As Rube said this, he held his rifle close to my eyes, pointing with his finger to a particular part of the stock. I saw two small notches freshly cut in the wood. I knew well enough what these notches meant; they were a registry of the deaths of two Mexicans, who had fallen by the hand or bullet of the trapper. They had not been the only victims of that unerring and deadly weapon. On the same piece of wood-work I could see long rows of similar souvenirs, apart from each other, only differing a little in shape. I knew something of the signification of these horrible hieroglyphics; I knew they were the history of a life fearfully spent—a life of red realities.
The sight was far from pleasant. I turned my eyes away, and remained silent.
“Mark me, young fellur!” continued Rube, who noticed that I was not gratified by the inspection; “don’t mistake Bill Garey an me for wild beests; we ain’t thet quite; we’ve been mighty riled, I reck’n; but f’r all thet, we ain’t a-gwine to take revenge on weemen an childer, as Injuns do. No—weemen an childer don’t count, nor men neyther, unless thur sogers. We’ve no spite agin the poor slaves o’ Mexiko. They never did me nor Bill harm. We’ve been on one skurry, along wi’ the Yutaws, down to the Del Nort settlements. Thur’s whur I made them two nicks; but neyther Bill or me laid a finger on the weemen an childer. It wur bekase the Injuns did, thet we left ’em. We’re jest kum from thur. We want fair fight among Christyun whites; thet’s why we’re hyur. Now, young fellur!”
I was glad to hear Rube talk in this manner, and I so signified to him. Indianised as the old trapper was—with all his savageness, all his reckless indifference to ordinary emotions—I knew there was still a touch of humanity in his breast. Indeed, on more than one occasion, I had witnessed singular displays of fine feeling on the part of Rube. Circumstanced as he was, he is not to be judged by the laws of civilised life.
“Your intention, then, is to join some corps of rangers, is it not?” I asked after a pause.
“I shed like it,” replied Garey: “I shed like to join your company, capt’n; but Rube hyur won’t consent to it.”
“No!” exclaimed the other with emphasis; “I’ll jine no kumpny. This niggur fights on his own hook. Yur see, young fellur, I hev been all my life a free mountaineeman, an don’t understan sogerin, nohow. I mout make some mistake, or I moutn’t like some o’ the reg’lashuns; thurfor I prefers fightin arter my own fashun. Bill an me kin take care o’ ourselves, I reck’n. Kin we, Bill?—eh, boyee?”
“I guess so, old hoss,” replied Garey mildly; “but for all that, Rube, I think it would be better to go at it in a reglar way—particlarly as the capt’n hyur would make the sogerin part as easy as possible. Wudn’t yur, capt’n?”
“The discipline of my corps is not very severe. We are Rangers, and our duties are different from those of regular soldiers—”
“It ur no use,” interrupted Rube; “I must fight as I’ve allers fit, free to kum an free to go whur I please. I won’t bind myself to nuthin. I moutn’t like it, an mout desart.”