Frank, the Young Naturalist Part 22

"Here the ole man stopped, an' buried his face in his hands; but, suddenly arousin' himself, he continued,

"'One day, when the ice were a'most out of the river, father an' me concluded it was about time to start on our usual tradin' expedition; so we went to work an' got all our goods--which consisted of beads, hatchets, lookin'-gla.s.ses, blankets, an' such like--into the big canoe, an' were goin' to start 'arly in the mornin' to pay a visit to the Osage Injuns, an' trade our things for their furs. That night, while we were eatin' our supper, a party of hors.e.m.e.n came gallopin'

an' yellin' down the bank of the river, an', ridin' up to the door of the cabin, dismounted, an', leavin' their horses to take care of themselves, came in without ceremony. We knowed very well who they were. They were a band of outlaws an' robbers, that had been in the county ever since I could remember, an', bein' too lazy to make an honest livin' by trappin', they went around plunderin' an' stealin'

from every one they come across. They had stole three or four horses from us, an' had often come to our cabin an' called for whisky; but that was an article father never kept on hand. Although he was an ole trapper, an' had lived in the woods all his life, he never used it, an' didn't believe in sellin' it to the red-skins. The captain of the outlaws was a feller they called "Mountain Tom," an' he was meaner than the meanest Injun I ever see. He didn't think no more of cuttin'

a man's throat than you would of shootin' a buck. The minute they came into the cabin we could see that they had all been drinkin'. They acted like a lot of wild buffalo-bulls, an', young as I was, I could see that they meant mischief, an' I knowed that our chance for life was small indeed. As I arterwards learned, they had been up the river, about two miles, to a half-breed's shanty, an' had found half a barrel of whisky, an', arter killin' the half-breed, an' drinkin' his liquor, they felt jest right for a muss, an' had come down to our cabin on purpose for a fight.

"'"Now, ole Lawson," said Mountain Tom, leanin' his rifle up in the corner, "we have come down here for whisky. We know you've got some; so jest draw your weasel, if you want to save unpleasant feelin's; an'

be in a hurry about it, too, for we're mighty thirsty."

"'"Tom," said my father, "how often have I told you that I haven't got a drop of liquor in the shanty? I never had. I don't use it myself, an' I don't keep it for--"

"'"That's a lie!" yelled three or four of the band.

"'"You a trader among the Injuns, an' not keep whisky?"

"'"We know a thing or two more than that."

"'"We have heard that story often enough," said Tom. "We know you have got the liquor, an' we are goin' to get it afore we leave this shanty.

If you won't bring it out an' treat, like white man had ought to do, we'll have to look for it ourselves--that's all. Here, boys," he said, turning to his men, "jest jump down into the cellar an' hunt it up, 'cause we know he's got some. An' you, Jake," he added, catching hold of a big, ugly-lookin' feller, "you stand here, an shoot the first one that tries to get away."

"'The men ran down into the cellar, and we could hear them cussin' an'

swearin', as they overturned every thing in the useless search. My mother, a'most frightened to death, gathered us children around her, an' sank back into the furthest corner. I thought my father had gone crazy; he strode up an' down the floor of the cabin like some caged wild animal, clenchin' his hands an' grindin' his teeth in a way that showed that there was plenty of fight in him, if he only had a chance to let it out. Once in awhile he would look at his rifle, that hung against the wall, then at the man that stood at the top of the cellar-stairs, guardin' us, as if he had a'most made up his mind to begin a knock-down an' drag-out fight with the rascals. But then he would look at my mother an' us children, back in the corner, an' go to pacin' the floor again. If we had been out of the way, I know that he would not have let them rummage about as he did; he would have had a fight with them that would do your eyes good to look at. But, as it was, I guess he kinder thought that if he was peaceable they would go off an' leave us, arter they found that no whisky was to be had. After searchin' around the cellar for more 'n ten minutes, one of 'em called out,

"'"Wal, boys, it's easy enough to see that the cuss has fooled us. Thar's no liquor here. He's hid it in the woods, somewhere 'bout the shantee."

"'"That's so," said another. "I'll bet he has got plenty of whisky somewhere. Let's go up and hang him till he tells us where it is."

"'"No, no, that won't do," said Mountain Tom. "You fellers are gettin'

so that you talk like babies. Shoot the rascal down. We've had trouble enough with him. If we can't get the liquor here, there are plenty of places where we can get it."

"'"That's the talk!" yelled the band. "Shoot him down! Tear him to pieces!"

"'The man who was standin' at the head of the stairs heard all the rascals had said, an', with a yell of delight, he raised his rifle an'

drew a bead on my mother. But the ole man was too quick for him. With a bound like a painter, he sprang across the floor, an', grabbin' the villain by the throat, lifted him from his feet, and throwed him down into the cellar, an' in an instant shut the door, an' fastened it with a heavy bar of wood. Then, takin' down his rifle, he said to us, a'most in a whisper,

"'"Now run! run for your lives! We must cross the prairy an' get into the woods afore the rascals cut their way out. Run! quick!"

