Chapter IX: The Death-Dealer at Work

The scout had never fancied the voice of the Yankee or what he had to offer; but now it was real music to his ears, for it told him that his fears were groundless, and that his friends were yet alive.

He stood motionless trying to catch what might be said in answer to this complaint on his part, but the rest of the captives were silent.

“Have all of ye lost yer tongues?” he exclaimed, a minute later, “and ain’t ye got any appetite? I declare I’m as hungry as a mill-saw. Say, Mister Red-skin, ain’t you going to share that ’ere meat with us? Do the fair thing by us, and I’ll give ye a good trade arterwards. I’ve got some ’tarnel nice things in my pack, jest what you want for yer wives and sweethearts. It’ll make their eyes stick out to see the ribbons and beads I’ve got. Be kinder naberly now and give us a hunk of that. I swan it makes my mouth water to look at it.”

“How can you think of eating, when you know not but what this may be the last hour we’ve got to live?” said the voice of Sam Wilson. “From what the chief said when he parted us from Ruth, I do not think that they mean for us to see the light of morning. I wish that we had died fighting for our lives when they first came upon us, instead of trusting to the promise of a savage. Ruth, then, would at least have died with us, and so been saved from a fate far worse than death.”

A sob of anguish from the lip of a woman, told the scout how the heart of Mrs. Wilson was torn with fears for her child.

“Now you don’t really believe they mean to kill us, do ye?” cried the Yankee. “I guess if wuss comes to wuss, I kin hire ’em not to. I believe if I had a chance to show ’em what there is in my pack, I could bribe ’em to let us go. But I declare if I was going to be killed I should rather have the job done on a full stomach. Oh, dear! why in creation did I ever come out into this heathen country. I shall be ruined, I know I shall, afore I get out of it.”

“And I hope you will, you ’tarnal fool,” muttered the scout to himself. “At any rate, I hope that pack of his will go under. I do believe he’d rather see ’em all murdered than to lose that.”

The wish of the Yankee was gratified at length. After eating their fill, the savages offered a portion of what was left to the captives. Mrs. Wilson could not touch a morsel, and her husband and Ned partook but sparingly. But the Yankee made up for them. He ate all that was offered him, the moment his hands were set at liberty so that he could do so, and begged that which they refused. When at last he was through he declared that he felt better, and that if any of them wanted to trade, he was ready for them. But for this the savages were not apparently inclined, and his arms were at once secured behind him in the same manner as before, much to his discontent and disgust, especially when he saw one of the savages lay hands upon his pack, and bringing it close to the fire, undo it, and begin to display its contents to his comrades.

In vain it was that he called upon them to desist. They were deaf to his entreaties, and when at length his voice was raised to a high pitch, one of the savages sprung from the earth, and grasping his tomahawk, he whirled it about his head, threatening him with instant death if he made again the slightest sound.

After this the agony of the Yankee was ludicrous to behold. He dared not speak, and as he saw his treasures one after another in the hands of the savages, there was the most doleful expression upon his face imaginable. Of his own safety and that of his companions he gave not a thought. He could think of nothing but the financial ruin to which he would be subjected, did he lose his stock in trade, as he was apparently about to do.

All this that was passing about the fire was observed by the scout. Nothing escaped his eye from the place of his concealment behind the trunk of a giant tree. There, silent and immovable as the tree itself, he stood waiting for the moment to come when he could strike for the deliverance of the captives. To him, each savage about the fire was doomed. In his own mind he had surely decreed their death.

His plan for their destruction was laid, and when the proper moment came, he had no fears but what he should carry it into execution.

More than the number now before him had died by his unaided arm, on occasions before this.

The minutes glided on and told the hours, and at last the evening was well advanced.

Satisfied at last with their inspection of the peddler’s pack, the savages replaced its contents—much to the relief of the Yankee—and after assuring themselves that the captives were firmly held in their thongs, they gathered about the fire for rest.

From his hiding-place behind the tree, the Death-Dealer watched their every movement.

He saw that the moment for action had nearly come—the time for the deliverance of his friends was close at hand.

He knew that the savages had been without sleep the night before, and when once they were buried in slumber they would not easily awaken.

Minute after minute went by, and at last the savages were as motionless as though they were held in the icy fetters of death. Then, with his rifle in his left hand, and his knife firmly clenched in his right, he glided from his hiding-place behind the tree, and moved noiselessly toward the camp-fire.

Only a pale light flashed out from it now. The flames had gone down, and a few smoldering embers alone marked the spot where it had been, revealing but partly the forms of the savages outstretched beside it.

The forms of the captives were hidden in darkness, but he had marked well where they were, and could have laid his hand upon them with his eyes shut.

Closer and closer he crept toward the unconscious savages.

He had doomed them all to death, and he was fearful lest some one of them should escape him.

When within a couple of yards of the spot where they lay, the one nearest to him stirred.

In an instant he was as motionless in his tracks as though he had been turned to stone.

