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‘TVHE \ ' . ;
MUTE CHIEF; 

on,

THE WITCH 0F CHERRY VALLEY.

A TALE OF NINETY YEARS AGO.

BY C. DUNNING CLARK.

NE W YORK:

BEAQLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
- as ‘WILLILM STREET.

      

Intmd according to Act of Congress, in the year 13!. w
BEADLE AND COMPANY.

a in out o! tha Librarian of Congress, st WW

 

 

 ' THE MUTE CHIEF.

C H A P T E R I .
rm: nonsa-mmr’s rumsmmm‘.

" Drum him out i" “ Thief !” “ Brand him on the face i”
“ To the stocks with him i” were the various cries which
echoed through the little settlement. A crowd of men of all
conditions were grouped about a single man, striking, pushing
and dragging him into the open space in the center of the
village. Men who wore the uniform of the colonial militia,
broadcloth, homespun and buck-skin. Men of the mountain
and the woods, and men of the towns, vied with each other
in heaping insults upon a darkfaced wretch in a hunting garb,
who for some reason had awakened their animosity. He was
a stalwart, dark-hrowed young man, with an evil eye, and ‘
bristling black hair, and a heard of many days’ growth.
Scoundrel was written upon every line of his dark face, and
his evil eyes, ev'én while they glanced from face to face in
terror, had a lurking menace in them which was horrible.

“ You let up, will you i” he hissed. “ You may repent this
before you are done with it.” '

“ Shut his mouth if he dares to speak,” cried a young man
in a hunting dress. “To the whipping-post with him, and
give him the law of Moses, ‘ forty—save one.’ ”

“ By —~, you‘d better be careful, Ralph Campbell," screamed

, , the prisoner. “Tom Dockstader never ‘forgits, he don't. I’m
» a free man, and you’d better let loose on me.”
‘ “ You may thank your fortunate stars that we don’t lump
3 r you, master Tom,” replied the other, laying his hand upon the
' collar of the speaker. “ The boys wouldn’t need much urging
to give you short shift and sudden cord. Where is Tim
Murphy ‘2" .

“ Here I am, Ralph,” cried a hoarse voice. " At hand 11-

ways, by mighty.” ‘ .

 

t the crowd and seized Dockstader upon the other side.

10 < mm mm Cm. ,

These words were hardly spoken when a man broke through
He was
of powerful build, with an irresistibly comic face, crowned
by a. head ofiflumiug red hair, which stuck out in every direc-
tion from beneath a rusty coon-skin cap. His twinkling blue
eyes beamed with delight in the prospect of a row, and be

hauled his prisoner on toward the whippiug-post with a power _

of muscle which was needed, for the man fought like a demon,
and it was all the two strong men could do, aided by the
pushing of the crows! "oehind. to move him forward. As he
wont he hluspluuued heaven and e arm, and called down un~
heard-of muledictions upon the heads of the two who held
him. In spite of his struggles they finally succeeded in drag-
ging him to the post and binding him with many cords.

E‘Now then, Tom Dockstzider, here you are,” cried young
Campbell. “ It has been proved beyond a doubt that you
have made a business of horse-stealing since you haw been
in Cherry'Vklley, and at last you are caught in the fact. You
know, or ought to know, the penalty among bordermen‘, and
that we have the right to enforce it. The penalty is death l”

“ You duisn't do it." roared Dockstader. “I dare' you to
do it ; I’ve got friends.”

~-“ Not in Cherry Valley, Tom."

“ I don’t care; you'd better let me loose.”

“Do you denythut you were caught not only with my
horse, but Tom Murphy‘s, on the road to Springfield i"

“What’s the use of my denying it? That won’t. do no
good, I reckon. I took the hosscs, yes; I took ’em, and I’d
do it ng‘in, by — I would. You j "st loose these cords, and I‘ll

fight any two of you a fair stand-up fight, give and take;

You 'don't dare to do it, you cowards.”
“Strip him, boys,” said Rulph’ Campbell, turning to the
others. “Mercy is thrown away on him, and the quicker we
get this job oti‘ our hands the better for all concerned.”
They were not very particulur in their manner of stripping
of his hunting-shirt, literally cutting it from his person with
their knives. Then they seized his wrists to the top of the

post, stretching them as far asthey would go, and tying the!!! - "

tat; During the operation Dockstadcr literally 'fo’iuied ,at
the mouth, but his rage was of no avail, and he stood at th-

   

    

 

l

l

   

In; 11: um. 11

'post‘wtthhis back bued,wnltlng it! the infliction of tho
, punishment. ' ’ '

 “ This man has been fairly tried,” said Canpbell, “ and upon

his own confession is found guilty of the crime of horse-stealing.

I‘ll put that down in Cherry Valley, boys. Shall I give the

sentence 1’” .

“ Yes, yes," cried the excited crowd.

“Then I order that the prisoner receive forty lashes, save
one, upon his bare back, and sit in the stocks until sundown.
Tim Murphy, you will carry the sentence into execution."

A bundle of green beech rods had been provided, and taking
one of these in his hand, Murphy tonk his station and fixed
5 his eyes upon the naked back of Dockstader.

'5 “ Now i" cried Campbell. “ One l”
J The lash fell, and a livid streak rose at once upon the back

I of the prisoner, extending from his shoulderto his waist, while

f a yell of agony broke from his lips. An old woman, white
haired and wrinkled,broke through the crowd and threw herself
between the captive and his torturer, réceiving the second lash
herself. A. fierce, dark-skinned, withered hag, dwarfed and
bent, whose eyes seemed to shoot out living fires as she looked

 

,‘ at Murphy.
t “ Cowards l" she screamed. “Oh, my boy, my\boy; they‘ll
murder you.” ~

, “ Mag, the Witch l" was the murmur which went from
1. mouth to month. “It’s her son; you can't blame her fur
‘ caring for him."

, “Take her away," said Campbell. “This is worse than

V folly, Mag. Your son has been convicted of a grave crime,

 and we are doing no more than justice when we flog him.

"' . , Stand aside and let the punishment go on.”

“I curse you wilh the curse of the old, if you strike another

7 stroke,” screamed the hag. “ Take care. Tim Murphy. May '

. the arm rot ofl‘ at the shoulder if you raise it.'.’ .

'« [A shudder passed through the crowd as she spoke. In
this early day, people had not yet quite got over their ideas

xw- in regard to Witchcraft, and though the days had gone by

~ when all old women of ugly face and form were regarded as

, sitchem yet there was something of the old lumen of super-
! cation rumining, and there were many in Cherry Valley- who

 

 
 

would not have sworn upon oath that Mag the Witch was not
leagued with evil spirits. Indeed, she had a bad name, and
young wives and mothers would frighten their fractious chil-
dren by pointing her out as the one Who would seize, upon
‘ them and carry them away, if they were not good. Tim ii;
Murphy, like most men of his class, was rather superstitious,
and the rod dropped from his hand. »

“ This creature must not be permitted to obstruct the.
[course of justice," said Campbell. “If no one else will take
her away, I will. I gave you credit for more strength of =1
min‘l than to permit yourself to be frightened by a toothless E
old Woman, Tim.” ,

“ She’s the kind can set the ghosts on you," said Tim, in I
a low tone. “ Don’t touch her, Ralph. She’s got the evil 
eye, sure.” , :

“Bah,” replied Camphall. “Now then, Mag, will you
leave the prisoner, or must I remove you by force ‘3"

“I’ll take the blows myself,” screamed Mag. “ I’m old, “l‘
and it don’t matter what you do with me, but he‘s my only 5
boy.” , ' 7‘

“ A hopeful youth he is, too. You must come away.” ~

“ Never.” ,

Campbell, wi hout hurting her, look away her clinging
arms, when she swung herself lease, and waved a sharp blade
before his eyes, and made a thrust at his breast which but ,
for his quickness must have resulted fatally to him. But her ’
wrist. fell into his broad palm, and he held her fast, snatching
the knife from her hand.

“ Take her into the house,” he said. “ She is crazy.”

The screams of the woman died away as two of the men
hurried her into a house, and Murphyfigain took up the rod. " 

    
    
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  
 
 
 
  

 

.. A~H .,

Duziug the excitement the prisoner had not uttered a sound,‘
but lhe baleful light in his eyes showed that he was watching
every movement. ' *1
“ Drat you all," he said at last. “ You'd better not hurt r
She old woman. She’ll have her revenge out of you if you .' 
v’ 0'" V
“ Now, Tim," said Campbell. “ TWO !"
The punishment went on. It is needless to ham-ow the \
feelings of the reader by a. further description of it. Crud '

 
    

 

    


I.
i
.
l
‘l
1
i

m noon in
u the punishment‘was, it was rendered necessary in a sec- '
tion \vhere lawlessness and crime were beginning to hold full
sway, for it was at that turbulent period just before the Rev‘o— '
lhtionnry struggle, when Tory and Whig were beginning to
hate each other, and plot for the supremacy. It was the
more necessary in a place like Cherry Valley, where civil law
had very little hold upon the factions element. The last
blow was struck, the tattered garments of Dockstader thrown
over his lncemled back, and he was led away to the stocks.

“ How long must I sit here ?” he said.

“ Perhaps until sundown. After that we will give you a
day to get out of Cherry Valley. If you are seen here from
this day, look out for yourself,” replied Campbell. »

“ I’ll take care of myself after that, Ralph," replied Dock.
stader. “You leave me be now, since you‘ve done all the
hurt you can."

The crowd separated, and left him sitting in the stocks.
His back was burning like flame, but that was nothing to the
fire which raged within his bosom. The man was a criminal
of the worst type, and there was murder in his heart. His
fierce eye ranged about the village, and mentally he was de-
voting them all to destruction, and plotting how in the future
he could revenge himself upon them. ,
r “ Let Cherry Valley look to itself when the time comes, for
Tom Dockstader will not soon forget the cruelty of to-day.”

At this moment a door opened in- a house clbse at hand
and a. young woman came out, holding in her hand a pitcher
and glass. She approached the stocks and Dockstadcr looked
at her closely. A beautiful girl, with sunny brown hair full-
ing in rippling curls upon her shoulders, and a beautiful com-
plexion and deep-blue eyes.

“ Would you like some water “i” she said, kindly. “ I am

’  1 sorry to see you here, sir.”

- “I'd not be here of my own will," replied the prisoner,
grating his teeth. “ Why do you come here, you, that are
Ralph Campbell's wife ?" '

“ I thought you might like something to drink,” replied
the woman. pouring. out a. glass of water. “ You must not
blame my husband, for he was forced to punish you."

t. “ Was he 7” . .

 

147  “swam.

, f

“Yes. The people made him captain of the ‘Vigihhu
Committee, and he could do no less Drink some water; you
‘ must be in pain.” ,

“I am on fire,” he replied, drinking greedin from the

glass she placed at his lips.
couldn’t help it ?”

“He is too kind-hearted to delight in giving pain,” she
answered. '

“ Is he? I’ll try his kind heart some day. More water}
give me the pitcher.”

“ So you think Ralph Cgmpbell

She placed the pitcher to his lips and be nearly drained it, ‘

never once removing his eyes from her, but Myra. Campbell
had a kind heart, and she let him drink until he had enough.

“Ralph Campbell hunted me down and tied me to the
post, and his wife gave me drink. I suppose you think that
one set is a. sort of balance to the other,” he said.

“ I never thought 0“ that,” she answered.

“ I’ve heard say he sets great store by you,” he continued.
“ That’s your little boy, at the door, ain‘t it ?"

“ Yes{ he is five years old."

“ A nice boy. too. What do you call him i" -

“ Ralph." ,

" Yes. Named arter his father. No doubt his father
_ would die sooner than see him come to harm. Eh i’”

“ Of course he would. Why do you speak of the boy k!
that way ? ' Surely you would not be cruel enough. to do him
any harm?" '

“ I ain‘t got any call 10 harm the boy as I knows on. I
reckon you’d better'go away, for your husband won’t be none
too well pleased to see you giving drink to me.”

“ My husband; he sent me to give it to you." .

“ I s‘pose he thought I wouldn't take any thing from his
hand. You go away, I say. Leave the pitcher, for here the
old woman comes, and she’ll give me more when I want it."

They had set Mag free as soon as the punishment was over,
and she was hurrying, toward the stocks. When she saw
Myra a sort of spasm passed over her face and she gasped for
breath, While her hand 8.10.“. =nto the bosom of her ragged
dress suit for s mum.

" Adrst it, mother, whst are you thinking to do!” fld 1h.
i

    

 

V'v

 

 

    

vurmo'rrrn. 13 ‘

. 'pflsoner. " Don't you see who this is? You don’t surely
mean any enmity to one of the great Campbell blood 1"

“ Let her go away then, or I won’t be accountable for what
I do,” hissed the withered hag. “ She brought you water and
cooled your parched tongue, that you might forget the wrong
her and hers have done this day. But when I forget, may
the blood leave my body forever and go out of my heart.
I’m fifty years old to-day, and I never forgave an injury yet.
My poor boy, my poor boy 1” ~

“ Never mind me, old woman,” said the thief, shitting his
position a little. “It's enough for me to think of without
your putting in.”

“But to think of you sitting there, and your poor back
fuming and throbbing. A curse upon Ralph Campbell, body
and soul. May he taste evory bitter cup of life. May his
Irieuds turn from him in the hour of his need, his rifle fnil
him every time he pulls the trigger, his children die before his

I eyes.”

“ How cruel you are," sobbed Myra. “ Surely I never
wronged you."

“ Go away, unless you would have me curse you as well," I
screamed Mag. “ Because you brought my poor boy water I
am not to curse. I’ll do more than that. far more, before I'm
done with you. [I’ll remember you for the good you did, and
your husband for the evil. Now go.”

Myra stole away, fearfully agitated, and caught up her boy
in her arms, who was still playing upon the doorstep. .

“ Ay, ay," muttered the vindictive hag. “ That is the
place to strike and strike home. She’ll feel it all the worse
and so will he. I hope they ain’t broke your spirit, my

- {boyy

“ ’Tnin‘t in them to do that,” replied the man, savagely.
" Break my sperit—mine 1 You don’t know the cub you have
raised it you think that of me. But what’s the use to show
’em your hand ntore your sure of the keerds? Time enough

V, tor that when the stakes are on the'board, and then sweep it
,;  sateen. There‘s not a stripe upon my back that won’t be the
'5 game 0! one of the men who stood by and laughed when they
’  harm‘s like a dog. use on Rim Campbell my vengeancewm
.é 1‘:  hegvv"

._.,,_,_

 

    

lo \ TEE um em.

“ What do you think to do, my dear boy 2 Tell your old
mother. and let her help you."

“ What‘s the use to talk while I’m anchored by the heels
in this way ‘2"

“ But tell me; I’m old, but I’m cunning. I can plan yet,
as they shall know.”

“ Sit close to me then, for I wouldn‘t have the walls hear
what I say.”

The old hag sat down upon the wooden platform of the
stocks and conversed with him in whispers. The sun passed
the meridian and began to slope toward the west, and yet the
strangely assorted pair kept their places and made their plans.
Life and death hung upon their words, and had the paSsei‘s-
by who cast such scornful glances at them, known what they
plotled to do, they would have hung both to the nearest tree.
But. it was written in the book of fate that on these two
should hang the odium of one of the most dreadful massacres
which ever stained the pages of history, and they must work
it out.

CHAPTER II.
MOTHER} AND son.

Ar five o‘clock Campbell, accompanied by several of the
inhabitants of the village. came out and set the prisoner free.

“ You will at once proceed to your house and pack up such
articles of value as you may wish to remove and get them
ready for transpm'tation. Cherry Valley must be unvisited by
, you again. The brand of crime is on you, and whoever shull
rheet you within two miles of this township will be justified
in shooting you upon the spot. We do this in justice to our;
selves.” _ '

“ I‘m" glad you’ve drove me out,” said the other, drawing a
long breath, as he stood with downcast head before them
“ It's your right to do it, and if you make Iowa, a poor devil
must abide by them How long did you say you’d give mo
)0 get out of town?"

    

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m mm A! noun. 1?

“ Give him forty-eight hours,” said one ofthe men. “ That’s

little enoug 1”
' “ It won’t take long for me to pack my goods," said the

condemned man, in a low voice. “ Don't say any thing
more; that‘s all the time I need. Come on, mother; must
she go too ‘3”

‘A‘ Not unless she likes.

“ Then I reckon I‘ll leave her here until I kin send for her.
It takes time to build a new house and lay out a clearing, and it-
mout be a year afore I could git her away."

He took his march through the woods at a quick, strong
pace, his eyes gleaming with a lonk of intense hate, while
Mag turned as they passed into the forest to shake her skinny
hand at the vilh we ; '

“ You'll remember this in the days to come. Ralph Camp-
bell. If you don’t my name ain‘t Mag, the Witch. Yahl I
hate you.”

“ Thank you, Mag," replied Ralph, laughing uneasily.
“ The old fiend is vindictive enough to poison me if she took .
it into her head to do it. I’m not. sure we ought not to
send her along with her hopeful son. I wonder who will
keep'her in food while Tom is away 1""

“ Let Mag alone for that," replied one of the men. “ She
can shoot well yet, and I've seen her take a squirrel out of
the top of a high tree with a heavy rifle. a shot that .some
of our youngsters would hardly have thought it a disgrace to
miss. Let them go for a couple of mischievous devils, and
may we never see Tom Dockstader's face again".

Mother and son pursued their way through a. thick growth
of timber until they struck the creek, where, nestling down
in a quiet nook‘, was a log cabin strongly built, after the fash-
ion of the times, to guard against the sudden attacks of the
Indians, who were liable at any time to assail it. Dockstadcr
~flushed open the door with his foot and went in, followed by
‘his mother. A black cat, crouching before the rude stone
fireplace, rose with a shrill snarl as they entered, and seemed
about to fly at them, until the old woman spoke. »,

“ Down, devil, down," cried Mag. “ What; don’t you
no: your mistress yet? I‘ll teach you, i! you spit at

H/

  

    

 
 

‘ as  

A wolf-hound, gaunt and strong, simply raised his held
and looked at them, and lay down again with a sulky growl.

“ You git that ’intment, old woman,” hissed Dockstader, '
as he sunk into a chair. “My beck is all cut to pieces.
Never mind ; a knife digs deeper than a. beech-god. any day.”

He stripped off his ragged hunting-shirt and threw it on
the floor, and the old woman took down an old bottle, filled
with a yellowish ointment, with which she smeared the lacer
3th back of her son, who called down unheard-of curses upon
the man who had been foremost in inflicting his well-deserved
punishment upon him. Every toucli even of the old woman’s
careful hand was an agony to him, and, strong man as he
was, he moaned like a child in pain, and grew faint as she
dressed the wounds and wound great strips of cotton cloth,
covered with the ointment, about his naked body. When it
was done he felt easier, and lay upon his face on a pile 01
bear-skins in a corner, while she brought out a huge stone bot-
tle and a horn drinking-cup and poured him out nearly a half-
pint of fiery brandy, which he drunk as if it had been wa-
ter.

“ Git something for me to eat," he said ; “ I‘m oil“ for the
Indian nation to-night, and I‘ve no doubt they’ll use me well.
I’ve been cute enough never to wrong an lnjin, and the crit-
ters remember it. I‘ll have friends enough before a month is
out, anddon‘t you be slack in doing the work we’ve cut out.”

“ l’m wide awake, my son. 01d Mag Dockstader always
remembers a promise, and when I told that poison Campbell
i‘d be even with him, I meant it. He’ll believe it, too, before
he's much older.”

“Don’t let ‘em know you are thinkin’ of it, old woman.
’ Better creep and crawl to git revenge than to be druv out of
the kentry afore it’s done. They won‘t do you any harm as '
long as you keep still.”

’ “ You let me alone to work. I’d better cook out a lot of
bear-meat and have you carry it with you. hadn't I?"

“ Yes; it‘s a journey to the Injin nation and I ain’t fit to
hunt.” , ’

Mag $001! an ax and went out into the shed, leaving her
hopeful son moaning upon his rough bed. The sound of
heavy blows folldwed, and she came in, carrying a my V

 

 

 
 

 

   
 
   
  
  
   
   
 

 

1; Famous run XI r

meteor beer-meat upon one arm and some light-wood upon"
the other. Raking open the coals, she laid the light-wocd on
them and a. bright flame was soon curling up toward the
coiling. Upon this she laid two or three heavy sticks, and
the fire was blazing. Then she hung the meat upona hook
swinging by a heavy chain from the upper part of, the chim-
ney. and left it there, while she set out the rude table and
put out the wooden plates and platters, ready for the meet .
when it should be cooked.

“ I‘ll leave you a rifle, old girl.” he said. “ And if you get
short of meat you know how to kill a buck. It cuts me to
the heart to be druv out of Cherry Valley now, jist when I
was gitting the hunting-ground by heart.” ,

“I'm sorry you couldn‘t keep your hands ofl’ _the horses,
Tommy.”

“ It‘s my natur’,” moaned the thief. “ I never could resist
a hose, you know, and that brown mare of Ralph Campbell‘s
is such a. beauty.”

“And then you would go to West Springfield, though I
warned you not." _

_“ Who‘d ’a.‘ thought of meeting Ralph and Tim Murphy that
of ail places in the world. I thought they was up toward
the Mohawk, myself, but they come down on me when I was
resting and taking a snack, and the first I knew, they had
their rifles at my heart and I was took. 'Tein't no use to try
,to run away from Tim Murphy’s rifle ; she shoots too durned
straight, she does."

“ I’ve got him down in my book too, the red-headed rascal.

’ .He shall suffer with the rest.”

She gave the meat a whirl and set it spinning at a great
rate, while the conversation went on.

“ I can’t hardly bring myself to hurt Myra,” said Dockstuder,
uneasily. ’Twas kind in her, when every other one shrunk
nway from me, to come out and give me water. I wish it
could be done andnot hurt her. i used to think the world
of her."

“ How are you going to do it and not hurt her, Tommy ? ~

"She's just bound up in Ralph Campbell and the boy, and it
you strike at them you must hit her. If ywu are fool enough

  1b ,tmit  .eehigg .mgyy. in!

 

  

  

” '1':thman‘s:cart-nu.~

that ends it. It is not for my own good I’m going' to
do it.”

“ I know it, mother. Adrat it, you don’t think I’m likely "

to for-git? No, no ! If you stood in the way of my revenge,
it wouldn‘t make no difi‘erence; I said I‘d be even with ’em,
and I will."

“ That‘s like my own son,” said Mag, approvingly. “ Never
mind that little white-faced chit, but take your vengeance like
a man.” '

' “ I mout lay in wait for Ralph Campbell and shoot him
from the hush.”

“ Yes, and have all Cherry Valley out in chase of you,
with Tim Murphy for a trailer. That won't do.” v

“No, I reckon not. Your plan is the best arter all, and
that I‘ll stick to. Cut me off some of that meat and let the
rest cook while I eat." .

She cut 011' some of the roasted meat from the outside and
put it on his plate, while he took up the stone bottle and
drank freely. ‘

“ Ah ; that goes to the spot. A man that kin have enough
of that stufi‘ to drink is a match for the king. Let Ralph
Campbell and all his tribe go down for all I care," '

' He ate and drank vm'aciously, while she ate nothing, and
busied herself in supplying his wants. There was something
redeeming in the fierce love this strange old woman bore her
son. Awkward and ungainly though he was, a villain of the
deepest dye, a murderer at heart, yet she loved him with that
savage sort of affection which the tigress feels for her whelp;
She Watched his every movement, and kept cutting off juicy
pieces from the roasting meat and putting them on his plate,
‘murcd out his liquor, and seemed to take delight in every
morsel he took. ‘

“, How’s your poor back now, Tommy ?"

