Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 4 — page 2: what you’re looking at

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

2 | | The Great Shanghai of the Northwest BY PHILIP 8S. WARNE, CHAPTER I. A CLOUDED LIFE. On the Minnesota border! Rock!—above, ‘around, below—with here and there a gleaming point of crystal, like a star set in a dun ent. Here a tapering pendant, with its corresponding cone beneath; yonder a column whose slender shaft was fashioned by no human hand; further on an arch, Lke the vault of some rude fane of eld. In the center of the apartment appear the re- mains of a recent fire, and, scattered around, a scanty stock of cooking utensils, such as are used by men who bestow litile thought on the elegance of a repast, provided it gives strength to their bodies. The walls ‘are adorned with ap- urtenances of the chase, hanging from jagged rojections or resting on ledges; and skins were stretched upon the rocky floor to serve as couches. The-sole occupant, of this-weird- abode is a young man of perh five-and-twenty. In dress he is not unlike others of his class, his stout jerkin and leggins, his belt with its array of pistols, knife and hatchet, and the never- taiting rifle that leans agains tlie wall within reach, clearly indicating his calling. In feature however, he is seen to be intellectual far beyoud the common hunter. He is pacing the apartment with bowed head, a frown of pain knitting his brow, and his firm lips shaken by emotion.. ‘It is folly to think of these things,” he mur- murs; ‘‘and yet the panorama of my clouded life crowds upon me so to-day. . ‘*How my soul yearns over its irreparable loss in that no recollection of a mother’s smile = about it, laring it to higher and better things. Alas! I never felt that sacred touch upon my brow. Those lips—like to no other li —never pressed a mother’s kiss upon mine. No kindly eye brightened in sympathy with m joy; no realy ear bent to catch my chil sorrow; no loving bosom waited to receive my aching head. ‘““The cold tolerance of hér who played this t toward me taught me, by contrast with the ove I saw lavishsd. upon my more fortuyate companions, how much I had lost in being de- prived of this holiest, best gift of God to man. ‘‘ But most crushing of all was the knowledge that those to whom I should have looked for ex- amples of virtue and uprightness were utterly unworthy of the sacred office they held. How could [honor a man, every sentiment of, whose coarse nature did violence tomy sense of right —how obey one who held in contempt all law human and divine? An unbeliever in God an man—a scoffer of virtue and right—an outlaw —my father! ’ ny ‘“ Yet he was not satisfied with this. He must endeavor to instill into my min: those pe wrious notions by which those like him seek to excuse, if not justify, thoir evil deeds. He must try to oar me into the terrible gy live an out- cast, preying upon society, and re ying its kicks with hatred andes injuries. And’ ly was he seconded by the woman, worthy partner of such a man. : 8 ‘‘But I tore myself away from the home I learned to loathe, resolved to shake off the trammoels of shame and t and wretchedness, one mark out for myself a higher and better e. “My heart, reaching out blindly for truth, while surroundel by only the worst phases of our imperfect nature, gave to its ideal of human excellence and virtus an exalted place—too high, porayes for, while every iristinct of my nature ed me to seck companionship, how few could I find to equal my standard! : “Tt was thus, then, that I mef thee, sweet Blanche! Ah! how well the name befitted thy white soul! In theo were every virtue, eve ace. In thee I beheld mother, sister—nay, all hat. my heart had hungered for in those years of loncliness and misery. ‘But no, ittcould not be, They told me that fond parents had linked thy fate with that of another; that hand in hand you had traversed the sunny paths of childhood and youth, bloom- ing into perfectness for one another. Oh! how I envied him his lot—to share with thee tha bape years of this world, the eternity of the nex ‘* At first I was stunned, paralyzed. I felt no pain, I only knew that my heart wa crushed. ut that i, to be succeeded by a storm of agony that swept my soul. ‘‘ My heart cried out against this cruel de- mand, and would not give up its one cherished ag its only hope. But I thought of the right- ul heir of this heritare. Should the hand of the iayerloper despoil him of his pearl of price? Where were those high poe ples of honor vhich Ihadrequired of my ' The Kidnapper