The Edward S. Ellis Megapack

by Edward S. Ellis

  “What do you intend doing?” I asked.

  “Jes’ hold on and see,” he replied, as he dismounted.

  He made a circuit, skirting the prairie, so as to reach the grove mentioned upon the opposite side from the antelope. I still was at a loss to understand his intention, as the animal was too distant from the timber to be brought down with a rifle-shot from that point.

  “What under the sun does he intend doing?” I asked, turning to Nat.

  “Guess he’s getting off there to shoot us.”

  On the outer edge of the grove, next to the antelope, I saw him emerge, holding a stick over his head, to which was affixed a handkerchief or rag. He walked a short distance, and then lay down flat upon the prairie, perfectly concealed in the grass. The rag was visible, fluttering above him. I now watched the motions of the antelope. He stood gazing at us, until the trapper came into view, when, with a startled glance at him, he wheeled and ran. In a moment, however, he paused and turned quickly around. His looks were now fixed upon the fluttering signal. He stood motionless a moment, and then cautiously lifting his foot, made a step toward it. Thus he continued to approach, step by step, with apparent fear, and yet evidently impelled by an ungovernable curiosity, until he was scarce a hundred yards distant from the prostrate form of the trapper. Still he was moving stealthily onward, when suddenly a red tongue of fire spouted from the grass, and, as the sharp crack of Biddon’s rifle reached us, we saw the antelope give a wild leap into the air, and, bounding a short distance, fall to the ground. The trapper immediately sprang to his feet and hastened to the fallen animal.

  “Let us ride to him,” said I, walking my horse onward.

  We had ridden a short distance when Nat halted and asked:

  “What’s got into Biddon? Just look at him!”

  I did look up, and for a moment believed the man had turned crazy. He had seen us approaching, and was now making furious gesticulations toward us. I watched him a moment, and then remarked:

  “He is either signaling for us to come on or to stop.”

  “He means us to wait, I guess, and we had better pause until he returns.”

  We reined in our horses and watched him. He was apparently satisfied with our stopping, and stooped and commenced working at the animal. In a few moments he arose, and slinging a huge piece on his shoulder, made his way into the grove. From this he emerged in due time, and made his way toward us, motioning, meanwhile, for us to remain in our places.

  “Why didn’t you wish us to approach?” I asked, as soon as he came within speaking distance.

  He made no answer, but throwing his meat upon the ground, hastily mounted his horse. Then he spoke in a deep whisper:

  “Boys, did you ’spose there’s over twenty redskins among them trees?”

  “Heavens! it isn’t possible?” I exclaimed, catching my breath.

  “It’s so; I seed ’em, and thar eyes are on us this minute. They’re waitin’ for us to go on, an’ they’ll give us thunder and lightnin’.”

  “What’s to be done?” queried Nat.

  “Jes’ keep still, an’ don’t kick up, or they’ll see it. We’ve got to make a run for it. Keep close to me, and when I start, let your horses went.”

  “But the meat?” I hurriedly asked.

  “Can’t take it. We have a long run, an’ our horses won’t want to carry no extra load. I didn’t see thar animals, but I guess they ain’t mounted. Ready!”

  With this, Biddon wheeled his horse quickly around, and vanished from his place with the speed of lightning, while ours almost simultaneously shot ahead like an arrow. An instant after, I heard the faint discharge of guns, and, looking back, saw a host of savage forms pouring hastily from the timber.

  “No need of hurrying. They are not mounted,” I called out to Nat, who has hurrying his horse to the utmost.

  “I don’t believe it,” he exclaimed, still speeding furiously onward.

  “Go it, Todd! you’ll fetch up at Fort Laramie,” yelled Biddon.

  The latter drew his horse into a steady canter, and indulged in several loud laughs at the flying fugitive. Nat continued his mad career until he had gone a good distance, when, seeing how far behind he had left us, he reined up and awaited our approach.

