THE BORDER RIFLEMEN; OR, THE FOREST FIEND.

A ROMANCE OF THE BLACK-HAWK UPRISING.

BY LIEUT. LEWIS W. CARSON.

NEW YORK. BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS, 98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by FRANK STARR & CO., In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

CHAPTER I. THE BORDER SUITOR—COONEY JOE.

The sun was going down behind the western hills in a flood of yellow light, and a river dimpled on under the slanting rays, great fish leaping now and then from the placid surface, and the trees along the bank casting fantastic shadows into its depths. In a sheltered nook, near a spot where a little creek joined the river, a settler had built a cabin, which the hand of woman had beautified and adorned as only the hand of woman can. Bright flowers bloomed on each side of the rustic doorway and an English ivy vine clung to the walls and was rapidly spreading its delicate tendrils over the whole front. The cabin faced the stream, and behind it the hand of industry had cleared many acres which now showed heavy growths of cereals and roots, carefully cultivated. It was a silvan spot, and one upon which the eye of the artist would linger long and pleasantly.

The door opened suddenly, and a young girl holding a water-pail in her hand came out with a free, careless step, singing a merry song. She was plainly dressed, and yet there was an air of native grace about her every movement which plainly showed that she had not always lived amid such wild surroundings. She was beautiful—not the vapid beauty of cities, but that of perfect health, and a free life. Her form was untrammeled by the fashions which cramp and deform the beautiful women of our day, and her face, a little browned by exposure to the to sun, glowed—

“With sunny beauty and rustic health.”

Maud Müller—Whittier’s Maud—was not more beautiful than this frontier damsel. Not only was her face cut in a perfect mold, but her eyes sparkled with life and vivacity, and her sunny hair, unconfined, hung about her shoulders in beautiful profusion.

She left the river, turned down the creek, entered a little grove half a mile from the house, passed through it, and looked across the open field beyond.

“Father,” she cried, “are you there?”

No answer was returned, save the echo of her musical voice, and she looked about her in evident surprise.

“Where can he have gone?” she murmured. “Father!”

As the words left her lips there was a slight rustle in the bushes by her side, and a man came out and stood beside her. He was still young, but his strikingly handsome face bore the marks of a life of dissipation and riot. He was quite tall, nearly six feet in his moccasins, with a face which showed unmistakable signs of Indian blood, though somewhat remote, and a wandering black eye, full of passion. He was dressed in hunting costume, and held in one hand a long rifle, and two small protuberances in the breast of his hunting-coat showed where his pistols lay concealed.

“I thought I should meet you here, Sadie,” he said, quietly. “You don’t look very glad to see me.”

“You know what I think of you, William Jackwood,” she replied, turning quickly away. “How dare you to come here, after what has happened?”

He laughed a low, bitter, chilling laugh, which did not indicate enjoyment, and his black eyes seemed to emit sparks of fire.

“I would not refer to our last meeting, if I were you, Sadie,” he said, evidently controlling himself by a violent effort. “I was half crazy with liquor that night or I would not have said what I did. See here; give me a chance to make this right with you and I’ll do it. I want to be a friend to you—I do, upon my soul. I’ll ask your pardon on my knees, if you’ll forgive, and promise not to lay it up against me.”

“I forgive you,” she said, with a cold, passionless glance, “but you must not come here any more, for all that. My 11 father has told me not to have any more to say to you, and I shall obey him.”

The man stood grinding the butt of his rifle into the soft earth, and fighting a powerful battle to keep down his heart. The girl no longer looked at him but took up the pail and was moving on.

“Wait a moment,” he said, hoarsely. “I can’t part from you like this, Sadie. You don’t know what you are doing or what will happen if you don’t use me more kindly. By—I beg your pardon, but I am half mad—I can’t stand it. Do you know that I worship the ground you tread for your sake, and would give my life at any moment if it would be of service to you?”

“You must not speak to me in that way, Mr. Jackwood,” she said, in a more gentle tone. “I am truly sorry for you if you speak the truth, but I can not listen to you. Aside from the fact that my father does not like you, I have my own inclinations to consult, and I do not and never can love you.”

“Then you love some one else,” he cried savagely. “All right; marry him if you dare, but of this be assured—the moment you stand up before the minister with any man, if it were my own brother, I will kill you both where you stand. Do you hear me?—I will kill you both.”

