are old, and nearly ready to be laid aside, like their master,” said the old man, regarding his rifle, with a look in which affection and regret were singularly blended; “and I may say they are but little needed, too. You are mistaken, friend, in calling me a hunter; I am nothing better than a trapper.”[*]
[*] It is scarcely necessary to say, that this American word means one
who takes his game in a trap. It is of general use on the
frontiers. The beaver, an animal too sagacious to be easily
killed, is oftener taken in this way than in any other.
“If you ar' much of the one, I'm bold to say you ar' something of the other; for the two callings, go mainly together, in these districts.”
“To the shame of the man who is able to follow the first be it so said!” returned the trapper, whom in future we shall choose to designate by his pursuit; “for more than fifty years did I carry my rifle in the wilderness, without so much as setting a snare for even a bird that flies the heavens;—much less, a beast that has nothing but legs, for its gifts.”
“I see but little difference whether a man gets his peltry by the rifle or by the trap,” said the ill-looking companion of the emigrant, in his rough manner. “The 'arth was made for our comfort; and, for that matter, so ar' its creatur's.”
“You seem to have but little plunder,[*] stranger, for one who is far abroad,” bluntly interrupted the emigrant, as if he had a reason for wishing to change the conversation. “I hope you ar' better off for skins.”
[*] The cant word for luggage in the western states of America is
“plunder.” The term might easily mislead one as to the character
of the people, who, notwithstanding their pleasant use of so
expressive a word, are, like the inhabitants of all new
settlements, hospitable and honest. Knavery of the description
conveyed by “plunder,” is chiefly found in regions more civilised.
“I make but little use of either,” the trapper quietly replied. “At my time of life, food and clothing be all that is needed; and I have little occasion for what you call plunder, unless it may be, now and then, to barter for a horn of powder, or a bar of lead.”
“You ar' not, then, of these parts by natur', friend,” the emigrant continued, having in his mind the exception which the other had taken to the very equivocal word, which he himself, according to the custom of the country, had used for “baggage,” or “effects.”
“I was born on the sea-shore, though most of my life has been passed in the woods.”
The whole party now looked up at him, as men are apt to turn their eyes on some unexpected object of general interest. One or two of the young men repeated the words “sea-shore” and the woman tendered him one of those civilities with which, uncouth as they were, she was little accustomed to grace her hospitality, as if in deference to the travelled dignity of her guest. After a long, and, seemingly, a meditating silence, the emigrant, who had, however, seen no apparent necessity to suspend the functions of his masticating powers, resumed the discourse.
“It is a long road, as I have heard, from the waters of the west to the shores of the main sea?”
“It is a weary path, indeed, friend; and much have I seen, and something have I suffered, in journeying over it.”
“A man would see a good deal of hard travel in going its length!”
“Seventy and five years have I been upon the road; and there are not half that number of leagues in the whole distance, after you leave the Hudson, on which I have not tasted venison of my own killing. But this is vain boasting. Of what use are former deeds, when time draws to an end?”
“I once met a man that had boated on the river he names,” observed the eldest son, speaking in a low tone of voice, like one who distrusted his knowledge, and deemed it prudent to assume a becoming diffidence in the presence of a man who had seen so much: “from his tell, it must be a considerable stream, and deep enough for a keel-boat, from top to bottom.”
“It is a wide and deep water-course, and many sightly towns are there growing on its banks,” returned the trapper; “and yet it is but a brook to the waters of the endless river.”
“I call nothing a stream that a man can travel round,” exclaimed the ill-looking associate of the emigrant: “a real river must be crossed; not headed, like a bear in a county hunt.”[*]
[*] There is a practice, in the new countries, to assemble the men of
a large district, sometimes of an entire county, to exterminate
the beasts of prey. They form themselves into a circle of several
miles in extent, and gradually draw nearer, killing all before
them. The allusion is to this custom, in which the hunted beast is
turned from one to another.
“Have you been far towards the sun-down, friend?” interrupted the emigrant, as if he desired to keep his rough companion as much as possible out of the discourse. “I find it is a wide tract of clearing, this, into which I have fallen.”
“You may travel weeks, and you will see it the same. I often think the Lord has placed this barren belt of prairie behind the States, to warn men to what their folly may yet bring the land! Ay, weeks, if not months, may you journey in these open fields, in which there is neither dwelling nor habitation for man or beast. Even the savage animals travel miles on miles to seek their dens; and yet the wind seldom blows from the east, but I conceit the sound of axes, and the crash of falling trees, are in my ears.”
As the old man spoke with the seriousness and dignity that age seldom fails to communicate even to less striking sentiments, his auditors were deeply attentive, and as silent as the grave. Indeed, the trapper was left to renew the dialogue himself, which he soon did by asking a question, in the indirect manner so much in use by the border inhabitants.
“You found it no easy matter to ford the water-courses, and to make your way so deep into the prairies, friend, with teams of horses and herds of horned beasts?”
“I kept the left bank of the main river,” the emigrant replied, “until I found the stream leading too much to the north, when we rafted ourselves across without any great suffering. The women lost a fleece or two from the next year's shearing, and the girls have one cow less to their dairy. Since then, we have done bravely, by bridging a creek every day or two.”
“It is likely you will continue west, until you come to land more suitable for a settlement?”
“Until I see reason to stop, or to turn ag'in,” the emigrant bluntly answered, rising at the same time, and cutting short the dialogue by the suddenness of the movement. His example was followed by the trapper, as well as the rest of the party; and then, without much deference to the presence of their guest, the travellers proceeded to make their dispositions to pass the night. Several little bowers, or rather huts, had already been formed of the tops of trees, blankets of coarse country manufacture, and the skins of
