The surprise, with the exertion I had made in raising myself, overcame
me, and I fell back in a swoon.
It was but a momentary dizziness, and in a short while I was again
conscious.
Meanwhile, the two men had approached, and having applied something cold
to my temples, stood near me conversing: I heard every word.
"Durn the weemen!" (I recognised Rube's voice); "thur allers a gittin a
fellur into some scrape. Hyur's a putty pickle to be in, an all through
a gurl. Durn the weemen! sez I."
"We-ell," drawlingly responded Garey, "pre-haps he loves the gal. They
sez she's mighty hansum. Love's a strong feelin, Rube."
Although I had my eyes partially open, I could not see Rube, as he was
standing behind the suspended robe; but a gurgling, clucking sound--
somewhat like that made in pouring water from a bottle--reached my ears,
and told me what effect Garey's remark had produced upon his companion.
"Cuss me, Bill!" the latter at length rejoined--"cuss me! ef yur ain't
as durned a fool as the young fellur hisself! Love's a strong feelin!
He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo! Wal, I guess it must a be to make sich
dodrotted fools o' reezunable men. As yit, it hain't afooled this
child, I reck'n."
"You never knewd what love war, old hoss?"
"Thur yur off o' the trail, Bill-ee. I _did_ oncest--yis, oncest I wur
in love, plum to the toe-nails. But thet wur a gurl to git sweet on.
Ye-es, thet she wur, an no mistake!"
This speech ended in a sigh that sounded like the blowing of a buffalo.
"Who wur the gal?" inquired Garey after a pause. "White, or Injun?"
"Injun!" exclaimed Rube, in a contemptuous tone. "No; I reck'n not,
boyee. I don't say thet, _for a wife_, an Injun ain't jest as good as a
white, an more convaynient she are to git shet of when yur tired o' her.
I've hed a good grist o' squaws in my time--hef-a-dozen maybe, an maybe
more--but this I _kin_ say, an no boastin neyther, thet I never sold a
squaw yet for a plug o' bacca less than I gin for her; an on most o' 'em
I made a clur profit. Thurfur, Billee, I don't object to a Injun fur a
wife: but _wives_ is one thing, an _sweethearts_ is diff'rent, when it
comes to thet. Now the gurl I'm a-talkin 'bout wur my sweetheart."
"She wur a white gal, then?"
"Are allyblaster white? She wur white as the bleached skull o' a
huffier; an sesh har! 'Twur as red as the brush o' a kitfox! Eyes,
too. Ah, Billee, boy, them wur eyes to squint out o'! They wur as big
as a buck's, an as soft as smoked fawn-skin. I never seed a pair o'
eyes like hern!"
"What wur her name?"
"Her name wur Char'ty, an as near as I kin remember, her other name wur
Holmes--Char'ty Holmes. Ye-es, thet wur the name.
"'Twur upon Big-duck crick in the Tennessee bottom, the place whur this
child chawed his fust hoe-cake. Let me see--it ur now more'n thirty
yeer ago. I fust met the gurl at a candy-pullin; an I reccollex well we
wur put to eat taffy agin one another. We ate till our lips met; an
then the kissin--thet wur kissin, boyee. Char'ty's lips wur sweeter
than the treakle itself!
"We met oncest agin at a corn-shuckin, an arterwards at a
blanket-trampin, an thur's whur the bisness wur done. I seed Char'ty's
ankles as she wur a-trampin out the blankets, as white an smooth as
peeled poplar. Arter thet 'twur all up wi' Reuben Rawlins. I
approached the gurl 'ithout more ado; an sez I: `Char'ty,' sez I, `I
freeze to you;' an sez she: `Reuben, I cottons to you.' So I
immeediantly made up to the ole squire--thet ur Squire Holmes--an axed
him for his darter. Durn the ole skunk! he refused to gin her to me!
"Jest then, thur kum a pedlar from Kinneticut, all kivered wi' fine
broadcloth. He made love to Char'ty; an wud yur b'lieve it, Bill? the
gurl married him! Cuss the weemen! thur all alike.
"I met the pedlar shortly arter, and gin _him_ sech a larrupin as laid
him up for a month; but I hed to clur out for it, an I then tuk to the
plains.
"I never seed Char'ty arterward, but I heerd o' her oncest from a fellur
I kim acrosst on the Massoury. She wur a splendid critter; an if she ur
still livin, she must hev a good grist o' young uns by this, for the
fellur said she'd hed a kupple o' twins very shortly arter she wur
married, with _har an eyes jest like herself_! Wal, thur's no kalklatin
on weemen, any how. Jest see what this young fellur's got by tryin to
sarve 'em. Wagh!"
Up to this moment I took no part in the conversation, nor had I
indicated to either of the trappers that I was aware of their presence.
