The Thorn in the Nest

Clendenin was greatly agitated as he put this question, and his breathing was almost suspended as he waited for the reply.

"Yes," she said; "one had a very peculiar mark on his breast. I was sort o' expecting it, and looked for it right away."

"What was it, and on which child?" he asked with the tone and manner of one to whom the answer must bring life or death.

"Wait," she said, "let me tell it in my own way. Clark he'd been a cabin boy aboard a ship, and an old sailor had tattooed an anchor on his arm. 'Twas fur up above his elbow, and didn't show except he took pains to roll his sleeve up a-purpose."

She spoke hesitatingly, as one who had half forgotten the use of her mother tongue, and to Clendenin the suspense was agony well nigh unendurable; but by a strong effort he kept himself quiet.

"Well," she continued, "the oldest Mrs. Clendenin was over to our house not a week afore that awful day, and Clark he showed her that mark on to his arm, and I saw that she turned kind o' sick and faint at the sight, and then quick as thought she slipped her hand into the bosom of her dress.

"Clark, he'd turned away with a laugh, and gone out o' the door; and I asked her what she did that for, and she said she was afraid her child would be marked, and if 'twas to be she wanted it where it wouldn't show.

"Then she got up to go home, and says she, 'We'll not speak of this, Reumah, and I'll try not to think of it, so there'll be less likelihood of mischief coming of it.'"

"And it was her child, the older woman's?" cried Kenneth, breathlessly; "and is this what you speak of?" tearing open his shirt bosom as he spoke.

"Yes, that's it, as sure as I'm a living woman!" she answered, gazing curiously at the deep red mark in the form of an anchor on the left breast. "And now you know which o' the two you are."

He drew a long, sighing breath of relief, as one who feels a heavy weight fall from his shoulders, clasped his hands, and lifted his eyes to heaven, his face radiant with unutterable joy and thankfulness, his lips moving, though no sound came from them.

She watched him in wonder and amazement.

"What's the difference," she asked, as he resumed his former attitude, "and how comes it that your mother didn't know by that very mark that you were hers?"

"She died within the hour," he said with emotion; "raising herself in the bed, and looking through the open door, she saw her husband slain, his reeking scalp held aloft by a savage, and with a wild scream she fell back and expired."

"And the rest?"

"The younger Clendenin gained the house barely in time to secure the door before the Indians reached it, and keeping up a vigorous fire through a chink in the wall, his wife, ill as she was, loading for him, there happening to be two guns in the house, he at length succeeded in driving off the enemy.

"A few weeks later they left forever the scene of the terrible tragedy, taking the two babes with them."

The interview lasted some time longer, Kenneth expressing his gratitude to the woman with much warmth and earnestness, and urging her to return to civilized life.

This she steadily declined to do, saying that she did not know of a living relative among the whites, had an Indian husband, children and grandchildren, and had learned to like her wild life.

Hearing that, he ceased his importunity, gave her all the money he had with him and a written promise of more, tearing a leaf from his note book for the purpose; then with a cordial shake of the hand, and an invitation to visit him the next day in Chillicothe, that he might redeem his promise, bade her good-bye.

As he turned to go Little Horn rose from the grass and came toward him, asking of his success.

In reply Kenneth told him he had learned all he wished to know from the white squaw, and was greatly indebted to him for his timely assistance.

He would have added a reward, but the lad utterly refused to accept it, saying it was very little he had done in return for what he owed to the saviour of his life. And then he added that his influence with the white squaw was due to the fact that he was her son, and that he had informed her of the great service Kenneth had done him years ago.

CHAPTER XXV

Never since early boyhood had Clendenin borne in his bosom so light and glad a heart as that with which he left Old Town upon the close of his interview with Reumah Clark.

One thought – that there was now no barrier between him and his sweet and beautiful Nell, unless indeed, she herself had created one, filled him with a joy and thankfulness beyond the power of words to express.

But an enemy lay in wait to rob him of it.

