Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 542 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

~~ 2 ws gt "er . The Canyon Fards. scorn at the simplicity of the idea ‘‘ supernat- ural,” let me state here and now that the inci- dent was witnessed by a confirmed skeptic, one of the most doubting and incredulous of prac- tical men. He was alsoa party to it; at first doubting, then perplexed, and lastly a thor- ougiiiy scared man. Tt was high noon on the meza of the Colorado —high and dry, for it was the summer solstice and the middle of the dry season. Away over the flat table-lands adjoining the river canyon, the veat rose in shivering liquid waves from the drie.t and baked earth, “Heat—drought! two fit comimions, and the invariable frequenters of the Colorado River plateaus, ‘The ravine-traversed meza (table) contiguous to tue main canyon, was devoid of verdure, save here and there, where grew stunted and isolated clumps of the wild sage. So scanty in its foliage, so bare in its desolation that even its most constant frequenter could find no shel- ter under it—the gigantic hare—the ‘‘ jack-rab- bit.” Wath the exception of this sage-brush the meza was bare and yellow, miles from human haunts, quiet and ghostly—a deserted land. It was a dreary place and its numerous frightful chasms only served to make its dreariness more apparent; the only redeeming feature in the whols landscape for miles, being a distant and higher plateau where the verdure was more luxuriant and still retained a resemblance to its natural color, Near the brink of a deep chasm, one of the many that joined the river at right-angles, was a small camp. it was evidently the halting- place of a band of hunters or explorers—prob- ably the latter, for the accustomed observer would have instantly pronounced the camp a ‘** fa‘igue-outfit’’ from its compact and sparse dimensions, A small and well-worn tent was languidly fiup ping its patched sides in the steady breeze— the only shelter in case of inclement weather. Bei le it were several bundles of blankets ready baled for a sudden decamp; a solitary rifle leaned against one of them: a saddle and ac- companiments lay near at hand, while scattered about the shady side of the tent were a number of tin dishes, looking asif carelessly arranged for a meal, Bustling about a small fire was a short, sandy- haired man of thirty or forty years, with a meager, bronzed face, and sharp gray eyes set close together. With his shirt-sleeves turned up to the elbow, thereby exposing a lean, skinny arm, but well-lined with muscle, he was, while endeavoring to coax the fire, the very personifi- cation of fretfulness, His whole aspect was that of a man keen and discriminating, with plenty of practical sense, but over given to sul- kkiness. He was dressed in a ragged suit of Kentucky jean, the nether portions of which were consid- erably in need of repair—so were his boots, for his toes protruded from the ripped uppers; while his shock head was crowned by a tattered slouch hat, which flapped annoyingly down over his eyes, causing a running fire of curses the day through, ; ! While occupied about the fire he alternately eyed a vicious-looking mustang, picketed close by, and kept up a running soliloquy, which, muttered and indistinct, coupled with the fret- ful tone in which it was uttered, proclaimed finally his disposition. His voice was sharp and uerulous; his words more so: and as he left the e, and mounting an eminence close at hand, looked away toward the north, his tone grew sharper, his face more bitter, and his words ran thus: ‘Oh, every hair of my blasted head! Whata cursed pickle Vm in. They went off and never told me when to get dinner. Told me?—of course they didn’t; though I axed Pedro, and he’s the king-pin of the hulloutfit, Oh, calamity, what a life, what a life! to cook and slave for a ck of gluttons, a pack of lazy, strolling vaga- onds, who don’t keer what happens to me long’s their stomachs are full of meat and drink. Eh, you old fool—you villain—what d’ye mean thar’—hi—whoa—whoa—stop, I say! oh, my eyes, he’ll bu’st loose, and then whar won’t he run to? Whoa, thar, you ugly brute.” The last words, uttered in a still shriller tone, were addressed to a vicious mustang, which was dancing and tugging at the entire length of the picket-ropes with fierce pulls, which threatened to uproot the small stake to which it was secured. As every successive jerk caused the frail pin to bend and strain, the coox, Kit