University of Virginia Library

31. CHAPTER XXXI.
STERN RETRIBUTION.

As soon as it was light on the following morning,
Henry, who had passed a wretched night, began his
search for the trail of the Indians, assisted by Tom.
It was seen they had indeed been down on the beach,
for here and there the print of a moccasin was discovered
in the yielding soil; and it was not an unreasonable
conjecture, which both were led to make,
that Methoto had been wounded by his fall and subsequently
killed by the savages, and that Isaline
had in truth been borne off alive.

“Now then to find their trail and pursue it till I
either discover and save her or leave my bones
bleaching like those of Methoto!” said Henry, with
stern determination.

“We've got to fill our hollers afore we goes fur,”
said Tom, “fur I feels jest as ef I war agwine to cave
in.”

“Always thinking of eating!” returned Henry.

“Why that's the only thing as keeps me alive!”
said Tom, with the serious air of a savant explaining
some new discovery in science: “ef it warn't fur
eating, I wouldn't live a month—no, sir!”

“Well, you had some meat cooked yesterday

morning—will not that do you for the present?”
said Henry, with an anxious, impatient look. “As
for myself, I care for nothing, except to follow on
after poor Isaline, and every moment's delay seems
an age to me!”

“Meat cooked yesterday morning?” repeated Tom,
with a look of startled amazement; “why, what's
the feller a thinking on?—he's lost his senses sartin!
—as ef meat cooked yesterday morning, 'cept it war
a hull ox, could last till now! and me on the tramp
at that! Wagh! shagh! whar's the use?”

Tom agreed, however, that he would make as little
delay as possible, by hunting for something on the
way, and so they both immediately set about searching
out the trail. It was difficult to find, and cost
them the labor of an hour; and when found it was
difficult to follow, because it was some three days old,
and the light, moccasined foot of the Indians had left
no such easily discerned traces as the hoof of the
running horse. The general direction, though, was
something of a guide, because it was supposed the
savages would aim to overtake their companions,
and they had certainly taken the proper course for
that purpose. By keeping steadily forward, therefore,
over places where no impression could be seen,
our friends were always fortunate enough to find
more traces on beyond, and thus lost but little time.

One thing now troubled Henry not a little, even
beyond all his other troubles, and that was that no
discovery had as yet been made which proved that

Isaline was among the savages. Both he and Tom
had made a close and careful scrutiny of the trail
where it had been found the clearest, and yet had
failed to discern any sign or trace of the missing
girl.

“Oh, Heaven! should this hope prove a delusion,
and she not be among the savages after all!” groaned
Henry. “Tell me, Tom—tell me truly—what do
you think?”

“I don't know, younker—I can't sw'ar to nothing!”
answered Tom. “Prehaps her purty little foot
didn't come down hard enough to leave any mark
—jest like them varmints, called fairies, as I've
hearn about—and then ag in she mought be some'at
hurt, or sich like, and they be toting her on cross-poles.”

“But if such were the case, Tom, we should certainly
have found some indication of it before this—
some place where they had collected the materials
and constructed the litter—and some place where
they had taken it up and set it down. No! no! if she
is among them at all, she is not carried, Tom; and
my only hope now is, that her light foot has passed
without leaving any mark where we have searched.”

“Wall, all we kin do ar' to push on and try the
ventur!” returned Tom.

They did push on, as fast as they possibly could,
Tom keeping an eye ready for any game they might
discover. Before noon he was again fortunate
enough to kill a deer; and having eaten of this to

satiety, and persuaded Henry to do the same, he did
as before, cooked up a few pounds to take with
them.

The trail of Blodget and the Indians did not lead
to the camp where they had parted from their companions,
but rather diagonally across the country—
they doubtless calculating on striking the trail of the
main body further on, which they did. At the
point where the smaller trail joined the larger, Tom
remarked:

“Now we hev cl'ar work, Harry, and we kin go
as fast as we like.”

“Ah! but, Tom, if Blodget's party succeed in
joining the main body,” sighed Henry, “what chance
have we two against so many?”

