GRADUALLY it became known throughout the “Mediterranean” that the celebrated Davy Crockett was on board, and it was seldom, from then on, that the genial backwoodsman was not at the center of a knot of laughing friends, old and new, who listened to his stories and jokes, and encouraged him to give them more of the same kind.
But, one evening, as he sat out upon the deck with Walter Jordan and Ned Chandler near by, the planter, Mr. Burr, induced him to tell of one of his hunting exploits.
“Give us a bear hunting story, colonel,” suggested the planter. “It’s been a long time since I heard you tell one.”
Crockett shook his head.
“There’ll come a time, and it’s mighty near at hand,” said he, “when bear stories in this part of the world will be few enough. The bear is going fast, and I reckon he’ll sing his death song, in Tennessee anyhow, in the next ten years.”
“But there were lots of them some years ago,” encouraged Mr. Burr.
“Heaps,” said Crockett. “I’ve been into the Tennessee wilderness where their tracks were pretty plenty. And there was good hunting, fresh meat to be smoked and salted away for winter, and furry pelts to keep out the cold of the ground when a fellow went to sleep. Yes, there was fine hunting, and lots of bears and panthers and deer and fur animals beyond counting, in the woods and along the streams.
“I remember once,” said he, continuing, “that I had a dream of a nigger; and when I dreamed of a nigger that always meant—bear! So off I sets with a couple of dogs, my rifle and a good horn of powder and plenty of ball. It’d been raining all the night before; then it had turned cold, and the rain changed to sleet.
“‘Good bear weather,’ says I to myself. ‘I ought to get a whopper.’
“The sleet was bad and stung my face almost to bleeding; but I thought of the bear that I was sure was waiting for me somewhere, and so I held on. But I’d tramped a half dozen miles and the only thing the dogs turned up was a flock of turkeys; I got a couple of big ones, and sat down on the end of a log to rest, for the tramp had played me out.
“But I hadn’t sat there long before I noticed that one of the dogs, an old hound, was acting rather excited. He was sniffing around as though he’d got scent of something. Then he put his nose in the air, and let out a yowl that brought me up with rifle ready.
“Off starts the hounds, and me after them. They seemed to have struck the trail of something and hung to it like good fellows. A couple of times they lost the scent, and I made up my mind each time that the varmint, whatever it was, had them licked; but they picked it up again and were off once more as good as ever.
“The woods were pretty thick,” proceeded Crockett, “and the two old hounds seemed to pull me through the worst of it; and with two big gobblers on my back, I had all I could do to keep up with them. But suddenly there was a sort of clearing—a natural one—and right there I saw the biggest black bear I’d ever seen in Tennessee!
“The hounds stood as close to him as they dared to go; the hair on their backs was standing as stiff as brushes; and they were yelping all the names at him that they could lay their tongues to.
“A black bear won’t pay much attention to hounds. But they are kind of shy of men being around—especially men with rifles in their hands. It may be that the daddy of all the bears has handed it down that a man with a rifle is a thing to be afraid of. Anyway, when this black fellow got sight of me, he turns to and breaks for a thicket which was close by. In after him went the hounds; and after the hounds went I. It was as dense a growth, that thicket, as any I’d ever seen, and I had to squirm through it; also it was hard to see far through the growth, and so I had to trust to the dogs to tell me when the bear was close at hand.”
“Tight work,” observed Mr. Burr.
“It just was,” replied Colonel Crockett. “But it wasn’t long before I heard a noise ahead; and there was the bear climbing an oak tree. When he reached a good heavy branch he stopped, got out on it and turned. Then he began to look around for me. And now I had a chance to get another look at him, and still I felt he was the biggest bear I’d ever seen in those woods. If I’d had a scale along and could have induced him to get on them I’ll venture the critter’d weighed an easy six hundred pounds.
“I was less than a hundred yards from him, and to make sure of my shot I reprimed my gun. Then I drew a bead on him and fired.”
“Did you get him?” asked Ned Chandler, who had been listening intently.
“Not then. The bullet must have hit him somewhere, though, for he gave a kind of a yawp; but he looked none the worse, and went on sticking to the limb of the oak. So I rammed home another charge of powder and ball, primed as carefully as I could, and let him have it again. This time the shot counted. He fell out of the tree with a yell, his big paws going like mad, and his red mouth wide open. One of the hounds forgot his training and rushed in on him, thinking he was a goner.
