Twice Bought Part 30

"Oh, for the matter o' that it's easy to explain; but it wasn't _my_ jump I was goin' to tell about; it was the jump o' a poor critter--a sort o' ne'er-do-well who jined a band o' us trappers the day before we arrived at this place, on our way through the mountains on a huntin'

expedition. He was a miserable specimen o' human natur'--all the worse that he had a pretty stout body o' his own, an' might have made a fairish man if he'd had the spirit even of a cross-grained rabbit. His name was Miffy, an' it sounded nat'ral to him, for there was no go in him whatever. I often wonder what sitch men was made for. They're o'

no use to anybody, an' a nuisance to themselves."

"P'r'aps they wasn't made for any use at all," suggested Tolly, who, having whittled a small piece of stick down to nothing, commenced another piece with renewed interest.

"No, lad," returned the trapper, with a look of deeper gravity. "Even poor, foolish man does not construct anything without some sort o'

purpose in view. It's an outrage on common sense to think the Almighty could do so. Mayhap sitch critters was meant to act as warnin's to other men. He told us that he'd runned away from home when he was a boy 'cause he didn't like school. Then he engaged as a cabin-boy aboard a s.h.i.+p tradin' to some place in South America, an' runned away from his s.h.i.+p the first port they touched at 'cause he didn't like the sea. Then he came well-nigh to the starvin' p'int an' took work on a farm as a labourer, but left that 'cause it was too hard, after which he got a berth as watchman at a warehouse, or some place o' the sort but left that, for it was too easy. Then he tried gold-diggin', but could make nothin' of it; engaged in a fur company, but soon left it; an' then tried his hand at trappin' on his own account but gave it up 'cause he could catch nothin'. When he fell in with our band he was redooced to two rabbits an' a prairie hen, wi' only three charges o' powder in his horn, an' not a drop o' lead.

"Well, we tuck pity on the miserable critter, an' let him come along wi'

us. There was ten of us altogether, an' he made eleven. At first we thought he'd be of some use to us, but we soon found he was fit for nothin'. However, we couldn't cast him adrift in the wilderness, for he'd have bin sure to come to damage somehow, so we let him go on with us. When we came to this neighbourhood we made up our minds to trap in the valley, and as the Injins were wild at that time, owin' to some rascally white men who had treated them badly and killed a few, we thought it advisable to pitch our camp on the Outlook here. It was a well-known spot to most o' my comrades, tho' I hadn't seen it myself at that time.

"When we came to the gap, one of the young fellows named Bounce gave a shout, took a run, and went clear over it just as Leapin' Buck did. He was fond o' showin' off, you know! He turned about with a laugh, and asked us to follow. We declined, and felled a small tree to bridge it.

Next day we cut the tree down to a plank, as bein' more handy to shove across in a hurry if need be.

"Well, we had good sport--plenty of b'ar and moose steaks, no end of fresh eggs of all sorts, and enough o' pelts to make it pay. You see we didn't know there was gold here in those days, so we didn't look for it, an' wouldn't ha' knowed it if we'd seen it. But I never myself cared to look for gold. It's dirty work, grubbin' among mud and water like a beaver. It's hard work, too, an' I've obsarved that the men who get most gold at the diggin's are not the diggers but the storekeepers, an'

a bad lot they are, many of 'em, though I'm bound to say that I've knowed a few as was real honest men, who kep' no false weights or measures, an' had some sort of respec' for their Maker.

"However," continued the trapper, filling a fresh pipe, while Tolly and his little red friend, whittling their sticks less vigorously as the story went on and at length dropping them altogether, kept their bright eyes riveted on Drake's face. "However, that's not what I've got to tell 'ee about. You must know that one evening, close upon sundown, we was all returnin' from our traps more or less loaded wi' skins an' meat, all except Miffy, who had gone, as he said, a huntin'. Bin truer if he'd said he meant to go around scarin' the animals. Well, just as we got within a mile o' this place we was set upon by a band o' Redskins.

There must have bin a hundred of 'em at least. I've lived a longish time now in the wilderness, but I never, before or since, heard sitch a yellin' as the painted critters set up in the woods all around when they came at us, sendin' a shower o' arrows in advance to tickle us up; but they was bad shots, for only one took effect, an' that shaft just grazed the point o' young Bounce's nose as neat as if it was only meant to make him sneeze. It made him jump, I tell 'ee, higher than I ever seed him jump before. Of course fightin' was out o' the question.

