“Yes; first, because they would have taken your scalp; second, there is now peace along the Ohio border between the white men and the red, although no one can tell how soon the tomahawk will be again uplifted.” The words of her father, the renegade, relative to the Indian expedition, were fresh in her mind as she spoke.
“I am certain that I was shot down like a dog, without mercy, that she might be carried away. The pain of my wound is nothing now to the pain in my heart when I think of what may be her fate.”
Deep with anguish were the tones that came from the lips of the young man, and sorrowful was the cloud that darkened his face.
Mournfully Kate gazed upon him, but she spoke not.
“Lady, you can judge of my sufferings when I tell you that Virginia Treveling is my plighted wife. The words binding her life to mine had just passed her lips when the shot of the assassin struck me to her feet.”
Each word that he spoke was like a dagger-thrust to Kate. She felt a deathlike faintness come over her, but with an effort that tried all her powers, she repressed the agony that was tearing her heart.
“She is to be your wife?” she said, rising.
“Yes.”
“I will find her. If she is within a hundred miles of the Ohio, wood, swamp or village shall not hide her from me.”
She snatched her rifle from the wall, and in a moment was gone.