Читать книгу Ben, the Trapper; Or, The Mountain Demon: A Tale of the Black Hills - Albert W. Aiken - Страница 5

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They had hardly passed forward a dozen steps, when they were startled by a sudden cry, which resembled nothing earthly. At the same moment came the shout of a masculine voice, evidently in peril. The sounds, coming so suddenly upon their ears, startled poor Jan immensely, and he drew back with a look of horror, but Ben ran hastily forward in the direction of the sound, followed more slowly by the Frenchman. They reached a level spot of ground between the cliffs where they widened enough to leave perhaps an acre of ground inclosed, and upon this spot of ground two men were struggling for life or death. One was a young man in the garb of a mountaineer, who had fallen upon one knee and with his hand clasped about the body of his foe, was plying his knife with desperate energy.

The other was a being clad in skins, a savage, hairy, fearful creature, which could not be called a man. This ferocious creature had no weapon but a short club, with which it fought with desperate courage, warding off the strokes of the knife, and giving fearful blows in exchange. The nails of this horrible assailant were like the claws of a panther. The teeth protruded over the lower lip, white and savage. As it fought it uttered the cry which had welcomed the entrance of the trappers to the glen. A little way off, a young girl stood with clasped hands, in an agony of terror. Ben had no time to look at her then, but, drawing his rifle to his shoulder, he fired at the grizzly demon, which seemed to have the best of it, and had the satisfaction of seeing the arm which lifted the club over the head of his opponent, drop palsied at his side.

The brute uttered the same ferocious cry which had attracted their attention in the first instance, and turning, it darted up the face of the cliff near at hand, at a place where human foot had never trod. Jules fired at him, but without effect, and he passed over the cliff and disappeared from view, gnashing his teeth and howling like a wounded wolf. Ben ran to the assistance of the young man, who had sunk bleeding to the earth, and raised him in his arms. The girl came forward at the same moment, with a look of tender sympathy in her face which could not be misunderstood.

“How do you feel, Bentley?” she said. “Are you badly hurt?”

“I hope not,” replied the young man.

The next moment he fainted from loss of blood, and while they used every measure in their power to aid him and stanch the flow of blood, Ben had time to look at the girl. She was a lady-like woman, with a sweet face, a calm, bold eye, and a trim figure. Her dress was that of the better class of western emigrants, though travel-stained and torn. The young man called Bentley was wounded in a dozen places by the sharp nails of his late assailant, and badly beaten about the head with the heavy club. They raised him in their arms and carried him forward. In a moment more they turned an angle in the path and reached their camping-ground. They gathered a quantity of pine branches and threw their blankets on it and laid the wounded man upon it. Ben had some rude knowledge of surgery, a knowledge which stood him in good stead now. He went away and came back directly, holding in his hands a small heap of leaves. These he placed upon a flat stone and quickly reduced them to a pumice, which he applied to the wounds of the young stranger. By this time he had recovered his senses, and though yet faint from loss of blood, he understood his situation and the care which was being taken for his recovery.

The girl had followed them without a word. There was something in the face of Trapper Ben which inspired confidence in him. No woman could look in his face and feel the least fear of him after it. A good, brave old man, knowing his work, and doing it.

When every thing which could be done for the comfort of the wounded man had been accomplished, Jules Damand built a fire, and began to fry some venison-steaks, which he found in his saddlebags. There is a natural taste for the fine arts in cookery which seems to be characteristic of the French people, and Jules was no exception to the rule. To see him at work upon a venison-joint would make the mouth of an epicure water. And though Jan was no epicure, he was dreadfully hungry after his tackle with the bear, and watched the process of cooking with a sense of unsatisfied longing which pleased Ben exceedingly.

“Yer hungry, old man?” he said.

“Hoongry? You pet. I’m yoost as hungry ash nefer vas. Vy you vait so long, Shules? Sh’pose you hurry pefore I die mit hunger.”

“Not I. You will find that it is impossible to hurry meat. It must cook just long enough, or it will not be fit for pigs. You must not expect me to slight my cookery now, when there is a lady in the case.”

“Oh, coom, coom. Don’t keep him dere no more. I more hoongry efery minnit.”

Jules shook his head, and continued his work of turning the steaks with an air of interest in the occupation which only a Frenchman can feel in such labor. At last his work was done, and taking some of the venison on a piece of bark, he approached the young lady, and handed it to her with the look of a marquis offering refreshment to a duchess. And, indeed, the graces of Monsieur Jules Damand upon this occasion would have done credit to any rank in life.

“Yoost look at him,” whispered Jan, his sides shaking with subdued laughter. “You t’ink he shentleman, ven I nefer sees such a vool vile I lifs.”

“Oh, let him be, Jan. Yer mad because you can’t show off before a gal the way he kin. Don’t deny it, ye know it’s true,” said Ben.

“I nefer dells a man he lie,” said Jan, coolly, “put ven I lie I dalks yoost ash you pees dalkin’ now. Vat you dink of dat, eh?”

