Chapter XVII
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FIELD OF THE FALLEN TIMBERS.
We return to other characters of our romance in order to glance at their adventures from our last dealings with them up to the night before the great fight for supremacy on the shores of the Maumee.
We left Kate Merriweather returning to her kindred with Harvey Catlett and her lover after her rescue in the cabin of James Girty.
The restoration was effected without incident worthy of record, and the girl at last found herself in her mother’s arms.
The journey was then resumed, and the entire party, with the exception of Little Moccasin, who mysteriously returned to the forest, reached Mad Anthony’s camp.
It may well be believed that Abel Merriweather breathed free again when he found his little family behind the bayonets of the American army, and he hastened to enroll himself among the ranks of bordermen led by Wells and the Choctaw chief Hummingbird.
In this legion were also found Oscar Parton, George Darling, and little, but fearless Carl Merriweather. Harvey Catlett was unattached, and Wolf Cap given the liberty of the field.
Around and upon the Hill of Presqu’-Isle the Indian forces had posted themselves, having their left secured by the river, and their front by a kind of breastwork of fallen timbers which rendered it impracticable for cavalry to advance. It was a position admirably chosen, but useless, as history tells.
Impatiently the allied tribes awaited the American army. The chiefs, with few exceptions, were confident, for had they not beaten Harmar and St. Clair?
The Girtys had not shirked the battle, but there was a restlessness about Simon’s movements that attracted attention. James, on the contrary, was firm and boastful. Wherever he went he encouraged the Indians to stand firm, promising them victory and its tempting spoils. But there were keen eyes fixed upon him.
In the scarlet ranks were many who carried a long scar on their breasts—the mark of the brotherhood to whom Parquatin’s blood cried for vengeance.
In two splendid columns, with trailed arms, Wayne’s army advanced upon the savages. A terrible fire greeted the onslaught, and the General soon discovered that the enemy were in full force and endeavoring, with some show of success, to turn his left flank. Then came the tug of war, and for hours the carnival of battle raged among the fallen timbers and around the base of the hill.
“At last! look Harvey!”
Wolf Cap pointed through an opening, and Harvey Catlett, the spy, saw the sight to which his attention was called.
There, in a little space made by the death of a forest tree, stood a man whose face was begrimed with powder. His half savage uniform was torn and blackened by the battle, and he seemed debating whether to fly or plunge again into the fight.
“It is he!” said the young spy, looking up into Wolf Cap’s face. “It is Jim Girty.”
“The man who darkened all my life!” was the hissed reply. “For years I have hunted him. Now he is mine!”
Quick to the speaker’s shoulder leaped the deadly rifle, and his cheek dropped upon the stock for aim.
Harvey Catlett watched the renegade, unconscious of his swiftly approaching doom.
All at once James Girty bounded into the air, and with a death cry that sounded above the roar of battle, fell on his face, and stretched his brawny arms in the agony of death.
Wolf Cap lowered his rifle and wheeled upon the spy.
“Did you shoot?” he cried.
“No.”
“Then who did? Some one has cheated me of my revenge!”
As he spoke, he glanced to the right and saw a young Indian reloading his rifle.
“It is Parquatoc!” said Harvey Catlett.
With a maddened cry the tall hunter sprang forward; but the Seneca youth eluded him, and disappeared in the twinkling of an eye.
“Come! The battle rolls towards the British fort!” the young spy said, rousing Wolf Cap, who had relapsed into one of his singular reveries.
“Yes, yes; we will go. But let us see whether he is dead.”
The twain hurried to the spot where James Girty had fallen. Wolf Cap turned him over, and saw the eyes start at sight of him.
“The butcherer still lives!” the trailer said, as his hand grasped the handle of his tomahawk. “Harvey, I can yet revenge the murdered ones.”
But the youth’s hand fell restrainingly on Wolf Cap’s arm.
“No. He is dying, Abner. Let us keep our hands in this hour. Get down and hear what he says.”
The two knelt beside the dreaded scourge of the Northwest, powerless now to harm a babe. Words were falling from his lips, and his eyes remained fixed upon Abner Stark.
“They did it!” he said. “It was a redskin’s bullet, and Parquatoc’s. No more battles for Jim Girty. Listen, Abner Stark, for I know you. You have hunted me a long time, to find me dying. Where is the girl?”
Wolf Cap started, and glanced at the spy.
“He talks about some girl, Harvey.”
“Is the girl here?” asked the outlaw in a louder voice. “No? Must I die without seeing her? Well, let it be so. Abner Stark, when she comes, take her in your arms and call her your child, for such she is. I saved her from Indian fury that night, and I have tried to be good to her, bad as I am. I thought I would never tell you this.”
“This is all true, Girty?” cried Stark, scarcely able to credit the revelation.
“On the word of the dying, Abner Stark. Why should I lie now?”
Then Wolf Cap raised his eyes towards heaven, and poured out the gratitude of a father’s soul.
When he looked again at the prostrate outlaw, it was to say:
“I am glad I did not shoot you.”
Girty smiled, and tried to speak; but the effort proved a failure, and the head fell back.
It was all over. The White Whirlwind was dead, and the flowers which his restless feet had pressed to earth, lifted their heads and smiled.
“Come, Abner!” said Catlett.
The hunter obeyed, but, as he rose, he caught sight of a rapidly approaching figure, and stood still.
The next moment Little Moccasin came up, and Wolf Cap lifted her from the ground, and in his embrace covered her face with kisses.
He held her there until the sound of battle died away, and when he released her, she glided to Harvey Catlett’s side and put her hands in his.
“Areotha is glad, Fair Face,” she said, her eyes sparkling with joy. “The real father is found, and he will be happy until the Manitou sends for all of us.”
There, on the bloody battlefield of the Fallen Timbers, Wolf Cap had found his child. It was a reunion impossible to describe, but many a heart beat in unison with the father’s in the bivouac that night.
Of course, Little Moccasin left the woods and became Harvey Catlett’s bride, while the backwoods preacher made Oscar Parton and the settler’s daughter one.
Thus, with Wayne’s decisive victory over the allied tribes, end the trails which we have followed through the summer woods of the Maumee.