Dun- can, saw it would soon break or be drawn from the ground, so he darted toward the mustang and seized him by the nose, at the same time kicking him violently. ee +e Then commenced a fierce struggle. The mus- tang was equally wrong-headed and obstinate, and kicked, plunged and squealed as only a mus- tang can; while Duncan, tightly clinching his nostrils, held firmly, at the same time kicking the beast violently. The mustang was active, and struck out sharply at the cook with his fore-feet, striving, as he did so, to tear away from the latter’s clutch; but Duncan held tighfly, and had it not been for an incident which occurred in the brute’s favor would have gained the victory. The mustang, during the brief struggle, had not fora moment ceased to pull bard on the : - é) ia £ = ’ | | quiet. He waited several minutes more, Then, growing surprised, left the tent and walked out into the plain. The mustang, recovering from his temporary fright bad forgotten his original design of flight, and had halted northward a half mile, where he was calmly grazing. The mare, too, had re- sumed her grass; and a little ashamed at being so easily alarmed, Duncan shouldered the rifle and walked away toward the hill. He had not gone over one hundred yards, and was about half-way to the base of the hill, when a horseman came suddenly into view, riding over the summit. In a hostile country, Dun- picket-rope, in wild attempts to break away; | can’s first act was to cover the stranger with and the stake, slender and frail, incapable of en- during the strain, at length bent, wavered, and finally snapped. Now the furious beast, freed from the confin- | | his rifle, Had the latter made any warlike demonstra- tions, he would have been in extreme danger of his life, for the cook would have fired, and as he ing rope, plunged still more violently, and | was anold Kentucky squirrel-hunter, was a good danced about, taking Duncan entirely off his | shot; but the man rode directly toward Duncan, feet; and the latter, feeling his fingers grow | who, on his guard, still covered him, numb under their tight grip, became frantic at the thought that he must soon Icose his hold. Apparently, the mustang perceived the lessen- ing grip upon his nose, for, with a vindictive squeal, he braced himself for a final effort. Lowering his body until his belly nearly touched the ground, he stood motionless for a» moment; then, with a desperate plunge, at the same time striking out his fore-feet, he overturned Duncan on the ground, and, bounding past him, was free! With a sbril “‘whigher” of triumph, he bounded away from the camp, heading south- ward; disgusted with the dried-up seanty her- bage of the river mezas, he was galloping to- ward the more fertile plateaus, miles away in the south. Ata little distance away, a pack-horse was tethered—an old Spanish mare, lazy, slow and stolid; and as the cook sprung to his feet, de- cided to pursue, and accordingly ran toward this animal with the intention of mounting and giving chase, A second’s reflection, however, convinced him of the folly of so doing, for the mustang was very fleet, while the mare had been stiffened and abandoned as a saddle-horse, long ago, So, he stood with an inflamed face, swearing like a trooper, watching the fast-retreating mustang as he galloped away. The latter, however, did not go far; for at the summit of a small knoll he halted short, and tossing his head, neighed wildly, evidently in alarm, then turned to retrace his steps. Ap- arently he saw some fantastic or foreign ob- ject, which caused him alarm, for he waited but an instant in his irresolute posture; then, with another and shriller neigh, he turned tail, and came galloping swiftly back toward the cook, who watched him now with satisfaction and glee. ‘‘Ah, you ugly bunch of devilment!” he shrieked. ‘* You see the boys, do you? ~ hey are coming, are they? Ah-ha, my bird—so-ho, my beauty! The Spaniard’s lass’ will soon ke around your neck, and then— ° I guess Fil make a big clib out of the-tent-pole. Hello! what’s the matter with you, now? What’s got into the old mare?” Withdrawing his gaze from the fleeing mus- tang, he bent his eyes upon the pack-mare in wonder; for the stolid animal, generally balf- asleep, and not easily excited, was now with erect head, and pricked-up ears, intently staring at some invisible object, probably the one that had frightened the mustang, ‘*Something’s wrong!” muttered Duncan, 4s hé watched the mare. ‘Injuns, p’r’aps. *twas