CHAPTER VIII.
SPORT.
Within two miles of us was a ranch, where we knew there were several men. While discussing breakfast, I prefaced my request to the Major by intimating these facts, and hinting that a taste of venison would serve as a change from trout and grouse. The Major looked at me and then at Joshua, who was busy over the fire, but attentive.
"Those men will help us dispose of a deer, if you get one."
"Very likely, if they haven't got a supply on hand."
"Suppose you inquire."
"Well, I'll think of it," looking again in Joshua's direction.
"If you'll just leave some of them ca'tridges where I can lay hands on 'em, I'll get some venison," Joshua broke in, giving a trout in the frying-pan an extra turn and pressing the centre down with his knife.
"No doubt," and the Major's visage relaxed into a smile.
"You bet I will. I can't see the use of havin' deer runnin' all over and never a shot fired; there's a difference between supplyin' your wants and wastin'."
When the meal was concluded the Major shouldered his rifle and sauntered off toward the cabin of the settler. He returned in the course of an hour, with the announcement that the men would "not mind" taking a little meat; they had been too busy for a few days past to do any hunting. They would not object to a few trout, as well, if we had them to spare. This was good news.
"Those men have trapped and killed four bears during the past few days," said the Major.
"Where'bouts?" inquired Joshua quickly.
"Just up there in the timber a couple of miles. The bear killed a horse, and the men have been after the bear with pretty good success."
"I should say so—mebbe I'll go up and see 'em."
"Better not, without a gun."
"That's so—mebbe there's more around," murmured Joshua; "I've no notion goin' up there and roostin' in a tree." In a few moments he broke out with a song which we had not heard from him:
"The Lord will provide."
"I've heard that He 'helps those who help themselves,'" said the Major.
"Look here, major, haven't I been tryin' to help myself for a week and can't?"
There was something irresistibly ludicrous in the pathetic appeal that set us all laughing, including the promoter of the merriment.
"I will try for one in the morning, Mr. Miles, or you may go if you can get back in time to prepare breakfast."
"Oh, I'll get back in time, you bet."
As it was after nine o'clock, the Major said he would go up the cañon a little way and catch a few trout. I was to look after the advancement of Mr. Dide; I prevailed upon him to leave his umbrella in camp, and took him and his new rod under my supervision. The gentleman gave indications of improvement, and I persuaded him to the pool with the drift. After several ineffectual efforts he succeeded in throwing his fly beyond the brush in mid-stream, and hooked a trout that the next moment had the line entangled. He was without waders, and I did not propose to swim in that cold water for the sake of saving another man's leader. I took the rod, but finding gentle manipulation unavailing, I gave the line a pull and broke the snell only. Bending on another fly, I advised him to work his way through the bushes and reach the little bar where I had landed my last trout. By that means he could cast up toward the pool and would avoid at least one pile of brush. When he was fairly stationed I went back to camp, took my bamboo and worked my way down to the water at the mouth of the cañon.
A likely place presented itself a few rods above; I crossed a riffle and made my way to it on a beach of gravel about three feet wide. The pool was quite deep on the farther side and the bottom descended somewhat abruptly from the bar, so that I could not get more than eight feet from the bushes behind me without going over my boots. It was a difficult place to cast from, with even twenty feet of line, without catching the bushes, but I managed to get the fly away, after a fashion not satisfactory. It seemed the rule, however, that no matter where or how the fly landed, except on the shallow riffles, a trout was almost certain to put in an appearance. In the clear and smooth-flowing water in front of me, I saw a dozen beautiful fish; the one nearest the fly came up and took it. I soon landed him on the beach and tried again. We had made some stir, but it had no appreciable effect on the others, and I had another fastened in a few moments. This sort of angling has its disadvantages to the lover of the gentle art; it is too apt to curtail the measure of his enjoyment; he absorbs in half an hour a fund that, to be correctly appreciated, should consume double the time.
Instead of casting again at once, I stood watching the well-to-do citizens. One and another would rise to the surface, take in something I could not discern and settle back again; their existence seemed to be one of ease, as of mortals who had inherited or secured a competency, and were disposed to indolence. They moved with a dignity characteristic of high breeding. If one started in quest of a floating morsel his nearest neighbor courteously bowed him on, as it were, and with a graceful wave of his caudal said plainly: "Oblige me by taking precedence." Seeing one larger than his mates behind a small rock, I sent the coachman in his vicinity. Two started, but the smaller one halted—it was age and beauty before beauty alone. Age with its wisdom declined and settled back, beauty and inexperience came forward again and was lost to his crystal world.
Was this experience of the one who refused greater than could be encompassed by human subtlety? I was a little piqued, perhaps, at the indifference manifested. He might be a hotel clerk, a justice of the peace or some other dignitary metamorphosed.
I lighted my pipe, sat under the shade of the mountain beeches, smoked and reflected. An ousel came suddenly round the elbow of the river and alighted in the edge of the water a few yards away. He bobbed up and down a few times, said something to himself and took a running dive for a few feet along the margin of the bar, came out again, bobbed and spoke, as though he might be rehearsing for some water-wagtail entertainment, then took another dive. Presently a second one came round the same course, pleased himself and me with an exhibition precisely like that of his predecessor and finally disappeared.
