The animal was aroused, in his most latent energies.
Ever as he advanced he heard those shrieks, which sometimes seemed ringing among the clouds, and sometimes passed so nigh, as to appear to brush the earth.
At length there came a cry, in which there could be no delusion, or to which the imagination could lend no horror.
It appeared to fill each cranny of the air, as the visible horizon is often charged to fulness by one dazzling flash of the electric fluid.
The name of God was distinctly audible, but it was awfully and blasphemously blended with sounds that may not be repeated.
The squatter stopped, and for a moment he covered his ears with his hands.
When he withdrew the latter, a low and husky voice at his elbow asked in smothered tones—
“Ishmael, my man, heard ye nothing?”
“Hist,” returned the husband, laying a powerful arm on Esther, without manifesting the smallest surprise at the unlooked-for presence of his wife.
“Hist, woman! if you have the fear of Heaven, be still!”
A profound silence succeeded.
Though the wind rose and fell as before, its rushing was no longer mingled with those fearful cries.
The sounds were imposing and solemn, but it was the solemnity and majesty of nature.
“Let us go on,” said Esther; “all is hushed.”
“Woman, what has brought you here?” demanded her husband, whose blood had returned into its former channels, and whose thoughts had already lost a portion of their excitement.
“Ishmael, he murdered our first-born; but it is not meet that the son of my mother should lie upon the ground, like the carrion of a dog!”
“Follow,” returned the squatter, again grasping his rifle, and striding towards the rock.
The distance was still considerable; and their approach, as they drew nigh the place of execution, was moderated by awe.
Many minutes had passed, before they reached a spot where they might distinguish the outlines of the dusky objects.
“Where have you put the body?” whispered Esther. “See, here are pick and spade, that a brother of mine may sleep in the bosom of the earth!”
The moon broke from behind a mass of clouds, and the eye of the woman was enabled to follow the finger of Ishmael.
It pointed to a human form swinging in the wind, beneath the ragged and shining arm of the willow.
Esther bent her head and veiled her eyes from the sight.
But Ishmael drew nigher, and long contemplated his work in awe, though not in compunction.
The leaves of the sacred book were scattered on the ground, and even a fragment of the shelf had been displaced by the kidnapper in his agony.
But all was now in the stillness of death.
The grim and convulsed countenance of the victim was at times brought full into the light of the moon, and again as the wind lulled, the fatal rope drew a dark line across its bright disk.
The squatter raised his rifle, with extreme care, and fired.
The cord was cut and the body came lumbering to the earth a heavy and insensible mass.
Until now Esther had not moved nor spoken.
But her hand was not slow to assist in the labour of the hour.
The grave was soon dug.
It was instantly made to receive its miserable tenant.
As the lifeless form descended, Esther, who sustained the head, looked up into the face of her husband with an expression of anguish, and said—
“Ishmael, my man, it is very terrible! I cannot kiss the corpse of my father’s child!”
The squatter laid his broad hand on the bosom of the dead, and said—
“Abiram White, we all have need of mercy; from my soul do I forgive you!
May God in Heaven have pity on your sins!”
The woman bowed her face and imprinted her lips long and fervently on the pallid forehead of her brother.
After this came the falling clods and all the solemn sounds of filling a grave.
Esther lingered on her knees, and Ishmael stood uncovered while the woman muttered a prayer.
All was then finished.
On the following morning the teams and herds of the squatter were seen pursuing their course towards the settlements.
As they approached the confines of society the train was blended among a thousand others.
Though some of the numerous descendants of this peculiar pair were reclaimed from their lawless and semi-barbarous lives, the principals of the family, themselves, were never heard of more.
CHAPTER XXXIII —No leave take I; for I will ride As far as land will let me, by your side. —Shakspeare.
The passage of the Pawnee to his village was interrupted by no scene of violence. His vengeance had been as complete as it was summary.
Not even a solitary scout of the Siouxes was left on the hunting grounds he was obliged to traverse, and of course the journey of Middleton’s party was as peaceful as if made in the bosom of the States.
The marches were timed to meet the weakness of the females.
In short, the victors seemed to have lost every trace of ferocity with their success, and appeared disposed to consult the most trifling of the wants of that engrossing people, who were daily encroaching on their rights, and reducing the Red-men of the west, from their state of proud independence to the condition of fugitives and wanderers.