Ellen Walton Part 7

"Infamous villain! how dare you insult my self-respect by even naming such a thing? Never dare again, to couple my name with yours! never, sir! It is the basest sacrilege to humanity!"

"Very well. Our _names_ shall _not_ be coupled; our _destinies shall be!_ Go, with the consoling thought to cheer you for a few fleeting hours. Here I stand and swear it--witness my oath, ye trees! witness it, earth and sky!

and, if such beings there are, witness it, angels and devils--_Ellen Walton shall be mine!_"

He was so deeply absorbed in calling on his witnesses, he noticed nothing about him, and now looking to the spot where she stood, to observe the effect of his words, behold, Ellen was not there. His tragic agony had been wasted on the "desert air." Turning away once more, he left the place in a rage.

Ellen, though she had left, heard his words in the distance, and notwithstanding she had made a show of boldness, she was really alarmed, and greatly dreaded the future. She knew that an evil-minded man, however contemptible, was capable of doing infinite harm to a fellow-being, when determinedly set thereon. Thus, between hope and fear, her time was pa.s.sed.

CHAPTER VI.

PLANS FRUSTRATED--ESPIONAGE.

Durant, who considered himself a perfect genius in contriving strategetical measures, now turned all his attention to the execution of the secret plans he had matured. He first accompanied a body of Indians, who were ready to march upon the settlements of Kentucky, with a select few, to whom he had confided his intentions of capturing a white squaw. With these villains he intended to attack the house of the Waltons, while the main body of the savages made their onset upon the bulk of the settlement, including the block-house. This measure failed, for the simple reason that he had mistaken the house, and a family by the name of Scraggs suffered in the stead of his intended victim.[A]

[Footnote A: "Western Adventure," page 179-182.]

He next resolved to go, with a few of his renegade followers, in a secret manner, and steal Ellen at night, or during some of her daily walks, when alone. Soon after crossing the river, he was taken sick, and his followers, mistaking his directions, went another way, and made a worse blunder than on the first occasion; and a party of whites coming into the vicinity of his camp, the villain hastened to recross the river to the Ohio side, not yet knowing the fate of the expedition, that portion of the band who had been commissioned with the execution of the plot not having returned when he was forced to retreat. However, he was not long kept in suspense; one of his men came back, and reported a wonderful adventure with a "big squaw, taller than the greatest warrior," who killed a number of the Indians, he said, and when two of the others undertook to get down the chimney, "big squaw took up mighty great wallet, all full of feathers, more than was on all the eagles of all the hunting grounds of the red men, and tearing it open, easy as we tear a leaf, poured them on the fire. Big black smoke puff up quick as powder flash, and down come Indian like he shot. White squaw take up big tomahawk, and strike both on the head. Me nearly in the door by this time; big squaw jump at me with he great tomahawk, so big the great chief no lift it, and lifted it to strike. Me no like to be killed by old squaw, so me come away." A very marvelous story told the Indians, full of high flourishes and exaggerations, but founded on truth, nevertheless.[B]

[Footnote B: "Western Adventure," page 187.]

Durant saw that some mistake had been made, and that his attempt had signally failed, notwithstanding his confidence and boasting, and the care with which he had laid his "hidden toils." He was greatly exasperated at the failure of his plots, on the success of which he had built such sanguine hopes.

After much reflection, and the formation and abandonment of many schemes for the accomplishment of his object, he finally hit upon a plan which he felt sure would succeed. This time he called into requisition the services of his old crony in crime, the infamous, but not untainted, Ramsey. With him and a couple of trusty Indians, he set out on his expedition, resolved to succeed at the risk of his life. Ellen he would possess at all hazards.

The party reached a point which was as near the settlement as prudence allowed them to go, and here, in the deep forest, his three companions hid themselves, while he went forward to make observations, and work out the details of the plot and attack. Stealthily approaching the vicinity of the Waltons, he secreted himself in a hollow tree during the day, from an orifice of which, at some distance from the base, he had quite a commanding view of the adjacent country for a considerable distance either way. Here he placed himself to make observations.

It was in the early part of autumn; the weather was mild and pleasant; the forest had put on its diadem of rich colors, purple, scarlet and yellow, and was gorgeously beautiful in the ripened glory of its drapery. The season, the scene, the sunny warmth all invited to a partic.i.p.ation in the enjoyment which nature held out to those who would accept her bounty, and refresh themselves in her sylvan bowers.

It was on the second day of his watch, that Durant had the satisfaction of noticing the arrival of a gentleman at the house of Mr. Walton, which was followed on the succeeding day by a circ.u.mstance which at once gave him fresh encouragement and sanguine hopes. Ellen made her appearance, leaning on the gentleman's arm; they were out enjoying the pleasure of an excursion into the quiet woods, and to his infinite gratification, wended their way to his immediate neighborhood.

Fortune sometimes favors the wicked, and, in this instance, she smiled on the villain; for the lovers, fancying the spot, seated themselves on the trunk of a fallen tree, that lay close to the one in which he had ensconced himself, and by placing his ear near the orifice, he could distinctly hear what pa.s.sed between them.

"It is so refres.h.i.+ng to sit in the shade of the 'gray old forest,'" said Ellen. "I have not enjoyed such a treat these many months."

