Chapter XXII.
Simon Girty lolled on a blanket in Half King's teepee. He was alone,awaiting his allies. Rings of white smoke curled lazily from hislips as he puffed on a long Indian pipe, and gazed out over theclearing that contained the Village of Peace.
Still water has something in its placid surface significant of deepchannels, of hidden depths; the dim outline of the forest is darkwith meaning, suggestive of its wild internal character. So SimonGirty's hard, bronzed face betrayed the man. His degeneratebrother's features were revolting; but his own were striking, andfell short of being handsome only because of their craggy hardness.Years of revolt, of bitterness, of consciousness of wasted life, hadgraven their stern lines on that copper, masklike face. Yet despitethe cruelty there, the forbidding shade on it, as if a reflectionfrom a dark soul, it was not wholly a bad countenance. Traces stilllingered, faintly, of a man in whom kindlier feelings had oncepredominated.
In a moment of pique Girty had deserted his military post at FortPitt, and become an outlaw of his own volition. Previous to thattime he had been an able soldier, and a good fellow. When herealized that his step was irrevocable, that even his best friendscondemned him, he plunged, with anger and despair in his heart, intoa war upon his own race. Both of his brothers had long been borderruffians, whose only protection from the outraged pioneers lay inthe faraway camps of hostile tribes. George Girty had so sunk hisindividuality into the savage's that he was no longer a white man.Jim Girty stalked over the borderland with a bloody tomahawk, hislong arm outstretched to clutch some unfortunate white woman, andwith his hideous smile of death. Both of these men were far lowerthan the worst savages, and it was almost wholly to their deeds ofdarkness that Simon Girty owed his infamous name.
To-day White Chief, as Girty was called, awaited his men. A slighttremor of the ground caused him to turn his gaze. The Huron chief,Half King, resplendent in his magnificent array, had entered theteepee. He squatted in a corner, rested the bowl of his great pipeon his knee, and smoked in silence. The habitual frown of his blackbrow, like a shaded, overhanging cliff; the fire flashing from hiseyes, as a shining light is reflected from a dark pool; hisclosely-shut, bulging jaw, all bespoke a nature, lofty in its Indianpride and arrogance, but more cruel than death.
Another chief stalked into the teepee and seated himself. It wasPipe. His countenance denoted none of the intelligence that madeWingenund's face so noble; it was even coarser than Half King's, andhis eyes, resembling live coals in the dark; the long, cruel linesof his jaw; the thin, tightly-closed lips, which looked as if theycould relax only to utter a savage command, expressed fierce cunningand brutality.
"White Chief is idle to-day," said Half King, speaking in the Indiantongue.
"King, I am waiting. Girty is slow, but sure," answered therenegade.
"The eagle sails slowly round and round, up and up," replied HalfKing, with majestic gestures, "until his eye sees all, until heknows his time; then he folds his wings and swoops down from theblue sky like the forked fire. So does White Chief. But Half King isimpatient."
"To-day decides the fate of the Village of Peace," answered Girty,imperturbably.
"Ugh!" grunted Pipe.
Half King vented his approval in the same meaning exclamation.
An hour passed; the renegade smoked in silence; the chiefs didlikewise.
A horseman rode up to the door of the teepee, dismounted, and camein. It was Elliott. He had been absent twenty hours. His buckskinsuit showed the effect of hard riding through the thickets.
"Hullo, Bill, any sign of Jim?" was Girty's greeting to hislieutenant.
"Nary. He's not been seen near the Delaware camp. He's after thatchap who married Winds."
"I thought so. Jim's roundin' up a tenderfoot who will be a bad manto handle if he has half a chance. I saw as much the day he took hishorse away from Silver. He finally did fer the Shawnee, an' almostput Jim out. My brother oughtn't to give rein to personal revenge ata time like this." Girty's face did not change, but his tone was oneof annoyance.
"Jim said he'd be here to-day, didn't he?"
"To-day is as long as we allowed to wait."
"He'll come. Where's Jake and Mac?"
