Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 18 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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14 ; Beadle,s Half-Dime Library. Darling, the blood streaming from his wounds, observed: ‘‘Marse Dick, you isn’t fit to take care of yourseff. You jess better done gone git mar- ried. Missy Charlotte she send me to take care of you, and by golly you needs it, for ef it hadn’t been for me, you’se done gone to hebben dis day.” CHAPTER IIL. ‘‘Mow, Marse Dick,” said Tom Nelson, as the mail-carrier and he sat at opposite sides of a little fire, in the Twelfth Infantry camp, a night or two after the murder of General Can- by; ‘‘dis yer war ain’t gwine to be got over so qnick as dem folkses in Yreka t’inks, It’s berry well fo’ Gineral Gillem to gib big order, ‘ ’ster- minate ebbexy cussed Modoc,’ but ’tain’t so easy to do the ’sterminating dem fellers, Marse Dick. Now why for should you and I be loafin’ ’roun’ here, when we mout be out wid Missy Char- lotte at Fairfield’s, whar we is allers welcome, you know, Marse Dick. De season is gwine, and de corn and taters is not in, and dough fit in’s mighty pooty work fo’ leetle time, it get mighty tiresome to dis nigger.” Dick Darling laughed. “Tf youre tired, you can go home, Tom. For my part, I volunteered to carry the mails during this business, and I don’t intend to give up, till Captain Jack and all his pals are iron- ed in pairs.” ‘¢But den, what Missy Charlotte do?” asked Tom, shrewdly. He knewvhe right road to in- fluence Darling. The young mail-carrier’s face changed. ‘‘ What of her?” he asked. ‘‘I must do my duty without regard to her, and perform my agreement with the Government.” . ‘‘But Missy Charlotte she send word by me, she want see Marse Dick, berry partickler,” said Tom, stoutly. “Did she say that?’ asked Dick, eagerly. ‘¢-Yes, Marse Dick,” replied the darky, un- blushingly; which was a tremendous lie on his part, and he knew it, But Tom was too anx- ious to get home, to hesitate at a falsehood, more or less, if it only secured his end. The young mail-carrier mused a few min- utes. ‘Tom, I must certainly go see her,” he said, in a low voice, ‘if I have to get leave.” ‘‘No need of dat, Marse Dick,’ said Tom, shrewdly. ‘‘ No need let ebberybody in camp know your business, You an’ meis gwine to Yreky to-morrer. Let’s go roun’ by Fairfiel’s ranche, an’ pay our respex.” “A good idea, Tom, We'll do it. go to sleep. Good-night.” ~ Time to When the first faint streaks of dawn were brightening in the east, Dick Darling and Tom Nelson were in the saddle, and riding slowly and cautiously out of the Lava Beds. So bro- ken was the country, and so favorable for am- bushes, that the young mail-carrier was com- pelled to take a different route every day, to escape assassination. In the faint, dubious light, they struck down a@ narrow canon, which led them out on the plain in safety, just as the light became plain. Dick Darling breathed freer when he came out on the open prairie. Bold as he was, there was something in the nature of the Modoc war, so horrible and bloodthirsty, something so gloomy and repulsive in those black Lava Beds, that it weighed upon the youth’s senses like a nightmare. ‘“Come along, Tom,” he cried, when they were at last on the prairie; ‘if we expect to reach Yreka by way of Fairfield’s ranche, we’ll have to stir round pretty lively.” And the two comrades, white and black, stretched rapidly off to the westward, in the direction of Fairfields ranche. Not a sign of a Modoc was to be seen, and in three hours from the time they left camp, the huge live-oak that ga the gate of the ranche appeared in The hound Hector accompanied them; for since that faithful creature ‘had twice saved his | master’s life, by giving intelligence of ap- proaching danger, Darling had consented to Tom’s taking him along. Now, siddenly, the dog gave a furious bay, and darted forward toward the ranche at such lightning speed that he left the riders far behind. ‘*Marse Dick, dar’s an Injun sneakin’ roun’ de ranche,” said Tom, eagerly. ‘‘I knows dat dog’s ways. Let’s ride like sixty.” And away went the comrades toward the ranche at full gallop, following the dog, who ran straight as an arrow toward the great live- oak tree that grew near the ranche gate, baying loudly all the time. Then they heard a great disturbance in the ranche, and out came old Fairfield, rii\e in hand, roused by the dog. They saw him raise his rifle to his shoulder; and then, like a flash, out darted an Indian on foot from under the great tree, and ran like a deer across the prai- rie toward a clump of cottonwood a little way off. But that. Indian was not destined to es- cape. The old agent leveled his rifle with a cool deliberation, and they saw a little puff of white smoke, The savage threw up his arms and fell dead with a shriek, just as the two daughters of Fairfield came running out of the gate, each bearing a rifle, in the style of true border heroines, As the comrades galloped up, there was a scream of joyful recognition, and then Dick Darling was off his horse, and Charlotte Fair- field was in his arms, Tom Nelson rode round the ranche in company with old Fairtield to as- certain if any more Indians were concealed near by, but none. were found. The old rancher returned on foot to the gate, while Tom took a wider circuit through the prairie on the look-out for sign of acy kind. The slain Indian proved to be a Klamath, as they supposed, and the facb made Tom very uneasy, as it showed that the Klamaths must be grow- ing bold from the impunity of the Modocs., When he came back toward the tree, he felt sober and thoughtful, but the sight