Produced by Craig Kirkwood, Demian Katz and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University (http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) Transcribers Notes: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=). Additional Transcribers Notes are at the end. * * * * * Semi-Monthly Novels Series No. 212. BEADLES DIME NOVELS [Illustration] SILVERSPUR. BEADLE AND COMPANY, 98 WILLIAM STREET NEW YORK. New York News Co., 8 Spruce St., N. Y. * * * * * HUNTED BY A HUMAN HOUND! Beadles Dime Novels, No. 213, TO ISSUE TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, Will be a grand, good story of the Santee morasses, viz. SQUATTER DICK: OR, The Swamp Foxs Oath. BY JOS. E. BADGER, JR., AUTHOR OF THE MASKED GUIDE, REDLAW, THE HALF-BREED, ETC. Murder, rapine, outrage on person and property--these were concomitants of the old War of Independence in the Carolinas, where the British ruled with the sword, the hangmans rope and the torch. Dwellings blazed, citizens were hunted down or driven to the swamps, women were insulted, lands laid desolate. Then it was that Marion became the Swamp Fox and Sumter became the Wild Night Rider, whose terrible blows for freedom made the haughty foe tremble. Their companions were true sons of the soil, who, taking to the jungles, for nearly three years led lives of hunted men. The author, in this truly interesting novel, gives startlingly real personations of the swamp men, and of one in particular--a _trailer_, on a mission of vengeance which is fearfully wrought out. It is a story to profoundly stir the feelings, to please, and to inspire renewed interest in this noble series of purely American Romance (as a leading New York Journal fitly characterizes it)--BEADLES DIME NOVELS, the most widely-circulated books of modern times. ? For sale by all Newsdealers and Booksellers; or sent, _post-paid_, to any address, on receipt of price--TEN CENTS. BEADLE AND COMPANY, Publishers, 98 William Street, New York. * * * * * [Illustration] * * * * * SILVERSPUR; OR, THE MOUNTAIN HEROINE. A TALE OF THE ARAPAHO COUNTRY. BY EDWARD WILLETT, _Author of the following Dime Novels_: 110. _THE HIDDEN HOME._ 114. _NED STARLING._ 119. _THE FIVE CHAMPIONS._ 125. _THE HUNTED LIFE._ 132. _OLD HONESTY._ 139. _THE BORDER FOES._ 145. _THE MOUNTAINEER._ 149. _THE HUNTERS PLEDGE._ 159. _SNOW-BIRD._ 170. _BORDER AVENGERS._ 187. _THE OUTLAWS PLOT._ 205. _THE GRAY SCALP._ NEW YORK: BEADLE AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM STREET. * * * * * Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by BEADLE AND COMPANY, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. (No. 212.) * * * * * SILVERSPUR. CHAPTER I. MOUNTAIN MEN. In a saloon adjoining the St. Louis theater (the city at that time could boast of but one theater) were collected half a dozen men, middle-aged and young. It was evident, even to a casual observer, that they were bound together by ties of friendship, or of interest, or of common pursuit; for they formed a knot by themselves, associating with no others, and their appearance was quite different from that of other frequenters of the saloon. Their dress was fine--not gaudy, but costly--and they wore their broadcloth with the air of men who had been born to it. Their manners were gentlemanly, if not refined, characterized by the frankness and high-toned independence that ought to distinguish the American citizen. Their tastes, also, were of a costly and luxurious nature. Disdaining the low-priced whisky and the fiery brandy that was chiefly dealt out at the saloon, they lavished their gold pieces upon the choicest wines, as freely as if they had owned mines of the precious metals. They were talking, when they entered the saloon, of the theater which they had just left; but their tone changed after a while, and the conversation was of mountains and plains, of Indians and buffalo, of wild scenes and daring exploits. They spoke of these subjects, so strange and wonderful to the uninitiated, as if they were matters of every-day occurrence, laughing and joking the most over the worst perils and the greatest hardships. These men were objects of interest to a person who made his appearance in the saloon shortly after they entered it--a man past the middle age, grotesque, uncouth, and strangely out of place in those surroundings. Although his features were peculiar enough, his dress was chiefly calculated to attract attention in a civilized community. His principal garment was a hunting-shirt of dressed deerskin, embroidered in the Indian fashion, and ornamented with a fringe of green worsted. A heavy cape was attached to this garment, and it was tied at the waist with a red worsted sash. The breast was open sufficiently to give a view of a red flannel shirt. Under the principal garment were leggings of deerskin, heavily fringed below the knee, until they were joined by a pair of moccasins. A cap made of the skin of the gray fox, with the tail prominent behind, and a silver medal set in the front, completed the attire of this strange personage. His face and form were also peculiar. From under his cap fell straggling locks of black hair, thickly touched with gray. Beneath bushy eyebrows were set a pair of keen, sparkling and restless eyes. His nose, large, prominent, and shaped like the beak of the eagle, had been by some means turned awry, and its end pointed unmistakably toward the left side of his face. His mouth was large, but pleasant in expression, and his right cheek was remarkable for a purplish spot that