'It was getting dark, I had not touched food since starting, nor had I wetted my lips. My thirst was now intolerable. The travelling rule, about keeping on, was an ugly incubus. Samson would go his own ways-he had sense enough for that-but how, when, where, was I to quench my thirst? Oh! for the tip of Lazarus' finger-or for choice, a bottle of Ba.s.s-to cool my tongue! Then too, whither would the mustang stray in the night if I rested or fell asleep? Again and again I tried to stalk him by the starlight. Twice I got hold of his tail, but he broke away. If I drove him down to the river banks the chance of catching him would be no better, and I should lose the dry ground to rest on.

'It was about as unpleasant a night as I had yet pa.s.sed. Every now and then I sat down, and dropped off to sleep from sheer exhaustion. Every time this happened I dreamed of sparkling drinks; then woke with a start to a lively sense of the reality, and anxious searches for the mustang.

'Directly the day dawned I drove the animal, now very stiff, straight down for the Platte. He wanted water fully as much as his master; and when we sighted it he needed no more driving. Such a hurry was he in that, in his rush for the river, he got bogged in the muddy swamp at its edge. I seized my chance, and had him fast in a minute. We both plunged into the stream; I, clothes and all, and drank, and drank, and drank.'

That evening I caught up the cavalcade.

How curious it is to look back upon such experiences from a different stage of life's journey! How would it have fared with me had my rifle exploded with the fall? it was knocked out of my hands at full c.o.c.k. How if the stock had been broken? It had been thrown at least ten yards.

How if the horn had entered my thigh instead of the horse's? How if I had fractured a limb, or had been stunned, or the bull had charged again while I was creeping up to him? Any one, or more than one, of these contingencies were more likely to happen than not. But nothing did happen, save-the best.

Not a thought of the kind ever crossed my mind, either at the time or afterwards. Yet I was not a thoughtless man, only an average man. Nine Englishmen out of ten with a love of sport-as most Englishmen are-would have done, and have felt, just as I did. I was bruised and still; but so one is after a run with hounds. I had had many a nastier fall hunting in Derbyshire. The worst that could happen did not happen; but the worst never-well, so rarely does. One might shoot oneself instead of the pigeon, or be caught picking forbidden fruit. Narrow escapes are as good as broad ones. The truth is, when we are young, and active, and healthy, whatever happens, of the pleasant or lucky kind, we accept as a matter of course.

Ah! youth! youth! If we only knew when we were well off, when we were happy, when we possessed all that this world has to give! If we but knew that love is only a matter of course so long as youth and its bounteous train is ours, we might perhaps make the most of it, and give up looking for-something better. But what then? Give up the 'something better'?

Give up pursuit,-the effort that makes us strong? 'Give up the sweets of hope'? No! 'tis better as it is, perhaps. The kitten plays with its tail, and the nightingale sings; but they think no more of happiness than the rose-bud of its beauty. May be happiness comes not of too much knowing, or too much thinking either.

CHAPTER XXIII

FORT LARAMIE was a military station and trading post combined. It was a stone building in what they called a 'compound' or open s.p.a.ce, enclosed by a palisade. When we arrived there, it was occupied by a troop of mounted riflemen under canvas, outside the compound. The officers lived in the fort; and as we had letters to the Colonel - Somner - and to the Captain - Rhete, they were very kind and very useful to us.

We pitched our camp by the Laramie river, four miles from the fort.

