“Giv’ him my love, and say I’ll meet him some day and squar’ accounts. Now git.”
A cut from the switches upon the flanks of each horse, sent them thundering down the ravine, bobbing about in a grotesque manner, to the intense amusement of the two hunters, who watched them laughingly, until they turned an angle in the pass and were lost to view.
A week passed by, and nothing more was heard of the band who had made their camp in the valley which Old Pegs had reached upon the day when he tried his skill upon Velveteens. They had decamped suddenly, and where they had gone and what they meant to do was still a subject of debate. Old Pegs did not give up his caution, and never entered the passes without first satisfying himself that they did not conceal an enemy. But, as day after day passed, and nothing suspicious occurred, he began to think that all was safe.
“Tell you what it is, Dave,” he said. “You seem to hev forgotten thet thar is sech a thing ez a trapping-brigade in the world; by gracious, yes.”
Dave looked a little disconcerted; for, to tell the truth, he had not been able to break away from Myrtle, who seemed more beautiful day by day.
“I—I did not like to go away while there was danger,” he stammered.
“Jess so; but that bird won’t fight no longer, and I guess you’d better go down and see the boys. I don’t keer ef I go with you.”
“And leave Myrtle alone?”
“She knows what ter do ef any one comes,” replied Old Pegs. “Don’t you, gal?”
“I am not afraid,” was the reply. “Besides, I don’t think that we shall be troubled any more.”
“Perhaps not, but it is best to be on the safe side. Keep a bright look-out, and if you see any one, let them find an empty house.”
“I will keep my carbine handy, too,” replied the spirited girl. “But, father is right, Dave; you have a duty to perform, and have no right to leave it for me. I like to have you attend to the work which is given you to do.”
Old Pegs prudently departed, and the lips of the lovers met in a long, clinging kiss. Then she pushed him away with a hightened color, and watched them as they passed out of the valley, leaving her alone. She missed the tame bear greatly, for, in her solitary hours she had derived much amusement from his antics. The day passed slowly, although much of it was spent in study. After dinner she look her carbine—a weapon with the use of which she was familiar—and leaving the house went up the mountain in pursuit of game. An antelope was not long in presenting itself, and quickly fell before her unerring aim. Loading again she was engaged in putting on a cap, when two men suddenly started up in the sage-bush beside her, in the foremost of whom she recognized Velveteens—his hand bound up in a bloody cloth. The other was an Indian in the dress of the Modoc Sioux.
“Hyar’s luck, Anatole!” bawled Velveteens. “Little gal, how ar’ ye?”
“None the better for meeting you,” she replied, with her hand still upon the lock of the carbine, which she cocked by a quick movement. “What do you want?”
“Nothin’, nothin’, gal; only we’d like to hev ye take a walk with us. Thar’s a young man in our camp lit’rally spilin’ to see ye.”
“I am afraid he will ‘spile’ altogether, then,” she answered, “for I am not going with you.”
“Ho, ho, ho! jest hear her, Anatole! Ain’t she a bu’ster and no mistake? I’ll back that gal,” he continued in a tone of great admiration, “ag’inst any gal in these hyar foot-hills—ag’in the world! But, ye’ve got to go, little gal; we kain’t git along without ye.”
“You will be obliged to do so, let me tell you,” she answered, in the same undaunted tone. “I am not going with you, at any rate.”
“Ketch hold ov her, Anatole!” replied Velveteens. “I’d do it myself but my hand ain’t railly well yit.”
The Indian made a step in advance but halted quickly as Myrtle lifted the carbine and pointed it at his naked breast. There was a look in her face which he did not like and which puzzled him for he had seldom met a white girl who could use a rifle.
“What ar’ ye doin’ girl?” roared Velveteens. “P’int thet thing another way; it mout go off an’ hurt the Injun.”
“Itwillgo off if he takes another step,” she answered, in the same cool tone she had used throughout. “I do not intend to become your prisoner.”
The face of the Indian turned to a sickly white, for he saw death in the eyes of this brave young girl. Velveteens was startled, too, and began to think that it might not be so easy to capture her as he had imagined.
“Take keer!” he cried. “Ef ye hurt the Injun b’ar in mind that I am hyar and kin make ye trouble. Jump at her, Anatole; she kain’t hit ye.”
The Indian made a leap and instantly fell, shot through the shoulder. The ball had no sooner left the barrel than Velveteens bounded forward with a panther-like spring, but stopped in dismay as he met the shining barrel of a cocked revolver pointed at his head.
