A sharp ridge trended across the prairie, transversely to the line of
the pursuit. Both pursued and pursuer had parted from the level plain,
and were now gliding up the acclivity.
I knew the meaning of this. I remembered a chapter of my ornithology,
studied among the pine barrens of Tennessee, where I had observed a
turkey-gobbler distance the hounds against the steep slope of a ridge;
and do it with perfect ease. I knew that the bird, aided by its
extended wings, could run against the hill with almost double the speed
of either dog or horse; and that was the reason why my mustang was
falling so far into the rear.
I kept on; but only to have my chagrin increased, by seeing the gobbler
go much faster than myself.
He reached the crest of the ridge before my little steed, badly blown,
had got half up its sloping side!
I was about to give up the chase in despair. The distance separating me
from the turkey was at least two hundred yards; and I fancied that the
mustang, winded as he was, might be hurt in trying to overtake it. I
did not desire to damage my reputation by "riding a free horse to
death."
While thus hesitating, I was astonished by observing an unexpected
circumstance. The turkey had reached the summit of the ridge, and was
so conspicuously outlined against the blue background of the sky, that I
could see it from head to heel. While admiring the outlines of the
magnificent bird, I saw its wings all at once cease from their flapping,
and drop down by its sides, while, at the same instant, the action of
its limbs became suspended, and, as if having spent its last effort of
strength, it tumbled over on the turf.
"Good!" thought I, "I've run it down, after all! What a fool I was to
think of discontinuing the chase! There's nothing more to do but to
ride up and take possession of it."
Lest the bird might recover breath, and make a new start, I once more
drove my spurs into the sides of the mustang, and galloped up to the
crest of the ridge.
I need not have been in such hot haste: for on getting near enough to
the gobbler to be able to judge of his condition, I saw that he was
dead!
"'Twas the pace that killed him!" I muttered to myself, gleefully
adapting the old saw to the circumstance which was giving me so much
gratification.
I lost no time in dismounting from my horse, with the design of taking
possession of my prize.
As I approached the fallen gobbler, I stopped short to contemplate him.
A splendid creature he appeared, even in death. His plumage still
gleamed with the iridescent hues of life--just as at sunrise of that
morning, when he had strutted his short hour over the prairie turf
before the eyes of his coquettish female companions.
I was still occupied in this _post-mortem_ examination, when I perceived
that there was blood upon the beak of the bird--a tiny stream oozing out
between its mandibles.
I was somewhat astonished by this singular circumstance--the effect of a
simple chase. But I was a hundredfold more surprised on perceiving the
true cause of the sanguinary extravasation, when I saw the feathered end
of an arrow protruding out from under the wing-coverts of the turkey.
I had scarcely time to reflect on this singular appearance, when I heard
a "swishing" noise in the air above me.
I looked up. A looped cord was descending over my head, which the
instant after had settled upon my shoulders. At the same instant a wild
yelling filled my ears; and I saw running towards me a score of human
forms, whose naked, bronze-coloured skins, clouted thighs, and
vermillion faces, proclaimed them to be Indians.
I perceived at once that I had fallen into the hands of a party of
Comanches--on the war-trail, too--as their scant dress and painted faces
proclaimed.
They had been bivouacking on the other side of the ridge; and seeing
only the turkey as it came upon the crest, some one of them had taken
advantage of the pause which the bird had made on perceiving them, and
sent an arrow into its side.
When I said just now that I had fallen into their hands, I spoke
figuratively. It had not gone quite so far as that; though, had I been
without the bowie-knife habitually carried in my belt, such most
certainly would have been my fate--and I should, perhaps, never have had
an opportunity of recording this adventure.
But the keen blade proved my preserver. In an instant it was out of its
sheath; and the lazzo that had fallen over my shoulders--and in another
second of time would have entangled my arms--lay, with its loop cut
open, idly trailing upon the grass.
I never took to the saddle with greater celerity; and if my mustang had
been allowed to lag a little while ascending that prairie slope, he made
amends for the delay in going down again.
He needed neither voice nor spur to urge him to his utmost speed. The
sight of the Indians, to say nothing of their wild yelling--well
understood, and dreaded, by the mustang--had given him an impetus that
carried him across the plain like a streak of lightning.
Fortunately, the Indians were afoot, and I was not followed; but this
knowledge did not hinder me from continuing my gallop until I had
retraced the ground gone over in the turkey chase, and rejoined my
friends--still engaged with the gobblers they had pursued in the
opposite direction.
My report caused a sudden suspension of their sports--succeeded by a
quick ride straight homeward.
By good fortune, a brace of the birds had been already secured, to grace
the dinner-table on the following day, and upon which they appeared,
their flavour not a little heightened by the spice of adventure that had
come so near preventing their capture.
Story 6.