Now, the Indians, into whose hands the Rose of Oregon and our little
hero had fallen, happened to be part of the tribe to which the three who
had discovered Tom Brixton belonged, and although his friends little
knew it, Tom himself was not more than a mile or so distant from them at
the time, having been carried in the same direction, towards the main
camp or headquarters of the tribe in the Sawback Hills.
They had not met on the journey, because the two bands of the tribe were
acting independently of each other.
We will leave them at this point and ask the reader to return to another
part of the plain over which Tolly and Betty had galloped so furiously.
It is a small hollow, at the bottom of which a piece of marshy ground
has encouraged the growth of a few willows. Paul Bevan had selected it
as a suitable camping-ground for the night, and while Paddy Flinders
busied himself with the kettle and frying-pan, he and Fred Westly went
among the bushes to procure firewood.
Fred soon returned with small twigs sufficient to kindle the fire; his
companion went on further in search of larger boughs and logs.
While Fred was busily engaged on hands and knees, blowing the fire into
a flame, a sharp "hallo!" from his companion caused him to look up.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Goliath of Gath--or his brother!" said Paddy, pointing to a little
eminence behind which the sun had but recently set.
The horseman, who had come to a halt on the eminence and was quietly
regarding them, did indeed look as if he might have claimed kinship with
the giant of the Philistines, for he and his steed looked stupendous.
No doubt the peculiarity of their position, with the bright sky as a
glowing background, had something to do with the gigantic appearance of
horse and man, for, as they slowly descended the slope towards the fire,
both of them assumed a more natural size.
The rider was a strange-looking as well as a large man, for he wore a
loose shooting-coat, a tall wideawake with a broad brim, blue spectacles
with side-pieces to them, and a pair of trousers which appeared to have
been made for a smaller man, as, besides being too tight, they were much
too short. Over his shoulder was slung a green tin botanical box. He
carried no visible weapons save a small hatchet and a bowie-knife,
though his capacious pockets might easily have concealed half a dozen
revolvers.
"Goot night, my frunds," said the stranger, in broken English, as he
approached.
"The same to yersilf, sor," returned Flinders.
Anyone who had been closely watching the countenance of the stranger
might have observed a sudden gleam of surprise on it when the Irishman
spoke, but it passed instantly, and was replaced by a pleasant air of
good fellowship as he dismounted and led his horse nearer the fire.
"Good night, and welcome to our camp. You are a foreigner, I perceive,"
said Fred Westly in French, but the stranger shook his head.
"I not un'erstan'."
"Ah! a German, probably," returned Fred, trying him with the language of
the Fatherland; but again the stranger shook his head.
"You mus' spok English. I is a Swedish man; knows noting but a leetil
English."
"I'm sorry that I cannot speak Swedish," replied Fred, in English; "so
we must converse in my native tongue. You are welcome to share our
camp. Have you travelled far?"
Fred cast a keen glance of suspicion at the stranger as he spoke, and,
in spite of himself, there was a decided diminution in the heartiness of
his tones, but the stranger did not appear to observe either the change
of tone or the glance, for he replied, with increased urbanity and
openness of manner, "Yis; I has roden far--very far--an' moche wants
meat an' sleep."
As he spoke Paul Bevan came staggering into camp under a heavy load of
wood, and again it may be said that a close observer might have noticed
on the stranger's face a gleam of surprise much more intense than the
previous one when he saw Paul Bevan. But the gleam had utterly vanished
when that worthy, having thrown down his load, looked up and bade him
good evening.
The urbanity of manner and blandness of expression increased as he
returned the salutation.
"T'anks, t'anks. I vill go for hubble--vat you call--hobble me horse,"
he said, taking the animal's bridle and leading it a short distance from
the fire.
"I don't like the look of him," whispered Fred to Paul when he was out
of earshot.
"Sure, an' I howld the same opinion," said Flinders.
"Pooh! Never judge men by their looks," returned Bevan--"specially in
the diggin's. They're all blackguards or fools, more or less. This one
seems to be one o' the fools. I've seed sitch critters before. They
keep fillin' their little boxes wi' grass an' stuff; an' never makes any
use of it that I could see. But every man to his taste. I'll be bound
he's a good enough feller when ye come to know him, an' git over yer
contempt for his idle ways. Very likely he draws, too--an' plays the
flute; most o' these furriners do. Come now, Flinders, look alive wi'
the grub."
