The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  George Shelton saw this much, and, hardly knowing what he was doing, made a desperate effort to leap the chasm, that he might join the couple. But his foot slipped, too, and only by a superhuman effort did he save himself from tumbling into the swirling wrath of water. Scrambling to his feet, he sped downward to Victor and the stranger. The latter showed his coolness by getting to work without the least delay. Victor was senseless and had swallowed a good deal of water. He seemed to be drowned.

  The man held him by the heels and was standing him on his head. Then he rolled him over and pressed his chest, with that oscillation which is helpful in restoring seemingly drowned persons, while the breathless George stood idly by watching everything with straining eyes. He could do nothing but pray and hope.

  At the end of a minute or two he saw, with joy unspeakable, the signs of returning life. Victor was on his back, as if dead, when he partly opened his eyes; but there was no expression in them. His rescuer was scrutinizing the lad’s face and noted the awakening of consciousness. Straightening up, he said with a sigh:

  “He’s all right now; but he couldn’t have come nigher pegging out.”

  “You have saved him! You have saved him! Oh, how can I thank you?”

  And yielding to the reaction, George sobbed like a child. The stranger looked at him without speaking, and gave his attention again to the prostrate form. Victor speedily regained his senses, and, with a little help from the man, sat up. He stared wonderingly at his new friend and then at his brother, striving manfully to master his emotions. With the waggery that cropped up at the most unexpected times, he turned to George with the question:

  “Are you crying because he saved my life?”

  “I’m crying for joy. I had given up all hope.”

  “So had I. I tell you I came pretty near being a goner. Please help me up.”

  George took his hand and almost lifted Victor to his feet. As he came up he made a grimace, because of the pain that wrenched him. He was so battered and bruised that the wonder was that several bones had not been broken.

  “Where’s my rifle?” suddenly asked Victor, looking about him.

  “In the bottom of the cañon, I reckon.”

  “Mebbe you’d like to make a dive for it,” suggested the man.

  “No, I’ve had enough of that. How shall I thank you for what you have done?”

  “By not saying anything about it. By a piece of good luck I happened to be on the spot in time to give you a lift.”

  The boys now looked more closely at the Good Samaritan. He was attired in the dress common among the trappers and hunters of the Northwest in those days, and was a magnificent specimen of physical manhood, being fully six feet in height, with a broad, massive frame and an immense grizzled beard, which flowed over his chest and covered his face almost to the eyes. He had laid down his long, formidable rifle when he hurried to the rescue of the boy, and he now stooped and picked up the weapon. Moving back a few paces, so as to get beyond the noise made by the rushing waters, he said, in his gruff but not unpleasant voice:

  “Tell me how this thing happened.”

  George briefly gave the particulars of the mishap, to which the man silently listened.

  “You ain’t the only younker or man either who has lost all by a little slip. The next time you want to make a big jump be sure of your footing. What are you two chaps doing in this part of the world?”

  “We have been across the continent, almost to the Pacific, and are now on the way to our home in Ohio.”

  “You ain’t traveling alone, are you?”

  “No; we have a companion, who is off somewhere in the mountains, but will soon join us in camp.”

  “’Pears to me you’ve been on a powerful long tramp.”

  “We have. We spent last winter among the Blackfeet, and are homesick.”

  “I reckon your camp ain’t fur off, and we may as well go there.”

  “We shall be glad to have you with us, for you have proved the best of friends.”

  “Thar! Thar! Drop that; talk about something else.”

  When Victor tried to walk he had to lean on the shoulder of his brother, and the pain from his bruises compelled him at times to stop and rest. The burly trapper offered to help, but Victor thanked him and got on quite well with the assistance of George. The man walked a few paces behind the two, that he might not hurry them too much, and because it belonged to the boys to act as guide.

  “Who is the man you’ve got with you?”

  “He is a young Shawanoe Indian named Deerfoot,” replied George Shelton.

  “What!” exclaimed the trapper, stopping as if shot. “Do you mean that handsome young warrior who went through the country below us last summer with a Blackfoot redskin and two younkers?”

