The Pathfinder by James Fenimore Cooper (best book series to read TXT) 📕

into her mouth as she heard the heavy shock at each renewed effort. At length, when she found that the door resisted these assaults as if it were of stone, neither trembling nor yielding, and only betraying its not being a part of the wall by rattling a little on its heavy hinges, her courage revived, and she seized the first moment of a cessation to look down through the loop, in order, if possible, to learn the extent of her danger. A silence, for which it was not easy to account, stimulated her curiosity; for nothing is so alarming to those who are conscious of the presence of imminent danger, as to be unable to trace its approach.

Mabel found that two or three of the Iroquois had been raking the embers, where they had found a few small coals, and with these they were endeavoring to light a fire. The interest with which they labored, the hope of destroying, and the force of habit, enabled them to act intelligently and in unison, so long as their fell object was kept in view. A white man would have abandoned the attempt to light a fire in despair, with coals that came out of the ashes resembling sparks; but these children of the forest had many expedients that were unknown to civilization. By the aid of a few dry leaves, which they alone knew where to seek, a blaze was finally kindled, and then the addition of a few light sticks made sure of the advantage that had been obtained. When Mabel stooped down over the loop, the Indians were making a pile of brush against the door, and as she remained gazing at their proceedings, she saw the twigs ignite, the flame dart from branch to branch, until the whole pile was cracking and snapping under a bright blaze. The Indians now gave a yell of triumph, and returned to their companions, well assured that the work of destruction was commenced. Mabel remained looking down, scarcely able to tear herself away from the spot, so intense and engrossing was the interest she felt in the progress of the fire. As the pile kindled throughout, however, the flames mounted, until they flashed so near her eyes as to compel her to retreat. Just as she reached the opposite side of the room, to which she had retired in her alarm, a forked stream shot up through the loophole, the lid of which she had left open, and illuminated the rude apartment, with Mabel and her desolation. Our heroine now naturally enough supposed that her hour was come; for the door, the only means of retreat, had been blocked up by the brush and fire, with hellish ingenuity, and she addressed herself, as she believed, for the last time to her Maker in prayer. Her eyes were closed, and for more than a minute her spirit was abstracted; but the interests of the world too strongly divided her feelings to be altogether suppressed; and when they involuntarily opened again, she perceived that the streak of flame was no longer flaring in the room, though the wood around the little aperture had kindled, and the blaze was slowly mounting under the impulsion of a current of air that sucked inward. A barrel of water stood in a corner; and Mabel, acting more by instinct than by reason, caught up a vessel, filled it, and, pouring it on the wood with a trembling hand, succeeded in extinguishing the fire at that particular spot. The smoke prevented her from looking down again for a couple of minutes; but when she did her heart beat high with delight and hope at finding that the pile of blazing brush had been overturned and scattered, and that water had been thrown on the logs of the door, which were still smoking though no longer burning.

“Who is there?” said Mabel, with her mouth at the loop. “What friendly hand has a merciful Providence sent to my succor?”

A light footstep was audible below, and one of those gentle pushes at the door was heard, which just moved the massive beams on the hinges.

“Who wishes to enter? Is it you, dear, dear uncle?”

“Saltwater no here. St. Lawrence sweet water,” was the answer. “Open quick; want to come in.”

The step of Mabel was never lighter, or her movements more quick and natural, than while she was descending the ladder and turning the bars, for all her motions were earnest and active. This time she thought only of her escape, and she opened the door with a rapidity which did not admit of caution. Her first impulse was to rush into the open air, in the blind hope of quitting the blockhouse; but June repulsed the attempt, and entering, she coolly barred the door again before she would notice Mabel’s eager efforts to embrace her.

“Bless you! bless you, June!” cried our heroine most fervently; “you are sent by Providence to be my guardian angel!”

“No hug so tight,” answered the Tuscarora woman. “Pale-face woman all cry, or all laugh. Let June fasten door.”

Mabel became more rational, and in a few minutes the two were again in the upper room, seated as before, hand in hand, all feeling of distrust between them being banished.

“Now tell me, June,” Mabel commenced as soon as she had given and received one warm embrace, “have you seen or heard aught of my poor uncle?”

“Don’t know. No one see him; no one hear him; no one know anyt’ing. Saltwater run into river, I t’ink, for I no find him. Quartermaster gone too. I look, and look, and look; but no see’ em, one, t’other, nowhere.”

“Blessed be God! They must have escaped, though the means are not known to us. I thought I saw a Frenchman on the island, June.”

“Yes: French captain come, but he go away too. Plenty of Indian on island.”

“Oh, June, June, are there no means to prevent my beloved father from falling into the hands of his enemies?”

“Don’t know; t’ink dat warriors wait in ambush, and Yengeese must lose scalp.”

