"Come on!" cried Basil, putting the spur to his horse, and riding
forward. "Come on! It isn't so bad a case after all--a good fat turkey
for dinner, eh? Come on!"
"Stay, brother," said Lucien, "how are we to get near them? They are
out on the open ground--there is no cover."
"We don't want cover. We can `run' them as we were about to do had they
been buffaloes."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Francois; "run a turkey! Why it will fly off at
once. What nonsense you talk, brother!"
"I tell you, no," replied Basil. "It is not nonsense--it can be done--I
have often heard so from the trappers,--now let us try it ourselves."
"Agreed, then," said Francois and Lucien at once; and all three rode
forward together.
When they had got near enough to distinguish the forms of the birds,
they saw they were two old "gobblers" and a hen. The gobblers were
strutting about with their tails spread like fans, and their wings
trailing along the grass. Every now and then they uttered their loud
"gobble--obble--obble," and by their attitude and actions it was
evidently an affair of rivalry likely to end in a battle. The female
stalked over the grass, in a quiet but coquettish way--no doubt fully
aware of the warm interest she was exciting in the breasts of the
belligerent gobblers. She was much smaller than either of these, and
far less brilliant in plumage. The males appeared very bright indeed--
almost equal to a pair of peacocks--and as their glossy backs glanced in
the sun with metallic lustre, our hunters thought they had never before
seen such beautiful birds.
Taken up with their own quarrel, they would no doubt have allowed the
hunters to get within shooting distance of them. The female, however,
was upon the alert; and seeing these draw near, she raised her head with
a loud "tweet!" which attracted the attention of her companions. In a
moment their spread tails closed and came to the ground, their wings
were shut up, and their long necks stretched into the air. Their forms
underwent a complete change, and they now stood erect upon the prairie,
_Each of them full five feet in height_!
"Beautiful creatures!" exclaimed Lucien.
"Yes," muttered Basil. "They will not give us much longer time though.
We had best make a dash. Take you the hen, Luce, your horse is the
slowest. Now for it. _For-ward_!"
All three spurred their horses, and dashed forward together, Marengo
leading the chase. In a moment they were within a hundred yards or so
of the turkeys. The latter, thus suddenly set upon, ran a few paces,
and then rose into the air, with a loud flapping of their wings. They
took different directions, confused by being sprung in such haste. Each
of the boys had selected the one he intended pursuing; and upon that one
alone his eyes became fixed. Basil and Francois followed the gobblers,
while Lucien rode at a quiet gallop after the hen.
Marengo, of course, took part in the chase, joining in with Lucien--
whether because he deemed the hen to be "sweeter meat," or that she was
likely to be the easiest caught of the three.
She did not fly far before coming to the ground again; when she ran with
all her might for the nearest clump of timber. Hither Lucien followed,
Marengo leading the way, and occasionally uttering a sonorous yelp as he
ran. As Lucien entered the timber, he saw the dog standing by the root
of a large oak. He had "treed" the turkey, and was looking upward with
glancing eyes, barking and wagging his tail. Lucien rode cautiously
under the tree, where he perceived the turkey crouching among the moss,
upon one of its highest branches. His rifle was up to his shoulder in a
moment; and after the crack, the bird was heard tumbling and fluttering
through the leaves. Marengo sprang upon it as it came to the ground;
but his master, leaping from his horse, scolded him off, and took up the
game which was found to be quite dead.
Lucien now remounted: and, as he rode out into the open ground, he could
see Basil far off upon the prairies. He was going at full gallop; and
the gobbler with outspread wings was seen some distance ahead of him,
running like an ostrich! Both Basil and gobbler soon disappeared to his
view--lost behind one of the timber islets. Lucien looked for Francois.
The latter was nowhere to be seen--having pursued his gobbler in a
direction where the groves were more thickly studded over the prairie.
Thinking it would be of no use to follow either of them, Lucien rode
slowly back to where Jeanette had been left upon the edge of the forest.
Here he dismounted, and sat down to await the return of his brothers.
Basil's chase proved a longer one than he had expected. He had chosen
the biggest of the birds; and, no doubt, the strongest and toughest.
His gobbler, at the first flight, made a clear stretch of nearly a mile;
and, when he alighted again, ran like a scared cat. But Basil was not
to be discouraged; and, keeping the spurs well to his horse, soon gained
upon him. The turkey again took to his wings, dropping down another
half mile in the advance. Again Basil galloped up; and once more the
old cock rose into the air--this time flying only about a hundred yards
before he alighted. Basil was soon up to him with his fleet horse; but
the gobbler was now unable to fly any farther. He could run, however,
at a good rate; and where there was an uphill in the prairie he ran
faster than the horse. Downhill, the latter gained upon him; and thus
they went, until the bird began to double and circle about, showing all
the symptoms of weariness. Several times the horse ran over him, the
turkey on these occasions turning and taking the back-track.
