Beadle's Dime Library, No. 142 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

; aap ~ comfortably as he could, and set forth on his ¥ searc ee _ — a ——— ee eee death’s presence brings seemed to rest upon the | in our new home joy may yet be ours,” and | he was to build up his Western home, and the inmates of Woodland mansion, for all felt the absence of the bride, and the coming not of the | young master, and a look of anxiety settled | upon the tather’s brow. _ One day be slowly paced the library, wait- ing, hoping, wondering, and there was a rap at. his door, and in came a tottering form, that fell | on his knees, and wailed forth: “Oh, massa! massa! he am gone, he am gone!”’ It was Jack, Harold’s body-servant, and his black face was haggard, his form emaciated his eyes sunken, while his clothing was tattered and travel-stained., The strong man tottered toa chair and sunk into it, for in that black face he read his son’s fate, and from his pallid lips came the word: ‘** Dead?” ‘* Yas, massa, he am dead.” ‘*My poor, noble boy dead? Oh, Jack! tell me all, for the love of God!” ‘‘T will, massa, for my heart am a'most breakin’ wid de story, an’ my eyes has run —~ ——— 2 Co tears until de fount’ins have dried up, for poor | Massa Harold were a noble man, an’ he didn’t desarve ter die by de Injuns’ hand.” “Indians! did the Indians kill my boy?” ‘* Yas, massa; we was nigh-most home, sah, an’ it were a beautiful night on de pararer an’ Massa Harold were singin’, for he said he’d accomplished what he went to Texas for, an’ jist den dere came a shot from de grass, an’ young massa fell from his horse on de pararer, an’ Reindeer run away, an’so did my coward horse, and leave m alone wid poor Massa Harold.” “My poss noble son; to meet such adeath and at the hand of savages! The blow will break his mother’s heart, | fear.” ‘Yas, massa, it am a ter’ible stroke for de ood Lord to gib widout warnin’; but, sah, I forgot dat I was in danger, an’ I carried Massa Harold in my arms back to a piece ob timber- land, and dere lduga grave wid my knife to bury him; but I heerd de Injuns comin’, an’ I had ter run away, massa. ‘** But I took his watch, and money, and ring, massa, an’ here dey am, for I didn’t spen’ none, as I beg somethin’ to eat as I come along, an’ I couldn’t catch dem horses nohow I try, for dey run all over de pararer, massa, so I walked all de way home, an’ I rather have died, dan tell you do stor L has.” ‘*My noble Jack, you have indeed been faith- ful, and from my heart I thank you, and grasp your hands, the ds that dug my poor boy’s grave, in friendship,” and the planter took the of tho negro in both his own, and telling him to go and get food and then seek rest, went slowly to his wife’s room, to bear to her heart the grief that was in his own. And that day upon Woodland Rest fell shadows which tho bright sunlight could ne’er drive away, for the master became nervous and fretful, sought oxcitement in city life, and soon after found the gaming-table his only panacea for driving; away. thoughts, and fearful forebodings of evil, for months had gone by since the departure of Nina, and not a word had come from her to her parents. Driven to desperation by bitter ts, Burt Malcolm plunged deeper and deeper into the fascinations of the gaming-table, though each day he knew he became poorer and Jared not shake off the spell upon ihien, until not s e spell upon last poverty almost him in hey 7 and he rea how he had dragged his family down to the verge of want. then on him was another sorrow, one that silvered his dark hair, and almost made his reason totter on its throne, for there came one who sought orwdine 3 Vertner, and told the story of his past life—of a deserted wife; a mur- dered officer, his superior in rank, and the crime having been to him; in fact, many an evil deed wus laid at his door, several of sufficient to bring him to the ows. And poor Nina? what of her, and whither had she wandered, or did she still cling to the base se who had so cruelly w her young life Who could tell? for nowhere could Harvey Vertner, or trace of him, be found. ‘Bat J will find him,” cried the maddened father, ‘if I track the wide world over.” and roused to busy action, he turned his back’on the gaming teble forever, and with the remnant of is wealth settled his sorrow-stricken as h. But several years posed then Ma . colm returned to his home, a white- — still strong, determined man, and in a tone that still oe me he said: be ‘* Wife, 1 have panmpes States over, but nowhere could I find them; but, with the little money we vot have left, we go to the far West, for t re tis said he has gone, and there will we build up a new home and new associa- tions, for here we have only bitter memories; what say you?” : + “ Where you £0) I will Bu" ene the loving response of oted wife. “Then to the far West we go, and, mayhap, ‘ to | the prairie, and saa i Captain Crimson. a ee ee in a low tone he muttered: ‘‘ Yes, when I see Harvey Vertner dead, then will joy be mine.” CHAPTER IV. ‘‘WESTWARD HO!’’ EVEN as the ocean’s calm, so is the calm of as slemn in its soli- tude, and seemingly as limitless in its expanse, only broken bere and there by a ‘“‘ timber island,” a haven of refuge for the savage, the 3 -=_—— | ambulance leading the wagon train was for the comfort of his wife, his daughter Maud, and ward, Violet Vassar, the two latter having | grown into beautiful maidenhood, and enjoying weary emigrant, or the daring white hunter, | when night casts its dark mantle over the | scene, Such a boundless expanse, stretching away until sky and prairie meet, I would carry the | reader to, one balmy afternoon, several years after the scenes enacted in the Sunny South, © that brought sorrow and death to a once happy | plantation home. The glory of day is slowly fading before the coming night, and grand in its intense gloom and silence, the prairie rests like the seain a calm, with no object appearing upon its surface | d to break or mar its solitude. But look closer, and down upon the grass- covered earth the eye falls upon a strange sight, for half a hundred buman forms are rostrate, and half a hundred steeds lie prone eside their masters. Has there been a fearful massacre there? No, for there are no red stains for the thirsty earth to drink up; there are no trampled grass and | deep hoof-marks to show that there had been a fierce eee: but still as the heart when the spirit has departed, lie horses and riders, and one ascending yonder rise, or prai- rie roll, a mile distant, and glancing over the broad expanse, would little dream that fifty wild savages lay near, with fifty fleet steeds to bear them down like a red whirlwind upon the unsuspecting traveler. And why are they thus tying like the dead? The secret is soon told, for above the dis- tant rise appears a white tilt, which glim- mers in the rosy rays of the declining sun; and then comes in view the entire wagon and its team, and another, and another, until, like a fleet of tiny vessels upon the Atlantic’s blue wa- ters, are seen the ‘*‘ prairie schooners” of an emigrant train, a squadron launched upon the saan bosom of the plain, and winding its way, ike a huge white serpent, further and further westward, slowly following the ‘‘star of em- ire” toward the land of the setting sun, the d of the red-man, the haunts of the wild beasts, and the land in whose depths lie untold riches for the hardy pioneers who turn their backs upon the marts of civilization to pene- trate the trackless wilderness. And now the secret is told, of those te half hundred men and beasts, for the keen eye of the advance scout had detected ‘the comi train, and knowing that ere long they woul camp, for night was coming on apace, and an in- viting stream wound its way along not far dis- tant, the Indians had forced their well-trained steeds to lie down by their sides, that, under the cover of darkness, they might fall u their ope te foes, and revel in the debauch of death re And over rise came the train, forty wagons in all, and an ambulance, drawn by two large horses in the van, with horsemen and horsewomen, a score in number, along at leisure, and a small herd of cattle, and extra teams bringing up the rear separated himself from galloped to the front, while he called out to the driver of the ambulance: “Jack, head for yonder stream, and we will for that motte we see in the dis- wen babes” eneweeed ty negro dri as, massa,” answe e ver and the rider me back once more and said to one of the y, who approached him: “ We are fortunate in a stream to en- camp on, Maverick; but I confess to t anxi- ety on. account of the Scout’s not having re- , for he has never before been absent from the train more than six hours at a time, and this morning he left before we broke camp.” ““I feel the same anxiety, Major Malcolm, al- though Powell, or as he is called out here, Fancy , Seems like a man who can take care of himself.” The speakers were Major Burt Malcolm, al- ready known to the reader as the Louisiana lanter, and Henry Maverick, a stout-hearted, Srenk-fueced pioneer, who was the wagon-master of the train. . The former, whom