the boys coming back, the mustang 'd have known ’em; so’d the mare, And, by thunder! if twas the boys they wouldn’t be coming from that direction—they would come from just the opposite—due north, No, it can’t be the boys— it’s some one else, I guess I'll hide for a bit.” In the heart of a hostile Indian country, it was the wisest thing to be done under the cir- cumstances; and without further surmising, he took the rifle from its stand by the blankets, and glided into the tent. There was a rent inthe canvas on the south side. Creeping to this, he peered out, having a range of vision which commanded the whole southern plain, and waited for the appearance .of the (as he supposed) invisible enemy. Nothing strange was in sight, The mustang. with flying mane and tail, gnuoped by, and dis- appeared from his limited vision, Next, just over the knoll, a solitary bird of prey arose, with discordant screams, and soaring aloft, wheeled slowly away. He waited five minutes, nothing came to view from the hill-top. He grew uneasy—it was so Duncan’s sharp eye noted the stranger. He was a tall, thin man, dressed plainly, as he could see a neutral-colored garment beneath the Mex- ican poncha he wore cast over his shoulders. His face was that of a dark-skinned man, and was partially hidden by a glazed sombrero which sloucbed down ovcr it. A minute examination of his features was not to be had, as he was some distance away—one hundred and fifty yards or. more—and his head was bowed as if in abstrac- tion. His pantaloons were dark, and the lower portions were covered by a pair of cavalry boots, which reached to his knees, terminating in huge flaps which hung down, In one of the boot-legs was a silver-mounted revolver, while a large knife was stuck in the other. The horse was chestnut. in color, was well formed, and looked like an American animal. Without showing any alarm, he came gently on in a slow trot, appearing as if lately ridden on a long journey, Duncan felt uneasy, though he was a brave man and knew no fear, being unsuspicious and extremely skeptical; but, as the horseman rode silently down the hill toward him, and drew nearer, he resolved to keep him ata safe dis- tance, and, raising his voice, called: “Hello!” No answer; and what was stranger, the horse- man still hung his head. Was he so deep in ab- straction that he had failed to hear the hail? Undoubtedly. So reasoned Duncan, and though from this fact his suspicions in some degrce abated, he called again, still louder: 4 ** Hello !” Still no answer, still no movement on the part of the rider; stiil the chestnut horse trotted on. ‘‘ Stranger,” and Duncan’s finger pressed hard the trigger, “‘ this is a hostyle country—we al- low no trickery here. Either answer or stop where you are, or T’ll shoot. D’ve got a bead on ou. i No movement yet, The trot of the chestnut horse was still continued, On the slouched hat’s brim slightly moving, Duncan remarked the rider’s eye was vacant like that of a somnambu- list—vacant, staring, and socket-fixed. : ‘*P’r’aps you didn’t hear me, stranger; may- be you didn’t—so, once again, and for the last time—fHELLO!” As the rider drew nearer and his face became less shaded, a scowl was visible on his face, and, heavens—such a scowl! 1t seemed as if cast In bronze. Duncan’s face grew stern, . ‘Stranger, you are less than fifty yards dis- tant. I’ve got you covered, Will you stop?” What & scowl—what a stony, frozen scowl] it was on the haggard, brown face. How stony and vacant tre eye—how horrible the curve of those dark-byo-n lips, . “Once more, ttranger, and the bullet goes. a for Gua's sake—for your life’s sake, alt: The chestnut horses, as he planted his hoofs, left no sound, he stepoed so softly. The rein that drooped from the Srown hand was loose and hangimg down—great God! would not the rider draw it taut? : ‘“‘ Stranger, it is the las& -it is over!” The rifle-bullet sped on i*s way, and Duncan heard the dull ‘‘ thud” of thy ball as it struck the rider’s skull. A slight smoke arose for an instant obscuring his view. Never doubting he had tilled the rider, he cried, psssionately: ‘‘He brought it on himself—his own act! God witness it. I heard the bullet hit his skull—my utod, look there!” | Ke started back in surprise, ‘o filled with wonder he was speechless, as he svw the chest- nut horse still advancing close upon him, an. BS ao } a oe St ¥ ~~ R *4 Cad 7 8 * 4 - ay oo i P * ir ‘sy | \ ce \ im lf @ | | ae ~, .) al i ‘ oat Fy Ciped books.com.