The Missouri Outlaws

CHAPTER XX.
A STRANGE CHASE

We know that Joshua Dickson had taken his departure from the valley, leaving it in charge to Harry.

Harry was a fine young man, strong and intelligent, in whom his father had every confidence.

He was the complete juvenile type of the American squatter and pioneer, up to Indian devilries, riding like a centaur, and able to put a ball in the eye of a panther at a hundred yards. His great passion was life in the open air, and the pleasures of the chase in the forest or field.

One fine morning Harry, soon after the rising of the sun, galloped off into the forest. He was bent on a journey to see a fine cutting that was going to create meadows, and make room for sawmills on the banks of the great Missouri.

He had nearly reached the spot, when he was startled by a whistle of a peculiar kind, at no great distance.

At the same moment a horseman came in sight – a man of fifty, tall, thin and gaunt, with parchment skin.

The horse was as bony as his master.

The man was dressed after the fashion of the ordinary American farmer, and apparently carried no arms.

"Eh, eh," cried he, "you are out early. Were you looking for me?"

"No, M. Lagrenay; I was not even thinking of you."

"That is not polite. Why did you stop when I whistled?"

"Because I thought it the whistle of a serpent," he retorted. "But no nonsense, I was looking for you."

"I was certain of it."

"Yes, I wanted to see you. I made your acquaintance I know not how. You talk to me of things which do not please me, because they suggest evil thoughts. I have come to say that henceforth we are strangers. Never speak to me again."

"I suppose you will give me a reason for this odd decision."

"Think what you please. I have said my say."

"Then I assume that you reject my offers."

"Think and assume what you like," cried the young man, angrily; "only keep out of my path."

"Then you have no passion for gold?" sighed the other.

"You take me for a ninny, old squatter. Gold does not grow in the fields like mushrooms. Besides, you would have found it long ago if real."

"I tell you the map indicating the exact spot," cried the old man, "was stolen from me by the outlaws."

"You want to persuade me that you have known of this vast treasure for years, and yet require a stranger to help you."

"I knew nothing of your having camped on the spot, and only offer you a share in consequence."

"Go to the devil with your offers."

"Yes, you have my secret, and can use it yourself."

"Old man," cried the young giant, with rage in his eye, "beware how you try my patience too much."

"Well, well, let us end this conversation. You will not listen to me. Well and good. Only, before we part, remember this, when it is too late, my friend," he added, with a sinister laugh, "you will repent. That is all I say."

And turning round, he rode off.

"He is a pretty rascal," said the young man, as he rode off; "I believe he has some villainy in hand."

At this moment a strong hollow grunting was heard, followed by another at no great distance.

"There are jaguars about," said the American, in a low tone, stroking his horse's ears to keep him quiet.

At that moment there was a fearful, a horrible cry, that rent the air, a desperate shriek for assistance.

"The old squatter, and he is without arms," he cried; "the tigers have doubtless attacked him."

And he set spurs to his horse, which, neighing and smarting with pain, dashed in the desired direction.

In the centre of a clearing crossed by a narrow stream the squatter knelt behind his horse, haggard with terror.

Close to him, on the branch of a gigantic gumtree, was a mighty jaguar, licking his tongue before leaping.

"Save me," shrieked the agonised squatter.

"I will try," said Harry, dismounting, letting his horse loose, and then going close up to the trembling wretch.

The tiger had not moved. He was watching his victim with a feline glance.

"A noble beast," said the young man, with a smile; "I hope not to spoil his beautiful skin."

Suddenly a further grunting was heard in the thicket. The jaguar, without turning his head, responded in the same tone.

"By heavens! There are two of them. It seems almost a pity to part so loving a couple," he said.

At the same moment the tiger leaped. As he did so he turned a somersault. He was dead, shot in the eye.

"One," said the young man, drawing out his bowie knife.

At the same moment the second jaguar burst out, and with one bound seized on the flanks of the horse.

Harry flew at her, knife in hand. The two rolled for a moment on the ground. Then the man stood erect.

"That job's over," said the young man; "what a couple of noble beasts! Get up. Heavens! He's fainted."

Then he took him in his arms, and carried him to the stream, where he bathed his face until he recovered.

