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Updated: June 21, 2025
Now don't say a word, because I know better it was like Davey Crockett's coonskin, that he kept stealing from behind the bar. They take my stock for security and then hand it to Stoddard and he sells it over to you, and by the time we get through Stoddard has still got the stock and I owe the bank a million.
Crockett's eye was on the nearest battery and he was slowly raising Betsy. "Which is to be first, Davy?" asked Bowie. "The one with the rammer in his hand." Crockett took a single brief look down the sights and pulled the trigger. The man with the rammer dropped to the earth and the rammer fell beside him. He lay quite still. Crockett seized a second rifle and fired.
Occasionally they came to a deep but narrow gully. Crockett, with his hatchet, would cut down a small tree, and by its aid would cross. At length the water became so deep that Crockett's little boy had to swim, though they evidently had not yet reached the channel of the stream. Having waded nearly half a mile, they came to the channel.
"Sure," grinned Denver, "but cut out that 'friend' talk. It makes me kind of nervous." "I'll do it!" promised Bunker, "I'll do anything you ask me. You saved my bacon on them claims. That snooping Dutch Professor tipped them jumpers off that I'd promised my wife not to shoot, but I guess when they see you come rambling up the gulch they begin to feel like Davey Crockett's coon.
"Certainly," he said, "he hasn't gone back to the house. Here is the double line of tracks, side by side, from the house Steggles' ordinary boots with iron tips, and Crockett's running pumps; thus they came out. Here is Steggles' track in the opposite direction alone, made when he went back for the sweater.
It was a flourishing little Mexican town of about one thousand inhabitants, situated in a romantic dell, about sixty miles west of the River Sabine. The Mexicans and the Indians were very nearly on an intellectual and social equality. Groups of Indians, harmless and friendly, were ever sauntering through the streets of the little town. Colonel Crockett's horse had become lame on the journey.
The beautiful creature, with erect head and spreading antlers, gallantly stopping to investigate the danger to which his family was exposed, would have moved the sympathies of any one but a professed hunter. Crockett's bullet struck him, wounded him severely, and he limped away. Hotly the two hunters pursued. They came to a large tree which had been blown down, and was partly decayed.
The bushes were all bent down with the ice which clung to their branches, and were so bound together that it was almost impossible for any one to force his way through them. The ice upon the stream would bear Crockett's weight. He followed it down a mile or two, when his dogs started up a large flock of turkeys. He shot two of them. They were immensely large, fat, and heavy.
The hardships of war had blighted Crockett's enthusiasm for wild adventures, and had very considerably sobered him. He remained at home for two years, diligently at work upon his farm. The battle of New Orleans was fought. The war with England closed, and peace was made with the poor Indians, who, by British intrigue, had been goaded to the disastrous fight.
Some cruel wag wrote the following ludicrous account of this dinner-party, which went the round of all the papers as veritable history. The writer pretended to quote Crockett's own account of the dinner. "The first thing I did," said Davy, "after I got to Washington, was to go to the President's. I stepped into the President's house. Thinks I, who's afeard. If I didn't, I wish I may be shot.
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