In our first chapter, we mentioned that Hugh Robison, when, to the eyes of the eager Indians he made his appearance, was accompanied by a companion, who was none other than Parsons himself.
Jake, by the way, was something of a character—characters are frequently met with in the far West. Though a painter might hope to convey a pretty fair idea of his face; an author could scarce hope to give a respectable description, for, but one distinctive feature could be mentioned, and that was hair. The hair on top of his head was long, but that on his face and chin was, if any thing, longer. A weather-beaten old hat, slouched over the whole, gave him a rather ruffianly appearance, utterly at variance with his real disposition. His voice was by no means unmelodious. As has already been hinted, he was somewhat addicted to “blowing;” but, fighting imaginary battles, as he sometimes did, he was not, for that, any the worse a fighter in the general scrimmage of an Indian melee. Self-reliant and courageous, he cared little for companions, and was willing at any moment to set out upon a trapping excursion into the very heart of the country of a hostile tribe. From such an expedition was he returning, when he fell in with Hugh, and was fortunately with him, when he ran so near a chance of being taken prisoner. Hardly had the excitement of retreat subsided, when the natural feelings of the young man began to find expression, he hardly thought of pursuit. The trapper, on the contrary, took a more philosophical view of the case, and in words well suited for the purpose, cheered up the young man’s spirits.
“I tell ye, Hugh, it ain’t as bad as it mout be. Neither on ’em’s hurt; they have a long journey afore ’em, an’ it’ll be darned queer ef we can’t git ’em out o’ bad hands afore they stop. When ye’ve seen as much as I hev, ye’ll not give in so soon to misfortun’!”
“But, what can we two do against so many?”
“Waugh! Don’t ye know that Jack Howell has seen ’em, an’ that Ned Hawkins will be on the trail afore to-morrow night. They’re in camp, not forty miles from here, and will scent the game right away. Ef we foller strait on ahindt—we’ll be in at the death, sure.”
“You know more about such matters than I do, and so I put myself in your hands. Do whatever you think best, and rest assured that I will aid you.”
“What do yer make out of that, yonder? It looks to me rather like a rise of smoke, though, they’d hardly be fools enough to light a fire.”
“It must be a cloud, and yet—”
“Ef I’m mistaken, why then, may grizzlies eat me. They are a campin’ in them old lodges what the Crows left, when they war on a big buff’ler hunt up yonder. I know the lay of the land, fust rate, an’ ef you stay here, I’ll go ahead an’ reconnoiter a bit. I can’t tell exactly whether we kin do any good, but, I kin, when I see ’em once.”