“I know but I can’t see any reason in it. There was that Blackfoot to-day. He must have seen me when I climbed up on a high rock to take a look at the surrounding country, and the very minute he saw me, that very minute he went to work to get my scalp. They are a strange people.”
The scarred face of Old Ruff expanded into a quaint smile, as he looked fondly down in the countenance of the lad, and listened to his words. Then, laying the long, bony finger of his right hand into the palm of his left, as if to call special attention to his utterances, he said:
“Yas, younker, you’re right. I’ve hunted wild animiles, and fit Injins for a good many years, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the red-skin is a qu’ar critter, and it takes a good while afore a feller understands him. Some chaps come out here fur a few weeks, and think they’ve got the hang of things, when they don’t know no more about copper-skins, than my grandmother does about tannin’ grizzly b’ars. You know they ginerally call the Injin red, but when he gits on the war-path, he’s allers a ‘yeller.’ They believe in spooks, and when the spirit moves ’em, they move the spirits. They don’t like crooked paths, and generally take every thing straight; they are very hospitable, and often treat their captives to a hot stake. This is very touching, ’specially to the captive. They’re purty good shots, as you know yourself, Little Rifle, ’cause you’ve see’d ’em shoot the rapids; they are good on drawing a long bow, but often take an arrow view of things, and I knowed an old chief once that lived half the time upon arrow-root. Some younkers like you think an Injin is the very beau ideal of a man, as they say down in the settlements; but sence they’ve larned the use of guns, they’ve hung up the fiddle and the bow, which must harrow the feelin’s of the varmints a powerful heap. My nephew that knows how to read books, calls him ‘Lo, the poor Injin,’ and I agree with him, for ef thar’s any lower critters in all creation, I’ve never see’d ’em. Sometimes you can tame an Injin, and sometimes you can’t. They say an Injin never forgits a kindness, and I s’pose they don’t, fur if you’re kind to one of ’em he’ll hunt you for a week, and never give up till he gets a lock of your ha’r to remember you by. The only trouble is that when he takes the lock he’s mighty sartin to take all thar is on your head.”
“Then I suppose, Uncle Ruff, that the fellow I started off on a walk won’t be likely to forget me very soon?”
“Not much; and while you’re ’bout it, you might jist as well hold him in remembrance. You see, Little Rifle,” continued Old Ruff, resuming his supper, “I never b’l’eve in murder—not at all; but when you’ve got your gun p’inted at a red-skin, and don’t feel like pulling the trigger, it’s a good idee to shet your eyes, hold your gun steady, and sneeze. When a man has his finger on the trigger, and onexpectedly sneezes, the gun is purty sartin to go off. I found that out when I was a little younker, and had a bow and arrer sighted at my dear old grandmother, wondering how near I could come to the end of her nose without hitting it, and not intendin’ to shoot at all. The old lady jist then had her snuffbox out, and I s’pose some of it got into my norsetrils; fur I fetched a sneeze that like to have blowed my nose off, and when I got over the a’rthquake that had shook me to pieces, I see’d my grandmother picking up the only three teeth that she had left, from the floor. Afore I could ax her pardon, the old man come in. I remember he had been digging in the garden, and carried a spade in his hand. Wal,” added the old joker, with a sigh, “I won’t describe the incidents that follered; suffice it to say that I warn’t able to set down for two weeks, and I don’t s’pose I’ll forgit that little episode as long as I live.”
“Perhaps if I live all my life in these woods,” said Little Rifle, in a voice of unconscious sadness, “I may come to look upon life as you do; but I can not do so just yet.”
“You ain’t going to live here all your life,” said the hunter, with such abruptness that the lad looked up inquiringly into his face, as if he failed to get the full import of his words. “You’re getting to be quite a likely-sized youngster, and it’s time that you see’d something more of the world than you can see in these parts, though a chap can see a powerful sight when he looks toward the mountains. I’m going on East arter the summer is over, and I’ll take you with me. You’ll see sights then that I reckon will make you open your eyes.”
“There is one sight which I often wonder whether I shall ever be given to look upon.”
“What’s that?”
“My parents—my brothers and sisters—if I have any, and something seems to tell me that I have. I tell you, Uncle Ruff, that strange dreams often come to me, not by night only, but by daytime. Sometimes when I am gliding over the stream in my canoe, or following the windings of the river, I forget your caution about keeping my wits about me, and I fall to thinking of the past, and of the future. I have done it of late very frequently, and a feeling comes over me that I can hardly describe. It has settled down into the belief that something strange is going to happen—something which is to change the whole course of my life, and make me really another person.”