University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

On our arrival at Wheeling we lost no time in
securing our seats in the stage, and prepared to
proceed on our journey the same evening. It was
amusing to see how John, who never in his life
had been so long pent up before, crawled out of his

confinement, looking for all the world like a bagged
fox. Not even when he came in from his forced
march to the Sac River, had I seen him so completely
worn out and divested of his energy. He
yawned and stretched his limbs, and looked around
on the houses and people, as on things of no interest
to him. At last he lazily raised his rifle, and
fixing his eye on the head of a nail in the wreck of
an old flat boat, drove it through the plank. He
said nothing, and did not even smile, but I saw by
a twinkle of his black eye that he was waking up.

“If that had been a squirrel's eye, John!”
said I.

“Ah, Lord! Mr. Napier, if I could only take a
turn through these hills for a day or two, I'd show
you something better than squirrels.”

“What would that be?”

“Bear meat,” he replied.

“Would you expect to find bears in a country
so populous as this?”

“It's mighty hard to drive the bear out of such
a rough country as this; and as to the people, that
makes no odds if they an't of the right sort. I
dare say they don't know there's a bear in the
country.”

“And why do you think there is?”

“I see plenty of sign, sir, along the river where
we stop to get wood, and there's a fine beech
mast this year, and the bears are busy lapping
now, as boys in a cherry tree.”

“Lapping!” said I; “what's that?”

“Why, you see, sir, a bear has got hands almost
like a man, and when he gets up in a tree he's so
heavy he can't go out on the branches, and the
creature's amazing strong, so he gets hold of them
and pulls them in, or maybe breaks them off; and
that's what we call lapping. So you see, sir, when
we find the branches lying about in the woods, we
know there's bears about; and when we see the
marks of their nails on the smooth bark of the
beech trees, then we stop and listen every now and
then; and presently we hear snap, snap, and it's
sure to be a bear up a tree.”

“I suppose you have him safe enough,” said I,
“when you catch him there.”

“Not always, sir; if he sees you or hears you
coming before you get a shoot at him, he's mighty
apt to be off, unless you have a dog to stop him.”

“I have been told,” said I, “that they climb like
sailors, but are awkward in coming down.”

“I God!” said John, “they don't stand on climbing
at such times. If the tree is one hundred feet
high, the fellow just lets go all holds, and claps his
head between his arms and rolls himself as round
as a hoop, and down he comes like a hairy worm.
Lord! if I have not seen them fall on a steep hillside,
and roll away to the bottom just the same as
a wagon wheel.”

“Does it never kill them?” asked I.

“Lord! no, sir. It does not even bruise them.
You see, sir, the fleece saves them.”

“But their fleece is not so thick as that of a
sheep, and such a fall would kill a sheep.”

John looked at me a moment in some perplexity,
and then laughing said,

“Oh, you are thinking about the fur, but I don't
mean that. What we call the fleece is the hard
coat of fat outside like a hog, maybe three or four
inches thick. You cannot hurt a fat hog if you hit
him in the body; and the fleece of a bear will stop
a ball if your powder and all are not very good.
And you see, sir, when we are away out of the
settlements, and bears are plenty, we cannot bring
in all we kill, so we just take the skins and
fleeces.”

When we took our places in the stage, John,
whose rifle would have been in the way in the
body of the coach, gladly seated himself beside the
driver; and as he was perfectly at home with such
characters, they were soon well acquainted. I
could hear their voices and frequently a laugh, but
that was all; but when we stopped to change
horses, I saw that they were as intimate as brothers.
John, glad of employment, soon learned to
lend a hand in gearing, and commenced the next
stage, more than half acquainted with his new
companion. In the body of the coach we had an
intelligent company of communicative men, and
were soon too much engaged in conversation to
feel the want of him; so that we hardly heard a
word from him for a day or more.

On reaching the Alleghany Mountain, we were

to pass the night (from ten to three) at a public
house on the top. On our arrival we found supper
ready, and having swallowed a few mouthfuls,
were hurrying to bed, when John caught Balcombe's
eye, and coming near said,

“I want to talk with you, gentlemen, where
nobody can see us.”

“Go out, then,” said Balcombe, “and we will
follow you.”

He did so; and we saw him walk off in a direction
opposite to that to the stables, where we saw
the gleaming of lanterns, and the figures of men
moving about. John soon stopped, and we came
up with him.

“Colonel,” said he, “all isn't right here, I'm a
thinking. Maybe you'd better not go on in the
morning. But I'll just tell you all, and you'll know
best.”

“Go on, John,” said Balcombe, “and then we'll
consult about it.”

