The Wild Man of the West - Robert Michael Ballantyne (korean ebook reader .txt) 📗

instance, we decidedly object to. So, we are in favour of slang, but not of _all_ slang. There are some slang words which are used instead of oaths, and these, besides being wicked, are exceedingly contemptible. Tempting, however, they are--too apt to slip from the tongue and from the pen, and to cause regret afterwards.

But to return. Although we won't say that the quadruped in question was stunning, we will say again that it was striking--so powerfully striking that the force of the stroke was calculated almost to stun. It was uncommonly tall, remarkably short in the body, and had a piebald coat. Moreover, it had no tail--to speak of--as that member had, in some unguarded moment, got into the blaze of the camp fire and been burnt off close to the stump. The stump, however, was pretty long, and, at the time when the trappers became possessed of the animal, that appendage was covered with a new growth of sparsely scattered and very stiff hair, about three inches long, so that it resembled a gigantic bottle-brush. Being a spirited animal, the horse had a lively bottle-brush, which was grotesque, if it was nothing else.

This quadruped's own particular biped was Theodore Bertram. He had a peculiar liking for it (as he had for everything picturesque), not only on account of its good qualities--which were, an easy gait and a tender mouth--but also because it was his own original animal, that of which he had been deprived by the Indians, and which he had recaptured with feelings akin to those of a mother who recovers a long-lost child.

We have said that the space of three weeks passed without anything particular occurring to our trappers. This remark, however, must be taken in a limited sense. Nothing particularly connected with the thread of this story occurred; though very many and particularly interesting things of a minor nature did occur during the course of that period.

It would require a work equal in size to the "Encyclopaedia Britannica" to contain all the interesting things that were said and seen and done on those prairies by these trappers within that brief space of time. A conscientiously particular chronicler of events would have detailed the route of each day, the latitude and longitude of each resting-place, the very nature of the wood which composed the fuel of each fire. He would have recorded that March Marston's little bay ran away with him--not, in a general way, fifty or a hundred times, but exactly so many times, specifying the concomitant circumstances of each separate time, and the results of each particular race. He would have noted, with painful accuracy, the precise number of times in which Theodore Bertram (being a bad rider) fell off his horse, or was pitched off in consequence of that quadruped putting its foot inadvertently into badger holes. He would have mentioned that on each occasion the unfortunate artist blackened his eye, or bled or skinned his nasal organ, and would have dilated anatomically on the peculiar colour of the disfigured orb and the exact amount of damage done to the bruised nose. He would have told not only the general fact that bears, and elks, and antelopes, and prairie dogs, and wolves, and buffaloes, were seen in great numbers continually, and were shot in abundance, but he would have recorded that Bertram did, on one occasion, in the height of his enthusiastic daring, give a shout and draw one of his blunderbuss-pistols, on observing a grisly bear at a short distance ahead of him; that he dashed his heels violently against the sides of his remarkable horse; that the said horse did toss his head, shake his bottle-brush, and rush full tilt towards the bear until he caught sight of it, when he turned off at a sharp angle, leaving Bertram on the plain at the mercy of the bear; that Bruin, who was in nowise alarmed, observing his condition, came to see what was the matter with him; and that he, Mr Bertram, would certainly have fallen a victim to his own headstrong courage on the one hand, and to the bear's known tendency to rend human beings on the other, had not March come up at that moment and shot it through the heart, while Redhand shot it through the brain.

And this supposed conscientious chronicler of events, had he been a naturalist, would have further detailed, with graphic particularity, the rich, exuberant, and varied _flora_ of the region--from the largest plant that waved and blossomed in the prairie winds to the lowliest floweret that nestled among the tender and sweet-scented grasses on the prairie's breast. In regard to the _fauna_ of those regions, he would have launched out upon the form, the colour, size, habits, peculiarities, etcetera, of every living thing, from the great buffalo (which he would have carefully explained was _not_ the buffalo, but the _bison_) down to the sly, impudent, yet harmless little prairie dog (which he would have also carefully noted was _not_ the prairie dog, but the marmot).

Had this supposed recorder of facts been of an erratic nature, given to wander from anecdote to description, and _vice versa_, he would perhaps have told, in a parenthetical sort of way, how that, during these three weeks, the trappers enjoyed uninterrupted fine weather; how the artist sketched so indefatigably that he at last filled his book to overflowing and had to turn it upside down, begin at the end, and sketch on the backs of his previous drawings; how Big Waller and Black Gibault became inseparable friends and sang duets together when at full gallop, the latter shrieking like a wild-cat, the former roaring like a buffalo bull; how March Marston became madder than ever, and infected his little steed with the same disease, so that the two together formed a species of insane compound that caused Redhand and Bounce to give vent to many a low chuckle and many a deep sagacious remark, and induced Hawkswing to gaze at it--the compound--in grave astonishment.

