MOGUL, LAST BUFFALO OF THE HERD
The great plains lay hot and parched at sunset. Silent and lonely it
was, too, for the drought of weeks had been so terrific that even the
usually sociable little prairie dogs stayed in their holes to escape
the scorching heat. At sunset they were beginning to liven up, and
all other wild things which had stayed in the cool places were coming
out. Between the dried, stunted clumps of mesquite trees, and the
sagebrush patches, certain dark shadows skulked: the coyotes were
starting off upon their nightly raids. The little prairie chickens
had gone to roost, but the hooting of the small brown-barred owls
which lived in the earth burrows, had begun among the sage-brush
thickets.
A coyote, stealing in and out along its trail, suddenly squatted upon
its lean haunches, resting upon the raised dirt of a dog village.
From this site it peered curiously off into the distance, for its
bleary, green eyes saw something moving against the sky-line. What
the coyote saw was this: a great, black, hulking, moving object was
stumbling its way westward, following the last golden glow of the
sunset, and, as the creature watched, it made out another, smaller
figure, following close beside the large one. Then, after satisfying
its curiosity the coyote raised its lean snout, and howled dismally
from sheer disappointment, for that which he hoped might be game had
turned out to be nothing but just an old, sick or wounded buffalo,
followed by her little calf. The sight so disgusted the half-starved
coyote, that it started in an opposite direction on a slinking run,
for with all its meanness it will not pursue another which is wounded.
The huge mother buffalo stumbled bravely on and on; she was very
weak, for she still carried an Indian's arrow in her side. How she
had managed to escape at all with her calf was a wonder. The herd
had stampeded, and somehow, after they had gone, she found herself
wounded, alone with her calf. Lowing to the little fellow, she
encouraged it to follow her and all day they had journeyed over the
long, hot trail. If she could only manage to find water, then she
could wallow, and perhaps her stinging wound would heal.
Occasionally she stumbled, almost breaking her leg as she plunged
into the hole of some dog village which her glazing old eyes had not
seen.
Suddenly she raised her great shaggy head, and roared out a low cry
of triumph; she had scented water. She urged on the weary, tottering
steps of her calf, pushing him on ahead with her nose, lowing gently
and affectionately, encouraging it to hold out a little longer, for
soon they would come to the beautiful, longed-for water hole.
They entered a small canyon between two notches, and right down in a
hollow, a short distance off, the little new moon flashed a gleam
across the water. As soon as they had quenched their dreadful
thirst, the mother dropped down heavily among the undergrowth, and
the little calf, already refreshed, stepped in and out of the
thickets, cropping contentedly among the tender cactus sprouts and
arrow weed. Mogul, the calf, perhaps wondered, the next morning as
the sun beat its hot way into the canyon, why his mother did not rise
as usual from her all-night resting place, and low for him to follow
her. After a time he understood, for such is the keen instinct of
the wild; she would _never_ rise again. Thus did Mogul, the calf
buffalo, begin his lonely life. His brave mother had just managed to
lead him into the safe canyon for water, and then had died.
Mogul was an unusually fine, large calf, for his age. He was full of
courage and daring, but he stayed safe in the canyon, where the
forage was plentiful and water never failed him, for a long while,
every day growing bigger and stronger. When spring came and the
passes began to grow bright with gay-coloured flowers, the water
holes bubbled, and prairie chickens called their "Coos, coos, coos"
from the thickets; then Mogul began to look about and long for
companionship, for he was lonely. He noticed the happy frolics of
the jack-rabbits with approving, gentle eyes. Contentedly chewing
the cud, he would watch the prairie dogs romping happily in and out
of the doors of their villages. A bark from the watching sentinel
would sound an alarm note, and, like a flash, they would vanish into
a hundred holes. With the sprouting of his small, sharp black horns
came a sudden restlessness to Mogul. He remembered the herd, so he
determined to leave the canyon and find them.