covered the region about the cheek-bone. None of his other features were visible, being hidden by a heavy beard, of black mixed with gray, that flowed in a tangled mass to his breast. As to shape, he was a little above the medium hight, with very broad shoulders and breast and thence tapering down to his feet, which were big and broad enough to support the structure above them. His left hand carried a long and heavy rifle, ancient and battered, worn by time and hard service. A knife with a buckhorn handle was stuck in a leather sheath in his sash, and his powder-horn and bullet-pouch hung at his side. After watching the group of well-dressed men for a while, he stepped up to them. I heern tell that ye are mounting men, strangers, he said, though Im durned ef ye look a bit like it. You are not far wrong, my friend, replied a heavy set man, with a jovial countenance; who seemed to be the chief personage in the group. We are generally called mountain men, though most of us belong to the plains, rather than the mountains. Yere all fixed up so mighty fine, that I had my doubts, and I felt kinder skeery of ye; but I allowed I mought make bold to ax about suthin Im on the hunt of down hyar. Hope thars no harm done. None to us, my friend. We are always glad to meet a mountain man in the settlements. Wont you take something to loosen your tongue? Dont mind ef I do, cap., bein its you. Thunderation! exclaimed the mountaineer, as the effervescent champagne bubbled out into a goblet before him. Hev ye got a bilin spring down hyar in St. Louis? Drink it quick, my friend, before it dies. Wal, ef I must eat it alive, hyars to ye! Dont you like it? was asked, as he sat down the glass, with a wry face. Caint say that I really love the taste of it. Its most too sweetish to suit this child, and Im afeard the crittur is never gwine to quit kickin. Peter, give the old man some brandy, or any thing he may choose to call for. You said, my friend, that you wished to ask us about something that you are on the hunt of. We will be glad to help you. I allowed, beins yere mounting men, ye mought praps know suthin of a young chap named Fred Wilder. A young man in the group gave a slight start, and laid his hand on the shoulder of the gentleman who was about to reply. There are several men of that name in the city, he said. Did the person you speak of ever pass by any other name? The Injuns called him Silverspur, and he was ginerally called by that name in the mountings; but I allow he wouldnt wear it down hyar in the settlements. Thars me, now; Ive been called Old Blaze so long, and nothin else, that I aint raally sure whether Ive got any other name. What sort of a man was he? Wal, as fur looks, he was what is called a good-lookin man, though I never took on much about his good looks, or thought they war any thin to brag on. He was about your hight, and with jist such eyes, and nose and mouth the same to a dot. Durned ef you dont look a heap like him. Thank you for the compliment. But looks dont count in a skrimmage, and they aint worth talkin about. Thars whar Silverspur did count, and he was as good a man in a tight place, fur his inches, as I ever sot eyes onto. Ye mought bet yer pile that hed never ran away from a fight, or go back on a friend. He was the right kind of a man, and old Jule knows it. The hunter slapped his rifle with his hand, to give emphasis to this assertion. Perhaps, suggested one of the gentlemen, this Wilder is the same man who was hung last week, for horse-stealing. Yere wrong thar, stranger, said the hunter, as his eyes flashed wickedly. I wont say but ye may hev sech a notion; but I hope ye wont speak it out agin afore me. Silverspur warnt the kind of a man to git picked up as a hoss-thief. He is mistaken, my friend, said the young man. I knew Silverspur; but he is dead. Dead! That chap! Dead! The hunters rifle fell on the floor, with a crash that startled all in the room, and his countenance was expressive of the deepest sorrow, as he stared blankly at his informant. Ef Silverspur is dead, whats other folks livin for? Seems that a man like him haint no right to be took away. Thars few enough like him, and old Jule knows it. Did he jest die, stranger, or mought suthin hev happened to him? He was killed--shot in an encounter--here in St Louis. Some sort of a skrimmage ye mean, I reckon. Is the man who did it a-livin? There were several men. It was not known which of them fired the shot. Will ye be so kind, stranger, as to put me on the trail of these men? What would you do? Foller it up, ontil the last one of em is wiped out. Theyll never shoot another man. Such a chap as Silverspur! Come, Fred, remarked one of the party; dont carry the joke too far. You take it too hard, my friend, said the young man, as the hunters eyes filled with tears. I may have been mistaken. In fact, Silverspur is alive and well. Why, Old Blaze! dont you know me? The hunter looked amazed. He seemed hardly to know whether to be angry or pleased; but gladness got the better of indignation, and his face fairly blazed with joy as he grasped the outstretched hand of the young man. The livin thunder! he exclaimed. Who would ever hev thought that ye could fool this child so easy! Its plain enough now, though shavin and har-trimmin and settlement fixins do make a powerful differ. You will forgive me for my joke, I know, if you are really glad to see me. Glad! That aint no word fur it boy. Ive come all those many miles to see ye, and I reckon I ort to be glad to find ye, at the eend of such a long