Part 16 (2/2)

”I've often wondered about you, Braxton,” he said calmly. ”I used to think that anybody, no matter how bad, had some good in him, but I reckon you ain't got none.”

Wyatt did not answer, but rushed forward in search of the others.

But Henry, Silent Tom, and Long Jim had vanished. A powerful party of warriors had stolen upon s.h.i.+f'less Sol and Paul, while they were absorbed in the chase of the old man and the boy, and now they were prisoners, bound securely. Braxton Wyatt came back from the fruitless search for the three, but his face was full of savage joy as he looked down at the captured two.

”We could have killed you just as easily,” he said, ”but we didn't want to do that. Our friends here are going to have their fun with you first.”

Paul's cheeks whitened a little at the horrible suggestion, but s.h.i.+f'less Sol faced them boldly. Several white men in uniform had come up, and among them was an elderly one, short and squat, and with a great flame colored handkerchief tied around his bead.

”You may burn us alive, or you may do other things jest ez bad to us, all under the English flag,” said s.h.i.+f'less Sol, ”but I'm thinkin' that a lot o' people in England will be ashamed uv it when they hear the news.”

”Indian” Butler and his uniformed soldiers turned away, leaving s.h.i.+f'less Sol and Paul in the hands of the renegade and the Iroquois.

The two prisoners were jerked to their feet and told to march.

”Come on, Paul,” said s.h.i.+f'less Sol. ”'Tain't wuth while fur us to resist. But don't you quit hopin', Paul. We've escaped from many a tight corner, an' mebbe we're goin' to do it ag'in.”

”Shut up!” said Braxton Wyatt savagely. ”If you say another word I'll gag you in a way that will make you squirm.”

s.h.i.+f'less Sol looked him squarely in the eye. Solomon Hyde, who was not s.h.i.+ftless at all, had a dauntless soul, and he was not afraid now in the face of death preceded by long torture.

”I had a dog once, Braxton Wyatt,” he said, ”an' I reckon he wuz the meanest, ornierest cur that ever lived. He liked to live on dirt, the dirtier the place he could find the better; he'd rather steal his food than get it honestly; he wuz sech a coward that he wuz afeard o' a rabbit, but ef your back wuz turned to him he'd nip you in the ankle.

But bad ez that dog wuz, Braxton, he wuz a gentleman 'longside o' you.”

Some of the Indians understood English, and Wyatt knew it. He s.n.a.t.c.hed a pistol from his belt, and was about to strike Sol with the b.u.t.t of it, but a tall figure suddenly appeared before him, and made a commanding gesture. The gesture said plainly: ”Do not strike; put that pistol back!” Braxton Wyatt, whose soul was afraid within him, did not strike, and he put the pistol back.

It was Timmendiquas, the great White Lightning of the Wyandots, who with his little detachment had proved that day how mighty the Wyandot warriors were, full equals of Thayendanegea's Mohawks, the Keepers of the Western Gate. He was bare to the waist. One shoulder was streaked with blood from a slight wound, but his countenance was not on fire with pa.s.sion for torture and slaughter like those of the others.

”There is no need to strike prisoners,” he said in English. ”Their fate will be decided later.”

Paul thought that he caught a look of pity from the eyes of the great Wyandot, and s.h.i.+f'less Sol said:

”I'm sorry, Timmendiquas, since I had to be captured, that you didn't capture me yourself. I'm glad to say that you're a great warrior.”

Wyatt growled under his breath, but he was still afraid to speak out, although he knew that Timmendiquas was merely a distant and casual ally, and had little authority in that army. Yet he was overawed, and so were the Indians with him.

”We were merely taking the prisoners to Colonel Butler,” he said. ”That is all.”

Timmendiquas stared at him, and the renegade's face fell. But he and the Indians went on with the prisoners, and Timmendiquas looked after them until they were out of sight.

”I believe White Lightning was sorry that we'd been captured,” whispered s.h.i.+f'less Sol.

”I think so, too,” Paul whispered back.

They had no chance for further conversation, as they were driven rapidly now to that point of the battlefield which lay nearest to the fort, and here they were thrust into the midst of a gloomy company, fellow captives, all bound tightly, and many wounded. No help, no treatment of any kind was offered for hurts. The Indians and renegades stood about and yelled with delight when the agony of some man's wound wrung from him a groan. The scene was hideous in every respect. The setting sun shone blood red over forest, field, and river. Far off burning houses still smoked like torches. But the mountain wall in the east, was growing dusky with the coming twilight. From the island, where they were ma.s.sacring the fugitives in their vain hiding places, came the sound of shots and cries, but elsewhere the firing had ceased. All who could escape had done so already, and of the others, those who were dead were fortunate.

The sun sank like a red ball behind the mountains, and darkness swept down over the earth. Fires began to blaze up here and there, some for terrible purpose. The victorious Iroquois; stripped to the waist and painted in glaring colors, joined in a savage dance that would remain forever photographed on the eye of Paul Cotter. As they jumped to and fro, hundreds of them, waving aloft tomahawks and scalping knives, both of which dripped red, they sang their wild chant of war and triumph.

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