OSCAR’S OUTFIT.
“I have had your luggage taken in there,” continued the officer, nodding
his head toward an open door, which gave entrance into a cosey bedroom
adjoining the sitting-room, “for you are to be my guest as long as you
remain at the post. Now I don’t want to hurry you away, for those
letters you brought me will insure you a welcome here and good treatment
as long as you choose to stay; but my experience as a plains-hunter
tells me that if you want to reach a country in which game is abundant
before the bad weather sets in you had better start pretty soon.”
“I know it, sir,” replied Oscar. “I shall feel as though I was wasting
valuable time as long as I stay here, and I am anxious to get to work
without the loss of another day.”
“Oh, you can’t do that!” said the colonel. “The time you spend here will
not be wasted, because it is necessary that you should make due
preparation before you start. I tell you it is no joke to spend a long,
hard winter among the hills, no matter how well housed and provided with
supplies you may be. You told me, I believe, that you had purchased a
few things in St. Louis. Let me see them. When I know just what you have
I can tell you what else you need.”
As the colonel said this he arose from his seat and led the way into the
bedroom which had been set apart for Oscar’s use.
Producing a key from his pocket, the boy unlocked the small
packing-trunk in which a portion of his outfit was stowed away, and
brought to light two pairs of thick army blankets, which he handed over
to the colonel.
“They will pass muster,” said the latter, as he laid them upon the bed;
“but those things,” he added, as Oscar drew out a pair of heavy boots
with high tops, “you had better leave behind. You don’t want to load
your pony down with articles that will be of no use to you.”
“My pony! He can’t carry all my luggage. That box must go,” said Oscar,
pointing to a large carpenter’s chest, which had once belonged to his
father. “If I can’t take them with me I might as well stay at home.”
“What’s in it?” asked the colonel.
“A complete set of taxidermist’s tools, artificial eyes, a lot of
annealed wire of different sizes, some strong paper for making funnels,
pasteboard boxes and cotton for packing away the smaller specimens,
and—oh, there are lots of things in it!”
“I should think so! Are you going to put up your birds and animals as
fast as you shoot them?”
“No, sir. I couldn’t do that with the limited facilities I shall have at
my command. I simply want to put the skins in such shape that I can
mount them when I get home. I brought the eyes with me because it is
easier to insert them when the specimen is first killed than it is to
put them in after the skin is brought to life again.”
“What do you mean by that? I’d like to see you restore a dead bird to
life.”
“I didn’t say I could do that,” answered Oscar, with a laugh. “But I can
restore the skin to life.”
“It makes no difference whether the body is in the skin or not, I
suppose?”
“None whatever. I don’t care if the body was cooked and eaten a year
before the skin came into my hands. You see, it isn’t necessary that we
should use any extra pains in caring for the skins of animals. No matter
how badly rumpled the hair may become it can be combed straight at any
time. When the body has been taken out, and the bones you need are
nicely cleaned, and the eyes are inserted, and the skin has been
thoroughly cured with arsenic, it is rolled up and packed away until we
get ready to use it.”
“I should think that if you left it for any length of time it would
become as hard as a brick.”
“So it does, but that doesn’t hurt it in the least. It is packed away in
a box of wet sand, and in twenty-four hours it is as soft and pliable as
it was when it was first taken from the animal. That is what I meant
when I said I could bring a skin back to life.”
“Oh! Ah!” said the colonel.
“Bird skins require very different treatment,” continued Oscar. “The
greatest pains must be taken with them. As soon as the specimen is
killed the throat must be cleaned out and stopped with cotton, to keep
the strong acid of the stomach from destroying the small feathers that
grow about the base of the bill. It must then be put into a paper funnel
shaped like the cornucopias that are sometimes hung on Christmas trees,
and in that way it can be carried to camp without the ruffling of a
feather. After the skin is taken off and cured it must be smoothly laid
out between layers of cotton. If it becomes wrinkled, or the plumage
becomes displaced, it is almost impossible to make a good job of it.”
“Well, I declare!” said the colonel. “Yours is not so easy a business,
after all, is it? I had no idea that there was so much in taxidermy. How
long does it take to learn it?”
“A lifetime,” answered Oscar.
