Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 278 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

10 The Three Trappers. made no napa, indeed, any resistance would have been useless against such a force. ‘*They are taken. Oh, precio Heaven, they are taken. What will their fate?” cried Millicent. ‘*T kain’t tell,” said Ben. ‘‘They may kill ’em, but I don’t thinkit. Jule has got the wust chance, fer he tried to kill the boy. ‘“‘Poor Shule,” said Jan, ‘“ sorry I gits AY mit him unt wrastle him town on his ‘*The least they kin hope fer is to be pris’ners of the Blackfeet fer years. Poor lads. Id give anything to set ’em free. But, what kin I do; what kin I do?” The prisoners were dragged out into the open space and questioned angrily. Whirling Breeze ond in front of tham for a while, and then, taking Jules by the shoulder, he led him into the cabin, ** He’s gt boa to get him to tell whar we ar’ hid,” said Ben, chuckling hugely. ‘‘ He’ll make a good deal out’n Jule, I reckon. Take keer not to show yerself, gal, it won’t do. Ef the catch sight of a woman, they’ll foller her till doom’sday but they’ll ketch her. But we’ve got things our own way. Ef Jule knew he wouldn’t tell, and as he don’t know whar wear’, he kain’t tell. So we ar’ safe two ways, don’t ye see!” Shortly after, Jules and Whirling Breeze came out of the cabin, the Indian excited and gesticulating violently. The sound of his voice even reached the rock on which the watchers stood. But they could not distinguish his words. At last placed them on horses. party trooped away. In a few moments all was still, and nothing remained to show that a visit had been made but the two broken beaver-huts, a few scattered beads, with here and there a broken shaft, a feather, ora worn moccasin. To the surprise of the trapper, his horse, which had run back to the camp when the wolves attacked them, was left at liberty as well as the Dutchman’s. Millicent had sunk down upon her knees, her face buried in her hands. The man who had saved her from gee. peril, who had placed his own life in jeopar y to save hers, who had kept up his courage and hers in starvation and fatigue, and had taken deep wounds in her be- half, was a prisoner in the hands of a blood- thrifty enemy ? She never knew her love till now. ‘‘Tt’s hard, gal,” said Ben, sadly. ‘‘I agree to that. But it is 7 often out hyar on the plains. I’msorry. But we couldn’t help it.” ‘‘He was a brave man,” she said, “py ‘“‘He saved my life twice, and now he is hey bound the prisoners, and This done, the entire one.” ee Don’t you giveitup. Thar ain’t no use of thet. Pshaw! He maygitaway. He’sa bright oung chap, and he may get cl’ar. Let’s hope ae Blaine te. he hez * a good chaince. Let’s go back to camp. Av’ you goin’ with me, or will you stay hyar, Jan?’ **T coes mit you, Fenn.” ‘*That’s right. Stick by me. You scratch es Sy i an’ [’ll scratch your back. I know what they’ll do with Jule. He vill hev a four- ounce ring in his nose, and t» painted red, yaller and green. I wouldn’t m 1d thet ef they won't kill him. I’ve wore the chief’s paint my- self, and it ain’tso bad to be chief in a tribe, and I judge he’ll be a chief ef he don’t make ’em too mad at him.” They began to descend into the camp from the spot where they stood. It was difficult, more s0 than on the other side, and needed a quick eye and hand to accomplish the descent without the greatest danger. A fall would have been certain death. They took Milicent between them, and aided her down the perilous path, the strength and skill of Ben standing them both in ood stead in a hundred ways before they accomplished the distance. The loose slate slip under their feet, and it was with a feel- ing of heartfelt satisfaction that he saw his two oe safe on the solid earth helow. ** Well done, miss; well done, old boy; I knew ye hed the right sort of stuff in ye. Thisclimbin’ about ameng the rocks is my best holt, an’ ye kept even with me. Thar ain’t many could do it, an’ I may safely say no woman’s foot ever trod whar yours did today, miss. It’s some- thin’ to be proud of, an’ I’m raally