  “The same. We are the boys that were with him.”

  “Wal, I’ll be skulped!” added the other, as if he could not do justice to his feelings. “I never dreamed of anything like that.”

  “Like what?” asked George.

  “Seeing that Shawanoe agin. Say, he’s a great one, ain’t he?”

  “You know him, then?”

  “Wal, I reckon. He done me the greatest favor of my life—greater than what I done that chap of yourn a little while ago.”

  “I don’t see how that can be,” remarked the limping Victor; “but Deerfoot is always doing good to others.”

  “Didn’t he ever tell you anything about me?”

  “You haven’t told us your name.”

  “I’m Jack Halloway.”

  The boys agreed that they had never heard the Shawanoe mention him by name. Victor added:

  “He is the last one to speak of his good deeds, and he doesn’t like to hear anyone else speak of them.”

  “He’ll hear some one talk when I see him,” chuckled the trapper, with a shaking of his herculean shoulders.

  Because of Victor’s hurts the descent among the foothills to camp took a long time, and the afternoon was well gone when the three reached headquarters. While a little way off the three caught sight of the Shawanoe, who had started a fire and was broiling buffalo steak for supper. He looked with surprise at the sight of Victor leaning on the shoulder of his brother and walking with difficulty, and at the towering form behind them. Ceasing his work, he came forward to greet the party. He paid no attention to the man until George Shelton told of the mishap in which the life of Victor was saved by the person behind them.

  During this brief interchange the trapper kept in the background, with his eyes on the Shawanoe. Needless to say, Deerfoot had recognized him at the first glance. Not suspecting this, the man now came forward, the moving of the beard about his mouth showing that he was grinning and chuckling.

  “I reckon you don’t remember me, Deerfoot.”

  “Deerfoot could never forget his brother, Jack Halloway,” replied the youth, extending his hand, which was warmly grasped by the trapper.

  “I’m powerful glad to meet you agin, Shawanoe, though I hadn’t much hope of ever doing so. Talk about friends, you beat ’em all, and I’ll be skulped if you don’t look handsomer than ever—no you don’t, for that couldn’t be. Shake agin, pardner.”

  Deerfoot was as pleased to meet his old acquaintance as the latter was to see him. All seated themselves on the ground about the blaze, and as night had not yet come the meal was deferred until more was learned of what had taken place during the interval between the former meeting and the present coming together.

  “Why is my brother in the mountains at this season of the year?” asked Deerfoot, when the trapper had lit his pipe.

  Of course cold weather is the time for trapping fur-bearing animals. The custom in the olden days was for the hunters to go into the mountains in the autumn, spend the time until spring in gathering peltries, and then bring them to civilization for sale. It was now summer, and it was not to be supposed that Jack Halloway was engaged on professional business in the Laramie Mountains. He explained:

  “La
st fall I took a partner—Dick Burley by name—and we put in the winter among the beaver runs and mountains over to the northwest. We done so poor that I let Dick start with the pack animals for St. Louis, without me going with him. He hadn’t more than half a load, and we made up our minds that we’d got to find new trapping grounds or we shouldn’t make enough to pay for our salt. So me and Dick parted and I’ve been on the tramp for two months.”

  “How did you make out?” asked Victor, who, having found an easy position for his aching body, felt it his duty to join in the discussion.

  “I hit it when I came to this part of the country. A few miles south are hundreds of beaver, foxes, otter and other critters whose furs we’re after. I don’t think a single one of ’em has ever been trapped. There’s where me and Dick will try it next fall.”

  “Then you will soon go home?”

  “I intended to start tomorrow. My horse is a little way back among the foothills, stuffing himself with enough grass to last him a week.”

  “My brother will go with us,” said the pleased Deerfoot.

  “If you don’t feel too proud to have me for company, I’ll be mighty glad to go with you.”

  “Nothing will suit us better,” said George, heartily. It was natural that he and Victor should feel profoundly grateful to the trapper. Even had he not done them so measureless a service they would have liked him from the first.

