The Phantom of the River by Edward Sylvester Ellis (epub read online books txt) 📖

point of passion was already attained. To spend breath in the utterance of words was to place themselves in the position of the gymnast who breaks into laughter--it would be a fatal weakening of strength.

The Panther, crouching low, clutching knife, with head thrust forward, and gleaming eye fixed on his victim, began slowly circling around him, on the watch for an opening that would permit him to bound forward and strike his foe to the earth.

Standing thus in the centre of a circle, Kenton had but to turn slowly so as to keep his face turned toward his assailant. It was the easiest thing in the world to present indefinitely an unassailable front, and yet The Panther had barely completed his first circuit when the opening which he sought offered itself, and he seized it with lightning-like quickness.

But it was presented purposely; Kenton incited the attack, and when the Shawanoe demon shot through the air toward him, he steadied himself for a second, and struck again with all the might and skill at command.

That which the ranger had not counted upon, or which was not likely to happen once in a thousand times, intervened to save The Panther for the single instant. He and Kenton struck precisely the same blow, and their forearms glanced against each other. The stroke of the white man was the more powerful, and impinging against the less muscular arm of the Shawanoe with paralyzing force, sent his knife spinning twenty feet away among the undergrowth. Before the agile Shawanoe could recover himself the left hand of Kenton griped his throat, he was borne furiously backward, hurled to the ground as though he were an infant, the knee of the ranger was at his breast, and the knife was held ready to complete the fearful work.

"Dog of a Shawanoe!" hissed the infuriated hunter, "you are conquered at last! Now beg for mercy!"

Had the positions of the two been reversed, the prostrate foe could not have been more defiant when he hissed back, with flashing eye:

"Dog of a pale-face, that is afraid to strike!"

The words were meant as a taunt to the ranger to do his worst.

Down deep in the heart of every being, no matter how degraded, how sinful, how wicked, how merciless, is a spark of goodness which, when fanned by the angel's breath, glows or spreads until it burns out all the dross that years of wrong-doing have implanted there. Why it was and how it came about, Simon Kenton to his dying day never fully understood, but he always insisted that at that moment he heard the voice of Missionary Finley, with unmistakable distinctness, in his ear:

"Show him mercy, and mercy shall be shown to you when you need it!"

Impelled by a power which he dared not resist, the ranger rose from the chest of The Panther, and said in tones that sounded like those of another person:

"Shawanoe, take your life; I give it to you!"


CHAPTER XXX.

CONCLUSION.

The heart of Missionary Finley stood still when he saw The Panther stride from the wood into the open space where the campfire was burning. He knew that the terrible chieftain and Simon Kenton had met in mortal combat, and what could the return of the Shawanoe mean but that the prince of pioneers and rangers had been overthrown and slain by his implacable enemy?

With a self-possession which surprised even himself, the good man looked straight into the face of the Indian as he approached, and, noting its strange expression, said:

"Wa-on-mon has met the white hunter and conquered him."

Three paces away The Panther abruptly halted and stood for several seconds, looking silently at the missionary. Then he said, in a low, deliberate voice:

"Wa-on-mon has met the white hunter--the white hunter has conquered Wa-on-mon."

Missionary Finley was quick to catch the point of a situation; but, for a moment, he was dumfounded. Then a suspicion of the truth flashed upon him.

The good man was too sagacious to question The Panther. A strange, hitherto impossible condition of affairs existed. It was dangerous to meddle with them.

Suppressing all evidence of emotion, Finley asked:

"What are the wishes of my brother, the mighty Wa-on-mon?"

"She opens her eyes; she has awakened!"

He pointed to the little captive, who just then looked around, with a bewildered air, sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"Where is papa? where is mamma?" she asked, looking from one to the other, and at a loss to comprehend her situation and her surroundings.

"Take the captive," said The Panther. "No harm shall come to her and my brother until after they meet their friends."

It was fair notice that the remarkable truce ended at the moment of the arrival of the missionary and the child among their people.

Again Finley displayed his tact by asking no questions of Wa-on-mon. Nor did he essay to thank him for his unexpected clemency. He did not so much as speak to or look at him.

"Come, my child," he said tenderly, extending his hand to Mabel, "I am going to take you to papa and mamma."

"Oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed the happy one, slipping her hand into the palm of the missionary.

The warriors standing around and seeing all this must have had their share, too, of strange emotions, for the experience was without a parallel with them.

