[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
There had been a time in the eastern areas when a group of Indians approached
a number of white soldiers and asked them if they would not extinguish the
matches with which they fired their guns. They protested that the sight of the
flaming matches frightened their women and children. Obligingly, the soldiers
did so, and then the Indians promptly attacked and killed all but one man, who
fled into the woods and escaped.
The Indians had been shrewd enough to see that the musket of the white man
had to be fired by a lighted match, although supposedly the Indian knew little
of such weapons. The Indian was endlessly curious, quick to observe and to
comprehend, and quite able to make minor repairs on damaged weapons. To
underrate either their intelligence or their skill would be dangerous.
Over our campfires and when riding, we discussed the question from all
aspects. We did wish to be about the business of trapping, but there was even
more to be gained by trading. Alone of all our party, I possessed no trade
goods, so whatever I had would be from trapping alone.
The hunting jacket and leggings begun back along the trail had been
completed, and I now wore them, packing my other clothing away for state
occasions.
The country grew increasingly rough. The ridges were often topped by thick
brush or trees.
There were thousands of antelope, and twice we saw herds of wild horses that
fled at our approach. Once we came down to a muddy spot, almost an acre in
extent, trampled by wild horses. There were wolves about. We counted two dozen
in the last hour of our march, and once we were in camp they lurked nearby.
During the night, I was awakened by something tugging at my pillow and sprang
up to find myself facing a large wolf. Our bacon was wrapped in burlap,
several sides of it together, and then placed in canvas bags for ease in
packing. I usually used one of these bags as a pillow, and it was this the
wolf had smelled.
Rifle in hand, I glared at him and he glared right back, growling. He stood
over the bacon and seemed of no mind to give it up. On the other hand, bacon
was a delicacy out here and all too little remained. Nevertheless I disliked
firing at the animal in camp, and knew it would immediately awaken everyone
who would spring to arms, believing an attack was in progress.
Tentatively I took a step nearer, looking into the wolf s yellowish eyes,
gleaming in the firelight. He snarled more fiercely, bristling and ready to
fight, but when I took a step nearer he hesitated, then when I stepped quickly
forward, rifle poised, he broke and fled. Gathering up the torn sack, I
brought it back into camp.
Glancing at my watch, I saw the hour was thirty minutes past three. The sky
was clouded over and I could see no stars. The wind was picking up and the air
was cold. I added some sticks to the fire, which blazed up pleasantly, so I
tugged on my boots and filled a cup of coffee.
Sleep had left me, and I was as wide awake as if it were morning. The wind
worried me for no small sounds could be heard through its rustling and
movement. Degory Kemble was on guard and I moved away from the fire to where
he watched from some small brush.
It s a wild night, he whispered, when I was near. I ve had a notion
something s moving yonder, but I d not want to wager upon it. Sometimes I m
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
sure I ve heard something, and then it seems to be nothing. I m glad you re
here. Now both of us can be fooled.
We were silent, straining our ears against the wind for sound, and then we
heard it, a momentary sound through an interval in the rising wind.
A shot ... and then another, but far off ... lost upon the wind.
It wasn t that, but something nearer by.
Who would be shooting? Not many Indians have
guns. Captain Fernandez, perhaps?
At what? That sound was afar off ... a half mile or even a mile.
We waited, listening, but we heard nothing more. Suddenly our horses
snorted, stamping and tugging at their picket rope. Getting up, I went quickly
among them, quieting them, but listening as I moved.
Something was out there ... but what?
We did not awaken the others, waiting for what
would develop. The horses were wary, apprehensive of something, yet they did
not act as they would if there were wolves. As the horses quieted, I left
them, listening into the wind to catch the slightest sound.
From the camp of the Cheyennes, there was no sound. I could see the faint,
reddish glow of their fire, but nothing more.
So we waited out the night. Toward morning I dozed near the fire, awakening
only to stir it up for cooking our breakfast meat.
Ebitt picked up the canvas pack, hefted it, then looked inside. He glanced at
me.
