Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 64 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

=a Dandy Jack. 5 the red-skins hevn’t been hyar, fur they’ve left | train is consarned, bu’sted. This is the time fur their marks on the wheels, and suthin’s tore the , business an’ business it is. Dandy Jack is with— kiver off. But how did the vehicle git inter this persition? Tongue p’inted straight to’ards the old Oregon trail! If thet skunk Luke Whit- tles had charge ov it when it upsot, why war he comin’ in that d’rection? That’s somewhat of a uzzle, an’ as [never war good at guessin’ I give tup. Nothin’ left hyar, I suspect, to throw any light on the subject. =e 8 iy i: J gud ng Lige, had lea rom the back of a mule ana ali hted alee of the Conestoga ying a ches. upon the spot of its overturning. It was the evening of the fifth day after the several occurrences narrated in the foregoing chapters. Long e looked somewhat travel-worn, but there was the flash of anger in his eyes which still said that he remained ‘‘ the maddest man in Oregon.” The animal which he had ridden to the unlucky spot bore certain well-known harness marks, and was in truth one of the ani- mals lately harnessed to the wagon found at last by the perseverin ide. The mule peamedl to recognize this unfortunate wagon; the head was rub st its sides affectionately, and other demonstrations of un- mistakable elight were exhibited. __ ‘*Know the old wagon, eh?’ said Lige, notic- ing the animal’s actions. ‘‘ Well, I should say ye oughter, havin’ help pull it from the States, whar, p’raps, fur the sakes ov the leetle ones, we’d better stayed. But the milk is spilt an we're not goin’ to crook a lip are we, old chap- py! I war lucky to catch you down on the Pun ork, creased you an’ left a scar by which you’ remember Lige Butler furever, fur mules never die.” tted the brute’s neck as he spoke, and then ed his attention to the wagon. He saw evorywhere the marks of Indian tomahawks; the bows had been split into strips, the spokes cut in twain, and greed gaps made in the sides. Not far away lay the cask which had caused the contretemps; but it was empty, though through the bung escaped the strong odor of western whisky. . Nothing remained undisturbed except a tin- box whose corners were bound in brass. This was the object which had struck terror to the hearts of Luke Whittles and the Indians—the can of ‘‘ nitro-glycerine.” “Kind o’ queer thet they spared this,” the guide muttered, picking the can up in a manner which told that he was not afraid of its explo- sive qualities. ‘‘Some people hevn’t got stom- achs fur delicacies; this proves it. But—by my stars! thar’s some scriblin’ on the tin; some pergon, hes written on it with the p’int of a e! With eyes full of curiosity and wonder the old guide turned the box into the strong western light, and helditnear hisface. Looking straight at the broad side thus presented to his vision, he with some difficuliy made out the following: ** This is nitro-glycerine to Luke Whittles and the Erwan ag ! I’m with—” ate SZ e knife-writing ending thus abruptly caused ens WE look u ied ase Then, before he a he shif the box from side to side as if the light becoming uncertain now had interfer- ed with his reading. ‘‘Queer!” he ejaculated. ‘‘I’d almost call it a phenomener. Now, whoever writ that, an it looks like some o’ the boy’s work, hed to quit be- fore he got done. He war goin’ to tell me who he war with; but I’m left in ’Gypti’n gloom consarnin’ that matter. Niter glisserene, eh? Niter glisserene in thiscan? That’s queer! won- der how the bu’stin’ stuff gotin thar? N obody’s been tinkerin’ with the box since we left the Bluffs, an’ the bands are still sound. Look out, Luke Whittles an’ Oregon Leon; I’ll prove worse hon yes glisserene afore I’m through with ou y Long Lige put the mysterious box down and renewed his search but was unrewarded, save by a pair of capacious saddle- which had been rifled of their contents, and divided with the knife. Muttering to himself that they might ‘‘ come handy,” he proceeded to sew them together by Poe of some leathern nse en cut from edges and soon finish wor Into one of the pockets he then thrust the tin canister, and threw the saddle-bags across the back of the animal which he had