Nearer than that there was not a blade of gra.s.s. The cavalry horses and military mules needed all there was at hand. Some of the mules we were allowed to buy, or exchange for our own. We accordingly added six fresh ones to our cavalcade, and parted with two horses; which gave us a total of fifteen mules and six horses. Government provisions were not to be had, so that we could not replenish our now impoverished stock. This was a serious matter, as will be seen before long. Nor was the evil lessened by my being laid up with a touch of fever-the effect, no doubt, of those drenches of stagnant water. The regimental doctor was absent. I could not be taken into the fort. And, as we had no tent, and had thrown away almost everything but the clothes we wore, I had to rough it and take my chance. Some relics of our medicine chest, together with a tough const.i.tution, pulled me through. But I was much weakened, and by no means fit for the work before us. Fred did his best to persuade me from going further. He confessed that he was utterly sick of the expedition; that his injured knee prevented him from hunting, or from being of any use in packing and camp work; that the men were a set of ruffians who did just as they chose-they grumbled at the hardships, yet helped themselves to the stores without restraint; that we had the Rocky Mountains yet to cross; after that, the country was unknown. Colonel Somner had strongly advised us to turn back. Forty of his men had tried two months ago to carry despatches to the regiment's headquarters in Oregon. Only five had got through; the rest had been killed and scalped. Finally, that we had something like 1,200 miles to go, and were already in the middle of August. It would be folly, obstinacy, madness, to attempt it. He would stop and hunt where we were, as long as I liked; or he would go back with me. He would hire fresh good men, and buy new horses; and, now that we knew the country, we could get to St. Louis before the end of September, and-. There was no reasonable answer to be made. I simply told him I had thought it over, and had decided to go on. Like the plucky fellow and staunch friend that he was, he merely shrugged his shoulders, and quietly said, 'Very well. So be it.'

Before leaving Fort Laramie a singular incident occurred, which must seem so improbable, that its narration may be taken for fiction. It was, however, a fact. There was plenty of game near our camping ground; and though the weather was very hot, one of the party usually took the trouble to bring in something to keep the pot supplied. The sage hens, the buffalo or elk meat were handed over to Jacob, who made a stew with bacon and rice, enough for the evening meal and the morrow's breakfast.

After supper, when everyone had filled his stomach, the large kettle, covered with its lid, was taken off the fire, and this allowed to burn itself out.

For four or five mornings running the kettle was found nearly empty, and all hands had to put up with a cup of coffee and mouldy biscuit dust.

There was a good deal of unparliamentary language. Everyone accused everyone else of filthy greediness. It was disgusting that after eating all he could, a man hadn't the decency to wait till the morning. The pot had been full for supper, and, as every man could see, it was never half emptied-enough was always left for breakfast. A resolution was accordingly pa.s.sed that each should take his turn of an hour's watch at night, till the glutton was caught in the act.

My hour happened to be from 11 to 12 P.M. I strongly suspected the thief to be an Indian, and loaded my big pistol with slugs on the chance. It was a clear moonlight night. I propped myself comfortably with a bag of hams; and concealed myself as well as I could in a bush of artemisia, which was very thick all round. I had not long been on the look-out when a large grey wolf prowled slowly out of the bushes. The night was bright as day; but every one of the men was sound asleep in a circle round the remains of the camp fire. The wolf pa.s.sed between them, hesitating as it almost touched a covering blanket. Step by step it crept up to the kettle, took the handle of the lid between its jaws, lifted it off, placed it noiselessly on the ground, and devoured the savoury stew.

I could not fire, because of the men. I dared not move, lest I should disturb the robber. I was even afraid the click of c.o.c.king the pistol would startle him and prevent my getting a quiet shot. But patience was rewarded. When satiated, the brute retired as stealthily as he had advanced; and as he pa.s.sed within seven or eight yards of me I let him have it. Great was my disappointment to see him scamper off. How was it possible I could have missed him? I must have fired over his back. The men jumped to their feet and clutched their rifles; but, though astonished at my story, were soon at rest again. After this the kettle was never robbed. Four days later we were annoyed with such a stench that it was a question of shifting our quarters. In hunting for the nuisance amongst the thicket of wormwood, the dead wolf was discovered not twenty yards from our centre.

The reader would not thank me for an account of the monotonous drudgery, the hardships, the quarrellings, which grew worse from day to day after we left Fort Laramie. Fred and I were about the only two who were on speaking terms; we clung to each other, as a sort of forlorn security against coming disasters. Gradually it was dawning on me that, under the existing circ.u.mstances, the fulfilment of my hopes would be (as Fred had predicted) an impossibility; and that to persist in the attempt to realise them was to court destruction. As yet, I said nothing of this to him. Perhaps I was ashamed to. Perhaps I secretly acknowledged to myself that he had been wiser than I, and that my stubbornness was responsible for the life itself of every one of the party.

