CATCHING A TARTAR.
A week passed by, and nothing more was heard of the band who had made
their camp in the valley which Old Pegs had reached upon the day when he
tried his skill upon Velveteens. They had decamped suddenly, and where
they had gone and what they meant to do was still a subject of debate.
Old Pegs did not give up his caution, and never entered the passes
without first satisfying himself that they did not conceal an enemy.
But, as day after day passed, and nothing suspicious occurred, he began
to think that all was safe.
“Tell you what it is, Dave,” he said. “You seem to hev forgotten thet
thar is sech a thing ez a trapping-brigade in the world; by gracious,
yes.”
Dave looked a little disconcerted; for, to tell the truth, he had not
been able to break away from Myrtle, who seemed more beautiful day by
day.
“I—I did not like to go away while there was danger,” he stammered.
“Jess so; but that bird won’t fight no longer, and I guess you’d better
go down and see the boys. I don’t keer ef I go with you.”
“And leave Myrtle alone?”
“She knows what ter do ef any one comes,” replied Old Pegs. “Don’t you,
gal?”
“I am not afraid,” was the reply. “Besides, I don’t think that we shall
be troubled any more.”
“Perhaps not, but it is best to be on the safe side. Keep a bright
look-out, and if you see any one, let them find an empty house.”
“I will keep my carbine handy, too,” replied the spirited girl. “But,
father is right, Dave; you have a duty to perform, and have no right to
leave it for me. I like to have you attend to the work which is given
you to do.”
Old Pegs prudently departed, and the lips of the lovers met in a long,
clinging kiss. Then she pushed him away with a hightened color, and
watched them as they passed out of the valley, leaving her alone. She
missed the tame bear greatly, for, in her solitary hours she had derived
much amusement from his antics. The day passed slowly, although much of
it was spent in study. After dinner she look her carbine—a weapon with
the use of which she was familiar—and leaving the house went up the
mountain in pursuit of game. An antelope was not long in presenting
itself, and quickly fell before her unerring aim. Loading again she was
engaged in putting on a cap, when two men suddenly started up in the
sage-bush beside her, in the foremost of whom she recognized
Velveteens—his hand bound up in a bloody cloth. The other was an Indian
in the dress of the Modoc Sioux.
“Hyar’s luck, Anatole!” bawled Velveteens. “Little gal, how ar’ ye?”
“None the better for meeting you,” she replied, with her hand still upon
the lock of the carbine, which she cocked by a quick movement. “What do
you want?”
“Nothin’, nothin’, gal; only we’d like to hev ye take a walk with us.
Thar’s a young man in our camp lit’rally spilin’ to see ye.”
“I am afraid he will ‘spile’ altogether, then,” she answered, “for I am
not going with you.”
“Ho, ho, ho! jest hear her, Anatole! Ain’t she a bu’ster and no mistake?
I’ll back that gal,” he continued in a tone of great admiration,
“ag’inst any gal in these hyar foot-hills—ag’in the world! But, ye’ve
got to go, little gal; we kain’t git along without ye.”
“You will be obliged to do so, let me tell you,” she answered, in the
same undaunted tone. “I am not going with you, at any rate.”
“Ketch hold ov her, Anatole!” replied Velveteens. “I’d do it myself but
my hand ain’t railly well yit.”
The Indian made a step in advance but halted quickly as Myrtle lifted
the carbine and pointed it at his naked breast. There was a look in her
face which he did not like and which puzzled him for he had seldom met a
white girl who could use a rifle.
“What ar’ ye doin’ girl?” roared Velveteens. “P’int thet thing another
way; it mout go off an’ hurt the Injun.”
“It _will_ go off if he takes another step,” she answered, in the same
cool tone she had used throughout. “I do not intend to become your
prisoner.”
The face of the Indian turned to a sickly white, for he saw death in the
eyes of this brave young girl. Velveteens was startled, too, and began
to think that it might not be so easy to capture her as he had imagined.
“Take keer!” he cried. “Ef ye hurt the Injun b’ar in mind that I am hyar
and kin make ye trouble. Jump at her, Anatole; she kain’t hit ye.”
The Indian made a leap and instantly fell, shot through the shoulder.
The ball had no sooner left the barrel than Velveteens bounded forward
with a panther-like spring, but stopped in dismay as he met the shining
barrel of a cocked revolver pointed at his head.
“Back!” she cried, sternly; “fall back, I say! I would not have your
blood upon my hands, but for my honor’s sake I would kill a hundred such
men and think I had done the world good service. Put up your hands! If
you try to draw a weapon I will kill you. Up; higher still!”
