The mountain was, however, climbed at last; but the refugee had vanished. The only practicable path conducts you to the summit of the hill along the edge of the southern precipices; and the last step is from a shelf that overhangs the wooded abyss below, whence, peeping over the brink of the cliffs at their most tremendous height, the eye looks over many a league of blue hill and misty hollow, of living wood and winding river,—a scene whose loveliness is made more impressive by contrast with the savage desolation that reigns around the point of view. A broad table of stone, shelving downwards, and in part overhanging the abyss, lies like a parapet upon the extreme brink of the precipice; and it is from this, lying upon his breast, clinging with foot and hand to its crevices and the stunted bushes that grow upon its surface, and advancing his head beyond the naked verge, that the adventurous spectator looks down into the dizzy gulf below,—if he have indeed the courage to look.
Upon this platform the raftsman was found reposing, his elbows resting upon the parapet stone, and his countenance betraying wonder mingled with perplexity. Upon being asked what had become of the fugitive, he pointed to certain marks of fresh blood that lay on the stones where he stood, hard-by the parapet, which was itself dabbled with blood; and, in addition, the black lichens with which it was overgrown, were torn up, as by the struggles of some human being sliding down its inclined surface towards the horrible abyss beneath; and a shrub springing from the verge, was snapped off, as if broken by a human hand.
"I once," said the raftsman, "chased a two-year buck off this here very rock; and I reckon, you may see some of his bones among the bushes below. I was hunting with Oran Gilbert; we were boys together; and, I remember, he said, 'It was a brave jump for a hard-pushed beast, and a wise one, too.' Now let any man run his nose over the rock's edge, and tell me what he sees swinging to a bush some fifty or sixty fathoms below; for, to my eyes, it has much the look of a green hunting-shirt, or a big rag of it. There's a stream of blood running up along the rocks, and here's the ending of it. There was some old wound bursting out on him afresh, and, to my thought, the man was not able to run further; and so he remembered the deer, and took a jump;—and I must say, it was a brave fancy of his, and a wise one too."
To this conjecture confirmation was given, when one of the party, having peered over the rock, declared that he saw the flutter of some garment, hanging on a bush many a weary foot below. The stones were hunted over again; a track of blood was plainly distinguished, and had been remarked before, staining the rocks for some distance below; and on this platform it ended. The closest search could not detect any mark to show that the fugitive had proceeded a step further; it was believed at once, that, having reached this spot, and found himself incapable of proceeding further, the pursuers, headed by Potts, pressing him close, he had thrown himself from the rocks, preferring a death in keeping with his savage career, to falling alive into the hands of his foes. There was no other way to account for his disappearance, the presence of blood on the parapet, and the wave of the garment below; and, indeed, a second, and then a third person, looking down, they swore they could see, among the bushes at the bottom of the cliffs, something that looked like a human form, as they doubted not it was. It was accordingly resolved to descend the mountain without delay, which, after uttering a loud shout of triumph they did, with the single exception of the raftsman; who, declaring himself overcome with fatigue, sat down upon a stone on the platform to rest, and was soon lost sight of by the others. As the last man left the shelf, he beckoned to him with his hand, nodded his head, and took other means to arrest his attention; but these being disregarded, or perhaps unperceived, he ceased his signals, and muttered half to himself, half aloud,—
"Well done, Tom Wolf; you're no fox, and a man must ha' said, 'Fifty guineas!' aloud, to fetch you. But I was a fool to think on't; no 'alves and no quarters, is my cry; and a man mought as well take the money and the credit into his own hands, without sharing; for, I reckon, the creatur's clean done up, and can make no more fight than a 'possum. Neversomever, there's no varmint of the woods or water can stand by him for a trick; and so we'll look sharp, Dan Potts, and see what'll come out of it. I reckon I shall make them 'ere fellers stare! They say, the governor has offered five hundred dollars for him, hard money, dead or alive. Five hundred dollars isn't to be made, every day, a-rafting. There's a big hole under that stone; and, I remember, he boasted he had been down in it afore; which was like enough, for he was always a ventur'ing devil."