“Better, mother, better. That ’intment is the right sort

and'it takes right hold. You’d better put that bottle in my
knapsack, for me, so I kin dress it when the cloth gits, dry.” ,

She sprung up and began to pack his knapsack, putting in
every thing she thought he might need upon the road, and
leaving, her work now and then to ‘cut oil: more meat for him.

him:th

He seemed to  her devotion €00,111

,~
1:.

 

\

  

 

  

 
   
 

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A memo MELODY. I!

{I’m afraid you got a cut ygn‘selvf when you kem between
Tim Murphy and me this mornin‘,” he said.

“ I didn't feel it, Tommy. I’d ’a’ took them all foryour
sake. Didn’t I offer to take ’em ?”

“So you did, old woman," said Tom. “You do think a
heap of me, that‘s a fact. Never you mind; we’ll make it
even with Ralph Campbell and the rest. You nigh about
knifed him as it was."

“ Didn‘t I strike hard and sure, Tommy? He’s mighty
quick with his hands or it would have gone to his heart; I
only wish it hot .”

“ T but wouldn’t do on no account, old woman. They’d ’s'

strung you up for it, and then I‘d ’a‘ had all the work to do

alone, which Wouldn‘t suit me. Thar; we‘ve talked long
enough. You finish packing and I’ll go and cut some wood."

For some moments the old woman worked away, while the
sound of her son‘s ax came in through the half-open door as
he labored away upon the wood. As she worked she crooned
out a weird song of elves and ghouls, of witches who sat on
the gallows top and perched on the mountain or rode on the
rising-blast. A strange, unearthly melody, and what was more
wonderful still, in a voice of liquid sweetness, totally difl‘erent
from the cracked and shrill tones in which she spoke.

“ Yes, yes, yes," she murmured, “ blood will have blood
and hate will tell its story. I‘ll have my revenge upon the
Campbells, father and son. They little know, Ira-ha 1 who
Mag the Witch is, though I wouldn’t have the old man know
me even now, or he‘d understand why it is I hate all who
bear the name. Tommy’s heart is soft because that girl gave
him water to drink. Bah, if she isn't of the Campbell blood,
isn‘t she raising a chief of the hated name? A curse upon
them all. I'll stop the name and the race with this genera-
ion, if I have to murder them all and die. And yet, the
time seems too far ofi‘; there was a day when Mag the Witch
would have given her life for one of the same proud and cruel
area. He is in his grave years ago, and I am Mag the Witch,
stag Dockstader, the wife of the half-breed. Bah I”

The sound of the ax still came through the open door, and
the old woman stopped with some little article in her hand
which she was about to put into the knapsack.

 

  

    

fl 

“And I married the haisbreedl What did it matter to
me, since every hope I had was withered and dead. I married
him, but little did I think then that I should mourn him dead,
or love his child. And such a. child as he is! Rough and
rude, an outlawed man, with the stripes which law has laid
upon his back still burning. Why do I love him so? Be-
cause I know that in his veins course the same unforgiving
blood which burns in mine. Because I know that he will
stop at nothing, not even blood, for vengeance' sake; and he
has been a true son to me."

She stopped in her work, and sitting down upon the floor,
took out a little golden locket from some secret place in her
dress and touched a. wring. It revealed two faces, one that
of a young man ir. the uniform of an officer in the Royal
1 Americans, with r, bold, handsome face and a firm lip, and the
either a beautiful Woman with a glorious face, but with an eye
item which smoldering fire seemed to leap cut, even in the
picture; ,

“ Thirty years ago," she murmured, touching the face of
the man with her lips. “ and for you this w‘oman would have
dared any thing. Now, a Wrinkled and withered crone, old
before her time, she sits and looks upon your pictured face and
wonders that such a change could ever come. Ba 1 here
comes Tommy.”

> She hid the locket in her dress and was strapping the
knapsack when her son entered.

“ All ready, old woman ‘2” he said.

“ Yes, Tommy, all ready.”

He took down a rifle from the wall, with a. horn and bullet-
pouch, and threw the knapsack over his shoulder. “ You
keep still for a week, then,”- he said, “ and at three o'clock on
Tuesday night come down to the river side, and you shall
hear from me. Mebbe I won’t come myself. but it don't mat-
ter.”

She threw her old arm about his neck and just touched his
dark Check with her lips, and he was out in the forest, treading
steadily northward 1n the gathering gloom.

 
   

 

 

 

  

CHAPTEK III.
THE MUTE omen.

Rama GAxPnnLL Was the nephew of one of the leading
- pioneers in Central New York. He had been offered a cam-
: mission in the previous year, but had steadily refused it, pre-
‘ ferring to work upon his many acres and help build up the
country of his choice. No part of the great State in which
we live can claim greater beauty than that portion which lies
: south of the central chain of lakes. A glorious country,
5 hemmed in by low mountains, and in the center of 'ihe beauti.
lful valley, at the head-waters of the Susquehanna. lay the
'lbeautiful village of Cherry Valley. , Atthe time of the settle
ment, the valley was filled with groves of wild cherries, then
in full bloom, and Dunlop, one of the pioneers, pointing to
them, exclaimed: “Let us give our place an appropria
name.” And they called it, ‘ Cherry Valley.’ v -
Ralph Campbell, vwith the powerful aid of. his uncle, be-
. came one of the most promising men of the valley. Know-
ing as he did that a knowledge of woodcraft is necessary in a
' country like this, he had. taken lessons in that art from Tim
I Murphy, than whom no one was better able to give instruc-
tion. This strange man had early taken up the life of ahun. y
ter and scout; and though still retaining his many peculiarities,
was known for and near for his great gifts. Possessinga
pnwcrful' frame, swift of foot, quick of eye and hand, and 9
(lead shut, he was the beau ideal of the forest man.
Four days after the punishment and banishment of Dock-
’ ataclcr, Tim came in from a hunt. He appeared ill at ease.
V I andmuttered to himself as he walked along, and Ralph could
" not help noticing it. r‘ ‘
“What is the matter-With you, That? You look down-
~. "065‘." V ‘ V is .
, “That I am,” he said. “I’ve  speaking with that
w i. hens awn, Mag the Witch.”
‘ “filmw- whatdo you conform?”

D

-1» .

 

 
  

 

  

 
          

;_ ' ‘r 54 m .mrrn cm.
“Yes; but she's been tellin’, my fortune,” replied Tim, ,3.

“ although I asked her not, and you may just bet it was ma ‘3'
worst fortune I ever had told me. ‘Fire can't burn you, or :
water droWn,’ she sez ; ‘ but your death is the cord nn’ tree ’; ‘3

. . \ think of that, Ralph; me to hang! By jinks, I don’t like it; .
'i“ ‘ you may say what you like, but I don‘t like it."

“ Is that all ?"

“ That‘s enough, I should say. But that ain’t all. She told ;
‘e that you, and all your ,fam‘ly, would be under the sod in ’7 ‘

matter of four days.” '

“ Nonsense ; I never was in better health in my life, as for
as I am concerned, and Mym and the boy look healthy enough .1
Look at this fellow,” he said, Catching up the beautiful boy, ,'
as he was running past him. “What do you say to him ‘2" _

“ He’s a fine lad; there ain‘t a better in the colony. Bug; i
I’m nat’rally superstitious, and the old hag‘s words seemed to: 1
come from her heart.”

“ So they might. If she had her way, we would all die
this hour, for driving her hopeful son out of the .colony. A‘r
good riddance, I say, and I‘ll deal out the like punishment to
every horse-thief I can catch, you may swear to that." ,

At this moment, Mag appeared at the entrance to the main '
street, and came slowly toward them. Her form seemed more i.
erect, and her eyes had a. brighter gleam as she saw the ob-
jects of her hatred ; and she quiekened her pace.

“ Good-day, Mag,” said Ralph. “ I hope you are well."

“It was a black day in which I ever saw the face of a 1
Campbell,” replied Mag. “ You let me alone to go my, way
and do my work. Time will show whether you, the descend- .-
ant of an old house, the strong young man and leader of men, ;,
_ can be a match for the despised Mug the Witch, as fools call me." L!

The sound of a merry song was heard, and Myra came out?
upon the steps, but her sweet voice was hushed and, her eyes j’,
fell, as she saw the malevolent glance of the old woman fixed r
upon her face. _ T

— “ Young and happy. young and happy," she muttered.

‘ “Let me tell your fortune, I, who can read the signs of the °
pastiand the future upon the open palm. I have the gift of
second sight, and looking at your face, I read there a terrible
danger hanging over your , head. A danger. so great and

 
 
  

     
      
  
 

   
   
      
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
  
     
    
   
   
  

(
(
1
V

 

  

       
 

  

TEE POISONED BLADE.

     
 

gmdden that you can not avert it. I seem to hear the tolling
libell which rings out for the dead, and I see you lying in your
Lcoflin."

. 4 “ Hag,” shouted Ralph, as he saw his wife tum deadly pale
 and tremble. “ Dare to speak in that way'again, and try to
J terrify my wife, and I will have you sent after your villainous
son.”

~ “ Little cares Mag the Witch for any thing which you can
' do," she answered, boldly. “ Lay a hand on me, and you are
dead. See ; this knife I hold is poisoned. The slightest
g touch, enough to raise the skin and draw blood upon you, and
) " you will trouble me no more.” i

y’ ' She held in her hand a long, thin knife, with a blade which
L glittered like 'silver in the sun-rays. About an inch of the
point was stained with some dark, glutinous substance, at
'1 which Mag looked with a bitter laugh, while Myra seized her
husband‘s arm and drew him back.

  

  
 
  
 
 
 
   
    
  
 
 
   
  
 
    
  
 
 
    

  

'2 “For heaven’s sake, Ralph, do not make her angry. Go
to  away, Mrs. Dockstader, if you have any pity.“

‘,‘ I have none, none for the Campbell blood. Stand back,
in  Ralph Campbell, and listen to the words I have to say. You
to . have driven my son away and left me alone, an old woman

‘ in my_ solitary home, with no companions except a wolf-hound,

b. a cat, and my own thoughts. Do you wonder that those
thoughts are sometimes bitter? You have done this, and
a , sooner or later I will have my revenge.”

She turned hastily away, just us a party of Indians came

‘3' into the village, walking in the midst of the street and looking

‘ , about them with quick, searching glances. One of them was ,
'. an old man, with a face of surpassing ugliness, and a dc- \
_,formed back, and the other, a repulsive-looking warrior of:
 middle age, painted in fantastic colors. A child, not more

1; than ten years old, followed them, carrying in his hand a

.1. miniature bow and arrow, and dressed in a gaudy robe of wolf-

‘ skin. Little Ralph was attracted by the appearance of this

9 young savage, and pointed him out to his father.

_ “Let me. see him shoot, father. Won‘t you ask him to

. let me see him shoot ‘9" ’

- f‘I know that chief. Tim,” said Ralph, in an uneasy tone. ‘

‘ an is thdam, the Mute cum. What is he dotnzlmef'

      
 

 

 
 
    

        
       
   
 

        
 
   
   
   
 
    
  
 
      
         
   
     
       
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
       

A. 1'33 2mm 

“It’s,n long path to the Mohawk lodges,” replied  b
" and the Mute Chief never makes long journeys for nothing.

I don't understand it, myself, nor what should bring the be]
t medicine-man with him.” all
“I will speak to Neadawn," replied Ralph. “You must 1”

uf know that the times are ominous, and in the event of war. the,
I Mohawks will be our enemies. Go into the house, Myra, and to
" take Ralph with you.” 5“

,But little Ralph objected strenuously to this, and begged to
rechard, that hismolher allowed him to remain. 
Neatlawa advanced, and came to a halt just in front of ‘ “p

l Campbell, looking at him with a stolid, unwavering attention,
his eyes cold and hard as steel. He was a. powerful fellow, in
the dress of a Mohawk warrior of high rank, with the totem ‘91
of his tribe marked in India ink upon his naked breast. The N
old man had aikeen, cunning eye, which twinkled and danced
as he gazed, in a remarkable manner. ‘1'

'“Neadztwa is very welcome here,” said Rnlph,extending his p
hand. “ The Mohuwks are always welcome to the lodges of
their white brothers.”

Neadawa simply inclined his head, still looking steadily at
the speaker. Then, turning to the old Indian, he wreathed
his fingers together after the manner of motes, with .a rapid
motion which it was almost impossible to follow.

“ What does he say P" demanded Ralph, turning to the
medicine—man. '

“ He says that the words of Campbell sink into his heart,
and he will gladly accept the hospitality of his brother, and
remember it,” replied the medicine-man. '

“ Is Neadawa hungry ‘3” said Campbell.

The Mute Chief inclined his had. ,

“ Then let him enter the house and take food. Our door.
are always open to the Mohnwks, while we are friends. Who ‘
i8 thaboy ‘1’” ‘

“ He is theson of Neadawa, and we are teaching him how
to become a chief.” ‘

“ Let him stay with my little. boy and take care of him.
Perhaps he would show my son how he can shoot when we
we gone”.

/

 

o
I

 
 

  

m m
Lb the boy, and he remained at the door, stringing-his bow for
a shot, and nodding to little Ralph, who was in ecstasics at the
hope of seeing him shoot. Ncadawn followed Campbell into
the house, and Tim sat down upon the steps towatch the two
boys. \
m “Now what brought them ‘Injins here, that’s what I want
Id“ Lto know ? The Mute Chief ain’t no friend to us, that I know.
Boein‘ that he ain’t, bu‘st me if I understand what call he has

to be here at all.”
q Ralph left the two Indians together while he wentout and
spoke to. Myra and asked her to prepare some food for the
'visitors. While he was gone, the hands of Neadawa were
= busy, wreathing out short sentences, to which the other re-
;plicd in an undertone.
troom with unusual in‘terest, taking in every object. When
Ralph returned he found theinsitting erect upon chairs which
had been placed for them. looking at each other in silence.
Ralph called themtout into the kitchen and placed food .be-
.fore them, of which they partook but sparingly.

“It is a long road to the Mohawk villages," said Ralph.
" Why are my brothers here?"
I v“ The country is open for the Mohawk to walk in; he
will go where he likes,” said the medicine-man, interpreting
:for Neadaws. ‘ '

  

 

 
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  

’ red. friends come to visit them. Let Neadawa rest in our
lodges.”
-“ The country is ours," said the other. “When the Lennl

' Lenape were a great tribe they dwelt here and hunted beside
the pleasant river. But the Lenni Lenape are no more; not
‘1 man liva of the great tribe of the Tortoise, and if the white
{manhad his way, the wings of the Mohawk Eagle would ,be

clipped, so that he could not fly. Ncadawa comes, but not in
_love. He comes to see wherein lies the power of the great
' race of the white man, and to study how his people may he
fliketbem.” ‘ '
p “ I will teach you how,” replied Ralph. “ Learn to know
,‘that in pence, not in war, lies the strength of a great nation.
' Live upon the soil as we do, and plant corn and wheat—N

 
 
  
  
   
  
   
 
 
   
 

 

 

“Certainly. The white men are always glad when their ‘

 uttered: terrible .Qy and..an to 

Their keen eyes roved about the V '

  

  

m  em.

  

with his hand upon his hatchet, which be half drew from h
’ belt. His face was so terrible in its expression that Campbc
nerved himself for a great struggle and Tim Murphy fan i i
with a drawn knife. But the old Mohawk flashed a single
sentence at the Mute Chief from his quick fingers, so quick ~
that the others had no conception of it, and the face of the;
' chief sunk into calm.

“ He was very angry,” said the medicine-man, “ been,
you thought he would work like a woman in a cornfield.
Never insult him by that thought again or he will kill you.” t,

Campbeil said nothing more, but told Tim to give the boy.
some food. ‘

“ Ralph has done that already,” said Tim. “ He‘s taken a I
mighty great fancy to the Indian, and laughs every time he
hits the white in the target. He ain‘t hungry now.” ,

“That is all right,” said Ralph. “ Go and find the colonel ‘
and ask him to come down here. He has wanted to see some
chief of the Six Nations for a long time, and I have promised '
to call him. You would be glad to see him, would you not, .‘
‘ Neadawa ?” 1

The mute fingers said, “Let the gray hair come; he is welo .
come.” '

Colonel Campbell came down immediately, and held a long
talk with Neadawa through the medium of the medicine-man. '

    
 

He found the chief very stubborn, too apt to dwell upon old‘ '

grievances and to repine because so many white men lived
upon the soil Whereon he had been bred.
Neadawa was a mystery to many along that border. Even
among the Mohawks he was spoken of mysteriously, and no
one could tell his lineage. Since he had been among them
the had steadily fought his way up, by bravery in war, to a‘
"f secondary rank among the war~chiefs of that powerful tribe
.5 in which he claimed a home. How he became dumb, whether
,by nature or by some cruel act or shock, no one knew. not
even the Mohawka. He came and went like a shadow, being

often absent from the village for months, when he would ,'

Come back as silently as he went, bringing scalps and spoils. ,
At length from the Hudson on the east to Niagara on the
‘ Vanfl'om the great lakes to Pennsylvania, he became known

mare-ma He always elme attended bythe manual»;

 
   
 

 

f 

  

A comm rm“. 8

iman, known among the whites as Whistling Wind, who in.
. f terpreted his speeches.

:1}; g. _ “ I can‘t say that I really like the way in which the fellow
quick _yta1ks,"sa1dthe elder Campbell,.who was the acknowledged
f the henduof the settlement. “ Is be worth the trouble of concrha-
‘ tion

:a “ DCCidodly; there is but one who is more to be feared.”
field. “ And that one 2’" i -
,u_n “ Josuph Brant."

boy. “I understmnl you, andwill acknowledge that Brant has

power, and has learned a great deal under the fostering cure

a I of Sir William. As for this mztn, since you think it werth

114 our while.I will make much of him. Perhaps I had better
invite him to my house.”

»“ As you like about that, although I hardly think he will

an ‘- . .
5 e‘ , stay over night 1n the Village. I have heard that even when
mg . . .
may at home he spends his Inghts in the woods, apart from all
not , I companionship.”

’ f \thn asked the question, whether he would stay, the Ta-
,eh dian shook his head. - .

“ He will not rest beneath a white man’s roof in Cherry
rug Valley," said Whistling Wind, watching his rapid fingers.
m. ,, "i‘he woods are his defense by day or night. Under the

branches he will sleep, under the branches die. The sweet

 

:3 . Water will sing near him, making sweet music as he lies asleep.
with his dog and gun beside him."
’11 “ Have you heard that there is talk of digging up the
;o e hatchet against us on the part of England ?” ,
m “ I have heard it,” replied Whistling Wind, looking at
a; Neatlawa’s fingers.
'0' “ What do you think of it ?” '4
tr . ,‘.‘ f I had a child and it would not obey me when I spokes
’t V I W)?“ beat it with rods. You are the children of the great
, English father. and if you are Wicked he will whip you.”
i /‘ “ And the Indians?"
3- “ They “'8 dutiful children," replied Whistling ' Wind. ,
' ‘ . “ They will help, the great king." ,
 , “I thought 30”: mmtered Ralph. “A curse upon them:
7 1 how they Will hm? our exposed towns when the strife comes
 Hm you go, chief l’" ‘ ‘

 

 

 

U mum cm.

“ Nudnwa will go.”
“ Will you come again 1’"

    
 
  

    

“ Ask the wind'; I can not tell. Do not look for me, for l kn,

when I come’it may hot be‘in pence.”
They stalked proudly out and found the young Indian and
Ralph conversing by signs as well as they could. Evi-lently

fast friends already. The young Mohawk had made Ralph a l

present of his bow, and was giving him lessons in its use, and
the little fellow was really making good progress, and was
sadly put out when Neatlawa signed to his son to follow.
Accustomed to implicit obedience, the boy touched the fore-
head of Ralph with his own in a tender way, and followed
his father, looking back from time to time before the forest
hid them from view. Scarcely were they out of sight when

im Murphy appeared, walking at a quick pace with his rifle
slung across his arm and his pistols in his belt. He too
plunged into the woods and followed the trail of the Indians,
who had moved off toward the river, and when he came’in
sight of Meg’s cabin he could see them standing in a group
before the door and Mag was talking with them. All at
once the chief raised his head and pointed toward the bushes
where Tim lay concealed.

He saw Mug make a gesture of fury and rush into the
house, from which she emerged the moment after followed by
the huge wolf-hound.

“Seek him,” he heard her say, and the dog immediately
began a circuit, widening it more and more as he proceeded,
and Tim immediately began to retreat. The dog was of trB~

. mendous strength, and few men would have liked to have a
struggle with him. Tim's rifle was loaded, and he threw it
forward ready for action, just as the dog broke through the
bushes in front. Undecided for n. moment, nnd not wishing
to kill a valuable dog if he could help it, Tim tried his voice
upon the animal, and he uavered, but the shrill Voice of Mag
cried, “Take him, Blood 1" The dog uttered a fierce snarl,
and sprung at him so suddenly that Tim could take no aim.

. and fired almost at random. The next moment the pom of

the huge brute Were on his shoulders, and his distended jaws
within afoot of his face. Tim modes dash at his throat
with his left hand even while he drew his knife, and the we

  
 

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an,

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31 ,
nailed to theth together, the powerful left hand of Murphy
' wreathed in the loose skin upon the dog’s neck, while the
«huge brute made almost superhuman efforts to free himself.
After-a desperate trial of strength, Tim managed to free his
' knife and struck two heavy blows, and he felt the warm blood
spirt out into his very face, and the struggles of the dog were
over. Just then Mag hurried to the spot, in time to see the
wolf-hound lying dead upon the sod, and Tim wiping the
I blood from his knife upon his shaggy hair. In her first rage
_ the old woman flew at him with the utmost fury. fastening
her‘long fingers in his throat, but Tim shook her off with an ~
angry exclamation. ,

“ You have killed my dog 1" she screamed.

“ Have I? then what call had you to set your dog on an
old hunter? I heard you, old woman, when you sung out,
‘ Take him, Blood.’ Sounds kind 0‘ friendly, don’t it i’"

“ You lie, you scoundrel l You want an excuse to kill
my dog, and I’ll have your blood for it l”

V “ Oh, git out, Mag. Have my blood? you won’t have any-
body's blood, you won’t: so don’t think it. You set your dog
on me and I killed him, and you know your clog well enough
i to be snrtin that it’s either him or me that had to go.”

“ Coward, to rob an old woman of her only guard l”

“ Seems to me he ain’t your only guard, What is N eadawn
and Whistling Wind doing at your cabin ?” ,

“ If they choose to stop a. moment, who have a better right
than the owners of the soil ‘2"

“ Old habit is strong, Mag. Now you knowvright well ‘
that Jake Dockstader wu‘n‘t a handsome fellow, nor the best

mammmnom.

V‘mén upon the face of the nirth, and that he had the same

cussed hankering arter the red heathen—and I know why.”
"‘ You do i"
“ Bet your life I_do. Mixed blood, you know, will have a
‘ leaning one way or the other.” ’
' “What do you mean by mined blood, you lying thief!

 Who has mixed blood?"

“ OhI pshaw; jest as if you didn’t know that, critter. Jake I

* Dockstader was a half-breed Mohawk, and nobody knows it
~ better than you do.

