PICKING OUT A PONY.
Standing in front of the door of the colonel’s head-quarters was a
sleepy-looking sorrel pony, saddled and bridled. He looked very
diminutive when contrasted with the heavy cavalry horse from which an
orderly had just dismounted, and so light was his body and so slender
his legs that it seemed as if an ordinary twelve-year-old boy would
prove as heavy a load as he was able to carry.
But to Oscar’s great surprise Big Thompson walked straight up to the
pony and vaulted into the saddle, whereupon the little fellow’s head
came up, his sleepy eyes opened, and, breaking at once into a gallop, he
carried his heavy rider through the gate and down the hill out of sight.
Oscar watched him as long as he remained in view, and then broke out
into a cheery laugh, in which the colonel heartily joined.
“That beats me!” exclaimed the boy as soon as he could speak. “I think
it would look better if Thompson would get off and carry the horse
instead of making the horse carry him. His great weight will break the
beast down before he has gone a mile.”
“You don’t know anything about an Indian pony,” replied the colonel. “I
once had occasion to send Thompson to Fort Laramie with despatches, and
he rode that same horse eighty-five miles in twenty-four hours without
the least trouble.”
“I shouldn’t have believed that little animal had so much strength and
endurance,” said Oscar, still more astonished. “Thompson doesn’t seem to
think much of my skill as a hunter, does he?”
“You can’t wonder at it after the experience he has had with people from
the States. He once shot four buffaloes for a gentleman living in New
York, who cut off the tails of the game, took them home, and hung them
up in his library as trophies of his own prowess.”
“I don’t see how he could do that,” said Oscar almost indignantly. “I
will gladly pay Thompson for any specimens I cannot procure myself, but
I couldn’t have the face to pass them off as my own. He hasn’t a very
high opinion of my courage, either. He thinks I shall be willing to come
back to the fort before spring.”
“That’s another thing you can’t wonder at. He knows what is before you,
and you don’t. Now you have two days to spend in any manner most
agreeable to yourself—this is Thursday, and you are not to start until
Monday, you know—and, if you are not too weary with travel, I think I
can put it in your power to obtain two or three fine specimens before
you start for the hills. Do you ride?”
“Yes, sir. I have broken more than one colt to the saddle.”
“Then that is something you will not have to learn over again. Could you
stand a fifteen-mile canter to-night?”
“I should enjoy it,” replied Oscar with great eagerness.
“All right. We’ll make up a little party among the officers, and spend
the greatest part of to-morrow in coursing antelope. That is a sport you
know nothing about, of course, and I tell you beforehand that your
horsemanship, and skill with the revolver and lasso, will be pretty
thoroughly tested.”
“Lasso?” repeated Oscar. “I didn’t know that antelope were ever hunted
with the lasso.”
“Certainly they are; and it is the most exciting way of capturing them.
You can’t imagine what hard riding it takes to enable one to slip a
lariat over the head of a youngster about six months old. The little
fellows run like the wind, and have a way of dodging and ducking their
heads, just as the noose is about to settle down over their necks, that
is perfectly exasperating. On Saturday we will pay our respects to the
wolves. They are not worth a charge of powder, but we manage to get a
little sport out of them by shooting them with the bow and arrow.”
“Then I shall not get any,” said Oscar. “I don’t know how to use a bow.”
“You can’t learn younger. The first thing, however, is to go down to the
corral and pick out a pony. The quartermaster knows all about them, and
we will ask him to go with us and make the selection. Orderly, tell
Major Baker I want to see him.”
The major, who was the acting quartermaster, made his appearance in a
few minutes, and the three walked leisurely toward the gate, discussing
the merits of the captured ponies as they went.
At a sign from the colonel, accompanied by a pantomime that Oscar could
not understand, a man who was sitting on the opposite side of the parade
ground, with a blanket over his shoulders, arose to his feet and
disappeared through an open doorway.
When he came out again Oscar saw that he was an Indian, and that he had
exchanged his blanket for a coil of rope, which he carried in his hand.
He fell in behind the colonel and his two companions, and followed them
down the hill toward the corral in which the ponies were confined.
There were twenty-five or thirty of them in the enclosure, and they
looked so very small, when compared with the cavalry horses that were
picketed on the outside, that Oscar could hardly bring himself to
believe that they were full-grown animals.
They looked more like colts, and it did not seem possible that they
could carry a rider for weeks at a time, with nothing but grass to eat,
or beat a Kentucky thoroughbred in a race of twenty miles.
The officers stopped when they had passed through the gate of the
corral, and while the major was running his eyes over the herd in search
of the particular pony he wanted to find, Oscar had opportunity to take
a good survey of the Indian.
He was one of the Osage scouts attached to the colonel’s command, and
though not so large a man as Big Thompson, he was taller than either of
the officers, and the battered stovepipe hat he wore on his head made
him look taller than he really was.
He wore leggings and moccasins, a gray flannel shirt, a tattered
officer’s dress coat, with a captain’s epaulet on one shoulder and a
sergeant’s _chevron_ on the other, and the band on his hat was stuck
full of feathers.
He did not look like a very formidable person, and yet, as Oscar
afterward learned, he had the reputation of being the bravest man in his
nation. He stood quietly by, with his lasso on his arm, awaiting the
colonel’s further orders.
“There he is! there he is!” exclaimed the major, laying his hand on his
commander’s shoulder, and pointing toward the pony of which he was in
search. “Come here, Preston, and tell me what you think of him.”
“I don’t see him,” replied Oscar, stepping behind the major, and raising
himself on tiptoe, so that he could look along the officer’s
outstretched arm. “I can’t tell one from the other. They are all
sorrels, and look exactly alike to me.”
“But there is a big difference in them, all the same,” answered the
major. “That fellow is a trained hunter, and worth fifty dollars of any
man’s money. He will follow a buffalo, antelope, or elk over the
roughest ground or through a prairie-dogs’ village without making a
single misstep, and without the least guidance from the reins. I know
that to be a fact, for I have seen him do it. If you want something a
little handsomer and more fancy,” added the major, pointing to a pony
that was trotting about on the outskirts of the herd, as if to show off
the ribbons and feathers that were braided in his mane and tail, “there
he is, and he is worth thirty dollars more.”
“I don’t care for anything fancy,” replied Oscar. “I came out here to
work, not to put on style. Those thirty dollars are worth more to me
than they are to Uncle Sam.”
“I think the buffalo hunter is the one you want,” remarked the colonel.
“You will have two days in which to try him, and if he doesn’t suit you
can bring him back and exchange him for another.”
So saying he turned to the Osage, and pointing out the horse in
question, told him to secure it.
The Indian at once went in among the ponies, which had retreated to the
furthest corner of the corral, and when he came out again, leading the
buffalo hunter by his lasso, which he had twisted about the animal’s
lower jaw, the rest of the herd turned and followed at his heels.
The presence of the Indian seemed to quiet them at once. They stood in
no fear of him; but the moment they caught sight of the white men, who
were waiting in front of the gate, they wheeled in their tracks and ran
back to the other end of the corral again.
When Oscar came to take a good look at the animal he told himself that
he was the homeliest thing in the shape of a pony he had ever seen.
There were a dozen others in the corral, which, if left to himself, he
would have selected in preference to this one.
He was not at all pleased with the animal’s actions, either; for when he
advanced to lay his hand upon him the pony snorted loudly, threw his
ears close to his head, and retreated away from him as far as the length
of the lariat would allow. He was vicious as well as homely.