“Back!” she cried, sternly; “fall back, I say! I would not have your blood upon my hands, but for my honor’s sake I would kill a hundred such men and think I had done the world good service. Put up your hands! If you try to draw a weapon I will kill you. Up; higher still!”
The ruffian hesitated, but, as she was about to fire, he raised his hands quickly at their full stretch and she advanced with the revolver pointed at his heart and her finger on the trigger and took his revolvers from his belt and dropped them on the sod. His knife and hatchet followed and she stepped back a little, still transfixing him with her eyes.
“Fall back a little,” she said.
“But, Miss—”
“Fall back! I will not bid you three times before I fire.”
He stepped back about six paces, when she again called him to a halt and advancing, picked up the weapons he had dropped and hurled them down a deep ravine close at hand. The weapons of the Indian followed, rifle and all, and the two were weaponless and at the mercy of a girl.
“You have made a slight mistake in the character of the woman with whom you are dealing, my good sir,” she said. “Send that Indian away; he is not so badly wounded but he can walk.”
“What ar’ ye goin’ to do?”
“Obey my orders; I am not here to answer questions.”
“You kin go back to camp, Anatole,” said Velveteens, “but don’t you say any thing about this yer or I’ll kill ye when I come back; now ye hear me.”
The Indian staggered to his feet and hurried away down the mountain path.
“I won’t forgit this yer, gal,” said Velveteens, in a tone of deadly menace, “you may be right sure of that.”
“I don’t mean that you shall, sir,” she answered, calmly. “There is the antelope I have killed which I wish to have carried home. Pick it up and go in front.”
“Do you think I’m a pack-mule?” he roared, angrily.
“Your ears are long enough and your skull does not want in thickness, but it is not proof against a bullet, as you will find if you do not obey me at once,” was the answer. “Do not waste any time, sir, I have none to lose.”
Groaning in spirit but seeing no way out of his dilemma, the scoundrel picked up the carcass of the antelope and led the way down the hill, while Myrtle followed closely, holding her revolver ready. Once or twice he was tempted to drop his load and take the chances of a bullet, but when he remembered the fall of Anatole he dared not attempt it. Yet his pride as a mountaineer was touched to the quick, and he treasured up the malice of his heart.
“I’ll git even with you yit, my gal,” he thought. “Who’d hev thought she’d turn on a man with shootin’-irons? Thunder! I dassent show my head in camp ef this yer is found out.”
It was nearly an hour’s walk to the cabin, but she would neither suffer him to pause nor lay down his load. At lastthey went down the path into the valley and he dropped his burden at the door.
“Thanks,” she said. “I was afraid I should be obliged to leave the greater part of my game on the mountain, but you happened along so luckily that I am delighted. Does it occur to you at this moment, Mr. Velveteens, that you are most beautifully sold?”
“You’ve got the whip hand, now, I reckon,” was the answer; “but that won’t always last. One of these yer daysmychaince may come, an’ when it does no one, not even Rafe, shill stop me when I want my revenge.”
“I am not yet satisfied that I shall let you go,” she answered. “You came here under false colors, and betrayed those who thought that they were giving you aid in time of need while you were only studying a way to effect the release of Rafe Norris.”
“He’s my pard,” was the reply. “You wouldn’t ask a man to go back on his pard, would ye?”
“No; I can not blame you so much for that but you did a wicked and cruel act when you poisoned my pet bear.”
“Who sez I did?”
“No matter; you did the deed, for your face betrays you. Why should I not keep you here until my father returns, to meet his vengeance?”
“He’s marked me fur life,” replied Velveteens, holding up his maimed hand. “Ain’t that enough?”
“If I let you go, your first act will be to study new wrongs. I am afraid I must keep you a prisoner.”
“Don’t do it, gal,” he pleaded, eagerly. “I must go back; I’m ruined forever ef I don’t, ye see—and I’ll promise any thing—any thing, ef ye’ll only let me go.”
“And you would break your promise as readily as it is made,” she answered. “I do not know what to do in your case.”
“See thar, gal; yender comes Whirlwind and his gang. Oh, let me git off fur he’ll take my scalp, sure.”
“Away with you, then; save yourself if you can, but never let me see your face again.”
He sprung away eagerly and began to clamber up the mountain rapidly, for Whirlwind and two of his chief warriorswere already in view. Myrtle did not attempt to fly, but waited calmly the approach of the chief, who dismounted and came forward, starting back in surprise at her great beauty.
“Short Legs’ squaw, eh?” he said, in broken English. “No ’fraid of Whirlwind; he good friend to Short Legs and Beaver Captain.”
“I am not afraid of the great Blackfoot chief,” replied Myrtle, who had been told what to do in case Whirlwind came. “My father has left a message for him.”
