a look of troubled inquiry. “Ts our father not well?” she asked, “* He is well,” was the brief reply. Bessie felt asinking of the heart—a foreboding of that she had so long feared; but, obedient as usual, she left her lodge and crossed the space which lay between the wizwams, and in a moment found her- self inthe old chicftain’s presence, He sat upona wolf-skin, spread out upon the ground, smoking his ipe. Onseeing her enter, he silently motioned her oO asimilarseat nearhim, Bessie as silently obeyed. He finished his pipe with perfect composure and laid it aside before speaking—the visitor, meantime, preparing for what was to come. “The cheeks of my white daughter are pale to-day. Why has the sunshine gone out of her face?” “She has been grieving for the summer that is dying on the hillsides,” she replied, with a sad smile. “Tt will come again, after the snow-moons have passed over.” . 4 “True, father; but when will the sun so shine that no shadows will fall to darken the way?” “Why seek the shadows? Is Eye-of-Night no longer happy?” Bessie was startled bythe sternness of his tone and the sharp glance of his keen eye. For amo ment she drooped her head, then she murmured: “Let not my noble father, whose kindness has won the heart of the stranger in his household, think I forget the debt I owe him; but, is it eran that, when I am happy in my new home, I shoul remember those who sorrow for me?—who know not that I live, and that I have friends, and am _be- loved by the aged and honored chief, my father?” ‘Let the pale maiden forget the past. Theyoung eaglet makes her eyrie where a noble mate, wi! yee ve and strong wings, shall come and fold la ms by her side. Does my daughter listen?’ -
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, “Bho listens, But, the white mafden is no eaglet.” Then, seeing the darkening peewee in the old man’s eye, she continued bastily: “She is but a robin—a young robin, that has founda nest with old ones, and she wishes not to leave it; there is no other like {t in all the woods,” The old man shook his head, but his countenance became lessstern, and Bessie determined to follow up the advantage she had gained, “She will nestle here, safe from the swooping hawk and fierce birds of prey, ot py ter cheering the parent birds that took her under their sheltering wings. Shall it not be so?” The old chief seemed tnuch pleased at the inferen- tial argument used; but his pomose was not to be 80 easily set aside, and he replied: “The old birds cannot liveforever; when they de part they will not want their birdling left alone. Let the proud EBye-of-Night take the noble mate who seeks her for his own wigwam. He is brave! no voice rings out the the war-whoop so clearly; his foes flee before him and dread to hear his name. Yet igs his heart soft and tender for those he loves.” “* He has gone on the war-path; he may never re- turn,” said Bessie, not knowing what else to say. * eye is quick as that of the circling hawk; his foot is like the spring wind. He will not be harmed. “*When will he return?” “Before the horns of the moon are full. Then will he build his wigwam, and coms to the old chief for his pale-faced squaw.” Bessie bowed her head upon her hands and shud- dered. A long silence followed, She was almost afraid to encounter the old man’s gaze after this exhibition ot feeling. He waited, with the imper- turbable calmness of his people, until she appeared composed, and then, with a tone so firm that it was almost stern, he said; a “Not many moons ago, when the red-men came back to their wives and their little ones, they came without many braves, whose blood had been poured out by the long-knives. Their wives wailed and tore thelr hair, and cried for vengeance. The returning braves brought with them a prisoner—one of the hated race, and all cried for vengeance, Then the palecaptive was bound to the flery stake—who could save her? Who pitied her? Who,in the angry council, spoke the word of life?” He paused, never moving his eyes from the face of the girl who sat, with pale, firmly-set, impressive countenance, listening to his speech. “The soft fur was laid for her bed; the sore and weary feet covered with fur-lined moccasins: the young fawn slain for her food. More: an aged Ww or, whose head was white with the snows of many winters—took her to his heart and loved and watched over her. Does the captive live? Is the light of the sun lovely to her eyes? Speak, maiden! Say if the warm heart loves to beat?” ie remained