THE "WALLERING" PECULIARITIES OF BUFFALO BULLS--THE FIRST BUFFALO HUNT
AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--CRUSOE COMES TO THE RESCUE--PAWNEES DISCOVERED--A
MONSTER BUFFALO HUNT--JOE ACTS THE PART OF AMBASSADOR.
Fortunately the day that succeeded the dreary night described in the
last chapter was warm and magnificent. The sun rose in a blaze of
splendour and filled the atmosphere with steam from the moist earth.
The unfortunates in the wet camp were not slow to avail themselves of
his cheering rays. They hung up everything on the bushes to dry, and by
dint of extreme patience and cutting out the comparatively dry hearts of
several pieces of wood, they lighted a fire and boiled some rain water,
which was soon converted into soup. This, and the exercise necessary
for the performance of these several duties, warmed and partially dried
them, so that when they once more mounted their steeds and rode away
they were in a state of comparative comfort and in excellent spirits.
The only annoyance was the clouds of mosquitoes and large flies that
assailed men and horses whenever they checked their speed.
"I tell ye wot it is," said Joe Blunt, one fine morning about a week
after they had begun to cross the prairie, "it's my 'pinion that we'll
come on buffaloes soon. Them tracks are fresh, an' yonder's one o'
their wallers that's bin used not long agone."
"I'll go have a look at it," cried Dick, trotting away as he spoke.
Everything in these vast prairies was new to Dick Varley, and he was
kept in a constant state of excitement during the first week or two of
his journey. It is true he was quite familiar with the names and habits
of all the animals that dwelt there, for many a time and oft had he
listened to the "yarns" of the hunters and trappers of the Mustang
Valley, when they returned laden with rich furs from their periodical
hunting expeditions. But this knowledge of his only served to whet his
curiosity and his desire to _see_ the denizens of the prairies with his
own eyes, and now that his wish was accomplished, it greatly increased
the pleasures of his journey.
Dick had just reached the "wallow" referred to by Joe Blunt, and had
reined up his steed to observe it leisurely, when a faint hissing sound
reached his ear. Looking quickly back he observed his two companions
crouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly descending into a
hollow of the prairie in front of them, as if they wished to bring the
rising ground between them and some object in advance. Dick instantly
followed their example and was soon at their heels.
"Ye needn't look at the waller," whispered Joe, "for a' t'other side o'
the ridge there's a bull _wallerin'_."
"Ye don't mean it!" exclaimed Dick, as they all dismounted and picketed
their horses to the plain.
"Oui," said Henri, tumbling off his horse, while a broad grin overspread
his good-natured countenance; "it is one fact! One buffalo bull be
wollerin' like a enormerous hog. Also, dere be t'ousands o' buffaloes
farder on."
"Can ye trust yer dog keepin' back?" inquired Joe, with a dubious glance
at Crusoe.
"Trust him! Ay, I wish I was as sure o' myself."
"Look to your primin', then, an' we'll have tongues and marrow-bones for
supper to-night, I'se warrant. Hist! down on yer knees, and go softly.
We might ha' run them down on horseback, but its bad to wind yer beasts
on a trip like this, if ye can help it; an' it's about as easy to stalk
them. Leastways, we'll try. Lift yer head slowly, Dick, an' don't show
more nor the half o't above the ridge."
Dick elevated his head as directed, and the scene that met his view was
indeed well calculated to send an electric shock to the heart of an
ardent sportsman. The vast plain beyond was absolutely blackened with
countless herds of buffaloes, which were browsing on the rich grass.
They were still so far distant that their bellowing, and the trampling
of their myriad hoofs, only reached the hunters like a faint murmur on
the breeze. In the immediate foreground, however, there was a group of
about half a dozen buffalo cows feeding quietly, and in the midst of
them an enormous old bull was enjoying himself in his wallow. The
animals, towards which our hunters now crept with murderous intent, are
the fiercest and the most ponderous of the ruminating inhabitants of the
western wilderness. The name of buffalo, however, is not correct. The
animal is the _bison_, and bears no resemblance whatever to the buffalo
proper; but as the hunters of the far west--and, indeed, travellers
generally, have adopted the misnomer, we bow to the authority of custom
and adopt it too.
