 | CHAPTER X.
OUR JOURNEY RESUMED. The border rover |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
OUR JOURNEY RESUMED.
“Hello!” shouted another voice, that seemed to be
half smothered; and at the same moment a dark
bundle, a few feet distant, came rolling toward the
fire, and the rough, ugly features of One-Eyed Sam
popped out into the light. “Hello! Freshwater—
that thar you?”
“It is me, Sam, thank God!”
“Thought you'd got lost, or gone under!”
“I have been lost.”
“Expect! Ary deer, boy?
“No!”
“Nary once—I knowed it—chaw me! Hyer's a
old nigger as'll wet on to that thar. Augh! Glad
you've come, lad! Shadbones war quite down in the
mouth. Better turn in and snooze it off, and talk it
over to-morrow. Right smart chance of fog, and the
muskeeters bite like the d—l. Augh!”
With this the head ducked into the blanket, like a
turtle into its shell, and the bundle rolled back to its
place, when something like a snore gave evidence
that the old trapper had put off care till another day.
“Oh, my friend!” exclaimed Varney, in a tremulous
voice—“how shall I express my joy at your safe
return! Oh! if you only knew what I have suffered
suffering, as I am free to admit.”
“I do know, Alfred,” returned I; “at least I have
in imagination seen your mental anguish. But come!
it is late; you have been much disturbed, and need
rest; let us take Botter's advice, turn into our hammocks,
and talk over the matter to-morrow.”
“But you need food, Roland!”
“No! I have already eaten all I require. Are the
animals safe?”
“Yes, they are all picketed close around us. Mr.
Botter was kind enough to take care of ours as well
as his own. But tell me—where have you been?
why did you not return at the time promised? and
how did you obtain food?”
“The story is too long for to-night, my friend. I
have met with some remarkable adventures, but am
weary; and so I pray you restrain your curiosity till
to-morrow.”
“I will try and do so,” he said, feebly; and as he
spoke, he was seized with a fit of coughing, which
lasted a long time, and left him greatly exhausted.
“You should have gone into your tent before dark,
and avoided this damp air!” said I, reprovingly. “If
you do not take better care of yourself, I am afraid
you will never see the mountains.”
“My dear friend,” he replied, “do not blame me!
I did go into the tent and lie down; but I could not
even remain there. I could not avoid thinking of
you; and the more I thought, the more excited I became;
and I was, as it were, compelled to get up and sit by
the fire. Oh! Roland, for the love of Heaven, do not
leave me so again! If anything were to happen to
you, I believe it would kill me. I am so feeble—so
dependent—and, without you, I feel so lonely—so
wretched.”
He spoke in such a feeble, mournful, pleading tone,
that I was affected even to tears. I took his thin,
trembling hand in mine, and, in an unsteady voice,
rejoined:
“Alfred Varney, unless severed by the overruling
power of Divine Providence, I will not leave you
again, till you are better able to bear the parting.”
“Thank you, Roland! my more than brother!” he
responded, with tearful eyes. “I am asking much of
you, I know; I am a dead weight upon your enjoyment;
I am a poor, miserable, selfish mortal—unnerved—unmanly
perhaps—with the seeds of death
in my system; I may never be able to repay your
kindness; but I know there is a world beyond,
where all will be rewarded for the good they do in
this; and when the time shall come, as you know it
must come, for you to go hence, your spirit will be
buoyed up by the knowledge that you did all you
could to render happy the last hours of a dying
friend.”
“Say no more, Varney!” I replied, most deeply
affected; “do not talk in this desponding, melancholy
strain; for you not only make me very sad, but
you. I will do all I can for you, and feel it no sacrifice;
I promised as much when I consented to be
your companion; but you must, for my sake, try and
look on the bright, instead of the dark, side of the
picture. The mind, in your case, has much power
over your disease; and if you give way to despondency,
it will only hasten the doom we both seek to
avert.”
