A YOUNG HERO
Away from the camp a long mile, and down in the edge of the dry, hot,
desolate plain, there was a wide spread of sage-bushes. They were larger
than usual, because of having ordinarily a better supply of water sent
them from the mountains than if they had settled further out. In among
such growths are apt to be found sage-hens and rabbits, and sometimes
antelopes, but the warriors had decided that they had hunted out all of
the game that had been there, and had given the bushes up. Two of the
members of the band who were not warriors had not arrived at the same
conclusion, and both of these were among the "sage-brush" that morning.
The first had been greatly missed among the lodges, and had been much
hunted for and shouted after, for he was the largest and most
intelligent dog ever owned by that band. He was also about the ugliest
ever owned by anybody, and his misfortunes had earned for him the name
of One-eye. He could see more with the eye he had left--and it was his
right--than any other animal they had ever had, or than most of the
warriors. He saw what became of the other dogs, for instance, and at
once acquired a habit of not coming when an Indian called for him. He
kept his eye about him all day, and was careful as to where he lay down.
Just about the time when the ponies began to go into the camp-kettles he
was a dog hard to find, although he managed to steal pony-bones and
carry them away into the sage-brush. Perhaps it was for this reason that
he was in even better condition than common that morning. He had no
signs of famine about him, and he lay beside what was left of a
jackass-rabbit, which he had managed to add to his stock of plunder.
One-eye was a dog of uncommon sagacity; he had taken a look at the camp
just before sunrise, and had confirmed his convictions that it was a bad
place for him. He had been to the spring for water, drinking enough to
last him a good while, and then he had made a race against time for the
nearest bushes. He lay now with his sharp-pointed, wolfish ears pricked
forward, listening to the tokens of another presence besides his own.
Somebody else was there, but not in bodily condition to have made much
of a race after One-eye. It was a well-grown boy of about fifteen years,
and One-eye at once recognized him as his own particular master, but he
was a very forlorn-looking boy. He wore no clothing, except the
deer-skin "clout" that covered him from above his hips to the middle of
his thighs. He carried a light lance in one hand and a bow in the
other, and there were arrows in the quiver slung over his shoulder. A
good butcher-knife hung in its case by the thong around his waist, and
he was evidently out on a hunting expedition. He was the one being,
except One-eye, remaining in that band of Nez Perces, with life and
energy enough to try and do something. He did not look as if he could do
much. He was the son of the old chief in command of the band, but it was
two whole days since he had eaten anything, and he had a faded, worn,
drawn, hungry appearance, until you came to his black, brilliant eyes.
These had an unusual fire in them, and glanced quickly, restlessly,
piercingly in all directions. He might have been even good-looking if he
had been well fed and well dressed, and he was tall and strongly built.
Just such Indian boys grow up into the chiefs and leaders who make
themselves famous, and get their exploits into the newspapers, but as
yet this particular boy had not managed to earn for himself any name at
all. Every Indian has to do something notable or have something
memorable occur to him before his tribe gives him the honor of a
distinguishing name. One-eye knew him, and knew that he was hungry and
in trouble, but had no name for him except that he suggested a danger of
the camp-kettle.
There could be no doubt about that boy's pluck and ambition, and he was
a master for any dog to have been proud of as he resolutely and
stealthily searched the sage-bushes. He found nothing, up to the moment
when he came out into a small bit of open space, and then he suddenly
stopped, for there was something facing him under the opposite bushes.
"Ugh! One-eye."
A low whine replied to him, and a wag of a dog's tail was added, but a
watch was kept upon any motion he might make with his bow or lance.
"Ugh! no. Not kill him," remarked the boy, after almost a minute of
profound thinking. "Eat him? No dog then. All old fools. No dog hunt
with. No pony. Starve. Keep One-eye. Try for rabbits."
He called repeatedly, but his old acquaintance refused to come near him,
whining a little but receding as the boy advanced.
"Ugh! knows too much."
It was a matter to lessen the value of One-eye that he understood his
own interests, and his master ceased, wearily, his efforts to entice
him. He pushed on through the bushes, but now he was instantly aware
that One-eye was searching them with him, keeping at a safe distance,
but performing regular hunter's duty. He even scared up a solitary
sage-hen, but she did not fly within range of bow and arrow. She was an
encouragement, however, and so were the remains of the rabbit to which
One-eye managed to pilot the way. They seemed like a promise of better
things to come, and One-eye stood over them for a moment wagging his
tail, as much as to say,
"There; take that and let me up!"
