, '29:] f ' -r I ' Feb. 11, was. Copyrighted. 1883, by BIADLI AND Anna. Entered at the Po" Oflica at N'bw York, N. Y., a: Second Class Mail Matter. .» b' d W kl v01.xv1. ms. P“11511250.”gumgfigisgggmu‘m" No. 200. /%/// ,/////// m NLKELISB HUNTER LED THE WAY, CAUTXOUSLY FOLLOWED BY HIS FAITHB‘UL ANIMAL. 2 The Nameless Hunter. The Nameless Hunter: on, - THE DAGOTAE scanner. BY GEORGE W. ROBINSON. CHAPTER I. ran roansr man. OUR story opens at a time when all the conn-' try west of the northern branches of the Missis- sippi was one vast wilderness. The wily savage held undisputed sway over its mighty forests and boundleSS glades. Game of every descrip- tion abounded; it was a hunter’s paradise. Bold indeed was he who dared to enter far in- to this unexplored Wilderness, for the chances were man that his scalp would hang in the Wigwam 0 some indian warrior as a trophy of his cunning over the detested pale-faces who were fast encroaching on the red-man’s hunting- grounds. Among those who had penetrated the hostile region as far as the head-waters of the Osage River, were Dan Lee, an old trapper, and his son-in-Iaw, Belt Walters, a young hunter of a bold and restless disposition, who loved the tracklsss forest for its very danfgors. Nature had been most bounti iii in her gifts to Bait Walters, reared as he had been in the midst of scenes when the early pioneers had to fight almost constantly for the rough log-cabin that sheltered their little ones; and accustomed from childhood to the constant use of the rifle, his fatal aim was proverbial throughout the border. ‘ Strong, hardy and robust, capable of endur- ing any amount of hardships. it was not to be wondered at that when he grew to manhood he unrivaled as a hunter and Indian-fl bter. Addingli the cunning subtlety of the ndian to the owledge of the pale-face, he was she. cessful when others failed. He could imitate the call or cry of every inhabitant of the forest. from the yelpin bark of the wolf to the tiny in- sect that chirpefi throu h toe grass, powers that were of great value to im as a hunter, or when circumventing an enemy. No y, however well planned or cunnineg laid, ever decoived him. The very red-skins themselves acknow- ledged him as a most dangerous enemy. ot a settler along the border but would have been proud to bestow one of their blooming daughtgars on Bait. and not one of the same bor- der maidens would have said him nay for a hus- an . Bait Waiters loved Amy Lee, the old trap- Per’s daughter, and oh! how fondly was that ove returned. It was a joyful day to Dan has when he called Bait Walters by the endearing name of son. Ten years of wedded life glided calmlly and happily over the head of Bait and his ovely wife. Two children were born to them, the oldest a boy called after Am ’3 father, the other a girl who bore the name of er mother. The tide of emigration began toilow west- ward. The settlements along the border were numerous and thickly peopled. Game became , scaroer than in years past, when Bait could stand at his own cabin door and kill all that was sufficient for the support of his family. Waiters and his father~in~law began to get restless. The 10 ed for the solitude of the vast forest, w ere t eir ears would notbe dinned by the sound of'the settler’s ax, as it was buried into the heart of some towering forest monarch -—ciearing the way for the march of civilization as it flOWed toward the setting sun. , One evening as Bait and the old man sat at the cabin door enjoyin the soothing influences of their pipes, the ol trapper heaved a deep sigh that came from his heart, and slowly ex- claimed, as if his words were intended for no ears but his own: “ Ah. mel times is not as they used to was. These settlers are destroying the very face of nature, an’ driving the varmints away whar an old man like me can’t foller ’em. Ah, me! I re- member when it warn’t so." “ You are right, father,” replied Bait, in a sorrowful tone. “A feller nowadays can’t take a few hours’ tramp to stretch his ‘legs, but he’s sure to stumble across some of their cus’d clearings. What with tha’r dogs, an’ tha’r clear- ings, an’ tha’r irdiings, an’ ev‘ry other devil- ment of the se tlements, the deer are near all driven away. an‘ what remain of ’em are so run down that thnr flesh is onl fit to feed one of your town-bred varmints w o knows no more about a saddle of prime venison than he does of the differ atween a wolf an’ a painter. Only for Amy an‘ the children 1 would up stakes an’ away long ago. ” “ Then, dear Bait. sa so no longer. Your Amy loves the grand oi forest as well as either father or