betty zane-第22部分

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t；　showing　a　commanding　figure。　Slowly　his　features　lost　their　stern　pride；　his　face　softened；　and　his　dark　eyes；　gazing　straight　into　the　gloom　of　the　forest；　bespoke　a　superhuman　vision。

〃Wingenund　has　been　a　great　chief。　He　has　crossed　his　last　trail。　The　deeds　of　Wingenund　will　be　told　in　the　wigwams　of　the　Lenape；〃　said　the　chief　in　a　loud　voice；　and　then　sank　back　into　the　arms　of　his　comrades。　They　laid　him　gently　down。

A　convulsive　shudder　shook　the　stricken　warrior's　frame。　Then；　starting　up　he　straightened　out　his　long　arm　and　clutched　wildly　at　the　air　with　his　sinewy　fingers　as　if　to　grasp　and　hold　the　life　that　was　escaping　him。

Isaac　could　see　the　fixed；　sombre　light　in　the　eyes；　and　the　pallor　of　death　stealing　over　the　face　of　the　chief。　He　turned　his　eyes　away　from　the　sad　spectacle；　and　when　he　looked　again　the　majestic　figure　lay　still。

The　moon　sailed　out　from　behind　a　cloud　and　shed　its　mellow　light　down　on　the　little　glade。　It　showed　the　four　Indians　digging　a　grave　beneath　the　oak　tree。　No　word　was　spoken。　They　worked　with　their　tomahawks　on　the　soft　duff　and　soon　their　task　was　completed。　A　bed　of　moss　and　ferns　lined　the　last　resting　place　of　the　chief。　His　weapons　were　placed　beside　him；　to　go　with　him　to　the　Happy　Hunting　Ground；　the　eternal　home　of　the　redmen；　where　the　redmen　believe　the　sun　will　always　shine；　and　where　they　will　be　free　from　their　cruel　white　foes。

When　the　grave　had　been　filled　and　the　log　rolled　on　it　the　Indians　stood　by　it　a　moment；　each　speaking　a　few　words　in　a　low　tone；　while　the　night　wind　moaned　the　dead　chief's　requiem　through　the　tree　tops。

Accustomed　as　Isaac　was　to　the　bloody　conflicts　common　to　the　Indians；　and　to　the　tragedy　that　surrounded　the　life　of　a　borderman；　the　ghastly　sight　had　unnerved　him。　The　last　glimpse　of　that　stern；　dark　face；　of　that　powerful　form；　as　the　moon　brightened　up　the　spot　in　seeming　pity；　he　felt　he　could　never　forget。　His　thoughts　were　interrupted　by　the　harsh　voice　of　Crow　bidding　him　get　up。　He　was　told　that　the　slightest　inclination　on　his　part　to　lag　behind　on　the　march　before　them；　or　in　any　way　to　make　their　trail　plainer；　would　be　the　signal　for　his　death。　With　that　Crow　cut　the　thongs　which　bound　Isaac's　legs　and　placing　him　between　two　of　the　Indians；　led　the　way　into　the　forest。

Moving　like　spectres　in　the　moonlight　they　marched　on　and　on　for　hours。　Crow　was　well　named。　He　led　them　up　the　stony　ridges　where　their　footsteps　left　no　mark；　and　where　even　a　dog　could　not　find　their　trail；　down　into　the　valleys　and　into　the　shallow　streams　where　the　running　water　would　soon　wash　away　all　trace　of　their　tracks；　then　out　on　the　open　plain；　where　the　soft；　springy　grass　retained　little　impress　of　their　moccasins。

Single　file　they　marched　in　the　leader's　tracks　as　he　led　them　onward　through　the　dark　forests；　out　under　the　shining　moon；　never　slacking　his　rapid　pace；　ever　in　a　straight　line；　and　yet　avoiding　the　roughest　going　with　that　unerring　instinct。　which　was　this　Indian's　gift。　Toward　dawn　the　moon　went　down；　leaving　them　in　darkness；　but　this　made　no　difference；　for；　guided　by　the　stars；　Crow　kept　straight　on　his　course。　Not　till　break　of　day　did　he　come　to　a　halt。

