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Copyrighted, 1885, by Bun)“ nu: ADAMI. Enwnd at the Post Omca at New York. N. Y., n- Seoond Clan I” Matter. Much 75.1885.

_,- Published Weekl b Beadle and Adams p I ,
V0].- V1 afiggg; No. 93 wlxzumysh NEW Yam ’ Fiverceeenu. N0. 639

Sal Ginger, 

 

Or, The Flower
,, OF THE
5‘ “<5 ‘  ‘ I ' Blackfeet.

GIANT TRAPPEH'
fl

1. ,

“ MAKE FOR THE CORRAL—THE GATE IS UNFASTENED—TURN TEE HORSES moan-r
YOU KNOW THE REST!”

 

 

8 801 Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

Sol Ginger,

THE GIANT TRAPPER;
The Flower fine Blackfeet.

BY ALBERT W. AIKEN,
- AUTHOR or “run: 'rwo' DETECTIVES,” “ABE
COLT, THE CROW—KILLER,” ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER I.
THE EXPEDITION INTO THE BLACKFOOT COUN—
TRY.

ON a bright afternoon in the month of June,
almost all the inhabitants of the frontier post
known as Fort Benton, and located on the upper
Missouri, gathered on the bank of the river to
watch the approach of the first steamer of the
season, through from St. Louis.

On came the Mountain Belle, the A 1 “ stern-
wheeler,” which for many weary weeks to her
impatient passengers, had glowed her way
thro h the turbid waters of t e great Missouri
the “ ad River of the Nort ," on her upward
passage to Fort Benton, the head of navigation
on the Missouri.

A motley crowd were collected on the bank,
waiting 1; e approach of the steamer. Here
and there among the throng might be seen the
blue uniforms of Uncle Sam 5 boys, the garrison
of the fort; side by side with them, a swarthy
red-skin, decked out in hunting-shirt and leg-
gins of deerskin, or wrapped in a coarse red

lanket, although the sun’s rays were pouring
down with torrid fierceness; the woolen-skirted
emigrant, seeking for life and fortune in the far
West; the hardg frontiersmen, the “ guides” of
the prairie wil erness—in fine, all the classes
that go to make up the life of our far Western
villages, were congregated on the bank of the
I‘lVeI'.

The passen ers of the steamer, too, had gath—
ered in little nets, on the forward part of the
boat, and were very eagerly surveying the scene
before them, the starting—point to many of a new
life. Here they were to cast aside the comforts
of civilization, and dare the waste of prairie
wilderness, the home of the Crows, the fierce
marauders of the Northwest; the land of the
unconquered Blackfeet, the tribe who can bring
with ease three thousand mounted warriors into
the field. ’

It has got to be the fashion among the “ spe-
cial correspondents” of the daily newspapers,
who make“ kid-glove ” journeys to the frontier
to Write sneerng accounts of the red—skins—o
“ Mr. L0,” as they term the savage; to say that
they want courage, and that they could be
easily crushed out, should the Government bring
its strong hand to bear upon them. These reli-
able writers pick out some drunken, vagabond
Indian, hanging around the settlements, his
senses steeped in bad whisky, and they hold him
up to the gaze of the public as a sample of the

-American Indian! Bah! away with such de-
ce tionI

me, messieurs, who are termed “special

correspondents,” but who, one-half the time,
v—I‘

 

 

 

could be more aptly termed “ 'Lal story-tell.
ers "—buy a Henry rifle, a g navy revolver,
one of Colt’s fine wea. us, a hard Indian pony,
and take a allop wit me, three undred miles
northwest rom Cadotte’s Pass, up the valley
of the Flathead river, right into the country of
the Blackfeet—~the nation that as yet have
never yielded a single inch of their soil to the
tread of the white man’s foot—a tribe that
laugh to scorn the power of the “blue—coated
chiefs ” as they term the United States soldiers.
In t tri we may encounter danger; nay,
more, we encounter it; we shall owe our
lives to the speed of our horses, the soreness of
our shots, and the distance that a. good repeat-

ing-{lids Will carig.

d Monsieur orrespondent will return, con-
vinced that the American Indian will fight after
all, and that he cannot be “ wiped out,” to use
our frontier phrase, as easily as is generally
su posed. But to return to our story.

n the hurricane deck of the Mountain Belle
stood two men, side by side. They were dressed
roughly—big boots drawn on over their pants,
and broad—brimmed hats pulled down over their
brows in the western fashion. But, their hands
and faces, thouvh bronzed by the rays of the
sun and tanned y the prairie winds, yet showed
no marks of toil. One of the two was a man no
longer young; fifty years had probably passed
over his head, yet time had touched him but
lightly. His dark-brown hair, cut short, and
brushed back from his temples, showed no silver
locks. His face was massive and full; abroad
forehead and square-cut chin, the chin half bid
by a short, brown beard, gave it weight and
firmness; his eyes were gray, brigiit and full;
his glance keen and penetrating. e was one of
those men who command respect even from
strangers. His companion was a young man,
not over twenty-five, a handsome, dashing—look-
ing fellow: jet-black hair curled in little ring—
lets all over his shapely, well—formed head. His
eyes were black, like his hair; a small mustache
and imperial graced his lip and chin: the Whole
face had a laughing, devil-may-care look about
it, as though its owner felt disposed to take the
world as it came, and make light of trouble.

Those two men, though now apparently fast
friends and holding close converse together, be—
fore that morning had never spoken to each
other, although they had been travelers together
from St. Louis. A chance observation from the
elder to the younger in relation to the journey
being nearly at an end, and their ac naintance
began; hence we find them now tozet er.

“ Do you stay in Fort Benton?” asked the
elder of the two, who was called Roderick

Wright, of the younger, who answered to the,

name of Harry Courtney. .

“ No, I shall push forward to the mines, as
soon as I can find a train to journey with.”

“Have you decided What mines you Will try
your fortune at?” asked Wr' ht. ‘ I

“ N0, it‘s all one to me,” carelessly answered
the other. “ I shall go with the first party that
start, no matter which Way they Journey. You
see. I’m a rolling stone and it don’t make much
difference Where I settle down. ”' ‘

“Have you ever been in this part of the
country before i” asked the elder of the two.

    

 

    
  

    

 

a yr :5-l3

.. ll. -. - s2 ».

 

Sol Ginger, the

Giant Trapper. . 3. ’

 

“ Yes, once. A year ago I went through to
Olympia, by the upper trail, with agent of
emigrants. I went for the fun of e t 'ng
then. I had plenty of money and wished to see
the country; ut now——” and here the speaker
heaftated, and for a moment a cloud came over
his face.

“Well, what now?” asked the other, looking
into.the young man’s face curiously; then n0<
ticing the hes1tation of Courtney, he spoke ab-
ruptly; “ I beg pardon for my questions; I have
no Wish to pry into your affairs, and—”

“Oh, it’s not that!” cried Courtney. “I’ve
nothin to conceal, but—well, I may as well tell
you a about it. I don’t know how it is, but
some way or another I’ve taken a liking to you;
and, besides, it relieves a. man’s mind to tel his
troubles—not that I’ve had much trouble in my
life. Six months ago, my father, who was a
commission merchant in St. Louis, died very
suddenly and on winding up his affairs I dis-
covered that, instead of possessing an estate of
fifty or a hundred thousand dollars my father
was bankrupt at the time of his deat , and left
me nothing. Being an only son, and my mother
(1 ' in my infancy, my father had made a pet
o me—brou ht me up as a. entleman; so
at his death, fwas thrown upon t e world help-
less. The old lawyer who settled up my father’s
estate, and who had known me from my be -
hood, asked me what I was oing to do? (If
course I answered that I h n’t the remotest
ides . He then offered me the loan of a hundred
dollars, and suggested that I had better take the
first boat for ort Benton, and try my luck at
the mines. I accepted the offer with thanks.
My story’s ended, and now you know why I

' stand here to-day on the hurricane—deck of the

Mountain Belle, bound for the gold mines and a
fortune ”

"“Your history is a good illustration of our
American life-317p to-day and down to-mor-
row,” returned right; ‘ but it’s a strange cov-
incidence-”

“ What?” asked Courtney.

“Why, if I understand you rightly, you stand
here to-day on the deck of the lountain Belle
without a clear idea where you are going or
what you are going to do. ”

‘ Yes, exactly,” answered the youn man.

“Well, I’m in the same fix,’ sai Wright,
with a quiet smile.

“ Indeed!” cried Courtney.

“Yes, I don’t exactly know where I’m goin
or what I’m going to do, at at the same time
have a clearly-definal p an in my head by
means of which I expect to make, at the least
calculation, upward of fifty thousand do .”

The young man gazed at the speaker in aston-
ishment.

“ That’s a large sum,” he exclaimed.

“Yes, but I expect to make it sure, and I’ve
on] do a few hundred dollars to work on. I
midfdidn’t know where I was going: when I
said that, I meant I didn’t know exactly where
I was going, for I dofiknow the direction.” Here
the speaker pulled out of his ket a small map
of the_Western States and erritories. “See!”
he Said, placing his finger on the little black
spotinar ed Fort Benton “do you notice the
pencil-mark leading from he fort?”

Courtney glanced at the map. A small line,
evxdently traced by a. lead-pencil, led from Fort
Benton west by south, crossed the Rocky
Mountains through Cadotte’s Pass, then went
directly west until it struck the south fork of
the Flathead river, went a little south of the
river, and there stopped. At the end of the line
a cross had been made, and the words ‘,_‘ Elk
City ” written.

‘ Yes,” responded Courtney. “ I see the line.
Ettfollows the trail to Olympia, but 7 stops at Elk
1 .

‘ Right. I follow that trail, and I, too, stop
at Elk City; but where I go after that, I don is
exactly know, except that it will be northward,
and into the coun of the Blackfeet.”

“ And is it in the lackfoot country that you
e ct to make your fifty thousand dollars?”
as ed Courtney.

“ Yes,” answered Wright, with a quiet smile.

“ I get the idea!” exclaimed the young man,
suddenly. “ You know of some egiold mine up
there that has not yet been work , and out of
that mine you intend to make our money.” r

“ You are partly right an partly wron ,"
answered Wright. “I have never been in 's
section before, and I do not know of any gold
mine; yet I know of a certain something, in the
Blackfoot country somewhere, that, if I can
only find and carry to St. Louis with me will
{)6 worth to me, when there, fifty thousand dol-
are.

“I can’t guess your riddle ” said the young
man, after a moment’s thought; “ so I give it
up,_ but I wish youl success in your under—

takii‘ig”
“ hat do you say to going with me?” asked
Wri ht. . ' . '

"‘ hat, go with you i?” questioned Courtneyin‘
astonishment. I ’

“Yes. You have said that you haven’t any
settled plan as to what you will do; joinime
then; I need just such a man as you, for the ef-
fort for the treasure I am about to steal from the
Indians will probably be resisted to the death, by
every red devil that claims kindred with the
Blackfoot nation.”

“There is danger, then?” asked Courtney.

“ Plenty of it; we shall risk our [top—knots ev-
ery hour after we are fift miles northward
from Elk City,” answered right. - I

“ But if you succeed, you gain fifty thousand
dollars? ’

“ Yes-1’

“ Well,” said Courtney, after a moment‘s
pause, “ it’s worth the risk.” I

“And if I succeed, and you join me, of course
I’ll give you ten thousand dollars,” said Wright,
quietly. .

" You will?” cried Courtney, in amazement.

“Yes; is it a bar ain?”

“ ‘ You bet 1‘ as a alifornian would say,” cried
Courtney. extending his hand. .

“ You will join my ex 'tion, then, after this
somethin , worth fi ty t ousand dollars?” asked
Wright, king Courtney’s hand.

“Yes; I’m with 011 to the death!” answered '
Courtney; “ thong what you are oin to find
up in the Blackfoot country wort thou- '

 

sand dollars unless it’s a gold mine, I can’t
guess.” .

 

 

4 So! Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

“Never mind: I know well what I seek,” said
Wright, “ and you may rest assured that I am
pretlty sin-e of succeeding, else I should not risk
In 1 e.

x Do you and I form the whole party?” asked
the young man.

“ Oh, 110!” said Wright. “I know nothin
whatever of the Indian country and very litt e
of Indian fl hting, of which we shall probably
have lent fore We get through with our ex-
pedition. intend to procure a couple of guides,
men who know the upper region and are used to
the Indian wa 5. Our mission must succeed b
cunnin , not y force; therefore we need ski -
ful ' es who can pilot us through, right into
the lackfoot country, and yet keep us out of
the way of the Indians.”

“ Your idea is a good one; our party will be
a small one then?"

“Yes; four or five only, not more; two or
three 'des will be suffic-ient—careful, prudent
men. ’d like to get hold of some old trapper,

‘some shrewd old fellow, who knowsthe coun ,
thoroughly.”

“ By Jove i” cried Courtney, “ I know the very

man.’

“ You do?” exclaimed Wright.

“ Yes; an old fellow I met when I was through
here about a year ago.”

“ Who is he?”

“They call him Sol, the Tra per; he’s a
quaint-looking old fellow, stands a out six feet
high and has the longest pair of legs that I ever
saw on mortal man. In fact, I believe the in-
dians call him ‘ Longlegsf he‘s a quiet, civil old
codger, a great contrast to the usual blustering
frontierman.”

“He‘s the man, then, I judge, for our pur-
pose ” said Wri ht.

“ es, I sho d think he would suit.”

“ Does he know the Blackfoot country i”

“ Like a book,” answered Courtney. “ He’s a
trapper, as his name signifies, and his field of
operations is up along the Flathead river 'and its
branches.”

“ He‘s not a prairie-guide?” asked Wright.

“ No; we tried to get him to guide our party
across to Olympia last year—”

“ And he refused?"

“YBS‘ he has scruples about shedding blood
-—something singular in these frontiormen, who
generally value an Indian’s life with that of a
mad—dog. He refused to go with our party be—
cause the Blackfeet were then on the war-path
a ainst the settlements, and he said that we were
a arge party and bloodshed could not be avoid-
ed,  e didn’t wish to have any man’s blood
upon’ his soul if he could help it.”

“ Isn’t the man a coward?

“ That’s exactly what some of our party asked,
but one of the ides whom we had an aged to
go with us laug ed at the idea. To use is own
words, ‘ Old Sol could whip his weight in wild-
cats any day in the week, when he' got started.’
As I, take it, it’s a whim of his not to shed
human blood, white or red, if he can live with-
out it.”

“And yet,” said Wright, thoughtfully, “ if he
trapson the Flathead river he must encounter
the ,ISlncktoot Indians, for it is in their coun—

ry. ‘ ’

 

“ Very likely,” returned Courtney; “but he’s
probably cunning enough to keep out of their

way.”
‘ He’s the man then for me, if he’ll only con-
sent to go with us.”

“I think he’ll go, provided we assure him that
we want to avoid encountering the savages it
possible.” '

“ Of course,” responded Wright, ” we must
steal our treasure; ut if the treasure refuses to
go, we must carry it away by force.”

“ If the treasure refuses!” cried Courtne ,in
amazement. “ The treasure you k of, en,
is alive and has a voice in the mat???”

“Yes; but the will or voice of the treasure
will have little weight with me, once it is
within my power,” said Wright, gazing at his
companion with one of his peculiar, baffling
smiles.

“ ell, 1 must confessI don’t understand what
it can be!” said Courtney.

“ Have patience, and y the time we strike the
Flathead river, you shall know my plans as well
as I do myself. ’

“I suppose I shall have to rest satisfied with
that assurance.”

“ But, are you certain that we shall be able to
find this Sol the Trapper, on our arrival here?”
questioned right.

“Very little doubt about that; it’s just about
the time he brings in his peltries, and if he
hasn’t arrived yet, all we have to do is to wait
for him.”

“But suppose he has come and gone?” asked
Wri ht. ‘

“ 1% 0 fear of that; he generally la sofl amonth .
or so after each trip for rest. ' we shall'
be certain to find him.”

“ I hope so,” answered Wright; “for, from
your descri tion, he’s the very man I want.”

“I think e’ll fill the bill; but see, we‘re mak-
ing a landing.” And as he spoke the steamer
ran its bow on the shore, and the loud whistle
ringing out clear on the prairie air, reclaimed
the arrival of the first boat throng from St.
Louis.

The asson ers soon mingled with the crowd
on the ank, t e news from the East was eagerly
asked for, and the newspapers brought by the
boat uickly seited by the impatient throng.

As right and Courtney descended from the
hurricane-deck and entered the main saloon
they paused for a moment in front of the bar 0
the boat, where a thirsty throngi were eagerly
drinking, taking the raw whisky own with true
Western gusto. At a little dlstance from the
drinkers stood an Indian, wrap . from head
to foot in a coarse red blanket, w ' e a battered
white hat crowned his head. The red-skin sur-
veyed the thirsty imbibers with an envious air.
Evidently he paan for the “ fire-water,” which
his face and gait plainly told he had drank too
much of already.

“ Let us in uire of one of those fellows if 01d
Solis in,” sai Courtney.

“Very well; do so.” .

Courtney approached a rough-looking fellow
in a dirty flannel shirt and a slouch hat, who
had just tossed down a lass of whisky, of the
“tangiefoot” brand an was smacking his lips
at the flavor of the ery beverage.

Sol Ginger, the

-_.__.

Giant Trapper.

 

“Can you tell me if Sol, the Trapper, is in
town?" Courtney asked.

“Sis-anger, you’ve got me!” exclaimed the
man addressed. “Never heerd tell on him. I
ilon’; ‘ve round this hyer ranch anyway.
lm '

in from the Missouri trail. ,
Courtney felt a hand laid upon his shoulders.
Turning, he confronted the Indian in the white
bat an red blanket.

“ How?” said the savage, in a deep, guttural
voice rendered hoarse by whisky.

“ ell?” said Courtney, impatiently.

“Mudhole—big chief—heap fight—big drink
——give chief fire-water—rum—want to see Old
Sol—s’ you come, on see!” And the sav-
age, Without waiting or a reply, immediately
led the way, with an uncertain, heavy step,
down the stairway.

“Shall we go?” asked Courtney of his Com-
paniou.

“Yes; he evidently knows where the trapper
is to be found.”

So, down the stairway after the drunken In—
dian who had reclaimed his name to be “ Mud-
hole ” and asserted his right to be a t
chie , went Courtney the adventurer, and od-
erick Wright, the man with the iron will, who
sought a living treasure, worth fifty thousand
dollars, in the country of the Blackfeet.

CHAPTER II.
THE GIANT rnarrna,

THE savage led the way over the -plank
tn the shore. Wright and Courtne fo owed.
The bank gained, t 0 Indian pan for a mo-

ment till the two whites came up.

“ White chief find Longlegs—give Indian rum
~u h?" asked the chief, eagerly.

“ es ” answered Wright; “ go ahead.”

“ Mudhole ' chief. S‘pose you come.” And
on went the In ' , while the whites followed in
his track '\

The red-skin led the way ugfie bank through
the town, past the fort, and ally stopped at a
small whitewashed shanty, that stood apart
from the other houses on the outskirts of the
village. Arriving at the door of the shanty, the
savage sto .

“Old So wigwam—ugh—xmn!” and the sav-
age extended his hand.

“_Call him,” said Wright, suspectin that the
Indian had misled them, and pro ' what he
was unable to perform, in order to obtain the
coveted rum.

“Ugh! Chief no like Old So]! Big stick—
wallop Mudhole when chief drink rum. Rum
good—stick bad—chief no like stick, heap I"

“ It is evident that this Indian is a hanger-on
to Old 891, and that the trapper thrashes him
when he indulges in whisky,” said Courtney“:

“ It would seem so; but, the fellow may ly-
ing,” replied Wright.

‘ ive Indian rum?” questioned the savage,
impatiently.

‘ Hullol broke in a savage voice, and the
door of the shanty opened suddenly, disclosing
to view raw of a man standing about six
feet high, of a broad and werful build,
attired in a hunti -shirt and eg ‘ns of deer-
skin, the color of w ich had once 11 yellow,
but now was stained and discolored to a dirty

brown. The shirt and leggins had seen hard
service, too, as the many rents and tears, now
neatly patched with particolored pieces, gsoved.
The face of the man was a strange one: ' nose
was lar e, hooked like an eagle’s beak' evident-
ly it ha been broken by some heav blow. His
eyes were a dark blue in color—so rk that at
first glance they would be called black; his hair
was bri ht red in hue and was cropped tight to
his hea . A thin r beard covered the long,
Bointed chin. High cheek-bones, with the skin

rawn tightly over them, and you have the pen-
picture of Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper, gene-
rally called by the whites “Old Sol ;” and by the
red-skins “ Longle. ”—tl_e man who had trapped
over every inch 0 ground from the Snake river
on the South to the Red river of the North; the
man, too who feared to shed human blood—4
who would rather go ten miles out of his way
than slay a red—skin brave, but who was known
throughout the mountain region as the best shot,
the roughest rider, and the keenest woodman
that ever tra pcd a beaver or putahall through
a mountain 9 at a hundred paces.

“Drunk a ’in, by hookey l” cried the trapper,
as his 8 es fe 1 upon the face of the redoubtable
Mudho e, who stood blinking like an owl, in a
vain attempt to appear sober.

“ Mudhole big chief! No like rum heap!"
stammered the savage, in defense.

“ You lie, you drunken cuss you!” exclaimed
the trapper. “ Rum! it’s mother’s milk to you,
you long-legged son of a pine tree! Do on
s’pose I’m goin’ to tote round any sich wh y~
tub as you air, dod rot you?” cried the trapper,
indignantly.

The Indian hung his head sheepishly at this
torrent of words.

“ thite chief want see Old Sol,” said Mud- __
hole, endeavoring to turn the trapper’s atten-
tion from himself to the strangers. '

“Old Sol!” cried the trafi er, in a rage.
“Who in thunder air you ca 11’ Old 80], you
p’ison son of a skunk you? My name’s Solomon
Ginger, Esq., dod rot on!” ’

“Longlegs big Chic 1 Heap fight!” said the
savage, thinking by the compliment to appease
the angry trapper.

“ You mud—colored heathen, 'your own legs
air a heap sight longer nor mine. You’ll ’scuse
me, gentlemen, but this ’ere Indian’s enough to
r’ile the stomach of a dead ba’r. He’s the most
onery cuss ou ever heerd tell on. In two min—
utes arter e strikes a settlement he’s as drunk
as an eel in a pot,” said the trapper, turning to
the two strangers: “but walk in, strangers. E‘f
you want to see Sol, the Tra per, I s’pect I’m
the man, as the lawyers say, the best of my
knowledge and belief.”

“If you are Sol, the Trapper.‘ on are the
very man we want to see,” said right.

“ Wal, come into my ranch, strangers. an'

on, you dumed, copper-colored, no—souled crit-

r you, ef I ketch you ban in‘ up by the nose
round any rum-shop, (you an I’ll cry quits. J es’
you bear that in mm .” _

“ Mudhole big chief. Fight rum—enemy!"
said the drunken savage.

“ Jes' so; though an Injun, you Vfoller the

 

Scripters, don’t ye? ‘Love yer enemies,’ you
mutton-headed son of a rattlesnake!"

