Bill Biddon, Trapper: or, Life in the Northwest

“I am afraid that that would not be the only difficulty you would be likely to experience, Nat, in getting it filled.”

“And my jack-knife was in the coat-pocket, I declare!” exclaimed he, suddenly starting up and pinching alternately one pocket and then another. “Yes, sir, that’s gone, too; that’s worse than all the rest,” he added, despairingly, falling upon his elbow, and gazing abstractedly into the fire.

“That’s a trifling loss, surely, as you have your hunting-knife.”

“I’ve a good notion to get up and go back now,” he added, not heeding my remark. “I’m sick of this business. It’s bad enough to lose the mare, but when the knife is gone I can’t stand it.”

I knew this was but a momentary despondency with my friend, and for the sake of whiling away the time before sleep, I was inclined to humor it.

“But what will you do for that gold that you was going to buy Deacon Hunt’s farm with for your Alminy?”

“Let her go without it,” he answered, gruffly, without removing his gaze from the fire. “She can get along without it. I believe she only coaxed me to go off to Californy to get me out of the way, so that mean Bill Hawkins might take my place. If he does come any such game, he’ll catch it when I get back.”

I laughed deeply, but silently, as I witnessed his appearance at these remarks. It was so earnest and feeling, that it was impossible to resist its ludicrousness.

“Nat,” said I, after a moment’s thought, in which my mind had taken an altogether different channel, “I am free to own that I have little faith in our success in California. I left home in a flush of excitement, without considering the consequences of such a rash step, and they are now beginning to present themselves. I propose that we seek our fortune elsewhere. The fact that gold exists in California is now known all over the world, and we know there is not the remotest corner of her territory which is not swarming with hundreds who leave no means untried to amass their fortunes. I have no desire to wrangle and grope with them, and would much rather seek wealth elsewhere.”

“But where else?”

“If gold exists in one spot on the Pacific coast, it is right to suppose it exists in many others, and what is to prevent our finding it?”

“Have you thought of any place?”

“It seems to me that in Oregon, among the spurs of the Rocky Mountains, there must be fabulous quantities of the precious metal.”

“But why hasn’t it been found?”

“Oregon is thinly settled, and no suspicion has led them to search for it.”

“Well, let us dream upon it.”

A few more fagots were forthwith heaped upon the fire, and then we lay down for the night’s rest.

My companion had lain but a minute, when he suddenly sprang to his feet, and exclaimed:

“Hurrah for Oregon!”

“Be careful,” I admonished; “your indiscretion may be fatal. That wall of darkness across the river looks gloomy and threatening enough to me.”

“It does – hello! I’m shot – no, I ain’t, neither.”

That instant the report of a rifle burst from the other bank, and the bullet whizzed within an inch of my companion’s face.

“Heavens! are we attacked!” I ejaculated, starting back from the fire.

“I believe so,” replied Nat, cowering behind me.

We listened silently and fearfully, but heard no more. The fire smoldered to embers, the river grew darker, and the night, moonless and cold, settled upon us. But no sleep visited my eyelids that night. Till the gray dawn of morning I listened, but heard no more.

CHAPTER II.

A NEW FRIEND

As the light of morning overspread the stream and prairie, I felt an unspeakable sense of relief. Not a moment of sleep had visited me that night, although Nat’s extreme fear toward midnight gave way to his drowsiness, and he slept long and heavily.

“Come, wake up, Nat!” said I, shaking him as soon as I saw that day was at hand.

“How? what’s the matter?” said he, rubbing his eyes, and gaping confusedly about him.

“Day is at hand, and we must be on our way to Oregon.”

He hastily rose, and we commenced our simple preparations. I ran up the river bank, and swept the prairie to the south of us to satisfy myself that no wandering Indians were in sight. The whole plain was visible, and with a feeling akin to joy, I reported the fact to Nat. He, however, was not satisfied with my survey, as he had more than once before detected objects that had escaped my vision, and he ascended a high roll in the bank, some distance up, and took a long, careful, scrutinizing sweep of the whole horizon. Feeling satisfied that he would be no more rewarded for his pains than I was, I started the fire, and commenced cooking some of our buffalo, I had been engaged in this for a minute or so, when I heard Nat call, in a hoarse, anxious, half-whisper:

“Come here, quick!”

