Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 64 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

12 apparition, while Dandy Jack continued to stare. ‘Great Spirit guide him here!” There was glee in the tone, but whether fiend- ish or not the con could not determine before the — sprung like a catamount upon him, In the twinkling of an eye Dandy Jack was lifted from the ground and flung headlong into the new tent—a prisoner once more. His captor sprung hastily in after him. “What white fighter stop for?’ was the de- eee + | ——— mand. “ The wey ere dog got into my path.” A queer rt : bey owed Jack’s answer, and he was ged to the opening. ‘‘ White fighter afraid of dead dog? See!” said the Indian, parting the curtains and point- ing out. _Jack looked and bit his lips in chagrin. There was a feathered shaft in the animal’s — and he had evidently been dead some e. ‘“Dead dog keep boy from goin’ on!” the In- dian said. im come to stay here till Red Jack Rabbit say go!” Dandy Jack started at the mention of the name, and then for the first time saw that he had rolled into the hands of Red Jack Rabbit, the Indian youth whom he had lately overcome in the arena. CHAPTER XIV. THE DEED OF A DEMON. “THat’s the knife, Snakefoot! Where did you get it?” As Oregon Leon spoke he put forth a hand, and took the weapon which the Indian who had just entered his tent extended. ‘Find it in lodge where white girl was!” ‘Aha! It’s the knife which some Indian es her and I hunted for him last night. You ook as if you recognize the blade, Snakefoot. Tell me if you do. She said [ did not dare to touch the owner. If eg stood before me now, I’d show her that I dared.” “Knife b’long to Indian boy—Red Jack Rab- bit!” the red-skin said. ‘‘ That boy!” said Leon, sneeringly. ‘‘ That boy her friend! Oh! I suppose the copper-color- ed urchin was smitten and thought to get her aren: May be he had a hand in with Luke a— ‘““No! Red Jack Rabbit somewhere ‘bout it,” interrupted the Indian. ‘‘ Him fight white Soy last night, an’ git licked. White chick not found yit.’ ‘‘The boy beats the deuce!” said Martevelde. ‘* Last night he was flung bound into a wigwam; this morning the place was ae? no of cut cords anywhere, no trail! d believe in hosts, Snakefoot, if I hadn’t too much sense. ire they hunting for him yet?” ‘““Injuns give up hunt. Bad spirits carry white boy off.” ‘‘Pish! old ghost-eater!” sneered the bandit. ‘‘Tf I wanted to surprise the village, ’'d go out and lay my hands on the young rascal; but it isn’t my time. War-Bow and his horse-hun- ters not in yet?” Snakefoot shook his head. ‘‘The horse that stampeded the corral is an old hand at the business. Why, you know, Snakefoot, that we can train horses to stampede ‘a corral and we needn’t go near. Catch those War-Bow will have to follow them to sundown if he e ts to perform that feat. But are you ready for the business?” ‘‘ Snakefoot would like time to study over it.” ‘‘Thunder and guns!” vociferated Leon. “You'd study till your head was gray. I’m half Indian! I know your race as well as you do, and I never heard of one —s a proposi- tion into consideration before. Study? not one minute for that!” As Martevelde uttered the last word, he snatched up a revolver which lay on the rough stand with which the apartment was provided and cocked it quickly. : The Indian back at the action with an ejaculation of wrath. “This is a desperate scheme which admits‘of no study—especially by you!” continued the bandit, looking the savage in the eye. ‘‘ Now make up your mind very quick, or I’ll drive a bullet shia h your brain.” The devil-light of madness danced in Marte- velde’s eyes. “« Snakefoot will do it.” ‘‘No shenanegan!” the bandit said. ‘‘ Idon’t the light in your eye. Trust an Indian only in sight; that’s what the soldiers say, and I guess they’ve hit the nail on the head. You'll do her nakefoot?” “ es ’ - Swear it?’ Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. ‘ec Yes !?? “ Well, we'll you. By the bones of your mother! by the Manitou’s lodge and your place in Spirit land you will obey me?’ ** Snakefoot swears.” ** Now!” continued Martevelde, ‘‘ to-night the time. War-Bow has insulted me, the dirty In- dian dog. He will soon plot against me; but he shall never lift his voice against Oregon Leon, the very man who put him at the head of six hundred warriors in this village. Snake- foot, go and prepare the two horses, yours and mine; they were not in the big corral last night, thank fortune. When youareready come back. I'll fix the other things!” The Indian listened to the bandit, and then withdrew. ‘‘ A white man’s getting down when he leagues with an Indian to carry out his own plans,” Martevelde said with a grin. ‘‘ Didn’t I say last night that War-Bow would soon see his big- pile of ashes? Talk about gratitude! Why it isn’t in an Indian, and I know them better than theJ{next man. He was a miserable trap- plunderer up on Yellow Medicine when I first met him. brought him down here and by degrees lifted him in the estimation of the Snakes. Up and up he went, till I suddenl made him chief. It took lying, secret blood- letting, and all that, but I made him chief of this branch of the Snake nation—I, Leon Marte- velde. Now he pays me back. Don’t I know, War-Bow, that you are plotting against me? and do you dream that I’m going to fold my arms and take your stab quietly? No! I’m go- ing to leave your village—and it’s going to leave you at the same time. I can divide the tribe at any time, but perhaps I'll not try that, Once out of this place, ll hunt two persons down. intend to one and the other—ha! Estil, you shall yet be Leon Martevelde’s!” He Nt his clenched hand down heavily on the table. He looked like the most ferocious pictures of the wounded bandit. A bloody bandage over his forehead told that he not recovered from the blow which Luke Whittles dealt with the heavy whip. His cheeks wore a hue that was not nature’s; his eyes, bloodshot and mad, gave him the look of a tiger. The ex-agent’s supremacy over the red Arabs of the plains was drawing to a