The Benson signal., 1917-03-24
CHAPTER XIV.
On Wildcat Creek.

Toinette was dead. The news came
to David and left him without hope
or aim or wish for life. One Of the
Indian prisoners told the horrible
story of her death to his captors. with
a gleam of fiendish malevolence in his
eyes.
David shuddered as he had not
among all the carnage of battle, and
his limbs tottered beneath him. Some
one of the soldiers raised up his rifle
and struck down the boaster as if he
were crushing a snake. No one held
back his hand.
One, with awkward sympathy, put
his hand on the shoulder of the
shaken David and led him back to the
American camp. Behind them the
ruined village lay smoldering in the
November sun; but David himself
walked as in a dream. Men who met
him stepped aside in silence, to let
him pass, daring to ask no question.
Behind him rose the wailing of the
Indian women, mourning for their
dead, wailing among the trampled
maize; and the unutterable sorrow in
his heart grew heavier beneath their
unending lamentation as the stalks of
corn are beaten to the sodden ground
in the cold rains of the dying year.
Mechanically he took up his work of
watching over the wounded in the
heavy wagons. The camp was struck,
the homeward journey begun.
The suffering of the men in the
wagons was torture indescribable.
Over the uneven ground the oxen
dragged the numbering carts, the.
wooden disks that served as wheels
slipping and jolting over rocks and
into bitches with a. cruelty which was
no less heartrending because it was
unavoidable. The. carts were spring
less. Hot with fever under the icy
wind and racked with the terrific jolt
ing, the wounded men raved, cursed,
sang in delirium. Of the 151 wounded,
25 died on the merciless journey from
the battlefield to the blockhouse on
the Vermilion river, where the boats
had been left. Day and night David
heard their pitiful moaning, the
snatches of pleadings, the impreca-
tiOns and the incoherent wanderings
of their tortured minds:
"a tubful of honey in the lean-to
and the bear got it''-"That ball went
through the hoop"-"Make the stock
ade higher'-"F'rom Kaskasky with
George Clark, tell ye''-':The An
gel Gabriel set his feet on those
stones"-"That calf's got the milk
sick"-"No dearie, there amt no more
meal"-"Teacher, may I get fresh
quill ?"-"I'm a old man an I want
some whisky''-"All the Federalists'
scheming"-"Water amt there even
some rainwater ?-"Oh, Molly, Molly,
Molly !'-"Watch the right flank The
right flank !''-"Water Water!'
Three miles below Tippecanoe the
fleeing Prophet made a nights camp
ON Wildcat creek, the Panse Pichou
of the French. Dubois scouts found
the warm ashes of his. campfire there
and close by one Of the guides picked
up bit Of lace. The man put it in
the pocket of his shirt and brought it
back to the marching column. David
was among the men who crowded
about him to gaze at the tiny shred
of cloth; and having seen it he put
out his hand and took it, and no man
said him no; for they saw that he
had recognized it as part Of gar
ment of Antoinette O'BannOn, whom
he had loved and who was slain. VIII
hn
cloth led David, at his request, back
to the ashes of the fire and there left
him in silence; and for a long time
David stood looking at the ground
where Toinettes feet last had been.
The frozen wilderness was very still.
The bare branches of the forest
creaked and groaned in the November
gusts, but there was no sound of hui
E1an life. On dead limb a notified
wOOdpecker with ' scarlet cap
searched industriously and vainly for
it's food. A sleek, brOwn-furred bea-
yer crawled to the top Of the streams
bank, looked inquiringly at the mo-
tionless figure brooding over the ashes
of the fire, and slid back into the wa
ter with splash. Deep in the woods
flock of wild turkeys clucked among
the underbrush. And so standing, Da-
vid tasted to the dregs the bitterness
of his failure, the numbing conscious
ness Of irremediable loss; tasted the
bitterness of helpless defeat and spent
his hour of agony and vain self
reproach, while the grim forest shut
him in with silence.
A rifle cracked.
The ball knocked the cap from Da-
vid's head. An inch to the right and
he would have fallen, his skull shat
tered; but he had bent his head at
the very moment when the hidden
marksman's finger pressed the trigger.
He was all alone; only his own
speed and quickneSs of resource saved
him.
(TO BE CONTINUED)