you: all places are the same to Am Walters so long as she has her husband ch1- dren and father with her. I was born in the forest, and expect to die there,” said the forest- wifs, whose loving look sent the blood bounding through the heart of the bold woodsman, as she laid a and carsmi ly on his shoulder. “ Well said, gall shouted the old tra per, joyfully. “ Bait and I hev not tram the country together ’thout knowing whar to pitch our camp, whar we’re not likely to be disturbed by man visitors save the wild var-mints." Ere t ey retired for the night it was settled that before another week had assed they should begin their journey westwa . A bright May morning, less than a week after the above con- versation, Bait Walters gathered together his worldly prwsessions, put them in a wagon, and with a lght heart set out on his long journey wedgwlrd'h th greased f 1r e art or ey pro west game 0 a description became more abundant.’ The hearts of Ba t and old Dan Lee felt lighter than they had for years. It was the beginning of June when they reached a rapid stream that emptied its waters into the Osage. Here Bait determined to settle. The two men set to work with a right good will, and in a short time bud erected a stout, commodious log-cabin. The forest and neighboring streams gave both hunters constantemployment. . A year soon glided past, and during that period not a human being did they see. One day as Bait was returning home with part of a .u...wa.,«. Ila-R l ‘v . A a w ‘ “than: i .‘t fiscal! The Nameless Hunter. 3 fat buck slung across his broad shoulders, he suddenly came upon an lndian warrior who was unable to move. At the sight of the white man the red—skin vainly endeavored to regain his feet, but the eifort was toomuch for him. The hunter at once saw that the Indian had met with some accident, and hastened to in uire: “My brother is hurt; why is he so or from the village of his people?” The dark, fierce scowl on the red—skin’s face at once vanished as he replied, in tolerable English: ‘ Sanialanta was alone on the war-path of the treacherous Dacotahs: they were too many. An eagle may be wounded bythe arrow of a squaw.” The savage pointed to the head of an arrow sticking in his knee, which had caused the whole limb to swell to a frightful size. “ The cut-throat Assiniboins are cowardly dogs. The Great Spirit has given to Santalanta the head of a Pawnee Loup. The hunter of the pale faces shall attend to his wound.” Bait at once set about extracting the arrow- head from the knee. Although this operation caused the Pawnee intense pain, not a sigh or groan esca ed him. A few pounded herbs, well known to 0th for their healing qualities, soon assuaged the pain and inflammation of the wounded limb. The kindness of the hunter was extended fur ther. On his strong back he bore the red-man to his own cabin, where. for two weeks, he re- ceived all the care and attention of a brother until he was well. CHAPTER II. THE FOREST FIENDS. ON the morning when Sautalauta was about to set out for his home, on the far distant Paw- nee Loup the Indian chief took the hand of the hunter. fiaving rolled the sleeve of his hunting- shirt above his elbow, he began to tattoo the likeness of a wolf on the fleshy rt of Walters’s arm. The pricked arts he ru bed with a blue igfimggt until the oupine figure was clearly e n . “ If my pale-face brother ever finds himself near the hunting-grounds of the Pawnees, and the sun does not shine upon his path, there is not a. warrior of my nation but will know the totem of the chief. Let my brother remember the words of Santalanta.” “ The ears'of the pale-face are not shut to the words of his Pawnee brother,” responded the hunter. “ In return let the warrior take this rifle; it will clear his path it he should meet the cowardly Dacotahs. It has brought the death- shriek from many a skulking Shawnee, Miami and Mingo. Handle it keerfui, chief: light lead, light powder, an’ your Wigwam shall never be in want of deer or buflalo.’ The Pawnee received the rifle joyfully, for to him it was the greatest gift that could have been bestowed upon him. The day after the departure of the Pawnee chief for his distant home. Bait Waiters was startled by disoovering footsteps around his cabin. Further examination brought him to the thicket wheres savage had been hidden. His surprise was at once changed to alarm. On WEN Sioux. Bait knew that the presence of the red- skin boded ill. Without a word to frighten the initiates of his cabin, he Set out on the trail. After following it for some distance it conducted him to a small grove. Around one of the trees the ground was trampled by the hoofs of a. horse. “I see it all now,” said Bait, to himself. “ The infernal imp left his horse here while he war skwinting around the cabin. He’s ofl? now, an’ before long I’ll have a pack of ’em howling an’ screeching around the log. But, I think me an’ the old man’li give em such a warm wel~ come that they’ll not trouble us again.” With a heavy heart Walters turned his foot- steps homeward, and implurted to the old trap- Eerdwhat had happened. be old man shook his ea . “ My son, the Dacotahs are the most treach- erous imps that roam the prairies. We ken only do our best. You an’ I hcv fou't too man of the brutes in our time to be scart now, an’ guess we ken do it ag’in.” During the remainder of the day Bait and the old man were engaged in putting the cabin in a state of defense to withstand any assault that might be made upon it. In several places holes were bored to allow the free use of their rifles. The night and next day gassed without any aplpearance of an enemy. hortiy utter night to Bait went out to scout around for some signs. Mile after mile did he walk, but he saw nothing, and was on the point of returning when his practiced ear detected, out on the prairie, the steady footfall of several horses. Well Bait knew that each horse bore on its back a savage foe. Nearer and nearer they approached until the well-trained eyes of the hunter made out twenty red horsemen. - Without delay Walters sped home to receive his unwelcome visitors. Shortly after midnight the hunter discovered several dark objects approaching the front of the cabin, while the old trapper reported Several others creeping from the rear. When within range the two rifles were discharged with fatal effect. The report of the weapons was answered by war—whoo s, so terribly revengeful that the mother and aughter screamed with aflright. The sava es, seeing that they were discovered, ?rung to t eir feet and rushed against the door. » 4 g ain the fatal rifles were dischargednto be answered b the death-shriek of two more or the red flen . , . The door being heavy and strong, reswted all the efl'orts to burst it in. In one corner stood Amy Waiters loading the rifles as fast as the were discharged, while young Dan handed hem round When wanted. One-half of the assailants were either dead or mortally wounded, and they were no nearer to their intended victims than when the attack began. It was clear that the door could not be forced; they must resort to some other mode of I assau t. The retired out of range for consultation. “ hat do ya think, Bait; will the, bloody hounds make another attack?" asked the old trap )er, with an anxious voice. “ am sure they will, father; they have lost and lay the war-arrow.“ a Dacotah or i too many warriors to give up now. They have ‘. 4 The Nameless Hunter. only hauled of! to hatch some other devilish plan for our destruction.” “ I believe you are ri ht. All I’m afraid of is that they’ll fire the 0g. If they do it’ll go hard with us.” “ If it comes to that,” muttered Belt. with a quiverin voice and pallid countenance,” all we have‘to o is to rush out upon them and die like 'men. Half an hour passed in silence, when, all at once, the air became illuminated with clouds of flaming arrOWS, discharged at the doomed cabin. There having been no rain for a long time, the building was (1 as tinder. The bark and other light combustib e material that formed the roof soon ignited and communicated the flames to the more solid timber. The savage yells that followed the flight of the flaming arrows, caused the manly form of Balt 'Walters to shake like a leaf in the summer air; tears of strong emotion coursed down his bronzed countenance. No selfish or cow— ardly fear thus affected him. The fate of the wife of his bosom and his little ones excited this emotion. The Dacotahs, as they watched the flames, danced and shouted their wildest war-whoops, but at the same time took good care to keep out of the range of the rifles that had already proved fatal to so many of their bmvos. It is impossible to describe the situation of the inmates of the log-cabin, more than twice a hundred miles from the nearest settlement. Gradually the smoke and flames worked their wa downward, until it was almost impossible to greathe. Not a word of complaint esca. ed from the lips of the devoted wife of _ alt Walters. “Come, father,” said Bait, with the calmness of desperation on his manly countenance; “let’s make a rush upon the red devils. If we go under, we will have the satisfaction of all dying together.” ithehatchetin one hand and his