 | CHAPTER XII.
ON THE GRAND PRAIRIES. The border rover |  |
12. CHAPTER XII.
ON THE GRAND PRAIRIES.
I immediately made Botter acquainted with all I
had heard from the amateur hunters.
“Wall, them thar Injuns al'ays was the devil's
own,” he said in reply; “and hyer's a old nigger as
has seed 'em within short smell—ef I haven't, you kin
chaw me up fur a liar. Augh! But they must hev
got cantankerous arter them green spoonies, to make
sich a dash so fur east as Turkey Creek; they'd
looked a — sight more like themselves—the infernal,
greasy scoundrels—howling around to Pawnee
Fork; that's whar they ginerally spread out to do
thar dirty work.”
“So Pawnee Fork is considered the most dangerous
point on the route, is it?” said I.
“Rayther—though nobody's top-knot is parfectly
safe from thar to Bent's—but I'd not expected them
to Turkey Creek. Chaw me up fur a liar, Freshwater,
jest like to been thar—fur I jest feel myself spyling
fur a fight—eh! Wolfy?”
Stericks was squatted on the ground, within hearing,
and replied, in his usual growling tone:
“Better keep cl'ar of them thar 'Rappahoes—that's
my notion, and I knows 'em a few.”
“Wall, you does, old hoss!” laughed Botter. “D'ye
remember the time, Wolfy, we both went in, plum-centre,
rubbed three on 'em out, and lifted thar ha'r?”
“And how I toted you off, with two or three arrers
sticking into ye? Yes, I haint forgot to that.”
“Augh! them was times!” said Sam, with a satisfactory
grunt.
“Suppose I pay you well for your time, how would
you like to go with me in search of these female prisoners?”
inquired I.
“Go whar, Freshwater?”
“Why into the Indian country.”
“Arter them thar womens?”
“Yes.”
Botter looked at me, with a quizzical leer, as he inquired:
“In 'arnest, Freshwater?”
“Certainly I am.”
“What! you jest want to run your wool into them
— red niggers' fists, fur two womens?”
“You think, then, there would be no chance of our
return, should we make the attempt?”
“Nary once—not any more nor ef you was sunk
them thar niggers, to thar own stamping-ground, and
expect to keep your ha'r?—that's one of the notions—
chaw me!”
“From what you have just said, I inferred you had
done as much already.”
“Nary once, boy—nary once—not so green sence
I cut my eye-teeth. About fifteen of the — imps
once pitched into me and Wolfy, and we went in and
drawed blood; but that thar wasn't walking into the
whole nation, in thar own country, by a long shot.
Augh!”
“Alas! poor Adele!” sighed I.
“Poor what?”
“One of the females captured was a young girl, a
particular friend of mine,” said I, by way of explanation,
for I had never told either of the trappers of my
adventure in the traders' camp.
“Oh, she was, hey?” returned Botter; “that's the
reason fur you wanting to go, hey? Expect! Glad
you told me that thar, Freshwater.”
“Why?”
“Bekase your wanting to tramp arter two strange
womens, right into the devil's own camp, made me
suspicion your whole senses had gone a wolfing.
Being your friend, Freshwater, I'm sorry fur the gal;
but ef them thar 'Rappahoes has got her, thar's no
help for't—she'd better been dead fust.”
It is impossible to describe my feelings, when I
found there was no hope of my ever beholding Adele
removed from the sum total of life. Now, for the
first time, I realized how strong was that attachment
which I had termed friendship. Was it mere friendship?
or was it love? I began to doubt if I properly
knew my own heart—but time, I knew, would show.
“You see,” said I, sadly, turning to Varney, “I
have no object in hurrying forward now, and so I will
remain with you.”
He grasped my hand, and tears filled his eyes.
“You give me new life, my dear friend,” he replied.
“I should be miserable without you—though,
for your happiness, I feigned a willingness to make
the sacrifice.”
“Poor Adele!” I sighed.
“Roland, you love her,” he whispered, “and I pity
you.”
“She was good and beautiful, Alfred; and since I
have lost her, I feel that one bright hope has been
struck from existence. Is that love, Varney?”
“It is akin to it, at least,” he said; and as he
spoke, he cast his eyes upward, with an air of abstraction,
and sighed.
“You are thinking of her you love?” said I.
“Yes, Roland, I am thinking of my sweet Mary—
shall I ever behold her again?”