Lyttleton, closely watching Clendenin, had noticed that he tarried behind in the Indian camp while others were leaving it; but carefully abstaining from any allusion to the fact, he conducted the young lady whose escort he was to her home, then leaving the town by the opposite side, made a circuit through the woods that brought him back to a hill overlooking the trail to Old Town, ascending which he waited and watched for Kenneth's return.

Very impatient he grew toward the last, but not to be baulked of his prey by hunger or weariness, he remained at his post of observation until his eyes were gladdened by the sight of the manly form of Clendenin mounted on his gallant steed and following the trail at a brisk canter that was bringing him rapidly nearer.

Lyttleton now hastily descended the hill, galloped across a bit of prairie and struck into the trail just in time to meet the man whom he cordially hated in his heart while in outward seeming he was the warmest friend.

"So here you are at last, doctor," he said with a genial smile, "I declare I was actually growing uneasy about you."

"How so?" returned Kenneth in surprise, "it is nothing unusual for me to be out scouring the country at any or all hours of the day and night."

"Yes, but among the savages you know. I saw that you lingered behind as the rest of us set out on our return to the town, and I thought it not at all impossible that the wild creatures might be moved to do you a mischief."

He looked keenly at Kenneth as he spoke, thinking to read in his countenance how his errand had sped. He had never seen it half so bright and joyous.

"Ah, he has won," he said to himself with a pang of mingled disappointment and envy. "He has learned all, and it is in his favor. Curse him, he shan't have her too if I can prevent it!

"You seem to have had a pleasant time," he said aloud, "I think I never saw you look quite so cheery."

Kenneth only smiled, he felt so free and happy, as light and joyous as a bird on the wing.

"I congratulate you on your good luck, whatever it may have been," continued Lyttleton, still eyeing him curiously; "and I must ask a return in kind from you, for I too have been made a happy, yes, the very happiest of men to-day."

Clendenin turned upon him a startled, questioning look, his very lips growing white; he tried to speak, but could not find his voice.

"Yes," Lyttleton went on with a cruel delight in the pain he saw he was giving; "I am sure you will think so when I tell you that Miss Lamar is my promised wife and I shall soon be the husband of the finest woman in America."

Kenneth answered not a word, the blow was so sudden, so terrible, so stunning; for it never occurred to him that those words which sounded the death knell of his fondest hopes were a falsehood, and, ah! he had thought it impossible that Nell could ever give herself to one so utterly devoid of noble qualities as this stranger who was now boasting of having won her.

Lyttleton perceived with savage exultation how he had wrung the heart of the man whom he hated; – hated all the more bitterly because he owed him his life and because of his own ill-desert as a trifler with sweet Marian's affections: whose sworn foe he was even before leaving England for America; his very errand to this country being one of wrong to him, an errand which he now foresaw was likely to miscarry through the information gleaned from the white squaw of the Shawnee brave.

They were passing a farm-house; some one standing at its gate hailed the doctor, and with a slight parting inclination of the head to Lyttleton, Kenneth turned aside and obeyed the call.

The sun was touching the top of the hill which bounds Chillicothe on the west, as he resumed his homeward way, a different man from the one who had left Old Town so full of joy and glad anticipation; the very dropping of his figure, as he moved slowly along with the bridle lying loosely upon Romeo's neck, spoke of utter dejection.

What was life worth without his love, his darling? Oh, why had not this knowledge come to him a little sooner, this that unsealed his lips. Why had he not yielded to his impulse that stormy night as they stood alone together by the fire, and poured out the story of his love? How much wiser and kinder to have done it, even though he had to tell her, too, that an impassable barrier stood between them!

He could see it so plainly now, but then, his eyes were blinded.

And she, how could he blame her if her love had at last turned to aversion and she had given herself to another?

But alas, alas, how ill she had chosen, a man devoid of principle and utterly selfish; for so far had Kenneth succeeded in reading Lyttleton's true character.

But these were vain regrets; he must school himself to bear bravely his grief and disappointment; trouble did not spring out of the ground, and the loving Father above never sent to His children one unneeded pang.

And was life indeed all dark to him? Was it nothing that a terrible dread had been taken away? That he had reason, intellect, education, health and strength, that God had given him skill to relieve pain and suffering?

