Little Tolly Trevor and Leaping Buck--being about the same age, and
having similar tastes and propensities, though very unlike each other in
temperament--soon became fast friends, and they both regarded Mahoghany
Drake, the trapper, with almost idolatrous affection.
"Would you care to come wi' me to-day, Tolly? I'm goin' to look for
some meat on the heights."
It was thus that Drake announced his intention to go a-hunting one fine
morning after he had disposed of a breakfast that might have sustained
an ordinary man for several days.
"Care to go with ye!" echoed Tolly, "I just think I should. But, look
here, Mahoghany," continued the boy, with a troubled expression, "I've
promised to go out on the lake to-day wi' Leaping Buck, an' I _must_
keep my promise. You know you told us only last night in that story
about the Chinaman and the grizzly that no true man ever breaks his
promise."
"Right, lad, right" returned the trapper, "but you can go an' ask the
little Buck to jine us, an' if he's inclined you can both come--only you
must agree to leave yer tongues behind ye if ye do, for it behoves
hunters to be silent, and from my experience of you I raither think yer
too fond o' chatterin'."
Before Drake had quite concluded his remark Tolly was off in search of
his red-skinned bosom friend.
The manner in which the friendship between the red boy and the white was
instituted and kept up was somewhat peculiar and almost
incomprehensible, for neither spoke the language of the other except to
a very slight extent. Leaping Buck's father had, indeed, picked up a
pretty fair smattering of English during his frequent expeditions into
the gold-fields, which, at the period we write of, were being rapidly
developed. Paul Bevan, too, during occasional hunting expeditions among
the red men, had acquired a considerable knowledge of the dialect spoken
in that part of the country, but Leaping Buck had not visited the
diggings with his father, so that his knowledge of English was confined
to the smattering which he had picked up from Paul and his father. In
like manner Tolly Trevor's acquaintance with the native tongue consisted
of the little that had been imparted to him by his friend Paul Bevan.
Mahoghany Drake, on the contrary, spoke Indian fluently, and it must be
understood that in the discourses which he delivered to the two boys he
mixed up English and Indian in an amazing compound which served to
render him intelligible to both, but which, for the reader's sake, we
feel constrained to give in the trapper's ordinary English.
"It was in a place just like this," said Drake, stopping with his two
little friends on reaching a height, and turning round to survey the
scene behind him, "that a queer splinter of a man who was fond o'
callin' himself an ornithologist shot a grizzly b'ar wi' a mere popgun
that was only fit for a squawkin' babby's plaything."
"Oh! do sit down, Mahoghany," cried little Trevor, in a voice of
entreaty; "I'm so fond of hearin' about grizzlies, an' I'd give all the
world to meet one myself, so would Buckie here, wouldn't you?"
The Indian boy, whose name Tolly had thus modified, tried to assent to
this proposal by bending his little head in a stately manner, in
imitation of his dignified father.
"Well, I don't mind if I do," replied the trapper, with a twinkle of his
eyes.
Mahoghany Drake was blessed with that rare gift, the power to invest
with interest almost any subject, no matter how trivial or commonplace,
on which he chose to speak. Whether it was the charm of a musical
voice, or the serious tone and manner of an earnest man, we cannot tell,
but certain it is, that whenever or wherever he began to talk, men
stopped to listen, and were held enchained until he had finished.
On the present occasion the trapper seated himself on a green bank that
lay close to the edge of a steep precipice, and laid his rifle across
his knees, while the boys sat down one on each side of him.
The view from the elevated spot on which they sat was most exquisite,
embracing the entire length of the valley at the other end of which the
Indian village lay, its inhabitants reduced to mere specks and its
wigwams to little cones, by distance. Owing also to the height of the
spot, the view of surrounding mountains was extended, so that range upon
range was seen in softened perspective, while a variety of lakelets,
with their connecting watercourses, which were hidden by foliage in the
lower grounds, were now opened up to view. Glowing sunshine glittered
on the waters and bathed the hills and valleys, deepening the near
shadows and intensifying the purple and blue of those more distant.
"It often makes me wonder," said the trapper, in a reflective tone, as
if speaking rather to himself than to his companions, "why the Almighty
has made the world so beautiful an' parfect an' allowed mankind to grow
so awful bad."