“Not much, I'll allow; but ef we kin cotch up
with 'em afore they crosses the Ohio, we kin scout
round and make sure ef the colonel's darter ar'
amongst 'em; and ef she ar,' we'll know better what
to do nor we does now.”

“Let us hurry on then,” rejoined Henry, “and
know the worst as soon as possible. Ah! what a
long start they have of us! If we could only have
known, when we passed over this ground before, all
that we know now, how much time we might have
saved!”

“And had our hosses too, Harry! Agh! I hates
to lose them critters, and I've half a notion to go
back fur 'em!”

“No, no, Tom—we must not risk that delay!”

“Couldn't we make it up in riding faster nor we
kin walk, younker?”

“But we might not find them; and only think
how much important time would then be lost! No,
no, Tom—the matter is not to be thought of for a
moment!”

“Jest as you say.”

“By-the-way, Tom,” observed Henry, “a new
idea occurs to me. When I consider time and
everything, I do believe Blodget and his crew struck
this trail the very day we passed over it! If so,
how fortunate for us that we had passed this point
before they reached it! for they might have discovered
us first and ambuscaded us.”

“Woofh!” grunted Tom, with a shrug of his
shoulders.

The trail now being broad and clear, our two
friends pushed on rapidly till near night; when,
having ascended a small hill, some distance short of
the camp where they had made their escape from
the Indians, Tom suddenly stopped, grasped an arm
of his companion, and made a gesture for him to
keep silent.

“What is it?” whispered Henry, after listening
intently for a few moments and hearing nothing.

“D'yer see that thar t'other hill, right over thar?”
pointing a little to the right.

“Yes! well?”

“Don't you hear nothing?”

“No!”

“I does. Thar's a party coming up on t'other
side; but I can't jest make out whether they're
whites or Injuns!”

“Oh, Heaven! if it should prove to be our
friends, who struck across the country here under
Billings!” said Henry.

“That's what I hopes. Hark! you hears that,
don't ye?”

“Yes, it was a human voice, but too far off to be
distinct. And yet I somehow feel as if it were the
voice of a white man!”

“Let's creep into the bushes he-yar, Harry, and
lay low. Ef it's Injuns, we've got to do some dodging;
and ef it's whites, thar'll be time enough to
yell when we sees 'em.”

They stole off to a thicket, about a hundred
yards from the trail, and there concealed themselves,
and waited with breathless anxiety for the appearance
of the party, which was evidently ascending
the other hill from the opposite side.

In less than ten minutes they appeared upon the
summit—horses and men—white men—borderers—
the division which, some days before, had struck off
across the country, at the time that Tom and Henry,
with their ill-fated companions, had pursued the
direct trail. It was a sight only to be appreciated
by men in the condition of our hero and his friend.
It was the welcome sail at sea to a couple of poor
mariners drifting helplessly in an open boat. Henry
burst into tears; and Tom sent forth a dozen yells,

intended for the wildest delight, but which actually
startled the approaching party into the belief that they
were about to be assailed by a band of savages.

“Foller me!” cried Tom, bounding away down
the hill like a madman—whooping, shouting, yelling,
jumping, and swinging his arms and kicking
out his legs in the wildest manner possible.

Henry ran too, but he could not keep up with his
rough companion. By the time he reached the
party, Tom had shaken hands with more than half
of the men present, and was still whooping and
shouting in the midst of them.

They had recaptured the horses stolen from the
whites by the savages, some of the men were
wounded, and many had fresh Indian scalps attached
to their girdles. All this Henry saw, with a wild
glance, as he came panting up, and his heart beat
strangely. They had evidently met and conquered
the Indians, and what of Isaline? A dozen men
sprung forward to greet our hero; but his first
words, uttered gaspingly, were:

“The lady? the lady? Miss Isaline Holcombe?
is she with you? have you saved her?”

Alas! no one had seen her.