“But that black fellow had lots of fight in him still. He scooped the hound up as a squirrel scoops up a nut; and he hugged him tight. The hound yowled something scandalous; and his comrade barked fit to split. As they were down on the ground through this part of the affair I couldn’t see much of them because of the denseness of the thicket. But, thinking I was about to lose a pretty fair kind of a hound, I dropped my rifle, drew my knife and tomahawk, and with one in one hand, and one in the other, I broke my way toward the place of action.”
“I suppose there wasn’t much left to the hound by that time,” said Burr.
“Oh, yes. He’d lots of life in him, for he yelled like a whole pack. You see the bear hadn’t got a proper pressure on him, and he was just shifting his grip when I busts through the thicket. And no sooner had I showed my nose than Mr. Bear seemed to understand that he’d been blaming his misfortunes on the wrong party. Right away he knew it wasn’t the hound that had tumbled him out of the tree, but me.
“And so, quick as a wink, he dropped the dog, and gave his attention to me. Now the knife I had in my left hand was a good enough knife, as such things go; and the hatchet was a fair kind of a weapon. But when I looked at them and then at that six hundred pounds of bear, they looked foolish; and so back I went, with all the speed I could get up, to the place where I had dropped my rifle.
“I picked it up, and saw, or rather heard, the bear coming for me; and as I was about to lift the piece to my shoulder, to wait for him, it struck me that it wasn’t loaded. I’ve done some quick pouring of powder in my time, but I think that was the quickest I ever undertook. I pulled the stopper from my powder horn and let the charge run into the barrel of that old rifle without paying much attention to how much, then I rammed it home, and the bullet, too, and then primed as carefully as I could under the circumstances.
“Along came the black bear, wounded, growling and as mad as tarnation. And up went the rifle, and I fired. Down went the critter on his side; he gave a couple of kicks and was dead.”
“Quite an experience,” said Mr. Burr. “Suppose you had, in your hurry, loaded your rifle improperly and it had missed fire. What would you have done?”
“Run,” said Crockett, promptly; “run as fast as my legs could carry me. A wounded bear is no kind of a beast to stand and reason with.”
“What did you do with him after you got him?” asked Ned Chandler.
“Well, as he was all of six hundred pounds, I couldn’t do much myself. So I got back to my cabin as quick as I could, got some friends and some horses, and we started out to find the carcass. I’d blazed the way with my tomahawk, and we hadn’t much trouble in coming to the place. Then we dressed the critter, loaded the meat on the horses’ backs and took it home.”
The genial hunter told many quaint and stirring tales of his experiences in the Indian wars, in the deep forests of the southwest, and of the wild and dangerous animals with which those forests were overrun. The lawless character who is always to be found on the outskirts of civilization also came into his conversation.
“Wherever you go in the southwest country, you run across him,” said Colonel Crockett. “He’s to be found in every settlement, in every camp, traveling every trail. He’s always armed, he’s usually got courage, he never fails to cause trouble.”
“I’ve met that sort of fellow myself,” nodded the planter, Burr. “He’s to be avoided.”
But Crockett shook his head.
“Not always,” said he. “The fact that people give him the width of the trail in passing is one of the things that encourages him to go even further than he’d gone before. That kind of a fellow should always be shown his proper place. He should be opposed when he makes a move to interfere with the rights of others.”
Just then there was a clatter of chairs on the deck and looking around Walter Jordan saw Huntley and a sharp-faced man dressed in black.
“Hello!” said Ned Chandler in a low tone to Walter, “there’s Sam Davidge now.”
“He’s seen that it’s no use hiding any longer,” said Walter; “and now he’s come out in the open. But,” his eyes on the two men, “I wonder what they’re up to?”
“No good, I’ll say that,” said Ned, with a promptness that made Walter smile.
The two men made way for themselves among the chairs; and when they had reached the party of which Crockett and the boys were members, they paused.
“How are you, Mr. Burr?” cried Huntley, with great cordiality. “I thought I saw you on board to-day.”
“How do you do, sir?” said Burr, who did not seem at all sure who Huntley was. “I’m pleased to see you again.”
“I met you—in Nashville, I think it was. Abe Sterrit, I think, introduced us,” said Huntley, seeing that Burr was not certain of him.
The planter’s face fell; and Crockett chuckled at the sight.
“Abe Sterrit’s a horse jockey at Nashville,” whispered the backwoodsman to Ned, a wide grin upon his face. “And I don’t think Mr. Burr sets much store by him.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” said the planter to Huntley, “I think I remember you. I trust you’ve been well, sir.”
