Zane Grey (33 page)

The Christians were singing.

Miserable and full of sickening dread though Jim was, he could not
but realize that the scene before him was one of extraordinary
beauty and pathos. The doomed Indians lifted up their voices in
song. Never had they sung so feelingly, so harmoniously.

When the song ended Zeisberger, who stood upon a platform, opened
his Bible and read:

"In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment, but with
everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee, saith the Lord, thy
Redeemer."

In a voice low and tremulous the venerable missionary began his
sermon.

The shadow of death hovered over these Christian martyrs; it was
reflected in their somber eyes, yet not one was sullen or sad. The
children who were too young to understand, but instinctively feeling
the tragedy soon to be enacted there, cowered close to their
mothers.

Zeisberger preached a touching and impressive, though short, sermon.
At its conclusion the whole congregation rose and surrounded the
missionary. The men shook his hands, the women kissed them, the
children clung to his legs. It was a wonderful manifestation of
affection.

Suddenly Glickhican, the old Delaware chief, stepped on the
platform, raised his hand and shouted one Indian word.

A long, low wail went up from the children and youths; the women
slowly, meekly bowed their heads. The men, due to the stoicism of
their nature and the Christianity they had learned, stood proudly
erect awaiting the death that had been decreed.

Glickhican pulled the bell rope.

A deep, mellow tone pealed out.

The sound transfixed all the Christians. No one moved.

Glickhican had given the signal which told the murderers the
Christians were ready.

"Come, man, my God! We can't stay here!" cried Jim to Zeisberger.

As they went out both men turned to look their last on the martyrs.
The death knell which had rung in the ears of the Christians, was to
them the voice of God. Stern, dark visages of men and the sweet,
submissive faces of women were uplifted with rapt attention. A light
seemed to shine from these faces as if the contemplation of God had
illumined them.

As Zeisberger and Jim left the church and hurried toward the cabins,
they saw the crowd of savages in a black mass round Girty's teepee.
The yelling and leaping had ceased.

Heckewelder opened the door. Evidently he had watched for them.

"Jim! Jim!" cried Nell, when he entered the cabin. "Oh-h! I was
afraid. Oh! I am glad you're back safe. See, this noble Indian has
come to help us."

Wingenund stood calm and erect by the door.

"Chief, what will you do?"

"Wingenund will show you the way to the big river," answered the
chieftain, in his deep bass.

"Run away? No, never! That would be cowardly. Heckewelder, you would
not go? Nor you, Zeisberger? We may yet be of use, we may yet save
some of the Christians."

"Save the yellow-hair," sternly said Wingenund.

"Oh, Jim, you don't understand. The chief has come to warn me of
Girty. He intends to take me as he has others, as he did poor Kate.
did you not see the meaning in his eyes to-day? How they scorched
me! Ho! Jim, take me away! Save me! Do not leave me here to that
horrible fate? Oh! Jim, take me away!"

"Nell, I will take you," cried Jim, grasping her hands.

"Hurry! There's a blanket full of things I packed for you," said
Heckewelder. "Lose no time. Ah! hear that! My Heavens! what a yell!"
Heckewelder rushed to the door and looked out. "There they go, a
black mob of imps; a pack of hungry wolves! Jim Girty is in the
lead. How he leaps! How he waves his sledge! He leads the savages
toward the church. Oh! it's the end!"

"Benny? Where's Benny?" cried Jim, hurriedly lacing the hunting coat
he had flung about him.

"Benny's safe. I've hidden him. I'll get him away from here,"
answered young Christy. "Go! Now's your time. Godspeed you!"

"I'm ready," declared Mr. Wells. "I—have—finished!"

"There goes Wingenund! He's running. Follow him, quick! Good-by!
Good-by! God be with you!" cried Heckewelder.

"Good-by! Good-by!"

Jim hurried Nell toward the bushes where Wingenund's tall form could
dimly be seen. Mr. Wells followed them. On the edge of the clearing
Jim and Nell turned to look back.

They saw a black mass of yelling, struggling, fighting savages
crowding around the church.

"Oh! Jim, look back! Look back!" cried Nell, holding hard to his
hand. "Look back! See if Girty is coming!"

