The Frontier Angel: A Romance of Kentucky Rangers' Life

"Now wake him, Mansfield – give him a kick on the shins, and don't be afraid of hurting him."

Our hero gave him a gentle touch with his foot, which, failing to have effect, he increased to a kick. Seeing him make a movement as though awakening, he stepped back as directed. The renegade, mumbling to himself, finally opened his eyes and stared bewilderingly about him, seemingly totally unable to comprehend his whereabouts.

"Mr. Thomas McGable, Esq., I believe," said Peterson, with much gravity, without removing the aim of his rifle.

"Who the devil are you?" demanded the renegade.

"Your master, sir."

"We'll see about that. Where – "

He paused as he reached for his rifle and found it gone; and his astonishment turned to furious indignation when he discovered that his knives had also been removed.

"What in the name of the furies are you doing with my arms?"

"Jest sot 'em one side for fear you might hurt yourself."

"See here, I understand your game, but it won't do. You think I'm your prisoner, eh? Did you know there is a hundred Shawnees within calling distance, who'd cut you to pieces ef they knowed you war here. Now, if you don't hand me my gun and knives back, they'll do it. I call 'em and then you may whistle for your hair."

Peterson's face grew as black as a thunder-cloud, and his eyes fairly scintillated with fierceness.

"Tom McGable," said he, in a voice as deep and rumbling as the distant thunder, "we come after you. You've got to go back to the settlement with us, and it don't matter whether you're dead or alive! I've swore that I will bring you back with me, and ef I thought it would be any trouble to drive you thar, I'd shoot you through your black heart this minute, grab you by the neck, and drag you along. You can holler to the Shawnees, but it would never do you any good; you'd never live to see 'em. Ef I hadn't made a promise, I'd knife you this minute. Tom McGable, you may take yer choice; you can either git up and walk along jist as we tell you, without making the least noise, or you can set still and be shot on the ground there. It don't make a bit of difference to me, but one or t'other has got to be done. I'll give you four seconds and a half to decide in. Ef you ain't started by that time, I'll shoot, by thunder!"

During the utterance of these words, the renegade manifested a curious compound of emotions. First indignation and blustering bravado were depicted upon his snaky face; this gave way to doubt and hesitation, and when the last expletive fell from Peterson's lips, he was the embodiment of trembling, craven-hearted fear.

"What – what will you do with me?" he asked tremblingly.

"Kill you, like as not."

"What do you want me for?"

"Come, you going to start? Your time's up. Speak quick!"

Pale as death and muttering a fearful curse, the renegade arose to his feet and faltered that he was ready.

"Trot along then, and we'll foller."

"Which way you going? This way?" he asked, turning his face in the direction of the Indian camp.

"I ruther guess not at present. Turn round t'other way 'zactly, don't turn your head, or try to come any of your dodges, for the minute you do, you'll be hacked to flinders, shot, and yur ha'r raised."

McGable wheeled around in the direction indicated, and started forward, our two friends following him closely. It was now quite dark, and the gloom in the wood was intense. There was no moon, and the sky was still cloudy and obscured. When the darkness became so great, Peterson took the renegade by one arm, Mansfield by the other, and the trio thus proceeded.

After walking an hour or so, the renegade, probably finding there was no immediate, personal danger, regained in some degree his courage and ventured to speak.

"I'd like to ask you a question. No 'bjection I s'pose."

"Not as long as you're respectful to your 'speriors," replied the ranger.

"Wal, then, how come you to find me?"

"We looked for ye."

"I s'pose, but you didn't s'peck I was such a cussed fool to go off in the woods to sleep, did you? Leastways, I didn't s'peck I was myself."

"No, it was kinder accident that we found you."

"S'pose so. How was it you was so well fixed at the block-house for us. How did you find out we were coming?"

Peterson reflected a moment before replying to this question. He was in doubt whether a disclosure would not be dangerous to the Frontier Angel. He asked Mansfield's advice upon it, and the two fell behind and debated it in an undertone for a few moments. They came to the same conclusion, that, as McGable was already condemned to death, and there seemed no possibility of his escape, there could be no harm in letting him know the truth. This decided, they stepped forward, took him by the arms, and the ranger replied, or rather asked:

"S'posen we tell you; what of it?"

