The Missouri Outlaws

"All this is very possible," observed Bright-eye, shaking his head doubtingly, "but no one can deny that he is the captain of a monstrous set of brigands."

"What does that prove?" said Oliver.

"Nothing that I know of. Still I am decidedly of opinion that his word is not to be trusted."

"Then allow me to observe," said George Clinton, drily, "why are we here?"

"Why, because one always lives in hope, despite our better reason. Still we ought to be prudent."

"Though I am not quite of the opinion of Bright-eye," said Charbonneau, "I think we should be wise not to rush headlong into a possible trap which the bandits may be preparing for us. He is right as to the wisdom of prudence."

"I, too, am an advocate for prudence," said George Clinton; "nothing can be more wise than to take all proper precautions. That I fully agree with. But do not act in such a way as to cause our loyalty to be suspected, or our confidence in the man's word."

"That can be easily arranged, my friends," said Charbonneau, with a cunning smile "let me alone, and, believe me, all will go well."

"My worthy friend, act just as you think proper. You, perhaps, more than anyone, have experience of the desert, and nobody objects to your taking every precaution."

"The best precaution," said the Indian chief, again speaking, "when you deal with a loyal enemy is to have every faith in his word; to have no suspicion of any kind in your mind."

"Very good, chief. It is very likely after all that you are right. I will not discuss the matter with you, though I repeat I am very much surprised to hear you speak thus. I only ask of you one thing – that is, to remain neutral in this affair until the actual moment of action has come."

"Numank-Charake loves Bright-eye; he is his brother. He will do whatever the hunter wishes; still regretting that he is constrained to act against his wishes," he answered.

"I take all the blame on myself," said Bright-eye; "and shall be the first to own my error, if indeed I am found to be in error. A man can say no more, even if he were speaking to his father."

The Indian said no more, but bowed his head in token of acquiescence. But he smiled with such a keen and subtle irony that the hunter was so deeply moved as to blush.

"I fear nothing for myself," he cried.

"Eh, what!" exclaimed Charbonneau, stretching out his arm towards the river, "What is going on?"

Every eye was fixed upon the spot indicated by the hunter's sudden exclamation.

"It is a canoe," said George Clinton.

"Manned by two men," observed Charbonneau.

"And those two men," said the chief, after one glance from his eagle eye, "are two palefaces. He knows them well. One is the old hunter called Sharpear, the other the son of my nation – Leave-no-trail."

"My father and my grandfather!" cried Bright-eye, in utter surprise. "Surely, chief, you must be mistaken. Why should they come here?"

"Very likely," observed Oliver, gently, "the same motive leads them here that has led us."

Meanwhile the canoe, impelled by vigorous arms, approached with extreme rapidity, and soon was at no very great distance from the camp of the hunters. Then it turned rapidly towards the shore, and its bow was soon stuck in the sand.

Two men landed.

Numank-Charake had been right. These two men were indeed the father and grandfather of the young hunter. They were coming to the encampment.

The five adventurers all leaped up, and eagerly rushed to meet the two old men.

After the first compliments had passed and welcomes had been exchanged with effusion between the newcomers and their friends, the Canadians seated themselves by the fire, and, upon the invitation given, ate some mouthfuls of fresh-cooked venison and drank some brandy.

"We have been to see our relative, Lagrenay, the squatter of the Wind River," said the old man. "It appears he had received a very pressing message from Tom Mitchell, the outlaw."

"Yes," said Bright-eye, "we were there when it was delivered. We know all about it. But, as far as I am concerned, I am afraid – "

"Of what are you afraid, my son?" asked François Berger, in a rather imperious tone of voice.

"That all this pretended facility and frankness on the part of the pirate chief hides a snare."

The two old hunters exchanged a smile.

"Child, you are very much mistaken," said the grandfather. "Tom Mitchell means exactly what he says. He has no intention, no motive for laying any unworthy trap."

"I am certain of it," added the son.

Bright-eye had nothing to say to so positive an assertion. He silently bowed his head.

"We have done all in our power to come here quickly, knowing we should meet you," went on François Berger; "we are only too happy to be in time."

