“I’m going to put a spy on him when he leaves this place that will trail him through to Oregon but he’ll find out who he is.”
“Agreed, Dave; but don’t rile up at the man acause he’s taken a fancy ter my little gal. I see whar the harniss is tight onto you, but, buttermilk and molasses! you don’t think I’d give my gal ter sech ez him!”
“It would have been better if you had let the Indians have their way anyhow. You’ve broken with Whirlwind, a man who is capable of doing you a great deal of harm, for the sake of a man you don’t know.”
“Whirlwind never see’d me at all, Dave. But, look yer; I never thort I’d hear Dave Farrell tork in thet way abowt saving a feller white man’s life.”
“I was wrong, and I beg your pardon,” said Dave. “Perhaps I am unreasonably jealous, but I thought that Myrtle looked with some favor upon him. If I thought so—”
“You’d raise Kain, wouldn’t you? Now don’t be an idjiot, Dave, acause I kain’t stand it. Let’s plant these chunks of kussidness som’ers, and git ’em out of the way.”
It did not take long by means of a shovel which Old Pegs brought out of the copse, to dig a shallow grave, in which they laid the two Indians, piling a heap of stones upon the bodies to guard them from the wolves. This done, they went back to the cabin, where they found Myrtle and Rafe Norris seated rather close together, while he was explaining a book which Dave had brought. If the young captain had a fault it was jealousy, and the blood started into his face as he noted the position of the pair. Deeply interested as she was in the explanation, in her eager desire for knowledge, Myrtle did not look up as they came in, and even her father looked a little vexed, for he did not like to see her becoming interested in Rafe Norris.
“Oh, Dave!” she cried, looking up at last. “You would be interested in the account which Mr. Norris is giving of the Aleutian Islands. He was there on a voyage not long ago.”
“I fear Mr. Farrell does not appreciate my poor endeavors to entertain you, Miss Myrtle,” said Rafe, who interpreted rightly the expression of David Farrell’s face. “But, if you have no objections, we will go on.”
“I reckon we’d better postpone the study, jest now,” said Old Pegs. “Dave hez a good ’eal to tell you about his visit to civilization, Myrtle.”
“By no means,” replied Dave, taking up his weapons. “While Miss Myrtle is so pleasantly engaged, I can not find it in my heart to interfere.”
With these words he hurried out of the cabin before Myrtle could stop him, and Old Pegs started up to follow. When he reached the door, Dave was half-way across the opening, moving on at the long, swinging pace into which a man insensibly falls, who is used to long marches over the prairie. The old hunter hurried after him, calling him by name.
“Let him go, the jealous boor,” said Rafe, quickly. “We can dispense with his company easily enough.”
“Mr. Norris,” said Myrtle, flushing, “you forget yourself when you call my friends hard names. I am very sorry for what has happened, for no one can be better, braver or more true hearted than the man you call a boor.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Norris in a tone of contrition. “The word slipped out before I had time to think, for of course it would be ungentlemanly in me to thus stigmatize a friend of yours. But, he is something of a dog in the manger, and seems to arrogate to himself the right to your society, to the complete exclusion of men as good as himself. Let us go back to our book.”
“I am tired of it now,” she replied, pushing it aside. “Let me alone, sir; how dare you touch my hand.”
“Unintentional, upon my honor, Miss Myrtle. Surely you do not propose to follow our sulky young friend and beg him to come back?”
“I ought to do so, but I fear that I am not brave enough, sir. All that I am, as far as education goes, he made me. He has ridden many miles through a hostile country to bring me these books, and now I have driven him away when night is coming on.”
“Let me replace him,” he said. “Such beauty as yours need not go begging, and you will do well to trust me; better than you think, if you knew all.”
She brushed by him angrily, and made for the door, but he caught her by the wrist to detain her.
“Release me, sir!” she cried, the blood mounting into her cheek. “You insult me.”
“I think I am going mad indeed,” he replied in a hoarse, strained voice, dropping her hand. “I can not bear to have you leave me for his sake. I never have yielded so completely to woman’s witchery in an hour, and I am thus bold in speaking to you, because I may never have the opportunity. I love you as well as if I had known you for years, and you must listen to me.”
“You are perfectly in the right, Mr. Norris, in saying that you are mad, for nothing else could prompt you to speak in this manner. Let me hear no more of it—I beg.”
“I do not ask you to love me, now,” he replied earnestly. “Give me a chance; let me show you what I will do for the woman I love; that is all I ask.”
“I shall not notice this foolishness upon your part, by telling my father what you have said, sir, for I would not answer for what he would do. But, let me hear no more of it, I beg you. Hush; father is coming back.”
He sunk back on a stool, his face absolutely ghastly with intense passion, as the door was flung open and Old Pegs hurried in alone.
“Don’t say any thing to me, Myrtle, fur I ain’t in good humer,” he said in an almost angry tone. “I never thought you a flirt before, but ef you drive away Dave Farrell, you drive away the best man in the mount’ins, that’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Has he gone?” she said anxiously.
“He’s out thar in the pass. And stranger, I warn you to keep out of his way, because he ain’t in a heavenly temper. Hark!”
Swift steps were heard, the door was flung open, and Dave rushed into the room, pale and nearly breathless with a long arrow sticking in his shoulder. “Indians!” he gasped. “Get Myrtle out of the way, quick!”
With the cat-like quickness which he always showed in moments of danger, Old Pegs sprung to the door and dropped the heavy bars in their places, while Myrtle closed and barred the blinds. It was not done a moment too soon, for they heard the rapid beat of hoofs and could tell by the sounds that a large party of Indians were in the valley. Rafe Norris stepped to one of the loop-holes always left when a cabin is built in an Indian country, and looked out and saw that it was the band of Whirlwind.
