alagwa went to rest willingly enough, but for a long time she did not sleep. she was thinking of what jack had said about the ammunition that he was taking to fort wayne and of its importance to the garrison there. if she could destroy it or give it over to the indians she would have done much to carry out her pledge to tecumseh. carefully, she felt the boxes on which she lay, only to find their tops nailed hard and fast, far beyond the power of her slender fingers to loosen.
could she get word to the runner? she was sure he was near. perhaps there were others with him. perhaps they could capture or destroy the wagon. it would cost jack his life; she knew that and was sorry for it, but the fact did not make her pause. against his life stood the lives of dozens of her people, who would be slain by this ammunition. no! the white men had dug up the tomahawk; and jack and they must take the consequences.
but how could she get word to the runner? the camp was guarded. dimly, she could descry jack’s form against the limestone boulder on which she and he had sat and talked. instinctively she knew that he would not sleep, and she knew, too, that the[122] runner was not likely to appear unless she summoned him. and she saw no way to summon him without betraying herself and wrecking her mission without gain. vainly her tired brain fluttered. at last, wearied out, she lay quiescent, determined to watch and wait. perhaps a chance might come.
for hours she forced herself to lie awake. but she had not counted on the weakness due to her loss of blood and on the insistent demand of her nature for sleep to replenish the drain. fight against it as she might, sleep crept upon her, insistent, not to be denied. heavier and heavier grew her eyelids, and though again and again she forced them back, in time nature would no longer be denied.
when she waked darkness was about her. for an instant she thought she was back in the indian lodge at wapakoneta. then the patch of moonlit sky that showed at the foot of the wagon caught her eyes and told her the truth.
with an effort she sat up. the hours of sleep had strengthened her immensely. young, pure-blooded, healthy, her system had already made up much of the blood she had lost. new life was coursing through her veins. except for the soreness and stiffness in her leg she felt almost herself again.
from where she lay she could see moonbeams on the trees south of the river. if she had been familiar with white man’s time she would have said that it[123] was about four o’clock. cautiously she sat up and looked out over the tail of the wagon.
the camp was shrouded in darkness, but after a time she made out a blanketed form stretched beneath the great slanting tree. this was williams, she knew. in the middle of the ground, close to where the campfire had burned, lay another form, almost invisible against the dark soil. to the north, toward the road, across the rock that had so lately served her both for chair and table, sprawled a third form, whose heavy breathing came distinctly to her ears. he was a mere blur in the darkness, but alagwa knew that jack had intended to take both the first and the last watches and to give the midwatch to cato. she knew, therefore, that the sentinel must be cato. and she knew that he was asleep.
sharply she drew her breath. now was her chance to give the call of the whip-poor-will. almost she had framed her lips to sound it.
then suddenly and silently a head rose at the tail of the wagon and two fierce eyes bored questioningly into hers. even in the darkness she could make out the horribly painted features. no civilized woman would have met such a vision without screaming, but alagwa had been well trained. a single heart-rending start she gave, then faced the warrior.
the latter did not delay. he said no word, but he raised his tomahawk and swept it around the[124] camp toward the sleeping men. a voiceless question glittered in his eyes.
for a single moment alagwa’s heart stopped short; then it raced furiously, beating with great throbs that shook her slender frame and that to her strained consciousness seemed to echo drum-like through the sleeping camp. now was the chance for which she had longed. by a single blow she might avenge wilwiloway, might win the wagon-load of ammunition for her people, and might weaken the ruthless enemy whom she so hated. now! now! now! her brain thrilled with the summons.
abruptly the glow faded. she could not, could not, give the word to kill. not for all the ammunition in the land, not for the lives of all the shawnee braves that lived, not for victory that would endure forever, could she give the word that would bring about the deaths of sleeping men. desperately she shook her head and raised her hand, imperatively pointing to the forest.
the runner hesitated. again, with mute insistence, he renewed his deadly question, and again alagwa said him nay. at last, with a shrug of his naked shoulders, he dropped his arm. an instant more and the night had swallowed him up.