The chase was prolonged for a considerable time. The bird, at length,
became completely exhausted; and squatting down, thrust his head and
long neck among the weeds, like the ostrich, thinking himself thus
hidden from his pursuer. Basil now drew his horse's rein, raised his
long rifle, and the next moment a bullet passed through the gobbler, and
stretched him dead upon the grass.
Basil then dismounted; and, taking up the turkey, tied its legs to the
cantle of his saddle. This required all Basil's strength, for the bird
was one of the largest size--a forty-pounder.
As soon as the hunter had made all fast, he leaped back into his saddle,
and commenced riding--Where? Ay, that was the question which he asked
himself before his horse had advanced three lengths of his body--where
was he going? All at once the thought came into his mind that _he was
lost_! Groves of timber were on all sides of him. They were like each
other; or, if they differed, he had not in his wild gallop noted that
difference, and it could not serve to direct him now. He had not the
slightest idea of the point whence he had come, and therefore knew not
in what direction to go. He saw and felt that _he was lost_!
My young reader, you cannot conceive the thoughts that come over one who
is lost upon the prairies. Such a situation has appalled the stoutest
hearts ere now. Strong men have trembled at feeling themselves thus
alone in the wilderness; and well might they, for they knew that the
consequence has often been _death_. The shipwrecked mariner in his open
boat is scarcely worse off than the lost traveller upon the prairie-sea;
and many, under the circumstances, have gone mad! Fancy then the
feelings of the boy Basil.
I have already said, he was a cool and courageous lad. He was so, and
proved it now. He did not lose presence of mind. He reined in his
horse, and surveyed the prairie around him with an intelligent eye. It
was all to no purpose. He saw nothing that would give him a clue to the
spot where he had separated from his brothers. He shouted aloud, but
there was neither echo nor answer. He fired off his rifle, and
listened--thinking Lucien or Francois might reply by a similar signal;
but no such signal gratified his ear. He reloaded, and sat for a while
in his saddle, buried in thought.
"Ha! I have it!" he exclaimed, suddenly raising himself in his
stirrups, "Why was I so stupid? Come, Black Hawk! we are not lost yet!"
Basil had not been all his life a hunter for nothing; and although he
had but little experience upon the prairies, his wood craft now stood
him in stead. The thought which had so suddenly occurred to him was a
good one, the only one that could with certainty save him. He had
resolved to _return upon his own tracks_.
He wheeled his horse; and, with eyes bent upon the ground, rode slowly
along. The turf was firm, and the hoof-marks were not deep; but Basil
had a hunter's eye, and could follow the track of a fawn. In a few
minutes he arrived on the spot where he had killed the turkey. The
blood and feathers upon the grass made him sure of this. Here he halted
a moment, until he could determine the direction in which he had
approached this spot. That was at length resolved to his satisfaction;
and he rode slowly in the back-track. After a few lengths of his horse
had been passed over, the trail doubled. Basil followed the double, and
came back, passing almost over the same ground again. Again it doubled
as before, and again and again, without going a hundred yards from the
place where the bird had been shot. All these turnings the young hunter
retraced with the greatest care and patience. In this he showed his
judgment and his knowledge of hunter-craft; for, had he grown impatient
and taken a wider range to find the trail, he might have fallen upon his
last-made tracks, and thus have brought himself into a regular maze.
After a while the circles in which he travelled became larger; and, to
his great joy, he at length found himself advancing in a straight line.
Many horse-tracks crossed his trail; some of them nearly as fresh as his
own. These did not baffle him. They were the tracks of mustangs; and
although Black Hawk was not shod any more than they, his rider knew the
print of the latter's hoof as well as he knew the appearance of his own
rifle. The Arab's track was considerably larger than those of the wild
horses.
After following the trail backward for nearly an hour,--his eyes all the
time bent upon the ground,--he was suddenly startled by a voice calling
him by name. He looked up, and beheld Lucien by the edge of the woods.
With a shout of joy he plied the spur and rode forward. As he drew
near, however, his feeling of joy became one of painful apprehension.
There was Lucien,--there were Jeanette and Marengo,--_but where was
Francois_?
"Where is Francois?" inquired Lucien, as Basil rode up.
The latter could hardly speak, so strong were his emotions.
"O brother!" he faltered out at length, "has Francois not returned?"
"No," answered Lucien, "I was thinking he was with you, and you would
come back together. I have been wondering what could have detained you
so long."
"O God, he is lost!" cried Basil, breaking into an agony of grief.
"Lucien! Lucien! our brother is lost!"
"Lost! what mean you?" asked Lucien, half believing that Francois had
been attacked by Indians, or some wild animal, and that that was what
Basil meant. "Has anything happened to him? Speak, Basil!"