“Good; Whirlwind will read it.”
She went into the cabin and came out with two pieces of bark inscribed with strange hieroglyphics. The chief looked at them intently and seemed to understand them.
“It is good; tell Short Legs that Whirlwind will meet him at the place with many braves. Who is the man who goes up mountain; friend, eh?”
Myrtle hesitated, for, bad and cruel as she knew Velveteens to be, she could not find it in her heart to expose him to the tender mercies of the Blackfoot chief. Yet, she did not wish to lie to him, for that was a crime which he would never forgive. She did the best thing under the circumstances—told the truth.
“Hewasmy prisoner, but I have given him liberty, and allowed him to go.”
“Brave man, eh!” said the chief, contemptuously. “Girl take him?”
“If the Blackfeet know a brave of the Sioux who is called Anatole,hecan tell whether he is a brave man or not.”
“Anatole is a dog; but, he is brave,” replied the chief.
“Anatole and this man would have made me a prisoner. I shot the Sioux and took this man prisoner, and made him carry the deer from the mountain.”
“Good!” said the chief, briefly. “Can the white girl shoot straight?”
“I will show you,” replied Myrtle, not in the spirit of bravado but because of the effect it might have upon the Indians if they should become enemies again. “Does Whirlwind see the bird on the bush?” she pointed to a wood thrush, nearly ninety yards distant.
“Whirlwind sees.”
She stepped to the front and lifted the carbine, which was one of the best make, or was, rather, a short rifle. She felt that it was necessary to make a good shot after what had been said and was very careful. Indians as a rule are not good marksmen, and none of the warriors had any idea that she would hit the bird, but to their utter surprise it fell at the crack of the rifle and one of the warriors scurried away to pick up the game. Throwing himself out of the saddle hanging by one foot, he swooped up the dead bird and brought it in. The head had been severed from the neck as neatly as if it had been done by a knife.
“My daughter can shoot,” said the chief. “I believe that she shot Anatole and took the white man prisoner. A brave warrior must make the white girl his wife.”
He said no more, but calling to his men they rode away rapidly, leaving the girl alone. It might have been an hour later when Old Pegs came into the valley.
“I’ve seen the brigade and they ar’ having trouble,” he said. “They’ve hed four men killed this week by the cussid Sioux.”
“What do they want, father?” said Myrtle. “Why should they seek to drive our men away?”
Old Pegs explained, and it is well to give the substance of his remarks to explain the feeling which existed between the men of the “Hudson Bay Company” and the “North-west.” It was simply a question of boundaries. The Northern Company claimed the right to send their trapping parties where they pleased, and the North-West disputed that claim. The parties which came out this season of the year were not trapping but “prospecting,” in order to know the best places for trapping in the coming winter.
Both sides had men to whom fighting was a pastime, and it was known that they would shed blood sooner than suffer a rival to encroach upon their trapping-grounds. “The brigade” of which Dave Farrell was captain was composed of men who were the pick and flower of the mountaineers, and who came out with the expectation of fighting. Perhaps they exceeded their instructions, sometimes, for they were not likely to study the boundaries very closely, and goodtrapping-ground whether north or south of the line was, to use a border expression, “their meat.”
It would be bootless to tell all that Old Pegs said and did when Myrtle told him what had happened since his departure. He raved, stamped, and launched all manner of invectives at the unlucky Velveteens.
“No buddy but a gal would hev let the cuss go,” he grumbled. “Why didn’t you keep him until Whirlwind came?”
“Father! could I do that? Bad as he is I could not give him up to Indian vengeance.”
“I don’t know but yer right, Myrtle. You’ve got a tender heart even fur the meanest skunk on the face of the creatid ’arth, and thet’s this same Velveteens. But, don’t you hunt any more till we’ve cleaned out this truck. Keep out ov sight. Don’t show yourself even to the Blackfoot, ’cause he mout turn ag’in’ us. Let’s fodder up; I’m gitting mighty hungry.”
Myrtle went into the cabin and prepared a meal and the two sat down to eat. When they had finished they were startled by the rattle of firearms away in the east. “Ther at it,” cried Old Pegs. “I’ve got ter take a hand.”
The “brigade” had hailed with pleasure the return of their captain, for they had been in trouble. Men who had wandered away from the camp had been seen no more, until their lifeless bodies were found in some dark ravine, or on the prairie, scalped and gory. Fate seemed to be against them, and nothing they could do to detect the murderers was of any avail. The brow of the Beaver Captain clouded as he heard the names of those who had fallen, four or five of his best men.
