brought him with me from England, and he never quitted my side day, or
even night, I believe, for any appreciable time, until those rascally
Crow Indians stole him from me, and made him into their favourite dog
soup, as I thought, weeks ago. Poor Wolf, old man!" he added, speaking
to the faithful creature, and patting his head, "I never thought I
should see you again."
"He's a fine crittur!" said Seth, making advances of friendship towards
Wolf, which were cordially reciprocated; "an' I wouldn't like to lose
him if I owned him, I guess. I s'pose he broke loose and follered your
trail?"
"I expect so," said Ernest Wilton; "but how he managed to track me
through all my erratic course amongst these mountains--or hills, as you
call them--puzzles me. See," he continued, "they must have tied up the
poor fellow, as well as starved him, or he would have probably found me
sooner! Here is a piece of hide rope round his neck, which he has
gnawed through in order to get free,"--holding up the tattered fragment
of the old rope, one end of which hung down to Wolf's feet, while the
other was tightly knotted about his throat, like a cravat, so as almost
to choke him.
"That must have been the case," said Mr Rawlings. "But hullo! what is
Jasper coming after us for?"
"That durned nigger," exclaimed Seth, "is allers shirking his work. I
told him he warn't to come with us this mornin', and here he is toting
arter us with some slick excuse or other. Hullo, you ugly cuss!" he
added, hailing the darkey, who was running after the party and had now
got close up, "what the dickens do yer want here?"
"Me see fine dawg, lubly dawg, Massa Seth, sailin' round de camp; and me
foller um up, Massa Seth. Um berry good dawg for huntin', sah, and me
don't want to lose him; dat's all."
"Oh," said Seth, "that's all, is it? The dorg is here, right enough,
with the gentleman theer, who's his master," pointing to Ernest Wilton
and Wolf. "And now, you lazy lubber, as you have kinder satisfied yer
mind, you can jist go back agin to that job I sot you on."
"Prey let him stop now," said Ernest, pleased with the interest which
the negro steward had taken in Wolf's fate, "as he has come so far. If
we kill anything, as I hope we shall presently, he'll be of use in
helping to take the meat back to the camp."
"That's so," said Seth; and with this tacit consent to his remaining,
Jasper joined the party, who now proceeded to look more carefully after
game than they had previously done, the young engineer's allusions to
"meat" having acted as a spur to their movements, besides, no doubt,
whetting their appetites.
It was curious to observe, however, before they separated to hunt up a
deer--of which there were but few traces about, when Wolf attached
himself, like a proper sporting-dog, closely behind Ernest--how
interested the animal seemed to be in Sailor Bill, who accompanied Seth,
of course, on their leaving the camp. As soon as the dog had given, as
he thought, ample testimony of his delight at rejoining his own master,
he sniffed about the boy as if he also were well-known to him; and he
was nearly equally glad to meet him again, only leaving him when Ernest
Wilton gave him the signal to "come to heel."
It was singular; but no one paid much notice to it, excepting that Mr
Rawlings regarded it as another instance of how dumb animals, like
savages, have some sort of especial sympathy with those afflicted beings
who have not the entire possession of their mental faculties, and seem
actuated by instinct rather than reason, like themselves.
"Seems, mister, as if he war kinder acquainted with him?" said Seth.
"Yes," replied Ernest Wilton; "but that's impossible, as I've had Wolf
ever since he was a puppy. My aunt gave him to me," he continued aside
to Mr Rawlings in a confidential key, "and I ought to have been more
thoughtful in writing to her, as you hauled me over the coals just now
for not doing, if only in gratitude for all the comfort that dog has
been to me since I left home. I suppose I'm an ungrateful brute--more
so than Wolf, eh, old fellow?"--patting the latter's head again as he
looked up into his master's face with his wistful brown eyes, saying as
plainly as he could in doggy language how much he would like to be able
to speak, so that he could express his affectionate feelings more
explicitly.
"No," said Mr Rawlings, "not ungrateful, I hope and believe, only
unthinking, that's all."
"Ah!" replied the other, "`evil is wrought by want of thought,'" quoting
the old distich. "But," he added, shaking off the momentary feeling of
sadness produced by reflection, as if he were ashamed of it, "if we
don't look `smart,' as our friend Seth says, we won't get a shot all
day; and then, woe betide the larder!"
STORY ONE, CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
A CHANCE SHOT.
