The Rival Trappers: or, Old Pegs, The Mountaineer — John Shaqi
The Rival Trappers: or, Old Pegs, The MountaineerAiken, Albert W.
General
The Rival Trappers: or, Old Pegs, The Mountaineer
Aiken, Albert W.
Dime novels; Frontier and pioneer life -- Fiction; Trappers -- Fiction
Rafe Norris cast one look at the stern face of the captain of scouts,
and saw that a refusal would be death to him. He turned and shouted to
the advancing Indians, and to the surprise of Old Pegs, who thought that
Dave had made a mistake, they halted immediately, while cries of
surprise could be heard among them, and the others came running up.
Those who had been halted by the command of Rafe Norris pointed him out
as he stood in the grasp of Dave, and it was plain that they knew him
and were surprised to see him in his present position.
“Do you see that, Old Pegs?” cried Farrell. “Now doz you tell me that
this fellow knows nothing of the Modoc Sioux?”
“Stranger,” said Old Pegs, “I’ve warmed a viper in my buzzum. Now then,
order them pizen sarpints ter git. The quicker they go, the longer
they’ll hev the satisfaction on knowing that you ar’ alive.”
“Why should they obey me?” replied Rafe. “You are a couple of cowardly
hounds to attack an unsuspecting man in this way.”
“‘Unsuspecting’! Oh, yes—thet’s a good word, but you jest send ’em away
all the same or I’ll pulverize you—I will, by the sacred groves of
Ireland. You hear me a-talking?”
Rafe saw that the game was up, and that he might as well save his life
if possible.
“What shall I tell them?”
“Tell ’em to go down to the sulphur spring at the base of the North
Canon, and wait fur you thar.”
Rafe hesitated, but the circle of cold steel upon his temple cowed him
for the time, and he shouted the required order. Signal cries were
heard, and the pursuers of Whirlwind came back on the run, having been
unsuccessful in their attempt to overtake that redoubted chief who had
found some avenue of escape. The orders of Rafe Norris were repeated,
and the whole party trooped away down the pass, leaving Rafe still in
the hands of Farrell.
“I suspected you from the very start, my good friend,” said Dave, “and
this is not the first time I have earthed a fox of your breed. It is
useless for you to attempt to deceive us, for we know you now. You are a
Hudson Bay man, and I know it.”
“You lie.”
“Be careful, my boy. You are a prisoner, and I don’t like to injure a
man who is so completely in my power, but don’t use bad language. Your
fellows have done us such good service in breaking up the party of
Whirlwind that I am inclined to be rather lenient with you, but at the
same time we won’t stand every thing.”
“Do you mean to keep me a prisoner?”
“I have not decided what to do with you yet. No doubt our old friend
here will give you house room for to-night, and after that we will see
what can be done.”
“You shall repent this if I can escape from your hands, as you may be
sure I will do some day. I will never rest until I have your life.”
“Enough of that. Have you got a piece of good buck-skin handy, old man?
I think we had better tie this feller’s feet.”
“Do not dare to degrade me with bonds,” cried Rafe, savagely. “If you do
my revenge will be terrible.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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