Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1122 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

2 — -_— mounted upon mules—slow mules, from which, at a single dash, they might escape; and over their own uninclosed, illimitable pastures, where they might retreat to any distance, even beyond the range of vision and the danger of pursuit. It would, indeed, seem incredible. But the ex planation is easy. The men coming ‘behind are mustangers— bunters of the wild horse by profession. They know all his haunts and habits,and can make him their captive without using either the rifle or lasso. They have long marked the herd they are now following, and made themselves ac- guninted with its habitat—its ‘‘ range” of pas- turing, and its places for watering. On a given day they have started itin full chase, themselves following slowly after, each leading two spare mules. “The wild horse, when first pursued, does not retreat in a direct line, but in wide, sweeping ‘circles, ‘returning again near to his point of departure. Sometimes he does not even go out of sight, but gallops back, as if moved by a spirit of defiance, or yielding ta curiosity. In this way he soon fatigues him- self, making fifty miles while the pursuer may have to travel only ten. The musignger husbanding the strength of his animals by his provident relays, soon over- hauls the herd, starting it off into a fresh run. Again he takes the shorter diagonal, and again comes up with it—repeating the movement un- ti] the wild steeds begin to lose spirit under the implacable pursuit. They are by this time be- gfrning to feel fatigued, after having made so many idle and out-of-the-way courses. They are getting hungry, too, in their haste not hav- ee een permitted to pasture. They will be rsty also, and perhaps make a break for some distant wearing piace, well known to the mustanger, who follows them at his best speed, Yierally taking a shorter route than they. 6 sometimes arrives in time to hinder them from drinking, but always to prevent their browsing—or, at least, to filling their bellies. Once more the pursuit is continued, though aow in & more direct line, for the steeds are tiréd, and have no relish for scampering. They aré hungry, too, and try to graze as they move award. But they are not permitted. While grasping at the herbage beneath their feet, they ear the relentless pursuers behind, who make themselves heard in time, and the grass remains cpp Night comes on. Still, this brings no relief to theni—no cessation to that never-ending, never- tiring pursuit. All night long are they com- pelled to move on, without a moment of rest, and scarce a morsel of food. And when day again breaks over the broad prairie, the hunters are there behind them! During the whole of another day, and often throughout another night, are they thus forced - along. Hungered and thirsting, they have now become jaded and dejected, and can be guided in a given direction almost as easily as a herd of ‘tamed cattle. The mustangers know well where to take them, for they have already prepared a place for them. I[t is a corral, or inclosure cunningly contrived, and often costing weeks of labor to make it ready. The old Virginian snake-fence, strengthened with posts at every angle, is called into requisition to inclose a tract of many acres, with a pond of water inside, the fence supplemented by a steep river-bank, or the escarpment of a cliff. A funnel-shaped en- trance points toward the prairie groves or “islands” of timber—which the wild horse will rarely enter—helping out the extension of the diverging lines. Once inside the corral, the mustangs are easily caught and conquered with the lasso. The pro- cess isa cruel one; so much so that the wild horse, ever after, at sight of a rawhide rope, will come to hand, and stand trembling before his tamer. It is a capture of this kind, that is taking lace on the banks of the stream leading to the rinity. It is near its completion, as can told by the dragging gait of the b vrses, and their thoroughly subinissive demeanor, as also by the estures of the men behind, every moment grow- ing more earnest and impressive. n front, there is a motts, or island of timber, standing about a hundred yards from the bank of the stream; leaving a space of open prairie between. Toward this opening they are direct- ‘ing the drove; as if to drive them through it. gain the wild horses make halt. They seem to have a ewe to about entering upon such a narrow defile; and show signs of making