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
The loud snoring of Old Pegs and the heavy breathing of Dave Farrell
satisfied him that they were asleep, and raising himself softly—for, as
we have said, he slept quite close to the prison-door—he pulled the
latch-string, and the door swung open without noise.
It looked as if Rafe Norris had expected to see him, for he lay upon the
floor with his head close to the door, and when Velveteens lay down
again, shifted his position so as to keep his hands in view.
Some steel instrument gleamed in the moonlight, and the bonds fell from
the hands of the prisoner; a moment more, and his feet were also free.
He now sat up and began to rub his feet and ankles vigorously, to
restore the lost circulation, while Velveteens lay down and began to
snore in such a perfect manner that no one would have dreamed for a
moment that he was not asleep.
Ten minutes later, Rafe Norris stood in the main room and took up Old
Pegs’ knife, which lay upon a stool, and seemed about to rush into the
recess where the two men slept, when Velveteens threw his arms about him
and held him fast.
“What’s that?” demanded the gruff voice of Old Pegs.
Quick as thought, Rafe darted back into the room and closed the door,
just as the huge head of Old Pegs was thrust out of the recess.
“I wanted a drink,” said Velveteens.
“Thar’s some in the bucket; but why in thunder do you wake a feller up
this way? I don’t like it, not to speak of,” growled the hunter.
“I was awful dry,” replied Velveteens, as he took up the gourd. “I won’t
trouble you again to-night.”
Old Pegs went back with a snort of disapproval, and again fell asleep.
When satisfied of this, Velveteens tapped once on the door, and it swung
open as softly as before. Rafe Norris had seen that it was idle to
attempt revenge upon his enemies now, as both of them slept so lightly,
and following Velveteens, he crept toward the door, when they heard a
deep growl and the rattle of a chain.
Bruin had in some way broken loose and dragged himself to the door,
lying across the threshold. The two men looked at each other in
confusion and dismay, for they dared not pass out while that gigantic
sentinel lay in the way.
“Go back to yer room,” whispered Velveteens. “I’ve got some wolf-bait
hyar, and I’ll fix the black cuss.”
Rafe slipped back to the room, and Velveteens took down from the wall a
piece of venison, which might have weighed four pounds. This he cut
open, and from a pocket of his ragged hunting-shirt he now took a
bottle, from which he shook into the cut a quantity of a whitish
substance and then closed up the orifice he had made.
The window was partially raised, and thrusting out his hand, he dropped
the meat under the nose of Bruin, who snapped it up greedily and
devoured it in the twinkling of an eye. Having done his work, Velveteens
lay down again, while Rafe watched from the open door of the room in
which he had been confined, ready to make a rush if either Dave or Old
Pegs came out of the recess.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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