Killing a Buck with Seven Skins.

Tom had a great many cabins or caves between the Water Gap and Shohola, and was never at a loss for a place to stay over night. But he usually wintered at the house of some mutual friend, and the terms upon which he stayed was that he should furnish the winter meat. Any family living on the border was anxious and willing to board him; for during his stay they were sure of being provided with plenty of game and living on the fat of the land.

On one occasion winter set in earlier than usual and he did not have his usual supply of venison on hand to supply the table of the friend with whom he intended to winter. He made arrangements for a long hunt in a part of the country where he knew that game was plenty, and in a few days he would get sufficient to supply his friend’s cabin for a long time.

The night before he intended to start, a friendly Indian called at the cabin and asked to stay over night, which was granted.

Tom was suspicious, although the Indian appeared to be friendly. They soon became acquainted, and it was not long before they agreed to go on a hunt, Tom agreeing to take the venison for his part and the Indian the skins.

Game was plenty, especially deer. In fact the woods seemed to be full of them. It was bang!—bang!—bang! and at every report a deer fell. They were soon skinned and the hind quarters hung up out of the reach of bears and wolves until Tom could get time to take them to the cabin.

When they came to count, they found that they had killed seven. The Indian was in the best of spirits, and so was his companion.

Me lucky, said the Indian. Me got seven skins. They worth seven dollars. That buy me piles of fire water, powder and lead. Whoop! Whoop!

Seven skins was all the Indian could carry, and it was resolved to return, Tom to the cabin, and the Indian to Minisink to get powder, fire water and lead.

The skins were securely fastened on his back, and they started. But the Indian never reached the settlement. They had not traveled far before the report of Tom’s gun was heard, and down went the Indian, the ball having gone through the seven skins and penetrated his heart.

It was not long after this that another Indian came to the house where Tom was stopping and asked permission to stay all night, which was granted. He professed to be very friendly, but Tom’s quick eye soon discovered that all was not right.

During the evening the savage pretended that he had seen a great many deer a few miles off, and asked Tom if he wouldn’t like to go the next day and kill some of them.

Tom pretended that he was pleased with the offer, and at once agreed to go with the Indian. But Tom was on the alert. He was well convinced that some Indian deviltry lay behind this pretended friendship, and acted accordingly.

During the night he managed to get the Indian’s rifle and draw the charge and substituted ashes in the place of powder, put the ball back in the barrel, and placed the rifle carefully back where he got it. The next morning the savage slyly inserted the ramrod in the barrel of his rifle, examined the priming, picked the flint and seemed satisfied that all was right. During this time Tom watched him intently and was more than ever convinced that the Indian intended to take his life. But he manifested no particular interest and started out on the hunt with no apparent concern. The snow was deep and the hunters found it inconvenient to travel through it, and to make the walking easier the Indian proposed that one of them should go ahead to break the path. To this Tom readily agreed and started on ahead. A twinkle of the eye showed that the Indian was pleased, but Tom’s keen eye had observed that twinkle and the satisfaction that beamed on the Indian’s countenance. When they had proceeded a mile or two and had come to a very lonely place Tom heard the Indian’s gun snap and the powder flash in the pan, and looking back, asked the Indian what he had fired at. A fine buck, was his reply. The Indian reprimed his gun and they started on. In a few minutes Tom heard another snap and flash. Well, brother, what did you see this time? An eagle swept over the forest, replied the disappointed savage, at the same time priming his gun.

Brother Indian, said Tom, the snow is deep and I am tired.

Yes, brother, the Indian replied, and sullenly took his place in advance. Tom was now ripe for blood. He raised his rifle and took deadly aim at the Indian. Lying dog, what do you see now? The Spirit World, and drew the blanket over his head. You came to kill me.

Yes, replied the Indian, but you have fooled my gun.

And long Tom shall fool you. Tom’s rifle spoke and the Indian was in the Spirit World.

One day in Tom’s wandering through the woods without his rifle he met a young Indian armed. They soon became apparent friends. Brother Indian, said Tom, did you ever see Tom Quick the Indian Slayer?

No, replied the youth, but I would like to see him.

I will show him to you, follow me. They walked on until they came to a ledge of rocks, and Tom peered over. I do not see him yet, he said, but he will soon be along. Here he comes now. You take my place if you want to get a good sight of him.

The Indian cocked his rifle and hastily and eagerly advanced to Tom’s side. Where is he? excitedly inquired the red man.

There, there, said Tom, pointing so that the Indian would lean over the brink in his desire to shoot the enemy of his race. A little further, a little further, whispered the Indian slayer to his proposed victim. The Indian hung over the precipice as far as he could without falling. Tom grasped him by the shoulders and said: Shoot me would you! Shoot me, and hurled him over the precipice. He fell on the rocks below and was dashed to pieces. And Tom went on his way rejoicing, leaving the body of his victim to be devoured by the crows.

HIDING GUNS IN HOLLOW TREES.

