Kitabı oku: «Frank in the Woods», sayfa 3
CHAPTER IV
THE “OLE SETTLER”
IT was dark before they reached the cabin, but they found a good supper waiting for them. After they had eaten heartily, they drew their chairs up around the fireplace, and Uncle Joe inquired:
“Wal, youngsters, how do you like Injun-huntin’?”
“I don’t believe we like it well enough to try it again,” said Harry. “I never was so completely tired out in my life.”
“O, that wasn’t nothin’ at all,” said Dick. “Such Injun-huntin’ as that we had to-day is fun. What would you have thought if we had follered them thieves for a week afore we found ’em? But, I must say, that you youngsters done very well. I’ll own up, that when we started, I thought I would see what sort o’ stuff you wur made of; an’ I thought I’d stretch your legs for you in a way that would make you give in. But you fellers are purty good shakes at runnin’, for boys of your age. But this reminds me o’ a scrape I onct had near the Colorado River. Do yer see this? If you can ketch as many grizzly bars in your lifetime as this trap has, you are smarter nor I think you are. This is what I call the ‘Ole Settler!’”
And, as the trapper spoke, he raised from the floor the object of his admiration, and held it up to the view of the boys. It was an ordinary bear-trap, with double springs, and huge jaws, which were armed with long, sharp teeth. It had received a thorough rubbing and greasing, and shone in the fire-light like silver; but, after all, there was nothing uncommon in its appearance. There were plenty of traps in the cabin that were quite as well made, and could, probably, do quite as much execution. In the trapper’s mind, however, the “Ole Settler” was evidently associated with some exciting event.
“The reason why I call this trap the ‘Ole Settler’” continued Dick, “is, ’cause it has been in the service so long. My gran’father bought it, when he war only a boy, of a Mexikin trader, an’ he give two ten-dollar bar-skins for it. When he got too ole to trap, he give it to my father, an’ he give it to me. It has been stole from me a good many times; but I allers made out to get it back agin. Onct a yaller-hided Mexikin Greaser bagged it, an’ I didn’t set eyes on it for more ’n a year; but I knowed it in a minit when I did see it; an’, arter a little brush with the Greaser, I made him give it up. The last time I lost it war while I war trappin’ in Utah. It war stole from me by a Blackfoot Injun; and the way it happened war this:
“I allers had the name of bein’ able to bring into market jest as many an’ jest as fine furs as any trapper in the mountains. But I had a good many good trappers to go agin, and arter awhile my huntin’-grounds begun to give out; so, one summer, I packed my plunder, an’ moved to the west side of the mountains. I war right in the heart of the Pawnee region, the wust Injun country in the world; but I kalkerlated to get all my trappin’ done arly in the spring, an’ move out; ’cause as soon as the ice breaks up in the spring, the red-skins allers come round on a grand hunt, an’ I didn’t care to have the rascals near me. I never yet see the Injun that I war afeared of, but it’s mighty onpleasant to have them around; they go screechin’ through the woods, shootin’ at a feller, when he can’t see ’em, an’ steal his traps an’ other plunder in a mighty onfriendly way.
“Wal, in less than a week arter I got to my new quarters, I war settled. I had all my traps sot in the best places, an’ had mighty good luck. The streams war full of beaver, otter, an’ mink, an’ I used to have a fight with the grizzlies in the mountains every day. In this way the winter passed; an’ about the time that spring come, I had well-nigh trapped every thing in the valley. It war gettin’ about time for the Injuns to come round on their reg’lar hunts; so one mornin,’ arter a good breakfast on buffaler hump, I started out an’ begun to gather up my traps. A’most every one had some kind o’ game in it, an’ I soon got as big a load as I could wag under. So I started back for camp. I war goin’ along mighty keerless like, an’ wasn’t thinkin’ o’ nothin’, when all to onct I seed something that made me prick up my ears, an’ step a little lighter. I see that something had been passin’ through the bushes. You, in course, wouldn’t have noticed it, but I knowed in a minit that an Injun had been along; an’, arter lookin’ around a little, I found his track. It wasn’t a Pawnee; but, arter examinin’ the trail, I found that it war a Blackfoot. What one of them should be doin’ so far from home I didn’t know, but most likely he war layin’ around for scalps.
