But he was too late!
He saw the Indian’s knife dart toward the trader’s breast, and when he touched the bare red arm, the knife, reeking with blood, had been withdrawn.
“Through him has Swamp Oak’s relatives fallen,” said the savage, releasing the corpse. “He killed Pontiac; he brought the torch and scalping-knife to the forests of the Illinois; and the squaws and pappooses of the Peorias fall before the red dogs as fast as the rain falls from the black clouds. Now the demons of the dark land will chase the pale-face no longer.”
“Now for Fort Chartres!” said Bell. “We mought as well start at once, fur it’s er long journey, an’ ther way is black with death. But I think we’ve hed enough ov scrimmages to last er lifetime, an’ I b’lieve thet God ar’ a-goin’ to keep us all safe now, till we see ther old fort erg’in. I want ter leave this kentry, an’ git back to ther Miami. I’m used to ther lay ov thet land, an’ they don’t talk erbout skinnin’ erlive thar, either.”
A few minutes later the entire party left the cave, and stepped upon the long trail.
We need not follow them, for their journey would not interest the reader, who has followed their fortunes over the winding trail of death.
A mighty hand guided them through the new dangers, and at last the English flag rose upon their vision.
A cry of joy burst from the little band.
Now they could enjoy peace, for the last peril had been passed in safety, and they could thrill the hearts of others with a narration of their adventures.
A few days after the return to the fort, Bob Somerville called Kate Blount “wife,” and after the interesting ceremony Doc Bell turned his face toward the death-regions of Ohio, where, in a forest drama, as startling as the one just penned, the reader shall encounter him again.