Consekently your m come by his tau;
9 ,

 

fir  tricks boom enufi, he did." .

 

  

«GI mmomr.

“ Have you told this to any one 1’" she said, after a pause. a
“ Nobody knew my husband among all who came to Cherry )

Valley except you.”

“I ain‘t got any cell to tell it everywhere; I’m not (I 1

blower. But you git out of the way, for I’m going down to
the cabin to see that every thing is right. I've got my suspi-
cions of you, I allow, and I Won‘t feel easy until I work "em
40m." '
‘ “ You will go to the cabin 2” she hissed.
“ I must, Mag; git out of the way." .
“ I warn you not; it won't be safe for you if you try it.”
“ Why not? you don't think I‘m afraid of your claws, old
woman.”
“ I don‘t know whether you are or not, but I warn you to
be careful, and go back to the village.”
' “ I’ll see you furder fust.” ’
Crash! A heavy blow from an invisible hand descended
on his head, and he lay senseless at the feet of his arch-enemy.

‘ CHAPTER Iv.
TIM A PRISONER.

WHEN Tim’s consciousness returned he was lying bound in
some place so dark, that when he raised his hand before his
face he could not see it.
but his head was throbbing with pain, and the blood was run-
ning down his face. Whoever it ming have been who struck
him, he had given a terrible blow, and for the time had rob-
bell those strong-knit sinews of their strength, and he lay
helpless, trying to study out the secret of his position. His
feet were firmly bound, and although he could raise his hands
to his face, he felt that they were confined at the wrist by
strong cords. Tim lay quiet waiting for his strength to come
back. He could hear a. muflied sound over his head as of
male persons engaged in conversation. but could not make
mf'eny thing they said. Soon after a gleain of light bran“

\ I

, Q

Where he was he Could not tell, '

 

  

   
 

 

   

 

   

      
 

s

mnem'mvm'rm.

  
   

  

upon him as he lay, a door was opened, and Meg, holding a,
ighted candle in her hand. came slowly down the steps She
ad a platter in one hand containing a loaf of coarse bread,
ome venison steaks, and a pitcher of water, and regarded the
prisoner with a malevolent eye.

“ So it was your work old woman,” said the hunter, looking
at her fiercely. , “ All right; one of these days I will be even
with you.”

, “ Your one of these days may never come to you, my fine
shoy,” replied Mag. “ You don‘t think 1 mean to let you'go
d .free ?-—not quite such a fool as that, I hope,”

“ You'd better let me go. What do you mean by it, you
old hag I?" ‘

L “Good names, good names, my master, unless you wish
your imprisonment to come to an ending you haven't bargained
d for."

“ In what way i" .

She drew her forefinger across her throat with a savage
leer which he was not slow to understand.

" You mean to say that you will cut my throat?”

“ Precisely; it will take but a few more insults upon your
part to make me do it. [My fingers itch for it now, and I
should like to catch you by the neck and choke your life out.”

The bloodthirsty old hag actually opened and shut her
fingers as if she held him in her grasp, with that demoniae
look still upon her face.

“ I believe you would do it,” muttered Tim. “ Now 900k
.- here; I’m a man as ready to face death as any man alive,
and if it is my fate to die here, I‘m ready to do it. Curse
‘ ’, you, why do you look at me in that way? Do your worst,
_ for I defy you.”

“ Perhaps I can make you sing in a lower key than that,
V 'Master Murphy. If it were my one to kill you now, I wouldn’t
: wait long. for= I hate you because yours was the hand to lay
the Moody stripes upon the back of my son.”

2 “I’d do the same again. Come; how do you like that?
2
e
U

 
  
 
    
     
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
   
    

   
 

l

elf it was to do over again, I'd give him eighty lashes instead
or thirty-nine.”

all “ Take care; you‘ll drive me to it if you don’t look out,”
,  Md. - ,

 

 
    
   
 

  

“ I don’t care. It’slmt little mercy Iexpect tom yon-u
my rate, and you won’t do any worsethan kill me. . But if I
do get loose, old wretch, I pity your bones.”

Meg gave utterance to a cackling laugh, and set down th
dish before him. - ,

“ There. eat, eat. I won‘t starve even the man I mean to
kill. I’ll leave the candle for you.” r - ‘

She went out, and Tim sat up and looked hard (at the
provisions. - There was something in the look of the old we 
man which marle him suspicious, and he took up the loaf autl’
broke it, applying it to his nostrils inslead of his mouth.
“ It would be just like her to pizou it,” muttered Tim, “ and
by the eternal she has. I kin smell it, if I knin’t see it.
No, no, old lady; I ain’t a-goin’ to taste your fodder, I ain’t.”

He broke up the bread, and digging a hole in the‘soft,l
earth upon which he lay, put part of it, together with the

      
     

 
   
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

  

it up. When Mag came down half an hour after she found '
the half-demolished fragments of the leaf lying upon the tray,
the venison gone, and the pitcher half empty. He was lying'
partly upon his face, moaning feebly, apparently in great
pain. -

x“ What is the matter with you i" she said.
look well."

“ No more I ,ain't,” he said. “ That fodder of yours don’t 5
seem to agree with me somehow, and it leaves a migh‘y queer ,
tast. in my mouth. I wish you‘d git some fresh water. 
That in the pitcher don’t seem to be rightysomehow.“ , ‘

“ Ain’t well, you say ?” said Mag, in devilish glee. “ Oh "
yes, I’ll get some fresh water; I‘ll do that much for you
now."

She took the pitcher, poured out the contents and went to

“ You don’t:

pitcher carefully and brought it back to him, and he drank
freely. '

“ That’s something like it.
v  There‘s the pain again.
with that grub.”
‘ “ NoJ hsv’n’t done any thing of the kind. Draft be I
hoby because you’ve got a colic; any one is liable to 3"? '

I seemed to be burning up in-
Mag, you’ve done something

a spring in the corner of the cellar, where she rinsed the '

 

 

meat, of which he dared not taste, into the hole, and coveredf~ ‘

 
 
 
 

  
  
   

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:at

 

  

’ m. W L‘; ,

 a colic act this way More," groaned Tim.
“Oh Lord, how it does hurt‘l, If you’ve put anything lmo‘

. that bread to finish me, the Lord forgive you for it.”

“"I’ll go up and get you some brandy}’ she said. “ I hevez‘
did see just such a man as you are to make a fuss about a
trifle. If you don’t beat all the men. Are you any worse ?”

“ Worse all the time. Oh, what a pain it isl Can’t you

‘ do something for me, Mag ?—I feel as if I should go crazy,

tied up as I am. If I could only move about some it mout
help me.”

Mag took up the light and ran out of the cellar. The two
Indians were sibling in the room above, for it was in the cel- .
lar of the cabin in which Mag lived that Tim was confined.
They looked at her inquiringly.

“ It is done,” she said. “ He will never see another sunrise.”

Neadawa made a gesture of delight, and sprung up as'if he
Would go into the cellar. But Mag restrained him. ;

“ Don’t you go down," she said. “ ’Tis not of use for you
to see him, and I'm right sorry to have to do it. Before they
tied my son up and whipped him, Tim wasn’t a bad fellow,
and did me many a. good turn. Let, him die, since die he
must, but let him die alone." “‘

“How long will it be ?” said the medicinecman, who had

" not spoken.

“ In a hour he will be deac .” .

“ Good," said the other., “ We will wait.” ‘

He sat down again, and all three seemed to listen for the
sounds which came from below. Muflled cries could be
heard from lime to time, as of a man in agony, and whenever
he heard these Neadawa started, and cast a quick look at the
immovable face of Mag, who sat with a halt-smile upon her
lips, waiting for the death.

“ Ugh.” said the medicine-man. turning to Neadawa. “ This
woman should have been is warrior, for she has the heart of

a. great brave." , _
Neadawa flashed an answer back from his quick fingers, at

.. which'his companion nodded. But the chief was evidently

ill at ease, and kept his eyes fixed upon the finer, listening to

" every sound. Though a‘ mute, his sense of hearing was pro
, ungainly mm, audhe seemed to hear the slightest 

I
4

  
   

    
 
     
   
       
   
   
   
    
  
  
   
  
  
   
  

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\ m mom.

“ Where is the boy 1?" demanded Mag. “ Do you mean to
have him see it when we bring it out?”

Neadawa shook his he‘ad, and rising, went out and found. '

the boy, who was sitting upon a log near the door. Neadawa
touched him on the shoulder and gave some order through
his medium of speech, and the boy rose and went down to
the river side, out of sight of the house, when Neatlawa it
turned. At this moment a terrible cry rung through 1].

house, and then all was still.

“ That. is the end,” said Mag. “ Let us go to him.”

She opened the door which led to the cellar, and placed a
stool behind it so that it could not close again, and then held
the light while they went down. N cadawe saw Tim Murphy
lying upon his face, his eyes staring wide open, and foam
running out of his month. They turned him over and the

medicine-man lifted his hand, which dropped like lead, and,

they were sure that he was dead, though the body was yet 3

warm. I

“So perish all the enemies of Mag the Witch," she said,
in a. voice of savage intentness. “Bring him out, into the
air, and let us make him a grave.”

No bonds were needed now. A stronger hand than man
could make held the brave hunter now, and they cut the cords
upon his muscular hands and feet, and lifting the yet warm
body, carried it up the stairs and out into the open air. It
was growing dark now, and Mag led the way down a forest
path toward the river, though not toward the place where
the boy was sitting.
wild cherries’in a sandy soil, and here the Indian laid the
body down, and N’adawa, taking the spade which Mag had
brought, began to scoop out a shallow grave. The others

helped him, one with a hatchet- and the other with a sharp ~

stick, loosening the soil that he might dig it out. While they

labored, all three were startled by a wild laugh, and looked

about in dismay.
“Who is that ‘1’" whispered Mag.
“ Murderers 1”
your doom."
With, one accord, stopping for nothing, they fled away,

“What noise is that?”
cried a hollow voice.

Close to the river side was a growth of .

" Prepare to meet '

leaving the body lying by the shallow grave which they 

naenamunnnfiraw‘

 

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WV'UUIH‘OPQQF’rV-pm"

’ — A WALKING com 8';
dug. With wild eyes and pale faces they ran, hardly looking
behind them until they had gone some hundred yards from
the place, when all stopped at the voice of Mug.

“We are fools," she said. “ If this voice was nothing
, earthly, what have we to fear? If it was mortal, I must
gknow who it is, or my doom is sealed. Come back unless
i you would have a woman shame you for your cowardice, for

1* I will go alone.”

Their first fright over, they followed her quickly, and
reached the place where the grave was dug. They found the
grave and spade as they had left it, but the body was gone.

“ May the blight fall upon the man who has done this,"
screamed Mag. “ We are outwittcd, fooled, made a mock

'of.”

“ Ha, ha, ha i” shrieked a voice close at hand.

a without a body! A walking corpse. Ha, ha, ha I”
' Neadawa caught up his hatchet and ran hastily in the di-
1 rection in which the voice was heard, followed by the medi-
{cineman and Mag. The fierce old woman had drawn the
{knife with which she had threatened Ralph Campbell, and
, bounded along with a strength and vigor hardly to be looked
.9 for in one so old. But the darkness was gathering fast about

~i them, and they stumbled over sticks and stones, until they’

3 heard the same hollow laugh in the direction of the cabin,

{ and Mag actually screamed aloud in her rage, and turned to-

? ward her house. When they reached it a bright glow shone

T from the windows, greater than the light of the fireplace

1 could produce, and then a flood of flame shot out at the lat-

' ticed window and the whole place. was in a blaze. Mag

. threw herself down upon the earth and sobbcd like a child.

“Fate is against me and will not let me have revenge.
"Fools that We Were, thrice doubled fools, to carry him out _
until we were sure he was dead. He never touched the poi-
son.‘

, ,“ Bet your life he didn’t," cried the voice of Tim Murphy
from the woods. “ No such fool. Good-by, old gal. Take

care of yourself until we meet again."

i‘ , A few words will explain the phenomena of Tim‘s sudden '

resuscitation. He had been “shamming Abraham,” as the

dung phrase has it, and being something of a ventriloqukyw

1
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“ A grave

 

 

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'8) us turn cm.

A

had keen enabled readily to put his enemies to flight. Then,
' after drawing them 011' into the woods he had doubled on his ‘
tracks and set fire to the cabin, and Mag the witch was house.-
less, homeless, in the great forest. Though .she had deserved
this for her crimes, let us own that:
“ It was at trying moment that, which found her,

Slanding alone beside her desolate henrth,

Where all her household gods lay shattered round her.” -

This wicked old woman loved her home. In it she had
spent her happiest hours, if they could be called happy, listen-
ing while her son recounted the evil deeds he had done, and

i laughed over the rage of those he had victimized. Now, in
a few moments that humble roof would be but a charred and
blackened mass of ruins. The Indians did not sneak, but
stood silently regarding the ruins.

“ Another wrong to avenge,” said Mug.
in the record of my hate.”

“It is good,” said the medicine-man.
have many things to remember. Let her not forget that we
are here to give her that revenge she seeks.”

“ To-night ; shall it be to-night '1’"

“ To-night if you wish; whut care we l" v

-“ I wish it to be at once, and the quicker the better. I can
my here no longer, for Tim Murphy will give me no rut.
Let us do the work we have before us, and at once.”

“ Another entry

CHAPTER V.
'rnn TERRIBLE mow.

RALPH CAMPBELL and his family were at rest, sleeping the
deep of the just. The village was quiet, and not 3 sound
save the murmur of the night—wind through the bending
boughS. could be heard. The houses were all closed for the

Pig” “a not 0' light gleaned in the whole village, nor was
there a watchman in the mm. In the
Idle Month the dim: use: time

“ My mother will I,

   
 
 

 

 

  

  

  
 

—1u‘-

' run mu n'r-rnomm 8

,ghoits, steadily, with silent feet, as if they trod on air. Now

and then they paused and laid themselves prostrate upon the
Jearth to listen, and then went forward stooping, with the de-

cided movement of men who knew what they meant to do,

and how to do it.

Through the narrow street they went until they reached

Campbell‘s house, which stood a little apart from the rest, in a
grove, of young trees. The leading man opened the gate and

went in. and the others followed, closing the gate as it had»
been hefore,'aud then silently followed their leader, a small

figure, wrapped in a long cloak. They stole round to the

rear of the house, when the leader raised his hand as a signal

for caution, and pointed to the shutter of the window. The

others set to work and with the most patient care worked at .“
it with knives until they had loosened the hinges, which they
finally picked out entirely, and then lifted the shutter and
, ,laid it on the ground. The leader then produced something
from a small case which he drew across the window with- a
'skillful hand, and a small piece of glass was removed and fell
, With a slight tinkle upon the floor inside. They waited a mo-
ment. to see if the noise startled the inmates, but no stir was .
made. The window was one of the old-fashioned kind, which
‘bolted on. the inside, and when the bolt was drawn out, swung
back, like'a door. The small figure in the cloak thrust a
hand into the aperture cut in the glass. and pulled out the
bolt, swinging the window back to its full stretch, and a path
, Ivar openedjnto the house. All three now sat down and si-

'? lently removed the coveringr from their feet and stood uushod
.upon the grass outside. This done, they entered the window
1 one after the other, the slight figure as before, taking the lead,
4 until they entered a narrow ball, when he turned and touched
his companions, bringing them to a halt. Their plans had ‘
been well laid, and they waited while their leader stole away
\ upon his errand, whatever it might be. For some moments '
the others patiently waited in the darkness, until the leader
came back in the same quiet way in which he had disappeared,

V d signed to them to follow, and they stole on until they
Med an open door. Upon the table a lamp burned dimly,
but enough to light up itlte scene. Upon a bed in one corner» ,
[Ralph and ‘Myn Campbell, sleeping. The night~wu 3

 

 

    
       
      
   
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
    
    
   
        
   
    
   

m MUTE CHIEF.

  

warm and the young pioneer had thrown 06' the blanket front. 
his manly chestland shoulders, showing the ridges of his pow- 
erful muscles. One bare, brown arm hung over the edge of 
the bed and the other was thrown across his powerful chest. ..
Myr:i’s beautiful face was turned toward the door and there ~«
was a look of dread upon it. Could it have been the fore»
' shadowing of the danger before her? There is said to be an
inward monitor to warn the sleeping of their fate, and per-
haps it spoke to her. i
In a crib between the door and the bed lay little Ralph;
with the bow which Neatlawa’s son had given him, sleeping »
sweetly. with a smile upon his innocent young face. Yet '
over the three sleepers hung the doom. 'i
Silent as specters the three stole in and approached the bed
of their victims, who slept as su'ectly as if no trouble hung
above them. The figure in the cloak glided to the bedside~
and looked down upon them. His satellites, dark, stern, re-
morseless, followed without a word, with knives gleaming  '1
their hands. Then, with quick fingers, the intruders main
two gags by wrapping a handkerchief about the middle of a! ’
short stick,'and thrust them into the mouths of the sleeping '
pair. Ralph awoke instantly, but. only to‘ find two knives Mit
his throat, and his mouth stopped by the gag, while Myra;
springing up, was clenched by the throat and passed at once-
into a swoon from fright and horror. Then the cloak dropped
to the floor, and revealed the sallow face and bent form 0‘ .
Mug, the Witch. .
“Aha!” she whispered in a blood-cunning tone. “I toldi
you that my turn would come. Do not lift your hand to thq
gig, for as surely as you do, you are dead. I have come to, .,
take revenge upon you for the injury you did to my son wire .
he was helpless in your hands. A woman who has the com
age of a man can do much for the sake of those she loves, an i
even I, Mag the Witch, decrepit, old, worn out, have studio
out this plan. Bring the boy here, Neadawa.” '
', The Mute, for indeed it was the silent chief, brought th ,
sleeping boy in his arms and put him in a chair near the be ' "
Mag sat down beside him, laid his head in her’ lop and : 
' loved the handwhich held the dagger to rest upon his hm l
. “Before we remove the gage, for I want to hen-yo; --

 

  

  

  

  

 

,_ mine rm. ‘ 11
-'  mercy, let me my to you that if you raise your voice above
"fire ordinary mnversational tone I will bury this dagger in
.  hoy's heart. Take the gag from his mouth, Neadawa.”
i The chief complied, and Ralph partly raised himself in
‘jbed and looked at her, his eyes full of nameless terror. In
{Justice to him, let us say that he did not fear for himself ; far
. from that. He had been trained in a. hard school, and knew
that danger hung daily and hourly above the head of the
‘ ‘ man who dwelt in the backwoods, and if death came near
him he was ready to take his chance, whatever it might be.
‘fh But he feared for the child, and for his wife, and did not
a know how far the vengeance of the vindictive, old woman
’ might take her.
6' ‘1 “ Today my house is in ruins, Ralph Campbell," she said.
“ And your mynnidon, Tim Murphy, is the man who is guilty
lg,“ 91 the great crime of turning an old woman houselhss into
‘ the forest” '
I , *“ Do you blame him for that?
“14 site?" said Ralph. ,
.3 r~ “ So he told you that, and doubtless laughed 'when he told
a}. you how he outwitted the old woman. Well, his time will
I“ come, too, and he shall repent. Do you know why I sought
his life? Because he is the man who lashed my son, by
your orders, and because lo-day he killed my dog, the only
3* guard I had.” ‘
7 “ Do not let us waste breath. What do you mean to
, do Y"
1‘ »-. Of this conversation Myra heard nothing. Ralph turned to
h .sher, with .a look of unutterable love upon his face, and could
‘ hot find it in his heart to recall her to a sense of their terrible

_ T'danger, for the eyes of Mug looked murderous in the light of

w  the lamp.

Did you not try to take his

 

. Just then the eyes of the young wife nnclosed. As she
“ “V the dark faces clustered about the bed she would have
, I filed out, but the cruel gag prevented her. She put her hand

‘1‘ io‘her month to drug it away, but Neadawa stopped her ‘

I , jvith his strong hand. .

 “Tell her that if she makes a. sound without my permis-

 it will be death to the boy,” aid the fierce old lug;
 New remove them, Neadun" ' ‘

 

'\

  

- z

. had a terrible danger in store for you? Look at this boy, ; .

m MUTE cm.

    

     

The Indian put out his long arm and tom 011‘ the handker-
chief. _ '

“ What is this t" whispered Myra. “ 0h, Ralph, what does
it mean ?" r

“ Your husband understands that it means vengeance," re- :
plied Mag. “Did 1 not tell you this morning that the fates

      
        
  

Myra Campbell. He is beautiful, and would make a strong ._‘-
and gallant man, if he lived. Would you see him die before
your eyes ‘2” .

“Oh, no, no, not have some mercy. You know I never r
wronged you." .

“ Why do you repeat that so often, you two 2 Had I
wronged your husband? Yet he was cruel enough to order f
my son to be whipped like a dog. You, of the haughty race, *‘
think that the common people are only made to sufl‘er wrong“,
and not avenge it. My agony did not begin with the punish- /
ment of my boy, but dates long years book when this hair oi ”
mine was-as glossy as yours, and my eyes as bright. ‘ The:
mills of the gods, grind slowly, but they grind very fine,’ and "
in time He metes out justice. You must come with us. Ne-
adawa, you can go into the hall and wait. Ralph Campbell,
arise, and dress yourself, and let your wife do the same.”

She rose, still holding the hay in her arms, and moved her
chair to the other side of the room. Neadawa hesitated, and
she made him a quick signal. .'

“ Do not fear for .410,” she said. “ Ralph Campbell knows '
that if I prick the delicate skin upon the boy’s check with the 
point of this knife, no power on earth can save .him. Go
out." '

The two Indians left the room and the unfortunate couple» #
rose and dressed hastily, while Mag sat as immovable as 3"
stone image with the knife ready for a blow. _
, When they,were dressed she called in the Indians, and '
Ralph and Myra were again gagged and their hands tied bed
hind them, and in this situation were forced to walk out of
the house. The front door was opened, and they passed out
into the night, Mag bringing up the rear and closing the door 3
'0qu behind her. 'l‘grong-h the silent village thatstrangc, 
wry made theirmy, the Indians walking on either.side, and 

     
   
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

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mg bringing up the rear, still holding the boy in her arms. N c
need to bind the wretched parents, for the danger of the boy
was as a chain of steel, and they would not have dared to
lift a finger. , 

“ You are to make no attempt to escape,” Mag had said,
when they started. “ If you do, you know the result will be
fatal to this boy.”

What could they do but obey? and Ralph Campbell, the
great hunter, the Indian-fighter, was a child in the grasr of
this old woman 1 She knew that love was mightier t um
death, especially the love of a parent for an only child. On
they went, leaving the village behind them, until they stood
in the open space in front of the ruined house where Mag had
lived so long. [The fire was still burning and flashing a lurid
light about ,the little opening. Ralph was bound to a tree
and the gag removed, and Mag set the boy down, who was by
this time wide awake.

“ Why have we been brought here ‘2” said Ralph.

' “ You will know that soon enough,” replied Mag, with a
look of sinister meaning. “ Where is your boy, Neadawa?
It is better, if he is to be trained as a warrior, that he should
see how we punish those of the hated race."