Ah, his mercies were far beyond his deserts, and life could not be a desolate waste while power was granted him to minister to the comfort and happiness of others; and while there remained to him, not only the love of the two dear ones at Glen Forest, but also the sweeter, dearer love of Him who saith to His children:

"Lo, I am with you always even unto the end of the world." "I have loved thee with an everlasting love." "I will never leave thee nor forsake thee."

The precious comforting words came to him almost as if spoken by an audible voice, and were as balm and healing to his wounded spirit.

There were business matters claiming his immediate attention, and he now resolutely turned his thoughts upon them.

He decided upon an early visit to his old home; he must see her whom he had always called mother, but who, as he had learned from Reumah Clark, was in reality his sister; sweet Marian, too. Ah, she must never know that he was less nearly related to her than she fondly believed. It would but give her unnecessary pain.

But first of all steps should be taken to get Reumah Clark's evidence in a form that would make it available legal proof of his identity, for there was much dependent upon that.

On reaching the town he at once sought Godfrey Dale, and they were closeted together for an hour or more.

In this interview Dale learned what had been his friend's secret grief, that it had in a measure passed away with the knowledge of his true parentage, though it was sorrow of heart to him that it proved the tie of kinship with the dear ones at home less close than he had once believed, and the importance, for certain grave reasons, of his being able to bring forward indisputable proof of his identity.

Dale understood the management of the business; the first step in which was to get the woman into the town and have her deposition taken before a magistrate.

It was probable that she would come in the next morning of her own accord, in order to receive the money for which she held Clendenin's note; if she did not Dale was to go in search of her.

"It is to be hoped that secret foe of yours will not get hold of her again in the meantime," he remarked. "Who can he be? I know of no one who has cause for enmity toward you, unless, indeed, as a rival in the good graces of a certain fair damsel," he added jocosely, "and, why Kenneth, man, that would be Lyttleton! And he's mean enough to serve you such a scurvy trick, too. But then, on second thought, how would he know anything about the woman or your interest in her? No; I confess I am nonplussed."

"Beside," said Kenneth sadly, "he tells me he is a successful rival, so he might well afford to refrain from any interference with my welfare."

"He successful with Miss Nell?" cried Dale with scornful incredulity. "Don't you believe it! And yet," with a sudden change of tone, "women are strange, unaccountable creatures, and it is possible her seeming contempt and dislike were only assumed to hide her real feelings. Heighho! I really thought your chances better than mine; those last by no means so poor as Lyttleton's."

A party of the merchants of the town were to start three days from this time for the East, to buy goods. Their custom was to go in companies, as, a great portion of the country being still in wild state, much of it was covered with immense forests, containing but a few widely scattered dwellings. They must, perforce, carry a good deal of money with them and it was unsafe for one to travel alone.

Kenneth had announced his intention to join this party, but that evening's mail brought a letter from Glen Forest which so filled him with anxiety and alarm, made his presence at home so urgently necessary, that he at once decided to risk going with no companion but Zeb, and to set off at dawn of the coming day, leaving to Dale the whole care and responsibility of getting Reumah Clark's evidence into proper shape.

Dale used every argument and persuasion to induce his friend to wait for company; two days he thought would make so little difference, and the risk to a solitary traveller was so great; but all to no purpose; Clendenin would hardly stay to hear him out, there was so much to be attended to in the few hours that remained before he should leave for an absence that might extend to months.

Several patients must be visited and recommended to the charge of a brother physician, some purchases made, and some friends called upon for a word of farewell.

It would seem a strange, unkind, ungrateful thing to go without saying good-bye to Major Lamar and his family, who had always made him so entirely one of themselves.

And Nell? Ah, he could not, would not go away without learning from her own lips if Lyttleton's story were true.

And if it were not? But ah, he dare not think any further.

His heart beat almost audibly as he opened the gate and hurried up the path to the house.

The bright moonlight showed him the major sitting alone in the porch.

"Ah, good evening, doctor," he said, rising to shake hands and set a chair for his guest. "I am especially glad to see you to-night, as I am just in the mood for a friendly chat."