Henry felt his heart sink and brain swim. What
was all the rest of the world to him? He threw
his eyes rapidly over the whole group, and saw that
all had dismounted except one man, whose back was
toward him. He fancied he recognized the figure,
and hurried round to where he could get a better

view. He was not mistaken. He beheld the pale
face and compressed lips of Charles Hampton.

“What does that villain among you here and at
liberty?” he shouted. “That is the wretch that
brought all our trouble upon us!”

He had scarcely spoken, when Hampton struck
his horse a violent blow and dashed swiftly down
the hill.

“What's that, Harry?” cried Tom, whose attention
was now directed to the treacherous villain by the
words and actions of his friend.

“It is Hampton, Tom—there he goes—escaping
the punishment that belongs to him!”

Quick as thought Tom raised his piece to his eye
and fired. Hampton reeled and fell, and the riderless
horse went plunging on.

“I knowed my time ud come!” said Tom, coolly;
“and this he-yar's a better shooting iron nor I gin
the old ripscallion red niggers credit fur!”

This unexpected and tragic scene created great
excitement among the borderers, who, in their previous
encounter with the savages, had found Hampton
a prisoner, and had rescued and treated him as
an honorable gentleman, supposing him to be one,
they knowing nothing of his previous deeds, and
readily believing the false tale he had told them.

Some half-a-dozen of the party now ran down to
him, and found him badly wounded—Tom's ball
having entered under the right shoulder-blade and
passed through the right lung. He breathed with

difficulty and coughed up blood. He was still conscious,
but could not live. They brought him up
to the top of the hill, and he fairly gnashed his teeth
at the sight of Henry and Tom.

“It was not me you should have murdered, you
cowards, but Blodget!” he muttered, chokingly.

“And whar mought that devil be found?” asked
Tom.

Hampton groaned, and pointed with his finger.
Both Tom and Henry looked in the direction indicated;
and there, not fifty feet distant, they beheld,
what they had not before observed, the pale face
and cowering form of Blodget, who was standing
between two men, with his arms bound behind his
back, in the manner he had compelled the prisoners
to march with the savages.

Tom uttered a fierce yell of savage delight and
sprung toward him; but, quick though he was,
Henry was before him.

“Stand off!” he said; “not a word till I shall have
done questioning him!” And then to Blodget, who
was now shaking all over, like a man with the ague:
“Villain,” he cried, “if you want to live long
enough to say your prayers, quick! tell me! where
is the girl you went in pursuit of?”

“Oh, sir—oh, good gentlemen—don't hurt me!
don't! for I didn't have anything to do with it—it
was an accident, I suppose!” cried the poor, miserable
coward, in the most abject, servile tone, which
wonderfully contrasted with his language and manner

at the time he parted from the prisoners at the
Indian camp.

“Speak out!” gasped Henry, catching hold of Tom
for support, and preparing himself to hear the worst.

“The girl was killed!” said Blodget.

“Oh, my God! my God!” groaned Henry, with a
reeling brain.

“How does you know that, you imp of the devil?”
demanded Tom. “Did you see her dead?”

“No, I didn't see her dead,” replied Blodget, “but
Methoto and his horse went over a precipice, and
we found their bones there, and I suppose she was
killed too, though we couldn't find her.”

“Ef you lies about this yere, I'll hev you strung
up to the fust tree, you infarnal whelp!” cried Tom.

“I don't lie—I'm telling you the honest truth!”
returned Blodget. “We hunted all round, and
couldn't find anything of her, either living or dead.”

“Thar, Harry, lad, don't take on so!” said Tom,
kindly; “the colonel's darter arn't dead, you see,
arter all—no, sir! She's got away alive somehow
and she'll turn up all right yit!”

“Oh, Tom, if I were only certain of that!”
groaned Henry; “but I have little or no hope now,
my friend! I did think it possible she might have
been carried off by this villain; but now all is dark
mystery! Oh, that I could have died in her place!
poor, sweet, loved and lost Isaline!”