“This won’t do, boys,” he said. “Where is Boston Dick?”
“Dead!” replied one of the men. “Shot down and skulped up in the North gulch.”
“Is Reddy here?” demanded the captain, with a sort of groan.
“Reddy’s handed in his checks, too,” replied the same man. “Tell you what it is, Cap, the boys’ll spile ef they don’t git a chance at them cusses mighty soon.”
“They shall have a chance,” was the stern reply. “I’ll teach the cowardly hounds what it is to murder my men in cold blood. Where is Massy?”
“Right side up, Cap,” replied the man called Massy, a light, active borderer in buck-skins and beaver cap. “What can I do?”
“I want a trailer—one who will track these dogs to their den. Will you do it?”
“I kin try, Cap; but ef I go under, jest send word to my wife that I did my duty, and git my pay fur her. Kin I take out Pat Dada with me?”
“Just as you like. Have you got fresh sign to follow anywhere?”
“Yes; I’ve got the trail they left when Boston Dick went under, last night.”
“That’s enough; now boys, listen to me. There must be no straggling until we find out where these fellows hive. They think to drive us out of the Indian country, but if they do they must fight for it. What do you say?”
A ringing cheer was the only reply, and the men broke up into knots, canvassing the chances of meeting with the murderers soon. The brigade altogether numbered about seventy men, far less in number than the band of Velveteens, but every man was a dead shot, brave as a lion, and knew the country by heart. Like all trapper bands they were composed of a sprinkling of all nationalities—chiefly, however, of American birth. From the gray-haired mountaineer of sixty years to beardless boys scarcely twenty, but upon whose youthful faces the wild life of the border had set its mark. Massy and Pat Dada stole out of the camp, and as night came on Dave set his guards and took precautions which the others had neglected, and which had resulted so fatally. He felt tolerable certain that the calamities which had fallen uponthem could be laid only to the blame of Velveteens and Rafe Norris, but was not sure.
Scarcely had the sun gone down, when the moon rolled up in the sky and shed a mellow radiance on the scene. Dave made the circuit of the pickets about the edge of the strip of timber in which the camp was made, when he noticed, out upon the plain, a sort of wavering which rested on the grass and seemed to move slowly up. These black spots whatever they were puzzled him extremely, and he called the attention of the guard to them.
“I’ve hed my eye on those spots for the last ten minnits,” replied the man, “and I’ll be cussed if I can make ’em out. What was that?”
Both had caught the gleam of some metallic substance in the moonlight. Dave uttered a low exclamation, and caught the guard by the arm.
“There they come, by heaven! Stand firm now, and don’t fire unless they make a rush.”
Dave was right, for those dark shadows creeping up so slowly were the forms of their enemies gathering for a rush upon the camp. They were crawling along the short prairie grass, shading themselves as much as possible behind the hummocks, and getting as near as was safe to the line of woods before the rush was made. Velveteens was there, crouching upon the sod, and nursing in his heart the most bitter hatred of all who were dear to Myrtle. There, too, crouched the two men who had been flogged by the borderers, crouching like tigers ready for the spring, each man with a rifle in his grasp and his revolvers in the belt. Mixed with these were their red allies, the Modoc Sioux, eager for scalps, and caring but little from whom those scalps were taken. It seemed impossible that the trappers could withstand the rush of this powerful body.
Hark! They are gathering for the rush now, and weapons are tightly grasped as the whispered word of command goes down the line. The signal will be a shot from a rifle, and Velveteens is to give it. Rising slowly to his knees, he brought the deadly rifle to his shoulder, and pointed it at the motionless form of the guard who was talking with Dave Farrell, but, as the rifle came to a level, the man glided suddenlybehind a tree, and Velveteens lowered the weapon in surprise.
“Lucky fur ye, my man,” he muttered. “Thar; come on!”
The rifle cracked, and the bullet was buried in the tree behind which the guard was stationed, and the band rushed forward like leaping grayhounds. But, the rifle-shot seemed to be a signal to the others, and the whole front of the strip of woods is in a blaze, so rapid is the discharge of rifles about it. The trappers have not been caught napping, and the tables are turned upon the assailants who go down, man by man, fearfully decimated by the deadly fire. Prairie men do not waste bullets. They take deadly aim, and generally speaking the man drops at whom the ball is sped, and when the band of outlaws reached the woods, nearly one third of their number were beyond the reach of human aid. They stood in the moonlight, exposed to that dreadful fire, while the trappers were covered by trees. No wonder the British crew were rent asunder as if by an earthquake, and scattered both ways, leaving the front of the trappers clear.
