DEATH-DEALER, THE SHAWNEE SCOURGE; OR, THE WIZARD OF THE CLIFFS.

BY ARTHUR L. MESERVE.

NEW YORK, BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by FRANK STARR & CO., In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

CHAPTER I. THE DEATH-DEALER.

It was a sultry summer day, nearly a hundred years ago.

The heat was almost intolerable, and man and beast sought the cooling shade of the forest, to spend the hours until it should in a measure abate.

Not a breath of air was stirring.

In a leafy covert, a little removed from the right bank of the Scioto, a form lay stretched at full length upon the earth.

One would have needed almost a second glance to have told whether the object was human or brute.

Even then he might have said it was a cross between the two.

At first sight, a Barnum or a Darwin might have gone wild with delight.

The former would have thought that he had stumbled upon a veritable “What-Is-It?”; while the latter would have declared that he had at last found the long-looked-for connecting link between the human and brute creation.

There was the human form, though ungainly in its shape; but covered with hair from the crown of its head to the sole of its feet.

It was indeed a second Esau.

A great mass of bushy hair covered his head, which, from its appearance, had not known the presence of a comb for months.

A beard of the same reddish color as his hair, and with a like unkempt appearance, covered the lower part of his face, and reached up over his cheeks almost to his eyes.

These were small and deep-set, though sharp and piercing, and overhung by eyebrows of the same gigantic pattern as his beard and hair.

A strange and forbidding appearance the man presented about the head, and his form kept it company.

It was covered with the skins of wild animals, worn with the hair-side out, so that at a glance one would have supposed that it was his own natural covering, so much in keeping was it with that about his head.

As he lay there, one could see that his form was crooked and distorted, until it had hardly the shape of a human being.

But still it was not so noticeable as it was when he was upon his feet, and as erect as it was possible for him to be.

His altitude then was not more than five feet, with a monstrous hump upon his shoulders, which, if any thing, made him look shorter than he really was.

A rifle, almost as long as himself, was lying by his side, so close that he could place his hand upon it at a moment’s notice.

A huge knife was thrust into his belt, and the hand that rested upon the handle thereof, showed plainly that it had the strength to use it to a purpose when the occasion warranted.

Though that portion of his face which was not covered by a beard was turned to a dark brown, an observer would have said that he was a white man, though a long residence in the forest had almost changed his appearance and his nature.

The name this uncouth person had once borne was Richard Higgins.

But this had been lost or forgotten long ago. His ears had not heard that name for years.

When he had first appeared among the settlers along the river, as he had done in the capacity of scout and Indian-hunter, they had known him simply as Dick.

But as time wore on, another name became attached to him.

The Death-Dealer.

The red-skins gave him that, because his hand had slain 11 more of their number than any other scout west of the mountains.

So he had come to be called Dick, the Death-Dealer, and his real name had been forgotten by any who by chance had ever known it.

Along the whole border there was not a man who could follow a trail as well as he.

It seemed almost as though he possessed the instincts of a bloodhound, for when once upon the scent he never lost it.

No matter how much in their cunning the savages might double upon themselves, they could not deceive him.

He was sure to follow them to their lair, and there obtain the vengeance he sought, if he did not get it before.

Could all the red-skins he had slain rise up before him, the number would have startled him. Yet he had slain none for the mere love of taking life. He hated a red-skin for the cruel deeds he done, yet he never shot one down unless he was engaged in something detrimental to the interests of the settlers.

The savages stood in mortal dread of him, and many were the plans they laid to take his life. But thus far all of them had failed, and he went on with his work as coolly as though danger was a thing unknown.

Slowly the sun declined toward the west, and at last a delicious coolness pervaded the forest, in place of the heat, which had been so oppressive.

The scout felt its influence, and after stretching out his limbs lazily, he arose to a sitting posture, and taking up his rifle, he carefully examined it, to make sure that it was in order.

The scrutiny revealed nothing amiss. It was in the best possible condition, and he felt sure that it would not fail him when he should have need to use it.

