As widely different as night is from day, summer from winter, heat from
cold, are some members of the human family; yet God made them all, and
has a purpose of love and mercy towards each! Common sense says this;
the general opinion of mankind holds this; highest of all, the Word
clearly states this: "God willeth not the death of a sinner, but rather
that he should turn from his wickedness and live;" and, "He maketh His
sun to shine upon the just and on the unjust." Nevertheless, it seemed
difficult to believe that the same God formed and spared and guarded and
fed the fierce, lawless man Stalker, and the loving, gentle delicate
Rose of Oregon.
About the same hour that the former was endeavouring to compass the
destruction of Paul Bevan, Betty was on her knees in her little tented
room, recalling the deeds, the omissions, and the shortcomings of the
past day, interceding alike for friends and foes--if we may venture to
assume that a rose without a thorn could have foes! Even the
robber-chief was remembered among the rest, and you may be very sure
that Tom Brixton was not forgotten.
Having slept the sleep of innocence and purity, Betty rose refreshed on
the following day, and, before the Indian village was astir, went out to
ramble along a favourite walk in a thicket on the mountain-side. It so
fell out that Tom had selected the same thicket for his morning ramble.
But poor Tom did not look like one who hoped to meet with his lady-love
that morning. He had, under good nursing, recovered some of his former
strength and vigour of body with wonderful rapidity, but his face was
still haggard and careworn in an unusual degree for one so young. When
the two met Tom did not pretend to be surprised. On the contrary, he
said:--
"I expected to meet you here, Betty, because I have perceived that you
are fond of the place, and, believe me, I would not have presumed to
intrude, were it not that I wish to ask one or two questions, the
answers to which may affect my future movements."
He paused, and Betty's heart fluttered, for she could not help
remembering former meetings when Tom had tried to win her affections,
and when she had felt it her duty to discourage him. She made no reply
to this rather serious beginning to the interview, but dropped her eyes
on the turf, for she saw that the youth was gazing at her with a very
mingled and peculiar expression.
"Tell me," he resumed, after a few moments' thought, "do you feel quite
safe with these Indians?"
"Quite," replied the girl with a slight elevation of the eyebrows; "they
are unusually gentle and good-natured people. Besides, their chief
would lay down his life for my father--he is so grateful. Oh yes, I
feel perfectly safe here."
"But what does your father think. He is always so fearless--I might say
reckless--that I don't feel certain as to his real opinion. Have you
heard him speaking about the chance of that rascal Stalker following him
up?"
"Yes; he has spoken freely about that. He fully expects that Stalker
will search for us, but considers that he will not dare to attack us
while we live with so strong a band of Indians, and, as Stalker's
followers won't hang about here very long for the mere purpose of
pleasing their chief, especially when nothing is to be gained by it,
father thinks that his enemy will be forced to go away. Besides, he has
made up his mind to remain here for a long time--many months, it may
be."
"That will do," returned Tom, with a sigh of relief; "then there will be
no need for me to--"
"To what?" asked Betty, seeing that the youth paused.
"Forgive me if I do not say what I meant to. I have reasons for--" (he
paused again)--"Then you are pleased with the way the people treat you?"
"Of course I am. They could not be kinder if I were one of themselves.
And some of the women are so intelligent, too! You know I have picked
up a good deal of the Indian language, and understand them pretty well,
though I can't speak much, and you've no idea what deep thinkers some of
them are! There is Unaco's mother, who looks so old and dried up and
stupid--she is one of the dearest old things I ever knew. Why,"
continued the girl, with increasing animation, as she warmed with her
subject, "that old creature led me, the other night, into quite an
earnest conversation about religion, and asked me ever so many questions
about the ways of God with man--speculative, difficult questions too,
that almost puzzled me to answer. You may be sure I took the
opportunity to explain to her God's great love to man in and through
Jesus, and--"
She stopped abruptly, for Tom Brixton was at that moment regarding her
with a steady and earnest gaze.
"Yes," he said, slowly, almost dreamily, "I can well believe you took
your opportunity to commend Jesus to her. You did so once to me, and--"
Tom checked himself, as if with a great effort. The girl longed to hear
more, but he did not finish the sentence. "Well," he said, with a
forced air of gaiety, "I have sought you here to tell you that I am
going off on--on--a long hunting expedition. Going at once--but I would
not leave without bidding you good-bye."
