WOOING IN THE WILDERNESS.
Little Rifle stood pale and breathless, as he saw Harry Northend draw
the slip of paper from the secret recess in the stock of his gun.
“Shall I read it?” asked Harry in a husky voice.
“Yes,” was the whispered answer.
And he read:
“On the completion of her second birthday, I presented this rifle to
my beloved daughter Hagar. Providence has ordained that a portion of
her life shall be spent in the wilderness, and it may be of some use
to her in the future. Her mother died at her birth and she is my only
child. I am compelled to go on a long journey that may separate her
from me for years, and I leave her in charge of Maquesa, the Indian
chief who is my friend tried and true.
JARED RAVENNA.”
When Harry had completed the reading of this extraordinary slip he
folded it up and carefully replaced it in the small opening, and closed
the cunningly contrived lid, and then looked at his companion, who,
still pale, and now shivering in every limb, said:
“Harry, you have discovered my secret; Hagar Ravenna is my name.”
“And you are not a boy, but a girl, and the most beautiful one that I
ever laid eyes upon. I did not suspect _that_, and I now understand
your bashfulness, and the suspicion with which Old Ruff looked upon me.”
“Yes; he had great fears that you suspected my sex, and when we were on
the point of starting, did his best to dissuade me against going with
you.”
“Do you regret that you came?”
“No, else I might have lived and died in ignorance of my real name.”
“And now that you have heard it pronounced, is there any thing in it,
that sounds familiar--that brings up past memories? _Hagar!_ think of
it.”
Little Rifle looked off in the blinding snow with a dim, vacant,
wandering look, as if she were seeking to awaken long-forgotten
memories. She stood thus, silent and abstracted, for several minutes,
and then spoke in a low, hushed voice:
“Yes, there is something in the sound of the word that struck my ear,
as though I had heard it before, and it calls up again the picture that
I sometimes see in my dreams, of a great ship sailing over the water;
but the picture is dim and shadowy, and I do not know whether it is
only the outlines of a dream that came to me sometime, away back in
childhood, perhaps when I lay asleep in the lodge of the Indian chief,
Maquesa.”
“It is reality--I know it,” said the excited Harry; “you have a father
living somewhere in the world, and there is a future opening before
you.”
“But how is he to be found?” asked Little Rifle. “He may be thousands
of miles away; or, it may be that he came back years ago, and finding
nothing of me has given me up as dead.”
“That may all be, and it may not. But, do you wish to live the life of
a savage in the woods? Don’t you ever want to go among civilized beings
and become one of them?”
“I have often dreamed and often wished,” she answered, lowering her
eyes, and looking at the snow-flakes, which were drifting against her
moccasins.
“And your dream shall become a reality. Go with me to the fort and
wait till father comes, and you shall go back with us; you shall be
educated, and then what woman shall equal you?”
“And supposing my father is never found--how shall I ever repay your
father and you?”
The fine dark eyes of Harry Northend glowed with a radiant light, as he
leaned forward, and placing his arm around the neck of Little Rifle,
imprinted a warm kiss upon her cheek, and said, in low, ardent tones:
“By becoming my wife, and thus I shall be repaid a thousand times
over. I understand now how it was that, when I looked up in your
face, as I began to recover my senses, after you had dragged me from
the water below the falls, a feeling shot through me like the shock
of electricity. It puzzled me to understand what it meant; I thought
yours was the handsomest face I ever looked upon, and it often seemed
to me that there was a feminine delicacy and refinement about you, in
spite of the uncivilized life you were leading. I found, too, that
your manner and conversation proved that you had received a partial
education. But above all, your heroic character, as you showed it when
you leaped into the water, drew me toward you as the pole draws the
magnet.
“I was puzzled and not a little hurt,” continued the impassioned Harry,
as he still kept one arm around the neck of Little Rifle, and held her
hand imprisoned in his own, “at your shyness, especially after Old Ruff
appeared upon the scene. It seemed to me that I was distrusted by both
of you, but now I can understand that it was only your instinctive
maidenly modesty, and I honor you for it.”
The cheeks of the beautiful girl (as Little Rifle must henceforth be
regarded) grew rosier and redder, and now flushed to scarlet, as she
never once raised her eyes from the ground, and Harry poured out his
burning, impassioned words.
