Beadle's Half Dime Library (no. 79) (1879 01 28)
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= 1 NRG RR My es ry Fe ©& Dra UKE, I, AEE ERNIE, 3 lias A. DQAR=- Co Hari. rrr is Tee — Copyrighted in 1879, by BEADLE AND ADAMS. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, No. 98 WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK. Price, 5 Cents. Vol. IV. ~~ $ol Ginger, THE GIANT TRAPPER; The Flower of the Blackfeet. BY ALBERT W. AIKEN , AUTHOR OF ‘‘THE TWO DETECTIVES,” ‘“ ABE COLT, THE CROW-KILLER,” ETC., ETC. CHAPTER I. INTO THE BLACKFOOT COUN- THE EXPEDITION three thousand mounted warriors into the field. It has got to be the fashion among the ‘‘spe- cial correspondents ” of the daily newspapers, who make ‘‘kid-glove” journeys to the frontier, to write sneering accounts of the red-skins—of ‘Mr. Lo,” as they term the savage; to say that they want courage, and that they could be easily crushed out, should the government brin its strong hand to bear upon them. These rela- able writers pick out some drunken, vagabond Indian, hanging around the settlements, his senses steeped in bad whisky, and they hold him up to the gaze of the se as a sample of the American Indian! ah! away with such de- and take a gallop with me, three hundred miles north-west from Cadotte’s Pass, up the valley of the Flathead river, right into the country of the Blackfeet—the nation that as yet hav» never yielded a single inch of their soil to tli tread of the white man’s foot—a tribe that laugh to scorn the power of the ‘“ blue- coa chiefs,” as they term the United States soldiers. In this trip we may encounter danger; nay, more, we shall encounter it; we shall owe our lives to the speed of cur horses, the sureness of our shots, and the distance that a good repeating rifle will carry. And Monsieur Correspondent will return, convinced that the American Indian will fight, ception! after all, and that he can not te “ wiped out,” TRY. me, messieurs, who are termed “ ial | to use our frontier phrase, as easily as is gene- On a bright afternoon in the month of June, | correspondents,” but who, one half the time, | rally supposed. But to return to cur story. almost all the inhabitants of the frontier post | could be more aptly termed ‘“ ial story-tell- On the hurricane deck of the Mountain Belle known as Fort Benton, and located on the upper Missouri, gathered on the bank of the river to watch the approach of the first steamer of the season, through from St. Louis. ers ”—buy a Henry rifle, a g¢ navy revolver, one of Colt’s fine weapons, a hardy Indian pony, stood two men, side by side. They were dress- ed roughly—big boots drawn cn over their nts, and _ kread-brimmed ats pulled down over their : brows in the western fashicn. On came the ‘‘ Mountain But, their hands and faces, Belle,” the A 1 “stern- though bronzed by the rays wheeler,” which, for many | of the sun and tanned by the weary weeks to her impatient if ry prairie winds, yet showed no passengers, had plowed her é YW, .. marks of toil. One cf ihe way a os naan wa- \\Nt Nit ji $ two was a man no longer the “Mad “River of ths | ae « | Zbiy sessel Over bis head, North,” on her upward pas- iy et time had_tcuched him sage lo Fort enton, the f ss but lightly. Hisdark-brown head of navigation on the b td hair, cut short, and trushed Missouri. | Ne back from his { emples, show- A motley crowd were col- WQS SSF ed no silver locks. His face lected on the bank, waiting AN Shaw : Pa was massive and full: a the approach of the steamer. Here and there among the throng might be seen the blue uniforms of Uncle Sam’s boys, the garrison of the fort: side by side with them, a swarthy red-skin, decked out in hunting-shirt and le gins of deer-skin, or wrap ina coarse red blanket, although the sun’s rays were pouring down with torrid fierceness; the woolen-shirted emigrant, seeking for life and fortune in the Far West; the hardy frontier-men,the “‘ guides” of the prairie wilderness — in fine, all the classes that go to make up the life of our far western villages, were con- gregated on the bank of the — “Y~ a Ze 7) broad forehead and square- : cut chin, the chin half hid by a short, brown teard, gave it weight and firmness; his eyes were gray, bright and full; his glance keen anc penetrating. He wasone cf those men who ccmmand re- spect even frcm strangers. is ccmpanion was a young man, not over twenty-five, a handsome, dashing-lccking fellow; jet-black hair curled in little ringlets all over his shapely, well-formed head. His eyes were black, like h's bair; asmall mustache and imperial graced his lip and chin: the whole face had a laughing,devil-may-care Icok ‘ about it, as though its owner river. felt disposed to take the The Morn of the world as it came, and make steamer, too, gathered light of trouble. in little knots, on the for- ward parts of the boat, and were very eagerly survey- ing the scene before them the starting-point to many of a new life. Here they were to cast aside the comforts of civilization, and dare the waste of prairie wilderness, the home of the Crows, the fierce marauders of the north- west; the land of the uncon- quered Blackfeet, the tribe who can bring with ease “Make for the corral—the gate is unfastened—turn the ho rses loose—you know the rest!” There two men, the ugh* now Al aided J fast friends and holding close converse together, before that morn- ing had never spoken tocach other, althcugh they had been travelers tegether from St. Louis. A chance obser- vation from the elder to tha younger in relaticn to the journey being nearly at an end, and their acquaintance began; hence we find them now together.
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2 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. “Do PA stay in Fort Benton?’ asked the elder of the two, who was called Roderick Wright, of the Rounees who answered to the name of Harry Courtney. ““No, I shall push forward to the mines, as soon as I can find a train to journey with.” ‘Have you decided what mines you will try your fortune at?’ asked Wright. “No, it’s all one to me,” carelessly answered the other. ‘I shall go with the first party that start, no matter which way they journey. You see, I’m a rolling stone, and it don’t make much difference where I settle down.” “Tave you ever been in this part of the country before?’ asked the elder of the two. “Yos, once. A year ago I went through to Olympia, by the upper trail, with a party of emigrants. I went for the fun of the thing then. I had plenty of money and wished to see the country; but now—” and here the speaker hesitated, and for a moment a cloud came over his face. { “Well, what now?’ asked the other, looking into the young man’s face curiously; then no- ticing the hesitation of Courtney, he spoke ab- ruptly: “I beg pardon for my questions; I have no. wish to pry into your affairs, and—” “Oh, it’s not that!” cried Courtney. ‘I’ve nothing to conceal, but—well, I may as well tell you all about it. I don’t know how it is, but some way or another I’ve taken a liking to you; and, besides, it relieves a man’s mind to tell his troubles—not that I’ve had much trouble in my life. Six months ago, my father, who was a commission merchant in St. Louis, died_very suddenly, and on winding up his affairs I dis- covered that, instead of possessing an estate of fifty or a hundred thousand dollars, my father was bankrupt at the time of his death, and left me nothing. Being an only son, and my mother dying in my infancy, my father had made a pet of me—brought me up asa Segearte SO, at his death, I was thrown upon the world help- ‘Jess, The old lawyer who settled up my father’s testate, and who had known me from my boy- hood, asked me what I was going todo? Of ‘course I answered that I hadn’t the remotest idea. He then offered me the loan of a hundred dollars, and suggested that I had better take the first boat for Fort Benton, and try my luck at the mines. I accepted the offer with thanks. My story’s ended, and now you know why I stand here to-day on the hurricane-deck of the Mountain Belle, bound for the gold mines and a fortune.” ‘* Your history is a aot illustration of our and down to-mor- American life—up to y row,” returned Wright; ‘‘ but it’s a strange co- incidence—” “What? asked Courtney. “Why, if I understand you rightly, you stand here to-day on the deck of the Mountain Belle without a clear idea where you are going or what you are going to do.” “Yes, exact ye answered the young man. “Well, I'm in the same fix,” said Wright, with a quiet smile. “Indeed!” cried Courtney. “Yes, I don’t exactly know where I’m goin; or what I’m going to do, yet at the same time have a clearly-defined plan in my head, vy means of which I expect to make, at the least or pet upward of fifty thousand dol- ars.” The young man gazed at the speaker in astonishment. “ That’s a large sum,” he exclaimed. “Yes, but I expect to make it sure, and I’ve onl ee a few hundred dollars to work on. I oii didn’t know where I was going; when I said that, I meant I didn’t know exactly where I was going, for I do know the direction.” Here the speaker pulled out of his pocket a small ma of the Western States and Territories. ‘‘ See!” he said, pe his finger on the little black spot marked Fort Benton, ‘‘do you notice the pencil-mark leading from the fort?” Courtney glanced at the map. A small line, evidently traced by a lead-pencil, led from Fort Benton west by south, crossed the Rocky Mountains through Cadotte’s Pass, then went directiy west until it struck the south fork of the Flathead river, went a little south of the river, and there stopped. At the end of the line a cross had been made, and the words “ Elk City ” written. “Yes,” responded Courtney. “I see the line. i follows the trail to Olympia, but stops at Elk ity. “Right. Ifollow that trail, and I, too, rat at Elk City; but where I go after that, I don’ exactly know, except that it_will be northward, and into the country of the Blackfeet.” * And is it in the Blackfoot country that you expect to make your fifty thousand dollars?” asked Courtney. “Yes,” answered Wright, with a quiet smile. ‘“‘T get the idea!” exclaimed the young man, suddenly. ‘‘ You know of some gold mine up there that has not yet been worked, and out of that mine you intend to make your money.” “You are partly right and partly wrong,” answered Wright. ‘‘I have never been in this section before, and I do not know of any gold mine; yet I know of a certain something, in the Blackfoot country somewhere, that, if I can only find and ca to St. Louis with me, will pe worth to me, when there, fifty thousand dol- ars. “T can’t guess your riddle,” said the young man, after a moment’s thought; ‘‘soI give it up, but I wish you success in your under- erst ‘‘ What do you say to going with me?’ asked Wright. ‘*What, go with you?’ questioned Courtney in astonishment. “Yes. You have said that you haven’t any settled plan as to what you will do; join me then; I need just such a man as you, for the ef- fort for the treasure I am about to steal from the Indians will probably be resisted to the death by every red devil that claims kindred with the Blackfoot nation.” ‘“There is danger, then?’ asked Courtney. ‘Plenty of it; we shall risk our top-knots ev- ery hour after we are fifty miles northward from Elk City,” answered Wright. “But, if you succeed, you gain fifty thousand dollars?” “ 9? “Well,” said Courtney, after a moment’s pause, ‘‘ it’s worth the risk.” “ And if I succeed, and you join me, of course T’ll give you ten thousand dollars,” said Wright, quietly. “*-You will?’ cried Courtney, in amazement. “Yes; is it a bargain?’ “€VYou bet!’ as a Californian would say,” cried Courtney, extending his hand. ; ‘You will join my expedition, then, after this something, worth fifty thousand dollars?’ asked Wright, taking Courtney’s hand. “Yes; I’m with you to the death!” answered Courtney; ‘though what you are going to find up in the Blackfoot country worth fifty thou- sand dollars unless it’s a gold mine, I can’t ess. ‘““ Never mind; I know well what I seek,” said Wright, ‘“‘and you may rest assured that I am Lobes 8 sure of succeeding, else I should not risk my life. % Do you and I form the whole party?’ asked the young man. “Oh, no!” said Wright. ‘I know nothing whatever of the Indian country and very little of Indian fighting, of which we shall a onten'f have plent; fore we get through with our ex- pedition. I intend to procure a couple of guides, men who know the upper region and are used to the Indian ways. Our mission must succeed by cunning, not by force; therefore we need skillful ides who can pilot us through, right into the lackfoot country and yet keep us out of the way. of the Indians.” “Your idea is a good one; our party will be a small one then!” “Yes; four or five only, not more; two or three guides will be sufficient—careful, prudent men. Id like to got hold of some old trapper, some shrewd old fellow, who knows the country thoroughly.” te By Jove!” cried Courtney, I know the very ) “You do?’ exclaimed Wright. “Yes; an old fellow [met when I was through here about a year ago.” ** Who is he?” “They call him Sol, the Trapper; he’s a ge Sy old fellow, stands about six feet high and has the longest pair of legs that I ever saw on mortal man. In fact, I believe the In- dians call him ‘ Longlegs; he’s a quiet, civil old codger, a great contrast to the usual blustering frontier-man.” “He’s the man, then, I judge, for our pur- ” said Wright. “Yes, I should think he would suit.” ** Does he know the Blackfoot country?” ‘‘ Like a book,” answered Courtney. ‘‘He’s a trapper, as his name signifies, and his field of operations is up along the Flathead river and its branches.” ‘* He’s not a prairie-guide?” asked Wright. ‘“No; we tried to get him to guide our party across to Olympia last year—” ‘** And he refused?” ‘‘-Yes; he has scruples about shedding blood —something singular in these frontier-men, who generally value an Indian’s life with that of a mad-dog. He refused to.go with our party be- cause the Blackfeet were then on the war-path against the settlements, and he said that we were a large party and bloodshed could not be avoided, and he didn’t wish to have any man’s blood upon his soul if he could help it.” “‘Isn’t the man a coward?” ‘‘That’s exactly what some of our party asked, but one of the guides whom we had engaged to go with us laughed at the idea. To use his own words, ‘Old Sol could whip his weight in wild- cats any day in the week, when he got started.’ As I take it, it’s a whim of his not to shed hu- man blood; white or red, if he can live without it. “ And yet,” said Wright, thoughtfully, “if he traps on the Flathead river he must encounter the Blackfoot Indians, for it is in their coun- *‘ Very likely,” returned Courtney; “‘ but he’s probably cunning enough to keep out of their way. ‘“’ He’s the man then for me, if he’ll only con- sent to go with us.” ‘**T think he'll go, provided we assure him that we want to avoid encountering the savages if possible.” “Of course,” responded Wright, “we must steal our treasure; but if the treasure refuses to go we must carry it away by force.” “Tf the treasure refuses!” cried Courtney, in amazement. ‘The treasure you speak of, then, is alive and has a voice in the matter?” “Yes; but the will or voice of the treasure will have little weight with me, once it is with- in my power,” said Wright, gazing at his com- panion with one of his peculiar baffling smiles. ‘* Well, I must contess I don’t understand what it can be!” said Courtney. ‘“Have patience, and by the time we strike the Flathead river, you shall know my plans as well as I do myself.” ‘‘T suppose I shall have to rest satisfied with that assurance.” ‘But, are you certain that we shall be able to find this Sol, the Trapper, on our arrival here?” questioned Wright. ‘* Very little doubt about that; it’s just about the time he brings in his peltries, and if he hasn’tarrived yet, all we have to do is to wait for him.” “But suppose he has come and gone?” asked bad ec ‘ogy “No fear of that; he generally lays off a month or so after each trip for rest. I think we shall be certain to find him.” “Thope so,” answered Wright, “for, from your description, he’s the very man I want.” “T think he’ll fill the bill; but see, we’re mak- ing a landing.” And as he spoke the steamer ran its bow on the shore, and the loud whistle ringing out clear on the prairie air, proclaimed the arrival of the first t through from St. tthe h th d nmgers soon mingled wit e€ crow on the asi, the news from the East was eagerly asked for and the newspapers brought by the boat quickly seized by the impatient throng. ' As Wright and Courtney descended from the hurricane-deck and entered the main saloon. they paused for a moment in front of the bar of the boat, where a thirsty throng were eagerly drinking, taking the raw whisky down with true western gusto. At a little distance from the drinkers stood an Indian, wrapped from head to foot in a coarse red blanket, while a battered white hat crowned his head. ‘The red-skin sur- veyed the thirsty imbibers with an envious air. Evidently he panted for the ‘‘ fire-water,” which his face and gait plainly told he had drank too much of already. ‘Let us inquire of one of those fellows if old Sol is in,” said Courtney. “Very well; do so.” Courtney approached a rough-looking fellow in a dirty flannel shirt and a slouch hat, who had just tossed down a npn of whisky, of the “tanglefoot” brand, and was smacking his lips at the flavor of the fiery beverage. “Can you tell me if Sol, the Trapper, is in town?” Courtney asked. “Stranger, you’ve got me!” exclaimed the man addressed. ‘‘ Never heerd tell on him. I don’t live round this hyer ranch any way. I’m just in from the Missouri trail.” Courtney felt a hand laid upon his shoulders. Turning, he confronted the Indian in the white hat and red blanket. “‘ How!” said the savage, in a deep, guttural voice, rendered hoarse by whisky. “Well?” said Courtney, impatiently. ; ‘‘Mudhole—big chief—heap fight—big drink 4
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AE —give chief fire-water—rum—want to see Old Sol—s’pose you come, you see!” And the savy- age, without waiting for a reply, immediately led the way, with an uncertain, heavy step, down the stairway. “Shall we go?” asked 'Courtmey of his com- panion. ‘Yes; he evidently knows where the trapper is to be found.” So, down the stairway after the drunken In- dian who had proclaimed his name to be “* Mud- hole,” and had asserted his right to be a great chief, went Courtney the adventurer, and Rod- erick Wright, the man with the iron will, who sought a ‘li ng treasure, worth fifty thousand dollars, in the country of the Blackfeet. CHAPTER II. THE GIANT TRAPPER. THE savage led the way over the gang-plank to the shore. Wright and Moeore followed. The bank gained, the Indian pau for a mo- ment till the two whites came up. “ White chief find Longlegs—give Indian rum —ugh?” asked the chief, eagerly. “Yes,” answered Wright; “‘ go ahead.” “‘Mudhole big chief. S’pose you come.” And on went the Indian, while the whites followed in his track, The red-skin led the way up the bank through the town, past the fort, and finally stopped at a small whitewashed shanty, that stood apart from the other houses on the outskirts of the village. Arriving at the door of the shanty, the savage stopped. Old Sol wigwam—ugh—rum!” and the sav- age extended his hand. **Call him,” said Wright, suspecting that the Indian had misled them, and promised what he was unable to perform, in order to obtain, the coveted rum, “Ugh! Chief no like Old Sol! Big stick— wallop Mudhole when chief drink rum. Rum good—stick bad—chief no like stick, heap !” “Tt is evident that this Indian is a hanger-on to Old Sol, and that the trapper thrashes him when he indulges in whisky,” said Courtney, “Tt would seem so; but, the fellow may be lying,” epee Wright. Give Indian rum?” questioned the savage, impatiently. “ Hullo!” broke in a savage voice, and the door of the shanty opened suddenly, disclosing to view the rs oh of aman standing about six feet high, and of a broad and powerful build, attired in a hunting-shirt and leggins of deer- skin, the color of which had once been yellow, but now was stained and discolored to a dirty brown. Tho shirt and leggins had seen hard service, too, as the many rents and tears, now neat! patched with particolored pieces, proved. The face of the man was a strange one: his nose was large, hooked like an eagle’s beak; evident- ly it had been broken by some heavy blow. His eyes were a dark blue in color—so dark that at first glance they would be called black; his hair was bright red in hue, and was cropped tight to his baad, A thin red beard covered the long, inted chin. High cheek-bones, with the skin awn tightly over them, and you have the pen- picture of Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper, gene- rally called by the whites “ Old Sol,” and by the red-skins ‘‘ Longlegs”—the man who had trapped over every inch of ground from the Snake river on the South to the river of the North; the man, too, who feared to shed human blood— who would rather go ten miles out of his way than slay a red-skin brave, but who was known throughout the mountain region as the best shot, the roughest rider, and the keenest woodman that ever trapped a beaver or put a ball through a mountain elk at a hundred , “Drunk ag’in, by hookey!” cried the trapper, as his eyes fell upon the face of the redoubtable Mudhole, who stood blinking like an owl, in a vain pitompe to appear sober. ““Mudhole big chief! No like rum _ heap!” stammered the savage, in defense, “You lie, you drunken cuss you!” exclaimed {the trapper. ‘‘ Rum! it’s mother’s milk to you, ‘you long-legged son of a pine tree! Do you s’pose I’m goin’ to tote round any sich whisky- tub as you air, dod rot you?” cried the trapper, indignantly. The Indian hung his head sheepishly at this torrent of words. ‘“*White chief want see Old Sol,” said Mud- hole, endeavoring to turn the trapper’s atten- lk a cri © trapper, in a . **Who in thunder air you callin’ Old Sol, you ’ison son of a skunk you? My name’s Solomon inger, Esq., dod rot you?” Longlegs big chief! Heap fight!” said the Sol Ginger. savage, thinking by the compliment to appease the trapper. “You mud-colored heathen, your own legs air a heap sight longer nor mine. You’ll ’scuse me, gentlemen, but this ’ere Indian’s enough to rile the stomach of a dead b’ar. He’s the most ornery cuss you ever heerd tell on. In two minutes arter he strikes a settlement he’s as drunk as an eel in a pot,” said the trapper, turning to the two strangers; ‘‘ but, w in, strangers. Ef you want to seeSol, the Trapper, I s'pect ’m the man, as the re say, to the best of my knowledge and belief.” “Tf you are Sol, the Trapper, you are the very man we want to see,” said Wright. “Wal, come into my ranch, strangers, an’ you, you durned, copper-colored, no-souled crit- ter you, ef I ketch you hangin’ up by the nose round any rum-shop, you an’ I'll cry quits. Jes’ you bear that in mind.” ““Mudhole big chief. Fight rum—enemy!” said the drunken savage. ‘Jes’ so; though an Injun, you foller the Scripters, don’t ye? ‘Love yer enemies,’ you mutton-headed son of a rattlesnake?’ And with this parting salutation hurled at the offending chief, the oes led the way into his shanty. Wright and Courtney followed; the Indian stretched himself out before the door, despite the hot beams of the sun pouring down upon him, The interior of the trapper’s abode was as plain as the outside. The furniture consisted of a little pine table, a common rocking-chair, and half a dozen boxes of various sizes, that served as tables and closets, and held the sim- ple cooking-utensils of the hunter. In one cor- ner stood a Her repeating rifle, splendidly ornamented with silver on the stock; in another, one of the old-fashioned rifles, with a barrel of prodigious length, and carrying a ball of a hun- ed to the pound. Suspended from a nail by a cord was a buck-horn handle hunting-knife, long, broad, heavy and sharp—no child’s play- thing for holiday use, but the forest weapon, keen and true. anging to nails on the walls in various places, were the traps of Old Sol, the tools of his trade, the deadly agents that had taken the life of many a beaver and muskrat by the side of the swift-flowing rivers of the great North-west. ‘Sit down, strangers,” said the trapper, after they had entered the shanty. ‘‘I ain't got much furniture, ’cos you see my home is the wilderness. I rough it thar, an’ in course I wae it hyer too,” Wright and Courtney sat down upon the oe Wal, wh S'pose , what is it? §’ I’m open fur a trade,” said Sol. = “‘T wish to make an excursion into the Black- foot country. In fact, go up the valley of the Flathead river, and I wish a guide. ill you accept the position?” asked Wright. ‘“ What on airth do you want up thar?” asked 1, in amazement. “ That’s my secret,” replied Wright, with a smile. ‘Will you go with me?” “Wal, I don’t know. How many be thar in your party?’ asked the trapper. “Two only; my friend here and myself.” “And you want to go into the Blackfoot “But, creation! it’s almost certain death. Don’t you know, stranger, that the Blackfeet are deadly enemies to the whites?’ asked the Giant beg as “Yes, I know that; but still, I wish to go right into the heart of the Blackfoot country. Nay, more, I shall probably have to penetrate secretly into their villages.” “T think I git your idee: you want a guide that kin carry you through the country without havin’ to fight the Injuns every step.” “That’s my idea exactly. have been told that you know the country well, and are a pru- dent, careful man—one not inclined to run heedlessly into danger. Understand me, I wish to avoid encountering the savages if possible. My errand must be successful through cunning, not through force.” “You ain’t arter a gold mine, air you?” asked the hunter suddenly. ‘“*No,” answered Wright, “Cos, if you were, I wouldn’t stir a dod-rot- ted oP. . es noun apf. in the world, noug make ha e e that gits it im of Satan.” xe = 43 ry Be assured itis not gold but something else I see ** Jes’ so; some friend of yourn has been cap- tivated by the Blackfeet, an’ you want to find out whether they are dead or alive.” =] 3 Wright started; the shrewd trapper had half gu his secret. “Yes; you have guessed the truth. Will you go as guide?” ‘* Sartin,” replied the tra per, quickly. ‘‘ Guess I won't hold back when a feller-critter’s in dan- ger. When I do, you kin jist take the hide right off me, an’ tan it for moccasins. ‘What will the service be worth?’ asked Wright. «Pn tell you better when we git back; but mind, now, we ain’t to do any fighting ef we kin help it. ou see, it goes ag’in’ my grain to shed blood, human blood, whether it’s red or white.” ““We are not eager to run into danger,” re- plied Wright; ‘‘ but, would it not be as well to take another mountain man with us? My friend and I know very little of woodcraft.” “‘Sartin, an’ I’ve got jist the man.” You have?’ “Fact, by hookey!” cried the trapper. ‘‘ That drunken Injun, Mudhole, fotched you up hyer, didn’t he?” “ce Yes. ” ‘* He’s the very identical critter that we want to go along with us.” “What, that drunken brute?’ cried Court- ey. ** Jes’ so; but he don’t get drunk arter he leaves the settlements. He’s the best guide that ever follered a trail. N foot of sile ’tween hyer an’ the Lake of the Woods that he don’t know jist as well in the darkness as in the light. He’s been a pied of mine now, nigh onto three years. I picked him up hyer in Fort Ben- ton, "bout three years ago. e’d come to town, got drunk, an’ been beat almost to death by some of the river-men. I took him home hyer; cured him, an’ he’s follered me like a dog ever since, EfI could only keep him away from the cussed whisky, I wouldn’t ask for a better critter; but when the durned rum gets into him, he ain’t worth shucks.” “But away from the settlements, you say, he is perfectly trustworthy,” said Wright. ‘“* Jes’ so; ef he ain’t, kick me to death with cripples. He’s ane old chain-lightnin’ in the In- jun country. hen shall we start on our expe- dition?” ible,” replied Wright. ** As soon as “Wal, I ain’t got nothing to hinder me, so we'll take the trail to-morrow morning ’bout four. Any ’ticular part of the Blackfoot coun- try want to go tof” ‘* Yes; to the village of the White Wolf,” “« Jes’ so! I know the critter. He’s one of the top dogs among the Blackfeet. Nigh onto five hundred warriors in his village. He’s a deadly enemy of the whites. About ten years ago he jist worried the settlements along the border hyer like Old Scratch. _ Lordy! I remember the time he come down on Elk City—it were only a leetle ranch then—like a thousand of brick. It were the toughest old fight you ever did see.” ‘**He’s the chief whose village I seek,” said Wright. “ Wal, I'll put i through thar, or my name ain't Solomon. ‘Wal, I know a couple of ponies you kin Mudbexe ‘““Mudhole!” said Courtney. “That's a strange name fora chief.” ‘Jes’ so! Some of the river-men named him, ’cos he was always drunk, an’ ginerally lay around loose in the mud.” “What tribe does he belong to?’ asked Wright. ‘“ Stranger, you’ve got me; I don’t know. He thinks a heap of me, and I think would fight to the death for me every time; but he won’t tell the name of histribe. I had an idee that he’ were a Blackfoot, but one day down in the vil- lage he got into a fight with some Injuns of the Blackfoot tribe, an’ nigh killed one of ’em afore they pulled him off, an’ of course he wouldn’t do that ef he were a Blackfoot, ’cos of course dog won’t eat dog.” , That’s very true,” said Wright. ? , predgese ag NG, eee > the h couple f ton, you wan es the hosses, a ° gpor revolvers, a rifle, a repeating one ou in “SS, ’cos if you’re close pressed, thin ‘ 7 Ky friend has a Colt’s repeating rifle, and I a Henry,” said Wright. ar,” an e in to the corner where the rifle 25
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4 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. * Tt’s a beautiful weapon,” said Courtney, pick- ing it up and looking at it. ‘Jes’ so! It’s a present from old Col. Buck- ner. He were cut off from his command by the Blackfoot Injuns in the Flathead valley, when he were on a scouting expedition. I were up thar trapping beaver, an’ happened to run across him. Things were rough, I tell you; the red devils were round as thick as ’skeeters in a swamp. [ thought our top-knots were gone two or three times; but, Lordy! we managed to sli right through ’em slick as a whistle! The ol colonel were tickled to death. He said he thought he should never see the white settle- ments ag’in, an’ he gin me that Henry as a sort of remembrance like. I didn’t think much of it at first, with all the gingerbread work onto it; but when I come to try it, an’ found out how many shots a minute I could fire with it, an’ that it would carry further than my old rifle thar, I kinder concluded it wasn’t a friend to have in the wilderness,” “T should say not,” said Wright; ‘but, su pose we go and look after those ponies you spoke of. The sooner we set out the better.’ ‘Jes’ so! You're right thar,” said the tra , emphatically. ‘We'll jist gO arter the beathe, it our traps together—an’ we want to travel light, gentlemen—an’ at four in the morning we'll among the missin’.” The trapper rose from his seat, conducted his ests out of doors, fastened the door carefully behin d him, for, as he explained: ** Henry rifles air scarce up hyer, an’ some no-souled critter might captivate mine ef I left the shanty open.” The Indian, Mudhole, whom we left asleep before the door, had disap ‘The durned red cuss has gone arter rum agin. He’s a pesky cuss, he is, arter fire-wa- ter. We'll find him down in the village, hang- round some of the rum-shops,” said the Giant hie one leading the way to the village. Wright and Courtney followed him. A few minutes’ walk brought the trio to a pe occupied as a general store, and where a assortment of almost every eee was kept. Entering the store, Sol inquired for the oprietor, who soon made his appearance—a large, full-bearded fellow. From the trader Wright and Courtney purchased two hardy ponies. “ Sheet-iron, gents!” as the trader remarked, referring to the horses. The money was paid over and the trade com- “Send the animiles up to my ranch, an’ have ’em tied outside,” said Sol. “ Better not,” said the trader. “Why not?” asked the Giant Tra . . “Don’t think it’s safe,” replied the trader. ‘* Thar’s a heap of Injuns in town, an’ the two- legged brutes will bo putty apt to steal any thing in way of hoss-flesh that they kin lay their red paws on.” s + tribe?” asked Sol. **T don’t know—an ugly set of devils. Guess thur Blackfoot.” “That ain’t likely,” replied Sol; ‘‘ they don’t often come in hyer. **Maybe not, said the trader; ‘‘ but, I advise you not to leave your hosses around loose.” “Nuff sed,” replied the trapper, laconivally; “a wink’s as good ‘as a nod to a blind hoss. We'll call fur the hosses as we come back.” Then he led the way to the street again. In the street he turned to his companions. **Lot’s go an’ take a look at these ’ere Injuns. Ef they air Blackfoot—which I doubt—we may get some information from ’em in regard to the village of the White Wolf. You see, these In- juns shift their villages about, jist as the game is plenty or scarce.” , down the street went the three. When they arrived goers to where the steamer la one that had brought Wright and Co ney—they noticed a little knot of people gather- e4 in front of one of the trading-stores. “The Injuns air in thar, I'll bet,” said Sol. “They've probably brought in some peltries, an’ they’re tradin’ ’em off.” “Suppose we go in and see,” suggested Wright. . Fos? so! but don’t let on that you want to find out anything about them (ef they be Black- fect) or bout their country, ’cos ef you do, they lie tke all git out. Jist you let me talk to’em; Tl find out jist what we want to know, without any red cuss smelling out our trail.” We will woe the whole matter in your hands,” repli urtney. “ Jes! oe? ef I don't succeed, jes’ you wal- me to death with a beaver-tail. , pushing his way through the throng of idlers, the Giant trapper, followed by the two adventurers, entered the store. CHAPTER IIL ONE AGAINST SIX, InsmvE the little store stood three Indians—as usual wrapped up tightly in their blankets. Before them lay a small pack of peltries, for which they wished a supply of powder and lead. Two of the Indians were men, the third wasa woman, and, as is usual with the squaws when visiting the settlements, she had her blanket drawn tightly over her head, almost concealing her face from view; yet, from the glimpse that could be caught of it through the opening of the blanket, one would have pronounced the squaw to be both young and handsome. As Sol and the two adventurers entered the store, the Indians and the trader were engaged in a brisk discussion as to the value of the furs —the trader not being willing to give the price demanded for them by the Indians. Courtney’s eyes were ra pocane’ attracted by the young squaw; and with a natural curiosity, he drew near to her, anxious to get a better view of her features. She, perceiving the move- ment, and guessing the object, drew the blanket still closer, so that only her coal-black eyes, brilliant as stars, could be seen. At the entrance of the Giant Trapper and his companions, the Indians bent a piercing glance upon them, and the elder chief—a huge brave, and very dark in color—said a few words in the Indian tongue to the younger chief. The words evidently had some reference to the trapper, as the young chief looked at him from head to foot. For a moment, then, both the Indians turned their attention to the furs again. “How air you, Martin?” said Sol, nodding to the trader. “Sol, you’re the very man 1 want to see!” cried the trader, who answered to the name of Martin. ‘‘Give us your judgment hyer. What’s these peltries worth?” Sol drew near and examined the skins care- fully. As he did so, he gave vent to a low whistle of astonishment. The Indians noticed the whistle, and exchanged glances of alarm. The elder looked toward the door, as if seeking an avenue of escape. ‘Well, Sol,” said the trader, ‘‘ what are they worth?” “Wal, I don’t exactly know; that depends, in course, on the state of the market,” said the trapper, slowly, and then he turned his eyes up- ti A rami ““Whar did you trap these yer, é “Big river,” said the elder chief, extending his hand in the direction of the north fork of the Missouri. ** Oh!” said the trapper, and there was an ex- ression of doubt in his tone. ‘‘Is the chief a lackfoot?” he asked. “No,” replied the Indian; “‘ Crow /” “‘That’s a lie,” said the trapper to himself; then he continued his questions: ** Does my brother know a Crow chief named White Wolf?’ and the ig a bent his keen eyes full upon the face of the Indian as he spoke. In spite of the almost impenetrable mask of stolid- ity that the savage wore upon his features, a slight expression of astonishment, not unmixed with alarm, appeared upon his face at the ques- tion. ““ White Wolf,” the Indian said, slowly. ‘‘ No Crow chief named White Wolf.” “Tt is so, by gravy!” suddenly cried the trap- ih in great astonishment, whether real or af- ected we leave the reader to guess. “I mean a Blackfoot chief. His village is up on the Flat- head river, near the Great on. I swow! I wonder how I came to forgit it, ’cos I were a-trappin’ up thar last spring, an’I lost a pack of skins jist about the size and heft of this hyer, in araal curious manner. In course ef you air a Crow you don’t know nothin’ ’bout it at all,” and the trapper looked at the Indians in a comi- cal way, a broad grin be in his features, and yet, toa close observer, there was anything but a pleased look in his eyes. ‘*Thunder!” cried the trader; “you don’t mean to say that they went for you, **'You can take the hide right off my back ef they didn’t,” said Sol, with a grin. ‘ ?ef I hadn’t the longest pair o’ legs that were ever on mortal man, my top-knot would be hangin’ in White Wolf’s wigwam this ’ere very minute.” “You don’t say sof’ cried the trader, in amazement. “Sartin sure! Irun a foot-race with ’em from the Great Caton down to Dead Man’s Creek, an’ I only come out a neck ahead "— Le same good-humored grin upon the trapper’s e. “Sun go soon,” said the elder Indian, who evidently felt ill at ease. ‘If white chief want skins, Injun take what white man say—so much,” and the chief held up his fingers to de- note the amount. “ A trade’s a trade,” said the trader. ‘‘ Ireck- on I won’t back out of my word. Hyer’s your wder and lead, chief,” and the trader pro- uced the articles. ‘‘ Good!” said the Indian, eagerly securing the articles about his person. ‘“Injun get more skins; ccme see white Lrother ag’in.” “You won’t git any mcre skins the way you got those, without bevin’ a fight fur ’em, red- skin,” said the Giant Trapper. All looked at him in en azcment. “What the deuce do ycu mean, Sol?” asked the trader, in astonishment. “Only a or that’s all,” said the trapper, uietly. “The chief understands, ccn’t you, But if the Indian understood, he didn’t wait to say so. “How?” said the’ chief, as a parting saluta- tion, as he passed through the docr, follow ed by the cther Lrave and the squaw. ‘See you ag’in, Martin,” said fol, following the Indians, and signing to Wright and Court- ney to follow him. “All right; drop in,” said the trader, as they passed through the door. Once in the street, Sol lookee around for the Indians. His quick eye scon discovered them some little distance down the street, going to- ward the cutskirts of the town, and Lurying along as if fearful cf pursuit. “You cussed red niggers, you! I'd like to know what you air arter,” raid £cl, throwing a glance of hatred toward the red-ekirs., “Do yn know them?’ asked Wright. “Wal, I kin make a shrewd guess "bout em. You saw that air pack of peltries that they sin oe in the store?” es “T trap every durned cne cn ’em.” “You did?’ said Wright, in asicni: ment. “Ef it *tain’t so, take me by tke Lack cf the neck and shake me right cut of my mcggasins,” cried the trapper. “ But, if they are your skins, how came the Indians by them?” asked Ccurtney. “Why, I were a-trappin’ up in the Blackfoot country, an’ the red devils went fur me fur all I were worth jist then. They gct my skins, but I went over tke airth so thundeiin’ fast, 1 didn’t have time to stop an’ leave «ma lock of my ha’r,” said the trapper, with a grin. ‘*But these tellows are Ciows,” added Wright. “Crows! wah!” cried the trarrer, in a tone of contempt. “So amI a Cicw! Thar ain’t no Crow ’bout them / Thar Blackfoot ircm ha’r to heel.” “ Blackfoot!” cried both the adventurers in as- tonishment. ‘Jes’ so. Ef they ain’t, jes’ shave my head an’ swallow me bull” said the trapycr, making this singular proporal with a grin. It is per- haps necdless to rcmark that neither of his com- panions accepted it. E “‘But if they are Blackfoot Indians, what are they doing Lere, and why should they deny their tribe?” asked Wright. “Why,” cried the Na} tl in astcnistment, “didn’t I find the red keathens with my yeltries in their fore-paws?—the very blessed skins that I trapped this ’cre spring cn the Flathead river, near the Great Cai.on, and that these red enakes run me away {ircm, durn the’r dcd-rotted cop- per-colored # I knowed every yeltry; nary one thar but’s got my mark onto it, an’ of course they air goin’ to git cut of the scrape if they kin; but they ain’t a-goin’ to say right out that they air Blackfoot; right afore me.’ “ But why didn’t you claim the skins?” asked Courtney. ‘““Wal, I don’t like to have any trouble ef I kin help it. Then it would be takin’ an unfair advantage right here cnto my own dunghill, to pick up a fight with ’em. ‘The scrape were commenced in their country, an’ I’d jist as lief work it out in the same region,” said the trap- per, with that inherent love of fairness which is so prevalent among the mountain men, “ They got the best of me last spring; now Til git the best of them this summer; an’ ef I don’t steal the best hoss they’ve got in White Wolf's village in trade fur my_ skins, then my name ain’t Sol Ginger, and I don’t know what a beaver-skin is!” Just at this moment, the tall Indian who had carried on the conversation in the trading-store, turned round and beheld the trapper and his companions looking after them. a
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— ——wd “Ugh! Longlegs is watching us,” he cried, in the Blackfoot language, addressin, ing his com- panion. ‘The white dog knows us!” returned the other. ‘¢-Yes, perhaps; if he follows us he will dis- cover our y, and defeat our plans to sur- prise the whites.” . “Let us go back and stay in the town till night; then we can steal away without notice,” said the smaller of the two. “The Red Hand speaks with a_ straight tongue; itis good. The chiefs of the Blackfeet will wait for their chief till the ground is dark,” replied the elder chief, ‘“‘ White Bird,” he con- tinued, addressing the squaw, “keep your blanket about your face; let not the white chiefs see the face of the Flower of the Blackfeet.” So, with slow steps, the Indians bent their way again to the village. “They are returning,” cried Courtney. ‘* Jes’ so!” said Sol. ‘‘I’ll keep my eyes peel- ed, you bet; but, we want some crackers and fixings fur our journey; we'll see these critters "in afore we reach the Great Cafiop on the athead, or I’m a sucker.” y So the trio moved off toward the trading-store again. Courtney, however, had determined to see the face of the squaw if possible. The glimpse he had caught of her bright, shy black Shes wad thrilled him to the soul. Youth is im- pulsive. Already he was half in love with the oung squaw, whose eyes alone he had seen, bas who was—he was convinced—both young and. beautiful. So, when his companions en- tered the store, he remained outside and kept his eyes upon the Indians. The two braves and the along, as if unconscious that th were watched, but they knew it full well, for tho keen eyes of the elder chief had detected the form of the young man standing in the door- way, and his glances toward them. The Indians went down the street till they came to where a little clump of trees cast a shadow upon the ound. In the shade of these trees they sat own, apparently unconscious of all that was going on around them. , “T'd give a few dollars to see that girl’s face and have a few words with her, Indian though she is,” said Courtney to himself, as he looked long and wistfully at the coarse red blanket that concsaled the form and face of the Indian irl er, came slowly their movements oe attention was diverted from the Blackfeet by a drunken yell coming from one of the numerous drinking shops up the street, by the river-bank. The first yell was followed by a second, and then half a dozen fellows, evi- dently flushed with liquor, came from one of the saloons and reeled down the street toward the Indians. There were six or seven in the party—rough customers they were, too: river- men, gamblers, and one or two mountain men. «T hope the drunken brutes won’t trouble the girl,” said Courtney to himself, as he beheld the crowd advancing; but, as he expected, the mo- ment one of the drunken fellows beheld the group under the trees, he called the attention of is companions to the Inaians. | ‘“‘Here’s some cussed red-skins, an’ a squaw too!” shouted the foremost one of the gang, heading directly for the trees. Courtney, too, advanced toward the group. He loosened his revolver in its sheath, determined to use it on the drunken gang, if necessary. “Say, old gal!” shouted the leader of the rough fellows, as he got near the Indians, “‘ take our kiver off and let us see your pretty red ace, can’t you?” All of the Indians rose to their feet; the hands of the chiefs sought the handles of their knives beneath their blenkets; a fight was at hand (Reader, this is the way one-half of our In- dian wars begin. The Indian comes into our frontier settlements, peacefully and _ well-be- haved; he is abused and outraged by some drunken ruffians, and, in return, he carries fire and steel along the whole line of the border.) ‘‘ Tear the blanket off, Dick, if she won’t show her face,” shouted another of the gang. “T will, you bet!” replied the ringleader of the party, who had been addr as Dick; and be advanced _with outstretched hand to- ward the Indian pirl; but, with a motion quick as thought, the elder Indian step before the uaw with a long, glittering knife in his hand. e rough bully recoiled before the determined aspect of the red chief. ‘White man drink heap fire-water. Go Sol Ginger. the rage of the crowd knew no bounds, Knives and pistols were instantly drawn, and flourished furiously by the rough fellows. “Cut his heart out, Dick!” ‘‘ Shoot the blasted Injuns!” ‘‘Kill ’em!” were the cries that came from the crowd as they brandished their weapons. With a large portion of the frontier settlers, the Indian is regarded as an object to be put out of the way as soon as possi- ble. But, as the hostile, drunken crowd swayed toward the red-skins, Courtney, with revolver in hand, cocked and leveled at them, stepped to the side of the Indians, and again checked the advance. ‘** What the blazes do you want?” growled the bully, Dick, anxiously seeking to get outside of theline of the six-shooter, yet not wishing abso- lutely to retreat. “* Allow me to ask you the same question: ‘what the blazes do you want’?" replied Court- ney, with a calm, quiet voice, carefully turnin the revolver in the direction of the rough lef nearest to him by Dick’s retreat. That worth no sooner had perceived the muzzle of the revol- ver turned in his direction, and taken a single | glance into the shining tube, than he instantly executed a retrograde movement, which brought him up in a safe position in the rear of all the | rest of the party. ‘“ We want to cut the heart out of this cursed Injun!” howled the fellow left nearest to Court- ney by the retreat of Dick and the second rough. *Oh, you do, do you?” asked Courtney, in a ery 9 4 quiet way, leveling the revolver fullat head, “Yes, we—” and here the speaker caught sight of the six-shooter, capped and leveled full at his head. This sight caused him to pause in his speech; a glance around at his comrades dis- closed the astounding fact that they were gradu- ally retreating beyond the range of the weapon, | and that he was left confronting the deadly tubes alone. No man rushes heedlessly upon death, unless he is a madman; so, after another glance at his companions, the last ruffian com- menced backing toward them. “Tl see Mey agin!” muttered the rough, re- treating a little faster. “* All right; come and see me often,” nd- ed Courtney, bending down his head a little to one side, as if drawing a “‘ bead ” on the retreat- ing man, who, perceiving the movement, incon- tinently turned his back, and his retreat quick- ened into a run, until he had joined his com- anions. The drunken fellows shook their fists ercely for a minute or so at Courtney, and then plunged into the saloon from whence they came. Thus one cool, determined man, aided by a six-shooter, put to flight half a dozen fellows, several of whom were armed fully as well as himself. Courtney turned to the Indians. ‘White chief heap brave! heart big! Injun think much, speak little. When time comes, Injun pay white chief, perhaps; no tell now,” said the tall chief, bending a keen glance upon the young man, “My red brother is welcome,” said Courtney, speaking in the Indian fashion. “Young chief go with Longlegs, eh?’ question- ed the savage. Courtney wondered at the question, but he — “Ugh! Longlegs big chief! No fight much; run heap! Injun no catch Longlegs; he scalp beaver, heap.” . It was very evident to Courtney that the chief was well acquainted with the bed a “Ugh! Crow!” said the young chief, pointing down the street to an Indian riding along on a my. Both the chiefs turned their backs upon urtney and the squaw to at the strange Indian. Courtney cared little for the Crow brave, and epee A embraced the 5 sme to e Indian girl. e perceived d, with a quick glance toward the chiefs to note if aes j were watching, unfolded the blanket and disclosed to the admiring eyes of Courtney the prettiest face he thought he had The features of the Indian steal a glance at the motion, and ever looked upon! girl were regular, and really very beautiful. A ong, straight nose, eyes of lustrous black, of liquid fire and of melting tenderness; full, pout- ing lips, red as the carnation flower, sweet in their dewy fullness; a little chin, exquisitely formed, and a throat perfect as sculptor ever carved from silent marble. The clear skin, too, through which the rosy blood was blushing, was of a brunette tinge, not the red hue of the In- 5 For a moment Courtney mag upon the bean~- tiful girl before him, and then, as i: iearful of being surprised by the chiefs, she again drew the blanket over her face, and Courtney de- scended from heaven to earth. The chiefs having watched the Crow dismount, and enter one of the trading-stores, turned again to the youne man. ‘““When do my brothers go to their wig- wams?” asked Courtney. ‘“When the coyote howls and the spirit lights come,” replied the chief, pointing to the sky. By the ‘ spirit lights,” Courtney guessed that the Indian meant the stars. ‘* Will not my brother come to my wigwam ae ee : Ep pice “‘Injun not hungry; bumby come, perhaps, replied the chief, seating himeelf upon the ound. The squaw and the young ian fol- owed his example. Seeing that there was but little chance of again beholding the girl’s face, Courtney slowly walk- ed toward the trading-store. CHAPTER IV. IN THE NIGHT. As the young adventurer walked slowly along, his thoughts were of this beautiful youn savage, the strange-hued daughter of the a skins, whose cheek was nearly as white as his own, ‘Shall I ever see her again?’ cried the young man to himself. Some instinct within his assured him that he would. ‘By Jove!” he cried, to use our frontier ex- pression, ‘‘ she’s taken me for all that I’m worth.” At the trading-store Courtney found Old Sol and Wright. The trap had completed his percenes, and the trio turned their steps toward is shanty. ‘‘That air Injun business gits me,” said Sol, with a wise shake of the head. “Then you think that they had some other object in coming than to exchange their skins for powder and lead?” asked Wright. “Wal, yes, Ido think so; it ’tain’t often that the Blackfeet trouble us much inhyer. P’r’aps the red skunks want to see ef thar were any train a-goin’ to start across the mountains, an’ ef thar were a chance for plunder.” “But they have a squaw with them,” said Courtney. “Yes, that: shows that they ain’t on the war- path. I kinder guess the’r on a sort of smell- aout expedition, jist to see what they can dis- civer.’ By this time the three had reached the trap- per’s shanty, and the shades of night were be- ginning to gather over the prairie. ‘*See here,” said Sol, suddenly, as they enter- ed the shanty, “I ain’t hearn your names yit, an’ as we’re goin’ to be chums fur a few weeks, it don’t sound right fur to be callin’ you mis- rs ters. Mes name is Roderick Wright,” said the elder, ‘‘and this gentleman’s name is Harry Courtney.” “* Jes’ sol” replied Sol. ‘My handle in course os know: Solomon Ginger, called fur short ld Sol, an’ by the red heathens Longlegs, ’cos I kin outrun any two-legged critter that ever sot foot on the top of the airth in this ere re- on. “‘ Not a bad gift for a man like you,” remark- ed Wright. - re “‘Not much, you bet!” replied the trapper; “but now, gents, hyer’s some blankets, an’ hyer’s the good old solid airth, an’ as we’ve got to make tracks at daybreak, we mought as well take a nee 4 as not. Til jist go down an’ eae up the hosses, an’ hitch ’em with my two be outside in the little corral at the back of the shanty. They'll be safe thar from either apie s sang ac% e trapper de after the ho and Wright Poy Comteate Sale Rotsccives upon the boxes to await his return. In a short time the Giant Trapper returned, with the two horses they had pure at the trading-store. These he _ in the little yard attached to the back of the shanty, whore two more ponies were eegs! tethered—one a little mud-colored animal, of the kind commonly cali- ed ‘‘claybank.” This the trapper pointed to with pride, as being the ‘cutest, smartest little animal that ever walked over the top of the airth.” The other was a rough, shaggy beast, that looked as if he were thoroughly ed of himself. “‘That’s Mudhole’s animile,” said Sol. “ He's answered it. “Yes; Sol, the big trapper, you mean?” | dian, but as if the torrid summer sun had kiss- ed the dainty check with a lover’s passionate dase home; no touch Indian!” said the chief, in a Ceep tone. : oie ‘ Wapt- 45 dhe’ roams +4 Ai Cus unexpected Cai0Ce oJ Luc. Ginuscmichr, | a regular Indian hoss, out an’ out, an’ I b’lieve | he likes a red-skin a durned sight better nor ! 4 | does a white; but as fur that air lectlo cuss of
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1 } | | | | | ' tect the 6 mine,” panng as he spoke, with pride, to the mud-colored pony, ‘‘she can smell an injun a mile, an’ hates ’em like old Satan. He’s nearly kicked Mudhole’s head off three or four times; he’s p’ison on Injuns.” * A useful brute,” said Wright. “That's so; kin travel his sixty miles a day, day in an’ day out, gits fat on a chaw tobacco, an’ kin sleep on the top of a rail fence;” and a broad grin spread over the trapper’s face as he descanted on the good qualities of the mud-col- ored beast. “T suppose we had better take our rifles and little traps from the boat to-night,” said Wright. sa in; they ain’t apt to be stirrin’ in the mornin’, an’ we'll take wing migty airly.” “* Come, then, Courtney” said Wright. ** We’ll be back in a few minutes.” ‘¢ Jes’ so. I'll have some fodder ready fur yer. Pve got the nicest buffalo-tongue hyer that ever a hungry man put his teeth into. Then, after foddering up, we'll take a shake-down till morn- ing. ight and i | left the shanty and walked down the street to the boat. It had now grown quite dark, and as there was no moon, our friends could scarcely see ten paces before em. They reached the steamer, however without . accident; there they got their rifles and a few other “‘ small traps,” as the clerk of the steamer denominated them, and proceeded to return to the trapper’s shanty. They had nearly gained half the distance, when three dark forms brushed by them in the gloom. The darkness was so great that the fig- ures could not be easily recognized, yet Cour ney felt sure that it was the two Indian braves and the young Indian girl who had just passed him. A wild wish ne up in his breast to once again see the Indian girl—if possible to speak to her; and he determined to gratify that wish. He did not, for a moment, consider that ee, the girl knew nothing of the English ngue, and as he knew nota single word of any of the Indian languages, conversation might therefore be impossible. Love is blind, how- ever. Courtney had but one wish, one thought, to see the fair face of the savage maiden—if possible, to touch her hand, to tell her that she was loved, to ask love in return! So, on arriving at the trapper’s shanty, Court- ney placed his ‘“‘plunder” inside, said quietly that he would return in a moment, and then re- traced his steps down the street. “T may be ona wild-goose chase,” he said to himself, as he strolled along in the darkness, his eyes and ears on the watch to detect the three shadowy forms that had passed him but the moment before. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. Might not the little clump of trees that had shaded the Indians in the day, be the best place to find them in the night? The thought was reasonable; so, toward the trees Courtney slowly bent his . In a few minutes he stood beneath the spreading boughs. All wassilence; the stillness of the night alone was there. “ Now, then, what is my course of action?” said the young man to himself. ‘Shall I con- ceal myself in the bushes, at the foot of these trees, and wait for the coming of the Indians, or shall I give up the chase and return to the trapper’s shanty?” A few minutes’ thought de- cided him to adopt the first course of action; so he stretched himself out at full length in the bushes. Courtney had not been five minutes in the concealment of his ambush, when his quick ear detected the tread of persons et phate The sound came from the direction of the town. “The tread is too heavy for my Indian girl,” thought he, as the sound, came nearer and nearer. Then, to the eyes of the watching man, two figures loomed up in the gloom of the night. That they were Indians he could plainly see by the blankets wrapped around them. ‘‘These are the two chiefs, but where is my beauty?’ questioned the young man, as he peer- ed into the darkness around him, anxious to de- rson of the Indian girl. But, no lithe form, with its light, springing step, rewarded his gaze. The Indians stopped beneath the trees, and then Courtney saw that he was wrong in his surmise: the two Indians were not the two chiefs who had been with the girl. Here, in- deed, was one of them—the elder warrior, who had carried on the conversation, but the shorter one, the younger brave, was not with the old | chief. The other Indian now with him, was a warrior fully as tall as the old chief himself. Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. “The young chief and the girl are then to- gether,” said the concealed and anxious young man to himself. ‘‘If the old chief is here, the others will come, so I shall see my dark-eyed beauty again, though I may not be able to speak to her. Well, that is better than nothing; it’s a poor heart that cannot find consolation, so Vl watch and wait.” The two chiefs commenced r gt oe Court- ney listened eagerly, but as the chiefs spoke in the Indian language, he had his trouble for his pains. We, however, for the information of our readers, will translate the conversation of the Indians. “Why does the dog of the white-skins follow the steps of the chief of the Blackfeet?’ demand- ed the old chief. “The White Wolf speaks with a straight tongue,” answered the strange Indian; ‘the outcast brave is a dog.” The tones of the second Indian’s voice sounded strangely familiar to the ear of the watchin Courtney, big my the meaning of the speec was as Greek to him. ‘Where the deuce have I heard that voice?” questioned Courtney, communing with himself and striving through the darkness to distinguish the face of the speaker, but the darkness was too intense. Courtney could only distinguish the outlines of his form. “ Yes, a dog that licks the hand of the whites —the hand of the deadly enemies of his race.” “Tt is true; the dog is in the dust; why crush him? Let the chief open his ears; he will hear things good for the Blackfeet to know,” replied the strange Indian, whose tones sounded so fa- miliar to Courtney’s ear. “Ugh! Can the dog do good to the tribe he has disgraced?” questioned the old chief, in a stern voice. ‘‘The Spotted Elk is dead to the warriors of the Blackfeet; let him rest till the Great Spirit calls him to the happy hunting-grounds,” said the strange Indian, in a mouth voice. ‘“The Spotted Elk was once a great chief of the Blackfoot nation—the great brav« of the four warriors; he was the son of the White olf. One day he would have been the great chief of the Blackfeet that dwell in the Flathead valley. The Spotted Elk was as brave as the eagle, and as foolish as the owl; he loved the squaw of the Gray Eagle—another’s mate. hat was the end?’ demanded the old chief. “The Gray Eagle came upon the Singing Bird and the Spotted Elk; he was angry like the great clouds when they look black over the flow- ers; the Gray Eagle was a great chief, a mighty warrior, strong as the pine-tree, but the Spot- ted Elk tore his heart out,” and the voice of the chief swelled into a tone of triumph as he told of the death of his foe. ‘The Pe eng Elk speaks truth; the Gray Eagle died by his knife, but the tribe of the Blackfeet killed the Singing Bird—the guilty squaw—and drove the Spotted Elk an outcast from the land of his fathers, For the love of a foolish me ip the Spotted Elk gave up the chieftainship of the Blackfeet—became a dog in the wigwams of the pale-faces—rolled in the mud at their feet—drank their fire-water, and became their slave,” and the voice of the old chief swelled with indignation as he spoke. The other Indian hung his head, and for a moment made no reply. , The interview was decidedly uninteresting to the listener, Courtney, unable to understand a word of their conversation; he listened with im- tience. “T wish to heaven they’d get out, and that the girl would come!” was his muttered excla- mation. Just then a slight noise to the left of him attracted his attention; he listened, and, in a moment, became satisfied that some one else was watching the interview of the two Indians besides himself. For a moment he felt a slight alarm as to his own ra al but, as the other listener, whoever it might be, did not seem in- clined to approach, Courtney flattered himself that his presence was unknown. The two Indi- ans again resuming their conversation, he turn- ed his attention to them, thinking that possibly tney might say something that he could under- stand. ‘The White Wolf speaks straight; the Spot- ted Elk isa wanderer, but his heart is Black- foot. Let the chief open his ears. The White Wolf saw the strange whites with the trapper Longlegs?” “Yes,” answered the old chief. “The strange chiefs seek the Flathead river, the country of the Blackfeet; they seek some- thing which they will find in the village of the Whites Wolf. Can the chief guess what they Seek ¢ “Ugh! the white squaw!” answered the old chief, a heavy frown gathering upon his brows. ‘ “The White Wolf is right; the ears of the Spotted Elk are long; he heard the talk of the white braves; when the sun comes they go.” ‘‘'Their bones shall whiten in the valley of the Flathead, and the coyote feet upon their hearts!” cried the White Wolf, fiercely. “TLonglegs goes with the white braves.” ‘He Shall die! exclaimed the old chief. ““No! Longlegs the blue-coated whites. If he dies, the Spotted Elk dies too. The White Wolf will spare Long- legs, or the Spotted Elk will tell him not to leave the white wigwams.” ‘It is good!” replied the old chief; ‘‘ Longlegs shall not die; the Spotted Elk shall save liane the others shall die!” ‘‘Ttis well,” laconically replied the Spotted Elk, and then the two chiefs walked on in the dark- ness, and their figures were soon lost to sight in the gloom of the night. “Now, I’d_ like to get out of this,” thought Courtney, “‘ but, there’s that confounded listen- er over there. It may be some big Indian who may put a knife into me the moment I show myself. Mighty little information I’ve got. I wonder where the deuce my Indian beauty is?” Then, a noise from the direction of the con- cealed person, that was yet to be proved friend or foe, attracted his atiention. e turned his eyes toward the spot; a dark figure rose from the ground and advanced directly to the ye place of Courtney. Through the gloom he could distinguish that it was an Indian; on came the figure steadily toward him. “T’ve got to fight for it!” said the young man, between his teeth. He peri to his feet, draw- ing his revolver as he did so, and leveling it full at the breast of the advancing stranger, who, however, did not seem to heed the hostile action but still came steadily on. ‘* Keep off, or I fire!” exclaimed Courtney, as he pressed his revolver almost to the breast of the rah Indian. The blanket dropped from the dark figure, and by the dim light, Courtney could discern that it was the Indian girl who stood before him. A cry of delight escaped his lips at the welcome sight. ‘White chief will not shoot Indian girl !” said : the maiden, in good, plain English, with only a slight Indian accent. “* Shoot you!” cried Courtney, pushing his re- volver back to its place. ‘‘ I would rather shoot myself!” ““Ts white chief glad to see Indian girl?” ques- tioned the maid. ‘¢Glad? To besure Iam!” he cried. ‘ That was my object in lying concealed beneath these trees, to see you.” “You like me?” the girl asked, looking into Courtney’s face with her bright, beautiful eyes, now full and lustrous as rhopliaee waves. “Like!” cried Courtney, imypetuously; “TI more than like; I love you 1 und, with a quick movement he drew the unresisting girl to his breast. A moment he held her there—a mo- ment he heard the beating of her heart against his own, and then his lips met hers in one long lingering, passionate kiss! The blood danced quickly through his veins; that kiss was the seal of love; henceforth the maid was his for- ever! “T love you!” said the girl, softly, looking with her full, lustrous eyes into her lover’s face. ‘© And you will leave your tribe and go with me?’ questioned Courtney. “Yes,” and the girl, looking quickly around, peering through the gloom, as if earful of being rised, asked: ‘‘You go with the trapper Longlegs into the Blackfoot country?” “Yes,” answered Courtney, in astonishment; “ how did you know that?” “You understand the Blackfoot language?” asked the girl. “No.” “Then you could not understand what the chiefs said. : *‘ Ah!” and the girl for a moment was silent; then she again continued: ‘‘ You seek some- thing in the Blackfoot country?” ‘‘'Yes,” said Courtney, wondering where the girl could have procured her knowledge. “I seek a treasure worth fifty thousand dollars, so = companion says.” he girl shook her head incredulously. — “T know the treasure you seek; it is a living one, and it will go with you alone. Your com- anion cannot obtain it ‘though he were backed | by all the blue-coated chiefs from the Big river | to the great plains.” saved the Bpotecd lili ieden:
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Courtney looked at the earnest face of the girl in astoni ent; he was in a maze; he could make nothing of these strange words. “T do not understand you,” he cried; “‘ex- plain.” : ““Some time,” said the girl, with a_ smile. ‘‘ Good-by, now. You go tothe Flathead river: you will be in danger, but 1 will watch over you, and you shall have the treasure. One word: beware of the Indian, Mudhole! He will betray you to the Blackfeet. Nay, more, he has betrayed you.. Good-by!” and the girl folded the blanket around her as if to depart. ** One moment!” cried Courtney, as he press- ed a farewell kiss upon her lips. ‘‘ My name is Harry Courtney; what is yours?” ““Whita Bird, the Flower of the Blackfeet,” murmured the girl, as she glided from his arms and disappeared in the darkness that hung like an inky pall over the earth. ; Courtney watched her retreating figure until it was lost to his view, and then, with a heart beating high with joy, he returned to the trap- per’s shanty and sought his humble couch, a single blanket on the hard earth. But, his dreams that night were pleasant ones, for the dark eyes and red lips of the Blackfoot maid were ever before him. CHAPTER V. IN THE HANDS OF THE BLACKFEET. ’ WHEN the first gray streaks of light appeared in the eastern sky, the Giant Trapper awoke the two adventurers; the trio made a hasty break- fast, and then soon were in the saddle. Hardly had the three mounted, when the In- dian, Mudhole, came up, looking as if he had sed the night in some mudhole sleeping off the effects at ea fire-water. . Mudhole at the mounted men; a dim expression of astonishment appeared upon his features. “Old Sol go—no take Mudhole with him?’ questioned the Indian. “In course not,” replied the trapper. ‘Git your hoss; we’re fur the mountains ’fore the sun’ > ‘*Mudhole go,” responded the savage, as he entered the little corral, and proceeded to saddle his pony, an operation which was extremely simple, said saddle consisting only of a single et. “T knowed he’d come,” said the trapper, with a grin. ‘‘ He’s got the cussed whisky out o’ him, an’ he’s a hull team in the wilderness.” By this time the Indian had strapped the blanket on his pony and mounted; then Sol ve the signal, and the party rode off toward he west, taking the trail that led through Cadotte’s Pass to the little frontier settlement known as Elk City. As they rode along, Courtney could not resist taking a searching glance at the redoubtable Mudhotle, who rode in the rear, some ten paces behind the rest. The warning of the young In- dian girl recurred to the mind of Courtney; her warning was a strange one: “ Beware of the Indian, Mudhole; he will betray you to the Blackfeet; nay, more, he has betrayed you.” ‘¢ What the deuce did she mean?” asked Court- ney of himself. ‘‘How can he have already betrayed us?