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CHAPTER V
THE LONE MAN'S STORY

"Gentlemen," began the enforced guest of Jim Ridge and the half-breed, "I was born in an Atlantic State, and my earliest memories relate to home events of so little moment now, that I have almost forgotten them. I remember, however, that a number of our young men formed a party and went West, and that the reading of some of their letters home, reflected into my boyish ears, fed the natural longings of one who lived sufficiently remote from the crowded town to know what a lake and the woods are like. Besides, an uncle of mine was said to have gone to the same marvellous backwoods, and I used to be promised a real wild Indian's bow-and-arrows at the least when he should return. All this is common enough in the East. About the year 1850 my mother died, and my father, as much to distract himself in his profound grief as to quench a thirst for fortune which he shared with New Englanders, departed with me, a stripling, around the Cape to California. Our ship was rather better than those rotten tubs which unscrupulous men fitted out as 'superb clippers,' and we outstripped many vessels that had anticipated our start. You must recall something of the sensation due to the startling discovery of gold in the extreme West. Even the fables of old whalers who visited the Pacific Coast, and who really had been blind, were outdone by reality. With indescribable furious madness, people flocked from the world's confines towards a tract hardly laid down in charts. They seemed to have become monsters in human form, as the playbooks say, with no impulse but avarice. We stepped ashore into a field of carnage, though lately a peaceable grazing ground; men sought to remove each other with steel and lead, whilst the few females, the vilest of their sex, freely employed poison. Luckily, these demons slew one another, and left no aftercrop of fiends and furies to blight the Golden State."

"Father and I had no experience in gold seeking, and he saw that money enough awaited an active, acute man, in supplying the returned miners with table delicacies. He was used to fishing, trapping, and gunning, and so we set to killing bears – any quantity on the Sierra Nevada 'spurs' then – and fishing in the Sacramento and San Joaquín. We built a ranche on the banks of the former stream, in a lonely spot, and only went to town to sell game and procure ammunition and other stores."

"One Saturday my father went on this duty, whilst I amused myself with tracking a young grizzly, with the hope of securing him alive, as a hotel keeper wanted a 'native attraction' for his barroom. Unfortunately, a huge grizzly intercepted my course, and wounded me in a scuffle, out of which I thought myself happy to escape so easily; and almost made me lose my prize. However, as this wound stung me in pride as well as flesh – for I daresay, gentlemen, you know how a grizzly's claws leave a smart!" (the two hunters nodded animatedly) – "I pressed on, after a circuit, at the tail of my first 'meat.' I overtook it at dark, had to kill it – it was so stubborn – dressed it, and carried away the paws and choice meat in the hide. The sun was down, and my load was too heavy for me to show much speed, though I believed my father would be impatiently awaiting me."

"It was nine o'clock when I sighted the ranche. The squally wind presaged a tempest. As no light shone at the window, I concluded my father, who must have got back, had gone to bed, weary of waiting. I pulled up the latch, entered, flung down the game, and was making for the hearth, to get a flare-up, when I heard a faint voice close by falter – "

"'Is that you, Sam?' My father's voice! The tone sent a shiver all over me till the blood ran cold from my heart."

"'Oh, that you had come an hour sooner!' he sighed."

"In an instant I had a blaze on the hearth with a handful of bears' grease upon the embers."

"There lay the old man, having tried to crawl to his couch. His face was livid; two wounds were on his breast – one of a firearm, one of a knife; and he was scalped as well. The blood from these neglected wounds painted him thickly and hideously. I fell on my knees beside him, and tried, though vainly, to staunch those dreadful hurts."

"'It's no use, boy,' said he; 'nothing can fence off death. I thank Heaven I was allowed to linger till you came. Now, dash away your tears, and listen to me like a man. In half an hour I shall be no more; but that will do if you mean to see justice done me.'"

"He had started for San Francisco at one, so as to be home early enough to have a good meal against my return if I were out. He soon got through his business, and was going to leave, when he met a native Californian acquaintance – a gambusino, or confirmed gold hunter – a man he liked very well. To have a friendly glass at leisure, they dropped into the nearest public resort, the gamblers' and revellers' hotel, called the 'Polka' saloon. The place was crammed with drinkers taking their morning 'eye-openers,' or desperadoes relating their night's exploits, or miscreants hatching fresh schemes. Several kept 'cruising' round my father and his friend."

