It was full three weeks before Hugot returned. They were a long three
weeks to the old Colonel,--who was troubled with apprehensions that
Hugot would not succeed in his errand. He had written in reply to the
letter of Prince Bonaparte. He had written promising to procure--_if
possible_--a white buffalo-skin--for this was what the Prince's letter
was about;--and not for half what he was worth would the Colonel have
failed to accomplish this object. No wonder, then, he was impatient and
uneasy during Hugot's absence.
Hugot returned at length, after night. The Colonel did not wait until
he entered the house, but met him at the door, candle in hand. He need
not have put any question, as Hugot's face answered that question before
it was asked. The moment the light fell upon it, any one could have
told that Hugot had come back _without the skin_. He looked quite
crest-fallen; and his great moustachios appeared bleached and drooping.
"You have not got it?" interrogated the Colonel, in a faltering voice.
"No, Colonel," muttered Hugot, in reply.
"You tried everywhere?"
"Everywhere."
"You advertised in the papers?"
"In all the papers, monsieur."
"You offered a high price?"
"I did. It was to no purpose. I could not have procured a white
buffalo's skin if I had offered ten times as much. I could not have got
it for a thousand dollars."
"I would give five thousand!"
"It would have been all the same, monsieur. It is not to be had in
Saint Louis."
"What says Monsieur Choteau?"
"That there is but little chance of finding what you want. A man, he
says, may travel all over the prairies without meeting with a _white_
buffalo. The Indians prize them beyond anything, and never let one
escape when they chance to fall in with it. I found two or three among
the fur packs of the traders; but they were not what you desire,
monsieur. They were robes; and even for them a large sum was asked."
"They would be of no use. It is wanted for a different purpose--for a
_great museum_. Ah! I fear I cannot obtain it. If not to be had in
Saint Louis, where else?"
"Where else, papa?" interrupted Francois, who, with his brothers, had
stood listening to the above dialogue. "Where else, but _on the
prairies_?"
"On the prairies!" mechanically echoed his father.
"Yes, papa. Send Basil, and Lucien, and myself. We'll find you a white
buffalo, I warrant you."
"Hurrah, Francois!" cried Basil; "you're right, brother. I was going to
propose the same myself."
"No, no, my lads; you've heard what Monsieur Choteau says. You need not
think of such a thing. It cannot be had. And I have written to the
Prince, too. I have as good as promised him!"
As the old Colonel uttered these words, his countenance and gestures
expressed disappointment and chagrin.
Lucien, who had observed this with a feeling of pain, now interposed.
"Papa," he said, "it is true that Monsieur Choteau has great experience
in the fur-trade; but the facts do not correspond with what he has
stated,"--(Lucien, you will observe, was a keen reasoner). "Hugot has
seen two or three of these skins in Saint Louis. Some one must have
found the animals to which these belonged. Moreover, I have heard, as
Monsieur Choteau asserts, that they are highly prized by the Indian
chiefs, who wear them as robes; and that they are often seen among the
tribes. This, then, proves that there _are_ white buffaloes upon the
prairies; and why should _we_ not happen upon them as well as others? I
say with Francois and Basil, let us go in search of them."
"Come in, my lads; come in!" said their father, evidently pleased, and
to some extent comforted, with the proposal of his boys. "Come in to
the house--we can talk over it better when we have had our suppers."
And so saying, the old Colonel hobbled back into the house followed by
his three boys; while Hugot, looking very jaded and feeling very hungry,
brought up the rear.
During the supper, and after it, the subject was discussed in all its
bearings. The father was more than half inclined to consent to the
proposal of his sons from the first; while they, but particularly Basil
and Francois, were enthusiastic in proving its practicability. I need
hardly tell you the result. The Colonel at length gave his consent--the
_expedition was agreed upon_.
The naturalist was greatly influenced by the desire he felt to gratify
his friend the Prince. He was influenced, too, by another feeling. He
felt secretly pleased at the bold and enterprising character thus
exhibited in his children, and he was not the man to throw cold water
upon any enterprise they might design. Indeed, he often boasted to his
neighbours and friends how he had trained them up to be men, calling
them his "boy-men," and his "_jeunes chasseurs_." And truly had he
trained them to a complete self-reliance, as far as lay in his power.
He had taught them to ride, to swim, to dive deep rivers, to fling the
lasso, to climb tall trees, and scale steep cliffs, to bring down birds
upon the wing, or beasts upon the run, with the arrow and the unerring
rifle. He had trained them to sleep in the open air--in the dark
forest--on the unsheltered prairie--along the white snow-wreath--
anywhere--with but a blanket or a buffalo-robe for their beds. He had
taught them to live upon the simplest food; and the knowledge of
practical botany which he had imparted to them--more particularly to
Lucien--would enable them, in case of need, to draw sustenance from
plants and trees, from roots and fruits--to find resources where
ignorant men might starve. They knew how to kindle a fire without
either flint, steel, or detonating powder. They could discover their
direction without a compass--from the rocks, and the trees, and the
signs of the heavens; and, in addition to all, they had been taught, as
far as was then known, the geography of that vast wilderness that
stretched from their own home to the far shores of the Pacific Ocean.