Did your wolves come back? A slab of
bacon s gone.
Degory Kemble glanced at me, then walked over and slowly inspected the
ground. Our own feet had trod so much upon the grass that no other tracks
could be seen.
It was no wolf, Cusbe said, showing us the rawhide strings. They had been
untied, the bacon taken.
It s them thievin redskins, Bob Sandy said. Give em a chance an they ll
take the camp away, and everything that s in it.
Is anything else missing?
Talley checked, as we all did. A
small sack of meal was gone, and perhaps a half pound of powder that had been
left in a sack.
Odd, Talley muttered. There was a full sack alongside, and my bullet molds
and some lead. That wasn t touched.
Page 37
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
We exchanged a look, and then Solomon Talley shrugged. A thief who takes
only the small things, he said, and not much of that.
But a thief good enough to Injun into our camp whilst it was watched, Davy
Shanagan said. I ve a thought it was the Little P.
Cusbe Ebitt snorted. There s an
Irishman for you! Something he can t explain and it had to be banshees or the
like! I d say we should move out.
We saddled up, and saddling Kemble told of the distant shots we d heard, and
of something moving in the night. Nobody had any comment, but when I rode out
to take the point, Buffalo Dog was with me, and he had heard the shots.
The land was vastly broken now, with jagged upthrusts of rock here and there,
a difficult land to guard against, for at every step there were places where
an enemy might hide, and a man must ride always ready, and no dozing in the
saddle or depending upon the other fellow.
We were a hundred yards ahead of the others, entering a gap between low,
grassy hills, when Buffalo Dog pointed with his rifle.
For a moment I did not see it, then I did.
Blood upon the grass, blood still wet.
Isaac Heath was closest of them and he came riding to see what it was. He
looked at it. You heard shots, all right, and whoever was hit was hard hit.
That s a sight of blood.
Buffalo Dog was looking up the slope, studying the brush and rocks at the
top. Leaving Heath to point the column, the Cheyenne and I went up the slope, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
There had been a time in the eastern areas when a group of Indians approached
a number of white soldiers and asked them if they would not extinguish the
matches with which they fired their guns. They protested that the sight of the
flaming matches frightened their women and children. Obligingly, the soldiers
did so, and then the Indians promptly attacked and killed all but one man, who
fled into the woods and escaped.
The Indians had been shrewd enough to see that the musket of the white man
had to be fired by a lighted match, although supposedly the Indian knew little
of such weapons. The Indian was endlessly curious, quick to observe and to
comprehend, and quite able to make minor repairs on damaged weapons. To
underrate either their intelligence or their skill would be dangerous.
Over our campfires and when riding, we discussed the question from all
aspects. We did wish to be about the business of trapping, but there was even
more to be gained by trading. Alone of all our party, I possessed no trade
goods, so whatever I had would be from trapping alone.
The hunting jacket and leggings begun back along the trail had been
completed, and I now wore them, packing my other clothing away for state
occasions.
The country grew increasingly rough. The ridges were often topped by thick
brush or trees.
There were thousands of antelope, and twice we saw herds of wild horses that
fled at our approach. Once we came down to a muddy spot, almost an acre in
extent, trampled by wild horses. There were wolves about. We counted two dozen
in the last hour of our march, and once we were in camp they lurked nearby.
During the night, I was awakened by something tugging at my pillow and sprang
up to find myself facing a large wolf. Our bacon was wrapped in burlap,
several sides of it together, and then placed in canvas bags for ease in
packing. I usually used one of these bags as a pillow, and it was this the
wolf had smelled.
Rifle in hand, I glared at him and he glared right back, growling. He stood
over the bacon and seemed of no mind to give it up. On the other hand, bacon
was a delicacy out here and all too little remained. Nevertheless I disliked
firing at the animal in camp, and knew it would immediately awaken everyone
who would spring to arms, believing an attack was in progress.
