Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 22 — page 3: what you’re looking at

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

the blocks, benches, and various belongings of the hut, stopped, and nothing reached the ears of Bernard save @ faint and gasping sound of respiration, and that presently ceased. magine such a situation: a vast wood on the borders of civilization ; a night black and tempestuous; solemn thunder rumbling afar off, and white sheets of lightning illuminating at intervals the sombreness of the sky and the murky depths of the forest; a hut built of tim- ber, the roof covered with the rift of the pine, the boughs of the cedar and hemlock; two small compartments within ; a primitive chim- ney at one side, built of stones and sticks ; dark- ness pervading all; men actuated by sordid, brutal passions, waging deadly hostility against two fellow-travelers upon the same tortuous road of life. Picture the horror of the positions —the uncertainty that prevailed—the thrilling circumstances that surrounded Bernard Ross and the fair creature beside him. Consider that love had sprang into existence with his perii— been born within the very jaws of death. The light form hung heavily on his arm. fler helplessness, her dependence on him, gave both strength and daring. He listened. Why was it so wonderfully still? Were they all dead? Had they tugged out each others’ lives in the darkness? No; the man he had throt- tled began to move; he gasped in the pains of returning life. The form beneath his foot stir- red ; a great tremor went over it, and Ralph Quimby sprang to his feet, as if moved by au- tomatic machinery. The silence was disturbed by a _— and au- thoritative knocking. Bernard heard it with oy. if Come in!’ he cried, still sustaining the trembling form of the girl. Immediately, an effort was made to open the door, and a gruff voice answered : ‘ Better unfasten the door, mister! This old 088 don't keer to be fooled such a night’s this. ’'Tisn’t comfortable bein’ out when you can’t see your hind sights, and it’s so wet you can’t keep your powder ary. Make haste, I sa,, or down goes your door !” “If you are a good man and true, you can’t come in too soon; so down with the door, as _ speedily as yau please,” replied Ross. Suddenly inspired with strength, the girl darted from Bernard noiselessly through the darkness, and instantly he heard the bolt of the door pushed back. “ Well, here’s a crow’s nest!'’ said the person vho had just spoken. “Candles are mighty scare this way, I reckon. Better strike a light, some of ye!” “ Nathalia — Nattie! Mind what you do!” exclaimed Ralph Quimby, rallying hia scattered faculties. “ We don’t want no light here. Go away! ‘The storm is nearly over, and I don’t care to be disturbed in my own hut at this time of night.” ‘What kind of a niggur do you call youmeelt, ‘\oss? Blackfoot or Rapaho, a’n’t ye? Never been up in the mountains, I take it. We don’t ‘,"+e folks the cold shoulder thereaway, long’s we have a blanket to spare. We give sich as ~ we has, and makes the lost and starvin’ trapper comfortable as possible. Wah! Hullo, gal? that’s it. We want somethin’ o’ that natur’ as much as ever wet and hungry critters did.” The girl whom Quimby had called Nathialia, had produced a light, which circumstance had drawn the last remark from him of the gruff voice. The struggling rays of the lamp reveal- ed the person of the latter standing near the door, while just behind him, on the threshold, were two other figures, one being that of a man well matured, the other of a youth of seventeen or eighteen. The scene that presented was of a character so strenge and startling, that no one spoke for armoment. On the floor, a few paces from the foremost of the unexpected party, lay the miner, the half-murdered man who had so suddenly returned to life and seized the ham- mer that had fallen from the hands of Stratton. These two had contended till they fell into 4 swoon, from sheer exhaustion and loss of blood. Their fingers still grasped each other. Look- ing at them from a short distance, one could ‘not determine whether they were dead or alive. About three feet from them, face upward, his head toward the hearth and his feet to the bed, _ was stretched the form of Nat Stratton, givin no indications of life. There was a little poo of blood under his neck. © Ralph Quimby was standing on the stone- hearth besids extinguished brands, his arms folded upow his chest, and his seowling Whitelaw. 