Beadle's Half Dime Library, No. 85 — page 5: what you’re looking at

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

Buck Buckram. [a Ts Ss since to-day, when I see’d her, and could get time to think. It'll come to me, 1 s’pose, some . time, when I don’t care about it.” | ‘Hark! there goes that yelp ag’in.” ‘‘Tet him yelp, and that’s all the good it’ll do . bP) im. And all the time, the little canoe, with its pre- cious freight, was moving swiftly down the lonely stream, in the quiet moonlight. DOWN THE RIVER. Buck BucKkram worked the paddle with the unceasing persistency and the untiring steadi- ness of a steam-engine. As the night advanced, little Bess became weary and her head drooped. Havens disposed the velvety skins, so as to make her couch as soft and luxurious as that of eider down could have been. She was gently covered with another fur, and she slept sweetly and dreamlessly. As*she lay with her pale, beautiful face u turned and the silver moonlight resting upon it, while the scarred, hardy trappers kept watch over her, the scene was a strange and touching one. Buck Buckram knew that the Apaches would make every effort to recapture the escaping child. Velasquies unquestionably had some owerful motive in spiriting away this child ?yeiin its parents, as he had certainly done. Buck Buckram, with the chivalry that always distinguished him, resolved never to give over his efforts until this child so strangely thrown upon his hands should be returned to her par- ents. And all the time, as he plied his paddle, his mind was wandering back in its search for the ‘time and place where he had first seen this fairy-like face. And thére was something in the voice, too that was like the sound of familiar music heard long, long ago, and which vibrated through the aisles of memory with a wild power. But hour after hour passed, and the i heaved a deep sigh, and gave over the task. He had met with no better success than before. Several times that wild, demoniac yell of Velasquies came faintly borne to them upon the night wind—sounding more like the wail of some wild animal'than anything else, but it gave them no concern, and they paid scarcely any heed to it. When it was past midnight the two hunters exchanged places, and Buck Buckram stretched himself out as much as possible, so as to gain a few hours’ rest. Havens plied the oar with the same steady persevering skill as his companion. As the moon was overhead, and there was scarcely any shad- ow thrown out by the river banks, he kept near the middle of the current. More from custom than from any anxiety, his sharp eyes flitted from shore to shore in quest of danger. . He had a singularly prudential custom when approaching a bend in a river, of game close to the shore, and passing around very § owly, so that at the first sight of peril, he had a chance of withdrawing before precipitating himself be yond retreat into danger. . The wisdom of this course was soon manifest, when in rounding a bend in the stream, he caught sight of three large canoes coming Up- stream, and only a few hundred yards away. One powerful sweep of his paddle, and bis own boat was forced far back, under the shadow of overhanging trees, while he softly stirred Back Buckram, who was breathing rather heavily. The experienced hunter seemed to understand, as if by intuition, what it meant, and slightly shifting his position, his slumber continued as quietly as the innocent Bess near him. A moment later, the canoes, one after the other, shot around the bend, and passed within a dozen yards of the motionless boat, with its equally motionless occupants. Vhen they were beyond sight or hearing, the tiny vessel once more glided out in the moon- light and resumed her way, Havens plying the oar with the same untiring regularity as be- fore. Finally it began to grow light in the east, and then the hunter slackened his efforts somewhat and looked about him, as though searching for the precise spot where he should land. Before him rose a ridge of mountains, ascend- ing beyond the forest line, their peaks looking like rugged masses of white clouds resting in the horizon. The countrv at their base was of the wildest “ character, : | j | CHAPTER VIII. crossed and intersected by streams and caverns, and just the place In which a party of hunters could secrete themselves from their hereditary enemies. Havens turned his canoe toward land, and immediately Buck Buckram awoke. Raising his head, he looked hastily about him, and then recognizing his whereabouts, he arose to the sit- ting position, and remarked: ‘* You've rowed purty well, Dick, to get here so soon. See any sign on the way? ‘Nothin’ worth speakin’ of.” ‘“Shoot me! how the little gal sleeps!” ex- élaimed Buckram, looking down in the face of ‘¢ Ain’t she nda “She ain’t anythi —_ | Buck surveyed her features for a few moments with the same intense interest, and then looking toward his companion, said: ‘‘Do you know, I'd give every peltry [ own and gun and all, when we’re in the middle o this red-skin country, if I could call to mind the place where I’ve seen that ’ere face,” ‘‘Tt’s powerful qua’r that you can’t. [’m sure I could, if I was in your place.” ‘‘ And I’m powerful sure youcouldn’t. Haven’t I hammered my head till it has rung like a bell, and allfor no good? Hang it! I sha’n’t try any more!” exclaimed the trapper, as he umpatient- ly turned his head away. ‘‘ What are you going to do with her?” “Going to do with hert I’m going to take her down home, and ae her with the old wo- man and with my children, and then I’m never going to rest till I find out her friends for her.” ‘“The sooner you do that the better, for this ain’t the country for sich a yo . But we hain’t got any ani * ‘‘ We'll cache our peltries till we come back ag’in, and start home with her. When she gets tired, we can carry her.”’ ‘A very good idea, but the fust thing we’ve got to do, is to give the younker something to eat. | ‘‘ Just let her be till she comes to, as she seems to be doing purty well.” But Bess at this juncture opened her eyes, and so that suggestion was not acted upon. : CHAPTER IX. THE PERIL. For a few minutes, little Bess failed to real- ize her situation; but the kindly looks and words of the trappers soon reassured her, and sh greeted them pleasantly. | “Oh! I’m so glad I am with you, and hungry.” ‘‘}m jist going to send Dick there to get your breakfast.” ‘‘ And I’m jist on the point of going,” replied the trapper, with a langh, as he slung bis rifle over his shoulder and moved away. At the particular point where the yarty land- ed, there was no shrubbery, and Rel Buckram noticed with some uneasiness that their boat, and even themselves, could be distinctly seen by any one in passing up or down the river. He pulled the boat clear up the bank, where there was no danger of its being swept away by the action of the current, and then began un- loading the peltries. ‘‘ As soon as he comes back,” he remarked, to the little girl beside him, who was nimbly as- mans him at the work, ‘‘ we’ll get your break- ast. ‘* How long will he be gone?” “Not long. Are you getting hungry?’ he asked, with a smile. ‘) I ain't getting so, I am so.” ‘So ; and when he brings his deer or an- telope back, won’t we have a good breakfast?” ‘*Do you know how to cook?’ ‘* Somewhat,” ‘‘ Velasquies always made me do it, and I can make a very nice dinner for anybody.” ‘‘Tve no doubt of it; you’re too little to help me much at this, so s’pose you rest yourself,” ‘Oh! [ ain’t tired,” she protested, as she con- tinued nimbly at work, for a time longer; but by and by her hands wearied, and she gave over the task. fs Hark !’ she exclaimed, ‘‘did you hear that né ‘“That’s your breakfast,” was the reply; ‘<a ose you go down the bank and watch for Dick. She slipped merrily avvay, while Buck contin- ued to work at his peltries. It required but a short time for him to unload them, but after that, he was obliged to carry them a _consider- able distance, in order to reach a point where something Jike concealment was afforded. This was accomplished after eonsiderable la- I’m so bor, and he then turned about, and picking up * ‘Dick, walking on by o his canoe, carried that Indian fashion over his head to the same place, He had haxeeyieet it down when Bess came dashing toward him, almost breathless with ex- citement. ‘Wal, what’s up now? Have you see’d Dick? It’s time he war comin’ back.” “ Dye seen Velasquies !” was the startling re- ply. ‘What?’ demanded Buck, in amazement, “Thatis I think Lhave. There were two mem coming down the river in a canoe, and one of them looked like Velasquies.”’ ‘‘ Which side of the river did they stop on?’ ‘The other side, and—” ‘‘ Hello! there goes Dick’s gun a aD, | ee rupted Buck, with an expression of uneasiness: upon his face. ‘‘ It can’ that them varmints have followed us all the way hyar, and yet shoot me! if it doesn’t look that way.” The apps questioned little Bess closely, but ined little of anything additional. She had n playing on the bank, and ses tee a | for signs of her coming breakfast, when she sudden- ly caught sight of a canoe but a short distance away, coming down the stream, and heading for the other side of the river. She knew enough to conceal herself at once, and she watched them for several minutes. She saw them skirt along the shore for some dis- tance, when they halted and both disembarked, leaving their boat behind them. But the girl had seen enough thoroughly to alarm her, and she hastened to her friend with the tidings. Buck, after carefully weighing the matter over, concluded that there was nothing alarm- ing in the news, and to him there was every in- dication that the two persons whom she had seen were Indians, who knew nothing of his whereabouts. ; He was very glad, however, that he had re- moved the canoe and peltries to a point where they were not likely to be seen by any one in passing up or down the river. ‘You go back to where you war,” said he to Bess, ‘‘and keep watch of that canoe, and take ood eare they don’t see you, and as soon as ick comes back we'll let you know,” The girl leaped away, but had taken but a’ step or two, when the hunter was seen return- ing, bearing upon his shoulders the choicest por- tioa of an antelope. _ Of course this ended her expedition, as noth- ing now was to be thought of except the meal, for which all were longing. ‘We'll take it up yar, out of the way,” said hem, without pausing, ex- cept to greet the little girl. his was only a prudential proceeding, in consonanee with the habits of both the hunters. The two. walked along, passing in and out among the rocks, until they reached a secluded chasm, where no human eye could see them at a dozen feet distant. On the way thither Buck had gathered quite a 1 eae of dry sticks, and in a few minutes, a fire was rearing and crackling r ght merrily. The most delicate steaks of the young ante- lope were;carefully held and turned before the fire, and the most delicate and select of all was first cooked and given to Bess, who was as hun- ery as hungry could be. ‘he trappers then prepared their own, and while it was being devoured, Buck remarked inquiring|y : “Didn’t I hear your gun—” é He suddenly paused, for a look from his com- panion warned him not to finish the question ene had no wish to make the answer just en. Buck took the hint, and Bess was unsuspi- cious. r When the meal was concluded, the two saun- tered off carelessly, until they were beyond the hearing of the little girl, and then halted, “What is it?’ inquired Buck. ‘‘ There’s no mistake about it; we’ve been fol- lowed by a party of Apaches!” CHAPTER X. THE CACHE. Tus was indeed alarming information, and set at naught all the plans of the trappers as to continuing the season in the mountains, Had it not been for the little waif on their hands, and whose welfare was not second to their own, they would have rather welcomed anything that gave a prospect of a scrimmage with their ereditary enemies; but as it was, there was but one recourse for them, and that was to get out of the neighborhood as rapidly as possible with their charge, As they had no horses, it was impossible to 0 0X6) | <€om cS G (E()