But, after a time, he did recover himself; and then he became aware for the first time, as did the others, that a fourth party was present. This was Mate Storms, who suspected the situation before he was introduced to the happy captain of the Polynesia. Since they all had such an extraordinary story to relate, the captain had an equally remarkable one to tell them.
The persistent and never-ending investigation which he set on foot concerning the lost Inez had resulted, not in finding her, but in unearthing her entire history.
She was a native of the city of New York, and her father died there before she was a year old. A former suitor of her mother, angered because she would not become his wife, even after her husband was deceased, resorted to the atrocious revenge of stealing Inez when she was but an infant, and he hastened across the continent with her.
When he had kept her there a brief time, he sought to open negotiations with the mother, with a view of delivering back her child on condition that the parent should become his wife; but he was shocked to learn that the poor, heartbroken mother had died from grief, and the child was upon his hands.
This man finally married a woman in San Francisco, but neither of them could ever feel any affection for the little girl (whom, however, they treated quite fairly), and the wife insisted that she should be gotten rid of in some way. Through some whim or other, the abductor had always called her by her right name—Inez Hawthorne—and, seeing some mention of it in the newspapers, he resorted to the means which we described, at the opening of this story, for ridding himself forever of her.
As soon as Inez was safely placed on the steamer, this wicked couple disappeared, and no further trace of them could be found. Captain Strathmore, who was anxious to punish them, believed they had left the country. Inez, therefore, was an orphan, and while a gentle sadness filled her affectionate heart—as she heard the particulars of her own history for the first time, and reflected upon that poor, heartbroken mother, who had gone to her rest long ago—she could not feel any poignant grief, for her memory of the lost one was too shadowy and faint. But she had found a home and friends for life.
Abram Storms explained that he had met three English gentlemen who were making a tour of the world in a large steam yacht; and, since they possessed abundant means, and were very social, he had shown them the pearls in his possession and offered to dispose of them all. They were delighted with the specimens, and especially with the enormous one belonging to Inez. They offered twenty-five thousand dollars for the single one, and just one hundred thousand for the rest. This was less than Storms had counted upon—and doubtless less than he could have secured by consulting leading lapidaries in other parts of the world—but he was inclined to end the transaction by accepting it, and he asked the advice of his friends. After fully discussing the matter, it was agreed to close with the offer, and the exchange was completed that afternoon, and the money belonging to Inez was placed in the bank the next morning.
Since Storms was anxious to return to his home, and since there was no call for his remaining longer in San Francisco, it was arranged that Inez should enter an excellent school in the Golden Gate City, where she should spend several years, while Captain Strathmore was to act as her guardian until she should attain her legal majority. The captain’s position enabled him to find a berth under him for Fred on the steamer Polynesia, and the boy sailed with him on the next voyage to Tokio, and on many a subsequent one.
Abe Storms is as poor as he was before he made his voyage to the South Seas, for, having dedicated the wealth left by Captain Bergen to charitable purposes, he felt it his duty to do the same with his own, and, since he has no one besides himself dependent upon him, he is not troubled by fears of not being able to make a comfortable living.
BILL BIDDON, TRAPPER
or, Life in the Northwest
CHAPTER I
Out Late at Night
“How is it, Nat? Any light yet?”
“Not the least sign of one, and it’s my opinion it will be a long time before we see another.”
“What! you haven’t given up all hopes of reaching the camp? I hope not, as I don’t relish the idea of camping out tonight.”
“Nor I either; but I’m thinking it will come to that sooner or later.”
“Well, there are several hours yet, in which we must plod onward,” I added, trudging wearily behind my companion.
Before going further, I may as well introduce my friend and myself. My companion answered to the name of Nathan Todd, and was a native of Maine. He was a tall, lank individual, with long, attentuated limbs and an awkward appearance generally. He was very meager and muscular, and when roused to a heat of passion, as quick and powerful as the panther. His gait was an ungainly, straddling one, and he was seemingly capable of anything but speed; but on one or two occasions since leaving the States, he had shown a fleetness of foot which was truly wonderful. He was a good, open-hearted fellow, and one who, when driven to the wall, would be a dangerous enemy. Once or twice, however, he had shown the white feather, and his natural timidity would often evince itself. As a consequence, Nat was not, perhaps, the safest companion in the hour of danger; but, for all that, there was no one in our party whose presence I would have preferred upon the night in which I introduce him to notice. There was no imminent peril threatening us, and Nat was a capital companion, who could while-away the hours, if he chose, with his inexhaustible store of anecdote and humor. I knew he entertained a warm affection for me, and would brave almost any danger rather than be suspected of his only deficiency. A single intimation would decide his course in a moment.
Nat wore a singular dress—half savage and half civilized. The pants and shoes were such as are fashionable in the enlightened world; but a capacious hunting-shirt encased his body, secured around the waist by a heavy band, and much the same as are worn by the hunters and natives of the Far West at the present day. The most striking part of his dress, however, was the hat. This he had brought with him from Maine, and it really seemed indestructible. It was a gray color, and having lost its band a long time before, had acquired the shape of a cone. When it rested on his head, the edge reached the shoulders behind, and the eyebrows in front, and the pointed peak was far off above the crown.
