CHAPTER XII.
HUNTING THE HUNTED.
Doc Bell, the giant, headed the horrified quartette that sprung after Coleola.
He rushed down the dark corridor as fast as his strong limbs could carry him, and suddenly found himself submerged in a lake of Stygian water.
“Halt!” he shouted to those who had followed at his heels, and the trio paused on the brink of the liquid death as the hunter emerged therefrom.
“Here’s a deuced pretty go, ain’t it?” he cried. “What kind of a cave do you call this, anyhow? Git a light; we’ll s’arch this place. We’re not goin’ to let that gal git clean away from us, not ef old Doc Bell knows himsel’.”
Bob Somerville sprung back into the cavern, and soon reappeared with a torch, which threw a ghastly glare around upon the water.
“There hev been a boat moored hyar,” said Bell, suddenly stooping and designating a certain spot with his finger. “But it’s gone now: that’s sartin, but who took it?”
“Coleola.”
“No she didn’t,” replied the hunter, looking up into the young scout’s face. “Ther Bloodhound an’ Big Moccasin came hyar first, an’ they vamosed in it. Coleola war forced to swim, then.”
“Where could she swim to?” questioned Somerville, with eagerness.
“Where, but to the other side of this ’ere black water?”
“And where is the other side? I see nothing.”
“I should reckon you didn’t, boy,” said the Indian-fighter. “But, I’m the fellar what’s goin’ to find out. Snakes! I wish that Indian gal’s hatchet had missed Coleola’s arm, and took her accursed throat.”
As he uttered the last word he handed the torch to Nehonesto, and he and Swamp Oak stepped into the lazy water.
A moment later there sounded the plash of expert swimmers, and the twain soon disappeared from those whom they left on the bank. They swam side by side a long distance in silence, and almost simultaneously their feet struck earth.
Then they ceased swimming, and drew themselves up on a cold, stony bank.
Looking in the direction from whence they came, they saw the glimmer of a torch, so far away that it appeared like a little star, in the milkmaid’s path.
“We’ve come a great distance, Swamp Oak,” said the giant, touching the Indian’s shoulder, in the Stygian gloom that surrounded them. “Coleola is more than a woman if she swam this far with one arm, an’ the burden of a girl to weigh her down.”
“Coleola is in league with Watchemenetoc,” returned the Indian, the superstitious part of his nature gaining the ascendency. “But,” and he gritted his teeth, “Swamp Oak will catch the hag when Watchemenetoc is far away. Then!”
In the gloom Doc Bell smiled at Swamp Oak’s thirst for revenge, and turned from the water.
The bank extended a short distance back without interruption, when our adventurers brought up against a wall of rock, containing many gigantic indentations.
“Ef we had a light!” cried the hunter.
A light was soon found.
The rough walls were covered with a network of creepers, which no doubt had perished for lack of sunshine, for a ray of the life-giving planet never penetrated this place. The Peoria tore a quantity of the dry creepers from the wall, and wrapped them around his scalping-knife. Then he had recourse to the invaluable flints, and presently the knife was crowned by a bright, crackling blaze.
They resumed their search, and found that the indentations I have mentioned extended out a few feet into the wall, and they were on the eve of relinquishing the quest, when a startling “Ugh!” burst from the Peoria’s throat.
The giant sprung toward him and found him holding the torch over a dark spot on the gray stone over which they had trod immediately after emerging from the water.
It was blood—blood freshly spilled.
“On the right trail at last,” cried Bell, in a hoarse whisper. “We can track the she devil by her gore now.”
A step further on revealed a second drop of blood, and presently they trailed the wounded person into an obscure corridor, which had hitherto escaped their eyes.
Doc Bell almost uttered a shout of triumph, as he sprung into the dark passage, for he would soon come up with the Snake Queen, and rescue Kate Blount from her vengeance.
The passage proved a tortuous one, but no corridors led from it, and at length the hunter felt a breath of air fan his cheeks. He paused and griped the Peoria’s naked arm.
They listened, and heard the low sound of rushing water.
“Go on, hunter,” said the red-skin. “We will trail the mad queen to the wood.”
They proceeded again, and at length, emerging from the corridor, found themselves standing up to their knees in a narrow stream that boasted of perpendicular banks.
“Baffled!” said the Indian-hunter, biting his lips with chagrin. “I’ve trailed many a red-skin before, but I confess that I’m crawling out o’ the little end ov the horn now. Back, Swamp Oak, back to our people in the cave.”
The Indian turned with reluctance, for he would fain have hunted for Coleola in the forest above them. He believed she was at that hour threading its recesses, in the gray light of dawn which was beginning to make objects visible. But he was mistaken.
He said nothing when the hunter stepped upon the backward trail, and they hurried on in silence.
They had traveled a great distance under ground, and, when no glimmer greeted their eyes as they regained the edge of the black lake, an exclamation of surprise parted the hunter’s lips.
“Whar are our friends!” he cried. “They promised to wait fur us whar we left ’em; but now they’re gone.”
“They may be there in the blackness,” said Swamp Oak.
“No, they’re not there,” persisted Bell. “Ef they war they’d hev ther torch up so we could see whar to swim to. Suthin’s happened to them; now mark my words, Injun.”
A shade of paleness overspread Swamp Oak’s face as the thought of peril to Ulalah crept to his heart, and he was about to rush into the water and solve the mystery, when the hunter’s hand restrained him.
“Hist!” he whispered. “Ther devil’s takin’ a ride—ther devil an’ some ov his imps.”
As he spoke, he took the torch from the Indian’s hands and noiselessly extinguished it.