3 brows end gray eves bent on the new-comers. | committed. Ralph Quimby, give up your arms Bernard Ross and Nathalia formed the back- ground of this extraordinary picture. “Who are you ?” demanded Quimby, fierce- ly, of the man in the foreground. “‘J’m a catawemptious catamount ! tough old hoss from the mountains! devil and all! I’m Satan let loose for a season, I’m Kid Kerly. Wah!” “Do ‘bbe want anything of me ?” asked Ralph. ‘Nothin’ special. As for looks, I ha’n’t no great likin’ for ye ; and ag for eatin’, a buffler’s rib would go better, any day. Wah!” I'm a The man bebind Kid Kerly now advanced. | thrustin’, and sheddin’ blood? Although thick masses of grayish hair fell upon his face and neck, his form was straight and un- bent, bis features but lightly written over with Cast that knife upon the floor, and deliver to any of these parties the pistol in your pocket.” “He who gets my knife will get only its blade !”’ growled Quimby. ‘‘ Who dares to take I’m the | “J dare!” cried Kid Kerly. “If asked te do it, I'll take not only your weepons, but your | the lines of Time. His eyes were dark, set | deeply beneath ar expansive forehead, anc un- commonly brilliant. poorly clad. A brownish blouse, encircled at the waist by a leathern strap, reached nearly ‘oe the knee. .He wore heavy top-boots, under which his trowsers were tucked. His head was covered by a low, broad-brimmed, soft hat of felt, storm-beaten and abraded by much use. tle was apparently unarmed ; while the burly mountain-man beside him carried a rifle, greasy and black, and the youth a weapon of the same kind, though of lighter make. sternly. ‘“ What evil passions have been at work ?” He pointed at the prostrate forms. “Tem not accountable to you, sir!” answered Ralph Quimby. “I've a right to defend myself in my own hut, when beset by sneaks, and spies, and robbers.”’ ‘‘ Tt’s an evil trade, Ralph Quimby, that brings you to deeds like these,’’ returned the other. “Sir!” “Call me Whitelaw !"” he said, sharply. “ Whitelaw, or madman, or Hermit of the Lake Shore, I care not which !” sneered Quim- by. ‘“ Keep out of my way ; that’s all.” “No threats, mister!’ interposed he of the gruff voice. “I’ve eat tougher bull-meat nor you be, when put to’t by hunger. Wah!” “Young man,” added Whitelaw, fixing his keen eyes upon Ross, “can you explain this strange scene ?” — | “He can—he can!”’ cried Nathalia, making a step toward the questioner. e was coarsely and even | skulp. There’s a heap o’ fun in liftin’ ha’r, old hoss! If you've never practised the sport, go up "mong the red niggurs and try it. Hi i “Is this the killer that kills?” interrupted ‘‘Is it he who has been cuttin’, and Say the word, Nattie, Nattie Owen. and I'll shoot him with my gun. _—they cal! you, Nattie, don't they? Shall I shoot ?” The crazy youth raised his gun, and pointed it at Quimby. “Be quiet, Owen. Lower your rifle, lad. You are too innocent to do the work of a hang- man!” inter; osed Whitelaw, quickly. The boy dropped the breech of the rifle upon the floor, saying : “Do you go out when the wind blows, Nattie ? When the birds sing, are you sad? Do you like thunder? Nattie, you shall see Owen hunt the deer. Owen will tell you lots of things which nobody knows, He 1s not afraid of the wolf; he can track and kill the panth-r.” “ What is the meaning of this?” he asked, | Nathalia regarded the boy with a fascinated gaze; so many changes swept over his counte- nance, and his eyes occasionally flashed up so wildly. Feelings of a new kind, which she could not well divine, stole upon her; she felt an in- terest in the mentally-bewildered youth. Raiph Quimby suddenly darted from his cor- ner and struck the light from Nathalia’s hand, hoving to make his escape in the darkness. “ Hi-vi!” cried Kid Kerly, with the whoop of _an Indian brave. And Quimby felttwo hands come down upon him like lion’s paws; he was lifted up and then dashed upon the floor, with a | force that shook the hut. ; ' “Thunder and lightnin’! This is almost.ae good as a Mexican fandango. Didn’t expect I should have any comfort of my life arter I'd got down as fur as old Superior. Rattle-snakes and perairie-dogs! Begin to feel as if I should have a good time. Oh for a brucsh!