The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  The trapper, as had been his invariable custom, had carefully noted the contour of the surrounding prairie, before they had committed the important act of encamping in the gorge or hollow. He remembered the grove at some distance, and was satisfied that the barbarians had left their horses there, while they had gathered behind the wall to wait the critical moment.

  By the time these thoughts had fairly taken shape in his brain it was beginning to grow light, and with a premonitary yawn and kick he rose to his feet and began stirring the fire. He was well aware that although he and his companions were a fair target for the rifles of their enemies, yet they would not fire. Their plan of action did not comprehend that, though it would have settled everything in their favor without delay.

  “I declare I have been asleep!” exclaimed Brainerd, as he began rubbing his eyes.

  “Yes. You’re a purty feller to make a sentinel of, ain’t you?” replied the trapper, in disgust.

  “I hope nothing has happened,” answered Johnny, feeling that he deserved all the blame that could be laid upon him.

  “Not much, exceptin’ while yer war snoozin’ the reds have come down and got us all in a nice box.”

  The boy was certain he was jesting until he saw the expression of his face.

  “Surely, Baldy, it is not as bad as that?”

  “Do you see that ar?” demanded the trapper, pointing toward the wall, which the youngster could not help observing.

  “How comes that to be there?”

  “The red-skins put it thar. Can yer steam man walk over that?”

  “Certainly not; but we can remove them.”

  “Do yer want to try it, younker?”

  “I’m willing to help.”

  “Do yer know that ar’ somethin’ less nor a hundred red-skins ahind them, jist waitin’ fur yer to try that thing?”

  “Good heavens! can it be possible?”

  “Ef you don’t b’l’eve it, go out and look for yerself, that’s all.”

  The boy, for the first time, comprehends the peril in which he had brought his friends by his own remissness, and his self-accusation was so great, that, for a few moments, he forgot the fact that he was exposed to the greatest danger of his life.

  By this time Ethan and Mickey awoke, and were soon made to understand their predicament. As a matter of course, they were all disposed to blame the author of this; but when they saw how deeply he felt his own shortcoming, all three felt a natural sympathy for him.

  “There’s no use of talkin’ how we came to get hyar,” was the philosophical remark of the trapper; “it’s ’nongh to know that we are hyar, with a mighty slim chance of ever gettin’ out ag’in.”

  “It’s enough to make a chap feel down in the mouth, as me friend Jonah observed when he went down the throat of the whale,” said Mickey.

  “How is it they don’t shoot us?” asked Hopkins; “we can’t git out of their way, and they’ve got us in fair range.”

  “What’s the use of doin’ that? Ef they kill us, that’ll be the end on’t; but ef they put thar claws on us, they’ve got us sure, and can have a good time toastin’ us while they yelp and dance around.”

  All shuddered at the fearful picture drawn by the hunter.

  “Jerusalem! don’t I wish I was to hum in Connecticut!”

  “And it’s myself that would be plaised to be sitting in the parlor at Ballyduff wid me own Bridget Moghlaghigbogh, listenin’ while she breathed swate vows, after making her supper upon praties and inions.”

  “I think I’d ruther be hyar,” was the commentary of the trapper upon the expressed wish of the Irishman.

  “Why can’t yees touch up the staammau, and make him hop owver them shtones?” asked Mickey, turning toward the boy, whom, it was noted, appeared to be in deep reverie again.

  Not until he was addressed several times did he look up. Then he merely shook his head, to signify that the thing was impossible.

  “Any fool might know better than that,” remarked the Yankee, “for if he could jump over, where would be the wagon?”

  “That ’ud foller, av coorse.”

  “No; there’s no way of getting the steam man out of here. He is a gone case, sure, and it looks as though we were ditto. Jerusalem! I wish all the gold was back in Wolf Ravine, and we war a thousand miles from this place.”

  “Wishing’ll do no good; there’s only one chance I see, and that ain’t no chance at all.”

  All, including the boy, eagerly looked up to hear the explanation.

  “Some distance from hyar is some timbers, and in thar the reds have left their animals. Ef we start on a run for the timbers, git thar ahead of the Ingins, mount thar hosses and put, thar’ll be some chance. Yer can see what chance thar is fur that.”

  It looked as hopeless as the charge of the Light Brigade.

  Young Brainerd now spoke.

  “It was I who got you into trouble, and it is I, that, with the blessing of Heaven, am going to get you out of it.”

  The three now looked eagerly at him.

  “Is there no danger of the Indians firing upon us?” he asked of the hunter.

  “Not unless we try to run away.”

  “All right; it is time to begin.”

  The boy’s first proceeding was to kindle a fire in the boiler of the steam man. When it was fairly blazing, he continued to heap in wood, until a fervent heat was produced such as it had never experienced before. Still he threw in wood, and kept the water low in the boiler, until there was a most prodigious pressure of steam, making its escape at half a dozen orifices.

  When all the wood was thrown in that it could contain, and portions of the iron sheeting could be seen becoming red-hot, he ceased this, and began trying the steam.

  “How much can he hold?” inquired Hopkins.

  “One hundred and fifty pounds.”

  “How much is on now?”