"No, no!" replied Basil, still speaking wildly, "lost on the prairie! O
brother, you know not what it is--it is a fearful thing. I have been
lost,--I have got back; but Francois, poor little Francois! there is no
hope for him! he is lost--lost!"
"But have you not seen him since we all three parted?" inquired Lucien
in dismay.
"No, not since we parted. I was myself lost, and have been all this
time finding my way. I succeeded by following back my own trail, else
we might never have met again. O Francois! poor brother Francois! what
will become of _him_?"
Lucien now shared the apprehensions as well as the agony of his brother.
Up to this time he had been under the impression that they had got
together, and something had detained them--perhaps the breaking of a
stirrup-leather or a girth, he knew not what--and he was just beginning
to grow uneasy when Basil made his appearance. He knew not what it was
to be lost; but Basil's wild explanations enabled him to conceive what
it _might be_; and he could well appreciate the situation of Francois.
It was no time, however, to indulge in paroxysms of grief. He saw that
Basil was half unmanned; the more so because the latter looked upon
himself as the cause of the misfortune. It was Basil who had counselled
the running of the turkeys and led on to the chase.
Instead of giving way to despair, however, both felt that they must take
some steps for the recovery of their lost brother.
"What is to be done?" said Lucien.
Basil now became himself again. The hope of saving Francois restored
him to his wonted energy and courage.
"Is it better we should remain here?" asked Lucien, who knew that his
brother's strong judgment would decide upon the best plan.
"No," replied the latter; "it is of no use. _I_ could not have found my
way back, but for the tracks of my horse. Francois will not think of
that; and even if he did, _his_ horse is a _mustang_, and the prairie is
covered with mustang tracks, running in every direction. No, no, he
will never come back here, except by chance; and there are a thousand
chances to one against it. No, we must go in search of him; we must go
upon his trail; and that I fear will be impossible among so many others.
Before we leave this place," continued Basil, "let us try every chance
that is left. Are you loaded?"
"Yes," replied Lucien.
"Fire, then, a moment or two after I do. The first report may call his
attention to the second."
Basil raised his piece and fired into the air. A few seconds after,
Lucien fired also, and both stood to listen, their hearts beating
audibly.
For five minutes or more they stood--so that Francois might have time to
load his gun, if empty. There was no response.
Again the brothers loaded their rifles--with powder only--putting in
heavy charges and ramming home tightly, in order that the explosions
might be the louder. Again they fired as before. The result was the
same; there was no answer to their signal.
"It proves that he is very distant," said Lucien, "for sounds can be
heard a great way off in this region."
"Let us try a smoke," said Basil, putting away his rifle. "Gather some
wood, Luce, while I kindle the leaves."
Basil picked up some pieces of the burning wad; and having taken it out
to the open ground, raked together a pile of dry leaves and grass, and
ignited it. Meanwhile Lucien collected an armful of sticks, and placed
them upon the pile. Others were then thrown on top, with green leaves
and boughs broken from the trees, and, over all, several armfuls of
Spanish moss which hung plentifully from the oaks. A thick blue smoke
soon ascended high into the heavens; and the brothers stood with
searching eyes that scrutinised the prairie in all directions.
"He must be far off if he cannot see that," remarked Lucien. "It should
be visible for ten miles around, I should think!"
"At least that much," answered Basil; "but he would not be long in
getting ten miles away. The chase might have carried him a good part;
and, finding himself lost, he would soon gallop the rest."
"Unless," suggested Lucien, "he may have ridden about, as you did, upon
his own trail."
"No, he would not be likely. Poor little Francois would not think of
it; he has not enough craft for that; and, indeed, I almost hope that he
has not done so."
"Why do you hope so?" inquired Lucien.
"Because we will stand a better chance of making out his trail if he has
gone straight forward."
"True, true," rejoined Lucien, and both again were silent, and stood
watching the prairie openings with anxious eyes.
They remained for a considerable time, but at length turned to each
other with countenances that exhibited a disappointed and sad
expression.
"He is not coming," said Lucien, in a sorrowful tone.
"No; he would have been up long since. He would be certain to gallop if
he had seen the smoke. We must go after him."
They turned towards their horses. Basil's glance fell upon the dog. A
gleam of joy shot into his eye, and big whole bearing became suddenly
changed.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, "we have been wasting time. Quick, Lucien!--your
horse! to your horse!"
"What is it?" asked Lucien in surprise.
"Do not ask me--a good thought strikes me; but we have not a moment to
lose--time is precious. Let us be off!"
"But shall we leave Jeanette?"
"By all means. Francois _might_ come up."
"If he should, how is he to know where we are gone?"
"True," answered Basil, reflecting a moment. "Oh!" he continued, "give
me your paper and pencil. You tie Jeanette while I write."
Lucien handed him a small slip of paper with a pencil; and then
proceeded to tie the mule securely to one of the branches.