Frank in the Woods

“I war used to hard work, but when I got off my hoss that night in Alamo, I war about as tired a man as you ever see. Two days arterward I war back in Monterey agin. Ole Bill didn’t know me, for my face war purty well cut up. I told him the story of the Mexikin gen’ral, an’ arter talkin’ the matter over, me an’ him concluded we would capture that Greaser, an’ started up to head-quarters to have a talk with the kurnel about it.

“‘You can’t do it, boys,’ says he. ‘If Cortinas war an Injun, you would be jist the fellers to do it; but you don’t know enough about soldierin’. Howsomever, you can try.’

“The next mornin’, when me an’ Bill rid up to the kurnel’s head-quarters to bid him good-by, you wouldn’t a knowed us. We had pulled off our huntin’-shirts an’ leggins, an’ war dressed in reg’lar Mexikin style. We left our rifles behind, an’ tuk carbines in their place. We didn’t like to do this; but if we had carried our long shootin’-irons into a Mexikin camp, any one would a knowed what we war. We had our six-shooters and huntin’-knives stowed away in our jackets.

“‘Good-by, kurnel,’ said Bill, shakin’ the ole soldier’s hand. ‘We’ll ketch that Greaser, or you’ll never see us agin.’

“‘Do your best, boys,’ said the kurnel. ‘Bring back the Greaser, an’ the thousand dollars are yourn.’

“We follered the same path that the gen’ral had led me – takin’ keer not to ride too fast, ’cause we didn’t know what we might have for our hosses to do – an’ afore dark we come to the house where me an’ my guide had stopped, an’ knocked at the gate. When it war opened we could see that the place war full o’ Greasers; but that didn’t trouble us any, for we knowed that we should have to go into their camp if we wanted to ketch the gen’ral. We told the Greaser that come to the gate, that we were Mexikin soldiers, an’ wanted to stay there all night, an’ he war as perlite as we could wish – asked us to walk in, an’ sent a man to take keer of our hosses.

“This war the first time we had met a soldier in our new rig, an’ we were a little afeered that he might diskiver who we were; but we could both talk Spanish as well as he could, an’ the rascal didn’t suspect us.

“We asked to see the commandin’ officer, an’ when we found him we reported to him as scouts belongin’ to Gen’ral Santa Anna’s head-quarters, an’ that we had come with very important news for Gen’ral Cortinas. What that news was we didn’t know ourselves; but we knowed that we could get up a purty good story when the time come.

“‘All right,’ said the Greaser cap’n. ‘I’m goin’ up to Gen’ral Cortinas’ camp to-morrow, an’ you can ride right up with me.’

“We touched our hats to him an’ left the room. I hated mighty bad to salute that dirty Greaser jest as I would my kurnel. I had rather put a bullet in his yaller hide; but we war in for it, an’ we knowed that the hull thing depended on our behavin’ ourselves properly. As we passed out o’ the house we met the women, an’ I begun to shake in my boots agin, ’cause I knowed them women had sharp eyes, an’ I war afeered it war all up with us. But they didn’t suspect nothin’, an’ I knowed that we war safe; ’cause if they couldn’t see through the game we war playin’, nobody could.

“Wal, we went out into the yard an’ eat supper, an’ lay down around the fire with them ar dirty Mexikins, an’ listened to their insultin’ talk agin the Americans, an’, in course, jined in with ’em. They thought me an’ ole Bill war lucky dogs in bein’ with a great gen’ral like Santa Anna; but I couldn’t see what there war great in a man who, with an army o’ fifty thousand men, would run from six thousand. But we told ’em a good many things about the gen’ral that I guess they never heered afore, an’ we hadn’t heered of ’em neither; but they believed every thing we said war gospel truth, an’ we made our kalkerlations that in less nor a month the American army would all be prisoners.

