"What do you say?" fairly shrieked our hero, believing that his mind was wandering.

"_Marian was not killed that night!--but I killed her!--I see her angel face now!--Oh! is this death?_"

The renegade McGable was dead!

CHAPTER XV.

"ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL."

AS the death-rattle was heard in McGable's throat, Mansfield felt his head fall back upon his arm. He looked down and saw that all was over.

Laying his head gently back upon the leaves, he straightened his limbs, and arose and looked around for his companions. Peterson and Jenkins approached.

"It is all over," said our hero, sadly. "Poor man! he has paid dearly for his sins. I pray Heaven, I may never witness another such a death!

Have you found any other bodies?"

"We have not looked; Dingle is searching."

"Let us look further. We will return this afternoon and bury McGable.

Ah! here comes Dingle! What can be the matter with him, he looks so fl.u.s.tered?"

The ranger approached them, pale and agitated.

"Boys, the FRONTIER ANGEL SITS OUT YONDER ON A LOG, AND SHE IS DYIN'!"

Without a word, Mansfield dashed toward the point indicated. The others followed less rapidly, for that singular fear of the mysterious being forsook them not, even at the last moment. A few rods brought them to the spot.

That personage, known as the Frontier Angel in these pages, was sitting upon one of the trees, felled by the choppers, her hand pressed to her forehead, and her elbows resting upon her knees. She sat perfectly motionless, and a sickening fear that she was already dead took possession of Mansfield. The blood could be seen dropping from her face down upon one of her moccasins, which was clotted and stained with it.

She did not look up as our friends approached, and Mansfield paused before her and asked:

"Are you hurt much?"

"Oh! I feel wretched--"

Mansfield sprang forward and caught her head as she fainted. The sight made even the hardy rangers shudder. A rough wound was seen at the temple, from which a great amount of blood had issued. Her dark, waving hair hung loose around her shoulders, while her half-closed eyes gave an unearthly terror to her countenance.

"Quick! water! she has fainted!" exclaimed Mansfield.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Quick! water; she has fainted,' exclaimed Mansfield."]

Peterson sprang away, and in an instant returned with a jug of water which had been brought by the woodmen in the morning for their use.

Mansfield sprinkled some in her face, and in a moment she revived.

Dingle, with ready wit, had prepared a bandage by tearing his hunting-shirt to shreds, and this was carefully bound over her forehead.

"She must be taken to the block-house at once. Bear a hand, friends,"

said Mansfield to the two rangers who were looking on. That absurd fear made them hesitate for a moment; but, as if ashamed of their weakness at such a time, they sprang forward and made amends by sustaining her entire weight themselves.

"Run ahead, Jenkins, and notify the commander of this," said Mansfield, "and see that no crowd is in our way."

Jenkins darted away, and the three moved carefully through the wood toward the clearing. An occasional moan from their burden was the only sign of life she gave. Not a word was spoken by the three, as they made their way forward. The rangers hardly dared to look down upon the form their arms sustained, but gazed anxiously toward the block-house, evidently in fear of a curious mult.i.tude of people. The commander, with praiseworthy foresight, had unbarred the gates, and prepared the block-house for her reception. Though nearly struck dumb with Jenkins's intelligence, he did not allow it to interfere with his duty. He briefly informed those gathered around what had happened, and besought them to retire and leave the way clear for him. So, when Mansfield and the rangers brought their charge, there were only one or two to receive them.

"Is it a bad wound?" he asked, as he closed the doors of the block-house behind him.

"I fear so; you will have to take charge of her."

"Place her on the litter, and remain with me a moment."

The commander of the fort was the physician of the settlement. It may seem strange that a man holding his position, could find time to attend to the duties thus devolving upon him. But he did find abundant time; for it must be remembered, that such a thing as sickness is rarely known in a frontier settlement. The time when his services were in requisition, was upon an occasion like the present, directly after an engagement with an enemy.

After the sufferer had been placed in the lower room of the block-house, the commander desired all to depart, so that he might be left alone with her. His determination was to make an examination of her wound at once.

He saw that she was hurt only in the corner of the forehead, where it seemed was a slight fracture of the bone.

As he approached the bed, the Frontier Angel sprang to her feet and screamed for him to keep away. He did his best to pacify her, but she became more frantic each moment, until he desisted out of fear of the consequences. After a time she seated herself upon the bed, and speaking in a soothing manner, he gently approached her again. But she was wilder than before, and he retreated at once. From her actions, she seemed to imagine him to be the renegade McGable, and no words upon his part could change the impression.

The good physician sat a while in a dilemma. He saw it was imperatively necessary that her wound should be attended to, and it was impossible for him to do this alone. After debating a moment, he called in Mansfield and Peterson.

The latter entered, and the sufferer meekly submitted at once. Mansfield took her gently but firmly by one arm, and the ranger held the other.

The physician then stepped forward, and, with a simple instrument, examined the wound. A moment showed him the entire truth. A bullet, years before, had glanced over the forehead in such a manner as to press inward a thin strip of bone directly upon the brain. This simple fact had caused that singular hallucination which she had so long evinced. The wound had become cicatrized, leaving the bone in this position. Another shot, precisely similar, had glanced in the same manner, reopening the wound and increasing her aberration. A simple action of the physician removed this cause of her insanity.

"Just wash the wound, Mansfield," said the commander, "and we will then let her rest until morning."

Our hero proceeded to do as requested. A moment later he exclaimed in a suppressed voice:

"My heavens! see here--SHE IS WHITE!"

Such was indeed the case, and the astonishment of all was unbounded. The water had washed off that species of paint so commonly used among the American Indians, and left the skin perfectly clear and transparent.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the commander, "what can it mean? As it is nearly all removed from her face, it shows what a beautiful woman she is.

h.e.l.lo! what's the matter with Peterson?"

The ranger had turned as pale as death and fainted--a weakness of which he had never been guilty before. Mansfield instantly dashed some water in his face and he came to. He stared about him totally bewildered.

"Why, what's the matter, Jim?" laughed the commander. "Are you so tender-hearted that you must faint when a female is hurt?"

"Get me out of here, quick, if you value _her_ life!" he said, staggering to his feet.

He was a.s.sisted to the door, where the physician asked:

"What does this mean, Jim?"

"I'll tell you in the morning; don't say anything to me about it now.

Just bring _her_ to her senses as soon as you can."

Wondering and perplexed, the commander pa.s.sed into the room again. As he entered, he naturally turned his eyes toward his patient, and it was now his turn to evince the agitation that had seized the ranger.

"What's the matter with you, doctor?" asked Mansfield.