I changed the coachman for a gray hackle with a peacock body and stepped into the edge of the pool. "The deformed transformed" had resumed his station behind his desk, and I put the temptation in his way. He could not resist it; he had his price and I had ascertained its maximum; a very trifle indeed, the veriest fraud as usual, compounded of tinsel and feathers, appealing first to the eye, then to the palate, arousing his dormant wicked propensities, tickling not the least of these—his avarice. I felt, I must confess, a symptom of contempt for him, as the sting of death touched his lips. I watched him struggle, feeling something approaching vicious exultation. I could not, however, but admire his efforts to rid himself of the consequences of his folly. Repentance, if he experienced it, came too late; the inexorable hand of the fate he had courted was closing upon him. He must have said to himself, at intervals, while he lay gasping: "If I were only safe out of this—I would never put on airs again—to excite the pride of the most humble of creatures." Resignation, however, was not one of his attributes; so long as hope of escape held a place in the remotest corner of his soul, he debated between genuine repentance and its shadow. He would yet make endeavors to release himself; if successful his old ways would be avoided, and humility might find a place in his mind, perhaps. I was not thoroughly convinced that he had been sufficiently overcome to warrant this favorable conclusion; I was still anxious to put my hand on him: he might forget his lesson. Being myself unsettled, I experienced no trouble in attributing all the hallucination to the individual at the other end of the line. One last, glorious endeavor, and he was free. I lifted my hat in token of his prowess, though I had not entirely pardoned his original conceit. When I saw him again he had safely ensconced himself between two rocks with his nose courting the opposite bank. He seemed very passive, with his tail at right angles with the gentle current. I watched him some time, but he did not move; he was prostrated, if ever fish was, in abject humiliation, crushed, absolutely, to earth.
I resolved to say nothing of my adventure. The Major would receive my story with an aggravating smile, a smile that quietly throws out temptation to anger and violence. Or Joshua might break out with that song of his:
"Tell me the old, old story."
But I will intrust it to you, in confidence, you understand. I am a very good judge and he weighed four pounds, if he weighed an ounce.
I recrossed the riffle and sought Mr. Dide. I found him within a few feet of where I had deposited him. He had procured his umbrella during my absence, and, with the patience commendable in the bait fisherman, was waiting for a rise in six inches of water. I watched him for a while and wondered if he would make even a fisherman; he possessed some of the gifts of the angler.
"I see you have that umbrella again, Mr. Dide."
"Aw, yes—it is so vewy waam, you know, in the sun."
"Have you caught anything?"
"Not yet, but I anticipate a vewy big one, by-and-by."
I went up to the pool with the drift, and casting my hackle close under the old log, was fast in a moment to the mate of the one I had secured before breakfast. Pursuing my former tactics I was soon by the side of our friend, who watched me with interest and encouraged me with his doubts of my ability to land the captive. When I finally brought him out, released him from the hook and rapped him on the head with a stone, Mr. Dide declared he never could accomplish such a feat.
"Why, my deah boy, he would smash my pole, you know."
His modesty gave me some hope that ultimately he would arrive at proficiency, barring the umbrella.
At noon the Major put in his appearance with twelve trout and two white-fish; the string weighed sixteen pounds.
"That is a splendid average," said the Major, spreading the fish out upon the grass, to be the more conveniently admired as individuals.
These white-fish were the first we had taken, although they are quite plentiful in the stream, and are sometimes an annoyance to those who are seeking trout only. Why they should be a source of vexation to any one is a mystery. The fish is beautiful in contour, more slender than the trout, has a delicate mouth, rises eagerly to the fly, and its meat is delicious. Break a Brazil nut in two, and the firm white kernel will remind you of the meat of the white-fish when it has been properly cooked. They are good fighters withal, though they do not break the water when hooked as readily as the trout. To my mind the complaints have in them somewhat of affectation, unless one is indulging solely in the science of angling.
The following morning the camp was not astir until the sun came up over the hills and, shining in our faces, dried the moisture on our beards. The Major was the first to awake, and looking in Joshua's direction, discovered that individual in the enjoyment of his morning nap. He called to him:
"I thought you were going for a deer, Mr. Miles. You should have been up before daylight."
Joshua declared that such had been his intention, but on reflection he thought, that as he would have to wade the stream, he would not go.
"But there must be good hunting on this side, Mr. Miles."
"Yes, I shouldn't wonder, but it looks better over on that side; mebbe I'll go when the grass dries off."
"If you had only mentioned your preference I would have gone out and driven a deer into camp."
"Now, look here, Major, can't you give us a rest? I was sleepy this morning, that's a fact."