Neadawa produced a small whistle which he applied to
his mouth and blew a shrill blast. The next moment the
boy appeared from his station beside the river, uhich, young
as he was, he would not leave until he received orders to the
contrary. He cast a look of surprise at. his father as he saw
whom he held as prisoners, but said not a word. Little Ralph-
ran to his mother, whose arms had been unbound, and wasI
clasped to her'bosom. . ,

“'Why are we here, dear mother ?" he said. “It is cold

. and dark. Let us‘\go home at once, for I do not like that

 - old woman." '

“Don’t you ?" said Mag, with a grin. “A great many
people have the same bad taste, but I ain surprised that you

' should "develop it so young- You can go home—if I let
you—and not without. Now, Ralph Campbell, for a settle.

' ment with you.”

‘5’,“Ia'm readyto bearanylthlngif you wmsendinywm
sud child backto the village.” * 4 

 

' TE] mu..m.

:“Iyam, afraid to promise that'yet Now letns to work.
Whistling Wind, you will take charge of the lady and see
that she does not interrupt us, and the less [trouble she
makes the better for the boy. Untie him.”

The bonds were removed from the hands of Campbell, and
he was taken from the tree.

“ Take ofi' your coat."

r“ What do you mean to do ?"

“Bring the boy to me, Whistling Wind. I see that my
, dear f ricnd is going to make trouble." ,

Ralph, without another word, threw off his coat and pulled
his arms out of his shirt, and let it drop about his waist. He
understood now the refinement. of vengeance upon the part
of Mag, and determined to bear it as well as he could, sooner
than leave his boy in danger. He was again tied, with his
face to the tree, while /Myra struggled vainly in the strong
hands of Whistling Wind.

Ralph’s voice was now heard. “ Cease your uselessstruggles,
Myra, and 'I can bear my punishment better.
no wrong, but let me hear my sorrows like a man.”

.“ You, have a quick wif, friend Ralph,” said Mag. “ You
understand the old saying, ‘ in what measure you mate, it
shall be measured to you again.’ You gave my son forty
lashes, save one. You shall receive the same, and twenty
over, for good measure, to fulfill the Scriptural injunction.”

“ Oh, have mercy,” moaned Myra. “ I feel that I am go-
ing mad." . ‘
, “Keep her away, Whistling Wint ,” said Mag, passing her
hand lightly over the muscular shoulders Of the bound man
in a way which gave him a horrible sensation. “ What a
delicate skin you have, Ralph. Upon my word I am afraid
the whip will cut it.”

.“ Do your work, you she-devil, and say no more about it.” ‘
. “Don‘t hurry me, please,” replied Mag. “I never could
bear to be hurried, you know. Are you bringing those whips,
N eadawa ?” I,

The Indian appeared, carrying in his hands a bundle of
beech'rods, similar to those with which Tom Dockstader had
beenflogsnd. For the am time the Mute Chief began to
how signs of pleasure in the work. His eyel‘nparklad; all

 

I have done «

  

v-m

 

    
 

 

          
   
       
      
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
     

m m. a

I ‘ blanked glootingly at the exposed back of the bound man,

' .j ind handled the rods as if he longed to use them. '

. ' “ Why don’t you beg for mercy, you .’” cried Mag. “ Why

don’t you ask-me to let you go? Ah, you saw the blood run
down my son’s poor back and were pleased. Let us see how
you will like it yourself. What is it, N eadawa ?” '

a? The chief made a quick signal with his fingers.

', “ You want to do the whipping ‘3"

J 3 Nuaclawa nodded assent. »

' “ I‘m afraid you won‘t do him justice. I hate him so that
1 think nobody could lay it on as I will.” _

The chief shook his head, and again moved his fingers
quickly.
“ Well. I won’t be hard on you. I‘ll give you half the

' work, because you have been of great service to me. You

shall take the last half."
. With a delighted face the dark savage selected a strong
rod, and gave it into her hand, and she took her station, rais-
ing the rod high above her head. A scream of agony broke
from Myra. .

' “ I’m sorry we brought‘ that girl here, almost," said Mag,
pausing. “ Would you like to have me send her away, Ralph?
You did as much for me."

' _ . “ If you will do that, I forgive you every ‘thing,” replied
( Ralph.

' “- How generous! Very well; seeing that you did the

‘, same by me, and she suffers so much, I’ll—keep her here until

. _ the work is done.”

' 5 “Demon!”

l. “ Thank you ; how very complimentary you are to-(lay. It _
‘- ’ ' is really a treat to hear you, for I thought my day for receiv-

‘ ing compliments had passed by. Thank you a thousand times

- ’Are you ready ‘3" , I

But Ralph would not speak. He remained with his face to
the tree, and all the taunts of the vindictive woman could not V,
'dmw a word from him. In a frenzy of rage she struck,
I‘ 'u'eaming as ballad donhheu her son was punished:
' “Gael” ' ‘
 " There was coming terrible in the vindictive strength 0!
“fiend. The strongest man could nothaveued the whip

  

\‘

l

 

   

    

M< ‘ rm: m cm.

with greater efl'ect. Ralph set his teeth hard, and for the first

ten lashes here it without a moan, though ridges were rising
over his delicate akin, white and smooth as a woman’s. Every
blow wrung a cry of agony from Myra, although not from
him- She seemed to feel' the cruel blows upon her own flesh,
and when the arm of Mag fell exhausted to her side after the
thirtieth blow, she ran to her and caught her by the arm.

“ Do not let.the Indian strike him after that. Look at
him; he is fainting from pain and shame.
he is, and that the Campbells will never forget."

. “ A curse upon the Cumpbells, from sire to son.
you do not go away I will have you whipped, too.”

“ For heaven’s sake be careful, Myra. I can bear it."

“ You shall not. Come; let that be as you say, and I will
bear the rest of the punishment myself.”

“Myra, you are mad. Even I, strong man as I am, can
not endure more than the sixty lashes. What could you do,
poor girl '1’"

“Tie her up, tie her up,” shrieked Mag.

Girl, if

“ Let her take

the punishment, if she likes ;" and as she spoke she raised the v

bloody rod and struck Myra. across the face.
A hoarse, inartieulate cry broke from the lips of the Mute

Chief, and he pushed the old woman back, and tore the rod ‘

out of her hand, and'broke it in two pieces, while he seized
Myra and gave her into the hands of Whistling Wind, who
held her fast. Then. grasping another rod, he struck hard
and fast until the terrible punishment was over. Long before
the sixtieth stroke the head of Ralph Campbell had dropped
upon his naked breast, and the strong man had fainted.
Mute Chief cut the bonds which bound him to the tree. and
he dropped to the earth, an almost lifeless weight. Myra
again broke from her captors, and flung herself upon the
ground beside him. ,

“ Go ; you have murdered my husband. Vindictive old wretch,
there will come a time when the evil of your ill-spent life
will‘find you out. As you have lived without pity, so you
Vi“ die. Mcursed by every being or, the earth. May the son
tor whose sake you have done ih'u, turn his hand against you
When you die. and may
‘30“! vhicbhm. can giver.

Remember who. \ '

The -

you tsete,-es I do, the molthitta ’

  
   

 
 

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lutza'cthad

wno om tr? 67

‘ Hag said not a word, but stood with demoniac glee im-
printed upon her face, looking down upon the wreck hcr

-ha.nd had made. That curse came home to her in after

days.

0 H A P T E R V I .
LOST l
Tm found the couple lying on the sod next morning in front

of the town. Ralph was bruised and gory, with a scarred and

bloody back, and bound hand and foot. It was the same with
Myra. in regard to bonds, though but one blow had been struck
her. Their captors had conveyed them back thus near the
village. and there left them until morning should come. The
villagers took up the senseless forms with tender hands and r

‘ carried them into the town, while the doctor was called in to

attend to Ralph’s injuries When they removed his clothing,
.and saw the marks of the terrible rods, they partly understood
what had been done, and Tim Murphy uttered a perfect yell
of rage.

“Here you, Frazier, Ncsbitt, and Fry, you git your rifles

_ and come along 0‘ me. It’s come to a mighty nice pass when

house); ar’ broken into by night, and men and wimmen taken
out and whipped. We knin't do no good. have, so let‘s git to

. work.”

I
“ Who do you think did it, Tim '3" asked the man called
Frazier. . I
_ “ I can't rightly say that I know jest who did it, but this
yer I‘do know, that Mag, the Witch, is at the bottom of it.
I’ll hunt her down; you take my word for it. I'll hunt her

' down, ef it takes five’ years. Yes, I will. Now you come along.”

The four men armed themselves, and left the house with

hurried steps and took their waythrough the woods in the

direction of the ruined cabin of Mag the Witch, scarcely hop-

, ling to find hot-there, and yet not quite certain but that her

,F’,

natural spirit of bravado might prompt her to my. But bet ‘
tightened even her, and they found no lice-d!
I? W I ‘ "

 

 

      

 
 

  

48 mmam.

“ They’ve took to the' canoe to break the trail,” said Tim.
“ That won't do the work, as she’ll find afore she’s done with
me.” '

“ What can you do, Tim ?” ’

“ Don‘t I know whar she’ll travel to l’ Wasn't Jake Dock-
stader a half- breed Mohawk? Stands to reason, then, now
that she‘s turned savage, that she’ll make a break for the Mo-
hawk lodges, to be taken keer of. I sort of opinionate that
Tom Dockstader is (her himself."

“ You don’t think that ‘3"

"‘ Ain‘t he a wolf, nat’rally, curse him? Ain’t his mother
a she-devil, and don‘t they take to the Mohawks as nat‘rally
as a baby to milk? I wouldn't make no more of puttin’ a
bullet through that pesky old hag than if she war a turkey-.
buzzard. Say, did you see how Mym’s face looked when they
picked her up ?"

“ I couldn’t bear to look at the poor girl," said the man ad-
dressed, with a sort of groan. “ I can‘t help it, but I’m soft-
hearted where a. woman is concerned.”

“ Quite right, too, Bob Frazier; I honor ye fur it. But
I’ve got partic’lar reasons for caring for Myra. I had the fever
onc‘t desperate bad, and if it hadn‘t been for her, I ain‘t no
way sartin I should ’a’ pulled through. She ’tcnded me like
a brother, and I swore when I got well that I'd stand by her
through thick and thin. And just see how I’ve kept my
word, when I let them cussid thieves steal into the village and
take them ‘out of their house." .

“ You wasn’t to blame more than the rest of us, Tim. It’s
peace times, and who dreamed for a minnit that they'd come
crawlin’ in. We can‘t do any good here, so let‘s go back and
see how they are getting on.”

“ I only came to satisfy my mind. This old fiend did the
deed, and Neadawa and Whistling Wind helped her, and she’s
off. I pray Heaven her son never may come in range of my
» old rifle, for if he does-L" I

‘He tapped his rifle significantly,_and they understood him.
Woe to Tom Dockstader if he ever came within reach of
_’ that might} and hurting weapon. Tim’s. title was in but!
'pequliar. Penna-tween have liked to cementum
weapon upon a long march. It was not only a Who

\

 

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a‘i‘t l“ T,

\

Mad gun—a thing seldom seen in those days—but it had
[barrels of tremendous length, and in his hand, fatal to all '
against whom it was lifted.

They hurried back to the house, and found that Myra had
not yet awakened from her swoon, but lay pale as marble. her
pallid lips just parted a little, while her bosom barely-seemed
to heave. To the uninitiated, it almost seemed that she must
be dead. Tim covered his face with his rough hands, to hide
the tears Which started unbidden to his eyes at the sight, of
that face, so sadly sweet and pure.

“ 'l‘aiu‘t nut'ral, that taint ain‘t,” said the scout, at length.
“ If this is some of Mag’s work, mebbe she‘s put a spell on
her somehow.”

“ Keep quiet, Tim ; this is the natural prostration, occasioned
by a great shock to a-delicate nature. It hardly seems that a
woman could be so cruel to one of her own sex as this."

“ Woman is always the hardest judge of her own sex," re-
plied Judge Campbell, who was in the room. “ Did I under-
stand you to say that this hag referred to some injury she had
received from the Campbells, years ago ‘2" v'

“I understood her so,” replied Tim.

“ Pshaw," muttered the old man. “ Some fancied slight.
Surely I am mad to think, even for a moment, that it might
be her. She is in her grave, years and years ago, I know."

Nevertheless, the judge looked as if he had a new trouble,
of which he dared not speak, and he stooped over the pros-
trate girl to hide his face from the curious looks of the people
in the room. Two or three ladies were mooring to arouse
Myra from her deathlike trance, but with little effect. Ralph
had been removed to another room, for he had recovered
enough to understand them, but he was badly hurt, and the
blood with which his hair was matted, flowed from a terrible
cut in his head, evidently the work of an Indian hatchet.
They dressed his wounded back as well as they could, but
when the doctor touched the wound upon his head, he uttered
a wild cry and started up in bed. \

“ Lie down again, Ralph,” said the doctor, putting a firm
hand upon his breast. “ What do you mean by this, sir ?”

“ Why have you taken me out of my grave ?” demanded.
Baht. in a wild (one; “We We dim  M

 

    

My. 1nd I. No one has the right to disturb us in the plot:
of 0». rest.”

“ I. Ish, Ralph; you must not disturb yourself, by talking in
that \my." .

“A wild night, ha! ha!" cried Ralph. “A wild night, and
a clark—-uucler the bending boughs. What is this upon my
head? Diood! blood ; did I not tell you so when you would
drag me out of my grave? Where is Myra?
taken her away i”

" Not at all. Drink this and you will feel better.”

“ Do you think to fool me with your poisoned drink?
Hurrah ! the dead are wise, and mortals can not hope to
cheat them. Hush I” he added, in a blood-chilling whisper.
“ I've been among the dead, deep down under the grassy sod,
in the caverns full of (lead men‘s ‘bones. Merrily they live,
under the earth, drinking from skulls the fiery blood. Let
no go to them. Ha! ha!

“ They drink out of skulls newly-torn from the grave,
Dancing round them pale speeters are seen.
Their liquor is blood. and this horrible stave
They howl: ‘ Ila 1 ha! ha l—n merry life it is.‘ "

.“ This is fearful," whispered the doctor, turning to Judge
Campbell. “ I fear that this blow has turned his brain, and
unless I can get him'quiet long enough to examine his wound,
nothing can be done for him. Go out, all of you, and let me
- see what I can do.”

They went out, leaving them together, and the doctor sat
down on the side of the bed.

“ Did you see how nicely I got rid of those fellows, Ralph ?"
he said. “ They are the ones to blame f or awaking’ you out
of your sleep. If I had been here, it would never have hap-
pened. Let me whisper a secret. They want you back under
the earth, and I‘m the one sent to bring you.
to cheat those fellows outside. The truth is. you don’t look
dead enough, and they won't let you go back unless you let
me work."

“ Were you down there too?"

“ Of course. Don’t you remember that I drank'out of I
skull with a jewel in the forehead, and sat at the head of thl
hhbmmyouwhenywmmetou?

They have _

But we‘ve got ‘

    

 

  

 

 

 

 

mounts m 'ntsum. ‘ 5t

“ Did you? he! he! Why you look just like those mortals.

,Who would have thought you could be the some one I saw.”

a “ Oh, you look just the same. We always do when we
come upon earth. Didn’t you know that t"

“ No; that's the oddest thing in life. How are you going
to get me away from them 1’”

“ All you‘ve got to do, is to drink from this cup I ofl‘ered
you, and you will be all right. By the way: I don’t know .
but we may send you back to earth now and then upon our
busine-s. I don‘t suppose you mind that l’"

“ Not at all, if I don’t have to stay here too long."

“ Oh, that can be easily arranged. I have to be up herc‘a
great deal myself and you’ll see me often enough. Here;
drink this." J

Ralph took the cup, and drained the powerful opiate at.
once. In 21 few moments he warsilent, and the doctor called
in Judge Campbell. They raised his head and washed the
wound carefully in tepid water, and the physician shook his
head. The bone was badly splintered and portions of the
brain exuded. The physician produced a sharp knife and re-
moved this matter carefully. ' '

“ Is not that dangerous?"

“ Not in the least. The most danger is in removing the
pieces of bone. A strong hand struck that blow and I fear
(or the sanity of the patient. What may be the result after I

’ have finished I can not undertake to say, and I shall only per-

form the operation at your sanction.“

“ Ralph, mad? It seems impossible,” said the judge, with a
tort of gasp.” .

“ The most powerful intellect must succumb to a shock like

v vhis. Naturally wenk-brained people rarely, if ever, go really

nod. What do you say? Speak quickly, while he is under
.he power of the opiate.” '

“You think it advisable ?”

“ It is the only chance."

“ Very well, do as you think best."

“ Then stay and help me," said the doctor.

He set to work at. once, carefully removing the splintered
pieces of bone as much as he dared. The‘patient did no:

_; move a the work went on, and it was not until the W

..
1;!

 

    
  
 
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
    
    
  
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

\

  

Ia - an arm cm.

was dressed and bandaged, that he began to show signs of

life A
' “ Now listen to me, judge,” whispered the doctor. " Another

shock would leave him as bad ofi‘ as ever. You must care ‘1
fully keep from him the condition of his wife.” ' l

“ Suppose he awakes sane, and asks for her '1’”

“ I will see to it that he does not wake completely for some 1
hours,” replied the surgeon. “ He must be kept quiet at all
hazards. Nothing else will save him. You had better sit by
the bed, and when he stirs open this bottle, and apply it to ,
his nostrils for a moment. Let me go to Myra now."

He went out into the next ronm. Myra was coming slowly
back to life, and the color was gradually creeping into her
pale checks. The doctor stooped over the bed and looked at
her.

“ Poor girl, poor girl," he murmured. “ I am sorry to see
her in this condition. But she is better now, and will come i
to herself directly. Hush, she is waking.” ‘

// At this moment the blue eyes flared wide open, and looked
about with a wild stare which changed to unalloyed joy as
she‘saw the kind face which bent above her.

“ Doctor, is it you? Oh, I am so glad, for now I know it
is all a horrible dream. Where is Ralph?” ‘ E

“ In the next rocm. Keep quiet, for you are still very l
Weak. Remember that he is sick from the injuries he re-
ceivcd.”

“I remember all now, the horrible surprise when they stood
by our bedside, the midnight march, the whipping post and
that fiendish old woman, and the terrible Indians. Do not
deceive me; Ralph is dead and 1 must follow him.”

“ No, no; upon my honor he is not dead, but is in the
next room.”

“ Then 1 must see him." ;

" You can not do that. Do you love your husband i"

“ Oh, doctor 1"

“ I need not ask you that. Then, when I tell you that he

_ is badly hurt, and that a shock might kill him, I am certain
I ' that. you will not say more [about seeing him just now.”

“No, doctor, but you willtnll. me it he calls for me. 18,.

“I'MavbhimT . ’ «

  

 

 

2"th

Io!

 

 

wm'n: ms at u

Seemlnly. He is sleeping now, and will awake refreshed.
Are you strong enough to tell us how it happened?” ‘

“ Not now. My head is in a Whirl, and I can see nothing
but the terrible sights, and hear the fearful sounds I heart
last night.” , ’

“ I’d like to ask you one thing, Myra,” said Tim Murphy
coming forward. “ Was it Mag the Witch who did this ‘2"

“ Yes; oh, yes.”

“ And Neatlawa was there ?”

“ Yes."

“Then I understand it.
you are worn out."

“Dran this.” said the doctor. She obeyed like a child,
and soon fell'off into sleep, while every one left the room ex.
cept the doctor and Tim Murphy. She slept on for an hour,
while Tim sat at the open window, with his head upon his
hand, trying to study out a plan to take signal vengeance upon
the Mute Chief and his unworthy associate in this crime. The
doctor did not care to talk, for fear he might arouse her, and
Tim had no wish for conversation. After an hour she woke
with a convulsive start, and looked widly in the doctor's face.

“ How is Ralph?” »

“ He still sleeps; the judge is with him.”

“ Then what have you done with my boy ?” -

Tim Murphy started to his feet with a look of blank dis-
may. In the confusion the absence of little Ralph had not

Now try to get a. little rest, for

' been noticed. Where was he?

 

CHAPTER VII.
mm momma cause.

Tm: boy had been the pet and pride of the whole village.
One and all they had vied with each other in praising his
manhness, his beauty and truthfulness, and the news noon
qpread that he hadgone. Mym could only say that he had
been taken with them into the woods, and that met 9h?!

 

 

nu manner

terrible flogging which her husband had received, when he_had
recovered from his fainting-fit the old woman had disappeared,
taking the boy with her, and Neadawa had led them back‘ to-
ward the village accompanied by the other Indian, who said
that Mag would follow them directly with little Ralph. But,
when they reached the edge of the woods, neither the old we-
man nor the 'boy appeared, and the two Indians turned away
without a word.

“ Give me back the boy, you red demon,” cried Ralph, seiz-
ing Neudawn by the throat. “ You had better.”

Neatlawa shook him off. and made a sign to him to stand
back, but he was half frantic at the loss of his child, and
rushed at him again ! Then that terrible arm was raised, and
Myra saw her husband fall, bathed in blood, and dropped be-
side him, overcome by the spectacle. In this condition they
were found by their friends.

Tim Murphy no sooner heard that his little playmate was
gone than his face took on an almost ferocious expression.

V He had loved the boy. A childless man, with no home ties
or hopes, it had been his delight to pour out the affections of
his rough but true heart upon such an object, and there was
no wish which was in his power to grant which the hunter
ever refused the boy. -

“God do so to me, and more also, if I do not make this a
bitter thing to the Whole Mohawk nation,” he cried, fiercely.
“ Out of the way, thari I’m goin’ far and wide to find the
boy.”

“ \Vhat will you do, Tim '9" demanded the villagers, as they
gathered round him outside. “ You've got to be careful." v

“ Kecrt‘ul? What call have I to be keerful of that boy‘s
lost? Curse the Mohawks ; curse Mag the \Vitch ! Now look
here ; that old critter had better 160k out how she gits in my
way, for it won’t be healthy for her.”

“ Can't we do any thing ‘5"

“ VVal, you mout make up two companies of five men each
and go down the two sides of the creek. Now look here, you.
That Injin half-breed, Dockstader, had some hand in this. I
don’t say how much, but in my opinion he sot these Injins to
work. He’ll have old Tim Murphy arter him fur that trick.

I m” - A ‘

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“WVe‘ll go down'the stream, Tim. Shall we hunt for signs ?"
“ Yes; you hunt faithful, though I don’t reckon it will do
much good, ’cause like ez not they got bosses waitin’ down-
stream sum’ers, and are well up toward the Mohawk by this.
They mout not he so fur, but I’m afraid. You lend me' that

* knife, Bill Frazier."

The man addressed handed over the knife, and Tim set 01?
at once with the quick step and silent tread of a practiced trailer.
He started with a heavy heart, for the canoe had given the

party he followed an excellent chance to cover their trail,‘and ‘

he had but little hope now. He reached the creek at ,thn
point where they had embarked, and in the soft sand upon
the verge he saw among others the footmarks of the boy.
“ They took him, of course. The question is, whar.
give a year out of my own life to know that,”
Tim had a canoe concealed in the bushes a few hundred
yards below the cabin, and this he dragged out and sent spin.

I’d

_ ning awn), under the strokes of his powerful arm.

Down the beautiful stream, flowing rapidly between he
verdant banks, the bright colors of the flowers upon the banks
and trees contrasting with rich green foliage, pausing now and

"then at convenient landing-places to look for the signs upon
, which he depended for the rescue of the boy, but finding no

such sign. His quick eye would have detected any'indentution

in the earth, and he had taken such a mental photograph of
'the footsteps of those he pursued that he could have detected
, any one of them among a hundred, to such a pitch of per-
~i'ection had he Carried his trailing propensities.