“‘Wal,’ thinks I, ‘Dick Lewis, you had better be lookin’ out for them traps o’ yourn;’ so I hid my spelter in the bushes, an’ started up toward the mountains. I had sot the Ole Settler the day before, to ketch a grizzly that had been botherin’ me a good deal, an’ I war afeared the Injun would come acrost it an’ bag it. I saw plenty of Injun signs all the way, but the tracks had all been made by the same feller. I could see, by the way the rascal had moved, that he knowed I war in the valley; for he took mighty good care to cover up his trail as much as possible. Arter a few minits’ walk, I come to the place where I had set the Ole Settler; but, just as I had expected, the trap war gone. The Blackfoot had been there afore me, an’ I knowed that if I wanted my trap, I must look for it; an’ I made up my mind that I did want it, an’ that I would have it, if I had to foller the Injun clar to his home. So I started arter him, an’, for a mile or so, the trail was toler’ble plain, an’ I got along first-rate. I made up my mind that if the thief got away from me he would have to be smarter nor I thought he war. But, at last, I come to where he had tuk to a swamp, an’ two or three times I come mighty nigh losin’ the trail. The swamp war full o’ logs, an’ the Injun had walked on them, an’, in course, he didn’t leave no trail. I follered him more ’n a mile by the marks on the bushes, an’ finally I couldn’t see a single sign. There war the print of one of his moccasins in the mud as plain as daylight; an’ there the trail ended. I couldn’t tell which way the rascal had gone. I looked around, examinin’ every bush an’ twig, but it war no use. Now, I s’pose you think I war beat at the Injun’s own game, don’t you? Wal, I wasn’t. In course, I couldn’t find the trail in the swamp; but I knowed which way the Blackfoot war goin’, an’ if I crossed the swamp, I knowed that I would find it on the other side. So I started out, an’ as it war gettin’ late, I wanted to find the trail agin afore dark. I guess I made purty good time. I done my best, an’ the way I got through that swamp war a thing to look at. The runnin’ you see to-day wasn’t a patchin’ to the runnin’ I done that night. But I tuk mighty good care to keep my ears open, an’ to make no more noise than I could help; for, just as like as not, there war Injuns in the swamp, an’ one of ’em might take it into his head to send a chunk of lead into me when I couldn’t see him.
“About an hour afore dark, I reached the other side of the swamp; an’ in less nor ten minits more I had found the trail, and wur follerin’ it up as fast as my legs could carry me. But afore I had gone a mile it begun to grow dark. In course, I couldn’t foller the trail no further; an’ the only thing I could do, war to camp down where I war, an’ wait for daylight. So, arter makin’ my supper out o’ parched corn, I picked out a nice place by the side of a log, and settled myself down to sleep.
“The next mornin’, bright and arly, I war up, an’ on the trail agin. I follered it all day, without onct stoppin’ or losin’ sight of it, an’ about night it begun to grow fresher; but it came on dark agin, and I had to camp. Long about midnight I heerd a sort of rustlin’ like in the bushes. I war wide awake in a minit; for a feller that lives in the woods larns to keep his ears about him. I lifted my head an’ listened. Yes, thar war no mistake – I could hear something steppin’ keerfully over the leaves, an’ I thought it war comin’ right toward me. At first I thought it war some wild varmint; but, as it come nigher, I found that it war a two-legged critter; so I cocked my rifle an’ waited for the Injun – for I knowed by the step that it war a red-skin – to come in sight. The steps sounded nigher an’ nigher, an’ all to onct the bushes parted without any noise, an’ out come the biggest Blackfoot that it ever war my luck to set eyes on. He didn’t seem to know that me an’ my rifle war around; if he had, I reckon it wouldn’t have made him feel very pleasant; but he walked past, within ten foot of me, an’ disappeared in the darkness.
