Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 180, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 August 1914 — The MAID the FOREST [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The MAID the FOREST

& PANDALL PARRISH * ♦ J ILLUSTRATED J. LAVIN

COfiY/?/Gtrr & C0.,JJ13

SYNOPSIS.

Joseph Hayward, an ensign in the United States army, on his way to Fort Harmar, meets Simon Glrty, a renegade whose name has been connected with all manner of atrocities, also headed for Fort Harmar, with a message from the British general, ■ Hamilton. Hayward guides him to the fort. At General Harmar’s headquarters Hayward meets Rene D’Anvray, who professes to recognise him, although he has ho recollection of ever having seen, her before. Hayward volunteers to carry a message for Harmar to Sandusky, where Hamilton is stationed. The northwest Indian tribes are ready for war and are only held back by the refusal of the friendly Wyanddts to join. The latter are demanding the Return of Wa-pa-tee-tah, a religious teacher, whom they believe to be a prisoner. Hayward’s mission is to assure the Wyandots that the man is not held by the soldiers. Rene asks Hayward to let her accompany him. She tells him that she Is a quarter-blood Wyandot and a missionary among the Indians. She has beep in search of her father. She insists that she has seen Hayward before, but? in a British uniform. Hayward refuses her request and starts for the north accompanied by a scout named Brady and a private soldier. They come on the trail of a war party and to escape from the Indians take shelter in a hut on an island. Hayward finds a murdered man in the hut. It proves to be Raoul D’Auvray, a former French officer who is called by the Wyandots “white chief.” Ren'e appears and Hayward is puzzled by her insistance that they have met before. Rene recognizes the murdered man as her father, who was known among the Indians as Wa-pa-tee-tah. Brady reports seeing a band of marauding Indians in the vicinity and with them Simon Girty. Brady’s evidence convinces the girl that there is a British officer by the name of Hayward, who resembles the American. They find escape from the island cut off. Reconnoitering around the cabin at night Hayward discovers a white man in a British uniform and leaves him for dead after a desperate fight.

CHAPTER Xll—Continued. The three guns spoke at once, the smoke of their discharge for ah instant blotting out the scene, yet not before I saw war-bonnet crumple up beside the stump, and a warrior just behind him leap into the air with both "arms flung out. I gripped the fresh gun beside me, and fired again Into a huddle of fleeing figures, hearing the sharp crack of the two others, as the blue smoke blew back into my eyes. One Indian fell' forward clawing at the ground; another staggered wildly, yet kept his feet. A chorus of yells rent the air, and the fleeing forms vanished into the fringe of woods. Brady, glanced, about from his loophole, and motioned me with his hand. I crossed hurriedly to join him, again the soldier. “What is it? Can you guess what they mean to do?" “No, but they seem to be forming there to the right; bend down here; see, back among those trees. Ay! and your red-coat is among the devils, I’ve caught glimpse of him twice.” I grasped the situation in a glance. Brady moved to the next loop-hole, and knelt down. Opposite me I could distinguish an Indian or two, skulking in the tree shadows, well out or range—sentries, no doubt, stationed to guard against any posslblity of our escape. Yes, and there were others also along the fringe of forest to the although only occasionally did a half naked form flit into view. They were forming for assault, for a swift rush forward, trusting that the suddenness of their attack would put them across that open space without great danger. They had tried stealth and failed; now they would try recklessness, I pressed back the wooden shutter, kneeling to look out. For an instant, blinded by the bright light, I saw nothing, then, back in the edge of the timber, I could dimly distinguish the

group* of savages, stripped for fighting, their naked bodies gleaming. I knew little then of Indian warfare, yet it occurred to me that the representatives of each tribe were gathered together, and I watched the war-bonnets moving from group to group, as final orders were passed among them. Only once did I catch a glimpse of the red jacket, as its wearer stood at the foot of a huge tree, suddenly outlined by a ray of sun finding opening through the leaves above. As I caught view of him. he flung up one red arm, a rifle grasped in his hand, and, as if it was a signal, voice after voice whooped in savage yell, the noise blending into