"Going away, Mr Brixton!" exclaimed Betty, in genuine surprise.
"Yes. As you see, I am ready for the field, with rifle and wallet,
firebag and blanket."
"But you are not yet strong enough," said Betty.
"Oh! yes, I am--stronger than I look. Besides, that will mend every
day. I don't intend to say goodbye to Westly or any one, because I hate
to have people try to dissuade me from a thing when my mind is made up.
I only came to say good-bye to you, because I wish you to tell Fred and
your father that I am grateful for all their kindness to me, and that it
will be useless to follow me. Perhaps we may meet again, Betty," he
added, still in the forced tone of lightness, while he gently took the
girl's hand in his and shook it; "but the dangers of the wilderness are
numerous, and, as you have once or twice told me, we `know not what a
day or an hour may bring forth.'" (His tone had deepened suddenly to
that of intense earnestness)--"God bless you, Betty; farewell."
He dropped her hand, turned sharply on his heel, and walked swiftly
away, never once casting a look behind.
Poor Tom! It was a severe wrench, but he had fought the battle manfully
and gained the victory. In his new-born sense of personal unworthiness
and strict Justice, he had come to the conclusion that he had forfeited
the right to offer heart or hand to the Rose of Oregon. Whether he was
right or wrong in his opinion we do not pretend to judge, but this does
not alter the fact that a hard battle with self had been fought by him,
and a great victory won.
But Tom neither felt nor looked very much like a conqueror. His heart
seemed to be made of lead, and the strength of which he had so recently
boasted seemed to have deserted him altogether after he had walked a few
miles, insomuch that he was obliged to sit down on a bank to rest. Fear
lest Fred or Paul should follow up his trail, however, infused new
strength into his limbs, and he rose and pushed steadily on, for he was
deeply impressed with the duty that lay upon him--namely, to get
quickly, and as far as possible, away from the girl whom he could no
longer hope to wed.
Thus, advancing at times with great animation, sitting down occasionally
for short rests, and then resuming the march with renewed vigour, he
travelled over the mountains without any definite end in view, beyond
that to which we have already referred.
For some time after he was gone Betty stood gazing at the place in the
thicket where he had disappeared, as if she half expected to see him
return; then, heaving a deep sigh, and with a mingled expression of
surprise, disappointment, and anxiety on her fair face, she hurried away
to search for her father.
She found him returning to their tent with a load of firewood, and at
once told him what had occurred.
"He'll soon come back, Betty," said Paul, with a significant smile.
"When a young feller is fond of a lass, he's as sure to return to her as
water is sure to find its way as fast as it can to the bottom of a
hill."
Fred Westly thought the same, when Paul afterwards told him about the
meeting, though he did not feel quite so sure about the return being
immediate; but Mahoghany Drake differed from them entirely.
"Depend on't," he said to his friend Paul, when, in the privacy of a
retired spot on the mountain-side, they discussed the matter--"depend
on't, that young feller ain't made o' butter. What he says he will do
he'll stick to, if I'm any judge o' human natur. Of course it ain't for
me to guess why he should fling off in this fashion. Are ye sure he's
fond o' your lass?"
"Sure? Ay, as sure as I am that yon is the sun an' not the moon
a-shinin' in the sky."
"H'm! that's strange. An' they've had no quarrel?"
"None that I knows on. Moreover, they ain't bin used to quarrel.
Betty's not one o' that sort--dear lass. She's always fair an' above
board; honest an' straight for'ard. Says 'zactly what she means, an'
means what she says. Mister Tom ain't given to shilly-shallyin',
neither. No, I'm sure they've had no quarrel."
"Well, it's the old story," said Drake, while a puzzled look flitted
across his weather-beaten countenance, and the smoke issued more slowly
from his unflagging pipe, "the conduct o' lovers is not to be accounted
for. Howsever, there's one thing I'm quite sure of--that he must be
looked after."
"D'ye think so?" said Paul. "I'd have thought he was quite able to look
arter himself."