a break for the outer a But, from that side, the see two of ir pursuers approaching, po waving a little flag, with which he is provided. {mn despair, they turn toward the stream; and Beadle’s Half-Dime —_—— _ A striking into a slow trot, continue on between the wood and the water. Once beyond the timber, a fence of strong rails, laid zigzag, flanks them on the side of the prairie; and they are driven on, between it and the steep bank. There is now no turning, for the three hunters, rapidly closing up, urge then from behind, with shouts and the waving of their flags. The fence converges toward the bank, and the passage becomes so narrow, that the cavaliada gets crowded. But there isan open country be- yond; and making through this, they once more break into a feeble gallop, in hopes of at last es- caping from their relentless pursuers. Two or three hundred yards, andthey only bring their breasts in. contact with an obstruction—that same crooked arrangement of split timbers, that has already perplexed them. They press their counters against it; but it is strong, and will not yield. They run around it, neighing wildly. They find no outlet on any side. If they return to that by which they entered, they will find none there; for the mustangers have, in the meantime, dismounted from their mules, and from a pile of rails—placed there for the purpose—have completed the inclosure of the corral. CHAPTER It. CHOOSING A SITE. *‘ HALT!” The command came from a tall, military- looking man, of middle age, mounted upon a horse, that in size corresponded to him. It was not addressed to soldiers, but simply to the negro driver of a Conestoga wagon; which, drawn by four large mules, was slowly making its way along the smooth level of the prairie. Colonel William Magoffin was the name of the man who gave the order, Had he been only Mr. Magoffin, he would have said ‘pull up,” but, being a veteran officer of the Jackson wars, his military habits still adhered to him—along with some of the language to which soldiers are accustomed, At a sonorous “‘wo—ha!” from their sable teamster, the mules instantly came to a stand— as did also a similar wagon in its rear, anda “Dearborn,” drawn by a pair of light, wiry horses. ‘I'wo other horsemen, who rode! along- side the wagon, halted at the same time; aad soon after, six black pedestrians, driving abou ea head of cattle, came up in the rear of The spectacle thus presented was one not un- common upon the prairies—being that of an emigrant party on its way to a new settle- ment. However, it was very uncommon—in fact, had never been before seen—in the district where the wagons were now drawn up; for those of Colonel Magoffin were the first whose white tilts had ever gleamed amid the green leaves of these singular groves, known as the ‘*Cross Timbers” of Texas. That this emigrant party came from some Southern State was evinced by the black team- sters; and, also, the sable pedestrians tending the cattle in the rear. A glance under the can- vas of the leading wagon brought to view sey- eral female faces, of various hue, ranging from ale saffron to ebony black; and, beside them, alf a score other faces of smaller size, betoken- ing the usual accompafiment of ‘‘ picanninies.” In the ‘* Dearborn,” were two young girls, both fair and white—ladies, ata glance. Of the horsemen, one was a man of large frame, and tall as the colonel himself—though his coarser garb, and generally more rugged exterior, be- spoke him only a retainer. The other, a young man, who had seen his twentieth year, in his features showed some family resemblance— enough to be taken. for his nephew; and such, in reality, he was. The two female occupants of the traveling- carriage were the sclomat'e daughter, Tennessee and niece, Louisiana. The names may soun strange thus bestowed, It is not an uncommon vractice, for, among families in_ the Southern States west, as in the Southern States east, we find young ladies called ‘* Carolina,” ‘* Virginia,” and even ‘‘ Florida,” Colonel Magoffin was an old-stock Tennessean, whose father had come into the country with the Robertsoris, Bradfords and Hardings: hence the name patriotically given to his bright, fair- haired daughter. His nephew and niece were the children of a sister, who had found a hus- band and a home further south, in the lovely land of Louisiana. This will explain the darker complexion and more delicate features of the young Creole girl, who called Tennessee Ma- goffin her cousin; ani whose own name in full