The Frontier Angel: A Romance of Kentucky Rangers' Life

"Oh, nothing!" he laughed, kissing her glowing cheek.

"I mean I know more of him, Russel, because he has plagued me more with his presence than he has you. I dreaded him as I did a serpent, and when I, at last, told him I never wished to see him again, he left me with a curse. O Russel! it was not me alone that he cursed, but you! He swore that he would kill you, for he knew you were the cause of it, and he said I should suffer, too."

"You are not alarmed for me, Marian?"

"Yes, for I shall fear his power as long as he lives. I almost wish that father would remain here, but there is no persuading him, and I shall not falter at the last moment."

"I cannot share your apprehension. You are going to a settlement which is well-guarded, and whose inhabitants are experienced in Indian warfare. I can see no reason for fear."

"I trust there is not, but if I ever get there I shall look anxiously for my parents and your arrival."

The two conversed longer upon the departure tomorrow, and discussed their plans for the future, until, when the storm had ceased, our hero took his departure.

As perhaps the reader has surmised, the person referred to by the parents and the lovers, had once sought the hand of Marian. He had made his appearance in the village a year or two previous, and gave his name as Tom McGable. Further than this, nothing was known. He professed to belong to the Eastern states, and had no relations or acquaintances in the village. He was a thin, nervous, sharp-featured man, with long Indian hair, dark, restless eyes, and a forbidding cast of countenance. He was a person of awful passions, and was dreaded by all who knew him. Marian turned from his advances with loathing, but he pertinaciously persisted until he was driven from her house. He left, vowing revenge; and rumor shortly after reached the village that he had gone further west and united with the Indians against the whites. There was good reason for this report, as all knew that he was a man who would stop at nothing that might gratify his vindictive feelings.

CHAPTER II.

THE FATE OF THE FLAT-BOAT

As was predicted, the storm soon cleared away, and the morning dawned bright and beautiful. Birds were singing and flitting from limb to limb, the water sparkled upon the grass and twigs, and by the time it was fairly light, the whole village was astir.

Down in the water, but safely moored to shore, rested a flat-boat, waiting for its living freight, before being loosened from its fastenings. As the commotion in the village increased, numbers commenced wending their way toward the river, and in a short time nearly all stood upon the shore. The majority carried furniture and utensils with them, which, by passing over several planks, were deposited upon the boat.

The farewells were now given. There were ten men, seven of whom had wives, besides Marian, so that the entire number was eighteen. With the exception of the latter, these had embarked all of their wealth and possessions upon this perilous undertaking.

Marian embraced her parents, received their last advice, and, as she passed over the plank, encountered Mansfield.

"Good-by," she said, gayly; "I shall soon expect you."

He took her hand, and, holding it a moment, said:

"I trust we shall be separated but a short time, dear Marian. I have lain awake all night thinking of this, and I believe there is danger – danger not only upon the river, but after you have reached your destination. You know to whom I refer – and oh! let me beseech you to be careful of exposing yourself. God bless you! Good-by, and may we soon meet again."

He wrung her hand, as she passed over the boat; the plank was drawn on board, the fastenings unloosened, and the flat-boat commenced slowly moving with the current.

"Good luck to you!" called out Abbot. "Look out for danger; have your eyes open for decoys, and don't, under any pretense, be induced to leave the center of the stream. If you are betrayed, you will have no one to blame but yourselves, for you are now warned."

The flat-boat slowly swept out into the stream, and, after a time, gaining the center of the current, moved forward with greater rapidity. Numbers yet stood upon the shore, waving their farewells; but the boat soon rounded a bend, and they all disappeared from view.

Those on board now withdrew their eyes from the shore, and made preparations for the perilous journey before them. The flat-boat was a large, unwieldy affair, built like all similar ones, so as to float with the current alone. The sides were bullet-proof, and the shape of the thing was similar to a box. About three-fourths of the length were taken up as the cabin, which communicated with the other part by means of a small door. A long, sweeping oar was hung at each end, and balanced so as to dip into the water. There was a small space at either end of the boat which could be reached by passing through the cabin. The latter was divided into two compartments, and as regarded comfort and convenience, probably the flat-boat could have been little improved.

The occasion and season of the year were such that none could help feeling buoyant and hopeful. The sun was now up in the heavens, shedding its warm and cheering rays upon forest and river. The rain-drops hung like pendent jewels, and the river glistened like molten gold. A thin mist was rising along the shore, as the sun's warmth grew greater. Now and then a woodsman's cabin was passed, and it could be seen nestling in the small clearing, and apparently as comfortable as though no enemy had ever threatened it. Perhaps the settler himself came forth with his wife to wonder and view the passing boat, and exchange salutations with the first white persons they had seen for months. Toward noon they detected a solitary form standing below them, upon a bend in the river. A nearer approach, showed him to be a hunter. He waved his coon-skin cap over his head as they came abreast, gave a cheering hurrah, and called out:

"Keep a powerful look-out for reds, you, fur they're thick as flies in August down toward the Big Sandy and Sciota. Wal they is, strangers; and if you gits through without gittin' a taste of thar compliments, why, here's as will stand treat all round."

After giving this warning, the hunter watched them a few minutes longer, and then turned and disappeared in the forest.

Some miles farther down they passed a small settlement which had been commenced but a few months before. A block-house, however, was erected and stood at one end, as if to ward off all approach. It was a clumsy, awkward building, but abundantly able to answer every purpose for which it was intended. It was two stories in height, the upper one so much smaller than the lower one, that it had the appearance of standing upon a platform. The outer edge of this projection was protected by palisades, inclosing it, except at one point where the gaping mouth of a swivel gave warning of the resistance it was capable of giving. The instrument was of brass, and so brightly burnished that it could be seen gleaming in the sunlight by those upon the flat-boat. A sentinel was pacing slowly around the block-house, a long rifle resting upon his shoulder, and his keen eye sweeping the horizon at a glance. As he caught sight of the flat-boat, he raised his cap and saluted it; and shortly after several others appeared beside him and did the same. Our friends returned the salutation, and continued watching the tiny settlement until the intervening forest hid it from view.