“I know it—I know it,” he rejoined; “and I will
try and be cheerful and hopeful; only do not give
me the same cause for despondency which you have
to-night. Roland,” he continued, earnestly, after a
moment's pause, during which he seemed to be lost
in deep reflection—“did it ever occur to you, that
when, as in my case, the spirit is partially severed
from its bonds of clay, it might at times receive correct
impressions concerning the unknown future?
that it might, as it were, become invested with prophetic
knowledge?”
“I do not know that I have ever thought upon the
subject; but why do you ask?”
“You remember, when you spoke of going in quest
of deer, how anxious I seemed that you should not
lose sight of the camp?”
“Yes,” said I; “and I felt some surprise that you
should be fearful of my getting lost.”
“That,” returned Varney, “might have been natural
to any one so dependent on another, as I acknowledge
myself to be upon you—but that was the least
does not like to subject himself to ridicule; but I will
speak frankly now—for you are now prepared to say
what claim I have to prophetic inspiration. If none,
I shall be glad to know it was mere fancy, and not
truth—for I desire not to see into a future so fraught
with danger to those I love.”
“Say on!” returned I, with newly awakened interest.
“Remember, Roland, you have told me nothing;
and if I hit upon facts, that have transpired to your
knowledge, you must at least regard it as something
singular.”
“I certainly shall so do,” said I, “if you are even
able to tell me one tithe of what has taken place since
I parted from you.”
“I shall make no attempt to tell you what has happened,
my friend—for my impression was general,
rather than particular; but I felt, and believed, your
life would be in danger three several times ere I
should see you again.”
“Great God!” exclaimed I, with a start; “does
Destiny indeed walk before us, pointing out the path
which we must follow!”
“ `Rough-hew them how we will,' ”
right was I, Roland?”
“Right to the letter. I have three times narrowly
intimation in what manner, and by what means, my
life would be menaced?”
“None.”
“Did you think I would escape?”
“Twice I knew you must, else your life could not
a third time be in danger—but for the third time I
trembled! But tell me how it happened, Roland?”
“Not now! not now!” said I, glancing cautiously
around, and dropping my voice to a whisper. “Is
Stericks here?”
“Yes! he is asleep yonder, just beyond Botter,”
was the whispered reply.
“What time did he come in?”
“About dark.”
“Did he bring any game?”
“He was loaded with deer meat, of which we made
our supper.”
“Did he inquire for me?”
“Not in my hearing.”
“Come!” said I, aloud—“let us to bed; you forget
we have a journey before us to-morrow.”
We accordingly repaired to our tent, and it was my
design to turn in and go to sleep at once; but my
friend was so anxious to hear of my adventures, that
I thought it best to gratify him; and in a very low
tone I hurriedly narrated the principal facts. He was
much depressed and distressed at what had occurred—
but said he could not see that I was to blame in
shooting Loyola, everything being taken into consideration.
myself, that it was an attempt of Stericks to take my
life; but advised me to make no mention of it to
either of the trappers, and appear as if nothing had
happened—though, thenceforth, to take every precaution
against a secret foe, and be ever on the watch for
a sinister indication.
“As regards that poor girl, Roland,” he said,
“much as I pity her—and pity her, I do, from my
very soul—I do not think it would be wise in you to
interfere. You would, in all probability, get yourself
involved in a more serious difficulty, without being
able to better her condition in the least.”
“But my conscience would ever reprove me,” returned
I, “should I leave her in the hands of such a
brutal monster.”
“And provided you took her away from him—
what would you do with her?” he inquired.
“Do with her?” said I, not a little puzzled for a
rational answer; “why, take her to her friends.”
“And who are her friends? and where, Roland?”
he pursued. “I understand you to say, that she
knows little or nothing of her early history, and is
not certain that she has a friend or relative in the
world.”
“But I think I could find the convent where she
was educated.”
“And what then?”
“I think I could there learn something more
of her.”
“You might, and you might not; suppose the
latter—what then?”
“I do not know what,” said I; “but doubtless Providence
would aid me in my efforts to do right.”
