THE RED WIZARD:
OR,
THE CAVE CAPTIVE.
BY LIEUT. NED HUNTER.
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.
THE RED WIZARD;
OR,
THE CAVE CAPTIVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG SQUAW.
"Ef yer strike that gal, by ther heavings erbove I'll send er bullet
through yer skull or bury my knife in yer heart," and the speaker's
demeanor told that the words were not idle ones.
"You are uncommonly tender of a squaw!" was the sneering reply, though
the man drew back and restored the hatchet he had drawn to his belt.
"Am I?" and his black eyes flashed fire.
"Yes, for I have heard that you trappers and scouts make it a point to
kill every Indian you come across."
"It may be the case with some, but it hain't my way, man. When it comes
ter fightin' I always try ter do my share of ther killin', but murder
in cold blood ain't in my line. No, sir! An' what's more, no man ain't
er goin' ter do it while I am erround, without he calkerlates ter fight
with Wash Lawton."
"Lawton is right and you wrong, Parsons," said a third man, breaking
in upon the conversation. "The squaw has done us no injury, and the
wholesale butchery that so many appear to delight in, is not only
against reason but the most common humanity."
"Yes, I know I'm right," answered the confident scout. "Ef it war er
spy now, and thar war er party of Injuns out-lyin' eround, ther case
would be different. But this am er gal, and er young and pooty one fer
her tribe, and I hain't goin' ter see her erbused, nohow."
"And I am on your side," chimed in the physician.
"You'll see what will come of it," growled Parsons, as he turned
sulkily away. "Even if it is nothing but a girl, she has eyes and ears
and feet, and can carry the news far. You might just as well spare a
rattlesnake because it was little. They all have poison."
"Wal," returned the unabashed scout, "I never knew any harm ter come by
doin' er good action even ter er Injun. And, let me tell yer one thing,
mister; those who are ther most bloody-minded always come ter thar
worst and most sudden end."
"And now," continued the doctor, as Parsons disappeared, "suppose you
talk to the girl and tell her she shall not be injured. I presume you
understand the lingo?"
"Thar isn't one between heah and ther mountings that I hain't had
somethin' ter do with, fust or last. Ther gal am er Sioux."
"How can you tell that?"
"Jest as easerly as kin be," and he turned to and began addressing her
in her native tongue.
The little train of emigrants had been about camping for the night in
a little belt of timber by the side of a river when George Parsons
had come suddenly upon a young squaw lying, ambushed as he presumed,
in a thicket, and the girl would have been brained had not the scout
interposed.
When spoken to in her mother tongue, by the scout, she arose and
conversed freely, and for the first time the physician saw one with a
red skin that had some claims to beauty; for her form was straight, her
eyes soft in expression, though fire was hidden in them, her hair long
but finer than the generality, and of intense blackness, her features
regular and the mouth small and lips thin, her complexion a light
olive. To add to all, she was neatly dressed.
Her story, as told to the scout and interpreted by him, was a simple
one. Traveling alone from one village to another, her pony had fallen
and escaped from her, and after following the trail until night was at
hand, she was preparing to camp when she was surprised.
"Ask her if she isn't hurt," suggested the doctor; "it strikes me that
she is in pain and trying to conceal it."
The scout did so, and for answer the squaw let her blanket slip from
one shoulder.
"Great heaven!" shouted the doctor; "arm broken and no fuss made about
it!"
He drew near and was about to lay his hand upon the injured limb, but
the squaw drew back, and, with her remaining hand touched her knife in
a significant manner.
"He is a medicine," explained the scout.
In an instant the girl became calm and submitted to the manipulations
of the physician. The fractured member was set and bandaged in the most
approved fashion. She evidently experienced great relief, and though
she could not thank the doctor with her tongue, she did with her eyes
in a very forcible manner.
"Now tell her," continued the doctor, "that she will have to keep
quiet. I have known slighter fractures result dangerously--inflammation
set in, and all that sort of thing. And tell her, too, that you and I
will protect her and see that she has a comfortable place to sleep,
and something to eat, and that she shall ride with us as far as she
pleases."
The information was duly given, and received with unconcealed pleasure,
though with little of demonstration, save the simple words:
"Washtado Chemockomaun."
"And that is?" asked the doctor of the scout.
"Good white-man."
"Well, it is something to receive praise from one of her race. And now,
Wash, you take care of her. I will see her again in the morning and
try to have her comfortable before she leaves us. I never saw one so
patient before under suffering in all my practice."
"It is thar nature. But I want to see ther leetle blue-eyed gal in ther
camp that--"
"Hush! What noise was that?"
It proved that some of the men who had been scouting about had caught
a pony and brought him in. It was the squaw's own beast. Wash, at her
request, saw that he was fastened at a little distance and properly
fed. Then he turned his attention again to its mistress.
She followed him, partook thankfully of food, and though she declined
to accept of his offer to sleep in one of the wagons, she crept
beneath, did not refuse an extra blanket, and when he last looked at
her she was apparently enjoying a healthy slumber.
But, how long she remained no one could say. Just before dawn there was
an alarm of Indians, and when matters again became quiet they looked
and found that both she and her pony had disappeared.
"It am ther nature of ther beast," said the scout. "But she will not
ferget our kindness, doctor, and ef ever she kin do us er good turn yer
kin safely bet yer life that she will."
"And bring the whole tribe down upon us," suggested George Parsons.
"Then mind yer hain't ther fust ter lose yer scalp," rejoined the scout.
The little caravan started again and journeyed until the western sun
warned them to prepare for the night. This took place in nearly the
center of a considerable prairie, with nothing worthy of the name of
timber in sight. It was then noticed that Parsons--who had ridden ahead
during the afternoon--had not returned, and it was suggested by some
that he might have been captured by the Indians.
"I don't think it likely," replied the scout, "fer I hain't seen no
signs. When er man starts on er huntin'-trail he never kin tell whar
the end will be. But all we've got to do am ter keep er sharp look-out."
Midnight came and the missing man had not returned. But their own fate
was on trial, and in what followed the missing man was forgotten.