THE RED RIVER HALF-BREED
A TALE OF THE WILD NORTHWEST
BY
GUSTAVE AIMARD
AUTHOR OF "PRAIRIE FLOWER," "THE TREASURE OF PEARLS,"
"PIRATES OF THE PRAIRIES," &c., &c.
LONDON
JOHN and ROBERT MAXWELL
MILTON HOUSE, SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET
AND
35, ST. BRIDE STREET LUDGATE CIRCUS
(From the Collected Novels--1860-1885)
(Translation by Henry Llewellyn Williams - edited by: Percy B. St John.)
CONTENTS
I. THE CREST OF THE CONTINENT
II. THE FALSE PILOT
III. THE MOUNTAINEER'S SNUG CABIN
IV. THE MAN WHO RAN RIGHT INTO TROUBLE
V. THE LONE MAN'S STORY
VI. IN HOSTILE HANDS
VII. CHEROKEE BILL RECRUITING
VIII. THE GOLD GRABBERS
IX. THE RED RIVER HALF-BREEDS
X. THE STORM KING
XI. THE IRRESISTIBLE BAIT
XII. UNDER THE MARK
XIII. THE BEAUTIFUL PRISONER'S FRIEND
XIV. THE COMPACT
XV. AN INGENIOUS INTRODUCTION
XVI. THE THORN OF ROSES
XVII. HOW "FRENCH PAUL" GOT HURT
XVIII. ROSARIO BEGINS TO HOPE
XIX. THE NEST OF TRAITORS
XX. THE UNDERMINER
XXI. THE BEST WAY TO LEARN IS TO LOOK AND LISTEN
XXII. THE LATE VISITOR TO THE LADIES
XXIII. A FOREST LETTER
XXIV. THE YAGER'S "TREATY TALK" WITH OUR HERO
XXV. WE HEAR FROM CHEROKEE BILL
XXVI. THE ALL-POWERFUL EMBLEM
XXVII. THE MOUNTAIN MAN IS REINFORCED
XXVIII. DRAWING TO A HEAD
XXIX. ON THE EVE OF THE ATTACK
XXX. THE HALF-BREED DIES GAME
XXXI. THE WOMEN'S CAMP
CHAPTER I.
THE CREST OF THE CONTINENT.
We stand on the loftiest peak of the Big Wind River Mountains, that
highest and longest chain of the Northern Rockies, a chaos of granite
fifteen thousand feet towards the firmament from the sea.
Around us the lesser pinnacles hold up heads as fantastic in shape as
an Indian's plumed for battle, and, below a little, diamonds of ice
deck the snowy ermine of the colossal giant's robe.
Far beneath, the mosses are grown upon by sparse grasses, and they
by scrub evergreens, gradually displaced in the descent to the warm
alcoved valleys by taller and taller pines, spruce, larch, and cedar.
But the ancient ocean wash here shows lines alone of the constant west
and southwest winds, which never bring a seed or grain into this calm
frigidity.
In the placid afternoon, the beats are audible of the wings of the king
of the air, that proud eagle which Milton chose as the finest emblem
of the American people who, in their vigorous youth, had lit their
eyes in the unclouded sunbeams; and the song of the Arctic bluebird,
startled by the unwonted squeaking of the dry ice powder intermixed
with ground fossils and granite, as horses in the uneven line of a new
and breakneck trail crunch antediluvian shells to atoms as they follow
a daring man up the heights along chasms of ten thousand feet, from the
western acclivity to the actual summit divide, not two yards wide.
It was November, a time when the almost impossible crossing was alone
in the power of man, since in the thaws of summer the ravines are choke
full of resistless water, and, later, the snowstorms are overwhelming.
The guide of the little train stood on the monstrous pedestal, firm
and unblenching as a statue, and contemplated with an impassioned but
unflinching eye the sublime spectacle four hundred miles in diameter.
Like the jags of a necklace, the peaks of the sierra protruded, and
like gems glittered the pure lakes of the mountain tops, those that
feed to both hands the western and eastern rivers: towards the Pole,
the Athabasca's Devil's Punchbowl, and the Two-world Pond under our
eyes, into which the salmon trout leap from the Orient, and flash down
into the Missouri for the Mexican Gulf!
Like steps of an immense staircase, the Plains of the Missouri,
Cheyenne, and Laramie extended, monotonous, drying up the mountain
flow in insatiate rocks and sands, and heaving up stone barriers to
the prairie ocean. Like a thin thread of water gleams the rails of
the Pacific Railroad, twenty thousand miles of metal over which the
dolefully hooting steam engine capers to connect the Iron and Coal
States with those of Gold and Corn.
But the presumptuous pigmy soon ceases to be impressed with the
grandeur and the magnificence, and lets an admiring glance dwell on
the shining face of the never-freezing Lake of the Yellowstone Valley,
and seems to feel no such awe as an Indian would have at viewing the
inimitable hues and fanciful wreaths of smoke which overhung the
mysterious Firehole Basin--the Geyser land of the scientific, the haunt
of the red man's demons and gods.
"Huh-la!" he cries to the horses and mules, and up they come in his
dauntless footsteps, and, the loads telling on them in the rarity of
the air, gladly snicker as they take the downward path at last, spite
of the peril.
Sunset impends, and the adventurer still urges the train till the last
arrival appears, goaded by a second pioneer, who seems of Indian blood.
The two men silently exchange a grasp of the hand, as if their task
were nearly accomplished, and plunge into the darkness, commencing to
climb the steeps as they commence what appears a mad descent. The stony
spires and domes glow like orange shaded lamps at a Chinese festival
along the chain for hundreds of miles, and, after one moment of
mezzotint, so scant is the twilight here, the stars of the Great Bear
stand out sparkling so near and so detached in the dark blue ether,
that the sound of the auroral lights dancing seems the crackle of the
orbs' own axles.
Surely it is worth while to follow two men so daring as to surmount the
greatest obstacle of Nature, and who carry themselves as if they, and
not the grizzly bear and eagle, were monarchs of this weird domain.