By following this profession he could combine business with amusement, as there were other hunters making a very good thing of it, by supplying the citizens of Jacksonville with venison and bear meat.
Stormy prosecuted his new calling for about three days. At the end of that time he had been taught three things. One was, that hunting was hard work—harder, if possible, than mining. Secondly, he discovered that the amusement of the chase was, after all, not so grand—especially when followed as a profession, or by a man of peculiar inclinations, altogether different to his own. Finally, Stormy arrived at the conclusion, that the business didn’t pay.
The truth is, Stormy was no marksman; and could only hit a barn, by going inside, and closing the door before firing off his piece.
The calling of a hunter was not suited to the old “salt,” nor was it of the kind he required, to keep him from backsliding into his bad habit. He therefore determined to give it up, and take to some other.
While deliberating on what was to be done, he again yielded to the old temptation; and got gloriously drunk.
Alas, for poor Stormy! It proved the last intoxication of his life!
The story of his death is too sad to be dismissed in a few words; and when heard, will doubtless be thought deserving of the “full and particular” account here given of it. I record the facts, in all the exactitude and minuteness, with which memory has supplied them to myself.
At that time there was staying in Jacksonville a man known by the name, or soubriquet, of “Red Ned.” I had casually heard of the man, though I had not seen him, as he had only arrived in the place a few days before; and was stopping at one of the gambling taverns, with which that mining village was abundantly provided.
I had heard that Red Ned was a “dangerous man,”—a title of which he was no little vain; and, probably, ever since his arrival in the place, he had been looking for an opportunity of distinguishing himself by some deed of violence.
In my wanderings over the world I have encountered many of those men known as “bullies.” Notwithstanding the infamy attached to the appellation, I have found some of them—perhaps unfortunately for themselves—endowed with genuine courage, while others were mere cowardly wretches—ever seeking to keep up their spurious reputation, by such opportunities as are offered in quarrelling with half-grown lads, and men under the influence of drink.