University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
CONTINUED FLIGHT.

Both Henry and Isaline immediately started up
the hill to meet the white Indian, according to the
suggestion of the former; but the latter trembled in
every limb, and felt her brain reel.

“Courage, dear one!” whispered Henry. “You
must master your fears and put on a smile, for everything
may depend on you!”

Thus roused to attempt what then seemed to her an
impossible task, Isaline threw the whole strength of
her soul into the despairing effort to put her nerves
under the control of her will, and met with a success
that astonished herself. She prayed God for aid, and
it came in a feeling of calm reliance and strength of
purpose that to her seemed very wonderful and
mysterious.

We know not our own strength till we try ourselves
against some great calamity or adversity and
conquer.

When our friends reached the door of the hut,
they met Methoto in the act of coming out. He
had his rifle in his hand, there was a frown on his
brow, and his eyes had a sullen gleam. The whole
expression was cold and wicked.

Isaline greeted him with a smile. He looked surprised
and somewhat embarrassed.

“I think we shall have to stay with you a little
longer, Methoto,” she said, in her most fascinating
manner, “or else get you to go with us.”

There came a slight glow upon his weather-beaten
features, as if the blood had taken a sudden start
upward. He seemed a little confused, and glanced
at Henry.

“The river runs too fast,” said the latter.

“Heap 'fraid canoe—no swim!” he rejoined.

Henry nodded, and Isaline smiled.

“Come stay Methoto wigwam?” he said to Isaline.

“For a while, perhaps.”

“I am afraid we shall eat everything up!” said
Henry, accompanying his words with intelligible
signs.

“More corn—more deer!” replied Methoto. “Gun
good—shoot heap!”

“Can you shoot a bird?” asked Isaline, with appropriate
gestures.

“Oogh! me show!” answered the unsuspecting
white savage, evidently proud of his skill, and at
once beginning to look about him for a living
mark.

He stepped outside of the bushes that concealed
his dwelling, and our friends kept close to him.
Presently he espied a thrush, seated on the lower
limb of a tree, about thirty yards distant; and silently

directing Isaline's attention to it, he raised his piece,
took a quick aim, and fired. The bird fell dead.
He turned proudly to Isaline.

“Good!” she said, clapping her hands; “you are
a good marksman, and have a good rifle!”

“Oogh! Methoto fill wigwam full bear, deer, for
white squaw—big heap!”

Isaline smiled encouragingly, and Methoto hurried
off to get his prize.

“Oh, Heaven! how will this end?” said Isaline to
Henry, in a low, anxious tone, the moment they were
again by themselves.

“You must get leave for me to try my skill,”
returned Henry, “and by that means I may get possession
of the rifle. It would be a cruel meanness,
I admit, to deprive this poor fellow of his main
weapon, if there were any other way to protect ourselves;
but I see none. He was evidently coming
to seek us, with a murderous design, and I fear it is
only our stratagem that has so far saved us both!
With his rifle and ammunition in my possession,
he will be in my power, and no longer to be feared;
and if Heaven will favor our return to our friends, I
seeretly promise to restore his property, if I even
have to come back with it myself! You have done
bravely, dear Isaline—bravely! bravely! and if you
can only continue to play your part, all may yet be
well. There, be ready now, for here he comes!”

Methoto returned, with a look of triumph, and
handed the dead bird to Isaline, who received it with

a smile, and appeared to be much delighted, though
she secretly shuddered.

“I would like to see my friend shoot!” she smiled,
pointing to Henry and tapping Methoto's rifle.

“Perhaps I could not do as well!” said Henry,
with a careless yawn, reaching out his hand for the
piece.

There was a sudden gleam of suspicion from the
cold gray eye of the white savage, which Henry did
not appear to observe. At first he drew his weapon
a little back, as if he did not intend to part with it;
but seeing Isaline look a little hurt and pained—an
expression which, with a great effort, she threw into
her lovely face, for her very soul was secretly trembling
within her—he quietly handed his piece to the
other, watching him closely as he did so. Henry
took it indifferently, examined it with some care,
sighted along the barrel, and asked if it was loaded.

“No powder—no ball!” answered Methoto; “me
load um!”

“No,” returned Henry, “let me load and fire it
myself!”

He reached out his hand for the powder-horn and
bullet-pouch, which the other finally handed to him,
though with seeming reluctance.

Henry loaded the weapon with great deliberation,
and carefully primed it. A covert glance at Isaline
showed her very pale and slightly trembling. The
success of her ruse had almost unnerved her, and a
fearful reaction was beginning to take place. Everything

that he had sought was now in his possession,
and Henry nerved himself for the crisis.

“Step this way, Isaline, and show me the bird you
wish me to shoot!” he said, carelessly turning aside,
as if to seek his feathered mark.

Isaline understood him, and started forward with
tremulous haste, her very heart beating wildly.

She had passed him a few steps, and was apparently
looking eagerly about her for the object of
her quest, and Methoto had just started to follow,
when Henry wheeled suddenly around, and, pointing
the rifle at the breast of the white Indian, thundered
forth:

“Back, on your life, or you are a dead man!”