“Now, perhaps you would like to know why I didn’t up and shoot him. Wal, I’ll tell you. That would have jest knocked the hul thing in the head, an’ I should have had all my trouble for nothin’. I knowed that the Injun that stole my trap wasn’t a great way off, and I knowed, too, that the feller that jest passed war a sort of friend of his’n, an’ that they war goin’ to meet somewhere in the woods close by. So I thought that perhaps, if I took matters easy, I could rub out both of the rascals.
“As soon as the Injun wur out o’ hearin’, I picked myself up, an’ started along arter him, purty certain that before long I would come in sight of their camp-fire; an’ I wasn’t mistaken I hadn’t gone half a mile afore I see a light shinin’ through the trees; an’ droppin’ on all-fours, I begun to crawl along through the bushes, until I come to a place where I had a full view of the fire. As I had expected, there war two Injuns settin’ by it. One of them – the one that had just passed me – war eaten’ his supper, an’ the other lay stretched out on his blanket, and war showin’ his friend the trap he had stole from me; an’ they war both laughin’ over it, as though they thought it war a mighty good joke. This kinder riled me, an’ I knowed that I could soon put an end to their skylarkin’. I might have shot one of them where he sot easy enough, but that wouldn’t do, for the other would have escaped, an’ I wanted to make sure of both of ’em. I wasn’t fool enough to think of walkin’ into their camp an’ tacklin’ both of ’em to onct; they would have made an end of me in the shake of a buck’s tail. The only way I could work it war to get ’em apart, an’ take ’em one at a time. So I dropped my rifle an’ drawed my knife, an’ gave two loud yells, which war a signal to let the Injuns know that one of ’em war wanted. They both sprang to their feet an’ listened for a moment, an’ one of ’em – the one that had stole my trap – picked up his rifle and come toward me; an’ the other went on eatin’ his supper.
“I waited until the Injun had come within ten foot of me, then all to onct I stepped out from behind my tree an’ stood before him. Bar an’ buffaler! how the rascal started! He looked at me for a minit, as if to make sure that I war a human critter, an’ then, givin’ an unarthly yell, he dropped his rifle, an’ made at me with his tomahawk. But I met him half way, an’ ketchin’ hold of the hand that held the tomahawk, I give him a stab with my knife that settled his business for him. He fell to the ground like a log, an’ I had hardly time to grab my rifle afore I seed the big Injun comin’ toward me. But he hadn’t made more’n two steps, afore a chunk of lead brought him to the ground.
“I then walked up to the camp, and stretched myself out on one of the Injuns’ blankets; and arter makin’ a good supper on a piece of venison I found hung up on a tree close by, I covered myself up, an’ in a few minits war fast asleep.
“The next mornin’ I war up bright an’ arly, an’ pickin’ up my trap, an’ all the Injuns’ plunder I wanted, I drew a bee-line for camp. In another day I had gathered up all the rest of my traps, without seein’ any more Injun signs; but I knowed they would soon be around. As I didn’t care about bein’ in their company, an’ as game war gettin’ scarce, I tumbled all my spelter into my canoe, an’ started down the river.”
CHAPTER V
The Fight in the Woods
THE next morning, after breakfast, the trapper took down his long rifle, saying, as he did so:
“Now, youngsters, I’m goin’ off into the woods, about twenty mile or so, to camp out for a week, an’ see if I can’t find some otter. If you want good sport, you had better go, too. The game is gettin’ too scarce around here to suit me.”
The boys readily agreed to this proposal, and began to talk of packing their sleds; but the trapper scouted the idea.
“You’ll never larn to be what I call woodsmen,” said he, “until you get rid of some of your city notions. You must larn to tote all your plunder on your backs. Just fill your possible-sacks1 with coffee and bread; take plenty of powder an’ shot, a change of clothes, an ax or two, an’ some blankets, and that’s all you need.”