silent for a brief period, every in- stant of which increased the light in her eye and the color on her cheek, and then spoke: “Why was the white girl torn from her friends? Had ever her hand injured so much as a hair of the heads of one of your people? She fought in self- defense; would you have had her bow her neck to the strok to stretch his hand and save her. Never has she forgotten—never ¢an she, while her heart beats— the kindness of her father and those who eared for her when weary and exhausted and in trouble, She loves her Indian friends; her heart clings, to them; and yet she yearns to be with her kindred, and hear her own tongue, and be with the companions of her youthful sports,” The countenance of the old chief remained im- movable, and after a moment of silence he motioned her away, and said: “Let my daughter return to her wigwam and Bessie left his presence with a sad heart. The crisis she had been looking for and dreading so long e? Yet was it most noble in the aged chief | was close at hand. All the dark fore’ of her first pacha d rose up before her. A m of des- peration settled upon her; a deep resolve to risk all, and make an effort which should end in success or death, to reach her kindred. But, it was necessary that she should preserve her usual bearing of calm cheerfulness, and so she forced herself to laugh and chat and join in the amusements of her companions, as though nothing of change was in her thoughts. One day an unusual stir among the inhabitants of the village caused her to step out and to ascertain the cause. It proved to be the arrival of some traders with whom the tribe was on terms of friend- liness. The spirits of the captive rose with a bound; had Providence ordered this means of her delivery? Dispatch and caution were necessary to turn this chance—if chance it was—to her account. When she came to face the great difficulty in her way, her heart almost misgave her; but, now or never, she thought, and rallied all the resolution of her nature to accomplish her purpose. Assuming av appearance of great interest in the collection of bende and other trinkets which were displayed to the crowd of eager women and children, she adroitiy succeeded in exchanging afew words with one of the traders, whose open kindly counte- Henin seemed to assure her of his sympathy in her ehalf, ' * Let us seem to approach the tent of the chief,” she said, with feigned carelessness, and at the same time pointing toward it. “T understand,” said he, in the same careless man- ner; “be brief and to the p’int in what yev’ got to say, Sharp eyes and ears are all around us "—hold- ing up a string of beads for her inspection, as though that were the subject of their conversation, Bessie again pointed toward the tent of the old chief, and the trader, telling his companions to stay where they were and conclude their bargains, took up his own package, and, with the white girl close beside him, moved toward the tent, “Tam a prisoner here—adopted into the tribe. 1 wish to escape—I will escape, if it be through the gates of death, Or fora ransom—any thing that will be accepted. My friends will see that you suffer no loss, My name is Bessie Ryan; my home was near Fort Kyle. If Iam not rescued now it will soon be too late; they are determined to compel me to marry one of the tribe.” “ Leave this to me, young gal. I'll do all I kin fur ye. I've gals of my ownto home, Go back to yer companions, and act jist ez if thar wa’n't nothin’ the matter.” After again making gestures as if communicating some information in relation to the village, Bessie turned and rejoined the groups around the other traders, and seemed as much interested in their ac- quisitions as they themselves were. The day wore on; noon came and went, and she heard nothing of the success of her friend. At last she received a message, requiring her pre- sence at the wigwam of her adopted father. With palpitating heart, she obeyed the summons, appear- ing before him with an anxious expression of count- _enance, that no effort could conceal. By the un- usual sternness of the old chief's manner, she knew that astorm was gathering. The trader who had interceded for her stood with a perplexed face, and when she entered, the old chieftain looked from une to the other in silence. At last he spoke, tenes | his tones with the cold stoicism of the proud o warrior he was. *‘ Let the white maiden speak her wish.” From an ashy paleness, the face of Bessie flushed creer but her voice and eye were steady as she replied: “My father, I would fain look upon the faces of my w nite kindred!” ‘Ungrateful! He uttered the one word with a look and tone of scathing scorn, expressing much more than language could convey. /