  It was not until the night had fully come, the evening meal eaten and the fire replenished, though the weather remained mild, that a full interchange took place among the different members of the little party. Victor suffered less from his bruises, and with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders showed no effects from his terrifying adventure. The horses were left to themselves, Jack Halloway saying that no attention need be given to his, despite the possibility of some thieving Indian making off with him. The trapper expressed unbounded admiration of Whirlwind, and could not understand how Deerfoot had ever gained such a piece of property. George and Victor did not dare to explain in the presence of the Shawanoe, but each determined to do so on the first opportunity, despite the risk of another “disciplining” at the hands of the modest youth.

  After Jack had smoked awhile and the chat had gone on without any special point, he turned to the Shawanoe and said:

  “I’ve seen you stealing a look at me now and then and I know what you done it for.”

  “Yes, Deerfoot did so; but my brother cannot tell the reason.”

  “You’ve been trying to find out from my looks whether I’ve stuck to the pledge I made you a year ago to give up drinking whiskey.”

  “That was the reason; Deerfoot was almost but not quite certain.”

  “Have you any doubts left?”

  The Shawanoe smiled.

  “Only a shadow.”

  “Wal, you can kick that shadow out of sight! I haven’t drank a drop of the stuff since that night, a year ago, when I flung my flask into the creek, after hearing your sermon, that shook me down to my toes.”

  Deerfoot leaned over and offered his hand again to happy Jack Halloway, who turned to the boys.

  “Being as he never told you, I might as well give you the story.”

  Thereupon the trapper related in his characteristic fashion the incident of which you heard long ago. The eyes of the boys kindled and Victor said:

  “That is only one of a hundred things Deerfoot has done.”

  Catching a warning look from the Shawanoe, Victor said in desperation:

  “I’m not going to try to give a list, Deerfoot, but won’t you let me tell Jack how you whipped the greatest war chief of the Blackfeet and how he became a Christian?”

  “There is no need of that, but my brothers may tell what happened to them when they disobeyed Deerfoot.”

  “I’ll do that if you don’t shut down on the other story.”

  The Shawanoe would have refused, but the trapper’s curiosity had been stirred and he insisted upon hearing of the incident. As a compromise the Indian youth rose to his feet and sauntered out to where Whirlwind was still cropping the juicy herbage. He would not stay and listen to what he knew was about to be said. The boys were glad to have him absent, for it left them free to speak what they pleased, and you may be sure that Victor and George did not mince matters. Their account of that remarkable combat and its results was told with graphic eloquence. Then George added the story of Deerfoot’s encounter with the grizzly bear and his defeat of the Assiniboine, whose life he spared. Inasmuch as the boys had never been able to draw the particulars of that combat from Deerfoot, Victor had to embellish it with his own imagination, and he did it to perfection. He was in the midst of a description of how the Shawanoe beat the best marksmen, runners and leapers of the Blackfeet when Deerfoot came back to the camp fire.

  “Now let my brothers tell of what happened to them when Deerfoot was through with Taggarak.”

  “You needn’t worry; I didn’t forget that. Well, Jack, you see Deerfoot forbade me and George to come anywhere near, but we couldn’t stay away. He found it out, cut a big gad and splintered it over our shoulders and we couldn’t help ourselves.”

  And then Jack Halloway threw back his head and roared with laughter, declaring that he had never heard so good a story.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  A Temperance Agitator

  “I’ll never forget that ride home last year,” said Jack Halloway, “after I pulled out in the night and left Deerfoot with you younkers asleep by the camp fire. It took me a week to reach St. Louis, and there wasn’t a drop of whiskey to be had on the road. For two or three days I was the most miserable critter that ever limped on two legs. I’d have give my whole load of peltries to get that flask back agin, but there was no help for it. Twice I rode up to the camp fires of Injins, hoping to buy some fire water from them, but neither party had a drop. Then I buckled down to it.

  “On the fourth night when I camped I was almost crazy. As I rolled about in my blanket, not able to sleep a wink, I remembered what Deerfoot had said to me about praying. Strange I’d never thought of it before. Wal, I got on my knees, and if ever a poor wretch prayed it was Jack Halloway, and I kept it up for two or three hours. I was about ready to let go when the thing which I was praying for came to me!

