MONSIEUR VIOLET (FISCLE PART-IV) by FREDERICK MARRYAT (leveled readers txt) 📕

Worth, I Am Convinced, A Great Deal Of Money.

At The Request Of The Owner, One Of The Present Officers Had Taken

Charge Of The Violin And Packed it Up, Together With His Trunks, In one

Of The Cibolero'S Waggons. We Soon Became Aware Of The Circumstance, And

When We Could Not Get Anything To Eat, Music Became Our Consolation.

Tired as We Were, We Would All Of Us, "At Least The Pale-Faces," Dance

Merrily For Hours Together, After We Had Halted, Till Poor Roche,

Exhausted, Could No Longer Move His Fingers.

We Were At Last Relieved of Our Obligatory Fast, And Enabled to Look

With Contempt Upon The Humble Prickly Pears, Which For Many A Long Day

Had Been Our Only Food. Daily Now We Came Across Herds Of Fat Buffaloes,

And Great Was Our Sport In pursuing The Huge Lord Of The Prairies. One

Of Them, By-The-Bye, Gored my Horse To Death, And Would Likely Have Put

An End To My Adventures, Had It Not Been For The Certain Aim Of Gabriel.

I Had Foolishly Substituted my Bow And Arrows For The Rifle, That I

Might Show My Skill To My Companions. My Vanity Cost Me Dear; For Though

The Bull Was A Fine One, And Had Seven Arrows Driven Through His Neck, I

Lost One Of The Best Horses Of The West, And My Right Leg Was

Considerably Hurt.

Having Been Informed that There Was A Large City Or Commonwealth Of

Prairie Dogs Directly In our Route, I Started on Ahead With My Two

Companions, To Visit These Republicans. We Had A Double Object In view:

First, A Desire To Examine One Of The Republics About Which Prairie

Travellers Have Said So Much; And, Secondly, To Obtain Something To Eat,

As The Flesh Of These Animals Was Said To Be Excellent.

Our Road For Six Or Seven Miles Wound Up The Sides Of A Gently Ascending

Mountain. On Arriving at The Summit, We Found A Beautiful Table-Land

Spread Out, Reaching For Miles In every Direction Before Us. The Soil

Appeared to Be Uncommonly Rich, And Was Covered with A Luxurious Growth

Of Musqueet Trees. The Grass Was Of The Curly Musquito Species, The

Sweetest And Most Nutritious Of All The Different Kinds Of That Grass,

And The Dogs Never Locate Their Towns Or Cities Except Where It Grows In

Abundance, As It Is Their Only Food.

We Had Proceeded but A Short Distance After Reaching This Beautiful

Prairie, Before We Came Upon The Outskirts Of The Commonwealth. A Few

Scattered dogs Were Seen Scampering In, And, By Their Short And Sharp

Yelps, Giving a General Alarm To The Whole Community.

The First Cry Of Danger From The Outskirts Was Soon Taken Up In the

Centre Of The City, And Now Nothing Was To Be Seen In any Direction But

A Dashing and A Scampering Of The Mercurial And Excitable Citizens Of

The Place, Each To His Lodge Or Burrow. Far As The Eye Could Reach Was

Spread The City, And In every Direction The Scene Was The Same. We Rode

Leisurely Along Until We Had Reached the More Thickly Settled portion Of

The City, When We Halted, And After Taking The Bridles From Our Horses

To Allow Them To Graze, We Prepared for A Regular Attack Upon Its

Inhabitants.

The Burrows Were Not More Than Fifteen Yards Apart, With Well-Trodden

Paths Leading In different Directions, And I Even Thought I Could

Discover Something Like Regularity In the Laying Out Of The Streets. We

Sat Down Upon A Bank Under The Shade Of A Musqueet Tree, And Leisurely

Surveyed the Scene Before Us. Our Approach Had Driven Every One In our

Immediate Vicinity To His Home; But Some Hundred yards Off, The Small

Mound Of Earth In front Of A Burrow Was Each Occupied by A Dog Sitting

Straight Up On His Hinder Legs, And Coolly Looking about Him To

Ascertain The Cause Of The Recent Commotion. Every Now And Then Some

Citizen, More Venturous Than His Neighbour, Would Leave His Lodge On A

Flying Visit To A Companion, Apparently To Exchange A Few Words, And

Then Scamper Back As Fast As His Legs Would Carry Him.

