Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 4 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

No, 4, must git you out o’ this. Come! let mo take you on my back.” ‘‘Save yourself, Bantam. You cannot escape incumbered by such a burden.” ‘‘ An’ leave you to the Soos? Burn me, if The Kidnapper Ido!” While <p he raised Walter to his feet; turned and mounted him on his back; and made off through the woods as rapidly and as noise- lessly as he could. But he had ervcemied scarcely a dozen rods, when one hand suddenly relaxed its hold on Walter, and the scout stumbled and fell. While going down he caught sight of a puff of smoke at no great distance on his left, and beside it the face of a white man firing at him excitedly, but he did not hear Hal’s exultant comment on the result of his second shot: ‘Two, by heaven! and the dog dropped like a stone, I had nothingagainst him; but he might have been dangerous to me.” He shuddered, as he sneaked off through the woods, and tried to eppdess the compunctions which still remained to him by the reflection: ‘It might have been my life against his.” And with a horrible laugh he added: &¢ bie — Frade peed more or less, anyway e not so great provoca- see the last.” . The scout rose to a sitting posture, after his fall, and pat his hand to his left shoulder, the arm of which hung helpless. ‘I can’t use my rifle no more, he said; “ but I’ve got two good shots left in my pistols. So let the devils come on; I’ll sell out two to one, mre ers still by flight,” suggest- ‘ But you may still esca su ed: Walter. ee “Boy,” said the scout, ‘‘I mean to stick to you till the last dog's hung; an’ then they kin rub us out together. ‘‘No, Bantam,” said Walter, in the quiet, di- rect tones he used when in wn earnest, *‘ you would destroy yourself without doing me any good by so foolish a resistance. The only way you can help me is to escape yourself, and then with Shang and the rest attempt my rescue, after you have placed Miss Burbank in safety. The rendezvous is Pigeon Oak; and Miss Bur- bank is secreted in the vine tent.” “Boy,” said Bantam, pathetically, yielding in spite of himself, ‘‘ I hate to desert ye so.” “It is not deserting me. It is going for as- sistance, at once, before it is too late.” ‘‘ At any rate, I kin help ye to cover.” Walter on this assistance; and when he was secreted as effectually as circumstances would permit, Bantam turned to go, to find himself confronted by the savages, one of whom he kills on the spot, and then fled before the other two. CHAPTER XXX. HUMILIATION. AN hour later the random firing in the woods had ceased. The dead lay in peace; the wound- ed struggled against their anguish. Those who had been scattered far and wide in that hot pur- suit began to reassemble, moving more slowly while _ recovered their breath, or because incumbered with the burden of their wounded comrades, Then a helpless prisoner was borne to the In- lan rendezvous, where Buffalo Horn had made his a halt, and dropped roughly upon the groun William Swanton advanced to view his pris- oner, At sight of his face he started, and then eeling, looked closer. “In the fiend’s name, who are you?” he asked, chan color. Walter looked into the face of the renegade, and started in his turn. Then with a shudder i closed his eyes, as if the sight were e. “Speak!” cried Swanton, seizing him by the arm. ‘ Who are you?” ‘Do you not know me, then?” asked Walter, ely, ‘‘ God knows I have reason to remem- r you The renegade stared a moment, and then a look of satisfaction came into his face, together with his ever-ready sneer, as he said: God be praised! for the dead is alive again, an the lost is found.” to Mrs. Burbank, who was advanc- ing toward them, he added: rejoice with me over the return of my Pp son!” A sigh of the lady Walter started to his el- mart” _ - ‘“My ! You here—in this man’ !” With a shudder he sunk fey pene ‘Mr. Weston! Whata meeting!” murmured the lady; and kneeling on the other side of him, she c his hand and her tears upon it. ‘ My husband !