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Queen Bessie, the Border Girl, ‘*Have I fostered a snake in my bosom, that it turns upon me?” Bessie gazed unflinchingly at him, but remained ae feeling the uselessness of words to appease ‘im. “ Better the red tongues of fire had licked up her blood than that Ishould have sheltered her!” con- tinued the excited old man. Anew expression came into the face of the cap- tive. With a proud, majestic mien, and in a touch- ingly impressive manner, but without a word, she stooped to lift a tomaha wk that lay upon the ground near her, and silently offering it to the old chief, bent her head to receive a blow. When she lifted her eyes, it was to see the old man’s face working, as though he himself had been struck; the muscles of his strong lips were quiver- ing with inward emotion. . Go,” he said, at You love me no longer. length. ‘*Oh, my father!"’ cried Bessie, in a transport of joy, ‘‘may I indeed go? Then never, never, will the white child of the aged chief forget his goodness. She will ask the Great Spirit, every day, to take care of him, and pour the dews of joy upon his heart as long as life lasts!” He gave her one look, as though asking himself if he could part with her; then silently motioned her away. The und appeared a copeioe of air, so light seemed her feet, as she passed to her own tent. So happy was she that not athought of disappointment | shadowed the brightness of the hours that followed, She knew that the business was not yet settled— that it must receive the sanction of the council; but the old chieftain’s consent was a warrant for her de- liverance. : On the day following, she was informed by her friend, the trader, that with great difficulty, and only by the most extravagant offers, he had obtained her ransom; and, as it was not impossible that they might change their minds, he deemed it advisable to hasten their departure, : Bessie was overjoyed; it seemed almost too good to be true. In avery short time she was ready to leave, and but awaited the movements of the traders, dis chief refused utterly to see her or bid her good-by. But a trying scene awaited her. When it be- came known throughout the villege that the cap- tive was to be taken from them, the astonishment and grief knew no bounds. The women and chil- dren gathered around her with every demonstra- tion of grief and love, kissing her hands, embracing her, and even clinging to her garments—their tear- re — and earnest voices attesting their affection ‘or her. Finally, she tore herself away; and taking a farewell view of the picturesque scene she was leaving, turned her horse’s head toward the mighty eieences, in which the Iltile cavalcade soon disap- eared, z But, “‘who knoweth what the morrow may bring forth?” Scarcely had the red disk of the evening sun sunk below the forest line, when an Indian runner entered the village which our little party had so lately left, bearing news of a terrible battle and dis- — defeat on the border of the white settle- ments, In a short time all was confusion; the women be- wailed those killed and wounded, and the war- riors were loud in their threats of vengeance on the slayers of their brethren. The runner informed them of the approach of the main body of warriors, and then passed on to convey the intelligence to the vil- lages beyond. It chanced that the messenger passed the which had just left, giving the briefest and most unsatisfactory replies to the inquiries of the traders. Enough was understood, however, to reveal the true slate of the case, At first, Bessie felt fervently thankful that she had escaped before Tonowa’s return, but in another mo- | ment, she realized, with a thrill of alarm, the short distance which separated them, and the likelihood of his attempting her recapture. A consultation was at once held, the traders com- prehending the danger to their fair charge. It was thought best, as they were liable at any time to meet the returning band, to vary from their direct course, and by making a circuit, strike the trail again after all danger was over. But, the deepening gloom prevented their acting upon the proposed — before morning, and they prepared to camp ‘or the night, feeling comparatively at ease in the | knowledge that the Indian party would