  “One hundred and forty-eight, and rising.”

  “Good heavens! it will blow up!” was the exclamation, as the three shrunk back, appalled at the danger.

  “Not for a few minutes; have you the gold secured, and the guns, so as to be ready to run?”

  They were ready to run at any moment; the gold was always secured about their persons and it required but a moment to snatch up the weapons.

  “When it blows up, run!” was the admonition of the boy.

  The steam man was turned directly toward the wall, and a full head of steam let on. It started away with a bound, instantly reaching a speed of forty miles an hour.

  The next moment it struck the bowlders with a terrific crash, shot on over its face, leaving the splintered wagon behind, and at the instant of touching ground upon the opposite side directly among the thunderstruck Indians, it exploded its boiler!

  The shock of the explosion was terrible. It was like the bursting of an immense bomb-shell, the steam man being blown into thousands of fragments, that scattered death and destruction in every direction. Falling in the very center of the crouching Indians, it could but make a terrible destruction of life, while those who escaped unharmed, were beside themselves with consternation.

  This was the very thing upon which young Brainerd had counted, and for which he made his calculations. When he saw it leap toward the wall in such a furious manner, he knew the inevitable consequence, and gave the word to his friends to take to their legs.

  All three dashed up the bank, and reaching the surface of the prairie, Baldy Bicknell took the lead, exclaiming:

  “Now fur the wood yonder!”

  As they reached the grove, one or two of the number glanced back, but saw nothing of the pursuing Indians. They had not yet recovered from their terror.

  Not a moment was to be lost. The experienced eye of the trapper lost no time in selecting the very best Indian horses, and a moment later all four rode out from the grove at a full gallop, and headed toward the Missouri.

  The precise result of the steam man’s explosion was never learned. How many wore k
illed and wounded could only be conjectured; but the number certainly was so great that our friends saw nothing more of them.

  They evidently had among their number those who had become pretty well acquainted with the steam man, else they would not have laid the plan which they did for capturing him.

  Being well mounted, the party made the entire journey to Independence on horseback. From this point they took passage to St. Louis, where the gold was divided, and the party separated, and since then have seen nothing of each other.

  Mickey McSquizzle returned to Ballyduff Kings County, Ireland, where, we heard, he and his gentle Bridget, are in the full enjoyment of the three thousand pounds he carried with him.

  Ethan Hopkins settled down with the girl of his choice in Connecticut, where, at last accounts, he was doing as well as could be expected.

  Baldy Bicknell, although quite a wealthy man, still clings to his wandering habits, and spends the greater portion of his time on the prairies.

  With the large amount of money realized from his western trip, Johnny Brainerd is educating himself at one of the best schools in the country. When he shall have completed his course, it is his intention to construct another steam man, capable of more wonderful performances than the first.

  So let our readers and the public generally be on the lookout.

  ADRIFT IN THE WILDS

  or, The Adventures of Two Shipwrecked Boys

  CHAPTER I

  Ho, for California

  One beautiful misummer night in 18— a large, heavily laden steamer was making her way swiftly up the Pacific coast, in the direction of San Francisco. She was opposite the California shore, only a day’s sail distant from the City of the Golden Gate, and many of the passengers had already begun making preparations for landing, even though a whole night and the better part of a day was to intervene ere they could expect to set their feet upon solid land.

  She was one of those magnificent steamers that ply regularly between Panama and California. She had rather more than her full cargo of freight and passengers; but, among the hundreds of the latter, we have to do with but three.

  On this moonlight night, there were gathered by themselves these three personages, consisting of Tim O’Rooney, Elwood Brandon and Howard Lawrence. The first was a burly, good-natured Irishman, and the two latter were cousins, their ages differing by less than a month, and both being in their sixteenth year.

  The financial storm that swept over the country in 18—, toppling down merchants and banking-houses like so many ten-pins, carried with it in the general wreck and ruin, that of Brandon, Herman & Co., and the senior partner, Sylvanus Brandon, returned to his home in Brooklyn, New York, one evening worse than penniless. While he was meditating, dejected and gloomy, as to the means by which he was to keep the wolf from the door, his clerk brought him a letter which had been overlooked in the afternoon’s mail, postmarked, “San Francisco, Cal.” At once he recognized the bold, handsome superscription as that of his kind-hearted brother-in-law, Thomas Lawrence. His heart beat with a strong hope as he broke the envelope, and his eyes glistened ere he had read one-half.

  In short, it stated that Mr. Lawrence had established himself successfully in business, and was doing so well that he felt the imperative need of a partner, and ended by urging Mr. Brandon to accept the position. The bankrupt merchant laid the epistle in his lap, removed his spectacles and looked smilingly toward his wife. They held a long discussion, and both decided to accept the offer at once, as there was no other recourse left to them.

  It was evident from the letter that Mr. Lawrence had some apprehensions regarding Mr. Brandon’s ability to weather the storm, but he could not be aware of his financial crash, as it had only become known on the street within the last twenty-four hours. Mr. Brandon deemed it proper, therefore, before closing with the offer, to acquaint his brother-in-law with his circumstances, that he might fully understand the disadvantage under which he would be placed by the new partnership.