Nathan Todd’s face was full of shrewdness and good humor. He had a large, curved nose, broad mouth, and a fine blue eye. The chin was retreating; but this drawback was modified partly by a long tuft of yellow hair, the only signs of beard upon his face, except a shadowy mustache. The hair was long and sandy, and harmonized well with the rest of his countenance. There was ever a contraction of the eyebrows—a sort of unspoken question—so often seen in persons from “down east,” which indicated a prying, curious disposition.
As for myself, my name is William Relmond, and I hail from one of the middle States. Shortly after the announcement of the discovery of gold in California, I was seized with the lunacy that was carrying its thousands to the Pacific coast. I was well situated in life at home, but that was not considered. I must go and fish up a fabulous fortune also. I had one brother and several sisters, but our parents had been dead for some years, and we were residing with an uncle, the guardian of each, until maturity. A favorable opportunity offering I had made some preparation for the legal profession; but I was never inclined to Coke, and had no intention of pursuing the practice of the law in after life. At the age of twenty, then, without a settled purpose in life, I determined to make a journey to the El Dorado of the New World. I was not influenced solely by the love of gain, in taking this step, but the love of adventure urged me irresistibly on. I had heard wonderful stories of the boundless prairies, of the wandering hordes of Indians, their millions of buffaloes and horses, and the vast, billowy ocean of verdure and sunshine, and the Far West seemed the paradise of the world to me.
I was provided with an ample outfit at home, and departed amid the tears of my good uncle and affectionate sisters. I proceeded by the usual route to Independence, Missouri, where I ma
de inquiries of the trains which were constantly leaving the point for Oregon and California. In my wanderings, I stumbled upon Nat Todd, my present companion. He had just arrived from his distant home, where he had left a widowed mother and a disconsolate sweetheart. But he said he was going to return, in just two years from the day he left, with a “rousing heap” of money, and intended to buy “Squire Hunt’s farm,” take Alminy down there, and live the rest of his life. His frankness and humor impressed me favorably; and, after a short conversation, we grasped hands, and swore to remain by each other till our adventures were terminated by death or a happy dénouement.
We engaged places in a train which left the next day. This company numbered nigh two hundred persons, and was composed of all kinds of characters, except females. There were French voyageurs, Irishmen, and an agent of one of the western fur companies, and the majority of the rest were those just from the plow or the workshop. They had secured the services of an experienced guide, and were well equipped for the perilous journey before them.
The overland route, at this time, was so alive with passing emigrants, that few depredations were committed by the Indians. The savages sometimes hung around companies, but as there were almost always other whites in sight, they rarely ventured upon any greater crime than pilfering. Nothing worthy of note occurred upon the journey for a length of time. We experienced the usual mishaps and trials of emigrants, but nothing more startling. We sometimes lost a part of our baggage and provisions in crossing the rivers, and were greatly discomforted by the terrific storms which often rage in these regions. Then, again, we traveled mile after mile, and hour after hour upon the dry, monotonous, glistening rolling prairie, so wearied and tired of the scene that we hardly exchanged a syllable for hours at a stretch.
At last, the plains of Kansas were reached. On the day in which I introduce my friend and myself to notice, we had descried a solitary antelope at a great distance upon the prairie, and set out to bring it down. We left our horses behind, hoping to reach the animal by stratagem. I approached it near enough to wound it, when it made off with the speed of the wind. Expecting to see it give out each moment, we followed it mile after mile, until gathering darkness warned us that night was at hand, when we halted in alarm, and were compelled to allow the antelope to escape, while we endeavored to retrace our steps. The caravan was nowhere in sight, and we doubted not that it had disappeared hours before. We left the train about noon, and had been warned that they would not halt or wait for us, and should we lose them, they would take no pains to hunt us up. But we heeded not this, as we expected to keep them constantly in view, and have the antelope cooked for our supper.
But I have shown how widely we were mistaken. We were compelled to see the night shut down around us, without bringing us any hope of spending it with our friends; and at a late hour we were still plodding aimlessly over the prairie.
“No light yet, Nat?” I asked, for the twentieth time.
“Well, I should think you had asked that question about often enough, to be suited with my answer.”
“I expect to ask it a dozen times more.”
“Then I’ll just answer at once for all, so I won’t be troubled agin with talkin’. No! there’s the answer.”
“I don’t know but what you are right, Nat. We must have come a long distance, utterly unconscious of it, in our eagerness to get that plaguey antelope, and it is useless to hope to reach camp again before morning.”
“That’s my opinion, exactly. That camp, I opine, is a good dozen miles off yet.”
“Then we may have a chance of reaching it still before morning, as this bright moon favors us.”
The moon, full and clear, had arisen an hour before, and its light illumined the prairie for a great distance around. Far away, on every hand, we could discern the blue outline of the horizon, while the prairie seemed to roll up against it like the dark boundaries of a mighty ocean. Everything was as silent and motionless as though we were treading a region of death.