—a ran- tankcrous, up-and-at-it, shoot-and-em, dodge. - and-scramble, hand-to-hand skrimmage for bos- he attention of the latter was instantly | dravn to the young girl. affected by her presence ; her youth and beauty, doubiless, conned his heart. He contemplated her steadily. ‘* Nattie, Nattie, beware!” admonished Quim- oy, with a menacing glance at Nathalia. rath sua beats ‘to take out his wie | ses, skulps, peltries, and squaws! Wah!” “Have you got him!” asked Whitelaw. “ As fast as a beaver inatrap! I've a notion rib for supper,” replied Kerly, seizing Ralph by the hair, and thumping his head upon the floor. — By this time Nathalia had relighted the lamp, and Kid Kerly was discovered sitting astride of At that moment the youth moved forward. | Quimby's broad shoulders. und stood between Whitelaw and the maiden; the light she held in her hand fell on him with its pale and fitful rays. gularly handsome, bis eyes full of wild melan- choly, his mouth small and feminine. His hair hung like elf-locks over his forehead ana cheeks, quite down to his shoulders. It was unkempi, straight, black, glossy. His garments were sim- ple and poor enough; an old frocx, torn in innumerable places, hung loosely about his slight figure. Upon his feet were Indian mocca- sins, his lower limbs being encased in trowsers of doubtful fabric, so long had they clung to the Jad in his wanderings to and fro. His head was crowned with a cloth cap, fantastically orna- mented with feathers of the wild asker A heavy coil of evergreen: encircled his waist and passed up over his left shoulder. The appear- ance of the youth was ceytainly fantastic. He began to speak. His voice was soft and monot- onous, his sentences hurried, and sometimes dis- connected. “Tt isn’t a new face,” he said. “I’ve seon it again and again—in the air, in the stars, in the moon, and all about. Ha, ha! She don’t live ‘in one place ; sometimes she paddles on the wa- ter, in a white canoe, and sometimes she wan- ders on the lake-shore. Owen knows her—-Owen has followed her. Ha, ha! Owenand his devil!” The lad siopped and looked wildly at the motionless body of Stratton. “The thunder tnunders, and the lightnin lightens,” he added, “and the killers kill! wouder who killed these? Did you kill them, protty one?” “Come away, Owen. Stand back, lad,” said Whitelaw, gently. ‘« Fasten that door,” said Bernard. “ Let no one escape. This villain” (turning to Quimby) ‘‘ must have his deserts. His features were sin-* | / There has been a fou! | there mustn't be nothin’ said agin a beeverage “Take away his arms,” said Bernard. “Sartin!” responded Kerly. And, turning the ruffian over, who was stunned and bewildered, he deprived him of his knife and pistol. At this juncture, Brower, the man whom Ber- nard had half-strangled, arose to his feet, and, gering forward, showed a purple face and bloodshot eyes. He leaned against the wall jor support, and looked, with a half-conscious siare, those around him. “Let us see what can be done for this por fellow,” said Bernard, hastening to the almost- motionless form of him who had 80 opportune- y risen from the dead, as it were, to aid him. e raised his head upon his knee, felt his pulse and heart. “ He lives! must not die !”’ “Do for him ?” said Kerly, springing like a monkey from the shoulders of Quimby, and pulling a flask from his pocket. “ Anold pacin’- oss from the mountains knows what to do, I allow! Bless ye, here’s somethin’ that'd bring a dead Digger to life; and them is the slowest, and lowest of all Injuns. Why, it's the nat ral blood of a feller bein’! I've knowed a trapper that’s been without his ha’r two days, to cue round by the bare smell on’t, and git right up Whatcan be done forhim? He and walk, arter swallerin’ Jess nor a quart. Clap the nozzle to his gills, and |. t her went.” “I'm afraid it will strangle him,’ said Ber- ard. “It’s the nat’ral elements, I tell ve! You never knowed the nat’ral elements to strangle a pe'son, did ye 2? Haven'tthe reg’lar drinks been my habitua’s for goin’ ou forty year? Come now, youngster, don't go to disparage the hatn- vals. I'ma patient, Christian feller critter ; but attempt at crime, if it bag not actually been Sat has stood by me when | cvuldu’t stan’ by | JOO com cs G (ECO) mt]