The Backwoodsman; Or, Life on the Indian Frontier — John Shaqi
The Backwoodsman; Or, Life on the Indian Frontier
General
The Backwoodsman; Or, Life on the Indian Frontier
Hunting -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America -- West (U.S.); West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
I had no intention to stop here, and preferred riding up the stream in
order to try and find a ford where we could cross without danger. We
rode for a good two hours along the bank. The trees continually grew
scantier, and the road more difficult through scattered boulders and
rocks. Between these, huge ferns sprang up, and with the fallen trees,
frequently blocked the way, so that we had to make a long circuit to
fetch the river again. At length we reached a spot where the stream was
more contracted, and an old cypress lay across it, which had been
probably levelled by some storm. I went across the trunk, cut a long
bough and sounded the ground on the opposite bank; it rose at a steep
pitch from the water, and was firm, so that I had no doubt but that our
animals could easily clamber up it. I took the packages off Czar,
carried them across, then fastened the lasso to my horse's bridle ring,
and crossed the stream with it, shouting to him to follow me. The bank
on his side was rather steep, which fact he had discovered by feeling
with his fore feet, but he leaped with all four feet into the stream,
bounded up the other bank, and set to work on the grass, which had been
freshened by the last night's rain. Kreger followed my example, but
Lizzy would not venture the leap; I therefore went across, suddenly
seized her hind quarters, and pushed her into the stream, which she
entered headforemost, but soon reached the other side uninjured.
We loaded again, and rode down the stream opposite the spot where we had
spent the night. It was mid-day by this time, and though the heat was
not oppressive, our animals required a rest. We dined, and mounted again
at about two o'clock. From this point the country was quite strange to
me, and it was necessary to make sure of the direction in which we
proceeded. I compared the compass let into my rifle-butt with the one I
had in my pocket, and we rode at a quick pace toward the north-west.
All traces of the rain disappeared about four miles from our last
bivouac, and hence the hurricane had been limited to the course of
Turkey Creek. This is often found to be the case. Such storms at times
are not more than a mile in breadth, but dash with equal fury for
thousands of miles over hill and valley, so that nothing remains
standing which does not bow to the ground before them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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