Had the chieftain been any one except The Panther, something in the nature of a revolt would have been probable; but no one dared gainsay that fearful leader, who, like Philip, chief of the Wampanoags, had mortally smitten the warrior that dared to suggest an opposite policy to that already determined by the sachem.

There were looks, but nothing more, as the man, holding the hand of the child, walked out of the camp, without any appearance of haste or fright, and disappeared among the trees.

With a heart swelling with gratitude to God for the wonderful outcome of the strange complication, the good man picked his way through the forest, still holding the trusting hand within his own, and comforting her by promises that she should soon see her father and mother and brother, who were awaiting her coming on the other side of the river. Like every other member of the company, she was a-hungered, but there could be no guarantee that she, like them, would not have to remain so for hours to come.

When the missionary reached the river side, to recross in his canoe, he found Kenton awaiting him, paddle in hand. The two men smiled significantly as their eyes met. They silently grasped hands, and then adjusting themselves in the boat, with Mabel between them, pushed for the other shore.

And as the graceful craft skimmed the smooth surface of the Ohio on that beautiful summer morning, a hundred years ago, the ranger told his story of his encounter with Wa-on-mon, chief of the Shawanoes.

"It took the varmint some time to know what I meant, when I said he could go; he wouldn't take the life I offered him at first, but said it belonged to me, and not to him. That bein' so," added Kenton, with a grin, "I told him as how I could do as I chose with it, as I throwed it from me."

"It was a surprise to him, indeed," remarked Finley.

"Wal, I should say powerful somewhat. When he made up his mind at last that bein' as I wasn't going to send him under, he might as well take what I give him, he done it."

"Did he say anything?"

"Not a word; I thought maybe he'd pick up his knife ag'in, but he done nothin' of the kind; he didn't even look to where it had fallen when I knocked it out of his hand, but walked off in the woods, and that was the last of him. Parson," said the scout, with a grave expression, looking him calmly in the face, "I want to ask you a question."

"Why, Simon, my good man, you may ask me anything you choose."

"Where was you when The Panther and me was having our little argyment?"

"I went directly back to the Shawanoe camp and stayed there till he returned with word that I might depart with Mabel."

"Sure you wasn't nowhere near us?"

"No nearer than what I have just told you."

The ranger paddled a moment in silence.

"Bein' as you say so, that settles it."

The missionary, who was watching his friend closely, now said:

"Since I have answered your question, Simon, it is right that I should know why you ask it."

"Wal, it's this: Just as I had The Panther down, and was 'bout to finish the bus'ness, I heard you speak."

"Heard me speak? And what did I say?"

"'Show him mercy, and mercy shall be shown unto you when you need it;' so what could I do but let him up?"

The good man understood the incident better than did Kenton himself.

"But," he said, gently, "I have just explained that I was too far from you for me to make myself heard."

"Whose voice was it, then?"

"The voice of Conscience, Simon, or the whisperings of God. It may have sounded louder to you just then than usual, but it was not the first time it has sounded in your ear, reproving you when you have done wrong, and commending you when you have done right. Listen and heed what it tells you, Simon, and no matter what comes, all shall be well with you."

The missionary saw that his words had made a strong impression, and he was wise in saying no more.

The ranger headed the course for a point that would land them considerably below where the friends in the flatboat were awaiting their coming. Finley, after noting the fact, remarked:

"You are doing it on purpose, Simon."

"Of course; some of the varmints are watchin'."

The object, as the reader will perceive, was to make the Shawanoes believe the fugitives had shifted their position further down stream. Since Boone was with the latter party, the stratagem, slight of itself and possibly ineffectual, was readily understood by them.

When the canoe shot in under the bank on the Ohio side, it was an eighth of a mile below where the flatboat had been hidden with the utmost care on the same bank of the river; but there could be no question that the fugitives had peered out with equal eagerness of vision, and parents, brother and friends were aware of the amazing, blessed truth that in that canoe, seated between the missionary and ranger, was Mabel Ashbridge, she that was lost and was found, was dead but was alive again.

Finley and Kenton made no mistake as to the situation. The "truce" was now ended. The Panther was the bitter, relentless enemy that he was before, eager only for the life of every man, woman and child connected with the company of fugitives. If little Mabel fell into his hands again, she would be sacrificed without a throb of pity. He would do his utmost to prevent the company reaching the block-house. If its members counted upon his forbearance, it would be a fatal mistake.

And should he and Kenton again face each other in single-handed combat, it would be with the same unrelenting ferocity as before. The episode that had just taken place would be as though