"They're here somewhere, drinkin' like fish, an' raisin' hell."
Two more renegades appeared at the door, and, entering the teepee,squatted down in Indian fashion. The little wiry man with thewizened face was McKee; the other was the latest acquisition to therenegade force, Jake Deering, deserter, thief, murderer--everythingthat is bad. In appearance he was of medium height, but veryheavily, compactly built, and evidently as strong as an ox. He had atangled shock of red hair, a broad, bloated face; big, dull eyes,like the openings of empty furnaces, and an expression ofbeastliness.
Deering and McKee were intoxicated.
"Bad time fer drinkin'," said Girty, with disapproval in his glance.
"What's that ter you?" growled Deering. "I'm here ter do your work,an' I reckon it'll be done better if I'm drunk."
"Don't git careless," replied Girty, with that cool tone and darklook such as dangerous men use. "I'm only sayin' it's a bad time feryou, because if this bunch of frontiersmen happen to git onto youbein' the renegade that was with the Chippewas an' got thet youngfeller's girl, there's liable to be trouble."
"They ain't agoin' ter find out."
"Where is she?"
"Back there in the woods."
"Mebbe it's as well. Now, don't git so drunk you'll blab all youknow. We've lots of work to do without havin' to clean upWilliamson's bunch," rejoined Girty. "Bill, tie up the tent flapsan' we'll git to council."
Elliott arose to carry out the order, and had pulled in thedeer-hide flaps, when one of them was jerked outward to disclose thebefrilled person of Jim Girty. Except for a discoloration over hiseye, he appeared as usual.
"Ugh!" grunted Pipe, who was glad to see his renegade friend.
Half King evinced the same feeling.
"Hullo," was Simon Girty's greeting.
"'Pears I'm on time fer the picnic," said Jim Girty, with hisghastly leer.
Bill Elliott closed the flaps, after giving orders to the guard toprevent any Indians from loitering near the teepee.
"Listen," said Simon Girty, speaking low in the Delaware language."The time is ripe. We have come here to break forever the influenceof the white man's religion. Our councils have been held; we shalldrive away the missionaries, and burn the Village of Peace."
He paused, leaning forward in his exceeding earnestness, with hisbronzed face lined by swelling veins, his whole person made rigid bythe murderous thought. Then he hissed between his teeth: "What shallwe do with these Christian Indians?"
Pipe raised his war-club, struck it upon the ground; then handed itto Half King.
Half King took the club and repeated the action.
Both chiefs favored the death penalty.
"Feed 'em to ther buzzards," croaked Jim Girty.
Simon Girty knitted his brow in thought. The question of what to dowith the converted Indians had long perplexed him.
"No," said he; "let us drive away the missionaries, burn thevillage, and take the Indians back to camp. We'll keep them there;they'll soon forget."
"Pipe does not want them," declared the Delaware.
"Christian Indians shall never sit round Half King's fire," criedthe Huron.
Simon Girty knew the crisis had come; that but few moments were lefthim to decide as to the disposition of the Christians; and hethought seriously. Certainly he did not want the Christiansmurdered. However cruel his life, and great his misdeeds, he wasstill a man. If possible, he desired to burn the village and ruinthe religious influence, but without shedding blood. Yet, with allhis power, he was handicapped, and that by the very chiefs mostnearly under his control. He could not subdue this growing Christianinfluence without the help of Pipe and Half King. To these savages athing was either right or wrong. He had sown the seed of unrest andjealousy in the savage breasts, and the fruit was th
e decree ofdeath. As far as these Indians were concerned, this decision wasunalterable.
On the other hand, if he did not spread ruin over the Village ofPeace, the missionaries would soon get such a grasp on the tribesthat their hold would never be broken. He could not allow that, evenif he was forced to sacrifice the missionaries along with theirconverts, for he saw in the growth of this religion his owndownfall. The border must be hostile to the whites, or it could nolonger be his home. To be sure, he had aided the British in theRevolution, and could find a refuge among them; but this did notsuit him.
