THE LUCKLESS TRAPPER;

OR,

THE HAUNTED HUNTER

BY WILLIAM R. EYSTER,

Author of "Wild Nat" (Pocket Novel 21.)

Vol. V.
NOVEMBER 11, 1876.
No. 62.

NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

THE HAUNTED HUNTER;
OR,
BILL BLAZE, THE LUCKLESS TRAPPER

CHAPTER I.

A CORPSE IN THE STREAM.

There is a peculiar hiss when a rifle-ball passes in close proximity to one's head, a sound that no doubt chords with some musical note, yet upon most ears the noise is apt to fall rather unpleasantly. So the trapper, though thoroughly seasoned to danger and the thousand chances and mischances of the bush and plain, dodged his head suddenly, with a movement more energetic than graceful, at the same time uttering, though not above a whisper, an ejaculation of surprise and discontent. In the midst of his reconnoitering it seemed to him that he had been reconnoitered, and that to some purpose. There was danger in the atmosphere.

Carefully he peered around him. He caught no sight of the hand that had fired the shot; he could see nothing and could hear nothing that gave sign of hostile intentions. Through the bushes that were spread before him like a curtain he anxiously gazed, with one hand pushing them aside.

"Where the dickins c'u'd that 'a' come from," he muttered. "Some one hez hed a line shot on this hyer old hoss an' cum mighty nigh a-sendin' him under. Ef I could only git a site at the varmint ther'd be a case o' suddint death, sure—ah!"

The soliloquy ceased, for on the small level spot on the opposite side of the stream, standing out bold and full in the clear moonlight, there appeared two men. The distance was not great, their actions evinced no knowledge that any other human being was near them, and as they broke into conversation every word they spoke was wafted distinctly to the ears of the listener who lay concealed in the close hanging bushes.

One of these two men was tall and shapely in build. His form gave token of strength and activity, while the moonbeams that fell upon his face lit up a countenance that was more than ordinarily handsome. One hand rested upon the muzzle-end of a heavy rifle, the other was extended in a shunning gesture, the palm outward as if waving back the man who faced him.

The other was, if any thing, shorter in stature, but made up for any lack of hight in breadth of build. His shoulders were almost Herculean in shape, his hands were large, his neck thick and powerful—altogether his appearance promised strength rather than activity. His face could scarcely be distinguished, but even in the shadow one could fancifully map out a countenance indicative of boldness and resolution.

Thus the two stood in the moonlight, scarcely three yards apart and facing each other.

"You're quick on the trigger," said the short man; "and if it had been daylight I might have gone under. I'm not one to bear malice, though it's a rough old joke to be shot at. If I was some men you'd not be standing now."

"I know it. Yet daylight or dark, if I had not discovered my mistake in time, I should have been standing and you down. As I pulled the trigger I raised the barrel for I saw it was the wrong man. The right one is near me somewhere though, and had you been he, the scores would have all been wiped out by this time."

"I thought so. I kinder saw you hitch up your iron, so I knew you had made a mistake when you threw the tube to your shoulder. It was sudden though—and not the first time a white man has drawn sights on me. I've been watching you since you came around here; I've been waiting for you to show your hand, and I want to know to-night what your game is. If you are on the square, with no infernal curious kinks in yer nature, well an' good. But if ye want to know more than ye see, if ye must take a hand in what don't concern you nor your'n, then take a fool's advice—an' move on."

"See here, Martin, if that's your name, don't borrow trouble about me. You're not my man. I don't want to know more than one thing, and that is, where my man is. Then I don't want to do more than one thing. I want to lay sights on him. After that it's a matter between him and Killemquick, and the chances in Killemquick's favor."

"That's all right; but s'posin' 'your man' is one of my men—I want to know something about that; fur down here along Back Load Trail there's a few on us as hang together mighty close. Ef you get them double-sights pulled on some as I knows on, mebbe there'll be the like on you with a quicker finger on the trigger."

"Very well, old man, you know all I can tell you. My name is Winkle, and I'm laying out for my man. I've heard of Back Load Trail and I've heard of Dick Martin that rules it. I'm an honest man and a square man, and I tell you there will be some fancy shooting done along here before long. If it's to be war between you and me let us know it now and I'll play my hand careful. Remember, I'm not going to interfere with you except as I have to; but if so be that there's danger in the air for one of your friends, more's the pity."

"Yer mighty indefinite, stranger. Ef you've ever heard of Back Load Trail, as ye say ye have, ye must know that outsiders that sometimes try to ring in here, occasionally git the'r last sickness. We run things down here to suit ourselves purty much, an' ef you've got a grudge ag'in' any one it's all right, so he's an outsider, too. But, ef it's ag'in' one of us Free Trappers, the bullet is already run that puts yer light out. I don't know of any strangers on this trail but yerself an' one more, an' he only come down from the mountains last night. Ef it's him, all right. Ef it ain't—look sharp. Ef it's me, but ye say it ain't, I'm here now!"

The voice of Dick Martin rolled out round and full as he uttered the words, "I'm here now"; there was even something heroic in his tone, just as there was a world of bitter warning in the first part of his address. But he seemed to make little impression on his vis-a-vis, who looked at him steadily, and answered him coolly:

"I neither know nor care if the man I'm seeking is a Free Trapper, or whether he just came down from the mountains. I know I'm a dead shot and I know I'll shoot him dead. When you find a corpse lying on the broad of its back with its left eye shot out you may calculate that my mission is accomplished and that I'm done with this region. As for any threats you make, I care nothing for them, I fear for nothing, nothing can harm me. I am above all chances, for I am a minister of Fate, and until Fate has been served, the lead is not run nor the steel forged that can harm me."

"By heavens! yer either a gritty man or yer crazy. Ther's not many men stood up lately and talked that way to my face. I like pluck and I like grit, so I'm goin' to hold on a leetle longer till I see yer game. It's not often I take a likin', but I half like you. I come down here to where you were camped intendin' to do some plain talkin', but I've altered my mind a leetle on it. Turn in, stranger, Dick Martin bids ye good-night."

Something in Martin's voice gave evidence to the other of the sincerity of his words. Though, on their very faces, as much as from their conversation, you could plainly see their wide dissimilarity, yet Winkle's voice lost something of its hard, steely ring as he responded:

"Good-night then. We understand each other pretty fairly. Watch my hand and you may see what I play. I don't think it's against your game, but if it is I say nothing against your doing your best. Each man for himself and—"

Whatever else the taller man was about to say was suddenly interrupted by a wild cry proceeding from the opposite side of the stream, a cry that startled both men. Martin dropped at full length upon the ground, while Winkle brought his rifle to a ready and gazed in the direction from whence came the sound.

The bushes which lined the bank seemed to be violently agitated, there was a noise as of two men engaged in a fierce and well-contested struggle. This lasted but for a few seconds, then a dark body shot out into the moonlight and fell into the water with a sullen splash.

Both men cast curious glances at the spot where the body had disappeared. Great waves circled out and out, but there was no further struggling, and for a time no sign of what was the object that had fallen into the stream. But at length, as the two spectators looked curiously at each other, there rose into the clear moonshine, that lay broad and silvery upon the surface of the water, the face of a dead man; while from his breast, as a center, there irradiated a crimson fluid that dyed the water with its stain.

Henry Winkle took a few steps forward and gazed anxiously at the body that was slowly drifting down with the current. Apparently he was satisfied, for he turned around with what might have been taken for a sigh of relief. But when his eye explored the little plateau it rested not on any living thing—Dick Martin had quietly glided away.

CHAPTER II.

AN APPARITION.

Although there was nothing in the sudden disappearance of Martin that could particularly alarm Winkle, impressed as he really was with the present good faith of the man with whom he had lately been conversing, still from some cause or other he felt by no means at his ease. Who might be upon the other side of the stream yet remained a mystery, and until that was solved he could not follow the advice lately tendered him and "turn in." He gave a quick glance up and down the stream, a sharp look at the bushes that lined the other shore, and then, with a quick, noiseless step, turned into the woods from which but a few moments before he had emerged.

It was his purpose to move up the stream for some little distance, and then, crossing over, beat carefully down the bank, keeping a look-out for traces of the parties whom he had no doubt had been engaged in a deadly struggle at the time the cry had interrupted his conversation.

All about him was silent, and he met with no haps or mishaps for the time. As he came down the bank, however, his eyes wandered in every direction, every clump was carefully examined, and his progress was necessarily slow. At first nothing rewarded his search; but at length something caught his practiced eye and by even the uncertain light he could plainly discover a trail, leading in the direction in which he was proceeding. Immediately he halted for its examination. Almost a glance showed him that it was a careless and unconcealed one, and that it was made by a white man. A moment more and Winkle decided within himself that it was made by the man whom Martin stated had just come down from the mountains. It led on down the stream, and the explorer followed cautiously upon it, not forgetting to look from time to time at either side, in search of further information. When he arrived opposite to the spot where he and the Free Trapper had held their late conversation, the track suddenly turned at right angles and it seemed to him as though the man who made it had from this spot acted with more caution. And as he cast his eyes to one side he saw the marks left by the footsteps of a distinct party.