"Oh nothin', only I thought I'd like to know before I died. There's a gal that's called the Frontier Angel, that I've had my s'picion of. I've told the Shawnees of it, but she acts so good, they won't believe it. Didn't she have nothing to do with telling you?"

"Yes, she told us."

"So I thought. It's lucky the Injins won't believe it."

"Now I wish to ask you a question," said Mansfield.

"Wal, what is it?"

"Who is Frontier Angel?"

The renegade maintained silence for several minutes till our hero repeated in a louder tone.

"Who is the person they call Frontier Angel? Do you know?"

"Yes, but I cannot tell you."

"Why not? I am sure it can do no harm."

"P'r'aps not, but I can't tell you. Let that be the answer."

"I am not willing that it shall be. I insist that you tell or give some reason for not doing so."

"I'll give you the reason, then. I know who she is, but have sworn never to tell a white, and I swear agin I never will."

"In that case, I have no right to question you further."

The renegade made no reply, and the three continued their journey for a considerable distance in silence, when he said:

"There's one thing, howsumever, I'll tell you without the axing. The gal they call the Frontier Angel is crazy!"

Mansfield started painfully at this.

"What made her crazy?" he asked, forgetting himself.

"Don't ax me, fur I can't tell you any more."

"She ain't white, is she?" demanded Peterson. "Won't hurt yer, I guess, ef you let us know that much."

"I won't tell you no more, so you can both dry up."

The journey was now continued without a word being spoken by any. The renegade seemed sullen and moody and maintained silence. His remarks had set both Peterson and Mansfield to thinking. It was not the first time they had both puzzled themselves thus. Who could the singular Frontier Angel be? was the all-absorbing question. She was crazy! that accounted for the reverence and awe in which she was held by the Indians. And yet her manner had never awakened the remotest suspicion that such was the case among the whites with whom she had come in contact. That accounted for the temerity with which she executed the holy object of her life – that of befriending the whites in peril.

Despite the improbability of the case, Mansfield could not avoid the thought that she was a white person. He could form no possible reason for thus thinking, and yet the thought would present itself. At last he imparted his singular idea to Peterson. The latter dissipated it at once by telling him that such could not be the case. Dingle, who knew as much, if not more of her than any of the rangers, assured him that he had noticed her features and face to satisfy himself, as he entertained and had heard so many doubts expressed about it. She had the black eyes and hair of the Indian, although the prominent cheek-bones and several other characteristics of the race were wanting. But the skin showed unmistakably that she belonged to the aboriginals.

"But where has she obtained that perfect knowledge of the English tongue that she evinces in her conversation?"

"Dick can't answer that, but h'yers as thinks that goes to show she's a sperit sure, 'cause if she ain't, what else can she be?"

This set Mansfield's thoughts in another direction. A darker picture presented itself. The refusal of McGable to answer his question added life to the picture, and our hero became satisfied that he had now struck the truth.

"Isn't she your wife, Tom McGable?" he asked, bending his mouth close to the ear of the renegade.

The latter started, as if stung by a serpent, trembled and breathed hard for a moment, but made no answer. Mansfield repeated his question in a more peremptory tone, but it was of no avail: the renegade had resolutely sealed his lips.

This, together with his manner, demonstrated to a certainty to Mansfield, that the Frontier Angel had been or was now the Indian wife of McGable. She had married him, he believed, when she dreamt not what a black heart she was taking to her bosom. Goaded by his cruelty and the subsequent knowledge of his awful crimes against his own race, her reason had become dethroned. And the safety of the people, that was the object of eternal hatred to her husband, now became the burden of her life. The change from the natural aversion which she, as an Indian, felt to the whites, to that of friendship and love for them, he believed was due to the unbounded horror created in her mind by the atrocities of McGable. It was one of those singular phenomena which the human mind often presents. Mansfield, previous to this, had felt some slight degree of compassion for their captive, but it was all gone now. The man who, independent of the last-named crime, could bring himself to forswear and massacre his own kindred, without a shadow of provocation upon their part, he felt deserved any death that the ingenuity of man could invent.