“Then I don’t think I’ll bother with it; my hair is white already, and
the span of life that is left to me is so short that I couldn’t master
even the rudiments of the science. Now let’s go back to business. The
hunters in this country generally travel on foot, and let the ponies
carry their supplies; but you will need a light wagon, and a good,
strong mule to draw it. Those boots you will find to be very
uncomfortable things to wear in this country in winter. A pair of Indian
leggings and moccasins, which you can purchase of the sutler, will keep
you much warmer,” he added, as Oscar drew out of the trunk first the
stock and then the barrel of a heavy Sharp’s rifle and proceeded to put
them together.
The colonel, who admired a fine weapon as much as he admired a fast
horse and a good hunting dog, examined the rifle with the greatest
interest, now and then bringing it to his shoulder and taking aim at the
different objects about the room.
There were but few articles in Oscar’s outfit, and they consisted of two
suits of durable clothing, a light rubber coat, a heavy overcoat, which
was provided with a hood instead of a cape, a few fish lines, two dozen
trout flies, a light axe, a hunting knife with belt and sheath, a
frying-pan, some stout sacks in which to stow away his provisions, and
lastly a neat little fowling-piece, which, being short in the barrel,
and weighing but a trifle over seven pounds, was just the thing for use
in thick cover or in the saddle.
Every article passed muster except the frying-pan. That, the colonel
said, would do well enough for city hunters, but it would take up just
so much room in the wagon; and Oscar, before he had spent a month in the
hills, would probably throw it away and broil his meat on the coals.
“Now what else do I need?” asked Oscar, after the colonel had examined
all the articles in his outfit and passed judgment upon them. “I shall
want some provisions, of course.”
“Certainly. You will need some salt, two or three sacks of hardtack, a
little dried fruit, a small supply of tea, coffee, sugar, and corn meal,
a pony, mule, and wagon, and a good plainsman to act as guide and cook.”
“I suppose the sutlers can furnish me with everything except the last
four articles,” said Oscar. “Where are they to come from?”
“There will be no trouble about them. Orderly, tell Big Thompson I want
to see him.”
The orderly, who had entered the room in response to the summons,
disappeared as soon as he had received his instructions, and the colonel
went on:
“The mule and wagon can be found in the village; there are always plenty
of them for sale, especially at this season of the year, and the pony
can be procured here at the post. Two weeks ago a party of young braves,
who had been out on a stock-stealing expedition, came in, very penitent,
of course, and profuse in their promises that they would not do so any
more; but I took away their arms and dismounted them, and have orders
from the government to sell their ponies. They have been appraised by
the quartermaster, and you can get one, ranging in price from twenty to
seventy-five dollars.”
“They can’t be good for much,” said Oscar.
“There’s right where you are mistaken,” answered the colonel, with a
smile. “They are just suited to the plains, and would live where an
American horse would starve to death. And as for speed—well, we have
horses in the fort that would probably beat the best of them in a race
of three or four miles, but beyond that it would be safe to back the
endurance of the pony. This man, Big Thompson, whom I shall try to
induce to act as your guide, is my favorite scout. He has been out with
me on several campaigns, and I know him to be perfectly reliable. As he
says himself, he isn’t much to look at, and, having been born and
brought up on the plains, he is of course very ignorant, and has some
queer notions. He is as superstitious as any Indian, and equal to the
best of them in hunting and trailing.”
“That reminds me of something,” said Oscar suddenly. “My friend Leon
said that, just before Eben Webster robbed and deserted him, they were
warned by one of the escort of a stage-coach that the Indians were on
the war-path. I hope I shall run no risk of being discovered by them.”
“You need not be at all alarmed. The Indians to whom he referred were a
party of young braves, mostly boys, who broke away from their
reservation and went out to raid a camp of their sworn enemies, the
Pawnees. They got neatly whipped for their pains, and, on such
occasions, they always try to console themselves by taking the scalps of
any small party of whites who may chance to fall in their way. They
don’t like to go back to their village empty-handed if they can help it.
If they had happened to meet Eben and your friend they might have stolen
everything they had, but it isn’t at all likely that they would have
attempted any scalping so near the post. Some of my troops have them in
charge, and they are probably safe at their agency before this time.
Here comes Big Thompson now.”
As the colonel said this, the footsteps of the orderly sounded in the
hall, and a moment later the door opened, admitting the man who was to
be Oscar’s companion and counsellor as long as he remained on the
plains.