Kitabı oku: «Frank on the Prairie», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XVIII
Old Bob’s Adventure
THE old trapper paused for a moment to refill his pipe, and then continued —
“I went out as usual with a party of trappers, fur in them days it warn’t no way safe fur a feller to go thar alone. We war a’most sartin to be chased by the Injuns, but them as got away with a hul skin, allers went back as soon as they could make up a comp’ny, fur it war thar the best trappin’ war to be found.
“If all the red-skins we have rubbed out thar could come to life ag’in, I reckon thar would be lots of ’em, an’ if all our poor fellers who have had thar har raised on the plains of that same river, could come back, you’d see a heap of fine trappers. An’ if me an’ Dick could have all the furs we have lost thar, I’ll allow it would keep us in pipes an’ tobacker fur a year or two. In them days, a feller could git a good rifle fur a beaver or otter skin, an’ a fust rate hoss fur two or three mink skins. Our furs war the only thing we had to depend on to buy us a new outfit; so when we lost all our winter’s work, it warn’t a thing to laugh at.
“Wal, as I war sayin’, I went out with this party of fellers, an’, as usual, not the least bit of Injun sign did we see durin’ the winter. As a gen’ral thing the red-skins don’t run ’round much in cold weather – leastways, they don’t go fur from their camps; but by the time the snow is off the ground, they ar’ well-nigh out of grub, an’ have to start out on their huntin’ expeditions. The Saskatchewan war a good place fur them to come to, fur thar war plenty of game; but the country warn’t big enough for them an’ us; so when they begun comin’ in, it war high time fur us to be goin’ out. Thar war five of us in the party, an’ as every man knowed his own bisness, by the time spring come we had as much spelter as four hosses could pack away. When the snow commenced goin’ off, we kept a good lookout fur Injuns – fur the trappin’ war so fine we didn’t want to leave so long as it war safe to stay – an’, one mornin’, as I war comin’ in from tendin’ to my traps, I seed whar two Injuns had crossed the creek. That war enough fur me, so I put for the camp, but didn’t find nobody thar. The fellers war all out tendin’ to their bisness; an’, in course, I warn’t goin’ away without ’em; so I packed up my spelter ready fur the start, and while waitin’ fur ’em, kept sharp watch on all sides fur Injuns. ’Bout noon I heered a hoss comin’, an’, in a few minits, up rid one of our fellers with his huntin’ shirt all bloody. As soon as I seed him, I knowed that the game war up.
“‘Bob!’ says he, ‘Get away from here to onct. Bill Coffee is done fur (that war his chum), an’ you can see how nigh they come to rubbin’ me out too. Some varlet sent an arrer clean through my arm. Hand me my pack o’ furs, and let’s be off to onct, I tell you.’
“This man – Bill Simons his name war – war the oldest an’ bravest man in our comp’ny, an’ he war our leader. Although I didn’t like the idee of leavin’ them fellers out thar in the woods with them Injuns – fur every one of ’em had done me a kindness – I knowed I couldn’t do them no good by stayin’; fur, when Bill Simons deserted his own brother, thar warn’t no use of any body’s tryin’ to help him. So I handed Bill his furs, grabbed up my own, jumped on my hoss, an’ we started. It war no light load them hosses had to carry, fur our spelter war a’most as heavy as we war. But we couldn’t think of leavin’ ’em behind without makin’ one effort to save ’em, fur we had worked hard fur ’em, an’ didn’t want ’em to fall into the hands of them lazy Injuns. As we rid along, we made up our minds that we would stick together as long as we could, an’ that we wouldn’t drop our furs as long as we seed the least chance of escapin’ with ’em. But if we had knowed any thing, we would have throwed away them packs to onct, fur hangin’ on to ’em so long was jest the very thing that got us ketched. We run our hosses with them heavy loads, till they war clean done out; an’ when the Injuns got arter us, they war a’most ready to drop. Wal, as I war sayin’, we rid along fur ’bout two mile, keepin’ a good lookout on all sides fur Injuns, an’, finally, we seed ’em behind us. Thar war ’bout twenty of ’em, an’ as soon as I sot eyes on ’em, I somehow knowed that we war ketched.