"Not just now," returned the trapper; "he's not yet got the better of
his touch o' starvation, an' there's a chance o' your friend Stalker, or
Buxley, which d'ye call him?"
"Whichever you like; he answers to either, or neither, as the case may
be. He's best known as Stalker in these parts, though Buxley is his
real name."
"Well, then," resumed Drake, "there's strong likelihood o' him prowlin'
about here, and comin' across the tracks o' young Brixton; so, as I said
before, he must be looked after, and I'll take upon myself to do it."
"Well, I'll jine ye," said Paul, "for of course ye'll have to make up a
party."
"Not at all," returned the trapper, with decision. "I'll do it best
alone; leastwise I'll take only little Tolly Trevor an' Leapin' Buck
with me, for they're both smart an' safe lads, and are burnin' keen to
learn somethin' o' woodcraft."
In accordance with this determination, Mahoghany Drake, Leaping Buck,
and little Trevor set off next day and followed Tom Brixton's trail into
the mountains. It was a broad trail and very perceptible, at least to
an Indian or a trapper, for Tom had a natural swagger, which he could
not shake off, even in the hour of his humiliation, and, besides, he had
never been an adept at treading the western wilderness with the care
which the red man finds needful in order to escape from, or baffle, his
foes.
"'Tis as well marked, a'most" said Drake, pausing to survey the trail,
"as if he'd bin draggin' a toboggan behind him."
"Yet a settlement man wouldn't see much of it," remarked little Trevor;
"eh! Buckie?"
The Indian boy nodded gravely. He emulated his father in this respect,
and would have been ashamed to have given way to childish levity on what
he was pleased to consider the war-path, but he had enough of the
humorous in his nature to render the struggle to keep grave in Tolly's
presence a pretty severe one. Not that Tolly aimed at being either
witty or funny, but he had a peculiarly droll expression of face, which
added much point to whatever he said.
"Ho!" exclaimed the trapper, after they had gone a little farther;
"here's a trail that even a settlement man could hardly fail to see.
There's bin fifty men or more. D'ye see it Tolly?"
"See it? I should think so. D'you suppose I carry my eyes in my
pocket?"
"Come now, lad," said Drake, turning to Leaping Buck, "you want to walk
in your father's tracks, no doubt. Read me this trail if ye can."
The boy stepped forward with an air of dignity that Drake regarded as
sublime and Tolly thought ludicrous, but the latter was too fond of his
red friend to allow his feelings to betray themselves.
"As the white trapper has truly said," he began, "fifty men or more have
passed this way. They are most of them white men, but three or four are
Indians."
"Good!" said Drake, with an approving nod; "I thought ye'd notice that.
Well, go on."
"They were making straight for my father's camp," continued the lad,
bending a stern look on the trail, "but they turned sharp round, like
the swallow, on coming to the trail of the white man Brixton, and
followed it."
"How d'ye know that, lad?" asked the trapper.
"Because I see it" returned the boy, promptly, pointing at the same time
to a spot on the hill-side considerably above them, where the
conformation of the land at a certain spot revealed enough of the trail
of the "fifty men or more," to show the change of direction.
"Good again, lad. A worthy son of your father. I didn't give 'e credit
for sharpness enough to perceive that. Can you read anything more?"
"One man was a horseman, but he left his horse behind on getting to the
rough places of the hills and walked with the rest. He is Paul Bevan's
enemy."
"And how d'ye know all _that_?" said Drake, regarding the little fellow
with a look of pride.
"By the footprints," returned Leaping Buck. "He wears boots and spurs."
"Just so," returned the trapper, "and we've bin told by Paul that
Stalker was the only man of his band who wouldn't fall in wi' the ways
o' the country, but sticks to the clumsy Jack-boots and spurs of old
England. Yes, the scoundrel has followed you up, Tolly, as Paul Bevan
said he would, and, havin' come across Brixton's track, has gone after
him, from all which I now come to the conclusion that your friend Mister
Tom is a prisoner, an' stands in need of our sarvices. What say you,
Tolly?"
"Go at 'em at once," replied the warlike Trevor, "an' set him free."
"What! us three attack fifty men?"
