SAMUEL DICKSON HUNTS A MOOSE DEER.
The traveller who for the first time reaches the Rocky Mountains is
amazed at the pile of hills above hills, called by the early discoverer
the Sierra of the River of the Wind, that immense reservoir whence
flows so many great streams, some flowing into the Atlantic, others
into the Pacific.
We now transport our readers to a fork formed by a rather extensive
stream, flowing from the Mountains of the Wind, just before it joins
the Missouri, in the centre of a vast and delicious valley.
This charming spot, enchanting in its aspect, was covered by scattered
thickets, young trees, fat pasturages, and watered by many rills, which
fell in all directions in silver cascades from the mountains, and
finally lost themselves in the Missouri.
This unknown Eden, buried in the mountains, had been discovered by a
hardy explorer, and already the hand of man was at work destroying its
savage grandeur. In a word, the squatters were at work.
Squatters are generally men of restless habits, greedy of exertions, no
matter what they may be, impatient of control, and sworn enemies of the
peaceful and regular life of the great centres of population. Gifted
with the courage of a lion, of a will--or, rather, obstinacy--which
nothing can conquer, these men of indomitable energy, in whose hearts
ferment the most violent passions, are the true pioneers of the desert
and the vanguard of civilisation in the New World.
Accustomed to place themselves above the law, as soon as the tide of
civilisation always rising reaches them, they abandon without regret
all they possess--houses and land--and snatching up their hatchets,
bury themselves gaily still further in the desert, until they find
another suitable site, on which they squat.
There is no one to contest their claim. At all events, to do so would
be a rather imprudent enterprise, for they at once appeal to their
rifle, and make that the legal arbitrator.
Joshua Dickson was a true specimen of a squatter; his whole life had
been one long pilgrimage across the States of the Union. Weary of
rambling within the purlieus of civilisation, where he always felt
uneasy, one day, as we have already recorded, he came to a final
resolution, and, abandoning all that he possessed, he started with his
family and servants in search of a land where none before had ever set
their foot.
We cannot relate all the incidents of his journey without guide or
map. They would fill a volume. We come to the point. One night they
had fixed their camp near a very narrow and wooded gorge. It appearing
to be rather a difficult spot to travel in the dark, and there being
no hurry, they had halted by a small stream, in the midst of a green
prairie, which offered admirable pasturage for their beasts and horses.
Before daybreak, while his companions still slept, Samuel Dickson rose,
took his rifle, and advanced in the direction of the defile, with the
double object of examining the locality and of shooting, if possible,
two or three head of game for the morning repast, provisions being rare
in camp, so much so that the night before they had gone to bed almost
without supper.
Harry Dickson, who acted as sentry, alone saw him go out, but as his
uncle did not speak, he did not venture to make any observation.
Samuel Dickson went away with his rifle on his shoulder, whistling
"Yankee Doodle," and shortly after disappeared in the tall grass
without his nephew being able to make out in what direction he had gone.
Seen by the light of morn the defile was not so choked up by trees and
bushes as it had seemed in the dusk of the evening; the entrance only
was marked by a curtain of young trees, which would easily succumb to
a few blows of a hatchet.
The American pushed forward, cutting a passage with his bowie knife,
resolved to reach the extremity of the defile, in order to examine it
thoroughly and report to his brother.
Suddenly a moose deer bounded across his path.
"There is a demon who does not suffer from rheumatism. How he runs! But
remember, my friend, that's your breakfast."
With which words he took to his heels, and, catching sight of the deer,
followed him up through the dense undergrowth, without being able to
get a shot at him. This went on for about twenty minutes, during which,
his rifle at full cock, he never looked to the right or left. Suddenly
the moose deer stood still, as if he sniffed another enemy in the
direction in which he was going.
The American lost no time, but took steady aim for a second or two and
fired.
The stricken deer bounded into the air, and then once more took to its
heels.
But the hunter was determined not to lose him. Unhappily, however, in
his eagerness, he did not look before him, and just as he thought the
deer began to droop, while he increased his speed his foot slipped and
he went head over heels, falling a height of about fifteen feet, to
alight upon a kind of pavement of hard flint stones.
The fall was so heavy that the American not only was bruised all over,
but fainted.
A feeling of coolness suddenly came over him, and caused him to open
his eyes.
He looked wildly around him, and saw a young man of about
seven-and-twenty, in the costume of a trapper, his handsome face bent
over him with a look of deep solicitude, while he bathed his face with
a handkerchief soaked with water.
"Are you better, Mr. Samuel?" said the other.
"Hem!" cried the American; "Am I mad?"
"Not in the least, Master Samuel, at least, that I am aware of," was
the reply.
"But what has happened?" cried the other, with an awful grimace.
"A very simple thing: you shot a deer, and in your eagerness to catch
him you did not notice that you were on the summit of an eminence, and
so rolled over, to the detriment of your bones."
"A very simple thing!" groaned the other; "You speak very complacently,
Master George. Is anything broken?"
"Nothing. I examined you carefully--nothing but bruises, of that I am
sure."
"Cursed deer! If I only had secured it. But the brute escaped me after
all."
"No, my friend. You are too good a shot to miss your aim. There lies
your game, quite dead."
