“I b’lieve I’ll dig out of these parts,” said Black Tom, with a sigh,
after he had heard the explanation of Fred Hammond.
“Why so?” quietly asked the latter.
“Things don’t look right to me; I don’t understand ’bout that speckled
critter, nor ’bout the critter I’ve seen on the kenyon on horseback. I
b’lieve _she’s_ a sperit.”
“No; she’s as much flesh and blood as you are. I have spoken to her.”
“Have you axed her to dig out of these parts?”
“I have, more than once.”
“Why don’t she do it?”
“We’ll let the answer to that question remain in abeyance for the
present,” was the graceful response of Hammond. “I think she will do
so, but the time has not yet come for such an important step to be
taken.”
“Let me ax you something else, then. Do them Blackfeet where she’s
stayin’ _b’long thar_?”
“They have lived there a long time, and no doubt expect to remain there
for a long time to come, but they do not belong to the Blackfeet tribe.”
“What tribe, then?”
“They are the Meagans.”
“I’ve heard tell of them, years ago, but I thought they war all dead.”
“They were once a powerful tribe, and these are all that are left of
them, scarcely a hundred souls. You know they are _Christians_.”
Black Tom did not know that, nor did he know any thing of them, except
that such a tribe had once been a power in the West, but he had
supposed hitherto that they had vanished from the earth long since.
“They have been Christianized through the efforts of the good Moravian
missionaries,” continued Hammond, “and they live a quiet, unobtrusive
life among themselves, disturbing nobody, and desirous of being left
alone by all who pass through this region.”
“What is the gal doing with them?”
“Suppose we drop all reference to her for the present,” was the
pleasant reply of his companion; “you are here for the purpose of
hunting gold, and I must warn you not to interfere with the Meagans.”
“We won’t hurt them if they let us alone,” was the sturdy reply of the
trapper, “but they must keep thar hands off.”
“They won’t be likely to disturb you, although they do not like the
presence of any one in these parts.”
“Why don’t they?”
“Because they are aware of the existence of gold, and they know if that
fact becomes generally known, they will have to pack up and leave.”
“Be thar any other white men besides us hyar?”
“Quite a number have passed through, but I don’t think there are any
besides your company.”
“The Blackfeet are here sometimes?”
“Yes; their hunting and war parties occasionally pass through, but they
know of the Meagans, respect their character, and never offer to molest
them.”
“I see; but how ’bout us?” asked Black Tom, with a grin.
“It ain’t likely they would be so careful about treading on your corns.
Heigho!”
This exclamation on the part of Hammond was caused by the growing light
around them showing that day was breaking. The trapper was startled
somewhat, but he was deeply interested in his new acquaintance, and
continued chatting some time longer. As he was ready to move away, Tom
said:
“See hyar, Hammond, our mansion is down near t’other end the kenyon,
and--”
“I know very well where it is,” interrupted the young man, bowing
slightly and smiling.
“Wal, what I war goin’ to hit at war this: come thar and make your
head-quarters with us. We’re huntin’ gold and you are huntin’ the gal;
but we’ve got to do a little sleepin’ now and then, and why can’t you
bunk with us?”
“I thank you, Tom; I may accept your invitation, but not just at
present. However, we will keep up the acquaintance so pleasantly
commenced, and I will call on you now and then.”
This was their parting, and making their way out of the bushes, Black
Tom continued on down the cañon, reaching his friends, when both were
quite anxious regarding him.
After telling his story, there was a consultation. All were quite
hungry, and it was agreed that old Stebbins should start off on a quest
for food, and Teddy should keep guard during his absence, which time
Black Tom proposed to devote to sleep.
This arrangement was carried out to the letter. Tom secured two good
hours’ rest, which were all that he needed, Teddy acted faithfully his
part as sentinel, and old Stebbins came back with the hind-quarters of
a young antelope slung over his shoulder.
Some was broiled over the fire, and the three hunters devoured it with
an appetite that was absolutely wolfish, scarcely speaking until it was
finished, when Tom asked, somewhat bluntly:
“Did you see nothin’ of the speckled and ring-tailed critter?”
“Nothin’, but I see’d sign.”
“Blazes! whar?”
“Off yonder.”
As he replied he pointed off to the left, which was in a totally
different direction from the one leading toward the Meagan village,
proof that they were hostile Indians.
“Thar’s ’bout a dozen,” added old Stebbins. “They’re Blackfeet in thar
war-paint, and they’re goin’ fur somebody.”
“Bad ’cess to ’em!” exclaimed Teddy, who had managed to light his
pipe. “Give us the chance and we’ll show ’em a thing or two.”
The matter was discussed pro and con, when it was agreed that the
three should separate and take different directions. Each of the three
were to search for gold and Indians. By this means there was a better
prospect of finding the precious metal than if they went in company,
and if danger from the Blackfeet threatened, there was scarcely a
possibility that it would escape the vigilance of all three.
Old Stebbins took somewhat the same route that he followed in his
morning hunt, his principal purpose being to look out for Blackfeet.
Teddy went up the brook, his object being gold, while Black Tom, after
getting clear of the cañon, diverged to the right, his purpose being
both.
Leaving the two former to themselves for the present, it becomes
necessary once more to follow the adventures of Black Tom.
His course led him across a short space of open prairie, when he
entered a wild section, better fitted for the habitations of the
chamois or mountain goat, than for any other animal.
He was constantly passing around deep chasms, climbing rocks,
clambering through bushes, sometimes leaving the debris and loose
stones rattling behind him, with a noise that was startling, until he
found himself in a small, narrow valley, through which ran a stream
somewhat larger than the one in the cañon that he had left a short time
before.
