by Zane Grey
Chapter XXVIII.
Zane turned and cut the young missionary's bonds. Jim ran to whereNell was lying on the ground, and tenderly raised her head, callingto her that they were saved. Zane bathed the girl's pale face.Presently she sighed and opened her eyes.
Then Zane looked from the statuelike form of Wingenund to themotionless figure of Wetzel. The chief stood erect with his eyes onthe distant hills. Wetzel remained with folded arms, his cold eyesfixed upon the writhing, moaning renegade.
"Lew, look here," said Zane, unhesitatingly, and pointed toward thechief.
Wetzel quivered as if sharply stung; the cold glitter in his eyeschanged to lurid fire. With upraised tomahawk he bounded across thebrook.
"Lew, wait a minute!" yelled Zane.
"Wetzel! wait, wait!" cried Jim, grasping the hunter's arm; but thelatter flung him off, as the wind tosses a straw.
"Wetzel, wait, for God's sake, wait!" screamed Nell. She had risenat Zane's call, and now saw the deadly resolve in the hunter's eyes.Fearlessly she flung herself in front of him; bravely she risked herlife before his mad rush; frantically she threw her arms around himand clung to his hands desperately.
Wetzel halted; frenzied as he was at the sight of his foe, he couldnot hurt a woman.
"Girl, let go!" he panted, and his broad breast heaved.
"No, no, no! Listen, Wetzel, you must not kill the chief. He is afriend."
"He is my great foe!"
"Listen, oh! please listen!" pleaded Nell. "He warned me to fleefrom Girty; he offered to guide us to Fort Henry. He has saved mylife. For my sake, Wetzel, do not kill him! Don't let me be thecause of his murder! Wetzel, Wetzel, lower your arm, drop yourhatchet. For pity's sake do not spill more blood. Wingenund is aChristian!"
Wetzel stepped back breathing heavily. His white face resembledchiseled marble. With those little hands at his breast he hesitatedin front of the chief he had hunted for so many long years.
"Would you kill a Christian?" pleaded Nell, her voice sweet andearnest.
"I reckon not, but this Injun ain't one," replied Wetzel slowly.
"Put away your hatchet. Let me have it. Listen, and I will tell you,after thanking you for this rescue. Do you know of my marriage?Come, please listen! Forget for a moment your enmity. Oh! you mustbe merciful! Brave men are always merciful!"
"Injun, are you a Christian?" hissed Wetzel.
"Oh! I know he is! I know he is!" cried Nell, still standing betweenWetzel and the chief.
Wingenund spoke no word. He did not move. His falcon eyes gazedtranquilly at his white foe. Christian or pagan, he would not speakone word to save his life.
"Oh! tell him you are a Christian," cried Nell, running to thechief.
"Yellow-hair, the Delaware is true to his race."
As he spoke gently to Nell a noble dignity shone upon his dark face.
"Injun, my back bears the scars of your braves' whips," hissedWetzel, once more advancing.
"Deathwind, your scars are deep, but the Delaware's are deeper,"came the calm reply. "Wingenund's heart bears two scars. His sonlies under the moss and ferns; Deathwind killed him; Deathwind aloneknows his grave. Wingenund's daughter, the delight of his waningyears, freed the Delaware's great foe, and betrayed her father. Canthe Christian God tell Wingenund of his child?"
Wetzel shook like a tree in a storm. Justice cried out in theIndian's deep voice. Wetzel fought for mastery of himself.
"Delaware, your daughter lays there, with her lover," said Wetzelfirmly, and pointed into the spring.
"Ugh!" exclaimed the Indian, bending over the dark pool. He lookedlong into its murky depths. Then he thrust his arm down into thebrown water.
"Deathwind tells no lie," said the chief, calmly, and pointed towardGirty. The renegade had ceased struggling, his head was bowed uponhis breast. "The white serpent has stung the Delaware."
"What does it mean?" cried Jim.
"Your brother Joe and Whispering Winds lie in the spring," answeredJonathan Zane. "Girty murdered them, and Wetzel buried the twothere."
"Oh, is it true?" cried Nell.
"True, lass," whispered Jim, brokenly, holding out his arms to her.Indeed, he needed her strength as much as she needed his. The girlgave one shuddering glance at the spring, and then hid her face onher husband's shoulder.
"Delaware, we are sworn foes," cried Wetzel.
"Wingenund asks no mercy."
"Are you a Christian?"
"Wingenund is true to his race."
"Delaware, begone! Take these weapons an' go. When your shadow fallsshortest on the ground, Deathwind starts on your trail."
"Deathwind is the great white chief; he is the great Indian foe; heis as sure as the panther in his leap; as swift as the wild goose inhis northern flight. Wingenund never felt fear." The chieftain'ssonorous reply rolled through the quiet glade. "If Deathwind thirstsfor Wingenund's blood, let him spill it now, for when the Delawaregoes into the forest his trail will fade."
