The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness

“That, comrade, may be easier said than done. If they’re deserters – and they must be, if they’re soldiers at all – they’ll take precious good care not to let any one come near them, if they can help it. The escort that accompanies the train will account for their not being along with it. If they’ve caught a glimpse of my buttons, they’ll be cached by this time.”

“They only seed our heads. I reck’n they tuk us for Injuns?”

“In that case, they’ll hide from us all the same – only a little more cunningly.”

“Consarn their sojer skins! Ef they war as cunnin’ as a kupple o’ possums, they can’t a hide the track o’ the berra; an’ so long’s they keep in the timber, I kalklate I kin lift thar trail. I reck’n I ain’t quite forgot how: though I am bamfoozled a bit by these hyar parairies – consarn them! Ah! them woods, capt’n! it diz one good to look at ’em!”

The eyes of the young hunter sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke. It was a real forest that was before us – a large tract covered with gigantic cotton-wood trees, and the only thing deserving the name of forest we had seen for many days. As my companion stood gazing upon it, I could trace upon his countenance a joyous expression, that rarely appeared there. The sight of the “Big Timbers” recalled to him the forests of his own Tennessee – with happy memories of other times. They were not unmingled with shadows of regret: as I could tell by the change that came stealing over his features.

“We must try to overtake them,” said I, without answering to the ebullition. “It is important for us to come up with them. Even if they be deserters, they are white men; and all whites are friends here. They muster two guns; and if these fellows are what I take them to be, they know how to handle them. We must follow them: there’s no time to be lost.”

“Ye’re right thar, capt’n! The night’s a comin’ down fast. It’s a’ready gettin’ dark; an’ I’m afeerd it’ll be tough trackin’ under the timber. If we’re to catch up wi’ them the night, we hain’t a minnit to spare.”

“Let us forward then!”

Crossing the ridge, we descended rapidly on the other side – the track of the wheel guiding us in a direct line to the nearest point of the woods. We could tell that the barrow had been trundled down the hill at top speed – by the manner in which the iron tire had abraded the surface of the slope. We had no difficulty in following the trace as far as the edge of the timber, and for some distance into it: but there, to our great surprise, the wheel-track abruptly ended! It was not that we had lost it by its having passed over dry or rocky ground. On the contrary, around the spot where it so suddenly disappeared, the surface was comparatively soft; and even an empty barrow would have made an impression sufficiently traceable, either by my companion or myself.

After beating about for some time, and extending our circle to the distance of a hundred yards or so, we failed to recover the sign. Certainly the barrow had not gone farther – at all events, not upon its trundle. Instinctively, we turned our eyes upward – not with any superstitious belief that the fugitives had made a sudden ascent into the air. But the idea had occurred to us, that they might have hidden themselves in a tree, and drawn the barrow up into it. A single glance was sufficient to satisfy us that this conjecture was erroneous. The thin foliage of the cotton-woods offered no cover. A squirrel could hardly have concealed itself among their branches.

“I’ve got it!” exclaimed the hunter, once more seeking along the surface. “Hyar’s thar tracks; tho’ thar ain’t no signs of the berra. I see how they’ve blinded us. By gosh! thar a kupple o’ cunnin’ old coons, whosomever they be.”

“How have they managed it?”

“Tuk up the machine on thar shoulders, an’ toted it thataway! See! thar’s thar own tracks! They’ve gone out hyar – atween these two trees.”

“Right, comrade – that appears to be the way they’ve done it. Sure enough there is the direction they have taken.”

“Well! ef I wan’t bothered wi’ these hyar animals, I ked follow them tracks easy enough. We’d soon kum upon the wheel agin, I reck’n: they ain’t a-goin’ to travel fur, wi’ a hump like thet on thar shoulders.”

“No; it’s not likely.”

“Wal, then, capt’n, s’pose we leave our critters hyar, an’ take arter ’em afut? We kin quarter the groun’ a good bit ahead; an I guess we’ll eyther kum on them or thar berra afore long.”