“Surely, surely, June, you, who have done so much for the daughter, will not refuse to help the father?”

“Don’t know fader, don’t love fader. June help her own people, help Arrowhead — husband love scalp.”

“June, this is not yourself. I cannot, will not believe that you wish to see our men murdered!”

June turned her dark eyes quietly on Mabel; and for a moment her look was stern, though it was soon changed into one of melancholy compassion.

“Lily, Yengeese girl?” she said, as one asks a question.

“Certainly, and as a Yengeese girl I would save my countrymen from slaughter.”

“Very good, if can. June no Yengeese, June Tuscarora — got Tuscarora husband — Tuscarora heart — Tuscarora feeling — all over Tuscarora. Lily wouldn’t run and tell French that her fader was coming to gain victory?”

“Perhaps not,” returned Mabel, pressing a hand on a brain that felt bewildered, — “perhaps not; but you serve me, aid me — have saved me, June! Why have you done this, if you only feel as a Tuscarora?”

“Don’t only feel as Tuscarora; feel as girl, feel as squaw. Love pretty Lily, and put it in my bosom.”

Mabel melted into tears, and she pressed the affectionate creature to her heart. It was near a minute before she could renew the discourse, but then she succeeded in speaking more calmly and with greater coherence.

“Let me know the worst, June,” said she. “To-night your people are feasting; what do they intend to do to-morrow?”

“Don’t know; afraid to see Arrowhead, afraid to ask question; t’ink hide away till Yengeese come back.”

“Will they not attempt anything against the blockhouse? You have seen what they can threaten if they will.”

“Too much rum. Arrowhead sleep, or no dare; French captain gone away, or no dare. All go to sleep now.”

“And you think I am safe for this night, at least?”

“Too much rum. If Lily like June, might do much for her people.”

“I am like you, June, if a wish to serve my countrymen can make a resemblance with one as courageous as yourself.”

“No, no, no!” muttered June in a low voice; “no got heart, and June no let you, if had. June’s moder prisoner once, and warriors got drunk; moder tomahawked ‘em all. Such de way red skin women do when people in danger and want scalp.”

“You say what is true,” returned Mabel, shuddering, and unconsciously dropping June’s hand. “I cannot do that. I have neither the strength, the courage, nor the will to dip my hands in blood.”

“T’ink that too; then stay where you be — blockhouse good — got no scalp.”

“You believe, then, that I am safe here, at least until my father and his people return?”

“Know so. No dare touch blockhouse in morning. Hark! all still now — drink rum till head fall down, and sleep like log.”

“Might I not escape? Are there not several canoes on the island? Might I not get one, and go and give my father notice of what has happened?”

“Know how to paddle?” demanded June, glancing her eye furtively at her companion.

“Not so well as yourself, perhaps; but enough to get out of sight before morning.”

“What do then? — couldn’t paddle six — ten — eight mile!”

“I do not know; I would do much to warn my father, and the excellent Pathfinder, and all the rest, of the danger they are in.”

“Like Pathfinder?”

“All like him who know him — you would like him, nay, love him, if you only knew his heart!”

“No like him at all. Too good rifle — too good eye —too much shoot Iroquois and June’s people. Must get his scalp if can.”

“And I must save it if I can, June. In this respect, then, we are opposed to each other. I will go and find a canoe the instant they are all asleep, and quit the island.”

“No can — June won’t let you. Call Arrowhead.”

“June! you would not betray me — you could not give me up after all you have done for me?”

“Just so,” returned June, making a backward gesture with her hand, and speaking with a warmth and earnestness Mabel had never witnessed in her before. “Call Arrowhead in loud voice. One call from wife wake a warrior up. June no let Lily help enemy — no let Indian hurt Lily.”

“I understand you, June, and feel the nature and justice of your sentiments; and, after all, it were better that I should remain here, for I have most probably overrated my strength. But tell me one thing: if my uncle comes in the night, and asks to be admitted, you will let me open the door of the blockhouse that he may enter?”

“Sartain — he prisoner here, and June like prisoner better than scalp; scalp good for honor, prisoner good for feeling. But Saltwater hide so close, he don’t know where he be himself.”

Here June laughed in her girlish, mirthful way, for to her scenes of violence were too familiar to leave impressions sufficiently deep to change her natural character. A long and discursive dialogue now followed, in which Mabel endeavored to obtain clearer notions of her actual situation, under a faint hope that she might possibly be enabled to turn some of the facts she thus learned to advantage. June answered all her interrogatories simply, but with a caution which showed she fully distinguished between that which was immaterial and that which might endanger the safety or embarrass the future operations of her friends. The substance of the information she gave may be summed up as follows.

Arrowhead had long been in communication with the French, though this was the first occasion on which