The march of the three was continued all through the night, and the halt in the morning was of but a few minutes duration, as Peterson felt fearful of pursuit in case the absence of the renegade was discovered. A short time after, the settlement was in sight, and before twenty minutes more had passed, Tom McGable, the notorious renegade, was ushered within the palisades by our two friends.

The astonishment and rejoicing created by his capture were unbounded. He was taken at once to the block-house and placed in the upper story, from which it was impossible for him to escape. There had been quite a heavy reward offered for his apprehension, and the commander assured Peterson and Mansfield that, as soon as it could be secured, they should have it. The latter, however, refused to receive any portion, as he had rendered no assistance worthy of mention in the capture of the prisoner.

The excitement became so great among the settlers that the commander, to quiet them, gave out that the garrison would determine what should be done with McGable at once. Abbot, hearing this, requested the commander that he might be allowed, as a great favor, to see the prisoner alone for a short time. The peculiar circumstances of the stricken father being known, this request was granted; and McGable, under charge of Dingle – who asserted that he had been cured by his capture – and the officious Jenkins, was conducted to Abbot's house. There being but one door by which the lower story could be entered the guards remained outside, and Abbot found himself face to face with the man who had so well-nigh killed his entire family at one blow. Mrs. Abbot, not wishing to be present at such an interview, had purposely absented herself, and the two, the murderer and the murdered, we might almost say, were alone. Abbot gave the renegade a seat, and then sat himself in front of him, where he could look directly into his face.

"I have petitioned that I might see you alone, McGable," commenced Abbot, in a low, quiet tone, "in order that I might ask you something, which, perhaps, you suspect. God knows that I have no desire to revenge myself upon you. Only grant me this privilege, and I will forgive you, McGable, for the awful crime you have committed. Last spring I sent Marian upon a flat-boat, expecting to rejoin her in this settlement a few months later. Instead of reaching her destination, the boat was decoyed and all on board murdered, with the exception of Peterson, who effected his escape. He left Marian dying, he believed, upon the boat as he sprang away. Had he left her dead, this interview would not have been sought by me. But there has been a doubt ever since in the mind of her mother and myself, of the manner in which she died, – for we do not pretend to hope that she survived. This doubt has so troubled us, that I have tried all means of solving it. You must know the circumstances, McGable, and now a broken-hearted father appeals to you to give this knowledge, and set his trouble forever at rest."

While Abbot was uttering these words, the renegade sat like a demon incarnate, his eyes blazing with the most baleful passion. His teeth were set and he drew his breath hard and gaspingly through them. He controlled this whirlwind of fury, in a measure, before Abbot had finished, and when he spoke it was in the low, frightful voice of suppressed passion.

"Richard Abbot, your daughter refused me, and I swore I would be revenged. I joined the Shawnees as Simon Girty and others did, but I kept watch upon your settlement. I found out that you was going to send her to this place in company with others. Then I cac'lated the time had come, and was only sorry that you wasn't there, too, that you could have been tomahawked, too! I found out when the boat started, and it was dogged till it reached the right spot, when we came down upon it. Don't ax me no more. I've had my revenge, and that's enough."

The stricken-hearted man sat as pale and silent as death while these burning words were being uttered. It was not his emotions alone that made him thus, but the mighty struggle it took to control them.

"Will you not tell me?" he asked, in a voice of wailing agony that it would have melted the heart of human.

"No; I'll tell you nothing!" fairly shouted McGable, glaring like a tiger upon him.

"Once more I ask you, McGable, and in the name of Heaven do not refuse me. Was Marian killed outright?"

"None your business," was the sullen reply.

Such a sudden dizziness came over Abbot at this point, that, for fear of fainting, he arose and hurried into the room which occupied the same floor, and which connected with the one in which he had been sitting. He hoped to return in a moment, and was so bewildered and overcome that he only thought of being alone till he could regain his self-command. It is said the Old Boy himself sometimes helps his favorites. Whether such is the the case we are not prepared to say; but what now took place is enough to make us skeptical, to say the least.

