Yellowstone Jack: Trappers of the Enchanted Ground — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

= i a * by . a @*s - as : ries FE 3 appeared one of fear. Yellowstone J ack - uttered, in a tone of forced raillery : ~ wood, Bridger, 5 suddenly barred his path. dazzling ly beautiful, an “angel ‘ithout as You’ re wuss’n a bedbug, Heely Hank ; ~you’d wake a dyin’ man up to ax ef he b’heved in the devil! But thar's Mexy —wo’ve clean forgot the pore feller.” What meaning was hidden beneath the words of Gila Hank ? A wild, fantastic lerend. To explain the effect of his words upon his comrades, I will give a brief sketch of it here. Black Harris, so called from his dusky complexion, was a noted trapper and mountain-man, the comrade and friend of such noted men as Kit Carson, Jim Beckwith, La Bonte, Sublette, Green- Old Marbiehead, Bull Wilbams, and scores of equally well- known heroes of the West. Like the majority of his class he was superstitious, believed in “medicine,” and one time, after an unusualiy long run of ill-fortune, ne journeyed to the Enchanted Grounds to renew his “medicine.” Nearing the Boling Spring, a young white woman wines,” as Harris was wont to declare. She told a pitiful tale of peril and priva- tion. Her friends had been massacred by Todians. She had been carried into cap- tivity. A week before, she managed to escape, and had wandered through the mountains ever since, starving. “Black Harris forgot his mission, and kindled a hre by which he roasted a ptarmigan. He sat at ber feet and watched her eat. Then she began to sing, a low, weird melocly, strangely sweet, “soothing to the senses as the eentle murmur of the sum- mer breezes eddying through the moun- tam pines. The trapper’s head slowly bowed. Huis soul seemed floating upon a sea of ecstatic bliss. The soft, white hand fluttered over his head. The warin, slen- der fingers caressingly smoothed his long, tangled hair. His head sank upon her lap. The song grew fainter, as though coming from a distance. A veil seemed settling over the trapper’s brain. The hand clided down over his cheek, but no longer felt so soft ; ; 1b seemed to " seratch, to sear his skin as it touched his throat. He felt something touch the knife at his belt. His eyes opened. An arm lay be- fore his face. It wasno longer white and delicate ; it seemed to be black, covered with stiff bristles. He saw a bony leg, a cloven hoof, The trvth flashed upon his YELLOWSTONE JACKE. She was | Ay bi ree 4 Li 7h. M MV ‘a » ye A ¥ . va oy, eet mind, as he felt the knife slowly ip fi its sheath. Ho grasped the handle and tore it ia i A horrible yell smote upon his ear as he leaped erect. A frightful object con: ‘) fronted him. “it? ne “T knowed what it wasin a mini RY Black Harris was wont to say, “for ae see’d the picter o the devil in vel an’ Lith Taos. I jest giv’ a Kimanche y i onto the critter. We hed it a a then. I reckon we fou’t fer nigh a hour, 4 I’ve fit Kimanche, ’Patchie, ’Rapaho, and Blackfeet, but they wasn't @ primin’ him! Lveckon he'd ’a? bin too many | fe . the old man, only his foot caught in a — hole, an’ I downed him. I sent my but cher up to Green river twicet, an’ ther : he sickened. He giv’ a yell "and ther scooted over the mount’ns. See! you see this claw? I cut that off when I jerked my knife loose,” the old sinner f would add, holding up a crooked claw — that hung suspended around hie foe by 2 piece of sinew. | One man, a stranger to Black Hart is, swore that the claw had come from the foot of a carcajou. The irate trapper de- nied this, by driving his knife hilt deep in the man’s breast. After that no one doubted the strange story, and it passed | into tradition. Even at this da the © legend may be heard around the camp- fires. I was told it by a trapper who de~ voutly believed in its truth; yet he was a keen-witted, shrewd, and sensible man,i < everything except his strong superstition. Yellowstone Jack and his comrades had often heard this legend, and they knew that this was the very spring mentioned by Black Harris. The strange scenes they had witnessed, this beautiful woman and her marvellous disappearance, had | fully aroused their superstition. They found Chavez, the Mexican, dead. : The arrow had pierced his neck, dividing the spinal column. ‘They lifted his body and bore it hastily away from that ue favoured sot. A shrill, piercing, taunting laugh cam e! to their ears, as they passed down the valley. Turning, they beheld a weird figure standing upon the mound they had crept up behind. It was that of the old hag, the witch of the Boiling Spring. “ This is the devil’s den, boys ; ; IT cant breathe easy in it,” huskily mutterec Yellowstone Jack, hastening forwé nt with his burden, — (0)ji)(@s\e1e) ueteyiy i LS 7 ‘