Killing a Buck with Seven Skins.
Tom had a great many cabins or caves between the Water Gap and Shohola,
and was never at a loss for a place to stay over night. But he usually
wintered at the house of some mutual friend, and the terms upon which he
stayed was that he should furnish the winter meat. Any family living on
the border was anxious and willing to board him; for during his stay they
were sure of being provided with plenty of game and living on the fat of
the land.
On one occasion winter set in earlier than usual and he did not have his
usual supply of venison on hand to supply the table of the friend with
whom he intended to winter. He made arrangements for a long hunt in a
part of the country where he knew that game was plenty, and in a few days
he would get sufficient to supply his friend’s cabin for a long time.
The night before he intended to start, a friendly Indian called at the
cabin and asked to stay over night, which was granted.
Tom was suspicious, although the Indian appeared to be friendly. They
soon became acquainted, and it was not long before they agreed to go on
a hunt, Tom agreeing to take the venison for his part and the Indian the
skins.
Game was plenty, especially deer. In fact the woods seemed to be full of
them. It was bang!—bang!—bang! and at every report a deer fell. They were
soon skinned and the hind quarters hung up out of the reach of bears and
wolves until Tom could get time to take them to the cabin.
When they came to count, they found that they had killed seven. The
Indian was in the best of spirits, and so was his companion.
Me lucky, said the Indian. Me got seven skins. They worth seven dollars.
That buy me piles of fire water, powder and lead. Whoop! Whoop!
Seven skins was all the Indian could carry, and it was resolved to
return, Tom to the cabin, and the Indian to Minisink to get powder, fire
water and lead.
The skins were securely fastened on his back, and they started. But the
Indian never reached the settlement. They had not traveled far before the
report of Tom’s gun was heard, and down went the Indian, the ball having
gone through the seven skins and penetrated his heart.
It was not long after this that another Indian came to the house where
Tom was stopping and asked permission to stay all night, which was
granted. He professed to be very friendly, but Tom’s quick eye soon
discovered that all was not right.
During the evening the savage pretended that he had seen a great many
deer a few miles off, and asked Tom if he wouldn’t like to go the next
day and kill some of them.
Tom pretended that he was pleased with the offer, and at once agreed to
go with the Indian. But Tom was on the alert. He was well convinced that
some Indian deviltry lay behind this pretended friendship, and acted
accordingly.
During the night he managed to get the Indian’s rifle and draw the charge
and substituted ashes in the place of powder, put the ball back in the
barrel, and placed the rifle carefully back where he got it. The next
morning the savage slyly inserted the ramrod in the barrel of his rifle,
examined the priming, picked the flint and seemed satisfied that all was
right. During this time Tom watched him intently and was more than ever
convinced that the Indian intended to take his life. But he manifested no
particular interest and started out on the hunt with no apparent concern.
The snow was deep and the hunters found it inconvenient to travel through
it, and to make the walking easier the Indian proposed that one of them
should go ahead to break the path. To this Tom readily agreed and started
on ahead. A twinkle of the eye showed that the Indian was pleased, but
Tom’s keen eye had observed that twinkle and the satisfaction that beamed
on the Indian’s countenance. When they had proceeded a mile or two and
had come to a very lonely place Tom heard the Indian’s gun snap and the
powder flash in the pan, and looking back, asked the Indian what he had
fired at. A fine buck, was his reply. The Indian reprimed his gun and
they started on. In a few minutes Tom heard another snap and flash. Well,
brother, what did you see this time? An eagle swept over the forest,
replied the disappointed savage, at the same time priming his gun.
Brother Indian, said Tom, the snow is deep and I am tired.
Yes, brother, the Indian replied, and sullenly took his place in advance.
Tom was now ripe for blood. He raised his rifle and took deadly aim at
the Indian. Lying dog, what do you see now? The Spirit World, and drew
the blanket over his head. You came to kill me.
Yes, replied the Indian, but you have fooled my gun.
And long Tom shall fool you. Tom’s rifle spoke and the Indian was in the
Spirit World.
One day in Tom’s wandering through the woods without his rifle he met a
young Indian armed. They soon became apparent friends. Brother Indian,
said Tom, did you ever see Tom Quick the Indian Slayer?
No, replied the youth, but I would like to see him.
I will show him to you, follow me. They walked on until they came to a
ledge of rocks, and Tom peered over. I do not see him yet, he said, but
he will soon be along. Here he comes now. You take my place if you want
to get a good sight of him.
The Indian cocked his rifle and hastily and eagerly advanced to Tom’s
side. Where is he? excitedly inquired the red man.
There, there, said Tom, pointing so that the Indian would lean over the
brink in his desire to shoot the enemy of his race. A little further, a
little further, whispered the Indian slayer to his proposed victim. The
Indian hung over the precipice as far as he could without falling. Tom
grasped him by the shoulders and said: Shoot me would you! Shoot me, and
hurled him over the precipice. He fell on the rocks below and was dashed
to pieces. And Tom went on his way rejoicing, leaving the body of his
victim to be devoured by the crows.
HIDING GUNS IN HOLLOW TREES.
