Ellen Walton Part 5

"There _may_ be; particularly if any bad luck has attended them."

"Quick, then, quick! away!--Have the boat decoyed to the sh.o.r.e, and captured by the Indians! You understand, _captured_: the girl must on no account be killed."

"You don't mean that I shall start out to-night in this storm and darkness?"

"Yes, and without a moment's delay. Set the red dogs on the scent--capture the girl, and you shall be rewarded on your own terms. Go, or it will be too late!"

With some hesitation Ramsey obeyed, and when once in for the business, pushed it forward with all the energy he could master. This fellow was on friendly terms with the Indians, a band of whom--kind of renegades--whenever he could come across them, would follow his orders, or do his bidding. With a dispatch that would have done credit to the swiftest courier in the days of chivalry, he pushed forward through the wilderness to the usual place of rendezvous of this band, hoping to find and enlist them in the enterprise on hand; but they were absent on some expedition of their own. Not to be discouraged by one disappointment, Ramsey paused only long enough to determine that his expected coadjutors were not to be found in or about their usual lurking place, then continued his course down the Ohio with unabated ardor, and on the second day came in sight of a boat just at dusk of the evening. A momentary scrutiny convinced him that it was the one he was in pursuit of, and he concluded it must have been delayed by some misfortune, as he did not expect to come up to it so soon, if at all.

However this might be, one thing was certain, the boat was there, and more still, the crew were careless, a certain sign that they felt secure and free from any dread of danger. So much the better for his purpose, thought the villain.

Driving on through the forest, at a speed far exceeding the slow motions of the boat, he resolved to collect a body of savages, and intercept the prize. Fortune seemed to favor him; for on the next day he fell in with a large force of warriors, who were "on the war-path," and ready for any work that gave promise of blood, booty, or scalps. They were easily induced to further the designs of Ramsey, of whose character they were well aware; and placing themselves under his guidance, he soon posted them along the banks of the river to watch for the coming boat. At dark it was descried, but being too far out to admit of being attacked, the enemy silently withdrew, and hastening forward, took a second position below the first. This was done several times, and, at last, Ramsey had the satisfaction of seeing the boat near the Ohio sh.o.r.e. When within fifty yards of the bank, the Indians, to the number of several hundred, suddenly came down to the edge of the water, and opened a heavy fire upon the crew.

The boat was commanded by Captain James Ward--was a crazy old thing, with only a single pine board for a bulwark. The captain was at one oar, and his nephew, a young man, at the other. Knowing that all depended on reaching the middle of the stream, the captain used his best exertions to force the vessel out; but his nephew let go his oar, and took up his gun to fire. As he did so, he was pierced through with a ball, and fell, mortally wounded.

His oar dropped into the river; and the exertions of the captain only tended to force the boat nearer the sh.o.r.e. Seeing this, the savages gave a yell of triumph, and prepared to take possession of the prize. Ward, however, seized hold of a board, and with it took the place of his nephew, giving his own oar to one of the men, and made renewed exertions to gain the current, the enemy, meanwhile, pouring upon the crew an incessant volley of b.a.l.l.s, thick as the falling hail of the storm, which soon riddled everything above the plank breastwork, and killed or wounded all the horses on board--seven in number.

During this time most of the crew were too badly frightened to do or be conscious of anything, excepting danger. One large, fat old Dutchman, in particular, was so taken aback, he threw himself down flat, with his face to the deck, hoping thus to escape with his life. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, however, his posterior protuberance was of such enormously aldermanic dimensions, that it projected above the defenses, and became a fine and laughable target for the savage marksmen, who aimed the great majority of their shots thereat. As the bullets tore through the old fellow's unmentionables, and raking his hide, made it smart, he would s.h.i.+ft his position, and endeavor to s.h.i.+eld himself all over; but it was of no use. In spite of all the efforts he could make, the young mountain _would_ remain in view in its exposed situation, to the great annoyance of its owner, and the equally great merriment of the enemy. In this sad predicament the phlegmatic hero of the flesh mountain lay, piteously bemoaning his fate, and cursing his foes.