 

 

And with this parting salutation hurled at the
offending chief the trapper led the we into
his shanty. Wright an Courtney fol owed;
the Indian stretched himself out before the door,
despite the hot beams of the sun pouring down
upon him. »

The interior of the trapper’s abode was as
plain as the outside. The furniture consisted
of a little pine table, a common rocking-chair,
and halite. dozen boxes of various sizes, that
served as tables and closets, and held the sim-
ple cooking-utensils of the hunter. In one cor-
ner stood a Henr repeating-rifle, splendidly
ornamented with si ver on the stock; in another
one of the old-fashioned rifles, with a barrel of
grodigious length and carrying a ball of a hun—

red tothe poun . Suspended from a nail by
a cord was a buck-horn handle huntin -knife,
long, broad, heavy and sharg—mo childs play-
thing for holida use, but t e forest wea n,
keen and true. anging, to nails on the we in
various laces, were the traps of Old Sol, the
tools of is trade, the deadly agents that had
taken the life of many a beaver and muskrat by
the side of the swift-flowing rivers of the great
Northwest.

“Sit down, strangers,” said the traiper, after
they had entered the shanty. “I ain’t got
much furniture, ’cos you see my home is the
wilderness. I rough it thar, an’ in course I rough
it hyer too.”

Wright and Courtney sat down upon the
boxes.

“Wal, what is it? ,S’pose I’m open fur a
trade," said Sol.

“ I wish to make an excursion into the Black-
foot country. In fact, go up the vallgy of the
Flathead river, and I Wish 8. guide. ill you
acce t the position?” asked Wright.

“ hat on airth do you want up thar?" asked
Sol, in amazement. _ '

“That's m secret,” replied Wright, with a

' smile. “ Wi you go with me?”

" Wal, I don’t know. How many be thar in
your party?” asked the trapper. .

“ Two only; my friend here and myself.”

“And you want to go into the Blackfoot
countryg7

“But, creation! it’s almost certain death.
Don’t you know, stranger, that the Blackfeet
are deadly enemies to the whites?” asked the
Giant Traipp‘er.

“ Yes, now that; but still, I wish to go
right into the heart of the Blackfoot country.
Nay, more, I shall probably have to penetrate
secretly into their Villages.’

“I think I git your idee; you want a ide
that kin carry you through the country wi hout
havin’ to fight the Injuns every step. ”

“That’s my idea exactly. have been told
that you know the country Well and are a

rudent careful man—one not inc ined to run
fiesdlessly into danger. Understand me, I wish
to avoid encountering the savages if possible.
My errand must be successful through cunning,
not through force.” _

“ You ain’t arter a gold mine, air you?” asked
the hunter suddenlfir

“No,” answered right.

“ ’Cos, if you were, I wouldn’t stir a dod—rot-

 

6 . Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

ted step. 'l'har’s old ‘nough now in the World,
’nough to make the people that gits it imps
of Satan.” , ‘

“Be assured it is not gold, but something else
I seek.”

“Jes’ so; some friend of yourn has been cap-
tivated by the Blackfeet, an’ you want to find
out whether they are dead or alive.”

Wri ht tsarted; the shrewd trapper had half
gues his secret.

“ Yes; on have guessed the truth. Will you
go as gui e?”

“ Sart’in,” replied the tra per, quickly. “ Guess
I won’t hold back when a Ieller—critter’s in dan-
ger. When I do, you kin jist take the hide
right off me, an’ tan it for moccasins.”

‘ ‘What will the service be worth?” asked
Wri ht.

“ ll tell you better when We git back; but
mind, now we ain’t to do any fighting of we kin
help it. Yiou see, it oes a ’in’ my grain to
shed blood, human bood, w ether it’s red or
white.”

“ We are not eager to run into danger,” re-
plied Wright; “ but, would it not be as well to
take another mountain man with us? My
friend and I know very little of Woodcraft.”

“ Sart’in, an’ I’ve got jist the man.”

“ You have?”

“ Fact, by hockey!” cried the trapper. “ That
drunken Injun, Mudhole, fotched you up hyer,
didn’t he ?”

(K  77

“ He’s the very identical critter that we want
to go along with us.”

‘ What, that drunken brute?” cried Court-

ne .

XJes’ so; but he don’t get drunk arter he
leaves the settlements. He 5 the best ide that
ever follered a trail. Nar foot of s ile ’tween
hyer an’ the Lake ’of the code that he don’t
know jist as well in the darkness as in the light.
He’s been a rtner of mIne now, nigh onto
three years. picked him 11 hyer in Fort Benz
ton, ’bout three years ago. e’d come to town,
got drunk, an’ been beat almost to death by“
some of the river-men. I took him home hyer,
cured him, an’ he’s follered me like a dog ever
since. E1 Icould only keep him away from
the cussed whisky, I wouldn’t ask for a better
critter; but when the durned rum gets into
him he aln’t worth shucks.”

“ But away from the settlements, ou say, he
is perfectly trustworthy,” said Wright.

“ Jes’ so; of he ain’t, kick me to death with
cripples. He’s 'ist old chain—lightnin’ in the In-
jun country. hen shall we start on our expeo
dit’on?”

“As soon as ssible,” replied Wright.

“ Wal, I aint ot nothing to hinder me, so
we’ll take the trail morrow morning ’boutfour.
Aux ’ticular part of the Blackfoot country you
want to go to?”

“ Yes: to the village of the White Wolf.”

“ J es’ so! I know the critter. He’s one of the
top dogs among the Blackfeet. N1 h onto five
hundred warriors in his village. e’s a deadly
enemy of the whites. About ten years ago he
iist worried the settlements along the border hyer
like Old Scratch. Lordyl I remember the tlme
he come down on Elk City—it were only a leetle

 

gr, emphatically.
‘ ast

80! Ginger; the

Giant Trapper. 7

 

ranch then—like a thousand of brick. It were
the'toughest old fight you ever did see.”
“He’s the chie whose village I seek,” said

Wright.

“ a1 I’ll put on through thar, or my name
ain’t Solomon. ' ut now, strangers, you want
to fix your traps, for it ’tain’t a picnic we’re goin’
onto. Got an 110$?”

Wright rep 'ed in the negative.

“ Wal, I know a couple of ponies you kin bu ,
heap cheap, as my en Injun Mudho e
would 58. .

“ Mu ole l” said Courtney.
strange name for a chief.”

“ J es’ so! Some of the river-men named him,
’cos he was always drunk, an’ ginerally lay
around loose in the mud.”

“ What tribe does he belong to ?” asked
Wright.

“ tranger, you’ve got me; I don’t know. He
thinks a heap of me, and I think would fight to
the death for me eve time; but he won’t tell the
name of his tribe. I ad an idee that he were a
Blackfoot, but one day down in the v' e be

ot intoa fight with some Injuns of the lack-
goot tribe, an’ nigh killed one of ’em afore they
pulled him off, an’ of course he wouldn’t do that
of he were a Blackfoot, ’cos of course dog won’t
eat dog.”

“ That’s very true,” said Wright.

“ In course; it’s human natur ” sagely replied
the trapper. “ But, to come bac to our mutton
you want, besides the homes, a couple of g
revolvers a rifle, a repeating one of you kin git
it, ‘cos it you’re close pressed, them things
tell. ”

“ My friend has a Colt’s repeating rifle, and I
a Henry,” said \Vright.

“ Them will do bully ! Thar’s a Henry over
thar,” and the sttrnzzipper pointed to the corner
where the rifle .

“ It’s a beautiful weapon,” said Courtney, pick-
ing it up and looking at it.

‘ Jes’ so. It’s a present from old Col. Buck-
ner. He were cut off from his command by the
Blackfoot Injuns in the Flathead valley, when
he were on a scouting expedition. I were up
thar tra ping beaver, an’ happened’w run across
him. Things Were rou h, tell you; the red
devils were round as 'ck as ’skeeters in a
swamp. I thought our top-knots were gone two
or three times; t, Lordy! we managed to sli
right through ’em slick as a whistle! The 015
co onel were tickled to death. He said he-
thought he should never see the white settle
ments ag’in, an’ he gi’n me that Henry as a sort
of remembrance like. I didn‘t think much of it
at first, with all the gingerbread work onto it;
but when I come to it, an’ found out how
many shots 3. minute could fire with it, an’
that it would c9. further than my old rifle
thar, I kinder conc uded (it wasn’t a bad friend
to have in the wildernem.”

"‘ I should say not,” said Wright; “but, sup-
pose we go and look after those ponies you spoke
of. e sooner we set out the better.”

“Jes’ sol You’re right thar,” said the trap-
“We’ll jist go arter the

. git our traps together—811‘ we want to
travel light,_gentlemen—an‘ at fourin the mom—

“ That’s a

' ing we’ll be among the missin’.”

The trapper rose from his seat, conducted his
Egests out of doors, fastened the door carefully

hind him, for, as he explained:

“Henry rifles air scarce up hyer, an’ some
no—souled critter might captivate mine ef I left
the shanty open.”

The Indian, Mudhole, whom we left asleep be-
fore the door, had disappeared. V
‘ “The dumed red cuss has gone arter rum
ag’in. He’sa pesky cuss, he is, arter fire-wa-
ter. We’ll find him down in the village, hang-
ing round some of the rum-shops," said the
Giant Trapper, leading the we to the village.
Wright and Courtney allowed '11:.

A few minutes’. walk brought the trio to a
shanty occupied as a general store, and where
a small assortment of almost eve thing was
kept. Entering the store, Sol inquired for the

roprietor—who soon made his appearance—a

rge full-bearded fellow. From the trader
Wright and Courtney purchased two hardy
ponies.

“ Sheet-iron, gents!” as the trader remarked,
referring to the horses.

thlég money Was paid over and the trade com-
p e .

“ Send the animiles up to my ranch, an’ have
’em tied outside,” said Sol.

“Better no ” said the trader.

“ Why not?’ asked the Giant Trapper.

“Don’t think it’s safe,” replied the trader.
“ Thar’s a heap of Injuns in town, an’ the two-
legged brutes will be putty apt to steal anything
in the way of boss-flesh that they kin lay their
red we on " .

“ hat tribe?” asked Sol.

“I don’t know—an ugly set of devils. Guess
thur Blackfoot.”

“That ain’t likely,” replied 801; “they don’t
often come in hyer, ’

“Maybe not,” said the trader; “ but, I advise
you not to leave your bosses around loose.”

“ ’Nufl‘ sed,” replied the trapper, laconically;
“a wink’s as good as a nod to a blind hoes.
We’ll call fur the bosses as we come back.”
Then he led the wayto the street again. In the
street he turned to is com ions.

“ Let’s go an’ take a 100 at these ’ere Injuns.
Ef they air Blackfoot—which I doubt—we may
get some information from ’em in regard to the
village of the White Wolf. You see, these In-
juns shift their villages about, jist as the game
is lenty or scarce."

, down the street went the three. When
the arrived 0 posite to where the steamer lay
—t 0 one that ad brought Wri ht and Court-
nny—they noticed a little knot 0 people gather-
ed in front of one of the tradin stores.

“The lnjuns air in thar, I’l bet,” said Sol.
“They’ve probably brought in some peltries.
an’ they’re tradin’ em ofl‘.”

“ Supposo we go in and see,” suggested
Wri ht.

“ 65’ so! but don’t let on that you want to
find out anything about them (ef they be Black-
feet) or ’bout their country, ’cos ef you do, they
lie like all git out. Jist you let me talk to ’em:
I’ll find out jist what we want to know, without
any red cuss smellin out our trail."

“We will leave he whole matter in your

 

hands,” replied Courtney.

 

 

8 Sol Gingor; the Giant Trapper.

 

 

“ J es’ so an’ of I don’t succeed, jes’ you wal-
logome to death with a beaver-tail.”
, pushing his way through the throng of
idlers, the Giant Trap r, followed by the two
adventurers, entered is 6 store.

 

CHAPTER III.
om: AGAINST SIX.

INSIDE the little store stood three Indians—a5
ped up tightly in their blankets.
y a small pack of peltries for

which they wished a supply of powder and ead.

Two of the Indians were men, the third was a

woman, and, as is usual with the uaws when

visiting the settlements, she had er blanket

drawn tightly over her head, almost concealin

her face om view 5 yet, from the glimpse tha

could be caught of it through the opening of the

blanket, one would have pronounCed the Squaw

to be both young and handsome.

AS 801 and the two adventurers entered the

store the Indians and the trader were engaged
’ in a brisk discussion as to the value of the furs,
the trader not being’willin to give the price
de ded for them y the dians.

ourtney’s eyes were instantly attracted by

the young squaw; and with a natural curiosity,
he drew near to her, anxious to get a better view
of her features. She, perceiving the movement,
and guessing the object, drew the blanket still
closer, so that only her coal-black eyes, brilliant
as stars, could be seen.

At the entrance of the Giant Trapper and his
companions, the Indians bent a piercing glance
upon them, and the elder chief—a huge brave,
and very dark in color—said a few words in the
Indian tongue to the younger chief. The words
evidently had some reference to the m r, as
the young chief looked at him from h foot
——for amoment; then both the Indians turned
their attention to the furs again.

“How air you, Martin?” said Sol, nodding to
the trader.

“‘Bol. you’re the very man I want to see!”
cried the trader, who answered to the name of
Martin. “ Give us {our judgment ,hyor. What‘s
these peltries wort ’1”

Sol drew near and examined the skins care-
fully. As he did so, he ave vent to a low
whistle of astonishment. e Indians noticed
the whistle, and exchanged lancos of alarm.
The elder looked toward the oor, as if seeking
an avenue of 

“Well, Sol,” d the trader, “what are they
worth?"

“Wal, I don’t exactly know; that depénds,
in course, on the state of the market,” said' the
trapper, slowly, and then he turned his eyes
fipon tlfrlndiam. “Whar did you trap these

yer e

“ dig river,” said the elder chief, extending

his hand in the direction of the north fork of the

issourl.

“ Oh!” said the tra per, and there was an ex-
tension of doubt in is tone. “ Is the chief a

kfooti” he asked.
‘ No,” replied the Indian; “ Crow !”
“ That’s a lie,” said the trapper to himself;
then he continued his questions: i

' “ Does my brother know a Crow chief named

f!

 

White Wolf?” and the tra. per bent his keen eyes
full upon the face of the ndian as he spoke. In
spite of the almost impenetrable mask of stolid-
ity that the savage wore upon his features, a
slight expression of astonishment, not unmixed
Evith alarm, appeared upon his face at the ques.
ion.
“ White Wolf,” the Indian said, slowly. “ No
Crow chief named White Wolf.”

“ It is so, by a I” suddenly cried the trap-
per, in great as nis ent, whether real or af-
fected we leave the reader to guess. “ I mean
a Blackfoot chief. His villa is up on the Flat-
head river, near the Great anyon. I swowl I
wonder how I came to forgit it, ’cos I were
a-trappin’ up thar last sprin , an’ I lost a pack
of skins jist about the size an heft of this hyer,
in a real curious manner. In course of you air
a Crew you don’t know nothin’ ’bout it at all ;”
and the tra per looked at the Indian in a comi—
cal way, a road grin u n his features, and
yet to a close observer, ere was anything 'but
a pleased look in his eyes.

“ Thunder!” cried the trader; “Syou don’t
mean to say that they went for you, 01?”

“You can take the hide right off my back of
the didn’t ” said Sol, with a grin. “An’ ef I
ha n’t the ongest pair of legs that were ever on
mortal man my top-knot would be hangin’ in
White W01 3 Wigwam this ’ere very minute.”

“ You don’t say so i” cried the trader in
amazement.

“ Sart’in sure. I run a foot-race with ’em
from the Great Canyon down to Dead Man’s
Creek, an’ I only come out a neck ahead "—
Ehe same good—humored grin upon the trapper’s

ace.

“Sun go soon,” said the elder Indian, who
evident] felt ill at ease. “ If white chief want
skins, njun take what white man say—so
much,” and the chief held up his fingers to de—
note the amount.

“ A trade’s a trade,” said the trader. “I reck-
on I won’t back out of my word. Hyer’s your
powder and lead, chief,” and the trader produced
the articles.

“ Good!” said the Indian, eagerly securing the
articles about his person. ‘ nJun get more
skins; come see white brother ag’in.”

“ You won’t git any more skins the way you
got those, without hevin’ a fight fur ’em, red“
skin,” said the Giant Trapper.

All looked at him in amazement.

‘f What the deuce do you mean, Sol?" asked
the trader, in astonishment.

“Only a 'oke, that’s all," said the trapper,
uigtly. “ e chief understands; don’t you,

e .
But, if the Indian understood, he didn’t wait

to say so.

“ How?" said the chief as a parting salutation,
as he phased through the door, followed by the
other brave and the squaw. ‘

“ See you ag’in, Martin,” said 801, following
the Indians, and signing toWright and Court-
ney to follow him.

‘ All right; drop in,” said the trader, as they
passed through the door. '

Once in the street, Sol looked around for the
Indians. His quick eye soon discovered them
some little distance down the street, going to-

; Sol Ginger. the Giant Trapper. 9

 

wardthe outskirts of the _town, and hurrying
alon as if fearful of pursuit.

“ cu cussed red niggers, (you! I’d like to
know what on air arter,” sai Sol, throwing a
glance of ha red toward the red-skins.

“ Do on know them?” asked 'Wright.

“W , I kin make a shrewd guess ’bout ’em.
You saw that air pack of peltries that they
traded in the store?’

H Yes. ’7

“ I trapped every dumed one on ’em.”

“You did?” said Wright, in astonishment.

“Ef it ’tain‘t so, take me by the back of the
neck and shake me right out of my moggasinsl”
cried the trapper.

“But, if they are your skins, how came the
Indians by them!” asked Courtney.

“ Why, I were' a—trappin’ up in the Blackfoot
country, an’ the red devils went fur me fur all
I were worth jist then. They got my skins, but
I went over the airth so thunderin’ fast, I didn’t
have time to stop an” leave ’em a lock of my
ha’r,” said the tra )er, with a grin.

“ But these e cws are Crows,” added
Wright. -.

"‘Crowsl wahl" cried the trapper, in a tone
of contempt. “ So am I a Crow! Thar ain’t
no Crow ’bout them I Thar Blackfoot from ha’r
to heel.”

“ Blackfoot I” cried both the adventurers in as—
tonishmeut.

“Jes’ so. Ef they ain’t, jes’ shave my head
an’ swallow me hull,” said the trapper, making
this singular proposal with a grin. It is per-
haps needless to remark that neither of his com-
panions accepted it. I

“ But if they are Blackfoot Indians, what are
they doing here, and why should they deny
their tribe?” asked Wright.

“Why ” cried the trapper in astonishment,
“didn’t I find the red hea hens with m peltries
in their fore-paws’l—the very blessed 5 ins that
I trapped this ’ere spring on the Flathead river,
near the Great Canyon, and that these red snakes
run me awa from durn the’r dod—rotted cop-
per—colored 5 ins! I knowed every peltry; nary
one thar but’s got my mark onto it, an’ of course
they air goin’ to git out of the scrape If they kln:
but they ain’t a—goin’ to say right out that they
air Blackfoot: right afore me.’

“‘But why didn’t you claim the skins?” asked

ourtney.

“Wal, I don’t like to have an trouble of I
kin help it. Then it would be ta in’ an unfair
advantage right here onto my own dunghill, to
pick up a fight with ’em. The scrape were
commenced in their country, an’ I’d jist as lief
work it out in the same region,” said the trap-
per, with that inherent love of fairnem which is
so revalent among the mountain men. “ They

oi? the bestof me last spring; now I’ll git the
host of them this summer; an’ of I don’t steal
the best boss they’ve got in White Wolf’s vil-
lage in trade fur my skins, then my name ain’t
Sol Ginger, and I don’t know what a beaver-
skin is!”

Just at this moment, the tall Indian who had
carried on the conversation in the ' store,
turned round and beheld the trapper and his
companions looking after them.

_ “Ugh! Longlegs is watching us,” he cried,

 

in the Blackfoot language, addressing his com-
pamon.

t; The white dog knows us!” returned the
0 er.

“ Yes, perhaps; if he follows us he will dis-
cover our party, and defeat our plans to sur-
prise the whites.”

“Let us go back and stay in the town till
night; then we can steal away without notice,”
said the smaller of the two.

“The Red Hand speaks with a strai ht
tongue; it is good. The chiefs of the Blac set
will wait for their chief till the ground is dark,”
replied the elder chief. “ White Bird," he con-
tinued, addressing the squaw, “ keep your blan-
ket about our face; let not the white chiefs see
the face 0 the Flower of the Blackfeet.”

So, with slow steps, the Indians Bent their way
again to the village.

“ They are returning,” cried Courtney.

“ Jes’ so!" said Sol. “ I’ll keep my eyes peel-
ed, you bet; but we want some crackers and
fixings fur our journe ; we’ll these critters
ag’in afore we reach t e Great ~anyon on the
Flathead, or I’m a sucker."

So the trio moved off toward the trading-store
again. Courtne , however, had determined to
see the face 0 the squaw if possible. The
glimpse he had caught of her bright, sh black
eyes had thrilled him to the soul. Yout is im-
pulsive. Already he was half in love with the
young squaw, whose eyes alone he had seen, but
who was—he was convinced—both young and
beautiful. 80 when his com anions entered ’the
store he remained outside an kept his eyes upon
the Indians. '

The two braves and the squaw came slowly
along, as if unconscious that theirmovemema
were watched, but they knew it full well for
the keen eges of the elder chief had detected the
form of t e young man standing in the door-
way and his glances toward them. The Indians
went down the street till they came to where a
little clump of trees cast a shadow ugm the
ground. In the shade of these trees ey sat
down, apparently unconscious of all that was
going on around them. '

“ I’d give a few dollars to see that girl’s face
and have a few words with her Indian though
she is,” said Courtney to himself, as he looked
long and wistfully at the coarse red blanket
thalt concealed the form and face of the Indian

11‘ .
g Courtne ‘s attention was diverted from the
Blackfeet y a drunken yell c ‘ from oneof
the numerous drinkin shops up by
the river-bank. The yell was follow by
a second, and then half a dozen fellows, ev1~
dently flushed with liquor, came from one of
the saloons and reeled down the street toward
the Indians. There were six or seven in the
party—rough customers they were, too- river-
men gamb ers, and one or two mountainmen.

“i hope the drunken brutes won’t trouble the
girl,” said Courtne to himself, as he beheld the
crowd advancing; t, as he expected the mo-
ment one of the drunken fellows beheld the
group under the trees, he called the attention of
his companions to the In

“Here’s some cusmd red-skins an' a w
tool";shouted the foremostone of gang, <

 

 

 

 

‘knives beneath their h
be d

 

10 Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

ing directly for the trees. Courtney, too, ad-
vanced toward the group. He loosened his re-
volver in its sheath, etermined’ to use it on the
drunken gang if necessary.

“Say, old gal!” shouted the leader of the
rough fellows as he t near the Indians, “ take
our kiver oi! and et me see your pretty red
ace can’t on?"

All of t e Indians 'rose to their feet' the
hands of the chiefs so ht the handles of their
ets; a fight was at

n .
(Reader, this is the way one-half of our In-
dian wars begin. The Indian comes into our
frontier settlements, peacefully and well-be—
haved; he is abused and outraged by some
drunken ruflians and, in return, he carries fire
and steel alon the whole line of the border.)