“ Hi, there, Tim i" cried a voice from the hunk. The busy
paddle stopped, and he looked in the direction of the voice
and saw the man Frnzior, mounted upon a fine horse and
leading another by the bridle, standing upon the north-west-
ern bank of the alream.

“ Land," cried Frazier. “ VVe’ve got the trail.”

“ Good fer you, old man,” cried Tim, as he turned the how
of the canoe toward the shore. “ I’ll do you a good turn for

s > that."
‘ ~He landed quickly, and drew the canoe up close-to “:1

bank, screened by the overhanging foliage.
‘ Where's the sigh I" -

 

  

IO mun-mom. .

' “North’ard; toward the Mohawk." A i

u  ?” .

“ Last night. I brought your hose along because Ithought .
if we found sign you’d like to be in at the death.”

“ Bet yer life ; yes,” replied Tim, vaulting into the saddle \
“Lead the way, you.“

Away they went at a breakneck pace and found four men 
halted upon the bank of the creek, half a mile above the E
cabin. ‘

“ Them critters is smart,” said Tim. “ Oh, yes. They cal-
culated to fool us by going upstream. Boys, I thank you
hearty, but this ain‘t the time to waste words. They must be
Wonderful secure to make a plain trail like this.”

“ I'culculate that they mean to strike for the hills, unless ‘
mebbe they‘ve got more men. You take the lead, Tim.
We’ll follow you, no matter where you lead us.”

“ Thank you ag’in, boys. Come on."

Bending slightly in his saddle, so as to keep his eyes upon -
the trail, Tim started his horse upon a slow trot, closely fol-
lowed by his companions. .The faces of the party were firm
and holdI for they had been well selected by Frazier, every
one being a borderman and hunter of the boldest type
They were heavily armed, too, carrying rifles and hatchets, in
the use of‘which each man was an adept.

“ This puzzles me, this does,” muttered Tim. “ That that
Neadawa ain’t no fool, and, unless he‘s got help nigh at hand,
it don’t stand to reason he’d be fool enough to resk pursuit by
leaving a trail like this. They’ve got a pony, too, and the
'old woman is riding him, carrying the boy."

"/How old is the critter, Tim? She looks to be a bun- K
dred.”

“ She’s done devilI-ry enough to be a thousand, but she ain’t.~
As nigh as I kin git at it she‘s about fifty year old, but she’s r
seen a deal of trouble, I should judge."

“She don't owe you any good will, Tim,” said Frazier.

“ She don’t owe anybodyIin Cherry Valley none too much.
but she hates the Campbells most of all. I don’t know he! 7
reasons for it, but she said she didn’t care how soon she cited,
once she got her revenge out of than.” . .
“Where did she come from Y”

    

 

   

, ‘41:“: l r ‘

 

am.~

“I don‘t know that either. Judge Campbell knows, I

 reckon, but he‘s the man to keep his mouth shut about it, you

I3 : know. This is sart‘in, she's a pizen old serpent and don’t de- ‘

6‘\

“D
l8

'7‘.”

swan

 

 

' maid Frazier.

_ something by this time.
him, look at that!"

 

carve mercy at our hands."

“ I reckon she don‘t count on it. Do you s’pose Doclmtader
sent this Neadawa down to help her do this ‘3”

“ Of Course. You see she married a half-breed Mohawk,
and the tribe consider themselves in duty bound to help her.
What‘s that on the ground ahead ?”

“ A button," said Frazier. “ I’ll git it.”

He leaped out of the saddle and picked up a little shining
object which lay upon the earth, glistening in the sun, and
passed it to Tim.

“ That’s off the boy‘s jacket.” said Tim, urging his horse
forward. “ Don‘t tell me the little 'un ain‘t bright beyond
his years. I told the little chap if he was ever taken by the
red-skins to keep dropping every thing he had about him to

* guide us. and you see he’s working the buttons 03' his jacket

as he rides. He‘s got to be sharp to do it svhcn that old crit-
ter holds him, too."

“ There ain‘t a smarter boy in Cherry Valley nowhere,”
“ Thor‘s another button ahead. I should think
that the Indians would see them."

“Don’t you see that they are ahead? The pony tracks 31.7
lie atop of theirs.”

“ Jest so," said Frazier.
you yet, old Tim."

“ I’ve been a matter of thirty years learning what I know,
since [ was a ten-year-old, and I ought to have_picked up
Judas Iscariot, which also betray ed

“ I’ve got something to learn of

The trail had suddenly branched aside, crossing a range of
lofty hills north of the creek, in what is now the north-east-
em portion of the town of Cherry Valley, in Otsego county.
Between the high elevation now called Mount Independence
and Hamilton IIill ran a narrow and rocky valley, and through
this pass the trail led. But it was Over a road covered with
limestone shales in such a way that hardly any trail was per-

’ fiptible. Tim knew that this road continued for some mileg,‘
:— ‘ and can the Minuteman takemmne dds m1“ -

 

‘ M Tn 'xrrrn cm.
the hills to elude pursuit, and if they had done so he was at
fault. 'Halting where he was, he sent two men forward at a
gallop to the end of the shales to find the trail, if it continued
beyond, While he halted with the rest of the party. Although
he Chafed at the delay, he knew that nothing was to be
gained by wearing out the horses of the \\ hole party by rid-
ing hard over the rocky path, and made the best of the ne.
cessity before him, and waited. Half an hour passed and
the men came thundering back at the top of their speed to
say that they had reached Ihe debWCkm‘e 0f the pass into the
next valley, and had found no signs of the enemy.

“Separate and try the passes," cried Tim. “You, Ned
Thomas. go up South Pass. Frazier, try the steep path to
the east. 1‘11 go ahead and look into Lost Hunter‘s Gap;
you others stay here.”

Tim touched his horse with the spur and bounded forward
at a gallop and soon reached the place"where a narrow pass
turned to the east. On each side rose a rocky wall of lime-
stone. but he knew that, a few hundred yards ahead the
ground was soft and it would not take long for him to de-
cide whether this was the route they had taken' or not. As
he was riding on at a rapid gallop he heard his name called in
a shrill voice, and, with the the instinct of the hunter, brought
his rifle forward, cocking it hastily. V r

“No need of that, Tim Murphy,” cried the same voice.
" You won‘t dare to use your ritle."

The voice seemed to fall from the sky, and looking upward,
he saw Meg the Witch standing upon a rocky ledge nearly a
hundred feet above him, clasping Ralph Campbell in her
arms'and holding him as a shield between herself and the
deadly weapon of the hunter. n

"I knew you would follow, Tim Murphy,” she shrieked.
“Ha, ha. ha 1- To think that you, of all men, should think
to outwit Mag the Witch." '

“I did it once, you old heathen,” cried Tim.
ago, either."

" LWiky for you that
do you follow me 1’"

“ Not long

you did, you poors-pirited fool. Why

.. “I want that boy." replied Tim. “ Come, 1 ain‘t alone. 1

'You' glub’mupgoruWINWeWUNehyW'

 

    

    

 

 
 

  
 

memn's was.

" ‘I’m not afraid of you,” replied Mag. “Come, they say
9101: are a. good shot. Why don’t you shoot me ?" V
“ I will, if you don’t bring the boy to me at once."
1 “ Help, help. Tim,” cried little Ralph. “‘ I want to go
~ back to my mother, and she holds me "
- r “ Why don’t you fire, I say? I‘m not going to give him
up to you; be sure of that. He may as well die in this way
‘ as any other, and the hall must pass through his body togct
\ to mine. Didn’t I tell you that I’d have revenge? Where
is Ralph Campbell’s pride now? It is as low in the dust as
my son’s was, when you beat him like a dog. Why don’t
you fire—why don’t you fire? Coward, you dare not i"
>_ “I don’t want to kill the boy,” replied Tim, leaping out
of the saddle, at the same time emitting a sharp whistle to
call up his men. . “ But I‘m coming up.”
, “ Yes, do; come up and see me. But remember this, the
5mome‘nl you set foot upon this ledge I will throw the boy
down upon the limestone at the. foot of the blufl‘. You know
that I Will keep my word, so come if you dare"
I Still holding the struggling boy in her arms, she advanced
boldly to the very brink of the precipice and stood there
fdefying him. He saw now that she had him in her power,
J and knowmg her vindictive nature he understood that noth-
' a ing could save the lad from death if he climbed the blufl‘, and
'i he fell back with a groan. '
_ / “ You see it now, do you 't" she shouted. “ Yahl what a
. fool you are to set your wits against a woman spurred on by
_ :the deadly hate which thrills ‘my breast. Go‘back to Judge
‘ Campbell and say to him that a voice speaks from out an
open grave, and says to him, this is the Gipsy‘s revenge for
:the wrong done years ago. Will you do this?"
 “ I take no message from you to the judge.” .
“ Promise, or the boy is dead,” she cried, raising the light
form above her head. “ Speak quickly, for I do not propose
- 2 to waste time with you.”
:1 “ Yes, yes, I promise! Hold your hand. and do not take
"revenge on a boy like that He ain‘t to blame, poor little fel-
low." '
Ct. “Not he, but his blood is guilty of this wrong," she an:
armed. “You wills!” my Mt‘othemr' ‘ l  .-

 

 

 

 

 
 

 

/

. five rifles were lifted, but at a. fierce order from Tim they low-

    

, “Y”, t

“ And say to him that Margaret, after long- yeers, has taken
vengeance on his race. I do not know that I should have
donerthis but for the last outrage, and that decided me.”

“ What money will pay you to give the boy up to me ?"

“ What money? Fool, if every ounce of your body and,
the bodies of the Campbell race combined was worth its,
weight in diamonds, and you were to lay it at my feet as the
ransom of this boy, I would laugh at it, and at you. Money 11
offer me that insult again and you doom him to death.”

" Think of his mother, then. You say you love that rough '-
eon of yours, and I s’pose you do. Think what her agony
mustbe when she knows that Ralph is lost completely."

“ Is her agony less than mine?"

“ Ralph lies at the point of death, beaten down by the
hatchet of Neadawa. When he knows this, if he don’t die| '
he’ll surely go mad," cried Tim. '

“ I hope he will. Neuclawn has a strong arm, and I could-
almost worship him for that blow. Enough words have
been wasted. Make no attempt to follow us,‘for as surely ,
as you overtake us this dagger, steeped in poison, shall infuse
its venom into the blood of Ralph Campbell’s child, and“
though you may kill .me after it, I shall die rejoicing, for then
iny revenge will be complete." '

“You don‘t tell me that any woman has a heart wicked
enough for that ?”

‘f You would do well not to try me too far, or I will prove
it to your satisfaction that I know how to keep my word.
Good-by, and look your last upon the boy, for you shall never _
see his face again." _

“ Tim, Tim i" cried little Ralph. “She will carry me awby
Oh, don‘t Tet her carry me away, but take me home to my
mother 1” ‘ _

The rattle of‘hoois announced the coming of the rest of
the party. and ,Mag, with a. lurid smile, waited for their ap- -
preach, and all uttered cries of delight as they saw her, and .

 
 
  
   

 

4

   
    
    
   
 

cred them again.
“ Won’t any thing move you, Mag 3”
“  pan: to my. "

 

 
   

  

   

m : 01

" Remember that Tom Dockstader ain’t dead yet, and that
I’m a. bad inimy to make ; I allus was and will be."

“ Tom can take care of himself, now that he has taken to
the woods. He hides himself even from the old mother who
has done so much for him.”
it; “’I‘ll mark a bullet for him, and if he ever comes in range
he" he’ll go down. I promise you that, you old heathen. Come,
y 1" boys; it‘s all over, and we can’t do anything for the boy.
Good-by, Ralph, and remember that I‘ll never give up the
gh > chase until I find you, and bring you Ule to your mother.”
ny The boy stretched out his hands imploringly and still cried
out for aid, and the phrsuing party felt a thrill pass through
their ranks as they realized how utterly helpless they were 111
he the hands of the vile woman, who laughed like a fiend as she
ie, ' regarded them, and turning, disappeared from their sight, still
carrying the child in her arms. Slowly and sadly they went
[at down the pass together and b'le over the road they had
re traversed so quickly during the last ten hours. Tim knew that
1y he carried with him the knowledge which would forever blast
53 the happiness of the family whose welfare was his constant
.d‘ care, and yet. he must tell' it. Down beside the shining
m stream, over the ruins of Meg‘s cabin, and into the village, they
went, and the settlers read in their dejected faces the failure
of the expedition. Tim rode straight to Judge Campbell’s
‘ house and asked to see him, and was shown into a small room

in which the judge did his writing, and the old man rose hur-

riedly to greet him. »

“ Murphy! back again? Do not keep me in suspense but
tell me at once the fate of little Ralph. Is he dead ?"

“ No," said Tim. “ He ain‘t dead, and yet I'm not sure it
wouldn't be better for the poor little chap if he was. Mag
Dockstader has got him, and that’s a fact." -’

“ Did you overtake her?”

It 3'65")

“ Then why did you not rescue the boy ?" ,

Tim related the events of the pursuit, and how he had
Vorought Mag to bay, with the danger of the boy, and Camp- r.

= hall saw that he had done all for the best.

“And thistenible woman hashim still. thtcnhhfl
motive in this?"

IV.

 
   

nd

  

 

 

   
  
 
    
  
 
  
   

 

 
 

    

TRIVIUM!

“ She gave me a message to you, sir. I didn‘t like to take
it, but she swore to throw Ralph down the rocks if I didn't.
Her words were, ‘ Tell him that a voice speaks from an open
grave, and says to him, “this is the Gipsy‘s revenge for the
wrong done her years ago.’ ”

“ Ha l" a

“ She said more: ‘ Margaret—she speaks as it you would
know the name—after long years has taken vengeance cn her
race.’ " '

“ Margaret; Gipsyl"

“ Yes.”

The judge uttered a gasping sob, and his head fell forward
on the table and he seemed to struggle with intense feeling
for some moments. “ But it can not be; it is impossible that
this hag can be the same. I forget myself, Tim ; you know
nothing, of this terrible woman. If it is indeed the one of
whom I speak, then God forgive her for her many crimes.
But I thought ,her dead, years and years ago. Now I will go

\ to Ralph‘s house, but‘I fear the effect of this tale on him.”

They told the story first to Myra, and as the sunk fainting
on the bed they became aware that Ralph, with a strange leer
upon his face, was looking in at the open door. The look
changed to one of agony, and he put his hand to his wounded
head, and uttering a loud cry of despair, tore the bandages
from the Wound and sunk to the floor. Three days he hov-
ered between life and death, but the doctor shook his head
when he was spoken of. On the fourth day he drew Myra

aside, for she had risen above her own great grief to attend
to her husband, and said:

“ Prepare yourself for the worst, Myra. Your husband is
[name l" '

 
 

U'H‘Vfllflfl"

 

  

CHAPTER VIII.
AFTER MANY mans.

TEN years passed away and brought its changes t( the.
beautiful settlement at Cherry Valley. Little by little it had
increased, slowly of course, because the people dreaded to in-
cur the dangers of a frontier life in these trouhlous times.
,fiThe war of the Revolution had been going on for over two
years with varying success, the people of the provinces show-
ing a. sthhborn valor which had not been looked for by their
short-sighted oppressors, who had forgotten that the most ef-
ficient troops under their orders in the Indian wars were
those raised in the pr0vinces, and the best leaders, such men
as Washington, Putnam, and Stark. In the border dist'ricts
they knew little of the great struggle along the coast, except
that their friends were doing yeomen’s service for a new
country and a new flag. Their wars‘ were not of that sort,
but a series of surprises by night, of Indian incursions, settlers
lying down at night only to wake with the war-cry of the
Mohawk or Senecas ringing in their ears and to rush from
beneath their blazing rolwfs to meet the sharp edge of the
hatchrl. Currytown and New Dorlach had already fallen,
and Cherry Valley was threatened by an enemy whom all
knew and feared, the redoubtable Joseph Brant, who was now
repaying the English for the services they had done him, by
fighting their battles.

Judge Campbell had prepared for danger like a man. His
house was a fortress, the windows heavily shuttered and
‘barred, with double 60an and loopholes for musketry. Every
available man upon the ‘ Patent ’ was heavily armed, and
. V drilled eVery day upon the open ground in front of the great
hoarse. Boys not sixteen years of age staggered under the
weight of great musket: which their young arms could hardly
raise to a level, such was the war-spirit which actuated the
twp]. at this time. Gray-haired ‘men in apoctnclu pron.“

 

 

 

  

ticed with their trusty rifles, trying to regain ‘ the prowess of
old days, and women vied with each other in making cart-

ridges for their husbands, fathers and brothers’ use. These . i

were the days when men lay down to rest with loaded guns
beside them, scarcely knowing whether they should see the
dawning of another morning.

A small detachment of troops from Palatine, then a thriv-
ing village on the, Mohawk, occupied the village. They could
not spare many tronps from the army of liberty to fight the
battles of the border, but rather depended upon_the strong
arms of the settlers themselves to defend their lives and fami-
lies. .

Tim Murphy was still in Cherry Valley upon a furlough,
though he had long ago joined himself to that crack corps,
Morgan’s rifiemen, and was one of the best shots in that fa-
mous command. But in a short season of repose, for meri-
torious conduct in the field, he had obtained a month‘s leave
of absence, and with his rifle upon his shoulder, had ridden
down to visit his old friends. There was not a man or wo-
man who had seen him before who was not glad to welcome ,
the rifleman back. He had ridden into the village from Pala- '
tine at the end of an autumn day, and was instantly sur-
rounded by the villagers, eager for news from the North.

“ What news, Tim ‘2” cried Frazier, one of the first to wet-
come him. “ Glad to see you back, old man.”

“I ain‘t so sorry to git back, neither, Ned,” replied the
rifleman, grasping the friendly hands extended tOWnrd, him.
“ llow‘s everybody ?” ‘ . .

It took some time to tell him all the news, the changes
which had occurred, the marriages, births and deaths among his
old companions. If

“ And Ralph Campbell ; what about him ?” demanded Tim, »-
eagerly. ~ .

“ Poor Ralph!” replied Frazier. “ He’s just the same; now' .
a very child, and again frantic when his wrongs come home .
to him. He won’t stay in the village much, and he‘s got a
haunt away to the north, among the hills, whcrshe will hide .
himsslf, and when he does that, woe to the Indian who am .'

. his   '
’ “Don be how his friends 1”

I

 

mam"

He isn’t set against any white man, except
I - kstader. and he's got his name printed on the wall of his
: bin, and [’ve seen him sit looking at it for an hour at a '
' It‘s an awful thing to see a man like him out of his

“ Never heard of the boy, I s’pose ‘2”

“Never; did you ?” replied Frazier.

“Not once. I’ve heard of Neadawa, but never sighted him.
He fights under Brant now, and they say makes bloody Work.
By the way, what fool sent that message to Brant, calling him
a goose ‘I”.

“Captain MoKean; that was rather a cunning letter he
' - te.”

“ What did he say ‘3” I

“ He wrote that if Brant would come to Cherry Valley
they would change him from a Brant to a Goose. They set
:it up on the trail, directed to the sachem, and they say he got
it.” ‘ t
_ “ I s’pose Captain McKean wants Cherry Valley burned to
‘ the ground, don’t he? Brant is crazy mad about that lets
ter, and he wrote to a Tory named Cass that he would make
the people of Cherry Valley sorry for having called him a
\goose. and if you don’t look out he’ll do it, too. It’s a foolish
. thing to insult any man wantonly, much less sech a man as
Joseph Brant. He is a good warrior, and holds a spite eter-
nally. Where is Myra Campbell?”

“ She lives at the big house, and is the shadow of the we-
man she was. Mag, the Witch, took a lasting revenge on
her.”
j} “ Yes, curse her. I‘d give a good deal to know Where she
do, but the old she-devil knows how to hide right well. I
. wonder if I could see Myra Campbell now ‘3”

_ “ There she sits under the big tree. I know she’ll be glad
10 see you." _
, Tim shmk 03‘ his friends, and rode hastily across the lawn
‘ -:in front of Campbell’s house. A woman seated under a tree
. started up as he approached, and ran toward him with out-
 ’ stretched hands, and the.brave rifleman’s heart gave a great
that) as he recognized in her,faded and wan,thewreckotthn
'buutifulvomanhefiadknownsolengbefon, ,,. _

 

'fl 

“0h, Tim 2" she cried, “ good and faithful man, you eat '
not tell how glad I am to see you again." a '
“I don‘t reckon it’s all on one side, Myra," replied Mm
phy, turning his head away. “ I‘m glad to see you, too, b

I don’t like to see you looking so pale."

“ We can not all lead happy lives, Tim. Poor Ralpb—"

Her voice broke, and she placed her hand upon her heart 1
as if to still its throbbings, and Tim understood what she
Would have said.

“ There, there, Myra. Don’t ; I can‘t bear to see you.
Don‘t I know what you suffer every day you live? You know
I‘m a rough, hard man, but I loved Campbell. He l’arnt '
Woodcraft from me, and a better or a quicker scholar I never
see. We tramped the woods together, and he talked book— 7
l'arnin’ to me and I taught him wood-ranging, so that we
was even tbar. We slept in the same blanket and laid down at
night beside the same clear stream, and it ain’t too much fur
me to say that if my life would give him back to you as he _
was afore-afore I went away, I wouldn’t hesitate to lay it V
down.”

“ I believe you, dear Tim. You did all you could for your ~
friends, and nearly lost your own life by the same cruel hands ,
which robbed the of my darling boy and of my husband, for
we are separated as much as if oceans rolled between us. v
You have not seen that cruel woman: or her son since you L
went away ‘3" ,

“ No ; and I’ve tried hard.” ,

“They seem to have vanished from off the face of the a
earth. My uncle has many friends even among the Indians,

and they assure ‘him that the boy was not brought into the , 4

Indian villages, and that Mag (lid not come there.” .

“ That‘s curi’s. The old woman is mighty cute, and she »
knew that John Butler would give the boy back if she brought ,-
him to the Mohawks. She’s in hiding somewhere, and 90’:
her son. I don‘t know sartin whether your boy is alive, but ,
if he is, wharever Mag, the Witch, is, she’s got him. Don’t -
quite despair, and we may save him yit.” ..

“ Hush; here is Ralph. Do not say a word about the boy ‘:
oryou will drive him' out into the woods again. and he has 
not been here for three wee ” ‘ '

 

mnoomn

' A tall man, dressed in s ragged suit of buckskin, with a
rifle thrown into the hollow of his arm, leaped the low wall
which bounded the estate, and came toward them with a
hurried step. * ,

Tim had expected to see a change in him, but nothing like
this. His hair was turning gray, and hung in a matted and
disheveled mass upon his shoulders. His heard was long and

» fitneglected, and the little of his face not covered by its tangled
growth was pale and wan, and the splendid eyes which had;
’ made his face so noble in other days, blazed with insanity.

“ Ila !" he cried, “who is this that comes from the outer
world? Let me see your face.”

He caught Tim by the shoulder with a grip of iron and
whirled him about, looking fiercely in his face. Something
of old remembrance seemed to shoot across his troubled ,brain
as he looked at the once familiar features, and he dropped his
hand.

“ I used to know you up there, didn’t I ?” he said. “ I knew
agreat many in the outside world and once in a while Imeet ‘
them.”

“Yes, you knew me. I hope I was a true friend to you
then." ~ .

“You’ve got a. rifle," said Ralph, in the same tone. “ Is it
a good one? can you shoot as true as a die with it ?"

n Yes]!