“Do you dare to threaten me in that way, Will Jackwood? Oh, if my father were here, he would teach you to insult his daughter in that way. Do you think to frighten me by idle threats? Since you force me to say it, know that the sight of your dark face is and always has been odious to me, and that I will never speak to you again except upon compulsion under any circumstances.”

He caught her by the wrist with his disengaged hand and held her firmly, when she dropped the pail and struck him full in the face with her open hand. He uttered a cry like that of an angry tiger, and letting go his hold upon the gun caught her about the waist with his strong right arm. Powerless in his grasp, she struggled with all her strength and screamed for help. The call was not made in vain, for a quick step was heard, and a heavy body crashed through the bushes, and Sadie screamed again.

“Comin’, by the mortal, comin’!” roared a hoarse voice. “Oh, yes.”

Will Jackwood released her instantly and caught up his gun, just as a short, thick-set, powerfully-built man darted from the bushes and stood beside them. He wore the fringed hunting-shirt and beaded moccasins of the scout and hunter, and his long, flax-colored hair was crowned by a greasy coon-skin cap in the last stages of dissolution. The face was a marvel of native ugliness, but in spite of that he was greeted with a cry of joy from Sadie.

“Cooney Joe is hyar,” he yelled. “What is the matter now?”

“I have been insulted, Joe,” cried Sadie, panting for breath.

“By that yer p’ison critter, I’ll bet. Now look out, Black Will, acause I’m a-goin’ to give yer the durndest lickin’ you ever got sence yer mammy took ye over her knee. Hyar’s fur ye.”

Before Black Will could bring his rifle to a level the stout hunter dashed in and his heart was beating against the broad breast of the man known as Jackwood. In a moment more they were locked in a fierce grapple, fighting in true western style, without the slightest idea of the rules of the ring. In a stand-off fight, the long arms and powerful build of Black Will would have given him a decided advantage, but in the close grapple Cooney Joe was more than his equal, and loosening one hand by a violent effort he struck his antagonist such a blow in the face that his teeth seemed to rattle in his jaws, and he staggered. Throwing himself forward with a victorious war-whoop, Cooney Joe brought him to the ground, and the next moment was kneeling on his breast with his long, brown fingers fastened on his throat in a decidedly uncomfortable way.

“Yah-h-h—hip! Got ye that time, my sweet infant! The old coon kin climb a tree yit. Say the word, Miss Wescott, an’ by the big meat pie I’ll choke the life clean out of his pesky karkidge.”

“Let him go for the present, Joe,” she said. “He has been punished sufficiently, and it will teach him that I am not friendless.”

“Oh, pshaw! don’t let him git off that way. Take off his belt and let me larrup him with it till he howls.”

“No, no; don’t strike him again. Take away his weapons and let him go.”

“Hold on,” said Black Will hoarsely. “Don’t touch the pistols and I promise to go away at once, and not make a move for revenge to-day.”

“That’s fair,” said Joe, rising. “I never knowed the critter to break a fair promise, Miss Sadie, and you kin trust him.”

Cooney Joe stood up and Black Will slowly arose, with an expression of fearful malice upon his dark face, slowly brushing the dust from his clothing without speaking a word. Cooney Joe had taken up his rifle and stood leaning upon it, a grin of enjoyment stretching his naturally wide mouth.

“Curi’s how things come ’round, ain’t it? I’ve wanted a lick at you fur nigh onto five year an’ never got a chance till now; does me good, this does.”

“Of course you know I’ll have your life for it, Joe Bent,” said Black Will, in a quiet tone.

“Sartin, sartin, if ye kin git it,” replied Cooney Joe. “But don’t forgit that ef I see yer hand go anigh a pistil in a strange company I’ll try to shoot first. ’Member that, don’t ye.”

“I’ll try to remember, Joe,” was the reply. “Now, Miss Wescott, I will say to you what I intended to say when this meddling fool broke in upon us. You shall never live to be the wife of another man. If I can not have you, no one else shall, I swear by every thing I hold true.”