Most singularly it happened that just before Abbot withdrew, Dingle felt a sudden return of his sickness of the morning. It was so violent that his iron will could not resist it, and he staggered away for the same purpose of being alone; for, if our readers have noticed it, it is almost invariably the case that when a man, unaccustomed to sickness, is suddenly taken, his first wish is to be alone with himself. He felt, too, that perfect recklessness which is apt to come over us at such times, in regard to temporal matters, and had Dingle been admonished at this particular moment of his imprudence, his probable reply would have been that McGable might go to perdition for all he cared. Thus it happened that the terrible renegade was left with no guard at all except Jenkins.

Even then it might not have happened so unfortunately, had not the last-named individual taken it into his head to ascertain how matters were progressing inside. Being left without the companionship of Dingle, it was perfectly natural that he should take this means of passing away time.

"Hello! inside there, you, how you getting along?" he called out, poking his head in at the door. Receiving no reply, he shoved his head further in, and then made the discovery that the renegade was standing alone in the middle of the floor. "Hello! all alone, eh? what you thinking about? Your sins, I s'pose. Shouldn't wonder now if you did feel sorter down in the mouth."

"What do you want?" gruffly demanded McGable.

"Oh, nothing in particular. Dick has just gone off to see the doctor to get some medicine to take for the gripes he has just got, and I thought I'd look in to pass away time till he comes back."

"Where is he?" asked the man quickly, vainly striving to conceal his agitation.

"Just off here, a little ways. If you want to see him, I'll call him."

"Never mind."

"I s'pose now – umph!"

The last exclamation of Jenkins was perfectly involuntary, and caused by receiving a terrific blow from the foot of the renegade, directly in the stomach, which doubled him up like a jack-knife. As he gasped and rolled over upon the grass, McGable shot over his head like an arrow, and bounded away for the palisades. Nearly all the men were at the block-house, debating upon his fate, but several descried the flying fugitive, and shouted the alarm. An instant after he scaled the palisades, and Peterson and several other rangers sped across the clearing in pursuit. Dingle, who had nearly recovered, raised a regular war-whoop, and joined in the chase.

Late at night, several of the pursuers returned, moody and sullen with their ill success. In the morning, another made his appearance with the intelligence that Dingle and Peterson were still in rapid pursuit, but there was little hope of overtaking the renegade, as he possessed a wonderful fleetness of foot, and in all probability had given them the slip during the night.

So it proved. Some time after the two rangers returned and confirmed this suspicion. They had not even caught a glimpse of him after he crossed the clearing and entered the wood.

CHAPTER XII.

A MINGLING OF FEAR, DOUBT, AND HOPE

And so it happened that the terrible sentence, "He shall first be shot and then be burnt in the clearing and cast into the river," was never executed upon Tom McGable. The opportunity was never given.

The indignation at his escape could scarcely be repressed; but the version given by Jenkins so completely exculpated himself from blame, that he escaped entirely the shafts of indignation. There were some, it is true, who had their private opinion of this wonderful story; but, as there was no witness to disprove it, these opinions were unexpressed.

Jenkins affirmed that what first induced him to peep into the room was a strong smell of brimstone. Upon looking in, he saw McGable sitting astride of the devil, who was walking slowly toward the open door, holding a trident in one claw. Jenkins informed him that he was very sorry to oppose him, but nevertheless, he felt compelled by the stern dictates of duty to prevent his passage. At that, the father of all evil made a rush toward him, striking him in the breast with the trident, and grappling with him. They closed in with each other, and the struggle became fearful. Jenkins, securing the trident, used it as a "whip of scorpions," and was satisfied he gave some "strange horrors" with it. He believed he would have eventually triumphed, had he not been taken with one of his fainting fits at the critical moment. Victory thus secured, the arch-enemy galloped over his prostrate form, vanished in mid air, and left McGable skimming over the ground toward the sheltering wood.