“The next mornin’ we made an ’arly start, an’ that arternoon drew up in the Mexikin camp. It war a purty sight, I tell you – nothin’ to be seen but white tents as far as our eyes could reach. There warn’t less nor a hundred thousand men in that ar camp, an’ I begun to feel rather shaky when I thought of our small army at Monterey. While me an’ Bill war lookin’ about, a spruce little Greaser come up, an’ said that Gen’ral Cortinas war waitin’ to see us. We found the rascal in a large tent, with a sentry afore the door, an’ when I sot eyes on him, my fingers ached to ketch him by the throat. He looked jest as he did when me an’ him set out from Monterey together, only he had on a blue uniform.

“‘Wal, boys,’ said he, smilin’ an’ motionin’ us to set down, ‘I understand that you’re from Gen’ral Santa Anna, an’ have news for me.’

“‘Yes, gen’ral,’ said ole Bill, takin’ off his slouch-hat, an’ scratchin’ his head as if thinkin’ what to say. ‘We’ve got news for you. If you want to ketch Cap’n Morgan an’ his band o’ cutthroats, I’ll tell you jest how you can do it.’

“‘How can it be done, my good feller,’ said the gen’ral, rubbin’ his hands. ‘I thought I should capture him the other night, but he had too many men for me.’

“‘Wal,’ said ole Bill, ‘me an’ this feller here’ – pintin’ to me – ’war in Monterey yesterday, an’ heered an order read to Cap’n Morgan to march out o’ the city at midnight, an’ jine Cap’n Davis at Alamo. Now, if you want to ketch him, all you have got to do is to take fifty men, an’ wait for him in the mountains. He has got jest twenty-eight men in his company.’

“‘I’ll do it,’ said the Greaser. ‘But I’ll take a hundred men, to make sure of him. Which road is he going to take?’

“‘That’s what we can’t tell exactly,’ said ole Bill. ‘But me an’ this feller thought that we would come an’ tell you, so that you could have every thing ready, an’ then go back and find out all their plans.’

“‘Very well,’ said the Greaser; an’, arter writin’ somethin’ on a piece o’ paper, he handed it to ole Bill, sayin’: ‘Here’s a pass for you an’ your friend to go in an’ out o’ the lines whenever you please. Now, you go back to Monterey, an’ find out all Cap’n Morgan’s plans, an’ I’ll go out with a hundred men an’ ketch him.’

“This war exactly what me an’ Bill wanted. We were afeered at first that he would send some one else instead o’ goin’ himself; but now we knowed that we war all right; the gen’ral war ourn, an’ no mistake.

“As soon as we got out o’ sight o’ the camp, we made good time, an’ afore midnight we war in the kurnel’s head-quarters. As soon as he heered our story, he sent for one o’ his officers, an’ told him to march ’arly the next evenin’ with eighty men, an’ draw up an ambush, in a deep gorge, through which ran the road that led to Alamo. An’ he ordered Cap’n Morgan, who had reached Monterey the day afore, to be ready to march through that gorge at midnight.

“Arter me an’ Bill had rested a little while, we set out on fresh hosses, an’, in a few hours, were back in the Mexikin camp agin. That arternoon we rid out, side by side, with Gen’ral Cortinas, an’ about ten o’clock in the evenin’ we reached the gorge. Every thing war as silent as death; but I knowed that eighty Western rifles war stowed away among the trees, on each side o’ the road, an’ behind ’em war sturdy hunters an’ trappers, achin’ to send a bullet in among us.

“Arter the gen’ral had fixed his men to suit him, we drawed back into the bushes, an’ waited for Cap’n Morgan to come up. Jest a little afore midnight we heered a faint tramp, an’ in a few minits the rangers swept down into the gorge. For a minit nothin’ war heered but the noise o’ their hosses’ hoofs on the road. It war a fine sight to see them brave men ridin’ right down into that ambush, knowin’, as they did, that death war on each side o’ them. Nigher an’ nigher they come; an’ the gen’ral war about to give the order to fire, when, all to onct, a yell like an Injun’s burst from among the trees, an’ the reports of eighty rifles echoed through the mountains. You never seed a more astonished Greaser nor that Gen’ral Cortinas war about that time.

