by Zane Grey
Chapter XXV.
"Please do not preach to-day," said Nell, raising her eyesimploringly to Jim's face.
"Nellie, I must conduct the services as usual. I can not shirk myduty, nor let these renegades see I fear to face them."
"I have such a queer feeling. I am afraid. I don't want to be leftalone. Please do not leave me."
Jim strode nervously up and down the length of the room. Nell's wornface, her beseeching eyes and trembling hands touched his heart.Rather than almost anything else, he desired to please her, tostrengthen her; yet how could he shirk his duty?
"Nellie, what is it you fear?" he asked, holding her hands tightly.
"Oh, I don't know what--everything. Uncle is growing weaker everyday. Look at Mr. Young; he is only a shadow of his former self, andthis anxiety is wearing Mr. Heckewelder out. He is more concernedthan he dares admit. You needn't shake your head, for I know it.Then those Indians who are waiting, waiting--for God only knowswhat! Worse than all to me, I saw that renegade, that fearful beastwho made way with poor dear Kate!"
Nell burst into tears, and leaned sobbing on Jim's shoulder.
"Nell, I've kept my courage only because of you," replied Jim, hisvoice trembling slightly.
She looked up quickly. Something in the pale face which was bentover her told that now, if ever, was the time for a woman to forgetherself, and to cheer, to inspire those around her.
"I am a silly baby, and selfish!" she cried, freeing herself fromhis hold. "Always thinking of myself." She turned away and wiped thetears from her eyes. "Go, Jim, do you duty; I'll stand by and helpyou all a woman can."
* * *
The missionaries were consulting in Heckewelder's cabin. Zeisbergerhad returned that morning, and his aggressive, dominating spirit wasjust what they needed in an hour like this. He raised the downcastspirits of the ministers.
"Hold the service? I should say we will," he declared, waving hishands. "What have we to be afraid of?"
"I do not know," answered Heckewelder, shaking his head doubtfully."I do not know what to fear. Girty himself told me he bore us no illwill; but I hardly believe him. All this silence, this ominouswaiting perplexes, bewilders me."
"Gentlemen, our duty at least is plain," said Jim, impressively."The faith of these Christian Indians in us is so absolute that theyhave no fear. They believe in God, and in us. These threateningsavages have failed signally to impress our Christians. If we do nothold the service they will think we fear Girty, and that might havea bad influence."
"I am in favor of postponing the preaching for a few days. I tellyou I am afraid of Girty's Indians, not for myself, but for theseChristians whom we love so well. I am afraid." Heckewelder's facebore testimony to his anxious dread.
"You are our leader; we have but to obey," said Edwards. "Yet Ithink we owe it to our converts to stick to our work until we areforced by violence to desist."
"Ah! What form will that violence take?" cried Heckewelder, his facewhite. "You cannot tell what these savages mean. I fear! I fear!"
"Listen, Heckewelder, you must remember we had this to go throughonce before," put in Zeisberger earnestly. "In '78 Girty came downon us like a wolf on the fold. He had not so many Indians at hisbeck and call as now; but he harangued for days, trying to scare usand our handful of Christians. He set his drunken fiends to frightenus, and he failed. We stuck it out and won. He's trying the samegame. Let us stand against him, and hold our services as usual. Weshould trust in God!"
"Never give up!" cried Jim.
"Gentlemen, you are right; you shame me, even though I feel that Iunderstand the situation and its dread possibilities better than anyone of you. Whatever befalls we'll stick to our post. I thank youfor reviving the spirit in my cowardly heart. We will hold theservice to-day as usual and to make it more impressive, each shalladdress the congregation in turn."
"And, if need be, we will give our lives for our Christians," saidYoung, raising his pale face.
* * *
The deep mellow peals of the church bell awoke the slumberingechoes. Scarcely had its melody died away in the forest when a lineof Indians issued from the church and marched toward the maplegrove. Men, women, youths, maidens and children.
Glickhican, the old Delaware chief, headed the line. His step wasfirm, his head erect, his face calm in its noble austerity. Hisfollowers likewise expressed in their countenances the steadfastnessof their belief. The maidens' heads were bowed, but with shyness,not fear. The children were happy, their bright faces expressive ofthe joy they felt in the anticipation of listening to their belovedteachers.
This procession passed between rows of painted savages, standingimmovable, with folded arms, and somber eyes.
No sooner had the Christians reached the maple grove, when from allover the clearing appeared hostile Indians, who took positions nearthe knoll where the missionaries stood.
Heckewelder's faithful little band awaited him on the platform. Theconverted Indians seated themselves as usual at the foot of theknoll. The other savages crowded closely on both sides. They carriedtheir weapons, and maintained the same silence that had sosingularly marked their mood of the last twenty-four hours. No humanskill could have divined their intention. This coldness might beonly habitual reserve, and it might be anything else.
Heckewelder approached at the same time that Simon Girty and hisband of renegades appeared. With the renegades were Pipe and HalfKing. These two came slowly across the clearing, passed through theopening in the crowd, and stopped close to the platform.
Heckewelder went hurriedly up to his missionaries. He seemed besidehimself with excitement, and spoke with difficulty.
"Do not preach to-day. I have been warned again," he said, in a lowvoice.
"Do you forbid it?" inquired Edwards.
"No, no. I have not that authority, but I implore it. Wait, waituntil the Indians are in a better mood."
Edwards left the group, and, stepping upon the platform, faced theChristians.
At the same moment Half King stalked majestically from before hisparty. He carried no weapon save a black, knotted war-club. Asurging forward of the crowd of savages behind him showed theintense interest which his action had aroused. He walked forwarduntil he stood half way between the platform and the converts. Heran his evil glance slowly over the Christians, and then rested itupon Edwards.
