“Fear God, but fear no man. Never lie, or sneak, or truckle for favor. Never betray a trust. Never be cruel to man or beast. Never inflict pain deliberately, but never be afraid to meet it if you must. Be kind, be honest, be daring. Be a man, and you will be a gentleman.” This was my uncle’s simple code; and as I get older, and see more of life, I am inclined to think there is none better.
My uncle sent me to the Jesuit college, and I went through as well as I could, because he trusted me to do so. I did not set the college world afire, but I stood fairly in my classes, and was first in athletics, and my old soldier uncle cared for that with ill-concealed pride.
When I left the student’s life, and began to look about on real life and wonder where to take hold of it, I was so restless and overflowing with health and strength that I could not settle down to anything, and the fever for life on the plains came upon me. I longed to be off to the wild and woolly West—the wilder and woollier the better—before I assumed the shackles of civilization forever.
“Go if you choose, Jack,” my uncle said. “Men are a better study than books, after you’ve been grounded in the latter. Begin the study in the primer of an aboriginal race, if you like; indeed it may be best. There’s plenty of time to decide on your future, for, as you’re to be my heir, there’s no pressing need of beginning labor.”
My uncle had the necessary influence to get me appointed as an engineer with a party which was to survey for a railroad among the mountains of New Mexico and Arizona—a position I was competent to fill, as I had chosen civil engineering as my future profession, and had studied it thoroughly.
I scarcely realized that I was going till I found myself in St. Louis, where I was to meet the scouts of the party, who would take me with them to join the surveyors at the scene of our labors. On the night after my arrival I invited the senior scout, Sam Hawkins, to sup with me, in order that I might make his acquaintance before starting in the morning.
I do not know whether the Wild West Show was unconsciously in my mind, but when Mr. Hawkins appeared at the appointed time I certainly felt disappointed to see him clad in ordinary clothes and not in the picturesque costume of Buffalo Bill, till I reflected that in St. Louis even a famous Indian scout might condescend to look like every-day mortals.
“So you’re the young tenderfoot; glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” he said, and held out his hand, smiling at me from an extraordinary face covered with a bushy beard of many moons’ growth and shadowed by a large nose a trifle awry, above which twinkled a pair of sharp little eyes.
My guest surprised me not a little, after I had responded to his greeting, by hanging his hat on the gas-fixture, and following it with his hair.
“Don’t be shocked,” he said calmly, seeing, I suppose, that this was unexpected. “You will excuse me, I hope, for the Pawnees have taken my natural locks. It was a mighty queer feeling, but fortunately I was able to stand it. I went to Tacoma and bought myself a new scalp, and it cost me a roll of good dollars. It doesn’t matter; the new hair is more convenient than the old, especially on a warm day, for I never could hang my own wig up like that.”