 | The Trapper's Story. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West |  |
15. The Trapper's Story.
“Boys,” said old Reuben Hardinge, as, with three of his
companions, he sat before his camp-fire in the deep wilderness
of the Far West, “it's right amazing how old recollections
will plump down on a feller every now and then,
and make him about as fit for his business as a turkey-buzzard
is for a singing bird.”
“What's up now, Rube?” inquired one of the others, as
he lazily inhaled and puffed out a volume of tobacco
smoke.
“Well, Joe, I war jest thinking back to the time I fust
put out for these here diggings, and the right smart chance
of a muss that made me do it.”
“I never heerd the story, Rube.”
“I reckon none of us ever did,” said another.
“S'pose you tells it, ef you're in the mood for't,” put in
the third.
“Wall,” rejoined Rube, “I s'pose I mought as well tell
it as think about it—though thar's mighty few as ever
heerd it—for it arn't one o' the things as I likes to hev cut
across my track purty often.
“Let me see now!” pursued the old mountaineer,
musingly; “thirty year, I reckon, would take me back to
a right smart-looking young man. Now you needn't grin
so about that, boys—for it's a fact, by thunder! I warn't
al'ays the scarrified, stoop-shouldered, grizzly-faced, gray-headed,
grunting old beaver you sees me now, I can tell
you—but a right smart chance of a sapling—six foot high
in my moccasins, hair as black as a crow's, eye like a
young eagle's, and with everything about me as limber and
supple as a two-year old buck. Yes, that's what I war
thirty year ago—but that thirty year has tuk it all down
amazing.”
The trapper paused for a few moments, as one lost in
contemplation, and then resumed:
“Yes, thirty year ago,—it don't seem a great while,
nyther, though I've done a heap o' tramping and seen a
heap o' rough and tumble sence then,—thirty year ago it
war; and yit I can fotch it all back as cl'ar as ef it war
yesterday; and the way he looked, and the way she
looked, and the way I felt, all stand out afore me as plain
as the nose on your face, Joe—and your wost enemy'll be
apt to allow that you've got some nose.
“But you won't understand me, boys, onless I begins a
little back o' that partickerlar time, and so I'll do it.
You see the way of it war this: I war raised down in
Tennessee, on to a plantation that would hev been my
hadn't; and on another plantation, about a half a mile off,
thar lived Neil Waterman, who war a colonel in the
militia, and a squire-in-law, and some punks ginerally all
round.
“Now Colonel Squire Waterman had a darter named
Lucy, that war the purtiest speciment of a duck in them
parts—slim, straight, plump-lipped, rosy-cheeked, and
silky-haired, with two blue eyes that 'ud fotch the tallest
brute of a human right down on to his marrerbones afore
he knowed what ailed him.
“Wall, to git along into the meat of the thing, I fell
head over heels in love with Lucy, from the time I war big
enough to say boo to a b'ar; and I kept on that way, only
gitting wusser as I growed older; and ef Lucy didn't love
me back agin, she made believe to do it, and that did me
jest as well for the time.
“But the difference 'tween me and Lucy, as we both
growed older, war, that I'd only one to pick from, and
she'd everybody—for every scamp in the diggings war
arter her—and some o' the fellers I used to think mought
be a heap better looking to her than Rube Hardinge—
though I could out-run, out-jump, out-shoot, out-holler,
and out-lick the hull kit, and stood ready to do it any
minute that anybody wanted to try it.
“Wall, the p'int I'm coming to, ar' this: Things had
and Lucy had quarrelled and made up agin about a hundred
times—and I'd kicked the clothes off o' my bed every
night for two months, in dreaming as how I war kicking
some mean sneak as war trying to get on to the blind side
o' the gal of my affections: things war gitting on this way,
I say, when Colonel Squire Waterman he gin a corn-husking,
and axed in all the boys and gals around them
parts.
“I war thar, in course; and I went thar determined to
keep poor Lucy from being bothered with palavers from
them as she mou'tn't like; but, for some reason or other,
the gal had tuk a notion jest then that nobody war no
bother to her 'cept me, and that I war al'ays in her way
when I happened to git along side o' her. That thar sort
o' thing naterally riled me up and made me feel wolfish;
and when I spoke, I ginerally said so'thing that didn't
altogether set well on the stomachs of the crowd—though
as to who liked it, and who didn't, I never stopped to ax.
“Now, amongst the ugly mugs as war trying to tote off
the affections of Lucy, thar war one called Pete Blodget,
that I'd tuk a mortal hate to; and jest as ef they'd both
planned out how they could best fotch the catermount into
me, he squeezed himself up along side o' Lucy; and she
talked and joked and laughed with him, jest as ef no sech
a man as me had never been born.
“Wall, for me, I reckon I stood it purty well for a good
while; but I felt Satan coming into me as I husked away;
and I sometimes pitched the corn on to the pile, and sometimes
over my head amongst the stalks and husks—for
somehow blood war dancing afore my eyes, and I couldn't
al'ays see right well what I war doing. At last the boys
and gals all round me began to titter and laugh, and nod
and wink, and I knowed it war all about me. Still I
husked away, and didn't say nothing often, and then al'ays
so'thing sharp and sassy.
