"We had accomplished a great object. Nothing remained but to train a
sufficient number of elk for our purpose. We trapped several fawns; and
Cudjo proceeded in breaking them as he had done the others.
"At this time, however, an event occurred which verified my wife's
prediction still more clearly, and proved that the hand of God was over
and around us.
"One morning, a little after daybreak, and just before we had risen, we
were all thrown into a state of consternation by a noise that came from
without. It was the trampling of hoofs--of many hoofs; and there was no
difficulty in perceiving that horses were about the house. Their
neighing proved this--for Pompo had neighed in his stable, and we could
hear a dozen of them uttering their loud responses.
"`Indians!' thought we: and we gave ourselves up for lost.
"We all ran to our arms. Harry, Frank, and I, seized hold of our
rifles, while Cudjo betook himself to his great spear. I opened one of
the windows, and looked cautiously out. Horses they were, sure enough,
but no horsemen! There they were--in all nearly a dozen of them--white,
black, red, speckled and spotted like hounds! They were dashing about
through the open ground, neighing, snorting, rearing at each other, and
tossing back their long flowing manes, while their tails swept away
behind them in beautiful luxuriance. There were they, without bridle or
saddle, or any other sign that the hand of man had ever touched them.
And never had it. I saw at a glance what they were. They were
_mustangs_--the wild horses of the Desert.
"We were not long in resolving how to act. It was evident they had come
up the stream from the eastern plains; and, seeing the valley, had been
tempted by its greenness, and had strayed into it. Our design, then,
was at once formed, and that was to prevent them from getting out again.
"This could be accomplished very easily, by closing up the road which
led down to the valley; but, then, how were we to get to it without
giving them the alarm? They were playing directly in front of the
house, and we could not pass out of the door without showing ourselves.
This would at once set them off in a wild gallop, and we should never
see more of them. We knew they would not allow us to approach them--for
we had seen several bands of them while crossing the prairies, and these
would not allow our hunters to get within less than a mile of them.
This is a curious fact--that the horse, which you would suppose to be
the natural companion of man--once he has escaped from captivity, and
goes wild, becomes more shy of man than any other animal, and more
difficult to be approached. He seems to have an idea of what is wanted
with him, and is determined not to return to slavery. I have never seen
a drove of wild horses, but the thought occurred to me, that there was
some old `runaway' among them, who told the rest how he had been used,
and cautioned them to keep clear of us. Certain it is, that the wild
horse is the wildest of all animals.
"How, then, were we to get out, and circumvent the drove? That was soon
decided. Telling Cudjo to take his axe and follow me, I climbed out at
the back window of our cabin; and keeping the house between us and the
horses, we crept along past our store-house and stable, until we got
into the woods in the rear. We skirted through the timber, and soon
reached the point where the road runs out of the valley. Here Cudjo set
lustily to work with his axe; and in half an hour we had felled a tree
across the track, completely blocking it up. We took care to make it
secure, by adding several rails, in such a way that no horse without
wings could have leaped over it. This done, we gave ourselves no
farther concern about being seen by the mustangs; and, shouldering our
implements, we marched leisurely back to the house. Of course, the
moment the wild horses saw us, they galloped off into the woods; but we
did not care for that, as we could easily find them again. And find
them we did. Pompo was saddled and bridled; a lazo was made out of
raw-hide ropes; and in less than three days the whole _caballada_ of
wild horses--eleven in all--was shut up in our park.
"Now, my friends, I fear I have quite tired you with our adventures. I
might relate many more, and perhaps, at some future time, may do so. I
might tell you how we caught and tamed the wild sheep and the
antelopes;--how we captured the young buffaloes on the upper plains, and
tamed them, and made cheese and butter from their milk;--how we reared
up the kittens of the cougar and the cubs of the black bear;--how the
wild geese, and swans, and cranes, and pelicans, migrated to our lake,
and became quite tame with us;--how Cudjo and I with our horses made a
journey across the Desert to the `Camp of Sorrow,' as we called the
place where our friends had been massacred;--how we picked out two of
the best of the wagons, and with the gunpowder which we took from the
bomb-shells and many other useful articles, returned again to our
valley. These, and many other adventures with wolves and wolverenes,
with panthers and peccaries, and porcupines and opossums, I might detail
to you; but no doubt you are already wearied with the length of my
story.
