No. 7.

 

os

THE FRONTIER ANGEL.

A ROMANCE OF KENTUCKY RANGERS’ LIFE.

 

BY EDWARD Ss. ELLIS,

Autnor or ‘Sera Jones,” ‘Brut Bropon,” “Nat ToDD,” .ETC., ETC.

 

CHAPTER I.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE DEPARTURE.

In the western part of Pennsylvania, near the commence:
ment of the Ohio river, stands a small. town, which at the
close of the last century, numbered about thirty dwellings.
Although properly a border settlement at the time mentioned,

 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the yenr 1861, by Bedpue ann Company, in the Clerk’s
Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York,

there were so many others beyond, that it was hardly regarded
as being in the “ Mighty West.” The inhabitants were mostly
farmers, possessed of large and beautiful farms, who com-
menced their labors in the morning, and retired to rest in the
evening, without much fear of the molestation of their savage
brethren. True, a few years previous, the latter had commit-
ted murders and depredations even further east than this, and
the settlers never allowed themselves fully to give way to an
undue sense of security. But, unless a most unexpected tri-
umph should crown the struggles of the Indians, there

a ane SHON eaten as

 
 

 

   

2

NHW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

 

was little occasion for apprehension upon the part of the
whites.

The time on which we visit this village, is an evening in
the spring, toward the close of the last century. The night
is dark and cloudy, and the houses are invisible in the deep
gloom; but there are numerous twinkling lights in the differ-
ent dwellings, which give it the appearance of a constellation
get in the vast sky of darkness around. Broad fields of cleared
land stretch for a long distance into the background, while
there are numerous other dwellings further eastward, toward
Pittsburg, and many cabins further westward in Ohio and
Virginia; so that they are not without neighbors, and may
properly be said still to be in the land of civilization.

Near the western end of the village, stood a large frame
house, in the lower story of which a bright light-was.burn-
ing. Within; seated around a large fire, were four individ-
uals, engaged in conversation, The first was a pleasant, mid-
dle-aged man, rather portly and good-natured; the second
was his wife, a few years younger, with an equally pleasant
face, and a cheerful, musical voice. Upon. the opposite side
of the fire sat a young man, of a hardy, muscular frame, and
a rather handsome appearance. Beside him was a maiden of
eighteen or twenty years, who, without exaggeration, might
be pronounced beautiful.

The first couple, as said, were man and wife. The second
two intended to be at some future time—they were lovers.

The name of the parents was Abbot, and the maiden was
Marian Abbot, their daughter. They were farmers, who, not
having succeeded as wel! as they anticipated, had come to
the determination to emigrate further west—in fact, into the
very heart of Kentucky. A flat-boat was to start the next
morning down the river, in which a number of their neigh-
bors were going, and in which they intended to send Marian;
but the parents themselves were compelled to wait several
months in order to bring their affairs to a settlement. | Their
resolution had been taken rather suddenly, but, ag said, they
were compelled to wait before fulfilling it.

The flat-boat which was to start on the morrow, earried
with it more men than Abbot expected would accompany
him, and hence he deemed it much safer for Marian that she
should go with it, and in their western home, wait for his
coming.

The young man to whom we have referred, was Russel
Mansfield, the only son of his parents, as was Marian the only
daughter of hers. An attachment had existed between them
for a year or two, and it was generally éxpeeted by the par-
ents of both, that, as soon as they were in a proper Dadaihuth
they would be united for life. . The parents of Mansfield uni-
ted with Abbot in their resolution, and it was their intention
to depart at the same time with him. The same causes that
led to his detention, produced theirs; and, as it was their wish
that Russel; should remain with and accompany them, he
had consented. The young nian disliked very much the idea
of a separation, even for so short a period as a few months,
from his beloved; but reflection and sober sense told him it
was best that it should be so. Nearly a dozen well-armed
and courageous men would protect her, while, should her
going be deferred until. his, there would hardly be half that
number. Thus it was thatthe present turn of affairs came
about.

“Tf we have a storm at the beginning of our journey, will
it not be a bad omen, father?” asked Marian, with arsmile,

“Tut, dear, don’t,speak of such things: I would that your
mother had such a body-guard when she follows you.”

“Oh, well, I meant nothing. I have no apprehension.”

_ “There is-dangex, it.is.true,” remarked Mansfield; ‘‘ but it
only threatens weakness, and inexperience. Your party are
strong, and they surely have had enough experience, to avoid
all stratagems and decoys of their enemy.”

“Yes darling, don’t Jet such thoughts trouble-you.. There
is One who is able to protect the weakest'in the hour of the
greatest peril. Dangers will beset you on every hand, but
there will be strong and friendly hearts around you, and a
strong and friendly Heart overhead,” added the mother.

“But one thing seriously troubles me,” remarked Abbot,
gravely, ‘‘and that is the thought of that MeGable. He has
now been absent a year, and you remember, he threatened
vengeance against you, Marjan, when he left.”

“Why, father, how can he injure me?” asked Marian in
surprise; ‘‘ who knows where he has gone?” :

“T have been told that he was in the West,” answered Ab-
bot, quietly.

“Well, and what of that? Iam sure there is nothing in
that, that need frighten us.”

gave ita spat and'then quietly resume

 

“T have heard a darker story of him,” added the father im
a lower tone, and glancing around as if he feared other ears
might hear him,

“What was it?” asked Marian, breathlessly.

‘*T Lave been told by those whose word could not be doubt-
ed that he has turned renegade, and that his atrocities equab
those of Girty, McGee, Proctor, and the other fiends,”

‘““Where does he generally commit his outrages?” asked
Manstield.

**T do not wish to alarm you, Marian, and I think there is
no reason for your being alarmed; but, as all the others who:
will accompany you know the same thing, there can be no-
harm in warning you. At first, when he joined the British
and Indians, he united with the parties who attacked the de-
fenseless settlements and travelers; but he is cowardly, and
there was too much danger in that. He is now a decoy along
the Ohio river, and uses all the means in his power to entice:
the passing flat-boats to shore. The devil himself seems to.
aid his invention, for he has contrived such ingenious schemes
that it is said he has outwitted some of the old backwoodsmen
and hunters themselves.”

‘What does he do with his prisoners”

“He has never been known to give quarter to any one, All
are consigned to the tomahawk or the stake, and the women
perhaps to a still more dreadful fate.”

‘“What induced him to turn traitor?”

‘His own devilish disposition, I suppose. He has more’
than once given out that you will suffer, daughter, for your
rejection of him; and next to you his especial enmity scems
to be against Mansfield here.” y

“I only ask Heaven that we two may meet on equal
ground. He would never shame the race to which he belongs,
again,” exclaimed our hero, indignantly. 5

“Perhaps you may, Russel—perhaps you may. Ah} is that
thunder?”

All listened for a moment, and heard the distant booming
of thunder, and the soughing of the wind through the trees
that stood near the house. A. storm was, indeed, gathering.
Dark clouds were wheéling through the sky, and, as Mrs. Ab-
bot looked out, she could discern ‘by the aid of the fire blazing:
on the broad hearth, the tops of the trees swaying, and hear
the night-wind howling through and around the village.

“There is a storm gathering, but Iam in hopes that it will
pass off before morning,” she remarked, as she resumed her
knitting and seat inthe family rocking-chair.

‘“T guess it will not last long,” added Mansfield,

Silence now reigned for a time in the house. Abbot sat in
the corner, slowly smoking his pipe, and gazing meditatively
in the fire, watching the glowing embers’ as they fell apart,
and conjuring up pictures and images in-the coals. The
mother continued knitting, her chair gently rocking, and giv-
ing out the same pleasant squeak that it had done for years.
Now and then she raised ber eyes a moment to glance at her
husband or daughter, and then let themt fall again to the work
before her. A kitten was timbling over the floor, playing
antics with her ball of yarn, or whirling around ina circle in
an attempt to grasp the end of its tail: Failing in this, it
stood a moment, as if in meditation, and then, with a plinge,.
it lit upon the back of a big Maltese, quietly slumbering at
the feet of Marian, and fixed its claws in his head, eyes, or any
place that offered. The old fellow bore it unflinchingly for
chieyous creature by the head, and holding it thus a moment
his half-sitting pos-

-wmoment, until becoming fat and ol grasped the mis-

ture and shut his eyes again.

Upon the other side of the fire was stretched Hero, the
house-dog. He was of the hound species, and a noble fellow.
As he lay, his long nose dropped upon the hearth, between
his two paws, and turned toward the fire. Probably he sus-

| pected mischief, for now and then he slowly raised the corner:

of one eyelid, and glanced at the kitten, and then with a
twitch and start, slightly shifted his position. Once or twice
he i his long ears as if to give warning that he was not
yet asleep, and it would be dangerous to trifle with him.

But the demon of mischief seemed to possess the young kit-
ten. Jt walked straight up to him, laid its paw on his cold
nose, and then scratched terribly, The dog, in turn, raised
one of his huge paws, and gave it a cuff that rolled it to the
middle of the floor again. The kitten rose demurely and had.
recourse to the ball of yarn once more. Hero seeing this,
dropped his head with a threatening look, and again slept.

The-old: clock ticked loudly upon the mantel; the wind,
roared down the chimney, and moaned around the heuse.
Soon several drops of rain rattled against the window, a terrific:

   
 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE FRONTTER ANGEL. 3

 

crash of thunder burst overhead, and the storm came in all
its fury.

It lasted but a short time, when a lull occurred. Just at
this moment the clock struck the hour of nine. Abbot
knocked the ashes from his pipe, took down the old, wooden-
covered Bible, and commenced reading a chapter. The
mother laid aside her knitting, folded her hands upon her lap,
and Mansfield and Marian paid a respectful attention.

The chapter finished, all sunk devoutly upon their knees,
and the earnest monotone of Abbot ascended to the Protector
of all. The desolate moaning of the tempest added solemnity
to the scene, and gave a beautiful appropriateness to the peti-
tion that was offered.

As the parents arose, they bade Russel good-night and re-
tired. Left alone with Marian, he glided to her side, took
her hand within his own and pulled her head over upon his
bosom.

“What are you thinking of, Marian?”

““T was wondering at what father said.”

“‘ Are you alarmed?”

““¥ fee] some apprehension, I confess. You know what a
wicked man he is, and what terrible passions he has. I know
more of him than you do, Russel.” ;

““L suppose you do,” he replied, in a tone of slight reproof.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, looking up in his
face with a reproachful expression in her mild blue eyes.

“Oh, nothing!” he laughed, kissing her glowing cheek.

““t mean I know more of him, Russel, because he has
plagued me more with his presence than he has you. I dread-
ed him as I did a serpent, and when J at last told him I never
wished to see him again, he left me with a curse. Oh, Russel!
it was not me alone that he cursed, but you! He swore that
he would kill you, for he knew you were the cause of it, and
be said I anouldt suffer, too.”

“You are not alarmed for me, Marian?”

“Yes, for I shall fear his power as long as he lives. I al-
most wish that father would remain here, but there is no per-
suading him, and I shall not falter at the last moment.”

“‘T can not share your apprehension. You are going to a
settlement which is well guarded, and whose inhabitants are
experienced in Indian warfare. I can see no reason for fear.”

“JT trust there is not, but if I ever get there I shall look
anxiously for my parents’ and your arrival.”

The two conversed longer upon the departure to-morrow,
and discussed their plans for the future, until, when the storm
had ceased, our hero took his departure.

As perhaps the reader has surmised, the person referred to
by the parents and the lovers, had once sought the hand of
Marian. He had made his appearance in the Village a year
or two previous, and gave hisnameas Tom McGable. Further
than _this,.nothing was known. He professed to belong to
the Eastern States and had no relations or acquaintances in
the village. He was a thin, nervous, sharp-featured man,
with long Indian hair, dark, restless eyes, and a forbidding
cast of countenance. He was a person of terrible passions,
and was dreaded by all who knew him, Marian turned from
his advances with loathing, but he pertinaciously persisted
until he was driven from her house. He left, vowing revenge;
and rumor shortly after reached the village that he had gone
further west and united with the Indians against the whites.
There was good reason for this report, as all knew that he
was 4 man who would stop at nothing that might gratify his
vindictive feelings.

CHAPTER II.
THE FATE OF THE FLAT-BOAT.

As was predicted, the storm soon cleared away, and the
morning dawned bright and beautiful. Birds were singing
and flitting from limb to limb, the water sparkled upon the
grass and twigs, and by the time it was fairly light, the whole
village was astir.

Down in the water, but safely moored to shore, rested a
flat-boat waiting for its living freight, before being loosened
from its fastenings. As the commotion in the village in-
creased, numbers commenced Wending their way toward the
river, and ina short time nearly all stood upon the shore.
The majority carried furniture and utensils with them, which,
by passing over several planks, were deposited upon the boat.

he farewells were now given. There were ten men, seven
of whom had wives, besides Marian, so that the entire num-

 

ber was cighteen. With the exception of the latter, thesehad
embarked all of their wealth and possessions upon this. peril-
ous undertaking.

Marian embraced her parents, received their last advice,
and, as she passed over the plank, encountered Mansfidld.

‘‘Good-by,” she said, gayly; ‘‘I shall soon expect you.”

He took her hand, and, holding it a moment, said:

‘LT trust we shall be separated but a short time, dear Ma-
rian. I have lain awake all night thinking of this, and 1 be-
lieve there 7s danger—danger not only upon the river, but after
you have reached your destination. You know to whom J refer
—and oh! let me beseech you to be careful of exposing your-
self. God bless you! Good-by, and may we soon meet
again.”

He wrung her hand, as she passed over the boat; the plank
was drawn on board, the fastenings unloosened, and the flat-
boat commenced slowly moving with the current.

‘Good luck to you!” called out Abbot. ‘‘Look out for
danger, have your eyes open for decoys, and don’t, under any
pretense, be induced fo leave the center of the stream.”

The flat-boat slowly swept out into the stream, and, after a
time gaining the center of the current, moved forward with
greater rapidity. Numbers yet stood upon the shore, waving
their farewells; but the boat soon rounded a bend, and they
all disappeared from view. *

Those on board now withdrew their eyes from the shore,
and made preparations for the perilous journey before them.
The flat-boat was a large, unwieldy affair, built like all sim-
ilar ones, s6 as to float with the current alone. The sides
were bullet-proof, and the shape of the thing was similar to a
box. About three-fourths of the length were taken up as a
cabin, which communicated with the other part by means of
asmall door. A long, sweeping oar was hung at each end,
and balanced so as to dip into the water. There was a small
space at either end of the boat which could be reached by
passing through the cabin. The latter was divided into two
compartments, and, as regarded comfort and convenience,
probably the flat-boat could have been little improved.

The occasion and season of the year were such that none
could help feeling buoyant and hopef The sun was now
up in the heavens, shedding its warm and cheering rays upon
forest and river. The rain-drops hung like pendent jewels
and the river glistened like molten gold. A thin mist was
rising along the shore, as the sun’s warmth grew greater.
Now and then a woodman’s cabin was passed, and it could
be seen nestling in the small clearing, and apparently as com- ,
fortable as though no enemy had eyer threatened it. Perhaps
the settler himself came forth with his wife to wonder and
view the passing boat, and exchange salutations with the first
white persons they had seen for months. Toward noon they
detected a solitary form standing below them, upon a bend in
the river. A nearer approach showed him to be a hunter.
He waved his, coon-skin cap. over his head as they came
abreast, gave a chéering hurrah, and ealled out:

‘Keep a powerful look-out for reds, you, fur they're thick
as flies in August down toward. the Big Sandy and Scioto.
Wal they is, strangers; and if you gits through without gittin’
a taste of thar compliments, why here’s as will stand treat all
round.”

After giving this warning, the hunter watched them a few
minutes longer, and then turned and disappeared in the forest.

Some miles further down they passed a small settlement
which had been commenced but a few months before. A -
block-house, however, was erected and stood at one end, as
if to ward off all approach. It wasa clumsy, awkward build-
ing, but abundantly able to answer every purpose for which
it was intended. It was two storiés in hight, the upper one
so much smaller than the lower one that it had the -appear-
ance of standing upon a platform. The outer edge of this
projection was protected by palisades, inclosing it, except at
one point where the gaping mouth of a swivel gave warning
of the resistance it was capable of giving. . The instrument
was of brass, and so brightly burnished that it could be seen
gleaming in the sunlight by those upon the flat-boat. A sen-
tinel was pacing slowly around the block-house, a long rifle
resting upon his shoulder, and his keen eye sweeping the hor-
izon ata glance. As he caught sight of the flat-boat, he raised
his cap and saluted it; and shortly after several others ap-
peared beside him and did the same. Our friends returned
the salutation, and continued watching the tiny settlement
until the intervening forest hid it from view.

This block-house was constructed somewhat differently
from those generally upon the frontiers, although now and
then a similar one is found even ai this day.

 

’

 
  
 
 

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

 

 

The settlements and solitary cabins were still passed at long
intervals, and the night proved so dark and cheerless, that
they put in to shore near a small cluster of houses and spent
the night. As they were hardly yet in dangerous territory,
they committed no indiscretion in doing this.

At sunrise the boat was loosened, and our friends were
once more floating forward, a day’s journey nearer their des-
tination. Nothing worth noting occurred during this day.
The settlements became more rare, and the faces of their kin-
dred scarcer. Late in the afternoon they passed the mouth of
the Muskingum, and at night a small river which put in from
the Virginia side. There was a slight moon this night. A
vigilant watch, of course, was maintained.

‘In the morning they, were opposite the point where the
Great Kanawha debouches into the Ohio. The settlement
here was termed Point Pleasant, by which name it is known
at the present day. It was at this point that they were joined
by a man who stated that he was a ranger going to Massie’s

Station down the Ohio. Without the least mistrust or sus- ,

picion our friends took him on board, and continued floating
hopefully down the beautiful river.

This day, when at the mouth of the Big Sandy, and just at
the elbow of the great bend in the Ohio, an attempt was made
to decoy them ashore. The stranger whom they had taken on
board, instantly warned them of their danger, and told them
that they must pay no attention to the entreaties of the white
men. The emigrants, as the case stood, would not have de-
viated from their course, but the earnestness of their new-
found friend made them esteem him highly and congratulate
themselves upon having secured such an ally.

All, we say, thought thus; but there were two exceptions
—Marian and a tall, bony, unmarried man by the name of
Peterson. This fellow looked upon their new acquaintance
with distrust the minute he stepped upon the boat. -

‘‘T]] be darned, Marian,” he said, in an undertone, after
they had passed the decoy, ‘‘ef I don’t s’picion that chap.
He’s mighty clever, and the trouble is he is a (eetle too clever.”

“Do you really fear him?’ asked Marian, frightened at
finding that another shared her suspicions.

“Fear him?—I'd like to see the man J’m afeard of. All
T’d ask would be to just git them are paws on old Simon Girty
or that McGable that people allow is out in these parts, er
that man thar if he ain’t what he orter be, which I allow is
the case.” ,

“ At any rate, watch him, Jim, for it won’t do to havea
traitor within when there are so many without.”

“Tl watch him, I reckon, Marian; and by the Eternal, the
first real genuine sign of treachery I see, I’ll shoot him!”

Peterson stood looking upon the object of his remarks with
flashing eyes, gesticulating earnestly with his long, bony, mus-
cular arms as though he ached to get him once fairly within
his grasp. Peterson would have been a dangerous customer
for any man. Je was now about thirty years of age, and
eight years of his life had been spent as scout and ranger.
Fie had served under St. Clair and Gen. Harmer, and when
the former suffered such a.disastrous defeat, he became so
disgusted with the generalship of his leaders, that he left the
country and settled down in’ the village mentioned at the
commencement of this work. Here he had remained until
the present time; but the daring, wandering, reckless spirit
was so strong Within him that he could resist no longer, and
he joined the present party with the full determination of
taking to the woods again as soon as they arrived at their des-
tination. He was over six feet in hight, of a thin, atten-
uated frame, capable of panther-like strength and activity,
with a keen, restless gray eye, and a sharp-featured vis-
age.

“Marian! after the conversation, descended to the cabin, but
her mind was'in such a tumult of fear and apprehension that
she could not restrain her agitation. She now firmly believed
that the stranger above was an enemy, and that, even with
the shrewdness of Jim Peterson to protect them, they were
all still in the utmost peril. But she knew of no course to
pursue. Should she impart her suspicions to the females,
they would either ridicule her or become so terrified that the
case would he infinitely worse. She concluded, at last, that
the case must be left to Peterson.

In a short time night commenced settling over the woods
and river. The emigrants had now made such progress upon
their way, that they were about half-way between the Big
Sandy and Scioto. The dense forests shut down upon either
hand, and not a sign of civilization met the eye. i

Before it was fairly day, the flat-boat was suddenly hailed
from the shore. A white man, limping and apparently in

 

Peal distress, besought them to run in and take him on.
voard.

““Te’s a decoy,” remarked the stranger, who had intently
watched him from the first. :

‘“How do you know he is, colonel?” asked Peterson, who-
had intently watched the stranger all the time.

“ How do I know he is?” replied the latter. ‘I reckon as-
how any fool could tell the same mighty quick.”

“You're sure of it then, eh?”

“Tn course I am.”

The ranger turned on his heel, satisfied that he was a trai-
tor. This may seem strange to the reader, but it would not
be to a backswoodsman who understoed the case. The eager-
ness and quickness this man had evinced to point out danger,
ever since he joined our friends, was good reason for sus-
picion. Had he been a genuine ranger, he would have hesi-
tated before giving his opinion, and not defeat his own ends
by showing too much knowledge of what was unknown to the
rest.

Peterson walked away from him, and communicated his
suspicions to several of his friends. Just as he expected,
they laughed at him, and accused him almost of meanness.
Stung by this rebuke, the ranger became silent and left them.

Meanwhile, the man upon the shore was calling louder than
ever. Not content with being refused, he was limping along
shore, and beseeching them in more piteous tones than ever.
The whites resolutely turned their ears against him, and
would not have noticed him at all, had not the stranger
spoken. °

‘TJ declare, it looks quite queer, anyhow. I never knowed
one of them decoys to hang on like that,”

“You have no notion that he is any thing else but one, or
that he has any object except our own destruction?”

‘“‘T didn’t think different at first, but it begins to look
doubtful. Just let me say a few words to him.”

With this he stepped to one side of the boat, and called’
out, ‘‘ What’s your name?” — ‘

‘* John Haggart.”

“How came you to get in such an ugly fix?”

“‘T was out scouting it, and was cotched by the Shawnees,
and hive just a away from them. . For God’s sake, come
and take me off, for they’re after me.”

‘« Jump in the river and swim out to us.”

“My hurt is too bad; Pve got a bullet clean through my
thigh, and can just drag the leg after the other. Yonder is
the smoke of their wigwams up on the hill, and they ain’t fur
off. My God! don’t leave a white man thus!”

Our friends looked in the direction he indicated, and could
faintly discern in the gathering gloom a thin wreath of smoke
rising from the trees. The suffering man, as if aware of their
thoughts, called out: ‘ :

‘That is whar they are and their runnexs are out after me.
May God forever curse you, if you ever leat me here.”

“What do yer think?” asked the stranger, turning round
with an air of perplexity to the others, ay believe that map
ain’t a decoy, not at all; and ef he isn’t, we orter not leav:
him there to be cooked by the red devils. Still I shouldn’t
say nothing, but leave it with you.” ’

‘Tt will never do to run the boat ashore,” said several of
the men, firmly. :

“Oh, ‘I didn’t mean that. In course, it would be foolish to
do that. But'T’ve been thinking,” and the man dropped his
eyes, as if in great perplexity, ‘that we orter help that man
off. Todo sich a thing we ain’t compelled to expose our-
selves to danger. What is your views, friends?”

‘Why, if the thing can be done without imperiling our-
selves, it is our Christian duty to doit; but we are at a loss at
present to understand how we could manage it.”

‘Oh, easily enough; just run the boat in about half-way,
where the water is so shallow that the fellow can wade out to
us. Keep your eyes open, and if there’s the least sign of
treachery, we can fall into the eurtent’ again and float off.”

‘A good plan, andl seé no reason for not adopting it.””

All echoed this sentiment, With’ the exception of Peterson,
who still stood apart, leaning against the side of the boat,
with hig head dropped upon his bréast. 9 ee,

“Come, Jim, what do you think of it?” asked’ one of the
emigrants, and the others all turned toward him fora reply.

‘“} think in the first place, you are all 4 set of fools, not. to
see you've ‘got 2 sneaking decoy right’ among’ ye, who’s
doing his purtiest to git you in to’shore to please that other
trap.’ J diosa aya,

‘« Outrageous! shameful!” exclaimed ‘several, horrified at
the blunt, plain-spoken answer they had received. ~~

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. 5

 

‘“Go on, and do what you please, but don’t ax me nothing
more, for I’ve got nothing at all tosay,” added Peterson, who
was touched to the quick by what he had heard in'reply.

The stranger, it was observed, said nothing at all, except
after a few minutes, to urge the matter upon our friends. | It
was now quite dark, but the form of the man on shore could
be seen struggling along, and calling out in tones that were
really heart-rending. The men consulted a while longer, and
then determined to follow the suggestion of their friend.

The long guiding-oars were dipped into the water, and with
aloud plash swung a few feet, when the unwieldy flat-boat
began slowly sidling in toward shore. It moved very tardily,
however, and it was noticed that its progress down-stream
was continually growing less and less. This was accounted
for by the fact that they were getting out of the current, and
moving in shallow water.

They had hardly commenced rowing, when Marian asked
Peterson whether there was not another person upon the
bank.

“Tt is a female, and see how. motionless she stands! She is
just below ‘that man.” i

“Yes, I see her—she is waving her hands. Hark?!”’.

‘Keep off! keep off! You will all be killed!” ¢alled out
the person alluded to, in a beseeching voice.

“Who is she?” asked Marian, growing more excited.

‘“‘She’s the Frontier Angel. Haven’t you héard of her?
When she warns'a white, he can depend on it she means what
she says. This ain’t the fust time she has done that’ thing.”

‘Oh, Jim!” implored Marian, ‘‘ this is awful; tell them be-
fore it is too late. They can but heed you.”

The ranger hesitated a moment, as he remembered the cut-
ting rebuif he had received; but the imploring voice of
Marian, together with his own sense of duty, conquered. He
turned his head and looked at the oarsmen. They had paused
as the warning voice reached them,

‘“ What does that mean?” asked one.

‘‘ That gal is the Frontier Angel that you’ve heard the boys
talk about at the settlement. Ef any of you wants red night-
caps, don’t mind her; ef you doesn’t, jest get back into the
channel as soon as them oars will take you.”

“* Pve heard that that gal you call the Hrontier Angel is‘ no-
body but a crazy squaw,” said one of the oarsmen, still hesi-
tating.

“Go on, then,” said Peterson, stung to the quick by this
second repulse. ‘‘I shan’t say no more,” he added, in a lower
tone, to Marian. : f :

“‘Didn’t you know that gal is a crazy fool?” said the stran-

er, sneeringly. ‘“Of course she is,'and I thought you
nowed it. Ef you're going to help that dyin’ feller, you’ve
got to be quick about it, ’cause the reds can’t be far off.”

