CHAPTER FIVE.
FIERY REMARKS AND COGITATIONS--ROUND THE CAMP FIRE--THE ARTIST GIVES ANACCOUNT OF HIMSELF--VALUE OF A SKETCH-BOOK--DISCOVERIES AND DARKTHREATS--THE BEAR'S-CLAW COLLAR.
There is no doubt whatever that a western trapper knows how to make afire. That is an axiomatic certainty. He also knows how to enjoy it.He is thoroughly conversant with it in all its phases, and with all thephenomena connected with it, from the bright little spark that fliesfrom his flint and steel, and nestles on his piece of tinder, to thegreat rolling flame that leaps up among the branches of the foresttrees, roaring lustily as it goes out upon the night air, like a mightyspirit set free from some diminutive prison house, rejoicing in beingonce more permitted to reassume its original grand dimensions.
Yes, a western trapper has a grand, massive notion of a fire, and hisactions are all in keeping with that notion. Almost everything is smallat the fountain. A mighty river usually begins in a bubbling spring ora tiny rivulet. So the trapper's initial acts are delicate. He handlesthe tinder gently, and guards it from damp. He fosters the spark, whencaught, and blows upon it softly, and wraps it up in dry grass, andwatches it intently as a mother might watch the life-spark of hernew-born babe. But when once the flame has caught, and the bundle oflittle dry twigs has been placed above it, and the pile of broken stickshas been superadded, the trapper's character is changed. He grasps theponderous hatchet, and, Homerically speaking--
"Now toils the hero: trees on trees o'erthrown, Fall crackling round him, and the forests groan."
These, "lopp'd and lighten'd of their branchy load," he assaults singly.Heaving the huge axe with lusty sweeping blows, he brings it down.Great wedgy splinters fly and strew the plain like autumn leaves. Then,with massive logs, full six feet long, he feeds the hungry fire until itleaps and roars in might, and glows full red and hot and huge enough toroast him a bison bull for supper, an he should feel so disposed.
Descending now from the abstract to the concrete, we would remark that,whether the reader does or does not admit the general proposition, thatwestern trappers are pre-eminently up to fire (not to mention smoke orsnuff), he cannot deny the fact that Big Waller, the Yankee trapper, waspeculiarly gifted in that way. On the evening of the day on whichoccurred the memorable encounter with the grisly bear, as related in thelast chapter, that stalwart individual heaved his ponderous axe andfelled the trees around him in a way that would have paled theineffectual fires of Ulysses himself, and would probably have inducedthat hero not only to cease cutting trees, but to commence cutting hisstick thenceforth from the field of competition! March Marstonmeanwhile kindled the spark and nursed the infant flame. The othersbusied themselves in the various occupations of the camp. Some cut downpine-branches, and strewed them a foot deep in front of the fire, andtrod them down until a soft elastic couch was formed on which to spreadtheir blankets. Others cut steaks of venison and portions of the grislybear, and set them up on the end of sticks before the fire to roast, andothers made fast and secured the canoe and her lading.
The artist, seating himself beside the fire, just near enough to profitby the light, but far enough away to obtain a general view of everythingand everybody, proceeded with enthusiasm to sketch the whole affair,collectively and in detail. He devoted his chief attention, however, toBig Waller. He "caught" that gigantic Yankee in every conceivableaction and attitude. He photographed him, we might almost say, with hislegs apart, the hatchet high above his head, and every muscle tense andrigid, preliminary to a sweeping blow. He "took" him with a monstrouspile of logs on his brawny shoulder; he portrayed him resting for amoment in the midst of his toil; he even attempted to delineate himtumbling over one of the logs, and hurling a shoulder-load upon theground; but he failed utterly in the last attempt, being quite destituteof comical perception, and he did not finally conclude until Gibaultwent forward and informed him that supper was ready. Then he shut uphis book, and, taking his place beside the trappers, began supper.
"This is comfortable--this is pleasant!" remarked the artist, as he satdown before the warm blaze, and applied himself with infinite relish tothe venison steak placed before him by Bounce. "You live well here, itwould seem."
