CHAPTER XI.

A DOUBLE SURPRISE.

For a time Ned Campbell remained silent, deep-buried in thought. The temptation was strong, and he was slowly yielding to it.

Lola watched him closely, and as her keen eye, sharpened by love the most intense and passionate, read the quick changes of his handsome countenance, her heart beat high with hope that he was about to consent. The inward conflict sickened her, and she staggered like one drunken, as she rose, muttering, in a husky, unnatural voice:

“Think well over it, but decide quickly. There is no time to lose, if you would be saved. I must seek the fresh air—I am choking!”

Campbell watched her until her form disappeared, then his eyes drooped, and he tried to think connectedly over what he had heard both from father and from daughter.

It did not take him long to decide. Though he felt that he could never bring himself to love, or even respect as a friend, the child of the man who had boasted that his hands were stained with blood—and together with other, the blood of the young man’s father, he resolved to accept her terms in seeming, until he was free.

The thought of his mother’s peril brought him to this decision. He could not let her be murdered, when a simple falsehood would save her.

He had scarcely arrived at this determination when Lola hastily entered, her countenance flushed, her eyes glowing.

“Quick! your answer—my father is coming!” she hurriedly uttered, reaching his side.

“I consent—provided you assist me in freeing Fred, also.”

“I will—you shall never regret your choice, if my love can repay you. But now—there’s his step. Pretend to sleep, as he may suspect something,” she hastily added, as with burning lips she gently touched his forehead.

Though strongly agitated, Campbell managed to quiet his nerves in seeming, and as Mestayer entered, his suspicious glance saw only a sleeping captive and a drowsy sentinel, her head bowed upon her breast. It was evident that he had met or seen something that greatly excited him, and pleasingly, too, for a triumphant glow irradiated his face, and his dark eyes sparkled with strange brilliancy.

“Lola, you may go now and lie down. You must be sleepy.”

Lola arose and retired, though with reluctance. She seemed ill at ease, and to suspect danger to the one she had so suddenly given her heart, in the ill-suppressed excitement of the old man. One hand sought the pistol at her waist, and she crouched down in the passage, listening intently, ready to interfere should her fears prove well founded.

Mestayer touched Campbell lightly upon the shoulder, then laughed aloud at the air of well dissimulated surprise worn by his face as the young man opened his eyes with a start.

“A change in your watcher, you see, and I suppose you think a disagreeable one. You sleep sound, young man. That is a blessing, if you only think so. But that reminds me—I have something to tell you concerning your friends.”

“Who—what?” stammered Ned, really surprised.

“Of Hawksley, Ruel and the others who were with you when you were hunting for the girl. They have apparently become alarmed at your long absence, and have been trailing you.”

“If so, I don’t see why _you_ should laugh.”

“Because you don’t know all. You remember where you left your horse? Well, I sent a friend—one whom you may have known as Jasper Morton—I sent him _on your horse_ to hasten up my friends. _Now_ do you see? They—_your_ friends, have traced your trail out several miles beyond this, and are camping there, intending to follow on in the morning. _Now_ do you see why I laugh?”

“No.”

“Bah! you are dull—very stupid. Well then, I am sworn brother to Chigilli, the Kiowa chief. He is waiting for me to send him word when all is in readiness for him to strike a blow at the settlement. My nephew is to bring them on—seventy-five strong. He has my instructions to follow back his trail—and to kill or capture all who may be upon it. This is why I laughed. I have just been scouting round them, so close that I could have picked off any one of their number, had that been my wish. But I have a different fate in store for Hawksley—the rest I care not for. Now then, you have something more to ponder over. You should thank me for keeping your mind from rusting—but I have long since ceased to look for gratitude from those of my race. Ha! ha!”

Campbell did not reply, and the old man sunk into a reverie that lasted for hours. At length he was aroused by Lola, who told him that day was dawning. The old man arose and emerged from the chamber, while after a quiet greeting to Ned, Lola busied herself with preparations for the morning meal.

For an hour after sunrise, Mestayer watched at the edge of the _baranca_, yet so close to the den that Lola could not put her resolve of freeing Campbell into execution, without the certainty of a deadly collision between him and her father, an extremity that she could not as yet bring herself to brave. But she regretted not having done so, when Mestayer reappeared and bade her bring forth her pony.

As she reluctantly obeyed, Campbell saw that the horses were kept concealed in an apartment of the cave. Mestayer spoke decisively, and Lola dared not disobey.

“You will ride out along the trail that I told you of, and see if you can see any thing of our friends. Do not go beyond the creek, but wait there, if needs be, for half an hour. If you do not see them then, hasten back.”

Lola emerged from the _baranca_ and dashed away over the prairie with lightning speed. Mestayer resumed his position as look-out, his eyes eagerly following the swiftly flying figure of his daughter.

Campbell had read aright the quick glance thrown at him by Lola. She feared that she could not effect his release until too late. His heart sunk within him, and he closed his eyes in deep and troubled reflection.

However, he was to be aroused ere long. A low, faint rustle came from beyond, and then a figure appeared at the angle behind which Campbell had frequently observed Mestayer disappear.

A face that bore an excited yet troubled look; pale and worn, yet very beautiful. The large, wild-looking eyes rested upon the form of the young hunter as he lay upon the couch, and the lips parted, the arms outstretched, as, with a low cry, the figure glided forward.