His movements were governed by the utmost caution, but he went rapidly and noiselessly to the spot. The footprints that he there found appeared to give him more trouble than the former ones, for it was some time before his mind was fully settled; then he looked up with the one word, "Indian," on his lips. He noticed that from their direction both trails led into the bushes in such a manner as to cross, or at least meet each other at about the spot from which the body had been projected into the stream—and accordingly he noiselessly followed the second trail, with every sense and nerve on the alert to catch the first signal telling of the proximity of any living beings. It was not long before he found the trail most suddenly ended, for he came to a spot where the ground had been beaten and the branches and shrubs most evidently disarranged by a short but desperate contest. It was too dark for him to see if there were any traces of blood, but he had no doubt in his mind but that they were there. Carefully pushing aside the boughs, he saw that he was immediately on the bank, and in a position not only to see clearly the spot where he and Martin had met, but near enough to hear every word of what was then and there said. This much he noted, then turned aside to seek for further traces of the probable survivor.

He was not there; and, it was some time before Winkle, practiced as he was in woodcraft, could discover any sign to indicate in which way the victor had left. Evidently the man had dropped his carelessness and was now as cautious in concealing his trail—and he evinced no mean skill in his efforts—as he was before thoughtless or careless about the matter. At length, in the dim and hazy light, the search was rewarded, and Winkle was enabled to tell in which way the man had departed.

Following a trail that is made carefully and with the intent of leaving no trace, is at best but slow business. At night it is infinitely worse. More than once in a dozen rods Winkle paused and scanned the ground narrowly. At length he came to a halt, completely puzzled—no mark of bruised grass, imprinted earth or broken twig was to be seen. A few moments' hesitation and he decided to adopt the plan best adapted to such a case. Going back to the last spot it was discernible, he took a careful survey of the surrounding ground, and then turning to the right he began circling, with a diameter of some rods. Even this method at first seemed fruitless, but at length, as the perimeter of the circle almost touched the bank of the stream, he found a faint trace that sufficed to set him again on the trail. The man had evidently gone down-stream for several yards, and then, turning to the left, either taken to the water to conceal his track or else crossed over to the opposite side. Which had he done? Without hesitation Winkle pushed ahead, and on gaining the opposite bank discovered the trail, this time leading up the stream.

This was a discovery indeed, and, while feeling some little uneasiness, he felt more determined than ever to follow the trail and gain a sight of this mysterious stranger.

Under the shadow of the trees the traces grew more indistinct and were once more lost; but allowing himself to be led by instinct, he hurried on, with his rifle ready to swing to his shoulder at a moment's warning. A noise fell upon his ears and he halted. At some distance, and in the direction of down-stream, he heard horse's hoofs rapidly approaching, the animal, however, being evidently under the control of a rider.

This appeared to put a new aspect on matters, for, although it might be Martin, or a friend, the chances also were that it might be an enemy. Rapidly thrusting his hand in his bosom, Winkle drew therefrom a whistle, and placed it to his lips. A moment more and a sound peculiarly shrill and trilling arose on the air. Then the man bent forward in expectancy. Right ahead, at the distance of a dozen yards, sounded the neigh of a horse, followed by the noise of a plunge, and something that resembled the sudden fall of a heavy body. Then bursting through the underbrush in answer to the call came a noble white steed, that approached his master at a gallop and placed itself alongside of him. From the direction in which the animal had come might have been heard other sounds, but Winkle's whole attention was now given to the approaching rider. He stood with one hand outstretched, and resting on the neck of his horse, his eyes riveted on the open sward which, between the trees among which he stood, glittered and shone clear.

Behind him there was an exclamation, the sound of a struggle and the voice of some one:

"Dar now, dis chile has yer, suah! T'ink yer steal dat hoss, did yer?"

But at the same time a horse and rider flashed into the anxious sight of Winkle.

And that rider was a woman!

For just a moment were they visible, but that moment seemed sufficient to produce a terrible effect on the gazer. He threw up his hand and uttered a sharp, unearthly cry; his eyes eagerly followed the slight and graceful form that so easily swung in the saddle; bent forward he caught the last glimpse of her as her riding-dress fluttered away again and was lost in the enfolding branches.

Then followed the sound of another horseman. Again a steed and rider glided across his plane of vision like a shadow on a curtain or a moving figure in some pantomime. For a moment only it appeared in view, and then disappeared in the same direction as did the woman.

Emotion was fairly overmastering Winkle. He shook like an aspen, his hands seemed to have lost their power; but hardly had the second figure disappeared when his rifle had found its way to his shoulder. But if he desired to use it with deadly effect, it was too late. Again stillness, and moonlight, and the nodding trees alone lay before him, while the retreating footsteps waxed fainter and fainter in the distance.

Mechanically he turned and pursued his way; he heard nothing, saw nothing—not even the dumb brute by his side, which faithfully paced along with a step corresponding in slowness with that of its master.

At length a huge rock or mass of rocks lay in his path. Moving a little to one side he soon skirted them, and as he did so, a light, as from a suddenly-stirred fire, flamed up before him, illuminating the side of the bowlder and a small circle in front of it.

Into this circle of light Winkle staggered, and with his rifle convulsively clutched at a ready, stood gazing with a half-dazed look into the fire.

CHAPTER III.

DOUBLY WARNED.

It was no particular feeling of fear that caused Martin to move away in so quiet a manner, while the struggle was going on upon the opposite side of the stream. But, as Winkle was to him a stranger, and there might be some need of investigation, he thought it best that whatever might be done, should be done by his own unaided exertions. Moving cautiously, keeping himself well under shade and waiting patiently, he saw the man, with whom he had been so lately conversing, look around with a gaze of half wonder at finding himself alone, and then set forward upon an exploring tour. Not long afterward, at a point some distance down the stream, a man crossed; and, entering the woods, after a moment's hesitation, struck off in the direction in which Martin knew Winkle had camped, or intended to camp for the night. After a little, hard upon the trail came Winkle, himself. He would doubtless have followed on for the purpose of seeing the meeting between these two persons—if meet they should—when he was startled by the sudden appearance of the two riders. He, too, in a manner almost involuntary, threw his rifle to his shoulder and, in fact, had the pursuer fairly covered; but, instead of drawing the trigger, he lowered the weapon, listened a moment, and then, utterly disregarding the motions of the two men upon which he had been, but lately, so intent, followed silently on in the direction in which the woman and the pursuing man had disappeared.

A walk of a few minutes and the aspect of surrounding things somewhat changed—sufficiently at least to give token that some man or men had made a permanent settlement near by. The sound of galloping horses had ceased; as he advanced, he thought he heard voices engaged in conversation.

Nor was he mistaken. At some little distance from the edge of the wood stood a cabin. In front of this the parties had halted. The man was still mounted, but the woman stood by the threshold of the cabin, facing her late pursuer, a steely look of defiance upon her countenance.

The man was speaking when Martin came within hearing distance, and his words fell upon the night-air coldly and distinctly.

"Listen, Edith," he said. "You know me so well, that I need not tell you that sooner or later I will be heard. I have not come all these miles to have you put me off with a hand-wave, and a 'begone.' We are, both of us, older than when we last met and care little for listeners; but must I say now what I have to say, or will you accord me a more fitting time and place?"

"As between us, there never can be either a fitting time or place for communication. All connection, all intercourse between us has ceased, and forever. I would refuse to willingly hear you, if you came as a messenger announcing my eternal salvation, and nothing that you can say or do shall cause me to alter my determination. If you would be safe, leave me. I am willing to forgive the past, even if I can not forget it, and I would not see you harmed; therefore I warn you away from these grounds. I caution you to return from whence you came, if you dare. And if you dare not, then seek some other place. Away, begone! for something tells me there is danger in the atmosphere for you here."

"Edith, again, I say, listen. I would speak somewhat of the past; but more of the future. Through me you have suffered, I admit, but through me I would have you return again—return to joy and life and youth and love. I have much that I would tell you. I have sought you long and faithfully; for three long years I have followed constantly in your footsteps, but you have as constantly eluded me. Now I find you here and I must speak."

"Yes, you have followed in my footsteps for three years, and for four, and for five. Through you I have suffered; but never, never through you did I or shall I sin. You over-shadowed, you darkened my young life, made for me existence wretched, pursued me with a thousand unmanly and mean arts, sought by foul means that which, I can tell you now, you might then have gained by fair, sought to coerce when you might have persuaded, actually hunted me down; and now you have sought me out in this last retreat. Charles Endicott, I tell you beware. I will not listen to you; I will not hear you; if you pursue I will fly; if you speak, I will hold my hands to my ears; with me you can do nothing. But I see trouble for you beyond, trouble black and deadly. Be advised before it is too late. I am no prophetess or soothsayer, but I tell you, sure as fate, if you linger here, you linger to meet your own death. Go your way then; I am dead to the world; I am dead to you; why should you waste time on a fruitless task?"

"I know you, Edith, and I know your resolution; but, for all that, I will not go. I am ready to meet death when it comes, for I am one of those that believe the lot of man is foreordered, and no whining or flinching can avail aught; but rest assured I shall not die without a struggle. If you refer to the men of doubtful stamp who are supposed to haunt this region, all I can say is, I am ready for them; though I count on no danger in that direction. I have heard of their doings, and I have heard, too, the name of one who is supposed to exercise a control over their movements. Martin and I were once friends, and I do not think I count in vain, when I reckon on his support in all needed cases. Let this fruitless talk come to an end, and let me, if you will not appoint a more favorable time, come to that of which I would speak."

