Frank in the Woods. Castlemon Harry

I was not very well pleased with this discovery, and the cold sweat started out from every pore of my body; still I did not feel afraid, for I was accustomed to scenes of danger, was well armed, and had the reputation of being a tough customer to handle. But the situation in which I was placed would have tried stronger nerves than mine. I thrust my hand into my pocket, and felt that my revolvers were safe. I concluded that, if the worst came to the worst, I could at least have two pulls at him before he could reach me; and, as I was a good shot, I had little fear of missing my mark.

      “My companion was a very jolly fellow, and joked and laughed as though he felt extremely happy, and I, of course, joined with him, keeping a close watch on all his movements.

      “The afternoon wore slowly away, and as it began to grow dark, I became doubly watchful, for I knew that if he intended to make an attempt upon my life, the time was approaching. About nine o’clock my companion suddenly said, as he wound up one of his stories:

      “‘There’s no need of both of us sitting up. It’s a good forty miles to Bennington, and we shan’t reach it before morning.’

      “‘Very well,’ said I, ‘you may go to sleep first, and I will call you at midnight.’

      “’O, no,’ said he, ‘I’m not in the least sleepy; I will steer the canoe, and you can lie down here in the bow, and sleep as long as you like.’

      “Of course it would not answer for me to raise any objections to this, for I knew it would arouse his suspicions; so we changed places, and the highwayman took his seat in the stern of the canoe. After wrapping my cloak around me, and placing myself so that I could see every motion he made, I drew one of my revolvers, and waited impatiently to see what course things would take.

      “For almost an hour my companion steered the boat very well, and I began to think that perhaps I had been mistaken in my man, when I saw him carefully draw in his paddle, muttering, as he did so:

      “‘Ah, my chicken, you little thought that you had Giles Barlow for a passenger. I’ll just quietly douse your glim, and take what money and other little valuables you may have, to pay your traveling expenses to the other world.’

      “As he spoke, he bent over and drew out of his knapsack a long, shining bowie-knife, and, after trying its edge with his thumb, rose slowly to his feet. In an instant, I threw aside my cloak, and, supporting myself on my elbow, I raised my revolver, and took a quick, steady aim at his breast. He uttered a cry of surprise, but without hesitating a moment, threw himself forward. But the sharp report of the revolver echoed through the woods, and the robber sank back into the canoe, dead.

      “I arrived at Bennington the next morning about ten o’clock, and delivered the body to the authorities. The news spread like wildfire, for the name of Giles Barlow was as familiar as a household word.

      “I prosecuted my case with success, and, in a week, returned to the place where I had left my horse. He had received excellent care, and was entirely cured of his lameness; but the landlord stubbornly refused any remuneration. He had heard of my exploit, and that was his way of showing his gratitude.”

      CHAPTER III

      An Indian Hunt

      THE next morning, a little after daylight, Frank awoke, and, raising himself on his elbow, he gazed about him. The storm had ceased, and the morning was clear and intensely cold. The fire, however, still burned brightly, for the boys had replenished it several times during the night. His companions, comfortably wrapped up in their thick blankets, were sleeping soundly; but Frank thought it was high time they were stirring, for they had a good twenty miles to travel that day; so, reaching over, he seized Archie by the shoulder and shook him. The long tramp of the previous day had wearied the boys considerably; but with several hearty shakes, Frank succeeded in getting them all on their feet; then, after washing his hands and face in the snow, he commenced to prepare their breakfast.

      After a good deal of yawning and stretching, the others began to bestir themselves; and while Archie cut a supply of wood, with which to cook their breakfast, George and Harry busied themselves in packing their baggage on the sleds. As soon as they had eaten breakfast, they put out the fire, and renewed their journey.

      The traveling was much more difficult than it had been the day before, for the snow was piled on the ice in deep drifts, and it was dark before they reached Uncle Joe’s cabin.

      As they approached, they were welcomed by the old trapper’s dogs, and Uncle Joe finally appeared at the door.

      “Get out, you whelps!” he exclaimed. “Who’s that a comin’ there?” he continued, trying to peer through the darkness.

      “Friends,” answered Frank.

      “Jeroomagoot!” ejaculated the old man, who recognized Frank’s voice. “What are you boys doin’ out in these woods this time o’ night? Come in – glad to see you any how,” and Uncle Joe seized their hands as they came up, and shook them heartily. “What have you got on them sleds – your plunder?”

      “Yes,” answered Archie. “That’s a new way we have got of carrying our baggage.”

      “Fetch it right into the house then, boys;” and, suiting the action to the word, Uncle Joe seized the sleds and pulled them into the cabin.

      “Bars and buffalers!” exclaimed a voice, as the boys entered. “How de do youngsters?” and a tall, powerfully built man arose from his chair, and, striding across the floor, approached the boys. It was Dick Lewis – Uncle Joe’s brother.

      He was a fine specimen of a North American trapper; fully six feet in hight, with a frame that seemed capable of enduring any amount of fatigue. Thirty years among savage beasts, and still more savage men, had brought him in contact with almost every variety of danger. He had hunted and trapped on every little stream between the Rio Grande and the Great Bear Lake; had taken more than one rough-and-tumble fight with Rocky Mountain grizzlies; was very expert with the rifle; could throw the tomahawk with all the skill of an Indian; and could lasso and ride the wildest horse that ever roamed the prairie.

      He was a good-natured, jovial fellow, and when stretched out on his blanket before the cheerful camp-fire, no one delighted more to tell stories and crack jokes than he. He used to say that there was but one thing in the world he hated, and that was an Indian. And good cause had he for enmity; for, if the prairie and the deep, dark woods could speak, they could tell of many a deed of cruelty which he had seen practiced upon the unoffending trappers.

      Dick had three times been bound to the stake, once when a mere boy, and had escaped by making use of his prodigious strength, and almost incredible swiftness of foot, which had won for him, from the Indians, the appellation of Big Thunder.

      Of all the trappers, none was more active in punishing the Indians, or more hated and feared than he. One night, mounted on a powerful, well-trained mustang, he would appear, in spite of their vigilance, in their very midst, picking off their favorite chiefs, or “stampeding” their swiftest horses; and the next morning a warrior, seated at his solitary camp-fire, fifty miles away, would be startled by the crack of the rifle that was to start his spirit on its way to the happy hunting-grounds. He seemed to delight in danger, and being perfectly acquainted with the Indian mode of warfare, he eluded all the plans to capture him, with the same skill and cunning he would exhibit in laying his own. But he did not always escape unhurt, for many an ugly scar on his body bore evidence to the valor of his enemies, and the severity of the struggles in which he had engaged. He did not call Uncle Joe’s his home. He had lived on the prairie, and among the mountains, from boyhood, and despising the ordinary modes of conveyance used by more enlightened men, he had traveled the entire distance, from the head-waters of the Missouri to his brother’s cabin, on foot.

      “How are you, youngsters? I say,” he exclaimed, continuing his greeting, which we have so unceremoniously interrupted; and he seized Frank’s hand, and gave it a gripe and a shake, which he felt for a quarter of an hour afterward.

      “Draw a cheer up to the fire, young’uns,” said Uncle Joe, “an’ set down.”

      The boys were well acquainted with the trappers, and always made themselves quite at home