Beadle's Half Dime Library No. 376 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

: ~~ a “a pe ee alia = c ’ > ° ~~ A ae ee “rs- 2 = - ’ » <a ee + “s. # Pr a a i er mae er ee —_ “ he ¢ ‘ 7'o ‘ “ > j . . + 2 oe mat fe oa at > > . cross it, without difficulty. Thou wilt keep on, over this plain, till thou comest to the mountains on the other side thereof, and wilt strike for a pass in the range, which is marked by all the mountains sloping off to the northwest and west, Travel along the foot of the chain, which thou wilt see, running from the east to the west.and when thou comest to a he in an angle—a corner, where another chain of iills comes in from the south—I will be with thee. Dost thou comprehend?” Joe, who had been listening intently, nodded. **Reckin | do, deacon,” ‘Then there is no more need that I should stay,” said Simplicity, rising from his recumbent posture. ** [ will ride over to the wagons, and tell them that I shall go away for awhile—” ** Hold on,” interposed Joe suddenly. ‘See hyar, deacon, Whyin thunder shed you be goin’ off at all. naow, when we want ye wu’st? It don’t look right, nohaow.”’ The deacon frowned slightly, and the face that had b+en so guileless in its expression grew dark as he said slowlv: ‘Friend Joseph, it cannot be that thou mistrust- est me?”’ ‘** Waal, deacon, ef ye want to ‘alk that way,” re- lied Joe fraakly, “I don’t think it air the squar’ hing, arter we trusted ye to guide us in this hyar desert, to leave us, fur a week at a time, and make a feller guide what’s never b’en hyar before. It don’t look right; that’s all.” Deacon Simplicity listened intently to him, and his face cleared as he said, with his most winning smile: ‘** That is different, friend Joseph, I will tell thee why I am going. All unknown to thee, there are dangerous foes around thee, who are watching thine every move. Their eyes are on thee now.”’ Joe started slightly, and looked round him, up at the mountains, ejaculating: ‘Whar? whar, deacon? Whar air they?” The deacon waved his hand. **In all directions, Thou art not an old hand at this business as I am, and knowest not the keenness of sight of the red-man, Thereare in the foot-hills, in all directions, Indians on the watch for this train, and I am the only man that can save thee from them, That is why I am going away, all unarmed as thou seest, for they know me asa jst man and belonging to just men, who have never wronged them,” ‘*Then why,” asked Joe, with the native shrewd- ness Of his training, ‘did ye bring us hyar, deacon, when we mou’t hev gone by the other trail, whar there ain’t no Injuns?’ The deacon smiled in the same engaging way that = mad shown all along till Joe had shown suspicion of him. ‘I brought thee and thy friends hither, friend Joseph, that they might come to the promised land by a path that would be safe, under my guidance, though under that of no other save a man of my church, Trust me, and all will be well. Continue to show mistrust, and thou wilt force me to leave in hey take care of thyself and the women in thy eeping.’ The words of the mysterious deacon made Joe more uneasy than ever. **Look a- yar, deacon,”’ he said, rising, with a fvown on his face that showed he was getting angry. ‘That ain’t the squar’ way to talk. Ef you wed told us this hyar we’d never hev come this way. It c.in’t the thing fur a white man to go consortin’ with Injuns, and the man that does it ain’t the man fur my company.”’ The deacon listened to him tranquilly. ‘*Then it is settled that thou wilt not trust the man that has brought thee through the wilderness, by a path that has given the animals food in plent and has saved thee many a weary mile; isit?’ he said, J »e hesitated. “I ain’t goin’ as furas that, deacon. But I say you ain’t actin’ squar’, and you know it.” Hie was standing by the deacon as he spoke, and not ee of anything but what he was saying, the words of the other about Indians having set him to looking all over the valley to see if he could spy any sign of them. Deacon Simplicity stepped ap beside him, and laid his hand on the arm of the excited young hunter, Wilt thou listen to me a moment, friend Joseph?” he said quietly. Joe turned toward him, and saw that the blue eycs of the other were fixed on him with a strange exrression, Something in the glance subdued him so far that he said: ‘Speak on, deacon. I'll listen.’’ The deacon pointed up the valley to a place where the foot-hills ran into the plain, the slope covered with woods. “Thou seest that wood?” he remarked, with the same impassive air as before. ‘If I leave thee in anger, or if anything happens to me while I am with thee, there are a hundred or more of Indians in that wood, who will come out on thee at once, and I cannot restrain them. If I go from thee in peace. I can send them away, and the way will be safe. if thou followest the road I bid thee. What sayest thou? Wilt thou have peace or war? If it be war, here I am, unarmed, and thou hast a rifle. My life isin thy hand. Take it if it will please thee, but remember that the shot seals the doom of all thy party, and removes from thee thy only friend.” e stood by the young man, looking into his eye, with the same fearless glance as before, and Joe felt ashamed of his suspicions, “I don’t wanter kill ye, deacon,” he said, in a rather shame-faced tone. *‘ But