CHAPTER II.
_A shooting-match and its consequences_--_New friends introduced tothe reader_--_Crusoe and his mother change masters_.
Shortly after the incident narrated in the last chapter the squattersof the Mustang Valley lost their leader. Major Hope suddenly announcedhis intention of quitting the settlement and returning to thecivilized world. Private matters, he said, required his presencethere--matters which he did not choose to speak of, but which wouldprevent his returning again to reside among them. Go he must,and, being a man of determination, go he did; but before going hedistributed all his goods and chattels among the settlers. He evengave away his rifle, and Fan and Crusoe. These last, however, heresolved should go together; and as they were well worth having, heannounced that he would give them to the best shot in the valley. Hestipulated that the winner should escort him to the nearest settlementeastward, after which he might return with the rifle on his shoulder.
Accordingly, a long level piece of ground on the river's bank, witha perpendicular cliff at the end of it, was selected as theshooting-ground, and, on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, thecompetitors began to assemble.
"Well, lad, first as usual," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as he reached theground and found Dick Varley there before him.
"I've bin here more than an hour lookin' for a new kind o' flower thatJack Morgan told me he'd seen. And I've found it too. Look here; didyou ever see one like it before?"
Blunt leaned his rifle against a tree, and carefully examined theflower.
"Why, yes, I've seed a-many o' them up about the Rocky Mountains, butnever one here-away. It seems to have gone lost itself. The lastI seed, if I remimber rightly, wos near the head-waters o' theYellowstone River, it wos--jest where I shot a grizzly bar."
"Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on the cheek?" asked Varley,forgetting the flower in his interest about the bear.
"It wos. I put six balls in that bar's carcass, and stuck my knifeinto its heart ten times, afore it gave out; an' it nearly ripped theshirt off my back afore I wos done with it."
"I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly!" exclaimedVarley, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.
"Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of," remarked a burly youngbackwoodsman, as he joined them.
His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon was but a sorry affair. Itmissed fire, and it hung fire; and even when it did fire, it remaineda matter of doubt in its owner's mind whether the slight deviationsfrom the direct line made by his bullets were the result of _his_ or_its_ bad shooting.
Further comment upon it was checked by the arrival of a dozen or morehunters on the scene of action. They were a sturdy set of bronzed,bold, fearless men, and one felt, on looking at them, that they wouldprove more than a match for several hundreds of Indians in open fight.A few minutes after, the major himself came on the ground with theprize rifle on his shoulder, and Fan and Crusoe at his heels--thelatter tumbling, scrambling, and yelping after its mother, fat andclumsy, and happy as possible, having evidently quite forgotten thatit had been nearly roasted alive only a few weeks before.
Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its merits were discussedwith animation.
And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piece had never beforebeen seen on the western frontier. It was shorter in the barrel andlarger in the bore than the weapons chiefly in vogue at that time,and, besides being of beautiful workmanship, was silver-mounted. Butthe grand peculiarity about it, and that which afterwards rendered itthe mystery of mysteries to the savages, was that it had two sets oflocks--one percussion, the other flint--so that, when caps failed,by taking off the one set of locks and affixing the others, it wasconverted into a flint rifle. The major, however, took care neverto run short of caps, so that the flint locks were merely held as areserve in case of need.
"Now, lads," cried Major Hope, stepping up to the point whence theywere to shoot, "remember the terms. He who first drives the nailobtains the rifle, Fan, and her pup, and accompanies me to the nearestsettlement. Each man shoots with his own gun, and draws lots for thechance."
"Agreed," cried the men.
"Well, then, wipe your guns and draw lots. Henri will fix the nail.Here it is."
The individual who stepped, or rather plunged forward to receive thenail was a rare and remarkable specimen of mankind. Like his comrades,he was half a farmer and half a hunter. Like them, too, he was clad indeerskin, and was tall and strong--nay, more, he was gigantic. But,unlike them, he was clumsy, awkward, loose-jointed, and a bad shot.Nevertheless Henri was an immense favourite in the settlement, forhis good-humour knew no bounds. No one ever saw him frown. Even whenfighting with the savages, as he was sometimes compelled to do inself-defence, he went at them with a sort of jovial rage that wasalmost laughable. Inconsiderate recklessness was one of his chiefcharacteristics, so that his comrades were rather afraid of him on thewar-trail or in the hunt, where caution and frequently _soundless_motion were essential to success or safety. But when Henri hada comrade at his side to check him he was safe enough, beinghumble-minded and obedient. Men used to say he must have been bornunder a lucky star, for, notwithstanding his natural inaptitude forall sorts of backwoods life, he managed to scramble through everythingwith safety, often with success, and sometimes with credit.