“‘Bob,’ said Bill, turnin’ to me, ‘our scalps ar’ wuth more nor this spelter. It is time to run in ’arnest now.’
“He throwed down his pack, as he spoke, an’ then his hoss went faster. But I, bein’ young an’ foolish, didn’t like the idee of losin’ my winter’s work; so I held on to my pack, till, findin’ that Bill war leavin’ me behind, I throwed it away Thar war our eight months’ wages gone. We had worked hard an’ froze among the snows of the mountains fur nothin’. But we hadn’t gone fur afore we diskivered that we had oughter throwed ’em away long ago. Both our hosses run as though they had traveled all day, an’ it war plain as bar’s ears that they couldn’t go much further. Every time we looked back we seed that the Injuns war gainin’ on us fast, an’ the way they yelled told us that they, too, knowed that they would soon have us. I looked t’wards Bill, an’ although I could read in his face that he knowed we war ketched, he didn’t seem the least bit skeary. He had been in jest such scrapes afore. He had often been a pris’ner, but he war strong as a hoss, could run like a skeered deer, an’ had allers succeeded in gittin’ away from the Injuns at last. I, howsomever, had never been in the hands of the red-skins, but I knowed, from the stories I had often heered, that they didn’t treat a feller very kind, an’ this set me to thinkin’. The Injuns knowed Bill, an’ wouldn’t they know me to? The young chief I had rubbed out b’longed to that same tribe, an’ wouldn’t his friends ’member the hoss, an’ the knife, an’ tomahawk I carried in my belt? I could throw the we’pons away, an’, arter thinkin’ a leetle, I did. I unbuckled my belt, an’, jest as we went over a swell out of sight of the Injuns, I dropped knife, tomahawk, an’ all, hopin’ that the red-skins would never find ’em; fur I knowed that if they thought I had ever rubbed out any of the tribe, I would ketch the wust kind of punishment.
“Wal, all this while the Injuns had been gainin’ on us, fur, the further we went, the slower our hosses run, an’ all the whippin’ an’ poundin’ we could do, didn’t make them go no faster. They war well-nigh tuckered out. Purty quick I see Bill turn in his saddle an’ draw up his ole shootin’ iron. He war bound to die game. I watched the shot, an’ couldn’t help givin’ a yell when I seed one of the varlets drop from his hoss. The Injuns had all this while been ridin’ clost together; but findin’ that we war goin to begin shootin’, they scattered, an’ throwed themselves flat on their hosses’ backs, so that we couldn’t hit ’em. But we war sartin of our game, no matter how small a mark we had to shoot at, an’ when I fired, I seed an Injun an’ his hoss come to the ground together. By this time, Bill war ready ag’in, an’ down come another Injun.
“If our hosses had only been fresh, we could have picked off the last one of ’em afore they could have ketched us. But the varlets kept gainin’ all the time, an’ purty quick they got nigh enough to use their we’pons, an’ the way the arrers whistled ’bout our heads warn’t pleasant, now I tell you. But we kept shootin’ at ’em as fast as we could load up, bringin’ down an Injun at every pop – till some chap sent his arrer into my hoss’s side – an’ the next minit I war sprawlin’ on the ground. Bill kept on, but he hadn’t gone fur afore he got an arrer through his neck, which brought him from his saddle, dead. I jest seed this as I war tryin’ to get up; fur my hoss had fell on my leg, an’ war holdin’ me down. Jest arter Bill fell, the Injuns come up an’ I war a pris’ner. I couldn’t tell you how I felt, youngsters. I had heered enough to know that much depended on my showin’ a bold front; but it takes a man of mighty strong nerve to look a dozen yellin’, scowlin’ Injuns in the face, without onct flinchin’. Howsomever, I kept a leetle courage ’bout me, I guess, fur when one chap jumped, an’ drawed his bow with an arrer p’inted straight at my breast, I looked him in the eye without winkin’; an’ when another ketched me by the har, an’ lifted his tomahawk as if he had a good notion to make an end of me to onct, I stood as still an’ quiet as though I didn’t see him. Arter this had been goin’ on fur a while, the Injuns seemed to grow tired of it, fur my hands war bound behind my back, an’ one feller fetched up Bill’s hoss, an’ war goin’ to put me on him, when the critter, bein’ clean tired out, give a grunt an’ lay right down on the prairy. The Injuns seemed to think the hoss war no ’count, fur they turned him loose, an’ I war lifted on to a mustang behind one of the savages. I didn’t think much of this at the time, but I arterward had reason to be glad that the varlets had left Bill’s hoss out thar on the prairy.
