the spirit of the border-第62章

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died　away。　The　doomed　man　heard　it。　He　raised　his　ghastly　face；　his　dulled

senses　seemed　to　revive。　He　gazed　at　the　stiffening　bodies　of　the　Indians；　at

the　gory　corpse　of　Deering；　at　the　savage　eyes　of　the　dog。



Suddenly　life　seemed　to　surge　strong　within　him。



〃Hell's　fire！　I'm　not　done　fer　yet；〃　he　gasped。　〃This　damned　knife　can't　kill

me；　I'll　pull　it　out。〃



He　worked　at　the　heavy　knife　hilt。　Awful　curses　passed　his　lips；　but　the　blade

did　not　move。　Retribution　had　spoken　his　doom。



Suddenly　he　saw　a　dark　shadow　moving　along　the　sunlit　ground。　It　swept　past

him。　He　looked　up　to　see　a　great　bird　with　wide　wings　sailing　far　above。　He

saw　another　still　higher；　and　then　a　third。　He　looked　at　the　hilltop。　The

quiet；　black　birds　had　taken　wing。　They　were　floating　slowly；　majestically

upward。　He　watched　their　graceful　flight。　How　easily　they　swooped　in　wide

circles。　he　remembered　that　they　had　fascinated　him　when　a　boy；　long；　long

ago；　when　he　had　a　home。　Where　was　that　home？　He　had　one　once。　Ah！　the　long；

cruel　years　have　rolled　back。　A　youth　blotted　out　by　evil　returned。　He　saw　a

little　cottage；　he　saw　the　old　Virginia　homestead；　he　saw　his　brothers　and　his

mother。



〃Ah…h！〃　A　cruel　agony　tore　his　heart。　He　leaned　hard　against　the　knife。　　With

the　pain　the　present　returned；　but　the　past　remained。　All　his　youth；　all　his

manhood　flashed　before　him。　The　long；　bloody；　merciless　years　faced　him；　and

his　crimes　crushed　upon　him　with　awful　might。



Suddenly　a　rushing　sound　startled　him。　He　saw　a　great　bird　swoop　down　and

graze　the　tree　tops。　Another　followed；　and　another；　and　then　a　flock　of　them。

He　saw　their　gray；　spotted　breasts　and　hooked　beaks。



〃Buzzards；〃　he　muttered；　darkly　eyeing　the　dead　savages。　The　carrion　birds

were　swooping　to　their　feast。



〃By　God！　He's　nailed　me　fast　for　buzzards！〃　he　screamed　in　sudden；　awful

frenzy。　〃Nailed　fast！　Ah…h！　Ah…h！　Ah…h！　Eaten　alive　by　buzzards！　　Ah…h！　Ah…h！

Ah…h！〃



He　shrieked　until　his　voice　failed；　and　then　he　gasped。



Again　the　buzzards　swooped　overhead；　this　time　brushing　the　leaves。　　One；　a

great　grizzled　bird；　settled　upon　a　limb　of　the　giant　oak；　and　stretched　its

long　neck。　Another　alighted　beside　him。　Others　sailed　round　and　round　the　dead

tree　top。



The　leader　arched　his　wings；　and　with　a　dive　swooped　into　the　glade。　He

alighted　near　Deering's　dead　body。　He　was　a　dark；　uncanny　bird；　with　long；

scraggy；　bare　neck；　a　wreath　of　white；　grizzled　feathers；　a　cruel；　hooked

beak；　and　cold　eyes。



The　carrion　bird　looked　around　the　glade；　and　put　a　great　claw　on　the　dead

man's　breast。



〃Ah…h！　Ah…h！〃　shrieked　Girty。　His　agonized　yell　of　terror　and　horror　echoed

mockingly　from　the　wooded　bluff。



The　huge　buzzard　flapped　his　wings　and　flew　away；　but　soon　returned　to　his

gruesome　feast。　His　followers；　made　bold　by　their　leader；　floated　down　into

the　glade。　Their　black　feathers　shone　in　the　sun。　They　hopped　over　the　moss；

they　stretched　their　grizzled　necks；　and　turned　their　heads　sideways。



Girty　was　sweating　blood。　It　trickled　from　his　ghastly　face。　All　the　suffering

and　horror　he　had　caused　in　all　his　long　career　was　as　nothing　to　that　which

then　rended　him。　He；　the　renegade；　the　white　Indian；　the　Deathshead　of　the

frontier；　panted　and　prayed　for　a　merciful　breath。　He　was　exquisitely　alive。

He　was　human。



Presently　the　huge　buzzard；　the　leader；　raised　his　hoary　head。　He　saw　the　man

nailed　to　the　tree。　The　bird　bent　his　head　wisely　to　one　side；　and　then

lightly　lifted　himself　into　the　air。　He　sailed　round　the　glade；　over　the

fighting　buzzards；　over　the　spring；　and　over　the　doomed　renegade。　　He　flew　out

of　the　glade；　and　in　again。　He　swooped　close　to　Girty。　His　broad　wings

scarcely　moved　as　he　sailed　along。



Girty　tried　to　strike　the　buzzard　as　he　sailed　close　by；　but　his　arm　fell

useless。　He　tried　to　scream；　but　his　voice　failed。



Slowly　the　buzzard　king　sailed　by　and　returned。　Every　time　he　swooped　a　little

