Mayall replied, "Follow them, and when a good opportunity offered, kill them, shoot the thieves and bring back your child. Better die like a man than live a coward here in this forest land, dreaming of robber band that bore away his only child to be a slave in some proud savage's smoky hut."
At this reply the woman became frantic with despair and cried out, "Oh, Mayall, for mercy save my child. You are the only man now living that can do it, and I will give you all I possess on earth and be your slave in the bargain."
Mayall was not deaf to sympathy. The fire of revenge began to kindle in his bosom; but how should he withstand the power and vengeance of nine brave men skilled in battle and the chase? He sat silent for a few moments. The flames of revenge began to burn in his iron will, which, when aroused, was terrible. He inquired the direction the Indians had gone with the child, and where their trail could be found, then told the woman to go home and take a good night's rest; he said the Indians had gone, and of course would not return unless they came to bring her Nelly back, and further she could do nothing to recover the child herself. He thought the child would be returned in the morning.
These words seemed to pacify her, and she returned home. As soon as his only neighbor, Miss Murphrey, was out of sight, Mayall examined his trusty gun and prepared cartridges equal to twice the number of Indians, placed his tomahawk and hunting-knife in his belt, then turned to his wife and said, "You must not look for me until I return. I will be back as soon as my mission is accomplished."
His mind then became calm and he sallied forth from his cottage as cheerful as a hunter in quest of game, and soon disappeared in the forest that surrounded his dwelling. The sun was descending towards the western hills in all her flaming glory as Mayall reached the summit of the dividing ridge between the Otego Creek and the Susquehanna Valley. Cautiously and slowly he descended the hill, keeping on the Indian trail.
As the shades of night hovered over the forest, Mayall left the trail and took his post on a small hill not far from the river, where he could hear the Indians preparing wood for their evening fire, and occasionally he could hear the child, Nelly Murphrey, crying for its mother. Mayall cautiously advanced through the thick forest, guided by the sound of the child's voice weeping and often calling for its mother, who lay wrapped in wakeful dreams several miles away. The voice of this weeping child nerved the old hunter's arm with the strength of a Samson, and filled his heart with a vengeance not his own. The hours seemed to linger into days as he lay crouched in the dark. At last the camp-fire of the Indians blazed up and illuminated the forest. Mayall lay secreted in a little thicket behind a knoll, where he could hear every word that was said, and he well understood the Indian dialect.
One Indian, who seemed to be their leader, said there would be no danger unless they got the old hunter on the trail, and to avoid him they must be up and away as soon as the day-star appeared.
The Indians partook of their evening meal and laid down to slumber and rest, not dreaming that the bold hunter, like the panther, was crouching near with sharpened tomahawk and knife, panting for an opportunity to avenge a woman's wrongs.
As the night wore away all became silent, excepting an occasional outbreak from little Nelly Murphrey, calling for her mother. The camp-fire no longer blazed, but the dying coals were yet red, and gave sufficient light to see the nine dark forms stretched on the forest floor. Mayall now began to move forward with cautious steps. He soon discovered by the flickering of the embers that the Indian on the watch had fallen asleep, with the stolen child nestling between him and the Indian warrior beside him.
Mayall took a cautious look. No Indian in his blanket stirred. All was silent, excepting the low murmuring of the Susquehanna rolling by. He noiselessly rested his gun behind a tree, and leaped like a tiger upon his prey, with his tomahawk in one hand, which he swung as fast as death could deal a blow, and his long knife gleaming by the light of the fire in the other. The last Indian in the circle, wakened by the screams of the child, leaped from his leafy bed and fled into the forest with the speed of a panther. Mayall, seeing his retreating form, sprang to the Indian's guns and fired three in quick succession after him, to speed his flight, and then, gathering up the remaining guns as quickly as possible, threw them upon the coals with the muzzles in the direction the Indian had gone, in order to keep up the firing until he could get out of hearing with the affrighted child before the Indian returned. He then took up Nelly, who was half dead with fright, and hurried off in the opposite direction as fast as possible. The sharp report of one gun after another broke the stillness of night until Mayall had got more than two miles from the bloody conflict with his prize, and had soothed the child's fears by softly whispering in her ear that he was carrying her home to her mamma.