The Forest Monster; or, Lamora, the Maid of the CanonEllis, Edward Sylvester
General
The Forest Monster; or, Lamora, the Maid of the Canon
Ellis, Edward Sylvester
Dime novels; Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction
It was not long before he made the discovery that there was an Indian
village ahead. He was not a little surprised at this, as he had never
known of a tribe having their settlement in this place. Still his
surprise vanished in a great degree when he recalled the well-known
nomadic habits of all red-skins and remembered that he had never been
in this precise place before, although he had frequently passed so near
it.
He made as thorough a reconnoissance as possible, and learned that the
village was a very small one, numbering scarcely over twenty lodges.
The darkness, however, did not conceal the fact that they were much
better and more substantially built than was common among the Indians,
from which it followed that if these were Blackfeet, they were a select
branch which did not mingle with the principal tribe.
When this little village was reached, the unknown lady vanished from
view. She seemed to ride directly among the lodges, where some one
probably took charge of her animal, and she went to her own home.
Black Tom tarried some time, but learned little more. He saw lights
glimmering dimly through the skins of which the lodges were composed,
and he could hear the subdued rumble of voices within. At first he
intended to steal his way among the lodges; but, as there was nothing
particular to be gained by so doing, he refrained.
The greater part of the night was consumed, and Tom hastened forward,
feeling that he had need of sleep, as he had been deprived of it
altogether the night before. He kept to the track in returning, and
entered the mouth of the cañon where his friends were, when he
detected the twinkle of the same camp-fire that had aroused their
notice, and which he had failed to see when so intently following the
lady on her horse.
“I may as well make a night of it,” muttered Tom, as he halted a
moment and looked in that direction, “and whoever owns _that ’ere_
’stablishment has squatted so near ours that we orter shake hands.”
Stealing forward in the same stealthy manner, he came in sight of the
young man whom we have already described, and who, although several
hours had elapsed, still sat gazing into the embers with the same
absent, dreamy expression that old Stebbins and Teddy observed. He
had doubtless replenished his fire since then, as it was burning
quite vigorously, but he had returned to the deep reverie that first
distinguished him.
“Wal, now, that’s what I call quite careless,” muttered the trapper;
“thar seems to be plenty of white folks in these parts; wonder if we
are in a civilized country arter all.”
Black Tom looked at the young man a moment and then concluded to go
forward and make his acquaintance.
“He don’t look like a fool if he does act like one,” thought he, “he
looks to me like a chap that’s got a _love fit_ strong. I’ve been
through that mill myself, and know something about it. Wouldn’t it be
qua’r, now, if he should be in love with the gal I see’d on horseback.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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