“Whoop!” yelled one of the hunters. “Give ’em Hail Columby, boys, and durn the odds.”
Half a dozen men leaped out to follow the discomfited assailants, unheeding the stern orders of Dave Farrell. They had scarcely showed themselves when four of them went down, for, although so many had fallen, the enemy was not yet beaten, but had paused for breath before a new attack, shuttered by the band in the timber on either flank.
“Spread out there on the left and cover the corral,” cried Dave. “They’ll stampede the horses next.”
The order did not come too soon, for the party who moved to the left in obedience found themselves face to face with forty or fifty Indians creeping up toward the corral. A hand-to-hand struggle began, and as both sides were reinforced, a battle royal began between the corral and the prairie. In these wood battles the hand and eye must be trained to take in every incident and change in the scene, for it is impossible to say from what point a blow may come. The weapons are deadly, the revolver, knife and hatchet playing the principal part. Neither party would give way an inch now, andit was impossible to say who would conquer, when a shrill, peculiar whistle was heard high above the tumult. Instantly the assailants gave way, and were seen scattered about the prairie in headlong flight, leaving their dead and wounded gasping upon the sod. The trappers would have followed, but Dave would not permit it.
“Enough has been done, boys,” he cried. “We have given them a lesson which they will not soon forget, and I doubt if they will try their powers on us again. But, what made them give up so suddenly? They seemed to be holding us well when they broke away.”
“It was nip and tuck,” replied one of the men. “Durned ef I understand it.”
“I heerd a whistle,” replied another. “Thet’s all I know about it, and they quit on that.”
“I heard the signal too,” said Dave. “Two or three of you fellows run out and see what they are doing.”
Volunteers were plenty, and picking their way carefully through the dead and dying, they saw that the marauders were already in the saddle and headed for the foot-hills. The horse-guards had kept the animals well together, and they were not impeded in their flight. But, hardly had they disappeared when the scouts saw another line of horsemen streaming out from a distant pass, heading toward the timber, and they came back to report.
“A large force, boys?” demanded Dave.
“Nigh a hunderd, Cap.”
“Load up again, boys,” said the Beaver Captain, “for we may have another tussle. Keep out of sight, and let every bullet find a mark. Be steady.”
Just issued from a fierce struggle, and while some of their friends lay dead at their feet, these men cheerfully prepared for a new battle. The long line of horsemen came on in Indian fashion, until about three hundred yards from the timber, when they halted, and two men rode out toward the camp, evidently with peaceful intent. As they came nearer, Dave recognized Old Pegs and Whirlwind.
“It’s all right, boys,” he cried; “lay down your guns and get torches. Some of our poor fellows need our aid.”
While the men were making preparations he slipped out to meet the new-comers.
“Don’t tell me I ain’t in time, Dave,” growled Old Pegs, “acause I’d be like enuff ter hit ye. Them cusses bin at you, eh?”
“They gave us a benefit, just now. If you want fun, Whirlwind, you may overtake them before they get very deep into the foot-hills.”
“Which way?” cried Whirlwind, his nostrils dilating. “Whirlwind will go.”
“Set some scouts on them if you can’t bring them to a fight, for we want to know where they go. The country has got to be cleared of this scum, somehow.”
Whirlwind made no reply, but calling to his men they went off like the wind in the direction taken by the outlaws. Old Pegs looked after them wistfully.
“I’d like ter go with ’em, Dave, only if they ketch them critters I’m afraid Whirlwind will find himself in the position of the man that caught the Tartar. Lost some of yer boys?”
“Yes, too many, I am afraid,” replied Dave. “Let us join them and see what the loss really is.”
A careful search revealed the fact that five of his men had been killed and twice that number wounded. Of the assailants twelve were killed and five mortally wounded left upon the ground. The burial service was brief, each rough man bidding good-by to his friend in his rough way as they were laid beneath the sod, friend and foe together in a trench which was hastily thrown up by the men, who knew their duty well.
“Whirlwind has caught his Tartar, I reckon,” said Dave, as the sound of rifles came up on the wind. “What a dressing those fellows will give the Blackfeet!”
The firing receded, growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and they began to think that the Blackfeet were driving the enemy before them.
“Dave,” said Old Pegs, “I’ve bin thinking ’bout my gal and made up my mind. I’d hate to lose her but I won’t keep her here no more and she’s got ter go to the fort.”
“I am glad to hear you say so,” replied Dave, eagerly. “What made you come to that conclusion?”
Old Pegs related the adventure with Velveteens and Anatole.