ridden to the spot. “Tm a victim of sarcumstances!” Lige mut- tered, dolefully to mount. as he —— “Fooled by a dirty sneak ike Luke Whittles, an’ hoodwinked by Oregon Leon, hyar I am, twenty-five miles from the Ore trail, with the leetle ones took from me, and so far as the thet’s what I’d like to know. hy didn’t he git to finish the writin’? Cuss all ov them! I’m the nv man in Oregon! I am—Lige But- er! The old guide _ a wild whoop expressive of his feelings, as he sprung into the saddle, and turned to the dilapidated wagon. ‘Fur ev’ry cut they guv the old wagon Ill y ’em with intrust!” he said. ‘‘ Ye carried the leetle ones cl’ar from the States, an’ ye stuck to’em as long as ye could, thet’s what ye did. Now this is yer reward, cut up by the Injuns’ hatchets. It makes me mad all over, I swan it does.” Gritting his teeth hard behind the last word, Long Lige drove his heels hard against the rowels of his steed, and left the spot with a bound—left the old wagon to the solitude that brooded over the plain. He hurried in a north-westerly direction, leaving the Oregon trail to his left, but having the ty sas of the Snakes directly before him. His animal at last cast no shadow on the which he was leaving behind, and the shadentél night swooped upon the daring man. at once he came to a halt, and leanin forward, thrust his cap over the mule’s mout and nostrils. *‘No noise!” he said, to the animal, ‘‘ we’re goin’ to meet somebody. Down! down in the grass, Major!” As he uttered the command he struck the ani- mal several light blows upon the neck, and the knees were instantly bent. ‘* A mule what hes been over the Oregon trail as often as you hev, knows what his business is!” murmured Lige, bestowing a proud look on the obedient brute, as he step lightly to the ground! ‘* Now, lie still, old fellow, till we see who’s comin’.” The practiced ear of the guide had detected the approach of a y as yet unseen, be- cause of the prevailing shades. Its numbers were of course unknown to him; but the sounds that now came to his ears told him that they were not inconsiderable. Crouched beside the faithful mule, with his rifle cocked in his hand, the guide kept his eyes fixed to the north from whence at last emerged a long object, moving like a huge serpent over the plain. ~ oS ntoune as I ’spected. Now, if the hind- most chap is a laggard, mebbe ru git a bit o’ ne WS. Long tage could not be deceived by the sight, and while he looked at the Indian band passing to his right, he quietly laid his rifle aside and drew his knife. Then, without any further admonition to the mule to remain quiet, save a significant pat on the neck, he crept through the grass, rather long at that point, as if to intercept the last horse- man. This worthy was inclined to be a laggard for he sat astride of his little steed in an indolent attitude, the leathern lines lying carelessly on the neck of the beast, which certainly knew enough to follow the band. The Oregon guide counted twenty-three sav- ages as he crept forward, his hand on his knife, and his eyes on the band, but more particularly on the last man. A distance of thirty feet intervened between the laggard and the Indian who immediately Sega : him. This, for a moment, disconcerted the guide. “TPve got to make him stop,” he said, to him- self. ‘‘ Dick Smith—Red Dick—used to jum ‘em on the move, but a Piute gave him the knife once, and he never tried it afterward.” The last muttered word had hardly left But- ler’s lips before the low, but rapid ‘‘ Cut, cut, cut,” of the Sage Cock was heard. This» was followed by a hollow, blowing sound, which al- ways ers ae the presence of that noble bird ed the k of pear es he seldom comes down from the mountains. The Indian heard the noise, and Lige might easily have im- agined that he saw his eyes glisten with the pees of the epicure as he quickly bade his orse ow 3 The red-man who will not turn from any oc- cupation to himself of a good fat I venture does not live in the Far W The skin of all epicures is not white. The horse wes seven his head eye . ence the sound proceed his ider dropped to the ground without noise, leaving the band to proceed without him. The call was not me eee the sa somewhat puzzled by the silence, seemed to debating what course to pursue, when a dark