"Both were objects of more general interest than either, perhaps, believed; the Californian was suspected to have found more than one gold vein worth tapping; and my father, as a hunter, was likewise thought to have blundered upon the natural treasuries of the mountains in his pursuit of b'ar. To both, schemes had been proposed by blacklegs, and both had repulsed them – the Spaniard with pride, and my father with some cutting jest or pure carelessness. Both had made enemies thereby."

"Three of these enemies now buzzed round their table. One was a Frenchman, known as 'Lottery Paul,' because he had drawn the passenger's ticket of a Parisian 'draw,' to enable the chosen subscriber to go free to San Francisco. He was a little bilious wretch, low and sneering, a sort of lynx and fox in combination. His partners were a huge English convict from Gibraltar, and called 'Quarry Dick,' and a Mexican, who had committed so many homicides, that he was glorified as 'Matamas the slayer.'"

"Perhaps it was too soon in the day for these debauched dogs to have shipped enough spirit to fall foul of two men well armed. In any case, they let my father and his friend leave the saloon unimpeded. The three scoundrels hovered about them; but, finally, seemed to be disgusted at their remaining on the alert, and left them."

"The two friends separated, and my father got home before dark without alarm. He had hardly stepped indoors, however, than three men fell on him, all in the dark. They were dressed like Indians; but, as they threatened to kill him unless he revealed where he knew gold was waiting for the digger, it was clear that was but a disguise 'for the road.' My father had been doubled as a man by his mountain life, and he gave them a serious half hour's diversion; twice he got free, and laid about him with a long knife. At last, one shot and another stabbed him; and, either from rage at having been baffled, or to carry out their assumption of the Indian character, they scalped him. He had the fortitude to pretend to be dead as he suffered this outrage. In the encounter he had snatched away the scapulary worn by one ruffian, laid open the cheek of another, and wounded a third in the side. The latter might escape me; but I had a clue to the others. Then, urging me to bring these murderers to justice, my father expired, the storm overwhelming his latest prayer and blessing."

"I buried him under the hearthstone, and fired the ranche over his head, determined that no one should dwell in the house where his blood had mingled with the murderers'. I went to San Francisco, but those three bandits were laid up from the effects of the struggle, or in mere terror of me, for the authorities were not yet in power to punish even the notoriously criminal. I continued the search without discouragement, being rather a pertinacious man, till, one day, my Mexican friend, as he had been my father's, warned me that I was in error: these three men were now hunting me, having transferred their enmity from my father to my head: and, in fact, it was a wonder I had not yet fallen a victim in one of their vicious circles where I had penetrated. Being on my guard from this out, our warfare continued long without result. At last, I heard they had separated, and gone who knows where – over the mountains, on the sea, up in the mines? Besides, the Mexican had opened his house to me, a favour not often accorded an American by one who reckoned us invaders and heretics and no blessing to the country; and he had a fair daughter whom, in short, I wedded. I allowed my task of vengeance to rest, and the hatred of my foes seemed in the same way to be shelved."

"One summer, a French gentleman, who said he was on a scientific expedition, offered me remarkably handsome terms to be his guide to Oregon. I did not care to leave my wife, but my father-in-law was interested in the steamer line to the Columbia River, and I accepted the mission. However, a little over a week gave Monsieur all he wanted of roughing it in the sierras, and he said he had changed his mind, and wanted to back out. I made no difficulty, of course, and we took the back track merrily. When we left, and he handed me a forfeit, he said, kindly enough: 'I hope you will find Madame and the family all well at home!' and yet some presentiment made me take it as ironical."

"Within two weeks I returned to my pueblo. The forewarning was sound: my father-in-law's hacienda was devastated, and the farm buildings reduced to ashes; under that black heap my father-in-law, my wife and children were indistinguishably consumed."

As he got these words out by an effort, the speaker covered his face with his hands, and sobbed rather fiercely than mournfully. His two hearers remained quiet, fastening their eyes on the strong man in resentment, with irrepressible pity.

"This time they had overfilled my cup of woe," he resumed, lifting his head, and showing burning, tearless eyes. "I would not leave the punishment of their slaughter to the sworn minister of justice, but avenge my fourfold wrongs in person to the uttermost."

