California Farmer and Journal of Useful Sciences, Volume 34, Number 14, 13 October 1870 — A SON'S REVENGE. [ARTICLE]

A SON'S REVENGE.

WILLIAM R. BUSHNELL

' 1 tell you again, nothing ever yet was gained by brutality," said the leader of an emigrant train that was crossing the great prairies that lie between the Mississippi and the eastern slope of the Rockey Mountains. "Psnawl It was only an Indian I" was the Burly reply of the man to whom the reprerunod had been addressed. " But he was still a man—had an immortal soul as well as yourself, and was passing along without offering the slightest molestation to any one. Take my word, no good will come of it. You are over fond of practicing with jour rifle, Walt., and I hope you will be more guarded in the future as to what you aim at." " You maka a great fuss because I shot at an Indian, and " "Hit him; though tho sin would be no less it you had not." " And I presume you would call it murder 1" " Most certainly. The wanton taking ot human life deserves no milder name. But now the shot bas been fired, the least you can do is to go and relieve the sufferings of the poor man, if indeed, he is not already dead." "I go and look after a dead red skin I Not I, I'll shoot every one I get a chance at just as soon as I would a snake. You can go if you want to, and take that cursed Indian 'long with you that you picked up at St. Jo., and have made so much of ever since." And the speaker turned away with a sneering lip. while his adviser motioned to the copper col. ored lad, that rode swiftly towards the spot where the rifle bullet of his savage companion had hurled one of the nomad children of the prairies and woodland to Ihe ground. Of nll'the band that had joined tosether for mutual protection, there was no one so universally despised as Walter Barber. Could it be done with safety to themselves, the msjority would long since have driven him from their society. His wanton shooting of Indians whenever he had an opportunity proved thet he had no shuddering dread of bloodshed, was not restrained by any law, human or divine, and they feared, in the event of his being forced to shift for himself, that he would hang upon their trail, and murder them while sleeping. It was a dread alternative to think upon, but so obnoxious had his society become that they would have taken the chances had it not been that there wajre women and helpless children in the train. So they bore it as patiently as possible, until tho time when they could free themselves with safety. But the semi-outlaw cared little for their opinion nothing for any punishment that could fall on bis misdeeds, save it might be tbat of tbe hangman and the rope—and while the leader of the train was hurrying away npon his errand of mercy, he coolly cleaned and reloaded his rifle, so as to be prepared for another shot, making at the same time ill-natured and sneering remarks upon bis more tender-hearted companion. Mark Goo.lson (tho leader of the company) gave no thought to him whom he had Ift behinl. He was more than the physical master of Walter Barber, and had the moral courage and a pure heart, not the bravado of a bravo. While he dispieed he did not fear his brutal companion ; cared little for the time when they should measure strength, and would have urged the matter to an issue long before, had not the primal law of " thou Shalt not kill" been early taught him— " line upon line, and precept upon precept." But his blood boiled so violently that it would have been dangerous for Walter Barber had he been near when he suddenly reined in his horse in mid prairie. Stretched upon the ground lay an Indian, gorgeous in his paint and wampum, writhing In the agony of death. The muscles, despite all their training, twitched convulsively, but the flashing eyes were untamed, and pain conld not wring a single moan from the thin lips. He the brave warrior of the wilderness, the Eagle of bis tribe, was dying, but, like the brave bird ifter which he was named, he would die nobly.

He endeavored to raise himself—endeavored to strain his bow and drive forth his hatchet as he saw the white man dismount, but in vain. The iron-muscled limbs refused to obey the equally iron will. A man in years, he was but a child in strength, and yet tbe mighty hear', shrunk not from the death-blow be was certain would swiftly come. Like most of bis kindred, he hated the pale face with an intense hatred that would never be obliterated while life remained. Mark Goodson dropped his ride, drew his knife, and returned it to bis belt, and turned tbe palms of his hands toward the Indian in tuken of amity. Then he knelt by bis side, and endeavored to stanch the fast gushing blood. Instantly, how. ever, he saw that all his efforts to check the flight ot the spirit would be in vain—the bullet had too nearly reached tbe fountain head ol life. A fibrill call issued from the lips of the Indian. The white man looked up in astonishment, fearing an ambuscade. Hut the solution of the cry came in the person of tbe ludian boy, who dashed up at heads long speed, and threw himself sobbinir upon tbe breast of the dying warrior.

"Nosal Nosal My lather Imy tuber I tmrst from his lips ia accents of tbe deepest affliction.

