Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 238 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

eo ee Cee Leaves and twigs were stripped from the boughs and blown upward into the great moun- tain of sulphurous smoke that filled the sur- rounding and blotted out the stars of heaven. Then darkness, deep and awful, fell upon the Indian bivouac and over the Raven’s Roost, and the dread silence that followed was broken only by a long-drawn moan of human agony—the agony of death. CHAPTER III. AIMEE LA FLEUR. ‘OH, rg does my dear father not come?” The speaker was a young girl of sixteen, the daughter of Old Max, the Tanner. A look of intense anxiety was upon her pretty face, and her blue eyes swam in a mist of tears as she watched the river for the coming of her sire. The cabin of La Fleur stood on the side of a bluff overlooking the Missouri river—some fif- teen miles from River View. It was a double- log structure, with a neat front yard blooming with flowers of every hue. For three years had the Frenchman lived there, and in all that time no known danger had threatened him. He had, with a remarkable de of policy, maintained a strict neutrality with the Indians and whites alike, no difference whether the were friends or foes to the rest of mankind. He believed that such a course would insure him against danger and molestation, and by fair and honest dealings with the Indians, hunt- ers and wanperel hoped to reap a just reward. Old Max had ounce been a well-to-do tanner in Omaha, but a fire consumed his tannery one night and left him but little. To add to this pecuniary loss he was soon after compelled to suffer the sore affliction of the death of his wife, and then, with his little daughter Aimee, he embarked on a Government boat for the region of the Upper Missouri. But by the time the boat had reached River View he was ready to stop, and did land at that place; but he had no desire to locate there. He wanted to get away from the baleful influence of liquors—not that he drank himself, but those with whom he ex- peeve to trade were addicted to a love of iquor he knew, and he wanted to have nothing to do with drunken Indians. So he went up the river, erected him a cabin, and at once became known as Old Max, the Tanner. He did not pretend to dress and tan all the furs he purchas- ed, for he devoted some time to ho and trapping himself. He had a ready market for all his goods at Omaba, whither he sent them by Government boat or private parties going from River View for supplies. Old Max, during the season, was visited al- wost daily by the Indians and white hunters and trap of that vicinity, and it required considerable tact to prevent collisions between these ancient foes when they happened to meet each other there. The ies always went away from his cabin fully satisfied with their trade. He never heard of a single complaint, and in view of these facts he felt that if an In- dian war should break out he would have nae to fear from the red-skins, But there were those he did fear, and these were the out- laws and adventurers that roamed up and down the river—many of them calling at his cabin— seeking his hospitality under the guise of honest men. But he betrayed no suspicion, although he kept a close watch upon them, and guarded well the attraction of his cabin, the fair Aimee, who was budding into a beautiful womahood. As time passed on, however, there came the news of an Indian outbreak throughout Dakota and northern Nebraska. Old Max was advised to remove to River View, but he declined to do so. He still adhered to the belief that his fair dealing with the Indians was a sufficient safe- guard for him; but Aimee did not share that belief with him—that great faith in the cunning red-skin of whom her boy-lover, Shocky, had told her so much, And thus matters stood at the time we intro- duce her to the reader. Her father had gone away that morning, and evening was now approaching, and he was no- where in sight. Naturally enough, she became uneasy, for. it was something unusual for him to remain away so late. And when the sun finally went down, and the shadows of night began to gather fast, and her father came not, the poor girl’s heart became sorely distressed. She paced the floor of the cabin wringing her hands and sobbing. Ever and anon she would zo to the door and look out into the night and listen with her hand upon her heart. But nothing could she see, nothing could she hear save the broad white river flowing on at the foot of the bluff. The Parson Detective. -_— Finally she went out into the yard and paced pnenatty to and fro in the cool night breeze. Here she walked many long hours away, but her father came not. At eg the moon came up, casting a weird, mellow light over woodland, river and plain; but her light brought no ray of hope to the breast of the poor girl, and finally overcome with despondency, she sunk down upon the doorstep. A moment later she caught a faint, far-away sound like the call of a human voice. In an instant Aimee was upon her feet listen- ing intently. he howl of a wolf came to herears. That faint ray of hope faded from her face, and she bit her lip to keep back an outburst of grief. Still, there might be more in that wolf’s howl she thought, than she had at first supposed, and so she continued listening. In this she was right, for she could soon hear a dozen or more wolfish voices all gathering at a point, as it seemed, a mile or two up the river. And once she was sure she heard a human voice mingled with those of the beasts, and when she heard it repeated she waited for no more, buf turning sped down the bluff to the river’s edge, where, in a little cove, lay a small bark canoe. In a few moments the girl was in the craft gliding up the river. She was quite skillful in handling the paddle, and her bark being a mere shell—Indian handi- work purchased of the Sioux by Aimee herself —she skimmed rapidly along, flashing in and out of the shadows and moonlight that fell upon the winding river like a spectral boatman. er h was bare, and her long yellow hair, tossed back from her fair face, floated on the breeze at her back, while her little form swayed to and fro with each stroke of the dle. Presently she stopped to listen. The sound of those wolfish voices was not far off and dip- ping her paddle she sped on. Plainly could she now hear the beasts barking, howling, and a0 Aiaes as if impatient to begin