Beadle's Half Dime Library, Vol. 1, No. 2 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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12 Beadle’s | Half-Dime Library. Spring, where the unfortunate trapper, Chavez, had met his death some hours before. The weird woman cea Minnie up to the pecu- liar curb that surrounded the spring, and then held her erect oon the edge. The uliar vapor, the strange bubbling, hissing noise of the troubled water fairly aroused the maiden. “Tis here that my master declares the sacrifice must be made,”’ spoke the old woman, in a cold, stern voice, eS ae from the excited tone she had hitherto ‘** This is his favorite place of repose. He comes here when he wishes relaxation from the care and trials of his government. He has said that you must die. There can be no appeal from his de- cision. Are you ready?” ‘*Mercy—by the memory of your mother, mercy !”’ ““T do not know the name. I am only a subject, though a queen. I can only obey my orders.”’ The strong hands closed upon the trembling form and raised the maiden from her feet, holding her — above the bubbling waters for a moment. en the helpless girl was flung into the midst of the Boiling x pee A single half-stifled shriek—a slight splashing—a few heavy blows of the blood-stained staff; then a wild laugh. And the moon hid itself behind a black cloud, CHAPTER XIII IN STRANGE COMPANY. Down—down through the empty space whirled the body of the helpless young emigrant. A piercing scream of aay 2 dull crashing sound as the body _reached the tree-tops. The brittle pine boughs splin- tered and bent beneath the sae My though offering more and more resistance as the body neared the jagged bowlders that so thickly strewed the canon , until, at last, the bruised, bleeding, senseless emigrant swayed up and down upon a sturdy bough, as few feet above the jagged rocks. e life-blood trickledfrom his temple and showed in a dozen places upon his person, where the cruel boughs had torn his garments and lacerated his skin. And thus, with a decreasing undulations, the hastly figure ung doubled across the limb, while e last gleam of departing day faded. A shadowy shape stole silently along the bottom of the canon, gliding in and out, noiselessly passing from bowlder to bowlder, pausing nearly at eve step to peer keenly ahead, above, around, as thoug dreading some enemy’s attack. Silently the shadow — eae pauses directly beneath the now mo- . ionless body. Again that quick, burning glance around—then upward. A drop of blood falls upon the upturned face. The shadow flattens itself to the ground, and the muzzle of a rifle instantly covers the shapeless mass suspended in mid-air. For a few moments, he stands staring at the gent- ly swaying body, then drops his rifle, and nimbly scales the tree that bears such strange fruit. The limb bends and creaks beneath its double weight, but the adventurer manages to grasp the emigrant’s collar, and then with considerable address, draws the senseless form toward him. He brushes back the long, matted hair, and eagerly peers into the blood-stained face, a strange, snarling sound rum- bling from the massive chest. Then the man cautiously worked his way to the und, bearing the inanimate emigrant over his oulder. Securing his rifle he retraced his steps up the canon, winding between or around the ragged masses of rock with an ease and celerity that proved his thorough knowledge of the trail, and still the red drops trickled from the young man’s head, falling upon the rocky ground, and leaving a bloody trail behind them. For fully half an hour the stranger bore Frank Maynard on through the night, then turned abruptly to the left, as we about to scale the almost per- ndicular wall. ter scrambling up afew steps, e stoo low down and parting a leafy screen where the wild grape-vine covered several stunted pines, he lowered the body from his shoulder. A few embers smoldered at some distance, and b aid of these, the stranger soon lighted a rude wic that was stuck into the hollow of the rock, filled with grease. D ng Maynard where the feeble light fell up- on his face, the stranger hurriedly wiped the blood from his pale features, and gazed long and keenly upon them. A half-sigh parted his lips, and as if un- consciously, he muttered: ** Not yit—not ee How much longer must I wait? When’! the devil put him in my grip? ‘Pears like I'll go crazy ef this lasts much longer. Crazy—ha! ha! They did call me crazy once; but they lied— could a crazy man do what I did? No—no; I'd ’a’ burnt up, too, like they did—but I fooled ’em! The thought twas my bones they found—jest’s though oo while he lived!’ and the man laughed y. A feeble moan parted Maynard's lips. The cold water used in cleansing the blood from his face had weber restored his consciousness, for despite his rightful fall and the outlaw’s treacherous shot, Frank Maynard was not dead. This sound seemed to calm the stranger, and he bent over the body for a moment eagerly. He could feel the faint fluttering of the heart, and the bright surface of his broad-bladed knife was dimmed. ‘“* He ain’t dead yet—who knows? Mebbe the good Lord sent him to tell me whar I kin find him!” For nearly an hour the stranger worked _ before his efforts to restore life were rewarded. And then, af- ter a few incoherent words and a dazed s around him, the young emi t’s head sunk k and he slept—a sleep that closely resembled death. And the stranger crouched beside him, never Once removing a eyes from the pale face through those long, weary ours. | It was broad day in the outer world, though within ' ' the rocky den a light was still necessary, since the bottom of the canon was never reached by the sun’s rays, when Frank Maynard awoke to consciousness. | | he seeks—who knows? ‘Where am I—what has happened?”’ he murmured faintly, striving in vain to arise from the rude couch of leaves. ““You’re in good han’s, I reckon, an’ ‘ll git along all right, if so be you ’bey orders an’ take things easy,’ promptly replied the stranger, acpearn far more like a sane man than when he had last spoken. “IT was falling—I had been shot—yes! I see it all now!’ and Maynard shuddered convulsively. ‘* We were dashed down from the ledge—down a horrible sort And she—Minnie—was she—did you find 1er—”’ “*T only found you, swingin’ *twixt heaven an’ earth on a pine branch. else. You're all mixed up in the mind, Ireckon—an’ leetle wonder a’ter sech a fall as that! 'cinating him. “But is it true what you told him about that man?” | | | i don’t reckon thar was any one | But thar—I | most forgot. Stranger, on’y fer me, you'd ’a’ died | = begped ° r . ved a hour longer on’y I got you down, brung you hyar an’ doctored up your hurts. You wouldn't lie to me, now, would ye?” ‘ I have nothing to conceal—why should I tell you a lie?” ‘*Nor laugh at me? They all do that—they think it’s fine fun to lie an’ laugh at me, ‘cause they think I'm crazy. But Iain’'t—sometimes I ’most wish ’t I | was—then mebbe I might fergi/. But I cain’t—I kin You was bleedin’ fast—you couldn’t ’a’ | | see everythin’ that happened jest’s plain now as that — black day. Thar—don't look at me so dub’ous like,” and a threatening glow began to fill the great eyes. ‘** What is it you want? It hurts me to speak—lam sore and aching all over,’’ replied Frank, pettishly. “Tell me whar he is—Zenas Kalloch?” **T never heard the name before; I know no man who goes by that name,’ replied Maynard, after a moment's thought. “Don’t say that—don’l, stranger! I tell ye I ain’t crazy—I'’m on’y Jet Cowles. Jest think how long I’ve hunted fer him—a lifetime—fer years an’ years, night an’ vo never restin’ or sleepin’ or eatin’. Then don’t tell me that—a’ter I’ve lotted so much on what you'd say when you woke up. Mebbe he’s fooled you, too, with his soft tongue—mebbe you think he’s your fri’nd. An’ yit you’ve got a good face—it’s like an honest man’s face. ou cain’t know what a wicked devil he is—but I'll tell ye. My brain’s clear now—I kin see it all, jest as it came about. ‘*T was married—Mary an’ me, an’ we was so happy —tell he came. He was better-lookin’ than me, an’ hed more book-l’arnin’. We alllikedhim. An’ then —why don’t ye laugh, stranger? Ain't it fun to seea big cuss like me wi’ tears in his eyes? But thar—I | cain’t help it! Whenever I think o’ that time, when we was all so happy an’ contented, it makes a babby o’ me.” ‘**He stole her away from me,”’ continued the man in a harsh, strained voice. ‘Her an’ the babby. i ‘“*The canon is full of snakes; he may find the one But, that does not matter. I wanted to get rid of him without trouble. And 'why,do you think? Because my master does not wish his secrets known. He bade me tell that man what I did, that he might not witness the sacrifice.”’ “The sacrifice?’’ echoed Maynard, bewildered. “Yes; didn’t you hear him—my master—whisper? He said, ‘Send me this young man.’ means you. Only spirits can go to him; so I must kill you.’ These words were spoken in a low, even tone. Frank knew not whatto think. It seemed like some fantastic dream. But, as the weird woman crouched lower as if for a spring, and the dull glow of the his peril, and wi fend himself. The woman sprung upon him, holding him down as easily as though he had been an infant, while the venomous blade was raised above his bared chest. ‘*I obey thee, master; see, I send you the spirit you demanded!”’ screamed the crazed creature. CHAPTER XIV. HOW THE EAGLE KEPT HIS PLEDGE. A nipgous face, with burning eyes and gloating expression—this much Ada Dixon saw as two power- ful arms caught her = from the ground, pressin her tightly to his naked chest, and a deep, guttur exclamation sounded faintly in her ears as she yield- ed to a strange, deathlike faintness. And with long, loping strides the savage sped on through the night as though dreading immediate pursuit, On through the hills, winding, turning and twist- ing like one who seeks to throw a deadly enemy off the scent, the savage passed, never once halting un- til he had gained his mountain retreat. h a faint cry, strove to arise and de- With a shuddering, asping, moan, Ada opened her eyes, half-blinded by the cold water the savage had cast into her face. Brushing the icy drops away, she glanced hastily around—then shrunk back, trem- bling in every limb. She was reclining upon a level rocky surface. A small fire burned brightly beside her, faintly reveal- ing the a oceans At her feet crouched an In- pian; a monster, rather. A massive, deep-bronze body, marked with near- ly a score scars of bullet wounds and knife-cuts. ong, knotted limbs. Soiled ribbons and well-worn plumes decorated the oh ge scalp-lock. The one eye—a white, sightless ball marked where the other had been—was riveted upon her face with a burning lustful glare. The thin lips were parted in a bro grin, revealing the broken, tobacco-stained fan that served for teeth. A blood-red patch filled the | middle of his face. It was where the nose had been. _ Either disease or the weapon of some foeman had know that much—then somethin’ went crack in my | head. When I woke up, I was shut up in a big stone house, an’ they saidI was crazy. But I knowed they lied—’twas some o’ his doin’s, to keep me from tear- in’ his black heart out. I waited a long time fer him but he didn’t come. Then I set the house on fire an run away. I hed a dream that night, an’ the good Lord told me he was up hyar in these parts. I cain’t find him, though I’ve bin lookin’ ever sence. But ou’ll tell me whar he is—you won't try to hide him rom me, now I’ve told you what a black heart he’s ot?’ and the harsh voice softened and an imploring ook rested upon the rugged features. “Tf I knew, I would tell you clang PLE don’t. I never met any such man—”’ began Maynard. “You're lyin’ to me—I kin see it in your eyes! Tell me the truth, or I'll tear you limb from limb!” cried the madman, his eyes glittering viciously. ‘* Who dares raise an angry voice in my dominions?”’ cried a sharp voice, as the leafy screen rustled and a human figure stepped into the den. It was the weird woman—the witch of the Boiling 2 sto She stood leaning ae her long staff, her thorn-covered head flung proudly back, an insane fire in her eyes. ‘Who air you?” muttered Cowles, passing a hand across his forehead with a puzzled air. “Your fea a your knee when you address me,”’ was the angry reply, as the weird woman shook her staff. “Who air you? How ’d you find this place?” ‘*Ha! ha! what would be the use of being a queen, unless one knew everything?”’ ‘*Do you know Zenas och? Kin you tell me whar I kin find him?” eagerly cried Cowles. ‘** Kalloch—Kalloch—is he a snake, too?’’ slowly uttered the weird woman, her voice changing. ‘* Yes—a pizen snake—tell me quick!” Oe EE ee ae ‘*Kneel down there, and kiss the hem of my robe; | then I will know that you are a true and loyal sub- | ject. There,’ and she laughed shrilly as the mad- | man tremblingly obeyed her, “arise. You know where the dead pine stands between three black rocks, up the canon?” ‘Yes, yes, I know,” hurriedly muttered Cowles. “You will find the snake there. I bade him await m oo but you will do just as well.” ethro Co through the entrance. The weird woman laughed; low, but with a peculiar cadence that caused a thrill | of vague apprehension to creep over the wounded | man. truder glided close to his leafy couch, crouching low down with the catlike movement ofa velvet-pawed panther stealing upon its prey ‘“You are not one of my subjects; I never saw you before!’’ she muttered, peering keenly into his face. “T’m sure we never met before,” said Frank, with a queer as though the glittering eyes were fas- wles caught up his rifle and darted | Nor was this lessened when the strange in-_ — —— drive this knife to your heart—and I will, robbed the savage of this useful feature. Little wonder that Ada shrunk back with a cry of terror and disgust. It was Beauty and the Beast —Day and Night—Innocence and Guilt—Hyperion and Satyr. In that moment of horror, the maiden recalled the words of Pethonista, and she knew that she had fal- len into the ruthless hands of the Night-walker., The chief chuckled with glee as he saw Ada lift her head. She had lain so long without motion that he began to fear she would never awaken to life. He uttered a few rapid sentences in his own tongue, but as Ada only stared at him in mute terror, he added, in detestable English: “Squaw open eye—dat good. uaw no right sleep when chief want talk. Dat right—open ear— lis'en now to what chief he tell.”’ ** Chief Dag pote a Weg BAL you call Night- walker. Got plenty big voice—what say, dat mus’ be. Blackfoot nation lis’en sharp when Night-walker talk. If tell braves go hunt scalp—dey tek de war- path. He say kill—tek pris’ner, it jest so. He say make fire—burn, pris’ner roast quick. If tell squaw —go to dis lodge—cook dat brave’s meat, she go panty. fast. Dat what it mean tobe chief. You un’- stan’?”’ Ada managed to utter a faint negative, as she saw the grim chief expecting an answer. “You big fool, den,”’ angrily replied the Blackfoot; then, as if unable longer to restrain his evil passions, he added, rapidly, in a tone that could not be mis- taken: “Dis what Night-walker mean. You nice gal —mek chief good squaw. You’ people all killed— got no fadder, no mudder. Den ht-walker can’t go hang presents by lodge door. hang knife on dis rock—dat he lodge. You tek dat down, give it back to chief—den we married quick. Dat what me mean.”’ 4 As he uttered these words, Neepaughwheese drew the scalping-knife from his belt and thrust it ina crevice beside Ada, then stepped back with folded arms, complacently eying her trembling figure with his one orb. The maiden hesitated only a moment, then grasp” the _ ed the weapon, standing with her back against rock wall. ‘‘Back!” she cried, as the chief extended a hand with a guttural exclamation of satisfaction, evi- dently believing this action an acceptance of his rude suit. ‘* Back, say! My arm is stron ig: a to you dare lay a hand upon me!” The chief’s extended hand slowly dropped to his side. His one sye was fixed admiringly upon the defiant maiden. If he had coveted her before, she was doubly precious in his eye now, and he smiled with grim satisfaction at the strength of her spirit. ‘*“Wagh! the snow-face wears the heart of a Black- foot warrior beneath the face of asquaw. It is well —be fitting mate for Neepaughwheese and shall be- —- lamp-light fell a a long knife, Maynard realized Gomicbooks:eo