Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 6 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

es ——__ —_ “T declare, if I don’t marry her just to spite Alminy, and make Bill Hawkins mad,” he exclaimed, joyously. At this point I could restrain my mirth no longer; but as Lindulged it, I was considerably sirorieed to ‘feel a slight twinge of jealousy at his words. “Tam afraid you will meet with formidable ob- stacles, before you accomplish that; the most diffi- cult of which will be to obtain an audience of the fair | one herself,” * Don’t suppose she'll be very anxious to see me; and I wouldn’t care if 1 only had my pipe and jack- knife to pass away the time with.”’ ‘*T think it would be as well not to mention this affair to Biddon.”’ “Why not?” “Tt can do no good, and he would be displeased at the thoughtlessness I have evidenced. I do not think there are savages enough in the vicinity to render us fearful of our safety. The canoe, I am disposed to vere belongs to some tribe quite distant from ere.”’ ‘*But what are they here for?” *“T can only conjecture. Biddon has never seen savages in this particular section, and these may be | returning from some journey to their tribe.”’ ** Perhaps so, and may be not. jins sometimes live in one place and sometimes in another, you know, and it may be that a notion has quae entered their heads to come and live in these arts. “There is reasonin what you say, but, as I stated, if danger threatens, Biddon will de self in time.”’ “T think he will, though I shall feel a little flus- | You remember when | he was after the antelope, he walked right among | tered every time he goes out. the Injins, without knowing it till it was late to stop.” ‘He did, it is true, but how nicely he walked out again. I tell you, Nat, that fellow has nerve equal to any emergency. What man, when conscious of an overwhelming foe being concealed within a few feet of him, could have repressed every sign of trepida- tion or fear, as he did?” ‘*It was a clever = I allow.” “Biddon told me he felt a little nervous when he saw us start to come up, for, if we had reached him, it would have been all up with us. Such a man, I re- peat, will scent danger soon enough, without the hel » of others.” oir , will, and I hope he'll find out who that white r 4.* ‘*Nat, do you remember the account Biddon gave some time ago of a horrible massacre, upon the sandy island near where we i one night?” “5 dont think there is much likelihood of my for- etting it.” oe You will also recall the account of the capture of a small child by the savages? Now, it has occurred so «4 that this might be that child grown to woman- ood,” ‘“*T know it is!’ exclaimed Nat, joyously. ‘It is true there is much against it. It was a great | es wander | distance from here, but, as these sav hundreds of miles at times, it is not improbable, upon that ground. Instances are only too common of per- sons spending their lives in captivity amo ese These plagued In- | t its signs him: | | SSS — lers. They try them tricks sometimes, but the git come up to. Icatched a feller once from Fort all at mine, and the way I walked into him war a cau- tion. But this ar’ an Injin’s track.” ‘*Do you suspect there could be a number in the vicinity ?”’ “Ef there war I'd ‘ve heard of ’em afore. This is some varmint sneakin’ round yer, and he’s got to be rubbed out afore he makes more trouble.” ‘*T fear that will be a difficult and dangerous job.”’ ‘* Let me be for that.” Shortly after we reached our home, and running the canoe beneath the bushes, entered it. We were somewhat surprised to find Nat absent. He return- ed, however, in a short time, and I saw at once by his nervous, flustered manner that something unusual had occurred. Biddon questioned him rather closely, as he suspected something, but Nat evaded his in- uiries, and would not admit that he had seen any- t ing to excite alarm. ‘** I’m goin’ out, and when I come back I'll tell you what's the matter with them traps,” said Biddon, Tepertng, waited until he was beyond hearing, and then turning to my companion, asked: ** What is the matter with you, Nat?” “Why?” he asked, with a start. ** Because you show plainly that something has oc- | curred,”’ He remained silent a moment, then seizing his hat, | jerked it off his head, and threw it spitefully down, _ where he gazed at it a second, exclaiming: ‘** I’m sick of this!” ** Sick of what?” ‘Why, of being in this fix.” ‘**T don’t understand you. Please explain what you mean,”’ **T should think you ought to know.” ** But I do not,” ** Why, this wood is full of Injins; they’re behind every tree and stump, and in every bush, and you can ardly step without pitching over some painted heathen,’ “I’m afraid you are exaggerating,’ I answered, suppressing a smile which was struggling at the cor- ners of my mouth, ‘*“No, Lain’t. I swow there are ten thousand Injins just waiting outside to pounce upon us,”’ ‘You are talking nonsense, and you know it.”’ “Well, there’s one Injin, for I seen him. Come now,” he affirmed, as if the matter was now settled beyond a question. ‘Ah! that alters the case considerably. I shouldn't wonder at all if there is one or a half-dozen savages in the forest.” * poss see one savage haven't you a right to sup- 7 ere’s a hun more about, I should like to now?” ‘** Not always, Nat; I have seen three myself, yet I _ do not believe there is another one in the neighbor- hood. But I have not heard the particulars of this affair of which you have been speaking. Please let me hear them.’ ‘*There isn’t much to tell, but there is enough to make you do a heap of thinking. You see, after you had left, I took a notion that I must have a mo ramble; and I thought, too, there might be such a ss as im two running into danger and n elp ( Indian tribes, She is a captive, no doubt, and must | my should like to know what you are laughing long for restoration to her home and friends. at). making way as in a direction from the ‘“As I said, we will say nothing of this to Biddon, until he discovers signs of Indians himself. To-mor- Taking my rifle, I was soon noiselessly as SObstbta, ver. **T hadn't gone more than a dozen yards before I row, we will go forth together, and spend the day | commenced thinking about Injins, and came in endeavoring to gain traces of the canoe and its in- mates; and if anything is discovered which is alarm- ing, we will impart it all to him.” Nat agreed to, and <a after we heard three raps upon the outside of the tree—the tra os signal of his presence. A moment after he made at his prospect for a goodly quantity of furs; had set a number of traps; was sure of half a dozen next day; had seen no signs of Indians, and was convinced there were none in the vicinity. None of us passed | out again that day, but remained indulging in our pipes and conversation as usual until a late hour. e next ae Be we should accompany ate d plied, while Nat remained behind. The day was as warm and pleasant as the preced- ing one, aud the forest and stream as delightful. Biddon paddled slowly up the unrippled surface, and in a short time reached the first trap; it had not n disturbed. Still hopeful, he passed on to the second and third, and all the others. But there were no signs of beaver in any. ‘Shoot me, that’s quar’!”’ he exclaimed, thought- fully, as he saw the last one. ‘I don’t understand it; | must git out and take a look round.” He sprung ashore, and minutely examined the ahipern yeit ran a oy seconds sufficed, an looked of deep meaning, an ; Here's the track Tc pee reds have found us out.” He stepped into the canoe, and, taking the paddle, moved it carefuily back rr'og hy Sin touched bin each ie oe the way. The footprints of a stranger were — vi le at each. “'Thar’s been a beaver taken out of that one!’ he - remarked, as the last one was reached for Ay ko oe coward fe reals eI wouldn't ’stur any mo emen's ' ‘‘Are you sure it’s an Indian who has heen annoy- **Tt’s lucky ing peal ‘Wagh! Don't you s’pose I could tell a red’s track from a Speed “But it might have been a white man—some hun- ter or trapper?’ I ested. “A white man wouldn’t be mean’nough to do sich a thing, ‘less he war some of these Hudson Bay fel- appearance. He was considerably elated | ee of a thunderin’ moccasin. The | I got mine loaded, and he waited. other that I didn’t see him. He h going back again. I wasn’t afraid at all, you ear ut then it appeared to me I might ctr you an Biddon into trouble. However, I kept on. I had gone some distance further, when all of a sudden I heard a terrible whirr and rattle, and jumped clean off my feet. But it was only a big ow) which I had stirred 2. I was so provoked at the start he gave me that I ould have wrung his neck had I got my hands upon him. But lwenton. Pretty soon I reached a little stream of water, and as I jumped across, what do you suppose I saw in the sand?’’ ‘*T am sure I can not tell.” “Nothing less than a big moccasin-track. And roposed that I what was more, it hadn’t been made there a week round. Icom- | before! Istood and looked at it a good while, cogi- tating some wonderful things. At last I stooped and went to measuring it. Iwas just going to rise, when I heard a t pant by me. | jumped up so quick— to be ready, you know—that I floundered ard into the water. And may I be shot if there wasn’t a big painted Injin standing not ten feet off, He didn’t say a word, but just stood and looked at me with them awful eyes of his. As soon as I could think, I raised my gun, took a quick aim, and drew the trig- er; but the infernal gun eS I pulled it n, ut it wouldn't g° and just then I happened to thnk the thing wasn't loaded. All this time the imp stood ning at me, without i inder t. He had a big n in one hand, and I was dreadful afraid he would shoot it. I told him not to stir, but to stand still till I Svan ta buch & hinrey tans Tatts s’pose I was in such a t wouldn't go right. Instead of putting the odes in the -barrel I crammed it in my pocket, and ammed the ramrod into my shoe. I told the to ve patience and I'd get it loaded in a minute. t it fixed somehow at , and hauled it oy Be? shoulder, when, no Injin was there! I looked behin all about me, and - > into the trees, but he’d been spirited away somewhere. However, I made up my mind to shoot at the spot where he had st and I up and b away. That is I blazed away with- out the gun going off. I believe he spirited that too,”’ ‘‘Let me examine it. Perhaps you made some - blunder.” ‘*No, I’m sure I didn’t.” . 