ye must allow ye ‘t done the squar’ thing by us, in not tellin’ us the Injuns till naow.”’ ol - a - . , See \ / - r) as . > 4 . California J oe’s First Trail. Deacon Simplicity smiled in a pitying way, that had its effect on the simple Kentuckian. ‘** And wherefore have I hidden it from thee? Be- cause I knew that if it were to be told to the men in onder caravan, their simple, silly natures would ave taken fright, and they would never have come this way. But ‘How art not thesame. Young man, [ have marked thee well, and there is that in thee which will make thee a leader a ee if thou hast the wit and the courage that I think thou hast. Trust me,and when we meet again we will talk more of this matter. Thou art seeking thy fortune. I can make thee rich above thy wildest dreams, and put thee above princes, if thou wilt.” Joe stared at him, surprised; for it was the first time the other had spoken in such a strain to him. CHAPTER VII. THE SCOTTS GET RELIGION. THE deacon looked like one inspired, as hé said what he did. His blue oe blazed, and his air was that of a prophet, while the young hunter was awed in spite of himself, and asked: “s vy. what d’ye mean?”’ The deacon paused and looked round him for near a minute, before he spoke, There was, for the first time, an air ‘of doubt about him, as if he hesitated to say what he want- d to. At last, as if he had made his decision, he address- ed Joe directly: ‘* Young man, thou hast come to the plains to get a fortune; is it not so?” ‘Waal, yes, I did; but I don’t see much chance of that,” was the rather sober reply of Joe. ‘And suppose I show thee the way to get one in less time than thou canst by Bolg to the mines; a way in which thou canst be rich at once and honored by all; wouldst thou not be willing to take the way?” asked the deacon, **Sartain I would, and I’d be a darned fool ef I wouldn’t!’’ replied Joe, instantly. “ Then (rust me, and within the month I will show thee the land of promise, where thou shalt eat and be filled, and have all that heart can desire. Doas I have bid thee, and when we meet again thou shalt know all.”’ The deacon walked. off to his small mule as he said these words, leaving Joe staring after him as if uncertain whether he were awake or asleep. The hunter saw him saddle the mule and ride off, with- out having any notion of, intercepting him, and the deacon rode down the valley, and disappeared in the very wood which he had told Joe was “ full of Indians.” | As if to convince the young hunter that he was not dreaming, but that the deacon had really the power he claimed, within a minute after he had be- come lost to sight the form of an Indian warrior, in full panoply, mounted on a spotted pony, made i's appearance at the edge of the wood, where Joe could see it plainiy, and stood there for the space of near a minute, when it retired into the wood; and 4 he A hunter drew a long breath, muttering to imself: **Lord have mercy on us! Who kin he be?” Then he looked round for the wagons, and per- ceived, what had escaped his notice before, that they were in such a position, with regard to the place where the Indian had made his appearance, that no one in the wagons could have seen the hos- tile wpe 8 Then Joe realized the position he was in. Six men, with several women to take care of, and a whole crowd of little children, were surrounded by Indians, and the savages were ready to pounce on them, at any time. The deacon could have taken no more effective method than he had, to show Joe how totally the caravan was in his power, *“Why didn’t I shoot the darned cuss, while he was hyar under my rifle?’ mused Joe aloud, The answer rose to his lips at once: “But ef he’d wanted to play traitor, he c’u’d hev done it, afore this. Mebbe he’s true, arter all. Any- haow, it won’t do to tell the wimmin, or they'll git skeered to death, and we can’t do nothen to git aout of hyar, but foller the trail he laid aout.” Here the wagons came in full sicht, round an angle of the woods that dotted the Park, and soon after Jim Scott rode up on a pony, of which he was very proud saying: ‘**Darned nice p ace tocamp. That deacon is jest the best feller I ever see’d, for choosin’ camps. See’d him along with yer, jest naow, Joe. Whar’s he gone to?” ‘Gone off ahead to make the road safe,” replied “acid ee Say, Jim, don’t ye feel kinder suspicious of im?’ Jim ry ee It was remarkable to Joe how the anger and suspicion that had formerly existed in the Scott family toward the deacon had vanished all of a sudden. “Suspicious!” he echoed, ‘‘Why, Joe, what an idee, arter the way he cured father up. He’s jest a rip-tearer, he is, and we'd trust him with all we hev in the world. I used ter hate religion, and that were what made me tackle him, the fu’st night we seen him; but when I faound haow he c’u’d handle himself, I seen his religion was kinder different from any I'd ever struck afore. Me and him done a great deal of talkin’ abaout that, I kin tell ye, and so’s the old man and the gals. He tells me as haow j/is church is over the maountings, beyond hyar, and that ef a feller j’ines the church, they take keer of him, and he don't need no more work, all the rest of his life ’cept what the rest does.”’ : ‘* Did he tell ye what kinder church it was?” asked Joe, puzzled. Jim nodded. *‘ Why, yes, to be sure, It’s what they calls the ae Latter Day Saints, ’cause th as haow the Lord : sent a message to them, right aout of the sky,and thar gwine to conquer the hull ’arth afore thar done. He tells me haow they hev a Jar city aout “ the wilderness, they call Deseret, whar every one’s happy. PG Joe scratched his head. To him all this was gib- berish, for he had never heard the name of the great community that settled tle Salt Lake district, and the jargon of the ** Latter Day Saints” was strange - tohim, But there was something about him, so much shrewder than his simple ‘* cracker” com- | panion, that he ¢ould not help asking again: ‘‘ Air ye sure ¢hat’s the name of the church, Jim? Air ye sure it ain’t the Mormons?” Jim colored furiously, and turned on his compan- ion, asking: a ‘Who told you anything abaout them? That’s what the wicked call ’em and the Gentiles; but they don’t call tharselves anything of the sort. Thar the Latter Day Saints—that’s what they are. And what’s more, Joe, I ain’t gwine to hyar any man say a word ag’in’’em.”’ Joe was Purzled and hardly knew what te do; so he changed his tack, and asked: _ “And do you mean that you and the hull family Is a-gwine to turn Mormons?” pi “I tell ye, we ain’t gwine to hyar ’em called no names!’ cried Jim, angrily. “We're runnin’ this machine, and ef yer don't like it, you kin take your old mule and git.” ‘ The wagons coming up just at this time interrupt- ed the an altercation, for Jim rode off to attend to the leaders, while Joe found himself alone, watch- ing ine rest. e had noticed, during the journey from the Kan- sas, that the deacon had become very intimate with the Scotts, but had attributed that to the care he had taken of the man he had hurt so seve . AD every camp, when Joe had gone to his couch, the deacon had sat up, talking with one or the other member of the family, ana all that Joe had caught had convinced him that the deacon was talking re- ligion, ! n> though not by any means a bad fellow, had the dislike, natural to any young man of high spirits and strong frame, to t' e usual mawkish talk of the Methodist minister, which he had fancied Simplicity o be. He had always kept away from the camp-fires at such times, and had thought nothing of the intimacy that was developing, save that the Scotts were eed religion,’’ as he called it, Vhat kind of religion it was he had never troubled | his head toinguire; but now the murder was out, and even California Joe, rough and uneducated as he way, feJt a thrill of horror at the idea of the fam- ily ‘‘turning Mormons’’—the more so that he had but the vaguest ideas what ithe tenets of Mormon- ism were. He knew that the Saints had been driven out of the States of Ilinois and Missouri, in succession, for | some unknown crimes, among the least of which | the ignorant backwoodsmen counted muider and theft; but where they had gone he did not know; the exodus having taken place three years before, snd she plains being yet, to a great extent, unex- ored. " Full of doubt, and not knowing what to make of it, he sat apart from the rest of the people in camp, while they pitched the tents and made their fires, wondering what was to come of it, The Scotts talked together'in low tones, frequent- ly glancing at him, in a way that convinced him that Jim was telling them the story, and at last the old man came toward him, as he sat by the bank of the stream, and said, in a wheedling tone: ‘Say, Joe, what’s the matter with ye?” “Matter enough,”’ responded the young hunter, gloomily. ‘Jim tells me the hull caboodle of ye is turned Mormons, and gwine to jine ’em.”’ ‘*And what of that?” asked Scott. with a touchy manner that showed he resented the talk of the young aa ‘* Hain’t we got a right to think as we please?” ““No one said ye hadn't,” said Joe. ‘But that ain’tno church fur a man from Tennessee to j'ine; and you know it, Scott. D’ye want to hev more wives than ye have already?” ‘“‘And why not?” asked Scott,in the same way. “Tf my ole woman and the boys don’t squeal, I don’t see why you have anything to say abaout the matter, mister.’ ‘‘Mebbe I haven't,” responded Joe; ‘‘ but ef you spect I’m gwine with ye, ye’re mightily mistaken,” he old Tennesseean scowled at him, saying: ‘‘Mebbe you’d better keep sich talk to yourself young feller. Say, did you ever hyar of the Angels?’ “The what?” asked Joe puzzled, ‘The Angels of the Prophet,” said old Scott, his lean yellow face bug a shade paler as he spoke the words. “Ef you Aaven’t, mebbe you mou't better keep yer maouth still, till ye see ’¢m, or they mou’t snatch ye bald-headed, in the shake of a lamb’s tail. We’re gwine to j’ine the Saints; et ef you don’t like to if ene. with us, the best thing you kin do is to pull up stakes and git. That's talk; ain’t it?” Joe, not anticipating any trouble, had laid his rifle down by his side, and as he looked up. the old man had his hand on a revolver in his belt, which Joe had never seen there before. ‘I mean what I say,” continued Scott, in the same menacing tone. “The deacon, he's the ca tain of the Lord’s host, and he’l let you know what’s. what, ef ge give any sass to the Saints. which is it, young feller, peace or war?” oe It was the second time Joe had heard the anghage of menace applied to him, and his blood rose surveyed the Tennesseean, ft) > Sg A Res Naow, Ps , ¢ : ‘ hand 4 2 > 4 if’ ¥ sa : “y @.