Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 20 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

i ° a~ 4 = mths a! yr “ek es + r ~ < » wee aot = a ‘ -~ \ £ F ” e. sy8 f, £. ®; ee. yor eS ee £5 4 a 2 eS he a “9 i. > ee »y Y r= . ——— ~w A ‘ ‘e i Le | — : SY : “77 The Bandit at Bay. **Oh ! [ will save you, brother,”’ Don Ste fa- no said, desperately. And, raising his broth- er in his powerful arms, he prepared to pay him that attention which his condition seem- ed to demand. “T am dying—all is useless,’ Don Pa- checo continued, in a voice that momentarily ew weaker. ‘Listen to me.”’ ** Speak |’ “Say that you will ayenge me, brother ?” the aying man asked, his eye emitting a fierce flash. “‘T will avenge you,” Don Stefano answer- ed; ‘‘ I swear it !’ *““Good! I have been assassinated by men dressed as Apache Indians, but among them I fancied I recognized—”’ ** Whom ?”’ ** Wilkes the squatter, and Samuel his ac- complice.”’ « nough | where is your wife ?”’ “*Dead! my daughters, save them!” ** Where are they ?”’ ** Carried off by the bandits.”’ “Oh! I will discover them, even if hid- den in the bowels of the earth! Did you not recognize any one else ?”’ ‘** Yes, yes, one more,”’ the dying man said, in an almost unintelligible voice. Don Stefano bent over his brother in or- der to hear more distinctly. “Who? tell me—brother, speak, in heav- en’s name !”’ The wounded man made asupreme effort. ‘* There was another man, formerly a peon of ours.” ** His name ?’’ Don Stefano asked, eagerly. Don Pacheco was growing weaker, his face bad assumed an earthly hue, and his eyes c¢uld no longer distinguish objects ‘‘T can not remember,’ he sighed, rather than said. . **One word, only one, brother.”’ ** Yes, listen—it is Sand—ah !”’ He suddenly fell back, uttering a terrible cry, and clutching at his brother’s arm; he writhed in a final convulsion, and all was over. Don Stefano knelt by his brother’s corpse, embraced it tenderly, piously closed its eyes, and then gotup. He dug a grave with his machete among the smoking ruins of the hacienda, in which he laid his brother’s em s hen this sacred duty was performed, he addressed an ardent prayer to the Deity in behalf of the man who was about to appear before his judgment-seat, and then, stretch- ing Out his arms over the grave, he said in a loud, distinct voice: ‘Sleep in peace, brother, sleep in peace. I promise you a glorious revenge.” on Stefano slowly descended the hill found his horse, which had spent the night in nibbling the y.ung tree shoots, and start- ed at a gallop, after giving a py glance at those ruins, under which all his happiness lay burned. No one ever heard of Don Stefano again in Texas: was he dead too, without taking that vengeance which he had sworn to achieve? No one could say. The squatters had also disappeared since that awiul night, and left no sign. Ere long the population of Texas had completely forgotten this terrible catastro- he. Every year, however, a man appeared on the hill where the hacienda once stood, whose ruins the luxuriant vegetation of the country had long *g0 overgrown ; this man seated himself on the silent ruins, and pass- ed the whole night with his face buried in his hands. What did he there? Whence did he come ? Who was he? These three questions ever remained un- answered, for at daybreak the stranger rode off again, not to return till the followin year on the anniversary of the frightfu tragedy. ne strange fact was proved, however, after every visit paid by this mau—one, two or even sometimes three horribly-mutilated human heads were found lying on the hill. What demoniac task was this incompre- hensible being performing? Was it Don Stefano pursuing his vengeance ? We shall probably see presently. CHAPTER XXII, EXPLANATORY. WE are compelled to retrograde a short dis- tance in our story, in order to explain to the reader the arrival of that help which in an instant altered the face of the fight, ana saved Valentine and his friemds from cap- tivity, probably from death. Unicorn carefully watched the movements of Red Cedar and his band; since the Pi- rate’s arrival on the desert he had not once let him out of sight. Hidden in the chap- paral.on the river-bank, he had been an un- seen spectator of the bandit’s fight with the hunters; but, with