I agreed to this proposal; and, after securing our four quadrupeds to trees, we started off into the depth of the woods. Only for a short distance were we able to make out the footsteps of the men: for they had chosen the dry sward to walk upon. In one place, where the path was bare of grass, their tracks were distinctly outlined; and a minute examination of them assured me of the correctness of my conjecture – that we were trailing a brace of runaways from a military post. There was no mistaking the print of the “regulation” shoe. Its shape was impressed upon my memory as plainly as in the earth before my eyes; and it required no quartermaster to recognise the low, ill-rounded heel and flat pegged soles. I identified them at a glance; and saw, moreover, that the feet of both the fugitives were encased in the same cheap chaussure. Only in size did the tracks differ; and in this so widely, that the smaller was little more than two-thirds the length of the larger one! The latter was remarkable for size – not so much in its breadth as length, which last was not less than thirteen standard inches!

On noting this peculiarity, my companion uttered an exclamation of astonishment. “Thar’s a fut, an’ no mistake!” cried he. “I reck’n ’twar Long-legs as made them tracks. Well! ef I hedn’t seed the man hisself, I’d a swore thar war giants in these parts!”

I made no reply, though far more astonished than he. My astonishment sprang from a different source; and was mixed up in my mind with some old memories. I remembered the foot!

Chapter Forty Three

Tracking the Trundle

Yes, I had seen that foot before; or one so very like it, that the resemblance was cheating me. This could hardly be. With the exception of its fellow, the foot of which I was thinking could have no counterpart on the prairies: it must be the same? At first, my recollections of it were but vague. I remembered the foot associated with some ludicrous incidents; but what they were, or when and where they had occurred, I could not say. Certainly I had seen it somewhere; but where? No matter: the foot recalled no unpleasant associations. I felt satisfied it was a friendly one; and was now more anxious than ever of overtaking its sesquipedalian owner.

After proceeding a short distance, the shoe-tracks again became too indistinct to be followed farther. By quartering, however, we came upon them once more – at a place where the impressions were deep and clearly defined. Once more the immense foot rose upon the retina of my memory – this time more vividly – this time enabling me to place it: for I now remembered many an odd incident that had secured it a corner on the page of my recollections. Sticking through a stirrup with an enormous Mexican Spur on its heel – its owner mounted on a horse thin and rawboned as himself – I remembered the foot, as well as the limbs and body to which it was attached. Beyond a doubt, the tall fugitive we were following was an old fellow campaigner – a veteran of the “Rifle Rangers!”

The figure, as seen through the telescope, confirmed me in the belief. The long limbs, arms, and neck – the thin, angular body – all were characteristics of the bodily architecture of Jephthah Bigelow. I no longer doubted that the taller of the two men was my old follower “Jeph Bigelow,” or “Sure-shot,” as his Ranger comrades had christened him; and appropriate was the designation – for a surer shot than Jeph never looked through the hind-sights of a rifle. Who the little man might turn out to be, I could not guess – though I was not without some recollections of a figure resembling his. I remembered a certain Patrick, who was also a “mimber of the corpse,” and whose build bore a close resemblance to that of him seen between the trams of the barrow. My conjecture as to who the men were, increased my desire to overtake them. If the tall man should turn out to be Sure-shot, a rifle would be added to our strength worth a dozen ordinary guns; and, considering the risk we were running – in danger of losing our scalps every hour in the day – it was of no small importance that we should join company with the deserters.

