Beadle's Dime Library, No. 13 — page 35: what you’re looking at

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

| it The unfortunate Jeanjean turned his eyes cpon Nick with singwar earnestness. e light of the torch glowed upon his face, im. parting to ita gravity and fixedness a strange intensity. The hand that held the pocket-knife went steadily down, and the point of the instrument reated in the fracture. Pathaway thouglit : “ How many times those unshaking fingers have pulled the deadly er. Al ht moan from Jeanjean told that he afte “You may groan, Andrew ; but if you stir, good-bye to Nanny !” Nick worked quietly, taking out two or three splinters of bone, pausing once, only to say: “ Whatever comes o’ this, colonel, say no- thin’ about it that can reach the p’ison news- papers. Hold the torch a little closter.” athaway, now thoroughly interested in the operation, beheld Nick’s skillful surgery with surprise. He raised the depressed bone; a portion of the brain exuded, which Nick de- tached. “Twill do no harm,” he muttered. “ Knowed a trapper to lose an ounce ’thout hurtin’ him. There, lad, I allow I’ve done ye good.” “His expression changes !” exclaimed Path- away. “A trifle, a trifle ; but it’ll be more anperi- ent b iY He must sleep, and if f a’n’t mistaken, he’ll wake with his senses about him. If he’s keerful, and meets with no drawback, the bone will soon knit, I allow.” ‘ “y confess I trembled when you began ; but my faith is now strong in your success. You have a wonderful hand at everything,” said Pathaway, apologetically, “ There was a nat’ral bone-setter in our fami- ly, who used to pull all his bones out o’ j’int jest to show what he could do, and whip em in ag’in ina minute. At last, howsom- never, un ortinitly, he carried his experimente too fur; for unj'intin’ his neck, one day, he wasn’t able to set it ag’in. Lead Andrew in, colonel, and wake him, arter he’s slept two or three hours. I’ve got business with Ingin Joe ; so good-night.” ick repeated his “ Good-night ” earnest- : ly, then hastened to the rocks where he was to meet the young Indian. CHAPTER XXX. MADGE, Pathaway disposed of Jeanjean in the man- ner indicated by Nick, remaining by him till he had fallen into a heavy sleep. He then looked for Sebastian, but could not find him. Alarmed by his disappearance, he questioned . Portneuf, from whom he derived no informa- tion. He commenced a diligent search among the ruins, but without success. Believing it posable that he had followed Nick, he de- sceuded toward Trapper Valley so far as he thought gl wee with safety; not his own, but that of the party. He retraced his steps, much perplexed, and was discussing the sub- ject with Portneuf, when the Shoshoné ap- eared. The chief was not alone; a young Indian girl walked beside him, whose advance Pathaway beheld with increasing curiosity. She was clad after the manner of her people ; but her garments were of stuffs richer and finer than sre usually obtained by the natives. She drew near slowly, and with averted eyes, “ Where is Sebastian?” asked Pathaway, turning from * brief scrutiny of this new and interesting addition to the party, to the Sho- shone. “ Ask me where is last night’s dew or yes- terday’s rain,” answered Multnomah. Pathaway stirred the brands of the not yet extinguished fire, causing them to emit a fitful fiame, which threw a glare upon the girl's face. The features were c)assically regular, and, de- spite their tawny tings, handsome; and not only beautiful, but familiar. “Sebastian !” exelaimed the young man. “But Sebastian no more,” answered the girl, blushing. “I trast, sir—I hope that you will not misconstrue—” she stammered. “ No apologies, 1 beg! I will misecoustrue nothing: . Your conduct shall be leniently yudged by me,” replied Pathaway, not without barrassment. whe chief walked away, and left them to er. ayy ae nearer the light,” added Pathaway. The girl obeyed, with a smile and a blush. “Ig this indeed Indian blood that colors your hands and your cheeks ?” he asked, ner- vase tebe vously taking one of her hands. “Madge, the half-breed girl, is uf the same parentage as the boy Sebastian. What else could you expect, sir?” “God only knows!” exclaimed Pathaway, dropping her hand, with a disappointment so evident that it eould not be concealed. “T think Nicholas informed you that my mother was a French woman, and my fatker of mixed blood ?” “Confound the mixed blood !” Pathaway. “It appears to be very much confounded,” said Madge, overhearing the remark. “Jet me assure you,”’ said Pathaway, “ that I have not been so blind as you may have im- agined, ia regard to your sex.” “Nor I so blind in regard to your suspi- eions. I noted their commencement, and have watched their development from time to time. You know not what I have suffered; such shame, such embarrassment, such humiliation! I return to the proper garb of my sex with in- deseribable relief.” “Has not my deportment been ec nsiderate and gentle? Have I not, at least of late, treated you with marked respect?” interro- gated Pathaway, with a slight tinge of remorse. “T do not complain. If at first a smile of contempt appeared upon your apes it after- ward gave place to compassion. But we had best not recall those matters to-night.” “T have curiosity as well as woman,” said Pathaway, pleasantly ; “ I am anxious to hear your history.” He looked earnestly at the beautiful face of Madge. “ Histories,” she replied, “do not read well till we are dead. Nick Whiffles is my histo- rian. Honest Nick! I fear he will be be- trayed by that Indian boy. ‘Tell me, Mr. Pathaway, do you think we are safe? Will not the mountain outlaws and their savage allies discover our hiding-place? Ought this fire to blaze here ?” “We are so shut up by rocky columns and walls, that I apprehend little danger of discov ery,” replied Pathaway, reflectively. “ And yet,” he resumed, “ I cannot eoneeal from you that our enemies are cunning, nor deny the fact that the pursuit will be long and skillful- ly conducted. But since you are with us, your sex will and shall stimulate us to the