The White Squaw Part 27

It was a mistake, but rather a serious one.

Loosening his hold, he suffered the astonished Maracota to rise to his feet.

"Yes; I can tell you've made a random shot at me. Next time, try and see a man's face 'fore you pulls trigger on him, or it might be awkward.

There's no harm done, only a worse shot nor yours I never saw. I'd eat my rifle, stock, lock and barrel, afore I'd own to sich shooting. Who war it you were arter?"

Having at length recovered breath, the Indian was able to answer.

"I took you for Warren Rody."

"Much obleeged for the compliment. Do I look such a skunk as that fellow? If I do, put a brace of bullets into me, and we won't quarrel."

The warrior grimly smiled.

"Maracota has sworn to avenge Oluski's death. Warren Rody must die!"

"Wal, let him die. I shan't stop you from riddin' the world of such as he. What made you follow my trail?"

"It was no trail I followed. I have been seeking one from the north; yours came from the east."

"Right you air; that's whar I hail from last."

"Have you seen anything of him, or Sansuta?"

"Hark hyar, Injun. Altho' I might draw blood in the scoundrel if I saw him, I ain't a _man-hunter_, and that's why I haint been a follerin' any trail of his'n."

Maracota's eager look gave place to one of despondency, as he muttered,--

"Not found yet! Where can they be?"

"Ah, whar? It ain't Warren as has hid whar he can't be found. Some knowin' hand has put him up to it."

"Yes, Maracota thinks so. It must be the negro Crookleg."

"Crookleg! Is that all-fired n.i.g.g.e.r varmint mixed up with him? That makes a brace of the durndest hounds that ever run together. Who told you that Crookleg helped young Rody?"

"The chief thinks so."

"Wal, then, I'll bet a 'possum skin agin a musk rat's that he's right.

Your chief, Wacora, is as likely an Injun at reck'nin up the merits o' a case as this c.o.o.n knows on. Now you've missed liftin' my scalp, what do you intend doin'?"

"Go on looking for the chief who stole Oluski's heart, find him, and kill him."

The glance that accompanied these words was full of deadly determination.

"Wal, go, and good luck attend you. Don't ask me to jine you, I tell you I ain't no man-hunter nor never will be; only, if either of them thar scamps should be out walkin' whar I chance to be, they had better have met with a mad bar than this Cris Carrol. Never mind sayin' a word about that bad shot o' yourn. The moment I seed you I knowed you didn't mean it for me, only next time be more partiklar, that's all."

Without making reply, Maracota turned away, and was soon lost under the shadows of the forest.

As soon as he was out of sight, the old hunter renewed his preparations for a smoke.

Drawing from his pouch (which seemed to contain everything that the heart of a hunter could desire) another pipe, he was soon once more sending clouds of blue smoke up into the air.

"If that Maracota meets Warren Rody or Crookleg he'll be an awkward customer to either or both on 'em; and that he may meet 'em he has Cris Carrol's best prayers and wishes."

With this homely but sincere expression of his desires, the backwoodsman ceased to think of the deadly danger lately threatening himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

PREPARING FOR THE ATTACK.

The Indians had, at length, determined upon making an attack upon Elias Rody's stronghold.

The governor had got wind of their intention through a spy, a slave belonging to the tribe, who had turned informer through his seductive offers.

A meeting of the settlers within the stockade was at once called.

"Fellow citizens," said Rody, addressing them, "I have received some information that our enemies have resolved upon attacking us. It is my duty to tell you this in order that every man may be prepared to defend himself and his family. One thing I would have you remember; this war will be one of extermination; therefore be careful not to waste a bullet. Let every pull upon your trigger send an Indian to his long account. Let the cry be 'no quarter!'"

"Perhaps that'll be their motto too," remarked a voice in the crowd.

"I perceive, sir," replied Rody, a little nettled at the running commentary on his speech, "I perceive that there are still one or two dissatisfied people amongst us. Let them step forward, and declare themselves. _We_ want neither renegades or traitors in our midst."

"That's so," the voice replied.

"Again I say, let those displeased with my views step boldly out, and allow me to answer any objections they may raise. I've done nothing I am ashamed of. I blush for nothing that I do."

"No, you're past blus.h.i.+ng!" was the ironical rejoinder.

A suppressed t.i.tter ran round the a.s.semblage at these pertinent remarks of the unknown; and the governor's temper was not improved by observing the effect the words had produced on his hearers.

"I scorn to answer the fellow who is afraid to show himself; but I warn you all to be prepared for a desperate contest. We have only ourselves to look to for our defence. We are in the hands of Providence."

"We are!"

This sudden change from jeering comment to deep solemnity of utterance on the part of the unknown speaker struck awe into the crowd, and caused Rody to turn pale.

In the hands of Providence!

Yes, for good or evil. For punishment or reward.

The thought expressed in this manner was too much for the governor.

He dismissed the meeting with a hurried admonition to be prepared for the worst.

As he re-entered his house, he encountered his daughter face to face.