Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1122 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

Lye PE ee - mm, — : -+ The Wild-Horse Hunters. -——— —— ee ———— ——_—___—_—— chile can’t feel a freeze torst that fellur—nohow | hain’t been no great help to us—tuk up as he’s ye can fix it.” “For that matter, Wash, I don’t like him | myself. But we agreed to nis coming out with aus—”’ ‘“Who agreed? Not me—durned ef I did. Jest totherways. I war all ag’in’it. I niver know’d three fellurs go trappin’ ur huntin’ the- gither, thet thar wa’n’t quarrils an’ conspirin’ among ’ém: an’ one o’ the three war boun’ to be in the meinority. On the puraira, jest as when you go coortin’ a gurl, three’s no kumpany. Re- member what I tolt ye, that we’d be better to ’a’ left him behint, an’ let him foller his own trail; but you w’u’d hev him along.” ‘**T almit I spoke in favor of his coming. He wanted so bad to be with us.” ** Not so bad to be ‘long wi’ us in purtick’ler. "Twarn’t that. Ef this chile ain’t mistook, what he wanted wust war to git cl’ar out o’ the settle ments—anyhow, an’ anywhar. Thar’s some- thin’ ag’in’ him thar wuss than a due-bill.” You think so?” **Sure o’t—or next thing to sure. Don’t ye recollex, when we wur stayin’ in Nacadosh, how fidgety he wur on the arrival o’ every party o’ emigrants, an’ whenever anybody rud up to the tavern? He ’peared to be keepin’ a sharp look- out for a bailiff—an’ that’s jest what he wur doin’, I reck’n.” “He may have committed a forgery, you think?” **He’s committed wuss than that, I shed say.” ** But what makes you fancy so?” ““T’ve got my reezuns. Men don’t ramble in thar sleep—as I’ve heern him do, more’n oncest —because they’ve wrote thar name whar they hadn’t oughter. My word for it, Ed Thornley, thar’s blood on that fellur’s hands.” “It’s a pity we brought him with us. Even if it isn’t as you suspect, the suspicion of it makes me feel unpleasant. Besiges, he hasn’t turned out much of a cheerful contpanion, After all, it’s getting to be ticklish times between us and these Indians, They don’t appear to like our horse-hunting about here; and if we should come to have trouble with them, three rifles would be better than two.” “1 don’t know "bout that. They mout an’ they moutn’t. Hain’t ye noticed how this kum- rade o’ ours takes on to thet young savage, Tiger-Tail, an’ his Seminoles? Ef it warn’t for the diff’rent color o’ thar hides, you mout think they wur a kupple o’ born brothers; while all the time the Injun’s been sulky an’ ugly wi’ both o’ us. Don't like ita bit. This chile hey heer’d o’ white rennygades, an’ know’d o’ some as be- trayed thar kumrades to the Injuns. Sech hev been men as hev committed murder in the settle- | | ments, and dasen’t go back thar. This fellur mout one 0’ the kind; an’I feel sort o’ sure he air. ‘Still, why should he betray us?’ “Why? Wal, one thing why, we’ve got a _ yee gatherin’ o’ hosses now. Our cavayard own among the pluntashuns, shed fetch, least- ways, a kupple o’ thousand dollars. We've got enuf to make a trip wi’ right away. An’ yit he ain’t a-goin’ to the settlements along wi’ us. I kin tell thet from his talk. He means stayin’ out hyur ’mong the Injuns; an’ to gif well in wi’ them, he mout take a notion to make ’em a \present. 0’ our mustangs. They ked trade ’em off as well as we kin.” "In that case, Wash, the sooner we get off the better. We had best take the horses to Na- eogdoches,” So this chile’s been thinkin’; an’I guess I kin tell why you want to goto thet place. Thar’s a gurl ye want to see, ed” ‘No, as I assure you; nothing of the kind. Thank my stars, I’m as free of all such entangle- ments as you yourself, Wash.” “Wal, that’s free enuf. This chile hain’t hed @ scrape wi’ weemen since he wur up trappin’ ‘mong the Crows, an’ campin’ at Fort Laramie. [hed a squaw thur; an’ { swore she shed be the last I'd iver let cling onter me. What wi’ ber fondness for fanfaron an’ rot-gut whisky, she ate an’ drunk up.the purceeds 0’ a hul winter’s trappin’ on the head-waters o’ the Platte. No more squaw wives for me—nor weemen o’ any kind.” “Ha! ha!” laughed his younger companion. Well, that’s no reason why we shouldn’t soon t for the settlementse There are other pleas- there that-I know will attract you.” ar’s the pleasure o’ sellin’ our hosses, an’ the shiners for’em. Soon as we've got t lot tamed to drivin’, we'll