Buffaloes roam in countless thousands all over the North American
prairies, from the Hudson's Bay territories, north of Canada, to the
shores of the Gulf of Mexico.
The advance of white men to the west has driven them to the prairies
between the Missouri and the Rocky Mountains, and has somewhat
diminished their numbers; but even thus diminished, they are still
innumerable in the more distant plains. Their colour is dark brown, but
it varies a good deal with the seasons. The hair or fur, from its great
length in winter and spring and exposure to the weather, turns quite
light; but when the winter coat is shed off the new growth is a
beautiful dark brown, almost approaching to jet-black. In form the
buffalo somewhat resembles the ox, but its head and shoulders are much
larger, and are covered with a profusion of long shaggy hair, which adds
greatly to the fierce aspect of the animal. It has a large hump on the
shoulder, and its fore-quarters are much larger, in proportion, than the
hindquarters. The horns are short and thick; the hoofs are cloven, and
the tail is short, with a tuft of hair at the extremity.
It is scarcely possible to conceive a wilder or more ferocious and
terrible monster than a buffalo bull. He often grows to the enormous
weight of two thousand pounds. His lion-like mane falls in shaggy
confusion quite over his head and shoulders, down to the ground. When
he is wounded he becomes imbued with the spirit of a tiger; he stamps,
bellows, roars, and foams forth his rage with glaring eyes and steaming
nostrils; and charges furiously at man and horse with utter
recklessness. Fortunately, however, he is not naturally pugnacious, and
can be easily thrown into a sudden panic. Moreover, the peculiar
position of his eye renders this creature not so terrible as he would
otherwise be to the hunter. Owing to the stiff structure of the neck,
and the sunken, downward-looking eyeball, the buffalo cannot, without an
effort, see beyond the direct line of vision presented to the habitual
carriage of his head. When, therefore, he is wounded, and charges, he
does so in a straight line, so that his pursuer can leap easily out of
his way. The pace of the buffalo is clumsy, and _apparently_ slow, yet,
when chased, he dashes away over the plains in blind blundering terror,
at a rate that leaves all but good horses far behind. He cannot keep
the pace up, however, and is usually soon overtaken. Were the buffalo
capable of the same alert and agile motions of head and eye peculiar to
the deer or wild horse, in addition to his "bovine rage," he would be
the most formidable brute on earth. There is no object, perhaps, so
terrible as the headlong advance of a herd of these animals when
thoroughly aroused by terror. They care not for their necks. All
danger in front is forgotten, or not seen, in the terror of that from
which they fly. No thundering cataract is more tremendously
irresistible than the black bellowing torrent which sometimes pours
through the narrow defiles of the Rocky Mountains, or sweeps like a
roaring flood over the trembling plains.
The wallowing, to which we have referred, is a luxury usually indulged
in during the hot months of summer, when the buffaloes are tormented by
flies, and heat, and drought. At this season they seek the low grounds
in the prairies where there is a little stagnant water lying amongst the
grass, and the ground underneath, being saturated, is soft. The leader
of the herd, a shaggy old bull, usually takes upon himself to prepare
the wallow.
It was a rugged monster of the largest size that did so on the present
occasion, to the intense delight of Dick Varley, who begged Joe to lie
still and watch the operation before trying to shoot one of the buffalo
cows. Joe consented with a nod, and the four spectators--for Crusoe was
as much taken up with the proceedings as any of them--crouched in the
grass, and looked on.
Coming up to the swampy spot the old bull gave a grunt of satisfaction,
and, going down on one knee, plunged his short thick horns into the mud,
tore it up, and cast it aside. Having repeated this several times he
plunged his head in, and brought it forth saturated with dirty water,
and bedaubed with lumps of mud, through which his fierce eyes gazed,
with a ludicrous expression of astonishment, straight in the direction
of the hunters, as if he meant to say, "I've done it that time, and no
mistake!" The other buffaloes seemed to think so too, for they came up
and looked, on with an expression that seemed to say, "Well done, old
fellow; try that again!"