rifle in the other, Balt sprung out, closely followed by histvife and children, while just behind them came the old tra per. They had hardly crossed the threshold 0 the burning cabin when they were surrounded by the sanguinury Dacotahs. The foremost in the attack received the bullet of Walters’s rifle in his heart. Fighting against tearful odds, he saw the tomahawk of a sav- a e buried in the brain of his wife. The 0 d traplper fought with fury. but in vain; the last Bat saw of him was, a fiendish-looking silage tearing the reeking scalp from his aged Maddened by the sight. the might of a giant - seemed to be thrown into his arm. Right and left his blows rained upon his savage foes. Whilebravely battling with two powerful In- dians in front, another dealt him from behind adireful blow on the hack of the head with a war-club. It stunned him for the instant, but the inext moment he bounded away with the speed of the wind, uttering such fearful shrieks and yells that even the very Dacotahs stood aghast. Not one of them attempted to I follow him. An hour later, the place was tenanted only by the deed. CHAPTER III. _ THE nvnrnas’ CAMP. ONE night, about two weeks after the events first_related, a party of hunters sat round a roarlng cam fire in one of the prairie-bottoms of Western issouri. The song and merry jest passed freely around, and many a wild adven- ture of personal danger was related. “Come. Bonte, what’s the matter?” asked a young hunter of one of the oldest of the rty— a Canadian Frenchman of the name 0 Henri Bonte, whose a pearance indicated the hardy borderman. “ e have not heard one word from you to—night. Come, man, spin us on ad- venture to s away the time.” “Wal, A f, I’ve nothing to say ag’in’ it, if all are willing.” A1 general response in the affirmative was the rep v. “ Wal, boys, the story I’m a-going to tell ye mou’t hev turned out difl'h‘ent towhat it did, but such as it are, I’ll gi’n it ye. But, agfir’e I begin, jest gi’n us a chaw of yer pigtail, The desired weed being supplied, he stowed away a full ounce in his mouth, and began as follows: “ It’s a good many (years ago, more nor I kon count. since I war own on the forks of the Trinity. Thar war a party of about a, dozen in all—a wilder set of cusses ye couldn’t rake up if ye war to try. “ We war out for a gineral hunt an‘ trappin' v season of it. We setto work an’ built a snug log, an’ war as comfortable as we could wish. A short time afore the ’venture I am a-going to tell ye of, more nor half of us had been out fur a. truppin’ bout. Consequintly, we felt a-kiud of tireish. One morning I Set out alone, along the bank of a stream, more to keep my hand in nor fur anything else. “ I’d not gone more nor a mile afore I struck the fresh trail of a deer. I saw from the size of the hoof-prints he war a large one, so I was de- termined to hev him. I didn‘t go more Mr half a mile on the trail when I heerd a terrible crashing in the thicket nigh by, an’ afore ye c’u’d count ten. one of the largest bucks I ever saw dashed out not five yards from me. I war so taken by surprise that afore I knew anything the deer war out of range. I war just about to start off in pursuit, when m attenshun war drawn to another quarter. held my rifle ready a moment more, an’ one of the largest an' most devilish-looking wild boars ever the eyes of man saw, rushed out. When he saw this coon he stood still, every hair on his hide bris- tled up on an ind while the froth flew in flakes from his mouth.’ Thar war nothin more sart’in than that he would attack me, so determined to hev the first chance. His long. lanky side war toarst me. ,I took quick aim ahind his shoulder an’ fired. He dropped on his knees, an’ Twar sart’in sure I lied ’im. but never war a human more woefully mistaken. Afore I’d time to fodder up he sprung to his feet. an‘ with a savage roar he dashed at me. I knew if I turned to run it war sart’in death, fur no mor- tal man ken outrun a wild boar. The only thing I could do war to dodge ahind a tree an’ keep clear of his long, sharp tuskt,on’ that I y ’3!"— ‘ 1* ~. The Nameless Hunter. 