The Shadow of Victory: A Romance of Fort Dearborn

The girl's heart rose in her throat. "On!" she breathed – "on!"

The unintelligible cries of the savages echoed and re-echoed in her ears, becoming perceptibly fainter as she rode on. Then there was an exultant yell and she turned quickly in her saddle. The mounted Indians had overtaken the others and seemed to be gaining upon her, but with a sudden spurt, Queen left them far in the rear.

Beatrice laughed hysterically and the sickening taste of hot blood was in her mouth. Those on foot had given up the chase and one of the horses had fallen, but well in the lead, with his sides bleeding cruelly, Ronald's big bay charger thundered down the trail.

An arrow sang past her, then another just missed her, and she leaned forward, close to the horse. Queen plunged on, then suddenly snorted and reared as an arrow struck her flank.

Beatrice managed to loosen the barb and pull it out, hurting the horse badly as she did so, and in the meantime the enemy gained upon her. Another arrow, shot from the right, pierced Queen's quivering side, and Beatrice, hopeless and despairing, reined in long enough to tear it out. She was sick at the sight of Queen's blood-stained body and the savage who rode Ronald's horse was almost within range.

She turned, held her pistol steadily, and waited. Queen was almost exhausted and breathed heavily. Spurred on to new effort, the other Indians emerged from a cloud of dust and galloped toward their leader.

A tomahawk whizzed past her and sank into the sand. Then she fired, and with a cry of pain, the Indian dropped from his horse.

Without waiting for the word, Queen started on at a furious pace, but in spite of it, Beatrice managed to load her pistol again. She looked back only once, for she could hear the hoof-beats behind her. Ronald's horse, with a new rider, was again in the lead, and the rest were close upon his heels.

Inch by inch they gained upon her and mutterings of hideous portent reached her ears. Queen's strength was rapidly failing, and when an arrow struck her in the leg, the gallant little horse stumbled and fell. A tomahawk gleamed just beyond them and at the same instant an arrow grazed the girl's left arm.

Blind with pain, she staggered to her feet, put the muzzle between Queen's pleading, agonized eyes, and fired. The horse rolled over, dead, and Beatrice loaded once more, thinking grimly, as she did so, that there was just time.

She raised the pistol, felt the burning circle of the muzzle against her temple, and turned for one last look at the world that once had seemed so fair. The Indians were almost upon her, but far out on the plain was a man with neither hat nor coat, riding furiously, and the pistol fell from her nerveless hand.

"Robert!" she cried, as if he could hear. "Go back!"

All at once she saw what he meant to do. Already he had turned a little toward the lake, hoping to cut them off.

"Oh God!" breathed Beatrice. "And I called him a coward!"

The Indians now were not more than three hundred feet away, but when they saw him coming they swerved away from Beatrice and rode toward him. Robert turned straight east at a plunging gallop, then there was a sharp report from his musket and a savage fell dead.

Then he threw away the musket, pulled out his pistol, fired and wounded another. A tomahawk grazed his head and the blood dyed his face, but he kept on.

From where she stood, she saw it all. Hand to hand, almost – yes, they were upon him now, but there was a gleam of silver in the sun and two of them fell back, wounded.

"Lexington!" she cried. "His grandfather's sword!"

All but four retreated, though his horse was hurt and well-nigh spent. His next shot missed fire and his pistol was snatched out of his hand, but the keen blade shone once more and another was dismounted.

The blood streamed from his wound as he dashed toward her, gaining upon the two who were pursuing him. All at once he stopped in his mad pace, turned, and with a single swift cut struck down the one nearest him. With a wild war-whoop the second Indian signalled to another who stood beside his dead horse, far out on the plain, but there was no answer. Quick as a flash Beatrice ran toward them, aimed steadily, fired, and the last Indian fell, mortally wounded.

"Thank God!" cried Robert, as he fell from his horse. "You are safe!"

They stood alone upon the desolate plain, looking into each other's eyes. Robert's clothes were torn and cut, and his face was black with blood and dust, but he seemed like a god to her.

"You saved me," she murmured, with parched lips. "How did you save me?"

"You were like another Beatrice," he whispered, – "you led me through hell!"

Face to face at last, after all the misunderstandings, Beatrice saw him as he was. The terrors of the day were temporarily forgotten, as when one wakes from a horrible dream to a new joy. Something stirred in the girl's heart and sprang, full-fledged, into exultant being. The light in her eyes confused him, and he turned his face away.

"It was nothing," he said diffidently, – "only a running fight – that's all. When the history of to-day is written, it will be a single paragraph – no more. Two officers and thirty-six regulars killed in action, two women and twelve children – a mere handful. No one will know that a civilian was so fortunate as to save the woman he loved. It is a common thing – not worth the writing."