We made every exertion, therefore, to come up with them – my comrade employing all the lore of the backwoods, in his effort to recover their traces. The new footmarks we had discovered, though lost the instant after, had served one good purpose. They indicated the general direction which the two men had followed; and this was an important point to be ascertained. We found another index in the trees. These in most places stood thickly together; and it was only here and there that an object of such breadth as a wheelbarrow could pass conveniently between their trunks. Carried upon the shoulders, it would be an awkward load with which to squeeze through any tight place; and it was reasonable to conclude that only the more open aisles of the forest would be followed. This enabled us to make pretty sure of the route taken; and, after trusting to such guidance for several hundred yards, we had the satisfaction to light once more upon the shoe-tracks. Again only a short distance were we able to follow them; but they confirmed our belief that we were still on the right trail. My comrade had suggested that the man who carried the barrow “wud soon tire o’ totin’ it:” and this proved to be the case. On striking into an old buffalo-path, our eyes were once more gladdened by the sight of the wheel-track – plainly imprinted in the mud.

“Our prospecting” was for the time at an end. The barrow-track continued along the buffalo-path; and we were able to follow it, almost as fast as our legs could carry us. Even after it had grown too dark for us to see the track of the wheel, we were not disconcerted. We could follow it by the feel– stooping only at intervals to make sure that it was still among our feet. In this way we had travelled, to the full distance of a mile from the place where our horses had been left, when all at once the barrow-track gave out. The buffalo-path continued on; but no barrow had passed over it, unless carried as before. This was improbable, however; and we were forced to the conclusion, that the two men had turned off, by some side-path we had not observed.

While looking for this, a sound reached our ears, that resembled the murmur of a distant waterfall; but, listening more attentively, we could distinguish in it a different intonation. We at once moved in the direction whence the noise came; and before we had advanced a hundred yards through the thickly standing trees, we were aware that what we heard was the sound of human voices. Another hundred yards brought us within hearing of words – at the same time that a luminous reflection cast upwards upon the trees, indicated that there was a fire at no great distance off. The underwood hindered us from seeing the fire; but guided by its gleam, we continued to advance. After making another long reach through the leafy cover, we got the fire well under our eyes, as well as those who had kindled it. We had no conjecture as to whether we had been following the true track, or whether it was the two runaway travellers we had treed. The point was determined by an object seen standing close to the fire, in the full glare of its ruddy light. Need I say it was the wheelbarrow?

Chapter Forty Four

A Brace of “Old Sojers.”

Yes, it was the wheelbarrow; and the “U.S. Ordnance” branded upon its side, and visible under the light of the blazing pile, told whence it had come. Either Fort Gibson or Fort Smith was minus a barrow, drawn from their stores by no very formal requisition. There were the takers of it – one on each side of the fire – presenting as great a contrast as could well be found in two human beings. Although of the same species, the two individuals were as unlike each other as a tall greyhound to a turnspit. Both were seated, though in different attitudes. The little man was “squatted” – that is, with legs crossed under him, after the fashion of tailors. The long legs of his vis-à-vis would scarcely admit of being thus disposed of; and his weight was resting altogether upon his hips and heels. In this posture, the caps of his knees stood up to the level of his shoulders – so that his body, viewed en profile, presented a pretty accurate imitation of the letter N – that sort termed by engravers the “rustic letter.” The huge black hat capped one extremity; and the long pedal-like feet that rested horizontally on the ground terminated the other, completing the alphabetical resemblance.

A face, with a certain mocking monkeyish expression, but without any trait of fierceness or ill-nature – a nose slightly snub – quick scintillating eyes – a chin, tipped with a little tuft of clay-coloured beard – some half-dozen queue-like tangles, of bright-yellowish hair, hanging down behind the hat – the hat itself a black “silk,” badly battered – such were the salient points of the portrait appearing above the knee-caps of the taller man. With the exception of the “tile,” his costume was altogether military – to me well-known. It was the ordinary undress of the mounted rifles: a dark-green round-about of coarse cloth – with a row of small brass buttons from throat to waist – and overalls of the same material. In the particular sample before us, overalls was rather an inappropriate name. The garment so designated scarcely covered the calves of the wearer’s legs – though of these there was not much to cover. The jacket appeared equally scant; and between its bottom border and the waistband of the trousers, there was an interval of at least six inches. In this interval was seen a shirt of true Isabella colour, which also appeared over the breast – the jacket being worn unbuttoned. The frouzy cotton was visible at other places – peeping through various rents both in jacket and trousers. A black leather stock concealed the collar of the shirt – if there was any – and though the stock itself was several inches in depth, there were other several inches of naked neck rising above its rim. Coarse woollen socks, and the cheap contract shoe completed the costume of Sure-shot – for it was he.

