CHAPTER XIV.

 CHAPTER XIV.  MACHECAWA SCALPS THE "EENGLISHMAN." 1815. Rug had been at "The Landing" for several hours awaiting the arrival of the Colombo, which was unusually late. His father had written from Quebec to have someone meet him and Abbie with a double-seated waggon on that evening. The night was extremely dark. A high wind was blowing from the west when the lights of the boat were seen as it rounded the headland on its way to the wharf. "We have two trunks," said the Chief, after a mutual exchange of greetings. "You had better make them secure to the rack with ropes, for we could ill afford to lose the small one." "Or the large one either," added Abbie, "for it contains a number of very valuable purchases." "Abbie contemplates beginning housekeeping soon," said the Chief, as they drove off together. "The longer she postpones the evil day the better for all parties concerned," muttered Rug, who alighted from the waggon to lead the horses over a treacherous place in the road, which was unsafe enough even in daylight. In addition to the deep ruts worn by vehicles, the road was obstructed by boulders too large to be easily removed, while deep ditches bounded it on either side. Here and there the branches of trees swept their hats off or scratched their faces. It was well that the horses knew the road and that they had a careful driver. Chilled by her brother's remark, Abbie retorted: "Is it necessary for me to be constantly bored with such remarks?" "Yes, it is necessary—unfortunately—if you would be saved from lifelong association with a bore," responded her brother. Abbie sat back in the farthest corner of the conveyance and, biting her lips, gave herself up to a host of unhappy meditations. The boys had never given her one word of encouragement, nor had Chrissy or her mother. There had somehow stolen upon her, from time to time, an uneasy feeling that there might possibly be some grounds for their want of confidence; but she would dismiss such a thought as soon as it presented itself and try to convince herself that their eyes were blinded by jealousy, dislike, or indifference. Far better be the wife of an educated man and a gentleman, who may not be immaculate, she reasoned, than be the slave of a mere farmer. "I have seen something of his business dealings," resumed Rug, with evident reluctance, "which has filled me with uneasiness. That he has been guilty of 'shady' and even dishonest transactions is certain." On reaching the summit of the hill they were met by the full blast of the wind, which had risen to a gale, and which, together with the hoarse roar of the falls and the swish of the driving rain, produced a chorus of melancholy sounds. "What was that?" said Abbie in a startled voice, "I thought I heard something fall." "Just a tree in the forest," said her father, complacently, "it is not the first I've heard this evening." "But hark!" said Abbie. "What was that?" Her ear had caught what sounded like a wild "whoop," followed by a scream, which was drowned in a gust of wind more concentrated and more fierce than before. "Timid child," said the father, taking her hand in his, "owls and eagles are being disturbed from their peaceful slumbers. Your nervous temperament and fervid imagination easily throw you into a panic. There is nothing to fear—nothing, nothing." At last they stood before the gates of the White House. A flickering light was in the window. Abbie bounded into the hall and into the arms of her mother, who had been watching and waiting their arrival for hours. In the meantime consternation prevailed outside. The Chief and his son had discovered that the small tin trunk containing several thousand dollars was missing. The ropes had evidently been cut. With his heart beating violently with apprehension of an irreparable loss, or a passage at arms with a band of highway robbers, the Chief hurriedly gathered all the fire-arms, ammunition, lanterns and axes in the place and sat down to wait for Rug, who had gone to arouse some of the employees in connection with the works. He tried to remain quietly where he was, but felt so nervous and excited that he could not sit still for a moment. He seemed to think that he was losing time unless he was moving. It was an absurd idea, he knew, but he could not resist it, so he hastened down to Mr. Wrenford's boarding-house to secure his assistance, and found that that gentleman had gone out early in the evening and had not returned. Rug having arrived with a number of brave, faithful men, they hastened back over the road to the steamboat landing. Cautiously they crept along, scanning each blackened stump which stood out in the darkness like a fortress of the enemy, until at last the Chief, who was in advance of the search party, gave a shout: "Come on, boys, come on!" There by the roadside stood a tall, powerful-looking man, bending over the missing trunk. Quick as thought they surrounded