''Bring Me His Ears'' by Clarence E. Mulford (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

knew that bloodshed would start a remorseless sniping warfare along the river that might last for several seasons. At such a game the snipers on the banks, concealed as they would be, could reasonably be expected to run up quite a list of casualties on the boat. This was no new experience for him and he knew that nothing serious would grow out of it as long as none of the Indians were injured. This little party was composed of the renegade scourings of the frontier tribes which had been debauched by their contact with the liquor-selling whites and they were more fitted for petty thievery than the rôle of warriors. He shouted and argued and cursed and pleaded with the eager riflemen, most of whom burned with the remembrance of stolen packs of furs and equipment at the hands of such Indians as these.

The growling plainsmen, knowing that he was right and understanding his position, reluctantly kept their trigger fingers extended and finally lowered their pieces, hoping that the Indians would lose their heads and do some overt act; but the Indians were not fools, whatever else they might have been. With eager alertness on one side and sullen acquiescence on the other the wooding was finished, ropes cast off and the Missouri Belle pushed quickly out into the stream, her grim faced defenders manning the stern decks and praying for an excuse to open fire.

No sooner had a reasonable distance been opened between the boat and the bank than the Indians, at a signal from their leader, leaped behind the woodpile and opened fire on the boat with muskets and bows and arrows, the latter weapons far more accurate than the miserable trade guns which a few of the braves carried. With them dropping an arrow is an instinct and they have developed it to a degree that is remarkable, to say the least; while with the smooth-bore trade guns, with varying charges of trade powder and sizes of balls, they were poor shots at any distance. Instantly two score rifles replied from the boat, pouring their leaden hail into the stacked wood, but without any noticeable result; and before a second round could be fired the distance had been increased to such an extent that only one or two excitable tenderfeet tried a second shot. The chief result of the incident was the breaking of the monotony of the trip and the starting of chains of reminiscences among the hunters and trappers to which the tenderfeet listened with eager ears.

After this flurry of excitement interest slowly swung far astern, where the American Fur Company's boat was supposed to be breasting the current on her long voyage to Fort Union and beyond, and many eyes were on the lookout for a glimpse of her smoke. A sight of the boat itself, except at close range, was almost hopeless because the bends in the river were so numerous and close together that the stream seemed like a narrow lake.

The surface of the water was becoming different from what it had been, for the great masses of floating débris had thinned and no longer came down in raft-like formations. This was due to the rapid falling of the water, which had stranded more and more of the bulkier drift and piled it up at the head of every island, emerging bar and jutting point. At the height of the freshets, especially the April rise, often the logs and trees came down so thick and solid that they resembled floating islands. This was in large measure due to the simultaneous floating of the vast accumulations piled up all along the banks, and it aroused disgust and anxiety in the hearts of the boatmen, who feared for hulls and paddle wheels.

The harmless brush with the Indians and the stories the affair had started quickened interest in firearms, and during the rest of the afternoon there was considerable target practice against the ducks, geese, and débris, and an occasional long shot at some animal on the distant bank.

Tom Boyd did his share of this, glad of the opportunity to try out his new and strange weapons, and to put off meeting Patience Cooper as long as he could, fearing her attitude concerning his fight with Schoolcraft. He found that the newly marketed Colt six-shooter was accurate and powerful at all reasonable ranges, beautifully balanced and well behaving. It attracted a great deal of attention from fellow travelers, for it was not as well-known in Missouri as it was in other parts of the country. The English rifle, not much heavier than the great Hawken weapons of his companions, despite its two barrels, shot true and strong, and the two ready shots at his command easily recompensed him for the additional weight. At this time, in the country into which he was going, an instantly available second shot had an importance not to be overlooked. To the Indians, especially, was it disconcerting, and its moral effect partook of the nature of magic and made a white man's "medicine" that demanded and received a wholesome respect. He found that it followed the rough and ready rule of the frontier that up to a hundred yards the proper charge was as much powder as would cover the bullet in the palm of the hand. In the long range shots the weapon was surprisingly accurate, and one thoughtful and intelligent hunter, who had guided several English sporting parties, gave the credit to the pointed bullets.

"Thar ain't no doubt about it, pardner," he confided to Tom as he slyly produced his own bullet mold, and showed it to his companion. "I've tried 'em out in my own rifle, an' they shore do shoot straighter an' further. This hyar mold war give ter me by a city hunter I had in my party when we found it would fit my rifle. I ain't usin' th' old un no more. Rub a leetle b'ar grease or buffaler tallow on th' patch paper, young man, ter make 'em go down easier. Thar good beaver."

