the spirit of the border-第31节

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out。　He　showed　it　to　Joe。



〃By　heavens！　Wetzel；　that's　a　buckle　off　Nell　Well's　shoe。　I've　seen　it　too

many　times　to　mistake　it。〃



〃I　was　afeared　Girty　hed　your　friends；　the　sisters；　an'　mebbe　your　brother；

too。　Jack　Zane　said　the　renegade　was　hangin'　round　the　village；　an'　that

couldn't　be　fer　no　good。〃



〃Come　on。　Let's　kill　the　fiend！〃　cried　Joe；　white　to　the　lips。



〃I　calkilate　they're　about　a　mile　down　stream；　makin'　camp　fer　the　night。　　I

know　the　place。　There's　a　fine　spring；　an；　look！　D'ye　see　them　crows　flyin'

round　thet　big　oak　with　the　bleached　top？　Hear　them　cawin'？　You　might　think

they　was　chasin'　a　hawk；　or　king…birds　were　arter　'em；　but　thet　fuss　they're

makin'　is　because　they　see　Injuns。〃



〃Well？〃　asked　Joe；　impatiently。



〃It'll　be　moonlight　a　while　arter　midnight。　Well　lay　low　an'　wait；　an'

then…〃



The　sharp　click　of　his　teeth；　like　the　snap　of　a　steel　trap；　completed　the

sentence。　Joe　said　no　more；　but　followed　the　hunter　into　the　woods。　Stopping

near　a　fallen　tree；　Wetzel　raked　up　a　bundle　of　leaves　and　spread　them　on　the

ground。　Then　he　cut　a　few　spreading　branches　from　a　beech；　and　leaned　them

against　a　log。　Bidding　the　lad　crawl　in　before　he　took　one　last　look　around

and　then　made　his　way　under　the　shelter。



It　was　yet　daylight；　which　seemed　a　strange　time　to　creep　into　this　little

nook；　but；　Joe　thought；　it　was　not　to　sleep；　only　to　wait；　wait；　wait　for　the

long　hours　to　pass。　He　was　amazed　once　more；　because；　by　the　time　twilight　had

given　place　to　darkness；　Wetzel　was　asleep。　The　lad　said　then　to　himself　that

he　would　never　again　be　surprised　at　the　hunter。　　He　assumed　once　and　for　all

that　Wetzel　was　capable　of　anything。　Yet　how　could　he　lose　himself　in　slumber？

Feeling；　as　he　must；　over　the　capture　of　the　girls；　eager　to　draw　a　bead　on

the　black…hearted　renegade；　hating　Indians　with　all　his　soul　and　strength；　and

lying　there　but　a　few　hours　before　what　he　knew　would　be　a　bloody　battle；

Wetzel　calmly　went　to　sleep。　Knowing　the　hunter　to　be　as　bloodthirsty　as　a

tiger；　Joe　had　expected　he　would　rush　to　a　combat　with　his　foes；　but；　no；　this

man；　with　his　keen　sagacity；　knew　when　to　creep　upon　his　enemy；　he　bided　that

time；　and；　while　he　waited；　slept。



Joe　could　not　close　his　eyes　in　slumber。　Through　the　interstices　in　the

branches　he　saw　the　stars　come　out　one　by　one；　the　darkness　deepened；　and　the

dim　outline　of　tall　trees　over　the　dark　hill　came　out　sharply。　The　moments

dragged；　each　one　an　hour。　He　heard　a　whippoorwill　call；　lonely　and　dismal；

then　an　owl　hoot　monotonously。　A　stealthy　footed　animal　ran　along　the　log；

sniffed　at　the　boughs；　and　then　scurried　away　over　the　dry　leaves。　By　and　by

the　dead　silence　of　night　fell　over　all。　Still　Joe　lay　there　wide　awake；

listeninghis　heart　on　fire。　He　was　about　to　rescue　Nell；　to　kill　that

hawk…nosed　renegade；　to　fight　Silvertip　to　the　death。



