OLD PEGS’ TREASURE.
The country through which Old Pegs led his new friend was one of the
most difficult and dangerous in the portion of the foothills in which
they were placed. No one, save a man who loved solitude, and would have
chosen it from all others as a home, would have thought of spending so
many years of his life in this lonely place. They passed through defile
after defile, clambered over ridges and forded mountain streams in which
the trout were so abundant that their feet touched them as they passed.
On the march, Old Pegs had a chance to observe his companion closely,
and he did so without allowing him to think that he was watched. Rafe
might have been thirty years of age, of an erect, stately figure, with
very black hair and eyes. His hair was suffered to grow long, and curled
slightly at the ends; he wore a heavy mustache—the point dropping nearly
to his collar as he stood erect—and a long imperial. His eyes were of
that vivid black so seldom seen, and looked wicked and bold. Although in
mountain garb, there was a sort of dandyism even in this dress which did
not strike Old Pegs favorably.
“I don’t know whether I’m doing the right thing in showing you this
road,” said the hunter. “I’m a plain man and in a humble station, and
I’ve got a treasure to guard.”
“A treasure?”
“You bet!”
“Have you found a gold-mine?”
“No; gold ain’t no use ter me, or I could find it soon enough.”
“It can not be diamonds?”
“Better’n diamonds, young ’un; better’n gold; better’n beaver, even.”
“What can you be talking of?” said Rafe, impatiently.
“Never you mind about that. I know what I’m talking about, and when I
get home I’ll show you my treasure.”
At a turn in the path they were traversing they came suddenly upon a
huge bear, which reared upon its haunches and sat, in a silly way,
looking at them, with its tongue hanging out. Rafe Norris, who had no
love for close companionship with a grizzly, dropped his rifle into the
hollow of his hand, and was about to fire, when Old Pegs struck up the
weapon.
“Don’t shoot that b’ar, confound you!” he cried. “He’s mine.”
“A pet bear! Is that your treasure, then?”
“Not a bit of it,” replied Old Pegs. “Kinder inquisitive, ain’t you?”
“You have aroused my curiosity, I must confess,” replied Rafe.
“Bruin! Bruin!” cried a clear, sweet voice. “Come here, sir!”
Down dropped the bear upon all fours, and waddled away in the direction
of the voice, while Rafe stopped and looked at Old Pegs in amazement.
“_That_ is your treasure, eh?” he demanded. “I thought you were too old
a man to care for a woman.”
“I’m a nice figger fur a lady’s man, ain’t I?” replied the hunter,
scornfully. “I orter hit you, but I guess I won’t. Here we ar’.”
The path led out of the narrow ravine through a thicket, and they
entered a small, sheltered valley, containing hardly an acre of
bottom-land, a sort of oasis scooped out by the hand of nature from the
bosom of the eternal hills. There was no sign of human habitation
anywhere, but their ears were saluted by a burst of song and the tinkle
of a guitar. The voice of the singer was so wonderfully pure, rich and
sweet that Rafe stopped in utter amazement and looked at Old Pegs.
“What does this mean, old man?” he cried; “that is not the voice of an
Indian woman.”
“Ska’cely; oh, no—I reckon not. And see yer, feller—thet gal is under my
pertection, and the man thet lays a finger on her, or insults her by
look or word, may git out the papers fur his funeral—and I’ll see thet
they hev a _corpse_. D’ye understand?”
“Why should I try to harm her?” said Rafe. “Hush! let us hear her song.”
It was a song of chivalry—a song of the old days—that seemed to speak
the clash of spears and the rattle of steel armor. The voice rung out
full and clear, not a note was slurred or hurried, and the two stood
spell-bound until she had finished, when Old Pegs called out: “Myrtle!”
The sound of the guitar was hushed; there came the rush of flying feet,
and the singer appeared and flung her arms about the neck of the old man
and kissed him.
“I am glad you have come, father, for I was getting lonely. You—”
She paused suddenly, for her eyes just then rested upon the face of Rafe
Norris, who was gazing at her with a look of undisguised admiration.
What did he see? A fair young creature in the flush of early womanhood,
with a face and form which might have driven a painter mad. She was
slightly framed, but every line was in perfect symmetry, and her face
was perfection itself. A touch of peach-bloom in either cheek, ripe-red
lips and lustrous brown eyes; short, ambrosial locks, clinging about a
neck which rivaled in whiteness the snows of the mountain, and a look of
perfect innocence beautifying all.
Why did Rafe Norris gaze at her as if he had seen a vision from the
grave?
“Don’t be skeered, little ’un,” said Old Pegs. “This yer is Rafe Norris,
a gentleman thet run from some cussid Blackfeet and got away. I brung
him here fur the night, and expect you to treat him well. This is my
darter, Rafe—I kain’t _mister_ any one, ye know—and she’s the best and
pootiest gal in the kentry.”
Rafe Norris bowed low, and uttered a well-framed compliment, which the
girl received coldly.
