Beadle's Dime Library, No. 13 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

f rs === but neither inclined to take fhe init:ative in sn, Spe of hostility. e of the red sash was dressed as we have reviously described, armed with a double- rreled gun and a suspicious profusion of side-arms. “ Peace or war ?” demanded Pathaway. “Jest as it pleases ye, mister; a’n’t par- ticular.. Don’t be skeerd,” returned the other, gruffly. “Rest easy on that point; I’m not often frightened,” answered Pathaway, with compo- sure. The parties—so opposite in character— walked toward each other as if by a common impulse. Pathaway had a vague idea that he recognized the voice, and scrutinized the raan’e face sharply ; his features came one by one to is recollection, presenting to him the face of the shabby trapper, Hendricks, the visitor at Nick’s camp on the previous night. “ You have repaired ycur ill luck very soon, { think, friend Hendricks!’ he remarked, l “ Uh, ou haven't forgot me! Sharp eyes, eh? What do you think of me, critter?” re- turned Hendricks, stariag inquisitively at the hunter. The latter stepped back, and commenced a h survey of the questioner in a manner that could rot but have been annoying to the subject of it. “I fear my opinion, if avowed, would not be flattering. Yu have plenty of muscle and more assurance. You may have brute cour- e, but you are not handsome. In short, frend Hendricks, you do not impress me fa- vorably.”’ “Um!” growled Hendricks. ‘ What's your business hereabouts ?” “To hunt, to trap, in fact, to do as I please,” answered Pathaway, meeting the axes of Hen- dricks’ eyes steadily. “Quite an independent character, it ’pears,” replied Hendricks, grimly. “Entirely so. Able to take care of myself, [ fear neither ruffians, robbers, nor outlaw ae ll athaway’s manner was quiet, but there Was meaning in the tones of his voice. “Don’t carry too high hand nor too high head, rvung ter, for you're with a critter now that knows / ow to tame such fiery and mettle some colts. You're not old enough yet, to t on airs and play the veteran mountaineer. , Out o’ pity for ye, I tell ye that you'd better go home. "Tisn’t every one I'd do so much for ; but you're sueh a spirited crower, and ruffle your feathers so quick, that you ruther "muse me than t’otherwise. Jest take Nick Whiffies and leave the country, and you will git no harm from me.” The outlaw leaned on his gun, and chewed tary Ser his quid violently. “* But if I choose to stay 2” queried Patha- way, slowly, advancing a little closer to Hen- drick, and bringing his eyes to bear upon him at point-blank range. “ Choose !”” exclaimed Hendricks, his eyes flaring up like half-extinguished coals, “ there’s no choice about it. When I say ‘Go!’ folks go; they disappear and are seen here no more; when | say ‘Stay!’ they stay. The word of Captain Dick is Ae hi The man drew himself up with something of pride and dignity. Conscious authority invested him for the moment with a certain wild impressiveness. He had controlled his fellows so long and 80 entirely, that resistance to his will was a species of audacity that he eould not endure. The gray hunter met his flaming looks with- out shrinking. As Captain Dick grew more imperious, he, if possible, grew more calm stronger in his self-possession. “Captain Dick,” he replied, with a slight emile, “ you will find no subject in me. I neither regard your authority nor fear your menaces. | have heard of you ; report speaks badly of your character. Wicked deeds have been committed in the neighborhood of Trap- per Valley.” “Have you got any brains?” asked Hen- dricks, turning sharply upon Pathaway, and attempting to quell him with the glances of his inflamed eyes. “Do you know the natur o’ the critter you're dealin’ with? Perhaps ou've got tired livin’, and want to be put out e way ; and ag'in, you may be disordered in the head.” He leered at the hunter like one whose emo- tions are divided between amazement and wrath ; the latter, arising from the young — ee ~ Sea Pathaway. —_— man’s bold words, the other called into play by his singular self-corttrol. “Ag to the matter of brains,” answered Pathaway, “I believe I have nothing to ap- prehend in regard to quantity ; of the quality you shall yourself judge.” “ Yes, I’ll examine em by-and-by!”’ rejoined Hendricks, touching a large pistol with the tip of his finger, and contracting his forehead till his shaggy brows met. ‘I may safely say,” he went on, with frightful hazaur, “ that I'll look into ’em.”’ ‘“] shall return all your favors. Be careful of your fingers, Captain; they nave mechani- cal ly wandered to a weapon that is often dan- gerous.” “When a man meets a prowling beast in the forest.”’ replied the outlaw, with a kind of savage self-restraint indicative of the smother- ed fire burning within, “ he is wise enough not to wantonly provoke his anger; but you, mister, are anxious to thrust your reck under his paws. You dropped somethin’ about robbers and outlaws. hat did you mean ?” Hendricks advanced his face nearer to that of the young man, and flamed on him more fiercely with his glittering eyes. Pathaway leaned forward as if willing to en. gage in the contest of glances. “You ask my meaning, nor will I long keep you in suspense. I am glad of this opportu- nity of meeting you face to face. 1 have wished such a chance for many days. B the phrase I made use of, I referred to mush as you.” “ What am I?” asked Hendricks, hoarsely. “An outlaw—an assassin, and the leader of assassins—a mountain-robber—a despoiler of trappers and hunters,'snd false alike to white and red men. It is a pleasure,” he continued, in the same unrufiled manner, “ to meet you to-day, and thrust these unwelcome truths in- to your face—to tell you what a scoundrel you are, and how ychly you deserve death at the hands of the hangman.” The mountaineer’s tawny face bleached be- fore the steady gaze of Pathaway. He was astounded! Such language from one that he considered little else than a boy, struck him as something so much out of the common course of events that he had no