MAN-HUNTERS.
"_He caused the dry land to appear._"
--BIBLE.
_The mountains from that fearful first
Named day were God's own house. Behold,
'Twas here dread Sinai's thunders burst
And showed His face. 'Twas here of old
His prophets dwelt. Lo, it was here
The Christ did come when death drew near._
_Give me God's wondrous upper world
That makes familiar with the moon
These stony altars they have hurled
Oppression back, have kept the boon
Of liberty. Behold, how free
The mountains stand, and eternally._
Success makes us selfish. The history of the world chronicles no
prosperity like that of ours; and so, thinking of only ourselves and our
success, we forget others. It is easy, indeed, to forget the misery of
others; and we hate to be told of it, too.
On a high mountain side overlooking the valley, hung a little camp like
a bird's nest. It was hidden there in the densest wood, yet it looked
out over the whole land. No bird, indeed no mother of her young, ever
chose a deeper or wilder retreat, or a place more utterly apart from the
paths and approaches of mankind.
Certainly the little party had stood in imminent peril of capture, and
had prized freedom dearly indeed, to climb these crags and confront the
very snow-peaks in their effort to make certain their safety.
And a little party, too, it must have been; for you could have passed
within ten feet of the camp and not discovered it by day. And by night?
Well, certainly by night no man would peril his life by an uncertain
footing on the high cliffs here, only partly concealed by the thick
growth of chaparral, topt by tall fir and pine and cedar and tamarack.
And so a little fire was allowed to burn at night, for it was near the
snow and always cold. And it was this fire, perhaps, that first betrayed
the presence of the fugitives to the man-hunters.
Very poor and wretched were they, too. If they had had more blankets
they might not have so needed the fire. So poor were they, in fact, that
you might have stood in the very heart of the little camp and not
discovered any property at all without looking twice. A little heap of
ashes in the center sending up a half-smothered smoke, two or three
loose California lion-skins, thrown here and there over the rocks, a
pair of moccasins or two, a tomahawk--and that was almost all. No
cooking utensils had they--for what had they to cook? No eating
utensils--for what had they to eat?
Great gnarled and knotty trees clung to the mountain side beyond, and a
little to the left a long, thin cataract, which, from the valley far
below, looked like a snowy plume, came pitching down through the tree
tops. It had just been let loose from the hand of God--this sheen of
shining water. Back and beyond all this, a peak of snow, a great pyramid
and shining shaft of snow, with a crown of clouds, pierced heaven.
Stealthily, and on tip-toe, two armed men, both deeply disguised in
great black beards, and in good clothes, stepped into this empty little
camp. Bending low, looking right, looking left, guns in hand and hand
on trigger, they stopped in the centre of the little camp, and looked
cautiously up, down, and all around. Seeing no one, hearing nothing,
they looked in each others' eyes, straightened up, and, standing their
guns against a tree, breathed more freely in the gray twilight. Wicked,
beastly-looking men were they, as they stood there loosening their
collars, taking in their breath as if they had just had a hard climb,
and looking about cautiously; hard, cruel and cunning, they seemed as if
they partook something of the ferocity of the wild beasts that prowled
there at night.
These two large animal-looking men were armed with pistols also. But at
the belt of each hung and clanked and rattled something more terrible
than any implement of death.
These were manacles! Irons! Chains for human hands!
Did it never occur to you as a little remarkable, that man only forges
chains and manacles for his fellow-man? A cage will do for a wild beast,
cattle are put in pens, bears in a pit, but man must be chained. Men
carry these manacles with them only when they set out to take their
fellow-man. These two men were man-hunters.
Standing there, manacles in hand, half beast and half devil, they were
in the employment of the United States. They were sent to take John
Logan, Carrie and Johnny, to the Reservation--the place most hated,
dreaded, abhorred of all earthly places, the Reservation! Back of these
two men lay a deeper, a more damning motive for the capture of the girl
than the United States was really responsible for; for the girl, as we
have seen, was very beautiful. This rare wild flower had now almost
matured in the hot summer sun just past. But remember, it was all being
done in the name of and under the direction of, and, in fact, by, the
United States Government.
