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“The little fellow as had hold of my animal
squeaked out -- ‘Get off your mule, Mr. Hatcher!’
“‘Get off!’ said I, for I was mad as a bull
pricked with
Comanche lances, for his disturbing me. ‘Get off? I have been
trying to, ever since I came into this infernal hole.’
“‘You can do so now. Be quick, for the company is
waiting,’ says he, pert-like.
“They all stopped talking and were looking right
at me. I felt riled. ‘Darn your company. I've got to lose my scalp anyhow, and
no difference to me -- but to oblige you’ -- so I slid off as easy as if I had
never been stuck.
“A hunchback boy, with little gray eyes in his
head, took old Blue away. I might never see her again, and I shouted -- ‘Poor
Blue! Good-by, Blue!’
“The young devil snickered; I turned around
mighty stern -- ‘Stop your laughing, you hell-cat -- if I am alone, I can take
you,’ and I grabbed for my knife to wade into his liver; but it was gone -- gun,
bullet-pouch, and pistol, like mules in a stampede.
“I stepped forward with a big fellow, with hair
frizzled out like an old
buffalo
just before shedding time; and the people jawing worse than a cavayard of
paroquets, stopped, while frizzly shouted: --
“‘Mr. Hatcher, formerly of Wapakonnetta, latterly
of the Rocky Mountains.’
“Well, there I stood. Things were mighty strange,
and every darned nigger of them looked so pleased like. To show them manners, I
said, ‘How are you?’ and I went to bow, but chaw my last tobacco if I could, my
breeches was so tight -- the heat way back in the cañon had shrunk them. They
were too polite to notice it, and I felt for my knife to rip the dog-goned
things, but recollecting the scalp-taker was stolen, I straightens up and bowed
my head. A kind-looking, smallish old gentleman, with a black coat and breeches,
and a bright, cute face, and gold spectacles, walks up and pressed my hand
softly.
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“‘How do you do, my dear friend? I have long
expected you. You cannot imagine the pleasure it gives me to meet you at home. I
have watched your peregrinations in the busy, tiresome world with much interest.
Sit down, sit down; take a chair,’ and he handed me one.
“I squared myself on it, but if a ten-pronged
buck wasn't done sucking when I last sot on a chair, and I squirmed awhile,
uneasy as a gun-shot coyote; then I jumps up and tells the old gentleman them
sort of fixings didn't suit this beaver, he prefers the floor. I sets
cross-legged like in camp, as easy as eating meat. I reached for my pipe -- a
fellow so used to it -- but the devils in the cañon had cached that too.
“‘You wish to smoke, Mr. Hatcher? -- we will have
cigars. Here!’ he called to an imp near him, ‘some cigars.’
“They was brought in on a waiter, about the size
of my bullet-pouch. I empties them into my hat, for good cigars ain't to be
picked up on the prairie every day, but looking at the old man, I saw something
was wrong. To be polite, I ought to have taken but one.
“‘I beg pardon,’ says I, scratching my scalp,
‘this hoss didn't think -- he's been so long in the mountains he's forgot
civilized doings,’ and I shoved the hat to him.
“‘Never mind,’ says he, waving his hand and
smiling faintly, ‘get others,’ speaking to the boy alongside of him.
“The old gentleman took one and touched his
finger to the end of my cigar -- it smoked as if fire had been sot to it.
“‘Waugh! the devil!’ screams I, darting back.
“‘The same!’ chimed in he, biting off the little
end of his, and bowing, and spitting it out, ‘the same, sir.’
“‘The same! what?’
“‘Why -- the devil.’
“‘H--l! this ain't the hollow tree for this
coon -- I'll be making medicine,’ so I offers my cigar to the sky and to the
earth, like an Injun.
“‘You must not do that here -- out upon such
superstition,’ says he, sharp-like.
“‘Why?’
“‘Don't ask so many questions -- come with me,’
rising to his feet, and walking off slow and blowing his cigar-smoke over his
shoulder in a long line, and I gets alongside of him. ‘I want to show you my
establishment -- you did not expect to find this down here, eh?’
“My breeches was all-fired stiff with the heat in
the cañon, and my friend, seeing it, said, ‘Your breeches are tight; allow me to
place my hand on them.’
“He rubbed his fingers up and down once, and by
beaver, they got as soft as when I traded them from the Pi-Utes on the Gila.
“I now felt as brave as a
buffalo
in the spring. The old man was so clever, and I walked alongside of him like an
old acquaintance. We soon stopped before a stone door, and it opened without
touching.
“‘Here's damp powder, and no fire to dry it,’
shouts I, stopping.
“‘What's the matter; do you not wish to
perambulate through my possessions?’
“‘This hoss doesn't savey what the human for
perambulate is, but I'll walk plum to the hottest fire in your settlement, if
that's all you mean.’
“The place was hot, and smelt of brimstone; but
the darned screeching took me. I walks up to the other end of the lodge, and
steal my mule, if there wasn't Jake Beloo, as trapped with me to Brown's Hole! A
lot of hell-cats was a-pulling at his ears, and a-jumping on his shoulders, and
swinging themselves to the ground by his long hair. Some was running hot irons
into him, but when we came up they went off in a corner, laughing and talking
like wildcats' gibberish on a cold night.
“Poor Jake! he came to the bar, looking like a
sick
buffalo
in the eye. The bones stuck through his skin, and his hair was matted and long,
all over, just like a blind bull, and white blisters spotted him. ‘Hatch, old
fellow! you here too? -- how are you?’ says he, in a faint-like voice,
staggering and catching on to the bar for support -- ‘I'm sorry to see you here;
what did you do?’ He raised his eyes to the old man standing behind me, who gave
him such a look, he went howling and foaming at the mouth to the fur end of the
den and fell down, rolling over the damp stones. The devils, who was chuckling
by a furnace where was irons a-heating, approached easy, and run one into his
back. I jumped at them and hollered, ‘You owdacious little hell-pups, let him
alone; if my scalp-taker was here, I'd make buzzard feed of your meat, and
parfleche of your dog-skins,’ but they squeaked out, to ‘go to the devil.’
“‘Waugh!’ says I, ‘if I ain't pretty close to his
lodge, I'm a nigger!’
“The old gentleman speaks up, ‘Take care of
yourself, Mr. Hatcher,’ in a mighty soft kind voice, and he smiled so calm and
devilish -- it nigh froze me. I thought if the ground would open with an
earthquake, and take me in, I'd be much obliged anyhow. Thinks I, ‘You
saint-for-saken, infernal hell-chief, how I'd like to stick my knife in your
withered old bread-basket.’
“‘Ah! my dear fellow, no use trying -- that's a
decided impossibility.’ I jumped ten feet. I swear a medicine-man couldn't
a-heard me, for my lips didn't move, and how he knew is more than this hoss can
tell.
“‘I see your nervous equilibrium is destroyed;
come with me.’
“At the other side the old gentleman told me to
reach down for a brass knob. I thought a trick was going to be played on me, and
I dodged.
“‘Do not be afraid; turn it when you pull;
steady; there, that's it.’ It came, and a door shut of itself.
“‘Mighty good hinges!’ said I, ‘don't make any
noise, and go shut without slamming and cussing them.’
“‘Yes -- yes! some of my own importation. No,
they were never made here.’
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