one fierce scream, horrible and menacing. Above even this mad volume of sound there was a shout 'of command, emphasised by the discharge of a dozen guns. Then out of the smoke, springing forth into the open, I saw the devils come. It was as if hell had broken open and belched them forth. “Shawnees!” roared Brady. “Give it to ’em!” and he pulled trigger. Describe what followed no man could. It was pandemonium, uproar, action, no two seconds the same. I fired twice, three times, leaping back to grasp a gun from the bench, and groping my way through Smoke. My eyes smarted, perspiration streamed down my face, I heard the bark of rifles, voices calling within, wild echoing yells without. Over the barrel of my rifle I could distinguish the naked forms of savages leaping amid the smoke wreaths, stumbling, clutching at the air with empty hands. Then all at once they disappeared, vanished as if by magic. Smoke clung to the ground, yet amid its swirls I could perceive no movement; the fierce yelling ceased. What this sudden cessation meant I could not guess, but my hand reached instinctively for powder and ball. Then another yell, louder, more deadly with ferocity, smote my ears; bullets chugged into the logs, some one near me gave utterance to a roar of pain, and blows crashed against the barred door. I thrust my rifle forward —a tomahawk struck the” protruding barrel as I pulled trigger, and I was flung backward to the floor, blood streaming from my shoulder. I could hardly breathe in the thick smoke; I could see nothing, yet out of the babel of noise I was conscious of Brady’s voice yelling an order: “The door! Barricade the door!" I staggered to my feet and dragged the bench forward;; some one gripped the table along with me, and together we hurled it on top, our bodies holding it there. I had dropped my rifle, but some one thrust another into my hand. Blood streamed down into my eyes from a cut on my forehead, blinding me soT saw nothing, yet my fingers touched a hand. Even then I felt the thrill of that contact “You, Rene! Go back! For God’s sake, go back!" I sobbed breathlessly. Just an instant she grasped me, clung to me, her head pressing against my sleeve. “Yes, monsieur!” Then she was gone; I reached out for her, but she was no longer there. Tomahawks crashed into the wood of the door; there was a sound of splintering. Brady ripped out an oath, a wild yell of triumph echoed without. Through a nearby loop-hole some savage thrust his gun, and fired blindly, the sudden flash lighting the murk. In the Instant red glow I caught a glimpse of the interior—of a body lying before the fireplace, ©! Schultz still, on . his knees, rifle in hand, of Brady gripping an ax, his head bare, a ghastly wound on the side of his face. Then the smoke hid all. Something crashed against the door, shaking the whole cabin; again and again the blow fell, the tough wood bursting asunder, the stout bar bending, yet snapping back once more as the sockets held. Amid the din of shouts, the crash of wood, my eyes met Brady’s. “You ’re hurt?” “Ay!” spitting out blood before he could answer. “Jaw shot” The door crashed in, the great butt of a tree coming with it, and * half blocking the passage. All that remained was instantly filled with savage figures. Into the mass oftheml fired my last shot, the flame of discharge searing the hideous faces. Then I was hurled to the right, shoulder to shoulder with Schultz, gripping my gun barrel with both bands,'swinging it like a flail. I crushed the skull of a savage, drove the butt .into the face of another; saw the flash of a tomahawk, held up for, an Instant the soldier’s reeling body, only to throw it aside; smashed the red hand held out to grip him as he went flown; drew back a step in search of more room, and, with one mighty sweep of my weapon cleared a circle before me. God! It was ghastly, inhuman, devilish! Those behind pushed,and yelled; there was no escape! I saw painted faces, naked shoulders; wild eyes glared hatred into mine; tomahawk and knife flashed. The butt of my gun smashed, I gripped the iron, my teeth clinched, and blood on fire. I had no sense of fear left, no consciousness of peril. I wanted to strike, to kill, to bruise those hideous faces, to batter them into pulp. The rage of conflict seized me; there swept over md the ferocity of thie insane. I gave back, compelled by the mere force of numbers hurled against me, yet kept clear a space no savage left unhurt. I felt in my arms the strength of a dozen men, and not the grip of a red hand reached me: The flends snarled and struggled, but the fierce swing of the iron bar crushed them back. It was twilight where I stood at bay, the narrow opening, almost blotted out by those struggling figures striving to enter, to me, was a mere blotch, an Inferno of movement and sound. Through a dim, red haze, where blood dripped before my eyes, I had glimpses of uplifted arms, of distort-, ed faces, of glittering weapons. Once

