Beadle's Dime Library, No. 13 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

—— “Jack Wiley! Jack Wiley!” cried Hen- dricks. “ Here, Jack; take care of this feller till mornin’. If you let him git away, I'll string you up higher’n Haman !”’ By this time Senay | was in the hut, and the person called arose from the floor, where he had been sleeping. “Tend to business now, Jack, and rub your eyes arterwards,” added the captain. “ Here’s aspyin’ critter that’s goin’ to step out afore the sun sets ag’in, and I want you to keep a sharp eye on him till he’s wanted.” “Jest as you say, Cap’n,” grunted Jack. “Has he got any weepons about him?” he asked, stirring the fire that was burning in the centre of the hut. “You can see for yourself that he’s got nothin’ but his hands,” replied Hendricks. “ But if you're afraid you can’t keep him with your pistols and your gun, call up one or two of the boys to help.” “Why don’t you do for him to-night, and that’ll save the trouble of watchin’? It’s very simple—a half-ounce o’ lead, you know.” “Do as I tell ye!” answered Hendricks sharply, and without stopping to parley longer with his subordinate, walked away. The fire flared up brightly. Wuley looked at the face of his prisoner. “It’s you, is it?” he said. “Seed you with that tall hunter and the boy. Your name’s Pathaway, Runaway, or some sich name. Well, you’ve got into a nice fix, now. Don’t expect to live long, do ye?” “T dont despair entirely.” “You'd better. The best advice I can give e, is to make ap your mind to sleep soundly in this ’ere valley.” “No; I eannot resign myself to that! * am young yet, and there ought to be many good years of life before me. The gray hunter glanced at Wiley, to see if there was compassion in his face; but it was as sombre as the walls of the hut. “ You look like an honest man, Mr. Wiley ?” “But I ain’t; I’m a scoundrel! I don’t thank no man to call me honest. Set down, and don’t be starin’ about as if you’s lookin’ for a hole to dodge out on. These playthings ” —he looked at his pistols— has got lead in ’em, and powder ahind it.” The gray hunter seated himself by the fire, | Jack we atin already taken a position oO near the door, with his pistols and rifle beside him. “When we met before, it was in a friendly manner, and in company with one who had done you an important service. Let us be reasonable. Fortune has thrown me into your power ; let us talk over the matter calmly, and it may appear that you cannot.do a better thing than to befriend me. There is no per- son so assured in good luck but the time may some when he may need friends. Toll me how much it is worth to you to stay here and be an outlaw, with a vision of the gallows con- tinually before you, and I will make it twice that sum beyond the mountains, where, instead of a haunting shadow of a felon'’s death, you shall have peace and security. Contrast that with your present condition.” “ Does freedom go for nothin’, eh ?” “ Does your neck go for nothing ?” returned Pathaway. ‘Can you sleep without dreaming of halters? Is it not better to feel like an honest man than like a rogue ? Were I in your place, Jack Wiley, I should strangle in my dreams.” ME ay you won’t! you'll strangle wide awake | Wiley yawned, and looked sleepily at the hunter. “Tt’s all very pooty,” he added; “ but you ean’t go! Whycan’t ye? "Cause you-can’t!” “You don’t talk like a man of sense. You k like one whose brain is muddled with liquor. What greater freedom do you want, than the freedom of the whole civilized world, with cnr in your purse and a good coat to your back ?” “ You don’t understand me at all, Mr. Patha- way, nor how a mountaineer likes the life he’s allers been used to. What could a rough fel- ler like me do down in the settlements? What would Jack Wiley be good for, there? Who'd think anything of him, eh? Could he wear rat-skin gloves, and stiff hats, and shiny boots ? Could he go into drawin’-rooms any more nor a grizzly bear? Would anybody take off their het to him? No; they'd laugh, and say: ‘here eomes 4 wild varmint from the moun- ‘gos! That ’d be mighty fine. wouldn’t it ? { ,ould stan’ that, couldnt I? Wah! wah!” “Not eo bad ag that,” replied Pathaway, The New. York Library. considerably staggered by this argument. : One soon learns the