Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 22 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

24 -— “ Show it to. me!”’ cried Travis. “You wouldn’t know it, lad: Tt was covered with @ moccasin of deerskin, with the’ hair on. Made it myself. Step this way. There—that’s the track.” | Neil examined the impression. ‘*Cordin’ to my notion, that proves one thing, vhich, is that. she’s been here. Well, what fol- ters? Why, that she’s either here or been tooken away. One of them things must be true. Tf she’s here, she must be hidden up pooty close. Tf she’s cone, we must foller. An’t that reason- able? Can vou talk any more to the p’int than that? Ifyou ean, speak. Wah!” . “That smacks of the mountains!” said Father Bradv. ‘It does mé good to hear you. “You remind, me of the times when I used to sit and listen to your long stories by the camp-fires of the fur-hunters. A man learns something even in the woods. We know what life is, my son. Many a juicy hump have we eaten’ together. Bless us, wasn't it delicious when roasted over a bright red flame, and eaten hungry ?”’ * Wah!” ) “Tien there was the excitement of danger ; it added sweetness to our simple fare.” “Vhen there was the habwua/s, Father Brady, which is the nat’ral elements, and added another sweetness !|’’ said Kid. | “Ah, thou heretic!” answered the priest, smacking his lips. | “To the devil with your camp-fires, stories, bumps, and habituals!” interrupted Neil Travis, losing patience. “The little track in the ashes won't spile ; it won't, by no means,” responded the imperturba- ble mountaineer. “ There’s no harm in talkin’ a bit, lad, specially with an old friend. Your business is goin’ on as fast as it cleverly can. Well, here’s a sort of a cupboard! ‘Here's shelves to put things on! Look, Travis; she stood here and took some’at out. Shoot me plum’ centre if she didn’t! She trod in the ashes, you see, which stuck to the moccasins and left marks right where you see my finger.” “Notice the sagacity of this heretic,” said Father Brady, admirfingly. . , ” ™ He sees what escapes other eyes,”’ answered Travis, struck by the cool perspicacily of the mountaineer. | ‘They go this way,” resumed the latter, as if talking to himself, “and here they end on the ~ ‘hard and stony floor.” | Kid Kerly drew pipe and tobacco from, his ouch, filled the bowl, lighted the weed, sat Tha and puffed away with the immobility of a sleep-walker. Neil Travis endured this as long as he could, then showed his disapprobation by fidgeting about and frowning, : ~~ “ Well?” he muttered. “ Hush!” ‘said the priest, in a. whisper. “Don’t interrupt him, for the world. He is deep—astonishingly deep! There never was an- other such heretic as Kid Kerly! Nota word!” Travis made a strong endeavor to eurb his restlessness. How could he repress his emo- tions while standing where Mary had so recent- ly trodden? Numberless conjectures and start- ling possibilities. whirled through his mind. Her despairing cries might have resounded through those subterranean windings. * Perhaps ’ ghe had ealled on. him. for. help. . Her, shrieks, perchance, had been stifled by ruffian hands, “Tf you ean follow a trail, my friend, for my sake, let us go,”’ he said, when he could no longer restrain his feelings. Kid knocked the ashes from his pipe and care- fully replaced it.in the skin pouth. Neil began to ascend the ladder. | . Kid walked father into the excavation, anu raising his voice, shouted: ‘Mary Danton ! Mey Danton !” ‘The young man paused in his ascent, hesitat- ed, and tien followed the mountaineer. “Mary Danton !” The name resounded from the walls as if it were a ball; echo tossed it to and fro. “If you’re hid anywhere, come out,” added Kerly. | ‘* A swallow’s nest couldn't have escaped out search !” said the lover, mournfully, Kid mov- ed along @ narrow passage. The glare of the torches in the small spice, made it seem in a laze. The stentorian lungs of the mountain- eer again sent forth the name—* Mary Dan- ton!” ” } | There wag & slight, gratin _of garments, and a fue fi ure flitted from the wall of rock. In one hand she held a lamp ; her long, black hair hung wildly over noise, a rustling ee SS EEE eee ee . ~~ we 4 ~~ . mee ee -—— —— her shoulders ; it fluttered to her face was’ pale and eager. - " ‘‘Mary! Mary !” cried Neil Travis. He start- ed forward ‘to embrace her, but his strength failing, he fell, faint as a child, at her feet.” ©» The girl uttered ‘a joyous ery, stretched out her hands, and’ sank, swooning, im the’ arms: of Father Brady, who bore her’ where the fresh air poured'dowp the open shaft.