“ Tear the b anket off, Dick, if she won’t show
her face ” shouted another of the gang.

“I ‘ , you bet!” replied the ringleader of
the who had been addressed as Dick;
and e vanced with outstretched hand to-
ward the Indian '1']; but; with a motion quick
as thought the el er Indian step before the

new with a long, glittering kni e in his hand
'1‘ e rough bully recoiled before the determined
aspect o the red chief.

‘ W'hite man drink heap fire-water. Go
home; no touch Indianl” said the chief, in a
deep tone.

At this unexpected check to their amusement,
the rage of the crowd knew no bounds. Knives
and pistols were instantly drawn and flourished
furiously by the rough fellows.

“Cut his heart out Dick!” “Shoot the
blasted Injunsl” “Kill ’em!” were the cries
that came from the crowd as they brandished
their weapons. With a large portion of the
frontier settlers, the Indian is regarded as an
object to be put out of the way as soon as possi-
ble. But as the hostile. drunken crowd swayed
toward the red—skins, Courtney, with revolver
in hand, cocked and leveled at them, stepped
to the side of the Indians, and again checked the
advance.
“ What the blazes do you want?” growled the
bull , Dick, anxiously seeking to get outside of
the ne of the six-shooter, yet not wishing abso—
luter to retreat.

“Allow me to ask you the same uestion:
“what the blazes do you want’?” repli Court—
ney, with a calm, quiet voice, carefully turning
the revolver in the direction of the rough left
nearest to him by Dick’s retreat. That worth
no sooner had rceived the muzzle of the revo -
ver immed in is direction and taken a single
glance into the shining tu , than he instantly
executed a retrograde movement, which brought
him u in a safe position in the rear of all the
rest 0 the party.

” We want to cut the heart out of this cursed
Injun!” howled the fellow left nearest to Court-
ney b the retreat of Dick and the second rough.

“ , you do, do you?” asked Courtney, in a
gleam, quiet way, leveling the revolver full at

“'Y es, we—” and here the speaker caught
sight of» the six-shooter. capped and leveled full
at his head. This sight caused him to pause in
hisspeechg a ghneearoundathiscomndesdis-

 

closed the astounding fact that they were gradu-
ally retreating beyond the range of the weapon,
and that he was left confronting the deadly
tubes alone. No man rushes heedlessly u 11
death, unless he is a. madman; so, after anot er
glance at his companions, the last ruflian com-
menced backing toward them. ,

“I’ll see you ag’in,” muttered the rough, re-
treating a httle faster.

“ All right; come and see me often,” respond-
ed Courtney, bending down his head a little to
one side, as if drawmg a “ bead ” on the retreat—
ing man, who, {Erosiving the movement, incon-
tinently turned '5 back and his retreat quick-
ened intoa run, until he had joined hiscom-
panions. The drunken fellows shook their fists
fiercely for a minute or so at Courtney, and
then plunged into the saloon from whence they
came.

Thus one cool, determined man, aided by a
six—shooter, put to flight half a dozen fellows,
several of whom were armed fully as well as
himself.

Courtney turned to the Indians

“ White chief heap brave! Heart big! Injun
think much, speak little. When time comes,
Injun pay White chief, perhafis; no tell now;”
said the tall chief, bending a can glance upon
the oung man.

“ y red brother is welcome,” said Courtney,
speaking in the Indian fashion.

“Young chief go with Longlegs, ehl”ques-
tioned the savage.

Courtney wondered at the question, but he
answered it.

“Yes; Sol, the big trap r, you mean?”

“Ugh! Longlegs bigc 'efl No fight much;
run hea . him no catch Longlegs. He scalp
beaver, eap.’

It was very evident to Courtney that the chief
was well acquainted with the trap r.

“Ugh! Crow!” said the youn c ief, pointing
down the street to an Indian ri 'ng along on a
Eony. Both the chiefs turned their backs upon

ourtney and the squaw to gaze at the strange
Indian. Courtney cared little for the Crow
brave, and eagerl embraced the on rtunity to
steal a glance at e Indian ' l. S e perceived
the motion, and with aquic glance toward the
chiefs to note if they were watching, unfolded
the blanket and disclosed to the admiring eyes
of Courtney the prettiest face he thought he had
overlooked upon! The features of the Indian
girl were 1' l r, and really very beautiful. A
long, straig t ose, eyes of lustrous black, of
liquid fire and of melting tendernsss; full, pout-
ing lips, red as the carnation flower, sweet in
their dewy fullness; a. little chin, exquisitely
formed, and a throat perfect as sculptor ever
carved from silent marble. The clear skin, too,
through which the rosy blood was bl ' , was
of abrunette tinge, not the red hue of t e In-
dian, but as if the torrid summer sun had kiss-
3 the dainty cheek with a lover’s passionate-

as.
For a moment Courtney azed upon the bean-
tiful girl before him, and t en, as if fearful of
bei surprised by the chiefs, she again drew
the lanket over her face, and Courtney de-
scended from Heaven to earth. .,
The chiets hamg watched the Crow dismqunt,

Sol Ginger, the

 

.

Giant. Trapper. 1 1

 

 

and enter one of the tradingstores, turnedagain
to the 0 man.

“W en 0 my brothers go to their wig-
wamsi” asked Courtney.

“ When the coyote howls and the spirit lights
come,” replied t e chief pointing to the sky.
By the “spirit lights,” Courtney guessed that
the Indian meant the stars.

“Will not my brother come to my Wigwam
and eat?” h b b ha ,1
‘ n'un not ungry; um come, per ps,
replied the chief, seatin hyimself u n the
ground. The squawand t 0 young In 'an fol-

lowed his example.

Seeing that there was but little chance of a ain
beholdin the girl’s face, Courtney slowlyw ed
toward t e trading-store.

 

CHAPTER IV.
IN THE NIGHT.

As the young adventurer walked slowly
along, his thoughts were of this beautiful young
savage, the strange-hued daughter of the red-
skins, whose cheek was nearly as white as his

wn

“ Shall I ever see her again?” cried the oung
man to himself. Some instinct within his reast
assured him that he would.

“By Jove!” he cried, to use our frontier ex—
pression, “ she’s taken me for all that I'm

~,worth.”

At the trading-store Courtney found Old Sol
and Wright. he trapper had completed his

urchases, and the trio turned their steps toward
his shanty. '

“That air In 'un business (gits me,” said Sol,
with a wise sha e of the bee .

“ Then you think that they had some other
object in comin than to exchange their skins
for wder and sad?” asked Wright.

“ al es, I do think so: it ’taxn‘t often that
the Black eet trouble us much in hyer. P‘r’a s
the red skunks want to see of thar were anytma
a-goin‘ to start across the mountains, an’ of thar
were a chance for plunder.”

“ But they have a squaw with them,” said

he .

“ Yes ythat shows that they ain’t on the war-
path. f‘kinder guess the’r’ on a sort of smell-
Lag-011,13 expedition, jist to see what they can dis-

iver.

By this time the three had reached the trap—
per’s shanty, and the shades of night were be-
ginning to gather over the rairie.

“ See here,” said Sol sud enly, as they enter-
edthe shanty, “I aint hearn your names yit,

an’ as we're oin’ to be chums fur a few weeks,
it don’t soun right fur to be callin‘ you Mis-
tors.

“My name is Roderick Wright,” said the
elder, “and this gentleman’s name is Harry

e .

“ Jes’ syo!” replied Sol. . “My handle in course
you know: Solomon Ginger, called fur short
Old 801, an’ by the red heathens Longlegs, ‘cos
I kin outrun any two-legged critter that ever
591; foot on the top of the airthtin this ’ere re-
gip‘n. .

Notabad ' foramanhke you,”remark-
Dd Wright. Em

 

“Not much, you betl” replied the trapper
“but now, gents hyer’s some blankets, an;
hyer‘s the good old solid airth, an’ as we’ve got
to make tracks at daybreak we mought as well
take a cat-nap as not. I’ 'ist go down an’
bring up the bosses, an’ hitch em with my two
beasts outside in the little corral at the back of
the shanty. They’ll be safe thar from either
In'ipn or white.”

he trapper departed after the horses, and
Wright an Courtney seated themselves upon
the boxes to await his return.

In a short time the Giant Trap
with the two horses they had pure 'ed at the
trading—store. These he gut in the little yard
attached to the back of t e shanty, where two
more ponies were already tethered—one a litile
mud-colored animal of t e kind commonly (all-
ed “claybank.” This the tra per point/ed to
with pride, as being the “ cu , smartest little
animal that ever walked,_9ver the top rut-tho
airth.” The other was a rough shag beast,
that looked as if he were thoroughly as amedof
himself.

“ That’s Mudhole’s animile,” said Sol. “ He’s
a regular Indian hoss, out an7 out, an‘ I b’lieve
he ' es a red—skin a durned sight better nor he
does a white, but as fur that air leetle cuss of
mine,” pointing as he spoke, with pride, to the
mud-co cred pony, “ she can smell an Injun a
mile, an’ hates ’em like old Satan. He’s nearly
kicked Mudhole’s head ofl? three or four times;
he‘s ’ison on Injuns.”

“ useful brute,” said Wright.

“ That’s so; kin travel his sixty miles a day,
day in an’ day out, gits fat on a c'haw tobacco,
an kin sleep on the top of ’a rail fence,” and a

r returned

broad 'n spread over the trapper’s face ashe
descan on the good qualities of the mud-col-
ored beast. '

“I suppose we had better take our rifles and
little traps from the boat tonight,” said
Wri ht. I

“ rt’in; the ain’t apt to be stirrin' in the
mornin’, an’ we’ take Wing migvlerty airly.”

“ Come, then, Courtney,” said right. “ We’ll
be back in a few minutes.”

“ J es’ so. I’ll have some fodder ready fur yer.
I’ve got the nicest buffalo-tongue hyar tna ever
a hungry man put his teeth into. Then after
foddering up, we’ll take a shake—down d - mom-

in .”

%ri ht and Courtney left the shanty and

walk down the street to the boat. It had now
grown quite dark, and as there was no moon,
011])? friends could scarcely see ten paces before
t em.
They reached the steamer, however, without
accident; there they got their rifles and a few
other “small traps, ’ as the clerk of the steamer
denominated them, and proceeded to return to
the trap r’s shanty.

They nearly gained half the distance,
when three dark forms brushed by them in the
gloom. The darkness was so great that the fig-
ures could not be easily recognized, yet Court-
ney {malt sure thrit gums. tlhe  braves
and eyoung n nglr w 0 passed
him. A wild wish ¥irung up in his breast to
‘onoe again see the ndian girl—if possible to
speaker her: and he detawned to gratify that

 

 

 

18 Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

wish. He did not for a moment, consider that
fissiny the girl knew nothing of the English

11 no, and as he knew not a single word of any
of he Indian langua es, conversation might
therefore be im ssib 0. Love is blind, how-
ever. Courtney ad but one wish, one thought,
to see the fair face of the save e maiden—4f
possible, to touch her hand, to tel her that she
was loved, to ask love in return!

So, on arrivi at the trapper’s shant ,Court—
ney laced his ‘plunder ” inside, sai quietly
that e would return in a moment, and then re-
traced his steps down the street.

“I may be on a wild-goose chase ” he said to
himself, as he strolled along in t e darkness,
his eyes and ears on the watch to detect the
three shadowy forms that had passed him but
the moment before.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him. Might
not the little clump of trees that had shaded the

v Indians in the dayLbe the best place to find
them in the night? ihc thoughtgwas reasonable;
so, toward the trees Courtney slowly bent his
steps. In a few minutes he stood beneath the
spreading boughs. All was silence; the stillness
of the night alone was there.

“ Now, then, what is my course of action?”
said the young man to himself. “Shall I con-
ceal myself in the bushes, at the foot of these
trees, and Wait for the coming of the Indians,
or shall I ive up the chase and return to the
trap r’s s anty?” A few minutes” thought de-
cide him to adopt the first course of action;
so he stretched himself out at full length in the
bushes.

Courtney had not been five minutes in the
concealment of his ambush, when his quick ear
detected the tread of persons approaching. The
sound came from the direction of the toWn.

“ The tread is too heavy for my Indian girl,”
thought he, as the sound came nearer and
nearer. '

Then, to the eyes of the watching man, two
figures loomed u in the gloom of the night.
T at they were ndians he could plainly see by
the blankets wrapped around them.

“ These are the two chiefs, but where is my
beauty 3” questioned the young man, as he peer-
ed into the darkness around him anxious to de-
tect the person of the Indian gir . But, no lithe
firm, with its light, springing step, rewarded

5 ate.

T 9 Indians stopped beneath the trees, and
than Courtney saw that he was wrong in his
surmise; the two Indians were not the two
chiefs who had been with the girl. Here, in-
deed, was one of them—the elder warrior, who
had carried on the conversation, but the shorter
one, the go or brave, was not with the old
chief. T e 0t or Indian now with him, was a
warrior fully as tall as the old chief himself.

“The youn chief and the girl are then to-
gether,” said t e concealed and anxious young
man to himself. “If the old chief is here, the
others will come, so I shall see my dark-eyed
beauty again, though I may not be able to
speak to her. Well, that is better than nothing;
it’s a poor heart that cannot find consolation, so
I’ll watch and wait.”

The two chiefs commenced speaking. Court-
ney lnmed utterly, but as the onions spoke in.

 

the Indian language, he had his trouble for his
pains. We, however, for the information of our
readers, will translate the conversation of the
Indians.

“ Why does the dog of the white-skins follow
the steps of the chief of the Blackfeet?’ demand-
ed the old chief.

“The White Wolf speaks with a straight
tongue,” answered the strange Indian; “ the out-
cast brave is a dog. ”

The tones of the second Indian’s voice sounded
strangely familiar to the ear of the watch'
Courtney, though the meaning of the speec
was as Greek to him.

“Where the deuce have I heard that voice?”
questioned Courtne , communing with himself
and striving throng the darkness to distinguish
the face of the speaker, but the darkness wastoo
intense. Courtney could only distinguish the
outlines of his form.

“ Yes, a dog that licks the hand of the
whites—the hand of the deadly enemies of his
race.

“It is true: the dog is in the dust' why crush
him? Let the chief open his ears; he will hear
things good for the Blackfeet to know,” replied
the strang; Indian, whose tones sounded so fa-
miliarto ourtney’s ear. -

“Ugh! Can the dog do good to the tribe he
has disgraced?" questioned the old chief, in a
sternyoice.

“ The S otted Elk is dead to the warriors of
the Black eet; let him rest till the Great Spirit
calls him to the happy hunting-grounds,” said
the stran e Indian, in a mournful voice.

“The potted Elk was once 3. eat chief of
the Blackfoot nation—the great rave of the
wung warriors; he was the son of the White

01!. One day he would have been the great
chief of the Blackfeet that dwell in the Flat end
valley. The S tted Elk was as brave as the
eagle and as oolish as the owl; he loved the
squaw of the Gray le—another’s mate. What
was the end?” demant ed the old chief.

“The Gray Eagle came upon the Singing Bird
and the S tted Elk; he was like the
great clou s when they look black over the flow-
are; the Gray Eagle was a great chief a mighty
warrior, strong as the pine-tree, but the Spotted
Elk tore his heart out,” and the voice of the
chief swelled into a tone of triumph as he told
of the death of his foe.

“The Spotted Elk speaks truth; the Gray
Eagle died by his kni e, but the tribe of the
Blackfeet killed the Singing Bird—the guilty
squaw—and drove the Spotted Elk an outcast
from the land of his fathers. For the love of a
foolish uaw, the Spotted Elk gave u the
chieftains ip of the Blackfeet—became a 0g in
the wigwams of the pale-faces—rolled in the mud
at their feet—drank their fire-water, and '
came their slave.” and the voice of the old chief
swelled with indi ation as he spoke. The other
IndianI hung his sad, and for a moment made
no rep . _ .

The interval was decidedly uninteresting to
the listener Courtney, unable to understand a
word of their conversation; he listened with im-
patience.

“I wish to heaven they'd get out, and that

thegirl would comel’f was his muttered exola-_

’

 

/

 

30! Ginger, the Giant Trapper. 13

mation. Just then a slight noise to the left of
him attracted his attention' he listened, and in
a moment became satisfied that some one else
was watching the interview of the two Indians
besides himself. For a moment he felt a sli ht
alarm as to his own safe ; but, as the ot er
listener, whoever it might ,xlid not seem in-
clined to approach, Courtney flattered himself
that his presence was unknown. The two In-
dians again resuming their conversation, he
turned his attention to them thinking that pos-
sibly they might say something that he could
understand.

“ The White Wolf speaks straight; the Spot-
ted Elk is a wanderer, but his heart is Black-
foot. Let the chief open his ears. The White
Eoulsazathe strange whites with the trapper

953

“ es,” answered the old chief.

“The stran e chiefs seek the Flathead river,
the country ‘oh the Blackfeet; they seek some-

e

thing whic gwill find in the village of the
 Wolf. an the chief guess what they
see .

“Ugh! the white squawl” answered the old
chigef, a heavy frown gathering upon his

b we.

“The White Wolf is right' the ears of the
S 'tted Elk are long' he heard the talk of the
w ite braves; when t e sun comes tlisy go.”

“Their bones shall whiten in the v ev of the
Flathead and the co ote feed upon their hearts!”
cried the White W0 f fiercely.

“ Longlgglslfioes with the white braves. ”

“ He . el” eXCIm'med the old chief.

“ N01 Longlegs saved the Spotted Elk from
the blue—coated whites. If he dies, the S tted

1k dies too. The White Wolf will spare ng-
legs, or the Spotted Elk will tell him not to leave
the white Warns."

“ It is g !” replied the old chief; “ Lon legs
shall not die; the Spotted Elk shall save 'm;
the others shall die!”

“It is well,” laconically replied the Spotted
Elk and then the two chiefs walked on in the
darkness, and their figures were soon lost to
si ht in the loom of the night.

‘Now, I’ like to et out of this,” thought
Courtne , “but theres that confounded listen—
er over t ere. t may be some big Indian who
may ut a knife into me the moment I show
myse . Mighlgl little’information I’ve got. I
wonder where edeuce In ' beauty is?"

Then, anoise from the ‘ tion of the con-
cealed person, that was yet to be proved friend
or foe, attracted his attention. He turned his
eyes toward the spot; a dark fi re rose from the

ground advanced direc y to the hiding-
place of. rtney. Through the gloom he could
distinguish that it was an Indian: on come the

figure steadily toward him.

“I’ve got to fight for it 1” said the young man,
between his teeth. He sprung to his feet, draw—
ing his revolver as he did- sonand leveling it full
at the breast of the advancmghstranger, who,
however, did not seem to heed t a hostile action
but stillcame‘steadily on.

.“Keep off, or I fire!7 exclaimed Courtney, as
he pressed his revolver almost to the breast of
the strange Indian. The blanket-drop from
the dark figure, and by the dim light, ourtney

 

could discern that it was the Indian girl who
stood before him. A cry of delight escaped his
lips at the welcome sight.

“ White chief will not shoot Indian girl,” said

.the maiden in good, plain English, with only a

slight Indian accent. I

‘ Shoot on?” cried Courtney, ushing his re-
volver bac to its place. “I we d rather shoot
myself I”

‘ Is white chief glad to see Indian girl?” ques-
tioned the maid.

“ Glad! To be sure I am!” he cried. “That
was my object in lying concealed beneath these
trees to see you.”

“You like me?” the girl asked, lookiflg into
Courtney’s face with her bright, beautif eyes,
new full and lustrous as ripp ing waves.

“ Like?” cried Courtney, impetuously; “ I
more than like—I love you i” and with a quick
movement he drew the nnresistin girl to his
breast. A moment he held her - ere—a mo—
ment he heard the beating of her heart against
his own, and then his lips met hers in one 10:51

lingering, 'onate in! The blood dan
quickl throu h his veins—~that kiss was the
seal 0 love! enceforth the maid was his for-
ever!

“ I love youl” said the girl, softly, looking
with her full, lustrous eyes into her lover’s
face.

“ And you will leave your tribe and go with

me?” questioned Courtney.
‘f Yes ;” and the girl, looking uickly around,
peering through the loom, aSIf earml of being
surprised, asked: -‘ on go with the trapper
Lou legs into the Blackfoot country?”

“ es ” answered Courtney, in astonishment.
“ How do you know that?”

“You understand the Blackfoot language?"
asked the girl.

‘1  ,7

“ Then you could not understand what the
chiefs said.”

H N .71 ‘
“ Ah I” and thegirl for a moment was silent;
then she again continued: “ You seek something

in the Blackfoot country?”

“Yes,” said Courtney, wondering where the
girl could have procured her knowled . “ I
seek a treasure worth fifty thousand do , so
my companion says.”

he girl shook her head incredulously.

” I know the treasure you' seek; itis a living
one, and it will go with you alone. Your com-
ganion cannot obtain it though he were backed

y all the blue—coated chiefs mm the Big river
to the great plains.”

Courtney looked at the earnest face of the girl
in astoni ment; he was in a maze; he could
make nothing of these strange words.

1“.I do not understand you,” he‘ cried; “ ex~

am. .

p “ Some time,” said the girl, with a smile.
“ Good-by, now. You go to the Flathead river;
you will be in danger, but I will watch over you,
and you shall have the treasure. One word:
beware of the Indian, Mudholel He will'betray
you to the Blackfeet. Nay, more he has betra ed
you. . Good-by!” and the girl folded the b et
around her as if to depart. .
“One moment!" cried Courtney, as he press-

-u-o.  .

‘fiv-v->‘rr '2’“:

‘ n , W...” “Tynan”. _s.MMc.e,.§~m._

«sewn—um.

v.4

 

14 Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

ed a fareWell kiss 11 n her lips. J‘My name is
Ha Courtne ; w tis yours?”

“ bite Bir , he Flower of the Blackfeet,”
murmured the 'rl, as she glided from his arms
and disappear in the dar mess that hung like
an inky pail over the earth.

Courtney watched her retreating figure until
it was lost to his view, and then, with a heart
beatin high with joy, he returned to the trap4
part; 8 ant and sought his humble couch a
single blan et on the hard earth. But ‘5
dreams that night were leasant ones, for the
dark eyes and red lips o the Blackfoot maid
were ever before him.

 

CHAPTER V.
m Tm: HANDS or run BLACKFEET.

When the first gray streaks of light appeared
in the eastern sky, the Giant Trapper awoke
the two adventurers; the trio made a hasty
breakfast, and then soon were in the saddle.
Hardly had the three mounted when the Indian
Mudhole, came up, looking as if he had passed
the night in some mudhole sleeping off the effects
of the tent fire-water.

Mud ole stared at the mounted men; a dim
expression of astonishment appeared upon his
features.

“Old 801 go—no take Mudhole with him?"
questioned the Indian.

“In course not,” replied the trapper. “Grit
your boss; we’re fur the mountains ’fore the
sun’s up.”

“Mudhole go,” responded the savage, as he
entered the little corral and‘ proceeded to saddle
his ony, an operation which was extremely

Vsimp 6, said saddle consisting only of a s.ngle
blanket.