Mile after mile, we trudged on, beguiling the time by conversation. The ground was dry and hard, and the vegetation scarce and stunted. The day had been quite warm, and there was a delicious coolness about the evening air that made it pleasant to walk an hour or so; but as more than double that time had expired since we commenced, it had long been exceedingly wearisome to us.
“I wonder whether those fellows will go a foot out of the way to pick us up,” muttered Nat, half to himself.
“I don’t believe they will. They told us they wouldn’t and they value their time too highly to waste it for a couple who are of no account to them, especially since we can fall in with other trains.”
“I reckon they’re of some account to us, being they have got both our horses and considerable of our traveling apparatus.”
“That is too true, Nat. In fact, since we have been walking here, I have persuaded myself that those fellows would, just as likely as not, turn something out of the way to get rid of us.”
“Somehow or other, I’ve felt just the same for a week.”
“Then, if we value our property, we mustn’t let them slip.”
“No; I’ll be shot, if we must!” exclaimed Nat, half angrily, striking at once into a more rapid walk. “If they run off with my mare, I’ll—I’ll—” and again he strode faster over the prairie.
Long—long, we journeyed in silence. Nat’s apprehensions had been aroused, and he was willing to walk the whole night to come up with those in whose honesty he had so little faith. Now and then he would mutter incoherently to himself and shoot ahead, keeping me almost on a run to maintain my place beside him. Suddenly he halted, and turned upon me with an expression I shall never forget. I could see his eyes expanded to twice their usual size, and his whole face aglow beneath his monstrous hat, as he asked in a cold whisper:
“Wonder if there’s Injins about tonight.”
I laughed outright.
“Why, Nat, you ain’t afraid, are you?”
“Who said I was afraid? I just asked a question.”
“What possessed you to ask such a question?”
“Don’t know; just come into my mind. Do you s’pose there are any Injins roving round the country tonight?”
“I am sure I cannot tell, but I think it extremely probable. Are you fearful that there are some upon our trail?”
“There might be! No; I was thinking if we should come across any of them, they might be able to tell us whether any of them chaps think we’re lost, and have run off with my mare.”
“Should we meet a lot of those savages, no doubt they would tell us something else besides that.”
“I expect so,” and he wheeled around and strode ahead again. It was now getting near midnight, and I was completely worn out. It was out of the question to reach the camp that night, and we might as well submit to our fate at once, so I spoke rather decidedly.
“I’m tired of this.”
Nat turned and looked at me a second, and then answered:
“So am I. We’ve to camp out tonight, and there’s no use in waiting till morning afore we do it. Ain’t it lucky you brought your blanket with you? It would go hard to do without that tonight.”
“I brought it with me by merest chance, not thinking I should need it. It was indeed fortunate; and now let us prepare to use it.”
There was not much choice on the hard but warm earth. My blanket was ample and sufficient for us both. After some search, a small depression was selected, and in this I spread my heavy blanket. We then stretched ourselves upon it, pulled the ends over us, being sure to inclose our rifles in its folds, and resigned ourselves to sleep. In that lone hour, I forgot not that there was one arm upon which I could rely, and One only who could watch over me until morning, and to that protection I appealed.
Ere the sun was fairly above the horizon, we were up and upon our way. Knowing the company would not be in motion for several hours, we hoped to reach them before they breakfasted, and have a laugh over our night
’s adventure. Nat led the way, and took long, rapid strides over the ground, seemingly oblivious of the existence of any one else. I kept beside him, now and then venturing a remark, but receiving no answer or intimation that I was heard.
Suddenly, my friend came to a dead halt, dropped the butt of his rifle to the earth with a ringing clamp, and wheeled upon me with one of those indescribable looks. I had seen these before, so that I knew something unusual was agitating him.
“What’s the trouble now?”
“It’s no use; we’ll never see that company agin.”
“What makes you think thus?”
“I know so. I had a dream last night that my mare was gone for ever and ever, and I know she is. Don’t you remember that fur agent told us they’d change the direction they’s traveling some time yesterday? They hadn’t done it when we left them, and they done it as soon as we got out of sight, I warrant.”
I now remembered hearing our guide remark, as also did the fur agent with us, that the trail we were following made an abrupt bend some miles ahead. We were traveling northeast at that time, and the contemplated change was nearly due southwest. This fact had entirely escaped our minds, until it now occurred to Nat, and we had, consequently, been proceeding in a wrong direction. By referring to the sun, we found we had gone far too much to the east in order to intercept the train, which was now in all probability many leagues to the southwest.
This was a discovery which was overwhelming. We had then been journeying in a direction which had brought us not a foot nearer the company than if we had remained motionless; and it was certain that the party was irrecoverably lost.
“This is a pleasant discovery, Nat.”
“Very.”
“I see no hope for your mare. She is probably a good day’s journey distant, and we do not know what direction to take to reach her.”
“That’s it,” replied Nat, ill-humoredly; “if I knowed sure what way to tramp to find her, I wouldn’t stop till I’d laid my hands on her for a certainty; but this trudging along, and just as like as not going away from her all the time, isn’t the thing.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 114