Beatrice, still transfigured, put her hands upon his shoulders; but, though he trembled at her touch, he kept his face turned away.

"Don't thank me," he said unsteadily. "I can't bear it. It is nothing. Perhaps I've proved that I'm not – "

The girl put her fingers on his lips. "You shall not say it!" she cried. "With all my heart I ask you to forgive me – you have covered me with shame."

He turned and looked down into her eyes. "Shame," he repeated; "no, not you. Forget it, Bee; it is nothing. A single paragraph, that is all – which has to do with the soldiers, not with me."

"My soldier!" she said in a new voice, "my captain – my king – listen! No better, braver fight was ever made. The thirty-six who were killed in action have done no more than you; and some day, when they write it all, they will say a civilian fought like a soldier to save the life of the woman who loved him!"

CHAPTER XXIII

RESCUE

After the first part of the battle was over, the bateau in which Mrs. Mackenzie and the children sat was brought near the shore at the mouth of the river. When Mrs. Franklin was taken from her horse, an Indian carried her to the boat, laid her in the bottom of it, signed to her to keep quiet, and covered her with a blanket. She was badly wounded, and her position was well-nigh intolerable, but she was afraid to move.

Two warriors soon approached and demanded the prisoners which they said were concealed under the luggage, but the Indian at the oars assured them that the bateau contained only the family of Shaw-ne-aw-kee, and they went away apparently satisfied.

Katherine had fainted when she found herself in the arms of a painted savage. When she came to her senses she was in the deep water, and the Indian still held her in a firm grasp. She struggled until her strength was almost gone, but then perceived that her captor did not intend to drown her. Long and earnestly she looked into his face, and at length, in spite of the hideous disguise of his war-paint, she recognised Black Partridge.

Another brave joined him, and after a long conversation between them she was left to the care of the second Indian. Black Partridge went back to the battlefield, received Captain Franklin's surrender, through an interpreter, and then returned to Mrs. Howard.

When the firing had ceased, she was lifted out of the water and carried to the shore. Black Partridge took her by the arm and led her northward along the beach. She was drenched through, and her clothes were heavy with water. A squaw had stolen her shoes, and the long march upon the burning sand was exceedingly painful; but when they came near the Fort and she saw her mother upon the piazza at the trading station, she went on with new courage.

In the dismantled home the survivors were gathered. Captain and Mrs. Franklin, both wounded; Lieutenant Howard, also wounded; the Mackenzies, their children, and a few of the soldiers were all that remained of the company that had fared forth so gallantly only a few hours before.

When Katherine staggered in, her husband caught her in his arms, and his hot tears fell upon her face when he stooped to kiss her. "I thought you were dead!" he cried. "I never knew till now how much I love you!"

A radiant smile illumined her white face. "I thought you were dead, too," she whispered, "and I did not care to live. I wanted to be with you, wherever you might be."

One after another described what he had seen, and the melancholy details of the battle were soon told. It was stipulated in the terms of the surrender that the lives of the prisoners should be spared; but the Indians considered the wounded exempt from that provision, and horrible things were done upon the field.

Doctor Norton's heroic efforts to save Katherine, the valiant death of Captain Wells, Mad Margaret's fearless dash against the enemy, the half-breed's gallant fight, and the courage of the soldier's wife, who let herself be literally hacked to pieces rather than be taken prisoner – these things and many others were sadly recounted.

Captain Franklin assured them that Ensign Ronald was dead, and they were glad to believe him; but no one knew what had become of Robert and Beatrice. "Forsyth fought beside me for a while," said the Captain.

"And with me, also," added the Lieutenant, "on another part of the field."

"Where is my Tuzzin Bee?" asked Maria Indiana, plaintively. "I want my Tuzzin Bee!"

At this they all broke down, and even the men were not ashamed of their tears. Beatrice, the merry-hearted, whose birdlike laughter still seemed to linger in the desolate home – where was she? "Oh, God," sobbed Mrs. Mackenzie, "if we only knew that she was dead!"

"We'll hope she is," said the trader, brokenly. "She must be, or she'd be here!" He tried to speak as if he were sure, but his face belied his words.

Outside, groups of Indians moved about restlessly. From sheer savage wantonness they had killed the cattle that were left to them, as the troops turned away from the Fort. The houses had all been plundered, and incongruous articles were strewn all over the plain. The finery of the women had been divided, and the savage who had Captain Wells's scalp at his belt wore Katherine's bonnet upon his head.

Mackenzie, with his penknife, had removed two bullets from Mrs. Franklin's arm, and had improvised a bandage from some old linen he found in the house. Katherine was badly wounded in the shoulder, where the tomahawk meant for her had struck when Black Partridge snatched her away. Lieutenant Howard had several cuts upon his body and Captain Franklin and Mackenzie were each wounded in the thigh.