the path of the king-第38部分

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　spring　up　smiling　farmsteads　and　townships　of　their　own　naming。　He　told　himself　these　things；　but　he　knew　that　he　lied。

At　last；　flat　on　the　earth；　he　peered　through　the　vines　on　the　north　edge　of　the　ridge。　Below　him；　half　a　mile　off；　rolled　the　Ohio；　a　little　swollen　by　the　rains　There　was　a　broad　ford；　and　the　waters　had　spilled　out　over　the　fringe　of　sand。　Just　under　him；　between　the　bluff　and　the　river；　lay　the　Mingo　camp；　every　detail　of　it　plain　in　the　crisp　weather。

In　the　heart　of　it　a　figure　stood　bound　to　a　stake；　and　a　smoky　fire　burned　at　its　feet。　。　。　。　　There　was　no　mistaking　that　figure。

Boone　bit　the　grass　in　a　passion　of　fury。　His　first　impulse　was　to　rush　madly　into　the　savages'　camp　and　avenge　his　friend。　He　had　half　risen　to　his　feet　when　his　reason　told　him　it　was　folly。　He　had　no　weapon　but　axe　and　knife；　and　would　only　add　another　scalp　to　their　triumph。　His　Deckard　was　slung　on　his　back；　but　he　had　no　powder。　Oh；　to　be　able　to　send　a　bullet　through　Jim's　head　to　cut　short　his　torment！　In　all　his　life　he　had　never　known　such　mental　anguish；　waiting　there　an　impotent　witness　of　the　agony　of　his　friend。　The　blood　trickled　from　his　bitten　lips　and　film　was　over　his　eyes。　。　。　。　　Lovelle　was　dying　for　him　and　the　others。　He　saw　it　all　with　bitter　clearness。　Jim　had　been　inveigled　to　the　Mingo　camp　taking　risks　as　he　always　did；　and　there　been　ordered　to　reveal　the　whereabouts　of　the　hunting　party。　He　had　refused；　and　endured　the　ordeal。　。　。　Memories　of　their　long　comradeship　rushed　through　Boone's　mind　and　set　him　weeping　in　a　fury　of　affection。　There　was　never　such　a　man　as　old　Jim；　so　trusty　and　wise　and　kind；　and　now　that　great　soul　was　being　tortured　out　of　that　stalwart　body　and　he　could　only　look　on　like　a　baby　and　cry。

As　he　gazed；　it　became　plain　that　the　man　at　the　stake　was　dead。　His　head　had　fallen　on　his　chest；　and　the　Indians　were　cutting　the　green　withies　that　bound　him。　Boone　looked　to　see　them　take　his　scalp；　and　so　wild　was　his　rage　that　his　knees　were　already　bending　for　the　onslaught　which　should　be　the　death　of　him　and　haply　of　one　or　two　of　the　murderers。

But　no　knife　was　raised。　The　Indians　seemed　to　consult　together；　and　one　of　them　gave　an　order。　Deerskins　were　brought　and　the　body　was　carefully　wrapped　in　them　and　laid　on　a　litter　of　branches。　Their　handling　of　it　seemed　almost　reverent。　The　camp　was　moving；　the　horses　were　saddled；　and　presently　the　whole　band　began　to　file　off　towards　the　forest。　The　sight　held　Boone　motionless。　His　fury　had　gone　and　only　wonder　and　awe　remained。　As　they　passed　the　dead；　each　Indian　raised　his　axe　in　salutethe　salute　to　a　great　chief。　The　next　minute　they　were　splashing　through　the　ford。

An　hour　later；　when　the　invaders　had　disappeared　on　the　northern　levels；　Boone　slipped　down　from　the　bluff　to　the　camping　place。　He　stood　still　a　long　time　by　his　friend；　taking　off　his　deerskin　cap；　so　that　his　long　black　hair　was　blown　over　his　shoulders。

〃Jim；　boy；〃　he　said　softly。　〃I　reckon　you　was　the　general　of　us　all。　The　likes　of　you　won't　come　again。　I'd　like　ye　to　have　Christian　burial。〃

With　his　knife　he　hollowed　a　grave；　where　he　placed　the　body；　still　wrapped　in　its　deerskins。　He　noted　on　a　finger　of　one　hand　a　gold　ring；　a　queer　possession　for　a　backwoodsman。　This　he　took　off　and　dropped　into　the　pouch　which　hung　round　his　neck。　〃I　reckon　it'd　better　go　to　Mis'　Hanks。　Jim's　gal　'ud　valley　it　mor'n　a　wanderin'　coyote。〃

