the spirit of the border-第12章

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but　made　no　fire；　they　sat　close　together　on　a　stony　ridge；　silent　and

watchful。



Joe　pondered　deeply　over　this　behavior。　Did　the　Shawnees　fear　pursuit？　　What

had　that　Indian　chief　told　Silvertip？　To　Joe　it　seemed　that　they　acted　as　if

believing　foes　were　on　all　sides。　Though　they　hid　their　tracks；　it　was；

apparently；　not　the　fear　of　pursuit　alone　which　made　them　cautious。



Joe　reviewed　the　afternoon's　march　and　dwelt　upon　the　possible　meaning　of　the

cat…like　steps；　the　careful　brushing　aside　of　branches；　the　roving　eyes；

suspicious　and　gloomy；　the　eager　watchfulness　of　the　advance　as　well　as　to　the

ear；　and　always　the　strained　effort　to　listen；　all　of　which　gave　him　the

impression　of　some　grave；　unseen　danger。



And　now　as　he　lay　on　the　hard　ground；　nearly　exhausted　by　the　long　march　and

suffering　from　the　throbbing　wound；　his　courage　lessened　somewhat；　and　he

shivered　with　dread。　The　quiet　and　gloom　of　the　forest；　these　fierce；　wild

creatures；　free　in　the　heart　of　their　own　wilderness　yet　menaced　by　a　foe；　and

that　strange　French　phrase　which　kept　recurring　in　his　mindall　had　the

effect　of　conjuring　up　giant　shadows　in　Joe's　fanciful　mind。　During　all　his

life；　until　this　moment；　he　had　never　feared　anything；　now　he　was　afraid　of

the　darkness。　The　spectral　trees　spread　long　arms　overhead；　and　phantom　forms

stalked　abroad；　somewhere　out　in　that　dense　gloom　stirred　this　mysterious

foethe　〃Wind　of　Death。〃



Nevertheless；　he　finally　slept。　In　the　dull…gray　light　of　early　morning　the

Indians　once　more　took　up　the　line　of　march　toward　the　west。　They　marched　all

that　day；　and　at　dark　halted　to　eat　and　rest。　Silvertip　and　another　Indian

stood　watch。



Some　time　before　morning　Joe　suddenly　awoke。　The　night　was　dark；　yet　it　was

lighter　than　when　he　had　fallen　asleep。　A　pale；　crescent　moon　shown　dimly

through　the　murky　clouds。　There　was　neither　movement　of　the　air　nor　the　chirp

of　an　insect。　Absolute　silence　prevailed。



Joe　saw　the　Indian　guard　leaning　against　a　tree；　asleep。　Silvertip　was　gone。

The　captive　raised　his　head　and　looked　around　for　the　chief。　　There　were　only

four　Indians　left；　three　on　the　ground　and　one　against　the　tree。



He　saw　something　shining　near　him。　He　looked　more　closely；　and　made　out　the

object　to　be　an　eagle　plume　Silvertip　had　worn；　in　his　head…dress。　It　lay　on

the　ground　near　the　tree。　Joe　made　some　slight　noise　which　awakened　the　guard。

The　Indian　never　moved　a　muscle；　but　his　eyes　roved　everywhere。　　He；　too；

noticed　the　absence　of　the　chief。



At　this　moment　from　out　of　the　depths　of　the　woods　came　a　swelling　sigh；　like

the　moan　of　the　night　wind。　It　rose　and　died　away；　leaving　the　silence

apparently　all　the　deeper。



A　shudder　ran　over　Joe's　frame。　Fascinated；　he　watched　the　guard。　The　Indian

uttered　a　low　gasp；　his　eyes　started　and　glared　wildly；　he　rose　very　slowly　to

his　full　height　and　stood　waiting；　listening。　The　dark　hand　which　held　the

tomahawk　trembled　so　that　little　glints　of　moonlight　glanced　from　the　bright

steel。



From　far　back　in　the　forest…deeps　came　that　same　low　moaning：



〃Um…m…mm…woo…o…o…o！〃



It　rose　from　a　faint　murmur　and　swelled　to　a　deep　moan；　soft　but　clear；　and

ended　in　a　wail　like　that　of　a　lost　soul。



The　break　it　made　in　that　dead　silence　was　awful。　Joe's　blood　seemed　to　have

curdled　and　frozen；　a　cold　sweat　oozed　from　his　skin；　and　it　was　as　if　a

clammy　hand　clutched　at　his　heart。　He　tried　to　persuade　himself　that　the　fear

displayed　by　the　savage　was　only　superstition；　and　that　that　moan　was　but　the

sigh　of　the　night　wind。



The　Indian　sentinel　stood　as　if　paralyzed　an　instant　after　that　weird　cry；　and

then；　swift　as　a　flash；　and　as　noiseless；　he　was　gone　Into　the　gloomy　forest。

He　had　fled　without　awakening　his　companions。



Once　more　the　moaning　cry　arose　and　swelled　mournfully　on　the　still　night　air。

It　was　close　at　hand！



〃The　Wind　of　Death；〃　whispered　Joe。