The old fellow did try it again, and again, and again, plunging, and
ramming, and tearing up the earth, until he formed an excavation large
enough to contain his huge body. In this bath he laid himself
comfortably down, and began to roll and wallow about until he mixed up a
trough full of thin soft mud, which completely covered him. When he
came out of the hole there was scarcely an atom of his former self
visible!
The coat of mud thus put on by bulls is usually permitted by them to
dry, and is not finally got rid of until long after, when oft-repeated
rollings on the grass and washings by rain at length clear it away.
When the old bull vacated this delectable bath, another bull, scarcely,
if at all, less ferocious-looking, stepped forward to take his turn, but
he was interrupted by a volley from the hunters, which scattered the
animals right and left, and sent the mighty herds in the distance flying
over the prairie in wild terror. The very turmoil of their own mad
flight added to their panic, and the continuous thunder of their hoofs
was heard until the last of them disappeared on the horizon. The family
party which had been fired at, however, did not escape so well. Joe's
rifle wounded a fat young cow, and Dick Varley brought it down. Henri
had done his best, but, as the animals were too far distant for his
limited vision, he missed the cow he fired at and hit the young bull
whose bath had been interrupted. The others scattered and fled.
"Well done, Dick," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as they all ran up to the cow
that had fallen. "Your first shot at the buffalo was a good 'un. Come
now an I'll show ye how to cut it up an' carry off the titbits."
"Ah! mon dear ole bull," exclaimed Henri, gazing after the animal which
he had wounded, and which was now limping slowly away. "You is not
worth goin' after. Varewell,--adieu."
"He'll be tough enough, I warrant," said Joe, "an' we've more meat here
nor we can lift."
"But wouldn't it be as well to put the poor brute out o' pain?"
suggested Dick.
"Oh, he'll die soon enough," replied Joe, tucking up his sleeves and
drawing his long hunting-knife.
Dick, however, was not satisfied with this way of looking at it. Saying
that he would be back in a few minutes he re-loaded his rifle, and
calling Crusoe to his side, walked quickly after the wounded bull, which
was now hid from view in a hollow of the plain.
In a few minutes he came in sight of it, and ran forward with his rifle
in readiness.
"Down, Crusoe," he whispered; "wait for me here."
Crusoe crouched in the grass instantly, and Dick advanced. As he came
on, the bull observed him, and turned round bellowing with rage and pain
to receive him. The aspect of the brute on a near view was so terrible,
that Dick involuntarily stopped too, and gazed with a mingled feeling of
wonder and awe, while it bristled with passion, and blood-streaked foam
dropped from its open jaws, and its eyes glared furiously. Seeing that
Dick did not advance, the bull charged him with a terrific roar; but the
youth had firm nerves, and although the rush of such a savage creature
at full speed was calculated to try the courage of any man, especially
one who had never seen a buffalo bull before, Dick did not lose presence
of mind. He remembered the many stories he had listened to of this very
thing that was now happening, so, crushing down his excitement as well
as he could, he cocked his rifle and awaited the charge. He knew that
it was of no use to fire at the head of the advancing foe, as the
thickness of the skull, together with the matted hair on the forehead,
rendered it impervious to a bullet.
When the bull was within a yard of him he leaped lightly to one side and
it passed. Just as it did so, Dick aimed at its heart and fired, but
his knowledge of the creature's anatomy was not yet correct. The ball
entered the shoulder too high, and the bull, checking himself as well as
he could in his headlong rush, turned round and made at Dick again.
The failure coupled with the excitement proved too much for Dick; he
could not resist discharging his second barrel at the brute's head as it
came on. He might as well have fired at a brick wall; it shook its
shaggy front, and with a hideous bellow thundered forward. Again Dick
sprang to one side, but in doing so a tuft of grass or a stone caught
his foot, and he fell heavily to the ground.