he beheld there was enough to cheer up a hermit in Lent, Charlotte and Dick were standing under the great live-oak with their hands clasped in each other’s, while the girl appeared to ba earnestly warning Dick not to expose himself to peril for her sake. But Tom started with surprise as he looked to the rear of the lovers; for there stood Sophy Fairfield, regarding them both with a gloomy, lowering brow, Her father stood near her, watching them with grave approbation, and not sesing the ex- pression of his youngest daughter’s faco. But Tom did; and the shrewd darky understood the situation at a glance, ‘* Golly, dat light-haired gal as jealous of de dark one as she cun be,” he muttered. ‘‘ Dey’ve both been pullin’ caps for Marse Dick, aad de dark one’s got him. Golly, but Ise glad ’tain’t my gal shes a-glowerin’ at, She look as if she like to pisen her,” Here Dick called to him, laughingly: ‘Tom, you’ve been lying to me, you rascal, You said that Miss Charlotte wanted to see ‘* An’ I guess as how she did, boss,” was the grinning reply; “‘leastwise it look uncommon like it jess now. I nebber tells no lie, Marse Dick.” ‘¢ But you told. me she gave you a message, and she never did.” “Well, well, Dick, we might as well forgive him,” said Charlotte, smiling; ‘‘ for he brought you to me when I least expected you, and brought Hector, too, the good old dog, who saved us all from being murdered perhaps, for that Indian must have been only a spy from a larger body.” ‘And I’se t?inkin’, Missy Charlotte,” said Tom, gravely, ‘‘dat we'll have to be gittin’ out of dis hyar ef dem fellers is roun’, or we won’t git safe to Yreky. Dey won’t trouble dis hyar ranche no mo’, but dey’ll go fur de mail-carrier whenebber dey finds him,” ‘¢ You say right, Tom,” said Darling, with a sigh. ‘‘We must even part, but not, thank God, for long. ’Tis true, I run a great risk, but you must remember that the pay is pro- portionate. Once let these Modocs be cr and I shall come here to you, with funds suffi- cient to stock our farm close to your father's and then we will all be happy.” It was not, however, for some hours after that the mail-carrier and his sable assistant took their departure. Old Fairfield insisted on feeding themselves and horses before they went, and then they rode away toward Yreka, —— galloping slowly along at their horseg’ eels. Charlotte stood at the gate, watching the re- treating form of the mail-carrier, her arm en- twined around the waist of Sophy. The latter had her head averted, and generous Charlotte, never seeming aware of the true state of the case, was pouring into her sister’s ears Dick’s praises. At last, as she was lamenting the herd fate that drove him away from them so often, Sophy turned and faced her with gleam- ing eyes, saying: ‘You are not fit to have the love of a man like Dick Darling, when you let him go to dan- ger as if you could not help it. If he loved me, do you suppose that I would let him go as you have? No; I would cling around his neck, so that he should leave all the world to stay with me. And all the world might go to ruin outside our home, so he would stay with me,”’ And the jealous girl burst into a flood of tears, and flung away into the house. And so Charlo:te Fairfield woke to the con- sciousness that her sister loved Dick Darling. CHAPTER IV. THE sun was high in the heavens over Fair- field’s ranche, and the air hot, sultry and dry, when a young girl came to the gate of the stockade that surrounded the house, and trip- ped down to the spring on the other side of the great live-oak tree near the gate. She was a tall, magnificently-formed girl, with long black hair that fell nearly to her waist; and she carried the pitcher balanced on her head with all the upright grace of an Arab maiden. She had been gone but a moment, when a second girl came to the gate, equally beautiful in face and form, but the brightest of blondes, as her sister Charlotte was the darkest of bru- nettes. Sophy Fairfield opened the gate softly, and looked forth. Herdly had she done so when she was startled by a rustiing sound in the tree overhead; and looking up, gave a low scream of surprise and terror. The next moment, down out of the branches of the tree, where be had been hidden, dropped a tall Modoc war- rior; and, not noticing Sophy at the gate, rushed to the other side of the tree, where Charlotte had gone to the spring. It was the work of a second for quick-witted Sophy, used to frontier perils, to slam to and bar the gate, and to rush to the house for a weapon. She knew, none better, that it was useless for her to venture out and add one more to the victims of Indian barbarity. At such times selfishness is the only course for a woman, and not till Sophy was safe in the house did she feel that she might do something to save her sister from a terrible fate. It was at the beginning of that sudden Mo- doc outbreak which startled and alarmed the whole country. As yet the settlers in the im- mediate vicinity of the scene of hostilities were slow to believe themselves in any danger. So- phy’s father, old John Fairfield, had been In- dian agent and trader so long that he had grown to think that no Indian would harm him. *That very day he had ridden fearlessly away to Yreka, leaving his ranche unguarded, save by the two girls, as he had done hundreds of times before. r Sophy Fairfield knew that she had none but herself to depend upon, and she made her preparations with all the cool courage of a border girl. The house was secured against at- tack in a few minutes—it was a veritable fron tier fortress, easily defended—then the brave girl took down her light rifle, girt herself with GComicboo cs (E@) | -_— ~~ S