It was Bad Eye, the old head chief of the Crows, who first interrupted
the belligerent conversation between Silverspur and his father.
It should be remarked here, that the interview took place in the edge
of a belt of timber, near a creek, and that nearly all had dismounted,
some tethering their horses, and others allowing them to graze at will.
Among those who had dismounted were the Indian girl and Bad Eye.
The chief had been gazing a long time at Dove-eye, with an expression
of interest that he did not attempt to conceal, and she, without
meeting his fixed gaze, had glanced at him, now and then, wonderingly
and strangely. He had drawn nearer to her, and his interest increased
the longer and the closer he looked at her. At last he spoke, uttering
but one word:
“Kate!”
The girl started and turned around quickly. The chief’s arms were
extended, and, with a wild cry, she rushed into them.
It was this that interrupted the conversation of Fred and his father,
and brought a new element into the scene.
“How is this?” exclaimed Colonel Wilder, turning around, with his eyes
open wide. “What is the matter with the chief? You seem to have a rival
here, Fred, or something else.”
The young man, who was as much at a loss as his father was, discreetly
said nothing.
The chief, who was holding Dove-eye in a close embrace, released her,
but held her hand. The Crow warriors were stolidly silent, because
it was their custom to betray no emotion. The dragoons were silent,
because they had not been ordered to speak, and they sat quietly on
their horses, wondering what it all meant. Fred Wilder was silent,
because he believed that he had better not speak, and that any turn
of affairs could not be for the worse. Old Blaze was silent, because
he implicitly believed in Silverspur’s ability to talk himself out of
any scrape. Jose was silent, because he understood nothing of what
was going on. Bad Eye and the Indian girl were silent, because their
emotion had not yet found vent in words.
Colonel Wilder, in fact, was the only noisy man in the party. His
anxiety concerning his son, and his curiosity to learn the meaning of
this last demonstration, impelled him to ask the chief a multitude of
questions, which the latter seemed to be in no hurry to answer.
“Do you remember Paul Robinette?” asked Bad Eye, at last, and speaking
in very good English.
“The fur-trader? Yes; I knew him well.”
“You may remember that he was killed and scalped, on the plains, by the
Blackfeet, who carried off his daughter.”
“Yes; but you don’t mean to say that this girl is Flora Robinette? She
was found, and is married to Captain Benning--though I don’t know why
they call him captain. He has a trading-post on the other side of the
mountains, and she is living there with him.”
“Precisely so. After Silverspur rescued Flora Robinette from the
Blackfeet--”
“Who is Silverspur?” interrupted the colonel.
“Your son--Fred Wilder.”
“Savage in name, as well as in nature. Go on.”
“After he rescued her from the Blackfeet, she was again captured by
the Arapahoes. In seeking her among them, he was badly hurt, and his
life was saved by this girl. But I am making a long story of it. Flora
Robinette had a sister.”
“That is news to me. You seem to be coming to the point.”
“The truth is I have commenced at the wrong end of my story, and must
begin again. Did you ever see Paul Robinette’s brother?”
“I saw him once, many years ago. He disappeared mysteriously.”
“I am he. I had good cause, as I believe, to forsake my brother; but I
will not bring up old grudges now. To be revenged upon him, I took with
me his child, a daughter, Flora’s elder sister. She lived with me among
the Crows, several years; but one day she was missing, and I could
find no trace of her from that day to this. I have found her to-day. I
called her by the old familiar name. She remembered it, and she knew
me, as I had recognized her.”
“Very romantic! If I was an author, I would write a tale.”
“I was going to say, when I commenced my story at the wrong end, that
when Flora was finally safe, I informed her of my relationship, in the
presence of your son and Captain Benning, and told her that she had had
a sister; but I did not then expect that I would ever see Kate.”
“Very good. And you are chief of the Crows, and she will be a great
lady in the tribe, no doubt. I am very glad you have found her, and
hope you will keep her. We may as well camp here and get something to
eat. Lieutenant Rawlings, dismount your men, and form a corral. I hope,
Fred, that you will now remain with us. If the Arapahoes come, Bad Eye
will not be likely to give up his niece to them, and the Crow warriors
will take an interest in her, I am sure.”
As Colonel Wilder had so summarily dismissed the subject, no one
attempted to revive it, and all busied themselves in preparations for
encamping. Hardly were these completed, when some Crows, who had been
looking for game in the vicinity, announced that they had discovered a
large herd of buffalo, on the plain at a little distance from the camp.
All were excited by this intelligence, especially Colonel Wilder.
“This is glorious!” he exclaimed. “Now we will have a grand surround!”
The rest of the party, both white and red, were as eager for the hunt
as was Colonel Wilder, and a grand surround was determined upon.
Leaving a sufficient number of dragoons to guard the camp, Bad Eye led
the rest of the party to the buffalo ground. The prospect of a surround
was so exciting, that every other topic was laid aside, and all pressed
forward eagerly to join the chase.
Under the direction of the Crow chief, his warriors taking the lead,
the herd was gradually surrounded, the hunters keeping carefully out of
sight of the game, until the buffalo were inclosed in a great circle,
more than a mile in circumference. Then, at a signal passed from one
to another around the circle, all began to move toward the center,
slowly closing in upon their expected victims. When they were perceived
by the buffalo, the excitement of the sport commenced, and increased
rapidly from that moment. Seeing their natural enemies on one side,
the frightened animals went at a gallop to the other, where they were
driven back by the sight of more men. Then they rushed frantically from
one part of the plain to another, only to be met on every side by a
steady wall of their foes, who had drawn so close together that they
presented the appearance of a line of battle.