Tom’s habit of hiding guns in hollow trees in the woods on one occasion saved his life. Two Indians had captured him near Grass Brook and were taking him off. He seemed perfectly resigned to his fate which appeared unavoidable, and marched with them unreluctantly. His arms were pinioned with deer shins thongs, and his captors kept upon him a vigilant eye, and were ready at any moment to shoot him if he attempted to break away from them. After a while they were visited by a shower of rain, and Tom found that the thongs which bound his wrists began to stretch, and that they had become so loose that he could at any time free his hands. He was very careful to conceal this fact from the savages, and patiently waited for a favorable time to run or do something else to escape. Beside the path that they were pursuing there was a very large chestnut tree which was hollow, and on the side of the trunk that was the farthest from the path, the wood had entirely rotted away leaving a large hollow space. In the opening thus made, Tom had long before concealed several guns which he had found beside dead Indians. He had also deposited with them a flask of powder and a goodly store of bullets. When they had reached this tree, Tom expressed an urgent desire to go to it, and gave such a good reason for the request he made, that his captors consented to let him go. They permitted him to do so the more readily because he had thus far given them but little trouble. The Indians cocked their rifles when Tom stepped from the path and aimed them at him, each with his finger on the trigger, and watching him eagerly, determined to bring him down if he made the least movement to escape. Tom proceeded toward the tree very leisurely, and on reaching it, went behind it and was concealed from the view of his enemies. Within the most inconceivable time he charged three of his weapons with powder and lead. The Indians little thinking what Tom was about stood in the path with hardly a twig to screen them from his murderous fire. Tom afterwards said that he did not stop to return the ramrods to their places until he had as many of his guns loaded as he thought he should need. He hesitated a moment after he was ready to shoot fearing that his guns would “miss fire,” in consequence of their late disuse; but knowing that this was his last chance, he blazed away at one of the savages who fell dead in his tracks. The other tried to get behind the nearest unoccupied tree, but he never reached there, a bullet sent him to the Spirit land, to join hands with those that had been sent there by Tom’s rifle on many occasions before.

AN OLD LEGEND.

According to an old legend, Tom had a very severe battle with a savage who came to him while he was in the field at work. Tom saw the Indian approaching him unarmed and he did not feel afraid to encounter him on equal terms. The savage told a plausible tale about something that he pretended he had discovered not far off and which he wished his brother Yankee to see. Tom apparently without suspecting anything wrong consented to go with the Indian. His quick eye however saw a gleam of malignant satisfaction on the countenance of his visitor that told him plainer than words could have done what was the errand on which the red man was bent. The savage had discovered Tom from a hill near by and concealed his gun in the woods hoping to entice Tom to its neighborhood while he was unarmed and then he could not defend himself. But he counted his chickens before the eggs were hatched. Tom was never caught napping. He was now wide awake and concluded that there was a trap set for him. He had gone but a short distance with the Indian when he came to a hemlock knot which he concluded would be a very good weapon in a rough and tumble fight. He stooped to pick it up when the savage perceived what he was at, he sprang upon him. Then came the tug of war. Tom got hold of the knot; with the Indian on him, therefore he could not use it. A long struggle for life or death ensued between them. Tom finally succeeded and was once more a conqueror. He grappled the Indian by the throat with his teeth and strangled him to death. But to the day of his death, he averred this was the hardest and most severe fight of his life.

According to another legend, a native attempted to kill the Indian slayer while he was engaged in a saw mill. Tom discovered him and arranged his coat and hat in such a way as to deceive his destroyer. While the savage thought that he was about to shoot Tom, Tom sent a bullet through the Indian’s body and his bullets were generally fatal. Thus again the biter was bitten.

Previous to the Revolutionary War, a man named John Showers lived in a log house near the Falls of Mongaup. One evening five or six hunters met at his house which was quite a resort for such people. As the cabin afforded better accommodations than the forest they concluded to avail themselves of its shelter through the night. Tom Quick was among the number. During the evening an Indian came and asked permission to remain all night. He was told that he could stay. Late in the evening a goodly number of logs were placed on the fire. The hunters wrapped themselves in their blankets and laid down on the floor to sleep. They were soon in the land of dreams except Tom, who was watching silently for a chance to kill the Indian. One would imagine that he had shed blood enough already. But Tom thought otherwise. The spirit of his murdered father still animated him. When the breathing of the sleepers showed that they were sound asleep, Tom threw aside his blanket and cautiously and noiselessly got his gun. In a few minutes the hunters were awakened by an explosion. They found themselves bespattered with brains and the Indian lay dead in their midst. Quick immediately after the firing left the cabin and disappeared in the forest. The hunters, after consulting, concluded the murder of the Indian should be concealed, in order to avoid any unpleasant consequences which might follow, if the Indians knew of it. The Indian was buried in the morning, and his death was unknown to any except the hunters, until concealment was no longer necessary.