Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Life in the Northwest Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  A NEW FRIEND.

  As the light of morning overspread the stream and prairie, I felt anunspeakable sense of relief. Not a moment of sleep had visited me thatnight, although Nat's extreme fear toward midnight gave way to hisdrowsiness, and he slept long and heavily.

  "Come, wake up, Nat!" said I, shaking him as soon as I saw that daywas at hand.

  "How? what's the matter?" said he, rubbing his eyes, and gapingconfusedly about him.

  "Day is at hand, and we must be on our way to Oregon."

  He hastily rose, and we commenced our simple preparations. I ran upthe river bank, and swept the prairie to the south of us to satisfymyself that no wandering Indians were in sight. The whole plain wasvisible, and with a feeling akin to joy, I reported the fact to Nat.He, however, was not satisfied with my survey, as he had more thanonce before detected objects that had escaped my vision, and heascended a high roll in the bank, some distance up, and took a long,careful, scrutinizing sweep of the whole horizon. Feeling satisfiedthat he would be no more rewarded for his pains than I was, I startedthe fire, and commenced cooking some of our buffalo, I had beenengaged in this for a minute or so, when I heard Nat call, in ahoarse, anxious, half-whisper:

  "Come here, quick!"

  I hurried to his side and eagerly asked him the cause of agitation.

  "Why, just look yonder, if that ain't enough to agitate one, then Idon't know what is."

  He pointed across the river, out upon the prairie; and following thedirection of his finger, I saw not more than a mile or two away asingle horseman proceeding leisurely from us.

  "Who can that be?" I asked half to myself, still watching the recedingfigure.

  "Why he's the one that sent that bullet across the water after us, andI'm thinking it's lucky for him, he's going another way. If I shouldget my hands on him, he would remember the time."

  And Nat extended his arms energetically, and shook his head spitefullyby way of emphasizing his remark.

  I continued gazing after the unknown person. At first I supposed itwas an Indian, but at that distance, and with his back toward us, itwas almost impossible to judge accurately. A moment's thoughtconvinced me that it was a white man. I could make out the hunting-capof the trapper, and was soon satisfied he belonged to that class. Hishorse was walking leisurely along, and he seemed totally unaware ofthe proximity of strangers.

  But who could it be? Was it he who had fired the well-nigh fatal shot?And what meant his actions in thus willfully leaving us? These andsimilar questions I asked myself, without taking my eyes from him, orheeding the numerous questions and remarks my companion was uttering.But, of course, I could give no satisfactory solution, and when hisfigure had grown to be but a dim speck in the distance, I turned toNat.

  "We may see him again; but, if I don't know him, I know one thing, I'mwonderfully hungry just now."

  We partook of a hearty breakfast, my appetite for which wasconsiderably weakened by the occurrence just narrated. Without muchdifficulty we forded the Republican Fork, being compelled only to swima few strokes in the channel, and reached the opposite side, with drypowder and food.

  Here we made a careful search of the shore, and ascertained enough tosettle beyond a doubt the identity of the horseman with the would-beassassin of the night before. His footprints could be seen, and theplace where he had slept upon the ground, together with the scraps ofmeat. By examining the tracks of his horse, we discovered that bothhind feet were shod; this decided our question of his being a whiteman; and although it cleared up one doubt, left us in a greater one.He could not have avoided the knowledge that we were of the sameblood, and what demoniacal wish could lead him to seek the life of twoharmless wanderers? Be he who he might, it was with no very Christianfeelings toward him that we took the trail of his horse, and pursuedit.

  Our course after the first five miles, swerved considerably to thenorthwest. From the actions of the stranger, it was evident heunderstood the character of the country, and we judged the shortestway of reaching the Oregon trail would be by following him. Thefootprints of his animal were distinctly marked, and we had nodifficulty in keeping them.

  At noon we forded a stream, and shortly after another, bothconsiderably less than the Republican Fork. On the northern bank ofthe latter, were the still glowing coals of the stranger's camp-fire,and we judged he could be at no great distance. The country here wasof a slightly different character from the rolling prairie over whichwe had journeyed thus far. There were hills quite elevated, and, nowand then, groves of timber. In the river bottoms were numerouscottonwoods and elder; these natural causes so obstructed our view,that we might approach our unknown enemy very nigh without knowing it.Nat was quite nervous, and invariably sheered off from the forbiddinggroves of timber, striking the trail upon the opposite side at a safedistance.

