Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 5 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

ee ce ET ne i A A NT a Vagabond Joe. 27 Then without the least sign of regret, for he felt that he had but vindicated his honor, he hurried to where Vagabond Joe lay totally un- conscious, if not d He saw the white snow under the lad’s shoulder stained with blood, and without a moment’s hesitation, he lifted the lithe form of the youth in his arms, and started toward the cabin, ‘ Those at the house were not expecting Joe when the door was opened by one of the guards, and the Indian, with his blood-dripping burden, strode unceremoniously into the room, e presence of the Indian unannounced was, of itself, sufficient to have startled all with sud- den terror; but, when their eyes fell upon the yer lifeless form of Vagabond Joe, a cry of horror burst from every lip. All believed the youth was dead, and a pang of the most bit- ter agony pierced every heart. Myrtle Gray fell fainting, and for a minute or i the wildest confusion and sorrow pre- vailed. The Indian tenderly deposited his burden upon the floor, then proudly straightening his fine form to its full bight, calmly folded his arms sen fixed a strange look upon the party before “‘ Red-skin,” finally burst from Captain How- ard’s lips, ‘“‘who did this bloody ?—~mur- dered our beloved friend?” ‘A cowardly Indian shot him down after Red Hand had set him free to return to his friends,” answered the chief. ‘‘ The pale-face boy saved my lie once, and I gave him his life. A red- skin is as generous as a pale-face when he is not a coward like Sabulah.’ ‘‘Ingin, are you tellin’ me the truth?’ cried old Neutral Bill, frantically; ‘‘ didn’t you shoot him and then carry him here with this story that Bi might learn our strength?” “The boy is not dead—only wounded. He will speak soon,” said the Indian. A cry burst from the lips of Joe’s friends—a cry of joy. Ag Howard and Henry Sam son at once knelt by the prostrate form of the youth, and began an examination of the body. “But,” replied Old Bill, “you didn’t say whether you killed him or not.” ‘The boy is not dead. I slew the Indian that shot him, Is that not proof that Red Hand speaks the truth?” ‘* Yes, if you only did it; but I don’t b’lieve you did, b’lieve you're lying,” put in the crusty Bildad Meeks. The young chief’s eyes flashed with the spirit of resentment, and glancing toward the presi- dent of the school-board with a contemptuous smile, said: pe The pale-face talks brave now; he knows he is safe; but when he was a prisoner in the pewer of Red Hand’s warriors with the pale-face boy, he begged and criedlikeasquaw. But the pale: face boy, Vagabond Joe, was brave. @ es caped and made Red Hand a prisoner. is friends wanted to kill the Indian, but the bo Saved my life. Red Hand did not forget it. He, too, is brave and generous. He saved Vag- abond Joe's life; but when he turned to go, Sa- bulah shot him down. Red Hand slew Sabulah. Red Hand has spoken the truth, Believe him or not. Red Hand will not raise his hand to save his life. Ifthe pale-face believes Red Hand has lied, let him strike.” These words, spoken in plain English, MoV duced a favorable impression on the minds of his listeners. There was that cool deliberation, that characteristic Indian pride and honor, mani- fested in his words and actions that carried con- viction of his innocence to every heart; and after some further conference, be was permi to care the cabin, and that, too, with the thanks of It soon became evident that Vagabond Joe had fainted from sheer loss of blood. His whole right side was covered with blood, and in a few minutes Captain Howard and Henry Sampson had strip him to the waist. Then search was made for the wound, and it was found to bea very severe, if not fatal, injury. The bullet, Striking in the region of the spine, and glancin off, followed a rib several inches and came ou in front. “Tt is a wound seldom mortal where there is constitution and vigor enough to bear the loss of blood'and suffering,” announced Captain How- ard, whose experience in the army was, in such Cases, of no little consequence. “T am afraid,” murmured Henry, Sampson, that the boy has little life left in his slender orm ‘Well, he’s not dead; and so we must dress the wound at once,” declared Howard. Snow was melted in an iron kettle found in