The Best Ballantyne Westerns. R. M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ only wish they’d made the offer to me,” said Dick with a sigh.

      “An’ so they do make the offer, lad. They’ve gin me leave to choose the two men I’m to take with me, and I’ve comed straight to ask you. Ay or no, for we must up an’ away by break o’ day to-morrow.”

      Mrs Varley started. “So soon?” she said, with a look of anxiety.

      “Ay; the Pawnees are at the Yellow Creek jist at this time, but I’ve heer’d they’re ’bout to break up camp an’ away west; so we’ll need to use haste.”

      “May I go, mother?” asked Dick, with a look of anxiety.

      There was evidently a conflict in the widow’s breast, but it quickly ceased.

      “Yes, my boy,” she said in her own low, quiet voice, “an’ God go with ye. I knew the time must come soon, an’ I thank Him that your first visit to the Red-skins will be on an errand o’ peace. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.’”

      Dick grasped his mother’s hand and pressed it to his cheek in silence. At the same moment Crusoe, seeing that the deeper feelings of his master were touched, and deeming it his duty to sympathise, rose up and thrust his nose against him.

      “Ah! pup,” cried the young man hastily, “you must go too. Of course Crusoe goes, Joe Blunt?”

      “Hum! I don’t know that. There’s no dependin’ on a dog to keep his tongue quiet in times o’ danger.”

      “Believe me,” exclaimed Dick, flashing with enthusiasm, “Crusoe’s more trustworthy than I am myself. If ye can trust the master yer safe to trust the pup.”

      “Well, lad, ye may be right. We’ll take him.”

      “Thanks, Joe. And who else goes with us?”

      “I’ve bin castin’ that in my mind for some time, an’ I’ve fixed to take Henri. He’s not the safest man in the valley, but he’s the truest, that’s a fact. And now, younker, get yer horse an’ rifle ready, and come to the block-house at daybreak to-morrow. Good luck to ye, mistress, till we meet agin.”

      Joe Blunt rose, and taking up his rifle,—without which he scarcely ever moved a foot from his own door,—left the cottage with rapid strides.

      “My son,” said Mrs Varley, kissing Dick’s cheek as he resumed his seat, “put this in the little pocket I made for it in your hunting shirt.”

      She handed him a small pocket Bible.

      “Dear mother,” he said, as he placed the book carefully within the breast of his coat, “the Red-skin that takes that from me must take my scalp first. But don’t fear for me. You’ve often said the Lord would protect me. So He will, mother, for sure it’s an errand o’ peace!”

      “Ay, that’s it, that’s it,” murmured the widow in a half-soliloquy.

      Dick Varley spent that night in converse with his mother, and next morning at daybreak he was at the place of meeting mounted on his sturdy little horse, with the “silver rifle” on his shoulder, and Crusoe by his side.

      “That’s right, lad, that’s right. Nothin’ like keepin’ yer time,” said Joe, as he led out a pack-horse from the gate of the block-house, while his own charger was held ready saddled by a man named Daniel Brand, who had been appointed to the charge of the block-house in his absence.

      “Where’s Henri?—oh! here he comes,” exclaimed Dick, as the hunter referred to came thundering up the slope at a charge, on a horse that resembled its rider in size, and not a little in clumsiness of appearance.

      “Ah! mes boy. Him is a goot one to go,” cried Henri, remarking Dick’s smile as he pulled up. “No hoss on de plain can beat dis one, surement.”

      “Now then, Henri, lend a hand to fix this pack, we’ve no time to palaver.”

      By this time they were joined by several of the soldiers and a few hunters who had come to see them start.

      “Remember, Joe,” cried one, “if you don’t come back in three months we’ll all come out in a band to seek you.”

      “If we don’t come back in less than that time, what’s left o’ us won’t be worth seekin’ for,” said Joe, tightening the girth of his saddle.

      “Put a bit in yer own mouth, Henri,” cried another, as the Canadian arranged his steed’s bridle; “ye’ll need it more than yer horse when ye git ’mong the red reptiles.”

      “Vraiment, if mon mout’ needs one bit yours will need one padlock.”

      “Now, lads, mount!” cried Joe Blunt as he vaulted into the saddle.

      Dick Varley sprang lightly on his horse, and Henri made a rush at his steed and hurled his huge frame across its back with a violence that ought to have brought it to the ground; but the tall, raw-boned, broad-chested roan was accustomed to the eccentricities of its master, and stood the shock bravely. Being appointed to lead the pack-horse, Henri seized its halter; then the three cavaliers shook their reins, and, waving their hands to their comrades, they sprang into the woods at full gallop, and laid their course for the “far west.”

      For some time they galloped side by side in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts, Crusoe keeping close beside his master’s horse. The two elder hunters evidently ruminated on the object of their mission and the prospects of success, for their countenances were grave and their eyes cast on the ground. Dick Varley, too, thought upon the Red-men, but his musings were deeply tinged with the bright hues of a first adventure. The mountains, the plains, the Indians, the bears, the buffaloes, and a thousand other objects, danced wildly before his mind’s eye, and his blood careered through his veins and flushed his forehead as he thought of what he should see and do, and felt the elastic vigour of youth respond in sympathy to the light spring of his active little steed. He was a lover of nature, too, and his flashing eyes glanced observantly from side to side as they swept along,—sometimes through glades of forest trees; sometimes through belts of more open ground and shrubbery; anon by the margin of a stream, or along the shores of a little lake, and often over short stretches of flowering prairie-land,—while the firm, elastic turf sent up a muffled sound from the tramp of their mettlesome chargers. It was a scene of wild, luxuriant beauty, that might almost (one could fancy) have drawn involuntary homage to its bountiful Creator from the lips even of an infidel.

      After a time Joe Blunt reined up, and they proceeded at an easy ambling pace. Joe and his friend Henri were so used to these beautiful scenes that they had long ceased to be enthusiastically affected by them, though they never ceased to delight in them.

      “I hope,” said Joe, “that them sodgers ’ll go their ways soon. I’ve no notion o’ them chaps when they’re left at a place wi’ nothin’ to do but whittle sticks.”

      “Why, Joe!” exclaimed Dick Varley in a tone of surprise, “I thought you were admirin’ the beautiful face o’ nature all this time, and yer only thinkin’ about the sodgers. Now, that’s strange!”

      “Not so strange after all, lad,” answered Joe. “When a man’s used to a thing he gits to admire an’ enjoy it without speakin’ much about it. But it is СКАЧАТЬ