A CHASE AND A CAPTIVE.
Having picketed his horse and placed his saddle and bridle under the
wagon with the others, Oscar joined the group about the fire, who were
preparing to dispose of a second supper before going to bed—their long
ride in the keen air having given them a most ravenous appetite.
Oscar was as hungry as the rest, and never did he partake of homely fare
with more relish than he did that night. The black coffee sweetened with
brown sugar, and served up without milk, was equal to any his mother had
ever made; the fat bacon was better than most beef, and the hardtack was
to be preferred to pastry.
He ate his full share of the viands, and then rolled himself up in his
blankets, and, with his saddle for a pillow, slept the sleep of the
weary, until he was aroused by the voices of the teamsters, who, with
the help of the Indian, had kept watch of the horses during the night.
A dash of cold water in his face, and a hasty breakfast, prepared him
for the hunt, the details of which were arranged while the horses were
being brought up.
“Now, Oscar,” said the colonel, as he sprang into the saddle and led the
way toward a plateau that lay about two miles distant from the camp,
“stay as close to me as you can, and if we don’t secure a specimen of
something before another meal is served up to us, it will not be our
fault. What do you intend to do with that rifle, I’d like to know?”
“Why, I am going to shoot a prong-horn with it if I get the chance,”
answered Oscar.
“Take it back to camp, and tell the teamsters to take care of it until
you return,” said the colonel. “It will only be in your way. Your
revolver and lasso are what you must depend on this morning.”
Oscar hastened to obey, and, when he reached the camp, he found that the
colonel had not brought his hounds along. As soon as he came up with the
officer again he asked why he had not done so.
“We want to see some sport while our horses are fresh,” was the reply,
“and the best way to get it is to run the game down ourselves. A dash of
three or four miles will take all the breath out of them, and then we’ll
give the hounds a chance. This afternoon we will try still-hunting,
which has gone almost out of style, except among the Indians and a few
white pot-hunters, and then you can use your rifle.”
During the ride to the plateau the colonel improved the opportunity to
give Oscar some instructions in regard to the manner in which antelope
were hunted, and the course he must pursue to make the hunt successful.
He showed him how to throw the lasso, and, although the boy tried hard
to imitate him, he did it simply out of politeness, and not because he
believed that he would ever be able to capture anything with that novel
weapon.
He could throw the lasso with all ease as far as its length would
permit, and sometimes the noose would go, and sometimes it wouldn’t. He
was not very expert with the revolver either, and often wished he had
held fast to his rifle.
When the hunting party mounted the hills that led to the plateau, Oscar
obtained his first view of a prong-horn.
He was disappointed, as almost everybody is who sees for the first time
something he has often read or heard about. He knew that the antelope
seldom exceeds three feet in height at the shoulders, and that it rarely
weighs more than sixty or seventy pounds; but still he did not expect to
find it so diminutive a creature.
There were several small herds grazing quietly within range of his
vision, and but for their color they might have been taken for so many
sheep.
Having carefully marked the position of the different herds, the hunters
drew silently back down the ridge, and following in the lead of the
colonel made a detour of a mile or more, in order to reach some hillocks
on the leeward side of the game, under cover of which they could
approach some hundreds of yards nearer to the spot on which they were
grazing.
On reaching this place of concealment, they dismounted for a few minutes
to tighten their saddle-girths, arrange their lassoes and look to their
revolvers; and, when everything was ready for the exciting chase that
was to follow, they rode out on the plateau and showed themselves to the
antelope.
The actions of the animals, who were thus disturbed at their quiet
repast by the sudden appearance of enemies whose presence they had never
suspected, astonished Oscar.
Instead of setting off in full flight at once, as he had expected they
would, they one and all made a few “buck-jumps”—that is, sprang straight
up and down in the air; and then, running together in a group, stood and
stared at the intruders.
But when the colonel, with a wild Indian yell and a wave of his hat,
dashed toward them at the top of his speed, they scattered like leaves
before a storm, and made off at their best pace.
Oscar followed close at the colonel’s heels, the gallant little black on
which he was mounted easily keeping pace with the officer’s more bulky
horse; and presently he saw a full-grown doe, with a couple of fawns at
her side, break away from the others and direct her course across the
plateau toward the lower prairie that lay beyond.
“There’s your chance, Preston!” shouted the colonel. “Shoot the doe and
lasso the youngsters. You’ll never find finer specimens if you hunt
until your hair is as white as mine. Go it, now, and don’t forget that
the louder you yell the more fun you’ll have!”
The hubbub that arose behind him made Oscar believe that the other
members of the party must be of the same opinion.
The chorus of whoops and howls that rent the air when the game was seen
in full flight was almost enough to raise a doubt in his mind as to
whether his hunting companions were friendly white men or hostile
Indians.
[Illustration: OSCAR SHOOTS THE PRONG-HORN.]
