After crossing the Marais de Cygnes River the country became much more
open. There was a mixture of timber and prairie-land--the latter,
however, constantly gaining the ascendancy as we advanced farther west.
The openings became larger, until they assumed the appearance of vast
meadows, inclosed by groves, that at a distance resembled great hedges.
Now and then there were copses that stood apart from the larger tracts
of forests, looking like islands upon the surface of a green sea, and by
the name of "islands" these detached groves are known among the hunters
and other denizens of prairie-land. Sometimes the surface was
undulating or, as it is there termed, "rolling," and our road was
varied, ascending or descending, as we crossed the gentle declivities.
The timber through which we had up to this time been passing consisted
of ash, burr oak, black walnut, chestnut oak, buck eye, the American
elm, hickory, hackberry, sumach, and, in low moist places, the sycamore,
and long-leaved willow. These trees, with many others, form the
principal growth of the large forests, upon the banks of the
Mississippi, both cast and west.
As we advanced westward, Besancon called our attention to the fact, that
all these kinds of timber, one by one, disappeared from the landscape,
and in their place a single species alone made up the larger growth of
the forest. This was the celebrated "cotton-wood," a species of poplar
(_Populus angulatus_). I say celebrated, because, being almost the only
tree of large size which is found throughout the region of the great
plains, it is well-known to all hunters and prairie travellers, who
regard it with a peculiar veneration. A grove of cotton-wood is always
a glad sight to those who traverse the limitless levels of the prairie.
It promises shelter from the wind or sun, wood for the camp-fire, and,
above all, water to slake the thirst. As the ocean mariner regards the
sight of the welcome port, with similar feelings of joy the mariner of
the "prairie-sea" beholds, over the broad waste, the silvery foliage of
the cotton-wood grove, regarding it as his temporary home--his place of
rest and refuge.
After travelling through hundreds of small prairies, separated from each
other by groves of cotton-wood, we arrived at a high point on the waters
of the "Little Osage," another tributary of the larger river of that
name. As yet we had met with no traces of the buffalo, and were
beginning to doubt the correctness of the information we had received at
Saint Louis, when we fell in with a band of Kansas Indians--a friendly
tribe--who received us in the most courteous manner. From them we
learned that the buffalo had been upon the Little Osage at an earlier
period in that same year, but that harassed and decimated by their own
hunters, they had roamed much farther west, and were now supposed to be
on the other side of the "Neosho," or Grand River--a northern tributary
of the Arkansas.
This was anything but pleasant news. We should have at least another
hundred miles to travel before coming up with our game; but there was no
thought of going back, until we had done so. No. One and all declared
that rather than give up the object of our expedition, we would travel
on to the Rocky Mountains themselves, risking the chances of being
scalped by hostile Indians.
There was a good deal of bravado in this, it is true; but we were fully
determined that we would not go back without our buffalo-hunt.
Thanking our Kansas friends for their courtesy, we parted from them, and
headed westward for the Neosho.
As we proceeded, timber became scarce, until at length it was found only
on the banks of streams widely distant from each other. Sometimes not a
tree was in sight for the whole day's journey. We were now fairly on
the prairies.
We crossed the Neosho at length--still no buffalo.
We kept on, and crossed several other large streams, all flowing
south-eastwardly to the Arkansas. Still no buffalo.
We began to yearn exceedingly for a sight of the great game. The few
deer that were killed from time to time offered us but poor sport, and
their meat was not sufficient for our supply.
Of bacon we were heartily tired, and we longed for fresh buffalo-beef.
The praises lavished by our guides upon the delicacy of this viand--
their talk over the camp-fire, about "fat cow" and "_boudins_" and
"hump-ribs," quite tantalised our palates, and we were all eager to try
our teeth upon these vaunted tit-bits. No buffalo appeared yet, and we
were forced to chew our bacon, as well as our impatience, for several
days longer.
A great change now took place in the appearance of the country. The
timber became still more scarce, and the soil drier and more sandy.
Species of cactus (_opuntia_) appeared along the route, with several
other plants new to the eyes of most of us, and which to those of
Besancon were objects of extreme interest. But that which most
gratified us was the appearance of a new herbage, different entirely
from what we had been passing over, and this was hailed by our guides
with exclamations of joy. It was the celebrated "buffalo grass." The
trappers declared we should not have much farther to go until we found
the buffaloes themselves, for, wherever this grass existed in plenty,
the buffalo, unless driven off by hunting, were sure to be found.
The buffalo grass is a short grass, not more than a few inches in
height, with crooked and pointed culms, often throwing out suckers that
root again, and produce other leaves and culms, and in this way form a
tolerably thick sward. When in flower or seed, it is headed by numerous
spikes of half an inch in length, and on these the spikelets are regular
and two rowed.