“It war ’bout five mile to the place whar the Injuns had made their camp, an’ while on the way thar I warn’t bothered at all, fur they seed that I warn’t skeered easy. When we reached the village – which must have had nigh two hundred Injuns in it – I found that I warn’t the only pris’ner, fur thar war Pete Simons, Bill’s brother, tied to a post in the middle of the camp, an’ he war surrounded by men, women, and young uns, who war beatin’ him with sticks, an’ tormentin’ him every way they knowed how; but findin’ that they couldn’t make Pete show fear – fur that war something he didn’t have in him – they left him, when I came up, and pitched into me. I didn’t mind ’em much, howsomever, although I did wince jest the least bit when one feller struck at me with his tomahawk, and jest grazed my face; but they didn’t see it; an’ purty quick one big feller ketched me by the har, an’, arter draggin’ me up to the post, tied me with my back to Pete’s. It then wanted ’bout three hours of sundown, an’ the Injuns, arter holdin’ a leetle council, made up their minds to have some fun; so they untied me an’ Pete, an’ led us out on the prairy ’bout three or four hundred yards, an’ thar left us. We looked back an’ seed the Injuns all drawed up in a line, with their we’pons in their hands, an’ knowed that the varlets had give us a chance to run for our lives. In course they didn’t mean fur us to git away, but they wanted the fun of seein’ us run, never dreamin’ but some of their fleet braves would ketch us afore we had gone fur. I never looked fur ’em to give us sich a chance fur life as that, an’ I made up my mind that I would learn ’em to think twice afore they give a white trapper the free use of his legs ag’in. I a’most knowed I war safe, but I felt shaky ’bout Peter, fur the Injuns had shot him with two arrers afore they ketched him, an’ he war hurt bad. I didn’t think he could run far – nor he didn’t, neither; fur when we shook hands an’ wished each other good luck, he said to me, ‘Bob, I wish I had my rifle.’ He meant by that, if he had his ole shootin’ iron in his hands, he wouldn’t die alone; he would have fit the Injuns as long as he could stand. Wal, as I war sayin’, we shook hands an’ bid each other good-by, an’ jest then I heered a yell. I jumped like a flash of lightnin’, an’ made t’wards a little belt of tim’er which I could see, ’bout two miles acrost the prairy. I war runnin’ fur my life, an’ I reckon I made the best time I knowed how. I soon left poor Pete behind, an’, when I had gone about a mile, I heered a yell, that told me as plain as words, that he had been ketched. I never stopped to look back, but kept straight ahead, an’ in a few minits more I war in the woods. The yellin’ of the Injuns had been growin’ louder an’ louder, so I knowed that they were gainin’ on me, an’ that if I kept on they would soon ketch me; so, as soon as I found myself fair in the tim’er, I turned square off to the right, an’ takin’ to every log I could find, so as to leave as leetle trail as possible fur them to foller, I ran ’bout a hundred yards further, an’ then dived into a thick clump of bushes, whar I hid myself in the leaves an’ brush. I had kinder bothered the varlets, for a leetle while arter, they came into the woods, an’ went on through, as if they thought I had kept on t’wards the prairy. But I knowed that they wouldn’t be fooled long; an’ when I heered by their yellin’ that they had left the woods, I crawled out of the bushes to look up a better hidin’-place. Arter listenin’ an’ lookin’, to be sartin that thar war no Injuns ’round, I ag’in broke into a run, an’ finally found a holler log at the bottom of a gully, whar I thought I had better stop; so I crawled into the log, an’ jest then I heered the Injuns coming back. They knowed that I war hid somewhar in the tim’er, an’ they all scattered through the woods, hopin’ to find me afore it ’come