The Frontier Angel: A Romance of Kentucky Rangers' Life

"Freeze me to death on a stump!" suddenly exclaimed Peterson, "if that person in the first canoe ain't that Frontier Angel, then shoot me!"

"That's so," added Dingle, "and the one as is chasin' of her is our old friend Mr. McGable and an Injin!"

Several, as said, had entertained suspicions that the mysterious Frontier Angel was in the first canoe, but not one, save Dingle, had any idea that it could be the notorious renegade in pursuit. Even as it was, the commander of the post refused to believe he would venture so soon within sight of the block-house.

"It's him," continued the ranger with complete assurance, "I never was mistaken 'bout him, you can bet a powerful heap on that."

"If so, you are standing here and going to see our best friend captured," said the commander in a tone of severe rebuke.

"She ain't agwine to be captured," coolly replied Dingle. "I guess McGable and his Shawnee will have to take a few instructions in rowing of the canoe, afore they'll stand a chance to cotch the Frontier Angel."

"Can he not shoot her?" asked the commander more sternly than before. "Dingle, you and Peterson hurry into the wood to her assistance, for she will need it. Shoot that McGable, and I will give each of you twenty pounds a piece, besides reporting you to the general."

"He can shoot," said Dingle to himself. "Come, boys, let's hurry. We orter started long ago, and we might've stood some chance. He can kill her now ef he takes a notion afore we can draw bead on him."

The two, accompanied by Mansfield, hurried out to the gate, were permitted to pass out by a man stationed there, and away they sped across the clearing and into the wood, as fast as their legs could carry them.

"Foller me!" called Dingle, ducking his head and plunging through the bushes with a wonderful celerity, while Mansfield and Peterson strung along behind him with equal fleetness.

In the meantime, those upon the platform were watching the canoe with intense and painful interest.

"The old rapscallion is gainin' on the beautiful angel," remarked Jenkins, excitedly. "Oh, if I was only where I could get my grasp on that feller's throat, I'd choke him to death in five seconds! Oh! oh! oh! wouldn't I?"

"No; I do not think he has gained at all upon her," remarked Abbot. "At any rate, the race cannot be continued much longer, for they will soon be nigh enough to run into danger. If we could only hit them with the swivel," he added, looking toward the commander.

The latter shook his head.

"The swivel is only to be used in cases of great emergency. We did not use it when the Shawnees made the night attack, because we could get along without its aid. Besides, it is not loaded with a single ball, but filled with slugs, bullets, and bits of iron, so as to do as much destruction as possible upon an enemy nigh at hand. No; the firing of the swivel, however well aimed, could effect no good purpose."

"I wonder at the presumption and daring of McGable," said Abbot, turning his gaze once more up the river. "They say he only differs from Simon Girty in point of cowardice. His heart is as black, but his face is often white with fear. But this looks like bravery, to see him venture so nigh the spot which he knows is so dangerous to him."

"He won't come much nigher. I only hope that Dingle will get him within range of that rifle of his. It is all folly to undertake to capture him. If we should secure him, he would manage to get off again through the help of that fool of a Jenkins."

The commander did not notice that the individual he referred to stood directly behind, and was gazing completely dumbfounded at him. Had he known it, he would not have cared, for the thought of the foolish escape of the renegade was ever a source of irritation to him, and he took no pains to conceal his opinion of Jenkins' cowardice. But this was the first time the latter had heard him speak thus, and, as said, he was astonished in no small degree.

"Why, didn't I tell you how it was? how the Old Boy carried him off, and I fought like blazes to stop him, but happened to have one of my fainting fits just then. Think you'd believe a feller when he tells the truth."

"I do," dryly rejoined the commander.

"I tell you," said Abbot, excitedly, "if McGable comes much further he will surely run against Dingle's bullet. He is so eager he does not seem to notice where he is running to. Look how that Shawnee pulls!"

"And they are gaining upon her as sure as the world. She is wearied and well-nigh tired out. Heavens! it is too much to stand here and witness that," exclaimed the commander, half beside himself. "Why, in the name of heaven, don't Dingle shoot him? He would have been nigh enough if he had only walked. I cannot comprehend it!"

"Look! McGable is going to shoot!"

"It cannot be – yes – "

At that instant, a bright flash was seen to flame out in the front of the rear canoe, a thin wreath of smoke curled upward, and a moment after, the faint report of the renegade's rifle was heard.

"Is she hit? Curse it, where is Dingle?" exclaimed the commander, fidgeting and moving about as though unable to contain himself.

"She is wounded, but not killed. See! she is coming in to shore."

The canoe of the Frontier Angel was now hurrying in toward the Kentucky shore, swiftly followed by that of the renegade. She had approached so nigh as to be hidden to the view of those at the block-house, but was still at a considerable distance. It was at this moment that the Indian accompanying McGable dropped his paddle, rose to his feet, and had the gun already at his shoulder, when two simultaneous reports were heard, and he threw his arms wildly over his head and sprang headlong into the river, upsetting the canoe at the same time. McGable, who was a most excellent swimmer, dove deep and came up a long way from the canoe, whose bottom formed a black spot on the surface. His head hardly appeared before it sank again, and Dingle and Peterson really believed he was drowning. But it was only a feint of the wary wretch. His head was descried still farther down-stream, when it finally disappeared altogether. But, after a while, he was seen to rise too far away to be within rifle-range, and walked away in the forest.