“Pray answer me, frankly, a simple question!”
continued Varney, with much earnestness. “Would
you, under any circumstances, make this girl your
wife?”
“Frankly, then,” replied I, “I have no such design
in view. I do not wish to marry at present and if I
did, she is not my ideal.”
“Then, for a single moment, my dear friend, consider
the whole matter in a reasonable and rational
manner; and tell me, if you do not think it would be
Quixotic in the extreme for you, a young man of twenty-one,
to take this girl of seventeen from her father, or
one who passes for her father, and set off alone with
her into a strange country, for the purpose of restoring
her to friends of whom she has no knowledge, and
who, for all you know to the contrary, may have no
existence save in your excited imagination?”
“You certainly place the matter in a very Quixotic
point of view,” said I, much struck with the force of
his remarks.
“I certainly place the matter in its true light,” he
answered.
“Well, I will sleep upon it, perhaps dream upon
it,” said I; “and we will confer upon it to-morrow.
We both need rest, after the exciting events of to-day
—you especially. Good night, my friend.”
“Good night, and God bless you!” he returned.
We both turned into our hammocks, without saying
anything further, but neither went immediately to
sleep. He coughed for an hour, and I lay awake and
listened to him, my brain racked with painful and
perplexing thought. At last he became quiet, and I
gradually fell into a slumber, which was more or less
disturbed, through the night, with strange and startling
dreams. Toward morning, however, my nerves
became quieted, and I became oblivious to the cares
of mortality.
When I awoke, the sun was an hour above the
eastern horizon, and was shining bright and clear,
and gradually dispersing the mists and fog that still
lay in the little valleys along the courses of the different
streams. My friend was now sleeping tranquilly;
and fearful of disturbing him, I crept carefully
from the hammock, and stealthily left the tent.
It was indeed a day to put one in good spirits.
The mists had left the elevations, and the bright sun
was scattering the fog in the valley of our camp;
birds fluttered and sung in the branches of the trees
above us; squirrels chirruped, and leaped from limb
to limb, or darted up and down the stately trunks;
bees hummed their drowsy song, as they flew from
one bright flower to another; the little stream purled
musically, and sparkled like silver, as the light breeze
now and then lifted the mist and let the rays of the
sun strike it; and all nature seemed joyous and
decked in her holiday attire. I felt most sensibly the
to every living thing; and had even a rattlesnake
at that moment crossed my path, I should have given
him a wide berth, and allowed him to pass on unharmed,
unmolested.
I found the trappers squatted upon the ground, at
a little distance from a dying fire, which had cooked
their morning meal. They had their pipes in their
mouths, and seemed to be enjoying their indolence;
for One-Eyed Sam was talking glibly, and Wolfy
Jake was listening, and occasionally grunting approval
to his remarks. Neither seemed to take any
notice of me, as I drew near, till Botter had closed
his observations, with one of his peculiar laughs—
when, turning to me, he said:
“Wall, Freshwater, ef snoozing can save you settlement
chaps, there's no chance of your spyling.
Augh!”
“So it seems,” returned I, with a cheerful smile.
“But you must bear in mind I had a very fatiguing
day of it yesterday; and my sick friend, who is still
asleep, needs all the rest he can get, after the intense
anxiety and excitement he suffered on my account.”
“Yes, Shadbones war rayther down in the mouth
about you, that's a fact; though I knowed you'd kim
out right side up, and hind-sight plum!” and he
winked his one eye mischievously, and his ugly features
spread out into a broad grin. “But whar was
you all that time, and nary deer about?”
“I was on the look-out for game till dark,” replied
I; “and on my return I missed my way.”
