Читать книгу The Adventures of Big-Foot Wallace (Illustrated Edition) - John Crittenden Duval - Страница 14
ОглавлениеMY LITTLE VALLEY—A SAD ACCIDENT—WILD TURKEYS— ON CRUTCHES— ON THE TRAMP AGAIN—A LAST LOOK.
October 28th.—I was up by daylight this morning, and ready to start in half an hour, for it took me but a little while to cook and eat my breakfast, and clear away the dishes.
As I passed through the little valley, I could not but admire its seclusion and beauty. It was shut in on all sides by high hills, covered with cedars and other evergreens. I suppose it was about half a mile long by a quarter in breadth, and a clear, rapid little stream ran through the centre of it. Scattered over it were many beautiful clumps of live-oaks, pecans, and other trees. I saw several flocks of deer grazing among the trees, and a great many wild turkeys, but I did not try to shoot any, as I had some of my jerked venison left, and did not want to waste my ammunition. I had passed through the centre of the valley, and was in the act of climbing up the hill on the opposite side, when my foot slipped on a loose stone, and I sprained my ankle badly. I attempted to go on, but the pain was so great, whenever I put my foot to the ground, that I found it impossible to do so.
Here was a pretty fix. As the backwoodsman said, when the Indians attacked his house just as he had filled his gun with water to swab it out, “It was very ridiculous.” But I saw there was no alternative but to stop and remain patiently where I was until my ankle got well enough to enable me to travel again; so I hobbled back with great pain and difficulty to the little cave on the side of the valley I had started from.
By the time I reached my cave, I was suffering very much, and my ankle had swollen out of all shape. I pulled off my shoe, and bathed my foot for half an hour in the cold spring-water, and the pain left me in a great measure. However, I knew it would be days, perhaps weeks, before my ankle would be well enough for me to continue my journey, and knew not how to subsist in the mean time, without being able to hunt for game. This thought was anything but agreeable, and I felt rather despondent that night as I lay down upon my bed in the little cave. I thought, though, after all, I had much to be thankful for; for, if this accident had happened to me anywhere in the barren and desolate country I had lately travelled over, where there was neither water to be had nor game to be found, how much more hopeless and miserable my condition would have been. So I made myself as contented as I could, and was soon fast asleep.
October 29th.—I awoke about daylight, and the first thing I heard was a gang of wild turkeys clucking in the pecan-trees that grew a few steps from my cave. I seized my gun and crawled to the door. The trees were crowded with them, and selecting one of the largest gobblers, I fired at him, and he tumbled to the ground. “Comanche” seemed to understand thoroughly what was up, for as soon as the turkey struck the earth, he pounced upon it, and dragged it up to the mouth of my cave, where I picked and cleaned him nicely, and soon had him spitted before my fire, and in a couple of hours he was done to a turn.
After breakfast, being uncertain as to the length of time I should be compelled to remain here, I took another “account of stock” on hand, and found that I was the fortunate owner of the following property, viz.: one rifle, in good condition; one shot-pouch, and powder-horn filled with powder; one butcher-knife; twenty-six bullets; steel for striking fire; one Mexican gourd; one memorandum-book and pencil; two plugs of tobacco, and a pipe. Pretty “well to do,” thinks. I to myself, considering the “tightness of the times.” I found it impossible to put my lame foot to the ground at all, without suffering great pain, so I concluded I would try and make a sort of crutch, that would enable me to hobble about on my sound foot. So I crawled out to where there was a bunch of young saplings growing, and, with much labor, at length cut down a forked one with my butcher-knife, which I thought would answer my purpose. By night I had it finished, and, on trial, I found that I could get along with it, after a fashion, on level ground. I have not much fear of starving now, for with my crutch I can follow any game that may come into the valley.
After night, a heavy rain came up from the north, accompanied by much thunder and lightning. The rain never ceased falling till near daylight, but my cave did not leak a drop, and the wall in front prevented the wind from driving it in on me.
From this time, as long as I stayed in the valley, which was until the 20th of November, nothing of importance occurred, and as one day was pretty much like another, I made but few notes in my memorandum-book, only enough to keep from losing the day of the month. On the 2d of November, “I killed a deer;” on the 5th, “gathered about a bushel of pecans;” on the 7th, “killed another deer;” on the 10th, “my ankle improved so much I can walk a little without my crutch,” etc.
I never suffered a moment for food the whole time I was in the valley, for I could kill a deer or turkey whenever I wanted one, and could gather, with but little trouble, an abundance of pecans, and various kinds of haws and berries. It was truly lucky for me that the accident happened to me at this place. Had it occurred at almost any other on my route, the probability is I should have starved to death, in my helpless condition.
The day before I left the valley, I jerked up as much venison as I could conveniently carry along with me, and, on the morning of the 20th of November, I bade farewell to my little cave. Before leaving, I carved my name on a rock in front of my old quarters with my butcher-knife, together with the day of the month and year. I felt right sorry to leave my little valley, where I had passed so many peaceful, quiet days. My ankle had got entirely well, and, shouldering my rifle and pack of provisions, and, with “Comanche” following at my heels, I started off across the valley in a southern direction. “Comanche” had lived on the “fat of the land” since he had fallen in with me, and was now quite a respectable-looking dog, and his tail had a fierce and defiant curl.
The sun shone brightly, and I had no difficulty in keeping the course I wanted to go. When I had ascended to the top of the opposite ridge of hills, I turned to take a last look at my little valley. I could see the entrance to my cave, the grove of pecans in front of it, and the smoke still curling upward from the fire I had left burning.
The settlements have now extended beyond this point, and probably by this time some advocate of “squatter sovereignty” has taken possession of it; but when I was there, there was not a log cabin, I suppose, within a hundred miles of it.
I travelled about ten miles this morning, over a very rough and rugged country, covered with thick chaparral, when I halted to rest for an hour or so. There was no water near, but I had a supply along with me in my Mexican gourd, which I had filled from the spring before leaving.
After Comanche and I had eaten a bite, and rested ourselves sufficiently, I continued my route over the same sort of country till near night, when I encamped on the banks of a considerable creek—one of the head branches, I have supposed since, of the Palo Pinto. A small gang of buffalo were grazing in the creek valley, but they discovered me and ran off before I could get a shot at them. I, however, killed a fat doe after I had struck camp, which furnished me with an abundance of fresh meat. I also found some of the “wild artichoke” growing near, which afforded an agreeable addition to my usual bill of fare.
I saw fresh Indian “signs” near my camp, which caused me some uneasiness, and I kept a good lookout for them. Comanche woke me several times during the night with his growling, but I supposed there was nothing more dangerous about than a cayote or catamount, attracted to the camp by the smell of fresh meat.
