WHAT THE HAND HAD TO DO
In this wide, new world of the West there were but few artificial
needs, and the differentiation of industries was alike impossible and
undesired. Each man was his own cook, his own tailor, his own mechanic
in the simple ways demanded by the surroundings about him. Each man
was as good as his neighbour, for his neighbour as well as himself
perforce practised a half-dozen crafts and suffered therefrom neither
in his own esteem nor that of those about him. The specialists of
trade, of artisanship, of art, were not yet demanded in this
environment where each man in truth "took care of himself," and had
small dependence upon others.
In all the arts of making one's self comfortable in a womanless and
hence a homeless land both Franklin and Battersleigh, experienced
campaigners as they were, found themselves much aided by the counsel of
Curly, the self-reliant native of the soil who was Franklin's first
acquaintance in that land. It was Curly who helped them with their
houses and in their household supplies. It was he who told them now
and then of a new region where the crop of bones was not yet fully
gathered. It was he who showed them how to care for the little number
of animals which they began to gather about them; and who, in short,
gave to them full knowledge of the best ways of exacting a subsistence
from the land which they had invaded.
One morning Franklin, thinking to have an additional buffalo robe for
the coming winter, and knowing no manner in which he could get the hide
tanned except through his own efforts, set about to do this work for
himself, ignorant of the extent of his task, and relying upon Curly for
advice as to the procedure.
Curly sat on his horse and looked on with contempt as Franklin flung
down the raw skin upon the ground.
"You've shore tackled a bigger job than you know anything about, Cap,"
said he, "and, besides that, it ain't a job fittin' fer a man to do.
You ought to git some squaw to do that for you."
"But, you see, there aren't any squaws around," said Franklin, smiling.
"If you'll tell me just how the Indians do it I'll try to see how good
a job I can make of it."
Curly shifted his leg in his saddle and his cud in his mouth, and
pushing his hat back on his forehead, assumed the position of
superintendent.
"Well, it'll take you a long time," said he, "but I 'low it ain't no
use tellin' you not to begin, fer you'll just spile a good hide anyhow.
First thing you do, you stretch yer hide out on the ground, fur side
down, and hold it there with about six hundred pegs stuck down around
the edges. It'll take you a week to do that. Then you take a knife
and scrape all the meat off the hide. That sounds easy, but it'll take
about another week. Then you git you a little hoe, made out of a piece
of steel, and you dig, and dig, and dig at that hide till you git some
more meat off, and begin to shave it down, thin like. You got to git
all the grease out of it, an' you got to make all the horny places
soft. Time you git it dug down right it'll take you about a year, I
reckon, and then you ain't done. You got to git brains--buffalo brains
is best--and smear all over it, and let 'em dry in. Then you got to
take your hide up and rub it till it's plum soft. That'll take you a
couple of weeks, I reckon. Then you kin smoke it, if you have got any
place to smoke it, an' that'll take you a week, it you don't burn it
up. Sometimes you kin whiten a hide by rubbin' it with white clay, if
you can git any clay. That might take you a few days longer. Oh, yes,
I reckon you kin git the hide tanned if you live long enough. You'd
ought to put up a sign, 'Captain Franklin, Attorney at Law, an' Hide
Tanner.'"
Franklin laughed heartily at Curly's sarcasm. "There's one thing sure,
Curly," said he; "if I ever get this thing done I shall have to do the
work myself, for no one ever knew you to do any work but ride a horse.
Now, I think I can tan this hide, and do it in less than a year, and in
less than a week, too. I can peg it out, and I can make me the iron
hoe, and I can soften the hide with brains, and I can rub it until it
is finished. I have, or can get, about all the ingredients you mention
except the clay. If I had some white pipe clay I believe I could
really make me a beautiful robe for a counterpane for my bed next
winter."
"If it's only clay you want," said Curly lazily, "I can git you plenty
of that."
"Where?" said Franklin.
"Over in a little holler, to the crick back o' town," said Curly. "You
go on an' tack out your hide, an' I'll ride over and git you some."
"How'll you carry it," said Franklin, "if you go on horseback?"
"Kerry it!" said Curly contemptuously. "How'd you s'pose I'd kerry
it? Why, in my hat, o' course!" and he rode off without deigning
further explanation. Franklin remained curious regarding this episode
until, an hour later, Curly rode up to the house again, carrying his
hat by the brim, with both hands before him, and guiding his pony with
his knees. He had, indeed, a large lump of white, soft clay, which he
carried by denting in the crown of his hat and crowding the clay into
the hollow. After throwing down the clay and slapping the hat a few
times on his knee, he seemed to think his headgear not injured by this
transaction.
"There's yer blamed clay," said he; "it'll be a good while before you
need it, but there she is."
The two were joined at this juncture by Battersleigh, who had come over
to pay a morning visit, and who now stood looking on with some interest
at the preparations in progress.
"It's makin' ye a robe is it, Ned, me boy?" said he. "I'm bound it's a
fine thing ye'll do. I'll give yer four dollars if ye'll do as much
for me. Ye wouldn't be leavin' old Batty to sleep cold o' nights, now,
wud ye, Ned?"
