Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 85 — page 4: what you’re looking at

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

Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. — —<—- — He struck with a loud length of Havens, and the next moment the two grappled. The Apache was an excellent swimmer, and was possessed of great strength and activity; ee in each respect, the trapper exceeded him, and he speedily got the best of him. Each drew his knife and struck fiercely-at the other, but Havens, by a skillful trick, sent it spinning out of his opponent’s hand. He now had him at his mercy, and, as may be cted, showed him none. e Apache y and shouted to his companions on shore, they were fearful that if they fired, they w slay their own man. ; ing that it was going against him, one of those on shore sprung into the water, and began swimming out to his assistance. Before he could reach him the spiteful crack of a rifle upon the other bank broke thes and, as the Apache threw up his arms sunk beneath the water, Buck Buckram ed to his friend: ’ “Come, Dick, there’s no time to waiti” CHAPTER VI. A NIGHT ADVENTURE. Buck BucKRAM reached down and caught his comrade by the collar, and drew him upon the land. Then, amid the hootings, and yelp- ings and hg | of the Apaches, the two men plunged into the wood, with greater speed than ever. As it may be es Sete? the Indians lost mo time in following; but they were thrown at reat disadvantage by being compelled to cross the creek, which necessitate considerable delay upon their By this time, too, it was growing dark; and, as the two men sped through the woods, the pro- tecting shadows gathered about them, until they felt they were safe from all pursuit. Their adventure with the Apaches had led them a long ways out of their course; but ey understood their bearings so well, that they too the most direct route toward the spot where they had left their peltries. Astheir animals had been slain by the In- dians, they were compelled to take the part of beasts of burden themselves until they could find means of securing others: but they were so accustomed to vicissitude and discomfort, that they looked upon the additional labor with little dread. It was fully midnight when they reached the point from which they started. heir peltries were found uninjured, but the howling of sev- eral wolves near at hand, showed that they would have remained safe but for a short time longer. Without any delay, they were slung over ‘their shoulders, and carried to the edge of the creek, where their canoe was waiting. When piled into the small boat, the sunk it to its very gunwales, and it requir great care and caution to avoid having the whole thing swamp- ed. Shortly after they started, the full moon eame up above the edge of the forest, and soon lit up the stream so brilliantly that the danger of traveling was increased tenfold. ) Having dealt so roughly with the Apaches, there was every reason believe that they svould leave no means untried to revenge them- selves, and would be upon the ground, as soon after the trappers themselves, as they could make the journey. \ Keep close to the shore!” whispered Buck Buckram to his companion, who was using the ddle. ar That’s what I’m trying to do, but these con- founded limbs are switching me in the eyes all the time.” ‘“‘ Took out for ’em then.” “That’s what ’m tryin expectin’ every minute, t eatch the boat and upset us aul, There was danger of this catastrophe, and to do also, but ’'m t one of ’em will Buck Buckram sitting in the prow, made it his. secial business to ward it off. As the boat slided noiselessly along, he reached out his nds, and gently pushed the limbs aside; and, eceasionally when there was danger of shying too close or too far away, he corrected the eourse of the canoe, without any difficulty or jarring. The belt of shadow which stretched shore,gradually narrowed, as the moon asce the heavens; and, as the surface of the creek became clear and bright, the hunters adv more slowly and carefully, for there w evi- dence of the Indians all around them. than once they heard the apparent cries irds but which they knew to be signals of the red- , within an arm’s | made as if to speak, he motione skins, and some of them were so close at hand, that they started, believing that they were dis- | covered. uddenly Buck Buckram raised his hand as a signal to his companion to *‘ back water,” while at the same time, he caught the overhanging limb of a tree, and checked the forward motion of the canoe so abruptly, the peltries came near going overboard. ‘Sh! sign,” he whispered. At the same instant bey saw by the reflec- tion upon the water direc ly ah that they were in close proximity to a camp-fire of their enemies, which was built so close to the river, that it looked impossible for them to pass it, without discovery and another fight. They were more fortunate thus far than the could hope to be in another scrimmage wi their enemies, and it was the of prudence therefore that they should avoid the Apaches as much as Ree They debated together a few minutes, and then it was decided that Buck Buckram should creep.ashore and take a careful survey of the camp, and see whether it would be possible to attempt to it in their boat. Buck Buckram appreciated the danger of this too well to incur any risk that was avoidable. When he had crawled on his hands and knees a couple of hundred yards, he reached a posi- tion from which he gained a clear view of the camp. Ho was somewhat surprised to find the very two Indians, whom he had seen during the day in the canoe, with the little girl. The savages had halted to cook their supper, the Foo preparation of which seemed to fall to the lot of the little girl. From the trapper’s concealment, he had a good opportunity to scrutinize all three, and when the child’s face was turned toward him, with the light of the camp-fire full upon it, the conviction at. once flashed oyer him that he had seen that same countenance years before, when it, belonged to the face of an