He had never encountered any real danger in his life as yet, never
heard the swish of an Indian's arrow, or sighted a painted, brown
body topped off with painted feathers, astride a loping pony. Once
on the open plains he would soon find out about all these things for
himself. Through the mouth of the sheltering canyon travelled Mogul,
so full of courage and life that he gambolled and leaped playfully by
the way; he would shake his huge, top-heavy head, and rip up great
tufts of sage-brush with his sharp horns. Occasionally he halted,
bellowing fiercely and stamping. A yellow, diamond-back rattlesnake
presumed to coil and rattle at him impudently, right in his path.
Knowing no fear, Mogul charged at it, sending it spinning high in the
air, then stamping it out beneath his shining hoofs.
The sun baked down mercilessly upon his heavy coat out on the open
plain, where there was no shelter. Almost he wished himself back in
the canyon. Gnats bit right through his tough hide; he swung his
great head incessantly and angrily, lashing them with his tail; still
they clung, biting and stinging his flesh until blood flowed. The
plains stretched on ahead with no companionship in sight. Poor,
lonely Mogul! For days he had not tasted water. If he could but
find a water hole, he would wallow and rid himself of the stinging
pests. That night he reached a small, brackish pool of water and,
dropping into a moist place, Mogul rolled about until he had made a
fine hole about as long and wide as himself. Into this the water
gradually oozed and, with a snort of joy, Mogul rolled his tormented
body about, coating himself well with the wet clay which cured the
biting stings. Early next morning a stray buffalo cow came to the
pool; she was young and very pleasing, and Mogul's joy seemed
complete, for he had found company. That night the pair caught up
with the great herd and joined it. Black King, leader of the great
herd, had never been crossed, but as soon as Mogul appeared he
disapproved of him, because of his jealous disposition, for the old
leader noticed that Mogul was fully as large as himself, and even
more powerful--a born leader. The Black King was growing old; he
feared this stranger might become a favourite with the herd, which
might desert him, as they frequently did, for a younger leader.
Whenever Mogul met Black King, the latter would charge savagely,
bellowing mightily and throwing up great showers of earth with his
hoofs and horns, to frighten Mogul. Then the eyes of Mogul would
suddenly grow red with inner fires, and he would charge wildly at
Black King. One day, somewhat to his surprise, the old leader
actually backed off and away from Mogul, bellowing and calling his
followers after him. Thus Mogul won a position of respect from the
herd, a greater part of which took to following his leadership,
others remaining loyal to Black King.
Grazing near the edge of a rocky canyon with a favourite cow and her
calf one day, Mogul almost met his match in "Ezekiel," as the
plainsmen had named the great grizzly bear--the terror of the
Rockies. Ezekiel, full grown, and with four young cubs back in a den
of the mountains with their mother, was seeking food. The young cubs
needed fresh meat. Afar off, peering over the edges of the canyon,
Ezekiel had sighted the three grazing figures of the buffaloes.
Buffalo calf meat he intended to carry back to the waiting cubs. In
and out crept the shambling figure of the great bear, taking care to
keep low down among the underbrush, making for the site nearest the
little calf, which was feeding somewhat apart from its mother's side.
With a snort, Mogul raised his heavy head; instantly he sighted the
great hulking thing which was making its way towards the calf. With
a wild bellow of rage, he charged straight for the waving underbrush,
and as he came on Ezekiel, the terrible one, rose upon his great
haunches and boldly faced Mogul, for the grizzly is absolute monarch
of the plains, fearing no foe. For a moment Mogul, the fearless, was
daunted by the sight of the tremendous creature facing him. With
outstretched paws armed with great, razor-like claws, its wide, red
mouth bared to show its cruel teeth, the bear came on with savage,
thunder-like growls. It was unfortunate, however, that Ezekiel did
not travel on all fours, for, seeing his advantage, the buffalo
lowered its shaggy head, lunged straight for the unprotected stomach
of the bear and, before it could even seize him in its terrible
grasp, he had pinned its great body to earth, pressing his sharp
horns, and making the bear howl for mercy. Then, after goring the
bear well, without waiting to see whether Ezekiel was able to get up
or not Mogul bellowed a summons; the cow and calf joined him, and
they tore off to join the herd.
