Frank on the Prairie. Castlemon Harry

prairy. They can shoot consid’ble sharp, an’ aint afraid. All it wants is the hard knocks – fightin’ Injuns an’ grizzlies, an’ starvin’ on the prairy, an’ freezin’ in the mountains, to make trappers of ’em.” And here Dick settled back on his elbow, and proceeded to give the old man a short account of what had transpired at Uncle Joe’s cabin; described Frank’s fight with the moose and panther in glowing language; told how the capture of the cubs had been effected, until old Bob began to be interested; and when Dick finished his story, he said:

      “The youngsters would make good trappers.”

      This, as the trapper afterward told the boys, was a compliment old Bob seldom paid to any one, “for,” said he, “I’ve knowed him a long time, an’ have been in many a fight with him, an’ he never told me I was good or bad.”

      “Wal,” said Dick, again turning to his companion, “You said as how Jack Thomas was rubbed out. How did it happen?”

      Old Bob refilled his pipe, smoked a few moments as if to bring the story fresh to his memory, and then answered:

      “When I heered that Bill Lawson war gone, an’ that you war left alone, I done my best to find you, an’ get you to jine a small party we war makin’ up to visit our ole huntin’ grounds on the Saskatchewan; but you had tuk to the mountains, and nobody didn’t know whar to go to find you. Thar war eight of us in the party, an’ here, you see, are all that are left. As nigh as I can ’member, it war ’bout four year ago come spring that we sot out from the fort, whar we had sold our furs. We had three pack mules, plenty of powder, ball, an’ sich like, an’ we started in high sperits, tellin’ the trader that bought our spelter that we’d have a fine lot fur him ag’in next meetin’ time. We knowed thar war plenty of Injuns an’ sich varmints to be fit an’ killed afore we come back, but that didn’t trouble us none, ’cause we all knowed our own bisness, and didn’t think but that we would come through all right, jest as we had done a hundred times afore. We didn’t intend to stop afore we got to the Saskatchewan; so we traveled purty fast, an’ in ’bout three weeks found ourselves in the Blackfoot country, nigh the Missouri River. One night we camped on a leetle stream at the foot of the mountains, an’ the next mornin’, jest as we war gettin’ ready to start out ag’in, Jack Thomas – who, like a youngster turned loose from school, war allers runnin’ round, pokin’ his nose into whatever war goin’ on – came gallopin’ into camp, shouting:

      “‘Buffaler! buffaler!’

      “In course, we all knowed what that meant, an’ as we hadn’t tasted buffaler hump since leavin’ the fort, we saddled up in a hurry an’ put arter the game. We went along kinder easy-like – Jack leadin’ the way – until we come to the top of a swell, an’ thar they war – nothin’ but buffaler as fur as a feller could see. It war a purty sight, an’ more’n one of us made up our minds that we would have a good supper that night. We couldn’t get no nigher to ’em without bein’ diskivered, so we scattered and galloped arter ’em. In course, the minit we showed ourselves they put off like the wind; but we war in easy shootin’ distance, an’ afore we got through with ’em, I had knocked over four big fellers an’ wounded another. He war hurt so bad he couldn’t run; but I didn’t like to go up too clost to him, so I rid off a leetle way, an’ war loadin’ up my rifle to give him a settler, when I heered a noise that made me prick up my ears an’ look sharp. I heered a trampin, an’ I knowed it war made by something ’sides a buffaler. Now, youngsters, a greenhorn wouldn’t a seed any thing strange in that; but when I heered it, I didn’t stop to kill the wounded buffaler, but turned my hoss an’ made tracks. I hadn’t gone more’n twenty rod afore I seed four Blackfoot Injuns comin’ over a swell ’bout half a mile back. I had kept my eyes open – as I allers do – but I hadn’t seen a bit of Injun sign on the prairy, an’ I made up my mind to onct that them Blackfoot varmints had been shyin’ round arter the same buffaler we had jest been chasin’, an’ that they didn’t know we war ’bout till they heered us shoot. Then, in course, they put arter us, ’cause they think a heap more of scalps than they do of buffaler meat.

