Chapter XVI.
When the waning moon rose high enough to shed a pale light overforest and field, two dark figures, moving silently from the shadeof the trees, crossed the moonlit patches of ground, out to the openplain where low on the grass hung silver mists.
A timber wolf, gray and gaunt, came loping along with lowered nose.A new scent brought the animal to a standstill. His nose went up,his fiery eyes scanned the plain. Two men had invaded his domain,and, with a short, dismal bark, he dashed away.
Like spectres, gliding swiftly with noiseless tread, the twovanished. The long grass had swallowed them.
Deserted once again seemed the plain. It became unutterably lonely.No stir, no sound, no life; nothing but a wide expanse bathed insad, gray light.
The moon shone steadily; the silver radiance mellowed; the starspaled before this brighter glory.
Slowly the night hours wore away.
On the other side of the plain, near where the adjoining forestloomed darkling, the tall grass parted to disclose a black form. Wasit only a deceiving shade cast by a leafy branch--only a shadow?Slowly it sank, and was lost. Once more the gray, unwavering line ofsilver-crested grass tufts was unbroken.
Only the night breeze, wandering caressingly over the grass, mighthave told of two dark forms gliding, gliding, gliding so softly, sosurely, so surely toward the forest. Only the moon and the palestars had eyes to see these creeping figures.
Like avengers they moved, on a mission to slay and to save!
On over the dark line where plain merged into forest they crawled.No whispering, no hesitating; but a silent, slow, certain progressshowed their purpose. In single file they slipped over the moss, theleader clearing the path. Inch by inch they advanced. Tedious wasthis slow movement, difficult and painful this journey which mustend in lightninglike speed. They rustled no leaf, nor snapped atwig, nor shook a fern, but passed onward slowly, like the approachof Death. The seconds passed as minutes; minutes as hours; an entirehour was spent in advancing twenty feet!
At last the top of the knoll was reached. The Avenger placed hishand on his follower's shoulder. The strong pressure was meant toremind, to warn, to reassure. Then, like a huge snake, the firstglided away.
He who was left behind raised his head to look into the open placecalled the glade of the Beautiful Spring. An oval space lay beforehim, exceedingly lovely in the moonlight; a spring, as if a pearl,gemmed the center. An Indian guard stood statuelike against a stone.Other savages lay in a row, their polished heads shining. Oneslumbering form was bedecked with feathers and frills. Near him layan Indian blanket, from the border of which peered two faces,gleaming white and sad in the pitying moonlight.
The watcher quivered at the sight of those pale faces; but he mustwait while long moments passed. He must wait for the Avenger tocreep up, silently kill the guard, and release the prisoners withoutawakening the savages. If that plan failed, he was to rush into theglade, and in the excitement make off with one of the captives.
He lay there waiting, listening, wrought up to the intensest pitchof fierce passion. Every nerve was alert, every tendon strung, andevery muscle strained ready for the leap.
Only the faint rustling of leaves, the low swish of swayingbranches, the soft murmur of falling water, and over all the sigh ofthe night wind, proved to him that this picture was not an evildream. His gaze sought the quiet figures, lingered hopefully on thecaptives, menacingly on the sleeping savages, and glowered over thegaudily arrayed form. His glance sought the upright guard, as hestood a dark blot against the gray stone. He saw the Indian's plume,a single feather waving silver-white. Then it became riveted on thebubbling, refulgent spring. The pool was round, perhaps five feetacross, and shone like a burnished shield. It mirrored the moon, thetwinkling stars, the spectre trees.
An unaccountable horror suddenly swept over the watching man. Hishair stood straight up; a sensation as of cold stole chillingly overhim. Whether it was the climax of this long night's excitement, oranticipation of the bloody struggle soon to come, he knew not. Didthis boiling spring, shimmering in the sliver moon-rays, hold in itsmurky depths a secret? Did these lonesome, shadowing trees, withtheir sad drooping branches, harbor a mystery? If a future tragedywas to be enacted here in this quiet glade, could the murmuringwater or leaves whisper its portent? No; they were only silent, onlyunintelligible with nature's mystery.