His contrasting comrade was equally in military garb – even more so, by the additional article of a cloth forage-cap. His was also an undress uniform; but, though of very similar cut to the other, and resembling it in the quality of the material, the colour was different. It was sky-blue, turned whitey with wear – the buttons of the jacket being of lead, and the facings of white worsted tape. It was a better fit than the green uniform; and its wearer had evidently some conceit in the style of it – as was evidenced by the jacket being carefully buttoned from waist to throat, and the forage-cap set jauntily on “three hairs.” The little man was an “infantry.” His horizontal diameter was twice that of his tall companion of the rifles; and in the rounded contour of his body, not an angle was apparent. His garments were quite filled by his body, arms and legs – so that there was not a wrinkle to be seen anywhere. It was a form usually styled “dapper.” His face was also of the rotund shape – the features all tolerably regular, with the exception of the nose – that, like the nasal organ of his comrade, was nez retroussé– the turn-up being infinitely more pronounced. The expression was equally indicative of good-nature and good-fellowship – as the apple-like bloom of his cheeks, and the ochreous tinge upon the tip of the nose, sufficiently testified. Cheeks, lips, and chin were beardless – with the exception of a thick stubble that had lately sprung up; but some well-greased rings of a darkish colour ruffing out under the rim of the forage-cap, showed that the “infantry” was not insensible to the pride of hair. Neither in regard to him had I made a mistaken conjecture. Another old acquaintance and comrade-in-arms – the redoubtable Patrick O’Tigg – a true son of the “Sad.”

The two worthies, when first seen, were seated as described – both engaged in a very similar occupation – cooking. It was – by the most simple process – that of the roti. Each held in his hand a long sapling, upon the end of which a piece of red meat was impaled; and this, projected over the fire, was fast blackening in the blaze. More of the same meat – buffalo-beef, it appeared – was seen in the wheelbarrow; its other freight being one or two greasy bags, a brace of knapsacks, a cartouche box and belt, two ordnance spades, with the guns – a “regulation” rifle and musket – lying across the top of the load.

It was evident from this collection that the men were deserters; that they had armed and equipped themselves at the expense of the quartermaster. Perhaps the paymaster had been in arrears with them; and they had adopted this ready and effectual method of wiping out the score? My only wonder was at not seeing a brace of branded horses along with them; but in all probability, on the day – or night – of their departure, the stable sentry had been doing his duty.

On becoming assured of the identity of the two individuals, my first impulse was to step forward to the fire, and make myself known to them. So eagerly were both engaged in attending to their spits, that they had neither seen nor heard us – although they themselves were now silent, and we were within less than twenty feet of them. The intervening bushes, however would have sheltered us from their sight, even if they had been a little more vigilant – as I should have expected Sure-shot to have been. They were trusting all to the thicket in which they had pitched their camp; and, being hungry and wearied no doubt, were for the moment off their guard. Some fantasy decided me not to disturb them for a moment – a sort of curiosity to hear what they would say, and, if possible, discover their whence and whither. We were perfectly within earshot; and could have heard even a whisper passing from their lips – as we could also note the expression upon their faces. A sign to my companion was sufficient; and, crouching behind the leafy screen, we awaited the continuation of the suspended dialogue.

Chapter Forty Five

The Barrow in Debate

Our patience was not put to a severe test. O’Tigg was not the man to keep his tongue in tranquillity for any extended time. Neither was Sure-shot an admirer of the silent system. Both were talkers. On this occasion, the “infantry” was the first to make himself heard.