As the b.a.l.l.s would rake the subnascent appendage, making it twinge with the sharp sting, he would cry out:

"Oh! oh, Lort! haf' mercy on _me_ and _mine_!"

But his cries availed nothing; and so losing all patience, he raised up his head, and, looking at the enemy, called to them:

"Oh, now, t'ere! quit t'at tam nonsense, will you?"

The boat was, finally, saved, with all on board, except the young man and the horses. (For further particulars of this affair, see "Western Adventure," page 275-6.)

Ramsey discovered at the commencement of the fray that this was not the boat he was in quest of, and so, leaving the Indians to accomplish its capture as they pleased, he hastened onward in the hope of still overtaking the right vessel. In this he failed; already had it reached its destination, and the Waltons were in their new home. He returned, and reported his ill success to Durant, who was greatly vexed at the issue of his undertaking, but resolved to renew his efforts to obtain possession of Ellen, or in some way work her ruin.

CHAPTER V.

STILL AT WORK.

An evil heart, bent on mischief, is never contented in idleness, but, like the volcanic fires, its pa.s.sions and thirst for revenge, when not in open eruption, are actively at work in secret and darkness, preparing for new outbursts, bearing death along their path, and leaving devastation, blight and ruin in their wake. This was much the case with Louis Durant, after the failure of his attempt on the boat. He was resolved to accomplish the villainy on which he had set his heart, and to this end determined to leave no means untried, be they ever so base, which lay within his reach.

To proceed openly, however, was not exactly practicable, as by so doing too many eyes would be upon him; and he was too cowardly to face an open foe on fair ground. So he went to work in secret.

After mature deliberation, and the revolving and the re-revolving of the matter in his mind, he concluded to join the Indians, and through their aid accomplish the consummation of his designs. In carrying out this plan, he was very materially aided by his old accomplice in crime, Ramsey, whose familiarity with the red men gave him at once the facilities for introducing his friend to their notice, which he did with a flourish and eulogium. Things went on smoothly enough while Durant was learning the language, customs, manners and habits of his new allies. He had as much as he could do to convince them of his bravery and undaunted courage, which qualities, believing he was deficient in them, they as often as possible put to the test. In many of these adventures he barely came off with credit whole, a thing he found absolutely necessary to maintain any kind of credit with this singular people, and, for this purpose, he called into action every particle of courage from every crack and crevice of his system, and brought the whole to bear upon one point, the wavering of his own heart, and, with it, the staying of his almost quaking limbs, and ready-to-run-away feet. He had just "_quantum sufficit_" for this purpose, and _none to spare_.

These achievements occupied about two years in their accomplishment, at the end of which period, Durant, having established himself pretty fairly in the good graces of his red brethren, felt as though the time had arrived for him to put in execution his long intended project; for, be it known, his desire for vengeance had neither slumbered nor died during the two years, but was the grand moving impulse to every important act. These years, so full of restrained wrath on his part, were years of peace to his intended victim. Ellen Walton, save the fear of Indians, and the usual trials incident to pioneer life, had spent her time in hopeful quiet, full of love's antic.i.p.ated bliss in the bright _future_.

Almost had she forgotten Durant and his threats. Pity she should ever be awakened from her blissful dreams to dread reality.

Very early in the spring of 1787, and not quite two years since her father's settlement in the country, on a very pleasant day, she ventured to walk out a short distance into the forest, which adjoined their dwelling.

Becoming interested in her own musings, she sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, to give free vent and wide range to her thoughts. The reader can, doubtless, imagine as well as we, the rainbow hues of her straying fancy, as it reveled in the rosy bowers of love.

"Miss Walton, I believe I have the honor of addressing."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Looking up, she saw a tall, dark man standing before her, his eye bent upon hers with a look that sent the blood to her heart."--See page 36.]

