Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 218 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

* / aopes. Wild words were upon my that —_— —~x, toward her. them. She aeld Jn One mi o> hads a Sook. She appeared desirous of shunning | have fancied she was reading it; for it was pace. But | stealth the lignt fell gly on the page, anu her elanens tow it told. demining else than the book was occupying her attention. A piece of detached paper that gleamed whiter between the leaves, was evidently the object of her solicitude. It was the writing upon that she was trying to decipher. I watched with eager glance. I noted every move- ment of the fair reader. Marian had joined me. We both watched together. It required an effort to restrain ourselves from speech. A word would have been worth all this writing; but it might also have ruined everything. They who stood in front of the wagon might hear that word. Itwasnot spoken. Lilian was evidently embarrassed by the presence of these young men, and cast uneasy glances toward them as she read. Perhaps the restraint thus placed upon her hindered any violent show of emotion which the writing on the a, might have called forth. A short sup- pressed sigh, as she finished reading; a quick search- ing glance among the groups in front—another shot stealthily toward the rear of the wagon—this was all in her manner that might have appeared unusual. I waited till her eyes were again turned rearward; and then, gently parting the canvas flaps, I held Marian’s note between my fingers inside the curtain. The apparition of my red hand did not cause an alarm. The poem had paved the way for the more prosaic epistie, and neither scream nor start was oc- casioned by its delivery. As soon asI saw that the — of paper was observed, I dropped it among the xes and withdrew my hand. The fear that we might have been noticed Mandig too long in one place influenced us to move away. If fortune should favor the reading of that note, on our return we might find our scheme much more ripe for execu- tion. With this reflection, we glided silently from the spot. ; CHAPTER LXV. TO HORSE AND AWAY. @ur absence was of short duration—a turn to the tents and back again. While there, I had spoken a word to Wingrove and Sure-shot. I had warned my cemrades not to picket our horses at too great a distance from the tents; as we knew not how soon we might need them. Te seek an interview, we return a second time to the rear of the wagons. The candle was yet burning under the tilt. Its flame feebly illuminated the can- vas. We drew near with stealthy tread, taking netice that we were not observed. We stood once more by the end of the buge vehicle. We were raising eur eyes to look through the curtain, when at that instant the light went out. Some one had suddenly extinguished it. One might have regarded as an ill omen; bul, the moment after, we could hear a slight ruins sound, as of some one moving under the cover of the wagon, and passing along toward its hinder end. We stood silent, listening te the sound. It ceased at length; but, immediately after, the edge of the curtain was raised slowly, and without noise. A face appetnes in the opening, There was scarcely any light; but even through the grim darkness that lovely face gleamed soft and white. Marian stood nearest, and easily recognized it. Im a tender tone she pronounced the magic word: ** Sister !"’ ‘*‘Oh Marian! sister! is it you?” ‘* Yes, dearest Lil! But hush! speak low!’’ _ “Are you yet alive, dear Marian? or am I dream- ing?’ : “No dream, sister, but a reality.” ** But Ae, dear sister’ who is he that is with you?’’ I stepped near enough to repty in a whisper: * One, Lilian, who thinks of thee!” *Oh sir! Edward!—Edward—it is you!” “Hush!” whispered Marian, again interposing with a quick gesture of caution. whispers! Lilian!’’ continued she, in a firm tone, “you must fly with us!”’ ‘**Frem our father? Do you mean that, Marian?’ “From our fether—ay, even frem him!” | ‘*Oh dear sister! what will he say? what will he do, if 1 forsake him?— Our poor father!—”’ There was anguish in the tones of her voice, that teld of filial affection still strong and true, however much it may have been trampled upon. “Say and do?” <a! yas Marian. ‘ He will re- ag oe rejoice—when he knows the danger m which you have escaped. Oh sister! dear sister! believe me—believe your own Marian! A fearful fate is before you. Flight with us cam alone save you. Even fa of — villains who surround you, all will be well,’ “And our father, Marian?” **Ne harm will come to him. It is not his ruin they seek; but yours, sister, yours!”’ A ehoking sigh was all the reply I could hear. It which it had been long held. Had the words of . Marian produced conviction? or had they but con- firmed seme apprehension previously conceived? Was it the snapping of the filial thread I had heard in that anguished expression? Both the sigh and the silence that followed seemed to signify assent. To make more sure, I was about to add theinfluence | of a lover's | of my intervention, with all the ferven ps; when at | ‘” will soon be powerless to protect | . ou, a8 hawas lw protect me. Do not hesitate then, but say you will go with us? Once beyond the reach | The Wild Huntress. close-trimmed tonsure — despite both paint and shears—the dog had been also identified. Between him and his master the recognition was mutual. I saw this at a glance; and the speeches of the squat- » ter only confirmed what was already evident to the | | facing dead?” | see his thin lips quivering with excitement. eye. **Hang me, ef ‘tain’t my ole dog!” cried he, ‘‘ my ole dog Wolf! Hullo, Stebbins!" continued he, sharply round to the Saint; “ what's the meanin’ o’ this? Didn’t you tell me that he wur eas a sheet! and I could It was Stebbins bad turned | less fear than some other passion that was playing upon his featurss; and too easily could I conjecture the current of thought that was running through his brain. The presence of that animal must have called up a train of reflections, far wilder and stranger than those that were passing through the mind of the squatter; and I could perceive that he was making an effort to conceal his emotions. “Tis a ve in a tone o odd circumstance,’’ said he. speaking | assumed surprise—‘ very odd indeed! | 'It is your dog, certainly, though the animal has | been disfigured. I ‘hought he was dead, The men | , of our spring caravan told me so. They said that | the wolves had killed him.” ** Wolves! durn it, 1! mout’a’ know’'d they kudn’t ’a’ kiled him—not all the wolves on the parairies! Whar did he come from anyhow? Who's brought him | hyur?”’ I could see that Stebbins was desirous of parrying the question. He gave an evasive answer. ‘**Who knows! é has likely been in the hands of some Indians—the paint shows that—and preferrin the company of whites, he has followed us, an strayed into the ee “Did he come with them ‘ere Injuns that’s out- side?’ quickly inquired Holt. **No—I fancy not with them,”’ answered the Mor- _——- of the heavy emigrant train was sufficiently conspic- uous, and we were enabled to follow the back trac with precision. Our experienced guide could have conducted ug over it blindfold. That we were pursued, and hot] pursued, there could be little doubt. For my part, felt certain of it. The stake which Stebbins had hitherto held was too precious to be parted with on slight conditions. The jealous vigilance with which Lilian had heen guarded along the route—amounting, as I had inei- dentally ascertained, to a positive espionage—her yellow duenna at once acting as spy and protectress —all were significant of the intent already suspected by us, but of which the young girl herself was per- haps happily ignorant. he failure of his design—and now for the second time—would be a rude confve-lemps for the pseudo- apostle, and would no doubt endanger his expected promotion. Besides, he must have believed, or suspected, that Marian Holt still lived—that she had survived the exposure consequent on her escape from the first caravan—and this belief or suspicion would now be confirmed by the reappearance ,of the Gas Nay, it was almost certain that, on apes. the animal, the truth had suddenly flashed upon bim that Ma- rian was herself upon the ground, and that the t- ted countenance that had for the moment deceived him was that of his Tennessean bride. The abduc- | tion following upon the instant would not only con- mon, in whose glance I could detect the false- | hood | dians—and that should be su * Let's go an’ see!" proposed the squatter, making | a step toward the entrance of the corral. **No—not to-night, Holt!” hastily interposed the other, and with an eagerness that showed the inter- est he felt In procrastinating the inquiry. ‘“ We must not disturb them to-night. we can see them, and learn all about it.” ‘Why not to-night, instead o’ the mornin’?”’ ** Well—if you wish to know to-night, I'll go myself, and speak to the guide. No doubt, if the dog came with them, he can tell us all about it? You stay Ho, Wolf! ole fellur! In- Blame it, old boy! I’m as here till I return?”’ ‘Don't be long then. juns have had ye, eh? gled to see ye, as if—"’ In the morning, | i ' i ' | | An unexpected reflection was called forth by the | form of speech—not that to which he was about to give words—but one whose bitterness not Poe d hindered him from saying what he had intende ' but Gaused him instantly to abandon his caresses of _ passing on to another. | Object of these maneuvers. — the dog. Staggerin heavily down upon i § the same time burying his face in his hands. The expression upon the Mor- mon’s features, as he parted from the fire, was one of demoniac signifieance. Clearly he comprehended all! Lsaw him gliding off through the corral, with silent, stealthy tread, like some restless spirit of darkness. Here and there he paused; anc moment held one in conversation—then There was no mistak the As clearly as de- clared, I divined their,intent. He was summoning the ** Destroyers |” Not a moment was to be lost. I rushed back to _ the rear of the wagon, and with open arms gave ut- terance to my anguished appeal. But it needed not _ that; Marian had been before me. Both she and her sister had witnessed the scene within the corral. Both already foresaw the coming storm; and ere my lips could close, after delivering the impassioned speech, Lilian Holt lay upon my ‘Speak only in | | | | ' . bosom. It was the first time that fair cheek had pressed upon my shoulder—the first time those soft arms had entwined around my neck. Not for an instant dared I indu in the sweet embrace. If we lin- gered, it might be the last! To the tents—to the tents! I knew that the horses would be waiting. A signal already given should have warned my com- rades; and I had no conjecture, no fear about their being in readiness. As IL expected, we found them all—both men and horses—the steeds saddled, bridled, and enres f The Mexican was there with the rest. ‘The ap tion of the dog had given him his cue; and he had hurriedly _ returned to the tents. We thought not of these, nor of the other para- semen Tarn ap our mules nor their packs. Our ives and liberty alone concerned us. a Arab neighed joyfully as I sprung into the saddle, He was proud to carry that fairer form upon the crouv; and, as he bounded forward over the plain, his triumphant snort told that he under- | | stood the glorious service he was called upon to per- | form. appeared to be a signal that the spell was broken: | as if the heart had escaped from some thralldem in | moment some strange interjections reached | my ears, uttered within the inclosure. I stepped suddenly to one side, and looked over the wheels of the wagon. There I beheld a spectacle that caused the blood to rush through m MY veins in quick quivering current. Marian saw it at the same time. Holt had been seated near the fire, when seen but the moment before: but, as we now looked through, we saw that be had risen to his feet, and was stand- pes es am attitude that betrayed some singular ex- citement, The cause was easily expleined., The dog Wolf was leaping up against his legs— uttering low growls of recognitjon, and making other demonstrations of joy. é animal had iden- tified ite old master! Despite the stained snout and As we parted from the tents, we could see a num- ber of dark forms rushing out from the avenue, In the red glare their shadows were projectes far over the plain, even in advance of our the shadows of men afoot; and we soon galloped beyond them. The music had suddenly ceased, and the murmuring hum of the dancers had given place to shouts and loud cries that betokened a stampede in the Seen dy We could distinguish the voices of men calling to the horse-guards; and soon after, the quick tramp- ling of hoofs, as the animals were hurried up to the inclosure. But we had very little uneasiness about tne pur- suit. We were too well mounted to fear being over- taken; and, as we gallo off into the night, with confidence could we echo the cry of the bold bor- erer: They'll have fleet steeds that follow!” CHAPTER LXVI. SEEKING A CACHE. We rode direct for Robideau’s Pass. The night back to his seat, he dropped | for a | uickly | firm this belief but would redouble his eagerness in a pursuit that promised a recapture of both the victims who had thus unexpectedly escaped from his control, Though with different motives, it was natural that Holt himself should be equally eager to pursue. He might still know nothing about the presence of Marian or her disguise. To him it would simply appear that his other child had been stolen from the camp—carried off by In- cient to rouse