Old Stebbins and Teddy O’Doherty crawled carefully over the rocks and
bowlders until they were near enough to gain an unobstructed view of
the camp-fire, when they paused, somewhat astonished.
Instead of seeing Blackfeet Indians or miners, as they expected, they
descried a single man reclining before the fire, gazing dreamily into
the embers, as though lost in reverie. He held a long, beautiful rifle
in easy grasp, but there were no signs of any meal in preparation, or
of any thing that was likely to engage his attention.
He was dressed in a sort of sportsman’s costume, with his pants thrust
into high, well-fitting boots, and he was unquestionably handsome,
with fine, regular features, although the lower part of his face was
concealed by a luxuriant auburn beard.
“The same gintleman that addrissed me so politely last night,”
exclaimed Teddy, in a whisper, although it will be seen that, when this
interview took place, the Irishman was denied view of the features of
the stranger, so that this assertion was more of a guess than any thing
else.
The question now was, whether they should go forward and make the
acquaintance of this stranger, or quietly withdraw and leave him to
his musings. As they were engaged in the hunt for gold, it was not
very desirable to have any more partners than they already had, and
so, after a short and earnest conference, the hunters stealthily made
their way back to the cañon, and continued their way down it until they
reached “head-quarters.”
Every thing here was found as they had left it, but there were no signs
of Black Tom.
“Where can he be?” was the question they asked of each other, and, as
hour after hour passed away, they could do nothing but conjecture the
cause of his absence. As they had heard no shout or discharge of gun,
they hoped that nothing serious had befallen him.
At a late hour the two lay down and slept until morning, and when they
rose with the break of day, their friend was still missing; but, to
their inexpressible relief, he came upon the stage of action in the
course of an hour.
“B’ars and bufflers!” he exclaimed, in answer to their questions; “but
this is a little the quarest place I ever got in. What do you s’pose
I’ve been doin’?”
“Makin’ a fool of yourself,” replied old Stebbins.
“No need of that, when I’ve got a couple handy, always,” retorted Black
Tom; “but what do you think it was?”
“Dancing the Donnybrook jig,” replied Teddy. “Ye might’ve got some old
she-bear, or the baste fur yer partner; yees would be a fine couple,
and well matched.”
“_No, sir; I’ve been chasin’ a gal!_”
“Did ye catch her?”
“No, ’cause I daresn’t.”
The trapper was in earnest, and here is the experience he gave:
After separating from his friends, on the preceding evening, he had
quietly pursued his way down the cañon, and had nearly reached his
home, when he heard the tramp of a horse, near at hand. The darkness
was so great that he could see nothing, but he knew the horse was
coming directly toward him; so he stepped to one side and allowed it to
pass.
The horse snuffed, and showed some uneasiness, proving that he was
aware of the personality of some one, but he continued steadily onward,
and passed by.
“I’ll foller and l’arn somethin’ ’bout yer,” concluded the trapper, as
he moved silently behind the animal, that could be easily followed by
the sound of its hoofs.
A short distance on the animal turned off into what might be termed
a branch cañon, leading off at a sharp angle from the one that held
Stebbins and Teddy at that moment. Indeed, the hunters had observed
through the day that there were several entrances into the chasm in
which they had chosen to make their quarters for the time.
In the course of half an hour the gradual rising of the ground brought
them upon the prairie. As the horse stepped upon the high and
temporarily level ground, it was brought in full relief against the
sky, the trapper standing somewhat below it, so that it and its rider
were outlined against the faintly-lit sky, as if drawn in ink.
What was Black Tom’s amazement, when he saw at this moment that the
rider was a woman, with an Indian shawl thrown around her shoulders!
As if she suspected that some one was near her, she partly turned her
head, at the instant her animal stepped upon the prairie, so that the
profile of her face was plainly seen.
“Skulp me! ef she ain’t a white woman!” fairly gasped the trapper, who
could scarcely credit his senses. “What is _she_ doin’ hyar?”
There was something in this scene that prevented Black Tom from calling
to her, as he would have done had the circumstances been different. He
recalled that he was in the region where the supernatural beast had
been seen, and a cold shudder went through him as he reflected that
perhaps he was following a _spirit_ instead of a mortal.
He hesitated a moment, but he had his share of curiosity, and it struck
him that he might not again have so good an opportunity of learning
something that very probably concerned the welfare of himself and his
companions.
So the next instant he had resumed his pursuit, moving with the silence
of a phantom close behind the horse, that never halted, but walked with
a proud step, as if conscious he carried a royal burden.
Black Tom had no difficulty in keeping up with the two, but he was
uncertain whether the lady knew she was followed or not. When on the
open ground, there was sufficient light to gain quite a distinct view
of her, although it was by no means a satisfactory one.
