CHAPTER VI.

SAMUEL DICKSON HUNTS A MOOSE DEER.

The traveller who for the first time reaches the Rocky Mountains is amazed at the pile of hills above hills, called by the early discoverer the Sierra of the River of the Wind, that immense reservoir whence flows so many great streams, some flowing into the Atlantic, others into the Pacific.

We now transport our readers to a fork formed by a rather extensive stream, flowing from the Mountains of the Wind, just before it joins the Missouri, in the centre of a vast and delicious valley.

This charming spot, enchanting in its aspect, was covered by scattered thickets, young trees, fat pasturages, and watered by many rills, which fell in all directions in silver cascades from the mountains, and finally lost themselves in the Missouri.

This unknown Eden, buried in the mountains, had been discovered by a hardy explorer, and already the hand of man was at work destroying its savage grandeur. In a word, the squatters were at work.

Squatters are generally men of restless habits, greedy of exertions, no matter what they may be, impatient of control, and sworn enemies of the peaceful and regular life of the great centres of population. Gifted with the courage of a lion, of a will--or, rather, obstinacy--which nothing can conquer, these men of indomitable energy, in whose hearts ferment the most violent passions, are the true pioneers of the desert and the vanguard of civilisation in the New World.

Accustomed to place themselves above the law, as soon as the tide of civilisation always rising reaches them, they abandon without regret all they possess--houses and land--and snatching up their hatchets, bury themselves gaily still further in the desert, until they find another suitable site, on which they squat.

There is no one to contest their claim. At all events, to do so would be a rather imprudent enterprise, for they at once appeal to their rifle, and make that the legal arbitrator.

Joshua Dickson was a true specimen of a squatter; his whole life had been one long pilgrimage across the States of the Union. Weary of rambling within the purlieus of civilisation, where he always felt uneasy, one day, as we have already recorded, he came to a final resolution, and, abandoning all that he possessed, he started with his family and servants in search of a land where none before had ever set their foot.

We cannot relate all the incidents of his journey without guide or map. They would fill a volume. We come to the point. One night they had fixed their camp near a very narrow and wooded gorge. It appearing to be rather a difficult spot to travel in the dark, and there being no hurry, they had halted by a small stream, in the midst of a green prairie, which offered admirable pasturage for their beasts and horses.

Before daybreak, while his companions still slept, Samuel Dickson rose, took his rifle, and advanced in the direction of the defile, with the double object of examining the locality and of shooting, if possible, two or three head of game for the morning repast, provisions being rare in camp, so much so that the night before they had gone to bed almost without supper.

Harry Dickson, who acted as sentry, alone saw him go out, but as his uncle did not speak, he did not venture to make any observation.

Samuel Dickson went away with his rifle on his shoulder, whistling "Yankee Doodle," and shortly after disappeared in the tall grass without his nephew being able to make out in what direction he had gone.

Seen by the light of morn the defile was not so choked up by trees and bushes as it had seemed in the dusk of the evening; the entrance only was marked by a curtain of young trees, which would easily succumb to a few blows of a hatchet.

The American pushed forward, cutting a passage with his bowie knife, resolved to reach the extremity of the defile, in order to examine it thoroughly and report to his brother.

Suddenly a moose deer bounded across his path.

"There is a demon who does not suffer from rheumatism. How he runs! But remember, my friend, that's your breakfast."

With which words he took to his heels, and, catching sight of the deer, followed him up through the dense undergrowth, without being able to get a shot at him. This went on for about twenty minutes, during which, his rifle at full cock, he never looked to the right or left. Suddenly the moose deer stood still, as if he sniffed another enemy in the direction in which he was going.

The American lost no time, but took steady aim for a second or two and fired.

The stricken deer bounded into the air, and then once more took to its heels.

But the hunter was determined not to lose him. Unhappily, however, in his eagerness, he did not look before him, and just as he thought the deer began to droop, while he increased his speed his foot slipped and he went head over heels, falling a height of about fifteen feet, to alight upon a kind of pavement of hard flint stones.

The fall was so heavy that the American not only was bruised all over, but fainted.

A feeling of coolness suddenly came over him, and caused him to open his eyes.

He looked wildly around him, and saw a young man of about seven-and-twenty, in the costume of a trapper, his handsome face bent over him with a look of deep solicitude, while he bathed his face with a handkerchief soaked with water.

"Are you better, Mr. Samuel?" said the other.

"Hem!" cried the American; "Am I mad?"

"Not in the least, Master Samuel, at least, that I am aware of," was the reply.

"But what has happened?" cried the other, with an awful grimace.

"A very simple thing: you shot a deer, and in your eagerness to catch him you did not notice that you were on the summit of an eminence, and so rolled over, to the detriment of your bones."

"A very simple thing!" groaned the other; "You speak very complacently, Master George. Is anything broken?"

"Nothing. I examined you carefully--nothing but bruises, of that I am sure."

"Cursed deer! If I only had secured it. But the brute escaped me after all."

"No, my friend. You are too good a shot to miss your aim. There lies your game, quite dead."