“ I knowed he’d come,” said the trapper, with
a grin “ He’s got the cussed whisky out 0’ him,
an he’s a hull team in the Wilderness.”

By this time the Indian had stra ped the
blanket on his pony and mounted; hen Sol

ave the signal, and the party rode off toward
t 0 west, taking the trail that led through
Cadotte’s Pass to the little frontier settlement
known as Elk City.

As they rode along, Courtney could not resist
taking a searching glance at the redoubtable
Mudhole, who rode in the rear, some ten paces
behind the rest. The warning of the young In-
dian girl recurred to the mind of Courtney; her
Warning Was a strange one: “Beware of the

Indian, Mudhole; he will betray you to the
Blackfeet; nay, more, he has betrayed you."

“ What the deuce did she mean?” asked Court—
ney of himself. “How can he have already
betrayed usl—that is the question.” But no so—
lution of the mvstsry presented itself to the
young man’s mind.

“I'll keep my eves upon him,” he resolved,
“and if I see the slightest sign of treachery, I’ll
blow his brains out as I would a mad—dog‘s.”

Carefully did the old trapper lead the march,
for, as he explained to Wright and Courtney,
they might chance to fall in with a roving band
of Crow Indians at any moment, as they Were
gnltgring the regions inhabited by that warlike

r e.
V Thanks. to the trapper’s precautions, and to

s

 

the good-fortune which kept the Indians from
their trail, the little part reached Cadotte‘s
Pass Without seem signs 0 a hostile savage.

Climbing the roc -y passes of the great moun»
tains, our adventurers at length descended on
the Western side, and tilrned their course to the
northwest, leaving the Elk City trail, and tak-
ing a pathway of their own‘ through the rough
and timbered deflles.

At the close of a weary day’s march, our ad‘
venturers halted for rest and. supper by the
side of a little stream that came tum ling down
-—the waters pure as crystal—from the over-
han 'ng mountains.

“ ow, then, we air nigh our journey’s end'
we foller this leetle brook ten miles or so, and
we strike the valley of the Flathead river,” said
the trapper, as he dismounted and extended his
limbs on the grass.

“How far are we then from the village of
the thite Wolf?” as ed Wright, as he followed
the trapper’s example and reclined at his side.

“ ’Bout ten miles or-so—nigh enough to be

gh dangerous of we ain‘t mighty careful,”
rep ic the trapper.

“You think there is den er of the Indians
stumbling u n us here?” sai Courtney.

“ Not muc ; it's a mighty good time fur 0hr
expedition, fur about t ‘s time nearly all the
young braves air away, down in the plains ar—
ter bufllers. It’s the hunting season now; but,
how on airth air you a—goin’ to find out whether
this ’ere person you seek is in the village of the
White Wolf or not?” asked the trapper, with a
doubtful shake of the head.

“ That will be a difficulty indeed,” said Wright,
tiliou htfully. “ Can you not suggest some

an - .

p “ In course I kin, but the carryin’ of the plans
out, thar's whar it its me,” and the old trap

shook his head wise y. “ In the first place, p an
number one, we mought one on us go onto a
smellin’ expedition into the village, an’ try to
diskiver the truth in that air way; but, that air’s
mighty dangerous, ’cos it would have to be done
arter dark, an’ ten chances to one we wouldn’t
l’arn anything, 'an’ would only have our trouble
fur our pains. You see it wouldn’t do fur ary
one on us to go, fur the durned Indian do 3
would smell out that we were white-skins uic -
er’n a wink; they know a white man as ur as
they kin smell him. Why. even one of the In—
jun ponies will raise 01d Cain at the sight of a
white; the dumb brutes know we ain’t friends.

So, the only chance would be fur to send Mud- ’

hole. In the darkness he might be able to walk
right into the village and right out of it, an’ the
Blackfeet'not a bit the wiser.”

“ That might do,” said Wright.

“ Yes, it mought; but I’ve got anot er plan,”
said the Giant Trapper; “ that is, to captivate
one of the Injun squaws an’ frighten the truth
out of her. The only obiection to that air is,
that ef we let her go ag’in, she’d have the hull
village down ’bout our ears jist like stirrin’ up a
hornets’ nest. I guess the best way will both let
Mudhole sneak into the village, arter all.”

“Yes, we can give him instructions,” said
Wright. ’ r I

“ Sart’in,” replied Sol: “ he’ 11 foller ’em. He's
jist as true as steel; you’ll find him squer’ every

4’,»

 

\

 

Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper. ' 15

r..-.:- .--. ~

 

time; ef it ’tain’t so I don’t want a cent. But,
let’s have some snapper.”

,“Supperl” cri Courtney; “that’s a good
idea; but I wish we had something besides dry
beef and corn,” which two articles being port-
able and easy' carried, constituted the previ-
sions of our adventurers. D ' the first of
the trip, the rifle of the trap r (1 produced
many a palatable addition to t eir store, but for
the last two days, since entering the rough and
timber-ed defiles that stretched down from the
Rocky Mountains to the Flathead river, the
trapper had strictly forbidden the use of fire-
arms.

“We air in the enemies’ coun , an’ we
mustn’t sacrifice our top-knots for e sake of
our stomachs,” he had quaintly observed.

“ Got tired of dried beef an corn, eh?” asked

the trap r.
“ Yes, ’ replied Courtney.
“How would on like some baked trout—

nice, lively, leete spotted fellers?" asked Sol,
with a grin.
“ Just you try me with a few!” cried Court—

ne .

xWe’ll have ’em for our su per to-night,” re-
sponded the trap r. “This eetle brook 18 full
©n’em. I guess kinrisk a fire—a leetle one
jist big enough to cook ’em of I cover it up well
an’ kee the smoke under. Here’s a line, ’ and
he pr need a couple from his pocket. “ J ist
try your luck down the brook, 311' st in half an
hour, we don’t have amess of spec beau-
ties, just you call me a nigger, that‘s all."

Courtney took the line and strolled of! down
the stream. Some hundred yards or so beyond,
the brook took a sudden turn and Courtnegg
following it, was hidden from the si ht of t e
others. A little way beyond the nd, the
brook lunged down over a rocky ledge, form-
ing a c rming little cascade. Underneath this
cascade was a. dark deeplpool, the very haunt
the agile brook-trout, the king of the fresh-wa-
ter fishes, delights in.

Courtney, turning over a decayed stump, ro-
cured some little white grubs for bait, and en
cast his line into the silent pool. Searcer had
the line touched the surface of the water, ere a
fine, In e trout made a dash at it, hooked him-
self an was soon drawn out on the shelving
bank Courtne knelt to release the hook from
the mouth of t e fish. As he did so a slight
noise in the bushes near him attracted ' atten—
tion, It sounded as if some one, moving cau-
tiously within the thicket, had stepged upon a
dry twi , and it had snapped beneat the pres-
sure of '3 foot. For ~a moment Courtney lis-
tened, his eyes fixed upon the thicket near him.

_ The noise was not repeated, and Courtney, satis—
fied that it was only some small animal or bird
forcing its Way through the shrubbery, turned
his attention again to the fish. The young man
was no w ; no prairie captain was he; he
knew not that, in the wilderness, the woodman
looks for a foe in every bush, sees the presence
of the red-skinned warrior in the rustling of the
leaves, detects the painted foe in the waving of
the long grass. The soft wind warns him of
danger, the’ tyellow earth beneath his feet tells of
thy coming ght.

. glut as we have said, Courtney was no sharp

 

eyed mountain-man; he knew nothin of the
wiles and tricks of the human hyenas w o roam
the vast expanse of rairie wilderness that,
broken by the Rocky ountains and its ranges,
stretches from the Gulf of California to the
dense forests of British America.

As Courtney knelt by the side of the fish to
extract the hook from its mouth, the dense
bushes ten paces back of him were arted noise—
lessly, and forth into the little ade came a

ainted savage. Four other In 'ans followed
he first-creeping toward the unconscious
white, slowly and noiselessly as the snake glid-
ing toward its prey they came. A moment
more and the foremost savage—who was none

other than the chief whom we have seen harter‘ ‘

ing for the skins at Fort Benton—White Wolf,
stood within striking distance of Courtney.
Slow] the red-skin raised his tomahawk, a mo-
ment e held it poised in the air over the head
of the unconscious man; then it descended swift
as the lightning‘s flash, and striking the young
adventurer on the head, felled him senselew to
the earth.

Courtney fell without even a single cry. Ex-
tended upon the earth he fell, stunned, and si-
lent as death; but the young man was not dead.
The savage had struck him with the blunt ed 9
of the In 'an ax, seemingly with the intent
stun not to kill him.

ith a grim smile, the White Wolf looked
upon the face of the senseless man. '

“The white chief is no fox; he has not the
cunning of Longlegg‘ his seal would hang in
the wi am of t e lackfoot ut th ) red-man’s
heart 18 bigI and he rememhers that the pale-
face saved t e Flower of the Blackfeet from the
Big river braves. Young, Bear," he said, turn-
ing to one of the foremost Indians, “carry the
white-skin to the lodges of the Blackfeet; bind
him ’hand and feet with the thongs of deer—
s in. '

The chief obeyed the words of the White
Wolf by castin the senseless form of Courtney
u n his shoul er as if it were the body of a
c ild, so owerful was the Indian.

“Long egs can not be far away. He will not '

be taken as easy as this young chief, but he
shall never return to the Big river; he shall die
by the hand of the Blackfoot."

One of the Indians who had noticed the foot-
prints of Courtney, and which way they came,
now spoke: '

“The white brave came down the stream,”
pointinaito the footprints. '

“ W I” said the White Wolf, with a , t
of satisfaction as he noted the marks. “ ioung
Bear go with the white brave to our wigwams,
the rest follow me.”

Young Bear, with Courtne upon his shoulder
still senseless, stepped off lig tly with his load
in a northwest direction. \

As the reader has doubtless guessed from the
words of the White Wolf, the meeting with
Courtney was by accident. From the outcast
chief, the Spotted Elk, these Blackfeet knew of
the expedition of which Longlegs, or, as we bet-
ter know him, the Giant Trapper, was the glide;
but they did not know the exact direction the
whites would come in their approach tothe In-

dian village. So, for the three days 

l

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are ...

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3-2019” .

 

1° Sol Ginger, the

the one in the evening of which the had cap-
tured the helpless Courtney, the h scouted in
a circle some ten to tWenty ' es from the vil-
lage, all around it, carefully looking for traces
of the white adventurers. Thus had they hap-
gned to surprise the young man by the side of

e trout-stream.

The Indians hadone eat advantage of the
little party of whites ed by the old trapper.
Thanks to the Spotted Elk, theyl knew the ob-
ject of the whites, while the , t e whites, were
journeying onward, hoping surprise the In-
dian Village, and bylvcunning and stealth steal
the treasure which right valued at fifty thou-

sand dollars.

“ Shall we attack the whites?” asked one of
the braves.

“ No ”‘ answered the White Wolf, “ the white
chief, n legs, is as cunnin as the beaver;
like the wo at bay, he fights rd. The Black-

feet would kill the white chief Longlegs, who
traps the beaver by the lodges of the red-men;
but if the red-men give the white chief a chance,
he will run—and his legs are long like the elk’s.
If the red braves hem im in he will fight and
his rifle shoots many times at once. Four Black—
feet are not enough to fight Longlegs. The red
chiefs will see where the pale-faces have camp-
ed; then they will return to the Blackfoot lodges,

at more warriors, and burst upon the white-
s ins like a panther.”

The other chiefs gravely nodded assent; they
had all witnessed the prowess of the tall hunter,
and the quick-repeated shots of his death—deal-
ing ride, and they had grown to look upon the
white trapier as a very dangerous, subtle foe,
and one w om force of numbers alone could
crush. The reasoning of the White Wolf ap-
peared ed to them. Their chief’s courage no
one of t e Blackfoot tribe could gainsay; i had
been tried on many a bloody war-path against
the whites, proved on many a fierce raid in the
Crow countryi So silently, the red chiefs fol-
lowed‘the W 'te Wolf, as he advanced cautious-
ly up the stream, following the traces of Court-

ner er
e ' leave the Indians —like so many blood-
hounds, following the white man’s trail—and re-
turn to the Indian who was named the Young
Bear, and who bore the form of the senseless
Courtney along on his shoulder. as though it
were the carcass of a deer.

0n throu h the wilderness with a long, loping
stride. wen the muscular savage, over hill and
dale, through brush and brier, he darkness de—
scended upon the earth, but the savage halted
not; award, traight forward toward the In-
dian village he went, not turned from his path
by rock, brush or streamlet, and some three
hours after the time of Courtney’s capture, with
his helpless burden on his shoulder, still insensi-
ble, the Young Bear strode into the Blackfoot

age.

The Indian deposited his prisoner on a couch
of bulimic-skins in one of the vacant lodges in
the, center of the village, then be bound the
bands and legs of his ca tiVe together tightly
with stout bonds ‘of deers in. and, havmg thus
insured his safety he left him.

. As the Young ear stepped from the lodge,
,he was confronted by the figure of the young

 

Giant Trapper.

Indian girl, whom we have seen with the White

Wolf in the frontier settlement. She was call-
ed by the Indians White Bird and in their fan«
cxful manner further named the “ Flower of the
Blackfeet.”

The full moon, now shinin clear in the sk ,
threw a flood of pure, soft lig t down upon 9
village.

By the rays of the moon the Indian girl per-
ceived a blood-stain u on-the huntin —shirt of
Young Bear, caused y the blood t had
trickled down from the wound in Courtney’s

e

oung chief has been wounded?” the
girl ask

She had rightly guessed that, by this time,
the party to which her lover was attached must
be near the Indian village, and the blood-stain
on the hunting-shirt of the young brave alarmed
her. She feared- that a meeting already had
taken lace between the Indians and the Whites.
That t at meeting would be a bloody one she
knew too well, for she had overheard the conver-
sation between the White Wolf and the Spotted
Elk, the outcast Blackfoot brave, in the white
settlement. That the urpose of the whites
had been betrayed to t e Indians, and that the
red braves were already on the watch to sur-
prise the long-legged trap r and his compan-
ions she also knew. Litt 6, though, did she
thi that, even then, her lover was wounded
and a 'soner in the hands of his foes. How
could s e guess that Courtne , the young white
chief, the first man who h ever pressed the
warm passionate love-him upon her red lips,
was now bound, hand and foot, with the un-
yielding withes of deer-skin—that life and
geath even now contended which should possess

no.

“No,” responded the chief, proudly. “The
blood on the hunting-shirt of the chief is
white.”

The 'rl’s heart sunk at the words of the
Young ear.

“The youn chief hasfought with the whites?”
she uestion , fearing the worst.

“ 0' the warriors of the Blackfeet came
upon t e white brave like the 16 u n his
prey; they struck him as the fork ligh of the
Great Spirit strikes the bi tree; he sunk be-
neath the arm of the Blac foot, and is now a
captive in the redoman’s lodge.” ,

“ Where?” questioned the girl, eagerly.

“ There,” replied the warrior, pomting to the
Wigwam from which he had come, and in which
the he] less prisoner was confined. “ Would the
White ird look upon the pale chief let her
enter and she shall see the foe of the Blackfeet,
crushed beneath the foot of the red-man.” Say-
ing which, the warrior stalked ofi! toward his
own Wigwam.

The Indian girl entered the Wigwam that held
the white prisoner. All was dark within, et,
despite the gloom, she could distinguish a rk
form exten ed on the buffalo-skins, and hear
the heavy breathing as of one in pain.

With a heart sick with apprehension, the
White Bird knelt by the side of the he less
man. She pushed the tangled ringlete 0 his
hair back from his feverish temples; the dark-
ness was so dense she could not see his face, but

Sol Ginger, the

her heart told her that she knelt by the side of
her lover.

A moment she remained by his side, listening
to his heavy painful breathinf; then she arose,
and with a light step flew to er own Wigwam;
there she procured a small vessel of water, and
with it she returned to the side of the captive.
Carefully she bathed his forehead; she loosened
the tight bands that bound his wrists ; his breath-
in became easier; he turned restlessly upon his
si e‘ his senses were returning.

“ here am I?” he murmured.

His voice told the girl that she held her lover
in her arms.

“ Harry 1” she cried, softly, “ dear Harry 1”

Courtney knew the voice.

“ White Bird 1” he exclaimed, as with rapture
be pressed her to his heart.

 

CHAPTER VI.
LONGLEGS snows rxon'r.

Humor had the White Wolf and his warriors left
the little glade where they had succeeded in captur,
inz Courtney, and their forms ware bid by the
bushes, as they followed the trail that led up t a lit-
tle stream, when, forth from one of the clumps of
trees—the same covert that had hid the savages—
stzpped the Giant Trapper. He, too, like Courtney

ollowed the streamlet down; he, too, had hear
the crack of the dried twi that had snn ped beneath
the foot of one of the In ans: but, uni 9 Courtney,
the sound had excited his so icions: he had song
the thicket for the cause of e sound, and he had
found it in the rsons of the Indian braves.

“ Wal we're n fur it now!” cried the trapper, as
he stoo for a moment thoughtfully in the center of
the little glade. “ They've captivated the {01:25
teller, true as preaching. How on airth did 1; e
devils know t at we were in this neighborhood, or
did they stumble on us, jist by luck?” The trapfier
pondered on the matter for a few moments. “ 0t
much chance to carry out our ideas now. It‘ll be all
we kin do to look after our top-knots. I don‘t intend
that they shall hang mine up to d in the smoke of
any Injun village. of I know mysel : but. ef we ain‘t
mighty keerful, they’ll gobble us in jist like a toad
eats frogs.“

The trapper looked for a moment in the direction
that the ndians had taken; not a sound could be
heard denoting that there was life within the rocky
wilderness.

“To think of the painted serpents comin' right on
top on us. in this ’ere wayl Why, it r‘iles me ri _ht
up like a big flood doesone of our rivers. I‘m gut in'
mad! 8’ ose I should run across one of these
heathen evils—wouldn‘t I be justified in goin‘ fur
him?” and the trapper thought for a moment over
the knotty point.

“ By Gain 1" he cried, slur-ping hiMhigh noiselessly.
“I‘ll go fur ‘em. tooth an’ nail! The red heathens
have got Courtney; thev know we’re b er; we've
everything to make an nothin' to lose y a fight.
I‘ll give the painted imps a chance to tote another

carcass off to their village. but it shall be a red in-
stead of a white man this time, an' thar won’t be
any doubt as to whether he's dead or alive." And
the trapper shut his teeth together with a determin-
ation that boded ill to the White Wolf and his hand.

"Now. I mustn‘t run in too close on 'em." mut-
tered Sol. as he followed carefully in the track of the
“votes, “else they mought lift my ha‘r instead of
mgnfting thar ha'r, which I calculate to do."

n went-the old trapper, slowl and noiselessly.

To the looker-on—could there ave been one sta-
tioned in the sky—the wilderness would have pre-
sented a s ngular sight. . First came White Wolf and
his three lackfoot followers, track patiently the
footsteps of Courtney, expecting one moment to

Giant Trapper. 1 7

pounce upon the camp of the whites; in their rear
came the old trapsper. following their trail with all
the patience of a euth-hound.

The trapper was gaining slawlg, but surely. u n
(he'lndlans. Once or tw 06 he adcaught h of
their dusky forms as they glided from bush to nab,
intent on concealing their persons from the eXpect-
ed foe in front, not dreaming of the deadly toe in
their rear, who was each moment gaining slowly
but certainly upon them.

The shrill cry of a horse broke upon the stillness
of the thlight hour. The cry came from the trap.

r‘s pony. The sagacions animal had "winded"

he apgroach of the red-men. The old trapper
lau he silentlv to himself at the sound.

“ knew the little beast would smell ‘em out soon.
Now. Mudhole ought to know what that air means
91’ he’s got the sense of an owl. Ah! the red devils
are deliberating, cuss ‘eml Thar‘ll be a dead lnjun
round hyer in ’bout two minutes.”

The trap r drew from his breast the keen-edged
buntin -kn fe' carefully ran his linger over the
edge; t was s arg as a razor.

s he had sai , the lndians had paused at the
shrill cry of the horse, and were clustered together,
aplparently in council.

oiselessly and with the stealthy caution of the
panther stealing upon his  knifein hand, the

'on-hearted trapper approac e his foes taking ad-
vantage of every tree, each piece of roch to shelter
him from the gaze of the Indians, should they
chance to look behind them.

The warriors were holding a council.

“It was the neigh of a horse," said the White
Wolf. “We are then near the cam of the whites."

“ Good." answered the warrior w o stood next to
the White Wolf. “ Shall we surprise the whiteeldns
in the night?"

“No” answered the White Wolf, “ we are too
few. Longlegs and his braves have rifles that fire
many times. One of m warriors shall watch the

le-faces' the rest sh return with me to our

edges. and at daybreak, when the light comes. we'll
hunt the white warriors to death. Is it good?"

“ It is good," replied the chief, who had asked the
question—a tall. muscular brave who was known
among the Blackfeet as Tall Bull. The other two
Indians nodded assent to the words of the chief.

“ One will stag and watch the white-skins?" ques-
flon'i'ii: menial“); “11' k " el red th
" e c e an en, grav y answe e
White Wolf. 3pc
“ e Tall Bull is a great brave of the Blackfeet;
he can look a bear to death 1" said the chief‘ proud-
ly; “he will stay and watch the pale-faces till
the  Wolf comes back with his braves. Isit

< ?’

“It is good!" relplied the White Wolf; “13be
ther shall stay. n the night. when the T Bull
hears the cry of the owl. let him look for the com-
ing of the warriors of the Blackfeet.“

" hen. swifil and silent] , the White Wolf and the
other two Ind ans retrace their steps, leaving Tall
Bull to watch the whites.

The Giant Tangier had perceived the council. and
had concealed msel! carefully behind a dense
clump of bushes; extending himself at full length
upon the ground and parting thebushes before him,
he could easilvvatch the Indians.

The White olf, followed by the two warriors,
came b the hiding-place of l e trapper, takings
course. owever, tbs led them wide of his trail,
which they would sure] have discovered—although
it was now getting qr to dark, and the discovery
might have led to troublesome consequences for the
indomitable So], as he would have been surrounded
h the lndians, front and rear. Now he had lmta
slhzle foe to deal with—the Blackfoot brave. the
Tall Bull, who kept watch between him and the camp
of his associates.

” I‘ve got to It t that air toilet to git into the

 

camp," said t e upper, musingly; “the Injuni

"'?"."." "manage-NW”... ........ .

‘3 kW—wu‘qo‘54 .‘

 

\

' is Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

know that we air hyer: they‘ll probably be down
onto us hide an‘ hair ‘fore t e mornin“ we‘ve got
furto make a run fur it, an‘ how on airth air we
a‘goin‘ to do it with this critter watching us!
That‘s the question. an‘ thur ain’t any dodgin‘ it
that I kin see." Then the trapper took another look
at the Indian before him. n the dim light, Sol
could distinguish that the warrior was leaning care—
lessly against the trunk of a tree. keeping apparent-
ly close watch on the wilderness before him.