Thus appealed to, the oarsmen commenced, although it can
not be said all were free from misgiving. But /in the face of
the suspicious actions of the man upon shore, and the contin-
ued warnings of the Frontier Angel, the  flat-boat ' eradually
approached its doom. Several of the men already half-re-
pented their rashness, and stood with their eyes fixed upon
shore, and an expression of painful doubt upon their features.

Peterson saw all these manifestations, and thus communed
with himself:

“No use of talkin’, they’re all goin’ sure, and, Jim Peter-
‘son, the question is what you propose to do. “You can ’tend
to ee well enough, but how ’bout Marian? It won’t do
to leave her. You hain’t forgotten, Jim, the time them same
reds butchered your gal. No, Jim, you never forgot that, and
you never will ; and how do’ you s’pose Mansfield will feel ‘ef
you leave his gal in the same fix? "I'won’t do, ’twon’t do,
ae ' Can you swim, Marian?” he asked, turning toward

er. : On ‘

“Yes; why do you ask?”

“It's what has got to be done, Marian. You see we'll bein

shore in a few minutes. Stick by me, and I’ll take you over-

board.”
‘Why not now, Jim?”
“You see it’s aoanes dark fast, and every minute will help

us. By the Eternal! do you know that feller on shore? It
is McGable! Hello! the boat has struck!”

Such was the case; and what was more alarming they were.

but!a few rods from shore. It was noticed, too, that ‘the
wailing tone of the decoy had:changed toa morecommandins
one, while the Frontier Angel had disappeared. iftet

‘What: does this mean, sir?” asked one of the oarsmen
thoroughly alarmed., f :

“You wre my prisoner; sir!” replied ‘the stranger.“ Don’t
get excited—it’s no use. That man is McGable, and thé Shaw-

 

 

nees are waitin’ fur yer ha’r. Ef you undertake to fight,
youll be tomahawked in a minute; but ef you’ give in nice
like, p’raps some of yer’ll be let alone. Ef you’ve no objec-
tions, Pll give the signal for ’em to come aboard.” :

All except Peterson were paralyzed with horror, and seemed
utterly speechless. He stepped deliberately forward and
said:

‘“T'd like to axa question afore you does that thing. What
yer going to do with me?”

‘Burn and toast you as soon as we get ashore.”

‘‘T rather reckon not, old hoss. How does that swit 2?”

Before even his victim divined his intention, the ‘rangér
brought his rifle'to his shoulder and fired, his ball passing
clean through the breast of the villain. The latter gave‘a
spasmodic start and gasp, and fell forward.

_ “* Hyer’s as opines as how it won’t be you that ll' toast Jim
Peterson just’ yit,” remarked the ranger, coolly fastening his
rifle to his back. :

. “Oh God! what shall we do?” frantically wailed the settlers.

“Fight! you was so anxious to see McGable, you'll have
the chance now. Ef yer’d minded what me and the Frontier
Angel said, you wouldn’t got into this fix. It won’t do ‘no

‘ood to touch the oars. Yer fast in the mud, and have'got to

ght!” : ‘ sie

“Instantly the shore became alive with savages. Yells that
curdled the blood rent the air, and the whole mass of swarm-
ing bodies plunged into the shallow water, and made for the
flat-boat.. The whites discharged their shots, but the’ nuth-
bers of their enemies were irresistible. Onward they poured,
shouting like madmen, and, clambering up the sides, a scene
of butchery took place that sickens the heart to contemplate.

Peterson saw the critical moment had arrived, and catching
Marian by the waist, he sprung upon the gunwale, intending
to leap over. But that instant a volley was poured into the
boat, and a bullet struck her. The ranger felt her becomin
a dead weight, at the same moment that a stream of hot bloo
poured over his hand. He bent his head down, and’ peered
into her face. The dark-blue eyes were slowly shutting, and
her head dropped heavily. 4

‘““Tam dying, Jim,” she murmured. ‘God bless you for
your effort. ‘Give my last love to Russel, mother, and father
—good-by!” :

“Heaven bless you!” said the ranger, laying’ her--gently
upon the deck, in spite of the wild scene that had commenced.
‘You've escaped that McGable, anyhow.”

Springing to the gunwale, with an almost superhuman leap
Peterson bounded outward into the darkness and disappeared.

CHAPTER’ IIT:
THE TWO scouts. wth

Owe day in spring, a’ border ranger was making his way
through the cane-brakes of Kentucky, in what is now called
Lewis county.

For a’ period of nearly half a century, the valleys of the
Ohio, Scioto, Miami, Mad, and numerous other rivers, were
constantly scoured by these rangers, who generally went

‘alone, but sometimes ‘in couples, and very rarely in’ larger

companies. The warlike, revengeful Shawnees, a mighty
and powerful nation in themsélves, had so stirred np the other

‘tribes, that nothing but eternal watchfulness could guard the

settlers from the knife and tomahawk. Many long years was
the government compelled to keep an independent forcé“to
protect the frontier. “The disastrous results of many of these
campaigns but prolonged the war; and the final success of
our arms is much more due to the prowess of these border
rangers, than we are apt to imagine. . ad

The scout referred to was proceeding with’ ¢aution! more
from habit than from any suspicion of danger. Were there
savages in the vicinity, not the slightest noise would have be-
oa his presence to the most watchful. .

A moment after, the bushes parted, and the ranger, in a
half-crouching position, emerged into the open wood. Here
he straightened himself up, and disclosed a frame aa tae al,
like that of Peterson. Tall, sinewy, graceful and thin, al-
most to emaciation, with a sharp-featured face, half covered
by a thin, straggling beard, and eyes of such glittering black-

‘ness that they fairly scintillated fire in excitement. +

He stood a moment, as if listening, and then strode rapidly
forward, trailing a long nitid rifle as he did so. Reaching the

 
 

 

 

NHW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

edge of the river, he suddenly halted and darted behind atree.
His quick. eye had discovered ‘‘sign.” From this point he
peered cautiously out, and then instantly jerked his head back
again. This movement was repeated several times, until, at
last, he held his head in a stationary position, muttering:

‘Yes, it’s a flat-boat aground, sure as my name’s Dick
Dingle. Things look s’pishus the way it’s sticking in the mud
thar. Some of the Shawnees’ work, Pll sw’ar; and I'll bet
my head that Tom McGable’s been at the bottom of the whole.
£f Icould only meet that dog iv a fair stand-up fight, I
wouldn't ax no other boon. I’d go home, fold my arms, and
witha smile upon my brow, lay down and softly go under.
Jest keep docile now, Dick Dingle, and look around afore
you gets nigher that concern out thar.

' For over two hours Dingle reconnoitered the flat-boat, and
all the time kept himself carefully concealed from it. He
glided around in the wood, viewing it from every imaginable
position that could be reached from the shore. At last he
seemed satisfied.

‘* Whosomever is in that flat-boat ain’t Mein’, that’s sartin:
and whosomeyer is watchin’ it from shore ain’t nigh enough
to hurt you, Dingle, so hyer goes.”

With this, he stepped softly into the water, and waded out
toward the flat-boat. After reaching it, he again paused a
moment, glanced toward the shore, and then placing his hand
upon the gunwale, bounded over into the boat. The sight
that met his eye was enough to freeze with horror, for a mo-
ment, even him who was used to meeting death in every re-
pidsive shape!

““They’ve tomahawked ’em all, and pitched ’em overboard.
Ef that ain’t enough to make a minister or even a scout swear,
then my name ain’t Dick Dingle. McGable’s been hyer, sure;
*’cause whar /e’s been nobody lives. Wal, wal, it’s bad busi-
ness. I like scouting it when the killin’ is all on our side; but
it ain’t, by a heap. ‘Ef it war we wouldn't need to scout; but
McGable is bound to squar’ accounts with me yit for this
night's business.”

he ranger remained a short time longer, examining the
flat-boat, which, as the reader has surmised, was the one
whose sad fate has been recorded. Satisfied that not a soul
had survived the frightful massacre, after a few minutes’ fur-
ther delay, he again dropped into the water, and made his
way to land.

““Old Mad Anthony sent me down in these parts to find
out what the reds ar’ drivin’ at, and I reckon as how I’ve
found.”

The ranger disappeared like ashadow, for he became aware
that some person besides himself was in the wood. The in-
stant of discovery he dropped upon his hands and knees, and
glided swiftly and noiselessly away to reconnoiter the stran-

er.
: Now, it so happened that the latter was in precisely the
same situation, and it was a singular coincidence that both
should make the discovery of the other’s presence, and com-
mence seeking to know him at the same moment.

The stratagems, maneuvers, and artifices resorted to by each
to accomplish his ends, were extraordinary. For nearly two
hours they dodged and feinted, glided ane retreated, without
coming any nearer success, and finallyymade the discovery by
accident. Dingle came to the conclusion that whoever might
be his rival he certainly was a genuine woodman, and, if an
Indian, one who was well worthy of coping with him. But
the consummate tact and skill displayed, led him to suspect
the other was a white man, and for this reason he became
more careless in his movements. The consequence was that,
after he had flitted ‘from one tree to another, he heard his
name called.

‘ Shoot me, if that ain’t you, Dick Dingle! Why don’t you
come out and shake paws with an old friend?”

And the next minute, Jim Peterson stepped boldly forth.

“Wal, Jim, I might 've knowed that was your ugly picter.
Whar’d you come from?”

The two grasped hands, and gaye, what Edward Everett
terms, the genuine tourniquet shake. They had been brother
rangers through Gen, St. Clair’s war, and had ever been to-

ether, encountering all imaginable dangers, and were the
joint heroes of most wonderful escapes. And when we say
that neither had seen the face of the other for over six years,
it may well be supposed that their meeting was most agree-
able. As they stood grasping hands, and smilingly exchang-
ing jocose remarks in their characteristic way, the resem-
blance between them was remarkable. In fact, they had
often, when in service, been taken for brothers, and theiriden-
tity often confounded. The Shawnees, who knew them rather

 

more than they cared about, termed them the ‘‘ Double Long-
Knives.” Both were tall, graceful and sinewy, as straight as
arrows, and, to increase the perplexity of separating them,
they dressed precisely alike. But Dingle had small black
eyes, and a sharp Roman nose, while Peterson had eyes of a
light gray color, and a nose of Grecian cast.

““Come, Dick, what are you doin’ in these parts?”

“Out fur Mad Anthony, and have been taking a look at the
flat-boat there. Ah! bad business! bad business, Jim!”

‘* Yas, if you’d have only see’d it, Dick, you might say so.”

‘© Do you know any thing ’bout it? Who the poor wretches
was?—when t’was done?—how they came to do it?—and who
done it?” asked Dingle, excitedly.

‘“‘T war on that boat, and the only one who saved his hair.”

‘The only one, Jim?”

“The only one; and when I got clean off, I jist clapped my
hand on my head to see ef my hair was thar still, fur I had
strong doubts of it. I was the only one! I took a long jump
and a dive for it.”

‘* Let me ax you one thing,” said Dingle, when he had fin-
ished. ‘‘ Do you know whether McGable had any thing to
do with this business?”

‘‘He was the decoy himself; but a feller come on board up
at the Kanawha who got the poor fools to run in to shore.”

‘* Was he a short, squashy-looking imp?”

“He war exactly so.”

“Then ’twas Pete Gammock. I know him. He and Me-
Gable have hung together fur three—four years that way-
That’s his plan; he’s tried the same trick afore. He goes on
the flat-boats at some place up that way, and purtends he’s
one of us going down the river to the ‘“‘ Three Islands,” Mays-
ville, or some of the forts. After he gets on, he fixes so as
to pull the wool over thar eyes, and when McGable bawls out
fur ’em to come ashore, he persuades ’em to do it.”

‘He'll never do it again, fur I settled the business with
him soon as he owned up he’d come the gammon game.
feel sorry, Dick, mighty sorry fur them poor whites that was
sarved that mean trick; but thar was one among ’em that
went under, and I ain’t ashamed to own it makes me feel
watery to think onit. I left her dyin’ on board just as I
jumped over and the imps clambered up.”

Peterson drew the sleeve of his hunting-shirt across his eyes,
and Dingle, with respect to his feelings, remained silent a
moment, when he returned: ‘‘ P’raps she ain’t gone under,
Jim; may be the reds have gone off with her.”

‘“No they haven't; she’s out‘in the river yender somewhar.
The reds tomahawked every one. I kinder had a faint hope
she might be among ’em, and I’ve been follerin’ them to find
out. Tsee’d all the Injuns, and that infarnal McGable among
’em. ‘They had plenty of hair hangin’ to their girdles, but
they hadn’t a captive among ‘em. That ’ar McGable tried to
get Marian Abbot, and because she wouldn’t have him, he
has done this. I b’lieve he fired the gun that killed her, when
Thad her in my arm just goin’ to jump overboard to take a
swim fur it. And, Dick, | swear that I'll never rest till that
renegade McGable pays for this.” ne

‘*Tjine you in that!” said Dingle, taking his hand. ‘ We'll
hunt him together, He’s murdered enough of his own blood,
and we'll stop it right off.”

“‘Pve got to go and tell the old folks of it, and young Mans-
field. I know it'll break their hearts, and I'd rather be burnt
than do it; but it’s got to be done, and I must do it.”

‘* Are you going now?”

‘“Yas, right away. As soon as I see ’em, I'll be back ag’in..
Vl wait fur you down at the fort below.”

‘* And what then, Jim?” :

‘* We'll start off on that hunt,” said Peterson, in a low tone,
and the two rangers took different directions in the forest.

 

CHAPTER IY.
THE FAINT HOPE.

Wun Peterson communicated the dreadful intelligence of
the fate of Marian to her parents, the mother swooned, and
for nearly a week remained more in death than life. The
father received the shock like the oak when riven by the
thunderbolt—firm and unbending, but still shattered in the
very heart. He groaned in spirit, but, for the sake of his
wife, bore up with superhuman calmness. But it well-nigh
killed him; and his wile, when she was pulled from the grasp

 

tien.

 

 
—_

 

Sally Xa

“Nae

 

 

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3

 

iiaaies: as

cel

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. Z

 

of death, felt that she would neyer recover; her heart was
broken.

Russel Mansfield bore the affliction like aman. He held up
in the presence of others; but there were moments when
alone in which he gave way to his great woe. We have no
desire to dwell upon this painful scene, but hasten for-
ward.

“The resolution of Abbot to. emigrate still further to. the
west, instead of being weakened by this sad calamity, was
strengthened into a determination. Why it was, he would
almost have been at a loss to tell. We all know that when
death, for the first time, strikes down some onenear and dear
to.us, it is difficult to believe that such is the case; it is a long
time before we can bring ourselves to realize it. There is a
singular, lingering doubt, the faint shadow of a hope that,
after all, it is not death, and that, through the subtle power
of medicine the lost one will still return to us. And even,
after burial, for a long time, there will be moments when we
give way to the same extraordinary hope and find ourselves
indulging in dreams of fancy in which the lost one is again
found.

Those who have had a similar experience to this, will ap-
preciate the feeling that led Abbot and_his stricken wife to
emigrate to the scene which was so full of horror to them.
The same motive strengthened the determination of Mans-
field, although his parents now refused, to accompany the
party. Several of the other families also refused, so that the
company bid fair to be alarmingly small. Peterson had
whispered to Mansfeld the intention of Dingle and himself of
seeking out McGable and revenging themselves upon him,
and he was anxious to cither join them or be so situated that
he could receive the earliest. intelligence of their success.

Accordingly, oue morning in September, another flat-boat
floated away from the village referred to at the commence-
ment of this work, carrying with it four families -only, to-
gether with young Mansfield. The weather continued fine,
and they experienced no difficulty in reaching their destina-
tion. Just before they reached the Scioto, a desperate at-
tempt was made to get them ashore. Mansfield, shrewdly
suspecting that it was McGable himself who acted the part of
2 decoy, raised his rifle with the intention of shooting him;
but the wily demon secreted himself before Mansfield could
secure hisaim. The latter, however, fired, and came so uncom-
fortable close, that the decoy ceased his entreaties, and, by
the way of a return for the compliment, a whole. yolley was
fired at the flat-boat by the concealed savages. Some of the
bullets struck the boat, but did no damage.

The settlement which was the destination of our friends,
was a few miles further down the river, and ‘they came in
sight of it about the middle of the afternoon. As Peterson
had given the settlers notice of their coming, they were ex-
pected and joyfully welcomed. The flat-boat was swept in to
shore and fastened, and, with the aid, of the willing settlers,
its contents removed in an incredibly short space of time.
The boat itself was then hauled as far up, the bank as possi-
ble, and taken carefully apart, and its timbers preserved, for
building purposes. g y

As this Uiltage is to be the location of many of the succeed-
ing incidents of our story, we will here briefly describe it.

The settlement consisted of about twenty cabins, and num-
bered a hundred inhabitants. A small block-house , was
erected near the lower end of the village for immediate refuge
in case of sudden attack: though the Governor of the territory
had ordered a larger one to be erected and. continually
manned by men well skilled in border warfare. This. first
block-house was erected in advance of the settlement itself,
so as to better guard the approach of an enemy, , It. stood in
a broad clearing, Crete on the one hand by a swamp, and
the other by the Ohio river. The. block-house consisted of
two stories. The lower one was about thirty feet square, and
the upper thirty three, so that it projected over the lower,
giving those within an.opportunity of defending the doorand
windows, in case a determined atiack was made. A well had
been sunk in one corher, so that if besieged they could not be
brought to terms by thirst. The roof was so steeply-shelving
as to prevent any burning maissiles from remainining upon it
and the pei themselves were so smooth-shaven that the
most agile savage could not majntain a position upon it for an
instant. The sides were built of solid green logs of some
eightcen or twenty inches in diameter, dove-tailed at the ends
in the usual manner, and the interstices filled in with. mortar.

 

The doors and windows and shutters were made of ponderous '

uncheons, secured by massive bars of wood on the inside.
he upper story was pierced with loop-holes, through which

 

a large force could keep, up a constant, fire upon their assail-
ants.

The block-house was surrounded by a substantial wall of
palisades, These were made by cutting trees of a foot in
diameter into pieces.fifteen feet in length. These pieces were
then quartered, hewed off sharply at one end, and driven
four feet into the solid ground, leaving eleven feet above.
The palisades were kept firmly in their places by means of
stout braces and wall-pieces upon the inside; and, as they
were set with their,smooth side outward, and close together,
no force could scale them without the aid of ladders.

A flagstaff stood a few feet from the block-house, and the
stars and stripes ever waved from the summit. At the sec-
ond story was a projection, facing the forest, upon which the
sentinel passed most of his time while on duty, and which
supported a swivel, sochung that it could be brought to bear
upon almost any point from which danger was to be appre-
hended.

This fort was quite celebrated, and being manned by the
Governor with an active force, was much resorted to by the
scouts and rangers along the frontiers. Dick Dingle was en-
rolled as a member of this company, although the Governor
and the commander of the fort knew there was no use of.un-
dertaking to bring any such character under discipline. .He
was allowed to go at come when he pleased, and it may be
said, in fact, that tlie whole class of frontier rangers were a
set of Border Zouaces., They were eyer in the most. perilous
situations, did the most dangerous service, and acknowledged
no leader other than their own free.will. The commander
and several of his leading men had served in the capacity of
rangers, and were adepts in Indian warfare.

It was the duty of Dingle to range through the adjoining
country, to keep a constant watch, upon the movements of
the Indians, and to return as often as possible with his report
to the commander, At this time there were other scouts per-
forming similar duties in other situations, who have since be: *
come celebrated in history, McArthur, White,’ McCleland,
and Davis, and the Wetzel brothers are the ones to whom we
refer, They occasionally visited the ‘fort singly, but never in
company, aud sometimes remained several days in conversa-
tion and feasting with their friends. F

Peterson, upon his return with Dingle, had had his name
enrolied as a member of the company at the block-house; and
they already had made several excursions in company When
Abbot and his friends arrived at the settlement, these two
scouts had just returned from a journey up the Scioto valley
to one of the Shawnee towns. The genial settlers, having
known of the coming of their new friends, showed their good-
will by erecting several cabins and presenting them to the
new-comers immediately upon their arrival, By dusk, Abbot,
with his wife and Mansfieid, were snugly domiciled in theirs,
and ready. to join their neighbors, on the morrow, in eclearin
the forest, or whatever their duty might chance to be:

Although Abbot had not see Peterson, he had heavd that he
was in the settlement, and sent for him in the evening” The
good-hearted fellow had purposely kept out of the way, for
féar that his presence would ,be painful to’them) but upon
hearing the wish of Abbot, he immediately went to his house.

The meeting could not but be painful’ upon’ both sides.
There was a manifest restraint about the ranger, for he well
knew, the feelings that must be awakened’ by his’ presence,
The conversation turned upon ordinary subjects, and each
carefully refrained from any allusion that might bring up the
matter that was in the mind of every one,

In the course of ¢ half-hour or so, the quick eye of Mrs. Ab-
bot saw her presence was a restraint upon something her hus-
band wished to say; and she made an excuse for withdrawing
and retired for the night.

After she had gone, utter silence fell upon’ all.

** Jim,” said Abbot, glancing furtively around, ‘‘ Jim, J
must once more speak about iat.” '
“Wal?” queried the ranger, uneasily. ted ,

‘*T must.ask you once more to narrate, as particularly as is
in your power, the account of the attack: upom the fiat-boat,
and the death of Marian, I will not ask you to give any thing
else but that alone.” : t

‘‘T dunno as I can tell any thing more, but, howsomever,
T can tell that over again if you want it,” and thereupon ‘he
proceeded to give, with fearful vividness, the dying words
and actions of Marian Abbot. The father heard him all
through without a syllable of interruption, keeping his eye
fixed upon the smoldering fire before him. ‘

‘You think, Jim, then, that she is—she must be dead?” *

“Why, Abbot, s’posen I had- fifty bulicts right smack

 

 

 

  

 
   

 

hate eer

.

 

8 NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

through this hyer noddle of mine, and you should ax me if I
had any s’picions I’d survive, and I should tell you I was as
dead asa door-nail, wouldn’t you believe me”

“Of course.”

“Wal, then, though I’m sorry to, say it, there ain’t a bit
more hopé for her. She never see’d the devils that climbed
over the boat. She died afore I got away twenty feet.”

“You are certain of tt?” ¢ ‘

“Yes, sit; I’m certain.” :

“You must wonder at my talking thus, Jim; but I have no
hopes either; I have given her up longsince, I have still one
wish—to know what fate attended her body.”

“She was thrown overboard with thé others.”

hip You did not see that done, Jim, and can not be sure of
it. '
The ranger was about to contradict him, ahd tell that he
had followed the murderers and seen that they bore no body
with them; but he did not, and Abbot continued: ;

“It is this doubt—this uncertainty that still troubles me.
When that has been cleared up I shall never speak of the sub-
ject again. Russel has told me that you and Dingle are going
to seek revenge upon McGable?”

_ ‘We aren’t goin’ to seek it; we are goin’ to get it.”

*T profess to be a Christian, and the Bible teaches me that
vengeance is not for us, but for One alone, And, Jim, I can
really say that I have no desire that McGable should suffer at
your hands. God knows that hé has broken two hearts, but
the time will come when he will have to answer for it.”

“That's my idea, exactly, and I reckon as how ’twill be a
little sooner than he expects.”

‘‘He knows, if any human being does, the fate of Marian.
Obtain, if possible, first of all, the truth from him.”

“T can’t see just now, Abbot, how that’s gwine to be.done.”

‘Take him captive and bring him in, and we will make
him answer. Do you not think you and your companion may
succeed in capturing him?”

“Praps so—bein’ it’s your wish we’ll do our best to do it.”

“Get him, if you can, Jim, and you will confer a favor
that I shall never be able to repay.”

‘‘ Never mind about that; the thing will be done!”

Shortly after this, Peterson took his departure.

CHAPTER V.
THE MYSTERIOUS WARNING.

Ir was a mild September night in 179-. The day had been
one of those warm, hazy ones which sometimes appear at that
season of the year, and the night had set with delicious cool-
ness. There wasa faint moon in the heavens, and several
flaky clouds were drifting past it, causing their fantastic
shadows to glide like phantoms over the settlement.

_As the hour had grown late, there were few, if any, pee
sons, stirring through the’ village. A few pencils of light
issued from the upper port-holes of the block-house, showing
that those inside were still up; and a hearty laugh ringing out
now and then, told as plainly that they were engaged in their
usual story-telling and joking. Peterson was inside relating
one of his earlier experiences, which infinitely amused them
all, the commander not ae to join in the merriment.

On the outside, the measured tread of the sentinel was
heard, and his form could be seen against the wall of the
block-house, as he walked to and fro upon the platform. His
keen eye never failed to take in at each turn every noticeable
object before him. At one end of the projection, he had a
yiew of the river now glistening like liquid silver; but during
the remainder of his walk, his vision rested upon the broad,

loomy, murmuring forest, stretching mile after mile before

im, until, at last, it joined the sky away in the faint horizon.
Jt was Dick Dingle, whose watch extended until midnight.

- While inthe act of turning on his heel, at the end of the
platform, he suddenly stopped as something suspicious caught
his eye. Far up the Ohio, he saw a small, dar body in the
water, At first, it had the appearance of a large bird swim-
ming over the surface of the water, which. the hunter well
knew was a canoe approaching from the Ohio side. A slight

rotuberance near the middle, convinced him that there was |

ut one person in it. When about three-fourths of the way
acuoss, the sparkle of the ashen oars could be seen, as they
dipped in the water. A moment after, it entered the line of |
shadows upon the Kentucky shore and disappeared.

 

Dingle’s suspicion was aroused. The long silence of the

_ savages had led him to the belief that they were preparing to

strike a great blow. Neither he nor Peterson had been scout-
ing lately, and he had no means of discovering their inten-
tions. ©

He continued walking with the same measured, deliberate
tread backward and forward, apparently watching nothing
and yet maintaining a more than usual scrutiny upon the river
and forest, An hour elapsed, without bringing any new sus-
picion to him; but he was well aware that this delay was as
good reason for apprehension, as could have been the noise
of approach.

‘You don’t cotch Dingle asleep when there is a red about.
Now let’s see. Dingle, you old fool, what do you s’pose the
imps are up to now? Jest goto meditatin’, will you, and
cipher it out. In the first place, and afore any thing else,
they’re up to sunkthin’ ; and that ar’ sunkthin’ is the deod.
Consequently, it’s a p’inted fact, that they’re up to the devil,
and therefore there’s sunkthin’ in the wind; so mind’ your eye
and look out for lead. “Wish they’d hurry up, ’cause it’s get-
tin’ well on to that green feller’s watch, and I’d like to have
an idee of their intentions ef they’ve no particular objections.”

