Spider stopped an’ looked at me. “This is goin’ too far,” sez he. “It’s bad enough to try to fool some one into believin’ ’at Eugene’s a genuwine trapper; but you couldn’t make a rag doll believe ’at Columbus was a grizzly bear.”
“You go borrow that squaw dress from Ike Spargle, an’ then we’ll see how much like a trapper Eugene’ll look,” sez I.
I went on an’ found ’at Eugene had done a master job o’ wig makin’, even fixin’ false eyebrows, an’ when he put on ol’ man Dort’s hair-crop he locked older ’n the human race. As soon as Spider came in with the squaw dress, we put it on Eugene; and while he didn’t look like anything I’d ever seen before, he looked more like the first man ’at ever started trappin’ than like anything else, an’ Spider Kelley nearly had a convulsion.
We bunked with Eugene that night; but he kept us awake bemoanin’ his cruel fate until Spider threatened to drown him head first in a bucket o’ water and after that we had a little go at slumberin’. I routed ’em out about two an’ drilled ’em up to the high ground above Spear Crick, where we waited until sun-up. Eugene was wearin’ his trapper riggin’, and in the starlight, he sure was a ghastly sight.
Just across from us on the other side o’ the crick was Sholte’s Knoll, and when the sun rose, I lined us up to be just in a direct line with it across the knoll. Both Eugene, and Spider bothered me with questions and discouragin’ kicks; but I felt purty sure my scheme would work, and only told ’em what was really for their good.
The crick ran south in a gorge, and just below us it ran into Rock River, which came from the east and made a sharp turn to the south just where Spear Crick ran into it. After the sun was up, we climbed down a circlin’ trail until we came to Rock River. Eugene refused to try to ford it; but Spider and I went across and up to Ivan’s Knoll. Rock River was bigger than Spear Crick, and Ivan’s Knoll was bigger than Sholte’s Knoll; but not one tenderfoot in a million could have told ’em apart, and Spider got gleeful at the plan—except that he kept at me to know who I was tryin’ to land. Back of Ivan’s Knoll was a round hole about ten feet across, called the Bottomless Pit, because the’ was no bottom to it. After examinin’ this place, we went on and crossed Rock River again until we came out at Sholte’s Knoll across from where the shootin’ was to be done.
“What you are to do, Spider,” sez I, “is to be at this place before dawn with Columbus tied by a stout cord. Tie him to the rock at the south end of the knoll by a weak cord, then pass your stout cord up over that jag o’ rock at the top, and just as soon as the sun hits the knoll, pull hard enough to break the weak cord, lead him gently up the slope until he has been shot at several times, then—”
“Is Eugene, that genuwine, ancient trapper goin’ to do the shootin’?” interrupted Spider.
“He is not,” sez I. “If Columbus gets shot, all you’ll have to do will be to wind around to Boggs and meet me there. If he don’t get shot, you can either turn him adrift, kill him yourself, or pack him back to ol’ man Dort’s, accordin’ to the dictates o’ your own conscience. I’ll bring the party ’at does the shootin’ up to Ivan’s Knoll, an’ make him think the bear has fallen down the Bottomless Pit after he was shot.”
“Happy,” sez Spider, “hanged if I believe it’ll go through; and I won’t be a sucker unless you tell me who is to do the shootin’.”