Beadle's Dime Library, No. 13 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

4 ; = ee aaa ee piece o’ bark, roasted over the same blaze, and on the same stick. Once, Injin, we starved to- gether, and feasted on half-starved dog at the eend of our fast. That was in the neighbor- hood of Beer Spring. We've trapped res on the Yellow Stone and at the headwaters of Salmon River, and never quarreled. And, speakin’ of trappin’, reminds me that I’ve lost traps hereabouts—at a place called Black Rock, and at Otter Creek, near the Red Sand- stone Cliffs.” “ Doubledark has lost traps. Is he the only one who has reason to complain? Have not others lost traps and peltries? Is there not more to be said, white man?” answered Mult- homah, with earnestness. “Not on'y traps, but them that set ’em—not on’y peltries but them that owned ’em, have disappeared, and there’s nobody to explain it.” “ The bad Manito is to blame, brother,” said the Shoshoné. “Tnjin, neither you nor I believe im sich nonsense. The Thunder-Sperit would cease to be heerd if yoa should quinch the volcanic fires that burn in the mountains. It isn’t the sperits out the body that we have to fear; it’s the sperits in the body that does the mischief. I’ve had more trouble with them I could see, than with them I couldn’t. Redskin, my eyes have not been shet.” . I see that they have been open ; and I am 4 Pde “Tnjin, I’ve been watchin’ these mountains. They have dark secrets, if they’d on’y tell ‘em; but they are mute, and what we don’t know we must l’arn for ouselves. There are them that walk up and down by night, and disappear in out-of-the-way places. They don’t seem to be afraid of the bad Manito. No one that sees ’em knows where they come from, where they go to, or what their business is ” “ Now, Doubledark is not dark ; he speaks plainly to his friends. Are they white or “Injin, Nick Whiffles is a man of truth ; his talk is not crooked. Their skins is white, but their hearts is black. I’m sorry to say it, y gracious ; but so it is, and there’s no gettin’ round it.” “There are bad men among all nations. There are red men whose ways are nct etraight. The bad white men inhabit the mountain of rocks and the valley below. This is why you fonnd the Shoshoné in disguise.” “Your urpose was the same as mine, ] reckon. You wanted tu look into the myste- ries of the valley, as ’twere, and see what a could see. The critter you cai! Doubledark was there on the same arrand. What's the use o’ mincin’ matters, Injin? There's a set o’ Foy rascals prowlin’ about in this region, ‘oin’ & heap o’mischief; and I’m goin’ to hunt till I find and bring em’ to justice. I’m on their trail ; I’ve slow-tracked ’em. They’ve done things that make my blwod bile like the waters of a hot spring. I shall hound ’em, and camp on their path till I discover their se- cret lurkin’-place. There's deeds that must be punished—wrongs that must be avenged— accounts that must be wiped out and choked out with the halter. I know there’s danger— *twouldn’t be excitin’ if there wasn’t—and some have — dearly for their curiosity. But it don’t frighten me—it can’t skeer Nick Whiflles —you can’t skeer him. O Heaven, no! In- jin, let us devote ourself to this work ; let us dog out these condemned scoundrels, and purge the mountains of sich a load of wick- edness. “But the Thunder-Spirit !” queried Mult- nomah. “May go to thunder!” retorted Nick, em- phati nh “ Doubledark, the Great Spirit, willed that we should meet; he wills everything—men, as well as the clouds and the rain. He said: ‘To-night the pale-face and red-face shall meet, and speak truly to each other” It is good that bad men should be punished. You see this bear-skin ?”” ‘The Shoshoné had rolled u the skin, and fastened it to his back. “In it I have prowled among the rocks, and seen men go in and out at the dark gate. To-night, something seemed to tell me to enter, and seek out these bad spirits.” “What did you see ?” demanded Nick. “T saw the hot-spring throwing up water and smoke.” “ What else? I observed that myself, and | don’t feel much wiser for it.” “T went a long way among