  The savages, in the meantime, were hurrying on in pursuit. I know not what led them to expect any success in this chase, for, as remarked, not one was mounted. They may have had little faith in the speed or bottom of our horses, and trusted they would be able to run us down. Biddon half turned in his seat, and, looking back a moment, asked:

  “Do you see that red, diggin’ like all mad off on one side? The one as is tryin’ to surround us?”

  I glanced back and answered in the affirmative.

  “Do you want to see a red drop in purty style?”

  I answered again in the affirmative.

  “Wal, jis keep yer peeper on him.”

  So saying, he raised his rifle, without checking the speed of his horse, took a quick aim along its long barrel and fired. To my astonishment, the Indian mentioned uttered a wild shriek, and springing high in the air, fell to the earth.

  “He’s done for,” remarked the trapper, quietly. “While I fodder my iron, ’sposen you try your hand.”

  I raised mine to my shoulder, and pointing it toward a conspicuous savage, pulled the trigger. As might be expected, I came about as near to him as I did to Nat, in front.

  “It will take a long time for me to accomplish that feat,” said I.

  “Wal, yer goes agin.”

  And again was the fatal rifle discharged, and again did a savage bite the dust.

  Still the pursuers maintained their ground, seemingly determined to overtake us at all hazards. They were separating and scattering over the prairie, with the evident intention of hemming us in. At this moment we came up to Nat.

  “Why don’t you run?” he asked, impatiently. “They’ll shoot us all afore we know it.”

  He had scarcely finished his words, when the pursuers did fire, and with an uncomfortable effect, too. The bullets were plainly heard whistling through the air beside us, and one actually cut its way through the upper part of Nat’s hat, some eight or ten inches from the crown of his head. He dodged nervously, and jerking the hat off his head, held it up to view.

  “Just look there!” he exclaimed, indignantly, putting his finger through the orifice.

  “What of it?” gruffly asked Biddon.

  “That’s a pretty question to ask, I should think! I swow I won’t stand any such work as this.”

  And giving his horse the rein, he shot rapidly ahead.

  “I guess we mought as well,” remarked Biddon, letting his horse have free rein.

  The race was now decided. At such speed as we went, of course the pursuers were soon left behind, and in an hour not one was visible, all of them being either distanced or having voluntarily withdrawn.

  Our course was southwest; so that we had lost considerable ground, and were obliged to make a long detour to regain the trail. We camped at night about as far south as the previous camp, but farther west. In the morning we struck due north, and continued in this direction for several days.

  It is not necessary to give the particulars of our journey to the northwest. We continued traveling onward for three days, when we reached the region where it was intended we should remain until spring. This was much further northward than I suspected; in fact, it was but a few miles distant from the Hudson Bay Territory, and upon one of the remote tributaries of the Missouri. We had entered a climate that even now, was like the winter of the one we had left. We had entered a mighty wilderness, where, ere we left it, we were doomed to pass through some strange experiences, and of which I now shall speak.

  We had detected signs of beavers at several streams which we crossed during the last day or two of our journey, but Biddon paid no attention to them until about the middle of the afternoon, when we reached a small river, flowing nearly due south, and passing through
the Hudson Bay Territory in its course. This stream we forded, and, as we reached the opposite side, he remarked:

  “Yer’ the spot whar we’re goin’ to squat.”

  It is perhaps worth remarking that the section was a wooded country. We had passed over no clear prairie during the day, and were in the midst of a deep wood. The trees were of nearly every conceivable kind—the cottonwood predominating, with oak, elm, ash, walnut, and such as are common in our own forests.

  After crossing, the trapper headed directly up-stream for a short distance, when he turned to the left and descended into a valley. Here he dismounted.

  “Take yer fixins’,” said he, “and turn the hosses loose.”

  “Won’t they wander away?” I asked.

  “Yourn may, but mine won’t; you’ve got to take your chances, though. ’Tain’t likely they’ll be ’sturbed, ’cept by grizzlys and reds.”

  The spot selected was a broad bottom of rich grass, inclosed by thick walls of undergrowth upon every side. Here we left our horses, and, taking our saddles and trappings, moved away.

  “Have you ever been here before?” I asked of the trapper.

