[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

central figure in this tragic scene, he who had doomed the Christians might
have seen that tiny puff of smoke which heralded his own doom, but before the
ringing report could reach his ears a small blue hole appeared, as if by
magic, over his left eye, and pulse, and sense, and life had fled forever.
Half King, great, cruel chieftain, stood still for an instant as if he had
been an image of stone; his haughty head lost its erect poise, the fierceness
seemed to fade from his dark face, his proud plume waved gracefully as he
swayed to and fro, and then fell before the Christians, inert and lifeless.
No one moved; it was as if no one breathed. The superstitious savages
awaited fearfully another rifle shot; another lightning stroke, another
visitation from the paleface's God.
But Jim Girty, with a cunning born of his terrible fear, had recognized the
ring of that rifle. He had felt the zip of a bullet which could just as
readily have found his brain as Half King's. He had stood there as fair a mark
as the cruel Huron, yet the Avenger had not chosen him. Was he reserved for a
different fate? Was not such a death too merciful for the frontier Deathshead?
He yelled in his craven fear:
"Le vent de la Mort!"
The well known, dreaded appellation aroused the savages from a fearful
stupor into a fierce manifestation of hatred. A tremendous yell rent the air.
Instantly the scene changed.
Chapter XXVI.
In the confusion the missionaries carried Young and Edwards into Mr. Wells'
cabin. Nell's calm, white face showed that she had expected some such
catastrophe as this, but she of all was the least excited. Heckewelder left
them at the cabin and hurried away to consult Captain Williamson. While
Zeisberger, who was skilled in surgery, attended to the wounded men, Jim
barred the heavy door, shut the rude, swinging windows, and made the cabin
temporarily a refuge from prowling savages.
Outside the clamor increased. Shrill yells rent the air, long, rolling
war-cries sounded above all the din. The measured stamp of moccasined feet,
the rush of Indians past the cabin, the dull thud of hatchets struck hard into
the trees all attested to the excitement of the savages, and the imminence of
terrible danger.
In the front room of Mr. Wells' cabin Edwards lay on a bed, his face turned
to the wall, and his side exposed. There was a bloody hole in his white skin.
Zeisberger was probing for the bullet. He had no instruments, save those of
his own manufacture, and they were darning needles with bent points, and a
long knife-blade ground thin.
"There, I have it," said Zeisberger. "Hold still, Dave. There!" As Edwards
moaned Zeisberger drew forth the bloody bullet. "Jim, wash and dress this
wound. It isn't bad. Dave will be all right in a couple of days. Now I'll look
at George."
Zeisberger hurried into the other room. Young lay with quiet face and closed
eyes, breathing faintly. Zeisberger opened the wounded man's shirt and exposed
Page 139
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the wound, which was on the right side, rather high up. Nell, who had followed
Zeisberger that she might be of some assistance if needed, saw him look at the
wound and then turn a pale face away for a second. That hurried, shuddering
movement of the sober, practical missionary was most significant. Then he bent
over Young and inserted on of the probes into the wound. He pushed the steel
an inch, two, three, four inches into Young's breast, but the latter neither
moved nor moaned. Zeisberger shook his head, and finally removed the
instrument. He raised the sufferer's shoulder to find the bed saturated with
blood. The bullet wound extended completely through the missionary's body, and
was bleeding from the back. Zeisberger folded strips of linsey cloth into
small pads and bound them tightly over both apertures of the wound.
"How is he?" asked Jim, when the amateur surgeon returned to the other room,
and proceeded to wash the blood from his hands.
Zeisberger shook his head gloomily.
"How is George?" whispered Edwards, who had heard Jim's question.
"Shot through the right lung. Human skill can not aid him! Only God can
save."
"Didn't I hear a third shot?" whispered Dave, gazing round with sad,
questioning eyes. "Heckewelder?"
"Is safe. He has gone to see Williamson. You did hear a third shot. Half
King fell dead with a bullet over his left eye. He had just folded his arms in
a grand pose after his death decree to the Christians."
"A judgment of God!"
"It does seem so, but it came in the form of leaden death from Wetzel's
unerring rifle. Do you hear all that yelling? Half King's death has set the
Indians wild."
There was a gentle knock at the door, and then the word, "Open," in
Heckewelder's voice.
Jim unbarred the door. Heckewelder came in carrying over his shoulder what
apparently was a sack of meal. He was accompanied by young Christy.
Heckewelder put the bag down, opened it, and lifted out a little Indian boy.
The child gazed round with fearful eyes.
"Save Benny! Save Benny!" he cried, running to Nell, and she clasped him
closely in her arms.
Heckewelder's face was like marble as he asked concerning Edwards'
condition.
"I'm not badly off," said the missionary with a smile.
"How's George?" whispered Heckewelder.
No one answered him. Zeisberger raised his hands. All followed Heckewelder
into the other room, where Young lay in the same position as when first
brought in. Heckewelder stood gazing down into the wan face with its terribly
significant smile.
"I brought him out here. I persuaded him to come!" whispered Heckewelder.
"Oh, Almighty God!" he cried. His voice broke, and his prayer ended with the
Page 140 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]