Beadle's Dime Library, No. 13 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

rr RR mes song. Indignation and a terrible fever of im- patience preyed upon him. Every bough, and rock, and handful of earth that they cast upon him, seemed pressing upon his own breast. In vain, he attempted to quell his over-active sensibilities ; in vain, he recalled the tragical scenes he had witnessed on the prairies, and in the recesses of the ranges ; he desivad no con- solation and fortitude from the same. He pressed his heated forehead to the ground, to vool it, and, closing his eyes, resolved not to look.again. In that position he remained some time. _ Then he glanced down the gulch again. It was empty ; Sut there was the trapper’s ve, with that sickly, warning freshness upon it. that always attaches to the newly-raised mound, and impresses.one with mournfulness unspeakable, especially when it is heaped over our beloved. Ah! the fresh earth over a grave says so. plainly: ‘“ Man, you are mortal !” athaway looked anxiously down the canon, and saw the outlaws filing off to the right, through a narrow defile, the hindmost stagger- ing beneath the weight of the dead trapper’s peltries. The gray hunter darted down into the gulch, and, with his naked hands, began to dig the earth from the body. A frantic zeal, s.terrible haste marked his movements. He labored like one upon whose efforts depended the matter of life and death. His face was pale, his lips compressed, and perspiration poured from his brow. A person, coming upon him suddenly while thus employed, would have pronounced him mad. . He scattered the earth; he hurled away the stones; he cast out the boughs and rotten fragments of wood, and, grasping the body by the shoulders, dragged it, with hereulean strength, from beneath the mass that yet re- mained. Panting, he paused, glancing hur- riedly about for water ; he saw a small stream trickling down into the gulch above. seized the unconscious for.1, and carried it there. He placed his hand upon the trapper’s heart ; it beat—he lived! He held his Read under the descending rivulet, and let it fall Upon his face, which was covered with earth, disfiguring every feature. The dash of the _ Water upon him made him gasp, and brought k a portion of latent life. Pathawa cleansed the dirt from his wound. The ball struck his head, near the occipital bone, and glanced along the skull, benumbing and suspending, for the time, all the functions of life. He had sustained other injuries upon various portions of his person, from the rocks that were thrown upon him; but Pathawa doubted not that he possessed sufficient vi- tality ultimately to recover. @ man’s beard was quite long and heavy, but he was much younger than the gray hunter had at first thought. He judged that he was about twenty-eight, or maybe younger. His features were strongly marked, and his frame gave every indication of manlyhardihood. A * Mearer view certainly gave Pathaway 9 more fa- vorable impression of the man, increasing, also, . that strange interest that had urged him to such efforts for his resurrection aud resuscita- fon. He did not relax his exertions. Wiping his soiled lips and beard, he poured some spirit into his. mouth from his flask. The trapper’s blood felt the grateful stimulant, and revived. His chest heaved ; and he moved his limbs, opened his eyes, and sat up. “How do you feel? Are you not better ?” asked Pathaway, gently. The man looked at him vacantly; there was no soul, no language, no comprehension, in those orbs. “ The concussion has affected his brain ; his mind is absent,” muttered Pathaway, and un- consciously put his hand to his own head, as if the wound was there. He then resumed his friendly ministrations ; but though the young - trapper evidently gained strength, no ray of intel! apace returned to illuminate his dull face. Pathaway took off nis own frock, and it on him, and assisted him to arise. He could stand without difficulty, but wanted that reason which was eras Ga to guide his foot eae across mountains and prairies, as hereto- ore. The spectacle of his helplessness made the hunter inexpressibly sad. He tried eve artifice to awaken his memory and arouse his intellect, but without success. He elicited only an idiotic stare or a childish smile. “ Poor fellow! poor