Beadle's Dime Library No. 411: The White Crook — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

* -vw - Fal > bs ss — — i. af 2 F i ms * . «= WE > . ; A Pa 98 * ge ee ao “Ld =~ a Keg ur rs AD § 4 0 7 Ve om “selves the possessors of hearty appetites, they were deeply interested in their fair hostess, i iat of her words or actions passed unno- ‘ticed, When sho expressed the hope that her father had come home to stay a while, they chorused ‘their approval of that sentiment, doubtless wish- ing that while he stayed there they might re- . main as his guests. In the course of the meal Jack Bunn happened to mention the fact that he had been driven from his telegraph station by the Apaches, and Hester Sarpy instantly became excited. ‘*Has there been another outbreak?” she de- manded. ‘‘ We so seldom hear any news up here that the whole world outside of us might go to pieces and wo would know nothing about it. y have you not told me of this, father?” *¢ It is not worth while to worry you with such matters,” quickly answered Sarpy. ‘* It is to be hoped that the trouble will soon blow over. Some Apaches have escaped from the reserva- tions, but the soldiers are expected to capture them and take them back.” ‘In any event, father, wo are safe here; are ‘we not?” ** Yes, we are safe here.” When they had finished their dinner Hark Sarpy led his guests out on the plateau and showed them his estate, which they inspected pretty thoroughly. The plateau was a spur of the mountain range, with the top leveled as smoothly as if it had been cut off with a knife, On the eastern side was the cliff which they had ascended by tho path in the side of tho rock, and which seemed to be inaccessible except by that path. The southern side was equally inaccessible, running down steeply to the pass which they had followed through tho range, On the northern side the plain.ran back to the foot of a precipitous mountain, whose snow- covered summit was at times lost in the clouds, and it was certain that there was no entrance or _ exit in that direction. The western side, however, was tho most in- teresting of tho boundaries of this estate, and aze on the there the young men lingered to out before beautiful prospect that was sprea them, The cliff was quite as abrupt as that on th> eastern side, but somewhat higher, and from its edge they looked down on a lovely valley, through which meandered a stream, a branch of the San Carlos, pretty full of water at that season. This valley was covered with luxuriant grass and abundant blooms; but there was no sign of settlement or cultivation. ‘*It is strango that such a lovely spot is not inhabited,” observed Stepney. ‘‘ Aro thero no _ settlers about here, Mr. Sarpy?” ** There aro ranches above and below; but it happens that I own this portion of the valley, * am not yet ready to use it,” The portion of the plateau north of the house, covering about three-fourths of its extent, was in cultivation, and there could be no doubt that it produced vegetable and other food products abundantly. Through it in all directions, as well as fy. through the grounds about the house, ran small ditches, by which the lava-rich soil was thor- oughly irrigated and forced to unstinted pro- duction. These little ditches wero filled with water—a fact which was not at all strange at that time B horer is fed main] of the year; but the young men were ata loss to understand how the irrigation was kept up _ during the dry season, when it would mostly be needed. Mark Stepney questioned their host on this point, and received a ney explanation. “There is a lake up in the mountain yonder,” said Hark Sarpy—‘ta small but deep lake, by the melting snow, The esuits who started the Mission here discovered dt, dammed up its outlet, and constructed these acequias to water the soil. I have improved upon their methods a little, but not much. We have plenty of irrigation in the driest part of the year, and a pipe under the ground brings water to the house that is generally ice-cold.” ‘You surely have everything hero that rea- sonable peoplo ought to ask for,” suggested Mark. “Yes, we have no cause to complain, though we do not have todepend entirely upon what we raise here. There is matter in these mountains that is more valuable than ice-water.” | . “$till, Mr, Sarpy, no person could ask a love- lier home than this,” ‘** Since you have seen ‘all of it, my friends, it will not surprise you to learn that my daughter - has named it Bella Vista.” apart. rf CHAPTER XIII, THE APOSTLE OF PEACE, As Hark Sarpy had informed his guests there were ranches in the valley above an below Bella Vista, but they were few and far ee OO ES Above there was but one ranch, which was . : s soveral miles away—in fact, near the head ' to Ben to come and take care of it. , > 4 ‘ e+ — pe. ~~ “2 . /prkgeae i Se : 4 7, The