Tracks Of A Rolling Stone - Henry J. Coke (novels in english .TXT) 📗

Where,  Was I To Quench My Thirst?  Oh! For The

Tip Of Lazarus' Finger - Or For Choice,  A Bottle Of Bass - To

Cool My Tongue!  Then Too,  Whither Would The Mustang Stray In

The Night If I Rested Or Fell Asleep?  Again And Again I

Tried To Stalk Him By The Starlight.  Twice I Got Hold Of His

Tail,  But He Broke Away.  If I Drove Him Down To The River

Banks The Chance Of Catching Him Would Be No Better,  And I

Should Lose The Dry Ground To Rest On.

 

'It Was About As Unpleasant A Night As I Had Yet Passed. 

Every Now And Then I Sat Down,  And Dropped Off To Sleep From

Sheer Exhaustion.  Every Time This Happened I Dreamed Of

Sparkling Drinks; Then Woke With A Start To A Lively Sense Of

The Reality,  And Anxious Searches For The Mustang.

 

'Directly The Day Dawned I Drove The Animal,  Now Very Stiff, 

Straight Down For The Platte.  He Wanted Water Fully As Much

As His Master; And When We Sighted It He Needed No More

Driving.  Such A Hurry Was He In That,  In His Rush For The

River,  He Got Bogged In The Muddy Swamp At Its Edge.  I

Seized My Chance,  And Had Him Fast In A Minute.  We Both

Plunged Into The Stream; I,  Clothes And All,  And Drank,  And

Drank,  And Drank.'

 

That Evening I Caught Up The Cavalcade.

 

How Curious It Is To Look Back Upon Such Experiences From A

Different Stage Of Life's Journey!  How Would It Have Fared

With Me Had My Rifle Exploded With The Fall? It Was Knocked

Out Of My Hands At Full Cock.  How If The Stock Had Been

Broken?  It Had Been Thrown At Least Ten Yards.  How If The

Horn Had Entered My Thigh Instead Of The Horse's?  How If I

Had Fractured A Limb,  Or Had Been Stunned,  Or The Bull Had

Charged Again While I Was Creeping Up To Him?  Any One,  Or

More Than One,  Of These Contingencies Were More Likely To

Happen Than Not.  But Nothing Did Happen,  Save - The Best.

 

Chapter 22 Pg 118

Not A Thought Of The Kind Ever Crossed My Mind,  Either At The

Time Or Afterwards.  Yet I Was Not A Thoughtless Man,  Only An

Average Man.  Nine Englishmen Out Of Ten With A Love Of Sport

- As Most Englishmen Are - Would Have Done,  And Have Felt, 

Just As I Did.  I Was Bruised And Still; But So One Is After

A Run With Hounds.  I Had Had Many A Nastier Fall Hunting In

Derbyshire.  The Worst That Could Happen Did Not Happen; But

The Worst Never - Well,  So Rarely Does.  One Might Shoot

Oneself Instead Of The Pigeon,  Or Be Caught Picking Forbidden

Fruit.  Narrow Escapes Are As Good As Broad Ones.  The Truth

Is,  When We Are Young,  And Active,  And Healthy,  Whatever

Happens,  Of The Pleasant Or Lucky Kind,  We Accept As A Matter

Of Course.

 

Ah! Youth! Youth!  If We Only Knew When We Were Well Off, 

When We Were Happy,  When We Possessed All That This World Has

To Give!  If We But Knew That Love Is Only A Matter Of Course

So Long As Youth And Its Bounteous Train Is Ours,  We Might

Perhaps Make The Most Of It,  And Give Up Looking For -

Something Better.  But What Then?  Give Up The 'Something

Better'?  Give Up Pursuit,  - The Effort That Makes Us Strong? 

'Give Up The Sweets Of Hope'?   No! 'Tis Better As It Is, 

Perhaps.  The Kitten Plays With Its Tail,  And The Nightingale

Sings; But They Think No More Of Happiness Than The Rose-Bud

Of Its Beauty.  May Be Happiness Comes Not Of Too Much

Knowing,  Or Too Much Thinking Either.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 23 Pg 119

 

Fort Laramie Was A Military Station And Trading Post

Combined.  It Was A Stone Building In What They Called A

'Compound' Or Open Space,  Enclosed By A Palisade.  When We

Arrived There,  It Was Occupied By A Troop Of Mounted Riflemen

Under Canvas,  Outside The Compound.  The Officers Lived In

The Fort; And As We Had Letters To The Colonel - Somner - And

To The Captain - Rhete,  They Were Very Kind And Very Useful

To Us.