dark – yellin’ all the while, as though they didn’t feel very good-natured ’bout bein’ fooled that ar’ way. I knowed that they couldn’t foller my trail easy, but thar war so many of ’em, that I war afraid somebody might happen to stumble on my hidin’-place. But they didn’t; an’ arter awhile it ’come dark, an’ the varlets had to give up the search. I waited till every thing war still, an’ then crawled out of my log, and struck fur the prairy. I warn’t green enough to b’lieve that they war all gone, fur I knowed that thar war Injuns layin’ ’round in them woods watchin’ an’ waitin’ fur me. In course I didn’t want to come acrost none of ’em, fur I had no we’pon, and I would have been ketched sartin; so I war mighty keerful; an’ I b’lieve I war two hours goin’ through the hundred yards of woods that lay atween me an’ the prairy. When I reached the edge of the tim’er, I broke into a run. If thar war any Injuns ’round, they couldn’t see me, fur the night war dark; an’ they couldn’t hear me, neither, fur my moccasins didn’t make no noise in the grass. I kept on, at a steady gait, fur ’bout two hours, an’ finally reached the place whar I war captur’d. Arter a leetle lookin’ and feelin’, I found my belt and we’pons. I felt a heap better then, fur I had something to defend myself with; but still I didn’t feel like laughin’, fur I war afoot, an’, havin’ no rifle, I couldn’t think how I war to git grub to eat. But I war better off nor while I war a pris’ner ’mong the Injuns; so I knowed I hadn’t oughter complain. Arter takin’ one look at poor Bill, whom the Injuns, arter havin’ scalped, had left whar he had fallen, an’ promisin’ that every time I seed a Blackfoot Injun I would think of him, I ag’in sot out. Arter I had gone ’bout half a mile further, the moon riz, an’, as I war running along, I seed something ahead of me. I stopped to onct, fur I didn’t know but it might be a Injun; but another look showed me it war a hoss. He war feedin’ when he fust seed me, but, when he heered me comin’, he looked up, an’ give a leetle whinny that made me feel like hollerin’. It war Bill Simons’s hoss. How glad I war to see him! An’ he must a been glad to see me, too, fur he let me ketch him; an’ when I got on his back, I didn’t keer, jest then, fur all the Injuns on the plains. The critter had had a good rest, an’, when I spoke to him, he started off just as lively as though he war good fur a hundred mile. Wal, I rid all that night, an’, ’arly the next mornin’, I found myself nigh a patch of woods whar we allers made our camp when goin’ to an’ from the Saskatchewan, an’ I thought I would stop thar and git a leetle rest, fur I war tired an’ hungry. So I rid through the woods, an’, when I come in sight o’ our ole campin’ ground, I seed something that made me feel like hollerin’ ag’in; an’ I did holler; fur thar war two of our comp’ny – the only ones that ’scaped ’sides me – jest gettin’ ready to start off. They stopped when they seed me – an’, youngsters, you may be sartin that we war glad to meet each other ag’in. One of ’em war Bill Coffee, who I thought war dead. He war bad hurt, but he got off without losin’ his har, an’ he felt mighty jolly over it. Arter they had told me ’bout their fight with the Injuns – an’ they jest did get away, an’ that war all – I told ’em ’bout Bill Simons bein’ killed, and how me an’ Pete had run a race with the varlets, an’ we all swore that the Blackfeet wouldn’t make nothin’ by rubbin’ out them two fellers. I stayed thar long enough to rest a little an’ eat a piece of meat that one of ’em give me, an’ then we all sot out fur the fort, which we reached all right. We laid ’round fur ’bout a month, an’ then – would you b’lieve it? – we three fellers made up another comp’ny, an’ put fur the Saskatchewan ag’in. None of us ever forgot our promise, an’ every time we drawed a bead on a Blackfoot, we thought of Bill an’ Pete Simons.”