When　he　had　filled　in　the　earth　he　knelt　among　the　grasses　and　repeated　the　Lord's　Prayer　as　well　as　he　could　remember　it。　Then　he　stood　up　and　rubbed　with　his　hard　brown　knuckles　the　dimness　from　his　eyes。

〃Ye　was　allus　lookin'　for　something；　Jim；〃　he　said。　〃I　guess　ye've　found　it　now。　Good　luck　to　ye；　old　comrade。〃



CHAPTER　13。　THE　LAST　STAGE

A　small　boy　crept　into　the　darkened　hut。　The　unglazed　windows　were　roughly　curtained　with　skins；　but　there　was　sufficient　light　from　the　open　doorway　to　show　him　what　he　wanted。　He　tiptoed　to　a　corner　where　an　old　travelling　trunk　lay　under　a　pile　of　dirty　clothes。　He　opened　it　very　carefully；　and　after　a　little　searching　found　the　thing　he　sought。　Then　he　gently　closed　it；　and；　with　a　look　towards　the　bed　in　the　other　corner；　he　slipped　out　again　into　the　warm　October　afternoon。

The　woman　on　the　bed　stirred　uneasily　and　suddenly　became　fully　awake；　after　the　way　of　those　who　are　fluttering　very　near　death。　She　was　still　young；　and　the　little　face　among　the　coarse　homespun　blankets　looked　almost　childish。　Heavy　masses　of　black　hair　lay　on　the　pillow；　and　the　depth　of　its　darkness　increased　the　pallor　of　her　brow。　But　the　cheeks　were　flushed；　and　the　deep　hazel　eyes　were　burning　with　a　slow　fire。　。　。　。　　For　a　week　the　milk…sick　fever　had　raged　furiously；　and　in　the　few　hours　free　from　delirium　she　had　been　racked　with　omnipresent　pain　and　deadly　sickness。　Now　those　had　gone；　and　she　was　drifting　out　to　sea　on　a　tide　of　utter　weakness。　Her　husband；　Tom　Linkhorn；　thought　she　mending；　and　was　even　now　whistlingthe　first　time　for　weeksby　the　woodpile。　But　the　woman　knew　that　she　was　close　to　the　great　change；　and　so　deep　was　her　weariness　that　the　knowledge　remained　an　instinct　rather　than　a　thought。　She　was　as　passive　as　a　dying　animal。　The　cabin　was　built　of　logs；　mortised　into　each　othertriangular　in　shape；　with　a　fireplace　in　one　corner。　Beside　the　fire　stood　a　table　made　of　a　hewn　log；　on　which　lay　some　pewter　dishes　containing　the　remains　of　he　last　family　meal。　One　or　two　three…legged　stools　made　up　the　rest　of　the　furniture；　except　for　the　trunk　in　the　corner　and　the　bed。　This　bed　was　Tom　Linkhorn's　pride；　which　he　used　to　boast　about　to　his　friends；　for　he　was　a　tolerable　carpenter。　It　was　made　of　plank　stuck　between　the　logs　of　the　wall；　and　supported　at　the　other　end　by　crotched　sticks。　By　way　of　a　curtain　top　a　hickory　post　had　been　sunk　in　the　floor　and　bent　over　the　bed；　the　end　being　fixed　in　the　log　wall。　Tom　meant　to　have　a　fine　skin　curtain　fastened　to　it　when　winter　came。　The　floor　was　of　beaten　earth；　but　there　was　a　rough　ceiling　of　smaller　logs；　with　a　trap　in　it　which　could　be　reached　by　pegs　stuck　the　centre　post。　In　that　garret　the　children　slept。　Tom's　building　zeal　had　come　to　an　end　with　the　bed。　Some　day　he　meant　to　fit　in　a　door　and　windows；　but　these　luxuries　could　wait　till　he　got　his　clearing　in　better　order。

On　a　stool　by　the　bed　stood　a　wooden　bowl　containing　gruel。　The　woman　had　not　eaten　for　days；　and　the　stuff　had　a　thick　scum　on　it。　The　place　was　very　stuffy；　for　it　was　a　hot　and　sickly　autumn　day　and　skins　which　darkened　the　window　holes　kept　out　the　little　freshness　that　was　in　the　air。　Beside　the　gruel　was　a　tin　pannikin　of　cold　water　which　the　boy　；Abe　fetched　every　hour　from　the　spring。　She　saw　the　water；　but　was　too　weak　to　reach　it。