The　hours　passed；　but　not　Joe's　passionate　eagerness。　When　at　least　he　saw　the

crescent　moon　gleam　silver…white　over　the　black　hilltop　he　knew　the　time　was

nigh；　and　over　him　ran　thrill　on　thrill。







Chapter　XVI。



When　the　waning　moon　rose　high　enough　to　shed　a　pale　light　over　forest　and

field；　two　dark　figures；　moving　silently　from　the　shade　of　the　trees；　crossed

the　moonlit　patches　of　ground；　out　to　the　open　plain　where　low　on　the　grass

hung　silver　mists。



A　timber　wolf；　gray　and　gaunt；　came　loping　along　with　lowered　nose。　A　new

scent　brought　the　animal　to　a　standstill。　His　nose　went　up；　his　fiery　eyes

scanned　the　plain。　Two　men　had　invaded　his　domain；　and；　with　a　short；　dismal

bark；　he　dashed　away。



Like　spectres；　gliding　swiftly　with　noiseless　tread；　the　two　vanished。　The

long　grass　had　swallowed　them。



Deserted　once　again　seemed　the　plain。　It　became　unutterably　lonely。　　No　stir；

no　sound；　no　life；　nothing　but　a　wide　expanse　bathed　in　sad；　gray　light。



The　moon　shone　steadily；　the　silver　radiance　mellowed；　the　stars　paled　before

this　brighter　glory。



Slowly　the　night　hours　wore　away。



On　the　other　side　of　the　plain；　near　where　the　adjoining　forest　loomed

darkling；　the　tall　grass　parted　to　disclose　a　black　form。　Was　it　only　a

deceiving　shade　cast　by　a　leafy　branchonly　a　shadow？　Slowly　it　sank；　and　was

lost。　Once　more　the　gray；　unwavering　line　of　silver…crested　grass　tufts　was

unbroken。



Only　the　night　breeze；　wandering　caressingly　over　the　grass；　might　have　told

of　two　dark　forms　gliding；　gliding；　gliding　so　softly；　so　surely；　so　surely

toward　the　forest。　Only　the　moon　and　the　pale　stars　had　eyes　to　see　these

creeping　figures。



Like　avengers　they　moved；　on　a　mission　to　slay　and　to　save！



On　over　the　dark　line　where　plain　merged　into　forest　they　crawled。　No

whispering；　no　hesitating；　but　a　silent；　slow；　certain　progress　showed　their

purpose。　In　single　file　they　slipped　over　the　moss；　the　leader　clearing　the

path。　Inch　by　inch　they　advanced。　Tedious　was　this　slow　movement；　difficult

and　painful　this　journey　which　must　end　in　lightninglike　speed。　They　rustled

no　leaf；　nor　snapped　a　twig；　nor　shook　a　fern；　but　passed　onward　slowly；　like

the　approach　of　Death。　　The　seconds　passed　as　minutes；　minutes　as　hours；　an

entire　hour　was　spent　in　advancing　twenty　feet！



At　last　the　top　of　the　knoll　was　reached。　The　Avenger　placed　his　hand　on　his

follower's　shoulder。　The　strong　pressure　was　meant　to　remind；　to　warn；　to

reassure。　Then；　like　a　huge　snake；　the　first　glided　away。



He　who　was　left　behind　raised　his　head　to　look　into　the　open　place　called　the

glade　of　the　Beautiful　Spring。　An　oval　space　lay　before　him；　exceedingly

lovely　in　the　moonlight；　a　spring；　as　if　a　pearl；　gemmed　the　center。　An　Indian

guard　stood　statuelike　against　a　stone。　Other　savages　lay　in　a　row；　their

polished　heads　shining。　One　slumbering　form　was　bedecked　with　feathers　and

frills。　Near　him　lay　an　Indian　blanket；　from　the　border　of　which　peered　two