“P’isen critter, ain’t you, Will?” said Cooney Joe, regarding him with a look of benign interest, as a great natural curiosity. “I’ll be individually an’ collectively cussed ef you ain’t a nice picter to go a-talkin’ about marryin’ a gal like Miss Sadie. Why, bu’st my buttons, ef I don’t think she’d ruther have me!”

“I would indeed,” replied Sadie.

“Who asked you to speak, Joe Bent?” said Black Will, savagely. “Keep your distance and live in safety for twenty-four hours, but after that I will take your life, no matter where I meet you.”

“You rare ’round the awfulest kind, don’t ye,” replied Joe, with a merry look. “Dash my bacon ef you ain’t a study fur a painter. I’ve see’d chaps in the theater at St. Louis that rared ’round the stage jest as you do now, but somehow they allus got special hail kolumbia in the end. Now git; I don’t want to say any thing more but git.”

Black Will quietly tightened his belt, brought his rifle to a “right shoulder shift,” and was off at a long, slinging pace which carried him rapidly across the field.

“Thar goes a pizen critter, Miss Sadie,” muttered Cooney Joe. “Now I reckon he meant jest what he said when he told me that he’d hev my life, but I’ve took a good many chances, though he’ll hev my ha’r sartin ef I don’t shoot first when we meet.”

“I am sorry to have brought you into danger, Joe,” said the girl.

“Sorry—danger—git out! D’ye think I keer fur that, little gal? Why, make it the wust ye kin, the chances ar’ I git a shot afore he does, an’ ef I miss, then it’s my own fault. Whar’s yer daddy?”

“I came out to find him and bring him some drink. I thought he was at work in this field.”

“He orter be keerful,” said Joe Bent, uneasily, “’cause the Injins are gitting r’iled up awful, and thar’s no tellin’ when they may break out. Let’s try an’ find him.”

“There he is now,” cried Sadie.

As she spoke, a middle-aged man, with a hoe across his shoulder, appeared at the other side of the woods and came rapidly toward them. As he came near he shouted cheerily to Joe Bent, who seemed very glad to see him, and they shook hands heartily. Mr. Wescott had the same air of gentility which showed itself in his daughter, but, like her, had adapted himself to his present surroundings, and looked the picture of a genuine western farmer. In stature he was almost a giant.

Sadie rapidly recounted her meeting with Black Will, and all that had passed between them, and the face of Mr. Wescott darkened, while his hand closed convulsively upon the handle of his hoe.

“It is a lucky thing for the black-hearted scoundrel that I was not by, Sadie,” he said, “or it would have gone hard with him. What brings you up this way, Joe?”

“I sort o’ got a hint to git off the hunting grounds from that pernicious red devil, Napope, who is sp’ilin’ fur mischief. Ar’ ye good friends with the Injins, ’square?”

“Certainly; I never wronged one of them in my life.”

“Not that it matters much ef they once rise,” continued Joe, “because then they won’t hev any friends in the white race. I’ve my doubts of that Black Will, anyhow. Two weeks ago I saw him in the Injin village, an’ him an’ that cussid Napope was ez thick ez flies in sp’iled bacon.”

“What is the trouble with the Indians?” said Wescott, uneasily.

“Them cussid agents rob them like thieves,” replied Joe Bent. “Ef Black-Hawk would only ketch an’ burn them, I don’t believe our fellers would kick much, they act so fearful mean. Do you know that I think the village the best place fur Miss Sadie, ’bout this time in the year?”

“I’ll talk to you by-and-by,” said Wescott, with a quick glance at his daughter’s observant face. “Come to the house and get something to eat.”

They quickened their steps and reached the cabin, and while Sadie set about preparing a meal, they sat outside and smoked their pipes, talking in low, eager tones. Sadie could see that their conversation was very important, and, woman-like, felt piqued that they kept it secret from her, and hurried her preparations. In a few moments the homely meal was smoking on the board, and they sat down, enjoying their food with keen relish; but the two men dropped their conversation, or rather, changed it to indifferent subjects, much to the disgust of Sadie. Just as they were about to rise from the table, she gave utterance to a cry of surprise and ran to the door, and a moment after appeared, leading an Indian girl by the hand.

CHAPTER II. MINNEOBA’S WARNING.

