A shooting-match and its consequences--New friendsintroduced to the reader--Crusoe and his motherchange masters.
Shortly after the incident narrated in the lastchapter the squatters of the Mustang Valley losttheir leader. Major Hope suddenly announced his intentionof quitting the settlement and returning to thecivilized world. Private matters, he said, required hispresence there--matters which he did not choose tospeak of, but which would prevent his returning againto reside among them. Go he must, and, being a manof determination, go he did; but before going he distributedall his goods and chattels among the settlers.
He even gave away his rifle, and Fan and Crusoe.
These last, however, he resolved should go together;and as they were well worth having, he announced thathe would give them to the best shot in the valley. Hestipulated that the winner should escort him to thenearest settlement eastward, after which he might returnwith the rifle on his shoulder.
Accordingly, a long level piece of ground on theriver's bank, with a perpendicular cliff at the end ofit, was selected as the shooting-ground, and, on theappointed day, at the appointed hour, the competitorsbegan to assemble.
"Well, lad, first as usual," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as hereached the ground and found Dick Varley there beforehim.
"I've bin here more than an hour lookin' for a newkind o' flower that Jack Morgan told me he'd seen.
And I've found it too. Look here; did you ever seeone like it before?"Blunt leaned his rifle against a tree, and carefullyexamined the flower.
"Why, yes, I've seed a-many o' them up about theRocky Mountains, but never one here-away. It seemsto have gone lost itself. The last I seed, if I remimberrightly, wos near the head-waters o' the YellowstoneRiver, it wos--jest where I shot a grizzly bar.""Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on thecheek?" asked Varley, forgetting the flower in hisinterest about the bear.
"It wos. I put six balls in that bar's carcass, andstuck my knife into its heart ten times, afore it gaveout; an' it nearly ripped the shirt off my back afore Iwos done with it.""I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly!"exclaimed Varley, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.
"Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of," remarkeda burly young backwoodsman, as he joined them.
His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon wasbut a sorry affair. It missed fire, and it hung fire; andeven when it did fire, it remained a matter of doubt inits owner's mind whether the slight deviations fromthe direct line made by his bullets were the result ofhis or its bad shooting.
Further comment upon it was checked by the arrivalof a dozen or more hunters on the scene of action.
They were a sturdy set of bronzed, bold, fearless men,and one felt, on looking at them, that they would provemore than a match for several hundreds of Indians inopen fight. A few minutes after, the major himselfcame on the ground with the prize rifle on his shoulder,and Fan and Crusoe at his heels--the latter tumbling,scrambling, and yelping after its mother, fat and clumsy,and happy as possible, having evidently quite forgottenthat it had been nearly roasted alive only a few weeksbefore.
Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its meritswere discussed with animation.
And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piecehad never before been seen on the western frontier. Itwas shorter in the barrel and larger in the bore thanthe weapons chiefly in vogue at that time, and, besidesbeing of beautiful workmanship, was silver-mounted.
But the grand peculiarity about it, and that whichafterwards rendered it the mystery of mysteries to thesavages, was that it had two sets of locks--one percussion,the other flint--so that, when caps failed, bytaking off the one set of locks and affixing the others,it was converted into a flint rifle. The major, however,took care never to run short of caps, so that the flintlocks were merely held as a reserve in case of need.
"Now, lads," cried Major Hope, stepping up to thepoint whence they were to shoot, "remember the terms.
He who first drives the nail obtains the rifle, Fan, andher pup, and accompanies me to the nearest settlement.
Each man shoots with his own gun, and draws lots forthe chance.""Agreed," cried the men.
"Well, then, wipe your guns and draw lots. Henriwill fix the nail. Here it is."The individual who stepped, or rather plunged forwardto receive the nail was a rare and remarkablespecimen of mankind. Like his comrades, he was halfa farmer and half a hunter. Like them, too, he wasclad in deerskin, and was tall and strong--nay, more,he was gigantic. But, unlike them, he was clumsy,awkward, loose-jointed, and a bad shot. NeverthelessHenri was an immense favourite in the settlement, forhis good-humour knew no bounds. No one ever sawhim frown. Even when fighting with the savages, ashe was sometimes compelled to do in self-defence, hewent at them with a sort of jovial rage that was almostlaughable. Inconsiderate recklessness was one of hischief characteristics, so that his comrades were ratherafraid of him on the war-trail or in the hunt, wherecaution and frequently soundless motion were essentialto success or safety. But when Henri had a comradeat his side to check him he was safe enough, beinghumble-minded and obedient. Men used to say hemust have been born under a lucky star, for, notwithstandinghis natural inaptitude for all sorts of backwoodslife, he managed to scramble through everythingwith safety, often with success, and sometimes withcredit.