“ Then look here. There‘s some one in the outside world
I want sent down to me. if I could) go up there myself I‘d
kill him, but I can't. And there’s u she-devil up there too,
but you can’t kill her, or I’d ask you to do that for me. See;

’ve got their names here.”

Ila drew a piece of paper from the bosom of his hunting-
shirt, and held it up before the eyes of the ritleman, who read
these names, inclosed in brackets, thus:

Neadawa, the Mute Chief.
g Tom Dockstader. g» To die.
Mag the Witch; a. devil.
“ Do you see the names ‘3" »
u Yes." .
.. " You knew them too, when you were in the outer world.
, Doycuthinkthst youcsnfind them?" 

 

1

"In an ml

' '“Yes; mlesstl’ll try.” 7 '

“ Do it, and I’ll love you. Not as I love her,” pointing h
Myra, who stood with bowed head,'her face covered by her
hands and the tears trickling through her fingers. “ See, she
weeps. Do you know who made her face so pale, so very.
wry sad? It was these three whose names you read. Do
you think it would be wrong then, to kill those who can make
an angel weep?" ‘

“ Not wrong; it is a. duty, and we ought not to neglect it,’ -
replied Tim, sternly.

‘ I don‘t neglect it, you may be sure. I‘m waiting, I’m
watching, and something whispers to me that I shall not
wait long. Do you know that when l lie down to rest, spirits
come and tell; to me? They tell me strange things, but I
believe them, because the spirits neyer lie. They say to me
that- this white face will have red cheeks again, and that one
who is dead shall live. These are good spirits who speak.”

He caught Myra suddenly in his arms and drew her head
down upon his bosom. “ This one will be happy again, then.
Shall you not be glad when she is happy? My head is light,
and spins about when I think of those three names, but when
I lay this head upon my bosom I forget them.”

“Oh, Ralph,” she murmured, “if you Could forget them
forever."

'5‘ They must be dead first. When they are dead, I will for-
get, but until then, their faces will come to me in dreams;
and my back gets sure. He! what made it sore ?"

He pushed her from him suddenly, and the light which had
come into his face for a moment faded out, his eyes began

'to blaze, and catching up his rifle he hugged it to his breast.

“ I can shoot straight and true and I must go and find them.
Will you come to me soon, you from the outer world? She
knows where I stay and will tell you.”

“ I will come to—morrow.”

“'VVlmt does tovmorrow mean; ‘when they are dead ?”

, “ I will come soon, and you must wait for me.”

“When you come to the place where r I am, strike two
stones together three times, like this.” 7
: Her caught up two stones from the earth, and beat them to-

gether with all his force, with a cunning look in his two.

 

mp1. worm. ; Qt- ‘

“When I hear that, I will come, and you shall. go with me
to find the wicked ones. She is not wicked, but she is very
sad. L must go away, for a spirit whispers to me that it is
safer to be among the rocks than here."

‘ “Do not go, Ralph, stay with me,” Myra said.

“ No, no, no, no i Not here. I am called, and when
the ,whisper comes from the rocks and trees I can not stay.
Let me go quickly.”

He stooped and pressed his lips to hers in a frenzied way,
and springing ovcr the wall hurried toward the woods, which
soon hid him from their sight. Tim Murphy set his teeth
hard, and turned to Myra, who was leaning againsta tree,
almost unable to move.

“ Don’t grieve tOo much, Myra," said the rifleman. “ Who
knows what fate may hev in store for you. Let's believe as
he does, that the spirits whisper the truth to him, and that
you’ll be happy yit. I'm sure stranger things happen than
that, and if you could find your boy, who knows but the sight
of him would bring his memory back to him. And that boy
I’ll find, if he’s above grounc.” ' I

“‘ Do you think it possible that my little Ralph still lives
Would he not come back to me ‘2”

“ He was five years old when he was taken away. New
scenes and associates make great changes, I heard tell, and it
ain’t likely that Mag would take any pains to bring you back
to his mind. It’s more likely she‘ll teach him to forgit yu."

“ What if she teaches him to hate me? Surely she would
not be so wicke( .” p

“ She’s ekal to any thing, that old cat is,” replied Tun.
"‘ You mustn't talk about it now, but tell me where Ralph
stays when he takes to the woods.”

“ He stays in the deep ravine, near Tecahawam Falls; , you
know the place.”

“ Bet you I do I‘ll go and see him tomorrow morning
and try what I can do with him. Perhaps he mout remem-
ber after being with me awhile, and going to the same places
we used to visit. ‘I want to see Colonel Campbell now, for
I’ve got a dispatch from Palatine, and Lieutenant Thornton in
 earning~ down here to-morrow to see what troops we need, be

wise I warn you thn Cherry Valley ain‘t safe.” -

o

 

“ Do you think the Indians will attack as P t .

“ They will if they git a chance, and Brant is mad at mall
account of McKean’s letter; the most unreasonable piece of
foolishness I ever hvard tell on.”

“ It was foolish, since it aroused the wrath of the great
chief against us. Come into the house, and I will find my
uncle, who will be glad to see you.”

The colonel and Tim remained closeted for some hours, and
the rillcman passed the night at the great house. In the
morning, before the dew was off the grass, he took his rifle
and started out to find Ralph. His course led him up the
chahawara creek to a deep ravine to the northward, a dark
and almost inaccessible place, lying embosomed among the
hills in such a way that it lay in darkness even at midday. A
Strange place for a man to dwell, and none but one whose
senses hed left him could have taken delight _in such a spot.
He stopped at the entrance to the ravine and looked to the
priming of his heavy rifle, and saw that the flint was tight in
its setting, for nothing was more probable than his meeting a
panther in this dismal ravine. When he finished his examine.
tion he heard a footstep passing down the ravine, the quick
tread of a man in haste, and with a hunter’s instinct, buried
himself in the bushes to wait until he came on, not caring to
trust himself in that place with a perfect stranger. The foot-
steps stopped suddenly, as if the comer had heard some noise

'and‘halted, and Tim held his breath an:l waited, as the step
came on more slowly. '

“ 'Whistler i" cried a hoarse voice, “ where are you ?"

“ Me come,” answered an unmistakable Indian voice. “ You
wait." -

“ You hang back too much, you born thief. I. hope you
ain‘t skeered,” roared the first‘ voice.

“ Cherry Valley people no good,” replied the same voice.
“ They take Whistler’s scalp." .

“ Oh, come on, you born idiot. I ain’t got any more call
to go to Cherry Valley than you have." ‘

I The footsteps sounded nearer, the bushes parted, and two
men came out into the pass, at the sight of whom Tim could
hardly restrain a cry of joy, for he new before him Tom Dock-
Itader and Whistling Wind. 7 '

\_

 

CHAPTER 1X
A STRANGE comm.

Tun sight of that. dark face, so full of evil passions, aroused
all that was vindictive in the heart of the waiting ritleman.
Although he was not certain that Dockstader had any share iii
the abduction of Ralph Campbell and his subsequent punish-
ment, he still believed that it was done by his orders, and
now seeing him in the company of one of the prominent ac-
tors in that tragedy, he could hardly restrain his passion, and
twice he raised his rifle to aim at the heart of the Tory, and
as many times lowered it Although he knew that this man‘
was of a bloody nature, and would not hesitate to destroy him
under like circumstances, Tim Murphy could not bring himselt
to the enormity of shooting a white man from the shelter of
a bush.

“ You hang back like a skeered baby, Whistler," said
Dockstader, with an oath. “Why don’t you come along, if
you are goin‘ to."

“ Look," said Whistler, stopping, “ white man sign ; fresh.”

He had chanced upon the footprints of Tim, and knelt. be-

 , side them with a startled face. '
’ “ I 'believe you are right," growled Doelcstader. “ What
' of that? Ain’t there plenty of hunters in the hills ‘1"

" No hunt now; ‘t'ruitl of Mohawk. Thayendanegea great
warrior.“

“ Tush! They ain’t goin‘ to starve because they think Brant
is in the woods. You redieulous critter, what are’you think-

 ing ahout? I— Blood and thunder, who is that ?"
‘ .Tim had suddenly raised his head and sprung out with
leveled rifle. and stood before them with blazing eyes.
> “ Don’t tech 0. Weapon, either of you, or you go down, mind.
.-‘ I’ve got two shots here, and I never miss my man."
t“ Hold on, Tim Murphy," said Dockstader, in a trembling
voice. “ You’re the last man I expected to meet, that I
v, ‘ 7311 you. I thought you was with Morgan.” ‘ l
».l ,' *Képt posted’bout me, did you? said Tim. “Norm

 

yer; I‘ve follered you for ten years and never met you till ‘
now. I don’t want to fool with you, neither. What’s little
Ralph Campbell ?”

“ What do I know about him '3" replied the outlaw. “ I
ain‘t seen him sence I left Cherry Valley.”

“ You lie i”

“ It’s a noble thing to give a man the lie when you’ve got a
"shooter p'iuted at his heart, ain‘t it now? Look here, you
say you’ve looked fur me a long time. \Vnnl, I’ve looked fur -
you, too, and never met you, and now I ain’t- goiu’ to buck z' 
down." '7

‘f That means fight ?" said Tim.

“ J uss so,” replied Dockstader. “ You realize my meaning
exactly.”

“ When ?”

“ Right now."

“ Weepens ?"

“ Rifles.”

“Good enufl‘ in its way, but that ain't goin’ to bring back
Ralph Campbell's boyraud I'm bound to find ‘him. You cussid 1
£001, do you think to stand up when 1 look through the double
sights." ' =

.“ I didn‘t know you was a coward nfore, Tim Murphy.”

“I didn’t know it either, and I don‘t know it now. I’ve
got you both, hard and fast; and I say you’ve got to tell Ina
whor the boy is.”

“ Don’t I tell you I don‘t know 7’”

“ Don‘t I tell you that’s a lie '3" l

“ Now, curse your impndent tongue, if I git out of this I’ll
make you sweat blood, I will. No mailer whnr the boy is;
you don‘t know and you won't know, so if you mean to murder
me, blaze away." / r

.“ You won't tell ?”

" Nary time.” . . 2

“Then you’ll never git back to that hansum mother 01 "l "
yours. See here ; you take and tie that Injin, hand and
toot, ’cause if we’ve got to fight I won‘t hev him on my back.” , _

‘ “- S’pose he won’t let me tie him it"
“ I reckon he, will, ’cause ef he don‘t he’s a deal
- He’ll lot‘you tie him fut encuzh.” 2 '

¢

 

A “310!!! DUE-

“ Ain’t got any thing to tie him with 1’"

, “ You got a belt, ain’t» you t Wal, tie his feet with that and
' ‘1 and then I’ll tell you what to do next."

With a muttered curse, the outlaw tore off his belt and pro-
ceeded totie his companion, but so loosely that he could have
slipped his feet out of the strap readin enough?" '

' , “ That won’t do,” said Tim. “You strap him tighter, or
It will be wuss fer you. Tie him as if it was me.”

The other complied, and while he was doing this Tim'
slipped olf his own belt and threw it down.

“ There ; take that gun of his and pass it behind his back.
Pat his, hands over it and draw them forward. Now take my
belt and strap his hands in front." ,

' “ You seem to be afraid of a lettle chap like Whistler."

“ Oh, shot up, (10., I don’t want any back talk out of you,‘
'Iom Dockstader. Only do as I tell you and it’ll satisfy me.”

Dockstader complied, very unwillingly indeed, and the
Indian was rendered helpless.

“ Lay him on his back now, you critter. You needn’t be
very easy with him if you don’t keer about it. The little

. “ cuss ought to be hung, and I ain’t quite sartin‘I won’t hang
, him when I git done with him."

Thr. Indian was thrown upon his back and lay there unable

to rise. glaring vindictively at his captor.
._ “ ‘nnt's all right. Now you kin pick up your rifle. She's
' ' . loaded, I s‘poee Y"
a 11,5.” .
“ Then you jest walk to that point of rock and git ready.
I We won’t fire until I am ready, you understand.”

“ It isn’t fair; you have the best chance.”

“ I s’posc so, but it donZt matter. I ain’t goin’ to let you
shoot me in the back. Or, hold on; when you git to that

» pi‘nt you lay your rifle down and come back here. I’ll give
‘ , x . you a fair show anyhow.” ‘ '

The outlaw stepped to the spot indicated and laid his rifle
down and came back at once. “

“Throw down your knife and hatchet," said Tim.

Dockstader obeyed. .

- v “ Now come with me.” 4 f" A,
'- walked together-to aphoeeboutthoumedlstan-

 

74 t m mn‘ cum.

from, the central point with the other rifle, and here Tim laid '
his weapon down, and signaled to Dockstader to come back
' to the center of the glade.

“ Now, I’m goin’ to count three,” he said. “At the word,
you start fur your rifle and I‘ll start for mine. I'm the best
runner and so I’ve laid my ritle filly feet furdcr from the
center than your’n. The niinuit you git your rifle you kin
fire if you like, and I guess that you will. One, two, three i”

At the last syllable the two men shot away in opposite di-
rections. It was purely a ram: for life, and the man that
reached his weapon first had the best chance, since both were
practiced malksmen. A hundred yards of level ground sep-
arated each from his rifle, and they strained cvcry nerve.
Probably, having no seconds to “ see fair,” at better mode
could not have been desired, and no time was wasted. Whis-
tler raised his head and looked with intense interest at the
flying men, for he know that upon the SUCCt‘SS of his white
friend his [own life depended. With a feeling of agony im-
possible to describe he saw that Tim was the best runner, and '

in the first fifty yards took back the odds of distance he had- ‘ ‘

given to equalize the contest. At this moment Tim struck
his foot against a stone and full quite heavily, and before he
could regain his feet the outlaw had won] back the distance
he had lost. Tim knew this, and at once put forth all his
powers. There was no bt-ttrr runncr in the whole Cherry
Valley section than the l'iliyillzm, and scarcely tcn yards inter-
vened between him and his rifle when he had phu'cd him-
self again upon own terms with his (-ncmy.’ Docltstadcr,
looking over his shoulder, saw this fact, and knew that he
was doomed unless some accident happened to him, or he
could study out some plan of escape. Yet he never slicltcned

his speed, and when Tim snatched up his rifle and whirled, the ' r V ‘ I

Tory was upon the hunk of the- rapid creek where he had
laid the rifle, but he did not stoop for it, but with a cry of
fury plunged into the bed of the stream, behind the hank of

which he concealed himself from view. His rifle still lay I 3

upon the bank, within arm’s length othim, but he dared not I
raise his head to get it. Kneeling upon the earth a hundred
and fifty yards away, with his rifle laid across his knee Tim
waited for him to make some efi‘ort to get at his gun. Haw

 

A sum mun mm ‘75

Ing a great respect for the aim of the, riflemtu, Dockstader
was very careful about showing any portion of his anatomy
above the bank, but his situation was irksorne, and he was
actuated by a deadly hatred of the enemy. Soon a coarse
brown hand stole slowly over the bank and moved with cat-
]ike dexteri y toward the ride which lay upon the sod. Murv
phy brought his rifle to his shoulder. every rintaele in his
frame seething all at once to turn to iron, and the weapon
cracked. A yell of agony sounded tlu-ough the ravine and
the hand was quickly wiihdrawn. and 'l'im, holding his see-
barrel ready for a shot, ran rapidly down the pass to-
he place where his enemy was hidden. When he
the spot he found the sod near the rifle-stock stained
cod, and the water discolored at. the bottom, but the
enem ' was gone. Furious at his loss, Tim leaped down the
bank and looked about in the muddy water for traces by
which he could tell whether he had gone up or down—stream,
but he could find no sign. A few yards below, the creek ran
through a pass full of dark places, in which a man could have ‘
concealed himself effectually from all pursuit, and in some
one of these Dockstader had no noubt concealed himself, and
was laughing at his enemy. Grinding his teeth in rage, Tim
picked up the rifle and turned back to the plnce where he
had left the Indian, when a cry of fear from his lips made
him hasten his steps, and he saw Ralph Campl‘ell kneeling
b’eside the savage, with a bared knife clasped in his hand,
evidently mediiazing where to strike. .

“Hold on, Ralph; don't kill him," cried Murphy. “\ lle
ain‘t the one you want, and you haven’t. got his name on your
paper."

“ Red, red, like blood,” replied Ralph, looking up. “ Neath
awa's face was like his, and the spirit whispers that he was
the-7e when the little boy was lost. Let me cut him. and see
the blood flow.” .

“ Not when better game is in the woods,” said' Tim. “ Do
you see this rifle? If I told you the name of the man who
owned it, you would not. wait long."

“ His name ?’.’

.‘4 Tom Dockstader.” , \
__  bounded tohhfeet withawild «mm

 

  
   
    
  
  
   
  
  
 
   
  
 
 
   
   
  
 
 
 
    
  
   
    
 
 

:78 , m am am.
ing‘ his knife above his head. “ Cbme, come, come i" he
screamed. “ Show me the way and I will follow him like a
bound upon the scent, for he is marked, ‘to die.’ ”

“ Come this Way,” srtid the ritleman, who wislied to save
Whistling Wind for the present. “I will show you his blood.

‘ Take your ritle, for you may need it."

They reached the bankawhei‘e the blood of Dockstader yet
showed plainly, and Ralph stooped and looked at it, with an
expression more like sanity than any thing he had seen in it
before, and then leaped down the bank.

“ Come, come,” he whispered. “ I know where to
for him. Ila, ha, who Can hide from Mad Ralph in t
ahawzu'a glen? I'll show you the way.”

V “\Vait umil I lay the Indian in the bushes where
be out of sight," said Tim. “ We‘ll want him when we come
back.”

'i‘im ran back and laid the Indian by the side of the path,
out of sight of any one who might come down the pass by
accident, and then hurried down to the creek again, where
Ralph welcomed him by an impatient gesture.

“I must. find‘ him,” the said; “because I must study his
heart and see if it. is of stone. It must be stone or steel, it in
so hard. Come, come. come, and let me show you the secret
places where he will try to hide.”

He turned down-stream, closely followed by his companion,
who began to realize that he was in fearful company, and to
wonder what would be.the fate of the unfortunate they pur—
sued if he should be so unlucky as to fall into the hands of
the man he had so wronged.

“ Look here. look, look, look i” he whispered, pointing to a
stone beside the stream. “ I told you I could track him.
Here is blood, his blood. Heaven ! can this man bleed ‘3’“

“ What will you do with him if you find him, Ralph? Not“
'3‘“  .I hope i”

’t A would you do with him. if not that? I want to
.W- "a lie howling in the lowest pit, enduring all the tortures
a theaecursed. Ha, be! He will wish then that he had
not done it.” ,
“ But he is not the one who stole your boy.” I ’
“Don't speak of him, Ital you. I remember that» m

  

m name‘s CLUTCH. ‘ W

I

null, and his cheeks were red, and he loved me. Sometimes ‘
when I lie asleep, I seem to hear his voice speaking to me;
his voice, the sweetest voice in all the World. Up here; he
went this way.” .

They began to climb the rugged rocks, upon which the
print of blood, not yet dried up, was plainly to be seen. The
riflemau saw that they were not far from the object of their
V pursuit, and began to think what artifice he could make use

if, to save the unfortunate man alive and make him‘ tell
whether the boy was alive or (lead. They reached the sum-
mit of the rock and began the descent, and Ralph bent to listen.

“ He is here, close at hand. I seem to feel him near me,”
‘he hissed. “ _

Close beside the path there was a thicket of mountain
bushes densely packed together, and they could trace the
blood upon the green leaves. Ralph thrust aside the leaves
and looked in, and as he did so a desperate man sprung up,-
with the blood streaming from his shattered left hand, and
sprung at the nearest enemy, which happened to be Ralph:
But, as he saw his face, he staggered back with a cry of alarm,
and the long claw-like fingers of the maniac were fastened
upon his throat.

“Let up, let up! I thought you were dead. Hold his
hand, Tim Murphy, unless you mean to let him murder me i"

“ He ought to murder you, if so he you‘d call it murder.
I wouldn't for one. The sooner he finishes you oti' the better."

“Help. help! I know more than you think. I‘ll tell )1“!
where to find the boy, give up the old woman, do any thing.
if you will only save me from him. I've only got one hand l
or I wouldn‘t ask help, curse you."

“Hands off. Ralph. Didn't you hear him say he knew
whar to find the boy ?" , /

“.The boy! Does he know? Then let me dig it out of
his stony breast. for there the knowledge lies."

“ Don't hurt him now, because thnr‘s law enough in Cherry
Valley to do him justice. Loose your hold, Ralph, and let K
be tall: to him. Stand up, you nat’ral thief, and answer my
Questions. In the first plmryou say that theboy lives!”

“Yes.” ~

"‘ Lad you’ll find him?! .

 

‘78 m morn omen.

/
x

“ I promise, only keep that madman’s hands olfn me. I
ain’t easily skeered, but I’m afraid of him. You let me lead
and I’ll take you to the boy in half an hour.”

“ I’ll let you lead, but I‘ll be close to you, and if you offer
any treachery, look out fur me.”

“ I‘ll not do that. You’ve got a pistol and know what to
do if 1 play false ; this way.”

They turned down the path again, the outlaw first and the
riflcman following close at his heels with a pistol in each
hand, while Ralph followed with cautious steps. They de-
scended the hill and struck the level country beyond, when
Dockstader gave a signal-cry and bounded into the bushes so
suddenly that Tim had no time to use his pistol, while, at the
same moment, a fierce band of savages rushed out upon them,
and in spite of their, struggles, bore them to the earth.

CHAPTER X.
me come AGAIN.

They were dragged into the open space among the tangled
bushes, and here, to their utter surprise, they saw a strange body
of men assembled. White men, upon whose faces blood«
thirsty cruelty and love of crime was written in plain charac-
ters. Forcmos‘. among them he saw Captain Walter Butler,
a man whose name is rendered infamous in connection with
the fearful massacre or Cherry Valley. Dockstader, with his
bleeding hand held up to awake the indignation of his com-
panions, aml Joseph Brant, who, Indian though he was, was
not so cruel an enemy as either of the white leaders. It is
known what reason Dockstader had to hate the inhabitants of
Cherry Valley, and Butler’s hate is a matter of history. In
1777, this man, the son of John Butler, whose name is indie:
solubly connected with the massacre at Wyoming, was cap-
tured near Fort Dayton, tried, and condemned to death as a
spy, but reprieved and sent a prisoner to Albany. Here he
remained in close confinement until the spring of ’78, when,
by the interposition of his powerful friends, he was allowed

\

 

ins-roman. _ » 7|

to live in a family which was supposed to be Whig, but who
turned out to he Tories, or at least friends of the Butler family.
The young Tory was allowed a single guard, but this man
was made drunk, and Butler, having been supplied with a
fleet horse, mounted, and escaped to Niagara, where he met
his father, just returned from the massacre at Wyoming.

On his way through the Seneca country, with the subtlety
01 his family, he had stirred up the tribe, by telling them that.
,the Americans intended to send a strong force to lay waste
their land, and they were at once ready to join him in an ex-
pedition into 'l‘ryon county. .

Great Tree, a noted Seneca chief, had just returned tn his
own country from the camp of \Vnshington, whom he had
promised to use all his influence to keep his trihe at home, or
if unsuccessful, to take. his own personal friends and join the
Oneidns, who were friendly to the Americans. He found his
people under arms, full of defiance of the Americans, and the '
principal warriors were collected at Knnndaseago and Genesee,
and the chief, believing the tales of Butler, prepared to lead
them on the war-path.