By this time, it was near midnight, and shortly after, a
man appeared beside him to relieve him of his watch. This
new-comer was known as Jenkins, and was what the rangers
termed a ‘‘ green hand,” that is, he had seen little or nothing
of Indian service, and was not one who could_ be relied. upon
in an emergency. Several practical jokes had been played
upon him, the result of which had given one or two a sus-
picion that he was lacking in courage, and would show the
white feather if hard pressed.

“ Careful and not get a-snoozin’ to-night,” remarked Dingle.

‘““Why? You don’t suppose I would, do you?”

“ Didn’t know but what you might; thought I’d tell you,
anyway, ’cause it won't do to shut your eyes to-night.”

“Why? What’s up, eh?” queried Jenkins, eagerly.

‘‘Oh, nothin’ in particklar; only I’ve seen Injins to-night.”

“Pshaw! don’t say so? You're joking, Dick?”

“if you think so, jest think on, but ef you'don’t see sights
afore mornin’, it'll be ‘cause you can’t see; that’s all,” and
Dingle turned to enter the block-house.

“Oh say, Dick, that ain’t fair!” said Jenkins, laying his
hand on his shoulder.

‘‘ What’s the matter? Ain’t scart, be you?” demanded the
ranger, confronting him with an angry countenance.

‘Oh no, I ain’t scart—not at all; I only want you to tell a
feller all about it. You might do that I think.”

“Wal, then, I see’d four or five Shawnees skulking out
yonder near the wood, tryin’ to draw bead on me, and I had
to do some tall dodging to hender them. You'll have to hop
around rather agile, but I guess you can steer clear. Ef you
git hit, holler and V'll haul you in and let you die inside.”

‘Oh, thunder! hold on, Dingle, don’t go and leave a feller
this way. I don’t think it’s the fair shake at all.”

‘“ What in blazes do you want?” demanded the ranger, again
indignantly facing him.

“Why, I was a-going to say—just to kind of make the ob-
servation, you hnow——-that—--perapescthat is—I would like
to know if you wouldn’t just as lief stay out here a while?”

“What for?”

“Oh, just for company. I'll do the same favor for you
some of these times.” ;

‘«T never want anybody gut hyer when I’m standin’ wateh.”

And the scout turned and entered the block-house. But it
was by no means his intention to intrust the safety of the set-
tlement to such hands as Jenkins’; he a wished to test his
courage, and create a little diversion for his own individual
benefit. He shut the door and listened.

He could hear Jenkins walking along the platform, stamp-
ing his feet bravely upon it, and whistling as loudly as his
lips would permit. ingle ventured to open the door very
slightly and peep out. He saw him with hands thrust deep
down dato his pockets, his rifle leaning against the block-
house, and shooting his feet far out in advance, and slappimg
them down on the planks with such effect as to set the
men within growling and snarling at each other, as they half
awoke from their slumbers. His hat was jammed down on
the back of his head, his hair dashed away from his forehead,
the white of his eyes only being visible, as_ the ‘pupils were
constantly turned toward the dreaded wood. His mouth re-

_ sémbled the letter O, fringed around the edges, as he reso-

lutély maintained its position. ‘‘Old Hundred” came out
loudly, the fall of each foot being emphasized by a despera
burst of wind and music, and a spasmodic jerk of the hea

 

 

 
 

 

THE PRONTIER, ANGEL, 9

now and then.
windy than musical, he rested his lips by communings with
himself. ; ;
‘“Darn the Injins! I wish they were all dead! I can’t see
what they want poking round here when I’m standing watch.
If I catch sight of one, [ll bet he will wish he never heard of

When the whistle, at times, became more

Pete Jenkins! Let me see: I was turning ‘Old Hundred,’ I
believe.” The tune was now resumed, and continued a short
time, when he again broke forth. ‘‘If them Injins will onl
stay away till morning I won’t care, though it would be all
the same to me, and perhaps just as well if they didn’t come
then either. I was just thinking—hello! Jerusalem! I seen
something move then as sure as the world!”

Dingle, who had been listening all the while, now judged
that it was time to venture forth, and, closing the door be-
hind him, stood upon the platform. Jenkins, whose eyes
were turned toward the wood, saw nothing of him, until he
tumbled over his bent form.

“Thunderation! that you, Dingle? what you doing here?”
he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet again.

“Seen any thing?” ;

‘*T thought I did, out yonder near the edge of the wood.”

Dingle looked intently toward the point indicated a few
moments, and then became satisfied that Jenkins was right—
ene was there. While gazing he purposely kept his

y concealed by the guard around the platform. He con-
tinued his watch upon the suspicious object, and at last sat-
isfied himself of the ddentity of the person who had thus
alarmed his friend.

“All right!” he muttered to himself. ‘It's the Frontier
Angel. She's got sunkthin’ to tell, and she’s waitin’ to see ef
Pm about. Howsumever, I'll keep shady awhile, just to see
how this long-legged feller hyer will jump when she gives
notice she’s around,” ,

“What makes you stoop down, Dick?” whispered Jenkins.

“‘T can see better; ef you’re afraid you'd better stoop too.”

“T ain’t afraid at all, only— Oh Lord, I’m shot!” suddenl
exclaimed Jenkins, falling down. Dingle was not surprised;
he had heard the twang of a bow, the whiz of the arrow, and
now saw it sticking several feet above him in the wood of
the block-house. Thus that mysterious being, known along
the border as the ‘‘ Frontier Angel,” gave notice of her pre-
sence.

-“Get-up, you fool,” he commanded, giving his moaning
companion a kick, and now thoroughly provoked at the cow-
ardice he had shown. ‘Get up, I tell you. Nobody has
fired at you, or tried to hit you.”

“Didn’t they? Come to think, I believe they didn’t; but
the fact is, Dingle, I’ve been subject:to fits ever since I was a
boy—darnation! do you mean to say I fell on purpose?” de-
manded Jenkins, suddenly regaining his upright position and
his courage at the same time, at finding that he was unharmed.

“No; but it’s kinder queerish the way you fell.”

‘““Yes, them plaguy falling fits take me any time—”

“Never mind about the fits, or Pll give you some more.
You stay hyer arid keep watch while I go down to; the gate.”
““What—what you going to do there?”

““There’s somebody as wants to see me.”

““You won’t be gone long, will you? Who is it?”

““The one that fired that arrow up there at you.”

i Jerusalem! and so they shot at me after all. I knowed
80.
“Wal, keep that jaw of yourn still, or you'll git shot at,
and won’t be missed either.’ I’ll be back pretty soon.”

Dingle descended and made his way to. the Be at the pali-
sades, to receive the message of the Frontier Angel.

CHAPTER VI.
THE FRONTIER ANGEL—THE SHAWNEE.

TE person referred toin the preceding chapter as the
Frontier Angel bad received that appellation from the scouts
and rangers, who had known her for several years. We say
had known her, but beyond the mere fact of her existence,
nothing was known. ho she was or where she had come
from was a mystery to all. She was ever painted and dressed
in the fantastic costume of an Indian, but many supposed her
to be a white person, and gave as a reason that her language
was precisely the same as that used by themselves. She dis-
carded entirely the extravagant, high-flown figures so much in

 

vogue among the North American Indians, and which often
renders their meaning unintelligible to ordinary persons. She
was always alone, and rarely if ever seen in the daytime.
The whole object of her life seemed to be that of befriendin
the settlers. ore than once her timely warning had sured
scores of whités from the fury of the savages. Sometimes
she would make her appearance among the settlements in the
Scioto Valley, and after giving full, intelligence of the move-
ments of their enemies, would take her departure. The next
to be heard of her, would be that she had performed a simi-
lar office for the villages further east. She became known to
all the rangers, nearly all of whom regarded her not as either
a white person or an Indian, but as a spirit—an angel; and it
was thus that she had gained the name that we have men-
tioned. These hardy, but superstitious beings, reverenced
her as something far above them, whose touch would be in-
stant death. No wonder that Dingle felt some trepidation,
as he hastened down} unbarred the massive gate, and saw her
standing beside him.

‘What news have you to-night?” he asked.

‘* Much news. Why have you remained at home so long?”

“*Pve no reason, I s’pose.”

‘‘ Then hasten to the woods, for there is much for you to
do. The Shawnees and Wyandots are making great prepara-
tions for taking the war-path.”

‘‘ Whar am they kickin’ up this muss?”

“At Piqua.”

“Yas; wal, I’ll pay them a visit.

‘That is all. I will now depart.”

Dingle unbarred the gate, allowed her to pass out, and after
securing it, made his way back to the block-house again. As
he passed out on the platform, Jenkins demanded:

‘“* Who is that you was talking with?”

‘* A gal that comes down to see me once in a while.”

‘An Injin?” ;

‘* A half-breed—splendid critter.”

“Jerusalem! she looked purty. What in the name of all
that’s human made her shoot that arrer at me?’

“She thought you’d jist come out to show yerself and try
and cut me out: It made her all-fired mad.”

‘Did you tell her all about it?” ‘

‘Yas; but I can’t tell you what she said.. I’m goin’ in to
sleep now. Don’t whistle so loud, nor slap your hoofs down
so, or git to talkin’. I might come out and make you shut
u ”

Any thing more?”

With these words, the ranger opened the door of the block-
house and entered, leaving Feapea completely dumbfounded
at what he had said.

‘“By George! how did: he know what I said? Ill bet that
infernal Injin gal is down there yet, and waiting for a chance
to shoot. tu kill her, if she tries it, just as sure as I live.
She’ll wish she never knowed any thing of Pete Jenkins.”

But no attempt was made upon the sentinel’s life, and when
the morning dawned, the forest and river wore their usual
appearance.

n the morning, Dingle imparted the message of the Fron-
tier Angel to the commander of the post, and: offered to visit
the Piqua village and ascertain the meaning of their move-
ments.”

“Tf she says there is mischief, afoot, you may depend that
there is. Yes, Dingle, you had better go. Take who you
pleas find out what you can; and get back as soon .as pos-
sible.” ys {

The visit of this strange being was only a night or twoafter
the interview between Abbot and Peterson, so that the latter
had not yet started upon his hunt after McGable. Uponcon-
sulting with Dingle, it was agreed between. them that, as
there was no need of hurrying in such a matter, they would
defer their expedition until after their return from Piqua.
The safety of the settlement was paramount to all other con-
siderations. Besides, it was very probable that the renegade
was in the village named, and they were just as likely to ac-
complish the object of both their journeys at the same time.
The rangers held a consultation, and the conclusion they
came to took all by surprise. It was that Peterson should
visit the Shawnee town in Paint Creek valley, while Dingle,
in company with the redoubtable Jenkins, would reconnoiter
Piqua. There was wisdom in this plan certainly, but many

thought it singular that the two should separate, when they
had never been known to do such a thing before when in ser
vice. 3

The Shawnees were the great enemies of the whites, and to
them may be traced nearly all of the long and bloody wars on
They were a vindictive, revengeful, ‘ restless

the frontier.

 

 
  
   

i
i
i

 

f

 

 

  

 

10

 

people, délighting in wars;” »'Their very name, as has been
remarked, was'a word of terror or of execration to the early
settlers among the canebrakes of Kentucky or upon the rich
bottoms of Ohio. :

When this:country was discovered, the Shawnees occupied
the southern part of Georgia and Florida. Here they, at last,
became so obnoxious to the other Indians by their continual
murders and robberies, that a combination of the most pow-
erful tribes—the Choctaws, Cherokees, and Creeks—was' ef-
fected, and perpetual, unceasing war was declared against
them. Finding the country too hot to hold them, the Shaw-
nees emigrated north, settling on the Ohio‘and its tributaries.
The Wyandots-welcomed them, and they increased to a
mighty and powerful nation, retaining their characteristic
traits. From the commencement of the old French war, in
755, down tothe final struggle between Tecumseh and the
whites, nearly sixty years after, they were continually engaged
in some murderous foray interrupted only by a dozen years of
quiet, succeeding the treaty of Wayne.

Like all large Indian nations, the Shawnees were subdivided
into tribes; and ‘these subdivided into families. The names
of but four of these tribes are now known: the: Piqua, Kis-
kapocoke, Chilicothe and Mequachake. Piqua, in the Indian
tongue, means a man rising from the ashes, and there isa tradi-
tion among them, that it was thus the division originated.

They had a large village at ithe head of ‘Massie’s Creek, a
short distance north of where Xenia now stands, and another
named Piqna, on Mad’ River, a few miles below Springfield.
Their principal head-quarters were! in ‘the valley of Paint
Creek and Scioto river:

The simple: preparations of the scouts were made, and it
was agreed they should start in‘a few hours wpon their peril-
ous journey.

CHAPTER VII.
THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

Prterson’s destination being the Scioto valley, he left the
settlement and proceeded eastward, up the Ohio, until the
mouth of the Scioto was reached, when he prosecuted his
journey ina northerly direction. Leaving him to continue
his duty, we will follow the fortunes of the other two.

Dingle had two reasons for taking Jenkins with him. The
first was for his own good, and the second was for his own—
that is the ranger’s—amusement. He counted on little diffi-
culty in ascertaining all that he wished, and believed that his
companion would be so tractable in his hands that little trou-
ble need be apprehended from his erratic disposition. His
plan was to proceed westward, following the course of the
Ohio, until the mouth of the Little Miami was reached, up
which he proceeded in a canoe. As he had often visited the
same town, he took occasion, when upon one of his expedi-
tions, to,‘‘horrow,” an Indian canoe, as he expressed it, and
concealed it at the mouth of this river to be used for the pur-
pose named.

‘* Confound it! what did you want to take me along for?”
demanded Jenkins, spitefully, after they were fairly in the
wood.

‘Why, to scout around, and obsarve the pecooliarities of
the Shawnees,” replied Dingle.

“Yes; s’pose so! darned if I don’t shoot every one I see!”

“Good! give us your paw on that, Jenkins; you're some,
after all.” i

‘* After all what?” demanded the wrathful man, not at all
relishing the eagerness with which the ranger took his threat.

“ Afterall the dodgin’ and sneakin’ you've done when the
reds were around.”

“See here now!” exclaimed Jenkins, stepping in front of
and confronting the ranger. ‘‘Il want to know what you
mean by that? That’s'a reflection upon my courage which I
never intend to permit.”

Dingle, concluding it best not to offend him at present, ‘an-
swered: ‘I meant the time you'fell down so flat when the
Frontier Angel fired her arrer at you.”

“Do you know what made me do it, sir?”

“Oh! yes—I mind me now, you had a fit just then.”

‘Well, sir, don’t let me hear any thing more about that
then; I have explained all about them fits, and you must re-
member.”

“Wal, never mind, Jenkins, it won’t do to get them now,
coz why, if you do, when you come to again, you'll find

 

psaaeecraes

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

you've cotched another kind of fits—wal, you will, ole fel-
er.

‘““Do you s’pose, Dick, they'll watch us close?” asked Jen-
kins, in'a tone so changed from his braggadocio style fo that
of earnest inquiry, that Dingle could not conceal a smile.

“Mighty clus, you'll find out. Howsumeyer, ef you tend
to your business and mind what I tell you, you'll come out
all right, T guess.”

“My gracious! I 'wish we was only on our way back. I
don’t like Injins' no way you can fix it.”

“Tdon’t neither, so less pike ahead and hold in for a
while.”

The journey continued in silence. They were on the Ohio
side of the river, having crossed it at the commencement of
their expedition. Late in the afternoon they were obliged to
swim a small stream that put in from the Ohio. This was ac-
complished easily, as both were excellent swimmers, Jenkins
fully equal to the ranger. On the shore of this they halted,
and spent a few moments in eating a portion of the food they
had brought with them. By this time darkness had settled
over the forest, but the moon was quite strong, and they kept
on for several hours. At the end of that time they reached a
solitary block-house, standing on a clearing, where it was the
intention to shortly commence a settlement. There was a
small’ force stationed ‘there by the Governor of the territory
some months previous. ‘The sentinel was on the look-out and
detected the approach of Dingle as soon as the latter became
aware of the blo¢k-house. He was instantly challenged, but
a word set the matter right, and in 4 moment one of the force
descended, unbarred the gate, and joyfully welcomed him in.
Lew Wetzel, to whom we have before referred, was in ‘the
block-house, and the meeting between him and Dingle was
cordial on both sides.. There were cight soldiers besides, alJ
adepts in Indian warfare. The commander produced his
cups, poured out whisky, and none, save Jenkins, needed an
invitation to drink, The latter was a perfect novice, and with
wondering eyes followed the motions and actions of Dingle.
The consequence was, before any one suspected it, he com-
nienced nodding, and shortly dropped upon the floor, One
of the men rolled him into the corner, where he slept until
morning. P

The journey was resumed early on the morrow, and con-
tinued without incident worthy of note until nightfall. Not
an Indian or white man was encountered through ‘the day.
Just at dusk, they reached a river, which as Dingle informed
Jenkins, was the Little Miami.

‘My gracious! has that got to be swum, too?” asked the
latter in astonishment.

‘“ No! we'll row over I guess.”

‘*Row over? How can we do that?”

‘Don’t ax too many questions and you'll see.”

With this, Dingle proceeded some distance up-stream, and
then halted before a large, tangled mass of undergrowth.
Here he stooped down, and pulled out a small birchen canoe,
almost as light as paper. A couple of oars lay beside it,
which he instructed Jenkins to bring forth. As he dropped
the boat in the river, it danced as uneasily and buoyantly as
an egg-shell,

‘Where under the sun did you get that thing?” asked Jen-
kins.

“That belongs to the Frontier Angel. It’s the one we used
to go sparking in when we was young.” :

“Pshaw, Dick, you’re joking,” replied Jenkins, incredu-
lously.

“‘T should think you knowed enough of me to know that I
never joke when I'm scouting it. Jest jump in while I give
it.a shove.”

Now if any of our readers have ever seen a small Indian
canoe, they will detect at once the mischievous object of
Dingle in asking his companion to ‘‘ jump into” this one. It
is an impossibility for a person who does not understand
them, to spring in without going overboard. It is precisely
similar to putting on a pair of skates for the first time. Un-
less you have tried it before, and know how to do it, you
are sure to be deceived. But Jenkins had no suspicions,
judging from the last remark of Dingle that he was quite
serious.

So he made a spring, struck the thing near the bow, and it
shot like’a bolt backward in to shore, and he disappeared
with a loud splash beneath the surface of the water.

. Blast that boat! what made it do that?” he spluttered,
scrambling in to shore again. .

“ Yow’re a smart one!” remarked Dingle, without changing

a muscle of his face, ‘I'd vise you to practice a little at

  

 

 

 

 
 

er

Rea comes

 

gettin’ in a boat, when you've got time. I s’pose I'll have to
hold it for you, this time.”

And so he did, seizing it by the stern, and holding it firmly
while Jenkins carefully deposited himself in the front part.
Dingle then stepped in, seated himself near the middle, and
dipping his oars into the water, shot rapidly toward the op-
posite bank.

It was now quite dark, and by keeping near the center of
the stream, he felt secure from observation from either shore.
An hour or two he sped swiftly forward, encountering no
suspicious object, and exchanging not a syllable with his
companion. After a time, the moon arose; and, as it slowly
rolled above the wilderness, it shed such a flood of light as to
make it extremely dangerous to continue as heretofore. The
tall forest trees towered up on both sides, throwing a wall of
shadow far out into the stream. Dingle ran his canoe in un-
der protection of these, upon the left bank, and dipped his
oars more deeply and silently, commanding Jenkins not .to
utter a syllable.

Dingle paddled hour after hour, until toward midnight, he
touched the bank, sprung out, and exchanged places with
Jenkins, who took his turn at the paddle. At first he made
several feints, nearly upsetting the canoe, but, in a short time,
he became quite an expert, and did his duty without a mur-
mur. Another exchange, another long pull, and the ranger
ran his canoe again in to shore, pulling it up and Ca
it on the bank. Day was dawning, and they had reache
that point where it was necessary to take to the forest again,
and strike across toward Mad river.

In doing this, our friends were compelled to pass the In-
dian village mentioned as being a short distance below where
Xenia now stands. This being a smaller and less important
one than Piqua, Dingle concluded to visit it upon his return.
The river, at the point where they disembarked, made a bend
to the eastward; so that, by taking a direct north-west course
toward Mad river, it was not even necessary to make a detour
to avoid it.

They had now progressed so far upon their journey that
Dingle knew they could reach Piqua long before night. Ac-
cordingly, he crawled into a dense mass of undergrowth, fol-
lowed by Jenkins, who carefully restored the bushes behind
him to their upright position, so as to remove all signs of
their trail. Here they both lay down and slept soundly,

Dingle possessed that power, which is so singular and yet
so. easily acquired, of waking at the precise moment he
wished. About noon he opened his eyes, arose to a sitting
position, gave Jenkins a kick, and ordered him to make ready
to start. After a hearty meal upon the last of the venison
they had brought with them, they emerged from their resting-
place, and once more resumed their journey.

As they gradually approached the neighborhood of the In-
dian settlement, Dingle became more and more cautious in
his movements, until Jenkins was in a perfect tremor of ap-
prehension. :

“Don’t fall bebind!” admonished the ranger, unmercifully.

“My gracious, I won’t! Every time you stop, I bump
against you. I’ve mashed my nose already.”

‘“‘ Never mid; we’re gettin’ nigher every minute,”

‘‘T know we are, and that’s what troubles me so much. If
we were only going the other way, I wouldn’t mind it.”

Several times they came upon Indian trails, some of which
were so fresh that Dingle made several detours, painfully te-
dious to Jenkins, who every minute was getting into a fever-
ish state. Before dark, they ascended a sort of tidge, which
seemed the boundary of a valley on the left. Jenkins fol-
lowed his guide so closely, that he hardly took his eyes off
him, much less did he Know where he was going. THe saw
they were ascending a rising ground, and that, after about an
hour’s labor he came to a halt.

““Take a look down there!” whispered Dingle, parting the
bushes in front of him. Jenkins followed the direction of
his finger, and saw spread out before him, in the valley be-
low, the entire Indian village.

It was evident to any eye, that the savages below them were
making preparations for some hostile expedition. Dingle
judged it was against their own village from ‘what the Fron-
tier Angel had said. Most of the warriors were collected
upon a large Open space near one end of the village. Here

several of theit orators—stump speakers is a better term—were
constantly haranguing them. The excited gestieulation, the
bobbing of the head, and now'and then a word could be
heard by our two friends in concealment. The men were ar-
rayed in the gaudy hideousness of war-paint, and to all ap-
pearances hugely delighted with the oratory that greeted their

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. il

ears. Men were continually arriving and departing, some-
times nearly a score passing into the wood, and then reap-
pearing in a short time again. Every second several shouts
or yells pierced the air. The whole Village was in commo-
tion, and Dingle could as well have departed at once with the
information that the Shawnees were again taking the war-
path, and the settlement was most probably the object of
their fury. But he determined to know more before he went
back.

As it was getting darker and the shrubbery and the under-
growth were so dense as to afford a sure concealment in spite
of the moon, which rose at a late hour, he felt no hesitation
at making a much nearer approach.

In a short time they were within a hundred yards of the
upper end. Heve they both nestled down, and waited some
time before re a further movement.

“‘ Keep powerful quiet, while I look around!” admonished
Dingle, crouching down and commencing to move off in the
darkness.

‘Here, hold on a minute,” whispered Jenkins, eagerly
catching the skirt of his hunting-dress; ‘ how long are you
going to be gone?”

““T don’t know—’sh!”

The footsteps of some one were now heard breaking through
the bushes. Dingle and Jenkins bent low, and in a moment
discerned, looming up against the light in the village, the
dark form of an Indian.

The hunter loosened his knife in his belt, for an encounter
seemed unavoidable. The Indian came right straight ahead,
ina line toward them; but when within ten feet, uncon-
sciously to himself, perhaps, he turned to the left and passed
on, thus escaping a collision and his own doom at the same
time.

““ Now don’t stir from hyer till I come back,” whispered
Dingle, again,

““ How long are you going to be gane?”

. ““P’raps an hour or two.”

‘What must I do all that time?” a

“Why, lay still—don’t. budge an inch, ’cept you want to
lose your ha’r,” 3

‘Oh! I don’t wan’t to lose it. S’pose the Injins come pok-
ing round here, what’s to be done then”

“Keep docile, and like as not they won’t see you; but if
they does, why, jump up, give ’em a Junge with your knife,
ahd: put to the woods. You can run fast ’nough to give ’em
the slip. In course, you'll have to make some tall dodgin’ to
do it, but I guess you are able.” N

With this, Dingle moved away as silently asa snake, and
disappeared instantly. He made his way toward the oppo-
site side of the village. It was not his intention to proceed
thus far at first, but circumstances compelled him. It seemed
impossible to gain the view he wished. At every point, some
obstruction presented itself. The Indians, too, were so con-
tinually passing through the wood, that discovery sometimes
appeared inevitable. "They made their appearance so suddén-
ly, that they were not seen until almost upon him, and then
it was only by the most labored caution that they could be
avoided, Several times, indeed, had it come to that point,
that he clutched his knife, and stooped to spring; but kind
fortune still screened him.

Dingle had been absent about a couple of hours, and had
reached a spot from which he believed he could obtain all the
information he wished, when he was startled by the report of
a rifle, and a series of yells from the quarter in which he had
left Jenkins! He heard the rush of feet through ‘the bushes
and the signals of alarm all about him.

“That all-fired fool has got himself in a fix,” muttered the
ranger, retreating several yards, so as to be concealed by the
wood, and hurrying around toward the spot in ‘which he had
left him. He reached it in a few minutes, but all. signs of
commotion had ceased. An extraordinary stillness reigned
over the village. He signaled for Jenkins, but noanswer was
returned. He found, at last, the precise spot in which he had
left him. But he was gone, most certainly.

“Yas, the fool’s in a@ fix, sure. Sarved him right. He'll
Varn sunkthin’ afore he gets back to the settlement again.”

aly

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

12 NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

CHAPTER VILL.
A MAN IN TROUBLE.

4

Dineue waited in the wood until morning, searching and.

signaling for Jenkins, but without success. “He hoped at. first
that he had made his escape; but he was compelled, after
carefully watching the village for a long time, to the belief
that he had been captured. In fact, it was.a certainty with
the ranger. He understood the actions of the Shawnees well
enough to be satisfied upon that point.

meditatively. ‘‘ He’s in their claws—that’s a sure case, and
it don’t look right for you to leave him thar. But jest hold
on a minute. The great question is this: which ar’ to be
sayed—him or the whole settlements? Ef I stay hyer, pokin’
round for him, like as not I'll get cotched myself—no, I won’t
either, for Dick Dingle don’t get that thing done to him. The
reds ar’ goin’ on a _ha’r-raise, that’s sure; and they'll leave
Jenkins till they come back afore they roast him. Conse-
quently, he’ll have time to look round and git acquainted with
his friends, and p’r’aps make a bargain to let him off on a visit.
No, Dingle, you must make tracks fur home powerful fast.”