As I said this, I fixed my eyes upon Stericks, who
sat quietly smoking, and looking off down the stream,
taking no notice of me whatever. I thought if he
were guilty of an attempt upon my life, I should perhaps
detect some change, however slight, in the expression
of his features. But I did not. There was
not the slightest variation in color—nor the slightest
twinkle, expansion, or contraction of the eye; and the
eye, be it observed, will often betray the consciousness
of an allusion to a secret fact, while all the rest of the
countenance, by an effort of the will, may remain in
an innocent repose. For some moments I looked
fixedly at Stericks, in order to decide in my own
mind if he held murder in his soul; but his was one
of those hard, inexpressive, phlegmatic faces, that, in
general, give no reflex of the owner's thought; though,
on the present occasion, I fancied the harsh outlines
appeared softened; and I was tempted to address him
in a kindly tone, in order, if possible, to do away with
that bitter animosity which must render our journey
disagreeable, to say the least, so long as we should remain
travelling companions. Botter glanced at me,
and seemed to understand my wish—for he immediately
observed, in his peculiar way:
“Come, come—what's the use, Wolfy? why can't
you and Freshwater make it up, and be friends? I'd
hate, most powerful, to hev anything agin anybody
on sich a day as this hyer—I would—chaw me!”
“For my part,” said I, “I am desirous to forget
what has passed between Mr. Stericks and myself;
and if he is willing, we will shake hands, and be no
longer enemies.”
“I don't believe in shaking hands,” growled Stericks,
without turning his head; “but ef you've a mind
to be civil, younker, we'll say no more about it; but
ef you raise the devil in me agin, I'll shoot you,
by —!”
I felt my blood tingle for a sharp retort. I was
tempted to tell him that he had already tried the
shooting game once and failed; and that I could do
something with powder and lead, as well as himself;
but, for several reasons, I restrained my temper, and
replied:
“Very well—let it end so then.”
“Come,” said Sam, judiciously turning the conversation,
“you want some feed, Freshwater; and
thar's meat, and thar's fire.”
“Thank you—I will help myself.”
“And I say, Freshwater, I reckon you'd best stir
up Shadbones; for we don't see powerful many sich
days to this hyer, and we ought to make the most on
'em—yes-siree!”
“As soon as I have cooked my meat, I will call
him,” said I.
“Then, Wolfy, we'd best fotch in the critters, and
pack our traps,” he continued, turning to his companion.
“Never you mind, though; you got the
feed last night, and this hyer old nigger'll git the
he carefully placed it in his wampum-worked holder,
and set off to drive in the horses and mules, which
were feeding at no great distance.
By the time I had replenished the fire, and toasted
a slice of meat, Varney made his appearance. He
looked pale and exhausted, said he felt very weak,
and was afraid he would not be able to make a long
day's journey. He had some appetite, however,
which I considered a favorable sign; and, after partaking
of our somewhat primitive meal, said he felt
stronger.
As the morning was wearing away, and I knew
the trappers were anxious to be on the move, I
hastened to catch our animals, saddle our horses, fold
our tent, and pack the mule; and in less than half an
hour from Varney's appearance, we were once more
mounted, and had bidden a long, an eternal, adieu to
Camp Calyptra.
We regained the Santa Fe trail, and, in the course
of another half hour, rode directly through the now
deserted camp of the Santa Fe traders. I did not pass
the ground without experiencing some very strange
and peculiar sensations; and as I pointed out the
spot to Varney, he slightly shuddered, and said:
“I thank God, Roland, you did not kill him!”
“I pray God he may not die!” returned I.
“And what of the girl, my friend?” he continued.
“Are you still resolved on your Quixotic adventure?
or have you thought better of it?”
“I should like to see her again—I must see her
again, Alfred—but, further than that, I am not prepared
to say.”
“And are you really resolved on seeing her again,
Roland?”
“I am.”
“But how will you accomplish your wish?”
“We must overtake them.”
“I fear it will be impossible, my friend, unless
they travel very slowly, or my health so improves as
to make long daily journeys.”
“I think we shall travel faster than they, and they
have only very little the start,” I replied.
“Well, to gratify you, Roland, I will exert myself
to the utmost of my strength,” said Varney, with a
troubled countenance.
“You shall do no such thing, and I beg you to
give yourself no uneasiness! It is a long journey to
Santa Fe; and if we do not overtake the party in
question for a week or two, it will make no material
difference. I wish to see Adele again, and have a
further talk with her; I wish to learn the result of
the wound of Loyola; but I am in no haste: therefore
cast the matter from your mind.”