great masses of rocks, that the Great Spirit had hurled down -&om the mountains in his anger, or broken up Pathaway. —-- -— ee from the foundations of the valley. came to running water, that whirled and eddied among the ledges, and passe out of sight in a black abyss. Afterward, I crossed a gulch, and found aspot where the grass grew, and the worrawood was rank and tangled, supported by the wash of the mountains in the it la, | seasons Beyond this were trees—-some o and gnarled, and twisted; others dwarfed, and wounded by the descent of rocks from the cliffs above. Multnomah paused on the mar. in of this wood.” “ What happened then ?” “TL was very dim there—like the silent pas- aage to the land of souls. I could see buta little strip of the sky. be afraid, Multnomah would have had fear. For a time he stood still, and thought of all the tales he had heard of the valley... He tried to hear the voice of his friendly Manito, telling him what to do. Then there was the sound of steps ; and he Jaid down upon the earth, and | saw people of your nation. They looked like free trappers. Their beards were long; their hair hung upon their shoulders; their belts were heavy with knives and pistols, and they walked with a swaggering gait, like the red | man, when his heart has grown big with fire water. They drove along before them a man and a womaa. The man wes Pontneuf, a Ca- nadian voyageur; the woman was his daughter, very young, and fair as the new moon. The hands of Portneuf were bound, and his head hung ie tap upon his breast, his daugh- ter clinging to him, weeping. Multnomah was moved.” “T know the man well, and a right merry eompanion he used to be. I’ve boated with him more nor once, and his songs were allers cheerful and hearty, as he tugged at the oar. His darter—Nanny, I call her—was a parfect | | mementos of past joys and sorrows. gem in the way of feminine goods. Ingin, it makes me melancholy, by mighty! She’s too young and pooty for the fate she’s likely to meet with. It kind o’ chills me as I think on’t. It puts me in mind of sumthin’ horrible that I witnessed one dark night, at Black Rock. It | _ unnaturally bright. was a woman, jest as in this case, and lovely as a reg’lar angel, that was consarned in it. I marked the men who did it; I can recall their ugly sountenances, as I saw ’em in the torch- light. How she held uP her little hands! How beautiful she asked for mercy! Her words thrilled through me like arrers, but they fell blunted from the hard hearts of the moun- tain robbers. ’Pears to me I can see them white arms wavin’ to and fro in the air, like the white wings of a flutterin’ dove. Injin! I was ready to burst with pity and rage. The ee pete rolled down me like glass beads. f I'd on’y had one trusty friend with me, I'd tackled ’em, though they was six. As ‘twas, I come rap eng pitchin’ into ’em like a ean- non-ball. down my chokin’ feelin’s, and was prudent. Shoshone, them hardened critters wrapped the al in a cloak, with a stone in’t, and threw her into the water, which was dark and deep. her. She sunk in an instant. marked the spot where she went down, and then the water glassed over smooth, as if. nothin’ had happened. The murderers turned and hurried away, while I slipped into the stream, and dragged the precious offerin’ from its cold baptism to the shore. Thank fortin, I saved ker! Redskin, you can’t tell the satis- faction that that night’s work has give me. There never was sich beatty, sich g»odness, sich truth, sich courage, and fortitude as her’n O Lord, no!” “ What did Doubledark do with her ?” Nick Whiffles seemed taken by surprise; he did not answer with his usual promptness and heartiness. “Sent her home to her parents—her breth- ers, I mean; and ’twasn’t her brethers. neither. She had friends, you know, Injin, somewhere up in the mountains ; and ‘twasn’t so much ir the mountains as in the settlements,” “ Wa!” said the Shoshone. Without heeding this laconic rejoinder, Nick continued : “ Byer since that aarcumstance, which didn’t happen many months ago, I’ve set’ myself to mck to find the perpetrators of the deed, and bring ’em to a reckonin’, Go on with your story, Injin.” e Pienolunish and his daughter passed out of my sight among the rocks, and I saw them no more. I went back; I met Double- dark, who knows what then happened.” Then | | Nick and the Shoshone pursued their way to- If a Shoshone eould | The heart of | ut I did better nor that; I pressed | She | knew nothin’ about it, though, for she'd gone | into a dead faint; which was a good thing for | A few bubbles | : In friendly and confidential conversation, ward the plateau. CHAPTER VII. THE CANON. The gray hunter slept, unconscious of the exit of Jack and Nick. His sleep was trou- bled. had recently passed gave a coloring to his dreams. Bull Brace, Ben Joice, and Zene Beck had a place in his thoughts, and harassed him for a long time; then he slumbered more peacefully. Anon, his lips moved ; his coun- tenance assumed a different expression—softer, inilder, more earnest. The burden of his dream had changed. It seemed to him that a gentle hand touched his forehead ; that a fair face bent over him; that bright eyes beamed above him like love’s tender starlight. “Una! Una!” he cried, springing to his feet, and stretching forth his arms in a trans- port of emotion. This action thoroughly awakened him. He panted, clasped his brow with both hands ; then, looking about, saw the boy sleeping tranquilly in his scarlet blanket. “T clasp—what is it that I clasp? No breathing from within my grasp * 7 * * * o * And art thou, dearest, changed so muca, As meet my eye, yet mock my touch ?” _he murmured. Then, recollecting himself, he added : “These vagaries are a shame upon my man- hood! Time should have taught me resigna- tion. Pshaw! I am weaker than yonder ney «i He sat down upon his couch, epee aes is head with his hands, and appeared to plunge into a world of abstraction, where, doubtless, he found remembered landmarks, and scattered Sebastian opened his eyes, and looked at him timidly. The youth must have been cold, for a shiver ran over him,-which was followed by a trembling of his whole frame. His cheeks were burning red, while his eyes shone He did not elose them again till morning; but, remaining wakeful, continued to observe the movements of the pray hunter. Possibly, the lad was afraid ; ut the two dogs lay at his feet, and their strength and sagacity were no mean protection, even against greater odds. When the sun streamed its rays into the hut, Sebastian arose, and was passing out, when SSAA starting from his reverie, addressed im : “Have you slept well, my lad? Your nerves are not strong, I think ?” “T did not dream ; the sleep that is without dreams is the sweetest, I’ve heard,” answered _ Sebastian, carelessly. “ Dreams 2” repeated rhemavte £ coloring. Then, witha smile: “Youare right, my boy ; dreamless slumber is best. Dreams are unin- vited guests, that intrude upon harassed minds.” Sebastian stood in the door of the hut; the sunshine fell like gold upon his face and hair. “He might pass for an Anchises or Adon- nis,” murmured Pathaway. “ What is your name, panes ?” he added. “Sebastian Delaunay,” returned the boy, indifferently. “ Was your mother handsome, boy ?” Sebastian smiled; and his brown cheeks took a deeper color. ‘Her face was darker than mine; her hair was long and tiack; her eyes large and dreamy. To me, hunter, she was beautiful, though she was a dweller in lodges and wig- wams.” “ But your father—” “Had a skin like yours,” interrupted Se bastian, turning his back to his interrogator, as if tired of the subject. “You have your mother’s voice, lad, I should say.” Sebastian beat upon the ground with his moceasined foot. The exciting scene through which he , “You called the honest trapper ‘ uncle,’ e I remember rightly ?” “T called him uncle,” said Sebastian, lacon- really—then walked from the hut. He was gone a considerable time, and, when he returned, found Pathaway standing at the door. “Where is my entertainer? I have looked for him in vain,” he said, as Sebastian ap- proached. , : _* He left in the night to follow the fellow Wiley, I suspect. I shal] be anxious about ¢ (eeoyaniielovore)| <S (E@)