To see Henri stalk a deer was worth a long day'sjourney. Joe Blunt used to say he was "all jintstogether, from the top of his head to the sole of hismoccasin." He threw his immense form into the mostinconceivable contortions, and slowly wound his way,sometimes on hands and knees, sometimes flat, throughbush and brake, as if there was not a bone in his body,and without the slightest noise. This sort of work wasso much against his plunging nature that he took longto learn it; but when, through hard practice and the lossof many a fine deer, he came at length to break himselfin to it, he gradually progressed to perfection, andultimately became the best stalker in the valley. This,and this alone, enabled him to procure game, for, beingshort-sighted, he could hit nothing beyond fifty yards,except a buffalo or a barn-door.
Yet that same lithe body, which seemed as thoughtotally unhinged, could no more be bent, when themuscles were strung, than an iron post. No onewrestled with Henri unless he wished to have his backbroken. Few could equal and none could beat himat running or leaping except Dick Varley. WhenHenri ran a race even Joe Blunt laughed outright, forarms and legs went like independent flails. When heleaped, he hurled himself into space with a degree ofviolence that seemed to insure a somersault; yet healways came down with a crash on his feet. Plungingwas Henri's forte. He generally lounged about thesettlement when unoccupied, with his hands behind hisback, apparently in a reverie, and when called on to act,he seemed to fancy he must have lost time, and couldonly make up for it by plunging. This habit got himinto many awkward scrapes, but his herculean poweras often got him out of them. He was a French-Canadian,and a particularly bad speaker of the Englishlanguage.
We offer no apology for this elaborate introductionof Henri, for he was as good-hearted a fellow as everlived, and deserves special notice.
But to return. The sort of rifle practice called"driving the nail," by which this match was to bedecided, was, and we believe still is, common among thehunters of the far west. It consisted in this: anordinary large-headed nail was driven a short way intoa plank or a tree, and the hunters, standing at a distanceof fifty yards or so, fired at it until they succeeded indriving it home. On the present occasion the majorresolved to test their shooting by making the distanceseventy yards.
Some of the older men shook their heads.
"It's too far," said one; "ye might as well try tosnuff the nose o' a mosquito.""Jim Scraggs is the only man as'll hit that," saidanother.
The man referred to was a long, lank, lantern-jawedfellow, with a cross-grained expression of countenance.
He used the long, heavy Kentucky rifle, which, fromthe ball being little larger than a pea, was called a pea-rifle.
Jim was no favourite, and had been namedScraggs by his companions on account of his appearance.
In a few minutes the lots were drawn, and theshooting began. Each hunter wiped out the barrel ofhis piece with his ramrod as he stepped forward; then,placing a ball in the palm of his left hand, he drew thestopper of his powder-horn with his teeth, and pouredout as much powder as sufficed to cover the bullet.
This was the regular measure among them. Littletime was lost in firing, for these men did not "hang"on their aim. The point of the rifle was slowly raisedto the object, and the instant the sight covered it theball sped to its mark. In a few minutes the nail wasencircled by bullet holes, scarcely two of which weremore than an inch distant from the mark, and one--firedby Joe Blunt--entered the tree close beside it.
"Ah, Joe!" said the major, "I thought you wouldhave carried off the prize.""So did not I, sir," returned Blunt, with a shake ofhis head. "Had it a-bin a half-dollar at a hundredyards, I'd ha' done better, but I never could hit the nail.
It's too small to see.""That's cos ye've got no eyes," remarked Jim Scraggs,with a sneer, as he stepped forward.
All tongues were now hushed, for the expectedchampion was about to fire. The sharp crack of therifle was followed by a shout, for Jim had hit the nail-headon the edge, and part of the bullet stuck to it.
"That wins if there's no better," said the major,scarce able to conceal his disappointment. "Who comesnext?"To this question Henri answered by stepping up tothe line, straddling his legs, and executing preliminarymovements with his rifle, that seemed to indicate anintention on his part to throw the weapon bodily at themark. He was received with a shout of mingled laughterand applause. After gazing steadily at the mark fora few seconds, a broad grin overspread his countenance,and looking round at his companions, hesaid,--"Ha! mes boys, I can-not behold de nail at all!""Can ye 'behold' the tree?" shouted a voice, whenthe laugh that followed this announcement had somewhatabated.
"Oh! oui," replied Henri quite coolly; "I can seehim, an' a goot small bit of de forest beyond.""Fire at it, then. If ye hit the tree ye desarve therifle--leastways ye ought to get the pup."Henri grinned again, and fired instantly, withouttaking aim.
The shot was followed by an exclamation of surprise,for the bullet was found close beside the nail.
"It's more be good luck than good shootin'," remarkedJim Scraggs.