It has got to be did; it‘s no use talking. Either he
0r me,“ said the trapper, rising slowly to his feet and
begililnlng his advance on the unconscious savage be-

re up.

On went the Nemesis, knife in hand, foot by foot
approaching the Indian, slowly but surely.

The savage had his eyes carefully fixed upon the
open space before him, beyond which. as he guessed
lay the camp of the whit ss. Little did he dream
that danger was nigh. that the white-skinned trap-
per the famous Longlvgs, the beaver-catcher, was
on is trail—nay. more, that the keen-edged hunt-
ing-knife was even now drawn. ready to be dyed in
his heart’s blood! 7 ,,

The Blackfoot chief. watching‘ea erly and intent-
ly for signs of the white-skins in t e blood of the
pale-faces; why not others seek for his blood?

With a snake-like motion. the Giant Trapper had
crept over the little space that 39 arated him from
the Indian; arriving at length w thin reach of his
prey, he prepared for the final movement. A mo-
ment he crouched, like the tiger pre aring for his
spring; then. like the arrow hurled rom the bow,
knife in hand. he sprung upon the unsuspecting
savage. One deadly stroke, and the keen-edged
hunting-knife. driven by the strong arm of the
White Avenger, was buried to the hilt in the body of
the warrior. A single mean of pain alone esca ed
the Indian asthe keen knife let out his life-bloc ; a
moment the savage tottered, swaying like the pine
tree struck by the lightning's blast. and then he fell
forward on his face. stone dead. The Tall Bull had
given his last war-whoop. had trod his last war-trail:
the Blackfoot warror was now but a piece of sense-
less clay, lying on the earth at the feet of his mortal
enemy.

For a. moment Sol azed upon his prostrate fee.

“It seems a ity." 9 said. quite mournfully. “to
kill any of Go: ‘3 critters, but it were either his life
or mine, one or the t’other. an‘ in sech a case. bet
ter him nor me. He were a long-legged chap too."
continued the trapper: “looks as ef he mought ’a‘
fought Old Satan.‘

The Giant Trapper bent over the prostrate warrior
and drew the hunting-knife from the body; the blood
gushed out afresh. The old trapper, in 3 its of him-
Self. shuddered at the sight that in the im twilight

I looked doubly horrible. He wi ed the knife care-
fully in the earth, by thrusting i in to the hilt and
then drawing it forth. '

“It seems a. pity that we can’t live in this world
without sheddin‘ iood. but it can’t he did; eve
critter preys on some other critter weaker than i ‘
self." sad the trapper to himself, softly; “ but
thar‘s no use cryiu‘ over spilt milk. I reckon thar‘s
many a red heathen will feel the p‘int of my knife
or the bullet of my rifle afore we git out of this.
We‘re in a esky scrape. an‘ thar ain‘t no two ways
'bout It, So i“ he cried, addresing himself familiar-
ly; “ ef you‘ve got any bit of sense now‘s the time

toshow it. I‘ll leave this teller jlst where I struck
him; the red devils will be arter us afore we’re many
hours older. Now fur the camp " ,

Saying which the trapper proceeded lip-stream. A
few minutes‘ walk brought l-um to the glade where
he had left Wright. Mudhnle and the horses. To the
trap er’s astonishment he found the little glade
emp y, except that the horses stood nietly brows-
ing upon‘the young shrubs where t ey had been
tet cred. ’

“Wa-nli" cried the trapger. in astonishment,
"have the red heathens go bled up Wright and

 

Mudhole. an‘ without makin' any row ’bout it tee?
It beats Ned 1"

But. as if in answer to the trapper‘s s eech, forth
from the little thicket in front or whic the horses
were tied, came Wright, rifle in hand.

"Is that you‘ Sol?” asked the adventurer. ashe
came toward him, hardly able to distinguish him
in the dim light.

“ Wa-al. I reckon it is." replied the trapper.
" What in thunder were you aAdoin‘ in thar?"

“ Your horse a few minutes ago seemed alarmed
at the approach of something, I remembered what
you sai. in regard to his singular gift for smelling
out Indians. and thinking probably that there might
be some approaching. 1 took to cover.”

“ You were right. by hookeyl” cried Sol; “the
leetle animile was right every time. you bet!"
W‘fiAfg there Indians near. then?" eagerly asked

r1 1 .

“ Val. thar were Indians near, an‘ thar‘s adead
buck putty near now." replied the trapper.

“ You have had a fight, then?"

“ No; it were too one-sided to call it a fight;
I stuck the Injun in the back, an’ he dropped to
onc‘t.”

“Only one?“

" Yes; ef thar had bin more, the fight would have
been onevsided t’other way."

“ Are we in dan rer now?" asked Wright.

“Y n kin ist et we airi" replied the trapper.
"' The Injun t at I killed were left as a sort of scout
upOn our movements.“

“ The lndians know of our resence here. then?"

“ Wal, they ist do!“ crie Sol. “ How on airth
they diskiver it I don‘t know. unless they stum-
bled onto our trail by accident."

“ Have'you seen Courtney i"

“Poor allow!" replied the trap er: uhe's a ris—
oner in the hands of the cussod heathens. hey
hit him a clip side of the head, I s'pose, fur he were
stunned an‘ sonsvless when I got thar, an’ then they
toted him off on that shoulders. I should have piled
in an’ tried to rescue him, but I didn‘t know but
what thar were a lot of Inguns back in the bush. an‘
of course it would have een follv to risk my own
life without any chance of saving him."

“ That’s very true: but what is to be done?" asked
Wright, with evident anxiety.

""i‘hat's what we‘ve got to find out. We’re in a
tight place, thar ain‘t any use backin‘ round the
truth. ’Stead of gittin' that air treasure that you're
hunting fur among the Blackfeet. we’ll be lucky ef
they don‘t git our scalps,“ said the trapper. quiet-
Ly land earnestly. “ But, what’s become of ud-

o e ‘

“I don’t know.“ answered Wright. “A few min-
utes after you and Courtney went down the stream,
I looked round to s eak tohim, and found that he
was gone. He must ave left the glade nearly at the
same time as yourself.” ’

“ Wal, tint air 12» strange," said the trapper
thoughtfully. “I kinder have an idee that all ain’t
right ‘bout that lnjun: he‘s acted putty queer ever
smco n e sfarted onto this tramp. J emsaleml ef he‘s
betrayed us to the Blackfeet I‘ll never have faith in
human natur‘ ar'erwards."

“If he has betrayed us, we are lost i“ cried
Wright.

“ I wish to thunder we were lost, so that the
dumed red-skins couldn‘t find us, anyhow!“ re-
turned the trapper, with one of his good-nat

rms.

“ What is to be done?"

“Play the fox an‘ sneak fur our lives. I‘ve showed
fight to-night which is kinder onnatural fur me;
now I'll try t other way. The Blackfeet have felt
m teeth. an‘ I ’cht they’ll raise kingdom came
w en they find that dead lnjun; so now I‘ll show ‘em
a bit of beaver cunnin‘.”

“What is to be done with the horses?“ asked
Wright.

“ We‘ve got to leave ‘em to shift for theme-Ives.

 

 

 
 

Sol Ginger,rthe Giant Trapper. l9

 

red unin the hull Northwest can
e; she knows enough to stay

Thar ain't an

ketch my lest e an

right round hyeimn‘ p‘r‘aps your boss will keep
yw

mine company. a s. we’ve got to try shank s
mar‘eviist now," replied t e trapper.

“ atis your p an?"

“ You know I’ve trapped considerable on this 'ere
river, an’ that ain‘t ain t an inch of it from whar it
takes its rise in Old Rocky to whar it runs into the
Columbia that I don’t know. We], up hyer, about
ten miles. is what is called the Great Canyon; the
Blackfeet run me through the canyon last spring—
that‘s the time they captivated the peltries, that
they traded down at the fort, cuss ’em. for powder
an’ lead. That time I run through the canyon I
dodged the red heathens slick. You see. in the can-
yon Idiskivered a little cave; I hid in it an' the red
suckers never found me, the h they were a-howl-
in’ all ‘round me. Now, we’l jist put for that air
holekln' the hill, an' jist throw the savages oi! the
trac .

“ Will they not follow our trail?"

” Let ’em i" cried Sol. scornfully. “I reckon I
ain‘t been a trapper in these hver regions fur noth—
in’. Wait till we strike the Flathead river an’ I’ll
bother the keenest-nosed red-skin that ever smelt
out a trail."

“But Courtney?" ,

“ Jes‘ you let us git outof this bobble, an' I'll snake
him out of the Blackfoot will e as uick as a wink.
Ef I don’t, jlst you put me to wi h a rattlesnake
an' let him tickle me to death with his tail."

The tra per then released the horses—~patting the
neck of h s own little pony as he did so. as much a
to say. “good-by." This done, the twain took their
rifles and provision-pouches, and struck off through
the wilderness in a northwestern direction. After
a tramp of about two hours they struck the valley
giroug which flowed the waters of the Flathead

ver.

 

CHAPTER VII.
was warm anconns AN mans.

BY the time the old trapper and Wright arrived at
the bank of the river, the moon was up full in the
heavens. and shed its clear, pure light down upon
the turbid waters of the Flathead.

“ The canyon is ’hout a half a mile up—stream; the
Injun village is ’bout four miles above that; the
cave we‘re arter is right at the mouth of the canyon.
You see the river hyer flows over a rocky bed, an' it
ain‘t deep: all we’ve got to do is to wade up-stream
to the cave. an‘ of the red heathens kin foller our
trail. they kin jist take my pile, they kin," said the
guide, with one of his quaint smiles.

“ But. will the not follow our tracks to the river‘s
bank?" asked right.

“ Rart’in l“ quiet y answered the trapper.

“ Will they not suspect that we have gone up the
stream?"

' " What in thunder's to make ’emi" asked 801.
“Ain‘t it more likely that we should go down the
‘stream instead of up right into their» clutches?
Now. this is in plan: The red devils will foller our
trail, trace it o the river, conclude. in course. that
we‘ve gone down—stream an‘ {.20 arter us like all ‘t
out; an‘ all the time we‘ll be yin' snug, right no er
their ncses.“

“ Your plan is excellent.” cried Wright.

“Jes’ so; guess I ain‘t trapped beavers onto this
’oro stream for nothing; but, et‘s be going; time‘s
short, life is sweet. an‘ if we want to keep our to -
knots jist whar they air now, we won't be slow n
gitliii‘ up this hyer river."

So. into the river Sol went, followed by Wright.
A toilsome, difficult march was that little half-mile
up the rocky bed of the river—the water now u to
thaeiirt ankles, and then rising suddenly to t eir
w s s.

At his! the march was ended, and the two stood
within the gloomy cave; the entrance to the cavern

was a small hole, some three feet in circumference,

 

hidden by branches and clumps of bushes. so that
no one. without cloe examination. could lnve dis
covered the secret hiding-place.

Within the cavern was a smallapartment, possibly
six feet square.

“ What do you think of this!" asked Sol, as they

entered the retreat.

“Excellent!” replied Wright. “I? will probably
save our lives."

“ That’s so. " replied the trapper, earnestly. “ With-
out this we’d be gone-up suc ei-s, sure" but how the
red niggers diskivsred us is a in ster . ‘

“Can the Indian, Mudhole. ave betrayed us?”
asked Wright.

“,Wal, I don‘t know," said Sol. thoughtfully.
“The critter owed a great deal to me. Ef he has
betrayed us, the motive must have been a powerful
0 .

ne.

“ Does Mudhole know of the existence of this
place i” asked Wright.

“No,” answered the trap r, confidently; “ ’tisn‘t
known to any living soul ’. i es/myself, that I knows
on. I diskivered it by accident. Hyer we‘re safe.
l‘m a-goin‘ to take a scout ‘round the Injun village,
jist to see what I kin diskiver. I have an idee that
theWhite Wolf went back to the village arter leaving
the bi Injun as scout—the feller that I stuck—fur
to git is warriors an’ go fur us. If my idee is right
then the best time for me to sneak the boy out o
the Injun village will be to-night. when the Injuns
are away onto the war- iath ag‘in’ us. So, while
the air huntin‘ us I'll st risk a visit right into
the r village, an’ p’haps kin git the young teller
guti of his pesky scrape—that is, ef he ain‘t hurt too

a .

“Go, then, in heaven’s name!" cried Wright. “I
will await your return here."

“Jes' so; but don’t show the end of vour nose out
side of the cave, fur the red devils w be all ‘round
us ’fore morning.“

“I shall be careful."

“I shall be back in ‘bout four hours." added Sol.
“I‘ve got to keep my wits 'bout me or I shall go
plum into the clutches of these red heathens sfore I

now it. E! by any accident the serpents do dis?

kiver the cave, why. you‘ve got the three rifles, an‘
as only one man at a time can git into the hole, you
kin fight half a hundred of the beasts without much
trouble."

Then the trapper crawled through the opening.
stepped into the river, and commenced his perilous
s:out.

We will leave er ht to enLoy the solitude of the
caVe, to watch eager y from t e mouth the surface
of the moonlit river and the dense forestthat shaded
the $pposite bank for evidence of the savage foe,
and 0 low the footsteps of the Giant Trapper as he
went on his dangerous expedition, the object of
which was to rescue the hapless Courtney from the
power of the Blackfeet.

The trapper proceeded cautious up the water-
course, af r leaving the cave, keep ng as he Went
within the shadow of the rocks that overhung the
turbulent stream. He provr‘eded for half a mile or
so in the river-bed. then. selecting a favorable spot
for his purpose, where the rocks optncd and a re-
vine n pcared. he left the water and plunged
throng the ravine into the forest.

“These rocks don't show foot rints, thank good-
ness!" muttered Sol, as he looke back on the bor-
691' of the woods to the rocky pathway over which
hehsd come.

“Now fur the lnjun vi'lage!" he cried to himself,
as he plunged within the thicket. “ I declare to
goodness. ef I can't do anything else, I‘ll it into the
corral an‘ set all the bosses loose; the easts Will
raise. a recious row allopin‘ over the village. I’ve
got to 7 teven with t ese ere Blackfeet upon that
air peftry business. dod-mt their copper-colored
skins. the eternal heathen !"

After an hour’s tramp, Sol sluckened his see an
began to proceed more cautiously. His 

 

  
    
  
   
  
   
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
   
   
   
  
   
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
   
   
 
   
  
 
   
 
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
   
   
  
  
 

... Nuisarsa .. ,

  

 

90 S01 Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

had told him that he was drawing near the village.
Cautiouslv he proceeded. Presently he heard the
barking of u dog-a sure sign that the Indian en~
campment was near at hand.

The brave man proceeded with increased caution.
A few steps more and the trapper found himself on
the ed e of the timber. Before him was a little
open pain, washed on one side by the Flathead
river, while the dense woods surrounded it on the
other three.

In the plain the moon‘s bright rays shone down
upon the rude encampment. The trap or, from his
ambush in the bushes at the ed 60 the timber,
gazed upon the village of White olf. ‘

“ Now, how in thunder shall I disklver in yvhlch
air Wigwam the young feller is shut up?" said Sol,
as his eyes rested upon the Indian lodges.

We will leave the trapper in his ambush and pene-
trate to the interior of the village.

In the center of the settlement stood the “ council-
lodge," where the chiefs met for deliberation. Near
the council-lodge was a wi wam, a. little larger than
the rest that composed t e encam ment; this was
the Wigwam of the chief of the tri e—the lodge of
the White Wolf. ‘

In the lodge of the chief stood two warriors. The
lodge being dimly lighted by a little wick burning in
a. vessel of grease, We can see the forms and faces of
the two Indians. One of the chiefs was the White
Wolf, the other was the Indian who had shared the
fortunes of the Giant Trap car—he who was called,
in derision, by the settlers 0 Fort Benton, Mudhole
but who was—as our readers have doubtless guessed
-ln reality, Spotted Elk the outcast Blackfoot
brave the only son of the White Wolf, and who but
for his guilty passion for the squaw of the Gray
Eagle, would one da have been the chief of the
Blackfeet of the Flat earl valley.

“The cursed white-skins are in the Flathead val-
ley," said Mndhole, or, as we shall hereafter call
him. Spotted Elk.

“Yes,” responded the White Wolf, “ the chief
has seen them. The youn white brave is now a
prisoner in the Wigwam o the Blackfoot. When
the sun comes, the rest of the white chiefs will be
slain, and their scalps will dry in the wigwams of
the braves of the Blackfeet."

“ But, the White Wolf gave his word that the
white trapper, Longlegs, s ould not die," said the
Spotted E k.

“ The White Wolf’s tongue is straight, not forked;
he 5 cake truth i” replied the chief. proudly.

“ hen Longlegs shall not die?" ques. oned the
Spotted Elk.

The chief did not answer. Evidently he‘wished to
evade the question, for, after a few moments’ si-
lance. he spoke:

“There was once a young eagle; he was strong
and proud of limb; he so ugh the nest of the hawk;
from thenest he was hurle‘l to the earth; he became
a mud-turtle, and crawled in the mire.“

The S otted Elk understood the meaning of the
girl chle ; he knew that the White Wolf referred to

m. v
“It is true," the young Indian answered, slowly,
“ the eagle is now a mud-turtle; the Great Spirit has
willed it; but when he dies he will sing the death-
song of the Blackfeet."

" Would not the mud-turtle like to be an eagle
again?” o estloned the old chief.

" Wah. It is im ossiblel" answered the Spotted
Elk slowly an-l sod y.

“The Gray Eagle‘s brother died last night," said
the White Wolf. " H: has no kindred in the tribe
of the Blackfeet' if the White Wolf brings the
Spotted Elk into the council-lodge of the Blackfeet
as his son, what chief will dare to lift up his voice
against the chief of his tribe?"

“And will wthe White Wolf do this?" asked the
Spotted Elk eagerly. ‘

“The mud-turtle shall become an eagle on one
condition." .

 

“ Well?" asked the young chief. ‘

“The White Wolf has said that the white chief,
Longlegs; shall not die; it is bad; the beaver-catch-
er hunts in the valley of the Flathead the land of
the Blackfeet' he kills the beaver and the muskrat;
the animals t t swim in the Flathead river belong
to the Blackfeet‘ the white trapper must die."

“The White Wolf would have his pledge return~
ed?" asked the Spotted Elk.

“f Yes; then he will take the Spotted Elk by the
hand: he will conduct him to the c unciHodge of
the Blackfeet; he will say to the chic s and warriors
of the Blackfoot nation, ‘this is my son, the future
eagle {at his tribe,’ and what warmer will dare say
‘ nay

For a moment there was silence in the little lodge.
The Spotted Elk was dee in thought. If he re-
turned the pledge of the ol chief he would sacrifice
the life of the white trapper—the man who had

rotected him when he was an outcast and a wan-

erer. but it would restore him 10 his old position
among the warriors of the Blackfeet. The tempta-
tion was too great; he could not resist it. .To regain
his former station he would have given his life: be-
sides, the thought flashed rapidly through his brain,
the old trapper was not captured yet; the chances
were that he would manage to elude the search of
the Blackfeet and escape them. The Indian knew
full well the craft and cunning of the Giant Trap—
per; he felt assured he would escape the Indians;
therefore, even if he retained the promise of the
White Wolf, it might not aid the trapper it could
only aid him in case he fell into the ban 5 of the
Blackfeet, and that they would capture him was
doubtful.

At last the Sgotted Elk spoke.

“ Goodl the potted Elk returns the promise of
the White Wolf; the white trapper shall die by the
hands of the Blackfoot warriors."

“ The mud-turtle shall become an eagle again,"
returned the old chief. “The warriors of the Black-
feet are now in council; the White Wolf will present
his son to them and they shall honor him."

Then, with a stately step, the White Wolf conduct-
ed the outcast warrior to the council-lodge of the
Blackfeet.

All the chief warriors of the Blackfoot tribe. then
in the village—as, at the time we write, the majority
of the braves were away on the annual huntingvex-
fedition southward—were assembled in the council-

od e, waiti the comin of their chief.

eWhite 01f enters the counclHod e; behind
him came the Spotted Elk; the assemble warriors,
despite the usual stolld expression that they assume
in the council-lodge, looked upon Like face of the
young brave—who for three years b been an out-
cast and a wanderer from the tribe of his fathers—-
with astonishment.

The old chief paused in the center of the council-
lodge; each eye was bent upon him; each ear listen-
ed attentively for his words.

“Warriors of the Blackfeet.” began the old chief,
looking around with a ma estic glance, “the White
Wolf is a real: chief; he oes not fear the hear when
he comes rom the mountains' his arm is strong and
his heart large; he is the chic of the Blackfeet that
live in the valley of the Flathead. Once he had a
son; the big clouds sometimes cover the moon; when
the clouds go the moon shines aln; so the clouds
covered the son of the White 01!; but now the
clouds are gone. The S otted Elk is as cunninF Is
the beaver; he has led t e white tra r. ng egs,
and his braves into the valley of the thead; their
soul s will hang in the 10d e of. a Blankfoot. Will
my rothers say that the c ouds are one forever‘
and smoke the pipe of peace with the potted Elk?’

For a momen there was silence in the council-
lodge of the Blackfeet. As the White Wolf had said
all the kindred of the warrior killed by the. potted
Elk were dead; there was no one to revive t charge
against the young brave; and in the sav e assem-
b y, as in the courts of justice of the civil ed white

Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper. ' ’ 21

 

man, wealth and high connections sometimes have
great weight. ,

For a few moments the dead silence continued
within the council-lodge. Then an old chief arose;
he was one of the oldest and bravest warriors in the
tribe—a man of very great influence: on his words
hung the doom of the wowed Elk.

“The words of the bite Wolf have fallen upon
the ears of the Blackfeet braves like the spring
rain upon the ground: they have sunk in deep,"
began the old chief. ‘f Why should the red war-
riootggemember what is bad, and forget what is

o .
g A hum of assent from the circle of braves an-
nounced their concurrence iii the words of the old
Indian; evidently the verdict of the council would be
favorable to the Elk.

“ The Spotted Elk is a big warrior; he is worthy to
be the chief of the Blackfeet; let my brothers forget
the past and think only of the future. The long-
le ged trapper. the beaver catcher, is again in the
Figathead va ley; his scalp must hang in the lodges
of the Blackfeet. Let my brothers smoke the ipe
3f piece, and then hunt the white-skins to t eir

eat . ‘

A grunt of approbation greeted the old warrior as
he sat down.

And so the spotted Elk, with the blood of the
Gray Eagle 11 n his bands, was received back
1888i!) into his ribe; the outcast was a wanderer no

onger.

The‘ council ended; the warriors flied out of
the council~lod e, and, led by the White Wolf and
thlengpotted Ea, took the war-trail against the
w s.

The warriors glided like so many specters in the
moonlight, through the Indian village, down the
slope t at led to the river, and crossing it, disap-
peared in the dense thicket on the ogposite bank.

Before crossing the river, the W to Wolf called
the Young Bear to him, and, much to that warrior’s
disgust, for he longed to join the war-party, he gave
him directions to remain at the village and watch
the prisoner, Courtney. The word of the chief was
law; and. though the young chief in his heart might
grumble at the omce to which he had been assigned,
yet outwardly, Indian-like, be manifested no disap-
pointment.

The Young Bear beheld the warriors depart, and
then took up his station in front of the lodge in
which was confined the hapless Courtney.