To say nothing of the desire of agents and their deputies to capture and
possess beautiful girls, it is very important to any Indian agent that
each victim, even though he be half or three-quarters, or even entirely,
white, be kept on the Reservation; for every captive is so much money in
the hands of the Indian agent. He must have Indians, as said before, to
report to the Government in order to draw blankets, provisions,
clothes, and farming utensils for them. True, the Indians do not get a
tithe of these things, but he must be on the Reservation roll-call in
order that the agent may draw them in his name.
This agency had become remarkably thin of Indians. The mountain Indians,
accustomed to pure water and fresh air, could not live long in the hot,
fever-stricken valley. They died by hundreds. And then, as if utterly
regardless of the profits of the agents of the Reservation, they hung
themselves in their prison-pens, with their own chains. Two, father and
son, killed themselves with the same knife one night while chained
together.
There was just a little bit of the old Roman in these liberty-loving
natures, it seemed to me. See the father giving himself the death-wound,
and then handing the knife to his son! The two chained apart, but still
able to grasp each other's hands; grasping hands and dying so! Very
antique that, it seems to me, in its savage valor--love of liberty, and
lofty contempt of death. But then it was only Indians, and happened so
recently.
It is true, Gar Dosson wanted revenge and the girl; and the two men
wanted the little farm. Yet do not forget that back of all this lay that
granite and immovable mountain of fact, that other propelling principle
to compel them on to the hunt, the order, the sanction--the gold--of the
government. Let it be told with bowed head, with eyes to the ground, and
cheeks crimson with shame! Think of one of these hunted human beings--a
beautiful young girl, just at that sweet and tender, almost holy period
of life, the verge of womanhood, when every man of the land should start
up with a noble impulse to throw the arm of protection about her!
"Shoo! they must be close about," began the shorter of the two ruffians,
reaching back for his gun, as if he had heard something.
"No. Didn't you see that squirrel shucking a hazel nut on that rock
there, just afore we came in?" said the other.
"A bushy-tailed gray? Yes, seed him scamper up a saplin."
"Wal, don't you know that if they had a bin hereabouts, a squirrel
wouldn't a sot down there to shuck a nut?"
"Right! You've been among Injins so long that you know more about them
than they do themselves."
"Wal, what I don't know about an Injin no one don't know. They've gone
for grub, and will come back at sun-down."
"Come back here at sun-down?"
"Don't you see the skins there? Whar kin they sleep? They'll come afore
dark, for even an Injin can't climb these rocks after dark. And when the
gal's in camp, and that feller fixed--eh? eh?" And he tapped and rattled
the manacles.
"Eh? eh? old Toppy?" and the two men poked each other in the ribs, and
looked the very villains that they were.
"But let's see what they've got here. Two tiger-skins, an old moccasin
and a tomahawk;" he looked at the handle and read the name, JOHN LOGAN;
"Guess I'll hide that," said the agent, as he kicked the skins about,
and then stuck the tomahawk up under his belt. "Guess that's about all."
"Guess that's about all!" sneered the other; "that's about all you know
about Injuns. Allers got your nose to the ground, too. Look here!" And
the man, who had been walking about and looking up in the trees, here
drew down a bundle from the boughs of a fir.
"Well, I'll swar! ef you can't find things where a coon dog couldn't!"
"Find things!" exclaimed the other, as he prepared to examine the
contents of the bundle; "all you've got to do is to look into a fir-tree
in an Injun's camp. You see, bugs and things won't climb a fir gum;
nothing but a red-bellied squirrel will go up a fir gum, for fear of
sticking in the wax; and even a squirrel won't, if there is a string
tied around, for fear of a trap. Wal, there is the string. So you see an
Injun's _cache_ is as safe up a fir-tree as under lock and key. Ah,
they're awful short of grub. Look thar! Been gnawing that bone, and
they've put that away for their suppers, I swar!"
"Wal, the grub is short, eh? They'll be rather thin, I'm thinking."
The other did not notice this remark, but throwing the bundle aside, he
rose up and went back to the tree.