The expression of Methoto's features at that
moment would have been a study for a painter.
The blood instantly forsook his swarthy face, so as
to leave it quite pale; while astonishment, fear and
rage became about equally blended in his ugly
countenance. For a moment he seemed petrified;
and then his teeth began to gnash, his eyes gleamed
like a demon's, and his hands convulsively clutched
the knife and tomahawk still in his belt. Henry
cocked the rifle and stood firm, with an unmistakable
resolution depicted in his deep blue eye.

“One step forward and I fire!” he said, raising
the rifle to an aim.

The danger was too terrible to face; death was in
that hollow tube so unshakingly held before him;
the eye of the white Indian began to quail, his face

began to take on a ghastly expression, his stout form
began to shrink, tremble and cower, his brute
courage could no longer sustain him, and, with the
awful howl of a frightened wild beast, he suddenly
turned and bounded away, now dodging to the right
and now to the left, as if to avoid the aim of his foe,
till the thick bushes around his own dwelling completely
hid him from the view.

Instantly Henry uncocked his rifle and hurried to
the side of Isaline, whom he found as white as a
sheet and trembling like an aspen.

“Courage, dear one—courage!” he said, throwing
his protecting arm around her slender form; “the
worst is over, we are so far saved, and now let us
fly while we can!”

She seized and clung to him almost convulsively,
and the two set forward in breathless haste, plunging
along through bushes, stumbling over sticks and
stones, Henry every moment or two looking back
and sweeping the whole dreary scene with his keen,
experienced eye.

They did not ascend the hill again, but kept down
along the bank of the river, following the windings
of the stream, with no word from the ashy lips of
Isaline, and only now and then an expression of
hope and encouragement from Henry.

They ran through the open wood, forced their
way through thickets, and either leaped over or
dashed recklessly into the little fordable brooks and
creeks that crossed their path, regardless of everything

but the one purpose of escape from the possible
dangers behind them.

The sun came over the hill and streamed brightly
down into the romantic valley of the Licking, lighting
up scenes of picturesque beauty, that, under
pleasant circumstances, would have filled their genial
souls with poetical delight, but on which they now
bestowed only hurried glances of fear.

At last, after two hours of such anxious flight,
they came upon a sylvan retreat more enchantingly
beautiful than any they had yet beheld. It was a
spot where the hill, or right bank of the river, had
taken the form of a rocky bluff, and, falling back
from the stream, had swept around in a semi-circle,
inclosing a gentle slope, which was covered with
green grass and bright flowers, and shaded by grand
old trees, which were standing wide apart, interlocking
their branches overhead, and were here and
there draped with a long, silvery moss, and with
many a vine twining round them and hanging
downward heavy with clusters of rich, purple fruit.
At the bottom of the first green and flowery slope
was a broad, gravelly level, and then the ground
rose again, with a gentle swell, and terminated in a
low bluff, overlooking the main channel of the river,
which had quietly reached out an arm between the
two and made the second rise an island. This island
was not large, and was thickly covered with bushes
and trees—one of the latter, almost white from age,
stretching upward its hoary trunk and leafless,

jagged branches or arms, like some ancient patriarch
bestowing his blessings upon the rising generations
gathered around him. Between the main land and
the island, the water, to the depth of only a few
inches, flowed along with a pleasing murmur; but
through the main channel, which was narrow and
rocky, with a high bluff on its southern shore, it
rushed swiftly and angrily, with a hoarse, bubbling
roar. From the centre of this retreat, the view was
not an extensive one, for the river could not be seen
above the point where the bluff bent outward and
formed a high wall of rocks; but it was novel,
picturesque, and beautiful beyond description.

It was not to be supposed that one so keenly alive
to the poetry of nature as our young artist, could
pass through so enchanting a scene as this and not
feel his very soul stirred within him. From the
moment he entered the retreat, his quick, keen eye
noted everything; but he made no remark till he
reached about the centre of the place, when, as if he
could no longer control his feelings, he stopped and
exclaimed:

“A perfect Paradise! Was there ever anything
more beautiful?”

He looked at his companion for an enthusiastic
response, and saw that her features were deadly pale,
and that her lovely countenance had a weary,
troubled, haggard expression. She rallied a little at
his words, and, with a hurried glance around her,
replied, but quite faintly:

“Yes, it is very beautiful! very charming!”

“Dear Isaline, you are not well!” said Henry,
quickly, with a look of anxious solicitude.

“I feel somewhat fatigued,” she replied; “as if,
under the excitement, I had over-exerted myself.”

“Dolt that I am,” said Henry, “not to have considered
that a pace which would be ease for me might
be death to you!”

“Oh, blame not yourself, my dear friend!” returned
Isaline; “we have been flying to save our
lives, and have only done what necessity required.”

