The Scalp Hunters Part 37

"Boyees!" said Rube, not heeding the remark, and apparently in good humour, now that he was satisfying his appet.i.te, "what's the na.s.siest thing, leavin' out man-meat, any o' 'ees iver chawed?"

"Woman-meat, I reckin."

"'Ee chuckle-headed fool! yur needn't be so peert now, showin' yur smartness when 'tain't called for nohow."

"Wal, leaving out man-meat, as you say," remarked one of the hunters, in answer to Rube's question, "a muss-rat's the meanest thing I ever set teeth on."

"I've chawed sage-hare--raw at that," said a second, "an' I don't want to eat anything that's bitterer."

"Owl's no great eatin'," added a third.

"I've ate skunk," continued a fourth; "an' I've ate sweeter meat in my time."

"Carrajo!" exclaimed a Mexican, "what do you think of monkey? I have dined upon that down south many's the time."

"Wal, I guess monkey's but tough chawin's; but I've sharpened my teeth on dry buffler hide, and it wa'n't as tender as it mout 'a been."

"This child," said Rube, after the rest had given in their experience, "leavin' monkey to the beside, have ate all them critturs as has been named yet. Monkey he hain't, bein' as thur's none o' 'em in these parts. It may be tough, or it mayn't; it may be bitter, an' it mayn't, for what I knows to the contrairywise; but, oncest on a time, this niggur chawed a varmint that wa'n't much sweeter, if it wur as sweet."

"What was it, Rube?"

"What was it?" asked several in a breath, curious to know what the old trapper could have eaten more unpalatable than the viands already named.

"'Twur turkey-buzzart, then; that's what it wur."

"Turkey-buzzard!" echoed everyone.

"'Twa'n't any thin' else."

"Wagh? that was a stinkin' pill, an' no mistake."

"That beats me all hollow."

"And when did ye eat the buzzard, old boy?" asked one, suspecting that there might be a story connected with this feat of the earless trapper.

"Ay! tell us that, Rube; tell us!" cried several.

"Wal," commenced Rube, after a moment's silence, "'twur about six yeern ago, I wur set afoot on the Arkansaw, by the Rapahoes, leastwise two hunder mile below the Big Timmer. The cussed skunks tuk hoss, beaver, an' all. He! he!" continued the speaker with a chuckle; "he! he! they mout 'a did as well an' let ole Rube alone."

"I reckon that, too," remarked a hunter. "'Tain't like they made much out o' that speckelashun. Well--about the buzzard?"

"'Ee see, I wur cleaned out, an' left with jest a pair o' leggins, better than two hunder miles from anywhur. Bent's wur the nearest; an'

I tuk up the river in that direkshun.

"I never seed varmint o' all kinds as shy. They wudn't 'a been if I'd 'a had my traps; but there wa'n't a critter, from the minners in the waters to the bufflers on the paraira, that didn't look like they knowed how this niggur were fixed. I kud git nuthin' for two days but lizard, an' scarce at that."

"Lizard's but poor eatin'," remarked one.

"'Ee may say that. This hyur thigh jeint's fat cow to it--it are."

And Rube, as he said this, made a fresh attack upon the wolf-mutton.

"I chawed up the ole leggins, till I wur as naked as Chimley Rock."

"Gollies! was it winter?"

"No. 'Twur calf-time, an' warm enuf for that matter. I didn't mind the want o' the buckskin that a way, but I kud 'a eat more o' it.

"The third day I struck a town o' sand-rats. This niggur's har wur longer then than it ur now. I made snares o' it, an' trapped a lot o'

the rats; but they grew shy too, cuss 'em! an' I had to quit that speck'lashun. This wur the third day from the time I'd been set down, an' I wur getting nasty weak on it. I 'gin to think that the time wur come for this child to go under.

"'Twur a leetle arter sun-up, an' I wur sittin' on the bank, when I seed somethin' queery floatin' a-down the river. When I kim closer, I seed it wur the karkidge o' a buffler--calf at that--an' a couple o' buzzarts floppin' about on the thing, pickin' its peepers out. 'Twur far out, an' the water deep; but I'd made up my mind to fetch it ash.o.r.e. I wa'n't long in strippin', I reckin."

Here the hunters interrupted Rube's story with a laugh.

"I tuk the water, an' swam out. I kud smell the thing afore I wur half-way, an' when I got near it, the birds mizzled. I wur soon clost up, an' seed at a glimp that the calf wur as rotten as punk."

"What a pity!" exclaimed one of the hunters.

"I wa'n't a-gwine to have my swim for nuthin'; so I tuk the tail in my teeth, an' swam back for the sh.o.r.e. I hadn't made three strokes till the tail pulled out!

"I then swum round ahint the karkidge, an' pushed it afore me till I got it landed high an' dry upon a sandbar. 'Twur like to fall to pieces, when I pulled it out o' the water. 'Twa'n't eatable nohow!"

Here Rube took a fresh mouthful of the wolf-mutton, and remained silent until he had masticated it. The men had become interested in the story, and waited with impatience. At length he proceeded--

"I seed the buzzarts still flyin' about, an' fresh ones a-comin'. I tuk a idee that I mout git my claws upon some o' 'em. So I lay down clost up agin the calf, an' played 'possum.

"I wa'n't long that a way when the birds begun to light on the sandbar, an' a big c.o.c.k kim floppin' up to the karkidge. Afore he kud flop up agin, I grupped him by the legs."

"Hooraw! well done, by gollies!"

"The cussed thing wur nearly as stinkin' as t'other, but it wur die dog--buzzart or calf--so I skinned the buzzart."

"And ate it?" inquired an impatient listener. "No-o," slowly drawled Rube, apparently "miffed" at being thus interrupted. "It ate me."

The laugh that followed this retort restored the old trapper to good humour again.

"Did you go it raw, Rube?" asked one of the hunters. "How could he do otherwise? He hadn't a spark o' fire, an' nothing to make one out of."

"Yur'n etarnal fool!" exclaimed Rube, turning savagely on the last speaker. "I kud make a fire if thur wa'n't a spark anywhar!"

A yell of laughter followed this speech, and it was some minutes before the trapper recovered his temper sufficiently to resume his narration.

"The rest o' the birds," continued he at length, "seein' the ole c.o.c.k rubbed out, grew shy, and kep away on t'other side o' the river.

'Twa'n't no use tryin' that dodge over agin. Jest then I spied a coyoat comin' lopin' down the bank, an' another follerin' upon his heels, an'

two or three more on the same trail. I know'd it wud be no joke gruppin' one o' them by the leg, but I made up my mind to try it; an' I lay down jest as afore, close up to the calf. 'Twur no go. The cunnin'

things seed the float stick, an' kep clur o' the karkidge. I wur a-gwine to cacher under some bush that wur by, an' I begun to carry it up, when all of a suddint I tuk a fresh idee in my head. I seed thur wur drift-wood a plenty on the bank, so I fotched it up, an' built a pen-trap roun' about the calf. In the twinklin' o' a goat's eye I had six varmints in the trap."