—-that is the question.” But no so- lution of the mystery presented itself to the Sy tae mind. ; “Tl keep my eyes upon him,” he resolved “and if I see the slightest sign of treachery, Yi blow his brains out as I would a mad dog’s.” Carefully did the old trapper lead the march, for, as he explained to Wright and Courtney they might chance to fall in witha roving ban of Crow Indians at oy moment, as they were entering the regions inhabited by that warlike tribe. Thanks to the pe bh precautions, and to the good-fortune which kept the Indians from their trail, the little party reached Cadotte’s Pass without posing mene of a hostile savage. Climbing the rocky passes of the great moun- tains, our adventurers at length descended on the western side, and turned their course to the north-west, eave the Elk City trail, and tak- ing a pathway of their own through the rough and timbered defiles. At the close of a w day’s march, our ad- venturers halted for rest and supper by the side ofa little stream that came tumbling down —the waters pure as crystal—from the over- hanging mountains. (Now, then, we air nigh our journey’s end; we foller this leetle brook ten miles or ‘so, and we strike the valley of the Flathead river,” said is as he dismounted and extended his lids on the grass. ow far are we, then, from the village of Sol Ginger. the White Wolf?’ asked Wright, as he followed the trapper’s example and reclined at his side. “Bout ten miles or so—nigh enough to be aie dangerous ef we ain’t mighty careful,” replied the trapper. ‘* You think there is danger of the Indians stumbling upon us here?’ said Courtney. “Not much; it’s a mighty good time fur our expedition, fur about this time nearly all the young braves air away, down in the plains ar- ter bufflers. It’s the hunting season now; but, how on airth air you a-goin’ to find out whe- ther this ’ere person you seek is in the village of the White Wolf or not?’ asked the trapper, with a doubtful shake of the head. “That will be a difficulty indeed,” said Wright, eg Oty. “Can you not suggest some p ? “Tn course I kin, but the in’ of the plans out, thar’s whar it gits me,” and the old trapper shook his head wisely. ‘‘ In the first place, plan number one, we mought one on us go onto a smellin’ expedition into the village, an’ try to diskiver the truth in that air way; but, thatair’s mighty dangerous, ’cos it would have to bedone arter k, an’ ten chances to one we wouldn’t Varn any thing, an’ would only have our trouble fur our pains. You see it wouldn’t do fur ary one on us to go, fur the durned Indian do would smell out that we were white-skins quick- er’n a wink; they know a white man as fur as they kin smell him. Why, even one of the In- jun ponies will raise old Cain at the sight of a white; the dumb brutes know we ain’t friends. So, the only chance would be fur to send Mud- hole. In the darkness he might be able to walk right into the village and right out of it, an’ the Blackfeet not a bit the wiser.” “That might do,” said Wright. “Yes, it mought; but I’ve got another plan,” said the Giant Trapper; ‘that is, to captivate one of the Tae squaws an’ frighten the truth out of her. The only objection to that air is that ef we let her go a’gin, she’d haye the hul village down ’bout our ears jist like stirrin’ up a hornet’snest. 1 guess the best way will be to let Mudhole sneak into the village, arter all.” “Yes, we can give him instructions,” said Wright. “*Sartin,” replied Sol; “‘ he’ll foller’em. He’s jist as true as steel; you’ll find him squar’ every time; ef it ’tain’tso 1 don’t wantacent. But, let’s have some supper.” _.“Supper!” cried Courtney; ‘that’s a good idea; but T wish we had something besides dry beef and corn,” which two articles being port- able and easily carried, constituted the provi- sions of our adventurers. During the first of the trip, the rifle of the trapper produced many a palatable addition to their store, but for the last two days, since entering the rough and timbered defiles that stretched down from the Rocky Mountains to the Flathead river, the trapper had strictly forbidden the use of fire- arms. ““We air in the enemies’ country, an’ we mustn’t sacrifice our top-knots for the sake of our stomachs,” he had quaintly observed. “Got tired of dried beef an’ corn, hey?’ asked the trapper. **'Yes,” replied Courtney. “How would you like some baked trout, nice, lively leetle spotted fellers?” asked. Sol, with a grin. “Just you try me with a few,” cried Court- ney. We'll have ’em for our supper to-night,” re- sponded the trapper. ‘‘ This leetle brook is full on ’em. 1 guess I kin risk a fire—a leetle on jist big enough to cook ’em ef I cover it up we an’ a the smoke under. Here’s a line,” and he. produced a couple from his pocket. ‘‘ Jist try your luck down the brook, an’ ef, in half an hour, we don’t have a mess of speckled beauties, just you call me a nigger, that’s all.” Courtney took the line and strolled off down the stream. Some hundred yards or so beyond, the brook took a sudden turn, and Courtney, following it, was hidden from the sight of the others. A little way beyond the bend, the brook plunged down over a rocky ledge, form- ing a charming little cascade. Underneath this cascade was a dark, deep pool, the very haunt the agile brook-trout, the king of the fresh-wa- ter fishes, delights in. Courtney ening over a decayed stump, pro- cured some little white grubs for bait, and then cast his line into the silent pool. Scarcely had the line touched the surface of the water, ere a fine, large trout made a dash at it, hooked him- self, and was soon drawn out on the shelving bank. Courtney knelt to release the hook from the mouth of the fish. As he did so, a slight noise in the bushes near him attracted his atten- 7 tion. It sounded as if some one, moving cau- tiously within the thicket, had stepped upon a twig, and it had snapped beneath the pres- sure of the foot. For a moment Courtney lis- tened, his eyes fixed upon the thicket near him. The noise was not repeated, and Courtney, satis- fied that it was only some small animal or bird forcing its way through the shrubbery, turned his attention again to the fish. The young man was n0 woodman; no prairie captain was he; he knew not that, in the wilderness, the woodman looks for a foe in every bush, sees the presence of the red-skinned warrior in the rustling of the leaves, detects the pegmen foe in the waving of the long grass. The soft wind warns him of danger, the yellow earth beneath his feet tells of the coming fight. But as we have said, Courtney was no sh eyed mountain-man; he knew nothing of the wiles and tricks of the human hyenas who roam the vast expanse of prairie wilderness that, broken by the Rocky Mountains and. its ranges, stretches from the Gulf of California to the dense forests of British America. As Courtney knelt by the side of the fish to extract the hook from his mouth, the dense bushes ten paces back of him were parted noise- lessly, and forth into the little glade came a painted savage. Four other Indians followed the first—creeping toward the unconscious white, slowly and noiselessly as the snake glid- ing toward its prey they came. A moment more and the foremost savage—who was none other than the chief whom we have seen barter- ing for the skins at Fort Benton—White Wolf, stood within striking distance of Courtney. Slowly the red-skin raised his tomahawk, a mo- ment he held it poised in the air over the head of the unconscious man; then it descended swift as the lightning’s flash, and, striking the young adventurer on the head, felled him senseless to the earth. Courtney fell without even a singlecry. Ex- tended upon the earth he fell, stunned, and si- lent as death; but the young man was not dead. The savage had struck him with the blunt edge of the Indian ax, seeming with the intent to stun, not to kill him. With a grim smile, the White Wolf looked upon the face of the senseless man. “The white chief is no fox; he has not the cunning of ty his scalp would hang in the wigwam of the Blackfoot, but the red-man’s heart is big, and he remembers that the pale- face saved the Flower of the Blackfeet from the Big river braves. Young Bear,” he said, turn- ing to one of the foremost Indians, ‘carry the white-skin to the lodges of the Blackfeet; bind a jhand and foot with the thongs of deer- skin. The chief obeyed the words of the White Wolf by casting the senseless form of Courtney upon his shoulder as if it were the body of a child, so powerful was the Indian. “ Longlegs can not be far away. He will not be taken as easy as this young chief, but he shall never return to the Big river; he shall die by the hand of the Blackfoot.” One of the Indians who had noticed the foot- prints of Courtney, and which way they came, now § peg 2 ay! 4 : is ‘The w rave came down the stream, pointing to the footprints. “Wah!” said the White Wolf, with a nt of satisfaction as he noted the marks. ‘‘ Young Bear go with the white brave to our wigwams, the rest follow me.” ‘Young Bear, with Courtney upon his shoulder still senseless, stepped off lightly with his load in a north-west direction. As the reader has doubtless guessed from the words of the White Wolf, the meeting with Courtney was by accident. From the outcast chief, the Spotted Elk, these Blackfeet knew of the expedition of which Longlegs, or, as we bet- ter know him, the Giant Trapper, was the guide; but they did not know the exact direction the whites would come in their approach to the In- dian village. So, for the three days preceding the one in the evening of which they had cap- tured the helpless C ey, they had scouted in a circle, some ten to twenty miles from the vil- lage, all around it, carefully looking for traces of the white adventurers. Thus had they hap- pened to surprise the young man by the side of the trout-stream. great advantage of the ; fie ne ape 3 one ittle party of whites led by the old trapper. Thanks to the Spotted Elk, they knew ie ob: ject of the whites, while they, the whites, were journeying onward, hoping to surprise the In- dian village, and by cunning and stealth steal the treasure which Wright valued at fifty thou- sand dollars.
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‘Shall we attack the whites?’ asked one of the braves. ‘* No,” answered the White Wolf, “‘ the white chief, Longlegs, is as ener ae the beaver; like the wolf at bay, he fights hard. The Black- feet would kill the white chief Longlegs, who traps the beaver by the lodges of the red-men; but, if the red-men give the white chief a chance, he will run—and his legs are long like the elk’s. If the red braves hem him in he will fight, and his rifle shoots many times at once. Four Blackfeet are not enough to fight Long- legs. The red chiefs will see where the pale- facc3 have camped; then they will return to the Blackfoot lodges, get more warriors, and burst upon the white-skins like a panther.” The other chiefs gravely nodded assent; they had all witnessed the prowess of the tall hunter, and the quick-repeated shots of his death-deal- ing rifle, and they had grown to look upon the white op es as a very dangerous, subtle foe and one whom force of numbers alone could crush. The reasoning of the White Wolf ap- peared to them. Their chief’s courage no one of the Blackfoot tribe could gainsay; it had been tried on many a bloody war-path a; the whites, — on many a fierce raid in the Crow country. So, silently, the red chiefs fol- lowed the White Wolf, as he advanced cautious- ly up the stream, following the traces of Court- ney’s ~— @ will leave the Indians—like so many bloodhounds, following the white man’s trail— and return to the Indian who was named the Young Bear, and who bore the form of the senseless Courtney along on his shoulder, as though it were the carcass of a deer. On through the wilderness with a long, lopin stride, rail the muscular savage, over hill an dale, through brush and brier; the darkness de- scended upon the earth, but the savage halted not; onward, straight forward toward the In- dian village he went, not turned from his path {by- rock, brush or streamlet, and some t ‘hours after the time of Courtney’s capture, with his helpless burden on his shoulder, still insensi- —— Young Bear strode into the Blackfoot . The Indian deposited his prisoner on a couch of buffalo-skins in one of the vacant lodges in the center of the village, then he bound the hands and legs of his captive ther tightly with stout bonds of deer-skin, and, having thus insured his wn, nos left him. As the Young Bear stepped from the lodge, he was confronted by the figure of the young Indian girl, whom we have seen with the White Wolf in the frontier settlement. She was call- ed by the Indians White Bird, and in their fan- ciful manner further named the ‘‘ Flower of the Blackfeet.” The full moon, now shining clear in the sky, threw a flood of pure, soft light down upon the village. By the rays of the moon the Indian girl per- ceived a blood-stain upon the hunting-shirt of Young Bear, caused by the blood that had aetrar down from the wound in Courtney’s ead. ‘* The fone chief has been wounded?’ the girl ask She had rightly guessed that, by this time, the party to which her lover was attached must be near the Indian village, and the blood-stain on the hunting-shirt of the young brave alarmed her. She feared that a meeting already had taken place between the Indians and the whites. That that meeting would be a bloody one she Imew too well, for she had overheard the conver- sation between the White wolf and the Spotted EJk, the outcast Blackfoot brave, in the white settloment. That the purpose of the whites had been betrayed to the Indians, and that the red braves were already on the watch to sur- prise the long-legged trapper and his compan- ions, she also knew. Little, though, did she think that, even then, her lover was wounded and a prisoner in the hands of his foes. How could she guess that ete the young white chief, the first man who ever pressed the warm passicnate love-kiss upon her red lips, was now bound, hand and foot, with the un- yielding withes of deer-skin— that life and death even now contended which should possess him ** No,” mded the chief, proudly. ‘The blood on the hunting-shirt of the chief is white.” The girl’s heart sunk at the words of the Young r. prey; they struck him as the forked light of the Great Spirit strikes the big tree; he sunk beneath the arm of the Blackfoot, and is now a captive in the red-man’s lodge.” ‘ Where?” questioned the girl, eagerly. “There,” replied the warrior, pointing to the wigwam from which he had come, and in which the helpless prisoner was confined. ‘‘ Would the White Bird look upon the pale chief, let her enter and she shall see the foe of the Black- feet, crushed beneath the foot of the red-man.” Saying which, the warrior stalked off toward his own wigwam. The Indian girl entered the wigwam that held the white prisoner. All was dark within, yet, despite the gloom, she could distinguish a dark form, extended on the buffalo-skins, and hear the heavy breathing as of one in pain. With a heart sick with apprehension, the White Bird knelt by the side of the helpless man. She pushed the tangled ringlets of his hair back from his feverish temples; the dark- ness was so dense she could not see his face, but her heart told her that she knelt by the side of her lover. A moment she remained by his side, listening to his heavy, painful breathings; then she arose, and with a light step flew to her own wigwam; there she procured a small vessel of water, and with it she returned to the side of the captive. Carefully she bathed his forehead; she loosened the tight bands that bound his wrists; his breathing became easier; he turned restlessly upon his side; his senses were returning. ‘* Where am I?” he murmured. His voice told the girl that she held her lover 7 Marry? h d tly, ‘ H “ Harry!” she cried, softly, ‘dear Harry!” Courtney knew the voice, ‘White Bird!” he exclaimed, as with rapture he pressed her to his heart. CHAPTER VI. LONGLEGS SHOWS FIGHT. HARDLY had the White Wolf and his war- riors left the little glade where they had suc- ceeded in capturing Courtney, and their forms were hid by the bushes, as they followed the trail that led up the little stream, when, forth from one of the clumps of trees—the same covert that had hid the savages—stepped the Giant Trapper. He, too, like Courtney, had followed the streamlet down; he, too, had heard the crack of the dried twig that had snapped be- neath the foot of one of the Indians; but, unlike Courtney, the sound had excited his suspicions; he had sought the thicket for the cause of the sound, and he had found it in the persons of the Indian braves. “Wal, we’rein fur it now!” cried the trap- per, as he stood fora moment thoughtfully in the center of the little glade. ‘* They’ve captivated the young feller, true as preaching. ow on airth did the red devils know that we were in this neighborhood, or did they stumble on us, jist by luck?’ The trapper pondered on the matter for a few moments. ‘‘ Not much chance to carry out our idees now. It'll be all we kin do to look after our top-knots. I don’t intend that they shall hang mine up to dry in the smoke of any Injun village, ef I know myself; but, ef we ain’t mighty keerful, they’ll gobble us in jist like a toad eats frogs.” The trapper looked for a moment in the direc- tion that the Indians had taken; not a sound could be heard denoting that there was life within the rocky wilderness. “To think of the painted sarpents_comin’ right on top on us, in this ’ere way! Why, it riles me right up like a big flood does one of our rivers. I’m gittin’ mad! S’pose I should run across one of these heathen devils—wouldn’t I be justified in goin’ fur him?’ and the trap- per thought for a moment over the knotty point. “By Cain!” he cried, pos Boe thigh noise- lessly. “Tl go fur ’em, tooth an’ nail! The red heathens have got Courtney ; they know we're hyer; we’ve everything to make an’ noth- in’ to lose by a fight. I'll give the painted im a chance to tote another carcass off to their I lage, but it shall be a red instead of a white man this time, an’ thar won’t be any doubt as to whether he’s dead or alive.” And the trapper shut his teeth together with a determination that boded ill to the White Wolf and his band. ‘““Now, I mustn’t run in too close on ’em,” muttered Sol, as he followed carefully in the track of the savages, ‘‘else they mought lift my “The young chief has fought with the whites?” | ha’r instead of my lifting thar ha’r, which I cal- she questioned, fearing the worst. “No; the warriors of the Blackfeet came culate to do.” On went the old trapper, slowly and noise- upon the white brave like tho eagle upon his | lessly Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. To the looker-on—could there have been one stationed in the sky—the wilderness would have resented a sin sight. Virst came White olf and his three Blackfoot followers, track- ing patiently the footsteps of Courtney, expect- ing each moment to pounce upon the camp of the whites; in their rear came the old trapper, following their trail with all the patience of a yo eae ree trapper was gaining slowly, but surely, upon the Tsing Sues or twice he had eruph sight of their dusky forms as they glided from bush to bush, intent on concealing Beir persons from the expected foe in front, not dreaming of the deadly toe in their rear, who was each mo- ment gaining slowly but certainly upon them. The shrill cry of a horse broke upon the still- ness of the twilight hour. ‘The cry came from the bey He pony. The sagacious animal had ‘* winded ” the ee of the red-men. The old gy oe laughed silently to himself at the sound. ‘¢T knew the little beast would smell ’em out soon. Now, Mudhole ought to know what that air means ef he’s got the sense of an owl. Ah! the red devils are deliberating, cuss ’em! Thar’ll be a dead Injun round hyer in ’bout two minutes.” The trapper drew from his belt the keen-edged hunting-knife; carefully ran his finger over the edge; it was sharp as a razor. ; he had said, the Indians had paused at the shrill cry of the horse, and were clustered to- gether, apparently in council. Noiselessly and with the stealthy caution of the ther stealing upon his prey, knife in hand, the lion-hearted trapper approached his foes, taking advantage of every tree, each piece of rock to shelter him from the gaze of the In- dians, should they chance to look behind them. The warriors were holding a council. ‘Tt was the neigh of a horse,” said the White Wolf. ‘‘We are then near the camp of the whites.” ** Good,” answered the warrior who stood next to the White Wolf. ‘Shall we surprise the white-skins in the night?” “No,” answered the White Wolf, “‘ we aro too few. nglegs and his braves have rifles that fire many times. One of my warriors shall watch the pale-faces; the rest shall return with me to our lodges, and at daybreak, when the light comes, we’ll hunt the white warriors to death. Is it good?” : ‘It is good,” replied the chief, who had asked the question—a tall, muscular brave who was known among the Blackfeet as Tall Bull. The other two Indians nodded assent to the words of the chief. “One will stay and watch the white-skins?” questioned the Tall Bull. “The chief has spoken,” gravely answered the White Wolf. “The Tall Bull isa great brave cf the Black- feet; he can look a bear to death!” said the chief, proudly; ‘‘he will stay and watch the ale-faces till the White Wolt comes back with is braves. Is it good?” “It is good!” replied the White Wolf; ‘m brother chall stay. In the night, when the Tall Bull hears the cry of the owl, let_bim look for the coming of the warriors of the Blackfeet.” Then, swiftly and silently, the While Wolf and the other ie Indians retraced their steps, leaving Tall Bull to watch the whites. The Giant Trappes had perceived the council, and had concealed himself carefully kehind a dense clump of bushes; extending himself at full length upon the ground and —s the bushes before him, he could easily watch the Indians. The White Wolf, followed by the two war- riors, came by the hiding-place of the trapper, taking a course, Lowever, that led them wide of his trail, which they would surely have dis- covered — although it was now getting quite dark, and the discovery might have led to trou- blesome consequences for the indcmitable Sol, as he would have been surrounded by the In- dians, front and rear. Now he bed buta sin- le foe to deal with—the Blackfcot brave, the Fall Bull, who kept watch between him and the camp of his associates. “ve got to git past that air feller to git into the camp,” said the trapper, musingly; “ the Injuns know that we air hyer; they’ll probably be down onto us hide an’ hair fore the morn- ing; we’ve got fur to make a run fur it, an’ how on airth air we a-goin’ to do it with this critter watching us? That’s the question, an’ thur ain’t any dodgin’ it that I kin see.” Then the trapper took another look at the Indian be- fore him. In thedim light, Sol could distingui that the warrior was leaning carelessly cenit
