the spirit of the border-第41章

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then；　with　agile　movement；　dropped　to　the　ground　and　grappled　Joe's　legs。　Long

before　this　he　had　drawn　his　knife；　and　now　he　used　it；　plunging　the　blade

into　the　young　man's　side。



Cunning　and　successful　as　was　the　savage's　ruse；　it　failed　signally；　for　to

get　hold　of　the　Shawnee　was　all　Joe　wanted。　Feeling　the　sharp　pain　as　they

fell　together；　he　reached　his　hand　behind　him　and　caught　Silvertip's　wrist。　

Exerting　all　his　power；　he　wrenched　the　Indian's　arm　so　that　it　was　not　only

dislocated；　but　the　bones　cracked。



Silvertip　saw　his　fatal　mistake；　but　he　uttered　no　sound。　Crippled；　though　he

was；　he　yet　made　a　supreme　effort；　but　it　was　as　if　he　had　been　in　the　hands

of　a　giant。　The　lad　handled　him　with　remorseless　and　resistless　fury。　Suddenly

he　grasped　the　knife；　which　Silvertip　had　been　unable　to　hold　with　his

crippled　hand；　and　thrust　it　deeply　into　the　Indian's　side。



All　Silvertip's　muscles　relaxed　as　if　a　strong　tension　had　been　removed。　

Slowly　his　legs　straightened；　his　arms　dropped；　and　from　his　side　gushed　a

dark　flood。　A　shadow　crept　over　his　face；　not　dark　nor　white；　but　just　a

shadow。　His　eyes　lost　their　hate；　they　no　longer　saw　the　foe；　they　looked

beyond　with　gloomy　question；　and　then　were　fixed　cold　in　death。　Silvertip　died

as　he　had　liveda　chief。



Joe　glared　round　for　Girty。　He　was　gone；　having　slipped　away　during　the　fight。

The　lad　turned　to　release　the　poor　prisoner；　when　he　started　back　with　a　cry

of　fear。　Kate　lay　bathed　in　a　pool　of　blooddead。　The　renegade；　fearing　she

might　be　rescued；　had　murdered　her；　and　then　fled　from　the　cabin。



Almost　blinded　by　horror；　and　staggering　with　weakness；　Joe　turned　to　leave

the　cabin。　Realizing　that　he　was　seriously；　perhaps　dangerously；　wounded　he

wisely　thought　he　must　not　leave　the　place　without　weapons。　He　had　marked　the

pegs　where　the　renegade's　rifle　hung；　and　had　been　careful　to　keep　between

that　and　his　enemies。　He　took　down　the　gun　and　horns；　which　were　attached　to

it；　and；　with　one　last　shuddering　glance　at　poor　Kate；　left　the　place。



He　was　conscious　of　a　queer　lightness　in　his　head；　but　he　suffered　no　pain。　

His　garments　were　dripping　with　blood。　He　did　not　know　how　much　of　it　was　his；

or　the　Indian's。　Instinct　rather　than　sight　was　his　guide。　He　grew　weaker　and

weaker；　his　head　began　to　whirl；　yet　he　kept　on；　knowing　that　life　and　freedom

were　his　if　he　found　Whispering　Winds。　He　gained　the　top　of　the　ridge；　his

eyes　were　blurred；　his　strength　gone。　He　called　aloud；　and　then　plunged

forward　on　his　face。　He　heard　dimly；　as　though　the　sound　were　afar　off；　the

whine　of　a　dog。　He　felt　something　soft　and　wet　on　his　face。　Then　consciousness

left　him。



When　he　regained　his　senses　he　was　lying　on　a　bed　of　ferns　under　a　projecting

rock。　He　heard　the　gurgle　of　running　water　mingling　with　the　song　of　birds。

Near　him　lay　Mose；　and　beyond　rose　a　wall　of　green　thicket。　Neither　Whispering

Winds　nor　his　horse　was　visible。



He　felt　a　dreamy　lassitude。　He　was　tired；　but　had　no　pain。　Finding　he　could

move　without　difficulty；　he　concluded　his　weakness　was　more　from　loss　of　blood

than　a　dangerous　wound。　He　put　his　hand　on　the　place　where　he　had　been

stabbed；　and　felt　a　soft；　warm　compress　such　as　might　have　been　made　by　a

bunch　of　wet　leaves。　Some　one　had　unlaced　his　hunting…shirtfor　he　saw　the

strings　were　not　as　he　usually　tied　themand　had　dressed　the　wound。　Joe

decided；　after　some　deliberation；　that　Whispering　Winds　had　found　him；　made

him　as　comfortable　as　possible；　and；　leaving　Mose　on　guard；　had　gone　out　to

hunt　for　food；　or　perhaps　back　to　the　Indian　encampment。　The　rifle　and　horns

he　had　taken　from　Girty's　hut；　together　with　Silvertip's　knife；　lay　beside

him。



As　Joe　lay　there　hoping　for　Whispering　Winds'　return；　his　reflections　were　not

pleasant。　Fortunate；　indeed；　he　was　to　be　alive；　but　he　had　no　hope　he　could

continue　to　be　favored　by　fortune。　Odds　were　now　against　his　escape。　Girty