3 did, about as fast as any varmint ye ever saw. For a moment he stopped an’ looked at me, as much as to say, ‘ I'll hov ye yit.’ it wa’n’t long afore he leaped at me, an’ on] thet 1 jest spriniged the other way, he Would hcv ri mod my 6 do open with them tusks of his’n. s it war, he took off a big slice of the bark of the tree. “For more nor an hour the blasted brute kept me busy in dodging from tree to tree. He was rfect y frantic With ra 6. Once or twice his ong tusks grazed my t ighs. I war gettin’ tired of that kind of sport. I knew if some- thing didn‘t turn up in my favor soon, I’d be a wiped-out coon. I yelled With all my might un— til I war hoarse, but I might hev saved my wind for a better purpose, fur not one of the boys war within a mile of me. ‘Not more nor sixty yards from me War a small grove of persimmon trees. I knew if I could only manage to reach ’em l’d be all right. Waiting until the boar made a dash at me round the tree, I put for the persimmon irees. “ Wal, boys, I’ve been often chased by the red-skins in my time, an’ done some tall travel- ing, but never did this coon do such tall running as he did on that special occasion. Close ahind my heels war the infernal brute. Ye ma be sure Iput in my purtiest licks. I reache the grove, an’ collecting all my power, I sprun for the low branch of the first tree and caug t it. Jest as my legs war half-way up I felt ’em gripped. My moccasins, bein’ ,none of the newest, ripped like rotten paper; they wint, an’ so did a few ounces of m flesh, but what did I keelf'f fur that just then? war safe, an that war enu . “ Wal, boys, if ye war to see how the cussed imp carried on when I got out of his reach. In five minutes thar warn’t a sliverof bark on that tree for five feet that he hadn’t chawed ofl'. Arter I’d rested myself somewhat I began to fodder up, as I was a—agoiug to send ‘im a pill to stop his tricks. Jest as I war a-going to fire, I war startled by the orfullest snore ye ever heard. It w'u’d ’a’ woke up the dead. Arter uintin’ about a bit. what sh’u’d I diskiver but a arge b’ar fast asleep in the fork of the tree next me. A sudden thort struck me right away. ‘ Now, old lanky-sides,’ sez I to myself. ‘ ye had it all yer own We a while ago: it s my turn now.’ I cautiously c imbed up until I got far above the b’ar. I lucked the green per- simmons an’ be an top; t the War with 'em until he woke, grow ing at ing disturbed. It warn’t long afore he spied the boar. Bruin looked at ’im as much as to say. ‘ so it war you that woked me?‘ Thar war mischief in his eye that meant fou’t. “ To make matters a little lively, I drew a head on’ ’im an’ hit ’im whar it hurt ’im. My eyes, how he growled an” scratched the spot what the bullet struck! The b’ar war sart’in sure that the wound was caused by the boar. " So. to spare himself the trouble of descend- ing, he drapped down on the boar, an’ at it they wint, like wo devils. The b’ar soon felt the long. sharp tusks of the boar atween his ribs, which only made ’im the flercer. Fur some time it war 've an’ take atween ’em. At last the b’ar got is powerful paws around the long, lanky body of the boar. Stars nn’ garters, didn‘t perky squeal an‘ grunt! If ye war thar 'e’d say so. ' “ The fight atwenn ’vm lasted about a quarter of an hour. Artvr n Lit the grunting an’ growl— ing got. weaker nn’ weaker, until both lay with- out a kick in ’em. When I come down both war dead m’atc.” “ Heaven an’ earth! what’s that?” shouted one of the party of the name of Davis. “ What’s the_matter, Davis?” was yelled by all, as they seize-l their weapons and sprung to their feet. Before Davis could make an reply their cars were startled by a loud cras in in' the thicket, and the silence of night was bro eh by the wildest screams and yells that ever came from the throat of a human being. There was not one of the part who did not feel a strange thrill of horror v brate through his frame. Each looked into the face of his neighbor. as if to read there a solution to the unearthly sounds that were gradually dying away in the dis- tance. “Wal, boys, ken eny of ye tell us what’s up? I can’t, although as man an’ boy I’ve roamed the woods nigh onto thirty years,” said Bonte, breaking the pause that ensued. “ What’s the use of asking, Bonte, when ye know that come from nothing human. Let’s - hear what Davis hes to say about it,” replied one of the part . “All I ken say,” replied Davis, to the eneral demand of what he saw, “ is, that as locked out toal'st the thicket I saw sum’at that looked like a human bound ten feet high; his e es blazed like two small camp-fires, while ’ in is hand he held a large, bloody ax which he shock at us. That’s all I saw; an’ I think the sooner we make tracks out of here the better for our- , selves." In that opinion all concurred. At an early hour next morning they set out from the scene of their night’s adventure. They had not gone more than four or the miles when’ they came upon a strange s ctacle. At the butt of a large tree lay a wi d and haggard- looking man, fast asleep. The few remnants of clothes that covered his almost naked person