"Ten trappers under cover might hold their own easy enough agin a hundred Redskins, but not in the open. We all knew that, an' had no need to call a council o' war. Every man let his pack fall, an' away we went for the Outlook, followed by the yellin' critters closer to our heels than we quite liked. But they couldn't shoot runnin', so we got to the gap. The plank was there all right. Over we went, faced about, and while one o' us hauled it over, the rest gave the savages a volley that sent them back faster than they came.

"`Miffy's lost!' obsarved one o' my comrades as we got in among the bushes here an' prepared to fight it out.

"`No great loss,' remarked another.

"`No fear o' Miffy,' said Bounce, feelin' his nose tenderly, `he's a bad s.h.i.+llin', and bad s.h.i.+llin's always turn up, they say.'

"Bounce had barely finished when we heard another most awesome burst o'

yellin' in the woods, followed by a deep roar.

"`That's Miffy,' says I, feelin' quite excited, for I'd got to have a sneakin' sort o' pity for the miserable critter. `It's a twin roar to the one he gave that day when he mistook Hairy Sam for a grizzly b'ar, an' went up a spruce-fir like a squirrel.' Sure enough, in another moment Miffy burst out o' the woods an' came tearin' across the open s.p.a.ce straight for the gap, followed by a dozen or more savages.

"`Run, Bounce--the plank!' says I, jumpin' up. `We'll drive the reptiles back!'

"While I was speakin' we were all runnin' full split to meet the poor critter, Bounce far in advance. Whether it was over-haste, or the pain of his nose, I never could make out, but somehow, in tryin' to shove the plank over, Bounce let it slip. Down it went an' split to splinters on the rock's a hundred feet below! Miffy was close up at the time. His cheeks was yaller an' his eyes starin' as he came on, but his face turned green and his eyes took to glarin' when he saw what had happened.

I saw a kind o' hesitation in his look as he came to the unbridged gulf. The savages, thinkin' no doubt it was all up with him, gave a fiendish yell o' delight. That yell saved the poor ne'er-do-well. It was as good as a Spanish spur to a wild horse. Over he came with legs an' arms out like a flyin' squirrel, and down he fell flat on his stummick at our feet wi' the nearest thing to a fair bu'st that I ever saw, or raither heard, for I was busy sightin' a Redskin at the time an'

didn't actually see it. When the savages saw what he'd done they turned tail an' scattered back into the woods, so we only gave them a loose volley, for we didn't want to kill the critters. I just took the bark off the thigh of one to prevent his forgettin' me. We held the place here for three days, an' then findin' they could make nothin' of us, or havin' other work on hand, they went away an' left us in peace."

"An' what became o' poor Miffy?" asked little Trevor, earnestly.

"We took him down with us to a new settlement that had been started in the prairie-land west o' the Blue Mountains, an' there he got a sitooation in a store, but I s'pose he didn't stick to it long. Anyhow that was the last I ever saw of him. Now, boys, it's time to turn in."

That night when the moon had gone down and the stars shed a feeble light on the camp of those who slumbered on the Outlook rock, two figures, like darker shades among the surrounding shadows, glided from the woods, and, approaching the edge of the gap, gazed down into the black abyss.

"I told you, redskin, that the plank would be sure to be drawn over,"

said one of the figures, in a low but gruff whisper.

"When the tomahawk is red men do not usually sleep unguarded," replied the other, in the Indian tongue.

"Speak English, Maqua, I don't know enough o' your gibberish to make out what you mean. Do you think, now, that the villain Paul Bevan is in the camp?"

"Maqua is not a G.o.d, that he should be able to tell what he does not know."

"No, but he could guess," retorted Stalker--for it was the robber-chief.

"My scouts said they thought it was his figure they saw. However, it matters not. If you are to earn the reward I have offered, you must creep into the camp, put your knife in Bevan's heart, and bring me his scalp. I would do it myself, redskin, and be indebted to n.o.body, but I can't creep as you and your kindred can."

"I'd be sure to make row enough to start them in time for self-defence.

As to the scalp, I don't want it--only want to make certain that you've done the deed. You may keep it to ornament your dress or to boast about to your squaw. If you should take a fancy to do a little murder on your own account do so. It matters nothin' to me. I'll be ready to back you up if they give chase."