the cabin, and the blood washed from the lad’s person. Then the wound was dressed as wellas the party’s limited means would permit. While thus engaged all noticed that Joe’s right arm bore the marks of a terrible wound. m the shoulder to the elbow, there were red, rough scars that had evidently been made by the fangs of some animal. ‘‘This is not the first time the boy has been hurt,” said Sampson, pointing to the seamed and disfigured arm. ‘It looks as though the flesh had been bitten and torn by an animal’s teeth.” The unconscious boy was placed upon a couch, and in the course of an hour he recovered so that he was enabled to s When told where he was, and assured that he was not dangerously hurt, he rallied so that he was enabled to tell the story of his adventure. Some broth made of rabbit was given him, and a por much in restoring strength and life to s y. He corroborated Red Hand’s story of his ad- venture in the valley in most respects, though he could not say who had fired the shot that wounded him. e felt satisfied, however, that it was not the young chief; and he felt glad that they had permitted the Indian to depart. in peace from the cabin. To all it became. evident that Joe would not be able to leave the cabin for several days, un- less provided with some better conveyance than was at their command; so it was decided best to send two men to the settlement for a team or two, and, also, reinforcements to assist them out of their danger. This duty devolved upon Bildad Meeks and one of Captain Howard’s friends, and as soon as night fell they set out upon their cold, perilous journey. Vagabond Joe rested very quietly, notwith- standing his weakness and pain; Howard felt uneasy, for he knew not what hour his con- dition might change for the worse. As night cl in over the hidden cabin, guards were stationed outside, Myrtle and Grace watched by Joe’s bedside, and administered to his wants with a gentle hand and a kind voice, in which all the sweet- ness of their woman’s nature betrayed iteelf. As the night wore away, and the inactivity of the men bred impatience and essness, one of the party said: ‘*IT wonder why we haven’t forced the door open and seen what is in that adjoining room?” ‘We've been too busy, for one reason,” re- plied Fred Manning; ‘‘ but I, for one, am ready now to look in there.” “ All right!” exclaimed Sampson; ‘‘ but be as quiet as ible about it.” With the ax, old Neutral Bill succeeded in prying the stubborn barricade open. A foul, musty odor came out of the room as the door swung epen. Sampson plucked a blaz- ing brand from the fire on the hearth, and into the unexplored apartment. As the dim, wavering light shone over the room, the party recoiled with horror at the awful spectacle that was revealed to their eyes. CHAPTER XXVI. A TELL-TALE DOCUMENT. For fully a minute Sampson and his compan- ions s ing around them, as if roo to the spot with horror, The room had evidently been used as a sitting- room and bedroom combined, for all the furni- ture of the scantily-furnished forest-home was still there, with the dust and mold of years upon it. There was one window in the room, but this was barred upon the inside, Upon the walls were a few rustic picture-frames, from which the prere, moth-eaten and time-worn, were nearly obliterated. An old-fashioned wall-clock hung upon the wall, mute with the rust of years, Here and there hung the remnants of garments, A few worm-eaten chairs were in the a ment. A table occupied a position near the closed win- dow, and leaning forward upon this table, and supported by a chair, was a ghastly human skeleton. by the white, glistening skull was a pen, half buried in dust, and an ink-stand, from which the fluid had long since evaporated. Un- der the dust was found a paper upon which was written something in a bold, yet scrawli hand. But the horrors of that death-chamber did not end there, Upon a bed in one corner lay another grinni eleton i wkh female garments, Aro the skull, masses of long silken hair lay in tangled disorder. ‘‘My God?’ exclaimed Sampson, closing the door, that his words might not reach the ears of Joe and the women; ‘I thought there was something deathly about this place—that it seemed more like the home of the dead than the living.” WAY, Sampson!” responded Captain How- ard, ‘‘ there must be some mystery here.” ‘* Yes, those people