The young lady took the food offered her by the Frenchman, with a smile and bow, and ate with a keen appetite. The others helped themselves, and even the wounded man disposed of a goodly quantity of the savory meat. When they had finished, Jules cleared the table by the summary process of throwing the bark into the river, and they drew up beside the fire upon which Ben threw more wood.

“Ef it wouldn’t be askin’ too much, young lady, I’d like to know how you kem here. It ain’t often we see young an’ handsome gals out in the Black Hills.”

“You have a right to know, after what you have done for us,” she answered, in a sweet voice.

“Now don’t ye begin thet ’ar way,” said Ben. “I won’t stand it. We ain’t done nothin’.”

“You saved us from that terrible creature.”

“Psho! What signifies pullin’ a trigger? Thet ain’t no trouble to a man thet’s used to lookin’ through the double sights. Tell yer story, and never ye mind us. We mout hev the will to do ye good, mebbe, s’posin’ we got a chaince. What’s yer name?”

“My name is Millicent Carter,” she answered. “My companion’s name is Bentley Morris. We had been part of a party of emigrants on their way to the Far West. I suppose it is the old story to you. We were attacked by Indians in the night, and we are all that they left to tell the story.”

“Der Sherusalem!” cried Jan, with a look of horror. “I hate Injuns.”

“It was the durned Blackfeet, I’ll bet a farm in Nebraska,” said Ben. “What? Not one of all the comp’ny left but you two?”

“We alone. By the aid of the strong arm of my friend, I escaped from that scene of blood and death, at which my heart sickens even now. You will understand that but for him, I should have been one of the victims.”

“Millicent!” said the wounded man.

“Be silent, Bentley. It was your bravery which saved me. You came back in the midst of the fray, when you might have escaped alone.”

“He’s a brave lad,” said Ben. “Ef he denies it I won’t believe him, for he’s got it in his eye. Now, don’t you say a word. Go on, miss.”

“It was many weary miles from this, and we were footsore and weary before we came so far. We reached the entrance to this place and came in to find a secure asylum for the night. As we passed on I thought I heard footsteps following us and told Bentley. He had heard them, too, and was uneasy. We kept on our course until we reached the place where you found us, and where Bentley determined to pass the night. It might have been an hour after, and he was gathering some sticks with which to make a little fire, for I was cold and wet, when that terrible creature appeared on the rocks overhead, uttering its fearful cry. If I live to be old and gray, that horrible vision will never leave me. I see it plainly now.”

“B’ar up, miss; don’t be afraid. Yer safe enough now,” said Ben.

“Put vat if dat tuyvel vas to coom pack ag’in, Penn?” said Jan, looking uneasily over his shoulder. “I pees afraid mit him now.”

“He’d better not. Let him try it on ef he wants to git his gruel. I’m ekal to any low-lived squab of thing like that, I reckon. Don’t you be afraid, miss. Thar ain’t no danger.”

“It is childish in me to fear now,” she said, “when I have such able protectors. There, the feeling is gone; I put implicit confidence in you.”

“Thet’s right. You might do wuss then to trust old Ben Miffin. That’s my name, miss. Trapper Ben, they call me sometimes. This is Jules Damand. He’ll stand by you, an’ cook all the vittles. This is Jan Schneider. He ain’t much to look at, but he killed a grizzly a little while ago, with that weepon he calls a roer. Don’t it roar when it goes off? I guess not!”

“It ish goot gun,” said Jan. “Don’t you make fun off me now, Penn Miffin.”

“Who’s makin’ fun of ye? I ain’t. I’m tellin’ the lady you’re goin’ to stand by her, and shoot that durned critter ef it comes back here.”

“Do you know what that thing could be called, sir?” said the girl; “it surely can not be a man.”

“Don’t say sir to me. I’m old Ben Miffin. Please to call me by my name.”

“If you like it?”

“You bet I like it. I ain’t ashamed of my handle, not a bit. It’s a good one, an’ I cum by it honest—the way I cum by all my traps. I fight fa’r for every thing, even with a durned low-lived swab of a Hudson Bay man, an’ anybody knows they ain’t human. Ye asked me what that critter was. I tell ye fa’r, I don’t know. I’ve seen it onc’t before. Some of the boys hez seen it too, an’ they don’t know. It’s a quar sort of critter. Ef I hed my say about it, I sh’u’d think it war half man an’ half wolf. It’s mean enough.”

“It does not talk; but you noticed that it was clothed in skins.”

“I seen that. It’s a quar critter, I must say. The boys call it the Mountain Devil. It’s a good name. It’s lucky for the thing that I fired in a hurry; and then the youngster was so much in the way I dassen’t fire at any thing but the arm. I hit that.”

“It saved my life,” said young Morris. “I had no strength to ward off another blow; I felt that my time had come.”

“So you mought well think. It ain’t one man but a dozen hez gone under, time and ag’in, here in the Black Hills. Whatever it is, it hates a man like death. Don’t you talk too much, young ’un; it mought hurt ye.”

“These scratches are nothing,” replied Morris. “I shall be well in a day or two.”

“Look around ye and see how ye like the place ye’ve got to live in till we go to the States.”