A BUFFALO AND A BEAR
Two weeks had passed quietly at Fort Pitt when Dave suggested to Henry
that they go out on a hunt for large game. In the meantime it was
arranged that Rodney, Sam Barringford, and a number of others should
journey to the east, taking little Nell and the twins with them. The
start was to be made on the following Monday, and this was Thursday.
“You must be very careful,” said Mr. Morris, when the two young hunters
set out on their quest for big game. “Run no needless chances, and if
you see any unfriendly Indians lose no time in returning to this fort.”
It was the middle of September—a clear, cool day, with a faint breeze
blowing from the northward. Dave and Henry had set out directly after
breakfast, each armed with his long flint-lock musket and his day’s
rations. Both wore their old army uniforms, which were much the worse
for the hard usage received. But, as Dave remarked, anything was good
enough for the forest, where nobody was likely to see them.
Three hours of tramping had brought them to a small body of water,
called by the Indians Lake Kashaka. Here, drifting about, they came
across an Indian canoe containing two good paddles. Without hesitation
they entered the canoe and crossed the lake, where they came upon the
track of several deer. They were deliberating upon whether to follow the
trail or not when Henry chanced to look up the lake and see a buffalo
near some rocks. The animal was gazing at them with lifted head, and
almost instantly ran from sight behind some bushes.
“There’s our meat!” cried Henry, and dashed back to the canoe. Then he
told of what he had seen, and the boys made after the game, as already
described. Buffaloes were not so plentiful in this section of the
country as they had been previous to the coming of the English and
French hunters, and the idea of bringing down so much good meat at a
single shooting filled the youths with keen enthusiasm.
It took the two young hunters but a few minutes to reach the spot where
Henry had seen the buffalo. The game was not in sight, but the marks of
his hoofs were plainly to be seen and some young and tender bushes
showed where he had been browsing.
“’Tis only a question of how far he had traveled,” said Henry, who had
always been considered the best hunter among the Morris boys. “It may be
only a quarter of a mile, and then again it may be six or eight miles.”
“Let us follow the trail, at least for awhile,” answered Dave. “It is
plain enough. He must be a pretty heavy fellow, by the depth of the
marks he has left.”
“I imagine all full-grown buffaloes are rather heavy,” answered Henry.
“Come on, and do not make any more noise than is necessary. We don’t
want him to get scared again—if he is within hearing.”
The trail of the buffalo led up a small hill and then down into a bit of
meadow, where the grass was thick and damp. As the youths progressed a
flock of birds started up directly in front of them and presently they
caught sight of three fair-sized rabbits.
“Now just look at that!” cried Dave, in vexed tones. “They seem to know
that we are afraid to shoot at them, for fear of disturbing the bigger
game.”
“Puts me in mind of what Ira Sanderson once said,” returned his cousin
with a grin. “He argued that a fellow always saw the best game when he
was out without his shooting-iron.”
“I reckon he was right, Henry; I’ve seen some fine deer when I didn’t
have anything to shoot with.”
The two young hunters now relapsed into silence, as the meadow came to
an end and they entered the forest. Here there was a buffalo trail well
defined, having been used by the animals for many years. The trail in
general was old, but the fresh hoofmarks of the single animal that had
just passed were easily followed by Henry, who was as good on a trail as
the average Indian.
The forest was a primeval one, with great trees stretching their
branches in all directions. Monstrous roots lay sprawled over the trail,
and they had to watch out that one or the other did not take a tumble.
The air was filled with the songs and cries of birds, while here and
there they heard the steady tap-tap of the woodpecker at his work. They
could have brought down a dozen squirrels had they felt so inclined, and
not a few chipmunks also showed themselves.
“That buffalo must have gone quite a way,” remarked Henry, as they came
to a halt in the midst of a forest glade. “We have already covered a
good mile and a half.”
“Don’t give up yet,” pleaded Dave, who had set his heart on returning to
Fort Pitt with the news of laying low the bison.
“Oh, I’m willing enough to go on, Dave. But we have got to leave the
regular trail now.”
“Where is the new trail?”
“Over yonder,” and Henry pointed with his hand.