there was a gun shot, the sudden flash flaming into my eyes; twice tomahawks, turning in the air, grazed my cheek; a knife, desperately hurled from out the ruck, struck the iron, slashing my arm as it fell I felt no pain, no weakness; I was going to die, but it would not be alone. I rushed forward, treading on bodies, battering at shoulders and heads. I heard yells, shrieks, groans, cries of horror and agony. The frenzied war-whoop rang in my ears; an order roared, out over the babel. I have no recollection of being touched, yet some force hurled me back. I stumbled over the bodies, yet somehow kept my feet I was breathless, Weak, reeling upon my legs, everything before my eyes shrouded in mist. Yet the instinct to fight remained; I knew nothing else. Suddenly I became aware that Brady and I were together, that we were foot to foot, his deadly ax rising and falling as though he was a woodsman in the forest. Out of the mad din in my ear came the sound of his voice in broken, breathless sentences. "Good boy! Good boy! Ay! That was ,a blow. Stand to it, lad; they’ll tell of this fight on the border. Oh, you will, you painted devil —that finished you! Do you see Red-Coat back there, Hayward? Ay! I’d like one swipe at him, but the coward keeps safe. Strike lower man! They’re creeping in on us. That’s the kind. Ah!lthOUghtßo;they’retakißguA from behind—quick, lad, back to the wall!” I got there; God only knows how—but I was alone. I felt the force of the rush that struck him down; it had lifted me bodily and hurled me against the logs. Yet I kept my feet, kept my grip on the twisted iron, and struck blindly. The whole cabin seemed jammed with red they piled on me, jerked tne bar from my grasp. Once, twice, I sent clenched fist against painted faces; then it was over with. I never saw or felt the blow that floored me; I went down into darkness, and they trampled me under foot.

CHAPTER XIII. f s The Help of Mademoiselle. The sound of a voice speaking, apparently far off, was the first thing of which I was dimly conscious. The language was French, and, for what seemed a long time, no word sounded familiar. My mind was blank of any distinct impression, although there appeared to float before me, in recollection of some former existence, the face of mademoiselle. Her wonderful eyes were gravely smiling through a strange mist that appeared to hide all else in its circling folds. I could not get away from their silent pleading, their invitation. Then somehow that speaking voice became hers, and I picked out a word here and there, detached, meaningless, and yet recognizable. I struggled to arouse myself to her actual presence. The struggle must have been physical as well as mental, for I became conscious of pain, a sharp pang shooting through my body, as if a knife had been twisted in a deep Wound. The agony brought me wide awake, my eyes open, staring about, yet scarcely realizing 'where dream and reality met. "Monsieur,” the voice was a whisper at my ear; I could even feel her soft breath on my cheek. My eyes instantly opened, and looked into her face as she bent above me. "Do not move, do not speak aloud—but listen, I knew you were not dead; I found you first and kept them away, but there is no time now for me to explain, ytre you badly hurt?” "I cannot tell, mademoiselle—those heavy bodies will not let me move.” She glanced about swiftly, as If in fear of being seen; then released my limbs, dragging the two dead Indians aside. I felt cramped, lifeless below the waist, yet as the blood began to circulate I knew there was no serious Injury. She stared Into my face as I worked the numbed muscles, and her eyes told me that she was frightened. "We are alone here?" “Yes, for the moment," breathlessly. "It is your only chance; I have prayed and schemed to get to you. We mustn’t loee an Instant. Can you move, monsieur? Can you even crawl a dozen feet?” • "Where—where do you want me to go?” I asked faintly, inspired to effort by the firm, eager grip of her hand. “Tell me; I’ll try." "There—just to the left of the fireplace. It is the one chance, monsieur; They will be back, those fiends, they will burn the cabin. Mon Dieu! Try! Try!" I got to my knees once more, the plea of her voice yielding strength and determination. At whatever cost I would make an effort to please her With teeth clinched' tight, I t fixed my eyes on the spot indicated and started. Terrible was the effort! But I made it inch by inch. I shall never know how the deed was accomplished—only that she helped, and I fought, ata. I had to; she asked me; there were tears in her eyes. No matter if it did hurt, if I was blind, if I reeled on hands and knees like a man drunk—l must go there. I had not the faintest thought of why she urged me on. of what hope animated her.