To see Henri stalk a deer was worth a long day's journey. Joe Bluntused to say he was "all jints together, from the top of his head tothe sole of his moccasin." He threw his immense form into the mostinconceivable contortions, and slowly wound his way, sometimes onhands and knees, sometimes flat, through bush and brake, as if therewas not a bone in his body, and without the slightest noise. This sortof work was so much against his plunging nature that he took long tolearn it; but when, through hard practice and the loss of many afine deer, he came at length to break himself in to it, he graduallyprogressed to perfection, and ultimately became the best stalker inthe valley. This, and this alone, enabled him to procure game, for,being short-sighted, he could hit nothing beyond fifty yards, except abuffalo or a barn-door.
Yet that same lithe body, which seemed as though totally unhinged,could no more be bent, when the muscles were strung, than an ironpost. No one wrestled with Henri unless he wished to have his backbroken. Few could equal and none could beat him at running or leapingexcept Dick Varley. When Henri ran a race even Joe Blunt laughedoutright, for arms and legs went like independent flails. When heleaped, he hurled himself into space with a degree of violence thatseemed to insure a somersault; yet he always came down with a crash onhis feet. Plunging was Henri's forte. He generally lounged about thesettlement when unoccupied, with his hands behind his back, apparentlyin a reverie, and when called on to act, he seemed to fancy he musthave lost time, and could only make up for it by _plunging_. Thishabit got him into many awkward scrapes, but his herculean poweras often got him out of them. He was a French-Canadian, and aparticularly bad speaker of the English language.
We offer no apology for this elaborate introduction of Henri, forhe was as good-hearted a fellow as ever lived, and deserves specialnotice.
But to return. The sort of rifle practice called "driving the nail,"by which this match was to be decided, was, and we believe still is,common among the hunters of the far west. It consisted in this: anordinary large-headed nail was driven a short way into a plank or atree, and the hunters, standing at a distance of fifty yards or so,fired at it until they succeeded in driving it home. On the presentoccasion the major resolved to test their shooting by making thedistance seventy yards.
Some of the older men shook their heads.
"It's too far," said one; "ye might as well try to snuff the nose o' amosquito."
"Jim Scraggs is the only man as'll hit that," said another.
The man referred to was a long, lank, lantern-jawed fellow, with across-grained expression of countenance. He used the long, heavyKentucky rifle, which, from the ball being little larger than a pea,was called a pea-rifle. Jim was no favourite, and had
been namedScraggs by his companions on account of his appearance.
In a few minutes the lots were drawn, and the shooting began. Eachhunter wiped out the barrel of his piece with his ramrod as he steppedforward; then, placing a ball in the palm of his left hand, he drewthe stopper of his powder-horn with his teeth, and poured out as muchpowder as sufficed to cover the bullet. This was the regular _measure_among them. Little time was lost in firing, for these men did not"hang" on their aim. The point of the rifle was slowly raised to theobject, and the instant the sight covered it the ball sped to itsmark. In a few minutes the nail was encircled by bullet holes,scarcely two of which were more than an inch distant from the mark,and one--fired by Joe Blunt--entered the tree close beside it.
"Ah, Joe!" said the major, "I thought you would have carried off theprize."
"So did not I, sir," returned Blunt, with a shake of his head. "Hadit a-bin a half-dollar at a hundred yards, I'd ha' done better, but Inever _could_ hit the nail. It's too small to _see_."
"That's cos ye've got no eyes," remarked Jim Scraggs, with a sneer, ashe stepped forward.
All tongues were now hushed, for the expected champion was about tofire. The sharp crack of the rifle was followed by a shout, for Jimhad hit the nail-head on the edge, and part of the bullet stuck to it.
"That wins if there's no better," said the major, scarce able toconceal his disappointment. "Who comes next?"
To this question Henri answered by stepping up to the line, straddlinghis legs, and executing preliminary movements with his rifle, thatseemed to indicate an intention on his part to throw the weapon bodilyat the mark. He was received with a shout of mingled laughter andapplause. After gazing steadily at the mark for a few seconds, a broadgrin overspread his countenance, and looking round at his companions,he said,--"Ha! mes boys, I can-not behold de nail at all!"
"Can ye 'behold' the _tree_?" shouted a voice, when the laugh thatfollowed this announcement had somewhat abated.
"Oh! oui," replied Henri quite coolly; "I can see _him_, an' a gootsmall bit of de forest beyond."
"Fire at it, then. If ye hit the tree ye desarve the rifle--leastwaysye ought to get the pup."
Henri grinned again, and fired instantly, without taking aim.
The shot was followed by an exclamation of surprise, for the bulletwas found close beside the nail.
"It's more be good luck than good shootin'," remarked Jim Scraggs.
"Possiblement," answered Henri modestly, as he retreated to the rearand wiped out his rifle; "mais I have kill most of my deer by dat samegoot luck."
