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

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

4. to worst we'll show these savages what resolute moncandoina pinch. Ha!” The exclamation was causod by Selim’s stum- bling. her horse sinking under her, and disengaged her foot from the stirrup. Tho arm of the stranzer snot out anil encircled her waist; and with a powerful effort he lifted her to his horse’s with- € ee a rs. “It is better so, madamo,” said the stranger deferentially. ‘“‘Iiy horss can easily carry double. Yours was a noble animal, but he is now useless,” Blanche thanked him with a look, and then gazed regretfully back at Selim. ‘** Sidney, we must dodge them at the cut-off,” said the elder, addressing his son with a look which the other evidently comprehended. With a nod he spurred on ahead and suddenly dashed = a bridle-path, closely followed by the other. “This will bring us toa place of temporary safety,” said the stranger to Blanche. ‘ My own animals are so well nt that I dare not risk a long race double-weighted.” They now rode at a less rapid pace, which was partially necessitated by the roughness of the way. The sun was far down the west when the men drew rein in the midst of a rocky val- ley. Having secured their horses in a dense clump of undergrowth, the elder man led Blanche to the mouth of a cave, which they en- tered. He soon ignited a torch which dispelled the dens gloom. ‘The hidians will not follow us here, Miss— Miss—I have not inquired your name. Mine is Swanton—William Swanton, at your service; and this is my son, Sidney.” “Tam the daughter of Carlton Burbank, sir,” said Blanche. **Ah! I have heard him ken of as a man of sterling qualities. Well, Miss Burbank, you will be perfectly secure here, for the present at least. will leave Sidney with you for com- pany, while I go out and scout a bit. I have a amily of my own to look after, if this danger be widespread.” And he left the cave. It was hours before Swanton returned, and when he did appear it was with a look of con- cern. Blanche was surprised to see him accom- aniol by a woman with a sharp nose and faded lue eyes that regarded her curiously. ** \liss Burbank, my wife,” said Swanton. Blanche received her gracefully. The woman starel at her, glanced at her husband, flushed slizhtly, and fiaally dropped an awkward cour- tesy, without a word. blanche did not see the warning fro.vn which Swanton gave his wife. He imnediately began to s : * “Toe danger is much more extended than I thought. Tne country is fairly swarmuing wit In.lians, who are burning and slaughytering i every direction. Our people are flying their homes for safety; but they are met on every side. It would be hopeless for you to attempt to reach your homs, I Burbank; and even if you succeeded, you would in all probability find — people gone. You are heartily welcome such protection as we can give. I have se- cured a horse for you.” “Bat, sir, I must endeavor to reach my home. What will my parents think has become of ms? I must get to them!” **Miss Burbank, I heartily sympathize with o1; but you cannot ask me to endanger the ibsrty if not the life of my wife by attempting to assist you in so hopeless an undertaking. You will readily see that it will be better for your parents to fear for your safety for a few days at most, than to mourn your irrecoverable loss; for, once captured, your rescue would be hopeless indeed.” ‘I see the force of your roasoning, sir,” re- plied Blanche, “and that I must avail myself of your hospitality until the danger is past. My father will know how to thank you for pro- tecting his daughter.” Ten minutes later the party was again in the sadidls, picking their way carefully through the dar‘xness. On an eminence Swanton stopped and swept his arm over the view. This gesture and silence were more impressive than words. The sk was red with conflagration in all directions but one, and that one he was rary All night they traveled, and lay in hiding durinz the day. Twice was this repeated, and thea Swanton changed his plan, traveling dur- ing the daytime. this time they had met not a living soul. The country through which they wore passing was one vast wilderness. At tae ond of the first day’s jaunt, the third since tho ambush, the clouds which had so long vailed tae firmament broke away, and the sun burst throuzh just as he hung upon the horizon. His lovel rays told Blancho a story which sent the blood back on her heart, in a sickening tide. They were going westward! All atremble, yet feigning calmness, Blanche addressed Swanton: ‘Mr. Swanton, where are we going?” “Oh, to a place that will be safe enough,” he replied, care pe ith a thrill she noticed that his suavity had — a to careless freedom in his demeanor WwW . Bianche utterel a quick cry, as sho felt | te ‘ i? ‘‘How long before we will reach a place of | security?’ was her next question. He glanced at her sharply, and then tapping his boot with his whip, replied: ‘‘ We'll get there fast enough. As you see, we have to travel slowly; but you will arrive with the rest of us. qi ell have pleasanter weather, I’m thinking.” With that he went to attend to his horses, and | and Far | fallen into an error. left Blanche standing in sore perplexity. a just as Vr. Burbank came to his side. ‘The girl + drew bacn with a stifled sob, while ouick tears sprung to her eyac. ond h upel he jong ~ All this by-play had passed unobserved Mr. Burbank, as he did not see the faces of the actors. - dear boy,” he said, bending over Hal ing his hand, *‘do you know/—we have We have not rescued the into the night she lay awake in troubled thought. | dear girl after all, but another equally unfortu- A thousand little things about her companions | arose before her mind, to awaken anxiety. The | next morning she again addressed herself to her | guide. ‘““Mr. Swanton,” she said, quietly, looking straight into his face, ‘‘ where are you taking me to?” He stopped buckling the surcingle, and with one arm resting across the saddle, gazed at her with a curious half-smile on his lips. He saw a pale anc Tg ty face, and a clear, steady bs “p ucky !” he muttered ; and then aloud asked what seemed a very irrelevant questions ‘* Your father is a rich man, is he not?” With a quick heart-throb she replied: ** My father is rich; but what of that?” “‘T am a poor man!” said Swanton; and an ominous frown darkened his brows, and he compressed his lips into hard, cruel lines. ‘* May Il ask what I am to make of all this?’ lanche. “Did you never hear of one man trading on the affections of another?” trace of color faded from her lips, but she eyed him unflinchingly. Swanton laughed lightly ‘* You’re clear grit,” he said. ‘‘ It won’t hurt ou to be a few weeks from your mamma. To frank with you, I intend to better my world- ly condition by holding have taken my cue from of Italy.” **T am to consider myself a prisoner?” “Until the anxiety of a fond parent in- duces the offering of a large reward for your recovery. Some hints of my own may stimu- late him.” We shall not attempt to describe the emotions of Blanche Burbank at thus finding herself in the hands of a confessed kidnapper. From him she looked to the hard, unfeeling face of his wife, who had stopped in her occupation of thering up the cooking utensils with which Eneir b ast had been prepared, to listen to the words of her husband. ere Was no sym- pathy there, only peevishness and acerbity. Swanton turned and drew the be its as. ge tension, and then placed his hand on his nee to assist Blanche to mount. Only an in- stant she hesitated; then she placed her foot in his as and sprung lightly into the saddle. ‘“ By Heaven! she’s a queen!” muttered Swan- ton, in undisguised admiration. ‘‘I wish I was young myself. That young dog don’t deserve er, after all I’ve plotted and p ed for him; and, blast him! he shan’t have her. I'll teach pre in my face! If he had been half as tractable as Sidney—the om hound !—all would have been well. But, he’ll rue it, curse him !—he’ll rue it!” As he gave the reins into her hand, he ad- dressed Blanche aloud. ‘You will see the folly of attempting to es- cape—you’re sensible enough for that. Alone in the woods you have starvation and the In- dians to face; with me there is the inconve- nience of a few weeks’ separation from your parents and the expense of a few thousands for our restoration. ‘A word to the wise’—you a the proverb.” eRe caution was unnecessary ; she grasped the situation before he spoke. CHAPTER V. HUSBAND AND WIFE. HARRY BrArsiey had recovered conscious- ness and now sat upright; his ghastly face dab- bled with blood which trickled slowly from be- neath the bandage Ben had made, and his eyes fixed upon Mary Edwards with a stare of ou for ransom. @ green-wood lords wilderment apparently not unmixed with fear. “Merciful Heaven! Hal, oe look like a host!” said Mr. Burbank. ‘‘ Lie down again, vA or you'll faint away.” ith a long-drawn breath and a shiver Hal removed his eyes from the girl, as if b away from a fascination, and turned them upon Mr. Burbank. As if this action broke the spell which bound her, Mary Edwards started to her feet, and with a tremulous cry Pe to his side. As she reached him, he uttered a word in a muffled tone and sunk back upon