ways cf civilized ife.”” “ No civilization forme! Give me the Nor’s west and the red Ingin beauties, and I’m satis fied. None o’ your pale, sickly lookin’ white squaws for Jack Wiley ; there’s no sweetness in sich ; it’s bleached out of ’em by the clear- in’s. The brown beauties forever! So don’t talk no more. You're in for it and can’t help it; so make up your mind, and hang like a reasonable bein’. What's the use botherin’ me? Want to get me into a scrape, I s’pose ? The captain is a devil of a feller when he’s disapp’inted, and the distance is long that ’d prevent his findin’ me if I should play him a trick. When you go aswimmin’ in cold water, you musn’t stan’ shiverin’ on the bank, but lunge right in, and it's all over in an instant. t’s jes’ sc with hangin’.” ‘IT hoped,” said Pathaway, regretfully, “that you had a heart to be touched by the misfortunes of a fellow-creature, but perceive that I was mistaken. I was about to offer you a thousand dollars for freedom.” “ A thousand dollars!” repeated Jack, slow- ti “That’s a right smart ry mister. here’s a good many drunken frolics in a thou- sand dollars—a tearin’ visit to Selkirk or Mon- treal.” “A thousand, in gold!” added the hunter. “Do Be happen to have it about ye?” aeked Wiley, with a qnick look. “Thank Heaven, no! I’m not so silly & fish. If I had so much money on my person, I should be wise enough to keep it to myself. I would not offer a reward for my own mur der, by proclaiming such a fact. (Greew-emn look more comfortable now ; you startled me a moment ago by the eagerness of your eyes. IT have not sufficient money in my pocket to buy a pint of your beloved beverage, whisky ; but I know where to find it, Jack.” ‘Don’t bother! lay down and go to sleep, so that your narves may be strong in the mornin’, I’m not the kind o’ bird that’s ketched with salt or chaff.” “ Well, have your own way said Pathaway, sternly. ‘That bullet head of yous will run your head into a noose, yet. I may not be resent to see it, but feel assured that it will 3 so. I will no longer attempt to appeal to your cupidity or to touch yer humanity. ou haye proved yourself a heartless wretch in the hour of my need, but it’s not impossi- ble that the next revolution in the wheel of fortune may change our relative positions. “Sartin it ‘ll change ’em!” interrupted Jack, with brutal indifference. ‘ You'll beu and I’ll be down; but your toes won’t tete the ground, and mine will.” To this allusion Pathaway made no repWys but dispos ng his person as comfortably as he could, began to think those thoughts that those think who feel they are approaching the srowning and last pain of human life, with all its after revelations. CHAPTER XIX. CARLOTA. Persons in positions of danger are prone to think of the good and evil of their lives, and to draw a balance in favor of one or the other. Pathaway did not attempt a very nice adjust- ment of his moral accounts; but felt, as all right-thinking men do in seasons of extremity, genuine regret that his life had been so barren of results, and so little productive of happi- ness to others. Because he indulged in re- flections of this kind, he did not abandon all hope of escape, but revolved many plans in his mind. Wiley maintained his peeve near the en- trance of the hut, with his weapons ostenta- tiously paraded beside him; but the man was heavy with sleep. His recent visit to the world of dreams, and his sudden recall by Captain Hendricks, had left a lethargy upon his brain that continually urged him to a re- lapse into the same oblivious state. His first nap was to him like the first glass of the ine- briate—giving him a strong inclination to a second. But he had a duty to perform which it would be dangerous to neglect. Mentally, he firmly determined that sleep should not close his eyelids till he was relieved of his charge. To keep the invidious enemy at arm’s length, he arose and stood upon his feet ; tiring of that position, and feeling forti- fied against surprise, he resumed his seat and snoked—stealing, without seeming to do 80, frequent glances at his prisoner, to see if he would not so far forget his troubles as to vield to the soothing power of slumber; for i€ ap- peared to him that a sleeping man was more easily guarded than one wide awake. As the