"Say, what precious fools we all air!" exclaimed Seth Allport all of a
sudden, without any reference to anything they had been speaking about,
when the hunting party stopped a moment to rest after a long and weary
tramp over the seemingly-endless prairie, during which they had not
caught sight of bird or beast worthy of a charge of powder and shot.
"What precious fools we all air!" he repeated with the air of a Solon,
and shaking his head solemnly with portentous gravity.
"Please speak for yourself," said Ernest Wilton jokingly. "Why this
wholesale condemnation of our unfortunate selves? For my part, I should
have thought that we were more to be pitied than blamed for our want of
success."
"Oh, do you?" replied Seth gruffly--albeit he was as good-humoured as
usual. "Then that's all you know about it. Don't you kinder think it
raal smart neow for us to be a wearin' out shoe-leather when we've a
heap o' mules eatin' their heads off and bustin' theirselves in that
shanty o' theirn agin the house for want of work, I reckon?"
"Phew!" whistled Mr Rawlings through his teeth, his face assuming a
mingled expression of surprise and amusement. "I declare I forgot all
about the animals, I suppose because we have not lately had any occasion
for their services. But they are in good condition, I've no doubt, as
they have had literally nothing to do since they helped to carry our
traps here in the fall, while they've fared better than us during the
winter, for though forage has been scarce work has been scarcer, when
our rations had sometimes to be limited. Oh, yes, they are certain to
be filled out by this time, and been well looked after by our friend
Jasper here," nodding kindly towards the negro steward as he spoke, that
worthy having charge of the pack-mules amongst his other manifold duties
as general factotum.
"Iss, Massa Rawlings," interposed Jasper, glad of the opportunity of
joining in the conversation, "dey am prime. Dat obstropolus mule,
Pres'dent Hayes, gib me one good kick in tummick dis marnin' when I'se
feedin' him. Um jest as sassy as dat niggah Josh, iss, massa, and so is
all de oder mules, sah."
"You'd better let your friend, that thaar mule, hove a shy with his
heels at your woolly pate next time," said Seth in his customary grim
way. "I don't think you'd kinder feel a kick thaar! But, I say,
giniral," he added, turning to Mr Rawlings, "I don't see why we
couldn't go a huntin' on hossback as well as afoot. It would be easier
nor walkin', I guess, hey?"
"Certainly it would if we had any horses, which we haven't," said Mr
Rawlings with a smile; "and mules--which are the only quadrupeds which
we possess--are not exactly fitted for hunting purposes--at least I
wouldn't like to try them. Besides, Seth, if I remember rightly, you do
not shine quite so well on horseback as you do on a ship's quarter-deck,
eh, old man? ha, ha, ha!"
And Mr Rawlings's smile expanded into a laugh at the reminiscence of
one of the ex-mate's performances en cavalier soon after they came to
Minturne Creek, causing Master Jasper to guffaw in sympathy with a
heartiness that Seth did not at all relish, especially after Mr
Rawlings's allusion to a matter which was rather a tender subject with
him.
"You jest stow that, old ebony face," he said angrily to the negro, in a
manner which proved that his equanimity was considerably disturbed.
"You jest stow that, and hold your rampagious cacklin', or I'll soon
make you rattle your ivories to another toon, I reckon, you ugly cuss!"
However, his passion had spent itself by the time he got out these
words, for he said to Mr Rawlings a moment afterwards, allowing a smile
to extend over his grim features to show that he was himself again, the
usual easy-going Seth, and that his natural good temper had now quite
got the better of its temporary attack of spleen,--"But I guess you're
jist about right, Rawlings. I arn't quite fit fur to go saddlewise on
them outlandish brutes; I ain't bred up to it like as I am hitched to
the sea! When I spoke of riding, howsomedever, I warn't thinkin' o'
myself, though, giniral, mind that; I thought as how you and our noo
fren' here could kinder ride the deer down better if you wer mounted,
that's all, I reckon."
"Very thoughtful of you," said Ernest Wilton drily; "but you see, old
man, elk and wapiti--which are the only species of deer we are likely to
meet with here, I think--can be better stalked than run down, as you
suggest. However, the mules may come in handy for you, Mr Seth, to run
down the buffalo, when they arrive from the southern plains here, as
they'll probably do now in a week or two as the spring progresses.