Doubtless thoughts akin to these must often have haunted the mind of my companion; but he never murmured; only uttered a hasty objurgation when troubles reached a climax, and invariably ended with a burst of cheery laughter which only the sulkiest could resist. It was after a day of severe trials he proposed that we should go off by ourselves for a couple of nights in search of game, of which we were much in need. The men were easily persuaded to halt and rest. Samson had become a sort of nonent.i.ty. Dysentery had terribly reduced his strength, and with it such intelligence as he could boast of. We started at daybreak, right glad to be alone together and away from the penal servitude to which we were condemned. We made for the Sweet.w.a.ter, not very far from the foot of the South Pa.s.s, where antelope and black-tailed deer abounded. We failed, however, to get near them-stalk after stalk miscarried.

Disappointed and tired, we were looking out for some snug little hollow where we could light a fire without its being seen by the Indians, when, just as we found what we wanted, an antelope trotted up to a brow to inspect us. I had a fairly good shot at him and missed. This disheartened us both. Meat was the one thing we now sorely needed to save the rapidly diminishing supply of hams. Fred said nothing, but I saw by his look how this trifling accident helped to depress him. I was ready to cry with vexation. My rifle was my pride, the stag of my life-my _alter ego_. It was never out of my hands; every day I practised at prairie dogs, at sage hens, at a mark even if there was no game. A few days before we got to Laramie I had killed, right and left, two wild ducks, the second on the wing; and now, when so much depended on it, I could not hit a thing as big as a donkey. The fact is, I was the worse for illness. I had constant returns of fever, with bad shivering fits, which did not improve the steadiness of one's hand. However, we managed to get a supper. While we were examining the spot where the antelope had stood, a leveret jumped up, and I knocked him over with my remaining barrel. We fried him in the one tin plate we had brought with us, and thought it the most delicious dish we had had for weeks.

As we lay side by side, smoke curling peacefully from our pipes, we chatted far into the night, of other days-of Cambridge, of our college friends, of London, of the opera, of b.a.l.l.s, of women-the last a fruitful subject-and of the future. I was vastly amused at his sudden outburst as some start of one of the horses picketed close to us reminded us of the actual present. 'If ever I get out of this d-d mess,' he exclaimed, 'I'll never go anywhere without my own French cook.' He kept his word, to the end of his life, I believe.

It was a delightful repose, a complete forgetting, for a night at any rate, of all impending care. Each was cheered and strengthened for the work to come. The spirit of enterprise, the love of adventure restored for the moment, believed itself a match for come what would. The very animals seemed invigorated by the rest and the abundance of rich gra.s.s spreading as far as we could see. The morning was bright and cool. A delicious bath in the Sweet.w.a.ter, a breakfast on fried ham and coffee, and once more in our saddles on the way back to camp, we felt (or fancied that we felt) prepared for anything.

That is just what we were not. Samson and the men, meeting with no game where we had left them, had moved on that afternoon in search of better hunting grounds. The result was that when we overtook them, we found five mules up to their necks in a muddy creek. The packs were sunk to the bottom, and the animals nearly drowned or strangled. Fred and I rushed to the rescue. At once we cut the ropes which tied them together; and, setting the men to pull at tails or heads, succeeded at last in extricating them.

Our new-born vigour was nipped in the bud. We were all drenched to the skin. Two packs containing the miserable remains of our wardrobe, Fred's and mine, were lost. The catastrophe produced a good deal of bad language and bad blood. Translated into English it came to this: 'They had trusted to us, taking it for granted we knew what we were about.

What business had we to "boss" the party if we were as ignorant as the mules? We had guaranteed to lead them through to California [!] and had brought them into this "almighty fix" to slave like n.i.g.g.e.rs and to starve.' There was just truth enough in the Jeremiad to make it sting.