Up to this point Crusoe's admirable training had nailed him to the spot
where he had been left, although the twitching of every fibre in his
body and a low continuous whine showed how gladly he would have hailed
permission to join in the combat; but the instant he saw his master down
and the buffalo turning to charge again, he sprang forward with a roar
that would have done credit to his bovine enemy, and seized him by the
nose. So vigorous was the rush that he well-nigh pulled the bull down
on its side. One toss of its head, however, sent Crusoe high into the
air, but it accomplished this feat at the expense of its nose, which was
torn and lacerated by the dog's teeth.
Scarcely had Crusoe touched the ground, which he did with a sounding
thump, than he sprang up and flew at his adversary again. This time,
however, he adopted the plan of barking furiously and biting by rapid
yet terrible snaps as he found opportunity, thus keeping the bull
entirely engrossed, and affording Dick an opportunity of re-loading his
rifle, which he was not slow to do. Dick then stepped close up, and,
while the two combatants were roaring in each other's face; he shot the
buffalo through the heart. It fell to the earth with a deep groan.
Crusoe's rage instantly vanished on beholding this, and he seemed to be
filled with tumultuous joy at his master's escape, for he gambolled
round him, and whined and fawned upon him in a manner that could not be
misunderstood.
"Good dog; thank'ee, my pup," said Dick, patting Crusoe's head as he
stooped to brush the dust from his leggings; "I don't know what would
ha' become o' me but for your help, Crusoe."
Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, wagged his tail, and looked
at Dick with an expression that said quite plainly, "I'd die for you, I
would--not once, or twice, but ten times, fifty times if need be--and
that not merely to save your life, but even to please you."
There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something of this sort. The
love of a Newfoundland dog to its master is beyond calculation or
expression. He who once gains such love carries the dog's life in his
hand. But let him who reads note well, and remember, that there is only
one coin that can purchase such love, and that is _kindness_; the coin,
too, must be genuine. Kindness merely _expressed_ will not do, it must
be _felt_.
"Hallo! boy, ye've bin i' the wars!" exclaimed Joe, raising himself from
his task as Dick and Crusoe returned.
"You look more like it than I do," retorted Dick, laughing.
This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcase with no other instrument
than a large knife is no easy matter. Yet western hunters and Indians
can do it without cleaver or saw, in a way that would surprise a
civilised butcher not a little. Joe was covered with blood up to the
elbows. His hair, happening to have a knack of getting into his eyes,
had been so often brushed off with bloody hands, that his whole visage
was speckled with gore, and his dress was by no means immaculate.
While Dick related his adventure, or _mis-adventure_ with the bull, Joe
and Henri completed the cutting out of the most delicate portions of the
buffalo, namely, the hump on its shoulder--which is a choice piece, much
finer than the best beef--and the tongue, and a few other parts. The
tongues of buffaloes are superior to those of domestic cattle. When all
was ready the meat was slung across the back of the pack-horse, and the
party, remounting their horses, continued their journey, having first
cleansed themselves as well as they could in the rather dirty waters of
an old wallow.
"See," said Henri, turning to Dick and pointing to a circular spot of
green as they rode along, "that is one old _dry_ waller."
"Ay," remarked Joe, "after the waller dries, it becomes a ring o'
greener grass than the rest o' the plain, as ye see. 'Tis said the
first hunters used to wonder greatly at these myster'ous circles, and
they invented all sorts o' stories to account for 'em. Some said they
wos fairy-rings, but at last they comed to know they wos nothin' more
nor less than places where buffaloes wos used to waller in. It's often
seemed to me that if we knowed the _raisons_ o' things we wouldn't be so
much puzzled wi' them as we are."
The truth of this last remark was so self-evident and incontrovertible
that it elicited no reply, and the three friends rode on for a
considerable time in silence.
It was now past noon, and they were thinking of calling a halt for a
short rest to the horses and a pipe to themselves, when Joe was heard to
give vent to one of those peculiar hisses that always accompanied either
a surprise or a caution. In the present case it indicated both.
"What now, Joe?"