This latter remark was addressed to Hawkswing, who sat close beside him;but that imperturbable worthy shook his head gravely.
"He don't understand ye," interposed Bounce, "knows, nothin' but his ownmother tongue. We _do_ live pretty middlin' so so hereabouts when weain't starvin', w'ich it isn't for me to deny is sometimes the case,d'ye see."
Bounce stopped his own talk at this point by stuffing his mouth so fullof meat that no word, not even a word of one syllable, could have forceditself out, had it tried ever so much. A long silence now ensued,during which the clack of seven pairs of active jaws was the only soundthat broke upon the ear. It might have been observed, however, that alleyes were fixed more or less wonderingly on the stranger. Big Waller inparticular looked him, figuratively speaking, through and through. Hedid not remove his eyes off him for an instant, but devoured his foodwith somewhat the expression of a dog that expects his bone to besnatched from him.
"Try a duck," said March Marston to the artist, observing that he hadfinished his steak.
"Thank you," answered the artist, accepting the proffered bird, whichhappened to be a teal, and beginning to carve it with a pen-knife. Hehad no fork, but used the fingers of his left hand instead.
Silence again ensued.
"Try another," said March again.
The artist hesitated.
"You'd better; it's a fat un."
"N-no. No!" said the artist, shutting up his knife with an air ofdecision. "No, thank you, I always advocate moderation, and it wouldill become me to set an example of glut--ah, of the reverse."
"Wal, stranger," said Waller, who, having finished eating, wiped hismouth with a tuft of grass, and began to fill his pipe. "You _do_ comeout in the way o' moderation rather powerful. Why a teal duck an' aven'son steak is barely enough to stop a feller dyin' right off. Iguess a down-east baby o' six months old 'ud swab up that an' axe formore."
"Nevertheless it is quite enough for me," replied the artist, leaningdown on his elbow. "I could, indeed, eat more; but I hold that manshould always rise from table capable of eating more, if required."
Here was a proposition that it had not entered into the minds of thetrappers, even in their most transcendental efforts of abstrusemeditation, to think of! They gazed at each other in amazement.
"Wot! not eat yer fill w'en ye git the chance," exclaimed Bounce.
"No, certainly not."
"I say, stranger, when did you feed last?" inquired Big Waller.
"Why do you ask?" said the artist, looking quickly up.
"'Cause I wants to know."
The artist smiled. "My last meal was eaten yesterday morning."
"Ha! I was sure ob dat," cried Gibault; "your face look like as if yoube full ob starvation."
"An' _wot_ did ye eat last?" inquired Bounce, laying down his pipe andlooking at their guest with much interest not unmingled with pity.
"I breakfasted on a little bird about the size of a hen's egg. I knownot what it is named, but it was excellently flavoured. I relished itmuch."
On hearing this, Gibault pressed his hand on his stomach, as if the merethought of such a delicately minute breakfast caused him pain in thatregion.
"I say, stranger," broke in Waller, in a tone of voice that seemed toimply that he was determined to be at the bottom of this mystery, andwould stand it no longer--"wot's your name?"
"Theodore Bertram," replied the artist without hesitation.
"Where do you come from?"
"From England."
"Where air you a-goin' to?"
"To the Rocky Mountains."
"Wot for to do there?"
"You are inquisitive, friend," said Bertram, smiling; "but I have noreason for concealing my object in travelling here--it is to sketch, andshoot, and take no
tes, and witness the works of the Almighty in thewilderness. I hold it to be an object worthy the ambition of a greatman to act the part of pioneer to the missionary and the merchant innature's wildest and most inaccessible regions; and although I pretendnot to greatness, I endeavour, humbly, to do what I can."
"No one can do more than that," said Redhand, regarding the youngenthusiast with interest. "But surely you have not travelled to thisout-o'-the-way place without a guide?"
Bertram pointed to the stars.
"These are my guides," said he; "the man who can read the heavens needsno guide."
"But that book ain't always readable," said Redhand; "when clouds areflying what do you do then?"
"Fur-traders in the far north have taught me how to ascertain the northby the bark on the trees; besides this I have a bosom friend who alwayspoints the way." So saying he pulled a small compass from an innerpocket and held it up.