At the sound of her name, Ellen sprung to her feet, with a suppressed scream of fright on her lips. Looking up, she saw a tall, dark man standing before her, his eye bent upon hers with a look that sent the blood to her heart, she hardly knew why; for certainly the individual before her was a stranger, or one with whom she had had so slight an acquaintance, as to remember nothing concerning him. While her mind was running over all the pa.s.sing acquaintances she had ever made, and endeavoring among them to put the personage before her, he continued to scan her countenance with a steady gaze, as if to read her thoughts, which divining, he continued:

"I perceive you do not remember me, though we have met before. My memory is not so treacherous; and, beside, your looks made a lasting impression on my mind, an impression that time can never efface or obliterate; and to this impression you are indebted for my present visit--an unceremonious one, I must confess."

At this point of his discourse Ellen made a movement as if to retrace her steps homeward, seeing which, he went on:

"Do not be impatient, fair maiden, or in haste to go, for I have that to tell thee which is of the utmost importance both to thy present and future welfare."

This adoption of the familiar and solemn style of address, had the effect rather to increase than diminish the tremors about the girl's heart; yet she silently awaited his words:

"I am come to warn thee that great, very great and imminent danger is hanging, impended but by a thread, over thy head."

This blunt and unexpected announcement caused Ellen to start with a shudder, and sent the blood still more forcibly upon her heart, which labored, for a moment, under the load, and then beat so loud she was afraid the stranger would hear it. Noticing the effect of his words, he continued:

"Thou hast an enemy, a bitter enemy, who has sworn to do thee an evil, and it is in his heart to keep the oath. I see by the pallor of thy countenance thou hast not forgotten him."

And true it was that the mention of "an enemy" called up her old foe to the most vivid recollection of the now thoroughly alarmed Ellen. With the utmost exertion of her strength and will, she could barely suppress the outward manifestations of her terror.

"Well, this enemy, whom you had well-nigh forgotten, has never, for a single day, had thee out of his mind. Ever since his threat, he has been laying deep schemes to ruin thee, and once very nearly succeeded. For two years he has been at work in a new way; his plans are about matured, and _you will soon be in his power!_"

This last clause was spoken slowly, and emphasized on every word. All the time he was speaking, Ellen's feelings became more and more intensely excited, and, at the close, had reached the limit of control. For a moment she was overcome, and leaned against a tree for support; but seeing the stranger make a motion as though to a.s.sist her, she rallied again, and, becoming more composed, demanded:

"How know you these things of which you speak?"

"It matters but little to thee, to know more than the facts in the case; these I tell thee, but no more."

"Then you have come as a kind friend to warn me of my danger?"

"Aye, and more."

"Thanks! thanks! and pardon me if, at the first, I looked with suspicion on a friend. The circ.u.mstances of our meeting is my apology for the ungenerous thought."

"Thou hadst cause to suspect, if not to fear me, and for thy thought I have no need to pardon thee. But my mission is not yet completed."

"Then let us go to the house of my father, which is but a short way off, and there hear what further is to be said."

"No, I have but little time, and this place will answer my purpose quite as well as your father's house, with the situation of which I am well acquainted."

"Indeed! Then you are not a stranger in these parts?"

"Not entirely so; but as my business was with you, more particularly, it was natural that I should familiarize myself with your place of abode, that, if need be, I might render myself efficient in a case of emergency, which may arrive but too soon."

This allusion to danger re-awakened Ellen's apprehensions, which noticing, he continued:

"I have told you of overhanging peril; yet I have told you but half. You are unable to escape from the net that is woven around you--you have no means in your power to free yourself from the unseen toils that have been secretly laid to ensnare you. Every step you take is one of danger, and every effort you make to flee from that danger, may but drive you nearer to destruction. Such is the nature of your enemy's operations, that while they are secret, they are sure; and so thoroughly has every preparation been made, and so exact has every minute particular been examined and attended to, there is no possibility of his scheme failing, and equally no possibility for you to escape."