I see above me the blue sky--around me the green plain. Near me are
forms--the forms of men, and yonder are horses too!
Into whose hands have I fallen? Whoever they be they are friends; they
must have rescued me from the gripe of the monster?
But how? No one was in sight: how could they have arrived in time? I
would ask, but have not strength.
The men are still bending over me. I observe one with large beard and
brown bushy workers. There is another face, old and thin, and tanned to
a copper colour. My eyes wander from one to the other; some distant
recollections stir within me. Those faces--
Now I see them but dimly--I see them no longer I fainted, and was again
insensible.
Once more I became conscious, and this time felt stronger: I could
better understand what was passing around me. I observed that the sun
was going down; a buffalo robe, suspended upon two upright saplings,
guarded his slanting rays from the spot where I lay. My seraph was
under me, and my head rested in my saddle, over which another robe had
been laid. I lay upon my side, and the position gave me a view of all
that was passing. A fire was burning near, by which were two persons,
one seated, the other standing. My eyes passed from one to the other,
scanning each in turn.
The younger stood leaning on his rifle, looking into the fire. He was
the type of a "mountain man," a trapper. He was full six feet in his
moccasins, and of a build that suggested the idea of strength and Saxon
ancestry. His arms were like young oaks; and his hand grasping the
muzzle of his gun, appeared large, fleshless, and muscular. His cheek
was broad and firm, and was partially covered with a bushy whisker, that
met over the chin; while a beard of the same colour--dull brown--fringed
his lips. The eye was grey, or bluish grey, small, well-set, and rarely
wandering. The hair was light brown; and the complexion of the face,
which had evidently once been blonde, was now nearly as dark as that of
a half-breed. Sun-tan had produced this metamorphosis. The countenance
was prepossessing: it might have been once handsome. Its expression was
bold, but good-humoured, and bespoke a kind and generous nature.
The dress of this individual was the well-known costume of his class--a
hunting-shirt of dressed deer-skin, smoked to the softness of a glove;
leggings reaching to the hips, and fringed down the seams; moccasins of
true Indian make, soled with buffalo hide (_parfleche_). The
hunting-shirt was belted around the waist, but open above, so as to
leave the throat and part of the breast uncovered; but over the breast
could be seen the under-shirt, of finer material--the dressed skin of
the young antelope, or the fawn of the fallow-deer. A short cape, part
of the hunting-shirt, hung gracefully over the shoulders, ending in a
deep fringe cut out of the buckskin itself. A similar fringe
embellished the draping of the skirt. On the head was a raccoon-cap--
the face of the animal over the front, while the barred tail, like a
plume, fell drooping over the left shoulder.
The accoutrements were a bullet-pouch, made from the undressed skin of a
tiger-cat, ornamented with the head of the beautiful summer-duck. This
hung under the right arm, suspended by a shoulder-strap; and attached,
in a similar manner, was a huge crescent-shaped horn, upon which was
carved many a strange souvenir. His arms consisted of a knife and
pistol--both stuck in the waist-belt--and a long rifle, so straight that
the line of the barrel seemed scarcely to deflect from that of the butt.
But little attention had been paid to ornament in either his dress,
arms, or equipments; and yet there was a gracefulness in the hang of his
tunic-like shirt, a stylishness about the fringing and bead-embroidery,
and an air of jauntiness in the set of the 'coon-skin cap, that showed
the wearer was not altogether unmindful of his personal appearance. A
small pouch or case, ornamented with stained porcupine quills, hung down
upon his breast. This was the pipe-holder--no doubt a _gage d'amour_
from some dark-eyed, dark-skinned damsel, like himself a denizen of the
wilderness.
His companion was very different in appearance; unlike him, in almost
every respect, unlike anybody in the world.
The whole appearance of this individual was odd and striking. He was
seated on the opposite side of the fire, with his face partially turned
towards me, and his head sunk down between a pair of long lank thighs.
He looked more like the stump of a tree dressed in dirt-coloured
buckskin than a human being; and had his arms not been in motion, he
might have been mistaken for such an object. Both his arms and jaws
were moving; the latter engaged in polishing a rib of meat which he had
half roasted over the coals.