The adventures of this party of borderers, as told
to Tom by one of the number, may be summed up

briefly. They had been roaming through the wilderness,
without anything occurring of any importance,
till they had stumbled upon the trail of the
main body of savages, which they had pursued
rapidly, coming up with the Indians, or rather in
sight of them, one day about sunset. Not having
been discovered themselves, they had made their
arrangements for a night attack, which had proved
successful. Nearly all the Indians had been killed,
and their horses and plunder had fallen into their
hands. Finding Hampton a prisoner, they had
readily believed his trumped-up story of his misfortunes,
and had never once dreamed of his being
the treacherous villain whose wicked plans and
counsels had brought so much trouble upon the
country. He had told them how Blodget and his
party had gone in pursuit of Isaline, and they had
come back on the main trail in the hope of being
able to find and destroy them. They had been successful
in this also. They had seen the Indians first
and ambuscaded them, and Blodget was the only one
of his party now alive, and he had been reserved
for hanging whenever it should suit their pleasure
to give him a forest trial. Having accomplished
their purpose, they were now leisurely returning
homeward—hoping, by keeping on the Indian trail,
to fall in with some of their former companions.

When Tom in turn related what had befallen
himself and party, great was the excitement and indignation
of the borderers; and what he stated concerning

Hampton, fully justified him in their eyes
for having shot him like a dog rather than let him
escape. Some were for hanging Hampton now at
once; but others said he would die soon enough if
let alone; which indeed proved to be the case; for,
in less than two hours after this conversation, his
black heart and scheming brain were still in death.
The borderers would not bury him, but left his
body to the wolves and vultures.

That night, while assembled around their camp-fires,
they put Blodget on trial for his life. The
affair was conducted with some show of form and
justice. Twelve men were selected to act as a jury,
and they were to hear the evidence and decide. Tom
and Henry were required to give in their testimony,
and no other witnesses were needed. The jury took
only a couple of minutes for consideration, and the
verdict was:

“Guilty!”

Then twelve men were drawn by lot, to declare
what death he should die, and when, and they were
to be his executioners. For the first, they decided
he should die by hanging; and for the second, that
it should be before resuming their march on the
morrow.

“Between these two points we'll let the prisoner
fix the time for himself!” they said.

Blodget was nearly dead already with fear—for a
more abject, miserable craven never drew the breath
of life. When they brought him forward to put the

question, his face had a ghastly hue, he trembled
and shook till his teeth rattled, and large beads of
perspiration stood out all over his face.

“You're a heartless, cruel murderer,” said one of
the twelve, addressing the miserable wretch, “and
we ought to string you up at once; but we've decided
to let you name any time atween this and
sunrise that 'll best suit you to stretch the rope.”

Oh, gentlemen—good gentlemen—for God's sake,
don't hang me!” cried Blodget, dropping down on
his knees.

“How about us dancing at your wedding?”
asked Tom, who chanced to be one of the twelve
drawn.

“Oh, that was only a joke—that's all!”

“Purty joke, warn't it, you pusillanimous whelp?”
growled Tom. “And them sculps you slapped in
my face—them was a joke too, warn't they?”

“Oh, yes—I didn't mean any harm—and you
know I treated you well afterward!”

“Oh, yes—I feels proud on't! Wall, you see,
we's jest agwine to hang you in joke now—that's
all.”

“But it will kill me, won't it?” asked Blodget,
with trembling anxiety.

“Wall, it does sometimes kill folks of your size!”
gravely answered Tom.

“Oh, spare me! spare me! good gentlement!”

“You're worse than a sneaking wolf!” said one

of the others; “for that cowardly beast will die
game when he's cornered and can't get away!”

“Come,” said another, “name your time!—any
hour you likes atween this and sunrise.”

“Oh, gentlemen—oh, good, kind gentlemen—oh,
for God's sake, don't hang me! I'm not ready to
die yet!” pleaded the craven wretch, in the most
piteous tones he could command.

“If we wait for you to get ready, we'll all die of
old age!” said a stern voice.

“Name your time, and be quick about it,” said
another, “or we'll fix it for you!”

