the spirit of the border- 第48部分

With　trembling　hand　Jim　turned　the　leaves。　At　last　he　found　the　lines；　and

handed　the　book　back　to　the　old　man。



Simple；　sweet　and　sad　was　that　marriage　service。　Nell　and　Jim　knelt　with　hands

clasped　over　Mr。　Wells。　The　old　missionary's　voice　was　faint；　Nell's　responses

were　low；　and　Jim　answered　with　deep　and　tender　feeling。　Beside　them　stood

Wingenund；　a　dark；　magnificent　figure。



〃There！　May　God　bless　you！〃　murmured　Mr。　Wells；　with　a　happy　smile；　closing

the　Bible。



〃Nell；　my　wife！〃　whispered　Jim；　kissing　her　hand。



〃Come！〃　broke　in　Wingenund's　voice；　deep；　strong；　like　that　of　a　bell。



Not　one　of　them　had　observed　the　chief　as　he　stood　erect；　motionless；　poised

like　a　stag　scenting　the　air。　His　dark　eyes　seemed　to　pierce　the　purple…golden

forest；　his　keen　ear　seemed　to　drink　in　the　singing　of　the　birds　and　the

gentle　rustling　of　leaves。　Native　to　these　haunts　as　were　the　wild　creatures；

they　were　no　quicker　than　the　Indian　to　feel　the　approach　of　foes。　The　breeze

had　borne　faint；　suspicious　sounds。



〃KeeptheBible；〃　said　Mr。　Wells；　〃rememberitsword。〃　His　hand　closely

clasped　Nell's；　and　then　suddenly　loosened。　His　pallid　face　was　lighted　by　a

meaning；　tender　smile　which　slowly　fadedfaded；　and　was　gone。　The　venerable

head　fell　back。　The　old　missionary　was　dead。



Nell　kissed　the　pale；　cold　brow；　and　then　rose；　half　dazed　and　shuddering。　

Jim　was　vainly　trying　to　close　the　dead　man's　eyes。　She　could　no　longer　look。

On　rising　she　found　herself　near　the　Indian　chief。　He　took　her　fingers　in　his

great　hand；　and　held　them　with　a　strong；　warm　pressure。　　Strangely　thrilled；

she　looked　up　at　Wingenund。　His　somber　eyes；　fixed　piercingly　on　the　forest；

and　his　dark　stern　face；　were；　as　always；　inscrutable。　No　compassion　shone

there；　no　emotion　unbefitting　a　chieftain　would　ever　find　expression　in　that

cold　face；　but　Nell　felt　a　certain　tenderness　in　this　Indian；　a　response　in

his　great　heart。　Felt　it　so　surely；　so　powerfully　that　she　leaned　her　head

against　him。　She　knew　he　was　her　friend。



〃Come；〃　said　the　chief　once　more。　He　gently　put　Nell　aside　before　Jim　arose

from　his　sad　task。



〃We　can　not　leave　him　unburied；〃　expostulated　Jim。



Wingenund　dragged　aside　a　large　stone　which　formed　one　wall　of　the　cavern。　

Then　he　grasped　a　log　which　was　half　covered　by　dirt；　and；　exerting　his　great

strength；　pulled　it　from　its　place。　There　was　a　crash；　a　rumble；　the　jar　of　a

heavy　weight　striking　the　earth；　then　the　rattling　of　gravel；　and；　before　Nell

and　Jim　realized　what　had　happened；　the　great　rock　forming　the　roof　of　the

cavern　slipped　down　the　bank　followed　by　a　small　avalanche。　the　cavern　was

completely　covered。　Mr。　Wells　was　buried。　　A　mossy　stone　marked　the　old

missionary's　grave。



Nell　and　Jim　were　lost　in　wonder　and　awe。



〃Ugh！〃　cried　the　chief；　looking　toward　the　opening　in　the　glade。



Fearfully　Nell　and　Jim　turned；　to　be　appalled　by　four　naked；　painted　savages

standing　with　leveled　rifles。　Behind　them　stood　Deering　and　Jim　Girty。



〃Oh；　God！　We　are　lost！　Lost！　Lost！〃　exclaimed　Jim；　unable　to　command　himself。

Hope　died　in　his　heart。



No　cry　issued　from　Nell's　white　lips。　She　was　dazed　by　this　final　blow。　Having

endured　so　much；　this　last　misfortune；　apparently　the　ruin　of　her　life；