“Now then, what’s the ticket?” demanded Old Pegs. “Is it going ter be a b’ar-fight?”
“There seems to be no other course,” replied Norris.
“Oh, yes, thar is,” replied the old hunter. “I’ve got more than one string to my bow, and we kin fight or hide, jest ez you like.”
“My plan would be to get the lady into the hiding-place you speak of, and then teach these Indians what it means to attack three well-armed white men.”
“Jest my plan,” said Old Pegs. “Wait a minnit.”
He turned to assist Dave who was trying to draw out the arrow which had lodged in the fleshy part of the shoulder. But it had not passed quite through, and the barbs would not permit him to draw it out.
“Let me take hold,” said Old Pegs. “Look the other way, Myrtle.”
He grasped the shaft of the arrow, and by a quick movement forced it through the flesh, so that the head appeared. Dave bore the pain without even wincing, and the old man broke off the arrow, threw down the head, and drew out the broken shaft.
“It don’t amount to any thing,” said Dave, cheerily. “Come with me, Myrtle; it won’t be long before the Blackfeet pitch in, and I want a hand in the game.”
“I don’t want to go away,” she answered. “I never raised a rifle against a human being yet, but in a cause like this, I can do good service.”
The red-skins had not yet seen the cabin, but half a dozen were out of the saddle running to and fro in search of Dave—who they knew must be concealed somewhere near at hand.
“They don’t see us yet, I believe,” said Dave, stepping to a loop-hole, “but it won’t be long before they nose us out. Shall I give that skulking fellow a shot, old man?”
“Not yit,” replied Old Pegs. “I don’t want ter hit the fust blow.”
Just then one of the savages discovered the cabin, and set up a yell which quickly called the attention of the rest. Not a few of them had rifles, and dismounting they began to creep up toward the mountain house.
“Wait a minnit, boys,” said Old Pegs. “We’ll give ’em a most immortal thrashing afore sundown or my name ain’t Old Pegs. Thunder; what’s that?”
A rattling volley was suddenly poured into the Blackfeet from the rear, and the scouts who had been seen crawling up to the cabin went back with wild yells of surprise, and sprung into the saddle, while counter yells arose from the front and flanks.
“Je—whitteker!” yelled Old Pegs. “Hear the onnatril varmint sound ther loud alarums. Who be they—who in thunder be they?”
“Perhaps it is the brigade,” said Myrtle, hopefully.
“’Tain’t so; d’ye think the boys in Farrell’s brigade yell like that? Them’s Injuns, but what tribe and why they ar’ sailing in on the Blackfeet, the devil may know. Let’s rush out and help ’em, anyhow.”
The wound of Dave Farrell was at best but a slight one, and rushing out with Old Pegs and Rafe Norris, all armed with heavy rifles, they began to blaze away at the now retreating Blackfeet. Assailed thus in front, flank and rear, these gallant men did not give up but fought with a devotion to their leader which would have done credit to men of a higher civilization. One by one they dropped from their saddles until only five were left, and among these the bravechief Whirlwind, who had passed unscathed through the hail-storm of leaden balls.
“Dogs!” cried the chief, shaking his lance in the air. “Whirlwind will go, but when he comes again his vengeance will be terrible.”
Calling to the few men who surrounded him he wheeled his horse and dashed away across the little valley, making no further effort to force his way through the pass which was so closely environed by his enemies. Many dusky figures darted from the bushes on every hand, and shot after shot was sent after the flying horsemen, and while they were yet within short rifle range three of Whirlwind’s men dropped bleeding to the earth. But the chief seemed to bear a charmed life and disappeared behind a clump of trees near the center of the glade. Many Indians were seen racing after him on foot, and it needed but a glance to show Old Pegs that they were Modoc Sioux, the inveterate enemies of the Blackfeet.
“Git cover, quick!” cried the old hunter. “They’ll see us.”
“It is of no use to hide,” replied Rafe Norris. “I, for one, mean to yield myself a prisoner, and I advise you to do the same.”
The words had scarcely left his lips when he experienced a strange sensation. A vise-like grip fell upon his shoulder, and the steel muzzle of a pistol was pressed against his temple. This pistol was held by Dave Farrell, whose teeth were firmly set and whose eyes seemed to emit flashes of light.
“Move a step until I order you, wag a finger even, and you die.”
“What means this conduct?” hissed Rafe, white with contending passions. “Do you mean to murder me in cold blood?”
“Not a bit of it. You see those Indians coming this way, don’t you?”
“What of that?”
“Order them to halt.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Am I to be killed like a dog, you old villain? Why do you stand there like a stone and make no effort to aid me?”
“Better do as Dave asks you, Rafe. It ain’t a bad plan to try the ’speriment.”
“But I know nothing of these Indians.”
“Ef Dave hez made a mistake he’s ter make it right with you,” answered Old Pegs.
“One more chance before I scatter your brains upon the sod,” hissed Dave. “Will you stop those Indians? Speak their language—you know how.”
Rafe Norris cast one look at the stern face of the captain of scouts, and saw that a refusal would be death to him. He turned and shouted to the advancing Indians, and to the surprise of Old Pegs, who thought that Dave had made a mistake, they halted immediately, while cries of surprise could be heard among them, and the others came running up. Those who had been halted by the command of Rafe Norris pointed him out as he stood in the grasp of Dave, and it was plain that they knew him and were surprised to see him in his present position.