"In time to do what?" asked Oliver.

"We will explain," said the elder of the two men; "when Tom Mitchell comes we shall receive him."

"But that is our business?" cried Bright-eye.

"I know the message was addressed to you," said his father; "I am well aware of it that it is our business, and, in fact, it is more proper it should be so. At all events we have decided that it is to be so, so that you will keep out of sight until the affair is finished."

"But," said Bright-eye, with considerable hesitation, "supposing there was treachery?"

"My son," sententiously observed the old man, "prudence is wise, but suspicion in certain cases is an insult. Think of that. Believe me when I say that your father and I know better what we are about than you do."

"We shall certainly obey you," said Oliver, in the name of all. "We shall remain at a distance during the interview, and only interfere when called upon."

"I thank you cordially," said the old man; "everything will go rightly, I promise you."

And he waved his hand as if to dismiss them.

The five young men rose, bowed respectfully to the two old men, and watched them as they walked slowly down to the banks of the river.

About two gunshots distance from the camp, or thereabouts, was a rather thick wood, composed of oaks and gumtrees. The hunters entered the wood, and soon afterwards disappeared under the forest.

Remaining alone, the old hunters lifted their Indian calumets and began to smoke, without exchanging one single word.

This went on for about three-quarters of an hour – incessant smoking. Suddenly, François Berger let fall his pipe, fell flat on his face, put his ear to the ground, and listened.

"They come," he said, rising.

"I have heard them coming for some time," quietly replied the old grandfather. "How many?"

"Not more than four."

"Just as I expected. He has acted in perfect good faith," said the old man.

"Then you are quite determined?"

"Yes. The Indians are not in want of it, and I should not like to see the Yankees or English profit by it."

"You are the master. You are the one to whom it belongs to a certain extent," said the son.

"Yes; it is today my property. Besides, it should be kept up for the support of a great cause. Tom Mitchell is a very different man from what he appears," added the old man, gravely.

"That, of course, I know."

"Besides, I have another very strong motive for acting as I do, and that is the establishment, on the very spot I allude to, of the Yankee squatter."

"Yes. And, between you and me, father, these Yankees have very sharp noses. They will find it out before long."

"Exactly so, my son. For my part, I prefer that Frenchmen should derive the advantage."

At this moment a distant gunshot was heard.

"Here they come," said François Berger.

He then rose, placed his hand over his mouth like a funnel, and twice imitated, with marvellous dexterity and perfection, the cry of the water hawk.

A similar cry came in response, and almost immediately afterwards four cavaliers, well mounted, appeared galloping through the high grass and trees, and coming directly towards them.

The Canadians held their rifles in their hands, while the newcomers showed no apparent arms. They had left their pistols in the holsters, their sabres were in their scabbards, their rifles by their sides.

On coming within a short distance of the two old men the strangers exchanged a few words in a low tone of voice, two of them slackened their pace, while the others rushed forward with the rapidity of the gazelle.

In another instant Angela, for it was herself, was in the arms of the friends, answering by cries of joy and tears of happiness the sweet caresses of her relatives and friends.

Tom Mitchell and his companions stood apart discreetly, and then, when they saw that the first transports were over or becoming calmer, approached.

"Welcome," said the old man, "welcome, gentlemen," holding out his two hands.

"Have I kept my promise?" asked Tom Mitchell.

"Nobly; I solemnly declare it, and I thank you," cried Berger, with deep emotion.

"You have worthily made up for the act you had done. Let us forget the past," said the old man; "what can we do for you?"

"Nothing," he said, quietly.

"You exact no ransom whatever?"

"Why should I exaggerate, old hunter? I was drawn into committing a bad action by a man whose name I will not mention. Though a pirate, I am not so bad as I am painted. I have therefore sought to condone the evil."

"Admirably spoken," said François Berger, again embracing his daughter. "Go, darling, to your brother yonder."

"Allow me first to thank Captain Mitchell," she said, "for his extreme kindness during my captivity."

"You bear me no malice?"

"None whatever," she said, "but eternal gratitude. You deserve it and you have it."