“Oh, gentlemen, do forgive me! won't you? I'm
not ready to die—I'm afraid to die—indeed, indeed
I am!” whined the miserable coward.

“You warn't afeard to kill my companions, as
good fellers as ever lived, and then slap thar bloody
sculps in my face, you _____ cantankerous, ripscallion,
slinking hoss-thief!” cried Tom. “Agh! wagh!
shagh! whar's the use?”

“We're wasting too much time here,” said one of
the men, “and I reckon we'd best string him up to
onct and make an end on't!”

“Oh, no, not to-night, for God's sake! good, kind,
dear gentlemen—not to-night!” pleaded Blodget.

“Shall it be at sunrise to-morrow?” asked another.

“At sunrise to-morrow!” cried several voices,
without waiting for Blodget to answer; “let it be
settled so!”

And so it was settled.

They bound the guilty villain to a tree; but he
made so much disturbance in the camp—by crying,
complaining, cursing, begging, pleading and screaming—that
the borderers finally resorted to gagging,
to keep him quiet.

At daylight the camp was astir, and the jury of
executioners prepared to do their fatal work. They
selected a small sapling, bent down the top, and secured
it by a rope. To this top they fastened another
rope, with a slip-knot at the lower end. Then
they dragged up Blodget, more dead than alive, with
his hands bound behind his back and the gag still
in his mouth, and passed the noose over his head,
and fixed the knot under one ear—he struggling,
moaning and shaking all over. As soon as all was
ready, they formed a ring around him. Then, at a
signal, the first rope was cut, and the spring of the
tree carried the wretched villain up several feet from
the ground, and there held him suspended by the
neck. He struggled violently for several minutes,
and then gradually grew still in death.

At last the damnable villain had met the punishment
he deserved.

When, shortly after, the borderers resumed their
homeward march, they left the body suspended in
the air, for the carrion birds to feed on.

Sad, silent, drooping, like one who no longer had
any object or aim in life, Henry marched on with
the rest, till they came nearly opposite the place,

though still some miles distant, where Methoto had
met his death, when he quietly announced to the
party that there he should leave them, as he was
going another way. They all knew his sorrow and
respected it, and several rough but kindly voices
inquired if there was anything they could do for
him.

“No!” sighed Henry; “I thank you—no!”

No one seemed to feel he had a right to question
him except Rough Tom; and he, with a look of surprise
and anxiety, drew Henry aside and said:

“What is it, Harry? what's the meaning of all
this he-yar? whar you agwine to now?”

“Never mind, Tom!” said Henry, proffering his
hand; “never mind, my brave friend! but let me
say farewell for the present; and do you go on with
the rest and leave me!”

“I'll be conscrimptiously ramboozled ef I does!”
cried Tom, emphatically. “No, sir! you arn't
agwine to come nary sich like dodge over this yere
old coon, ef I knows myself—no, sir! Ef you is
agwine to put out fur new diggins, I'm agwine with
you, and that's a settled p'int! Whew! Whar's
the use?”

“No, no, Tom—go on with the rest, and leave me
to myself! I am a miserable, unhappy man, and no
longer fit company for you or any one else! All
hope and joy in this world are gone, with my poor,
sweet Isaline! and when it shall please God to take
me, I shall be ready to go too!”

“Now, Harry, poor feller, don't say that!” returned
Tom, his eyes filling with tears; “don't say
that, lad—don't! So'thing 'll turn up yit. The
gal haint been seed dead; and it's like she got away,
and will come out all right in the eend!”

“Tom,” rejoined Henry, with melaneholy solemnity,
“I know you mean well; but why seek to
inspire me with a hope in which you do not believe
yourself? Could Isaline fall over that awful precipice
and not be wounded, even if not fatally?
Answer me that?”

“But may be she didn't fall over it, Harry!”

“Do you suppose, for one moment, she could have
got away from the strong arms of Methoto?”

Tom looked sadly down, but did not answer.