This decision arrived at, the ranger lost no time in putting it
into execution. He knew he could not get much start of his
enemies; and, although they would be armed at the settle-
ment, yet it was imperatively necessary they should have
more definite knowledge of the intended assault. Slinging
his rifle over his shoulder, he turned his face to the south and
plunged into the forest. y

In the mean time Peter Jenkins had managed to fall into an
unpleasant. predicament.

ene the departure of Dingle, he made up his mind to obey
every letter of his instructions. ee ae he squeezed
himself into the smallest space possible, and curled obedi-
ently up on the ground. He lay thus perhaps a half-hour,
when he fell sound asleep. This was unintentional; but the
fatigue of the expedition, and the time he had passed with-
out slumber, were too much for him, and he finally suc-
cumbed: , ,

He would have slept, in all probability, until the return of
Dingle, had it not been for a purely accidental circumstance.
As his slumbers grew more heavy, he gave two or three jerks,
and finally straightened out upon his back. In doing this, he
naturally threw his hands backward, and by the merest, acci-
dent in the world, struck a toad that sat blinking afoot or
two distant. . The creature made a startled leap and pe
down square in his face, but immediately sprung off again.
It, however, seemed to awaken Jenkins, who rose to the sit-
ting position, and entirely unmindful of where he was, com-
menced talking, in a mumbling tone to himself.

“Tike to know who that feller was that hit me in the face.
Liked to knock me out of bed; s’pose it was Dingle, though
—just like him—makes my nose feel awful cold. Queer a
taller can’t sleep when he wants to—all-fired mean_to ’sturb
‘a person, that way. Lay over on your own side, Dick.
Hello! he ain’t here! Thunderation! where am I?”

He stared bewilderingly about him. Gradually a recollec-
tion of his situation came to him. And then he was filled
with apprehension lest he had betrayed himself. He listened
carefully for a few minutes, but hearing nothing, judged that
matters were all right; and, as he was excessively sleepy, he
dropped languidly back again, and was falling rapidly into a
state of unconsciousness, when he was waked again.

The fact was he had been overheard by a couple of brawny
Shawnees who, at that moment, were passing within a few
feet of him. They dropped noiselessly to the earth, and com-
menced making their way toward him. In the mean time,
one of those litfle, active, prying dogs, that are always bob-
bing around an Indian village, ran fearlessly a to the pros-
trate man, poked his cold nose against his cheek, and gave a
loud bark that electrified Jenkins completely. Remembering
the. parting admonition of Dingle, to ‘fire and run,” in case
of discovery, he seized his gun, blazed away at the dog, and
turned on his heel.

Even then he might have effected his escape, had it not
been for the dog mentioned. The Indians suspecting he was
a scout, were taken all aback by the unexpected manner in
which he acted, and hesitated so long before following, that,
as we said, he might have escaped, Bnd it not been for the
dog. The creature was unhurt by his shot, and with a yelp
of alarm, sprung in front of him. Jenkins was too confused
to notice him, the dog got entangled between his legs, and he
pitched headlong to the ground. Before he cold rise the In-
dians were upon him, and yelling with exultation.

“Now, Dingle, what’s to be done?” queried the ranger ,

 

“We kill—if fight—no run,” muttered one in broken En-
glish.

One of the savages had already secured his rifle; and, as he
arose, one stood on either side of him and took a firm hold of
his arms. By this time there were a score of other savages
around, all dancing and yelling; and in the midst of them
Jenkins was marched into the center of the Indian village.

Immediately a score of Shawnees scattered into the wood,
to ascertain whether there were any more whites lurking in
the vicinity, while Jenkins was hurried into a lodge, thrown
upon his face, hands tied securely behind him, and his feet
locked as, tightly together as if they had been screwed in a
vise.

“ Consarn it, what’s the use in serving a feller that way?
You ugly old heathen, standing there by the door, grjnning
at me, just loosen these cords, will you?” said Jenkins, The
Indian still paying no attention to his entreaties, Jenkins
supposed he did not understand the English language; and
he repeated his request in a louder tone, as though that would
assist. his understanding. But with no better effect. ‘I
don’t want the cords loosened—wouldn’t have them untied if
you wanted to do it,” he added, sullenly.

As his captors still evinced no desire to do any thing more
than watch him, he,resigned himself to his fate, and ceased
speaking.

The night wore slowly away. Sleep, under the circumstan-
ces, was out of the question, and Jenkins contented himself
—if the expression is allowable—with maintaining a moody
silence, varied now and then by a gratuitous insult to those
around, which, luckily for him, they failed to comprehend.

While this sleepless guard was being kept, there was an-
other tribunal, as sleepless and vastly more important to him.

In, the chieftain’s lodge were assembled half a hundred
warriors, debating the matter of life or death. It could hard-
ly be said that there wasa debate, for all agreed that their
victim should die—agreed that he should not only die, but be
burned at the stake!

They were considering only when this should be done, It
could not be expected there would be a single dissenting
voice as to his fate, and there was none. But the question
was whether the war expedition should be deferred by con-
summating the torture, or whether it should be left until
they returned. It was their intention to start upon the mor-
row for the settlement which we have so often referred to;
and rightly fearing that every hour of delay was a day’s gain
to their intended victims, it was at last decided that Jenkins
should be kept until their return, when he should suffer the
awful torture of death by fire. They knew their passions
would be inflamed to that pitch that the agonies of their pris-
oner’s torment would be the most exquisite pleasure they
could enjoy.

Most fortunate, indeed, for Jenkins was it that the renegade
was not present at that council. Had he been, he never would
have seen the light of another morning; for he had learned
long before that no white prisoner was sure to them until he
had been a victim to their vengeance. ‘The renegade had left
oy a day or two before for the Indian towns in the Scioto
valley, and consequently knew nothing of Jenkins’ capture.

When the morning dawned, there was great commotion
throughout the village. The final preparations were made
for the departure of the war-party. Jenkins heard the con-
fusion and clamor around him, but was in no mood to care
what they were doing. A sort of stolid indifference had suc-
ceeded to the excessive fear he had at first evinced.

‘J don’t care what they do! They can burn me and eat
me, if they want to! Let ’em blaze away!”

Shortly after daybreak, the war-party departed. About a
dozen men remained behind to guard the village, and see
that no attempt was made to free the prisoner, while a whole
host of squaws and children raised Bedlam. The lodge in
which Jenkins was confined was completely beset by them.
At first his guards allowed them to torment him in their char-
acteristic manner—such as pulling his hair, pinching, and

shalleing him with sticks. Finally his patience became ex-

hauste

“By thunder! if you don’t take. these things off Tl kill
every one of them!” he exclaimed, furiously, wriggling and
tugging at. his bonds. , ; ,

Aiatinas enjoyed the sport hugely, especially the impo-

tent wrath he displayed. They made no attempt to restrain
the excited multitude, until they became so numerous and
boisterous, that for their own conyenience, they cleared the
lodge of the tormentors. Sirk

“You'd better done that just then,” said the prisoner. ‘I

 

ie

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. 13

 

was just getting ready to knock some of their confounded
brains out.”

‘At noon he was given some meat and drink, and he ate ray-
enously, for his situation seemed to have little effect upon his
appetite. His usual fear and subsequent red a had
now given way toa perfect recklessness. Goaded to mad-
ness, he cared not a straw what he did. He ‘swore within
himself that he would make his escape before morning, though
how to effect it wasn’t plain even to himself.

His guard maintained their sullen watch until ‘dark, when
‘the clamorous crowd again commenced pressing around.
They were restrained from entering, but they continued yell-
‘ing and pressing against the lodge till, all at once, the side
gave way, and fell inward. Those pressing against it were so
‘numerous that they poured irresistibly forward, piling in a
mass upon Jenkins, kicking and struggling to free themselves,
and making the confusion perfectly horrid by their yells. To
make the matter still worse, the sudden incoming of the mul-
titude had extinguished the burning torches, so that all was
in total darkness.

Jenkins, feeling the mass upon him, became doubly en-
raged, and made furious efforts to free himself. But the
cords were too firm, and he finally gave up in despair.

Immediately he felt some one fingering around him; and to
his inexpressible astonishment found the cords at his feet and
hands cut, and he was now perfectly free. He lost no time
in taking advantage of this providential intercourse of some
one. Springing to his feet, he turned to make a dash through
the open side of the lodge. At that moment a soft hand
touched his, and some one, pulling his head downward, whis-
pered eagerly in his ear:

‘Don’t stop! run as fast as you ean!”

“You may bet I'll do that,” he replied, although he scarcely
theard his own voice in the deafening uproar around him.

Of course, in the darkness, it was impossible to distinguish
‘the prisoner. When the building crushed inward, two or
three savages hurried off for torches, while several more
‘sprung to the opening to intercept his flight, showld he at-
tempt it. As they knew his bonds were too firm to be broken,
they had little fear of this, but adopted these precautions in
obedience to their cautious instincts. But Jenkins avoided
them all. He made a spring outward, a literal “leap in the
dark,” ran a short distance, until, as might be expected, he
brought up all standing against a lodge that happened to be
in his way. There were none inside, for the tumult in the
village had drawn them out, and he suffered no injury, except
@ few scratches. Without stopping to ascertain the damages,
he made an abrupt turn to the left, and hurrying onward,
found himself, in a few seconds, clear of the town and in the
dark wood.

The lights were soon recovered and brought to the lodge
from which he had fled. Held in the entrance, they revealed

a swarm of dark, struggling bodies, piled pell-mell upon each.

other. Under the light of the smoking torches, these regained
their feet in an incredible short space of time. Then, to the
unutterable astonishment of the Shawnees, it was found that
the prisoner had escaped. ‘

The Indians stood completely dumbfounded for a moment,
totally unable to realize that such was the case. But a Shaw-
mee Indian rarely gives way to his emotions, and when he
does, it does not last long. A long, wild, lengthened howl
conveyed the dismal intelligence that the white man had fled.

Now the pursuit and search commenced. Lights were gleam-
ing and flitting through the trees, like frantic fire-flies, and
the eager,savages were darting and yelling in every direc-
tion. Signals were given and returned, and all imaginable
artifices adopted.

But a pursuit, under such disadvantages, could hardly be
expected to be successful. And it did not prove so in this
case. Jenkins knew well how to use his legs, especially when
his life depended upon them; and the manner in which he
flew through the forest would have made’an ordinary Indian
despair at once. He had nearly the entire night before him,
and he hardly halted for breathing-time until morning. The
moon arose toward midnight, and so lit up the wood that it
ee een dangerous for him had his pe
suers been anywhere in the vicini not, an
he had it all to himself. cinity. But they were not,

At morning he was so exhausted that he threw himself upon
the ground, at the roots of a fallen tree, and slept heavily.
Slept until the middle of the afternoon, and then He would
not have awakened, had not a visitor helped him to recall his
wits. He opened his eyes and started with unbounded aston-

_ishment at seeing before him that mysterious being known as

 

the Frontier Angel. She stooda few feet away, surveying
him with a look of mild joy, and holding in her right hand a
rifle which he instantly recognized as his own.

‘* So you made your eseape, did you?” she remarked, seeing
that he said nothing. ‘

“Hello! how are you? Glad to see you. How’s your
folks? Been well?” asked Jenkins, suddenly thinking he had
been remiss in his usual politeness. These questions were
accompanied by a profound bow and scrape of his foot upon
the earth.

The being before him paid no attention to these demonstra-
tions, but repeated her remark:

“So you made your escape, did you?”

‘‘ Very well, I thank you, how’s your health?”

“You have escaped, Tsay?”

“Oh! yes, a pleasant day.”

The personage paused and looked at him in astonishment.
The truth of the matter was, Jenkins was so confused that he
did not comprehend a single remark made by her. He con-
tinued bowing and scraping and speaking incoherently until,
at last, his senses returned. The Frontier Angel merely gazed
at him with a wondering expression in which not a particle
of mirth could be seen. Waiting a few moments, she once
more repeated her remark:

‘*Oh-—you spoke of escape, did you? Yes, I managed to
get away myself.”

““ Were you not bound?”

““Oh, yes; with tremendous big cords.”

“How did you free yourself of them?”

‘Broke them all by my giant strength, ma’m,” he replied,
valiantly.

‘You are mistaken, sir.”

‘‘Oh! was it you that cut them when we was in the muss?”
he asked, eagerly.

‘““T cut them and admonished you to fly. You should not
take the credit yourself,” mildly replied the visitor.

‘I didn’t know as you done it, or 1 wouldn’t said so,”
said Jenkins, somewhat crestfallen at being so caught.

‘“How came you to be captured?” she continued, standing
in front of him, and keeping her dark eyes fixed upon him.

““Overpowered by main force! Td like to see the man that
could withstand forty-three Shawnee Indians.”

‘‘ Were there that many who assailed you?”

‘*'Well, I couldn’t say positively now—perhaps more or
less. To speak within bounds, welll call it forty-two.”

‘And where is he who was with you?”

““Who?—Dick Dingle? He wouldn’t stay and fight, buts
run and left me behind to meet all the danger.”

“You were scouts, then, sent to reconnoiter the Indians,
I suppose. In doing so, you were captured by your enemies,
while your companion escaped. But, thanks to the great
Ruler above, you were also delivered from death. Your
friend, from what I know of him, leads me to the belief that
he gained enough knowledge of the Indians to answer all pur--
poses. And he will be able to give all information to the set-
tlements which I was unable to give.”

‘“Spect so. Leastways I know, when I get home, Pll be
able to give our settlement a great deal of information that
they never knowed or dreamt on before.” ;

“Thave followed your trail, my friend, to come up with
you and find out what I have just learned. I rejoice to learn
that it has turned out thus. And now I will bid you good-by.
Do not delay, for, although you are a great way from the In-
dian town, there may be many and swift pursuers upon your
trail.”

“Say! hold on a minute!” called out Jenkins, springing to-
ward’ her, first reaching out his hand, and then suddenly
withdrawing it, as he remembered what he had heard said
would be the consequences of such an act.

a “What do you want?” she asked, turning round and facing
im.

Now, the truth of the matter was, Jenkins had fallen des-
perately in love with this singular personage. And, all things
considered, it could not be wondered at. Arrayed in her fan-
tastic Indian dress, her beauty was certainly wi d and wonder-
ful. Gay, painted eagle and porcupine quills, formed a fiery
head-dress, which contrasted well with the long, luxuriant
hair of jetty blackness, that rolled unrestrained down her
shoulders. The face was small and a delicate oval, the eye-
lashes long and black, the nose thin and small, and the teeth
of pearly pureness. Viewed from the side, the profile was
perfectly straight from the upper part of the forehead to the
base of the nose, from which point it slightly retreated to the
chin. The eyes were dark, and when fixed upon a person,

 
 

 

    

 

 

 

ea eer

Lo

14

 

 

; NHW AND OLD FRIENDE.

 

wore a meek, mild expression; at other times they fairly
blazed with fire. A dress of dazzling colors reached from the
shoulders to the ankles, and was confined at the waist by a
band of gleaming red. The feet were incased in small, orna-
mented moccasins, which displayed the symmetrical limbs to
advantage. Several rows of wampum were hung around the
neck and waist, and the whole dress was such as an Indian
chief would put upon his princess.

When she turned so abruptly and faced Jenkins, he was
considerably disconcerted. Upon any other occasion, ‘he
would have hesitated and stammered much, before he would
have come to the point; but, he well knew there were but a
few minutes left him, and he said:

“‘Y just want to speak a word with you. 1s’pose you know
Dick Dingle, don’t you? that fellerthat left me so cowardly?”

““ Yes,” she replied, without changing a feature or remoy-
ing her gaze from him.

“Well, I was just going to say—that is—I wouldn’t have
any thing todo with him.* He is an awful mean man; I
wouldn’t speak to him.”

“Why?” was the same quiet question.

‘*Oh! *cause he’s so everlastingly mean, Darnation! haven't
J told you a thousand times? How many more times are you
going to ask me?”

“*¥s that all?”

“* Yes—no—hold on!”

“ What else do you wish?”

“7 want to know—if—if—you don’t like him, do you now?”
suddenly broke forth Jenkins.

The maiden began acting strangely. Her eyes brightened,
her lips quivered, and she seemed striving to say something.
She controlled her emotion in a moment, and sweeping her
hand over her eyes, Jooked calmly at her questioner, but with-
out deigning a reply.

“Pyon’t you—don’t you—don’t you love me now? Ido you!”
besought our friend, going down on his knees in true senti-
mental style.

The Frontier Angel gazed calmly on him a moment, then
ear her eyes, turned on her heel, and disappeared in the

orest, :

CHAPTER LX,
PETER JENKINS—A COUPLE OF SPEECHES.

“Consarn her, I don’t care nothin’ for her. Iwas just
fooling; I only got down to see where she had put. my rifle.
Wonder where she got it from! She’s awful ugly. S’pect
Dingle has been telling her some lies about me. By gracious!
if ’'d only thought about her shooting that arrer at me, she’d
have cotched it. Wonder if it would have killed a feller if
he’d touched her! TI woaldn’t risk it, nohow. She is purty
—somewhat. Never mind, I don’t care, though I should like
to know who she is. It’s time J was tramping home, or the
folks will begin to worry about me!” /

Soliloquizing thus, Jenkins took his rifle, which he saw was
still loaded, and once more turmed his face homeward. Let
us precede his arrival at the settlement.

ingle, upon starting, after he deemed it useless to wait for
Jenkins, had made all haste through the wood and proceeded
much faster than the war-party which started the next day.
Nothing occurred to interrupt his journey, and in due time he
made his appearance before the block-house. He was joy-
fully welcomed back by all. The fate of Jenkins was sin-
cerely regretted by wey one, but under the circumstances it
could not be helped. Ife was known to all, and although
from his suspected cowardice he commanded little respect,
his loss was none the less mourned.

‘“They’re paintin’ and greasin’ themselves, so that they can
slip around easy like, and they’re just ready to start ag’in’
some settlement. More than that, boys, they’ve started afore
now, and their faces are turned this way and you've jest got
time to git ready to invite ’em in.”

“How many?” inquired the commander of the post.

“Can't tell, but a powerful heap. Howsumeyver, there ain’t
more than we can give ‘‘Hail Columbia.” I don’t think
there’ll be any Shawnees except from the upper town on Mad
river. The imps in the other towns have got enough other
deviltry to attend to, and I s’pect this is a kinder independent
affair for the Piqua skunks,”

The news of Dingle, as might be expected, occasioned the
greatést excitement throughout the little settlement. The set-

 

tlers, with compressed and silent lips, commenced moving
the most valuable part of their furniture into the block-house,
while the women, ‘‘ whispering with white lips,” moved hur-
riedly about, uttering their supplications continually.

As for thé men in the block-house, they were in the highest
of spirits. It had been along time since any thing had oc-
curred to break the monotony of their life, and they hailed
with delight the prospect of storms ahead. When one of the
men became so boisterous that the commander endeavored to
check him by telling him that the fight would probably be a
desperate and bloody one, the fellow sprung off his feet,
swung his hat over his head, and shouted, ‘‘ Glory!”

Peterson had returned the day before Dingle, but without
any news to alarm the settlement, The Indians in the Scioto
valley were as quiet as usual, and there was no evidence to
show that they intended a hostile expedition. The attack, as
said by Dingle, and also by the Frontier Angel, was most
probably contemplated by those at the Piqua town alone.

After most of the preparations had been completed, Abbot
called Dingle aside, and asked him whether he had learned
any thing of McGable.

‘He wasn’t in that village,” he replied.

“‘T suppose you are sure of it?”

“Yes, for I surrounded the village two or three times, and
if he’d have been thar, ’d seen him. I seen the chiefs, and
could have shot any reds ’d been asked to,”

‘‘ Peterson says he is not in the towns either, which he vis-
ited, for he examined each most thoroughly. How can it be?
Where is he?”

““Pve found out that he is at the village at the head of the
Little Miami most of the time. har’s where he is now, you
may bet a considerable.” i

‘““ Do you suppose he will be with the attacking Indians?”

‘““P’raps so, though it can’t be told fora sartin thing. I
s’pose you'd like to know when me and Jim are going to cateh
him. You needn’t think we're going to give it up. We ain’t,
*cause we’ve set our hearts on it; and as soon as these reds as
ar’ comin’ here get a little taste of us, the thing’s going to be
done, *Cause why? Dick Dingle and Jim Peterson has said
80.

‘‘T hope you will learn of the fate of poor Marian, for I
believe her mother will not live three months longer if you do
not. When she finds out, for certain, that her child is dead,
and gone to her rest, she may bear up under this great afflic-
tion.”

‘Hold still a minute,” said Dingle, as if a sudden thought
had struck him. ‘‘ Now there’s Frontier Angel; she knows
all about the Injin affairs, and I shouldn’t wonder ef she could.
tell you somethin’ about her. Freeze me to death, why didn’t
I think of it? I know she can.”

‘Frontier Angel—who is she? I have heard her spoken of
as an Indian maiden, of whom nothing is known except that
she is one of the best friends the settlers ever had.”

“© So she is—so she is; ef if lhadn’t been for her, two or three
times, thar would haye been some big ha’r raising «done by

the reds. She finds out nearly all their deviltry, and she’s.

bound to let the whites know it.”

“Do you know where she is now?”

“'Pellin’ the settlements to keep their eyes peeled, or maybe
she’s gone up to heaven a little while. You needn't laugh,
for she’s a sper'tt—she’s an ange] sure. Lew Wetzel says so,
and [ know she is, too,” ,

“Why do you suppose she is sucha being?”

“She's jest like one. She’s as purty and as good. No one
knows whar she has come from, or whar she goes to. She is
allers alone, and goes about in the night. She ain’t afeard of
nothin’, while every thing is afeard of her.”

‘“ Flow are you going to get, then, the information of which
you speak?’

“Just ax her the next time I see her. She knows me, and
we've often talked together. She come and told me the other
night "bout the reds comin’ down this way, and said 1 must
go up and look ’round.”

te Well Dingle, find out what you can; Pye no doubt you
will. Perhaps it is time we separated, as there is enough for
allto do. Mansfield, I believe, wishes to speak with yeu.
Ah! here he comes.”

Mansfield approached. His inquiries at first were the same
as Abbot’s, and receiving the same answers, he continued:

“How soon, Dingle, do you suppose the attack will be
made?”

“ To-night, sir,” ‘

‘So Peterson said, and I suppose you must be right. You
have no fears of the result?” ’

 

a

 

 
 

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. 15

 

“No, sir; the Shawnees always attack in the night-time.
J understand their capers. Ef it wa’n’t for Frontier Angel,
there would bea hard scratch, for we wouldn’t have been
fixed up so snug for’em.. I shouldn’t wonder if thar wa’n’t
much fight afterall, when they tind how things is.”

“Tf they are to attack to-night, they can not be far off?”

‘* No; they ain’t many miles out of the way. It’s now 'bout
noon. They'll send thar scouts ahead, and when the news
reaches them that they are anxiously expected, they'll hurry
up and git along afore dark.”

‘What will be their object in doing that?”

‘“Yowll see; they'll hoot and yell, and make speeches to
scare us, and make believe there’s a heap of ’em.. They'll or-
der us to surrender, or they'll blow us to flinders, You'll
Yarn sunkthin’, you will. Freeze me to death, if you don’t.”

The afternoon gradually wore away, and the words of Din-
gle were found to be true. | Vigilant sentinels were watching
every point in the wood, and, at last, they discovered several
Indians reconnoitering them. Every inhabitant'was gathered
into the block-house. All the men were fully armed and anx-
ious for the affray. Dingle and Peterson volunteered to enter
the wood and spy out the movements and intentions of their
enemies; but the commander would not permit it. He -be-
lieved they could not escape being drawn into ambush, by the
outlying scouts. Besides, he could not see what good could
result from such an attempt. He peremptorily forbade any
man recklessly exposing himself, or to attempt to execute any
undertaking without orders.

Near the middle of the afternoon, some six or seven Indians
were continually seen, flitting from tree to tree, and approach-
ing the settlement as nigh as they dared. They seemed to
make no attempt to conceal themselves, and often bodily ex-
posed themselves upon the edge of the clearing. They viewed
the settlement from every point possible for them to reach,
and could not avoid the discovery that the whites were
abundantly prepared for the assault.

Growing bolder and bolder; at the continued silence within
the block-house, one of the Indians strode fearlessly out into
the clearing, and stepping upon a large stump, shook his hand
in a warning manner toward it. That instant there was the
sharp crack of a rifle; the Indian made a hurried jump from
the stump, and hobbled away into the wood. As he did so
he could not help hearing the loud laugh that greeted his
exit. ;

“Guess he run a splinter in his foot!” remarked Peterson,
who had fired the shot.

““Forgot sunkthin’, I guess,” added Dingle. ‘‘ Hello! the
reds have come!” i

Others were now visible, and the number increasing, the
wood appeared to swarm with them. They passed: and _ re-
passed, and finally the majority appeared upon the edge of
the clearing. Here they remained stationary a moment, and
then entered the wood again.

“Heavens! there are five hundred of them!” exclaimed
Mansfield, in consternation.

“Git out!’ laughed Peterson; ‘‘ don’t you understand that
trick? They’re showin’ themselves half a dozen times over
to scare us into knockin’ under. Thar’s just bout a hundred
of ’em, not one more, and they ain’t a little scart them-
selves,”

“Who is at the head of them?”

“Do you see that feller standin’ off at one end like, kinder
hid behind that tree?”

“Yes; but he isn’t dressed like @ chief.”

“Cause he ain't a chief, nohow. Don’t you know him?”

“No; I never saw him before.” ‘

“TY yeckon you have. That ar’ gentleman is Mr. Thomas
McGable, that you’ve been ‘vantin’ to see so long.”

At mention of this notorious renegade’s name, there was a
sensation among the whites. Abbot, Mansfield and others
strained to get a view of him through the loop-holes, and ex-
pressions of indignation were freely made.

“How nice I could pick him off,” whispered Peterson to
Mansfield, and he ran his eye along the glistening barrel of
his rifle. : *

«Don't do it—don’t do it,” admonished our hero. “ Re-
member your promise to Abbot.”

“You needn't be afraid; shootin’ would be too good for

chim. He’s bound to know what the white men think of him

afore he dies.” a t ,
The marching, tiling, and countermarching continued a
considerable time, when the commander within the block-
house was heard to say:
“Hello! we're going to hear something.”

 

 

‘* Just as I s’pected,” said Dingle. ‘‘ MeGable’s goin’ to ex-
hort us.”

The renegade made his appearance, holding a white hand-
kerchief suspended on a stick over his head, asa flag of truce.
He walked forward, waving the fluttering signal conspicu-
ously, until about half-way between the forest and the block-
house, when he mounted one of the stumps which were so nu-
merous about him, and then ie made aspeech. First, he ad-
vised them as wj7vend to surrender; demonstrated the-utter
foolishness of hoping to resist such an overwhelming force
as he had at his back, and pledged /us honor that, they should
be treated humanely. Warming with his subject, he informed
them what a mighty man he was; what, he had done, and
what he would do, and how all the white men .knew better
than to resist him: If his summons to surrender were mot
heeded, he would blow the whole settlement, sky high, and
tomahawk every man, woman, and child!

