Part 41 (1/2)

”Just as I expected,” exclaimed d.i.c.k Durkee. ”Give it to 'em, boys!

Don't spare one!”

With incredible celerity the Iroquois fired their guns almost simultaneously with the Tory, and then darted off like so many shadows through the wood, the dim morning light being insufficient to betray them in the thick undergrowth.

But d.i.c.k Durkee and his men returned the volley instantly, and sprang after them.

Fred G.o.dfrey had not noticed the fall of his father, but, with his whole soul aflame at the outrage, he dashed toward the wretches, pistol in hand, determined to wreak vengeance on the party, who, he well knew, were inspired to the deed by Golcher himself.

On the edge of the wood, where the Senecas had stood for a single moment when they fired their guns, two of their number were stretched lifeless, proving that the return volley had done some execution.

The settlers charged through the undergrowth without any regard to order and the peril into which they might precipitate themselves.

Had Gray Panther and his warriors appeared on the ground at that crisis, in all probability he would have drawn the entire party into ambush, and cut them off to a man.

But the fleeing force was too small to attempt a stand, or any such tactics, and they devoted themselves entirely to getting away.

They were more expert in this than their pursuers, and scattering--as is the custom of the red men to this day, when closely pressed--each used all his energy and cunning in flight.

d.i.c.k Durkee and his men, including Fred G.o.dfrey, went cras.h.i.+ng and tearing ahead, glaring in front and to the right and left in quest of a target, but finding none, until, when the blind pursuit had lasted fifteen minutes or more, it dawned on those concerned that it was idle to attempt anything more.

Then they stopped for breath, and, turning about, began straggling back toward camp.

Fred G.o.dfrey would have been the last to rejoin his friends had he not been seized with a dread that something might go wrong with those who were left defenseless.

He therefore hastened, and in the gray light of the morning came upon a scene of sadness.

Richard Brainerd, his step-father, lay on his back, with his head in the lap of Maggie, while Eva was weeping over him, and Aunt Peggy was standing beside them, her face streaming with tears.

Gravity Gimp was rolling on the ground in an agony of sorrow, for he saw what was apparent to the young man--the loved father and master was dying.

Fred knelt by his side, and taking a whisky flask from the rough but kind-hearted d.i.c.k Durkee, pressed it to the white lips of the sufferer.

”It's no use, Fred,” said he, with a sad smile; ”I'm done for. Jake Golcher fired that shot, but he meant it for Maggie, and not for me.

I'm close to death.”

”I hope it isn't as bad as that,” said Fred, through his tears, his manner showing he could not believe his own words.

”It's as well that I should go,” said the old man, rallying slightly; ”and I'm thankful that the rest of you escaped. Good-bye, Fred.”

The youth took the hand that was already growing clammy and limp, and, returning the pressure, could only murmur:

”Good-bye, good bye; would that it had been I, rather than such a n.o.ble father as you have always been to me.”

Gravity Gimp, rousing to a sense of the situation, rushed forward with irrestrainable grief, and shook the hand of his master, bending over and kissing his forehead.

Aunt Peggy did the same, and then came the last, sad parting scene between the father and his loved daughters.

The murmured words were heard only by Maggie and Eva, who treasured them up in after-years as the most precious mementos of their lives.