The　shining　doorway　was　blocked　by　a　man's　entrance。　Tom　Linkhorn　was　a　little　over　middle　height；　with　long　muscular　arms；　and　the　corded　neck　sinews　which　tell　of　great　strength。　He　had　a　shock　of　coarse　black　hair；　grey　eyes　and　a　tired　sallow　face；　as　of　one　habitually　overworked　and　underfed。　His　jaw　was　heavy；　but　loosely　put　together；　so　that　he　presented　an　air　of　weakness　and　irresolution。　His　lips　were　thick　and　pursed　in　a　kind　of　weary　good　humour。　He　wore　an　old　skin　shirt　and　a　pair　of　towlinen　pants；　which　flapped　about　his　bare　brown　ankles。　A　fine　sawdust　coated　his　hair　and　shoulders；　for　he　had　been　working　in　the　shed　where　he　eked　out　his　farming　by　making　spinning　wheels　for　his　neighbours。

He　came　softly　to　the　bedside　and　looked　down　at　his　wife。　His　face　was　gentle　and　puzzled。

〃Reckon　you're　better；　dearie；〃　he　said　in　a　curious　harsh　toneless　voice。

The　sick　woman　moved　her　head　feebly　in　the　direction　of　the　stool　and　he　lifted　the　pannikin　of　water　to　her　lips。

〃Cold　enough？〃　he　asked；　and　his　wife　nodded。　〃Abe　fetches　it　as　reg'lar　as　a　clock。〃

〃Where's　Abe？〃　she　asked；　and　her　voice　for　all　its　feebleness　had　a　youthful　music　in　it。

〃I　heerd　him　sayin'　he　was　goin'　down　to　the　crick　to　cotch　a　fish。　He　reckoned　you'd　fancy　a　fish　when　you　could　eat　a　piece。　He's　a　mighty　thoughtful　boy；　our　Abe。　Then　he　was　comin'　to　read　to　you。　You'd　like　that；　dearie？〃

The　sick　woman　made　no　sign。　Her　eyes　were　vacantly　regarding　the　doorway。

〃I've　got　to　leave　you　now。　I　reckon　I'll　borrow　the　Dawneys'　sorrel　horse　and　ride　into　Gentryville。　I've　got　the　young　hogs　to　sell；　and　I'll　fetch　back　the　corn…meal　from　Hickson's。　Sally　Hickson　was　just　like　you　last　fall；　and　I　want　to　find　out　from　Jim　how　she　got　her　strength　up。〃

He　put　a　hand　on　her　brow；　and　felt　it　cool。

〃Glory！　You're　mendin'　fast；　Nancy　gal。　You'll　be　well　in　time　to　can　the　berries　that　the　childern's　picked。　He　fished　from　below　the　bed　a　pair　of　skin　brogues　and　slipped　them　on　his　feet。　〃I'll　be　back　before　night。〃

〃I　want　Abe；〃　she　moaned。

〃I'll　send　him　to　you；〃　he　said　as　he　went　out

Left　alone　the　woman　lay　still　for　a　little　in　a　stupor　of　weariness。　Waves　of　that　terrible　lassitude；　which　is　a　positive　anguish　and　not　a　mere　absence　of　strength；　flowed　over　her。　The　square　of　the　doorway；　which　was　directly　before　her　eyes；　began　to　take　strange　forms。　It　was　filled　with　yellow　sunlight；　and　a　red　glow　beyond　told　of　the　sugar…maples　at　the　edge　of　the　clearing。　Now　it　seemed　to　her　unquiet　sight　to　be　a　furnace。　Outside　the　world　was　burning；　she　could　feel　the　heat　of　it　in　the　close　cabin。　For　a　second　acute　fear　startled　her　weakness。　It　passed；　her　eyes　cleared；　and　she　saw　the　homely　doorway　as　it　was；　and　heard　the　gobble　of　a　turkey　in　the　forest。

The　fright　had　awakened　her　mind　and　senses。　For　the　first　time　she　fully　realised　her　condition。　Life　no　longer　moved　steadily　in　her　body；　it　flickered　and　wavered　and　would　soon　gutter　out。　。　。　。　Her　eyes　marked　every　detail　of　the　squalor　around　herthe　unwashed　dishes；　the　foul　earthen　floor；　the　rotting　apple　pile；　the　heap　of　rags　which　had　been　her　only　clothes。　She　was　leaving　the　world；　and　this　was　all　she　had　won　from　it。　Sheer　misery　forced　a　sigh　which　seemed　to　rend　her　frail　body；　and　her　eyes　filled　with　tears。　She　had　been　a　dreamer；　an　adept　at　make…believe；　but　the　poor　coverings　she　had　wr