Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1920-02-06
CHAPTER XVII.
The Trail to Ottawa.


as that of my former Inconsistencies.
For the moment I felt no certainty
even that / was actually alive, yet
slowly, little by little, reality con-
quered, and / became keenly con-
scious of physical pain. while memory
also began to blindly reassert itself.
could see nothing, hear nothing.
All about was impenetrable blackness
and the silence of the grave. I found
myself unable to move my body and
when 1 desperately attempted to do
so, even the slightest motion brought
pain. I became conscious also of a
weight crushing down upon me, and
sitting my breath. One of my arms
was free; could move it about within
narrow limits, although it ached as
from serious burn. By use of it
endeavored through the black darkness
to learn the nature of that heavy OBJ
ject lying across my chest, feeling at
it cautiously. My fingers touched cold,
dead flesh, from contact with which
they shrank In horror, only to en-
counter a strand of coarse hair. The
first terror of this discovery was over
whelming, yet persevered, satisfying
myself that it was the half-naked body
Of an Indiana very giant of fellow
which lay stretched across me, an
immovable weight. Something else,
perhaps another dead man, held my
feet as though in wise, and when
ventured to extend my one free arm
gropingly to one side, the fingers en-
countered moccasined foot. Scarcely
daring to breathe, I lay staring up
ward and. far above, looking out
through what might be jagged, over
hanging mass of timbers, although
scarcely discernible, my eyes caught
the silver glimmer of star.
I was alive-alive! Whatever had
occurred in that fateful second to de-
fleet that murderous tomahawk, its
keen edge had failed to reach me. And
what had occurred? Then it was that
the probable truth came to me-that
flash and roar; that last impression
imprinted on my brain before utter
darkness descended upon me, must
have meant an explosion, an upheaval
shattering the cabin, bringing the roof
down upon the struggling mob within
the heavy tiInbers crushing out their
lives. And the cause! But one was
possible-the half-keg of blasting
powder Kennedy had placed in the cor
ner as last resort. Had Tim reached
it in a final, mad effort to destroy, or
had some accidental. fame wrought
the terrible destruction? Perhaps no
one could ever answer that-but was
there alone, the sole survivor? Had
those others of our little party died
amid their Indian enemies, and were
they lying now somewhere in this
darkness, crushed and mangled in the
midst Of the debris?
Kennedy, Elsie Clark, the half
witted boy Asa Hall-their faces
seemed to stare at me out of the black
ness. They must be dead! Why, had
seen Kennedy fall, the needless feet
crunching his face, and Asa Hall
tossed into the air and shot at as he
fell. Eloise! Eloise I covered my
eyes with the free hand, conscious that
I was crying like a child-Eloise. My
God, Eloise! / wonder if / tainted; |
knew so little after that; so little, ex
cept that I suffered helplessly. If /
did not faint, then | must have been
upon the verge of insanity, for there
was a time-God knows how long
when all was blank.
Some slight, scarcely distinguishable
noise aroused me. Yes, it was actually
a sound. as though someone moved in
the room-moved stealthily. as though
upon hands and knees, seeking a pas
sage in the darkness. I imagined |
could distinguish breathing. Who, what
could 1t be? A man; prowling Wilt
animal which had scented blood? But
for my dry, parched lips I would have
cried out-yet even with the vain
endeavor, doubt silenced me. Who
could be there-who? Some sneaking.
cowardly thief; some despOiler of the
dead? Some Indian returned through
hoping to thus proclaim himself
mighty warrior? More likely enemy
than friend. 1t was better that I lie
and suffer than appeal to such fiend
for mercy.
The slight sound shifted to the right
of where / lay, no longer reminding
me of the slow progress of a moving
body, but rather as though someone
were attempting blindly to scrape to-,
gether ashes in the fireplace. / pressed
my one free hand beneath my neck,
and thus, by an effort, lifted myself
so as to see more clearly beyond the
shoulder of the dead Indian. The first
tiny, Pickering spark of fire had caught
the dry wood, and was swiftly bursting
into flame. In another moment this
had illumined that stopping figure, and
rested in blaze Of light upon the
lowered face, bringing out the features
as though they were framed against
the black wall beyond-a woman's
face, the face of Eloisel
I gave vent to one startled, inarticu-
late cry, and she sprang to her feet.