7 I took the rifle with a smile of certainty that I should find something the matter with it. Sure enough the muzzle was crammed with paper, and upon removing it, a pipe-stem, broken in pieces, rolled out, while there was not a grain of powder in the barrel. “*T declare I forgot abovt the powder!” exclaimed Nat, opening his eyes in wonder. “But not about the bullet," I laughed, pointing to the fragments of his pipe. Nat picked up the fragments and examined them carefully. “That’s my pipe, sure; and I had it in my mouth, I remember, when i started out, and missed it com- ing back. I didn’t put it in the gun though.” “Let it pass. Did you see no more of your Indian friend?” ‘*No; he knew enough to keep out of my way. I waited a long time for him, and at last started home again. I kept an eye on every suspicious object, but, as I just said, seen nothing.”’ At this point I gave free vent to my pent-up mirth. Nat, much astonished, looked wonderingly at me, seemingly at a loss to understand the cause. “IT do not see what there is to laugh at,” he re- marked, reprovingly. “If it’s a laughing matter to know that there are Indians all about you, why you must laugh.” “Your adventure with the Indian, Nat, and the singular load in your rifle, appears to me a funny Tinton: and I trust you will pardon me if—”’ “Didn't I tell you I didn’t put it in there? It was the Injin’s work.’ And to this day Nat cannot be made to believe that he was instrumental in introducing the pipe into his gun. After a few more unimportant remarks, the con- versation ceased. Nat’s adventure began to appear to me in a different form from that in which I had viewed it at first. I doubted not but that he was perfectly honest and truthful in what he said. But why, when espouses to the will of the savage, did he escape unscathed? Why did the latter stand fear- less and harmless before him? And what meant these ——— sigus, these ‘‘footprints,’’ which were becoming visible around us? tters were assum- ing a puzzling form, We were being environed by Indians without | evidence of hostility upon their . What meant it? Surely there was a meaning deep and hidden for us to divine as yet. Suddenly Nat spoke. ‘**Don’t you remember the canoe? We were going to hunt for that to-day!” “ Ah, how did I forget that? But had we not bet- ter wait till Biddon returns?” “No; let us go at once. Hark! what’s that?’’ I held my breath, as the distant report of a rifle reached our ears. The next instant came a sound, faint and fdr away yet clear and distinct—a horrid unearthly sound, as the cry of a being in mortal agony ! CHAPTER VI. STILL IN THE DARK—THE CANOE AGAIN. For a moment we stood paralyzed. Then our eyes sought each other with a look of fearful in- i , ° ‘‘ Was that_ Biddon’s voice?’ I asked, in a faint whisper. “T don’t know. There it is again.” And again came that wild, howling shriek of such agony aS made our blood curdle wi us. ‘It is his voice/ Let us hasten to his aid,’ I ex- a c my rifle and springing out. Nat followed closely, gun having been reloaded. The cry came from up the river, and toward it we dashed, scramb and through the brush and und wth two maddened animals, heed- less of what the consequence might be. Several times we halted and listened, but heard nothing save our own panting breasts and leaping hearts. On again we dashed, looking hurriedly about us, until I knew we had ascended as high as could be the author of that startling cry. Here we paused and listened. No one was to be seen. I turned toward Nat, stan behind me, and directly behind him I saw Biddon slowly a Prosclung. “What are you doin’ here?” he asked, as he came up. Ri Was not that your voice I just heard?” “‘T rather reckon it wa'’n’t. When you hear Bill Biddon baw] out in that way, jist let me know, will rr?” “What was it?” I asked, greatly relieved. “That's more nor me can tell; but shoot and skin me, if I can’t tell you one thing,” he approached closely and whispered, “‘there’s sunkthin’ else nor reds about yer.” ‘“What do you mean?” I asked, although I under- stood well enough what he meant. “T's here once afore, as I told yer, and I never heerd sich goin’s on then. I’ve see’d the tracks of moccasins all about the traps, but can’t draw bead on the shadder of a red-skin.”’ _** You heard that horrid howl, didn’t you?” “Heerd it! I should think I did.” “Was it you who shot?” “Yes; the way on it was this: I got on a purt plain trail and follered it up hereabouts, when cotched the glimpse of a Blackfoot’s feather goin’ down through the bushes there, and blazed away at I never missed a red in my life, and I didn’t miss him. Howsomever, he didn’t mind it, but kept on and got away, and as he went out of sight that orful yell came. It didn’t seem that he madeit, but it sounded like as though ‘twas all about me above and under the ground, and around and behind me. | “Anywhere near us?”’ asked Nat. GOmichboo A (E@)