After the renegadt had finished, he seated himself, upon
the edge of the stump, and waited for the commander’s :an-
swer. The latter, without keeping him waiting, stepped
boldly out upon the platform, and shouted, in a voice every
syllable of which, Jenkins, who was several. miles away in
the forest, afterward averred he distinctly heard: hice

‘*Tom McGable! you may attack and be hanged!” .

CHAPTER,.X.

IN WHICH THERE IS A FURTHER ACCOUNT OF THE SHAWNEES,
THE SPEAKERS, AND JENKINS. eat

AwreER receiving the summary reply of the commander, of
the block-house, McGable arose, and without,a, word walked
toward the wood. Here he seemed to spend,a short time in
consultation with the Indians; for they immediately after sep-
arated and disappeared among the trees.

‘* What does that mean?” asked Mansfield.

‘They've drawn off, and will wait till night fore they try
any of their games,” replied Peterson. ‘‘ We ain’t done with

?em yet.”

Such seemed to be the impression of all the others who had
had any experience in Indian warfare. The Indians were too
eager and-well prepared to be satisfied with any thing short
of an attempt to carry the block-house. ‘

The night set in cold and stormy. The rain poured down
in torrents, and the wind hurled it rattling against the block-
house. The air, too, was of inky darkness, and the dismal
sighing of the forest, the dull, murmuring roar of the Ohio,
made the scene gloomy enough to the settlers, Had it not
been for the incessant lightning, the time could not have been
more favorable for the assault of the Indians. But the sharp,
trembling streams of fire played constantly overhead, lighting
up the forest and clearing as if at noonday, and the ‘‘ near
crashing of the thunderbolt ” seemed to inspire the timid with
a sort of valor—a peculiar ‘bravery that they were strangers
to at other times.

Dingle, Peterson, and the most experienced Indian-fighters
never removed from their stations at the loop-holes during
the night. The terrible storm that prevailed was of incalcula-
ble benefit to the whites in another particular. It prevented
their assailants from using that most dreaded of all agencies
—fire, in the assault.

The sentinels mentioned kept a continued watch from all
sides of the block-house upon the wood and clearing. They
knew too,well that the continued silence of their enemies was
more dangerous than open demonstration. Some deep-laid

plan was hatching which was expected momently to develop

itself. ;
Now and then a few syllables were exchanged between
those within, but these fragments of conversation only seemed
to make the gloom more impressive. No lights were burning,
and none could see his neighbor. They had all been assigned
stations by the commander, which they did not offer to leave
or exchange, while some of the women and younger portion,
overcome by watching and the confined air, gave way to their
drowsiness and slept feverishly and fitfully. i 2
The hours between midnight and morning are the invaria-
ble ones selected» by the North American Indian for making
his attack upon his enemy. This strange being, so similar to
the wild animal in more than,.one respect, seems to have
learned many a lesson from him. Darkness, the stealthy ap-
proach and blow; the inevitable yell and Jeap in death; the

 

 
 

 

ee

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

16

howl of rage and disappointment; the chilling war-whoop;
the persistent trailing of an enemy; the patient, silent watch;
the black passions of revenge; the reveling in blood; all these
are passions common to and a part of both.

Tt was at that hour, just beyond midnight, the most weird
and gloomy of all, when a sort of stupor of indifference had
fallen upon all except the most experienced, that Dingle gave
the intelligence of the Indians having been seen upon the
clearing, in the rear of the block-house. Almost at the same
instant, Peterson added that they were also upon the front.
Their course of action was now suspected at once; it was to
attack the rear until the attention was concentrated in this
direction, when a rush would be made upon the front, and an
attempt to scale the palisades.

Every man was now upon the alert. The lightning, as if
ordered of Providence, flamed more incessantly, and nearly
every step of the approaching savages could be seen. Some
twenty were halting just beneath the edge of the wood, and
evidently waiting for a moment of darkness in which to make
a rush.

“‘ Hyer they come!” said Peterson.

The same instant all saw them half-way across the clearing,
and almost immediately a dozen spouts of flame flashed from
as many port-holes, and nearly half the Indians leaped wildly
in the air and rolled quivering to the ground. The others
wavered for a moment, and then scattered and took to the
wood again.

‘“‘ Hyer they am now, sartin,” called out Dingle.

The. real attack was now attempted. Nearly the whole
pack, yelling like so many tigers, rushed forward, and came
up against the palisades like a hurricane. Here, as their
heads appeared, by the aid of the friendly lightning, they
were shot down by the cool and deliberate fire of the whites.
The firing was incessant as the lightning, and told with fright-
ful effect upon the assailants. But the Shawnees are brave,
swhen excited, and they maintained the assault most determin-
edly. McGable was soon seen several times, and three of the
soldiers, as they afterward said, aimed nearly all of their shots
at him. But fate seemed to protect him.

As the darkness blazed forth with the living fire, the block-
house loomed out clear‘and defined, standing as it did, like a
large, dark, motionless animal brought to bay by his dogged
pursuers, and from whose hundred eyes the red bolts of de-
struction were hurled incessantly and wrathfully.

The Shawnees continued their desperate attempts to scale
the palisades, growing more furious and revengeful at their
repeated failures. But the steady, continual fire of the whites
made dreadful slaughter, and they finally broke and fled in
the wildest confusion to the wood. The shots from the block-
house continued as long as a single Indian was visible.

““ What do they now propose to do?” asked Mansfield.

‘To git home ’bout as quick as'their legs will allow them.”

““Good! Our success has been better than we could have
hoped.”

“Don’t get excited now, ’cause it ain’t noways sartin
they’ve left yet.”

“Tt makes no difference whether they have or not; it is all
the same to us. We haven’t lost a single man, while they
have had twenty killed. They can’t make a more vigorous
attack than this last one, and they can not possibly meet with
a more complete repulse.”

‘*T tell you that ef it hadn’t been for the rain and the light-
ning we’d have found sate considerably summat different.
In the first place, we wouldn’t had the light to shoot by, and
in the next, they would ’ve had some chance to give us a taste
of what they had l’arned to do with fire.”

‘““They’ve gone for home,” said Dingle, decisively; ‘‘ they
won't bother us again very soon.”

So it proved. An hour or two later, it began to become
gray and misty in the east, the rain ceased falling, and gradu-
ally the light of morning stole over the wood and settlement.
As the day broke, the scene was dismal and cheerless. The
appearance of the forest after a cold storm of rain has passed
over it, always seems to wear its most disagreeable look. The
dripping twigs, the branches loaded overhead with water,
every rustle of which nn it down in torrents ; the cold,
aticky leaves, the wet, shining bark of the trees, and the chill-

ing wind that soughs through the wood, all induce a feeling of
desolation and dislike. a

Such appeared the forest the morning after the attack. In
the clearing, the bare, charred stumps seemed blacker than
usual, and the beautiful river was now turbulent and muddy.
Not a sign of the savages was seen. They had disappeared,
warrying with them their dead and wounded; and the only

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

— =a eeeenspeseocemmeennmeene eee

 

vestiges of the conflict were numerous red spots in the clayey
earth whieh the storm had not completely washed away.

Before it was light, Dingle and Peterson entered the wood
to ascertain whether the Shawnees had really fled or not.
They now made their appearance with the intelligence that
they were not in the neighborhood, and there was no further
cause for fear. The settlers, thankful and joyous, poured
out of the block-house, carrying back their furniture and: val-
uables, and by noon the settlement wore its usual appearance
again.

One of the sentinels reported to the commander about this
time, that there was still an Indian in the wood, apparently
bent upon mischief.

‘‘Draw bead and shoot him the first chance you get,” was
the reply.

With this determination, the sentinel betook himself to-

watching again. He was the only person acting in that ca-
pay at this time, the commander deeming the assurance of
Dingle and Peterson weighty enough to allow his men a good
half-day’s rest. )

Occasional glimpses of the supposed savage could be ob.
tained; but it was a long time before the sentinel could bring
his rifle to bear upon him. He dodged and flitted so rapidly
that it seemed impossible; but becoming impatient. and prc-
voked, the sentinel at: last raised his gun, took a quick aim st
what hé supposed to be his head, and blazed away.

‘“Consarn yeur old picter, who you shooting at?” called
out the indignant Jenkins, as he stepped into the clearing.

The sentinel dropped his gun in amazement, and stared all
agape at the speaker as he recognized him. Jenkins suppos-
ing his silence the result of fear, suddenly became valiant and
again demanded:

““Say, who you shooting at? §S’pose you’d have hit me.
Smart, ain’t you. You needn’t look so innocent and drop
that gun, and pretend you didn’t do it. I seen you take aim
and shoot, and I’ll pay you for it, danged if I don’t!”

By this time Peterson and several others appeared on the
platform, and understanding how matters stood, their laugh-
ter was loud and continued. Jenkins indeed presented a
comical and curious appearance. Naturally thin and bony,
he now seemed doubly elongated, from the fact that his
clothes were completely saturated, and clung tightly to his
limbs. As he straddled indignantly forward, they flapped to-
gether, and it would have been no great stretch of imagina-
tion to suppose him a post gliding over the ground.

“Can’t you answer? WHO YOU SHOOTING aT?” ,

‘“Why at you, of course,” replied the commander, striving
vainly to restrain his gravity. Jenkins was heard to give a
loud *‘ umph!” and seen to shake his hand in a warning man-
ner, when he was admitted into the gate and strode hurriedly
toward the fort. The sentinel, who had gained his senses by
this time, enjoyed the fun as much as the others, and deter-
mined to carry the joke through. He made no reply for the
very purpose of giving Jenkins the idea he was pr fright-
ened at his mistake.

The indignant Jenkins soon made his appearance upon the
platform, and observing the cowering sentinel shrinking: be-
hind the others, called out:

xe You're the man, yes, sir! Come out here, and get half
killed? ;

“'That’s right, Jenkins, give it to him. He'll l’arn better
than to fire at you ag’in,” said Dingle, with an appearance of
just indignation. :

‘““Go in, long-legs, and hammer him,” repeated the others.

‘‘-Yes! come out here and take it, you old coward, you!”
shouted Jenkins, stepping around and rubbing his fore-arms
as though he were rolling up his sleeves. ‘‘ Come out here, I
tell you!”

The men now pushed the tre mbling man from behind them,
and retreated so as to leave the two in an open space and
facing each other. The sentinel now put off all semblance of
fear, and demanded in a gruff tone:

‘What do you want?”

‘“« Why, I want you to stand still while I half hammer you
to death!” .

“ Yammer away, but if your head isn’t cracked before five
minutes, I’ll stand treat, boys.”

The astonishment shown by Jenkins at this <_<
change was ludicrous in the extreme. His hands suddenly
unclinched, and he stammered out:

“«What—what did you say?”

“Why, come on and fight,” replied the sentinel, blustering
as vigorously as did Jenkins at first.

“You shot at me, didn’t you?”

 

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. 1%

 

‘Yes; and will do it again, too.”

“} don’t think it was the right thing.
you.”

“ Because you are afraid.”

‘* No—I don’t think I would.”

“Well, what of it?”
‘IT s'pose you didn’t do it on purpose, and I won’t say any
thing about it this time. But you mustn’t do if again.”

“Yes, I will, if I want to! I shot at you, and am sorry I
didn’t hit you. Come,I thought you was going to whip
me.

‘Yes, Jenkins, give it to him.
to,” cried the others.

“‘T don’t s’pose he done it on purpose,” he replied, turning
toward the others.

‘Yes ].did. I told you so, and would as lief do it again as
not.”

“Jerusalem! here I’m standing in my wet clothes and
catching cold every minute. This’ll never do.”

And in spite of the jeers and laughs of the others,
Jenkins, with an anxious look, hurried away “‘ to change his
clothes.”

I wouldn’t do it to

You said you were going

WSS Zag
SNOM  ae
nt eee

a

 

held, when Peterson announced.that he should make the at-
tempt himself, accompanied only by Mansfield, who was all
eagerness to join him.

Accordingly at noon the two passed jout of the gate and
commenced the expedition by plunging into the forest. The
trail of the retreating Shawnees was so recent that it had not
been obliterated by the rain, and: it was easily followed. It
led up the river a couple of miles, when it crossed to the Ken-
tucky shore and took a north-west direction directly toward
Mad river.

Our friends had not proceeded far when Peterson assured
Mansfield that they were gaining rapidly upon the savages.
The latter, incumbered by their dead and wounded, were
making their way very slowly through the wood, and evi-
dently had no thoughts of pursuit. An hour or two later
Peterson remarked:

‘We're goin’ toofast, Mansfield; we’ll run our heads into
some trap afore we know it. Let’s set down awhile.”

The two seated themselves upon a fallen tree and engaged
in conversation. ;

‘‘ If we don’t stop we'll be up with them afore night,” said
Peterson.

 

“ Marian Abvot--Marian Abbot,” she stil repeated, drawing her hand over her forehead as if engaged in deep thought.—Page 21.

CHAPTER XI.
A PRIZE GAINED AT LAST.

JENKINS, as it afterward turned out, was in the wood re-
connoitering the fort when the shot was fired which had well-
nigh been so fatal to him. His object in doing this was to
_ find out, before venturing to show himself, whether the Shaw-

nees or whites held possession of the settlement. He had
made the discovery of the attack when but a few miles off,
and hearing the guns and becoming alarmed for his own safe-
ty, he ascended a tree and remained there until every Indian
had departed from the neighborhood. ;

Some time after the Closing scene of the last chapter, the
sentinel confessed to Jenkins that he mistook him for an‘ In-
dian when he fired, and he begged forgiveness for his great
mistake. Itis needless to say that the pardon was freely
granted, and good-humor held reign among them all.

The day after the attack and i Ise, Dick Dingle, for the
first time in his life, was taken sic . He was not dangerously
so, but so severely that he was compelled to remain within
doors. This happened unfortunately for Peterson, for the
two had determined to pursue the retreating Indians for the
purpose of capturing the renegade. A short consultation was

 

“And why shouldn’t we?”

‘* Because—’sh! there’s some one back of us now.”

* Before they either had time to conceal themselves, the
bushes parted, and the mysterious Frontier Angel stood be-
fore them.

‘“What are you doing here?”. she asked, quietly.

“‘ Looking for that renegade,” replied Mansfield.

“To you know how far the Shawnees are away?”

“Can't be very fur, I think,” replied Peterson.

““They are encamped a half-mile from here, and have sent
scouts back upon their trail to see who pursues. If you re-
main here twenty minutes longer you will be seen and shot.”

‘Whew! that’s more than we bargained for,” remarked
aeons ‘(if it’s all the same, we'll decline at present and
slide.”

‘‘Do you know any thing of McGable—” :

Our hero stopped, for she had disappeared as quickly and
quietly as she came. .

“YT don’t want to wait, hyer—reds is about,” admonished
Peterson. C ,

No time was lost by ourtwo friends in seeking safety.
The trail of the retreating body was so broad and palpab
that there was little fear of their pursuit being noticed. The

a ,
a le lil ll cl

 
   

 

 

 

lo ES ee

 

——

 

ee

 

 

 

  
 
  
   

 

 

 

   

 

RB

soomts sent back would take the direetion of the back trail,
amd keep alongside of it to ascertain whether any force was
following them. If so, an effort would be made to draw them
im ambush. They had no suspicion, and cared nothing for
sch pursuit as was really made.

Peterson and Mansfield proceeded in a direction at! right
angles with the mai travel, for several hundred yards, where
they secreted themselves. Here they remained for over an
hom. Sy this time it was well toward night, and they ven-
tared forth to resume the Shawnee trail again. After reach-
ing it, hey followed it a cénsiderable distance, when finding
that the Indian camp could be but a short distance away,
they halted and again made off in a side direction.

It.was while doing this) and when several hundred feet
fréxe it; that Peterson, who was slightly in advance, suddenly
halted and raised his hand over his head as a signal for Mans-
Udld to vemain quiet. Both stood motionless a moment, when
Peterson took several. stealthy steps forward and) motioned
for Masisfield to come to his side. The latter did so; his looks
showing more than words the curiosity he felt, The ranger,
by way of reply, pointed ahead, and downward. Mansfield
followed the direction of his finger, and he felt every netve
theill within him as he saw, a few feet in advance, the ex-
tended and sleeping form of the renegade, McGable.

“We've got him at last!’ whispered Peterson, exultingly.

‘The man, from all appearances, had lain down to rest a
short distance from the camp, to escape the hubbub and con-
fasion eecasioned by the presence of somany wounded and
alying. That he was entirely unsuspicioug of personal danger
was evident from this fact.

Mansfield was too excited and fearful of, awakening him to
even whisper or suggest any thing to Petérson. The latter
coolly and deliberately stepped forward and removed the rifle
fram the nerveless embrace of McGable; then, stooping gent-
iy, polled his knives from his girdle. This done, Peterson
cocked his own gun, and holding it pointed toward the breast
af the renegade, said:

“Now wake him, Mansfield—give him a kick on the shins,
aad don't be afraid of hurting him.”

Our hero gave him a gentle touch with his foot, which, fail-
ing to have effect, he increased to a kick. Secing him make
& movement as theugh awakening, he stepped back as di-
wected, The renegade, mumbling to himself, finally opened
his eyes and stared bewilderingly about him, seemingly to-
tally onable to comprehend his whereabouts.

“' Mr. Thomas Me Gable, Esq., I believe,” said Peterson,
with much gravity, without removing the aim of his rifle.

“Who are you?” demanded the renegade.

“« Your master, sir.”

“* We'll see about that. Where—”

ie paused as he reached for his rifle and found it gone; and
‘his astonishment tuened to furious indignation when he dis-
covered that his knives had also been removed.

“What in the name of the furies are you doing with my
arms?” x

“* Jest sot. ’em one side for fear you might hurt yourself.”

““See here, I understand your game, but it won’t do. You
think \’m your prisoner, eh? Did you know there is a hun-
dred Shawnees within calling distance, who’d cut you to
pieces ef they knowed you war here? Now, if you don’t hand
me my gun and knives back, they’ll doit. Vl call’em and
teem you may whistle for your hair.”

Peterson’s face grew as dark asa thunder-cloud, and his
eyes fairly scintillated with fierceness.

“Yom MeGable,” said he, in a voice as deep and rumbling
ag the distant thunder, ‘we come after you. You've got to
ge back to the settlement with us, and it don’t matter whether
you're dead or alive! [ve swore that Pll bring you back with
me, and ef I thought it would be any trouble to drive you
thax, I'd shoot you through your black heart this minute, grab
you by the neck, and drag you along. You can holler to the
Shawnees, but it would never do you any good; you'd never
live to.see em. ‘Ef Thadn’t made a promise, ’'d knife you
this inate. “Tom McGable, you may take yer choice; you
wan cither git up and walk along jist ‘as we tell you, without
iiaking the least noise, or you can set still and be shot on the
gxeand there. It don’t make a bit of difference to me, but
owe or Cother has got to be done. Pll give you four seconds
adi 2 half to'decide in. Ef you ain’t started by that time, I'll
shoot, by thunder!”

- ering the utterance of these words, the renegade mani-
tested a curious compound of emotions, First, indignation
au Diustering bravado were depicted upon his snaky face;
Okie gave way to doubt and hesitation, and when the last ex-

 

 

 

NEW AND. OL

 

D PRIENDS.
pletive fell from Peterson’s lips, he was the embodiment of
trembling, eraven-hearted fear.

‘“What—what will you do with me?” he asked, tremblingiy.

‘“Jsill you, like as not.”

‘What do you want me for?”

‘*Come, you going to start? Your time’s up.”

Pale as death and muttering a fearful curse, the renegade
arose to his feet and faltered that he was ready: :

“Trot along then, and we'll foller.”

“Which way you going? This way?” he asked, turning
his face in the direction of the Indian camp.

‘‘J ruther guess not at present. ‘Turn round: tother way
*zactly, don’t turn your head, or try to: come any of your
dodges, for the minute you do, yow'll be stuck.”

McGable wheeled around in the direction indicated, and
started forward, our two friends following him closely. It
was now quite dark, and the gloom in the wood was intense.
‘There was no moon, and the sky was. still cloudy and ob-
scured. When the darkness became so great, Peterson took
the renegade by one arm, Mansfield by the other, and the trio
thus proceeded.

After walking an hour or so, the renegade, probably finding

?

_ there was no immediate personal danger, regained in some

degree his courage and ventured to speak.

“Td like to ask you.a question. No 'bjection I s’pose.”

‘‘ Not as long asyou’re respectful to your ’speriors;” replied
the ranger. 4o%4

‘Wal, then, how. come you to find me?”

“We looked for ye.”

‘TL s'pose, but“you didn’t s’peck I was such a cussed fool to
go off in the woods to sleep, did you? Leastways, I] didn’t
s’peck I was myself.”

‘“No; it was kinder accident that we found you.”

“S'posed so. How was it you was so well fixed af the
block-house for us? How did you find out we were coming?”

Peterson reflected.a moment before replying to this ques-
tion. He was in doubt whether a disclosure would not be
dangerous to the Frontier Angel. Ue asked Mansfield’s ad-
vice upon it, and the two fell behind and debated it in an un-
dertone for a few moments. They came to the same conclu-
sion, that, as MeGable was already condemned to death, and
there seemed no possibility of -his escape, there could be no
harm in letting him know the truth. This decided, they
soaps forward, took him by the arms, and the ranger re-
plied, or rather asked:

‘“S’posen. we tell you; what of it?” :

“Oh, nothin’, only I thought Pd like to know before I died.
There’s a gal that’s called the Frontier Angel, that I’ve had
my ’spicion of. I’ve told the Shawnees of it, but she acts so
good, they won’t believe it. Didn’t she have nothing to do
with telling you?”

“Yes, she told us.” .

“Sol thought. It’s lucky the Injins won’t believe it.”

‘“Now [ wish to ask you a question,” said Mansfield.

“Wal, what is it?”

‘““ Who is Frontier Angel?”

The renegade maintained silence for several minutes till
our hero repeated, in a louder tone:

‘“Who is the person they call Frontier Angel? Do you
know?”

‘* Yes, but I can not tell you.”

““Why not? IT amsure it cando no harm.”

‘“P'raps not, but J can’t tell you. Let that be the answer.”

‘Tam not willing that it shall be. T insist that you tell or
give some reason for not doing so,”

‘“‘Ill_ give you the reason, then. 1 know who she is, but.

have sworn never to tell a, white, and I swear ag’in I never
will. There’s one thing, howsumever, Pll tell, you without
the axing. The gal they call the Frontier Angel %s crazy!”
Mansfield started. ‘* What made her crazy?” he asked.
‘Don’t ax me, fur I can’t tell you any more,”
‘She ain’t white, is she?’ demanded Peterson. ‘ Won't
hurt yer, I guess, ef you let us know that. much.”
‘*T won't tell you no more, so you can, both dry up,”

-The journey was now continued without a word being
spoken by any. The renegade seemed sullen and moody and
maintained silence. His remarks had set both Peterson and
Mansfield to thinking. It was not the first time they had
both puzzled themselves thus, Who could the singular Fron-
tier Angel be? was the all-absorbing question. She was crazy!
That accounted for the reverence and awe in which she was
held by the Indians, And yet her manner had never awak-
ened the remotest suspicion that such was the case among the
whites with whom she had come in contact. That accounted

ve

 

 

 

 
|
j

 

 

 

for the temerity with which she executed the holy object of
her life—that of befriending the whites in peril.

Despite the improbability of the case, Mansfield could not
avoid the thought that she wasa white person. He could form
no possible reason for thus thinking, ana yet the thought
would present itself. At last he imparted his singular idea
to Peterson. The latter dissipated it at once by telling him
that such could not be the case. Dingle, who knew as much,
if not more of her than any ofthe rangers, assured him that
he had noticed her features and face to satisfy himself, as he
entertained and had heard so many doubts expressed about
it. She had the black eyes and hair of the Indian, although
the prominent cheek-bones and several other characteristics
of the race were wanting. :

But the skin showed unmistakably that she belonged to the
aboriginals.

‘But where has she obtained that perfect knowledge of the
English tongue that she evinced in her conversation?”

‘*Dieck can’t answer that, but hyer’s as thinks that goes to
show she’s a sperit sure, ‘cause if she ain’t, what else can she
be?”

This set Mansfield’s thoughts in another direction. <A
darker picture presented itself. The refusal of McGable to
answer his question added life to the picture, and our hero
became satisfied that he had now struck the truth.

“Jswt she your wife, Tom McGable?” he asked, bending
his mouth close to the ear of the renegade.

The latter started, as if stung by a serpent, trembled and
breathed hard for a moment, but made no answer. Mansfield
repeated his question in a more peremptory tone, but it was
of no avail; the renegade had resolutely sealed his lips.

This, together with his manner, demonstrated the certain-
ty to Mansfield, that the Frontier Angel had been or was
now the Indian wife of McGable. She had married him,
he believed, when she dreamt not what a black heart she
was taking to her bosom. Goaded by his cruelty and the
subsequent knowledge of his awful crimes against his own
race, her reason had become @lethroned. And the safety of
the people that was the object of her eternal hatred to her
husband, now became the burden of her life. The change
from the natural aversion which she, as an Indian, felt to
the whites, to that of friendship and love for them, he be-
lieved was due to the unbounded horror created in her mind
by the atrocrities of McGable. It was one of those singular
phenomena which the human mind often presents. Mans-
field, previous to this, had felt some slight degree of compas-
sion for their captive, but it was all gonenow. The man
who, independent of the last-named crime, could bring him-
self to forswear and massacre his own kindred, without a

shadow of provocation upon their part, he felt deserved any

death that the ingenuity of man could invent.

The march of the three was continued all throuzh the
night, and the halt in the morning was of but a few minutes’
duration, as Peterson felt fearful of pursuit in case the ab-
sence of the renegade was discovered. A short time after,
the settlement was in sight, and before’ twenty minutes more
had passed, Tom McGable, the notorious renegade, was ush-
ered within the palisades by our two friends.

The astonishment and rejoicing created by his capture
were unbounded. He was taken at once to the block-house
and placed in the upper story, from which it was impossible
for him to escape. There had been quite a heavy reward
offered for his apprehension, and the commander assured
Peterson 2nd Mansfield that, as soon as it could he secured,
they should have it. The latter, however, refused to receive

any portion, as he had rendered noassistance worthy of men-

tion in the capture of the prisoner.

The excitement became so great ameny the settlers that
the commander, to quiet them, gave out that the garrison
would’ determine what should be done with McGable at
once. Abbot, hearing this, requested the commander that
he might be allowed, as..a great favor, to sce the prisoner
alone for a short time. The peculiar circumstances of the
stricken father being known, this request was granted; and
McGable, under charge of Dingle—who asserted that he had
been cured by his capture—and the officious Jenkins, was
conducted to Abbot’s house. There being but one door by
which the lower story could be entered, the guards remuiti-
ed outside, and Abbot found himself face to face with the
man who had so well-nigh killed his entire family at one
blow. . Mrs. Abbot, not) wishing to be present at such an
interview, had perenely absented herself, and the two,
the murderer and the murdered, we might almost say, were
alone, Abbot gave the renegade 4 seat, and then sat him-

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. ; 1g

self in front of him, where he could look directly fnite baie
face.

