Chapter IV: Fighting for a Prize

The light that broke upon the lake after the night of storm and tempest greeted a calm.

The white crested billows had returned to their strongholds, but the lake shore was strewn with their handiwork. Strong trees, which the wind had uprooted on islands, had been dashed upon the beach, and in some places tree was heaped on tree, lending a terrible aspect to the stony shore. Such storms are frequent visitors to Lake Superior, even at this late day.

In the branching top of a young fir, which lay at the edge of the water, not far from Chapel Rock, something scintillated like a diamond, in the strong light.

Its brightness would have dazzled the eyes of a beholder, and, with the belief that it was something very valuable, he would have been drawn to the spot.

As the sun climbed the eastern horizon and darted its beams over the “pulpit,” directly upon the shining “thing,” the fir-limbs moved as though something imbued with life lay beneath them, and possessed the curiosity.

The woods and shores of Superior swarmed with Indians, and it is not surprising that from the cliffs above, a red hunter riveted his eyes upon the particular spot described. Evidently the young brave had lately reached the hights, for his dress showed proofs of a long journey, and the results of a late war expedition, in the shape of a snowy scalp, hung at his deer-skin girdle.

He had approached the cliff with that proverbial caution characteristic of his people, and almost the first thing that met his gaze was the shining object among the fir boughs. He started at the unexpected sight, and when, at last, the thing resolved itself into a silver star, he rose with a cry of mingled wonder and exultation, and prepared to descend. Perhaps he had caught a glimpse of something other than the bright star, for an anxious expression overspread his face, and he looked cautiously about while he clambered down a great fissure in the cliffs. All signs of fatigue had left him now; he seemed the fresh warrior of a fortnight since, and, after walking erect toward the fir awhile, he suddenly dropped on all fours, and moved forward again, like a wary animal.

He reached his objective point at last, and, parting the verdant boughs, peered through upon the highly ornamented butt of a light rifle!

The next moment the young Indian’s eyes fell upon the owner of the weapon.

She lay near the polished barrel, only deeper among the fir, and the hue of a corpse rested upon her fair face and slender hands.

The peeping lids gave the savage a glimpse of blue eyes, and the masses of golden hair, darkened by the water they held imprisoned, must have captivated him.

Motionless, breathless she lay on the stony ground, and the hand which the Indian touched was as cold as ice.

He shook his head sorrowfully as he tenderly lifted the body from the ground.

“Silver Rifle dead! She no be Dohma’s now! Why she come to Gitche Gumee? To die by the big waters an’ be buried by the Chippewa whose heart she stole three moons ago? Dohma go bury Silver Rifle in big hole, far from bad waters.”

He did not neglect the beautiful rifle, as he moved down the lake shore with his burden, for he bore it in the same hand that griped his own.

A few minutes’ walk brought him to one of the Superior’s numerous caverns, which he entered by wading to his waist in the cold water. Soon he found himself in gross darkness, through which he groped his way for several hundred feet.

At length he paused, and laid his burden on the ground.

Then, with the aid of his flints, he kindled a fire among some dried fir-boughs, into the light of which he bore his silent prize.

“No Injun strike Silver Rifle,” he murmured aloud. “She fell into water, and the big waves around her. Dohma follow her long time to tell her he love her; but he never catch her till—now!”

While he spoke he was unconsciously chafing the bare arms which the loose-fitting sleeves revealed, and all at once he started to his feet, and gazed with all the Indian superstition in his dark eye, upon the girl.

The eyes had opened and closed with a dreaminess not of earth.

A minute later and Dohma was at her side again.

“Silver Rifle live for Dohma!” he cried with joy. “She no dead, now. The Great Spirit has heard the prayer of the young chief!”

Once more he fell to the work of restoring the girl to consciousness with renewed vigor, and at last found her staring into his swarthy face. For several moments she seemed to be recalling certain reminiscences of the past, and then, all at once, she rose to her feet, and deliberately picked up her silver rifle.

“Silver Rifle no shoot,” said the Indian, with a smile. “Powder all wet, flints make fire, but won’t burn powder.”

She flung the rifle aside, and her hands dropped to her girdle.

“Knife gone, too,” said the Chippewa. “Silver Rifle no weapons.”

Then, like one in a dream, she moved to the Indian’s side, and stood over him in silence. She had not fully recovered her senses.

“Silver Rifle come to Dohma?” he said, gently, taking her hand. “He find her among fir, and bring her to cave.”

She did not resist, and the young savage drew her down to his side, and looked lovingly into her eyes.

Slowly but surely her reason returned, and while the Chippewa was in the midst of a recital of his hunt for her, a footstep sounded on the flinty floor.

Quickly Dohma’s hand shot forward to his rifle, and wheeling as he leaped to his feet, he confronted a huge Indian, a foot taller than himself, and with the physique of a Hercules.

For a moment the two Chippewas faced each other amid dead silence, and then Dohma extended his hand, which the giant griped as he glanced at the girl.

“Silver Rifle and Dohma live in cave?” he said, with a sneer, which, although scarcely perceptible, did not escape the young chief’s notice.

“Dohma find Silver Rifle dead by the big waters. But he bring her back to the world,” was the calm rejoinder.

“Now what Dohma goin’ to do with Silver Rifle?”

“Teach her to love him!”

The giant bit his nether lip.

“Dohma is a Chippewa, so is Renadah,” he said, after a minute’s angry silence. “Dohma is brave, but his aim is not so long as his big red brother’s.”

“But it is as strong!” retorted Dohma, with determination, and as he spoke he calmly stepped between Silver Rifle and the tall chief.

“Dohma is a young fir; Renadah is the great oak that grows in the big woods. He could crush Dohma with one limb.”