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ey ‘the trunk of a tree, keeping apparently close watch on the wilderness before him. “Tt has got to be did; it’s no use 6 Hither he or me,” said the trapper, rising slowly to his feet and beginning his advance on the un- conscious savage before him. On went the Nemesis, knife in hand, foot by foot approaching the Indian, slowly but surely. The savage had his eyes carefully fixed upon the open space before him, beyond which, as he essed, lay the camp of the whites. Little did e dream that danger was nigh, that the white- skinned trapper, the famous Longlegs the beaver-catcher, was on his trail—nay, more, that the keen-ed: hunting-knife was even now drawn, ready to be dyed in his heart’s blood! The Blackfoot chief, watching eagerly and intently for signs of the white-skins in the wil- derness before him, was thirsting for the blood of the pale-faces; why not others seek for his blood? With a snake-like motion, the Giant Trapper had crept over the little space that separated him from the Indian; arriving at length within reach of his prey, he prepared for the final movement. R moment he crouched, like the tiger preparing for his spring; then, like the ar- row hurled — the eae in — sprung upon the unsuspecting savage. ne deadly dercke: and the keen-edged hunting- knife, driven by the strong arm of the White Avenger, was buried to the hilt in the body of the warrior. A single moan of pain alone es- caped the Indian as the keen knife let out his life-blood; a moment the savage tottered, sway- ing like the pine tree struck by the lightning’s blast, and then he fell forward onhis face, stone dead. The Tall Bull had given bis last war- whoop, had trod his last war-trail; the Black- foot warrior was now but a piece of senseless clay, lying on the earth at the feet of his mortal enemy. For. a moment Sol gazed upon his prostrate foe. “Tt seems a pity,” he said, quite mournfully, ‘to kill any of God’s critters, but it were either his life or mine, one or the t’other, an’ in sech a case, better him nor me. He were a long leg- ged chap too,” continued the trapper; looks as ef he mought ’a’ fought Old Satan.” The Giant Trapper bent over the prostrate warrior and drew the hunting-knife from the body; the blood gushed out afresh. The old trapper, in spite of himself, shuddered at the sight, that, in the dim twilight, looked doubly horrible. He wiped the knifo carefully in the earth, by thrusting it in to the hilt and then drawing it forth. u : . “Tt seems a pity that we can’t live in this world without sheddin’ blood, but it can’t be did; every critter preys on some other critter weaker than itself,” said the trapper to himself, softly ; “‘ but thar’s no use eryin’ over spilt milk. I reckon thar’s many a red heathen will feel the p’int of my knife or the bullet of my rifle ‘afore we git out of this. We're in a pesky scrape, an’ thar ain’t no two ways "bout it. Sol!” he cried, addressing himself familiarly, “Cef you've got = bit of sense, now’s the time to show it. Tl leave this feller jist where I struck him; the red devils will be arter us afore we're many hours older. Now fur the camp.” Saying which the trapper proceeded up- stream. A few minutes’ walk brought him to the glade where he had left Wright, Mudhole and the horses. To the trapper’s astonishment he found the little glade empty, except that the horses stood quietly browsing upon the young shrubs where they had been tethered. _ ‘* Wa-al!” cried the trapper, in astonishmen: “have the red heathens gobbled up Wright an: Mudhole, an’ without makin’ any row ‘bout it too? It beats Ned!” But, as if in answer to the trapper’s speech, forth from the little thicket in front of which the horses were tied, came Wright, rifle in hand, “Ts that you, Sol?” asked the adventurer, as he came toward him, hardly able to distinguish him in the dim light. ‘*Wa-al, I reckon it is,” replied the trapper. ““What in thunder were you a-doin’ in thar?” ‘Your horse a few minutes ago seemed alarmed at the approach of something. I re- membered what you said in regard to his singu- lar gift for smelling out Indians, and thinking robably that there might be some approaching, T sox to cover.” “You were right, by hookey!” cried Sol; “the leetle animile was right every time, you bet!” “Are there Indians near, then?” eagerly asker Wright. Wal, thar wero Indians near, an’ thar’s Sol Ginger. a dead buck putty near now,” replied the trap- r. Pee You have had a fight, then?” ““No; it were too one-sided to call it a fight; I stuck the Injun in the back, an’ he drop to one’t.” “Only one?” ‘“*Yes; ef thar had bin more, the fight would have been one-sided t’other way.” “ Are we in danger now?’ asked Wright. “You kin jist bet we air!” replied the trap- per. ‘‘The Injun that I killed were left as a sort of scout upon our movements.” “The Indians know of our presence here, then?” ““Wal, they jist do!” cried Sol. ‘‘How on airth they diskivered it I don’t know, unless they stumbled onto our trail by accident.” ‘**Have you seen Courtney?” “Poor feller!” replied the trapper; ‘he’s a risoner in the hands of thec red heathens. hey hit him a clip side of the head, I s’ fur he were stunned an’ senseless when I go thar, an’ then they toted him off on thar shoul- ders. I should have piled in an’ tried to rescue him, but I didn’t know but what thar were a lot of Injuns back in the bush, an’ of course it would have been folly to risk my own life with- out any chance of saving bim.” ‘‘That’s very true; but what is to be done?” asked Wright, with evident anxiety. “That’s what we've got to find out. We're in a tight place, thar ain’t any use backin’ round the truth. ‘Stead of gittin’ that air treasure that you’re hunting fur among the Blackfeet, we'll be lucky ef they don’t git our scalps,” said the trapper, ios and earnestly. ‘‘ But, what’s become of Mudhole?” ‘*T don’t know,” answered Wright. ‘“‘ A few minutes after you and Courtney went down the stream, I looked round to k to him, and found that he was gone. He must have left the glade nearly at the same time as yourself.” ** Wal, that air is strange,” said the trapper thoughtfully. “I kinder have an idee that all ain’t right *bout that Injun; he’s acted putty ueer ever since we started onto this tramp. Seraualemé ef he’s betrayed us to the Blackfeet Pll never have faith in human natur’ arter- wards.” BI: 8 has betrayed us, we are lost!” cried right. ‘*T wish to thunder we were lost, so that the durned red-skins couldn’t find us, anyhow!” re- turned the trapper, with one of his good-natured ns. ** What is to be done?” ‘“* Play the fox an’ sneak fur our lives. I’ve showed fight aoe which is kinder onnatural fur me; now I'll try t’other way. The Black- feet have felt my teeth, an’ I ’spect they’ll raise kingdom come when they find that dead Injun; so now [ll show ’em a bit of beaver cunnin’.” “What is to be done with the horses?’ asked Wright. ‘“We’ve got to leave’ ’em to shift fur them- selves. Thar ain’t any red on age in the hull North-west can ketch my leetle animile; she knows enough to stay right round hyer, an’ praps your hoss will keep mine company. Anyways, we’ve got to try shank’s mare jist now,” replied the trapper. “What is your plan?” “You know I’ve trapped considerable on this ere river, an’ thar ain’t an inch of it from whar it takes its rise in Old Rocky to whar it runs into the Columbia that I don’t know. Wal, up hyer, about ten miles, is what is called the Great Cafion; the Blackfeet run me through the cafion last pirated ot the time they capti- vated the pe tries, that they traded down at the fort, cuss ’em, for powder an’ lead. That time Irun through the cafion I dodged the red hea- thens slick. You see, in the caiion I diskivered a little cave; I hid in it an’ the red suckers never found me, though they were a-howlin’ all *round me, Now, we'll jist put for that air hole in hay an’ jist throw the savages off the trac ** Will they not follow our trail?” “Let em!” cried Sol, scornfully. ‘JI reckon Tain’t bin a a in these hyer regions fur nothin’. Wait till we strike the Flathead river an’ I'll bother the keenest-nosed red-skin that ever smelt out a trail.” ‘* But Courtney?” “ Jes’ you let us git out of this hobble, an’ I'll snake him out of the Blackfoot village as quick as awink. Ef Idon’t, jist you put me to bed with a rattlesnake an’ let him tickle me to death with his tail.” The trapper then released the horses—patting the neck ae his own little pony as he did so, as much as to say, “good-by.” This done, the twain took their rifles and vision-pouches, and struck off through the wilderness in a north- western direction. After a tramp of about two hours they struck the valley through which flowed the waters of the Flathead river. CHAPTER VII. THE TURTLE BECOMES AN EAGLE. By the time the old trapper and Wright ar- rived at the bank of the river, the moon was up full in the heavens, and shed its clear, pure light oe upon the turbid waters of the Fiat, “The cafion is *bout a half a mile up-stream the Injun village is bout four miles above that the cave we’re arter is right at the mouth of the cafion. You see the river hyer flows over a rocky bed, an’ it ain’t deep; we've got to do is to wade up-stream to the cave, an’ ef the red heathens kin foller our trail, ey kin jist take my pile, they kin,” said the guide, with one of his quaint smiles. “But, will they not follow our tracks to the river’s bank?’ asked Wright. “ Sartin!” quietly answered the trapper. “Will they not suspect that we have gone up the stream. “What in thunder’s to make ’em?” asked Sol. “ Aint it more likely that we should go down the stream instead of up right into their clutches? Now, this is my plan: e red devils will foller our trail, trace it to the river, conclude, in course, that we’ve gone down-stream, an’ go arter us like all git out; an’ all the time we'll be lyin’ snug, right under their noses.” Your plan is excellent,” cried Wright. “‘ Jes’ so; guess I ain’t trapped beavers onto this ’ere stream for nothing; but, let’s be going; time’s short, life is sweet, an’ if we want tokee our top-knots jist whar they air now, we wont be slow in gittin’ up this hyer river.” , into the river Sol went, followed by Wright. A toilsome, difficult march was that little half-mile up the rocky bed of the river— the water now up to their ankles, and then ris- ing suddenly to their waists. ‘At last the march was ended, and the two stood within the gloomy cave; the entrance to the cavern was a small hole, some three feet in circumference, hidden by branches and clumps of bushes, so that no one, without close exami- reg could have discovered the secret hiding- , ’ place. Within the cavern was a small apartment, possibly six feet square. “What do you think of this?’ asked Sol, as they entered the retreat. ‘* Excellent!” replied Wright. “It will prob- ably save our lives,” *That’s so,” replied the trapper, earnestly. ‘* Without this we’d be gone uP suckers, sure; _ how the red niggers diskivered us is a mys- ry.” ‘Can the Indian Mudhole, have betrayed us?” asked Wright. ** Wal, I don’t know,” said Sol, thoughtfully. “The critter owed a great deal tome. Ef he has betrayed us the motive must have been a powerful one.” ““Does Mudhole know of the existence of this place?” asked Wright. ‘“‘No,” answered the trapper, confidently; ‘tisn’t known to any living soul ’sides myself’ that I knows on. I diskivered it by accident. Hyer we're safe. I’m a-goin’ to e a leetle scout ’round the Injun village, jist to see what I ver. I have an idee that the White Wolf went back to the village arter leaving the big Injun as scout—the feller that I stuck—fur to git his warriors an’ go fur us. If my idee is right, then the best time for me to sneak the boy out of the Injun village will be to-night, when the In ha are awa path ag’in’ us. So, while they air huntin’ us I'll jist risk a visit right into their village, an’ p’haps I kin git the oung feller out of his spesky scrape—that is, ef e ain’t hurt too bad.” ‘Go, then, in heaven’s name!” cried Wright. “T will await your return here.” ** Jes’ so; but don’t show the end of your nose outside of the cave, fur the red devils will be all ’round us ’fore morning.” ‘*T shall be careful.” “T shall be back in "bout four hours,” added Sol. “I’ve got to keep my wits’bout me or I shall go plum _ into the clutches of these red heathens afore I know it. Ef by any accident the sarpints do diskiver the cave, why, you’ve got the three rifles, an’ as only one man ata time can git into the hole, you kin fight half a hun- dred of the beasts without much trouble.” Then the trapper crawled through the opening, step- ped into the river and commenced his perilous scout, onto the war-
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10 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. We will leave Wright to enjoy the solitude of the cave, to watch eagerly from the mouth the surface of the moonlit river and the dense for- est that shaded the opposite bank for evidence of the savage foe, and follow the footsteps of the giant trapper as he went on his dangerous ex- = the object of which was to rescue the pe ip ourtney from the power of the Black- eet. The trapper proceeded neering up the water-course, after leaving the cave, keeping as he went within the shadow of the roc that overhung the turbulent stream. He proceeded for half a mile or so in the river-bed, then, se- lecting a favorable Spot for his purpose, where the rocks opened and a ravine appeared, he left the water and plunged through the ravine into the forest. *“These rocks don’t show footprints, thank oodness!” muttered Sol, as he looked back on the border of the woods to the rocky pathway over which he had come. “Now fur the Injun village,” he cried to him- self, as he plunged within the thicket. ‘I de- clare to goodness, ef I can’t do any thing else, Tl git into the corral an’ set all the hosses loose; this beasts will raise a precious row gallopin’ over the village. I’ve got to git even with these ere Blackfeet upon that air peltry business, dod- rot their copper-colored skins, the eternal hea- then. After an hour’s tramp, Sol slackened his pace and began to proce more cautiously. His judgment had told him that he was drawing near the village. _ Cautiously he proceeded. Presently he heard the barking of a dog—a — sign that the Indian encampment was near at hand. The brave man proceeded with increased cau- tion. A few steps more and the ng found himself on the cdge of the timber. Before him was a little open plain, washed on one side by the Flathead river, while the dense woods sur- rounded it on the other three. In the plain the moon’s bright rays shone down upon the rude encampment. The trap- per, from his ambush in the bushes at the edge = ry timber, gazed upon the village of White olf, “Now, how in thunder shall I diskiver in which air wigwam the young feller is shut up?” said Sol, as his eyes rested upon the Indian lodges. We will leave the trapper in his ambush and penetrate to the interior of the village. In the center of the settlement stood the “* council-lod7e,” where the chiefs met for deli- beration. Near the council-lodge was a wig- wam, a little larger than the rest that com- the encampment; this was the wigwam of the chief of the tribe—the lodge of the ite olf. In the lodge of the chief stood two warriors. The lodge being dimly lighted by a little wick burning in a vessel of grease, we can see the forms and faces of the two Indians, One of the chiefs was the White Wolf, the other was the Indian who had shared the fortunes of the Giant Trapper—he who was called, in derision, by the settlers of Fort Benton, Mudhole, but who was— as our readers have doubtless guessed—in real- ity, Spotted Elk, the outcast Blackfoot brave, the only son of the White Wolf, and who, but for his guilty passion for the squaw of the Gray Eagle, would one day have been the chief of the Blackfeet of the Flathead valley. “The cursed white-skins are in the Flathead valley,’ said Mudhole, or, as we shall hereafter call him, Spotted Elk. “Yes,” responded the White Wolf, ‘‘ the chief has seen them. The young white brave is now a prisoner in the wigwam of the Blackfoot. When the sun comes, the rest of the white chiefs will be slain and their scalps will dry in the wigwams of the braves of the Blackfeet.” But, the te Wolf gave his word that the white trapper, Longlegs, should not die,” said the Spotted Elk. “The White Wolf’s tongue is straight, not forked; he speaks truth!” replied the chief, proudly. “Then Longlegs shall not die?’ questioned the Spotted Elk. » The chief did notanswer. Evidently he wish- ed to evade the question, for, after a few mo- ments’ silence, he spoke: “There was once a young ro wt he was strong and proud of limb; he sough the nest of. the hawk; from the nest he was hurled to the earth; he became a mud-turtle, and crawled in the mire.” The Spotted Elk understood the meaning of the old chief; he knew that the White Wolf re- ferred to him. “It is true,” the young Indian answered, slowly, “the eagle is now a mud-turtle; the Great Spirit has willed it; but, when he dies he will sing the death-song of the Blackfeet.” “* Would not the mud-turtle like to be an ea- gle again?” questioned the old chief. “Wah! It isim ible!” answered the Spot- ted Elk, slowly and sadly, “The Gray Kagle’s brother died last night,” said the White Wolf. ‘‘He has no kindred in the tribe of the Blackfeet; if the White Wolf brings the Spotted Elk into the council-lodge of the Blackfeet as his son, what chief will dare to lift up his voice against the chief of. his tribe?” “*And will the White Wolf do this?” asked the Spotted Elk, eagerly. “The mud-turtle shall become an eagle on one condition.” ‘* Well?” asked the young chief. “The White Wolf has said that the white chief, Longlegs shall not die; it is bad; the beaver-catcher hunts in the valley of the Flat- head, the land of the Blackfeet; he kills the beaver and the muskrat; the animals that swim in the Flathead river belong to the Blackfeet; the white trapper must die,” “The White Wolf would have his pledge re- turned?” asked cope ur Elk. ‘* Yes; then he will take the Spotted Elk b the hand; he will conduct him to the council- lodge of the Blackfeet; he will say to the chiefs and warriors of the Blackfoot nation, ‘this is my son, the future eagle of his tribe,’ and what warrior will dare say ‘nay ’?”’ For a moment there was silence in the little lodge. The Spotted Elk was deep in thought. If he returned the pledgeof the old chief he would sacrifice the life of the white trapper— the man who had protected him when he was an outcast and a wanderer, but it would restore him to his old position among the warriors of the Blackfeet. The temptation was too great; he could not resist it. To regain his former sta- tion he would have given his life; besides, the thought flashed ce y through his brain, the old trapper was not captured yet; the chances were that he would manage to elude the search of the Blackfeet and escape them. The Indian knew full well the craft and cunning of the Giant Trapper; he felt assured he would esca the Indians; therefore, even if he retained the promise of the White Wolf, it might not aid the trapper; it could only aid him in case he fell in- to the hands of the Blackfeet, and that they would capture him was doubtful. At last the Spotted Elk spoke. ‘*Good! the Spotted Elk returns the promise of the White Wolf; the white trapper chal die by the hands of the Blackfoot warriors.” ‘The mud-turtle shall become an eagle again,” returned the old chief. ‘‘The warriors of the Blackfeet are now in council; the White Wolf = present his son to them and they shall honor Then, with a stately step, the White Wolf con- ducted the outcast warrior to the council-lodge of the Blackfeet. All the chief warriors of the Blackfoot tribe, then in the village—as, at the time we write, the majority of the braves were away on the annual hunting-expedition southward—were as- sembled in the council-lodge, waiting the coming of their chief. The White Wolf entered the council-lodge; behind him came the Spotted Elk; the assem- bled warriors, despite the usual stolid expres- sion that they assume in the council-lodge, ]ook- ed upon the face of the young brave—who for three years had been an outcast and a wanderer from the tribe of his fathers—with astonish- ment. The old chief paused in the center of the council-lodge; each eye was bent upon him; each ear listened attentively for his words. ‘‘Warriors of the Blackfeet,” began the old chief, looking around with a majestic glance, “the White Wolf is a great chief; he does not fear the bear when, he comes from the big mountains; his arm is strong and his heart large; he is the chief of the Blackfeet that live in the valley of the Flathead. Once he hada son; the big clouds sometimes cover the moon; when the clouds go the moon shines again; so the clouds covered theson of the White Wolf; but now the clouds are gone. The Spotted Elk is as cunning as the beaver; he has led the white pry oy? Longlegs, and his braves into the valley of the Flathead; their scalps will hang in the lodge of a Blackfoot. Will my brothers say that the clouds are gone forever, and smoke the Pipe of peace with the Spotted Elk?” ‘or a moment there was silence in the coun- cil-lodge of the Blackfeet. As the White Wolf had said, all the kindred of the warrior killed by the Spotted Elk were dead; there was no one to revive the charge against the young brave; and in the savage assembly, as in the courts of justice of the civilized white man, wealth and igh connections sometimes have great weight. ‘or a few moments the dead silence continued. within the council-lodge. Then an old chief arose; he was one of the oldest and bravest warriors in the tribe—a man of very great in- fluence; on his words hung the doom of the . Spotted Elk, ‘“The words of the White Wolf have fallen upon the ears of the Blackfeet braves like the spring rain upon the ground: they have sunk in eep,” began the old chief. ‘‘ Why should the red warriors remember what is bad, and forget what is good?” A hum of assent from the circle of braves an- nounced their concurrence in the words of the old Indian; evidently the verdict of the council would be favorable to the Elk. “The —— Elk is a big warrior; he is worthy to be the chief of the Blackfeet; let my brothers forget the past and think only of the future. The long-legged trapper, the beaver- catcher, is again in the Flathead valley; his scalp must hang in the lodges of the Blackfeet, Let my brothers smoke the pipe of peace and then hunt the white-skins to their death.” A grunt of approbation greeted the old war- rior as he sat down. And so the Spotted Elk, with the blood of the Gray Eagle upon his hands, was received back again into his tribe; the outcast was a wanderer no longer. The council ended; the warriors filed out of the council-lodge, and, led by the White Wolf and the Spotted Elk, took the war-trail against the whites. The warriors glided like so many specters in the moonlight, through the Indian village, down the slope that led to the river, and crossing it, ee ea in the dense thicket on the opposite ankk. Before crossing the river, the White Wolf called the Young Bear to him, and, much to that warrior’s disgust, for he longed to join the war- party, he gave him directions to remain at the village and watch the prisoner, Courtney. The word of the chief was law; and, though the young chief in his heart might grumble at the office to which he had been assigned, yet, out- wardly, Indian-like, he manifested no disap- pointment. _ The Young Bear beheld the warriors di 4 and then took up his station in front of the lodge in which was confined the hapless Court- ney. When the Blackfoot braves arrived on the op- posite bank of the river, the White Wolf divided the party into three detachments. One he took command of himself; the second he gaye to the charge of the Spotted Elk; the third to the com- mand of the old Indian who had made the ch in the council-lodge, and who was called Tall Thunder. To both the chiefs the White Wolf gave full instructions. The Blackfoot chief expected that the whites might have left the camping-ground they had selected; he had divided the warriors into three detachments that they might more easily discover the trail of the whites or the Indian scout that he had left to track the whites. Little did the Blackfoot chieftain guess that the stout warrior that he had left in the thicket was now cold in death—that the keen steel of the white trapper, the “ beaver-catcher,” as the Blackfeet ed. him, had drank the life-blood ot the Tall Bull. CHAPTER VIIL. OUT OF THE INDIAN VILLAGE. Once again Courtney held in his arms the soft and pnt, Ft of the fair young Indian irl; but, how different now was his situation na that in which he had been placed when they had first met at Fort Benton! Then he was free, able to defy the malice of any foe; now he was a prisoner in the hands of the Blackfeet—the fierce savages of the North-west —his life scarcely worth an hour’s hase. But, his helpless situation, the knowedge that death might come at any moment from the ruthless hands of the savages, were all forgotten in the one sweet moment when he, for the sec- ond time, held the White Bird in his arms, and a her form quiver beneath his passionate em- race. ‘* You are in danger!” murmured the girl. Then over his mind came the thought what, indeed, was his position—a prisoner, help- less in the hands of his foe.