"I took a horse and galloped to San Francisco, where I sought the French consul. He knew nothing of the pretended scientific explorer: that was a sham; he was one of the gang! But he was really a newcomer, and had no skill in hiding his tracks. I was on them without any repose. They led me by nightfall to a lone ranche, where the roll of the sea came softly, and mingled with the whinnying of two horses picketed by the door, which welcomed mine. I rode him in at that door which I carried off the hinges. Two men were on stools at a dying fire, chuckling and drinking. One was Matamas, the other the Frenchman who had engaged me as guide. They sprang up in amazement. I flew at them with a tigerish yell. No doubt fury increased my forces, for in ten minutes I had trampled one down and lassoed the other. Both lay helpless under my knife."

"'Mister Frenchy,' said I, 'how much were you paid beyond the sum you gave me for guidance to lure me aside whilst your employers burnt my house and killed all those dear to me?'"

"'What, what!' said he, 'Is this the practical joke you played, Monsieur Matamas?'"

"The Mexican said not a word; his teeth were chattering with the general tremor. As the Frenchman saw I was merciless, and knew he was in my power, he told me the whole tale of how he had been hired in an hour of starvation to decoy me away from my home. He had no hand in the extreme consequences, and I let him go with the warning that I might not be so lenient if ever we met again. Whilst he rode away like mad, I returned to Matamas, whose hand I tied, open, on a plank, and I said:"

"'Well named as 'the killer,' tell me all about this plot, or I shall cut you up joint by joint!' and, though you shudder at the thought, sir," he interjected to Ridge, while Cherokee Bill greedily listened, "I should have done it; but at the third of his finger being severed, the coward fainted, and, on coming to, as I sawed at another articulation, he whined the complete confession. His was the scapulary which my father had inextricably grasped in the death 'scrimmage.' If I had regretted my cruelty, the list of his crimes would have steeled me anew. Worse than I suspected remained to tell, for his two accomplices had not only fled with the valuables of my father-in-law, but with the heart treasures of mine, which I had till then believed buried beside their mother: my son and my daughter, at present fifteen and seventeen, were abducted by these villains, and are now slaves to them and their kind in some robbers' ranche of the plains or whiskey mill shanty in these mountains. Never can I rest, you see, till they are rescued from these chains of vice, and their persecutors feed the turkey buzzards like Matamas did himself."

"Now, in telling you that a band of gold hunters are on their way hither, and that I have recently crossed Indian trails, I have served you. Help me, now, my friends, with your practical counsel – how can I soonest overtake those men?"

There was a long silence. Bill and Ridge conferred in the sign language as if their thoughts were too full of action to be diluted into verbiage.

"One question?" said the trapper. "In all your story you have manifested the greatest heed not to mention names except of the villainous. Those are no clue to me. But, may happen, those of yourself and kinsfolk may enlighten us. Who are you?"

"My name is Filditch, Samuel George Filditch, my father's George W., and my father-in-law's Don Tolomeo Peralta, well known in California and Sonora."

"Enough. What was the name of your father's brother, whom you never saw, but whom you remember to have heard spoken of in childhood. Was it not James? Come, come!" continued the old hunter, rising and kicking a log so that the freshened flame should flood him with radiance: "They used to say we were like as boys; can you see no trace of a likeness to my brother George in these features? Still silent? Ridge is only a 'mountain name'; but believe me, and Cherokee Bill will bear me out with gun and knife – there never was a deed of mine done under it which my real name would not proudly cover. It is Heaven that has brought you to my bosom, Sam! Come to my heart, where I had clean given up dreams of having a loving head pillowed! Heaven knows this was a wish long gnawing at my bones! We'll chip in together. Don't you carry any heaviness at your heart now. Your interests are mine. I am not a young chicken, but I am game, and with this new spirit, I feel thar's a lot o' living in me yet! We start on this manhunt together. Thar's my hand, Sam!"

"And here is mine!" added the Cherokee. "The Old Man and me always hold together like burrs," he continued, in a kind of apologetic tone. "And if this ain't the most remarkable fact I ever struck, then I don't want my breakfast in the morning."