Then；　on　the　banks　of　a　narrow　stream；　the　Indians　kindled　a　fire　and　broiled　some　of　the　venison。　Crow　told　Isaac　he　could　rest；　so　he　made　haste　to　avail　himself　of　the　permission；　and　almost　instantly　was　wrapped　in　the　deep　slumber　of　exhaustion。　Three　of　the　Indians　followed　suit；　and　Crow　stood　guard。　Sleepless；　tireless；　he　paced　to　and　fro　on　the　bank　his　keen　eyes　vigilant　for　signs　of　pursuers。

The　sun　was　high　when　the　party　resumed　their　flight　toward　the　west。　Crow　plunged　into　the　brook　and　waded　several　miles　before　he　took　to　the　woods　on　the　other　shore。　Isaac　suffered　severely　from　the　sharp　and　slippery　stones；　which　in　no　wise　bothered　the　Indians。　His　feet　were　cut　and　bruised；　still　he　struggled　on　without　complaining。　They　rested　part　of　the　night；　and　the　next　day　the　Indians；　now　deeming　themselves　practically　safe　from　pursuit；　did　not　exercise　unusual　care　to　conceal　their　trail。

That　evening　about　dusk　they　came　to　a　rapidly　flowing　stream　which　ran　northwest。　Crow　and　one　of　the　other　Indians　parted　the　willows　on　the　bank　at　this　point　and　dragged　forth　a　long　birch…bark　canoe　which　they　ran　into　the　stream。　Isaac　recognized　the　spot。　It　was　near　the　head　of　Mad　River；　the　river　which　ran　through　the　Wyandot　settlements。

Two　of　the　Indians　took　the　bow；　the　third　Indian　and　Isaac　sat　in　the　middle；　back　to　back；　and　Crow　knelt　in　the　stern。　Once　launched　on　that　wild　ride　Isaac　forgot　his　uneasiness　and　his　bruises。　The　night　was　beautiful；　he　loved　the　water；　and　was　not　lacking　in　sentiment。　He　gave　himself　up　to　the　charm　of　the　silver　moonlight；　of　the　changing　scenery；　and　the　musical　gurgle　of　the　water。　Had　it　not　been　for　the　cruel　face　of　Crow；　he　could　have　imagined　himself　on　one　of　those　enchanted　canoes　in　fairyland；　of　which　he　had　read　when　a　boy。　Ever　varying　pictures　presented　themselves　at　the　range；　impelled　by　vigorous　arms；　flew　over　the　shining　bosom　of　the　stream。　Here；　in　a　sharp　bend；　was　a　narrow　place　where　the　trees　on　each　bank　interlaced　their　branches　and　hid　the　moon；　making　a　dark　and　dim　retreat。　Then　came　a　short　series　of　ripples；　with　merry；　bouncing　waves　and　foamy　currents；　below　lay　a　long；　smooth　reach　of　water；　deep　and　placid；　mirroring　the　moon　and　the　countless　stars。　Noiseless　as　a　shadow　the　canoe　glided　down　this　stretch；　the　paddle　dipping　regularly；　flashing　brightly；　and　scattering　diamond　drops　in　the　clear　moonlight。

Another　turn　in　the　stream　and　a　sound　like　the　roar　of　an　approaching　storm　as　it　is　borne　on　a　rising　wind；　broke　the　silence。　It　was　the　roar　of　rapids　or　falls。　The　stream　narrowed；　the　water　ran　swifter；　rocky　ledges　rose　on　both　sides；　gradually　getting　higher　and　higher。　Crow　rose　to　his　feet　and　looked　ahead。　Then　he　dropped　to　his　knees　and　turned　the　head　of　the　canoe　into　the　middle　of　the　stream。　The　roar　became　deafening。　Looking　forward　Isaac　saw　that　they　were　entering　a　dark　gorge。　In　another　moment　the　canoe　pitched　over　a　fall　and　shot　between　two　high；　rocky　bluffs。　These　walls　ran　up　almost　perpendicularly　two　hundred　feet；　the　space　between　was　scarcely　twenty　feet　wide；　and　the　water　fairly　screamed　as　it　rushed　madly　through　its　narrow　passage。　In　the　center　it　was　like　a　glancing　sheet　of　glass；　weird　and　dark；　and　was　bordered　on　the　sides　by　white；　seething　foam…capped　waves　which　tore　and　dashed　and　leaped　at　their　stony　confines。