“You have hope,” said I.
“Else would life be valueless,” he rejoined. “I am
thinking, that were she lost to me forever, as perhaps
Adele is to you, not only one bright hope, but all
which would then be a blank indeed.”
“Yours is certainly true love,” said I; “but I cannot
say I have the same feelings; though, Heaven
knows, just now I feel quite wretched. Little did I
think, when I parted from that poor girl, in whom I
took so deep an interest, that such a horrible fate
awaited her, and that I should never behold her again.
Better, far better for her, had the ball, which I lodged
in Loyola's breast, been sent to her heart; for I am sure
her gentle spirit would have found its way to Paradise,
and thus she would have escaped an earthly
doom which makes me shudder to contemplate. And
Loyola is dead! How much had I to do in shortening
his days? Ah! the whole subject is painful—let
me not dwell upon it. Come, Varney, since we are
to travel no further in the company of the trappers,
let us settle with them, and talk over other plans—it
will at least be a temporary relief to my mind. If it
were not for you, my friend, I would turn back, and
make glad the hearts of my parents. Oh! Varney,
just now I am very, very wretched.”
“I perceive you are,” rejoined Varney, in a tone of
deep feeling; “and as I love you, my friend, I must
counsel you for the best. Do not make further sacrifice
for me; but if you feel you are doing wrong, in
going forward on this perilous journey, return at
once to those who have more claim upon you than I.
I shall always feel grateful for the kindness you have
shown to one who may never be able to repay you;
not, for the world, that on my account you should do
that which will cause you future regret.”
“Say no more!” I replied—“I am going with you.
You have succeeded, during our brief acquaintance,
in twining yourself about my heart; and come what
come may, a friend in your extremity I will not desert.”
“Thank you, and may God reward you!” said
Varney, in a tremulous tone; and he turned his head
away to conceal his emotion.
Botter at first declined taking any pay for the time
he had lost in traveling to suit our convenience. He
said that as he was the first to break the bargain, he
was willing to consider the matter square; and that
we had a better right to complain of our disappointment
than to pay for it. But I insisted on remunerating
him, because his time was valuable, and he had
really been very kind and obliging, which was not to
be offset by the disagreeable churlishness of his
partner.
“Wall,” he said at last, with a mischievous grin,
and twinkle of his dark eye, “I reckon, Freshwater,
you sort o' does owe this hyer old beaver a wet to
Bent's, fur not fotching in ary deer—to say nothing
to hitting a tree to a hundred yard—eh! boy?”
“I certainly do, Sam; and as you were to call up
all your friends, you know, I am sure twenty-five dollars
will not be too large an appropriation for that
“Chaw me, boy, but I wish you was gwine to be
thar—fur this hyer old hoss likes you jam up; but
them thar twenty-five shiners is too much—bekase,
ef me and Wolfy's got to wet 'em out, there'll be two
— lazy, drunken loafers fur a week. Eh! Wolfy,
coon?”
“Oh, take the money, without no sich — palaver!”
growled Stericks. “We've 'arned it, by the
hardest work I ever done to my life.”
“Then s'pose you take it, and shut your ugly meat-trap!”
cried Botter, indignantly. And as I put the
specie into his hand, he gave it an angry toss to his
partner—muttering, in an undertone: “Some two-legged
critters is more hog nor human—ef they ain't,
why war decency diskivered? Augh!”
Saying this, he turned short about, and walked
away—but soon came back, and called me aside.
“Freshwater,” he said, “you musn't take me fur
Wolfy, nor Wolfy for One-Eyed Sam, when you kim
to think over your fust tramp. He's got some good
streaks, has Wolfy—and this hyer old nigger's got
some — bad ones—and so, not being jest alike, I
want you to keep me and him from gitting mixed up
like to your thinking noddle.”
“I certainly shall do that, without the least difficulty,”
I replied. “I shall always remember you as
one it would give me pleasure to meet again, either in
“Wall, thar, Freshwater, s'pose you quit to the
good word, and leave Wolfy go—fur I sees a sign in
your eye, that you'll say some'at as I wouldn't like to
hear, being his friend like, ye see.”
“Botter,” said I, grasping his hard, horny, weatherstained
hand, “would to Heaven there were more like
you in the world!”