“Be japers! comrayde, I’m afther thinkin’ fwhat purty fools us hiv bin, to tak it afut this way, loike two thramps, whin wez moight ivery bit as wil hav been stroidin’ a pair ov good pownies. We cowld a fitched a pair from the Fort wid all the aize in the wurld.”

“Yees, Petrick, certing ye ain’t fer ’stray ’bout thet pertickler; we’ve been raither ungumptious.”

“Besoides, wez rooight as wil hav been hung for a shape as a lamb. We’ll be flogg’d all as wan, iv the iskhort foinds us, fur taykin’ the guns, an’ the knapsacks, an’ the whaleborra – bad luck to the borra!”

“No, Petrick, don’t cuss the berra – it hes served us for certing. We kedn’t a got along ’thout the machine – how ked we? We ked niver hev toted our doin’s es we’ve did; an’ but for the piece o’ bacon an’ thet eer bag o’ meal, we’d a sterved long afore this, I recking. Don’t cuss the berra.”

“Och! it’s made my showlders ache, as if some skhoundrel had been batin’ them wid a sprig ov shillaylah!”

“Ne’er a mind ’bout thet! yer shoulders ’ll be all right arter ye’ve got a wink o’ sleep. Spank my skin! ef thet ere wan’t a cute dodge – it’s throwd the Indyens off o’ the scent for certain; or we’d a heerd some’ut o’ them verming afore this.”

“Faith, I think we’ve sucksaided in bamboozling thim, shure enough.”

The meat by this time showed sufficiently done; and the two men applied themselves to eating, with an earnestness that allowed no time for talking. The conversation had revealed enough of their past actions, and future designs, to confirm the conjectures I had already formed about them.

As stated, they had both belonged to the “Rangers” of immortal memory. After the disbandment of the corps, they had entered upon a fresh lease of soldier-life, by enlisting into the regular army. O’Tigg had given preference to the sky-blue of the “line;” while the Yankee had taken to the mounted rifles – as a capital marksman, like him, would naturally do. Indeed, it would have been impossible to have “licked” the latter into anything like soldierly shape; and all the drill-sergeants in creation could not have made him stand with “toes turned in,” or “eyes right.” To have “dressed” the old ranger in line would have been a physical impossibility. In the mounted rifles, personal appearance is of less importance; and considering the little inclination there is to enlist in the American army – especially in times of peace – the oddest looking article is thankfully accepted. In the dearth of recruits. Sure-shot could have had no difficulty in passing inspection.

Both had evidently become tired of their respective services. The routine of a frontier post is of itself sufficient to produce the deadliest ennui; and the Californian attraction had “capped the climax.” The temptation was too strong for either Yankee or Hibernian nature to resist; and these worthy types of both had taken French-leave of the fort. It was thus that I epitomised the recent history of my old camarados. As they were evidently aware of the caravan being in the advance, and had been following it, it was easily conjectured that Fort Smith – a military post on the Arkansas opposite Van Buren – had been the scene of their defection. Very likely, they had kept near the train all along the route – with a view to guidance and partial protection – as also for a dernier ressort to which they might betake themselves in case of their stores giving out. The escort, hinted at, would be sufficient to account for their not being in closer communication with the caravan.

It appeared, they had been so far fortunate in escaping an encounter with Indians; but this, as in our case, was most likely due to the passage of the caravan. We knew that the red-skinned robbers would be too much occupied with the train itself and its more immediate stragglers, to be looking out for any so far in the rear as we; and to this circumstance, no doubt, were we indebted for the uninterrupted travel we had achieved. A greater proximity to the train would have rendered our passage more perilous. Sure-shot, though a slouch in his dress, was no simpleton. The trick of taking up the barrow was, no doubt, a conception of his brain, as well as its being borne upon the shoulders of the Irishman – who, in all likelihood, had performed the rôle of wheeling it from Fort Smith to the Big Timbers, and was expected to push it before him to the edge of the Pacific Ocean! It was evident that Patrick was tired of his task: for they had not made much progress in their Homeric supper, before he once more returned to the subject.