“There is no knowing,” said Earth, “I hear he is always moving about in spots;—but what say you, shall we go or not?”
“Go on certainly,” said Rolfe, “we must follow them, at least for a time.”
“Be it so,” said Earth, at the same time following on. “The way I'll use up one or more of them will be quite alarming.”
“Come, Earth, do not follow their example;—let us have no more cold blooded butchery. If there is the least hope of rescuing the prisoner, I will help you to cut them into mincemeat; but to kill only one, when no possible good can result from it, I will not agree.”
“I used to hate this business, Rolfe, as much as you do, but they would make me git used to it. I've got a grudge agin 'em of mighty long standing. I once had a mother.” There was something in the pronunciation of the last word which precluded reply, not another syllable was uttered, but, darting from tree to tree, they began to move on in pursuit of the Indians.
For some time the pursuit was a silent one. The excitement which had been produced on the Indians in the early part of the evening, had died away, and sullenly they were moving forward to their camp. No sound was heard but the stifled sobs of the captive, and the rustling of the leaves as they marched along.
Rolfe had filed off to some distance, in order to get a side view of their movements, while Earthquake followed immediately on their trail. For some time this was the order of pursuit; then the Indians began to move more lazily, and one of their band, tall and rawboned, fatigued with the weight he was carrying, lagged behind, until he was separated by a considerable interval from his companions. Earthquake was not unmindful of this circumstance, nor of another, that he was the same who had tangled his fingers in the hair of the captive; and he was soon creeping after him, as a setter does, when he is winding birds. The torch gave an irregular light, yet by its dim glare, as it shot upward, Rolfe beheld Earthquake, but a few feet behind his intended victim, who stooping forward to support his burden, was lazily drawing himself along. He saw Earthquake cautiously draw from the cincture which confined his hunting shirt a knife, which glittered as the light fell upon it. Shuddering with emotion he turned his head from the scene. Yet a moment and no noise, still another, and all was quiet; turning to see what had happened, he beheld the Indian moving along at his accustomed gait, while Earthquake was no where to be seen. He searched the woods in every direction, yet nothing could he discover; several minutes elapsed, when looking far ahead of the Indian, between him and his gang, yet directly in his path, he saw a head peep round from a large tree, then quickly draw back. The Indian approached, the light seemed for a moment fainter, Rolfe heard the ripping of a knife, and as the light again glanced forth, he beheld Earthquake with the quivering body of the Indian in his arms, easing it gently to the ground to prevent the noise of a fall. The legs contracted, and kicked several times with the spasms of death, and then not a muscle moved. Earthquake withdrawing his knife, wiped it several times on his hunting shirt, examined its edge, and returned it to its sheath; then taking the bundle which the Indian had been carrying, he secreted it at a short distance, and continued the pursuit.
Though the execution of this plan was as quick as its conception, yet Rolfe, without Earthquake's being aware of it, had been a silent looker on. Paralyzed by the scene, he was for a moment at a loss how to act; it had been so cool, so silent, so effectual, and perpetrated withal in a boundless forest, at the dark hour of night. There was no sudden burst of passion, not a muscle had been distorted, but with the same quiet ease that he would have butchered a bear, did he go through the ceremony. Rolfe was lost in thought while considering how he should act, for his soul revolted at what he had seen, and he continued almost mechanically the pursuit, while Earthquake gliding along, bent his steps towards him, and upon coming up, playfully shook the rattle before mentioned. At the sound, Rolfe started from his reverie.
“What!” said Earthquake, “still afraid of the rattle snake?—You know it always gives warning.”
Rolfe turned upon him with eyes plainly showing his dissatisfaction; for the speech, as he thought, was bitterly sarcastic, while Earthquake, believing him ignorant of what he had done, intended nothing by it. The darkness of the hour prevented Earthquake from seeing the change which had come over Rolfe's countenance, and Rolfe was about to go a step farther and vent his detestation of such an act, when Earth calling his attention, pointed to a gathering of the Indians. “See, Rolfe,” said he, “they are consulting as to where they shall halt, for they believe themselves far enough from the settlements now, to rest in safety for a few hours.”