trail. What is the news in the mountains? Wal, things go on purty much in the old way; but thars suthin turned up that I lowed yed want to know about. What is it? That Injun gal. Hev ye forgot her aready? Dove-eye? No indeed! You may laugh if you please, gentlemen; but this is a matter in which I am deeply interested. An affair of the heart, remarked one of the party. I was spoony about a red-skin girl myself, when I was younger than I am now. We will leave you with Old Blaze, Fred. As he has come so far to see you, he must have something of importance to communicate. The traders left the saloon, and Fred Wilder, leading the hunter to a seat, asked him concerning the news that he had brought. Its all about that Injun gal, I tell ye, replied Old Blaze. It was White Shield who sent me--that Blackfoot friend of yours. Where is White Shield, and how is he? I would be right glad to see him. Yell never see him agin, in this world. That Injuns dead. You are not following my example, I hope, and trying to fool me. Not a bit of it. The Blackfeet got him. They were powerful mad because he quit the tribe and ran off with you and old Robinettes gal, and they were bound to kill him when they caught him. I happened to be on good terms with the riptyles jest then, and I saw White Shield afore he died. He told me about the Injun gal, and made me give him my solemn promise that I would hunt you out and let you know. How did they kill him? Jest knocked him in the head, and left him to the buzzards. Poor fellow! It would have been better for him if he had never seen me. His friendship was fatal to him. What did he say about Dove-eye? Yes, that is the gals name, ef it aint wrong to call a warrior a gal. Thars precious little of the dove about her now, cordin to what White Shield said. He was among the Crows, when they had a skrimmage with the Rapahoes, and he said that Dove-eye was about the wildest warrior the Crows had aginst them. Since she took to the war-paint, he said, the Rapahoes seemed to hev abundance of bad feelin toward the Crows, and fout em as ef they wanted to rub out the tribe. I thought she was dead. I sought her so long, without finding even a trace of her, that I could only suppose her to be dead. As she is living, I must seek her again. I must go to the West. White Shield never lied. I reckon you will soon see her, cap., ef you will stay with the Crows a while. It wont be long afore you will hev a chance to knock her in the head or take her prisoner, ef she dont git ahead of you in the fightin business. Come to my lodge, Blaze, and stay with me while you are in town. In two days I can get ready, and then we will start for the mountains, if you are willing. Willin and glad enough. Im tired of this hyar settlement aready. CHAPTER II. A FOOT RACE. Near the head of the Platte, more than a hundred miles beyond Fort Laramie, had encamped, one midsummer night, a party of hunters and trappers, among whom were Fred Wilder and Old Blaze. The party numbered only a dozen men, and as their force was so small, they had taken special care to guard against attack or accident. Notwithstanding their precautions, they discovered, in the morning, that four of their best horses were missing, and a council was held to consider the matter. As there were no signs of Indians to be seen, they came to the conclusion that the animals had got loose, and had taken the back track on the trail by which the party had come. As most of the men were in a hurry to reach their destination, they proposed to push forward without regarding the loss; but Wilder, to whom three of the horses belonged, was loth to lose them, and he declared that he would go in search of them, if he had to go alone. Old Blaze declared that he should not go alone, and volunteered to accompany him. It was settled, therefore, that the two men should go in search of the animals, and should join the others at the Devils Gap, at which point they proposed to stop for a while. Silverspur and Old Blaze set out in one direction, while their companions went in another. They followed the trail back to their last encampment, where they saw signs of the missing animals, but discovered that they had gone on without stopping. As it was useless to pursue them any further on foot, the two men encamped for the night among the trees that lined the banks of a creek. In the morning they started to rejoin their comrades, and an accident befell them at the outset of the journey. Silverspur shot a deer before they proceeded far, and the animal fell to the ground, mortally wounded. Old Blaze, drawing his knife, ran to finish the deer, but stumbled and fell as he was running. As bad luck would have it, he fell upon his knife, which entered his thigh, making a deep and painful wound. The gash was bound up immediately, and the hunter, after resting a little while, was able to walk, though his progress was slow and difficult. Soon after this second start, Silverspur, happening to look around, discovered a large body of Indians, less than a quarter of a mile in their rear. What shall we do now? he asked, as he pointed them out to his companion. What you kin do is plain enough, replied Blaze. Yer legs are good, and you kin git away. As fur me, I cant run, and will hev to take my chances. Do you think I would leave you? You know me better than that, old man. I think we can both save ourselves. The Indians have seen us, no doubt, but have not found us out. They probably mistake us for some of their own people, as they are in no hurry to get to us. If you