The Wild Man of the West by Robert Michael Ballantyne (epub e ink reader TXT) 📕

a-- a--"

"Lie," suggested Waller.

"No," said Bounce, "it ain't that. I don't like that word. It's a ugly word, an' you shouldn't ought to use it, Waller. It's a _error_; that's wot it is, in a feelosophical pint o' view. Jest as much of a error, now, as it was in you, Mister McLeod, putting so little baccy in this here thing that there ain't none left."

"What! is it all done?" cried McLeod, rising, and seizing the canister; "so it is. I declare you smoke almost as fast as the Wild Man himself; for whom I mistook you, Mr Waller, when I saw you first, at some distance off."

Saying this, he left the room to fetch a further supply of the soothing weed, and at the same moment two squaws appeared, bearing smoking dishes of whitefish and venison.

"That fellow knows something about the Wild Man o' the West," said March Marston in a low, eager tone, to his comrades. "Twice has he mentioned his name since we arrived."

"So he has," observed Redhand, "but there may be other wild men besides our one."

"Unpossible," said Bounce emphatically.

"Ditto," cried Waller still more emphatically; "what say you, Hawkswing?"

"There is but one Wild Man of the West," replied the Indian.

"By the way, Hawkswing, what was the name o' the rascally trader you said was in charge o' this fort when you lived here?" asked Redhand.

"Mokgroggir," replied the Indian.

"Ha, Macgregor, ye mean, no doubt."

Hawkswing nodded.

"Here you are, friends," said McLeod, re-entering the room with a large roll of tobacco. "Help yourselves and don't spare it. There's plenty more where that came from. But I see the steaks are ready, so let us fall to; we can smoke afterwards."

During the repast, to which the trappers applied themselves with the gusto of hungry men, March Marston questioned McLeod about the Wild Man.

"The Wild Man o' the West," said he in some surprise; "is it possible there are trappers in the Rocky Mountains who have not heard of _him_?"

"Oh yes," said March hastily, "we've heard of him, but we want to hear more particularly about him, for the accounts don't all agree."

"Ha! that's it," said Bounce, speaking with difficulty through a large mouthful of fish, "that's it. They don't agree. One says his rifle is thirty feet long, another forty feet, an' so on. There's no gittin' at truth in this here--"

A bone having stuck in Bounce's throat at that moment he was unable to conclude the sentence.

"As to the length of his rifle," said McLeod, when the noise made by Bounce in partially choking had subsided, "you seem to have got rather wild notions about that, and about the Wild Man too, I see."

"But he _is_ a giant, isn't he?" inquired March anxiously.

"N-not exactly. Certainly he is a big fellow, about the biggest man I ever saw--but he's not forty feet high!"

March Marston's romantic hopes began to sink. "Then he's an ordinary man just like one o' us," he said almost gloomily.

"Nay, that he is not," returned McLeod, laughing. "Your comrade Waller does indeed approach to him somewhat in height, but he's nothing to him in breadth; and as for ferocity, strength, and activity, I never saw anything like him in my life. He comes sometimes here to exchange his furs for powder and lead, but he'll speak to no one, except in the sharpest, gruffest way. I think he's mad myself. But he seems to lead a charmed life here; for although he has had fights with many of the tribes in these parts, he always puts them to flight, although he fights single-handed."

"Single-handed!" exclaimed Bounce in surprise.

"Ay. I've seen him at it myself, and can vouch for it, that if ever there was a born fiend let loose on this earth it's the Wild Man of the West when he sets-to to thrash a dozen Indians. But I must do him the justice to say that I never heard of him making an unprovoked attack on anybody. When he first came to these mountains, many years ago--before I came here--the Indians used to wonder who he was and what he meant to do. Then after a while, seeing he had a good horse, a good rifle, and plenty of ammunition, they tried to kill him; but the first fellow that tried that only tried it once. He lay in a close thicket nigh to where the Wild Man used to pass from his home in the mountains to places where he used to hunt the elk and the buffalo, so, when he came up, the Indian laid an arrow on his bow. But the Wild Man's eye was sharp as a needle. He stopped his horse, took aim like a flash of lightning, and shot him through the head. I heard this from another Indian that was with the murderin' fellow that was shot. The Wild Man did nothing to the other. He let him escape.

