Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 1151 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

_— 22 SF | 5 ee ee . } ;« , . . ; ee Se ee ee ‘ P - « - r o : a 4 4 th 3 ; a eS ; lel th Sh pt il ah ee Se ee OO Se. ial a fae vi - ¥ ‘Ae, os | “i : . ter or trapper?’ I “J deelare, if I don’* marry her just to spite Alminy, and make Bill Hawkins mad,” he exclaimed, At this point I could restrain my mirth no longer; but as Lindulged it, l was considerably surp to feel a slight twinge of jealousy at his words. “TIT am afraid you will meet with formidable ob- stacles, before you accomplish that; the most diffi- cuk of which be to obtain an audience of the fair one herself.’ ‘** Don’t suppose she’ll be very anxious to-see me; and I wouldn't care if only had my pipe and jack- knife to pass away the time with.” ““T think it would be as well not to mention this affair to Biddon.”’ “ Why not?” , “It can do no good, and he would be displeased at the thouchtlessnessI have evidenced. I do not think there are savages enough in the vicinity to render us fearful of our safety. The canoe, I am disposed to ao belongs to some tribe quite distant from ere.”’ ‘* But what are they here for?’’ “TIT can only SoEIOCLERS: Biddon has never seen Savages in this particular section, and these may be returning from some journey to their tribe.” ‘* Perhaps so, and may be not. These plagued In- jins sometimes live in one place and sometimes in another, you know, and it may be that a notion has ade entered their heads to come and live in these Sy **Thereis reason in what you say, but, as I stated, if danger threatens, Biddon will detect its signs him- self in time.” “Tf think he will, though I shall feel a little flus- tered every time he goes out. You remember when he was after the antelope, he walked right among the Injins, without knowing it till it was too late to stop.”’ oe He did, itis true, but how nicely he walked out again. I tell you, Nat, that fellow has nerve equal to any emergency. What man, when conscious of an overwhelming foe being concealed within a few feet of him, could have repressed every sign of trepida- tion or fear, as he did?”’ ‘*It was a clever hing Tallow.” ‘‘ Biddon told me he felt a littie nervous when he saw us start to come up, for, if we had reached him, it would have been allup with us, Such a man, I re- Beas. will scent danger soon enough, without the hel» of others.”’ my will, and I hope he'll find out who that white . s 29 ‘Nat, do you remember the account Biddon gave some time ago of a horrible massacre, upon the sandy island near where we encamped one night ?"’ ‘Tl don’t think there is much likelihood of my for- getting it.”’ You will also recall the account of the dapture of a small child by the savages? Now, it has occurred o me that this might be that child grown to woman- ood,”’ “*T know it is!" exclaimed Nat, joyously. “Tt is true there is miuch against it. It was a great distance from here, but, as these savages wander hundreds of miles at times, it is notimprobable, upon that ground, Instances are only too common of per- sons spending their lives in captivity among ese Indian tribes. She is a captive, no doubt, and must long for restoration to her home and friends. “As I said, we will say nothing of this to Biddon, until he discovers signs of Indians himself, To-mor- row, we will go forth together, and spend the day in endeavoring to gain traces of the canoe and its in- mates; and if anything is discovered which is alarm- ing, we will impart it all to him.”’ Nat agreed to, and shortly after wé heard three raps upon the outside of the tree—the tra per’s signal of his presence. A moment after he made his appearance. He was considerably elated at his prospect for a goodly quantity of furs; had set a number of traps; was sure of half a dozen next day; had seen no signs of Indians, and was convinced there were none in the vicinity. None of ug passed out again that day, but remained “indulging in' our pe and conversation as usual until a late hour. e next morning the trapper proposed that I should accompany nina upon his round, I com- plied, while Nat remained, behind. The day was as warm and pleasant as the proces 2 emg and the forest and stream as delightful. Biddon paddled slowly UR the unrippled surface, and in a short time reached the first trap; it had not been disturbed. Still hopeful, he p on to the second and third, and all the others. But there were no signs of beaverinany. > ‘Shoot me, that’s quar’!’’ he éxclaimed, thought- fully, as’ he saw the last one, “I don’t understand it; | must git out and take a look round,”’ He sprung ashore, and minutely examined the ground around. A few seconds sufficed. He looked up with a gleam of deep meaning, and said: ‘*Here’s the track a thunderin’ moccasin, The H Meraet ein tha eaicéond, tainerti paddl e step into the canoe, an g the e, moved it carefully back again. He touched at each trap on the way. The footprints of a stranger were visible at each, ““Thar’s been a beaver taken out of that one!’’ he remarked, as the last one was reached. “ It’s lu for the sneakin’ coward that I didn't see him, He wouldn't ’sturbed any more gentlemen’s traps.”’ “Are ou sure it’s an Indian who has been annoy- ing you : Wagh ! Sees you s'poselI could tell a red's track = But it might have been a white man—some hun- “A white man Ww *t be mean’nough to do sich @ thing, ‘less he war some of these Hudson Bay fel- ee SNe eee eee" Bill Biddon, Trapper. ters. hey try them tricks sometimes, but th t come up to. icatched a feller once from Fort Hall at mine, and the way I walked into him war a cau- tion. But this ar’ an Injin’s track,” ‘*Do you suspect there could be a number in the vicinity?’ ‘*Ef there war I'd ‘ve heard of 'em afore. This is some varmint sneakin’ round yer, and he’s got to be rubbed out afore he makes more trouble.”’ ‘**T fear that will be a difficult and dangerous job,” ‘* Let me be for that.” Shortly after we reached our home, and running the canoe beneath the bushes, entered it, We were somewhat surprised to find Nat absent. He return- ed, however, in a short time, and I saw at once by his nervous, flustered manner that something unusual had occurred. Biddon quesvioned him rather closely, as he suspected something, but Nat evaded his in- quires, and would not admit that he had seen any- ng to excite alarm. “Dm goin’ out, and when I come back I'll tell you what’s the matter with them traps,’’ said Biddon, departing. waited until he was beyond hearing, and then turning to my companion, asked: ‘* What is the matter with you, Nat?” ** Why?” he asked, with a start. +s cis ea er you show plainly that something has oc- curred,”’ . He remained silent a moment, then aimee his hat, jerked it off his head, and threw it spitefully down, where he gazed at it a second, exclaiming: ‘*T’'m sick of this!’ * Sick of what?”’ ‘* Why, of being in this fix.” “IT don’t understand you. Please explain what you mean.”’ ‘**] should think you ought to know.” ** But I do not.,”’ ‘Why, this wood is full of Injins; they’re behind ste 2 tree and stump, and in every bush, and you can 1ardly step without pitching over Some painted heathen.’ ‘‘T’m afraid you are exaggerating,’ I answered, suppressing a smile which Was struggling at the cor- ners of my mouth; * No, Lain’t. Iswow there are ten thousand Injins just waiting outside to pounce upon us.” ** You are talking nons and you know it.” ** Well, there’s one Injin, for I seen him. Come now,” he affirmed, as if the matter was now settled beyond a question. “ Ah! that alters the case considerably, I shouldn't wonder at all if there is one or a half-dozen savages in the forest."’ “If peat see oné savage haven’t you a right to sup- ose there’s a hundred more about; I should like snow?’ ‘Not always, Nat; I have seen three myself, yet I do not believe there is another One in the neighbor- hood. But I have not heard the particulars of this affair of which you have been speaking. Please let me hear them,’ ‘* There isn’t much to tell, but there is enough to make you do a heap of thinking. You see, after you had left, I took a notion that I must have a morning ramble; and I thought, too, there might be such a ps as you two run into danger and needing my help (1 should like to know what you are laughing at). Taking my rifle, I was soon way as noiselessly as possible, in a direction from the river, **T hadn’t gone more than a dozen yards before I commenced thinking about Injins, and came nigh oing back again. I wasn't afraid at all, you know but en it appeared to me I might b you and ddon into trouble. However, I kept on. I had gone some distance further, when all of a sudden I heard a terrible whirr and rattle, and jumped clean off my feet. But it was only a big owl which I had stirred up. Iwas so provoked at the start he gave me that I ould have wrung his neck had I got_my hands 8b him. But I went on. Pretty soonl reached a little stream of water, and as I jumped across, wha» do ap suppose I saw in the sand?” ‘tam sure I can not tell,”’ “Nothing less than a big moccasin-track. And what was more, it hadn't been made there a week before! Istood and looked at it a good while, cogi- tating some wonderful things. At last Istooped and went to measuring it. Iwas going to rise, when I heard a grunt i, by me. I jumped up so quick— to be , you know—that I foundered backward into the water, And may I be shot if there wasn’t a big painted Injin standing not ten feet off. He didn’t say # word, but just stood and looked at me with them awful eyes of his, As soon as I could think, I raised my gun, took a quick aim, and drew the trig: er; but the infernal gun snapped. I pulled Sage, ut it woulda’t go, and just then I happened to thnk the thing wasn’t loaded, All this time the painted imp stood gri at me, without saying a word, except to kinder grunt. He had a big shining gun in one hand, and [ was dreadful afraid he weukl shoot it. I told him not to stir, but to stand still till I Rd mine loaded, and he waited. But somehow or other, I s’pose I was in such a hurry that things wouldn’t go right. Instead of putting the powder in the -barrel I crammed it in my pocket, and jammed the ramrod into my shoe. I told the Tnjin to ve patience and I'd get it loaded in a minute. got it fixed somehow at last, and hauled it up to m shoulder, when, no Injin was