alone, a helpless captive in the hands of the dreaded red-men, virginia felt that her situation was indeed a terrible one. then, too, she had seen her lover fall helpless at her feet, struck down by the fatal shot of the ambushed foe. what his fate had been, even if he had not been killed outright by the ball that tore him from her arms and laid him prostrate on the earth, it was not difficult to guess. the red warriors rarely spared a fallen foe, and, in imagination, she saw the fair-haired scalp of the man she loved so well, dangling at the girdle of some brawny indian chief.

with such thoughts as these passing rapidly through her mind, the terror of her situation was doubly increased.

on a rude bench that stood in a corner of the cabin, virginia sat motionless as a statue, and wept many a bitter tear.

what her fate was to be, she understood only too well. a girl reared on the border, she understood the customs of the savages that claimed the valley of the ohio as their own. and over her soul crept a sickening fear when she thought of the life that was in store for her, a slave to some indian brave.

there was little chance of rescue. a miracle alone could save her.

a low knock at the door roused her from her abstraction.

how long she remained in the cabin she could not tell, but she knew that some hours must have passed away.

the cabin door opened slowly, and a man dressed in frontier fashion entered, cautiously.

it was the man who had called himself benton. of course he was unknown to the girl. benton had washed off the war-paint, and appeared a white man, as he was.

a cry of joy rose to virginia’s lips and she sprung to her feet, but at a sign of caution from him she restrained herself.

to her the face of a white man gave hope of deliverance. she had little suspicion that all her captors were of her own color, and not of the dusky hue of the savage.

“be silent and cautious,” said benton, in a whisper; “a word above a breath may cost both of us our lives.”

“you will save me from the hands of these terrible savages?” murmured the girl.

“yes, i will try to,” replied benton, “but it will be a task of danger. you must follow my instructions to the letter or we will never escape the toils that surround us.”

“i will do so,” replied virginia, quickly.

“come, then; tread cautiously. the savages have left but one man to guard the house, and he has fallen asleep in the thicket.”

then benton led the way from the house, and the girl followed, cautiously.

the two passed close to where bob tierson lay in the bushes, fast asleep.

benton, in leaving the flask of potent corn-juice with the worthy bob, had rightly calculated that bob would speedily dispose of the contents, and get gloriously drunk on the same.

the trap that the swarthy-skinned stranger had laid had caught the redoubtable bob, and once he had fallen into deep and heavy slumber, it was an easy task for benton to remove the prisoner from the log cabin.

benton had fastened the bar again across the door of the house, so that it seemed all secure, and left no trace of the prisoner’s escape.

when they had crossed the little clearing, and gained the shelter of the wood, benton halted.

“now, young lady, i must take you in my arms and carry you for a little while, so that the ground shall bear no traces by which you may be tracked and recaptured. these red-skins have the scent of a bloodhound, and the moment they discover your escape they will scour the country for miles around in search of you. therefore, for your safety as well as for my own, we must leave, in border parlance, a blind trail.”

“adopt any method that you please to secure my escape from these terrible savages and i will bless you for it,” said virginia, earnestly.

benton raised the light figure of the girl in his strong arms as though she had been a child, and then rapidly threaded his way through the forest.

the course that benton followed led toward the ohio, and ran parallel with the kanawha.

for some thirty minutes, with rapid steps, benton went onward, making his way through the thicket without doubt or hesitation, as if he were perfectly familiar with the country.

at the end of the thirty minutes he halted on the edge of a little clearing, close by the banks of the kanawha. in the center of the clearing stood a log-cabin, something like the one which had held virginia a prisoner.

the cabin, too, like the other, was deserted. the perpetual danger existing of indian attacks had caused the settlers to seek the protection of the station.

[18]

“there, young lady, this must be your home for a little while,” said benton, as he strode into the cabin and placed virginia upon her feet.

“must i remain here?” asked the girl, in wonder.

“yes, for a short time,” replied benton.

“but why not take me at once to point pleasant?”

“why it would probably cost both of us our lives should we attempt to reach the station at present,” replied benton. “the woods between here and the mouth of the river are swarming with red-skins. you can judge how bold they are, when they dared attack and carry you off from so near the station.”

virginia had little idea that one of her captors, one of the “red-men,” was even then speaking to her.

“did you see my capture in the ravine?”

“yes; i was concealed in the bushes. i did not dare to show myself, for the indians were too strong. but i followed, hoping to get the chance by cunning to get you out of their hands.”

“and the young man that was with me?” virginia asked, tremblingly. she wished to learn the truth, yet feared to.

