Tracks of a Rolling Stone [64]
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 passed. 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 cock. 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 space, 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 grass. 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
'It was about as unpleasant a night as I had yet passed. 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 cock. 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 space, 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 grass. 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