Over the Rocky Mountains: Wandering Will in the Land of the Redskin, Ballantyne [good books to read for teens TXT] 📗

brains don’t seem to be such perfect work, for, when he comes to talk o’ God and heaven, they appear to me to work as if they wor out o’ jint.”

The trapper was a naturally earnest, matter-of-fact man, but knew little or nothing of the Christian religion, except what he had heard of it from the lips of men who, having neither knowledge of it nor regard for it themselves, gave a false report both of its blessed truths and its workings. He glanced inquiringly at our hero when he ceased to speak.

“What is your own opinion about heaven?” asked Will Big Ben looked earnestly at his companion for a few seconds and said—

“Young man, I never was asked that question before, an’ so, of course, never made a straightforward reply to it. Nevertheless, I think I have a sort of notion on the pint, an’ can state it, too, though I can’t boast of havin’ much larnin’. Seems to me that the notion of the men of the settlements isn’t worth much, for few o’ them can tell ye what they think or why they think it, except in a ramblin’ way, an’ they don’t agree among themselves. Then, as for the Redskins, I can’t believe that it’s likely there will be such work as shootin’ an’ fishin’ in heaven. So I’m inclined to think that we know nothin’ about it at all, and that heaven will be nothin’ more nor less than bein’ with God, who, bein’ the Maker of the soul an’ body, knows what’s best for both, and will show us that at the proper time. But there are mysteries about it that puzzle me. I know that the Almighty must be right in all He does, yet He permits men to murder each other, and do worse than that.”

“I agree with you, Ben,” said Will Osten, after a moment’s reflection. “That everything in heaven will be perfect is certain. That we don’t at present see how this is to be is equally certain, and the most certain thing of all is, that the very essence of heaven will consist in being ‘for ever with the Lord.’ I don’t wonder at your being puzzled by mysteries. It would be strange indeed were it otherwise, but I have a book here which explains many of these mysteries, and shows us how we ought to regard those which it does not explain.”

Here Will Osten drew a small volume from the breast-pocket of his coat.

“The Bible?” said the trapper.

“Part of it at all events,” said Will. “It is the New Testament. Come, let us examine it a little.”

The youth and the trapper sat down and began to read the New Testament together, and to discuss its contents while supper was being prepared by their comrades. After supper, they returned to it, and continued for several hours to bend earnestly over the Word of God.

In the wild remote part of the Rocky Mountains where their camp was made, neither trappers nor Indians were wont to ramble. Even wild beasts were not so numerous there as elsewhere, so that it was deemed unnecessary to keep watch during the night. But a war-party of Indians, out on an expedition against another tribe with whom they were at deadly feud, chanced to traverse the unfrequented pass at that time in order to make a short cut, and descend from an unusual quarter, and so take their enemies by surprise.

Towards midnight—when the rocky crags and beetling cliffs frowned like dark clouds over the spot where the travellers lay in deepest shade, with only a few red embers of the camp-fire to throw a faint lurid light on their slumbering forms—a tall savage emerged from the surrounding gloom, so stealthily, so noiselessly, and by such slow degrees, that he appeared more like a vision than a reality. At first his painted visage only and the whites of his glittering eyes came into view as he raised his head above the surrounding brushwood and stretched his neck in order to obtain a better view of the camp. Then slowly, inch by inch, almost with imperceptible motion, he crept forward until the whole of his gaunt form was revealed. A scalping-knife gleamed in his right hand. The camp was strewn with twigs, but these he removed one by one, carefully clearing each spot before he ventured to rest a knee upon it. While the savage was thus engaged, Larry O’Hale, who was nearest to him, sighed deeply in his sleep and turned round. The Indian at once sank so flat among the grass that scarcely any part of him was visible. Big Ben, who slept very lightly, was awakened by Larry’s motions, but having been aroused several times already by the same restless individual, he merely glanced at his sleeping comrade and shut his eyes again.

Well aware that in such a camp there must assuredly be at least one who was acquainted with the ways and dangers of the wilderness, and who, therefore, would be watchful, the savage lay perfectly still for more than a quarter of an hour; then he raised his head, and, by degrees, his body, until he kneeled once more by the side of the unconscious Irishman. As he raised himself a small twig snapt under his weight. The face of the savage underwent a sudden spasmodic twitch, and his dark eye glanced sharply from one to another of the sleepers, while his fingers tightened on the hilt of his knife, but the rest of his body remained as rigid as a statue. There was no evidence that the sound had been heard. All remained as still and motionless as before, while the savage bent over the form of Larry O’Hale and gazed into his face.

But the snapping of that little twig had not been unobserved. The trapper’s eyes were open, and his senses wide awake on the instant. Yet, so tutored was he in the ways and warfare of the wilderness that no muscle of his huge frame moved, and his eyes were closed again so quickly that the glance of the savage, sharp though it was, failed to detect the fact of his having awakened. The busy mind of Big Ben was active, however, while he lay there. He saw that the savage was armed, but the knife was not yet raised to strike. He saw, also, that this man was in his war paint, and knew that others were certainly around him, perhaps close to his own back, yet he did not dare to look round or to make the slightest movement. His spirit was on fire with excitement, but his body lay motionless as if dead, while he rapidly considered what was to be done. Presently the savage removed a corner of the blanket which covered Larry’s broad chest and then raised his knife. In another moment the trapper’s rifle sent forth its deadly contents, and the Indian fell across the Irishman in the agonies of death.

Instantly the other sleepers sprang to their feet and seized their arms, but before they had time to use them they were surrounded by the whole band of savages, and, amid a hurricane of whoops and yells, were overpowered and pinioned. Larry, with the fiery zeal of his countrymen, struggled like a madman, until one of the savages gave him a blow on the head with the flat of his tomahawk to quiet him, but the others, who knew that to struggle against overpowering odds would only make matters worse, at once surrendered.

“It is all over with us now,” exclaimed Will Osten, bitterly; “if we had only had the chance of a good fight beforehand, it would have been some comfort!”

“When you have lived longer in the wilderness, lad,” said Big Ben, “you’ll not give way to despair so easily.”

These remarks were made as they sat on the grass while the Indians were engaged in catching and saddling the horses. Soon after our travellers were assisted to mount, having their wrists tied behind their backs; and thus, with armed savages around them, they were led away prisoners—they knew not whither.