NAT, THE TRAPPER
AND INDIAN-FIGHTER.
BY PAUL J. PRESCOTT.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
CONTENTS
I. The Ledge 9
II. A Wild Chase 15
III. The Friend in Need 19
IV. Lost Marion 26
V. The Hole in the Hill 32
VI. A Happy Meeting 41
VII. Holed 49
VIII. The Last Hope 60
IX. Ho-Ho! and Away! 68
X. An Unwelcome Visitor 73
XI. The Last of Earth 78
XII. Conclusion 82
NAT, THE TRAPPER.
CHAPTER I.
THE LEDGE.
Toward noon of a pleasant June day, 18—, a man, mounted on a powerful
animal of the mustang breed, was riding slowly over the plain, some
distance south-east of the great South Pass.
His appearance was striking. In hight he was rather more than six feet,
his legs and arms being long and lank in the extreme. His eyes were
small, gray and piercing, and remarkably deep-set; his face rather thin
and cadaverous, the lower part being covered with a scanty growth of
grizzled beard. Add to these not very handsome features a wide, though
good-natured looking mouth, and a nose of extraordinary length, and he
presented a startling, not to say ludicrous, appearance.
He was dressed in a suit of dun-colored deer-skin; and a close-fitting
coon-skin cap, from which dangled the tail, covered his head. A long
rifle, which evidently had seen considerable service, rested across the
saddle-bow, and a large buckhorn-handled knife peeped from the folds of
his hunting-shirt. A powder-horn slung at one side, and a small tomahawk
stuck in his belt, completed his outfit.
Such was the appearance of Nathan Rogers, well known throughout that
region as Wild Nat, trapper and Indian-fighter.
As he rode slowly along, his eyes bent on the ground, a superficial
observer would have pronounced him in a deep reverie; but, from the
suspicious glance which he frequently threw about him, it was evident
that he was on the look-out for any danger that might be near.
“Gittin’ purty near noon,” he said, at last, speaking aloud, as was his
habit when alone—“purty near noon, an’ I sw’ar I’m gittin’ e’ena’most
famished. I shall be a mere skileton, purty shortly, ef I don’t git a
leetle something in the provender line. Guess I’ll make fur thet clump
of timber, an’ brile a slice of antelope.”
He raised himself in his stirrups, and swept the plain with swift,
piercing glances.
“Nothin’ in sight,” he muttered, dropping to his seat. “Nary an Injun
tew be seen. Gittin’ mighty quiet, lately; hain’t seen one of the pesky
critters in a week. Git up, Rocky.”
He turned his horse toward a small clump of trees about half a mile
distant, and rode rapidly forward. As he neared the grove, his former
appearance of carelessness gave place to one of intense watchfulness.
His keen gray eyes roved restlessly along the edge of the timber; his
movements were slow and wary—every motion being instinct with a caution
that long habit had made second nature. When at the edge of the grove,
he stopped to listen, rising once more in his stirrups to look about
him.
“Nary livin’ thing here ’cept me an’ the squirrels,” he muttered, after
a protracted survey of the premises. “So, Rocky,” with a pat on his
horse’s head, “we’ll stop, an’ have a bite.”
He slipped to the ground, unfastened the saddle-girth, and left the
horse to graze, and then, placing his rifle close at hand, built a fire
beside a fallen trunk, and proceeded to cut some slices of meat, a large
piece of which hung at his saddle-bow, and place them to broil on the
coals.
He had nearly finished his repast, when he suddenly sprung to his feet,
grasped his rifle, and turned, in an attitude of defense, toward the
south. His quick ear had caught the sound of danger.
He stood for some minutes, rifle in hand, peering into the green,
tangled woods before him, and listening intently. No sound met his ear
save the gentle rustling of the leaves overhead, and the occasional note
of some familiar wood-bird.
“I don’t like this silence,” he muttered, glancing uneasily around. “I’m
sure that I heard suthin’, an’ silence in sich cases, ain’t a good
symptom.”
He shifted his rifle to the other hand, and still keeping his eyes fixed
on the thicket before him, began moving that way, making a wide
_detour_, however, to accomplish his purpose.
