Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 38 — page 15: what you’re looking at

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

— the ‘love thaf he bears you. He forgives the bad white men who stole his land away; he forgets the blood of the warlike Shastas, shed like water in his behalf; your face has been big medicine to him; the daughter of the red McClouds will go back to her people and tell them that it is useless for them to attempt to take the great velvet chief from the white lodges,” Blanche listened in utter bewilderment to this speech. What had impressed the girl with the belief that she exerted such an influence over the Velvet Hand? And, what manner of man was he, in truth? From the Indian girl’s recital he had in the past acted the part of a hero, and yet at present he was apparently playing the lover to her waiting-maid, the peon girl. “Why do you couple my name with that of the man whom you call the, great velvet chief?’ the Californian girl asked, her eyes flashing and her bosom heaving. “T have never met him but once in all my life; he is almost a total stranger to me!” “Did not the Water-bird see the meeting between you to-day by the river?’ the Indian girl replied. ‘‘Is the daughter of the McClouds blind that she cannot detect the light of love in the eyes of the man for whom she would give her heart’s blood, drop by drop? For your sake the great velvet chief refused the offers of my father—for your sake he will dwell here in the white lodges, a common brave only, when by right he should be chief over all. Hula-ha-ha is satisfied now; she will go back to her people and tell them that while the pale squaw lives the great velvet chief will not desert the white village.” And then, shrouding herself in her blanket the girl stalked away, disappearing as suddenly and as unceremoniously as she a appeared, leaving the Californian girl a prey to bewildering oughts, The Jndian maid had plunged into the scrubby timber border- ing the foot-hills, and had been lost to sight almost immediately in the dark shadows, Blanche hardly knew what to think of this strange interview. It was plainly evident that the dusky maid fully believed that she spoke the truth, when she declared that but for her, Blanche, the velvet chief would have joined fortunes with the red braves, the masters of the lava rocks and the great northern wilderness, but the thought was folly! What was she to him, or he to herf e came near the cottage at all it was to woo the waiting-maid, Zimena, and the proud, beauty smiled.in scorn at the thought, The night was growing apace; she turned to enter the house, and was amazed to behold a tall, dark form advancing slowly around the corner of the cottage, It was an Indian—a brawny chief wrapped up closely in a rag- ged blanket, He ducked his head gravely upon perceiving that he was recog- nized, and uttered the salutation so common to the half-civilized red-man of the West. “How?” The, well used to the Indians from early childhood, per- ceived at a glance that this brawny brave was no Californian vage; no red-skin west of the Rocky Mountain range ever A such a build. Upon the appearance of the chief the thought that he was a companion of the girl naturally occurred at once to the senorita, and the Indian soon put that idea to flight. “Bad squaw—McCloud girl,” he said, gravely, nodding his head in the direction taken by the Indian maid. “Chief watch her erat ot mébbe she do bad—keep eye on her, you bet, bully y Blanche then understood that the red-man was claiming to act as a protector. “*Do you know her?” she asked. ““Mebbe yes—not much—bad egg! no good McCloud but dead McCloud! Chief seé her come—see her creep like wild-cat— think, mebbe, she mean bad—chief ‘ante’ up too; she no ‘pass,’ he eae in’—all good white men say chief old, tough son-of-a- This was the most peculiar savage that the girl had ever seen. “What tribe is the chief?’ asked Blanche, curious to know from whence he came, cut Cte es + off—imany sleeps away. O-warhe isa aU amon ople—like whi ; Ww chi On Rin MeadGutie 8 ee oe ee ee The girl had never encountered a member of the Blackfoot nation before, and therefore it was no wonder that she did not recognize the stranger’s nation, “Chief hungry,” continued the brave, impressively; “like grub —much grub, mebbe—s’pose white squaw gives chief fodder, be watch—see that bad MeCloud squaw no come back.” “Certainly; come with me.” Blanche conducted the red-man into the kitchen where his ar- rival papacen quite a sensation among the servants. Bidding the housekeeper provide a substantial meal for the red- skin the girl withdrew to the privacy of her own apartment, there to meditate in solitude over the strange events of the day. Mud-turtle had astonished the servants by his uncouth appear- , ance, but he still more astonished them by his enormous appetite and the wonderful command which he possessed over the miner’s slang common to the mountain region, hen the housekeeper, an aged dame of uncertain temper, told him that he was as big as an eléphant, and could eat as much, he replied placidly that the statement was “too thin,” and that she had better “‘ walk off on her ear.” _ yi And then, when the hostler of the establishment, a wily little Mexican, took a fancy to a peculiar tobacco-pouch which the In- dian wore, about the only thing really that was of much value t the chief posséssed, and expressed a wish to purchase it, the dian