close. The very person whom, by chicanery well planned and carried out, he had elevated to sachemship was plotting against him, for War-Bow dreaded the white man for his subtlety. After Snakefoot’s departure, Oregon Leon be- gan to prepare two torches. He worked away the light of the candle which burned on the stand, and at last finished his task. “They'll go like a flash!” he said, eying his work with a look of fiendish glee. “ There hasn’t been a drop of rain on the lodges for four months, and the wind blows from the north. Good luck all around. I hada little bad last night. It came in the shape of Luke Whittles.” eshut his teeth hard behind the traitor’s name. “Every dog has his day, Luke, and on your last one, 'm going to skin you alive!” At this moment the door opened and Snake- foot reappeared to the bandit. ‘“* All ready?” ‘é Ready 1”? ‘““The horses—” “* At the old cottonwood.” “That’s business! Here, take the torch. You’ve got matches in your pouch. Now let’s get to work,” One of the prepared flambeaux was thrust in- to the Indian’s hand; he took it reluctantly. Martevelde picked up a revolver and thrust it into his belt. ‘‘T came into this country with nothing and I'll take this with me,” he said, with a triumph- ant glance at the Snake. ‘ What do you want tosay? There’s a word on the end of your tongue, so spit it out.” ‘Snakefoot knows where the white boy’s been hidin’ all day,” said the Indian. ‘““Pshaw! is that all?” said Martevelde. “TI knew that. Well, we'll rout him out before many minutes, and he’ll get his hair singed, p’r’aps. Come on!” Oregon Leon snuffed the candle out with his fingers, and motioned Snakefoot from the lodge. e next moment they stood in the dim star- light, the only sound the chirping of a cricket near by. Like ghosts the two figures glided through the village making a path to the north. good strong wind was blowing from that direction. After a crawl and walk of some minutes they found two horses tethered by Indian bridles to Perret 5% — a cottonwood at the edge of the village. Stretch- ing east and west from this spot was a dark ob- ject which seemed to be a breastwork; but which in reality was a heap of parched grass, pre for a diabolical purpose. ‘* Bless the wind!” said Oregon Leon, fiendish- ly, not fervently. ‘And you’ve done your work well, as far as I can see, Snakefoot. Now for the big light!” He stoo before the work of grass and struck a match on his legging. He applied the blaze to the torch and saw it flash. Snakefoot did the same. ‘You run right, I run left! Meet me here,” Martevelde said to the Indian, and then they separated, each running in the direction indica- ted with the torch in the grass. The ignition wasinstantaneous; the wind blew the dancing flames forward, as if eager to car- ry out that part of the protean programme al- lotted to it by the bandit. With a hiss and a roar the fire leaped against the nearest lodges and quickly ignited them. Nothing could check it now; the entire hostile village was doomed. Wild cries soon began to attest the inhabi- tants’ discovery of the disaster. “Let ’em howl!” Martevelde said, turning to Snakefoot, who was contemplating the scene with no evident relish. ‘‘ To-morrow, or when- ever he comes back, little heaps of ashes will greet War-Bow. This is my revenge! H efinds no fool in Leon Martevelde.” For several moments longer the couple con- templated the fire which now had the Snake village fairly in its grasp. It was a thrilling sight, and from the heart of the conflagration as it were came the mad cries of the savages. “Now, let us go. Nothing on earth can put it out. This is my good-by to War-Bow!” Without more adieu Oregon Leon vaulted into the saddle followed by the Indian. “Your tomahawk, one minute! said the She ie turning to his tool, and the next in- ae , he unresisted drew the weapon from the t. “T guess I'll go alone. Idon’t like your eye!” he suddenly said. The iron weapon flew upward and Snakefoot realizing his danger threw up an arm to arrest the blow; but too late! Down came the hatchet, and the Indian fell from his horse—dead! ‘It is best to go alone!” Martevelde said leav- ing the weapon in the brain of his victim. “Snakefoot wasn’t trustful—like all Indians.” om he wheeled his steed, and darted to the north. ‘** Followed by the Indian’s horse!” he said after a minute’s iene gallop. ‘“‘And I don’t want to be bothered by anything just now.” He drew rein and waited for the steed to come up. In a moment the animal came in sight, and as it stopped coe roel beside him the bandit of the lains started back to see a revolver thrust into very face. “Said I war afeared to come into the Snake kentry, eh?” said a rough voice behind the pis- tol. ‘“‘I'm hyar, Oregon Leon, an’ I’m still the maddest man in Oregon.” “* Lige Butler!” d the bandit. “ wg AS Butler at your sarvice, an’ don’t forget that I’m pokin’ a pistol inter your face. It’s a pistol what goes off oncommon easy, too.” The brigand’s face was ghastly. CHAPTER XV. INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. “Frere! fire! Injun town all burnin’ up!” These words uttered in accents of terror rous- ed Dandy Jack from the slumber which he was enjoying in Red Jack Rabbit’s lodge. ince his capture by the Indian boy, his an- tagonist of the riug, an event which we have already witnessed, he had not stirred beyond the precincts of the wigwam. is escape from the prison 1 was discov- eredshortly after his singular flight from it, and a vigorous search was at once instituted. Lying in Jack Rabbit’s wigwam the anit ero heard his hunters pass and re the Indian er ia well feigned zeal jo in the hunt mself. But the beaters of the bush did not disclose the quarry, and at nightfall Jack Rabbit re- turned with pl countenance. e was secreting Dandy Jack for some purpose which he did not venture to reveal, and the boy him- self could not devise what it could be, It was a long day for Dandy Jack; the hours their slow lengths along while he Jay in the Indian lodge half covered with dirty buffalo-skins, sweating, hungry, and as the Gomicneo