"By the beardy Moses! Look thar!" and the man looked about as if half
frightened, and then held up a bottle.
"Whisky?" asked the other, springing eagerly forward.
"No," answered the man, contemptuously, after smelling the bottle.
"Water, eh?" queried the other, with disgust.
"Wine! And look here. Do you know what that means? It means a white man!
Yes, it does. No Injin ever left a cork in a bottle. Now, you look
sharp. There will be a white man to tackle."
"Wal, I guess he won't be much of a white man, or he'd have whisky."
"Shoo! I heard a bird fly down the canyon. Somebody's a comin' up thar."
"We better git, eh?" said the other, getting his gun; "lay for 'em."
"Lay low and watch our chance. Maybe we'll come in on 'em friendly like,
if there's white men. We're cattle men, you know; men hunting cattle,"
says the other, getting his gun and leading off behind the crags in the
rear. "Leave me to do the talking. I'll tell a thing, and you'll swear
to it. Wait, let's see," and he approaches the edge of the rocks, and,
leaning over, looked below.
"See 'em?"
"Shoo! Look down there. The gal! She's a fawn. She's as pretty as a
tiger-lily. Ah, my beauty!"
The other man stood up, shook his head thoughtfully, and seemed to
hesitate. The watcher still kept peering down; then he turned and said:
"The white man is old Forty-nine. He comes a bobbin' and a limpin' along
with a keg on his back, and a climbin' up the mountain sidewise, like a
crab."
"Whoop! I have it. It's wine, and they'll get drunk. Forty-nine will get
drunk, don't you see, and then?"
"You're a wise 'un! Shake!" And they grasped hands.
"You bet! Now this is the little game. The gal and Logan, and the boy,
will get here long first. Well, now, maybe we will go for the gal and
the boy. But if we don't, we just lay low till all get sot down, and at
that keg the old man's got, and then we just come in. Cattle-men, back
in the mountains, eh?"
"That's the game. But here they come! Shoo!" and with his finger to his
lip the leader stole behind the rocks, both looking back over their
shoulders, as Carrie entered the camp.
Her pretty face was flushed from exertion, and brown as a berry where
not protected by the shock of black hair. She swung a broad straw hat in
her hand, and tossed her head as if she had never worn and never would
wear any other covering for it than that so bountifully supplied by
nature. She danced gaily, and swung her hat as she flew about the little
camp, and called at her chubby cherub of a brother over her shoulder. At
last, puffing and blowing, and wiping his forehead, he entered camp and
threw himself on one of the rocks.
"Why, you ain't tired, are you Johnny?"
"Oh, oh, oh,--no, I--I--I ain't tired a bit!" and he wiped his brow, and
puffed and blowed, in spite of all his efforts to restrain himself.
"Why you like to climb the mountains, Johnny. Don't you know you said
you liked to climb the mountains better than to eat?"
"Oh, yes, yes--I--I like to climb a mountain. That is, I like to climb
one mountain at a time. But when there are two or three mountains all
piled up on top of one another, Oh, oh, oh!"
"Oh, Johnny! You to go to bragging about climbing mountains! You can't
climb mountains!" And again the girl, with shoes that would hardly hold
together, a dress in ribbons, and a face not unfamiliar with the dirt of
the earth, danced back and forth before him and sung snatches of a
mountain song. "Oh, I'm so happy up here, Johnny. I always sing like a
bird up here." Then, looking in his face, she saw that he was very
thoughtful; and stepping back, and then forward, she said: "Why, what
makes you so serious? They won't never come up here, will they, Johnny?
Not even if somebody at the Reservation wanted me awful bad, and
somebody gave somebody lots of money to take me back, they couldn't
never come up here, could they, Johnny?" And the girl looked eagerly
about.
"Oh, no, Carrie, you are safe here. Why, you are as safe here as in a
fort."
"This mountain is God's fort, John Logan says, Johnny. It is for the
eagles to live in and the free people to fly to; for my people to climb
up out of danger and talk to the Great Spirit that inhabits it." The
girl clasped her hands and looked up reverently as she said this. "But
come, now, Johnny, don't be serious, and I will sing you the nicest song
I know till Forty-nine comes up the mountain; and I will dance for you,
Johnny, and I will do all that a little girl can do to make you glad and
happy as I am, Johnny."