As a last resort the herd collected in the center of the circle, and
seemed to be searching for a weak point, at which they could break
through the line that surrounded them. If such was their intention,
they were too late in carrying it into execution; for their enemies, at
a given signal, dashed down upon them in a mass.
Right into the midst of the herd went the red and white riders, each
singling out his victim, and endeavoring to keep at his side until a
suitable opportunity should present itself to deliver a death-shot.
The maddened buffalo started off at a tearing gallop, and the scene
that followed possessed sufficient danger and excitement to charm the
wildest and most reckless hunter. Nothing could be seen, for some time,
but the immense mass of animals, surging forward and heaving like the
waves of the ocean, and nothing could be heard but the bellowings of
rage or pain, and the shouts and shots of their slaughterers.
In such a _mélee_ the men inevitably became separated from each other,
and each for himself was a law of necessity. If a man sought to keep
on the outskirts of the herd, he might find himself within it the next
moment, and he might be carried with it until some fortunate chance
should give him an opening to escape. If he was a greenhorn, or a poor
horseman, or if any accident should befall himself or his horse, he
might be thrown down in the midst of the frightened herd, and perhaps
trampled to death. The sport was as dangerous as it was exciting; but
none held off from it on account of the danger.
Colonel Wilder, who was an ardent sportsman, and who, notwithstanding
his years, believed himself to be equal to the best, showed a skill
and prowess that were surpassed by none on the ground. Dashing at once
into “the thick” of the herd, he selected a fine cow, and, watching his
opportunity, delivered a death-shot that dropped her “in her tracks.”
He then ranged up alongside of a large bull; but his horse swerved as
he fired, and the animal was only wounded. The bull turned and charged
furiously, the colonel’s horse snorted and reared, the saddle-girth
burst, and he fell to the ground, while the horse galloped frantically
away with the herd.
It was a perilous situation, and Colonel Wilder fully appreciated his
danger. The herd had gone by, and there was no fear that he would be
trampled to death; but the wounded bull had lowered his head for a
charge, to which no effectual resistance could be opposed, and it was
useless to attempt to escape.
As the buffalo charged, the colonel struck at him with the butt of his
rifle; but the weapon broke over his shaggy frontlet, with no more
effect than the breaking of a straw would have had. The bull struck the
barrel, however, between his horns, and Colonel Wilder was thus saved
from serious injury, although he was knocked down and badly bruised.
As the bull lowered his head for a charge that would finish his
prostrate antagonist, Colonel Wilder gave himself up for lost. He
closed his eyes, and mentally ejaculated a prayer for help.
Help came, as timely as it was unexpected. There was a shot, and the
bull never reached his foe. The bullet had struck him just behind the
fore-shoulder, and had penetrated his heart.
The colonel looked up, and his eyes were fastened on the dying
struggles of the buffalo. The immense beast, with blood streaming from
his mouth and nostrils, with his tongue protruding, and with the glaze
of death already over his bloodshot eyes, seemed determined to “stand
his ground” to the last. As his huge body swayed from side to side,
and he found himself unable to move a pace from where he stood, he
planted his feet further apart, and stamped impatiently, as if angry
at the growing weakness which it was impossible to shake off. But all
his efforts were in vain. Death was too strong to be resisted by his
brute force and tenacious will. The purple blood gushed in a torrent
from his mouth, the huge carcass swayed more heavily from side to side,
the failing limbs shook in a final effort to support the weight of the
body, the whole frame was seized with a convulsive quiver, and at last,
with a choking gasp, the animal fell over, dead, silent, motionless and
stiff.
Colonel Wilder gave a sigh of relief when the struggle was over, and
looked around for his preserver. Dove-eye was standing near him,
with a rifle in her hand, watching the death of the buffalo with
great composure. As she was about to walk away, the colonel rose and
addressed her:
“I am much obliged to you, sir. You have saved my life. Ah! is it you,
young woman? Excuse me; my eyes are a little dim. Did you really fire
that shot?”
Dove-eye smiled and nodded.
“You must be an excellent marksman--woman, I mean. The variation of an
inch would have left strength enough in that animal to kill me.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Not at all. I am bruised and scratched a little, perhaps; but that is
of no consequence.”
The position of Colonel Wilder was a little embarrassing. This girl,
whom he had treated so lightly and contemptuously, had saved his life,
and he, man of the world as he was, did not know what to say to her.
Fortunately his son rode up at that moment, and, in response to his
inquiries, the colonel related the adventure.
“Yes, it was very well done,” he said, as he noticed the admiring and
affectionate glance that Fred bent upon Dove-eye. “She is accustomed to
that sort of thing, no doubt; but that does not lessen my obligation.
I have some presents that I brought for the Arapahoes, and I will give
her something.”
Fred blazed up, and would probably have made a sharp reply, if he had
not been interrupted by the Crow chief, who came with the information
that there were some strange Indians within sight of the camp.
A horse was procured for Colonel Wilder, and another for Dove-eye,
and all set out toward the camp, except those of the Indians who were
engaged in collecting the meat, and they soon followed.
“Father,” said Fred, as they rode together, “you ought not to speak of
offering presents to Kate Robinette. My wife, that is to be, does not
care for beads and red cloth.”
“Kate Robinette? Ah! I had forgotten that story. Do you really believe
it? Well, it is no matter. She is a savage, and always will be.”
“She is not a savage. If she were, I am sure that she will not always
be.”