A glance from the still fiery eyei, a motion ot the fast numbing hand instantly quieted hiui. The sobs were choked down, and the lips compressed so that they could utter no sound. The boy sat almost like a statue, listening to tbe last words he would ever hear from his father's lips, save that it might be.spirit ones when tbey met again in tbe "countryof tbe departed."

But few and faint those words were. Uttered in the language of the red man, Goodson knew nothing of their import; but the midnight eyea of the boy emitted liery sparkles, his hands clenched until the nails were driven into the palm, his face darkened, and then an almost smile settled on his tbin lips.

With the death rattle sounding in his throat the Btern warrior of the wilderness endeavored to raise himself up and slog his death song. It was a ghastly effort; his lips were chilled, his tongue refused its office, his eyes were fast losing their fire, aud he fell back dead. A tow moan escaped from the boy as he assisted the white mnu to arrange the corpse, roll it up in the blanket, dig ft shallow grave, and place it within. Ho took one last look, plucked the eagle quills from the scalp lock, the badge of chieltiansbip, bent down and kisßed the rigid face, then as sisted in heaping up the earth, and followed Goodson b ick to the train with all the apparent stolid indifference of bis race. A month passed, and the snd episode was forgotten by all but one. Goodson had ceased to mention it, and the murderer had blotted it out with new chums upon the hangman's rope. But the orphan boy still treasured it deeply in memory. The Uat words of his father had been to him of revenge, and curses if ho failed to accomplish it. And when did an Indian ever forget an injury—ever neglect a chance for vengeance ? The law of "blood for blood' 1 never has and never will be blotted from tbeir unwritten statutes. The train had reached the rocky pass of the Nevada's, and all were rejoicing upon their success, and the proßpect of a speedy termination of their journey. Visions ol sunny skies and prospective wealth arose before them. Already they were reveling in tbe fanciful and delusive glories of the promised land, flowing with milk and honey, and blossoming as the rose. Particularly was this the case with Walter Barber. There was no one in so great glee as he. Once in the Golden State, he would find the as sociations he loved—find meet food for his depraved appetite. Still his restless spirit demanded constant adventure and excitement. It might have been that the spur of conscience pricked so sharply that it would permit no Certainly he was ever upon tbe move—could not remain quiet for an hour. In every hunt he ;was the foremost nod more bear, and other wild beasts fell before his rifle than that of any other. Very glad, therefore, was he, when the Indi'tn boy came in from a scouting expedition one morning, with the intelligence that a great grizzly was feasting upon the carcass of a dead ox at but a little distance.

II Show me the way, brat," commanded Barber in his savage way. "No I I won't have any of you go with me. I want all the glory alone."

And alone, save with the Indian lad, be left the encampment, following on until tbey entered a deep and narrow ravine. For more than a mile they journeyed picking their way amid the fallen rocks and tangled bush. But no bear was as yet to be either seen or heard. " A little further —then we come to a turn — then we see the great bear," answered the boy when questioned. Another mile of still more difficult progress was accomplished, and Btrber found bimsell at the end of tbe canon. Before him arose the rocks like a perpendicular wall—it surrounded him up on three sides. He turned fiercely upon his guide, but he was no where to be seen. Witb a bitter oath he began to retrace his steps, when a heavy stone, rolled from above, fell upon him, crushing and picing him to the ground. At first he thought it an accident, but in a moment after the Indian boy was dancing around him in savage exultation. He had waited long for revenge, and planned it cunningly. The murderer of his father was entirely at his mercy. He lay like a serpent, whose back bad been broken, beyond tbe power of doing harm— wilh only strength left to spit lorth impotent venom. And every groan ot agony wrung from his lips was happiness to the boy. He taunted him, pierced him with the poiot of his knife—did all that human malice could do to render bis situation still more painful. ii My father has long been mourning in tbe spirit land," be said, " for the blood of, his eae my. His people have pointed their fingers at him, and said he was unavenged. Now he can hold up his head again among the highest, and sing the song of triumph I He saw that the crushed man could not linger much longer, that his eyes were glaring, and for the first time drnwlog near to him, bent down, circled his head wilh his sharp knife, and tore the scalp away Then he waived it proudly aloft for a moment, an 1 then sat down and watched until life had depirled. The son bad revenged the father's death, but 1 was unknown to any upon tbe earth Neither Walter .Barber or the Indian was ever seen by Goodson or bis company after tbey had left the encampment.