  “I stayed yer last season, but didn’t ’spect to come back. Howsumever, I changed my mind, and yer we is. Move keerful and don’t make a big trail.”

  We followed nearly a quarter of a mile directly up-stream, when he halted, and looked carefully about him.

  “I don’t s’pose thar’s reds ’bout, but thar’s no tellin’ whar they is. I didn’t see none last year, but they mought be ’bout now. Jes’ hold on a minute.”

  The banks of the stream were fringed by a deep under-growth upon both sides. Stepping forward to the water’s edge, the trapper parted the branches, and glancing a moment within, motioned for us to approach.

  “It’s all right,” said he, “there hain’t been no reds poki’ ’bout yer while I’s gone.”

  With this he stooped and pushed a small canoe into the water and slipped within it.

  We joined him, although our combined weight brought the frail vessel down to its very gunwales. It was made of bark after the Indian fashion, very light, but strong. Biddon dipped a long Indian paddle in the water and we moved slowly up-stream. After going a short distance, he again touched the bank, and from beneath another lot of shrubbery drew forth a number of beaver traps. These were similar to the common trap used in all parts of the world, and set much after the same fashion, but with a very different bait. At every point where signs of the animals were visible, he dug down the bank, so as to make a certain spot perpendicular. Just beneath the surface of the water he then placed the trap. The next and last proceeding was to smear the banks around with a very odoriferous oil, obtained from the beaver itself. This smell attracts the beavers in the vicinity, who immediately swim to the shore to learn more of it. The trap is so arranged that one is sure to place his foot directly upon it for support in ascending the bank, and the natural consequence follows. He is caught and falls into his mortal enemy’s hands.

  “Ef one don’t have a dinner on beaver tails tomorrow, then I’m a beaver,” remarked Biddon, after he had set all his traps, and headed his canoe down stream.

  “A dinner on beaver tails!” exclaimed Nat, in astonishment. “That must be a fine dinner, I swow.”

  “If you had read much of these animals, you would know that the part mentioned by Biddon, is the most delicious and nourishing portion,” said I.

  “And when you gits a bite of it, you’ll find it so, I reckons!”

  “Perhaps so,” replied Nat, doubtingly; “but whar ar’ you going to take us?”

  “You’ll find out when we get thar.”

  The trapper rowed the canoe quite a distance down stream, when he sheered it into shore close to where a huge chestnut, larger than any I had ever before witnessed, overhung the water. Its base was enveloped by a mass of undergrowth, denser than common, and we were obliged to stoop to the edge of the boat before we could make our way beneath it. As we sprang up the bank, it pulled up behind us, and I then noticed that the chestnut was hollow, and had a deep orifice at its base.

  “Foller,” commanded Biddon, stooping and crawling beneath it.

  We did so, although there was some hesitation upon my part, and my astonishment was unbounded at what I witnessed when within. At first there was nothing visible but the intense darkness, and I stood, fearful of advancing or retreating.

  “Where are you, Biddon?” asked Nat, in a slightly wavering tone. The next instant the trapper struck a light; and as its rays filled the chamber, I repeat, my astonishment was unbounded. We were standing in an open space, at least eight feet in diameter. The chestnut was but a mere shell, with its trunk but a few inches in thickness at the most. The interior of this was fitted up like a house. The rotten chunks upon the sides had been torn down and formed a pleasant, velvety carpet beneath the feet. All around the walls were hung numerous furs, and a pile at one side afforded a bed such as we had not enjoyed for weeks. Added to all this, there was an arrangement so as to make it perfectly easy and convenient to kindle a fire. Nat was the first to express his unbounded astonishment.

  “This beats all. I never seen anything like it. But don’t the Injins know anything of it?”

  “No, sir; and I cac’late as how they won’t neyther, ef you don’t tell ’em.”

  “Oh! I won’t tell them. I swow this is queer,” and he looked slowly about and above him. “What’s that hole for?” he asked, pointing to a small orifice just visible far above us.

  “That’s fur the smoke to go out.”

  “But it must be likely to attract attention,” I remarked.

  “I never start a fire ’cept at night.”