"Good," rejoined Redhand; "but a compass is not food, neither will itkill game. Have you nought but them pistols?"
"I have none other arms now but these, save this good sword. They willserve to defend me in the hour of need, I trust; though now that I haveseen the grisly bear I should doubt my chance of success were I to copewith him alone. I should imagine that monster to be worse even than theWild Man of the West himself."
"The Wild Man o' the West!" echoed March Marston eagerly; "have you seen_him_?"
"Nay, verily; but I have heard of him," replied the artist, smiling,"and a strangely ferocious creature he must be, if all that's said ofhim be correct. But, to say truth, I believe the stories told of himare idle tales. Indeed, I do not believe there is such a man at all!"
March Marston's countenance fell. No Wild Man of the West at all! Thebare possibility of such a crushing blow to all his romantic hopes anddreams caused his heart to sink. Bertram observed the change in hiscountenance, and, quickly divining the cause, added, "But I am of asceptical turn of mind, and do not easily believe unless I see. Thereis one thing I have observed, however, which is in favour of hisexistence."
"What's that?" inquired March, brightening up. "That the nearer onecomes to his reputed dwelling-place, this wild man assumes smaller andmore natural proportions. I first heard of him in the Red RiverPrairies, where he is held to be a giant who devours men as well asbrutes. As I came nearer to the Missouri, I found that the people theredo not believe him to be either a cannibal or a giant, but assert thathe is an enormously tall and powerful man, exceedingly fierce, and thesworn enemy of the whole human race; a species of Cain, whose hand isagainst every man, and every man's hand against him. The last white manI met--about two weeks ago--told me he had been with a tribe of Indians,some of whom had seen him, and they said that he was indeed awfullywild, but that he was not cruel--on the contrary, he had been known tohave performed one or two kind deeds to some who had fallen into hispower."
"Most extonishin'!" exclaimed Gibault, who sat open-mouthed andopen-eyed listening to this account of the Wild Man of the West.
For some time the party round the camp fire sat smoking in silence,ruminating on what had been said. Then Big Waller broke the silencewith one of his abrupt questions--
"But, I say, stranger, _how_ did you come here?"
Bertram looked up without speaking. Then, settling himself comfortablyin a reclining position, with his back against a tree, he said--
"I will relieve your curiosity. Listen: I am, as I have said, anEnglishman. My father and mother are dead. I have no brothers orsisters, and but few relations. Possessing, as I do, a smallindependence, I am not obliged to work for my living. I have thereforecome to the conclusion that it is my duty to work for my fellow-men. Ofcourse, I do not mean to deny that every man who works for his living,works also for his fellow-men. What I mean is, that I hold myself boundto apply myself to such works as other men have not leisure toundertake, and the profit of which will go direct to mankind withoutconstituting my livelihood on its passage. To open up the unknownwilderness has ever been my ambition. For that purpose I have come tothese wild regions. My enthusiasm on quitting my native land wasunbounded. But--"
Here Bertram paused and gazed dreamily at the glowing embers of the campfire with an expression that led the trappers to infer that experiencehad somewhat moderated his enthusiasm. After a few minutes heresumed:--
"I have done wrong to make this venture alone. On reaching Canada Isucceeded, through the kindness of the governor of the Hudson's BayCompany, in obtaining a passage in one of the company's canoes throughthat series of rivers and lakes by which the fur-traders penetrate intothe regions of the far north. Arrived at Red River Settlement, I pushedforward on horseback over the plains with a small party of horsemen tothe head waters of the Saskatchewan. Here I succeeded in engaging aparty of twelve men, composed of half-breeds and Indians, and set out ona journey of exploration over the prairies towards the Rocky Mountains.Circumstances led me to modify my plans. We diverged towards the south,and finally came to within a few days' journey of the region in which wenow are. We were suddenly surprised one night by a war-party ofBlackfoot Indians. My men had grown careless. They neglected to keepstrict watch, and before we were aware that danger threatened us, allour horses were carried off.