By-And-Bye, As We Kept Perfectly Still, Some Of Our Nearer Neighbours

Were Seen Cautiously Poking Their Heads From Out Their Holes And Looking

Cunningly, And At The Same Time Inquisitively, About Them. After Some

Time, A Dog Would Emerge From The Entrance Of His Domicile, Squat Upon

His Looking-Out Place, Shake His Head, And Commence Yelping.

For Three Hours We Remained watching The Movements Of These Animals, And

Occasionally Picking One Of Them Off With Our Rifles. No Less Than Nine

Were Obtained by The Party. One Circumstance I Will Mention As Singular

In The Extreme, And Which Shows The Social Relationship Which Exists

Among These Animals, As Well As The Regard They Have One For Another.

One Of Them Had Perched himself Directly Upon The Pile Of Earth In front

Of His Hole, Sitting Up, And Offering a Fair Mark, While A Companion'S

Head, Too Timid, Perhaps, To Expose Himself Farther, Was Seen Poking Out

Of The Entrance. A Well-Directed shot Carried away The Entire Top Of The

Head Of The First Dog, And Knocked him Some Two Or Three Feet From His

Post, Perfectly Dead. While Reloading, The Other Daringly Came Out,

Seized his Companion By One Of His Legs, And Before We Could Arrive At

The Hole, Had Drawn Him Completely Out Of Reach, Although We Tried to

Twist Him Out With A Ramrod.

There Was A Feeling In this Act--A Something Human, Which Raised the

Animals In my Estimation; And Never After Did I Attempt To Kill One Of

Them, Except When Driven By Extreme Hunger.

The Prairie Dog Is About The Size Of A Rabbit, Heavier, Perhaps, More

Compact, And With Much Shorter Legs. In appearance, It Resembles The

Ground Hog Of The North, Although A Trifle Smaller Than That Animal. In

Their Habits, The Prairie Dogs Are Social, Never Live Alone Like Other

Animals, But Are Always Found In villages Or Large Settlements. They Are

A Wild, Frolicsome Set Of Fellows When Undisturbed, Restless, And Ever

On The Move. They Seem To Take Especial Delight In chattering away The

Time, And Visiting about, From Hole To Hole, To Gossip And Talk Over One

Another'S Affairs; At Least, So Their Actions Would Indicate. Old

Hunters Say That When They Find A Good Location For A Village, And No

Water Is Handy, They Dig A Well To Supply The Wants Of The Community.

On Several Occasions I Have Crept Up Close To One Of Their Villages,

Without Being Observed, That I Might Watch Their Movements. Directly In

The Centre Of One Of Them I Particularly Noticed a Very Large Dog,

Sitting In front Of His Door, Or Entrance To His Burrow, And By His Own

Actions And Those Of His Neighbours, It Really Looked as Though He Was

The President, Mayor, Or Chief; At All Events, He Was The "Big Dog" Of

The Place.

For At Least An Hour I Watched the Movements Of This Little Community;

During That Time, The Large Dog I Have Mentioned received at Least A

Dozen Visits From His Fellow-Dogs, Who Would Stop And Chat With Him A

Few Moments, And Then Run Off To Their Domiciles. All This While He

Never Left His Post For A Single Minute, And I Thought I Could Discover

A Gravity In his Deportment Not Discernible In those By Whom He Was

Addressed. Far Be It From Me To Say That The Visits He Received were

Upon Business, Or Having anything To Do With The Local Government Of The

Village; But It Certainly Appeared as If Such Was The Case. If Any

Animal Is Endowed with Reasoning Powers, Or Has Any System Of Laws

Regulating The Body Politic, It Is The Prairie Dog.

