The Thorn in the Nest

CHAPTER XXIII

Spring deepened into summer and still Lyttleton lingered in Chillicothe, though with no apparent object unless it might be the hope of winning Miss Lamar. He continued to be a constant visitor at the major's, welcomed by him and Clare, but seeing little of Nell, who took particular pains to avoid him, by going out at such times as he was likely to call, or busying herself in another part of the house when he was in the parlor.

He noticed this with anger and chagrin, yet as we have said, difficulty of attainment only increased his estimate of the value of the prize he sought; and suspecting, in his egregious self-conceit and egoism, her conduct to he merely an affectation of coyness with the purpose to bring him to a formal declaration of love, for how could any woman resist such fascination as his of person, manner and fortune, he determined to seize the first opportunity to make her an offer of heart and hand.

With that end in view he dropped in one day at the major's just at tea time; ostensibly for the purpose of inquiring if they had heard a piece of news that was creating some little excitement in the town, and sure of an invitation to stay and partake with them of the evening meal.

The news was concerning Wawillaway's assassin, the dastardly ruffian Wolf. He had fled to Kentucky to escape the merited punishment of his crime at the hands of the two sons of the murdered chief, who, in accordance with the Indian code, making it the right and duty of the nearest of kin to kill the slayer of their relative, had vowed vengeance upon him.

The murderer may, however, purchase his life at a price agreed upon by the family of his victim, and Wolf had employed an agent to make terms with the two young men.

It was now announced that these terms had been agreed upon, and the business would be concluded by an interesting ceremony at Old Town, to take place the following day.

Lyttleton had heard several gentlemen say they meant to be present and to take their wives or sweethearts with them, and had determined that he too would go, if possible as Miss Lamar's escort.

But Dale had the start of him this time, as on several former occasions, and was already in the major's parlor, discussing the news with the family, and engaged to conduct Miss Nell to see the ceremony, when Lyttleton came in; as the latter presently learned from the conversation.

He was disappointed and angry, but so sure of success in his more important errand that he comforted himself with the thought that this was Dale's last chance to serve him such a trick.

Dale, for his part, had no idea that any such calamity awaited Nell or himself, and having a little urgent business matter to attend to, went away shortly after tea to which both callers had been hospitably invited, in a very cheerful frame of mind, leaving the field to Lyttleton.

He knew the Englishman to be a rival, but did not consider him a dangerous one; and at all events Nell was secured to himself for the coming day.

Clare, though at one time quite sure that Dr. Clendenin and Nell cared for each other, had now entirely given up the idea of ever seeing them united. She could not worm out the facts from Nell, but concluded that there must have been an irreconcilable quarrel.

"Well, she was not sorry, for this Englishman was certainly very much in love, and would make a better match, from a worldly point of view at least." So she did what lay in her power to favor and advance his suit.

Something in his look or manner told her of his purpose to-night, and she contrived that the two should be left alone in the parlor soon after Dale's departure.

Lyttleton seized the opportunity at once, poured out passionate expressions of love, and in plain words asked Nell to become his wife.

She tried in vain to stop him, he would be heard to the end.

"Mr. Lyttleton," she said, rising with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, "I thank you for the honor you have done me, but I cannot entertain such a proposition for a moment. Nay, hear me out," as he seemed about to enter a protest, "even as you have compelled me to hear you. I would have spared you the pain of a rejection, but you would not let me."

"My dear Miss Nell – Miss Lamar," he stammered, "it cannot be that I hear aright! or if I do that you understand what it is that you are rejecting. I will say nothing" – with an affectation of humility – "of any charms of person or address that some may attribute to your humble servant, but an honored and ancient name, an assured position among the English gentry, fine estate, large fortune – "

She interrupted him, drawing herself up to her full height, while her eyes flashed and her cheek crimsoned with indignation.

"If I ever marry, Mr. Lyttleton, it shall be neither position nor estate – least of all money."

"What more can you ask, pray?" he inquired, folding his arms and throwing back his head with an air of hauteur.

"Something of infinitely greater worth," she replied, her eyes kindling, "infinitely better and higher; the love and confidence of a true and noble heart, the heart of a man who lives not for himself, but for others, who is not content to pass his days in inglorious ease and idleness, but does with his might what his hands find to do to glorify God and benefit his fellow men."

"Clendenin, curse him!" he muttered between his clinched teeth.

Her quick ear caught the words not meant for it.

"Yes," she said, with a peculiar smile, "Dr. Clendenin answers the description very well, but not he alone; I am thankful to say there are others among my countrymen who do."

