Part 10 (1/2)

”Will you step this way, Mr Stump?” said the young Irishman, rising from his stool, and proceeding in the direction of the door.

The hunter followed, not without showing some surprise at the abrupt invitation.

Maurice conducted his visitor round to the rear of the cabin; and, pointing into the shed, inquired--

”Does that look anything like the mustang you've been speaking of?”

”Dog-gone my cats, ef 'taint the eyedenticul same! Grupped already!

Two hunderd dollars, easy as slidin' down a barked saplin'! Young fellur, yur in luck: two hunderd, slick sure!--and durn me, ef the anymal ain't worth every cent o' the money! Geehosofat! what a putty beest it air! Won't Miss Peintdexter be pleezed! It'll turn that young critter 'most crazy!”

CHAPTER SEVEN.

NOCTURNAL ANNOYANCES.

The unexpected discovery, that his purpose had been already antic.i.p.ated by the capture of the spotted mustang, raised the spirits of the old hunter to a high pitch of excitement.

They were further elevated by a portion of the contents of the demijohn, which held out beyond Phelim's expectations: giving all hands an appetising ”nip” before attacking the roast turkey, with another go each to wash it down, and several more to accompany the post-cenal pipe.

While this was being indulged in, a conversation was carried on; the themes being those that all prairie men delight to talk about: Indian and hunter lore.

As Zeb Stump was a sort of living encyclopaedia of the latter, he was allowed to do most of the talking; and he did it in such a fas.h.i.+on as to draw many a wondering e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, from the tongue of the astonished Galwegian.

Long before midnight, however, the conversation was brought to a close.

Perhaps the empty demijohn was, as much as anything else, the monitor that urged their retiring to rest; though there was another and more creditable reason. On the morrow, the mustanger intended to start for the Settlements; and it was necessary that all should be astir at an early hour, to make preparation for the journey. The wild horses, as yet but slightly tamed, had to be strung together, to secure against their escaping by the way; and many other matters required attending to previous to departure.

The hunter had already tethered out his ”ole maar”--as he designated the sorry specimen of horseflesh he was occasionally accustomed to bestride--and had brought back with him an old yellowish blanket, which was all he ever used for a bed.

”You may take my bedstead,” said his courteous host; ”I can lay myself on a skin along the floor.”

”No,” responded the guest; ”none o' yer shelves for Zeb Stump to sleep on. I prefer the solid groun'. I kin sleep sounder on it; an bus-sides, thur's no fear o' fallin' over.”

”If you prefer it, then, take the floor. Here's the best place. I'll spread a hide for you.”

”Young fellur, don't you do anythin' o' the sort; ye'll only be wastin'

yur time. This child don't sleep on no floors. His bed air the green gra.s.s o' the purayra.”

”What! you're not going to sleep outside?” inquired the mustanger in some surprise--seeing that his guest, with the old blanket over his arm, was making for the door.

”I ain't agoin' to do anythin' else.”

”Why, the night is freezing cold--almost as chilly as a norther!”

”Durn that! It air better to stan' a leetle chillishness, than a feelin' o' suffercation--which last I wud sartintly hev to go through ef I slep inside o' a house.”

”Surely you are jesting, Mr Stump?”

”Young fellur!” emphatically rejoined the hunter, without making direct reply to the question. ”It air now nigh all o' six yeer since Zeb Stump hev stretched his ole karkiss under a roof. I oncest used to hev a sort o' a house in the hollow o' a sycamore-tree. That wur on the Ma.s.sissippi, when my ole ooman wur alive, an I kep up the 'stablishment to 'commerdate her. Arter she went under, I moved into Loozeyanny; an then arterward kim out hyur. Since then the blue sky o' Texas hev been my only kiver, eyther wakin' or sleepin'.”

”If you prefer to lie outside--”