It would not have been prudent, nay, not very safe, to return curse for curse. But the breaking point was reached at last. That night I, for one, had not much sleep. I was soaked from head to foot, and had not a dry rag for a change. Alternate fits of fever and rigor would alone have kept me awake; but renewed ponderings upon the situation and confirmed convictions of the peremptory necessity of breaking up the party, forced me to the conclusion that this was the right, the only, course to adopt.

For another twenty-four hours I brooded over my plans. Two main difficulties confronted me: the announcement to the men, who might mutiny; and the parting with Fred, which I dreaded far the most of the two. Would he not think it treacherous to cast him off after the sacrifices he had made for me? Implicitly we were as good as pledged to stand by each other to the last gasp. Was it not mean and dastardly to run away from the battle because it was dangerous to fight it out? Had friendship no claims superior to personal safety? Was not my decision prompted by sheer selfishness? Could anything be said in its defence?

Yes; sentiment must yield to reason. To go on was certain death for all.

It was not too late to return, for those who wished it. And when I had demonstrated, as I could easily do, the impossibility of continuance, each one could decide for himself. The men were as reckless as they were ignorant. However they might execrate us, we were still their natural leaders: their blame, indeed, implied they felt it. No sentimental argument could obscure this truth, and this conviction was decisive.

The next night and the day after were, from a moral point of view, the most trying perhaps, of the whole journey. We had halted on a wide, open plain. Due west of us in the far distance rose the snowy peaks of the mountains. And the prairie on that side terminated in bluffs, rising gradually to higher spurs of the range. When the packs were thrown off, and the men had turned, as usual, to help themselves to supper, I drew Fred aside and imparted my resolution to him. He listened to it calmly-much more so than I had expected. Yet it was easy to see by his unusual seriousness that he fully weighed the gravity of the purpose.

All he said at the time was, 'Let us talk it over after the men are asleep.'

We did so. We placed our saddles side by side-they were our regular pillows-and, covering ourselves with the same blanket, well out of ear-shot, discussed the proposition from every practical aspect. He now combated my scheme, as I always supposed he would, by laying stress upon our bond of friendship. This was met on my part by the arguments already set forth. He then proposed an amendment, which almost upset my decision. 'It is true,' he admitted, 'that we cannot get through as we are going now; the provisions will not hold out another month, and it is useless to attempt to control the men. But there are two ways out of the difficulty: we can reach Salt Lake City and winter there; or, if you are bent on going to California, why shouldn't we take Jacob and Nelson (the Canadian), pay off the rest of the brutes, and travel together,-us four?'

Whether 'das ewig Wirkende' that shapes our ends be beneficent or malignant is not easy to tell, till after the event. Certain it is that sometimes we seem impelled by latent forces stronger than ourselves-if by self be meant one's will. We cannot give a reason for all we do; the infinite chain of cause and effect, which has had no beginning and will have no end, is part of the reckoning,-with this, finite minds can never grapple.

It was destined (my stubbornness was none of my making) that I should remain obdurate. Fred's last resource was an attempt to persuade me (he really believed: I, too, thought it likely) that the men would show fight, annex beasts and provisions, and leave us to shift for ourselves.

There were six of them, armed as we were, to us three, or rather us two, for Samson was a negligible quant.i.ty. 'We shall see,' said I; and by degrees we dropped asleep.

CHAPTER XXIV

BEFORE the first streak of dawn I was up and off to hunt for the horses and mules, which were now allowed to roam in search of feed. On my return, the men were afoot, taking it easy as usual. Some artemisia bushes were ablaze for the morning's coffee. No one but Fred had a suspicion of the coming crisis. I waited till each one had lighted his pipe; then quietly requested the lot to gather the provision packs together, as it was desirable to take stock, and make some estimate of demand and supply. Nothing loth, the men obeyed. 'Now,' said I, 'turn all the hams out of their bags, and let us see how long they will last.'

When done: 'What!' I exclaimed, with well-feigned dismay, 'that's not all, surely? There are not enough here to last a fortnight. Where are the rest? No more? Why, we shall starve.' The men's faces fell; but never a murmur, nor a sound. 'Turn out the biscuit bags. Here, spread these empty ham sacks, and pour the biscuit on to them. Don't lose any of the dust. We shall want every crumb, mouldy or not.' The gloomy faces grew gloomier. What's to be done?' Silence. 'The first thing, as I think all will agree, is to divide what is left into nine equal shares-that's our number now-and let each one take his ninth part, to do what he likes with. You yourselves shall portion out the shares, and then draw lots for choice.'