Could it be that the savage was awake, and that his quick ear had detected his footsteps?

But no; the savage only turned a little, and then lay as motionless as before.

Two more strides and the Death-Dealer stood by the side of his victim.

His right arm was upraised, and the next instant it descended, and the knife was driven to the hilt in the breast of the red-skin.

Not so much as a groan escaped his lips. There was a slight convulsive motion of his frame and then all was still.

The Death-Dealer had struck his first blow strong and well.

Stepping over the body of the lifeless savage, the scout aimed a blow at the next who lay beside him.

His aim was as true as the other had been, and the spirit of the savage followed that of his companion to the happy hunting-grounds of his tribe.

Still not one of the warriors stirred. Buried in deep sleep they lay unconscious of the presence of their terrible enemy.

Another blow descended, and another savage went the way of his dead companions.

Three had fallen, while the remaining four still lay unconscious of their fate.

Once more the knife descended to its deadly work and another savage was numbered with the slain.

At that moment from some cause or another, a bright flame shot up from the smoldering embers, illuminating the scene about it.

It did not have the effect of awakening the surviving savages, but the next moment a voice exclaimed, in startling tones:

“Jerusalem and the Prophets! What in nater is going on here, I’d like to know!”

The voice was that of Peleg Parker, and so shrill was it, that it brought each of the surviving savages to his feet.

The scout saw his danger, and inwardly cursed the unlucky tongue of the Yankee. But with the rapidity of lightning he sprung upon the nearest warrior and plunged his knife into his heart.

With a howl the Indian fell backward to the earth, with the knife still in the wound, for the scout could not spare the time to withdraw it.

The next instant a tomahawk whistled past his head, so close that it seemed as though it had grazed the skin, but left him unharmed.

Quick as thought he brought his rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Quick as his aim had been, it proved a true one, and the red-skin fell with a bullet through his brain.

One only of the seven was left, but at a glance he had taken in the fate of his comrades, and as if struck with horror and the certainty of his own death did he stay to do battle with the terrible Death-Dealer, he turned and fled.

A shout of exultation broke from the lips of the scout as he saw himself thus master of the field, and it was echoed in glad tones by the captives, who were thus assured of their deliverance from the hands of their enemies.

At this moment the moon which had risen some time before, now managed to throw a flood of silver light down through the branches overhead, so that the spot where the scout stood was brilliantly illuminated, and they were able to recognize him and to see the work he had performed.

“Thank Heaven, it is the scout!” cried Mrs. Wilson, as he advanced toward the spot where they stood, after he had assured himself that the fleeing savage meant to make them further trouble. “Oh, if Ruth was only with us now, how happy I should be. But, alas! I fear that I shall never see her more in this world.”

“And I guess you will if you only live long enough,” said the scout, as he cut the cords and set her free. “I’ll have the gal out of the clutches of Rushing Water afore I’m two days older, or else I shall never go for another red-skin.”

“God grant that you may!” exclaimed the parents and Ned in a breath.

“And I say amen to that,” said the Yankee. “But look here, mister, jest cut these ’tarnal strings, will ye? They’ve nigh about cut into the bone, I du believe.”

“You said amen afore you ought to jest now,” muttered the scout, as he paid his attention to the thongs that bound Ned. “You had ought to wait till you get through afore you call out. If you had done it a minute sooner you would have spoiled the whole.”

“Jerusalem and the Prophets, who could help it?” cried Peleg. “I should as quick have thought of seeing Satan himself there among the red-skins as you at that time. But du cut these ’tarnal bonds, will ye? I’m mighty anxious ’bout my pack thar. I’m afraid the varmints carried off something that belonged to me.”

“I guess thar didn’t more than one of ’em carry any thing a great ways. But I do believe that if the red-skins were a-scalping ye, you would want to save yer pack in some way; and I guess it is a darned sight more precious than your body. If it ain’t, it ain’t worth much.”

Despite the entreaties of the Yankee, he was the last one he freed from his bonds, and no sooner were his limbs at liberty than he started off at once for the spot where the pack was lying, so eager was he to be assured that nothing had been taken therefrom. There couldn’t have been very well, for his eyes had been upon the savages at the time they had been engaged in looking it over, though he had been obliged to hold his tongue for fear that he might lose his scalp.

The joy of the captives at their escape was great; but their hearts were sad when they thought of Ruth, who was being hurried along by her savage captor toward the lodges of his tribe, even if by this time they had not already arrived there.

In response to their inquiries, the scout told them of his motions since he had parted with them, which are already known to the reader, and then he demanded to know why it was that Rushing Water had separated them from Ruth.

In a few words they told him of their surprise and capture; of the death that threatened them, and how it was averted by the promise of Ruth, and also of the pledge the chief had given. But as they went onward toward the Indian village he seemed to repent of the promise he had made, and at last determined at least that they should not go thither. Neither would he set them at liberty, for fear that they might try to rescue Ruth.

