The Huge Hunter; Or, the Steam Man of the Prairies
Copyright© 2024 by Edward S. Ellis
Chapter 4: The Trapper and the Artisan
‘HELLO, YOUNKER! what in thunder yer tryin’ to make?’
Johnny Brainerd paused and looked up, not a little startled by the strange voice and the rather singular figure which stood before him. It was a hunter in half civilized costume, his pants tucked into his immense boot tops, with revolvers and rifles at his waist, and a general negligent air, which showed that he was at home in whatever part of the world he chose to wander.
He stood with his hand in his pocket, chewing his quid, and complacently viewing the operations of the boy, who was not a little surprised to understand how he obtained entrance into his shop.
‘Stopped at the house to ax whar old Washoe Pete keeps his hotel,’ replied the stranger, rightly surmising the query which was agitating him, ‘and I cotched a glimpse of yer old machine. Thought I’d come in and see what in blazes it war. Looks to me like a man that’s gwine to run by steam.’
‘That’s just what it is,’ replied the boy, seeing there was no use in attempting to conceal the truth from the man.
‘Will it do it?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t think you mean to lie, younker, but I don’t believe any such stuff as that.’
‘It don’t make any difference to me whether you believe me or not,’ was the quiet reply of the boy; ‘but if you will come inside and shut the door, and let me fasten it, so that there will be no danger of our being disturbed, I will soon show you.’
These two personages, so unlike in almost every respect, had taken quite a fancy to each other. The strong, hardy, bronzed trapper, powerful in all that goes to make up the physical man, looked upon the pale, sweet-faced boy, with his misshapen body, as an affectionate father would look upon an afflicted child.
On the other hand, the brusque, outspoken manner of the hunter pleased the appreciative mind of the boy, who saw much to admire, both in his appearance and manner.
‘I don’t s’pose yer know me,’ said the stranger, as he stepped inside and allowed the boy to secure the door behind him.
‘I never saw you before.’
‘I am Baldy Bicknell, though I ginerally go by the name of ‘Baldy.’’
‘That’s rather an odd name.’
‘Yas; that’s the reason.’
As he spoke, the stranger removed his hat and displayed his clean-shaven pate.
‘Yer don’t understand that, eh? That ‘ere means I had my ha’r lifted ten years ago. The Sioux war the skunks that done it. After they took my top-knot off. It had grow’d on ag’in and that’s why they call me Baldy.’
In the mean time the door had been closed, and all secured. The hat of the steam man emptied its smoke and steam into a section of stove-pipe, which led into the chimney, so that no suspicion of anything unusual could disturb the passers-by in the street.
‘You see it won’t do to let him walk here, for when I tried it first, he went straight through the side of the house; but you can tell by the way in which he moves his legs, whether he is able to walk or not.’
‘That’s the way we ginerally gits the p’ints of an animal,’ returned Baldy, with great complaisance, as he seated himself upon a bench to watch the performance.
It required the boy but a short time to generate a sufficient quantity of steam to set the legs going at a terrific rate, varying the proceedings by letting some of the vapor through the whistle which composed the steam man’s nose.
Baldy Bicknell stood for some minutes with a surprise too great to allow him to speak. Wonderful as was the mechanism, yet the boy who had constructed it was still more worthy of wonder. When the steam had given out, the hunter placed his big hand upon the head of the little fellow, and said:
‘You’se a mighty smart chap, that be you. Did anybody help you make that?’
‘No; I believe not.’
‘What’ll you take for it?’
‘I never thought of selling it.’
‘Wal, think of it now.’
‘What do you want to do with it?
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