It is a species of _Sesleria_ (_Sesleria dactyloides_), but Besancon
informed us that it possesses characters that cause it to differ from
the genus, and to resemble the _Chondrosium_.
The buffalo grass is not to be confounded with, another celebrated grass
of the Texan and North Mexican prairies, the "gramma" of the Spaniards.
This last is a true Chondrosium, and there are several species of it.
The _Chondrosium foeneum_ is one of the finest fodders in the world for
the food of cattle, almost equal to unthrashed oats.
The buffalo grass forms the favourite and principal fodder of the
buffaloes whenever it is in season, and these animals roam over the
prairies in search of it.
Of course with this knowledge we were now on the _qui vive_. At every
new rise that we made over the swells of the prairie our eyes were busy,
and swept the surface on every side of us, and in the course of a few
days we encountered several false alarms.
There is an hallucination peculiar to the clear atmosphere of these
regions. Objects are not only magnified, but frequently distorted in
their outlines, and it is only an old hunter that knows a buffalo when
he sees one. Brothers a bush is often taken for a wild bull, and with
us a brace of carrion crows, seated upon the crest of a ridge, were
actually thought to be buffaloes, until they suddenly took wing and rose
into the air, thus dispelling the illusion!
Long before this time we had encountered that well-known animal of the
great plains--the "prairie-wolf,"--(_Lupus latrans_).
The prairie-wolf inhabits the vast and still unpeopled territories that
lie between the Mississippi River and the shores of the Pacific Ocean.
Its range extends beyond what is strictly termed "the prairies." It is
found in the wooded and mountainous ravines of California and the Rocky
Mountain districts. It is common throughout the whole of Mexico, where
it is known as the "coyote." I have seen numbers of this species on the
battle-field, tearing at corpses, as far south as the valley of Mexico
itself. Its name of prairie-wolf is, therefore, in some respects
inappropriate, the more so as the larger wolves are also inhabitants of
the prairie. No doubt this name was given it, because the animal was
first observed in the prairie country west of the Mississippi by the
early explorers of that region. In the wooded countries east of the
great river, the common large wolf only is known.
Whatever doubt there may be of the many varieties of the large wolf
being distinct species, there can be none with regard to the _Lupus
latrans_. It differs from all the others in size, and in many of its
habits. Perhaps it more nearly resembles the jackal than any other
animal. It is the New World representative of that celebrated creature.
In size, it is just midway between the large wolf and fox. With much of
the appearance of the former, it combines all the sagacity of the
latter. It is usually of a greyish colour, lighter or darker, according
to circumstances, and often with a tinge of cinnamon or brown.
As regards its cunning, the fox is "but a fool to it." It cannot be
trapped. Some experiments made for the purpose, show results that throw
the theory of instinct quite into the background. It has been known to
burrow under a "dead fall," and drag off the bait without springing the
trap. The steel-trap it avoids, no matter how concealed; and the
cage-trap has been found "no go."
Farther illustrations of the cunning of the prairie-wolf might be found
in its mode of decoying within reach the antelopes and other creatures
on which it preys. Of course this species is as much fox as wolf, for
in reality a small wolf is a fox, and a large fox is a wolf. To the
traveller and trapper of the prairie regions, it is a pest. It robs the
former of his provisions--often stealing them out of his very tent; it
unbaits the traps of the latter, or devours the game already secured in
them.
It is a constant attendant upon the caravans or travelling-parties that
cross prairie-land. A pack of prairie-wolves will follow such a party
for hundreds of miles, in order to secure the refuse left at the camps.
They usually he down upon the prairie, just out of range of the rifles
of the travellers; yet they do not observe this rule always, as they
know there is not much danger of being molested. Hunters rarely shoot
them, not deeming their hides worth having, and not caring to waste a
charge upon them. They are more cautious when following a caravan of
California emigrants, where there are plenty of "greenhorns" and
amateur-hunters ready to fire at anything.
Prairie-wolves are also constant attendants upon the "gangs" of buffalo.
They follow these for hundreds of miles--in fact, the outskirts of the
buffalo herd are, for the time being, their home. They he down on the
prairie at a short distance from the buffaloes, and wait and watch, in
hopes that some of these animals may get disabled or separated from the
rest, or with the expectation that a cow with her new-dropped calf may
fall into the rear. In such cases, the pack gather round the
unfortunate individual, and worry it to death. A wounded or
superannuated bull sometimes "falls out," and is attacked. In this case
the fight is more desperate, and the bull is sadly mutilated before he
can be brought to the ground. Several wolves, too, are laid _hors de
combat_ during the struggle.
The prairie traveller may often look around him without seeing a single
wolf; but let him fire off his gun, and, as if by magic, a score of them
will suddenly appear. They start from their hiding-places, and rush
forward in hopes of sharing in the produce of the shot.