“And you see, boy, this yer mout happen any day. Now give me ten men and I’ll go up to-morrow and git her and we’ll send her home with the brigade.”
The plan suited Dave well, and early next morning the old hunter with ten men rode up to his cabin home, searching every pass before they entered it. The ride was a long one and it was ten o’clock when Old Pegs dismounted at his door and went in.
The room was empty, but that did not seem to trouble him, for, after calling Myrtle’s name once or twice, he pushed aside the curtains of the recess in which she slept and went in. A sort of clicking sound was heard directly after, and he was not seen for ten minutes, when the noise was again repeated and he sprung out into the empty room with a wild look on his face.
“She’s gone!” he screamed. “Who hez robbed me of my child?”
“Hyar’s a bit of paper, old man,” said one of the trappers. “We found it on a split stick near the door.”
Old Pegs cast it from him with a roar of anger.
“D’ye think I kin read now? Whar’s Myrtle; thet’s what I want ter know.”
“I can read,” said one of the scouts, picking up the paper. “Shall I, old man?”
Old Pegs nodded with a savage look on his face, and the young man read the paper.
“This is to certify, that having come to the conclusion that the man known as Old Pegs is not lawfully the guardian of his lovely daughter—so called—therefore I, Rafe Norris, assume the guardianship, with the intention of making her my wife.Rafe Norris.”
“This is to certify, that having come to the conclusion that the man known as Old Pegs is not lawfully the guardian of his lovely daughter—so called—therefore I, Rafe Norris, assume the guardianship, with the intention of making her my wife.
Rafe Norris.”
The old man took up the letter and looked at it grimly. “I’ll wad it round a bullet, one day,” he muttered. “God help him, when we meet ag’in. He’ll git this paper back.”
We left Myrtle in the cabin when her father rushed out as the crack of rifles announced the attack on the camp of the brigade. She felt no fear at being left alone, but closing the doors she read for some hours in her book and then retired for the night. She was up early, for the scoundrels might pass the cabin on their return and she was always on her guard. Stealing out while it was yet dusk, with her rifle ready, she spent an hour in scouting and satisfied herself that no one was lurking about. Returning to the cabin she laid her rifle and revolvers on a bench by the door and went down to the spring after a bucket of water. For half an hour she dallied there by the spring. Then taking up the bucket she returned to the cabin and was putting the bucket on its bench when she heard a voice say:
“Good-morning, my dear; you look like an angel—you really do.”
She uttered a low cry and looked for a weapon, for there, just within the door and leaning against the post, stood Rafe Norris, with a provoking smile upon his face.
“You are looking for a weapon,” he said, quietly, “and I have no doubt would use it on me as readily as you did on Anatole. I have the truth of that story now.”
“Why are you here?” she gasped. “What do you seek?”
“Revenge!” he hissed. “My band has been scattered, beaten, trampled under foot by these thrice-accursed trappers. My men have been butchered in this very valley by your so-called father and Dave Farrell, and those who were spared suffered the ignominy of the lash at their hands. I myself have been disgraced by bonds.”
“Let me pass,” said Myrtle. “I will not stay to bandy words with you.”
“Listen to me, my girl,” cried Rafe Norris, sternly. “Ifyou leave this house alive you leave it as my prisoner. I am determined to punish these two men, and I can think of no better way to do so than by taking you with me. I shall act fairly with you, and at the first station we reach you shall be my wife, for I cannot live without you.”
“Let me pass,” she repeated, trying to force her way by him, with the design of reaching her carbine, which lay on the bench outside. “I will not stay here to be insulted.”
“I am afraid you will have to stay until I give you leave to pass, my girl,” replied Norris, pushing her back. “Do you think I do not know that if you reached the carbine my life is not worth a moment’s purchase? I honor your spirit, but you meet a man whose will is stronger than your own.”
Myrtle sunk back on a stool and looked at him steadily. There was something in her dark eyes which did not bode well for him if she reached a weapon, and he laughed aloud.
“You little tiger-cat,” he said. “What would you give for a pistol, now?”
“I only wish I had one,” she gasped, clenching her hands hard.
“Here is one,” he said, drawing the weapon from his belt and presenting the butt to her. “Let us see what use you will make of it.”
She grasped the revolver with eager fingers, and quick as thought pointed it at his breast and pulled the trigger. The cap snapped but there was not a cartridge in the chambers and he laughed until the cabin rung again.
“You would do it, my fine girl,” he said. “There; drop it—the weapon is not loaded, and I should be a fool to trust myself in your hands.”