"Your countrymen! always your countrymen," he blazed out growing very red and angry; "a set of clodhoppers who are obliged to earn their bread by the sweat of their brows. Mark my words, miss, you'll see the day when you would be very glad to share the inglorious ease of a member of the favored class denominated the English gentry."

"No, sir," she answered with spirit, "I am heart and soul an American, and our differing nationalities would be an insuperable objection to the acceptance of your offer were there none other."

At which, boiling with rage and disappointment, he hastily caught up his hat and left the house.

Nell's conscience pricked her with the reminder that those last words were untrue; since, had Lyttleton been an American, and Kenneth an Englishman, it would have made no difference in her feelings toward either.

Lyttleton hurried on through the streets and out into the country beyond, neither knowing nor caring in his rage and disappointment what direction he took. All he wanted was to avoid observation until he could recover his accustomed self-control; lest otherwise the story of his rejection should be bruited about and himself treated to scorn and ridicule in consequence.

Unconsciously he struck into the trail that led to Old Town.

The sun had set, but there was yet sufficient light to show him the stalwart figure of a huntsman with his gun on his shoulder and a string of birds in his hand, coming to meet him.

Lyttleton stood still for a moment, debating in his own mind whether to go on or to retrace his steps, when the other called out in a well-known voice,

"Dat you, mynheer? It ish goot you haf come. I have some dings der dell you."

"What things, Hans?" asked Lyttleton moving on to meet his valet, to whom he had given permission for a day's sport in the woods.

"I dells you pooty quick, mynheer," returned Hans close at his side; then went on to relate how he had fallen in with a party of Indians on their way to Old Town to take part in the coming ceremony, and that they had among them a white woman who seemed, from her looks and actions, to have been with them a long while.

Lyttleton listened eagerly, and when Hans had finished his story, tried to elicit further information by asking questions in regard to the height, complexion, demeanor, and apparent age of the woman.

When these had all been answered. "It may be she," he said musingly as if thinking aloud; then in a quick, determined way, "Hans, you must take me at once to see this woman. It may prove of the greatest importance that I should see and talk with her this very night."

Hans, already weary and footsore with his day's tramp, would have greatly preferred to move on to Chillicothe and get a warm supper at the General Anthony Wayne, followed by a lounge on the bench before the bar-room door. Accordingly he showed some unwillingness to obey the order.

It was, however, speedily overcome by the offer of double wages for that week. He turned about at once and by the light of the moon, just rising over the tree tops, the two followed the trail till it brought them to the Indian town, where after some search they found the object of their quest seated alone at the door of her wigwam, smoking a pipe and seemingly wrapped in meditation, enjoying the moonlight and the cool evening breeze which was particularly refreshing after the day.

Lyttleton accosted her courteously in English, and she answered in the same tongue, inviting him to take a seat on the bearskin by her side.

"Thank you, I do not wish to crowd you, I will sit here," he said, appropriating a stump close at hand.

Hans, by his master's direction, had refrained from approaching very near, and was resting himself on a fallen tree a few hundred yards distant.

He saw that Lyttleton and the woman were soon in earnest conversation, but could not hear the words spoken.

Some of the Indians were nearer, but few of them had any knowledge of English, the language used by both speakers during the interview, most of them none at all, and only from looks, tones and gestures, could they gather any hint of the subject of the conference.

It lasted for a full hour; then Lyttleton rose and stood before the woman, talking and gesticulating with great earnestness. He seemed to be vehemently urging some request which she was inclined to deny; at length he drew out a silken purse full of broad gold pieces which glittered in the moonlight as he held it up.

"Promise me," he said, "and this is yours; keep your promise till I see you again and it shall be doubled."

"Give it me then," she cried, stretching out an eager hand.

"You promise?"

"Yes, yes; why not?"

He dropped it into her open palm, saying impressively, "Remember. Now, good-bye," and turned exultingly to go on his way.

"Stay," she cried.

"Well, what more?" he asked facing her again, "is it not enough?"

"Yes; but you have not told me who you are, or why you – "

"It does not matter; all you have to do is to follow my directions," he interrupted somewhat haughtily, and strode rapidly away.

"Your errand shpeed so petter as goot, mynheer?" queried Hans as they struck into the trail again.

"I flatter myself it will all come out right in the end, Hans," was the reply; then there was a muttered word or two that sounded like an imprecation upon some absent person, with a threat of vengeance for some real or fancied injury.