At night, they enliven the prairie-camp with their dismal howling,
although most travellers would gladly dispense with such music. Their
note is a bark like that of a terrier-dog repeated three times, and then
prolonged into a true wolf's howl. I have heard farm-house dogs utter a
very similar bark. From this peculiarity, some naturalists prefer
calling them the "barking wolf," and that (_Lupus latrans_) is the
specific appellation given by Say, who first described them.
Prairie-wolves have all the ferocity of their race, but no creature
could be more cowardly. Of course no one fears them under ordinary
circumstances, but they have been known to make a combined attack upon
persons disabled, and in severe weather, when they themselves were
rendered unusually savage by hunger, as already stated. But they are
not regarded with fear either by traveller or hunter; and the latter
disdains to waste his charge upon such worthless game.
Our guide, Ike, was an exception to this rule. He was the only one of
his sort that shot prairie-wolves, and he did so "on sight." I believe
if it had been the last bullet in his pouch, and an opportunity had
offered of sending it into a prairie-wolf, he would have despatched the
leaden missile. We asked him how many he had killed in his time. He
drew a small notched stick from his "possible sack," and desired us to
count the notches upon it. We did so. There were one hundred and
forty-five in all.
"You have killed one hundred and forty-five, then?" cried we, astonished
at the number.
"Yes, i'deed," replied he, with a quiet chuckle, "that many dozen; for
every 'un of them nutches count twelve. I only make a nutch when I've
throwed the clur dozen."
"A hundred and forty-five dozen!" we repeated in astonishment; and yet I
have no doubt of the truth of the trapper's statement, for he had no
interest in deceiving us. I am satisfied from what I knew of him, that
he had slain the full number stated--one thousand seven hundred and
forty!
Of course we became curious to learn the cause of his antipathy to the
prairie-wolves; for we knew he had an antipathy, and it was that that
had induced him to commit such wholesale havoc among these creatures.
It was from this circumstance he had obtained the soubriquet of
"wolf-killer." By careful management, we at last got him upon the edge
of the stray, and quietly pushed him into it. He gave it to us as
follows:--
"Wal, strengers, about ten winters agone, I wur travellin' from Bent's
Fort on the Arkensaw, to 'Laramie on the Platte, all alone by myself. I
had undertuk the journey on some business for Bill Bent--no matter now
what.
"I had crossed the divide, and got within sight o' the Black Hills, when
one night I had to camp out on the open parairy, without either bush or
stone to shelter me.
"That wur, perhaps, the coldest night this nigger remembers; thur wur a
wind kim down from the mountains that wud a froze the bar off an iron
dog. I gathered my blanket around me, but that wind whistled through it
as if it had been a rail-fence.
"'Twan't no use lyin' down, for I couldn't a slep, so I sot up.
"You may ask why I hadn't a fire? I'll tell you why. Fust, thur wan't
a stick o' timber within ten mile o' me; and, secondly, if thur had been
I dasen't a made a fire. I wur travellin' as bad a bit o' Injun ground
as could been found in all the country, and I'd seen Injun sign two or
three times that same day. It's true thur wur a good grist o'
buffler-chips about, tol'ably dry, and I mout have made some sort o' a
fire out o' that; an' at last I did make a fire arter a fashion. I did
it this a way.
"Seeing that with the cussed cold I wan't agoin' to get a wink o' sleep,
I gathered a wheen o' the buffler-chips. I then dug a hole in the
ground with my bowie, an' hard pickin' that wur; but I got through the
crust at last, and made a sort o' oven about a fut, or a fut and a half
deep. At the bottom I laid some dry grass and dead branches o' sage
plant, and then settin' it afire, I piled the buffler-chips on top. The
thing burnt tol'able well, but the smoke o' the buffler-dung would
a-choked a skunk.
"As soon as it had got fairly under way, I hunkered, an' sot down over
the hole, in sich a position as to catch all the heat under my blanket,
an' then I was comf'table enough. Of coorse no Injun kud see the smoke
arter night, an it would a tuk sharp eyes to have sighted the fire, I
reckon.
"Wal, strengers, the critter I rode wur a young mustang colt, about
half-broke. I had bought him from a Mexikin at Bent's only the week
afore, and it wur his fust journey, leastwise with me. Of coorse I had
him on the lariat; but up to this time I had kept the eend o' the rope
in my hand, because I had that same day lost my picket pin; an' thinkin'
as I wan't agoin' to sleep, I mout as well hold on to it.
"By 'm by, however, I begun to feel drowsy. The fire 'atween my legs
promised to keep me from freezin', an' I thort I mout as well take a
nap. So I tied the lariat round my ankles, sunk my head atween my
knees, an' in the twinklin' o' a goat's tail I wur sound. I jest
noticed as I wur goin' off, that the mustang wur out some yards,
nibbling away at the dry grass o' the parairy.