hung in shreds about him. His body in seVeIal‘ places was fearfully lacerath from briers and thorns. By his side lay a large ux covered With blood. It would be hard to look upon a more woebeg'one obietct than that which was present- 1 ed to t eir sig All the mystery that surrounded the strange adventure of the night previous was now clear- , ed 11 . ' “ eVbo was he and where did he come from?” were the questions asked by several of ‘the hunters of each other. “ Boys,” said Bonte, in a low, solemn voice; “ken it he sible none of ye know him? If ya don’t I’ll to 1 ye.” “Ye may knock me stifl if I think his own ' father or mother would know him. Who is B'onte?” asked Alf Foster. “ The man afore ye is Balt Walters, the truest eye on the border. How he come in that there condition is beyond the reckoning of Henri Bonte.” . It would be impossible to describe the aston- he, ‘ s ‘ l ,. man. The Nameless Hunter. ishment of the hunters at this announcement, for there was not one of them but knew Balt. The tears sprung into the eyes of more than one of the party. At that moment the subject of their low whispered conversation sprung to his feet and gazed about him with the fierce and un- meaning stare of a maniac. As quick as thought he darted for his murderous ax, but, before he could clutch it, Bonte and several others cast themselves upon him, and bore him to the earth. His frantic shrieks and eflorts-to free himself from them were heartrending in the extreme. “ That‘s it. father!” he would yell. “Give it to the murdering imps. Come on, ye bloody hell-hounds! Keep close to me, Amy. No dog of a Dacotah shall ever boast he were match for Bait Walters! Look out for the b0 an’ gal, old We’ll beat the cussed dogs 0 yet.” As soon as the paroxysm had passed away he lay as passive as an infant. “ I’ll tell you What it is, boys,” said Bonte, late that evening. “ I‘ve been thinking fur some time that I ken bring back Balt’s scattered senses." “ How, Bonte?” asked Davis. “ Wal, boys, I’ll tell ye. I’ve taken a. squint at Balt’s head, an’ I hev diskivered that a few of the skull bones are drove in on the brain. One thing are sart’iu, I’ll do him no harm it I don’t do him no good. an’ I think I ken." As the Canadian was well known for his skill in dressing wounds and other accidents incident to a hunter’s life, the whole party concurred with Bonte that if he did him no good it was not like- ly to do Belt much harm by the surgical Opera'- tion. Next day in the presence of the hunters Henri Bouts set about performing the operation indi- cated. Gently drawing the head of the passive maniac into his lap, he began the delicate task. Slowly he opened the lips of the half-closed wound, until the skull was laid bare, disclosing the cranial fracture. Slowly and with a steady hand the point of a sharp penknife was inserted under the compressed bone. A deep groan es- caped from the suiferer. showing that his agony was great, but not an attempt at resistance did he make. Two small splinters of the shattered skull were car efully removed; the depressed bones were lifted from the brain, and the opera- tion was complete. “Sleep ’11 do the rest now,” said Bonte, a little EBud of his skill, “ an’ when he wakes up I think t Walters ’ll be hisself once more.” A decoction of strong narcotic herbs was given to the sulferer, and soon he lay in a sound and calm sleep that lasted for several hours without interruption. When Balt Walters awoke his countenance no longer bore its idiotic look. Reason once more had regained her throne. With astonishment he fazed about him, and at Bonte, who had never oft his side while he slumbered. -' , “Where am I?” he asked. “What brings me here?” Then lookiugsat Bonte—“ Where is Amy and the children?” lowly his hand was passed across his troubled brow, and memory came back 'with vivid power; the scenes of that wild and awful night were before him. The hot tears coursed rapidly down his wasted cheeks. " Ah, Bonte," he exclaimed, with anguish. “ howvame I here? How long have I been thus?” “Sleep now, Belt. To—morrow I’ll tell you all,” was the regly, in a soothlng tone. The effect of the potion h not yet passed away, and he soon was in deep slumber again. Balt Walters slowly regained his former strength. But the return of bodily vigor brought no peace to the heart of the hunter. His only solace was to wander far into the gloomy forest, and there brood on the days that could never be recalled. One morning he shouldered his rifle and start- ed out with a full supply of ammunition, sa ing he might not be back for a week or two. ut, weeks glided