greatest efforts for your protection. I will not, I eannot forget that wound which you bear for me. Believe me, my gratitude is genuine and deep. You have suffered, and suffered patiently ; you have borne the pain of your wound and the hardships of our flight. without murmuring. Your heroism and forti- tude call forth my warmest admiration. I en-. treat of you to give me a place among those you call friends. Honor me with but half the: confidence you bestow upon Nicholas, the trapper, and I shall indeed esteem myself" happy! Pathaway spoke with fervor ; a glow of en- thusiasm suffused his face. The girl Madge changed color, manifesting that soft confusion. that woraan feels when secretly pleased ; but. whom pride and maidenly reserve admonish to conceal the emotion. “ Friends, I trust we shall ever be,” she an- aswered : “but Nicholas—ah, I have known Nicholas a Jong time !” It would have been difficult to explain why, but this remark gave the gray hunter pain. He envied Nick the confidence of the singular Oeing hesrle him, He feit aunoyed that he % 1 not fill the same place in ber thoughts, and have the same right to eare for and pro- weet her. While these emotions were upon him, the Shoshoné hastily came up, extin- gaished the fire and seattered the brands. “Ig there danger?” asked Pathaway, quick-. ty mutterec “ Danger,” responded the chief, “is never distant. The pale-faces and the red walk much to-night, The ear of the Shoshoné has feet far up the side of the mountain.” “ Are heard nothing.” “ The hunter has heard too much,” returned Multnomah, looking at Madge. “He has heard the notes of the singing-bird, and he loves to listen.” « What is it, Shoshené ? Which way lies the danger ?” “It is there,” said the chief, pointing to the north-west. “The white trappers are going down to the valley, perhaps, and will cross our trail on the way.” our ears, then, so acute? [I have | -——_- - - ee le el ee Cl ee rl ga 35 —_——_—_ — “Tt will be fortunate for us if Seven-Plumes is not with them, for his eyes are quick to find a trail.” Multnomah made a gesture for Madge to screen herself behind a column, which she did, and the chief moved off and was soon out of sight. Pathaway was in the act of turning to sews her, when a slight noise, like that pro- dnced by cocking a pistol, caused him to pause and look suspiciously into the darkness. A sharp report rome followed. Pathaway staggered, but did not fall. “You are uninjured. Thank God!” ex- claimed Madge. “ Yes,” replied the hunter, “I believe I am unhurt.” He pointed to a perforation in his frock. “Tt passed through your garments ; but,” she added, turning pale with alarm, “‘ where is the bullet? I did not hear it strike the rock behind you !” Pathaway unbuttoned his frock, and with a smile, drew from beneath it a package. He held wp before her a mass of dark hair, from whieh a bullet dror ped. “Curls have often proved fatal,” he said, “to men’s hearts ; but these, as you see, have saved mine.” For a moment, Madge was too much agitat- ed to speak; she contemplated the raven tresses with clasped hands and parted lips. “Tell me,” she cried, when aha could eom- mand her voice—then suddenly checked her- self, and stood silently gazing at Pathaway. “Be calm; that danger, at least, is passed. I ean say that [ have been saved by a woman’s tresses.” “ You are not sheltered ; another shot may rove more hurtful. Step behind a column ; it will shield you from the unazen marksman,” she said, with a beseeching look. “Not only saved by a woman's curls, but by a woman’s arms.” added whe hunter, thoughtfully ; “and that arm,” he continued, “yours. But I lose time in idle talk when 1 should be !ooking for the foe. Hasten to our covert, Madge, in the mimic castle, and I'll soon bring you word kow matters stand.” Pathaway glanced toward the suspicious quarter with hawk-like intensity—then, stoop- ing and grasping his rifle firmly, stole noise- lessly from the spot. CHAPTER XXXII. THE RESTORATION —THE MIDNIGHT STRIFE. Madge entered the rocky cavern, for in truth it was little else. The moonlight crept dimly in through the gaping crevices. Andrew Jeanjean was sleeping. She stood be- side him, listening anxiously to every sound without. His features, imperfectly revealed by the faint nocturnal beams, were paler than they were wont; but she noticed that they changed occasionally, responsive, doubtless, to his varying dreams. Every moment was fraught with suspense, and the time to Madge was dismally long. She missed Nick, whose voice had become so familiar, and was ever so full of friendliness. During the last few hours there had been as reat a change in her feelings as in her garb. he was no longer Sebastian Delaunay, obliged to act an unnatural character, and one entirely opposed to her innate delicacy. There had been a constant struggle in her bosom, which increased in a tenfold degree after meeting the gray hunter. To Nick she had grown accus- tomed ; for he, being in her secret, the need of constant effort and watchfulness was less ur- gent. It was aiter her acquaintance with Pathaway had begun, that the embarrassment of her false position beeame really painful. Every moment she had feared discovery, and many times was in doubt whether he had not already divined the secret of her sex. All | this was past—except the maidenly shame of its recollection. She had returned to the gark worn by her sex, and though differing from _ that of her civilized sisters, it was well adapted been to the ground, and heard the sound of’ | to life in the wilderness. It was an inexpressible relief not to fee compelled to simulate masculine manners Had danger been more distant, her feelings o relief would have been more marked and com plete ; but anxiety for her friends and defend ers marred the pleasure of the metamorphosis She expected to hear every instant the stealthy tread of Indians, or those whose presence shy dreaded as much. A single rifle-shot rang through the rocks Andrew Jeanjean started up, yawned, opene? his drowsy eyes, stared at Madge, then glanced wonderingly around him. (C(O) miichooks, LL]