"This was a terrible calamity. My men declared that it was impossibleto advance without horses, and refused to accompany me any farther. Iremonstrated in vain; then, filled with indignation at their cowardice,I left them and pursued my journey alone. Since then I have seen onlyone man, a trapper, who was travelling south to the settlements. Heoffered to take me with him, but I declined. I felt that no great orgood work could ever be accomplished by the man who turns back at thefirst disaster; so he left me. I have suffered somewhat. I am,unfortunately, a bad shot, and, although game is everywhere abundant, Icannot kill it. I have subsisted hitherto on small birds; but my powderand lead are almost expended. Had I not fallen in with you, I know notwhat I should have done."
To this narrative the trappers listened with respectful attention, for,despite the feelings of pity, almost bordering on contempt, with whichthey regarded the stranger's weapons and his knowledge, or ratherignorance, of woodcraft, they could not help reverencing thesimple-minded enthusiasm in a good cause that had conducted the artistso deep into a savage land in which he was evidently unfitted, either bynature or training, to travel.
"But I say, stranger," said Big Waller, "wot _do_ ye mean by openin' upthe country? It ain't a oyster, that ye can open it up with a big knifeI guess."
"There, friend, you are wrong. This country does, indeed, resemble anoyster; and I hope, by the aid of the mighty levers of knowledge andenterprise, to open it up. I mean to take notes and sketches, and, ifspared, return to my native land, and publish the result of myobservations. I do not, indeed, expect that the public will buy mywork; but I shall publish a large edition at my own cost, and presentcopies to all the influential men in the kingdom."
The trappers opened their eyes wider than ever at this.
"What! Make a book?" cried Redhand.
"Even so."
"Will it have pictures?" eagerly asked March, who regarded the artistwith rapidly increasing veneration.
"Ay, it will be profusely illustrated."
"Wot! pictures o' grisly bears?" inquired Bounce.
"Of course."
"An' men?" cried Big Waller.
"And men also, if I fall in with them."
"Then here's one, I guess," cried the bold Yankee, combing out hismatted locks hastily with his fingers, and sitting up in what heconceived to be a proper position. "Here you are, sir. I'm your man;fix me off slick. Only think! Big Waller in a book--a _raal_ book!"
He chuckled immensely at the bright prospect of immortality that hadsuddenly opened up to him.
"I have drawn you already, friend," said Bertram.
"Draw'd me already?"
"Ay, there you are," he replied, handing his sketch-book to the trapper,who gazed
at his own portrait with unmitigated satisfaction. Turningover the leaf, he came unexpectedly on the likeness of Gibault, which,being a truthful representation, was almost a caricature. Big Wallerburst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at this. He rolled over onhis back and yelled with delight. His yell being quite in keeping withhis body, the din was so tremendous that Bounce roared--
"Stop yer noise, ye buffalo!"
But Waller didn't hear him; so March Marston effected the desired objectby stuffing the corner of a blanket into his mouth and smothering hisface in its folds.
Bertram's sketch-book was now examined, and for nearly an hour proved asource of the most intense interest and amusement to theseunsophisticated trappers. In those days few, very few men of educationhad succeeded in penetrating far into the western wilderness; andalthough the trappers there knew what books and pictures meant, they hadseen but few of them in the course of their lives, and none of those fewhad any reference to the wild country in which their lives were spent.
It may be imagined, then, with what delight and excitement they now, forthe first time, beheld scenes of their own beloved woods and prairies,as well as their own rough forms, vividly sketched by a master-hand.One of the most interesting points in the inspection of the sketch-bookwas, that old Redhand recognised almost every one of the landscapes asspots with which he was well acquainted; and as Bertram had sketchedmost diligently as he travelled along, Redhand told him that by the aidof that book, without compass or anything else, he could trace his routebackward, step by step, to the Saskatchewan river. Moreover, hedescribed to the artist accurately many scenes which were near to thosehe had sketched, and gradually fell to talking about adventures andrencontres he had had in many of them, so that at last it became evidentthere would be no proposal to go to rest that night at all unless somewise one of the party should remind the others that another day's toillay before them in the course of a few hours.
