War Drums (Sass)/Chapter 31
THERE was a spot on the ridge of Sani'gilagi, a little beyond the camp, where Jolie loved to sit in the late afternoons. It was shaded by trees of no great size but densely foliaged; and on one side, down the wooded slope to the west, opened a long glade hedged in by the woods, while to the east she could view the deep valley of Sequilla and the great mountains that rose beyond.
There was an hour when there was magic in this spot. It was the hour when the wild creatures of the mountain awakened from their midday rest and moved about again; the hour when the wood thrushes began the prelude to that celestial evening chorus with which each day they heralded the going-down of the sun; the hour when the slanting sun-rays, streaming down into the valley far below and bathing the wooded heights beyond it, seemed to magnify all objects within range of her vision so that she could see them more distinctly than at any other time.
Almayne had found this spot for her. It was so near the camp that he considered it safe for her to sit there alone; and he remembered it well because he had spent long hours there when, in the earlier Cherokee war, he had remained for weeks wounded and sick on Sani'gilagi. He had pointed out to her a small opening in the forest clothing the valley under them and had told her that if she watched it, she would see sometimes a thin, dark line drawn across it. A buffalo road, the main highway of the herds travelling back and forth across the barrier of the Blue Mountains, crossed that opening," he said, and when she saw that thin, dark line, she would know that buffalo were passing.
She saw the dark line twice. She saw, too, great flocks of wild turkeys come flying in above the valley to their roost on the mountain side some distance farther down the ridge. In the shadowy glade sloping down to her left, aglow with flame azalea and pink kalmia, she often saw deer come silently out of the woods and graze quietly, unaware of her presence, while all around her and on the slopes below her the wood thrushes sang. And from this spot she saw also many other things: the changing light upon the valley and the heights beyond as the sun sank lower; the smaller creatures of the woods, foxes and rabbits and squirrels and striped brown chipmunks, which, as evening approached, came out of the surrounding forest into the open glade on her left hand.
She loved to sit here in this secret place and watch the life around her; yet often her eyes saw nothing of what was before her because her thoughts were elsewhere—in England, perhaps, or in Charles Town, or in the distant Indian town where Gilbert Barradell was a captive. Strangely, it seemed, her mind would then revert to what Lachlan had told her about the Indian girls—that many of them were beautiful; and always, when her thoughts had taken this channel, they led her quickly to one Indian girl, an Indian girl whom she had never seen—that mysterious daughter of Chief Concha, the Appalache, who held Gilbert Barradell prisoner.
A dozen times she had been on the point of questioning Lachlan further—to get him to tell her exactly what Falcon had said about Concha's daughter during their interview in the Good Fortune's cabin. Yet she had never done so; and she knew now that she never would. When she had first questioned Lachlan about the matter, it had led to a quarrel. She was strangely unwilling to mention the subject to him again.
One afternoon, when Jolie sat alone in this retreat on the crest of the ridge just beyond and below the camp, she saw a sight that brought her instantly back to the living present. Out from the trees in front of her, not twenty feet away, walked a great panther, the largest that she had ever seen.
The beast did not pause. Slowly, noiselessly it came on, its pale eyes fixed upon her face, its long tail held high above its back. She could not move, she could not cry out. Utter terror held her rigid, dumb.
Ten paces from her the panther stopped and stood motionless; and suddenly she was aware that behind the panther in the shadow of the trees stood a man.
For an eternity she waited. Then he stepped into full view and advanced towards her, placing his hand upon the panther's head as he passed the beast.
He was an Indian, very old, very tall, perfectly erect. Over his shoulders he wore a cape of feathers dyed yellow and blue. There were silver bracelets on his bony arms and white shell-like pendants hung from his long, deeply slit ears. His creased and wrinkled face was spotted with tattoo marks and ringed with vermilion paint; while from the middle of his head, where a narrow ridge of short stiff hair rose like a comb or crest, a long slender green snake dangled and writhed, its forked tongue flickering ceaselessly.
She knew that he was Aganuntsi the Conjurer. Her lips framed the word, though the sound was all but inaudible, and she rose to her feet as he advanced towards her. For a moment, when he was almost directly in front of her and within arm's length, he looked directly at her, and she shuddered and drew back before the glare of his eyes. But he did not speak or pause. As soundlessly as the great panther gliding at his heels, he strode past her up the slope towards the camp.
Jolie sat down again upon the rock where she had been sitting. She was shaken; her breath was coming fast. After a little, she rose and walked back to the camp on the summit just above. Near the brow of the precipice Almayne and Aganuntsi the Conjurer were seated, while near them the tame panther sprawled lazily in the sun.
Lachlan, Falcon and Mr. O'Sullivan stood apart. The two Muskogee warriors were away, scouting or hunting, Seeing her, Lachlan came towards her. He smiled and greeted her lightly, but she saw anxiety in his face. They walked to where O'Sullivan and Falcon stood, and she noted O'Sullivan's gravity.
For some minutes they stood talking, not venturing to ask one another what Aganuntsi's coming meant. Then Jolie laughed softly.
"This is a great man, this Conjurer," she said. "We must ask him to sup with us and we must feed him well if we value our lives. Let us prepare the feast."
She was afraid, oppressed with a sense of impending calamity, but she would not show her fear. While she supervised the roasting of two ruffed grouse and the broiling of slices of venison, she chattered lightly or hummed a tune. Before the food was ready, Almayne and Aganuntsi were done talking. The Conjurer rose and Almayne, too, got to his feet. The Indian raised his right hand, and Almayne returned the salutation. Then Aganuntsi strode off along the way he had come, the panther following close behind him.
Almayne strolled slowly toward the group around the fire. Their anxious eyes, searching his face, found reassurance in his smile.
"By Zooks!" he said as he joined them, "I am as hungry as a mountain bear. I thought the old man would never finish talking of the times we've had together."
He would tell them nothing more. There was nothing more to tell, he insisted; Aganuntsi had talked only of the old days. But to Jolie there came again a sense of crisis, of disaster close at hand.
At last the meal was over; the pipes were smoked in the gathering dusk. Little Mink and Striking Hawk returned from their hunting and scouting, bringing with them a turkey and two grouse. With the round moon bathing the mountain top in ghostly light, Jolie bade them all good-night and lay down on the couch of boughs in her little hut.
She had scarcely gone when Almayne, remarking that he wished to have a look at the horses, knecked out his pipe and arose. Lachlan caught an almest imperceptible movement of the hunter's head, and when Almayne walked towards the trail leading to the spring, Lachlan followed him. Out of sight and earshot of the camp, the hunter halted and turned.
Lachlan saw his face in the moonlight, stared at it wide-eyed, and gripped his arm.
"In God's name, Almayne!" he exclaimed. "What's amiss?"
"The worst," Almayne answered in a harsh whisper. "Barradell is false to her."