The trapper carefully surveyed the bluffs and elevated points
surrounding him, but all was as quiet as at “creation’s morn.” Not
even the cry of a bird, or the whirr of its wing broke the impressive
stillness of the solitude.
Tom was somewhat affected by the grand solemnity of the scene around
him, and he stood a moment leaning upon his rifle, silent and
thoughtful, swayed by those reverential emotions which, at times, come
over the most ignorant of mankind.
While standing thus with his eyes fixed upon the ascending side of the
valley, he was startled by seeing the loose dirt and stones, directly
beneath a clump of bushes, rattle down the declivity, as though they
had been dislodged by the foot of some person or animal.
The trapper was on the alert instantly. His eagle eye was fixed upon
the bushes, with the sharp, penetrating glance of suspicion; but the
vegetation was too dense and luxuriant for him to discover whether
there was any thing beneath them or not.
“Wonder ef that was a Blackfoot,” he muttered, as he held his rifle
ready for use at a second’s warning. “Some confounded varmint like as
not is follerin’ me. I’ll see ef I can.”
Raising his gun to his shoulder, he aimed directly at the center of the
bushes and discharged it. No response followed, not even the rattling
of an additional pebble. All remained as quiet and motionless as before
the disturbance took place.
This almost convinced the trapper that there was no man or animal
concealed there. Even had he not hit him with his bullet, the shot
itself would have caused a movement that would have loosened the debris
again.
“I guess the thing done itself,” he concluded, as he reloaded his
piece, and scrutinized a moment or two longer.
As he moved away, he occasionally turned his head and glanced back, but
saw nothing to renew his suspicions, and by the time he had passed a
hundred yards down the valley, he had come to the opinion that there
was but one eye that was surveying his movements--and that was the eye
that looked upon him in kindness and mercy, as it does upon all mortals.
Still no signs of gold.
He was now following the course of the stream down the valley. In some
places it brawled over stones, with a noise that shut out all other
sounds, and then it flowed calmly and still, like the current of a deep
river.
It was of crystal clearness, and there was no place where he could
not distinguish the bottom, as easily as though it were “liquid air”
floating at his feet.
“Wonder ef thar’s any use of my wadin’ in thar, turnin’ over them
stones, and lookin’ under them--”
Suddenly he paused. What did he see?
He looked steadily a moment, and his heart gave a jump, as he plainly
distinguished something yellow glistening in the center of the bed. The
next instant he had plunged into the stream, which was about a foot in
depth, and thrusting his arm down, brought it to the surface and held
it up to view.
Yes; it was a solid lump of pure gold!
Black Tom was certain of it. It was about the size of a hen’s egg, very
heavy, and bright and glistening. There could be no doubt of its nature.
He waded ashore again, and then “hefted” it, turned it over and over,
tossed it in the air, caught it, smelled of it, put his tongue to it
and was delighted.
Why should he not be delighted? Was not this what had brought him to
this region? Was it not worth more than many days’ labor of trapping?
“That’s the fust crop!” he exclaimed, as he carefully put it away about
his person; “and it follers that thar must be more of the same sort
’bout hyar.”
The day was quite cool, and he was pretty wet; but he felt it not.
His feelings were excited, and he was tenfold more anxious for the
precious metal than he had ever been before. It seemed as if there was
an all-controlling appetite that had hitherto been latent, that was now
aroused to action, and that overcame every other emotion.
He thought nothing now of personal danger. Gold, gold, was his thirst,
and it led him on his eager search.
The trapper walked along the edge of the stream, totally oblivious to
every thing but the one thing that just then occupied his thoughts, to
the exclusion of every thing else.
Several minutes passed thus, when he was aroused from this condition by
a sharp voice, calling almost in his very ears:
“Hello there!” Starting back, Tom looked up and saw Fred Hammond
standing a few feet in front of him.
“What’s the matter?” asked the hunter.
“You must get out of here, without a moment’s delay.”
“What’s the matter?” exclaimed Tom, staring about him as though he had
just awakened to a sense of his perilous condition.
“The Blackfeet are after you.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere,” replied Hammond, somewhat excitedly; “there are two or
three coming up the stream, and several coming down. They are trying
to surround you, and if you remain here five minutes longer, you are a
dead man.”
“I ain’t killed quite so easy as that,” said Tom, somewhat sullenly.
“Ef thar ar’ any red-skins that ar’ goin’ to make a dead man of me,
jest fetch ’em along; that’s what’s the matter.”
“Follow me, and don’t wait an instant,” commanded Hammond, fairly
seizing upon him.
Instead of running either up or down-stream, the young man led the way
to the high, steep side of the valley, which was thickly wooded, and
extended full five hundred feet upward from where they stood.
Up this the two hounded like goats, half crawling and climbing through
the wood and undergrowth, until, panting and almost exhausted, they
reached the high ground above, where they paused awhile to gain their
breath before proceeding further in this dangerous territory.
They had penetrated such a distance that they were effectually
concealed from the view of whatever Indians there might be in the
valley below, although, of course, the red-skins could easily follow
their trail.
They stood a moment in silence, and then, when they had recovered their
breath, Hammond placed his hand familiarly upon the shoulder of the
trapper, and said, earnestly and kindly:
“Tom, you are an old hunter, and know more of the red-men and their
ways than I do, but that doesn’t signify that you are in no need of
counsel. I was wandering through this section, when I discovered your
danger. It was not the situation of your body, so much as it was the
condition of your mind. You had found gold, and were so excited over
it, that a Blackfoot might have slipped up behind and tomahawked you.
I saw it, and I got you up here, that you might recover your senses.
There is gold down there--plenty of it; hunt carefully and you will
find, but don’t look down all the while--LOOK UP!”