But he was then so ill, and his horse so lean, that it seemed impossible he should ever reach home.

In this strait Harry acted with his usual generosity. He took the man up behind him, and carried him home.

He then turned to go without a word.

"Young man," cried the squatter, "wait one moment. You have been my friend. Now take my advice, keep good watch. I dare say no more, but be ever on your guard."

Harry moved pensively away, but soon forgot the hint.

CHAPTER XXI.
CAPTAIN TOM MITCHELL, THE AVENGER

The marriage of Evening Dew with Numank-Charake was to be celebrated with unusual splendour. Invitations had been sent in all directions, and, two days before the ceremony was to take place, numerous deputations from all the tribes were collected around, and were received with the splendid hospitality essential in such a case.

At least five hundred strange warriors had come.

Some hours later a new troop appeared on the verge of the plain; it was very numerous, three hundred men at least, in the picturesque costume of Mexican rancheros, all armed to the teeth, and admirably mounted.

Four cavaliers rode in front; these were Tom Mitchell, Pierre Durand Camotte, and Tête de Plume. It was the full force of the outlaws. On nearing the village two other men were seen; these were Clinton and Charbonneau.

Nothing was omitted to give éclat to such a reception. The most renowned of the sachems, with the three Canadians, Bright-eye, and Oliver, advanced to meet them, and give them a most cordial and sincere welcome.

Captain Pierre Durand, who had given up his disguise, kept a little in the background.

Having exchanged compliments, Tom ordered his men to camp outside, and entered the village with the others.

As soon as all were collected in the hut of the Canadians, Tom Mitchell closed the door carefully.

"Gentlemen," he said, in a low and solemn tone, "I owe you no explanation for coming, but for coming in such force."

"You owe no explanation. You are welcome."

"Listen. Not a moment is to be lost. Spies are on all hands. You are surrounded by treachery and traitors. You are all to be made the victims of an execrable plot concocted by two wretches, Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah."

All were stupefied. While the other spoke, Pierre Durand slipped into Bright-eye's own room to rest.

"Yes. Tubash-Shah hates Numank; but that is not all. He loves your gentle daughter, Evening Dew."

"Horrible!" cried the old man.

"The capture of Miss Angela was a thing arranged between Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah, who thought to get her from me."

"Thanks to you, the plot is exploded."

"He still hopes to kill his rival, steal his wife, become possessor of the treasure you know of," cried Tom Mitchell, "and become chief of the tribe. With these schemes in their heads, Lagrenay and Tubash-Shah are allies."

"It is a horrible plot. How did you discover it?"

"No matter; my spies have served me well. I knew the plan of the conspirators, and hence have come in such force. I shall be able to thwart them. Do you now attend to the immediate safety of the chiefs of this nation and people."

"I will take measures at once."

"Above all, be cautious. You have to deal with desperate and cunning rascals," urged Tom Mitchell.

The three Canadians, grandfather, father, and son, went out, leaving behind only George Clinton and his friend.

"Now, Mr. Clinton," said the outlaw, "though we met under unpleasant circumstances, we are friends."

"I see no reason why we should not be," he replied.

"I am happy to hear it," continued Tom Mitchell; "but before we go any farther, allow me to say a word to this young Frenchman. In that room you will find a friend."

"A friend!" cried Oliver; "Impossible! You know I have only recently reached this country."

"Take my advice," said the outlaw, with a smile.

Oliver shrugged his shoulders, as if yielding to a foolish whim, and went in to find himself face to face with Durand.

"Now," said the outlaw, "I have not told all; I have left out certain matters which personally concern yourself. One moment, and you shall judge for yourself. Excuse me if I have to touch upon a very tender topic – that of love."

"Captain!" cried George.

"Pardon me. You love a charming girl, whom you have followed into the desert with as much devotion as men show in the search of gold. To this I have only to add that the girl is as beautiful and as good as an angel."

George bowed his head to hide his confusion.

"Her father is against you, I know. But the important fact is that a terrible calamity threatens her and you."

"Pray explain yourself," George cried.

"Do you think the redskins are blind? You forget them in your calculation of future happiness."