that caution which forms the basis of the Indian character, he had left his friends perfect liberty to act as they thought proper, with the design of inter- fering when necessary. When he saw the Pirate disarmed, and reduced to his last shifts, he considered it useless to follow him longer, and proceeded in the direction of his village, to assemble his warriors, and go at their head to attack the camp of the scalp-hunters. The Comanche chief was alone with his squaw, from whom he scarcely ever separa- ted; they were both galloping along the bank of the Gila, being careful to hide themselves among the brushwood, when suddenly deaf- ening cries, mingled with shots, and the hasty gallop of a horse, struck his ears. Unicorn made his companion a signal to halt, and dismounted; then, cautiously crawling among the trees, he glided like a serpent through the tall grass to the skirt of the chapparal which sheltered him. On reaching this point he cautiously rose on his knees and looked out. Aman, bearing a fainting woman across his saddle-bow, was coming up at full speed; in the distance several Indian warriors, doubtless wearied of a useless pursuit, were slowly retiring, while the fugitive rap- idly drew nearer Unicorn. ‘he chief perceived at the first glance that he was a white. On arriving within a short distance of the spot where he lay in ambush, the new-comer looked round several times nervously ; then he dismounted, took the female in his arias, laid her tenderly on the grass, and ran to the river to fill his hat with water. {twas Harry, the Canadian hunter, and the female was Ellen. So soon as he had gone off, Unicorn start- ed from his hiding-place, giving his wife a sign to follow him, and both approached the maiden, who was lying senseless on the ground. Sunbeam knelt by the side of the American girl, gently raised her head, and began paying her those delicate attentions of which woman alone possesses the se- cret. Almost immediately after, Harry ran up; but at the sight of the Indian he hurriedly dro — his hat, and drew a pistol from his girdle. **Wah !”? Unicorn said, quickly, ‘‘ my pale brother need not pull out his weapons—I am a friend.’’ ‘**A friend ?”’ Harry replied, ill-humoredly ; “can a réed-skin warrior be the fiend of a white man ?”’ The chief crossed his arms on his broad chest, and boldly walked up to the hunter. “‘T was hidden ten paces from you,” he said; ‘“‘had I been an enemy, the pale-face would have been dead ere now.” The Canadian shook his head. “Thats possible,” he said; ‘‘ may heaven grant that you speak frankly, for the strug- gle I have gone through in saving this poor gin has so exhausted me that 1 could not efend her against you.” “Good!” the Indian continued; ‘she has nothing to fear; Unicorn is chief of his nation; when he gives his word he must be believed.” And he honestly offered his hand to the hunter. The latter hesitated for a moment, then suddenly forming a resolution, he cordially pressed the hand, saying: “I believe you, chief; yourname is known to me; you have the reputation of a wise man and brave warrior, so I trust to you; but Llimplore you to help me in recovering this unhappy girl.” Sunbeain gently raised her head, and gave the hunter a glance of tender sympathy, as she said in her harmonious voice : “The pale bt go runs no danger; in a few minutes she will come to herself again; my brother may be at his ease.”’ ‘Thanks, thanks, young woman,” the Canadian said, warmly ; ‘‘ the hope you give me fills me with joy; I can now think about eee my poor Dick.”’ ; at does my brother mean ?”’ the chief asked, surprised at the flash of fury from the hunter’s dark eye. The latter, reassured as to the state of his companion, and attracted by the open and honest reception the Indian had given him, did not hesitate to confide to him not only what had occurred to himself, but also the causes Which had brought him into this de- sert country. ‘“‘Now,”’’ he said, in the close, ‘I have only one desire—to place this girl in security, and then avenge my friend.” The Indian listened unmoved and without interruption to the hunter’s story, When he had finished he seemed to reflect for some minutes, and then answered the Canadian, as he laid his hand on his shoulder: ‘Then my brother wishes to take ven- geance on the Apaches ?” 