The boys did not venture to reply, but as Drake sat gazing in dreamy
silence at the far-off hills, little Trevor, who recalled some of his
conversations with the Rose of Oregon, ventured to say, "P'r'aps we'll
find out some day, though we don't understand it just now."
"True, lad, true," returned Drake. "It would be well for us if we
always looked at it in that light, instead o' findin' fault wi' things
as they are, for it stands to reason that the Maker of all can fall into
no mistakes."
"But what about the ornithologist?" said Tolly, who had no desire that
the conversation should drift into abstruse subjects.
"Ay, ay, lad, I'm comin' to him," replied the trapper, with the humorous
twinkle that seemed to hover always about the corners of his eyes, ready
for instant development. "Well, you must know, this was the way of it--
and it do make me larf yet when I think o' the face o' that
spider-legged critter goin' at the rate of twenty miles an hour or
thereabouts wi' that most awful-lookin' grizzly b'ar peltin' after
him.--Hist! Look there, Tolly. A chance for your popgun."
The trapper pointed as he spoke to a flock of wild duck that was coming
straight towards the spot on which they sat. The "popgun" to which he
referred was one of the smooth-bore flint-lock single-barrelled
fowling-pieces which traders were in the habit of supplying to the
natives at that time, and which Unaco had lent to the boy for the day,
with his powder-horn and ornamented shot-pouch.
For the three hunters to drop behind the bank on which they had been
sitting was the work of a moment.
Young though he was, Tolly had already become a fair and ready shot. He
selected the largest bird in the flock, covered it with a deadly aim,
and pulled the trigger. But the click of the lock was not followed by
an explosion as the birds whirred swiftly on.
"Ah! my boy," observed the trapper, taking the gun quietly from the
boy's hand and proceeding to chip the edge of the flint, "you should
never go a-huntin' without seein' that your flint is properly fixed."
"But I did see to it," replied Tolly, in a disappointed tone, "and it
struck fire splendidly when I tried it before startin'."
"True, boy, but the thing is worn too short, an' though its edge is
pretty well, you didn't screw it firm enough, so it got drove back a bit
and the hammer-head, as well as the flint, strikes the steel, d'ye see?
There now, prime it again, an' be sure ye wipe the pan before puttin' in
the powder. It's not worth while to be disap'inted about so small a
matter. You'll git plenty more chances. See, there's another flock
comin'. Don't hurry, lad. If ye want to be a good hunter always keep
cool, an' take time. Better lose a chance than hurry. A chance lost
you see, is only a chance lost, but blazin' in a hurry is a bad lesson
that ye've got to unlarn."
The trapper's advice was cut short by the report of Tolly's gun, and
next moment a fat duck, striking the ground in front of them, rolled
fluttering to their feet.
"Not badly done, Tolly," said the trapper, with a nod, as he reseated
himself on the bank, while Leaping Buck picked up the bird, which was by
that time dead, and the young sportsman recharged his gun; "just a
leetle too hurried. If you had taken only half a second more time to
put the gun to your shoulder, you'd have brought the bird to the ground
dead; and you boys can't larn too soon that you should never give
needless pain to critters that you've got to kill. You must shoot, of
course, or you'd starve; but always make sure of killin' at once, an'
the only way to do that is to keep cool an' take time. You see, it
ain't the aim you take that matters so much, as the coolness an'
steadiness with which ye put the gun to your shoulder. If you only do
that steadily an' without hurry, the gun is sure to p'int straight
for'ard an' the aim'll look arter itself. Nevertheless, it was smartly
done, lad, for it's a difficult shot when a wild duck comes straight for
your head like a cannon-ball."
"But what about the ornithologist;" said Tolly, who, albeit well pleased
at the trapper's complimentary remarks, did not quite relish his
criticism.
"Yes, yes; I'm comin' to that. Well, as I was sayin', it makes me larf
yet, when I thinks on it. How he did run, to be sure! Greased
lightnin' could scarce have kep' up wi' him."
"But where was he a-runnin' to, an' why?" asked little Trevor,
impatiently.