"Oh, go tan your own robes," said Franklin cheerfully. "I'm not in the
wholesale line."
"You might git Juan to tan you all one or two," said Curly. "He kin
tan ez good ez ary Injun ever was."
"But, by the way, Curly," said Franklin, "how is Juan this morning? We
haven't heard from him for a day or two."
"Oh, him?" said Curly. "Why, he's all right. He's just been layin'
'round a little, like a dog that's been cut up some in a wolf fight,
but he's all right now. Shoulder's about well, an' as fer the
knife-cut, it never did amount to nothin' much. You can't hurt a
Greaser much, not noways such a big one as Juan. But didn't he git
action in that little difficulty o' his'n? You could a-broke the whole
Cheyenne tribe, if you could a-got a-bettin' with 'em before that
fight."
"Odds was a hundred to one against us, shure," said Battersleigh,
seating himself in the doorway of the shack. "Ye may call the big boy
loco, or whativer ye like, but it's grateful we may be to him. An'
tell me, if ye can, why didn't the haythins pile in an' polish us all
off, after their chief lost his number? No, they don't rush our works,
but off they go trailin', as if 'twas themselves had the odds against
'em, och-honin' fit to set ye crazy, an' carryin' their dead, as if the
loss o' one man ended the future o' the tribe. Faith, they might
have-- Ned, ye're never stretchin' that hide right."
"Them Cheyennes was plenty hot at us fer comin' in on their huntin'
grounds," said Curly, "an' they shore had it in fer us. I don't think
it was what their chief said to them that kep' them back from jumpin'
us, ater the fight was over. It's a blame sight more likely that they
got a sort o' notion in their heads that Juan was bad medicine. It
they get it in their minds that a man is _loco_, an' pertected by
spirits, an' that sort o' thing, they won't fight him, fer fear o'
gettin' the worst of it. That's about why we got out of there, I
reckon. They'd a-took our hosses an' our guns an' our meat, an' been
blame apt not to a-fergot our hair, too, if they hadn't got the idee
that Juan was too much fer 'em. I'll bet they won't come down in there
again in a hundred years'"
"I felt sad for them," said Franklin soberly.
Curly smiled slowly. "Well, Cap," said he, "they's a heap o' things
out in this here country that seems right hard till you git used to
'em. But what's the ust carin' 'bout a dead Injun here or there? They
got to go, one at a time, or more in a bunch. But now, do you know
what they just done with ole Mr. White Calf? Why, they taken him out
along with 'em a ways, till they thought we was fur enough away from
'em, an' then they probably got a lot of poles tied up, or else found a
tree, an' they planted him on top of a scaffold, like jerked beef, an'
left him there fer to dry a-plenty, with all his war clothes on and his
gun along with him. Else, if they couldn't git no good place like
that, they likely taken him up on to a highish hill, er some rocky
place, an' there they covered him up good an' deep with rocks, so'st
the wolves wouldn't bother him any. They tell me them buryin' hills is
great places fer their lookouts, an' sometimes their folks'll go up on
top o' them hills and set there a few days, or maybe overnight,
a-hopin' they'll dream something. They want to dream something that'll
give 'em a better line on how to run off a whole cavvie-vard o' white
men's hosses, next time they git a chanct."
"Ye're a d----d Philistine, Curly," said Battersleigh calmly.
"I'm sorry for them," repeated Franklin, thoughtfully, as he sat idly
fingering the lump of clay that lay between his feet. "Just think, we
are taking' away from these people everything in the world they had.
They were happy as we are--happier, perhaps--and they had their little
ambitions, the same as we have ours. We are driving them away from
their old country, all over the West, until it is hard to see where
they can get a foothold to call their own. We drive them and fight
them and kill them, and then--well, then we forget them."
Curly had a certain sense of politeness, so he kept silence for a time.
"Well," said he at length, "a Injun could tan hides better'n a white
man kin--at least some white men."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Franklin, rousing and replying stoutly.
"The white man wins by dodging the issue. Now, look you, the Indian
squaw you tell me about would probably hack and hack away at this hide
by main strength in getting the flesh off the inside. I am sure I
shall do it better, because I shall study which way the muscles run,
and so strip off the flesh along those lines, and not across them."
"I didn't know that made any difference," said Curly. "Besides, how
kin you tell?"
"Well, now, maybe there are some things you don't know, after all,
Curly," said Franklin. "For instance, can you tell me how many boss
ribs there are in the hump of a buffalo?"
"Well, no--o," admitted Curly. "But what's the difference, so long ez
I know they're all good to eat ?"
"Plainly, a d----d Philistine," said Battersleigh again, striking a
match for his pipe. "But I'm not sure but he had you there, Ned, me
boy."
"I'll show you," said Franklin eagerly. "Here it is on the hide. The
hump came to here. Here was the knee joint--you can see by the whirl
in the muscles as plainly as you could by the curl in the hair
there--you can see it under a wolf's leg, the same way; the hair
follows the lines of the muscles, you know. Wait, I could almost make
you a dummy out of the clay. Now, look here--"
"You're a funny sort o' a feller, Cap," said Curly, "but if you're
goin' to tan that hide you'd better finish peggin' it out, an' git to
work on it."