"Explain yourself," continued the young man.

"I cannot at present. You are young in the desert, but you have clever and devoted friends. Above all, you have Bright-eye, honest, devoted, intelligent. Tell him all I have said, and to work. You have not a moment to lose to save her."

At this moment the three Canadians came in at one door, Oliver and Captain Durand at the other. Before anyone else could speak, Oliver rushed forward.

"Captain," he said to the outlaw, "I can never thank you enough. I know all. Command me in every way."

"I shall remind you of your promise."

"And my wretched persecutor – you will bring him to me?"

"Yes; and place in your hands papers to confound him," cried the outlaw; "papers which prove your rank."

The conversation now became general. The two Canadians had been at work, and warned all the sachems.

But everything had been done without exciting suspicion. All went on just as usual in the village.

The preparations for the marriage continued.

The Canadians entertained their friends at a great banquet that night, at which Numank was present, grave and proud, seated beside Angela, who was charming, though blushing with downcast eyes, and never speaking a word.

The formal ceremony of betrothal had taken place in the morning, so that this was rather a friendly meeting than anything else.

There was, however, a magnificent exchange of presents.

Next day, just before the final ceremony, Tom Mitchell went off with a hundred of his most resolute men.

Camotte remained in command of the others.

According to invariable Indian custom, the man who takes a wife takes her seemingly by force; he snatches her up, puts her behind him, darts off, and two days later comes back, slays a mare that has never foaled, and all is over.

Numank, of course, would do the same.

At night the hut was surrounded by a party of Indians, and Angela carried off, after a feeble resistance.

Then some shots were fired, and away sped Numank with his wife surrounded by a powerful Indian escort.

This escort was almost wholly composed of strangers with Tubash.

The abductors had scarcely departed when Bright-eye came out of the hut and whistled. He was at once surrounded by warriors.

"On," he said, in a menacing voice; "there is no time to lose."

And they darted away like a whirlwind, riding for some hours in the direction taken by the bridal party.

Suddenly they were startled by flashes of light, followed by the report of guns. A terrible combat was going on.

With a tremendous war cry the troop led by Bright-eye dashed in the direction of the fight. It was time.

Numank-Charake, holding his wife on one arm, was fighting, surrounded by the few warriors faithful to him.

Ten only of these could stand, and must have succumbed in five minutes but for the unlooked-for succour.

The carnage was fearful. All fought desperately in silence. At last every one of the treacherous escort was dead.

Tubash Shah escaped in the confusion.

Numank-Charake was more like a corpse than a live man, and had to be carried on a litter.

They reached the village next day, from which all the rival tribes had departed, leaving behind a bundle of arrows dipped in blood. It was a formal declaration of war.

We turn elsewhere for a time.

It was night at the hut of the squatter Lagrenay. Everybody slept except himself. Seated by the dying fire in a cane chair, his head in his two hands, his elbows on the table, the squatter appeared at least to be reading.

His huge and savage dog lay at his feet, listening for the faintest sound from without.

Every now and then the old man looked at a clock, and then appeared to read again until a sharp whistle was heard.

The dog and man leaped up, but suddenly Lagrenay bade the animal be quiet, and went himself to open the door. He started back as two men entered, strangers.

"I am Joshua Dickson," said the first, "and this is my brother Samuel. You sent for my son; we have come in his place."

The old man professed to be glad to see his neighbours, and bade them be seated. After some time wasted in circumlocution, he began to speak of real business.

"You have established yourselves in the Valley of the Moose Deer," he said, "a magnificent settlement."

"Well, what then?"

"That valley belongs to one of the most powerful tribes on the whole of the Missouri," continued Lagrenay.

"No matter. Virgin soil belongs to the first comer."

"Perhaps. But that is not the question. This tribe have other lands of which they take no account," went on the squatter, "and will probably never claim, but they have special reasons for keeping the Valley of the Deer sacred."

"Explain yourself," cried both.

"In that valley is buried the treasure of the nation."

"What treasure? Old shooter of muskrats!" cried Joshua; "There is no treasure like mother earth."

"I mean a real treasure – gold, ingots, diamonds," said the old man, "to the extent of many millions."