"Thank goodness! That is lucky. But oh! Oh! I feel as if I had received a severe beating. Help me up."

"But had you not better rest a while?"

"Go to the deuce. I am not a whining sniggler, like my niece," he began; "by the way," he added, "that puts me in mind! Young man--"

"Allow me to help you up--take my arm. I am strong; so lean as heavily as you like. There, you are all right. Your rifle will serve you as a staff."

Thanks to the assistance of the young man, the American contrived to stand on his legs, making horrible grimaces and groaning all the time.

"I wish my brother had been anywhere, with his mad notion of emigration," he said, grumbling; "but that is not the immediate question. Will you answer me?"

"I am quite ready. You cannot carry the deer--shall I hang it up in safety until you send for it?"

"Will you answer me?" cried Samuel, ferociously.

"You have not yet asked me any question," said the young man, gently.

The American looked at him with considerable anger in his glance; then his muscles relaxing, he burst out laughing.

"Forgive me, George," he said, offering his hand. "I am an old fool. I am trying to get up a quarrel with you, instead of thanking you for your kindness. In truth, I believe you have saved my life."

"You exaggerate, Mr. Samuel," replied the other.

"Between you and me, I don't think so. What would have become of me, fainting in the desert?"

"Chance brought me here."

"Oh, yes! Chance has very broad shoulders," answered the American: "I suppose it brought you out here."

The young man held down his head and blushed.

"Well, well, I won't tease you, George," cried Samuel; "you are a noble and generous fellow, and I loved your father."

"As you do his son," responded the other.

"I suppose it is so. But this being understood, let us talk like two old friends."

"I am at your command."

"Always the same eternal chorus. Now I do not want to dive into your secrets, but without going beyond the limits of politeness, allow me to ask you one simple question," said Samuel.

"Ask; and if it be in my power, I will answer truthfully," replied the other.

"Hem! You are confoundedly close. First let us sit down. I am all aches and pains."

The young man gently led him to a soft mound of turf, helped him to be seated, and followed his example.

"Now I am good for an hour. Let us chat."

"I am your most obedient servant to command."

"How is it, Mr. George Clinton," began the old man, with a sly look, "that three months ago I left you at Boston at the head of a large house of business, and that I now find you dressed like a runner of the woods, hundreds of miles from the nearest settlement, just ready to save my life."

"If my journey served me no other purpose, I am thankful--still I own there is another motive."

"I am glad to hear you say so. May I ask its nature?"

"Well, Master Samuel," began Clinton, "I am young, vigorous, and passionately fond of field sports; I am a good shot, and very much inclined for a free and independent life. Many times while at Boston chance brought me in contact with persons who have accomplished wonderful journeys into the almost unknown interior of our vast continent, and who brought back astounding accounts of what they saw; my curiosity was aroused, and I felt within myself a strong desire to attempt one of these expeditions in search of the unknown."

"Or the ideal," smiled the American.

"If you like it. As long as my father was alive I kept my ideas to myself, but as soon as my actions were quite free my old ideas were revived. An opportunity presented itself which I eagerly embraced. Confiding my house of business to a trustworthy partner, I started."

"You had a definite object, I suppose?"

"No; I went wherever chance or my feelings urged me," the other answered.

"My young friend," said Dickson, laughing, "chance plays too great a part in all this. You will excuse me if I don't believe a word of your story."

"You are not generous, sir."

"I am not generous?"

"You will not believe that a young man could give way to his adventurous instincts; and yet you, a wise man, very much older than I am, you, whose position was settled, I find you here, without being able to give the slightest explanation of your conduct."

"Well answered, George. You hit me hard, but you know I am an old fool. I am so, as sure as fate. Yes, my friend, I am mad enough for a straitjacket. But at the same time, I can see that you will not make me your confidant."

"I assure you--" began Clinton.

"What is the use of holding out any longer? You must rely on me in the end; but when you do come to me with the truth, it will be my turn."

"You are not angry with me?"

"No, my boy: keep your secrets; but remember I am your friend. Keep your own counsel then, if you will--it concerns only yourself. But remember, whenever you want me, I am ready," he answered.

"I know not how to thank you."

"What nonsense! You owe me nothing. It is I who am your debtor. But it is getting late, and I must return to the camp, where they must be getting anxious. Thanks to my rest I feel not only able to walk, but to carry the confounded deer."

"Wait, however, while I clean and skin him. It will then be easier."

"You are quite right. Be quick, as we are short of food."

"But the country is enormously rich in game, and what a beautiful spot!"

"It certainly is," replied Samuel, after which his young friend soon prepared the game so as to be easily carried.

"And now take my arm while I lead you through the defile, which is the only way out of the valley."

And so they started, Samuel walking much better than he expected, though suffering much.

"One favour," said the young man, after a time.

"What is it, my friend?" asked Samuel.

"Say not one word of our meeting."

"Since you wish it, I will be strictly silent on the subject. Like other people I know, I will invent some sort of story--it is not difficult."

The young man smiled, and shook him heartily by the hand. Then Samuel Dickson walked away in the direction of the camp, while George busied himself in the valley.