THE RESULTS OF A BUFFALO HUNT
The brief stop made by Dave and Barringford had allowed Henry to increase
his lead until now he was almost out of sight of those behind him. The
prairie was growing rougher, and soon the buffaloes reached a small creek,
bordered in spots with trees and brushwood. Into the creek they plunged
boldly and scrambled up the opposite bank. Henry came after them, and now
another level stretch of prairie was encountered at least a mile across and
several times that in length.
The buffaloes were gradually turning to the northward once more, and by
keeping straight for them Henry cut off much of the distance he would
otherwise have been compelled to cover. He soon saw that they had changed
their course because of a river they were afraid to swim, for it was
shallow and the mud on the bottom was sticky and treacherous.
"They certainly know what they are doing," thought the young hunter. "Go
along, Buzzy! We must catch them somehow!"
Buzzy heard the words and leaped forward in a fresh effort. As he did this
Henry looked behind him, and was surprised to learn that both Dave and
Barringford were nowhere in sight.
"Can they have given up the chase?" he asked himself. It was possible, but
not at all probable. "Perhaps they had more trouble with that fallen
buffalo than they expected," he thought.
At last Henry saw that the animals ahead of him were beginning to slacken
their speed. The leader still kept on with three or four others, but the
rest were dropping further and further behind. One in particular, quite a
big beast, too, lagged more than any of them, and Henry soon spotted this
for his own.
"I'll have you yet, old fellow," he told himself, and looked to see if the
priming of his gun was still as it should be.
Once more the buffaloes made a turn to the westward, following the bank of
the river just mentioned. The beast Henry had picked out was a dozen or
more rods to the rear, and this distance was increasing rapidly. Evidently
his wind had given out. Suddenly he stopped short, whirled around, and made
straight for the young hunter!
Henry was not taken greatly by surprise, and had been on the lookout for
such a trick. As the buffalo came closer he pulled the hammer of his gun.
To his chagrin the weapon refused to go off, acting exactly as it had done
when he was after the big elk.
"What luck!" he muttered, and then had to pull his horse to one side. The
animal was now nervous, and in a twinkling it balked and sent Henry flying
headlong to the ground! Then, without waiting to note what was happening,
the horse set off on a run whence it had come.
To face an angry buffalo had been bad enough while on horseback, but on
foot it was doubly perilous. For the instant after he picked himself up
Henry knew not what to do. Then, in sheer desperation, he raised his rifle
once more and pulled the trigger as before.
The weapon now spoke up and the bullet hit the bison (for such the American
buffalo really is) fairly and squarely between the eyes. Down went the
beast as if struck with a heavy club. But the skull was thick and the shot
was by no means fatal.
As soon as the gun was empty Henry retreated. He knew better than to use
his pistol until it became absolutely necessary to do so. With all possible
speed he reloaded the larger weapon.
The young hunter was just fixing the priming and looking to the flint when
the bison came up with a snort and charged as before. There was blood
trickling down his face and he presented a truly ferocious sight. Henry
waited until the beast was but a few paces away, then aimed for the right
eye once more and fired.
This time both gun and aim did not disappoint him. The bullet passed into
the very brain of the buffalo, and he pitched over with a thud that could
be heard for a long distance. Once or twice he pawed the prairie grass, but
that was all.
Henry did not examine his prize at once. A glance convinced him that he had
nothing more to fear in that direction, and then he looked for the other
buffaloes. All were out of sight. He reloaded his gun and then began to
search for his horse.
To his chagrin the steed was also among the missing, nor could he catch
sight of the animal anywhere, try his best. Then he looked for Dave and
Barringford. They had not come up, and where they were there was no
telling.
He was alone on the broad prairie with the dead buffalo. More than this,
the chase had occupied considerable time, and he saw with some alarm that
both night and a storm were coming up. Already in the west dark clouds were
beginning to crawl up toward the orb of day. In a few minutes more the sun
was obscured, and the bright stretches of the prairie took on a somber
tone.
"Well, I'm certainly in a pickle," he thought. "I wonder where that horse
went to, and how long it will be before Dave and Sam come up?"
Had there been a tree handy, Henry would have mounted it to take
observations. But not even a hillock was near, and he had to content
himself with remaining on the level, using his eyes to the utmost.
"If they don't come soon, I suppose I'll have to spend the night here," he
mused. "That won't be very pleasant, especially if any wolves happen to be
around."
Hoping every minute that Dave and Barringford would appear, Henry examined
the dead buffalo. The prize was a big one, and it must be admitted that the
young hunter was much elated as he surveyed it.
"For a first buffalo, I'm sure that isn't so bad," he thought. "The folks
at home will be surprised when they hear about it."
Swiftly the storm came closer, and presently the scattering drops of rain
came down, followed by a steady shower. With nothing to protect him, he was
soon wet to the skin.