faces；　gleaming　white　and　sad　in　the　pitying　moonlight。



The　watcher　quivered　at　the　sight　of　those　pale　faces；　but　he　must　wait　while

long　moments　passed。　He　must　wait　for　the　Avenger　to　creep　up；　silently　kill

the　guard；　and　release　the　prisoners　without　awakening　the　savages。　If　that

plan　failed；　he　was　to　rush　into　the　glade；　and　in　the　excitement　make　off

with　one　of　the　captives。



He　lay　there　waiting；　listening；　wrought　up　to　the　intensest　pitch　of　fierce

passion。　Every　nerve　was　alert；　every　tendon　strung；　and　every　muscle　strained

ready　for　the　leap。



Only　the　faint　rustling　of　leaves；　the　low　swish　of　swaying　branches；　the　soft

murmur　of　falling　water；　and　over　all　the　sigh　of　the　night　wind；　proved　to

him　that　this　picture　was　not　an　evil　dream。　His　gaze　sought　the　quiet

figures；　lingered　hopefully　on　the　captives；　menacingly　on　the　sleeping

savages；　and　glowered　over　the　gaudily　arrayed　form。　His　glance　sought　the

upright　guard；　as　he　stood　a　dark　blot　against　the　gray　stone。　He　saw　the

Indian's　plume；　a　single　feather　waving　silver…white。　　Then　it　became　riveted

on　the　bubbling；　refulgent　spring。　The　pool　was　round；　perhaps　five　feet

across；　and　shone　like　a　burnished　shield。　It　mirrored　the　moon；　the　twinkling

stars；　the　spectre　trees。



An　unaccountable　horror　suddenly　swept　over　the　watching　man。　His　hair　stood

straight　up；　a　sensation　as　of　cold　stole　chillingly　over　him。　　Whether　it　was

the　climax　of　this　long　night's　excitement；　or　anticipation　of　the　bloody

struggle　soon　to　come；　he　knew　not。　Did　this　boiling　spring；　shimmering　in　the

sliver　moon…rays；　hold　in　its　murky　depths　a　secret？　Did　these　lonesome；

shadowing　trees；　with　their　sad　drooping　branches；　harbor　a　mystery？　If　a

future　tragedy　was　to　be　enacted　here　in　this　quiet　glade；　could　the　murmuring

water　or　leaves　whisper　its　portent？　No；　they　were　only　silent；　only

unintelligible　with　nature's　mystery。



The　waiting　man　cursed　himself　for　a　craven　coward；　he　fought　back　the

benumbing　sense；　he　steeled　his　heart。　Was　this　his　vaunted　willingness　to

share　the　Avenger's　danger？　His　strong　spirit　rose　up　in　arms；　once　more　he

was　brave　and　fierce。



He　fastened　a　piercing　gaze　on　the　plumed　guard。　The　Indian's　lounging　posture

against　the　rock　was　the　same　as　it　had　been　before；　yet　now　it　seemed　to　have

a　kind　of　strained　attention。　The　savage's　head　was　poised；　like　that　of　a

listening　deer。　The　wary　Indian　scented　danger。



A　faint　moan　breathed　low　above　the　sound　of　gently　splashing　water　somewhere

beyond　the　glade。



〃Woo…o…oo。〃



The　guard's　figure　stiffened；　and　became　rigidly　erect；　his　blanket　slowly

slid　to　his　feet。



〃Ah…oo…o；〃　sighed　the　soft　breeze　in　the　tree　tops。



Louder　then；　with　a　deep　wail；　a　moan　arose　out　of　the　dark　gray　shadows；

swelled　thrilling　on　the　still　air；　and　died　away　mournfully。



〃Um…m…mmwoo…o…o…o！〃



The　sentinel's　form　melted　into　the　shade。　He　was　gone　like　a　phantom。



Another　Indian　rose　quickly；　and　gla