Look, Mr Rawlings," he added, "that buffalo grass, as it is called,
there in front of you, is growing rapidly and will soon be breast high,
don't you see?"
"That's right enough," said he. "But your remark reminds me of the old
proverb about `live horse and you'll get oats.' I wish we could get
something now to go along with until the buffalo do come northwards.
I'm sure I am more sick than ever of that monotonous salt pork, after
that taste of mountain mutton we had the other day."
"You bet," said Seth laconically, with much emphasis.
And then the party resumed their trudge over the billowy surface of the
prairie, directing their quest towards a clump of trees they could
perceive in the distance, at a place where the ground shelved downwards
into a hollow, the certain sign of the near vicinity of some tributary
of the Missouri coursing its way eastwards, amidst the recesses of whose
wooded banks it was possible that traces of game might be found--that
game which they were already well-nigh weary of seeking. To tell the
truth, however, their want of success was not at all surprising, as the
experience of the hunting party was extremely limited.
The Indian half-breed and Noah Webster, the two who were the most
practically versed in the secrets of woodcraft, and thoroughly
acquainted with all the various hunting dodges practised out on the
prairie, had been left behind in camp, especially at Seth Allport's
request, that amiable worthy wishing to distinguish himself by bringing
home a deer "on his own hook," as he expressed it; although, as regards
his shooting powers, he was far more dangerous to his friends than any
object he might aim at, being likely rather to hit those behind or on
either side of him than the animal at which he pointed his weapon in
front; while, as for his skill in the stealthy approach of his prey in
the fashion adopted by skilled deer-stalkers, it may be mentioned that
he strode through the tall prairie-grass and brushwood as incontinently
as if he were marching up and down the poop of the _Susan Jane_ in a
gale of wind, alarming every winged and four-footed creature for miles
round!
Touching the others, Mr Rawlings and Ernest Wilton were both good
shots, although not very familiar with "the noble arte of venerie," as
hunting the deer was styled in the days of Shakespeare, who is reported,
by the way, to have been an adept in the pursuit: while, of course,
Sailor Bill and Jasper were "out of the hunt" in the literal sense of
the phrase.
"I tell you what, boys," said Mr Rawlings when they had reached the
timber they had made for, "we must separate, and each of us try his luck
on his own account. I'm sure we're never likely to come across anything
as long as we are all in a body together like this."
The remark was made just at the right time, for they were in the
likeliest spot to harbour deer they had yet tracked over; and if there
was any occasion for their exercising caution and skill it was now.
The timber--mostly pine-trees and cottonwood, with low brush growing
about their trunks, forming a copse--was on both sides of a small river,
which seemed easily fordable, with bright green grass extending from the
adjacent prairie down to the water's edge.
"Right you air, boss," said Seth, wading into the streamlet without any
more ado as he spoke; "my motter's allers to go forrud, so I reckon I'll
take tother side of this air stream ahead, an' you ken settle yerselves
on this."
"A very good arrangement," said Mr Rawlings, not at all displeased at
Seth's putting the river between them.
He and Ernest Wilton might possibly have a chance now of getting near a
deer for a shot, which they could not have hoped to do as long as Seth
remained along with them.
"But pray take care of the boy," he continued, as he saw Sailor Bill
follow in Seth's footsteps and wade into the stream, which came up
beyond his knees; "the river may be deeper than you think."
"Never fear," sang out the ex-mate lustily in response. "Thaar ain't
water enough to float a cockboat; and I'm lookin' out keerful and
feelin' my way afore I plant a fut, you bet."
"All right," answered Mr Rawlings.
And his feelings were soon afterwards relieved by seeing Seth and his
protege reach the other side in safety.
A moment later, and they had ascended the opposite river-bank and were
lest to sight, their movements being hidden from view by the clustering
branches of the young pine-trees and spreading foliage of the brushwood
and rank river grass, although their whereabouts was plainly betrayed
for some time later by the tramp of Seth's heavy footstep and the
crunching noise he made as he trod on the rotten twigs and dead wood
that came across his path, the sound growing fainter and fainter in the
distance, and finally dying away.
"Now," said Mr Rawlings to Ernest Wilton, who, with Jasper and the dog
Wolf, still remained by his side, "we are rid of poor Seth and his
blundering sportsmanship, and have the coast clear for a shot; which way
would you like to go best--up or down this bank of the river?"
