Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/458

 . 19, 1861.] his rifle lay against a tree close at hand, a small stone jar and some bread and meat were beside him, and he seemed to be eating his supper very heartily. Nearer to the water a girl was leaning against the smooth white shaft of a tall swamp-elm, and a sail-boat was lying close by the shore, moored to the blasted trunk of a tree half covered by the water. The scene was full of picturesque beauty. The bend of the lake, blue and gleaming, except where the arrow-headed reeds or the broad leaves of the water-lilies hid its shining surface; the wild hollow with its craggy sides, the moored boat, the voyager seated on the fallen tree, the nymph-like figure resting against the columnar stem, which raised its leafy dome high above her head like some “Dryad of the pathless wood,” and the masses of shade in the background, were all combined as an artist’s fancy would have desired to group them, while the golden and crimson light that flooded the western sky, the deep blue of the zenith, and the vivid greenness of the leaves gave a rich brilliancy of colouring to the whole. But very different thoughts from those of pleasure or admiration rushed on Keefe as he gazed. At first his glance was one of unmixed amazement, then his face grew dark and flushed, and he set his teeth hard, for in the man he recognised O’Brien the schoolmaster, the girl was Coral, and the boat was his own skiff, the Mother Cary. He felt as certain that Coral had not come willingly with O’Brien as he was of his own existence, and he felt a thrill of proud delight at the strange chance which had so unexpectedly brought him there to rescue her. He never stopped to ask himself what O’Brien’s object in carrying her off could be. He had always thought him capable of any villainy, and an act of baseness which he might have hesitated to ascribe to another seemed only something natural to O’Brien. If the schoolmaster could have seen Keefe at that moment a shot from his rifle would probably have finished our hero’s fate, but he was too certain of security to be very vigilant; and, unobserved, Keefe dropped down the bank, and took a circuit among the trees till he reached the hollow.

Here the task of concealment was more difficult, the few shrubs and trees scattered at intervals affording scanty cover; but, keeping as much in their shelter as he could, he had nearly gained his object when O’Brien got up, and leaving his rifle still against the tree walked leisurely towards Coral. Passing her without a word, he climbed the rocky bank of the hollow, and stood gazing over the lake. No longer caring whether he was seen or not, since O’Brien was now without his rifle, Keefe sprang over stones, stumps, and bushes, darted by Coral, who pressed her hands wildly on her lips to stifle the scream of joy ready to break forth when she saw him, and climbed the bank after O’Brien. The noise made by the falling fragments of stone, which Keefe’s quick steps sent tumbling into the water, made O’Brien look round. Of all men in the world Keefe was the last he would have wished to see at that moment; but, as brave as iron nerves and a heart of flint could make him, he stood firm, while his hand grasped a hunting-knife which he wore. Though smaller and lighter than Keefe, his well-strung sinews, tough muscles, and indomitable coolness made him much more nearly young Dillon’s match than a careless observer would have believed, and now his long hunting-knife gave him an advantage which he himself thought decisive. But the strongest odds against him could not have kept Keefe back. All the generosity and sincerity of his nature revolted at O’Brien’s treachery, and roused his anger and indignation to their highest pitch, and calling out to know “what he was doing with that boat,” he sprang forward and seized O’Brien by the shoulder. O’Brien stood motionless till he felt Keefe’s grasp; then, drawing his knife as quick as lightning, he aimed it at Keefe’s breast. Keefe threw up his arm; the blade struck the bone and snapped in two, and Keefe, who had never relaxed his hold of O’Brien, with a sudden jerk hurled him over the bank. Looking down at him for a moment, as he lay among the stones below, stunned and motionless, Keefe pulled the broken point of the knife out of his arm, and hastened to Coral. The poor girl’s terror, joy, and anxiety had been so great and so closely mingled, that Keefe found her sitting pale and breathless, hardly able to move or speak, but the sight of the blood flowing from his wound restored all her faculties.

“Oh, Keefe!” she cried, “you are hurt—you are bleeding—look!”

“It’s nothing!” he answered, laughing, “you need not be scared,—some water from the lake will make it all right again.”

“But I can cure it,” said she, eagerly, and running down to the side of the creek, she soon returned with the leaves of a herb which the Indians had taught her to use, as a balsam for wounds, and a roll of soft bark from a birch-tree. Making Keefe sit down, she applied the healing leaves to his arm, binding them neatly on with her bark-bandages, happy in thinking herself of use to him she loved so well, and far prouder when Keefe stroked down her glossy tresses and praised her skill, than if the empire of the world had been laid at her feet.

“There, now,” he said, “it is quite well;”well; [sic] it does not hurt a bit, now tell me how that villain got you here.”

She had forgotten O’Brien altogether in her anxiety about Keefe; now she looked up with a shudder.

“Is he dead?” she asked in a low voice.

“I guess so,” answered Keefe, “he ought to be.”

“Let us go and look. If he is alive we mustn’t leave him to die without help.”

“Don’t be a fool, Coral; what help do you think he would have given me if he had mastered me?”

“Ah! I knew he had his long knife; only for that I wouldn’t have been a bit afraid for you. How I trembled when I thought of that. But now it’s all over, and, as you are the conqueror, you must be generous.”

“Generous, Coral!” exclaimed Keefe with some fierceness, “you don’t know him as well as I do; he deserves no more mercy than a rattlesnake.”