CHAPTER XIX
Homeward Bound
THE travelers remained at the “ole bar’s hole” three weeks, instead of one, as they had at first intended. Game of every description was plenty; there were no Indians to trouble them; in short, they were leading a life that exactly suited the boys, who were in no hurry to resume their journey, which was becoming tiresome to them. Besides, their supply of bacon was exhausted, and the trappers undertook to replenish the commissary. This they did by “jerking” the meat of the buffaloes that had been killed during the hunt in which Frank had taken his involuntary ride. They cut the meat into thin strips, and hung it upon frames to dry – the sun and the pure atmosphere of the prairie did the rest. The meat was thoroughly cured without smoke or salt, and although the boys did not relish it as well as the bacon, they still found it very palatable. To Dick, it was like meeting with an old friend. He had always been accustomed to jerked Buffalo meat, and he ate great quantities of it, to the exclusion of corn-bread and coffee, of which he had become very fond.
In addition to this, the gray mustang demanded a large share of their attention. He was very unruly, extremely vicious, and attempted to use his teeth or heels upon every thing that approached him. But these actions did not in the least intimidate Dick, who was a most excellent horseman; and, after several rides over the prairie, coupled with the most severe treatment, he succeeded in subduing the gray, which was turned over to his young master, with the assurance that he was “a hoss as no sich ole buffaler hunter as Sleepy Sam could run away from.”
This declaration was instantly resisted by Archie, who forthwith challenged Frank to a race; but it was not until the latter had fully satisfied himself that the mustang was completely conquered that he accepted the proposition. When he had been robbed of his horse, Frank had lost something that could not again be supplied, and that was his saddle. As for a bridle, he soon found that the trapper’s lasso twisted about the gray’s lower jaw, answered admirably; but it was a long time before he could bring himself to believe that his blanket could be made to do duty both as saddle and bed. After a week’s practice, however, he began to feel more at home on his new horse; and, one morning, as he rode out with his cousin, he informed him that he was prepared for the race. Archie, always ready, at once put Sleepy Sam at the top of his speed; but the gray king had lost none of his lightness of foot during his captivity, and before they had gone fifty yards he had carried Frank far ahead. Race after race came off that day, and each time Sleepy Sam was sadly beaten. Archie was compelled to acknowledge the gray’s superiority, and declared that he “wouldn’t mind camping with Black Bill himself if he could be certain of no worse treatment than Frank had received, and could gain as good a horse as the gray king by the operation.”
The mustang having been thoroughly broken to saddle, and the travelers supplied with meat, there was nothing now to detain them at the cave. So, one morning Dick harnessed his mules, and they prepared to resume their journey. Before starting, however, the boys explored the “ole bar’s hole” for the twentieth time, and as long as they remained in sight, they turned to take a long, lingering look at the place which was now associated with many exciting adventures.
Instead of traveling back to the road the train had taken, the trapper led them southward, and, after a long and tedious journey through the mountains, they reached Bridget’s Pass, and a few days afterward they arrived at a fort of the same name. They camped there one night, and then turned their faces toward Salt Lake City, which they reached in safety. Mr. Winters led the way to a hotel, where an excellent dinner was served up for them. After passing more than two months in the saddle, subsisting upon the plainest food, it is no wonder that the boys were glad to find themselves seated at a table once more. Fresh meat and vegetables of all kinds disappeared before their attacks, and they finally stopped because they were ashamed to eat more. After dinner, being informed by their uncle that they would remain in the city until the following day, in order to give the trappers time to lay in a fresh supply of provisions, the boys started out to see the sights. Evidences of prosperity met their eyes on every side. Some of the buildings were elegant, the streets broad and clean, and filled with vehicles. Wagon trains were constantly coming and going, and the principal business seemed to be to supply these with provisions. Archie thought it must be a splendid place to live in, so near good hunting grounds; but he could not help glancing pityingly toward a youth about his own age, whom they met on the street, and wondering “how many mothers that poor fellow had to boss him around.”
When it began to grow dark they returned to their hotel, where they retired early. They thought they could enjoy a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed, but their expectations were not realized. They could not go to sleep. First, they thought the quilts were too heavy, and they kicked them off on the floor. Then the mattress was too soft – they could scarcely breathe – and after rolling and tossing for half the night, they spread the quilts on the floor, and there slept soundly until morning.
Their journey through Utah and Nevada into California, was accomplished without incident worthy of note; and, in due time, they arrived at Sacramento. Here it was that their uncle had been located previous to his return to Lawrence, and consequently they were at their journey’s end. As soon as Mr. Winters had settled up his business, they would return to the States by steamer. This was communicated to the trappers the morning after their arrival, and it was an arrangement at which Dick was both surprised and grieved. After a short consultation with old Bob, they both approached and announced their determination of returning to the mountains immediately.