‘*T have petitioned that I might see you alone, McGable,”
commenced Abbot, in a low, quiet tone, ‘“‘in order that 2
might ask you something, which, perhaps, you suspert.
God knows that I have no desire to revenge myself upom
you. Only grant me this privilege, and I will forgive yon,
McGable, for the awful crime you have committed. fast
spring I sent Marian upon a flat-boat, expecting, to rejoim
her in this settlement a few months later. Instead of reach-
ing her destination, the boat was decoyed and all om board
murdered, with the exception of Peterson, who effected his.
escape. He lett Marian dying, he believed, upor the beat
as he sprung away. Had he left her dead, this imterview
would not have been sought by me. But there has been
doubt ever since in the mind of her mother and nmuyself, af
the manner in iwhich She died—for we do not pretence to hepe
that she survived. This doubt has so troubled us, that F
have tried all means of solving it. You must know the cir
cumstances, McGable, and now a broken-hearted father ap-
peals to you to give this knowledge, and set is trouble for
ever’at rest.”

While Abbot was uttering these words, the renegade sat
like a demon incarnate, his eyes blazing with the most hele
ful passion. His teeth were set and he drew his breath hand
and gaspingly through them. He controlled this whirlwing
of fury, ina measure, before Abbot had finished, and when
he spoke it was in the low, frightful voice of suppressed pas-
sion.

‘Richard Abbot, your daughter refused me, and I swore T
would be revenged. I joined the Shawnees as Simon Gariy
and others did, but I kept watch upon your settlement.
found out that you was going to send her to this place im coz-
pany with others. Then I cac’lated the time had come andl
was only sorry that you wasn’t there, that you could, have
been tomahawked, too! 1 found out when the boat started,
and it was dogged till it reached the right spot, when we came
down upon it. Don’t ax me no more. [ve had my revenge,
and that’s enough.” eee

The stricken-hearted man sat'as pale and silent as dGextly
while these burning words were being uttered. It was mot
his emotions alone that made him thus, but the mighty strug-
gle it took to control them. <

‘‘ Will yon not tell me?” he asked, in a voice of wailing ag-
ony that would have melted the heart of human.

*« Wo; Tl tell you nothing!” fairly shouted MéGable_

Such a sudden dizziness came over Abbot at this point,
that, for fear of fainting, he arose and hurried into the room,
which occupied the same floor, and which connected with the
one in which he had been sitting. He hoped to. returm im
moment, and was so bewildered and overcome that he only
thought of being alone till he could regain his-selfcommand_
It is said the Evil One himself sometimes helps his favorites.
Whether such is the case we are not prepared to-say; but winat”
now took place is enough to make us skeptical, to say thr
least. '

Most singularly it happened that just before’ Abbot with-
drew, Dingle felt a sudden return of his sickness:of the reorn-
ing. It was so violent that his iron will could not resist iz,
and he staggered away for the same purpose of being glene;
for, if our readers have noticed it, it is almost invariably the
case that when a man, unaccustomed to sickness, is suddenly
taken, his first wish is to be alone with himself. He felt that
perfect recklessness which is apt to come over us at such
times, in regard to temporal matters, and had Dingle beem
admonished at this particular moment of his imprudence, bits
probable reply would have been that McGable might ge to
perdition for all he cared. Thus it happened ‘that the terrible
renegade was left with no guard at all except Jenkins.

Even then it might not have happened so unfortunately,
had not the last named individual taken it into: his head toms-
certain how matters were progressing inside.. Being left with-
out the companionship of Dingle, it was perfectly
that he should take this means of passing away time. _

‘Hello! inside there, you, how you getting along?” he
caildéd out, poking his head in at the door. Receiving no me-
ply, he shoved his diead further in, and then made the diseare-
ery that the renegade was standing alone in the middle of the
floor. | ‘‘ Hello! all alone, eh? what you thinking abut?
Your sins, I s’pose. Shouldn’t wonder now if you did feel
sorter down in the mouth.” ‘

“Wheat do you want?” gruffly demanded McGable.

‘Oh, nothing in particular, Dick has just gone off to see
the doctor to get some medicine to take for the gripes he has

  

 

 
   
 

 
   

F
a
:

 

 

20

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

just got, and I thought I'd look in to pass away time till he
comes back.”

“Where is he?” asked the man, quickly, vainly striving to
conceal his agitation.

“* Just off here, a little ways.
call him.”

“ Never mind.”

“T s’pose now—umph!”

The last exclamation of Jenkins was perfectly involuntary,
and caused by receiving a terrific blow from the foot of the
renegade, directly in the stomach, which doubled him up like
a jack-knife. As he gasped and rolled over upon the grass,
McGable shot over his head like an arrow, and bounded away
for the palisades. Nearly all the men were at the block-
house, debating upon his fate, but several descried the flyin
fugitive, and shouted the alarm. An instant after he scalec
the palisades and Peterson and several other rangers sped
across the clearing in pursuit. Dingle, who had nearly re-
covered, raised a regular war-whoop and joined in the chase.

Late at night, several of the pursuers returned, moody and
sullen with their ill-success. In the morning, another made
his appearance with the intelligence that Dingle and Peterson
were still in rapid pursuit, but there was little hope of over-
taking the renegade, as he possessed a wonderful fleetness of
foot, and in all probability had given them the slip during
the night.

So it proved. Some time after the two rangers returned
and confirmed this suspicion. They had not even caught a
glimpse of him after he crossed the clearing and entered the
wood.

If you want to see him, I'll

CHAPTER XII.
A MINGLING OF FEAR, DOUBT, AND HOPE.

Tux indignation at McGable’s escape could scarcely be re-
pressed; but the version given by Jenkins so completely ex-
culpated himself from blame, that he escaped entirely the
shafts of indignation. There were some, it is true, who had
their private opinion of this wonderful story; but, as there
‘was no witness to disprove it, these opinions were unex-
pressed.

Jenkins affirmed that what first induced him to peep into
the room was a strong smell of brimstone. Upon looking in,
he saw McGable sitting astride of the devil, who was walking
slowly toward the open door, holding a trident in one claw.
Jenkins informed him that he was very sorry to oppose him,
but nevertheless, he felt compelled by the stern dictates of
pen to prevent his passage. At that, the father of all evil
made a rush toward him, striking him in the breast with the
trident, and grappling with him. They closed in with each
other, and the struggle became fearful. Jenkins, securing
the trident, used it as a ‘‘ whip of scorpions,” and was satis-
fied he gave some “‘ strange horrors” with it. He believed he
would have eventually triumphed, had he not been taken
with one of his fainting fits at the critical moment. Victory
thus secured, the arch-enemy galloped over his prostrate form,
vanished in mid-air, and left McGable skimming over the
ground toward the sheltering wood.

More than one placed implicit faith in this story. Such is -

the superstition of the bravest of the brave—the border ranger!

But there was one thing which troubled the settlement more
than the escape of the renegade, it was the fate of the Fron-
tier Angel. There was no fou of what the Indians would do,
for it was well known that a crazy or foolish person is regard-
ed among them as one specially gifted by Manitou, and un-
der no consideration will they venture to harm him; but it
could hardly be expected that McGable would share in this
superstition; and, now that his suspicions of the friendship of
this being to the whites was resolved into an absolute certain-
ty, some plan, it was rightly thought by the settlers, would
be taken by him to close her lips forever, . It was well known

that there was no crime against the human race too great for’

the scoundrel to commit; and the weak, defenseless Frontier
Angel, through the stupidity of the whites, would fall a victim
to his vengeance.

‘Freeze me to death, ef it shall be so!” exclaimed Dingle,
who was discussing the subject with Peterson, the comman-
der, and several others. ‘No, sir; ef that sperit is killed,
her blood will be upon us.” ;

“Tf she is a spirit, she can not be harmed by mortals,” yen-
tured Abbot.

.
.

 

“Wal, Tom McGable ain’t a mortal; he’s an infarnal imp.”

“* Whoever this strange, being is, that you term Frontier
Angel,” remarked the commander, ‘‘it is evident to all that
she is’ the firm friend of the whites. The timely warnings
which she has so repeatedly given us, and, in fact, all the set-
tlements along the Ohio, entitle her to their everlasting grati-
tude. If she is slain by McGable, as Dingle observes, her
blood will be asmuch upon us. For it was ourselves who
first told him she was our friend, and then allowed him to es-
cape to do what he pleased with her. No, friends, it will
never do. . Some plan must be taken to warn her of her peril
and afford her all the protection she will receive. Have you
any plan?”

‘* Kill that renegade and then the matter will be set at rest,”
replied Peterson.

‘“That is easier said tian done,” remarked Mansfield. ‘‘ If
I may be allowed to give an opinion it is this: now that Mc-
Gable has been convinced of our deadly enmity to him, and
our anxiety to secure him, he will take particular care never
to give us an opportunity. It will be only in battle where he
will be likely to feel our will in regard to him. This Frontier
Angel is still roaming through the forest, engaged in her truly

angelic work of befriending the whites; and the plan that I

propose is this: Let all the settlements which it is known she
visits be notified of the whole circumstances, and instructed
to warn her upon the first opportunity; and, besides this, let
us all try to induce her to abandon the life she is leading, and
to settle down and remain with us.”

“Yes, do; tell her I'll marry her if she will,” said Jenkins,
all eager seriousness.

“There, that will do,” interrupted the commander.  “‘ The
plan proposed by Mansfield strikes me as being the best, and
J am in favor of adopting it at once.”

‘‘It’s my opine it’s the real thing,” said Peterson.

‘““Tt’s the ticket, and hyer’s as moves we stop talkin’ and
go to workin’.”

A. short time longer was spent in consultation, when the
following course was decided ‘upon: Peterson was to go up
the Ohio, and state the case at the different settlements, all
the time seeking an interview with her, while Dingle and
Mansfield were to range the vicinity of the Indian towns in
the hope of meeting her. ,

This plan, with characteristic vigor, was acted upon at
once, and in the afternoon of the day succeeding the escape
of McGable, the three men were in the forest, seeking out the
Frontier Angel. Dingle and Mansfield, as said, took a north-
west direction, toward the Shawnee towns, which they reached
in due time. They remained in the neighborhood several
days, and during that time gained one or two glimpses of Mc-
Gable, but could see nothing of the being for whose benefit
they came. At last they were satisfied she was not in them,
and must either be in the Scioto valley, or engaged upon
some errand of mercy or—had she already fallen a victim to
revenge? :

Some time after, Dingle and our hero were in the Scioto
valley, carefully reconnoitering the Indian villages, but ob-
tained no further information, and were reluctantly compelled
to the belief that she was either at the eastern settlements, or
she had already been murdered by McGable. The latter, as
Mansfield remarked, took such care of his person, that there
was little hope of again obtaining possession of it. Several
days were spent in the neighborhood, without further success,
when they turned their faces homeward, convinced that they
had done all that it was possible for them to do in this diree-
tion, although that all was nothing.

They reached the settlement and reported themselves and -
then all waited anxiously for the return of Peterson. Before
going out all knew'the wishes of Abbot, and it was expected
that something definite would be gained of the fate of poor
Marian.

It was a week before Peterson came in; but when he did
come, he had a report to give that thrilled every heart in the
settlement. At the first village he reached, he was told the
Frontier Angel had left there that morning, and that her man-
ner was so wild and strange as to induce the settlers to use
every thing except force to retain her. From her rambling,
incoherent manner, and several remarks she made, they gath-
ered that her life had already been attempted by McGable,
an Lon the memory and thoughts of it made her act so sin-

ularly.

7 From this settlement, he went on to the next, but she had
not been seen here for several weeks, | Having been instructed
to visit all the frontier villages, Peterson did so, but learned
nothing more of her. From this he supposed that, if not in’

 

 

 
 

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. a1

 

the Shawnee towns, she could be at no great distance from
the settlement first mentioned. Accordingly, he spent several
days searching the woods and streams in the hope of obtain-
ing some trace of her. He failed to find her, but was discov-
ered himself by her.

He had lain down one afternoon, to rest himself, and was
just falling into a doze, when he was startled to his feet by
her suddenly appearing before him.

‘‘ Are you looking for me?” she asked.

“Yes: but confound it, how did you know it?” °

‘‘Do you, too, seek my life?” she asked, gazing at him with
the most painful anguish and terror depicted in her face.

“No; I wouldn’t hurt you for ten hundred thousand mil-

lion pounds in British money. [Tm looking for you to tell
you, you must keep your eyes peeled ’cause there’s sunkthin’
in the wind.”

There was a wildness in her look, which, despite himself,
made Peterson restless and ill at ease, although he took occa-
sion to show by his words and manner that he had no such
thoughts. The girl stared at him a moment, and then
asked:

“You do not want to kill me, then, do you?”

“No; I wouldn’t do no such thing, and would raise the
her of the man that tried it, if he was my own brother.”

“ He tried to; he shot at me, and chased me with his knife.”

“Who did so?”

“That bad man; he is hunting now for me, and wants to
kill me.”

“Who do you mean? McGable?”

“Yes, it was he—he nearly killed me.”

“He may kill you yet. Won't you go with me where he
can’t hurt you?”

“Oh, no—no—lI live alone. God will take care of me.”

She turned to depart, and Peterson, who all the time had
felt fidgety and nervous, was glad to be alone, when it sud-
denly occurred to him there were several questions which he
must yet ask, to gain the desired information for Abbot and
Mansfield. So he called her back.

“Say, will you let me ax you a thing or two?”

She answered by turning around and silently facing him.

“You know McGable in course, and must know he’s the
all-firedest villain that tramps. Wal, last spring he and a lot
of Shawnees attacked a flat-boat, and sliced ’em all up ’cept-
ing the best-looking one of the lot—him_as is squatted afore
rou. Wal, that ain’t much to do with the matter, ’cept to il-
ustrate the point. There was a gal on board, that I tried to
jump overboard with, but she got shot just as I was ready,
and I left her behind. She wa’n’t dead then, but about so.
Howsumever, her folks never’ll be satisfied till they know all
about it. Might be you’ve heard of the gal?”

“No,” replied the Frontier Angel, shaking her head with a
pensive, saddened look. ere :

_ Spect you did. Sorry, cause I’d like to find out. Never
heard McGable say nothin’ ’bout her?”

ae No. ”

“Qu’ar. Oh! is that renegade your husband?” :

The maiden simply gave him a wondering stare without
making a further reply. Now that Peterson was fairly start-
ed, he determined to learn all he could of her. |

“The name of the gal was Marian Abbot,” observed the
ranger, suddenly recollecting that he had not mentioned her
name. “As he uttered it, his heart fairly stopped beating, at
the manner of the mysterious being before him. She started,
her dark eyes opening so strangely, and her breath coming so
short and gaspingly, that Peterson averred he felt his hair lift
his coon-skin cap clean from his head.

“Marian Abbot—MarianA bbot—Marian,” she repeated, as
if communing with herself, and gazing not at Peterson, but
over his head, far away into the horizon where the purple and
golden clouds were then blazing with the fire of heaven.

‘Yes, that was her name,” said Peterson, anxiously.

“Marian Abbot—Marian Abbot,” she still repeated, draw-
ing her hand over her forehead as if engaged in intense
thought. ‘‘ Have I heard of her, you ask? Have I heard of
Marian Abbot?—no—yes—let me see—I remember. I saw
her—no, I know nothing of her!” she replied, dropping her
hands from her forehead, and looking up at him with the
same wild, fiery look.

“Think pein, urged Peterson, much disappointed at her
manner. ‘‘ You jest now said you remembered her. Put
your thinkin’ cap on and p’raps you ll find out arter all.”

“No; I can’t remember any thing. Don’t ask me to, for it
hurts my head so much. Wait a moment”’—ghe said, press-
ing her her hand quickly to her temple again, ‘* Marian Ab-

 

bot—yes, there was such a girl—I remember her—I saw het
among the Indians !”

At this point she turned deadly pale, and sunk to the earth.
That singularly foolish notion, that it was fatal to touch the
Frontier Angel, prevented Peterson from springing forward
to her assistance. She did not faint, however, but instantly
recovered herself and bounded away in the wood without ut-
tering another syllable.

This information, conveyed in substance to the breathless
listeners, by the ranger, thrilled every one, as we said, to the
heart. It awakened, both in the father and Mansfield, a
strange hope, that, from its very intensity, produced a deadly
heart-sickness. Abbot reeled to his home, where, for a long
time, he strove to control his agitation. He said nothing to
his wife, for he was nearly unmanned, and feared he should
turn crazy himself.

““Oh merciful Father! can my daughter be alive? Did she
escape that awful massacre? Is thisa dream? Am I going
mad? Oh, grant that no hope may be awakened to be dashed
from me again!”

Mansfield was equally excited. The cold sweat came upon
his face, and it seemed as if his heart stood still; and could
never recover its power. It is difficult to conceive of a keener
torment—a more excruciating agony than that which is pro-
duced by the awakening—the sudden bringing to life of a
long-buried hope. The extremes of joy and pain are the
same, but the culminating point of the latter is reached, when
doubt—almost and yet not quite wacertainty—is a part of the
former. It is impossible for a human being to quietly bear it.
Relief must be found in some direction, or the sufferer’s
reason will flee.

The painful affliction of Abbot and his wife was known to
the entire settlement, and they had the heartfelt sympathy of
every one. It was believed by all that the wife was dying of
a broken heart. She was silent and remained at home, seek-
ing the society of no one. She had become pale and fearfully
emaciated, seeming resigned and anxious for the death that
was so fast approaching. Her only desire was to rejoin her
sainted child, where no murderer’s hand could ever separate
them.

After the father had, in some degree, regained command of
himself, he passed out.of the house again, without speaking
to his wife, and made his way back to where a knot of the
settlers were discussing the all-absorbing question. ere he
found, with painful joy—for those two words express exactly
his emotion—that the belief was quite general that Marian
might possibly be alive and a prisoner among the Indians.

‘*T tell you it won’t be the fust time such a thing has hap-
pened,” remarked Dingle, impressively; ‘‘there’s no tellin’
what capers them Shawnees are up to. In course, there’s a
powerful heap of chances that the gal has gone under, but
hyer’s as thinks it ain’t always onpossible that the gal is kick-
in’ yet. Now, Jim Peterson, tell the truth for once: is you
sartain that gal died when you dropped her on the boat?
Mind, yow’re on your oath.” :

‘No, by the Eternal, I don’t know she is dead, though I'll
swear to it, on the Bible, this minute.”

“Wal, sir, hyer’s as is goin’ to the Shawnee towns and find-
in’ out whether that gal is livin’.”

‘‘ But,” persisted Abbot, who seemed determined to receive
no false basis for his hope, ‘‘ how can she be there? Have
you not been to all the towns, and had an opportunity of
judging? You certainly would have heard of her before this
time.

““No; I don’t know as I would. Them Shawnees ar’ all the
time up to such tricks that no one can begin to keep track of
’em. Freeze me, and Lord bless you, man, I don’t want to
make you think I am going to find your gal for you and then
have her dead all the time. You must be ready for disap-
pointment.” : ;

“Tam ready for any thing, I trust,” faintly replied Abbot,
who felt that he could notsurvive such a cruel dashing of
the cup of hope from his lips.

CHAPTER XIIl.
DARK.

Tue excitement in relation to the Frontier Angel and the
lost Marian, was greatly increased by two circumstances that
occurred on the day following the return of Peterson. It

 
    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ee

22

 

had been determined, as the reader has already learned, by
Dingle, that he should start to the Shawnee towns in search
of tidings of Marian. In this dangerous undertaking it was
agreed that Peterson should join him. The latter having un-
dergone considerable toil and fatigue, was compelled to re-
main over night by the commander, in order to be prepared
for what was before him.

Shortly after the sun had risen, and while the two scouts
were preparing to start upon their expedition, the sentinel on
the platform of the block-house reported an Indian canoe vis-
ible, far up the Ohio. The scouts, including Abbot, Mans-
field, Jenkins, and several others, instantly ascended the plat-
form to view the suspicious object. It was at a great distance
~-so great that it resembled a duck, or something similar,
slowly swimming the river. It was not crossing, as first sup-
posed, but coming down-stream, and would, if it continued,
pass by the settlement.

“Hello!” exclaimed Dingle, ‘‘ there comes another one
Ne behind it. What does that mean? Looks qu’ar, I de-
clar’.

Our friends continued gazing at the two canoes now Visible
with an intense interest. The last one had just rounded a
bend in the river, and followed in the wake of the first.
Whether it was in pursuit or not was impossible to tell at the
great distance; but, 7f so, their progress was so similar, that
they seemed like moving automata, connected with each other
under the water, and propelled by the same power. They
kept the center of the current, in a direct line with each other,
and moved steadily and rapidly, as could be easily seen even
at the distance they were away. They did not swerve a foot
from, a straight line, so seemingly anxious were they to hurry
forward.

“Can't you make any thing of it?” asked Mansfield.

“T can see-their paddles shinin’ in the water,” replied
Dingle, “‘and—I—think—” he added, speaking slowly, with
his eyes fixed upon the canoes—‘‘I think—yes—I know there
ig Only one in the first boat and there is—yes, two in the last.
[t isa race, sure as thunder!” he exclaimed, standing and
looking around upon the others.

“Perhaps only a friendly one, between a couple of Indian
canoes,” suggested Abbot.

““We don’t have such races on the ’Hio this time of year,”
replied the ranger, with a quiet smile. f

All continued watching the canoes, until it was evident that
one person was pursued by a couple, and that the race was a
most determined one upon both sides.

‘Freeze me to death!” suddenly exclaimed Peterson, ‘ if
that person in the first canoe ain't Mrontier Angel, then shoot
me! :

““That’s so,” added Dingle, ‘‘and the one as is chasin’ of
her is our old friend Mr. MeCable and an Injin!”

Several, as said, had enteriained suspicions that the mys-
terious Frontier Angel was in the first canoe, but not one save
Dimgle had any idea that it could be the notorious renegade
in pursuit. Even as it was, the commander of the post re-
fused to believe that the miscreant would venture so soon
within sight of the block-house. :

““Tt’s him,” continued the ranger, with coniplete assurance.
“T never was mistaken ’bout him, you can beta powerful
heap on that.”

‘Tf so, are you going to see our best friend captured?” said
the commander, in a tone of severe rebuke.

“She ain’t agwine to be captured,” coolly replied Dingle.
“T guess McGable and his Shawnee will have to take a few
instructions in pulling a canoe, afore they’ll stand a chance
to cotch the Frontier Angel.”

‘“©an he not shoot her?” asked the commander, more
sternly than before. ‘‘ Dingle, you and Peterson hurry into
the wood to her assistance, for she will need it. Shoot that
McGable, and I will give each of you twenty pounds apiece,
besides reporting you to the General.”

‘“He can shoot,” suid Dingle to himself. ‘‘ Come, boys,
le’s hurry. We orter started long ago, and we might ’ve
stood some chance. He can kill her now if he takes a notion
afore we can draw bead on him.”

The two, accompanied by Mansfield; hurried to the gate,
were permitted to pass cut, and away they sped across the
clearing, into the wood, ;

In the mean time, those upon the platform were watching

the canoe with intense and painful interest.
_ ‘The old rapseallion is gainin’ on the beautiful angel,” re-
marked Jenkins, excitedly, ‘‘ Oh, if Iwas only where I could
get my grasp on that. feller’s throat, I’d choke him to death
in five seconds! Oh! oh! oh! wouldn’t I?”

 

Se

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

 

‘“No; Ido not think he has gained at all upon her,” re-
marked Abbot. ‘ At any rate, the race can not be continued.
much longer, for they will soon be nigh enough to run into
danger. If we could only hit them with the swivel,” he
added, looking toward the commander.

The latter shook his head,

‘The swivel is only to be used in cases of great emergency.
We did not use it when the Shawnees made the night attack,
because we could get along without its aid. Besides, it is not
loaded with a single ball, but filled with slugs, bullets, and
bits of iron, so as to do as much destruction as possible upon
an enemy nigh at hand. No; the firing of the swivel, how-
ever well aimed, could effect no good purpose.”

““T wonder at the presumption and daring of McGable,”
said Abbot, turning his gaze once more up the river. ‘‘'They
say he only differs from Simon Girty in point of cowardice.
His heart is as black, but his face is often white with fear.
But this looks like bravery, to see him venture so nigh this
spot which he knows is so dangerous to him.”

““He won’t come much nigher. I only hope that Dingle
will get him within range. It is all folly to undertake to cap-
ture him, If we should secure him, he would manage to get
off again through the help of that fool of a Jenkins.

The commander did not notice that the individual he re-
ferred to stood directly behind, and was gazing, compietely
dumbfounded, at bim. Had he known it, he would not have
cared, for the thought of that foolish escape of the renegade
was ever a source of irritation to him, and he took no pains
to conceal his opinion of Jenkins’ cowardice. But this was
the first time the latter had heard him speak thus, and, as
said, he was astonished in no small degree.

“Why, didn’t I tell you how it was? How the Old Boy
carried him off, and I fought like blazes to stop him, but hap-
pened to have one of my fainting fits just then? Think you’d
believe a feller when he tells the truth.”

“T do,” dryly rejoined the commander.

“T tell you,” said Abbot, excitedly, ‘‘if MeGable comes
much further he will surely run against Dingle’s bullet. He
is so eager he does not seem to notice where he is running to.
Look how that Shawnee pulls!”

‘And they are gaining upon her, as sure as the world! She
is wearied and well-nigh tired out. Heavens? it is too much
to stand here and witness that,” exclaimed the commander,
half beside himself. ‘‘Why, in the name of heaven, don’t
Dingle shoot him? He would have been nigh enough if he
had only walked. I can not comprehend it!”

“Look! MeGable is going to shoot!”

‘“Tt can not be—yes.”

At that instant, a bright flash was seen to flame out in the
front of the rear canoe, a thin wreath of smoke curled up-
ward, and a moment after, the faint report of the renegade’s
rifle was heard. .

“Tg she hit? Curse it, where is Dingle?’ exclaimed the
commander, fidgeting and moving about as though unable to
contain himself,

‘She is wounded, but not killed. See! she is coming in to
shore!” :

The canoe of the Frontier Angel was now hurrying in to-
ward the Kentucky shore, swiftly followed by that of the
renegade. She had approached so nigh as to be hidden to
the view of those in the block-house, but was still at eon-
siderable distance. It was at this moment, that the Indian
accompanying McGable dropped his oars, rose to his fect and
had the gun already at his shoulder, when two simultaneous
reports were heard, and he threw bis arms wildly over his
head and sprung headlong into the river, upsetting the canoe
at the same time. McGable, who was a most exeellent swim
mer, dove deep and came up 2 long way from the canoe,
whose bottom formed a black spot on the surfaee. His head
hardly appeared before it sunk again, and Dingle and Peter
son really belicyed he was drowning. But it was only a feint
of the wary wretch. His head was descried still further down
stream, when it finally disappeared altogether. But, after a
while, he was seen to rise too far away to be within rifte-
range, and walk away in the forest,

The reason of his escaping all the shots of the whites was
this. In the hurry of departure, Mansfield had never once
thought of taking his rifle with him, so that there was really
but two shots. Dingle and Peterson had hurried to their ut-
most, notwithstanding the remark of the commander, who
was not so situated as to rightly judge of duration. Upon
coming in view, they both raised their guns together and took
aim at the form of the renegade. That instant the savage
rose and aimed at the Frontier Angel. His immediate death

 

 

 

 
 

 

«ould only save her; there was no time for consultation, so
Uist one niight accomplish this. The danger was too immi-
ment, and naturally enough, they both fired together.’ The
canoe instantly upset and the skillful manner in which the
renogade effected his own escape has already been shown.