Tom’s habit of hiding guns in hollow trees in the woods on one occasion
saved his life. Two Indians had captured him near Grass Brook and were
taking him off. He seemed perfectly resigned to his fate which appeared
unavoidable, and marched with them unreluctantly. His arms were pinioned
with deer shins thongs, and his captors kept upon him a vigilant eye,
and were ready at any moment to shoot him if he attempted to break away
from them. After a while they were visited by a shower of rain, and Tom
found that the thongs which bound his wrists began to stretch, and that
they had become so loose that he could at any time free his hands. He was
very careful to conceal this fact from the savages, and patiently waited
for a favorable time to run or do something else to escape. Beside the
path that they were pursuing there was a very large chestnut tree which
was hollow, and on the side of the trunk that was the farthest from the
path, the wood had entirely rotted away leaving a large hollow space.
In the opening thus made, Tom had long before concealed several guns
which he had found beside dead Indians. He had also deposited with them
a flask of powder and a goodly store of bullets. When they had reached
this tree, Tom expressed an urgent desire to go to it, and gave such a
good reason for the request he made, that his captors consented to let
him go. They permitted him to do so the more readily because he had thus
far given them but little trouble. The Indians cocked their rifles when
Tom stepped from the path and aimed them at him, each with his finger on
the trigger, and watching him eagerly, determined to bring him down if
he made the least movement to escape. Tom proceeded toward the tree very
leisurely, and on reaching it, went behind it and was concealed from the
view of his enemies. Within the most inconceivable time he charged three
of his weapons with powder and lead. The Indians little thinking what Tom
was about stood in the path with hardly a twig to screen them from his
murderous fire. Tom afterwards said that he did not stop to return the
ramrods to their places until he had as many of his guns loaded as he
thought he should need. He hesitated a moment after he was ready to shoot
fearing that his guns would “miss fire,” in consequence of their late
disuse; but knowing that this was his last chance, he blazed away at one
of the savages who fell dead in his tracks. The other tried to get behind
the nearest unoccupied tree, but he never reached there, a bullet sent
him to the Spirit land, to join hands with those that had been sent there
by Tom’s rifle on many occasions before.
AN OLD LEGEND.
According to an old legend, Tom had a very severe battle with a savage
who came to him while he was in the field at work. Tom saw the Indian
approaching him unarmed and he did not feel afraid to encounter him on
equal terms. The savage told a plausible tale about something that he
pretended he had discovered not far off and which he wished his brother
Yankee to see. Tom apparently without suspecting anything wrong consented
to go with the Indian. His quick eye however saw a gleam of malignant
satisfaction on the countenance of his visitor that told him plainer
than words could have done what was the errand on which the red man was
bent. The savage had discovered Tom from a hill near by and concealed
his gun in the woods hoping to entice Tom to its neighborhood while he
was unarmed and then he could not defend himself. But he counted his
chickens before the eggs were hatched. Tom was never caught napping. He
was now wide awake and concluded that there was a trap set for him. He
had gone but a short distance with the Indian when he came to a hemlock
knot which he concluded would be a very good weapon in a rough and tumble
fight. He stooped to pick it up when the savage perceived what he was at,
he sprang upon him. Then came the tug of war. Tom got hold of the knot;
with the Indian on him, therefore he could not use it. A long struggle
for life or death ensued between them. Tom finally succeeded and was once
more a conqueror. He grappled the Indian by the throat with his teeth and
strangled him to death. But to the day of his death, he averred this was
the hardest and most severe fight of his life.
According to another legend, a native attempted to kill the Indian slayer
while he was engaged in a saw mill. Tom discovered him and arranged his
coat and hat in such a way as to deceive his destroyer. While the savage
thought that he was about to shoot Tom, Tom sent a bullet through the
Indian’s body and his bullets were generally fatal. Thus again the biter
was bitten.
Previous to the Revolutionary War, a man named John Showers lived in a
log house near the Falls of Mongaup. One evening five or six hunters
met at his house which was quite a resort for such people. As the cabin
afforded better accommodations than the forest they concluded to avail
themselves of its shelter through the night. Tom Quick was among the
number. During the evening an Indian came and asked permission to remain
all night. He was told that he could stay. Late in the evening a goodly
number of logs were placed on the fire. The hunters wrapped themselves in
their blankets and laid down on the floor to sleep. They were soon in the
land of dreams except Tom, who was watching silently for a chance to kill
the Indian. One would imagine that he had shed blood enough already. But
Tom thought otherwise. The spirit of his murdered father still animated
him. When the breathing of the sleepers showed that they were sound
asleep, Tom threw aside his blanket and cautiously and noiselessly got
his gun. In a few minutes the hunters were awakened by an explosion. They
found themselves bespattered with brains and the Indian lay dead in their
midst. Quick immediately after the firing left the cabin and disappeared
in the forest. The hunters, after consulting, concluded the murder of the
Indian should be concealed, in order to avoid any unpleasant consequences
which might follow, if the Indians knew of it. The Indian was buried in
the morning, and his death was unknown to any except the hunters, until
concealment was no longer necessary.