Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 114: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

104 His voice was calm and positive and my con- fidence in the girl’s willingness to return to civilization was shaken. She had been as stolid as her red mate in my presence, but I had be- lieved that nature would conquer her ten years of savagery once she was alone with her brother. The light had left the top of the elm and the fleecy clouds overhead were no longer dazzling because of their borrowed splendor. I cocked my rifle. The savage folded his arms as he caught the sound, but his gaze toward the west never wavered. To nerve myself into shooting the fellow in cold blood I made myself think of the girl’s terrible fate, and was succeeding rapidly when a light step sounded behind me and her low voice was saying: “My brother is at the spring. You will find him there.” I ROSE and dropped the rifle into the hollow of my left arm and stared at her incredulously. It had happened before, e rebellion of white prisoners at quitting their captors. Yet the girl’s refusal was astounding. “You would not go with him?” “T am here. I go to my people,” she answered. “He is waiting for you. The squaws would laugh at him. He is very weak.” With an oath I whirled toward the Indian. Had he made a move or had he reflected her disdain with a smile, his white-red wife surely would have been a widow on the spot. But he had not shifted his position. To all ap- pearances he was not even interested in his wife’s return, And she too now ignored me, and busied herself in gathering up their few belongings and slinging them on her back. Then she went to him, and in disgust and rage I left them and sped through the darkening woods to the spring where I had first seen the imprints of her tiny moccasins. Cousin was there, seated and his head bowed on his chest, a waiting victim for the first Indian scout who might happen along. I dragged him to his feet and harshly said: “Come! We must go. Your white sister is dead. Your search is ended. Your sister died in the raid on Keeney’s Knob.” “My little sister,” he whispered. He went with me passively enough, and he did not speak until we had struck into the main trail of the Shawnees. Then he asked— “You did not kill him?” “No. bP] “Tt’s best that way. There ’re ’nough others. They’ll pay for it.” I abandoned my plan of following the war- party farther and was only anxious to get my companion back to the protection of Howard’s Creek. We followed the back-trail for a few miles and then were forced by the night to make a camp. I opened my supply of smoked Adventure meat and found a spring. I did not dare to risk a fire. But he would not eat. Only once did he speak that night, and that was to say: “T must keep clear o’ the settlements. If I don’t Pll do as Ike Crabtree does, kill in sight o’ the cabins.” In the morning he ate some of my food; not as if he were hungry but as if forcing himself to a disagreeable task. He seemed to be per- fectly willing to go on with me, but he did not speak of the girl again. » When we drew near the creek he began to look about him. He at once recognized the surroundings and made a heroic effort to con- trol himself. When we swung into the clearing there was nothing in his appearance to denote the terrible experience he had passed through. Now that we were back I was beset by a fear, that the sight of Patricia in all her loveliness would be an overwhelming shock to his poor brain. It was with great relief that I got him to the Moulton cabin without his glimpsing Patsy. “You can tell ’em if you want to. S’pose they'll ’arn it some time,” he said to me as we reached the door and met Mrs. Moulton and her little girl, With that he passed inside and seated himself in a corner and bowed his head. I drew Mrs. Moulton aside and briefly ex- plained his great sorrow. With rich sympathy she stole into the cabin and began mothering him, patting his shoulders and stroking the long hair back from his wan face. My own affairs became of small importance when measured beside this tragedy. I had no trepidation now in facing Patricia. I walked boldly to the Davis cabin and thrust my head in the door. Only Davis and his wife were there. “Where are the Dales?” I bruskly asked. “Gone,” grunted Davis in disgust. “Gone back home?” I eagerly asked. “What do you think!” babbled Mrs. Davis. “Cousin Ericus has took that gal down toward the Clinch. He ’lows now he’s goin’ to keep the Injuns out of that valley— “Good God! Davis snorted angrily, and exclaimed: “Let ’em go! How ye goin’ to stop her? *Twas she that was bound to be movin’ on. Just made her daddy go. “When did they start?” “Right after you lit out. Seems ’s if th’ gal couldn’t git shut o’ this creek quick ’nough.” I ran from the cabin to get my horse and start in immediate pursuit. By the time I reached the animal, well rested during my absence, I became more reasonable. After all Black Hoof was traveling north. There would be small chance of another band raiding down the Clinch for some time at least. I needed rest. Night travel would advance me but slowly. I would start early in the morning. TO BE CONTINUED EOPMIC OOO KS Why did you let them go?” - (E@)