Part 4 (1/2)

Archie shouldered his rifle, and hurried off in the direction the Captain had gone. He pa.s.sed through the grove in safety, and when he reached the house he found that Mr. Brent and his men were still engaged in collecting all the movable property, and hauling it to the fort. The former knew that all his stock, barns, and crops would be destroyed, and it was his desire to save as much of his household furniture as possible.

Archie leaned his rifle in one corner, and worked with the rest until the wagon was loaded, and then sat down on the porch to await its return from the fort. He wished he had gone with it before many minutes had pa.s.sed over his head, for scarcely had the wagon disappeared when he heard a stealthy step behind him, and, upon looking up, he saw three trappers standing close at his elbow. Although he was startled by their sudden appearance, he was not alarmed, for he thought that he recognized them as some of the men belonging to Captain Porter's expedition; but a second glance showed him that they were strangers. He sprang to his feet, and, boldly confronting the men, waited for them to make known their business. They looked at him closely for a moment, and then one of them said to his companions:

”That's him, aint it?”

”I reckon it is,” replied another. ”Now, my cub, no screechin' or fussin'. If you make the least noise, you're a goner.”

Archie did not hear all this warning, for, while the trapper was speaking, he had seized the boy in an iron grasp, and pressed a brawny hand over his mouth to stifle his cries for help; another tore his revolvers from his waist; the third caught up his feet and held them firmly under his arm; and, before Archie could fairly make up his mind what was going on, he was being carried rapidly across the valley toward the mountains. Astonished and enraged, he struggled furiously for a time, but all to no purpose; he was held as firmly as if he had been in a vice; and, exhausted at last by his efforts, he lay quietly in the grasp of his captors, wondering at this new adventure, and trying in vain to find some explanation for it. He was not kept long in ignorance, however, for in a few minutes the trappers had carried him across the valley, through the willows that skirted the base of the mountains, and into a deep, thickly-wooded ravine, and set him down in front of a camp-fire, before which stood a tall, fierce-looking man leaning on his rifle.

Archie was so bewildered that, for a minute or two, he could not have told whether he was awake or dreaming. He swallowed a few times to overcome the effect of the choking he had received, rubbed his eyes, and looked about him; and all the while the tall trapper stood regarding him, with a savage smile on his face, while his three companions seated themselves beside the fire, and coolly proceeded to fill their pipes.

”It's him, aint it, Bill?” asked one, at length.

”Yes,” replied the person addressed, still looking fixedly at his prisoner, and evidently enjoying his bewilderment, ”it's him. Seems to me you might have a good word to say to your uncle, seein' it's so long since we've met one another.”

”My uncle!” exclaimed Archie, now for the first time recovering the use of his tongue.

”Sartin. You aint agoin' to deny it? You aint agoin' back on me, are you? I've been through a heap since I seed you last--I've been chawed up by bars an' catamounts, an' been shot at by Injuns an' white fellers, an' mebbe I've changed a leetle. I never did brag much on my good looks, but I'm your uncle, fur all that.”

”You!” almost shouted Archie, gazing in amazement at the trapper's dark, scarred face; ”you my uncle! Not if I know who I am, and I think I do.

Do you take me for a lunatic, or are you crazy yourself?”

”Nary one, I reckon. I take you fur my nephew--Adam Brent--an' I know what I'm sayin'.”

”Well, if Adam has such a looking uncle as you are, I am sorry for him.

You've made a great mistake. My name is Winters, if it will do you any good to know it.”

”No, I reckon not,” replied the trapper, who seemed to be greatly pleased at his prisoner's pluck and independence. ”I reckon you're Adam Brent.”

”I guess I ought to know what my name is, hadn't I?” exclaimed Archie, angrily. ”Who are you, anyhow, and what business have you to take me away from my friends?”

”I'm your uncle--Bill Brent--Black Bill fur short; an' as fur the business I have in takin' you prisoner, it's the business every man's got to right the wrongs that's been done him. That's what's the matter.”

Archie very deliberately seated himself upon the ground, rested his chin on his hands, and looked up at the outlaw. ”I know you now,” said he, ”and I have no desire for a more intimate acquaintance. Do you remember that, one night, in the latter part of June, a fellow about my age walked into your camp, and you and your cowardly companions robbed him of his horse?”

”I'll allow I haint forgot it,” replied the outlaw.

”Well, that fellow was my cousin. He and I were on our way to California, with d.i.c.k Lewis and Bob Kelly, and an uncle, who looks about as much like you as you look like a white man. You've got the wrong buck by the horn, if you take me for Adam Brent. He is at the fort, and among friends, where he is safe. I left him there not more than an hour ago.”

”Now jest look a-here, Adam,” said Black Bill; ”that story won't go down--not by no means. If I hadn't never seed you afore, it might do you some good to talk to me in that fas.h.i.+on; but I know you as well as I know any of my mates here. I've got you now, an' I'm goin' to hold fast to you.”

”But what do you intend to do with me?” asked Archie.

”I'm goin' to do jest what I told your father I should do when I got my hands on you: I'm goin' to make you jest sich a man as I am.”

”You'll have a good time of it, and you can't do it. It is my intention to be of some use in the world, and I'd like to see you or any body else drag me down as low as you are. But I tell you that I am not Adam Brent, and neither am I any relative of his.”

”Hold your hosses. I know jest what I am about, an' all your talkin' an'

fussin' won't do you no 'arthly good whatsomever; so you might jest as well shut up. I'm goin' to make a renegade of you. Arter you have been with me a few years, you'll larn to hate white folks as bad as I do, an'