Walter Butler collected a force from his father’s rangers,
and obtained permission to unite with Brant against the whites.
By this time it was late in the season, and he departed early
in October. At Genesee he met Brant, who felt a deep per-
sonal hatred of Butler, but the difficulty was soon adjusted, and
the letter of McKenn still rankling in his breast, he turned
back toward the settlement. Their united forces amounted to
over seven hundred men.

Dean, an Indian interpreter in the Oneida country, had sent
word of the coming expedition to Schuyler. who had the year
before constructed a fort at Cherry Valley, garrisoned by a
force of two hundred and fifty men; under the command of
Colonel Ichabod Alden. On the very day upon which Mur-
phyd‘eturned to the village, he had brought this information
to Colonel Campbell, who had immediately communicated it
to Alden. But Alden, confident that the news was nothing
more than one of the usual alarms, treated it with contempt._
although the inhabitants Were, greatly alarmed. They asked
leave to move into the tort, or deposit their most valuable
Mons there, hut he,‘still incredulous, refused his contain.

 

«a»: g; t: r

80 was more omen.

» New": 

Colonel Aldon, though a soldier, was not an Indian‘fighter‘
and had no idea of the treachery and cruelty of the men he
had to deal with, and he paid dearly for his centumacy, though \
he died like a brave man, with his weapons in his hands. 

After Murphy had left the village, Alden had sent out scouts 3
in various directions, but the only party which took a route
likely to bring them upon the Tory and Indian force, had
already fallen into the hands of their enemies, because they had

i

< . her

 

K : formed the some idea with their leader, that the force of the ;
enemy was greatly exaggerated, and their design no more than '

the incursion of Brent in the spring. Into the power of this

torce the treacherous Doekstnder had led his captors.
“This is the man you want, Bu:lu-,” said he. “Drat his

I head, he shot Frazer at Bemis Eights.”
“ li'a ! say you so ? Is this the famous Tim Murphy ?”
“ Bet; your life it is,” replied Murphy, coolly. “ You don’t
I think l’ll deny my home, do you t"

“ Your name is enough to hang you, my worthy friend,"

said Butler. “ You had better forswenr it." i

“ Why speak in thut way to a brave man ?” said-Brant, ;
advancing. “ I am glad to take. a. good warrior by the hand. I
nnd welcome him. and a hair of his head shall not be touch- 
ed." ~

“ Who says that?" roared Dockstader. “ Do you see this ‘-

hand of mine,,Captain Brant? That’s the man that shot me."
“I care not for that. He is a prisoner, and he shall be
treated as a prisoner.”
“ No; he shall hang for the murder of General Frazer,”
s'iitl Walter Butler.

“ if you hang every one who has killed” men in battle, whnt t.
' man in nil this cmnp my does not deserve (loath? Frazer was _'_\
I. good man and n gallant soldier, the best in that great army ,f‘g',
which surrendered to the Yankee, Gates, at Sarntoga. But he“ ‘
dicd on the brittle-field, as you and I may do Some day, and /  t
‘ we have paid the lmt tribute to his memorv. Do not talk of ‘ I"

. hanging this brave men because he killed the General."
‘1“ I won’t talk about: it now. Put him under guard, Dock-
ntader, and give a good account of hint" _ .
' "flI’I'i do that," replied Dackstader. with I sinister look, i
'\ Ht" Won". trouble he long." v ‘ 37,:

i

 

 gr: :-

.,
2

 

 

 

'rrm merrwa omen. ' ‘81

“ That is right." said Brant. “Let him have a good guard.
two Indians and two white men. Remember that he is not.
your prisoner, but was taken by my men, and they will claim
him. .. “'ho is the other ?"

“ I‘d like to say a word about thax," said Tim. ” You see
that Doekstader, don‘t you? VVnal, ten year ago he stole p
two bosses, one of them mine and the other helonging to this
young man. We caught him and gave him forty lashes."

“ Shut your mouth,” shrieked Dockstader, “ unless you wish
me to fasten it. forever.”

“ Will you keep him elf me while I speak, Captain Brant ‘2" _
said Tim. -‘ I know you are the best man in all this party,
whatever men say ag'in' you.”

“ The man shall speak.” said Brant. “ Go on.”

" I say we gave him forty lashes, and set him in the stocks,-
tmd after that banished him out of Cherry Valley. He sent
back two Mohawks, the man called the Mute Chief, and
another named Whistling Wind. They both came in the night

‘ and tool: out Ralph Campbell, his wife and their little boy. and

beat Ralph till he fainted, and stole the boy. When they,
went away, Neadawa struck Ralph, then, with a hatchet, and
he has or ver been in his right mind sence. N ow I ask
you if the Mohawks and Senecns make war on crazy men ?”

“ Listen,” said Brant, in his mellow voice. “No Indian
will harm a man upon whom the finger of the Great Spirit is
laid. Is this the man they call Mud Ralph'Campbell?”

-‘ Yes.”

“Then he shall not be harmec ,” said Brant, turning and
speaking a few words to the Indians in their own tongue, in
answer to which a murmur rose among them.

“ I have spoken,” said the chief. “The Senecas say that
the weak brain has been punishment enough, and he shall not _
be harmed, though they will keep‘him, lest he should carry
the news to Cherry Valley.”

' “ Captain Brant, it seems to me you take a great deal into
your hands," said Butler. “ You don‘t leave us a' prisoner,
and this Campbell is a personal and vindictive enemy of my
friend Dockstader.”

“ Your friend i"

[Ya-n.

 

    
  

82"- 

“ You heard Murphy say that when there was no war
this man stole horses. I ch005e my friends better than
that."

“ You are trying to quarrel with me. Brant, and you may
succeed if you keep on. I say you have no right to stand in
the way of my revenge or of Dockstader‘s."

“ Dockstader has had revenge enough. His enemy is mad,
his child is stolen away, and yet you seek revenge."

“ You may have your way, for the present, Captain Brant.
Choose your two guards and let Dockstader choose the others,
and see that they take'care of these men. If they escape, be
it on the heads of the guards." I

Brant picked out two men from his personal adherents,
men upon whom he could rely, and Dockstnder culled two
vilainous looking Tories to complete the guard, and the two
men were led away and bound to trees in a neighboring
thicket. "

“See here,‘.’ said Tim, speaking to one of the men. “I
wish you‘d tell Captain Brant I’d like to see him without But-
ler or Dockstader.”

“ Go to the devil," replied the Tory he addressed. “ I‘m
not going your errands, and if I had my way I’d split that
head of yours with my hatchet."

“I s‘pose you‘re used to it. So you won’t call Brant?”

u NO-n L

“Brant is here,” said a quiet voice. “What would you
have with him ‘3"

“ I wanted to tell you something, if you will answer me a '

question to pay for it.”
“ Ask your question then I can tell.”

“I should ’a’ said two questions. Where is Dockstader‘s '

, mother—the woman we called Mag, the Witch—and the Mo—
hawk chief called Neadawa ‘2" ‘

“ I know but little of Need-awe. He does notlive in the Mo-
hawk vlilage, but. has set up his Wigwam in the deep woods,
five miles away. The chief is a mystery to me, and he comes
and goes as the cloud we see to-day and which to-morrow is
gone from our gaze. In battle he is terrible and brings home
many scalps, but hisrvoice is dumb and he can not; endure to
 the Indians, and no one sex him exocptWhistling

 

 

 

  

  
 
 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 
   

 

."Nyr v'

 

‘:

-;-\r 1,.“- A

 

   
  
 

run we csrrrvns.‘ ' 83

Wind and the white woman, you call Mag, the Witch, who
has'livcd in the woods near his cabin.”

“ Where are they now ?” .

“ Mag is‘here, but where Neadawa is I can not tell. He
may be with us toanorrow, or he may not come at all. What
will you tell me in return for this?”

“ If you will send a man up the Tecahawara you’ll find
Whistling Wind in the bushes, tied hand and foot. It‘s no .
use to leave the little cuss there to starve."

Blunt gave one of the guards an order in the Indian tongue
and he hurried away, while Brant remained leaning against a.
tree.

“ Is McKean in Cherry Valley ‘2" he said, at length.

“ No; he has gone to Fort Plain with his family.”

“ That is not right," said Brant. He sent me a challenge,
and I have come to answer it, and now he is not here. He
is a fine soldier to run away like that.”

“ Captain MeKean is a brave sojer, and he wouldn‘t leave
if he thought there was any chance.”

“ I know it." said Brant. “ I would rather take him than
any man in Cherry Valley, but I would not have harmed a
hair of his head.* I am sorry that he is not here to meet me.”

"he Indian who had beenrsent away at this moment re-
turned, and the sachem. after promising that they should not
be harmed, went hastily away. The'afternoon passed, and
Murphy remained bound to the tree facing his demented
friend, who remained with his head bowed, without speaking
a word. There was a look of the deepest dejection in his
face. and his eyes had a mournful expression. Murphy was
in agony for the fate of Cherry Valley, for he felt that, while
*Aldeu was in command, proper precautions would not be
taken. If he had knou‘n that Campbell, unable to preva'l
upon the colonel. had mounted and started for Fort Plain to
hurry up reinforci-ments, his dread Would have been greater,
for he knew that Campbell understood the men with whom
he had to deal. As he stood there he writhed in his bonds,
and had nearly loosened "one hand, when one of the Tories,
with a violent oath, struck_ him upon the.mouth with his
clenched hand». ' ’

. .

fishes ..  

 

u mmcm.

“ You had better stop that, Tim Murphy. I know you of ’
old, and if you try that again I’ll give you the knife instead
of the fist. Do you understand that ?”

“Yes, I seem to realize it," said Tim, shaking his head.
“ Curse you, don't hit a man when he’s tied.”

“ Strike him again, Epps, strike him again. Let me get at
him, and I’ll mark his face for life." ,

s ‘It was his ancient enemy, Mag, the Witch, upon whom the
ten years past had made no perceptible change. The same
sharp, vindictive face, the same bent form, and piercing black
eyes. She stopped short as the guard crossed his musket be-
tween her and the prisoners and held her back.

“ No, no, mother Mag. It won’t do, you know, for Cap.
min Brant has promised that they shall not be injured, and I,
for one, don’t mean to make an enemy of Thayendanegc-a."

“ You are a coward, to let an Indian frighten you like
that.”

“ You ain't got any thing to say against an Injin, much less a
Mohawk, when you know that your meat and drink come
from them this ten year or more," cried Tim. “I s’pose you
have forgot who Jake Dockstader was, and the cross in his
blood 1’”

“ Your foul tongue'has wagged too long, Tim Murphy,” she
hissed. “ I tried to quiet it long ago, and failecL I shall not
fail the second time, you may he sure. Ha, Ralph Campbell,
’madman, fool, what think you now of Mag, the Witch, and
her revenge?”

Campbell raised his head and looked at her steadily, his
cloudedniiud seeming .to struggle for remembrance of her
part in his wrongs. Mag quailed before the steady glare of

, ,thou :irm eyes, and stepped back a pace or two, muttering to
horse}. . ,

“ Her name ‘3” cried Ralph. “ Ah 1 I remember now.
Mag, the Witch, demon, fiendish woman ; if my hands were ~
lease I would teach you what revenge is. The boy! She
has him, and must give him up to me, dead or alive”,

“ Now do you call him crazy 1‘" cried Mag. " It is an inn
position intended to deceive the Mohawks. Be is as sane a
I m" ' V

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» are of insanity, although he strove with all his might to breok
bis bonds.

“ Keep quiet,” growled the Tory called Epps. “ You’d
better, of you know what‘s good for you."

“Take her away. then, take her away. I can not bear the
sight of her cruel fare. Take these cords off, will you? Her
name is on my paper, and she is marked to die. Loose mo,

. and let- me do my work as quickly as I can."

“ Go away, mother Mag,” said the Tory. Go away, I say.
,You are driving him mad, and I’ve got orders ag‘in’ letting
Anybody talk with him.”

Mag slowly retreated, shakingr her hand at the prisoners,
and muttering invectivcs of tho fiercest kind.

“Look to it,” she said. “ Before to-morrow night my re—
venge will be complete, and when Samuel Campbell lies

:- wounded under my hand, I will shriek my name in his ear,
a, and he will know who launched the bolt against him. Watch
.6 your prisoners well, Epps, for if I can get to them they will
 number the earth no more.”

i} , _

In

i

 
       
   
   
   
   
   
   
       
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

“ You look out for her,” said Tim. “ She carries p‘izoned
weepons, and of she gets a chaince she‘ll use ’em.”

“I wouldn‘t care much,” replied Epps.

Tim addressed one of the Mohawks in his oWn tongue, and
he promised to see that she did not get near them. The sun
went down, the stars came up in the sky, and then the clouds
began to drift across the'horizon, and a light snow fell, cover-

‘ ing all the land. And there, in the November night, the
bond awaited the coming of the morning.

    
 

 

   

CHAPTER XI.
THE museum

Tn: morning came slowly, a quiet, peaceful day, the white
snow contrasting with the dark-green foliage of the evergreens,
and Cherry Valley was at peace. No one dreamed of danger.
sad the soldiery in the fort were dozing in their quarters.

  
 
 
 

        

 

    

l8 » run more cm.

pitching quoits upon the green, or playing'at cards for’ fabu-
lous wealth in continental money. Colonel Alden, with his
lieutenant-colonel, lodged with a family named Wells, out-
side the fort. The assurances of Colonel Alden had calmed
the fears of the people, and they slept in perfect security.
Robert Wells was formerly judge of the county, and an
intimate friend of Colonel John Butler and formerly of Sir
William Johnson, the leading men in the Tory ranks. Brant
had taken two prisoners upon the ninth, and had forced from
them the knowledge of the lodging-places of the Colonial oili-
cers, most of whom staid outside the fort.

Moving cautiously forward, the Tories and Indians paused
upon a low hill, covered with evergreens, from which they
could look down upon the unsuspecting village.

Alden was a brave man, although far from a politic one.
He had scouted the story of Indian incursions from con-
viction, on account of the retreat of Brant in the spring, and
he did not think it possible thntany great force threatened the
village. He believed that it was but a repetition of the incur-
sion in the spring, and having two hundred and fifty men
under his command, the colonel slept in security.

The tenth of November, 1778, was a dark day in the his-
tory of the border colonies. Historians have striven to throw
the blame of that fearful massacre entirely upon Brant, but
the men who know best, and no one was better able to judge
than the Campbell family, say that Walter Butler and his
miscreants were more cruel than even the Senecas, the fiercest

tribe of all. ’I‘hnyendanegea has gone to his rest, long since. _

No doubt he killed many, but it, was the fault of his lndiao
blood, and he fought according to the light he had. Certainly
he was noble-minded enough to entertain a supreme contempt
of Walter Butler and men of that class, and only joined them
from policy, ~

The fatniiyhad arisen and were sitting together in the large
room in front of the hcnse, conversing upon the prospects of
war. The colonel was loud in his complaints against tl'nmp-
bell, who had so stirred up the fears of the people and had
now gone to Fort Plain for reinforcements against his advice.
The family of Wells‘were all in the room, his brother and
sister and three of his sons, with Lieutemnt-Colonel Stacie

 
 

 

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‘swm'r-comme Deon.

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 

‘ " I don‘t know, colonel," said Stacie. “ Tim Murphy is ~ g
+-  hardly the man to scare us without a cause, and he brought
' the news from Schuyler."
“ Murphy is a visionary sort of a fellow, and wanted to make
.y. y his visit to Cherry Valley interesting.” '
‘% _ “ I think it would be as well to move the people into the
‘ ' fort for a day or two,” persisted Stacie.

“ I am not going to countenance any such foolishness,
Stacie. Confound it, man. if we begin that sort of thing
we shall have the people running into the fort every time an
Indian is seen.”

“ I hardly think Butler would injure our family," said
. Wells. “ We‘ were very intimate with him once.”

z, “ If you count upon the friendship of the Butler family you
», , reckon without your host,” said Stacia. “ Their tender mer-
‘/ - cies are cruel in the extreme, and they hate the Whigs of
‘ Tryon beyond measure. Do not count upcn ancient friend-
’ i  ships in this case. I know that Brant, vilified as he is. Will

a, ' be more merciful than Walter Butler, who escaped from the
noose by treachery, and who would almost give his life for
vengeance' sake.”

“ Baht Walter Butler is not coming, I tell you,” cried Al-
den. “ You are infected with the popular fear, Stacia ‘2”

_ “ I never was accused of being a coward, sir,” said Stacie.
, ~ 1 “ Nobody accuses you now, but it ofl'ends me to the soul to
‘ hear a man talk as you do, at this juncture.”

At this moment,therc arose a clamor outside and the rapid
beat of boots. ‘taeia run to the window and looked out, and -
saw a man cominvsr at a breakneck gallop down the street,
shouting us he came. The quick eye of the lieutenant-milonel
recognized Tim Murphy, goading‘ the horse he rode. by touch-

- tag him with the point of a. knife. l'Iow had he escaped?
' At the moment the Tory force was put in motion the pris-
. oners hai ,been released and hurried forward to give informa-
_ " 1 tion which Butler desired before entering the town Eutler
v . ‘ had some friends in Cherry Valley, and one especially whom
 - ‘ 'he wished to save without the knoWledge 'of Thayendanegea,
1 who knew and hated the man.
~_ ‘f come this way, Mumhy'.” cried he. , “I want to ask you. _
‘. A h question”

 

  

 
  

 

I ‘

88’ 

Butler was in the saddle, and held a pistol in his hand,snd

he had no fear of any thing the rifleman could do to harm-

him. He moved aside a little from the main body and heck-
oned the prisoner close to him. ‘

“ Do you know a man named Moulton who lives or did
live in Cherry Valley, Tim?"

“ ch, I do, and a p‘izencr critter don’t walk upon two
’feet.” 5

“ Be careful, sir. James Moulton is my friend, and I wish
to save him. Where is he now ?”

“I reckon he don’t need any help from you, capt’in.”

. “ Why not ‘3"

“ ‘Cansc he was shot as a spy at Schuyler a year ago, and
is buried inside the fort. Gansevoort caught him snaking
round the fort, with the British instructions in his pocket, and
that let him out.”

Butler knitted his dark brows sternly at this news and made

 a fierce gesture with the hand which held the pistol, and

\

Murphy saw the flint drop out of the lock. He was a man quick
to act, and when an opportunity showed itself was always
ready to take it. Lifting his hand suddenly, he dealt the
Tory a terrible blow under the car, which shot him out 01
the saddle upon the turf, and before the others had time to
think what they would do, he was in the saddle, going down
the hill like an'arrow from a strong how. There was a fierce
yell from the savages, and a stream of flame leaped after him
from the muzzles of their weapons. and he felt a sharp pain in
his side as a bullet plowed its way along his ribs. The next
[moment he was in Tecahawara Pass, going with all the speed
of the noble horse he bestrode. A ride for life or deathi If
he could only get to the village in time he might yet save
many from the impending doom. He heard the swift patter
of feet behind him, the word of command from many months,
and the shrill yells of the savages, and these spurred him to
new exertions. 0n, on, the wind singing past his ears, his
bloou dropping on the sod, went the bold rifleman ; he reached

the village street and saw the house of Wells before him,

where he lmew Colonel Alden was staying.
‘f The colonel, the colonel i” he gasped. “ Where is he P’
‘ Here," u'led 51.315. " Colonel, come to the mew

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V'Pish!” said Alden, rising slowly.
suppose Well, sir, what is it ?”

“You are in danger. Get to the fort'es soon as you can
and take the family with you. For your lives, for your lives!
I will ride on and give the alarm.”

To the surprise of every one the colonel sat down again -
with an indolent yawn.

“ This is a plot against me," he said. “Tim Murphy is de-
termined that I shall not have my breakfast, and I am equally
determined that I will."

“ For God‘s sake, colonel, don't delay," said Wells, in
dorm. “ Think of my family if there is any danger.”

“ Yip, yip, yip, yab—hoo-oo-oo l" pealed the war-cry of

“ Another alarm, I

 the Senecas. That moment of indecision cost. the unhappy

family dear, for the swift-footed Indians had not been far he.
hind the flying riflcmun. and had made straight for the house
of Wells. Unfortunately for them, the Tories had stopped
for a moment to look at their priming, which was out of
order on account of the dampness, and during the pause, the
Senecas, eager for blood, sprung on in advance. Mixed with
the red group were several Tories of no less ferocity, and
foremost of all came Neadawa, the Mute Chief, bearing a
hatchet in one hand and a knife in the other, already stained
with blood. The doors and Windows were beaten down, and
they poured in together upon the ati'righted inmates. Alden
saw too late that he had been deceived. and leaping from the
window ran down the hill. But, Neadawa and Whistling
Wind lmd singled him out as a victim and pursued. Twice
the latter called upon him to surrender, to which he replied
by snapping a pistol at them, but without effect, and then con-
.tinued his flight, Being fleet of foot, be was widening the

distance between them, when Neadaws stopped, and balanced

his hatchet for a throw. A beam of light flashed through
the air, and the unfortunate colonel went down, weltering in
his gore, and Neadawa, placing his foot upon his breast, tore off
his reciting scalp, thrust it into his belt, and darted toward
Gunpbell’s house. .

Thus, in the first (meet, fell the man who was most to
blame for the slaughter-“of that day. It he had Hugged gm.
figure series all might have been won, (or, m m

  

    

THEKDIECHIE'.

showed that the fort was not their object.

He had paid the
penalty of his indiscrction, and at least died like a man and a
soldier.

Campbell's house was fortified strongly, for, seeing that
Alden would do nothing to insure the safety of those commit-
ted to his charge, the colonel had taken every means in his-

power to proteec his own people from assault. Strong shut-
ters, securely bolted upon the inside, protected the wiutlows,
and the doors were guarded with iron bars. But Campbell
being away, they hall shared with Alden a certain feeling of
security, and until Tim Murphy dashed up to the door they
had no thought of danger ; but Myra, who was at the door,
called thither by the great tumult, was the first to see him.

“ Iujins l” he cried. “ Into the house with you, and bar the
doors." / »

Myra was quick to act, and Tim worked like a hero. A1—
ready the yells of the Indians sounded in their ears, and they
heard the rush of coming feet, but the door of massive oak
nowstood between them and their enemies. At. the same
time the Rangers of Butler poured into the town, driving be-
fore them a few scattered soldiers, who had been caught out-
side the fort. Stacia was a prisoner, 'Aldcn dead, and the
command devolved upon minor officers, who had luckily
reached the fort in time. But, their weak numbers precluded
the possibility of standing up against the heavy force of the
enemy outside, and all they could hope to do was to defend
the fort, without giving protection to the unfortunates of the
village. Then was enacted one of those fearful scenes which

I0 disgraced the history of those times. The family of Robert

Wells perished miserably, although a faint effort was made by
' a Tory to save the unfortunate Jane. but, pushing him aside
with one hand the ferocious savage who had marked her for
his prey buried his hatchet in her temple.

The Reverend Mr. Dunlap, one of the pioneers of the set-
tlement, saw :his wife murdered before his eyes. and was only
saved by the interposition of Little Aaron, lhe Mohawk, who,
like Brant, did 'not‘ delight in the slaughter of old men and
helpless innocence. . Mitchell, another pioneer, finding himself
'_cut off from the village, took to the woods and  Re-
turning wife's axe-enemy had retired, he found his viio and

 
   

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9; ‘ messscu. , 91 \1‘

three children lying dead under his burning roof, and a fourth
child, a girl of tender age, with some little life remaining.
While striving to revive her, he heard footsteps returning, and
concealed himself just as a straggling party of Tories and In-
dians, led by a sergeant, named Newherry, rushed into the
house. Seeing the girl upon the floor, mangled by his infa-
,,mons associates. but still alive, he finished her struggles by a
__ ’ fiblow from a hatchet, while the wretched father, from his
‘ '1 hiding—place, looked on in agony, unable to give her aid.

