Dusky Dick: Old Toby Castor's Great Campaign
9781465675309
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
Annie, girl, who is that coming up the spring path? Ah me! I fear my old eyes are beginning to fail me at last! "Coming up the—ugh! father, it is that Dick Morgan!" "Dusky Dick—what can he want here, I wonder?" and there was cadence of mingled uneasiness and dislike perceptible in the old man's tones that told but too plainly the advancing figure was not that of a welcome or respected guest. The first speaker was an old man, whose head was frosted by the snows of over half a century and whose form—still athletic and supple—was beginning to bow beneath the weight of years. An honest, open face was that of old Edward Wilson; a true index of his heart. He was sitting in the doorway of his humble log cabin, smoking the well-blackened pipe as a dessert to supper, just finished. But as he spoke the last words, he roused himself up and stood with crossed arms in the doorway, as though he would fain bar the intruder out, who was now within a few paces of the building. The form of this man was clothed in a rough garb of tanned skin and woolen stuff, despite the warm weather, and a broad-brimmed slouched hat rested upon his head, concealing the upper portion of his face from casual view. A long barreled rifle rested carelessly in the hollow of his left arm, while the haft of a knife, and a revolver butt peeped from the belt at his waist. "Good evenin', Wilson, and the same to you, Miss Annie," he uttered in a strong clear voice, as he half paused, and then with a careless gesture pushed the hat away from his brow. The clear mellow light of the full moon shone down upon him, and fairly revealed his features. A glance at them may not be amiss, as this worthy is destined to figure somewhat prominently in our narrative. At the first glance, a strange peculiarity about him would attract the gaze, and leave an unpleasant impression upon the mind of the beholder. And yet it was not that the man was so hideous, in features. But there was a strange tint to his entire face and neck that involuntarily repelled one. And from this had come the sobriquet, known far and wide throughout the western country of Dusky Dick. Indeed, more than one person who was well acquainted with him, would have been puzzled to have told whether he ever had any other name, or if this was not the one by which he had been christened, supposing that ceremony had ever been performed. And Morgan seemed to be rather proud of the title, than otherwise. In some way he had been badly burned by an explosion of powder, and though no other scars were perceptible, this bluish tinge caused by the burned powder penetrating the skin, remained clear and distinct. The dye did not fade as he grew older, but seemed to deepen and show brighter. His features were regular and clear cut; his face was kept smooth shorn, though the black, Indian-like hair hung far down his shoulders. There were not a few who secretly asserted that he came by this last trait fairly, and wondered only that he had not the curved nose and high cheek-bones as well. His black eyes were of a fair size, but dull and sleepy looking, save when he was angered; then one was strangely reminded of an infuriated serpent, so wickedly did they flash and scintillate. In form he was tall, broad-shouldered and well built, being somewhat noted for his skill in the use of weapons, fleetness of foot and prowess as a wood-ranger. "Good-evening, Dick," coldly uttered the settler in reply, evidently not caring to encourage the man, as he still stood in the narrow doorway, without a hint for the other to enter. "Heard the news?" added Dusky Dick, as a slight frown crossed his face, and a smoldering glow lit up his dark eyes. "No—I don't know as I have. What is it?" listlessly responded Wilson as he deliberately crushed up some "natural leaf," and crammed it into the wide-mouthed pipe-bowl. "Bring me a coal, Annie."