do the same, They selected a spot some distance from the path, where bed would be screened from observation by a — ridge, running forsome ways along the coun- try. Here they built their fire and prepared the primitive supper, after which they disposed them- selves to sleep. A thieket of underbrush was peowings on the almost vertical side of the ridge, in which was a recess so easy and convenient, that it seemed as if made for a sleeping-place. It served well, also, for a place of concealment; and the traders, after apeending: some blankets for the comfort of their charge, advised her, if anything should happen dur- ing the night, to lie perfectly still and not discover herself. Then they extinguished the camp-fire. A night in the boundless wilderness; the dear- est interests of life at stake; before her tho beloved home and friends toward which her heart was yearning; behind her captivity and a fate more intolerable than,death; or, to avoid that, death inflicted upon herself, A break in the tremulous curtain before her showed her one bright, twinkling star. Never did star glisten with such radiance before; and men- , tally communing with it, she could but promise that it should shine upon) her once again, in her distant home. But, :.t last the star grew dim, the soft apes of the leafy curtain ceased, and the maiden slept the sleep of exhausted strength. ray dawn was struggling through the dense foli- age surrounding her, when she awoke, Then, it was not suddenly, but it was as if some strange charm drew her back to consciousness, she slowly opened her eyes—opened them upon a pair of black, glitter- ing orbs gazing into her own with a fascinating po: ’ er — thrilled her with a strange, indescriba... emotion, : It was Tonowa, sitting beside, and watching her repose. he would have sprung to her feet, but ho extend- ed his powerful arm over her, with the purpose, as it seemed, of making her feel that she was wholl: in his power, Bessie sunk back, dismayed and faint, Te kept his steady gaze upon her until she was glad to turn her head, but not a word was uttered. He placed his rifle before the passage, like a bar, and thon looked back at her with the faioiest glimmer of a smile in his softened gaze, She rose, folded her blankets and sat downupon them, clasped her hands, and fixe<i her eyes absent- ly upon a point in the distance, Her attitude, to- ether with the resolute contraction of brow and ips, showed that she waited for Tonowa to speak. Amarked change came over his features. As he spoke Bessie looked.at him ‘nthe increasing light, and was struck by the sharp lines of pain and suf- | fering that had been drawn upon his face since she last saw him. Involuntarily pity took the place of her former d, in a gentle voice: feclings, as he * Tonowa knows why the white maiden {s here,” He paused a moment, but Bessie made no answer, and he continued: | “Did the fleet fawn think to escape the red hun- ter? Look out; a hundred braves stand where your | comrades slept.” | co
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a SS “My friends! Are they gone?” gasped the poor girl, with a low cry of despair. “They have left the maiden they foolishly thought to bear away,” replied Tonowa, * Dastards |” cried Bessie, “A handful of pale-faces toa hundred braves! Tonowa spurns their ransom, What was that, that it should purchase the beautiful Eye-of-Night, that is to shine on bim while he lives?” “'Tonowa knows—he has been told—that Eye-of- Night will never be his,” replied Bessie, in a low voice, “When she finds that she never can return to the home of her fathers—when she hears that the whice warrior she pines for has gone to the land of the Great Spirit, then she will be content to dwell in Tonowa’s wigwam,”” She remained silent. It was useless to argue— useless to threaten, and it seemed equally vain to plead, An Indian brought the pony which she had ridden the day before, near the foot of the ridge. Tonowa motioned her to mount it, and in a few minutes more she was on her way back to the village which she had left so joyfully the day before. The traders, finding themselves completely in the power of the party of warriors, who hud discovered their camp so early in the morning, thought it best for all parties that Bessie should be left in their hands, fearing for her life, as well as their own, if they resisted, and had, accordingly, taken their de- parture at break of day, without awakening her, - * pla ec her of the misfortune which had be- en, The Agen captive was taken to the wigwam which she had formerly occupied, where she was left in charge of an Indian woman, and though she was treated with accustomed kindness she was watched with a vigilance that precluded every possibility of escape, if she had meditated it. CHAPTER XIL THAT SWEET AIR AGAIN. “Waar a glorious sunset!’ exclaimed Will Bently, as he lay restlessly upon his rude couch in the block- house, upon the banks of the Ohio river, and looked out through the little window upon the broad stream, from which the hues of a November sunset flashed back ina thousand qnivering lances, while the gorgeous coloring of the frosted foliage of the forest, lent an additional splendor to the autumn scene. - “T can’t stand it any longer! Joe, bring me a blanket; I’m going to walk down to the river-side.” “Ye'd better be keerful, yit awhile, Benfly!’’ re- monstrated Joe, at the same time complying with his wish, but saying, as he handed him ia blanket: ene tech of the chilly air might fix ye everlastin’- “Never fear; a taste of fresh air is ood for a fellow. I can't stay cooped up here forever!” saying which he wrap himself in the blanket and slowly and feebly made his way out. Seating himself upon a partially decayed stump, he contemplated the scene about him with that relish that only the convalescent can experience after the confinement of a long and painful illness, As the dews began to fall, and the air to grow more chill, Bently reluctantly prepared to return to the stockade, when a strangely sweet and heavenly melody was heard, so faint and soft as to make him uncertain whether or not he was the victim of a hallucination, He listened intently. ain the music arose, clearer than before, and while he strained his ears to catch the sound, a rush of precious memories brought back some dim. ‘forgotten happiness of long ago, he could scarcely tell what; but as the last strain floated away over the placid waters, and died out in the woouy vistas around, the forgotten strain burst clear and strong upon his mind as identical with the melo- dy he bad just heard: “Draw me still, beloved to thee!” Oe ee ae Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. A thrill of nndefinable emotion—a mingling of jo and pain—stirred tho deepest fountains of his sou and a longing toward the past, with a painful thought of the future, swept over him. Ho stepped to the water's edgo and gozed as far ns he could see down the river, to discover tho source of the mys- | terious music, and continued to watch and listen till the falling of night warned him to return to the houso, The next morning his faithful attendant, Joe Sykes, entered the room, with a peculiar expression upon his features, which, over and anon, defied hig efforts at control, ‘he willful muscles of his mouth would perversely draw his lps apart in unaccount- ablo smiles. At length Bontly, who had been so >reocecupied with his own thoughts as not to notice the peculiarity of Joe’s manner, could no longer fail ‘o perceive that something of unusual import was on his mind, “ What’s tho matter, Joe? Has anything in par- ticular happened? You look as smiling as a red- skin over a scalp-lock.” “Wal, no—nothin’ in partic’ler, Some Injuns come down the river this mornin’ in a canoe, and em a squaw ashore here. Queer-lookin’ critter, 00; tickles mo to think on’t.” “Rather strange, I must say. I’m going out for another walk this morning;’’ and Will took his cap from its peg, buckled his belt around the waist of his blue hunting-frock, and sought, the same spot where he had rested the evening previous. Perhaps he imagined that the aerial visitant, who had entranced him with the magic of a song, would again bewitch his ear? While sitting thus, jooking out upon the river, and absorbed in reflection, he heard the familiar voice of Joe Sykes behind him, peaking with unusual softness, and greatly modi- fiee from its wonted rough tones, Half-turning around, he beheld a queenly figure in Indian costume, advancing toward him, her smil- ing eyes bent full upon him, and a warm, bright color suffusing ber cheeks, She extended a little brown hand, Bessie Ryan lt” “Will B nily !” He sprung to his feet in speechless astonishment, and, forgetful of time and place and circumstances, he drew her to his bosom in an embrace so fervent that he half-fainted in her clasp. The surprise and nervous shock had been too much for his inva- lid’s strength, and Joe Sykes had to put his arm around both—to keep them from falling he after- ward said. “Caught, by Jinks!" he ejaculated, as he suddenly disappeared in the w “ Dear Besste |" ** Dear Will!” The cloud was rifted, and the sunlight of long- repressed love burst through in a flood, and their lips met in a kiss that “ Told the tale that the tongue Was too timid to speak,” “But, my dear girl, do tell me about yourself— where you have been—and what endured — and how you came to be singing so near me last night!