The Yellow Hunter by T. C. Harbaugh - HTML preview

CHAPTER XIV.
THE BITTER END.

The giant hunter guarded the mouth of the cave alone until midnight.

He heard no noise save the voices of his friends below him, and the soughing of the forest trees. The ghostly sounds boded danger. The half-superstitious hunter had noted this, for years, and he was remarking it in a low tone when the cracking of a bough startled his trained senses.

Instantly he was on the alert, and presently his sharp eyes distinguished three dark bodies approaching the cave. They looked like panthers, but he knew at once that they were human beings.

Stepping back into the corridor he called Nehonesto, and the chief was soon at his side.

“Didn’t I tell ye so?” he asked, looking into the Ojibwa’s face in triumph.

“What does the white hunter mean?” questioned the savage in turn.

“Ye’ll see d’rectly, chief,” said Doc Bell; “they’re after us, but we’ll trap ’em. Back!”

He pushed the Indian into a natural niche in the wall of the corridor, and quickly followed him.

A minute later the mouth of the cavern was obscured by a black object, and they heard low voices.

“They are gone; curse the dogs!”

The voice was clothed in the deepest chagrin.

“But we will see!” returned another voice, which the hidden listeners at once recognized.

Then, once more, they saw the stars, but knew that a brace of human panthers were crawling down the corridor.

The third had been left to guard the orifice.

“We’ve got ’em now!” whispered Doc Bell to Nehonesto. “Ready?”

A guttural “Ugh” served as an affirmative reply, and Bill said:

“Chief, take the foremost, and, mind ye, hold the she-devil fast!”

A moment later the twain realized that the intruders were opposite them, and a low “Now” from the giant’s lips impelled them forward.

Nehonesto’s hands closed on Coleola, and Doc Bell threw the Yellow Bloodhound to the ground!

“I calkilate how a purty mess hez been spiled,” laughed the hunter, in tones of triumph, and a cry drew our hero and Swamp Oak from the cavern.

“Here, Bob, hold this devil!” cried Bell, relinquishing the renegade to Somerville. “I want thet fellar what they left above us.”

He sprung toward the mouth of the cave, where he stumbled over the crouching form of a man.

“Mercy!” groaned a trembling voice as the giant regained his feet.

“John Williamson!”

“Yes, but spare. Oh, spare!”

“Who said I war goin’ to kill?” cried Bell. “I’m willin’ to spare; but I’m desp’ratly afeard somebody else won’t.”

The trader groaned, and followed Bell back into the cave.

Coleola and Bardue had been conducted to the large chamber, where, sullen and silent, they stood before many an eye, flashing with vengeance of the direst nature.

“So ye thought we warn’t hyar, eh?” said the big hunter, fastening his eyes upon the creole. “Wal, ef your red devils hadn’t ’tacked this hole an’ killed Oll Blount, ye wouldn’t ’a’ found us hyar, either. Ther folks war buryin’ Oll when ye come, an’ now I calkilate as how thar’s goin’ to be some more funerals. Woman,” and he turned to the Snake Queen who was regarding Swamp Oak and her dumb daughter with flashing eyes, “how did you git out o’ that cave!”

“Coleola crawled forth like the snake,” she answered, suddenly finding her tongue. “The Big Moccasin struck her when she bore the Lone Dove through the darkness; but she crept away, and they did not hunt her long. The big noise filled her head with thunder, and when she opened her eyes she crawled into the woods. She saw the big hunter drive the red-man from the cave, and then she flew back to find the Delawares. But she met the Bloodhound in the woods, and they are here—Coleola and the Yellow one.”

“An’ what does Coleola expect?” asked the hunter.

She answered, quickly:

“Death!”

“Yes, Coleola shall step upon the death-trail!” cried Swamp Oak, darting forward. “She has torn Ulalah’s tongue from her mouth, and Ulalah shall visit the same punishment upon the she-panther whom she once called mother.”

The doomed woman uttered a terrible shriek, as the Indian halted before her with drawn knife, and when he commanded the avenging child to prepare for her horrible work, a whirlwind of passion swept across the Snake Queen’s frame, and she wrenched her only hand from the thongs which held it captive.

The next instant she shot upon her daughter, and clutched her throat with the fiendishness of despair.

But, Swamp Oak darted to the rescue! He sprung upon the mad-woman; but was hurled against the wall of the cave by Ulalah, whom Coleola had suddenly transformed into her battle ax!

“Snakes an’ lizards, what a devil!” cried Doc Bell, and he sprung at the Snake Queen, who was retreating toward the corridor, with the imperiled girl describing fearful circles before her.