“But with the discovery of the secret comes the discovery that I
love you, with my whole heart and soul. I feel that my future is to
be linked with yours; if I could know this minute that we were to
be separated, I would want to die. Let me pledge my love to you and
receive yours--or the promise of it at some future time, and then we
will turn to the great future that opens before us. We are both young
yet. Everybody persists in calling me a boy, and I suppose I am, but it
can’t last much longer. If my life is spared, no one can hinder me from
becoming a man, and you are younger yet than I, and we shall only think
of marriage as something that is to come after awhile. Sometime, when
every thing is ready, I shall wed you--you shall be my bride of the
wilderness. What do you say, Little Rifle? Are you prepared to give me
any encouragement?”
It would seem all natural and proper that this wooing and winning
should have reached its successful conclusion at once--that the
beautiful forest girl should have acknowledged her love at once, and
confessed that her future would be hopeless unless it echoed back the
prayer of her ardent lover. But, she was truthful, and possessed rare
good sense. Loving old Robsart had given her the clothes of a hunter to
wear, as soon as she was able to go about, and had carefully concealed
the knowledge of her sex from those with whom they happened to come in
contact.
This undoubtedly was wise, as it saved her from annoying attentions and
perhaps insult at the hands of the rough borderers, who occasionally
saw her; but the old mountaineer had given her, after his own peculiar
fashion, considerable knowledge of “society” and its usages.
And then her own instinctive maidenly sense told her that she had
no means of knowing she really returned the love of the noble young
fellow at her side. Gratitude and friendship she knew entered into her
emotions, but she could not feel positive that there was any thing more.
She spoke, therefore, as her conscience dictated:
“I do not know that I understand what love is--that is, as you look
upon it.” She spoke in a low, soft, but unhesitating manner, with
her eyes still upon the ground. “I know that I think a great deal of
you--that I would risk my life at any time to keep you from harm. I am
so fond of you, indeed, that I can not deceive you by saying that I
love you, when I am not sure about it.”
This was disappointing to Harry, but, as a moment’s reflection revealed
to him the admirable spirit which prompted it, he could but respect and
love her all the more.
“I was wrong in pressing you to answer such a question, before you had
time to think over it. Let it go for the present, and I will wait until
you are fully ready. But I can not deny myself asking one thing more.”
He paused a moment as if waiting for permission, and she raised her
wonderfully handsome eyes and looked in his face.
“What I want to ask, Little Rifle, is whether you are willing to give
me a promise?”
“Ask me whatever you wish.”
“If you say you are unable to know, in your own heart, what the nature
of love is, of course there is no one who has a place before me in your
affections?”
The face of the girl expanded into a smile, as she answered:
“Of course not; how could there be?”
“I didn’t know but what the old man was jealous of me.”
And now the smile broke forth into musical, heartfelt laughter.
“Does love put such funny dreams as that into your head? How could
such a thing as that be? I am a child, and he a man well on in years.
He often looks at me, and says something about my growing so fast, and
says, too, that it only seems a year ago that he found me in the lodge
of the Indian chief, and he declares that he shall always look upon me
as that same little child. He loves me, indeed, as your father loves
you.”
“I’ve no objection to that,” replied Harry, with a prodigious sigh of
relief, “so it don’t grow on him too fast. But what I want to ask,
Little Rifle, is whether you are willing to give me a promise?”
“Yes; I will promise any thing I can,” she answered.
“If ever, in the future, you are ready to love any one, will you
remember me?”
“I am sure I can make that pledge,” she answered, with a glowing smile.
“In the whole broad world there can never be any one who can take a
place before you in my affections.”
“That is all I can ask,” exclaimed the delighted Harry kissing her warm
cheek again and again. “I look upon you now as promised to me; that
sweet thought shall ever be within me--it shall cheer me onward, and
after my probation is ended, after you have learned more of the world
than you now know, you shall see how great was my love for you. Bless
you, my dearest Bride of the Wilderness!”
They had spent a much longer time than they supposed, in the natural
excitement and agitation resulting from the discovery, and they had
proceeded but a short distance on their journey when both saw that it
would be impossible for them to reach the fort until late at night; so
they pressed forward now, as if to make up for the sweet moments lost.