"Bravo, Henri!" said Major Hope as he passed; "you _deserve_ to win,anyhow. Who's next?"
"Dick Varley," cried several voices; "where's Varley? Come on,youngster, an' take yer shot."
The youth came forward with evident reluctance. "It's of no manner o'use," he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed, "I can't depend on myold gun."
"Never give in," whispered Blunt, encouragingly.
Poor Varley's want of confidence in his rifle was merited, for, onpulling the trigger, the faithless lock missed fire.
"Lend him another gun," cried several voices.
"'Gainst rules laid down by Major Hope," said Scraggs.
"Well, so it is; try again."
Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the ball hit thenail on the head, leaving a portion of the lead sticking to its edge.
Of course this was greeted with a cheer, and a loud dispute began asto which was the better shot of the two.
"There are others to shoot yet," cried the major. "Make way. Lookout."
The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not yet fired tooktheir shots, but without coming nearer the mark.
It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley, being the two bestshots, should try over again, and it was also agreed that Dick shouldhave the use of Blunt's rifle. Lots were again drawn for the firstshot, and it fell to Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhathastily, and fired.
"Hit again!" shouted those who had run forward to examine the mark."_Half_ the bullet cut off by the nail head!"
Some of the more enthusiastic of Dick's friends cheered lustily, butthe most of the hunters were grave and silent, for they knew Jim'spowers, and felt that he would certainly do his best. Jim now steppedup to the line, and, looking earnestly at the mark, threw forward hisrifle.
At that moment our friend Crusoe, tired of tormenting his mother,waddled stupidly and innocently into the midst of the crowd of men,and in so doing received Henri's heel and the full weight of hiselephantine body on its fore paw. The horrible and electric yell thatinstantly issued from his agonized throat could only be compared, asJoe Blunt expressed it, "to the last dyin' screech o' a bustin'steam biler!" We cannot say that the effect was startling, for thesebackwoodsmen had been born and bred in the midst of alarms, and wereso used to them that a "bustin' steam biler" itself, unless it hadblown them fairly off their legs, would not have startled them. Butthe effect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim ofJim Scraggs, who fired at the same instant, and missed the nail by ahair's-breadth.
'Turning round in towering wrath, Scraggs aimed a kick at the poorpup, which, had it taken effect, would certainly have terminated theinnocent existence of that remarkable dog on the spot; but quick aslightning Henri interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim's shin metit with a violence that caused him to howl with rage and pain.
"Oh! pardon me, broder," cried Henri, shrinking back, with thedrollest expression of mingled pity and glee.
Jim's discretion, on this occasion, was superior to his valour; heturned away with a coarse expression of anger and left the ground.
Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to young Varley. "Itcouldn't have fallen into better hands," he said. "You'll do itcredit, lad, I know that full well; and let me assure you it willnever play you false. Only keep it clean, don't overcharge it, aimtrue, and it will never miss the mark."
While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulate him and examinethe piece, he stood with a mingled feeling of bashfulness and delightat his unexpected good fortune. Recovering himself suddenly, he seizedhis old rifle, and dropping quietly to the outskirts of the crowd,while the men were still busy handling and discussing the merits ofthe prize, went up, unobserved, to a boy of about thirteen years ofage, and touched him on the shoulder.
"Here, Marston, you know I often said ye should have the old riflewhen I was rich enough to get a new one. Take it _now_, lad. It's cometo ye sooner than either o' us expected."
"Dick," said the boy, grasping his friend's hand warmly, "ye're trueas heart of oak. It's good of 'ee; that's a fact."
"Not a bit, boy; it costs me nothin' to give away an old gun that I'veno use for, an's worth little, but it makes me right glad to have thechance to do it."
Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk; but hisprospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed at that time, and itis a question whether he did not at that moment experience as much joyin handling the old piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize.
A difficulty now occurred which had not before been thought of. Thiswas no less than the absolute refusal of Dick Varley's canine propertyto follow him. Fan had no idea of changing masters without her consentbeing asked or her inclination being consulted.
"You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear," said the major.
"No fear," answered the youth. "Dog natur's like human natur'!"
Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffed him comfortably intothe bosom of his hunting-shirt, and walked rapidly away with the prizerifle on his shoulder.
Fan had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute, gazing now tothe right and now to the left, as the major retired in one directionand Dick with Crusoe in another. Suddenly Crusoe, who, althoughcomfortable in body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to amelancholy howl. The mother's love instantly prevailed. For one momentshe pricked up her ears at the sound, and then, l
owering them, trottedquietly after her new master, and followed him to his cottage on themargin of the lake.
The Dog Crusoe and His Master: A Story of Adventure in the Western Prairies Page 3
