The Rifle Rangers | Page 8

the time you have spent in reading this
relation of it. One minute I was plodding quietly homeward; the next, I
stood in the middle of the street; beside me a stranger of gigantic
proportions; at my feet a black mass of dead humanity, half doubled up
in the mud as it had fallen; on the banquette, the slight, shivering form
of a boy; while above and around were silence and darkness.
I was beginning to fancy the whole thing a dream, when the voice of
the man at my side dispelled this illusion.
"Mister," said he, placing his arms akimbo, and facing me, "if ye'll tell
me yur name, I ain't a-gwine to forgit it. No, Bob Linkin ain't that
sorter."
"What! Bob Lincoln? Bob Lincoln of the Peaks?"
In the voice I had recognised a celebrated mountain trapper, and an old
acquaintance, whom I had not met for several years.
"Why, Lord save us from Injuns! it ain't you, Cap'n Haller? May I be
dog-goned if it ain't! Whooray!--whoop! I knowed it warn't no
store-keeper fired that shot. Haroo! whar are yur, Jack?"
"Here I am," answered the boy, from the pavement.
"Kum hyur, then. Ye ain't badly skeert, air yur?"
"No," firmly responded the boy, crossing over.

"I tuk him from a scoundrelly Crow thet I overhauled on a fork of the
Yellerstone. He gin me a long pedigree, that is, afore I kilt the skunk.
He made out as how his people hed tuk the boy from the Kimanches,
who hed brought him from somewhar down the Grande. I know'd it
wur all bamboozle. The boy's white--American white. Who ever seed a
yeller-hided Mexikin with them eyes and ha'r? Jack, this hyur's Cap'n
Haller. If yur kin iver save his life by givin' yur own, yur must do it, de
ye hear?"
"I will," said the boy resolutely.
"Come, Lincoln," I interposed, "these conditions are not necessary.
You remember I was in your debt."
"Ain't worth mentioning Cap; let bygones be bygones!"
"But what brought you to New Orleans? or, more particularly, how
came you into this scrape?"
"Wal, Cap'n, bein' as the last question is the most partickler, I'll gin yur
the answer to it fust. I hed jest twelve dollars in my pouch, an' I tuk a
idee inter my head thet I mout as well double it. So I stepped into a
shanty whar they wur a-playin' craps. After bettin' a good spell, I won
somewhar about a hundred dollars. Not likin' the sign I seed about, I
tuk Jack and put out. Wal, jest as I was kummin' roun' this hyur corner,
four fellers--them ye seed--run out and jumped me, like so many
catamounts. I tuk them for the same chaps I hed seed parley vooin' at
the craps-table; an' tho't they wur only jokin', till one of them gin me a
sockdolloger over the head, an' fired a pistol. I then drewed my bowie,
an' the skrimmage begun; an' thet's all I know about it, cap'n, more'n
yurself.
"Let's see if it's all up with this'n," continued the hunter, stooping.
"I'deed, yes," he drawled out; "dead as a buck. Thunder! ye've gin it
him atween the eyes, plum. He is one of the fellers, es my name's Bob
Linkin. I kud sw'ar to them mowstaches among a million."
At this moment a patrol of night gendarmes came up; and Lincoln, and

Jack, and myself were carried off to the calaboose, where we spent the
remainder of the night. In the morning we were brought before the
recorder; but I had taken the precaution to send for some friends, who
introduced me to his worship in a proper manner. As my story
corroborated Lincoln's, and his mine, and "Jack's" substantiated both;
and as the comrades of the dead Creole did not appear, and he himself
was identified by the police as a notorious robber, the recorder
dismissed the case as one of "justifiable homicide in self-defence"; and
the hunter and I were permitted to go our way without further
interruption.
----
Note. Craps is a game of dice.
CHAPTER THREE.
A VOLUNTEER RENDEZVOUS.
"Now, Cap," said Lincoln, as we seated ourselves at the table of a cafe,
"I'll answer t'other question yur put last night. I wur up on the head of
Arkansaw, an' hearin' they wur raisin' volunteers down hyur, I kim
down ter jine. It ain't often I trouble the settlements; but I've a mighty
puncheon, as the Frenchmen says, to hev a crack at them yeller-bellies.
I hain't forgot a mean trick they sarved me two yeern ago, up thar by
Santer Fe."
"And so you have joined the volunteers?"
"That's sartin. But why ain't you a-gwine to Mexico? That 'ere's a
wonder to me, cap, why you ain't. Thur's a