The man called Charles Endicott grew more in earnest. With a rapidity and ease almost miraculous, he threw himself from his horse. So quick was he, and so graceful, that before the woman fairly knew it, he was standing near and facing her. She shrunk back somewhat, then raised her hand with a proud gesture.

"No nearer, sir, no nearer! Think not I am unprotected because you see me alone."

Endicott stood for a moment gazing silently into the eyes that met his, fair and full, glowing and sparkling under the moonlight. There was no quailing in them; no unsettledness of purpose; they did not fall. He sought to read her soul through them; and all he could see was unflinching resolution. Poor encouragement to proceed was that steady stare; a chill crept along his spine, a shiver went through his brain as he gazed into that face, handsome as a dream, but thin and colorless as chalk. Her eyes dilated; her form, lithe and slender, straightened; the proud gesture grew one of menace, and again her lips opened:

"Yes, sir, I am no unprotected female now. I hold your life in my hands in a dozen ways. Times have altered, sir. We stand on a new stage with new spectators and a new cast of parts. A man more or less, is of but little importance; your corpse, found with face turned upward and dead-set eyes staring ghastly, would create little excitement among the few who might learn of it. Perhaps they might bury it; maybe they would leave that duty to the wolves. Who knows?"

Endicott's face darkened, for the tone of the woman's voice had a disdainful ring that cut into his pride like the needle points of a tattooer. There was sharp pain and an ugly picture left behind. He tried to smile at her earnestness, but it was a very dismal smile, and his courage dropped away down toward zero. Not that he feared death—he only found that he feared the woman!

"Death's-heads and thigh-bones! Run out the black flag if you choose, yet there will many a day pass before I walk the plank. I see no vision of sudden death, feel no premonition of approaching dissolution. Say your say, for you are honest at heart, and when I have listened to you, you will listen to me, I know. And for my corpse—I entreat you to give it a Christian burial, should it be found with a ball in the base of my skull or an underhanded knife-thrust in the small of my back. Danger of that kind though, is I trust far off."

"Laugh if you will at my warning; yet, as you stand there in the full moonlight, you make a fair target; and on my honor you stand this minute covered by more than one weapon of death. You doubt me? Well, I see a rifle-barrel aimed at your head by the hand of a man who never yet missed his mark. I see it gleaming, and a wave of my hand brings the leaden messenger. So go your way; if you remain here five minutes longer, so help me Heaven, I will see you shot down with as little mercy as I would a prowling coyote."

How or exactly where she disappeared, Endicott scarcely knew. A mist appeared to sweep across his eyes, and when the mist rolled away she was gone. He stared a moment blankly before him, with the words of her warning ringing in his ears, and a doubt as to what to do in his heart.

"'Shot as a prowling coyote!' Faith, she is in one of her tragic moods to-night, and I verily believe she would do as she says. She may speak truly too about some one lying in wait; this is a queer region here, and if all accounts be true, a bullet from behind a bush would be no unprecedented thing. I will find my way back to camp as best I can. But how came she here?"

While muttering these things to himself he remounted his horse, turned its head in the direction from which he had come and slowly and thoughtfully began to retrace his steps.

Charles Endicott was a young man. He was well built, strong limbed, easy in his motions, with a clear, strong voice. His brown hair, long and well kept, was pushed back from a square forehead; his gray eyes looked out keenly from under long eyelashes; his nose was shapely, mouth not ungainly, his beard and mustache full and silken. He settled firmly in his saddle as though he belonged there, and his horse bore him as though knowing its master. The manner of his hand upon the bridle-rein seemed to tell that, though his thoughts might be elsewhere, still there was will left behind—will and a soul prepared for any emergency. A face seen by moonlight, it is said, is a heart unmasked. It may not be so in all cases; but it was in this. There was a heart then unmasked, a heart untrammeled by the fetters of conscience or the gyves of moral law. The man was a plotter, the man was a schemer. Perhaps his plots and schemes might come in contravention with right? Then right must of needs go to the wall, for the measure of expediency was the measure of equity with Endicott.

As he passed from the clear space into the wood the animal he bestrode gave a start, which, while it caused no particular emotion in the heart of the rider, was still sufficient to make him look warily around. He thought he saw a gleaming and a glancing some little distance off; he imagined he could hear the tread of some one approaching. He was right in his thought, and in his imagination. The gleaming and glancing were the moonbeams shivering off of the long rifle, and the noise of footsteps announced the approach of Dick Martin.

Endicott at first sight of the man had thrown his hand warily in search of a weapon. But, almost instantly recognizing the man, he suffered it to drop by his side, and, reining in his horse, awaited the issue of the interview which he foresaw was about to ensue.

When Martin was within a few feet he paused, and the two gave a look at each other as though they would read the man confronting to the very soul.

It was Endicott who first broke the silence. He urged his steed onward a few paces, bent down in his saddle and extended his hand, at the same time exclaiming:

"Then it is you, Martin. I had half-suspected as much when I first caught sight of you, and it gave me a shock. We meet as friends, I hope?"

Martin remained standing unmoved, and as though he did not see the proffered hand, and answered, in a cool, careless tone:

"Yes, Endicott, it is I—no more, and no less. I know you've got nerves that are tolerably steady, so I won't show any wonder at your taking this meeting so coolly; but it's kind of unexpected. You've drifted a long way out of your latitude to be floating along Back Load Trail. What's wrong in the East? Are the fools all dead, are the geese not worth the plucking, have the sheep come short in the wool crop, that you come here? Or are you in the stream that sets to the gold-diggings?"

"Bah, don't talk to me about the fools, geese and sheep that I've left behind me! Tell me how it is here. You and I used to understand each other pretty well, ay, and each other's secrets; so, come now; what's the best news in this heaven-forsaken region. Dick Martin doesn't locate here for nothing."

"No, he ain't located here for nothing; you're right. That something happens to be necessity. My luck in my little speculations ran out first, and I had to leave. As to what I'm doing here—that's not to be talked about. Maybe prospecting for gold; maybe Injun trading; maybe putting daylight through stray travelers and vamoosing with their traps; maybe any or all of these things—but not likely. I ain't here for nothing. That's all I can say."

"Martin, we have done business together many a time; we were allies, if not friends, and I want to know how the case stands now. I don't want to pry and peer into your private affairs. Maybe I'd be bringing something to the light that wouldn't stand it so well; but, I've heard somewhat of you as I came in this direction. Of course I didn't know it was you I heard the talk about, and of course there is a chance of what I heard being either true or false, with a little extra weight on the truth. You remember how we separated, and I don't think you have any thing to complain of, or any charges of ill faith on my part to bring against me. Now, the question I want to ask is: Can we rely on each other as we could of old? A plain yes or no will make the best answer to the question."

"Well, Endicott, I haven't heard of you particularly, either good or bad, though I had an intimation that you were in the neighborhood. It makes no difference what reports have gone trailing toward the East, and I don't claim to know them; they're bad enough, no doubt. You ask me a question, and if you must have an answer, why all I can say, is: In some things, yes, in other things, no! Will that suit you, or shall I go ahead and explain?"

"What do you mean by yes?"

"I mean that, in the first place, I would rely on you just as much as I ever did, and not a particle more. In the second, whatever you get my word to, that you can depend on my carrying through; but if you think to find me ready to promise to any and every mad scheme, you are very much mistaken."

"Any thing that is honest, eh?"

A grim smile flitted over Martin's face at the mention of the word honest. It was gone in a moment though, and he proceeded:

"Yes, any thing that's honest. Now what is it that you have to propose? I don't suppose you would have made so much of an introductory if you had not had something behind it."

"You are partly right. My motto is business first and pleasure afterward, else I would have had a thousand things to say with regard to our mutual lives in the past few years. Yet I hardly know what I would say. I did not seek you; yet, since I have met you, I want to know if I can count upon your assistance in a little matter which, springing up suddenly, has found me unprepared to meet it."

"Then you didn't hunt up Back Load Trail for any special reason?"

"No, indeed! It is just my lucky chance. The party I am with are camped half a mile over yonder. I left them for no very definable reason, and thereby met with an adventure that may have a great influence on my actions, perhaps on my whole future life. When we camped over there by the side of the stream, I thought it was but for the night, now I may linger in this neighborhood for a day or so. The question is, if I need a friend will you stand behind me?"

"What's this adventure, and how do you want me to stand behind you? If what I think is true, you may have more need of it than you think for."

"Well, Martin, I scarce know in what manner I would have you aid me; perhaps after all only by a neutrality. As to the adventure—I met with a woman."

There seemed to be nothing either astonishing or disconcerting in this revelation. After waiting in unbroken silence for any remarks that Martin might feel inclined to make, Endicott proceeded:

"It was rather strange for a man to ride out of camp with no aim or object and to stumble upon a woman; stranger, too, when that woman chanced to be one whom you had known long before, and for whom you had been long searching and in vain. I do not know what may come of it; but I know what I want to. How is it? There is no one of our little party that I care to trust—if I need assistance within the next twenty-four hours will you give it, and where can I find you?"

Martin looked up slowly and deliberately.

"It seems to me you're putting things on their old basis, what one of us plans the other is to help carry through."

"Why not? Neither you nor I have grown what the world calls better since then, and of course the understanding would be now as it always was—nothing for nothing, all for whatever pays."