Thereupon was sealed between the trio a compact that would bring about strange events, hidden under the veil of the future, so that the most imaginative could not foresee the incidents, far more surprising than this meeting of kindred, not at all an uncommon event in the West, where congregate the members of the Eastern families, so wondrously disrupted and attracted West.

Ridge – still to use that name – and his nephew were evoking home memories, when suddenly the latter felt a touch on the shoulder. Cherokee Bill was making the sign for silence, and pointing out of the cave opening.

There was a novel sound, indeed, in the stilly night air: music as from a seraphic choir, for a score of women's voices were singing a hymn at a distance which the limpidity of the air materially diminished:

"Come, tell the broken spirit That vainly sighs for rest There is a home in glory, A home forever blest; Still sound the gospel trumpet O'er hill and rolling sea, From chains of sin and blackness, To set the captive free!"

"Saints in the Mountain!" murmured Jim Ridge, astonished. "I never heard the likes hereabouts. It carries me away back fifty year', when I was a boy in the church! But what are white women doing here? I am staggered. And tuning up like that, too. That's first-class bait for Crows. The angels must ha' taken a fancy to them, or they are cracked to sing at top of the v'ice, an' redskins on the loose. What do you make of it, Bill?"

"See!"

The hunter stared forth. A yellow light appeared as a lining to a cold fog over a vale.

"Ah, a powerful camp! No Crow men will attack that in a hurry – those dogs want to be twenty to one, and, then, somebody has to kick them on to it. Things are bound to be interesting, but, I judge, we can wait till morning. At least, that's my way. I am ready to drop, myself."

"And I," said Filditch, indeed exhausted.

"I will take the first watch," observed the Cherokee, calmly.

In another few minutes, wrapped in fur and blankets, the two white men were profoundly reposing. Ridge chose the flat ground to which the body accommodates itself, whilst his newfound kinsman, less wise, made a kind of bed. The son of the assassinated trapper guarded them who had now the same vow as himself to be their life task.

CHAPTER VI
IN HOSTILE HANDS

When Ulla Maclan came to her senses she found herself in darkness, but it was not that of the grave. The snow had been falling again, and all the night through; but the warmth of her body had hollowed out a cave around her, in the roof of which her breath had maintained an aperture. But, cruelly enough, the same blanched mantle that preserved her from freezing had sheltered her from the eager eyes of the only other survivor of her father's party.

With a suffocated feeling, she broke open the shell, and warily emerged into the more than ever wintry landscape. All the breakage of the sledge loads had been smoothly buried with the remains of the hapless Canadians.

Not a mark on the level snow revealed the substantiality of the form which she believed in her terror the spectre of the Indian Chief, but which we know as the secretary, so nearly discovering her, but going on his fruitless way, brokenhearted.

The musical trickling of melting snow tantalised her palate, and she scrambled through the soft drift to a cleft where a rivulet was beginning to run. The cool draught was delicious. She then set to reviving herself with a dash of it over her face, and was binding up her hair, when a loud and coarse laugh made her start and turn, blushing.

Three white men in hunters' garb stood on a crest of the rocks swept clear of the snow, where they travelled as well to avoid leaving traces as to be free of step. The mountains rose behind them, a sweet faint azure, with an opal edge, which was the last night's snow.

Two of the strangers were about the same age, some five-and-thirty; harsh and angular of feature, brutal and bullying, tall and burly. In their half wild, half border town dress, they were not to be taken for genuine trappers by anyone less new to this region than our heroine. They were what is called hide hunters, or skin scalpers, whose least shameful occupation is the slaughtering buffaloes for the hide alone, or even collecting their bones to be sent East for the best ivory knife handles.

The third and superior was more than ten years older, with piercing grey eyes and low forehead, a dirty yellow beard and long hair; the aspect of a confirmed rogue, sly, base, and wicked. They were all armed to the teeth, and their arms were a great deal better kept than their teeth, innocent of any attentions whatever, which did not add any attraction to their grins at surprising the young lady at her toilet.

Somehow, she would almost have preferred to see the red men themselves than these representatives of her race. Nevertheless, she named herself, related the disaster, and implored their help for Heaven's sweet sake.