When the stranger returned to the fire he spread his huge hands over it
and rubbed them with apparent satisfaction.
"Fat a goot t'ing is supper!" he remarked, with a benignant look all
round; "the very smell of him be deliciowse!"
"An' no mistake!" added Flinders. "Sure, the half the good o' victuals
would be lost av they had no smell."
"Where have you come from, stranger?" asked Bevan, as they were about to
begin supper.
"From de Sawbuk Hills," answered the botanist, filling his mouth with an
enormous mass of dried meat.
"Ay, indeed! That's just where _we_ are goin' to," returned Bevan.
"An' vere may you be come from?" asked the stranger.
"From Simpson's Gully," said Fred.
"Ha! how cooriouse! Dat be joost vere I be go to."
The conversation flagged a little at this point as they warmed to the
work of feeding; but after a little it was resumed, and then their
visitor gradually ingratiated himself with his new friends to such an
extent that the suspicions of Fred and Flinders were somewhat, though
not altogether, allayed. At last they became sufficiently confidential
to inform the stranger of their object in going to the Sawback Hills.
"Ha! Vat is dat you say?" he exclaimed, with well-feigned surprise;
"von yoong man carried avay by Ridskins. I saw'd dem! Did pass dem not
longe ago. T'ree mans carry von man. I t'ink him a sick comrade, but
now I reklect hims face vas vhitish."
"Could ye guide us to the place where ye met them?" asked Bevan,
quickly.
The botanist did not reply at once, but seemed to consider.
"Vell, I has not moche time to spare; but come, I has pity for you, an'
don't mind if I goes out of de vay to help you. I vill go back to the
Sawbuk Hills so far as need be."
"Thank 'ee kindly," returned Bevan, who possessed a grateful spirit;
"I'll think better of yer grass-gatherin' after this, though it does
puzzle me awful to make out what's the use ye put it to. If you kep'
tame rabbits, now, I could understand it, but to carry it about in a
green box an' go squeezin' it between the leaves o' books, as I've seed
some of 'ee do, seems to me the most outrageous--"
"Ha, ha!" interrupted the botanist, with a loud laugh; "you is not the
first what t'ink hims nonsense. But you mus' know dere be moche sense
in it,"--(he looked very grave and wise here)--"very moche. First, ye
finds him; den ye squeezes an' dries him; den ye sticks him in von book,
an' names him; den ye talks about him; oh! dere is moche use in him,
very moche!"
"Well, but arter you've found, an' squeezed, an' dried, an' stuck, an'
named, an' talked about him," repeated Paul, with a slight look of
contempt, "what the better are ye for it all?"
"Vy, ve is moche de better," returned the botanist, "for den ve tries to
find out all about him. Ve magnifies him, an' writes vat ve zee about
him, an' compares him vid oders of de same family, an' boils, an' stews,
an' fries, an' melts, an' dissolves, an' mixes him, till ve gits
somet'ing out of him."
"It's little I'd expect to git out of him after tratin' him so badly,"
remarked Flinders, whose hunger was gradually giving way before the
influence of venison steaks.
"True, me frund," returned the stranger, "it is ver' leetil ve gits; but
den dat leetil is ver' goot--valooable you calls it."
"Humph!" ejaculated Bevan, with an air that betokened doubt. Flinders
and Fred said nothing, but the latter felt more than ever inclined to
believe that their guest was a deceiver, and resolved to watch him
narrowly. On his part, the stranger seemed to perceive that Fred
suspected him, but he was not rendered less hearty or free-and-easy on
that account.
In the course of conversation Paul chanced to refer to Betty.
"Ah! me frund," said the stranger, "has you brought you's vife to dis
vile contry!"
"No, I haven't," replied Paul, bluntly.
"Oh, pardon. I did t'ink you spoke of Bettie; an surely dat is vooman's
name?"
"Ay, but Betty's my darter, not my wife," returned Paul, who resented
this inquisition with regard to his private affairs.
"Is you not 'fraid," said the botanist, quietly helping himself to a
marrow-bone, "to leave you's darter at Simpson's Gully?"