Everything was enveloped in mystery. The presence of the white steed
had sufficiently astonished me, and not less that of my old
acquaintances, Rube and Garey. The whole scene was a puzzle.
I was equally at a loss to account for their being acquainted with the
cause that had brought _me_ there. That they were so, was evident from
their conversation. Where could they have procured their information on
this head? Neither of them had been at the rancheria, nor in the army
anywhere; certainly not, else I should have heard of them. Indeed,
either of them would have made himself known to me, as a strong
friendship had formerly existed between us.
But they alone could give me an explanation, and, without further
conjecture, I turned to them.
"Rube! Garey!" I said, holding out my hand.
"Hilloo! yur a-comin too, young fellur. Thet's right; but thur now--lay
still a bit--don't worrit yurself; y'ull be stronger by'm by."
"Take a sup o' this," said the other, with an air of rude kindness, at
the same time holding out a small gourd, which I applied to my lips. It
was _aguardiente_ of El Paso, better known among the mountain-men as
"Pass-whisky." The immediate effect of this strong, but not bad spirit,
was to strengthen my nerves, and render me abler to converse.
"I see you reccollects us, capt'n," said Garey, apparently pleased at
the recognition.
"Well, old comrades--well do I remember you."
"We ain't forgot you neyther. Rube an I often talked about ye. We many
a time wondered what hed becomed o' you. We heerd, of coorse, that you
hed gone back to the settlements, an that you hed come into gobs o'
property, an hed to change yur name to git it--"
"Durn the name!" interrupted Rube. "I'd change mine any day for a plug
o' Jeemes River bacca; thet wud I sartint."
"No, capt'n," continued the young trapper, without heeding Rube's
interruption, "we hedn't forgot you, neyther of us."
"That we hedn't!" added Rube emphatically: "forgot ye--forgot the young
fellur as tuk ole Rube for a grizzly! He, he, he!--ho, ho, hoo! How
Bill hyur did larf when I gin him the account o' that bissnes in the
cave. Bill, boy, I niver seed you larf so in all my life. Ole Rube tuk
for a grizzly! He, he, he!--Ho, ho, hoo!"
And the old trapper went off into a fit of laughing that occupied nearly
a minute. At the end of it, he continued:--
"Thet wur a kewrious bit o' dodgin--wa'nt it, young fellur? You saved
my ole karkidge thet time, an I ain't a-gwine to forgit it; no, this
child ain't."
"I think you have repaid me; you have rescued me from the bear?"
"From _one_ bar _preehaps_ we did, but from t'other grizzly you rescooed
yurself; an', young fellur, you must a fit a putty consid'able bout
afore the vamint knocked under. The way you hev gin him the bowie ur a
caution to snakes, I reck'n."
"What! were there two bears?"
"Look thur! thur's a kupple, ain't thur?"
The trapper pointed in the direction of the fire. Sure enough, the
carcasses of _two_ bears lay upon the ground, both skinned, and
partially cut up!
"I fought with only one."
"An thet wur enuf at a time, an a leetle more, I reck'n. 'Tain't many
as lives to wag thur jaws arter a stan-up tussle wi' a grizzly. Wagh!
how you must have fit, to a rubbed out thet bar!"
"I _killed_ the bear, then?"
"Thet you sartintly did, young fellur. When Bill an me kim on the
groun, the bar wur as dead as pickled pork. We thort yur case wa'nt any
better. Thur you lay a-huggin the bar, an the bar a-huggin you, as ef
both on yur hed gone to sleep in a sort o' friendly way, like the
babbies in the wood, exceptin thet you wa'nt kivered wi' leaves. But
thur wur yur claret a kiverin the paraira for yurds round. Thur wa'nt
as much blood in you as wud a gin a leech his breakfist."
"The other bear?"
"She kum arterwards out o' the gully. Bill, he wur gone to look arter
the white hoss. I wur sittin aside you, jest hyur, when I seed the
vamint's snout pokin up. I knowd it wur the she-bar a-comin to see
where ole Eph had strayed to. So I tuk up Targuts, an plummed the
critter in the eye, an thet wur the eend o' _her_ trampin.
"Now, lookee hyur, young fellur! I ain't no doctur, neyther's Bill, but
I knows enough about wownds to be sartint thet you must lay still, an
stop talkin. Yur mighty bad scratched, I tell ye, but yur not
dangerous, only you've got no blood in yur body, an you must wait till
it gathers agin. Take another suck out o' the gourd. Thur now, come,
Billee! leave 'im alone. Le's go an hev a fresh toothfull o' bar-meat."
And so saying, the leathery figure moved off in the direction of the
fire, followed by his younger companion.
Although I was anxious to have a further explanation about the other
points that puzzled me--about the steed, the trappers' own presence,
their knowledge of my wild hunt, and its antecedents--I knew it would be
useless to question Old Rube any further after what he had said; I was
compelled, therefore, to follow his advice, and remain quiet.