  In this way we traveled onward through the entire day. No signs ofIndians were seen, and we anticipated little trouble from them, asthey were friendly at this time, and the most they would do would beto rob us of some of our trinkets or rifles.

  At sundown we left our guiding trail and struck off toward a smallstream to camp for the night. When we reached it, and decided upon thespot, Nat remarked seriously:

  "I say, Relmond, that feller might be near enough to give us anothershot afore morning, and I'm going to see whether his trail crosses thebrook out there or not."

  So saying, he wheeled and ran back to the spot where we had left it.It was still bright enough to follow it, and bending his head down tokeep it in view, he continued upon a rapid run. I was upon the pointof warning him against thus running into danger, but not feeling muchapprehension for his safety, I turned my back toward him. A minuteafter, I heard his footsteps again, and, looking up, saw him comingwith full speed toward me, his eyes dilated to their utmost extent,and with every appearance of terror.

  "He's there!" he exclaimed.

  "Where?" I asked, catching his excitement.

  "Just across the stream up there; I liked to have run right into himafore I knowed it. See there!"

  As Nat spoke, I saw the glimmering of a fire through the trees, andheard the whinny of a horse.

  "Didn't he see you?"

  "Yes, I know he did. When I splashed into the water like a fool, helooked up at me and grunted; I seen him pick up his rifle, and then Iput, expecting each moment to feel a ball in me."

  "I thought you intended laying hands on him if an opportunityoffered," I remarked, with a laugh.

  "I declare, I forgot that," he replied, somewhat crestfallen.

  After some further conversation, I decided to make the acquaintance ofthe person who had occupied so much of our thoughts. Nat opposed this,and urged me to get farther from him; but a meaning hint changed hisviews at once, and he readily acquiesced. He would not be prevailedupon, however, to accompany me, but promised to come to my aid if Ishould need help during the interview. So leaving him, I startedboldly up the stream.

  When I reached the point opposite the stranger's camp-fire, I stumbledand coughed so as to attract his attention. I saw him raise his eyesand hurriedly scan me, but he gave no further evidence of anxiety,and I unhesitatingly sprang across the stream, and made my way towardhim. Before I halted, I saw that he was a trapper. He was recliningupon the ground, before a small fire, and smoking a short black pipe,in a sort of dreamy reverie.

  "Good evening, my friend," I said, cheerfully, approaching within afew feet of him. He raised his eyes a moment, and then suffered themlazily to fall again, and continue their vacant stare into the fire."Quite a pleasant evening," I continued, seating myself near him.

  "Umph!" he grunted, removing his pipe, and rising to the uprightposition. He looked at me a second with a pair of eyes of sharp,glittering blackness, and then asked: "Chaw, stranger?"

  "I sometimes use the weed, but not in that form," I replied, handing apiece to him. He wrenched off a huge mouthful with a vigorous twist ofhis head, and returned it without a word. This done, h
e sank back tohis former position and reverie.

  "Excuse me, friend," said I, moving rather impatiently, and determinedto force a conversation upon him, "but I hope you will permit a fewquestions?"

  "Go ahead, stranger," he answered, gruffly.

  "Are you traveling alone in this section?"

  "I reckon I ar', 'cept the hoss which 'ar a team."

  "Follow trapping and hunting, I presume?"

  "What's yer handle, stranger?" he suddenly asked, as he came to theupright position, and looking at me with more interest.

  "William Relmond, from New Jersey."

  "Whar's that place?"

  "It is one of the Middle States, quite a distance from here."

  "What mought you be doin' in these parts?"

  "I and my friend out yonder are on our way to Oregon."

  "Umph! you're pretty green 'uns."

  "Now I suppose you will have no objection to giving me your name."

  "My handle's Bill Biddon, and I'm on my way to trappin'-grounds upcountry."

  "How far distant?"

  "A heap; somewhar up 'bove the Yallerstone."

  "Do you generally go upon these journeys alone?"