Pressing on, night overtook them, and yet the fort was far away; so
nothing remained but to choose a cosy spot and to go into camp for the
night. This course Little Rifle advised as the gathering dusk rendered
all the wood-paths obscure, and she began at once to look out for a
safe retreat, not among the rocks and woods around, but down in a
ravine, into which the girl-guide, to Harry’s surprise, now worked her
way.
“Here we shall find wood and every thing in readiness,” she said in
explanation; “for Uncle Ruff and I have made our camp here two or three
times, during the past few months.”
As they went down deeper and deeper into the gorge, the darkness became
so intense that Harry was only enabled to follow his guide by the sound
of her moccasins.
“Here we are,” she finally said, in a low voice; “stand quiet a moment.”
He could hear her moving about, for several minutes, when she spoke:
“All is ready; strike a match, and we shall have a fire right away.”
As Harry drew out his match-safe he found that only two lucifers were
in it.
“By jingo! suppose both of them go out!” he exclaimed, in a terrified
whisper; “here goes!”
As he spoke, he drew the phosphorus swiftly along his sleeve, when it
broke into a blaze.
“Where are you, Little Rifle?” he asked, looking anxiously around, and
then, seeing her kneeling upon the ground, with the wood ready, he did
the same, and at that instant, a puff of wind blew out the tiny flame,
leaving both in blank darkness again.
“Whew!” whistled the lad, in genuine alarm, “only one match left! If
that misses, we’re in a pretty scrape.”
It would be difficult to imagine the anxiety of the two, as, kneeling
close together, and shutting out the wind as much as possible, the last
remaining match was struck.
Little Rifle had gathered dry leaves, which caught and burned readily.
Others were carefully piled upon them, and by nursing the flame for
several minutes, the eyes of the two friends lit up with joy, as they
saw a bright, warm, crackling fire blaze up before them.
Then, as it lit up the gloom, Harry could see the signs of a camp
having been held upon this spot sometime before. There was an abundance
of fuel, and had they possessed blankets, they could not have desired
to be more comfortable.
“We shall have more snow to-night,” said Little Rifle, looking up to
the sky; “there is no moon or stars, and I can feel it in the air.”
They broke off branches and limbs, and spreading them upon the ground,
made as comfortable lounges as possible under the circumstances; but
still, although the day had been warm, there was a growing chilliness
in the night air, which made them keep the fire roaring as much as was
compatible with safety.
And sitting close together, near this, they renewed and continued their
conversation for hours. They talked of the future--Harry painted in
rosy colors what both were due, and what happiness was to come to both
in the end.
And Little Rifle listened, pleased and charmed, until the voice of the
lad grew broken and uncertain, his head drooped, and he finally sunk
over upon his bed of twigs and branches, in a sound slumber.
He was awakened by something cold and soft that struck him lightly in
the face. Opening his eyes and starting up, he found that the camp-fire
had smoldered to ashes; he was cold and chilly, and Little Rifle was
gone!
His first proceeding was to start up and throw more wood upon the fire.
When he had driven the numbness from his system, he then began to look
for the return of Little Rifle, and to wonder what her long absence, as
shown by the condition of the camp-fire, meant.
But hour after hour wore away and she came not, while a strange vague
fear stole over the lad, as he called her by name again and again, and
no response came.
That which had struck him in the face and awaked him was a snowflake,
or rather a score of them, and, as he looked about, he saw that the air
was full of snow, falling softly and silently, and wrapping the earth
in its robe of white.
At last the dull gray morning broke, and still no signs of Little Rifle.
“What can have happened?” exclaimed the distressed Harry. “She is gone!
she is lost! I have lost my beautiful Bride of the Wilderness!”
Alas! he spoke the truth!
In “Old Ruff, the Trapper,” Star Novel No. 110, the Adventures of the
Young Fur-Hunters will be completed. Old Ruff’s great hunts with his
pet bear, Spotted Ben, will play principal parts in this last and best
great story of the hunter-author. See announcement on last page of
cover.
THE END.
DIME POCKET NOVELS.
PUBLISHED SEMI-MONTHLY.
=1--Hawkeye Harry.= By Oll Coomes.
=2--Dead Shot.= By Albert W. Aiken.
=3--The Boy Miners.= By Edward S. Ellis.
=4--Blue Dick.= By Capt. Mayne Reid.
=5--Nat Wolfe.= By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
=6--The White Tracker.= Edward S. Ellis.
=7--The Outlaw’s Wife.= Mrs. Ann S. Stephens.
