Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 278 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

8 forward like a hound on the trail. He found at last a place where a moccasined foot had trod. The footmark was small and delicate. ‘““A gal or boy, by ew on said Ben. ‘*‘ Look sharp, I’ve found him.” The others rushed to his side. The trapper stood at the root of a tree which in some way had been torn up by the roots, leaving a cavity below. Before this cavity Ben stooped and looked in. A single glance showed him an In- dian boy, crouch n the darkest corner. ‘* Come out hyar,” be said. The boy did not move, and Ben addressed him in the Indian tongue, telling him to come out and fear nothing. e lad obeyed, and stood before them in his simple Indian garb, a blanket thrown over his buckskin shirt. His moccasined feet were small as a girl’s. For an Indian, he had a fine, bold face, and his black eyes gleamed with a half-scornful light. ‘“What do you want here?’ asked Ben, in the Blackfoot language. “The sons of the Blackfeet go where they will,” said the boy, calmly, toying with the ‘bow which he held in his hand. ‘* Who dares question them in their own land?” ! ‘*The son of a chief stands before me,” said Ben. “I can see that at once. No one ques- tions the son of a chief as to his right. But we are out upon the open prairie and in danger, The brave youth can see that.” “Tt is true,” said the voids ** My brother isin danger; it is well that he sees it, for when we know that danger is nigh we can avoid it, and pass away. My brother has seen the arrow?” sé Yes. ”? ‘“‘ His head is getting - tom of the Blackfeet. just man, though he has killed some of their era Good—they ive him achance. They et him goin peace when and where he will, so that he trouble the bills no more with his traps and rifle,” “Listen,” said Ben, unconsciously adopting the language of an Indian while speaking in that tongue. “I have been a chief of the Crows for a long time; my head has grown gray among them; they taught me not to fear what man can do, Why should we fly from the face of the Blackfoot braves?” “My father is very brave,” said the boy. **But what can he do against somany? What nation is like the Blackfeet? What chiefs are like theirs? They are many, they are strong. Their horses speed like the wind. Their hearts are very strong. There are three white men; they can fight well, but the braves will sweep them from the earth, when they come in anger.” ‘*We do not fear,” said Ben. ‘* We have come to take beaver and we must do it.” ‘“‘The white men are wrong,” said the boy, stamping fiercely. ‘‘They think to drive the Indians from the land their fathers left them. I bave heard of great tribes in the east, by the big water, who have been driven out and have hed one by one, until they have no longer a name or a place among the people. But it shall not be so with the Blackfeet.” ‘They must do as they will,” said Ben. ‘* We will not go.” ‘*Be warned. blood-red arrow.’ ‘We shall expect it. Tell the chiefs that the Strong Buffalo said so old a head as yours has no business on the shoulders of a boy. Go. You will be a chief,” The boy et taba ey himself up proudly and turned away. But Jules seized him by the arm, ‘He must not go,” he said. “What ye gwine to do about it?” said Ben. “Let gohisarm. The fust thing ye know ye’ll git us into some kind of trouble with yer durned nonsense.” ‘He must not go, I say,” replied Jules, an- erly, “Our lives are in danger.” ‘* Ye ain’t helpin’ us by techin’ the boy,” said Ben. ‘ Let bim go.” ““T will not,” was the Py Me “Ye won't, eh?’ cried Ben, ght day up his rifle. ‘“‘Then I'll bet my life [ make daylight shine through yer karkidge in about half a minute. Drop yer hold,” f Jules obeyed sullenly, and the boy, turning a grateful look at the trapper, darted across the rairie. Jules turned to the trapper with a owering brow. ** You have had your way, it seems. We will see what will comeof it. But let me tell you one thing: do not point your rifle at me again, or something may happen to you.” ‘**Don’t git up on yer ear about it, I ain’t ‘goin’ to hev no bloodshed thet kin be helped, I ain’t. S’pose