The country we travelled over on the second day,
was of the same general character as that of the day
preceding—rolling prairie, green with grass, and gay
with bright flowers—steep bluffs, winsome valleys,
and wooded streams. Much of the soil was rich, but
only a little of it was under cultivation. Here and
farmers—for, by treaty, no whites were allowed to
settle here; but the different tribes, who owned the
land, in general preferred hunting and fishing to the
labor of cultivating more than an occasional corn-patch
and a patch for vegetables. They lived mostly in
moving villages—that is to say, villages of tents,
which they could strike in the morning, transport
through the day, and pitch at night, with very little
trouble. Their territory was large for their numbers,
and their wealth lay mostly in horses, mules and cattle,
which cost them little labor to raise, and which
found ready sale, at fair prices, with their eastern
white neighbors.
On our journey to-day we met a party of some half
a dozen, going to Independence with a small drove of
horses. They were superbly mounted, and were
dressed to Indian fancy—being bedecked with feathers
and wampum, and bedaubed with paint; and they
had bows, and quivers of arrows, and rifles, and
lassos, the latter coiled and hung upon the horns of
their Mexican saddles. They were friendly, of course,
though looking very fierce; and being real, native
Indians, of whom I had heard and read so much—
and being, moreover, more Indianfied than anything
I had seen at Independence—I could not resist the
temptation of stopping one, on pretence of wishing to
know the price of a good horse. I was at first inclined
to be very romantic, and to fancy myself my great-great-grandfather,
or some other worthy pioneer-leader,
treaty with a bold, daring, cruel, pale-face-hating
Indian chief; but the moment he opened his mouth,
and assured me “his hoss was good a heap,” I began
to feel quite common-place; and when he wound up
by telling me “he liked good whisk to make drunk
come,” and asked for a “chaw tobac,” I thought him
akin to a very vulgar human importation from Holland,
and could scarcely conceal my disgust. So we
parted—neither particularly pleased—he no richer,
but I some wiser. Shade of Cooper! had this red
man the cunning of the fox, the fierceness of the
tiger, the nobility of the lion? No! rather say the
slouching vulgarity of the hound! And this is the
half-civilized Indian of the nineteenth century!
My friend proved not so well able to bear the
fatigues of the second day as the first; and by the
middle of the afternoon we encamped for the night.
During the night his cough became more troublesome
than usual; and he had a slight hæmorrhage of the
lungs, which quite alarmed me. The next day he
was still weaker; and we both began to despair of
his ever seeing the mountains; but from that time he
gradually began to amend, and hope revived.
For several days, which I pass over with a word,
we were not in our saddles over four or five hours of
the twenty-four, and then we travelled very slowly.
This was a standing cause for grumbling on the
part of Stericks; and even Botter himself, I fancied,
began to get tired of his bargain—though he had, as
heard of the Santa Fe traders, from parties we had
met—but could learn nothing of Loyola or his daughter.
According to report, the company was now
many leagues ahead of us; and I began to lose all
hope of overtaking them before they should reach the
point where our course would require us to diverge
from the grand trail.
During all this time, the weather had proved
remarkably fine; and our route, each day, had been
over the same delightful, picturesque country already
described; but we were now approaching the borders
of these rolling and partially timbered lands; and
were about to enter upon the grand prairies—upon
scenes of more exciting and thrilling adventure—upon
scenes of hardship and peril—compared to which, all
I had seen and experienced would sink into insignificance.
Oh! the eventful future which lay before
me! Could I have lifted the vail, which, by
Almighty wisdom, shut it from my view, I should
perhaps have turned back with trembling and fear.
But the beacon of hope seemed to beam brightly in
the distance; and I pressed onward, perceiving not
its ignis fatuus illusions, nor the quicksands of despair
which lay between me and my goal!
| CHAPTER X.
OUR JOURNEY RESUMED. The border rover | |