“It seems to me he left the regular trail rather suddenly,” remarked
Dave, walking over to the spot indicated. “Don’t you think so?”
“I do.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know, excepting that something must have scared him—some
rabbits in the brush, or something like that.”
Once more the two young hunters pushed forward, the trail now leading
among some rocks, where walking was anything but agreeable. In some
places there were sharp brambles which scratched them not a little.
“Henry, that buffalo didn’t come this way for nothing,” whispered Dave.
“Just what I think. He was scared, and scared good and proper too. I
wish I knew what did it.”
“Can there be any other hunters around here?”
“That isn’t impossible. A number of the men who were at the fort have
gone away in the last few days. Some of them may be in this vicinity.”
“If they are I trust we shoot that buffalo first.”
They now reached another rise of ground, beyond which was a depression
encircled by bushes and rocks. As they mounted the rise they heard a
peculiar snort.
“Listen!” whispered Henry, and held up his hand.
“It’s the buffalo!” answered his cousin. “And hark! Some other animal is
there!”
“I think I know what it is, Dave. Be careful now and don’t make any more
noise.”
Guns to the front, they crawled up the rise and peered through the
fringe of brushwood. A sight met their gaze that thrilled them to the
heart.
The buffalo was there, heavy-set and shaggy as to head and shoulders,
and with a look of fierceness in his staring eyes. He was crouched
beside a rock, and directly in front of him was a small she-bear,
standing on her hind legs, and with her jaws dripping with blood. Behind
the bear were two half-grown cubs, both whining because of wounds in
their sides.
To Henry’s practiced eye the scene told its own story. In leaping over
the rise of ground the buffalo had come close to the den of the bear and
had stepped on both of the cubs, who were probably playing around at the
time. This had aroused the ire of the mother bear, and she had sprung to
the rescue and bitten the buffalo in the flank. The big beast, unable to
proceed on his flight, had turned around and struck the bear in the
side. Then both had separated, and were now getting ready to renew the
contest between them.
[Illustration: Both had separated, and were now getting ready to renew
the contest.—_Page 15._]
The mother bear now uttered a peculiar sound, and at this the cubs
retreated to a hole under some rocks, which was their home. The next
instant the buffalo charged once more, hitting the bear squarely on the
head and knocking her over. But as she tumbled, she caught her enemy by
the neck and sank her teeth deeply into the buffalo’s throat.
“What a fight!” whispered Dave. “What shall we do?”
“Wait—but be ready to shoot,” answered Henry. “I think the buffalo will
try to run for it in another minute.”
There was a snarl and a snort, and the buffalo did his best to throw the
bear off. But the latter clung fast, in the meantime clawing rapidly
with her hind feet at the bison’s forequarter. Then the buffalo swung
around, knocking the smaller beast against the rocks with such force
that the two young hunters heard the ribs of the bear crack. She fell to
the ground and the buffalo struck at her repeatedly with his hoofs.
“It’s all over with the bear,” whispered Dave. “Hadn’t we better shoot
at the buffalo?”
Before Henry could reply, the bison swung around once more and made a
leap which, for the instant, took him out of sight of both youths. His
instinct told him of more danger in that vicinity, and he sprang up on
some rocks to get a better look around. This movement brought him face
to face with Dave and Henry.
Crack! It was the report of Henry’s gun, and the bullet hit the bison on
the side of the head, not far from the left eye. But the shot was merely
a glancing one and did little damage. Then Dave fired, hitting the beast
in the fleshy part of the neck.
The fight with the bear had left the buffalo in anything but a good
humor and the two shots from the young hunters only added to his
ugliness. He paused to glare at the pair and then made a savage leap
towards Henry, lowering his horns as he did so.
“Look out!” screamed Dave, and Henry sprang to one side. The movement
was so quick that he could not calculate on where he was going and he
slipped into a hollow, his right foot going down between two heavy
stones in such a fashion that his ankle was badly wrenched.
The buffalo now turned upon Dave and he too leaped away. With unloaded
gun he could do nothing, and as quickly as possible he started to put in
a fresh charge and fix the priming. In the meantime the buffalo swung
around once more, gave Henry and the bear another look, and then sprang
for the brushwood and was out of sight in a twinkling.