TREED BY A BUFFALO.
The people in the roofless cabin had slept soundly, after the visit
of the wild thing known as the Mountain Devil. Millicent came out,
blooming like a mountain rose, and drew from the old trapper a
compliment on her personal appearance, which brought new roses to her
cheeks. To the surprise of every one, Bentley also appeared.
“You git back to yer nest!” shouted Ben. “Don’t you s’pose I ain’t
got no better business than to be a nuss to you? You’ll get a relapse
ef you don’t take keer.”
“No fear of that, old man,” said Bentley, addressing the trapper in
the free and easy style peculiar to the plains. “Don’t be troubled. I
never felt better in my life. That blood-letting, together with the
venison you cook, has done me a world of good. I shall punish your
provisions tremendously.”
“Waal, as ter that, ye’ve got a rifle of yer own. I reckin ye kin
keep yerself in grub. How does ye shoot?”
“Pretty well,” said Bentley. “Nothing to brag of, you know, but
enough to swear by.”
“Thet thing tried Jule another hack last night. Ye orter see his
face. It looks ez ef a hoss an’ wagin had drew right over it.”
“It is a malicious thing.”
“You bet. It clawed Jule up spiteful, and don’t make no more of a
rifle-ball then you or I would of a flea-bite. Must be powerful
tough.”
“Powervul!” cried Jan. “Ach, goot cracious! I sees him mineself, unt
he vash so pig ash a mountain. I vash scart mit him.”
“You had good reason to be,” said the young man. “Now, boys, let us
get to work. You must teach us what to do, Ben.”
“All right,” ejaculated Ben. “I’m the boss, then. I’ll give you work
enough.”
The first thing was to finish their cabin and set some traps. Ben
taught Jan and Bentley how to commence, and was pleased to find them
apt at the business. Jan did not lack for intelligence and his wits
were sharpening by contact with the keen trapper and the volatile
Frenchman. The latter needed very little instruction, for he had
received his education in the cold region of British America, under
the fostering care of the Hudson Bay Company, then in its glory, but
suffering from the enterprise of the North-west Company, which had
sprung up about this time under the lead of the enterprising German,
Jacob Astor. But, Ben Miffin could never submit to be a hanger-on to
any company, and his trapping was done on his own hook. The ground he
had chosen for his labors was new. As has been said, no other white
man’s foot had trod it before.
When the hut was completed they built a _cache_ to hold their furs
and food. This was necessary. The wolves were numerous and ravenous,
and would strip any trap of its contents in a moment. This last labor
completed, they started out on a hunt, leaving Bentley in charge of
the camp, and of Millicent. An hour’s ride brought them to the level
prairie, dotted here and there by low clumps of trees. Ben paused,
and his quick eye swept the vast plain from side to side. At last his
eye brightened and he stretched out his right hand to the east.
“Buffler!” he said.
They followed the direction of his finger, but Jan could see nothing.
“I dinks dat ish von lie, Penn. I does not see von puffalo.”
“Course ye don’t,” said Ben, contemptuously. “’Tain’t to be expected
ye _kin_, nohow. Does ye see them black spots, close down to the edge
of the prairie, over yonder?”
“Yaw; I sees _dem_,” replied Jan.
“Oh, ye _do_. Waal, _them’s_ buffler.”
“Ish _dey_ goot to eat?”
“Good! Ye bet yer bottom dollar on that ar’, ye may. I calculate thar
ain’t nothin’ in creation to ekal a buffler-hump; no, nothin’. Why,
the juices squeeze out’n it when ye set yer teeth in it, like _ile_.
Oh, it’s _good_. Ye bet I like it. Anyhow, I’ve got my opinion, and
I’ll risk a beaver-pelt ye never tasted anythin’ half so good. So,
_thar_!”
“I dinks I likes him pooty good,” said Jan. “Vell, den, ve coes unt
kills him pymepye, pooty soon, unt cooks him hump. Vat him hump pe,
Penn?”
“The first cut off the _horns_,” said Jules.
“I dinks dat ish von lie,” said Jan, coolly. “Dat ish too tough. I
not talks mit _you_, Shule. I asks Penn.”
“I guess ye’ll find out what a buffler-hump is before ye’ve been long
on the prairie. But, see hyar. It don’t taste half so good unless ye
kill it yerself. So ye must try to kill one. I’ve always said ye’d
got good stuff in ye, ef we could only bring it out, an’ I reckon we
kin do it; eh, Jule?”
“Yes,” said Jules. “We’ll put him through.”
“I don’t vant no voolin’,” said Jan, in considerable trepidation. “I
not likes dat. ’Tis not goot. S’pose you dells me right how to kill
him, all right. S’pose you don’t, den I licks you, Shule. Yaw; dat
ish vat I does.”
“No quarrelin’,” said Ben. “I won’t hev it. The fust one thet gits to
fightin’, I’ll fetch him a lick over the jaw thet’ll make him sick; I
will, by gravy. Now look out.”
