Chapter XI: The Bowels of the Earth

Edith Mordaunt and Abel Dare lay side by side upon the rocky floor of the passage into which they had been borne for safe-keeping. They discovered that their prison was indeed a rocky chamber out of which the passage led, both into the outer air and into the hill. In that chamber Seth Grable had left them just as he was startled by the cries of his comrades, as the settlers began their desperate attack. And with beating hearts, whose throbs were almost suffocating, the captives listened, hoping, praying that the pale-faces might overcome the Indians, and rescue them from what, otherwise, was almost certain death.

Believing themselves alone, they gave free expression to their hopes and fears, little dreaming that human ears drank in their every word, that human eyes were even then upon them, as they lay just within the firelight. Then, with a step that made no sound, a tall figure glided from out the darkness and stood over the wondering captives. And well they might feel surprise, for the hermit stood before them in the flesh, apparently unhurt!

A loud cry came to their ears from without, followed by the rapid tramp of feet. Some one was approaching from the outer air. Stooping, the hermit severed the cords that bound the lovers, at the same time warning them to lie still. Then he sprung back into the shadow.

The White Wolf, a moment later, bounded into the fire-lighted circle, his features horribly distorted, the devil painted in each bloodshot eye. His intentions are easy told. He intended dragging the captives to the ledge, and there expose them to view of the marksmen below, while some of his braves knelt close behind them to pick off the attackers. He knew that the settlers would not wantonly sacrifice their friends, and depended upon that to free him from this new peril.

"Come--them cussed hounds out yender hev spoken yer doom. Better lose a squaw than a life, though I hate to see ye rubbed out, gal," muttered Grable, bending down.

"We'll live to see _you_ die!" gritted Abel, his hands clutching the renegade by the throat, then hurling him with violence to the ground.

A yell of terror broke from his lips, echoed back by a cry so horrible that he glared around in amazement. Then a shadow sprung forward. The hermit stood over him. The firelight without flickered up--there could be no mistake. Grable shuddered with a nameless awe. There seemed something supernatural in these abrupt vanishings and reappearances.

"Mercy--don't kill me!" he gasped, as the bright glimmer of steel filled his eyes. "I didn't mean you no harm when--"

"A dog you've lived--a dog you die!" gritted the hermit.

Then the long knife-blade descended twice, burying its length in the heaving breast of the craven wretch. A horrible yell of agony--a shrill laugh of diabolical glee--then the hermit sprung to his feet.

From without came other sounds--the savages would soon be there to investigate the alarm. Unarmed save with a knife, the pale-faces could expect to do little. Knowing this, Abel seized Edith and clasped her firmly to his breast, saying:

"You know the crooks and turns of this place--lead on, then, before those devils are upon our backs. Quick!"

"True, _she_ must be saved; for you and I, it matters little. Follow me--tread carefully, and keep in my tracks. You have seen a specimen of what the cavern contains, but there is more. Let the heathen follow us if they dare; there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth in the lodges of their people!" and again the wild, almost maniacal laugh of the hermit rung out, reaching the ears of the savages, causing them to glare hurriedly around, with a vague expectation of beholding some supernatural horror.

Into the bowels of the hills--across a chasm spanned by a bridge, taking a passage that led sharply to the right, the hermit led the way, on through the darkness, never once faltering, though at more than one point a single misstep would have ended in hurling the trio down to inevitable destruction.

On he led, Abel following, Edith close clasped to his breast. Still on, winding deviously, now in one direction, now in nearly its opposite, until Abel felt his brain grow unsteady and commence to whirl.

"Now you can wait here until I return. Do not attempt to leave--the ground is full of pitfalls made by nature."

"But should--if you should not return as you expect?"

"True--I forgot. Give me your hand. There--that is clay. By loosening that you will find a passage that will lead you out upon the hill. Dig twenty feet and you will come to a rock. Press hard against it, with your shoulder, and you will roll it out. Here is a knife with which you can dig. But don't attempt that for at least half an hour. There is no danger of the heathen reaching you here, for, even if they attempt it, I shall be in the way--and one man, with a knowledge of this trail, is equal to a thousand in open ground. Remember--wait half an hour."

