Holiday Tales Part 6

II.

It was on the day before Christmas, and the sun was at its meridian.

It was a day of brilliance and prophecy, and the prophecy which the Trapper read in the intense sky and vivid brightness of the sun's light told him of coming storm.

"Yis," muttered the old man, as he stood just outside the doorway of his cabin and carefully studied the signs of forest and sky, "yis, this is a weather breeder for sartin. I smell it in the air. The light is onnaterally bright and the woods onnaterally still. Snow will be flyin' afore another sunrise, and the woods will roar like the great lakes in a gale. I am sorry that it's comin', for some will be kept from the dinner. It's sartinly strange that the orderin' of the Lord is as it is, for a leetle more hurryin' and a leetle more stayin' on His part of the things that happen on the 'arth would make mortals a good deal happier, as I conceit."

Aye, aye, John Norton; a little more hurrying and a little more staying of things that happen on the earth would make mortals much happier. The great ship that is to-day a wreck would be sailing the sea, and the faces that stare ghastly white from its depths would be rosy with life's happy health. The flowers on her tomb would be twined in the bride's glossy hair, and the tower that now stands half builded would go on to its finishing. The dry fountain would still be in play and the leafless tree would stand green in its beauty and bloom. Who shall read us the riddle of the ordering in this world? Who shall read the riddle, O man of whitened head, O woman whose life is but a memory, who shall read us the Trapper's riddle, I say?

"There comes Wild Bill," exclaimed the Trapper joyfully, "and one plate will have its eater for sartin." And the old man laughed at the recollection of his companion's appet.i.te. "Lord-a-ma.s.sy! that box on his sled is as big as the ark. I wonder ef he has got a drove of animils in it."

Had the Trapper known the closeness of his guess as to the contents of the huge box he would have marveled at his guessing, for there certainly were animals in the box and of a sort that usually are noisy enough and sure, at the least provocation, to proclaim their name and nature.

But every animal, whether wild or domesticated, has its habits, and many of the noisiest of mouths, when the mood is on them, can be as dumb as a sphinx, and as Wild Bill came shuffling up on his snowshoes, with a box of goodly size lashed to his sled, not a sound proceeded therefrom. It is needless to record that the greeting between the two men was most hearty. How delightful is the meeting of men of the woods! Manly are they in life and manly in their greeting.

"What have ye in the box, Bill?" queried the Trapper good-naturedly.

"It's big enough to hold a church bell, and a good part of the steeple beside."

"It's a Christmas present for you, John Norton," replied Bill gleefully. "You don't think I would come to your cabin to-day and not bring a present, do you?"

"Gift or no gift, yer welcome would be the same," answered the Trapper, "for yer heart and yer shootin' be both right, and ye will find the door of my cabin open at yer comin', whether ye come full handed or empty, sober or drunk, Wild Bill."

"I haven't touched a drop for twelve months," responded the other.

"The pledge I gave you above the Christmas box in your cabin here last Christmas eve I have kept, and shall keep to the end, John Norton."

"I expected it of ye, yis, I sartinly expected it of ye, Bill, for ye came of good stock. Yer granther fit in the Revolution, and a man's word gits its value a good deal from his breedin', as I conceit,"

replied the Trapper. "But what have ye in the box,--bird, beast, or fish, Bill?"

"The trail runs this way," answered Bill. "I chopped a whole winter four year ago for a man who never paid me a cent for my work at the end of it. Last week I concluded to go and collect the bill myself, but not a thing could I get out of the knave but what's in the box. So I told him I'd take them and call the account settled, for I had read the writing on the bark you had nailed up on Indian Carry, and I said: 'They will help out at the dinner.'" And Bill proceeded to start one of the boards with his hatchet.

The Trapper, whose curiosity was now thoroughly excited, applied his eye to the opening, and as he did so there suddenly issued from the box the most unearthly noises, accompanied by such scratchings and clawings as could only have proceeded from animals of their nature under such extraordinary treatment as they had experienced.

"Heavens and 'arth!" exclaimed the Trapper, "ye have pigs in that box, Bill!"

"That's what I put in it," replied Bill, as he gave it another whack, "and that's what will come out of it if I can start the clinchings of these nails." And he bent himself with energy to his work.

"Hold up! Hold up, Bill!" cried the Trapper. "This isn't a bit of business ye can do in a hurry ef ye expect to git any profit out of the transaction. I can see only one of the pigs, but the one I can see is not over-burdened with fat, and it's agin reason to expect that he will be long in gittin' out when he starts, or wait for ye to scratch him when he breaks cover."

