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The Spirit of the Border-Part32_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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the zip of a bullet as it whistled over their heads.



All? No, not all. One did not hear that speeding bullet. He who was the

central figure in this tragic scene, he who had doomed the Christians might



have seen that tiny puff of smoke which heralded his own doom, but before the

ringing report could reach his ears a small blue hole appeared, as if by



magic, over his left eye, and pulse, and sense, and life had fled forever.

Half King, great, cruel chieftain, stood still for an instant as if he had



been an image of stone; his haughty head lost its erect poise, the fierceness

seemed to fade from his dark face, his proud plume waved gracefully as he



swayed to and fro, and then fell before the Christians, inert and lifeless.

No one moved; it was as if no one breathed. The superstitious savages awaited



fearfully another rifle shot; another lightning stroke, another visitation

from the paleface's God.



But Jim Girty, with a cunning born of his terrible fear, had recognized the

ring of that rifle. He had felt the zip of a bullet which could just as



readily have found his brain as Half King's. He had stood there as fair a mark

as the cruel Huron, yet the Avenger had not chosen him. Was he reserved for a



different fate? Was not such a death too merciful for the frontier Deathshead?

He yelled in his craven fear:



"Le vent de la Mort!"

The well known, dreaded appellation aroused the savages from a fearful stupor



into a fiercemanifestation of hatred. A tremendous yell rent the air.

Instantly the scene changed.



Chapter XXVI.

In the confusion the missionaries carried Young and Edwards into Mr. Wells'



cabin. Nell's calm, white face showed that she had expected some such

catastrophe as this, but she of all was the least excited. Heckewelder left



them at the cabin and hurried away to consult Captain Williamson. While

Zeisberger, who was skilled in surgery, attended to the wounded men, Jim



barred the heavy door, shut the rude, swinging windows, and made the cabin

temporarily a refuge from prowling savages.



Outside the clamor increased. Shrill yells rent the air, long, rolling

war-cries sounded above all the din. The measured stamp of moccasined feet,



the rush of Indians past the cabin, the dull thud of hatchets struck hard into

the trees--all attested to the excitement of the savages, and the imminence of



terrible danger.

In the front room of Mr. Wells' cabin Edwards lay on a bed, his face turned to



the wall, and his side exposed. There was a bloody hole in his white skin.

Zeisberger was probing for the bullet. He had no instruments, save those of



his own manufacture, and they were darning needles with bent points, and a

long knife-blade ground thin.



"There, I have it," said Zeisberger. "Hold still, Dave. There!" As Edwards

moaned Zeisberger drew forth the bloodybullet. "Jim, wash and dress this



wound. It isn't bad. Dave will be all right in a couple of days. Now I'll look

at George."



Zeisberger hurried into the other room. Young lay with quiet face and closed

eyes, breathing faintly. Zeisberger opened the wounded man's shirt and exposed



the wound, which was on the right side, rather high up. Nell, who had followed

Zeisberger that she might be of some assistance if needed, saw him look at the



wound and then turn a pale face away for a second. That hurried, shuddering

movement of the sober, practical missionary was most significant. Then he bent



over Young and inserted on of the probes into the wound. He pushed the steel

an inch, two, three, four inches into Young's breast, but the latter neither



moved nor moaned. Zeisberger shook his head, and finally removed the

instrument. He raised the sufferer's shoulder to find the bed saturated with



blood. The bullet wound extended completely through the missionary's body, and

was bleeding from the back. Zeisberger folded strips of linsey cloth into



small pads and bound them tightly over both apertures of the wound.

"How is he?" asked Jim, when the amateursurgeon returned to the other room,



and proceeded to wash the blood from his hands.

Zeisberger shook his head gloomily.



"How is George?" whispered Edwards, who had heard Jim's question.

"Shot through the right lung. Human skill can not aid him! Only God can save."



"Didn't I hear a third shot?" whispered Dave, gazing round with sad,

questioning eyes. "Heckewelder?"



"Is safe. He has gone to see Williamson. You did hear a third shot. Half King

fell dead with a bullet over his left eye. He had just folded his arms in a



grand pose after his death decree to the Christians."

"A judgment of God!"



"It does seem so, but it came in the form of leaden death from Wetzel's




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