Beadle's Half Dime Library, Vol. III, No. 78 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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j~anee ee Oe 12 ish glance cast upon her, she saw there was no hope for mercy, and that words would be thrown away. She only crouched cowering before him. But even at that moment she did not lose presence of mind. She still contemplated spring- ing up, and making toward her horse. . Alas! it seemed impossible. He stood right in the way, and could have caught her before she had taken three steps. And he did catch her before she had made one—even before she had attempted to stand erect. ‘*Come!” cried he, roughly clasping her waist, and jerking her to her feet. ‘* Come with me. You’ve been a looker-on long enough. It’s your turn now to afford sport for others.’ And, without waiting for a reply, he com- menced dragging her in the direction of the waterfall. She made no resistance. She did not scream, nor cry out. She knew if would be idle. But there was a cry sent from the other side of the glen—a shriek so loud, wild and unearth- ly that it caused the mulatto to stop suddenly, and look in the direction whence it came. Rushing out from among the crowd of negro captives, was one who might have been the old- est of them—a woman of near seventy years of age, and that weird aspect common among the old crones of the nilantadiicnt. With hollow cheeks, and white wool thinly set over her tem- ples, with long, shriveled arms outstretched be- yond the scant rag of garment which the plun- derers had permitted to remain upon her shoul- ders, she looked like some African Hecate, sud- denly exorcised for the occasion. Despite the forbidding aspect, hers was not an errand of destruction, but mercy. ** Let go hol’ of de young missa!” she cried, pressing forward to the spot. ‘‘ You let go hol’ ob her, Bew Dick. You touch a hair ob her head! Ef you do, you a tief—a murderer. Yach! wuss dan dat. You be a-murderin’ ob your own fresh an’ brud!” ‘What do you mean, you old fool!” cried the mulatto, at the same time showing, by his looks, that her words had surprised him. ‘* Wha’ de ole fool mean? She mean wha’ she hab jess say. Dat ef you do harm to Miss Clara, you harm your own sissa |” The mulatto started as if he had received a stab. ‘* My sister!” he exclaimed. bling, Nan. senses.” ‘®No, Bew Dick; Nan habn’t lost none o’ her senses, nor her ’membrance neider. She ’mem- ber dan’lin’ you on her knee, when you wa’ bit piccaninny, not bigger dan a ’possum. She nuss Miss Crara too bout de same time. She know who boaf come from. You boaf child’en ob de same fader—ob Mass’ Brackadder; an’ she you sissa. Ole Nan tell you so. She willin’ sw’ar it.” For a time Blue Dick seemed stunned by the startling revelation. And et so she, whose wrist he still held in angry clasp. It was a tale strange and new to both of them. But the asseverations of the old negress had in them the earnestness of truth; more so at such a moment. And along with this were some gleams of light, derived from an indefinite source—instincts or dreams—perhaps some whis- rings over the cradle—that served to confirm er statement. Revolting as was the thought of such a rela- tionship to the delicate sensibilities of the young lady, she did not attempt to deny it. Perhaps it might be the means of saving her brother and herself; and, for the first time, she turned her eyes toward the face of Blue Dick in a glance of ‘*You’re gab- You’re old, and have lost your appeal, he fell in sudden disappointment. There was no mercy there—no look of a brother! On the contrary, the countenance of the mulatto—al- ways marked by a harsh, sinister expression— seemed now more merciless thanever. His eyes were absolutely dancing with a demoniac tri- . ‘* Sister!” he cried, at length, sarcastically, hissing the word through his teeth, ‘‘A sweet sister! she who all my early life has been but my tyrant mistress! hat if we are from the same father? Our mothers were different, and Iam the son of my mother. A dear father, in- deed, who taught me but to toil for him! And that an affectionate brother!”