It
did
seem
strange
enough
to
see
a
town
again
after
what
appeared
to
us
such
a
long
acquaintance
with
deep, still,
almost
lifeless
and
houseless solitude!
We
tumbled
out
into
the
busy
street
feeling
like
meteoric
people
crumbled
off
the
corner
of
some
other
world,
and
wakened
up
suddenly
in
this.
For
an
hour
we
took
as
much
interest
in
Overland
City
as
if
we
had
never
seen
a
town
before.
The
reason
we
had
an
hour
to
spare
was
because
we
had
to
change
our
stage
(for a
less
sumptuous
affair,
called
a "mud-wagon")
and
transfer
our
freight
of
mails. Presently
we
got
under
way
again.
We
came
to
the
shallow, yellow, muddy
South
Platte,
with
its
low
banks
and
its
scattering
flat
sand-bars
and
pigmy islands—a melancholy
stream
straggling
through
the
centre
of
the
enormous
flat
plain,
and
only
saved
from
being
impossible
to
find
with
the
naked
eye
by
its
sentinel
rank
of
scattering trees standing
on
either
bank.
The
Platte
was
"up,"
they
said—which
made
me
wish
I
could
see
it
when
it
was
down,
if
it
could
look
any
sicker
and
sorrier.
They
said
it
was
a
dangerous
stream
to
cross, now,
because
its
quicksands
were
liable
to
swallow
up
horses, coach
and
passengers
if
an
attempt
was
made
to
ford
it.
But
the
mails
had
to
go,
and
we
made
the
attempt.
Once
or
twice
in
midstream
the
wheels sunk
into
the
yielding sands
so
threateningly
that
we
half
believed
we
had
dreaded
and
avoided
the
sea
all
our
lives
to
be
shipwrecked
in
a "mud-wagon"
in
the
middle
of
a
desert
at
last.
But
we
dragged
through
and
sped
away
toward
the
setting
sun.
Next
morning,
just
before
dawn,
when
about
five
hundred
and
fifty
miles
from
St. Joseph,
our
mud-wagon
broke
down.
We
were
to
be
delayed
five
or
six
hours,
and
therefore
we
took
horses,
by
invitation,
and
joined
a
party
who
were
just
starting
on
a
buffalo
hunt.
It
was
noble
sport
galloping
over
the
plain
in
the
dewy
freshness
of
the
morning,
but
our
part
of
the
hunt ended
in
disaster
and
disgrace,
for
a
wounded
buffalo
bull
chased
the
passenger
Bemis nearly
two
miles,
and
then
he
forsook
his
horse
and
took
to
a
lone
tree.
He
was
very
sullen
about
the
matter
for
some
twenty-four hours,
but
at
last
he
began
to
soften
little
by
little,
and
finally
he
said: "Well,
it
was
not
funny,
and
there
was
no
sense
in
those
gawks
making
themselves
so
facetious
over
it. I
tell
you
I
was
angry
in
earnest
for
awhile. I
should
have
shot
that
long
gangly
lubber
they
called
Hank,
if
I
could
have
done
it
without
crippling
six
or
seven
other
people—but
of
course
I couldn't,
the
old
'Allen's'
so
confounded
comprehensive. I
wish
those
loafers
had been
up
in
the
tree;
they
wouldn't
have
wanted
to
laugh so.
If
I had had a
horse
worth
a cent—but no,
the
minute
he
saw
that
buffalo
bull
wheel
on
him
and
give
a bellow,
he
raised
straight
up
in
the
air
and
stood
on
his
heels.
The
saddle
began
to
slip,
and
I
took
him
round
the
neck
and
laid close
to
him,
and
began
to
pray.
Then
he
came
down
and
stood
up
on
the
other
end
awhile,
and
the
bull
actually stopped pawing sand
and
bellowing
to
contemplate
the
inhuman
spectacle. "Then
the
bull
made
a pass
at
him
and
uttered
a
bellow
that
sounded
perfectly frightful,
it
was
so
close
to
me,
and
that
seemed
to
literally prostrate my horse's reason,
and
make
a raving
distracted
maniac
of
him,
and
I
wish
I
may
die
if
he
didn't
stand
on
his
head
for
a
quarter
of
a
minute
and
shed
tears.
