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He declared that he once visited the realms of
Pluto, and no one ever succeeded in disabusing his mind of the illusion.
The story is here presented just as he used to
tell it, but divested of much of its dialect, so hard to read, and much more
difficult to write:
“Well!” beginning with a vigorous pull at his
pipe. “I had been down to Bent's Fort to get some powder, lead, and a few things
I needed at the beginning of the
buffalo
season. I remained there for some time waiting for a caravan to come from the
States which was to bring the goods I wanted. Things were wonderfully high; it
took a beaver-skin for a plug of tobacco, three for a cup of powder, and other
knick-knacks in proportion. Jim Finch, an old trapper that went under by the
Utes near the Sangre de Cristo Pass, a few years ago, had told me there was lots
of beaver on the Purgatoire. Nobody knowed it; all thought the creeks had been
cleaned out of the varmints. So down I goes to the cañon, and sot my traps. I
was all alone by myself, and I'll be darned if ten Injuns didn't come a
screeching right after me. I cached. I did, and the darned red devils made for
the open prairie with my animals. I tell you, I was mad, but I kept hid for more
than an hour. Suddenly I heard a tramping in the bushes, and in breaks my little
gray mule. Thinks I them 'Rapahoes ain't smart; so tied her to grass. But the
Injuns had scared the beaver so, I stays in my camp, eating my lariat. Then I
begun to get kind o' wolfish and squeamish; something was gnawing and pulling at
my inwards, like a wolf in a trap. Just then an idea struck me, that I had been
there before trading liquor with the Utes.
“I looked around for sign, and hurrah for the
mountains if I didn't find the cache! And now if I didn't kiss the rock that I
had pecked with my butcher-knife to mark the place, I'm ungrateful. Maybe the
gravel wasn't scratched up from that place, and to me as would have given all my
traps for some Taos lightning, just rolled in the delicious fluid.
“I was weaker than a goat in the spring, but when
the Taos was opened, I fell back and let it run in. In four swallows I concluded
to pull up stakes for the headwaters of the Purgatoire for meat. So I roped old
Blue, tied on my traps, and left.
“It used to be the best place in the mountains
for meat, but nothing was in sight. Things looked mighty strange, and I wanted
to make the back track; but, says I, here I am, and I don't turn, surely.
“The bushes was all scorched and curly and the
cedar was like fire had been put to it. The big, brown rocks was covered with
black smoke, and the little drink in the bottom of the cañon was dried up. I was
now most under the old twin peaks of ‘Wa-te-yah’; the cold snow on top looking
mighty cool and refreshing.
“Something was wrong; I must be shoving
backwards, I thought, and that before long, or I'd go under, so I jerked the
rein, but I'll be dog-goned, and it's true as there's meat running, Blue kept
going forward. I laid back and cussed and kicked till I saw blood, certain. Then
I put out my hand for my knife to kill the beast, but the 'Green River' wouldn't
come. I tell you some invisible spirit had a paw there, and it's me that says
it, 'bad medicine' it was, that trapping time.
“Loosing my pistol, the one I traded at Big Horn,
the time I lost my Ute squaw, and priming my rifle, I swore to keep right on;
for after staying ten years in these mountains, to be fooled this way wasn't the
game for me no how.
“Well, we, I say, ‘we,’ for Blue was some -- as
good as a man any day; I could talk to her, and she'd turn her head as if she
understood me. Mules are knowing critters -- next to human. At a sharp corner
Blue snorted, and turned her head, but couldn't go back. There, in front, was a
level cañon with walls of black and brown and gray stone, and stumps of burned
piñon hung down ready to fall onto us; and, as we passed, the rocks and trees
shook and grated and croaked. All at once Blue tucked her tail, backed her ears,
bowed her neck, and squealed right out, a-rearing on her hind legs, a-pawing,
and snickering. This hoss didn't see the cute of them notions; he was for
examining, so I goes to jump off and lam the fool; but I was stuck tight as if
there was tar on the saddle. I took my gun, that there iron, my rifle, and pops
Blue over the head, but she squealed and dodged, all the time pawing; but it
wasn't no use, and I says, ‘you didn't cost more than two blankets when you was
traded from the Utes, and two blankets ain't worth more than two beaver-skins at
Bent's Fort, which comes to two dollars a pair, you consarned ugly pictur --
darn you, anyhow!’ Just then I heard a laughing. I looks up, and two black
critters -- they wasn't human, sure, for they had black tails and red coats --
Indian
cloth, cloth like that traded to the
Indians,
edged with white, shiny stuff, and brass buttons.
“They come forward and made two low bows. I felt
for my scalp-knife, for I thought they was approaching to take me, but I
couldn't use it -- they was so darned polite.
“One of the devils said, with a grin and bow,
‘Good-morning, Mr. Hatcher!’
“‘H -- -- !’ says I, ‘how do you know me? I swear
this hoss never saw you before.’
“‘Oh, we've expected you a long time,’ said the
other, ‘and we are quite happy to see you -- we've known you ever since your
arrival in the mountains.’
“I was getting sort of scared. I wanted a drop of
Taos mighty bad, but the bottle was gone, and I looked at them in astonishment,
and said -- ‘The devil!’
“‘Hush!’ screamed one, ‘you must not say that
here -- keep still, you will see him presently.’
“I felt streaked, and a cold sweat broke out all
over me. I tried to say my prayers, as I used to at home, when they made me turn
in at night --
“‘Now I lay me.’
“Pshaw! I'm off again, I can't say it; but if
this child could have got off his animal, he'd took hair and gone down the trail
for Purgatoire.
“All this time the long-tailed devils was leading
my animal, and me top of her, the biggest fool dug out, up the same cañon. The
rocks on the sides was pecked smooth as a beaver-skin, ribbed with the grain,
and the ground was covered with bits of cedar, like a cavayard of mules had been
nipping and scattering them about. Overhead it was roofed, leastwise it was dark
in here, and only a little light come through the holes in the rock. I thought I
knew where we was, and eeched awfully to talk, but I sot still and didn't ask
any questions.
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