"I guess I must a slep about an hour, or tharabouts--I won't be sartint
how long. I only know that I didn't wake o' my own accord. I wur
awoke; an' when I did awoke, I still thort I wur a-dreamin'. It would a
been a rough dream; but unfort'nately for me, it wan't a dream, but a
jenwine reality.
"At fust, I cudn't make out what wur the matter wi' me, no how; an' then
I thort I wur in the hands o' the Injuns, who were draggin' me over the
parairy; an' sure enough I wur a draggin' that a way, though not by
Injuns. Once or twice I lay still for jest a second or two, an' then
away I went agin, trailin' and bumpin' over the ground, as if I had been
tied to the tail o' a gallopin' hoss. All the while there wur a yellin'
in my ears as if all the cats an' dogs of creation were arter me.
"Wal, it wur some time afore I compre'nded what all this rough usage
meant. I did at last. The pull upon my ankles gave me the idea. It
wur the lariat that wur round them. My mustang had stampedoed, and wur
draggin' me at full gallop acrosst the parairy!
"The barkin', an' howlin', an' yelpin' I heerd, wur a pack o'
parairy-wolves. Half-famished, they had attacked the mustang, and
started him.
"All this kim into my mind at once. You'll say it wur easy to lay hold
on the rope, an' stop the hoss. So it mout appear; but I kin tell you
that it ain't so easy a thing. It wan't so to me. My ankles wur in a
noose, an' wur drawed clost together. Of coorse, while I wur movin'
along, I couldn't get to my feet; an' whenever the mustang kim to a
halt, an' I had half gathered myself, afore I laid reach the rope, away
went the critter agin, flingin' me to the ground at full length.
Another thing hindered me. Afore goin' to sleep, I had put my blanket
on Mexikin-fashion--that is, wi' my head through a slit in the centre--
an' as the drag begun, the blanket flopped about my face, an'
half-smothered me. Prehaps, however, an' I thort so arterwurd, that
blanket saved me many a scratch, although it bamfoozled me a good bit.
"I got the blanket off at last, arter I had made about a mile, I reckon,
and then for the fust time I could see about me. Such a sight! The
moon wur up, an' I kud see that the ground wur white with snow. It had
snowed while I wur asleep; but that wan't the sight--the sight war, that
clost up an' around me the hul parairy wur kivered with wolves--cussed
parairy-wolves! I kud see their long tongues lollin' out, an' the smoke
steamin' from their open mouths.
"Bein' now no longer hampered by the blanket, I made the best use I
could o' my arms. Twice I got hold o' the lariat, but afore I kud set
myself to pull up the runnin' hoss, it wur jerked out o' my hand agin.
"Somehow or other, I had got clutch o' my bowie, and at the next
opportunity I made a cut at the rope, and heerd the clean `snig' o' the
knife. Arter that I lay quiet on the parairy, an' I b'lieve I kinder
sort o' fainted.
"'Twan't a long faint no how; for when I got over it, I kud see the
mustang about a half a mile off, still runnin' as fast as his legs could
carry him, an' most of the wolves howlin' arter him. A few of these
critters had gathered about me, but gettin' to my feet, I made a dash
among them wi' the shinin' bowie, an' sent them every which way, I
reckon.
"I watched the mustang until he wur clur out o' sight, an' then I wur
puzzled what to do. Fust, I went back for my blanket, which I soon
rekivered, an' then I follered the back track to get my gun an' other
traps whur I had camped. The trail wur easy, on account o' the snow,
an' I kud see whur I had slipped through it all the way.
"Having got my possibles, I then tuk arter the mustang, and follered for
at least ten miles on his tracks, but I never see'd that, mustang agin.
Whether the wolves hunted him down or not, I can't say, nor I don't care
if they did, the scarey brute! I see'd their feet all the way arter him
in the snow, and I know'd it wur no use follering further. It wur plain
I wur put down on the parairy, so I bundled my possibles, and turned
head for Laramies afoot. I had a three days' walk o' it, and prehaps I
didn't cuss a few!
"I wur right bad used. Thur wan't a bone in my body that didn't ache,
as if I had been passed through a sugar-mill; and my clothes and skin
were torn consid'ably. It mout a been wuss but for the blanket an' the
sprinkle o' snow that made the ground a leetle slickerer.
"Howsomever, I got safe to the Fort, whur I wur soon rigged out in a
fresh suit o' buckskin an' a hoss.
"But I never arterward see'd a parairy-wolf within range o' my rifle,
that I didn't let it into him, an' as you see, I've throwed a good wheen
in their tracks since then. Wagh! Hain't I, Mark?"