Chapter XIV

When Abe Moffat reached the settlement, he heard startling news indeed. Irene Stuart, while wandering a 95 short distance from the stockade the afternoon before, had been heard to utter a piercing shriek, and when the minister, Edwards, who was the nearest, ran toward the spot, he saw her in the hands of a brawny, painted savage, who, carrying her as he would have carried an infant, dashed into the woods, and immediately disappeared.

This bold abduction, as a matter of course, created the greatest excitement. Several started at once in pursuit; but it being near dusk, they were unable to follow the trail, and they shortly returned without having gained a glimpse of the captor or captive. It happened that at this time Lewis Wetzel, the renowned ranger, was at the settlement, and he and the leading men at once met together for consultation. Kingman, naturally enough, was anxious to begin the pursuit instantly.

“No use,” said Wetzel; “we can’t help getting off the track, and then we shall lose all the time it’ll take us to come back and start agin.”

“But will they pause to camp to-night—for there must be other Indians in the vicinity—and will we come up to them right away in the morning?” asked the excited lover.

“I hardly think we shall. They will hurry, of course, all they can, for they know well enough they will be pursued, and we’ll have to travel pretty fast if we get sight of them before they are safe home again.”

“The plan, then, is decided,” said Edwards. “Wetzel and Kingman, here, will start at daylight, in pursuit, while, from the necessity of the case, we are compelled to remain at home. May God be with them!”

This moment there was a movement at the door, and as they parted, Abe Moffat entered. Several grasped his hand, and he asked:

“What’s the row? No trouble, I hope, this time?”

“Trouble enough,” replied Kingman, and he gave, in a few words, the particulars of what is already known to the reader.

“And I have bad news, too, for you,” said Abe. “Colonel Crawford’s force was defeated more completely than was Sanford’s. Over one hundred have been killed, and more than thirty burnt at the stake! I seen Colonel Crawford burnt myself! I was painted black for the stake, but the Lord helped me to get away, and I’m down here, ready for any service.”

The effect of this intelligence can scarcely be imagined.

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“I’m good for a two week’s tramp, and I ask it as a special favor, Wetzel, that you let me take your place.”

“I’ve a great notion to foller that girl, and I don’t see how Abe can do much, as he must be about used up now.”

“Why not both of you go?” queried Stuart.

Both Wetzel and Abe shook their heads.

“It won’t do,” replied the former. “There mustn’t be over two in pursuit. Just as sure as there are, they won’t do nothing. No sir—it won’t do.”

“Two is just the number that is needed,” added Abe.

“You can go, Abe,” said Wetzel, after a moment’s reflection. “It hurts my feelings to back out, but I don’t believe you would ask to go unless there was some good idee in your head. If you can draw a sight on that Pete Johnson, just make it your special duty to wipe him out from the face of the universe!”

It was agreed by Moffat that he would rise at the earliest sign of morn, awake Kingman, and the two pass noiselessly out into the forest without disturbing the others. Each was provided with a rifle, some thirty charges of powder, and a piece of jerked venison sufficient to last them several days.

At a late hour the men departed from Edward’s house to their homes.

As the night settled over the village, it was still and motionless, as though all were wrapped in the profoundest slumber. Not a soul was moving save the few sentinels, conversing together and exchanging their places at long intervals.

Hour after hour wore slowly away, and for the twelfth time Kingman returned, fretful and impatient, to his corner, as the light of day had not yet illumined the east. He sat a moment, when he heard Moffat move.

“Hallo! anybody about?” called out the latter.

“Yes, yes, I’m here! Do wake up, for your sleep seems eternal.”

“Fudge! Now don’t be in a hurry,” replied Moffat, kicking his blanket off from him. “Just take a peep at the door to see if there’s any light.”

“No, there is not a streak of day. I looked only this minute.”

“Look again. I’ll bet my rifle against your life you will see it this time.”

Kingman stepped to the door, and again looked forth. Sure enough, just over the eastern edge of the wilderness a 97 gray, misty light was visible, and there was no mistaking its cause.

“Day is at hand, indeed!” exclaimed he, joyously. “Let us be off at once.”

“Not too fast, for there must be considerable more light before we start.”

The two men made noiseless but careful preparations for their journey. A burning pine knot afforded them a bright, though oily and smoky light. Their hunting shirts were buckled tightly beneath their girdles, from each of which protruded the handles of a couple of knives; their moccasins secured, and their rifles examined most minutely; and as Moffat looked around and saw that nothing else was wanting he blew out the light and the two men stepped forth into the open air. No one was yet visible stirring in the settlement, and they made their way cautiously toward the northern and largest block-house. It was yet so early and dark that there was no necessity of starting for a half hour yet. As they reached the block-house Kingman was surprised to find a considerable number of their friends already there. Among them he noticed Captain Parks, Wetzel, Stuart, Prentice, and several others.

“Rather ’arly, ain’t you?” remarked Wetzel.

“Yes; we will wait here a while before we start. Lew, do you suppose it is the Shawnees who have carried her off, or some other tribe?”

“I guess it’s the Shawnees. They’re generally in all kinds of deviltry, and that Pete Johnson, I believe, figures among them.”