"Injuns!" ejaculated Joe.
"Eh! fat you say? ou is de?"
Crusoe at this moment uttered a low growl. Ever since the day he had
been partially roasted he had maintained a rooted antipathy to Red-men.
Joe immediately dismounted, and placing his ear to the ground listened
intently. It is a curious fact that by placing the ear close to the
ground sounds can be heard distinctly which could not be heard at all if
the listener were to maintain an erect position.
"They're arter the buffalo," said Joe, rising, "an' I think it's likely
they're a band o' Pawnees. Listen an' ye'll hear their shouts quite
plain."
Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placed their ears to the ground.
"Now, me hear noting," said Henri, jumping up, "but me ear is like me
eyes; ver' short-sighted."
"I do hear something," said Dick as he got up, "but the beating o' my
own heart makes row enough to spoil my hearin'."
Joe Blunt smiled. "Ah! lad, yer young an' yer blood's too hot yet, but
bide a bit; you'll cool down soon. I wos like you once. Now, lads,
what think ye we should do?"
"You know best, Joe."
"Oui, nodoubtedly."
"Then wot I advise is that we gallop to the broken sand hillocks ye see
yonder, get behind them an' take a peep at the Red-skins. If they are
Pawnees we'll go up to them at once; if not, we'll hold a council o' war
on the spot."
Having arranged this they mounted and hastened towards the hillocks in
question, which they reached after ten minutes' gallop, at full stretch.
The sandy mounds afforded them concealment, and enabled them to watch
the proceedings of the savages in the plain below. The scene was the
most curious and exciting that can be conceived. The centre of the
plain before them was crowded with hundreds of buffaloes, which were
dashing about in the most frantic state of alarm. To whatever point
they galloped they were met by yelling savages on horseback, who could
not have been fewer in numbers than a thousand--all being armed with
lance, bow, and quiver, and mounted on active little horses. The
Indians had completely surrounded the herd of buffaloes, and were now
advancing steadily towards them, gradually narrowing the circle, and,
whenever the terrified animals endeavoured to break through the line,
they rushed to that particular spot in a body, and scared them back
again into the centre.
Thus they advanced until they closed in on their prey, and formed an
unbroken circle round them, whilst the poor brutes kept eddying and
surging to and fro in a confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each
other, and bellowing furiously. Suddenly the horsemen made a rush, and
the work of destruction began. The tremendous turmoil raised a cloud of
dust that obscured the field in some places, and hid it from our
hunters' view. Some of the Indians galloped round and round the circle,
sending their arrows whizzing up to the feathers in the sides of the
fattest cows. Others dashed fearlessly into the midst of the black
heaving mass, and, with their long lances, pierced dozens of them to the
heart. In many instances the buffaloes, infuriated by wounds, turned
fiercely on their assailants and gored the horses to death, in which
cases the men had to trust to their nimble legs for safety. Sometimes a
horse got jammed in the centre of the swaying mass, and could neither
advance nor retreat. Then the savage rider leaped upon the buffaloes'
backs, and springing from one to another, like an acrobat, gained the
outer edge of the circle, not failing, however, in his strange flight,
to pierce with his lance several of the fattest of his stepping-stones
as he sped along.
A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from the blood and dust of this
desperate battle, and made off over the plains, but they were quickly
overtaken, and the lance or arrow brought them down on the green turf.
Many of the dismounted riders were chased by bulls, but they stepped
lightly to one side, and, as the animals passed, drove their arrows deep
into their sides. Thus the tumultuous war went on, amid thundering
tread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain was transformed into a
sea of blood and mire, and every buffalo of the herd was laid low.
It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare is invariably waged
without damage to the savages. Many were the wounds and bruises
received that day, and not a few bones were broken, but happily no lives
were lost.
"Now, lads, now's our time. A bold and fearless look's the best at all
times. Don't look as if ye doubted their friendship; and mind, wotever
ye do, don't use yer arms. Follow me."
Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and, bounding over the ridge
at full speed, galloped headlong across the plain.