“he was killed by the shot that struck him, fired by one of the indians,” and benton spoke what he believed to be the truth. he did not believe it possible that winthrop could have survived his wound.

virginia’s heart sunk within her at the fatal news. her lover dead, she felt almost willing to die too.

“you remain here and i will go at once to point pleasant, find your father, tell him where you are, and then with a party strong enough to cope with the red-skins, he can come and rescue you.”

the plan was reasonable enough, and virginia could find no fault with it, though she trembled to remain alone in the cabin while the woods around swarmed with hostile indians.

“suppose the savages should discover my retreat while you are absent?” virginia asked.

“there is very little danger of that. all the indians, with the exception of the party that captured you, have kept on the other side of the kanawha. there is nothing to bring them on this side of the river. keep within the shelter of the house. i will return by nightfall with your father and his friends.”

“heaven will reward you, sir, i am sure, for this kindness to a helpless girl,” said virginia, earnestly.

“i hope so,” replied benton, with a grim smile upon his sallow face. then he left the house, crossed the clearing, and disappeared in the thicket.

virginia sunk upon her knees and poured out her heartfelt thanks to the great power that was, apparently, watching so carefully over her life, and had brought a stranger to rescue her from the terrible danger that had menaced her well-being.

poor, innocent girl, she knew not that as she was thanking heaven for her rescue, the snare was still close around her; that the man whom she looked upon as a friend and deliverer was a more deadly foe than any painted warrior that roamed the forests of the ohio valley.

no indian is so terrible as the renegade to his country and his kin, the white-faced savage.

once within the thicket, benton gave vent to a grim laugh of triumph.

“the bird is in the net, and yet she imagines she is free! oh, this will be a glorious vengeance. once before, years ago, i made the heart of my enemy writhe with anguish, and now again i tear it. and this cunning plotter, murdock, would use me as his tool. in yonder settlement for the moment i was in his power. had he but spoken my name aloud, the settlers would have torn me to pieces with as little mercy as the wolves show to the wounded deer. but here, in the free woods, the tide of affairs is changed. here i own no man as master.”

on through the forest, retracing his steps toward the cabin where virginia had been confined, he went.

“watega’s death i can not understand,” he said, musingly, communing with himself as he walked onward. “can it be possible that there is a spirit-form that haunts the woods and marks the indians for his prey? it is almost beyond belief, and yet there is no disputing the terrible evidence of his hand. watega was a great brave; few warriors in the shawnee tribe as good as he, and yet he falls by the hand of this wolf demon, apparently without even a struggle for his life, if the words of kenton can be believed, and he always speaks the truth. can it be that it is some borderer in disguise that is doing this terrible work? no, that is improbable. is it then a fiend from below that walks the earth in this dreadful shape? it is beyond my comprehension. i’d like to have him within rifle range once more, though; i’d soon prove whether the wolf demon be a demon indeed, or a mortal in a wolf’s skin.”

proceeding rapidly onward with his swinging stride, benton soon reached the cabin again. bob was, as he had left him, fast asleep in the bushes.

the events that followed the arrival of clement murdock—how he found the cabin deserted and his prisoner gone—we have already related.

“well, dog-gone my cats, if ’tain’t funny,” said bob, scratching his head in wonder.

“i can not account for it!” cried murdock, angrily.

“i wonder if this ’ere clearin’s got any spooks ’round it?” said bob, with a nervous glance about him.

“one thing is certain, the girl is gone,” observed benton.

“yes, but how?” exclaimed murdock.

“maybe she clumb out of the roof,” suggested bob.

“the roof is tight, you fool!” said murdock, angrily.

“you needn’t bite a feller’s head off ’cos he opened it,” growled bob.

“let us search the forest; she may be concealed near here,” murdock said.

we have omitted to state that benton had replaced the war-paint upon his face before coming again to the little clearing.

“that will be your best plan,” observed benton. “i wish you luck,” and as he spoke he turned upon his heel to depart.

“you are not going?” murdock asked.

“yes, i have kept my word with you and did what i promised, and now my way lies different from yours.”

“well, i’ll keep your secret.”

“what do i care, now that i am out of the stockade of point pleasant, whether you do or not? here, in the woods i fear no man,” and, with the haughty speech, the stranger departed. his form was soon lost to view among the foliage of the forest.

“well, he’s a cuss, now, anyway,” said bob, looking after the stranger in astonishment.

“a man better to have for a friend than an enemy,” said murdock, quietly; “but, come, let us see if we can not discover some traces of the girl.”

at the end of an hour the two were no wiser than when they began.