brought　no　added　suffering；　only　a　strange；　numb　feeling。



〃Ah…huh！　Thought　you'd　give　me　the　slip；　eh？〃　croaked　Girty；　striding　forward；

and　as　he　looked　at　Wingenund　his　little；　yellow　eyes　flared　like　flint。　〃Does

a　wolf　befriend　Girty's　captives？　Chief　you　hev　led　me　a　hard　chase。〃



Wingenund　deigned　no　reply。　He　stood　as　he　did　so　often；　still　and　silent；

with　folded　arms；　and　a　look　that　was　haughty；　unresponsive。



The　Indians　came　forward　into　the　glade；　and　one　of　them　quickly　bound　Jim's

hands　behind　his　back。　The　savages　wore　a　wild；　brutish　look。　　A　feverish

ferocity；　very　near　akin　to　insanity；　possessed　them。　　They　were　not　quiet　a

moment；　but　ran　here　and　there；　for　no　apparent　reason；　except；　possibly；　to

keep　in　action　with　the　raging　fire　in　their　hearts。　The　cleanliness　which

characterized　the　normal　Indian　was　absent　in　them；　their　scant　buckskin　dress

was　bedraggled　and　stained。　They　were　still　drunk　with　rum　and　the　lust　for

blood。　Murder　gleamed　from　the　glance　of　their　eyes。



〃Jake；　come　over　here；〃　said　Girty　to　his　renegade　friend。　〃Ain't　she　a

prize？〃



Girty　and　Deering　stood　before　the　poor；　stricken　girl；　and　gloated　over　her

fair　beauty。　She　stood　as　when　first　transfixed　by　the　horror　from　which　she

had　been　fleeing。　Her　pale　face　was　lowered；　her　hands　clenched　tightly　in　the

folds　of　her　skirt。



Never　before　had　two　such　coarse；　cruel　fiends　as　Deering　and　Girty　encumbered

the　earth。　Even　on　the　border；　where　the　best　men　were　bad；　they　were　the

worst。　Deering　was　yet　drunk；　but　Girty　had　recovered　somewhat　from　the

effects　of　the　rum　he　had　absorbed。　The　former　rolled　his　big　eyes　and　nodded

his　shaggy　head。　He　was　passing　judgment；　from　his　point　of　view；　on　the　fine

points　of　the　girl。



〃She　cer'aintly　is；〃　he　declared　with　a　grin。　〃She's　a　little　beauty。　　Beats

any　I　ever　seen！〃



Jim　Girty　stroked　his　sharp　chin　with　dirty　fingers。　His　yellow　eyes；　his

burnt　saffron　skin；　his　hooked　nose；　his　thin　lipsall　his　evil　face　seemed

to　shine　with　an　evil　triumph。　to　look　at　him　was　painful。　To　have　him　gaze　at

her　was　enough　to　drive　any　woman　mad。



Dark　stains　spotted　the　bright　frills　of　his　gaudy　dress；　his　buckskin　coat

and　leggins；　and　dotted　his　white　eagle　plumes。　Dark　stains；　horribly

suggestive；　covered　him　from　head　to　foot。　Blood　stains！　　The　innocent　blood

of　Christians　crimsoned　his　renegade's　body；　and　every　dark　red　blotch　cried

murder。



〃Girl；　I　burned　the　Village　of　Peace　to　git　you；〃　growled　Girty。　〃Come　here！〃



With　a　rude　grasp　that　tore　open　her　dress；　exposing　her　beautiful　white

shoulder　and　bosom；　the　ruffian　pulled　her　toward　him。　His　face　was　transfixed

with　a　fierce　joy；　a　brutal　passion。



Deering　looked　on　with　a　drunken　grin；　while　his　renegade　friend　hugged　the

almost　dying　girl。　The　Indians　paced　the　glade　with　short　strides　like　leashed

tigers。　The　young　missionary　lay　on　the　moss　with　closed　eyes。　He　could　not

endure　the　sight　of　Nell　in　Girty's　arms。



No　one　noticed　Wingenund。　He　stood　back　a　little；　half　screened　by　drooping

branches。　Once　again　the　chief's　dark　eyes　gleamed；　his　head　turned　a　trifle

aside；　and；　standing　in　the　statuesque　position　habitual　with　him　when

resting；　he　listened；　as　one　who　hears　mysterious　sounds。　　Suddenly　his　keen