The ruffian hesitated, but, as she was about to fire, he raised his
hands quickly at their full stretch and she advanced with the revolver
pointed at his heart and her finger on the trigger and took his
revolvers from his belt and dropped them on the sod. His knife and
hatchet followed and she stepped back a little, still transfixing him
with her eyes.
“Fall back a little,” she said.
“But, Miss—”
“Fall back! I will not bid you three times before I fire.”
He stepped back about six paces, when she again called him to a halt and
advancing, picked up the weapons he had dropped and hurled them down a
deep ravine close at hand. The weapons of the Indian followed, rifle and
all, and the two were weaponless and at the mercy of a girl.
“You have made a slight mistake in the character of the woman with whom
you are dealing, my good sir,” she said. “Send that Indian away; he is
not so badly wounded but he can walk.”
“What ar’ ye goin’ to do?”
“Obey my orders; I am not here to answer questions.”
“You kin go back to camp, Anatole,” said Velveteens, “but don’t you say
any thing about this yer or I’ll kill ye when I come back; now ye hear
me.”
The Indian staggered to his feet and hurried away down the mountain
path.
“I won’t forgit this yer, gal,” said Velveteens, in a tone of deadly
menace, “you may be right sure of that.”
“I don’t mean that you shall, sir,” she answered, calmly. “There is the
antelope I have killed which I wish to have carried home. Pick it up and
go in front.”
“Do you think I’m a pack-mule?” he roared, angrily.
“Your ears are long enough and your skull does not want in thickness,
but it is not proof against a bullet, as you will find if you do not
obey me at once,” was the answer. “Do not waste any time, sir, I have
none to lose.”
Groaning in spirit but seeing no way out of his dilemma, the scoundrel
picked up the carcass of the antelope and led the way down the hill,
while Myrtle followed closely, holding her revolver ready. Once or twice
he was tempted to drop his load and take the chances of a bullet, but
when he remembered the fall of Anatole he dared not attempt it. Yet his
pride as a mountaineer was touched to the quick, and he treasured up the
malice of his heart.
“I’ll git even with you yit, my gal,” he thought. “Who’d hev thought
she’d turn on a man with shootin’-irons? Thunder! I dassent show my head
in camp ef this yer is found out.”
It was nearly an hour’s walk to the cabin, but she would neither suffer
him to pause nor lay down his load. At last they went down the path into
the valley and he dropped his burden at the door.
“Thanks,” she said. “I was afraid I should be obliged to leave the
greater part of my game on the mountain, but you happened along so
luckily that I am delighted. Does it occur to you at this moment, Mr.
Velveteens, that you are most beautifully sold?”
“You’ve got the whip hand, now, I reckon,” was the answer; “but that
won’t always last. One of these yer days _my_ chaince may come, an’ when
it does no one, not even Rafe, shill stop me when I want my revenge.”
“I am not yet satisfied that I shall let you go,” she answered. “You
came here under false colors, and betrayed those who thought that they
were giving you aid in time of need while you were only studying a way
to effect the release of Rafe Norris.”
“He’s my pard,” was the reply. “You wouldn’t ask a man to go back on his
pard, would ye?”
“No; I can not blame you so much for that but you did a wicked and cruel
act when you poisoned my pet bear.”
“Who sez I did?”
“No matter; you did the deed, for your face betrays you. Why should I
not keep you here until my father returns, to meet his vengeance?”
“He’s marked me fur life,” replied Velveteens, holding up his maimed
hand. “Ain’t that enough?”
“If I let you go, your first act will be to study new wrongs. I am
afraid I must keep you a prisoner.”
“Don’t do it, gal,” he pleaded, eagerly. “I must go back; I’m ruined
forever ef I don’t, ye see—and I’ll promise any thing—any thing, ef
ye’ll only let me go.”
“And you would break your promise as readily as it is made,” she
answered. “I do not know what to do in your case.”
“See thar, gal; yender comes Whirlwind and his gang. Oh, let me git off
fur he’ll take my scalp, sure.”
“Away with you, then; save yourself if you can, but never let me see
your face again.”
He sprung away eagerly and began to clamber up the mountain rapidly, for
Whirlwind and two of his chief warriors were already in view. Myrtle did
not attempt to fly, but waited calmly the approach of the chief, who
dismounted and came forward, starting back in surprise at her great
beauty.