“It is somewhat strange, Mr. Norris, that you should be alone here,” she
said.
“I was separated from my party,” he answered, blandly, “and the Indians
set upon me before I was aware. I would accept the danger gladly for the
honor of this introduction.”
“Draw it kinder mild, Rafe—kinder mild,” said Old Pegs. “We raally can’t
stand too many nice speeches, out hyar.”
“That speech came from my heart,” replied Rafe. “I hope that the lady
will not consider it an unmeaning compliment.”
“That’ll do,” said Old Pegs, dryly. “Now, Myrtle, gal, will you git us
suthing to eat? Ez fur me, I’m pesky hungry. I could eat a hull antelope
to my own cheek this hyar blessid minnit. What hav you got fur us?”
“I caught some trout awhile ago, and have them ready to broil,” replied
Myrtle.
“I cannot consent to allow Miss Myrtle to perform such menial service
for me,” said Rafe. “Let me do the cooking, for which such hands were
never intended.”
Myrtle broke into a merry laugh. “You betray yourself, Mr. Norris,” she
said. “You are a gentleman born and bred, for none of our own
mountaineers would object to my cooking a meal for them.”
He looked a little vexed, and she glided away, and Old Pegs sat down on
a great rock and signed to his companion to do the same.
“Let me go and assist Miss Myrtle,” said Norris. “It really pains me to
suffer her to do such work.”
“Sit down, stranger,” said Old Pegs, shortly. “I won’t hev any one, I
don’t keer who he is, try ter make the gal discontented with her life
hyar. She’s the darter of a mount’in man, and ef she ever marries—which
I hope she won’t—she’ll be the wife of a mount’in man; thet’s ez good ez
swore to.”
“I hope you do not doubt me, Mr.—”
“Old Pegs! Thet’s my name—Old Pegs. I don’t want no other handle, and I
won’t hev it. Ef I knowed you well I wouldn’t keer so much, but yer a
stranger, and so we won’t hev any sort of familiarity until I does know
you.”
“You are particular, sir,” replied Norris, knitting his brows. “It is
sad that I did not bring my pedigree with me when I came here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, stranger,” replied Old Pegs, “or we may part
company afore you know it. I won’t have no foolishness about hyar ef I
know it; no discount on thet ar’.”
“I beg your pardon again, but really you are very hard on me. I claim to
be a gentleman, and hope I am so. Perhaps that would make me lose your
good esteem.”
“Oh no; I’ve knowed lots of _gentlemen_ thet was bully boys, and many’s
the high old time I’ve had with ’em, right about hyar. But, they _was_
gentlemen, and I _knowed_ it. Now I don’t know any thing about you.”
“I hope you will know me better sometime,” replied Rafe, in such a
peculiar tone that Old Pegs looked up at him quickly, as if to detect
the lurking menace in his face. But that face expressed nothing except
polite desire to make friends, and the old hunter dropped his eyes again
and whistled. A lumbering tread was heard; the pet bear appeared and
came rolling up at that peculiar gait so common to his race, and placing
his head upon the ground, turned a sort of summerset, erected himself
upon his hind feet, and came forward, extending his paw, which Old Pegs
shook heartily.
“Glad ter see you, Bruin, my boy,” he said. “Hev ye taken good keer of
yer young mistress while I’ve been gone?”
The bear nodded in a singularly grotesque manner, and Rafe could not
repress a laugh.
“You have trained that fellow well, old man,” he said. “I suppose he
will obey you in any thing now?”
“Ef you was to lay a finger on me and he thought you was in ’arnest, it
would take a hull brigade to gether yer fragments from the a’jacent
kountry round abowt.”
“I’ll be ‘keerful’ how I handle you then,” said Rafe. “Did I understand
you to say that Miss Myrtle is really _your_ daughter?”
“Ain’t no ways anxious ter know, be you, stranger?” said Old Pegs,
frowning. “Git up hyur, Bruin—stand on yer he’d!”
The grizzly at once threw his quarters into the air, and in that
attitude walked up to his master, and planting his head upon the earth,
remained in that position until ordered to come down, which he did at
once and rolled himself rapidly over and over until he was quite out
sight behind the bushes.
“You dislike to talk about your daughter, I see,” said Rafe,
persistently.
“No I don’t—no sech thing,” replied Old Pegs, belligerently. “Don’t tell
me no sech foolishness. She’s a good gal, but she ain’t fur gentlemen to
consort with, mind you. And look yer; ef you kain’t manige ter git along
’thout making yourself too familiar, then all I kin say is, we’d better
part kump’ny now.”