reserve force of philosophy to meet it. He remained in a sort of stagnation of consternation. But his color flashed back presently, and with it the full tide of his anger. “Do you know what you have done ?” he demanded, almost in a whisper. “ Do you understand that you have committed suicide ‘‘T know well what I do; I have measured myself and you; and J,” he added, suddenly straightening his person, and speaking in a voice that was nearly as penetrating as steel, “am the better man!” 19 kets, rifles, carbines, pistols, swords, bowie- knives, er, sf you will, the hard muscle.” The g:ay huater spoke slowly, distinctly, and as compesedly as if discussing the ordinary matters of life. “Um!” A drop or two of the ludicrous diluted the ruffian’s wrath. Was ever sucha piece of temer- ity heard of! Ought he to be amused, orshould he allow his resentment to rise till it ran over ? [It was the strangest thing! It was terribiy presumptuous, too. But he would take his time ; he would show this silly, audacious boy what it was to provoke the sovereign of the mountains. He wouldnt hurry; he would _ hold his indignation down a space, and give _ the insulter opportunity to realize what he had done. “T don’t know,” he said, doubling his brawny fist and thrusting it within an inch of Pathaway’s nose, “what on airth keeps me from sp’ilin’ the shape of your head with this ‘ere awful striker; but I s’pose it’s the same thing that keeps the cat from eatin’ the mouse till it’s played with it and tossed it about with its paws.” “You haven’t named the weapons, brag- gart.”” Hendricks made a provoking grimace ; and, suddenly thrusting hia arm farther forward, caught the young man’s nose between his thumb and finger. Pathaway’s fist darted out in a straight line from his shoulder, and Hen- dricks fel upon his back with a violence that made his joints crack. He lay stunned an in- stant, then arose, bewildered, holding hie hands to his head, standing unsteadily. It appeared to the outlaw that he had never seen 60 many electric sparks in his life as now danced about before him. He was like the ox once felled by the axe in the skambles, which, springing blindly to his feet, in a flurry of pen. sways wildly to and fro with depressed ntlet and starting eyes. Hendricks sat down upon the ground, and waited quietly for the mist to clear away. His face was very pale when he took his hands away and looked up at Pathaway. The stormy part of his wrath had given place to a deeper, more deadly feeling. His moderation was perfectly understood by the hunter, who, well acquainted with the play of human pas- sions, knew what that calmness boded. “This, of course,” he said, huskily, “ must be answered for. There follers a squarin’ u atween us. I might refuse to fight ye, an yet have ye in my power; but my vengeance wouldn’t be complete. I must punish you myself with my own hand. I’ve been summat mistaken in ye, I'll grant, which makes it worse for you. You took me onawares, and struck right hard; but the bowie-knife will _ strike deeper, and to that weepon I hold ye.” If one of the mountains before him had | suddenly moved down to the prairies ; if the lake at his left had dried up while he was looking at it; if the stream away at bis right had turned @d run backward, he eould not have evinced such blank incredulity. He tried to get vent in a mocking laugh that was like the report of a pistol. “J must take breath; this choxes me up like a sudden cold. Wait; don’t be in hurry. I’ll kill you presently at my leisure. I need fannin’, critter !” “More than that ; you need punishment.” “Bring the man! bring the man!” eried Hendricks. “ He is here.” “ Where AGN gy in pst: “Look at me, and you will see him!” re torted Pathaway, with a piercing glance. “ You-—you!” muttered Hendricks, mock- ingly. cp me |!” was the quiet response. * 3}? é “ You ™ The two men stared silently at each other, The contest had already begun—in the mind ; it had not reached the muscles. Thus far in the fight the gray hunter had sustained himself, and he was every moment growin firmer. His prestige was having its effect on Hendricks. “When — where —how ?” asked the latter, eagerly. 4 here—how you please,” answered Pathaway, his nostrils dilating, his lips curling. “The weepons—the weepons?” interrogated the outlaw, quickly, with latent remains of doubt upon his face. “You may choose from the whole variety “Let it be so; I aceept. I will vanquish you with that as I have with ¢his.” Patha- _ wav held up his clenched hand. l.endricks drew forth a large bowie, and af- ter feeling its edge, placed it on the ground beside him. The action, in the usual tenor of life’s events, wu ud have been simple and passed unnoticed ; but in this instance there was that in it to make one shrink: so much do the motives of man color his acts. Every- thing has a meaning ; and it is the meaning of everything that we look after. “Don’t hurry, Captain,” continued Patha- way. “There’s time enough. If one of us dies between now and to-morrow ee will not that be sufficiently soon? Candidly, do you think either of us shall want less time than that for preparation? As for you, there are some bad jobs on your hands that’ll have to be accounted for. Blood, you know, is never silent ; it will always ery out for ven- geance; and try as you will, you cannot bury and smotherit. Perhaps the Infinite Judge will ask you: ‘ Where is Portneuf, the voya- geur? Where is Andrew Jeanjean, the tra pa ?? What answer will you make, Captain ick ?” “T see that you know too much—too much !” returned Hendricks, rising. “A voice like : yours must be stopped ; the worms must have ‘ cold tongue to feed on.” Captain Dick threw his pistols upon the heme unbuekled his belt, and cast it from im. “Stop a moment! We cannot meet now on equal terms. I know the effect of such a blow as I have given you. Your limbs are weak ; your arms have lost half their strength ; your eyes are unsteady. Should we engage the world affords—swivela, blunderbusses, mus | &8 you are, I should kill you at the first pass — era wes (E@) —— ECOMIEDOOKS