Part 3 (1/2)
Tom nodded, understanding that his companion was a hunter employed by the steamboat company to supply the boat's table with fresh meat. After the game country, which really meant the buffalo range, was reached this man went ash.o.r.e almost every night and hunted until dawn or later, always keeping ahead of the boat's mooring and within sight of the river after daybreak. Whatever he shot he dragged to some easily seen spot on the bank for the yawl to pick up, and when the steamboat finally overtook him he went aboard by the same means. His occupation was hazardous at all times because of the hostility of the Indians, some few of which, even when their tribes were quiet and inclined to be friendly for trade purposes, would not refuse a safe opportunity to add a white man's scalp to their collection. The tribes along the lower sections of the river were safer, but once in the country of the p.a.w.nees and Sioux, where his hunting really began, it was a far different matter. He did not have much of the dangerous country to hunt in because the _Belle_ did not go far enough up the river; but the hunters on the fur company's boats went through the worst of it.
”Goin' out this spring?” asked the hunter.
”Yep; Oregon, this time,” answered Tom. ”My scalp ain't safe in Santa Fe no more. Been thar?”
”Santa Fe, yep; Oregon, no. Went to N'Mexico in '31, an' we got our fust buffaler jest tother side o' Cottonwood Creek. It war a tough ol' bull.
Bet ye won't git one thar no more. We forded th' Arkansas at th' lower crossin' an' follered th' dry route. Hear thar's a track acrost it now, but thar warn't any then. Don't like that stretch, nohow. Longest way 'round is th' best fer _this_ critter. Ye got Bent's Fort handy ter bust up th' trip, git supplies an' likker; an' I'd ruther tackle Raton Pa.s.s, mean as it is, than cross that cussed dry plain atween th' Crossin' an'
th' Cimarron. I'd ruther have water than empty casks, airy time; an'
fur's th' Injuns air consarned, 'twon't be long afore ye'll have ter fight 'em all th' way from th' frontier ter th' Mexican settlements.
They'll be gittin' wuss every year.”
”Yer talkin' good medicine,” replied Tom, thoughtfully. ”'Twon't be safe fer any caravan ter run inter one o' them war parties. Thar cussin' th'
whites a'ready, an' thar bound ter jine han's ag'in us when th' buffaler git scarce.”
The hunter slapped his thigh and laughed uproariously. ”Cussed if that ain't a good un! Why, th' man ain't alive that'll live ter see that day.
They won't git scarce till Kansas is settled solid, an' _then_ there'll have ter be a bounty put on 'em ter save th' settlers' crops. Why, thar's _miles_ o' 'em, pardner!”
”I've _seen_ miles o' 'em,” admitted Tom; ”but they'll go, an' when they once start ter, they'll go so fast that a few years will see 'em plumb wiped out.”
”Shucks!” replied the hunter, ”Why, th' wust enemies they got is th'
Injuns an' th' wolves. Both o' them will go fust, an' th' buffalers'll git thicker an' thicker.”
”_We_ are thar worst enemies!” retorted Tom with spirit. ”Th' few th'
Injuns kill don't matter--if it did they'd 'a' been gone long ago. They only kill fer food an' clothin'; but we kill fer sport an' profit. Every year that pa.s.ses sees more whites on th' buffaler ranges an' more hides comin' in ter th' settlements; an' most of them hides come from th'
cows. Look at th' beaver, man! Thar goin' so fast that in a few years thar won't be none left. Thar's only one thing that'll save 'em, an'
that's a change in hats. Killin' fer sport is bad enough, but when th'
killin' is fer profit th' end's sh.o.r.e in sight. What do we do? We cut out th' buffaler tongues an' a few choice bits an' leave th' rest for th' wolves. Th' Injuns leave nothin' but th' bones. Why, last trip acrost I saw one man come inter camp with sixteen tongues. He never even bothered with th' hump ribs! I told him if he done it ag'in an' I saw him, I'd bust his back; an' th' hull caravan roared at th' _joke_!”
”Danged if it warn't a good un,” admitted the hunter, chuckling. ”Have ter spring that on th' boys.” He turned and looked around. ”Them fellers on th' bank air sh.o.r.e havin' a good time. They got likker enough, anyhow. Cussed if it don't sound like a rendezvous! Come on, friend: what ye say we jine 'em? It's too early to roll up, an' thar's only card buzzards in th' cabin a-try-in' ter pick th' bones o' a merchant.”
”We might do wuss nor that,” replied Tom; ”but I don't reckon I'll go ash.o.r.e tonight.”
”Wall, if ye change yer mind ye know th' trail. I'm leavin' ye now, afore th' bottles air all empty,” and the hunter crossed the deck and strode down the gangplank.
Tom watched the hurrying, complaining water for a few moments and then turned to go to the cabin. As he did so something whizzed past him and struck the water with a hiss. Whirling, he leaped into the shadows under the second deck, the new Colt in his hand; but after a hot, eager search he had to give it up, and hasten to the cabin, to peer searchingly around it from the door. The only enemy he had on board to his knowledge was Schoolcraft--and then another thought came to him: was Armijo reaching out his arm across the prairies?
Joe Cooper was intent on his game; Schoolcraft and the Mexican trader were taking things easy at a table in a corner, and both had their knives at their belts. They did not give him more than a pa.s.sing glance, although a frown crept across the Independence horse-dealer's evil face.
Seating himself where he could watch all the doors, Tom tried to solve the riddle while he waited to scrutinize anyone entering the cabin. At last he gave up the attempt to unravel the mystery and turned his attention to the card game, and was surprised to see that it was being played with all the safeguards of an established gambling house. Having a friend in the game he watched the dealer and the case-keeper, but discovered nothing to repay him for his scrutiny. An hour later the game broke up and Joe Cooper, cas.h.i.+ng in his moderate winnings, arose and joined Tom and suggested a turn about the deck before retiring. Tom caught a furtive exchange of fleeting and ironical glances between the case-keeper and the dealer, but thought little of it. He shrugged his shoulders and followed his new friend toward the door.
Ephriam Schoolcraft, somewhat the worse for liquor, made a slighting remark as the two left the cabin, but it was so well disguised that it provided no real peg on which to hang a quarrel; and Tom kept on toward the deck, the horse-dealer's nasty laugh ringing in his ears. He could see where he was going to have trouble, but he hoped it would wait until Independence was reached, for always there were the makings of numerous quarrels on board under even the best of conditions, and he determined to overlook a great deal before starting one on his own account. It was his wish that nothing should mar the pleasure of the trip up the river for Patience Cooper.
He and his companion stopped in the bow and looked at the merry camp on sh.o.r.e, both sensing an undertone of trouble. Give the vile, frontier liquor time to work in such men and anything might be the outcome.