Yellowstone Jack: Trappers of the Enchanted Ground — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

a feller will make sometimes. _. mistake es I made jes now. ‘through afore ye ked draw it. 18 name o’ Hurraw Jake, that is, ef J] war chris’ened a-tall, which I can’t justly sw’ar to, bein’ as I was so young like. As fer settlin’, I’m a free trapper, none 0’ your shifless squatters. Wharever my trap is sot, thar I settles ferthe time bein’.” ‘“Hurraw Jake’s good, so’s free trap- per, so’s cheek. Funny what big mistakes nowed a feller one time what made hisself b’lieve he war another man—fact! Most ’s big a ’D ’a swore you was a Blackfoot sub-chief !” “Some folks hes queer idees o’ fun; I reckon you’re one on ’em, stranger. But see! I’ma babby, mild es milk, when I ain’t riled, but then, ag’in, I’m a pizen airthquake on wheels! ’Nough’s enough, but too much’s a plenty. Call me Green Burdock, or anything else you hike, jest s0 ye don’t go fer to insinivate as I’m sech a outdacious pizen riptyle es a Black- foot! That riles me,it does so.” twanged Mat Mole, puifing out his cheeks fero- clously. 1 said a chief, but I hedn’t heerd your tongue work. <A squaw’d be better. But let that go. You'd orter know me better than to try to bluff ine on Jack high, and na ‘'y a par, Zene Kalloch, fer I blieve you de him. Ef so, no man ’d dirty his han’s wi’ rubbin’ you out in a stan’-up fight. He'd do like I’ve swore’ to do, put his heel on your head an’ squash all the pizen out o’ it. Thar! you needn't finger your knife. I ked blow ye Wait a bit. These fellers ‘pear curious to know what’s up. I reckon I'll spin ’em a bit of a yarn, jest to explain why I’m down on Zene Kalioch. You Jan listen too, Hurrah Ja‘ce, an’ when I’m done, ef you kin still say ’at you're not my game, then J ’pologize any way you will, wi’ knives or rifles, to suit,’ quietly said Bob Harris, as the emigrants began to gather around. “Thar, old man; that'll do. You've tuck your own skelp. You needn’t look no furder, We'll jest play ’at I’m the feller you’re lookin’ fer. Which shell it be—hot lead or cold steel ?” “hen you giv’ up ’at you’re Zene Kal- loch P” “Give up nothin’! Y’m Hurraw Jake, but ll stan’ in this feller’s moccasins or- tel you're satisfied.” “Don’t be snatched, Blackfoot, you'll find the time quick enough a-comin’: Gentlemen, you want to know what’s up, YELLOWSTONE JACK. an’ I don’t blame ye. Felt the same way more’n once’t myself. Listen! Won't keep ye long, ca’se this—gentleman— pears in a hurry: ey “Nigh twenty years ago, I fust met Zene Kalloch, when we was both con-— sid’able younger ’n we be now. I saved his life in a Injun scriminage, when his skelp hed far’ly started. I nussed him like a mother, ontel he was a man ag’in, I shared my traps wi’ him, while he made pelts enough to git a outfit o’ his own, We was like sworn brothers fer over two years. I told him all *bout my folks in’ the settlements jest above St. Louey, on- tel it ‘peared like he was raaly one o’ the fambly. I tuck him home wi’ me, an’ told ’em all he was my brother, an’ they treated him as sech. 0 a “He was jest in time fer my only sister's weddin’. She married a young settler, poor, like we was ourselves, but: true-hearted an’ honest. But thar! don’t reckon as you fellers feels much in- trust in sech old matters. I won’t try to tell everythin’ that happened. Only you mustn’t jedge altogether by this” critter, es he is now. uy. ‘“ Wal—two years a’ter, Mary run away wi the cussan’ tuck her little babby along, We hunted ’em, me ‘nd Jethro Cowles, her husban’—but ’twas no use. We lost the trail. For a year I hunted night an’ day. Thenl l’arnt he’d struck out for” the Blackfoot kentry. I follered, bu missed him, though J heerd enough about him. He had turned prairie pirate, an hed bin choosed a sub-chief o’ the Black feet, who called him Creepin’ Panther. “ But I needn’t tell ye o’ all I did; o the long, weary years I spent in s’archir fer the sarpint. I never set my eyes ou him but once. J was tuck by the Black feet then, an’ one o’ the braves recognised me. I hed sent a few o’ his kin yelpin’ ‘long the last trail, an’ they saved me to © put me to the torments in style. I found” Zene Kalloch in the camp then. He kem an’ taunted me wi’ what lied happened He told me that he’d soon tired o’ Mary, an’ as she bothered him wi’ her tears, he jest sold her to a half-breed Kanuck He said she killed herself that sam night. Es fer the kid, that he hed giv’ 1t to a Injun squaw, yearsago. __ : “T stood this es long’s I could. Then I bu’st loose and struck the monster down wi’ his own knife. I thort I'd killed him, an’ made a break fer liberty, Eomicbooks.com : 4 a