Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1122 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

&e Beadle’s Half-Dime Librar —— -~ + = -- - - ———$ ES SS ES the vrairies: and the colonel, following his usual custom of cautiousness—taught him by his military experiences in the early Indian wars—had directed those with him to have their weapons in readiness. But, as the horsemen appeared to be making approach without any show of either stealtb or distrust—moreover, as on coming nearer, it could be seen that their skins were white—all suspicion was dispelled; and the emigrants awaited their arrival on the ground only with feelings of curiosity. They had been travelin for days without having encountered a soul, an they had no expectation of meeting white men in that locality. Colonel Magoffin, twelve months before, had made an exploratory visit to the Cross Timbers; the result being his deter- mination to settle there—which he was row car- ‘rying out. But he had heard of no other set- sforn having preceded him; and, therefore, the presence of white men in the place needed ex- planation. As they came near, however, he guessed from their dress and accouterments, who—or at least what—they were. Trappers or hunters their b proclaimed them. @ was not per- mitted to put the first question. The older of the two took the initiative by hailing in a loud voice, as he rode forward upon the ground: ‘‘ What air ye, anyhow?’ was the blunt inter- rogatory of Wash Carrol, as he slung his dimin- utive carcass out of the saddle, and stood con- fronting him who seemed the leader of the party —Magoffin himself. “A straight question,” replied the colonel; “and to give a straight answer to it, I may tell you that we are settlers in search of a location.” ‘¢ An’ whar do ye purpiss lo-katin’?” ‘We've half made up our minds to stop here —on this very spot.” “« Ain’t thar no more o’ y’ur party?” “No more than what you see.” “ An’ no more a-goin’ to i yer” “ No—not that I know of.” “Stranger! this chile don’t want to ‘pear im- partinent; but he w’u’d ask ef ye hev kalkerlat- ed the danger o’ makin’ a settlement hyur?”’ “Danger? Of what?” “ Injuns, in coorse! I tell ye, mister, thar’s a putty bad lot o’ red-skins jest roun’ about these yur Cross Timmers.” ‘‘ How is it you are not afraid of them—you and your comrade? You live here, do you not?” a Me an’ my kumrade—yes. That’s rayther diffrunt. Me an’ my kumrade don’t need build a big house, thet kin be see’d twenty mile acrosst the paraira. Besides, me an’ my kumrade hain’t much thet a Injun ’ud think worth while to e away from us—only our skulps, an’ them we've to look arter right sharp, I tell ye. Then, Injuns don’t so mucly mind the like o’ us thet air hunters. Wi’ settlers they feel diff’rent—know- in’ thet the settlements air death to the’r hunt- in’-groun’s. Stranger, it air altogether diff’rent. We hain’t nothin’—whar’as, you hev somethin’ a paruira Injun ‘ud be likely to covet, an’ surtint to try to take away from ye, ef he do.” As My? onif ee einen ele rinch pers te ificantly toward the two girls, who Ee that moment, had just ste trom the Dearborn, and stood blushing—like two grand, beautiful flowers of different species, that, by the touch of an enchanter’s wand, had just sprung into life, and fresh blooming upon the prairie. Even the old hunter, who had so lately for- sworn himself against all womankind, could not help gazing Ao them with admiration; while the glance of his younger comrade, after stray- ing ultimately from one to the other, at length became riveted upon the Creole; and for some time remained so—as if he had lost. the power to withdraw it. There was no rudeness in the act, and none in- tended. It was only an involuntary yielding to the fascination of beauty; all the easier for the horse-hunter, who, for a long period, had ols upon no female face of brighter hue than that of an Indian spe nee As he at ents esisted from his gaze, and turned unwillingly away, Edward Thornley felt in his secret heart that, from that hour, his heart’s tranquillity—of which he had so lately boasted—was gone, in a second of time. Colonel ffin understood the hunter’s last words. He could not help understanding them —nor did they fall upon his ear without giving him a certain feeling of uneasiness. It was a hought that had not before occurred to him; while dwelling on