CHAPTER TWENTY.
SHARP-SHOOTING.
I had returned to my blanket, and was about to stretch myself upon it,when the whoop of a gruya drew my attention. Looking up, I saw one ofthese birds flying towards the camp. It was coming through a break inthe trees that opened from the river. It flew low, and tempted a shotwith its broad wings, and slow, lazy flight.
A report rang upon the air. One of the Mexicans had fired hisescopette; but the bird flew on, plying its wings with more energy, asif to bear itself out of reach.
There was a laugh from the trappers, and a voice cried out--
"Yur fool! D'yur think 'ee kud hit a spread blanket wi' thatbeetle-shaped blunderbox? Pish!"
I turned to see who had delivered this odd speech. Two men were poisingtheir rifles, bringing them to bear upon the bird. One was the younghunter whom I have described. The other was an Indian whom I had notseen before.
The cracks were simultaneous; and the crane, dropping its long neck,came whirling down among the trees, where it caught upon a high branch,and remained.
From their position neither party knew that the other had fired. A tentwas between them, and the two reports had seemed as one. A trappercried out--
"Well done, Garey! Lord help the thing that's afore old Killbar'smuzzle when you squints through her hind-sights."
The Indian just then stepped round the tent. Hearing this side speech,and perceiving the smoke still oozing from the muzzle of the younghunter's gun, he turned to the latter with the interrogation--
"Did you fire, sir?"
This was said in well-accentuated and most un-Indianlike English, whichwould have drawn my attention to the man had not his singularly-imposingappearance riveted me already.
"Who is he?" I inquired from one near me.
"Don't know; fresh arriv'," was the short answer.
"Do you mean that he is a stranger here?"
"Just so. He kumb in thar a while agone. Don't b'lieve anybody knowshim. I guess the captain does; I seed them shake hands."
I looked at the Indian with increasing interest. He seemed a man ofabout thirty years of age, and not much under seven feet in height. Hewas proportioned like an Apollo, and, on this account, appeared smallerthan he actually was. His features were of the Roman type; and his fineforehead, his aquiline nose and broad jawbone, gave him the appearanceof talent, as well as firmness and energy. He was dressed in ahunting-shirt, leggings, and moccasins; but all these differed fromanything worn either by the hunters or their Indian allies. The shirtitself was made out of the dressed hide of the red deer, but differentlyprepared from that used by the trappers. It was bleached almost to thewhiteness of a kid glove. The breast, unlike theirs, was close, andbeautifully embroidered with stained porcupine quills. The sleeves weresimilarly ornamented; and the cape and skirts were trimmed with thesoft, snow-white fur of the ermine. A row of entire skins of thatanimal hung from the skirt border, forming a fringe both graceful andcostly. But the most singular feature about this man was his hair. Itfell loosely over his shoulders, and swept the ground as he walked! Itcould not have been less than seven feet in length. It was black,glossy, and luxuriant, and reminded me of the tails of those greatFlemish horses I had seen in the funeral carriages of London.
He wore upon his head the war-eagle bonnet, with its full circle ofplumes: the finest triumph of savage taste. This magnificent head-dressadded to the majesty of his appearance.
A white buffalo robe hung from his shoulders, with all the gracefuldraping of a toga. Its silky fur corresponded to the colour of hisdress, and contrasted strikingly with his own dark tresses.
There were other ornaments about his person. His arms and accoutrementswere shining with metallic brightness, and the stock and butt of hisrifle were richly inlaid with silver.
I have been thus minute in my description, as the first appearance ofthis man impressed me with a picture that can never be effaced from mymemory. He was the _beau ideal_ of a picturesque and romantic savage;and yet there was nothing savage either in his speech or bearing. Onthe contrary, the interrogation which he had just addressed to thetrapper was put in the politest manner. The reply was not so courteous.
"Did I fire! Didn't ye hear a crack? Didn't ye see the thing fall?Look yonder!"
Garey, as he spoke, pointed up to the bird.
"We must have fired simultaneously."
As the Indian said this he appealed to his gun, which was still smokingat the muzzle.
"Look hyar, Injun! whether we fired symultainyously, or extraneously, orcattawampously, ain't the flappin' o' a beaver's tail to me; but I tuksight on that bird; I hut that bird; and 'twar my bullet brought thething down."
"I think I must have hit it too," replied the Indian, modestly.
