Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Life in the NorthwestEllis, Edward Sylvester
General
Bill Biddon, Trapper; or, Life in the Northwest
Ellis, Edward Sylvester
Hunting -- West (U.S.) -- Fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction; Trappers -- Fiction; Western stories
Further time was spent in conversation with the clerks when I noticed
a person had taken Biddon’s place at the oars. The trapper motioned me
beside him, and seating ourselves in the opposite end of the boat he
said:
“Now we’ll have a talk, Jarsey, ogh!”
“The first thing to be knowed,” said Biddon, “is how in the name of
human natur you come in these parts. How war it, Jarsey?”
“You must remember, Biddon, I’ve been a prisoner for the last six
months.”
“Did you ever hear nothin’ of Greeny?”
“Yes; a rumor reached me that he was living with a tribe of Indians to
the east of us.”
“Altogether onpossible,” answered the trapper, with a shake of his
head.
“Why is it impossible?”
“He’s had his ha’r raised sure, and never seed the next day arter we
seed the last on him.”
“I am more hopeful than you are. Recollect _I_ have been a captive and
am now here without bodily harm.”
“It’s qua’r, I allow, how you come out, as you did. The reds down in
them parts are ramparageous, and if it hadn’t been for that Jim, you
spoke about, and that gal, you’d a gone under sure. I’s tuck once by
them same chaps one time. Me an’ Snapper Jack was sat on one dark
night in an awful snowstorm by a hundred on ’em. They blazed right
into us, and Jack rolled over with a pound of lead in him and never
said a word. I’s purty well riddled in my lower story, but I tuk
through and got off with my ha’r, while Jack never knowed who tuk his.
They cac’lated on toastin’ you up brown, and would ef it want fur that
gal, as I’s sayin’ while he’s had it all.”
“I cannot yet see, Biddon, why there is not a probability of Nat’s
being alive. The Indians in these parts are on friendly intercourse
with the traders, and it is in this region, if anywhere, that he will
be found.”
“I don’t b’lieve he’s about. They got him down thar, and he got it
down thar, _sure_.”
These words of the trapper dampened my expectations greatly. Much of
the joy of my hope was that I expected to again grasp the hand of my
old friend, and the thought that he had long been dead made me sad and
gloomy. However, I was not ready to give up all hope, and determined
that I should be satisfied of his fate before I returned to the
States.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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