“Back!” yelled Coleola.

But the daring hunter would not obey.

He flung his rifle above his head, and the blow descended upon the arm of the infuriated woman. Ulalah, speechless, fell to the ground.

The Snake Queen reeled, but ere she struck the ground, Swamp Oak was upon her.

He thought not of slow torture then. He thought Ulalah dead, so motionless she lay on the floor of the cavern, and his knife sunk to the haft in the red-woman’s bosom! Then, while she gasped for life, the reeking blade tore her tongue from her mouth, and he sprung aloft with a hideous yell of triumph!

The spectators shuddered at the awful sight; but they were soon called upon to witness other scenes.

Doc Bell turned to Jules Bardue as Swamp Oak bent over the woman he loved.

“You’ve got to die!” he said, sternly. “All dogs have their day.”

The creole did not reply, but fiercely eyed the speaker.

“You’ve made the earth run with innocent blood,” continued Doc, “an’ hed it not been fur ye, he whom we just buried, would hev still been livin’. Hev ye got any thin’ to say afore ye go?”

There was no reply, and the hunter turned to our friends.

“By whose hand shall the dog die?” he asked.

A painful silence followed, and at length the hunter stepped aside, and picked up a handful of small stones. He then turned to our hero:

“How many, Bob?”

“Twenty.”

“What’s yer guess, Swamp Oak?”

The Peoria indicated fifteen with his fingers, and Nehonesto twenty-five.

Slowly Bill opened his hand, saying “Twenty-two” as he did so. A careful count told that he had guessed the exact number of the pebbles!

“I knowed it war to be thus,” he said, slowly, and stepped back looking to the priming of his rifle.

Jules Bardue faced him with pallid countenance, and wildly beating heart!

He knew that the end of his bloody life was at hand.

The spectators shrunk from the doomed man, and turned their eyes upon his executioner.

For a moment the hunter’s eyes glanced along the polished barrel, and then a jet of fire leaped from the bore.

The Yellow Bloodhound shrieked, and dropped to the ground—stone-dead!

“I told ye that nothin’ but a bullet atween the eyes would finish ’im,” said Doc Bell, turning to the spectators, “an’ he’s got it at last!”

For a moment silence reigned, and then the cry of “Mercy” echoed throughout the cavern.

It came from John Williamson’s throat, and Bob Somerville sprung forward to save him from the Peoria’s vengeance.

But he was too late!

He saw the Indian’s knife dart toward the trader’s breast, and when he touched the bare red arm, the knife, reeking with blood, had been withdrawn.

“Through him has Swamp Oak’s relatives fallen,” said the savage, releasing the corpse. “He killed Pontiac; he brought the torch and scalping-knife to the forests of the Illinois; and the squaws and pappooses of the Peorias fall before the red dogs as fast as the rain falls from the black clouds. Now the demons of the dark land will chase the pale-face no longer.”

“Now for Fort Chartres!” said Bell. “We mought as well start at once, fur it’s er long journey, an’ ther way is black with death. But I think we’ve hed enough ov scrimmages to last er lifetime, an’ I b’lieve thet God ar’ a-goin’ to keep us all safe now, till we see ther old fort erg’in. I want ter leave this kentry, an’ git back to ther Miami. I’m used to ther lay ov thet land, an’ they don’t talk erbout skinnin’ erlive thar, either.”

A few minutes later the entire party left the cave, and stepped upon the long trail.

We need not follow them, for their journey would not interest the reader, who has followed their fortunes over the winding trail of death.

A mighty hand guided them through the new dangers, and at last the English flag rose upon their vision.

A cry of joy burst from the little band.

Now they could enjoy peace, for the last peril had been passed in safety, and they could thrill the hearts of others with a narration of their adventures.

A few days after the return to the fort, Bob Somerville called Kate Blount “wife,” and after the interesting ceremony Doc Bell turned his face toward the death-regions of Ohio, where, in a forest drama, as startling as the one just penned, the reader shall encounter him again.

Ulalah remained in Fort Chartres till the close of the avengers’ war, when Swamp Oak returned from the bloody forest-paths, and took his silent bird to a home far from the ruins of his tribe’s wigwams.

Nehonesto followed Doc Bell to the valleys of the Miami.

And now, reader, the pen must be thrown aside again. But first, let me say that the mystery that enwraps the explosion of the Bloodhound’s cave, and John Williamson’s escape from the Indians on the Cahokia, remains to the humble writer a mystery still.

It may never be penetrated.

THE END.