"That's like, with that ar' spangled gimcrack!" said Garey, lookingdisdainfully at the other's gun, and then proudly at his own brownweather-beaten piece, which he had just wiped, and was about to reload.
"Gimcrack or no," answered the Indian, "she sends a bullet straighterand farther than any piece I have hitherto met with. I'll warrant shehas sent hers through the body of the crane."
"Look hyar, mister--for I s'pose we must call a gentleman `mister' whospeaks so fine an' looks so fine, tho' he be's an Injun--it's mightyeasy to settle who hut the bird. That thing's a fifty or tharabouts;Killbar's a ninety. 'Taint hard to tell which has plugged the varmint.We'll soon see;" and, so saying, the hunter stepped off towards the treeon which hung the gruya, high up.
"How are you to get it down?" cried one of the men, who had steppedforward to witness the settlement of this curious dispute.
There was no reply, for everyone saw that Garey was poising his riflefor a shot. The crack followed; and the branch, shivered by his bullet,bent downward under the weight of the gruya. But the bird, caught in adouble fork, still stuck fast on the broken limb.
A murmur of approbation followed the shot. These were men notaccustomed to hurrah loudly at a trivial incident.
The Indian now approached, having reloaded his piece. Taking aim, hestruck the branch at the shattered point, cutting it clean from thetree! The bird fell to the ground, amidst expressions of applause fromthe spectators, but chiefly from the Mexican and Indian hunters. It wasat once picked up and examined. Two bullets had passed through itsbody. Either would have killed it.
A shadow of unpleasant feeling was visible on the face of the youngtrapper. In the presence of so many hunters of every nation, to be thusequalled, beaten in the in of his favourite weapon, and by an "Injun";still worse by one of "them ar' gingerbread guns!" The mountain menhave no faith in an ornamented stock, or a big bore. Spangled rifles,they say, are like spangled razors, made for selling to greenhorns. Itwas evident, however, that the strange Indian's rifle had been made toshoot as well.
It required all the strength of nerve which the trapper possessed toconceal his chagrin. Without saying a word, he commenced wiping out hisgun with that stoical calmness peculiar to men of his calling. Iobserved that he proceeded to load with more than usual care. It wasevident that he would not rest satisfied with the trial already made,but would either beat the "Injun," or be himself "whipped into shucks."So he declared in a muttered speech to his comrades.
His piece was soon loaded; and, swinging her to the hunter's carry, heturned to the crowd, now collected from all parts of the camp.
"Thar's one kind o' shootin'," said he, "that's jest as easy as fallin'off a log. Any man kin do it as kin look straight through hind-sights.But then thar's another kind that ain't so easy; it needs narve."
Here the trapper paused, and looked towards the Indian, who was alsoreloading.
"Look hyar, stranger!" continued he, addressing the latter, "have ye gota cummarade on the ground as knows yer shooting?"
The Indian after a moment's hesitation, answered, "Yes."
"Kin your cummarade depend on yer shot?"
"Oh! I think so. Why do you wish to kno
w that?"
"Why, I'm a-going to show ye a shot we sometimes practise at Bent'sFort, 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 alleyes to the quarter whence it proceeded. At the first glance, thereseemed to be no one in that direction. In looking more carefully amongthe logs and stumps, an individual was discovered seated by one of thefires. 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 turnedtoward the crowd, and the head had disappeared, sunk forward over thefire. The object, from where we were standing, looked more like thestump of a cotton-wood, dressed in dirt-coloured buckskin, than the bodyof a human being. On getting nearer, and round to the front of it, itwas seen to be a man, though a very curious one, holding a long rib ofdeer-meat in both hands, which he was polishing with a very poor set ofteeth.
The whole appearance of this individual was odd and striking. Hisdress, if dress it could be called, was simple as it was savage. Itconsisted of what might have once been a hunting-shirt, but which nowlooked more like a leathern bag with the bottom ripped open, and thesleeves sewed into the sides. It was of a dirty-brown colour, wrinkledat the hollow of the arms, patched round the armpits, and greasy allover; it was fairly caked with dirt! There was no attempt at eitherornament or fringe. There had been a cape, but this had evidently beendrawn upon from time to time, for patches and other uses, until scarcelya vestige of it remained. The leggings and moccasins were on a par withthe shirt, and seemed to have been manufactured out of the same hide.They, too, were dirt-brown, patched, wrinkled, and greasy. They did notmeet each other, but left a piece of the ankle bare, and that also wasdirt-brown, like the buck-skin. There was no undershirt, waistcoat, orother 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, leavinga greasy, leathery-looking surface, that corresponded well with theother parts of the dress. Cap, shirt, leggings, and moccasins looked asif they had never been stripped off since the day they were first triedon, 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 asif he had been smoked on purpose!