“Let him try it!”

“He would not harm his red brother. Our great king, Pontiac, needs brave red-men now; but Dohma, if he would help exterminate the hated English, must do one thing.”

The young Indian did not speak, but noted the glance which Renadah threw over his shoulder at Silver Rifle.

“He must give to Renadah the woman he loves!”

Dohma heard a low cry of horror part a pair of pale lips, and caught a glimpse of Silver Rifle as she recovered her weapon.

“Dohma will not give Silver Rifle to Renadah,” he said, calmly. “He found her dead and brought her spirit back from Manitou-land—so, she is _his_!”

“She is Renadah’s! The wildcat of the Chippewas saw her before Dohma knew that she was near Gitche Gumee.”

“Renadah lies!”

A cry of rage parted the tall chief’s lips, and he strode forward as his smaller enemy retreated with drawn tomahawk.

“Renadah, Silver Rifle can belong to but one of us,” said Dohma. “We will fight for her!”

“So be it!” cried Renadah, contemptuously. “Back beyond the fire, Silver Rifle, touch the wall and be a stone there. Dohma and Renadah fight for you.”

Without a word the girl hurried to the wall of the cavern, and surveyed the red duelists.

On either side of the fire they stood with ready weapons, and at a signal from Renadah the tomahawks were uplifted.

A second signal quickly followed, and the hatchets went crashing through the air like thunderbolts.

Silver Rifle saw Dohma’s tomahawk miss his enemy’s head by an inch, and a wild shriek that quickly followed, told her that the giant’s aim had been truer.

Dohma threw up his arms, and while he spun round like a top, his antagonist shot toward him with a cry of triumph!

The single spectator sprung from the wall, and, rifle in hand, darted toward the mouth of the corridor.

But Renadah saw the movement, and, relinquishing his victim, turned and pursued.

A few bounds brought him near the girl, whose limbs were bruised by the rocks against which the waves had hurled her unconscious body, and suddenly, still in the firelight, she stopped.

She saw the giant form that swooped down upon her, and as the red arm leaped forward to claim the prize which it had just won, she struck with the butt of her rifle!

“Coocha!” shrieked Renadah, recoiling from the blow, which had driven the flint to the bone of his arm. “Silver Rifle—”

The girl’s action broke the sentence, and he threw up his arm again to ward off the second stroke.

But the shield was useless, for Silver Rifle seemed to spring into the air as she dealt the blow, and with a cry closely allied to a death-groan, Renadah staggered back and dropped beside his victim!

“Free again!” said the victor, surveying the work of rifle and hatchet. “Little did Dohma think that he was bearing me to my stronghold when he brought me hither! Noble red youth, you saved my life to-day; would to heaven I could have saved yours! The giant must have seen me borne home, and so he followed. Dangers thicken fast—dangers and love,” and a smile played with her lips. “I did not seek this wild land for lovers—especially red ones. No, I came hither to find a father, or a ring that will tell me much. Silver Rifle, the Girl Trailer, will find the ring! The White Tiger of the lakes wears it on his hand, and she has commanded him to give it to its owner. He shall comply or die!”

With the last word a sound startled her, and she glanced toward the savages.

Dohma was sitting bolt upright!

The girl darted forward.

“Dohma, our fates are inseparable,” she cried, washing the blood from his face. “Heaven tells me they are. Together we will hunt the White Tiger and find the ring.”

The Indian smiled, and looked up into Silver Rifle’s face inquiringly.

“Silver Rifle lose ring?”

“Yes,” eagerly, anxiously.

“Yellow ring with pretty stone?”

“Yes, Dohma. You know something about it!” almost shrieked the girl.

“Dohma find ring in big wood just ’fore he find Silver Rifle; but he no put it on his finger. See there, pale girl?” and with the question, the Indian held up his left hand, the third finger of which was missing.

“Dohma find ring once, put it on finger. Ring no come off when white trader want it, so chief cut off Dohma’s finger to get ring. When Dohma saw pretty ring in woods, he said bad word, an’ let it lay.”

Silver Rifle groaned.

“Could you find it again?” she cried, eagerly.

“Dohma go right to it. It near two big oaks, close to Gitche Gumee.”

“Then we’ll find it!” cried the girl. “Soon I will know who I am; soon I’ll lift the vail of mystery that enwraps my birth. How came the ring in the forest? Have the Indians killed the White Tiger? or did he drop the ring?”

“White Tigers live,” said the Indian.

“There is but one, Dohma.”

“Dohma saw two White Tigers last dark. One was not white like his brother.”

“The youth’s mind is wandering,” mused Silver Rifle. “There is but one White Tiger, and he is a half-breed.”

“Half-breed and White Tiger dress alike. Make Indians think there is but one,” said Dohma, who had caught Silver Rifle’s last words. “But,” and he raised his hand to the frightful wound inflicted by his rival’s tomahawk, “Renadah struck deep. Dohma feel sick now. Hatchets bad medicine.”

The girl saw an ashy pallor sweep over the Chippewa’s face, and reached forth her hands to support him. But he eluded them, and fell backward with a groan.

“Oh, heavens! is he dead?” she cried; “and has the secret of the ring’s hiding-place died with him?”

With pallid face she leant over the youth, and raised his head, which seemed to her a lump of iron ore.

“Dead—dead!” she groaned. “The trail which seemed ending grows longer than ever now. ‘Near two oaks, by the lake,’ he said. There lies the mystery-prisoning ring. I’ll hunt it till I die! I’ll tear it from the hands of the chief in the midst of his people, if I encounter it there. Heaven give me strength to meet the dangers which are to come!”