"So much the better," replied Joshua; "it is mine."

"Take care! The struggle will be terrible. Your adversaries are many and brave; they have allied themselves with the outlaws of the desert, and, moreover, have taken as their chief a fellow countryman, who dearly covets your possessions."

"May I ask the name of my countryman?" inquired Samuel, in a bantering tone of voice.

"His name is George Clinton," said Lagrenay.

"George Clinton!" exclaimed Joshua, amazed.

"You lie, miserable wretch!" said Samuel Dickson, rising; "George Clinton is an honourable man, not a – "

"I have spoken the truth. Do as you please."

Then the door was burst open, and two men entered pushing forward a third with blows of musket butts.

"Miserable wretch!" said one, seizing him by the throat, "I am George Clinton, and you lie in your teeth."

Rock attempted to fly at the assailants, but Charbonneau brained him with the butt end of his gun.

Lagrenay rose rifle in hand, but the two Americans disarmed him, and forced him to reseat himself.

The prisoner brought in was Tubash-Shah. Behind the three men appeared the dogs Nadeje and Drack.

"Gentlemen, we arrive in time. Thank heaven, we have brought with us this wretch, who now will tell the truth."

And he looked at the Indian with a glance that made him shudder to the marrow of his bones.

The two Americans were exceedingly surprised, while Lagrenay thought in vain of some new subterfuge.

Roused by the noise made on the entrance of the three men, the wife of Lagrenay had risen in haste, and, without waiting to dress, had rushed into the room. She entered without being seen, and tremblingly ensconced herself behind her husband.

Inside there was silence, but without the sound of many men.

None spoke for some time; everyone's breathing seemed oppressed. Lagrenay, his teeth chattering, at last spoke.

"Will you explain this outrage?" he began.

"Silence!" cried George Clinton, in a terrible voice; "Speak only when called upon for your defence. All I hope is that when you have heard of what you are accused you may be able to give a satisfactory reply to the charge."

"Accused – defend myself!" cried the old man.

"Yes, before Judge Lynch, who will decide between us," said Clinton, coldly. "Listen, here come your judges."

As he spoke several men entered. Lagrenay felt himself lost. He was in the hands of implacable foes.

Tubash-Shah, erect against the wall, appeared utterly indifferent. But his every thought was intent on escape.

The sudden appearance of George Clinton had very much surprised Joshua Dickson. All his rage was revived, and he was prepared to treat him with severity and hatred. The idea of treason still rankled in his mind.

Two men had now seized upon the squatter, and, despite the cries of his wife, were trying to carry him out.

At that moment Louis and François Berger entered.

"My cousins!" cried Lagrenay, "They would murder me!"

"Save my old man!" said the wife, pitifully.

"My friends and brothers," said Louis Berger, raising his hand, "this man is my relative. Give him to me. Justice shall be done."

The squatter was released, and hid himself behind his two Canadian cousins, trembling, nearly dead.

"Sirs," said Louis to the Americans, "you are the new squatters established in the Moose Deer Valley?"

"We are," replied Joshua, rather doggedly.

"Then I have business with you. In the first place, by what right have you squatted in that place?"

"Really, except that you have force on your side, I should not answer so singular a question. Because I found it."

"I beg to inform you that it is private property. You are by no means the first occupier."

"And who may he be?" asked Joshua, furiously.

"Myself. It was given me by the chiefs of the Huron tribe. A deed, perfectly legal, exists."

"Can a man find no free land on earth?" he cried, "On the face of the earth? You claim it, then?"

At this moment, when all were busy, Tubash saw his opportunity, and ran. Two or three pursued, but the rest remained.

"Then," said Joshua, presently, "there is some truth in the story of the gold treasure in the valley?"

"Yes, and I have recently ceded all my rights to Tom Mitchell, chief of the outlaws."

"Then all I have to do is to go?" urged Joshua.

"I think the matter might be arranged," observed Louis. "Here is a young man who loves your child. George Clinton, is it not so?"

"It is useless my persuading Joshua Dickson."

"By heavens!" cried Samuel, "But you shall. Here is a noble, young, rich, brave – "

"But," cried Joshua, "what has that to do with it?"