As he did so, the noise of paddles assailed their ears.
A boat was abroad on the inky tide, and for the first time in many years, superstition reigned in the old hunter’s heart. It was an admirable place for ghosts to float their specter barks, and sail with their phantom brides locked in their arms. Involuntarily Doc Bell shrunk from the water, and turned his eyes toward the plash of the ghoulish paddles.
Nearer and nearer came the craft, and though he could not see it, he knew when it was opposite the spot where they crouched.
All at once, voices came from the boat, and the hunter clutched the Peoria’s arm.
“Curse you, faster, chief!” they heard a hollow voice say, in a tone of command. “Heavens! if I were stronger!”
“The watery track is dark,” was the reply, which stamped the speaker an Indian.
“Faster, anyhow!” was the hollow and grated rejoinder. “The devil is guiding his own now, and you can not wander from the path. The girl will wake soon.”
Doc Bell griped Swamp Oak’s arm tighter than ever, as the last sentence came to their ears.
“The gal, Injun; those devils hev got Kate Blount!”
The Peoria did not reply.
He was thunderstruck.
The trader’s daughter had been spirited away by the Snake Queen; but now she was in the hands of Big Moccasin and the hated and hunted Yellow Bloodhound.
Had fate guided the woman into the hands of those devils? Even so it seemed.
The boat seemed a long while passing their station, and it was not until the voices were dying away in the gloom, that Doc Bell recovered his firmness.
“Swamp Oak, we must outwit those devils,” he said, in his old firmness of tone. “My mind kin scarcely hold all that hes happened to-night, much less b’lieve it. But come, we’ll foller thet ghostly boat, an’ when ther Bloodhound runs ashore he’ll find somebody he won’t be lookin’ for.”
They rose to their feet and glided down the bank of the subterranean lake, a short distance in the rear of the boat.
All at once a peculiar noise told them that the prow of the canoe had turned, and was making toward the shore, a short distance ahead.
“Be ready, Injun,” whispered Doc Bell. “We’ve got the dogs now, an’ the gal, too!”
Unsuspicious of danger, the occupants of the boat approached the shore at the very point where our friends, with drawn knives and determined visages, lay waiting to receive them.
“Land, at last!” they heard Jules Bardue say, with a breath of relief, as the boat struck the rocks. “Furies! what a long ride that was. Here, chief—here’s the girl; no, take me out first. My legs are stiff, but once on shore, I can walk. Jules Bardue ain’t dead yet; no, and he’s not going to die while his enemies live. Be careful, Moccasin; don’t touch my hands; broken ramrods hurt like a wolf’s teeth.”
He paused, for the giant chief was lifting him from the boat, and, strain their eyes as much as they could, the watchers of the debarkation could not distinguish the forms of the voyagers.
However, their voices disclosed their positions, and as Big Moccasin laid his living burden on the ground, Swamp Oak sprung upon him.
The chief uttered a cry of terror, and as he reeled under the strength of his antagonist, a keen blade shot into his breast, and he fell, with a death gurgle, into the water.
Swamp Oak’s work of death was inaugurated and finished in less time than we have recorded it, and, like a lion, he turned to the spot where the helpless renegade lay!
The hunter had shunned the creole for the boat, intent upon saving our heroine.
He knew that Jules Bardue was too weak to resist, and after he had rescued Kate, he would finish one who had already cursed the earth too long with his loathsome presence.
He clutched the canoe as Big Moccasin touched the water, and quickly jerked it toward him, for, unmoored, it had drifted from the bank.
The next minute his long arm shot over the gunwale, and his fingers closed on Kate Blount’s slender arm.
He lifted her from the craft, with a cry of delight; but ere he could gain his feet with his prize, a noise like the explosion of a thousand pounds of powder bewildered his senses, and, with the girl in his arms, he staggered back, bereft of consciousness!
The lake of darkness felt the unseen blow; its sleeping waters sprung into life, and rocked with a hissing noise in their little basin.
For many minutes three forms lay motionless in the gloom, and at last the uplifting of a head was followed by a voice.
“Almighty Heavens! what did that mean?”
It was Doc Bell who spoke.
“Ten thousand earthquakes must have combined in one big bu’st; an’ it war a big one, too. Kate!”
He shook the girl, who still lay in his arms, and heard her voice.
“Yer alive, thank God!” he ejaculated, with fervor. “Warn’t thet a noise? Whar’s Swamp Oak?”
“Here, hunter; his head is full of sounds yet. A hundred rivers rush through his brain.”
“I should reckon they do. Did ye finish ther yaller dog?”
“Swamp Oak’s knife was raised when Watchemenetoc spoke, and snatched him from the Peoria.”
“What! did he git away erg’in?”
“He is gone, white hunter.”
“It beats the Jews!” exclaimed Bell. “That dog bears a charmed life. Ain’t he nowheres about, Injun?”
“No.”
“The shock must hev thrown him somewheres. That shock! it cracked every bone in my body. I know what it war now. Somebody dropped fire inter ther Bloodhound’s funnel, an’ blow’d his cave to shivers. But our people—whar war they?”
A groan burst from Swamp Oak’s lips.
“Where is Swamp Oak’s tongueless bride?” he cried, in agony; and when the hunter thought where he left our friends with injunctions to await his return, a cold shiver shot over his frame, and he feared that the future would confirm the horrible belief which had taken possession of his mind.
“Come, Injun,” he said to Swamp Oak, “we’ll go back, now;” and he added, in a lower tone—“go back an’ look fur their bodies!”