When the Blackfoot braves arrived on the o -
site bank of the river the White Wolf dividedpgje
party into three detachments. One he took com-
mand of himself; the second he Rave, to the charge
of the Spotted Elk: the third to the. command of the
old Indian who had e the speech in the council-
iodlge and who was called Tali Thunder.

0 th the chiefs the White Wolf gave full in-
structions. The Blackfoot chief expected that the
whites might have left the campi ground they
had selected; he had divided the war ors into three
detachments that they might easily discover the
trail of the whites or the Indian scout that he had
left to track the whites.

Little did the Blackfoot chieftain guess that the
stout warrior that he had left in the thicket, was
now cold in death—that the keen steel of the white
trafifer, the “ beaver-catcher," as the Blackfeet Call-
ed m, had drank the life-blood of the Tall Bull.

CHAPTER VIII.
, our or ran moms muse.

Once again Courtney held in his arms the soft
and ieldin form of the fair young Indian girl:
but. ow di erent now was his situation from that
in which he had been placed when they had first
met at Fort Benton! hen he was free, able to
defy the malice of any foe; now he was a prisoner
in he hands of the Blackfeet—the fierce savages
of the Northwest—his life scarce worth an hour’s
pus-chm. ,, “"

 

But, his helpless situation, the knowledge that
death might come at any moment from the ruthless
hands of the savages, were all forgotten in the one
sweet moment when he, for the second time, held
the White Bird in his arms, and felt her form quiver
beneath his ssionate embrace.

" You are in dangeri" murmured the girl.

Then over his mind came the thou ht of what, in-
deed. was his position—a prisoner, elpless in the
hands of his foe.

“‘Yes dear one," he answered, “ I am in danger."

“ An your friends?" questioned the girl.

“I know nothing of their fate. The savages came
upon ,me suddenly and stunned me with a blow on
the head; after that, I know nothing. When i came
to my senses I found myself here, a prisoner, your
arms around me, your greeting ringing in my ears."

“ You must be saved!" she cried.

“ I must. indeed, or die a miserable death." he
anBWered. ’

“ Where did you leave your friends? Can you
describe the place?” asked the girl.

“ Yes.I think I can." answered the cum: man.
“ I left my companions b the side of a ittle stream
that empties into the iathead, coming from the

east. ’ ‘
“ I know it.

“Britter stream!” cried the girl.
Willlgmur com anions remain there?"

“ o, I thin not." he answered; “ they intended
to come to. the Flathead river, I think. The wished
to be near this village. There is somet ng here
that they want.”

“ oyou know what it is?" she said, looking into
the face of theyoung man with a strange expression.

“ No; only that it is a treasure. and my companion
thinks it is very valuable.“ said the young man.

“I know what it is,” said the girl.

“ You do?” c 'ed Courtney in astonishment.

“ Yes: but th value your coméianion sets upon it,
I cannot understand," replie the Indian girl.
“ Were it you. now, who set so high a value upon it,
I should not wonder at it.”

“ You speak in riddles." said Courtney. astonished
at her words. “I can not understand on." ,

"You will, soon," she replied. If you were
free from here, do you think you could find your
com anions?" I

' es 1 think so; Iwould follow the rnfer down to
where the little stream runs into it. then follow the
stream up; that would lead me to where we were en-
cam ed. But I fear that my friends are in the
hen s of the Indians also."

“No.” replied the girl; “if they were prisoners,
they would be here. Besides, the rent chief, the
White Wolf had but few braves with im—no match
for the cunning ‘ beaver-catcher.’ "

“You mean the Giant Trapper?” said the young
man. s , 1

“Yes. Longiegs, as the Blackfeet call him,"an-
swered the girl. ’

“True, the old trapper will not fall int9 their
hands as easy as I di . But can you free me?" he

said.

“ Yes; I love you and I will save you. I will untie
the than that bind on. Will bring you a blanket,
and, in t e dark, con not you through the village,"
said the Indian maid.

“ [shall owe you my life!“ he cried, lpuressing her
again and again to his heart. and cove g her face
with his warm. passionate kisses.

“You will love me?” questioned the girl.

1 “ Yes; I shall love you always l” answered her
over.

At that moment Ihe quick ear of the Indian
caught the sound of footsteps passmg by the 10 ge.
Quickly she sprung to the door. and cautiousl pull-
ing aside the skin that served as a screen, ooked
out upon the village. She saw that the footste

were caused by the Indian warriors p
Wigwam and goin into the council 10ng . is fact
er lover and

di she re mud to the f
wwwgraizqe’hehad seen. 8m"

byt e

.1....2,r.l.....r.__.__....

 

 

 

28 ‘ Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

" What does it mean?“ he asked.

“The White Wolf must have returned, and the
braves are holding council," she repli .

“ Does not that denote that they are about to go
on the war-path?” he questioned.

"Yes; the White Bird will listen to the council of
the braves: then she can tell their lans."

“That is an excellent idea!" cri Courtney;

“Let me replace the thongs on your wrists, so
that. if any of the chiefs look into the lodge, they
will not snsfiect "

So the W ite Bird bound the Wrists of Courtney
again with the daerskin thongs; then. with a fare-
well kiss, she left his side and stepped from the
lodge into th - open air. With a light step she took
her way. not to the. council lodge, but in a direction
exactly opposite: but. when she reached the outside
of the litt e circle of lodgss, she turned, and describ-
ing with her course a semicircle, she gained the
back of the council-house. where she was conceal-
ed from all observation by the shadow thrown by
the Wigwam.

With the little knife hanging at her girdle she cut
a hole in the skins that formed the sides of the wig-
wam. through which aperture she could both see
and hear all that passed within the council-lodge.

She was an attentive listener to the scene already
described. Then. after the council was finished, she

, saw the chiefs depart on the war-trail against the

whites. and in her heart she rejoiced. for the war-
riors had left the village almost unguarded, and she
thought that she could easily save her lover. But,
judge of her dismay, when she saw the Young Bear
return at the command of the White Wolf and take
up a. position in front of the lodge that held her lover
a prisoner! Here was an unexpected obstacle. To
get Courtney from the Wigwam, with the young sav-
age keeping watch before it. was difficult if not im-
possible; {Jet the attempt must be made. The war-

arty mlg t return at any moment, and then her
over‘s life would be in danger.

A moment she thought; then a plan came into her
mind by means of which she might free the prisoner
from. the hands of the Blackfeet.

with a loitering step the White Bird walked down
toward the river, taking a course that would lead
her directly by the lodge that held Courtney.

The Indian on guard, the Young Bear. behold the
Indian girl approaching; he was not sorry, for in
his heart he had a secret liking for the White Bird,
but, being ayoung warrior, with very little renown
and no great deeds on the warmth to boast of, he
had not dared to lift his eyes to the young beauty,
the daughter of the great Blackfoot chief, the White
Wolf—for she was indeed the daughter of that re-
nowned warrior.

“ Has the White Bird seen the pale~face chief?” he
asked. as the girl came by him. -

"Yes," she answered: “ but the pale chief was
asleep: is be awake. now?"

“I will wake him." exclaimed the young brave,
glad of an opportunity to {lease the maiden.

b Sgfiinto the lodge went he Young Bear, followed

y e r.

“ Wagi! pale-face?" cried the warrior, in English,
it being the only English he knew.

Courtney turned on the couch as if awaking.

“ Leave me your blanket to rest on while I talk to
the whiteaskin," said the White Bird.

Gladly the. young brave spread the blanket on the
earthiioor of the Wigwam. and then withdrew to
resume his watch. He knew that the White Bird
understood the strange language of the pale-faces,
and could talk to the white man.

“ White Bird i" said Courtney.

“Yes: [have returned,“ said the girl. “ Do not

. fear: speak freely. The young brave who keeps

;

watch does not understand your tongue."
" He is watching me, then?"
“ Then there is little chance of my escape.“
“You shall be free before the moon is two hours
older." said the girl. -

 

“ How can I escape his notice?"

“I have a plan,"shc answered. “There are but
few warriors in village- the White Wolf has taken
the trail to hunt your friends to death. You have
been betrayed b the Indian that! told you not to
trust in the whi settlements by the Big river."

“ Mudholel" exclaimed Courtney. “ He then has
given us into the hands of the Blackfeet."

“ Yes,“ answered the girl. “ His right name
is kaotted Elk; he is the son of the White Wolf, my
at or. ‘

“ What?" cried Courtney. in astonishment. “ You
are9 the daughter of the White Wolf, yet you love
me."

“ Yes; and I will save you from the Blackfeet.
See this blanket," she said. lpointing to the one left
by the young chief. “ I Wl decoy the brave aw y
from the door of the lodge; then (you put on t e
blanket, walk through the door, an cross the little
open space into the thicket beyond; there leave the
b anket and I will join you, then guide you to a.
place of safety."

" You are my guardian angel!" cried the young
man.

" Be ready. I will take the brave away."

Then the ndian giri left the lodge, first removing
the thongs that bound Courtney.

“ Will the Young Bear walk with me to the river?"
asked the girl '

The young brave hesitated.

“ I am to guard the prisoner," he replied.

“ The prisoner is bound hand and foot; he can-
not move; he is wounded, too—what, then, should
you fear?"

What the girl said was true, he knew. There was
little danger of the wounded prisoner’s escaping.
So without further reluctance. he signified his will~
ingness to accompany the girl. The simple-hearted
red-skin only yielded to the same fasuination that
stripped from the Roman Antony his share of the
imperial city. The Indian brave was not the first
man to yield to the subtle lures of womankind.

Courtney watched from the door of his lodge the
departure of the girl and the warrior; then when he
judged them to be at a safe distance and that the
time had come to attempt to escape. he hastily
wragped the blanket around him and boldly stalked
fort from the lodge. crossed the little open space
and gained the welcome shelter of the thicket. In
the t icket he dropped the blanket and extended
himself at full length in the bushes, to await the
coming of the Indian girl.

The White Bird and the young Indian warrior
walked slowly down toward the river. Arriving at
the bank. the girl paused. _

“Does the Young Bear know where the rattle-
final“?z tree (the white ash) grows by the bank of the

ver.’

(Among the Indian tribes of the Northwest, the
twigs of the white ash are believed to have the pew-
er to charm the rattlesnake.)

“Yes,” replied the brave; “a big walk from the
village. ‘

“ No: the Young Bear is swift. What brave of the
Blackfoot tribe can outrun the young warrior? The
Young Bear will bring the White Bird the twigs of
the rattlesnake tree?" And the girl bent her large.
dark eyes full upon the face of the warrior What
mortal man, red or white. could refuse? The deli-
cate compliment pleased the Indian, but duty made
one last effort.

“ But the risoner?" he stammered.

“ The Whi Bird will watch for the Young Bear,”
said the girl, with another bewitching glance of her

dark eyes.

“ it good," replied the Young Bear: “the chief
will go." and with a long, loping stride, up the river
went the warrior.

.‘The girl watched him for a moment, then quickly
retraoed her steps, but instead of going to the lodge
she sought the thicket opposite where she found
Courtney awaiting her. ’

 

l
I
|
l
l

Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper. 23'

 

“ I have blinded the eyes of the young warrior, for
some little tima; you are safe.” she cried. '

“ Thanks to you; you have preservedmel" ex—
claimed Courtney. . . .

“But for a little time only; the wamor will soon
return, then your absence may be discovered at any
moment,” re lied the girl.

-‘ What she I dot—endeavor to join my friends by
the little stream, or——" I .

“No. nol" cried the White Bird. anxwusly; “do
not 0 there; the red braves are even now thick in
the crest. Should you meet them. they will killyou
without mercy. Ah!" and the girl started suddenly,
as though bitten by a snake.

“ What is the matter?" _

“ Hushl“ said the girl, listening. “Did you not
hear something?"

For a moment Courtney listened attentively. but
Itiis ear caught nothing but the usual sounds of the

crest.
“ cannot hear anything.” he said at length.

“ But I did." responded the girl. still listening.
“It sounds as though some one moved in yonder
thicket."

“ Might it not have been a bird or some small ani-
mal?” asked the youn man. His hearing was not
as acute as that of t 0 Indian maid, trained from
childhood to the noises of the wilderness.

“ No." answered the rl, with a shake of the head;

"the noise I heard was uman, not bird or animal. ‘

Hushi ’tis there again i" and she pointed to a dense
cluster of bushes some ten feet from the s t where
they stood. “ ‘Tis a foe. he shall die!" an with the
lightning dash of the tiger. the Indian 'rl drew the
little knife from her girdle and hounde toward the
thicket.

Then from the coppice rose the figure of. a man,
and disclosed to the astonished eyes of Courtney the
person of the old trapper.

“ Hold on. you female wildcat!“ he cried, in a
cautious voice; “ don’t you prod me with that air
toad-sticker !’ ‘ o

“ Longlegs i“ cried the Indian girl.
“ Jes' sol“ coolly re lied the trapper; “ that‘s
what your dod-rotted re aliens christen me!"

It was the tra per indeed. Patiently he had wait-
ed in his ambus for some opportunity to enter the
’town, but none had presented itself; still he waited.

hoping against hope. He had seen the de arture of
the Indians and the escape of Courtney, w o as luck
would have it, had entered the thicket near his hid-
ing- lace.

“ ow long have you been here?“ asked the young

man.
" Nigh onto two hours, I reckon,“ replied the trap

per.

“Whg did you not discover yourself to me be-
fore?” ourtney alked.

“Wnl, I didn‘t know as you‘d expect to see a
friend hyer, in the bush, an‘ I thought likely at I
jum ed u on you sudden. you mought have took
me ur an njun, an’ gone fur me jist as that air gal
was n—goin‘ to." ’

“ Where‘s your companion i“ asked the girl.

“Safe as abug iii a rug!" exclaimed the tra per.

“Can you conceal ourself and him “——s e re-
ferred to Courtney—‘ so that the Blackfeet cannot
discover you?"

“You betl“ cried the trapper. emphaticall . “I
kin hide him whar all the red lnjuns of the orth-
west wouldn‘t find him."

"You will go with him, then,“ said the girl to
Courtney. .

“And you?” cried Courtney, “will you not go
with me?"

‘iTo-nlght, no; tomorrow, yes," answered the

r .

“ Why not to-nlght?" uestloned Courtney.

“ If I remain in the vi 3 I can discover whether
the lndians will search for you. and what plan thefi
will form to capture. on; then I can come and te
you, and you can avo them." 1

 

“The gal, speaks sense, by hookey!“ cried the
trapper; “let her have her own way; she knows'

es .
“Do as you think best, for heaven‘s sakel" cried
Courtne ; “ but. be careful of your life; when and
where s all I see you again i"

“ To-morrow night, the place~"

“EC I might suggest ma’am.” said the old trap-
per. “you had better let me come fur you. I'm
used to the woods an‘ he ain’t."

" You speak wisely," said the girl. “ Where shall
I meet you?”

“ Ri t hyer, on this 'ere spot. I guess they won’t
expec to find ‘ Longlegs,’ as they call me, so nigh
their wigwams,” said the trapper, with a quiet
chuckle. .

“It is good." replied the Indian girl. “ To-rnorrcvw
night, then, when the sun goes down and the spirit
lights begin to shine, you will be here."

“ Bet your life onto it, every time!” said Sol, with
one of his peculiar grins. for the old trap or was in
high spirits at the thought of baflling the lackfeet.

“Good-by " said the girl. looking into her lover's
face with a fon lug look of her large. dark eyes; “do
not fear; the bite Bird will count the hours ti 1 she
sees your face again.”

A moment Courtne held her in his arms: their
lips met in a farewell iss. and then the Indian girl,
taking the blanket that had disguised the young
man, returned again to the little lodge.

“Perhaps I have seen her for the last time—per-
haps my lips never again will touch her soft cheek,”
cried Courtney, as the figure of the lndian girl was
hid from his gaze by the walls of the lodge.

“Cheer up! Hope fur the bestlf‘ cried the old
trapper, in a lively tone. “ The galls a trum every
timei I shouldn‘t mind captivating a critter ike her
myself. But come, we’ve got a few miles to tramp
afore we‘re safe from the red devils."

The trapper struck out a path through the thicket.
and Courtne , after a farewell glance at the little
lodge which d held him a prisoner but now conv
cealed only the slight form of the bite Bird, the
Flower of the Blackfeet, turned and followed him.

CHAPTER IX.

run masons won'rn Fir-r! 'rnoosnm DOLLARS.

ON through the forest with a long. steady stride
went the trapper close! followedb Courtney. As
near as he could calcu ate, Sol too the same path
returning to the river that he had trod in coming
from it to the Indian village. So closely had the man
calculated that, after along, tedious tramp through
the wood. the struck the river at the little ravine
that we have fore mentioned.

The two crossed the rocks and entered the stream.

“ Be keerful an‘ pick your way. else you’ll go ker-
souse inter some 1;} 001,” was the trapper‘scaution
as the commenc t eir ourney down the stream.

” y do you go throng the water? Why not go
by the river-bank?" asked the young man. “Itis
much better travelin there than here."

“Sart’in!” replie the trapper, with a quiet
chuckle at the lyoungl man ‘s ignorance of woodcraft:
“ but s'pose t e re heathen foller us? They kin
track us easy from_the village to the river. but, at
the river our footprints stop; nary sign is there of
the wayl we've one: but at we were to go on the
bank t e coul track us clean to our hidin’-place.
an‘ the c ances would be that our handsome to -
knots would hang an‘ dry in the smoke of some b
Intiun’s lodge.“

‘ True,“ replied Courtney; “I own I am no woods
insin. Inshould be as one lost in this wilderness were

a one.

“ Jes' so; but I reckon I know ever stick of tire--
ber, every foot of ground, an’ eve nch of water,
‘tween hycr an‘ the Columbia river, ’ said the trap-

 

er. . ..
p After a weary march our adventurers reached the
mouth of the little cave; into it, much to Courtney‘s
astonishment. Sol conducted him. . . .-

 

 

 

24 Sol Ginger. the Giant Trapper.

“ Eyer we air. safe from any painted heathen that
runs on the top of the airth in this ‘ere region," cried
$01. as they stood within the little cave.

Wright greeted Courtney and Sol warmly): he had
given up all hopes of ever again seeing t e young

man.

Courtney briefly related his adventures since he
parted with his companions by the banks of the little
stream. Wright listened attentively.

“ For the present, then, we are in safety 1" Wright
exclaimed.

“You betl Don‘t you worry ‘bout the In uns.
they‘ll never find us, ‘cept throu’gh accident. 0’"

ist stay hyer till to-morrow night; then I‘ll go up to
he village, t the leetle gal, an’ arter that we'll git
out of the njun country as fast as we kin. But,
boys the question is, how that‘s goin' to he done!"

“ sit here, I su pose. until the Indians have
given over the pursu t. then make our way back the

est way we can," said Wright.

‘_‘ Then you‘ve given up your ides of goin’ into the
Ingun village?" asked the old trapper.

‘To attem‘pt to carry out my plan at resent
would be ma uses. The Indians are alarm ; they
know of our being in the neighborhood; to pene—
trate to their village now and secure the treasure
that I am in search of would be clearly impossible:
indeed. I think We shall be lucky if we succeed in
saving ourselves from the savages.“ replied Wright.

"1‘ ar‘s ahea of truth in what you say," said
Sol, gravely. “ e are in a pesky mess, an’ thar's
no tvgotways 'bout it. Our top-knots air in danger.
you e "

“But. by the way, Wright." said Courtney, sud-
denly, “ you have never told us w hat it is that you
seek in this In'lian village. What treasure is there
in the lodges of the Blackfeet worth fifty thousand
dollars?"

“ Fifty thousand dollarsl" cried Sol, in astonish-
ment. “ I wouldn’t iv: fifty thousand cents for the
build -goned Blac foot nation, cuss tha‘r copper-
colo sun-tanned hides!"

“ Neither would i,“ quietly observed Wright; “ yet
there (a atressure in yonder little Indian village that,
if I had it in St. Louis, would surely be worth fifty
thousand dollars to me."

“Explain, Wright, and tell us what it is,“ said
Cour nev.

“ ell, since I have failed in my plan. [will an-
swer your in uirles; and, after I have explained.
you will see t at my scheme for makin fifty thou-
sand dollars was not a visionary one. an but for the
savages discovering us, my alventure would pro-
bably have been successful' but I must first speak
of the past before I tell of the present.

“ story commences some twent years ago.
At that time a man named Samuel urtis lived in
St. Louis. St. Louis then was deeply engaged in
the fur trade. This Curtis was a wealthy fur mer-
chant, was about flfty years old, and had a son, a
wild oung fellow, possessing none of his father's
stead ess. Curtis the elder had amassed alsrge
fortune—report said he was worth fifty or. sixty
thousand dollars. To this fortune his son, William.
was of course the sole heir. Judge then of the
father‘s astonishment and disgust—for he was a
man of great ride and hauteur—when his only son,
the heir of this vast groperty. married a poor
sewing- rl not worth a ng e penny. When the
news his boy's marriage came to his ears, the
rage of the old man knew no bounds. He closed
his doors at once against his own child and his -
garly bride as he termed the wife. whose sole 0 -

ense was that she was poor: in every other respect
she was fitted to become the wife of a far better
man than the wild, reckless William Curtis. Friends
interceded for the oung couple, but their interces-
sion was useless. he father declared that the girl
had entrapped his boy into a marriage for the sake
of the money that he would one day ssess, and he
swweabitter oath that not one ofigr of his for-
tune should ever go into her hands."

 

“ Wh , the hard-hearted old cussl" cried 801,111-
di an i , “to turn ag‘in’his own flesh au' blood fur
a ttleht of dirty moneyl I‘m durned ef money
ain‘t fur from bein' a blessin" sometimes.”

“ Very true," returned W ight, “but to go on with
my story. For a time the son and his wife struggled
along in St. Louis. The father was to them as an
utter stranger. At last. wearied b his fruitless
struggle for lifethr young Curtis id not ossess
the ton will and nerve of his father—he left S . Louis
with his wife, and threw his fortunes with a train of
emigrants for the Northwest. When the father was
told of the resolve and departure of his boy, he
showed no signs of forgiveness. ‘ He has chosen his
bed: let him lie on it;' was his cold repl to those
who lagain ventured to intercede for t e young
peo e.

“gm-thy with his wife, proceeded with the emi-
grants to their settlemen on the up rMissouri;
then. attracted by the gold discoveries n Chllfornia,
he left his wife and struck across the plains to try
his fortunes in the mines. With him my story has

nothing more to do, as it is unknown what became of '

him. He never returned to his wife, and was sup-
posed to have died in California.

” The wife remained in the little settlement where
her husband had left her; ababy girl was born to
her. and then, some fifteen years .ago. when the
child was four years old. she went with some friends
to the then new settlement Elk City, though this
was long before it had received that name. The wife,
whose name was Delia. ke t up a regular correspond-
ence with her folks in St. uis, and from them all
these finiculars were gained.

“De Curtis, with her little girl. had not lived a
year in the new settlement, when the Blackfeet

ndians commenced aflerce war upon the frontier
settlements. Among other places, the little settle-
ment of what is now Elk City was attacked and
burnt to the ground; the inhabitants were murdered
by the Indians or carried away into captivity; but
few escaped to tell of the savage slaughter."
t"‘J"es‘ sol" interrupted Sol. “1 were One on the
ow.