“We’ve got to go sometime,” said Dick, “that ar’ sartin; an’ the longer we stay, the harder it ’comes to leave.”
Mr. Winters then broached the subject of payment for their services, to which the trappers would not listen, neither would they accept the offer of the horses, mules, and wagon, Dick declaring that by acting as their guide he had found a “chum” in the oldest and best trapper on the prairie, and that was worth more to him than any thing else. Money he did not need; and as for the mules and wagon, he had no use for them. And evidently wishing to bring the interview to a close, as soon as possible, he hastily shook Mr. Winters by the hand, and bade him good-by.
His parting from the boys was not so easily accomplished. He extended a hand to each, and, for some moments, stood looking earnestly at them, without speaking. At length, he said:
“I don’t like to say good-by to you, youngsters. I had hoped that I should guide you back to the States. But you know your own bisness better nor I do, so I oughtn’t to grumble. I wish you could allers stay with me. I’d take mighty good keer of you. But our trails lay in different directions. You go back to your friends, an’ me an’ ole Bob go to the mountains, to hunt, an’ trap, an’ fight Injuns, as we have done fur many a long year.”
“You’ll need a horse then, Dick,” interrupted Frank. “You certainly will not refuse the gray king! Take him, and keep him to remember us by.”
“Youngsters,” said the trapper, struggling hard to keep back something that appeared to be rising in his throat, “it don’t need no hoss to make me ’member you. But I’ll take him, howsomever, as a present from you, an’ every time I look at him, I shall think of you away off in the States.”
“And, Dick,” chimed in Archie, “if you ever see Black Bill, don’t forget that he stole my relics.”
“I won’t forget it, little ’un. An’ now, good-by. It aint no ways likely that we shall ever see each other ag’in; but I hope that when you git hum, an’ tell your friends of your trip acrost the plains, that you will give one thought to your ole friend Dick Lewis, the trapper. Good-by, youngsters.”
The guide wrung their hands, and then gave way to old Bob, who also seemed to regret that the parting time had come; and when the farewells had all been said, the trappers mounted their horses, rode rapidly down the street and disappeared.
It was not at all probable that the boys would ever forget those rough, but kind-hearted men – for the guides held a prominent place in their affections. Although they were in a busy city, surrounded by friends – for Mr. Winters had a large circle of acquaintances in Sacramento – they were lonesome now that the trappers had gone, and their thoughts often wandered off in search of those two men, now on their lonely journey to the mountains.
At the end of two weeks Mr. Winters had settled up his business, and, one morning, they took the stage for Benicia; thence they went by boat to San Francisco. Here they took passage on board a mail steamer to Panama, thence by rail to Aspinwall, where they found another steamer, that took them safely to Boston. At Portland, which they reached in due time, they remained a week, and then all set out for Lawrence. Frank had written to his mother when to expect them, and they found all the inmates of the cottage on the watch. As the carriage that brought them from the wharf drew up before the gate, Brave announced the fact by a joyful bark, that brought Mrs. Nelson and Julia to the door, where the travelers were warmly received. Besides strong frames, sunburnt faces, and good appetites, the boys brought back from the plains a fund of stories that was not exhausted that evening, nor the next, and even at the end of two weeks they still had something to talk about. The skins of the bears were stuffed and mounted, side by side, in the museum, together with those of several prairie wolves, big-horns, and that of the antelope the boys had killed the morning they were lost on the prairie. Archie never grew tired of relating the particulars of his adventure with the grizzly, and when he told of their being lost, he never forgot to mention how Sleepy Sam had “landed him in the water.”
And now that the young hunters were among their friends again, did they ever “give one thought” to their guide? They often talked of him – his stories were still fresh in their memories, and his many acts of kindness could never be forgotten. Whenever they recounted their adventures, or related the little history of the new objects they had mounted in their museum, they always spoke of him, and many an earnest wish went out from them for the welfare of Dick Lewis, the Trapper. In their subsequent career in the gun-boat service, they often related incidents of his life to their messmates.