° Kerly raised Travjs, and giving him @ stout arm se der for support, aided him to follow, which he did with a feeble and staggering step: | The dis- covery proved nearly too much for his strength. Mary recovered before he was able to’ speak ; but his face expressed the joy of his heart. He held her hand, nor ‘attempted to hide the tears that rolled down his pallid cheeks. | Some time élaticed before’ Mary Danton was calm enough to give an account of what had happened eince falling into the hands of the miners. " Her auditors listened with” interest, praising her courage and ingenuity. emdtions wére quite overpowering. ‘The moun- taineer whispered in his ear. A bright flush ap- peared on his cheeks. Kid and Father Brady retired a short distance, leaving the lovers free to converse. They talked earnestly. He soon drew from her the story of her wanderings in the woods, of which the trapper had given’ him but a meagre account. ft “You have no protector, Mary ?” said Travis, by-and-by: | | “You will protect me, Neil.” “Tf you will give me the right, an a “What do you mean ” she asked, looking down. “©™Mary,” whispered Neil, softly, “ that man with the pleasant and happy-looking face 18 4 riest.”” | | “© my friend!” answered Mary, blushing. “Providence has brought us together. Let us put it out of the power of man to put us asunder. If you consent, place your dear hand in mine, Mary.” Miss Danton sat and trembled a moment, then gave Neil her hand. Father Brady saw this movement, and approached them. There was a beaming smile on his benevolent counte- nance. He grasped the two united hands in his, and held them together. «Jt is thus decreed, I think” he said. “ Arise, my children !” | They stood up. “So soon!” murmured Mary. “ Nota minute too soon!” said Kerly, stoutly Beneath the sullen, silent arches of the old copper-mine, on the shore of Lake ' Superior, Mary Danton afid Neil Travis were wed. All we need, now,” observed Father Brady, “is a wedding-dower. But I can do something for you, my children: I give you the whole world-to be happy in!” “Come this way,” said Mary, with a smile, ‘and I will show you the dower. Iam no por- tionless bride, as you shall see.” | She Sondusted them to the gold-seeker’s vault, where she had been concealed; thé were full of curiosity. She opened the safe in the wall, and said, pointing to the gold : “Behold the dower which Providence has sent me !” | She took a slip of paper from between the waist. Her dy, who read the following : “ Finding myself suddenly stricken and dying, 1 bequeath all my treasures to the person who shall be fortunate enough to find them, I have not a rela- tive in the world.” or ‘How often,” said Father Brady, reverently, ‘‘is seeming eyil over-ruled for good |” " ‘Mountains and trapsacks !” exclaimed Kid Kerly. “Here's luck, sure as shootin’! If things go on in this way, I sha’n't know hind- sights from fore-sights, by-and-by. Here’s a white sweetness and a heap o’ gold, all at one spring of the trap! Shoot me plum’ centre, if it don’t raixe my sperrits and make me feel i ag’in !” “My kind, honest friend,” answered Mary, with brimming eyes, “it is in my power to re- ward your generous services, I will show you the spot where this ore was obtained ; you, too, shall possess the gold-secret.' And not only that, but one of these boxes is yours.” : “My little gal, Kid Kérly fias smiall use for gold. He'll pass the remaindér of his life in a country where all the riches he needs grow spon- ‘taneyous. Your white palm, full o’ the glitterin’ dust, will buy me all the powder and ball I shall want to carry to the mountains, and per- haps @ new rifle, too, More’n ‘that, bless your heart! I don’t keer fcr, T wouldn't rob you, if Net's’ leaves of a book, and h«nded it to Fatlier Bra- | The New York. Library. t Pt shoul » - her tattere -_ I wanted gold never so