"Very clear of it, gentlemen, for by the time I got my rifle loaded, here came the other two red skins, shouting and whooping close on me, and away I broke again like a quarter horse. I was now about five miles from the settlement, and it was getting towards sunset; I ran till my wind began to be pretty short, when I took a look back and there they came snorting like mad buffaloes, one about two or three hundred yards ahead of the other, so I acted possum again until the foremost Injin got pretty well up, and I wheeled and fired at the very moment he was 'drawing a bead' on me; he fell head over stomach into the dirt, and up came the last one!"
"So you laid for him and – " gasped several.
"No," continued the "member," "I didn't lay for him, I hadn't time to load, so I layed legs to ground, and started again. I heard every bound he made after me. I ran and ran, until the fire flew out of my eyes, and the old dog's tongue hung out of his mouth a quarter of a yard long!"
"Phe-e-e-e-w!" whistled somebody.
"Fact! gentlemen. Well, what I was to do I didn't know – rifle empty, no big trees about, and a murdering red Indian not three hundred yards in my rear; and, what was worse, just then it occurred to me that I was not a great ways from a big creek, (now called Mill Creek,) and there I should be pinned at last.
"Just at this juncture I struck my toe against a root, and down I tumbled, and my old dog over me. Before I could scrabble up – "
"The Indian fired!" gasped the old woodsman.
"He did, gentlemen, and I felt the ball strike me under the shoulder; but that didn't seem to put any embargo upon my locomotion, for as soon as I got up I took off again, quite freshened by my fall! I heard the red skin close behind me coming booming on, and every minute I expected to have his tomahawk dashed into my head or shoulders.
"Something kind of cool began to trickle down my legs into my boots – "
"Blood, eh? for the shot the varmint gin you," said the old woodsman, in a great state of excitement.
"I thought so," said the Senator, "but what do you think it was?"
Not being blood, we were all puzzled to know what the blazes it could be. When Riley observed —
"I suppose you had – "
"Melted the deer fat which I had stuck in the breast of my hunting shirt, and the grease was running down my legs until my feet got so greasy that my heavy boots flew off, and one hitting the dog, nearly knocked his brains out."
We all grinned, which the "member" noticing, observed —
"I hope, gentlemen, no man here will presume to think I'm exaggerating?"
"O, certainly not! Go on, Mr. – ," we all chimed in.
"Well, the ground under my feet was soft, and being relieved of my heavy boots, I put off with double quick time, and seeing the creek about half a mile off, I ventured to look over my shoulder to see what kind of a chance there was to hold up and load. The red skin was coming jogging along pretty well blowed out, about five hundred yards in the rear. Thinks I, here goes to load any how. So at it I went – in went the powder, and putting on my patch, down went the ball about half-way, and off snapped my ramrod!"
"Thunder and lightning!" shouted the old woodsman, who was worked up to the top-notch in the "member's" story.
"Good gracious! wasn't I in a pickle! There was the red whelp within two hundred yards of me, pacing along and loading up his rifle as he came! I jerked out the broken ramrod, dashed it away and started on, priming up as I cantered off, determined to turn and give the red skin a blast any how, as soon as I reached the creek.
"I was now within a hundred yards of the creek, could see the smoke from the settlement chimneys; a few more jumps and I was by the creek. The Indian was close upon me – he gave a whoop, and I raised my rifle; on he came, knowing that I had broken my ramrod and my load not down; another whoop! whoop! and he was within fifty yards of me! I pulled trigger, and – "
"And killed him?" chuckled Riley.
"No, sir! I missed fire!"
"And the red skin – " shouted the old woodsman in a phrenzy of excitement —
"Fired and killed me!"
The screams and shouts that followed this finale brought landlord Noble, servants and hostlers, running up stairs to see if the house was on fire!
Dodging the Responsibility
"Sir!" said Fieryfaces, the lawyer, to an unwilling witness, "Sir! do you say, upon your oath, that Blinkins is a dishonest man?"
"I didn't say he was ever accused of being an honest man, did I?" replied Pipkins.
"Does the court understand you to say, Mr. Pipkins, that the plaintiff's reputation is bad?" inquired the judge, merely putting the question to keep his eyes open.
"I didn't say it was good, I reckon."
"Sir!" said Fieryfaces, "Sir-r! upon your oath – mind, upon your oath, upon your oath, you say that Blinkins is a rogue, a villain and a thief!"
"You say so," was Pip's reply.
"Haven't you said so?"
"Why, you've said it," said Pipkins, "what's the use of my repeating it?"
"Sir-r!" thundered Fieryfaces, the Demosthenean thunderer of Thumbtown, "Sir-r! I charge you, upon your sworn oath, do you or do you not say – Blinkins stole things?"
"No, sir," was the cautious reply of Pipkins. "I never said Blinkins stole things, but I do say —he's got a way of finding things that nobody lost!"
"Sir-r," said Fieryfaces, "you can retire," and the court adjourned.
A Night Adventure in Prairie Land
"I'll take a circuit around, and come out about the lower end of your mot,"1 said I to my companion. "You remain here; lie down flat, and I'll warrant the old doe and her fawns will be found retracing their steps."
We had started from camp about sunrise, to hunt, three of us; one, an old hunter, who, after marking out our course, giving us the lay of the land, and various admonitions as to the danger of getting too far from camp, looking out for "Injin signs," &c., "Old Traps," as we called him, took a tour southward, and left us. Myself and companion were each armed with rifles; his a blunt "Yeager," by the way, and mine an Ohio piece, carrying about one hundred and twenty balls to the pound, consequently very light, and not a very sure thing for a distance over one hundred yards. It was in the fall of the year, delightful weather: our wardrobe consisted of Kentucky jean trousers, boots, straw hats, two shirts, and jean hunting shirts – all thin, to be sure, but warm and comfortable enough for a day's hunt. We trudged about until noon, firing but once, and then at an alligator in a bayou, whose coat of mail laughed to scorn our puny bullets, and, barely flirting his horny tail in contempt, he slid from his perch back into the greasy and turbid stream. Seating ourselves upon a dead cotton-wood, we made a slight repast upon some cold pone, which, moistened with a drop of "Mon'galy," proved, I must needs confess, upon such occasions, viands as palatable as a Tremont dinner to a city gourmand. While thus quietly disposed, all of a sudden we heard a racket in our rear, which, though it startled us at first, soon apprised us that game was at hand. Dropping low, we soon saw, a few yards above us, the large antlers of a buck. He darted down the slight bluffs, followed by a doe and two well-grown fawns.
As they gained the water, and but barely stuck their noses into the drink, we both let drive at them: but, in my rising upon my knee to fire at the buck, he got wind of the courtesies I was about to tender him, and absolutely dodged my ball. I was too close to miss him; but, as he "juked" – to use an old-fashioned western word – down his head the moment he saw fire, the bullet merely made the fur fly down his neck, and, with a back bound or double somerset, he scooted quicker than uncorked thunder.
Our eyes