have died here alone; and here, unmolested, for years and years, have their skeletons remained. There is a mystery here, captain; and I presume this paper will ex- plain it all.” He placed the torch in Howard’s hand, then taking up the yellow, dusty paper, he held it close to the light and read, in a low tone, the following: eer Ne “To WHom rr MAY ConcerN—I am dying! dying! My darling wife has already passed away to that land that knows no suffering, no sorrow. er poor, broken heart, once happy and joyous, is forever silent, It no longer throbs for the child that has been so ruthlessly torn from our by—God only knows whom or what. “We had lived here but one year. I was to engage in the fur-trade with the Indians; but for some rea- son or other, the savages seemed to regard us with the same superstitious dread that they did the val- ley. One day our little Dick—our darling boy of three years, Heappeared: I believe he was stolen; but be that as it may, it killed his poor mother, who lies upon the bed. And I, too, am dying—dying of a wound in the breast. While searching for our child, I was shot with a poisoned arrow. ere is no es- cape forme. Already a thousand pains are piercing my body, and ae A is upon fire. ‘I write this in hopes some Christian man may find our remains and give them burial, And if any one should ever read these lines, I hope he will in- uire, as he passes along through life, about our child. He is « bright boy with blue eyes and light brown hair. He is no doubt among the Indians, if he has not been devoured by the wolves that even now howl at the door. Should years elapse before this is read, and our boy be grown to manhood, he can be identified by one mark alone, and that among a mil- lion. When he was a mere babe, a hu wolf came to where he was creeping about in the door- yard, and seizing him by the right arm, attempted to drag him away. It buried its cruel fangs in the tender fles,in six different places; and the imprint of the same will remain there until the day of his death, if he is not already—"’ ‘Great Redeemer!” exclaimed John McCul- lum, one of the settlers, “those very identical marks are upon the arm of Vagabond Joe! Don’t you remember speaking of the scars, cap- tain?’ ‘*T do,” replied Howard. i is bursting through the clouds!” ex- n. ‘** Read on,” said several voices. ‘Should any one reading this,’ Sampson continued reading, ‘‘ ever find a child answering to this a tion, I pray he will care forhim. Somewhere in the West, he—my child—our boy—has an uncle Jerry Grimes, and—" ; “By Jerusalem!” again interrupted McCul- um, “Bravo!” exclaimed Sampson. ‘‘ Boys, I be- lieve I have found , the sister of Jerry Grimes, at last; or rather her remains. That skeleton upon the bed is Margery’s; and that boy lying in the room is her boy, and the nephew ‘| of Jerry Grimes. God certainly moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. For months and months have I searched for this family; and here, after giving up all ho I find them by the merest accident. But I will read the rest of it: “Somewhere in the West he—my child—our boy— has an uncle named Jerry Grimes, and in Tennessee he has two aunts—one named Ruth Lamar, and the other named Naomi Franklin. Send our ohild to either of them, should any one ever find him, and you will fulfill the dying request ate + “Oh, my God—”’ Here the strange, sad letter broke off as abruptly, as, perhaps, did the life of its author, For a moment the little party stood silent with rise and astonishment. pson was the first to speak. ‘‘ Boys, let us place the remains of those un- fortunate poms together, and to-morrow we can inter them. Then we must close and fasten the door that neither the maidens nor Joe ma know what a Looe secret this room holds. will i oe in hopes of obtaining from him some further evidence of this having once been his father’s home.” The door was closed and fastened, and in the course of the evening Sampson sat down by J one perme and asked: 4 , ¥00, HOW are you f by this time “Tm feelin’ preter well, though weak asa et rag,” replied the boy, with some of his oki-time manner; “that red come mighty nigh puttin’ a bee in my bonnet, the treacherous dog. ‘‘T have an idea you've bad many narrow escapes in your time, Joe. Isaw some terrible scars upon your arm awhilesince. They looked GOmicboo gs} €or —— —— — — — es — —- > -oo