start right yw the settlements—whether this fellur sor not. He kin take his choice ’bout keep his share o’ the hosses, He ain’t to a third o’ them, by rights; for he ben wi’ Tiger-Tail an’ his brown-skinned beau- ties. thet puts hisself on an even wi’ a Injun!” CHAPTER IV. AN UNWELCOME SIGHT. THE conversation detailed in the preceding chapter occurred between two men, mounted , on mules, and riding across an open stretch of prairie. They were two of the mustangers de- | scribed as’ having made a capture of the wild- | horse herd, by driving them into a corral, It was just after they had completed the inclosure; and they were now on their way to the hut that | served all three as a home, in order to provide ropes, and other gear, for breaking the wild steeds—as also to obtain a fresh supply of pro- visions, The third had been left by the corral, to see to the captured stock. It was he who had been the subject of their conversation, and was the object of their suspicions. Their names were, respectively, Edward Thornley and Washington Carrol—or ‘‘ Wash,” as his comrade called him for short.. Between them there was almost as much dissimilarity as could be between any two individuals of the same race, engaged in a common calling. Phy- sically, morally, intellectually, were they unlike one another. Wash Carrol—the elder—was a small man, thin in face, as in person; dark of complexion; tough as tan leather: and tight as strung wire. Although perfectly honest in all dealings with men of his own color, he was not so just when it was a matter between him and red-skins—or even the Church; for, in a religious point of view, Wash—or ‘‘Old Wash,” as his confreres called him—was something of a sinner. He was not so very old—fifty being about the num- ber of winters he could look back upon. He was by no means of comely aspect; and his countenance—though of a cast that bespoke cunning rather than sinister thought—was not improved by the scar of an old cut, thet trav- ersed across his left cheek, from mouth to ear, By birth a Tennessean, he had been by profes- sion a trapper; but now that beaver “ plew” had fallen to so low a price, he had forsaken the trapper’s calling, and taken to that of a mus- tanger. He had spent the latter portion of his life upon the prairies of Texas, in pursuit of this singular occupation. His comrade was a person of totally different characteristics. A handsome young Virginian, he bad strayed down to Texas, and, with Wash, had come out to the Cross Timbers—not so much to make money by following the profession of horse-hunter, as through an innate love of fron- tier life, and a longing for the adventures that render it attractive, despite its perils and hard- ships. The present expedition was his first trip upon the prairies. In the romantic old town of acogdoches he had made the acquaintance of Carrol; and a bargain of partnership had been struck between them. While preparing to set forth alone, a third individual had presented himself, so earnestly eager to accompany them, that, although the old hunter had at first made objections, his younger and more enthusiastic companion had overruled him, and the stranger- volunteer was accepted. He was a young man of about the same age as Thornley himself, who gave his name as Louis Lebar, and said he was from the State of Louisiana. He was the one about whose hon- esty the two now entertained the suspicions imparted to each other in their conversation. From the first introduction, Wash Carrol had conceived them, and all along felt aversion to the man. The appearance of Lebar was not in his favor. He was short and thick-set, with shoulders slightly stooping. His complexion was dark’ as that oF a mulatto; and a heavy beard, left to row at will, made him look still darker. “In lis eye there was a restlessness, and its glance was, at times, almost wolfish. Carrol’s dislike for him had other reasons,, He had heard utter- ances of a compromising kind — mutterings made by the stranger in his sleep—in which oc- curred the word ‘“ murder.” Wash, lying awake, and listening, bad heard this ominous expression, and drawn from it sinister conclu- sions. The two had ceased conversing about him and were now riding on toward the hut, that for several weeks served them for a home. It was a rude structure of logs which they had erected gar a rocky b uf, overlooking a branch of the Trinity river—about a mile below the place where they had constructed their corral. They had got near to it, and were Piling qeihly Mena. the bent of tke abeten Wagh! how I do despise any white man 3 when Wash—whose eyes were ever on the alers —suddenly jerked up his mule with the ex- clamation: ** Look thar!” ‘ W here?” inquired Thornley “Thar, down the bank o’ the stream. Don’t- Te see somethin’ ?’ ‘* Yes—I see something white, like the canvas of a tent.” . ‘*Tent be durned! ’Tain’t nothin’ o’ the kind, It’s the tilt o’ a waggin.” “A wagon! Out here?’ ‘It air—dog-gone to it!” “And if so, why should it displease you to see it?” ‘*Displeeze! Durn it, I’ve been runnin’- away from tbat sign a!! o’ my life, an’ now, I suppose, I’ve got to flit furrer. I fust made tracks from near Nashville, whar this chile war kittened, to West Tennessee. Thar I war fol-~ lered by waggins, an’ arter them,*hosses. ‘Then on to North Mississippi, whar the waggins an? hosses kim clost arter Choctaw Purchase, I then tried Arkansaw, on t’other side. No use, Thar, too, sooa appeared the cussed waggins, an’ claims, an’ cabins—an’ long wi’ ’em, frame houses. I put off South, fer Loozyanny, on Red River bottom. More waggins, an’ more build in’s. Then, by way o’ durnier raysort—as the Loozyanny Creoles calls it—struck out hyar, far Texas. What’s the use? Thar’s the waggin g’in—cuss it!” “True; it is a wagon—or two of them, I think. But why should you be vexed at the sight of them? For my part, I feel rather pleased.” ‘“Pleezed! Why? Do you know what them wagcins mean?” ‘*Some party, I presume, traveling over the prairies—perbaps on an exploring expedition.” “On a settlin’ expedition! Thet’s what they’re arter. I kin tell it, by the look o’ the hull thing. See yonder! What’s them movin roun’ the vehicles? Thar’s men on hossback an’ thar’s others afoot. An’ thar’s cows children. A party o’ emigrants, to a sartinty. I know’d they w’u'dn’t be long, afore they’d find out these Cross Timmer lands—jest the fer cotton. Settlers, [ll be boun’; and wh now will go the wild hosses? Ed Thornley, we may as well make up our minds to it. Thisi be our last trip o’ hoss-huntin’ to the Cross Tim- mers. ‘Take this chile’s word for’t, in anotheg, year thar’ll be houses all about hyar—an’ tow too. Durn towns an’ houses! Afore eyther us goes under, they’ll be all over the contynen§ o Ameriky. A cuss to it! Most as bad as Methodies, Wagh!” w At the commencement of this tirade, the old hunter had pulled up; and, after its conclusiong he sat in his saddle scrutinizing the distant parition upon the prairie, with a look in whi stern indignation seemed strangely commingled with sadness. In that speck of snowy white ness which, to other eyes, might have appeared the harbinger of civilization, he saw only a clouc that—in his way of thinking—threatened throw a blighting shadow over the future—nos only of his profession, but his life! oT ‘* Dog-gone queer,” he excla med, after a shon@ while spent in scrutinizing the forms seen move ing around the wagon. ‘“‘Dod-rotted queer, ef them’s all thar is o’ them. Only two wagging; an’ eight or ten men about ’em—mest o’ ’em niggers, fur ez I kin make our. Some small planter, wi’ his belongin’s, I reckon. An’ ef thet’s all thet’s comin’ out to settle hyar, theyll stan’ a poor chance wi’ Tiger Tail an’ his ughy: lot—thet is, ef the Injun should take a set agin them,” (it ‘* Perhaps there are other wagons coming om behind,” suggested Thornley. ‘Ef thar be, they must be a good, bit. behints We kin see the purrayrie fer ten mile, on the track they’re on. Whar’s the others? Ain neery one—nor yet the sign o’ a critter, on foot or a-hossback. No; them’s we see thar, pears to be the hull gang. Guess we'd better git for- Wyat'y an’ find out who an’ what they air, anys ow.”’ 3% Saying this, he brought his heels, with,# heavy, double kick, against the ribs of his m and set the animal in motion toward the where the wagons were stopped—his com spurring up and riding alongside. co yrid CHAPTER V. sod AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. COLONEL ——— and his part ped all dis- moun and were paring their encamp- ment for the night, when they saw two horse- men coaching One Se The sight of strange men—e afoot or on Red wt as one always to be treated with suspicion upon ‘DOOKS: tad ” . — ar; Cc A t, t=