"Who told you I left her there?" asked Bevan, with increasing asperity.
"Oh! I only t'ink so, as you's come from dere."
"An' why should I be afraid?"
"Because, me frund, de contry be full ob scoundrils."
"Yes, an' you are one of the biggest of them," thought Fred Westly, but
he kept his thoughts to himself, while Paul muttered something about
being well protected, and having no occasion to be afraid.
Perceiving the subject to be distasteful, the stranger quickly changed
it. Soon afterwards each man, rolling himself in his blanket, went to
sleep--or appeared to do so. In regard to Paddy Flinders, at least,
there could be no doubt, for the trombone-tones of his nose were
eloquent. Paul, too, lay on his back with eyes tight shut and mouth
wide open, while the regular heaving of his broad chest told that his
slumbers were deep. But more than once Fred Westly raised his head
gently and looked suspiciously round. At last, in his case also, tired
Nature asserted herself, and his deep regular breathing proved that the
"sweet restorer" was at work, though an occasional movement showed that
his sleep was not so profound as that of his comrades.
The big botanist remained perfectly motionless from the time he lay
down, as if the sleep of infancy had passed with him into the period of
manhood. It was not till the fire had died completely down, and the
moon had set, leaving only the stars to make darkness visible, that he
moved. He did so, not as a sleeper awaking, but with the slow stealthy
action of one who is already wide awake and has a purpose in view.
Gradually his huge shoulders rose till he rested on his left elbow.
A sense of danger, which had never left him even while he slept, aroused
Fred, but he did not lose his self-possession. He carefully watched,
from the other side of the extinct fire, the motions of the stranger,
and lay perfectly still--only tightening his grasp on the knife-handle
that he had been instinctively holding when he dropped asleep.
The night was too dark for Fred to distinguish the man's features. He
could only perceive the outline of his black figure, and that for some
time he rested on his elbow without moving, as if he were contemplating
the stars. Despite his efforts to keep awake, Fred felt that drowsiness
was again slowly, but surely, overcoming him. Maintaining the struggle,
however, he kept his dreamy eyes riveted on their guest until he seemed
to swell into gigantic proportions.
Presently Fred was again thoroughly aroused by observing that the right
arm of the man moved slowly upwards, and something like a knife appeared
in the hand; he even fancied he saw it gleam, though there was not light
enough to render that possible.
Feeling restrained, as if under the horrible influence of nightmare,
Fred lay there spell-bound and quite unable to move, until he perceived
the stranger's form bend over in the direction of Paul Bevan, who lay on
the other side of him.
Then, indeed, Fred's powers returned. Shouting, "look out, Paul!" he
sprang up, drew his bowie-knife, and leaped over the blackened logs,
but, to his surprise and confusion, found that the stranger lay extended
on the ground as if sound asleep. He roused himself, however, and sat
up, as did the others, on hearing Fred's shout.
"Fat is wrong, yoong man?" he inquired, with a look of sleepy surprise.
"Ye may well ax that, sor," said Flinders, staggering to his feet and
seizing his axe, which always lay handy at his side. Paul had glanced
round sharply, like a man inured to danger, but seeing nothing to alarm
him, had remained in a sitting position.
"Why, Westly, you've been dreaming," he said with a broad grin.
"So I must have been," returned the youth, looking very much ashamed,
"but you've no notion what a horrible dream I had. It seemed so real,
too, that I could not help jumping up and shouting. Pardon me,
comrades, and, as bad boys say when caught in mischief, `I won't do it
again!'"
"Ve pardon you, by all means," said the botanist stretching himself and
yawning, "and ve do so vid de more pleasure for you has rouse us in time
for start on de joorney."
"You're about right. It's time we was off," said Paul, rising slowly to
his feet and looking round the horizon and up at the sky, while he
proceeded to fill a beloved little black pipe, which invariably
constituted his preliminary little breakfast.
Pat Flinders busied himself in blowing up the embers of the fire.
A slight and rapidly eaten meal sufficed to prepare these hardy
backwoodsmen for their journey, and, long before daybreak illumined the
plains, they were far on their way towards the Sawback mountain range.