"Down," answered the young engineer promptly. "Seth, `I reckon'--as he
would say himself--will be certain to startle any game on that side long
before he gets near it; and as the deer will probably take to the water
and cross here on their back track to the hills, I may possibly get a
shot at one as they pass."
"Very good," said Mr Rawlings; "please yourself. You go that way, and
I'll go this, and the sooner we separate and each follow his own course,
the better chance of sport we'll have. Only, mind, Wilton, don't you
shoot poor Seth and Sailor Bill at one discharge of your rifle, the same
as you did those three mountain-sheep the other day, eh?"
And Mr Rawlings chuckled as he strolled off up stream with the negro.
"And don't you bring down Jasper under the idea he's a blackbird,"
retorted Ernest Wilton before Mr Rawlings had got out of earshot, as he
started down the river-bank with Wolf following closely at his heels, in
the manner befitting well-trained dogs of high degree like himself.
Then followed a long silence, only broken, as far as each hunter was
concerned, by the rustling of leaves and trampling of twigs as he
pursued his way through the thick undergrowth, pausing every moment to
examine the ground beneath his feet and the thickets he encountered, in
search of deer tracks to and from the water, and giving an occasional
glimpse at the prairie beyond when the trees opened a bit and their
branches lifted enough to afford a view of the surrounding country,
which only happened now and then, as vegetation was vigorous along both
banks of the river.
Mr Rawlings, it may be mentioned before going any further, was
decidedly unlucky in his quest, not catching sight of a single moving
creature, although the fact must be taken into consideration that the
direction he took was somewhat over the same ground that the whole party
had already traversed, and that whatever game might have been in the
vicinity, must have been pretty well nearly scared away before he tried
his sportsman's cunning alone; Ernest Wilton, however, was more
successful.
Shortly after parting from Mr Rawlings and Jasper, as he was creeping
stealthily through the tall prairie-grass that bordered the grove of
fine trees along the bank of the river, with Wolf following closely
behind him, he noticed suddenly a movement in the undergrowth amidst the
timber, just like the branch of a tree being moved slowly up and down.
Watching the spot carefully, he subsequently thought he could
distinguish two little round objects that glared like the eyes of some
animal; so aiming steadily between these latter, after a brief pause he
fired.
His suspicions proved correct; for, almost at the same instant that the
report of his rifle rang out in the clear air, a magnificent wapiti
stag, with wide branching antlers, leaped from the covert, and bounded
across his line of sight towards the hills on the right; although from
the halting motion of the animal he could see that his shot had taken
effect.
"At him, Wolf!" cried he to the dog. But Wolf did not require any
command or encouragement from his master: he knew well enough what to
do.
Quick as lightning, as soon as the wounded stag had jumped out from
amidst the brushwood the dog leaped after him, and, in a few strides,
was at his quarters. The chase was not of very long duration, for
Ernest's bullet had touched some vital spot; and, within a hundred yards
of where he had been struck, the wapiti dropped on his knees, made a
faint attempt to stagger again to his feet, and an equally unsuccessful
effort to gore Wolf, who wisely kept without his reach; and then, with a
convulsive tremor running over all his vast frame, fell over on his
side, dead!
"Hurrah!" shouted Ernest, so loudly that Mr Rawlings, who was not very
far off, heard his shout as well as Wolf's deep baying, and was soon on
the spot, where mutual congratulations were exchanged at the noble game
the young engineer had brought down so unexpectedly.
"Golly, massa!" exclaimed Jasper, his face expanding into one of his
customary huge grins that seemed to be "all ivory and eye-balls," as
Seth used to say--"why, um will serb de camp in meat um whole week!"
"You're not far wrong," said Mr Rawlings, as he surveyed the heavy
carcase of the wapiti, which was as big as an ordinary-sized pony, with
a splendid pair of branching antlers; "and you'll have to go back and
fetch the small waggon and a team of mules, Jasper, to take it home.
It's a very fine animal, Wilton," he continued, turning to the latter,
"and I almost envy you your shot!"
The young engineer made some chaffing answer, ascribing the credit of
taking the game to Wolf, who stood panting guard over his prostrate
prey, when the attention of both Mr Rawlings and himself was suddenly
distracted from all thoughts of hunting, and everything pertaining to
it, by the faint echo of a rifle-shot in the distance, again followed
rapidly by another; and then, immediately afterwards, the sound of Seth
Allport's voice appealing to them for aid, in ringing accents that rose
above the report of the last shot.
