Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 188 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

ee a OR hi ad — oe 6 + - —_——-— —— + When she fell fainting to the ground, the clawlike hand of the strange person was about to seize her, and the next moment his eyes were looking down upon her face. The fiery flashes of vengeance had now left them, and where they had burned, the softer light of pity shone. Cyrille was still unconscious when she was lifted from the ground, and borne away in the arms of her rescuer. When she recovered the little valley tenanted by the four dead Sioux had been left behind, and the bear-demon was slowly ascending a mountain by a narrow path taat wound its way among the bushes. The girl shuddered and shut her eyes when she saw the grotesque head of her captor. Strength to leap from his arms she had not, and resolving to lie still she did not make the at- tempt. As she suspected, her forced journey ended in a mountain cave where she was placed once more on her feet. The man without a word kindled a fire on the floor of the cavern. He then spread a bear-skin on the ground to which he invited Cyrille by a gesture, The girl was fatigued and did not hesitate to accept the in- vitation. ‘‘T wonder,” thought Cyrille, “if he knows anything about Ned. When he comes back I will tell him my story.” The bear-man had vanished among the sha- dows of the cave and Cyrille was alone in the firelight. Suddenly the step of her captor startled her and she looked up. The next minute a cry fell from her lips. The shaggy head of the cinnamon no longer looked down upon her; but the face—the natural features of the Indian’s Terror had been revealed. It was the face of an old man; the eyes still burned with great brilliancy and the closed li were expressive of some master resulution. hair was almost white. ‘‘T am no longer a monster, girl,” he said to iy ille, as he sat down on the edge of the bear- skin. is ‘*Your pretty face has brought the past back—the so strangely full of love and horror. o are you? and how came you in these parts?” Cyrille told her story of which the stran being did not lose a word. Now and then he elinched his hands, and once he turned his head away that only the stones that we in the wall might see his eyes flash madly. “Now,” said Cyrille emboldened by his at- tention. ‘‘ Will you not tell me something about your life?” ‘‘ Me?” he exclaimed. ‘‘I am Vengeance—I am Death! Ask the Sioux who that shadow is that falls athwart their wigwams in the night, an ne will whisper Negotoo, the Death Sha- dow. will not horrify you, girl, with the story of the night that made me the Indian’s foe. You have lived in the western forts all your life, and you have heard enough of such tales. You may have heard of my great griev- ance. No! no! you were not born then, and it has from all living minds save mine. It was near the Missouri—near the hunting grounds of the Sioux. I was not there. I came back after all was over —after the inmates of our twelve wagons, with their guard, had been killed and burned—yes, burned, girl, for the inhuman butchers had thrown the dead among the wag- ons, and upon all adozen torches. Why was not I there when they came to destroy? Why did Captain Thornton send me out after game, and keep the best hunters in the camp? He knew the country; he had traversed it before; but it wasnew tome. Itis not new now,” and the man laughed strangely. ‘‘Every foot of Sioux land is known to me; every village, every camp that Red Cloud has pitched since that fa- tal night has witnessed the work of Negotoo. You are wondering if I will not stop some time. Yes,when I can no longer lift my hand to slay— when my eye shall refuse to direct the stroke.” ‘*'Your ily were with the train?” said Oy rille. ‘‘ Yes, my wife and my child! I buried one, but the babe I never found. Somewhere among the burned wagons she had perished.” Cyrille shuddered. ‘* No!” suddenly continyed the slayer, laying his hand on Cyrille’sarm. ‘‘ You are going to osk me wholam. Donotdoso. It might make » +» remember that I am not Negotoo, the Death {. «dow, andif I forgot that, my hand