He had made a mistake in giving her any weapon. Throwing her hand back, she hurled the heavy revolver at his head, and it struck him fairly between the eyes, and for a moment he reeled blindly to and fro, half-stunned by the sudden and terrible blow. This was the moment for Myrtle, and darting past him she caught up her carbine and cocked it quickly. By the time he had somewhat recovered from the blow, he saw her standing armed and ready, the carbine pointed at his heart.
“There is a load inthisweapon, Mr. Rafe Norris,” she saidwith a merry laugh. “The tables are turned, I think. Take care! If you have any desire to live, do not dare to move hand or foot.”
The tables were turned indeed, and by his own folly. He had not dreamed that this weak girl could so suddenly become the assailant, and he staggered back, still weak and confused, looking at her with a wild, questioning stare.
“You dare not fire,” he hissed. “Down with the carbine, girl.”
“Dare not! You do not know what a woman will dare for her honor which is dearer to her than life.”
The base man saw that he was conquered, and that the eyes which flashed along the tube of the carbine were lurid with a baleful light. He had laughed at Velveteens when the story of his capture and escape was made known, and now he was in the same quandary.
“Shoot,” he said, fiercely. “I will not turn in my tracks to save my life, and am ready to die. Why do you hesitate?”
“I do not seek your life, Rafe Norris,” replied Myrtle. “I only protect myself from wrong, and that I will do, no matter what happens. If you had taken me to your camp I would have killed you with the first weapon I could reach.”
“I would have risked that,” was the reply. “But enough of this. I am conquered, and wish to know what you require of me.”
“You have come back voluntarily, and you must remain a prisoner. Go into that room behind you.”
“I will not.”
“Go in; it is the only way to save your life.”
At this moment the light of hope came into the eye of Rafe Norris. He had seen something which boded well for him.
“It is foolish to throw my life away,” he said, quietly. “Since you insist upon it and will take my life if I refuse, I will go as your prisoner. I could not ask for a fairer jailer.”
“Go in there; I have no time to waste in idle words.”
He retreated slowly, still facing her, and speaking in the same careless tone which he had assumed lately.
“I never thought, my dear girl, that I should ever become your prisoner in this particular way. I did hope that at sometime you would hold me in a willing and sweeter bondage, the bondage of those who love and are beloved again. I have not yet given up hope.”
“You will force me to fire at you yet,” she said, raising the carbine a little.
“Don’t do it, my sweet; I don’t like it and it would be foolish to shed the blood of one who loves you to the confines of desperation. In fact, I yet indulge the hope that—hurrah!”
Myrtle suddenly felt herself seized from behind, and inclosed in a strong grasp, while the carbine was thrown into the air and went off without injury to any one. Slightly turning her head she saw the leering, evil face of the man called Velveteens close to hers.
“Ha, ha, ha, Rafe! You got it this time! The little cuss is pizen—pizen of the cussidest kind, ain’t she?”
The man had crept up while she was engaged in parley with Norris, and seized her before she could turn. It was vain to struggle and Myrtle allowed the carbine to be taken from her hand without a word of objection.
“Order your man Friday to take his hands off me,” she said. “I am not used to such treatment as this.”
“You desarve wuss,” hissed Velveteens. “See yer, Rafe, ye’d better give her to me, an’ ef I don’t tame her then my hand is out, that’s all.”
“Be quiet, Velveteens,” was the reply. “This girl is mine and I mean to make her my wife, so beware what you say or do. If I order the man to release you, will you promise not to get a weapon?”
“Yes,” replied Myrtle. “I won’t try to kill you againto-day, but I may to-morrow. What unmanly scoundrels you must be when it takes two of you to conquer one weak girl.”
“A weak gal shoots mighty clust, an’ throws pistols bully,” said Velveteens, releasing her at a sign from Norris, but remaining between her and the door.
“I am somewhat like yourself, Mr. Norris,” said Myrtle, quietly. “I yield to persuasion which I can not resist. I suppose you wish me to go with you?”
“I have some slight wishes pointing in that direction,” replied Rafe, mockingly.
“Then I will go. Will you allow me to get my hat, or must I go bareheaded?”
“Where is it?”
She pointed to the curtained alcove where she slept. He opened the curtains and looked in to satisfy himself that there was no door by which she could escape, and stepping back made a sign to her to pass in. She did so, and a moment later they heard a sharp, clicking, metallic sound, followed a moment later by another.
“By the Six Devils!” screamed Velveteens, “she’s got hold of a rifle some’rs. Didn’t ye hear her cock it?”
