Chapter II: Old Pegs’ Treasure

The country through which Old Pegs led his new friend was one of the most difficult and dangerous in the portion of the foothills in which they were placed. No one, save a man who loved solitude, and would have chosen it from all others as a home, would have thought of spending so many years of his life in this lonely place. They passed through defile after defile, clambered over ridges and forded mountain streams in which the trout were so abundant that their feet touched them as they passed.

On the march, Old Pegs had a chance to observe his companion closely, and he did so without allowing him to think that he was watched. Rafe might have been thirty years of age, of an erect, stately figure, with very black hair and eyes. His hair was suffered to grow long, and curled slightly at the ends; he wore a heavy mustache—the point dropping nearly to his collar as he stood erect—and a long imperial. His eyes were of that vivid black so seldom seen, and looked wicked and bold. Although in mountain garb, there was a sort of dandyism even in this dress which did not strike Old Pegs favorably.

“I don’t know whether I’m doing the right thing in showing you this road,” said the hunter. “I’m a plain man and in a humble station, and I’ve got a treasure to guard.”

“A treasure?”

“You bet!”

“Have you found a gold-mine?”

“No; gold ain’t no use ter me, or I could find it soon enough.”

“It can not be diamonds?”

“Better’n diamonds, young ’un; better’n gold; better’n beaver, even.”

“What can you be talking of?” said Rafe, impatiently.

“Never you mind about that. I know what I’m talking about, and when I get home I’ll show you my treasure.”

At a turn in the path they were traversing they came suddenly upon a huge bear, which reared upon its haunches and sat, in a silly way, looking at them, with its tongue hanging out. Rafe Norris, who had no love for close companionship with a grizzly, dropped his rifle into the hollow of his hand, and was about to fire, when Old Pegs struck up the weapon.

“Don’t shoot that b’ar, confound you!” he cried. “He’s mine.”

“A pet bear! Is that your treasure, then?”

“Not a bit of it,” replied Old Pegs. “Kinder inquisitive, ain’t you?”

“You have aroused my curiosity, I must confess,” replied Rafe.

“Bruin! Bruin!” cried a clear, sweet voice. “Come here, sir!”

Down dropped the bear upon all fours, and waddled away in the direction of the voice, while Rafe stopped and looked at Old Pegs in amazement.

“_That_ is your treasure, eh?” he demanded. “I thought you were too old a man to care for a woman.”

“I’m a nice figger fur a lady’s man, ain’t I?” replied the hunter, scornfully. “I orter hit you, but I guess I won’t. Here we ar’.”

The path led out of the narrow ravine through a thicket, and they entered a small, sheltered valley, containing hardly an acre of bottom-land, a sort of oasis scooped out by the hand of nature from the bosom of the eternal hills. There was no sign of human habitation anywhere, but their ears were saluted by a burst of song and the tinkle of a guitar. The voice of the singer was so wonderfully pure, rich and sweet that Rafe stopped in utter amazement and looked at Old Pegs.

“What does this mean, old man?” he cried; “that is not the voice of an Indian woman.”

“Ska’cely; oh, no—I reckon not. And see yer, feller—thet gal is under my pertection, and the man thet lays a finger on her, or insults her by look or word, may git out the papers fur his funeral—and I’ll see thet they hev a _corpse_. D’ye understand?”

“Why should I try to harm her?” said Rafe. “Hush! let us hear her song.”

It was a song of chivalry—a song of the old days—that seemed to speak the clash of spears and the rattle of steel armor. The voice rung out full and clear, not a note was slurred or hurried, and the two stood spell-bound until she had finished, when Old Pegs called out: “Myrtle!”

The sound of the guitar was hushed; there came the rush of flying feet, and the singer appeared and flung her arms about the neck of the old man and kissed him.

“I am glad you have come, father, for I was getting lonely. You—”

She paused suddenly, for her eyes just then rested upon the face of Rafe Norris, who was gazing at her with a look of undisguised admiration. What did he see? A fair young creature in the flush of early womanhood, with a face and form which might have driven a painter mad. She was slightly framed, but every line was in perfect symmetry, and her face was perfection itself. A touch of peach-bloom in either cheek, ripe-red lips and lustrous brown eyes; short, ambrosial locks, clinging about a neck which rivaled in whiteness the snows of the mountain, and a look of perfect innocence beautifying all.

Why did Rafe Norris gaze at her as if he had seen a vision from the grave?

“Don’t be skeered, little ’un,” said Old Pegs. “This yer is Rafe Norris, a gentleman thet run from some cussid Blackfeet and got away. I brung him here fur the night, and expect you to treat him well. This is my darter, Rafe—I kain’t _mister_ any one, ye know—and she’s the best and pootiest gal in the kentry.”

Rafe Norris bowed low, and uttered a well-framed compliment, which the girl received coldly.

