The Pioneers (29 page)

On the present occasion, the usual amusement of the day had been a little hastened, in order to allow a fair opportunity to Mr. Grant, whose exhibition was not less a treat to the young sportsmen, than the one which engaged their present attention. The owner of the birds was a free black, who had prepared for the occasion a collection of game that was admirably qualified to inflame the appetite of an epicure, and was well adapted to the means and skill of the different competitors, who were of all ages. He had offered to the younger and more humble marksmen divers birds of an inferior quality, and some shooting had already taken place, much to the pecuniary advantage of the sable owner of the game. The order of the sports was extremely simple, and well understood. The bird was fastened by a string to the stump of a large pine, the side of which, towards the point where the marksmen were placed, had been flattened with an ax, in order that it might serve the purpose of a target by which the merit of each individual might be ascertained. The distance between the stump and shooting stand was one hundred measured yards: a foot more or a foot less being thought an invasion of the right of one of the parties. The Negro affixed his own price to every bird, and the terms of the chance; but when these were once established, he was obliged by the strict principles of public justice that prevailed in the country, to admit any adventurer who might offer.

The throng consisted of some twenty or thirty young men, most of whom had rifles, and a collection of all the boys in the village. The little urchins, clad in coarse but warm garments, stood gathered around the more distinguished marksmen, with their hands stuck under their waistbands, listening eagerly to the boastful stories of skill that had been exhibited on former occasions, and were already emulating in their hearts these wonderful deeds in gunnery.

The chief speaker was the man who had been mentioned by Natty as Billy Kirby. This fellow, whose occupation when he did labor, was that of clearing lands, or chopping jobs, was of great stature, and carried, in his very air, the index of his character. He was a noisy, boisterous, reckless lad, whose good-natured eye contradicted the bluntness and bullying tenor of his speech. For weeks he would lounge around the taverns of the county, in a state of perfect idleness, or doing small jobs for his liquor and his meals, and caviling with applicants about the prices of his labor: frequently preferring idleness to an abatement of a tittle of his independence, or a cent in his wages. But when these embarrassing points were satisfactorily arranged, he would shoulder his ax and his rifle, slip his arms through the straps of his pack, and enter the woods with the tread of a Hercules. His first object was to learn his limits, round which he would pace, occasionally freshening, with a blow of his ax, the marks on the boundary trees; and then he would proceed with an air of great deliberation to the center of his premises, and, throwing aside his superfluous garments, measure, with a knowing eye, one or two of the nearest trees that were towering apparently into the very clouds as he gazed upwards. Commonly selecting one of the most noble for the first trial of his power, he would approach it with a listless air, whistling a low tune; and wielding his ax with a certain flourish, not unlike the salutes of a fencing master, he would strike a light blow into the bark, and measure his distance. The pause that followed was ominous of the fall of the forest which had flourished there for centuries. The heavy and brisk blows that he struck were soon succeeded by the thundering report of the tree, as it came, first cracking and threatening, with the separation of its own last ligaments, then threshing and tearing with its branches the tops of its surrounding brethren, and finally meeting the ground with a shock but little inferior to an earthquake. From that moment the sounds of the ax were ceaseless, while the falling of the trees was like a distant cannonading; and the daylight broke into the depths of the woods with the suddenness of a winter morning.

For days, weeks, nay months, Billy Kirby would toil with an ardor that evinced his native spirit, and with an effect that seemed magical, until, his chopping being ended, his stentorian lungs could be heard emitting sounds, as he called to his patient oxen, which rang through the hills like the cries of an alarm. He had been often heard, on a mild summer's evening, a long mile across the vale of Templeton; when the echoes from the mountains would take up his cries, until they died away in feeble sounds from the distant rocks that overhung the lake. His piles, or to use the language of the country, his logging, ended, with a dispatch that could only accompany his dexterity and Herculean strength, the jobber would collect together his implements of labor, light the heaps of timber, and march away under the blaze of the prostrate forest, like the conqueror of some city, who, having first prevailed over his adversary, applies the torch as the finishing blow to his conquest. For a long time Billy Kirby would then be seen, sauntering around the taverns, the rider of scrub races, the bully of cockfights, and not unfrequently the hero of such sports as the one in hand.