It was a woman of the Sac nation, but bearing unmistakable signs of white blood. Her form might almost have vied with that of Sadie, and her dark skin glowed with perfect health. Her hair was unlike that of any pure Indian girl, slightly waving, and with a luster upon it never seen in 16 the pure Indian. Her dress was of the richest description that was worn by the women of the tribe, and her head was crowned by a coronet of eagle-feathers, which bespoke the daughter of a chief. Dainty feet, small hands and delicate features distinguished the maid from the majority of her race, and all together, two more noble specimens of native grace rarely trod the same floor.

“By the piper that played while the king danced, if it ain’t Minneoba, the pride of the Sac nation,” cried Cooney Joe. “Say, gal, what ye doin’ ’round yer?”

“Minneoba has traveled a long path, and she is weary,” replied the Indian girl, faintly. “Let the Wild Rose give her food and drink.”

Sadie, who was much taken by the rare beauty of the forest maid, seated her at once at the table and placed food before her. She passed over the few dainties which the table afforded, and ate the most simple food, and her appetite was soon gratified. Joe whispered aside with Mr. Wescott.

“I tell you that the gal is the favorite daughter of Black-Hawk,” he whispered, “an’ she’s got some good reason fur bein’ hyar. But don’t hurry her, for I know the breed and she’s obstinit, durned obstinit, when she hez a mind to, though she’s a good gal, too.”

In the mean time the Indian girl was chatting merrily with her new friend, and her musical laugh rung through the cabin.

“Whisper to Sadie to git her confidence, Mr. Wescott,” muttered the hunter. “She kin do it. The gal is open-hearted as the day, and ef she means friendship she means it.”

Wescott called Sadie aside and spoke to her in a low, hurried tone, and nodding intelligently, the white girl returned to the side of the Indian girl, and soon after the two rose and went out of the cabin, strolling down by the river side. Minneoba had her fan in her hand, more from habit than any thing else, and they walked along the green banks, talking earnestly.

“Minneoba is the daughter of Black-Hawk,” said the maiden, in answer to a question, “and she loves her father well. The heart of the old man is very sad, for he sees the white 17 men forcing the Indian step by step out of the land their fathers gave them. Look down and tell me what you see.”

Close to the bank of the stream not far away a succession of low mounds of different sizes showed where the ancient grave-yard of a tribe had been. Not far from this a white village was seen, the farms of the settlers encroaching upon the graves.

“When we bury the bodies of those we love, daughter of the white man, it is not pleasant to think that the feet of the strangers tread upon the graves. The Indians are rough and rude, but they too love the graves of their fathers, and it makes them sad to think that the plow of the white man will disturb the loved remains.”

“It is very sad, but I have heard that Keokuk sold this land to our people.”

“Keokuk has done wickedly,” cried the girl, excitedly. “It is a false Indian who treads upon his father’s grave, or allows the white man to do it. A Sac despises the man who is so base.”

“What will the Indians do?”

“What they will do is not for an Indian girl to say; their hearts are very sore, but they would be friends with the white men, if the white men will let them. But fire-water and bad men will make trouble in the land. Tell the people of the village that it would be better for them to give up the Sac town and build for themselves upon another place.”

In order to understand the words of Minneoba fully, it will be necessary to set down the history of the events which finally drove Black-Hawk to desperation.

By the treaty entered into by the United States upon one side and the Sacs and Foxes, Siouxs, Omahas, Iowas and Ottoes upon the other, headed by Keokuk, or the Watchful Fox, the land of these tribes was sold to the United States. In this bargain and sale Black-Hawk took no part, but in spite of that the Indian agents insisted that he should leave his village, which without his consent had been sold to the whites, and build another upon the west bank of the Mississippi.

No race love their native land better than the Indian, and Black-Hawk was of the pure blood. He cursed the traitors 18 who had sold their country, but vowed that he would not leave his village until compelled to do so by force. Every little disturbance between wandering white men and the tribes, every slight affair of whatever kind was magnified and turned against the Sac chief. Yet he only sought to do what was right, and prevailed upon Keokuk, who had made the treaty, to go to the white agents, with whom it had been made, and offer them in the name of the Sacs the lead mines, the most valuable property of the Indians, if they might be permitted to retain their village. The Watchful Fox, satisfied that he had sold that which was not his own, agreed to go, and ask for Black-Hawk the little land on which the village stood, including the grave-yard of the tribe. It was refused.