“Do you see that, Old Pegs?” cried Farrell. “Now doz you tell me that this fellow knows nothing of the Modoc Sioux?”
“Stranger,” said Old Pegs, “I’ve warmed a viper in my buzzum. Now then, order them pizen sarpints ter git. The quicker they go, the longer they’ll hev the satisfaction on knowing that you ar’ alive.”
“Why should they obey me?” replied Rafe. “You are a couple of cowardly hounds to attack an unsuspecting man in this way.”
“‘Unsuspecting’! Oh, yes—thet’s a good word, but you jest send ’em away all the same or I’ll pulverize you—I will, by the sacred groves of Ireland. You hear me a-talking?”
Rafe saw that the game was up, and that he might as well save his life if possible.
“What shall I tell them?”
“Tell ’em to go down to the sulphur spring at the base of the North Canon, and wait fur you thar.”
Rafe hesitated, but the circle of cold steel upon his temple cowed him for the time, and he shouted the required order. Signal cries were heard, and the pursuers of Whirlwind came back on the run, having been unsuccessful in their attempt toovertake that redoubted chief who had found some avenue of escape. The orders of Rafe Norris were repeated, and the whole party trooped away down the pass, leaving Rafe still in the hands of Farrell.
“I suspected you from the very start, my good friend,” said Dave, “and this is not the first time I have earthed a fox of your breed. It is useless for you to attempt to deceive us, for we know you now. You are a Hudson Bay man, and I know it.”
“You lie.”
“Be careful, my boy. You are a prisoner, and I don’t like to injure a man who is so completely in my power, but don’t use bad language. Your fellows have done us such good service in breaking up the party of Whirlwind that I am inclined to be rather lenient with you, but at the same time we won’t stand every thing.”
“Do you mean to keep me a prisoner?”
“I have not decided what to do with you yet. No doubt our old friend here will give you house room for to-night, and after that we will see what can be done.”
“You shall repent this if I can escape from your hands, as you may be sure I will do some day. I will never rest until I have your life.”
“Enough of that. Have you got a piece of good buck-skin handy, old man? I think we had better tie this feller’s feet.”
“Do not dare to degrade me with bonds,” cried Rafe, savagely. “If you do my revenge will be terrible.”
“All right; we’ll tie you up all the same. You might take it into your head to go after your Indian friends and bring them back on us.”
“I will speak no more,” replied Norris. “Do with me as you will.”
Old Pegs drew from the bosom of his hunting-shirt, two or three stout buck-skin thongs which he used in tying the hands of Norris behind his back. Having performed this service to his satisfaction, he linked the feet of the prisoner together at the ankles in such a way that he could take a step of about six inches, but no more.
“Thet’s all right, Dave,” he said. “Now, who in thunder is thet chap?”
A man in greasy buck-skin was seen running rapidly toward them with the pet bear, Bruin, close at his heels, evidently bent on mischief. Old Pegs ran up to meet him, shouting to the bear, and managed to interfere before Bruin could clutch his prey—a proceeding which the bear resented with low growls of discontent, while the new-comer sat down puffing, with a very red face and looked at his rescuer.
“Durn the b’ar!” he growled. “What d’ye keep sech a pheroxious beast fur, stranger?”
“Jest fer greens, my boy,” replied Old Pegs. “Seems ter me strangers ar’ gitting rather thick in this hyar clearing. Who the devil beyou?”
“I’m a poor critter that’s jest got away from the pizen Injuns and I come mighty nigh bein’ swallowed by a b’ar by gracious. I don’t hanker a’ter sich, but ef I’d ’a’ hed my weepons I’d ’a’ give him Jesse, you bet.”
The speaker would never have been “hung for his good looks,” although he might have suffered for irreclaimable homeliness. He was a tall, thin specimen of the mountainman, with shaggy hair and beard, and a snaky eye which was far from pleasant to look at.
“What Injuns did you git away from, stranger?” demanded Old Pegs.
“Them cussid Modoc Sioux. Oh, I know ’em—I know ’em from stern to gizzard—I know ’em arternoons. You see, they ketched me up hyur, by the big spring when I was trying to find the trapping brigade, and they tuk traps, rifle and all ez clean ez a whistle. I ain’t got hide nor h’ar left.”
The man did indeed look forlorn enough. His clothing hung in tatters; he had no hat, and the blood was flowing from a ragged cut across his forehead, where a bullet had grazed the skin.
“Thet was a clust rub, stranger.”
“It were, mate, mighty clust. Ye see I made a break when they pitched inter the Blackfeet and one of them fired at me, and gev me this beauty spot.”
“Very kind in him, I must say. What are these Sioux doing here at this time?”
“I dunno; they ar’ out of ther stamping-ground a smart heap.”
“You bet; who is ther leader?”
“I dunno his name; but I think they called him Curly-headed Ned. Anyhow, thet’s a name he’s got on the border.”
“Did you see him?”
“He didn’t show hisself while I was thar. I say, boss, who’s that you’ve got in that outlandish hitch?”
“Thet chap, we think, knows too much about these Modoc Sioux and konsekently we jist tuk the liberty of kinder hitching him up.”
“The varmint! Let me get at him and I’ll chaw him up, audacious. Yah—hip! Iwanthis ha’r. Lend me a knife, some one; a hairpin, a toothpick—anycussid thing. I will hev his wool.”
“You don’t say thet you are so hot arter blood ez thet ar’, stranger? No—I reckon not; he’s our meat, and we don’t ’low nobuddy else to tech him.”