the reader will remember as the wealthy — in his el t Louisiana home, has y changed since he was the hos- pitable hos , for his h become and his face has a look of commingled sorrow and sternness resting u it. Fallen by the loss a his Property, a ea high position, and brooding over his som and sad fate of his eldest daughter, Nina, the major, with the small remnant of his riches, had started a ee with great zest the strange life they were enter- ing upon. y common consent Major Malcolm had been elected ‘‘ captain” of the emigrant train, which consisted of a score of families, bound west- ward ho! For days they had been slowly marching toward their future homes on the far-away Platte river, and having entered the land of danger, where the red-skin, and the equally dreaded white road-agent, might be encounter- ed at any time, their advance had been con- ducted with great caution, under the guidance of a young and handsome plainsman, of whose wild life of thrilling adventure strange stories were told. That morning, upon breaking camp for the day’s march, Fancy Frank had gone off on a scout, promising to join them in the afternoon, and find them a good place for encampment; but the shadows of sunset were near at hand, and his eye Re caused many a face to wear an anxious look. “Uncle, there comes the Scout!” suddenly cried Violet Vassar, as, with Maud and a num- ber of others of the hee} people, she was to the long trail by riding upon horse- back. All-eyes were at once turned in the direction in which the maiden pointed with her riding- whip, and a mile distant a horseman was seen coming at a rapid gallop, and all felt relieved, and down into the prairie valley the train wended its way. But a few moments after the horseman ap- peared over the rise of the plain behind them, and an exclamation of disappointment arose to every lip, for though he rode a white horse, and wore a broad, gray sombrero, which caused him to be taken for Fancy Frank, it was now seen that it was not that personage. Showing the effects of hard riding the splen- did animal dashed up to the train, the rider doffing his sombrero at sight of the ladies, and asking quietly to see the captain. ‘‘I’m wagon-master, but this is the captain,” said Henry Maverick, pointing to the major, who asked politely: ‘*How can I serve you, young sir?” All eyes were now turned upon the stranger, but he calmly stood the ordeal, though his boyish face flushed slightly at the attention he sr uth ] ighteen, e@ was a mere youth, scarcely over e | with a beniiele tans: k eyes, and cur —— of auburn hair falling upon his shoul- ers. He was well mounted A wiry animal that it was evident and great endurance, and sat his saddle with an ease that showed he was at home there. His tra were rich, and his attire was of buckskin, the gs tucked into his boot- . eae a light, rimmed sombrero shaded hi ace. A lasso at his saddle-horn, a repeating rifle carried across his knees, and a belt containing a knife and two revolvers, comprised his arma- ment, while a pair of well-filled leathern and a roll of blankets, completed his t he was remarkably handsome, and sessed strength and endurance, in spite of his slender build, was evident at a glance, as was also that bis face showed pluck and nation to dare what any r man dare do. In answer to the question of the major, he re- plied, in y soft and pleasant tones: — “‘T am bound west, sir, and have ridden hard to overtake your train, to ask to join you for this isa dangerous country for a man to be in one. “Certainly, sir, we are always glad to wel- come a man of nerve, as you appear to be, and I will invite roe join A eye Me th hg the major, pleased with the frank, fearless, though boyish face of the stranger o you, sir; my name my desire, to roam the western should death overtake mourn my loss.” | There was a t of bitterness and sorrow commingled in the of the stranger, and his words drew him morc c to those who heard them, and He Maverick said, bluntly: ‘*T'll wager, youtigster, that if you wef long ee mourn you when your ch are ed “Ts that one of your party coming there?” suddenly asked the youth, 4 ahead pba os a oe was visible coming toward © train at an easy gallop. “The Scout! the Sout” : The cry arose from a dozen voices, but Maud Malcolm, who had ridden up at the coming of Ross Elliott said: “No, Dr. Powell rode his white horse this morning, and yonder steed is black.” “You are right, my child; who can he be? But come, ck, here is our cam - the banks of this little stream, Ebooks plains, and, me, I have no one to com (E(@)