THE GOLDEN BED.
The three adventurers, Duplin, Wythe, and Tyrrel, little imagined that
at least one pair of keen eyes observed very closely their movements on
that memorable night, as they noiselessly went about their preparations
for their desertion. Jack and Paley were filled with golden visions
of the enormous wealth that only awaited their coming to gather it up
in handfuls, while Burr thought far more of pretty Lottie Mitchell,
and how she would receive the tidings of the strange desertion, for it
could be called by no other name.
"Never mind--if the deposit is as rich as Paley declares, we can finish
before winter, and then--"
Wythe smiled faintly as a far-away look came into his handsome eyes.
Even to himself he does not finish the thought, for, though he loved
Lottie Mitchell with all his young heart, he had scarce spoken a score
of times with her, during the journey.
Still watched by Nate Upshur, the three adventurers silently left the
camp and set forth upon their mission, all, even the rattle-brained
Jack Tyrrel, feeling serious, for, truly, it was no commonplace step
they were taking, and one that might well result disastrously. Turning,
they cast a last look at the silent camp of the wagon-train that had
for so many days been their only home, and then, led by Duplin, they
disappeared beyond the ridge, still followed by Nate Upshur, who
exhibited the skill and address of a veritable savage.
After a rapid tramp of several miles, Duplin paused and said:
"Now, boys, for a little headwork. First, shall we go on at once to the
pocket?"
"How far is it?"
"Not ten miles, as the crow flies."
"We can reach it before day, then?"
"Yes--if we wish. But, frankly, I don't think we had better go there,
at least not before to-morrow night."
"Why so?"
"Well, there is a risk. To be sure they may not think it worth while to
make any search for us, when our disappearance is found out, yet still
they _may_, especially as the most dangerous portion of the trail is
near at hand. You see three rifles such as ours would count in case of
an attack."
"If I thought there was the slightest danger of that, I would return at
once," suddenly cried Wythe, thinking of Lottie Mitchell.
"I don't think there is. You remember the treaty we heard of at the
fort? The Indians are all peaceable, now. But, as I was saying, they
_may_ try to follow our trail, and if we lay it straight to the pocket,
ten to one that Paul Chicot picks it out with those keen eyes of his.
Then? Instead of a fortune, we'd have only a few ounces apiece, and
perhaps have to fight for that. You know the material many of the
emigrants are composed of. Brave men enough, but rather peculiar in
their ideas of honesty. It would be 'divide or fight!' and as I found
the pocket, I consider our claim is the best."
"You are right there, Paley. But you decide. Whatever you think best,
we will agree to. You agree, Tyrrel?"
"Yes; Duplin is captain."
"Very well, then. We will strike over there toward those hills, and
hide there until certain that all fear of pursuit is over. Then to the
pocket and clean it out, after which--ho! for home!"
With long, swift strides, Duplin, greatly excited no doubt by the
picture his last words had conjured up before his mind's eye, led the
way toward the hill alluded to, that rose abruptly, high into the air,
rocky, broken and wild-looking.
After him trudged Burr and Jack, little dreaming of the strange
adventure that was to meet them there, in the heart of that wild,
desolate spot.
Duplin, who by his superior age and experience, naturally assumed the
position of leader during the adventure, soon selected a spot where the
trio could very comfortably remain concealed during the ensuing day;
should their fear of a pursuit prove correct, and at the same time one
not entirely devoid of comfort.
Entering a narrow, level valley, on one side of which uprose an almost
perpendicular cliff, its face scarred and jagged, studded here and
there with stunted evergreen shrubs or parasitic plants, they soon
found a secure covert upon the opposite side, where the hill was less
abrupt, and more easy of ascent. From here they had a fair view of the
cliff, as well as the open ground beyond the mouth of the valley, in
the direction from whence they had come.
"I move that you two lie down for a nap, while I stand guard," quoth
Duplin, as the trio sunk back upon the soft, mossy earth behind the
vine clad rock.
"I want a smoke, first," said Tyrrel, producing his pipe.
"And so do I, but can't find my pipe," muttered Wythe, vexedly. "I must
have lost it on the way."
"Never mind; that is easily replaced--I mean so far as comfort is
concerned. A bit of bark--a joint of the 'carpenter's weed,' and you
have it."
The three comrades conversed, in low, eager tones, of the fortune that
lay waiting their coming, and magnificent were the air-castles they
each reared, when they should return home, rich men. But one delicious
one Burr Wythe hugged to his own heart. Only one ear must hear that
dream--the ear of sweet Lottie Mitchell.
"Hist!" muttered Duplin, after an hour or more had crept by.