"Begone!" roared Wetzel. The fever for blood was once more risingwithin him.
The chief picked up some weapons of the dead Indians, and withhaughty stride stalked from the glade.
"Oh, Wetzel, thank you, I knew---" Nell's voice broke as she facedthe hunter. She recoiled from this changed man.
"Come, we'll go," said Jonathan Zane. "I'll guide you to FortHenry." He lifted the pack, and led Nell and Jim out of the glade.
They looked back once to picture forever in their minds the lovelyspot with its ghastly quiet bodies, the dark, haunting spring, therenegade nailed to the tree, and the tall figure of Wetzel as hewatched his shadow on the ground.
* * *
When Wetzel also had gone, only two living creatures remained in theglade--the doomed renegade, and the white dog. The gaunt beastwatched the man with hungry, mad eyes.
A long moan wailed through the forest. It swelled mournfully on theair, and died away. The doomed man heard it. He raised his ghastlyface; his dulled senses seemed to revive. He gazed at the stiffeningbodies of the Indians, at the gory corpse of Deering, at the savageeyes of the dog.
Suddenly life seemed to surge strong within him.
"Hell's fire! I'm not done fer yet," he gasped. "This damned knifecan't kill me; I'll pull it out."
He worked at the heavy knife hilt. Awful curses passed his lips, butthe blade did not move. Retribution had spoken his doom.
Suddenly he saw a dark shadow moving along the sunlit ground. Itswept past him. He looked up to see a great bird with wide wingssailing far above. He saw another still higher, and then a third. Helooked at the hilltop. The quiet, black birds had taken wing. Theywere floating slowly, majestically upward. He watched their gracefulflight. How easily they swooped in wide circles. He remembered thatthey had fascinated him when a boy, long, long ago, when he had ahome. Where was that home? He had one once. Ah! the long, cruelyears have rolled back. A youth blotted out by evil returned. He sawa little cottage, he saw the old Virginia homestead, he saw hisbrothers and his mother.
"Ah-h!" A cruel agony tore his heart. He leaned hard against theknife. With the pain the present returned, but the past remained.All his youth, all his manhood flashed before him. The long, bloody,merciless years faced him, and his crimes crushed upon him withawful might.
Suddenly a rushing sound startled him. He saw a great bird swoopdown and graze the tree tops. Another followed, and another, andthen a flock of them. He saw their gray, spotted breasts and hookedbeaks.
"Buzzards," he muttered, darkly eyeing the dead savages. The carrionbirds were swooping to their feast.
"By God! He's nailed me fast for buzzards!" he screamed in sudden,awful frenzy. "Nailed fast! Ah-h! Ah-h! Ah-h! Eaten alive bybuzzards! Ah-h! Ah-h! Ah-h!"
He shrieked until his voice failed, and then he gasped.
Again the buzzards swooped overhead, this time brushing the leaves.One, a great grizzled bird, settled upon a limb of the giant oak,and stretched its long neck. Another alighted beside h
im. Otherssailed round and round the dead tree top.
The leader arched his wings, and with a dive swooped into the glade.He alighted near Deering's dead body. He was a dark, uncanny bird,with long, scraggy, bare neck, a wreath of white, grizzled feathers,a cruel, hooked beak, and cold eyes.
The carrion bird looked around the glade, and put a great claw onthe dead man's breast.
"Ah-h! Ah-h!" shrieked Girty. His agonized yell of terror and horrorechoed mockingly from the wooded bluff.
The huge buzzard flapped his wings and flew away, but soon returnedto his gruesome feast. His followers, made bold by their leader,floated down into the glade. Their black feathers shone in the sun.They hopped over the moss; they stretched their grizzled necks, andturned their heads sideways.
Girty was sweating blood. It trickled from his ghastly face. All thesuffering and horror he had caused in all his long career was asnothing to that which then rended him. He, the renegade, the whiteIndian, the Deathshead of the frontier, panted and prayed for amerciful breath. He was exquisitely alive. He was human.
Presently the huge buzzard, the leader, raised his hoary head. Hesaw the man nailed to the tree. The bird bent his head wisely to oneside, and then lightly lifted himself into the air. He sailed roundthe glade, over the fighting buzzards, over the spring, and over thedoomed renegade. He flew out of the glade, and in again. He swoopedclose to Girty. His broad wings scarcely moved as he sailed along.
Girty tried to strike the buzzard as he sailed close by, but his armfell useless. He tried to scream, but his voice failed.
Slowly the buzzard king sailed by and returned. Every time heswooped a little nearer, and bent his long, scraggy neck.
Suddenly he swooped down, light and swift as a hawk; his wide wingsfanned the air; he poised under the tree, and then fastened sharptalons in the doomed man's breast.