will pull up a little, until we get to the creek yonder, you can hide under the bank. The Indians will follow me, and you can get clear when they have gone by. Are you right sure, boy, that your legs are good? asked the hunter, looking hard at his companion. I can trust them, and you need have no fear for me. The Indians are afoot, as you see, and I am sure that no runner among them can catch me before I reach the Devils Gap. All right, then. Yer legs will hev to save yer own skelp and mine. Come on. I belive they are getting suspicions of us. Old Blaze quickened his pace, and they soon reached the creek, where he concealed himself in the dense foliage under the bank. Silverspur crossed the creek, and gained an elevation beyond it, from which he looked back at the Indians. They had become suspicious of the strangers, and runners from the main body were hastening toward the creek. As he started to run, the advanced Indians gave a yell, and pushed forward in pursuit. The young man had not reckoned without his host, when he said that he could trust his legs. It was not their length that he confided in, but their activity and endurance. More than once they had served him well in grievous peril, and he had no doubt that they would carry him safely to his friends. He halted but once--to see that the Indians did not stop at the creek to search for Old Blaze--before he had run a good two-mile stretch, and had put a considerable distance between himself and his pursuers. After that, he stopped whenever he found himself on a hill, to see whether they were gaining on him, half hoping that they might abandon the race. The hope was a vain one, as he well knew that Indian runners, when once started on a chase, will fall dead in their tracks, rather than give up the pursuit. It was a long distance to the Devils Gap, and Fred Wilder had not got his prairie legs on. He did not think of this when he proposed to draw the pursuit from his friend. If he had thought of it, it would not have prevented him from making the proposition. For a long time he had been leading the enervating life of a city, and his bodily powers were by no means such as they were when he left the mountains and the plains. He was forced to confess to himself, when he stopped to look back, that he paused to gain breath, as much as to observe the progress of his pursuers. He was forced, also, to the unwelcome admission that they were gaining on him, slowly but surely. He was growing weary--of that there could be no doubt. The summer day was hot; the sun shone scorchingly; there was no water on the route, and his throat was parched with thirst. Still his persevering and indefatigable pursuers gained on him, and their yells sounded horribly in his ears. But it was past noon. He had run more than five hours, and he consoled himself with the thought that he must be near the rendezvous. He was willing that the Indians should gain on him a little, as they would soon be seen by his friends, and the tables would be turned on them so nicely! It was with a sigh of relief, with a feeling of great joy, that he came within the shadow of the hills that marked the Gap. A few more steps, and he would be safe. The few steps were taken, and he reached the encampment, only to find it deserted! Silverspur was astounded by this appalling discovery. His head swam, and his body reeled. At that moment he felt so weak that exertion seemed impossible. His friends had gone up the river, and he could not guess how far. They might be a full days journey in advance of him. How could he hope to overtake them, and to escape his fleet-footed pursuers. In his despair, he thought only of satisfying his thirst. He was determined to drink, if he should die the next moment. He staggered down to the river, knelt at the brink, and drank as if he expected never to have another draught. When he arose, the Indians were fearfully near him; but his strength and courage had returned. They had come upon the trail of the white men, and, fearing an ambuscade, had halted to reconnoiter. But for this circumstance, Silverspur would have been killed where he drank. As it was, he was in great danger, and their bullets and arrows whistled unpleasantly close to him as he mounted the bank. But he was rested and refreshed, his nerves were braced for a grand effort, and the consciousness of his peril gave him new energy and endurance. He ran for his scalp, knowing that his possession of that precious part of his person depended on his speed. The Indians raised a yell as he shot ahead of them; but it was a feeble cry, compared to their previous shouts, and showed that their throats were dry and thirsty. They must stop to drink, and this thought gave him new hope. He resolved to make a long burst, hoping to get so far ahead of them that they would abandon the pursuit. He was again mistaken. The savages stopped to quench their thirst; but they were resolved to overtake the fugitive or die on the trail. When he looked back, they were far in his rear, but were pressing determinedly on. The young man knew that he had a long and hard race before him; but he believed that Providence would be propitious to a man that sacrificed himself for his friend. His hope was even brighter than it had been before he reached the rendezvous, and he felt that his will would supply him with strength. On he pressed, through the long hours of the midsummer afternoon, with his red enemies straining after him. As he occasionally looked behind, he had the satisfaction of seeing that their line was