Beadle's Dime Library No. 151 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

Ls . an with them, as to be able to recognize them. oS - The Freebooters. The Freebooters. A STORY OF THE TEXAN WAR. BY GUSTAVE AIMARD, AUTHOR OF “‘ LOYAL HEART,”’ “PRAIRIE FLOWER,”’ “‘ THE TRAPPER’S DAUGHTER,"’ ‘‘ BORDER RIFLES,’’ ETC. CHAPTER L FRAY ANTONIO, Fray Antonio* stepped silently and quietly through the forest, leaving the man who had helped him, and probably had saved his life, to struggle as he could with the red-skins who attacked him, and against whom he would have great difficulty in de- fending himself. Fray Antonio was no coward; but he was a man to whom the existence he led offered enormous ad- vantages and incalculable delights. Life seemed to him good, and he did all in his power to spend it jolly and free from care, only facing danger when it was 2! solutely necessary; but at such times, he be- meri really dangerous to those who provoked him this exp.osion of passion. Fray Autonio was assuredly no better or worse than his brother monks; but, unluckily Fate ap- eh to have vented its spite on him, and mixed up, despite his firm will, in events, not only op- his character but to his habits, which led im into a multitude of tribulations, and which were beginning to make him consider that life extremely bitter, which he had hitherto found so pleasant. The atrocious mystification of which John Davis had rendered the poor monk a victim, had especially made gloomy his hitherto Fe mind, and it was wit uncertain step that he fled through the forest although, excited by the sounds of combat that still reached his ear, he made haste to get off, through fear of falling into the hands of the red-skins. Night surprised the Fray ere he reached the skirt of the forest, which seemed to him interminable. Unused to desert life, the monk found himself greatly embarrassed when he saw the sun disappear on the horizon in a mist of purple and gold, and darkness almost instantaneously cover the earth. Unarmed, without means of lighting a fire, half dead with hunger and alarm, the monk took along glance of air around him, and fell to the ground, giving vent to a dull groan. Still, after a few moments, the instinct of self- preservation gained the mastery over discourage- ment, and the monk, whose teeth chattered with terror on héaring re-echoed through the forest the lugubrious howls of the wild beasts—rose with a feverish energy, and suffering from that over-ex- citement which fear raised to a certain pitch pro- duces, resolved to profit by the fugitive rays that still crossed the glade, to secure himself a shelter for the night. site to him grew a mahogany tree, whose in- terlaced branches and dense foliage seemed to offer him a secure retreat ages the probable attack of the gloomy denizens of the forest. At each instant the situation grew more danger- ous; the howling came nearer; there was no time to hesitate; and Fray Antonio did not doso. He be- = collecting the dead wood round him and piling at the foot of the tree, so as to form a scaffolding ry enough for him to reach, without any great culty, a branch sufficiently low for him. Soon, thanks to his rapid movements, he had a considerable heap of wood piled around him. A smile of satisfaction lit up face, and he began climbing up the pile of wood. After several unSuc- cessful attempts, he at last reached the top of this fictitious mount. Then he embraced the tree and commenced his fatiguing clambering, and at length managed to seize the lowest branch with both hands, and clung to it with all his strength. The rest was as nothing. The monk assembled by asupreme effort all the vigor his previous attempts had left him, and rais- ing hintself by his arms, tried to get astride on the branch, pom to his energetic perseverances, he had raised his head and shoulders above the branch, when all at once he felt a hand or a claw fasten round his right leg, and squeeze it as ina vise. A shudder of terror ran over the monk’s body; an rspiration beaded on his temples, and his teeth chattered fit to break. Fi - 1’ he exclaimed in a choking voice, “ I am oly Virgin, have pity on me.”’ ot bry aralyzed by terror, deserted him, his bands let ose the protecting branch, and he fellin a lump at the foot of the tree. Fortunately for Fray Antonio, the care he had