Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone. Reid Mayne
that on one occasion caused me perhaps the greatest fright I ever experienced.
I had risen at an early hour one morning, which being very cold, I had lighted a fire. I was squatted, and shivering over the half kindled faggots, with a buffalo robe wrapped around my shoulders, when I saw “Runaway Dick” steal out from his sleeping place under a waggon. On seeing me, he turned suddenly round, and laid hold of his rifle.
I had just time to throw off the hairy covering, and spring to my feet, as the rifle was brought to his shoulder. Three seconds more, and I should have had a bullet through my body!
“Darn it! I thought you was a bar,” said Dick coolly, putting down his rifle, as I fancied, with a show of some chagrin at having been undeceived, and “choused” out of his shot.
I afterwards heard that he was only trying to frighten me. If so, the experiment proved entirely successful.
After reaching the post we were to occupy, I was not so well satisfied with my situation, as when on the march.
The discipline became more strict, and we had a good deal of fatigue-work to do – in building huts, stables, and fortifications.
Besides this unsoldierly duty by day, we had at night to take our turn as sentinels around the station.
Emigrants on the way to California passed us daily. How I envied them their freedom of action, and the bright hopes that were luring them on!
One morning, “Runaway Dick” was not to be found. He had run away once more. It was not difficult to divine whither – to California.
In this, his latest flight, he appeared to give some proof that he had still a little honesty left: for he did not take along with him either his horse, or his rifle.
I overheard some of the officers speaking of him after he was gone, one of them pronounced him “a damned fool” for not taking the horse – so necessary to him upon the long journey he would have to perform, before reaching his destination.
On hearing this remark, I registered a resolve, that, when my turn came to desert, they should not have occasion to apply the epithet to me, at all events, not for the same reason that Runaway Dick had deserved it.
Whether Dick’s example had any influence on me, I do not now remember. I only know that I soon after determined to desert, and take my horse with me.
I had served the Government of the United States once before; and did not think myself any too well rewarded for my services. I might probably have believed that “Uncle Sam” was indebted to me; and that by dismissing myself from his employ, and taking with me some of his property, it would be only squaring accounts with him; but I did not then take the trouble to trifle with my conscience – as I do not now – to justify my conduct by any such excuse. To carry off the horse would be stealing; but I required the animal for the journey; and I did not like to leave my officers under the impression that I was a “damned fool.”
“Every one who robs a government is not called a thief,” thought I, “and why should I win that appellation when only trying to win Lenore?”
I could not afford to squander the best part of my life in a wilderness – standing sentry all the night, and working on fortifications all the day.
It was absurd for any one to have enlisted an intelligent-looking young fellow like myself, for any such occupation. Was I not expected to take French leave on the first favourable opportunity? And would I not be thought a “fool” for not doing so?
These considerations did not influence me much, I admit, for the true cause of my desertion, was the knowledge that neither my relatives nor Lenore would ever be encountered in the middle of the great American prairie, and that to find either I must “move on.”
One night I was dispatched on patrol duty, to a place some two miles distant from the fort. The sky was dark at the time; but I knew the moon would be shining brightly in an hour.
A better opportunity would perhaps never occur again; and I resolved to take advantage of it and desert.
By going through the wilderness alone, I knew that I should have many dangers and hardships to encounter; but the curiosity, of learning how these were to be overcome, only added to my desire for entering upon them.
My patrol duty led me along the trail of the emigrants proceeding westward; and even in the darkness, I was able to follow it without difficulty, riding most of the way at a trot. When the moon rose, I increased my pace to a gallop, and scarce halted until daybreak, when, perceiving a small stream that ran through the bottom of a narrow valley, I rode toward it. There dismounting, I gave my horse to the grass – which was growing so luxuriantly as to reach up to his knees.
The horse was more fortunate than I: for the long night’s ride had given me an appetite, which I had no means of satisfying. I was hungry and happy – happy, because I was free; and hungry for the same reason! A paradox, though a truth.
There were birds warbling among the trees by the side of the stream. I could have shot some of them with my rifle, or revolver, and cooked them over a fire – for I had the means of making one. But I was not hungry enough to risk the report of a shot being heard; and after tethering my horse, to make secure against his deserting me, I lay down upon the long grass and fell fast asleep.
I dreamt no end of dreams, though they might all have been reduced to one; and that was: that the world was my inheritance, and I was on my way to take possession of it.
When I awoke, the sun was in the centre of the sky. My horse had satisfied his hunger; and, following the example of his master, had laid down to sleep.
I did not hesitate to disturb his repose; and, having saddled and remounted him, I once more took to the emigrant trail, and continued on towards fortune and Lenore!
Volume One – Chapter Eighteen.
Old Johnson
I travelled along the trail all that afternoon and evening, until, just as twilight was darkening into night, I came in sight of some camp-fires. On seeing them, I paused to consider what was best to be done.
To halt at the camp – if, as I supposed, it was a party of emigrants – might lead to my being taken, in case of being pursued from the fort, for my dress, the U.S. brand on the horse, and the military saddle, all proved them the property of “Uncle Sam.”
This determined me to avoid showing myself – until I should have put a greater distance between myself and the fort.
I dismounted on the spot where I had halted, tethered my horse, and tried to take some rest. I soon found that I could not sleep: hunger would not admit of it.
Within sight of me were the camp-fires, surrounded by people, who would probably have relieved my wants; and yet I feared to go near them.
Conscience, or common sense, told me, that emigrants in a wilderness might not look very favourably upon one, employed to protect them, deserting from his duty, and taking property along with him – of which every citizen of the United States believes himself to be the owner of a share. They might not actually repel me. In all probability they would give me something to eat; but they might also give information concerning me – should I be pursued – that would enable my pursuers to make a prisoner of me.
Before daybreak I awoke, having enjoyed a brief slumber; and, silently mounting my horse, I rode beyond the emigrants’ camp – deviating widely from the trail to get around them.
I soon recovered the track; and pursued it as fast as my steed was willing to carry me. When, looking out for a place where water could be obtained – with the intention of stopping awhile and killing some bird or animal for food – I came in sight of another party of emigrants, who were just taking their departure from the spot where they had encamped for the night.
I had put one train of these travellers between me and the fort; and now fancied myself tolerably safe from pursuit. Riding boldly up to the waggons, I told the first man I encountered, and in very plain terms that I must have something to eat.
“Now, I like that way of talking,” said he. “Had you asked for something in