the . It was: The cial js d gazed back e girl caught her breath an at Mr. Burbank and Ben in affright, carrying her hands to her bosom. The next moment she re- covered herself and knelt beside the wounded man, beginning to chafe his hand between her own tremulous ones, while she gazed at him with eyes whose passionate solicitude would not be concealed. He withdrew his hand, gave her | one swift frown of warning, and closed >a els ‘*‘ What do you mean?” asked Blanche. Every nate. “I know,” said Hal, without opening his eyes. Burly Ben now appeared with the water in his cap; and the young girl began to bathe Hal’s face. After a draught from Burly Ben’s canteen, Hal sat upright again, declaring him- self ‘* almost as good as new.” ‘* Well,” said Burly Ben, ‘if that beg arly heathen who made off with the horses should chance to fall in with some more 0’ his a I reckon they’d make this place warmer’n ’u be eeable to us. I vote that we move on, if aster Hal kin walk. If he can’t, we’ll have to help him.” ** You need not be detained on my account,” said Hal, rising to his feet. The liquor had re- vived the physical man, and the behavior of Mary Edwards had removed a sickening weight of apprehension from his mind. He now turned and addressed her with the formal courtesy due to a stranger. “Tt you, madam, for your attentions to me. At the same time I congratulate you on your fortunate escape, if it does not seem pre- mature, surrounded as we still are by dangers; while I am gratified to have Leen even partially instrumental in your rescue.” The girl listened to him with downcast eyes, her face first crimson and then pale asa lily. With an effort she replied in the same tone: ** Sir, all thanks are due from me to you, who have so nearly sacrificed your life in my behalf. My gratitude is too deep for words,” e little party moved through the forest un- der the direction of Burly Ben, who took eve foe to conceal their trail, the feet of all weg * been first bundled in blankets taken from the dead Indians. It was nearly midnight when the scout commanded a halt, saying: “There ain’t no copper-face goin’ to pick up that trail before mornin’, anyway.” It was arranged that Harry should watch two hours and then awaken the scout. Weary men do not long lie awake, and soc the heavy breathing of Mr. Burbank and Bu’ Ben announced that they were in deep, drea.. less slumber. Harry Bearsley sat with his face in shadow. ‘*Curse her!” he muttered, ‘‘why has her father and my good friend, the devil”—with a bitter sneer—‘‘ sent her across my path? She will discover everything—and then!’ He paused and grated his teeth in rage. ~ Sleep!” he ghey his mind recurring to his discussion with Ben; “I'll have little sleep until—” n he broke off. Then, with clenched hands and set teeth he hissed: ‘‘ Friends! but ten thousand Mary Edwards shall not stand between me and my urpose! Ay, I'll win now, if only to spite that old sinner who had his pass to perdition putting me in the shoes I wear, before he found that he could not use me as he liked. Bah! he lied tome! And yet—and yet— Oh! curse them all!” ‘**Charley !” Harry Bearsley started as if the fold of a ser- pent had come in contact with his flesh, as a cold hand was placed on the back of his, and the name was ken scarcely above a w r. So absorbed he been in his meditations that he had not observed Mary Edwards’ approach. ‘* The devil!” hesaid angrily. ‘‘ Whendid you turn ghost? Go and lie down. If it were dis- — that we are acquainted, it would ruin Passing over his words, she asked in a steady voice: ‘* Why do they call you sé y ‘4 ” Because that is my name, light laug ad e girl shivered. ‘* You have deceived me,” she said. ‘“*T have deceived my dear relatives worse,” he replied. ‘‘ Mary, this is no time to discuss this matter. Kither of those men might be aroused by our voices, and then our cake would be dough. Remember, we’re in the same boat. If — sink me, you put your own head under water. ‘*Charley, I’d anywhere, suffer anything with you!” said the girl, with a lon tender- ness that shook her voice and brought the tears to her eyes. ‘ But let us withdraw where they cannot hear us. Remember, I haven’t seen you or heard from you for two months and over. Pve counted every day.’ ; ‘“* Excuse ma fol want of nha grow with our willingness to go anywhere an enfler any- hing, as you phrase it. You know that ‘love in a co , and all that sort of thing, won’t do forme. Id rather hang than rot a poky little hole, with nothing but the four wall to ? said, with a eyes, | look at, if I had the Angel Gabriel for company... kD rere OTT by” : IOOKSTEOoMmM . Sa ——