—and especially, what good fortune brought you here?” “*Thave been a prisoner among the Delawares and not long ago was ransomed by a trader, an had started toward home when a party of returning warriors met us and carried me back with them; but the chief who had adopted me was constrained by a promise to send me home. So I came with an escort of warriors and two of my Indian sisters, Last night we camped a mile or so down the river, as they had no desire to encounter the whites. When I found myself so near home—certain at last of my freedom—I could not resist the inclination to sing the song which I had never sung since we left the old farm.”
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er Queen Bessie, the Border Girl. 31 “TI well remember it, Bessie. Tsaid that you should sing it for me again.” “But I did not dream that you would hear me.” It was determined that, upon the following day, Bessie, accompanied by Bently, Joe Sykes, and two others, should take a boat maid hack for the fort up the Kanawha. As to Will, there was never medicine so effective as the happiness which had so pen agel come upon him—nor was Bessie less affected, though she had long looked forward to the joy of her return, Probably never before had so bappy a party sailed over the placid waters of the lonely river, “Tell me now, dear Bessie, the story you have sev- eral times promised to relate. Let me hear about your Indian lover, and your release.” The two were sitting on a fallen tree near the river, where they had moored their boat and camped for the night. Thus appealed to, the maiden related tke circumstances of ber loss and her life among her captors, as the reader alvency knows them, but the incidents following her recapture by Tonowa we will narrate in her own words. “T sunk into the deepest despair I had ever known when I found myselt once more in my old wigwam, not free as before, but closely watched night and af Sometimes ‘louowa visited me. When he did I was always terrified, not by the harshness of his manner, but by the fierceness of his passion, the light of which burned in Lis eye. He loved as he hated, with all the force of his strong, uncontrolled nature. “T learned, at length, what had been concealed from me, that Tonewa had been very seriously wounded in their battle with the whites—the same battle in which you were wounded I sup; ose, Will— and I pitied him Geepty. I had noticed that he grew woak and wan in his appearance, I could see a change every time he came to my wigwam. He bore his sufferings with such heroism that, had he but been willing to accept the sisterly love J offered him, I should have been but too glad to have cared for him in any way that would have alleviated bis mis- ery. Finally he became aware that he was dying, and his desire to win from me a promise to become his wife grew more intense. 1 suffered almost as much as he, through sympathy and anxiety combined, I really had a strong affection for him,” said the noble-hearted girl, with tearful eyes, “for he had been kind and generous to me, and it was to him, you know, that | mainly owed my rescue from the stake. “One day his friends sent for me to come to his lodge, and I found that he was extremely low—I thought, dying. He looked at me with such a pleading, loving gaze, that it touched my inmost heart. “* Tonowa is going,’ he said, in a feeble voice; ‘will not E e-ol-Night remember him when he is far away in the hunting-grounds of the Great Spirit?’ “T promised that I would never forget him, and the assurance seemed to please him, A moment af- ter he asked: **When will she meet him inthe happy coun- try, where the young brave is forever beloved by his chosen one?” ***The Great Spirit knows,’ I answered, pent. “Tho old chief, with others, was standing near, watching with gricf-strickcn faccs tho countenance of the dying brave who had bcon tho hope and vride of the whole tribe. ae **Tonowa reached forth his hand in search of mine. I placed it within his; it seemed to soothe him, and he lay quietly, with closed eyes, for nearly an hour; then he opened them, and spoke with con- siderable effort: “*Would my white sister return to hor kindred! She has dwelt with us long, but Tonowa is leaving her—he can not stay to dwell with her in the lodgo among his people; she shall return. My father,’ he motioned to the old chief, ‘will send her dowa to the beautiful river when Tonowa has departed.” “The old chief bowed his head, in token of assent, and Tonowa seemed to rest satisfied. He held my hand in his until his own relaxed in death. 