These simple preparations were soon completed, and, after bidding Uncle Joe good-by, they set out, accompanied by their dogs.
Dick carried the “Old Settler,” and had his blanket strapped fast to his belt. Frank and George each carried an ax. Archie had several of his fox-traps, which he could not think of leaving behind; and Harry brought up the rear, carrying a large bundle of blankets. Besides these necessary articles, the boys carried their shot-guns, and the trapper his long rifle.
Dick led the way directly up the creek, following the same course they had taken the day before in pursuit of the Indians, for about ten miles, and then struck off into the woods. About noon they halted in a little grove of evergreens, and the trapper said:
“We’ll camp here for awhile, youngsters, an’ eat our dinner.”
The boys were very glad to hear this; for, strong and active as they were, they found that they were no match for Dick in traveling. Archie and George leaned their guns up against a tree, took the axes, and commenced to clear away a place where they could build a fire.
“Now,” said the trapper, turning to the others, “we’ll leave them here to ’tend to the camp, an’ make a good cup of coffee for us agin we come back, an’ the rest of us will take a tramp through the woods, an’ see what we can get for dinner. Take different directions now, so as to scare up more game.”
The boys immediately set out as directed, each accompanied by his dog. Brave ran on ahead of his master, beating about through the bushes, but not a rabbit or squirrel showed himself. But Frank kept on, taking good care to remember the points of the compass, determined that he would not go back to the camp empty-handed. At length Brave’s well-known bark caused him to start forward at a more rapid pace, and the next moment he heard some heavy animal crashing through the underbrush, just in advance of him, at a tremendous rate. The woods were so thick that Frank could not see the game, but the angry yelping of the dog told him that it was being closely pursued. Guided by the noise they made, he followed after them as fast as his legs could carry him, keeping a sharp look-out on all sides, for he did not know but that it might be a bear which the dog had started. He remembered his meeting with the wild-cat, but felt no fear now, for he had his trusty gun in his hand, heavily loaded with buck-shot, and knew, from experience, that, at short range, it was a very efficient weapon. His first care was to find the trail which the game had made, and, upon examination, he found that Brave had started, not a bear, but several moose. He knew their tracks in a moment, for he had often seen them in the woods; but he could not tell how many of them there were, for their trails crossed each other in every direction. He had never had the fortune to meet one of these animals, and his feelings were worked up to the highest pitch of excitement by the discovery. He started forward again at the top of his speed. The rapid pace of the game soon carried all sounds of the chase out of hearing; but Frank had no difficulty in following the trail. He had run nearly a mile, when the angry yelps of the dog sounded through the woods in fiercer and more abrupt echoes. Frank hurried forward, and soon came in sight of the game. The moose – a huge bull, with wide-spreading antlers – was standing at bay, and the dog was bounding around him, watching an opportunity to seize him, but was met at every point. Now and then the moose would lower his head, and rush upon his enemy, but the latter nimbly kept out of his way.
Frank did not pause long to witness the battle, but immediately ran forward, holding his gun in readiness for a shot. The moose, upon discovering him, suddenly wheeled, and started off at a rapid trot. The snow in that part of the woods was nearly three feet deep, and was covered with a crust strong enough to sustain the hunter and his dog, but the moose sank into it at every step, and his trail could be easily traced by the blood which was running from numerous wounds on his legs, made by the sharp crust. He ran heavily, and Frank, who was exerting himself to his utmost, had the satisfaction of finding that he was gaining on him. Brave easily kept pace with him and finally succeeded in bringing the moose at bay again. This was what Frank wanted. Just as the deer was about to make a charge upon the dog, he fired, and the huge animal tumbled to the ground. The young hunter ran forward, intending to give him the contents of the other barrel, but, before he could fire, the moose staggered to his feet, and disregarding the attacks of the dog, which were renewed with redoubled fierceness and vigor, rushed straight upon the hunter, and bore him to the ground.