Mag the Witch was not idle, and with a blazing torch in ~
I one hand and a hatchet in the other, accompanied the Indians
' in their work of death. All that was savage in her nature
seemed to he aroused by the bloody scene, and she laughed
in demoniac glee as she passed the manglrd forms of men and
women she had hated when living. At last she came to
Campbell’s house, where with axes and a bar, a party of Tories
and Mohawks, incited by Ncadawa, were struggling to break
, in. The Mute Chief fought like a demon, his~face full of
f." fury, and the old woman saw that he had been wounded, for
I :i} ‘ his luft hand was enveloped in a bloody cloth. Uttering
fierce hut inarticulate cries, he aided the efforts as much as he
could with his single hand, until, yielding at length to theii
'. E united efi‘orts. the great door went down with a crash, and

t ' they poured in to the destruction of the inmates. Murphy
saw that all was over and that he must save himself. Myra
was already struggling in the grasp of the Mute Chief, who ‘_
evidently did not intend to slay her, for he pushed back Mag-
with h'Ls hatchet when she rushed at. the prisoner with gleam-
». -’ lug blade, making a savage signal of disapprobation.
 “Where is Samuel Campbell ?" screamed Mag. “ Do you
- '  ‘ thka I have waited all these years to be balked at last I
V _ W Where is he, I say ?”

" ' V“ Where your malignity can not reach him, thank Heaven,”

g- ' laid Myra.

rs. « Where is my son, Newborry ‘2” cried the hag, addressing
. the Tory sergeant, who afterward killed Mitchell's child.

“ Why is he not here to see revenge torn from his grasp ‘9"
. x. u He staid with the rear guard. That hand hurt him 50.
f- much he wouldn‘t tight today.”
i,  t a; heth my son is turning coward. What’s that?”

.  1'-
s...“ . \.

 

 

 

 

 

um m cm.

A terrific combat sounded in the next room, and, bursting
in the door, they were just in time to see Tim Murphy leap
out of the window, leaving two Mohawks (lend upon the floor.
Half a dozen men sprung out after him, but he knew the
place well, and throwing himself into the ditch of the fort,
climbed an angle to one of the embrusures before they could
reach him, and disappeared amid howls of rage from his pur-
auers, who had counted upon his capture. A furious attack.
upon the fort followed, in which the rifle of Tim Murphy
- avenged some of the poor murdered victims outside. He tried
to get sight of Walter Butler“ or Dockstnder,hut both these
worthies kept themselves well out of sight, having no desire
to fall victims to the deadly aim of the man whose bullet had
brought down Frazer, at Bemis Hights But Indians are
rarely- good at assailing a. fortification, and a dose of grape.
soon sickened them of that game, and they sated their love of}
bloodshed and destruction by laying waste the beautiful
village.

It was a terrible thing for that garrison to remain without
a movement inside the works and see the red fiendsiscamper-
ing up and down among the houses. now and then dragging
out some wretched being from a hiding-place, and murdering
him before the eyes of the garrison. Walter Butler looked
on unmoved, and even exulted in the work he had done, al-
though he afterward attempted to fasten the odium upon
Brant. But it is known that Thayendanegea saved more
than one life that tiny from the evil passions of the Tories, al-'
though he cut. down the mat wherever he could' find them.
But the work was done ; Cherry Valley was a mass of smok-
ing ruins, and among them lay the mangled forms of thirty
two slain of the inhabitants and sixteen soldiers who had 131-
len in the first onset. And Myra Campbell, Samuel Camp-
' hell’s wife, and many more, were led prisoners toward the
distant North.

2-

/

   
   
    

 
   

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- children.

; to her husband.”

 

CHAPTER XI.
THE FATAL snow.

3m FR, having done all the evil possible in Cherry Vul-

: Icy. called 03' his forces and began his retreat, having given
- up any slight idea he might have had of taking the fort it-
self. for the infamous cowards under his command Were only
equal to the task of murdering unarmed men, women and
Once out of the limits of the settlement, he broke
up his band, who departed by different routes, with instruc-
tions to meet at a point not far from Cannjohnrie. The.
Mute Chief, with his prisoners, consisting of Ralph Campbell
and his wife, with a dozen Indians and half as many mem-
bers of the Tory rangers and the savages, marched rapidly,
forcing their prisoners with them, and threatening them with
the greatest cruelties if they did not keep up. Half naked,

' pinched by cold and hunger, and Ralph suli'ering from a

Wuutld he had received by accident, it is a wonder that they
did not perish on the way; but, woman’s love for her hus-
band is strong, and Myra was upheld by the wish to remain
with her husband, and to comfort him. Mag the Witch was
of the party, riding a shaggy Indian pony, and letting slip
‘no opportunity of heaping indignities upon the unfortunate
prisoners. t
They camped at night upon one of the tributary branches ‘
of the Mohawk, and the Mute Chief approached the suffering
woman, and olfered her food and drink.
"‘ Give it to my husband,” she said.
than I do.”
Neudnwn shook his head sternly, and made a signal for
' Whistling Wind to come up, giving him an order by his
usual mode of communication.
“ Eat,” said Whistling Wind. “ The chief commands.”
“ You may tell the chief then that a weak woman defle-
him. if he thinks to force her to eat, and will not give food

3".
“ He needs it more 3

 

  

94 muoncm

f‘ Then he will kill you," replied Whistling Wind. “ Be-
ware that you do not rouse the bad blood in the heart of
Neadawa.” -

“I can die, if need be, but I will not yield to him. Give
my husband food and then I will eat too, and be grateful for
it."

Seeing that she was not to be intimidated, they placed food >

and drink before Ralph Campbell, and unbound his hands.
He had not tasted any thing since the night before, and ate
voracioufly, now and then glancing at the set face of Neadawa
in a fixed, intent way, as if studying something there which
puzzled him. Seeing her husband eat, Myra also took some
food, while the Indians and white men built fires and sat
about them. There was a slight stripling in the dress of the
Red Rangers who sat apart from the rest, scarcely exchang-
ing a word with any one except Mag, and that in the Indian
tongue. He kept his face turned away from the party, but
there was something in his air which reminded Myra of some
one she had seen before, and she called to Whistling Wind

“ Who is that young Indian sitting by Mag ?”

“ Neadawa’s son.”

“The one who was in the village, ten years ago 1*”

The Indian nodded slowly, but refused to answer‘more
questions. Shortly after this Mag left her seat upon the log
and came to the place where Myra was sitting.

“ My revenge is not quite complete," she said. “ Nor can
it be until Samuel Campbell is (lead. I shall live long enough
to see that yet, and it is something to know that. when he
returns to his home, he will find it desolate, his wife and
children prisoners, and man nor child nor living thing re-
rnaininé,r under his roof. This is all my work, mine! I am
proud of it, so proud that I can hardly endure the feeling.
You tremble, and you wonder why 1 hate him, and i think
it time for you to know. Do you see this locket? Open it
and look at. the focus it contains.” _

She removed from her neck the golden locket, which she
had opened upon the night when her son was banished, and
placed it in Myra‘s hand, and the young wife looked wonder
1neg atthe pictured faces — ‘ -

“ Do you recognize the faces i”

 

 

 

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m errsr mun. . 95

     

I “ No; yet it seems to me that in the man’s face there is a
likeness to my husband‘s uncle, Samuel Campbell,”
“There is, and with good reason, for he was of the same'

’blood—his cousin, though older than Campbell. You do not

. know the other face, but you have seen it often. Changed

' from what it was when that picture was painted forty years

Tago, but time sets his mark upon all faces. Th it picture is
 my own.”

' “ Yours .7"

"“ Yes. You look at me in wonder that I should lay claim
to this, but it is true. That man was my husband, and my
‘name was Margaret Fuller. I married him because he loved

me, and for that his parents cost him off, and he (lied miser-

ably in the flower of his youth, worn out by sorrow and toil.

Why did they hate me? Because I was a Gitafia, one of

the out-cast race of Egypt, and the daughter of a king among

them. They hunted us down, the proud race of the Camp-
bells, and never rested until my husband was under the sod ;
' and that wealth which should have been his, which would

‘have saved him, went to this same Samuel Campbell. whom

I hate. I came to him in New York and claimed my place,

but he called me a Gipsy drab, and cast me out. I was young,

then, and I swore that, sooner or later, I would have re-
venge. I left New York, helpless, homeless, and wandered
out into the forest. There I was found by the man who
became my husband, and I married him because he promised ~'
to avenge me on my adversary. But. fate seemed against us.
5  Three times his life was saved almost by a miracle, and a'.
i ' last, while ten'uperiug a poisoned knife for him, my husband
Wounded himself in the hand and perished. At this time we
‘ ' had followed the Campbells to Cherry Valley, in the hope of

I vengeance, and I was left alone with my son, then a boy of

eighteen. I trained him up for vengeance, and, after long
“ years, he succeeded. Then, years ago your husband brought

upon his head the same vengeance, and you see the result.”
“ Cruel woman, do you not See that all this is recoiling on
, yourself? It is true that you have destroyed my happiness,
 but, what does it avail you, when you know that the man you
have pursued so remorselessly for many years has escaped

from your toils l"

 
       
   
   
   
      

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/

mum CHM.

“ There is time yet. He knows from whence the blow
comes—none so well as he, and when he looks upon his mined

‘home he will say, ‘ Margaret has been at wor .’ "
“ Yet we defy you still, and God will yet require justice at

your hands for the innocent blood you have been the means-5

of shedding. It is a long road of guilt and crime you have

train-led, but. something speaks to me and tells me that yonr': ,
A prophetic voice—the utterance of -
And when you ‘

,‘iime is nearly done.

which I can not t1n(ler<tand.—tells me this.
come- to the bar of God, how will you answer for the crimes
of which you are gnilly?
noeents of Cherry Valley is on your soul.”

“ Some fiend makes you speak in this way, woman. What
care I if a hundred tongues cry out against me? I have had
revenge, and Gilbert \Varrington, my husband, is in port
avenged. When your feet bleed in the weary march to
Canada, when you see your husband at the stake, remember
that it is my work.”

“ Where is your son? Even he can not be as cruel as you
ore". \

“ He will meet us after we cross the Mohawk, and whemhe
does, bid good-by to your husband, for there he meets his
fate. I am not one to turn back from any course I have
marked out, and I will tread it unfalteringly, even to the
end.” '

“ Leave me to myself, vindictive woman,” said Myra, cover-
ing her face.

At this moment, one of the Tories spoke some sharp words
to Whistling Wind, and pointed to the prisoners as he did so,
and the savage called to the Mute Chief.,

“ This white man says they shhll not be wronged," ho
shrieked. “ And I say that they shall burn.”

The Mule Chief shook his head, and his quick fingers
flashed out n. reply.

“ You say that the man we may burn, but the woman must
‘come into your lodge ?" demanded Whistling Wind.

Neadawa. made an affirmative gesture, and Whistling Wind
looked gratified. .

" May we light the fire now I”-
I Ya."

  

The blood of all the martyred in-vf

 

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~ g  - ’ A mean know. Mr

“ Wait,” said Mag. starting up. “ This must not be. Do
you think I have worked for my son so long, to see him rob-
bed of his revenge at this late hour? You must wait until

 “he comes.” »

’ “ When men go out upon the warmth the women must
keep silent," said Whistling \Viud, in the Indian tongue,
which she perfectly understood. “ If Joseph Brunt is a squuw
 r and takes no delight in seeing the blood of his enemies flow,
3  Whistling Wind is not of his mind. Woman, what do the
Mohawks cure for your son ‘3”

" F001 1" she hissod. “ You know not what you say.
Doelrstnder must be here when the tire curls up about the
‘2 body of Ralph Campbell, and hear his dying groans.” .
5 “He must die now,” replied Whistling Wind, or he will
,I‘ escape. I heard Butler and Captain Brant whisper in each
Y other's ears that the prisoners should be set free when they
, reached the Mohawk. Shall all our labor be in vain ?”

V

 

 

“ You shall Wllit for my son,” replied Mag. “ Are you the

g, man to brave me, Whistling Wind? I defy you and all your

 red fiends, and say that Ralph Campbell must live until my

  son comes, when you may kill him if you like.”

At During this dialogue, the Mute Chief stood with his head bent
71' in thoughtful attitude, and his hand playing with the handle
’ '3‘ of his hatchet, evitleptly lOlh to interfere.

'l 3:8» " You have said that he shall die," snid the old Mohawk,

L" appealing to the Mute Chief. “Tell this woman, so that she

‘3’» may hear it."

r-‘i “ I care no more for his commands than yours, so that you
need not trouble him," replied Meg. “ Once for all you must
wait.” -

V VVhisiling \Vind made a sudden spring, designing to‘seize
the old woan and thrust her aside; but, to the horror of all,
she made a cat-like leap to one side, and something bright

. flushed in the rays of the declining sun. So sudden was the
'blow, that not a hand could be raised to interfere, and the
bright blade. was buried to the hilt in the neck of Whistling
Wind, who fell with a gurgle in his throat, preseging death.

The Indians rose as one man, and tomnlmwlts and knives
 flushed in the suumys. It was at this moment that Ralph

Campbell, who had been working at the cords upon his leg!

   

 

 
  
 
 
  
  

 

 

 

 
 

\

a rim Mum cm.

during this scene, completely cleared his limbs from“ the rope.
and, seizing his wife by the waist, placed himself at one bound
in the midst of the Tory guard, who rose with leveled weapons
to protect him. A

“ Iwarned him," screamed Mag. “ Hal hat Who else
ambng you will try the poisoned dagger of Mag the Witch?
Let him speak now, or hold his peace forever.”

The Mute Chief had given utterance to one of his inartieu
ate cries when \Vhistliug Wind fell, and stood apparently
stupetied at the horrible act, while his companions leveled their
weapons at the heart of the old woman. He ran in before ,
their weapons and pushed them back, and then, raising the
body of Whistling Wind he laid it on the sod, and thrust his
hand into the clothing to see if he yet lived. But, the spiteful
strength of Mag had driven the keen blade downward until it
touched the vitals, and Whistling Wind had done his last of
wickedness on earth. Neadawa looked around him with a
bewildered air. This man had been useful to him, a sort of
interpreter in the little he had to say, and had clung to his
fortunes closely. And now, he lay dead at his feet, and no
one was better fitted to be his avenger than the man to whom
he had clung so many years. Neadawa staggered to his feet
and looked at the Indians, who had as yet made no attempt
to take back their prisoners, or to avenge the death of Whist-
ling Wind. They waited for the orders of their chief.

One, who was a leading brave, spoke a few words to Neadaws
in the Indian tongue, and asked him if he should be spokes
man, and the chief inclined his head, in an uncertain man- 1
her.

The Indian who had been selected as spokesman advanced,
and spread out his hands in an impressive gesture. '

“ My brothers, see what has been done,” he said. “ Whist-
ling lVind lies dead, and this woman is his murderer. The
Mute Chief asks through me, that you should give her up to
as.” ,

“ I can’t do that,” replied a Tory sergeant. “ The man had

no business to touch her. She’s a born devil, I allow, but _ ,I 

though she's guilty by our law, and must hang for it, I won’t
give‘her up to your tender mercies." , .
" The chief will not take this for an answer. His friend it

 

‘ m MUTE roman Loom.

dead, and he can not wait for the slow justice of the white.
man. He would have her die at once."

“ Does he say that i‘,’ screamed Mag.

“ Yes.”

Mag snatched a pistol from the belt of the man who stood
nearest, and discharged its contents into the bosom of the
Mate Chief. He threw up his hands, and, as he fell, to the
surprise and horror of all, the mute tongue spoke. “ You have
killed me, mother 1"

~ It was the voice of the half-breed, Tum Docksteder.

CHAPTER XII.
IN ms own SNARE.

MAG, with a fearful cry of agony, ran to the side of her
dying son and raised his head upon her lap. She saw now
how she herself had been deceived by her son, in his assumed
character of the Mute Chief. Paint. had disguised his face,
and the tongue which would have betrayed him, he had with
almost superhuman fortitude kept chained for many years,
rather than lose caste among the Mohawks. His long disap-
pearances from Cherry Valley were now explained, for they
understood that, at these times,in his character as the Mute
Chief. he had taken part in the wars of the Mohawks. Living
apart from them as he did, rarely seeing any one except his

ndian wife, it is no wonder that he had not been long ago
detected. He had kept up the deception even with his mother,
only visiting her in his true character. Even Whistling Wind,
who had been his faithful servant for twenty years. during
which he had worn the garb of the Mohawk at intervals, never
doubted but that he was a true Indian, as, indeed. he was at
heart. Possessing all the tacittu'n demeanor of the savage,
taken from his father, and added to the fact that his tongue
was silent, he had lgpt up the deceit, even unto death.

“ It' is all over, mother. I‘m shot to death, but I little
thought yours would be the hand to strike the blow, and that
in the defense of Ralph Campbell.” ‘

 

100 ’.' runners-om.

“It was for your sake I did it My poor boy—my boy
'I‘oml Oh, that I should ever live to see this day.” -
: “ Drat it, mother, never mind. I’ve thought all my life I’d
never die in bed, and I don’t know that I keer to. Mine has
been a. wild life, and it has a wild ending. Don‘t think I'm
turnin’ soft because I ask you something that’ll go ag‘in’ the
grain. Look at Ralph Campbell; he's bin my inemy through »
life, and now I look at him, it. seems to me it would hev bin
Leas punishment for him of we’d a-liilled him that night thin.
to let him live who does. Drop it, and do your best to make
amends."

“Not. I!" replied Mag. hoarsely. “ You wouldn’t ask it
A but that the death-dump is gntherin’ on your forehead, the
death I gave you—I, that loved you so much and so long.”

“ I don‘t know what to say to you, mother. I know that
you’ve had great wrongs, and suffered much, but so have they.
Whar‘s the boy? Ef you won’t tell them, I must.”

“ Silence! Do you want me to curse you, dying, and wish
that my aim had been truer? Don’t turn soft now, but die
like a man, grinding your teeth at your enemies. That’s the
way to live, that’s the way to die.”

At this moment the clutter of heels was heard, and a large
party of the Tory rangers. led by Butler, and accompanied by
Joseph Brant, rode up and joined them.

“ What is this ‘i” cried Brant, in alarm. “ Who has slain
Neadawa ?”

“ Neadawa no more,” replied Doekstader, in a hollow voice.
“ You see no longer the Mute Jhief, but Tom Dockstader, the
descendant of a Mohan chief, lies dying here. I‘ve been 11'
Wicked man, but I’ve always done justice to the Indians—9J—
ways."

A fresh stream of blood gushed from the Wound of Dock-
Itader as he concluded, and ’l‘lmyendanegea turned away, and
deset nding from the saddle, saluted Myra courteously, who'
Was yet standing, encircled by the arm of her husband, while
lIug.still held her deflant’ attitude. Just then a boy in the
dress of the Tory rangers, tall and strong, with a brown, but
handsome, face, rode up and addressed the son of Ncadawa
in the Indian tongue; Dockstnder raised himself with n
effort, and pointing to the lad, cried out :.

 

i

“There is your son, Myra Campbell; pray for the rest of
mv soul."

With the words his spirit tied, and the boy who had been
pointed out became the observed of all eyes. Myra opened
her arms, and, with a joyful cry, he ran to her and- threw
himself into them, and was fondly pressed to that maternal
breast. Mag the \Vitch glared with \voltish eyes about her,
and crying, “I will triumph yet,” sprung at the pair, with up-
lifted knife. But, slipping in the warm blood of her son, she
fell prostrate, and the dagger found a sheath in her own
breast. So suddenly vas this done that she lay gasping her
life away before they could realize the danger. Raising her-
self upon her elbow, she plucked the streaming blade from her
breast and held it up.

“ Shade of my departed husband,” she cried, “ bear witness
that in all this Margaret has been faithful to her oath; My.
curse upon you all.”

And, catching up a handful of dust in the hand which had
held the dagger, she cast it at them with n vindictive gesture,
and in the etl'ort her life was gone.

Young Ralph Campbell and his father stood face to face, a
startled expression in the countenance of the elder, and of
wonder and pity in that of the boy. He had not forgotten
the beautiful face of his mother nor the stately form of his
father. Suddenly the maniac put his hand to his head, gave
n. terrible cry and fell at the feet of his son. Walter Butler‘s
surgeon was with the party, and he attended to the fallen
m_nn, and after a great ell‘nrt. brought him back to «oust-ions-
ness. \Vhen his eyes opened they no longer beamed with the .
fires of madness, and he knew the face of his wife.

“ My darling,” he cried. “ how is this? Where am I?"

‘f You have been very ill," replied Myra, “ but. you are better
now. Is he not, doctor?" .

“Certainly; as healthy in awry way as you and I. In
fact, curs-d by the shock of meeting his son so suddenly after
many years."

“5 Thank you, doctor. Look, Ralph, here is our son, and
though hehaa forgotten the language he learned from my
lips, he knew me in an instant Captain Brant,w.here are we
toga!”

 

    

 
 

1M ‘ mm mm amt.

- “ Youare to be released and allowed to go to Fort Plain.
I am sorry that my men forgot themselves in their desire for
blood, but it has turned out happily for you. Two such en- t
emit-s as those who lie dead one could not easily find. Six
of my young men shall take you safely within sight of Fort
Plain, and may the people of Cherry Valley in the time to

\ come, beware how they insult a great chief.” I

“ My son goes with me, does he not, captain? You would
nol separate us.”

“ It shall he as Ice says," said the chief, speaking to the boy
in the Indian tongue. He threw his arm about his mo-
ther’s neck by way of reply.

“It is enough l” said Thnyendanegea. “ The love of his
mother is strong in the boy‘s heart, and he will go home with
her. Let hin‘ remember that. the Indians loved him well."

He pickerl out a. guard of trusty men and bade them fare«
well. The 'oscucd party, father, mother and son, escorted
by; the six strong Mohawks, set out toward the friendly vil-
lage, which they reached in safety.

Ralph was in weak health for over a year, but at the end of
that time a strong constitution triumphed, and he became the
some strong man he was before this aflliction fell upon him.

The Indian lny who had been called the son of Nendawa,
was indeed his child, for, unknown to his mother, he had
married a wonm 1 of the Mohawk nation in his Character as
the Mute Chief lie was now a young man, nearly twenty
years of ago, an i had remained the true friend of little Ralph
during his imp! soumcnt. He remained with the Mohawks,
and in time be mine a celebrated warrior, lived a brave life,
and died. at a I’l'CL’D old age, in the lodges of 'his people.

Tim Murphy lived through the war and trained his recov-
eret‘. pet in wcoderaft. His name is not. unknown in the an-
nals of “ Old 'l‘ryon.” \

/ The ten years of his life during which Ralph Campbell

lostthis senses were to him like a trouhled dream, and he did"

not'lcare to refer to them. He lived long enough to see his

country free, Tory and British driven from the land, and to
bee: the prattle of his lost son‘s children at his knee.

mm

 

  
   

 

 

 

Y »

reg/M». 

 

 

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