would　have　the　Delawares　on　his　trail　like　a　pack　of　hungry　wolves。　He　could

not　understand　the　absence　of　Whispering　Winds。　She　would　have　died　sooner

than　desert　him。　Girty　had；　perhaps；　captured　her；　and　was　now　scouring　the

woods　for　him。



〃I'll　get　him　next　time；　or　he'll　get　me；〃　muttered　Joe；　in　bitter　wrath。　　He

could　never　forgive　himself　for　his　failure　to　kill　the　renegade。



The　recollection　of　how　nearly　he　had　forever　ended　Girty's　brutal　career

brought　before　Joe's　mind　the　scene　of　the　fight。　He　saw　again　Buzzard　Jim's

face；　revolting；　unlike　anything　human。　There　stretched　Silvertip's　dark

figure；　lying　still　and　stark；　and　there　was　Kate's　white　form　in　its　winding；

crimson　wreath　of　blood。　Hauntingly　her　face　returned；　sad；　stern　in　its　cold

rigidity；。



〃Poor　girl；　better　for　her　to　be　dead；〃　he　murmured。　〃Not　long　will　she　be

unavenged！〃



His　thoughts　drifted　to　the　future。　He　had　no　fear　of　starvation；　for　Mose

could　catch　a　rabbit　or　woodchuck　at　any　time。　When　the　strips　of　meat　he　had

hidden　in　his　coat　were　gone；　he　could　start　a　fire　and　roast　more。　　What

concerned　him　most　was　pursuit。　His　trail　from　the　cabin　had　been　a　bloody

one；　which　would　render　it　easily　followed。　He　dared　not　risk　exertion　until

he　had　given　his　wound　time　to　heal。　Then；　if　he　did　escape　from　Girty　and　the

Delawares；　his　future　was　not　bright。　His　experiences　of　the　last　few　days　had

not　only　sobered；　but　brought　home　to　him　this　real　border　life。　With　all　his

fire　and　daring　he　new　he　was　no　fool。　He　had　eagerly　embraced　a　career　which；

at　the　present　stage　of　his　training；　was　beyond　his　scopenot　that　he　did

not　know　how　to　act　in　sudden　crises；　but　because　he　had　not　had　the　necessary

practice　to　quickly　and　surely　use　his　knowledge。



Bitter；　indeed；　was　his　self…scorn　when　he　recalled　that　of　the　several

critical　positions　he　had　been　in　since　his　acquaintance　with　Wetzel；　he　had

failed　in　all　but　one。　The　exception　was　the　killing　of　Silvertip。　　Here　his

fury　had　made　him　fight　as　Wetzel　fought　with　only　his　every　day　incentive。　He

realized　that　the　border　was　no　place　for　any　save　the　boldest　and　most

experienced　huntersmen　who　had　become　inured　to　hardship；　callous　as　to

death；　keen　as　Indians。　Fear　was　not　in　Joe　nor　lack　of　confidence；　but　he　had

good　sense；　and　realized　he　would　have　done　a　wiser　thing　had　he　stayed　at

Fort　Henry。　Colonel　Zane　was　right。　The　Indians　were　tigers；　the　renegades

vultures；　the　vast　untrammeled　forests　and　plains　their　covert。　Ten　years　of

war　had　rendered　this　wilderness　a　place　where　those　few　white　men　who　had

survived　were　hardened　to　the　spilling　of　blood；　stern　even　in　those　few　quiet

hours　which　peril　allowed　them；　strong　in　their　sacrifice　of　all　for　future

generations。



A　low　growl　from　Mose　broke　into　Joe's　reflections。　The　dog　had　raised　his

nose　from　his　paws　and　sniffed　suspiciously　at　the　air。　The　lad　heard　a　slight

rustling　outside；　and　in　another　moment　was　overjoyed　at　seeing　Whispering

Winds。　She　came　swiftly；　with　a　lithe；　graceful　motion；　and　flying　to　him　like

a　rush　of　wind；　knelt　beside　him。　She　kissed　him　and　murmured　words　of

endearment。



〃Winds；　where　have　you　been？〃　he　asked　her；　in　the　mixed　English　and　Indian

dialect　in　which　they　conversed。



She　told　him　the　dog　had　led　her　to　him　two　evenings　before。　He　was

insensible。　She　had　bathed　and　bandaged　his　wound；　and　remained　with　him　all

that　night。　The　next　day；　finding　he　was　ill　and　delirious；　she　decided　to

risk　returning　to　the　village。　If　any　questions　arose；　she　could　say　he　had

left　her。　Then　she　would　find　a　way　to　get　back　to　him；　bringing　healing　herbs

for　his　wound　and　a　soothing　drink。　As　it　turned　out　Girty　had　returned　to　the

camp。　He　was　battered　and　bruised；　and　in　a　white　heat　of　passion。　Going　at

once　to　Wingenund；　the　renegade　openly　accused　Whispering　Winds　of　aiding　her

paleface　lover　to　escape。　Wingenund　called　his　daughter　before　him；　and

questioned　her。　She　confessed　a