In falling, Frank lost his gun. The enraged animal pressed upon the young hunter, burying his antlers in the snow on each side of him, holding him fast to the ground. Frank gave himself up for lost; but he determined that he would not yield his life without a struggle. He was unarmed, and the contest must be one of strength and endurance. Before the moose could draw back to make another charge upon him, Frank seized him by the antlers, and clung to them with all his strength. Brave seemed to understand the perilous situation in which his master was placed, and fought more furiously than ever. But the moose, although severely wounded by the teeth of the dog, did not appear to notice him in the least, but struggled desperately to free himself from the young hunter’s grasp. Frank was dragged about through the snow, and pressed down into it, until his clothing was almost reduced to tatters; and he was severely wounded by the sharp crust and the hoofs of the enraged deer, which cut through his garments like a knife. It required all his strength to retain his hold. He did not seem to be in the least frightened; but the manner in which he clung to the moose, and cheered on the dog, showed that he well knew the danger of his situation. But he was growing weaker every moment, while the moose appeared to be growing proportionately stronger, and his struggles became more furious and determined. Frank knew that the animal would soon succeed in freeing himself, and then – . It was a horrible thought!
At this moment he heard the noise of approaching feet on the crust, and a voice exclaimed, “Bars and buffaler! Hang on to the creetur jest a minute longer, youngster! Take ’em, dog! take ’em!” And the next instant a dark object bounded lightly over him, and commenced a furious battle with the moose. Benumbed and exhausted, Frank could hold out no longer. As the moose tore himself from his grasp, the young hunter saw him pulled to the ground by the trapper’s dog, and then a mist gathered before his eyes, and he sank back on the snow insensible.
When his consciousness returned, he found himself in a rudely-constructed hut, lying in front of a blazing fire, and so tightly wrapped up in blankets that he could scarcely breathe. Dick sat in one corner of the hut, smoking his pipe, and gazing vacantly into the fire. Brave lay stretched out by his master’s side, with his head resting on his shoulder, gazing into his face with every expression of concern. As soon as Frank opened his eyes, the faithful animal announced the fact by a joyful bark, which brought all the boys into the hut.
“How do you feel, Frank?” inquired Archie, whose pale face showed that he had more than a common interest in his cousin’s well-being.
“O! I’m all right,” answered Frank, in a weak voice. “But you’ve got me bundled up so tight I can hardly breathe. I wish you would take a dozen or two of these blankets off.”
“No, you don’t,” said Dick, as the boys crowded up around Frank. “I believe I’ve got the bossin’ of this yere job. Here,” he continued, as he[Pg 65][Pg 66] arose from his seat and approached his patient, “drink this;” and he raised Frank from his blankets with one hand, and, with the other, held to his lips a cup containing some of the most bitter stuff he had ever drank. The young hunter made wry faces over it, but succeeded in draining the cup. “Now,” resumed Dick, “lay down agin an’ go to sleep. Shut up! No back talk!” he continued, as Frank essayed to speak. “You musn’t talk till I say you may;” and the rough but kind-hearted trapper laid him back on his bed, and, drawing the blankets more closely about him, left him to his meditations.
He soon fell off into a refreshing slumber; and when he awoke it was dark, and his companions were seated around the fire, eating their supper.
“Wal, youngster,” said Dick, “how do you feel now?”
“O! I’m much better,” answered Frank; “and hungry as blazes. Won’t you give a fellow some thing to eat?”
“In course,” said Dick; and he brought Frank some pieces of toast and a cup of coffee.
“I don’t like your style of doctoring a bit,” said Frank, as the trapper carefully removed the blankets with which his patient was enveloped. “The remedies you use are worse than the disease. You’ve kept me wrapped up so tight that I am sore all over.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” said the trapper, laughing heartily; “but that doesn’t come of bein’ wrapped up in the blankets. You war purty well chawed up when me an’ Useless diskivered you.”