him. He stood firm and erect. He moved not an inch, nor manifested any desire to escape, and as they closed in upon him, to their amazement they found it was Machecawa. In his left hand was a scalp of long auburn hair; in his right was a bag of gold, which he held up triumphantly. "Eenglishman, he no rob White Chief no more," he said, his dark eyes flashing in the dim light of the lanterns. "Eenglishman, he no burn White Chief's mills no more. Eenglishman, he no tie White Chief's girl to tree no more," and he shook the auburn hair and danced round the box in high glee. The Chief was stunned. Visions of the decapitated Wrenford rose up before him. He stood gazing at the Indian with mingled feelings of horror at the atrocious crime he had evidently committed, and of incredulity as to the veracity of the charges brought against his unfortunate clerk. Machecawa advanced, and laying his hand upon the Chief's shoulder, explained that he was crossing the road, when he observed a man climb on to the rack behind the waggon, sever the ropes that bound the trunk securely, and deliberately throw it into a mossy bank, after which he let himself down gently and proceeded to force open the lock. "He was looking in the box," said Machecawa, "when I pounced on him and grabbed him by the hair, which came off in my hands." He then passed it round as an object of curiosity, and after examining it closely, the Chief said, with a sigh of relief: "It is a wig, boys, only a wig. Let us trust that the poor fellow has escaped the scalping-knife after all." "More's the pity," growled one of the men. The Indian proceeded with his story. Wrenford escaped to the woods, followed by himself in hot pursuit, and just as he was about to step into a canoe at the river's bank the Indian captured him and tied him to a tree, while he overturned the canoe on shore, emptying it of all its contents. Then, placing his pistol at Wrenford's clean-shaven head, he said: "You deserve to be shot." The robber pleaded for mercy, and the Indian promised to release him if he would never again show his face in the settlement under penalty of death. He was then permitted to escape in his canoe. The Indian led them through a path to the river, where they found an old carpet-bag filled with cash, a common grain sack containing family plate, a bag of provisions, and a valuable gun. No further evidence was needed to convince the Chief of the perfidy of his clerk. He leaned against a tree unable to utter a word. There was the deerskin bag which Mary had made for the cash and which was in the safe the night of the fire. There were valuables which he had left in charge of his clerk before leaving for Quebec. The truth was only too evident. At length he was able to say: "Thank you, Machecawa; you have done me good service to-night. I shall not forget it." While these events were transpiring, Abbie and her mother were too anxious and excited to think of sleep. Mrs. Wright sat before the fire which roared and crackled on the spacious hearth. The angry wind whistled and howled about the house. It seemed as though the elements had gone mad with fury. Abbie went to the window and peered out into the night. The face of heaven was dark, so dark that it seemed to frown upon her. As she stood gazing abstractedly into the darkness her attention was suddenly attracted by the flickering light of lanterns and torches. That wild shriek which had almost paralyzed her with fear echoed and re-echoed in her ears and carried with it strange forebodings of evil. She walked up and down the room, nervously stopping now and then before the window to observe the progress of the search party on its return. Soon her father entered, looking pale and haggard. "Did you find it, Philemon?" asked Mrs. Wright, with bated breath as she approached him. "Yes," he replied. Suddenly Abbie sprang towards him, and putting her arms round his neck and pressing her head against his cheek, whispered: "I'm so glad." "My dear child," he said, stroking her head caressingly, "though we have found what we lost, we have sustained a greater loss in Mr. Wrenford. You have cause to thank God for the greatest deliverance of your life, for he has proved himself unworthy of you. It is not necessary for you to know all the unhappy circumstances." "Tell me all," she whispered. "Withhold nothing." The Chief gave a brief resume of what had happened. Abbie groaned and staggered and would have fallen had not her father's strong arms caught her and carried her upstairs to her own room. Months elapsed before Abbie recovered from the shock. She could not escape from the sensation of having had a terrifying nightmare. Natural emotion could not be suppressed. She could do nothing but weep, and would fly to her own room, lay her face on the pillow and give full vent to her feelings. It was a long time before she was able to rise above the overwhelming sense of disappointment and loss.