"Thank goodness! That is lucky. But oh! Oh! I feel as if I had received
a severe beating. Help me up."
"But had you not better rest a while?"
"Go to the deuce. I am not a whining sniggler, like my niece," he
began; "by the way," he added, "that puts me in mind! Young man--"
"Allow me to help you up--take my arm. I am strong; so lean as heavily
as you like. There, you are all right. Your rifle will serve you as a
staff."
Thanks to the assistance of the young man, the American contrived to
stand on his legs, making horrible grimaces and groaning all the time.
"I wish my brother had been anywhere, with his mad notion of
emigration," he said, grumbling; "but that is not the immediate
question. Will you answer me?"
"I am quite ready. You cannot carry the deer--shall I hang it up in
safety until you send for it?"
"Will you answer me?" cried Samuel, ferociously.
"You have not yet asked me any question," said the young man, gently.
The American looked at him with considerable anger in his glance; then
his muscles relaxing, he burst out laughing.
"Forgive me, George," he said, offering his hand. "I am an old fool.
I am trying to get up a quarrel with you, instead of thanking you for
your kindness. In truth, I believe you have saved my life."
"You exaggerate, Mr. Samuel," replied the other.
"Between you and me, I don't think so. What would have become of me,
fainting in the desert?"
"Chance brought me here."
"Oh, yes! Chance has very broad shoulders," answered the American: "I
suppose it brought you out here."
The young man held down his head and blushed.
"Well, well, I won't tease you, George," cried Samuel; "you are a noble
and generous fellow, and I loved your father."
"As you do his son," responded the other.
"I suppose it is so. But this being understood, let us talk like two
old friends."
"I am at your command."
"Always the same eternal chorus. Now I do not want to dive into your
secrets, but without going beyond the limits of politeness, allow me to
ask you one simple question," said Samuel.
"Ask; and if it be in my power, I will answer truthfully," replied the
other.
"Hem! You are confoundedly close. First let us sit down. I am all aches
and pains."
The young man gently led him to a soft mound of turf, helped him to be
seated, and followed his example.
"Now I am good for an hour. Let us chat."
"I am your most obedient servant to command."
"How is it, Mr. George Clinton," began the old man, with a sly look,
"that three months ago I left you at Boston at the head of a large
house of business, and that I now find you dressed like a runner of the
woods, hundreds of miles from the nearest settlement, just ready to
save my life."
"If my journey served me no other purpose, I am thankful--still I own
there is another motive."
"I am glad to hear you say so. May I ask its nature?"
"Well, Master Samuel," began Clinton, "I am young, vigorous, and
passionately fond of field sports; I am a good shot, and very much
inclined for a free and independent life. Many times while at Boston
chance brought me in contact with persons who have accomplished
wonderful journeys into the almost unknown interior of our vast
continent, and who brought back astounding accounts of what they saw;
my curiosity was aroused, and I felt within myself a strong desire to
attempt one of these expeditions in search of the unknown."
"Or the ideal," smiled the American.
"If you like it. As long as my father was alive I kept my ideas to
myself, but as soon as my actions were quite free my old ideas were
revived. An opportunity presented itself which I eagerly embraced.
Confiding my house of business to a trustworthy partner, I started."
"You had a definite object, I suppose?"
"No; I went wherever chance or my feelings urged me," the other
answered.
"My young friend," said Dickson, laughing, "chance plays too great a
part in all this. You will excuse me if I don't believe a word of your
story."
"You are not generous, sir."
"I am not generous?"
"You will not believe that a young man could give way to his
adventurous instincts; and yet you, a wise man, very much older than
I am, you, whose position was settled, I find you here, without being
able to give the slightest explanation of your conduct."
"Well answered, George. You hit me hard, but you know I am an old
fool. I am so, as sure as fate. Yes, my friend, I am mad enough for a
straitjacket. But at the same time, I can see that you will not make me
your confidant."
"I assure you--" began Clinton.
"What is the use of holding out any longer? You must rely on me in the
end; but when you do come to me with the truth, it will be my turn."
"You are not angry with me?"
"No, my boy: keep your secrets; but remember I am your friend. Keep
your own counsel then, if you will--it concerns only yourself. But
remember, whenever you want me, I am ready," he answered.
"I know not how to thank you."
"What nonsense! You owe me nothing. It is I who am your debtor. But
it is getting late, and I must return to the camp, where they must be
getting anxious. Thanks to my rest I feel not only able to walk, but to
carry the confounded deer."
"Wait, however, while I clean and skin him. It will then be easier."
"You are quite right. Be quick, as we are short of food."
"But the country is enormously rich in game, and what a beautiful spot!"
"It certainly is," replied Samuel, after which his young friend soon
prepared the game so as to be easily carried.
"And now take my arm while I lead you through the defile, which is the
only way out of the valley."
And so they started, Samuel walking much better than he expected,
though suffering much.
"One favour," said the young man, after a time.
"What is it, my friend?" asked Samuel.
"Say not one word of our meeting."
"Since you wish it, I will be strictly silent on the subject. Like
other people I know, I will invent some sort of story--it is not
difficult."
The young man smiled, and shook him heartily by the hand. Then Samuel
Dickson walked away in the direction of the camp, while George busied
himself in the valley.