night wore on, the gray hunter seem- ed disposed to accommodate his keeper ; his head gradually sank upon the floor, and his respiration was certainly indicative of slumber. Joke rejoiced at this, and though resolutely bent upon wakefulness, naturally em mee less effort to maintain that condition. He gan to nod, but had at first frequent brighten- ings-up; the latter grew lese frequent, until his chin rested upon his chest, and he was fairly conquered. It was when his hea breathing gave notice of this fact, that Patha- way’s eyes unclosed. The sleep was genuine; there was no mistaking it. Pathaway raised himself upon his elbow, in effecting which his foot unintentionally, came in contact with a farot, making a slight noise that was sufficient to startle the sentinel, who straightened u galvanically and yawned. Pathaway fell back to his former position, and Jack, having an in- distinct consciousness that all was right, was overpowered again in an instant. There’s no- thing one covets so much as sleep when it is forbidden; it becomes a thing inexpressibly desirable, and tu Wiley it was more—irresisti. ble. Warned by his previous experiment, the prisoner acted with greater carefulness and quickness. Asif by a single movement, he was on his feet and advareing upon Wiley, who, unfortunately for the former, carried into his dreams a wholesome fear of the wrath of Captain Hendricks. Pathaway was not con- scious that he made the slightest noise; but something warned his watcher of danger—his instincts or his previously whetted sensibilities —for he sprang up like an automaton operated by springs, yet too late for successful resist- ance; for the hand of the young man was at his throat before he coul grasp a weapon. He bore him to the ground, and the fellow felt fingers of steel upon his mouth before he could give the alarm, and knees planted like iron posts upon his chest. “Be silent!” said Pathaway. “ One sound from your lips seals your fate. Mind what I’ say! It is with me a matter of life and death ; and if necessity calls for it, I shall not hesitate to sacrifice you as I would a beast of prey!” Pathaway took his hand from Wiley’s mouth, and drew a bowie that he had concealed at his back, between his hunting-frock and person. The brightness of the blade dazzled the eyes of the outlaw, and was the strongest argument for his silence that could have been employed. Jack knew his man; he saw his nerve, his power, his quickness of action, his firmness of urpose, at a glance ; it was revealed to him y the blazing light in his eyes. He would have spoken and said: “I giveup! I give up!’ but could not, for the metallic fin- gers pressed him to suffocation. He made a consenting movement of the head, and the hunter relaxed the rigor of his grasp. “For God’s sake, don’t kill me!’’ he gasped. “ Your life,” answered Pathaway, “ Sepinide entirely on your obedience. Open your mouth —you must be gagged.” iley wished to remonstrate, but deadly fear kept him mute. He obeyed the imperious order with a helpless, humiliated reluctance that needed no interpreter. The hunter crowded in without ceremony a large piece of buckskin, eut from the ruffian’s own hunting- frock. There was no feminine delicacy or softness about the operation; it was prompt,’ oi and efficacious. “Turn upon your face!” said Pathaway, withdrawing his weight from his chest. With a sullen rattling in his throat—the new application was too thoroughly made to pro duce anything but an uncomfortable sense of strangniation—Wiley rolled over, when the hunter cut two stout strips from the back of the garment that had already contributed te his convenience, with one of which he tied hia wrists, while the other performed the same of. fice for his feet. It was not an emergency that allowed of being careful about triffes, and it may be confidently asserted that the ligatures were not daintily applied ; therefore, if the were tightly drawn, and the hard knots san into the flesh, the cireumstances furnished a ready excuse, When Wiley floundered over upon his back again, his squint eye had a more marked obli- guity than usual. He tried to form words, which resulted only in a kind of pectoral mur- mur. The hunter bent over him a moment, with a smile of triumph and contempt | comicboo <S co ye