gradually lengthened, and that one by one they dropped off, until but five continued the pursuit. But those five were gaining on him, and he felt that his strength was failing again. Should he stop, and give battle to those five? He seriously considered the question, as that desperate chance seemed to be his only resource. No; the odds against him were too great, and he was so weak that he could hardly count in a hand-to-hand struggle. Let them screech, he said, as their exultant yells told him how confident they were of overtaking him. They had better save their breath for running, or they may not catch me yet. He toiled on, and until the sinking sun showed him that the day was near its close and until the number of his pursuers were diminished to three. His strength was nearly exhausted, his feet were so sore that every step was painful, and his legs had swollen until he seemed to drag them as a load. Thirst had overpowered him again; his throat was dry and hot; his breath came in difficult gasps; his head was dizzy and a mist floated before his eyes. He could run no more. The end of the race had come and the only question was, how it should be ended. There were but three Indians now, and his rifle, which he had carried through the weary chase until its weight was no longer supportable, would do good work if his eye remained true. He might bring down one of his adversaries, and might load in time to shoot another, before they could close in upon him, and then he would have but one to deal with. It was his last chance, and he could do nothing but adopt it. As he looked ahead, to find a suitable place to make a stand, he saw smoke rising from an elevation before him. The next moment he saw men on horseback. He pressed his hand before his eyes, as if to drive away the mist that blinded him, and he saw that they were white men. They had perceived him, and they came galloping toward him. They were seen by the Indians, who turned and fled. The pursuers became the pursued, and small chance would they have in another race. Silverspur saw nothing more. The mist closed in upon him thickly. His rifle fell upon the ground, and he dropped heavily beside it. CHAPTER III. THE GIRL WARRIOR. Fred Wilder came to his senses as his friends were carrying him to their camp. They had gone on for the purpose of meeting a band of friendly Crows, supposing that Old Blaze and Silverspur would recover their horses, and would have no difficulty in overtaking them. When Silverspur told them of his adventure, and described his terrible race, he received plenty of sympathy, and praise from the open-hearted mountain men, who could well appreciate the motive that prompted him to incur such danger to save his friend. That was a purty smart run fur a chap from the settlements, said one of the party; but it warnt a very big thing. Ive knowed Indian runners to make more than a hundred miles in a day. It was a big enough thing to suit Silverspur, and his swelled legs were somewhat too big to please him. He was in such pain that he was hardly able to stir for several days. Fortunately for him he was not obliged to move. His companions had encamped with a band of Crows, and expected to remain a week or longer in that locality. The men who had gone in pursuit of Silverspurs pursuers brought in three scalps, and declared that the runners were Arapahoes. Bad Eye, the chief of the Crows, said that they might expect an attack, as the Arapahoes were probably awaiting an opportunity to pounce upon his people, toward whom they had lately manifested the most inveterate hostility. The third day after Silverspurs arrival, Old Blaze came limping into the camp, and was overjoyed at finding his friend alive. The Indians had passed within a few feet of him without observing him. When they had gone by he crawled out of his hiding-place, and followed the trail as rapidly as he could, being compelled to seek concealment every now and then, to avoid straggling parties of Indians. He brought the intelligence that the Arapahoes were a war-party, that they were in strong force, and that they were undoubtedly intending to commit depredations upon the Crows. As this coincided with the opinion of Bad Eye, the camp was removed to a bend in the river, and the Indians, with their white allies, began to fortify the position. A slight breastwork was thrown up across the bend, and the horses were driven back into the semicircle, as the rear of the camp was rendered impregnable by the river. The next morning the Arapahoes came in sight, and the camp was fairly invested. The Crows and the white men, perceiving that they were largely outnumbered, made every preparation for defense. The Arapahoes seemed inspired by a desperate resolution to exterminate the band of Crows. They made charge after charge upon the breastwork, with the greatest fury, and on two occasions nearly gained possession of it. The white men persuaded their Indian allies to act altogether upon the defensive, to content themselves with repulsing the attacks of their assailants, and to labor as much as possible to strengthen their position. By this means, they argued, the Arapahoes would tire themselves out, and, when they should become wearied, they might be charged and put to flight. Night put a stop to the struggle, and the Crows hoped that their inveterate enemies would retire from the contest; but in this they were mistaken. In the morning the assault was vigorously renewed, and it was only by the most determined fighting that the Crows could hold their ground. If