Between him and the Leatherstocking, there had long existed a jealous rivalry on the point of skill with the rifle. Notwithstanding the long practice of Natty, it was commonly supposed that the steady nerves and quick eye of the wood chopper rendered him his equal. The competition had, however, been confined hitherto to boastings and comparisons made from their success in various hunting excursions; but this was the first time that they had ever come in open collision. A good deal of higgling about the price of the choicest bird had taken place between Billy Kirby and its owner before Natty and his companions rejoined the sportsmen. It had, however, been settled at one shilling
¹⁴
a shot, which was the highest sum ever exacted, the black taking care to protect himself from losses as much as possible, by the conditions of the sport. The turkey was already fastened at the “mark,” but its body was entirely hid by the surrounding snow, nothing being visible but its red swelling head and its long neck. If the bird was injured by any bullet that struck below the snow, it was to continue the property of its present owner; but if a feather was touched in a visible part, the animal became the prize of the successful adventurer.

These terms were loudly proclaimed by the Negro, who was seated in the snow in a somewhat hazardous vicinity to his favorite bird, when Elizabeth and her cousin approached the noisy sportsmen. The sounds of mirth and contention sensibly lowered at this unexpected visit; but, after a moment's pause, the curious interest exhibited in the face of the young lady, together with her smiling air, restored the freedom of the morning; though it was somewhat chastened, both in language and vehemence, by the presence of such a spectator.

“Stand out of the way there, boys!” cried the wood chopper, who was placing himself at the shooting point—“stand out of the way, you little rascals, or I will shoot through you. Now Brom, take leave of your turkey.”

“Stop!” cried the young hunter; “I am a candidate for a chance. Here is my shilling, Brom; I wish a shot too.”

“You may wish it in welcome,” cried Kirby, “but if I ruffle the gobbler's feathers, how are you to get it? Is money so plenty in your deerskin pocket that you pay for a chance that you may never have?”

“How know you, sir, how plenty money is in my pocket?” said the youth fiercely. “Here is my shilling, Brom, and I claim a right to shoot.”

“Don't be crabbed, my boy,” said the other, who was very coolly fixing his flint. “They say you have a hole in your left shoulder, yourself: so I think Brom may give you a fire for half price: It will take a keen one to hit that bird, I can tell you, my lad, even if I give you a chance, which is what I have no mind to do.”

“Don't be boasting, Billy Kirby,” said Natty, throwing the breech of his rifle into the snow and leaning on its barrel; “you'll get but one shot at the creater, for if the lad misses his aim, which wouldn't be a wonder if he did, with his arm so stiff and sore, you'll find a good piece and an old eye coming a'ter you. Maybe it's true that I can't shoot as I used to could, but a hundred yards is a short distance for a long rifle.”

“What, old Leatherstocking, are you out this morning?” cried his reckless opponent. “Well, fair play's a jewel. I've the lead of you, old fellow; so here goes for a dry throat or a good dinner.”

The countenance of the Negro evinced not only all the interest which his pecuniary adventure might occasion, but also the keen excitement that the sport produced in the others, though with a very different wish as to the result. While the wood chopper was slowly and steadily raising his rifle, he bawled:

“Fair play, Billy Kirby—stand back—make 'em stand back, boys—gib a nibber fair play—poss-up, gobbler; shake a head, fool; don't you see 'em taking aim?”

These cries, which were intended as much to distract the attention of the marksman as for anything else, were fruitless.

The nerves of the wood chopper were not so easily shaken, and he took his aim with the utmost deliberation. Stillness prevailed for a moment, and he fired. The head of the turkey was seen to dash on one side, and its wings were spread in momentary fluttering; but it settled itself down calmly into its bed of snow, and glanced its eyes uneasily around. For a time long enough to draw a deep breath, not a sound was heard. The silence was then broken by the noise of the Negro, who laughed, and shook his body, with all kinds of antics, rolling over in the snow in the excess of delight.