The colonel kept on after a magnificent buck on which he had set his
eye. Oscar turned off in pursuit of the trio which had been pointed out
to him as his quarry, and Lieutenant Warwick came dashing after him,
uttering hideous yells to urge both horses to renewed exertions.
The prong-horns ran with such surprising swiftness that Oscar, almost
from the start, began to despair of overtaking them; but by the time he
had gone half a mile, he saw that he was rapidly closing up the gap that
lay between himself and the game.
If the antelope’s staying powers were equal to its speed for a short
distance, all efforts to run it down on horseback would be unavailing;
but it soon begins to show signs of weariness, and then even a
moderately fast horse can come up with it.
As soon as he had approached within easy range, Oscar drew his revolver
from his belt, and, by a lucky snap shot, threw the doe in her tracks—an
achievement which the lieutenant hailed with another chorus of yells.
Well satisfied with his work so far, Oscar returned his revolver to its
place, and taking his lasso from the horn of his saddle, kept on after
the fawns, which were running wildly about, as if bewildered and
terror-stricken by the loss of their guardian.
He hardly expected to capture one of them, for the little fellows,
having shown themselves to be very light of foot, now proved that they
were equally quick at dodging and doubling; but after he had made a few
throws, which were nimbly eluded by the game, he succeeded, to his great
surprise and the infinite delight of the lieutenant, who still followed
close at his heels, shouting out words of encouragement and advice, in
slipping the noose over the head of the nearest fawn and pulling it to
the ground.
In an instant the two horses were at a stand-still, and the lieutenant
was on the ground beside the struggling captive. With his own lariat he
securely tied its feet, and then he threw off the noose that was around
its neck.
“Go on and capture the other one,” he shouted, “and you will have a
couple of the nicest pets you ever saw! You know how it is done now.”
Setting his horse in motion again, the successful hunter galloped away
in pursuit of the captive’s mate, and soon discovered it standing on a
little hill a short distance away, looking wistfully around, as if
trying to find its lost companion.
It allowed Oscar to come pretty close to it before it took the alarm;
but when it was fairly started it made up for lost time. It ran faster
than it did before; and it was only after a two-mile chase that Oscar
was near enough to it to use his lasso.
He threw until his arm ached, and was on the point of settling the
matter with a shot from his revolver, when the fawn, in the most
accommodating manner, ran its head directly into the noose and was
quickly pulled to the ground.
“There!” exclaimed Oscar, panting loudly after his exertions, “I did it,
didn’t I? Now, Gipsy, I am going to see if you are as smart as your
master thinks you are. I want you to hold that fellow for me until I see
what he looks like.”
Oscar had often heard and read of the wonderful intelligence exhibited
by trained horses in assisting their riders to secure animals that had
been lassoed in the chase, but he had never put the least faith in it.
Now he had an opportunity to test the matter for himself, and the result
proved that their skill had not in the least been exaggerated.
Having wrapped his lariat around the horn of his saddle, Oscar
dismounted to take a nearer look at his captive.
As he approached, the little creature sprang to its feet, but was almost
instantly pulled down again by a quick movement on the part of the
horse, which stepped backward, throwing her weight upon the lasso as she
did so.
“I declare, you do understand your business, after all, Gipsy!”
exclaimed the boy, who watched her movements with great admiration.
“Now, how am I going to tie this fellow? I believe I’ll slip that noose
under his forelegs, and make him walk to camp. If he doesn’t feel like
going peaceably, I can make the mare drag him. Hollo! What’s that?”
Oscar, who had bent over his captive in readiness to carry out the plan
he had hit upon, suddenly straightened up, and burying his hands deep in
his pockets, looked first toward a distant swell, down which the
lieutenant was coming at headlong speed, waving his hat in the air and
uttering triumphant yells, and then he looked at the fawn.
He was a born hunter, and whenever he bagged any game of which he had
long been in search, and which promised, when mounted, to make an
unusually fine specimen, he was a proud and happy boy; but just now he
felt anything but pride in his success.
His little captive shed tears so copiously, and looked up at him with so
appealing an expression, that Oscar, for the moment, was completely
unnerved.
Then, too, its forelegs were lacerated, the skin having been cut away by
repeated blows from the sharp points of the hinder hoofs, and Oscar knew
that it must be suffering intensely.
Besides this, Gipsy, who was doing her duty faithfully, was leaning back
so heavily on the lariat that the iron ring which formed the noose was
pressed down upon the little creature’s throat until it seemed on the
point of strangling.
“Good gracious!” cried Oscar, who took this all in at a glance, “I can’t
stand it, and I won’t, either. There you are! Clear out, and take better
care of yourself in future.”
To run to his horse and undo the lariat that was made fast around the
horn of his saddle was scarcely the work of a moment.
Holding it in his hand, just tightly enough to prevent the captive from
jumping to its feet, he approached it, and with a quick movement opened
the noose and threw it off its neck.
The fawn was on its feet in an instant, and in a few seconds more it was
making railroad time down the ridge.