” You were 9" eagerly questioned er ht.

“l were," repeated Sol. “1 knowe Mrs. Curtis
an‘ the leetle gal; they lived right on the edge of
the settlement. the fu’st house attacked by the red
heathen."

“Yes,” responded er ht. “ so I was told by one
of the survivors. Mrs. urtis and her child were
never seen after the Indian attack. Whether they
were killed by the Indians or carried away captive,
no one could tell." "

“ Wal, they wasn‘t killed in the attack. that‘s a
dead sure thing.“ said the old trapper. “ 'cos I were
one on the tellers that helped to bu the bodies:
but the savages might have knocke ’em on the
head afterwards.“ .

“After the departure of his son from St. Louis,
old Mr. Curtis pursued his way through the world as
usual. He was told. of course. of the supposed
deaths of his son, his son‘s wife and daughter, and
if the old man repented of his hardness, outwardly
he made no sign. Years passed .on; there was no
one to institute a search for the lost woman and
child, and the affair seemed buried from the world.
Just about a iehl' ago the old man Curtis died. On
his death-bed
treatment of that son, and in contrition re ted of
his conduct. There was no absolute proo that the
mother and childwere dead, nor. indeed of the death
of William. But of that there was but little doubt.
That the child might be living there were eat
hopes. So the old man made a will; the sum 0 ten
thousand dollars he left to Roderick anht of St.
Louis. his confidential man of business. with an in-

unction that the ten thousand was to be expended
procurln proof of the existence or the death of
the girl De the daughter of his son William and
his wife Delia; to that girl Della, his granddaughter,
he left the whole 0! his fortune. And there was w-

e thought of his son and of his harsh '

 

 

 

 

 

Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper. 23

other clause in the will, that if Roderick W ht
succeeded in finding the missiéfi heir, Delia Cu is,
he was to be aid the sum of y thousand dollars.

“ Are you t e Roderick Wright mentioned in the
will?" cried Courtney.

“ Yes." replied Wright

“I git your idee now
think that this leetle gal Delia is still a
she is.in the Injun villagsvup in the vaiiey.‘

“Yes; for it was the h to Wolf’s band that at-
tacked the settlement."

“Small chance of flndin’ her, I reckon," said the

traplper.

" think not—that is. if the savages hadn't dis-
covered us. The first thing 1 did in St. Louis was to
put an advertisement in the newspapers for infor-
mation relating to the massacre at Elk _City.
Luckily, the very man who could give me the Infor-
mation I desired, saw my advertisement and an<
swered it. The man was a neighbor of Mrs. Curtis,
and saw the attack on her house; he also saw the
woman and child carried away by the Indians."

“ This gal. if living. would be about twenty years
old now, said the trap er.

“ Yes,“ replied Wrig t.

“ Wu], bein’ so young a gal when carried off, it’s
more than likely that he red heathen have brought
her up as one of themselves, ’cos the leetie gal
wouldn't be apt to remember much ’bout the white
Settlements."

" That is probable." said Wright.

“Then that‘sl the fifty thousand dollars you are
arter/in the Injun village?" said the trapper.

“That is the rim.”

“ Might sm chance of gittin‘ it now.“

“I‘m a raid so," responded Wri ht.

“ But. even if on should find the girl, and be full
satisfied yourse f that she is the one you seek, t
seems to me that it would be a dimcult matter to

irove her identity in a court of law so that she could
nherit the estate left her by the will,” said Court-
ney.
"What you say is very true; but I have all the
papers relating to her birth. The mother had an
den that the child might one day inherit some of
her grandfather‘s estate, so she sent thelpapers to
her relatives in St. Louis. The only dil‘i‘lc t point is
the qluestion of identity. I would have toprove that
the g 1'] that I rescue from the hands of the Indians
is the same one stolen by them at the massacre of
Elk City fifteen years a 0."

“We , 1 should say t at air would be a knotty
p'int to git round," observed the tmmr, sagely.

“Not so difficult as you would t k, thanks to
the forethought of the mother of the 1. she. the
mother. aiwa a had a tho ht that er daughter
would some ay be forgiven er arents' fault; but
she was alone with the child in t e wilds of the Far
West; should she, the mother, die, the identity of
the child might be lost; so. to guard her from the
consequences of the very event that afterward did
happen, the mother caused the name Delia Curtis
to be pricked in india ink, sailor fashion, on the
dauzhter’s arm. "

“ Wai, that woman had sense," cried the trapper.

" Yes. The man who imprinted the name on the
arm was the very man who answered my advertise-
ment in St. Louis. So you see how easy it would be
to prove the identity of the girl, for, of course, he
can swear to his own work." replied Wright.

“ And probably but for this unfortunate discovery
of us by the Indians, you would have succeeded in
your mission and round the lost heir," said Court-

ne .

’YI think so."

“ An’ now you‘ll belucky of you git out of this
’ere gill.” with the ha’r on the top of your head,”

said

“It’s all in a lifetime," replied Wright. “ We can
not, always succeed."

“ Jes’ sol true as 'Freaehing; but I say, by‘hookey,
I‘ve got an idea. he icetle Injun ga —t e White
/

i’ said the trapiper. ‘: glen
ve an at

 

Bird, as they call her—is comln‘ to-morrow night to
run of! with Mister Courtney. From her you kin
find cut all ‘hout the Injun gals, an’ ef any one on
’em has got the mark on her arm, the chief's
daughter will know it. Then ef she is in the village,
why you kin jist t u another part a heatpsbifger
than this one, an an e her out of t ehan o the
red heathen. What do you think of the ideei"
asked the trap er.

"Very exce lent, indeed. We should have suc-
ceeded this time but that the Indians by some means
learned our intentions, and thus deleated our plans
to surprise them," said Wright.

“Its that air dod-rotted Mudhoie. the cussed red
nigger! I wouldn’t have believed it of the long-leg-
ged imp of Satan. I do think he’s a Blackfoot. It‘s
no use, a snake is a isnake, an‘ an Injun is an Injun.
I were a durned fool to trust him; but the best on us
make mistakes sometimes."

“ That’s very true. Our present lookout is to get
out of our scrape as well as possible," said Court-

ney. '

“I kin do itl” said the trapper. emphatically, “er
I don't, jes' you bite my cars 03 an‘ use 'em for pin-
cushions."

So for the present we will leave our heroes to medi-
tate in the g oomy chamber of the ttle cave. while
we I1rleturu to the White Wolf an his Blackfoot
we. ors. r

 

CHAPTER X.
msonnos m A airs-room.
'SILINTLY through the forest went the Indian war-

nors.

The band headed by the White Wolf followed a.
course which would bring them directly to the spot
where the Indian warrior, 'l‘ell Bull, had been sta-
tioned to watch the movements of the whites.

After a march of some two hours, the White Wolf.
followed by his braves, entered the little glade
where Courtnev had been captured.

The White Wolf enjoined caution and silence upon
his warriors, as he expected each moment as be
advanced, to come upon the camp of the whi .

Slowly the braves advanced, and suddenly the
keen eyes of the White Wolf caught sight of the
body of the Tall Bull, extended on the ground,
whither he had been struck by the keen knife of the
old trapper.

The White Wolf sprung to the side of the dead
brave, and noted the gafiln wound in his back.

“ Wahl" he cried. in t e ndian tongue; “the Tali
Bull has gone to the ha py huntin grounds!"

The Indians crowd around t e body. All ex-
amined anxiously the deep thrust that had let out
the life of the warrior.

“ The beaver-catcher has shown his teeth; the fox
has become a bear,” said the White Wolf, for he
doubted not that the Indian warrior had fallen iii
the hand of the big trnpxier. “The Blackfoot w
hunt the bear to h s lair; e shall die before another
moon shines over the Flathead valley"

Thpnrtwo of the braves, raising he body of the
slain warrior, bore it away toward the Indian vii.

lave.

One of the warriors, who had been examinin
the surrounding country, returned with the inteliE
gence that he had discovered the trail of the whites.

er for vengeance, the red-skins took the
trail. Despite the darkness, the Indians readily foi-
iowgd the path pursued by the trapper and his com-
pan on.

Minutes lengthened into hours. and still the trail
continued until at last it came to a sudden stop on
the rocky hank of the Flathead river.

White Wolf and his bland halted discomfltcd.

“Wabi” cried the c ief. in evident_anger. “The
Cunning beavemtcher has covered his trail' he is a

reat warrior who isboth bear and tra per a once.”
Then. turning tohls hand. he said; “ t nigh: -
ors search the other bank for the steps of cun-
ning white-skins."

wear “an, seem — 1‘1 —--—r

 

 

 

Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

The Blackfoot warriors eagerly obeyed the orders
of their chief, but the quest was vain; no trace on
either bank of the river was there of the whites,
thanks to the old trainer having taken the precau-
tion to use the rec y ravine h leaving and a -

reaching the river. Baffled and discouraged, t e

ite Wolf called a halt. The trail of the whites
had disappeared as utterly as though they had sunk
into the ground.

The ch of could but confess that the cunning trap-
per had beaten him; the Indian, trained from the

‘ cradle to the forest-wilds, was no match in wood-
craft for the long-legged beaver-catcher: but, stub-
borntothe end, he would not 've up ho . The
whites were in the valley, he elt sure 0 it. He
therefore reolved to dispatch some of his warriors
to picket the lower end of the valley: sooneror later
the whites would attempt to escape and would fall
into the hands of the Blackfeet.

The two parties, led by the Spotted Elk and Tall
Thunder. by thistlme had joined the White Wolf.
The party led by Tall Thunder. the Wolf dispatched
to guard the entrance to the valley; the rest of the
braves followed the Wolf as he returned to the In-
dian encampment.

All this marching and countermsrching had taken
time. The gloom of the night had long since gone,

\ and the gray tints of the morning had been succeed-
ed b the burning midday sun when White Wolf
and 11s warrrlors entered the Indian village.

The Wolf went at once to the lodge where the
prisoner Courtney was confined, and in front of
which eat the young‘ Indian brave, Young Bear.
That conflding yout had not troubled himself
to look in upon his prisoner, so he was entirely
ignorant of Courtney‘s escape. The Wolf en-
tered the lodge and found it empty. On the iioor lay
the deerskln thongs with which the prisoner had
been bound, cut into half a dozen pieces. A large
s.it through the skins that formed the back of the
lodge showed how the prisonerhad esca ed the vigi-
lance of the Young Bear who guarde the lodge.
Courtney had not been searched thoroughly when
made a prisoner, and therefore that he might have
had a knife concealer] on his person. and by its aid
that he had eflected his escape. appeared reasonable
to the Indians. Not even the Young Bear suspected
that the Indian girl, White Bird, had any agency in
the matter.

Again was the chief baffled, although in his heart
he was not sorr for the escape of the young man;
he remembere the time in the whire settlement,
when Courtney had stepped forward in his behalf,
and the memory of the Indian for good or evil ex-
te ds far beyond a day.

he White Wolf gave orders that the warriors
should pre are for the war- ath. for he had resolv'ul
again to so forth that high and search every no ;k
argdtgorner of the Flathead valley for traces of the
w s. -

Leaving the warriors pseplaring for the coming ex-
pedition, we will return t e fugitives hiding in the
little cave by the river's side.

Gloomin the long day had passed to the whites
nestling in the dark corners of the cavern that had
been an ark of safety to them.

Sol. peeping warily forth from the cave‘s mouth,
beheld the Indians scouting along on the other bank
of the river.

"The p‘ison sarpints are arter us, sure as shoot-
ln'," he observed, with a dry chuckle. “I reck-
onhthough, the heathen won‘t be like to diskiver
us

Tran ullly in the snug retreat the whites remain-
ed, whi e the red warriors were searching up and
down the river for their trail. Little did they sus-
pect that the foe they sought was concealed be-
neath their very fact, for the scouting-party on
that bank of the river where the little cave was
situated, passed over it half a. dozen times in their
searc .

Night came at last, descending slowly upon the

I

 

surface of the turbid and swiftflowing waters. One
by one, to the eyes of the watching whites, the trees
on the opposite bank faded into the dense gloom,
and where once their eyes rested upon the green for-
est appeared now but an indistinct black wall. The
night, too, romised, in contradiction to the preced-
ing he. to e dark and cloudy; the moon was bid
by: e clouds that covered the sky. As the scout
o . erved, in his uaint way:

“ It's an allflre good night for scouting."

“ You will set out soon. will you not?” asked
Courtney, filled with the anxiety so natural to a lov-

er.
“ Wal, I reckon it won‘t be long now store I make
a start of it. I s‘pose on want to see the little

al, don’t ye?" he asks , with a chuckle. The old
Erapper could read human nature as well as he
coulz decipher the signs of the forest.

“ Yes." replied Courtney, honestly. ‘.‘ I own I am
anxious." .

“Sart’in; it’s human natur’; but, don‘t hurry; I
want to see jist how dark its goin‘ to git store I
start. I reckon thar‘ll be some danger in goin‘ inter
the Injun village to-night. The village just now
must be like a good-sized hornets' nest."

“Let me go with you if there is dangertobemetl"
impulsively exclaimed the young man.

1‘ What in thunder would be the use of ihat!"cried
the trapper. “It i'n't fightin' that‘s got to he did;
it‘s sneakin’, an’ one’s a sight better nor two."

An hour or so more the old trap er waited. and
then, after a careful scouting aroun the mouth of
the cave, he essayed his des rate undertaking.

“Be careful!" cried Wrig t, as the trapper quit«
ted the cave and stood within the running water of
the stream.

“ You betl" was Old Sol‘s regoinder, as he started
on his rilous journey. “E 1 got the leetlc gal
out of t e Injun camp. an’ then sneak the hull psi-i y
out of the Injun count . it‘ll be something to boast
of in my old age. It Will be work. though," and the
man shut his teeth firmly together as he walked on
up the stream. Arriving at the rocky ravine, the
tra per left the river, crossed the little rocky space
aminentered the thicket.

Cautiously and slowly he proceeded onward. stop-
ping every now and then as he drew near to the
encampment, and listening intently. All. how-
ever, was still within the forest; no sign was
there of human life. Onward still went the brave
heart, till at last he reached the edge of the thicket
and looked from the covr-r of the trees u on the In-
dian village. There, in contrast to the 51 once of the
forest. all was life and activity. The Blackfeet were
all astir. In the center of the village, before the
door of the council-lodge. a huge fire was burning,
and around it the Blackfoot braves Were dancing
the war-dance.

The trapper understood well the meanin of the
scene. He saw plainly that all the availab 0 force
in the village were about to take the war-trail.
The thought that the savages set such a high value
upon his capture rather pleased the daring old
forester.

“I‘ll kee my top-knot out of the bloody hea-
thens' hen s, of I kin " he said to himself, as his
eyes rested upon the ancing howling Blackfeet.
“I wonder whar the leetle is? Pooty near time
she were a-lookin‘ fur me: ’ but no sign of the In-
dian girl could he see. As he looked from wigwam
to Wigwam, vainly striving to discover her, an In-
dian pony, that had evidently broken loose, follow-
ed by half a dozen yelling curs. and as many war.
riors in pursuit, dashed through the village and
made directly for the spot where Old Sol stood. The
rush of the horse was so sudden that the animal and
his howling followers were upon him before he
could retreat. To attempt to do so, with the dogs
and Indians so near him. would have been folly, so
he sunk quietlyto the ground. trusting to the tall
grass to conceal him. In his heart the old trapper
cursed the horse, the dogs, the men and the un-

  

 
 

 

     

1..

Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

2"

 

lucky star that had brought them so near his hiding-
p ace.

The horse was surrounded and caught within ten
feet of the spot where the tra per lay, and S01 had
just begun to hope he woul escape, when one of
the little Indian (ledge smelt him out and «plunged at
him open-mouth , barkm fiercely. e rest of
the do followed, and the ndians advanced to dis-
cover t 9 cause of the dogs‘ alarm. The tra per
felt as if his time had come. Already oneo the
braves was within six feet of him; flight was his
only ho His resolve was instantly taken. In a
second be old trapper was on his feet and bounded
off through the woods. A yell from the startled In-
dians greeted the sudden appearance. They knew
the figure of the ion -legge beaver—catcher right
well. but that their 0e should be lurking almost
within the shadow of their wigwams struck them
with astonishment.

On through the tangled underbrush rushed sol,
leavin here and there in the thorny bushes strips
of his unting‘shirt and leggings.

“By hockey!” cried he to himSelf, as a bush tore
OR a arge strip from his sleeve. “ I shall be naked
as a new-born baby, ef these cussed thorn-bushes
air so durn’ lovin‘. I guess I kin outrun these
heathen or I'm a sucker,"and he threw a rapid
glance over his shoulder to note the nearuess of the
foe. Fatal movement, for, at the same moment
his foot caught, and headlong on the earth went the
tall trappe . It was a moment or two before he
could re n his feet, tangled up as they were in
a. network of hriers; The Indians had closed in
around him; no avenue of escape was 0 n to him;
the cold p‘erspiration stood upon his fore cad. One
hold das he made for life. Useless attempt. For—
tune was against the white-skin, for again his feet
caught in avine, and again he fell prostrate u n
the earth. Before he could rise the red war are
threw themselves upon him. igorously Old Sol
stru led. Once, with almost su rhuman strength,
he i; rew his assailants off an gamed his knee.
The advantage, however. was but momentar ', for
again the red~skins threw themselves upon an bore
him to the earth. The warriors had not tried to use
their wea ons, their object being t) capture him
alive. Th s the trapper well understood; they de-
signed him for the torture-stake.

Overpowered by weight of numbers, Old Sol, after
avigorous and determined struggle was bound tight-
ly, hand and foot, with the deersk n girdles of the
warriors. Then. utterly helpless in the hands of the
sava es, they raised him upon their shoulders. and
bore im in triumph toward the village—one of the
swiftest runners havin been dis arched in advance
to up risa the Black cet that t eir great enemy,
the w to—skmned tra per. Longiegs, the beaver-
catcher, the white oh if that had so long defied
their power. was now a prisoner helpless in their

an .

The thoughts of the prisoner were an thing but
pleasant as he was borne along on the s oulders of

he exulting red-men.

“ Cuss the luck!" he gmaned to himself in bitter-
ness of spirit, “ to be captivated by these hyer dog-
rotted heathent It makes in blood b‘ile. Is'pose
they’l‘. roast or try me at t e torture-stake jist to
see whether I am tough or tender—the eternal
heathenl"

And so, on the shoulders of the braves who had by
accident captured him the beaver-catcher was car-
ried into the village of his mortal enemies.

CHAPTER Xi.

, nunnona‘s sax-rs.
mania by the Indian runner. the whole of the
inhabitants of the Blackfoot vill e assembled to
witness the arrival of the daring wh te-skln who had
so long defied the eiforts of the best warriors of the
Black oot tribe to kill or capture him. At last he

was in their hands, a helpless prisoner.
Loud were the yells, wild was the delight, with

 

 

which the Indians welcomed the successful war-

om.

’l‘he prisoner was deposited in front of the council-
lodge, in close roximity to the blazing fire: a fact
wliméh did not nd to make him feel easier in his
m n .

The women and children crowd: d around him.
with many a taunt and threat, till the White Wolf
placed a cordon of warriors around him, and kept

ack the crowd. Then the high chiefs. headed-by
the White Wolf. sought the council-lodge, to decide
as to the fate of the captive.

The women and children, kept back from the

risoner by the hue of warriors, cursed him at a

tance, but, as they spoke in the Indian tongue. of
which the trapper understood not a word, their
taunts and curses fell upon unheeding ears.

“ I s’pose they’ll burn me, durn ’em!" muttered
the trapper, as he looked around upon the long line
of. hostile faces by which he. was surrounded. “Ef
they’d only give me a single chance at ’em, I’d
clean out a few afore I 0 under. But, I ain‘t
dead yit; I guess I’m as goo as a dozen dead men.
I've been as nigh as this to death store, an‘ pulled
through. Luc may turn an’ give me a show; then
let the red heathen look on ."

From the crowd of women and children the young
Indian girl, White Bird, soon appeared. She said a
few words to one of the warriors who guarded the
prisoner, when be readily let her pass, forfew braves
of the Blackfoot tribe cared to thwart thewill of the
daughter of their great chief.

The girl came straight to the side of the helpless

man.

“ The beaver-catcher is in danger,” the said, in a
low, sweet tone. speaking the English tongue with
only a 311 ht Indian accent.

“Wal, eautv.“ answered the old trapper, in his
honest way, “ ,wouldn’t mind givin‘ all 1’m worth~
it ain't much, though—to git out of this ‘tarnal
scrape." '

“Do not fear to speak free] ," said the girl.
“ None of the warriors that guar you understand a
word ofyour tongue."

"I wish they did, the (lumed heathen cusses,"
said the trapper, with rage in his tone. “They
couldn’t have captivated me ef they hadn’t ‘a' been
twenty ag’in’ one."

" You have lost your life for me," said White Bird’,
mournfully, while tears gathered in her dark eyes.

“Don‘t speak of it, heaut . We’ve all got to die
some time. They‘ll I:me gi‘n me a taste of that
air flre afore I'm an our 01 er." ’

The girl shuddered at the thought.

“Don‘t you mind ‘bout me,’ said the trapper.
“I’m old an’ tough, an' I don’t think they’ll torment
me much' so don’t you worry ’bout me. Jist listen
now, an’ '11 tell on how you kin find the young fel—
ler. He an’ his riend wil need your help to git out
of this esky scrape, fur they’ll never git out of it
themse ves. You know where the high gray rock
overhangs the river, ’hout four miles from hyer
down the stream 2“

“ Yes, Lover‘s Leap, it is called. A youn Indian
girl, whose father would not let her marry the brave
she loved, jumped from the rock into the river, and
perished in the dark waters," said the girl.

“Jes' so,“ said the trap er; “ thar is considerable
of a pool in the river jist t or. Wal, jist at the foot
of that air rock is a leetlc cave, the mouth of it all
kivered u with bushes. In that air cave is the
young to er an” his friend."

“I will remember your directions. I will save
your friends from the Blackfeet. and conduct them
safe throu h the forest to the white settlementsi
but. isn‘t t ere any thing that I can do for you?’
asked the girl, earnestly,e

“ No. not at present, auty." replied Old Sol.

“ The chiefs are coming from the lodge," said the
girl, suddenly. as she lided from the trap er.

As she had said, t e chiefs, headed y White
Wolf, were coming from the council-lodge. 8001:

~ «as; .rrflzrwsmw-“tfie —.-,'-u.—

 

 

‘.  

gem-mam:

Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

they rathered around the prisoner. At a motion of
theiryhite Wolf, the trapper was raised to a sitting
pos on.

“Beaver-catcher,” began the White Wolf, “the
braves of the Blackfeet have sat in the council-
lodge‘ they have talked of the fate of the long-
iegge tra per. The white skin has caught the
beaver an the muskrat in the wateis of the Flat-
head; he has hunted in the valley of the Blackfeet,
and on the war—path he has slain the Tall Bull, 3.
great Blackfoot chief; his spirit looks down from
the happy hunting-grounds and calls for vengeance
on his pale-face murderer. The chiefs of the
Blackfeet have decided that the beaver-catcher
shall die at the torture-stake. Let the whiteskin
prepare, for death is near.“

T e chief had addressed the prisoner in the Eng-
lish tongue, which he spoke fluently.

