Part 2 (1/2)
The girl who has been already introduced to the reader, and who was occupied with the others of her s.e.x around the fires, sprang willingly forward at this summons; and, pa.s.sing the stranger with the activity of a young antelope, she was instantly lost behind the forbidden folds of the tent. Neither her sudden disappearance, nor any of the arrangements we have mentioned, seemed, however, to excite the smallest surprise among the remainder of the party. The young men, who had already completed their tasks with the axe, were all engaged after their lounging and listless manner; some in bestowing equitable portions of the fodder among the different animals; others in plying the heavy pestle of a moveable homminy-mortar[*]; and one or two in wheeling the remainder of the wagons aside, and arranging them in such a manner as to form a sort of outwork for their otherwise defenceless bivouac.
[*] Homminy, is a dish composed chiefly of cracked corn, or maize.
These several duties were soon performed, and, as darkness now began to conceal the objects on the surrounding prairie, the shrill-toned termagant, whose voice since the halt had been diligently exercised among her idle and drowsy offspring, announced, in tones that might have been heard at a dangerous distance, that the evening meal waited only for the approach of those who were to consume it. Whatever may be the other qualities of a border man, he is seldom deficient in the virtue of hospitality. The emigrant no sooner heard the sharp call of his wife, than he cast his eyes about him in quest of the stranger, in order to offer him the place of distinction, in the rude entertainment to which they were so unceremoniously summoned.
”I thank you, friend,” the old man replied to the rough invitation to take a seat nigh the smoking kettle; ”you have my hearty thanks; but I have eaten for the day, and am not one of them, who dig their graves with their teeth. Well; as you wish it, I will take a place, for it is long sin' I have seen people of my colour, eating their daily bread.”
”You ar' an old settler, in these districts, then?” the emigrant rather remarked than enquired, with a mouth filled nearly to overflowing with the delicious homminy, prepared by his skilful, though repulsive spouse. ”They told us below, we should find settlers something thinnish, hereaway, and I must say, the report was mainly true; for, unless, we count the Canada traders on the big river, you ar' the first white face I have met, in a good five hundred miles; that is calculating according to your own reckoning.”
”Though I have spent some years, in this quarter, I can hardly be called a settler, seeing that I have no regular abode, and seldom pa.s.s more than a month, at a time, on the same range.”
”A hunter, I reckon?” the other continued, glancing his eyes aside, as if to examine the equipments of his new acquaintance; ”your fixen seem none of the best, for such a calling.”
”They are old, and nearly ready to be laid aside, like their master,”
said the old man, regarding his rifle, with a look in which affection and regret were singularly blended; ”and I may say they are but little needed, too. You are mistaken, friend, in calling me a hunter; I am nothing better than a trapper.”[*]
[*] It is scarcely necessary to say, that this American word means one who takes his game in a trap. It is of general use on the frontiers. The beaver, an animal too sagacious to be easily killed, is oftener taken in this way than in any other.
”If you ar' much of the one, I'm bold to say you ar' something of the other; for the two callings, go mainly together, in these districts.”
”To the shame of the man who is able to follow the first be it so said!”
returned the trapper, whom in future we shall choose to designate by his pursuit; ”for more than fifty years did I carry my rifle in the wilderness, without so much as setting a snare for even a bird that flies the heavens;--much less, a beast that has nothing but legs, for its gifts.”
”I see but little difference whether a man gets his peltry by the rifle or by the trap,” said the ill-looking companion of the emigrant, in his rough manner. ”The 'arth was made for our comfort; and, for that matter, so ar' its creatur's.”
”You seem to have but little plunder,[*] stranger, for one who is far abroad,” bluntly interrupted the emigrant, as if he had a reason for wis.h.i.+ng to change the conversation. ”I hope you ar' better off for skins.”
[*] The cant word for luggage in the western states of America is ”plunder.” The term might easily mislead one as to the character of the people, who, notwithstanding their pleasant use of so expressive a word, are, like the inhabitants of all new settlements, hospitable and honest. Knavery of the description conveyed by ”plunder,” is chiefly found in regions more civilised.
”I make but little use of either,” the trapper quietly replied. ”At my time of life, food and clothing be all that is needed; and I have little occasion for what you call plunder, unless it may be, now and then, to barter for a horn of powder, or a bar of lead.”
”You ar' not, then, of these parts by natur', friend,” the emigrant continued, having in his mind the exception which the other had taken to the very equivocal word, which he himself, according to the custom of the country, had used for ”baggage,” or ”effects.”
”I was born on the sea-sh.o.r.e, though most of my life has been pa.s.sed in the woods.”
The whole party now looked up at him, as men are apt to turn their eyes on some unexpected object of general interest. One or two of the young men repeated the words ”sea-sh.o.r.e” and the woman tendered him one of those civilities with which, uncouth as they were, she was little accustomed to grace her hospitality, as if in deference to the travelled dignity of her guest. After a long, and, seemingly, a meditating silence, the emigrant, who had, however, seen no apparent necessity to suspend the functions of his masticating powers, resumed the discourse.
”It is a long road, as I have heard, from the waters of the west to the sh.o.r.es of the main sea?”
”It is a weary path, indeed, friend; and much have I seen, and something have I suffered, in journeying over it.”
”A man would see a good deal of hard travel in going its length!”
”Seventy and five years have I been upon the road; and there are not half that number of leagues in the whole distance, after you leave the Hudson, on which I have not tasted venison of my own killing. But this is vain boasting. Of what use are former deeds, when time draws to an end?”
”I once met a man that had boated on the river he names,” observed the eldest son, speaking in a low tone of voice, like one who distrusted his knowledge, and deemed it prudent to a.s.sume a becoming diffidence in the presence of a man who had seen so much: ”from his tell, it must be a considerable stream, and deep enough for a keel-boat, from top to bottom.”
”It is a wide and deep water-course, and many sightly towns are there growing on its banks,” returned the trapper; ”and yet it is but a brook to the waters of the endless river.”
”I call nothing a stream that a man can travel round,” exclaimed the ill-looking a.s.sociate of the emigrant: ”a real river must be crossed; not headed, like a bear in a county hunt.”[*]