"Thank you, major, but I am in unusual haste," Kenneth answered. "Can I see the ladies?"

"Sorry to say I cannot give you that pleasure to-night, doctor," was the laughing reply. "Mrs. Lamar has gone to bed tired out with the exertion and excitement of the day, and Nell is not at home; won't be for a week or two, at least; has gone home with a friend living fifteen miles from town."

Kenneth almost staggered under the blow. Then a wild impulse seized him to follow her and know his fate from her own mouth, though it would delay his journey for one day, if not for two. But recalling some words of the letter just received, words that made him feel that every moment's delay on his part was hazardous to sweet Marian, he put it from him with heroic self-denial, briefly explained his errand, parried some remonstrances such as Dale had already wasted upon him, and with a cordial parting shake of the hand and a farewell message for the family, turned and went away.

Lyttleton's heart that afternoon was like a cage of unclean birds full of malice, envy, anger and hate. Kenneth having left him in answer to the summons to the farm-house, he pursued his way to the town muttering imprecations upon the head of his late companion and mentally resolving schemes for his injury.

"Curse him!" he said again, "is he to have all and I none? Would that fate were but kind enough to remove him out of my path!"

"Do it yourself!"

It seemed an almost audible suggestion.

He started and glanced around with a shudder, half expecting to see the tempter.

"No, no, I am not so bad as that!" he answered aloud. "I could never stain my hands with blood, but if the Indians should slay him in the woods, as they did Capt. Herrod, or if his horse should happen to stumble and he fall and break his neck, well, it would not grieve me very deeply, ha, ha!

"I suppose the girl wouldn't have me even then," he continued with a gloomy scowl, "but I'd have undisturbed possession of – But nonsense! I must deal with things as they are."

He continued his cogitations, but had not yet succeeded in arranging any definite plan when he arrived at his lodgings and dismounted, giving his horse in charge to Hans.

However, the knowledge casually gained in the course of the evening, of Kenneth's intended departure early the next morning for the East, and with no companion but his negro servant, brought a sudden suggestion to his mind which filled him with fiendish delight.

A letter from England, like Clendenin's received by that evening's mail, furnished a plausible pretext.

Hans was summoned and given orders to make everything ready to leave Chillicothe at once.

"Dish night, mynheer?" queried the man in astonishment.

"Yes, this night; there is a moon and we can travel by her light. I have news from England and must return thither with all speed."

"De horses pe not shtrong enough to go day and night, mynheer," remarked Hans, scratching his head and looking not over pleased; for he was loth to lose his night's rest.

"That's my affair; you have nothing to do but obey orders," was the haughty rejoinder.

Lyttleton knew that Nell was out of town, and now was glad that it had so happened, as he did not care to meet her again, yet felt that it would not look well for him to leave the place without a parting call on the family.

He met Clendenin coming away, passed him with a cold bow, and joined the major who was still on the porch, its sole occupant as before.

"What you, too, sir?" he exclaimed, when Lyttleton had explained the object of his call. "The doctor was in but now to say that he leaves unexpectedly in the early morning; but it seems that you are making even greater haste to forsake us. Coming back again, I hope."

"Doubtful, my good sir, and I must leave my adieu to the ladies with you, regretting deeply that I could not deliver them in person," Lyttleton said, lying with a glibness that was the result of long practice.

He tarried but a few moments, and again the major was left to his solitary meditations, which now ran upon the question whether Nell had aught to do with the sudden migration of these two admirers of hers. He could not tell, for the girl had kept her own council in regard to her feelings toward them, and Lyttleton's offer of the previous day.

CHAPTER XXVI

Dale was in his office, very busy with some writing, when Lyttleton looked in.

"Excuse the interruption, Mr. Dale," he said, holding out his hand, "but I did not like to go without saying good-bye to you and the doctor. He, however, I find is not in."

"Good-bye! you're not going to leave Chillicothe to-night, are you?" cried Godfrey in surprise, as he laid down his pen and took the offered hand.

