Chapter IV: The Test of Love

"Wal," was the characteristic exclamation of the scout, though in a low, cautious whisper, as soon as they were alone, "ef this hain't er finishin' er trail about as suddint as any thin' I ever heard tell on."

"And my poor Olive," groaned the physician. "If it were not for her I could face death without a tremor."

"That hain't 'tall likely," was the reply. "Ther best on us can't do that. I've tried it more'n once--hain't no coward--and I know. But that isn't ther thing to be looked arter now, and thar hain't no use mournin' till ther time comes, nuther. Yet I hope ter heaven ther red-skins won't know me, fer it will go hard ef they do."

"Is there no way in which we can save the life of the poor girl?" continued his companion, his thoughts being intent upon her and not giving the slightest heed to what was being said.

"I don't know yet. Ther first thing ter be done is tew git ourselves clear. Ther red devils have tied me fer sartin, and they'll have er high old time ter-night."

"Do you think we shall be molested before morning?"

"It hain't likely, onless ther cussed whisky should drive them so mad that ther elders can't control them. Then thar's no tellin' what mought happen."

"And no one will come to visit us?"

"I reckon not. But it won't matter. Thar never war wolves in a tighter trap."

"You are mistaken. See."

In a few minutes, by some juggling operation the scout had no idea of, the doctor had entirely freed himself, and also released his companion, and they could stretch their limbs at ease. Then they drew still nearer together and the conversation was continued.

"When the whisky has done its work, do you think we can get away?" asked the physician.

"That's mighty hard ter tell."

"And poor Olive, is there any hope for her?"

"I'm goin' ter see."

The scout laid his ear to the ground and remained silent for some time. Then he gently raised one side of the curtains of the wigwam and crept out into the darkness, and the doctor remained alone until the sun was well up.

Then he was dragged forth to the council of braves!

But astonishment was painted upon the faces of all as they saw that his hands were free, and that the scout had disappeared.

"Some traitor has done this!" thundered the chief. "What has become of the other prisoner?"

"That is more than I can tell," responded the physician, who had determined upon his line of conduct. "As to my being untied it was done by spirits. Ask your great Medicine. He will tell you, for he is familiar with them."

"The pale-face talks like a squaw!" sneered the chief.

"What says the great Medicine of the Sioux?"

At the command of the old trickster other ropes were brought. With these he fettered the prisoner in the most complex manner, and he was again thrust into the wigwam. Then wild and dismal groans were heard, low whisperings and frantic laughter, and the physician stepped forth free again, carrying his bonds in his hands!

Although far less superstitious than the majority, the chief was nonplussed--knew not what to say. It was a thing that had never occurred before, and he was at a loss how to act. But, something must be done, and he drew the old Medicine aside and consulted with him. The latter was pale with rage, not unmingled with fear. He had been fairly beaten with his own weapons--fooled before all the tribe. Then he thundered forth:

"Let the pale-face tell who was concealed within the wigwam and untied his bonds, or his tongue shall be torn from his mouth and trampled under foot."

"No one but spirits."

"Foo! Let my brothers go and look."

A number of Indians rushed to do his bidding, but returned with faces that told of being baffled. No one was to be found.

"Did not the Medicine of the Sioux hear me talking to them?" questioned the prisoner.

There was another whispered conversation, and then the Medicine resumed: "I know how to unlock his lips and make him cease his lies," and he gave some command in a very low tone.

In an instant after, the doctor, strong man as he was, trembled, reeled and groaned aloud. Dragged along between two of the most brutal-looking warriors, with their hatchets whirling about her head and threatening death in case of resistance, was the girl he loved!

"For Heaven's sake save me!" she screamed, as soon as she saw him, and rushing forward threw her arms around his neck and fell almost fainting upon his bosom.

"My life for yours--a thousand deaths of torture to save you a single pang," he murmured, as he pressed her to his heart.

"Tear them apart," yelled the chief, and then turning to the Medicine he asked under his breath, "Where is _your_ prisoner?"

"Safe in my cave."

"There let him stay until this trial is over. Then he must be released and the girl given to him. I have so promised. Now to find out what we wish to know."

The doctor and Olive were standing a little apart, her beautiful eyes streaming with tears, and his face convulsed with anguish.

"You love this squaw," continued the chief, "and if you do not want to see her tortured, tell us how you managed to escape."

"I have nothing to tell more than I have already done," he replied. "Oh Olive, Olive!"

"Then let the squaw be prepared for death!"

In an instant she was surrounded by knives--walled in so that the slightest movement would bring her soft, fair flesh against some sharp point. Her lover trembled like one with the ague, then nerved himself with a mighty effort, and returning the defiant looks around him, answered:

"Is it well, great Medicine, that I should tell to other ears than your own the secrets that are whispered by the dead?"

"The pale-face is a dog," commenced the old man, but before he could finish the sentence, a voice was heard coming from the wigwam in which the prisoner had been confined, forbidding that any thing should be told.

Then it was the Medicine's turn to tremble. He looked at the prisoner--at the wigwam--at the sky--at the earth; listened to the waving of the trees and the low whistling of the wind through the branches. But as the voice was not repeated, he, after a time, gathered courage and said:

"It is nothing. Unless the pale-face confesses, let the torture of the squaw go on."

"Oh, heaven!" shrieked the girl, "do you love me and condemn me to this when a single word would save me?"

Every accent--every glance of her eyes went to his heart far more keenly and deeper than a knife would have done, but if he failed in a single point of what he had undertaken, the rest would fall to the ground. So he kept back his own tears, choked down his grief, and endeavored to inform the wretched girl, by signs, of his purpose.

Little time, however, was given him. Indeed, before reflection could come, Olive was dragged along to where a fire-blackened post stood, bound, and half a hundred pair of hands were busy piling bark and kindling, and pitchy fagots around her.

His head fell upon his breast. He became as one numbed--helpless--powerless. Then, again, the screams of the beautiful sufferer rung upon his ears:

"Darling, I die for you. Oh, God, have mercy."

In an instant he had burst through trammel, piled in a heap those who would have restrained him, seized a brand from the pile around his loved one, beating back those who would have opposed, had Olive again locked fast in his arms! Their lips met once--twice, and then they were torn apart, and he fettered so that a single motion was an impossibility.

"Let the hound of a pale-face untie himself now if he can," screamed the old Medicine, frantic with rage, "and the squaw sing her death-song."

"My trust is in God," replied Olive, turning her beautiful but pale face heavenward. "Darling, I pray for you."

"Then let her call upon the Manitou of her people, and see if he will come. He will not, and we will send her to him in ashes!"

The signal was given to fire the pile, and the warriors sprung forward, torch in hand. Like demons let loose they danced around, and as the lurid light flashed into the eyes of the poor girl, and the hot flames touched her skin, she fainted--sunk limp and would have fallen, had it not been for her bands. Her lover could not endure the sight, turned his head, and as he was dragged away, saw the flames rising, and believed the black smoke was wrapped like a shroud around his beautiful one--that she had passed from earth in a pillar of fire!

It was just such an ending as the Indians desired; for, failing to accomplish their purpose of forcing confession, they would have him think her dead.