Knowing there was scant danger of a prairie fire during a storm, Henry took
out his hunting-knife and cut up a small portion of the buffalo. Then he
dug out the dry grass from under the game, lit his tinder-box, and started
up a fire, feeding it both with grass and with some buffalo fat. The latter
made quite a heavy smoke, and he hoped that this would attract the
attention of the others.
But when fully an hour had gone by, Henry grew both hungry and uneasy.
"Something serious must have happened," he mused. "They wouldn't leave me
like this."
He set up a yell, using the utmost power of his strong lungs for that
purpose. Only the patter of the rain answered him.
Crouching over the tiny fire, he cooked himself a bit of the buffalo meat
and ate it. Then he walked over to the river and procured a drink. On every
side he could see nothing but the prairie, with the stream running through
it like a huge serpent. Close to the water's edge were a few bushes, and
some of these he pulled up with ease, with which to replenish the fire.
To tell the truth, Henry felt very lonely. Often had he been out in the
forest at night, but the present experience was new to him. Had there been
some rocks at hand, or a single tree, he might have made himself feel at
home, but this immense stretch of flat land, water-soaked and becoming fast
wrapped in the darkness of night, was truly depressing.
"Give me the woods every time, for an outing," he said to himself. "But,
now I am here, I reckon I've got to make the best of it."
Returning to the river, he pulled up what was left of the bushes. These he
did not put on the fire, but propped up against the broad back of the
buffalo, forming a little shelter, into which he crawled in an endeavor to
protect himself from the rain. Night was now on him, and he felt certain
that he would have to remain in the spot until morning.
"One thing is certain, I'll never forget this buffalo hunt," he murmured as
he turned in. "It's not proving as much fun as I thought it would be."
For a good two hours Henry crouched in the little shelter, trying his best
to go to sleep. The rain continued to come down, but fortunately it was not
cold, so he suffered but little discomfort on that account. At last his
head fell forward on his breast and he became oblivious to all around him.
Towards one o'clock in the morning the rain ceased and a brisk wind came up
from the southwest. As the stars began to show themselves, the wind carried
to the keen nostrils of several wolves the scent of the buffalo carcass.
The wolves were hungry, and with little yelps of satisfaction they trotted
off toward where the game lay.
It did not take the beasts long to get within a dozen yards of the dead
buffalo. Several were about to leap forward to plunge their fangs into the
cut flesh, when they made the discovery that a human being was present. At
once a howling of dismay arose on the night air.
The howl awoke Henry with a start. For the moment he could not imagine what
had awakened him, but, with the true instinct of the hunter, he reached for
his gun and also felt to see if his hunting knife was where it should be.
"Wolves," he told himself, and set up a sudden yell. At the sound of his
voice the beasts retreated into the darkness and began to yelp violently.
They were much disappointed, for they had expected to have a rare feast on
the big carcass lying before them.
"I'll have to stir up that fire, that's certain," thought the young hunter,
and he made haste to use his tinder-box. But grass and bushes were too wet
to ignite, and in a few minutes he had to give up the idea.
In the meantime the wolves had ranged themselves in a semicircle before
him, continuing to howl as dismally as ever. One especially large beast
came a little forward, showing his fangs viciously.
"Get back there!" cried Henry, and the leader of the wolves retreated for
the moment. But then he came closer than ever, and the others followed.
Picking up one of the bushes, Henry threw it at the pack and all set up a
wild yelping. Away they sped into the darkness, and he fancied they were
gone. But this did not last. They came back howling with additional
loudness, and drew closer and closer, until it looked as if the largest
would certainly leap for the young hunter's throat.
Henry waited no longer, but, raising his musket, fired at the leader of the
wolves. With a snarl the beast sprang into the air and whirled over and
over in his death agonies. The struggle carried him further away from where
Henry stood, and without loss of time the youth reloaded his weapon, so
that he might be prepared for another attack.
The sudden fall of the leader disconcerted the other wolves for the time
being, and it was fully five minutes before they came forward as before.
Henry half expected them to eat the dead wolf, but they did not touch the
body.
"Reckon they mean business," thought the young hunter, setting his teeth
hard. "They want either the buffalo or me! And they shan't have either--if
I can help it!"
He yelled once more at the beasts, but this time they merely halted,
showing that the sound of his voice did not alarm them as it had previously
done. Then, like a flash, one leaped for Henry's throat.
Crack! went the rifle again, and this wolf also fell, shot through the
throat. The wound was serious, but not fatal, and with gleaming teeth and
eyes that blazed with fury the beast gathered himself for another spring.
On he came, but Henry knew enough to leap to one side. Not wishing to use
his pistol, excepting as a last resort, he drew his hunting-knife, and,
watching his chance, plunged it into the wolf's shoulder. Down went the
beast, and a second stroke of the blade finished the creature.
Scarcely was the second wolf down when all the others appeared to come
forward in a bunch. Bang! went Henry's pistol, and a third wolf was struck
in the breast. Then the youth caught up a bush and whirled it into the
beasts' faces. But some got behind him, and one snapped at his
hunting-shirt and another at his leather leggings. It looked as if in
another minute he would be down and killed.