White Crook. ee of the valiey, and which was quite a recent set- tlement, The settlers were Robert Dunning and his family. Mr. Dunning was a strong and hardy, mid- dle-aged man, a typical pioneer, who had rough- ed it in many regions and in various ways, and who had brought to that valley from his struggles about the usual allowance of a rolling stone. His family was composed of his wife, who had roughed it with him and had proved her- self a woman of remarkable courage and en- durance; his son Bob, a stalwart young fellow of twenty-four, and an adopted daughter known as Eva Dunning. This girl had been rescued or captured from the Indians by Robert Dunning about a year previous to his last attempt at settling down, and had been given his family name, as she was not supposed to possess one of her own. She was then believed to be about sixteen years of age, but was tall for her years and slightly built, though she was at the samo time remarkably strong and agile. In appearance she was dark haired and dark of complexion, with very bright eyes and a face that was really charming. In character she was a mystery to her white friends and protectors, inasmuch as sho really seemed to regret that she had been reseued. They wero compelled to believe that she had been well treated among tho savages, as she moped and pined away for some timo after she was taken from them, and as she still seemed to retain a longing for the wild life she had left. Though she had learned to ride a horse like a Christian instead of vaulting on his back and scampering away man fashion, and though she had readily fallen into tho ways of civilization, she sometimes had fits of moodiness and restless- ness that made the Dunning family fear that she might run away and leavo them. At the timo of her rescue she a parently knew but few words of English; but she picked up the language very easily, as if it were some- thing that she had forgotten or laid aside for a while. When her new friends were able to communi- cate with her, they learned that she had been betrothed in tho Apache manner to a young warrior or chief named Carroh, and he seemed to occupy a considerable place in her thougbts, as she frequently murmured his name. Stout young Bob Dunning, though by no means a handsome fellow to look upon, was naturally attracted to this half-wiid damsel, and did his best to drive from her heart the memory of her savare lover; but it is certain that he had not succeeded in leaving there any vivid impression of himself. Besides his immediate family, Mr. Dunning— who had usually been known by the honorary title of Captain Dunning—had two hired men employed to help him put up his buildings and open out the ranch. These were both young men, also of the rolling stone order, and their names were Joe Buller and Ben Boggs. It was the evening following a warm spring day—a day that had witnessed a good deal of work on the ranch—and Captain Dunning was seated at supper with his family and Buller and Boggs. ll were eating heartily, and at the same time congratulating each other upon the pro- gress that had been made, when the sharp eyes of he noticed a horseman riding up tbe valley. The house was opened to the air as much as sible, and she was so placed that she had the est view in that direction. Arrivals were sp infrequent that the stranger immediately became an object of interest, and all but Eva hastened to the most convenient points to get a look at him. He was still so far away that nothing could be clearly made out concerning him, end they returned to their supper, which they had finish- ed when he reached the ranch. He proved to be a tall and lanky man, mount- ed on a horse that was as lean and bony as him- self. This oniniareeings stranger was instantly recognized by the Dunning family, and the father and mother hastened out to meet him be- fore he dismounted. ; ‘“Why, cousin Eph!” exclaimed Mrs, Dun- ning, ‘‘ I’m mortal glad to see you, Whar on airth did you come from?” ‘Light down, Mr. Cronkhite,” said her hus- band, ‘‘ and let me take keer o’ your hoss.” The stranger, in fact, was Ephraim Cronkhite, the missionary from Michigan, who had made himself conspicuous at Pat Byrne's vr nt f Eva Dunning had pouted at the sight of the new-comer, and Bob had turned up his nose contemptuously, while Joe Buller and Ben Boggs seemed to take no interest in him. “Pap calls that thar bag 0’ bones a hoss,” muttered Bob, in a gruff aside, Ephraim Cronkhite was escorted into the house by his cousin, Mrs. Dunning, while her husband hitched the ‘‘ bag o’ bones” and called a ws 7 . ' Loy ‘ r - Aes Y . . \ : ‘ acy EE ° ‘ oo = eae tt = “ier Die —_—_ ‘it stands us in hand to look out eZ — a ‘* I’ve been down to the San Carlos Agency,” said the missionary, ‘‘ where I have tried to do some good; but I fear, Emily, that my