"Possiblement," answered Henri modestly, as he retreatedto the rear and wiped out his rifle; "mais Ihave kill most of my deer by dat same goot luck.""Bravo, Henri!" said Major Hope as he passed;"you deserve to win, anyhow. Who's next?""Dick Varley," cried several voices; "where's Varley?
Come on, youngster, an' take yer shot."The youth came forward with evident reluctance.
"It's of no manner o' use," he whispered to Joe Bluntas he passed, "I can't depend on my old gun.""Never give in," whispered Blunt, encouragingly.
Poor Varley's want of confidence in his rifle wasmerited, for, on pulling the trigger, the faithless lockmissed fire.
"Lend him another gun," cried several voices.
"'Gainst rules laid down by Major Hope," saidScraggs.
"Well, so it is; try again."Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, thatthe ball hit the nail on the head, leaving a portion ofthe lead sticking to its edge.
Of course this was greeted with a cheer, and a louddispute began as to which was the better shot of thetwo.
"There are others to shoot yet," cried the major.
"Make way. Look out."The men fell back, and the few hunters who had notyet fired took their shots, but without coming nearerthe mark.
It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley,being the two best shots, should try over again, and itwas also agreed that Dick should have the use of Blunt'srifle. Lots were again drawn for the first shot, and itfell to Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhathastily, and fired.
"Hit again!" shouted those who had run forward toexamine the mark. "Half the bullet cut off by thenail head!"Some of the more enthusiastic of Dick's friendscheered lustily, but the most of the hunters were graveand silent, for they knew Jim's powers, and felt that hewould certainly do his best. Jim now stepped up tothe line, and, looking earnestly at the mark, threw forwardhis rifle.
At that moment our friend Crusoe, tired of tormentinghis mother, waddled stupidly and innocentlyinto the midst of the crowd of men, and in so doingreceived Henri's heel and the full weight of his elephantinebody on its fore paw. The horrible and electricyell that instantly issued from his agonized throat couldonly be compared, as Joe Blunt expressed it, "to thelast dyin' screech o' a bustin' steam biler!" We cannotsay that the effect was startling, for these backwoodsmenhad been born and bred in the midst of alarms,and were so used to them that a "bustin' steam biler"itself, unless it had blown them fairly off their legs,would not have startled them. But the effect, such asit was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim of JimScraggs, who fired at the same instant, and missed thenail by a hair's-breadth.
'Turning round in towering wrath, Scraggs aimed akick at the poor pup, which, had it taken effect, wouldcertainly have terminated the innocent existence of thatremarkable dog on the spot; but quick as lightningHenri interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim's shinmet it with a violence that caused him to howl withrage and pain.
"Oh! pardon me, broder," cried Henri, shrinkingback, with the drollest expression of mingled pity andglee.
Jim's discretion, on this occasion, was superior to hisvalour; he turned away with a coarse expression ofanger and left the ground.
Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to youngVarley. "It couldn't have fallen into better hands," hesaid. "You'll do it credit, lad, I know that full well;and let me assure you it will never play you false.
Only keep it clean, don't overcharge it, aim true, and itwill never miss the mark."While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulatehim and examine the piece, he stood with a mingledfeeling of bashfulness and delight at his unexpected goodfortune. Recovering himself suddenly, he seized his oldrifle, and dropping quietly to the outskirts of the crowd,while the men were still busy handling and discussingthe merits of the prize, went up, unobserved, to a boyof about thirteen years of age, and touched him on theshoulder.
"Here, Marston, you know I often said ye shouldhave the old rifle when I was rich enough to get a newone. Take it now, lad. It's come to ye sooner thaneither o' us expected.""Dick," said the boy, grasping his friend's handwarmly, "ye're true as heart of oak. It's good of 'ee;that's a fact.""Not a bit, boy; it costs me nothin' to give away anold gun that I've no use for, an's worth little, but itmakes me right glad to have the chance to do it."Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he couldwalk; but his prospects of obtaining one were very poorindeed at that time, and it is a question whether he didnot at that moment experience as much joy in handlingthe old piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize.
A difficulty now occurred which had not before beenthought of. This was no less than the absolute refusalof Dick Varley's canine property to follow him. Fanhad no idea of changing masters without her consentbeing asked or her inclination being consulted.
"You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear," saidthe major.
"No fear," answered the youth. "Dog natur's likehuman natur'!"Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffedhim comfortably into the bosom of his hunting-shirt,and walked rapidly away with the prize rifle on hisshoulder.
Fan had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute,gazing now to the right and now to the left, as themajor retired in one direction and Dick with Crusoe inanother. Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortablein body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to amelancholy howl. The mother's love instantly prevailed.
For one moment she pricked up her ears at the sound,and then, lowering them, trotted quietly after her newmaster, and followed him to his cottage on the marginof the lake.