Death-Dealer, the Shawnee Scourge; or The Wizard of the Cliffs

by Arthur L. Meserve

“Where am I?” said Ruth, with wild eyes, as though she hardly comprehended her situation.

“The pale-face maiden is in the lodge of the great chief. Rushing Water has sought her in her home, and brought her hither to be his bride.”

Ruth covered her face with her hands. She remembered all now. What upon her first awaking from the sort of swoon that oppressed her, had seemed a dream, was reality now. She was hopelessly in the hands of her enemy.

She was silent for a few moments, and then hope whispered again to her heart. Was it not possible that she might escape him even now? Would not her companion listen to her entreaties, and being melted thereby, help her to escape? The hope was a faint one, but there could be no harm in trying. If it amounted to nothing, her situation would be no worse than it was now.

Turning eagerly to the old woman, she said, as she laid her hand upon the brown and wrinkled one of her companion:

“The Indian woman likes not the pale-faces. That the white maiden can see in her eyes. She had rather that the chief of the tribe would bring to his lodge one of his own race. It is only right that she should. Let her help the white maiden to fly. She wishes not to mate with the chief. There is one among her own people to whom she has given her heart. Have mercy and save me from the fate Rushing Water has in store for me.”

This appeal she had uttered in a low but earnest tone, as though she was fearful that the sound of her voice might reach the ears of the chief, and now that she was through she gazed up with such an appealing look into the face of her companion that it would seem that none but a heart of stone could resist it.

But it had no effect upon the heart of the wrinkled squaw. She knew that there was no way for her to escape the fate she dreaded, except by that to which she had doomed her. Death would relieve her from it, and that alone. Had she been so disposed she could not have assisted her to escape. The eyes of the chief would have been upon their movement and he would have brought her back, while she would have been doomed to death for her treachery. No. There was only one way by which Rushing Water could be foiled in his purpose, and that was that the white maiden should die.

“Nekomis has heard the words of the white maiden. She has spoken the truth. The Indian woman does not like the pale-faces. Their heart is black and evil is in their thoughts. She would see them scalped and their lodges burned above their heads.”

So fierce was her looks, and so wild her gestures, that Ruth almost drew back in alarm. But she was glad it was so, for perhaps now she would help her. The Indian woman noticed her start of alarm and she softened a little in her speech.