The hermit rapidly retraced his steps. He was now totally unarmed, but felt little concern on that score. He possessed a knowledge that was equal to an armory.

Pausing upon the bridge of rock, the hermit glared out upon the swooning renegade, over whom stooped two braves, seeking to check the flow of blood that saturated his garments. A devilish light deepened in the hermit's eyes. He saw that the renegade still lived--possibly might recover, and a bitter curse hissed through his grating teeth as he groped around the edge of the rock with his hand.

Then again he stood erect, a rugged fragment in either hand. True as the bullet from a hunter's rifle the rock sped through the air. Full upon the bended head of the nearest savage it fell, crushing in the skull bone. The second brave sprung hastily to his feet. The other rock struck him upon the breast, felling him like a shot. Laughing horribly, the hermit sprung forward, bending over the terror-stricken renegade.

The wounded savage utters a faint cry, and partially rising, flings his knife at the hermit. The sharp blade sinks deep in the fleshy part of the shoulder, but is unheeded by the seeming madman. The moaning White Wolf is raised bodily from the blood-stained rock, and borne to the edge of the muttering, rumbling abyss. A moment--then a horrible shriek rings through the hollow hill as his body descends like a shot; a sullen splash--then all is silence save the grumbling tones of the water fiend.

And now the hermit stood possessed of a knife, a hatchet, a stout bow, and tolerably well-filled quiver.

With ready bow he glided silently along, choosing the deepest shadow, where the glow of the fire could not penetrate. He seemed to have only thought for vengeance. He knew that he was death-stricken--in his madness he resolved to exact a heavy compensation. His death would be a dear one to the Osages.

He paused, the phosphorescent glitter deepening in his eyes as he caught sight of several human forms, crouching close to the rugged walls, their attention turned toward the cave entrance, their weapons in readiness for instant use. They were Indians. He could distinguish them quite plainly by the light of day beyond, though from the ledge they would be invisible.

After escaping the death threatened by the bowlder, Boone had led his men upon the ledge, winning it by a fierce though momentary struggle. The Indians retreated into the cave darkness. To follow them there would be little short of madness, and the Wood King called a halt to consult upon the best plan of procedure. Lying close to either side of the entrance they waited. Inside were the savages; beyond them the hermit, all unsuspected, the fires of insanity blazing in his eyes, as he bent the stout bow.

The bow relaxed--the arrow sped--an Osage sunk forward, transfixed by the feathered shaft, his death-cry carrying consternation to the hearts of the warriors, for they knew not whence the death-shot came. Another _twang_ was followed with a like result, and then the madman's shrill laughter rung out clear and devilish. In terror the Osages leaped to their feet and darted to the entrance. From bad to worse. Half a dozen rifles cracked, so close that their flashes scorched the flesh; and then the rangers rushed on to a hand-to-hand struggle. But the terror-stricken savages turned and fled.

Still before them sounded that horrible peal, and at the fire they faltered in terror. Following each other in rapid succession the feathered shafts carried death into their midst, each shot accompanied by a devilish laugh. Paralyzed with horror, the savages flung themselves upon the blood-running floor, hiding their heads. Upon them poured the rangers, mad, raging, striking and slaying without mercy in their blind rage, until not one was left alive.

When the excitement was over, the over-wrought strength of the hermit gave way, and he staggered out into the firelight, and sunk to the floor like one dead. Boone, recognizing him, rushed to his assistance.

"Where are our friends?" he asked.

"Over there--take torches and bring them here, quick! I must not die without telling him--haste, I am dying!" gasped the hermit, blood tinging his long beard.

A party of rangers started in search of our friends, and soon found them.

The meeting was a joyous one, and much hand-shaking was indulged in before the last words of the hermit were remembered. Then the party hastily retraced their steps, Abel still supporting Edith, whose nerves had been sadly shattered by the terrible, heart-crushing events of the past few days.

