the stings of innumerable bees, his limbs became cramped, a sickening nausea possessed him, an intolerable thirst gnawed at his stomach, and his eyes started from their sockets as he began to realise the horrible truth, that he had been pierced by a poisoned arrow. Raising his brandy flask with trembling hands, he drained the small quantity that it contained, and dashed it upon the earth; but the deadly poison was doing its work, and in a paroxysm of desperation he strove to make his way in the direction he believed his friends to be searching for him. He succeeded in reaching the crest of the low ridge. A storm was gathering blackly, the clouds were scudding wildly athwart the zenith, a strong north wind tore through the ghostly pines tossing the branches that creaked dismally. It was an eerie scene, the leafless limbs of the oaks, frost-bitten and brown, swaying their skeleton arms outlined against the grey sky, while the twilight was dying, fast driven by the swift darkness of night, and already the fen stretching out at the foot of the ridge upon which he stood and the deep lake were lost in the blackness. Benumbed by terror and pain, with his blood fast thickening in his veins, Guy sank down, his head drooped, his fowling-piece fell from his nerveless fingers. CHAPTER XLVII AN INDIAN TORQUEMADA "If heaven have any grievous plague in store, On thee, the troubler of the poor world's peace." O to his feet. NCE again he strove to rise from the spot where he had fallen, by clutching at the bushes and lower limbs of a knotted sapling, and at length he staggered "Curse the cowards who have left me to die alone! where are they?" he groaned, in a vague sort of way. "I must seek the Indian village. Öld Wyandance will not deny me shelter, and he will know the remedy-Ascassasatic used the tobacco, and sucked the poison His voice died away, he strove to reach the wound with his lips, but tried in vain. Then he clutched eagerly at his pipe, but found it empty-his tobacco pouch he had left with Captain Monckton. "I must reach the village," he whispered, hoarsely, and grasping at the low-bending limbs he stumbled forward a few yards, then reeling, half crouching, he found himself descending the incline, and ere he could check his steps he was again upon the very brink of the fen. His limbs failed and he sank down in a heap, groaning piteously with the pain that was becoming almost unendurable. Wagh! White wolf cry like squaw! red man's medicine strong-white wolf no more talk love to the red flower of the Montauks!" The groan upon Guy's lips died away in a gasp of horror, as a dark form glided to his side like a crouching tiger, an iron hand grasped his wrist, a scowling face bent low over him, like a hideous phantom seen in a dream, which he recognised, even in the gloom. "Poniute!" "Ugh!" I The Great Spirit has sent you to me in this terrible strait! Help me! For the love of God, give me something to take away this horrible pain! will give you of the white man's gold. I am sore wounded by an arrow, and I am certain it is poisoned! You know the cure your people can take away the poison; Ascassasatic saved Lawrence -for the love of God, make haste! Don't you know I am suffering the tortures of the damned?" pleaded the wretched victim, essaying to ignore the bitter hatred the warrior had implied by his speech, and hoping to move the savage heart to pity. A blaze of exultation swept over the Indian's countenance, a cruel glare flamed in his deep-set eyes. "Did the white hawk spare the red bird that sung all the long days in the wigwam of the great Sachem of the Montauks? No! he set a poisoned talon in her heart that turned the red blood black, and hot, and thick, and changed all the love which the maiden had given him to hatred and revenge. For love of the pale-face wolf the forest flower turned her face from the warriors of her tribe. "What would the white wolf do? Would he give her love for love? Would he have taken her to his wigwam before her tribe and his own people? No! he would have made the pride of the Montauks a shame to the women of her tribe. The squaws of burden would have pointed their fingers toward her and bent their eyes to the ground when she passed, until she should be cast forth from her people to die in the forest, where nothing but the wild beasts should look upon her shame! Would the white dog know whose tongue spoke the words. that sent him to a death by the poison of the rattlesnake?" "Merciful Saviour! you cannot tell me that it was-was she?" gasped Guy, as he raised his burning eyes to the face of his tormentor. "A woman, with a woman's tender heart, could not do this!" "It was Heather Flower who sent Poniute to drive the poisoned arrow through the white man's thigh, to watch his agonies, and take his scalp that will dry in the smoke of her lodge-fire when Poniute takes her to his wigwam. The pale-face wolf promised to make her his squaw. He lied-she would have revenge!" "I did not lie! I told her I loved her-it is true! Give me the medicine that will take away this cursed poison and I swear by the Great Spirit that I will go to the village and make Heather Flower my wife, before her tribe, and by the customs of her people! "What does the white man care for the red man's law?" sneered the Indian. "Wagh! the white man's law calls the custom of the red man nothing! Pouf! to him it is like the breath of wind that comes and goes and cannot be seen." 66 I will swear to make Heather Flower my wife before my race. A black-coat shall wed us, and before every white man in the settlements and every warrior of her tribe!" groaned Guy, as he clutched frantically among the rushes where he lay. There was a depth of scorn and triumph in the Indian's tones as he replied: Heather Flower will come to the lodge of Poniute when the scalp of the white warrior who has told her lies hangs at his belt. The Montauk warrior will go when his white enemy has groaned away his breath, and then" A savage pantomime of scalping a foe emphasised the unfinished sentence. Almighty God! Can the woman who has sworn to love give the man she has loved to such a fate? Have mercy! mercy! mercy! Savage though you are, is there not one spark of pity left? shrieked the victim, as he struggled to his knees and clutched the Indian's blanket; but the implacable savage met the piteous entreaties with an exultant cry that froze the suppliant to the heart, and wrenching the clinging fingers from his mantle with a force that rattled the wampum ornaments like a fringe of icicles, he stepped back a pace, wrapped his blanket closely and folded his arms across his brawny chest. 66 Listen! Shall the red warrior see the bird crushed in the coils of the serpent whose song charmed her while she fluttered nigh to the open jaw? Shall he spare the serpent? Listen! The pale-face has stolen the red man's lands; he has taken from him the right to dig in the ground for the roots to make his medicine; he has driven the fish from the streams; the great fish that the Indian takes from the big water is stolen by the white man who leaves the red man only tails and fins; he is scaring the deer from the forest, and soon he will have all; but he could not take away the red flower Poniute would wear in his bosom! |