"Why not?" responded Tolly, "We're more than a match for 'em. Paul
Bevan has told me oftentimes that honest men are, as a rule, ten times
more plucky than dishonest ones. Well, you are one honest man, that's
equal to ten; an' Buckie and I are two honest boys, equal, say, to five
each, that's ten more, making twenty among three of us. Three times
twenty's sixty, isn't it? so, surely that's more than enough to fight
fifty."
"Ah, boy," answered the trapper, with a slightly puzzled expression, "I
never could make nothin' o' 'rithmetic, though my mother put me to
school one winter with a sort o' half-mad parson that came to the head
waters o' the Yellowstone river, an' took to teachin'--dear me, how long
ago was it now? Well, I forget, but somehow you seem to add up the
figgurs raither faster than I was made to do. Howsever, we'll go an'
see what's to be done for Tom Brixton."
The trapper, who had been leaning on his gun, looking down at his bold
little comrades during the foregoing conversation, once more took the
lead, and, closely following the trail of the robber-band, continued the
ascent of the mountains.
The Indian village was by that time far out of sight behind them, and
the scenery in the midst of which they were travelling was marked by
more than the average grandeur and ruggedness of the surrounding region.
On their right arose frowning precipices which were fringed and crowned
with forests of pine, intermingled with poplar, birch, maple, and other
trees. On their left a series of smaller precipices, or terraces,
descended to successive levels, like giant steps, till they reached the
bottom of the valley up which our adventurers were moving, where a
brawling river appeared in the distance like a silver thread. The view
both behind and in advance was extremely wild, embracing almost every
variety of hill scenery, and in each case was shut in by snow-capped
mountains. These, however, were so distant and so soft in texture as to
give the impression of clouds rather than solid earth.
Standing on one of the many jutting crags from which could be had a wide
view of the vale lying a thousand feet below, Tolly Trevor threw up his
arms and waved them to and fro as if in an ecstasy, exclaiming--"Oh, if
I had only wings, _what_ a swoop I'd make--down there!"
"Ah, boy, you ain't the first that's wished for wings in the like
circumstances. But we've bin denied these advantages. P'r'aps we'd
have made a bad use of 'em. Sartinly we've made a bad use o' sich
powers as we do possess. Just think, now, if men could go about through
the air as easy as the crows, what a row they'd kick up all over the
'arth! As it is, when we want to fight we've got to crawl slowly from
place to place, an' make roads for our wagins, an' big guns, an'
supplies, to go along with us; but if we'd got wings--why, the first
fire eatin' great man that could lead his fellows by the nose would only
have to give the word, when up would start a whole army o' men, like
some thousand Jack-in-the-boxes, an' away they'd go to some place they'd
took a fancy to, an' down they'd come, all of a heap, quite onexpected--
take their enemy by surprise, sweep him off the face o' the 'arth, and
enter into possession."
"Well, it would be a blue lookout," remarked Tolly, "if that was to be
the way of it. There wouldn't be many men left in the world before
long."
"That's true, lad, an' sitch as was left would be the worst o' the race.
No, on the whole I think we're better without wings."
While he was talking to little Trevor, the trapper had been watching the
countenance of the Indian boy with unusual interest. At last he turned
to him and asked--
"Has Leaping Buck nothin' to say?"
"When the white trapper speaks, the Indian's tongue should be silent,"
replied the youth.
"A good sentiment and does you credit, lad. But I am silent now. Has
Leaping Buck no remark to make on what he sees?"
"He sees the smoke of the robber's camp far up the heights," replied the
boy, pointing as he spoke.
"Clever lad!" exclaimed the trapper, "I know'd he was his father's son."
"Where? I can see nothing," cried Tolly, who understood the Indian
tongue sufficiently to make out the drift of the conversation.
"Of course ye can't; the smoke is too far off an' too thin for eyes not
well practised in the signs o' the wilderness. But come; we shall go
and pay the robbers a visit; mayhap disturb their rest a little--who
knows!"
With a quiet laugh, Mahoghany Drake withdrew from the rocky ledge, and,
followed by his eager satellites, continued to wend his way up the
rugged mountain-sides, taking care, however, that he did not again
expose himself to view, for well did he know that sharp eyes and ears
would be on the _qui vive_ that night.