Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 218 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

2 : The Wild Hu The Wild Huntress; The Big Squatter’s Vengeance. BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID, AUTHOR OF ‘“'THE RIFLE RANGERS,” “‘THE SCALP HUNTERS,”’ ““THE WHITE CHIEF,” “TRE WHITE TRAIL,” ETC., ETC., ETC. ——— A SPLENDID PENSION. THe treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was followed by an extensive debandement, which sent maay thou- sands of sabers ringing back into their scabbards, A three years’ campaign under the sultry skies of Mexico had sa the ambition of most. It was only those who arrived late upon the field—-too late to pluck a laurel—who would have prolonged the strife, The ci-/evant captain of a cor of the last mentioned. war, and really desired a spell of peace. My wishes were in similitude with those of the poet, who longed ‘* for a lodge in some vast wilderness—some bound- less contiguity of shade.”’ I had been long enough in the wilderness, to know that even a dwelling in the desert cannot be main- tained without expense. We were dismissed with- out pension; the only reward for our warlike ach ts being a piece of land scrip, good for the number of acres upon the face of it—to be selected from government land, wherever the holder ry Po choose to locate. The scrip was for greater or less amount, according to the term of the re- narrator of this tale, Edward Warfield— ceiver'’s service. Mine six hundred and forty acres. This bit of scrip then of rangers—was not one © was tired of the toils of | embellished the face of the board. represented a section of | —a tried steed that had carried me many a long | mile, and through the smoke of more than one red | og Mths true rifle, that I had myself carried equally as far—a pair ef Colt’s pistols—and a steel of To- ledo, taken at the storming of Chapultepuc—con- stituted the bulk of my a ble property. Add to this, a remnant of my last month's pay—ino truth not enough to provide me with that much cov article, a civilian’s suit; in proof of which, my old undress-frock, with its yellow spread-eagie buttons, ‘clung to my shoulders like a second shirt of Nessus. The vanity of wearing a uniform, that may have once been felt, was long ago thread-bare as itself; and yet I was not wantin fancied that it might still exist! How little under- stood they the real state of the case, and how much did they misconstrue my involuntary motives! It was just to escape from such unpleasant as- sociations, that I held on to my scrip. Most of my brother-officers had sold theirs for a song, and spent the proceeds upon a supper. In relation to mine, I had other views than parting with if to the greedy speculators. It promised me that very wilderness- home, Iwas in.search of; and, having no prospect of procuring a “ fair spirit for my minister,’ | deter- mined to locate without one. I was at that time staying in Tennessee—the pent ofa campalening comrade and still older friend. A visit to nd-offiee of Nashville endedin my se- lection of Section No. 9, Township —--, as my future plantation. It was represented to measa fertile spot—situated in the Western Reserve—near the banks of the beautiful Obion, and not far above the confluence of this river with the Mississippi. The official believed there had been some improvement made upon the land by a squatter: but whether the squatter still lived upon it, he could not tell. “At all events, the fellow would be too poor to exercise | calling its guests to su go + ee ce —— a whole distance I saw not a creature until I had ar- rived within a mile or so of the settlement. I had been already apprised that Swampville was a new place. Its fame bad not yet reached the eastern world; and even in Nashville was it un- known, except perhaps to the Land Office. It was only after ente og the Reserve that I became fully assured of its existence; and there it was known as a settlement rather than a city. For all that, Swampville proved to be not so contemptible a place; and the reason I had encountered so little traffic while approaching it was that I had been coming in the wrong direction—in other words, I had been ap- proaching it from behind. Swampville was in reality a riverine town. To it the east was a back country, and its front face was to the west. In that direction lay its world, and the ways that opened to it. Log shanties began to line the road—standing thicker asl advanced; while at