it had not been for the assistance of the white men, they must have been driven into the river, and nearly all of them would have perished. By noon the attack had slackened considerably. It became evident that the ranks of the Arapahoes had been thinned by the close fire of their antagonists, and that they had become fatigued by the incessant labor of battle. The time had come for the besieged to assume the offensive, and they prepared to attack in their turn. Old Blaze gave directions for horses to be made ready for fifty men, with whom he proposed to make a détour through the timber, and fall upon the rear of the enemy, while the others should charge in front. Foremost among the Arapahoes, urging them on in every attack, and fearlessly leading the charge up to the very muzzles of their guns at the breastwork, was a person who attracted attention from the beginning of the engagement, and who was soon recognized as a woman. The Crow chief said that she was the same woman who had been conspicuous in several attacks upon the Crows, and Old Blaze, believing her to be the person of whom White Shield had spoken, told Silverspur that Dove-eye was among the combatants. Fred Wilder was so weak and sore after his hard race, that he was unable to take part in the battle; but, when he learned that Dove-eye was in the ranks of the Arapahoes, he could not restrain his impatience to see her. Without speaking of his intention to Old Blaze, who would not have allowed him to move, he crawled out of the lodge in which he had been lying, saddled a horse, mounted, and rode forward to the breastwork, where the Crows were preparing to charge upon their adversaries. The charge was made before he reached the forest. The Arapahoes discovered, as they began to fall from their horses, that they were attacked in the rear, and were thrown into confusion. The Crows and their white allies took advantage of this moment to sally out and fall upon their foes. As they were comparatively fresh, both men and horses, while the Arapahoes were wearied by their repeated assaults, the movement was a complete success. Silverspur, hardly able to sit on his horse, soon perceived that it would be useless for him to attempt to overtake the charging party, and he took his station upon an eminence, from which he could have a good view of the surrounding country. He saw that the Arapahoes were already broken, and were flying in all directions, hotly pursued by their vindictive antagonists. He looked in every quarter for Dove-eye; but his head was so dizzy, and his eyes were so dim, that he was unable to see far, and he was about to move away, when a warrior came galloping up the slope toward him. As the warrior approached, he perceived that it was a woman. A moment more, and he recognized Dove-eye. She was beautiful indeed. Silverspur thought that he had never seen any wild thing that was half so lovely, and it did not detract from her beauty and grace that she was riding man-fashion, as a warrior must. She was richly attired in the Indian style; her head was crowned with a plume of painted feathers, and her saddle was a panthers skin. She rode a splendid coal-black horse, and carried a battle-ax in her right hand. Her hair, unlike the coarse and straight locks of the rest of her tribe, was wavy and inclined to curl; her complexion was a rich olive, instead of copper-color, and she had not the high cheek-bones peculiar to the Indian race. With her cheeks guiltless of paint, glowing with excitement, and her eyes flashing fire, she was beautiful indeed. Silverspur urged his horse toward her as she rode up the slope, and called her by name; but she whirled her battle-ax in the air, and launched it full at his head. As he dodged to avoid the missile his small remnant of strength deserted him, and he fell from his horse to the ground. When he recovered himself, the warrior was out of hearing. Picking up the battle-ax, he slowly walked back up to camp, whither his horse had preceded him. The Crows came in loaded with scalps and full of joy. Although they had lost a number of warriors, they had a grand scalp-dance, in which the women participated most heartily. Silverspur and Old Blaze did not join the dance, but conversed of Dove-eye and of her part in the battle. She fit like a tiger, said the trapper. Its my opeenyun that shes got a particlar spite aginst the Crows, judgin by the way she pitched into em. It is sad to think that she should have taken up the battle-ax and become so bloodthirsty. Rayther sad fur the Crows, shore enough. Her lettin go the battle-ax would hev been sadder fur you, ef ye hadnt dodged the weapon. Are you sartin it is the same gal? I have not a doubt of it. I saw her plainly, and I could not be mistaken. Those flashing eyes, that rich olive complexion, that queenly carriage, could not be forgotten. There was no change in her, except that she seemed more beautiful than ever. Yaas, I reckon. Handsome is as handsome does, cordin to my notion, and it dont look over and above handsome to see a gal trottin out on the war-path and flingin bloody battle-axes about. Pears like she didnt know ye. I suppose she did not, replied Wilder, as his countenance fell. A knock-down blow with that battle-ax of hern wouldnt be what ye might call a love-tap, and it warnt no common way of lettin ye know that she hadnt forgot ye. But ye oughtnt to be down-hearted, boy. Remember how ye fooled Old Blaze down to St. Louey. Tell ye, thars a powerful differ atween a chap with long har and beard, and his face brown