1 honor bismemory. Iowed my freedom +o him, at last as at first, ‘* After his burial they sent me away,'parting with me in great sorrow, and many expressions of at- tachment.” “It is to Tonowa, then, that I owe my present happiness!" said Lently, gazing upon Bessie with eyes fullof tenderness. She turned aside her flushing cheek, but the gathering twiligkt did not conceal from her lover's fas the briglt color and sweet confusion of her ‘ace. A rustle on the bank below them was followed by the exclamation: “Thar, ye’'ve gone an’ doneit, Will Bently. The shoe is yours, for luck ye know;” and there fell in Bessie’s lap one of her own old shoes. “That was Joe's voice; but pray. what does thin mean?” she asked, holding up the shoe. Willlaughed a good hearty laugh, and the viice of Joe responded from the stream below. Bessi bewildered, but pleased, could but laugh too; an so the old woods were made merry with laughter. Bently then rehearsed the incident of Joe's first introduction to the shoe, and added: “T really had forgotten all about it, but it seems the faithful fellow has preserved it as his * charm,’ as he expressed it; and here heflings it at us, to con- summate our good luck. I'll hug Joe Sykes for this,” Great was the delight of thu settlers, and inex- VS ae the joy of her particular friends, whcn Joe ykes burst into the village and announced the ap- proach of the long-lost girl. Jessie Wilmot—tfor such the littse maiden had now become —was quite beside herself with joy; and her husband was but little less so, while the eccen- tric Kate Ryan, crowding back her thankfulness, as- sumed the stoic calmness she was wont to put on when her feelings were likely to overcome her, and the exclamation, ‘“ What's the use of going clean crazy !—reckon 1 knowed Bess was cute nough to take keer of herself wharever she was!” did not accord very well with the tenacity with which her arms clung round the returned girl’s neck, and the streams of unchecked tears flowing quietly down her cheeks. Long after, the happy Bessie, with her noble and prosperous husband, Wili Bently, enjoyed the peace and prosperity that resulted from the trials and sacrifices of those early days. And as the rapidly extending line of the frontier receded further and further from their door, the visits of Joe Sykes be- came less frequent, until at length they ceased altogether. Heevidently had “ gone under,” as he desired, on the trail after the red-men, whom he ceased to hate only with his last breath, THE END,
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BEADLE’S Pocket LIBRARY. 839 Rardo, the Boy Gypsy; or, Reckless Rolf’s Re- volt. By Wm. G. Patten. 340 Billy Bubble’s Big Score. By Charles Morris. 841 Colorado Steve’s Dash; or, Old Buncomb’s Sure Shot. By Philip 8. Warne, $42 Snap-Shot Sam; or, Ned Norris’s Nettle. By Bucksin Sam. 243 Mike, the Bowery Detective; or, Peleg Prancer of Vermont. By Edward L. Wheeler. 344 The Drummer Sport. By Edward Willett. 845 Jaqués, the Hardpan Detective; or, Captain Frisco the Road-Agent. By J. C. Cowdrick. 346 Joe, the Chicago Arab. By Charles Morris.] 347 Middy Herbert’s Prize; or, The Girl Captain’s Revenge. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham. 848 Sharp-Shooter Frank. By Buckskin Sam. 349 Buck the Miner; or, Alf, the Colorado Guide. By Maj. E. L. St. Vrain. 350 Ned, the Slab City Sport. By Ed. L. Wheeler. 351 Rocky Mountain Joe. By Col. T, H. Monstery. 852 New York Tim; or, Tue Boss of the Boulevard. By Charles Morris. 853 The Girl Pilot; or, Ben, the Reef-Runner. By Roger Starbuck, 854 Joe, the Boy Stage-Driver. By Maj. St. Vrain. 355 Texas Frank’s Crony; or, The Girl Mustang Rider. By Bucks in Sam, 356 Idaho Ned, Detective: or, The Miners of Tarpot City. By Edward L. Wheeler. 35% Guy, the Boy Miner. By Col. P. Ingraham. 358 Jersey Joe, the Old Tar; or, the Wrecker’s Protege. By Mrs. Orin James. 859 Dandy Dick’s Dash; or, The Boy Cattle - King. By Oll Comes. 860 Jim's Big Bonanza; or, Jake Dodd and His Gang. \y W. J. Hamilton. 