Before day the next morning, the Major slipped out of his blankets, and with his Winchester started off in the direction of the aspens on the hills below and back from the camp. The sun had fairly streaked the east with gold color, and I lay watching the coming light, dozing a few moments and then awakening to see the surroundings put on more definite shapes, when I heard the report of a rifle. Before the echo ceased its complainings I was asleep again, dreaming that the major had encountered a silver-tip, and, failing in his first shot, had been compelled to take to a tree. I saw the brute tearing away at the bark and my friend embracing the trunk a dozen feet from the ground. The comical side of the picture was appealing to me when the vision suddenly vanished. I had been aroused by my own laughter, and I saw the Major looking down at me with a broad smile on his face.
"You must have been indulging in a pleasant dream, my boy. Come, it is time you were out of bed. Mr. Miles, will you please put the saddle and bridle of Mr. Dide's on one of your mares and go with me? I have killed that deer."
The Major was wet to the waist. Joshua looked at him dolefully and crawled out, inquiring for the locality of the game. When the Major told him it was not half a mile away and he had seen fresh bear tracks, he accelerated his pace and longed for another rifle.
We had noticed every morning fresh deer signs along the margin of the river, and the Major had stationed himself in some willows but a little way from the camp. Just after daybreak the buck, which he brought in was on his way for a morning tipple when the Major called him to a halt. The animal turned in his tracks on feeling the bullet, and the Major had followed for nearly half a mile, when he found him dead.
Joshua reported elk signs upon his return, and was enjoying a new fever from that cause; but he never found any cartridges in the magazine when the weapon was left in camp.
We had passed two weeks in our delightful retreat, seeing no one except the inhabitants of the neighboring ranch, who would visit us at intervals for a supply of trout, which we always had for them. In return they brought us such quantities of rich milk that we became surfeited. The weather had been superb, without a drop of rain, and we had no use even for the fly to shelter us at night. The Major wished for a shower to break the monotony, but we did not get it.
We had wondered more than once during our idle moments concerning the deacon and his whereabouts. One evening when Mr. Dide and myself were alone at the camp-fire, the Major and Joshua having gone to the neighboring ranch, I made bold to inquire of the gentleman touching the ladies in whose company we had left our friend. Mr. Dide answered:
"Miss Jennie is a cousin, I believe, of the Deacon, as you call him."
"But about the other lady, Mr. Dide?"
"Aw,—Miss Gwace!—she is a vewy chawming young lady, as you say."
"You have known her some time?"
"Aw—y-a-s."
Mr. Dide retired within himself, and I concluded, if I would learn anything, I must come to the point without indirection.
"She seems to be alone here; how does that happen?"
"Most extwaawdinawy—she is a vewy independent young lady and went away fwom home because of some misapwehension with her welatives. They pwoposed that she mahwy a gentleman who was distasteful to her and she declined."
"I admire her for declining such an alliance."
"So do I, you know—by Jove—I do! My impwession is that if the gentleman had known he was distasteful, he would have withdwawn himself—I know he would."
"You know the gentleman, then?"
"Aw, y-a-s. But it was too bad, you know, that she should be compelled to abandon her home. I have twied to pwevail on her to weconsidah and weturn, but she won't, you know. I have it fwom a weliable fwiend that she wan out of money heah last wintah, and became a waitah, watha than communicate with her welatives. She is a bwave young lady; I wegwet she deemed it necessawy to do so."
"What was her objection to the gentleman, Mr. Dide?"
"She said to her fathah that he was a simpleton,—the gentleman, I mean. She was wight, no doubt, but she is a vewy extwaawdinawy young lady, you know; she's a student of Dawwin and Huxley and those fellows, and the gentleman—aw—he is—aw—only a gentleman, you know, with no taste in that direction."
"Indeed, Mr. Dide, I believe you—he is a gentleman."
"Thanks. I—I know him and he would not have sanctioned it—weally—he would have ceased his attentions at once. It is a vewy unhappy situation—he was not advised until she had put her wesolution into effect. She is a vewy amiable young lady, but she has too much pwide to seek a wecconciliation with her pawents. I endeavahed to pwesent the mattah to her in the stwongest light, but she would not be moved."
"She seemed to be very favorably impressed with the Deacon, Mr. Dide," I ventured to insinuate.
"Aw, y-a-s, you are wight; the Deacon is, I think, a vewy estimable gentleman."
"But suppose he should not be serious, Mr. Dide—the Deacon is a stranger to you, and he might be trifling."
"Twifling! impossible! I cannot think so of him."
"Ah! Deacon! Deacon!" I thought, "you called this gentleman, contemptuously, 'a dude'—how do you compare with him?" and confessed to myself that the verdict was not in favor of my friend. I had no question of the Deacon's integrity. I was looking only for one of the elements that go to make up a gentleman, and found that Mr. Dide was better endowed with unselfishness.
The Major and Joshua coming in, the subject between Mr. Dide and myself was dropped. That night when my friend and I were covered with our blankets, looking out at the bright lamps and ready to be wooed into unconsciousness by the river's melody, he said to me:
"I have changed my mind concerning our new friend. I thought he would be a bore, at least, but I have discovered him to be a gentleman."
"So have I." But I did not deem it necessary to explain to him why I had reached the same conclusion.