taken in piling u the dead wood toa considerable extent broke his otherwise it would probably have been mortal; but the shock he experienced was so great that he completely lost his senses. When he returned to life and opened his eyes again, he glanced around, and fancied he must be ering from a nightmare. He had not stirred from the apor sO te speak; he still found himself by the tree, w ich he tried so long to climb up in vain, but he was lying close to an enormous fire, over which half a deer was roasting, and around him were some twenty Indians, crouch- on their heels, silently smoking their ipes le their horses, picketed a few yards off, an ready to mount, were eating their provender. Fray Antonio had seen Indians several] times be- stood on such intimate terms, indeed, His new friends were clothed in -neir war-garb, and from their hair drawn off the « forehc ids, and their long barbed lances, it wa. easy to recognize them as Apaches. At length the Indians left off smoking, and after shaking he ashes out of their calumets,passed them again ugh their girdle; a red-skin removed from the fire the half deer which was perfectly roasted, laid it in abanijo leaves in front of his comrades, and each drawing his scalping knife, prepared for a vigorous attack on the venison, which exhaled an appetizing odor, especially for the nostrils of a man who, during the whole past day, had been con- demned to an absolute fast. At this moment the monk felt a heavy hand laid *See Dime Library No. 149, ‘* Border Rifles.” a ee ' | | took from his leaf, and after rolling a pajillo with the skill which on his chest, while a voice said to him with a gut- tural accent: “The father of prayer can open his eyes now, for the venison is smoking, and his share is cut off.’ The monk, perceiving that his stratagem was dis- covered, opened his eyes, and sat up. , “Och!” the man who had before spoken said, “my father can eat; he must be hungry, and has slept enough.”’ he monk attempted to smile, hat only made a frightful grimace, so aiarmed did eel. As how- ever, he was ee as a wolf, he followed the example offered him by the Indias. who had al- ready commenced their meal, and set to work eating the lump of venison which they had the politeness to set before him. In truth, the behavior of the Apaches toward him had nothing hostile about it; on the contrary, they were most attentive, in serving him with what he needed, they had even carried their politeness so far as to give him a few mouthfuls of spirits, an extreme- | ly precious liquid, of which they are most greedy, ow- ing to the difficulty they experience in ob ning it. Vhen he had ended his meal, the monk, who was almost fully reassured as to the amicable temper of his new friends, on seeing them’ light their pipes, pocket tobacco and an Indian corn the men of Spanish race possess, he conscientiously enjoyed the bluish smoke of his excellent Havana tobacco costa abajo. A considerable s of time ela thus, and not a syllable was exchanged among them. By degrees the ranks of the red-skins thinned; one after the other, at short intervals, rolled themselves in their blankets, lay down with their feet to the fire, and went to sleep. Fray Antonio, crushed by the poign- ant emotions of the day and the enormous fatigue _ he had experienced, would zladiy have imitated the father needs slee _ warm with this. | | | verse of the medal. calumet with my father in council. Indians, had he dared, for he felt his eyes close in- voluntarily. At last the Indian who hitherto had alone spoken, perceiving his state of somnolency, took pity on him. He rose, fetched a horse-cloth, and brought it to the monk. ‘My father will wrap himself in this fressada,’’ he said, employing the bad Spanish in which he had hitherto spoken; ‘‘the nights are cold, and my greatly; he will, therefore, feel o-morrow a chief will smoke the Blue-fox desires to have a serious conversation with the father of prayer of the pale-faces.”’ Fray Antonio gratefully accepted the horsecloth, and, without attempting to prolong the conversa- tion, he wrapped himself up and lay down by the fire so as to absorb the largest amount of caloric pos- sible. Still, the Indian's words did not fail to cause the monk a certain degree of anxiety. ‘Hum!’ he muttered to himself, ‘that is the re- What can this Pagan have to say tome? He does not mean to ask me to christen _ him, I suppose? especially as his name a pears to be eu, Heaven will not abandon me, and it will be day to-morrow. So now for a snooze.” And with this reflection the monk closed his eyes; two minutes later he slept soundly. Blue-fox, for it was really into the hands of that chief the monk had so unexpectedly fallen, remained crouched over the fire the whole night, plunged in gloomy thought and watching, alone of his comrad over the common safety, At times his eyes were fix with a strange expression on the monk, who was fast asleep, and far from suspecting that the Apache chief was so obstinately engaged with him. At sunrise Blue-fox was still awake; he had re- mained the whole night without once changing his poem and sleep had not once weighed down his eyelids, Blue-fox; a nice savage name, that. ' CHAPTER IZ. INDIAN DIPLOMACY calm and . At the mo- ment when the sun appeared on the horizon, Blue- fox, who had hitherto remained motionless, gently touched the monk, This touch, slight as it was, sufficed, however, to arouse Fray Antonio. ‘ The gentleness the Apaches displayed toward h on the previous night was so extraordinary, and op- osed to their usual habit of treatin white men, heir inveterate foes, that the monk, despite the coolness which formed the basis of his character, understood that the strange conduct of the men into whose power he had fallen must result from very poss ul motives, and that in spite of the pretended riendship they showed him, he would do well to Tue night keep on his guard. In consequence of this reasoning, while taking ad- van of the friendly feeling of the Indians, he craftily watched their movements, only yielded to sleep with great circumspection. Hence at the first signal he was ready to respond to the Indian’s sum- mons. : ‘Has my brother slept well?” the Indian asked in his hoarse voice. . “ Lhave, indeed, slept well, chief, and I thank you for the cordial hospitality you have granted me. A smile played round the Indian's lips, as he con- ued: ‘“‘My father is one of the chiefs of prayer of his nation, the God of the pale-faces is powerful, He protects those who devote themselves to His service.”’ As this remark required no answer, the monk con- tented himself by bowing in the affirmative. Fray Antonio had not even the resource of pre- tending not to understand the dangerous speaker, for the chief expressed himself in bad Spanish, a language all the Indian tribes understand, and which, they still employ in their dealings with the white men, : After a moment's silence, Blue-fox continued : ‘“*My father will listen,’’ he said; ‘‘a chief is about to speak; Blue-fox is a sachem, his tongueis not forked, the words his chest breathes are inspired by the Great Spirit.”’ *T am listening,’’ Fray Antonio replied. ‘“*Blue-fox is not an Apache, al | he wears their costumes, and leads one of their most power- ful tribes on the war-trail; Blue-fox is a Snake Paw- nee, his nation is as numerous as the grains of sand Many moons ago, unds of his nation, became an adopted son Blue-fox act thus? on the borders of the great lake. Blue-fox left the hunting never to return to them, an of the Apaches; why | not flow in his veins; he , the son of a co , The chief interrupted himself. The monk was on the point of answe that he did not know the fact, and cared very little about learning it, but a moment's reflection made him understand the dan- ger of such an answer. “The brothers of the chief were ungrateful to him,”’ he replied with nolgnes interest, ‘and the sachem left them, after shaking off his moccasins at the entrance of their: vs The chief shook his head in negation. ‘“No,”’ he answered, “the brothers of Blue-fox loved him, they still weep for his absence; but the chief was sad, a friend had abandoned him, and took away his heart.”’ ** Ah!’ said the monk, not at all understanding. ‘** Yes,” the Indian continued; *‘ Blue-fox could not endure the absence of his friend, and left his brothers to go in search of him,” “Of course you have found the person again, chief, to whom you devoted yourself?’ ‘For a long time Blue-fox sought, but did not suc- ceed in obtaining any news of him; but one day he at length saw him again.”’ ‘“*Good, and now you are re-united.” ‘““ My father does not understand,"’ the Indian an- swered dryly. ‘**Pardon me, chief,’’ he eagerly answered; *‘ on the contrary, I perfectly understand; but I am subject toacertain absence of mind completely indepen- dent of my will, which I hope you will not feel of- fended at, for I assure you it is no fault of mine.” **Good, my father is like all the chiefs of prayer of the pale-faces, his thoughts are constantly directed to. the Wacondah.”’ **So itis, chief,’ the monk exclaimed, delighted at the way in which his apology was accepted; * con- tinue your narrative, I beg, for Iam now most anx- ious to listen to it.” “Wah! my father constantly traverses the prairies of the pale-faces.”’ ‘* Yes, the duties of my office oblige me to—”’ Blue-fox quickly interrupted him. “My father knows the pale hunters of these prairies?” | ** Nearly all.” “Very good; one of these hunters is the friend so deeply regretted by Blue-fox.” ! ‘Who is he?’’ the monk asked. The Indian did not seem to hear the question, for he went on— ‘* Very often the red-skin warrior has been led a short distance from his friend by the incidents of the chase, but never near enough to make himself known.”’ “That is unfortunate.” “The chief would like to see his friend, and smoke the calumet of peace with him at the council fire while conversing about old times, and the period when, as children of the same tribe, they traversed together the hunting-grounds of the sachem’s ter- rible nation.”’ ‘* Then the hunter is an Indian?”’ “No, he is.a pale-face; but if his skin is white, the ee Spirit has placed an Indian heart in his »0som.”’ * But wy does not the chief frankly go and join his friend, if he knows where he is?” At this insinuation, which he was far from antici- pating, the chief frowned, and a cloud momentarily crossed his face; but the monk was too little of an observer to remark this emotion. After a few seconds, the Indian reassumed that apathy which the red-skins rarely = off, and only when taken by surprise, and continued— ‘** Blue-fox does not go to meet his friend, bécause the latter is not alone, and has with him enemies of your chief.”’ - That is different, and I can understand your pru- ce. “Good,” the Indian added, with a sardonic smile, ‘wisdom speaks by the mouth of my father; he is certainly a chief of prayer, and his lips distill the purest honey.”’ Fray Antonio saw vaguely that the red-skin wished to ask something of him—in short, that he wanted his help. This thought restored his co e, and he tried to com e effect he fancied he had produced on his avellian questioner. A t my brother is unable to do, I can under- a d, in an me geome yw ms e Apache gave him ng glance. ““Wah!"’ re ed, Ponen my father knows where to’find the chief's friend?” ‘How should I know it?” the monk objected; “vou have not told me his name yet,”’ ‘That is true; my father is good, he will forgive me. So he does not yet know who the pale hunter is?” ‘*T know him, pe but up to the present I am orant whom the ec alludes to.” ‘*Blue-fox is rich; he has numerous horses; he can assemble round his totem one hundred warriors, and teu times, twenty times more. If my father is willing to serve the sachem, he will find him grate- “Task nothing better than to be agreeable to you, chief, if it lies in my power; but you must ex- cl what I have to do, in order that I may make no e,”’ Good; the sachem will explain eve to hig tats ae ne way, nothing will be easier." a Does my father belisve so?” Well, Ido not see what can prevent it.” ‘Then my father will listen. Among all the pale hunters, whose moccasins trample the prairie grass in all directions, there is one who is braver and more terrible than the rest; the tigers and jaguars fly at his approach, and the Indian warriors themselves are afraid to cope with him. This bunter is no effeminate Yori; the blood of the Gachu — oiy and his ancestors foug or a lengthened period with Long-knives of the ed “Good? the monk : “from what. the chief tells me, I see that this man is a Canadian. “ That is the name given, I think, to the nation of my friend.” | ‘But among all the huntersI am acquainted with, there is only one who isa q ‘‘ Wah!" said the chief, * on one?’ “Yes: his name is Tranquil, I think, and he is at- tached to the Larch-tree hacienda,’’ ‘‘Wah! that is the very man. Does my father know him?” com cS) _ Gpoo : . ' a Lan 7 eg j r* <1) 5 : |