Here John Logan came up the hill, and the girl stopped and said, very
seriously,
"And you are right sure, John Logan, nobody will get after us
again?--nobody follow us away up here, jam up, nearly against Heaven?"
Here the two men looked out.
"No, Carrie, nobody will ever climb this high for you,--nobody, except
_somebody_ that loves you very much, and loves you very truly."
"Injins might, but white men won't, I guess; too stiff in the jints!"
And again the girl whirled and danced about, as if she had not heard
one word he said. Yet she had heard every word, and heeded, too, for her
eyes sparkled, and she danced even lighter than before; for her heart
was light, and the wretched little outcast was--for a rare thing in her
miserable life--very, very happy.
"I ain't stiff in the jints, am I, Johnny?" and she tapped her ankles.
"Carrie, sing me that other song of yours, and that will make my heart
lighter," said Johnny.
"Why, Johnny, we haven't even got the clouds to overshadow us here;
we're above the clouds, and everything else. But I'll sing for you if I
can only make you glad as you was before they got after us." And
throwing back her hair and twisting herself about, looking back over her
shoulder and laughing, looking down at her ragged feet, and making
faces, she began.
Like the song of a bird, her voice rang out on the coming night; for it
was now full twilight, and the leaves quivered overhead; and far up and
down the mountains the melody floated in a strange, sweet strain, and
with a touch of tenderness that moved her companions to tears. Logan
stood aside, looking down for Forty-nine a moment, then went to bring
wood for the fire.
As her song ended, Carrie turned to the boy; but in doing so her eyes
rested on the empty bottle left by the side of a stone spread with a
tiger skin, by the two men. The boy had his head down, as if still
listening, and did not observe her. She stopped suddenly, started back,
looked to see if observed by her brother, and seeing that he was still
absorbed she advanced, took up the bottle and held it up, glancing back
and up the tree.
"Somebody's been here! Somebody's been here, and it's been white men;
the bottle's empty."
She hastily hid the bottle, and stepping back and looking up where her
little store had been hidden, she only put her finger to her lip, shook
her head on seeing what had happened, and then went and stood by her
little brother. Very thoughtful and full of care was she now. All her
merriment had gone. She stood there as one suddenly grown old.
"Oh, thank you, Carrie. It's a pretty song. But what can keep
Forty-nine so long?"
The boy rose as he said this, and turning aside looked down the mountain
into the gathering darkness. The girl stood close beside him, as if
afraid.
"He is coming. Far down, I hear Forty-nine's boots on the bowlders."
"Oh, I'm so glad! And I'm so glad he's got pistols!" said the girl,
eagerly. The two men, who had stepped out, looked at each other as she
said this and made signs.
"Why, Carrie, are you afraid here! You are all of a tremble!" said the
boy, as she clung close to him, when they turned back.
"Johnny," said the girl eagerly, almost wildly, as she looked around,
"if men were to come to take us to that Reservation, what would you do?"
"What would I do? I would kill 'em! Kill 'em dead, Carrie. I would hold
you to my heart so, with this arm, and with this I would draw my pistol
so, and kill 'em dead."
The two heads of the man-hunters disappeared behind the rocks. The boy
pushed back the girl's black, tumbled stream of hair from her brow, and
kissing her very tenderly, he went aside and sat down; for he was very,
very weary.
A twilight squirrel stole out from the thicket into the clearing and
then darted back as if it saw something only partly concealed beyond.
The two children saw this, and looked at each other half alarmed. Then
the girl, as if to calm the boy--who had grown almost a man in the past
few weeks--began to talk and chatter as if she had seen nothing,
suspected nothing.
"When the Winter comes, Johnny, we can't stay here; we would starve."
"Carrie, do the birds starve? Do the squirrels starve? What did God make
us for if we are to starve?"
