back upon the ground, believing the last sands of his existence were run.
Meantime, the Indians had loaded their rifles; and one of them, stepping a pace in front of his companion, was already in the act of aiming, when, perceiving the young man falter and sink back, he lowered the muzzle of his gun, and, grasping his tomahawk, darted forward to despatch him without further loss of ammunition. Already had he reached within five or six paces of his victim, who, now unable to exert himself in his own defence, could only look upon his savage enemy and the weapon uplifted for his destruction, when, crack went another rifle, in an opposite direction whence the Indians approached, and, bounding into the air, with a terrific yell, the foremost fell dead by the young man's side. On seeing his companion fall, the other Indian, who was only a few paces behind, stopped suddenly, and, with a yell of fear and disappointment, turned and fled.
Those only who have been placed in peril sufficient to extinguish the last gleam of hope, and have suddenly been relieved by a mysterious interposition of Providence, can fully realize the feelings with which the wounded hunter saw himself rescued from an ignominious death. True, he was weak and faint from a wound which was, perhaps, mortal; still it was a great consolation to feel that he should die among those who would bury him, and perhaps bear a message to friends in a far-off land. With such thoughts uppermost in his mind, the young man, by great exertion, raised himself upon his elbow, and turned his head in the direction whence his deliverer might be expected; but, to his surprise and disappointment, no one appeared; and after vainly attempting to regain his feet, he sunk back, completely exhausted. The wound in his side had now grown very painful, and was bleeding freely; while he became conscious, that unless the hemorrhage could be stanched immediately, the only good service a friend could render him, would be to inter his remains. In this helpless state, something like a minute elapsed, when he felt a strange sensation about his heart—his head grew dizzy—his thoughts seemed confused—the sky appeared suddenly to grow dark, and he believed the icy grasp of death was already settling upon him. At this moment a form—but whether of friend or foe he could not tell—flitted before his uncertain vision; and then all became darkness and nonentity. He had swooned.
When the young stranger recovered his senses, after a lapse of some ten minutes, his glance rested on the form of a white hunter, of noble aspect, who was bending over him with a compassionate look; and who, meantime, had opened his dress to the wound and stanched the blood, by covering it with a few pieces of coarse linen, which he had torn into shreds for the purpose, and secured there by means of his belt.
As this latter personage is destined to figure somewhat in the following pages, we shall take this opportunity of describing him as he appeared to our wounded friend.
In height and proportion—but not in age—these two individuals were somewhat alike—the new comer being full five feet, ten inches, with a robust, athletic frame, and all the concomitants of a powerful man. At the moment when first beheld by the young man, after regaining his senses, he was kneeling by his side, his cap of the wild-cat skin was lying on the ground, and the last mellow rays of the setting sun were streaming upon an intelligent and manly countenance, which, now rendered more deeply interesting by the earnest, compassionate look wherewith he regarded the other, made him appear to that other, in his peculiar situation, this most noble being he had ever seen. Of years he had seen some fifty; though there was a freshness about his face, owing probably to his hardy, healthy mode of life, which made him appear much younger. His countenance was open and pleasing, with good, regular, though not, strictly speaking, handsome features. His forehead was high and full, beneath which beamed a mild, clear blue eye. His nose was rather long and angular; his cheekbones high and bold; his lips thin and compressed, covering a goodly set of teeth; his chin round and prominent; the whole together conveying an expression of energy, decision, hardy recklessness and manly courage. His dress was fashioned much like the other's, already described, but of coarser materials—the frock being of linsey-woolsey; the breeches and leggings of deerskin; and the moccasins, in place of boots of the same material. Around his waist passed a belt; wherein, instead of pistols, were confined a tomahawk and scalping knife—two weapons which were considered as indispensable to the regular white hunter of that day as to the Indian warrior himself.
So soon as the elder of the two became aware of consciousness on the part of the younger, a friendly smile succeeded to the look of anxiety with which he had been regarding him; and in the frank, cordial, familiar tone of that period, when every man's cabin was the traveler's home, and every strange guest was treated with the hospitality of an old acquaintance, he said:
"Well, stranger, I'm right glad to welcome you back to life agin; for I war beginning to fear your account with earthly matters had closed. By the Power that made me! but you've had a narrow escape on't; and ef Betsy (putting his hand on his rifle, which was lying by his side,) hadn't spoke out as she did, that thar red skin varmint (pointing to the dead Indian) would have been skulking now like a thief through yonder woods, with your crown piece hanging to his girdle."
"A thousand thanks," returned the wounded man, pressing the hand of the other as much as his strength would permit, and accompanying it with a look of gratitude more eloquent than words: "A thousand thanks, sir, for your timely shot, and subsequent kindness and interest in behalf of one you know not, but who will ever remember you with gratitude."
"See here, stranger, I reckon you've not been long in these parts?"
"But a few days, sir."
"And you've come from a good ways east o' the Alleghanies?"
"I have."
"I knew it. I'd have bet Betsey agin a bushel of corn, and that's large odds you know, that such war the fact, from the particular trouble you've taken to thank me for doing the duty of a man. Let me assure you, stranger, that you're in a country now whar equality exists; and whar one man's just as good as another, provided he is no coward, and behaves himself as he should do; and whether stranger or not, is equally entitled to the assistance of his fellows; perticularly when about being treed by such a sneaking varmint as that lying yonder. Besides, I don't want any body to thank me for shooting Indians; for I always do it, whensomever I get a chance, as Betsey would tell you, ef she could speak English; for somehow thar's no perticular agreement atween us, unless it's for each to make the most he can off the other; and so far I reckon thar's a ballance in my favor, though the wretches are ever trying desperate hard to get even. But come, stranger, it won't do for you to be lying thar with that hole in your side; and so just have patience a minute, till I've secured the top-knot of this beauty here, and then I'll assist you down to yonder cabin, whar I doubt not you'll be well cared for."
As he spoke, the old woodsman rose to his feet, drew his knife, and turning to the dead Indian, to the surprise of the other, who was but little familiar with Kentucky customs of that day, deliberately took off the scalp, which he attached to his belt;[1] and then spurning the body with his foot, he muttered: "Go, worthless dog! and fill the belly of some wolf! and may your cowardly companion be soon keeping you company." Then, as he turned to the other, and noticed his look of surprise, he added: "Well, stranger, I reckon this business looks a little odd to you, coming from away beyond the mountains as you do."
"Why, if truth must be told, I confess it does," answered the other.
"Don't doubt it, stranger; but you'll do it yourself afore you've wintered here two seasons."
"I must beg leave to differ with you on that point."
"Well, well, we'll not quarrel about it—it arn't worth while; but ef you stay here two year, without scalping a red-skin and perhaps skinning one, I'll agree to pay you for your time in bar-skins at your own valuation."
"I am much obliged to you for the offer," answered the young man—a faint smile lighting his pale features; "but I think it hardly probable I shall remain in the country that length of time."
"Not unless you have good care, I reckon," returned the other; "for that thar wound o' yourn arn't none o' the slightest; though I don't want you to be skeered, for I've seen many a worse one cured. But come, I'll assist you down to yon cabin, and then I must be off—for I've got a good distance