“Oh! Jim, look back! Look back!” cried Nell, holding hard to his hand. “Look back! See if Girty is coming!”
CHAPTER XXVII.
At last the fugitives breathed free under the gold and red cover of the woods. Never speaking, never looking back, the guide hurried eastward with long strides. His followers were almost forced to run in order to keep him in sight. He had waited at the edge of the clearing for them, and, relieving Jim of the heavy pack, which he swung slightly over his shoulder, he set a pace that was most difficult to maintain. The young missionary half led, half carried Nell over the stones and rough places. Mr. Wells labored in the rear.
“Oh! Jim! Look back! Look back! See if we are pursued!” cried Nell frequently, with many a earful glance into the dense thickets.
The Indian took a straight course through the woods. He leaped the brooks, climbed the rough ridges, and swiftly trod the glades that were free of windfalls. His hurry and utter disregard for the plain trail left behind, proved his belief in the necessity of placing many miles between the fugitives and the Village of Peace. Evidently they would be followed, and it would be a waste of valuable time to try to conceal their trail. Gradually the ground began to rise, the way become more difficult, but Wingenund never slackened his pace. Nell was strong, supple, and light of foot. She held her own with Jim, but time and time again they were obliged to wait for her uncle. Once he was far behind. Wingenund halted for them at the height of a ridge where the forest was open.
“Ugh!” exclaimed the chieftain, as they finished the ascent. He stretched a long arm toward the sun; his falcon eye gleamed.
Far in the west a great black and yellow cloud of smoke rolled heavenward. It seemed to rise from out the forest, and to hang low over the trees; then it soared aloft and grew thinner until it lost its distinct line far in the clouds. The setting sun stood yet an hour high over a distant hill, and burned dark red through the great pall of smoke.
“Is it a forest fire?” asked Nell, fearfully.
“Fire, of course, but—” Jim did not voice his fear; he looked closely at Wingenund.
The chieftain stood silent a moment as was his wont when addressed. The dull glow of the sun was reflected in the dark eyes that gazed far away over forest and field.
“Fire,” said Wingenund, and it seemed that as he spoke a sterner shadow flitted across his bronzed face. “The sun sets tonight over the ashes of the Village of Peace.”
He resumed his rapid march eastward. With never a backward glance the saddened party followed. Nell kept close beside Jim, and the old man tramped after them with bowed head. The sun set, but Wingenund never slackened his stride. Twilight deepened, yet he kept on.
“Indian, we can go no further tonight, we must rest,” cried Jim, as Nell stumbled against him, and Mr. Wells panted wearily in the rear.
“Rest soon,” replied the chief, and kept on.
Darkness had settled down when Wingenund at last halted. The fugitives could see little in the gloom, but they heard the music of running water, and felt soft moss beneath their feet.
They sank wearily down upon a projecting stone. The moss was restful to their tired limbs. Opening the pack they found food with which to satisfy the demands of hunger. Then, close under the stone, the fugitives sank into slumber while the watchful Indian stood silent and motionless.
Jim thought he had but just closed his eyes when he felt a gentle pressure on his arm.
“Day is here,” said the Indian.
Jim opened his eyes to see the bright red sun crimsoning the eastern hills, and streaming gloriously over the colored forests. He raised himself on his elbow to look around. Nell was still asleep. The blanket was tucked close to her chin. Her chestnut hair was tumbled like a schoolgirl’s; she looked as fresh and sweet as the morning.
“Nell, Nell, wake up,” said Jim, thinking the while how he would love to kiss those white eyelids.
Nell’s eyes opened wide; a smile lay deep in their hazel shadows.
“Where a I? Oh, I remember,” she cried, sitting up. “Oh, Jim, I had such a sweet dream. I was at home with mother and Kate. Oh, to wake and find it all a dream! I am fleeing for life. But, Jim, we are safe, are we not?”
“Another day, and we’ll be safe.”
“Let us fly,” she cried, leaping up and shaking out her crumpled skirt. “Uncle, come!”
Mr. Wells lay quietly with his mild blue eyes smiling up at her. He neither moved nor spoke.
“Eat, drink,” said the chief, opening the pack.
“What a beautiful place,” exclaimed Nell, taking the bread and meat handed to her. “This is a lovely little glade. Look at those golden flowers, the red and purple leaves, the brown shining moss, and those lichen-covered stones. Why! Some one has camped here. See the little cave, the screens of plaited ferns, and the stone fireplace.”
“It seems to me this dark spring and those gracefully spreading branches are familiar,” said Jim.
“Beautiful Spring,” interposed Wingenund.
“Yes, I know this place,” cried Nell excitedly. “I remember this glade though it was moonlight when I saw it. Here Wetzel rescued me from Girty.”
“Nell, you’re right,” replied Jim. “How strange we should run across this place again.”
Strange fate, indeed, which had brought them again to Beautiful Spring! It was destined that the great scenes of their lives were to be enacted in this mossy glade.
“Come, uncle, you are lazy,” cried Nell, a touch of her old roguishness making playful her voice.
Mr. Wells lay still, and smiled up at them.
“You are not ill?” cried Nell, seeing for the first time how pallid was his face.
“Dear Nellie, I am not ill. I do not suffer, but I am dying,” he answered, again with that strange, sweet smile.
“Oh-h-h!” breathed Nell, falling on her knees.
“No, no, Mr. Wells, you are only weak; you will be all right again soon,” cried Jim.
“Jim, Nellie, I have known all night. I have lain here wakeful. My heart never was strong. It gave out yesterday, and now it is slowly growing weaker. Put your hand on my breast. Feel. Ah! you see! My life is flickering. God’s will be done. I am content. My work is finished. My only regret is that I brought you out to this terrible borderland. But I did not know. If only I could see you safe from the peril of this wilderness, at home, happy, married.”
Nell bent over him blinded by her tears, unable to see or speak, crushed by this last overwhelming blow. Jim sat on the other side of the old missionary, holding his hand. For many moments neither spoke. They glanced at the pale face, watching with eager, wistful eyes for a smile, or listening for a word.
“Come,” said the Indian.
Nell silently pointed toward her uncle.
“He is dying,” whispered Jim to the Indian.
“Go, leave me,” murmured Mr. Wells. “You are still in danger.”
“We’ll not leave you,” cried Jim.
“No, no, no,” sobbed Nell, bending over to kiss him.
“Nellie, may I marry you to Jim?” whispered Mr. Wells into her ear. “He has told me how it is with him. He loves you, Nellie. I’d die happier knowing I’d left you with him.”
Even at that moment, with her heart almost breaking, Nell’s fair face flushed.
“Nell, will you marry me?” asked Jim, softly. Low though it was, he had heard Mr. Wells’ whisper.
Nell stretched a little trembling hand