They were almost sure that they heard him give orders for their destruction, and then Ruth was torn from them, and they went their respective ways.

Hope of escape they had none, for they thought that unaided, he would be powerless to afford them assistance, even if he had escaped, which they were by no means sure of. Aid they could expect in no other way, as they could do nothing of themselves, and hope had well-nigh deserted them.

While these several narrations had been going on the Yankee had carefully examined his pack, and now, with it upon his arm, he approached the spot where they were standing.

“The darned snips didn’t get any thing,” he said. “I ’spected nothing but what I was ruined when I see ’em afoul of it. I’m mighty glad they’ve gone under for they had no business to meddle with what didn’t belong to ’em.”

“I’m glad for your sake,” said Ned, trying, but not succeeding, in restraining the look of scorn upon his face, which the moonlight might reveal to the Yankee. “I’m glad it’s all right, for you seem to think more of it than you do of your life, or all of us put together.”

“Wal, I can’t say but what I do. In there is every darned cent I’m worth in the world, unless it is my part of the old rocky farm in New Hampshire. Thar’s about a hundred acres of that, but when the old folks drop off, it’s got to be divided between thirteen of us. Thar’s Stephen, Solomon, Daniel, Joshua—”

“Don’t go any further!” cried Ned. “I don’t wonder you want to keep your pack. Stick to it as long as you live, and I hope it will be the making of your fortune. But now, Dick, what is to be done? We’re wasting time here. I’m anxious to be at work.”

“So am I,” exclaimed Peleg. “I’m losing more’n a dollar a day. Thar ain’t any trade in any of ye, and I shall be glad when I get back, so that I can be earning an honest penny. I wish to gracious that I was in Smith’s Settlement this very minute.”

“So do I,” cried the scout, angrily, “or anywhere else where I should never hear that tongue of yours ag’in. Won’t you try if you can, and keep it still for five minutes?”

Peleg gave a low whistle and was silent.

“Yes, Ned, you are right,” said the scout. “We are losing time here. We’ve got now to find the other trail, and do our best to get the gal out of the clutches of Rushing Water. I ’spects we’ve got a ticklish job to do it, ’specially if he gets her to the village afore we come up with ’em. But we’ll do it, or the folks on the river sha’n’t see our faces ag’in.”

“I hope we may,” said Sam Wilson. “But I know that we’ve got no easy task before us. If she was only with us now, there is nothing in the world that I would not give.”

“Or I,” said Ned.

“But wishing won’t bring her here,” said the scout. “It will take strong blows like them I’ve give to-night to fetch her, and I wouldn’t wonder if as many more red-skins had to go under as you can see stretched out there. Rushing Water has set his mind upon the gal, and he’ll keep her if he can. But he’ll find trouble in doing it or I miss my guess. But there’s danger to the gal, too, that she don’t know of. That red gal, who has a claim on him, will do all she can to get her out of the way.”

Mrs. Wilson shuddered, and uttered a cry of grief and alarm, at these words of the scout. In the hurry and excitement of the last twenty-four hours she had forgotten this danger of which the scout had spoken, when he had first warned them of their danger. To save her from this they must rescue her before she should enter the lodge of the chief.

“What do you propose to do now?” asked Sam Wilson, anxiously.

“Start off at once, and hit the other trail as soon as we can. But I’m mighty ’fraid that we shall miss it, with only the moonlight to show it to us. If we do, nothing can be done till daylight, and by that time they will have got to the village.”

“Then let us start at once. Every moment we linger here makes the odds greater against us.”

“I’m ready,” replied the scout. “I wish, marm, that you were safe at the settlement, but you ain’t and so will have to go with us. But we will do our best to take care of ye. If the woods wa’n’t full of savages you and the peddler might try and get thar, but I’m afraid for ye to try it.”

“So am I,” said the Yankee. “But I’m losing money every step I follow ye round. This ’ere scrape will be the ruination of me as sure as preaching.”

The scout muttered something beneath his breath, the burden of which was, that he hoped it would, and then he turned to Sam Wilson and said, half-hesitatingly:

“I have half a mind that you leave Ruth to Ned and me, and make the best of your way with your wife and this fellow here to the settlements. If you kept a sharp look-out I think that you could do it, and perhaps it would be best all round in the end.”

“No; I can not go back and leave Ruth in the hands of these red-skins. I must do what I can to help to save her. Don’t ask me to do this. Lead the way on at once, and if we are of no service to you, we will be no drawback.”

“That we will not,” said Mrs. Wilson. “If I only had a weapon, I think I could strike a blow for her deliverance myself.”

“You may have one of my pistols, marm, if you want it,” said the Yankee. “I can’t use ’em both at once, and I’m always ready to oblige.”

No reply was made to this generous offer of Peleg. Hardly a dozen more words passed between them, and then the scout led the way again through the moonlit forest. The task of rescuing Ruth had begun.