“I do blame myself, notwithstanding, that I did
not sooner perceive the injury this rapid flight was
doing you!” rejoined the other, in a tone of deep self-reproach,
as he gazed into her sweet face with a look
of anxious kindness.

Her dark eyes beamed full upon him, with an expression
that made his heart take a great leap—an
expression of earnest sweetness, gentleness, sympathy,
hope, faith, reliance—love!

Henry next spoke with agitation—for that one,
simple, truthful, unstudied look, excited emotions
that made his frame quiver—his voice tremble.

“You must have rest now, dear Isaline—your
condition absolutely requires it!”

“But have we time, Henry? is not the danger still
too pressing?”

“There will be more danger for you to continue
without rest!”

“I am so fearful of being pursued!” said Isaline,

glancing timidly around her; “if not by the savages
of yesterday, at least by Methoto, who I am certain
will not hesitate to kill you now if he can find an
opportunity!”

“But I have his rifle, dear Isaline, and he fears
for his own life.”

“Yes, but may he not get another somewhere, and
secretly pursue and murder you?”

“Borrow it of his nearest neighbor perhaps,” returned
Henry, with a reassuring smile; “but while
he is gone to that neighbor for it, I think you may
safely venture to rest an hour, more especially as
the journey there and back would cost him at least a
day.”

“But the Indians we escaped from yesterday may
be even now pursuing our trail! and if they should
come upon Methoto now in his anger, he would most
likely join with them and follow us for revenge!”

“There may possibly be something to be feared
in that respect,” said Henry; “but, should we now
continue our flight, and you faint by the way, what
would be gained to us? Ha! a happy thought
strikes me, dear Isaline! We can break our trail
here, and gain all the rest we need, with additional
security, even should we be followed as you fear.
Look at that beautiful island, and the shallow water
flowing between it and us! Now we will go up
through this grove to those rocks you see above,
which will take no impression of our feet—and
which, to any one following, will convey the idea

that we have hurried on up the stream—and then
we will turn back into the water, and return to the
lower end of the island, and there secrete ourselves
among the bushes, till such time as we may see
proper to resume our journey.”

“Perhaps this may be done with safety!” said
Isaline.

“It will add to our safety, believe me!” rejoined
Henry; “more especially if we can manage to set off
in another direction without leaving an easily discernible
trail.”

“Well, do then as you think best!” assented Isaline.

It was the work of only a few minutes to carry
out the plan suggested; and on reaching the lower
point of the little island, along the bed of the shallow
branch or overflow, it was found that their steps
could be continued in the edge of the water of the
main channel for nearly half the distance back again,
so that they really first set foot upon the island from
its western, or rather southern, side, and immediately
found themselves in a thick covert of bushes.
Carefully pushing their way through these towards
the centre of their new retreat, they soon came to a
large, flat rock, directly under the bare, jagged arms
of the hoary old tree we have mentioned.

“Oh, what a delightful spot!” exclaimed Henry,
with enthusiasm, as, with his sweet companion, he
mounted the rock, upon which the bright morning
sun was shining warmly and gratefully, and gazed

around upon the flowery grove, the bold bluffs, and
the rushing, roaring river. “Here, dear lady, we
can rest in peace for the present, even though our
enemies be in hot pursuit, which I do not believe,
for certainly they would never seek to follow us
directly into the arms of our companions.”

“Ah! our companions—would to Heaven we
were with them again!” sighed Isaline.

“Courage, dear one—courage—and we may be
with them sooner than you believe!”

“If they in turn have met with no disaster and
have not passed the ford!” said Isaline.

“And even if they have, there will be a way to
follow them,” said Henry, cheerily. “The river has
only been temporarily raised by the storm of yesterday,
and I can see that the waters are now rapidly
subsiding to their regular depth. By the time we
reach the ford, we shall undoubtedly find the stream
in a condition to cross.”

“And how far do you suppose we are from the
ford now, Henry?”

“I do not know—but not far—not more than
three or four miles at most, judging from what that
white savage told us.”

“Oh, if kind Heaven will only permit us to rejoin
our companions!” said Isaline, with tremulous
anxiety.

After soothing and reassuring her, with many
kind words tenderly spoken, Henry, whose passion
for drawing the grand, sublime, or beautiful in nature,

would not let him rest idly in so enchanting a
place, at length said:

“Will you pardon me, dear Isaline, if, while you
are resting, I attempt to sketch the beauties of this
most charming of nature's retreats?”

“Oh, yes, by all means,” returned the other, “so
that we do not make too long a delay here!”

The next minute the young artist was engaged in
his favorite pastime, and soon became so deeply absorbed
that all else was forgotten—danger, Isaline,
everything. Minutes flew by unheeded, an hour or
two passed away, and his mind was still as intent as
ever upon the work before him—he standing on the
rock, and Isaline seated at his feet.

Suddenly he was startled by a hand clutching him
convulsively.

“I hear voices!” said Isaline, in a low, frightened
tone.

Henry looked up and around.

“And I see Indians!” he rejoined, leaping down
from the rock and fairly dragging Isaline into the
bushes.