The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a loud yell announced
the fact as they assembled from all parts of the field brandishing their
bows and spears. Joe's quick eye soon distinguished their chief,
towards whom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yard or two
of his horse's head; then he reined up suddenly. So rapidly did Joe and
his comrades approach, and so instantaneously did they pull up, that
their steeds were thrown almost on their haunches.
The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He was a tall powerful savage,
almost naked, and mounted on a coal-black charger, which he sat with the
ease of a man accustomed to ride from infancy. He was, indeed, a
splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark frown, for, although
he and his band had visited the settlements and trafficked with the
fur-traders on the Missouri, he did not love the "Pale-faces," whom he
regarded as intruders on the hunting grounds of his fathers, and the
peace that existed between them at that time was of a very fragile
character. Indeed, it was deemed by the traders impossible to travel
through the Indian country at that period except in strong force, and it
was the very boldness of the present attempt that secured to our hunters
anything like a civil reception.
Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently, began by explaining the
object of his visit, and spoke of the presents which he had brought for
the great chief; but it was evident that his words made little
impression. As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round the
little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses and weapons
with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable anxiety.
"Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face is true," said the
savage, when Joe paused, "but he does not choose to make peace. The
Pale-faces are grasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes to the
great mountains, and say, `There we will stop.' But even there they
will not stop. They are never satisfied, Mahtawa knows them well."
This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts of the hunters, for
they knew that if the savages refused to make peace, they would scalp
them all and appropriate their goods. To make things worse, a
dark-visaged Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle, and, ere he
was aware, plucked it from his hand. The blood rushed to the gigantic
hunter's forehead, and he was on the point of springing at the man, when
Joe said in a deep, quiet voice--
"Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death."
At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts of the circle of
horsemen, and another chief rode into the midst of them. He was
evidently higher in rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to
the crowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drew little comfort
from the appearance of his face, however, for it scowled upon them. He
was not so powerful a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully formed,
and had a more noble and commanding countenance.
"Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river that they should come
to spy out the lands of the Pawnee?" he demanded.
"We have not come to spy your country," answered Joe, raising himself
proudly as he spoke, and taking off his cap. "We have come with a
message from the great chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village
far beyond the great river where the sun rises. He says, why should the
Pale-face and the Red-man fight? They are brothers. The same Manitou
[the Indian name for God] watches over both. The Pale-faces have more
beads, and guns, and blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they
require; they wish to give some of these things for the skins and furs
which the Red-man does not know what to do with. The great chief of the
Pale-faces has sent me to say, `Why should we fight? let us smoke the
pipe of peace!'"
At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the wily chief
brightened for a moment. Then he said, sternly--
"The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has come here to trade for
himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes that can see--they are not shut. Are
not these your goods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke.
"Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of an enemy's camp,"
returned Joe; "San-it-sa-rish is wise and will understand this. These
are gifts to the chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him when
the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said,--What message shall we take
back to the great chief of the Pale-faces?"
San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.
"The hunting field is not the council tent," he said. "The Pale-faces
will go with us to our village."
Of course Joe was only too glad to agree to this proposal, but he now
deemed it politic to display a little firmness.
"We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not do to go back and
tell the great chief of the Pale-faces that the Pawnees are thieves."
The chief frowned angrily.
"The Pawnees are true--they are not thieves. They choose to _look_ at
the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall be returned."
The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters rode off with the
Indians towards their camp. On the way they met hundreds of women and
children going to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their special
duty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp. The men, considering
that they had done quite enough in killing it, returned to smoke and eat
away the fatigues of the chase.
As they rode along Dick Varley observed that some of the "braves," as
Indian warriors are styled, were eating pieces of the bloody livers of
the buffaloes in a raw state, at which he expressed not a little
disgust.
"Ah! boy, you're green yet," remarked Joe Blunt in an undertone.
"Mayhap ye'll be thankful to do that same yerself some day."
"Well, I'll not refuse to try when it is needful," said Dick with a
laugh; "meanwhile I'm content to see the Red-skins do it, Joe Blunt."