He
was
absolutely
out
of
his
mind—he was,
as
sure
as
truth
itself,
and
he
really didn't
know
what
he
was
doing.
Then
the
bull
came
charging
at
us,
and
my
horse
dropped
down
on
all
fours
and
took
a
fresh
start—and
then
for
the
next
ten
minutes
he
would
actually throw
one
hand-spring
after
another
so
fast
that
the
bull
began
to
get
unsettled, too,
and
didn't
know
where
to
start in—and
so
he
stood
there
sneezing,
and
shovelling
dust
over
his
back,
and
bellowing
every
now
and
then,
and
thinking
he
had got a fifteen-hundred
dollar
circus
horse
for
breakfast, certain. Well, I
was
first
out
on
his
neck—the horse's,
not
the
bull's—and
then
underneath,
and
next
on
his
rump,
and
sometimes
head
up,
and
sometimes heels—but I
tell
you
it
seemed
solemn
and
awful
to
be
ripping
and
tearing
and
carrying
on
so
in
the
presence
of
death,
as
you
might
say. Pretty
soon
the
bull
made
a snatch
for
us
and
brought
away
some
of
my horse's tail (I suppose,
but
do
not
know, being pretty
busy
at
the
time),
but
something
made
him
hungry
for
solitude
and
suggested
to
him
to
get
up
and
hunt
for
it. "And
then
you
ought
to
have
seen
that
spider
legged
old
skeleton
go!
and
you
ought
to
have
seen
the
bull
cut
out
after
him, too—head down, tongue out, tail up, bellowing
like
everything,
and
actually mowing
down
the
weeds,
and
tearing
up
the
earth,
and
boosting
up
the
sand
like
a whirlwind!
By
George,
it
was
a
hot
race! I
and
the
saddle
were
back
on
the
rump,
and
I had
the
bridle
in
my teeth
and
holding
on
to
the
pommel
with
both
hands.
First
we
left
the
dogs behind;
then
we
passed
a jackass rabbit;
then
we
overtook a cayote,
and
were
gaining
on
an
antelope
when
the
rotten
girth
let
go
and
threw
me
about
thirty
yards
off
to
the
left,
and
as
the
saddle
went
down
over
the
horse's
rump
he
gave
it
a lift
with
his
heels
that
sent
it
more
than
four
hundred
yards
up
in
the
air, I
wish
I
may
die
in
a
minute
if
he
didn't. I
fell
at
the
foot
of
the
only
solitary
tree
there
was
in
nine
counties
adjacent
(as
any
creature
could
see
with
the
naked
eye),
and
the
next
second
I had
hold
of
the
bark
with
four
sets
of
nails
and
my teeth,
and
the
next
second
after
that
I
was
astraddle
of
the
main
limb
and
blaspheming
my
luck
in
a
way
that
made
my
breath
smell
of
brimstone. I had
the
bull, now,
if
he
did
not
think
of
one
thing.
But
that
one
thing
I dreaded. I
dreaded
it
very
seriously.
There
was
a
possibility
that
the
bull
might
not
think
of
it,
but
there
were
greater
chances
that
he
would. I
made
up
my
mind
what
I
would
do
in
case
he
did.
It
was
a
little
over
forty
feet
to
the
ground
from
where
I sat. I
cautiously
unwound
the
lariat
from
the
pommel
of
my saddle——" "Your saddle?
Did
you
take
your
saddle
up
in
the
tree
with
you?" "Take
it
up
in
the
tree
with
me? Why,
how
you
talk.
Of
course
I didn't.
No
man
could
do
that.
It
fell
in
the
tree
when
it
came down." "Oh—exactly." "Certainly. I unwound
the
lariat,
and
fastened
one
end
of
it
to
the
limb.
It
was
the
very
best
green
raw-hide,
and
capable
of
sustaining
tons. I
made
a slip-noose
in
the
other
end,
and
then
hung
it
down
to
see
the
length.