One day, as the herd was contentedly grazing together, Mogul and his
followers, upon a small plateau which ended in a high cliff, across
the plains came a band of hunting Indians. Once the herd becomes
frightened it usually starts a stampede. One buffalo cow snorted in
alarm, then the whole herd suddenly lost their heads, which was just
what the Indians had planned. Wheeling about, Mogul led his herd
straight away from the cliff, off towards a canyon. Alas for Black
King! The Indians were behind him, and, completely losing his head,
he charged across the plateau, heading for the cliff. Like thunder
was the roar of the thousands of hoofs, which fairly shook the earth
as they madly ran, following their leader to certain destruction.
Roaring, bellowing, raising the dust in clouds, they ran. Too late!
When at the very verge of the cliff Black King saw their peril, he
swerved, bravely trying to turn back. Like an avalanche the herd
rushed upon him, a great brown waving mass of heads and flashing
hoofs, and over the cliff they fell. When the Indians went back to
their village they held a festival and gave the great "dance of the
war shield" to celebrate their fine hunt. They had enough buffalo
meat to feed all the dogs of the village, and skins enough to keep
the squaws busy curing them for many moons. Afterwards they had a
great feast, and there was joy in every wigwam of the village.
Mogul led his herd for many years, and a mighty herd it became,
spreading in thousands far across the plain. The mighty thunder of
its passing might be heard very far off, and the dust, when it moved,
arose on high until it almost reached the sky. Gradually, but
surely, the great herd began to diminish and thin out. Once a
terrific drought killed many of them. For days and weeks they
journeyed, the vast herd seeking old, well-remembered buffalo wallows
over the trails, but when reached they were found dried out. The
buffaloes pawed and dug deeply into the arid, salt-caked holes for
moisture, but none came. They died by thousands. Afterwards the
settlers came across stacks of their bleaching bones, lying just
where they had fallen. So, weakened and hungry, for the drought had
killed off the scant herbage, they travelled on, ever westward.
Merciless Indians drove them farther on, and hunters of the plains,
who coveted their valuable skins, made after them. Finally the great
herd, all that was left of it, split, as by common consent, and chose
a younger leader for their thinned ranks. One day Mogul, the king of
the old herd, found himself deserted, and left to wander alone upon
the great plains. In vain he tried to follow the herd, but they soon
out-distanced him, and he came to realise that his company was no
longer wanted. For many years he wandered, always alone,
occasionally seeing scattered remnants of the great herd, but
gradually they dropped off, either killed by Indians or dying from
starvation. Somehow, old Mogul managed to escape the wolves, the
skulking coyotes, the mountain lions and the Indians. One day,
utterly lonely, he sighted a vast herd. At first he thought they
were buffaloes, but on coming up with them he saw they were
long-horned red cattle, which had now taken the place of his lost
tribe. Because he longed for company, Mogul joined the red cattle,
and they did not molest or drive him away.
Now, out on a reservation, somewhere in the West, herding with the
long-horned cattle of the plains, grazes Mogul, the old buffalo
leader. His teeth are broken, but he still crops at the grass, and
when he lifts his head you may see that he has but one horn; he lost
the other in a fierce battle for his life with a grizzly. Sometimes
the old buffalo lifts his great shaggy head and gazes straight out
across the broad plains with his old, dim eyes and lows deeply and
longingly, perhaps remembering his lost tribe and other days. When
the cowboys round up the cattle, they often point out to strangers
from the East a solitary old buffalo, grazing, usually somewhat apart
from the cattle, on the edge of the herd, and then they say, not
without some pride: "See that old buffalo out there. He was once
leader of a well-known powerful tribe, but he is old, just how old we
cannot say, and he's now the last great buffalo left of a mighty
herd."