and his leggins on, and the same chap when he is short-sheared and class-shaved, and has got the look of the settlements onto him. The gal was just from the fight, too, whar every white man was an inimy. Ye may count it sartin that she didnt know ye. I believe you are right. I must find her, old friend. I allowed yed found her to-day. Leastways, ye found her battle-ax. I must see her and speak to her. If it is necessary to go among the Arapahoes to find her, I must seek her there. Will you help me, or is it too much to ask? Ye kin bet yer life that Old Blaze will stand by ye. CHAPTER IV. THE PROPHETS CHILD A wild place among the hills, on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. At the base of a cliff is a rude hut, forming the entrance to a cave in the rock. A plateau before the cliff commands a view of broken hills and ravines, becoming less rugged as they descend and finally melting into the wide expanse of prairie that stretches endlessly toward the east. Among these hills and ravines a fearful scene is being acted. A party of Arapaho Indians have been surprised by a band of Crows, who have attacked them with such vigor that they are flying in all directions, pursued by their bloodthirsty and vindictive adversaries. The air resounds with shouts and yells, with screams and shrieks; blood is scattered plentifully upon the hills, and the ravines are filled with horror. From the plateau in front of the hut two persons are gazing at the terrible sight below them. One is an old Indian with bent form and white hair. A blanket is wrapped around him, and his countenance expresses the deepest distress. The other is a girl of the same tribe, tall and graceful, much lighter in color than the Arapahoes, with long and wavy hair, and with beautiful features. She stands as if spell-bound, and watches the carnage with eyes full of fear and anxiety. Come, my child, said the old man. Our enemies are victorious, and we must fly. Is it really you, my father? she asked, turning upon him with a look of wonder. I thought you had gone to the spirit-land. I had; but my people were in danger, and I returned. Can you do nothing to help them? Many of them have been killed, and the rest are flying in all directions. What Indians are those who are pursuing them? They are Crows. See, Dove-eye; they are coming up the hill toward us. We shall be killed if we remain here. Come; we must seek a hiding-place. Seizing the girl by the hand, he hurried her along the plateau, to a rift that led up into the mountain. This they ascended with difficulty, until they reached another level space, covered with clumps of pine and cedar. Remain here, my child, said the old man as he led her into the cover of the trees. I must go and see what becomes of our people, and what the Crows are doing. Do not stir until I return. He was absent fully half an hour, during which time Dove-eye was filled with anxiety. Her friends the Arapahoes were being slaughtered by their merciless foes, and she could still hear from her elevated position the yells and shrieks of the victors and the vanquished. But this was not all. There was a white man below whom she had saved from death at the hands of the Arapahoes, and toward whom her feelings were such as had never before been excited in her breast. She had concealed him in a hole in the cliff and he was lying there, wounded and helpless, an easy prey to any foe who should discover his hiding-place. When the old man returned, he was greatly excited, and was trembling from fear and exhaustion. Come, my child, he said. We are not safe here. We must seek another hiding-place. We must go up further into the mountains. Sit down and rest yourself, replied Dove-eye. We can not be seen here. You are so tired that you can hardly stand. There is no time for rest. The Crows are everywhere in the hills, searching for our friends who have escaped them. If they see our trail, we will soon be discovered. Where is the white man? Where is Silverspur? I am afraid that they may find him and kill him. They have already found him, and he is dead. Dead! Are you sure, my father? I saw him dragged out and struck down with a tomahawk. Were they Crows who killed him, or Arapahoes? They were Crows. The girl was a picture of despair. She sat still, as if she had been turned into stone, gazing into vacancy. Then her cheeks flushed, and a wild and fierce light blazed in her dark eyes. The fires of hatred and vengeance had been kindled in her breast. I must see him, my father, she said, quietly. Perhaps he is only wounded. Do you think the Crows would leave him alive? I tell you he is dead. I must see him. The Crows would kill you, also. I am not afraid of the Crows. If he is dead, they will let me bury him. Has the mind of Dove-eye been taken from her? If the Crows should not kill you, they would carry you away, and I would never see you again. You promised me, Dove-eye, if I would save the life of the white man, that you would never leave me while I lived. It is true, my father; but he is dead. I saved his life, as I promised to do. He was not killed by the Arapahoes, but by the Crows. The word of Dove-eye is sacred. I will go with you. The old man and the girl sought and found a refuge further up the mountain from the search of the pursuing Crows. They came down, in a nearly famished condition, when the scattered Arapahoes returned; but they did not remain long in that locality, as the remnant of the band to which they were attached removed toward the south. After the expiration of several