“‘Carrajo,’ he yelled, ‘you have betrayed me.’

“‘Shouldn’t wonder if we had, you tarnal yaller-hided scoundrel,’ said ole Bill; an’ afore the Greaser could make a move, we had him by the arms, an’ two six-shooters were lookin’ him in the face. His cowardly men didn’t fire a shot, but throwed down their guns, an’ run in every direction. But our boys closed up about ’em, an’ out o’ them ar hundred men that come out to ketch Cap’n Morgan, not half a dozen escaped. The only prisoner we tuk back to Monterey war the gen’ral.”

After Dick had got through his tale, the hunters held a consultation over the state of their larder. As their coffee, bread, and other supplies were exhausted, and they did not like the idea of living on venison and water, they concluded to break up camp. The next morning they packed their baggage into the sled, and, taking a last look at the place where they had spent so many happy hours, set out for Uncle Joe’s cabin, which they reached a little before dark.

CHAPTER XVI

The Lost Wagon-Train

UNCLE Joe met them at the door, and, while they were relieving themselves of their overcoats and weapons, asked innumerable questions about their sojourn in the woods. Dick took the part of spokesman, and described, in his rude, trapper’s style, the scenes through which they had passed, dwelling with a good deal of emphasis on the “keerlessness” displayed by the Young Naturalist in attacking the moose, and in starting off alone to fight the panther. The trapper tried hard to suppress the feelings of pride which he really felt, and favored the young hunter with a look that was intended to be severe, but which was, in fact, a mingling of joy and satisfaction.

Frank bore the scolding which Uncle Joe administered with a very good grace, for he knew that he deserved it.

“I’d like to take the youngster out on the prairy,” said Dick, seating himself before the fire, and producing his never-failing pipe. “I’ll bet that, arter he had follered me and Useless a year or two, he wouldn’t be in no great hurry to pitch into every wild varmint he come acrost.”

Frank made no reply, but taking the cubs from the pockets of his overcoat, allowed them to run about the cabin – a proceeding which the dogs, especially Brave, regarded with suspicion, and which they could not be persuaded to permit, until they had received several hearty kicks and cuffs from their masters.

“You can’t blame the critters,” said the trapper, puffing away at his pipe. “It’s their natur’, an’ I sometimes think that them dogs have a deal more sense than their human masters, an’” —

“Supper’s ready,” interrupted Bob, the cook and man-of-all-work, and this announcement put an end to all further conversation on the subject.

The boys were highly delighted to find themselves seated at a well-filled table once more, and Uncle Joe’s good things rapidly disappeared before their attacks. It made no difference to the trapper, however. With him a few weeks “roughing it” in the woods was, of course, no novelty. A log for a table, and a piece of clean bark for a plate, answered his purpose as well as all the improvements of civilization, which those who have been brought up in the settlements regard as necessary to their very existence.

After supper, they drew their chairs in front of the fire, and Uncle Joe and his brother solaced themselves with their pipes, while Bob busied himself in clearing away the table and washing the dishes.

“This Bill Lawson,” said the trapper, after taking a few puffs at his pipe, to make sure that it was well lighted, “used to take it into his head onct in awhile to act as guide for fellers as wanted to go to Californy. He knowed every inch of the country from St. Joseph to the mines, for he had been over the ground more’n you ever traveled through these yere woods, an’ he was called as good a guide as ever tuk charge of a wagon-train. In course, I allers went with him on these trips, as a sort o’ pack-hoss an’ hunter, cause ole Bill couldn’t think o’ goin’ anywhere without me; an’ I have often thought that the reason why he made them trips as guide, was jest to get a good look at the folks; it reminded him o’ the time when he had parents, an’ brothers an’ sisters. He never laughed an’ joked round the camp-fires, as he used to do when me and him war off alone in the mountains. He hardly ever said a word to any body besides me, an’ allers appeared to be sorrowful. This give him the name of ‘Moody Bill,’ by which he was knowed all through the country. Every trader on the prairy war acquainted with him, an’ he allers tuk out a big train. I never knowed him to lose but one, an’ he lost himself with it. The way it happened war this:

“One night, arter we had got about a week’s journey west of Fort Laramie, we stopped in a little oak opening, where we made our camp. It war right in the heart o’ the wust Injun country I ever see, an’ near a place where me an’ ole Bill had often cached our furs an’ other fixins, an’ which we used as a kind o’ camp when we war in that part o’ the country trappin’ beaver an’ fightin’ Injuns. It war a cave in the side of a mountain, an’ the way we had it fixed nobody besides ourselves couldn’t find it. We never went in or come out of it until arter dark, ’cause the Comanches were a’most allers huntin’ ’bout the mountains, an’ we didn’t want em to break up our harborin’ place. We had made up our minds that, arter we had seed our train safe through, we would come back to our ‘bar’s hole,’ as we called it, an’ spend a month or so in fightin’ the Comanches an’ skrimmagin’ with the grizzlies in the mountains.

“Wal, as I war sayin’ we made our camp, an’ while I war dressin’ a buck I had shot, ole Bill, as usual, leaned on his rifle, an’ watched the emigrants unpack their mules an’ wagons, an’ make their preparations for the night. Arter supper he smoked a pipe, an’ then rolled himself up in his blanket an’ said – ‘Dick, you know this place, but you ain’t no trapper;’ an’, without sayin’ any more, he lay down and went to sleep, leavin’ me to station the guards, an’ see that every thing went on right durin’ the night.

“I knowed well enough what ole Bill meant when he said, ‘Dick, you ain’t no trapper.’ He had seed Injun sign durin’ the day, an’ war pokin’ fun at me, cause I hadn’t seed it too. I don’t know, to this day, how it war that I had missed it, for I had kept a good look-out, an’ I had allers thought that I war ’bout as good an Injun hunter as any feller in them diggins, (allers exceptin’ ole Bill and Bob Kelly;) but the way the ole man spoke tuk me down a peg or two, an’ made me feel wusser nor you youngsters do when you get trounced at school for missin’ your lessons.

“Wal, as soon as it come dark, I put out the guards, an’ then shouldered my rifle, an’ started out to see if I could find any sign o’ them Injuns that ole Bill had diskivered. It war as purty a night as you ever see. The moon shone out bright an’ clear, an’, savin’ the cry of a whippoorwill, that come from a gully ’bout a quarter of a mile from the camp, an’ the barkin’ o’ the prairy wolves, every thing war as still as death. You youngsters would have laughed at the idea o’ goin’ out to hunt Injuns on such a night; but I knowed that there must be somethin’ in the wind, for ole Bill never got fooled about sich things. Here in the settlements he wouldn’t have knowed enough to earn his salt; but out on the prairy he knowed all about things.

“Wal, I walked all round the camp, an’ back to the place where I had started from, an’ not a bit of Injun sign did I see. There war a high hill jest on the other side of the gully, an’ I knowed that if there war any Injuns about, an’ they should take it into their heads to pounce down upon us, they would jest show themselves in that direction; so I sot down on the prairy, outside o’ the wagons, which war drawn up as a sort o’ breastwork round the camp, and begun to listen. I didn’t hear nothin’, however, until a’most midnight, and then, jest arter I had changed the guards, an’ was goin’ back to my place, I heered somethin’ that made me prick up my ears. It war the hootin’ of an owl, an’ it seemed to come from the hill.