"Yes; immediately, Hans has everything packed, and the horses saddled and at the door. Had a letter from home to-night, and find I must tarry no longer. Please give my respects and adieus to the doctor," he added, as he hurried away.

"I wonder he's not afraid to risk travelling with only that rascally looking servant, who might rob and kill him and nobody any the wiser," thought Dale. "Well," he remarked aloud, resuming his pen, "I suppose it's no affair of mine."

Was it a haunting doubt of Hans's fidelity or some other motive that led Lyttleton to turn to him, as they left the town, and bid him ride by his side instead of behind him?

However that may have been, he kept a sharp watch upon his valet's movements.

Presently he took him into his confidence in some degree, partially unfolding a plot to get Clendenin into his power, and securing the Hessian's co-operation by the promise of a bribe.

They pressed forward all that night and the next day, pausing only for a short rest when their horses showed signs of exhaustion.

The greater part of the way was very lonely; they had met no one since early morning, when toward the close of the day they overtook a man mounted on a sorry nag and jogging along in silence and solitude; a villainous looking fellow, in whom Lyttleton at once recognized one of his intended tools; whose acquaintance he had made on the outward bound journey of some months ago, and whom he had casually discovered to be an enemy to Dr. Clendenin.

It was in fact Brannon, who had never forgotten or forgiven the part Kenneth had had in his conviction of the theft of the great-coat, handkerchief, and shirt, abstracted from the dwelling of the Barbours.

Lyttleton hailed him with, "Hello, Brannon, you're the very man I was wanting to see."

"And who may you be?" returned the fellow surlily, showing a scowling face as he glanced back over his shoulder at the speaker; then suddenly wheeling his horse across the narrow path so as to bar their further progress, "What do you want with me?" he demanded in a tone of one who feels himself at enmity with his kind.

"To furnish you with a bit of employment very much to your taste," answered Lyttleton.

"And what may that be? Ha, I remember you now, the English gent that was a goin' out to Chillicothe some months back, and had so many questions to ask about Dr. Clendenin. Curse him! Well, did ye find it all out?"

"It?"

"Yes, it, whatever you wanted to know."

"Yes; I found out, what I suspected before, that he is very much in my way: and – but before I lay my plans open to you I must have your promise, your oath of secrecy."

"Them's easy given," the fellow answered with an unpleasant laugh; "I promise and swear never to tell no tales consarnin' what you're agoin' to say."

"Very well. Clendenin is travelling in this direction, with no companion but a young negro servant who, I take it, is neither very brave nor strong."

A malicious gleam of satisfaction shone in Brannon's eyes.

Lyttleton noted it with pleasure.

"We could not have a better opportunity," he went on; "you who have an old score against him, and I who find him as I just said entirely too much in my way."

"What are you at, mister, out with it plump and plain," Brannon said with an impatient gesture and a volley of oaths, as Lyttleton came to a pause and looked hesitatingly at him. "I ain't no fancy for this 'ere beating about the bush. Is it his life you want, or not?"

"No, no; I'm no murderer!" Lyttleton exclaimed with a shudder and a fearful glance from side to side. "But patience, man, and I'll explain in a few words. We'll call this doctor a mad fellow, perhaps it isn't so very far from the truth, ha, ha, and we'll take him prisoner, and keep him such somewhere in these woods until I can make arrangements to remove him to a mad house."

Brannon listened with a grim smile.

"But look ye here, stranger," he interrupted, "what if he should get free and peach on us?"

"We must take care that he doesn't; and I'll make it worth your while to take the risk. Can you get help in capturing him?"

Brannon nodded. "Here comes one now that'll bear a hand willingly if you give him his price;" and as he spoke he waved his hand toward a tall, burly figure just emerging from the wood a few paces from them.

"Dree of us," muttered Hans, watching its approach; "dat ish pooty goot; and mynheer, too; dree, four against two. We takes dem brisoner mitout fail."

The last comer was drawing near with long and rapid strides.

"What's that?" he asked sharply and bringing his rifle to his shoulder. "Ah, is it you, Jack! what's up?"

"Yes, it's me, Bill Shark," answered Brannon. "Come on; here's a gent as has a job suited to the likes of us."