“Well, sir,” continued John, “you see I'm
mighty thick with all these drivers, and I tell 'em
strange things about hunting, and Indians, and the
like; and I have my fun out of them, 'cause, you
see, it an't no use to be always sticking to the
truth, when a fellow wants to hear something sorter
miraculous. So you see I'm a mighty man among
them, and as it happens, I haven't never said nothing
about you, and they don't know as I knows you.
So to-night, sir, when we stopped to change horses
last time, I was setting on the dickey (I think they

call it) and you was in the tavern. So when the
driver takes his seat, he opens a tin box I see them
carry, and he takes up a paper, and holds it to the
lantern and looks at it, and says he,

“`Balcombe! Balcombe! Is there a gentleman
of the name of Balcombe in the stage?'

“`Yes,' says I; `do you know such a man?'

“`No,' says he; `only it's a strange sort of a
name. Which is the man?'

“`That one as wears the blanket capot,' says I.

“So then he blows his trumpet, and the colonel
comes out, and just stops under the lantern at the
door, and I sees the fellow look mighty hard at
him. And then I hears him talking to himself, and
says he,

“`Balcombe! Balcombe! that's the very name.'

“So I gets to considering, and we starts off, and
after a while says he,

“`An't this Mr. Balcombe from Missouri?'

“`I believe he is,' says I.

“So he says no more just then; and he hadn't
much to say nohow, but just kept a studyinglike,
and at last says he,

“`Do you know which way a man would go
from here down into Essex county in Virginia?'

“I didn't know no more than a child, and I told
him so; but then, thinks I, an't that where they
say Montague's gone? So I was glad that I did
not let him know that I knew the colonel, and then
I begins and talks about the mountains, and where
I was raised in Virginia; and I never lets on that

I had ever been in Missouri in my life. And then
I tells a heap of stories I had heard about robbing
people on the road, and the like, and I made out as
if I didn't think so mighty much harm of the like
of that; and I tells him of a friend of mine that
was sent to the penitentiary for robbing a stranger,
how 'twas a pity of him, because he was such a
clever fellow. And he didn't say much, but sorter
let on that it was a ticklish business, but a smart
fellow might do pretty well at it anywhere close
to the state line, where he could dodge the law. I
cannot tell you rightly all he said, but something
like as if a man might do a worse business sometimes
than just to keep still and say nothing.

“ `How's that?' says I.

“ `Why,” says he, `suppose any of my friends
was to meet us now, and want to rob the mail or
the passengers, and you there with your rifle. Do
you think they could not afford to give you something
handsome to keep quiet?'

“ `That would depend upon what they got,' says
I. `'Cause I thinks I ought to share and share
alike with them.'

“ `No,' says he, `that would not be fair; 'cause
you wouldn't run no risk.'

“ `Maybe so,' says I; `but I reckon any of them
would be glad to give me his share and mine too,
before he'd let me take a crack at him.'

“You see I didn't want to seem too anxious,
'cause I thought he would not be so apt to suspicion
me, if I held out for a good bargain. But

he didn't say no more; and when we gets here I
sees him and the other driver that is to go on from
here in the morning, get together, and they had a
heap of whispering, and I thought I heard your
name and Montague's, and I sees 'em look right
hard at me, and says t'other one,

“ `No, damn it, let him alone; I can manage
him.'

“So I just sets my rifle down in the stall, and I
goes away and stays a while, and when I comes
back I takes it up and comes to the house. And I
looks at the rifle, and the priming was wet, and I
puts down the wiping stick, and when I draws it
out that was wet too. So I put that and that together,
sir, and then I thought I'd tell you all about
it.”

“Well, John,” said Balcombe, “a little rest
won't hurt us; so I'll just stop here to-morrow,
and find out how the land lies. But how are we
to manage this? If we all stop, they'll find out
that we are all travelling together, and then they'll
be cautious before you.”

“Oh,” said John, “you can just stop because the
madam is tired; and as to me, I can be the sickest
man in half an hour that ever you seed.”

“That will do, John,” said Balcombe. “Steal
away, then, and let us to bed.”

To bed we went, and presently we heard a great
bustle of people running to and fro, ministering, as
I found, to poor John, whose illness had taken a
most alarming aspect. In the midst of the uproar

I went to sleep, and was roused by the driver with
his lantern. He knocked at the door of Balcombe,
who asked the hour.

“Two o'clock,” was the reply.

“Is not that earlier than common?” asked he.

“It's none too soon,” said the fellow, in a sulky
tone; “the drivers at the next stage say I am
always too late.”

“I cannot help that,” said Balcombe; “I will
not go until three. So take yourself off, and don't
disturb my family.”

“I shall have to leave you,” said the driver, in
a tone of expostulation.

“I suppose,” said Balcombe, “that your employer
will explain why I am left.”

The man was silent for a minute, and then said,

“I'll wait half an hour for you, sir.”

No answer.

“I'll wait three quarters of an hour.”

No answer.

“I'll wait an hour.”

“Harkee, friend,” said Balcombe; “I mean to
ask your employer by what right I have been disturbed
at this hour of the night. Do you want me
to get up and discuss the matter with you? Depend
on it, if I do, I shall use rougher arguments
than you like.”

This was spoken in a dry tone that was not to
be mistaken, and the driver moved off.