was Louisiana Dupre, Library. Se ee mmm aie ee a eee ——$ $$ —_ ee Despite the variety of individuals comporing the emigrant party, there was sufficient home geneousness to show that it was one famuly, 2d which Colonel Magoffin was the head. The spot where they had halted was a level plain, with a gentle declination toward the south, and a surface that looked more likea grand garden of flowers than a stretch of wild, uncultivated prairie. There were copses of tim- , ber, standing at some distance apart; for they | were still outside the selvage of the great grove, | known as the Cross Timbers, The copses were the outlying islets that here and there fringe wee these greater belts of forest-land, extending far | across the prairie sea. ‘This spot looks like it, would do,” said the colonel, as soon as the wagons had come toa stop; ‘tI don’t see any use in our going further. What do you say, Mr. Strother?” “Wal,” replied the individual thus addresse who was the tall man, habited in copper-colore homespun, with a-rifle of six feet over his left shoulder, ‘* I don’t see as you can do any better. Thar’s a river, out o’ which we can draw any! amount of water; and thar’s plenty o’ ground that needs no cl’arin’—not the stroke o’ an ax. Once we’ve plowed up them weeds, I guessewe'll get good cotton out o’ it; and,” he continued, . looking with increased interest across the river, ‘thar on t’other side ar’ plenty o’ timber whar there shed be b’ar and deer—to say nothing about squrrel and turkey. I guess’ squire, you pe do etter than lo-cate jest whar we've pull- up. “What do you say, Eugene? The ground looks good, for either cotton or tobacco; and I think we’re far enough south for sugar. What’s your opinion?’ The speaker turned round to his nephew, w being a Louisianian, was expected to know about the soil that would be suitable for the sugar-cane. But Eugene bad aiso turned round, and ridden up to the Dearborn, inside which was something sweeter to his thought»—his fair cousin, Tennessee, : Baffled, the colonel also approached the wag- on, and put the question to all together: how they would like to settle on that spot! “Charming!” exclaimed the impulsive Ten- | nessee; ‘* we can have splendid bouquets and lands of flowers—only for the gathering!” “Tt is ave ace could be detec a shade of melauc almost sadness. ‘Do you think it will grow sugar, Eugene?” | again asked Colonel Magoffin, addressing him- ; self to the elegant young Creole, in sky-blue cottonade, and Panama hat. “T don’t think it would, uncle,” was the dis- - co ing answer; ‘it’s a little too far north. But what matters, so long as you’can grow cot- ton? Remember, a pound of cotton is worth more than one of sugar; and here, I think, the chief question will be about transporting the produce toa market.” . “That’s so,” said the colonel. ‘‘ Well, itll give us cotton, sure; and corn for the niggers and the horses. ‘Till we can raise our own meat, we myst live upon venison, with now and then a bear ham, and a breast of turkey; so that we may be as well off as in the old house in Tennessee.” Magoffin said this with something like a sigh; for he remembered that, in the ‘ old house in Tennessee,” he had been surrounded with every comfort, until that time when a too-generous heart, leading to a too-profuse hospitality, had brought the bailiff to his gates, and left him al- most landless and niggerless—his attenuated sable following being all that was left of a plan- tation counting over two hundred hands. Still the new movement was not disagreeable to him, but rather the reverse. He was of that migra- tory stock who can not dwell contented, except on the furthest frontier, Originally of the East Tennessee settlement, they had gone on to Nash- ville, in the center—and thence to Memphis in the west. Here again, the houses had become too thick, and the country too closely fenced around them. Therefore, the colonel—though with the loss of over three-fourths of his prop erty—was glad to escape from the so-callad in- creasing civilization, and seek a home in some beautiful country,” simply and - uietly remarked her cousin, over whose jeune oly— land where the first fence-rail had not yet bean | bas He was to find it in the country of the ross Timbers; and the spot where his wagons had halted seemed the very place he would have chosen for a home, : He chose it. -—-_ooOoOoo— | CHAPTER IIL. A COMRADE SUSPECTED “] pon’t like him, Ed; I don’t corr books.com ~™ 5 : « i ‘ ‘, ob i i ‘ i eu - } nl 4 - : ‘ ‘ : / . 7 ‘ .