"No, I don't suppose we have grown much better; but there may have been a few changes. As to the woman you speak of, here is all I have to say. If you have any plans and can carry them out openly and above board, no force, no underhanded means, no fraud, I'll not lay a straw in your way; maybe I can help you."

"If not?"

"This. Just you attempt the slightest bit of compulsion, or the first grain of trickery—try any thing that's not honest, make a move toward abduction, or take a step toward foul play, and I'll lay you dead in your tracks."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say. I give you fair leave and fair warning, too. I don't intend to interfere in any thing she wishes to do, but I mean she shall not do what she doesn't want to do."

"Do you mean to say that you will exert any control over her actions?"

"Yes, just so far as to let her have her own will. She's one of the few persons that I have cared for, and when time stops and the sea gives up its dead, you may, perhaps, see me go back on my dead sister's daughter."

CHAPTER IV.

BILL BLAZE, THE "SNOLLIGOSTER."

At the very edge of the camp-fire lay two men, mutually clutching each other, although hostile operations seemed, for the nonce, to have been suspended. So near to the fire were they that one of them, without relaxing his hold, had been able to give a log thereon a rousing kick which had caused the light to flare up, thus enabling him to obtain a fair view of the other. As Harry Winkle staggered into the circle of light the two men loosened their grips, and with deliberation rose to their feet, one of them returning to its sheath a knife, the other dropping to the ground a hatchet.

"A'mitey Moses, but yer kim neah gittin' a crack across yer skull. What yer want to steal dat hoss fur—eh?"

"Pompey, there war a nigger nigh onto goin' under about two minnits ago, an' so yer had better not be axing fool's questions. How d'yer s'pose I knowed whose hoss that war? The durned red niggers cleaned me out, root an' branch, 'bout a week ago, an' cum clost to rizin' my ha'r. I've bin trampin' on the back trace, an' when I cum acrost a animile handy I wouldn't 'a' bin Bill Blaze ef I hadn't gone fur him—'special arter what I met to-night. What yer doin' here? Last time I see'd yer yer war on the Big Red with Cap. Le Compte."

"Hi! You t'ink so! Somebody mite 'a' bin hurt ef I hadn't'a' knowed it was you when you talk; but dunno 'bout it's bein' dis chile. I's not bin with dem Hudson Bay fellers sence dat winter when you got so bad bit up wid dat grizzly. I's on my own hook now, an' takin' care o' Mass'r Winkle. An' bress my soul, dar he am now!"

The speaker, who was an African of the unmitigated breed, caught sight of Winkle standing upon the opposite side of the fire.

"Mass'r, dis yere am Mister Bill Blaze. I knows 'um well, an' he's a fust-rate feller, ef he war a-goin' fur yer hoss. Nussed him up when he war tore all into leetle bits."

Winkle appeared to be somewhat recalled to life by this address of his sable attendant; and turning, looked the man thus recommended full in the face.

Blaze, once introduced, did not stand upon ceremony; but advanced across the intervening space, extending his hand as he walked.

"Yes siree, I'm that identikle individool, Bill Blaze, jist frum the mountings! I kin trap more beaver, eat more buffler, steal more hoss-flesh an' raise more top-knots than any man frum here to the Columby River. I'm a blarsted bulldorg an' a high-heeled snolligoster. I kin lick my weight in b'ar's meat, an' my name's Bill Blaze. Waugh!"

"I've heard that name before," said Winkle, taking the offered hand, "and you're welcome. I'm a little abroad just now, and don't feel like my own self—for I've seen a ghost."

"Thunder! You look kinder skeery; but ghosts ain't nothin'. I've seen more ghosts than any man a-trampin'. Had 'em for pards onc't. Fact. Three on 'em an' myself camped in a shanty down on Black-horn Lick fur nigh onto a month. There war a woman with her throat cut, an' a half-breed with his brains stove in, an' his skulp a-danglin' ahind, an' a black b'ar with his back bruk. The way they tore around that 'ere shanty war nasty. Why, down thar on that thar Lick, ghosts war as plenty as ha'rs in yer head. An' yell? The catamounts got so 'shamed of their own mule music they packed their trapsacks an' got. Yer couldn't find a painter nigher ner fifty mile. No, stranger; don't talk to Bill Blaze about ghosts, fur he's bin thar!"

Winkle appeared to be little moved by this address. His face still bore marks of evident perturbation, and there was an absence of mind depicted in his manner and actions that seemed to strike Blaze as rather unwarranted. To some remark made he answered rather shortly; but he accepted of the hospitalities offered him, so far at least as to seat himself by the fire, and, in default of other entertainment, entertained himself by the sound of his own voice.

"No, ghosts don't bother this hyar hoss. Nor red-skins nor grizzlies neither. I kin trap more beaver, kill more b'ar, shoot straighter, run quicker, jump further, lie faster, stampede more animiles, an' carry more pelts than any bloody bulldorg ever invented. But, I'm the man without luck. I've wrastled with the old boy fur thirty years; he's got an under holt on me; but, I'm dead game, I am! Luck or no luck, I'll hang like seventeen pair o' tongs and a last inch gamecock. Waugh!"

The negro listened to these announcements, if Winkle did not. He was accustomed to this style of thing and had heard Blaze before.

"Mass'r Blaze, 'pears to me de bad luck ain't so mitey bad; I's t'inkin it's toder way cl'ar. Any odder man 'ud bin gone under—dun gone suah—ef he'd had de half what you's had to go tru. You's allers a-sayin' you's nary luck, an' allers a-gittin inter de w'ustest kind o' skrimdigers—an' still you am heah. What's de trouble now?"

"Wal, Pomp, I allow it's no luck as pulls me through, but just pure grit and muskle in this huyer hoss. I war camped out in a bully old spot last week; meat plenty, beaver to be had for the taken of 'em, and every thing going along on a string. Didn't think thar was Injin within twenty mile, an', blast me, ef they didn't cum down an' clear us out quicker than the jerk of a dead deer's tail. Bob Short an' I war thar together, you see, an' Bob struck all right, but they got my old sorrel mare, an' all our provender, an' I just cum down from them are mountings after a chase o' four days, poorer ner Job's turkey, an' nothen left me but Slicer an' this huyer old shootin'-iron. An' this huyer very blessed night, as I were movin' along promisc'us, thar war a rifle-ball went sizz a-past my head-piece, ad' I squatted an' see'd two men a talkin', an' found that thar bit o' lead warn't meant fur me an' while I war a-listenin', sock cum somethin' right acrost me, an' hove a yell wuss ner forty catamounts fitin' in a small box. I know'd it war a copper-belly an' clinched. We hed it, pull an' hug a bit, an' then I got Slicer out. That thar red-skin won't cum a-pryin' an' a-peerin' down along Back Load Trace soon ag'in. Nary; not much; waugh!"

The story of the trapper began to interest Winkle; he thought less and less of the ghost; he descended from the clouds and listened with earnestness to what the man was saying. He thought of the corpse that Martin and he had seen drifting down the stream, and believed that the Indian would not come prying and peering in that neighborhood soon again. Perhaps, too, this man might be of service to him? At any rate it would do no harm to meet him cordially.

"Then you are the man who had the tussle over there with an Indian? I heard the yell, saw him shoot into the stream, and went across to see what it was about. I was following your trail, when I came across a sight, or rather a sight came across me, that unhinged my nerves. But, how came the difficulty with the Indian? What was he doing there? Is there danger from others that should be specially guarded against?"

"Yes, siree, I'm the man! The diffikilty perobably arove from his not keepin' both eyes peeled. He was so bent on hearin' that he couldn't take time to see, an' tumbled onto a hornet's nest. He clinched right in then by instink, an' as it war die dorg er eat the hatchet, I hed to let it inte him, though I'd as ruther not. What he was a-doin' I dunno. Injin deviltry are various. Thar oughtn't to be a red-skin within fifty miles o' huyer. Thar may be a couple more on 'em or thar mayn't. What they'd be arter I can't say. Martin ought to know'd ef thar war any, an' I guess he's got his men out by this time a-lookin'."

"It will be best then to keep a bright look-out?"

"'Twouldn't be onsensible. Leastwise, though I don't think thar's much danger, it won't hurt to keep one eye open, for I've found it don't altogether gee right to be too confiding in this section with anybody—white er red. I'd advise it. I'd advise it, partickler, arter the talk I heard between you an' Martin. You see, I hain't any doubt but what yer a good man an' a game man; but, supposin' he was to tell it to some o' his cronies around here, an' one on 'em should be the man yer after—I wouldn't put it a-past 'em to slip in here an' slide a few inch o' steel in somewhar nigh yer jug'lar."

Winkle meditated some little time before he responded; then his words dropped out slowly and distinctly.

"I am safe from any thing in that shape. It is no mere bravado on my part when I say so, but a belief so settled that it must be true. I bear a charmed life while that one other man lives. I have passed through all straits during the past three years, and from desperate encounters have come forth unharmed; from beds of deadly sickness have come up sound and well. I have changed in that time wonderfully, and the change was not for naught. I do most firmly believe that destiny has something in store for me; till to-night I thought I knew what it was. Now I am uncertain; but that it is something more than a stab in the back or a chance shot in the melée of a night attack I have no doubt."

"That's all right. I only give my 'pinion on the matter, seein' as may be I've tramped around here ruther more nor you hev. Jest keep yer weather eye open—you an' Pomp here is all I mean. And ef any thing should turn up while I'm in shooting distance, yer kin kalkerlate that Bill Blaze'll give yer a hint on it."