The reason of his escaping all the shots of the whites was this. In the hurry of departure, Mansfield had never once thought of taking his rifle with him, so that there were really but two shots. Dingle and Peterson had hurried to their utmost, notwithstanding the remark of the commander, who was not so situated as to be able rightly to judge of duration. Upon coming in view, they both raised their guns together and took aim at the form of the renegade. That instant the savage rose and aimed at the Frontier Angel. His immediate death could only save her; there was no time for consultation, so that one might accomplish this. The danger was too imminent, and, naturally enough, they both fired together. The canoe instantly upset, and the skillful manner in which the renegade effected his own escape has already been shown.

Our three friends remained watching for his reappearance, until it was made at a great distance down-stream. This, of course, was a considerable time after the shooting of the Indian, and during the interval their attention had never once been directed to the Frontier Angel. Now, as they turned to look for her, she was nowhere to be seen. Remembering the point toward which she was hastening, they searched along the shore, and, at last, found her canoe, pulled high upon the bank and secreted beneath the bushes, but there were no signs of her. A careful examination of the canoe and the ground around, failed to show the least sign of blood, so that they were compelled to the joyful belief that she had escaped the shot of McGable without being even wounded.

How this could be, the two rangers were at a loss to tell, for the renegade was so close at hand, and the object was so well-presented, that even an ordinary marksman could scarcely have failed.

"That settles the matter," said Dingle, compressing his lips and shaking his head; "that's the second time he's tried to kill her and couldn't do it. I s'pose some will say she ain't a sperit now – but you needn't tell Dick Dingle so."

"Nor Jim Peterson," added that individual himself.

"There ain't even a trail of her, and she ain't nowhere about h'yer– she's gone up, she has. You might shoot at her all day, and not hurt her. H'yers as don't undertake any such foolery as to warn her – 'cause why? thar ain't no need of it. She ain't in danger, and never was or will be."

"Wonder why she don't kill that devil McGable?" remarked Peterson, leaning on his rifle and gazing meditatively down the river.

"She'll give it to him awful 'fore he gets through – see ef she don't. His time ain't come yet."

Some further time was spent in similar remarks, when the three set out for the block-house. It was the intention of Dingle and Peterson to start for the Shawnee towns, but the commander instructed them to remain over until the next morning, when, if nothing unusual happened, they would be allowed to pursue their journey. The rangers were not very unwilling to this, as the sky gave appearance of another storm, and the adventure with McGable had its effect upon them.

The morrow came, but the rangers went not, and it was ordered that they never should again.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE ATTACK IN THE WOOD

The storm which threatened during the afternoon broke forth toward night and raged until morning. Little rain fell, but the wind was terrific, as it howled around the settlement and screamed through the forest. What rain fell came almost horizontally, and rattled like hailstones against the cabins.

All night long the dim, yellow light burned in the block-house, and the shadowy form of a shivering sentinel was never absent from the platform. It was such a night as to make one relish the comforts of a shelter. Chilly, windy, and dismal without, it was all light and sunshine within. A huge fire of hickory logs was roaring in the fireplace, lighting up the bronzed faces of the hunters and rangers without the aid of the torch that smoked further back in the room. Now and then the men were furnished with drinks of whisky, and their spirits were light and jovial. Dingle and Peterson were there, relating and listening to stories as usual, and "all went merry as a marriage-bell."

Little apprehension of an attack was felt, as the late repulse had taught the Indians a lesson which they could not but heed. The shivering sentinel paced his walk, slowly and gloomily, while the keen wind whistled round his ears. As he heard the merry laugh of those within, he breathed more than one earnest prayer that the time would hurry by and bring a relief to take his place. He could not be said to keep a very vigilant watch, as the darkness was so intense as to prevent; and when the windy rain was hurtled in his face, he felt more like covering it up with his great cloak than in peering toward the hoarse, soughing wilderness. He had first whistled a tune, then hummed it, and was now counting his steps, to pass away the time. He had calculated the number of turns he should be compelled to make before his watch would be up, and was now noting by this means the minutes as they slipped away.

His watch extended from nine o'clock until midnight. About half of it had transpired, and he was completely absorbed in enumerating his steps, when he was brought to a sudden stand-still, and felt a thrilling chill creep over him, as a voice, faint and suppressed, but yet distinct and clear, called out from the direction of the clearing:

"Hello there?"

The sentinel stopped abruptly and looked in the direction from which the voice came. Once, it seemed, the outlines of a man was discernible, but it was only an illusion. He reflected that it might be an artifice, and hesitated before replying. "It's like enough he wants to find out where I stand, and then blaze away. However, I'll fix it so that I can answer him."

Leaning himself as much as possible behind the protection of the platform, he called out:

"What's wanting out there?"

"Admittance; I am half frozen to death. Will you let me in?"

"You must wait till morning, my dear sir."