"Why, with your facilities, I should think you would recreate every day in pleasant weather."

"That was my habit formerly; but the last time I ventured out alone, I met with an unexpected streak of ill luck, which has deterred me ever since from laying myself liable to a repet.i.tion of the same bad fortune."

"Indeed! You have not informed me of this before."

"For the simple reason that more agreeable thoughts and memories have occupied my mind; and, after all, it is hardly worth relating, though it made me feel very unpleasant for a time."

"I must know of this adventure."

"It was only the unlooked-for appearance of my old and sworn enemy, Durant, who made another attempt to deceive me; but failing in his designs, finally renewed his threats of revenge."

She then, at her lover's request, narrated the incidents of her interview with Durant, as already known to the reader.

"Strange that the villain should form such an unaccountable dislike for you, when you never injured him in the least."

"I think his bad nature was excited, and his ill-will increased, by a few words of merited rebuke I was forced, by his unmanliness, to p.r.o.nounce against him, the last time he was at our house in Virginia."

"And you have heard nothing from him since the day he obtruded himself upon your notice here in the woods?"

"Nothing direct or definite, though I think he made an attempt to capture me, with the aid of some Indians, soon afterward, but failed in his object from some cause. But notwithstanding I have heard no direct tidings from him, I feel a constant dread of evil, as though some impending calamity was hanging over me."

"Such fears had better be banished at once from your mind."

"I know it, and have tried to get rid of them, but they will, despite my efforts to the contrary, come into my mind. I do not and will not yield to them, though I find it impossible at all times to shake them off."

"Singular, truly; I pray G.o.d, they presage no harm."

"Oh, I so much wish you could always be near me; I dread nothing in your presence."

"I hope the time is not far distant when this dearest wish of both our hearts will be realized."

The conversation took a tender cast at this point; and as matters of the heart are secrets between lovers, which they dislike for third parties to look into, we will take ourselves away, and leave them to enjoy their hour of happiness in undisturbed quiet.

Several days brought a return of much the same routine of events, the lovers always spending an hour of each afternoon in the woods. Durant kept to his tree, and the others invariably occupied the same seat near his hiding-place. At the end of a week, Durant learned from the conversation of the young couple that the gentleman was to return to Virginia in a day or two, to make preparations for the coming wedding, which was to take place about the holidays, he being now on a visit to arrange the preliminaries, and enjoy for a brief time the society of his betrothed. When they had returned home, Durant muttered to himself:

"Now is my time! To-morrow is their last day for walking, and, like loving fools as they are, they will be so absorbed in each others' feelings, and the silly sentimentality of love, as to be easily surprised. Yes, to-morrow will be my time!"

And gloating over the antic.i.p.ated triumph, he left his burrow, and hastened to his companions, to make known his intentions, and prepare everything for the event of the morrow. He and one Indian were to seize and secure Ellen, while Ramsey and the other should perform the more difficult task of capturing her lover. All the details of their arrangements were discussed and adopted; and Durant, now that he felt certain of his victims--for his hate of Ellen's lover was bitter, though of recent date--was almost beside himself with malignant and h.e.l.lish joy. He saw before him the speedy accomplishment of his fiendish purpose--the gratification of his inveterate hate and long sought revenge, by the commission of the most d.a.m.nable act known this side of the "bottomless pit" of darkness; and his sin-polluted heart actually swelled with venomous delight, and demoniac exultation. One of the fairest flowers of earth is to be plucked by his rude hand, and soiled by his touch and embrace! Will he succeed in his satanic designs?

CHAPTER VII.

THE LOVERS

Ellen Walton, ere she left the home of her childhood for the scenes of border life, was the affianced bride of Walter Hamilton, a young man of most promising talent, irreproachable character, and fine looking withal; and, in a word, was worthy of the high favor he found in the eyes and the heart of his beloved. As gathered from the narrations of the last chapter, he was now on a visit to the wilderness home of his betrothed, to arrange for the nuptials, which were to be solemnized on Christmas Eve, the winter season being deemed most safe from the predatory excursions of the Indians.

All these particulars their bitter adversary was familiar with; and he so exulted over the sad termination of their plans, he could scarcely command his feelings, or act with becoming sanity.

Without further ado, we will introduce the lovers at their last interview in the forest, previous to Hamilton's return home. The same spot finds them seated again, as though fate led them surely on into the jaws of destruction, and opened the way of triumph for the plotting villain.

"And this is the last time we shall enjoy together the sweet solitude of this sylvan temple of love?" said Hamilton, after they had been conversing for some time on the hopes before them.

"Oh, I pray it may not be the _last_ time! What fatal words!" replied the fair Ellen, as a momentary pallor overspread her beautiful face.

"You know, love I only meant for this visit. Of course, I hope to enjoy the same felicity many times when we shall mutually sustain to each other those dearest of all relations; after that our hopes shall have been fully consummated."

"I know you did not intend to say the last time for life; but the word _last_ struck with a chill to my heart, and called up old dreads, which, unbidden, sent a thrill of fear through my spirit. I could not avoid the thought that this _might be_, indeed, our last meeting. Would to heaven the unwelcome thought were banished from my mind, never again to return."