The Scalp Hunters Part 22

The arms and equipments of these warrior men were like those of the white hunters. They have long since discarded the bow; and in the management of the rifle most of them can "draw a bead" and hit "plumb centre" with any of their mountain a.s.sociates. In addition to the firelock and knife, I noticed that they still carried the ancient weapon of their race, the fearful tomahawk.

I have described three characteristic groups that struck me on glancing over the camp ground. There were individuals belonging to neither, and others partaking of the character of one or all. There were Frenchmen, Canadian voyageurs, strays of the north-west company, wearing white capotes, and chatting, dancing, and singing their boat-songs with all the _esprit_ of their race. There were pueblos, Indios manzos, clad in their ungraceful tilmas, and rather serving than a.s.sociating with those around them. There were mulattoes, too, and negroes of a jetty blackness from the plantations of Louisiana, who had exchanged for this free, roving life the twisted "cow-skin" of the overseer. There were tattered uniforms showing the deserters who had wandered from some frontier post into this remote region. There were Kanakas from the Sandwich Isles, who had crossed the deserts from California. There were men apparently of every hue and clime and tongue here a.s.sembled, drawn together by the accidents of life, by the instinct of adventure--all more or less strange individuals of the strangest band it has ever been my lot to witness: the band of the Scalp-Hunters!

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 of these birds flying towards the camp. It was coming through a break in the trees that opened from the river. It flew low, and tempted a shot with its broad wings, and slow, lazy flight.

A report rang upon the air. One of the Mexicans had fired his escopette; but the bird flew on, plying its wings with more energy, as if 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' that beetle-shaped blunderbox? Pish!"

I turned to see who had delivered this odd speech. Two men were poising their rifles, bringing them to bear upon the bird. One was the young hunter whom I have described. The other was an Indian whom I had not seen 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 tent was between them, and the two reports had seemed as one. A trapper cried out--

"Well done, Garey! Lord help the thing that's afore old Killbar's muzzle 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 young hunter'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, which would have drawn my attention to the man had not his singularly-imposing appearance 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 k.u.mb in thar a while agone. Don't b'lieve anybody knows him. I guess the captain does; I seed them shake hands."

I looked at the Indian with increasing interest. He seemed a man of about thirty years of age, and not much under seven feet in height. He was proportioned like an Apollo, and, on this account, appeared smaller than he actually was. His features were of the Roman type; and his fine forehead, his aquiline nose and broad jawbone, gave him the appearance of talent, as well as firmness and energy. He was dressed in a hunting-shirt, leggings, and moccasins; but all these differed from anything worn either by the hunters or their Indian allies. The shirt itself was made out of the dressed hide of the red deer, but differently prepared from that used by the trappers. It was bleached almost to the whiteness of a kid glove. The breast, unlike theirs, was close, and beautifully embroidered with stained porcupine quills. The sleeves were similarly ornamented; and the cape and skirts were trimmed with the soft, snow-white fur of the ermine. A row of entire skins of that animal hung from the skirt border, forming a fringe both graceful and costly. But the most singular feature about this man was his hair. It fell loosely over his shoulders, and swept the ground as he walked! It could not have been less than seven feet in length. It was black, glossy, and luxuriant, and reminded me of the tails of those great Flemish horses I had seen in the funeral carriages of London.

He wore upon his head the war-eagle bonnet, with its full circle of plumes: the finest triumph of savage taste. This magnificent head-dress added to the majesty of his appearance.

A white buffalo robe hung from his shoulders, with all the graceful draping of a toga. Its silky fur corresponded to the colour of his dress, and contrasted strikingly with his own dark tresses.

There were other ornaments about his person. His arms and accoutrements were shining with metallic brightness, and the stock and b.u.t.t of his rifle were richly inlaid with silver.

I have been thus minute in my description, as the first appearance of this man impressed me with a picture that can never be effaced from my memory. He was the _beau ideal_ of a picturesque and romantic savage; and yet there was nothing savage either in his speech or bearing. On the contrary, the interrogation which he had just addressed to the trapper 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 smoking at the muzzle.

"Look hyar, Injun! whether we fired symultainyously, or extraneously, or cattawampously, ain't the flappin' o' a beaver's tail to me; but I tuk sight on that bird; I hut that bird; and 'twar my bullet brought the thing down."

"I think I must have hit it too," replied the Indian, modestly.

"That's like, with that ar' spangled gimcrack!" said Garey, looking disdainfully at the other's gun, and then proudly at his own brown weather-beaten piece, which he had just wiped, and was about to reload.

"Gimcrack or no," answered the Indian, "she sends a bullet straighter and farther than any piece I have hitherto met with. I'll warrant she has sent hers through the body of the crane."

"Look hyar, mister--for I s'pose we must call a gentleman 'mister' who speaks so fine an' looks so fine, tho' he be's an Injun--it's mighty easy 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 tree on which hung the gruya, high up.

"How are you to get it down?" cried one of the men, who had stepped forward to witness the settlement of this curious dispute.

There was no reply, for everyone saw that Garey was poising his rifle for 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 a double fork, still stuck fast on the broken limb.

A murmur of approbation followed the shot. These were men not accustomed to hurrah loudly at a trivial incident.

The Indian now approached, having reloaded his piece. Taking aim, he struck the branch at the shattered point, cutting it clean from the tree! The bird fell to the ground, amidst expressions of applause from the spectators, but chiefly from the Mexican and Indian hunters. It was at once picked up and examined. Two bullets had pa.s.sed through its body. Either would have killed it.

A shadow of unpleasant feeling was visible on the face of the young trapper. In the presence of so many hunters of every nation, to be thus equalled, beaten in the in of his favourite weapon, and by an "Injun"; still worse by one of "them ar' gingerbread guns!" The mountain men have no faith in an ornamented stock, or a big bore. Spangled rifles, they say, are like spangled razors, made for selling to greenhorns. It was evident, however, that the strange Indian's rifle had been made to shoot as well.

It required all the strength of nerve which the trapper possessed to conceal his chagrin. Without saying a word, he commenced wiping out his gun with that stoical calmness peculiar to men of his calling. I observed that he proceeded to load with more than usual care. It was evident 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, he turned 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 also reloading.

"Look hyar, stranger!" continued he, addressing the latter, "have ye got a c.u.mmarade on the ground as knows yer shooting?"

The Indian after a moment's hesitation, answered, "Yes."

"Kin your c.u.mmarade depend on yer shot?"

"Oh! I think so. Why do you wish to know that?"