All this and a great deal more might be told, and, no doubt, might prove deeply interesting. But, as no man can do everything, so no man can record everything; therefore we won't attempt it, but shall at once, and without further delay, proceed to that part of our tale which bears more directly on the Rocky Mountains and the Wild Man of the West himself.

"It's a strong place," said Redhand, checking the pace of his horse and pointing to a small edifice or fort which stood on the summit of a little mound or hill about a quarter of a mile in advance of them--"a very strong place--such as would puzzle the redskins to break into if defended by men of ordinary pluck."

"Men of pluck sometimes get careless, and go to sleep, though," said March Marston, riding up to the old trapper; "I've heard o' such forts bein' taken by redskins before now."

"So have I, lad, so have I," returned Redhand; "I've heard o' a fort bein' attacked by Injuns when the men were away huntin', an' bein' burnt down. But it ginerally turns out that the whites have had themselves to thank for't."

"Ay, that's true," observed Bounce; "some o' the whites in them parts is no better nor they should be. They treats the poor Injuns as if they wos dogs or varmints, an' then they're astonished if the redskins murder them out o' revenge. I know'd one feller as told me that when he lived on the west side o' the mountains, where some of the Injuns are a murderin' set o' thieves, he niver lost a chance o' killin' a redskin. Of course the redskins niver lost a chance o' killin' the whites; an' so they come to sich a state o' war, that they had to make peace by givin' them no end o' presents o' guns an' cloth an' beads--enough to buy up the furs o' a whole tribe."

"I guess they was powerful green to do anything o' the sort," said Big Waller. "I knowed a feller as was in command of a party o' whites, who got into much the same sort of fix with the Injuns--always fightin' and murderin'; so what does he do, think ye?"

"Shooted de chief and all hims peepil," suggested Gibault.

"Nothin' o' the sort," replied Waller. "He sends for the chief, an' gives him a grand present, an' says he wants to marry his darter. An' so he _did_ marry his darter, right off, an' the whites an' redskins was friends ever after that. The man what did that was a gentleman too--so they said; tho' for my part I don't know wot a gentleman is--no more do I b'lieve there ain't sich a thing; but if there be, an' it means anything good, I calc'late that that man _wos_ a gentleman, for w'en he grew old he took his old squaw to Canada with him, 'spite the larfin' o' his comrades, who said he'd have to sot up a wigwam for her in his garden. But he says, `No,' says he, `I married the old ooman for better an' for worse, an' I'll stick by her to the last. There's too many o' you chaps as leaves yer wives behind ye when ye go home--I'm detarmined to sot ye a better example.' An' so he did. He tuk her home an' put her in a grand house in some town in Canada--I don't well mind which-- but when he wasn't watchin' of her, the old ooman would squat down on the carpet in the drawin'-room, for, d'ye see, she hadn't bin used to chairs. His frinds used to advise him to put her away, an' the kindlier sort said he should give her a room to herself, and not bring her into company where she warn't at ease; but no, the old man said always, `She's my lawful wedded wife, an' if she was a buffalo cow I'd stick by her to the last'--an' so he did."

"Vraiment he was von cur'ous creetur," observed Gibault.

"See, they have descried us!" exclaimed Bertram, pointing to the fort, which they were now approaching, and where a bustle among the inhabitants showed that their visitors were not always peacefully disposed, and that it behoved them to regard strangers with suspicion.

"Would it not be well to send one of our party on in advance with a white flag?" observed Bertram.

"No need for that," replied Redhand, "they're used to all kinds o' visitors--friends as well as foes. I fear, however, from the haste they show in closing their gate, that they ain't on good terms with the Injuns."

"The red-men and the pale-faces are at war," said Hawkswing.

"Ay, you're used to the signs, no doubt," returned Redhand, "for you've lived here once upon a time, I b'lieve."

The Indian made no reply, but a dark frown overspread his countenance for a few minutes. When it passed, his features settled down into their usual state of quiet gravity.

"Have ye ever seed that fort before?" inquired Bounce in the Indian tongue.

"I have," answered Hawkswing. "Many moons have passed since I was in this spot. My nation was strong then. It is weak now. Few braves are left. We sometimes carried our furs to that fort to trade with the pale-faces. It is called the Mountain Fort. The chief of the pale-faces was a bad man then. He loved fire-water too much. If he is there still, I do not