861 Oregon Phil, the Sport; or, The Marshal of Two Bits. By Philip S. Warne. 862 Kit, the Bootblack Detective. By E. L. Wheeler. 863 The Ocean Racer; or, Trusty Tom, the Tar. By T. C. Harbaugh, 861 Fritz’s Old Score; or, Sib Cone’s Right Bower. By Ned Buntline. 865 Crack Shot Harry; or, The Masked Rider. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 366 Gold Dust Rock, the Whirlwind of the Mines. By G. Waldo Browne. 367 Fred’s Bold Game; or, The Cave Treasure. By Paul Bibbs. 368 Jim, the Sport in Wake-up: or, Foghorn Fan to the Front By Edward L. Wheeler. 369 Captain Blake’s Jonah. By Roger Starbuck, 370 Denver Kit's Double. By Major H. B. Stoddard. $71 Blue Blazes Dick; or, Danger Doll of Dynamite. By T. C. Harbaugh. 872 The Sea Cat’s Prize; or, The Flag of the Red Hands. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 873 Larry O’Lynn's Dash: or, Kyle, the Renegade. By Joseph F. Henderson. 874 Jim, the Sport’s Big Boom; or, The Bonanza King’s Rival. By Edward L. Wheeler. 375 Bowery Bob, Detec'ive. By Jo Pierce. 376 Buckskin Dick’s Clean ape or, Jonathan Jenks’ Still Hunt. By Col, Acthur F. Holt. 377 The Deadwood Sports. By Lieut. 8. G. Lansing. 873 Bronco Billy, the Saddle Prince. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham. 879 Dick, the Stowaway; or, A Yankee Boy's Strange Cruise. By Charles Morris. 880 Young Dick Talbot; or, A Boy’s Rough and Tumble light from New York to California. By Albert W. Aiken, 881 Dandy Bill’s Doom; or, Deerhunter, the Boy Scout. By Oll Cooms. : . 382 Wide-Awake George, the Boy Pioneer, By Ed. Willet. 888 Wild Bill, the Pistol Prince. By Col. Ingraham, 884 Brimstone Bill’s Booty: or, Mariposa Marsh at ._ Dead Man’s Gulch, By Joseph E, Badger, Jr. 385 The Boy Tramps; or, The Rough <) oon Hollow. By J. M. ‘Hoffman. te 386 The Montana Kid; cr, Little Dan Rock’s Mis- sion. By Morris Redwing. 387 The Boy Detectives. Ly T. C. Harbaugh. ee The Pony Express Rider; or, Buffalo Bill's Frontier Feats. By Col. Prentiss Ingrabam, 389 New York Bill, the Dodger By Edward Willett. 390 The Ticket-of-Leave’s Trick; or, Spring Steel, King of the Bush. By Jc seph E, Badger, Jr. Charley Skylark, the Sporr. By Major Henry B, Stoddard. Texas Jack, the Mustang King. Prentiss Ingrakam. Peter, the Dandy Greenhorn. Ry Noah Nuff. ‘Tom Temple's Big Strike. By Barry Ringgold, Harry, the Country Boy, in New York. By Charies Morris. Detective Paul’s Right Bower. By C. D, Clark. Tip Tressell, the Flatboat Boy. By Ed. Willett. Captain Jack in Rocky Roost, By Col. Ingraham. Harry Somers, the Magician, By 8. W. Pierce. Black Horse Bill, the Bandit Wrecker, By Roger Starbuck. Tim, the Mule Boy of the Mines. By Chas. Morris. Flatboat Fred on the Mississippi. By E Willett. Jake, the Colorado Cireus Boy. By Bryant Bainbridge. Texas Charlie’s Wild Ride. By Col. P. Ingraham, Wide-Awake Ned; or, The Boy Wizard, By Barry Ringgold. By T. C. Harbaugh. By Colonel Giant Pete and His Pards. Old Ruff’s Protege; or, Little Rifle’s Secret. By Captain Bruin Adams. Stowaway Dick Abroad; or, The Desert Rover. By Charles Morris. Doctor Carver, the Champion Shot, By Col. P. Ingraham. Captain Fly-By-Night, the Colorado King-Pin By Jcs. E Badger, Jr. New York Jack’s Mettle; or, Old Traps and His Chums, By Barry kinggold. Sam Specece, the Broadhorn Boy. By Edward Willett. Revolver Billy in Texas; or, The Lone Star State Rangers. By Col. P. Ingraham. Dasher Dick’s Dead Lock; or, Plucky Joe, the Boy Avenger. By J. M. Hoffman. Pony, the Cowboy Chief. Ly H. B. Stoddard, Panther Dick's Death ag By A. F. Holt, Fighting Fred of Frisco, By T. C, Harbaugh. Buckskin Sam's Wild Ride. By Col. P Ingraham. Frisco Guy’s Big Bonanza. By Roger Starbuck, Pat Mulroony’s Pard. By Emerson Rodman. Tim, the Boy Acrobat. By Char'es Morris. Red Spur KR Iph, the Texan. By C Dunning Clark. Dashing Bob. the Pony Express Rider, By Col. » Prentiss Ingraham. 424 Tom Stone, the Old Sea Dog. By C.D, Clark, 425 Darky Jumble’s Wild Ride. By Barry Ringgold. 426 Weleeeey or, Tbe Night-Hawks of the Fire- Lands. By Capt Chas. Howard. 427 Bessie. the Border Girl. Py Henry J. Thomas. 428 Nebraska Charlie, By C.l P. Ingraham, , 429 Bill Beeler’s Bonanza. By Edward Willett. Ready March 30. 480 Long Shot; or, The Dwarf Guide. By Captain Comstock. Ready April 6. A New Issue Fvery Wednesday. Beapie’s Pocket Lippary is for sale by all News- dealers, five cents per copy, or sent by mail on re- ceipt of six cents each. 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