The Spirit of the Border by Zane Grey (best ereader manga TXT) 📕

Lost! All lost!” he exclaimed in despair.

As he went toward the church he saw hundreds of savages bounding over the grass, brandishing weapons and whooping fiendishly. They were concentrating around Girty’s teepee, where already a great throng had congregated. Of all the Indians to be seen not one walked. They leaped by Jim, and ran over the grass nimble as deer.

He saw the eager, fire in their dusky eyes, and the cruelly clenched teeth like those of wolves when they snarl. He felt the hissing breath of many savages as they raced by him. More than one whirled a tomahawk close to Jim’s head, and uttered horrible yells in his ear. They were like tigers lusting for blood.

Jim hurried to the church. Not an Indian was visible near the log structure. Even the savage guards had gone. He entered the open door to be instantly struck with reverence and awe.

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!”

 

Chapter XXVII.

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