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<SPAN name="chap35"></SPAN> <h3>Chapter Thirty Five.</h3> <h4>A dangerous Sweetheart.</h4> <p>Our conjectures as to the mode of their departure were at an end. On this point, we had arrived at a definite knowledge. It was clear they had gone off in the canoe; and with the current, of course: since that would carry them in the direction they intended to travel. The settling of this question, produced a climax—a momentary pause in our action. We stood upon the bank of the stream, bending our eyes upon its course, and for a time giving way to the most gloomy reflections. Like our thoughts were the waters troubled. Swollen by the recent rain-storm, the stream no longer preserved its crystal purity; but in the hue of its waters justified the name it bore. Brown and turbid, they rolled past—no longer a stream, but a rushing torrent—that spumed against the banks, as it surged impetuously onward. Trees torn up by the roots were carried on by the current—their huge trunks and half-riven branches twisting and wriggling in the stream, like drowning giants in their death-struggle. In the “sough” of the torrent, we heard their sighs—in its roar, the groans of their departing spirits!</p> <p>The scene was in unison with our thoughts; and equally so with the laughter that at that moment sounded in our ears—for it was laughter wild and maniac. It was heard in the forest behind us; ringing among the trees, and mingling its shrill unearthly echo with the roaring of the torrent. Both of us were startled at the sound. Though the voice was a woman’s, I could see that it had produced on Wingrove a certain impression of fear. On hearing it, he trembled and turned pale. I needed no explanation. A glance towards the forest revealed the cause. A female form moving among the trees told me whence had come that unexpected and ill-timed cachinnation.</p> <p>“Lord o’ mercy!” exclaimed my companion, “that Injun again! She’s been arter me since that night, an’ threatens to have a fresh try at takin’ my life. Look out stranger! I know she’s got pistols.”</p> <p>“Oh! I fancy there’s not much danger. She appears to be in the laughing mood.”</p> <p>“It’s jest that ere larf I don’t like: she’s allers wust when she’s in that way.”</p> <p>By this time the Indian had reached the edge of the clearing very near the rear of the cabin. Without pausing she sprang up on the fence—as if to enter the enclosure. This, however, proved not to be her intention; for, on climbing to the topmost rail, she stood erect upon it, with one hand clutching the limb of a tree, to keep her in position. As soon as she had attained the upright attitude, another peal of laughter came ringing from her lips, as wild as that with which she had announced her approach; but there was also in its tones a certain modulation that betokened scorn! Neither of us uttered a syllable; but, observing a profound silence, stood waiting to hear what she had to say. Another scornful laugh, and her words broke forth:</p> <p>“White Eagle! and proud slayer of red panthers! your hearts are troubled as the stream on which your eyes are gazing! Su-wa-nee knows your sorrows. She comes to you with words of comfort.”</p> <p>“Ah! speak them then!” said I, suddenly conceiving a hope. “Hear you that sound in the forest?”</p> <p>We heard no sound, save that of the water grumbling and surging at our feet. We answered in the negative. “You hear it not? Ha, ha, ha! where are your ears? It is ringing in mine. All day I have heard it. Listen! there it is again!”</p> <p>“She’s a mockin’ us,” muttered my companion; “thar ain’t no soun’ in partickler.”</p> <p>“No? we cannot hear it; you are mocking us,” I rejoined, addressing myself to the brown-skinned, sibyl. “Ha! ha! ha! It is <i>it</i> that is mocking you. It mocks you, and yet it is not the mocking-bird. It is not the dove cooing gently to his mate, nor the screaming of the owl. It is the cuckoo that mocks you! ha! ha! the cuckoo! Now, do you hear it, White Eagle? Do <i>you</i> hear it, proud slayer of red panthers? Ha! it mocks you both!”</p> <p>“Oh! bother, girl!” exclaimed. Wingrove in a vexed tone; “ye’re a talkin’ nonsense.”</p> <p>“Truth, White Eagle—truth! the black snake has been in your nest; and yours too, slayer of panthers! He has wound himself around your pretty birds, and borne them away in his coils—away over the great desert plains—away to the Big Lake! Ha, ha, ha! In the desert, he will defile them. In the waters of the lake, he will drown them—ha, ha, ha!”</p> <p>“Them’s yur words o’ comfort, air they?” cried Wingrove, exasperated to a pitch of fury. “Durned if I’ll bar sech talk! I won’t stan’ it any longer. Clar out now! We want no croakin’ raven hyar. Clar out! or—”</p> <p>He was not permitted to finish the threat. I saw the girl suddenly drop down from her position on the fence, and glide behind the trunk of a tree. Almost at the same instant a light gleamed along the bank—which might have been mistaken for a flash of lightning, had it not been followed instantaneously by a quick crack—easily recognisable as the report of a pistol! I waited not to witness the effect; but rushed towards the tree—with the design of intercepting the Indian. The blue smoke lingering in the damp air, hindered me from seeing the movements of the girl; but, hurrying onward, I clambered over the fence. Once on the other side, I was beyond the cloud, and could command a view for a score of yards or so around me; but, in that circuit, no human form was to be seen! Beyond it, however, I heard the vengeful, scornful, laugh, pealing its unearthly echoes through the columned aisles of the forest!</p> <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />

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