“Now ef Pete had jest a minded his own business and
treated Lucy respectful, and hadn't said nothing aggrawating
to me, it's like he mought be living now to laugh over
his triumph; but he couldn't be contented, the fool! when
he war well off; and began to ax ef anybody had seed
anybody as had chawed a green persimmon lately, meaning
me. All the fools, Lucy amongst the rest, laughed at this,
and pretended to wonder who he could mean; and as I
still held myself down, (though I felt the seat gitting
powerful hot, and seen little red things dancing afore my
eyes,) he still kept on, gitting wusser and more p'inted
like, till at last he says, says he, `I'm the chap as goes in
for ripe persimmons,' and he throwed one arm around
Lucy's waist and drawed her over and kissed her.
“Now, boys, I've come to a spot that's al'ays been kind
o' blank to me. I don't remember gitting up—but I 'spect
"Pete, lying down, his head all bloody, and a stove-in whiskey keg alongside of him."
[Description: 480EAF. Image of Pete lying on the ground, bloody, with a shattered whiskey keg at his side. He is surrounded by a group of men, one of whom is kneeling next to him in concern.]
a mighty excited crowd, with Pete lying down, his head all
bloody, and a stove-in whiskey keg along side o' him, that
all said I'd jest smashed agin his upper story; whilst
Lucy, all fainted and stretched out limpsy, war being toted
off by her father and two others, and follered by all the
rest o' the gals, crying and screaming.
“The boys around now tuk different sides, and some
said I war right and some said I warn't. But I soon
fixed the matter. Stepping out from the crowd, I says,
says I:
“ `Let them as thinks I've done right, foller me; and
them as don't, stay and take keer of Pete, till he gits well
enough to ax for a settlement with rifles, which I s'pose
he'll do ef he arn't a coward.'
“Wall, as I said, the party divided off, and some went
home with me, and some staid and tuk keer o' Pete. I
got my rifle down and cleaned her, and run some balls,
and filled up my powder-horn, so's to be ready and not
keep any body waiting as mought want to hev the thing
settled arter a gentleman's fashion.
“By the time I'd got this done, a friend of Pete's comes
over, and says as how he'd 'spect me to meet him at a
place he named at daylight next morning.
“ `I'll be thar!' says I: `tell him I'll be thar, and give
him so'thing wusser'n a whiskey-keg to git over!'
“Wall, I war thar; and so war Pete, and everybody
else round about them diggings, 'cept the women folks;
and they'd a been thar, too, ef they'd only been allowed to
come. It didn't take long to fix things for the fight—for
all we wanted war a level piece o' ground and a chance to
blaze away.
“Rifles at forty paces war the word in them times to
settle all such trifles as ourn; and arter measuring off the
ground, they sot me and Pete face to face, with the butts
o' both our pieces standing by our feet; and then all
drawed back out o' the way, and some one gin the word to
fire.
“Up went our rifles at that word, and both pulled
trigger at the same time. I felt so'thing queer about my
neck; and putting up my hand, I found Pete's ball had
gone through within a hair's breadth of my life; and I
seen Pete at the same time clap his hand to his breast, and
knowed by that he'd got so'thing to look arter too.
“But thar warn't no time to be spent in hunting balls—
for it war a fight till death; and the fust man that could
git his rifle loaded now, would hev the best chance o'
talking about the muss arter it war over; so I went in for
loading as fast as I could.
“Now I claims to be some at loading a rifle, and you'd
better believe I done my best jest then; but in spite o' all
I could do, Pete got ahead o' me, and I begun to feel that
ef he could hev ten seconds for an aim, it war all up with
this coon; and so when I seen him shaking in the priming,
whilst I war only ramming down the ball, I jest looked
round to the rising sun to say good-bye to daylight.
“I don't think I'm any more o' a coward than any other
man; but when I seen Pete steadily raising his piece, and
knowed when it come to a dead level that I'd not know
nothing, I'll own up I felt powerful queer; and ef the
little money and traps I had, could hev bought me about
ten seconds, I don't think I should hev waited long afore
making the trade.
“Wall, boys, that thar rifle come up slow and steady;
but jest afore it got so as I mought hev looked straight
into the muzzle, it war jerked one side, and went off in the
air; and Pete Blodget fell down dead in his tracks, killed
by my first shot, jest when two seconds more o' his life
would hev ended mine.
“As soon as I found he war dead, I knowed I'd hev to
quit them diggings sudden—for he'd got friends enough to
set the sheriff arter me, and it warn't pleasant to think o'
being cooped up in jail. So I broke round to Colonel
Squire Waterman's house, and got a sight o' Lucy, who
war jest about as white as a snow-bank.
“`Lucy,' says I, `you're a critter as has kicked up a
good deal o' mischief with me—but I forgive you. I come
more, and that I'm jest a breaking for tall timber. Good-by,
Lucy—I'm bound to quit—I've got to go—and on this
here 'arth we'll never meet agin.'
“I war going on with so'thing more; but Lucy fell
down fainty like; and so I left her, and put off for strange
parts. I got to the Massissip that day, and got a passage
to St. Louis, whar I soon got in with some old trappers,
and started out for the life I've follered ever sence.”
“And what became of Lucy?” inquired one of old
Rube's interested listeners, as the trapper ceased and
dropped his head upon his hands.
“Ah me, boys! that's what I can't answer!” sighed the
old mountaineer; “and when a spell comes over me like
thar done to-night, I ginerally sets and wonders. Ah!
Lucy—poor, dear Lucy—nobody never loved you like this
here old grey-headed beaver done when he war a kitten—
never—never, Lucy—never!” and the old trapper dropped
his head still lower, and drew his rough, hard hand more
than once across his eyes.
| The Trapper's Story. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West | |