"A da'ter of one of these top-shelf hunting gentlemen," remarked the old man, laughing; "and wants help mighty sudden? She's terribly fine, boys! Narrerly 'scaped being gobbled by the friendlies," in sarcasm, "and corralled all night by that equal-knocks-sial storm. Yes, it'd gi'n me a deal of cramp; but see what it are to be young and spry! She's 'mazingly lovely!" he exclaimed again in an audible aside to his fellows, amused at his playing the gallant. "I hain't seen no sech since I was an inch high and an hour old! It almost tempts a lone hunter not to 'bach' it anymore, but go into pardnership. She's 'prime fur.' Yes, Miss, you can come along o' us – you're the kind to be welcome anywhar' without a cent! How it will shorten up the ride, a 'greeable gal like you! Jerusha! We shall go back full-handed on the queen o' hearts!"

"Are you captain of some party, sir?"

"Why, not today, Miss. We 'lect our cap'en, and I did not treat the boys well enough to head the polls. But I am chief of the scouts; yes, that's my rank. However, it's a considerable show of white men. The cap's a gentleman, and you'll be as safe as in the Mint as soon as the captain sees you."

The others exchanged a merry look.

"A large party?" she repeated. "Was that your singing I heard in the night, or was that a dream?"

"Well, no, Miss, you never heard any singing in our camp. Stop a bit, when I went on my guard thar was some singing out of Quarry Dick, because they had sneaked away his pillow, which it was a whiskey bottle – no offence, Miss! No, no singing."

"It sounded like church music – a hymn."

"Church moosic? You must 'a been on the dream, sartin sure. 'Sides, thar are Injins squandrin' round hyar, a right few, say a leetle less than a thousand ton, over an' above the band you mentioned. This is a hard season for the redskin, and he's come up here to warm himself at the Firehole, I reckon. The only singer we hev is one young lady about your age, and she only sings to herself in Mexican lingo."

"A young lady," repeated Ulla, somewhat reassured. "At least, I see, you are not friends of the savages."

"No; we are our own friends!" returned the old man, grinning again, "And, individooally, our friends is in our belt," slapping his pistol and his knife as he spoke.

"And will your captain help me to learn the fate of my poor father, and the brave men he engaged – if any escaped from that horrid massacre?"

"The captain, miss, will do anything for a pretty face like yours. If you'll step this way, we'll put you on a pony – there's no possibility of your little feet gitting over this crust. It's not many miles, but the milestones are pesky far apart in this country."

"I would prefer to walk."

"That's downright onpossible. Sol Garrod hyar's got a foot like an army cartridge box lid; but even he would mire himself to the knees."

"Sol Garrod's foot can take care of itself, and you sit down with your opinions, unless you want to appreciate the beauties of it in kicking!" growled the subject of the criticism.

"When a gentleman talks about kicking," returned the second man, hitherto content to ogle the girl in silence, "he is to know that 'Niobraska Pete' is the champion kicker of the wide, wild West, and hyar's my hat in the corral – "

"Close up!" thundered the eldest of the three, so very garrulous himself, but not willing for the others to entertain the unfortunate girl with their eloquence; "You have a mouth like a set beaver trap! What's the drift of this stupid row? It's no use stringing it out, I tell 'ee! We've enough to take the back track upon. Whar' do 'ee think you are? Haven't we better things to do than go popping pistols off when the rocks swarm with redskins who have made a raise?" and, as the pair continued to glower at each other, their hands on their weapons, he went on: "Must I knock you both down to l'arn you manners? Don't you see we must cage this frightened bird, and then club up some of the boys to see what the reds have left worth picking at the wreck of the sporting swell? Ginerally these green 'galoots' yield up rich, and those red idiots leave the best goods as beyond their comprehension. Look at the gal trembling; what on airth must she think of your broughtens up?"

"I am trembling with cold, not with apprehension," said Miss Maclan, resolutely.

"Oh, hang her opinion; she's bright eyes, and she sees we are all rogues!" Mr. Garrod observed carelessly.

"Don't you paint us so black, Sol," returned the old man, winking; "the fact is, we only obey orders under our chief. If thar be any blame flying about, it must fall on the captain. When we hand the young lady over to the executive, I shall wash my hands of it, as she was a-doing when we surprised her; and I advise you to do the same for your sweet conscience!"

"You talk like an Injin orator, Mr. Cormick," said Sol Garrod; "if ever we are put in the wrong box – ha, ha! – I shall let you conduct my defence!"