"'My mother took my sisters by the hand an' led them out, an' me an'

my brother followed her. Father closed both the windows an' the door, an' fastened them on the outside. All this while the robbers had been yellin' an' swearin', an' cuttin' away at the cellar-door with their tomahawks; an' we well knowed that they would soon be out an' arter us. Our cabin stood in a large, natural prairy, an' we had to travel full half a mile acrost the open ground afore we come to the woods. My father followed close behind us, with his rifle, ready to shoot the first one that come in sight, an' kept urgin' us to go faster. We hadn't gone more'n half the distance acrost the prairy, when a loud crash and yells of triumph told us, plain enough, that the villains had worked their way out of the cellar. Then heavy blows sounded on the window-shutter, which, strong as it was, we knowed could not long hold out ag'in 'em. In a few minutes it was forced from its hinges, an' Mountain Tom sprang out.

"'"Here they are, boys," he shouted. "Come on! We'll l'arn 'em not to hide--"

"'The report of father's rifle cut short his words, an' Mountain Tom, throwin' his hands high above his head, sank to the ground like a log.

By this time the rest of the band had come out, an the bullets rattled around us like hailstones. My father and brother both fell-the latter never to rise; but father, although he had received three bullets, staggered to his feet, an' follered along arter us, loadin' his rifle.

Then began the race for life. It seemed to me that we flew over the ground, but the villains gained on us at every step. Just as we reached the woods, my father called out,

"'"Down--down, every one of you! They're going to shoot again!"

"'Obeyin' that order was what saved my life. I throwed myself flat into the bushes, an' escaped unhurt; but both my sisters were shot dead, an' my father received another ball that brought him to the ground. My mother, instead of thinkin' of herself, kneeled beside him, an' supported his head in her arms. The next minute the outlaws entered the woods, an' one pa.s.sed so close to me that I could have touched him.

"'"Wal, Bill Lawson," said a voice that I knowed belonged to Mountain Tom, "you see I'm here again. I s'pose you kind o' thought you had rubbed me out, didn't you?"

"'"Yes, I did," said father--an' his voice was so weak that I could hardly hear him.

"'"You won't have a chance to draw a bead on me again, I guess. We shoot consider'ble sharp--don't we?"

"'"I shan't live long," said father. "But, whatever you do to me, be merciful to my wife an'--"

"'The dull thud of the tomahawk cut short my father's dying prayer, an'

his brains were spattered on the bush where I was concealed; an', a'most at the same moment, another of the band buried his knife in my mother's heart.'

"Old Bill could go no further. He buried his face in his hands an'

cried like a child. At length, by a strong effort, he choked down his sobs, and went on.

"'I knew no more until I found myself lyin' in the cabin of an ole hunter, who lived about ten miles from where we used to live. He had been out huntin', an' had found me lyin' close beside my father an'

mother. He thought I was dead, too, at first, but he found no wounds on me; so, arter buryin' all my relatives in one grave, he took me home with him. In three or four days I was able to get around again; an', beggin' a rifle an' some powder an' ball of the ole hunter, I started out. I went straight to the grave that contained all I loved on earth, an' there, kneelin' above their heads, I swore that my life should be devoted to but one object--vengeance on the villains who had robbed me of all my happiness. How well I have kept my oath the notches on my knife will show. Seven of them have fallen by my tomahawk; one only is left, an' that is Mountain Tom. For fifteen long years I have been on his trail; but the time will come when my vengeance will be complete.'

"An' the ole man rolled himself up in his blanket, an', turning his back to me, sobbed himself to sleep.

"But my story is not yet told," continued d.i.c.k. "About a year arter this, Bill an' me were ridin' along, about noon, in a little valley among the mountains, when we came, all of a sudden, on the camp of two trappers.

"'Heaven be praised! there he is!' said ole Bill.

"An', swinging himself from his horse, he strode up to one of the men, who sprang from his blanket, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed,

"'Bill Lawson!'

"'Yea, Mountain Tom,' said ole Bill, 'I'm here. You an' me have got a long reckonin' to settle now.'

"The villain at first turned as pale as a skewer; but he seemed to regain his courage, and exclaimed,

"'It won't take us long to settle up,'

"And, quick as lightnin', he drew his knife, an' made a pa.s.s at Bill.

"But he had got the wrong buck by the horn. The ole man was as quick as he; an', grabbin' hold of his arm, he took the knife away from him as if he had been a baby.

"'Tom,' said he, as he drew his tomahawk from his belt, 'I've followed you all over this country for fifteen years, an', thank Heaven, I've found you at last.'

"'Oh, Bill,' shrieked the condemned man, sinkin' on his knees before the ole man, 'I was--'

"'Stand up,' said Bill, ketchin' hold of him, an' jerkin' him to his feet. 'You were brave enough when you were killing my wounded father.'

"'Oh, Bill--'

"'With the tomahawk you killed my father, an' by the tomahawk you shall die.'

"'For mercy's sake, Bill,' again shrieked the terrified man, taking hold of a tree for support, 'hear me!'