months they came back to the scene of their disastrous defeat, and Dove-eye and the old man again occupied the lodge at the foot of the cliff. The girl passed her time in mourning the loss of the white man who had become so dear to her. This occupation caused her to grow thin and pale, and might have caused her death, if she had not been diverted from it by another trouble. The old man, who had never recovered from the effects of his fright and exhaustion at the time of the attack of the Crows, sickened and died. Dove-eye, who had known him as a great medicine man, whose influence in his tribe was almost unbounded, was puzzled as well as grieved, when she saw him lying there, pale and cold, with glassy eyes, hollow cheeks and dropped under-jaw, to all appearance a corpse. He had been subject to trances--had been in the habit of falling into a sleep which, whether real or counterfeit, closely resembled death. He knew when these spells were coming on, and it had been his custom to notify the tribe that on such an occasion, at a certain hour in the morning, he would go to the spirit-land, and that he would return at noon. The warriors would solemnly come to visit him and look upon him as he lay in this trance, satisfying themselves that he was really dead. After noon they would again come, when they would find him alive, and would listen to the messages which he had brought from the other world. By this mysterious power the old man maintained his ascendancy over the tribe. His word was law, and his advice was always heeded. It was possible, Dove-eye thought, that he might then be on one of his journeys to the spirit-world. He had sent no announcement of his intentions to the tribe; but he might have forgotten to do so. She said nothing, but waited to see whether he would rise at his usual hour. Noon came, and he remained motionless and cold. The evening passed, and night came on, without bringing any change. The next morning there was no alteration in him, except for the worse, and Dove-eye was convinced that he was dead. She then felt that she had sustained a great loss, and thought seriously about her future. If the old man had not adopted her, and retained her as his companion, she would have been compelled to share the lodge of some warrior, with one or two other squaws. Now that her protector was gone she would be sought by many, and would be unable to resist their importunities. In her desperation she hit upon an expedient, which, if it should prove successful, would enable her to retain her independence, and would gratify the vengeance that had so long slumbered in her heart. A negro slave of the tribe named Jose, who had been captured in Texas or Mexico, had long been the servant of the medicine-man, and was devoted to Dove-eye. With his assistance she buried the body of the old man, swearing him to secrecy concerning the burial. She then went to the village, and called together the old men, whom she informed that their Big Medicine had gone to the spirit-land, and that he would return when six moons had passed. This announcement filled them with surprise and sorrow; but their credulity was not shaken. Dove-eye had often brought them messages from the old man, and they were prepared to believe whatever she might say. She went on to tell them that the Great Spirit was angry with them because they had not punished the Crows for their unprovoked attack, by which so many Arapahoes had been slain. The old man had advised them to go on the war-path against the Crows, and to continue fighting them until ample vengeance should be taken for that massacre. He had also commanded her to assume the garb and weapons of a warrior, and to accompany all expeditions that should be sent against the Crows. Dove-eye waited with great anxiety to learn what would be the effect of her communication. It was received in silence, and she was ordered to retire until the old men should have deliberated over it. After the lapse of an hour she was admitted to the council-lodge, and Black Horse, the head chief, acquainted her with the result of the deliberation. It is well, he said. The Big Medicine has left us, to be gone a long time, and our hearts are sad. Never before, when he has gone to the spirit-land, has he remained so long away from his people. But we are not lost without him; for he has sent us a message, and has left us advice. His words have always been good words, and Dove-eye has never lied to us. We will go upon the war-path against the Crows, and Dove-eye shall be among the warriors. The young men must not look upon her. The season of mourning followed, for the old medicine-man, who was believed to be dead for the space of six moons, and then the whole strength of the tribe was employed in expeditions against the Crows. Dove-eye, arrayed and armed as a brave, was an honored member of every war-party, and acted her part with such skill and bravery as to command the approval of the whole tribe. When the braves rehearsed their exploits, she was always allowed to tell her own, and her achievements did not fall far behind those of the most renowned warriors. With every blow she struck, she believed that she was avenging the death of Silverspur. CHAPTER V. THE SNAKE. It had been the hope and expectation of Dove-eye that she would be killed in battle, or that something would occur to release her from her obligations, before the time
{'title': 'Silverspur; or, The Mountain Heroine: A Tale of the Arapaho Country by Willett', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}