proud of comin’ down thar. Now then, put your best foot foremost, an’ let’s see what damage the brutes bev done in the camp.” “You objected to mecalling you sir the other day,” said Millicent. ‘‘I1 must quarrel with you now, father Len. My name is Milly.” ‘* Psho, now!” responded Ben, with a delighted look. ‘Ye don’t mean to eall the old man by that name, do ye?” ‘““Yes; all hope is in you now; you must call me Milly.” “Yer a sweet gal, Milly; the man thet couldn’t fight fer ye don’t desarve the name of man nohow. .Now look yer; I’m goin’ ter save yer young man—you see ef Idon’t! I'll save im or lay my bones by Powder river; thet’s ez good ez swore to,” “If you could save him, father Ben, I should love you always, dearly.” ‘““You would? And ye called me father Ben? Allright. We'll see ef thar ain’t suthin’ yit in old Ben Miffin.” They hurried to the hut and entered; every- thing was in confusion, and it was some time before they could collect the scattered articles sufficiently to see that not. one had been removed. Everything remained intact, to the utter sur- rise of Ben, who knew that Blackfeet were born thieves. In all his experience, he had never known them to enter a camp and leave anything which possibly could be taken away; and there were many little articles, such as traps, blankets, knives, hatchets, and the like, much coveted by the Indians, lying about in every direction, untouched. Ben looked about him in amazement. “ve seen a good many thingsin my time, strange things too, but this beats all natur’,’ he said. ‘Vat beats” said Jan. “They ain’t stole a thing; they’ve even left our hosses,” ‘I dinks dese pe coot Injuns,” said Jan, with a grin. ‘*Good! Git out! Don’t be pokin’ fun at a chap in yer old age. The world is comin’ to an end; don’t say it ain’t; I know better. I went down to Selkirk last summer, an’ ther was a chap thar preachin’ thet ther accounts of the world would be brung to a close jest about this time; an’ ther durned critter was right—a Millerite they called him.” “‘T know vat dey pe; dey sits on a stone in der mill, mit dere little chisels, unt go chip, chip, chip on der stones; dat ish vat a Mill’rite “Ye git out! ’tain’S no sech thing; this hyar critter was a preacher. He was a long-haired lanky chap, with jaws ez long ez my knife. I didn’t believe him then; Ido now. Blame me ef I ever hern tell of sech a thing. Come hyar, Diamond.” The white horse, which had been straying at will about the canyon, came at his call, and rubbed his beautiful head against the trapper’s shoulder. The old man returned the caress b gently stroking the silken mane, and putting t k from the ears of the noble animal. ‘*T kin forgive ’em a good deal, seein’ they left ye to me,” said Ben. ‘' Ef they’d taken ye away, old hoss, I’d ’a’ gone for’em in a way thet would hev set ’em back sev’ral files, the durned critters.” ‘‘ Penn,” said Jan, “‘ somepoty’s a-coomin’.” ** Whar?’ said Ben. ‘* Listen, unt you hear’em. A horse is valk- ing dis vay.” ‘Git to kiver then. Into the hut; it’s the we y place. Blame my cats ef they ain’t comin’ ck. oe age do hastily into the cabin and ba the door. This dona, they went to the side looking toward the entrance to the canyon and watched. They could hear the hoofs of the coming horse, and make out that he was ad- vancing slowly. At last the head of the horse appeared in view, then the rider, and they saw who it was. Jules Damand! His hands and feet were tied, and he could urge his horse for- ward only very slowly. Both the men started out eagerly to meet him, followed by Millicent. They cut his bonds and assisted him to alight. ‘* Ve t’ought you vas teat,” said Jan. ‘*| thought you war gobbled,” said Ben. ‘‘So I was,” said Jules, coolly, with a side- long look at the face of Millicent. ‘* But you see [ have escaped.” His manner was constrained, and he tried to avoid the eyes of his companions, To their questioning he made answer that the Indians had ridden out upon the prairie, and soon after entered a defile in the hills—a dark and narrow pass. In this pass he managed to make bis es- cape, leaving