  The letter was written and duly posted, and our friends rather anxiously awaited the answer. It came in the gratifying form of a draft for $1,000 to defray “his necessary expenses,” and an urgent entreaty to start without delay.

  The advice was acted upon, and within two weeks of the reception of the second letter, Mr. Brandon and his wife were on board the steamer at New York, with their state-rooms engaged for California. They had but one child, Elwood, whom they had placed at a private school where he was to prepare himself for college, in company with his cousin, Howard Lawrence, who had been sent from California by his father and had entered the school at the same time.

  Mr. Brandon learned that Mr. Lawrence was a brother indeed. The position in which the two men were placed proved so favorable to the former that in a few years he found himself almost as wealthy as in his palmiest days, when his name was such a power in Wall Street. He had come to like the young and growing State of California, and ere he had been there two years both himself and wife had lost all longings for the metropolis of the New World.

  In the meanwhile, Elwood and Howard were doing well at their studies in Brooklyn. They had been inseparable friends from infancy, and as their years increased the bonds of affection seemed to strengthen between them. They were the only children of twin sisters, and bore a remarkable resemblance in person, character and disposition. Both had dark, curling, chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and an active muscular organization that made them leaders in boyish pastimes and sports. If there was any perceptible difference between the two, it was that Elwood Brandon was a little more daring and impetuous than his companion; he was apt to follow out his first impulses and venture upon schemes without deliberating fully enough. Both were generous, unselfish, and either would have willingly risked his life for the other.

  Thus matters stood until the summer when our young heroes had completed their preparatory course, and were ready to enter college. It was decided by their parents that this should be done in the autumn, and that the summer of this year should be spent by the boys with their parents in California. They had been separated from them for five years, during which they had met but once, when the parents made a journey to New York for that purpose, spending several months with them. That visit, it may be said, was now to be returned, and the boys meant that it should be returned with interest.

  And so Tim O’Rooney, a good-natured, trustworthy Irishman, who had been in the employ of Mr. Lawrence for eight years, almost ever since his arrival in America, was sent to New York to accompany the boys on their visit home.

  Howard and Elwood were standing one afternoon on the corner of Montague Street, in Brooklyn, chatting with each other about their expected trip to California. They had closed their school studies a week before, and boy-like were now anxious to be off upon their journey. Suddenly an Irishman came in sight, smoking furiously at a short black pipe. The first glance showed them that it was no other than Tim O’Rooney, the expected messenger.

  “Isn’t that good?” exclaimed Elwood, “the steamer sails on Saturday, and we’ll go in it. Here he comes, as though he was in a great hurry!”

  “Don’t say anything, and see whether he will know us!”

  “Why shouldn’t he?”

  “You know we’ve grown a good deal since he was here, and the beard is getting so stiff on my chin that it scratches my hand every time I touch it.”

  “Yes; that mustache, too, is making you look as fierce as a Bluebeard; but here he is!”

  At this instant Tim O’Rooney came opposite them. He merely glanced up, puffed harder than ever and was passing on, when both burst out in a loud laugh.

  “Be the powers! what’s the mather with ye spalpeens?” he angrily demanded. “Can’t a dacent man be passing the sthrats widout being insulted—Howly mother! is it yerselves or is it your grandfathers?”

  He had recognized them, and a hearty hand-shaking followed. Tim grinned a great deal over his mistake, and answered their questions in his dry, witty way, and assured the
m that his instructions were to bring them home as soon as possible. Accordingly, they embarked on the steamer on the following Saturday; and, passing over the unimportant incidents of their voyage, we come back to our starting point, where all three were within a day’s journey of their destination.

  CHAPTER II

  Fire

  “Tomorrow we shall be home,” said Elwood Brandon, addressing his companion, although at the time he was looking out on the moon-lit sea, in the direction of California.

  “Yes; if nothing unexpected happens,” replied his cousin, who was pushing and drawing a large Newfoundland dog that lay at his feet.

  “And what can happen?” asked his cousin, turning abruptly toward him.

  “A hundred things. Suppose the boiler should blow up, we run on a rock, take fire, or get struck by a squall—”

  “Or be carried away in a balloon,” was the impatient exclamation. “One is just as likely to happen as the other.”

  “Hardly—heigh-ho!”

  Howard at that moment had twined his feet around the neck of Terror, the Newfoundland, and the mischievous dog, springing suddenly to his feet, brought his master from his seat to the deck, which, as a matter of course, made both of the cousins laugh.

  “He did that on purpose,” said Howard, recovering his position.

  “Of course he did. You have been pestering him for the last half-hour, and he is getting tired of it; but I may say, Howard, I shall hardly be able to sleep tonight, I am so anxious to see father and mother.”

  “So am I; a few years makes such a difference in us, while I can’t detect the least change in them.”

  “Except a few more gray hairs, or perhaps an additional wrinkle or two. What’s the matter with Tim?”

  “Tim! O nothing, he seems to be meditating and smoking. Fact is that is about all he has done since he has been with us.”

  “It’s been a grand time for Tim, and I have no doubt he has enjoyed the trip to and from California as much as either of us.”