“Oh, my friend, you know in your own heart she
could not have got away from Methoto—that she did
go over that precipice—and that, if she was not
killed at once, she was so badly wounded as not to
be able to escape, and was probably destroyed by
the same ravenous wolves that devoured her brutal
captor and his beast!” said Henry, with choking
emotions. “Oh, God! oh, God! what a death for
the sweet being I so wildly, devotedly, madly loved!”

“But you know, Harry, we couldn't find her
bones—nor the Injuns nyther couldn't!”

“That is Blodget's story, I know; but he may not
have told us the truth. And even granting that she
was only so bruised and mangled that she could
crawl away, how could she, a poor, unprotected

maiden, live in the wilderness? Perhaps, in her
fear of the wolves, to save herself from being
devoured alive, she crawled out into the river and
was drowned!”

“You will hev her dead, I sees!”

“I would give my life to have her living!”
groaned Henry.

“But whar you agwine, anyhow?”

“I am going back there, Tom—back there, to
that fatal spot—for there is no other in this world
that has any attraction for me now!” groaned the
almost heart-broken lover.

“And what you agwine to do when you gits thar,
poor lad?”

“I do not know—die perhaps! If Heaven will
only guide me to her remains, I will gladly lie down
by them and pray for death.”

“Shagh! whar's the use?” said Tom. “She war
a purty, sweet kind o' gal, I'll allow; but thar's
others in the world jest as sweet and purty, Harry!”

Henry groaned and shook his head.

“No other for me, Tom—no other for me!”

“You've got friends in Varginee, Harry, and
s'pose you thinks of them!”

“It is useless for you to talk to me,” sighed Henry,
“for the die is cast, my hopes are dead, my heart is
with the remains of my sweet beloved—I cannot say
in the grave with them—for, alas and alas, they have
not had burial! Tom,” he continued, grasping the
rough woodman's hard, horny hand, and speaking

in a tremulous voice, half choked with emotion,
“you have been a true and faithful friend to me,
God bless you! and while I live I shall never forget
you; but the time has come for us to part. I am no
longer what I was, and I shall never be the same
man again. If you were to go with me, I should
only weary you with my grief, and perhaps make
you as wretched as my poor, miserable self. Therefore,
my brave fellow, go on with the rest, and leave
me to my fate!”

“I'll be — ef I does!” almost blubbered the
true old woodman; “and I'd lick ary other slinking
hound what axed me to do it—yes, sir! Woofh!
thunderation! whar's the use? Harry, wharsomever
you goes, I goes, like your shadder; and I'll stick to
you like a tick to a dorg's back! You arn't agwine
to git away from me, nohow—no, sir; and the more
you tries it on, the wuss you'll make out; so you
mought as wall guv up that thar p'int as waste your
breath on't! Ef one fri'nd ar' agwine to desart another
fri'nd, case t'other fri'nd ar' down in the mouth,
and don't feel like laughing and hollering and dancing
hoe-cake jigs, whar's the use o' being a white
gintleman at all?—he mought as wall be a red-nigger
to onct, and grease his face and shave his sculp!
Thar, younker, I've said my say out; and now come
on, and we'll go and hunt for the gal together!”

Henry made no further objections to accepting
the company of Tom—for he knew from experience
how useless it would be to argue against a point that

his resolute, determined, stubborn companion had
fully settled upon—and so both took leave of their
companions, and struck off together for the Kentucky
River, and the scene of that fearful disaster
which had filled the soul of the lover with such
crushing grief.

It should be mentioned here, that both were now
suitably clothed again, and provided with comfortable
blankets, which had been selected from the
stock of plunder taken from the Indians; and both
had also got back their own rifles, with plenty of
ammunition; so that they were now well prepared
for a long stay in the wilderness.

A little before night they reached the Kentucky
River, and the fatal spot where the bones of Methoto
and his horse still lay bleaching; and both went
down to the beach and made another careful search
for some trace of the lost Isaline; but, alas! with
no better success than before. She was gone!
she was gone! and every sound that reached the almost
heart-broken lover, seemed to sigh, or moan, in
his ear:

“She is gone! she is gone!”