His dress--if dress it could be called--was simple as it was savage. It
consisted of what might have once been a hunting-shirt, but which now
looked more like a leathern bag with the bottom ripped open, and sleeves
sewed into the sides. It was of a dirty-brown colour, wrinkled at the
hollow of the arms, patched round the armpits, and greasy all over; it
was fairly "caked" with dirt. There was no attempt at either ornament
or fringe. There had been a cape, but this had evidently been drawn
upon from time to time for patches and other uses, until scarcely a
vestige of it remained. The leggings and moccasins were on a par with
the shirt, and seemed to have been manufactured out of the same hide.
They, too, were dirt-brown, patched, wrinkled, and greasy. They did not
meet each other, but left bare a piece of the ankle, and that also was
dirt-brown like the buckskin. There was no undershirt, waistcoat, or
other garment to be seen, with the exception of a close-fitting cap,
which had once been catskin; but the hair was all worn off, leaving a
greasy, leathery-looking surface, that corresponded well with the other
parts of the dress. Cap, shirt, leggings, and moccasins, looked as if
they had never been stripped off since the day they were first tried on,
and that might have been many a year ago. The shirt was open,
displaying the naked breast and throat; and these, as well as the face,
hands, and ankles, had been tanned by the sun and smoked by the fire to
the hue of rusty copper. The whole man, clothes and all, looked as if
he had been smoked on purpose.
His face bespoke a man of sixty, or thereabout; his features were sharp,
and somewhat aquiline; and the small eyes were dark, quick, and
piercing. His hair was black, and cut short; his complexion had been
naturally brunette, though there was nothing of the Frenchman or
Spaniard in his physiognomy. He was more likely of the black-Saxon
breed.
As I looked at this man, I saw that there was a strangeness about him,
independently of the oddness of his attire. There was something
peculiar about his head--something _wanting_.
What was it that was wanting? It was his ears!
There is something awful in a man without his ears. It suggests some
horrid drama--some terrible scene of cruel vengeance: it suggests the
idea of crime committed and punishment inflicted.
I might have had such unpleasant imaginings, but that I chanced to know
why those ears were wanting. I remembered the man who was sitting
before me!
It seemed a dream, or rather the re-enactment of an old scene. Years
before, I had seen that individual, and for the first time, in a
situation very similar. My eyes first rested upon him, seated as he was
now, over a fire, roasting and eating. The attitude was the same; the
_tout ensemble_ in no respect different. There was the same greasy
catskin cap, the same scant leggings, the same brown buckskin covering
over the lanky frame. Perhaps neither shirt nor leggings had been taken
off since I last saw them. They appeared no dirtier, however; that was
not possible. Nor was it possible, having once looked upon the wearer,
ever to forget him. I remembered him at a glance--Reuben Bawling, or
"Old Rube," as he was more commonly called, one of the most celebrated
of trappers.
The younger man was "Bill Garey," another celebrity of the same
profession, and old Rube's partner and constant companion.
My heart gladdened at the sight of these old acquaintances. I knew I
was with friends.
I was about to call out to them, when my eye wandering beyond rested
upon the group of horses, and what I saw startled me from my recumbent
position.
There was Rube's old, blind, bare-ribbed, high-boned, long-eared
mare-mustang. Her lank grizzled body, naked tail, and mulish look, I
remembered well. There, too, was the large powerful horse of Garey, and
there was my own steed Moro picketed beside them! This was a joyful
surprise to me, as he had galloped off after his escape from the bear,
and I had felt anxious about recovering him.
But it was not the sight of Moro that caused me to start with
astonishment; it was at seeing another well-remembered animal--another
horse. Was I mistaken? Was it an illusion? Were my eyes or my fancy
again mocking me?
No! It was a reality. There was the noble form, the graceful and
symmetrical outlines, the smooth coat of silver white, the flowing tail,
the upright jetty ears--all were before my eyes. It was he--_the white
steed of the prairies_!