71. LXXI.
THE FLIGHT.
THE three women quickly made their preparations,
and signified their readiness to follow their
guides.
Lightfoot went in front, cautioning the members
of the party, in a low tone, to make no noise; and thus
gliding like shadows, they ascended the first flight of steps,
leading to the next cavern above.
There, Lightfoot paused a moment to listen. His quick
ear seemed to have caught some slight sound of hostile import.
Bending his head, like a crouching wild animal, his
keen eyes plunged into the half-darkness, his acute ears
strove to discern the repetition of the noise. It seemed to
have existed only in his imagination; and with a silent
movement of the hand, he motioned to the party to follow.
The ascent became steeper and more difficult. In more
than one place the steps of the huge stairease were wanting,
and the women had to be lifted in the arms of their companions.
Falconbridge and Lightfoot, it may easily be be
lieved, experienced singular emotion as the forms of those
whom they loved were thus clasped in their arms, resting
upon their hearts. The young Indian was still agitated by
the cruel scene of his disappointment in the cavern: his face
glowed as he lifted the girl, and with all the respect and
tenderness of a brother, placed her safely upon the ledge
above. And if such an emotion invaded the breast of Lightfoot,
what a rush of painful delight must Falconbridge have
felt, as Miss Argal's cheek nearly touched his own, as her
dark curls brushed against his bosom!
But it was no time for reflection—no time to indulge
these inevitable emotions of the youthful heart. The moments
rushed onward, winged with terrible peril—all was at
stake; the issues of life and death must soon be decided.
The party hurried onward as rapidly as the broken and
jagged pathway would permit. They had ascended thus
very nearly to the entrance, and were mounting the last precipitous
staircase leading to the fissure in the pavement
above, beyond which lay hope, freedom, life. Lightfoot
again raised Cannie, and then assisted Mrs. Butterton to
ascend. Falconbridge held out his arms for Miss Argal, and
she obeyed his gesture.
The young man and the girl were thus clasped, as it were
in each other's embrace, when a roar like that of a furious
wild beast was heard, and followed by twenty Indians, the
Half-breed rushed up the staircase. He had gone to seek
Miss Argal, had discovered the escape of the three women,
and hastily calling to his companions, followed them.
He had arrived just in time to see Miss Argal clasped to
the bosom of Falconbridge, and the sight aroused in him
the furious devil of blood and death. By a superhuman
bound he reached the plateau beneath the fissure, just as the
three women were thrust upward by their companions—but
in spite of his reckless daring he recoiled.
Falconbridge had seized a huge mass of rock, and lifting
it above his head, hurled it downward. The Half-breed
avoided it by a movement to one side as rapid as lightning,
and it rebounded from the jagged floor, burst into fragments,
and sent throughout the gloomy caverns a sombre roar,
echoing and rebellowing from side to side.
Lightfoot and Falconbridge took instant advantage of the
diversion, and passing through the opening, found themselves
in the air above, in the midst of the party of hunters
who were rushing to their assistance.
The Indians appeared at the fissure, their red faces distorted
with rage and ferocity—above all, the hideous countenance
of the Half-Breed, which resembled that of some
horrible demon, wild with rage and disappointment. But
at sight of the hunters armed to the teeth, with levelled
rifles, the heads disappeared, amid cries of fury and fear.
A volley from the whites followed, and a howl from the cavern
replied to it. More than one of the savages had been
killed by the unerring balls.
Then a new phenomenon appeared. At the moment when
the hunters were hastily reloading their pieces, a dense
cloud of lurid smoke rose slowly through the fissure, and ascended
in the first rays of morning. Captain Wagner's
quick eye had discerned, from his position at the mouth of
the cavern, the escape of the captives—he had quickly
heaped together vast quantities of dry boughs—these had
been set on fire, and in the midst of the thick smoke his men
advanced to the attack.
The smoke swept upward toward the more elevated cavern
in which the entire tribe, by this time, were assembled.
Thus the captives huddled together upon the lower floor
were unharmed. Their bonds were quickly cut, and the
women escaped—the men seized arms from the floor and
joined the whites.
At the head of his party, thus swollen in numbers, Captain
Longknife rushed up the staircase of the cavern, firing
his pistols. Volleys from the hunters behind him were added—and
very soon they had arrived within sight of the fissure.
The huge borderer presented an appearance almost frightful.
His shaggy black hair and beard were singed by the
flames—his bulky form looked gigantic amid the clouds of
smoke—with his immense sabre whirled above his head, he
struck right and left with a fury which made him resemble
some mad giant of the old mythology.
More than once the cry of “Longknife! Longknife!” issued
from the terrified savages, who seemed to regard him
with superstitious awe and horror. They recoiled before
him, and crowded tumultuously toward the fissure. At every
moment the advancing hunters stumbled over dead bodies
—they breathed heavily in the lurid smoke: but with wild
shouts and discharges of fire-arms rushed upward.
The black fissure then disgorged before the eyes of the
party above, a furious crowd of savages. Their enemies
followed, and in an instant the final struggle commenced
upon the plateau of the gigantic pinnacle, which now shone
brightly in the light of day.
