"Thar ain't a track as leaves its mark upon the plains or mountains but you can read off-hand; that I've see'd myself. But tell me, old hoss, can you make understand the sign as shows itself in a woman's breast?"
Killbuck removed the pipe from his mouth, raised his head, and puffed a rolling cloud of smoke into the air,—knocked the ashes from the bowl, likewise made his medicine—and answered thus:—"From Red River, away up north among the Britishers, to Heely (Gila) in the Spanish country— from old Mis sour a to the Sea of Californy, I've trapped and hunted. I knows the Injuns and thar sign, and they knows me, I'm thinkin'. Thirty winters has snowed on me in these hyar mountains, and a nigger or a Spaniard * would larn some in that time. This old tool" (tapping his rifle) "shoots center, she does; and if thar's game afoot, this child knows bull from cow, and ought to could. That deer is deer, and goats is goats, is plain as paint to any but a greenhorn. Beaver's a cunning critter, but I've trapped a heap; and at killing meat when meat's a-running, I'll shine in the biggest kind of crowd. For twenty year I packed a squaw along. Not one, but a many. First I had a Blackfoot—the darndest slut as ever cried for fofarraw. I lodge-poled her on Colter's Creek, and made her quit. My buffler hoss, and as good as four packs of beaver, I gave for old Bull-tail's daughter. He was head chief of the Ricaree, and came nicely round me. Thar wrasn't enough scarlet cloth, nor beads, nor vermilion in Sublette's packs for her. Traps wouldn't buy her all the fofarraw she wanted; and in two years I'd sold her to Cross-Eagle for one of Jake Hawken's guns—this very one I hold in my hands. Then I tried the Sioux, the Shian, and a Digger from the other side, who made the best moccasin as ever I wore. She was the best of all, and was rubbed out by the Yutas in the Bayou Salade. Bad was the best; and after she was gone under I tried no more.
* Always alluding to Mexicans, who are invariably called
Spaniards by the Western Americans.
"Afore I left the settlements I know'd a white gal, and she was some punkins. I have never see'd nothing as 'ould beat her. Red blood won't shine any ways you fix it; and though I'm h——for sign, a woman's breast is the hardest kind of rock to me, and leaves no trail that I can see of. I've hearn you talk of a gal in Memphis County; Mary Brand you called her oncest. The gal I said I know'd, her name I disremember, but she stands before me as plain as Chimley Rock on Platte, and thirty year and more harn't changed a feature in her face, to me.
"If you ask this child, he'll tell you to leave the Spanish slut to her Greasers, and hold on till you take the trail to old Missoura, whar white and Christian gals are to be had for axing. Wagh!" La Bonté rose to his feet. The mention of Mary Brand's name decided him; and he said —"Darn the Spaniard! she can't shine with me. Come, old hoss! let's move."
And shouldering their rifles, the two companeros returned to the Ranch. More than one of the mountaineers had fulfilled the object of their journey, and had taken to themselves a partner from amongst the belles of Taos, and now they were preparing for their return to the mountains. Dick Wooton was the only unfortunate one. He had wooed a damsel whose parents peremptorily forbade their daughter to wed the hunter, and he therefore made ready for his departure with considerable regret.
The day came, however. The band of mountaineers were already mounted, and those with wives in charge were some hours on the road, leaving the remainder quaffing many a stirrup-cup be-, fore they left. Dick Wooton was as melancholy as a buffalo bull in spring; and as he rode down the village, and approached the house of his ladylove, who stood wrapped in reboso, and cigarito in mouth, on the sill of the door, he turned away his head as if dreading to say adios. La Bonté rode beside him, and a thought struck him.
"Ho, Dick!" he said, "thar's the gal, and thar's the mountains: shoot sharp's the word."
Dick instantly understood him, and was "himself again." He rode up to the girl as if to bid her adieu, and she came to meet him. Whispering one word, she put her foot upon his, was instantly seized round the waist, and placed upon the horn of his saddle. He struck spurs into his horse, and in a minute was out of sight; his three companions covering his retreat, and menacing with their rifles the crowd which was soon drawn to the spot by the cries of the girl's parents, who had been astonished spectators of the daring rape.
The trapper and his bride, however, escaped scatheless, and the whole party effected a safe passage of the mountains, and reached the Arkansa, where the band was broken up,—some proceeding to Bent's Fort, and others to the Platte, amongst whom were Killbuck and La Bonté, still in company.