It
reached
down
twenty-two feet—half
way
to
the
ground. I
then
loaded
every
barrel
of
the
Allen
with
a
double
charge. I felt satisfied. I said
to
myself,
if
he
never
thinks
of
that
one
thing
that
I dread,
all
right—but
if
he
does,
all
right
anyhow—I
am
fixed
for
him.
But
don't
you
know
that
the
very
thing
a
man
dreads
is
the
thing
that
always
happens?
Indeed
it
is
so. I
watched
the
bull, now,
with
anxiety—anxiety
which
no
one
can
conceive
of
who
has
not
been
in
such
a
situation
and
felt
that
at
any
moment
death
might
come. Presently a
thought
came
into
the
bull's eye. I
knew
it! said I—if my nerve
fails
now, I
am
lost.
Sure
enough,
it
was
just
as
I had dreaded,
he
started
in
to
climb
the
tree——" "What,
the
bull?" "Of course—who else?" "But a
bull
can't climb a tree." "He can't, can't he?
Since
you
know
so
much
about
it,
did
you
ever
see
a
bull
try?" "No! I
never
dreamt
of
such
a thing." "Well, then,
what
is
the
use
of
your
talking
that
way, then?
Because
you
never
saw
a
thing
done,
is
that
any
reason
why
it
can't
be
done?" "Well,
all
right—go on.
What
did
you
do?" "The
bull
started up,
and
got
along
well
for
about
ten
feet,
then
slipped
and
slid back. I
breathed
easier.
He
tried
it
again—got
up
a
little
higher—slipped again.
But
he
came
at
it
once
more,
and
this
time
he
was
careful.
He
got gradually
higher
and
higher,
and
my spirits went
down
more
and
more.
Up
he
came—an inch
at
a time—with
his
eyes
hot,
and
his
tongue hanging out.
Higher
and
higher—hitched
his
foot
over
the
stump
of
a limb,
and
looked
up,
as
much
as
to
say, 'You
are
my meat, friend.'
Up
again—higher
and
higher,
and
getting
more
excited
the
closer
he
got.
He
was
within
ten
feet
of
me! I
took
a
long
breath,—and
then
said I, 'It
is
now
or
never.' I had
the
coil
of
the
lariat
all
ready; I paid
it
out
slowly,
till
it
hung
right
over
his
head;
all
of
a
sudden
I
let
go
of
the
slack,
and
the
slipnoose
fell
fairly
round
his
neck!
Quicker
than
lightning
I
out
with
the
Allen
and
let
him
have
it
in
the
face.
It
was
an
awful
roar,
and
must
have
scared
the
bull
out
of
his
senses.
When
the
smoke
cleared away,
there
he
was, dangling
in
the
air,
twenty
foot
from
the
ground,
and
going
out
of
one
convulsion
into
another
faster
than
you
could
count! I didn't stop
to
count, anyhow—I
shinned
down
the
tree
and
shot
for
home." "Bemis,
is
all
that
true,
just
as
you
have
stated
it?" "I
wish
I
may
rot
in
my
tracks
and
die
the
death
of
a
dog
if
it
isn't." "Well,
we
can't
refuse
to
believe
it,
and
we
don't.
But
if
there
were
some
proofs——" "Proofs!
Did
I
bring
back
my lariat?" "No." "Did I
bring
back
my horse?" "No." "Did
you
ever
see
the
bull
again?" "No." "Well, then,
what
more
do
you
want? I
never
saw
anybody
as
particular
as
you
are
about
a
little
thing
like
that." I
made
up
my
mind
that
if
this
man
was
not
a
liar
he
only
missed
it
by
the
skin
of
his
teeth.
This
episode
reminds
me
of
an
incident
of
my
brief
sojourn
in
Siam,
years
afterward.
The
European
citizens
of
a
town
in
the
neighborhood
of
Bangkok had a
prodigy
among
them
by
the
name
of
Eckert,
an
Englishman—a
person
famous
for
the
number,
ingenuity
and
imposing
magnitude
of
his
lies.
They
were
always
repeating
his
most
celebrated falsehoods,
and
always
trying
to
"draw
him
out"
before
strangers;
but
they
seldom
succeeded.