“Tain’t fa’r, anyhow, boss. Hyar I stand jest out of ther blasted hitch and it hurts my feelin’s powerful bad, because I ain’t let to mount him. Say, you pizen sarpint,” he cried, shaking his clenched hand under Rafe’s nose, “why kain’t I chaw ye up?”
“You are a fit associate for these two ruffians,” replied Norris, proudly. “It would not surprise me if they allowed you to murder me while my hands are tied.”
“Oh, thunder, ef they onlywould! Say, boss, kain’t I hit him once, fur luck?”
“You are over zealous in the cause,” said Farrell, coldly. “Stand aside and let the prisoner alone.”
“Little boy,” replied the escaped man, “you hurt my feelin’s awful when you talk that way, and I shill feel obliged to jump on ye with both feet.”
“That’s enough, my man,” replied Farrell, laying his hand upon a pistol. “What is your name?”
“I ain’t heeled—that’s what’s the matter with me—an’ you’ve got the gaffs on. It ain’t ekal—that’s what I say—it ain’t ekal, and you know it ain’t. Let me hev a fourteen inch toothpick in my hand, and ef I don’t crow loud, my name ain’t Velveteens.”
“Is that your name? Come, come; you should not quarrel with us, if you want help.”
“Velveteens, the boys call me, and they call me that becoz I’m nat’rally so soft and tender-hearted. I be—by gracious. I’m too good fur this wicked, wicked world.”
“What do you want?”
“I was gwine to jine the brigade, but I’m afeard thar ain’t no chance now. I’ve lost my traps and shootin’-irons.”
“That will not trouble you if you can prove yourself a true man. However, you can pass the night here, and in the morning we’ll see what can be done.”
“Much obliged; who be you?”
“Captain Farrell of the trapping brigade.”
“Whew! And to think I lowered myself to rile up at you. It was durned ridiculous.”
Dave Farrell took the prisoner in charge, led him to the cabin and put him in a small room in the rear. Rafe did not look up as he heard Myrtle’s exclamation of surprise, but passed on sullenly to his prison, where he sunk down upon the floor and dropped his head upon his arms. The moment the door closed upon Farrell he sprung to his feet and laughed scornfully, for he knew his power well. Yet he listened earnestly while Dave told Myrtle the story to which she listened with a look of horror.
“Revenge is sweet,” he muttered. “My hour will come.”
By the time the Indian dead were buried, darkness had come and the party were gathered in the large room of the cabin at supper. They were quite merry and Rafe listened with a grim smile as the man who called himself Velveteens recounted the manner of his capture and escape at length, going into particulars as to time and place.
“The rascal!” muttered Rafe. “Oh, he is a precious villain if his story is true.”
Shortly after Old Pegs brought the prisoner something to eat, removing his bonds while he did so, in order to give him the use of his hands.
“I want my strength for the work before me,” said Rafe, “or I would not again break bread under your roof.”
“I’ll break a head under my roof if you don’t keep quiet you bruiser,” replied Old Pegs. “Thunder and blood; one would think you was an innercent cuss to hear you tork.”
“And so I am.”
“So’s yer grandmother! I ain’t going ter tork about it now, I tell you fa’r; so shet up.”
Rafe ate in gloomy silence, when he was carefully tied up again by Old Pegs and left alone. Velveteens was entertaining Dave Farrell and Myrtle by an account of the country in the region of the “big pines” of California, and Old Pegs dropped into the circle to listen. Bruin was there, too, and strangely enough seemed to have taken a decided dislike to Velveteens, and showed a disposition to attack him from time to time. It was only the authority of his master which served the unfortunate ex-captive from trouble.
“I don’t know what’s got inter you, Bruin,” said his master. “I’m ashamed of you; don’t you know yer friends?”
“That b’ar ain’t safe,” said Velveteens; “and I reckon you’d better shoot him.”
“Shoot him? I’d raise that man’s ha’r that did it, by gracious. Go on with yer bird’s-egging, stranger; spin another yarn about them big pines.”
“You keep the b’ar off me, then. I don’t half injy myself while he’s foolin’ around me.”
To please the fellow, Old Pegs put the bear out of the cabin and came back.
“What do ye do with that b’ar o’ nights, boss?” Velveteens asked.
“We leave him outside; a mighty good watch-dorg, is Bruin. He don’t ’low no one to go slashing roundthishouse, arter dark.”
The countenance of Velveteens fell several degrees and he lost his usual loquacity. The subject of the bear seemed to trouble him, and he returned to it again, insisting upon it that such an animal ought to be chained during the night.
“I reckon yer skeery about b’ars,” said Old Pegs. “I’ll humor you this time, and shut the b’ar up behind the house.”
This was done and Velveteens seemed more at ease, though Bruin kept up a fearful growling in his prison, tearing at the logs and snapping at his chain. Old Pegs went out on a scout, taking his new friend with him, and leaving Dave with Myrtle. I don’t know how it was done, but before half an hour had passed the two had forgotten their little “tiff” of the morning and were sitting side by side, hand clasped in hand, as only lovers sit, while through the chinks in the walls of the prison Rafe Norris glared at them.
“How long must I wait for revenge?” he muttered. “Oh, I will make him repent in dust and ashes the hour he led me, bound like a dog, into her presence. And you, proud rustic beauty, shall know what it is to scorn the love of such a man as I!”
Old Pegs very wisely kept out of the way for over two hours. Those hours were hours of agony to Rafe Norris. To see the woman he loved sitting with her head upon the bosom of the man he hated, while his strong arm encircled her slender waist, was torture. If his hands had been free, and he could have reached a weapon, that moment had been death, perhaps to both the lovers.