Tentatively I took a step nearer, looking into the wolf s yellowish eyes,
gleaming in the firelight. He snarled more fiercely, bristling and ready to
fight, but when I took a step nearer he hesitated, then when I stepped quickly
forward, rifle poised, he broke and fled. Gathering up the torn sack, I
brought it back into camp.
Glancing at my watch, I saw the hour was thirty minutes past three. The sky
was clouded over and I could see no stars. The wind was picking up and the air
was cold. I added some sticks to the fire, which blazed up pleasantly, so I
tugged on my boots and filled a cup of coffee.
Sleep had left me, and I was as wide awake as if it were morning. The wind
worried me for no small sounds could be heard through its rustling and
movement. Degory Kemble was on guard and I moved away from the fire to where
he watched from some small brush.
It s a wild night, he whispered, when I was near. I ve had a notion
something s moving yonder, but I d not want to wager upon it. Sometimes I m
Page 36
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
sure I ve heard something, and then it seems to be nothing. I m glad you re
here. Now both of us can be fooled.
We were silent, straining our ears against the wind for sound, and then we
heard it, a momentary sound through an interval in the rising wind.
A shot ... and then another, but far off ... lost upon the wind.
It wasn t that, but something nearer by.
Who would be shooting? Not many Indians have
guns. Captain Fernandez, perhaps?
At what? That sound was afar off ... a half mile or even a mile.
We waited, listening, but we heard nothing more. Suddenly our horses
snorted, stamping and tugging at their picket rope. Getting up, I went quickly
among them, quieting them, but listening as I moved.
Something was out there ... but what?
We did not awaken the others, waiting for what
would develop. The horses were wary, apprehensive of something, yet they did
not act as they would if there were wolves. As the horses quieted, I left
them, listening into the wind to catch the slightest sound.
From the camp of the Cheyennes, there was no sound. I could see the faint,
reddish glow of their fire, but nothing more.
So we waited out the night. Toward morning I dozed near the fire, awakening
only to stir it up for cooking our breakfast meat.
Ebitt picked up the canvas pack, hefted it, then looked inside. He glanced at
me.
Did your wolves come back? A slab of
bacon s gone.
Degory Kemble glanced at me, then walked over and slowly inspected the
ground. Our own feet had trod so much upon the grass that no other tracks
could be seen.
It was no wolf, Cusbe said, showing us the rawhide strings. They had been
untied, the bacon taken.
It s them thievin redskins, Bob Sandy said. Give em a chance an they ll
take the camp away, and everything that s in it.
Is anything else missing?
Talley checked, as we all did. A
small sack of meal was gone, and perhaps a half pound of powder that had been
left in a sack.
Odd, Talley muttered. There was a full sack alongside, and my bullet molds
and some lead. That wasn t touched.
Page 37
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
We exchanged a look, and then Solomon Talley shrugged. A thief who takes
only the small things, he said, and not much of that.
But a thief good enough to Injun into our camp whilst it was watched, Davy
Shanagan said. I ve a thought it was the Little P.
Cusbe Ebitt snorted. There s an
Irishman for you! Something he can t explain and it had to be banshees or the
like! I d say we should move out.
We saddled up, and saddling Kemble told of the distant shots we d heard, and
of something moving in the night. Nobody had any comment, but when I rode out
to take the point, Buffalo Dog was with me, and he had heard the shots.
The land was vastly broken now, with jagged upthrusts of rock here and there,
a difficult land to guard against, for at every step there were places where
an enemy might hide, and a man must ride always ready, and no dozing in the
saddle or depending upon the other fellow.
We were a hundred yards ahead of the others, entering a gap between low,
grassy hills, when Buffalo Dog pointed with his rifle.
For a moment I did not see it, then I did.
Blood upon the grass, blood still wet.
Isaac Heath was closest of them and he came riding to see what it was. He
looked at it. You heard shots, all right, and whoever was hit was hard hit.
That s a sight of blood.
Buffalo Dog was looking up the slope, studying the brush and rocks at the
top. Leaving Heath to point the column, the Cheyenne and I went up the slope, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]