Joe Napyank; or, The River Rifles

“I’ve had a pretty good tramp to-day, that’s sartin!” Such was the exclamation of a tall, gaunt, ungainly hunter,—Joe Napyank, as he dropped the butt of his rifle upon the ground, and folding his arms over the muzzle, looked out upon the broad Ohio, rolling by in quiet grandeur.

“I’ve tramped nigh unto twenty miles without once stopping; and, when a fellow goes that distance through woods, cane-brakes, and thickets, dodging the redskins and varmints, it’s no wonder if he’s a leetle blowed. Can’t be I’m too late after all.”

The thought seemed to bring him some discomfort for a moment.

“No; it can’t be, no need of thinking that. I’ve made pretty good time, and have struck the river low ’nough down.”

From his position, a view of the Ohio, for several miles below was afforded him, but the prospect above was cut off by a sweeping bend in the river. The hunter—for such he evidently was—took a long searching scrutiny of the river below, as if in quest of some object. Suddenly he started.

“Yonder is something that’s sartin, but it must be an Injin canoe. Yes, I know it is.”

The object referred to was simply a dark speck, gliding straight across the stream. In a few moments, it struck the other shore and as speedily disappeared.

“Yes; that’s a canoe, that can be told by the way it acts. It’s plain McGowan has not reached this point yet.”

Thus satisfied beyond all conjecture, Joe took a seat upon a tree, prepared to wait the appearance of some object. As we have already remarked, he was very tall and remarkably attenuated,—his weight barely a hundred pounds, while his height was fully six feet. His features were sharp and angular, characteristic more of the New Englander than of his native state of New York. His face seemed as devoid of beard as a child’s; but he had a pleasant blue eye, and there was an expression of good nature on his face, more prepossessing than otherwise. When he talked or laughed he displayed a fine set of teeth, and a remarkably musical voice. His hair was sandy and almost as long and straight as an Indian’s.

Joe Napyank sat some time in a reverie, when chancing to raise his head, he saw in full sight, coming around the bend above, a goodly sized flat-boat, such as were frequently seen upon the western waters, three-quarters of a century since. The hunter’s eyes sparkled.

“That’s McGowan! I knowed he couldn’t be far out of the way. I don’t see any of ’em on the look out, which, howsomever, is a good sign, as it’s one that ought to do the looking out,—that is such looking out as makes me show myself.”

Joe kept his seat for a few minutes longer, and then withdrawing into the wood so as to conceal himself, he deliberately raised his gun and discharged it in the direction of the flat-boat and then, dropping his piece, looked to see the result.

He caught a glimpse of two or three hats moving around near the stern of the boat. Enough to satisfy him, that his friends were not asleep, nor so reckless as to expose themselves, when no possible good could result from it. The hunter now stepped forward, and called out,

“Helloa there, you, can’t you take a poor fellow on board?”

All this time, he was careful to keep his body concealed; and, observing, that his call attracted no notice, he speedily repeated it, still hiding his body, and disguising his voice as much as possible.

“I say you, won’t you take a poor fellow on board, that’s been badly cut up by the Injins, and can’t get off.”

Still there was not the least sign that his words were heard, which perhaps rather curiously did not seem to displease the hunter. By this time, the flat-boat had approached a point directly opposite, so that he was compelled to begin walking to keep pace with it. This he managed to do, without exposing himself to the inquiring eyes, that he knew was piercing out upon him.

“I say, be you so cruel as to leave a poor wounded man of your own race and blood to perish among these outrageous Injins?”

Still no response, and the hunter tried it once more.

“Can’t you let me know that your hear me?”

A moment later, a huge red face appeared over the gunwale,

“Git out! you can’t come that game over me.”

Joe Napyank now stepped forth to view, and swung his hat with a loud laugh.

“That’s right, McGowan, belive every man in these parts an enemy till he’s proved a friend.”

The same rubicund face rose like the moon over the horizon of the high gunwale, and a cheery laugh rolled over the water—

“Ha! ha! ha! you can’t hide that voice of yours, Joe; I knowed you all the time.”

“You did, eh?” replied the hunter somewhat crestfallen, “why didn’t you answer me then?”

“You didn’t apply in the proper manner,—that’s it, ha! ha! ha! Now when you show yourself like a man, I’ll notice you. I suppose you want to come on board.”

“If you’ve no objection, I should like to do so.”

“How do you propose to do it?”

“I ’pose you work your old pile of lumber into shore.”

“No, you don’t. It would be a little better if you should work yourself a little out from shore.”

The hunter could not avoid laughing at the good natured shrewdness displayed by McGowan.

“I’m glad to see you’ve larned something. ’Twouldn’t be safe to get along the shore when there’s no current.”

“What made you ask me to do it then?”

“Just to see whether you had enough sense not to mind me. I tell you what you can do though, McGowan,” added Napyank in a more serious voice.

“What’s that?”

“Work the boat a little toward this bank so that I can wade out to you. A few yards will answer.”

“I suppose there is no objection to that, but you will have to go down stream a little further.”

“Of course.”