This block-house was constructed somewhat differently from those generally upon the frontiers, although now and then a similar one is found even at this day.

The settlements and solitary cabins were still passed at long intervals, and the night proved so dark and cheerless, that they put into shore near a small cluster of houses and spent the night. As they were hardly yet in dangerous territory, they committed no indiscretion in doing this.

At sunrise the boat was loosened, and our friends were once more floating forward, a day's journey nearer their destination. Nothing worth noting occurred through this day. The settlements became more rare, and the faces of their kindred scarcer. Late in the afternoon they passed the mouth of the Muskingum, and at night a small river which put in from the Virginia side. There was a slight moon this night. A vigilant watch, of course, was maintained, but nothing to excite alarm took place.

In the morning they were opposite the point where the Great Kanawha debouches into the Ohio. The settlement here was termed Point Pleasant, by which name it is known at the present day. It was at this point that they were joined by a man who stated that he was a ranger going to Massie's Station down the Ohio. Without the least mistrust or suspicion, our friends took him on board, and continued floating hopefully down the beautiful river.

This day, when at the mouth of the Big Sandy, and just at the elbow of the great bend in the Ohio, an attempt was made to decoy them ashore. The stranger whom they had taken on board, instantly warned them of their danger, and told them that they must pay no attention to the entreaties from the white men. The emigrants, as the case stood, would not have deviated from their course, but the earnestness of their new-found friend made them esteem him highly and congratulate themselves upon having secured such a valuable ally.

All, we say, thought thus; but there were two exceptions – Marian and a tall, bony, unmarried man by the name of Peterson. This fellow looked upon their new acquaintance with distrust the minute he stepped upon the boat.

"I'll be darned, Marian," he said, in an undertone to her, after they had passed the decoy, "ef I don't s'picion that chap. He's mighty clever, and the trouble is he is a leetle too clever."

"Do you really fear him?" asked Marian, frightened at finding that another shared her suspicions.

"Fear him? I'd like to see the man I'm afeared of. All I'd ask would be to just git them are paws on old Simon Girty or that McGable that people allow is out in these parts, or that man thar, if he ain't what he orter be, which I allow is the case."

"At any rate, watch him, Jim, for it won't do to have a traitor within when there were so many without."

"I'll watch him, I reckon, Marian; and by the Eternal, the first real genuine sign of treachery I see, I'll shoot him! You may bet on that."

As these words were uttered by the indignant Jim Peterson to Marian, he stood looking upon the object of his remarks with flashing eyes, and gesticulating earnestly with his long, bony, muscular arms as though he ached to get him once fairly within his grasp. In fact, Jim Peterson would have been a dangerous customer for any man. He was now about thirty years of age, and eight years of his life had been spent as scout and ranger. He had served under St. Clair and Gen. Harmar, and when the former suffered such a disastrous defeat, he became so disgusted with the generalship of his leaders, that he left the country and settled down in the village mentioned at the commencement of this work. Here he had remained until the present time; but the daring, wandering, reckless spirit was so strong within him that he could resist no longer, and he joined the present party with the full determination of taking to the woods again as soon as they arrived at their destination.

He was over six feet in height, of a thin, attenuated frame, capable of panther-like strength and activity, with a keen, restless gray eye, and a sharp-featured visage.

Marian, after the conversation with him, descended to the cabin; but her mind was in such a tumult of fear and apprehension that she could not restrain her agitation. She now firmly believed that the stranger above was an enemy, and that, even with the shrewdness of Jim Peterson to protect them, they were all still in the utmost peril. But she knew of no course to pursue, except to invoke Divine protection. Should she impart her suspicions to the females around her, they would either ridicule her or become so terrified themselves, that the case would be infinitely worse. She concluded, at last, that there was nothing she could do, and, under Heaven, the case must be left to Peterson.

In a short time night commenced settling over the woods and river. The emigrants had now made such progress upon their way, that they were about half way between the Big Sandy and Sciota. The dense forests of Kentucky and Ohio shut down upon either hand, and not a sign of civilization met the eye.

Before it was fairly dark, the flat-boat was suddenly hailed from the shore. A white man, limping and apparently in great distress, besought them to run in and take him on board before the Indians reached him.

"He's a decoy," remarked the stranger, who had intently watched him from the first.

"How do you know he is, colonel?" asked Peterson, who had intently watched the stranger all the time.

"How do I know he is?" repeated the latter. "I reckon as how any fool as has one eye could tell the same mighty quick."

"You're sure of it then, eh?"

"In course I am, ain't you?"

"Yas, sir."

With this the ranger turned on his heel, satisfied that they had a traitor on board. This may seem strange to the reader, but it would not be to a backwoodsman who understood the case. The eagerness and quickness this man had evinced to point out danger, ever since he joined our friends, was good reason in itself for suspicion. Had he been a genuine ranger, he would have hesitated before giving his opinion, and not defeat his own ends by showing too much knowledge of what was unknown to the rest.

Peterson walked away from him, and communicated his suspicions to several of his friends. Just as he expected, they laughed at him, and accused him almost of meanness. Stung by this rebuke, the ranger became silent and sullen and left them.

In the meantime, the man upon shore was bellowing louder than ever. Not content with being once refused, he was limping along shore, and be