“Well, Dick, it’s about time that you were tramping,” he muttered to himself, as he cast a look westward and saw that the sun had almost touched the tree-tops. “You’ve got a powerful ways to tramp to-night, and you got to make up for the time you’ve fooled away here. I wish I felt a little bit clearer in my mind, as to what new deviltry the red-skins are planning now. They’re up to something, that’s sure. They’ve 12 as busy for a day or two back as the devil in a gale of wind. They’re hatchin’ something, and I would give a sixpence if I only knew what it was. I must find out if I can afore they get ready to strike. I wish thar wa’n’t but one blamed red-skin in the world, and he stood out yander. We’d jest make an end of him in no time, wouldn’t we, Susannah?”

These last words were addressed to his rifle, which he patted affectionately as though it was a thing of life and understood what was said to it. Then he brought it to his shoulder and glanced along the barrel toward the spot which he had designated for the savage to stand.

At that very instant, as though his wish had been gratified, a savage suddenly appeared on the very spot which he had indicated.

So unexpected was his appearance, that for an instant the scout was startled and sat as motionless in his place as though he was a block of stone.

But the next moment his finger was playing with the trigger of his rifle, and in a second more a bullet would have sped in the direction of the savage, had he not bethought himself of the folly of the act.

A score of red-skins might be close at hand, and if so what benefit would the death of one of them be to him.

The savage had not seen him, therefore he remained motionless, but with the rifle still brought to bear upon him.

For the space of a minute the savage remained upon the spot where he had appeared, gazing about him as though in some way he scented danger, and then he moved on, and the next instant was lost to sight.

No sooner had he disappeared than the scout sprung to his feet, and after listening intently for a moment, as though to catch the sound of other footsteps, he glided swiftly away on the trail.

Hardly had two minutes elapsed from the time he had sprung to his feet, when the bushes were parted, and another savage stepped upon the very spot where the Death-Dealer had lain.

Carefully he bent down and examined the ground, and in a moment was satisfied that it had but just been vacated.

The twigs and wild grass which had been bent down by the weight of the scout’s body, were springing up, striving but vainly to stand erect again.

This told him as plainly as words could have done that whoever had lain there was only that moment gone.

The footprints about the spot told him that it was a white man; and evidently the savage felt assured that it could be none other than the Death-Dealer.

A mingled look of joy and rage came over his face, as he glanced eagerly along the trail the scout had left behind him.

Only for the space of a minute did he linger about the spot, and then glided swiftly along the trail which the scout had been at no pains to conceal.

In the mean time Dick had gone out to the spot where the red-skin had disappeared, and, taking the trail, hurried on after him.

That he was on some errand of mischief, and that he was not alone, he felt assured.

From the signs he had seen during the last twenty-four hours, he knew that the savages meant mischief to some of the settlements along the river.

But the exact spot where the blow was to fall he was in ignorance of.

This, by following close on the movements of the savage, who had so suddenly appeared before him, he was in hopes to discover.

He little thought that another savage was watching his movements full as closely; and only waiting for a chance to take his life and secure his scalp, which would be prized higher by him than a score of ordinary ones.

It would be no common triumph to boast that he had taken the scalp of the Death-Dealer, the scout most feared in all that region of country.

On went the foremost savage, all unconscious that the terrible Death-Dealer was upon his track.

Straight as an arrow from the bow was his way through the forest, and never once stepping from the trail came the unerring scout.

And close behind him came the other savage, if possible more intent upon his purpose than either of them.

For nearly a mile they went on in this way, and then the foremost savage suddenly paused.

In an instant the scout followed his example, hastily putting the trunk of a tree between them so that his presence might not be discovered.

The next moment the savage uttered a cry so much in imitation of an owl that a less practiced ear than that of the scout might have been deceived by it.

But he knew that it was a signal agreed upon between the savage and his comrade, when he should have reached the place of rendezvous.

Hardly had it died away before its exact counterpart was heard away to the right.

A moment later it was repeated on the left.

The woods were full of savages.

So it seemed to the scout, as he stood there as silent as death.

But as yet, though they came from every side, there were none behind him.