The two young men caught the same sound, with him, and needed not the
caution to cease their conversation. From close above them, on the
hillside, there rattled down several pebbles, evidently dislodged by
human aid, for directly afterwards the trio could hear a footstep,
light yet deliberate, evidently descending the slope.
Instinctively each man grasped his weapon, for the same thought
occurred to each. If this footfall betokened the presence of Indians,
as seemed but too probable, there was danger threatening. Right well
they knew that no true woodman could pass by, in such close proximity,
without detecting the scent of tobacco-smoke, and that, once scented,
he would not rest until the matter was thoroughly investigated. And,
though the Indians were nominally at peace, they well knew that if a
superior force was at hand, that fact would be but a feeble restraint.
At best they must expect to be plundered, and as that meant either
starvation or a return to the wagon-train, the three men prepared
silently for a struggle.
The sound of footsteps ceased, and for several minutes all was silent.
Motionless as death, tightly grasping their weapons, the gold-hunters
awaited the result in stern suspense.
But their preparations, in this case, were needless, for the footstep
again met their ears, and then, through the surrounding screen of
bushes, they observed a tall figure glide past their covert, descending
the hill. Even in that brief glimpse, they saw enough to deeply excite
their curiosity.
Peering through the bushes, they saw that the stranger had again
paused, this time standing upon a bowlder, in the full glare of the
bright moonlight. They were gazing upon the same being who, a few hours
later, was pronounced the Mountain Devil by Paul Chicot.
They could distinguish his features; pale, haggard and wearing a
peculiarly mournful expression, that still did not conceal the vacant
stare that proclaimed a shattered mind. This thought occurred to each
of the three men. They were watching a madman.
They noted his ragged dress, rudely patched with skins and bits of
various fur. They saw that he was armed with a bow and arrows, and that
a long-bladed knife was dangling at his side.
This much they noted before he stepped from the rock and resumed his
course toward the valley. Arising, the gold-hunters closely observed
his movements, until hidden in the shade cast by the towering precipice
beyond.
"Wonder what--or who the fellow is, anyhow," muttered Tyrrel,
reflectively.
"I don't know, unless--You've heard Paul Chicot speak of a wild-man
they sometimes call the "Mountain Devil," haven't you?"
"Who hasn't, I wonder?" with a shrug. "I've heard of nothing else since
we've been camped here."
"I believe this is the being he means, then."
"You don't--thunder! I always thought he was lying!"
"Hark!" muttered Burr, touching his comrades.
From out the gloom, in the direction in which the strange being had
disappeared, there came a clear, shrill whistle, long-drawn and
quavering. Eagerly the gold-hunters watched and listened.
"Look there--see that light!" uttered Duplin, after a brief silence.
"What can it mean--up there, too?"
A small but brilliant point of light had suddenly appeared, as though
hanging nearly midway up the cliff, not steady and fixed, but slightly
wavering, or moving slowly from side to side. Evidently, it was
suspended there by some human agency; but who?
"Is there not a human form close beside the light? It seems so to me,"
whispered Wythe.
"Wait. The light is in answer to that whistle. Perhaps Paul's Devil has
his home up there, and that is one of its imps," half-laughed Duplin.
Still closely watching, the three friends a few moments later saw a
tall form uprise beside the light, that, the next instant, vanished
from sight. But not before another discovery was made.
A human being _had_ been holding the light, and as the wild-man took
it, the upper portion of the second person had been distinctly,
though momentarily revealed. Duplin was the first to speak, after the
disappearance.
"Did you see that, boys?"
"I saw something--a shadow, or--"
"I saw the form of a _woman_!" declared Burr, in a peculiar tone of
voice.
"So I thought, but was not sure. I don't know what to think of it.
There's some deep mystery here," added Paley, reflectively.
"I move we expose it, then," impulsively cried Jack. "Who knows--maybe
'tis a princess in disguise--or else carried off and kept in seclusion
by some evil genie! An adventure--le's go!"
"Easy, rattlepate," laughed Duplin. "You forget what frightful tales
Paul told of this creature, and whether they have any foundation in
truth or not, if we attempt to solve this affair, we must use caution.
If nothing more, he is a madman, and were he to discover our approach,
he might do us mischief. One man then--for they must have a cave, or
something of the sort--one man then could keep a thousand at bay who
tried to reach him by scaling the cliff."
"Is it worth the risk?" thoughtfully uttered Wythe. "She answered his
signal so promptly, there can be little doubt but she is there by her
own free will. Then what right have _we_ to molest them?"