intomont-hs, and months into years, until the name of Balt Walters and his misfor- tune were but a memory on the border, and still he did not return. CHAPTER IV. THE CAMP IN THE cores. IT was near the close of the month of May, several years after the events recorded in our last chapter, that a large number of trappers, or fur-hunters, were encamped on the headwaters ofthe Keya Paha, a large branch of the Rapid River—the latter stream being itself a. tributary of the Missouri. The trap rs had been encamped here for some time carrying on their avocation, as half adozen substantially-built huts indicated. These huts ware constructed in the center of a close mass of thicket about half an acre in extent, and not far from the bank of the stream. Their presence was completely hidden from view by the foliage of the tall undergowt . Not far from t e camp 8. score of horses of the mine-breed were hoppled out grazing. lu rout of the huts fires were burning, around which were several women, whOSe slightly bronzed complexions in several instances betray- ed their Indian origin. They were busily engaged pre aring the mom- in meal for their husbands an friends. ' cattered around were the hunters and trap- pers variously employed. Some were mending and making traps, while others were repairing their weapons. or setting out their furs to dry in the morning sun, preparatory to stowing' them away. “ What’s the matter Bouts?” asked a young, man, whose dress, equipments and general ap-- pearance reclaimed him above the rank of‘ those by w om he was surrounded. The young man in question was the son of a fur merchant in St. Louis of the name of Allen. On the last trip up, this young man, named Jerome, ac- f, companied the brigade to the trapping-grounds: ' for the purpose of enjoying some hunting during the trapping-season. “ Thar’s a sign I’ve never known to fail,” re- plied the rson addressed, an old man who, if? ooks sai anything, was the leader or captain of the ban '; “ whenever ye see such a flock of? vultures as that ’ere ye may be sure thar’s a. large drove of buffaloes on the move. 1 hope» that’s no reds ahind "em,” he muttered. “ I hope not,” replied young Allen. “ A visit from the savages just now might make things uncomfortable for us here." V , The Nameless Hunter. V “ Especially if the war some of them thiev- ing cut-throats, the ioux,” responded another who answered to the name of Alf Foster, an was one of the most trusty of the men. A few minutes passed when Bonte, who had never taken his eayes from the horizon, where he had discover the vultures floating in the air like a small cloud, shouted in a tone of rm: “ By heaven, they are coming this way! Look to the horses, boys; quick fur yer lives 1” In an instant the camp was a Scene of wild commotion. The horses were immediately driven in and their forefeet lettered, and a stout ro of deer-hide was looped around the neck of eac , and pinned by a strong stake driven deep into the ground. Evary eye was cast anxiously to the distant horizon, where clouds of dust were fast rising to view. A low, rumblin sound, like distant thunder, shook the soli earth. In less than ten minutes the largest and fiercest bulls of the drove were seen as they darted along in mad career, over the rolling swells of the prairie. Gradually the wide expanse was darkened with a vast mass of moving animals, their center bearing in a straight line for the camp of the trap rs. - Somet ing must be done, and that soon, to divert this countless horde from its course or in a few minutes more the lrappers would be tram led to death. “ ome, Henri Bonte,” shouted Foster. with pallid countenance, “ show us some of yer prairie l’arning, or we’ll be pounded to jelly beneath the boots of the varmints.” For a moment the old trapper paused to look at the flying buflaloes; then he shouted, in a firm voice: “ To work, boys! to work! Tear me up a pile of last year’s gram, an’ I’ll answer fur the rest or I’m a boaster.” It did not require a second bidding to set them to work tearing up the withered grass that in in masses beneath the new wth. Even t 6 women worked with destra on, for they knew that their lives do 11 ed upon it. The old trapper had disappear , but he quickly emerged from one of the huts, carrying a large leafiher bottle capable of holding a couple of ga ons. “Fetch me a burning stick. an’ that’s all I want.” said Bonte, as calmly as if nothing un- usual was transpiring. He had been long accus- tomed to Scenes of danger, and now laced it with invincible courage, as it such trials were a kind of matter—ot-oourse. When the madden- e