During the journey of two days, which this trip involved, the botanist
seemed to change his character to some extent. He became silent--almost
morose; did not encourage the various efforts made by his companions to
draw him into conversation, and frequently rode alone in advance of the
party, or occasionally fell behind them.
The day after the stranger had joined them, as they were trotting slowly
over the plains that lay between the Rangers Hill and the Sawbacks, Fred
rode close up to Bevan, and said in a low voice, glancing at the
botanist, who was in advance--
"I am convinced, Paul, that he is a scoundrel."
"That may be so, Mr Fred, but what then?"
"Why, then I conclude that he is deceiving us for some purpose of his
own."
"Nonsense," replied Bevan, who was apt to express himself bluntly, "what
purpose can he serve in deceiving strangers like us! We carry no
gold-dust and have nothing worth robbing us of, even if he were fool
enough to think of attemptin' such a thing. Then, he can scarcely be
deceivin' us in sayin' that he met three Redskins carryin' off a white
man--an' what good could it do him if he is? Besides, he is goin' out
of his way to sarve us."
"It is impossible for me to answer your question, Paul, but I understand
enough of both French and German to know that his broken English is a
mere sham--a mixture, and a bad one too, of what no German or Frenchman
would use--so it's not likely to be the sort of bad English that a Swede
would speak. Moreover, I have caught him once or twice using English
words correctly at one time and wrongly at another. No, you may depend
on it that, whatever his object may be, he is deceiving us."
"It's mesilf as agrees wid ye, sor," said Flinders, who had been
listening attentively to the conversation. "The man's no more a Swede
than an Irishman, but what can we do wid oursilves! True or false, he's
ladin' us in the diriction we want to go, an' it would do no good to say
to him, `Ye spalpeen, yer decavin' of us,' for he'd only say he wasn't;
or may be he'd cut up rough an' lave us--but after all, it might be the
best way to push him up to that."
"I think not" said Bevan. "Doesn't English law say that a man should be
held innocent till he's proved guilty?"
"It's little I know or care about English law," answered Flinders, "but
I'm sure enough that Irish law howlds a bad man to be guilty till he's
proved innocent--at laste av it dosn't it should."
"You'd better go an' pump him a bit, Mr Fred," said Bevan; "we're close
up to the Sawback range; another hour an' we'll be among the mountains."
They were turning round the spur of a little hillock as he spoke.
Before Fred could reply a small deer sprang from its lair, cast on the
intruders one startled gaze, and then bounded gracefully into the bush,
too late, however, to escape from Bevan's deadly rifle. It had barely
gone ten yards when a sharp crack was heard; the animal sprang high into
the air, and fell dead upon the ground.
"Bad luck to ye, Bevan!" exclaimed Flinders, who had also taken aim at
it, but not with sufficient speed, "isn't that always the way ye do?--
plucks the baste out o' me very hand. Sure I had me sights lined on it
as straight as could be; wan second more an' I'd have sent a bullet
right into its brain, when _crack_! ye go before me. Och! it's onkind,
to say the laste of it. Why cudn't ye gi' me a chance?"
"I'm sorry, Flinders, but I couldn't well help it. The critter rose
right in front o' me."
"Vat a goot shote you is!" exclaimed the botanist riding back to them
and surveying the prostrate deer through his blue spectacles.
"Ay, and it's a lucky shot too," said Fred, "for our provisions are
running low. But perchance we shan't want much more food before
reaching the Indian camp. You said, I think, that you have a good guess
where the camp lies, Mister--what shall we call you?"
"Call me vat you please," returned the stranger, with a peculiar smile;
"I is not partickler. Some of me frunds calls me Mr Botaniste."
"Well, Mr Botanist, the camp cannot be far off now, an' it seems to me
that we should have overtaken men travelling on foot by this time."
"Ye vill surely come on de tracks dis naight or de morrow," replied the
botanist, riding forward, after Bevan had secured the carcass of the
deer to his saddle-bow, "bot ye must have patience, yoong blood be
always too hote. All in goot time."
With this reply Fred was fain to content himself, for no amount of
pressure availed to draw anything more satisfactory out of their strange
guide.
Before sunset they had penetrated some distance into the Sawback range,
and then proceeded to make their encampment for the night under the
spreading branches of a lordly pine!