Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 8 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

er ee ee t—<“i‘“Ci—CtiC™”tt~™ —_ —_— “Tt does, somewhat, I think.”’ “And yet I wouldn't be afraid to go back to the house. ‘** You'd better stay in the boat, young *un.”’ “You I am @/raid, do you?” she said, bound- ing out the boat to the shore. Ina! Ina! what do you mean?” asked the father, sternly. . “Oh, noting; only I want to take a little run to ease my limbs.” **Come back here, instantly!” ‘**'Yes—oh, father! quick! quick! come and take me}!”’ “Seize the oar and shove out!” commanded Seth, into the water, and shoving the boat off. ‘* But, for God’s sake, my child!” “You can’t ra her—the Injins have got her. I see ’em; drop quick, they’re goin’ to fire! look out!” At that instant there was the crack of sever- al rifles from’the shore, and several to flamed from the darkness, and the wild yell of a number of Indians pealed out in horrid strength. Had it not been for Seth all would have been lost. He comprehended everything in an instant, and saved the others. “Oh, father! mother! The Indians have got me!” came in 1 a es accents from the shore. “Merciful God! must I see my child perish with- out heeding her cry?”’ ed Haverland, in spirit. “No, they won't hurt her, and we must take care of ourselves while we can. Don’t stand up, for they can see you.” ‘* Father, will you leave me?” came again in heart- rending tones, “Don’t be scart, young ‘un,’’ called out Seth; ‘keep up a good heart. I'll git you ag’in ef you be- have yourself. I will, as sure as I am Seth Jones. Just keep up pluck, little one.” The last words were shouted foul , for the boat was fast gliding into the stream. The mother had heard all, and said not . She comprehended it, and with a groan sunk back upon a seat, Mary’s eyes flashed like a ti at bay; and she did not cease to cast looks of indignation at Seth, for leaving the child to her horrid fate so coolly. But she said nothing—was as quiet and pale as a statue. Seth eyed her like a lynx; his eyeballs seemed like fire. But he was as cool as if at his ease geneggee f and he quickly made all feel that he was rn for such appa ng emergencies. They were now in the center of the stream, and moving quite rapidly. The darkness was so great that the shores were now vailed from sight. And with hearts in as deep a gloom, the fugitives floated downward, es of fire CHAPTER IV. THE LOST HOME AND A FOUND FRIEND. Ir was on the morning of the day which we have just seen close. As will be remembered, the air is clear and the day one of the most beautiful and pleasant of the year. The air was perfectly still, and had that ape bracing sharpness which is only felt when it is ina ect state of rest. It was such a morning as would make every healthy person feel that to merely Jive was pleasure. That part of the State of New York in which the first scenes of this life-drama are laid, was a coun- try at this time cut up and diversified by numerous streamsS—the greater number of comparatively sm size, but a few of considerable magnitude. irting and between these were thousands of acres of thick luxuriant forest, while in some rm So were plains of great extent entirely devoid of timber. It was about the middle of the day referred to that a single horseman was slowly skirting one of these open Meese of country, a few miles distant from Haverland’s home. A mere glance would have shown that he had come a great distance, and both he and the animal he bestrode were jaded and well- nigh worn out. He was a young man, some twenty or twenty-five Fe: of age, attired in the costume of a hunter; an although tat ed with his long ride, the watchfulness of motions would have shown any one that he was no stranger to frontier life. He was rather prepossessing in appearance—had fine dark eyes, curly hair and whiskers, an expressive Roman nose, and small and finely-formed mouth. In front, a long, polished rifle rested across the saddle, ready for use at a second’s warning. His horse's sides were steaming and foamy, and the animal made his way along with painfully evident weariness. by the day waned, oy traveler me ag saalhy him with more st and eagerness. e care ex- amined the streams he crossed, and the pieces of wood, as movsh searching for some landmark or habitation. At length he manifested a pleasure in what he saw, w lage the signs were as he “a wished, and hurried the g steps of his animal. *Yes,”’ said he to himself, “the woodman’s house cannot be far from this, remember this stream, and that wood yonder. I shall then be able to reach it by night. me, my good horse, go ahead with better spirits, for you are near your journey’s end.”’ A short time after, he crosant a small stream that dashed and foamed over its and entered the broad tract which led to the in front of Haverland’s door, But pa ai © he had a tolerabl cor idea of his situation, he had sadly riferal- culated the distance. It was already dusk when he struck the stream several miles above where we have seen the fugitives take it. This river, or creek, he knew led directly by the cabin he was , and he determined to keep it until he had reached his destination, His progress was now quite tardy, from being often obliged to pass around the thick undergrowth which lined the river; and, when he reached a point that he knew was a mile distant from Haverland’s cabin, it was far in the nicht. LBB RRL LLL LLL LLL LL LLL LLL LL LC ttt: ttl ttitttLiltt calm tala at mm nr SeSSSSeSeEeS Seth J ones. “Come, my good horse, we have had a longer tramp than I expected, but we are now very near the termination of our journey. Heigh! what does that mean?’’ This last exclamation, or question, was caused by SOCEnG. Cx CRe. ahead of him, a bright, lurid glare shoot high into the heavens. ‘**Can it be that the woodman's house is fired? Im- possible! and yet, that is the precise spot. Heavens! something is wrong!’ tated by strong and painful emotions, Everard Graham (s was his name) now hurried toward the spot from which the light emanated. In a short time he had proceeded as far as he dared with his horse, then dismounting, he tied him, and made his way cautiously forward on foot. The went was so strong that he found it necessary to pick hi way with the greatest care. A few moments sufficed to show him all. He saw the house of Haverland, the one in which he expected to pass the night, but one mass of flame. And around it were a score of dark forms, leaping and dancing, and appearing, in the ghastly light, like fiends in a ghostly revel. rahans 4 a romans 3 opener coy horro and amazement. e expec see the reeking bodies of Haverland and his , or hear their groans of agony; but, as he continued gazing, he be- came convinced that they were either slain or had escaped, as there were no signs of their presence. He could not think they had escaped, and was com- pews to believe they had been tomahawked, and perished in the flames, It was a ghastly and almost unearthly sight—the small cabin, crackling and roaring in one mass of liv- ing flame throwing nge shadows across the clear- ing, and lighting up the edges of the forest with a brightness almost as great as the sun at noonday— the score of dusky beings, mans and shouting in wild exultation, and the vast wilderness, shu down like an ocean of darkness around. rad the flames lessened, and the woods seemed to retreat — the a ater e - 4 Sav. agen a ey, too, p ; and the building, which hitherto was a mass of crackling fire, was now a heap of slumbering coals and em- bers, which glowed with a hot redness in the dark- ness. An hour or two afterward, a shadowy form could have been — stealthily and silently around the glowing ns. He ap like a r as seen by the reflected light of the slumbering coals, or might have been taken for the shadow of some ruin of the buildi At intervals he paused and list- ened as though he half expected to hear the footfall of some one, and then again continued his ghostly march around the ruins, Several times he stopped and peered into the embers, as though he supposed the whitened bones of some human being would greet his vision, and then he recoiled and stood as if in deep and painful thought. It was Everard Graham, goakeuing for the remains of Haverland and his y: ‘I see nothing," he said, musingly, ‘‘and it may be that they have escaped, or their bodies are now peek: ing in that heap of coals, and yet something tells me that they are not. And if it is not thus, what can have become of them? How could they have eluded the malignant a of their savage foes? Who could have warned them? Ah, me! in spite of the unaccountable hope which I feel, my own sense tells me there are no unds for it. Sad is the fate of the unprotected at this time.”’ ** Fact, by gracious!’ Graham as though he had been shot, and gazed around, A few yards off he could just dis- cover the outlines of a man standing as if he were contemplating himself. ‘And who are you?” he asked, “ that appears upon this spot at such a time?” “I am Seth Jones, from New cone. sewers Who mought be you that happens down in these parts at this ckler time?”’ ‘Who am I? I am Everard Graham, a friend of the man whose house is in ruins, and who, I fear, has been slaughtered with his family." ‘Exactly so; but don’t speak so loud. There mought be others about, aes kuow. Jist let’s step back here, where ‘tain’t likely we'll be obsarved.”’ The speaker retreated into the darkness, while Graham followed him. At first he had some slight misgivings, but the tones and voice of tl] e stranger reassured him, and he followed him without distrust or hesitation. “You say you're a friend of Haverland’s, eh?” asked Seth, in a whisper. Iam, sir; I was uainted with him before he moved out in these p . He was an intimate friend of my father’s, and I promised to pay him a visit as oe $65,901 possibly do so, and I am here for that ‘Jest 80; but you took a rayther ticklish time for it, I reckon,” “So it seems; but, if I wished to wait till it would be od safe, I am afraid my visit would never “Fact, by gracious!” ‘* But allow me to ask whether you know anything ae aro tha haps, i ht be possible I “T reckon t mought do, seein’ as how five bese acon d tes times.”’ “Are they slain, or captives?” cnr Tr. “Ts tt possible they have escaped?” ** Jest so. Thelped ‘em off meee. ‘Thank Heaven! Where are they?” ** Down the river, at one of the settlements “Tow far distant is it?’ a ee eee _ face had haunted him, and his perilous jo is horse | 3 ‘** A dozen miles, p’raps, though it movght be more, and then ag’in it htn’t.”’ “Well, let us then hasten to them, or, let me, at least, as | have nothing to detain me here.”’ | “but : “I’m willing,” said Seth, moving forw forgot to tell you the darter’s ‘mong the didn’t think of that.” Graham started; for, perhaps, the shrewd reader has already suspected he had more than a interest in the fate of Ina. Visions of a fair, chi was owing much to their enchantment. He had played with her in childhood, and while they were yet chil- dren they had ayper ted; but they had pledged their hearts to each other, and looked hope forward to areunion in later years. Graham dreamed of this meeting a long time; and, now that it was so cruelly thwarted, he felt agonizedindeed. Years be- fore, when still a boy, although quite a ‘one, he visited this section, and the memory of that visit ever been a bright dream in the past. He maste his emotion in a moment, with a strong effort, and asked his companion, ye ‘* What tribe has captured Ina?” “Them infarnal Mohawks, I believe.” ‘** How long did it occur?” oa a few hours, as you can see by them coals ere.” ed. you be kind enough to give me the particu- ‘* Sartinly.”’ And thereupon Seth proceeded to narrate the inci- dents given in the preceding chapter, adding, how- ever, that the nts and sister were safe. He hed accompanied them himself down to the settlement mentioned, where, leaving them, he had made all haste back again, and had arrived just in time to meet Graham. At first, he said, he mistook him for a savage, and as he was alone, he came very near shooting him; but, as he heard him communing with himself, he discovered at once that he was a white an man. **And what has a you back here?’ asked Graham, when he had finished. “That's a pooty question to ax me, Iswow! What has brought me back here? Why the same thing, I cac’late as has brought you—to find out what is to be found out "bout Ina, that purty darter.” __ ‘* Ah—pardon me, friend, lam glad to hear it, and Iam free to confess that that inducement has had more in bringing me here than anything else. From our starting alone to rescue her, I presume you en- lerthinal hopes of recovering her, and, as you, alone, entertained such hopes, I judge there is greater room for os when another <r : oins as it that gal Ar say, stranger, spect Oo at ga again?’ asked Seth, in a low tone. “You did not say so in words, it is true; but from what you said, I judged such was your intention. Was I mistaken?” “No, sir; that’s what I meant.” “*T see no reason why we should not be friends, as we are both actuated by a desire to rescue an unfor- tunate one from the horrors of Indian captivity, and I trust, without that fact, we would find nothing dis- tasteful in each other.” see aa my sentiments, ‘zactly. Give us your n are ' The two closed hands with a true friendly gripe, and could each have seen the other’s face in the dark- ness, he would have beheld a radiant ression of friendship. They then retired further into the wood and continued the conversation. We may mention in this place, that the Indians who had captured Ina were, as Seth had remarked, members of the Mohawk tribe. This tribe itself was thet dhe Seabes, the Cayagn, Onendigs, an@Gednin them the eca, the Cayuga, Onon a, and On tribes, which have become quite famous in history. They are known among the French as the Jroguwois, and among the Dutch as Maguas, while at home they are called the Mingoes, or ag = Se the United People. The Mohawks, or Weabdingi, firs existed separately and alone. The Oneidas ‘then joined them, and these, in turn, were followed by the Onon Senecas, and Cayugas. In the be- = of the last a the Tuscaroras of the uth joined them, after w ich they took the name of the Six Nations. Of course, they were all united, and war made upon one tribe, was made upon all. ay eee truly a formidable confederation, and the Revolution testifies to what deeds they were suf- ficient when instigated by the British. g the redatory warfare which long existed upon the Old ntier, the white settlers upon strata- gem to outwit their foes, and it was by this means ee that Seth Jones hoped to rescue Ina from their CHAPTER V. ON THE TRAIL, AND A SUDDEN DEPARTURE FROM IT BY SETH ‘“‘Tae Mohawks, you a have then captured her?” remarked Graham, after a moment’s pause. ‘* Yes; I know it’s them.” ee you get a glimpse of Seana, peo <8 ‘I came up as soon as possi they wi leaving at that moment. Isaw one or two of them, and know’d it was them, sure *‘nough. Howsumev- er, that don’t make no difference, whether it’s the Mohawks, Oneidas, or any of them blasted Five No- tion rs. They are all aset of skunks, and one would as lief run off a@man’s gal as not. There ain’t any difference atwixt 'em.”’ “I sup not. The same difficulties would have to be surmounted in each case, The point is not whether one shall make an attempt at a rescue, but how shall it bedone. I confess lamina maze. The Mohawks are an exceedingly cunning people.” Gomicbooks (El)