Dick raised Frank to a sitting posture, and, in spite of his objections, once more drew the blankets about him, allowing him, however, the free use of his arms; and the young hunter soon discovered that he was not quite so well as he had imagined, for sharp pains shot through his body, and he was so weak he could scarcely sit up.
“I believe I had something of a fight with that moose, didn’t I?” he inquired, as he broke off a piece of the toast.
“I believe you did, judging from the looks of your clothes,” answered Harry, as he laid down his plate, and took from a peg in one corner of the hut all that remained of Frank’s garments.
The coat and pants were torn almost into shreds, and covered with blood, and the sole of one of his boots had been pulled off by the sharp hoofs of the deer. Brave had also suffered severely, judging from the bloody bandages that he wore.
“It was a narrow escape, wasn’t it?” said Frank, as he gazed in astonishment at his tattered garments.
“Yes, indeed,” said Archie; “I shouldn’t have cared about being in your boots just then. How you ever made out to get out of those clothes alive, is more than I can tell.”
“It war a careless trick,” said Dick, “tacklin’ that animal in that ar way. You ought to knowed better.”
“Well, we got the moose, didn’t we?” inquired Frank.
“Yes,” answered George, chewing away at a large piece of meat; “and we are eating him up as fast as we can.”
As soon as Frank had finished his toast and coffee, he was glad to lie down again, for he was still very weak from the loss of blood. The others, after putting away the supper-dishes, replenished the fire, and stretched themselves out on their blankets.
“How do you feel now, youngster?” asked the trapper, as he drew a brand from the fire and lit his pipe.
“O! I guess I shall get along.”
“It’s a’most time for you to take some more of your medicine.”
“I don’t care about taking any more of it,” answered Frank. “It’s the meanest stuff I ever tasted.”
“It’s Injun medicine,” answered the trapper, as he sank back on his blanket, and puffed away vigorously at his pipe. “I remember,” he continued, after a few moments’ pause, “of doctorin’ up my chum, Bill Lawson, an’ that war the way me an’ him come to get acquainted. But he war used to Injun doctorin’, and didn’t growl as much as you do. I’ve heered him tell of that scrape a hundred times; an’ he used to tell it in this way:
“‘The way me an’ Dick Lewis come to get together,’ he used to say, ’war this. I war onct trappin’ among the mountains on a little stream called Muddy Creek. It war about the wust bit of Injun country in the world; but they didn’t bother me, an’ I tuk mighty good care not to meddle with their corn an’ beans, an’ for a long time I had jest the best kind of luck in trappin’. Beaver were plenty as black flies in summer, an’ the woods war chuck full o’ otter, an’ the mountains of grizzly bars an’ black-tails, so I had plenty to do.
“‘I had made my camp in the woods, about a mile back from the creek where I war trappin’, so as not to skeer away the game. Beaver is mighty skeery animals, an’ don’t like to have a feller trampin’ around them all the while; and when a man sets a trap, he musn’t go to it agin afore arly the next mornin’, for if he does, the game soon gets mighty shy, an’ the first thing the trapper knows, he’ll have to hunt somewhere else for beaver. You see I knowed all this, an’ so kept out of their way. I got along first-rate, until arly in the spring, jest as the ice begun to break up, an’ hadn’t seed nothin’ of the Injuns. But one mornin’, while I war on my way to ’tend to my traps, I seed the prints of some moccasins, where three or four fellers had crossed the creek. I knowed in a minit, from the looks of them, that they wasn’t white fellers’ tracks; so I begun to prick up my ears an’ look around me a little. I examined the trail agin, an’ I knowed there could be no mistake. The Comanches had been along there, sure. I begun beatin’ keerfully around through the bushes, for I didn’t know but that the tarnal red-skins war watchin’ me all the time; when all to onct I come acrost another trail, which war as different from the first as a muskrat is different from a grizzly. It war a white feller’s track. The tracks looked as though he had been crawlin’ along on his hands an’ knees, an’ onct in awhile I could see the place where the butt of his rifle had trailed on the ground. I knowed in a minit that the white hunter, whoever he war, had been follerin’ up the Injuns.