Old Pegs came back at last, and announced that they had seen no signs of Indians, and had reason to believe that they had decamped entirely. He found the young couple very much engaged over a book which Dave had brought from the fort, and grinned widely as he saw the trouble was over. Dave had begged her forgiveness but a moment before, and she had sealed it with a loving kiss.
“Hev you looked at the pris’ner while I’ve been gone?” demanded Old Pegs.
Dave looked a trifle foolish, for, if the truth must be told, he had forgotten that such a person as Rafe Norris existed. Old Pegs laughed and opened the door of the room, where he saw Rafe extended on the floor, apparently asleep. Velveteens looked over his shoulder, as he did so.
“He’s a desprut mean cuss,that, I’ll bet on,” he said. “D’ye mean to stand guard all night?”
“No; he kain’t git away.”
“Then I wish ye’d show a place to sleep, fur I’m ’most mortal tired. I’ve hed a hard time, lately.”
The hunter gave the man a blanket, and he wrapped it about him and lay down on the floor, quite near the door of the room in which Rafe Norris was confined. The lovers paid but little attention to him and sat, until quite late, talking in low tones, which he could not hear if he had been inclined to do so. Old Pegs stepped into a sort of alcove in one corner, and, satisfied that all was safe, soon fell asleep.
Some hours after, Dave came in to share his blanket, while Myrtle went into the curtained recess where she slept.
Two hours later, Velveteens, who had been not only asleep but snoring, raised his head softly and looked about him. The moon was shining brightly, and he could see every object in the room distinctly.
The loud snoring of Old Pegs and the heavy breathing of Dave Farrell satisfied him that they were asleep, and raising himself softly—for, as we have said, he slept quite close to the prison-door—he pulled the latch-string, and the door swung open without noise.
It looked as if Rafe Norris had expected to see him, for he lay upon the floor with his head close to the door, and when Velveteens lay down again, shifted his position so as to keep his hands in view.
Some steel instrument gleamed in the moonlight, and the bonds fell from the hands of the prisoner; a moment more, and his feet were also free. He now sat up and began to rub his feet and ankles vigorously, to restore the lost circulation, while Velveteens lay down and began to snore in such a perfect manner that no one would have dreamed for a moment that he was not asleep.
Ten minutes later, Rafe Norris stood in the main room and took up Old Pegs’ knife, which lay upon a stool, and seemed about to rush into the recess where the two men slept, when Velveteens threw his arms about him and held him fast.
“What’s that?” demanded the gruff voice of Old Pegs.
Quick as thought, Rafe darted back into the room and closed the door, just as the huge head of Old Pegs was thrust out of the recess.
“I wanted a drink,” said Velveteens.
“Thar’s some in the bucket; but why in thunder do you wake a feller up this way? I don’t like it, not to speak of,” growled the hunter.
“I was awful dry,” replied Velveteens, as he took up the gourd. “I won’t trouble you again to-night.”
Old Pegs went back with a snort of disapproval, and again fell asleep. When satisfied of this, Velveteens tapped once on the door, and it swung open as softly as before. Rafe Norris had seen that it was idle to attempt revenge upon his enemies now, as both of them slept so lightly, and following Velveteens, he crept toward the door, when they heard a deep growl and the rattle of a chain.
Bruin had in some way broken loose and dragged himself to the door, lying across the threshold. The two men looked at each other in confusion and dismay, for they dared not pass out while that gigantic sentinel lay in the way.
“Go back to yer room,” whispered Velveteens. “I’ve got some wolf-bait hyar, and I’ll fix the black cuss.”
Rafe slipped back to the room, and Velveteens took down from the wall a piece of venison, which might have weighed four pounds. This he cut open, and from a pocket of his ragged hunting-shirt he now took a bottle, from which he shook into the cut a quantity of a whitish substance and then closed up the orifice he had made.
The window was partially raised, and thrusting out his hand, he dropped the meat under the nose of Bruin, who snapped it up greedily and devoured it in the twinkling of an eye. Having done his work, Velveteens lay down again, while Rafe watched from the open door of the room in which he had been confined, ready to make a rush if either Dave or Old Pegs came out of the recess.
A few moments later, they heard a scuffling, confused sound and the rattle of a chain, as if the bear was running away at the top of his speed.
Velveteens chuckled and beckoned to Rafe, who again came out softly, and the two stood in the middle of the room a moment; and then, opening the door carefully, they went out together, closing the door after them, while the others, never dreaming of the escape, slept profoundly.
It was nearly morning when Old Pegs rose, took up hisrifle—which always lay within reach of his hand—and went out into the main room.
He saw that the blanket of Velveteens was empty, and the door of the prison open. Springing to the door, he looked in, and his cry of rage awoke Dave, who started up and came out, to find Old Pegs dancing wildly about the room, swearing like a trooper.
“He’s a nice cuss, that Velveteens, he is!” he screamed. “He ’scaped from the Sioux—he did! Oh, knives and razor-grinders! Oh, dog every button on my shirt, he’s cheated us!”
“Gone!” cried Dave, in dismay.
“Yaas, gone; gone like a thief in the night. Fled like a shadder, leaving no sign to mark the spot whar he laid down. Oh, how it grinds me that I didn’t let old Bruin chaw him up.”
“He is evidently in league with the Sioux and Rafe Norris,” said Dave. “Shall we try to follow them?”
“And what makes me so cussid mad,” continued Old Pegs, paying no attention to the question, “he got me ter chain up Bruin over night. He knowed right well, the owdashus cuss, thet the b’ar would never hev let him out. I git so mad sometimes when I think of it I c’u’d eat my shirt. Oh mortal pizen, ef Ievermeet him!”