Al ellow-men? I, whoa The New York Library. a i eee hundred times had told myself that all, should be cheerfully given up at the behest of uty. I was rebelling, when called upon™to make a single sacrifice, Ah! but it was the sum of all in one!” : Suddenly he stopped in his hurried walk and clasped his hands in air above his upturned face, while great béads of sweat stood on his brow and hot tears blinded his eyes. ‘Oh! Blanche! Blanche!” he cried, ‘‘ little do you know thé anguish of this crushed and bleeding heart! And yet I would suffer it all, all—nay, a hundredfold intensified, for that one Fac of heaven before this utter, rayless ni is white face dropped into his hands, and for a time his frame quivered beneath the lash of H ila Then dashing aside his tears, he said: “T am a child to Eve way thus. - I thought that I was strong, and here I find myself givin free scope to my emotions. But a strange m has come over me to-day and betrayed me into this weakness.’ It seems as if some momentous event was impending. I can’t understand it. I'll rid myself of it.” ° Going to a place in the cave where a little stream trickled from the rocks. and fell in a ba- sin, he plunged his head into the water several times, removing in a measure the evidences of his recent excitement, He: was litre intereupted by the scarcely audi- ble sound of a footfall in one of the passages. Looking up, his eye met the form of a man who was chiefly remarkable on account of his Shortnes® of stature, and the odd” appearance presented by a pair of bowed hay build he was stout, with ig ie br shoulders and long, sinewy arms. His face, deeply bronzed by exposure, where it was not covered by a shag beard, bleached to a sandy yellow about the mouth; wore an expression of frankness and honesty. A man of india-rubber and steel, he was a valuable friend, but a formidable foe. Upon. discovering him, Walter Weston greeted him with some rise. “Th, Bantam! k again?” ** Ay, boy. I’ve found work for you that’ll Re to your mind, I’m thinkin’. But where’s f i “Gone to restock our larder. We're getting short, you know.” ~ ‘‘Hum! I rather counted on Shang. If it wouldn't take time to look him rp that we hain’t got to spare—” ‘* Nonsense, Bantam!” interrupted Walter, all eagerness for an adventure. ‘* You’re a small army in yourself; and T’ll do for the reserve, won't I? Come! lead on—lead on!” . ‘*Not so loud, ye young rattle-pate!” cau- tioned Bantam, reprovingly, yet good humor- edly; for he regarded Walter with much of that chivalric love which man usuall¥ accords to woman, but which not infrequently springs up in the breasts of rude men like him for other men of higher culture and refinement. ‘Oh! I’m as mum as a last-year’s bird’s nest,” was the laughing rejoinder, an unusual flow of spirits coming as a reaction from the emotion of a fegy, minutes before. when they had emerged from the cave and stood looking at a footprint which Bantam pointed out, a thered in Walter’s eyes, and for a moment his = trembled, as his thoughts reverted to her who was ¢ to his mind yy * ‘Tt is the f rint of a delicately nurtured woman, Bantam,” he said. *‘‘ The is too deep to have been made by a shows the foof to have been ex and shapely. ~ - | “Ay, boy; one as ain’t used to trampin’ in the bush. "The trail looks as if she war tuckered out, poor thing. tracks has dew in ‘em, which shows that they was made last night. Them Injin tracks was e this morn- in’., I reckon she escaped from them, an’ they’re follerin’ arter her ag’in. If they ketch her, an’ o’ course she can’t git fur, they may put her out o’ the way o’ cuttin’ stick ag’in.” : “Tet us hasten to her aid,” said Walter, ner- vously. ‘We may be in time to save her from the Sioux.” “Hark!” cried Bantam, asthe report of a rifle broke on the air. ‘“* What can it mean?” Walter, ‘‘ There it goes again! For heaven’s sake, come on!” Jest keep yer shirt on, wy cantankerous friend!” cautioned Bantam. ‘“‘ We can’t runa foot-race to whar the gal is, an’ that’s, sartain.” While he was ing a chorus of yells burst on the air, followed by a rifle-shot and a woman’s shriek of mortal terror. » sade ‘““My God, they’ve shot her!” cried Walter, and with a wild foreboding in his heart he dash-' The scout bound: | ed along the trail at headlon With something like an oa | t ed after him, ant clutched him by the collar: of pression hild, yet it ly small all | a Se his jerkin. ‘tarnelation!” he cried, ‘‘ whar’s your wits?” One would think you was a hul rigiment o’ reg” lars, an’ bullet-proof at that, by the way y “Let me BO, tam! (It