Where the danger to him was the greatest, there was no sign given to put him on his guard.

“Well, this is a lucky hit,” he muttered to himself. “All I’ve got to do is to keep quiet, and I shall find out what the red-skins are up to.”

Hardly had the words left his lips when there was a whizzing sound like an arrow cutting the air, and the next instant the deadly shaft was quivering in the trunk of the tree, hardly an inch above his cap.

Glancing quickly about he saw the savage, bow in hand, hardly a dozen paces from where he stood.

The quivering shaft told him that he was discovered, and quick as thought he brought his rifle to his shoulder and ran his eyes along the barrel.

The red-skin saw that he had missed, and turned hastily to cover himself by the trunk of a tree. But he was too late. The finger of the scout was on the trigger of his rifle, and the next instant the bullet it contained was on its errand of death.

The aim was an unerring one, and the leaden messenger did its work well.

With a howl of agony, the savage went down to the earth, never to rise therefrom.

His death-cry was echoed by one of rage on either side. Two others at the same moment had caught a glimpse of the scout, and they closed about him, determined that he should not leave the spot alive.

They felt now that they had the Death-Dealer in their power.

Dick knew that the odds were against him, but he was never more cool or self-possessed in his life.

He had been in a good many snug places before.

With wondrous rapidity he reloaded his rifle, and before it was accomplished a bullet whistled in unpleasant proximity to his ear.

To remain where he was until he was surrounded by the red-skins was no part of his plan. His only safety lay in flight. The only red-skin close upon him could not harm him now, for the barrel of his rifle was empty. With a bound he sprung from behind the tree and fled away.

He got a glimpse of the red-skin reloading his rifle, and had he been so minded he could have sent a bullet through his heart. But he did not care to do it. He wished to keep it against a time when it would do him a better service.

Ill-shaped and deformed as he was, it was wonderful how fast he got over the ground.

His steps were rather bounds than strides, and could a stranger have looked upon him as he fled away through the forest they would have said that it was a wild beast instead of a human being.

With fleet steps, straining every nerve in the race, the red-skins came after him.

But they stood but a poor chance of overtaking him. Their swiftest runners were no match for him in this respect.

He knew that as soon as the sun went down and the twilight came on he was safe.

It would be easy enough to elude his pursuers then.

Just as the sun went down, he paused on the summit of a slight eminence and looked behind for his enemies.

Not one of them in sight.

But he knew that they were still upon his trail, and it would not be long before they would show themselves, so he waited.

CHAPTER II. THE WIZARD’S DEN.

One, two, five minutes passed, and the scout stood there as motionless as stone, with his eyes fixed back over the way he had come.

He held his rifle before him ready for instant use, the moment a savage should show himself.

He had made up his mind that there should be one the less to keep on his trail.

At last his eye caught sight of a form moving among the trees.

“Now, Susannah, my girl,” he said, as he sighted along the shining barrel, and look quick aim upon the foremost savage.

The next instant Susannah spoke, in a tone that woke the echoes of the forest, and the eye of the scout noted the savage as he bit the dust.

“Well done, my girl,” he said, caressingly. “Now we’ll be going. By that ’ere yell, there’s a hull snarl of ’em ahint. Well, let ’em come on if they want to. They’ll get a tussle afore they get you and I into their clutches.”

Suiting the action to the word, the scout went on again, reloading his rifle as he went; while each moment the dusk of evening grew in the forest, telling him that the end of his race and the night were near at hand.

Ever and anon as he paused for a moment, he could hear the savages coming on behind him, but he had no fear of their overtaking him. In a few minutes more he would be able to turn aside and let them go on in the wild pursuit, while he could stand quietly by and laugh at the trick he was playing upon them.

Deeper and deeper grew the shadows in the forest, and at last the darkness was so well down that it was all that he could do with his eyes, accustomed to the task, to mark the footsteps he was leaving behind him.

The moment had come for him to give them the slip.

Summoning to his aid all the energies he possessed, he bounded forward with the speed of the wind for some fifty rods on the course he had been following.

Here he paused, and listened for a few moments.