Gar three friends remained watching for his reappearance,
antil it was made at a great distance down-stream. This, of
course, was a considerable time after the shooting of the In-
dian, and during the interval their attention had never once
been direeted: to the Frontier Angel. Now, as they turned
to took for her, she was nowhere:to be seen. Remembering
the poimt toward which she was hastening, they searched
along the shore, and, at Jast, found her canoe, pulled high up
on the bank and secreted beneath the bushes, but there were
no signs of her. A careful examination of the canoe and the
ground around, failed to show the least sign of blood, so that
they were compelled to the joyful belief that she had escaped
the shot of McGable without being even wounded.

How this could be the two rangers were at a loss to tell, for
the renegade was so Close at hand, and the object was so well-
presented, that even an ordinary marksmati could scarcely
have failed.

“That settles the matter,” said Dingle, compressing his
lips and shaking his head; ‘‘ that’s the second time he’s tried
to kill her and couldn’t do it, I s’pose some will say she ain't
a sperst nOW—but you needn’t tell Dick Dingle so.”

““ Nor Jim Peterson,” added that individual himself,

““There ain’t even a trail of her, and she ain't nowhere
about, /yyer-—she’s gone-wy, she has. You might shoot at her
all day, and not hurt her... Hyer’s as don’t undertake any
such foolery,as to warn her—'eause why? thar ain’t no need
of it. She ain’t in danger, and never was or will he.”

“Wonder why she don’t kill that devil MeGable?” remarked
Peterson, leaning on his rifle and gazing meditatively déwn
the river.

“She'll give it to him moful fore he gets through—see ef
she don’t. “His time ain't come yet.” ; )

Some further time was. spent in similar remarks, when the
fhree set out, for the block-house. It was the intention of
Dingle and Peterson to start for the Shawnee towns, but the
commander instructed them to remain over until the next
morping, when, if. nothing unusual happened, they would be
allowed to pursue their journey. The rangers were not very
unwilling to do this, as the sky gave appearance of another
storm, and the adventure with McGable had its effect upon
then.

The morrow came, but the rangers went not, and it was or-
dered that they never should again.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE ATTACK IN THE WOOD.

Sux storm which threatened during the afternoon broke
forth toward night and raged until morning. _ Little rain fell,
but the wind was terrific, as it howled around the settlement
and screamed through the forest. What rain fell came al-
most, horizontally, and rattled like hail-stones against the
cabins. .

All night long the dim, yellow iight burned in the block-
house, and ihe shadowy form of ashivering sentinel was never
absent from the platform. It was such a night as to make
one relish the.comforts of a shelter. Chilly, windy, and dis-
mal without, it was all light and. sunshine within. A huge
fire of hickory logs was roaring in the fire-place, lighting up
the bronzed faces of the hunters and rangers without the aid
of the torch that smoked further back in the room, Now
and then the men were furnished with drinks of whisky, and
their spirits were light and jovial. Dingle and Peterson were
there, relating and listening to stories as usual, and ‘‘all went
merry 26 4 marriage bell.”

Little apprehension of an attack was felt, as the laterepulse
had taught the Indians a lesson whieh they could not but
heed. The shivering sentinel paced his walk, slowly and

Joomily, while the keen wind whistled round his ears. As
he heard the merry laugh of those within, he breathed more
than one earnest prayer that the time would hurry by and
bring a relief to take his place. He could not be said to keep
a very vigilant watch, as the darkness was so intense as to

revent; and when the windy rain was hurled in his face, he
felt more like covering it up with his great cloak than’ in

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. 23

{

 

 

pecring toward the hoarse, soughing wilderness. He had
first whistled a tune, then hummed it, and was now counting
his steps, to pass away the time. He had calculated the num-
ber of turns he should be compelled to make before his watch
would be up, and was now noting by this means the minutes
as they slipped away.

His watch extended from nine o'clock until midnight.
About half of it had transpired, and he was completely ab-
sorbed in enumerating his steps, when he was brought to a
sudden stand-still, and felt a thrilling chill creep ‘over him, as
a voice, faint and suppressed, but yet distinct and clear,
called out from the direction of the clearing:

““Ffello, there!”

The sentinel stopped abruptly and looked in’ the direction
from which the voice came. Once, it seemed, thé outlines of
aman were discernible, but it was only an illusion. He re-
flected that it might be an artifice, and hesitated ‘before reply-
ing. ‘It’s like enough he wants to find out where I stand,
and then blaze away: However, I'll fix it so that I can an-
swer him.”

Leaning himself as much as possible behind. the protection
of the platform, he called out:

‘‘ What's wanting out there?”

56 Admittance: I am half frozen to death.
in?” ‘

‘* You must wait till morning, my dear sir.” ;

‘““But J will perish. Have you a man in the fort named
Jim Peterson?”

““ Yes; what of it?”

“Call him; he will admit me if you will not.”

‘“T don’t know about that. Who are you?”

‘Tell him Madison Drake wishes to see him.”

The sentinel was too wary to Jeave his post. He suspected
that this was a stratagem of the man to attack the gates; and
yet he reflected, that if he was innocent of any evil design, it
was not right that he should be denied shelter. ‘The coni-
mander had given imperative orders that no one should un-
fasten the gates after nightfall. So the sentinel adopted an
artifice. He answered that he would call Peterson, and, at
the same moment opened and closed the door... But he shut
himself upon the outside, and remained a few moments listen-

* Will you let me

ing. Hearing nothing, he concluded it was no risk to call the
ranger. Accordingly he partly opened the door, put his head

in quickly, and said, in a loud tone:

“Peterson, there is a man named Madison Drake out here
who wants to see you.” f

Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of Peterson it could
not have startled him more. He was in the midst of a story,
all life and animation, when the gruff words of the sentinel
broke in so abruptly upon him. And yet it was not the
words alone, but the name pronounced that so affected him,
for Jim Peterson would bave taken his solemn oath that that
man was killed months before. He was sure of it; and what
could the sentinel mean by breaking in upon them with such
intelligence? He looked around upon fhe faces all turned
expectantly toward him, waiting for the remainder of his
story. He believed he must have been mistaken.”

“What did that feller say?” he asked, looking half ashamed
at asking the question, ;

“He said there was a man named Drake who wanted to see
you. What makes you look so scared, Jim? I hope you
don’t owe him any thing.”

“Wal, by the Eternal, that gits my time. Ef that man’s
alive, then I'll sw’ar that men don’t die nowadays ‘less they
want to.”

“Why, what's up now?” asked Dingle.

‘‘ Don’t you remember that name?” asked Peterson, turing
toward our hero,

‘“T was just thinking I had heard it somewhere.”

“Wal, sir, he Was on the flat-boat with me when all was
killed ’cepting me. Yes, sir.”

Peterson shook his head meaningly and slapped his hand
upon his knee as he uttered these words.

‘‘ Like enough it’s him,” said Dingle. ‘‘ Freeze me to death,
if you can tell what’s goin’ to happen nowadays.”

‘It may be a decoy of McGable’s,” added the commander
““Tt_is unnecessary to caution you; Peterson. Nevertheless,
I will accompany you.” é

The two went out on the platform. The wind was so strong
as to nearly lift them off their feet, and the darkness so great
that they barely discerned the form of the sentinel beside
them. .

“* Where is he?” asked the commander.

“He will speak in a minute.”

 

 
 

ee eet

 

 

=~

 

24 NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

They listened, and finally the suffering man called out:

““ Hello there, sentinel; hain’t Peterson come out yet?”

“Yes, here 1am; what do you want?” replied and asked
the ranger.

“Don’t you know me, Peterson? Don’t you remember
Madison Drake, who was on the flat-boat with you?”

““Yes; but the one I knowed was killed that night. Be you
him?”

“‘Tamhe, I was not killed, although well-nigh so. But,
if you will not admit me, I will not live long, as I am nearly
perished now.”

Have patience, Drake, a few minutes, and I will see about
it.

“*Do you believe he is not trying to deceive us?” asked the
commander, in a low tone.

““That’s his yoice—I’d swear to it’mong ten thousand.
But Pll swear, too, that he has been killed once!”

““Fudge! Jim, you ain’t such a fool as that?) Go down and
let him in, if you ain’t afraid. Remember what I said and be
careful.”

The ranger, without a word, turned and made his way
downward. As he passed out toward the gate, it was not
without considerable misgivings and a hearty wish that mat-
ters and things in general would not. take it into their heads
to assume such mysterious and inexplicable a form to him.
He had no fear of any thing mortal, but he would have rather
faced a dozen yelling Shawnees than the ghostly apparition
which he believed was waiting for him upon the outside.

““Where’n thunder ar’ you?” he demanded, spitefully, as he
approached the gate.

“* Here, just on the outside, half chilled to death,” was the
reply from the rattling teeth of the sufferer.

“Sure there ain’t no reds about as ar’ goin’ to try to dodge
in atween your legs?”

‘No, no; and in heaven’s name, how much longer are you
going to keep me here?”

‘“ Wal, you needn’t be so cross ’bout it.”

With these words, Peterson cautiously unbarred the gate,
and opened asmall space. Instantly, a cold, wet skeleton-
apparition glided through and stood trembling beside him.

‘‘How are you, Jim? You don’t appear glad to see me,”
it said, pushing a cold, bony hand toward him.

“ Just wait—wait till I fasten this gate and then ll go up
to the block-house with you,” replied the ranger, working at
the massive bolts, and at the same time, glancing furtively
over his shoulder, at what he believed to be a veritable ghost
beside him.

‘Now, give us your hand, Jim, for, if ever a white man
was glad to see another, I am glad to see you; Jeh-u-u-u! ain't
it cold?” exclaimed the apparition, desperately, as a regular
spasmodic shock shook him, and apparently ejected the
words in a most unceremonious hurry from his rattling teeth.
Peterson could not refuse the proffered hand; but, as he took
it, he felt a cold chill crawl, from the finger ends of the
ghost, up through his arms, clean to the crown of his head,
wheve it seemed to halt, gathering in a big mass, and then
separating into a number of arrowy needles, shoot through
every part of his system, even contracting his very toes.

“ How—how'r yer?—’tis cold—let’s go in,” he said, turning
toward the block-house, and walking hurriedly away.

We should like to know whether any of our readers have
been in a situation, where their greatest desire has been to get
ahead as fast as possible, and yet they felt ashamed to either
look behind them, or to incredse their gait. If they have,
they can appreciate the peculiar sensations of the really brave-
hearted Peterson. Imagine yourself, on a dark night, when
within a few rods of os door, where you know your friends
are peering into the darkness in expectation of your moment-
ary arrival—we say imagine that just at that moment, you
hear a footfall behind you! You start and your heart com-
mences to throb, and you hastily debate whether it is best to
walk mnconcernedly along, as though such a thing as fear
never entered your head, or to glance behind you, and break
into a regular run for the door. But ridicule, more potent
than fear, prevents you, and you walk, it is true, a little
faster, but as you push open the door, you can not help shov-
ing yourself in rather hurriedly, as your friends judge.

t was with feelings somewhat similar to these, that Peterson
walked toward the block-house, his unwelcome visitor stalk-
ing after him. : ;

‘Hyer we is,” he exclaimed, as he ushered him into the

warm, glowing room of the block-house, where the hardy

backwoodsmen sat conversing.
“A dismal night, gentlemen,” said Drake, bowing to the

 

men, and approaching the fire, against which he turned his
back and gazed composedly at the men. ‘‘A reg’lar snorter
this night is; thought I’'d freeze to death. Jehu-u-u! that fire
feels good. But 1 can’t blame you for your tardiness and sus-
picion in such times as these. Though Mad Anthony has
taught the Indians manners, it seems that they forget them
once in a while.”

The hunters were not men to sit silent and unsocial when a
stranger claimed their hospitality. They saw it was no ghost,
but a veritable flesh and blood human being who stood before
them. He was a tall, cadaverous-looking man, his face all
hair and eyes, and yet his voice showed him to be a’ good-
natured gentleman. His garments were soaked with water,
which slowly dropped from his ragged shirt, and every turn:
of his clothes, and steamed constantly from them on account
of his proximity to the fire. He was without weapons of any
kind. Without waiting as long as it has taken us to intro-
duce this description, the commander replied:

‘‘A cold and dismal night indeed. Let me give you some-
thing to warm you within, for it is plain you need it.”

‘Thank you,” replied Drake, taking the proffered cup ‘of
raw whisky and swallowing it. ‘No more, thank you. I
feel considerably better now.”

“Why, Drake, that és you,” suddenly exclaimed Peterson;
“give us your hand and tell us how you are getting along.”

“‘Ha! ha! has it taken you all this time to discover my iden-
tity? I thought you acted strangely when you admitted me
into the gate.” .

‘“‘T own up, Mat, I took you for a spook, and it goes’ hard
yet to think as how it is you standin’ thar lookin’ so jolly,
when the last I see’d of you, you had knocked under. me,
you’ve got warmed up a little, let’s hear how it was.”

‘* Well, I will.”

And thereupon, the new-comer related his experience,
which may be summed up briefly, as follows:

This Madison Drake, as the reader has probably suspected,
was one of the number on the flat-boat, whose sad fate was
related at the commencement of this work. When the Shaw-
nees made their rush upon it, he, with all the rest, was too
bewildered to offer the slightest resistance. He remembered
seeing Peterson spring overboard, and attempted to follow
him, but he was not soon enough to escape a terrible blow
from an Indian’s tomahawk, As he descended into the water
his wound rendered him perfectly crazy, and, without know.
ing it, he swam in to the Ohio shore. Here he was immedi-
ately seized by several savages, who made no attempt to offer
him further injury. After the massacre was completed, the
Indians assembled upon the bank, and the others then noticed
his presence. But, instead of killing him, a strange whim
possessed them to spare his life. He was too frightened to
utter a complaint about the horrible wound in his back, ashe
knew it would be relieved only by death. They.traveled all
night and most of the next day without halting. After a
time, they reached the Shawnee town in the Scioto Valley,
where he had remained a prisoner until the day before. An
opportunity had then offered of escaping, wht he instantl
seized. He knew the location of the settlement and made all
haste toward it, where, as shown, he effected his arrival.

All listened breathlessly to this recital. Before he had
fairly finished, Peterson asked:

‘‘ Are you the only one, Mat, ’ceptin’ me that got off?”

‘‘T am the only one.”

‘‘ Are you sure? Did you ever hear any thing of Marian?”

“I am sure Tram the only person the Indians took from that
boat.

‘But, I follered them that night and part of the next day.
and I didn’t see nothin’ of you, and you might seen nothin’
of her.”

‘‘Our party, just after starting, separated and did not re-
unite until just before we reached the Shawnee towns, You
followed the wrong one. You might casily have done this,
as both parties were large. No; do not hope; had Marian or
any one besides us escaped, I could not have helped knowing
it.’ ’

‘That settles the matter, then,” said the commander; ‘we
will tell Abbot, in the morning. Poor man! I pity him and
his wife.”

‘Ts he here?” asked Drake. ‘I do pity him then; it was
a hard blow for him.”

“ But, I have heard,” continued the commander, who saw
that,Manstield was painfully affected, ‘‘ that there wasa female
captive among them.”

i Yes, there Was one; but she was captured from a settler
on the Virginia frontier. Poor creature! she died long ago

 

 

 
 

 

 

from her sufferings. But, friends; you will excuse me I trust.
T have had a hard run for freedom; and if you have no objec-
tions, I will now turn in for the night.” é

~ “Certainly; let me help you to another snifter, to make you
sleep soundly.”

Drake did not refuse the offered drink. As it was now late,
the sentinel was called in, another sent to take his place, and
those within stretched themselves out upon the floor, where,
wrapped in their blankets, they were soon ohlivious to exter-
nal things. ; :

All excepting Mansfield, who sat listening to the howling
wind without, and gazing into the glowing embers with feel-
ings which we shall not attempt to describe.

When the morning broke, the slumberers were astir. The
storm cleared off toward daybreak, and the sun came out
bright and cold. Mansfield, who had not slept one moment,
arose and took himself toward Abbot’s house with a heavy,
painful heart. Deeming that it would be a relief to his wife
to hear his intelligence, he introduced it before them both,
stating what Drake had said and that there could now be no
room for further hope. It would be presumptuous, they all
felt, to entertain the slightest hope that Marian could still be
living.

“T have cherished ‘no hope of again seeing her on earth,”
said the mother. ‘“‘I thank my heavenly Father that Tam
satisfied now that she was killed outright. I have nothing
now to do but to wait until He calls me to rejoin her.”

‘Let us go patiently at work, dear wife,” said Abbot. ‘‘It
is a relief to know that she was killed at once. It was a bit-
ter cup for us to drink, but we have swallowed the bitterest
portion. I thank Ged for this intelligence. And, you, Rus-
sel, is this a relief to you?”

“Yes,” he faintly answered, turning his head away.

And so the hope which had been exhumed and fanned into
a feeble life died again and was now reburied.

The expedition of search by the rangers for Marian, of
course was now given up. It was still their determination to
capture McGable, but the attempt was reluctantly deferred
until a few months later, when it was rightly judged the cau-
tion of the renegade would be worn off, and an opportunity
would present itself.

It was decided by a number of settlers to spend most of the
time in the wood, felling trees. It was necessary to collect a
large quantity of fuel—besides it was in contemplation to
erect one or two cabins. This was one of the duties devolv-
ing upon the settlement which was always dangerous, and yet
-one that must be done sc oner or later.

So, a Real of men numbering over a dozen, including
Abbot, Mansfield, and Peterson, passed through the gate,
across the clearing, each bearing a rifle and an ax. It was

uite early in the forenoon; therefore they calculated upon
inn a good day’s work. — :

The spot selected for their operations was three or four hun-
dred yards from the clearing. Here they stacked their rifles
and scattered themselves in such a manner, that the weapons
would be safe from the reach of any foe, and commenced
their labors right merrily. The clear ring of their axes, the
fall of the trees like a rumble of thunder, and the shout and
song, could be heard at the block-house and settlement.

They wrought vigorously until noon, when they ceased,
and seating themselves upon the fallen trees, partook of the
lunch they had brought with them. They sat close together,
joking and laughing, their faces all aglow with good-humor
and exercise. The meal was finished, and several of the men
had risen to recommence their labors, when a crashing in the
underbrush was heard, and the next moment the Frontier
Angel burst in upon them, her arms outstretched, her hair
flying, her eyes agleam, and her whole appearance that of a
raving lunatic.

‘Quick! quick!” she exclaimed; ‘fly! he is coming! he is
coming with a lot of Indians! No—you can’t reach the fort
—they are on that side of you! Take your guns quick! they
are going to kil you all!”

: Hardly were aer words finished, before each man had seized
his my and. stood waiting the orders of some one of their
number.

. “Get down between these two trees—I hear their tread!”
commanded Mansfield, whose ears, quickened to supernatural
strength, distinctly caught their tramp through the forest.
“Purry, boys, they’re here!”

At tne same instant he bounded over the fallen tree beside
“pim, followed by all of the men, when, in a twinkling, the
‘were so disposed that none but their heads and phe Garta s
were visible. ‘then, as they looked for the foe, they saw with

 

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. 25

horror that the Frontier Angel was still standing as if trans-
fixed, upon the same spot where she had uttered her warning.

‘‘Fly, for God’s sake!” exclaimed Mansfield, springing to
his feet, and excitedly waving his hand toward her. “Ply,
for your life, Frontier Angel! There they come!”

As he spoke she turned to flee, and, at the same moment,
the sharp crack of arifle was heard. She gave a scream,
swung her arms wildly over her head, and staggered further
into the wood, where she was concealed from view. The
woodman had no time to follow her, for immediately there
was heard a rushing, and, as the bushes parted, near a score
of Indians, led by McGuble, bounded into the opening. As
they caught sight of the settlers, they poured a deadly volley
in upon them, whose fearful effect was told by more than one
yell of agony.

‘* Now charge, beys!” exclaimed Mansfield, springing over
the log and dashing straight at the yelling savages. ‘There
was an electric power in his words that thrilled every heart,
and they charged with such enthusiasm after their gallant
leader, that it was irresistible. The Indians were unprepared
for any such movement. When nigh enough to touch them
with their gun-muzzles, every rifle of the whites was dis-
charged, and then swung over their heads.

“* At them!” shouted Mansfield; ‘‘ don’t spare one!” ©

The rifles came down with miirderous force, and, for a few
moments, one of the fiercest hand-to-hand contests’ raged.
But the number of whites, after their discharge, was full
equal to the savages, and their fury could not be withstood.
The Indians, in a short time, broke and scattered in the
woods, and the’ panting whites suddenly gazed into each
other’s faces as they saw there was no foe left to encounter.

‘‘ Have they fled?” asked Mansfield, in astonishment.

‘* Not one is left—all killed or fled! Any of us' slain?”

“Yes; I heard some oneegroan when we started.”

The whites turned back to the logs where they had first
sheltered themselves; here they found two of their number
dead, both having received a bullet through the'brain, while
several others had been given severe cuts.

A moment after, a dozen more men arrived from the block-
house. They had heard the firing in the wood, and had been
instantly dispatched by the commander; but their help was
not needed, as not a foe was left, so signal had been the re-
pulse. But for the timely warning of the Frontier Angel, a
most fearful massacre must have taken place. Several of the
settlers picked up the two dead men and carried them to the
settlement, as the commander had instructed them to return
the minute they could. Mansfield, Peterson, Dingle, and
Jenkins (the latter having come with the reinforcement) re-
mained behind. Four Shawnees lay doubled up in death, while
a fifth wa. roliing, and clutching, and flinging the leaves in his
agony. Shortly, to the relief of all, death put him out of his
misery.

‘Who was killed?” asked Peterson.

‘Smith and Thompson,” replied Mansfield.

‘Both single men; it is good for them that they have no
women or children to mourn’em. We've straightened out
five of them, besides hacking a few more. By gracious, isn’t
that McGable hyer? Ef I didn’t hit him, then I’llnever shoot
ag’in,” asked Peterson. :

““He appears to have escaped. What is to be done with
these dead Indians?”

; - Why, leave ’em hyer for the varmint, after we raises thar
nar.

‘Tn Heaven’s name, Peterson, youare not going to do-that?”

‘**T reckons Lis. Eh, Dick?”

‘Tn course, we must have their top-knots,” replied Dingle,
producing his hunting-knife. ‘

“You are as much a savage as they are,” said Mansfield,
turning his back upon the sickening scene.

The two rangers were not to be deterred from’ scalping the
Indians, although they had enough respect for the feelings of
Mansfield, to go through the disgusting operation without
their usual remarks and braggadocio,

‘“«They’d ’ve been glad to ’ve done that same'thing for us,”
said Peterson. ;

‘« Freeze me,” said Dingle, ‘‘if I don’t believe thar is more
of ’em round hyer. S’posen we take a look? Jenkins, look
through the bushes thar by you.” ‘

All, including Mansfield, now commenced searching the
wood to see whether any of their number had crawled away
to die in secret. Jenkins had beat about but a few minutes,
when he exclaimed:

“Come here, quick! thar’s somebody under this bush!
Just hear him groan!”

lia

atin tani

 
   
 

 

 

 

26

 

All hastened thither; and, as Dingle pulled aside the bush,
the white, ghastly face of the renegade McGable was seen
turned toward them.

“ T thought ['d give you your last sickness,” said Peterson,
with a shocking want of feeling.

“Oh! let me alone, ('m dying!’ wailed the miserable
wretch.

All feelings except pity left the heart of Mansfield, as he
saw the poor man in his last moments. He hastily ran back,
and, seizing an ax, cut away the bushes around him, so that
the air could reach him. It was then seen that he had re-
ceived the bullet of Peterson in his side. He was leaning up-
on his elbow, spitting blood, while his hands closed rigidly.
over the wound, and the blood oozed through them and _pat-
tered upon the leaves beneath.

“Can I doany thing for you?” asked Mansfield, kneeling
down beside him and opening his hunting-shirt.

“Oh, no! [ean’t live long. I deserve to die, but I don’t
want to.. I thought—”

He paused as. the blood. in his throat choked him. Peter-
son and, Dingle were both touched by his misery, and silent-
ly withdrew, followed shortly by Jenkins. Mansfield saw
that he was alone, and determined to do his duty to the dy-
ing man.

“McGable, you are dying; it is true. Put away now all
thoughts of this world, and turn your heart toward the here-
after. Your sins are great, but there is a God whose mercy
is sufficient for every thing.”

“Do not talk of God and mercy to me,” said the man, with
a look so full of horror, that Mansfield shuddered to his very
soul. ‘‘ The day of mercy has passed with me. A thousand
years could not atone for the crimes I have committed. If
you can forgive me, Mansfield—”

“TI forgive you all, and so does Abbot—fear nothing of
that.”

‘*} have harmed you and him more than you have dreamed.
Oh! this wound! Can you not stay the flow?”

McGable removed his hand as he spoke, and before Mans-
field could stanch it, such a quantity of blood issued, that the
miserable man fainted. The forgiving man bandaged it as
well.as he was able, and presently the sufferer revived.

“JT have harmed you more than you suspect,” he said,
faintly, turning his dark eyes, all woe and misery, to hirn.

‘“You have not. What do you mean?”

“© Marian !

“ How ?—what?—MeGable, you will not refuse me now?”

‘*Mansfield, in afew minutes; you will have seen a mon-
ster die. Let me adjure you to remember it to your last
breath. The pain of my wound is nothing to what I suffer
in spirit. The awful torment is unutterable—”

“But what of Marian?” gently reminded Mansfield.

“‘ Marian is-——” muttered the man, dropping his head back
on Mansfield’s arm and gasping for breath, ‘‘ Marian was not
killed on the jlat-boat that night LP?

“What do you say?” fairly shrieked our hero, believing
that his mind was wandering.

“ Marian was not killed that night—but I hilled her! Isee her
angel face @orw!—Oh ! is this death?”

cGable was dead!

 

CHAPTER: XV.
“A178 WELL THAT ENDS WELL.”

As the death-rattle was heard in McGable’s throat, Mans-
field felt his head fall back upon his arm, He looked down
and saw that all was over. Laying his head gently back upon,
the leaves, he straighi:ned his limbs, and arose and looked
around for his companions. Peterson and Jenkins ap-
proached.

“Tt is all over,” said our hero, sadly. ‘* Poor man! he has
paid dearly for his sins. I pray Heaven I may never witness
another such a death! Have you found any other bodies?”