The sun set in a gold and crimson glory, working its magic metamorphosis on river, banks, and bottoms, painting the colored cliffs and setting afire the crystals in which their clay was rich. Though usually the scenery along this river at this time of the year was nothing to boast of, there were certain conditions under which it resembled a fairyland. The rolling wavelets bore their changing colors across the glowing water and set dancing myriad flashes of sunlight; streaks of sunlight reached in under the trees along the bank and made fairy paths among the trunks, while the imbedded crystals in the clay bluffs glittered in thousands of pin-points of iridescent flame.

When supper time came around Tom still felt a little reluctant to meet Patience, worried by how she might greet him, although her actions preceding the fight should have told him that his fears were groundless. To his great relief she met him as graciously as she had before, and as a matter of fact he thought he detected a little more warmth and interest, but discounted this because he feared that his judgment might be biased in his favor by his hopes.

Uncle Joe apparently had forgotten all about the affair and did not refer to it in any way, confining himself to subjects connected with the great southwest highway, its trade, outfitting, the organization of the caravans, the merchandising at Santa Fe and bits of historical and personal incidents, not forgetting to comment on the personality of Armijo and his arbitrary impost of five hundred dollars on each wagon to cross the boundary, regardless of what its contents might be. He chuckled over the impost, for the goods which he had sent up to Independence by an earlier boat had been selected with that tax in mind. He had his own ideas about the payment of the impost, and although he could not entirely avoid it, he intended to take a great deal of the sting out of it.

He contended that the beating of unlawful duties was not cheating, since it was purely a game of one individual outwitting another, one being an arbitrary tyrant who was strongly suspected of pocketing the wagon tax for his own uses. The only trouble with his philosophy was what it set going, for having proved one evasion of tax to be honest it tended to go farther and justify other evasions which fairly crossed the ethical boundaries. One of these was the rumored prohibition of Mackinaw blankets and the export tax on specie. This last would be something of a hardship, for coin was the best and most easily carried of all mediums of payment, and the Mexican government, in levying this tax, would tend to force the traders to barter rather than sell their goods. If payment were had in specie, the wagons could be disposed of at a fair profit and mules used to pack it back to Missouri. When sewed tightly in rawhide bags it became an unshifting mass by the shrinking of the leather under the rays of the sun. Some of the traders took mules in exchange for their goods which, if they could be safely delivered in the Missouri settlements, would give an additional profit of no mean per centum; but losses in mules were necessarily suffered on the long return trip, and the driving, corralling, and guarding of a herd was a task to try the patience of a saint and the ingenuity of the devil. The Indians would take almost any kind of chances to stampede a herd of mules, and they were adepts at the game.

Uncle Joe had been over the trail, having gone out with that band of Missourians who took the first wagons across from Franklin in 1824, and he had kept in close touch with the New Mexican and Chihuahuan trade ever since. He knew the tricks, and had invented some of his own, which he guarded well. For the despotic Armijo he had a vast contempt, which was universal among the great majority of the men who knew anything at all about the cruel, conceited, and dishonest Governor of the Department of New Mexico. The unfortunate Texan Santa Fe Expedition had aroused bitter feelings among Americans and Texans against the Mexican, many of them having had friends and relatives in that terrible winter march of two thousand miles on foot from Santa Fe to the City of Mexico, which followed so close upon the heart-breaking and disastrous northward march from Texas to a vile betrayal and barbarous treatment. Anything American or Texas plainsmen could do to hurt or discredit the inhuman pomposity whose rise to power had been through black treachery and coldly planned murder, would be done with enthusiastic zeal.

At the close of the leisurely eaten meal they went on deck in time to see the John Auld round the next upstream bend and forge forward, soon stopping, however, to drift past the slowed Missouri Belle while their pilots exchanged terse information about the channels and snags. The John Auld carried a small cargo of fur packs on her main deck and a few free hunters and trappers on their way to St. Louis to dispose of their goods and to outfit anew. By this time the fur of the pelts slipped and the fur taking season was over, but there was always the buffalo to lure them afield again.

The evening was delightful and hopes ran high for an uninterrupted voyage. Uncle Joe expressed the belief that the boat would run all night in view of the favorable weather; Tom demurring on the grounds of the rapidly falling river and the blackness of the nights. The boat curved sharply to avoid a jutting bar and straightened out again. Prompted by