Beadle's Half Dime Library, Vol. 1, No. 2 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

ms -t—t—tw Yellowstone Jack. 3 ‘*Speak up! what were you growling about?” “iy ou heered me at all, you know well enough,”’ sullenly. ** No impudence—I've asked you twice. The third time ‘twill be through my revolver.” “"F you're sp’ilin’ to shoot, why don’t ye blaze = ? *Twon’t be the fust time ’at I’ve smelt burnt wder.”’ **This will be the /as¢ time, if you don’t—”’ **Injuns! look out, Cap—ahind ye, thar!” sullenly yelled Sandy Ben, leaping quickly aside. The leader of this rough band involuntarily turned his head, to glance behind him. And a revolver-bul- ie etaner his cheek, severing a lock of the silken whiskers in its passage. Quick as thought the half-dropped pistol was lev- eled, and a second report followed the first, like an echo. Without a groan, sy Ben wheeled half around, throwing up his arms, the still smoking re- volver dropping from his nerveless grasp; then he fell forward upon his face, dead, shot through the brain. The chief was still leaning against the trunk, nor did he move as the men simultaneously sprung to their feet with drawn et other than to lift the hammer of his revolver. His face was calm, though Lg a seemed to emit a phosphorescent gleam, as e spoke. “‘A shot for a*shot—’tis true prairie law. But if any one of you object, I will be happy to accommo- date you.”’ ‘*The boss is right, boys,”’ said a tall _— speci- men of humanity. ‘“‘Sandy Ben ulled fust—an’ | | | fluous hair from his face. sence the durned greeny couldn’t shoot_no better’n | that, why, he’d orter kick the bucket. Miss the size | of a man at fifteen yards—git out!”’ This characteristic speech turned the tide, and the threatened mutiny died out. The slayer of Sandy Ben now appeared an entirely different person. He was as affable as he had been stern and aughty. “Thank you, my lads—we'll get on finely, now. Sandy Ben was the only fool among you--he thought | But enough of © he could drive me, by hot words. him—roll the carrion into the creek—then listen. I will tell you, now, just what my plans are. I intend- ed o> so all along, but Ae would have said that fear of him made me. ‘*You know this much, that my name is Mat Mole, that I hired you at fifty dollars per month, to doa job of work for me. You know that this job is connected with the emigrant train ahead of us, but nothing more. As the hour for windin is now at hand, I'll tell you my whole plans, “You know that John Warren is boss of this train. He is my enemy. The man that shows me his scalp I wie pay double wages when we return to Council Bluffs. “There are two women with the train—Warren’s daughter and niece. His daughter—the brown-haired one—must be mine, unharmed. The other you can up the job | ; trail is full | these trailers had passed over h dispose of—by drawing lots, or by cards, just as you | ch where he expects to make a fortune in the hide and tallow trade. His brother wrote him to come—that he had made nearly a million in five years. Warren sold out, and is mgs | his rene § a gy has over two thousand dollars in gold with . Pie sum you can divide between you. I ask nothing, only that you help me in deo dog daughter,”’ The men cheered loudly at this intelligence. At that moment they would have charged death itself, had Mat Mole desired them. “You have wondered why I did not strike at once —why I have delayed so lon many fair opportunities. Well, I am a man that likes to make all sure, before I show my hand. Not one of this ae, must escape with their lives. They are nearly double our force. Even if we had sur- Hobe them, as we might have done a score of times here would have been a tough fight, and some o them might have got away. Now, if they escape us, a Indians will pick them up before they can reach safety.” ‘*What’s to hender the varmints from pickin’ us up, as well?” asked Tobin, the tall man. “We are in the Blackfoot country, and I can do with them whatever I will. They will aid, not oppose us. Besides, we have a friend with these emigrants. Their guide is in my pay. You see how far they have wandered from the right trail. Well, we have Chris Camp to thank for that. You know the trouble I have taken to lay false ‘ sign’ around their camps. Chris read that asI bade him. Under the pretense of giving the Blackfeet the slip, he has led them into the very heart of the Blackfoot country. This night, 3 everything works well, we will our ob, an 28 A low, peculiar whistle echoed from down the shallow stream, interrupting Mat Mole in his speech. The men seemed to recognize the ene but when it was repeated, with a erent ence, each man sprung for his rifle. Even Mole eppeared startled. The next moment a tall, lithe glided into view, and approached Mat Mole. | “What is it, Vern?” asked the leader. “ Indians—two-score—t us,’’ was the quick reply. ‘Blackfeet, I think. They were too close for me to lose any time. They are painted for the war- th. ‘ “Then it’s Fo ne te I — on fo . wees told you. ese eet W our es, no "4 if we will share with them. The need not es, know anything about the gold—you can afford to let them pie the mules, But cache yourselves, and wait. Watch me close. Agree to everything I say, and all will be well.” “We can whip them, captain,’ muttered the scout, **No need, Don’t you see we can make these fools play cat to our monkey? They may burn their fin- and thrown away so. ‘‘Warren is bound for the coast of California, | a Blackfoot war- but they will do our work and save us much gers But there—I must go trouble and some few lives. meet them.”’ Mat Mole ore down the creek, quickly disa pearing amid the undergrowth. His men promptly cached themselves, their weapons in readiness for use in case their leader’s confidence should be misplaced. The scout alone appeared dissatisfied. He would rather have met the Blackfeet as enemies. And when it is said that his father’s scalp hung in the smoke of a Blackfoot lodge, the sentiment is not strange. Vernon Campbell was a character in his way. Ten years before—when he was barely fifteen—his last relative had been killed, and he taken prisoner by the Blackfeet. Six months later he managed to es- cape, by killing his adopted father and brother, stealing a couple of horses, and reached the settle- ments in safety, though pursued for two days and nights. Since then he had devoted his life to huntin Indians. Young as he was, his deeds were we known amoung the Blackfeet, and his name was a terror to them. He had joined Mole, on learning they were bound for the Blackfoot country, without asking the object of their S geags & He was tall, lithe, straight as an Indian, an adept in all athletie sports, a perfect master of his wea- ns, and one of the surest trailersin the West. His eatures were regular, almost classic in their out- line. His fair hair hung in slightly-curling locks, be- low his shoulders. His face was perfectly smooth. Like the Indians, he assiduously plucked all super- is garb was plain, formed wholly of Indian-dressed buck-skin, neither fringed nor ornamented. A round, tight-fitting skull- cap of buck-skin covered his head. His eyes needed no protection. If need be, he could gaze at the noon- day sun without dimming their luster. at Mole glided rapidly down the creek-bank, using considerable caution, but more as if from force of habit than because he apprehended danger. And yet he was almost within hearing of a Blackfoot war-party—those most inveterate enemies of the wie. used the edge of the und wth. Be- e pa upon the e of the undergrowth. fore him lay full half a mile of valley that was per- fectly free of trees or bushes, the und covered with naught save a short, close-curled grass. Up this valley the pale-faces had passed on the preceding evening. Their trailers will not be far in advance,”’ muttered Mole. ‘*They won't dream we are so near, as the teen hours old. I don’t think there'll be any trouble, though ’tis ten years and more since I left them.”’ A few moments later Mat Mole saw two footmen enter the open ground, gliding rapidly forward, their heads bowed like hounds ru by scent. Before the space, a strong body of horsemen followed upon their track, Mole gazed keenly at them, but the bright rays of the sun linting across the freshly-painted and oiled faces affied him. He could only tell that this was indeed party. Placing a hand to his mouth, Mat Mole pealed forth the shrill, unearthly war-whoop of the Kainna Black- feet. It was heard distinctly, and the savage riders a drew rein, = eer temae <4 . sur- prise. en came a long-drawn, rye i away in a quave wail; a yell that chilled many a bold heart—for it was a startling imitation of the ape se cry. It was Mat Mole’s *‘ totem.” The Blackfeet seemed to recognize the yell, and as the white man boldly emerged from the brush a gayly-bedizened chief galloped forward to meet him, A slight exclamation of oy broke from Mole’s lips for he recognized in the chief an old-time friend and comrade, Neepaughwheese, or the ** Night-Walker.”’ The meeting was cordial upon both sides, and quite a long conversation ensued. The Blackfeet were glad to learn that Creeping Panther was still living, though ews heard he had long since been dispatched to the happy hunting-grounds by a white snake, who, fearing to meet the eye of a brave, crept up and struck him from behind. On the other hand, Creept Panther had not forgotten his red brethren, but had brought them a band of stout braves, whose hearts were red, though their skins were e, to help fight their battles. And, too, he had driven be- fore him a rich wagon-train filled with goods, and attended by plenty of good scalps, to prove that he had not forgotten his red friends. He had kept the hatchets of the Atoes and Sioux away from them, that the Blackfeet might not be robbed of their prize. The Blackfeet were to have the horses, the mules, the goods and wagons, all except two poor squaws that he had said must help fill ] : This a was most graciously received, The Night-Walker pledged himself to t ee | Panther’s warriors as brothers; together they woul despoil the train. And with this understanding the party hastened on up the creek. Nearing camp, Mole gave the signal that all was well, and a minute later the allies were grouped to- ine on the most amicable footing, All except ernon Yes ser He stood apart, sullen and dis- contented, weapons ready for use in case he should be recognized. But he had changed greatly since his captivity, and not one of the Blackfeet sus- pected this young en of that dreaded sco of their race, Pacanne-puck-on-che-luk, or the ‘‘ Man that drinks blood.” Evidently Mat Mole distrusted the self-control of Vernon, for he bade him set forth and dog the emi- ts to their a cae. As though glad to put mptation behind him ape left the