ye’d ’a’ killed this boy—and a e ay; he knows the cus- if you do not go, look for the hey know that he is a. The Three Trappers. brave young feller he is, too—what good would ’a’ come of it? ’T would ’a’ brought them down on us all the sooner, thet’s all. So don’t say nothing to me.” has ff finished cutting up the buffalo and re- turned to camp, walking by their horses’ sides, with the skins containing the choicest portions of the meat slung over their saddles, They found the camp as they had left it, and at once built a fire. **T don’t reckon it will do much good to be very careful now, sence the Injuns knows whar we ar’. But, ther’s one thing we kin do: we kin make our hut stronger, an’ ef they git our sculps they’ll hev to fight for ’em. e’ve got a strong party, an’ we don’t go back fer no man; no, we don’t.” ‘*If we were alone we might do well,” said Jules. ‘* But, this ignorant Dutchman—” ‘‘Vat sort of a Doochman?’ roared Jan. “You say dat again unt [ valls on you unt smash you all mit little biecesso pig ash my thumb.” **Do be silent, Jan,” said Millicent. ‘'Do I understand that you have a fear of danger, Ben?” “© 'Tain’t nothin’ new. It’s allers dangerous on the prairie,” said Ben. ‘* Never you mind, little ’un, We'll take keer of ye.” ‘*T am not afraid, but, I should like to know what the danger is.” é, “Blackfeet,” said Ben,- ‘‘We met one while huntin’ buffler,” “Off you have anyt’ing to say to me, Shule Damant,” said Jan, breaking in on the conver- sation at this point, “‘I shall pe glad to have you do it. Put, ton’t sit dere unt look ash if you would like to eat me, I wouldn’t sit goot on your stomach.” “IT do not forget that you insulted me by pacing our foot upon my breast this morning. ou had better be silent.’ “Am I frait mit you, Shule? No. I ish not, I dells you blain. you like to pe frents mit me dat ish goot. Off you ton’t like it, vat do I care? Take your own vay.” ; “Tl give one of you a back-handed wipe in a minnit!” roared Ben. “Shet up, both of you. Jan, we have got to go and skin the bear you shot vesterday.” ‘*Who kilt ter pear, Penn Miffin?” cried Jan. “Vas it Shule? Vas it you? or vas it a Pg Doochman named Jan Schneider, eh? Vell, coes. mit you off you like.” ‘**T should like to see a bear before he is cut up,” said Millicent. , ‘““Would you? Then you shall take Jule’s hoss, and ride with us. Ill take mine, ’cause I like to ride, and Jan may take his because I want it to bring home the meat. You two stay and watch the camp.” The three rode out of the camp together. When out of sight of the Frenchman, Ben beck- oned Jan close to him. ““Why did ye tumble Jules over this morn- ing, Jan?” ‘*Vell, he keeps sayin’, Doochmans, Dooch- mans, Doochmans, till I vas tire of hear him. Sh’pose I rows him town on his pack, den he knows ash [ vill shtand no nonsense mit him no more. I[ pees not a vool.” ‘*7’m jubous you’ve made him yer innimy,” said Ben. “I don’t like that. {don’t want no quarrelin’ in my camp. When I take chaps out with me they must be the right kind of men, and not too hash in their ways. Now I don’t reckon it'll hurt ye much to show him ye ain’t afraid of him.” ‘You are speaking of your companion,” said Millicent, ‘“*‘Do you know that I am afraid of him? He has looked at me ina way I do not understand. Did your friend quarrel with him this morning?” “Yes, Now ther’s one thing more atween Jan and me. It looks as ef we’d got to tramp the prairie together fer a long time. Now any man thet travels alongside of old Trapper Ben, must hev the right sort of pluck, Don’t ye see pain always danger in the life of a free trap- r ‘*T nefer dinks dere vas so mooch, Penn. Off I dinks so, I woald not coom.” ‘Allright. Hyar ye ar’ an’ byar ye’ve got ter stay this season. Now I’ve noticed thet when they b’ar ye right down to it ye kin fight ez well ez the best man among’em. But, ye’r’ apt to shirk danger ef ye hev time to think an’ see it comin’, Now, thet ain’t the way with a free trapper. They don’t like to fight, nuther will they shirk danger, nor go a step out of the way to git cl’ar of it,” “Yaw. Dat ish vat I dinks. You hikes to vite. Now I vould sooner run den fight, if I can. rp’ Millicent laughed at this naive confession’ on the part of the Dutchman, whose face was the very picture of truth. “Tl cure ye of that before I quit ye, my boy,” ejaculated Ben. ‘‘ Take my word for it. I ain’t goin’ to hev no cowardly cuss in my camp. Now ef we meet an Injun, what ar’ ye goin’ to do?’ “IT dinks I vould run avay so hard ash efer I can,” said Jan, with refreshing candor, ‘I not likes Plackfeet no more ash hogs.” Again the merry laughter of Millicent run through the pass. Old Ben looked at her wit a fatherly smile, * You'd run aver would ye? Now, don’t ye ever go to doit. Fer ef ye do, ez sure ez a gun you git it right through the back. I won’t hev no skulkin’, It’s no wonder the gal laughs at you. But hyar’s our b’ar.” The leaves had rattled down during the night, and drifted so that the body of the animal was completely covered. Ben brushed them away with his hand and exposed the huge hody to view. Millicent had never seen a grizzky bear and it was something so terrible that she could not repress acry. The wound which the roer had made was exposed to view. Indeed, the top of the head was completely blown off. ‘‘Dere!” cried Jan, in high good humor. “I kills dat pear mit mine roer.” ‘Tt was a bold thing to do.” “ Vell, I dinks off I vas not kill dat pear, ter pear vould kill me,” said Jan, ‘‘So I kills ter ear.” “That showed great discretion on your part,” laughed Millicent. ‘‘But what is the sound that seems to come from below?” Ben stopped pulling at the body of the bear and listened. There was a pattering sound, like drops of falling rain, and then the pass be- low them was filled with a moving mass, and that mass was a pack of prairie-wolves, com- ing on at ** Their long ae , Which can tire The hounds’ deep hate or the hunter’s fire." A pack of wolves, mad with hunger. There ‘is nothing more fearful to a trapper. The know too well the vindictive fury with whic the black brutes pursue and drag down their prey. er Togs?” queried Jan. ** Wolves!” shouted Ben. ‘ Heel it, Jan! Git up a tree as lively as ae kin. I wouldn't give a beaver-pelt fer yer life ef ye don’t, an’ ez fer b’ar—umph! Run for it. Turn the horses ose, Snatching Millicent from the horse, he put her into the branches of a low pine and ordered her to clamber higher. She obeyed without a word, and he took another tree close at hand. The horses ran toward the camp. Jan needed no second bidding, but ran away, with a face which betokened bis earnest hate of the animal in question. Wolves! He had heard their ominous howl near his house on the borders of the Black Forest many a time. The f-rocity of the animal is wonderful. Jan knew that well. He recognized the lolling tongue the white teeth. He had heard his father tell of Lge et taken in the forest, far from home, and dragged down, screaming in vain for aid. Next day their friends would find their bones whitening in the sun’s rays, The pack uttered fierce yells at the sight of the man, and rushed at him. But Jan got to a tree in season, taking his gun with him. Down came the pack, snarling, snapping at each other, and scattering the leaves on either side. In a moment they surrounded the trees in which the trappers had taken shelter, leaping up against them, gnashing their white teeth and clawing at the bark. Millicent uttered a cry of terror. | ‘*T dinks I puilds a ’ouse in a dree,” said Jan, despairingly. ‘‘I has peen drove to a dree more ash dree times sence I cooms here. [f dinks dat it vas von coonthry vere dey lifs in der drees.”’ “Ye i hel be glad ye’ve got a tree so nigh,” said Ben. ‘“‘ The durned animiles would ’a’ tore ye to pieces in half a minit more. Thar! They’ve found yer b’ar. Don’t holler, gal. They kain’t get at ye.” A dozen fierce jaws were ie pe at the rough hide of the grizzly, and others struggling to get a taste of the coveted flesh. Jan was in arage. His ‘tpear,” the trophy of his valor, the beast he had killed with his own hand, to be devoured before his eyes by a pack of hun- gry wolves! He was in a towering passion. ‘I dinks dat pymepye I gets down unt kills auvery volf in dat flock. Look! See how dey shpile my pear! I kills dat pear myself.” ; i ! :