might weaken fora moment. I am Negotoo and none over! Tam no longer—” Ile paused and caught himself in time. The rm.» which he had not uttered for years was out to fall from his lips. ] $i. | | | that I found in ES TT “You will stay here,” be went on. ‘‘Myra would nave looked like you if the death-eagles had not swooped vpon the train—if her uncle had not sent me out to hunt. Well, he saved me for vengeance, and perhaps I ought to thank you, Captain Thornton. Thank you? no! no!” and the slayer sprung up likea madman. ‘*‘ You knew more than I thought you did; you knew what would be Myra’s portion one of these days, if she lived. I wish the torch and the hatchet of the Sioux had spared you, Captain Thornton. I would give my right arm, ay, my life, if Heaven had but preserved you for my revenge. would go to the end of the world to find your trail. x1 Cloud could sleep peacefully in his camps while [ hunted you, white liar and prince of traitors!” ‘‘ Then,” said Cyrille, deeply interested in the Slayer’s words, ‘* Captain Thornton was a trai- tor. A traitor brought you here; and a traitor, as firmly believe, deserted me in the land of the Sioux.” Negotoo whirled upon her. ** His name?” he cried. Cyrille hesitated. Why should she accuse her uncle Thornton Hardinge when she had no pos- itive proof of his treachery? * You will Nema me. I may have been too fast.” she said. ‘‘No; you would suspect nobody unjustly. Whois your traitor? Tell me, child?” “My uncle, Captain Thornton Hardinge. Since my desertion I have seen him with Red Cloud.” ‘That name again!” exclaimed the Slayer. ‘““My traitor was Captain Thornton; yours Thornton Hardinge. Heavens! can it be— No! Iam not to be favored thus. But go on. or this uncle of yours—my traitor’s name- e. Cyrille did so. ‘‘'The same eyes, the same hight, but not the same name,” said Negotoo. ‘‘He was at Fort Reno?” sc Yes. ” ‘‘T was never there. Since that terrible nigbt the stars or the walls of this cave have covered me. I neverenter the forts. My place is where Red Cloud builds his ‘ie and where he mar- shals his scarlet devils. But let me ask you one question, girl. Where is your father?” “ At Fort Buford.” ‘** His name?” ‘* Dudley Averill.” ‘* What is his rank?” ‘* He holds none; he is the sutler of the post. But am call him captain.” ‘Dudley Averill?’ repeated the bear-man springing suddenly back into the gloom of the cave. Cyrille was nonplussed. Her father’s name had been strangely repeated by the demon, it had affected him almost in the same manner that the mention of Thornton Hardinge’s had. When he reappeared the griuning head of the cinnamon was on his shouldeis once more, and Cyrille started from the flash of the eyes be- neath the hideous covering. In one hand the Slayer held a piece of paper which looked like a leaf froma memorandum, and before our heroine recovered from her sur- prise the paper was thrust between her fingers. ‘‘Read it when I am gone!” cried Negotoo, ee to the paper. ‘‘ And then stay here ill I come back. am still Negotoo, but be- fore I see you again I will be the man who car- ried his babe on his arms across the mountains, but still a heart-hunter and a blood-drinker. Stay here! To venture beyond this cave will be to perish by the hatchet of the Sioux, or the teeth of the mountain wolves. I! will come back. Red Cloud’s village lies in my way. will pass through it like an angel of death, for far beyond it is a face that I must see.” He | away with the last word still on his lips, and Cyrille, staring at his strange fig- ure, saw him vanish beyond the firelight. Then her eyes fell to the paper in her hand. It was covered with names written a long time ago for many were hardly legible; but there were two which had been written over and over as if the rersons who bore them were objects of interest to the writer. These names were ‘‘ David Dudley” and ‘Captain Thornton.” ‘‘ Merciful heavens! what do I see?” suddenly exclaimed Cyrille, staggering back while she clutched the paper. “ David Dudley was with the train that the Sioux attacked—the train that contained the Death Shadow's wife and child. What awful light is breakinz