a nocturnal east. Finally Aimee knew by the sounds that she was opposite the yowling, jibbering beasts, and running her bark to the shore she landed and tied it up. Then taking up a stout stick that lay on the beach she proceeded into the shadowy woods, her heart rising in Jher throat. As she advanced the timber became more open. There were but few trees before her. Moonlight and shadows checkered the earth, and in and out of these she suddenly saw dark, shaggy forms whisking to and fro like a weaver’s shuttles. And such a wild, infernal din of voices! The blood in Aimee’s veins ran cold. She stopped and with starting eyeballs glared at the scene before her. It seemed that a hundred wolves were circling around and around a common center, snapping and snarl and fighting. Ever and anon a beast would utter a sound li a human wail or b into a wild, maniac laugh. And suddenly—above all these bedlam voices—rose a human moan. A cry burst from Aimee’s lips, and lifting her stick she ran in among the , calling out in wild shrieks to her father. ‘The maddened wolves ‘ted on either side of her and fell back with a sudden yelp of surprise and disap- pointment. Lyin prone upon the earth the maiden dis- cove he form of a man, but before she had scarcely reached the body—before she could look at the face, the wolves rallied and returned with renewed violence, closing in around her, With her stick she beat them , but gradu- ally they closed around her—some coming so close as to snap the skirts of herdress. Her feeble blows only maddened them. Their eyes lowed like balls of fire and the fetid odor of their bodies and breath sickened her. But it was a case of life and death with Aimee La Fleur and her father, whom she believed to be the man lying at her feet. She fought as only one fired with a last desperate hope could fight, but each blow grew feebler, her head was growing d , the earth seemed slip- ping away when, suddenly, there was a flash— a sharp report rung out above the babel of wolfish voices and was quickly followed by an- other flash and another report. Aimee’s courage rallied. The horde of wolves, like an ominous cloud, ted and vanished as if by magic, and in the moonlight bursting through, she saw a familiar form and face ap- proses and Shocky, the Boy Trapper, stood ore ber. The ring of his revolver had frightened the wolves away. ‘‘Oh, Shocky! my father is dying or dead!” burst from the girl’s lips as the boy stopped be- fore her, speechless with borror—almost doubt- ing the evidence of his own eyes—doubting the presence of Aimee La Fleur in flesh and spirit: until she had spoken. ‘Great heavens, Aimee!” he cried, sping the trembling hand of the girl, ‘‘ what find gore wrong! Your father dead?’ The two turned and looked down into the bloody face of the prostrate form. A cry, half joy, half regret, burst from the maiden’s lips. ‘*Aimee, this is not your father,” said Shocky ; “itis the young ranger, Roger Mill- bank!’ “‘Oh, where can father be?’ the girl cried, wringing her little hands and looking implor- ingly into Shocky’s face. ‘Aimee,” the boy said, ‘‘I saw your father once to-night and he—” ‘You saw father, Shocky? Was he alive?’ ‘Yes, but he was a prisoner in the hands of seven Indians.” ‘*Oh, heavens! then my worst fears have come true!” ‘‘But Ido not think he is a prisoner now, Aimee,” the boy continued; ‘‘ the whole party had camped at the foot of Raven’s Roost where Iwas. They tied their captive toa tree about owe cag away ee sack set rp tery their ; 6) a package o n powder into their fire. te eevladed with Pommenasion likea magazine. It was ten times worse than ex- pected, and them savages were blown to king- dom come, It puffed upinto my face knockin’ me almost senseless and fairly blindin’ me. It. war ten minutes afore I could tell whether I was dead or alive. I heard a groan and called to your father, but there was no answer. It bein’ dark as pitch I climbed down from my roost and went to where your father’d been tied, but he was gone. I hunted around and found two wounded Injins and two dead—one of the latter blowed all to smidgeons. As I didn’t know what’d become of your father— whether he’d got loose and come home or the survivin’ Injuns’d taken him off, I struck for your cabin to see. Hearin’ a racket out here I concluded to inquire into it, and that’s how k happen to be here. I see now that the Lord sent me, Aimee, But, poor Roger Millbankf I’m afraid he’s gone under this time. I res- cued him once to-night from two outlaws up, on the Vermilion.” “Shocky! Is that your voice I hear Shocky’’ The question came from the lips of the prostrate man. ‘** Yes r, it’s me,” replied the boy, kneel- ing beside the ranger, ‘‘ and, great smidgeons? ar’n’t I glad you're still alive! Rog’r, what can I do for you?” “TI don’t know, Shocky; I’m pretty badly pounded up.’ ‘Who done it, Rog’r?’ asked the boy; ‘‘ do you know?” ‘*No; but it was some one who was too cow- ardly to face me, and crept up behind and struck me down with a club and t me till I was unconscious. It was some one, too, who had no arms or else did not want to kill me with pistol or knife. I have my opinion who it was now, Shocky, since my mind has become clear- boy, who were you speaking to just now?” ‘* Miss Aimee La Fleur.” “‘ Indeed! his—Max La Fleur’s pretty child? Good-evening, Aimee!” and the voice of the prostrate man was weak and excited. “*Good-evening, Mr. Millbank,” the maiden replied. ‘‘Oh, sir, what a struggle I had to keep the wolves from devouring you.” ** God bless you, Aimee! you are a brave lit- tle girl, and—” Here Roger broke down. A moment’s silence ensued that was broken by Shocky: ‘“ Rog’r, you didn’t tell me who it war you thought tried to kill you.” ‘“‘Shocky,” answered Millbank evasively, ‘“could you bring me a sup of water? I am famishing.” ‘Yes, indeedy, Rog’r,” but as he turned away toward the river, he said to himself: ‘‘By heavens! I b’lieve he mistrusts Aimee’s father, Max La Fleur!” In a few minutes the boy returned with Roger’s pocket-flask full of water, which the a hg drank and at once expressed a feeling of relief, Aimee proposed that the wounded man be re- moved to her home. Shocky favored the idea, but Roger was silent, and his silence, to the Boy Trapper, was significant. Aimee tendered her canoe to the ranger. : ‘“Rog’r, what d’ye say?’ queried Shocky. ““Shocky, it’s just as you say: Iam almost elpless.”’ or Gomicbooks (KO) _