They found the hermit lying in a pool of his own blood, his head upon the Wood King's lap, his eyes closed as though in death. But at the sound of footsteps he roused up and muttered a request for more liquor. Reluctantly Boone complied, holding the flask of corn-juice to his bloodless lips. The fiery liquor seemed to infuse new life into the wounded man's veins, and his voice was strong and distinct as he spoke.

"Abel Dare--come nearer to me. You must hear every word, for a dead man speaks to you. Not long since you told me that you knew not whether your father lived or was dead. I am the only being living that can clear that mystery."

"Tell me, then. Can it be that you are--"

"Patience--I will tell you, but it must be in my own way. You told me your mother forgave him upon her death-bed; she had nothing to forgive _him_, for he never did her wrong in thought or deed! Two men loved your mother--one was Reuben Dare, the other was James Hazelwood. The last took her marriage so greatly to heart that he lost his mind. His friends placed him in an asylum. One night it burned to the ground. James Hazelwood was among the missing. All thought him dead--buried in the ruins; but he was not. _His_ hand kindled the fire; then he escaped.

"A short time afterward, your mother began to receive anonymous notes, leading her to suspect the fidelity of her husband. At first she treated them with silent scorn, but the cunning of a madman--for the hand of Hazelwood was in this--made black seem white--the innocent seem guilty. Then she sorrowed, still in silence. Reuben Dare, at any other time, would have noticed this, and soon learned its cause, but he was battling hard with adversity--trying to save himself from ruin. A series of misfortunes had swallowed his fortune; he was a bankrupt.

"Hazelwood saw all this, and timed his actions well. The night before the truth must be known, he watched your father at his office--it was nearly midnight when he started to go home. As he passed an alley, a heavy blow felled him to the ground. The next he knew he was in a close carriage, securely bound, rolling swiftly along. The carriage paused, Hazelwood dragged forth his victim, and then told him all--of the diabolical plot he had formed to ruin him even after death. Then there was a cruel blow. When daylight came the corpse of your father was floating far out upon the Delaware bay. Wait, I am nearly done. More whisky--I am growing weak," muttered the hermit, faintly.

"That day your father's name was coupled with dishonor. They said he had robbed his creditors, and had fled with another man's wife. _That_ was Hazelwood's revenge. But it was with _him_ that the woman fled. But he was crazy--crazy."

"And who are _you_, that you know of all this?" hoarsely demanded Abel Dare, his eyes glowing, his breast heaving.

"I am--I was--James--Hazelwood, the mad--"

A grating cry broke from the young man's lips, and he darted forward, but, with uplifted hand, the Wood King said:

"Stay--he is beyond your power now--he is dead!"

The words were true. The hermit was no more--had died with the horrible confession upon his lips. There was much left unexplained, that would now be forever buried in oblivion. Of his life since the crime--how he came to be a wanderer in these wilds, a hermit, no one would ever know.

Yet Abel felt a feeling of relief far down in his heart, for now he knew that he had not been the son of a double criminal; though his father had been unfortunate, he had not been guilty of the crime that had rested upon his name.

The day was far spent, and as much yet remained to be done, the rangers decided not to return to the settlement that night. A soft couch of leaves was made for Edith under shelter of a rock, where she almost immediately sunk into a deep and dreamless slumber, the first she had enjoyed since the night before the massacre.

The Indian bodies were cast into the pitfall, but a grave was dug outside for those of the settlers who had fallen.

The rangers watched closely that night, but nothing was seen or heard of any enemies. With early dawn they took up their return march, reaching the settlement in safety. Within one week the insurrection was put down--the savages sued for peace, and the country was once more safe.

That winter Abel Dare and Edith were married, and the girl who had been mistaken by Lightfoot for Yellow-hair, stood bridesmaid, having been released by the Osages at the new treaty.

And so we leave the couple, safely through the storm, basking in the sunshine of each other's love.

THE END

DIME POCKET NOVELS.

PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY, AT TEN CENTS EACH.