the dangers to which he t be exposed in the remote wilderness of ‘ss Tim he had based his calculations ‘lief that it was not uncommon se ani ‘te men—as amall, or even smaller his—to traverse this district of country, without fear of danger. He had himself done this but the year before, and met with no molestation from the Indians. True, these parties were all men ; while that now with him, was very differ- ently composed. The horse-hunter’s speech had therefore caused him some apprehension; but, in order not to alarm those to whom the allusion referred, he affected not to comprehend it in its full sense, and simply said, in reply: ‘¢T think, sir, there’s not so much danger; and we'll be able to take care of what we’ve brought with us. We're not many in numbers—that is the whites of our party; but my darkies are all trained to the handling of other weapons be- sides the hoe. There isn’t one of the lot that can’t make good use of+a shooting-iron. I pick- ed them out for that; and it ’ll take a strong force of red-skins to give us any trouble.” Something like a sneer passed over the face of the old prairie-man, while the expression upon that of his younger comrade seemed to say: that in case of attack from Indians, or any other enemies, the new settler could count at least one man, added to the number of his de- fenders. ‘‘The Indians out here are reported to be in peace now,” pursued the colonel, in an inter- rogative strain. ‘‘So it was understood, upon the Red river, when we left. I hope nothing has transpired to the contrary?” “ Oh, nothin’, as this chile knows on,” replied Carrol. ‘‘Only thet ther peece air like pie- crust—easy broke. It air bout as much to be depended on as a laryette o’ cobwebs for the holdin’ o’ a bull-buffler. They'll break it, jest like the snappin’ of a pipe-stem, whensomiver they see fit, and whensomiver thar’s anythin’ to tempt ’em.” Again the old hunter gave a significant look toward the young ladies; who, fortunately, otherwise occupied, did not observe it. “Are there any Indians immediately about here?” asked Colonel Magoffin. ‘“‘Not jest immeedyit. ‘Bout twenty mile furrer down the Timmers, on the bank o’ this hyar streara—which air one 0’ the heads of the Trinity—thur’s a wheen. It’s a small band 0’ the ole Floridy Seminoles, thet’s strayed from the main tribe, arter comin’ ont hyar in the Resurvation. They go rovin’ about unner a chief they call Tiger Tail—an’ all o’ a tiger air thet same young savage. They fut up "bout a hun- dred an’ fifty—men, weemen an’ childer. The weemen an’ childer ye mayn’t see much 0’; but the men air here an’ thar’ all the time, an’ may come across ye at any minnit. So I guess ye’d better keep y’ur eyes skinned fer ’em, an’ hey y’ur shootin’-irons along wi’ ye—whursomiver ”? Py e shall take care of that,” replied the plan- ter, in a tone of confidence, intended to reassure such of his following as had overheard the pre- vious conversation. ‘““Whar mout ye hail from?’ asked the old horse-hunter, becoming a little mollified in ad- miration of the cool courage displayed by the new-comer. ** Tennessee.” “ What mout be y’ur name?’ < Magofiin. I am usually called Colonel Ma- offin. ‘‘Kurnel Magoffin! Ye ain’t any kin toa Lootenant Magoffin, as served wi’ old Hickory in the Creek wars, an’ ag’in the Britishers, at Noo Orleens?”’ ‘*T fancy I must be the same. Idon’t remem- ber that there was any other officer of the name in General Jackson’s army.” “Why!” exclaimed the ney springing forward and grasping the planter by the hand, “kin you be thet tenant Magoffin? Yes, ou air! Inow remember ye. Don’t ye recol- eck me? Ef ye don’t, it shedn’t be the ugly cut across my cheek as shed hinder ye. I got it while savin’ y’ur ownself from the tomahawk o’a big Cherokee Injun in the fight of the Horse- shoe Bend!” Ff My God! Wash Carrol, is it you?” cried the colone In another instant the old horse-hunter was off his feet, raised aloft in the arms of the stal- wart Tennessean, who for some moments held him in fraternal embrace. All upon the ground—black as well as white —gathered around to witness this scene of unex- parte recognition; while the two young ladi itating the affection of the colonel, lavish kind words on the strange individual, whose not vay, prepossessing looks had hitherto held them oof. As Edward Thornley stood looking on, he would have given all nis