"Help! Ahoy, there! help!"
STORY ONE, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
SAILOR BILL CAPTURED.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Mr Rawlings, as he and Ernest Wilton looked
at one another for a second in blank consternation--"I hope nothing
serious has happened!" And he was just about to dash into the river and
wade across to the other side, in the direction from whence Seth's shout
for succour came, when the young engineer stopped him.
"You'd better wait a minute," said Ernest. "The prairie is a wide
place, and sounds seem to come from one point when in reality they
emanate from an entirely different spot; so, in hurrying thus to Seth's
assistance, you may take the longest way to reach him. Let us return to
the place where he and the boy crossed the stream; and, as soon as we
reach the other bank opposite and find their track I'll put Wolf on the
scent, and we'll come up with them much more quickly than you could do
by crossing here and spending some time perhaps in hunting about in the
brushwood over there before you could find any trace of his footsteps."
"You're right," said Mr Rawlings. "Two heads are better than one.
But, pray lose no time about it," he added, as Seth's call was again
heard, sounding more loudly than before--
"Help! ahoy, there! Help!"
The path back to where the entire party had halted on the bank of the
river before separating, according to Mr Rawlings' suggestion, was not
difficult to trace. Then, fording the stream at the point where Seth
and Sailor Bill had waded across, they searched about for their tracks
up and down a short distance until they were likewise found, when their
task became comparatively easy, as the dog's aid was now of use.
"Hi, Wolf!" said Ernest Wilton, drawing his hand over the footmarks of
Seth's heavy boots, where they entered the dense mass of brushwood below
the pine-trees. "Good dog! Fetch 'em out! Hi!"
Wolf was all attention in an instant.
Looking up into his master's face with a low whine of inquiry as if to
learn what he exactly meant him to do, and then putting down his nose
with a significant sniff, as Ernest Wilton again drew his hand across
Seth's track, he gave a loud yelp expressive of his intelligent
comprehension of the duty that lay before him; bounding on in advance
through the thick shrubbery, and going at such a pace that Mr Rawlings
and Jasper had hard work to do to keep up with Ernest, who followed
close behind the dog at a run almost.
"Steady, boy, steady!" said Ernest Wilton in a low tone, every now and
then, as Wolf would turn back his head to see whether his master was
near him or no, and then the sagacious animal would give an eager bark
in answer, as if to say--
"I'm going on all right, old man. Don't be alarmed, I'm making no
mistake about the scent."
Presently the trail diverged from underneath the timber and brushwood by
the river-bank, and struck off at an angle into the open prairie, as if
Seth had got tired of fighting his way amongst the overhanging branches
and projecting trunks of the pine-trees.
From this point the footprints gradually led up to a little plateau
above the valley through which the streamlet ran; and, arrived at the
top of this, Wolf gave vent to a louder and more triumphant bark than
previously, and halted in his tracks, as if waiting for Ernest to join
him before proceeding any further.
The young engineer was by the dog's side in a moment, and one rapid
glance round enabled him to see that the prairie extended beyond the
plateau in a vast plain as far as the eye could reach, being bounded on
the extreme verge of the horizon by a low range of hills or wooded
heights, most probably marking, he thought, the southward course of the
great Missouri river, although, as he reflected the moment after, they
were much too far to the westward for that.
His attention, however, was not much given to the scenery and the
picture which the spreading vast plain presented. A figure in the
foreground, some little distance from the higher level on which he was
standing, was gesticulating frantically towards him, and Seth's voice
assured him of his identity, if he had any lingering doubt on the
subject, by shouting out as soon as he had come into sight across the
sky line--
"Hyar, ahoy, man! Hurry up thaar an' help a feller, can't you?"
"Here he is!" shouted out Ernest back to Mr Rawlings and Jasper, who
were a few yards behind him, and, without waiting for them to come up,
he hastened down the slightly shelving ground towards where the ex-mate
seemed to be in some predicament, as he did not stand up, but was
half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, resting his head on one arm as
he waved the other to the young engineer.
"Hullo! what's the matter?" asked Ernest, calling out before he reached
him.
"Injuns--been wounded," said Seth, in his usual curt, laconic way.
"Gracious me!" exclaimed Ernest, quite taken aback by the announcement.
"Indians! And where is Sailor Bill?"