The waiting man cursed himself for a craven coward; he fought backthe benumbing sense; he steeled his heart. Was this his vauntedwillingness to share the Avenger's danger? His strong spirit rose upin arms; once more he was brave and fierce.
He fastened a piercing gaze on the plumed guard. The Indian'slounging posture against the rock was the same as it had beenbefore, yet now it seemed to have a kind of strained attention. Thesavage's head was poised, like that of a listening deer. The waryIndian scented danger.
A faint moan breathed low above the sound of gently splashing watersomewhere beyond the glade.
"Woo-o-oo."
The guard's figure stiffened, and became rigidly erect; his blanketslowly slid to his feet.
"Ah-oo-o," sighed the soft breeze in the tree tops.
Louder then, with a deep wail, a moan arose out of the dark grayshadows, swelled thrilling on the still air, and died awaymournfully.
"Um-m-mmwoo-o-o-o!"
The sentinel's form melted into the shade. He was gone like aphantom.
Another Indian rose quickly, and glanced furtively around the glade.He bent over a comrade and shook him. Instantly the second Indianwas on his feet. Scarcely had he gained a standing posture when anobject, bounding like a dark ball, shot out of the thicket andhurled both warriors to the earth. A moonbeam glinted upon somethingbright. It flashed again on a swift, sweeping circle. A short,choking yell aroused the other savages. Up they sprang, alarmed,confused.
The shadow-form darted among them. It moved with inconceivablerapidity; it became a monster. Terrible was the convulsive conflict.Dull blows, the click of steel, angry shouts, agonized yells, andthrashing, wrestling sounds mingled together and half drowned by anawful roar like that of a mad bull. The strife ceased as suddenly asit had begun. Warriors lay still on the grass; others writhed inagony. For an instant a fleeting shadow crossed the open laneleading out of the glade; then it vanished.
Three savages had sprung toward their rifles. A blinding flash, aloud report burst from the thicket overhead. The foremost savagesank lifelessly. The others were intercepted by a giant shadow withbrandished rifle. The watcher on the knoll had entered the glade. Hestood before the stacked rifles and swung his heavy gun. Crash! AnIndian went down before that sweep, but rose again. The savagesbacked away from this threatening figure, and circled around it.
The noise of the other conflict ceased. More savages joined thethree who glided to and fro before their desperate foe. They closedin upon him, only to be beaten back. One savage threw a glitteringknife, another hurled a stone, a third flung his tomahawk, whichstruck fire from the swinging rifle.
He held them at bay. While they had no firearms he was master of thesituation. With every sweep of his arms he brought the long rifledown and knocked a flint from the firelock of an enemy's weapon.Soon the Indians' guns were useless. Slowly then he began to edgeaway from the stone, toward the opening where he had seen thefleeting form vanish.
His intention was to make a dash for life, for he had heard a noisebehind the rock, and remembered the guard. He saw the savages glancebehind him, and anticipated danger from that direction, but he mustnot turn. A second there might be fatal. He backed defiantly alongthe rock until he gained its outer edge. But too late! The Indiansglided before him, now behind him; he was surrounded. He turnedaround and around, with the ever-circling rifle whirling in thefaces of the baffled foe.
Once opposite the lane leading from the glade he changed histactics, and plunged with fierce impetuosity into the midst of thepainted throng. Then began a fearful conflict. The Indians fellbefore the sweep of his powerful arms; bu
t grappled with him fromthe ground. He literally plowed his way through the struggling mass,warding off an hundred vicious blows. Savage after savage he flungoff, until at last he had a clear path before him. Freedom laybeyond that shiny path. Into it he bounded.
As he left the glade the plumed guard stepped from behind a treenear the entrance of the path, and cast his tomahawk.
A white, glittering flash, it flew after the fleeing runner; its aimwas true.
Suddenly the moonlight path darkened in the runner's sight; he saw amillion flashing stars; a terrible pain assailed him; he sankslowly, slowly down; then all was darkness.