Then with a gesture of adieu and a sweet smile on her adorable lips she ran off in the direction of the forest.

The men waited until she was out of sight.

"I will now take my leave," said the outlaw.

"One moment," replied the old man; "the recompense which you refuse I must force upon you."

He pulled forth a large folded parchment.

"This is the ransom of my daughter," he said: "it is a regular deed of gift of the Valley of the Deer."

"What!" cried the outlaw, with singular emotion.

"Yes, and here on the map is a red mark, indicating the spot where what you know of is concealed."

"Accept without scruple, captain," said François Berger; "it is ours and ours alone to give."

"Since you wish it, gentlemen. I should show but ill grace to refuse, the more that I value your gift highly."

"I only ask one thing in return," said the old man.

"I shall be ready to promise anything."

"You will use what I have given you only with an honourable – " he said, with some hesitation.

"It shall be so, I promise you."

"And so we part friends; captain, your hand."

"Friends, yes," said the pirate; "and I hope the day may come when you may try my friendship."

"Who knows? The day may come sooner than we expect."

"I shall be ready to shed the very last drop of my blood to defend or avenge you or yours."

CHAPTER XX.

A STRANGE CHASE

We know that Joshua Dickson had taken his departure from the valley, leaving it in charge to Harry.

Harry was a fine young man, strong and intelligent, in whom his father had every confidence.

He was the complete juvenile type of the American squatter and pioneer, up to Indian devilries, riding like a centaur, and able to put a ball in the eye of a panther at a hundred yards. His great passion was life in the open air, and the pleasures of the chase in the forest or field.

One fine morning Harry, soon after the rising of the sun, galloped off into the forest. He was bent on a journey to see a fine cutting that was going to create meadows, and make room for sawmills on the banks of the great Missouri.

He had nearly reached the spot, when he was startled by a whistle of a peculiar kind, at no great distance.

At the same moment a horseman came in sight – a man of fifty, tall, thin and gaunt, with parchment skin.

The horse was as bony as his master.

The man was dressed after the fashion of the ordinary American farmer, and apparently carried no arms.

"Eh, eh," cried he, "you are out early. Were you looking for me?"

"No, M. Lagrenay; I was not even thinking of you."

"That is not polite. Why did you stop when I whistled?"

"Because I thought it the whistle of a serpent," he retorted. "But no nonsense, I was looking for you."

"I was certain of it."

"Yes, I wanted to see you. I made your acquaintance I know not how. You talk to me of things which do not please me, because they suggest evil thoughts. I have come to say that henceforth we are strangers. Never speak to me again."

"I suppose you will give me a reason for this odd decision."

"Think what you please. I have said my say."

"Then I assume that you reject my offers."

"Think and assume what you like," cried the young man, angrily; "only keep out of my path."

"Then you have no passion for gold?" sighed the other.

"You take me for a ninny, old squatter. Gold does not grow in the fields like mushrooms. Besides, you would have found it long ago if real."

"I tell you the map indicating the exact spot," cried the old man, "was stolen from me by the outlaws."

"You want to persuade me that you have known of this vast treasure for years, and yet require a stranger to help you."

"I knew nothing of your having camped on the spot, and only offer you a share in consequence."

"Go to the devil with your offers."

"Yes, you have my secret, and can use it yourself."

"Old man," cried the young giant, with rage in his eye, "beware how you try my patience too much."

"Well, well, let us end this conversation. You will not listen to me. Well and good. Only, before we part, remember this, when it is too late, my friend," he added, with a sinister laugh, "you will repent. That is all I say."

And turning round, he rode off.

"He is a pretty rascal," said the young man, as he rode off; "I believe he has some villainy in hand."

At this moment a strong hollow grunting was heard, followed by another at no great distance.

"There are jaguars about," said the American, in a low tone, stroking his horse's ears to keep him quiet.

At that moment there was a fearful, a horrible cry, that rent the air, a desperate shriek for assistance.

"The old squatter, and he is without arms," he cried; "the tigers have doubtless attacked him."

And he set spurs to his horse, which, neighing and smarting with pain, dashed in the desired direction.