“What! more sich chawed-up, slashed-up, nose-bitten,
cheek-bored, one-eyed old niggers like to me,
hey?”
“Even so—if, under their rough exteriors, a heart
could be found like yours.”
“Wall, you won't find nary sich chopped-up human
agin—you kin gamble on to that,” returned the
old trapper. “As to the heart, Freshwater, I reckon
the less said about that thar ar' the best. I knows
I've got some decent feelings—but the devil gits into
me at times, and then I mought be prayed for a heap.
Augh!”
We spent the night in our tent, in the trappers'
camp; and the next morning, at an early hour, I took
leave of Botter, who expressed the hope that we
should meet again. I saw him mount his horse and
depart, with feelings of regret; for I had got accustomed
to his ways—and, rough and uneducated as he
was, I liked him.
The new day, like those which had preceded it, was
bright and beautiful. The sun rose golden in the east,
with happy life, and filled the air with happy songs.
Varney, too, made his appearance in good spirits, and
seemed stronger and more animated than at any time
since our acquaintance; and this had a revivifying
effect upon me, who might otherwise have been quite
despondent. What with dividing my thoughts, strange
as it may seem, between poor Adele and my parents,
I had slept but little through the night; and had my
friend risen gloomy and dispirited, and the morning
been cloudy and unpropitious, I do believe I should
have been tempted, in spite of my resolution to the
contrary, to turn my steps homeward—so much are
we, impressible beings the best of us, affected internally
by external surroundings.
`Ah!” said Varney, cheerfully, with an animated
glow, as his eye wandered around the grove—“this
seems like living indeed! So, the trappers are gone?
Well, I am not sorry. I liked Botter; but his surly
companion constantly impressed me with dread—a
kind of indefinite fear—and I am glad to be relieved
of his presence.”
“Come,” said I, “let us go down to the traders'
camp, get another civilized meal, and see if we can
gather any interesting news.”
Not to enter too much into detail of that which can
be of no special interest to the reader, I will merely
remark, that we remained two days at Council Grove;
when, to our great delight, a military company, having
in charge a small train of wagons, passed through the
Fort. The commander of the company, whom I will
term Lieutenant Parker, being a very gentlemanly
and obliging individual, we had no difficulty in making
suitable arrangements to go out with him. We took
our animals, tent, and all our camp materials along;
and Varney had the privilege of riding on horseback,
and in one of the wagons, and changing from one to
the other as often as suited his pleasure, while the
lieutenant took care that we both fared as well as
himself.
We now journeyed much faster than before; and
there being some fifty of us in all, we felt perfectly
safe from Indian molestation; and had the weather
proved fine, we should have had a few days of
agreeable traveling; but during the afternoon of the
first day, it set in to rain—and continued, with very
little intermission, for three or four days—swelling
all the streams on our route, making the road in
many places muddy and miry, and causing the horses
and mules to chafe under the saddle and in the
harness.
Varney, much to my relief of mind, did not appear
to suffer from the unpleasant change of weather; but
he took care not to expose himself needlessly, and to
keep himself as dry as possible, under cover of the
wagon, in which he now rode altogether, (letting his
horse follow,) and which at night served him for a
tent.
Our first military camp was at Diamond Spring,
spring of clear, cold water, some three or four feet
across, and is a noted stopping-place for caravans,
either going out or coming in. The second day we
started early, and pushed rapidly forward, through
the constantly falling rain, and camped, just before
dark, on Cottonwood Fork, a distance of some thirty
miles from Diamond Spring. The third day—I date,
of course, from the time of our joining the company
—we found our animals so chafed and fatigued, that
we made only a short march, and encamped, about
noon, on Turkey Creek.
This was the spot to excite in me the most painful
emotions; for here it was the fight had occurred,
in which Loyola had met his death, and Adele been
taken prisoner. I looked around, with a sad heart,
and shuddered to think upon the awful fate of the
poor girl, who might never know the blessings of
happiness in her weary journey through life. Her
early years had been passed in what might well be
termed misery—but these, in comparison with her
present doom, might seem as sunny hours to a long
night of tempest. And would her present night of
wretchedness ever have a morn in life? or was it her
hard destiny to groan on, in desolate wo, till her
bright spirit should float to its heavenly home beyond
the dark river of death? Was there no hope for
her? was there no friendly hand to be stretched to
her relief? Should I, who had vowed to protect her,
go quietly on my way, and allow her to suffer?
hopeless slavery, among a race of savages, and make
no attempt to save her? No! my soul revolted at
the thought; and should nothing intervene in her
favor, I solemnly resolved, soon or late, to make one
attempt to rescue her—even if compelled to go alone,
and unaided, into the very jaws, as it were, of a most
horrible death.