"Sole owner of the Valley of the Deer," continued Louis Berger, drily; "he bought it this morning."

"But – " still hesitated Joshua.

"To arms!" cried Tom Mitchell, rushing in, "To arms! Pardieu! You have fallen into the trap."

"What is the matter?" cried the brothers.

"While you are wasting your time here, your plantation is attacked by Indians," he responded, "who are burning and destroying all. Soon there will be only ruins and ashes."

This terrible revelation fell like a thunderbolt upon all present in that room.

Tom Mitchell – his dress torn, his face covered by powder and blood, holding a smoking gun – summoned them.

George Clinton, without waiting a minute, darted away, followed by Charbonneau and his dogs.

Above all, he would save her he loved from the fearful peril she was in of falling into the hands of redskins.

"What is to be done?" cried Joshua.

"Never despair," said the outlaw. "Your sons and servants are fighting like lions. We must join them."

"Come along," cried Samuel.

"Oh! Oh!" said Joshua, brandishing his rifle, "The rascally redskins shall pay for this."

"Come, in the name of God!" cried the outlaw; "I have with me a party ready for any amount of redskins."

At these words everybody mounted, and dashed through the darkness like a legion of phantoms.

Four persons only remained in the silent and deserted hut – the two old Canadians, Lagrenay, and his wife.

The old squatter had, during these exciting scenes, recovered his equanimity. He believed himself saved.

As soon as they were alone, he and his wife began to place refreshments on the table for their guests.

The two Canadians remained standing, leaning on their rifles, and not noticing even the preparations.

"My dear relations," said Lagrenay, in an insinuating voice, "will you honour me by accepting refreshments?"

"What does the man say?" asked François Berger.

"You have a long journey to go," continued Lagrenay, "you must be extremely tired and want rest."

"What matter?" said the old man.

"Will you not empty a cup of whisky?" began the woman.

"Silence!" cried the hunter, striking the butt of his rifle on the ground, "And listen."

The old man shuddered.

"Lagrenay," he went on, in a hollow voice, "I dragged you from the hands of Judge Lynch, because I did not wish to see my cousin hanged; you have dishonoured not only the name you bear, but the family to which you belong; that family, poor as it has always been, has known how to preserve its honour intact. That honour you have soiled, from the base love of gold. Prepare to die."

"To die!" he murmured.

"My cousins, my dear cousins, you will not have the heart to kill my poor old man," said his wife, clasping her hands and weeping; "thirty years we have lived together. What shall I do when he is gone? Who will support my miserable existence? Have mercy, in the name of the Lord. If you kill him, I shall die."

"You shall not die," said François Berger; "my cousin will take care of you for life."

"I," she said, with a gesture of horror, "accept the protection of the murderers of my husband, eat the bread of assassins! I should choke myself at the first mouthful. Have mercy, then, and shoot us together."

Louis Berger turned away his head. Even the inflexible old judge of the reign of terror was moved.

Then he made a sign to his son, and both cocked their rifles.

"Stop!" said Lagrenay, in a firm and solemn voice; "I know your inflexible will too well to ask my life of you. You have decided on my death. Good. But I will not die at your hands. You say the honour of the family requires that justice should be done. Well, it shall be done. Still I could not die like a dog. Give me ten minutes to pray. You will not refuse this?"

"Heaven forbid!" said the old man, "And may heaven have mercy on you for all your sins."

"Thanks, cousins and friends," cried the squatter, "and now, wife, on your knees. Let us beg forgiveness of our sins."

The two old men went out, tears in their eyes, and almost inclined to be merciful. Stern will prevailed.

Five minutes later, a double shot was heard. They rushed in. Both lay dead upon the floor.

Justice was done.

The two hunters kneeled down beside the bodies, and said a silent prayer over them.

Then, in the room itself, they dug a grave, and, after some little time, interred the husband and wife.

Then, dragging away by main force the wounded dog, they collected a lot of brushwood and other fuel.

This they piled against the house and then fired. In a few minutes the whole was in flames.

The dog got away, and plunged into the burning pile.

When all was over and nought remained but cinders and ashes, the two men wiped away a tear and retired.