infant. He racked his mDGTHONY FOF a long time, but in vain. He hadj been through many rough adventures, and his life was an eventful one indeed. Some- where, in far different surroundings, he was certain he had looked upon those features, and there were some hearts in the broad South- west who mourned for her loss. Buck Buckram lay on his face for half an hour, scrutinizing the girl, as she moved about with the lightness and grace of a fairy, and then he gave over the attempt. But, as he began cautiously retrograding, he made the resolve not to, leave the country until he took the girl with him. Fortune favored the chivalrous ig aa for when he had nearly reached the canoe, he heard one of the Indians order the girl, in a rough voice, to go to the creek and b some water. She caught up a tin vessel, which her captors had evidently stolen from some hunter or set- tler, and s d to obey her master, taking the direction which led her to the very spot where Dick Havens. awaited the return 0 his com- panion. She reached it, but a few steps behind Buck- ram, who, as she came near, rose to his feet and motioy ied to her to kee still. : t’s your name?” he asked. cf ” was the reply, in a soft voice. “ Wal, Boss, keep quiet now, and we'll take good care of you!” With that he picked her up, and gooey placing her in the canoe, signaled to the other hunter to move On, CHAPTER VIL. THE BROKEN THREAD. For a few minutes the canoe glided silently, no one daring to break the stillness by ing in awhisper. Every moment they e ted the yell of the Apaches at the discovery of the flight of the young captive, and every second was used by Havens in propelling the ‘frail vessel oorne Amie int h th 3) rous point was where they came opposite the camp ete and all lowered their heads, while the trapper allowed the boat to drift with the stream, not venturing even to trust to his own skill in using the pie aes Providence favored them, and the perilous | int was safel , and coming to the sit- g position, vens used the paddle with greater vigor than ever. Still, when the girl d to her to’keep guiet, as there was risk incurred in any noise. They had passed several hundred yards when a singular yell was heard, the meaning of which puzzled both the hunters. But the girl impul- sively exclaimed: ‘*Tt is Velasquies calling me.” ‘‘ What is your name?” asked Buck Buckram, feeling that he might relax his vigilance some- ahr es although he svill kept to work with his paddle. ‘‘ My name is Bess,” she replied. ‘* Bess what?” ‘- Bess—nothing more; I haven’t any other name,” she answered, speaking with good ac- cent, and yet not entirely perfect. “Who is your father? pursued Buck, who felt a powerful interest in this waif of a child, providentially thrown upon his ‘* I—don’t—know,” was the reply, as the gir] seemed lost in some deep reverie. a Neither one of the Apaches be such, I’m “Oh, no! the Indian is not, but the other may ‘Who is the other?” ** Velasquies.” ‘* Isn’t he an Injin?’ “No; he is part Mexican and part Apache.” ‘‘A half-breed,” suggested Havens, who was listening with a good of interest to the con- versation. ‘“Yes: that’s it. Maybe he is my father.” “No, he isn’t,” said Buck Buckram; “such a looking scamp as he is never had such a child. Besides, too, there isn’t any Injin blood in your veins. But don’t you remember anything of other people?” ‘* No,” she replied, in the same softly hesitat- 7 Te Velasquies th s Ve oe lasquies the first person you can call to ‘Yes; he has always been with me.” ** No, he hasn’teither. Think hard now. How is it you speak English so well?” “7 Jearned it from him.” ‘‘Not all of it, although he speaks it well.” ‘“Do you knew him?” she asked, looking up eagerly in his face, Yes; [ have met him.” ust about as as ever I sot eyes : ugly enough to kill his own mother.” hh ‘He sometimes beats me. That is the reason I run away from him, You won’t beat me will you?” ‘‘May God smite me if I do!” returned the trapper, as he brushed a tearfrom his eye. ‘‘In the first place, that scamp of Velasquies hasn’t any right to you. It’s qua’r I didn’t know him when f see’d him in the canoe, but he was so painted and daubed up that I never ’spected but what he was a red-skin. I say he hain’t got any right to you, and while I’m alive, he shall never have you. But I want you to think hard, and see Whether you can’t think of something away back afore you seen Velasquies.” ‘*Sometimes,” replied Bess, in that curious hesitating manner, ‘‘I can remember a house with big gardens, and brothers and sisters, and a fine lady that looked in my face and smiled— and then it seems it grew dark, and it all goes again. ' ‘“‘ That's it—that’s it,” repeated Buck, excited- ly. “Now try hard, and tell me what else you can think of.” ‘“‘T can’t think of anything else,” ‘« Are you sure?” ‘‘T have often tried, but I can’t.” ‘How long ago does that seem?” ‘‘Oh! a long time—a hundred years.” The hunters smiled at the child's earnestness, and Buck added, in his kindest tones: “A great while to you, in course, but a small time to us. Now, I want to ask you another question—” 6 k! there is br atom calling to me ore ” she interrupted, looking affrightedly be- hind her. ‘Oh! how angry he is, and how he will beat me if he gets me again!” "i ‘“‘Don’t be scart; he isn’t going to get you again. Now, Bess, look inftO my face. vm near ’nough to you, and the moon shines bright enough for you to see me plain.” Buck leaned forward, so that his face was close to that of the little child. *‘ Look into my face, and tell me whether you reeks seen me or any one that looks like me be- ore. The little waif did as requested, and gazed long and earnestly upon the bronzed features of the hunter; but she shook her head. ‘‘No; I have never seen you before.” “Yes, you have, but you don’t remember, and the deuce of it is, I remember that Ive sot eyes on you afore, and I can’t tell when or where it was.” “Thats qua’r,” remarked Havens. ‘Can’t you think hard, too, and tell it?” | ‘‘ Shoot me! it’s no use; I’ve been tryin’, ever GOmiicooo cS (E(9)