"Don't you be afraid of them pigs getting away from me, old man,"

rejoined Bill, as he pried away at the nails. "I don't expect that the one that starts will be as slow as a funeral when he makes his first jump, but he won't be the only pig I've caught by the leg when he was two feet above the earth."

"Go slow, I say, go slow!" cried the Trapper, now thoroughly alarmed at the reckless precipitancy of his companion; "the pigs, as I can see, belong to a lively breed, and it is sheer foolishness to risk a whole winter's choppin'--"

Not another word of warning did the Old Trapper utter, for suddenly the nails yielded, the board flew upward, and out of the box shot a pig. It is in the interest of accurate statement and everlasting proof of Wild Bill's alertness to affirm and record that the flying pig had taken only two jumps before his owner was atop of him, and both disappeared over the bank in a whirlwind of flying snow. Nor had the Trapper been less dexterous, for no sooner had the sandy colored streak shot through the hole made by the hatchet of the man who had sledded him forty miles that he might present him to the Trapper as a contribution to the Christmas dinner, than the old man dropped himself on to the box, thereby effectually barring the exit of the other porcine sprinter.

"Get your gun, get your gun, Old Trapper!" yelled Bill from the whirlwind of snow. "Get your gun, I say, for this infernal pig is getting the best of me."

"I can't do it, Bill," cried the Trapper; "I can't do it. I am doin'

picket duty on the top of this box, with a big hole under me and another pig under the hole."

At the same instant the pig and Wild Bill shot up the bank into full view. Bill had lost his grip on the leg, but had made good his hold on an ear, and had the Trapper been a betting man, it is doubtful if he would have placed money on either. Had he done so, the odds would have been slightly in favor of the pig.

"Hold on to him, Bill!" cried the Trapper, laughing at the spectacle in front of him till the tears stood in his eyes. "Hold on to him, I say. Remember, ye have three months of choppin' in yer grip; the pig under me is gittin' lively, and the profits of the other three months be onsartin. O Lord!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old man, partially sobered at the prospect, "here comes the pups and the devil himself will now be to pay!"

The anxiety and alarming prediction of the Trapper were in the next instant fully justified, for the two dogs, unaccustomed to the scent and cries of the animals, but thoroughly aroused at the noise and fury of the contest, came tearing down the slope through the snow at full speed. The pig saw them coming and headed for the southern angle of the cabin, with Bill streaming along at his side. In an instant he reappeared at the northern corner, with Bill still fastened to his ear and the hounds in full cry just one jump behind him. It is not an accurate statement to say that Wild Bill was running beside the pig, for his stride was so elongated that when one of his feet left the ground it was impossible to predict when or where it would strike the earth, or whether it would ever strike again. The two flying objects, as they came careering down the slope directly toward the Trapper, who was heroically holding himself above the aperture in the box with the porcine volcano in full play under him, presented the dreadful appearance of Biela's comet when, rent by some awful explosion, the one half was on the point of taking its eternal farewell of the other.

"Lift the muzzle of yer piece, Wild Bill!" yelled the Trapper. "Lift the muzzle, I say, and allow three feet for windage, or ye'll make me the bull's-eye for yer pig!"

The advice, or rather, let us say, the expostulation of the Trapper, was the best which, under the circ.u.mstances, could be given, but no directions, however correct, might prevent the dreadful catastrophe.

The old man stuck heroically to his post, and the pig stuck with equal pertinacity to his course. He struck the box on which the Trapper sat with the force of a stone from a catapult, and dogs, men, and pigs disappeared in the snow.

When the Trapper had wiped the snow from his eyes, the spectacle that he beheld was, to say the least, extraordinary. The head of one dog was in sight above the snow, and nigh the head he could make out the hind legs and tail of another. In an instant Wild Bill's cap came in sight, and from under it a series of sounds was coming as if he were talking earnestly to himself, while far down the trail leading to the river he caught the glimpse of two sandy-colored objects going at a speed to which matter can only attain when it has become permanently detached from this earth and superior to the laws of gravitation.

For several minutes not a word was said. The catastrophe had been so overwhelming and the wreck of Bill's hopes so complete that it made speech on his part impossible. The Trapper, from a fine sense of feeling and regard for his companion, remained silent, and the dogs, uncertain as to what was expected of them, kept their places in the snow. At last the old man struggled to his feet and silently started toward the cabin. Wild Bill followed in equal silence, and the dogs as mutely brought up the rear. The depressed, not to say woe-begone, appearance of the singular procession certainly had in it, in the fullest measure, all the elements of humor. In this suggestive manner the column filed into the cabin. The dogs stole softly to their accustomed places, Wild Bill dropped into a chair, and the Trapper addressed himself mechanically to some domestic concerns. At last the silence became oppressive. Wild Bill turned in his chair, and, facing the Trapper, said:--

"It's too devilish bad!"