"Now, you leetle boy," said Drake, with a look of grave remonstrance,
"don't you go an' git impatient. Patience is one o' the backwoods
vartues, without which you'll never git on at all. If you don't
cultivate patience you may as well go an' live in the settlements or the
big cities--where it don't much matter what a man is--but it'll be no
use to stop in the wilderness. There's Leapin' Buck, now, a-sittin' as
quiet as a Redskin warrior on guard! Take a lesson from him, lad, an'
restrain yourself. Well, as I was goin' to say, I was out settin' my
traps somewheres about the head-waters o' the Yellowstone river at the
time when I fell in wi' the critter. I couldn't rightly make out what
he was, for, though I've seed mostly all sorts o' men in my day, I'd
never met in wi' one o' this sort before. It wasn't his bodily shape
that puzzled me, though that was queer enough, but his occupation that
staggered me. He was a long, thin, spider-shaped article that seemed to
have run to seed--all stalk with a frowsy top, for his hair was long an'
dry an' fly-about. I'm six-futt one myself, but my step was a mere joke
to his stride! He seemed split up to the neck, like a pair o' human
compasses, an' his clo's fitted so tight that he might have passed for a
livin' skeleton!
"Well, it was close upon sundown, an' I was joggin' along to my tent in
the bush when I came to an openin' where I saw the critter down on one
knee an' his gun up takin' aim at somethin'. I stopped to let him have
his shot, for I count it a mortal sin to spoil a man's sport, an' I
looked hard to see what it was he was goin' to let drive at, but never a
thing could I see, far or near, except a small bit of a bird about the
size of a big bee, sittin' on a branch not far from his nose an' cockin'
its eye at him as much as to say, `Well, you air a queer 'un!'
`Surely,' thought I, `he ain't a-goin' to blaze at _that_!' But I'd
scarce thought it when he did blaze at it an' down it came flop on its
back, as dead as mutton!
"`Well, stranger,' says I, goin' for'ard, `you do seem to be hard up for
victuals when you'd shoot a small thing like that!' `Not at all, my
good man,' says he--an' the critter had a kindly smile an' a sensible
face enough--`you must know that I am shootin' birds for scientific
purposes. I am an ornithologist.'
"`Oh!' say I, for I didn't rightly know what else to say to that.
"`Yes,' says he; `an' see here.'
"Wi' that he opens a bag he had on his back an' showed me a lot o'
birds, big an' small, that he'd been shootin'; an' then he pulls out a
small book, in which he'd been makin' picturs of 'em--an' r'ally I was
raither took wi' that for the critter had got 'em down there almost as
good as natur'. They actooally looked as if they was alive!
"`Shut the book, sir,' says I, `or they'll all escape!'
"It was only a small joke I meant, but the critter took it for a big 'un
an' larfed at it till he made me half ashamed.
"`D'ye know any of these birds?' he axed, arter we'd looked at a lot of
'em.
"`Know 'em?' says I; `I should think I does! Why, I've lived among 'em
ever since I was a babby!'
"`Indeed!' says he, an' he got quite excited, `how interestin'! An' do
you know anythin' about their habits?'
"`If you mean by that their ways o' goin' on,' says I, `there's hardly a
thing about 'em that I don't know, except what they _think_, an'
sometimes I've a sort o' notion I could make a pretty fair guess at that
too.'
"`Will you come to my camp and spend the night with me?' he asked,
gettin' more an' more excited.
"`No, stranger, I won't,' says I; `but if you'll come to mine I'll feed
you an' make you heartily welcome,' for somehow I'd took quite a fancy
to the critter.
"`I'll go,' says he, an' he went an' we had such a night of it! He
didn't let me have a wink o' sleep till pretty nigh daylight the next
mornin', an' axed me more questions about birds an' beasts an' fishes
than I was iver axed before in the whole course o' my life--an' it
warn't yesterday I was born. I began to feel quite like a settlement
boy at school. An' he set it all down, too, as fast as I could speak,
in the queerest hand-writin' you ever did see. At last I couldn't stand
it no longer.
"`Mister Ornithologist' says I.
"`Well,' says he.
"`There's a pecooliar beast in them parts,' says I, `'as has got some
pretty stiff an' settled habits.'
"`Is there?' says he, wakin' up again quite fresh, though he had been
growin' sleepy.
"`Yes,' says I, `an' it's a obstinate sort o' brute that won't change
its habits for nobody. One o' these habits is that it turns in of a
night quite reg'lar an' has a good snooze before goin' to work next day.
