“‘Take care of the taller varmint,’ thundered my companion.
“The warning was too late. In the tumult of my feelings I had not observed that the savage furthest from me had his piece loaded, and before I could avail myself of my companion’s cooler observation, I received the ball in my right arm, and my rifle dropped powerless by my side; had I not sprung involuntarily aside at my companion’s cry, I should have been shot through the heart.
“‘On—on,’ I groaned in agony, as I seized my tomahawk in my almost useless left hand.
“‘Stoop,’ said my companion, ‘stoop lower;’ and as I did so, his rifle cracked on the still air, and the Indian fell dead.
“All this had not occupied an instant. I was now within a few feet of her I loved, who was struggling in the grasp of the other Indian. He had already entwined his hands in her long hair—his tomahawk was already gleaming in the setting sun. Never shall I forget the look of demoniac fury with which the wretch glared on his victim. A second only was left for hope. My companion was far behind, with his rifle unloaded. I made a desperate spring forward, and hurled my tomahawk at the savage’s head. God of my fathers! the weapon whizzed harmlessly by the wretch, and buried itself, quivering, in the trunk of a neighboring tree. I groaned aloud in agony,—there was a yell of triumph on the air—a sudden flashing in the sun, like a glancing knife, and—but I cannot go on. She I loved as my own life; she who was the purest and loveliest of her sex; she with whom I had promised myself a long life of happiness—oh! must I say it—_she_ lay a mangled corpse at my feet! But her murderer, aye!—_he_ was cloven to the breast by a blow from his own tomahawk, which I had wrenched from him with the strength of a dozen men.”
The old man ceased,—big tears rolled down his furrowed face, and his frame shook with emotion. I saw the remembrance of the past was too much for him, and I sat by his side in silence.
I subsequently heard his sad tale from others, and then learned the manner in which Kate had been carried off. The old man’s companion was right—she had been made a prisoner by a predatory band of Indians, who had followed Butler, and deserted him directly after the massacre.