"Well, well," responded Winkle, "I am not likely to have much dealings with any one hereabouts; but I begin to think my intentions have deceived me. I have been lingering in this neighborhood for several days; but I will do so no longer. To-morrow I will move on westward—and perhaps, if you have nothing better, you could find it to your interest to go along."

"That's my identikle name—Moovin'-west Blaze. But I'm steerin' in toward the settlements to see if thar's anybody sich a blarsted fool as to trust me fur an outfit. The season's jist commencing, an' ef I hev any thing like nateral luck I kin pay 'em back when I cum in ag'in and hev a few pelts in my sack."

"I can arrange that matter, I think," responded Winkle. "I have an extra horse, and, in fact, nearly every thing you need. I was going on to the trapping-grounds. Suppose you remain with me a couple days, and if nothing turns up I will leave this region. If I should, however, accomplish any of my aims, you shall have what you need anyhow."

"Durn my Trojan! I'm your man. I kin put in a week here, easy. Hev yer seen Martin's head-quarters yit? If yer hevn't yer ought to call in on him."

"No; I didn't know that I was so near to it. I have been near here for some days—within ten or twelve miles perhaps—but I only came into camp here to-night."

"Yer must go in then. Some on en 'em nosed ye out long ago, an' if yer don't they may come playin' tricks on yer without sayin' any thing to Dick. Maybe ye kin git some hints of what yer arter down thar."

"You are right. It may be as well to look a little in that direction. I've hardly been systematic in my plan of procedure. That comes, though, of trusting to chance and drifting in the direction Fate seems to call me. And, by the way, are there any females with the party?"

"Wal, to-morrer morning early will be time enuff to talk it over. I'm goin' to turn in now and git a snooze. I've had a blarsted long tramp to-day, and them legs o' mine ain't exackly a steam injine—though," by way of a saving clause, and to prevent the idea of any derogatory admission, "I'm a bloody, blarsted bull-dog and a high-heeled snolligoster on wheels."

To make arrangements for the night occupied but a short time; and soon, wrapped in a blanket of Winkle's, Blaze was wooing

"Sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care,

The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,

Chief nourisher in life's feast,"

while silence and darkness reigned around.

CHAPTER V.

THE SCREAM AT NIGHT.

How long Blaze had been slumbering he could scarcely have even guessed; but suddenly, and without any assignable cause, he found himself wide awake. He looked around; he listened. He saw nothing but dim shadows, heard nothing but the regular breathing of the two sleepers by his side. Yet his first thought was of danger. He was accustomed to premonitions. Men who live in an atmosphere of peril meet with them, understand them, act on them.

He leisurely and thoughtfully unrolled himself from his blanket and arose to his feet. "Most durn queer," he soliloquized, turning his eyes in every direction. "This old hoss's narves must be gittin' weak, er thar's sumthin' wrong a-brewin'. Don't often feel this here way; last time I did was t'other night, when the copper-bellies was a-cumin' in onto us without words er warnin'. I'll jist scout around a bit, an' see if enny thing's broke loose."

Taking his rifle with him, the trapper noiselessly stole away from the vicinity. He moved around the camp in a gradually increasing circle, pausing but once in his pace, and that was when he was opposite to the point where he believed Martin's cabin lay. Full ten minutes passed, when he heard footsteps and the voices of men engaged in conversation. Sinking upon the ground at the foot of the tree by which he was standing, Blaze watched and waited.

Both men were strangers to him; but one of them already has been introduced to the reader, under the name of Endicott. He had had time to leave Martin and meet with another man, who seemed a friend; and to him was imparting information, both as to what had already occurred that night in the vicinity of Back Load Trace, and as to what might occur. His words, that spoke of violence and treachery, appeared to fall upon sympathizing ears. As they drew nearer, all the time becoming more deeply interested in their conversation, Blaze gave a start of surprise and recognition; he crouched closely in the shadow and listened with redoubled interest.

Charles Endicott has been already described, and his companion merits notice. He, too, differed in something from the class of men one naturally expects to find on the very outer verge of semi-civilization. He was a man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, of medium hight. He walked with a steady, stealthy, cat-like pace, his head, for the most part, bent down; but now and then it was lifted, and he cast a sharp, steady gaze around him. The features were firmly cut, the eyes were steady; yet an undescribable something seemed to be shifting across his face, which would say to a stranger: Beware of Eben Rothven!

"Yes, Eben, it does make a change in the programme, I'll admit, but, it's a change to the advantage of both. Don't you see that?"

"I see that we waste here a couple of weeks, and no one knows what the end of it all will be. You can't count on a woman, and especially such a woman as you say this is. Break them down physically and mentally, trample the life out of them, and then they'll rise again. Out of a wreck that, were it of manhood, would founder with the first breath of wind, will rise again a good stout ship. You think you can waken the old dream in her, do you? Why, man, I'm surprised at you! The deadest thing on the earth is a dead love, and there is no mending a broken idol. Take my advice and let her go. She will be a burden that will sink us both. We are on the trail to fortune now; don't let us lose it, or fly wild at the first scent that crosses it."

"You're welcome to your philosophy about dead idols and the like; welcome to shake your head and prophesy; but, what I want is your help. Of course I will get it in some shape or other; but, I prefer it to be freely and enthusiastically given."

"How much does my help enter into your calculations? I tell you frankly that I am none of your dashing adventurers, ready to ride into Martin's camp of Free Trappers. So far as a word of advice and a sacrifice of time goes, you may count on me; but, don't expect me to stand behind you, to assist in any mad experiment you see proper to try."

"My 'count' is upon your services as a Reverend—a title and authority that, as far as you and I know, is still legitimately borne. I want to use you; a piece of joinery of your handiwork will last for all time. I can not believe that the cause by fair means is hopeless, and shall try them first; after that, why, there are a few stout hands and bold heads at our back, and we must e'en make the most of our stock in trade. To be sure, we are on the road toward fortune in other directions; but this is a certainty. The woman is worth her weight in gold, almost; and, besides, it's no new dream with me. It's not so many years since she was an idol of mine."

"Yes, I've heard of it—and I think, too, that you handled it—or would have handled it—not over tenderly. Do you think she would forgive that?"

"That was no fault of mine. I would have done better if the fates had let me; but they were against me. What could I do, hedged in as I was? If I could have sunk my past record, and stood out a new man, I'd not have let 'e'en the winds of heaven visit her face too roughly.' Perhaps I've got colder and harder since then; but, if so, I think my tongue can move as glibly and smoothly as ever, and there are fair excuses to be made for all that was seemingly wrong in the past."

"There is a limit, you may find, to human credulity. You can not wash out the recollections of the past. Do you think it was any light cause that drove her out of the world, out of society, refinement, and all that women of her stamp hold dear? Every day she has spent here, every rude face and lonely hour that she has seen or felt has cried out against you. Why, man, you murdered her name, and that is a crime no woman could ever forgive."

Endicott was silent a moment before the impressiveness of his companion. Then, by an effort, he broke into a short laugh: "'Is Saul also among the prophets?' Since when has Eben Rothven set himself up as a judge of the workings of the human soul? Of course, what you say may be true as holy writ. But what of it? Fair means or foul—I don't mince matters. This is no new plan of mine, and so, when opportunity comes, I can decide on my course quickly. Delay never makes a man. She knows nothing of the financial aspect of the affair, even now; while I did, years before it was revealed to the world, or to those who chose to notice. The time for action has come. Are you with me?"

The man called Rothven hesitated a moment, as if weighing the matter in his mind; then answered simply: "I am."

"Come on, then," and the two left the spot.

Much of this conversation was Greek to Blaze, but, somehow, he got it in his head that it related to his new-made friend, Harry Winkle. He seated himself leisurely against the tree to think it all over. Both these conspirators were strangers to him, they did not belong to Martin's men; who were they? He might perhaps have learned more as to that by following them, but he neglected to do so. And, pondering over the thing, he must have fallen asleep, for consciousness faded away. For how long, he could not at once, perhaps, have told, but he came back to life with a sudden shock, that brought him upon his feet like the thrill of a strong galvanic battery. He was wakened by a woman's scream, long, shrill, cutting into and through his ears like an Indian's death-wail.

He listened to catch it again, but it was not repeated. For a moment all was silence; then he heard the steady beat of horses' hoofs stretching away at fullest gallop, and then, the sharp, quick report of a rifle. He heard the footsteps coming nearer and nearer, and he crouched in the shadow of the tree, with his hand upon the lock of his weapon, almost nervously waiting for whatever might follow.

Suddenly he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. He started, and turned with a quick motion of offense. It was Winkle, rifle in hand. The moonlight fell past the tree full upon his face, on which was an excited if not a wild look.

"Am I crazy to-night? or did you hear it, too? I've seen a ghost this night, and now, again, I heard it scream for help. What was it, Blaze?"

This he hurriedly asked.

"If yer a lunatic there's a pair on 'em, fur I heard it too. Lay low here a minnit, an you'll see some more on it."

The hoof-beats sounded nearer; they swept on and on toward them. Then three horses emerged from the trees out into the light, and neared the spot where the two men were concealed.

"Is it he?" whispered Winkle, hissing the words out between his clenched teeth, and with a sharp click the hammer of his rifle went back.

But Blaze, quickly reaching back, seized his arm.