there! I looked behin all about me, and up into the trees, but he’d been spirited away somewhere. However, I made up my mind to shoot at the spot where he had stood, and I up.and blazed away. That is I blazed away with- out the gun going off. I believe he spirited that too.” ‘‘Tet me examine it. Perhaps you made some blunder.” ‘*No, I’m sure I didn’t,” ? I took the rifle with a smile of that I should find something the matter with Sure enough the muzzle was crammed with Papen, and npon remo it, a pipe-stem, broken vowloe ik rolled out, w there was not a grain of in the barrel. “*T declare I forgot about the powder!” exclaimed Nat, opening his eyes in wonder, ‘But not about the bullet,’ I laughed, pointiag to the fragments of his pipe. nae cermed up the tragments and emamined them carefuily. *'"Phat’s my pl en sure; and I had it in mon, I remember, Ww started out, and Sniened com- ing back. I didn’t put itin the gun though.” ei, it pass. Did you see no more of your Indian end ?”’ ‘*No; he knew enough to keep out of my way. I waited a long time for him, and at last started home t . I kept an eye on every suspicious object, but, as I just said, seen nothing.” At this pope I gave free vent to my pent-up mirth Nat, much astonished, looked wonderingly at me, seemingly at a loss to understand the cause, « “I do not see what there is to laugh at," he re- marked, reprovingly. “If it’s ala pice gx ty to know that there are Indians-all about you, why you must laugh,” “Your adventure with the Indian, Nat, and the singular load in your rifle, appears to mea funny matter, and I trust you will on me if—” ‘Didn't I tell you I didn’t put it in there? It was the Injin’s work.’ And to this day Nat cannot. be made to believe that he was instrumental in introducing the pipe into his gun, After a few more unimportant remarks, the eon- versation ceased. Nat's adventure began to appear to me in a different form from that in which viewed it at first. I doubted not but that he was perfectly honest and truthful in what he said, But why, when exposed to the will of the savage, did he escape unscathed? Why did the latter stand fear- less and harmless before him? And what meant these strange sigus, these ‘‘footprints,’’ which were becoming visible around us? tters were assum-~ ing a puzzling form. We were being environed 2 Indians without any evidence of hostility upon th ‘t. What meantit? Surely there was a meaning o deep and hidden for us to divine as yet. Suddenly Nat spoke. ‘*Don't you remember the canoe? We were going to hunt for that to-day!’ ‘Ab, how did I forget that? -But had we not bet- ter wait till Biddon returns?” ' ‘No; let us go at once. Hark! what's that?"’ I held my breath, as the distant report of a rifle yeached our ears. The next instant came a sound, faint and far away yet clear and distinct—a horrid unearthly sound, as the cry of a being in mo agony! CHAPTER VI. STILL IN THE DARK—THE CANOE AGAIN, For a moment we stood paralyzed. Then our eyes sought each other with a look of fearful in- quiry. “Was that} Biddon’s voice?’ I asked, in a faint . whisper. A Ldon't know. There itis again.” And again came that wild, ie I shriek of such neony as made our blood curdle within us, Se is pe Aone ds ye - a to ae c ca my and springing out. Na follow Slosety Tite gun having been reloaded. The cry came from up the river, and toward it we dash scramb and t through the brush and umde wth two maddened animals, heed- less of what the consequence might be, Several times we halted and listened, but heard nothing save our own panting breasts and leaping hearts, On again we dashed, loo hurriedly about us, until I knew we had ascended as high as could be the author of that startling cry. Here we paused and listened. No one was to be seen. I turned toward Nat, standing behind me, os directly behind him f& saw Biddon slowly approac P ** What are mil fe! . here?” he asked, as he came up. Ry Was not that your voice I just heard?” “T rather reckon it wa’n't. When you hear Bi Biddon baw! out in that way, jist let me know, will er?” a: What was it?” I asked, greatly relieved. “That's more nor me can tell; but shoot and skin me, if I can't tell you one thing,” he approached closely and whispered, ‘‘there’s sunkthin’ else nor reds about yer.” ‘“What do you mean?” I asked, although I under stood well enough what he meant, “’s here once afore, as I told yer, and I never heerd sich goin’s on then. I've see’d the tracks of moccasins all about the traps, but can’t draw bead on the shadder of a red-skin.”’ ‘“You heard that horrid howl, didn’t you?” ‘‘Heerd it! I should think I did.” ‘“ Was it you who shet?’’ “Yes; the way on it was this: I got on a purty plain trail and follered it_up heres ang en cotched the glimpse of a Biackfoot’s fea goin’ down through the bushes there, and blazed away at him. I never missed a red in my life, and I didn’t miss him. Howsomever, he didn’t mind it, but ke on and got away, and as he went out of stg that o yellcame, lt didn’t seem that he madeit, but it sounded like as though ‘twas all ar: a above and under the ground, and around and me.” ‘Anywhere near us?” asked Nat, COomMmIcboo . Se ee ee ee ee ee ee 8 —_ ee ee ee