—here he pointed to Blount, who, restored to his fastenings, lay stretched on the grass—‘‘ who only delighted in torturing me; who ruined my love—my life! Swect sister, indeed! you, who treated me as a menial and a slave! Now shall you be mine! You shall sweep out my tent, wait upon my In- Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. | | dian wife, work for her, slave for her, as I have done for you. Come on, Miss Clara Blackad- der!” Freshly grasping the young lady’s wrist, he recommenced dragging her across the camp- ground, An involuntary murmur of disapprobation rose from the different groups of captives. During their long, toilsome journey across the plains, Clara Blackadder had won the good wishes of all—not only by her grace and beauty- but for many kindnesses shown to her travel ing companions, black as well as white. An when they now saw her in the clutch of the | unnatural monster, being led, as they supposed, to the terrible torture some of them had al- | ready experienced, one and all uttered exclama- tions against it. such was the torture intended by the spiteful renegade; they only guessed it by the direction in which he was conducting her. Whatever might have been his purpose, it was prevented, With a spring as if all the energies of youth had been restored to her shriveled frame, the old nurse rushed upon him; and, clutching his throat in her long, bony fingers, caused him to | let go his hold. | e turned upon her like an enraged tiger, | and, after a short struggle, ending with a blow | from his strong arm, old Nan fell flat upon the earth. But on facing toward the girl to renew his grasp, he saw she was no longer within his “fs While he was struggling with the ne- | gress, she had darted away from his side, and, springing upon the back of her own horse, was urging the animal in full gallop out of the gorge! CHAPTER XVIIL THE STALKERS ASTONISHED. | MAKING their way up the steep mountain- | path, climbing over fallen tree-trunks, obstruct- | ed by thicket and scaur, the trappers at length | got Close to the cliff which, as *Lije Orton had | told them, looked down on the camping-place | of the Cheyennes, | They had ceased talking aloud, and com- | municated with one another only in whispers. | There was a deathlike stillness in the pure | mountain air, and they knew that the slight- est sound might make known their approach to the enemy. They had thrown themselves into a deployed line, after the manner of skirmishers, crouch- ing silently among the stunted pines, and glid- ing rapidly forward where the ground was without cover. Orton was directing them by signs; O’Nei) stepping close by his side, and near enough for the slightest whisper to be heard be- tween them. The young Irishman still kept impatiently | urging the advance. Every moment of delay | seemed a month to the heart of the lover. Over and over again came before his mind that hide- | ous picture his fancy had painted—Clara Black- | adder struggling in the embrace of a savage! And that savage the Yellow Chief of the Chey- ennes! These fancies were like the waves of a tem- pestuous sea, following one another at inter- vals. As each rose grimly before him, he came | near groaning aloud. He was only restrained | by knowing the necessity for silence. As a re- | lief, he kept constantly whispering to his old | comrade, and urging him to a more rapid ad- vance. *‘ Dod rot it, Ned!” replied the latter; ‘‘ don’t be so hurried "bout it. time, take this chile’s word for it. Theer’s plenty o’ licker in the emigrant wagons, I | guess. Them Massissippy planters don’t offen | go travelin’ *thout a good lot o’ corn. An’ as | for the Injuns, they ain’t a-goin’ to trouble | | They were not certain that ant. | red-skins. left We'll git theer in good | night entwining itse theerselves ‘bout weemen as long’s the licker | lasts. Don’t you be uneezy; we'll git up time enuf to purtect the gurl an chestize the skunks as hev captered her; you see if we don’t.” ‘* But why go creeping this way? Once upon the cliff we must declare ourselves. We can’t et down among them, as you say; and since it must all be done with our rifles, the first shot will discover us.” ‘*So it will; diskiver us to a sartinty. But theer’s jest the p’int. Thet fust shot must be delivered by a time. French trappers call it, they’d be off in the shakin’ o’ a goat’s tail, ei: takin’ thar pris- ners along wi’ ’em. n’ wha foller ’°em? Thurfor, we must fix things so’s’t rtd one may take sight ona different Injun at the same time: an’ then, afore they kin git o’ us at the same instinck o’ | Unless we make a batter o’ them, as the | r ‘ud we be to. = — _ ee _ — - - od —_— —— —$——<_ $$$ — —— ———— — — — cl’ar