Sturdy Captain Clark, the Red Head chief! He could always be depended
upon. Captain Lewis’s thin face brightened under his tattered hat.
“Load the meat, lads,” he ordered. “We’ll have a rousing dinner, this
day.”
Ah, but at noon that horse tasted good, after soup and bear-oil! The
head was cut off and tossed aside; then with their knives everyone
slashed off thick steaks and roasted them on ramrods, over the fires.
Peter got his share.
However, just as the march was about to proceed, the captain, who, as
usual, had paused to cast his eyes keenly along the line, exclaimed
sharply:
“Where’s my pack animal, Cruzatte?”
For Cruzatte was supposed to look after this horse and another.
“I t’ought he follow,” stammered Cruzatte, who was quite sick. “I no
see heem. My gracious! Mebbe he in brush.”
“Pshaw!” muttered the captain. Then he spoke energetically. “I must
have those saddle-bags. They’re of the utmost importance. Fields (and
he addressed Reuben), you’re pretty fit. Take a horse and another man
and go clear back to where we loaded the meat this morning. That’s
likely where the animal strayed, while we halted. Look for his tracks
and find him. Be sure and get the saddle-bags, in all events. Their
contents are valuable.”
“Yes, sir,” responded Reuben. He looked about him doubtfully. And Peter
did an unexpected thing. Peter felt equal to any man. He was young
and wiry; his life among the Otoes had accustomed him to all kinds of
outdoor hardships. He had not had so much flesh and bones to carry as
had the men; he had walked lightly and straight-footed, as Indians
walked.
“Take me, Reuben,” he said. “I’m all right. I find the horse.”
“Faith,” supported Patrick Gass, “ye might do worse, Reub. Sure, the
lad’s as good as the best.”
“If the captain has no objections――――?” proffered Reuben, with a grin,
“I think we’d make out first-rate.”
“An excellent plan,” agreed the captain. “Take Peter, by all means. He
wants to do his part, and when it’s his turn to ride he’ll be easy on
the horse. He’s a regular woodsman, too. Look to your laurels, Reuben.”
“Yes, sir,” grinned Reuben.
So they set off; Reuben, with his rifle, at first on the horse; Peter,
with his bow and quiver, trotting alongside, holding to the saddle
thongs. After a time, they changed off; Peter rode and Reuben walked.
They had left about three o’clock. It was dusk when they arrived at the
noon camp spot, on the other side of the high ridge. Not even a bird
had they seen, to kill for food. They had started in such a hurry that
they had brought nothing. But the horse’s head was still lying here,
untouched.
“We’ll have to make shift with the head, Peter,” quoth Reuben.
So they built a fire, and roasted the horse’s head, and ate it even to
the ears. Then they rolled in Reuben’s blanket and slept together.
“We’ll find that hoss or bust,” declared Reuben, as in the morning
early, having finished the horse-head scraps, they again took the back
trail. Soon they arrived at the place where the horse carcass had been
packed――and sure enough, in the brush at one side were the tracks of a
horse that had wandered.
They followed the tracks carefully, and soon they came to the saddle
bags, which had been scraped off from the horse’s back. Reuben put them
aboard the other horse.
“Now for the critter himself,” he said.
The tracks led on and on; and not until almost noon did they sight
the loose horse, grazing in a small open spot. He was too weak to be
wild, and they caught him easily by his dragging neck rope. Reuben
transferred the saddle bags, and clambered stiffly on.
“We’ve a hoss apiece, anyhow, Peter,” he proclaimed. “But I’m so empty
I don’t cast a shadow. Come on, let’s take the cap’n his saddle bags.”
Empty! Anyway――hooray! And now for “home.”
Reuben, who was leading, suddenly pulled his horse short. He slipped
off, and resting his rifle on the horse’s back, took long aim. Two
grouse were sitting on a limb, craning their necks foolishly. Peter
could see the rifle muzzle waver; he himself felt as though he could
not draw his bow. The rifle cracked――the grouse went hurling. Good!
Reuben swiftly reloaded, and aimed――and down spun the other grouse. But
when they were picked up, both were in a pulp, from which dangled the
heads and legs. Reuben shook his own head dolefully.
“And once I could clip off a bird’s head at fifty paces. Well, I was
lucky to hit ’em at all, for I can’t hold steady.”
The two grouse made scarcely a couple of mouthfuls, so much of the
meat had been shot away. The next morning the horses had disappeared,
leaving only the saddle bags. Reuben finally shouldered them.
“If we stay looking longer,” he said, “we’ll starve. I’ll tote these as
far as I can, Peter; and you can tote ’em as far as _you_ can. Between
us we’ll manage, for the cap’n’s got to have his saddle bags.”
“You bet,” agreed Peter.
That _was_ a journey! They struggled all day. The saddle bags, vowed
Reuben, gasping, weighed a ton――and what a ton might be, Peter did not
know, but at any rate it must be very heavy. Only toward late afternoon
did they sight, below and ahead, the captain’s party, on the edge of a
plain――_the_ plain.
The party were moving briskly, as if encouraged. The captain was in
advance. Reuben and Peter quickened at their best. Would they never
overtake the other men?
“Smoke, ain’t it, yonder?” panted Reuben.
“Pierced Nose village, maybe, Reuben,” answered Peter.
“Don’t I see Joe, with that crowd? Yes, and a strange Injun, too!”
panted Reuben.
They hastened, dragging their numb legs, and lugging those saddle bags.
The party saw them, and halted; gave them a cheer.
“Bully for yez!” greeted Pat. “We’ve arriv, in a land o’ plenty,
’mongst the Pierced Noses. Yez are in time.”
Reuben saluted the captain, who had turned back.
“The saddle bags, Cap’n, but we lost the hosses again.”
“You’ve done well, both of you, lads,” praised the captain. “Joe’s
brought us some fish and roots, from Captain Clark. He’s waiting close
ahead, with the Pierced Noses. Get on a horse, each of you, and eat as
you ride. I think our troubles are over.”
Within an hour they all were at the village of the Pierced Noses,
here on the open, fertile prairie of the kamass roots that tasted
like pumpkin; and Captain Clark and Chief Twisted-hair made them all
welcome.