Rocky Mountain Sam — page 51: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- ¥ 49 Reg ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM. | “None of us can tell for certain,” replied the colonel. “We only know that, three or four years ago, he came up on the little steamer that plies on the Missouri, during high water, as far as Fort Benton, with his balloons and other traps on board. He had some means, too, and had already purchased from the Government the strange, little volcanic valley in which he lives. ‘Thither he conveyed his’ traps with extreme difficulty—for the canon is only accessible by a single pass, with which but few are acquainted—had a cabin built by some quartermaster’s hangers-on and work- men at the Fort, bought some stock, built himself an obser- vatory and one thing or another, and he has been there ever since. I suppose he is some retired balloonist, who has gone a little cracked on his aerostatic theories, that is all. But he has more than once rendered important services to the military authorities by means of his bailoons, is looked upon as a sort of god or devil by the Indians, and you are already aware of what he did for us to-day. Gad! if it hadn’t been for the timely arrival of his gas-bag, we’d have been rubbed out altogether.” ee ‘“‘[ believe you. And you think he can aid us in our quest of poor—poor Mollie, to-morrow?” “Ido. I place implicit faith in his sagacity, despite his crack-brainedness on some subjects; and there is no braver or more skillful hunter in the mountains than the young fellow who accompanies him—Rocky Mountain Sam.” ‘«He is young.” ‘‘In years, but he has been a man—from his very child- hood, I was about to say. Danger and hardship turn a lad into a man yery quick, Charlie; and, moreover, Sam is the graduated pupil of Big Horn, the ranger.” ‘There is one other thing my curiosity is excited about,” said Lieutenant Dutton. ‘‘I have heard much in the gossip around the ranch here of a mystery existing be- tween the redoubtable Big Horn and that rascally rene- gade—Firefoot, Robert Scarlet, or whatever his dirty name may chance to be. Something about the latter’s mother, is it not? Or whatis it? Is he looking for his mother, and has the hunter got her hidden away somewhere out of his knowledge and reach? or what is it?” “Something very like what you just hinted at, I strongly suspect,” replied the colonel. Then, after a thoughtful pause, he said: ‘Robert Scarlet was born in Montreal, of com (‘@) 900ks.con