1--Hawkeye Harry. By Oll Coomes.
2--Dead Shot. By Albert W. Aiken.
3--The Boy Miners. By Edward S. Ellis.
4--Blue Dick. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
5--Nat Wolfe. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
6--The White Tracker. Edward S. Ellis.
7--The Outlaw's Wife. Mrs. Ann S. Stephens.
8--The Tall Trapper. By Albert W. Aiken.
9--Lightning Jo. By Capt. Adams.
10--The Island Pirate. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
11--The Boy Ranger. By Oll Coomes.
12--Bess, the Trapper. By E. S. Ellis.
13--The French Spy. By W. J. Hamilton.
14--Long Shot. By Capt. Comstock.
15--The Gunmaker. By James L. Bowen.
16--Red Hand. By A. G. Piper.
17--Ben, the Trapper. By Lewis W. Carson.
18--Wild Raven. By Oll Coomes.
19--The Specter Chief. By Seelin Robbins.
20--The B'ar-Killer. By Capt. Comstock.
21--Wild Nat. By Wm. R. Eyster.
22--Indian Jo. By Lewis W. Carson.
23--Old Kent, the Ranger. Edward S. Ellis.
24--The One-Eyed Trapper. Capt. Comstock
25--Godbold, the Spy. By N. C. Iron.
26--The Black Ship. By John S. Warner.
27--Single Eye. By Warren St. John.
28--Indian Jim. By Edward S. Ellis.
29--The Scout. By Warren St. John.
30--Eagle Eye. By W. J. Hamilton.
31--The Mystic Canoe. By Edward S. Ellis.
32--The Golden Harpoon. By R. Starbuck.
33--The Scalp King. By Lieut. Ned Hunter.
34--Old Lute. By E. W. Archer.
35--Rainbolt, Ranger. By Oll Coomes.
36--The Boy Pioneer. By Edward S. Ellis.
37--Carson, the Guide. By J. H. Randolph.
38--The Heart Eater. By Harry Hazard.
39--Wetzel, the Scout. By Boynton Belknap.
40--The Huge Hunter. By Ed. S. Ellis.
41--Wild Nat, the Trapper. Paul Prescott.
42--Lynx-cap. By Paul Bibbs.
43--The White Outlaw. By Harry Hazard.
44--The Dog Trailer. By Frederick Dewey.
45--The Elk King. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
46--Adrian, the Pilot. By Col. P. Ingraham.
47--The Man-hunter. By Maro O. Rolfe.
48--The Phantom Tracker. By F. Dewey.
49--Moccasin Bill. By Paul Bibbs.
50--The Wolf Queen. By Charles Howard.
51--Tom Hawk, the Trailer.
52--The Mad Chief. By Chas. Howard.
53--The Black Wolf. By Edwin E. Ewing.
54--Arkansas Jack. By Harry Hazard.
55--Blackbeard. By Paul Bibbs.
56--The River Rifles. By Billex Muller.
57--Hunter Ham. By J. Edgar Iliff.
58--Cloudwood. By J. M. Merrill.
59--The Texas Hawks. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
60--Merciless Mat. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
61--Mad Anthony's Scouts. By E. Rodman.
62--The Luckless Trapper. Wm. R. Eyster.
63--The Florida Scout. Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
64--The Island Trapper. Chas. Howard.
65--Wolf-Cap. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
66--Rattling Dick. By Harry Hazard.
67--Sharp-Eye. By Major Max Martine.
68--Iron-Hand. By Frederick Forest.
69--The Yellow Hunter. By Chas. Howard.
70--The Phantom Rider. By Maro O. Rolfe.
71--Delaware Tom. By Harry Hazard.
72--Silver Rifle. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
73--The Skeleton Scout. Maj. L. W. Carson.
74--Little Rifle. By Capt. "Bruin" Adams.
75--The Wood Witch. By Edwin Emerson.
76--Old Ruff, the Trapper. "Bruin" Adams.
77--The Scarlet Shoulders. Harry Hazard.
78--The Border Rifleman. L. W. Carson.
79--Outlaw Jack. By Harry Hazard.
80--Tiger-Tail, the Seminole. R. Ringwood.
81--Death-Dealer. By Arthur L. Meserve.
82--Kenton, the Ranger. By Chas. Howard.
83--The Specter Horseman. Frank Dewey.
84--The Three Trappers. Seelin Robbins.
