The deserter made remarkably good time for a boy who had been worn almost to a shadow of his former self by hard fare and harder treatment, settling down in a rapid walk at intervals, and then breaking into a run again when he reached a street in which there were but few people to observe his movements, and was finally brought to a stand-still by a sign which caught his eye—J. Brown, gunsmith.
The words drove all thoughts of the mate out of his mind, and suggested to him a new train of reflections. He was out of danger for the present—he had been running fully half an hour, as nearly as he could guess at the time—and had leisure to ponder upon a question which just then arose in his mind. Here was a chance to provide himself with as much of a hunter’s outfit as his limited supply of money would purchase. Should he improve it, or wait until some future day? It was a matter that could not be decided on the spur of the moment, so Guy seated himself on a dry-goods box in front of a store opposite the gunsmith’s, and thought about it.
After he had recovered a little of his wind, and got his brain in working order, Guy walked across the street and looked in at the gunsmith’s window. He saw there everything a hunter could possibly need—rifles, shotguns, hunting-knives, revolvers, game-bags, traps, and fishing-tackle—such a variety, in fact, that Guy could not at once make up his mind what he wanted most. The window on the other side of the door was filled with saddles, bridles, blankets, spurs and ponchos. As Guy looked at them a second question arose in his mind.
“Now, how am I going to get my horse?” he asked himself. “I must have one, for I never heard of a hunter traveling about on foot. It wouldn’t look well. Besides, what if I should happen to get into a fight with Indians or grizzly bears? Why, I’d be rubbed out sure. And if I can think up some way to get a horse, how am I going to earn the money to buy a saddle and bridle for him? Great Scott! there’s always some drawback to my plans.”
And this seemed to be a serious drawback, too. Whenever Guy had indulged in his day-dreams, he had always imagined himself a prosperous and famous hunter, with all the comforts and luxuries of his calling at his command. The question had sometimes forced itself upon his mind, how was he to get all these things? But it was always an unwelcome one, and was dismissed with the comforting reflection that it would be time enough to worry about such little matters when he stood in need of them. That was the way he disposed of the horse question now.
“I’ll get my gun and other things I need, and think about a horse some other time,” he thought. “Perhaps I can buy one already trained from some friendly Indian for a plug or two of tobacco; and, by the way, I guess I had better get some tobacco for that purpose. Or, I may find a hunting-ground so well stocked with game that I can trap and shoot enough beaver and otter in a few days to pay for a good horse. But the mischief of it is, I don’t know how to hunt and trap those animals, and there’s that book I need so much on board the Santa Maria. No matter, I’ll wiggle through some way. What I want just now is a shooting-iron.”
So saying, Guy opened the door and went into the gun-shop.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE RANCHMAN.