More than one placed implicit faith in this story. Such is the superstition of the bravest of the brave – the border ranger!

But there was one thing which troubled the settlement more than the escape of the renegade: it was the fate of the Frontier Angel. There was no fear of what the Indians would do, for it was well known that a crazy or foolish person is regarded among them as one specially gifted by Manitou, and under no consideration will they venture to harm him; but it could hardly be expected that McGable would share in this superstition; and, now that his suspicions of the friendship of this being to the whites was resolved into an absolute certainty, some plan, it was rightly thought by the settlers, would be taken by him to close her lips forever. It was well known that there was no crime against the human race too great for the scoundrel to commit; and the weak, defenseless Frontier Angel, through the stupidity of the whites, would fall a victim to his vengeance.

"Freeze me to death, ef it shall be so!" exclaimed Dingle, who was discussing the subject with Peterson, the commander, and several others. "No, sir; ef that sperit is killed, her blood will be on us."

"If she is a spirit, she cannot be harmed by mortals," ventured Abbot.

"Wal, Tom McGable ain't a mortal; he's an infarnal imp."

"Whoever this strange being is, that you term Frontier Angel," remarked the commander, "it is evident to all that she is the firm friend of the whites. The timely warnings which she has so repeatedly given us, and, in fact, all the settlements along the Ohio, entitle her to their everlasting gratitude. If she is slain by McGable, as Dingle observes, the blood will be as much upon us. For it was ourselves who first told him she was our friend, and then allowed him to escape to do what he pleased with her. No, friends, it will never do. Some plan must be taken to warn her of her peril and afford her all the protection she will receive. Have you any plan?"

"Kill that renegade and then the matter will be set at rest," replied Peterson.

"That is easier said than done," remarked Mansfield. "If I may be allowed to give an opinion it is this: now that McGable has been convinced of our deadly enmity to him, and our anxiety to secure him, he will take particular care never to give us an opportunity. It will be only in battle where he will be likely to feel our will in regard to him. This Frontier Angel is still roaming through the forest, engaged in her truly angelic work of befriending the whites; and the plan that I propose is this: Let all the settlements which it is known she visits be notified of the whole circumstances, and instructed to warn her upon the first opportunity; and, besides this, let us all try to induce her to abandon the life she is leading, and to settle down and remain with us."

"Yes, do; tell her I'll marry her if she will," said Jenkins, all eager seriousness.

"Remember me and she is engaged," said Dingle.

"Didn't Mansfield just say you was going to get her to abandon savage life and become civilized; consequently, won't she have to leave you and come to me?"

"There, that will do," interrupted the commander. "The plan proposed by Mansfield strikes me as being the best, and I am in favor of adopting it at once."

"It's my opine it's the real thing," said Peterson. "What do you think, Dick?"

"It's the ticket, and h'yer's as moves we stop talkin' and go to workin'."

A short time longer was spent in consultation, when the following course was decided upon: Peterson was to go up the Ohio, and state the case at the different settlements, all the time seeking an interview with her, while Dingle and Mansfield were to range the vicinity of the Indian towns in the hope of meeting her.

This plan, with characteristic vigor, was acted upon at once, and in the afternoon of the day succeeding the escape of McGable, the three men were in the forest, seeking out the Frontier Angel. Dingle and Mansfield as said, took a northwest direction, toward the Shawnee towns, which they reached in due time. They remained in their neighborhood several days, and during that time gained one or two glimpses of McGable, but could see nothing of the being for whose benefit they came. At last they were satisfied she was not in them, and must either be in the Sciota valley, or engaged upon some errand of mercy or – had she already fallen a victim to revenge?

Some time after, Dingle and our hero were in the Sciota valley, carefully reconnoitering the Indian villages, but they obtained no further information, and were reluctantly compelled to the belief that she was either at the eastern settlements, or she had already been murdered by McGable. The latter, as Mansfield remarked, took such care of his person, that there was little hope of again obtaining possession of it. Several days were spent in the neighborhood, without further success, when they turned their faces homeward, convinced that they had done all that it was possible for them to do in this direction, although that all was nothing.