In the centre of a clearing crossed by a narrow stream the squatter knelt behind his horse, haggard with terror.

Close to him, on the branch of a gigantic gumtree, was a mighty jaguar, licking his tongue before leaping.

"Save me," shrieked the agonised squatter.

"I will try," said Harry, dismounting, letting his horse loose, and then going close up to the trembling wretch.

The tiger had not moved. He was watching his victim with a feline glance.

"A noble beast," said the young man, with a smile; "I hope not to spoil his beautiful skin."

Suddenly a further grunting was heard in the thicket. The jaguar, without turning his head, responded in the same tone.

"By heavens! There are two of them. It seems almost a pity to part so loving a couple," he said.

At the same moment the tiger leaped. As he did so he turned a somersault. He was dead, shot in the eye.

"One," said the young man, drawing out his bowie knife.

At the same moment the second jaguar burst out, and with one bound seized on the flanks of the horse.

Harry flew at her, knife in hand. The two rolled for a moment on the ground. Then the man stood erect.

"That job's over," said the young man; "what a couple of noble beasts! Get up. Heavens! He's fainted."

Then he took him in his arms, and carried him to the stream, where he bathed his face until he recovered.

But he was then so ill, and his horse so lean, that it seemed impossible he should ever reach home.

In this strait Harry acted with his usual generosity. He took the man up behind him, and carried him home.

He then turned to go without a word.

"Young man," cried the squatter, "wait one moment. You have been my friend. Now take my advice, keep good watch. I dare say no more, but be ever on your guard."

Harry moved pensively away, but soon forgot the hint.

CHAPTER XXI.

CAPTAIN TOM MITCHELL, THE AVENGER

The marriage of Evening Dew with Numank-Charake was to be celebrated with unusual splendour. Invitations had been sent in all directions, and, two days before the ceremony was to take place, numerous deputations from all the tribes were collected around, and were received with the splendid hospitality essential in such a case.

At least five hundred strange warriors had come.

Some hours later a new troop appeared on the verge of the plain; it was very numerous, three hundred men at least, in the picturesque costume of Mexican rancheros, all armed to the teeth, and admirably mounted.

Four cavaliers rode in front; these were Tom Mitchell, Pierre Durand Camotte, and Tête de Plume. It was the full force of the outlaws. On nearing the village two other men were seen; these were Clinton and Charbonneau.

Nothing was omitted to give éclat to such a reception. The most renowned of the sachems, with the three Canadians, Bright-eye, and Oliver, advanced to meet them, and give them a most cordial and sincere welcome.

Captain Pierre Durand, who had given up his disguise, kept a little in the background.

Having exchanged compliments, Tom ordered his men to camp outside, and entered the village with the others.

As soon as all were collected in the hut of the Canadians, Tom Mitchell closed the door carefully.

"Gentlemen," he said, in a low and solemn tone, "I owe you no explanation for coming, but for coming in such force."

"You owe no explanation. You are welcome."

"Listen. Not a moment is to be lost. Spies are on all hands. You are surrounded by treachery and traitors. You are all to be made the victims of an execrable plot concocted by two wretches, Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah."

All were stupefied. While the other spoke, Pierre Durand slipped into Bright-eye's own room to rest.

"Yes. Tubash-Shah hates Numank; but that is not all. He loves your gentle daughter, Evening Dew."

"Horrible!" cried the old man.

"The capture of Miss Angela was a thing arranged between Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah, who thought to get her from me."

"Thanks to you, the plot is exploded."

"He still hopes to kill his rival, steal his wife, become possessor of the treasure you know of," cried Tom Mitchell, "and become chief of the tribe. With these schemes in their heads, Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah are allies."

"It is a horrible plot. How did you discover it?"

"No matter; my spies have served me well. I knew the plan of the conspirators, and hence have come in such force. I shall be able to thwart them. Do you now attend to the immediate safety of the chiefs of this nation and people."

"I will take measures at once."

"Above all, be cautious. You have to deal with desperate and cunning rascals," urged Tom Mitchell.

The three Canadians, grandfather, father, and son, went out, leaving behind only George Clinton and his friend.