“‘“Wal,” thinks I, “Bill Lawson, you had better keep an eye out for them traps o’ yourn.” So I begun to draw a bee-line through the woods toward the place where I had sot one o’ my traps, keepin’ my gun ready to put a chunk of lead into the first thing in the shape of an Injun that I should see. But instead o’ goin’ up to my trap in the way I generally did, I went round so as to come up on the other side. Purty soon I begun to come near the place where the trap was sot; so I dropped down on all-fours, an’ commenced to crawl through the thick brush. I knowed I should have to be mighty keerful, for an Injun has got ears like a painter, an’ he allers keeps ’em open, too. Wal, purty soon I poked my head over a log, an’ peeked through the bushes; an’ what do you think I seed? There war my trap, with a big beaver in it, ketched fast by the hind leg; an’ right behind some big trees that stood near the trap war three Injuns, listenin’, an’ watchin’, an’ waitin’ for me to come an’ get my game.
“‘“That’s the way you painted heathen watch for a white gentleman, is it,” thinks I; “I’ll fix some o’ you.” So I drawed my knife an’ tomahawk, an’ laid them on the ground beside me, an’ then, arter examinin’ my rifle to see that it war all right, I drawed a bead on the biggest Injun, an’ fired. He rolled over, dead as a door nail, an’ the others jumped up an’ yelled like two screech owls. I didn’t stop to ax no questions; but, throwin’ away my rifle, I grabbed up my knife an’ tomahawk, an’ walked into ’em.
“‘They both fired as I came up – one missed, an’ the other tuk me in the leg, an’ kerflumux I come to the ground. The Injuns thought they had me now, sure, an’ they came toward me, drawin’ their knives an’ yellin’ like mad. But I war on my pins agin in less than no time; an’, standin’ as well as I could on my broken leg, I swung my tomahawk around my head, an’ let fly at the nighest Injun. It tuk him plumb atween the eyes, an’ I knowed that the work war done for him. But the next minit the other heathen clinched me, an’, liftin’ me off my legs, throwed me to the ground like a log. He had two legs to use, an’ I had only one; there war where he had the advantage of me. But I had the use of my hands; an’ I jest made up my mind that if he wanted my scalp he would have to work for it; so, quick as lightnin’, I grabbed the hand that held the knife, an’ give it a squeeze that actooally made the bones crack, an’ the rascal give one yell, an’ let go the weapon. Then, with the other hand, I ketched him by the scalp-lock, an’ done my best to turn him, knowin’ that if I could onct get on top of him, I would be all right; but I couldn’t use my leg; so, thinks I, I’ll hold him here awhile, an’ I pulled his head down close to me. But I had bled so much that I begun to give out; an’ the Injun, who hadn’t made a move arter I got hold of his har, knowed that I war growin’ weak, an’ the first thing I knowed, he broke away from me, an’ sprung to his feet. I tried to get up too, but the Injun grabbed up his knife, an’ pinned me agin. I fit as well as I could, but the rascal knowed I couldn’t do nothin’; and, placing one knee on my breast to hold me down, he put one hand to his mouth, an’ give a loud yell.
“‘It war answered close by, an’ somebody come out o’ the bushes. At first I thought it war another Injun comin’ up to help rub me out; but another look showed me that it war a white feller. He didn’t stop to ax no questions, but made a dash at the Comanche, who got off me in a tarnal hurry, an’ callin’ out some name that showed that he knowed who the white feller war, he begun to make tracks; but he hadn’t gone ten foot afore the trapper had him by the neck. The fight war mighty short, for the Comanche wasn’t nowhere – the trapper handled him as though he had been a baby, an’ in less than two minits he war a dead Injun.’