But it was not my intention to pursue a rash or
perilous course, if I could avoid it. I was resolved
that Adele, if living a prisoner among the Indians,
should be restored to civilized life; I was resolved,
should all other means fail, to do for her all that one
man could do, ere I turned my face homeward; but
I had no romantic ideas of performing wonderful
feats, like the knights of old, merely to display my
heroism and devotion. I would not rush into peril
for peril's sake—nor was I particularly desirous that
she should owe her liberty to me more than another.
My prime object was her restoration to civilization:
the means and manner of her deliverance, and by
whom performed, were of secondary importance.
I had strong hopes, too, this might be effected
without my personal assistance—for I had laid the
whole matter before Lieutenant Parker, and he had
promised to report to his superior officer, and thought
it not unlikely a force might be sent against the tribe
in question, to chastise them for their presumption,
and snatch their ill-fated victims from their remorseless
grasp. But besides all this, my first duty was to
determined not to part from him till there should
come a change, either for better or worse—till, in
fact, I could leave him on the road to health, or know
his spirit had passed the portals of death.
We were now, it could be said, fairly upon the
margin of the Grand Prairies. The rolling and partially-timbered
lands, had gradually given place to
the flat and arid-looking plains, that stretch away,
northward and westward, for hundreds of miles—to
the very base, in fact, of that grand, rocky chain
which divides the rivers of the Atlantic from the
Pacific. No longer were our eyes to be greeted with
the tall green blade and bright flowers; but, in place,
we were to have the short, brown buffalo grass, thinly
planted, and looking withered by contrast—though
really sweeter and more nutritious, I was told, than
the ranker and more beautiful vegetation. No longer
were we to be delighted with stately groves, along the
banks of purling streams, with gay birds singing in
their green branches, and blithe squirrels hopping
from limb to limb, and darting up and down their
stately trunks; but, in place, we were to have deep,
sunken, muddy, sluggish creeks, and a dull, monotonous
view, unrelieved by a single tree, shrub, or
bush. Turkey Creek was entirely bare of timber;
and it was only with great labor, and a search far and
wide, that sufficient fuel could be collected for culinary
purposes.
But as a compensation, if I may so term it, for
now entering upon the Paradise of hunters, the grand
buffalo range, where these formidable-looking animals
may be seen in droves of millions, covering the earth
for miles on miles beyond the reach of sight. As yet
we had seen none of the living; but here and there
were old wallows—that is, places where the animal,
lying on its side, as its wont, and using its feet to turn
itself round and round, has formed a cavity in the
yielding soil—here and there, I say, were old wallows,
and grinning skulls, and decaying bones, showing that
once their range had been here and eastward, and
giving us an inkling of what we might shortly expect
to behold.
Toward evening the rain ceased; but the air becoming
sultry and oppressive, I resolved to sleep on
the ground under cover of my tent. I chose the
ground there, because of its being drier, while I could
have all the advantage of a chance breeze, as my canvas
covering did not reach quite to the earth. Soon
after dark, I picketed my animals, and, being very
tired, threw off my clothes and laid down on one of
my blankets, with the other at hand to cover me in
case of a sudden change of temperature during the
night. For some time I laid awake, troubled with
painful thoughts; but gradually my senses sunk into
a doze; and, soon after, a deep, dreamless sleep succeeded.
About midnight I was awakened by a stunning clap
of thunder. I was lying on my back, uncovered, and
my tent, and quite a puddle of water had begun to
form against my side—but as I attempted to rise,
there came another vivid flash of lightning—and,
horror of horrors! by its searching light I beheld an
enormous rattlesnake nestled close to my feet. My
movement had aroused him, so that I saw his arched
neck and fiery eyes; and, almost at the same instant,
he gave his warning signal, and struck. I felt the
blow against my foot; and not doubting that his
deadly fangs had lacerated the flesh, I started up,
with a piercing yell of terror, and rushed forth from
the tent, more mad than sane.
| CHAPTER XII.
ON THE GRAND PRAIRIES. The border rover | |