  “I see—wonderful!” and I, too, gazed admiringly about me. The light made the whole interior visible. The dark, snuff-colored fragments of decayed wood hung in ponderous masses above us, and the immense diameter gradually tapered as it ascended, until only the small opening, far above, was seen, resembling a faint star. The thickness of the wood, together with the great number of furs, protected us so well from the cold, that there could be little need of fire in the coldest weather, except for cooking purposes.

  “This is rather odd, I allow, to you, Jarsey; but ef you had been with me down on the Yallerstone, you’d seen suthin’ as would’ve made you look, you would. You may shoot me, ef you wouldn’t.”

  “I suppose I should, but not more than this has.”

  “Mebbe not, but don’t stand gapin’ there all day. It’s gittin’ dark, and we’ll have our fodder.”

  The fire was now started, and the smoke ascended finely, escaping at the outlet. A good slice of meat was cooked, and we made a hearty supper upon it. After this the fire was allowed to slumber, but the light remained burning until a late hour. We lit our pipes, and chatted dreamily for a long time in our new home. The trapper, feeling in the mood, related many reminiscences of his life, including adventures both tragical and comical, and Nat gave a few of his own experiences. At a late hour we ceased, and fell into a peaceful, dreamless slumber.

  When I awoke the trapper had disappeared. Nat was stretched beside me still asleep. In a short time the former entered as noiselessly as he had departed.

  “What fortune?” I asked.

  “Good; had two fat fellers. Wake up, and we’ll have a meal as is a meal.”

  Nat soon made a movement, and, after several yawns, became fully awake. The trapper kindled a small fire, and cooked his beaver tails. The two made as choice and delicious a meal as I had ever eaten. Nat was convinced by one taste.

  The day was clear and pleasant, and Biddon expressed his determination of going up the stream in order to see the signs of game. I accompanied him, but Nat chose to remain at home and sleep a few hours longer.

  We sauntered carelessly forth up the stream through the tangled underwood. It was a clear day in autumn; the air was keen and bracing, and the woods gloriously fine. Some of the leaves were just beginning to fall, and the
y made a dappled and fiery carpet for our feet, rustling with a soft, pleasant sound at every step. Now and then we could hear the shrill notes of some songster of the forest, and once or twice the faint bay of some distant animal.

  We had wandered some distance, when Biddon proposed turning back, as he had just discovered he had forgotten his pipe. I was too well pleased, however, with the prospect to retrace my footsteps. Accordingly, we parted company for a time, he remarking that probably he would return when he had regained his indispensable article.

  Left alone, I now wandered dreamily onward, in a pleasant reverie, hardly conscious of what I was doing, until I was recalled to my senses by the grandeur of a new scene that suddenly burst upon my view. I had ascended a small rise on the bank of the stream, from which I had an extended view of the river. I stood for a moment wrapt in the glories of the scene. Far behind could be discerned the broad bosom of the river, stretching away like a vast body of molten silver, bordered on either side by the mighty forest, until it disappeared in a sweeping curve, within the interminable wilderness. Above me for several miles the same winding course could be seen, brightly glistening for miles. Not a ripple disturbed the surface, save when a bird skimmed over it, just tipping its wings, and making a flashing circle or two. The blue sky above, unflecked by a single cloud, harmonized so well with the magnificent view, that I stood a long time, drinking in the splendor of the scene.

  My eye was still resting upon the glistening bend of the river above, when the quietness of the scene was interrupted by a dark speck which suddenly came in view, around a curve about a mile above. At first I supposed it to be some animal or log floating upon the surface; but as I looked at it, I saw to my astonishment that it was a canoe coming down-stream. Several forms were visible, yet their number, at that distance, was uncertain. The bright flash of their paddles was visible in the morning sunshine, and they maintained their place near the center of the stream.

  I scrutinized them, vainly to make out their number, until it occurred to me that it would be best to make myself invisible. The approaching canoe might contain nothing but Indians, and it was not desirable that our presence in this section should be known to any but ourselves. I slipped behind the trunk of a tree, nearer the water, yet still upon the elevated knoll, which entirely concealed my body from sight.