efforts have been of no avail.” ** Don’t worry about that, dear soul. Come right in, and I'll cl’ar a place fur you and set you some supper in two shakes of a sheep’s tail.” The missionary saluted the rest of the family in a fatherly way, but was not greeted by them with any undue amount of affection. Mrs. Dunning prepared his supper and set it before him wit’ amazing celerity. ** Jest pitch right in and help yourself, Cousin Eph,” was her hospitable command. ‘I make no doubt that you’re nigh starved to death arter your long ride.” He surely ate as if he had been starved, and those who watched him as he rapidly stowed away large quantities of food, wondered what became of what he ate, as there was so little flesh on his bones. He ate so voraciously, and made such a busi- ness of eating, that it was deemed the part of politeness not to interrupt him, end he was suf- fered to finish his meal in silence. Captain Dunning, who had come in and was waiting for a chance to put in a word between mouthfuls, saw his opportunity when the guest finally leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Well, Mr. Cronkhite,” he cheerily remarked, ‘‘what’s the news with you?” ‘* I grievo to say that there is no good news,” answered the missionary, with a groan. ‘* Those unfortunate red-men who were confined at the San Carlos and White Mountain reservations bave been treated with so little consideration, if not with such extreme brutality, that their free and noblo natures have revolted against the load imposed upon them, and many of them have burst their bonds and wandered forth.” ‘* What ?” exclaimed Captain Dunning, as he jumped up. ‘Do you mean to say that those infernal Apaches have broke loose ag’in?” ‘* Ah, my friend, you must not be too hard on them. Remember their confinement, their pri- St wan their sufferings. What could you ex- ct ‘*That’s so. It is about time for them to start on the war-path. After livin’ in laziness on Uncle Sam’s rations through the winter, they turn themselves loose in the spring to rob anc’ murder the people who pay for their feed,” ‘*T found the officers in charge of the Agency in a state of creat excitement,” continued Mr. Cronkhite. ‘‘ They were brepering to send out armed men—indeed, some had already been sent. out—to pursue the unfortunate Indians and compel them to return to the reservation, or even to slay them on sight. I endeavored to persuade them to abandon that cruel design and adopt a policy of peace and conciliation; but they would not listen to me. I grieve to say that they even cursed me, and eatened to kick me out of the Agency.” ‘‘Merciful heavens!” exclaimed Mrs. Dun- ning. ‘* They cussed a minister of the Gospill! Why, that’s jest dreffful!” ‘* Mebbe they felt kinder sore,” suggested her husband. ‘‘ Mebbe they ‘lowed that they knowed thar business better’n any stranger from the States. Mebbe they’d had some exper’ence, as we’vo had, of the murderin’ ways of those ras- cally red-skins. Mebbe they thought it warn’t no sort of a good thing to have that pack of hellhounds turned loose to butcher our women and children.” ‘* That’s so, Robert!” shouted the wife, ‘‘ and fur ourselves, Our turn ’l] come ag’in mighty sudden, if we don’t stir our stumps and hunt a safe place. Gospill or no Gospill, we’ve got to git!” ‘* It’s too blamed bad,” said Captain Dunning. ** Jest as we'd got things started here, we must skin out and run fur our lives. And you stand up fur those murderin’ welves, Eph Cronkhite! You want to make folks believe that they’re treated bad and ought to be let alone! By the eternal gopher! I could e’ena’most cuss you, my- self. But, Sond save us! you don’t know nomore about the business than a chickcn with its head cut off!” | ‘‘] do stand up for them,” stiffly replied the missionary. ‘‘I do insist that they have been badly treated. I do believe that the policy of eace and conciliation is the one thing that s required. As I am unable to induce the white men to agree with my views, I shall en- deavor to impress them upon the red men and I am now seeking some of ehe Apaches for the urpose of arguing the matter with them and ringing them to consent to an amicable ar- rangement,” “You lookin’ fur ’Paches?’ cried Captain Dunning, in utter amazement. ‘‘ Heavens and airth! do you know what you're sayin’, or have you gone clean crazy? You want to find some Pache! You had better git down and pray that none of ’em may ever find you! _If they do, you'll never speak a good word fur’em in this world. Wife, we will light out o’ here ’arly in the mornin’,” CHAPTER XIV. E ber inekch rning the Dun ing tribe ARLY the n morn e ning made preparations for their departure, : GOMIEDOOKS.' * ‘< -S . PY Bee ay a . bd » ’ ‘ <<) % . : uae , : “oe J - t ay te be b: & | a - ! >) ~,| ‘oO | aw oi t = es “> ast ee = 4 = : | : ; 7 % ; € é teal ‘