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Sol Ginger. ‘““-Yes, dear one,” he answered, ‘‘I am in dan- ” ‘¢ And your friends?” Nady neg the girl. “T know nothing of their fate. The savages came upon me suddenly and stunned me with a blow on the head; after that, I know nothing. When I came to my senses I found myself here, a prisoner, your arms around me, your greeting ringing in my ears.” ‘You must be saved!” she cried. **T must, indeed, or die a miserable death,” he answered. ; ‘“ Where did you leave your friends? Can you describe the place?’ asked the girl. “Yes, I think I can,” answered the young man. ‘I left my companions by the side of a little stream that empties into the Flathead river, coming from the east—” ‘“‘Britter stream!” cried the girl. ‘‘Iknow it. Will your companions remain there?” “NO, I think not,” he answered; ‘they in- tended to come to the Flathead river, I think. They wished to be near this village. There is something here that they want.” f “Do you know what it is?’ she said, looking into the face of the young man with a strange expression. ““No; only that it is a treasure, and my com- panion thinks it is very valuable,” said the oung man. me Sion what it is,” said the girl. ‘You do?’ cried Courtney in astonishment. “Yes; but the value your companion sets upon it, I can not understand,” replied the In. dian girl. ‘‘ Were it you, now, who set so high a value upon it, I should not wonder at it.” ‘“You speak in riddles,” said Coartney aston- ished | at her words. “I can not understand ou, ‘¢- You will, soon,” she replied. ‘ If you were free from here, do you think you could find your companions?” ‘¢YVes, | think so; I would follow the river down to where the little stream runs into it, then follow the stream up; that would lead me to where we were encamped. But I fear that my friends are in the hands of the Indians also. ‘No,” replied the girl; “if they were prison- ers, they would be here. Besides, the great chief, the White Wolf, had but few braves with him—no match for the cunning ‘beaver- catcher.’” a “You mean the Giant Trapper?’ said the youg man. ; “Yes, Longlegs, as the Blackfeet call him,” answered the girl. " ; “True, the old trapper will not fall into their ede Dagg easy asl did. But can you free me?” e said. “Yes; I love you and I will save you. I will untie the thongs that bind you, will bring you a blanket, and, in the dark, conduct you through the village,” said the Indian maid. ‘**T shall owe you my life!” he cried, pressing her again and again to his heart, and covering |, her face with his warm, passionate kisses. “You will love me?” questioned the girl. “Yes; I shall love you always!” answered her lover. At that moment the quick ear of the Indian girl caught the sound of footsteps passing by the lodge. Quickly she sprung to the door, and cautiously pulling aside the skin that served as a screen, looked out upon the village. She saw that the footsteps were caused by the Indian warriors passing by the wigwam and going into the council lodge. This fact discovered, she re- turned to the side of her lover and told what she had seen. | “What does it mean?” he asked. “The White Wolf must have returned, and the braves are holding a council,” she replied. “Does not that denote that they are about to go on the war-path?” he questioned. “Yes; the White Bird will listen to the coun- cil of the braves; then she can tell their plans. “That is an excellent idea!” cried Courtney. “Let me replace the thongs on your wrists, so that, if any of the chiefs look into the lodge, they will not suspect. So the White Bird bound the wrists of Court- ney again with the deer-skin thongs; then, with a farowill kiss, she left his side and ste from the lodge into the openair: With a light step she took her way, not to the council lodge, but in a direction exactly opposite; but, when she reached the outside of the little circle of lodges, she turned, and describing with her course a semicircle, she gained the back of the council- house, where she was concealed from all obser- vation by the shadow thrown by the wigwam. | With the little knife hanging at her girdle she | cuta hole in tne skins that formed the sides of the | wigwam, through which aperture she could both | see and hear all that passed within the council- lod; She was an attentive listener to the scene al- ready described. Then, after the council was finished, she saw the chiefs depart on the war- trail against the whites, and in her heart she re- joiced, for the warriors had left the village al- most unguarded, and she thought that she could easily save her lover. But, judge of her dis- may, when she saw the Young Bear return at the command of the White Wolf and take up a position in front of the lodge that held her lover, a prisoner! Here was an unexpected obstacle. To get Courtney from the wigwam, with the young savage keeping watch before it, was diffi- cult if not impossible; yet the attempt must be made. The war-party might return at any mo- ment, and then her lover’s life would be in dan- ger. A moment she thought; then, a plan came into her mind, by means of which she might ie the prisoner from the hands of the Black- t. ee With a loitering step the White Bird walked down toward the river, taking a course that would lead her directly by the lodge that held Courtney. The Indian on guard, the Young Bear, beheld the Indian girl PppEracnings he was not sorry, for, in his heart he had a secret liking for the White Bird, but, being a young warrior, with very little renown and no great deeds on the war-path to boast of, he had not dared to lift his eyes to the young beauty, the daughter of the great Blackfoot. chief, the White Wolf—for she was indeed the daughter of that renowned warrior. “Has the White Bird seen the pale-face chief?” héasked, as the girl came by him. ‘* Yes,” she answered; ‘‘ but the pale chief was asleep; is he awake now?’ “T will wake him,” exclaimed the young brave, glad of an opportunity to please the maiden. So, into the lodge went the Young Bear, fol- lowed by the girl. ‘* Wah! pale-face?” cried the warrior, in Eng- lish, it being the only English he knew. Courtney turned on the couch as if awaking. ‘* Leave me your blanket to rest on, while I talk to the white-skin,” said the White Bird. Gladly the young brave spread the blanket on the earth-floor of the wigwam, and then with- drew to resume his watch. He knew that the White Bird understood the strange language of the pale-faces, and could talk the white man. ‘“ White Bird?” said Courtney. ‘Yes; I have returned,” said the girl. ‘‘ Do not fear; een freely; the young brave who keeps watch does not understand your tongue.” ‘He is watching me, then?” “ Yes. ” “Then there is little chance of my escape.” “You shall be free before the moon is two hours older,” said the girl. “How can I esea is notice?” “T have a plan,” she answered. ‘There are but few warriors in the village; the White Wolf has taken the trail to hunt your friends to death. You have been betrayed by the In- dian that I warned you not to trust in the white settlements by the Big river.” ““Mudhole!” exclaimed Courtney. ‘‘He then has given us into the hands of the Blackfeet.” “Yes,” answered the girl. ‘‘ His right name is Spotted Elk; he is the son of the White Wolf, my father.” ‘What?’ cried Courtney, in astonishment. “You are the daughter of the White Wolf, and yet you love me?” “Yes; and I will save you from the Black- feet. See this blanket,” she said, pointing to the one left by the young chief. ‘I will decoy the brave away from the door of the lodge; then you pee on the blanket, walk through the door, and cross the little open space into the thicket beyond; there leave the blanket and I will join you, then guide you to a place of ric “You are my guardian angel!” cried the young man. “Be ready, I will take the brave away.” Then the Indian girl left the lodge, first re- ht the thongs that bound Courtney. “Will the Young Bear walk with me to the river?” asked the girl. The young brave hesitated. ‘*T am to guard the prisoner,” he replied. “The prisoner is bound hand and foot; he cannot move; he is wounded, too; what then should you fear?” What the girl said was true, he knew; there was little danger of the wounded »prisoner’s es- SS SS SSD ee 11 caping. So, without further reluctance, he sig- nified his willingness to accompany the girl. The simple-hearted red-skin only yielded to the same fascination that stripped from the Roman Antony his share of the imperial city. The In- dian brave was not the first man to yield to the subtle lures of womankind. Courtney watched from the door of the lodge the sf aa of the girl and the warrior; then, when he judged them to be at a safe distance, and that the time had come to attempt to es- cape, he hastily wrapped the blanket around him and boldly stalked forth from the lodge, crossed the little open space and gained the wel- come shelter of the thicket. In the thicket he dropped the blanket and extended himself at full length in the bushes, to await the coming of the Indian girl. The White Bird and the young Indian warrior walked slowly down toward the river. Arriv- ing at the bank, the girl paused. ‘Does the Young Bear know where the rat- tlesnake tree (the white ash) grows by the bank of the river?” (Among the Indian tribes of the North-west, the twigs of the white ash are believed to have the power to charm the rattlesnake.) ‘“ Yes,” replied the brave; ‘‘a big walk from the village.” “No; the Young Bear is swift. What brave of the Blackfoot tribe can outrun the young warrior? The Young Bear will bring the White Bird the twigs of the rattlesnake tree?’ And the girl bent her large, dark eyes full upon the face of the warrior. What mortal man, red or white, could refuse? The delicate compliment — the Indian, but duty made one last ef- te) ‘‘ But the prisoner?” he stammered. “The White Bird will watch for the Young Bear,” said the girl, with another bewitching glance of her dark eyes. “It is good,” replied the Young Bear; ‘the chief will go;” and with a long, loping stride, up the river went the warrior. The girl watched him for a moment, then quickly retraced her steps, but instead of going to the lodge, she sought the thicket opposite, where she found Courtney awaiting her. “‘T have blinded the eyes of the young war- rior, for some little time; you are safe,” she cried. ‘Thanks to you; you have preserved me!” ex- claimed Courtney. ‘*But for a little time only; the warrior will soon return, then your absence may be dis- covered at any moment,” replied the girl. ‘“What shall I do#—endeavor to join my friends by the little stream, or—” “No, no!” cried the White Bird, anxiously; ‘do not go there; the red braves are even now thick in the forest. Should you meet them they will kill you without mercy. Ah!” an poe mini started suddenly, as though bitten by a snake. ‘* What is the matter?” “‘Hush!” said the girl, listening. not hear something?” For a moment Courtney listened attentively, but his ear caught nothing but the usual sounds of the forest. ‘“‘T can not hear any thing, he said at length. “But I did,” responded the girl, still listening. “Tt sounds as though some one moved in yonder thicket.” “Might it not have been a bird or some small animal?’ asked the young man. His hearin was not as acute as that of the Indian maid, trained from childhood to the noises of the wil- derness. “No,” answered the girl, with a shake of the head; “the noise I heard was human, not bird or animal. Hush! ‘tis there again!” and she pointed to a dense cluster of bushes some ten feet from the spot where they stood. “’Tis a foe, he shall die!” and with the lightning dash of the tiger, the Indian girl drew the little knife from her girdle and bounded toward the thicket. Then from the coppice rose the figure of a man, and disclosed to the astonished eyes of Courtney the person of the old trapper. ‘Hold on, you female wildcat!” he cried, in a cautious voice; ‘‘don’t you prod me with that air toad-sticker!” “‘Longlegs!” cried the Indian girl. “* Jes’ so!” coolly replied the trapper; “ that’s what your dod-rotted relations christen me!” It was the trapper indeed. Patiently he had waited in his ambush for some opportunity to enter the town, but none had presented itself; still he waited, hoping against hope. He had seen the departure of the Indians and the escape of Courtney, who, as luck would have it, had entered the thicket near his hiding-place. “Did you é
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| | | | | 12 “ How long have you been here?’ asked the young man. “Nigh onto two hours, I reckon,” replied the appre ‘ hy did you not discover yourself to me before?’ Courtney asked. “Wal, I didn’t know as you’d expect to see a friend hyer, in the bush, an’ I thought likely ef I jumped up on you sudden, you mought have took me fur an jun, an’ gone fur me jist as that air gal was a-goin’ to.” ‘* Where’s your companion?” asked the girl. “Safe as a bug in a rug!” exclaimed the bai ak ‘ 1 you conceal yourself and him ”—she referred to Courtney—‘‘so that the Blackfeet can not discover you?” “You bet!” cried the trapper, emphatically. **T kin hide him whar all the red Injuns of the North-west wouldn't find him.” “You will go with him, then,” said the girl to Courtney. “And you?” cried Courtney, ‘“ will you not go with me?” aioe ics no; to-morrow, yes,’’ answered the “Why not to-night?’ questioned Courtney. “it remain in the village I can discover whether the Indians will search for you, and what plan they will form to capture you; then I can come and tell you, and you can avoid them.” d “The gal speaks sense, by hookey!” cried the capiers ‘let her have her own way; she knows “Do as you think best, for heaven’s sake!” cried Courtney; ‘“‘ but, be careful of your life; when and where shall I see you again?” ; ** To-morrow night, the place—” “Ef I might suggest, ma’m,” said the old trapper, “ you had better let me come fur you. I’m used to tne woods an’ he ain’t.” ‘* You speak wisely,” said the girl. ‘* Whero shall I meet you?’ ‘*Right hyer, on this ere spot. I guess they won’t expect to find Lenelegs, as they call me, so nigh their wigwams,” said the trapper, with a quiet chuckle. “It is good,” replied the Indian girl. ‘‘To- morrow night, then, when the sun goes down * and the spirit lights begin to shine, you will be here.” ‘* Bet your life onto it, every time!” said Sol, with one of his peculiar grins, for the old trap- per was in high spirits at the thought of baffling the Blackfeet. “*Good-by,” said the girl, looking into her lover’s face with a longing look of her large, dark eyes; ‘‘do not fear; the White Bird will count the hours till she sees £ fod face again.” A moment Courtney held her in his arms; their lips met in a farewell kiss, and then the Indian girl, taking the blanket that had dis- i the young man, returned again to the ittle lodge. “ Perhaps I have seen her for the last time— perhaps my lips never again will touch her soft cheek,” cried Courtney, as the figure of the In- dian girl was hid from his gaze by the walls of the lodge. ‘*Cheer up! Hope fur the best!” cried the old trapper, in a lively tone. ‘‘The gal’s a trump, every time! I shouldn’t mind captivating a critter like her myself. But, come, we’ve got a few miles to tramp afore we're safe from the ‘red devils.” The trapper struck out a path through the thicket, and Courtney, after a farewell glance at the little lodge which had held him a prison- er, but now concealed only the slight form of the White Bird, the Flower of the Blackfeet, turned and followed him. CHAPTER XI. THE TREASURE WORTH FIFTY THOUSAND DOL- LARS. On through the forest with a long, steady stride went the trapper, closely followed by Courtney. As near as he could calculate, Sol took the same path returning to the river that he had trod in coming from it to the Indian vil- lage. So closely had the man calculated, that, after a long, tedious tramp through the wood, they struck the river at the little ravine that we have before mentioned, The two crossed the rocks and entered the stream. “* Be keerful an’ pick your way, else you'll go ker-souse inter some big pool,” was the trapper’s caution, as they commenced their journey down tho stream. “Why do you go through the water? Why not go by the river-bank?” asked the young man. aeTs 5 It is much better traveling there than here.” Beadle’s HalfDim e Library. — “Sartin!” replied the trapper, with a quiet chuckle at the young man’s ignorance of wood- craft; ‘‘ but, s’pose the red heathen foller us? They kin track us easy from the village to the river, but, at the river our footprints stop; nary sign is there of the way we’ve gone; but ef we were to go on the bank they could track us clean to our hidin’-place, an’ the chances would be that our handsome top-knots would hang an’ dry in the smoke of some big Injun’s lodge.” True,” replied Courtney; ‘‘I own I am no woodman. I should be as one lost in this wil- derness, were I alone.” ‘*Jes’so; but I reckon I know every stick of timber, every foot of ground, an’ every inch of water ’tween hyer an’ the Columbia river,” said the trapper. 3 After a weary march, our adventurers reach- ed the mouth of the little cave; into it, much to Courtney’s astonishment, Sol conducted him. “‘ Hyer we air, safe from any painted heathen that runs on the top of the airth in this ’ere re- gion,” cried Sol, as they stood within the little cave. ; Wright greeted Courtney and Sol warmly; he had given up all hopes of ever again seeing the young man. Courtney briefly related his adventures since be parted with his companions by the banks of the little stream.. Wright listened attentively. ‘*For the present, then, we are in safety!” Wright exclaimed. *'You bet! Don’t you worry ’bout the Injuns, they'll never find us, ’cept through accident. We'll jist stay hyer till to-morrow night; then Pll go up to the village, git the leetle gal, an’ arter that we'll git out of the Injun country as fast as we kin. But, boys, the questign is, how that’s goin’ to be done?” ** Wait here, I suppose, until the Indians have iven over the pursuit, then make our way back the best way we can,” said Wright. ‘“Then you’ve given up your idee of goin’ into the Injun village?” asked the old trapper. “To attempt to carry out my plan at present would be madness. The Indians are alarmed; they know of our being in the neighborhood; to penetrate to their village now and secure the treasure that I am insearch of, would be clearly impossible; indeed, I think we shall be lucky if we succeed in saving ourselves from the sav- ages,” replied Wright. ‘““Thar’s a heap of truth in what you say,” said Sol, gravely. ‘‘We air in a pesky mess, an’ thar’s no two ways ’bout it. air in danger, you bet!” ‘But, by the way, Wright,” said Courtney, suddenly, ‘“‘you have never told us what it is that you seek in this Indian village. What treasure is there in the lodges of the Blackfeet worth fifty thousand dollars?’ “Fifty thousand dollars!” cried Sol, in as- tonishment. ‘I wouldn’t give fift thousand cents for the hull dog-goned Blackfoot nation, cuss thar copper-colored sun-tanned hides!” ‘Neither would I,” quietly observed Wright; ‘vet there is a treasure in yonder little Indian village that, if I had it in St. Louis, would sure- ly be worth fifty thousand dollars to me.” ‘* Explain, Wright, and tell us what it is,” said Courtney. ‘Well, since I have failed in my plan, I will answer your inquiries; and, after I have ex- lained, you will see that my scheme for mak- ing fifty thousand dollars was not a visionary one, and but for the savages discovering us, my adventure would probably have been success- ful; but I must first speak of the past before I tell of the present.” “My story commences some twenty years ago. At that time a man named Samuel Curtis | lived in St. Louis. St. Louis then was deeply engaged in the fur trade. This Curtis was a wealthy fur merchant, was about fifty years old, and had a son, a wild young fellow, possess- ing none of the father’s steadiness. Curtis the elder had amassed a large fortune—report said that he was worth fifty or sixty thousand dol- lars. To this fortune his son, William, was of course the sole heir. Judge then of the father’s astonishment and disgust—for he was a man of og pride and hauteur—when his only son, the eir to all this vast property, married a r sewing-girl not worth a single penny. When the news of his boy’s marriage came to his ears, the of the old man knew no bounds. He closed his doors at once against his own child and his beggarly bride, as he termed the wife, whose sole offense was that she was r; in ev- ery other respect she was fitted to become the wife of a far better man than the wild, reckless William Curtis. Friends interceded for the | young couple, but their intercession was useless. The father declared that the girl had entranned Our top-knots his boy into a marriage for the sake of the mon- ey that he would one day possess, and he swore a bitter oath that not one dollar of his fortune should ever go into her hands.” ‘“ Why, the hard-hearted old cuss!” cried Sol, indignantly, ‘‘to turn ag’in’ his own flesh an blood fur a little bit of dirty money! I’m durn- ed ef money ain’t fur from bein’ a blessin’ some- times.” “Very true,” returned Wright, ‘but to go on with my story. For a_ time the son and his | wife struggled along in St. Louis. The father | was to them as an utter stranger. At last, wearied by his fruitless struggle for life—for young Curtis did not possess the iron will and | nerve of his father—he left St. Louis with his | wife, and threw his fortunes with a train of emigrants.for the North-west. When the fa- ther was told of the resolve and departure of | his boy, he showed no signs of forgiveness. ‘He has chosen his bed; let him lie on it;’ was his cold reply to those who again ventured to intercede for the young people. “ Curtis, with his wite, proceeded with the emigrants to their settlement on the upper Mis- souri; then, attracted by the gold discoveries in California, he left his wife and struck across the lains to try his fortunes in the mines. With fie my story has nothing more to do, as it is unknown what became of him. He never re- turned to his wife, and was supposed to have died in California. ‘“The wife remained in the little settlement where her husband had left her; a baby girl was born to her, and then, some fifteen years ago, when the child was four years old, she went with some friends to the then new settlement Elk City, though this was long before it had re- ceived that name. The wife, whose name was Delia, kept up a regular correspondence with her folks in St. Louis, and from them all these par- ticulars were gained. ‘*Delia Curtis, with her little girl, had not lived a year in the new settlement, when the Blackfeet Indians commenced a fierce war upon the frontier settlements. Among other are the little settlement of what is now Elk City was attacked and burnt to the ground; the in- habitants were murdered by the Indians or car- ried away into i ith ut few escaped to tell of the savage slaughter.” ‘* Jes’ sol” interrupted Sol. the few.” ‘*'You were?’ eagerly questioned Wright, “T were,” repeated Sol. “I knowed Mrs. Curtis an’ the leetle gal; they lived right on the edge of the settlement, the tust house attacked by the red heathen.” ‘“* Yes,” responded Wright, “‘so I was told by one of the survivors. Mrs. Curtis and her child were never seen after the Indian attack. Whe- ther they were killed by the Indians or carried away captive, no one could tell.” “Wal, they wasn’t killed, in the attack, that’s a dead sure thing,” said the old trapper, “‘’cos I were one on the fellers that helped to bury the bodies; but the savages mought have knocked ’em on the head afterwards.” “After the departure of his son from St. Louis, old Mr. Curtis pursued his way through the world as usual. He was told, of course, of the supposed deaths of his son, his sen’s wife and daughter, and if the old man repented of his hardness, outwardly he made no sign. Years passed on; there was no one to institute a search for the lost woman and child, and the affair seemed buried from the world. Just about a year ago the old man Curtis died. On his death-bed he thought of his son and of his harsh treatment of that son, and in contrition repented of his conduct. There was no absolute roof that the mother and child were dead, nor, indeed of the death of William. But of that there was but little doubt. That the child might be living there were great hopes. So the old man made a will; the sum of ten thousand dollars he left to Roderick Wriglit of St. Louis, his confidential man of business, with an in- junction that the ten thousand was to be ex- nded in procuring proof of the existence or the death of the girl Delia, the daughter of his son William and his wife Delia; to that girl Delia, his granddaughter, he left the whole of his fortune. And there was another clause in the will, that if Roderick Wright succeeded in finding the missing heir, Delia Curtis, he was to be paid the sum of fifty thousand dollars. _ * And you are the Roderick Wright mention- ed in the will?’ cried Courtney. **'Yes,” replied Wright. “T git your idee now; said the trapper. “You think that this leetle gal Delia is still ii that she is in the Injun village up in the valler.” “‘T were one on