“It is somewhat strange, Mr. Norris, that you should be alone here,” she said.

“I was separated from my party,” he answered, blandly, “and the Indians set upon me before I was aware. I would accept the danger gladly for the honor of this introduction.”

“Draw it kinder mild, Rafe—kinder mild,” said Old Pegs. “We raally can’t stand too many nice speeches, out hyar.”

“That speech came from my heart,” replied Rafe. “I hope that the lady will not consider it an unmeaning compliment.”

“That’ll do,” said Old Pegs, dryly. “Now, Myrtle, gal, will you git us suthing to eat? Ez fur me, I’m pesky hungry. I could eat a hull antelope to my own cheek this hyar blessid minnit. What hav you got fur us?”

“I caught some trout awhile ago, and have them ready to broil,” replied Myrtle.

“I cannot consent to allow Miss Myrtle to perform such menial service for me,” said Rafe. “Let me do the cooking, for which such hands were never intended.”

Myrtle broke into a merry laugh. “You betray yourself, Mr. Norris,” she said. “You are a gentleman born and bred, for none of our own mountaineers would object to my cooking a meal for them.”

He looked a little vexed, and she glided away, and Old Pegs sat down on a great rock and signed to his companion to do the same.

“Let me go and assist Miss Myrtle,” said Norris. “It really pains me to suffer her to do such work.”

“Sit down, stranger,” said Old Pegs, shortly. “I won’t hev any one, I don’t keer who he is, try ter make the gal discontented with her life hyar. She’s the darter of a mount’in man, and ef she ever marries—which I hope she won’t—she’ll be the wife of a mount’in man; thet’s ez good ez swore to.”

“I hope you do not doubt me, Mr.—”

“Old Pegs! Thet’s my name—Old Pegs. I don’t want no other handle, and I won’t hev it. Ef I knowed you well I wouldn’t keer so much, but yer a stranger, and so we won’t hev any sort of familiarity until I does know you.”

“You are particular, sir,” replied Norris, knitting his brows. “It is sad that I did not bring my pedigree with me when I came here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, stranger,” replied Old Pegs, “or we may part company afore you know it. I won’t have no foolishness about hyar ef I know it; no discount on thet ar’.”

“I beg your pardon again, but really you are very hard on me. I claim to be a gentleman, and hope I am so. Perhaps that would make me lose your good esteem.”

“Oh no; I’ve knowed lots of _gentlemen_ thet was bully boys, and many’s the high old time I’ve had with ’em, right about hyar. But, they _was_ gentlemen, and I _knowed_ it. Now I don’t know any thing about you.”

“I hope you will know me better sometime,” replied Rafe, in such a peculiar tone that Old Pegs looked up at him quickly, as if to detect the lurking menace in his face. But that face expressed nothing except polite desire to make friends, and the old hunter dropped his eyes again and whistled. A lumbering tread was heard; the pet bear appeared and came rolling up at that peculiar gait so common to his race, and placing his head upon the ground, turned a sort of summerset, erected himself upon his hind feet, and came forward, extending his paw, which Old Pegs shook heartily.

“Glad ter see you, Bruin, my boy,” he said. “Hev ye taken good keer of yer young mistress while I’ve been gone?”

The bear nodded in a singularly grotesque manner, and Rafe could not repress a laugh.

“You have trained that fellow well, old man,” he said. “I suppose he will obey you in any thing now?”

“Ef you was to lay a finger on me and he thought you was in ’arnest, it would take a hull brigade to gether yer fragments from the a’jacent kountry round abowt.”

“I’ll be ‘keerful’ how I handle you then,” said Rafe. “Did I understand you to say that Miss Myrtle is really _your_ daughter?”

“Ain’t no ways anxious ter know, be you, stranger?” said Old Pegs, frowning. “Git up hyur, Bruin—stand on yer he’d!”

The grizzly at once threw his quarters into the air, and in that attitude walked up to his master, and planting his head upon the earth, remained in that position until ordered to come down, which he did at once and rolled himself rapidly over and over until he was quite out sight behind the bushes.

“You dislike to talk about your daughter, I see,” said Rafe, persistently.

“No I don’t—no sech thing,” replied Old Pegs, belligerently. “Don’t tell me no sech foolishness. She’s a good gal, but she ain’t fur gentlemen to consort with, mind you. And look yer; ef you kain’t manige ter git along ’thout making yourself too familiar, then all I kin say is, we’d better part kump’ny now.”