The country was very much broken. As we have stated, it was cut up by
hills, ravines, cañons, streams and open prairie--but there were paths
leading through these in different directions, mostly made by animals,
so that no one ever need encounter any difficulty in making his way
from one point to another.
The horse with the unknown lady continued forward, with that
unhesitating gait which showed how certain he was of his way, and that
his rider had no fear of his going astray.
“Skulp me! but this is a qu’ar business I’ve gone in!” muttered the
trapper, as he skulked along behind the animal; “but I’ll foller till I
find out something.”
The way became more broken, but the noble brute kept up his steady,
unswerving gait the same as on the open prairie. As near as Black Tom
could judge they had gone about five miles, and were ranging along the
mountain-side, when he caught the glow of a light directly in front of
the girl, and toward which she was manifestly traveling.
“Now I shall soon know something,” he muttered, as he saw the beacon,
and allowed the distance between them somewhat to increase.
It was not long before he made the discovery that there was an Indian
village ahead. He was not a little surprised at this, as he had never
known of a tribe having their settlement in this place. Still his
surprise vanished in a great degree when he recalled the well-known
nomadic habits of all red-skins and remembered that he had never been
in this precise place before, although he had frequently passed so near
it.
He made as thorough a reconnoissance as possible, and learned that the
village was a very small one, numbering scarcely over twenty lodges.
The darkness, however, did not conceal the fact that they were much
better and more substantially built than was common among the Indians,
from which it followed that if these were Blackfeet, they were a select
branch which did not mingle with the principal tribe.
When this little village was reached, the unknown lady vanished from
view. She seemed to ride directly among the lodges, where some one
probably took charge of her animal, and she went to her own home.
Black Tom tarried some time, but learned little more. He saw lights
glimmering dimly through the skins of which the lodges were composed,
and he could hear the subdued rumble of voices within. At first he
intended to steal his way among the lodges; but, as there was nothing
particular to be gained by so doing, he refrained.
The greater part of the night was consumed, and Tom hastened forward,
feeling that he had need of sleep, as he had been deprived of it
altogether the night before. He kept to the track in returning, and
entered the mouth of the cañon where his friends were, when he
detected the twinkle of the same camp-fire that had aroused their
notice, and which he had failed to see when so intently following the
lady on her horse.
“I may as well make a night of it,” muttered Tom, as he halted a
moment and looked in that direction, “and whoever owns _that ’ere_
’stablishment has squatted so near ours that we orter shake hands.”
Stealing forward in the same stealthy manner, he came in sight of the
young man whom we have already described, and who, although several
hours had elapsed, still sat gazing into the embers with the same
absent, dreamy expression that old Stebbins and Teddy observed. He
had doubtless replenished his fire since then, as it was burning
quite vigorously, but he had returned to the deep reverie that first
distinguished him.
“Wal, now, that’s what I call quite careless,” muttered the trapper;
“thar seems to be plenty of white folks in these parts; wonder if we
are in a civilized country arter all.”
Black Tom looked at the young man a moment and then concluded to go
forward and make his acquaintance.
“He don’t look like a fool if he does act like one,” thought he, “he
looks to me like a chap that’s got a _love fit_ strong. I’ve been
through that mill myself, and know something about it. Wouldn’t it be
qua’r, now, if he should be in love with the gal I see’d on horseback.”
Perhaps not so strange after all, when every thing should become known.
“I’ll see what kind of a watch he’s keeping.”
With which Black Tom reached out, and taking hold of a twig, snapped it
so quickly that it made quite a sharp noise.
Quick as lightning, the stranger sprung to his feet, and darted back in
the darkness.
“That’s done pretty well,” concluded the trapper, not a little pleased
at the movement.
“Who’s there?” demanded the young man, in a rich bass voice.
“A friend,” was the instant reply.
“Come forward, then, and show yourself.”
“Hyar I am!” replied Tom, as he stepped forward in the light of the
camp-fire, and waited for the stranger to show himself.
“And I am glad to see you. My name is Hammond--Fred Hammond, and I am
pleased to meet you.”
These words of welcome were uttered as the tall, graceful form of the
speaker moved forward, and he reached out his hand and grasped the hard
palm of the hunter.
Black Tom looked significantly around him.
“What’s the matter?” asked Hammond, with a smile.
“S’pose it had been a red-skin instead of Black Tom that crept up to
you in that style, the crack of the twig would have been the crack of a
rifle, and that would have been the last of Fred Hammond.”
“It looked foolhardy, I’ll admit,” said he, with a laugh, “but then
it wasn’t, after all. There is no danger of either you or me being
disturbed by Indians to-night.”
“How do you know so much ’bout the red-skins in these parts?” asked the
trapper, in some surprise.