Bentley in the bandsof the enemy. ‘*Couldn’t you ’a’ managed to cut the bonds loose, or leastways to give him a wink some- how?” ‘*No, I couldn’t,” said he, rather sulkily. ‘* You don’t seem over glad I got away.” ‘* And glad we ar’ to see ye, though ye didn’t bring the young man with ye, It does my! heart good to see ye. I gave ye up fer a goner. Lordy! when Whirling Breeze gits his claw on a white man, he ain’t got much chaince, unless the Injuns take a shine to him ez the Crows did to me. Did ye hear why they didn’t take our traps?” ‘* Something which the boy said; he is a son of No do apg ea ‘I thought so; they ar’ alike ez picters, I’m glad I did the boy a goodturn, I kain’t git it through me how irling Breeze ever let them traps alone. And the hosses! Who ever he’rn tell of an Injun leavin’ a hoss he could steal jest ez well ez not?” ‘*Never mind the boy; I will remember him to his cost,” said Jules. “Where did you leave them?” ‘* About five miles to the east.” ‘Then the pass they went into lies south of the big hills, don’t it? ‘ec Yes.” ‘‘Then I know whar they mean to camp,” said Ben, “‘and thar’s goin’ to be the only place whar I stand a chaince of gettin’ that boy out’n the hands of the durned Blackfeet. It’s got to be did, if old Ben Miffin kin cipher it down. I don’t know thet I’d do it fer his sake, but fer the gal.” ‘*'You seem to take a great deal of interest in her, don’t you?” said Jules, with a half-sneer which Ben did not at all like. ‘“*To besure; don’t you?’ Jules Damand laughed in a strange way, which by no means pleased Ben, Indeed, there was something in his conduct lately different from the frank and open manner which had won the sympathy of the old trapper, in St. Louis. Even the stolid German observed the change. Millicent drew the Frenchman aside as soon as she could do so. ‘‘ Was Bentley down-hearted? Did he des- pair?” she asked, ‘*Who? De you call him by his first name? What is he that you should take so much inter- est in him?’ “He is my very dear friend. You do not answer my question.” She spoke in rather a baughty tone. ‘“‘He was down-hearted indeed, and with good reason. He is e’ther going to a hopeless captivity or certain death, and he lacks the spirit to escape, as I did.” sé Sir !? “Well, what now?’. ‘‘ No man dare say to me that Bentley Morris fears to attempt anything a man maydo. You shall not traduce him. I believe that you hate him, though I cannot imagine the cause.” Damand slowly left her, with a savage gleam in his eyes. . CHAPTER VIII. SHOWING HIS COLORS. Next morning Ben was on his feet early, and mounting the white horse, he went away alone, leaving Millicent in the care of the Dutchman and Jules. He whispered in the ear of the oung girl that he would either bring her lover back to her or leave his bones upon the prairie. She had the utmost confidence in him, and felt a certain elation at heart as she saw that the brave old man was determined on the enter- prise. Jan, who was fast learning to trust in him, wished to go too, but the old trapper would not allow it, and resolutely ordered the Dutchman to return, which he did, with several peo expletives, not proper to enter in this Left with these rough men in camp, Millicent had not the slightest fear. She knew that the Dutchman, in his rude way, was her knight, ready to defend her from insult of any kind. ‘*T am afraid that father Ben will get into danger on iny account,” she said. ‘“Oh, Penn ish not afrait,” and Jan looked at ber with a broad smile, as she sat down upon a stump near him. ‘ Penn is so prave ash nefer vas.” At this moment Jules, who had been leaning against the doorpost of the cabin, apparently in deep thought, came up and whispered in her ear. . ‘“What do you want?’ she asked, without turning her head, ‘‘T wish to speak to you for a moment,” he replied, in the same tone. She rose and followed him to the river-side, where she sat down ona fallen log, and he took a se antes a few feet away, regarding her earn- estly. ‘“You wonder what I can have to say to you,” he said. ‘‘ In the first place, give me your 900 com (@ ‘Ss; CO