The boy picked up the rabbit and said several things to the dog in a
clear, musical voice. He spoke the guttural, Nez Perce dialect, which is
one of the most difficult in the world, and One-eye seemed almost to
understand him--and yet there are white boys of fifteen who stumble
dreadfully over such easy tongues as Greek and Latin.
The boy and dog seemed to be on better terms after that, and went on
through the sage-brush towards where a straggling line of mesquite
scrubs marked the plain. The dog was ranging the bushes right and left,
while the boy slowly followed the narrow lane of an old, hard-beaten
"buffalo path," with an arrow on the string, ready for anything that
might turn up. They were nearly out of the mesquites when One-eye
uttered a quick, sharp, low-voiced whine, which his master seemed to
understand. It is not every dog that can whine in the Nez Perce dialect,
but the boy at once dropped upon his hands and knees and crept silently
forward. He had been warned that something was the matter, and his
natural instinct was to hide until he should discover what it might be.
Again the dog whimpered, and the boy knew that he was hidden ahead and
beyond him. He crawled out of the trail and made his way under and
through the bushes. He made no more sound or disturbance than a snake
would have caused in doing the same thing, and in half a minute more he
was peering out into the open country.
"Ugh! buffalo!"
His brilliant eyes served him well. Only an Indian or a dog would have
rightly read the meaning of some very minute variations in the brown
crest of a roll of the prairie, far away to the eastward. Only the
keenest vision could have detected the fact that there was a movement in
the low, dull line of desolation. Back shrank the boy, under the bushes
at the side of the trail, and One-eye now had enough of restored
confidence to come and crouch beside him. In a few minutes more the
spots were noticeably larger, and it was plain that the buffalo were
approaching and not receding. At another time and under different
circumstances, even an Indian might have been unwise, and have tried to
creep out and meet them, but the weakness of semistarvation brought with
it a most prudent suggestion. It was manifestly better to lie still and
let them come, so long as they were coming. There was no sort of fatigue
in such a style of hunting, but there was a vast deal of excitement. It
was a strain on any nerves, especially hungry ones, to lie still while
those two great shaggy shapes came slowly out upon the ridge. They did
not pause for an instant, and there was no grass around them to give
them an excuse for lingering. They were on their way after some, and
some water, undoubtedly, and perhaps they knew a reason why there should
be an ancient buffalo-trail in that direction, trodden by generation
after generation of their grass-eating race. The boy was a born hunter,
and knew that he was lurking in the right place, and he drew back
farther and under deeper and more perfect cover, hardly seeming to
breathe. One-eye did the same, had almost looked as if he wanted to put
his paw over his mouth as he panted. On came the two bisons, and it was
apparent soon that no more were following them.
"Bull--cow," muttered the boy. "Get both. Laugh at old men then. Have
name!"
His black eyes flashed as he put his best arrow on the string and
flattened himself upon the dry, hot earth. Nearer and nearer drew the
gigantic game, and with steady, lumbering pace they followed the old
trail. It was a breathless piece of business, but it was over at last.
The bull was in front, and he was a splendid-looking old fellow,
although somewhat thin in flesh. Neither he nor his companion seemed to
have smelled or dreamed of danger, and they walked straight into it. The
moment for action had come, and the boy's body rose a little, with a
swift, pliant, graceful motion. With all the strength starvation had
left in him he drew his arrow to the head. In another second it was
buried to its very feathers in the broad breast of the buffalo bull, and
the great animal stumbled forward upon his knees, pierced through the
heart. The young hunter had known well the precise spot to aim at, and
he had made a perfect shot. The cow halted for a moment, as if in
amazement, and then charged forward along the trail. That moment had
given the boy enough time to put another arrow on the string, and as she
passed him he drove it into her just behind the shoulder, well and
vigorously. Once more he had given a deadly wound, and now he caught up
his lance. There was little need of it, but he could not be sure of
that, and so, as the bull staggered to his feet in his death-struggle,
he received a terrific thrust in the side and went down again. It was a
complete victory, so far as the bull was concerned, and One-eye had
darted away upon the path of the wounded cow.
"Ugh! got both!" exclaimed the boy. "Have name now."