Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 6 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

persuaded himself to believe that you did not dis- charge it when the case was self-evident. But he is willing to believe almost anything since he has started.” We kept upon our way. Upon each of the occa- sions before, as near as I could judge, it was about noon the canoe made its appearance; and as it was that time now, we hurried orward, lest the oppor- tunity should pass. The opportunity, I say—for al- though it had appeared but twice as yet, I somehow or other was wall satisfied we should see it again. “What are you going to do?” asked Nat. “Tt will dépent upon what wesee. If simply those two savages with the captive, as we judge her to be, are in the canoe, and no demonstration is made, I think it best not to attempta rescue. It is only a supposition of ours that she is a captive, and we know not that she would thank us for interfering in her case.” In a short time we reached the elevation already mentioned. Here we seated ourselves so as to re- main concealed from any stragglers in the vicinity, while we ourselves with a little care could detect the slightest object passing, As I stooped, my hand came in contact with something cold, and upon looking at it, I saw it covered with dark, clotted blood. I started, and wiped it on the grass, but it sent a shudder through me to reflect that it had once been the life-fluid of a human being. ‘*Ugh!” exclaimed Nat; ‘ain’t that awful?” ‘* It is disagreeable, to say the least.” ‘** Just look at the blood on the grass, too, and all around, I believe Bill must have hit a half-dozen Iniins, sure.”’ —_ on a oo THERE, ‘“He must have wounded one terribly to make him bleed like this." ‘And if he had been a flesh-and-blood Injin he would have never tram in that manner. I tell ou, William Relmond, there is something more than umanabout us, I can feelit inmy bones, and I'm of Biddon’s opinion, that the sooner we get away from here the better."’ ‘Fudge! I see you are beginning to get alarmed.” “Oh, no; you are mistaken. I am not frightened at all. For Biddon’s sake, bu more especially for hye Iam anxious. If you are desirous of remain- ng hereabouts, and will take all the consequences, I will make no objections.” “Of course, if I run into danger of my own ac- cord, I expect that I alone will suffer the penalty.” ‘Then we needn't say anything more about it; you know we pledged ourselves to remain true to each other, and I won’t desert you,”’ “That's well spoken, Nat. The minute I am sat- isfied that our lives are imperiled, I shall not be the means of prolonging t ril a moment. It is only this great desire to solve and understand the singular occurrences that are transpiring around us, that leads me still to remain. J ve determined that to-day we shall be satisfied, “My curiosity is extraordinarily high; but I guess that gal has as much to do with it as anything else. I’m determined to get a glimpse of her face, and, if ,ossible, whisper in her ear that Nat Todd, from ine, is about. I flatter myself that the minute she knows that, she will jump overboard and make for shore without saying a word to the chaps with her. “The greatest culty will be to convey your ee Se — ——— ee — - ---- Bill Biddon, Trapper. words to the captive, without conveying it also to her captors.”’ i “I swow, it would be harder than I thought at rst. During this conversation, which was carried on in a half-whisper, Nat was constantly parting the bushes and peering through them, while now and then I lances expectantly up the stream; but noth- ing as yet had rewarded our watchfulness. Sudden- ly I reflected that, as I had been twice defeated in observing the disappearance of the canoe, from the exact spot upon which we were now seated, we might make a better arrangement of ourselves, so as to insure this coveted knowledge to one of us at least. I mentioned this to Nat. “Tf one of us was on the t’other side, the thing would be certain, but that can’t be done very con- veniently, and we shall have to try something else.”’ ‘*Suppose you go down-stream about a hundred yards, near the bend yonder,” 1 proposed to Nat. “Guess I will,’”’ he exclaimed, as he rose to go. ‘Wait a moment,” said I, detaining him. ‘ Let me admonish you to exercise no ordinary caution, Nat, for you have seen enough to convince you that your own safety depends upon it. Remember thata word or false movement, however slight, may de- feat our plans. Look out for danger to yourself, and | not let your pnere | be the means of your destruc- %% much for myself as for him that I felt thus. | promised to heed my words and departed. _— aS — — MOTIONLESS AS A STATUE, HER SLIGHT FORM WRAPPED IN A THICK MANTLE, tion. Be very careful. I know not what led me to thus warn him; but at the moment he arose to go, an unaccountable sense of impending danger came over me. It was not so He ry i Tat) A 1, Wh : of’ rv) § Us = —< —— HAY —_ —. - As soon as he had disappeared, I cast another look up-stream, but still there were no signs of the ex- pected canoe, and a sudden apprehension that I should not see it again came over me. There was, in fact, as much reason not to expect it as to antici- pate its coming, and as I looked up at the sun and saw that it was already beyond the hour, I was half- tempted to turn back. While I was debating, I natu- rally looked up the river, and there, just rounding the berd where the canoe had first come into view be- fore—the*e it was coming. mrtotes with agitation, I sunk upon the ground, and gave a low whistle as a signal to Nat. He returned it, as an evidence of his watchfulness. I saw that from where I was seated, the view would be more obstructed when the canoe was nearest. Ac- cordingly, I ~— cautiously and quickly nearer the water's edge. his time, however, I slightly varied my course, and concealed myself behind the trunk of a fallen tree, This was within a yard of the water, and afforded complete concealment. I noticed the ~~ rotten and re hollow. ere I lay, and intently listened and watched. A few moments and an almost inaudible ripple was heard, and the canoe was opposite. I exercised ex- treme caution, and was fortunate enough to obtain a perfect view of each of the occupants. They were the same—the dark, malignant faces of the savages, and the fair features of the captive. She sat in the stern, her hand resting gently upon a guiding-oar, and her gaze fixed upon the stream in front. The canoe floated with the current, and not a paddle was stirred, nor the least motion made by the beings be- fore me, The head-dress of the captive was, as men- STOOD THE FAIR, 9 tioned before, eagle-feathers and porcupine-quills, while the dark, waving masses of hung low — the shoulders, contrasting with the whiteness of her face. A heavy crimson shawl enveloped the form, as when first seen. The features were regular and, perhaps, in my state of feeling, their beauty was considerably enhanced; but the thought came upon me that if there were anything supernatural in my experience, it was in seeking such wonderful beauty as was now before me. Unconsciously I forgot myself as the canoe was gliding past, and before I was aware, it was hidden from view by intervening obstacles. I withdrew hastily, intending to hurry further down where the view would be more complete. I had taken but a step or two when Nat's rifle was discharged, and I heard distinctly the muffled sound of his voice. Wild with agitation, I dashed to the spot where I suppos- ed him to be. The view of the river at this point was a and I turned to look at the canoe. It had van- ished ! I looked round for Nat, but he, too, was gone. I called him, and once thought I heard a faint answer. But it was not repeated, and I could not tell its direc- tion. I reached the ground and beheld the tracks of others besides his own. I waited until near night, but Nathan Todd was never to return. CHAPTER VII. ALONE IN THE WILDERNESS. “* WHERE’s your friend?” There was apprehension in the question of the trapper, or he would not have called Nat, as he had =>. - -- - ---- MYSTERIOUS CAPTIVE.—Page 18. never called him before. The question was asked, too, the instant I epprered. “I cannot tell,’’ | answered, seating nyself gloom- ily. *Whar'd you leave him?” “IT cannot answer that, either. He went with me to watch the river, as youremember. Espying that canoe, he concealed himself a few yards away, in or- der to obtain a better view. Since then I have seen nothing of him.” ¥- fe it pe Ee st ini akl T “It sounded like his , althoug am not posi- tive that it really was. me “T heerd it an’ took it for him; and, shoot me, if I didn’t know he’d got into some scrape,” ‘“*T fear he has, and the last one, too,” “My thoughts, ‘zactly._ Luckily you did not, too.” “T came nearer than I wish to again, Biddon. I can tell you, that Iam willing to leave this place as 5 as you wish, Let us leave to-morrow. Are you w ng: “T'll go to-night if you want to.” ‘No; it will be best to wait until daylight. Ihave faint hopes that Nat may return.” Waugh! you'll never see him again, and ef we're bout yer another day, we'll never see each other n. __. 1 think he has been only captured by some lurk- ing enemy, from whom he may escape.’ No, siv; I tell you he’s gone, and I reckon as how we'd better be gone too.” ‘Perhaps you are right, Biddon, although I shall ar nae leave the vicinity when I am not satisfied 0 e,' (E@) (E| 9)O)) (EO)