"Hold hard, there's more ner he thar."

The horsemen raced by like a tornado. It was a party of Blackfeet! And across the saddle-bow of the savage nearest to Blaze, was flung, or held, the form of a woman! In a moment Winkle's eye had caught sight of that which Blaze had perceived—the woman. For a moment he seemed to lose all control of himself, all power for action. Just one glimpse of a white, wild face, and a hand clutching fiercely.

"Did you see it—did you see it?" he asked.

"Yes! I seen it! They've just went an' gone an' done it. Thar's grit in the red-skins, thar are. But you'll be able to see another corpse along Back Load Trail afore many hours. Dick Martin will be behind 'em in the shake of a buck's tail—Hello! What's bu'sted?"

The man by his side had sunk, stiff and motionless, upon the grass.

"Blast my tail-feather, ef the young cuss hain't fainted. Thar must be somethin' wrong in the upper story, sure!"

CHAPTER VI.

A DOUBLE TRAIL.

On the prairie, alone by moonlight, there is a lonesome solemnity that startles, appalls. Look in one direction. For miles and miles there stretches away a tract of rolling land where the grass grows, the buffaloes graze, the coyotes howl, but no human form can be seen, no tree waving—a loneliness of nature that you think must somehow of necessity be interminable. Turn and look in another. Down from the tableland there stretches a long, grassy slope, where the foliage is more than ordinarily luxuriant, and at the foot of the declivity is the long line of timber which marks the course of some stream. There the broad elm flourishes, the lofty cottonwood shoots upward, and the white sycamore trees stand gleaming ghostlike under the mellow moonlight. Perhaps, further away to the left, where the rich bottom is broken by rising ridges of rocky bluffs, you see the gloomy spread of the cedar tree reaching upward its dismal-looking arms. Wherever the rolling prairie-fires have been unable to sweep, there you see the shade of timber and bush; everywhere else is the blue and red stem, the blue and bunch-grass or the short, crisp buffalo-grass; and far off in the distance, with a quiet grandeur of its own, you see the trace-line of the mountain range.

Some such grand and lonely scene would the reader have noted had he been standing in some favorable position on the high prairie near Back Load Trace, a few moments before the occurrence of the incidents just detailed.

It can well be imagined that Blaze was not the only one startled into action by the occurrences of the night. The shot, by one of Dick Martin's men on guard, aroused the Free Trappers, and also caused Charles Endicott and his companions the keenest alarm. Had their destined prey been seized by other human wolves? If so—who were those wolves?

As for Blaze he lost but little time. Almost Herculean in strength, he gathered on one arm the two rifles, while with the other he bore Harry toward the camp. On the way he met the negro, who relieved him of the rifles, and, upon reaching the side of the now smoldering camp-fire, produced a bottle of spirits and a canteen of water.

It was but a short time until consciousness returned to the fainting man. He opened his eyes, raised himself, sat upright, looked Blaze full in the face.

"You saw it all, did you? Now tell me, who was that woman?"

"That bit o' caliker, mister, tho' I dunno as I ever seen it afore, war most likely a woman that Dick Martin claims a sort o' relationship to, an' she's bin livin' round hyar fur some considerable time. Frum yer ackshuns I'd think yer must hev hed a priur morgidge on it, an', ef so, ye'd better be up an' stirrin', fur by the mitey the durned Blackfoot is goin' to foreclose."

"Ready, quick, quick," was Winkle's terse answer, looking from one man to the other. Then he turned, and burying his face in his hands lay stretched for a moment prone. When he sprung to his feet there was a new light in his eye, and redoubled strength in his arm. He vaulted into his saddle, gathered up his reins, and turning to Blaze, in a firm-set whisper, muttered:

"Lead on—to life or death—but I must see her again."

So, fully armed and fairly equipped, the three men rode out from under the shadows and cast themselves, with clenched teeth and iron will, upon the trail. All this took but a few moments to accomplish, since the three men had within them, each separately, the highest development of trained sagacity.

As they came out upon the prairie, Blaze took a sweeping glance around him, as though he would fain impress upon his mind every minutiæ of the lay of the country.

"Dog-gone the'r hides, thar's just two routes for 'em, an' on'y two, to take, an' ef I know'd which one it war it's cussed leetle trailin' I'd do to-night. In this yere leetle game it takes too much eye-pullin' to run nose-down. It ain't accordin' to reason to s'pose we won't hev to look out fur all the cussed red-skin tricks ever invented. They've got one on me a'ready due, so ef I don't squar' with 'em afore beaver-pelts is prime, I hope I may never tote a trapsack, er p'izen a buffler-wolf ag'in."

This was said more in the manner of a soliloquy than of a direct address; in fact, it is doubtful if either of the others could have heard his low-toned words. Winkle meant work; and so, for the present, thought little of speaking or of listening. Blaze meant work, too; but, talk to him was second nature, and when there were no ears open to hear he would rather press his own into service than, no pressing emergency demanding it, keep silent. Having a full twenty minutes start, they reached the spot where Martin and men had first been at fault long in advance of those worthies, and, as they had not a third trail to confuse them, and perhaps being more trail-wise, Bill did not have to spend many minutes in finding the tracks left by the two parties of Indians.

"One on each route, by mitey! Now, which to foller?"

He gave both the benefit of a close scouting. On the one leading to the right he found the imprint of a horse's hoof which he recognized as having been with the abductors. He noticed, too, that one was double laden. After a bit he came upon some shreds of a woman's dress. He showed these marks to Winkle, being careful, for the benefit of Martin, whom he shrewdly suspected would follow hard after, to leave them untouched. Harry's heart bounded more buoyantly at sight of these indications, and Blaze took one more look around him before all three dashed on with redoubled energy. But, as the trail at length lay before them plain and undisguised, Blaze's enthusiasm suddenly fell away down below zero. From time to time he glanced at it and at length reined in his horse.

"Dog-gone my knock-kneed tail-feather!" he exclaimed, "I ain't fit to lead blind rabbits to water!"

Winkle looked at him in astonishment.

"What is the matter now? Why do you halt?"

But Blaze paid but little attention to his query.

"What a gaul-blasted fool this hyar old hoss are. Tuk right in the fust pop by a bit o' baby-play. Can't yer see? That gal couldn't a-tore them bits off o' her dress. It stan's to reason not, sure. Why, cuss 'em, thar's two Injuns ridin' double here, dead shot. I thort it was too soft a thing. That led hoss in t'other party is the one ez has the gal on. Jist seen it in time. I'd gamble high thar's ez purty a leetle hornets' nest a-hangin' under the fust bit o' timber we'd come to, ez you'll find frum hyar to the Big Red."

How this suggestion was received may well be imagined.

"What are we to do then?" queried Harry. "Must we go all the way back and start fresh on the other trail?"

"Wal, not quite that bad; but, somewheres blamed nigh. Change my hind-sights, ef they ain't a-strikin' fur Crooked Cañon, full drive—we're goin', from the taste I've had of the hosses, to be jist a leetle too late to see 'em git under kiver."

"You think we can find them yet, though?"

"Think! I know it. Thar ain't no trouble about that; thar's only two trails, an' like a blarsted green purp I've bin a-barkin' up the wrong one."

"Then the sooner we look for the right one, the better."

"That's so, only it's provokin' to hev bin losin' all this time. Come on now, an ef ever an arrer went straight—an' the copper-skins kin sling 'em nasty, I kin take yer to the spot whar they're headin' fur to-night. I've bin ham-strung an' sot down on, which ain't very lively fur the boys!"

Without more hesitation or further parley, Blaze turned to the left and led off at a rate which he judged best suited to continued effort. Not for a long time did he utter a word. But when the silence had begun to be monotonous, he broke it by bringing his hand down with violence upon his thigh, exclaiming:

"Cussed ef sand-paper ain't slick as grease along side o' this streak o' roughness. Won't some one draw a bead on me afore I get my ha'r cut fur nuthin'?"

"Why, what is the trouble now? I hope we are not at fault again?" anxiously remarked Winkle.

"No, we ain't; but it's three to one an' fifty cents a dozen but what Dick Martin an' his boys are. I war so bloody, blarsted particular to leave every thing es I found it, and when they come up, like es not they'll just skyugle straight along on our trail, an' so they're losin' time, an' maybe get tuk in, when we mout just as well as not all be layin' on that trail together. It's too late to fix her now; so here goes."

Winkle's momentary uneasiness having been allayed, the three rode rapidly but moodily on.

CHAPTER VII.

LARIAT DAN'S DISCOVERY.

We have said that the shot which Blaze and Winkle heard had also aroused Endicott and his party. Lariat Dan, a trailer, trapper and guide of the party, and whose experience had been immense, and whose word could not be doubted, said that he had heard, in addition, a woman's scream for help. At this, as it were by instinct, Endicott and Rothven looked at each other. Could it be that the woman of whom they had been conversing but a short time ago, had since been in mortal danger? Endicott wondered, too, whether the conversation he had with Martin had any thing to do with it, or, if some sudden peril had come to the girl as she wandered, as of old, beneath the moonlight? Then Grizzly Dave, a voyageur of some renown, and also of his party, said that he "smelt Injun," and thereat Endicott hastily gave orders for an immediate preparation for a quick move. Accordingly there was a bustle and buzz around the camp, for a few minutes, every man with nervous rapidity attending to his duty.