  “Just as plain as I have heard your voices, I catched the words, ‘It’s all right; you’ve conquered your temptation; you’re boss now.’ Some folks may laugh, but it won’t do for ’em to say where Jack Halloway can hear ’em that thar’s nothing in the Christian religion. I know better, ’cause I’ve got it right there!” exclaimed the trapper, thumping his heart.

  “From that time forward everything was rosy with me. The sun never shone so bright, the birds never sung so sweet and I never felt so happy through and through. I shouted and yelled for joy and walloped the horses, just because I couldn’t help it. If I had met anyone at those times he would have set me down as drunk. So I was—drunk with pure joy and religion.

  “At St. Louis I sold my peltries for the biggest price I’ve got in ten years. I took the money home and throwed it into the lap of my little, sweet, gray-haired mother, who just stared at me, not knowing what it meant. When I made it all clear she began crying, and then she dropped on her knees and I dropped alongside of her, and when she got through praying I took up the job and kept things humming for another half hour. After I’d let up I grabbed her in my arms, and we danced about that cabin, just as she used to do when she was the belle of the town, and we laughed and frolicked and made a couple of fools of ourselves.

  “When she asked me to tell her the meaning of my short rein-up and change of my life, I give her the whole thing. It was the work of a young Shawanoe Injin called Deerfoot, who was the most ginooine Christian on either side of the old Mississippi. She asked all about you, Deerfoot, and she said she hoped she would meet you some day. So when we get back to St. Louis I’ll introduce you.”

  “Deerfoot will be glad to see the mother of my brother,” softly replied th
e Shawanoe, in a voice tremulous with feeling. He and the boys listened with absorbed interest to the graphic story told by the trapper.

  “French Pete keeps the worst whiskey hole along the Mississippi. It is down by the river side and is the main drinking place in the town. He has got hundreds of dollars from the families of the trappers who come down the river in the spring, and for years he has gathered in about every cent I could rake together.

  “Wal, after I had been home about a week I strolled down to his place one moonlight night. I told mother not to worry about me, for I would blow my own head off before I’d ever swaller another drop of red p’ison. When I opened the door of the ramshackle cabin, Pete looked up with a grin, and said as how he was wondering where I’d kept myself so long, for he had heerd I’d got back and done unusual well. He was glad to welcome me, and asked what I’d have and the treat was on him for old friendship’s sake.

  “There didn’t happen to be anybody else in the place at the time, for it was early in the evening. I walked up to the bar and leaned on it familiar like, and asked Pete if he didn’t think he’d made enough money in ruining other folks to quit the bus’ness. He showed he didn’t know what I meant by the strange question. I then said I’d stopped the foolery for good, and give him my opinion of him as the worst wretch in town. He had sot out the whiskey bottle on the bar and shoved out the cork with his thumb and forefinger. I ’spose that was to let me get a whiff of the stuff. I got it. I reached out my hand, pushed the cork back in the bottle, and then grabbing it by the neck brought it down on the bar with a bang that broke it into a dozen pieces and sent the whiskey flying about the room.

  “When Pete seed what I was up to he made a swipe at me, remarking several swear words at the same time, but I landed him one under the ear that sent him back so hard aginst the bottles behind him that he bounced forward agin, and I grabbed him.

  “He made just the sort of club I wanted. You see I had him by the shoulders and I could swing his heels free and easy like. Wal, I used him that way. For the next ten or fifteen minutes the only music in that place was the panting of Pete and the crash and smash of bottles. The fumes of the stuff filled the room like the mist you sometimes see rising from a kenyon in the mountains. When I got through I don’t believe there was a whole bottle left, and as I stepped about the floor I splashed in whiskey, just as we do when the Mississippi overflows the streets. I tossed Pete over into one corner, and, not seeing any more blessed work to do, passed out the door. I met two friends on their way for a drink. When they said good evening I remarked off-hand that they’d find plenty of whiskey inside without asking for it, and went on to my home.