Part 25 (1/2)

”There's one thing powerful sartin',” muttered Kenton, keeping his eye upon the party, ”if they decide that the gal shall be sent under while she's setting there on that log, the first move to harm a hair of her head means death to him as tries it.”

So it would have been. The silent, sinewy figure, standing as rigid and motionless as the tree-trunk which sheltered him, let nothing escape him. Had The Panther, or any of his warriors, turned toward Mabel Ashbridge with hostile intent, he would have fallen forward with a bullet through heart or brain before he could have raised his hand to do evil.

The night wore along, with more hostiles returning at intervals, and still the discussion continued between the chieftain and his warriors.

It was a puzzle to Kenton why the talk should continue so long, for to him there was nothing in the situation to cause much variance of opinion.

The ranger was still watching and wondering, when from the gloom of the wood another party strode into view, and walked up to the group gathered about The Panther, and, as he did so, it would be hard to decide whether they or Simon Kenton were filled with the greater amazement over the unexpected occurrence.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE FORLORN HOPE.

It is useless to dwell upon the grief and consternation of the occupants of the flatboat when the discovery was made that little Mabel Ashbridge was missing.

The parents and brother, after the first shock, bore the affliction with rare courage. By common impulse, they looked to the two persons best fitted of all to give counsel and hope, Missionary Finley and Daniel Boone.

Young George Ashbridge was the first to speak after the fearful lull that followed the cry of the stricken mother. Touching the arm of Boone, he asked:

”Can we not work the flatboat back to sh.o.r.e, charge upon the Shawanoes, and recover her before they have time to rally?”

”It might do,” replied the pioneer, feelingly, ”if we had daylight to help us, but not while the night lasts. I had a son shot down by the varmints just as I was entering Kentucky, and they ran off with a daughter of mine, whom I took back from them, but the sarc.u.mstances was different from this.”

”But we must do something; we cannot go to the block-house and leave the dear little one behind. I would give my life to save her.”

”So would we all, so would we all,” repeated Boone, touched by the memory of his own sorrows, ”but we must not shut our eyes from seeing things as they are.”

The youth groaned in anguish and said no more. The hardest thing of all was to remain idle while the cherished sister was in her dreadful peril.

”I'll let myself overboard,” said the veteran, ”swim back, and do what I can to help Simon.”

”You can give him no help,” gently interposed the missionary; ”in truth, Kenton will do better without than with you.”

”I'm of that way of thinking myself,” said Boone, ”though if Simon was expecting me it would be different.”

”But he won't expect you; he saw what none else of us saw--the capture of the little one, and will do all that mortal man can do.”

”I don't remember whether I told him the camp of The Panther and his party is just on t'other side of Rattlesnake Gulch or not.”

”Probably you did tell him, but it matters little if you did not; he will speedily learn the truth. They are likely to take the child there, and she will not arrive in camp much sooner than Kenton will reach the vicinity.”

The parents were quick to notice that Boone and the missionary spoke as if there were little, if any, doubt in their minds that this course would be followed.

”Suppose,” said Mr. Ashbridge, in a tremulous voice, ”she is not spared to be taken into camp?”

”We are all in the hands of our Heavenly Father,” reverently replied the good man, ”He doeth all things well, and we must accept His will with resignation. If the little one has not been spared, then it is already too late for us to give her aid; if she has escaped death, then I believe she is in the camp of the Shawanoes.”

”And we can steal up and charge upon them,” said the brother, to whom the inaction was becoming intolerable.