“I’ve been here several months, and during that time I ought to have
learned something, had I not?” he returned, with a smile.
“Wal, I tell yer what _I_ know,” added the trapper, earnestly, “thar
ar’ red-skins in a few miles of hyar.”
Black Tom noticed how his companion started, as he instantly asked:
“How do you know that?”
“’Cause I’ve seen ’em--since the sun went down, too.”
“Where?”
“Off yender,” replied Tom, pointing in the direction of the village, “I
see’d a white a gal on a horse and I just follered and watched her.”
The partial gloom in which the two men sat, nor the luxuriant whiskers,
could not conceal the flush that overspread Hammond’s face at the
utterance of these words.
“Where did you see her?” he asked, making a great effort to hide his
deep interest.
“Why she rid up out the _kenyon_, and I follered arter her.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“No, she didn’t seem to notice me, so I didn’t offer to shake hands.”
“Strange!” exclaimed Hammond, as if musing with himself, and then he
was about sinking into a reverie, when Black Tom aroused him.
“See yer, Hammond, as I b’leve you call yourself, thar seems to be
something in this gal that in’trests _you_. Ain’t that so now?”
“Well, I see no objection to confessing that there is.”
“Who is she?”
“I can not say. You are right in supposing that she is a white girl.
She is of our own race and blood, and is a prisoner, although a not
very unwilling one, among a small tribe of Indians near at hand.”
Black Tom was somewhat pleased with Hammond; he had that admiration
for a learned man which the ignorant invariably feel, and he saw from
the manner of his speaking that he was a “scholar.” Besides that he
possessed a blandness of manner that predisposed all in his favor--but,
at the same time, he was not prepared as yet to invite him to make one
of their party.
There was a mystery, which the trapper was desirous to penetrate, and
with characteristic bluntness he put his questions point-blank.
“What brings yer in this part of the country?”
Hammond looked at him rather quizzically; the movement of his whiskers
showed that he was smiling.
“It is _not_ the object that brings _you_ and your companions here.”
“What do you know ’bout that?”
“All.”
“What is it?”
“_Gold._”
“Wal, you’re right--no use denyin’ that--but, how do you know it,
Hammond? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“Why, my dear fellow, I know that you and two comrades have taken up
your head-quarters down the cañon; I know also that there is gold here.
All that remains for me to do, is to put this and that together.”
“Wal, you ain’t nobody’s fool,” returned the trapper, after a moment’s
pause, “but I don’t know, arter all, but what a fool could have told
that. Ain’t you huntin’ arter gold?--now, honest--no foolin’.”
“No, sir,” was the response.
“Why ain’t yer?”
Hammond laughed quite heartily before he answered:
“Your questions are rather pointed, Tom, and such as I deem too pointed
you will permit me to decline answering.”
“Sartinly; you needn’t answer any, if they don’t suit you.”
“I am aware of that, Tom; therefore, I am not hunting for gold for
the simple reason that I don’t need it. There is considerable of the
precious metal about here, but it can only be obtained by hard labor,
and when I am at home I am in comfortable circumstances. Is that
satisfactory, Tom?”
“Yas. Wal, I’m poor, and so are all the chaps that be with me, and we
think we see a chance to better ourselves.”
“So you do; go ahead and you will do well enough.”
“You’ve been here several months?”
“Yes; during most of the season.”
“And hain’t huntin’ arter gold?”
“Not at all.”
“See yer,” suddenly exclaimed Black Tom, “have you seen any thing of
that striped and speckled critter that chaws up red-skins whole?”
“I know the animal to which you refer,” replied Hammond, more
seriously. “I have seen it more than once.”
“Did it ever hurt yer?”
“I don’t look dangerously hurt, do I?” laughed Hammond, as he surveyed
his own person, as if searching for grievous wounds. “No; it has never
harmed me, but it _has_ killed many a one.”
“Don’t you know nothin’ ’bout it?”
“Haven’t I told you enough?”
This was evasive, but it answered the purpose for which it was uttered.
Hammond knew a great deal about this anomalous creature. Indeed, had he
chosen, he could have told the secret regarding it--a most wonderful
secret, which the reader shall learn in due time.
But his lips were sealed. He had not the right to tell what he
knew--not yet. The time might come when he could tell all, but, for the
present, he must remain mute.
“It beats any thin’ I ever heard tell on,” said the trapper, as if
talking to himself. “I b’lieve it’s a spook.”
“See here,” said Hammond, looking up in his frank, pleasing manner,
“you seem to be a good, honest soul, and I will tell you something,
confidentially. You are wondering why I am in this out-of-the-way part
of the world, and I reply that I am seeking not gold, but what is
far above gold and pearls--and that is the lady you saw on horseback
to-night!”