Its name is Mahoghany Drake, an' that's me, so I'll bid you good-night,
stranger.'
"Wi' that I knocked the ashes out o' my pipe, stretched myself out wi'
my feet to the fire, an' rolled my blanket round me. The critter larfed
again at this as if it was a great joke, but he shut up his book, put it
and the bag o' leetle birds under his head for a pillow, spread himself
out over the camp like a great spider that was awk'ard in the use o' its
limbs, an' went off to sleep even before I did--an' that was sharp
practice, let me tell you.
"Well," continued the trapper, clasping his great bony hands over one of
his knees, and allowing the lines of humour to play on his visage, while
the boys drew nearer in open-eyed expectancy, "we slep' about three
hours, an' then had a bit o' breakfast, after which we parted, for he
said he knew his way back to the camp, where he left his friends; but
the poor critter didn't know nothin'--'cept ornithology. He lost
himself an took to wanderin' in a circle arter I left him. I came to
know it 'cause I struck his trail the same arternoon, an' there could be
no mistakin' it, the length o' stride bein' somethin' awful! So I
followed it up.
"I hadn't gone far when I came to a place pretty much like this, as I
said before, and when I was lookin' at the view--for I'm fond of a fine
view, it takes a man's mind off trappin' an' victuals somehow--I heerd a
most awful screech, an' then another. A moment later an' the
ornithologist busted out o' the bushes with his long legs goin' like the
legs of a big water-wagtail. He was too fur off to see the look of his
face, but his hair was tremendous to behold. When he saw the precipice
before him he gave a most horrible yell, for he knew that he couldn't
escape that way from whatever was chasin' him. I couldn't well help
him, for there was a wide gully between him an' me, an' it was too fur
off for a fair shot. Howsever, I stood ready. Suddenly I seed the
critter face right about an' down on one knee like a pair o' broken
compasses; up went the shot-gun, an' at the same moment out busted a
great old grizzly b'ar from the bushes. Crack! went my rifle at once,
but I could see that the ball didn't hurt him much, although it hit him
fair on the head. Loadin' in hot haste, I obsarved that the
ornithologist sat like a post till that b'ar was within six foot of him,
when he let drive both barrels of his popgun straight into its face.
Then he jumped a one side with a spurt like a grasshopper, an' the b'ar
tumbled heels over head and got up with an angry growl to rub its face,
then it made a savage rush for'ard and fell over a low bank, jumped up
again, an' went slap agin a face of rock. I seed at once that it was
blind. The small shot used by the critter for his leetle birds had put
out both its eyes, an' it went blunderin' about while the ornithologist
kep' well out of its way. I knew he was safe, so waited to see what
he'd do, an' what d'ye think he did?"
"Shoved his knife into him," suggested Tolly Trevor, in eager anxiety.
"What! shove his knife into a healthy old b'ar with nothin' gone but his
sight? No, lad, he did do nothing so mad as that, but he ran coolly up
to it an' screeched in its face. Of course the b'ar went straight at
the sound, helter-skelter, and the ornithologist turned an' ran to the
edge o' the precipice, screechin' as he went. When he got there he
pulled up an' darted a one side, but the b'ar went slap over, an' I
believe I'm well within the mark when I say that that b'ar turned five
complete somersaults before it got to the bottom, where it came to the
ground with a whack that would have busted an elephant. I don't think
we found a whole bone in its carcass when the ornithologist helped me to
cut it up that night in camp."
"Well done!" exclaimed little Trevor, with enthusiasm, "an' what came o'
the orny-what-d'ye-callum?"
"That's more than I can tell, lad. He went off wi' the b'ar's claws to
show to his friends, an' I never saw him again. But look there, boys,"
continued the trapper in a suddenly lowered tone of voice, while he
threw forward and cocked his rifle, "d'ye see our supper?"
"What? Where?" exclaimed Tolly, in a soft whisper, straining his eyes
in the direction indicated.
The sharp crack of the trapper's rifle immediately followed, and a fine
buck lay prone upon the ground.
"'Twas an easy shot," said Drake, recharging his weapon, "only a man
needs a leetle experience before he can fire down a precipice correctly.
Come along, boys."