"Now, Mr. Clinton," said the outlaw, "though we met under unpleasant circumstances, we are friends."

"I see no reason why we should not be," he replied.

"I am happy to hear it," continued Tom Mitchell; "but before we go any farther, allow me to say a word to this young Frenchman. In that room you will find a friend."

"A friend!" cried Oliver; "Impossible! You know I have only recently reached this country."

"Take my advice," said the outlaw, with a smile.

Oliver shrugged his shoulders, as if yielding to a foolish whim, and went in to find himself face to face with Durand.

"Now," said the outlaw, "I have not told all; I have left out certain matters which personally concern yourself. One moment, and you shall judge for yourself. Excuse me if I have to touch upon a very tender topic – that of love."

"Captain!" cried George.

"Pardon me. You love a charming girl, whom you have followed into the desert with as much devotion as men show in the search of gold. To this I have only to add that the girl is as beautiful and as good as an angel."

George bowed his head to hide his confusion.

"Her father is against you, I know. But the important fact is that a terrible calamity threatens her and you."

"Pray explain yourself," George cried.

"Do you think the redskins are blind? You forget them in your calculation of future happiness."

"Explain yourself," continued the young man.

"I cannot at present. You are young in the desert, but you have clever and devoted friends. Above all, you have Bright-eye, honest, devoted, intelligent. Tell him all I have said, and to work. You have not a moment to lose to save her."

At this moment the three Canadians came in at one door, Oliver and Captain Durand at the other. Before anyone else could speak, Oliver rushed forward.

"Captain," he said to the outlaw, "I can never thank you enough. I know all. Command me in every way."

"I shall remind you of your promise."

"And my wretched persecutor – you will bring him to me?"

"Yes; and place in your hands papers to confound him," cried the outlaw; "papers which prove your rank."

The conversation now became general. The two Canadians had been at work, and warned all the sachems.

But everything had been done without exciting suspicion. All went on just as usual in the village.

The preparations for the marriage continued.

The Canadians entertained their friends at a great banquet that night, at which Numank was present, grave and proud, seated beside Angela, who was charming, though blushing with downcast eyes, and never speaking a word.

The formal ceremony of betrothal had taken place in the morning, so that this was rather a friendly meeting than anything else.

There was, however, a magnificent exchange of presents.

Next day, just before the final ceremony, Tom Mitchell went off with a hundred of his most resolute men.

Camotte remained in command of the others.

According to invariable Indian custom, the man who takes a wife takes her seemingly by force; he snatches her up, puts her behind him, darts off, and two days later comes back, slays a mare that has never foaled, and all is over.

Numank, of course, would do the same.

At night the hut was surrounded by a party of Indians, and Angela carried off, after a feeble resistance.

Then some shots were fired, and away sped Numank with his wife surrounded by a powerful Indian escort.

This escort was almost wholly composed of strangers with Tubash.

The abductors had scarcely departed when Bright-eye came out of the hut and whistled. He was at once surrounded by warriors.

"On," he said, in a menacing voice; "there is no time to lose."

And they darted away like a whirlwind, riding for some hours in the direction taken by the bridal party.

Suddenly they were startled by flashes of light, followed by the report of guns. A terrible combat was going on.

With a tremendous war cry the troop led by Bright-eye dashed in the direction of the fight. It was time.

Numank-Charake, holding his wife on one arm, was fighting, surrounded by the few warriors faithful to him.

Ten only of these could stand, and must have succumbed in five minutes but for the unlooked-for succour.

The carnage was fearful. All fought desperately in silence. At last every one of the treacherous escort was dead.

Tubash Shah escaped in the confusion.

Numank-Charake was more like a corpse than a live man, and had to be carried on a litter.

They reached the village next day, from which all the rival tribes had departed, leaving behind a bundle of arrows dipped in blood. It was a formal declaration of war.

We turn elsewhere for a time.

It was night at the hut of the squatter Lagrenay. Everybody slept except himself. Seated by the dying fire in a cane chair, his head in his two hands, his elbows on the table, the squatter appeared at least to be reading.