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<h3>Chapter Forty Six.</h3> <h4>A Tough Story.</h4> For some seconds the two worthies observed a mutual silence—broken only by a formidable rattle of teeth, as large “chunks” of buffalo-meat were put through their respective masticating machines. Curious to hear the promised revelation, Wingrove and I checked our impatience, and clung to our covert among the bushes. One thing—to which their speech had incidentally adverted—was not without much significance; and had produced upon me a certain impression that was unpleasant. They appeared to know, or Sure-shot did, that at least a portion of the train was en route for the Mormon city. It is true, I had had originally suspicions of this; but the letter of Lilian had led me to hope it might be otherwise. Any destination but that. I had commenced reflecting upon this point, when I was interrupted by the voice of Sure-shot resuming the conversation. Thus did he enter on his explanation: “Ye see, kimrade, these Mormings, es I’ve heern, air mighty taken up wi’ sogerin’, an’ thet sort o’ thing. Ye’ve heerd talk o’ theer great bettelion. They’ll be arter these eer treppings for certing, since they hain’t much chence o’ gittin’ soger fixings out theer. We-ell, what I mean to do is to put the knepsacks off on ’em for some new improvement o’ pattern. I guess it air thet—I’ve heerd say so at the Fort—then the Morming jineral, who air the prophet hisself, an’ who’s got berrls o’ dollars—he’ll buy the knepsacks at any price. Now, de ye take, Mister Tigg?” “Troth do I. But dev ye think yez can fool thim so aizy?” “Easy as eatin’ punkin-pie. Jehosophet! I hain’t been five year in the tradin’ line ’ithout lernin’ the bizness, I recking.” “Be me faith! yez must have been raal cliver at it, whin ye sowld them cypress-knees for bacon-hams to the Bawltemoreans. You remimber that story yez towld us down in Mixico?” “Yees; certingly I remember it—he, he, he! But I kim a better trick then thet on the Orleens people ’bout five yeer ago—jest ’fore I jined the Rangers.” “Fwhat was it, shure?” “We—ell, ye see, I wan’t allers es poor es I’m now. I hed a pertnership in a bit o’ a schooner, es used to trade ’tween Bosting an’ Orleens, an’ we used to load her wi’ all sorts o’ notions, to sell to the Orleens folk. Jehosophet an’ pork-pies! they air fools, an’ no mistake—them Creole French. We ked a sold ’em wooden nutmegs, an’ brick-dust for Cayenne pepper, an’ such like; an’ I ’bout guess es how we did spekoolate a leetle in thet line o’ bizness. Wall, there kim a time when they tuk a notion they ked make cheep brogan, as they call ’em, out o’ allygator’s leather, an’ supply the hul nigger market wi’ ’em. The neels were dear, an’ so they tuk to usin’ boot-pegs; but not hevin’ a manafactry o’ the pegs down south, they hed to git ’em from the no’th. Jest then, my pertner an’ I thought o’ makin’ a spekoolashun on the pegs; so we loaded our schooner wi’ thet eer freight, chuck right up to the hetches; an’ then sot off from Bosting for Orleens. We thort we’d make our derned fortune out thet eer trip.” “Shure yez did, didn’t ye?” “No-o-o; neer a bit o’ ’t. It keemd nigh breakin’ us.” “Arrah, how?” “We-ell! ye see, when we got roun’ to Orleens, we learnt that the boot-trade hed a’most stopped. The allygator leather didn’t turn out jest the thing for brogans; an’ besides, it got sca’ce by reezun o’ the killin’ o’ them verming. In coorse, the pegs hed fell in price; they’d kim down so low, that we ked only git twenty-five cents a bushel for ’em!” “Mother ov Moses! only twenty-five cents a bushel!” “Thet was all they’d fetch—offer ’em when an’ wheer we would. In coorse, we wan’t fools enough to take thet—the dernationed pegs hed cost us more in Bosting!” “Divil a doubt ov it? But fwhat did yez do wid ’em, anyhow?” “We-ell, Mister Tigg, we weer cleer beat at fust; an’ didn’t know what to do—neyther me’r my pertner. But arter takin’ a good think over it, I seed a way o’ gitting out o’ the scrape—leestwise ’ithout sech a loss as sellin’ the pegs at twenty-five cents the bushel. I seed a chence o’ gitting rid o’ them at fifty cents.” “Arrah, now! in fwhat way, comrade?” “You’ve seed boot-pegs, I recking, Mister Tigg?” “An’ shure I hiv. Aren’t they the same that’s in these suttlers’ brogues we’ve got on—bad luck to them?” “Jess the same—only whitier when they air new.” “Be japers! I