fellow! I trust this will be but temporary. What shall I do with him? Providence has cast him upon me, and I’!! take careof him. Yes, it was Providence that filled me with such a fury of zeal to unearth him, and save him from his horrible entombment. are watched over, éven in the wilderness.” Pathaway led the trapper to a sheltered spot, and making him a couch of boughs upon the soft grass, laid him upon it, and spread his own blanket over him; then sitting by his side, watched him till he fell into a heavy sleep. CHAPTER IX. THE WOUNDED TRAPPER FINDS FRIENDS. Pathaway awoke the wounded man at the | He had but little | expiration of two hours. fever, while his strength was not greatly im- paired bY his injuries. His benefactor killed a prairie-chicken, and, roasting it, gave him sueh nah a as were tender and palatable, and least ikely to disturb the system. He obeyed the hunter with the docility of a child, but gave no indications of returning reason. The hem- horrage from his wound had beenslight; but a closer examination showed a deep indentation in the skull, which convinced Pathaway that he could be no better, in a mental point of view, without the aid of skillful surgery. He reared a temporary shelter, and passed the long night with his patient, watching every symptom, and doing everything that his limited means would allow for his comfort. In the morning, still less fever remained, and Pathaway determined to return with him, by easy stages, to Nick Whifiles’ hut. He walked very well. The birds and the sunshine pleased him ; he heard with delight the songs of the feathered choristers, and smiled when the golden rays, warm and sportive, fell upon his face. He muttered about rivers and moun- tains, lakes and prairies, trappers and peltries ; but there was no coherency in his wandering fancies. Pathaway called his attention to the lake as they passed it; he stretched out his | hands, and manifested a momentary inter- He est, but it was evanescent as smoke. He next pointed to the timber, but with no better re- sults. + ait of drawing forth any signs of intelligence, Pathaway pursued the way toward Nick’s hut, in a frame of mind far from cheerful. It was past noon when he mighty. Howsomnever, if you’re disposed to make gammut of me, I don’t keer no great about it, for they’ve asd mye in the newspapers down in the clearin’s, and done a heavy busi- ness with me in that line. I say, Pathaway, what's the matter with the feier’s eyes? His face has a gone-away look, I alicw.” “ He has failen among thieves,” respondea the gray hunter. He was shot at and robbed in a canon.” Pathaway related circumstantially of the case, to which Nick listened with much interest. “It’s a cruel thing,” he said, shaking his head, “to rob the honest trapper of uis hard- earned gains ; but when murder is added to robbery, it becomes a terrible thing. So thir poor critter has lost the light o’ reason. Iv> a mournful spettakle to be an idiot, and that reached it ; and. his disappointment was great | _ with touching sweetness. on finding it deserted. ‘There it stood, bare and. inhospitable; there was no one at the door to give him a welcome, or light the friendly camp-fire. Nick nad changed his quarters ; for the free trapper, in dangerous neighborhoods, seldom camps many days in the same place, and sometimes is compelled to seek a new camping-ground nightly. Pathaway picked up a piece of birch bark in the hut, with unique characters printed upon it with charcoal, in crooked capitals : GONE TO THE NORTH. SEED SIGNS OF A PISON DIFFIKILTY., The execution of this rather vague an | dunno, by mighty! isn’t jest the tarm, either; but you know what I mean, which makes it all the same. Honest men allers understan’ each other, though the words mayn’t all be fitted into place like the bricks in # buildin’. I had a relation that was a fool. And sich a fool as he was! O Lord, yesh He cried himself to death for the moon; but what he thought it was, and what he wanted to do with it, I Perhaps he ’magined ‘twas sunthin’ to eat; I dare say!” added Nick, reflectively, unconsciously lowering his voice, “the poor, vacant critter thought ‘twas sunthin’ to eat. An idiot, you know, loves eatm’ better nor a wise man does his sweet- heart.”’ The wounded man started, smiled sadly, then sang, in a voice inexpressibly plaintive, the following words : “ My sweetheart was a prairie-flower— She dwelt beside the flowing water; I stole by moonlight to her bower— I loved a wandering trapper’s daughter. Oh, the trapper’s daughter ! “ Her eyes were like soft star-beams gleaming, Her mouth was small, her lips were sweet, Her face was ever on me beaming— I fell, and worshiped at her feet. Oh, the trapper’s daughter !” The poor fellow sang these simplk words “ The words sound nat’ral and senstble,” ob- served Nick, “but he hasn't got back yet. It’s mechanical ; his mind has no more to do with it than the fiddle has to do with makin’ the music, when it’s in the hands of a skillful player. He’s been in love, it ’pears, which took hold on him powerful. Doctor Whiffles had a case on't that nullified all his doctor stuff. ‘Twas a woman, and the case was of _ three years’ stannin’, which made it—what on't. nouncement was such that Pathaway could | not repress a smile. had clear| kind, whie Nick’s ay education been of a hurried and imperfect fact was sufficiently attested by the ‘ig-zag cut of his lettérs, and the pecu- | liarity of his spelling. It was too late in the day, and the wounded man was too much fa- tigued for a new tramp, based upon instruc- tions 80 meagre; so the gray hunter made preparations to remain there till the next day. hile he was thus employed, he heard the baying of a dog, and looking out, saw Nick ors through the cottonwoods, mount- ed, and attended by one of his dogs. It was a pleasant surprise. “| forgot somethin’, and come back arter worth much arterwards. it,” said the trapper, ‘“‘and it’s lucky I did, | prehaps. reckon. Hillo! who ye got there—one of our kind, I s’pose ?”” Nick dismounted, shook hands with Path- away, then turning to the wounded trapper, said : “ How'd ’e do, stranger? You're welcome to my het; and ’tisn’t mine, either, ’cause I desarted it; but you're safe here, and not al- together safe, neither; for there’s a pesk sight of danger hereabouts from both red and white.” “ Mountains,’ beavers, otters, traps, and lakes |” said the wounded trapper, with a meaningless stare. « Jes’ so, brother—jes’ so! That’s clear Ingin, and not so clear, arter all. Been out on your own hook, I allow ?” returned Nick, with a puzzled look. “ Horses, halters, and horse-stealers |” mut- tered the trapper, listlessly. _ “*Zactly, mister, it’s all right, I'l be pound, though I can't see the drift on’t, by Got back sooner’n you expected, I | - ous ee eer the fakilty call—chronie. She lost a heap o’ flesh, and in fack, parted with nighabout all She kept herself so wet up with eryin’, that she had to be wrung out every day as reg’lar as sunrise. Her sobs was like the soughin’ of the wind through the defiles in the mountains when there’s a tempest. She sung sich tetchin’ ditties, that sev’ral of her sisters was so melted that they mever was To cure her, the doctor was obleeged to marry her himself. "Twas amazin’ how she picked up her orumbs arter that. She woighta two hunderd pounds and up'ards the last time I seed her. To look at her you'd never knowed that her heart had been broke.” “ Oh, the trapper’s daughter— Oh, the trapper’s daughter !” sang the wounded man, catehing up the cho- rus of his song, and prolonging it with his strangely melancholy intonations. “hat makes me feel bad, 1 swear to graci- 1» Then to Reem with emphasis, and gesticulating with his right hand: “ This can’t go on; it must and shall be stopped! These mountai robbers have had their way long enough. Nobody’s safe—I a’n’t, you a’n't, and he isn't. We ean’t tell when our turn’ll come. We may be shot down like bufferler in the fust pass we come to.” “ You say truly,” answered Pathaway, ear- nestly. “ These outrages must cease. This man’s misfortune appea ible power; it strengthens a purpose by means new. ‘The mysterious banditti of Trapper Valley must be traced to their -ken- nel, and made to feel that they cannot com- mit crime with imp-:nity, even in the wilder- ness.” “They're too lazy to work like honest trap- pers and hunters. They scorn the slow pro- cess of trappin’ beaver and otter, choosin’ to pounce upon the hard-earned gains of others, rather than encounter the dangers and toils of to me with irresist- (E| 90 J) eom ‘SS the facts } not (E(o} —_— —— ee ee ee