CHAPTER IV.

SMOHOLLER’S ANGEL.

When the smoke of the rifles cleared away the fiend had vanished from the cliff, and the crimson light had died away. The silvery beams of the moon played hide and seek among the projections and depressions of the cliff’s peak.

The gazers rubbed their eyes. What they had seen appeared to them already like a fantastic dream. But a new vision awaited them, a new wonder was to be presented to their eyes.

Another light began to glow from the cliff, but this time it was of a bluish tint, and the smoke that arose from it was white and fleecy. And this light grew dense, as the other had done, and assumed a form and shape—a shape of ethereal loveliness.

As the other vision thrilled the beholders with a kind of supernatural awe, so did this one excite their wondering admiration. It bore the shape they supposed an angel would wear.

The face was that of a girl, angelic in its beauty. Her long black hair floated in wavy masses upon her neck and shoulders, and was confined upon the forehead by a golden coronet in the center of which gleamed a diamond star, which emitted scintillating rays of light. Her arms and legs were bare, revealing their faultless perfection, and the alabaster purity of her skin. Her only garment was a long white tunic, of some snowy, fleecy fabric, confined at the waist by a golden cestus, which was studded with large rubies glittering with blood-red rays.

This angelic vision held in her right hand a kind of glittering dart. For a minute she transfixed their wondering gaze, then hurled the dart into their midst.

The fire around her grew more vivid, the volume of white smoke increased in density, obscured her figure from view, and then began to roll away. When the light of the fire faded and the smoke lifted from the face of the rock, the platform was vacant, the lovely vision had disappeared.

The surveying party gaze inquiringly into each other’s faces. Lieutenant Gardiner expressed the general opinion by asking the hunter, Glyndon:

“What do you think of that?”

Glyndon shook his head dubiously.

“Did you ever see a girl as pretty as that one was?” he asked.

“Well, no, I can’t say that I ever did,” the lieutenant admitted, with a smile; “and if she is a human I should like to become better acquainted with her.”

“All women have something angelic about them,” said Glyndon, reflectively, and his voice had a strange touch of pathos to it as he spoke—“particularly when they are good and true women. I knew one once—an angel couldn’t have had a better disposition, and she—” His voice broke here. “Well, well, the murdering red-skins sent her to heaven before her time!” he resumed, huskily. “And our little one went with her. Perhaps it was best so—but I’ve often thought I could have stood it better if she had been spared. Do you know, leftenant—it was an odd idea, but when I looked at that bright spirit-angel or whatever it was—up on the cliff yonder—I thought to myself, my little girl, maybe, looks just like that up in heaven.”

The hunter turned away his head and wiped his eyes with the back of his bony hand. His hearers respected his grief for they knew the story of Glyndon’s bereavement.

Percy Cute picked up the javelin and the dart, if they could be called by these names, for they were of singular construction, as we shall see anon.

“Here’s the telegrams,” he said; “they may tell us what the meaning of the diorama was. A piece of birch bark is wrapped around each.”

“I must examine them,” exclaimed Gardiner, taking possession of them. “Freshen up the fire, my boy, so we can have a little more light upon the subject.”

“Better post the sentinels again,” suggested Glyndon. “This deviltry may be only the forerunner of mischief.”

“You are right. It behoves us to use every precaution.”

Two other sentinels were posted, and then the balance of the party returned to the camp-fire in the grove, which the two boys had started into a blaze again.

One of the missiles hurled from the cliff was about four feet in length, the other two. The javelin was a stout stick of wood, apparently the shoot of a tree, about an inch in diameter, and was painted a blood-red color. It was blackened at one end, as if it had been loaded with some kind of firework, on the rocket principle. Around the middle of it a strip of flexible bark was secured by a leathern string.

The dart was formed of the bone of the fore leg of an antelope, and was gilded, as if by the application of that kind of gold-leaf known to printers as “Dutch Metal.” This also had a strip of bark around it, but it was secured by a long black hair, soft and glossy, as if plucked from a woman’s head.

“Funny gim-cracks, those,” said Glyndon, as Lieutenant Gardiner unfastened the strips of bark.

“Yes; nothing very supernatural about these,” he replied. “But let us see what Smoholler has to say this time.”

He read the words upon the strip of bark taken from the javelin first:

“_Begone, or fear my vengeance!_”

“Good! So speaks the Fiend. Let’s hear what the Angel has to say.”

He read the second strip:

“_Depart in peace, and escape the destruction that threatens you._”

Lieutenant Gardiner passed the pieces of bark to the surveyors for their inspection.

“Well, gentlemen, what do you think of this?” he asked.

Blaikie and Robbins examined the billets of bark curiously.

“There is one thing singular about this affair,” said Blaikie.

“What is that?”

“These communications, like the one sent on the arrow, are written in English, either with a red pencil or a piece of red chalk, and apparently by the same hand, for the characters appear to be alike in each.”

“There’s nothing strange in that,” said Glyndon. “Many Injuns have learned English from the numerous trappers and traders who have visited them at different times. A man as smart as this Injun Prophet must have had frequent dealings with the traders, and would be sure to get a smattering of the language.”

“The man who wrote these communications had more than a smattering,” returned Robbins. “This Smoholler is determined that we shan’t run our railroad through his country, that’s evident.”

“Yes; and he has begun by trying to frighten us away.”

“And if that don’t do it, he’ll try fighting us away next,” responded Glyndon.

“Likely; but I don’t scare worth a cent,” rejoined Robbins. “This supernatural trickery may do among the Indians, but it won’t answer with us. I’m going to survey this country in spite of Smoholler’s angels or devils—though I wouldn’t mind a closer inspection of the angel.”

“Nor I,” laughed Gardiner. “Girl or angel, she was certainly a vision of beauty. By Jove! suppose we search the cliff—we might find her there.”

He started impulsively to his feet, under the excitement of this idea.

“I will go with you!” cried Percy Vere, always ready for an adventure.

“Count me in!” added Percy Cute; the idea was firmly impressed upon his mind that wherever Percy Vere went, he must go also.

“Sit down,” said Glyndon, in his calm, deliberate manner. “You might as well attempt to find a needle in a haystack as search that cliff to-night. You’d only break your necks attempting it, and not find anybody, either. If there’s a way up that cliff, they know how to get up and down it, and they won’t stop there until we come to look for ’em. Wait until morning.”

“They’ll be gone then.”

“They’re gone _now_. If we could surround the cliff, it might have been of some use; but it joins the range beyond, as you can see, and they probably came from the back of it, through some crevice, which we can’t see from here. I’ll take a scout up that way in the morning, and see.”

“My idea is to fortify our position here to the best of our ability, and await an attack, which is sure to come. We might repulse it here.”

“You are right every way, leftenant,” replied Glyndon. “This is a good p’int. While I take a scout to-morrow, just cut down a few of these trees, and make a breastwork. We can send to Fort Walla Walla for help if we are hard pushed; but I have an idea that if we pepper a few of Smoholler’s followers, he’ll get sick of it and let us alone. The railroad’s bound to go through, and he can’t help it. Perhaps I can get a talk with him, and convince him that we are not going within a hundred miles of his village. We’ll see to-morrow. Now just sleep, all who want to. I’m going to keep an eye on that cliff for the balance of the night.”

He took his rifle and walked to the edge of the timber; but his vigilance appeared to have been uncalled-for, as the quiet of the camp remained undisturbed through the night.