“What shall we do?” demanded Dave. “It isn’t safe to waste any time if these Modoc Sioux are really his men.”
“What is the matter, father?” cried Myrtle from her sleeping apartment.
“They’ve dug out, both them low-lived skunks,” snarled Old Pegs. “Git up and dress, gal; we must git out’n this mighty quick. Dave, come with me.”
They ran out of the house, and quickly found the trail which led out of the little valley to the south. Following it rapidly, they soon satisfied themselves that their enemies had really left the valley, going toward the “Sulphur Spring,” where Rafe had appointed the rendezvous.
“They’ve gone ter jine the Injins,” said Old Pegs. “Won’t you be so good ez to give me a big kick astarn, Dave? I desarve it.”
“What is done—is done,” replied Dave, “and we can not avoid it. What is that by the spring yonder?”
“It looks like Bruin,” replied Old Pegs. “The black thief got away arter all, and I wonder he let ’em go.”
“Probably he did not break away until after their departure,” replied Dave. “Let us call him.”
He gave a shrill whistle, the call which Bruin always answered, but to their surprise the bear did not move. Running up hastily, they found the bear lying by the side of the spring, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and a white foam lying thick upon the grass.
“He’s dead, by the rock of Gibraltar!” roared the bear’s master. “Them mean cusses hev killed him, but whar’s the blood?”
“He has died in a different way,” replied Dave. “Look at his mouth.”
Old Pegs saw at a glance how his bear had died. He had killed too many wolves with strychnine, to have any doubt of the cause of his death, and his anger broke out afresh.
“Thar’s going to be war when that Velveteens and Old Pegs come together ag’in,” said the old man in an unusually quiet tone, which he only used in moments of intense passion. “I’ll raise his ha’r, or my name ain’t what it is. Come along; it is only a half day’s walk ter the spring, and they ar’ thar afore now. They’ll be up hyar by noon, the hull b’iling, and we’ve got ter be ready.”
As they turned to move away there was a movement in the bushes close to them, and a savage face looked out at them, his eyes burning with intense passion. It was Whirlwind, the Blackfoot chief. He held in his hand a long bow and seemed about to fit an arrow to the string, but upon second thought replaced the bow and called to Old Pegs by name.
“Let Short Legs turn back and have a talk with a great chief,” he cried.
“Durn my hide,” said Old Pegs. “Whar did he come from? Shill we humor him, Dave? He seems ter be alone.”
“It may benefit us much if we can make friends with him,” replied Dave.
The two turned back hastily, and Whirlwind came quietly out of his place of concealment and met them. He seemed to have no fear of them, strongly armed as they were, and advanced boldly to meet them.
“Whirlwind is welcome,” said Old Pegs in the Indian tongue. “Why is he here?”
“Last sun Whirlwind had many braves,” replied the Indian, “but now, he has not one. The Sioux dogs trapped them like beaver, and they fell.”
Old Pegs was silent, because he did not know how the Indian might regard his share in the battle of the day before.
“My brothers fought against the Blackfeet, too,” continued the chief. “That was well, because the Blackfeet struck first when they did not know who they fought. Whirlwind would be a friend to Short Legs and the Beaver Captain.”
“I am willing to be friends,” replied Dave, “but you put an arrow through my shoulder, yesterday.”
“Yesterday we were enemies, to-day we will be friends.”
“And to-morrow enemies again.”
“Not if Whirlwind smokes a pipe with his white brothers. See; Whirlwind seeks vengeance on the Modoc Sioux, who have come into his country and killed his men. Short Legs and the Beaver Captain shall help him.”
“Do you wish to be a friend to the man who was with us last sun?”
“No!” replied the chief, sullenly. “Whirlwind will not smoke a pipe with him.”
“I am glad of that,” continued Dave, “for he is our enemy. Let Whirlwind bring a pipe and we will smoke.”
The smoking of the peace-pipe was a binding obligation to the Indians, who would not begin a war again until the men with whom they had smoked had been fairly warned. A pipe was lighted and passed from mouth to mouth, and the ceremony was complete.
“Whirlwind will go now,” said the chief. “Let my brothers trap beaver in the hills in peace when winter comes, the Blackfeet will not harm them. Look for my warriors when the sun sets twice by the three great rocks.”
He waved them farewell, and started away at a quick pace, taking a direction across the mountain. For two hours the whites were occupied in carrying out of the house for concealment, every article they wished to keep safe, and by the time the sun was at meridian the work was done, and they waited quietly for the coming of the Modoc Sioux. An hourlater they came trooping into the pass, when Old Pegs, who was on the watch, quietly retired into the cabin and shut the door.
The Modoc Sioux seemed to know the situation of the house well and scattered the moment they reached the front, and remained still as death, waiting for the order to advance. The shutters were closed upon the windows of the cabin, and the heavy door in its place, but not a sound was heard. It was plain that the Modocs knew the desperate character of the men in the house for they made no effort to advance as yet. They were well aware of the fact that such a building defended by two such renowned Indian-fighters as the “Beaver Captain” and Old Pegs would hold out for a long time unless taken by stratagem.
They did not like the silence which reigned about the building, for it seemed to them the silence of desperation. Unwilling to waste their men, one was sent forward with a flag. He was a half-breed and spoke a sort of mixture of French and English.
“Ah, you; in ze house.”
No reply; the same dreadful silence reigned.
“Vill you open door?” cried the envoy, again. “Let us in; smoke pipe.”