By the time that Martin and half a score or more of his trusty followers foamed into Endicott's camp, every thing was in a condition that spoke well for the training and agility of the small brigade. So ready, too, were Endicott's company for defense, that more than one saddle of the Free Trappers might have been emptied as they came charging up had not Lariat Dan been acute enough to distinguish the thunder of their horses from the sweep of Indian ponies, and informed Endicott of the number and quality of their approaching visitors. In a moment it seemed to him that he had caught by intuition a glimpse of the position of affairs, and he confronted Martin so earnestly that that worthy's suspicions as to foul play emanating from that camp were at once dispelled.

"Now, then, ef yer man enough to follow Dick Martin, you've a chance to ride behind him. Ther's been some carelessness to-night that'll cost more than the sleepy cusses' brains are worth. Jump into the saddle if you're ready. What you leave in camp is safe as a church, and come on. The red-skin rascals shan't get clear without hard riding and harder fighting."

"What is it? Out with the whole of it! We heard the shot and a scream, and got ourselves together for any thing rough that might turn up."

"Come on. I can tell you every thing as we go. That fool of a girl has been gobbled up by the copper-skins, and that when I had six good men out for them. She'll be fifty miles away up in the mountains by morning."

The truth, as it was spoken rapidly by Martin, stirred Endicott into instantaneous action.

"Never mind cacheing the dunnage, I'll bear the damage. Is every thing ready for a start?" he exclaimed.

"You can just gamble on that yere," was the response of Lariat Dan.

"Then mount and away. Twenty-five dollars apiece extra pay for the extra work, and every thing else goes on the same!"

"That's the right ring! Count us boys in on this yere frolic—up and git," said Dan.

Endicott's followers fell in with those of Martin, and the whole body swept rapidly away, Martin, some yards in advance, heading toward the trail of the Indians, which passed the camp not many yards distant. Those few yards were soon traversed, and, with scarce an effort, the trail was found. There it lay before them, fresh, full and deep. As they ranged upon it, Endicott drew up to the leader. At the pace they were going, a free, steady gallop, conversation could be held with perfect ease, and he wished to gather the particulars of the catastrophe as well as learn the probable result.

"It seems to me the girl is born to be the center of a mix, and just lives to make and be in trouble. I've got the whole thing down to a point now—might have seen it at once if I hadn't had my ideas turned off thinking of what you had been saying to me to-night. What there is in her white face and staring eyes I can't see; but she's bewitched a dozen or so, and in the lot there's a red-skin that's been into my camp two or three times in the last year. That red-skin has made the difficulty now."

"Then there's little danger of her coming to any immediate harm?"

"Not so much if they don't tomahawk her as we catch up."

"But will we catch up? What are the chances?"

"Will we? You talk as though you had never done business before with Dick Martin. Of course we will! What he puts his hand to goes through. That's what has made him out here. We must catch up. The scent is fresh, our cattle good, and if we let them get away from us into the mountains we ought to lose our hair before we get back. Ther's a smart sprinkling of a chance for some of us to do that, though, anyhow."

"And suppose they do get into the mountains?"

"Well, then, we have a heavy contract to carry, that's all. Ah, what's that?"

The sudden exclamation was caused by the speaker's catching sight of the spot where Bill Blaze and party had come upon the trail of the Indians. Conversing as he was, and rapidly as he was riding, Martin's eye was never for an instant blinded, but made constant use of the moonlight, which, before many hours, would fail them. He glanced backward, caught the direction and comprehended in a moment.

"That's the party that were camped down there," pointing with his fingers in the direction of Winkle's lately left camp. "Only there were two men and three horses then. They must have found a third rider. Wonder if it could be the trapper that is just down from the mountains? They are on the trail hard—and the more the merrier."

Again they dashed on at a rapid rate. Now the silence was unbroken by speech. Well mounted and well armed, Martin hoped to overtake the red-skins before the moon should set, or they have an opportunity to find cover. The three men who had so unexpectedly come to his assistance had evidently a start, and they might be riding in view. Perhaps they might so embarrass the retreat that he would soon come up. Once at close quarters, unless against overwhelming odds, he could rest confident in the prowess of his men.

A mile more was soon devoured; then the whole cavalcade came to a sudden halt at the exclamation from their leader.

A new addition had been made to the number of the forces on one side or the other, and, anxious as he was to push on, Martin was here compelled to pause and make a thorough examination; the result of which proved at once embarrassing and unexpected. On inspection it was evident that at this spot a small party of Indians had halted for some hours. The grass was beaten down and upon the ground was the imprints of moccasined feet. At first there was a difficulty in finding any further traces of the horsemen of whom they were in pursuit. Martin and two or three of his most experienced trailers gave their keen eyes to the work, while Lariat Dan, Grizzly Dave and Mike Motler went circling round on their own account. Endicott and Eben Rothven remained motionless, conversing between themselves. Rothven had entered upon this ride with manifest reluctance, and would even now fain have persuaded his friend that their best policy was to withdraw from a pursuit which was attended with positive danger, and the result of which was so dubious in its nature. But Endicott was neither to be persuaded nor warned, and listened with half-closed ears to the words of his partner.

Almost simultaneously Martin and Grizzly Dave uttered an ejaculation. Each had found a trail leading away from the halting-place. Dick had already found the path made by the halting squad, and, by careful scouting, had satisfied himself that it had been traversed by three mounted men, and a led horse. And looking a few yards further he found the footprints of the same four horses leading back in almost the exact direction from whence they had come. Having noted this he turned to examine into what Grizzly Dave had found.

It was evidently a trail, though a faint one. Just a shadow of a track left, a bruising of the grass as though by the muffled feet of horses. And by the side of it another track, that of Harry Winkle and his two followers. They cautiously moved on a few paces, keeping, with some difficulty, the marks in view. When they came to a spot in the prairie that was soft and rather bare, the hoof-prints of the three horses could be quite plainly discerned. More than that, one of those horses was doubly laden, as could be told by the depth of his tracks. Then Lariat Dan made another discovery which he showed in silence. It was a little shred of stuff which Martin at once recognized as a shred from Edith Van Payne's dress.

"We have it now, boys; come ahead!" shouted the leader, and again they pressed on, guided partly by the feebly discernible Indian trail, partly by the bolder one of the three white men. But, moving with as much rapidity as they could, time, and valuable time, was consumed, and so far it could not be disguised that the red-skins had traveled two miles to the white men's one.

Another mile brought a fresh development. The pursued had thrown away all disguise and all attempt to conceal their trail, apparently being more desirous of making a rapid flight than aught else.

As they galloped on, now Lariat Dan drew up alongside of Endicott and spoke to him in a low tone: "Fall back an' out a little; I want to tell yer somethin' you mout not hev noticed."

Something in the tone of the speaker struck strangely the one addressed, and without hesitation he did as requested.

"I rayther think ther's more in this than all on us can cipher out at onc't, an' so I thort I'd tell you, kinder private like, thet this huyer is all durned foolishness, an' we're losin' time. Jist call me a double-barreled ground-hog ef the gal hesn't gone t'other way. It's the purtiest piece o' red-skin devilment I've seen fur a coon's age, an' I'll allow it did take in this old hoss at fust; but, I kin see with half an eye now, that them are cusses blinded that trail just enuf fur it to be found an' time fooled away on it an' the devil's dance played, an' then the two lots'll git together ag'in an' be up in the cover. Ef yer want to see the gal yer best plan is to corner right off. I kin see with both eyes shut whar the're slidin' fur, an' ef the hosses kin go the pace, I kin purty nigh make up lost time enough to put yer thar before 'em."

"And how many of the Indians do you think we will find 'thar', waitin' for them and ready to gobble us?"

"Nary durned one! The other is the nasty trail to foller. Ther'll be jist three o' them, and you and yer partner throwed in. Ef yer say so I'll tip our boys the wink an' we can take the route by ourselves, er ef yer wants it, I kin tell Martin an' maybe the hull lot will go a-b'ilin' off. Don't think too cussed long, for time's preshus."

In the gambling game that Endicott was ready to play, no hand could have been dealt him which would better suit his purposes, provided the statements of Dan, so positively made, could be relied on. There was a risk to run; but the actual rescue of Edith Van Payne by himself, and the consequent possession of her, surrounded only by his own men, was a trump card that he was bold enough to make an effort to possess.

He was willing, for such an unexpected good fortune, to break, at a moment's notice, with Martin.

In fact, as the reader may have surmised, he had already half decided upon, but a few hours before, the abduction of Miss Van Payne by himself and his men. Now he thought he saw the game played to a successful termination, and seeing that, he was willing to blind his eyes to the difficulties and dangers between. He looked at his henchman with an approving smile, and slowly said: "You have done well. Let Dave and Mike know and we will follow your lead in search of the other party."

Rothven was close at hand, indeed he was hardly likely to be found among the first riders, and when Charles Endicott in an undertone requested him to gradually reduce his speed, he did it without urging. He thought it was a sign that they were about to relinquish the chase; a something which certainly met with his full approval. So quietly and skillfully was the thing managed that, before their defection was discovered, the five men had dropped behind, had turned their horses' heads, and, under the skillful guidance of Lariat Dan, were stretching out over the plain at a gait that plainly evinced that they were desirous of making up for lost time.