share of the captured mustangs for one of those sweet glances cast up- ¥'. — — on his comrade by the young Creole girl—whose name he now learned to be Louisiana Dupre. He felt—as did Colonrl Magcfiin—-that if any danger was to be apprehended froe: the Indians, the new-come colonist would have another arm besides his own, and another rifle upon which they might rely. As soon as the excitement caused by this uv expected recognition had, to some extent, suk sided, Wash Carrol—now deeply interested h the welfare of his old friend—commenced, mor gravely, to counsel him. ‘‘He’s a mighty bad sort o’ a Injun, is Tiges Tail,” said he; ‘‘an’a bad lot thet’s wi’ him— wuss even than the Kimanch themselves, w* whom he’s in a kind o’ league. His band’s com- posed o’ a wheen o’ young fellurs thet war too wicked to keep the kumpany o’ thar own tribe, on the Reservation. Never mind; since youre out hyur fur settlin’, you must make the best o’t; an’ I’d recommend ye to begin by fust buildin’ a block-house. Arter thet, ye kin set up y’ur shanty, an’ the other fixin’s. I reckun, colonel. you know how to put a block-house togither?” ‘‘T should know,” answered the Tennessean. “‘There’s one still standing by the old home- stead I have left. I know the pattern well.” “Allright! Mean’ Ed Thornley’! come over, an’ gi’e ye a heist wi’ it. We're out hyur hoss- huntin’, an’ hev jest druv a fresh cavayard inter the trap. Soon’s we've see’d them secure, ye may expect us. Thar’s another fellur along wi’ us—though he ain’t much account. ‘Bout the site o’ a block-house, thar’s a bit o’ groun’ ye can’t eezy beat—just thar, clost by the bank 0’ the crik, whar thet grove o’ timmer stands. Them trees Il gi’e you logs enuf, ’ithout any toatin’; an’ a well sunk inside won’t need go any deeper than the water in the crik. Besides, as ye see, the bank’s steep re thar. It’ll purteci e on one side; an’ ye kin set upa stockade, rst the paraira.” ‘‘T shall do just as you say, Carrol.” “Wal, kurmel, e my advice furrer, an’ don’t delay ‘bout it. Git y’ur axes inter them trees, fust thing ye think o’.” f: By daybreak to-morrow morning.” ‘All right,” said Wash; and after a few more words, to explain the nature of his own move ments, he and his. comrade remounted their mules, and turned back in the direction of theit own domicile. CHAPTER VI AN ASSASSII IN SOL 0%,0¥. “Curse them for a couple # iaggards! | wonder what can be keepir a them? They've been gone long enough te have been to the settlements. I sup the y've fild their own oe and don’t care how i’m hurgering here. ch!” “They'll be off for Nacogdoches, as soon as their lot’s tamed, 1 don’t go with them—I daren’t. No. There are pene from Louisiana —settlers—coming ja every day. I'd be sureof meeting some old face—some sharp eye to Te- cognize me; and tnen—those at ors! WhatamI o do? Stay here all my life —an outcast upon the prairies? To Tam forever se ted from her—she for whom—” He stopped abruptly, and looked reir el round, as if he feared some one might hear him. After a short silence, however, he burst out with an expression of intense longing: “Oh! could I only have her in my arms for a single hour, I would risk all—even the rope, “Gan T not go back to Louisiana, and live there in disguise? Why not? My beard would do something tow it. But no, It needs money to keep out of every one’s sight—and money I haven’t got. Never will have it by such : paltry trade as this—catching horses af tex olla rs a head, “Stay; there’s a better scheme, Fanning has told me of it. Heintends joining the Comanches for a raid over the Rio Grande that gets plun- der, and might yield riches. It is said thatsome of these Mexican haciendadas have large sums of specie in their houses—gold and silver plate, I’ve more than half a mind to join Fanning and his freebooting band. It only needs te change the color of my skin—not much, at that. in mie -boy I'll do He es ms possession of money, I can go anywhere, and do an ; That is the true giver of disgui ‘ va th means to act under them. This fellow—Thornley —has some cash. He'll buy my share of the captured mustangs; and then let them take them toa market. Ill stay with Fanning, and witb him go over the Rio Grande.” These were the thoughts of Louis Lebar—o the man who 80 called himself—as he sat by the wild horse corral, awaiting the return his fellow mustangers. COmMmICcCDOOKS.cOom