 

We Pitched Our Camp By The Laramie River,  Four Miles From The

Fort.  Nearer Than That There Was Not A Blade Of Grass.  The

Cavalry Horses And Military Mules Needed All There Was At

Hand.  Some Of The Mules We Were Allowed To Buy,  Or Exchange

For Our Own.  We Accordingly Added Six Fresh Ones To Our

Cavalcade,  And Parted With Two Horses; Which Gave Us A Total 

Chapter 23 Pg 120

Of Fifteen Mules And Six Horses.  Government Provisions Were

Not To Be Had,  So That We Could Not Replenish Our Now

Impoverished Stock.  This Was A Serious Matter,  As Will Be

Seen Before Long.  Nor Was The Evil Lessened By My Being Laid

Up With A Touch Of Fever - The Effect,  No Doubt,  Of Those

Drenches Of Stagnant Water.  The Regimental Doctor Was

Absent.  I Could Not Be Taken Into The Fort.  And,  As We Had

No Tent,  And Had Thrown Away Almost Everything But The

Clothes We Wore,  I Had To Rough It And Take My Chance.  Some

Relics Of Our Medicine Chest,  Together With A Tough

Constitution,  Pulled Me Through.  But I Was Much Weakened, 

And By No Means Fit For The Work Before Us.  Fred Did His

Best To Persuade Me From Going Further.  He Confessed That He

Was Utterly Sick Of The Expedition; That His Injured Knee

Prevented Him From Hunting,  Or From Being Of Any Use In

Packing And Camp Work; That The Men Were A Set Of Ruffians

Who Did Just As They Chose - They Grumbled At The Hardships, 

Yet Helped Themselves To The Stores Without Restraint; That

We Had The Rocky Mountains Yet To Cross; After That,  The

Country Was Unknown.  Colonel Somner Had Strongly Advised Us

To Turn Back.  Forty Of His Men Had Tried Two Months Ago To

Carry Despatches To The Regiment's Headquarters In Oregon. 

Only Five Had Got Through; The Rest Had Been Killed And

Scalped.  Finally,  That We Had Something Like 1,200 Miles To

Go,  And Were Already In The Middle Of August.  It Would Be

Folly,  Obstinacy,  Madness,  To Attempt It.  He Would Stop And

Hunt Where We Were,  As Long As I Liked; Or He Would Go Back

With Me.  He Would Hire Fresh Good Men,  And Buy New Horses;

And,  Now That We Knew The Country,  We Could Get To St. Louis

Before The End Of September,  And' - . There Was No Reasonable

Answer To Be Made.  I Simply Told Him I Had Thought It Over, 

And Had Decided To Go On.  Like The Plucky Fellow And Staunch

Friend That He Was,  He Merely Shrugged His Shoulders,  And

Quietly Said,  'Very Well.  So Be It.'

 

Before Leaving Fort Laramie A Singular Incident Occurred, 

Which Must Seem So Improbable,  That Its Narration May Be

Taken For Fiction.  It Was,  However,  A Fact.  There Was

Plenty Of Game Near Our Camping Ground; And Though The

Weather Was Very Hot,  One Of The Party Usually Took The

Trouble To Bring In Something To Keep The Pot Supplied.  The

Sage Hens,  The Buffalo Or Elk Meat Were Handed Over To Jacob, 

Who Made A Stew With Bacon And Rice,  Enough For The Evening

Meal And The Morrow's Breakfast.  After Supper,  When Everyone

Had Filled His Stomach,  The Large Kettle,  Covered With Its

Lid,  Was Taken Off The Fire,  And This Allowed To Burn Itself

Out.

 

For Four Or Five Mornings Running The Kettle Was Found Nearly

Empty,  And All Hands Had To Put Up With A Cup Of Coffee And

Mouldy Biscuit Dust.  There Was A Good Deal Of

Unparliamentary Language.  Everyone Accused Everyone Else Of

Filthy Greediness.  It Was Disgusting That After Eating All

He Could,  A Man Hadn't The Decency To Wait Till The Morning.  

Chapter 23 Pg 121

The Pot Had Been Full For Supper,  And,  As Every Man Could

See,  It Was Never Half Emptied - Enough Was Always Left For

Breakfast.  A Resolution Was Accordingly Passed That Each

Should Take His Turn Of An Hour's Watch At Night,  Till The

Glutton Was Caught In The Act.

 

My Hour Happened To Be From 11 To 12 P.M.  I Strongly

Suspected The Thief To Be An Indian,  And Loaded My Big Pistol

With Slugs On The Chance.  It Was A Clear Moonlight Night.  I

Propped Myself Comfortably With A Bag Of Hams; And Concealed

Myself As Well As I Could In A Bush Of Artemisia,  Which Was

Very Thick All Round.  I Had Not Long Been On The Look-Out

When A Large Grey Wolf Prowled Slowly Out Of The Bushes.  The

Night Was Bright As Day; But Every One Of The Men Was Sound

Asleep In A Circle Round The Remains Of The Camp Fire.  The

Wolf Passed Between Them,  Hesitating As It Almost Touched A

Covering Blanket.  Step By Step It Crept Up To The Kettle, 

Took The Handle Of The Lid Between Its Jaws,  Lifted It Off, 

Placed It Noiselessly On The Ground,  And Devoured The Savoury

Stew.

 

I Could Not Fire,  Because Of The Men.  I Dared Not Move,  Lest

I Should Disturb The Robber.  I Was Even Afraid The Click Of

Cocking The Pistol Would Startle Him And Prevent My Getting A

Quiet Shot.  But Patience Was Rewarded.  When Satiated,  The

Brute Retired As Stealthily As He Had Advanced; And As He

Passed Within Seven Or Eight Yards Of Me I Let Him Have It. 

Great Was My Disappointment To See Him Scamper Off.  How Was

It Possible I Could Have Missed Him?  I Must Have Fired Over

His Back.  The Men Jumped To Their Feet And Clutched Their

Rifles; But,  Though Astonished At My Story,  Were