The Colonel knew that he might safely trust them upon the prairies; and,
in truth, it was with a feeling of pride, rather than anxiety, that he
consented to the expedition. But there was still another motive that
influenced him--perhaps the most powerful of all. He was inspired by
the pride of the naturalist. He thought of the triumph he would obtain
by sending such a rare contribution to the great museum of Europe. If
ever, my young reader, you should become a naturalist, you will
comprehend how strong this feeling may be; and with our
hunter-naturalist it was so.
At first he proposed that Hugot should accompany them. This the boys
would not hear of, and all three stoutly opposed it. They could not
think of taking Hugot--their father would require Hugot at home--Hugot
would be of no use to them, they said. They would do as well, if not
better, without him.
The truth was, that these ambitious young hunters did not wish to be
robbed of any part of the credit of their enterprise--which they knew
would be the case if Hugot were to accompany them. Not that Hugot was
by any means a noted hunter--quite the contrary--nor a warrior neither,
notwithstanding he had been a _chasseur a cheval_, and wore such fierce
moustachios. All this his old Colonel knew very well; and therefore did
not much insist upon sending Hugot with them.
Hugot's talents shone best in another sphere of action--in the
_cuisine_. There Hugot was at home, for he could compound an omelette,
fricassee a chicken, or dress a _canard aux olives_, with Monsieur Soyer
himself. But Hugot--although for many years he had accompanied his old
and young masters in the chase--had no taste whatever for hunting. He
had a wholesome dread of bears and panthers, and as to Indians ... Ha!
_Indians_!
Now you will wonder, my young friend, when you come to think of these
Indians--when you come to consider that fifty warlike nations of them
live and roam over the prairies--many of them sworn foes to white men,
killing the latter wherever they may meet them, as you would a mad dog
or a poisonous spider,--I say, when you consider these things, you will
wonder that this old French or Corsican father should consent to let his
sons go upon so dangerous an expedition. It seems unnatural, does it
not? In fact, quite improbable, when we come to reflect that the
Colonel dearly loved his three sons, almost as dearly as his own life.
And yet one would say, he could hardly have found a readier plan to get
rid of them, than thus to send them forth among savages. Upon what,
then, did he rely for their safety? On their age? No. He knew the
Indians better than that. He knew very well that their age would not be
cared for, should they chance to fall in with any of the tribes hostile
to the whites. It is true, that the savages might not scalp them on
this account--being boys,--but they would be very certain to carry them
into a captivity from which they might never return. Or did their
father anticipate that the excursion should extend no farther than the
country of some friendly tribe? He entertained no such idea. Had this
been their plan, their errand would have been likely to prove fruitless.
In a country of that sort they would have seen but little of the
buffalo; for it is well-known that the buffaloes are only found in
plenty upon those parts of the prairies termed "war grounds"--that is,
where several tribes go to hunt, who are at war with each other. In
fact, that is the reason why these animals are more numerous there than
elsewhere, as the hunters are fewer, on account of the danger they incur
of coming into collision with each other. In a territory which is
exclusively in possession of any particular tribe, the buffaloes are
soon killed or run off by incessant hunting. It is a fact, therefore,
well-known among prairie-hunters, that wherever buffaloes are plenty
there is plenty of danger as well, though the converse of this is not
always true. On the neutral or "war grounds" of the Indians, you may
meet with a friendly tribe one day, and on the next, or even within the
next hour, you may fall in with a band of savages who will scalp you on
sight.
Now, the father of our three boy hunters knew all this, as well as I
know it. How then are we to account for his apparently unnatural
conduct, in permitting them to risk their lives in such an enterprise?
It would be quite unaccountable indeed were it not that there was a
_mystery_ connected with it, which I shall explain to you hereafter.
All I can tell you now is, that when the three were mounted and about to
start, the Colonel hobbled up; and, drawing from his pocket a small
leathern bag or case ornamented with stained porcupine quills, he handed
it to Basil, saying as he did so: "_Take good care of it, Basil_--_you
know its use_--_never let it part from you_--_your lives may depend upon
it. God be with you, my brave boys. Adieu_!" Basil took the case,
passed the string over his shoulders, pushed the bag under the breast of
his hunting-shirt, pressed his father's hand, and putting the spur to
his horse rode briskly off. Lucien saluted his father with a kiss,
waved his hand gracefully to Hugot, and followed. Francois remained a
moment behind the rest--rode up to Hugot--caught hold of his great
moustache, gave it a twitch that caused the _ex-chasseur_ to grin again;
and then, with a loud yell of laughter, wheeled his pony, and galloped
after his brothers.
The Colonel and Hugot stood for some moments watching them. When the
boy hunters had reached the edge of the woods, all three reined up,
turned in their saddles, and, taking off their hats, uttered a parting
cheer. The Colonel and Hugot cheered in return. When the noise had
subsided, the voice of Francois was heard shouting back,--
"Fear not, papa! we'll bring you the _white buffalo_!"