alagwa dropped back gasping. now that the chance was gone she longed for its return. a blaze of hate shook her—hate for the white men and for herself. she was a traitor, a coward, a weakling,[125] she told herself fiercely. she had broken faith with tecumseh. she had failed in her duty to her people. the white blood she had inherited had betrayed her. oh! if she could drain it from her veins and be red, all red. despairingly she covered her face with her hands and her shoulders shook. an hour slipped by and still dry sobs racked her slender body.
suddenly, a sound from near the great leaning tree reached her ears and she straightened up, staring into the faint light of the coming dawn. the sleeper beneath it had shifted his position. as she watched he sat up, cocking his head, evidently listening to the heavy breathing of the negro. then he began to crawl noiselessly toward the wagon.
alagwa drew her breath sharply. she knew the man was williams and she knew why he was coming. she knew that the heavy rifle that jack had taken from him was in the wagon and that he was trying to regain it. when he did regain it, what would he do? would he not turn upon the young chief, who was taking him to be punished for the murder of wilwiloway, and who had saved and befriended her. she could not doubt it.
she must stop him. but how? fiercely but silently she laughed to herself. with his own rifle she would check him. it was in the wagon, close beside her! powder-horn and bullet-pouch hung beside it. jack had left them in her care[126] without a thought. noiselessly she felt for the rifle and noiselessly she drew it toward her. it was loaded, she knew. from the powder-horn that hung beside it she primed it and thrust it across the tail of the wagon toward the creeping man.
as the sights fell in line upon him hate blazed up within her. he was at her mercy now—he, the murderer of wilwiloway. the gods had given him into her hand. to slay him was her right and her duty. should she do it? her finger curled about the trigger. a little stronger pressure and wilwiloway would be avenged.
her indian gods, the gods of vengeance, the gods that called for the payment of the blood debt, thundered in her ears. “kill! kill!” they clamored. “kill! faithless daughter of the shawnees! kill!” of the christian god she knew nothing; missionaries had not yet brought him to wapakoneta, though the time when they would do so was close at hand. steadily her finger tightened about the trigger.
then it relaxed. what would jack say—jack with the broad forehead and the clear blue eyes? would he approve? she knew that he would not. instinctively she knew it. too well her imagination mirrored forth the condemnation in his eyes. she did not understand the white man’s ideas of law and justice. she had suffered too bitterly from their working; but she knew—knew—that jack[127] understood them and that he would not countenance her taking vengeance into her own hands.
slowly her finger relaxed its pressure. she leaned forward and gently clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
the crouching man heard it and stopped short. she clicked again, and he looked up and saw the girl’s face, white in the dawn, staring at him over the round black eye of the rifle. with a muffled cry he sprang to his feet, throwing out his hands as if to ward off the imminent death.
the shot did not come, and he began to shrink back. step by step he moved and silently the rifle followed him. once he paused and held out his hands as if offering a bargain. but the rifle held inexorably and after a time he resumed his halting retreat.
at last he reached his blankets. above them he paused and shook his fist at her furiously.
dark as it still was, alagwa could not mistake his gestures nor doubt their meaning. he was swearing vengeance against her. once more her finger curled about the trigger. she remembered the shawnee proverb about the man who let a rattlesnake live. was she letting a rattlesnake live?
as she hesitated, cato grunted, groaned, and moved, and the man dropped swiftly down. alagwa sighed; her chance was gone, perhaps forever.
cato sat up, clutching at the rifle that had slipped[128] from his grasp. stiffly he rose to his feet. for a moment he hesitated, then he walked over to jack and shook him gently.
“it’s time to git up, mars’ jack,” he said.
jack sat up. “why! cato! you scoundrel!” he exclaimed. “it’s morning. you’ve let me sleep all night.”
cato scratched his head hesitatingly. then an expression of conscious virtue dawned upon his face. “yessah! mars’ jack,” he said. “you was sleepin’ so nice i just couldn’t bear to wake you.”
“humph! well! everything seems to be all right. it’s turned out well, cato, but you mustn’t do it again. you haven’t heard any suspicious noises or anything, have you?”
the negro shook his head. “no, sah,” he declared. “everything’s been just as peaceful as if we was back on the tallapoosa. you c’n trust cato to keep watch; dat you can, sah.”