think I remimber seein’ a barrel full ov thim in New Yark.” “Very certing it were them—they air usooaly packed in berr’ls. Can you think o’ anything they looked like?” “Wil, in troth, they looked more loike oats than anything I can recollect. Shure they did look moighty like oats!” “An’ don’t ee kalkerlate they’d a looked more like oats, ef they’d been pointed at both ends instead o’ one!” “In troth, would they—all that same.” “We-ell, thet’s the very idee thet kem inter my mind at the time.” “Arrah now, is it? An’ fwhat did yez do wid the pegs then?” “Jest sharpened the other eends o’ ’em, an’ sold ’em for oats!” The puzzled, half-incredulous stare, on the countenance of the Hibernian, was ridiculous in the extreme. The allegation of the Yankee had deprived him of speech; and for some moments he sat gazing at the latter, evidently in doubt whether to give credence to the story, or reject it as a little bit of a “sell” upon the part of his comrade—with whose eccentricity of character he was well acquainted. Equally ludicrous was the look of gravity on the countenance of the other—which he continued to preserve under the continued gaze of his comrade, with all the solemnity of a judge upon the bench. It was as much as my companion and I could do to restrain our laughter; but we were desirous of witnessing the finale of the affair, and, by an effort, succeeded in holding in. “Och, now, Misther Shure-shat!” gasped the Irishman at length, “an’ it’s only jokin’ ye are?” “Truth I tell ye, Petrick—every word o’ ’t. Ye see the oats weer jest then sellin’ at fifty cents the bushel, an’ thet paid us. We made a lettle suthin’, too, by the speekolashun.” “But how did yez get the other inds pointed at all—at all?” “Oh! thet weer eezy enough. I invented a machine for thet, an’ run ’em through in less’n no time. When they kim out at t’other eend o’ the machine, I kednt meself a told ’em from oats!” “Och! now I comprehend. Arrah! an’ wasn’t it a quare thrick? Be my sowl, it bates Bannagher all to paces! Ha, ha, haw!” Wingrove and I could hold in no longer, but joining in the loud cachinnation—as if we had been its echoes—sprang forward to the front. Infantry and rifleman bounded to their feet, with a simultaneous shout of “Indians!” and dropping their spits and half-eaten appolas of meat, dashed into the bushes like a pair of frightened rabbits! In an instant, both were out of sight; and their whereabouts was alone indicated by the rattling of the branches as they passed through them. I was apprehensive of losing them altogether; and regretted not having used more caution in approaching them. At that crisis, an idea came to my aid; and giving out an old signal, well-remembered by the ci-devant rangers, I had the gratification of receiving a double response. The utterance of the signal had brought them to an instantaneous halt; and I could hear them exchanging surmises and exclamations of astonishment, as they retraced their steps towards the fire. Presently, a pair of short, snub-nosed faces were seen peering through the leaves; while from the lips of their owners burst simultaneously, “The cyaptin’!” “The capting!” with various other phrases in their respective patois, expressive of surprise and recognition. A few words sufficed to explain all. As we had surmised, the men were deserters. Neither attempted to deny what, in time of peace, is not considered a very heinous crime; and for which, just then, the “Californian fever” was considered an ample justification. It was no affair of ours. I was only too rejoiced to join company with the runaways, of whose loyalty to myself I had proofs of old. Their guns—more especially the rifle of Sure-shot—would be a valuable addition to our strength; and, instead of crawling along under the cover of night, we might now advance with more freedom and rapidity. It was determined, therefore, to share our means of transport with our new comrades—an offer by them eagerly and readily accepted. The partial consumption of our stores had lightened the packs upon our mules; and the contents of the wheelbarrow, equally divided between them, would give to each only its ordinary load. The barrow itself was abandoned—left among the Big Timbers—to puzzle at a future period some red-skinned archaeologist—Cheyenne or Arapaho! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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