"Half King's orders are to be obeyed. Let the paleface keep hismouth closed," he cried in the Indian tongue. The imperious commandcame as a thunderbolt from a clear sky. The missionaries behindEdwards stood bewildered, awaiting the outcome.
But Edwards, without a moment's hesitation, calmly lifted his handand spoke.
"Beloved Christians, we meet to-day as we have met before, as wehope to meet in---"
"Spang!"
The whistling of a bullet over the heads of the Christiansaccompanied the loud report of a rifle. All presently plainly heardthe leaden missile strike. Edwards wheeled, clutching his side,breathed hard, and then fell heavily without uttering a cry. He hadbeen shot by an Indian concealed in the thicket.
For a moment no one moved, nor spoke. The missionaries were strickenwith horror; the converts seemed turned to stone, and the hostilethrong waited silently, as they had for hours.
"He's shot! He's shot! Oh, I feared this!" cried Heckewelder,running forward. The missionaries followed him. Edwards was lying onhis back, with a bloody hand pressed to his side.
"Dave, Dave, how is it with you?" asked Heckewelder, in a voice lowwith fear.
"Not bad. It's too far out to be bad, but it knocked me over,"answered Edwards, weakly. "Give me--water."
They carried him from the platform, and laid him on the grass undera tree.
Young pressed Edwards' hand; he murmured something that sounded likea prayer, and then walked straight upon the platform, as he raisedhis face, which was sublime with a white light.
"Paleface! Back!" roared Half King, as he waved his war-c
lub.
"You Indian dog! Be silent!"
Young's clear voice rolled out on the quiet air so imperiously, sopowerful in its wonderful scorn and passion, that the hostilesavages were overcome by awe, and the Christians thrilled anew withreverential love.
Young spoke again in a voice which had lost its passion, and wassingularly sweet in its richness.
"Beloved Christians, if it is God's will that we must die to proveour faith, then as we have taught you how to live, so we can showyou how to die---"
"Spang!"
Again a whistling sound came with the bellow of an overchargedrifle; again the sickening thud of a bullet striking flesh.
Young fell backwards from the platform.
The missionaries laid him beside Edwards, and then stood inshuddering silence. A smile shone on Young's pale face; a stream ofdark blood welled from his breast. His lips moved; he whispered:
"I ask no more--God's will."
Jim looked down once at his brother missionaries; then with blanchedface, but resolute and stern, he marched toward the platform.
Heckewelder ran after him, and dragged him back.
"No! no! no! My God! Would you be killed? Oh! I tried to preventthis!" cried Heckewelder, wringing his hands.
One long, fierce, exultant yell pealed throughout the grove. It camefrom those silent breasts in which was pent up hatred; it greetedthis action which proclaimed victory over the missionaries.
All eyes turned on Half King. With measured stride he paced to andfro before the Christian Indians.
Neither cowering nor shrinking marked their manner; to a man, to achild, they rose with proud mien, heads erect and eyes flashing.This mighty chief with his blood-thirsty crew could burn the Villageof Peace, could annihilate the Christians, but he could never changetheir hope and trust in God.
"Blinded fools!" cried Half King. "The Huron is wise; he tells nolies. Many moons ago he told the Christians they were sitting halfway between two angry gods, who stood with mouths open wide andlooking ferociously at each other. If they did not move back out ofthe road they would be ground to powder by the teeth of one or theother, or both. Half King urged them to leave the peaceful village,to forget the paleface God; to take their horses, and flocks, andreturn to their homes. The Christians scorned the Huron King'scounsel. The sun has set for the Village of Peace. The time hascome. Pipe and the Huron are powerful. They will not listen to thepaleface God. They will burn the Village of Peace. Death to theChristians!"
Half King threw the black war-club with a passionate energy on thegrass before the Indians.
They heard this decree of death with unflinching front. Even thechildren were quiet. Not a face paled, not an eye was lowered.
Half King cast their doom in their teeth. The Christians eyed himwith unspoken scorn.
"My God! My God! It is worse than I thought!" moaned Heckewelder."Utter ruin! Murder! Murder!"
In the momentary silence which followed his outburst, a tiny cloudof blue-white smoke came from the ferns overhanging a cliff.
Crack!
All heard the shot of a rifle; all noticed the difference betweenits clear, ringing intonation and the loud reports of the other two.All distinctly heard the zip of a bullet as it whistled over theirheads.
All? No, not all. One did not hear that speeding bullet. He who wasthe central figure in this tragic scene, he who had doomed theChristians might have seen that tiny puff of smoke which heraldedhis own doom, but before the ringing report could reach his ears asmall blue hole appeared, as if by magic, over his left eye, andpulse, and sense, and life had fled forever.
Half King, great, cruel chieftain, stood still for an instant as ifhe had been an image of stone; his haughty head lost its erectpoise, the fierceness seemed to fade from his dark face, his proudplume waved gracefully as he swayed to and fro, and then fell beforethe Christians, inert and lifeless.
No one moved; it was as if no one breathed. The superstitioussavages awaited fearfully another rifle shot; another lightningstroke, another visitation from the paleface's God.
But Jim Girty, with a cunning born of his terrible fear, hadrecognized the ring of that rifle. He had felt the zip of a bulletwhich could just as readily have found his brain as Half King's. Hehad stood there as fair a mark as the cruel Huron, yet the Avengerhad not chosen him. Was he reserved for a different fate? Was notsuch a death too merciful for the frontier Deathshead? He yelled inhis craven fear:
"Le vent de la Mort!"
The well known, dreaded appellation aroused the savages from afearful stupor into a fierce manifestation of hatred. A tremendousyell rent the air. Instantly the scene changed.