It may be gathered from these expressions what cause had prevented the raftsman leaving the shelf with his companions. Immediately beneath the projecting portion of the table-rock, so often mentioned, there is a cavity or niche in the face of the cliff, visible, on a clear day, even from the foot of the mountain, and inaccessible from the top only because there are few men in the world of sufficient nerve to attempt reaching it, by climbing over the face of the cliff,—an exploit the very thought of which is appalling. It occurred to the ancient comrade of the refugee, that the latter, persuaded he must be captured, unless he could throw his pursuers off the scent, or delay the chase for a time, might have bethought him of the stratagem of causing them to believe he had thrown himself from the rocks, while, all the time, he was lying snugly and safely in the cavity beneath the shelving rock, from which he might be expected to sally out, the moment the pursuers had descended. This was rather a conceit in the raftsman's mind than a positive suspicion; but it was sufficient to impel him upon a new course of action, a main incentive to which was the prospect it seemed to open to him of securing the rewards that had been offered for the apprehension of the noted outlaw.
He sat down therefore upon a stone opposite to the parapet, and scarce twenty feet from it, holding his rifle ready cocked upon his knee, his knife loosened in the sheath, and his little hunting-axe lying at his feet; and he sat thus without fear, knowing that, even if the refugee were armed and in the pride of his strength and daring, he could not ascend to the shelf, without being entirely at his mercy. He sat in silence, expecting each moment to see the fierce eyes of the outcast peering over the rock, or to hear the rattling of stones along the face of the cliff, denoting that he had left his hiding-place, and was beginning to ascend. He sat watching, however, a long time in vain;—and was beginning to believe that his suspicion was groundless, and that the desperate Oran had in truth leaped from the cliff, when suddenly there rose beyond the verge of the rock the apparition of a human head, but so spectral, so pale, so ghastly with blood, and so wildly unnatural of expression, that he was seized with a sudden fear, and beheld the whole body succeed it, and the refugee himself (for it was he) stand erect upon the parapet, before he could raise his piece, and charge him to surrender.
"I have you, Oran, old friend!" he said, at last; "so down knife, and take quarter. If you move foot or hand, I'll fire upon you."
The outlaw heard his voice, and beheld the threatening weapon, without any manifestation of surprise. He bent his eyes upon him with a stare that curdled the raftsman's blood. "Fire!" he said, and laughed; and then suddenly drawing the knife he had taken from Elsie's cottage, he made a fierce spring from the rock right against the uplifted rifle. The attack was so unexpected and energetic that Potts had scarce time to pull the trigger, before the tory lighted on the shelf at his feet. He drew it, however, with the certainty that the next moment the assailant would be lying dead at his foot—he drew it, and not even a flash burst from the treacherous powder; it snapped in his hands; and before he could exchange it for another weapon, nay, before he could even draw his knife, he found the blade of his opponent glimmering at his breast. He caught at his wrist, the only expedient that saved him from a mortal thrust: and being of great nerve, he strove, at the same time, to hurl the tory upon the rock. But great as was his strength, and feeble as he had supposed the powers of Oran to be, the attempt was foiled, and he began in his heart to curse the covetousness, that had deprived him of a helper, in such a time of need. As he caught the wrist of Oran in his left hand, he sought, with the other, to snatch his own knife from the sheath; but the motion was anticipated, and his own right hand grasped in Oran's left; so that the two stood for an instant facing one another, entangled, as it might be said, like two wild bucks, that have, at the first blow, interlocked their antlers together, and thus remain glaring at each other, waging battle only with their eyes. In that instant, the raftsman beheld enough to make him repent the temerity with which he had sought to bring the refugee to bay. Instead of being weakened by loss of blood, or exhausted by the toil of ascending the mountain, it seemed as if he was suddenly imbued with new strength, as well as additional fury, by the mere presence of a foe; and there was that in his countenance, which expressed, along with a native love of conflict, the malignant ferocity of a maniac. Indeed, his appearance was so fearful, and his ability to resist to the uttermost so manifest, that the raftsman felt strongly moved to call for a parley and propose a mutual release; but the desire came too late. The tory perceived the fainting of his heart, and laughed:
"I never did harm to you or yours, Dan Potts," he said; "but you shall never say so more. You would sell the blood of a dying man—you must first win it."