intervals appeared a frame house of mcre preten- tious architeeture, In front of one of these, the largest, of the collection—there stood a tall post, or rather a tree with its top cut off, and divested of its lower branches. On the head of this was a martin-box, and underneath the dwelligg of the birds a broad framed board on which was legible the word hotel. A portrait of Jackson, done in continental uniform, The sign seemed little appropriate, for in the harsh features of Old Hickory there was but slight promise of hospitality. There was no use going further. The Jackson Ho- tel was evidently the “ head inn” of the place; and without pause or parley I dismounted at its door, I was too well used to western habits to wait either for welcome or assistance—too careful of my Arab to trust him to hands unskilied—and I did the un- saddling for myself. A half-naked negro gave me some slight help in the grooming , while exhibiting his ivories and the whites of his eyes in an expression of ill-concealed astonishment, produced apparently by the presence of my uniform eo ly the darky, no doubt, an uncommon appa- rition. CHAPTER 111. THE JACKSON HOTEL. I rounp that I had arrived in the very nick of time, for just as I returned from the stable and was entering the veranda of the hotel I heard the bell There was no ado made about me; neither ilord or waiter met me with a word; and following the stream of boarders or travelers who had arrived before me, I took my | seat at the common /a@//e-d hote. e coat | in friends, who | tm glancing around the table, I saw not one face that lhad ever seen before. There was one, how- _ ever, that soon attracted my attention, and fixed it. the face of a man; and tha at once satisfied. the pre-emption right, and of course must move off.”’ | So spoke tite land-agent.. This would answer ad- mirably. Although my Texan experience had con- stituted me a toleravle woodsman, it had not made me a woodcutter; and the clearing of the squatter, however small it might be, would serve as a begin- ning. I congratulated myself on my good luck; and, without further parley, parted with my scrip— receiving in return the necessary documents, that constituted me the legal owner and lord of the soil of Section 9. The only additional information the agent could afford me was: that my new purchase | was all heavily timbered, with the exception before referred to; that the township in which it was | situated was called Swampville; and that the sec-: olt’s Cleariug—from the | tion itself was known. as name, it was supposed, of the squatter who had made the improvement, With this intelligence in my head, and the title- | deeds in my pocket, I took leave of the friendly of- ficial, who at parting politely wished me a pleasant time of it on my new plantation, —oe--- A-CLASSIC LAND, Berween Nashville and pee vilie extends a dis- tance of more than a hundred miles—just three days’ travel on horseback. For the first ten miles— to ‘Harpeth River—lI found an excellent road, graded and macadamized, running most of the way .be- tween fenced plantations, My next point was a and forty miles further on I arrived in Dres- en. . Beyond Dresden my road could no longer be termed a road. It was a mere trace, or lane, cut out in the forest—with here and there a tree blazed ‘to indicate the direction. AsI neared the point of iny destination I became naturally curious to earn something about it—that is, about Swampville— sinc’ it wasevident that this was to be the point @apmi of my future efforts at colonization—my depct and _— entry. I should have inquired had { found any one to inquire from, but for ten miles along the road I encountered not a human creature. Thewonly adarky, with an ox-cart loaded with vood; but despairing of information from such 2 source, I declined detaining him. The only intelligence I was able to draw from the negro was that ‘‘ da city o’ Swampville, mass’r, he lay bout ten mile furrer down da crik.”” The “ten mile down da crik" proved to be long ones; but throughout the Nore—Used by permission of Geo. W. Carleton & Co., owners of the American, copyright. It was not a lady's face, as you may be imagining. Venus was certainly not visible at the Swampville table-V hote, for the presiding divinity was a perfect Hecate; and her attendant damsels could have found no place in the train of the Cytherean god dess. No—the face that interested me was neither that of a female, nor in any way feminine. It was in the most