All this time the two men had been stealing out from their hiding-place,
as if resolved to pounce upon and seize the girl before Forty-nine
arrived. The leader had signaled and made signs to his companion back
there in the gloaming, for they dared not speak lest they should be
heard; and now they advanced stealthily, guns in hand, and now they
fell back to wait a better chance; and just as they were about to
spring upon the two from behind, the snowy white head of old Forty-nine
blossomed above the rocks, and his red face, like a great opening
flower, beamed in upon the little party, while the good-natured old man
puffed and blowed as he fanned himself with his hat and sat down his keg
of provisions. And still he puffed and blowed, as if he would never
again be able to get his breath. The two men stole back.
"And Forty-nine likes to climb the mountains too, don't he? Good for his
health. See, what a color he's got! And see how fat he is! Good for your
health, ain't it, papa Forty-nine?"
But the good old miner was too hot and puffy to answer, as the merry
little girl danced with delight around him.
"Why, it makes you blow, don't it? Strange how a little hill like that
could make a man blow," said Johnny, winking at Carrie.
But old Forty-nine only drew a long, thin wild flower through his hand,
and looked up now and then to the girl. He beckoned her to approach,
and she came dancing across to where he sat.
"It's a sad looking flower, and it's a small one. But, my girl, the
smallest flower is a miracle. And, Carrie, sometimes the sweetest
flowers grows closest to the ground."
The man handed her the flower, and was again silent. His face had for a
moment been almost beautiful. Here Logan came up with a little wood.
"Oh, John Logan, what a pretty flower for your button-hole!" and the
fond girl bounded across and eagerly placed it in the young man's
breast.
The old man on the keg saw this, and his face grew dark. His hands
twisted nervously, and he could hardly keep his seat on his keg. Then he
hitched up his pants right and left, sat down more resolutely on the keg
than before, but said nothing for a long time.
At last the old man hitched about on his keg, and said sharply, over his
shoulder: "I saw a track, a boot-track, coming up. On the watch, there!"
The others looked about as if alarmed. It was now dark. Suddenly the two
men appeared, looking right and left, and smiling villainously. They
came as if they had followed Forty-nine, and not from behind the rocks,
where they had been secreted.
"Good evenin', sir! good evenin', sir! Going to rain, eh? Heard it
thunder, and thought best to get shelter. Cattle-men--we're cattle-men,
pard and I. Seed your camp-fire, and as it was thunderin,' we came right
in. All right, boss? All right, eh? All right?" And the man, cap in
hand, bowed from one to the other, as not knowing who was the leader, or
whom he should address.
"All right," answered Logan. "You're very welcome. Stand your guns
there. You're as welcome under these trees as the birds--eh,
Forty-nine?"
But Forty-nine was now silent and thoughtful. He was still breathless,
and he only puffed and blowed his answer, and sat down on his keg again
with all his might.
"You must be hungry," said the girl kindly, approaching the men.
"Heaps of provisions," puffed Forty-nine, and again he half arose and
then sat down on his keg, tighter and harder, if possible, than before.
"Thank you, gents, thank you. It's hungry we are--eh, pard?"
"We'll have a spread right off," answered the good hearted Logan, now
spreading a rock, which served for a table, with the food; when he
observed the two men look at the girl and make signs. He looked straight
and hard at the man-hunters for a moment, and seeing them exchange
glances and nod their ill-looking heads at each other he suddenly
dropped his handful of things and started forward. He caught the leader
by the shoulder, and whirling him about as he stood there with his
companion leering at the girl, he cried out:
"Hunting cattle, are you? What's your brand? What's the brand of your
cattle, I say? I know every brand in Shasta. Now what is your brand?"
Johnny had strode up angrily toward the two men, and followed them up as
they retreated. Old Forty-nine, who now was on the alert, and had his
sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows from the first, had not been
indifferent, but was reaching his tremendous fist towards the
retreating nose of Dosson. Yet it was too dark to distinguish friend
from foe.
"Why, we are not rich men, stranger. We are poor men, and have but few
cattle, and so, so we have no brand--eh? pardner--eh?"
"No. We got no brand. Poor men, poor men."
