68. LXVIII.
THE MARCH OF THE HUNTERS.
THE appearance of Falconbridge is easily explained.
Captain Wagner and his companions had no
sooner crept to their hidden position on the
brow of the opposite precipice, and concealed themselves
beneath the heavy foliage of the dense pines, than a council
of war was called.
The question to be determined was a simple one. Should
they make an attack before nightfall upon the occupants of
the cavern, trusting to their superior arms, or wait until
midnight, when the band was asleep, and then surprise
them, and put them to the knife? Some members of
the party advocated the former plan, and urged the fact
that the Indians were, no doubt now, according to their
invariable habit, overcome with liquor. They had certainly
carried off from the Ordinary as much rum as sufficed, by
the account of the servant who had escaped—and nothing
would be easier than to pile up brush at the mouth of cavern,
set fire to it, and force the Indians to an open combat,
as the alternative of being suffocated by the dense smoke.
This proposition found favor with numerous members
of the party, but they waited to hear the opinion of Captain
Wagner. The Borderer, who had listened attentively,
and when the speaker ceased, closed his eyes, and with knit
brows reflected rapidly, now shook his head, and growled:
“It won't do! Friend Huger, your scheme is a good
one, I don't deny, and shows that you have been after this
sort of game before—but there's a flaw in it, that kills. I
don't object to smoking the copper-faced devils, and suffocating
'em; if I could do it, I would put every Injun in
America in the big cave I've heard of, in the Blue Ridge up
the valley yonder, heap up whole pine trees at the mouth,
set 'em afire, and smoke my pipe with pleasure as I heard
'em yelling and howling in the death agony. That would
be good sport, or the devil take me! But it won't do here!
These varmints are not the only people in the cave.
“To our certain knowledge there are three ladies in the
hands of these miscreants. Mrs. Butterton, Miss Argal, and
little Miss Cannie from the mountain younder, George says.
Now the smoke would suffocate the women, too, and that's
not a part of our plan. I accordingly reject it, as commandant
of the troop, and will give my own views, which I shall
carry out, unless they are met by others better. I know the
`Devil's Garden' by heart. There is a path from this ridge
along the precipice, which will take us from one side of the
gulf to the other. I propose that we wait until past midnight,
when the scoundrels will be dead asleep—and then we
can make the attack. We can approach in either of two
ways. The cave can be entered from the opening yonder
where the two savages were talking, or through a cleft in
the rock above, near the strange rock like a man. We may
then rescue the women, and make an end of the whole
party.”
This proposition was unanimously approved of, and the
hunters concealed themselves more carefully, awaiting the
hour when they were to commence their march along the
winding path toward their enemies.
The moon had risen some time before, slowly ascending
like a shield of fire above the wild eastern ranges, and now
poured a flood of splendor upon the gigantic pinnacle which
towered above; on the yawning chasms and glimmering
masses of piled up rock: on the gorges bristling with drooping
evergreens; and on the river which glittered in its rays
like a writhing serpent. The great orb shone tranquilly,
and the yellow light slept on the weird scene as peacefully
as though it were untenanted by mortal—not the lurking-place
of deadly foes who would soon grapple in a mortal
struggle.
At ten paces from the rest of the hidden party, George
and Falconbridge conversed in low tones of their fears and
hopes, and all the emotions of their hearts. Long before,
indeed from the first moment of their meeting almost, they
had become bosom friends: heart spoke to heart: each recognized
a brother: and now, on the perilous border, in the
wild night, with those whom they loved more than life in
mortal danger, the bond of brotherood was drawn closer
still, until the two natures almost were combined into one.
Each trembled with vague dread of the result of the intended
attack. Would they arrive in time? Had not the
Indians, even now, put their captives to death? Were Bertha
Argal and Cannie Powell still breathing, or had they
fallen victims, hours before, to the savage cruelty which had
slain young children at the Ordinary, and dismembered the
dead body of the unhappy Mr. Argal?
So the two young men passed the long hours in shuddering
dread—impatient, longing, panting for the contest—
eager for the signal which would solve their doubts and end
their fears.
At last it came. Captain Wagner passed the word cautiously
along the line, and taking the head of the party, set
forward on the precipitous and almost imperceptible path
which wound down the steep declivity. It was only to be
followed by careful observation, leading, as it did, beneath
the dense foliage of the evergre ens, along the edge of the
precipice, where the moon's rays scarcely penetrated—and
more than one of the party, winding, single file, down into
the gorge, had to grasp the drooping boughs to prevent
themselves from being hurled into the chasm beneath.
At last the bed of the small stream was reached, and the
body of hunters commenced the ascent of the towering pinnacle.
This would have been entirely out of the question
near the outer edge, which was, as we have said, a sheer
precipice of five hundred feet, but at the point which they
had reached, about a quarter of a mile from the precipice,
it was possible to ascend, though this even was an undertaking
of great difficulty. The masses of rock in the path
of the party were huge and almost impassable—the tangled
underwood very nearly a complete barrier—but the trianed
and active hunters overcame all obstacles, and slowly made
their way, preceded by Captain Wagner, toward the summit.
It was nearly daybreak. Already faint streaks began to
appear in the eastern sky, the harbingers of dawn; and all
was more profoundly quiet in the wild scene than even upon
the night before.
At last the party reached the top, and a hurried consultation
was held. The result was that an examination of
the fissure, and the entrance to the cavern beneath the man's
bust, should be made, and to the latter Captain Wagner
addressed himself. Falconbridge, his second in command,
repaired with a portion of the hunters to the fissure.
He soon reached it, and bidding the men await his return,
let his body down through the yawning aperture, into
which the moon's rays plunged, and felt his feet base themselves
upon a jutting crag near the entrance. From this
abutment, he found no difficulty in picking his way, though
it required great caution, into the cavern nearest the summit.
From this he descended, directed by chance gleams of
fire-light, playing upon the roof, to the next, then to the
next, and so to the cave in which Lightfoot was watching
over the slumbers of Mrs. Butterton, Cannie, and Miss
Argal.