Since the utmost silence was maintained, it was some time before Eben could form any estimate of the direction in which he was going, or learn the cause of their withdrawal. When at length an explanation was vouchsafed him, he drew up like one who seems to think he has fallen from the frying-pan into the fire; but he did not appear to think it worth while to reason with the rest. Only he grumbled out that he thought, if they must go on such a fool's chase, leaving their own legitimate interests, he conceived that at least a decent regard for their own safety, not entering into the question of effectiveness, might have been exercised, and instead of plunging off into darkness and danger alone, they might have followed on with the main body.

Dan, their present guide, took this murmuring quite pleasantly.

"Yer ha'r'll be just as safe when daylight comes, as ef ye'd follered to a stray shot with Martin an' his trappers. Thar's no tellin' how many o' them will go under afore mornin' yet."

"Yes, come now, don't be grumbling; but save your breath for some emergency. We have a long ride before us and something of business at the end of it. I never went more gayly to a ball than I go to my work to-night."

"Oh, I'm not grumbling, and when the time comes you will find me as ready as the readiest. Only I've a respect for the old Napoleonic maxims about the heaviest battalions, and the strength of union."

"Them's only jineral principles," interposed Grizzly Dave. "When yer come down to the fine p'ints, ye'll find that, when ther time fur a galvanized bu'ster to go in out of the wet has arrove, the identical cuss that shoots plum center slides along with it, an' yer bound to drop. Ef Dick Martin's hand's out, there's the man pullin' in the stakes this very minnit."

What answer Rothven might have made can not be recorded, for far behind them they, with sudden startlingness, heard the peal of firearms.

"Thar's business now, an' you was just a-grumblin' thet yer head wasn't bein' run slap inter the hornets' nest," said Grizzly Dave. "They've run somethin' to a hole."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE FREE TRAPPERS TRAPPED.

It might hardly be credited; yet at least twenty minutes elapsed before the absence of Endicott and his men was noticed. Martin, himself, had full occupation in following the dim trail, while his men, not having yet fraternized with the strangers, accepting them on trust, from Martin's orders, as allies, were alike careless of their absence or presence.

When the desertion was discovered, Martin still continued in apparent indifference to it. After looking from one to another, in temporary doubt, one of the men rode to the side of their leader, and imparted to him the fact, that Endicott, Rothven, and three other men had disappeared from their number.

Whatever he may have felt inwardly, there was no outward manifestation that this intelligence was unexpected, or even new. He received it with a careless nod and wave of the hand, and his only remark was:

"That's all right. Never mind about them; they're all old enough to take care of themselves."

The man drew back, completely deceived by the manner of Martin, and in consequence, there was an idea in the minds of most then present, that he had not only been cognizant of their departure, but that it was more than likely that the absence which had seemed so mysterious originated from his orders.

Inwardly, Martin was more troubled than he would have cared to have owned. It reawakened the ugly suspicions which had led him toward the camp of Endicott, upon the first discovery of the abduction of Edith. Could he have imagined how any understanding with the Indians could have been effected, he would have altered his plans immediately. Once or twice he did think of turning back to find and follow the trail of Endicott.

Perhaps it would have been as well to have done so. It was leading toward his niece, though there had been no complicity with the red-skins. The defection might, however, have been caused by cowardice; so he reasoned, or it might be that Endicott had other schemes on foot, which on mature deliberation he judged to be of more importance than knight-errantry, and dangerous pursuit. The latter view seemed plausible, since he knew him to be a man of schemes and speculations; one, too, not apt to be led away from his course by any motives of sentimental humanity.

By this time the conformation of the ground over which they were traveling, began somewhat to change. Although, following the high divide, the road was still good, yet on one side or the other frequent ravines ran away; in front wound a stream, its line of timber showing black under the moonlight. To this the trail directly led. The near bank was precipitous, presenting in most places, a barrier against fording. Yet here and there old buffalo water trails had worn paths to the stream, one of which the driving rain, with its temporary torrents, had washed down, until the descent was not only practicable but easy. Down one of these paths led the trail, crossing the stream, and leading up through a rift in the timber, which stood thickly on the opposite side.

As it happened, the moonlight streamed directly through this rift, reaching every part of the path, shedding sufficient light to make every object therein distinctly visible. As he gave a glance down the bank, at the moment of beginning the descent, Martin noticed this, and that, an impenetrable gloom overspread every other surrounding object. Although not expecting danger, and almost certain that he had three times the number of men that he might by any possibility meet with, yet it seemed better to him to order a halt for a moment, while he took a closer view. In obedience to his order, his men drew rein just before coming to the brink of the bluff, while he glanced carefully around, listening with suspended breath.

No sound, save the noise of the night-wind and the rippling of the water fell on his ears. So, with carbine at a ready, he began the descent. Just before he reached the water's edge a beaver on the opposite bank dropped off, making so little noise that ears less acute than those of Martin would have doubtless failed to notice it. Every visible sign betokened loneliness and safety. Pushing on across he wound his way up the opposite bank. The ascent, making a reversed curve, was gradual. He passed on perhaps three hundred yards until he could see, at some little distance ahead, the point where the crown of the bank turned onto the second bottom, and then began to retrace his steps. Arriving again at the stream, he drew to one side until almost concealed by the shadow of an elm, and then, in a tone low, yet sufficiently loud to be heard by his men, gave the order to advance.

Just as the foremost two, but a few yards away, came in sight, he heard a slight, hissing, rustling noise, and something touched him lightly on the shoulder. To him it seemed like a whisper from Death; for he knew they were ambuscaded in the cañon. The touch was given by the feather end of an Indian arrow. The very silence that followed the advent of this messenger of hostility was appalling. Yet withal he retained his self-possession.

In a moment he had taken in the whole position, and decided as to the force of the aggressors, and the course to be pursued. He judged that a few men had been stationed in the shadows to watch, to attack, to harass, to delay. As they were there it seemed but little difference whether he had them on front, flank or rear, as far as danger was concerned; and that it would be best to dash past them as rapidly as possible. They were probably too few in number to make any thing like an open attack, and it was only while they were in front that there could be danger.

Acting on this supposition, his voice suddenly broke the stillness, ringing out clear and full upon the ears of the startled men:

"Forward at a gallop, men, and fire at sight or sound!"

Then ensued a noise of hastily advancing horsemen, who charged into the line of moonlight with reckless obedience to the command of their leader.

Again close to Martin, evidently hurtled in the direction of his voice, there fell an arrow. Then, as with a yell that was scarcely a cheer his men came plunging across the stream, half a dozen shafts fell in their midst.

Keen eyes and ears were open, and as Martin fired his carbine in the direction from whence he judged the arrows had come, the sound of its report was caught up by the rattle and crash of the firearms in the hands of his men. It seemed to be a blind affair, in which luck would be apt to go further than judgment. Again came a flight of arrows, whistling into the ranks of the white men as they swept by, Martin now at their head, and the revolvers of the assailed cracked viciously as reply. In a moment more, the danger, for the present, was past, and the whole party passed out of the dangerous defile and galloped a few hundred yards upon the comparatively safe prairie.

Then they drew rein to inquire into the amount of the damage done.

Not a man was missing; but two or three sat but loosely in their saddles; while there were two men who had lost their horses and come out on foot. By good fortune the wounds of the injured men proved but slight, and with a little rude surgery they were both willing and able to proceed.

What injury, if any, had been inflicted upon the attacking party it was impossible to determine. All the firing on the part of the assailed, had been at random, even though one or two had thought, as they pulled the trigger of their revolvers, that they were marking down black shades that might be Indians. Whatever may have been their loss, the half-dozen, at which number Martin had estimated the size of the party, had done their best, and succeeded in inflicting a very fair amount of damage. Whatever was their loss, all remained noiseless in the late left ravine.

From his hunting-shirt one of the men drew an arrow. It had glanced along a leathern strap that he wore, and hung dangling by its feathered end. Handling it carefully he showed it to Martin. That worthy took it and looked at it with a thoughtful glance. By the relative position of head and feather he recognized it in a moment as a war-arrow, and by its make he could give a shrewd guess at the tribe to which its owner had belonged, and he turned to his men with:

"There's been some underhand work that I don't know any thing about between some of you boys and these red-skins, and this is what's come of it. I didn't think much of two or three of them being reckless enough to carry off the girl—there's lots of men that will gamble away their lives for the woman that takes their fancy—but there's too many of 'em in this thing not to have a little something else behind it all to urge them on. I ought to look it out and bring the matter straight, for we can't afford to be eternally mussing with the red-skins. However, it's too late now to bother, and, if every man does his duty, we'll let the matter rest when we get to camp. But, I tell you, it's got to be the last time that one of our men goes back on the copper-skins."

Having said this much, he turned to the serious work before him. Not for long was he at fault. Again he was on the trail. Scarcely had he followed for two hundred yards, when it took a sudden bend to the right, and began to run parallel with the creek. For perhaps a quarter of a mile it continued in that course, then, turning once more to the right, it was lost in the shade of the timber.

All came to a halt and looked around. From the taste they had had they were all in a fit frame of mind to act with prudence. Besides, there were two footmen in the party now.

Standing there, there suddenly appeared, away off on their left, a little clump of moving objects which had just emerged from the head of a ravine. "One, two, three—" the white men counted the number until it ended at seven.

"Seven durned, cussed, pisen red-bellies, by mitey! Them's the cusses that killed my hoss, I'll bet my brains!" exclaimed one of the footmen.