Both men sprung toward the recess, and drawing aside the curtains looked in, but to their rage and dismay, Myrtle was nowhere in sight. The bed was one of the common camp sort, which are used for their ease in transportation. Several articles of clothing, a chair or two, and a small table comprised all the furniture of the little place, and there was only one window which had not been touched, yet Myrtle had disappeared.
“Done!” said Velveteens, with an expression of supreme amazement upon his face. “Done exceedin’ brown; I donno ez I ever see the like in all my born days.”
Rafe Norris could not speak for passion. He ran to and fro in the little alcove, pounded the walls, shook the bed, and searched in places where a rat could hardly have taken refuge, with a dim idea that shemightbe there, while Velveteens looked on quietly.
“That galissmart, Rafe,” he said. “One time I thort ye was a durned fool to marry anybuddy, but ef ye kin git a gal like that it’s diffrunt, I reckon. But whar in thunder hez she gone?”
“Why don’t you help me search?” cried Rafe. “Fool that we were to let her out of our hands for a moment.”
“It was stupid,” replied Velveteens, “but that won’t bring her back.”
They searched thoroughly everywhere but their search was vain. They were literally left without a clue of any kind, for the little room had no article of furniture which would have furnished a hiding-place for a rabbit.
“It looks almost like a supernatural act,” muttered Rafebelow his breath. “Wherecanshe have gone? I’ve a good mind to set fire to the cabin and take the chances of finding her.”
“Let’s do it,” said Velveteens, eagerly.
“I believe you would, old fellow,” said Rafe, laughing. “You don’t seem to care much whether you kill or cure—but remember thet Ilovethe girl.”
“Love! oh, yes; that’s a nice word for Rafe Norris to speak. But, it won’t do to set a light to ther cabin fur that would bring the ‘brigade’ on us, right smart. We’ve got ter git out’n this place anyhow, before Old Pegs comes back. He’d make it hotter than hotness fur us.”
“I only wish he would come back,” replied Rafe, grating his teeth. “Curse him, he has been the cause of all our trouble. Now we won’t be able to get those Indians into a square fight again, this season. They were whipped too bad, curse the luck.”
As he spoke he gave the bed a kick. A clicking sound was heard and the floor seemed to rise beneath their feet, disclosing a cavity about four feet square and a flight of steps leading downward. “Hurrah!” cried Rafe. “We’ve got her after all. In with you!”
Velveteens sprung down the steps and ran through a narrow passage into a little cave scooped out of the solid earth where Myrtle stood with a rifle in her hand. She was again brought to bay.
“Boys,” said Old Pegs, “they’ve got her, de’d or alive, and we’ve got to find out which—to resker her ef she’s alive and to revenge her ef she’s dead. Duz thet kind ov tork please you?”
The men did not speak, but he read in their eyes that they would be with him to the death. He beckoned them to follow, and entered the cabin, tearing down the curtainwhich concealed the recess in which Myrtle had slept. He caught hold of the bed and gave it a swing, and, turning as if upon a pivot it showed the opening and the steps leading downward.
“Two or three of you come with me,” said Old Pegs. “I don’t want too many; they’ll spile the trail.”
They ran down the steps and entered the little passage which led to the cave. The place was dark, but Old Pegs took a taper from the wall and lighted it.
“I called her and she didn’t answer so I didn’t stay to light up,” he said. “Let’s see what all this amounts to.”
The moment the taper was lighted the men uttered cries of surprise, for there, close against the wall, lay the man called Velveteens, bathed in blood.
“I’ll bet a thousand dollars the gal killed him,” cried Old Pegs, as he turned the villain over on his back. “Thar’s the mark of her bullet, but—thunder! He’s got a knife in his breast.”
It was true. A long knife had pierced the bosom of Velveteens, just above the collar-bone, and slanting downward. The hand which planted that knife knew how to direct a fatal blow. The rifle-ball had pierced him through the neck but such a wound was not necessarily fatal, and the knife had finished the bloody work.
“The gal never done that,” said one of the men. “Seems ter me thar’s life in the low cuss, old man.”
“Giv’ us yer flask, then. Whisky’ll bring this critter out of his grave a’most. He don’t desarve it but I want ter question him a bit before he goes under.”
The man handed over the flask, and Old Pegs bathed the lips of the wounded wretch with the strong liquor, and raising his head managed to get a little down his throat. A moment after he gave a gasp and his eyes flared open, gazing with a wild look upon the faces bent above him.
“Whar am I?” he gasped. “Oh, I know now; I’ve got my gruel.”
“You ain’t got long ter live, Velveteens,” said Old Pegs, “and yer mout ez well make a clean breast of it.”
“I’ll tell,” he muttered. “Give me some more whisky—I want strength.”