He became an outcast because of failure to win the militarypromotion which he had so much coveted. He had failed among his ownpeople. He had won a great position in an alien race, and he lovedhis power. To sway men--Indians, if not others--to his will; toavenge himself for the fancied wrong done him; to be great, had beenhis unrelenting purpose.
He knew he must sacrifice the Christians, or eventually lose his ownpower. He had no false ideas about the converted Indians. He knewthey were innocent; that they were a thousand times better off thanthe pagan Indians; that they had never harmed him, nor would theyever do so; but if he allowed them to spread their religion therewas an end of Simon Girty.
His decision was characteristic of the man. He would sacrifice anyone, or all, to retain his supremacy. He knew the fulfillment of thedecree as laid down by Pipe and Half King would be known as hiswork. His name, infamous now, would have an additional horror, andever be remembered by posterity in unspeakable loathing, inunsoftening wrath. He knew this, and deep down in his heart awoke anumbed chord of humanity that twinged with strange pain. What awfulwork he must sanction to keep his vaunted power! More bitter thanall was the knowledge that to retain this hold over the indians hemust commit a deed which, so far as the whites were concerned, wouldtake away his great name, and brand him a coward.
He briefly reviewed his stirring life. Singularly fitted for aleader, in a few years he had risen to the most powerful position onthe border. He wielded more influence than any chief. He had beenopposed to the invasion of the pioneers, and this alone, without hissagacity or his generalship, would have given him control of manytribes. But hatred for his own people, coupled with unerringjudgment, a remarkable ability to lead expeditions, and hisinvariable success, had raised him higher and higher until he stoodalone. He was the most powerful man west of the Alleghenies. Hisfame was such that the British had importuned him to help them, andhad actually, in more than one instance, given him command overBritish subjects.
All of which meant that he had a great, even though an infamousname. No matter what he was blamed for; no matter how many dastardlydeeds had been committed by his depraved brothers and laid to hisdoor, he knew he had never done a cowardly act. That which he hadcommitted while he was drunk he considered as having been done bythe liquor, and not by the man. He loved his power, and he loved hisname.
In all Girty's eventful, ignoble life, neither the alienation fromhis people, the horror they ascribed to his power, nor the sacrificeof his life to stand high among the savage races, nor any of thecruel deeds committed while at war, hurt him a tithe as much as didthis sanctioning the massacre of the Christians.
Although he was a vengeful, unscrupulous, evil man, he had neveracted the coward.
Half King waited long for Girty to speak; since he remained silent,the wily Huron suggested they take a vote on the question.
"Let us burn the Village of Peace, drive away the missionaries, andtake the Christians back to the Delaware towns--all without spillingblood," said Girty, determined to carry his point, if possible.
"I say the same," added Elliott, refusing the war-club held out tohim by Half King.
"Me, too," voted McKee, not so drunk but that he understood thelightninglike glance Girty shot at him.
"Kill 'em all; kill everybody," cried Deering in drunken glee. Hetook the club and pounded with it on the ground.
Pipe repeated his former performance, as also did Half King, afterwhich he handed the black, knotted symbol of death to Jim Girty.
Three had declared for saving the Christians, and three for thedeath penalty.
Six pairs of burning eyes were fastened on the Deaths-head.
Pipe and Half King were coldly relentless; Deering awoke to a brutalearnestness; McKee and Elliott watched with bated breath. These menhad formed themselves into a tribunal to decide on the life or deathof many, and the situation, if not the greatest in their lives,certainly was one of vital importance.
Simon Girty cursed all the fates. He dared not openly oppose thevoting, and he could not, before those cruel but just chiefs, try toinfluence his brother's vote.
As Jim Girty took the war-club, Simon read in his brother's face thedoom of the converted Indians and he muttered to himself:
"Now tremble an' shrink, all you Christians!"
Jim was not in a hurry. Slowly he poised the war-club. He wasplaying as a cat plays with a mouse; he was glorying in his power.The silence was that of death. It signified the silence of death.The war-club descended with violence.
"Feed the Christians to ther buzzards!"