"The right of unsatisfied curiosity--and whether you go or not, I'll
not rest until I've had a good peep at the angel--for such she must be
if _he's_ a devil," cried Tyrrel, springing through the bushes as he
spoke.
"Wait, Jack--you'll ruin all by your haste. We'll go--but you must not
lead the way. You'll be sure to alarm them."
"Very well--all I want is to get a good look at them. Lead the way, if
you'd rather."
Duplin knew the futility of reasoning with Jack, else he would not have
been drawn into the foolhardy adventure so easily. He knew there was
danger, Tyrrel did not. But alone, Jack would be sure to precipitate
this, and hoping to avoid discovery by due caution, Duplin led the way
toward the cliff, having determined the exact position where the light
had been shown.
Evidently the cliff-lodgers had disappeared at the same time the light
did, else they must have discovered the three dark figures as they
glided across the open, level valley, plainly outlined by the moon's
rays.
Reaching the foot of the cliff, they began searching for the path by
which the wild-man must have ascended, but for several minutes without
success. Then, however, a low whistle from Burr Wythe called Duplin and
Tyrrel to his side. Even in that gloom, they could see that the path
bore evident traces of having been frequently used, either by bipeds or
quadrupeds.
"I think this is folly, boys," muttered Duplin.
"Folly or not--up I go," determinedly added Jack.
"Then I claim the right to lead the way," and so speaking, Paley Duplin
cautiously began the difficult ascent, having first carefully deposited
his rifle at the base of the hill; an example that was promptly
imitated by his companions.
The trail was comparatively easy of ascent, but the gold-hunters made
slow progress, as Duplin carefully examined each foot of the way, lest
he should be misled by the numerous other clefts and seeming paths that
thickly crossed the trace. Thus he neared the point from whence he felt
sure the light had been shown, and as yet no signs had been given by
those above that their approach had been observed.
Suddenly Duplin paused, and turning his head, upheld his finger in
warning. Then stooping, he whispered to Wythe, who stood just below him:
"Careful, now! I just caught a glimpse of the light. We're close to the
spot. Caution Tyrrel. One rash move now may be fatal."
Though rash and hasty, Tyrrel was by no means a fool, and agreeably
surprised both Wythe and Duplin by his prudence.
Cautiously, silently as so many shadowy phantoms, the gold-hunters
crept on, until, their heads above the level of a broad ledge, they
gazed in upon a peculiarly strange scene. Fairly holding their breath,
their eyes eagerly drank in every detail.
Before them was a small, low-roofed cavern, dimly lighted up by a rude
wooden lamp that sat upon a projecting spur of rock.
There were two occupants; a man and a woman. These first enchained the
eyes of the gold-hunters.
The first was the man they had observed beside their covert on the
opposite hill. The woman was truly a surprise, when viewed in this
strange, wild spot.
That she was young--not more than twenty years of age, if so much--was
plain. That she was possessed of a more than ordinary beauty, needed
but a second glance to tell.
She was small, of a graceful figure that even the rude dress she wore
could not entirely disguise. In complexion she was a perfect blonde,
with a profusion of softly-curling yellow hair, that, unconfined, fell
around her person almost like a mantle.
Her garb, like that worn by the old man, was rough and uncouth,
telling of a long absence from civilization. Her feet were incased in
moccasins, while his feet were bare.
This strange couple were seated near each other, the woman at the
wild-man's feet, feeding him as she would have done an overgrown baby,
mouthful after mouthful. Neither spoke, and then, with a gesture, the
man signified he had sufficient, when the maiden arose and glided away,
disappearing from view of the watchers around a projecting spur of rock.
The old man arose, stretched his limbs and yawned heavily, then sunk
down upon a small pallet of skins, leaving the light still burning. One
hand clutched the strung bow, and the quiver of arrows lay close at
hand.
Paley Duplin turned his head and motioned to his companions. Jack
Tyrrel at first seemed inclined to demur, but then, as though by second
thoughts, he noiselessly began the perilous descent, followed by his
comrades.
This was not accomplished without considerable difficulty, and, indeed,
absolute danger, owing to the deceptive gloom, but, fortunately, the
trio succeeded in gaining the valley in safety. Securing their rifles,
they crossed this, and once more gained their covert, tired out and
sore, yet feeling rewarded by the strange discovery they had made.
Tyrrel alone had little to say. That night's events seemed to have made
a deep impression upon his mind, and while his comrades discussed the
subject, he remained deep buried in thought.
Upon one thing he was determined, though he said nothing to his friends
about it at the time. He must see this strange beauty again, if only to
ask her if this sort of life was her own choice. Further than this he
did not go, even in his own secret thoughts.
