Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 278 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

f it, { sh’u’d think it war half man an The Three Trappers. handle, not a bit. It’s a good one, an’ I cum b it honest—the way I cum by all my traps. fight fa’r for every thing, even with a durned low-lived swab of a Hudson Bay man, an’ any- body knows they ain’t human. Ye asked me what that critter was. I tell ye fa’r, I don’t know. l’ve seen it onc’t before. Some of the boys hez seen it too, an’ they don’t know. It’s a quar sort of critter. Ef I hed my a about half wolf. It’s mean enough.” “It does not talk; but you noticed that it was clothed in skins,” “IT seen that. It’s a quar critter, I must say. ‘The boys call it the Mountain Devil. It’s a good name, It’s lucky for the thing that I fired ina hurry; and then the youngster was so much in the way I dassen’t fire at any thing but the arm. i hit that.” “It saved my life,” said young Morris. ‘‘I had no strength to ward off another blow; I felt that my time had come.” ‘So you mought wellthink. Itain’t one man but a dozen haz gone under, time and ag’in, here in the Black Hills. Whatever it is, it hates aman like death. Don’t you talk too much, young ’un; it mought hurt ye.” — ‘* These scratches are nothing,” replied Morris. **T shall be well in a day or two.” ‘*Look around ye and see how ye'like the place ye’ve got to live in till we go to the States,” CHAPTER IV. THE TRAPPING GROUND. THE stream on which they halted was one of the tributaries of the Missouri, the Oache la Poudre, which flowed through the passes of the Black Hills not more than forty miles from Fort Laramie. From the place where they stood, they could see the peaks of the three brothers, the Buttes, raising their heads on high. Mount Laramie loomed up in the distance and at their feet the river poured on down the mountain-pass, Near the place where they stood, that sagacious ~ animal, the beaver, had dammed the stream ad made themselves homes. The round tops of the little huts rose above the water, and know- ing heads were peeping out at the strange in- truders. In all probability, no other feet than those of Ben Miffin had ever trod the banks of the stream, iif we except the Indian hunters. The entrance ‘was narrow and crooked, and once in, the eter- na) rocks seemed te rise on every hand, inacces- ‘sible to mortal feet. Low growths of pine and the creeping forms of the cactus were the only vegetation. The silence was unbroken by a single sound. Ben looked at his companions in triumph. They bad met bimin St. Louis, end fhe had thought proper to reveal to them his dis- covery and make them partners in his toils. He was not avaricious, and he found them with no wealth except their weapons, eager to tr his trapping-ground. He wished to better their condition, and had taken this way todo it. Per- sonally, he knew nothing of them or their antece- dents. But they had appealed to Lis sympathies ‘in their destitution, and no man ever appealed to him in vain. He hada large heart, open always to the cry of the needy. In another sphere he would have been a puikintinsopéet: In his own, he was only a true-hearted, simple man, with only one r= aud that to live out his simple life as the Maker whom in his rough way he reverenced, would have him. Jan had told him wonderful tales of the prowess he had shown in hunting in southern Africa, where he had been when a young man. It only required a little of the rough experience of the prairie to show him that he was not the mighty Nimrod @ .e had made himself out to be. But, Ben cared nothing for this, and was pleased with the eccen- tricities of the Dutchman. é “Thar,” said the trapper; ‘“ain’t thet a sight fur soreeyes? Thar’s peltries enough in this yer stream to make us rich all summer.” “Vat ish dem?” said Jan, pointing to the beaver-houses; *‘ who live dere?” “Tnjuns!” said Ben. ‘“*Vat?’? said Jan, leaping from the earth. **Vy den you cooms here? Vy den you no stay at home mit yourself unt not pring me out here vere dey lifs?” : ‘‘'Yenever seen a beaver hut, I reckon,” said Ben. ‘* Ye wouldn’t believe me when I tell ye thet them houses ar’ the work of beasts.” “* Who build dem houses, den?” ‘* Beavers,’ said Ben. ‘‘S’arch creation ‘through, and T reckon ye won’t find any beast thet ken beat them. tare carpenters. ma- sons, and engineers; an’ they know the’r trade too.” ‘* Penn Miffin, you ish no more ash von liar. Vy you dry to fool me? How dem peavers coot down trees, eh?’ ‘‘ With the’r teeth. A lot of ’em git ata tree thet stands close to the bank and gnaw away at it till it falls over. Then they work away with sticks an’ stones to make the’y dam, an’ when thet is done they build the’r houses. You'd bet- ter believe they ain’t got the’r ekal anywhere in the arth, I’l) tell ye lots more about ’em, miss,” ‘*Thank you,” said Millicent. “Vell, you cooms here to catch dem? Dey too smart,” said Jan. ‘“They are pooty smart, thet’s a fact,” said Ben. ‘‘ But we manage to get the upper hand of ’em somehow. But thet’s neither here nor thar, Let’s make acabin. The gal must bev a place to livein. Ye kin use an ax, can’t ye?” ‘* Yaw,” said Jan, They had hoppled their horses and allowed them to stray at will about the inclosure, after the traps and furniture had been removed. Leaving their new friends together, each of the men attacked a pine about a foot through at the butt, and soon cut enough logs for their hut, Both Ben and Jules were old hands at, this kind of work, and Jan, when he understood what was required of him, did good service. The logs were cut down, squared slightly, notched at the ends, and in a few hours they began to lay the first in their places. By the time it was dark they had raised the walls four feet from the ground, : di Knock off fur the night,” said Ben. ‘‘ Let’s hev something more to eat.” “Yaw,” said Jan, “dat ish coot, I pees so much hungry as nefer.”’ ‘¢ Ye’ve: worked well, old man,” said Ben. ‘‘T ll say thet for ye. Come, Jule, try yer hand at the cookery ag’in. Don’t make too much fire. Git dry wood. These yer pine branches make too much smoke unless the’r’ dry. up thar by the rocks. Thar’s an old pine cut down thar, and it will make a good fire. I cut it down when I were here before, miss,” “Vy you ’vraid of too mooch fire, Penn?’ asked Jan, looking doubtfully around, ‘Ye don’t know the Blackfeet as well as I do, or ye wouldn’t ask the question,” said Ben, ve Wet wood makes too much of a smoke, and a Blackfoot brave could see a smoke as fur off as he could see a mountain.” “* Vell, vat ef he does?” ‘Then he would come and sculp ye by the light of yer fire, ef he didn’t make up his mind to roast ye a little fust. The’r’ a p’izen, sneak- in’, murderin’ set, an’ would make no more of takin’ the sculp of a Dutchman than I would of skinnin’ a beaver. Thet’s all.” ** Dey very near? said Jan, looking fearful. ‘“Vy you stay here?” ‘* We didn’t come out yer to play,” said Ben; “‘an’ the Blackfoot that gits my sculp will hev to fight fer it. I’ve a likin’ for my own ha’r, It growd thar, an’ thar it’s got to stay until things git so mixed up thet I kain’t raise a hand to figbt fer it. I’m goin’ to make this yer place a fort before long.” ‘‘ How you do dat, Penn?” ‘‘ Never mind. I’ve no doubt the Blackfeet will nose us out ’fore we quit, an’ when they do, we’ve got to fight. I count you pe fer three Injuns. I’m good fer. ten, and Jule will wipe out eigbt. So you see they must bring down twenty-two to hev any left todo the sculpin’.” ‘Jule ain’t goot for mooch, I can vip him so easy ash notting ever vas. I kills oct Injuns, unt he kills dree. Dat’s it.” wt ‘ Dileat tbe Injun when you kill him,” said Jules. ‘‘ Yowll run from the first one you see.” ‘‘Me run vrom an Injun!. No, py der saints, I kill auvery one I see, same ash I kills de pear. You prave mans, you two. Climb oop trees, unt leave poor Dutchman allalone, Yaw; dat ish no goot.” ‘See yer, Dutchy. I want you to go back to the bear and bring him in. [’m afraid the wolves will get at him ef we leave him thar. You wouldn’t have the wolves eat up your bear, would you?’ ‘| not got time to go pack,” said Jan. hoongry, pesides I’m very tired.” ‘‘-Yerskeered. Thet’s what’s the matter with {| rest in any grave. ye, Dutchy. Yer skeered half to death. Ye wouldn’t no more go back to thet b’ar then ye would fly. I ain’t quite so sure he’s dead, any- how, Isn’t thet bim comin’ down the hill yonder?” Jan lea up, clasped the trunk of a tree with both hands, and began to climb with might and main, while the others rolled over ard over on the ground, pi mes with laughter. By the time he reached the first br he had col- | nn | “Tso ave. Li lected sufficient fortitude to look about him, and could see no such fearful monster as he imagined coming down upon him, th The tru dawned upon him that he ag the victim of a sell, and he slid down again in great wrath, “You's the wust_ liar, Penn Miffin, in coontry, Auvery Yankee can lie goot deal, put you can lie more as dat, Dere vas no ‘‘ Wasn’t ther’? It must hey been the rock I seen, and I thought it was a b’ar, sure as shootin’. But ye was skeered, that time; ye kain’t say ye wa’n’t.”. ) © . ‘Kin, too! Wasn’t scared. a bit, Penn ‘Ye wasn’t? What. made ye Climb the tree, then?” said Ben. | | . ‘* Pecause I cannot see no, pear on the sround unt.I climbs O°P the tree to look vor him, unt ven I gits dere, I can see no. pear.. Den I knows dere yas no pear, unt dat you vas no more ash yon liar like auvery. Yankee.” , : ) Ben laughed heartily and turned his attention to the food which the Frenchman was. cookin over the blaze. He had built his fire wit all the care of the frontierman. First, the light leaves were ignited, then some smalJl twigs, which would burn without smoke, were edded, and when these had kindled into flame, larger sticks were laid on, and the fire was now bl ng merrily, though still without much smoke, ‘*Thet’s the sort.of fire to fool a, Blackfoot,” said Ben,. ‘‘Ah, many, and many’s the brave fellow bez gone under fer want of a Jittlecare. Now, 1 don’t know thet ther’s an Injun 6 aa twenty mile of us, but I always go to work as ef they were all around, as they may be fer all we know, and most likely ar’.” “What makes ye think so, Ben?’ said Jules. ‘* Cause it’s the last of the huntin’ season, an’ the braves are out fer buffler.. Thet’s my reason. Then, ag’in, ye kain’t depend on a Blackfoot; the’r’ a treacherous, boss-stea)in’ Mind I tell ye.” aria ‘The Crows are just,as bad,” een ‘No they ain’t. Anyhow, they wont be to us while I’m hyar. on see they n’t f t the’r old chief yet. 1 calculate I’ve gota wife among ’em som’ers,” ) © ads ‘‘ Don’t you know where sheis?” .,. .__. 7 v Kalai say, thet ea 3 bee I »was in the row Village ijast, and thet's | year QO, she were thar. , Ther’s a young ehiet takes cre of her on account, seein’. he ain't got no father or mother, an’ she sort of dont) So L reckon she rubs along right peart. orter, anyhow. Perhaps I couldn’t appreciate the woman, I didn’t anyhow,” wir’ T wale jes ou like her?’ said J sr T ‘ 0, set. ’ idn’t relish her much, thet’s a fact. Ye ‘see she had a tongue of, her po and a mighty ny tongue it were too—the wust you ever see. She never stopped her clack from mornin’ till night. I wouldn’t hev minded it so much ef she had only taken a rest.onc’t in a while, but she didn’t. It seems to me now, tl the durned critter thought ef she let her tongue rest a minnit, she couldn'teoaes itag’in.” . .. ‘‘ What did you do?” iM gofl teow vei “Do! What any. man orter, do when he kain’t save himself no other way.” . ‘¢ What was that?’ .. i aid 2 wan® ‘* Heeled it ez bard ez I c’u'd go. I reckon that was pooty lively too”, ..).. “Vat vas your vrow’s pamer saidJan. ‘Does ye want.her, Jan? Ef ye do, take her, with my blessin’. The truth is, ye’r’ gettin’ too fat, and ef ye hed to stand her jaw ‘One month ye’d git worked down to yer fitin’-weight ty sudden, tbat’s all.” one (Tee ‘7 don’t vant her,” said Jan. : ‘‘ Don’t. refuse on account of any feelin’ on my party, said Ben... ‘‘ Don’t be. bashful n r , ) ef it suits ye better, I'll sell her to yo il sell her chea of yourn an’ she’s yer own sure.” : ‘Don’t vant her,” persisted Jan. ‘‘ S’pose she dead, unt I puy ber? DenI lose mine goot knife all vor nottings,” of ‘Ef she’s dead, may sbe rest easy in her But I don’t think she would, any way. ve got my opiniop, an’ I think she'd never They won’t hev her in the other world nuther, She’d worrit them to death, mind ye.” | er dells me vat pe her game, s y don’t you Penn?” said Jan. “ Hill.a-leab, the Green Snake, Lovely name, ain’t it?” ** Goot me?” | | » * Ain't ib? Esrhage yer’ right. I doubt ef she’s a woman myse j core too. Give me thet, huntin’-knife Thet's fair Lan cracious. Dat ain’t a yooman’s ’ if. Anyhow, I’ve got my — _ FY « gas aie a *% i ? ¢ ‘ — * Es * V4 5