This presentation of the inevitable compelled submission. The whole, amounting to twelve light mule packs (it had been fifteen fairly heavy ones after our purchases at Fort Laramie), was still a goodly bulk to look at. The nine peddling dividends, when seen singly, were not quite what the shareholders had antic.i.p.ated.

Why were they still silent? Why did they not rebel, and visit their wrath upon the directors? Because they knew in their hearts that we had again and again predicted the catastrophe. They knew we had warned them scores and scores of times of the consequences of their wilful and reckless improvidence. They were stupefied, aghast, at the ruin they had brought upon themselves. To turn upon us, to murder us, and divide our three portions between them, would have been suicidal. In the first place, our situation was as desperate as theirs. We should fight for our lives; and it was not certain, in fact it was improbable, that either Jacob or William would side against us. Without our aid-they had not a compa.s.s among them-they were helpless. The instinct of self-preservation bade them trust to our good will.

So far, then, the game was won. Almost humbly they asked what we advised them to do. The answer was prompt and decisive: 'Get back to Fort Laramie as fast as you can.' 'But how? Were they to walk? They couldn't carry their packs.' 'Certainly not; we were English gentlemen, and would behave as such. Each man should have his own mule; each, into the bargain, should receive his pay according to agreement.' They were agreeably surprised. I then very strongly counselled them not to travel together. Past experience proved how dangerous this must be. To avoid the temptation, even the chance, of this happening, the surest and safest plan would be for each party to start separately, and not leave till the last was out of sight. For my part I had resolved to go alone.

It was a melancholy day for everyone. And to fill the cup of wretchedness to overflowing, the rain, beginning with a drizzle, ended with a downpour. Consultations took place between men who had not spoken to one another for weeks. Fred offered to go on, at all events to Salt Lake City, if Nelson the Canadian and Jacob would go with him. Both eagerly closed with the offer. They would be so much nearer to the 'diggings,' and were, moreover, fond of their leader. Louis would go back to Fort Laramie. Potter and Morris would cross the mountains, and strike south for the Mormon city if their provisions and mules threatened to give out. William would try his luck alone in the same way. And there remained no one but Samson, undecided and unprovided for. The strong weak man sat on the ground in the steady rain, smoking pipe after pipe; watching first the preparations, then the departures, one after the other, at intervals of an hour or so. First the singles, then the pair; then, late in the afternoon, Fred and his two henchmen.

It is needless to depict our separation. I do not think either expected ever to see the other again. Yet we parted after the manner of trueborn Britons, as if we should meet again in a day or two. 'Well, good-bye, old fellow. Good luck. What a beastly day, isn't it?' But emotions are only partially suppressed by subduing their expression. The hearts of both were full.

I watched the gradual disappearance of my dear friend, and thought with a sigh of my loss in Jacob and Nelson, the two best men of the band. It was a comfort to reflect that they had joined Fred. Jacob especially was full of resource; Nelson of energy and determination. And the courage and cool judgment of Fred, and his presence of mind in emergencies, were all pledges for the safety of the trio.

As they vanished behind a distant bluff, I turned to the sodden wreck of the deserted camp, and began actively to pack my mules. Samson seemed paralysed by imbecility.

'What had I better do?' he presently asked, gazing with dull eyes at his two mules and two horses.

'I don't care what you do. It is nothing to me. You had better pack your mules before it is dark, or you may lose them.'

'I may as well go with you, I think. I don't care much about going back to Laramie.'

He looked miserable. I was so. I had held out under a long and heavy strain. Parting with Fred had, for the moment, staggered my resolution.

I was sick at heart. The thought of packing two mules twice a day, single-handed, weakened as I was by illness, appalled me. And though ashamed of the perversity which had led me to fling away the better and accept the worse, I yielded.