  "What's your handle, stranger?"]

  "Sometimes I does, and sometimes I doesn't."

  I ceased my questions for a few moments, for fear of provoking him. Ashis route, as far as it extended, would be in our direction, Idetermined to keep his company if I could gain his consent. He was asplendid specimen of the physical man. He was rather short, but heavyand thick-set, with a compactness of frame that showed a terriblestrength slumbering in his muscles. His face was broad, covered by athin, straggling beard of grizzled gray, and several ridged scars werevisible in different parts of it. His brows were beetling andlowering, and beneath them a couple of black eyes fairly snapt attimes with electric fire. His mouth was broad, and though one couldplainly see a whirlwind of terrific passion might be called into lifewithin his breast, yet there was, also in his face, the index of aheart alive to good humor and frankness. I saw that, if approachedskillfully, his heart could be reached. He was evidently the creatureof odd whims and fancies and caprice, feeling as well satisfiedwithout the society of his fellow-man as with it--one of those strangebeings, a hero of a hundred perils, who was satisfied to lose his lifein the mighty wilderness of the Far West, without a single onesuspecting or caring for his fate.

  "Would you have any objections to my friend and myself accompanyingyou, that is, as far as you should proceed in our direction?"

  He looked steadily at me a moment, and answered, "You kin go with meef you wants; but I knows as how you're green, and yer needn't s'poseI'm goin' to hold in fur yer. Yers as never does that thing."

  "Oh, I shouldn't expect you to. Of course, we will make it a point notto interfere in the least with your plans and movements."

  "Whar is yer other chap? S'pose it war him what come peakin' throughyer a while ago; had a notion of spilin' his picter fur hisimperdence."

  "I will go bring him," I answered, rising and moving off. But as Istepped across the stream, I discerned the top of Nat's white hat,just above a small box-elder; and moving on, saw his eye fixed with aneager stare upon the trapper.

  "Don't he look savage?" he whispered, as I came to him.

  "Not very. Are you afraid of him?"

  "No; but I wonder whether he--whether he knows anything about the oldmare and my knife."

  "Perhaps so; come and see. He just now asked for you."

  "Asked for me?" repeated Nat, stepping back. "What does he want ofme?"

  "Nothing in particular. I just mentioned your name, and he asked whereyou were. Come along; I hope you ain't afraid?"

  "Afraid! I should like to see the man I'm afraid of!" exclaimed mycompanion in an almost inaudible whisper, as he tremblingly followedme across the brook, and to the spot where Biddon, the trapper, waslying.

  "My friend, Nathan Todd, Biddon."

  "How are you? Very happy to make your acquaintance," and Nat nervouslyextended his hand.

  "How're yer?" grunted Biddon, with a slight jerk of his head, and notnoticing the proffered hand.

  "Been a most exceedingly beautiful day," ventured Nat, quickly andnervously.

  I saw the trapper was not particularly impressed with him, and I tookup the conversation. I made several unimportant inquiries, and learnedin the course of them, that our friend, Bill Biddon, was about fortyyears of age, and had followed trapping and hunting for over twentyyears. He was a native of Missouri, and Westport was the depot for hispeltries. For the last two or three years he had made all hisexcursions alone. He was quite a famous trapper, and the fur companywhich he patronized gave him a fine outfit and paid him well for hisskins. He possessed a magnificently-mounted rifle, and his horse, heinformed me, had few superiors among the fleetest mustangs of thesouth. Both of these were presented him by the company mentioned.

  "Why ain't you got horses?" he asked, looking toward me.

  "They were both stolen from us."

  "I don't s'pose you've seen anything of a company with a mare,short-tailed, that limped a little, and an overcoat that had a knifein the pocket?" asked Nat, eagerly.

  "Not that I knows on," answered Biddon, with a twinkle of humor.

  I gave the particulars of our loss, and then asked, without duethought:

  "Did you not camp upon the banks of the Republican Fork last night?"

  "Yas; what'd yer want to know fur?"

  "Oh, nothing, nothing," quickly answered Nat.

  I believe the trapper understood my allusion, and I hoped he wouldgive an explanation of his act; but he made no reference to it, and,after further conversation, we all lay down in slumber.