figure sprung through a clump of grass and bore ia bac ; . soe Resistance on the Indian’s part was useless, for a hand was on his wizen, and the moe fingers were driving his eyeballs from his head. “Thought it war a Sage Cock, eh?’ cried Long Lige, victory gleaming in hiseyes. ‘You keep up the reputation of yer tribe by bein’ fond of the bird. Thar’s many an Injun what has run ag’in’ a knife instead of a Sage Cock. But, come along with me. I want a bit o’ new an’ { guess ye can enlighten me. Oh, we'll le yer hoss stand thar; ef he’s trained, he’ll wait for ye till he stands to death!” Moving back toward his own animal, Long Lige dragged his captive along. ‘ Now!” hesaid, when back to the mule again. ‘* Now fur the catechism. Tell me whar the boy an’ gal ar’, fur ye ar’ a Snake an’ ye know.” The Indian, whose windpipe had been partial- ly released, stared into the guide’s face. a blank, meaningless stare. ‘Oh, ye know all about it!” Lige continued. ** Now ye kin open yer mouth an’ talk or in yer checks an’ git off life’s train —_— hyar.” e Indian’s response was somewhat start- ling. With a quickness that gered. the de, he suddenly jerked back, actually wrench- ing himself loose, and, before Lige could pre- vent, he started toward his horse, a wild yell falling from his lips. : ‘That’: ver last holler!” grated the old guide, and he bounded after the Snake. The race was of short duration; the Indian, miscalculating his powers, benumbed as they were by the late hand on his throat, could not outstrip the mad man, He saw this and turned, whipping out his tomahawk as he executed the movement. But the gleaming iron could not disconcert the guide; he darted upon-the red-skin, and as his left hand actual y lifted him from the ground, his knife shot into a vital There was a quiver, a death-gurgle, but no a yell, and the Indian slipped from Butler’s nds. . ‘“‘No information, but a new predicament!” grated Lige, as he turned toward his own ani- mal again. ‘‘One Indian has eaten his last Sage k, an’ mebbe I’ve teched mine; but thet’s to be seen !” Z For a moment he looked to the South and list- ened. He heard the sound of hoofs. ‘Jest as Is’pected! they’re comin’ back!” he said. Then he struck the mule with the flat of his hand, and as the animal rose, he vaulted into the saddle! It was CHAPTER VI. ‘“ WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT, ETO.” On the right bank of the Fayette river not many miles from its junction with the Oregon one of the main villages of the Snake In- dians. It was composed of nine hundred lodges, all told, and could send forth, as it did at times, large ies of red marauders which when the eye of the Government was not upon them, would swoop down upon the emigrant trains and massacre young and old alike. A large percentage of the Snake nation was at the period of which we write in a state of hostility toward the United States. They were giving the authorities at Washington no inconsiderable amount of vexation, for their acts threatened to mar the peace which existed be- tween the Government and other tribes con- tiguous to the Snakes. To this state of affairs a white man named Leon Martevelde A cg a om descent, was believed to have contributed. By some means which would not place certain liv- ing ex-officials in an enviable public light if made known, he had been appointed Indian Agent, with head-quarters at Fort Boisse. Martevelde had all the elements of rascality imbedded in his nature, and the shrewd observers soon no- ticed that one of the most deplorable of appoint- ments had been made, The Indians were cheated without stint or mercy by this man, whom, strange to say, the almost worshiped, and in secret conclave made him a chief after the usual ceremonies. last affair reached the Governmental ears; and Leon Martevelde was officially decapitated. Hundreds of lives would have been saved if this consummate villain had never received the ap- intment which he disgraced; he at Once, Bien is overthrow, proceeded to charge all of bi own chicanery upon the Government, firing the sa heart until the Oregon trail became one deathway, and his own name bandit- ized by the sobriquet of Oregon Leon. ......... The Government had offered a reward for his capture, and the commandante of the GoOmichbooks (E(0)