And when I finally gave out helpless to advance another inch, my face came down hard on a slab of stone beside the chimney. She uttered a low sob of despair, and left me an instant. “I —I am so sorry, monsieur,” she faltered. "But you must hold out—you must!” “Is it any farther? What do you want me to .do?" "No, no—only you will need strength; it will only take a minute now. See, monsieur.” She gripped the flat stone against which I had fallen, prying it with the broken blade of an Indian knife that lay on the floor, until her fingers found hold, and ended it up against the chimney. A narrow black opening was. exposed. I stared down with lackluster eyes, startled, but unable to realize the purpose. Driven by fear she wasted no time in either explanation or urging. Doubtless my face told its own story, and made her desperate. With a strength I had not supposed her slender body possessed, she dragged me about, until my feet dangled helplessly tn the opening. "Now push yourself down, monsieur! I say you must! It is not far, not more than four feet —’t is not to hurt, no, no. You will'come easy to the bottom. Good! That is the way. See, I will hold tight to you like this.” Helped by her, yet exercising all my remaining strength, and now comprehending her plan, I sank elowly into the hole, but so numb were my limbs, that, the instant the girl released her grasp, I sank limply to the bottom,

resting there, leaning against the side wall, looklnig eagerly up at her face framed above me in the narrow opening. ■ * "You are safe, monsieur? You are not hurt?" she asked in trembling anxiety. I murmured a word or two, for I had exhausted all my strength. She 1 must have accepted this as reassurance, for she lifted her head, and glanced'swiftly about Then she reached down to me the pannikin of water. “I cannot Wait longer," she whispered. “Some one will come. Here; take this, monsieur; put it down carefully—ah! that was fine. Wash out your wounds, and the blood from your face. It will be dark, but fear nothing. I will come again to you soon." “Where does this tunnel lead?" 1 asked, as her hand grasped the stone slab. “To the care "cellar at the rear; where we first met —but you must wait for me to come, monsieur." I saw the shadow of the stone descending, shutting out the light “Just one question more, mademoiselle,” I managed to articulate. “Is Brady dead?” I could dimly perceive the outline of her face. "No, monsieur, he is a prisoner." Slowly I made effort to explore my wound. This was most painful, as my rough shirt was held to my flesh by congealed blood, and had to be torn away. I possessed no knife, but stuck to the work manfully, my teeth clinched, my face beaded with perspiration, until I deparated the last shred, and could explore the wound with my fingers. It proved deep and ragged enough, but had penetrated nothing vital. If I could staunch the flow of blood, and bind it up so as to prevent its being reopened, there should be no serious result I went at this as best I could in the dark, and, by sense of touch, groaning at' the pain, I swabbed out the wound until it practically ceased to bleed, and then bound it up with a silk neckerchief and a strip torn from my shirt. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

The Door Crashed in.

"Good Boy! Good Boy! Ay! That Was.a Blow."