before me? Those old letters facher’s room last summer as If 1 thought that you still lived, I | Ned Temple, the Border Boy. 2 EOmM were signed David Dadley, and when I asked him what i¢ meant he tore them from my hands and made we proniise never to speak the name again! Then lam not an Averill, but a Dud- ley—the child of a man hated and hunted by a demon whose motto is ‘‘ Vengeance and blood.” Father, be on your guard. He is hunting you now. The blood-hunter of Montana has thrown himself upon your path; he will steal into Fort Buford tike a thief in the night, and I—I am the one who showed him the trail which be deemed lost forever. Father! father! Heaven keep the child that betrayed you and cannot save.” Cyrille darted forward with an agonizing cry, nor stopped until she stood at the mouth of the mountain cave. The day was drawing toa close, and the sun no longer threw Cyrille’s shadow on the rocks. The bear-demon of Montana had already passed out of sight, and strain her eyes as she might, our heroine could not see a single being. ut all at once a strange noise overhead startled ber. It was the noise like the flapping of great wings. Shrinking back, Cyrille ven- tured to look up and saw the body of an eagle, the king of the skies, dart downward and strike heavily at her feet. A moment later she noticed that the breast of the bird was pierced by an arrow which had passed entirely through the body so that she could see the barb and the feathered tip. ‘‘Out of one peril into another!” gasped the girl, ‘The slayer of the eagle will hunt for his pl ov and find me. No! I will turn robber. I will rob the Indian of his bird!” and picking up the cloud king Cyrille bore it back into the cave where she grasped a rifle left behind by Nego- too, and facing the entrance waited for deadly marksman. CHAPTER IX. SAM WILDCAT’S REVENGE. Bren Smon was in no enviable position. Suspended in mid-air, as it were, above the sharp points of a score of Indian arrows, he was nearer death’s doors than he had ever been. He felt his grasp on the bushes growin weaker and knew that if the crows withhel their shafts a few moments longer, he must of necessity relinquish his hold and fall among em. ‘Shall I fall, or shall I hold on?’ he asked himself. ‘‘ Ben Simon you ar’ in pickle now!” ‘“Hold on!” came a voice down from over- head. The scout looked up. ‘‘Thet sounds like Sam Wildcat,” he said. “But what would he be helpin’ me fur?” 11] hold on till the Injuns shoot. Then, ov course, I’ll hev to drap,” he answered. A moment later, a lasso glided over the edge of the cliff, and the scout caught it eagerly with one hand. A yell of rage broke from the throats of the Indians below, and as Simon was whisked up- ward by the unseen help, a dozen arrows left their bow-strings. ‘‘ Hit! by hokey!” cried Ben, as he landed on the firm ground above. ‘‘ Who ar’ you, par — Hardinge, by my sculp! an’— Sam ca ‘““No congraterlations, an’ no thanks,” said Wildcat, soringtig forward. “I hevn’t taken my reg’lar dose, to-night. I guess [ll take it now.” The next moment, two pistol-shots in rapid succession reverberated through the pass, and two Crow wartiors staggered back, d ‘*T never take more’n two Injun pills,” coolly remarked the slayer, stepping back. ‘‘ Now, whar ar’ you goin’?” The question was addressed to Ben Simon, ‘‘Oh, I’m goin’ to foller the Crows, an’ save m al.” % Whar is she?” ‘‘Down thar. They shot ’er in my am % knows, to-night, but they didn’t kill the ca ‘er. Stargold is now with them red skunks in the pass,” During his speech, the pistol which Wildcat had put back into his belt after shooting the two Crows, was drawn again. ‘“So you’ve got a gal?’ he said, addressing Simon. ‘‘Do you remember the Cheyenne beauty thet made us enemies; the gal you took from me? What did I say then?’ Ben Simon’s eyes suddenly flashed. | “*Ov course know what you said,” he cried. ‘* We couldn’t settle the matter hyar. The Crows might take a notion to interrupt the tussle. Let’s go down the mountain. Thar’s a cave not a dozen miles off, whar we kin cut er shoot at each other’s hearts.” ‘‘T didn’t say thet I would fight you, Ben. 700 —