In Different Parts Of The Village The Members Of It Were Seen

Gambolling, Frisking, And Visiting about, Occasionally Turning Heels

Over Head Into Their Holes, And Appearing To Have All Sorts Of Fun Among

Themselves. Owls Of A Singular Species Were Also Seen Among Them; They

Did Not Appear To Join In their Sports In any Way, But Still Seemed to

Be On Good Terms, And As They Were Constantly Entering and Coming Out Of

The Same Holes, They Might Be Considered as Members Of The Same Family,

Or, At Least, Guests. Rattlesnakes, Too, Dwell Among Them; But The Idea

Generally Received among The Mexicans, That They Live Upon Terms Of

Companion Ship With The Dogs, Is Quite Ridiculous, And Without Any

Foundation.

The Snakes I Look Upon As _Loafers_, Not Easily Shaken Off By The

Regular Inhabitants, And They Make Use Of The Dwellings Of The Dogs As

More Comfortable Quarters Than They Could Find Elsewhere. We Killed one

A Short Distance From A Burrow, Which Had Made A Meal Of A Little Pup;

Although I Do Not Think They Can Master Full-Grown Dogs.

This Town, Which We Visited, Was Several Miles In length, And At Least A

Mile In width. Around And In the Vicinity Were Smaller Villages, Suburbs

To The Town. We Kindled a Fire, And Cooked three Of The Animals We Had

Shot; The Meat Was Exceeding Sweet, Tender, And Juicy, Resembling That

Of The Squirrel, Only That There Was More Fat Upon It.

Among These Apaches, Our Companions, Were Two Comanches, Who, Fifteen

Years Before, Had Witnessed the Death Of The Celebrated overton. As This

Wretch, For A Short Time, Was Employed as An English Agent By The Fur

Company, His Wild And Romantic End Will Probably Interest The Many

Readers Who Have Known Him; At All Events, The Narrative Will Serve As A

Specimen Of The Lawless Career Of Many Who Resort To The Western

Wilderness.

Some Forty-Four Years Ago, A Spanish Trader Had Settled among A Tribe Of

The Tonquewas[14], At The Foot Of The Green Mountains. He Had Taken An

Indian Squaw, And Was Living There Very Comfortably, Paying No Taxes,

But Occasionally Levying Some, Under The Shape Of Black Mail, Upon The

Settlements Of The Province Of Santa Fe. In one Excursion, However, He

Was Taken And Hung, An Event Soon Forgotten Both By Spaniards And

Tonquewas. He Had Left Behind Him, Besides A Child And A Squaw, Property

To A Respectable Amount; The Tribe Took His Wealth For Their Own Use,

But Cast Away The Widow And Her Offspring. She Fell By Chance Into The

Hands Of A Jolly, Though Solitary Canadian Trapper, Who, Not Having The

Means Of Selecting His Spouse, Took The Squaw For Better And For Worse.

[Footnote 14: The Tonquewas Tribe Sprang From The Comanches Many Years

Ago.]

In The Meantime The Young Half-Breed grew To Manhood, And Early

Displayed a Wonderful Capacity For Languages. The Squaw Died, And The

Trapper, Now Thinking Of The Happy Days He Had Passed among The

Civilized people Of The East, Resolved to Return Thither, And Took With

Him The Young Half-Breed, To Whom By Long Habit He Had Become Attached.

They Both Came To St. Louis, Where The Half-Breed soon Learned enough Of

English To Make Himself Understood, And One Day, Having Gone With His

"Father-In-Law" To Pay A Visit To The Osages, He Murdered him On The

Way, Took His Horse, Fusil, And Sundries, And Set Up For Himself.

For A Long Time He Was Unsuspected, And, Indeed, If He Had Been, He

Cared very Little About It. He Went From Tribe To Tribe, Living an

Indolent Life, Which Suited his Taste Perfectly; And As He Was Very

Necessary To The Indians As An Interpreter During Their Bartering

Transactions With The Whites, He Was Allowed to Do Just As He Pleased.

He Was, However, Fond Of Shifting From Tribe To Tribe, And The Traders

Seeing Him Now With The Pawnies Or The Comanches, Now With The Crows Or

The Tonquewas, Gave Him The Surname Of "Turn-Over," Which Name, Making a

Somersault, Became Over-Turn, And, By Corruption, Overton.

By This Time Everybody Had Discovered that Overton Was A Great

Scoundrel, But As He Was Useful, The English Company From Canada

Employed him, Paying Him Very High Wages. But His Employers Having

Discovered that He Was Almost