“He is as often in the other tribes, so that you can hardly tell anything by that. She’s in desperate hands, I can tell you,” added Moffat, in a lower tone.

“I know that, and you have a hard job before you, Abe.”

“Umph!” remarked the captain; “If you can only rid the country of that Pete Johnson, you will be immortalized. Do it, and I’ll never kick you again—I won’t, upon my honor.”

“Then I think I will do it,” laughed the ranger.

“Isn’t it time to be moving?” asked Kingman, anxiously.

“Yes; it’s getting light, and we might as well start.”

“George,” said Stuart, as he took our hero’s hand, and the tears streamed down his face, “be careful, and do your 98 utmost, for you know what there is at stake. She is yours forever if you can save her. God grant it.”

All now bade our friends farewell, and they made their way cautiously out of the block-house. By this time the sun was just appearing above the edge of the forest, and they hurried forward upon their dangerous duty.

The trail was immediately taken, and pursued with the most unwearying assiduity. Kingman, whose border experience had toughened his sinews and strengthened his muscle, was unwilling to pause for more than a moment’s rest. The great fear that his beloved was in the power of the renegade Johnson, was too tormenting to allow a moment’s rest.

In a few hours they reached the spot where the fugitives had encamped. A brief examination revealed the gratifying fact that they were all comparatively a slight distance ahead, although there was no question but that they were proceeding quite rapidly.

With this was made a startling and dreaded discovery—a white man was one of the captors. Such being the case it could be no other than Johnson the renegade.

“Merciful heavens!” exclaimed Kingman, in agony. “We must soon overtake them or it will be too late.”

“You’re too excited,” said Moffat, to whom the same question could be applied. “You’re too excited. Take things coolly.”

“But how can I? How much longer is that man to desolate the frontier?”

“I have an idea that he has run about the length of his rope. I somehow or other feel as though we were going to wipe him out.”

“God grant it!” fervently exclaimed Kingman. “He has earned his death over and over again for the last dozen years.”

An hour or two later Moffat announced that they were rapidly gaining upon the captors, and if they continued progressing as they were evidently doing at that time, the probabilities were that they would be overtaken by nightfall, or sooner.

It was only when the hunter insisted upon it that our hero would consent to stop and take a few mouthfuls of food.

There was a cool deliberation in the movements of Moffat that was strangely in contrast with the nervous restlessness of the lover. In fact they were just the men 99 to engage in the enterprise. In the afternoon the trail showed signs of an increased gait upon those who were being pursued. This discovery gave Kingman increased anxiety. Finally the gathering darkness compelled them to give up the pursuit.

“Just what I expected!” exclaimed Kingman, in despair. “We may now as well yield up, and go home.”

The ranger touched him on the shoulder, and pointed ahead.

“What does that mean?”

The glimmer of a camp-fire was discernible through the trees. That it was the camp-fire of those whom they were searching for, there could not be a moment’s doubt.

“All now depends upon keeping cool,” said the ranger. “We will steal up until we get a good view. You may take the Indian and I will take the renegade.”

Side by side the two crawled cautiously forward. The Indian was preparing supper, while Pete Johnson was lying upon the ground, smoking a pipe. Irene sat on a fallen tree, her wrists bound together, and her head bowed as though she was giving away to her great woe.

Abe Moffat looked at Kingman, and whispered so that he was just able to hear him.

“Take your man, and be sure that you don’t miss, or he may not miss me.”

“All right; I will take the savage. Never fear for me.”

Simultaneously the rifles came to their shoulders, and pointed like the finger of fate toward the doomed ones. Simultaneously their sharp crack broke upon the stillness, and at the same instant the two victims fell forward upon their faces, dead.

Irene Stuart was still gazing in wonder for the explanation of this, when her lover came rushing toward her, and the next moment she was enfolded in his arms.

Abe Moffat scratched his head until they were through, and then suggested that they take the back trail. This they did until they were far removed from the dead bodies, when, as all three were thoroughly exhausted, they halted for the night.

Bright and early, after a refreshing breakfast, the homeward journey was resumed, and just as night set in they came in sight of the settlement. As they looked toward it Kingman said:

“As we are now safely back again, and our marriage has 100 been postponed several times, don’t you think it is about time it was consummated?”

“You need wait no longer, dearest,” said she, leaning on his arm; “you have been very good to submit to my whims thus far.”

* * * * * * *

It was a genuine old-fashioned wedding, such as our grandmothers tell about. Fiddling, and dancing, and mirth, and cider, and apples, and jollification were the distinguishing features. All went as merry as a goodly number of marriage bells, and it was not until the “wee small hours ayant the twal” that the parties separated and went to their homes.

The death of Johnson the renegade, was a relief to all the settlements. His influence, beyond all question, had incited most of the massacres, and now that he was gone, there was some hope felt that peace might be reasonably looked for.

But peace did not come until 1794, about a dozen years later, when the incomparable Anthony Wayne—“Mad Anthony”—gathered his invincibles together, and scattered the combined forces of the aggressive tribes as the autumn leaves are scattered before the tornado. A long, lasting peace then came, unbroken until the mighty Tecumseh arose, and led his warriors to battle. But his history belongs not to us. Our work is done, and we now bid our kind readers an affectionate adieu.