“Now, you youngsters would’n’t have seed any thing strange in that; but a man who has spent his life among wild Injuns and varmints can tell the difference atween a sound when it comes from an owl’s throat, and when it comes from a Comanche’s; an’ I to onct made up my mind that it war a signal. Presently from the gully come the song of a whippoorwill. It didn’t sound exactly like the notes I had heered come from that same gully but a few minits afore, an’ I knowed that it war another signal. When the whippoorwill had got through, I heered the barkin’ of a prairy wolf further up the gully to the right o’ the camp; an’ all to onct the wolves, which had been barkin’ an’ quarrelin’ round the wagons, set up a howl, an’ scampered away out o’ sight. This would have been as good a sign as I wanted that there war Injuns about, even if I hadn’t knowed it afore; so I sot still on the ground to see what would be the next move.

“In a few minits I heered a rustlin’ like in the grass a little to one side of me. I listened, an’ could tell by the sound that there was somebody in there, crawlin’ along on his hands an’ knees. Nearer an’ nearer it come, an’ when it got purty clost to me it stopped, an’ I seed an’ Injun’s head come up over the top o’ the grass, an’ I could see that the rascal war eyein’ me purty sharp. I sot mighty still, noddin’ my head a leetle as if I war fallin’ asleep, keepin’ an’ eye on the ole feller all the time to see that he didn’t come none of his Injun tricks on me, and finally give a leetle snore, which seemed to satisfy the painted heathen, for I heered his ‘ugh!’ as he crawled along by me into camp.

“What made you do that?” interrupted Archie, excitedly. “Why didn’t you muzzle him?”

“That the way you youngsters, what don’t know nothin’ about fightin’ Injuns, would have done,” answered the trapper, with a laugh, “an’ you would have had your har raised for your trouble. But, you see, I knowed that he had friends not a great way off, an’ that the fust motion I made to grab the rascal, I would have an arrer slipped into me as easy as fallin’ off a log. But I didn’t like to have the varlet behind me; so, as soon as I knowed that he had had time to get into the camp, I commenced noddin’ agin, an’ finally fell back on the ground, ker-chunk.

“I guess them Injuns that were layin’ round in the grass laughed some when they see how quick I picked up my pins. I got up as though I expected to see a hull tribe of Comanches clost on to me, looked all round, an’, arter stretchin’ my arms as though I had enjoyed a good sleep, I started along toward the place where one o’ the guards war standin’. I walked up clost to him, an’ whispered:

“‘Don’t act as though you thought that any thing was wrong, but keep your eyes on the grass. There’s Injuns about.’

“The chap turned a leetle pale when he heered this; but although he was as green as a punkin, as far as Injun fightin’ war consarned, he seemed to have the real grit in him, for he nodded in a way that showed that he understood what I meant. I then dropped down on all-fours, an’ commenced crawlin’ into the camp to find the Injun. The fires had burned low, an’ the moon had gone down, but still there war light enough for me to see the rascal crawlin’ along on the ground, an’ making toward one of the wagons. When he reached it, he raised to his feet, an’, arter casting his eyes about the camp, to make sure that no one seed him, he lifted up the canvas an’ looked in. Now war my time. Droppin’ my rifle, I sprung to my feet, an’ started for the varlet; but jest as I war goin’ to grab him, one o’ the women in the wagon, who happened to be awake, set up a screechin’. The Injun dropped like a flash o’ lightnin’, an’, dodgin’ the grab I made at him, started for the other side o’ the camp, jumpin’ over the fellers that were layin’ round as easy as if he had wings. I war clost arter him, but the cuss run like a streak; an finding that I war not likely to ketch him afore he got out into the prairy, I jumped back for my rifle an’ tuk a flyin’ shot at him, jest as he war divin’ under a wagon. I don’t very often throw away a chunk o’ lead, an’, judgin’ by the way he yelled, I didn’t waste one that time. He dropped like a log, but war on his feet agin in a minit, an’, without waitin’ to ax no questions, set up the war-whoop. I tell you, youngsters, the sound o’ that same war-whoop war no new thing to me. I’ve heered it often – sometimes in the dead o’ night, when I didn’t know that there war any danger about, an’ it has rung in my ears when I’ve been runnin’ for my life, with a dozen o’ the yellin’ varlets clost to my heels; but I never before, nor since, felt my courage give way as it did on that night. Scarcely a man in the hull wagon-train, exceptin’ me an ole Bill, had ever drawed a bead on an Injun, an’ I war a’most sartin that I should have a runnin’ fight with the rascals afore mornin’.