"Ef ye was in council, ginerals or privits, ye'd carry every vote with ye on that statement, Bill," said the Trapper with deliberation.

"Do you think there is any chance, old man?" queried Bill, earnestly.

"Not on the 'arth, Bill," answered the Trapper. "Ye see," he continued, "the snow wasn't so deep on my side the trail and I had my eye on them pigs afore ye got yer head above the drift, and I noted the rate of their movin'. They was goin' mighty fast, Bill, mighty fast. Ye must take into account that they had the slope in their favor and sartin experiences behind. I've sighted on a good many things that was gifted in runnin' and flyin', and I never kept a bullit in the barrel when I wanted feather, fur, or meat, because of the swiftness of the motion, but ef I had ben standin' ten rods from that trail and loved the meat like a settler, I wouldn't have wasted powder or lead on them pigs, Bill." And the two men, looking into each other's faces, laughed like boys.

"Where do you think they'll fetch up, John Norton?" queried Bill, at last.

"They won't fetch up," replied the Trapper, wiping his eyes, "leastwise not this year. Henry has told me that it is twenty-four thousand miles around the 'arth, and it looked to me as ef them pigs had started out to sarc.u.mnavigate it, and I conceit it'll be about a month afore they will come through this clearin' agin. I may be a little amiss in my calkerlatin', but a day more or less won't make any difference with you and me, nor with the pigs, either, Bill. They may be a trifle leaner when they pa.s.s the cabin next time, but their gait will be jest the same, as I conceit." And after a moment, he asked, sympathetically:--

"How far did ye sled them pigs, Bill?"

"Forty mile," answered Bill, dejectedly.

"It's a goodly distance, considerin' the natur' of the animils,"

replied the Trapper, "and ye must have been tempted to onload the sled more'n once, Bill."

"I would have unloaded it," responded the other, "I would have unloaded the cussed things more than once, but I had nothing else to bring you, and I thought they'd look mighty fine standing up on the table with an apple in each mouth and their tails curled up, as I've seen them at the barbecues."

"So they would, so they would, Bill; but ye never could have kept 'em on the table. No amount of cookin' would have ever taken the speed out of them pigs. Ef ye had nailed 'em to the table they'd have taken the table and cabin with 'em. It's better as it is, Bill; so cheer up and we'll git at the cookin'."

Cooking is more than an art; it is a gift. Genius, and genius alone, can prepare a feast fit for the feaster. Woe be to the wretch who sees nothing in preparing food for the mouth of man save manual labor. Such a knave should be basted on his own spit. An artist in eating can alone appreciate an artist in cooking. When food is well prepared it delights the eye, it intoxicates the nose, it pleases the tongue, it stimulates the appet.i.te, and prolongs the healthy craving which it finally satisfies, even as the song of the mother charms the child which it gradually composes for slumber.

The Old Trapper was a man of gifts and among his gifts was that of cooking. For sixty years he had been his own _chef_, with a continent for his larder, and to more than one gourmand of the great cities the tastiness and delicacy of his dishes had been a revelation--more than one epicure of the clubs had gone from his cabin not only with a full but a surprised stomach.

It is easy to imagine the happiness that this host of the woods experienced in preparing the feast for the morrow. He entered upon his labors, whose culmination was to be the great event of the year, with the alacrity of one who had mentally discussed and decided every point in antic.i.p.ation. There was no cause for haste, and hence there was no confusion. He could not foretell the number of his guests, but this did in no way disconcert him. He had already decided that no matter how many might come there should be enough. In Wild Bill he had an able and willing a.s.sistant, and all through the afternoon and well into the evening the two men pushed on the preparation for the great dinner.

The large table, constructed of strong maple plank, was sanded and scoured until it shone almost snowy white. On it was placed a buck, roasted a la barbecue, the skin and head skillfully reconnected with the body and posed, muzzle lifted, antlers laid well back, head turned, ears alert, as he stood in the bush when the Trapper's bullet cut him down. At one end of the table a bear's cub was in the act of climbing a small tree, while at the other end a wild goose hung in mid-air, suspended by a fine wire from the ceiling, with neck extended, wings spread, legs streaming backward, as he looked when he drove downward toward open water to his last feeding.

The great cabin was a bower of beauty and fragrance. The pungent odor of gummy boughs and of bark, under which still lurked the amber-colored sweat of heated days and sweltering nights, pervaded it.