As he expected, there was no sound of the footsteps of his pursuers.

Assured of this, he turned abruptly to the right, and, after keeping this course for a few minutes, once more set his face in the direction from which he had come.

A little later, and he heard the sound of the savages’ footsteps as they hurried by him.

“Go it, ye varmints,” he muttered, “yer eyes have got to be sharper than I think they are, if ye can keep the run of my trail. Thar ain’t nothing like darkness to get a feller out of a fix as I knows on. It has saved you and I, Susannah, more’n a hundred times since we come into these parts.”

He patted the breech of his rifle affectionately, as if it was capable of understanding what he said. In truth he was as much attached to it as though it had been a human companion with whom he had spent an equal number of years.

“Well, I’m rid of them. But I ain’t a bit wiser than I was an hour ago. I ain’t got the least clue to what the varmints are up to. Thar’s something in the wind or there wouldn’t be such a snarl of ’em in these parts. There’ll be butchering and burning on the river somewhere afore morning, I’m afraid. I wish to mighty I knew where it was that they mean to begin their bloody work.”

He was silent for a few moments, turning the matter over in his mind, and trying to determine what he had better do.

“Let me see,” he broke out, at length, as he gazed about him, as if for the purpose of taking his true bearings. “That ere Wizard’s hole ain’t far from here. If he’s only in the right tune perhaps I can find out something by him. But, he’s a crafty old fox and sometimes I think he plays me 18 false. He pretends to be a friend of the whites—says he tries to keep peace between them and the red-skins. But I’ve thought sometimes that he set ’em on to their devilish work. At any rate I’ll give him a call, and perhaps I can fine out something. I’m blind as a bat now, about what to do.”

For a few moments longer the scout remained in the attitude of listening, and then he threw his rifle over his shoulder and struck out at a round pace through the forest.

A silence most profound was around him. There was no sign to show that another living being was near. The savages, off the scent, had gone, he knew not whither.

With rapid strides he hurried on, intent upon reaching his destination as soon as possible.

Away to the eastward, the sky was lighting up with the rising moon, then a little past its full. Soon its beams would make it as light as evening in the forest.

For nearly an hour he kept on without once pausing; and at the end of that time there rose before him a high, jagged hill, crowned with splintered rocks, and stunted trees, bathed in the silver rays of the newly risen moon.

He was close upon the dwelling-place of him he sought.

In the heart of the hill, beneath the jagged rocks, the Indian Wizard had his home.

Both the white hunters and the red gave the spot a wide berth, for they stood greatly in awe of the strange being who haunted the spot.

Of the former, none had ever held converse with him except the scout, who now stood almost at the threshold of his den.

The red-men consulted him, when any thing of great moment was at stake; but there was not one of them who was not glad when his back was turned upon him.

Sometimes they brought their sick to him to heal, for he was reputed a great Medicine, and his skill was often of great avail.

All this the scout knew well, yet he felt no fear as he approached the spot. He had no fear of the unearthly powers which some said the Wizard possessed.

Arrived at the foot of the hill, the scout paused, and glanced up at the moonlit rocks above him.

No living thing was to be seen, and a silence like that of death brooded around the spot.

“I wonder if the old fellow is asleep?” he muttered. “I’ve almost forgot the way into his den, and am not sure that I can find it.”

At that moment the solemn hoot of an owl coming from the highest pinnacle of the cliff above, broke the silence that reigned around.

“That’ll fetch him out,” muttered Dick. “That bird serves him better than a red-skin would, perched up there. His eagle watches for him by day and his owl by night, and I’ll defy anybody to come round here without their knowing it. I don’t see how the old chap has got ’em trained so well as he has. There he goes ag’in. I should think that one such a hoot as that was enough to announce anybody. But hark! Somebody else is coming. I’ll be darned if that ’ere bird don’t know more than a human.”

A footstep only a few rods away had at that moment fallen upon the ear of the scout.

Close beside where he stood was a huge bowlder which at some former time had toppled down from the hight above, and it was only the work of a moment for him to ensconce himself behind it in such a manner that he would not readily be discovered.