allowed an innocent white woman to go into Indian captivity, lay with bared chest not a hand's length from a knife he had thrown down. Did the Nor'-Wester and I hesitate, and look from the man to the dagger, and from the dagger to the man; or is this an evil dream from a black past? Miriam, the guiltless, was suffering at his hands; should not he, the guilty, suffer at ours? Surely Sisera was not more unmistakably delivered into the power[Pg 88] of his enemies by the Lord than this man; and Sisera was discomfited by Barak and Jael. Heber's wife—says the Book—drove a tent nail—through the temples—of the sleeping man—and slew him! Day was when I thought the Old Volume recorded too many deeds of bloodshed in the wilderness for the instruction of our refined generation; but I, too, have since lived in the wilderness and learned that soft speech is not the weapon of strong men overmastering savagery. [Pg 88] I know the trader and I were thinking the same thoughts and reading each other's thoughts; for we stood silent above the drunk man, neither moving, neither uttering a word. "Well?" I finally questioned in a whisper. "Well," said he, and he knelt down and picked up the knife. "'Twould serve him right." He was speaking in the low, gentle, purring voice he had used in the tent. "'Twould serve him jolly right," and he knelt over Louis hesitating. My eyes followed his slow, deliberate motions with horror. Terror seemed to rob me of the power of speech. I felt my blood freeze with the fear of some impending crime. There was the faintest perceptible fluttering of leaves; and we both started up as if we had been assassins, glancing fearfully into the gloom of the forest. All the woods seemed alive with horrified eyes and whisperings. "Stop!" I gasped, "This is madness, the madness of the murderer. What would you do?" And I was trying to knock the knife out of his[Pg 89] hand, when among the shadowy green of the foliage, an open space suddenly resolved itself into a human face and there looked out upon us gleaming eyes like those of a crouching panther. [Pg 89] "Squeamish fool!" muttered the Nor'-Wester, raising his arm. "Stop!" I implored. "We are watched. See!" and I pointed to the face, that as suddenly vanished into blackness. We both leaped into the thicket, pistol in hand, to wreak
Prev.
Back
Top