"We are poor men, with a few cattle that have gone astray. We are
hungry, tired poor men, that have lost their way in the night. Poor men
that's hungry, and now you want to drive us out into the storm."
"Oh, Forty-nine,--John Logan,--they're poor hungry men!" interposed
Carrie.
"There, there's my hand!" cried impulsive, honest old Forty-nine.
"That's enough. You're hungry. Sit down there. And quick, Carrie, pour
us the California wine. Here's a gourd, there's a yeast powder can, and
there's a tin cup. Thank you. Here's to you. Ah, that sets a fellow all
right. It warms the heart; and, I beg your pardon--it's mean to be
suspicious. Here, fill us up again. Ah, that's gone just to the spot!
Eh, fellows?"
"To the right spot! Keep him a drinkin', and the others, too,"
whispered Dosson to Emens.
"That's the game!" And the two villains winked at each other, and
slapped Forty-nine on the back, and laughed, and pretended to be the
best friend he had in the world.
The two men now sat at the table, and Carrie and Johnny bustled about
and helped them as they ate and drank. Meantime Logan went for more wood
to make a light.
"And here's the bread, and here's the meat, and--and--that's about all
there is," said the girl at last. Then she stood by and with alarm saw
the men swallow the last mouthful, and feel about over the table and
look up to her for more in the dark.
"All there is? All gone?"
"Yes, and to-morrow, Johnny?"
"To-morrow, Carrie?" called out Forty-nine, who was now almost drunk:
"We've had a good supper, let to-morrow take care of itself. Eh! Let
to-morrow take care of itself! That's my motto--hic--divide the troubles
of the year up into three hundred and sixty-five parts, and take the
pieces one at a time. Live one day at a time. That's my philosophy." And
the poor old man, Forty-nine, held his hat high in the air, and began
to hiccough and hold his neck unsteadily.
The girl saw this with alarm. As if by accident she placed herself
between the men and their guns. Meantime, the two men were trying in
vain to get at the pistols of Forty-nine. They would almost succeed, and
then, just as they were about to get hold of them, the drunken man would
roll over to the other side or change position. All the time Carrie kept
wishing so devoutly that Logan would come.
"Take a drink," said one of the men to the girl, reaching out his cup,
after glancing at his companion. But the girl only shook her head, and
stepped further back. "Thought you said she was civilized?" "She, she is
civilized; but isn't quite civilized enough to get drunk yet,"
hiccoughed Forty-nine, as he battered his tin-cup on the table, and
again foiled the hand just reached for his pistol. The boy saw this, and
stole back through the dark behind his sister. To remove the cap and
touch his tongue to the tubes of the guns was the work only of a second,
and again he was back by the side of the men. Eagerly all the time the
girl kept looking over her shoulders into the dark, deep woods, for
Logan. The thunder rolled, and it began to grow very dark. She went up
to Forty-nine, on pretense of helping him to more wine, and whispered
sharply in his ear.
The old man only stared at her in helpless wonder. His head rolled from
one side to the other like that of an idiot. His wits were utterly under
water.
And now, as the darkness thickened and the men's actions could hardly be
observed, one of them pushed the drunken man over, clutched his pistols,
and the two sprang up together.
"I've got 'em, Gar," cried Emens, and the two started back for their
guns. The girl stood in the way, and Dosson threw his massive body upon
her and bore her to the earth, while the other, awkwardly holding the
two pistols in one hand, groped in the dark for their guns.
The storm began to beat terribly. The mountains fairly trembled from the
rolling thunder. As the man was about to clutch the guns, he felt rather
than saw that a tall figure stood between. That instant a flash of
lightning showed John Logan standing there, the boy by his side, and two
ugly pistols thrust forward. The man-hunters were unmasked in the fiery
light of heaven, and Logan knew them for the first time.
"I will not kill you." He said this with look and action that was grand
and terrible. "Take your guns and go! Out into the storm! If God can
spare you, I can spare you. Go!"
And by the lightning's light, the two men, with two ugly pistol-nozzles
in their faces, took their guns and groped and backed down the mountain
into the darkness, where they belonged.