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es “Yes; for it was the White Wolf’s band that attacked the settlement.” : ‘Small chance of findin’ her, I reckon,” said the trapper. ag | think not—that is, if the savages hadn’t discovered us. The first thing I did in St. Louis was to put an advertisement in the newspapers for information relating to the massacre at Elk City. Luckily, the very man who could give me the information I desired, saw my advertise- ment and answered it. The man was a neigh- bor of Mrs. Curtis, and saw the attack on her house; he also saw the woman and child carried away by the Indians.” “This gal, if living, would be about twenty years old now,” said the trapper. “Yes,” replied Wright. ; ‘Wal, bein’ so young a gal when carried off, it’s more than likely that the red heathen have brought her up as one of themselves, ’cos the leetle wouldn’t be apt to remember much *bout the white settlements.” ‘That is probable,” said Wright. “Then that’s the fifty thousand dollars you are arter in the Injun village?” said the trap- per. “That is the prize.” a 225 “‘ Mighty small chance of gittin’ it now.” “Tm afraid so,” mded Wright. ‘‘ But, even if you should find the girl, and be fully satisfied yourself that she is the one you seck, it seems to me that it would be a difficult matter to prove her identity in a court of law so that she could inherit the estate left her by the will,” said Courtney. “What you say is very true; but I have all the papers amg.) to her birth, The mother had an idea that the child might one day in- herit some of her grandfather’s estate, so she sent the rs to her relatives in St. Louis. The only difficult point is the question of iden- tity. would have to prove that the girl that I rescuo from the hands of the Indians is the same ono stolen by them at the massacre of Elk City fifteen years ago.” ‘Wal, I should say that air would be a knotty pint to git round,” observed the trapper, mary . “Not so difficult as you would think, thanks to the forethought of the mother of the girl. She, the mother, always had a thought that her daughter would some day be forgiven her = fault; but she was alone with the child the wilds of the Far West; should she, the mother, die, the identity of the child might be lost; so, to guard her from the consequences of the very event that afterward did happen, the mother caused the name Delia Curtis to ngs 9 in India ink, sailor fashion, on the ughter’s arm.” “Wal, that woman had sense,” cried the tra . Pes. The man who imprinted the name on the arm was the very man who answered my advertisement in St. Louis. So you see how easy it would bo to prove the wen Og the orl for, of course, he can swear to his own work,” replied Wright. : “ And probably but for this unfortunate dis- covery of us by the Indians, Pies would have su in your mission and found the lost heir,” said Courtney. ‘*T think so.” ‘An’ now you'll be lucky ef you git out of this ’ere valley with the ha’r on the top of your head,” said Sol. : . “Tt’s all inalifetime,” replied Wright. “We can not always succeed.” ** Jes’ so! e as preaching; but I say, by hookey, I’ve got anidee. The leetle Injun gal— the ite Bird, as they call her—is comin to- morrow night to run off with Mister Courtney. From her you kin find out all bout the Injun an’ ef any one on ’em has got the mark on er arm, the chief’s daughter will know it. Then, ef she is in the village, why you kin jist git up another party a heap bigger than this one, an snake her ouf of the hands of the red heathen. What do you think of the idee?’ asked the trap- per. “Very excellent, indeed. We should have succeeded this time but that the Indians by some means learned our intentions, and thus de- feated our plans to surprise them,” said Wright. “Tt’s that air dod-rotted Mudhole, the cus- sed red nigger! I wouldn’t have believed it of the long-legged imp of Satan. I do think he’sa Blackfoot. It’s no use, a snake is a snake an’ an Injun isan Injun. I were a durned fool to trust him; but the best on us make mistakes sometimes.” “That’s very true. Our present look-out is to gut out of our scrape as well as possible,” Bai Courtney. ———EEE—E——————— ee ae eee eee es Sol Ginger. “T kin do it!” said the trapper, emphatically; “ef I don’t, jes’ you bite my ears off an’ use’em for pin ons.” So for the present we will leave our heroes to meditate in the gloomy chamber of the little cave, while we return to the White Wolf and his Blackfoot warriors. CHAPTER X. LONGLEGS IN A DIFFICULTY. SrLENTLY through the forest went the Indian warriors. The band headed by the White Wolf followed a course which wand bring them directly to the spot where the Indian warrior, Tall Bull, had been stationed to watch the movements of the whites. After a march of some two hours, the White Wolf, followed by his braves, entered the little glade where Courtney had been captured. The White Wolf enjoined caution and silence upon his warriors, as he expected each moment, as he advanced, to come upon the camp of the whites. Slowly the braves advanced, and suddenly the keen eyes of the White Wolf caught sight of the body of the Tall Bull, extended on the gost whither he had been struck by the keen ife of the old trapper. The White Wolt sprung to the side of the dead brave, and noted the gaping wound in his back ck. ‘“Wah!” he cried, in the Indian tongue; ‘‘ the Tall Bull has gone to the happy hunting- grounds!” The Indians crowded around the body. All examined anxiously the deep thrust that had let out the life of the warrior. ‘*The beaver-catcher has shown his teeth; the fox has become a bear,” said the White Wolf for he doubted not that the Indian warrior had fallen by the hand of the big trapper. ‘The Blackfoot will hunt the bear to his lair; he shall die before another moon shines over the Flat- head valley.” Then two of the braves, raising the body of the slain warrior, bore it away toward the In- dian village. Ono of the warriors, who had been examining the surrounding country, returned with the in- je that he had discovered the trail of the whites. Eager for vengeance, the red-skins took the trail. Despite the darkness the Indians readily followed the path pursued by the trapper and his companion. Minutes le ened into hours, and still the trail continued, until at last it came to a sudden “pe the rocky bank of the Flathead river. White Wolf and his band halted, discomfited. ““Wah!” cried the chief, in evident anger; ‘the cunning beaver-catcher has covered his trail; ho is a great warrior who is both bear and fox at once.” Then, turning to his band, he said: ‘‘ Let my warriors search the other bank for the steps of the cunning white-skins.” The Blackfoot warriors eagerly obeyed the orders of their chief, but the quest was vain; no trace on either bank of the river was there of the whites, thanks to the old trapper having taken the precaution to use the rocky ravine in leaving and yt po the river. ed and disco , the White Wolf called a halt. The trail of the whites had disappeared as utterly as though they had sunk into the ground. The chief could but confess that the cunnin trapper had beaten him; the Indian, train from the cradle to the forest wilds, was no match in woodcraft for the long-legged beaver- catcher; but, stubborn to the end, he would not give up hope. The whites were in the valley somewhere; he felt sure of it. He therefore re- solved to dispatch some of his warriors to pick- et the lower end of the valley; sooner or later the whites would attempt_to escape and would fall into the hands of the Blackfeet. The two parties, led by the Spotted Elk and Tall Thunder, by this time had joined the White Wolf. Bisoe Si led by Tall Thunder, the Wolf dispatched to guard the cntrance to the valley; the rest of the braves followed the Wolf as he returned to the Indian encampment. All this marching and countermarching had taken time; the gloom of the night had long since gone, and the gray tints of the morning had been succeeded by the burning mid-day sun, when White Wolf and his warriors en- tered the Indian village. The Wolf went at once to the lodge where the prisoner Courtney was confined, and in front of which sat the young Indian brave, Young Bear. That confiding youth had not trou- bled himself to look in upon his prisoner, so he was entirely ignorant of Courtney’s es- 13 cape. The Wolf entered the lodge and found it empty. On the floor lay the deer-skin thongs with which the prisoner had been bound, cut into half a dozen pieces. A large slit through the skins that formed the back of the lodge, showed how the prisoner had escaped _ the vigi- lance of the Young Bear who guarded the lodge. Courtney had not been searched thoroughly when made a prisoner, and therefore that he —— have had a knife concealed on his person, and by its aid that he had effected his escape, appeared reasonable to the Indians. Not even the Young Bear suspected that the Indian girl, White Bird, had any earner in the matter. Again was the chief baffled, although in his heart he was not sorry for the escape of the young man; he remembered the time in the white settlement, when Courtney had stepped forward in his behalf, and the memory of the Indian for good or evil extends far beyond a day. The White Wolf gave orders that the warriors should prepare for the war-path, for he had re- solved again to set forth that night and search every nook and corner of the Flathead valley for traces of the whites. Leaving the warriors preparing for the com- in cxpetiiticn, we will return to the .fugitives hiding in the little cave by the river’s side. Gloomily the long day had passed to the whites nestling in the dark corners of the cavern that had been an ark of safety to them. Sol, peeping warily forth from the cave’s mouth, beheld the Indians scouting along on the other bank of the river. ‘* The p’ison sarpints are arter us, sure as shoot- in’,” he observed, with a dry chuckle. I reck- on, though, the heathen won’t be like to diskiver us. Tranquilly in tho snug retreat the whites re- mained, while the red warriors were searching up and down the river for their trail. Little did — suspect that the foe they sought was concealed beneath their very feet, for the scout- Seog on that bank of the river where the little cave was situated, over it half a dozen times in their search. Night came at last, descending slowly upon the surface of the turbid and swiit-flowing wa- ters. One by one, to the eyes of the watching whites, the trees on the opposite bank faded into the dense gloom, and where once their eyes rest- ed upon the green forest, appeared now but an indistinct black wall e night, too, promised, in contradiction to the preceding one, to be dark and cloudy ; the moon was hid by the clouds that covered the sky. As the scout observed, in his quaint way: good night for scouting.” “*Tt’s an allfired ‘* You will set out soon, will you not?” asked ng filled with the anxiety so natural toa over. ‘Wal, I reckon it won’t be long now afore I make a start of it. Is’pose you want to sce the little gal, don’t ye?” he asked, with a chuckle. The old trapper could read human nature as My as he could decipher the signs of the for- “Yes,” replied Courtney, honestly. I am anxious.” “Sartin; it’s human natur’; but, don’t hurry; I want to see jist how dark it’s goin’ to git afore I start. I reckon thar’ll be some danger in oin’ inter the Injun village to-night. e vil- Age just now must be like a good-sized hornets’ nest. ‘Let me go with you if there is danger to be met!” impulsively exclaimed the young ma n. ‘“ What in thunder would be the use of that?” cried the trapper. “Tt isn’t fightin’ that’s got to be did; it’s sneakin’, an’ one’s a sight be nor two.” An hour or so more theold trapper waited, and then, after a careful mr gy around the mouth of the cave, he essayed his desperate un- dertaking. ‘‘Be careful!” cried Wright, as the trapper quitted the cave and stood wi the running water of the stream. j “You bet!” was old Sol’s rejoinder, as he started on his perilous journey. ‘Ef I git the leetle out of the Injun camp, an’ then sneak the hull party out of the Injun coun it’ll be something to boast of in my old oem ¢ will be work, though,” and the man shut his teeth firm- ly together as he walked on up the stream. Ar- riving at the rocky ravine, the trapper left the river, crossed the little rocky space and entered the thicket. Cautiously and slowly he proceeded onward, stopping every now and then as he drew near “T own to the encampment, and listening intently. ithi rest; no sign however, was still within the
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- warriors threw themselves upon 14 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. was there of human life. Onward still went the brave heart, till at last he reached the vee of the thicket and looked from the cover of the trees upon the Indian village. There, in con- trast to the silence of the forest, all was life and activity. The Blackfeet were all astir. In the center of the village before the door of the council-lodge, a huge fire was burning, and around it the Blackfoot braves were dancing the war-dance. The trapper understood well the meaning of the scene. He saw plainly that all the available force in the village were about to take the war- trail. The thought that the savages set such a high value upon his capture rather pleased the daring old forester. “Tl keep my top-knot out of the bloody hea- thens’ hands, ef I kin,” he said to himself, as his eyes rested upon the dancing, howling Black- feet. ‘‘I wonder whar the leetle gal is? Pooty near time she were a-lookin’ fur me;” but no sign of the Indian girl could he see. As he looked from wigwam to wigwam, vainly striv- | | bitterness of spirit, ‘‘to be captivated by these hyer dog-rotted heathen! It makes my blood bile. I s’pose they’ll roast or fry me at the tor- ture-stake jist to see whether I am tough or ten- der—the etarnal heathen!” And so, on the shoulders of the braves who had by accident captured him, the beaver- catcher was carried into the village of his mor- tal enemies. CHAPTER XI. MUDHOLE’S FAITH. ALARMED by the Indian runner, the whole of the inhabitants of the Blackfoot village assem- bled to witness the arrival of the daring white- skin who had so long defied the efforts of the best warriors of the Blackfoot tribe to kill or capture him. At last he was in their hands, a helpless prisoner. ‘ Loud were the yells, wild was the delight with which the Indians welcomed the successful warriors. The prisoner was deposited in front of the Ing to discover her, an Indian pony, pa had council-lodge, in close proximity to the blazin a evidently broken loose, followed by half a dozen yelling curs, and as many warriors in pursuit, dashed through “the village and made directly for the spot where old Sol stood. The rush of fire; a fact which did not tend to make him fee easier in his mind. The women and children crowded around him, with many a taunt and threat, till the the horse was so sudden that the animal and his | White Wolf placed a cordon of warriors around howling followers were upon him before he could retreat. To attempt to do so, with the dogs and Indians so near him, would have been fo vy, so he sunk quietly to the ground, trusting to the tall grass to conceal him. In his heart the old trapper cursed the horse, the dogs, the men and the unlucky star that had brought them so near his hiding-place. The horse was surrounded and caught within ten feet of the spot where the trapper lay and Sol had just begun to hope he woulc escape, when one of the little Indian dogs smelt him out and plunged at him open- mouthed, barking fiercely. The rest of the dogs followed, and the Indians advanced to dis- cover the cause of the dogs’ alarm. The trap- per felt asif his time had come. Already one of the braves was within six feet of him; flight was his only hope. His resolve was in- stantly taken. In a second the old trapper was on his feet and bounded off through the woods. A yell from the startled Indians greeted the sud- den appearance. They knew the figure of the long-legged beaver-catcher right well, but that their foe should be lurking almost within the shadow of their wigwams struck them with as- tonishment. On through the tangled underbrush rushed Sol, Jeaving here and there in the thorny bushes strips of his hunting shirt and leggings. ‘*By hookey!” cried he to himself, as a bush tore off a large strip from his sleeve, ‘I shall be naked as a new-born baby, ef these cussed thorn-bushes air so durn’ lovin’. I guess I kin outrun these heathen or I’m a sucker,” and he threw a rapid glance over his shoulder to note the nearness of the foe. Fatal movement, for, at the same moment his foot caught, and head- long on the earth went the tall trapper. It was a moment or two before he could regain his feet, tangled up as they were in a network of briers. The Indians had closed in around him; no ave- nue of escape was open to him; the cold perspira- tion stood upon his forehead.’ One bold dash he made for life. Useless attempt! Fortune was against the white-skin, for again his foot caught in a vine, and again he fell prostrate up- on the earth. Before he could rise, the red him. Vigor- ously old Sol — led. Once, with almost superhuman strength, he threw his assailants off and gained his knee. The advantage, however, was but momentary, for again the red-skins threw themselves upon and bore him to the earth. The warriors had not tried to use their weapons, their object being to capture him alive. This the trapper well understood; they designed him for the torture-stake. Overpowered by weight of numbers, old Sol, after a vigorous and determined struggle, was bound tightly, hand and foot, with the deer- skin girdles of the warriors. Then, utterly help- less in the hands of the savages, they raised him upon their shoulders and bore him in triumph toward the village—one of the swiftest runners having been dispatched in advance to apprise the Blackfeet that their great enemy, the white- skinned trapper, Longlegs, the beaver-catcher, the white chief that had so long defied their wer, was now a prisoner helpless in their nds, The thoughts of the prisoner were ae seer but pleasant as he was borne along on the shoul- ders of the exulting red-men. **Cuss the luck! ; } him, and kept back the crowd. Then the bigh chiefs, headed by the White Wolf, sought the council-lodge, to decide as to the fate of the 3 - he women and children, kept back from the prisoner by the line of warriors, cursed him at a distance, but, as they spoke in the Indian tongue, of which the trapper understood not a word, their taunts and curses fell upon unheed- ing ears. “T s’pose theyll burn me, durn ’em!” mut- tered the trapper, as he looked around upon the long line of hostile faces by which he was surrounded, ‘ Ef they’d only give me a single chance at ’em, I’d clean out a few afore I go under. But, T ain't dead yits I guess I’m as ood as a dozen dead men. I’ve been as nigh as to death afore, an’ toner through. Luck may turn an’ give me a show; then let the red heathen look out.” From the crowd of women and children the young Indian girl, White Bird, soon appeared. he said a few words to one of the warriors who guarded the prisoner, when he readily let her pass, for few braves of the Blackfoot tribe cared to thwart the will of the daughter of their great chief. The girl came straight to the side of the help- less man. “The beaver-catcher is in danger,” she said, in a low, sweet tone aking the English tongue with only a slight Indian accent. : ““Wal, beauty,” answered the old trapper, in his honest way, “I wouldn’t mind givin’ all I’m worth—it ain’t much, though—to git out of this ’tarnal scrape.” “Do not fear to freely,” said the girl. ‘*None of the warriors that guard you under- stand a word of your tongue. ‘‘T wish they did, the durned heathen cusses,” said the trapper, with rage in his tone. “‘ They couldn’t have captivated me ef they hadn’t ’a’ been twenty ag’in’ one.” P : : “You have lost your life for me,” said White Bird, mournfully, while tears gathered in her dark eyes. “Don’t speak of it, b-pow'§ We've all got to die some time. They’ll probably gin me a taste of that air fire afore I’m an hour older.” The girl shuddered at the thought. “Don’t you mind "bout me,” said the trapper. ““T'm old an’ tough, an’ I don’t think they’ll tor- ment me much; so don’t you worry "bout me. Jist listen now, an’ I'll tell you how you kin find the young feller. He an’ his friend will need your help to git out of this spesky scrape, fur they’ll never git out of it themselves. ou know where the high gray rock overhangs the river, "bout four miles from hyer down the stream?” “Yes, Lover’s Leap, it is called. A young Indian ‘girl, whose father would not let her marry the brave she loved, jumped from the rock into the river, and perished in the dark wa- ters,” said the girl. “«« Jes’ so,” said the trapper; ‘‘ thar is consider- able of a pool in the river jist thar, Wal, jist at the foot of that air rock is a leetle cave, the mouth of it all kivered up with bushes. In that air cave is the young feller an’ his friend.” ‘‘T will remember your directions. I save your friends from the Blackfeet, and con- duct them safe through the forest to the white settlements; but, isn’t there any thing that I he groaned to himself in | can do for you?” asked the girl, earnestly. “ é No, not at present, beauty,” replied Old ol. ‘¢The chiefs are coming from the oH said the girl, suddenly, as she glided from the trap- r per. As she had said, the chiefs, headed by the White Wolf, were coming from the council- lodge. Soon they gathered around the prisoner. At a motion of the White Wolf, the trapper was raised to a sitting position. “‘Beaver-catcher,” began the White Wolf, “the braves of the Blackfeet have sat in the council-lodge; they have talked of the fate of the long-legged trapper. The white-skin has caught the beaver and the muskrat in the wa- ters of the Flathead; he has hunted in the valley of the Blackfeet, and on the war-path he has slain the Tall Bull, a great Blackfoot chief; his spirit looks down from the happy hunting- grounds and calls for vengeance on his pale-face murderer. The chiefs of the Blackfeet have decided that the beaver-catcher shall die at the torture-stake. Let the white-skin prepare, for death is near.” The chief had addressed the prisoner in the English tongue, which he spoke fluently. e to moved not a single muscle when he learned his doom. “Look hyer, chief,” he cried, “I want a chance to reply to your talk, but Pe ate people don’t understand my language. ill one of your braves translate for me? “T will!” responded a bre —— voice in English, and the Spotted Elk stepped forth from behind the warriors. The astonishment of Old Sol was visible on his features—on the hard muscles of his face that had not changed a whit when his fearful doom was revealed im. ‘“Mudhole, by thunder!” was the trapper’s exclamation, as he looked upon the features of the Indian. ‘Ugh! Mudhole once, now Spotted Elk, a chief of the Blackfeet,” replied the savage. “You'll do fur what I want. Will you tell these Injuns jist what I say?” asked the trap- . r. “Yes,” was the laconic response. “Wal, then, jist open your ears,” and then in a calm, quiet tone the old trapper commenced to abuse the whole Blackfoot nation. He told them that they were dogs who ran before the white man’s tread; that they were cowards who feared to attack a foe unless ten to one; that he, single-handed, could defeat any ten warriors of the Blackfoot nation, and defied them to the test. All these bitter words the Spotted Elk re- ted to his brethren, exactly as he had spoken hem. <A howl of anger from the en braves greeted the close of the trapper’s re- marks, and but for the personal interference of the White Wolf and other leading chiefs, the multitude would then and there have satisfied their rage and have saved the fearless man from the torture-stake. The angry braves at last driven k and quieted, the trapper was carried to a stout oak tree, at the foot of which dried wood had been laced and all preparations made for the fire hat was to be his Geatti. Held firm by a dozen or so of stout warriors, the trapper’s arms were unbound; then he was — with his back to the tree, and his wrists rought together behind it and lashed tightly with deer-skin thongs; then the thongs were re- moved from his feet, and his ankles lashed firm- ly to the tree, the her passing around it. The risoner being firmly bound, the chiefs retired rom him, seemingly for a brief deliberation be- fore they applied the fire. One chief alone re- mained by the side of the doomed trapper; that chief was the Spotted Elk. ‘‘ Longlegs is in danger,” said the chief, quiet- ly, in glish, while he was apparently busy examining if the lashings were secure. ‘Death is looking me in the face, Mudhole,” returned the trapper. “I guess the Blackfeet have got me this time.” ‘¢ Does Longlegs remember when he took the wounded Indian to his lodge and cured his wounds?’ asked the Spotted Elk. “Yes,” replied the trapper; ‘‘does the chief remember it?” ““If the beaver-catcher waits he will see. The Mudhole is now a great chief of the Blackfoot nation. When the White Wolf dies the Spotted at be the chief of the tribe,” said the In- ‘“* And you are the Spotted Elk?” replied the trapper. te Ves: the mud-turtle has become an eagle.” ‘Will the eagle remember the debts of the mud-turtle?” asked the trapper significantly. ‘‘A chief has nothing but his word. When
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— Sol Ginger. he loses it, he loses all,” sententiously replied the Indian, stalking bap from the trapper. Sol looked after the Indian, with a puzzled expression upon his face.. He could not understand the nature of the savage. His words seemed to promise hope, but the time for help must come soon or not at all; hours were minutes now. The oak to which the trapper was bound stood at tho upper end of the village. Between it and the forest, in one direction, lay nothing but the Indian corral or horse-pound, which was, as the trapper could see by the light of the fire that blazed in front of the council-lodge, filled with horses. Ten s from the prisoner stood the circle of chiefs; beyond them were congregated the rest of the village—the common warriors the women and children—all anxious to behol the death of the famous beaver-catcher. ‘Hyer they come!” cried the trapper, be- tween his clenched teeth, as a brave advanced with a torch of blazing wood to fire the mass beneath the trapper’s feet. ‘I’m in fur it now! No hope, no chance fur a squeeze fur life. My time has come an’ I’ll face the music likea man! The ’tarnal red skunks shan’tsay that the Giant Trapper squealed even when the fire were a-burnin’ his innards out.” The warrior applied the blazing torch to the dry wood fonts.” 5 the trapper’s feet, then re- tired to the crowd to enjoy the agony of the dying white-skin. The trapper could hear the crackling of the | flames as the dry wood caught the fire; the smoke began to ascend and blind the eyes of the helpless prisoner. Sol could already feel the heat of the burning wood, and in that, apparently the last hour of his life, the rough ‘old trapper, the man of the woods and prairie, commended himself to his ker. Then, in his deadly peril, with the pale king of terrors staring him full in the face, he sudden- ly became conscious that the thongs that had bound his feet to the tree and his wrists together were loosened suddenly, and the handle of a knife was thrust into his hand. The trapper then understood the situation in a moment. A hoarse voice whispered in his ear: ‘Make for the corral—the gate is unfastened —turn the horses loose—you know the rest!” The trapper knew the voice instantly; it was the voice of Mudhole, once the outcast warrior, now one of the great chiefs of the Blackfeet. The trapper with a single glance took in the scene before him; then which rung like a peal of thunder on the ears of the astonished Indians, he leaped from the tor- ture-stake, dashed through the flames before him, and, knife in hand, ran swiftly toward the corral. Fora moment the Indians were para- _ lyzed by the sudden movement of the prisoner; a moment they gazed upon the strange scene, and then, with cries of rage sprung forward to intercept the trapper. If ever Longlegs ran swiftly, he did so now, for he was well aware that life was the prize at stake. On he went, exerting every muscle heading for the corral. Though he had gained a few yards by the quickness of his start, and the surprise of the Indians, yet, as they were nearer in a direct line, to the corral, the object- ive point in this desperate race for life, the trap- per need of all his splendid powers. As he ran he calculated the odds against him. On his left a single warrior was running, knife in as eo a course that, gradually approach- ing the line on which the trapper was running, must, before he reached the corral, bring them together. That warrior was the White Wolf, On his right another Indian was close on his track, but from him the trapper did not expect harm as the chief was no other than the Spotted Elk; the rest of the Indians were fast falling be- hind, the terrific pace at which the flying man was running being too much for them. , A few rods more and he and White Wolf must inevitably come together. [ _’‘ Either he or me,” hissed the trapper, through his clenched teeth, as he grasped firmly the long erie put into his hand. A yell of triumph burst from the pursuing Indians, as they beheld their chief gaining upon the white-skin. A minute more and the trapper and the White Wolf came together. The Indian made a sweep with his knife at the white as he came up. Sol parried the blow with his left arm; the keen knife cut through the stout deer-skin into the flesh. On rushed the flying man, not at- tempting to return the blow. fie had the chief, and the chance of fortune was in his favor, but fate again, for the second time, seem- ed against him, for one of the little Indian curs, with a terrific yell | the example of the chief, seized encouraged by Li the trapper by the leg. With a terrific kick, Sol sent the cur yelping into the dust, but, b the motion, he lost headway, stumbled and fe upon his knee. The White Wolf, who was close upon his heels, raised his scalping-knife and aimed a death-blow at the fallen trapper. A moment the knife glittered in the air, then it descended with terrible force, driven with all the strength of the savage’s arm into the bod of the—Spotted Elk, who had thrown himse forward to receive the blow intended for the ee: us the Indian kept his faith, and Mudhole | paid the debt he owed to Old Sol. The trapper regained his feet, and, with a | motion as quick as a cat, drove his long knife to | the heart of the White Wolf, who in vain at- | tempted to parry the terrific stroke of the trap- | | | per’s arm. With a hollow groan, the great | chief of the Blackfeet, the famed warrior. White Wolf, sunk upon the earth, the blood | streaming free from his wound. By his side | lay the Spotted Elk—dead! On again went the now hopeful man. The Indians in his rear had gained a little upon him, but they paused for a moment by the side of their dying chief, and then again, with cries of vengeance, pursued. Gaining the corral, Old Sol burst in upon the horses, yelling like a demon. The frightened steeds burst through the open gates upon the crowd of advancing Indians like a whirlwind, and the savages for a moment, were obliged to aban- don the pursuit to save themselves from being conmaple? to death by the horses. The trapper es by the confusion to swing himself upon he back of a roan-colored pony, and, gui ing the animal by the deer-skin halter, plunge through an opening in the thicket, and rode fu- riously along the little path beyond. With cries of rage the savages mounted in hot haste, and set off in chase of the flying foeman, who had not only escaped the torture-stake but had slain their great chief. On through the wood went the chase—the trapper riding for dear life and the savages fol- lowing hard upon his track, guided by the noise of his horse’s hoofs. Five of the Indians, who were better mounted than the others, kept together in the advance. On they went, listening eagerly to the sound of the horse’s hoofs before them. By that sound they could tell whether they were gaining upon the fugitive or losing ground. At first the tra per seemed to gain upon them; the sound of the oofs grew fainter and fainter to their ears, then, to the joy of the Indians, the pace of the fugitive seemed to slacken, for the noise of the horse’s gallop grew louder and louder; they were gaining upon the trapper fast. They urged their ponies to increased speed—now they own sight of the steed, flying through the thicket on they were gaining rapidly upon the horseman. they flew, riding like mad. At last they dashed alongside of the + & ing horse, to find that it was—riderless. The cunning trapper had slipped off the horse during the chase, concealed himself in the underbrush, and probably chuckled as the Indians rode mad- ly by him, in pursuit of the affrighted horse. The Indians held a council. When and where the trapper had left the horse and taken to the thicket the could not guess, and in the dense darkness of the night, scouting after the trail of such a cunning woodman was folly. With heavy hearts they returned to the vil- lage, and told of the escape of the long-legged trapper. Tho Blackfoot nation that night mourned over two at calamities; the death of their great chief and the escape of the beaver- ca r. CHAPTER XII. LINKS IN A CHAIN. THE White Bird, after the conversation with the old trapper, took advantage of the confusion attending the ring of the white to the tor- ture-stake, to leave the village. When she heard from the lips of the White Wolf the doom of the beaver-catcher, she knew she had no power to save him; her weak aid would avail him no- thing; so, sorrowfully, she resolved not to be- hold his death, but to flee from the village, join her lover, and conduct him at once from the valley. Her keen womanly sense told her that the savages, busy with the torture of the help- less prisoner, would not seek for the rest of the whites until morning; by that time she hoped to be able to lead her lover and his friend far be- ond the power of the Indians. She knew that all Thunder and his men were guarding the lower end of the valley, for she had questioned one of the chiefs as to the whereabouts of the missing warriors. That fact troubled her but little, for she knew of a amd s by the ‘ Bit- ter Stream,” as it was call y the Blackfeet through which she might conduct the whites, an thus evade the red pickets at the lower end of ~ the valley. The Indian girl gained the wood, and follow- ing a little path, came to the river. Down the river’s bank she went with hasty steps, for time indeed was precious. An hour later found her at the entrance of the little cave. ‘*Harry!” she called, softly, ‘‘’tis I, White Bird!” Courtney, watching within the cave, knew well the voice, and, in an instant more, she was folded to her lover’s heart. Briefly she tol 1 of the surprise and capture of the trapper. Bitter was the sorrow of the two | men, for they had learned to love the brave old man. Their sorrow cculd not save him, for, as the White Bird told them, by that time the guide was doubtless a corpse. The White Bird proposed her plan of flight, to which both the whites agreed. ‘When shall we attempt it?’ asked Court- ney. i In an hour,” replied the girl. ‘The night is growing clearer; the moon should rise soon and tte us light.” : “Poor Sol!” cried Courtney; ‘“ I shall never forget him.” ‘*Nor I either,” replied Wright. ‘‘I shall always blame myself as being the cause of his death, for, but for me, he would nct have ven- tured into this wilderness.” And where was he whose untimely death they were at that moment deploring? Why, mak- ing his wey through the forest toward the cave as fast as his long legs would carry him. His idea in taking the horse frcm the Indian village had been to deceive the red-ckins. He knew well how easy it would be to slip from the back of the animal, conceal himself in the bushes, and let the red warriors follow on the trail of the runaway beast. The cunning trick had been successful; the savages had been thrown off the trail, which they could not re- ain untill the morning, and then not without ifficulty. ‘* Now, then,” cried the old trapper, commun- ing with himself in his usual fashion, as he strode bos the forest, with his long, tireless stride, ‘‘ ef the leetle has found the cave all right, an’ is thar, we'll put for the settlements to one’t. It won’t do to tell her, though, that I settled the hash of the big chief; he may be a relation of hern.” Old Sol reached at last the little cave, and entered it much to the surprise of the inmates. His cheery voice had told them who it was. “‘Sol!” cried Courtney. ‘Is it possible you are alive?” **'You bet!” was the hearty rejoinder. ‘Why I saw you at the torture-stake,” said the Indian girl. “Sartin,” replied the trapper, “‘but I didn’t stay thar, thanks to Mudhole. He cut the thongs that bound me to the stake, put a knife into my hand, an’ then I run a muck through the Injun village. It were a lively time for a few min- utes, you het! I reckon the Blackfeet won’t forgit the doin’s of this night fur some years to come.” And the old trap was right; for years after the events we have related, by the Black- foot camp-fires, on the trail and on the hunt, the wonderful escape of the white-skinned bea- ver-catcher, who bore a charmed life, and the death of their great chief at his hands, was told by the old warriors to the young braves. Nor was the strange death of the Spotted Elk for- otten in the annals of his tribe. One and all lieved him to be possessed with an evil spirit who caused him to give his own life to save the beaver-catcher. : Courtney detailed the plan of White Bird to escape from the valley. Old Sol nodded his head in approval. ‘* Tt will work, I reckon,” he said; “‘ the moon will soon be up, an’ then we’ll be goin’.” “Yes, we will bid farewell to this fatal valley forever,” cried Courtney. “But, how about the fifty-thousand-dollar treasure that you were goin’ to git up in the In- jun village?” questioned Sol. “T think I shall leave that in your hands. You shall form a party and learn the truth.” ‘Jes’ so!” cried the trapper. ‘ That will suit me jist like shootin’!” ** White Bird,” asked Courtney, “do you not feel inf to leave your Indian home and go with us
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16 Beadle’s Half-Dime Library. No,” simply answered the girl. “Will you not regret the step?” asked the lover, softly; his tone could only reach the girl’s ear. **No; I love you better than I do any thing in all the world. I have loved you from the moment that I saw you in the settlement at Fort Benton. Do you not remember that I showed you my face there?” ‘* Yes,” replied Courtney, ‘‘I do; the most beautiful face that I ever saw.” * Ah! zo think so now; but, will you always so ‘Yes, while I live I shalllove you. Have you not left home, friends and all for me?” cried Courtney. ‘‘ Have yon not saved my life? But for you I should be even now a prisoner in the hands of the Blackfeet.” plied the girl, sadly. ‘While I live my life is pledged to you!” cried Courtney. ‘‘ You have left home, friends, country, all for me, but shall not regret them, for my love shall make amends for all.” Aad over the soul of the lovers crept the holy calm that pure love alone can bring. Young hearts were they that lived truly for each other. “Then you will undertake the expedition that I spoke of?’ Wright asked of the big trapper. You jist bet I will!” emphatically returned old Sol. ‘I calculate I kin wallop the hull Blackfoot nation either with fist, legs or head. I ain’t much of a fightin’ man; but, when thi, pen me into a corner, and say, ‘fight or die,’ tears pretty ginerally reckon that it’ll be t. aon shall lead the expedition to find the heir, and if you are successful you shall have one halt of the fifty thousand dollars,” said right. Hy at on airth could I do with so much money? I ain’t got any use fur it,” returned tne trapper. “Well, you shall fix your own terms,” said Wright. “ Jes’ so; couldn’t be anything more squar’,” replied the trapper; ‘‘ but, s’pose I just ask the leetle gal over thar "bout the critter we're ” “Do,” said Wright; ‘we may learn some- “Say, White Bird, I don’t know as you know it, et we're arter somebody in your village.” “Yes,” returned the Indian girl; ‘‘ you seek a treasure in the village of the Blackfeet.” “True as preachin’!” said the trapper, ‘but as the Injuns somehow know of our plan, we’ve kinder made a failure.” _ ‘s “No,” returned the girl, quietly, “you have succeeded.” The trapper stared at her with astonishment. ain gg and Courtney also were puzzled at her wi ““T reckon you don’t exactly understand me, leetle gal,” said Sol. ‘You see, the fact is, beset we seek a treasure, as Misther Wright calls it, worth fifty thousand dollars.” “Yes, I know you seek what you call a treas- ure, but, how it can be worth that sum, I can’t imagine. But, I again say, you will succeed.” The girl spoke with calm assurance. ~ k hyer,” said the old guide, not able to make head or tail of her words; ‘“‘ we’re arter a leetle gal— “Yes, 1 am the girl!” said the White Bird. “Thunder!” cried the trapper. Wright and Courtney started in astonish- ment. “Yes; I heard the White Wolf say_in the white settlement that you sought me. You see I er you the trouble by coming,” said the * But the girl we seek is white,” said Wright. “So am I. Taken from my parents by the Indians when a child; on my arm, in little blue characters, is my name.” ve ‘And that name is?’ questioned Wright, ea- ly. —— Delia Curtis,” re ‘“‘ Hooray!” cried the trapper, gleefully. And then the story of her nts was told to the White Bird, and her igs history was heard by the three men who had risked their lives to rescue her from the savages. The White Bird had not, until her re from Fort Benton, known that she was not o the blood of the Indians. Then one of the old uaws had revealed to her her history. eS an hour from the time that the trapper had entered the cave, the moon came slowly over the tree-to The time come for flight; so, through the plied the girl. defile in the rocks, conducted by the White Bird—or, as we should call her, Delia Curtis— went the little party. At the little glade, on the Bitter Stream, where they had camped, they found—as the trapper had predicted—their horses,: for the horses of Wright and Courtney had followed the example of the clay-colored animal of the big ae: in remaining close to the spot where they had been left by their masters. With the aid of the horses, the little party reached Fort Benton in safety and without see- ing a single hostile ee At Fort Benton, Wright, Courtney and Delia parted with their old guide and faithful friend, and took ge to St. Louis. In St. Louis Delia easily proved her identity, took posses- sion of her property, and then became the wife of Harry Courtney. 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