The Frontier Angel: A Romance of Kentucky Rangers' Life

The commander of the fort was the physician of the settlement. It may seem strange that a man holding his position, could find time to attend to the duties thus devolving upon him. But he did find abundant time; for it must be remembered, that such a thing as sickness is rarely known in a frontier settlement. The time when his services were in requisition, was upon an occasion like the present, directly after an engagement with an enemy.

After the sufferer had been placed in the lower room of the block-house, the commander desired all to depart, so that he might be left alone with her. His determination was to make an examination of her wound at once. He saw that she was hurt only in the corner of the forehead, where it seemed was a slight fracture of the bone.

As he approached the bed, the Frontier Angel sprang to her feet and screamed for him to keep away. He did his best to pacify her, but she became more frantic each moment, until he desisted out of fear of the consequences. After a time she seated herself upon the bed, and speaking in a soothing manner, he gently approached her again. But she was wilder than before, and he retreated at once. From her actions, she seemed to imagine him to be the renegade McGable, and no words upon his part could change the impression.

The good physician sat a while in a dilemma. He saw it was imperatively necessary that her wound should be attended to, and it was impossible for him to do this alone. After debating a moment, he called in Mansfield and Peterson.

The latter entered, and the sufferer meekly submitted at once. Mansfield took her gently but firmly by one arm, and the ranger held the other. The physician then stepped forward, and, with a simple instrument, examined the wound. A moment showed him the entire truth. A bullet, years before, had glanced over the forehead in such a manner as to press inward a thin strip of bone directly upon the brain. This simple fact had caused that singular hallucination which she had so long evinced. The wound had become cicatrized, leaving the bone in this position. Another shot, precisely similar, had glanced in the same manner, reopening the wound and increasing her aberration. A simple action of the physician removed this cause of her insanity.

"Just wash the wound, Mansfield," said the commander, "and we will then let her rest until morning."

Our hero proceeded to do as requested. A moment later he exclaimed in a suppressed voice:

"My heavens! see here – SHE IS WHITE!"

Such was indeed the case, and the astonishment of all was unbounded. The water had washed off that species of paint so commonly used among the American Indians, and left the skin perfectly clear and transparent.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the commander, "what can it mean? As it is nearly all removed from her face, it shows what a beautiful woman she is. Hello! what's the matter with Peterson?"

The ranger had turned as pale as death and fainted – a weakness of which he had never been guilty before. Mansfield instantly dashed some water in his face and he came to. He stared about him totally bewildered.

"Why, what's the matter, Jim?" laughed the commander. "Are you so tender-hearted that you must faint when a female is hurt?"

"Get me out of here, quick, if you value her life!" he said, staggering to his feet.

He was assisted to the door, where the physician asked:

"What does this mean, Jim?"

"I'll tell you in the morning; don't say anything to me about it now. Just bring her to her senses as soon as you can."

Wondering and perplexed, the commander passed into the room again. As he entered, he naturally turned his eyes toward his patient, and it was now his turn to evince the agitation that had seized the ranger.

"What's the matter with you, doctor?" asked Mansfield.

"My heavens! I know that girl!"

"Who is she?"

"Never mind now. I understand the meaning of Peterson's conduct. Leave me alone, Russel, and it shall all be made plain to you in the morning."

Our hero withdrew, and the commander was left alone with that being who has figured as the Frontier Angel in these pages. She sat bolt upright in the bed, staring at him with a look as fixed and intense as that of a wild animal.

"Lie down, Myra!" he spoke gently.

"Lie down!" she repeated half to herself. "What does all this mean? – Why am I here? – Have I been wounded? – Why is my head bandaged? – Am I dreaming?"

The commander approached and laid her head back upon the pillow. In this position she pressed her hand to her forehead and commenced muttering to herself. The commander listened, and now and then caught her words.

"Reason has returned, or is now striving to regain its place," he thought. "She is, in fact, in her right mind already, but it is no wonder that her recollections still confuse her. Strange! strange! who would have thought the Frontier Angel could have been her?"

Soon the patient slept – a troubled, dreamy sleep. She talked incessantly – now in soft, beseeching tones to Peterson and Holmes (the commander), then fairly shrieking the name of McGable, and once or twice she spoke the name of Marian Abbott!

The wind howled around the old block-house, moaning through the forest and ridging the Ohio till the dismal beat of its waves could be heard, when an occasional lull occurred. The rain rattled through the village like the incessant volleys of shot, and the pale flickering light shining through the loop-holes of the fort was the only visible sign of life.

The commander paced the floor a while and then sat down and gazed into the face of the sufferer. Her eyes were closed and her face was of unearthly whiteness. Now and then the thin lips moved and the broken words came forth. Once the brow compressed as if a twinge of pain ran through her, and then she started and gasped:

"Oh, don't! don't! McGable, you will kill her! Let her alone!"

"What can she mean?" wondered Holmes. "Yes – it is Marian – there! she spoke her name then."

All at once, the patient come to the sitting position, and opening her eyes to their fullest extent, stared apparently through the very walls of the block-house out into the wilderness. Then, raising her hand, she repeated these words:

"I see them! – they are hastening to the cave! – they will kill her! – she cannot get away! – she will die."

"You are excited – lie down again!" pleaded the commander. But she heeded him not. Her dark eyes glowed with tenfold light, and she added:

"I see them! they are Indians going to kill Marian Abbot! There are two Shawnee warriors, and they are now picking their way through the forest. She will die! she will die, if she is not saved at once!"

The patient seemed as if speaking in a trance. She was in that state which baffles all human knowledge to understand, and, without attempting to explain what never can be understood, we give the facts alone. What the Frontier Angel saw on that stormy night, when neither the impenetrable walls of the block-house, nor the miles of wilderness could bound her vision, was really occurring. And the commander, rapt, wondering, and believing, listened. When she had finished, she turned toward him.

"Franklin Holmes, I understand all, not all either; but I feel I have passed through some dreadful darkness, and light is again dawning upon me. There is a white captive in danger this moment. She must be rescued! I can lead the way!"

"But – but, Myra, you cannot. Hear how the storm rages," pleaded the commander.

"Have I not passed through more fearful storms than this?" she asked, stepping upon the floor and confronting him. "Yes," she added in a low, meaning tone, "if you value the life of Marian Abbot, who is now living, it must be done. Get me one or two companions and I will lead the way."

Holmes believed that it was his duty to do so, and answering her that her wish should be gratified at once, he passed out. He aroused Dingle and Mansfield, but Peterson was nowhere to be found. He imparted to the ranger the identity of their guide, and the absence of Peterson was then understood. Preparations were made at once to start, and the impatience and excitement of Mansfield was painful to witness.

The Frontier Angel – as we shall call her for a time – arrayed herself in her usual garments, wrapping a large shawl around her form, and covering her head securely, and was ready when Holmes reentered the room.

"How many are going?" she asked.

"Two well-tried and reliable men."

"That is plenty. Let us wait no longer."

She passed out without a word, and the two men joined her. The commander unbarred the gate and saw them move off in the darkness, adding no unnecessary caution or question.

"Keep close to me and move as fast as possible," she said as soon as they were alone.

The rain was still falling, and the wind howled dismally overhead. The Frontier Angel led the way to the river, where they entered one of the canoes that were always there, and were propelled across by Dingle. As they reached the Ohio side the ranger saw a dark form suddenly appear beside him and glide along as silently as a shadow.

"Hello! who are you?" he demanded.

"You know well enough – don't speak my name. I knowed you'd be on some such a tramp as this."

Mansfield recognized the voice of Peterson, and to set their fair guide at ease, he informed her that it was merely a friend who had joined them.