The Spirit of the Border: A Romance of the Early Settlers in the Ohio Valley

rted log cabin which stood on the bank of a stream fifty miles or more inland from the Ohio River. It was

under dripping trees. Feeling of his hunting frock, he found that it was damp and slippery. This fact evidently decided him in favor of the cabin, for he stooped his tall figure and went

the hum of voices, followed by the soft tread of moccasined feet. He knew there was an Indian town ten miles

d steel, and struck a light, he was almost certain to be discovered. He listened t

hard substance. The noise was repeated, and then followed by a hissing sound, which he knew to be the burning of a

ogether with several packs of hides. Some of them busied themselves drying their weapons; others sat down listlessly, plainly showing their weariness, and two worked over the smouldering fire. The damp leav

ancied this came from the roof. As the chief's gaze roamed everywhere over the interior of the cabin his expression was plainly distrustful. His eye searched the wet clay floor, but

ed the young braves, and, like a wily old fox, he waited to see which cub would prove the keenest. Not one of the

ng to the ladder, ran his

he ex

wet clay like that under his feet. Simultaneously with their muttered exclamations the braves grasped their

rapidity of one long accustomed to perilous situations. Drawing his tomahawk and noisele

his long arm with the glittering hatchet made a wide sw

scaped from their very midst without a scratch but for one unforeseen circumstance. The clay floor was

oarse commands. Three of the braves ran to their packs, from which they took cords of buckskin. So exceedingly powerful was the hunter that six Indians we

ving a badly wrenched shoulder and the other a broken arm. So

ves settled themselves down for the night. The injured ones bore their hurts with charac

daylight came the sky was cloudless. The first rays of the sun

soner, and saw him sitting up in the corner. One arm was free, and the other nearly so. He h

brave, awakening his chief

omahawk in his hand. A short, shrill yell issued from his lips. Roused by that clarion call, the young brav

ave been betrayed by a matured, experienced chieftai

fields of corn which marked the o

-kol-loo

nt news, pealed throughout the quiet valley; and scarcely had t

s brightly beautiful with chestnut trees and long, well-formed lines of lodges. Many-hued blankets hung fluttering in the sun, and rising lazily were curling columns of blue smoke. The sce

ashed here and there, squaws awakened from their slumber, and many a doughty warrior rose from his rest in the shade. French fur trad

one prolonged, furious yell rent the air, and then followed an extraordinary demonstration of fierce delight. The young brave's stac

own the lane; he had been bound to a stake in front of the lodge where his captors were now leading him. He knew the chief, Winge

ces of hatred, and sudden giving way to ungovernable rage, unusual to the Indian nature; if he fe

telang!" rang out th

eir feathers waving, their paint shining, their faces expressive of as m

Le Vent de la Mort!

the hunter's bullet; there were Kotoxen, the Lynx, and Misseppa, the Source, and Winstonah, the War-cloud, chiefs of sagacity and renown. Three renegades completed the circle; and these three traitors represented a power which had for ten years left an awful, bloody trail

on Girty's face betrayed satisfaction; Elliott's shifty eyes snapped, and the dark, repulsive

rm, silenced the yelling horde of frenzi

dark, sleek head, now bare of plumes, towered over the other Indians, but he wa

nd strong, his magnificent frame tapering wedge-like from his broad shoulders. The bulging line of his thick neck, the deep

; his coal-black eyes glittered with almost a superhuman fire. And his hair, darker than the wing of a crow, fell far below hi

s foe, and then over the multitude and th

nd dies

ong at the great foe of their race; the warriors passed in gloomy silence. The savages' tricks of torture, all their dia

Girty stopped before him, his yellowish eyes lighted by a tigerish glare, his lips c

ains with human flesh for the carrion birds that the thought had a deep fascination for him. "D'ye hear

im to face this man had he been free. Even now a chill crept over Girty. For a moment he was enthralled by a mysterious fear, half paralyzed by a foreshadowing of what would be this h

werful leg was raised suddenly; his foot struck Girty in the pit of the stomach. The renegade dropped limp and gasping. T

ecords of Indian maidens' kindness, of love, of heroism for white prisoners brighten the dark pages of frontier history. These girls walked past the hunter, averting their

fresh and sweet as that of a wild rose. Her costume, fringed, beaded, and exquisitely wrought with fanciful design, betrayed her rank, she was Wingenund's daughter. The hunter ha

the braves untied him and led him away, he once mor

is stout bonds, and in his mind revolved different plans of escape. It was not in this man's nature to despair; whi

t bark of a dog and the monotonous tread of his guard; a dim graynes

t inaudible. It came from without on the other side of the lodge. There it was again,

litting the wa

de moving carefully upward through the deer-hide. Then a long knife was pushed into the opening; a small, brown han

n his arm; then it slipped down to his wrists. The contact of cold steel set a tremor of joy through his heart. The pressure of

second an Indian warrior lay upon the ground in his death-th