23 — — * yes!’’ tne hunter exclaimed; **so soon as this girl is in a safe place I will go on their trail.” ‘Ah!’ the Indian said, as he shook his head, ‘‘one man can not fight with fifty.” ‘“*T do not care for the number of m enemies so long as I can come up wi them.”’ Unicorn gave the daring young man an admiring glance. **Goud!’’ he said, “‘my brother is brave— I will help him to his vengeance.” At this moment Ellen partly opened her eyes. ee Where am I ?”’ she murmured. ‘‘Reassure yourself, Ellen,’ the hunter replied; ‘for the moment at least you have nothing to fear, as you are surrounded by friends.’’ ‘‘Where is Dona Clara? I do not see her,’ she continued, in a weak voice. ‘*T will tell you presently, Ellen, what has happened to her,”’ the hunter remarked. Ellen sighed and was silent; sbe under- stood that Harry would not tell her of fresh misfortune in her present state of weakness. Owing to Sunbeam’s increasing attentions she, however, soon completely regained her senses. “Does my sister feel her strength re- turned ?”’ the squaw asked her, anxiously. ‘‘Oh,”’ she said, ‘‘ I am quite well now.” Unicorn looked fixedly at her. ‘*Yes,’’ he said, “‘my sister is at present in a condition to travel. It is time to start, our road is long; Sunbeam will give her horse to the pale virgin, that she may be able to follow us.”’ ‘* Where do you intend taking us, chief ?’”’ the hunter asked, with badly-vailed anxiety. “Did not my brother say that he wished to avenge himself ?”’ ** Yes, I did.”’ ‘Well, he can follow me, and I will lead him to those who will help him.”’ ‘“‘Hum!’’ the Canadian muttered, “I re- quire nobody for that.”’ ‘“My brother is mistaken; he requires allies, for the enemy he will have to fight is powerful.” “That is possible. But I should like to know these allies, at any rate; [ am not in- clined to league myself with the villainous bandits, who flock to the desert and dis- honor our color. I am a frank and honest hunter, for my part.” **My brother has spoken well,”’ the chief answered, with a smile; “‘he can be at rest, and place entire confidence in those to whom Iam about to lead him.” ‘** Who are they, then?” ‘One is the father of the maiden the Apuches have carried off; the others—”’ ‘*Stay, chief,’ the hunter quickly ex- claimed, ‘‘that is sufficient; I do not want to know the rest. We will start when you please, and I will follow you anywhere.” ““Good; my brother will get the horses ready, while I give some orders to my squaw.”’ Harry bowed in sign of acquiescence, and deftly accomplished the task, while the Co- manche took his wife aside, and conversed with her in a whisper. “* Now we will go,” the Comanche said, as he returned to the hunter. | “Does not Sunbeam accompany us?” Ellen asked. ‘‘No,” the chief answered, laconically. The young Indian woman smiled pleasunt- ly on the squatter’s daughter, and gliding swiftly among the trees, disappeared. The others mounted and started at a gal- lop ia the opposite direction. The Comanche warrior fancied he knew where to find Valentine and his comrades, and hence went in a direct line to the Teocali. After the Trail-hunter’s departure, Don Miguel and the other characters of our story, who remained in Bloodson’s fortress continued to sleep peaceably for several hours, and when they awoke the sun was already high on the horizon. The haciendero and the General, fatigued by, the emotions of the preceding day, and but little accustomed to desert life, had yielded to sleep like men who require to regain their strength; when they opened their eyes, a plentiful meal awaited them. Several days passed without any incident. The stranger, in spite of the eordiality of his reception, maintained a certain degree of reserve with his guests, only speaking to them when it was absolutely necessary, but never seeking to begin with them one of those conversations in which people ae. ly forget themselves, and insensibly glide into confidéntial talk. There was something frigid about the manner of this strange man, which could not be explained, but which prevented any intimate relations. One evening, at the moment when Don uel and the General were pre to lie down on the skins of wild beasts, which — el : * ‘ aw, . —— A aN ce ae é b> a) 7 = - , ping o a. 2 a ers on - a