What Rafe might have said in reply it is impossible to say, but at this
moment Myrtle appeared and called to them. Old Pegs arose in his slow
and easy manner, and led the way through a screen of thick bushes until
they came upon a cabin so artistically concealed that a person might
have passed it a hundred times without suspecting its presence. It was
built of small logs dovetailed at the corners in frontier fashion, and
chinked with a sort of blue clay. It had two small windows, each
containing four panes of glass—for that article was difficult to
transport to the mountain region. The door was heavy and swung upon iron
hinges, manufactured from strap iron, in a rude way. The interior of the
little place was as neat as hands could make it, and the little table
and stools actually shone with scrubbing. A guitar stood in a little
curtained recess, and, to the utter surprise of Rafe Norris, a rude
bookcase in one corner contained a supply of books which had evidently
been much used. The table was set in the middle of the room, the plain
crockery arranged to the best advantage. They had venison steaks, fresh
broiled trout, pone bread and fragrant coffee. Norris at the invitation
of Old Pegs drew up his stool and was helped liberally. Myrtle poured
the coffee, and all enjoyed a hearty meal.
“Thar,” said Old Pegs, “I dunno ez I keer fur any more. What a thing it
is to hev a gal like Myrtle ter make the little cabin bright! She killed
that deer and caught them trout herself, and thet’s what I call being
ginerally useful. What do you say?”
“I can appreciate the home qualities of your daughter,” said Rafe, “but
from the appearance of that book-case and the guitar I should say that
she has other good qualities.”
“And so she hez, Rafe—so she hez. She kin sing like a bird—kin
Myrtle—and when the old man comes home tired from the hunt, mebbe she
don’t make his life pleasant by singing and reading. She’s a master
reader—is Myrtle.”
“I should think that it would be hard to find a teacher in this section,
but, from the quality of the books which I see she must be considerably
advanced.”
“Oh she’s got a teacher,” replied Old Pegs with a sly look at Myrtle,
whose cheek flushed like the rose. “A mighty good teacher, I mout say.”
“I was about to offer my poor services in that capacity,” said Rafe,
“and I am sorry to hear that I am in some degree forestalled.”
“Yer cut out intirely,” replied Old Pegs. “The gal won’t take to no
other teacher ez she does to this one.”
“Where is this wonderful teacher now, if I may ask?” said Rafe with a
look of annoyance.
“Gone down ter the fort, I reckon. It’s about time fur a lesson, too,
and I kin see thet the gal is getting anxious.”
“Father!” cried Myrtle.
“Thet is gospel truth, gal,” replied Old Pegs with a grin. “I kin see it
in yer eye, whenever I look at you.”
Rafe was puzzled to understand the manner in which Myrtle received the
bantering speech of her father. She seemed ill at ease, and her eyes
wandered to the door from time to time as if in expectation. Just then
the bear, which had been lying upon the threshold, raised his muzzle and
snuffed the air in a peculiar manner, and then rising heavily, started
away on an awkward shambling trot in the direction of the entrance to
the valley.
“The critter smells suthing,” said Old Pegs, drawing his rifle nearer,
“and I’ll take a walk outside and see what’s up.”
He started out quickly, leaving Rafe Norris with Myrtle. He at once
began to improve the opportunity.
“It seems strange to me that a lady to all appearance so refined as you
are should pass her life in the midst of this desolation.”
“I am not ‘a lady’ and I am far from refined, Mr. Norris. Is it
lady-like to go out and shoot a deer, bring home steaks and saddle, and
catch and cook a mess of trout? I am very much afraid that you are
mistaken in me, and think me one of those white-handed misses who mince
along the streets of Leavenworth and St. Joseph; but I am not.”
“You belie yourself in this, Miss Myrtle. While you stay here of course
you must conform to the usages of the society in which you live. But you
are fitted to adorn—”
She lifted her finger in a playful manner.
“No nice speeches, if you please, Mr. Norris, for I am not used to them,
and should not know how to appreciate them in the least. I am afraid
your intercourse with the fine ladies who dwell in cities, has unfitted
you for the realities of life as we find them in the mountains.”
“I pray not, for I hope to win your good opinion some day, and to be
able to prove to you that such ladies are not to my taste. I admire your
spirit—”
“I think we had better change the conversation as I am not egotistical
enough to wish to talk of myself, and nothing else. Perhaps you play the
guitar.”
“A little,” he replied, “but I am not going to expose myself by trying
to play now. I heard your music as I came up and was literally
enthralled by it.”
She brought the guitar, and began to clear away the table while he
touched the keys and strings lightly, bringing the instrument into tune,
while he kept his eyes upon her steadily. There was an elasticity and
grace in every movement which spoke of perfect health, and he was
obliged to confess that he had never seen her equal. The man was
susceptible to female grace and beauty, and was touched now as he never
been before, and knew it. Once or twice she met his eyes and was
startled by the bold look of admiration in them. He continued to drum
upon the strings, merely striking chords and watching her intently. He
seemed about to speak, but at this moment the sound of voices could be
heard and Old Pegs, accompanied by a young man in a tasteful hunting
garb, entered the room. Myrtle sprung forward with a glad cry and gave
him both hands while giving him a welcome.
“Is that her teacher, I wonder?” muttered Rafe, below his breath. “We
shall see. I will not be foiled when the prize for which I play is
almost in my grasp.”