camp. Mole and the Night-Walker quickly arra their plans, Mole translating the agreement for followers’ benefit. The Blackfeet were to do the most of the work, which was but natural, since they _ sheer ‘Il be smaller, but we'll be oe ats were to have the largest share of the plunder, if not the most valuable. The council was abruptly broken up by the storm, that had long been brewing. Warned by the weath- erwise Indians, the adventurers took their horses down the valley to the open ground, and then threw them, securely tying their legs. Shrouded in their blankets, the men crouched down behind their ani- mals’ bodies, awaited the pouderee. It came in all its fury—the wind, the sleet, the snow, the hail—not even Night-Walker had ever wit- nessed such a terrible storm. It seemed as though the end of the world had come. CHAPTER IT, THE SPIRIT OF THE ENCHANTED VALLEY. ** 'WAGH!”’ “ What is ‘t, boyee?” “* Sign—Blackfoot, I reckon.”’ “Two sizes—toes p’inted up, to’rds our cache—no back trail. A blind man could read it, boyees. These imps may not hev come hyer lookin’ for us in preticklar, but they must ’a’ see'd our sign up the valley, ‘less they’re plum blind. What then? Why uckachee a’ter help to come back an’ raise s,”’ Pe reckon we'd better puckachee,* then,’’ suggest- one, ““An’ J reckon no. We've struck a fat streak in hyar. A pelt a trap fer a week runnin’ ain’t to be sneezed at. Then shell we puckachee jist beca’se we run on a couple o’ Injun huff-marks in the sand? I reckon you're jist a-coddin’, Brindle Joe.”’ ** Jist es you say, Yallerstone—don’t matter to me.”’ ‘“Waal, hunker down hyar; the varmints mought sight us afore we got a good ready. Now, lis’en. You fellers said you'd let me choose our trail on this trip. You see’d that I didn’t lie to ye ‘bout the fur hyar. You know thar’s plenty more ‘round. Now, shell we stick it out a little nee or shell we go an’ tell the brigade of our find? Ef they come, our h then ell we to laugh at the hull Blackfoot tribe. oO ” “Do jist es you say, old man,"’ promptly replied Brindle Joe, **I knowed it—I knowed the backbone! Ef you'd Joe, I'd ’a’ bin disa’p'inted in m thar—I reckon we've got other wor day. Joe, you an’ Me come wi’ me. oosier, you an’ Heelyt Hank cache hyar, an’ ef a red comes down this way, save ’im ‘ithout burnin’ powder, ef posserble, but save *im dead to rights. On erstand?” Yellowstone Jack and his comrades glided rapi but stealthily up the valley, leaving their two frien in ambush behind them. These men, with one other, who had been found, arrow-pierced and scalpless, upon his ‘‘run,”’ three days before, had joined the brigade under command of the veteran, ‘Old Jim Bridger,” for the “‘ spring hunt.”” Yeliowstone Jack, a “ prime hand,” despite his youth, had ed leave to take a few comrades with him to visit a secret preserve of his own. Brid- er granted this request the more — that he ew the Indians, into whose country they had pene- trated, were most likely full engaged with their hunting further south-east. Until this ‘‘ meat-mak- ing an! completed, they would have little time for a . e little party met with extraordinary success. Scarce a trap was set that did not nightly contain a you was true grit, cl’ar to a’ said defrunt, Brindle old pard. But than to gass all beaver or an otter. And though sp furs, being et are less in price than the win r pelts the venturers were in high glee as they cal ted the profits of the trip. How many pleasures—what glori- ous drunks—how many nights of delirious gaming could be had with their aE Yet all was not serene. here was something about them that they could not understand. i the past two weeks they had caught occasio glimpses of a woman—of what ee me to be a mar- velously beautiful and graceful girl. But could a human b appear and vanish so abruptly, so mys- teriously? Was it not—and those bold hearts, who would have faced scores of bloodthirsty enemies with- out flinching a hair’s-breadth, drew closer together as they read the same icion in each other’s eyes— ee ~ not ny a _— ? : si rapper is nothing, if not superstitious. Then came the murder of their comrade. He had been shot with an arrow, then scalped. But the fatal weapon had been carefully removed from the wound, The banks of the stream bore no impression of hu- man feet, save those of the unfortunate trapper, though the body lay in open — a& score or more yards from the water uld a warrior have over that sward of soft yo grass without leaving a trail? Yet those keen-eyed men, their cee Oy sharpened by a burning thirst for revenge, could dis- cover no : Still they continued their rounds, but always ren- dezvo at a given point before venturing into the valley where they made their head rs, lest an ambush should have been laid there to cut them off one by one as they returned from visiting their traps. Yellowstone Jack peered cautiously from his covert behind the point of rocks that barred from view the upper end of the romantic little valley, or cul-de-sac, to more correctly, that served as their retreat. A deadly fire kindled in his blue eyes as he hastily withdrew his head. “The varmints is sneakin’ down this way—ready, * An Indian term equivalent to bea a hasty re- treat, to ‘‘skedaddle,”’ ‘* vamose,” etc. ough de- rived from the Kickapoo, this term is in general use among both red-skin and white. + Gila—pronounced “* Heely "’ by the the mountain- eers, EOomicbooks co