37 The Only Way

I returned toward the battlefield, thoughtful and sobered. I had seen the other side of the victory. But before I reached the fallen timbers Osseo rose up in my path.

“Manito has been kind to Lee to-day,” he said. “Manito loves him.”

“How so, Osseo?” I asked in some surprise.

“He has moved Lee’s enemy from his path. Lo the Long Knife, whose name is the same as Lee’s, was taken to-day in the battle by the Wyandot chief, Hoyoquim, and the white Indian Blackstaffe, and they have carried him away to work their will upon him.”

I was struck with horror. Those who have followed this narrative know that I had no cause to love Jasper, but I shuddered when I thought of the hideous tortures that Hoyoquim and Blackstaffe would inflict upon him for his desertion. And after this came another thought: perhaps Rose Carew loved him! Could I bear to see her grief when she heard of his doom? When this second thought came to me I hesitated no longer.

“Come, Osseo,” I said, “lead the way; we must bring my cousin back again.”

“Lee is a strange man,” he responded. “The Indian rejoices at the torture of his worst enemy, but the white man would rescue him. Manito has made us different, and it is not for Osseo to ask why. Come!”

He led the way through the forest, and I knew that we were upon the trail of Hoyoquim and his captive. I was to some extent a free lance and I was troubled by no qualms of conscience as I left the battlefield and the army behind me and sped on in pursuit of the Wyandot band. The trail lay broad and plain before us, but its state showed that the warriors were travelling fast. If we would rescue Jasper it must be done quickly. Yet we were sure that Hoyoquim did not anticipate pursuit, and this aided us, as, fearing no ambush, we travelled at great speed.

It was a brilliant day, the August sun pouring a flood of light upon the world. The forest stood out against the perfect blue of the sky like carved tracery. But the old silence, save for the murmur of the wind and the song of the birds, had returned to it. One could believe that the battle of the morning and destruction of the Indian power was a dream.

“The captive lagged here and they prodded him with their knives,” said Osseo, not looking up. “Then he hastened.”

I did not wonder that Jasper hurried before the knife points, and it was but a foretaste, too, of what awaited him.

The footsteps followed the bank of the river through woods and grass and across tributary creeks, and Osseo, watching with keen eyes, said that the warriors had not stopped once. Evidently they had some purpose in such a rapid and sustained night, since the danger of ordinary pursuit had long since passed.

“Why do they hurry so fast and far?” I said to Osseo.

“Lee knows,” he replied, without raising his head from the footsteps.

He spoke the truth. I knew even when I asked.

Noon came, and then the afternoon began to wane, but the sky was still a brilliant blue, save where little clouds made spots of fleecy white upon its azure surface. The murmur of the wind did not cease, and by the river’s brink wild flowers of red and purple and white nodded to its breath.

“The footsteps shorten,” said Osseo. “The warriors do not hurry so much.” Then he added, a few moments later: “Now they stop and talk with each other. The prisoner stands in the centre; and see, he falls to his knees!”

Poor Jasper! I knew why he was upon his knees, and I knew too how vain was his sacrifice of the white man’s pride.

“Come, Osseo,” I said, “let us hasten on.”

“It is not far now,” he replied. “Hoyoquim is sure at last that he is beyond pursuit, and he will soon begin the work for which he has come.”

We followed more cautiously and slowly for about a half hour, and then Osseo, without a word of warning, sank suddenly to his knees. I imitated him at once, knowing that he did nothing without good reason, and then he pointed silently with his finger to the far side of the river.

The savages had crossed and already had begun their horrible task.

Jasper was bound to a tree with green withes, not so tightly that he could not move, but fast enough to cut off all hope of escape. The warriors and Blackstaffe were gathering dead wood for the torture and heaping it about his feet, while Hoyoquim stood before him and taunted him after the Indian fashion.

We crept forward among the thick bushes and high grass until we were separated from them only by the river. I can not forget the look of terror and despair on Jasper’s face. Had the withes fallen of their own accord to the ground I do not believe that he could have made an effort to escape.

“Had they only waited until the morrow for this we might have saved him,” I whispered to Osseo.

“’Tis too late,” he replied. “Manito has spoken his will.”

Hoyoquim turned presently, and then I saw his face also. It was the incarnation of savage and malignant triumph. To him Jasper was a traitor for whom the worst torture was too good, and he would spare him nothing; God had not delivered him into his hand that he might show him mercy. Hoyoquim was always an Indian of Indians and a Wyandot of Wyandots.

The warriors proceeded slowly and with care. It was a delight that they loved to linger over. One stopped now and then to join Hoyoquim in the task of taunting Jasper, but in a moment or two would return to his work of collecting dry wood and heaping it around the prisoner’s feet.

Jasper never moved or uttered a word. The look of horror and despair in his eyes seemed to be fixed there. It affected me strangely. He was my enemy. That I knew. But he was my cousin too. We were of the same blood and the same name. I had seen other men in like position, but none stirred me in such a manner. How could I hide the story of this from Rose Carew? I longed for him to struggle against his thongs, to cry out, to reply to the jeers of the chief, to do or to say anything, rather than stand there, motionless and senseless, with that fixed look of horror upon his face. I shivered despite myself, but in a moment the face of Jasper drew me back. No matter what his faults, he was receiving his punishment and more.

We crept to the very edge of the bushes and trees that lined the brink, drawn by the hideous fascination of this scene. Higher grew the heap of wood around Jasper’s feet, reaching now to his knees, but he noticed not, still staring with terrified eyes straight into the air and seeing nothing. The renegade Blackstaffe presently joined Hoyoquim, and he too began to taunt Jasper, laughing with atrocious mirth at the face of the victim.

We could hear the taunts, but beyond this single blur there was nothing to disturb the peace and beauty of a summer day. Bubbles in delicate tints of purple and pink and blue floated for a moment on the silent sheet of the river, then broke and were gone. The gentle current made a murmur like a sigh that matched the note of the wind through the forest. In the open the long grass rippled like the surface of a lake swept by the mildest of southern breezes, and little birds in brilliant plumage sang, unscared, almost at our feet.

Hoyoquim spoke to one of the warriors, who presently came with a piece of dry wood burning at the end. The chief took it from his hand and waved it before the face of Jasper, who noticed it not, merely staring with that horror-stricken gaze into the blue of the skies.

Hoyoquim bent down and applied the torch to the heap of wood built around Jasper. The dry boughs ignited readily and little blazes began to rise.

The savages stood in a semicircle before the victim, their faces expressing triumphant anticipation.

I looked into the eyes of Osseo. His gaze met mine, and he understood.

“There is no other way,” he said.

The warriors came a little closer to their victim, but the next moment there was the sharp crack of a rifle, a puff of white smoke, and a vacant look came over Jasper’s face. Then his head fell forward on his breast, and he passed forever from the power of his captors.

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