I hurried to his side and eagerly asked him the cause of agitation.

“Why, just look yonder, if that ain’t enough to agitate one, then I don’t know what is.”

He pointed across the river, out upon the prairie; and following the direction of his finger, I saw not more than a mile or two away a single horseman proceeding leisurely from us.

“Who can that be?” I asked half to myself, still watching the receding figure.

“Why he’s the one that sent that bullet across the water after us, and I’m thinking it’s lucky for him, he’s going another way. If I should get my hands on him, he would remember the time.”

And Nat extended his arms energetically, and shook his head spitefully by way of emphasizing his remark.

I continued gazing after the unknown person. At first I supposed it was an Indian, but at that distance, and with his back toward us, it was almost impossible to judge accurately. A moment’s thought convinced me that it was a white man. I could make out the hunting-cap of the trapper, and was soon satisfied he belonged to that class. His horse was walking leisurely along, and he seemed totally unaware of the proximity of strangers.

But who could it be? Was it he who had fired the well-nigh fatal shot? And what meant his actions in thus willfully leaving us? These and similar questions I asked myself, without taking my eyes from him, or heeding the numerous questions and remarks my companion was uttering. But, of course, I could give no satisfactory solution, and when his figure had grown to be but a dim speck in the distance, I turned to Nat.

“We may see him again; but, if I don’t know him, I know one thing, I’m wonderfully hungry just now.”

We partook of a hearty breakfast, my appetite for which was considerably weakened by the occurrence just narrated. Without much difficulty we forded the Republican Fork, being compelled only to swim a few strokes in the channel, and reached the opposite side, with dry powder and food.

Here we made a careful search of the shore, and ascertained enough to settle beyond a doubt the identity of the horseman with the would-be assassin of the night before. His footprints could be seen, and the place where he had slept upon the ground, together with the scraps of meat. By examining the tracks of his horse, we discovered that both hind feet were shod; this decided our question of his being a white man; and although it cleared up one doubt, left us in a greater one. He could not have avoided the knowledge that we were of the same blood, and what demoniacal wish could lead him to seek the life of two harmless wanderers? Be he who he might, it was with no very Christian feelings toward him that we took the trail of his horse, and pursued it.

Our course after the first five miles, swerved considerably to the northwest. From the actions of the stranger, it was evident he understood the character of the country, and we judged the shortest way of reaching the Oregon trail would be by following him. The footprints of his animal were distinctly marked, and we had no difficulty in keeping them.

At noon we forded a stream, and shortly after another, both considerably less than the Republican Fork. On the northern bank of the latter, were the still glowing coals of the stranger’s camp-fire, and we judged he could be at no great distance. The country here was of a slightly different character from the rolling prairie over which we had journeyed thus far. There were hills quite elevated, and, now and then, groves of timber. In the river bottoms were numerous cottonwoods and elder; these natural causes so obstructed our view, that we might approach our unknown enemy very nigh without knowing it. Nat was quite nervous, and invariably sheered off from the forbidding groves of timber, striking the trail upon the opposite side at a safe distance.

In this way we traveled onward through the entire day. No signs of Indians were seen, and we anticipated little trouble from them, as they were friendly at this time, and the most they would do would be to rob us of some of our trinkets or rifles.

At sundown we left our guiding trail and struck off toward a small stream to camp for the night. When we reached it, and decided upon the spot, Nat remarked seriously:

“I say, Relmond, that feller might be near enough to give us another shot afore morning, and I’m going to see whether his trail crosses the brook out there or not.”

So saying, he wheeled and ran back to the spot where we had left it. It was still bright enough to follow it, and bending his head down to keep it in view, he continued upon a rapid run. I was upon the point of warning him against thus running into danger, but not feeling much apprehension for his safety, I turned my back toward him. A minute after, I heard his footsteps again, and, looking up, saw him coming with full speed toward me, his eyes dilated to their utmost extent, and with every appearance of terror.