“Well done a gobbler,” he cried, jumping up and affecting to embrace his bird; “I tell 'em to poss-up, and you see 'em dodge. Gib anoder shillin', Billy, and hab anoder shot.”

“No—the shot is mine,” said the young hunter; “you have my money already. Leave the mark, and let me try my luck.”

“Ah! It's but money thrown away, lad,” said Leatherstocking. “A turkey's head and neck is but a small mark for a new hand and a lame shoulder. You'd best let me take the fire, and maybe we can make some settlement with the lady about the bird.”

“The chance is mine,” said the young hunter. “Clear the ground, that I may take it.”

The discussions and disputes concerning the last shot were now abating, it having been determined that if the turkey's head had been anywhere but just where it was at the moment, the bird must certainly have been killed. There was not much excitement produced by the preparations of the youth, who proceeded in a hurried manner to take his aim, and was in the act of pulling the trigger, when he was stopped by Natty.

“Your hand shakes, lad,” he said, “and you seem overeager. Bullet wounds are apt to weaken flesh, and to my judgment, you'll not shoot so well as in common. If you will fire, you should shoot quick, before there is time to shake off the aim.”

“Fair play,” again shouted the Negro; “fair play—gib a nigger fair play. What right a Nat-Bumppo advise a young man? Let 'em shoot—clear a ground.”

The youth fired with great rapidity, but no motion was made by the turkey; and when the examiners for the ball returned from the “mark,” they declared that he had missed the stump.

Elizabeth observed the change in his countenance, and could not help feeling surprise, that one so evidently superior to his companions should feel a trifling loss so sensibly. But her own champion was now preparing to enter the lists.

The mirth of Brom, which had been again excited, though in a much smaller degree than before, by the failure of the second adventurer, vanished the instant Natty took his stand. His skin became mottled with large brown spots, that fearfully sullied the luster of his native ebony, while his enormous lips gradually compressed around two rows of ivory that had hitherto been shining in his visage, like pearls set in jet. His nostrils, at all times the most conspicuous features of his face, dilated, until they covered the greater part of the diameter of his countenance; while his brown and bony hands unconsciously grasped the snowcrust near him, the excitement of the moment completely overcoming his native dread of cold.

While these indications of apprehension were exhibited in the sable owner of the turkey, the man who gave rise to this extraordinary emotion was as calm and collected as if there was not to be a single spectator of his skill.

“I was down in the Dutch settlements on the Schoharie,” said Natty, carefully removing the leather guard from the lock of his rifle, “just before the breaking out of the last war, and there was a shooting match among the boys; so I took a hand. I think I opened a good many Dutch eyes that day; for I won the powder horn, three bars of lead, and a pound of as good powder as ever flashed in pan. Lord! How they did swear in Jarman! They did tell me of one drunken Dutchman who said he'd have the life of me before I got back to the lake ag'in. But if he had put his rifle to his shoulder with evil intent God would have punished him for it; and even if the Lord didn't, and he had missed his aim, I know one that would have given him as good as he sent, and better too, if good shooting could come into the 'count.”

By this time the old hunter was ready for his business, and throwing his right leg far behind him, and stretching his left arm along the barrel of his piece, he raised it towards the bird. Every eye glanced rapidly from the marksman to the mark; but at the moment when each ear was expecting the report of the rifle, they were disappointed by the ticking sound of the flint.

“A snap, a snap!” shouted the Negro, springing from his crouching posture like a madman, before his bird. “A snap good as fire—Natty Bumppo gun he snap—Natty Bumppo miss a turkey!”

“Natty Bumppo hit a nigger,” said the indignant old hunter, “if you don't get out of the way, Brom. It's contrary to the reason of the thing, boy, that a snap should count for a fire, when one is nothing more than a firestone striking a steel pan, and the other is sudden death; so get out of my way, boy, and let me show Billy Kirby how to shoot a Christmas turkey.”