At length they took up their pipes, which had been forgotten in theexcitement, and refilled them with the intention of having a last quietwhiff before lying down.
"Ho!" exclaimed Redhand, who still continued to turn over the pages ofthe book, "here's a face I know. Where saw ye that Indian?"
"I cannot easily tell where it was we met him; but I remember well thatit was just a day's ride from the spot where our horses were stolen."
"Were there others with him?"
"No, he was alone."
"Ha! at least he said so, I fancy."
"Yes, he did; and I had no reason to doubt him."
"You're not used to the ways o' the redskin, sir," replied Redhand,looking meditatively at the fire. "Did he chance to mention his name?"
"Oh yes, he called himself Big Snake, at least one of my men translatedit so."
A significant smile overspread the old trapper's face as he replied--
"I thought as much. A greater thief and villain does not disgrace theprairies. He's the man that took yer horses; sich a fellow as thatnever goes about alone; he's always got a tail following him as black ashimself. But I'll see if we can't pay the rascal off in his own coin."
"How so?" inquired Bertram. "He must be far from this spot."
"Not so far as you think. I know his haunts, and could take you to themin a few days overland; but it'll take longer by the river, and we can'tquit our canoe just now."
"But, good friend," said Bertram quietly, "I cannot presume on yourhospitality so far as to expect you to carry me along with you for thepurpose of redressing my wrongs."
"Make your mind easy on that pint," returned Redhand; "we'll talk of itin the mornin'."
While the old trapper and the artist were conversing, Bounce had busiedhimself in stringing the claws of the grisly bear on a strip ofdeerskin, for the purpose of making a collar. A necklace of thisdescription is very highly prized among Indians, especially when theclaws are large.
While it was being made, Gibault sighed so deeply once or twice, thatMarch suggested he must be in love.
"So I is," sighed Gibault.
"That's interesting," remarked March; "who with?"
"Ay, that's it," said Bounce; "out with her name, lad. No one oughtnever to be ashamed o' bein' in love. It's a glorious state o' mind an'body as a feller should gratilate hisself on havin'. Who be ye in lovewi', lad?"
"Vid dat necklace," replied Gibault, sighing again heavily.
"Oh! if that's all, ye don't need to look so blue, for it's yer own byrights," said Bounce. "I'm jist doin' it up for ye."
"Non; it cannot be mine," returned Gibault.
"How so?" inquired Waller, "ye 'arned it, didn't ye? Drew first blood Icalc'late."
"Non, I not draw de fuss blood. Mais, I vill hab chance again no doubt.Monsieur Bertram he drew fuss blood."
"Ho, he!" cried Waller in surprise. "You didn't tell us that before.Come, I'm glad on't."
"What!" exclaimed Bertram, "the necklace mine? there must be somemistake. I certainly fired my pistol at the bear, but it seemed to havehad no effect whatever."
"Gibault," said Bounce emphatically, "did you fire _at all_?"
"Non, pour certain, cause de gun he not go off."
"Then," continued Bounce, handing the much-coveted necklace to Bertram,"the thing b'longs to you, sir, for that bar comed up wounded, an' as hecouldn't ha' wounded hisself, _you_ must ha' done it--there."
The young man positively refused for some time to accept of thenecklace, saying, that as Gibault had tracked and discovered the bear,it certainly belonged to him; but Gibault as positively affirmed that hewould not disgrace himself by wearing what belonged rightfully toanother man; and as the other trappers confirmed what their comradesaid, Bertram was at last fain to accept of a trophy which, to saytruth, he was in his heart most anxious to possess.
At the close of this amicable dispute, each man rolled himself in hisblanket and lay down to sleep with his feet to the fire. Being in apart of the country where there were very few Indians, and these few onpretty good terms with the white trappers, no watch was set. Bertramlay down with his tattered cloak around him, and, taking a little bookfrom his pocket, read it, or appeared to read it, till he fell asleep--on observing which, March Marston crept noiselessly to his side, and,lying gently down beside him, covered him with a portion of his ownblanket. Ere long the camp was buried in repose.
The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains Page 5