"Come on, Miss," said Niobraska Pete; "in the meantime, them's the two wust-eddicated brutes in the band, and no average specimen idiots!"

They had three horses in hiding, and the 'capture' was lifted upon one behind Cormick, whom she was obliged to enclasp, spite of her loathing, to save herself from falling. They rattled off at a good pace as long as the soil was bare and stony. They soon had to traverse one of those narrow vales between a couple of rocky "divides," which are commonly halved themselves by a more or less broad ribbon of water, and which terminate in a basin, a series of steps, or a "cutoff." The riders were about to scramble down the ravine which yawned, in this case, to appal less venturesome cavaliers, when Cormick ordered a pulling up.

"I want to look ahead, that's all," he said; "maybe, it's a fool feeling; but we have been trotting along a leetle too smoothly for Injin country, and too much quiet I reckon suspicious."

"Some joke o'your'n, to let our coffee and corn cakes git cold!" sneered Pete.

"Say what you like; but let's have one of you scout up that hole."

"Very good, Cormick," said Garrod, tranquilly; "it's my turn. I'll bring you back the nigger's top feather!"

"With his hair, too, my boy; but caution; caution never costs too much, and it's a wise man that wakes up tomorrow morning, as the Spanish say."

"Oh, dry up, Cormick," cried Sol, impatiently reining in, after starting. "Do you railly think the red devils would browse so near our camp?"

"Not I, my lad; only I repeat, you cannot poke the bushes with too much prudence."

Garrod scrutinised the speaker's surly and scowling countenance with a puzzled expression; but he must have been encouraged, for he pushed his horse onwards and down, with a snatch of a Negro dance tune hummed between his teeth, and a chew of tobacco.

"He's pretty much a daring chap," said Pete, with a mocking glance at his companion as they slowly proceeded.

"Ay, ay, he does not go to market to sell courage with an empty basket," replied the chief scout, with a dubious grin; "but I prefer his showing the lead to this child."

Meanwhile Garrod had been spurred by the latter's air and tone into taking the precautions indispensable on ground sown with hostilities. His repugnance grew as he dived into the defile, though it was ample for cavalry to have ridden two abreast. The sides were wooded with pine, and gradually climbed to a fair height. The adventurer rode more and more hesitatingly, looking about him on each hand, and as well behind as before, his rifle ready to fire. But the complete calmness of the untrodden wind trap mocked his fears. The gorge had many an awkward turn; but nothing inimical appeared anywhere till the rider came clear out on the edge of a plain, across which a daring smoke advertised the site of his camp – one that defied attack, no doubt; for the wolf knows his bones are not worth the picking.

"What trash!" he muttered, reining in testily. "Old Cormick is in a cranky fit, or sick with too much alkali water in his whisky. Deuce take me if I have seen anything to make a flying squirrel chatter! We might have been at camp by this, where a darned good breakfast is about ready. Hang the old scared crow!"

Perfectly reassured, but still grumbling, Solomon – without the wisdom of his namesake – laid his rifle across his saddlebow, and slowly began to retrace his steps. But hardly had he gone fifty strides, when his horse's ears were trembling, and the animal pointed, like a dog, at the head of an Indian, smeared with red clay and covered with feathers, which arose in the thicket. Instantly a rude rope of bark fibre was cast over the horseman's head, and he was pulled, half strangled, out of the saddle, and dashed on the ground in the partly thawed mud and snow. This done, a man leaped at the horse, and secured it before it could turn away; when, no doubt, it would have exploded the gun against the trees in its flight. The assailant was only a red man in looks – it was Sir Archie Maclan's secretary. Thus far had he wandered, when he perceived from the wind trap, where he was bewildered, the chief object of his search. One glance at the ruffians, who affected to befriend her, had enlightened him on their standing.

Mr. Ranald Dearborn was no fool, if he had not enjoyed prolonged acquaintance with this region. The love for woodcraft had enlisted him under the rich Scotchman's banner, almost as much as his great, though sudden, admiration for his daughter.

For adventure, he had certainly a strong bitter taste at the outset; and what immediately ensued bid fair to be worthy that sample in peril.

Ensconced by the path, he had seized an excellent moment to overthrow Mr. Garrod.