“The whoop war answered from all round the camp, an’ the way the bullets an’ arrers come into them ar wagons warn’t a funny thing to look at. My shot had ’wakened a’most every one in[Pg camp, but there warn’t much sleepin’ done arter the Injuns give that yell. Men, women, an’ children poured out o’ the wagons, an’ run about, gettin’ in everybody’s way; an’ sich a muss as war kicked up in that ar camp I never heered afore. There war about seventy men in the train, an’ they war all good marksmen, but there war scarcely a dozen that thought o’ their rifles. They kept callin’ on me an’ ole Bill to save ’em, an’ never onct thought o’ pickin’ up their we’pons an’ fightin’ to save themselves; an’, in spite of all we could do, them ar cowardly sneaks would get behind the women an’ children for protection. It war enough to frighten any one; an’ although that ar warn’t the fust muss o’ the kind I had been in, I felt my ole ’coon-skin cap raise on my head when I thought what a slaughter there would be when them Comanches onct got inside o’ the camp. There war only a few of us to fight ’em, an’ we did the best we could, sendin’ back their yells, an’ bringin’ the death-screech from some unlucky rascal at every shot. But the Injuns warn’t long in findin’ out how the land lay, an’, risin’ round us like a cloud, they come pourin’ into camp.”

CHAPTER XVII

The Struggle in the Cave

“ ME an ole Bill warn’t hired to run away, an’ we wouldn’t need to have done it if them ar cowards had stood up to the mark like men; but when I seed them Injuns comin’, I knowed that the game war up – it warn’t no use to fight longer. I jest ketched a glimpse of ole Bill makin’ for his hoss, an’ I did the same, ’cause I knowed that he would stay as long as there war any chance o’ beatin’ back the Injuns.

“To jump on my hoss, an’ cut the lasso with which he war picketed, warn’t the work of a minit, an’ then, clubbin’ my rifle, I laid about me right an’ left, an’ my hoss, knowin’ as well as I did what war the matter, carried me safely out o’ the camp.

“As I rode out on to the prairy, the Injuns started up on all sides o’ me, but my hoss soon carried me out o’ their reach. As soon as I thought I war safe, I hauled up to load my rifle, an’ wait for ole Bill. I felt a leetle oneasy about him, ’cause, if the Comanches should onct get a good sight at him, they would be sartin to know who he war, an’ wouldn’t spare no pains to ketch him; an’ if they succeeded, he couldn’t expect nothin’ but the stake.

“Wal, arter I had loaded up my rifle, an’ scraped some bullets, I started back toward the camp, to see if I could find any thing o’ Bill; an’ jest at that minit I heered a yell that made my blood run cold. By the glare o’ the camp-fires, which the Comanches had started agin, I seed the cause of the yell, for there war ole Bill on foot, an’ makin’ tracks for the gully, with a dozen yellin’ varlets clost at his heels. In course I couldn’t help the old man any; an’, besides, I knowed that they would take him alive at any risk, an’ that, if I kept out o’ the scrape, I might have a chance to save him. Wal, jest at the edge o’ the gully he war ketched, an’ arter a hard tussle – for the ole man warn’t one of them kind that gives up without a fight – he war bound hand an’ foot, an’ carried back to the camp.

“In course the news spread among the Comanches like lightnin’, an’ it had the effect o’ stoppin’ the slaughterin’ that war goin’ on, for the Injuns all wanted to have a look at the man who had sent so many o’ their best warriors to the happy huntin’-grounds.