March Marston smiled as he said this, and Bounce grinned by way of reply.
Wotll I tell ye about, boy?
I dont mind whatIndians, grislies, buffaloes, trappersits all one to me; only begin quick and go ahead strong.
Well, I aint great at story-tellin! Praps it would be more to the pint if I was to tell ye about what I heerd tell of on my last trip to the Mountains. Did I ever tell ye about the feller as the trappers that goes to the far North calls the Wild Man o the West?
No; what was he? said Marston, yawning and closing his eyes.
I dun know xactly wot he was. Im not overly sure that I even know wot he is, but I know wot the trappers says of him; an if only the half ots true, hes a shiner, he is.
Having said this much, Bounce filled his tomahawk, lighted it, puffed a large cloud from it, and looked through the smoke at his companion.
March, whose curiosity was aroused, partly by the novelty of the Wild Mans title, and partly by the lugubrious solemnity of Bounce, said
Go on, old boy.
Ha! its easy to say, go on; but if you knowd the orrible things as is said about the Wild Man o the Mountains, praps youd say, Go off. It ll make yer blood froze.
Never mind.
An yer hair git up on end.
Dont care.
An yer two eyes start out o yer head.
All right.
Bounce, who was deeply superstitious, looked at his young friend with severe gravity for at least two minutes. Marston, who was not quite so superstitious, looked at his comrade for exactly the same length of time, and winked with one eye at the end of it.
They says, resumed Bounce in a deep tone, the Wild Man o the West eats men!
Dont he eat women? inquired March sleepily.
Yes, an childers too. An wots wuss, he eats em raw, an they say he once swallered onea little onealive, without chewin or chokin! (Horrible! murmured March.) Hes a dead shot, too; he carries a double-barrelled rifle twenty foot long that takes a small cannon-ball. I forgot to tell ye hes a giantsome o the trappers calls him the giant o the hills, and they say hes bout thirty feet highsome says forty. But theres no gittin at the truth in this here wurld.
Bounce paused here, but, as his companion made no observation, he went on in a half-soliloquising fashion, looking earnestly all the time into the heart of the fire, as if he were addressing his remarks to a salamander.
Ay, hes a crack shot, as I wos sayin. One day he fell in with a grisly bar, an the brute rushed at him; so he up rifle an puts a ball up each nose,(I didnt know a grisly had two noses, murmured March,)an loaded agin, an afore it comed up he put a ball in each eye; then he drew his knife an split it right down the middle from nose to tail at one stroke, an cut it across with another stroke; an, puttin one quarter on his head, he took another quarter under each arm, an the fourth quarter in his mouth, and so walked home to his cave in the mountainsbout one hundred and fifty miles off, where he roasted an ate the whole bar at one sittinbones, hair, an all!
This flight was too strong for March. He burst into a fit of laughter, which called the rusty hinges into violent action and produced a groan. The laugh and the groan together banished drowsiness, so he turned on his back, and said
Bounce, do you really believe all that?
Thus pointedly questioned on what he felt to be a delicate point, Bounce drew a great number of whiffs from the tomahawk ere he ventured to reply. At length he said
Well, to say truth, an takin a feelosophical view o the pintI dont. But I blieve some of it. I do blieve theres some xtraordnary critter in them there mountainsfor Ive lived nigh forty years, off and on, in these parts, an Ive always obsarved that in this wurld wenever ye find anythin yeve always got somethin. Nobody never got hold o somethin an found afterwards that it wos nothin. So I blieve theres somethin in this wild manhow much I dun know.
Bounce followed up this remark with a minute account of the reputed deeds of this mysterious creature, all of which were more or less marvellous; and at length succeeded in interesting his young companion so deeply, as to fill him with a good deal of his own belief in at least a wild something that dwelt in the heart of the Rocky Mountains.
After a great deal of talk, and prolonged discussion, Bounce concluded with the assertion that hed give his best rifle, an that was his only one, to see this wild man.
To which Marston replied
Ill tell you what it is, Bounce, I will see this wild man, if its in the power of bones and muscles to carry me within eyeshot of him. Now, see if I dont.
Bounce nodded his head and looked sagacious, as he said
Dye know, lad, I dont mind if I go along with ye. Its true, Im not tired of them parts hereaboutsand if I wos to live till I couldnt see, I dont think as ever Id git tired o the spot where my father larned me to shoot an my mother dandled me on her knee; but Ive got a fancy to see a little more o the wurldspecially the far-off parts o the Rocky Mountains, were Ive never bin yit; so I do blieve if ye wos to try an persuade me very hard Id consent to go along with ye.
Will you, though? cried March eagerly (again, to his cost, forgetting the rusty hinges).
Ay, that will I, boy, replied the hunter; an now I think on it, theres four as jolly trappers in Pine Point settlement at this here moment as ever floored a grisly or fought an Injun. Theyre the real sort of metal. None o yer tearin, swearin, murderin chaps, as thinks the more they curse the bolder they are, an the more Injuns they kill the cliverer they are; but steady quiet fellers, as dont speak much, but does a powerful quantity; boys that know a deer from a Blackfoot Injun, I guess; that goes to the mountains to trap and comes back to sell their skins, an wen theyve sold em, goes right off agin, an niver drinks.
I know who you mean, I think; at least I know one of them, observed March.
No ye dont, do ye? Who?
Waller, the Yankee.
Thats one, said Bounce, nodding; Big Waller, we calls him.
Im not sure that I can guess the others. Surely Tim Slater isnt one?
No! said Bounce, with an emphasis of tone and a peculiar twist of the point of his nose that went far to stamp the individual named with a character the reverse of noble. Try agin.
I cant guess.
Ones a French Canadian, said Bounce; a little chap, with a red nose an a pair o coal-black eyes, but as bold as a lion.
I know him, interrupted March; Gibault NoirBlack Gibault, as they sometimes call him. Am I right?
Right, lad; thats two. Then theres Hawkswing, the Injun whose wife and family were all murdered by a man of his own tribe, and who left his people after that an tuck to trappin with the whites; thats three. An theres Redhand, the old trapper thats bin off and on between this place and the Rocky Mountains for nigh fifty years, I believe.