Myths and Legends of Our Own Land, vol 5 | Page 6

out of the bush with his weapons,
and made a show of stealthily examining the town. The girls came
almost upon him and screamed, while he dashed into the wood in
affected surprise and regained the camp. The Indians had heard and
seen nothing. The girls would surely give the alarm in town.
One by one the lights of the village went out, and when it seemed
locked in sleep the red marauders crept toward the nearest house--that
of Joist Hite. They arose together and rushed upon it, but at that
moment a gun was fired, an Indian fell, and in a few seconds more the
settlers, whom the girls had not failed to put on their guard, were
hurrying from their hiding-places, firing into the astonished crowd of
savages, who dashed for the woods again, leaving a dozen of their
number on the ground. Aaron remained quietly standing near his
father's house, and he was captured, as he hoped to be. When he saw
how his parents had aged with time and grief he could not repress a tear,
but to his grief was added terror when his father, after looking him
steadily in the eye without recognition, began to load a pistol. "They
killed my boys," said he, "and I am going to kill him. Bind him to that
tree."
In vain the mother pleaded for mercy; in vain the dumb boy's eyes
appealed to his father's. He was not afraid to die, and would do so
gladly to have saved the settlement; but to die by his father's band! He
could not endure it. He was bound to a tree, with the light of a fire
shining into his face.
The old man, with hard determination, raised the weapon and aimed it
slowly at the boy's heart. A surge of feeling shook the frame of the
captive--he threw his whole life into the effort--then the silence of three

years was broken, and he cried, "Father!" A moment later his parents
were sobbing joyfully, and he could speak to them once more.

SIREN OF THE FRENCH BROAD
Among the rocks east of Asheville, North Carolina, lives the Lorelei of
the French Broad River. This stream--the Tselica of the Indians--
contains in its upper reaches many pools where the rapid water whirls
and deepens, and where the traveller likes to pause in the heats of
afternoon and drink and bathe. Here, from the time when the Cherokees
occupied the country, has lived the siren, and if one who is weary and
downcast sits beside the stream or utters a wish to rest in it, he becomes
conscious of a soft and exquisite music blending with the plash of the
wave.
Looking down in surprise he sees--at first faintly, then with
distinctness--the form of a beautiful woman, with hair streaming like
moss and dark eyes looking into his, luring him with a power he cannot
resist. His breath grows short, his gaze is fixed, mechanically he rises,
steps to the brink, and lurches forward into the river. The arms that
catch him are slimy and cold as serpents; the face that stares into his is
a grinning skull. A loud, chattering laugh rings through the wilderness,
and all is still again.

THE HUNTER OF CALAWASSEE
Through brisk November days young Kedar and his trusty slave, Lauto,
hunted along the Calawassee, with hope to get a shot at a buck--a buck
that wore a single horn and that eluded them with easy, baffling gait
whenever they met it in the fens. Kedar was piqued at this. He drained
a deep draught and buttoned his coat with an air of resolution. "Now,
by my soul," quoth he, "I'll have that buck to-day or die myself!" Then
he laughed at the old slave, who begged him to unsay the oath, for there
was something unusual about that animal--as it ran it left no tracks, and
it passed through the densest wood without halting at trees or
undergrowth. "Bah!" retorted the huntsman. "Have up the dogs. If that
buck is the fiend himself, I'll have him before the day is out!" The
twain were quickly in their saddles, and they had not been long in the
wood before the one-horned buck was seen ahead, trotting with easy

pace, yet with marvellous swiftness.
Kedar, who was in advance, whipped up his horse and followed the
deer into a cypress grove near the Chechesee. As the game halted at a
pool he fired. The report sounded dead in the dense wood, and the deer
turned calmly, watched his pursuer until he was close at hand, then
trotted away again. All day long he held the chase. The dogs were
nowhere within sound, and he galloped through the forest, shouting and
swearing like a very devil, beating