whipped out a déck of dirty cards from some hidden recess and offe O play a game of poker, the Mexican to stake a cer- tain sum of money against the article, © : — Velvet Hand. 15 Now, as the hostler rather prided himself upon his skill with cards, he gladly accepted the challenge, but the nimble-fingered Sanchez was a very bungler compared to the stolid savage, for cheat as outrageously as the Mexican could, the chief cheated still better, and within half an hour Sanchez had lost every valu- able that he possessed. And then, as if sighing for new worlds to conquer, the savage folded his blanket around him and stole away, his stomach full and his pockets well lined, thanks to the hostler’s desire to gos- sess the tobacco-pouch. CHAPTER XIX, LET UP, OLD MAN. Tu dusk of the evening shades was falling fast upen the tuwn of Cinnabar. The miners were begirining to pour iuto the tewn, fresh from the mountain gulches and the toils of the day; the sa- loons were beginning to freshen up and prepare for business, for it is by night only that the saloon in the mining town does miuch trade; like some huge beast of prey it slumbers while the sun is hi Goo) Hand had just finished his supper in the restaurant of the Occidental, and was posing himself outside the hotel, leaning against the corner of the building, trimming his nails with the little pearl-handled knife, ever his constant companion. Like the saloon-keeper’s the gambler’s trade thrived only by night, and the keen-eyed Velvet Hand was waiting for the com- ing of the Californian in order to indulge in their nightly encoun- ter at the card-table. ‘He can't possibly keep on at this rate much longer,” Velvet Hand mused, in meditation, talking to himself after the fashion of men who make few friendships. ‘‘ At the rate he is going on, the earnings of the richest lode in California wouldn’t supply the dust, and I know that the mine is not doing much; and then, when he is shaken out, who will stand between me and mine? At last the Cinnabar lode will come back to me; not that I care to work it myself, for there are too many unpleasant memories con- nected with the spot, but no other man shall make money out of it And when his grip is forced from the mine, what thent— what is there left for him—and for her? Ah! these women are always in the way.” ‘‘ My lord dook!” cried a hoarse voice, close to the ear of the meditating man, ‘‘kin I b’lieve me eyes, or kin I not? AmI dreamin’, or is this a wakin’ hour, when things air as they seem an’ whisky is not?” Turning, Velvet Hand beheld the person of the redoubtable bummer, the veteran, Joe Bowers, “‘How air ye, me noble dook?” continued the vagabond, duck- ing, his head in graceful salutation, ‘“‘ Velvet Hand, ole pard, how goes it?” ** Well, what do you want?’ the sharp asked, abruptly, and with considerable asperity in his tone. ‘*Ye’re jist ole business, every time, ain’t ye?’ Mr. Bowers exclaimed, in. unbounded admiration. ‘Ah, pard! I reckon that you ain’t changed much, though you hev shaved off that big beard an’ h’isted on the velvet. togs. Now, by Saint Patrick! you look bully!” , Velvet Hand surveyed the bummer for an instant, a peculiar expression upon his face, and the vagabond, quick to read a man’s thoughts in his face, saw that the sharp was uncertain how to receive him. “As a friend, mighty satrap!” he hastened to exclaim. “ I’m with yer, tooth and toe-nail! Glad air these aged eyes that they look one’t ag’in upon yer noble face, an’ if you feel inclined te stand the drinks for the sake of old times, ’'m yer man, Neve be it said that ole Joe Bowers refused to h’ist. with a friend!” “A friend, eh?’ quoth Velvet Hand, doubtfully: ‘‘ well now I am not really certain that I am a friend of yours or that you are a friend of mine.” ‘“‘Not certain, me lord!” Joe Bowers exclaimed, pathetically. ‘“‘Oh! kin I b’lieve me own two lookin’ ears—kin I trist the eye sight of me smellers? Oh, rocks! think on the old time, when in cahoots we bucked ag’in’ Kentuck’s game an’ bu’sted his consarn. Mebbe it wasn’t a man about my size who warned you when the Egyptians came down ‘like a wolf on the fold!’ Oh, no! it was the man around the corner! The original Joe Bowers war not to the front! Who played ghost in the Cinnabar ldde and kept the miners out’n it, eh? Was it me or some other man?” “You think you know me?’ “Most noble dook! you kin bet ducats onto it!” cried Bowers, solemnly. ‘I knowed yer the moment I set me peepers on yer although I give you me word as a white man that 1 had an idea that you had quit the game and ‘cashed in your checks’ long ago.” “‘T guess I’m still in the flesh,” the sharp quietly returned. ‘6 Well now, I reckon that you air!” the bummer protested, ad- miringly. ‘‘I’d like to see the galoot that sed you wasn’t; he’d be my meat, or else my name ain’t Joe Bowers! Say! air you still keepin’ yer eye on the Cinnabar strike?” “Why do you ask such a question?” Velvet Hand inquired. ‘What is the Cinnabar mine to me?” ‘OTain’t as deep as a well nor as wide as a church door, but ‘tis enough,” replied the bummer, in his ridiculous, theatrical way. “Rocks, as I sed a min’ite ago, reckoned that you had quit the game long ago, an’ I constituted myself your heir.” “Indeed? is that so?” “True as preachin’, me noble dook; as you had lost yer grip on the Cinnabar lode, I reckoned that I could spit on my hands and wade in,” GOmiGdooks (EO) - Oe ——"s —_— a SE ee ae —— oe ee ee EMS. Tate. — i — =.=