“Tolerable,” said Huntley. Then, looking at Crockett, “How are you, colonel?”
“Good-evening,” replied the backwoodsman.
“Haven’t seen you since you were electioneering for your second term in Congress,” said the man.
“I don’t think I’ve run across you, either,” said Crockett, evenly. “But I remember seeing you then, well enough. You were making speeches right and left against me.”
Huntley laughed loudly.
“Ah, well, colonel,” said he, “it’s these little differences of opinion that make life worth living. I did work against you, that’s a fact, but because I was of opposite beliefs, and not through any sort of ill will.”
Crockett smiled drolly.
“Have it your own way,” said he.
Huntley seemed especially earnest; he took a step nearer to the backwoodsman.
“I’ve always felt a strong regard for your type of man, Colonel Crockett,” said he. “And I’ve always had a strong regard for your work and aims. And,” here he cast a swift glance in the direction of the boys, “I mean to prove that to you, right now.”
Walter nudged Ned with his elbow.
“I see it coming,” whispered Ned in return. “It’s something about us.”
Crockett, with the droll smile still upon his face, replied to Huntley:
“Well, I’m a sight obliged for your interest, sir.”
“It’s come to my ears,” said Huntley, “that you are going to Texas.”
“Well, that’s the plain truth,” replied Crockett. “But what is there against that?”
“Nothing,” answered the man, hastily. “That is, nothing against that in itself. But I understand, colonel, that you mean to accompany these two young men to San Antonio upon a certain mission——”
“Eh?” cried Colonel Crockett.
He looked in amazement at the speaker and then at the two boys.
“This is the first time I’ve heard of it,” said he.
But Huntley disregarded the statement, evidently not believing it.
“I take this occasion to warn you,” he went on, “that you are being deceived. The errand of these two young men to San Antonio is not at all the sort of thing they claim. As a matter of fact, it’s just the reverse. They are engaged in a piece of obvious rascality, and it is only right that you should know it before you get into it too far.”
Here the sharp-faced man in the black clothes stepped forward.
“My name is Davidge, Colonel Crockett,” said he. “Samuel Davidge; and I’m a councilor at law, in Louisville. It is possible that you have heard of me.”
“Yes,” replied the backwoodsman, and there was a world of significance in his look and tone, “I have heard of you—often!”
His meaning was so plain that some in the party laughed outright. Davidge swallowed once or twice; but he was a man hardened to affront and he went on without a change of tone.
“There is a conspiracy in progress, and these two boys are participators in it. They have, no doubt, told you some cock-and-bull story as to why they are going to Texas. But, believe me, sir, they are deceiving you. If you will give me a few moments I will inform you as to the true facts, and let you know in plain words——”
But here he was interrupted by Davy Crockett suddenly arising to his feet, sending his chair tipping over with an angry kick as he did so.
“Look here, Mr. Davidge,” said he. “Before you go any further in this talk of yours I want to say this to you, and,” his eyes going to Huntley, “to you also. These two boys have struck me as being of good mettle. They stick to what they set out to do, and they are willing to fight for what they believe is right. I’ve got the whole story from them of why they are going to Texas——”
“A pack of lies!” cried Huntley.
“Take care, Colonel Crockett,” warned Davidge. “Take care. They are sharp, young as they are. They’ll lead you into trouble.”
“Well,” said Crockett, and he turned a quaint smile upon Walter and Ned, “I’ve been in trouble before now, and I guess I can take care of myself, and get out of it again, if they get me in. As to their being sharpers and telling me a pack of lies, I take leave to doubt it. But they have told me of your little scheme, Mr. Davidge,” nodding to the sharp-faced man, “and of how you crept on board this boat in secret pursuit of them. And of you, Huntley,” to the burly man, “and your hiring a bruiser to injure one of them and so prevent him from finishing his journey. And I do believe that, for it’s about the kind of thing you’d both be likely to do.”
“Sir,” cried Davidge, with dignity, “you are insulting!”
“Take care!” spoke Huntley, his face turning a deep red as he strove to control himself.
“But,” went on Crockett, “there has been no understanding between these youngsters and myself about going to San Antonio with them. That little bit of steamboat gossip, if you really heard such, is not true. However,” and the droll smile came into his face once more, and he nodded his head shrewdly, “now that the thing’s been suggested to me, it wouldn’t be a half bad idea. I’ve got lots of time on my hands, and the freedom of Texas can wait a bit longer. I will go to San Antonio de Bexer with these youngsters, and I’d like to see any man, black, white or red, lay another straw in their way!”