“* We have not looked; Dingle is searching.”

“ Let us look further. We will return this afternoon and
bury McGable. Ah! here comes Dingle! What can be the
matter with him, he looks so flustered?”

The ranger approached them, pale and agitated.

“ Boys, the FrontTipR ANGEL SITS OUT YONDER ON A LOG,
AND SHE IS DYIN’!”

Without a word, Mansfield dashed toward the point indi-

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS. -

 

cated. The others followed less rapidly, for that singulaa
fear of the mysterious being forsook them not, even at the
last moment. A few rods brought them to the spot.

That personage, known as the Frontier Angel io these
pages, wassitting upon one of the trees felled by the choppers,
her hand pressed to her forehead, and her elbows resting apors
her knees. She sat perfectly motionless, and a sickentng fear
that she was already dead took possession of Mansfield. The
blood could be seen dropping from her face down upon one of
her moccasins, which was clotted and stained with it. She
did not look up as our friends approached, and Mansfield
paused before her and asked:

“Are you hurt much?”

‘*Oh! I feel wretched—”

Mansfield sprung forward and caught her head as she
fainted. The sight made even the hardy rangers shudder, A
rough wound was. seen at. the temple, from which a great
amount of blood had issued. [er dark, waving hair bung
loose around her shoulders, while her half-closed eyes gave ar.
unearthly terror to her countenance.

“Quick! water! she has fainted!” exclaimed Mansfield.

Peterson sprung away, and in an, instant. returmed with ae
jug of water which had been brought by the woodsmen in the
morning for their use. Mansfield sprinkled:some in her face,
and in a moment she revived. Dingle, with ready wit, bad
prepared a bandaye by tearing his hunting-shirt to shreds, and
this was carefully bound over her forehead,

‘She must be taken to the -block-house at onee. Bear a
hand, friends,” said Mansfield to the two rangers who were
looking on. That absurd fear made then hesitate for a mo-
ment; but, as if ashamed of their weakness they sprung for-
ward and made amends by sustaining her entire weighs them-
selves. :

‘‘ Run ahead, Jenkins, and notify the commander of tis,”
said Mansfield, ‘‘and see that no crowd is in our way.”

Jenkins darted away, aud the three moved carefully through
the wood toward the clearing. An occasional moan from
their burden was the only sign of life she gave.. Not a word
was spoken by the three, as they made. their way forward.
The rangers hardly dared to look down upon the form their
arms sustained, but gazed anxiously toward the block-house,
evidently in fear of a curious multitude of people. The eom-
mander, with praiseworthy foresight, had unbarred the gates,
and prepared the block-house for her reception. Thousb
neatly struck dumb with Jenkins’ intelligence, he did not al-
low it to interfere with his duty. He briefly informed those
gathered around what had happened, and besought them to
retire and leave the way clear for him. $0, when Mansfield
and the raugers brought their charge, there were only one ox
two to receive them.

“Js ita bad wound?” be asked, as he closed the doors of
the block-house behind him.

‘‘T fear so; you will have to take charge of her.”

‘“Place her on the litter, and remain with me a moment.”

The commander of the fort was the physician of the settle-
inent. It may seem strange that a man holding his position,
could find time to attend to the duties thus devolving upon
him. But he did find abundant time; for it must be resmen-
bered, that sucha thing as. sickness is rarely known in a
frontier settlement. _The time when_his services were in re-
quisition, was upon an occasion like the present, divectly after
an. engagement with an enemy.

After the sufferer had béen placed in the lower room of the
block-house, the commander desired all to depart, so that he
might be left alone with her. His determination was to make
an examination of her wound at once. He saw that she was
hurt only in the corner of the forehead, where it seemed was
uw slight fracture of the bone. z

Ashe approached the bed, the Frontier Angel sprang to
her feet and screamed for him to keep away, He aid his best
to pacify her, but she became more frantic each moment, un-
til he desisted out of fear of the consequences. After a time
she seated herself upon the bed, and speaking in a spothing
manner, he gently approached heragain, But she was wilder
than before, and he retreated at once. From her actions, she
seemed to imagine him to be the renegade McGable, and 10
words upon his part could change the impression. ;

The good physician sata while ina dilemma. He saw it
was imperatively necessary that her wound should be attended
to, and it was impossible for him to do this alone. After de-
bating a moment, he called in Mansfield and Peterson.

The latter entered, and the sufferer meekly submitted 2
once. Mansfield took her gently but firmly by one arm, ami
the ranger held the other, The physician then stepped for-

 

 

 

Poe

 

 

i

 
 

 

 

 

ward, and, with a simple instrument, examined the wound.
A moment showed him the entire truth. A bullet, years be-
fore, had glanced over the forehead in such a manner as to
press inward a thin strip of bone directly upon the brain.
This simple fact had caused that singular hallucination which
she had so long evinced. The wound had become cicatrized,
leaving the bone in this position. Another shot, precisely
similar, bad glanced in the same manner, reopening the
wound and increasing her aberration. A simple operation of
the physician removed this cause of her insanity.

““Just wash the wound, Mansfield,” said the commander,
“and we will then let her rest till morning.”

Our hero proceeded to do as requested. A moment later he
exclaimed, in a suppressed voice:

““ Heavens! sce here—sHE Is WHITE!” ¢

Such was indeed the case, and the astonishment of all was
unbounded. The water had washed off the species of paint
so commonly used among the American Indians, and left the
skin perfectly clear and transparent.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed the commander; ‘‘ what can it
mean? Asit is nearly all removed from her face, it shows
what a beautiful woman she is. Hello! what’s the matter
with Peterson?”

The ranger had turned as pale as death and fainted—a weak-
ness of which he had never been guilty before. Mansfield in-
stantly dashed some water in his face and he came to. He
stared about him totally bewildered.

“Why, what's the matter, Jim?” laughed the commander.
“ Are you so tender-hearted that you must faint when a female
is hurt?”

“Get me out of here, quick, if you value Aer life!” he said,
staggering to his feet.

He was assisted to the door, where the physician asked:

““ What does this mean, Jim?”

“PH tell youin the morning; don’t say any thing to me
about it now. Just bring her to her senses as soon as you can,”

Wondering and perplexed, the commander passed into the
room again. As he entered, he naturally turned his eyes to-
ward his patient, and it was now his turn to evince the agita-
tion that had seized the ranger.

“What's the matter with you, doctor?” asked Mansfield.

“* Heaven save us! I know that girl!”

““ Who is she?”

“Never mind now. Lunderstand the meaning of Peterson’s
conduct. Leave me alone, Russel, and it shall all be made
plain to you in the morning,”

Our hero withdrew, and the commander was left alone with
that being who has figured as the Frontier Angel in these
pages. She sat bolt upright in the bed, staring at him with a
look as fixed and intense as that of a wild animal.

“Lie down, Myra!” he spoke gently.

“‘Lie down !” she repeated, half to herself. ‘‘ What does
all this mean?—Why am I here?—Have I been wounded?—
Why is my head bandaged?—Am I dreaming?”

The commander approached and laid her head back upon the
pillow. In this position she pressed her hand to her forehead
and commenced muttering to herself. The commander lis-
tened, and now and then caught her words.

“«Reason has returned, or is now striving to regain its
place,” he thought. ‘‘She is, in fact, in her right mind _al-
ready, but it is no wonder that her recollections still confuse
her. Strange! strange! Who would have thought the Fron-
tier Angel could have been her?” {

m the patient slept—a troubled, dreamy sleep. She
talked incessantly—now in soft, beseeching tones to Peterson
and Holmes (the commander), then fairly shrieking the name
¢ oo and once or twice she spoke the name of Marian

The wind howled around the old block-house, moaning
through the forest and ridging the Ohio till the dismal beat of
its waves could be heard, when an occasional lull occurred.
The rain rattled through the village like the incessant volleys
of shot, and the pale, flickering light shining through the
ae of the fort was the only visible sign of life.

e commander paced the floor awhile and then sat down
and gazed into the face of the sufferer, Her eyes were closed
and her face was of unearthly whiteness. Now and then the
thin lips moved and the broken words came forth. Once the
brow compressed as if a twinge of pain ran through her, and
then she started and gasped: v4
i $ Oh, don’t! don’t! McGable, you will kill her! Let her

one

““What can she mean?” wondered Holmes, ‘ 'Yes—it is
Marian—there! she spoke her name then.”

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. a

All at once, the patient came to the sitting position, and
opening her eyes to their fullest extent, stared apparently
through the very walls of the block-house out into the wilder-
ness. Then, raising her hand, she repeated these words:

“Isee them!—they are hastening to the cave!—they will |
kill her!—she can not get away!—she will die!”

“You are excited—lie down again!” pleaded the commapn-
der. But she heeded him not. Her dark eyes glowed with
tenfold light, and she added:

“T see them! they are Indians going to kill Marian Abbot!
There are two Shawnee warriors, and they are now picking
their way through the forest. She will die! she will die, if
she is not saved at once.”

The patient seemed as if speaking in a trance. She was in
that state which baffles all human knowledge to understand,
and, without attempting to explain what never can be under-
stood, we give the facts alone. What the Frontier Angel saw
on that stormy night, when neither the impenetrable walls of
the block-house, nor the miles of wilderness could bound her
vision, was really occurring. And_the commander, rapt,
wondering, and believing, listened. When she had finished,
she turned toward him.

“Franklin Holmes, 1 understand all, not all either; but I
fecl I have passed through some dreadful darkness, and light
is again dawning upon me. There isa white captive in
danger this moment. She must be rescued! I can lead the
way!” a

a But—but, Myra, you can not. Hear how the storm rages,”
pleaded the commander.

‘‘ Have I not passed through more fearful storms than this?”
she asked, stepping upon the floor and confronting him.
“ Yes,” she added, in a low, meaning tone, “if you value the
life of Marian Abbot, who is now living, it must be done. Get
me one or two companions and I will lead the way,”

Holmes believed that it was his duty to do so, and answer-
ing her that her wish should be gratified at once, he passed
out. He aroused Dingle and Mansfield, but Peterson was ne
where to be found. He imparted to the ranger the idensty
of their guide, and the absence of Peterson was then pader-
stood. Preparations were made at once to start, and the im-
patience and excitement of Mansfield were painful) <O witness.

The Frontier Angel—as we shail call her for a time—arrayed
herself in her usual garments, wrapping a large shawl around
her form, and covering her head. securely, and was ready
when Holmes re-entered the room.

‘““How many are going?” she asked.

‘Two well-tried and reliable men.”

“That is plenty. Let us wait no longer.”

She passed out without a word, and the two men joined
her. The commander unbarred the gate and saw them move
off in the darkness, adding no unnecessary caution or ques-
tion.

‘* Keep close to me and move as fast as possible,” she said,
as soon as they were alone.

The rain was still falling, and the wind howled dismally
overhead. The Frontier Angel led the way to the river,
where they entered one of the canoes that were always there,
and were propelled across by Dingle. As they reached the
Ohio side the ranger saw a dark form suddenly appear beside
him and glide along as silently as a shadow. f

“‘Hello! who are you?” he demanded.

“You know well enough—don’t speak my name. Iknowed
you'd be on some such tramp as this.”

Mansfield recognized the voice of Peterson, and to set their
fair guide at case, he informed her that it was merely a friend
who had joined them.

The speed with which the Frontier Angel moved through
the woods was wonderful. She neither seemed to run nor
walk, but to glide as silently and swiftly as a specter over the
ground. Her companions did not run, but they executed an
amount of what might properly be termed “ tall, walking.”

On—on she led them like the ignis fatuus, brushing through
the dripping branches, tumbling over the gnarled and twisted
roots, splashing through the watery hollows, tearing their
way through the tangled undergrowth, until after many a
mile had been passed and hours had elapsed, she halted and
said:

““ Here is the spot.”

At first, our friends were unable to pierce the darkness; but
after gazing steadily for a few moments, they discerned the
faint outlines of a hill or swell in the ground in front. Still
at a loss to understand how this could be their destination,
Mansfield inquired: : :

‘* What is there here that can assist us in our search?”

 
 

a

=

— a —

    

28

‘“OSh! some one approaches!” admonished the guide.

The snapping of a twig was heard, and presently the foot-
steps of persons, Our friends sunk to the earth and silently
waited their approach. Scarcely more than ten feet away

. they halted, and presently the guttural voice of a savage was
heard. What he said was of course unintelligible to Mans-
field, although Frontier Angel and Peterson understood every
word. Despite the rain which was still falling, a huge torch
instantly flashed out and displayed the gleaming visages of
two Shawnees, stealing forward like the panther. At the
very base of the hill or knoll alluded to, they halted. Here,
by the aid of the flickering torches, our friends were enabled
to gain a view of its peculiarities. It merely resembled a
mass of solid green earth, with a number of’ stones piled at
the base. A moment later, the dusky warriors entered_the
cave, and swinging their torch overhead called out: ‘ Pau-
quachoke! Pauquachoke!”

A shuffling, sliding over the ground was heard, and a bent,
withered old squaw appeared. For the benfit of our readers
we will translate the Indian tongue into the English.

«(What seeks the Shawnee chiefs?” asked the old squaw.

“The captive pale-face; bring her at once.”

Thus commanded, the squaw clapped her hands three
times, and with feelings which we leave to the imagination
of the reader, our friends beheld Marian Abbot approach!
She said nothing, but stood with her head meekly bent as if
awaiting her doom, She appeared the same as when Mans-
field had last’seen her, except she was paler and more de-
jected. é }

The Frontier Angel had entered the cave behind the sav-
ages, so that all save Peterson were now within it, He had
purposely remained outside to conceal his identity. The
savages standing,with their backs toward the entrance failed
to see the shadows behind them, which might be said to be
in fact a part of the gloom itself, so faint was the light of the
torch. :

There was no mistaking the meaning of the savages.
Their glowing visages, doubly hideous in their horrid war-
paint, their weapons, their attitude, all showed they were
upon the work of death. Mansfield felt ready to spring for-
ward and rend the demons limb from limb; but an emotion,
aa was éver after unaccountable to him, held him in his
place.

One of the savages placed his hand oe the knife in his
belt and addressed Marian in broken English.

“Pale-face must die. McGable say kill white gal ef he no
come back. He no come back—white gal must die.”

“T have not deserved death, and Ido not wish to die, but
I am prepared for death and expect nothing else at your
hands,’

She’answered cémposedly, but, suddenly, she darted back-
ward with a piercing shriek. The torch was dashed to the
ground as her savage executioner sprung toward her. She
had caught sight of a pale, horror-struck face that shot in
from the mouth of the cave, and heard the words:

““We are here, Marian! Don’t be frightened. We'll clear
the ‘cave of these monsters in a second!” |

Marian had sprung one side, when’ the torch fell to the i

ground, and thus escaped the'well-nigh fatal blow: All be-
ing blank darkness, her assassin was at fault, even had he
repeated the attempt. But the Indians scenting danger,
whisked out’ of the cave and were gone in'a twinkling, escap-
ing the murderous onslaught Petérson had prepared himself
to Bite them as they emerged.
few moments of necessary confusion followed the an-
nouncement of Mansfield’s presence. Guided by the uner-
ring instinct of love, he soon had Marian clasped in his arms,
A feivent embrace and he led her forth. As they passed out
of the entrance, the dark body of the old squaw brushed by
them and skurried off in the darkness.
‘*Thank God, the ded is alive!” exclaimed Mansfield, im-
pulsivély, pressing a kiss upon the cold cheek of Marian.
‘““Gan you bear the walk, dearest ? It is a long way to your
home; let me wrap this blanket around you.”
_ “YT ean bear any thing now!” she replied, in a low tone,
‘« Are the Indians gone?”
‘‘None but friends are around you,”
“T saw some one just now move by me.”
“Tt is Pe—a friend.”
‘‘Let us go on, then. Is this déar Frontier Angel here?”
“Tt is to hér your life is owing. She is no longer crazy.”
‘‘Oh,’this must be a dream!” cried Marian, as she was
locked in the arms of her devoted friend. “‘ It can not—can
not be real.”

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS.

 

 

 

For a few moments nothing but the ‘sobbing of the two
was heard. Peterson seemed restless, and moved uneasily,
but said nothing.

‘Let us go,” said the Frontier Angel, ‘‘ for there is a long

distance to travel.”

The storm had partly ceased, though the wind was stronger
than ever. Through the woods again—through swamps and
thickets—over brooks and the matted undergrowth—brushin
through the dripping bushes—until, as the misty light o
morning was breaking over the scene, they once more appear-
ed upon the banks of the Ohio, opposite the block-bouse.

 

It was a happy reunion—one whose perfect joy our feeble
pen can never give. There were two persons who, it seemed,
had risen from the dead. The Frontier Angel and Marian
Abbot. When the identity and remarkable history of the
former became known through the settlement, there were
many, even of the most intelligent, who believed it nothing
less than a miracle.

If the reader, who has followed us through ‘these pages,
will examine the history of the West, he will find that in the
summer of 1778, three flat-boats were attacked by the Shaw-
nees, a short distance below the mouth of the Great Scioto,
and nearly all of the inmates massacred. Two of the boats
were sunk, and history states that every one on board was
slain. On the remaining boat was a Methodist missionary by
the name of Tucker, who fought as only those valiant old
Methodist pioneers can fight. There were several women,
who loaded their dead husbands’ rifles and handed them to
him, while he fired with such deadly effect, that his float fin-
ally escaped, and he reach Maysville, where, a few days af-
ter, he died of his wounds. ys

In one of the boats which were sunk by the savages, was a
man named William Orr, with his family. Every one of
these, it is stated by historians, fell a victim to the fury of
the Shawnees. And here we take the liberty of saying that,
not for the first time historical accounts are in error. The
writer traveled over this section, where most of our scenes
have been laid, some years since, and obtained from an aged
man (who had known the rangers, Jim Peterson and Dick
Dingle, years before) the following account of the affair.

The boat which contained Orr and his family was the hind-
most, and upon the second volley of the Shawnees, every one
was killed, except Myra Orr, the youngest daughter. Even
she was wounded. A. bullet grazed her forehead, pressing a
piece of bone inward upon the brain, in such a manner as to
render her crazy !

In a few moments, the savages came up and proceeded to
scalp their victims, when noticing that she was still alive, she
was taken as a prisoner to the shore. It was subsequently as-
certained that she was demented and no harm was offered
her.* In time she was dressed. and painted like the Indians,
but she was never one of their number. She mingled with
them, but her singular manner impressed them with the belief
that she was something more than mortal. After a year or
so, she took to the woods, and somewhere in its recesses she
built herself ahome. In the year 1790, she appeared’ in a
settlement, and warned them of an intended attack, and from
this time up to the closing scene of our story, she devoted her
life to the one object of beftiending the whites.” In time she
became known all along the frontier, and the unaccountable
mystery which hung down over her, gave rise to the supersti-
tious belief that she was in reality an angel. Many attempts
were made to ‘discover her history, but none succeeded, until
her reason was restored and she gave it herself.

But what is perhaps nearly as singular, is that Myra Orr,
the ‘Frontier Angel,” and Jim Peterson’ the ranger, were
lovers in their younger days. ‘They had separated much in
the same manner that Mansfield and Marian had.’ When the
tragic fate of his love reached the ears of Peterson, he turned
ranger and acted with the celebrated Dingle in that capacity.
He rarely referred to the great bereavement, but there were
several who knew it. Among these, was Franklin Holmes,
commander of the block-house, who was acquainted with the
Orr family, before they removed from the Fast.

‘It will be remembered that Peterson left Marian Abbot, as
he believed, in a dying condition, when the flat-boat was at-
tacked. She was desperately wounded, and without the ut-
most care would have died. McGable recognized her as he
boarded the flat-boat, and carried her to the shore, where he

gave her in the charge of an Indian runner, with instructions:

to carry her at once to Pauquachoke, one of their old ‘‘ medi-
1ese¥

* A crazy or idiotic person is always regarded with superstitions rever-
euce by the North American Indian, ' ,

 

—

 

 
 

 

 

THE FRONTIER ANGEL. 2%

cine-women.” McGable instantly returned and joined in the,
massacre. A few days after he visited the medicine-yoman,
and learned that Marian would recover, although it” would
necessarily require along time. In fact, she had not been
able to walk until a month previous to‘her rescue. Escape
was impossible, as Pauquachoke had been instructed never
to permit her to pass out of the cave. By an accident, the
Frontier Angel became aware of the state of things and vis-
ited the captive on several occasions. This reached the ears
of MeGable, and fearful of losing his prey through her means,
he determined to kill her. His attempts and failures to do
this have been referred to. The fearful exertion through
which Myra Orr went, on the night. of Marian’s, rescue, well-
nigh proved fatal to her. Reason flickered’ and fled for a
time, but finally returned in its full strength.

We wish our readers could have been down at the settle-

THE

 

ment, on the night of October. 20th, 1798. It would have re-
quired immense room toshave accommodated them we sup-
pose, but the woods were large enough.“ ‘There was a double
wedding there that night!

Jim Peterson gave up the ranger’s life and settled down as
afarmer. He had several children, and two of his grandsons
are now prominent merchants in the city of Cincinnati. In
the war of 1812, Russel Mansfield acted as Colonel, and at its
close retired to his farm near Maysville, covered with honor
and glory. Here he lived with his children and grandchildren,
and it is only a few years since that he followed his wife to
her last resting-places Dick Dingle and Peter Jenkins be-
came bosom friends, and spent many years of adventure and
peril together. We will dismiss them, with the promise that
their experience shall not be withheld from the reader, and
that they both shall be heard of again.

END.

 
 

 

 

 

2° Probably no Novel in the English language has had a more extended popularity than

Alice Wilde,
THE RAFTSMAN’S DAUGHTER,

BY MRS. M. V. VICTOR,

 

ikawimg been reprinted in Great Britain and there had an immense ‘‘run,” and in this country, it has sold fully 250,000 copies.
‘kis popularity is owing to the nature of the story and to the unique characters introduced; and its introduction into

ena-co Se

WEW7 AND OLD FRIENDS;

aw mwaber six of its issues—ready June 2d—is in deference to the demand to have the exquisite novel in this new and poru-
Yaer shape, both for reperusal by old readers and its enjoyment by another hundred thousand new readers, to whom

 

tie Pictures of Life im the Pine Woods,
Its Descriptions of Rafts, “Booms” and Mills,
Its Delineation of the Appalling Forest Fire,
Its Tale of Love Under a Cloud,

wii will read like the delightful revelations of the Story Teller of the Charmed Tongue. Hlustrated, as it will be, by beautiful
diesiigms by George G. White, this exquisite Forest Romance will have an eager welcome.

‘Khose already issued are:

Mo, i—Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Frontier, By Edward 8. Ellis,

Wo. 2—Bill Biddon, Trapper. By Edward §. Ellis.

We, 3—Malaeska; or, The Indian Wife of the White Hunter. By Mrs, Ann §. Stephens.
We. 4—Nat Todd; or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive. By Edward §. Ellis.

We. 5—Light-house Lige; or, the Firebrand of the Everglades. By Capt. J. F.C. Adams,

®™ For sale by all newsdealers; or sent, post-paid, to any address on receipt of price—ran cENTS MACH.

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, N. Y,

 

 
 

 

 

te “Good Books at Cheap Rates are a Public Benefaction.”—Joln Stuart Mut.

 

in the elegantly illustrated edition of Popular Novels by Popular Authors, viz. :

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS,

we have some of the very choicest works in American Popular Literature, by authors whose names are household words, amd
which are now put forth in this convenient and attractive form to give them the widest possible currency, at the astonishingly
}ow price of

‘Fen Cents for a Complete Novel!

The series leads off with Mr. Edward 8. Ellis’ unique and incredibly popular

Seth Jones;

THE CAPTIVES OF THE FRONTIER,

of which more than two hundred and fifty thousand copies have been sold in America alone, while it has been reproduced im
Great Britain, and translated into French, German and Russian, with great success. No book of the celebrated Fenismere
Cooper ever commanded a wider sale, or treated the history, people and adventure of our settlement and frontier life with
more genuine power and beauty. } :

 

 

The list of works, as already issued, comprises :

No. 1—Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Frontier. By Edward S. Ellis

No, 2—Bill Biddon, Trapper. By Edward §, Ellis,

No. 3—Malaeska; or, The Indian Wife of the White Hunter. By Mrs. Ann §. Stephens.
No, 4—Nat Todd; or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive. By Edward 8. Ellis.

No, 5—Light-house Lige; or, the Firebrand of the Everglades. By Capt. J. F. 0. Adams.

No. 6—Alice Wilde, the Raftsman’s Daughter. By Mrs. M. V. Victor. ;
These will be rapidly followed by the best. works of

Capt. Mayne Reid,
Mrs. Mi. A. Dennison,
Col. A. J. H. Duganne,
. ay Mrs. E. Oakes Smith,
Roger Starbuck,
Ann KE. Porter,
John, Neal, ete,

The large page, clear type, fair printing ; : ‘st T cy Se gath a
: Ss ? ‘ing, elegant illustrations and uniform beauty of the publication renders New aap
OLD FRIENDS one of the most desirable acquisitions for eyery home and every reader’s room.

The above are for sale by Newsdealers and booksellers throughout the United States and Canadas, or will be sent tm sayy
address, post-paid, on receipt of price, ten cents each, twelve numbers for one dollar, by

BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, N.Y.

 
oe

a

THE NEXT ISSUE OF

NEW AND OLD FRIENDS,

(READY JuLY 17th,)

’

Will place before readers one of the most delightful tales of pioneer life in all the wide range of American literature, viz. :

Stop!” he shouted, “ or I will shoot.”

THE BACKWOODS BRIDE.

j hist } i
It is a romance of ‘‘ squatter” or pre-emptor life in early Michigan, from the pen of Mrs. M. V. Victor, who, being a

western born woman, writes of border and wilderness lifé as no living author can write. . i

This story of a WILDERNESS Brivz is instinctive with the very fact, feeling, fun, fortunes, fears, fates and follies of the
early frontier society; and’as a story is charming throughout, as is every thing from this popular lady’s pen. 4

In this new shape the favorites of the reading public are having a wide-spread audience for their most excellent and in-

teresting productions.

 

The list of works, as already issued, comprises :
No, 1—Seth Jones; or, The Captives of the Frontier... By Edward.S. Ellis,

No, 2--Bill Biddon, Trapper. By' Edward §. Ellis.-
No. 3—Malaeska; or, The ‘Indian Wife of the White Hunter. By Mrs. Ann §, Stephens.

No. 4—Nat,Todd; or, The Fate of the Sioux Captive. By Edward S. Eilis,

No, -5—Light-housé Lige; or, the Firebrand of the Everglades. ~By Capt. J. F. C, Adams.
No. 6—Alice Wilde, the Raftsman’s Daughter. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.

No. 7—The Frontier Angel. By Edward 8. Ellis.

The above are for sale by Newsdealers and booksellers throughout thé United States and Canadas, or will be sent to'any
address, post-paid, on receipt of price, ten cents each, twelve numbers for one dollar, by

os BEADLE AND ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, N. Y.