From Batesville to the southern Missouri border, the road continues for
a hundred miles, through a dreary solitude of rocky mountains and pine
forests, full of snakes and a variety of game, but without the smallest
vestige of civilisation. There is not a single blade of grass to be
found, except in the hollows, and these are too swampy for a horse to
venture upon. Happily, small clear and limpid brooks are passed every
half-hour, and I had had the precaution to provide myself, at a farm,
with a large bag of maize for my horse. After all, we fared better than
we should have done at the log huts, and my faithful steed, at all
events, escaped the "ring." What the "ring" is, I will explain to the
reader.
In these countries, it always requires a whole day's smart riding to go
from one farm to another; and when the traveller is a "raw trotter" or a
"green one" (Arkansas denomination for a stranger), the host employs all
his cunning to ascertain if his guest has any money, as, if so, his
object is to detain him as long as he can. To gain this information,
although there are always at home half-a-dozen strong boys to take the
horses, he sends a pretty girl (a daughter, or a niece) to shew you the
stable and the maize-store. This nymph becomes the traveller's
attendant; she shews him the garden and the pigs, and the stranger's
bedroom, etcetera. The consequence is, that the traveller becomes
gallant, the girl insists upon washing his handkerchief and mending his
jacket before he starts the next morning, and by keeping constantly with
him, and continual conversation, she is, generally speaking, able to
find out whether the traveller has money or not, and reports
accordingly.
Having supped, slept, and breakfasted, he pays his bill and asks for his
horse.
"Why, Sir," answers the host, "something is wrong with the animal--he is
lame."
The traveller thinks it is only a trifle; he starts, and discovers,
before he has made a mile, that his beast cannot possibly go on; so he
returns to the farm, and is there detained, for a week, perhaps, until
his horse is fit to travel.
I was once cheated in this very manner, and had no idea that I had been
tricked; but, on leaving another farm, on the following day, I found my
horse was again lame. Annoyed at having been delayed so long, I
determined to go on, in spite of my horse's lameness. I travelled on
for three miles, till at last I met with an elderly man also on
horseback. He stopped and surveyed me attentively, and then addressed
me:--
"I see, youngster, you are a green one."
Now I was in uncommon bad temper that morning, and I answered his
question with a "What do you mean, you old fool?"
"Nay, pardon me," he resumed; "I would not insult a stranger. I am
Governor Yell, of this state, and I see that some of my `clever
citizens' have been playing a trick upon you. If you will allow me, I
will cure the lameness of your horse in two minutes."
At the mention of his name, I knew I was speaking to a gentleman. I
apologised for my rough rejoinder, and the governor, dismounting, then
explained to me the mystery of the ring. Just above my horse's hoof,
and well concealed under the hair, was a stout silken thread, tied very
tight; this being cut, the horse, in a moment, got rid of his lameness.