out o’ the gully, we'll be loaded fcr a see- ond shot. I guess that’ll make ’em think o’ somethin’ else than totin’ off thar captives. Keep y’ur patience, young fellur! Trust to ole ’Lije Orton, when he sez y’ur gurl air still safe an’ soun’.” The anxious lover, despite his anxiety, could not help feeling confidence in the words thus whispered. More than once had he seen ’Lije Orton acting under circumstances of a like try- ing nature, and as often coming out etek a With an effort he restrained his impa- tience, and imitated the cautious approach of his comrade. They were soon sufficiently near the edge of the cliff, to hear a murmur of voices rising u out of the valley. As the ears of all were wall attuned to such sounds, they knew them to be the voices of Indians. And these could be no + pow than Yellow Chief and his band of marau- ers, A halt was made; and a hurried council held, about the best mode of making attack. ‘There must be ne’er a noise among ye,” _ whispered ’Lije, ‘not the speakin’ o’ a word, till we've got one to fire at’em. Then churge y’ur rifles ag’in quick’s ever you kin. Two sets o’ shots oughter thin ’em, so they won’t mind ‘bout thar captives, nor anythin’ else, ‘ceptin’ to streak it—that air, sech as be left o’ ’em.”’ This counsel was delivered in a whisper, and in the same way passed along the line. ‘Only one-half o’ ye fire at a time,” con- tinued ’Lije. ‘* You fellurs on the left shoot first. Let the t’cthers resarve for the second volley. “Iwon’t do to waste two bullets on the Leave Yellow Chief to me. I hev got a ole score to settle wi’ thet Injun.” With these precautions, communicated from to right, the wrappers once more ad- vanced—no longer as skirmishers, but in line, _and asnear to one another as the inequality of the ground would permit. talkec dly and in a tone of authority. They could even make out some of the words, for they were in English! his gave them a surprise; but they had scarce time to think of it, when there arosea _ chorus of cries, uttered in quick, sharp intona- tion, that told of some unusual occurrence. Among these were the screams of women, At the same instant the bg | of hoofs resounded along the rocks, as if a horse was going off at a gallop over the hard turf of the prairie. Then succeeded another chorus of yells—a confused din—and soon after the pat- tering of many hoofs, as of a whole troop of horses following the first. The sound, reaching the ears of the trappers, carried their eyes out toward the plain; where they beheld a sight, that caused one and all of them wild throbbings of the heart. Upon the prairie, just clearing the scarped edge of the cliff, was a woman on horseback. Ata glance they could tell it was a young girl; but as ‘her back was toward them, they could neither see face nor features. She was in a lady’s saddle; and urging her horse onward as if riding for life—her skirt and hair streaming loosely be- hind her. There was one among them that knew who she was. The quick instinct of love told Ed- ward O’Neil well the fugitive upon horseback was Clara Blackadder. His instincts were aided by remembrance. That magnificent head of hair, black as the plumage of a raven, was well remembered by him. It had often been before his fancy in the lone bivouac—at with his dreams. ‘Oh, heavens!” he exclaimed, ‘‘it is Clara our right, Ned,” ded ’L Pur right, Ned,” responde ije, gazing intently after her. ‘Darned ef it ain’t her, that very gurl! She’s a-tryin’ to git away from ‘em. See! thar goes the hul o’ the Injuns arter her gallopin’ like h—” As Orton spoke, the pursuers began to appear, one after another passing outside the cliff-line—, urging their horses onward with blows and loud vociferations. Several of the trappers raised their rifles to the level, and seemed calculating the distance. ‘For y’ur lives, don’t shoot!” cautioned ’Lije, speaking in a constrained voice, and makin himself understood by a wave of the hand, “ It kin do ne’er a good now, but only spile all. Let ’em go off. Ef the gurl gits clur, we'll soon track her up. Ef she don’t, they’re boun’ to bring her back, an’ then we kin settle wi’ ’em. Ireck’n they’re not all arter her. There’s some 0’ the skunks still below. Let’s jest see to them: an’ then we kin lay out our plans for them’s hev rid out in the purshoot.” ’Lije’s counsel vias EGOMmIE They. could now hear the voice of a man: who ou ‘ OOKS: _—— ee i