him to the most strenuous efforts for her recovery. For these reasons we had no doubt about our being pur- sued, and with all the zeal and energy of which our apostolic enemy and his myrmidons were capable of putting forth. . Twenty miles separated the Mormon camp from the entrance to Robideau’s Pass. Nearly the whole- of that distance we traversed at a gallop. So far we had experienced no apprehension; but after enter- ing the pass, our foaming horses an to show — of fatigue. Those of Sure-shot and Wingrove, that were weaker than the rest, manifested symptoms of giving out. Both were evidently broken, and with- out rest could go no further. This produced a new uneasiness, We presumed that the horses of owr pursuers would be comparatively fresh—after their long rest at their encampment—while ours had not only made a considerable journey the day before, but on that same day had passed over fifty miles of ground— twenty of itin a gallop. No wonder they were man- ifesting signs of distress. Shortly after entering the pass, we drew up ft: deliberate. By continuing onward, we should be almost certain to be overtaken, This was the more probable, from the keen pursuit we had reason to anticipate. Toremain where we were, would be to await the coming up of the enemy—no doubt in such number as would render our capture secure; and any attempt to defend ourselves would be idle as fatal. It was no longer with Indians we should have to deal—no longer with lances and arrows—but with strong bold men, armed like ourselves, but far out- numbering us. To conceal ourselves within the rorge, and permit our pursuers to pass, might have served our purpose for the time—had there been sufficient cover. But neither the rocks nor trees offered an advantageous hiding-place for our horses. The risk of their being discovered appeared too great. We dared not trust to such a slight chance of security. Within the } it was not ible to part from the trail; and on discovering the condition of our horses, we regretted not having left it before entering. We even entertained the question of re- turning some distance; since we might leave the trail price a spur of the mountains in our rear. t this course appeared too perilous. Per- haps at that moment our pursuers might be enter- 3? Perhaps 4t that moment “ adown the ing the 3 e armed men”’—though as yet our ears glen - were not assailed by the sound of their trampling. orses. They were | - £0 still continued dark, but we had ne difficulty in find- . ing eur way. Even in the obscurity the deep trace : id ‘ : _moreover that be should be able to | difficulty. Fortunately, in this moment of hesitancy, a thought occurred to our Mexican comrade that prom to release us from the dilemma, He remembered, on one of his trapping expedi- tions, having discovered a ravine that led out of Robideau’s Pass on the northern side, It was a mere cleft cliff—just wide enough to admit the body of a man on borseback—but further up, it opened into a little plain or vallon, as the Mexican termed it, com- pletely girt in by mountains, These on all sides rose so repens from the plains, as to render it impossible for amounted man to scale them. The trapper had himself been obliged to return by the e—after having vainly endeavored to find a way jeading outward above, The va/lon was therefore a cul-de-sac; or, as the trapper in his native syno called it, a bolson. aa Our guide was of opinion that this olson would serve as a hiding-place, until we could rest our horses. He was confident that the entrance of the ravine was not far from where we had halted; and, nd it without His advice, therefore, was that we should seek the gorge; and, having found it, ride up into the valion, and there remain till the followin night. The pursuit might pass in the meantime, and return again; but whether or not, our animals would then he rested; and even should we again encounter the pursuers we might hope to escape, through the superior speed of our horres, The plan was feasible, There was but one objec. tion that struck me: and I offered it for the consider- ation of our guide. The vaWov, as he had stated, was @ cul-de-sac. Should we be /rucked into i, there would be no chance of retreat: we should be taken as in a trap? : : * Carramio!” exclaimed the Mexican, in answer to my suggestion, ‘‘ no fear of being tracked by such curs as they. They know nothing of that business. Not one of their whole fraternity could follow the track of a buffaloin snow-time. Curramlo! No.” S) ts 700 > aa, re ial oe ead _——- ~ a ee tl oe Smee il \ com