While the robber-chief was speaking he searched about for a suitable piece of wood to span the chasm. He soon found what he wanted, for there was much felled timber lying about the work of previous visitors to the Outlook.

In a few minutes Maqua had crossed, and glided in a stealthy, stooping position towards the camp, seeming more like a moving shadow than a real man. When pretty close he went down on hands and knees and crept forward, with his scalping-knife between his teeth.

It would have been an interesting study to watch the savage, had his object been a good one--the patience; the slow, gliding movements; the careful avoidance of growing branches, and the gentle removal of dead ones from his path, for well did Maqua know that a snapping twig would betray him if the camp contained any of the Indian warriors of the Far West.

At last he drew so near that by stretching his neck he could see over the intervening shrubs and observe the sleepers. Just then Drake chanced to waken. Perhaps it was a presentiment of danger that roused him, for the Indian had, up to that moment, made not the slightest sound. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, the trapper looked cautiously round; then he lay down and turned over on his other side to continue his slumbers.

Like the tree-stems around him, Maqua remained absolutely motionless until he thought the trapper was again sleeping. Then he retired, as he had come, to his anxiously-awaiting comrade.

"Bevan not there," he said briefly, when they had retired to a safe distance; "only Mahoghany Drake an' two boy."

"Well, why didn't ye scalp them!" asked Stalker, savagely, for he was greatly disappointed to find that his enemy was not in the camp. "You said that all white men were your enemies."

"No, not all," replied the savage. "Drake have the blood of white mans, but the heart of red mans. He have be good to Injins."

"Well, well; it makes no odds to me," returned Stalker, "Come along, an'

walk before me, for I won't trust ye behind. As for slippery Paul, I'll find him yet; you shall see. When a man fails in one attempt, all he's got to do is to make another. Now then, redskin, move on!"

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

As widely different as night is from day, summer from winter, heat from cold, are some members of the human family; yet G.o.d made them all, and has a purpose of love and mercy towards each! Common sense says this; the general opinion of mankind holds this; highest of all, the Word clearly states this: "G.o.d willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live;" and, "He maketh His sun to s.h.i.+ne upon the just and on the unjust." Nevertheless, it seemed difficult to believe that the same G.o.d formed and spared and guarded and fed the fierce, lawless man Stalker, and the loving, gentle delicate Rose of Oregon.

About the same hour that the former was endeavouring to compa.s.s the destruction of Paul Bevan, Betty was on her knees in her little tented room, recalling the deeds, the omissions, and the shortcomings of the past day, interceding alike for friends and foes--if we may venture to a.s.sume that a rose without a thorn could have foes! Even the robber-chief was remembered among the rest, and you may be very sure that Tom Brixton was not forgotten.

Having slept the sleep of innocence and purity, Betty rose refreshed on the following day, and, before the Indian village was astir, went out to ramble along a favourite walk in a thicket on the mountain-side. It so fell out that Tom had selected the same thicket for his morning ramble.

But poor Tom did not look like one who hoped to meet with his lady-love that morning. He had, under good nursing, recovered some of his former strength and vigour of body with wonderful rapidity, but his face was still haggard and careworn in an unusual degree for one so young. When the two met Tom did not pretend to be surprised. On the contrary, he said:--

"I expected to meet you here, Betty, because I have perceived that you are fond of the place, and, believe me, I would not have presumed to intrude, were it not that I wish to ask one or two questions, the answers to which may affect my future movements."

He paused, and Betty's heart fluttered, for she could not help remembering former meetings when Tom had tried to win her affections, and when she had felt it her duty to discourage him. She made no reply to this rather serious beginning to the interview, but dropped her eyes on the turf, for she saw that the youth was gazing at her with a very mingled and peculiar expression.

"Tell me," he resumed, after a few moments' thought, "do you feel quite safe with these Indians?"

"Quite," replied the girl with a slight elevation of the eyebrows; "they are unusually gentle and good-natured people. Besides, their chief would lay down his life for my father--he is so grateful. Oh yes, I feel perfectly safe here."

"But what does your father think. He is always so fearless--I might say reckless--that I don't feel certain as to his real opinion. Have you heard him speaking about the chance of that rascal Stalker following him up?"