=8--The Tall Trapper.= By Albert W. Aiken.
=9--Lightning Jo.= By Capt. Adams.
=10--The Island Pirate.= By Capt. Mayne Reid.
=11--The Boy Ranger.= By Oll Coomes.
=12--Bess, the Trapper.= By E. S. Ellis.
=13--The French Spy.= By W. J. Hamilton.
=14--Long Shot.= By Capt. Comstock.
=15--The Gunmaker.= By James L. Bowen.
=16--Red Hand.= By A. G. Piper.
=17--Ben, the Trapper.= By Lewis W. Carson.
=18--Wild Raven.= By Oll Coomes.
=19--The Specter Chief.= By Seelin Robins.
=20--The B’ar-Killer.= By Capt. Comstock.
=21--Wild Nat.= By Wm. R. Eyster.
=22--Indian Jo.= By Lewis W. Carson.
=23--Old Kent, the Ranger.= Edward S. Ellis.
=24--The One-Eyed Trapper.= Capt. Comstock.
=25--Godbold, the Spy.= By N. C. Iron.
=26--The Black Ship.= By John S. Warner.
=27--Single Eye.= By Warren St. John.
=28--Indian Jim.= By Edward S. Ellis.
=29--The Scout.= By Warren St. John.
=30--Eagle Eye.= By W. J. Hamilton.
=31--The Mystic Canoe.= By Edward S. Ellis.
=32--The Golden Harpoon.= By R. Starbuck.
=33--The Scalp King.= By Lieut. Ned Hunter.
=34--Old Lute.= By E. W. Archer.
=35--Rainbolt, Ranger.= By Oll Coomes.
=36--The Boy Pioneer.= By Edward S. Ellis.
=37--Carson, the Guide.= By J. H. Randolph.
=38--The Heart Eater.= By Harry Hazard.
=39--Wetzel, the Scout.= By Boynton Belknap.
=40--The Huge Hunter.= By Ed. S. Ellis.
=41--Wild Nat, the Trapper.= Paul Prescott.
=42--Lynx-cap.= By Paul Bibbs.
=43--The White Outlaw.= By Harry Hazard.
=44--The Dog Trailer.= By Frederick Dewey.
=45--The Elk King.= By Capt. Chas. Howard.
=46--Adrian, the Pilot.= By Col. P. Ingraham.
=47--The Man-hunter.= By Maro O. Rolfe.
=48--The Phantom Tracker.= By F. Dewey.
=49--Moccasin Bill.= By Paul Bibbs.
=50--The Wolf Queen.= By Charles Howard.
=51--Tom Hawk, the Trailer.=
=52--The Mad Chief.= By Chas. Howard.
=53--The Black Wolf.= By Edwin E. Ewing.
=54--Arkansas Jack.= By Harry Hazard.
=55--Blackbeard.= By Paul Bibbs.
=56--The River Rifles.= By Billex Muller.
=57--Hunter Ham.= By J. Edgar Iliff.
=58--Cloudwood.= By J. M. Merrill.
=59--The Texas Hawks.= By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
=60--Merciless Matt.= By Capt. Chas. Howard.
=61--Mad Anthony’s Scouts.= By E. Rodman.
=62--The Luckless Trapper.= Wm. R. Eyster.
=63--The Florida Scout.= Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
=64--The Inland Trapper.= Chas. Howard.
=65--Wolf-Cap.= By Capt. Chas. Howard.
=66--Rattling Dick.= By Harry Hazard.
=67--Sharp-Eye.= By Major Max Martine.
=68--Iron-Hand.= By Frederick Forest.
=69--The Yellow Hunter.= By Chas. Howard.
=70--The Phantom Rider.= By Maro O. Rolfe.
=71--Delaware Tom.= By Harry Hazard.
=72--Silver Rifle.= By Capt. Chas. Howard.
=73--The Skeleton Scout.= Maj. L. W. Carson.
=74--Little Rifle.= By Capt. “Bruin” Adams.
=75--The Wood Witch.= By Edwin Emerson.
=76--Old Ruff, the Trapper.= “Bruin” Adams.
=77--The Scarlet Shoulders.= Harry Hazard.
=78--The Border Rifleman.= L. W. Carson.
=79--Outlaw Jack.= By Harry Hazard.
=80--Tiger-Tail, the Seminole.= R. Ringwood.