As he was creeping noiselessly forward, a slight sound met his ear, and
turning his head, he saw, above the top of a huge log, the
hideously-painted face of an Indian. Springing to his feet, he was about
to make a more decided movement, when a horrible chorus of yells filled
the air, and instantly, from every side, save directly behind him,
sprung a score of savages.
“Gallinippers!” ejaculated the trapper, “here’s a scrimmage on hand.”
He instantly raised his rifle and discharged both barrels into the
painted host that was rapidly rushing upon him, and then turning, darted
away, intending to reach his steed and make his escape. On reaching the
spot, closely followed by his pursuers, he discovered that his horse was
in the hands of a number of Indians, who had reached the place under
cover of the timber.
He was now completely surrounded by the savages, who were pressing
forward, eager to capture him. To the right, left and rear were the
woods; before him the plain; on every side, the Indians. With a
comprehensive glance at the case, the trapper came to a halt, turned
toward the nearest of his foes, and swinging his rifle over his head,
with a yell that would have shamed a Comanche warrior’s best effort,
dashed forward. With one blow he felled a gigantic brave who stood
before him; another, and a second went down; and then, as the
panic-stricken rank broke, leaving a slight opening, he sprung through
and darted away to the right, closely followed by the Indians, yelling
at the top of their voices.
On he ran, over fallen trees and under branches, and close behind came
his pursuers, straining every nerve to overtake him. So close were they,
that the fleeing hunter had no opportunity to look for danger ahead, and
before he was aware he ran directly into a small band of the enemy, who
were evidently lying in ambush.
With shouts of triumph, the Indians gathered round, taunting him with
his coming fate.
“The Long-knife shall die,” shouted a pompous chief, with a towering
head-dress of eagle-feathers. “He will kill no more braves.”
“That remains tew be seen, ole smut-face,” retorted the trapper. “I
’spect ter hev the pleasure of scalpin’ ye yit.”
The Indian glared at him with a look of ferocity and rage, which was
intensified by the cool, mocking smile with which the prisoner regarded
him.
“What yer goin’ ter do with me?” asked Wild Nat, as he saw them
preparing to move.
“Long-knife will see. He shall die,” was the reply.
He was placed on a horse, his hands tied behind him, his feet lashed
together, and surrounded by his captors on every side. The Indians then
began moving away to the west.
“Blast it all,” growled the trapper to himself, “this is a purty fix tew
be in. I’d like tew know how in thunder they got so clus ’ithout my
seein’ ’em. I know they wasn’t—hello! that explains it!”
The incensed trapper gazed about in bewilderment. Directly on the left
was a narrow, swale-like hollow, which was completely concealed by the
tall grass of the plain, until directly upon it.
“Thar’s whar ye skulked, is it, ole leather-chops?” he exclaimed.
“Thought ye’s smart, didn’t yer? I’d like tew snatch ye all bald-headed.
“How in thunder did it happen that I never see that place afore?” he
continued to himself. “I sw’ar, I thought I’d tramped over every inch of
plain about here. No use in growlin’; but if I ever git away, I’ll bet
they’ll wish they’d died when they war young!”
The Indians traveled steadily forward, and about the middle of the
afternoon, reached a high cliff in the Rocky Mountains, at the base of
which they halted, and began making some preparations that puzzled Wild
Nat considerably. He was not long kept in doubt as to their intentions.
The cliff shot up perpendicularly, a distance of about ninety feet,
facing the east. The whole face was smooth, without niche or seam, with
the exception of one spot. This was a narrow, shelf-like ledge, about
thirty feet from the top, some three yards in length and about one in
breadth.
As the trapper was looking at the precipice, with which he was quite
familiar, the pompous chief before mentioned accosted him:
“Does Long-knife behold? The ledge shall be his grave! He will thirst,
but there will be no water; he will hunger, but there will be no food.
Below him, the birds will fly, the antelope will jump, and the buffalo
graze, but it will be nothing to him. Long-knife will not be able to
reach them!”
