Читать книгу Adventures of Big-Foot Wallace (Illustrated Edition) - John Crittenden Duval - Страница 8
ОглавлениеON THE ROUTE—THE OLD LADY AND THE TRUCK-PATCH.
The next day we started just after sunrise, and travelled twenty-five miles over a beautiful rolling country, watered with clear streams, and encamped at night in a pecan grove near a fine spring. Just at dark, a large drove of turkeys flew up into the trees around, and we killed five or six of them, and spitted them before our fires. These, together with a fat doe killed by our hunter on the way, furnished us with an ample supply of provender, while an abundance of fine mesquit grass in the vicinity enabled our horses to fare as sumptuously as ourselves.
The next morning, after an early breakfast, we saddled up and again took the road, or rather our course, for there was no road, and went about twelve miles to a water-hole, where there was good grass, and where we “nooned” for a couple of hours. The country passed over was all high rolling prairie, interspersed with “mots” of elm and hackberry. While all hands were taking a comfortable snooze here, we came near losing our horses. A wolf or some other wild animal gave them a scare, and they “stampeded,” and all broke their halter-ropes, except one, and ran off several miles. One of the men, however, mounted the horse that was left, and, after a chase of several hours, succeeded in bringing them all back. In consequence of the delay caused by this incident, we went only five miles farther this evening, and encamped in the edge of the bottom timber, on a small stream. The country we passed over was of the same character as that we had formerly seen. As soon as we had “staked” out our horses, I rigged up a fishing-line, and in half an hour caught a fine mess of perch, and several “Gaspar Goo,” a fish found, I believe, only in the streams of Texas, somewhat similar to the white perch of the “old States.” Great numbers of turkeys came at dark to roost in the trees in our vicinity, and they were so tame that we had no trouble in killing as many as we wanted.
[Here we quote from Wallace’s journal:]
October 17th.—Made an early start again, and went fifteen miles, when we halted to rest on a little creek, called by the hunters “Burnt Boot.” The country passed over high and rolling, and about “half-and-half” prairie and woodland. Here is the last white settlement, I am told, we shall see for many a long day. A man by the name of Benson lives here, and supports himself and family by hunting and trapping, and cultivating a small patch of land. I went up to his house to see if anything in the way of vegetables could be had. Benson was out hunting, but his wife, a tall, raw-boned, hard-favored woman, as soon as she saw me coming, stepped to the door with a gun in her hand, and told me to “stand”—and I stood! A half-dozen little cotton-headed children, who were playing in the yard, discovered me at this moment, and they “squandered,” and squatted in the bushes like a gang of partridges!
“Who are you?” asked Mrs. Benson, pointing her gun right at me, “and what do you want here?”
“I am from the settlements below, ma’am,” said I, as polite as possible, but keeping a tree between the good lady and myself all the time; for women, you know, are very awkward about handling firearms; “and,” I continued, “I want to buy some vegetables, if you have any to sell.”
“Well,” she answered, “come in. We hain’t no vegetables left now,” she continued, as I walked into the cabin and took a seat on a bench, “except cowcumbers and mushmillions, and, maybe so, a few ‘collards,’ the dratted ‘varmints’ are so uncommon bad on ’em; but if you want any of them, you can go in the ‘truck-patch,’ and help yourself.”
“You seem,” I ventured to remark, “from the way you handled your gun, to be a little suspicious of strangers in these parts.”
“Yes,” she said, “I am, and good reason to be so, too! Only last Saturday was a week ago, some Tonk Ingens, dressed up like white folks, walked into Squire Henry’s house, not more than two miles from here, and killed and sculped the whole family; but, as luck would have it, there was nobody at home, except the baby and an old nigger woman that nussed it. And which way are you travelling to?” she asked.
I told her we were going up on the head-waters of the Brazos to survey lands.
“Well,” says she, “you’ll be luckier than ’most everybody else that has gone up there, if you’ll need more than six feet apiece before you get back. If I was your mammy, young man, you shouldn’t go one foot on sich a wild-goose chase,”—and she looked so determined, I do believe, if she had been my mammy, I should never have got nearer than “Burnt Boot” to the head of the Brazos.
After some further questioning on the part of the old lady, she showed me the way into the “truck-patch,” and filled my wallet with “mushmillions” and “caw-cumbers,” for which I thanked her, as she would take no pay, and started back to camp.
“Good-by, young man!” she called after me; “I feel mighty sorry for your poor mammy, for you’ll never see her again.”
“Well,” I answered, “if I don’t, and you do, you must be sure and give her my kindest regards.”
“You oudacious young scamp,” she replied, “put out from here fast. I’ll insure you against everything but hanging, which you are certain to come to.”
The “mushmillions and cowcumbers” were a treat to the boys, as well as the account I gave them of the way in which the old lady had made me dodge behind the tree, when she levelled her gun at me.
After dinner, we mounted our horses again, and leaving the last settlement behind us, we rode on ten miles farther into the “wilderness,” keeping a bright lookout all the time for “Mr. John;” for we were liable to meet up with him, now, at any moment. The country was more broken and rocky than any we had yet seen. We camped at the foot of a high hill near a little spring of cold water. Our hunter killed an antelope to-day, on which we made a hearty supper. The flesh of the antelope is somewhat coarser than that of the deer, but I think sweeter and more juicy. They are much shyer than deer, and it is consequently more difficult to get in gunshot of them. Some of the boys found a “bee-tree” just before dark, which we cut down, and got four or five gallons of honey out of it, and from this time the boys said we shall have no trouble in supplying ourselves with honey, whenever we have time to look for the “trees.” “Bear-meat and honey” is the frontiersman’s choicest dish, and I would dislike to say how much of them I have seen an old ranger “worry down,” after a hard day’s ride, for fear people might think I had no respect for the truth: no one but an old hunter or a starved wolf would credit my story.
There is something singular about the movements of bees. They are never found a great way from the settlements, but usually precede them fifty, sixty, or a hundred miles, so that whenever they make their appearance among the Indians, they know that the white people are coming soon—and yet, they do not remain long in their wild state after the country becomes thickly settled. In many places where “bee-trees” were numerous when I first came to Texas, they are now seldom if ever found.