In amazement Campbell raised his eyes. Then a low, glad cry broke from his lips as he recognized in the figure that of his dearly beloved one, Fannie Hawksley. He tried to outstretch his arms, but the attempt recalled his situation.

“Ned—thank God! I am in time!” gasped the maiden, dropping upon her knees beside the pallet. “Think what I must have suffered. I have heard every thing that was said here. I heard the lies they told you, and had no power to deny then, for I was bound hand and foot and gagged.”

As she spoke, Fannie with trembling fingers strove to release her lover, but the hard-knotted cords resisted her efforts.

“Fannie, my poor darling, you can do no good without a knife. There must be some lying in the outer room—those we used for breakfast. You will not be afraid to look?”

“Not when it is for you,” she bravely returned, and gliding through the passage, she quickly secured what she sought, together with a brace of pistols that she had snatched from the table.

“My precious darling!” murmured Campbell, as the cords yielded to the keen weapon, and springing to his feet he clasped Fannie to his wildly throbbing heart; but fortunately she was the more composed of the two.

“Take the pistols, Ned. You may need them. Now—we have no time to lose. Come—you must help me set Fred free. He is kept a prisoner in here, too. Hasten—”

“Too late! Back, Fannie—get behind me,” hastily muttered Campbell, as the echo of a quick step came to their ears from the outer chamber.

A simultaneous cry followed the appearance of the figure, and Campbell’s pistol muzzle slightly fell as he saw it covered the heart of the strange girl, Lola Mestayer.

“You free?” she cried, in amazement; “but come—there’s no time to lose. You must meet my father, but it is the only chance. The Indians are coming up like the wind. You can hide in—my God! who is that?” she abruptly added, for the first time observing the shrinking figure of Fannie.

“My promised wife—the one you so falsely swore was dead,” sternly replied Campbell.

“It was for love of you that I lied—but I will make my words good!” hissed the maddened girl, as her bright pistol was leveled toward Fannie.

The report followed swiftly, but the low exclamation that broke the air came not from the maiden’s lips. Campbell had sprung before his love, himself receiving the bullet. His left arm swung helpless at his side.

“Forgive me—oh, forgive me!” cried Lola, as she observed the effect of her mad act. “I would rather that bullet had pierced my heart than to harm _you_!”

A hoarse cry came echoing from without. The three inmates of the chamber experienced a thrill as they divined its purport. Mestayer had heard the confusion, and was coming to investigate it.

Two clicks sounded through the chamber. Campbell cocked his pistols. So did Lola. The eyes of all were turned toward the entrance. They had not long to wait, for the next moment Mestayer burst into the chamber, his eyes ablaze, his hand clutching a revolver.

“What is this—who set you free?” he cried, hoarsely, as he noticed Campbell standing erect, pale but defiant. “Ha! _you_ did—traitress!” and his pistol covered Lola’s heart.

“No—I did it,” tremblingly cried Fannie, as she saw the peril of one innocent.

“You too!” for the first time noticing the maiden. “Fortunately I am prepared for it. Now, sir,” he added, in a cold, deadly tone. “Drop your pistol, or I shoot you down like a dog.”

“Two can play at that game. Stand aside and let us pass,” uttered Campbell, as with a rapid motion he raised his pistol to a level.

“Bah! If I should, what better would you be by it? My friends are by this time at the _baranca_. They would stop you if I did not.”

“Father, let them go free. Those coming without are _their_ friends, not yours. They are white men—the settlers who were on his trail,” and Lola glided forward.

“Traitress! but I’ll not be balked entirely—I’ll strike one blow before I die!”

His pistol spoke, and the bullet claimed a victim. But not the one at whose life he had aimed. Lola sprung forward, shielding with her body the life of the man whom she so madly loved.

With a groan of agony she sunk down upon the blood-sprinkled floor, her young life going out as she gasped a name—the name of him she had saved from death.

With a howl of fury, Campbell fired twice in quick succession, but the last shot was superfluous. The murderer of his father was dead—shot through the brain.

Staggering back against the wall, faint and weak, Campbell cocked his pistol. From without there came loud, excited cries, and he had not understood the speech of Lola. He believed them also enemies. But then as he recognized the foremost, Archibald Hawksley and Zeb Ruel, he muttered a thanksgiving and fainted.

But little more need be added, for the meeting and little explanations may be left to the reader’s imagination. Fred Hawksley was found, bound and gagged, but unhurt save from the blow given him by Mestayer when the strange decoy had lured him to the den. In a week he was as well as ever.

Campbell had only fainted from loss of blood, and was soon restored. The wound Fannie had received in the fight on the prairie was slight, and already nearly healed.

As the party left the cave, it was found that James Mestayer had disappeared, but two days afterward he was found. Fearing death he had urged his horse to break its fastenings, though he himself was still firmly bound. In the mad gallop that ensued, his saddle turned, and he, falling beneath the mustang’s belly, had met his death.

The Kiowas, awed by the death of their chief, quietly retreated to their hunting-grounds, and the threatened Indian war blew over.

Of course Ned and Fannie were married, now that Fred was found, and equally of course, Zeb Ruel and the rest of the young hunters were gay and welcome guests.

Albert Mestayer and his ill-fated daughter, Lola, were interred in one grave upon the banks of the _baranca_. But their strange story did not die for many a year, and is still occasionally alluded to, in that section.

THE END.

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Transcriber’s Notes

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—Created a Table of Contents based on the chapter headings.