The trapper moved nota single muscle when he
learned his doom.

“ Look hyer. chief," he replied. “ I want a chance
to reply to your talk, but your people don’t; under-
stan my language. Will one of your braves trans-
late for me?”

. “ I will!" responded in. deep, guttural voice in Eng-
lish, and the Spotted Elk stepped forth from behind
the warriors. The astonishment of Old Sol was vis-
ible on his features—on the hard muscles of his face
that had not changed a whit when his fearful doom
was revealed him.

“Mudhole, by thunder!" was the trapper's ex-
flaliination, as he looked upon the features of the

ii an.

“Ugh! Mudhole once. now Spotted Elk, a chief
of the Blackfeet." replied the savage.

“ You'll do fur what l want. Will you tell these
IDJIIHS jist what I say i” asked the trapper.

“Yes.” was the laconic response.

“ Wal. then jlst open your ears,” and then in a
calm. quiet one the old trapper commenced to
abuse the whole Blackf ot nation. He told them
that the}:’ were dogs who ran before the white man‘s
tread; t at they were cowards who feared to attack
a he unless ten to one; that hi3. single-handed,
could defeat any ten warriors of the Blackfoot na-
tion, and defied them to the test. All these hitter
words the S ottcd Elk re exited to his brethren ex-
actly as he ad spoken hem. A howl of anger
from the enraged braves greeted the close of the
trapper’s remarks, and but for the personal inter-
ference of the White Wolf and other leading chiefs
the multitude would then and there have Iatisfle
their rage and have saved the fearless man from the
torture-stake.

The angry braves at last driven back and quieted.
the trapper was carried to a stout oak tree, at the
foot of which dried wood had been placed and all

re tarationa made for the fire that was to be his

ea .

Held firm by a dozen or so of stout warriors. the
traplper’s arms were unbound; then he was placed
wit his back to the tree, and his wrists brought to-
gather behind it and lashed tightly with deer-skin

bonus; then the thou s were, removed from his
feet. and his ankles las ed firmly to the tree, the
thongs assin around it. The firisonerbein firmly
bound be oh efs retired from im. seeming y for a
brief deliberation before they applied the fire. Ono
chief alone remained by the side of the doomed trap-
por' that chief was the Spotted Elk.

" ongl s is in danger," said the chief quietly, in
English, w ile be was apparently, busy examining if
the lashings were secure.

“Death is looking me in the face. Mudhole," re-
turned the trapper. “I guess the Blackfeet have
got me this time.”

“Does Longlegs remember When he took the
wounded Indian to his lodge and cured his wounds i”
asked the Spotted Elk.

"Yes." replied the trapper; “does the chief re-
member it?”

“If the beaver-catcher waits he will see. The

 

Mudhole is now a at chief of the Blackfoot nation.
When the White 01f dies, the Spotted Elk will be
the chief of the tribe,” said the lndian.
“And you are the Spotted Elk?” replied the trap-
r

pe .

“ Yes; the mud-turtle has become an‘ eagle."

“ Will the eagle remember the debts of the mud-
turtle?" asked the trapper significantly. ' ,

“ A chief has nothing bu his word. When he
loses it, he loses all," sententiously replied the In-
dian stalking away from the trapper.

Sol looked after the Indian, With a puzzled ex-
pression upon his face. He could not understand
the nature of the savage. His words seemed to
promise ho 9 but the time for help must come soon
or not at al ; ours were minutes now.

The oak to which the trapper was bound stood at
the up or end of the village. Between it and the
forest. in one direction. lay iiotliin§1 but the Indian
corral or horse-pound, which was, t e tra per could
see by the light of the fire that blazed nfront of
the council-lodge. filled with horses. Ten paces
from the prisoner stood the circle 01' chiefs; beyond
them were congregated the rest of the village—the
common warriors. the women and children—4m
anxious to behold the'death of the famous beaver-
catcher.

“H or they come!" cried the trap r, between
his clinched teeth. as a brave advance with a torch
of blazing wood to fire the mass beneath the trap-
per's feet. “I‘m in fur it now! No hope. no chance

ur a squeeze for life. My timehas come an‘ I'll
face the music like a maul The 'tarnal red skunks
sha‘n‘t so. that the Giant Trapper squealed even
when the re were a-burnin' his innards out."

The warrior afiplied the blazing torch to the dry
wood beneath t e trappcr’s feet. then retired to the
crowd to enjoy the agony of the dying white-skin.

The trapper could hear the crackling of the flames
as the dry wood caught the fire; the smoke began to
ascend and blind the eyes of the helpless prisoner.

Sol could already feel the heat of the burning
wood and in that. apparentl the last hour of his
life. the rough old trapper, t 6 man of the woods
and prairie. commended himself to his Maker.

Then, in his deadly fieril. with the pale king of
terrors staring him fu in the face. he suddenly be-
came conscious that the than S that had bound his
feet to the tree and his wrists ogether were loosen-
ed suddenly, and the handle of a knife was thrust
into his hand. The trapper then understh the
situation in a moment.

A hoarse voice whispered in his ear:

“Make for the cori-al—-the gate is unfutened—
turn the horses loose—you know the rest.

The ma. per knew the voice instantly; it was the
voice of llfudhole once the outcast warrior, now one
of the great chiefs of the Blackfeet.

The trapper with a single, glance took in the scene
before him; then, with a terrific ell which rung like
a peal of thunder on the ears 0 the astonished In~.
dians. he lea ed from the torture~stake dashed
through the ames before him, and, knife in hand,
ran swiftly toward the corral. For a moment the
Indians were paralyzed by the sudden movement of
the prisoner; a moment t ey gazed upon the strange
scene, and then, with cries of rage, they sprung for-
ward to interce t the trapper.

if ever Long ‘gs ran swiftly, he did so now, for
he was well aware that life was the prize at stake.
On he went, exerting every muscle. head! for the
corral. Though he had gained a few ya s b the
quickness of his start. and the surprise of t sin-
( ians. yet. as they were nearer. in a direct line. to
the corral, the objective point in this desperate
Sage for life, the trapper had need of all his splen-

wers. ‘

Aggie ran he calculated the odds against him. On
his left a sl ls warrior was running, e in hand.
on a course t at, gradually apps-gm ing the line on
which the trapper was runn . must, before he
reached the corral, bring them together. That war-

\

 

 

 

 

Sol Ginger, the

Giant Trapper. ’ 29

 

rior was the White Wolf. On his right another In-
dian was close on his track, but from him the trap-
per did not expect harm, as the chief was no other
than the Spotted Elk; the rest of the Indians were
fast falling behind, the terrific pace at which the
flyin man was running being too much for them.

Agew rods more, and he and White Wolf must
inevitably come together.

“Either he or me!" hissed the trapper, through
his clinched teeth, as be grasped firmly the long
seaming-knife put into his an .

A ye of triumph burst from the pursuing In-
dians, as they beheld their chief gaining upon the
white-skin.

A minute more and the trapper and the White
Wolf came together. The Indian made a sweep
with his knife at the white as he came up. 891 per—
ried the blow with his left arm; the keen knife cut
through the stout deer-skin into the flesh. On rushed
the flying man, not attempting to return the blow. H_e
had assed the chief, and the chance of fortune wasm
his aver, but fate again, for the second time, seein-
ed against him for one of the little Indian curs,
enco ed by the example of the chief, seized the
trapper the leg. With a terrific kick, Sol sent
the cur ye ping into the dust, but, by the motion, he
lost headwa , stumbled and fell upon his knee.
The White 01f, who was close upon his heels,
raised his scalping-knife and aimed a death»blow at
the fallen trap r. _ .

Amoment t e knife glittered in the air, then it
descended with terrible force. driven With all the
strength of the sav e’s arm into the body of the—
Spotted Elk, who ha thrown himself forward to re-
ceive the blow intended for the trapper. _

Thus the Indian ke t his faith, and Mudhole paid
the debt he owed to 1d Sol. _ _

The trapper regained his feet, and, With a motion
as uick as a cat. drove his long knife to the heart
of the White Wolf, who in vain attempted to vearry
the terrific stroke of the trap r’s arm. 1th a
hollow groan, the rent chief o the Blackfeet. the
famed warrior, \\‘ itc Wolf, sunk upon the earth,
the blood streamin free from his wound. By his
side lay the Spotte Elk—deadl .

On again went the now hopeful man. The Indians
in his rearhad ained upon him, but they paused
tor a moment firy the side of their dying chief,
and then again, with cries of vengeance pursued.
Gaining the corral, Old Sol burst in upon t e horses,
yelling like a demon. The frightened steeds burst
through the open gates upon the crowd of advanc-
ing Indians like a whirlwmd, and the savages for a
moment, were obliged to abandon the pursuit to
save themselves from being tram led to death .by
the horses. The trapper profited y the confusron
to swing himself upon the back of a roan-colored
pony, and, guiding the animal by the decrskin
miter. lunged through an opening in the thicket,
and r e furiously alon the little path beyond.

With cries of rage t e savages moun ed in hot
haste, and set oi! in chase of the flying foeman, who
had not only escaped the torture-stake but had slain
their great chief.

Go through the wood went the chase—the trapper
riding for ear life and the savages following ard
upon his track, guided by the horse of his horse’s

f \

hoo 5.

Five of the Indians who were better mounted than.
the others kept together in the advance. 011 they
went, listening eagerlfi to the sound of the horse’s
hoofs before hem. _y that sound they could tell
whether they were gaining upon the fugitive or los-
ing ground. At first the trapper seemed to gain
upon them; the sound of the boots grew fainter and
fainter to their ears then, to the 0y, of the Indians,
the pace of the (u tive seemed slacken. for the
noise of the horse 3 gallop rew louder and louder:
they were gaining upon t e trapper fast. They
urged their ponies to increased speed—now they
caught Sight of the steed, flying through the thicket

 

openings; they were gaining rapidly upon the horse.

man. 0n the flew, ridin like mad. Atlast they
dashed alongs do of the ying horse, to find that it
was—riderless. The cunning trapper had sli fped oi!
the horse durin the chase, concealed himse in the
underbrush, an probably chuckled as the Indians
rode madly by him in pursuit of the aifrighted

orse.

The Indians held a council. When and where the,
trapper had left the horse and taken to the thicket
they could not guess, and in the dense darkness of
the night, scoutin after the trail of such a cunning
woodman was to y.

With lieav hearts the returned to the village,
and told of t eeScape of t e long-legged trapper.

The Blackfoot nation that night mourned over two

eat calamities; the death of their great chief and
t e escape of the beaver-catcher.

 

CHAPTER XII.
LINKS m A CHAIN.

THE White Bird, after the conversation with the
old trap er, took advantage of the confusion attend-
ing the caring of the white to the torture-stake, to
leave the villa e. When she heard from the lips of
the White Wo f the doom of the beaver-catcher, she
knew she had no power to save him; her weak aid
would avail him nothing; so, sorrowfully, she re-
solved not to behold his death but to flee from the
village join her lover, and conduct him at once from
the v ley. Her keen womanly sense told her that
the savages, busy with the torture of the hel less
prisoner. would not Seek for the rest of the w tee
until morning; by that time she hoped to be able to
lead her lover and his friend far be and the power
of the ludians. She knew that Tall hunder and his
men were guarding the lower end of the valley, for
she had uestioned one of the chiefs as to the where-
abouts o the missing warriors. That fact troubled
her but little. for she knew of a rocky pass by the
“ Bitter Stream," as it was called by the Blackfeet
through which she mi ht conduct the whites, 9.
thus evade the red pic ets at the lower end of the
valley.

The Indian girl'gained the wood. and followings
little path, came to the river. Down the river‘s
bank she went with hasty steps, for time indeed was
precious. '

An hour later found her at the entrance of the lit-
tle cave.

“ Hnrryl" she called, softly, “ ’tis 1, White Birdl"

Courtney, watching within the cave, knew well
the voice, and, in an instant more, she was folded
to her lover‘s heart.

Briefly she told of the surprise and capture of the
trapper. Bitter was the sorrow of the two men,
for they had learned to love the brave old man.
Their sorrow could not save him, for, as the White
Bird told them, by that time the guide was doubtless
a corpse.

The White Bird proposed her plan of flight, to
which both the whites agreed. '

“ When shall we attempt it?“ asked Courtney.

“In an hour,” replied the girl. “The ni ht is
grolwilr‘ig clearer; the moon should rise soonan give
us lg t.”

“Poor Sol!“ cried Courtney; “I shall never for-
get him.”

“Nor I either." replied Wright. “I shall always
blame myself as being the cause of his death, for.
but for me. he would not have ventured into this
Wilderness."

And where was he whose untimely death the?
were at that moment deplor i Why, making h 5
way through the forest town the cave as fast as

. his long legs would c

any him.

Hisi ea in taking the horse from the Indian vil-
lage had been to deceive the red-skins. He know
well how easy'it would be to slip from the back of
the animal, conceal himself in the bushes, and let

 

 

 

so. . mm». 7 _

30 Sol Ginger, the Giant Trapper.

 

the red warriors follow on the trail of the runaway
beast. The cunning trick had been successful; the
sava es had been thrown off the trail, which they
coul not regain until themorning, and then not
without difficulty.

“ Now. then." cried the old trapper, communing
with himself in his usual fashion. as he strode
through the forest. with his long. tireless stride, “ ef
the leetle gal has found the cave all right, an’ is
thar, we’ll put for the settlements to onc‘t. It won’t
do to tell her though, that I settled the hash of the
bi6chief; he may be a relation of hem."

1d Sol reached at last the little cave, is d entered
it much to the surprise of the inmates. is cheery
voice had told them who it was.

“Sol!” cried Courtney. “ is it possible you are
alive?"

" You bet!" was the hearty rejoinder.

“Why. I saw you at the torture-stake." said the
Indian girl.

“ Sart‘in." replied the tra per. “ but I didn’t stay
thar. thanks to Mudhole. 6 .cut the thongs that
bound me to the stake. put a knife into my hand,
an' then i run a muck through the lnjun villaue.
It were a lively time for a few minutes you betl i
reckon the Blackfeet won‘t forgit the oin‘s of this
night fur some years to come.“

Courtney detailed the 6mm of White Bird to es-
cape from the valley. ld Sol nodded his head in
approval.

“ It will work, I reckon." he said; “the moon will
soon be up. an' then we‘ll be oin‘.”

“Yes. we W1" bid farewell 0 this fatal valley for-
ever," cried Courtney.

“ But how about the flfty-thousand-dollar treasure
that you were goin’ to git up in the lnjun village?"
questioned Sol.

“ I think I shall leave that in your hands. You
shall form a party and learn the truth.”

“ Jes’ sol" cried the trapper. " That will suit me
jist like shootin‘ 1"

“White Bird," asked Courtney, “ do you not feel
sorry to leave your Indian home and go with us?”

" 0.“ simply answered the girl. ‘

“Will you not regret the ste i" asked the lover.
soft ; his tone could only reac l the girl‘s ear.

“ o; I love you better than I do any thing in the
world. I have loved you from the first moment that
I saw you in the settlement at Fort Benton. Do on
not remember that I showed ou my face therelr '

r “ Yes," re lied Courtney “ do; the most beauti-
ful face the. I ever saw. "

“ Ah] you think so now: but, will you always
think so?"

“Yes. while I live I shall love you. Have you not
left home, friends and all for me?“ cried Courtney.
“Have you not saved mv life? But for on I shou d
be even now a prisoner in the hands 0 the Black-

“ I do not think you would deceive me, and if you
do the rWhite Bird can but die." replied the

gir sad 

“Whi e I live my life is pledged to you!" cried
Courtney. “You have left ome. friends. country.
all for me. but you shall not regret them, for my
love shall make amends for all." ‘

And over the soul of the lovers crept the holy
cairn that pure love alone can bring. Young hearts
were they that lived truly for each other.

“Then you will undertake the expedition that I
spoke of?" Wright asked of the big trapper.

“You jist bet I Will!" em hatically returned Old
Sol. “I calculate I kin WE lop the hull Blackfoot
nation either with flst. legs or head. I ain‘t much
of a ilghtin’ man- but. when you en me into a cor-
ner and say. ‘flg t or die.’ you km pretty ginerally
re on that it‘ll be ‘flght.’ "

“ You shall lead the expedition to find the heir. and
if you are successful you shall have one<half of the
fit y t ousand dollars," said Wright.

" at on airth could I do wit so much money!
I ain't got any use for it." returned the trapper.

 

“_Well. you shall fix your own terms.” said

W .

363' so; couldn‘t be anythlnf more squar‘ ” re—
plied the trap r; “but. s‘pose just ask the ieetle
gal over that out the critter we‘re arter “

“ Do," said W ht, ” we may learn something."

“Say. White rd, I don‘t know as you know it,
but we’re arter somebody in your village."

“Yes.” returned the Indian girl, “you seek a
treasure in the village of the Blackfeet.‘

“True as preachm’l" said the trapper. “but as
the Injuns somehow know of our plan. we‘ve kind-
er made a failure."

“No,” returned the girl, quietly, ” you have suc-
ceeded."

The trap r stared at her with astonishment
Wri ht an Courtney also were puzzled at her
wo .

"I reckon you don‘t exactly, understand me. leetle
gal.” said Sol. “You see,t e fact is, beauty. we
seek a treasure. as Misther Wright calls it, worth
fifty thousand dollars."

“ Yes; i know you seek what you call a treasure;
but how it can be worth that sum. I can’t imagine.
But, again I say, you will succeed.“ The girl spoke
with calm assurance.

“ Look hyer." said the old guide. not able to
rxliakelhead nr tail of her words. “ we’re arter a lee-
: e ga —

“ Yes; I am the girl !" said the White Bird.

“ Thunder!" cried the trapper.

Wright and Courtney started in astonishment.

“Yes; I heard the bite Wolf sav in the white
settlement that you sought me. on see, I save
you the trouble by coming," said the girl.

“ But the girl we seek is white.“ said Wright.

“ So am 1. Taken from my nts by the Indians
when a child. on my arm, in ittle blue characters.

in name." -

“ nd that name is?" questioned Wright. eagerly.

“Delia Curtis." re lied the girl.

“Hooray!” cried e trapper. gleefully.

And then the star of her parents was told to
the White Bird. and er simple history was heard
by the three men who had risked their lives to res-
cue her from the sava es.

The White Bird her not. until her return from
Fort Benton, known that she was not of the blood
of the Indians. Then one of the old squaws had 1' -
vealed to her her history.

In an hour from the time that the trapper had
Entered the cave, the moon came slowly over the

ree- o 5. ~

The iime had come for flight; so, through the de-
file in the rocks conducted b the White Bird—_or.
as we shou (1 call her, Delia is—went the little

art .
pAtythe little glade, on the Bitter Stream. where
they had camped. they found—as the trapper had
predicted—their horses. for the horses of Wright and
Courtney had followed the example of the clay-
colored animal of the big tragfer. in remaining
close; to the spot where they h been left by their
mas ers,

With the aid of the horses, the little party reached
Fort Benton in safety and without seeing a single
hostilelava .

t Fort enton. Wright Courtney and Delia
parted with their old guide and faithful friend.
and took passage to St. Louis. In St. Louis
Delia easily roved her identity. took possession
(61‘ he; props y. and then became the wife of Harry

on ney.

Wright received his fifty thousand dollars and set-
tled down contentedly.

As for our long-legged friend, the shrewd beaver.
catcher he still traps in the Northwest. and no
man brings a larger or finer ack of tries into
Fort Benton than Ginger. f rly ed 801.. ml ./
Gum Tamra. ‘

THE END. ‘ .7

 

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1 Deadwood. Dick the Prince 0! the

2 KRoad. ByKEfiward’L. V¥lheeien Right
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Band. By Buifilo Blil -

3 The Flying Yankee ' or, The Ocean
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4 The Doub e Daggers. By Edward

L. Wheeler.
5 The Two Detectives. By Albert
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6 The Prairie Pilot. By Bufl'aio Bill.
7 The Bufl‘aio Demon; or. The Bor-
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8 Antelope Abe, the Boy Guide. By
011 Coomes.
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10 Buffalo Ben, the Prince otthe Pistol.
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11 Ralph Boy the Boy Buccaneer. By
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12 Nick 0’ the N gilt ' or, The Boy Spy
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18 Yellowstone Jack. By Joseph E.
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14 “Mid Ivan, the Boy Claude Duval.
By Edward L. Wheeler.
15 Diamond Dirk. By Col. lnzraham.
16 Keen-Knife, Prince of the Prairies.
By 011 Coomes.
17 Oregon Do]; or. Nick Whiflles's Boy
Spy. B Capt. J. F. C. Adams.
18 Death- ace the Detective. By Ed-
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19 Lasso Jack. By 011 Coomes.
20 Roarin Ralph Rot-kwood, the
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21 The Boy Clown. By .S. Finn.
22 The Phantom Miner.
L Wheeler.
23 The Sea Cat. By Capt. F. Whittaker.
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28 The Boy Captain. 13 R. Starbuck.
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30 Bob Woolf he Border Ruffian. By
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31 Nightin ale Nat. B T. C.Harbauzh-
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Jose h E. Badger, Jr.
33 Oma a 0]] the Masked Terror. By
Edward L. eeler.
34 Burt Blinker, the Trapper. By
George E. Lasalle.
35 The no Rifles. B A. C. Irons.
3B The W ite Bufl'l o. By Geo. E.
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37 Jim Dludsoe, Jr. By Edward L.
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By Edward '

 

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42 The Border King. By 011 Coomes.

43 Old Hickory. B Herr St. George.

44 The White Ind Inn. y Capt. J.
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45 Buckhorn Bill. By E. L. Wheeler.

46 The Shadow Ship. By Col. Prentiss ‘
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47 The Red Brotherhood. By W. J.
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48 Dandy Jack. By T. C. Eerbuugh.

49 Hurricane Bill. B J. E. Badger, Jr.

50 Single “and. By .J. Hamilton.

51 Patent-leather Joe. BvP.S.Warne.

62 The Border Robin Hood. By
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53 Gold Rifle the sharpshooter.
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54 Old 111),! Cabin. By Captain J. F.

55 nCiAdams' n k h Y Rang
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56 Mad Tom Western. By W. J.
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5'1 Deadwood Dick on Deck.
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58 Hawkeye Harry.

59 The Boy Duelist.
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60 Abe Colt, the Crow-Killer. By A. W.
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By E.

By 011 Coomes.
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61 Corduroy Charlie, the Boy Bravo.
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62 Will Somers, the Boy Dete tive. Ty
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63 lol Ginger, the Giant Trapper. By A.
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64 Rosebud Rob. By'E. L. Wheeler.
65 Lightning Joe, the Terror of the
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66 Kit Barefoot, the Wood-Hawk. By

T. C. Harbeugh.
67 Rollo, the Boy Ranger. By Oil Coomes_
68 Idyl, the Girl Miner. ByE. L. Wheeler.
69 Detective Diek' or, The Hero in
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