Beadle's Dime Library, No. 13 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

ee —_——_—_——-— = - - ee eee sc s+ sen meee _— —— ~ — = | > ee eee SS - - — si — —-— — ee me ee OSE rr ee . 10 The New York Library. him if he does not come back soon; but he is wise, and can take care of himself.” The youth paused, and uttered an exclama- tion of terror. Pathaway looked up, and saw Nick coming, with a grizzly bear walking qui- etly beside him. Both Sebastian and the hunter felt an inclination to retire into the hut. “QO unele Nick! do not come near with that frightful beast,” cried Sebastian. “Don’t be afeard; I’ve magnetized the critter, and got him under subjection. Cu- r’ous, isn’t 1t, what power there is in the will? Wouldn’t believed it, ‘less I'd seen it done. Howsomnever, he’d been tamed some afore I got him. Bought him of an Injin; and he’s got some queer tricks, I allow. I ean make him stan’ up on his hind legs e’ena- most as straight as a man—shake hands with his fore-paws—tell the time o’ day by the sun —run, trot, or gallop—lay down or git up— and do anything that a dog can!” “Keep him at a proper distance,” said Pathaway ; “for I never was partial to that kind of animal.” Sebastian ran into the hut for his bow, and came out with an arrow upon his string. “Up, you p’ison critter, on to your hind legs, and let’s dance the war-dance together !” said Nick, beginning to chant, in a monotonous manner, an Indian sealp-dance. The bear reared ; and, standing quite erect, danced, in time and tune, with fodiestas gravity. The gray hunter and the youth laughed in con- cert. “A wonderful bear, truly!” remarked Pathaway. “Hunter, nothin’ of the common kind comes up to my idee. You mightn’t think it, but he can be trusted as well as any dog—not exceptin’ Misfortin and Smuggler, who are the most knowin’est speciments of their race. He'll be good company for Sebastian when I go to look arter my traps.” The bey shook his head, and looked star- tled at this announcement. “| like the dogs much better, Nicholas.” he replied. “The dogs are extr’ordiner in their line ; but they haven't the sagacity of thia ’ere bruin. Say, bow-wow, you shaggy animile.” The bear growled, very much like the copy Nick had set him. “There! that’s enough for this time,” said Nicholas. “ Lay down, and be quiet. Mis- fortin, stop barkin’; Smuggler, straighten our back down, and be eivil to strangers. You don't have sich distinguished company every day.” “Give him something to eat,” said Patha way, with a quiet laugh. “He devoured half a buffaler cow not ten minutes ago. If you’s to offer him the ni- cest slice ever cut from a sirline, he wouldn't so much as turn it over with his nose. Come away, dogs, and don’t tamper with him; for his temper isn’t allers even.—Now, stranger, | allow it’s time to ’pologize, and ten! to the duties o’ hospitality.” Nick, with the assistance of Sebastian, pro- ceeded to prepare a tolerable breakfast : Path- away, a8 on the previous night. ate but spar- ingly. When their simple meal was sided: Nicholas and the hunter went away together, and walked upon the plateau a long time. The youth looked for the bear, but he had ca na te “IT must part with you for the present,” said Pathaway, after an earnest conversation with Nick. “If no accident befall me, I will return again to your but,” “Every man knows his own business best ; but I am sorry to have you leave me to-day. You won't take it onkind of me if I warn you to be cautious. The ruffian, Bill Brace, won't forget the floggin’ you give him. The re- membrance on't will be like a Mexican saddle on the sore back of a mustang. He'll be res- tive under it as a colt unbroke. And this isn’t all,” added Nick, depressing his voice ; ‘“there’s sunthin’ to be feared in the mountains and valleys of this region. The lonely trap- a sometimes gits lost, and never comes back his lodge. Cachés are often opened and robbed It isn’t a safe neighborhood for the young and inexperienced in this perilous line and business.” “J thank you, mountaineer, for your friend- ly counsel; be assured it is appreciated. I am not so new in the wilderness as not to know what places to shun, and which to seek. My life is not purposeless. I am not a mere waif wafted hither by chance winds. I know s what I would accomplish ; I am etrong and confident in myself; I know what my mind ean plan, and what my body can execute.” . we body isn’t very large, though I al- low it’s put up in good shape,” remarked Nick. “It isn’t the body that has power—it is the spirit that is in it. It is the mind that gives momentum and foree to the physical frame. When a man is fighting in a good cause, the soul itself takes part in the contest; it flies into the fists and arms, converting the muscles into iron: it makes one invincible.” “ That’s so—jes’ so !”’ said Nick, thoughtful- ly. “I’ve frequently thought in the same way; but I couldn’t express it a quarter so wall though Doctor Whiffles could a handled the subject like a pill-box. There is some- thin’ in Jarnin’ by mighty! But I can’t have patience with them p’ison newspapers down in the clearin’s, that meddle with private aAairs, and drag the histories of folks afore the public in a ludickerous light, takin’ off their style o’ talkin’, and makin’ fun o’ their queer p’ints. [ have. quoth Nick, shaking his head serious- ly, “heen condemnedly injured by them as never seed me. I have, by mighty!” “Tf a man will be Nick Whiffies, he must be famous,” answered Pathaway. ‘“ Adieu, nountaineer, adieu! we shall soon see each other again.” The two adventurers shook hands, and the gray hunter went his way—the trapper watch- ing him as he struck off to the northeast, and disappeared. Pathaway entered a long reach of timber on the eastern slope of the mountain; and, aftet a walk of an hour, reached a small prairie at the base, which he crossed. This brought him to a lake of stagnant water-—ekirting which, still bearing to the east, he struck the lowest swell of the range just as the sun passed the meridian, and began to pour his rays from the western quarter of the heavens. Ascend- ing the swell, he beheld at his feet a deep canon, running to the nerthwest. Years ago, it had probably been a conduit for water ; but now green grass was growing in it. Fa- tigued, Pathaway stopped to rest: the scene, too, was one that invited him to stay, for it possessed that wild beauty which he admired. “How picturesque! how grand! how re- freshing !” he exclaimed. -“ How far apart are earth and sky—how pure the air between! I jeel exalted by this solitary Sam, wrens with Nature; I stretch out my arms, an commune’ with her when all other companion- ship is denied.” athaway sighed, and gazed downward at the grassy bed of the canon. He saw, ad- vancing from the western outlet, a oy staggering under a great load of peltries. Hie a was heaty, but he bore it with a will ; for every pound that pressed upon his shoul- ders was a voucher of his success. When quite blown, he rested the package against s jutting rock, or the convenient branch of a dwarf pinon, whose tenacious roots found a foothold in the rifts and crevices; then he toiled on, singing the chorus of a Canadian boat-song, or snatches of mountain melodies. “He is rejoicing,” thought Pathaway, “ in the hard-earned fruits of his labors. To ob- tain that package of furs, he has suffered in- credible hardships, and braved many dangers. Sing on, stout heart—you have a right to be merry. Alas! your class lacks one virtue : and that is, the virtue of frugality. Ina month or two, yonder trapper, now comparatively rich, may return to his old haunts with searce- ly a coat to his back, having squandered the proceeds of his peltries in dissipation and prodigality.” The report of a carbine interru Patha- way’s saftnetiona: Smoke puffed out from among the rocks on the other side of the cai- on, and sailed upward, white and misty. The lonely trapper fell upon his face, and his hands elutched the grass convulsively. Path- ay instantly changed his position, crouch- ing low upon the ground. Two men spran from the ledges, ran to the fallen man, an cut the pack from his shoulders. One of them pushed him with his foot to see if afe remained in him. “He won't set no more traps,” he said. “ His foot has pressed the last spring, and he’s skinned his last beaver. It’s a heavy pack, Ben, and the heaviest share belongs to me for doin’ the business. Wasn't it my powder, and my lead, and my carbine, and my aim that | fixed him ?” “All that may be, Zene Beck; but the free mountaineers make a fair thing of the plun- der. We have our laws, you know, and the cap’n’ll see that they’re carried out. As for shootin’ him, couldn’t I done the same thin myself, and not made no fuss about it, either ? Come, come! it won’t do to be avaricious, Zene. I carry arms as well as you; and many think me the better man,” answered Ben Joice, gruffly. “Don’t provoke me, Ben Joise! I’m a good enough friend when there’s no property at stake ; but friendship stops where property begins. One-third for you—two-thirds for me; or the bowie-knife Bor both!” reterted Zene, with sullen ferocity, planting his left foot on the peltries, and drawing his knife with his right hand. As quickly as might be, the other imitated his example, and their murderous blades re- flected the rays of the sun like glancing mir- rors. They struck, they parried, they made fearful plunges at each other, and both exert- ed themselves to the utmost to inflict a mor- tal injury. Phey had exchanged several flesh-wounds ; and the affray would have ter- minated tragically, had not a man, with a red sash around his waist, leaped from the rocks, and shouted, in a loud voiee : “Hold there, brawlers! Put up your wea- pons. Are ye so hard up for amusement. that ye must quarrel among yourselves? Who was the aggressor ?” “Twas about the peltries,” growled Beck. “T’ll settle the matter for ye, you black- guards! Ho, there, fellows!—come here.” The man in the sash waved his hand authori- tatively, and a dozen men poured down into the canon, as though they been vomited out of the earth. CHAPTER VIII. A RESURRECTION. Pathaway perceived that the leader of these wild and uncouth men exercised a strong as- cendency over them. His word was law—his will paramount. The combatants separated sullenly, without disputing his authority, By his order, the i of peltries was carried up wre the rocks, by two of his fellows. “ You and Ben are at your old tricks again,” said the captain, addressing Zene Beck. “You can’t be quit, and do mischief only when you're told. There's been a little too much of this lately ; and the trappers and Ingins. are talkin’ about Trapper Valley, and the whole country hereabouts. This body musn't be left here exposed; it Il be found, and then there’ll be more surmises and rumors afloat. ty a convenient ;.ace, some of ye, and bury im.”’ Instantly, several men set off in differen directions, and soon discovered a suitable spot for their purpose ; it was a deep hollow, at the bottom of a gulch, which intersected the canon at right angles, and not far from Pathaway. The y of the unfortunate trapper was dragged to the gulch. ‘“He’s got done with that huntin’-shirt, I reckon !” said an ill-clad fellow. “ What good "ll it do him, 1 we put:him to bed with it on?” The body was instantly despoiled of the coveted garment, and then thrown into the hollow. Pathaway, by ereeping a few yards, was able to see these movements, and to hear the conversation of the outlaws. Feeli mournfully unpleasant crowded upon him 9 # was affected, he knew not why. He felt a sin- ular sympathy for the victim of this wrong e obtained a casual glimpse of the face as they cast him into his roug ve. The fea- tures, he thought, were placid, like one sleep- ing, and without the usual painful expression attendant upon death by gunshot wounds. The hollow was a depression between two ledges of red sand-stone, some eight feet in bongo and three and a half in depth. One of the men cut some boughs from a pinon with his hatchet; while another, with less gentle- ness, cast upon these some flat rocks and frag- ments of a decayed tree. Just over the place of sepulchre, the earth upon the steep wall of | ertakers the canon was loose, and the grim scratched it down upon the trapper. Present- ly, the grave was filled, the burial completed. [t appeared an ill way of dying, a melan choly end to a merry life; but a lingering death by disease, a wasting consumption, or a loathsome epidemic, are really things more dreadful. Pathaway’s sympathies increased ; & uervous excitement stole over him. The few moments consumed in covering the mur- dered man with earth were to him iutolerably (E(0) comicbooks >