"It is now nearly ten years since our arrival in this valley oasis.
During all that time, we have lived contented and happy; and God has
favoured our efforts, and crowned them with success. But our children
have grown up almost wild, as you see,--with no other education than
that which we ourselves have been able to impart to them; and we are
anxious on their account once more to return to the civilised world. It
is our intention then to proceed to Saint Louis in the spring. For this
purpose, we have everything ready--our wagons, and horses, and furs--all
except those which we intend to trap in the ensuing winter. I know not
whether we may ever return to this sweet spot--though it will be always
dear to us from a thousand memories. That will depend upon
circumstances arising in the future, and which we cannot now foresee.
It is our intention, however, on leaving the valley, to throw open their
bars and set all our captives free--to let them return once more to
their wild independence.
"And now, my friends, I have but one request to make of you. It is late
in the season. You have lost your trail; and, as you all know, it is
very perilous to attempt crossing the prairies in winter. Remain with
me, then, until spring; and let us all go together. The winter will be
a short one; and I shall endeavour to make it pass pleasantly for you.
I can promise you plenty of hunting adventures; and, when the proper
season arrives, we shall have a grand _battue_ of the beavers. Speak,
then! What say you to remain?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I need hardly tell you, my young reader, that we at once accepted the
proposal. Our friend McKnight, would of course remain on account of the
little Luisa; and as for the rest of us, we knew well the hardships we
should have to encounter, should we travel the great plains during
winter. We knew that in that latitude, as Rolfe had said, the winter
would be a short one; and therefore we should not lose much time by
staying until spring. The strange wild life which we should lead, had
charms for all of us, and we willingly consented to remain.
As Rolfe promised, we had many hunting adventures; and among the rest,
the _battue_ of beavers--nearly two thousand of which were trapped and
taken.
As soon as spring arrived, we made ready to set forth. Three wagons
were prepared--two of them loaded with furs and valuable castoreum. The
third carried the females--while Rolfe and his sons rode upon horseback.
The walls of the deer-park were broken down, and the aviaries thrown
open; and, after distributing plenty of food to the numerous pets, we
left them to themselves, and took our departure from the valley. We
struck northward for the old trail; and on reaching it, turned our faces
for Saint Louis--where we arrived in the month of May; and where Rolfe
soon after sold his furs for a large sum of money.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is now several years since that time; and during the interval, I--the
writer of this little book--living in a distant country, heard nothing
more about Rolfe or his family. A few days ago, however, I received a
letter from Rolfe himself, which gave me the gratifying intelligence
that they were all well, and in excellent spirits. Frank and Harry had
just finished their college studies, and had come out accomplished
scholars and sterling men. Mary and Luisa--Luisa was still one of the
family--had returned from school. Besides this, Rolfe's letter
contained some _very_ interesting intelligence. No less than _four_
marriages were in contemplation in his family. Harry was about to wed
the little "dark sister," Luisa. Frank had come to an understanding
with a fine young lady, the daughter of a Missouri planter; and the
fair-haired, blue-eyed, rosy-lipped Mary had enslaved a young "prairie
merchant," one of those who had spent the winter with us in the valley
oasis, and who had been very gallant to Mary all along the journey
homeward. But who were to be the fourth couple? Ah! that question we
must leave for Cudjo and his "lubbly Lucy" to answer.
Rolfe's letter farther informed me, that it was their intention--as soon
as the marriage festivities were over--to return to the valley oasis.
All were going together--McKnight, new-married couples, and all. They
were to take with them many wagons, with horses, and cattle, and
implements of husbandry--with the intention of settling there for life,
and forming a little patriarchal colony of themselves.
It was a pleasant letter to read: and as I perused it over and over, and
reflected on the many happy hours I had passed in the company of these
good people, I could not help thanking the fate that first led me to the
_Home in the Desert_.