At last the fugitives breathed free under the gold and red cover of
the woods. Never speaking, never looking back, the guide hurried
eastward with long strides. His followers were almost forced to run
in order to keep him in sight. He had waited at the edge of the
clearing for them, and, relieving Jim of the heavy pack, which he
swung slightly over his shoulder, he set a pace that was most
difficult to maintain. The young missionary half led, half carried
Nell over the stones and rough places. Mr. Wells labored in the
rear.

"Oh! Jim! Look back! Look back! See if we are pursued!" cried Nell
frequently, with many a earful glance into the dense thickets.

The Indian took a straight course through the woods. He leaped the
brooks, climbed the rough ridges, and swiftly trod the glades that
were free of windfalls. His hurry and utter disregard for the plain
trail left behind, proved his belief in the necessity of placing
many miles between the fugitives and the Village of Peace. Evidently
they would be followed, and it would be a waste of valuable time to
try to conceal their trail. Gradually the ground began to rise, the
way become more difficult, but Wingenund never slackened his pace.
Nell was strong, supple, and light of foot. She held her own with
Jim, but time and time again they were obliged to wait for her
uncle. Once he was far behind. Wingenund halted for them at the
height of a ridge where the forest was open.

"Ugh!" exclaimed the chieftain, as they finished the ascent. He
stretched a long arm toward the sun; his falcon eye gleamed.

Far in the west a great black and yellow cloud of smoke rolled
heavenward. It seemed to rise from out the forest, and to hang low
over the trees; then it soared aloft and grew thinner until it lost
its distinct line far in the clouds. The setting sun stood yet an
hour high over a distant hill, and burned dark red through the great
pall of smoke.

"Is it a forest fire?" asked Nell, fearfully.

"Fire, of course, but—" Jim did not voice his fear; he looked
closely at Wingenund.

The chieftain stood silent a moment as was his wont when addressed.
The dull glow of the sun was reflected in the dark eyes that gazed
far away over forest and field.

"Fire," said Wingenund, and it seemed that as he spoke a sterner
shadow flitted across his bronzed face. "The sun sets to-night over
the ashes of the Village of Peace."

He resumed his rapid march eastward. With never a backward glance
the saddened party followed. Nell kept close beside Jim, and the old
man tramped after them with bowed head. The sun set, but Wingenund
never slackened his stride. Twilight deepened, yet he kept on.

"Indian, we can go no further to-night, we must rest," cried Jim, as
Nell stumbled against him, and Mr. Wells panted wearily in the rear.

"Rest soon," replied the chief, and kept on.

Darkness had settled down when Wingenund at last halted. The
fugitives could see little in the gloom, but they heard the music of
running water, and felt soft moss beneath their feet.

They sank wearily down upon a projecting stone. The moss was restful
to their tired limbs. Opening the pack they found food with which to
satisfy the demands of hunger. Then, close under the stone, the
fugitives sank into slumber while the watchful Indian stood silent
and motionless.

Jim thought he had but just closed his eyes when he felt a gentle
pressure on his arm.

"Day is here," said the Indian.

Jim opened his eyes to see the bright red sun crimsoning the eastern
hills, and streaming gloriously over the colored forests. He raised
himself on his elbow to look around. Nell was still asleep. The
blanket was tucked close to her chin. Her chestnut hair was tumbled
like a schoolgirl's; she looked as fresh and sweet as the morning.

"Nell, Nell, wake up," said Jim, thinking the while how he would
love to kiss those white eyelids.

Nell's eyes opened wide; a smile lay deep in their hazel shadows.

"Where a I? Oh, I remember," she cried, sitting up. "Oh, Jim, I had
such a sweet dream. I was at home with mother and Kate. Oh, to wake
and find it all a dream! I am fleeing for life. But, Jim, we are
safe, are we not?"

"Another day, and we'll be safe."

"Let us fly," she cried, leaping up and shaking out her crumpled
skirt. "Uncle, come!"

Mr. Wells lay quietly with his mild blue eyes smiling up at her. He
neither moved nor spoke.

"Eat, drink," said the chief, opening the pack.

"What a beautiful place," exclaimed Nell, taking the bread and meat
handed to her. "This is a lovely little glade. Look at those golden
flowers, the red and purple leaves, the brown shining moss, and
those lichen-covered stones. Why! Some one has camped here. See the
little cave, the screens of plaited ferns, and the stone fireplace."

"It seems to me this dark spring and those gracefully spreading
branches are familiar," said Jim.

"Beautiful Spring," interposed Wingenund.