Wild Nat looked at him, at first puzzled; but, as the full meaning of
his words broke upon him, his heart sunk. It would, indeed, be a fearful
death!
But not to his captors would he show fear.
“Kalkerlate tew set me up thar, eh?” he inquired, in so cool a tone that
the chief stared. “Be a splendid place to take a look at the country.
Guess I’ll make a map on’t while I’m thar.”
“Long-knife sneers,” said the Indian. “He will soon see that the Wolf
speaks truth.”
“How ye goin’ tew h’ist me up thar?” queried Wild Nat.
“The Wolf has means,” replied the chief, walking away.
The chiefs now gathered together and held a short council. At its close,
the trapper was taken from his horse and placed upon the ground, where
he was tied in such a manner as enabled him to stand upright. He was
then taken by several Indians and half-dragged, half-driven, up the
mountain to the brow of the cliff.
Here, amidst the uproarious and triumphant shouts of his captors, a
stout rope of buffalo-hide was produced, and preparations made for
lowering the prisoner to the ledge.
Wild Nat looked on with grim stoicism. Well he knew the uselessness of
expecting mercy at their hands. For years he had been a scourge among
them, and though several times a prisoner, he had always managed to make
his escape. His hatred of the Indians was intense; his vengeance
unfailing.
After an uproarious tumult, the Wolf stepped forward and tied the
buffalo-skin rope about his own waist. His companions then lowered him
to the ledge, where he unfastened the rope, and it was drawn up. The
trapper was then taken up, his bonds tightened and the rope tied about
him, and, amid a hideous yelling, was swung off the cliff.
He landed at last on the ledge where the Wolf stood waiting. He detached
the rope, and once more it was drawn up. The trapper’s weapons were next
lowered, and the Wolf placed the tomahawk and knife in the prisoner’s
belt and leaned the rifle against the rock, regarding him, meanwhile,
with a mocking smile.
“Long-knife has his weapons,” he said; “he can shoot the antelope
beneath him.”
“Blast ye, who cares?” retorted Wild Nat. “Think yer’ll tanterlize me, I
s’pose, leavin’ ’em here; but yer won’t.”
“The Long-knife has killed his last warrior,” continued the Indian,
exultingly. “He will take no more scalps. Long-knife is conquered; his
carcass will be food for the vultures, and his bones will bleach in the
suns of a hundred years.”
He fastened the rope about his waist, the trapper looking on in silence,
and mentally cursing his fate.
“Ef I war only loose, I’d topple ye over,” he muttered. “I’ll bet thar
ain’t a bird livin’ thet would dirty his bill with ye, ef ye war dead
forty times.”
The Wolf gave the signal, and was slowly drawn up. The Indians then went
to the plain below, where, in full view of the trapper, they executed
their war-dance, and exulted savagely for the space of an hour, at the
end of which time they mounted their horses and rode away.
The trapper was alone.
He watched them as they gradually disappeared in the gathering gloom,
and then looked at his narrow prison. What a place to meet death in!
What a fearful death, to die of starvation and thirst! But the trapper
had no weak spot in his nature and was not likely to give way to
despair.
As soon as the Indians were fairly gone, he began trying to free
himself. In vain he struggled and writhed; the ligatures were too
securely fastened. Pausing, at last, from sheer exhaustion, he looked
about for means to accomplish his purpose. His hands were tied behind
him, so that the knife in his belt was wholly useless. As he speculated,
his eye chanced to rest on a single slender edge of rock, projecting
from the wall. To this he speedily wriggled himself, and though from the
extreme narrowness of the ledge, he was in danger of falling, he placed
his hands against it and drew the bonds back and forth across it, until
they snapped asunder. It required a great length of time to accomplish
this, but Wild Nat had no lack of patience, and he persevered. His hands
once free, it was only a moment’s work to cut the other bonds, and in a
short time he stood upon the ledge free, at least to move as far as its
narrow limits would permit.
But that availed him little, comparatively. In that vast wilderness
there was scarcely a possibility of human aid, and he was powerless to
help himself.
The narrow ledge was likely to prove his sepulcher.