What Rafe might have said in reply it is impossible to say, but at this moment Myrtle appeared and called to them. Old Pegs arose in his slow and easy manner, and led the way through a screen of thick bushes until they came upon a cabin so artistically concealed that a person might have passed it a hundred times without suspecting its presence. It was built of small logs dovetailed at the corners in frontier fashion, and chinked with a sort of blue clay. It had two small windows, each containing four panes of glass—for that article was difficult to transport to the mountain region. The door was heavy and swung upon iron hinges, manufactured from strap iron, in a rude way. The interior of the little place was as neat as hands could make it, and the little table and stools actually shone with scrubbing. A guitar stood in a little curtained recess, and, to the utter surprise of Rafe Norris, a rude bookcase in one corner contained a supply of books which had evidently been much used. The table was set in the middle of the room, the plain crockery arranged to the best advantage. They had venison steaks, fresh broiled trout, pone bread and fragrant coffee. Norris at the invitation of Old Pegs drew up his stool and was helped liberally. Myrtle poured the coffee, and all enjoyed a hearty meal.

“Thar,” said Old Pegs, “I dunno ez I keer fur any more. What a thing it is to hev a gal like Myrtle ter make the little cabin bright! She killed that deer and caught them trout herself, and thet’s what I call being ginerally useful. What do you say?”

“I can appreciate the home qualities of your daughter,” said Rafe, “but from the appearance of that book-case and the guitar I should say that she has other good qualities.”

“And so she hez, Rafe—so she hez. She kin sing like a bird—kin Myrtle—and when the old man comes home tired from the hunt, mebbe she don’t make his life pleasant by singing and reading. She’s a master reader—is Myrtle.”

“I should think that it would be hard to find a teacher in this section, but, from the quality of the books which I see she must be considerably advanced.”

“Oh she’s got a teacher,” replied Old Pegs with a sly look at Myrtle, whose cheek flushed like the rose. “A mighty good teacher, I mout say.”

“I was about to offer my poor services in that capacity,” said Rafe, “and I am sorry to hear that I am in some degree forestalled.”

“Yer cut out intirely,” replied Old Pegs. “The gal won’t take to no other teacher ez she does to this one.”

“Where is this wonderful teacher now, if I may ask?” said Rafe with a look of annoyance.

“Gone down ter the fort, I reckon. It’s about time fur a lesson, too, and I kin see thet the gal is getting anxious.”

“Father!” cried Myrtle.

“Thet is gospel truth, gal,” replied Old Pegs with a grin. “I kin see it in yer eye, whenever I look at you.”

Rafe was puzzled to understand the manner in which Myrtle received the bantering speech of her father. She seemed ill at ease, and her eyes wandered to the door from time to time as if in expectation. Just then the bear, which had been lying upon the threshold, raised his muzzle and snuffed the air in a peculiar manner, and then rising heavily, started away on an awkward shambling trot in the direction of the entrance to the valley.

“The critter smells suthing,” said Old Pegs, drawing his rifle nearer, “and I’ll take a walk outside and see what’s up.”

He started out quickly, leaving Rafe Norris with Myrtle. He at once began to improve the opportunity.

“It seems strange to me that a lady to all appearance so refined as you are should pass her life in the midst of this desolation.”

“I am not ‘a lady’ and I am far from refined, Mr. Norris. Is it lady-like to go out and shoot a deer, bring home steaks and saddle, and catch and cook a mess of trout? I am very much afraid that you are mistaken in me, and think me one of those white-handed misses who mince along the streets of Leavenworth and St. Joseph; but I am not.”

“You belie yourself in this, Miss Myrtle. While you stay here of course you must conform to the usages of the society in which you live. But you are fitted to adorn—”

She lifted her finger in a playful manner.

“No nice speeches, if you please, Mr. Norris, for I am not used to them, and should not know how to appreciate them in the least. I am afraid your intercourse with the fine ladies who dwell in cities, has unfitted you for the realities of life as we find them in the mountains.”

“I pray not, for I hope to win your good opinion some day, and to be able to prove to you that such ladies are not to my taste. I admire your spirit—”

“I think we had better change the conversation as I am not egotistical enough to wish to talk of myself, and nothing else. Perhaps you play the guitar.”

“A little,” he replied, “but I am not going to expose myself by trying to play now. I heard your music as I came up and was literally enthralled by it.”

She brought the guitar, and began to clear away the table while he touched the keys and strings lightly, bringing the instrument into tune, while he kept his eyes upon her steadily. There was an elasticity and grace in every movement which spoke of perfect health, and he was obliged to confess that he had never seen her equal. The man was susceptible to female grace and beauty, and was touched now as he never been before, and knew it. Once or twice she met his eyes and was startled by the bold look of admiration in them. He continued to drum upon the strings, merely striking chords and watching her intently. He seemed about to speak, but at this moment the sound of voices could be heard and Old Pegs, accompanied by a young man in a tasteful hunting garb, entered the room. Myrtle sprung forward with a glad cry and gave him both hands while giving him a welcome.

“Is that her teacher, I wonder?” muttered Rafe, below his breath. “We shall see. I will not be foiled when the prize for which I play is almost in my grasp.”