"Yes, I know this place," cried Nell excitedly. "I remember this
glade though it was moonlight when I saw it. Here Wetzel rescued me
from Girty."

"Nell, you're right," replied Jim. "How strange we should run across
this place again."

Strange fate, indeed, which had brought them again to Beautiful
Spring! It was destined that the great scenes of their lives were to
be enacted in this mossy glade.

"Come, uncle, you are lazy," cried Nell, a touch of her old
roguishness making playful her voice.

Mr. Wells lay still, and smiled up at them.

"You are not ill?" cried Nell, seeing for the first time how pallid
was his face.

"Dear Nellie, I am not ill. I do not suffer, but I am dying," he
answered, again with that strange, sweet smile.

"Oh-h-h!" breathed Nell, falling on her knees.

"No, no, Mr. Wells, you are only weak; you will be all right again
soon," cried Jim.

"Jim, Nellie, I have known all night. I have lain here wakeful. My
heart never was strong. It gave out yesterday, and now it is slowly
growing weaker. Put your hand on my breast. Feel. Ah! you see! My
life is flickering. God's will be done. I am content. My work is
finished. My only regret is that I brought you out to this terrible
borderland. But I did not know. If only I could see you safe from
the peril of this wilderness, at home, happy, married."

Nell bent over him blinded by her tears, unable to see or speak,
crushed by this last overwhelming blow. Jim sat on the other side of
the old missionary, holding his hand. For many moments neither
spoke. They glanced at the pale face, watching with eager, wistful
eyes for a smile, or listening for a word.

"Come," said the Indian.

Nell silently pointed toward her uncle.

"He is dying," whispered Jim to the Indian.

"Go, leave me," murmured Mr. Wells. "You are still in danger."

"We'll not leave you," cried Jim.

"No, no, no," sobbed Nell, bending over to kiss him.

"Nellie, may I marry you to Jim?" whispered Mr. Wells into her ear.
"He has told me how it is with him. He loves you, Nellie. I'd die
happier knowing I'd left you with him."

Even at that moment, with her heart almost breaking, Nell's fair
face flushed.

"Nell, will you marry me?" asked Jim, softly. Low though it was, he
had heard Mr. Wells' whisper.

Nell stretched a little trembling hand over her uncle to Jim, who
inclosed it in his own. Her eyes met his. Through her tears shone
faintly a light, which, but for the agony that made it dim, would
have beamed radiant.

"Find the place," said Mr. Wells, handing Jim a Bible. It was the
one he always carried in his pocket.

With trembling hand Jim turned the leaves. At last he found the
lines, and handed the book back to the old man.

Simple, sweet and sad was that marriage service. Nell and Jim knelt
with hands clasped over Mr. Wells. The old missionary's voice was
faint; Nell's responses were low, and Jim answered with deep and
tender feeling. Beside them stood Wingenund, a dark, magnificent
figure.

"There! May God bless you!" murmured Mr. Wells, with a happy smile,
closing the Bible.

"Nell, my wife!" whispered Jim, kissing her hand.

"Come!" broke in Wingenund's voice, deep, strong, like that of a
bell.

Not one of them had observed the chief as he stood erect,
motionless, poised like a stag scenting the air. His dark eyes
seemed to pierce the purple-golden forest, his keen ear seemed to
drink in the singing of the birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.
Native to these haunts as were the wild creatures, they were no
quicker than the Indian to feel the approach of foes. The breeze had
borne faint, suspicious sounds.

"Keep—the—Bible," said Mr. Wells, "remember—its—word." His hand
closely clasped Nell's, and then suddenly loosened. His pallid face
was lighted by a meaning, tender smile which slowly faded—faded,
and was gone. The venerable head fell back. The old missionary was
dead.

Nell kissed the pale, cold brow, and then rose, half dazed and
shuddering. Jim was vainly trying to close the dead man's eyes. She
could no longer look. On rising she found herself near the Indian
chief. He took her fingers in his great hand, and held them with a
strong, warm pressure. Strangely thrilled, she looked up at
Wingenund. His somber eyes, fixed piercingly on the forest, and his
dark stern face, were, as always, inscrutable. No compassion shone
there; no emotion unbefitting a chieftain would ever find expression
in that cold face, but Nell felt a certain tenderness in this
Indian, a response in his great heart. Felt it so surely, so
powerfully that she leaned her head against him. She knew he was her
friend.