Twice
he
was
invited
to
the
house
where
I
was
visiting,
but
nothing
could
seduce
him
into
a
specimen
lie.
One
day
a planter
named
Bascom,
an
influential
man,
and
a
proud
and
sometimes
irascible
one, invited
me
to
ride
over
with
him
and
call
on
Eckert.
As
we
jogged
along, said he: "Now,
do
you
know
where
the
fault lies?
It
lies
in
putting
Eckert
on
his
guard.
The
minute
the
boys
go
to
pumping
at
Eckert
he
knows
perfectly
well
what
they
are
after,
and
of
course
he
shuts
up
his
shell. Anybody
might
know
he
would.
But
when
we
get
there,
we
must
play
him
finer
than
that.
Let
him
shape
the
conversation
to
suit himself—let
him
drop
it
or
change
it
whenever
he
wants
to.
Let
him
see
that
nobody
is
trying
to
draw
him
out.
Just
let
him
have
his
own
way.
He
will
soon
forget
himself
and
begin
to
grind
out
lies
like
a mill. Don't
get
impatient—just
keep
quiet,
and
let
me
play
him. I
will
make
him
lie.
It
does
seem
to
me
that
the
boys
must
be
blind
to
overlook
such
an
obvious
and
simple
trick
as
that." Eckert received
us
heartily—a pleasant-spoken, gentle-mannered creature.
We
sat
in
the
veranda
an
hour,
sipping
English
ale,
and
talking
about
the
king,
and
the
sacred
white
elephant,
the
Sleeping Idol,
and
all
manner
of
things;
and
I noticed
that
my
comrade
never
led
the
conversation
himself
or
shaped
it,
but
simply
followed
Eckert's lead,
and
betrayed
no
solicitude
and
no
anxiety
about
anything.
The
effect
was
shortly
perceptible. Eckert began
to
grow communicative;
he
grew
more
and
more
at
his
ease,
and
more
and
more
talkative
and
sociable.
Another
hour
passed
in
the
same
way,
and
then
all
of
a
sudden
Eckert said: "Oh,
by
the
way! I came
near
forgetting. I
have
got a
thing
here
to
astonish
you.
Such
a
thing
as
neither
you
nor
any
other
man
ever
heard
of—I've got a
cat
that
will
eat
cocoanut!
Common
green
cocoanut—and
not
only
eat
the
meat,
but
drink
the
milk.
It
is
so—I'll
swear
to
it." A
quick
glance
from
Bascom—a glance
that
I understood—then: "Why,
bless
my soul, I
never
heard
of
such
a thing. Man,
it
is
impossible." "I
knew
you
would
say
it. I'll fetch
the
cat."
He
went
in
the
house. Bascom said: "There—what
did
I
tell
you? Now,
that
is
the
way
to
handle
Eckert.
You
see, I
have
petted
him
along
patiently,
and
put
his
suspicions
to
sleep. I
am
glad
we
came.
You
tell
the
boys
about
it
when
you
go
back.
Cat
eat
a cocoanut—oh, my! Now,
that
is
just
his
way, exactly—he
will
tell
the
absurdest
lie,
and
trust
to
luck
to
get
out
of
it
again. "Cat
eat
a cocoanut—the
innocent
fool!" Eckert approached
with
his
cat,
sure
enough. Bascom smiled. Said he: "I'll
hold
the
cat—you
bring
a cocoanut." Eckert split
one
open,
and
chopped
up
some
pieces. Bascom
smuggled
a wink
to
me,
and
proffered
a
slice
of
the
fruit
to
puss.
She
snatched it,
swallowed
it
ravenously,
and
asked
for
more!
We
rode
our
two
miles
in
silence,
and
wide
apart.
At
least
I
was
silent,
though
Bascom cuffed
his
horse
and
cursed
him
a
good
deal,
notwithstanding
the
horse
was
behaving
well
enough.
When
I
branched
off
homeward, Bascom said: "Keep
the
horse
till
morning. And—you
need
not
speak
of
this—foolishness
to
the
boys."