emphatic sense of the word. He was a young man—appar- ently about four or five and twenty—and costumed as a backwoods hunter; that is, he wore a buckskin hunting-shirt, leggings and moccasins—with bullet- pouch and powder-horn suspended over his shoul- der, = bunting-knife Pooh ie oie his nae she coonskin cap, hangin sg ome adjacent wall, was his head tece ath seen him place it there, before taking his seat at the supper-ta With the personal appearance of this young man the eye was | | | | | | process—all the | A figure of correct contour, fea-_ tures of noble outline, a face expressive of fine | mental qualities—were the more salient character- istics that struck me at the first glance. Regarding the portrait more particularly, other details became manifest—round lashes; brows finely arched; a magnificent shock of nut- brown curling hair; a smal), well-formed mouth, with white, regular teeth—all contributed to the creation of what might be termed a type of manly beauty. This beauty ree in a somewhat ne- glected garb. Art might have improved it; but it was evident that none had been employed, or even thought of. Itwas a clear case of “ beauty una- dorned;” and the possessor of it appeared altogether unconscious of its existence. The young man appeared to be rather friendleas. | than unknown, I could perwetye that almost allofthe . company were acquainted with him: but that most of them—especially the gentlemen in broadcloth— affected an air of superiority over him. talked much to him, for his reserved manner did not invite conversation; but when one of these did address a few words to him, it was in the style usu- ally adopted by the well-to-do citizen, holding con- verse with his less affluent neighbor. .The young fellow was evidently not one to be sneered at or in- sulted: but, for all that, I could perceive that the _ broadcloth gentry did not quite regard him as an equal. Perhaps this may be explained by the hy- pothesis that he was poor; and, indeed, it did not require much penetration to perceive that such was the reality. é hunting-shirt, though once a hand- some one, was no longer new. On the contrary, it was considerably *scuffed;" and the green baize wrappers upon his limbs were faded to a greenish brown. Other points proclaimed a light purse—per- haps far lighter than the heart of bim who carried it—if I was to judge by the expression of bis coun- tenance. Notwithstanding all this, the young hunter was evidently au object of interest— whether friendly or hostile—and might have been the cynosure of the supper-table, but for my undress frock and spread- eagle buttons. These, however, claimed some share of the curiosity of Swampville; and I was conscious of being the object of a portion of its surveillance. I knew not what ideas they could have had about 1azel eyes, with well-developed | No one | ——eee————eE—E—EEeEEE———— NS ee —_ ————— — me, and cared as little: but, judging from the looks | of the men—the broadcloth gentlemen in particular —I was impressed with a suspicion that 1 was neither admired nor weleome. In the eyes of your “ sover- eign citizen ” the mere military man is not the hero that he is elsewhere, and he must show something more than a uniform coat to recommend himself to their suffrages. I was conceited enough to imagine that Miss Aetna and her pris-a-vis, Miss Car’line, did not look altogether unfriendly; but the handsome face and magnificemt Curls ef the young hunter } were beside me, and it was no use papery Hog field against such a rival. Iwas not jealous of , how- ever, nor he of me. On the contrary, of all the men present, he appeared most inclined to be courteous to mé, as was evinced by his once or twice pushing within my reach those delicate dishes, distributed at very long distances over the table. 1 felt an incipi- ent friendship for this young man, which he ap- peared to reciprocate. e saw that I was a stran- ger, and not standing the pretentious fashion of | my dress, perbaps he noticed my well-worn coat, and conjectured that I might be as poor and friend- less as himself, If it was to this conjecture I was indebted for his sympathies, his instincts were not far astray. CHAPTER IV. COLONEL KIPP., As soon as I had swallowed supper I hastened to place myself ev arpa with the landlord of the hos- telry, whose name | had ascertained to be Kipp, or Colonel Kipp, as his guests called him, Though I had no intention of proceeding further that night = 1 was desirous of obtaining