Chillicothe seemed sleeping when they re-entered it; the streets were silent and deserted, the houses closed and dark; only from the bar-room window of the General Anthony Wayne gleamed the light of a single tallow candle. Master and man entered there without noise or bustle and presently slipped quietly away to the room of the former.

CHAPTER XXIV

Curiosity was rife in Chillicothe and its vicinity in regard to the ceremony about to take place at Old Town, and as the set time drew near very many whites of both sexes might have been seen approaching the spot, singly or in parties.

Clendenin, hindered by the demands of his profession, was one of the last to arrive on the ground.

He found the Indians drawn up in a hollow square, outside of which was the concourse of white spectators, inside Wolf with his promised bribe, – a horse, a new saddle and bridle, and a new rifle for each of the sons of his victim.

Kenneth had come alone. He knew that Dale had preceded him, and whom he was to escort thither, and there they were on the opposite side of the square; Nell in a becoming riding hat and habit, sitting her horse with accustomed ease and grace; Dale by her side, the picture of content and good humor.

Kenneth sighed involuntarily; what would he not have given to be in Dale's place, yet he was glad to see his friend so favored rather than the Englishman.

The next moment he perceived that Lyttleton also was one of the assembled throng; at some little distance from those two, but in a position to get a good view of their faces, and that he was watching them closely, with a look of jealous rage.

Kenneth's eyes turned to Nell again to see hers fixed for an instant upon the burly form and ruffianly face of Wolf, with an expression of disgust and horror.

But the ceremony was beginning, and for a little claimed the attention of all present.

The two young men came forward into the hollow square, Wolf presented his horses and trappings, they lifted their hands toward heaven invoking the Great Spirit, and declaring that to Him alone they transferred the blood and life of Wolf forfeited by the death of their father.

They then shook hands with Wolf in token of their forgiveness, saluted him as a brother, and lighting the calumet of peace, smoked with him in the presence of the Great Spirit.

The scene was one of deep solemnity and many eyes filled with tears as they gazed upon it.

But it was over and the crowd began to disperse, tongues were loosed, and Kenneth, silently threading his way among the talkers, casually overheard the remark, "There is a white woman here, they say, who has been a great many years with the Indians."

He almost caught his breath for an instant as he suddenly reined in his horse, his heart beating like a hammer, a wild hope springing up within his breast, a rush of mingled emotions surging through his brain.

Strange that he had not thought of such a possibility.

He turned back, dismounted and secured his horse to a sapling; doing it all mechanically. Then he strolled about among the Indians, shaking hands with them and kindly inquiring after their health and that of their families, patting the heads of the papooses, nodding smilingly to the older children, and scanning with furtive, but keen scrutiny, the face of each elderly squaw.

At length he came upon the object of his search, a woman past middle age, whose features were unmistakably those of the white race.

She sat on the grass in the shade of a tree, near the door of a wigwam, her fingers busily employed in embroidering a moccasin.

She seemed scarcely aware of his presence as he stood before her vainly striving to still the tumultuous beating of his heart.

Controlling his voice by a great effort, he addressed her in English, in a quiet tone.

"How do you do, mother?"

She looked up for an instant, shook her head slowly, and dropped her eyes upon her work again.

"You understand me?" he said inquiringly, "you have not forgotten your native tongue?"

"Me squaw," was the laconic answer, unaccompanied by so much as a glance.

He sat down on a stump near at hand, the very same on which Lyttleton had seated himself the previous night, and watched her silently for a moment, while he considered the best manner of approaching her so as to win her confidence and learn whether she could indeed tell him aught of that which all these years he had been trying to discover.

"You are a white woman, why should you wish to conceal the fact?" he said at length in a soft, persuasive tone. "I have no design against you, but on the contrary would gladly do you any service in my power."

Again she raised her head, this time giving him a steady look, and was it fancy that for a single instant there was something like a gleam of recognition in her eye.

If so it was gone again before he could be sure it had been there; while she answered indifferently in the Shawnee tongue, that she did not understand what he had just said, and that she was not a pale face but an Indian woman, the wife of a Shawnee brave.

Kenneth sat for a moment in perplexed silence; her assertion that she did not belong to the white race was evidently false, yet what could be her motive for making it? If she preferred to remain with the tribe no one could force her away, or would be likely to care to do so.

As he watched her again busied with her work, apparently wholly careless of his presence, and studied her face, recalling the description that had been given him, calculating what her age might be, and the changes produced by the hardships and exposure of her wild life, the conviction grew upon him that it was possible, even probable, she was the very woman for whom he had so long and vainly searched.