may be she! . The Sioux have been raiding the border lately! Oh God! if it should be Blanche!) Let me go, i say. 1 must go to her defense whoever it is.” , a Vol, I, a ae oe ‘Not in that harum-scarum fashion, I reckon, We've got to make tracks. Don’t you hear? they’re comin’ this way. That shot was much nearer than the other ones.” Walter yielded, seeing the good sense of the other’s words. Leaving,the trailatrightangles, they had proceeded scarcely a dozen rods when the scout crouched down, dragging com- panion after him. | CHAPTER'IL | AN AMBU SH A country road in. Western Minnesota. Blanche Burbank, our heroine, attended on horseback by Burly Ben, a ical borderman. The “~ é rides a noble animal, sleek of side and lithe of limb, which, because of its speed and beauty, she has christened Selim. In stature she is not above the medium hight; _ there is page her erect meres an e steady light of her gray eye which, ina moment of danger, would make her looked up to by most women. Just now her eyes are dimmed by a slight shadow, like the reflection of a cloud in a calm, pellucid pool, while her com ion rere ** We must hie us home at a round pace, Miss Blanche; for ll warrant Master Hal is imypa- tiently were for us at home, evennow. A brave lad and a true is Master Hal,” pursues Burly Ben. He has been attached to the young man from his very birth, and is never tired of sounding his praises, little dreaming that they my Possib prove less entertaining to another. But on this o¢¢ision® heads talking to Hal’s betrothed, and she is of course to listen ws oy en anything said in her lover’s favor; so he con- tinues: . “ Ay, a brave lad andatrue. Not takin’ so much to the woods, mayhap, asI should like; but for all that as gallant a‘lad as ye’d meet 'twixt daylight and dark. When he was a wee bit of a thing, I promi his father, the major, as I'd stan’ by him while wood growed and water run; an’ I’ve done’ it, I have, an’ always will ‘You have ever shown a great love for Major Bearsley, Ben,” remarked Blanche; and a close observer might have surmised that it was with a view of changing the subject of the other’s dis- course. ‘‘Hain’t I, though?” replied Ben, enthusiasti- cally. “Ah, Miss Blanche! it was a sore day tains. Hal was a wee bit of a chick “an’ y« hadn’t seen the lighto’day. Wehad just got: our harvest an’ was expectin’ him hcme wes day, when one o’ the Sioux that he took wit him—they was friendly in them. days—ccme an’ told us how their party had been attacked, an’ the major an’ Tom 2 scalped a lot o’ the Sicux when the major went on that trip over the mour was tomahawked an’ sc | “We was a sad lot r such news. Tom Tracy was,a poor stick, an’ there was little grievin’ on his account; Fapr wal bie as know- ed the major felt as if they’d lost their best rien While conversing, they had . penetrated a int where the road was bordered on either band by a dense growth of timber, the trees in- terlacing their branches overhead and envelo ame way in twilight, when Blanche Soidenty re her horse aside, exclaiming with startled eyes yes: | ; “Ben, what is that? Did you see nothing?” ‘Eh! | What?.-Where?” ‘‘There, atthe side of the road. I thought J saw something glide kehind yonder bush. Byt of coursé I was m 2 7 PD not like you, Miss Blanche, to be scared a Before he could conclude the sentence, the crack of half a dozen rifles rung out on the air, ed by a burst of demoniac pelle. The next instant the road was filled with cark forms, hideous with paint, and_all the wild parapher- nalia of the sa; on the war-path, each bush and coppice to yield its warrior. “ Avr ambush!” ejaculated Pen, as his horse ed-a cry of pain and swerved to one side, ted by the cark objects that sprung into view, as if out of the very ground. ‘ Are you hurt, Ben?” asked Blanche, ‘‘No. Keep straight for hcme. Look out for a leap!” _ ; And Mere a pe a he fomee his whip across Selim’s eyes, and almost simultaneous] dealt him a stingi ing cut cn the flank, . mal eared at the fst, ow, and pinged = d at the second, with a force that y un- be Blanche, though she had instin el} apprehended Ben’s warning, and taken the eT this precaution. All took but an instant of time—the re- u port of the rifles—the a ~ance of the savages epee Toren te hee midlets, Balm, eaped forward to. g1 e-rein ‘them all at a -bound dashed away a ’ ‘ing his iniswrens bereee their reach. One of the fittans hurled she saw it coming, and mag bp the weapon passed er ' As for Ben, at the first discharge he felt a bul- let pierce oye and another graze his temple, Comicbooks" . } |