some information about the whereabouts of my new estate, with such other facts in relation to it as might be collected ip Swampville. The landlord would be the most likely persen to give me the desired intelligence. When I first set eves upon the colonel he was in the center of a circle of tooth-pickers, who had just issued from the supper-room. These were falling off one by one, and, noticing their defection, I waat- ed for an opportunity to speak to the colonel aicne. This after a short time offered itself. The dignified gentleman took not the slightest notice of me as I approached, nor until I had got se near as to leave no doubt upon his mind that a con- versation was intended. Then, edging slightly round and drawing in the boots, he made a half-face toward me—still, however. keeping fast to his chair. “The army, sir, 1 prezoom?” interrogatively be- gan Mr. Kipp. ; ‘*No,”’ answered I, imitating his laconism of iw “T have been in the service. I have just left it.” “Oh—ah! From Mexico, then, I prezoom?” ? a * Business in Swampville?” ‘Why, yes, Mr. ys aR f ‘IT am usooally called kurnel here,” interrupted the backwoods mi/ifuvio, with a bland smile, as if half de ating the ‘title and that it was forced upon him, “Of course,” continued he, “you, sir, bein’ a strenger—"’ | “I beg your pardon, Colonel Kipp; I am a stran- ger to your city, and of course—’ “Don’t signify a dump, sir,” interrupted he, rather good-humoredly, in return for the show of deference I had made, as also, perhaps, for 4 po- liteness in having styled Swampville a city. “* Busi- ness in Swampville, you say ?”’ a az, —_— a eg x. a - ee a ‘Yes,’ I replied; and, seeing it upon his lips te inquire the nature of my bu w I not wish to make known just then—I forestalled him by the question: ' “Do you chance to know such a place as Holt’s Clearing?” ““Chonce to know such a place as Holt’s Clearin’?” “Yc, Holt’s Clearing.” “Wal, there air sech a place.”’ “Ts it distant?” “If you mean Hick Holt’s Clearin’, it’s a leetle ji Na six miles from here. He squats on Mud : ‘*There’s a squatter upon it, then?’’ ‘On Holt’s Clearin’? Wal, I shed rayther say there air a squatter on’t, an’ no mistake.” ‘* His name is Holt, is it not?’ “That same individooal.” “Do you think I could procure a guide in Swamp- ville—some one who could show me the way te Holt’s Clearing ?”’ “Do I think so? Possible you might. D’ye see that ar’ case in the coon-cap?”’ The speaker looked, rather than pointed, to the young fellow of tle buckskin-shirt; who, outside the veranda, was nc w standing by the side of a very sorry-looking steed. I replied in the affirmative. . Val. I reckon he kin show you the way to Holt’s He’s another o’ them Mud Crik squat‘ers. He's just catchin’ up his critter to go that way.’ I was about turning away tos to the young map, when I was recalled by an exclamation froin the landlord: > ° im | ‘*T guess,’ said he, in a half-bantering way, “you 4 hain’ told me your business yet?” | “No,” Lanswered deferentially, ‘*I have not.’ “a “What on airth’s takin’ you to Holt’s ( ‘Jearin?’”’ 1 “That, Mr, Kipp—I beg pardon— Colonel Kipp—is N rivate matter. ‘Private and particular, eh?” “Very,’’ “Oh, then, I guess, you'd better keép it to your self.”’ ' “That is precisely my intention,” I rejoined, turn- ing on my heel, and stepping out of the veranda. The young hunter was just buckling the girth of his saddle. As I approached him, I saw that he was smiling. He had overheard the concluding part of the conversation; and looked as if pleased at the way in which I had bantered the colonel: who, as I afterward learned from him, was the grand swag- gerer of Swampville. A word was sufficient. He at ance acceded to my request, frankly, if not in the most elegant phraseology. ; “Ill be pleased to show ye the way to Holt’s Clearin’. own road goes jest that way, till within a squ'l's ump o’t.” eee “Thank you: I shall not keep you waiting. (HAPTER V. ‘THROUGH THE FOREST. , As we passed up the street, I was conscious of a the eabvect Jn! 9 pe Seren & os ing faces at the windows, and gaping gro the doors, proved by their looks anh gestures, that I was regarded as a rare spectacle. It could scarcely be my companion who was the or Pe of this univer- sal curiosity. A buckskin hunting-shirt was an everyday 8s ite in Swampville — not so a well- wad: oy | military man, armed, uniformed, and equipped. No doubt, my splendid Arab, caraealing Clearin’. a ~~ 7 - ’» ,OO ATA, 5; GOT (E 74 -*-€om . * pa. ;