      “Wal, as I war sayin’, I made tracks sudden; but they warn’t long in diskiverin’ me, an’ they sot up a yell. I’ve heered that same yell often, an’ I have kinder got used to it; but I would have give my hoss, an’ this rifle, too, that I have carried for goin’ nigh onto twenty year, if I had been safe in Fort Laramie, ’cause I didn’t think them four Injuns war alone. I war sartin they had friends not a great way off, an’ somehow I a’most knowed how the hul thing was comin’ out. I didn’t hardly know which way to go to find our fellers, ’cause while we were arter the buffaler we had got scattered a good deal; but jest as I come to the top of a swell I seed ’em a comin’. Jack Thomas war ahead, an’ he war swingin’ his rifle an yellin’ wusser nor any Injun. I’ll allow, Dick, that it made me feel a heap easier when I seed them trappers. Jack, who allers knowed what war goin’ on in the country fur five miles round, had first diskivered the Injuns, an’ had got all the party together ’cept me, an’ in course they couldn’t think of savin’ their own venison by runnin’ off and leavin’ me.

      “Wal, jest as soon as we got together we sot up a yell and faced ’bout. The Injuns, up to this time, had rid clost together; but when they seed that we warn’t goin’ to run no further jest then, they scattered as if they war goin’ to surround us; an’ then we all knowed that them four Injuns warn’t alone. So, without stoppin’ to fight ’em, we turned an’ run ag’in, makin’ tracks for the woods at the foot of the mountains. An’ we warn’t a minit too soon, fur all of a sudden we heered a yell, an’ lookin’ back we seed ’bout fifty more red-skins comin’ arter us like mad. They had a’most got us surrounded; but the way to the mountains war open, an’ we run fur our lives. The varlets that had followed me war in good pluggin’ distance, an’ when we turned in our saddles an’ drawed a bead on ’em, we had four less to deal with. It warn’t more ’n ten mile to the foot of them mountains, but it seemed a hundred to us, an’ we all drawed a long breath when we found ourselves under kiver of the woods. The minit we reached the timber we jumped off our hosses, hitched them to the trees, an’ made up our minds to fight it out thar an’ then. We knowed, as well as we wanted to know, what the Injuns would do next – they would leave a party on the prairy to watch us, an’ the rest would go sneakin’ round through the woods an’ pick us off one at a time. The only thing we could do – leastwise till it come dark – war to watch the varlets, an’ drop every one of ’em that showed his painted face in pluggin’ distance. We war in a tight place. Our pack mules, an’ a’most all our kit, had been left in the camp, an’ we knowed it wouldn’t be long afore the Injuns would have ’em, an’ even if we got off with our bar, we wouldn’t be much better off – no traps, no grub, an’ skeercely half a dozen bullets in our pouches.

      “Wal, the Injuns, when they seed that we had tuk to the timber, stopped, takin’ mighty good keer, as they thought, to keep out of range of our rifles, an’ began to hold a palaver, now an’ then lookin’ t’wards us an’ settin’ up a yell, which told us plain enough that they thought they had us ketched. But we, knowin’ to an inch how fur our shootin’ irons would carry, drawed up an’ blazed away; an’ we knowed, by the way them red-skins got back over that swell, that we hadn’t throwed our lead away. They left one feller thar to watch us, howsomever, but he tuk mighty good keer to keep purty well out of sight, showin’ only ’bout two inches of his head ’bove the top of the hill. While the Injuns war holdin’ their council, we had a talk ’bout what we had better do. The truth war, thar war only one thing we could do, an’ that war to stay thar until dark an’ then take our chances. We had all fit savage Injuns enough to know that they wouldn’t bother us much so long as daylight lasted; but arter that, if we didn’t get away from thar, our lives war not worth a charge of powder. We soon made up our minds what we would do. We divided ourselves into two parties – four of us watchin’ the prairy, an’ the others keepin’ an eye on the woods, to see that the varlets didn’t slip up behind us.

      “Wal, we didn’t see nothin’ out of the way all that day. Thar war that feller peepin’ over the hill, an’ that war the only thing in the shape of a red-skin we could see; an’ we didn’t hear nothin’ neither, fur whatever