It was now nearly daylight, and the comrades agreed to remain where
they were concealed during that day, lest the emigrants should
institute a search for them. As all felt the need of repose, the day
was divided into three watches, of which Wythe took the first, Tyrrel
the second, and Duplin the last.
As may well be believed, by far the greater portion of the time, their
gaze rested upon the face of the cliff, marveling at the secrets its
bosom contained. But little rewarded this scrutiny.
True, during Burr Wythe's watch, the hermit, wild-man, or whatever
else he might be called, descended the cliff, and set off down the
valley. The young woman had accompanied him to the ledge that served as
entrance to the cavern, and kneeling there, watched his progress until
the hill-point concealed him from view. Then, with a long, lingering
glance around, she turned and entered the hill-home.
Wythe questioned whether or no to make known this circumstance to his
comrades, but a fear for Jack Tyrrel's impulsiveness restrained him.
That the young man had been deeply interested in the affair, he could
not doubt, and were he to know that the strange maiden were alone, he
might feel tempted to visit her. By this the reader is not to infer
that he doubted Tyrrel's honor--far from it. But Wythe feared lest his
impulsive nature should get them into trouble with the madman, and thus
interfere with the gold-hunting.
Thus the day passed away, and it was not until the middle of Duplin's
watch, that any thing of moment occurred. Then he quietly awoke the two
men, bidding them be cautious.
Peering through the bushes, they could distinguish a small body of
men, slowly moving across the mouth of the valley, seemingly trailing.
The same thought occurred to each of the three men. Why this long and
persistent search? Why delay the wagon-train an entire day to search
for three deserters, whose passage-money had been paid in advance.
This surprised them, even though they had guarded against the chance.
These precautions, however, had been taken wholly upon account of the
gold-pocket, not from fear of being forced to return, since they were
free agents, and in no wise bound to the train.
"Ha! look yonder!" muttered Wythe. "The wild-man!"
This strange being could now be seen standing upon a huge bowlder, not
far from the edge of the precipice, evidently confronting the party
of emigrants, who had now passed from view beyond the hill-point.
Curiously the three men watched his motions.
They heard the report of Nathan Upshur's rifle, saw the wild-man
stagger and almost fall, then leap to the ground and dash up the hill.
Their next view of him was as he swung lightly across the almost
perpendicular face of the precipice, hanging by the frail vines and
shrubbery, or dropping from ledge to ledge, agile and sure-footed as
the mountain-goat itself. Reaching the base, he darted swiftly across
the valley, passing close by the gold-hunters' covert, uttering a low,
growling sound that seemed more like the anger of a wild beast than the
voice of a human being.
"Did you notice?" muttered Duplin. "The blood was dripping from his
breast. Those men yonder shot him."
"It spatters the rocks out here. If they follow his trail, they must
discover us," added Wythe frowning.
"What difference? We're half white and free-born. They have no control
over our actions," retorted Tyrrel.
"True; yet this pick-ax, coupled with our desertion, would rouse their
suspicions, or rather direct them into the right channel, and I fear we
would soon have more partners than would be pleasant or profitable. I
don't want to meet them, if I can help it," added Duplin.
But their fears proved causeless, for the pursuit of the wild-man's
trail had carried Chicot's party to one side of that left by the
deserters, and that they were so close at hand was unknown to the
emigrants. And after a short time the gold-hunters saw their late
comrades turn and retrace their steps, evidently returning to the wagon
train, without thought of following the wounded man further after the
startling exhibition he had given them of his prowess.
Just before sunset they saw the wild-man return apparently but little
injured, and their doubts thus solved, soon after the trio took up
their march toward the golden valley, where fortune awaited them.
Neither noted the extreme care Jack Tyrrel observed in fixing their
route upon his mind. Each rock, hill or valley was closely and
thoroughly noted, so that he felt assured that he could find his way
back, if needs be, in the darkest night. And find his way back he had
resolved he would, sooner or later.
"There!" at length muttered Duplin, pausing upon a high ridge and
stretching one hand toward the valley below him. "Yonder, boys, lies
our fortune!"
The others did not speak. They stood eagerly gazing downward in the
direction indicated, their eyes glowing, their faces flushed hotly,
their frames quivering in every fiber. The gold-fever was upon them.
And, as if infected by their excitement, Duplin lost his composure.
With one accord they rushed headlong down the steep hillside and out
upon the level ground. Then Duplin abruptly paused.
"Comrades," and the words seemed to issue with difficulty, "_you are
standing over a bed of gold_!"