glance　was　riveted　on　the　ferns　above　the　low　cliff。　　He　had　seen　their

graceful　heads　quivering。　Then　two　blinding　sheets　of　flame　burst　from　the

ferns。



Spang！　Spang！



The　two　rifle　reports　thundered　through　the　glade。　Two　Indians　staggered　and

fell　in　their　tracksdead　without　a　cry。



A　huge　yellow　body；　spread　out　like　a　panther　in　his　spring；　descended　with　a

crash　upon　Deering　and　Girty。　The　girl　fell　away　from　the　renegade　as　he　went

down　with　a　shrill　screech；　dragging　Deering　with　him。　Instantly　began　a

terrific；　whirling；　wrestling　struggle。



A　few　feet　farther　down　the　cliff　another　yellow　body　came　crashing　down　to

alight　with　a　thud；　to　bound　erect；　to　rush　forward　swift　as　a　leaping　deer。

The　two　remaining　Indians　had　only　time　to　draw　their　weapons　before　this

lithe；　threatening　form　whirled　upon　them。　Shrill　cries；　hoarse　yells；　the

clash　of　steel　and　dull　blows　mingled　together。　One　savage　went　down；　twisted

over；　writhed　and　lay　still。　The　other　staggered；　warded　of　lightninglike

blows　until　one　passed　under　his　guard；　and　crashed　dully　on　his　head。　Then　he

reeled；　rose　again；　but　only　to　have　his　skull　cloven　by　a　bloody　tomahawk。



The　victor　darted　toward　the　whirling　mass。



〃Lew；　shake　him　loose！　Let　him　go！〃　yelled　Jonathan　Zane；　swinging　his　bloody

weapon。



High　above　Zane's　cry；　Deering's　shouts　and　curses；　Girty's　shrieks　of　fear

and　fury；　above　the　noise　of　wrestling　bodies　and　dull　blows；　rose　a　deep

booming　roar。



It　was　Wetzel's　awful　cry　of　vengeance。



〃Shake　him　loose；〃　yelled　Jonathan。



Baffled；　he　ran　wildly　around　the　wrestlers。　Time　and　time　again　his　gory

tomahawk　was　raised　only　to　be　lowered。　He　found　no　opportunity　to　strike。　

Girty's　ghastly　countenance　gleamed　at　him　from　the　whirl　of　legs；　and　arms

and　bodies。　　Then　Wetzel's　dark　face；　lighted　by　merciless　eyes；　took　its

place；　and　that　gave　way　to　Deering's　broad　features。　The　men　being　clad　alike

in　buckskin；　and　their　motions　so　rapid；　prevented　Zane　from　lending　a　helping

hand。



Suddenly　Deering　was　propelled　from　the　mass　as　if　by　a　catapult。　His　body

straightened　as　it　came　down　with　a　heavy　thud。　Zane　pounced　upon　it　with

catlike　quickness。　Once　more　he　swung　aloft　the　bloody　hatchet；　then　once　more

he　lowered　it；　for　there　was　no　need　to　strike。　The　renegade's　side　was　torn

open　from　shoulder　to　hip。　A　deluge　of　blood　poured　out　upon　the　moss。　Deering

choked；　a　bloody　froth　formed　on　his　lips。　His　fingers　clutched　at　nothing。

His　eyes　rolled　violently　and　then　were　fixed　in　an　awful　stare。



The　girl　lying　so　quiet　in　the　woods　near　the　old　hut　was　avenged！



Jonathan　turned　again　to　Wetzel　and　Girty；　not　with　any　intention　to　aid　the

hunter；　but　simply　to　witness　the　end　of　the　struggle。



Without　the　help　of　the　powerful　Deering；　how　pitifully　weak　was　the

Deathshead　of　the　frontier　in　the　hands　of　the　Avenger！



Jim　Girty's　tomahawk　was　thrown　in　one　direction　and　his　knife　in　another。　　He

struggled　vainly　in　the　iron　grip　that　held　him。



Wetzel　rose　to　his　feet　clutching　the　renegade。　With　his　left　arm；　which　had

been　bared　in　the　fight；　he　held　Girty　by　the　front　of　his　buckskin　shirt；　and

dragged　him　to　that　tree　which　stood　alone　in　the　glade。　He　pushed　him　against

it；　and　held　him　there。



The