Bill Biddon, Trapper Part 25

"Long life to you! the fust news you will receive from Nat Todd will be a telegraphic dispatch from the Rocky Mountains, 'that he is making a sensation in that neighborhood.'"

Another and a last farewell, and the eccentric being had vanished in the forest.

Imogene had no suspicion of the true cause of Nat Todd's erratic course, and I judged it best to let her remain in ignorance until Nat should inform her himself. Whether that time was ever to come or not, no one could tell; but I had strong hope that it would.

As may be supposed, our advent created an infinite amount of questioning and wonderment for our new-found friends. The boat was the steamer "Shooting Star," which had been sent to trace the Yellowstone, as far as it was navigable, by a company in St. Louis. They proposed opening trade in this section, and knowing well the prodigious resources of the country watered by its tributaries, had sent a skillful captain and crew to ascertain its character and availability.

This river had, however, been ascended before.

The "Shooting Star" ascended the Yellowstone several hundred miles further, until brought to a stand still by the rapids in its upper part. Several days were spent in running up Clark's Fork, the Big Horn, Tongue, Powder, and numerous other streams, many of which, as yet, have received no names though of considerable size. All along the banks of these gathered crowds of wondering Indians, who surveyed us with mingled terror and amazement. On two occasions, when halting to wood, the crew were attacked by them, and one of their number was slain. At other points they manifested a friendly disposition and bartered extensively with us.

Finally the bow of the boat was turned home, and on a glorious morning, in the latter part of June, 1850, we glided into the turbid waters of the mad Missouri, and a few days later "Shooting Star" sunk to rest at the wharves in St. Louis. Accompanied by Imogene, I made my way home as rapidly as possible. As may be supposed, my return was a never-to-be forgotten day to my friends. The caravan which I had joined at Independence, had been attacked, a few days subsequent to my separation from it, by an overwhelming body of Apache Indians. Rumors reached the States that all had fallen in the ma.s.sacre, and my reappearance was like the dead returning to life. The reader, I trust, can imagine the few remaining incidents. After inducing Imogene to return to the States, I do not think I should have ever forgiven myself had I not offered her all the protection within my power. She was like an exotic at first, taken from a distant clime; but love works wonders. To-day there are few accomplishments of her s.e.x which she does not possess. True there was no great romances or mystery yet to be developed in her history. She had been orphaned when a young child, in the terrible manner described by the trapper at the commencement of this tale. I had gained no princess or wealthy heroine, but simply a _wife_, in the truest sense of the word.

The history of Nat Todd's adventures and journey to the Rocky Mountains, together with a further account of Bill Biddon, the Trapper, and of Irene Merment, the lost sister, will be given the reader in another volume.

THE END.