85--Kaleolah. By T. Benton Shields, U. S. N.
86--The Hunter Hercules. Harry St. George.
87--Phil Hunter. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
88--The Indian Scout. By Harry Hazard.
89--The Girl Avenger. By Chas. Howard.
90--The Red Hermitess. By Paul Bibbs.
91--Star-Face, the Slayer.
92--The Antelope Boy. By Geo. L. Aiken.
93--The Phantom Hunter. By E. Emerson.
94--Tom Pintle, the Pilot. By M. Klapp.
95--The Red Wizard. By Ned Hunter.
96--The Rival Trappers. By L. W. Carson.
97--The Squaw Spy. By Capt. Chas. Howard.
98--Dusky Dick. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
99--Colonel Crockett. By Chas. E. Lasalle.
100--Old Bear Paw. By Major Max Martine.
101--Redlaw. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
102--Wild Rube. By W. J. Hamilton.
103--The Indian Hunters. By J. L. Bowen.
104--Scarred Eagle. By Andrew Dearborn.
105--Nick Doyle. By P. Hamilton Myers.
106--The Indian Spy. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
107--Job Dean. By Ingoldsby North.
108--The Wood King. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
109--The Scalped Hunter. By Harry Hazard.
110--Nick, the Scout. By W. J. Hamilton.
111--The Texas Tiger. By Edward Willett.
112--The Crossed Knives. By Hamilton.
113--Tiger-Heart, the Tracker. By Howard.
114--The Masked Avenger. By Ingraham.
115--The Pearl Pirates. By Starbuck.
116--Black Panther. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
117--Abdiel, the Avenger. By Ed. Willett.
118--Cato, the Creeper. By Fred. Dewey.
119--Two-Handed Mat. By Jos. E. Badger.
120--Mad Trail Hunter. By Harry Hazard.
121--Black Nick. By Frederick Whittaker.
122--Kit Bird. By W. J. Hamilton.
123--The Specter Riders. By Geo. Gleason.
124--Giant Pete. By W. J. Hamilton.
125--The Girl Captain. By Jos. E. Badger.
126--Yankee Eph. By J. R. Worcester.
127--Silverspur. By Edward Willett.
128--Squatter Dick. By Jos. E. Badger.
129--The Child Spy. By George Gleason.
130--Mink Coat. By Jos. E. Badger.
131--Red Plume. By J. Stanley Henderson.
132--Clyde, the Trailer. By Maro O. Rolfe.
133--The Lost Cache. J. Stanley Henderson.
134--The Cannibal Chief. Paul J. Prescott.
135--Karaibo. By J. Stanley Henderson.
136--Scarlet Moccasin. By Paul Bibbs.
137--Kidnapped. By J. Stanley Henderson.
138--Maid of the Mountain. By Hamilton.
139--The Scioto Scouts. By Ed. Willett.
140--The Border Renegade. By Badger.
141--The Mute Chief. By C. D. Clark.
142--Boone, the Hunter. By Whittaker.
143--Mountain Kate. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
144--The Red Scalper. By W. J. Hamilton.
145--The Lone Chief. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
146--The Silver Bugle. Lieut. Col. Hazleton.
147--Chinga, the Cheyenne. By E. S. Ellis.
148--The Tangled Trail. By Major Martine.
149--The Unseen Hand. By J. S. Henderson.
150--The Lone Indian. By Capt. C. Howard.
151--The Branded Brave. By Paul Bibbs.
152--Billy Bowlegs, The Seminole Chief.
153--The Valley Scout. By Seelin Robbins.
154--Red Jacket. By Paul Bibbs.
155--The Jungle Scout. Ready
156--Cherokee Chief. Ready
157--The Bandit Hermit. Ready
158--The Patriot Scouts. Ready
159--The Wood Rangers.
160--The Red Foe. Ready
161--The Beautiful Unknown.
162--Canebrake Mose. Ready
163--Hank, the Guide. Ready
164--The Border Scout. Ready Oct. 5th.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York.

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[Transcriber's Note: No Chapter X. heading in original text.]