=81--Death-Dealer.= By Arthur L. Meserve.
=82--Kenton, the Ranger.= By Chas. Howard.
=83--The Specter Horseman.= Frank Dewey.
=84--The Three Trappers.= Seelin Robbins.
=85--Kaleolah.= By T. Benton Shields, U. S. N.
=86--The Hunter Hercules.= Harry St. George.
=87--Phil Hunter.= By Capt. Chas. Howard.
=88--The Indian Scout.= By Harry Hazard.
=89--The Girl Avenger.= By Chas. Howard.
=90--The Red Hermitess.= By Paul Bibbs.
=91--Star-Face, the Slayer.=
=92--The Antelope Boy.= By Geo. L. Aiken.
=93--The Phantom Hunter.= By E. Emerson.
=94--Tom Pintle, the Pilot.= By M. Klapp.
=95--The Red Wizard.= By Ned Hunter.
=96--The Rival Trappers.= By L. W. Carson.
=97--The Squaw Spy.= By Capt. Chas. Howard.
=98--Dusky Dick.= By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
=99--Colonel Crockett.= By Chas. E. Lasalle.
=100--Old Bear Paw.= By Major Max Martine.
=101--Redlaw.= By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
=102--Wild Rube.= By W. J. Hamilton.
=103--The Indian Hunters.= By J. L. Bowen.
=104--Scarred Eagle.= By Andrew Dearborn.
=105--Nick Doyle.= By P. Hamilton Myers.
=106--The Indian Spy.= By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
=107--Job Dean.= By Ingoldsby North.
=108--The Wood King.= By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
=109--The Scalped Hunter.= By Harry Hazard.
=110--Nick, the Scout.= By W. J. Hamilton.
=111--The Texas Tiger.= By Edward Willett.
=112--The Crossed Knives.= By W. J. Hamilton.
=113--Tiger-Heart, the Tracker.= By Howard.
=114--The Masked Avenger.= By Ingraham.
=115--The Pearl Pirates.= By Starbuck.
=116--Black Panther.= By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.
=117--Abdiel, the Avenger.= By Ed. Willett.
=118--Cato, the Creeper.= By Fred. Dewey.
=119--Two-Handed Mat.= By Jos. E. Badger.
=120--Mad Trail Hunter.= By Harry Hazard.
=121--Black Nick.= By Frederick Whittaker.
=122--Kit Bird.= By W. J. Hamilton.
=123--The Specter Riders.= By Geo. Gleason.
=124--Giant Pete.= By W. J. Hamilton.
=125--The Girl Captain.= By Jos. E. Badger.
=126--Yankee Eph.= By J. R. Worcester.
=127--Silverspur.= By Edward Willett.
=128--Squatter Dick.= By Jos. E. Badger.
=129--The Child Spy.= By George Gleason.
=130--Mink Coat.= By Jos. E. Badger.
=131--Red Plume.= By J. Stanley Henderson.
=132--Clyde, the Trailer.= By Maro O. Rolfe.
=133--The Lost Cache.= J. Stanley Henderson.
=134--The Cannibal Chief.= Paul J. Prescott.
=135--Karaibo.= By J. Stanley Henderson.
=136--Scarlet Moccasin.= By Paul Bibbs.
=137--Kidnapped.= By J. Stanley Henderson.
=138--Maid of the Mountain.= By Hamilton.
The following will be issued in the order and on the dates indicated:
=139--The Scioto Scouts.= By Edward Willett. Ready October 21st.
=140--The Border Renegade.= By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Ready Nov. 4th.
=141--The Mute Chief.= By C. D. Clark. Ready November 18th.
=142--Boone, the Hunter.= By Frederick Whittaker. Ready December 2d.
=143--Mountain Kate.= By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Ready December 16th.
=144--The Red Scalper.= By W. J. Hamilton. Ready December 30th.
=145--The Lone Chief.= By Jos. E. Badger, Jr. Ready January 13th.
=146--The Silver Bugle.= By Lieut. Col. Hazleton. Ready January 27th.
BEADLE’S DIME POCKET NOVELS are always in print and
for sale by all newsdealers; or will be sent post-paid, to any address:
single numbers, ten cents: six months (13 Nos.) $1.25; one year (26
Nos.) $2.50.
Address, =BEADLE and ADAMS, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York=.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.