Still no reply. Nothing about the house showed that a human being occupied it, and the man retreated in alarm, fearing a shot. But either the defenders considered him too insignificant to fire at or they respected a flag, even in such hands as these.
The leaders of the savages did not make their appearance, but it soon become apparent that some movement was on foot. The sound of axes could be plainly heard, and about twenty Indians appeared carrying a small tree from which the limbs had been lopped within a foot of the trunk, leavinga good hold for the hands. This was a battering ram with which to beat down the door. Keeping behind the bushes as much as possible, they reached a place within a hundred paces of the door, when they laid the log down and took breath before the final effort. A man in Indian garb with a hideously painted face directed their movements.
“Remember, sons of the Sioux,” the leader said, “that these men killed Half-breed Jack and Tuscalo. Avenge these brave men who fell for the honor of the tribe. Now!”
They took up the log and at the signal word sprung out of the thicket with the butt of the log directed toward the door. All expected to hear the rifles speak the moment they came in view, but to their utter surprise not a shot was fired and the heavy log struck the door with a dull thud. It resisted bravely, but a second blow made the bars crack and the moment after the stout door fell into the room and the course was clear. Foremost among those who poured in over the shattered door was the painted wretch who had said that Old Pegs and Dave had killed the two Sioux the day before. He held a hatchet in one hand and a pistol in the other, and uttered a cry of triumph as they entered, unopposed. But, to his dismay the place was empty! Nearly all the furniture had been removed. Even the books were gone, and those he sought had vanished utterly. Weapons in hand they rushed through the deserted rooms hoping to find the man they hated concealed somewhere, but they looked in vain. There was no door at the back of the house, and even if there had been it would have been next to impossible to climb the rugged rock in the rear of the building.
“The white men are great medicine,” said one of the Indians with a shudder. “Where have they gone?”
“We came too late,” replied the leader, angrily. “While we loitered on the way they have fled.”
“Shall we burn the house?”
“No; if you destroy the nest the birds will not return to it. Leave all as it is and some day they will come back and we shall have them.”
The Indians loitered for some time about the place, picking up such articles as suited their fancy and appropriatingthem without remorse. It was nearly an hour after the first assault when they made ready to depart after they had sounded the walls of the house thoroughly, seeking to fathom the mystery of the escape. They gave up in despair, and marched away through the pass, leaving the cabin in peace.
They had scarcely been gone ten minutes when Old Pegs stepped over the threshold, rifle in hand and followed on their trail. He was gone nearly half an hour, and when he returned Dave had already repaired the broken door, and replaced the furniture, while Myrtle was setting the table for a meal.
“Haw, haw, folks!” roared Old Pegs. “Did you ever see a more ’stonished set of varmints in your born days? It was ez good ez a play.”
“They were taken by surprise,” replied Dave, “but if Myrtle had not been with us I could not have resisted the temptation of giving them a shot. Rafe Norris was not with them, after all.”
“Durn him, he knowed he’d git a shot on sight and so did that cussid Velveteens. That b’ar he killed was worth a hundred sech copper-toed varmints ez him. It were murder, my boy—jest murder and nothing else.”
“Poor Bruin,” said Myrtle; “he was great company for me when you were absent, father.”
“I know he were, and he hed an advantage over some humans I’ve knowed—you c’u’d trust him! The devil won’t allus guard his own, and some day I’ll git ekal to thet Velveteens, bet yer life!”
The party reoccupied the house as a matter of course, and seemed to think nothing of the late raid. After eating a hearty meal Old Pegs started out on a scout, leaving Dave to guard Myrtle. He followed the trail of the savages by devious ways for nearly six miles over a rugged road, part of which he had never trod before.
“They’ve got a camp some’ers nigh at hand,” he muttered, “and I’m going ter find out whar it is ef it takes a leg. I know the Hudson Bay people, and I’ll be darned ef they ever sot ther men ter do this kind of work. The trail freshens a bit; I’ll hev ter look out.”
He hitched along at his usual rate of speed, throwing outhis shoulders in his peculiar manner until the low murmur of voices could be heard coming up from the foot of the slope below him. Old Pegs at once left the trail and plunged into the bushes, following the sounds which he heard and advancing by slow degrees, for he knew that his life was not worth a moment’s purchase if he should be taken. But scouting was life itself to him, and he kept on until he was satisfied that he must be close upon the camp, for he was approaching a clearing of some kind.
Suddenly, almost without warning, he came to the edge of a high bluff, and parting the bushes which fringed the bank, looked down. It was one of those valleys so common among the foot-hills, and so surrounded by inaccessible mountains as to be a safe refuge.
The valley was now a great camp, for not less than two hundred men were scattered about at various points, engaged in different ways. Poker-playing seemed to be a specialty, but one ambitious individual had a “monte” game, and was throwing for the amusement and loss of a large party. Two-thirds of the whole force were Indians, to all outward appearance, but seeing a painted brave seated under a tree reading a book, convinced Old Pegs that all were not Indians who wore the garb.
The remainder of the men were of all nationalities, chiefly French Canadians and half-breeds. A very few were English, but these kept apart, and seemed to have little intercourse with the rest.
Who were these men, and what were they doing in the grounds of the North-west Company? The strife between those great monopolies, the Hudson Bay and North-west, was at this time at its hight, and Old Pegs knew who they were and what their object was in coming here.
“Thar’ll be a b’ar-fight when Dave’s boys git wind of this yer,” thought the old hunter. “It’s all fa’r, long ez they only bring whites ag’in’ whites, but when it comes ter Injuns, thet’s cutting it too fat. Oh, thunder! thar’s thet cussid Velveteens.”