much. I'd go and dig for it, tike’a man. Wah! Now let’s go up to the regions o’ daylight.” | “Tm a roe. bride,” said Mary, looking at garments, and smiling through her tears. | | bars | “Youre that, in right-down airnest !” affirm- ed Kerly, emphatically. “To be sure, your frock wants a little ketehin’ up here ‘an’ there, but he must be blind’ who ¢an't disearn’ your nat’ral beatity shinin’ from your face, atid mak- in’ you look sweet all over. You ’mind me’ of Milly—you do. There never was ‘such a’ red sweetness a8 Millv! Travis, my lad; put them boxes in'my trapsack ; I’m stronger, and better able to carry "em nor you be. You forgot that in the basin ; tarn if right in; the sack’s tight as a powder-hoia. How that would mike some folks’ @¢yes glisten — Ralph Quimby’s* for’ in- statice! ’Twould buy ‘a heap 0” powder wouldn’t it? The poor critter that died’ here,” added Kerly, presently, ‘‘ oughter have decent burial,’ leastwise.” © m 4 Os ‘“ He shall not be forgotten,” said Mary, seri- ously. , Gi The parties passed from the vault, carefully closing ‘the little stone-door after them, and were soon above ground, with the bright ‘and genial sun shining upon them. § ° 0" CHAPTER XXVI. SOMETHING OWEN CANNOT UNDERSTAND. It was not without a painful intertia)-struggle that Nattie of ‘the lake-shore left Owen's island- palace to meet Whitelaw, my been yr to the a pointment of the previous day. She thiught she had evaded Tawny, but when she had gone a short distance, she looked back and saw her following. She accepted the silent monitor, and walked on. Whitelaw was awaiting her « His ex- pression was’ more grave than ‘usual. The line which Owen had drawn on the ground, was stil] visible’; it had a moral for Nathalia ; it spoke to her as with an audible voiee.* She did not ¢crosa it. Whitelaw, also, was affected with the same feeling. Both ‘involuntarily stopped. Tawny glided between them; their greetings died on their lips. They strove to shake off the influence tliat came with the child. ’ ‘“ Nathalia,” asked / Whitelaw, “ have you thought?” y tov de * T have !”’ she murmured. “ Are you prepared to speak plain this thing be? Shall we walk ‘nadie through life together ?” . * You ask,” answered Nathalia, “ what I can- not answer. It is much thatryou ask.” Reflect on the shortness ofiour acquaintanee ; ponder the importance of this decision. What consequences hang’on a word! I have been foolish ; our in- timiacy has grown too fast. Modesty, prudenee, forbid me to gofurther. Drive from your mind the thought of a nearer relationw: Be content with calling ‘me your daugliter. I feel’ within me that what you wish, can never, never be.” “The disparity of ages is something, I know. — ’ ? Shall in hand That I deserve not such a treasure, I also feel. ; ' | But would it‘not be better that vou should have a legal protector in me? + Refleet on your lone- linéss ; eal! to-mind»the fearful guardianship of Ralph Quimby.” . ve ‘j Whitélaw spoke with earnestness. * Allthis has occurred tome. I have reflected till my head aehes with the effort,” she replied. ‘‘T cannot, I dare not,:press you! Ihave seen Ralph; he is willing, nay, he is anxious that a new relation should subsist between us.”’ “4 Av pufficient reason,” returned Nathalia, quickly, “that we should thitk no more of it. * f he proposes it, it is time that we! reject it. Yoéu:knéw ‘not the evil that-is in him. my friend, now L believe in the interdict of Owen ! Did you ever now Ralph Quimby before? Have ou any remembrance of his countenance ?” “Nothing clear and distinet... Sometimes I sce’a vague similitude to a face and person that I bave somewhere met; but it is: such a fray- ment of memory that I can make nothing of it. I confess that he often «ffeetsme unpleasantly.”’ “ You recollect that you sat by me one night when I was illafter I had that frightful fall. I watched his eyes. when you did not see him ; they seemed to me full of hatred.” “Strange!” murmured) Whitelaw.” Your troubled: mind may have given a wrong inter- pretation to his expression.” va Nathalia was silent. “Did you ‘ag mto the mine?” Whitelaw asked, suddenly. | | | Nathalia shuddered ; her sweet face became sa She made # pushing motion wth her ands, Gomicboo G CS