nearer；　and　bent　his　long；　scraggy　neck。



Suddenly　he　swooped　down；　light　and　swift　as　a　hawk；　his　wide　wings　fanned　the

air；　he　poised　under　the　tree；　and　then　fastened　sharp　talons　in　the　doomed

man's　breast。







Chapter　XXIX。



The　fleeting　human　instinct　of　Wetzel　had　given　way　to　the　habit　of　years。　

His　merciless　quest　for　many　days　had　been　to　kill　the　frontier　fiend。　Now

that　it　had　been　accomplished；　he　turned　his　vengeance　into　its　accustomed

channel；　and　once　more　became　the　ruthless　Indian…slayer。



A　fierce；　tingling　joy　surged　through　him　as　he　struck　the　Delaware's　trail。

Wingenund　had　made　little　or　no　effort　to　conceal　his　tracks；　he　had　gone

northwest；　straight　as　a　crow　flies；　toward　the　Indian　encampment。　He　had　a

start　of　sixty　minutes；　and　it　would　require　six　hours　of　rapid　traveling　to

gain　the　Delaware　town。



〃Reckon　he'll　make　fer　home；〃　muttered　Wetzel；　following　the　trail　with　all

possible　speed。



The　hunter's　method　of　trailing　an　Indian　was　singular。　Intuition　played　as

great　a　part　as　sight。　He　seemed　always　to　divine　his　victim's　intention。　Once

on　the　trail　he　was　as　hard　to　shake　off　as　a　bloodhound。　　Yet　he　did　not；　by

any　means；　always　stick　to　the　Indian's　footsteps。　　With　Wetzel　the　direction

was　of　the　greatest　importance。



For　half　a　mile　he　closely　followed　the　Delaware's　plainly　marked　trail。　　Then

he　stopped　to　take　a　quick　survey　of　the　forest　before　him。　He　abruptly　left

the　trail；　and；　breaking　into　a　run；　went　through　the　woods　as　fleetly　and

noiselessly　as　a　deer；　running　for　a　quarter　of　a　mile；　when　he　stopped　to

listen。　All　seemed　well；　for　he　lowered　his　head；　and　walked　slowly　along；

examining　the　moss　and　leaves。　Presently　he　came　upon　a　little　open　space

where　the　soil　was　a　sandy　loam。　He　bent　over；　then　rose　quickly。　He　had　come

upon　the　Indian's　trail。　Cautiously　he　moved　forward；　stopping　every　moment　to

listen。　In　all　the　close　pursuits　of　his　maturer　years　he　had　never　been　a

victim　of　that　most　cunning　of　Indian　tricks；　an　ambush。　He　relied　solely　on

his　ear　to　learn　if　foes　were　close　by。　The　wild　creatures　of　the　forest　were

his　informants。　As　soon　as　he　heard　any　change　in　their　twittering；　humming　or

playingwhichever　way　they　manifested　their　joy　or　fear　of　lifehe　became　as

hard　to　see；　as　difficult　to　hear　as　a　creeping　snake。



The　Delaware's　trail　led　to　a　rocky　ridge　and　there　disappeared。　Wetzel　made

no　effort　to　find　the　chief's　footprints　on　the　flinty　ground；　but　halted　a

moment　and　studied　the　ridge；　the　lay　of　the　land　around；　a　ravine　on　one

side；　and　a　dark　impenetrable　forest　on　the　other。　He　was　calculating　his

chances　of　finding　the　Delaware's　trail　far　on　the　other　side。　Indian

woodcraft；　subtle；　wonderful　as　it　may　be；　is　limited　to　each　Indian's

ability。　Savages；　as　well　as　other　men；　were　born　unequal。　One　might　leave　a

faint　trail　through　the　forest；　while　another　could　be　readily　traced；　and　a

third；　more　cunning　and　skillful　than　his　fellows；　have　flown　under　the　shady

trees；　for　all　the　trail　he　left。　But　redmen　followed　the　same　methods　of

woodcraft　from　tradition；　as　Wetzel　had　learned　after　long　years　of　study　and

experience。



And　now；　satisfied　that　he　had　divined　the　Delaware's　intention；　he　slipped

down　the　bank　of　the　ravine；　and　once　more　broke　into　a　run。　He　leaped

lightly；　sure…footed　as　a　goat；　from　stone　to　stone；　over　fallen　logs；　and　the

brawling　brook。　At　every　turn　of　the　ravine；　at　every　open　place；　he　stopped

to　listen。



Arriving　on　the　other　side　of　the　ridge；　he　left　the　ravine　and　passed　along

the　edge　of　the　rising　ground。　He　listened　to　the　birds；　and　searched　the

grass　and　leaves。　He　found　not　the　slightest　indication　of　a　trail　where　he

had　expected　to　find　one。　He　retraced　his　steps　patiently；　carefully；

scrutinizing　every　inch　of　the　ground。　But　it　was　all　in　vain。　Wingenund　had

begun　to　show　his　savage　cunning。　In　his　warrior　days　for　long　years　no　c