It was indeed that individual, who at this moment turned so that Old Pegs had a fair view of his face. He was no longer dressed in the ragged garb which he had worn in therescue of Rafe Norris, but in a jaunty hunting-dress with black belt and silver buckles, armed to the teeth, and looking what he really was—a desperado of the first class.
“I’d like ter pop him over,” thought Old Pegs, as he threw forward his rifle. “He sartingly desarves it. But what a wassups’ nest I’d bring about my ears ef I did shoot. Oh, you precious skunk,don’tyou desarve to die?”
The fingers of the old man itched to take a shot at the man who had cheated him out of his prisoner and killed the pet bear in such a cowardly way. It made his blood boil to see him swaggering about in his gaudy dress, giving orders here and there with the air of a man in authority. At length he paused and stood with one hand grasping his rifle, the hand out of the line of his body, and stooped to speak with the Indian who was reading.
“Durn him,” growled Old Pegs, “I won’t kill him, but I’ll score his knuckles for him.”
The rifle came up slowly, for he wished to make an accurate shot. Slowly, slowly, the keen eyes looking through the double sights, until the right hand of Velveteens was fully in range.
Crack!
The rifle dropped from the hand of the desperado; he uttered a wild yell of rage and pain, and the band ran up to him in wonder to find his right hand minus the index finger, which had been cut completely away by the ball. Old Pegs had clapped his hand instantly over the muzzle of his rifle, and stopped the vent, so that the smoke could not betray his presence, and without waiting to note more than that his bullet had reached the mark, plunged into the mountain defiles at the top of his speed, and, short and crooked as his legs were, that speed was something wonderful. He got over the ground at a pace which would have shamed a first-class pedestrian, taking paths which were known to but few in the mountains, over a stony way which left no trail. In the mean time, Velveteens, wild with passion, was giving vent to a series of atrocious oaths which would have disgraced a Thames barger in his most furious moods.
“Only one man in the kentry could do it,” screamed the injured man, “and that man is Old Pegs. What d’ye standgauping at me fur, you skunks of misery? Git up thar, half a hundred of ye, and chase the old thief to his hole. I’ll give a hundred dollars to the man, white or red, that brings me his scalp.”
There were men in the party to whom a hundred dollars was ample payment for taking a human life, and in the twinkling of an eye a score of swift runners were on the track of Old Pegs.
“See here,” said one of the ruffians, “we mout ez well chase the wind. Let’s you and I git hosses and go round to his place and meet him.”
The plan pleased all, and rapidly descending the slope, four of the most desperate villains in the party mounted and rode away at a rapid trot by the shortest roads they knew, to reach the little valley in advance of Old Pegs, who they knew would return to it before the day was out. But they had eight miles to go, and the route taken by Old Pegs was only four; and when the men rode into the valley they were surprised to see the old hunter before them, running rapidly toward the house. Two or three shots were fired without effect, and Old Pegs disappeared behind the bushes. Dave Farrell heard the shots and darted out, rifle in hand, meeting his friend at the doorway.
“Only four of the cusses, Dave,” he said, contemptuously. “We ain’t going to run from sech ez they.”
“Not if we know it,” replied the young man, fitting a cap on his rifle with great care. “You take the man on the right as they come in sight, and I’ll see after the one on the left. Then get cover and load.”
The horsemen came on at a mad gallop, for they seemed to have Old Pegs in a trap. But, rounding the point of the thicket, they found themselves looking into the muzzles of two deadly rifles, and before they could even check the headlong speed of their horses, two saddles were empty and the borderers had disappeared behind the bushes. Their own rifles were empty, for they had fired at Old Pegs, and had not since loaded, but there was no time to stop and turn.
“Forward!” cried one of the men. “We are man to man.”
Seeing that they did not attempt to use their rifles, andknowing by this that the weapons were empty, Old Pegs stepped out into the open space and cried “halt!” The command enforced by the leveled revolvers was too much for the two men, and they pulled their horses to a halt.
“Git down!” was the next command. “Throw up.”
This brief speech meant that they were not only to halt, but to raise their hands above their heads. The men obeyed without demur, for, though the tone of the old hunter was quiet, they felt that it meant business and acted accordingly.
“Come hyar.”
The two ruffians marched up to the muzzles of the revolvers, each face showing that they felt the tenure of life to be precarious in a high degree. Dave Farrell came forward and took away the weapons of the two men, and bound them hand and foot, while Old Pegs overlooked the work with a cocked revolver in his hand.
“Now don’t you seem ter be a couple of low-lived galloots, you two?” growled the hunter, “don’t you seem mean ez pizen?”
They looked it certainly, and stood with downcast eyes, evidently uncertain what their fate was to be.
“You come hyar ter kill me—kill Old Pegs, a man thet hez tramped these hills for thirty year, man and boy. Didn’t you, now? String ’em up ter thet bush, Dave; we’ll make it hot fur ’em.”
The two scoundrels were stripped to the skin, and some stout switches cut, with which the ruffians were belabored until they roared for mercy. This border vengeance being accomplished, they were tied on their horses with the face to the tail, and led to the mouth of the ravine.
“You got off mighty easy this time gents,” said Old Pegs. “I’m mighty ’shamed ter let you go so easy, but don’t come ag’in. You don’t want any more off me, do you?”
“No,” replied one of the men sincerely. “I’ve got enough.”
“Well, we kin keep yer weepons to remember you by, and we’ve give you suthing to make us dear to you. Who sent you arter me?”
“Velveteens.”
“Did he know who shot at him?”
“You bet.”