CHAPTER XII.
A MINGLING OF FEAR, DOUBT, AND HOPE.
And so it happened that the terrible sentence, "He shall first be shot and then be burnt in the clearing and cast into the river," was never executed upon Tom McGable. The opportunity was never given.
The indignation at his escape could scarcely be repressed; but the version given by Jenkins so completely exculpated himself from blame, that he escaped entirely the shafts of indignation. There were some, it is true, who had their private opinion of this wonderful story; but, as there was no witness to disprove it, these opinions were unexpressed.
Jenkins affirmed that what first induced him to peep into the room was a strong smell of brimstone. Upon looking in, he saw McGable sitting astride of the devil, who was walking slowly toward the open door, holding a trident in one claw. Jenkins informed him that he was very sorry to oppose him, but nevertheless, he felt compelled by the stern dictates of duty to prevent his passage. At that, the father of all evil made a rush toward him, striking him in the breast with the trident, and grappling with him. They closed in with each other, and the struggle became fearful. Jenkins, securing the trident, used it as a "whip of scorpions," and was satisfied he gave some "strange horrors" with it. He believed he would have eventually triumphed, had he not been taken with one of his fainting fits at the critical moment. Victory thus secured, the arch-enemy galloped over his prostrate form, vanished in mid air, and left McGable skimming over the ground toward the sheltering wood.
More than one placed implicit faith in this story. Such is the superstition of the bravest of the brave—the border ranger!
But there was one thing which troubled the settlement more than the escape of the renegade: it was the fate of the Frontier Angel. There was no fear of what the Indians would do, for it was well known that a crazy or foolish person is regarded among them as one specially gifted by Manitou, and under no consideration will they venture to harm him; but it could hardly be expected that McGable would share in this superstition; and, now that his suspicions of the friendship of this being to the whites was resolved into an absolute certainty, some plan, it was rightly thought by the settlers, would be taken by him to close her lips forever. It was well known that there was no crime against the human race too great for the scoundrel to commit; and the weak, defenseless Frontier Angel, through the stupidity of the whites, would fall a victim to his vengeance.
"Freeze me to death, ef it shall be so!" exclaimed Dingle, who was discussing the subject with Peterson, the commander, and several others. "No, sir; ef that sperit is killed, her blood will be on us."
"If she is a spirit, she cannot be harmed by mortals," ventured Abbot.
"Wal, Tom McGable ain't a mortal; he's an infarnal imp."