"Of course the relations of the man who was killed were up immediately, and twenty of them set out to murder the Wild Man. They took their horses, spears, and bows, with them, and lay in wait at a place where he was often seen passing. Sure enough up he came, on horseback, at a slow walk, looking as careless and easy as if no blood of a redskin rested on his hand.

"It chanced the day before that day that we had run out of fresh meat, so Mr Macgregor, our commandant here, ordered me to take three of the men, and go out after the buffaloes. Away we went, looking sharp out, however, for some of the Indians had been treated by Macgregor so brutally, I am sorry to say, that we knew our scalps were not safe. Next morning I happened to pass close by the place where the Indians lay in ambush, and we came to the top of a precipice that overlooked the spot. We saw them before they saw us, so we went quietly back into the bush, tied our horses to trees, and lay on the edge of the cliff to watch them.

"In about ten minutes after, we saw the Wild Man riding slowly forward. He was a strange sight. It was the first time I had seen him, although I had often heard of him before.

"Well, on he came, with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground. A dense thicket hid his enemies from him, though not from us, we being so high above them. The Wild Man was armed with his long rifle slung at his back, a hunting-knife, and a small shield, such as the Blackfoot Indians use to protect themselves from arrows. The only unusual sort of weapon he carried was a long sword.

"Not knowing at the time that the Indians were waiting for him, of course I gave no alarm to warn him of his danger. When he came within a hundred yards of the thicket, I saw him push his arm a little further into the handle of the shield. It was but a slight action such as one might perform to ease the arm by change of position; but the redskins are quick-witted. They knew that he suspected they were there, so, giving one tremendous yell, they sent a cloud of arrows at him, and sprang out upon the plain at full gallop with their spears lowered.

"Instead of turning to fly from such an unequal combat, the Wild Man drew his sword and rushed at them like a thunderbolt. His onset was the most awful thing I ever saw in my life. The plain seemed to shake under the tread of his gigantic horse. His hair streamed wildly out behind him, and as he was coming towards me I could see that his teeth were set and his eyes flashed like those of a tiger. The Indians were appalled by the sight. The idea of one man attacking twenty had never occurred to them. They drew up; but it was too late to prevent a shock. There was a yell from the savages, a shout like the roar of a lion from the Wild Man, and two horses and their riders lay on the plain. I saw the long sword gleam for one moment, just as the shock took place, and the head of a savage rolled immediately after along the ground.

"The Indians, though overawed, were brave men. They turned to pursue the flying horseman, but they needed not. The Wild Man was not flying, he was only unable at first to check the headlong pace of his charger. In a few seconds he wheeled about and charged again. The Indians, however, did not await the issue; they turned and fled, and they have ever since remained in the firm belief that the Wild Man is a `great medicine' man, and that no one can kill him. They say that neither arrows nor bullets can pierce his skin, which is an inch thick; that fire and smoke come out of his mouth and eyes, and that his horse is, like himself, invulnerable. I must confess, however, that with the exception of his enormous size and his ferocity, he is, from what I saw of him, much the same as other men."

McLeod concluded his description of this singular being, to which his guests listened open-eyed and mouthed, and helped himself to a buffalo-steak.

"An' what did he when the Indians ran away!" inquired March Marston.

"Oh! he quietly pulled up his horse and let them run. After they were gone, he continued his journey, as slow and cool as if nothing had happened. Few Indians attack him now, except new bands from distant parts of the country, who don't know him; but all who meddle with him find, to their cost, that it would have been better had they let him alone."

"Is he cruel? Does he eat men and childers?" inquired Bounce, commencing a fourth steak with a degree of violent energy that suggested the possibility of his being himself able to do some execution in the cannibal line if necessary.

McLeod laughed. "Oh dear, no; he's not cruel. Neither does he eat human flesh. In fact, he has been known to do some kind acts to poor starving Indians when they least expected it. The real truth is, that he is only fierce when he's meddled with. He never takes revenge, and he has never been known to lift a scalp."

"But what like is he when he comes to trade his furs at the fort here? how does he speak, and in what language?" inquired Marston, who, although delighted with the account given of the strength and valour of the Wild Man of the West, was by no means pleased to learn that he was not an absolute giant, something like the Giant Despair of whom he had read in the "Pilgrim's Progress."

"He's just like a trapper--only he's a tremendous big one--six feet six, if he's an inch, and would make two of the biggest of the present company round the shoulders. But he's very silent, and won't let any one question him. The long and the short of it