He determined upon a bold course.

Leaning toward her and gazing full into her face, "Reumah Clark," he said, "have you quite forgotten the old life in the little valley among the mountains of Eastern Tennessee, the husband and children you then loved so dearly, the kind neighbors at whose house you were when the Indians swooped down so suddenly upon you all?"

She had not been able to repress a slight start at the unexpected sound of that name, or to entirely preserve the stolidity of countenance with which she had begun the interview.

She rose hastily and disappeared from view within the wigwam.

The action left in Kenneth's mind little room for doubt of her identity, but alas, of what avail that he had found her, if she could not be induced to speak of those long past occurrences and to reveal the secret which, if known to any mortal, was possessed by her alone?

His heart beat almost to suffocation while he forced himself to sit waiting quietly there at the door of her wigwam in the forlorn hope that she might return in a truthful and communicative mood.

He was alone, no one near, though at the distance of a few hundred yards, the young Indians were engaged in active sports and their shouts and laughter occasionally broke the stillness of the woodland scene.

He waited what seemed an age to his tortured nerves, perceiving neither sound nor motion within the tent, then rose and moved slowly toward the spot where he had left his faithful steed.

He had not quite reached it when a hand was laid lightly upon his arm, and turning he found a tall young brave standing by his side.

"Does the pale face forget?" he asked in good English, holding out his hand.

"Have we ever met before?" asked Kenneth, earnestly scanning the lad's face, while he took the hand in a cordial grasp and shook it heartily.

"Indians never forget good white men," continued the lad, "white man find Little Horn in the snow, take him in his arms, carry him to his fire, wrap him in his blanket, feed him. White man very good. Indian boy love good white man."

"Oh I remember you now!" cried Kenneth, joyfully, shaking hands with increased cordiality, while his face lighted up with his rare, beautiful smile. "I am glad to meet you again. Tell me, can I do anything more for you?"

"Little Horn's turn now. What would my friend with White Swan, the warrior Black Eagle's squaw?"

"I wish to talk with her about my mother and father, whom she once knew," said Kenneth. "But she refuses to listen or to speak."

"Has my friend heap money?"

"I have some. Will money open her lips?"

The Indian gave an expressive grunt, then went on to tell of Lyttleton's visit to their camp and interview with the woman, of which he had been an unnoticed witness.

He had not heard or understood all the talk between them, but enough to enable him to gather by the assistance of their tones and gestures, the holding up of the purse, and the eager hand outstretched to receive it, that a bribe had been offered and accepted, and her conduct of to-day, which also he had closely watched, had convinced him that her promise had been to maintain silence toward Kenneth, of whose intended visit Lyttleton must have known.

Clendenin listened in great surprise. Who could it have been? He did not know that he had an enemy in the whole world, and this visit was entirely unexpected even to himself.

But Little Horn's communication gave him fresh hope. "Would he be his messenger to the white squaw," he asked earnestly; "would he go to her and say that if she would talk with the pale face, and answer his questions as well as she could he would give her as much money as the pale face visitor of the previous night had promised her if she kept silence?"

The Indian accepted the commission, went at once to the wigwam, Kenneth slowly following, passed in, and a few moments after reappeared in company with the woman.

A change had come over her face; it no longer wore the stolid look Kenneth had seen upon it during their earlier interview, the features were agitated and there were traces of tears on the cheeks. His words had recalled half forgotten scenes of bitter sorrow, terror and despair.

"Speak! I listen," she said in the English tongue, seating herself and motioning to him to do the same, then burying her face in her hands.

He dropped upon the grass by her side and began at once in low, quiet, almost mournful tones.

"Many years ago, before I was born, there stood two log cabins, some half mile apart, in a little valley among the mountains of Tennessee. A young couple named Clark, with a family of several small children, lived in one; the other was occupied by two couples bearing the same family name, Clendenin; the men were distantly related; one older by twenty years or more than the other; he had married a widow with one child, a daughter, and she had shortly after become the wife of his younger kinsman."

Kenneth paused.

"Go on," said his hearer, in smothered tones.

Little Horn, with native delicacy, had withdrawn and thrown himself upon the grass just out of earshot.

Kenneth went on.

"These two families were the sole residents of the little valley; the nearest white neighbor lived miles away on the other side of the mountains, and between lay forests filled with wild beasts and hostile Indians.

"One lovely summer day Mr. Clark was helping his neighbors in the field, his wife visiting theirs. She had taken her children with her and they were at play in the door-yard.