"Kin your cummarade depend on yer shot?"
"Oh! I think so. Why do you wish to know that?"
"Why, I'm a-going to show ye a shot we sometimes practise at Bent's
Fort, jest to tickle the greenhorns. 'Tain't much of a shot nayther;
but it tries the narves a little I reckon. Hoy! Rube!"
"What doo 'ee want?"
This was spoken in an energetic and angry-like voice, that turned all
eyes to the quarter whence it proceeded. At the first glance, there
seemed to be no one in that direction. In looking more carefully among
the logs and stumps, an individual was discovered seated by one of the
fires. It would have been difficult to tell that it was a human body,
had not the arms at the moment been in motion. The back was turned
toward the crowd, and the head had disappeared, sunk forward over the
fire. The object, from where we were standing, looked more like the
stump of a cotton-wood, dressed in dirt-coloured buckskin, than the body
of a human being. On getting nearer, and round to the front of it, it
was seen to be a man, though a very curious one, holding a long rib of
deer-meat in both hands, which he was polishing with a very poor set of
teeth.
The whole appearance of this individual was odd and striking. 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 the
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 a piece of the ankle bare, and that also was
dirt-brown, like the buck-skin. There was no undershirt, waistcoat, or
other garment to be seen, with the exception of a close-fitting cap,
which had once been cat-skin, but the hair was all worn off it, 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. The features were sharp and somewhat
aquiline; and the small eye was 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 on his physiognomy. He
was more likely of the black Saxon breed.
As I looked at this man (for I had walked towards him, prompted by some
instinct of curiosity), I began to fancy that there was a strangeness
about him, independent of the oddness of his attire. There seemed to be
something peculiar about his head, something wanting. What was it? I
was not long in conjecture. When fairly in front of him, I saw what was
wanting. It was his ears!
This discovery impressed me with a feeling akin to awe. There is
something awful in a man without ears. It suggests some horrid drama,
some terrible scene of cruel vengeance. It suggests the idea of crime
committed and punishment inflicted.
These thoughts were wandering through my mind, when all at once I
remembered a remark which Seguin had made on the previous night. This,
then, thought I, is the person of whom he spoke. My mind was satisfied.
After making answer as above, the old fellow sat for some time with his
head between his knees, chewing, mumbling, and growling, like a lean old
wolf, angry at being disturbed in his meal.
"Come hyar, Rube! I want ye a bit," continued Garey, in a tone of half
entreaty.
"And so 'ee will want me a bit; this child don't move a peg till he has
cleaned this hyur rib; he don't, now!"
"Dog-gone it, man! make haste, then!" and the impatient trapper dropped
the butt of his rifle to the ground, and stood waiting in sullen
silence.
After chewing, and mumbling, and growling a few minutes longer, old
Rube, for that was the name by which the leathery sinner was known,
slowly erected his lean carcass; and came walking up to the crowd.
"What do 'ee want, Billee?" he inquired, going up to the trapper.
"I want ye to hold this," answered Garey, offering him a round white
shell, about the size of a watch, a species of which there were many
strewed over the ground.
"It's a bet, boyee?"
"No, it is not."
"Ain't wastin' yur powder, ar yur?"
"I've been beat shootin'," replied the trapper, in an undertone, "by
that 'ar Injun."
The old man looked over to where the strange Indian was standing erect
and majestic, in all the pride of his plumage. There was no appearance
of triumph or swagger about him, as he stood leaning on his rifle, in an
attitude at once calm and dignified.
It was plain, from the way old Rube surveyed him, that he had seen him
before, though not in that camp. After passing his eyes over him from
head to foot, and there resting them a moment, a low murmur escaped his
lips, which ended abruptly in the word "Coco."
"A Coco, do ye think?" inquired the other, with an apparent interest.
"Are 'ee blind, Billee? Don't 'ee see his moccasin?"
"Yes, you're right, but I was in thar nation two years ago. I seed no
such man as that."
"He w'an't there."
"Whar, then?"
"Whur thur's no great show o' redskins. He may shoot well; he did
oncest on a time: plumb centre."
"You knew him, did ye?"
"O-ee-es. Oncest. Putty squaw: hansum gal. Whur do 'ee want me to
go?"
I thought that Garey seemed inclined to carry the conversation further.
There was an evident interest in his manner when the other mentioned the
"squaw." Perhaps he had some tender recollection; but seeing the other
preparing to start off, he pointed to an open glade that stretched
eastward, and simply answered, "Sixty."
"Take care o' my claws, d'yur hear! Them Injuns has made 'em scarce;
this child can't spare another."
The old trapper said this with a flourish of his right hand. I noticed
that the little finger had been chopped off!
"Never fear, old hoss!" was the reply; and at this, the smoky carcase
moved away with a slow and regular pace, that showed he was measuring
the yards.
When he had stepped the sixtieth yard, he faced about, and stood erect,
placing his heels together. He then extended his right arm, raising it
until his hand was on a level with his shoulder, and holding the shell
in his fingers, flat side to the front, shouted back--
"Now, Billee, shoot, and be hanged to yur!"
The shell was slightly concave, the concavity turned to the front. The
thumb and finger reached half round the circumference, so that a part of
the edge was hidden; and the surface turned towards the marksman was not
larger than the dial of a common watch.
This was a fearful sight. It is one not so common among the mountain
men as travellers would have you believe. The feat proves the
marksman's skill; first, if successful, by showing the strength and
steadiness of his nerves; secondly, by the confidence which the other
reposes in it, thus declared by stronger testimony than any oath. In
any case the feat of holding the mark is at least equal to that of
hitting it. There are many hunters willing to risk taking the shot, but
few who care to hold the shell.
It was a fearful sight, and my nerves tingled as I looked on. Many
others felt as I. No one interfered. There were few present who would
have dared, even had these two men been making preparations to fire at
each other. Both were "men of mark" among their comrades: trappers of
the first class.
Garey, drawing a long breath, planted himself firmly, the heel of his
left foot opposite to, and some inches in advance of, the hollow of his
right. Then, jerking up his gun, and throwing the barrel across his
left palm, he cried out to his comrade--
"Steady, ole bone an' sinyer! hyar's at ye!"
The words were scarcely out when the gun was levelled. There was a
moment's death-like silence, all eyes looking to the mark. Then came
the crack, and the shell was seen to fly, shivered into fifty fragments!
There was a cheer from the crowd. Old Rube stopped to pick up one of
the pieces, and after examining it for a moment, shouted in a loud
voice;--
"Plumb centre, by--!"
The young trapper had, in effect, hit the mark in the very centre, as
the blue stain of the bullet testified.