Mr. Jones was about forty-five years of age–a short, thick-set man, with dark hair and heavy beard. He was a man of much natural ability, and exhibited singular contrasts in character and speech. The free and easy carriage, and quaint language of the “Leather-stocking,” sat easily upon him; and yet, at times, he would express himself in words well chosen, and even elegant. He hated society, and was despised by the settlers for his lack of enterprise; and yet, when circumstances drew him out, they were wonder-struck at the variety and accuracy of his information. These inconsistencies made him a mystery; 51 and he was looked down upon, and looked up to, as his neighbors came in contact with one of the other side of his characteristics. In all, too, that pertained to the habits of the animals, and the appearance of the country, no one was so well posted as he. He was built for physical endurance, was cool and courageous in danger, but could not confine himself to regular employment, bodily or mental.
“Isn’t Tom coming to breakfast?” inquired Mr. Jones, as the rest of the children were greedily helping themselves from the plate of meat.
So the mother related how Tom had been hurt, and then said,–
“But you haven’t told us how you received your injury?”
“Well,” said Mr. Jones, as he pushed away his plate, having satisfied his appetite, “I had started for the lake, hearing that there was a good many wild geese and other sorts of game there, and the prospect was, that we should make a pretty big thing of it; but the afternoon after we reached the pond, and was looking about a little, Davis and I were crossing a prairie, and had come in sight of a grove, and says I to him, ‘You just go round on the other side of the thicket, and I’ll go in on this, and if there’s any deer in there, one of us’ll start them out.’ Well, I’d got within a few yards of the trees, when, the first I knew, I 52 heard the crack of a rifle, and a bullet came singing through my side. Says I to myself, ‘That’s a red-skin’s compliments!’ and making believe that I was a gorner, I pitched forward and lay still as a door nail, in the tall grass. I hadn’t lain there more ’n a minute, when, sure enough, a red-skin popped out from behind a tree close by, and made for me, to take my scalp. I had my revolver ready, and when he was within a few feet of me, I just let daylight through him; and as he fell, not knowing how many more of the scamps might be about, I dragged myself along to the side of the lake, where I found Davis waiting for me,–for he had seen the whole thing,–and creeping around to the other side under the banks, we made tracks for home. Why under the sun the feller didn’t put the bullet through my heart, I can’t make out, for I never knew one of ’em to miss, when he was so near as that, and had a fair aim.”
Mrs. Jones then knew why her heart was so burdened on his account at the very hour of his marvellous escape from death.
But their conversation was interrupted by a settler who called to ask if they had seen anything of a stray pair of cattle.
“Ah, neighbor Allen, is that you?” said Mr. Jones, going to speak to the caller, who sat upon his horse before the door.
“Ah, Jones, when did you git back? and what 53 luck?” rejoined the horseman in a hearty way.
“Got a taste of venison,” replied Mr. Jones, “and had a brush with the Injins.”