“Short Legs’ squaw, eh?” he said, in broken English. “No ’fraid of
Whirlwind; he good friend to Short Legs and Beaver Captain.”
“I am not afraid of the great Blackfoot chief,” replied Myrtle, who had
been told what to do in case Whirlwind came. “My father has left a
message for him.”
“Good; Whirlwind will read it.”
She went into the cabin and came out with two pieces of bark inscribed
with strange hieroglyphics. The chief looked at them intently and seemed
to understand them.
“It is good; tell Short Legs that Whirlwind will meet him at the place
with many braves. Who is the man who goes up mountain; friend, eh?”
Myrtle hesitated, for, bad and cruel as she knew Velveteens to be, she
could not find it in her heart to expose him to the tender mercies of
the Blackfoot chief. Yet, she did not wish to lie to him, for that was a
crime which he would never forgive. She did the best thing under the
circumstances—told the truth.
“He _was_ my prisoner, but I have given him liberty, and allowed him to
go.”
“Brave man, eh!” said the chief, contemptuously. “Girl take him?”
“If the Blackfeet know a brave of the Sioux who is called Anatole, _he_
can tell whether he is a brave man or not.”
“Anatole is a dog; but, he is brave,” replied the chief.
“Anatole and this man would have made me a prisoner. I shot the Sioux
and took this man prisoner, and made him carry the deer from the
mountain.”
“Good!” said the chief, briefly. “Can the white girl shoot straight?”
“I will show you,” replied Myrtle, not in the spirit of bravado but
because of the effect it might have upon the Indians if they should
become enemies again. “Does Whirlwind see the bird on the bush?” she
pointed to a wood thrush, nearly ninety yards distant.
“Whirlwind sees.”
She stepped to the front and lifted the carbine, which was one of the
best make, or was, rather, a short rifle. She felt that it was necessary
to make a good shot after what had been said and was very careful.
Indians as a rule are not good marksmen, and none of the warriors had
any idea that she would hit the bird, but to their utter surprise it
fell at the crack of the rifle and one of the warriors scurried away to
pick up the game. Throwing himself out of the saddle hanging by one
foot, he swooped up the dead bird and brought it in. The head had been
severed from the neck as neatly as if it had been done by a knife.
“My daughter can shoot,” said the chief. “I believe that she shot
Anatole and took the white man prisoner. A brave warrior must make the
white girl his wife.”
He said no more, but calling to his men they rode away rapidly, leaving
the girl alone. It might have been an hour later when Old Pegs came into
the valley.
“I’ve seen the brigade and they ar’ having trouble,” he said. “They’ve
hed four men killed this week by the cussid Sioux.”
“What do they want, father?” said Myrtle. “Why should they seek to drive
our men away?”
Old Pegs explained, and it is well to give the substance of his remarks
to explain the feeling which existed between the men of the “Hudson Bay
Company” and the “North-west.” It was simply a question of boundaries.
The Northern Company claimed the right to send their trapping parties
where they pleased, and the North-West disputed that claim. The parties
which came out this season of the year were not trapping but
“prospecting,” in order to know the best places for trapping in the
coming winter.
Both sides had men to whom fighting was a pastime, and it was known that
they would shed blood sooner than suffer a rival to encroach upon their
trapping-grounds. “The brigade” of which Dave Farrell was captain was
composed of men who were the pick and flower of the mountaineers, and
who came out with the expectation of fighting. Perhaps they exceeded
their instructions, sometimes, for they were not likely to study the
boundaries very closely, and good trapping-ground whether north or south
of the line was, to use a border expression, “their meat.”
It would be bootless to tell all that Old Pegs said and did when Myrtle
told him what had happened since his departure. He raved, stamped, and
launched all manner of invectives at the unlucky Velveteens.
“No buddy but a gal would hev let the cuss go,” he grumbled. “Why didn’t
you keep him until Whirlwind came?”
“Father! could I do that? Bad as he is I could not give him up to Indian
vengeance.”
“I don’t know but yer right, Myrtle. You’ve got a tender heart even fur
the meanest skunk on the face of the creatid ’arth, and thet’s this same
Velveteens. But, don’t you hunt any more till we’ve cleaned out this
truck. Keep out ov sight. Don’t show yourself even to the Blackfoot,
’cause he mout turn ag’in’ us. Let’s fodder up; I’m gitting mighty
hungry.”
Myrtle went into the cabin and prepared a meal and the two sat down to
eat. When they had finished they were startled by the rattle of firearms
away in the east. “Ther at it,” cried Old Pegs. “I’ve got ter take a
hand.”