His face bespoke a man of sixty. The features were sharp and somewhataquiline; and the small eye was dark, quick, and piercing. His hair wasblack and cut short. His complexion had been naturally brunette, thoughthere was nothing of the Frenchman or Spaniard on his physiognomy. Hewas more likely of the black Saxon breed.
As I looked at this man (for I had walked towards him, prompted by someinstinct of curiosity), I began to fancy that there was a strangenessabout him, independent of the oddness of his attire. There seemed to besomething peculiar about his head, something wanting. What was it? Iwas not long in conjecture. When fairly in front of him, I saw what waswanting. It was his ears!
This discovery impressed me with a feeling akin to awe. There issomething awful in a man without ears. It suggests some horrid drama,some terrible scene of cruel vengeance. It suggests the idea of crimecommitted and punishment inflicted.
These thoughts were wandering through my mind, when all at once Iremembered 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 hishead between his knees, chewing, mumbling, and growling, like a lean oldwolf, angry at being disturbed in his meal.
"Come hyar, Rube! I want ye a bit," continued Garey, in a tone of halfentreaty.
"And so 'ee will want me a bit; this child don't move a peg till he hascleaned this hyur rib; he don't, now!"
"Dog-gone it, man! make haste, then!" and the impatient trapper droppedthe butt of his rifle to the ground, and stood waiting in sullensilence.
After chewing, and mumbling, and growling a few minutes longer, oldRube, 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 whiteshell, about the size of a watch, a species of which there were manystrewed 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, "bythat 'ar Injun."
The old man looked over to where the strange Indian was standing erectand majestic, in all the pride of his plumage. There was no appearanceof triumph or swagger about him, as he stood leaning on his rifle, in anattitude at once calm and dignified.
It was plain, from the way old Rube surveyed him, that he had seen himbefore, though not in that camp. After passing his eyes over him fromhead to foot, and there resting them a moment, a low murmur escaped hislips, 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 nosuch man as that."
"He w'an't there."
"Whar, then?"
"Whur thur's no great show o' redskins. He may shoot well; he didoncest on a time: plumb centre."
"You knew him, did ye?"
"O-ee-es. Oncest. Putty squaw: hansum gal. Whur do 'ee want me togo?"
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 otherpreparing to start off, he pointed to an open glade that stretchedeastward, 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 noticedthat the little finger had been chopped off!
"Never fear, old hoss!" was the reply; and at this, the smoky carcasemoved away with a slow and regular pace, that showed he was measuringthe 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 ituntil his hand was on a level with his shoulder, and holding the shellin 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. Thethumb and finger reached half round the circumference, so that a part ofthe edge was hidden; and the surface turned towards the marksman was notlarger than the dial of a common watch.
This was a fearful sight. It is one not so common among the mountainmen as travellers would have you believe. The feat proves themarksman's skill; first, if successful, by showing the strength andsteadiness of his nerves; secondly, by the confidence which the otherreposes in it, thus declared by stronger testimony than any oath. Inany case the feat of holding the mark is at least equal to that ofhitting it. There are many hunters willing to risk taking the shot, butfew who care to hold the shell.
It was a fearful sight, and my nerves tingled as I looked on. Manyothers felt as I. No one interfered. There were few present who wouldhave dared, even had these two men been making preparations to fire ateach other. Both were "men of mark" among their comrades: trappers ofthe first class.
Garey, drawing a long breath, planted himself firmly, the heel of hisleft foot opposite to, and some inches in advance of, the hollow of hisright. Then, jerking up his gun, and throwing the barrel across hisleft 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 amoment's death-like silence, all eyes looking to the mark. Then camethe 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 ofthe pieces, and after examining it for a moment, shouted in a loudvoice;--
"Plumb centre, by--!"
The young trapper had, in effect, hit the mark in the very centre, asthe blue stain of the bullet testified.