—my daughter—!” But poor lady broke down, her words chard by | a storm of sobs. - n . bank Waiter. “They ate sate” amt said i on my husband was in this terrible cave!” e esca , She! a, jee peed darling Blanche!” —- ** But where?” urged tho lady. Swanton bent eagerly to catch the reply. Walter caught the expression of his face; and looking at him with flashing eyes, made his repl y to him, ‘ All the hellish ingenuity of your bloody al- lies cannot torture that secret out of me!” ‘We will try to get along without your as- sistance,” said Swanton, dryly. ‘* Lud ’a’ massay! if that ain’t Jim!” It was Jerusha Swanton’s voice that broke in upon the interview; and Jerusha herself s with hands raised, mouth open, and eyes round with surprise. Walter turned his eyes from her in disgust. But the virago advanced to his feet, where she could view him at her ease, and with her arms akimbo, began her wonted tirade: “So here ye be, you ungrateful wretch! to run away the minute yer father’s back was turned, an’ leave me to shift fur myself—me as had toiled an’ slaved fur. ye from morn till dark, and no thanks from you, from the day you was a squallin’ brat! Mighty fine airs yeou "ee on, as if common folks wa’n’t good enough ur ye! Now, I s’pose this here brazen: piece is one 0’ yer scrumptious friends.” ‘‘Spare your insults, woman!” cried Walter, with a look which for a moment cowed the vixen. “This lady is my friend, and must be treated with ct!” ‘*Mr. Weston, what in the world is the mean- ing of this?” exclaimed Mrs, Burbank, dismayed by Jerusha’s address to her friend. William Swanton had looked on with folded arms, quietly enjoying Walter’s humiliation. Seeing that she had no opposition to fear from him, but that he, with his sneering smile, rather kept her in countenance, Jerushaagain gave the rein to her tongue. ‘** Tt means, ma’am,” she sneered, with a mock courtesy, “that you've got one too many irons in the fire. Yeou’d better make up yer mind whether ye want the father or the son, before e go to makin’ love to both of ’em at the same ime. Don’t be bashful, ma’am, if ye’d like to take his head in yer lap, as well as hold his hand; we're only his folks, an’ the Injins here won't know no difference,” As if stung, Mrs. Burbank involuntarily dropped Walter’s hand, and shrunk away, as she said: ‘This vulgar woman cannot be your mother!” “Vulgar yerself!” screamed Jerusha, stamp- ing her foot, and looking as if her fingers were tingling for a vigorous hair-pull. ‘‘An’do you dast to insult me to my face—an’ me an honest woman beside such a—” ‘‘ Hold on!” interposed Swanton, with a men- acing flash at his wife. An instant Jerusha quiet smile return to his li what milder strain: ‘“‘T hain’t his mother, eh? Well, now, poor eou're itchin’ to step into my shoes. eou’d ve ’em both, for a fact. Or yeou might give him to yer darter, while yeou take the old man—’ ‘* Desist!” said Walter, stung from his de- jected apathy by the flippant reference to his association with Blanche. ‘‘ Man,” he added, turning to Swanton, “are you a man, that you can see a helpless lady insulted like this?” ‘“*Thank you for the reminder,” said Swanton. ‘I will take the lady away, and leave you two to enjoy old-time reminiscences undisturbed. Helen, will you take my arm?” Walter turned pale and stared in blank sur- prise at Swanton’s insulting familiarity with the mother of his idol. He heard the renegade call her Helen, and saw her shudder, yet submit meekly to be led away, as if her spirit was crushed. With a groan hesunk back, his physi- cal weakness making the bonds with.which he was secured altogether unnecessary. In his anguish, at the thought that her mother should shrink from him, shocked at learning his base origin, and that her recollection of ‘itm would be marred by the shadow of ‘his father’s infamy, Walter forgot that he had not corrected Mrs Burbank’s misapprehension that Jerusha was his mother. Now, he lay perfectly heedless of Jerusha’s sharp tongue, though, infuriated by Swanton’s disappearance in company with Mrs. Burbank, she * egy all her spite on one who could not re- used; but seeing the , resumed in a some- ' CHAPTER XXXL LUCK. WILi1amM Swanton knew nothing of Walter’s position toward Mrs. Burbank’sfamily. It was evident, however, that Mrs. Burbank esteemed him hi ap of ed < ity, bee the renegade sei e opportuni separate her from Walter before her miata bis as to his rela- tionship to Jerusha was corrected. “Helen,” he said, ‘‘since you, as well as I, must fee] some interest in the avenue through which your husband, and my friend, effected his escape, we will visit it together.” ‘‘Major Swanton,” said the lady, with as quiet irony as his own, ‘‘ will you permit me to walk without troubling you for your arm?” ; or, the Great Shanghai of the Northwest. ‘fingers through his hair, ‘ | | 21 The renegade flushed slightly, in spite of him- self, as he released her hand with a mock bow. **You put it so delicately,” he said, ‘‘ who could deny you?’ Mrs. Burbank walked freer at a Little distance from her self-elected escort. She really looked forward with interest to what Swanton promised to showher. The escape of the pris- oners from the cave had been concealed from her, until Walter’s words lifted the burden of sorrow from her heart; so the means of escape were still unknown to her. ( When wait reached the exit, from which thin curls of smoke were still issuing, Mrs. Burbank gazed down its black throat with a shudder. She knew nothing of the horrors of that death race, (the passage now giving little indication of it), nor that her daughter had shared its perils; but she was thinking that in beyond was the gloomy | by which she had been so nearly widowed. With the thought came the picturo of Swanton hurling the burning brand amon the .fagots, and then viewing his fiendish ac with folded arms; and she shrunk further from him and involuntarily rubbed her hand on her shawl, recollecting that it had but recently been in contact with his arm. ‘The next time,” said Swanton, grimly, “I shall see that my smoke-house has no leak in it!” ing his reflective gaze from the corridor to Mrs. Burbank’s face, he added, speculatively: ‘*T wonder, Helen, had I been successful my benevolent intentions, could you have been persuaded to imitate excellent Mrs. Hamlet and marry the man who had given your husband vey = bliss in exchange for the trials of this world?” Pops amt the lady seemed about to fly from m ‘* Am I sucha Gorgon, then,” he said drawi himself erect, and erage. Mage hat to run his tsuch a prospect gives you so stony a look?” ‘‘ What a devil you are!” exclaimed the lady, with a shudder of loathing. The renegade laughed lightly. ‘We will recur to this subject in the future, when the present Mrs. Swanton has gone where she will not be distressed by our association. Meanwhile, shall we return to camp?” ‘Goon. I will follow you,” ‘‘Nay! you cannot think me so ungallant. If you will not walk at my side, I should much prefer that you precede me. You know,” he added, with a laugh, “‘if your valiant rescuer of this morning were to reappear, pa. might take it into your head to elope with him again— wasn’t that the construction Mrs. Swanton put upon it?” Deigning no reply, the lady set out on her re- turn, and, choosing the ground easiest for walk- ing, took a little different course from that by which they hadcome. She had proceeded scarce half the distance, when she was startled by a quick cry, followed by the rending of the bush- es. Next she saw a flying figure, with flutter- ing drapery, and h a voice crying: - is ‘Oh, mamma! mamma! mamma!’ The mother had scarcely time to collect her thoughts, before she was supporting a quiverin burden on her bosom, and ized, with a thri of awful dread, that her daughter had of her own accord leaped into the wolf’s den. Strain- ing her child to her breast, she whirled upon their foe with fierce defiance in her flashing eye and quivering nostril. The ae ay em had stopped, stared, his hands into his pockets, blown a long whistle of surprise, and expressed a throng of emotions in the words: *‘ By all that’s lucky!” As the agonized mother, like some animal driven to bay in the defense of her Fi pa turned toward him, he removed his hat, and bowing low with a Mephistophilean smile, said: ‘* Madam, allow me to con-grat-u-late er, A look of despairing helplessness—a flood of tears that drowns the fire of her eyes—the mother’s head sinks until her cheek rests upon her daughter’s hair—her lips move— ** Oh, God!” CHAPTER XXXII AN ACKNOWLEDGED LOVE. Let the reader imagine the anxiety with which Blanche Burbank waited and prayed in her place of concealment, after the ppear- ance of her friends. Herself un she several times caught glimpses of the Indians as the came and went in the vicinity of her eof Once her heart leaped into her mouth, as she heard a savage g the leaves which screened her. She could hear his panting respiration, and fanc ted his gleaming eyes, though she hid her face with her hands. But he failed to detect her, and passed on. Then the moments dragged on, until she caught sight of a figure which made her utter a sudden cry, and then stare the vine t her own leaves as if she could scarcely c vision. How she tore her wa peti ad the platted vines she never knew. if at a bound, she was on her knees with her arms about her mother’s waist, her eyes blinded by a flood of comicbooks (E(0)