Though　the　danger　was　great；　though　Death　lurked　in　those　jagged　stones　and　in　those　black　waits　Isaac　felt　no　fear；　he　knew　the　strength　of　that　arm；　now　rigid　and　again　moving　with　lightning　swiftness；　he　knew　the　power　of　the　eye　which　guided　them。

Once　more　out　under　the　starry　sky；　rifts；　shallows；　narrows；　and　lake…like　basins　were　passed　swiftly。　At　length　as　the　sky　was　becoming　gray　in　the　east；　they　passed　into　the　shadow　of　what　was　called　the　Standing　Stone。　This　was　a　peculiarly　shaped　stone…faced　bluff；　standing　high　over　the　river；　and　taking　its　name　from　Tarhe；　or　Standing　Stone；　chief　of　all　the　Hurons。

At　the　first　sight　of　that　well　known　landmark；　which　stood　by　the　Wyandot　village；　there　mingled　with　Isaac's　despondency　and　resentment　some　other　feeling　that　was　akin　to　pleasure；　with　a　quickening　of　the　pulse　came　a　confusion　of　expectancy　and　bitter　memories　as　he　thought　of　the　dark　eyed　maiden　from　whom　he　had　fled　a　year　ago。

〃Co…wee…Co…woe；〃　called　out　one　of　the　Indians　in　the　bow　of　the　canoe。　The　signal　was　heard；　for　immediately　an　answering　shout　came　from　the　shore。

When　a　few　moments　later　the　canoe　grated　softly　on　a　pebbly　beach。　Isaac　saw；　indistinctly　in　the　morning　mist；　the　faint　outlines　of　tepees　and　wigwams；　and　he　knew　he　was　once　more　in　the　encampment　of　the　Wyandots。

　　　　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*　*

Late　in　the　afternoon　of　that　day　Isaac　was　awakened　from　his　heavy　slumber　and　told　that　the　chief　had　summoned　him。　He　got　up　from　the　buffalo　robes　upon　which　he　had　flung　himself　that　morning；　stretched　his　aching　limbs；　and　walked　to　the　door　of　the　lodge。

The　view　before　him　was　so　familiar　that　it　seemed　as　if　he　had　suddenly　come　home　after　being　absent　a　long　time。　The　last　rays　of　the　setting　sun　shone　ruddy　and　bright　over　the　top　of　the　Standing　Stone；　they　touched　the　scores　of　lodges　and　wigwams　which　dotted　the　little　valley；　they　crimsoned　the　swift；　narrow　river；　rushing　noisily　over　its　rocky　bed。　The　banks　of　the　stream　were　lined　with　rows　of　canoes；　here　and　there　a　bridge　made　of　a　single　tree　spanned　the　stream。　From　the　camp　fires　long；　thin　columns　of　blue　smoke　curled　lazily　upward；　giant　maple　trees；　in　them　garb　of　purple　and　gold；　rose　high　above　the　wigwams；　adding　a　further　beauty　to　this　peaceful　scene。

As　Isaac　was　led　down　a　lane　between　two　long　lines　of　tepees　the　watching　Indians　did　not　make　the　demonstration　that　usually　marked　the　capture　of　a　paleface。　Some　of　the　old　squaws　looked　up　from　their　work　round　the　campfires　and　steaming　kettles　and　grinned　as　the　prisoner　passed。　The　bra