He　was　shaken　and　unnerved　by　the　events　of　the　past　two　days；　and　dazed　from

his　wound。　His　strength　deserted　him；　and　he　lost　consciousness。







Chapter　VI。



One　evening；　several　day　previous　to　the　capture　of　the　brothers；　a　solitary

hunter　stopped　before　a　deserted　log　cabin　which　stood　on　the　bank　of　a　stream

fifty　miles　or　more　inland　from　the　Ohio　River。　It　was　rapidly　growing　dark；　a

fine；　drizzling　rain　had　set　in；　and　a　rising　wind　gave　promise　of　a　stormy

night。



Although　the　hunter　seemed　familiar　with　his　surroundings；　he　moved

cautiously；　and　hesitated　as　if　debating　whether　he　should　seek　the　protection

of　this　lonely　hut；　or　remain　all　night　under　dripping　trees。　　Feeling　of　his

hunting　frock；　he　found　that　it　was　damp　and　slippery。　This　fact　evidently

decided　him　in　favor　of　the　cabin；　for　he　stooped　his　tall　figure　and　went　in。

It　was　pitch　dark　inside；　but　having　been　there　before；　the　absence　of　a　light

did　not　trouble　him。　He　readily　found　the　ladder　leading　to　the　loft；　ascended

it；　and　lay　down　to　sleep。



During　the　night　a　noise　awakened　him。　For　a　moment　he　heard　nothing　except

the　fall　of　the　rain。　Then　came　the　hum　of　voices；　followed　by　the　soft　tread

of　moccasined　feet。　He　knew　there　was　an　Indian　town　ten　miles　across　the

country；　and　believed　some　warriors；　belated　on　a　hunting　trip；　had　sought　the

cabin　for　shelter。



The　hunter　lay　perfectly　quiet；　awaiting　developments。　If　the　Indians　had

flint　and　steel；　and　struck　a　light；　he　was　almost　certain　to　be　discovered。

He　listened　to　their　low　conversation；　and　understood　from　the　language　that

they　were　Delawares。



A　moment　later　he　heard　the　rustling　of　leaves　and　twigs；　accompanied　by　the

metallic　click　of　steel　against　some　hard　substance。　The　noise　was　repeated；

and　then　followed　by　a　hissing　sound；　which　he　knew　to　be　the　burning　of　a

powder　on　a　piece　of　dry　wood；　after　which　rays　of　light　filtered　through

cracks　of　the　unstable　floor　of　the　loft。



The　man　placed　his　eye　to　one　of　these　crevices；　and　counted　eleven　Indians；

all　young　braves；　with　the　exception　of　the　chief。　The　Indians　had　been

hunting；　they　had　haunches　of　deer　and　buffalo　tongues；　together　with　several

packs　of　hides。　Some　of　them　busied　themselves　drying　their　weapons；　others

sat　down　listlessly；　plainly　showing　their　weariness；　and　two　worked　over　the

smouldering　fire。　The　damp　leaves　and　twigs　burned　faintly；　yet　there　was

enough　to　cause　the　hunter　fear　that　he　might　be　discovered。　He　believed　he

had　not　much　to　worry　about　from　the　young　braves；　but　the　hawk…eyed　chief　was

dangerous。



And　he　was　right。　Presently　the　stalwart　chief　heard；　or　saw；　a　drop　of　water

fall　from　the　loft。　It　came　from　the　hunter's　wet　coat。　Almost　any　one　save　an

Indian　scout　would　have　fancied　this　came　from　the　roof。　As　the　chief's　gaze

roamed　everywhere　over　the　interior　of　the　cabin　his　expression　was　plainly

distrustful。　His　eye　searched　the　wet　clay　floor；　but　hardly　could　have

discovered　anything　there；　because　the　hunter's　moccasined　tracks　had　been

obliterated　by　the　footprints　of　the　Indians。　　The　chief's　suspicions　seemed

to　be　allayed。



But　in　truth　this　chief；　with　the　wonderful　sagacity　natural　to　Indians；　had

observed　matters　which　totally　escaped　the　young　braves；　and；　like　a　wily　old

fox；　he　waited　to　see　which　cub　would　prove　the　keenest。　Not　one　of　them；

however；　noted　anything　unusual。　They　sat　around　the　fire；　ate　their　meat　and

parched　corn；　and　chatted　volubly。



The　chief　arose　and；　walking　to　the　ladder；　ran　his　hand　along　one　of　the

rungs。



〃Ugh！〃　he　exclaimed。



Instantly　he　was　surrounded　by　ten　eager；　bright…eyed　braves。　He　extended　his

open　palm；　it　was　smeared　with　wet　clay　like　that　under　his　feet。　

Simultaneously　with　their　muttered　exclamations　the　braves　grasped　their

weapons。　They　knew　there　was　a　foe　above　them。　It　was　a　paleface；　for　an

Indian　would　have　revealed　himself。



The　hunter；　seeing　he　was　discovered；　acted　wit