In obedience to his signal, the party put themselves in motion,
riding at a careful pace toward the black spots, which the
experienced eye of the trapper had detected. A light wind was blowing
in their faces.
“We’ve got the wind of ’em,” said Ben. “They kain’t smell us.”
There was a small growth of timber between them and the buffaloes,
of not more than a dozen trees. Keeping this in line with them, they
were enabled to get within three or four hundred yards of the herd,
and peeping out from the trees, they could count them. The herd
was small, consisting only of five, headed by a giant bull, whose
patriarchal head was slightly elevated, as if he snuffed danger in
the air.
“The cunnin’ animile thinks somebody is around,” whispered Ben. “Oh,
what a beauty. But the cows ar’ the best to eat. Is yer gun loaded,
Jan?”
“Yaw,” replied Jan.
“Then git ready. When I give the word, foller me. Ar’ ye ready, Jule?”
“Yes,” said Jules, from between his set teeth.
“Then go it!” cried Ben.
The three horses bounded from the thicket, and before the animals
were fairly awake to their danger, the horsemen were upon them. Ben
drew his never failing rifle to his shoulder and let fly. The fattest
cow in the herd dropped on her knees, and then rolled slowly over on
her side, dead! Jules was equally fortunate, prostrating another by
a lucky shot in the brain. Jan, sitting on his horse, endeavored to
fire, but, his animal was restive, and he could not get aim.
“Git down!” cried Ben.
Jan, who had begun to learn to obey the old trapper implicitly,
leaped down at the word, and pointed his gun at the bull. He fired,
and, as usual, found himself rolled in the dust. His horse bounded
away leaving him helpless.
The charge of buckshot had struck the buffalo in the forehead, and
he staggered to his knees. Jan sprung forward with a shout of joy.
But this joy was speedily changed to grief, for the animal, which was
only stunned, staggered to his feet, and shaking his head, charged
the Dutchman, who ran for dear life.
In watching the motions of a buffalo, it is quite a natural
supposition that he can not run fast. This is a mistake. In spite
of his unwieldy bulk, he can get over the ground at a good pace,
as poor Jan found to his cost. Running was not at all in his line,
but he exerted himself to the utmost, and bolted over the prairie
at a pace which astonished himself. But he could hear the buffalo
lumbering on in the rear, and was conscious that he gained at every
stride. At last he reached a tree; but it was too large for him to
climb, and the animal was close at his heels. He got the body of the
tree between him and his adversary, and the next moment, mad with
anger, the brute plunged against it with a shock which startled Jan
immensely.
“Goot Lord!” he ejaculated. “Der plack puffalo ish very mat!”
Recoiling from the shock, the buffalo began to chase Jan around the
tree. Though large of body, Jan had a decided advantage over his
adversary in this sort of a chase, for he could run round close to
the body of the tree, while the huge brute was forced to make a
circuit. It was simply a question of wind. If the buffalo could run
longer than Jan, he would be overtaken and trampled to death, and
there seemed a strong probability that such was to be the case. It
was a ludicrous sight, in spite of the danger the Dutchman was in, to
see him whip round the tree, the flap of his hunting-shirt streaming
in the wind, followed by the buffalo, with erected tail, flashing
eye, and lowered head. Jan cast longing glances at the little clump
of trees a few rods away. If he only could get to them far enough
in advance of the buffalo to climb one, he might be safe. But the
distance, though short to the eye, was a great deal of ground to go
over followed by an infuriated buffalo bull, Jan thought. But he
could not hold out much longer and it must be tried. Away he went
at his best speed, the buffalo making half the circuit of the tree
before he could turn. By this time Jan had gained a hundred feet,
and this was every thing to him. Even this was hardly enough, and
though he got to the tree and began to climb, the buffalo bumped
against it before he had gained the lowest limb, nearly shaking him
from his perch.
The animal drew back, cast a single glance of his vicious eye at the
Dutchman, who had just laid his hand upon the lowest limb, and then!--
Bump!
Jan clasped the tree with all his strength, but his feet were swaying
in the air above the head of his enemy. In the mean time he was
shouting at the top of his voice all sorts of ludicrous appeals for
aid from his companions. Ben’s rifle had been loaded long ago, but he
dared not use it while they were running round the tree, not knowing
but that he might injure Jan in some way. Jules made no effort to
aid him. The moment he reached the tree, Ben rushed to the rescue,
calling Jules to follow, who did so, his face wrinkled with laughter.
Bump!
“Vy you no cooms here?” screamed Jan. “Vy you no shoot dis ugly pig?
I can’t holt on mooch longer.”
Bump!
“Dere he pe ag’in,” screamed Jan. “Help! help! Ach, mein cracious!
Ven I cooms out here to shoot puffaloes ag’in den I ish von vool, dat
ish all. Ach! gootness! Shoot! Vy don’t you shoot!”
Ben’s rifle cracked; the buffalo tottered like a tower shaken by an
earthquake, then fell to the ground. Jules sent up peal after peal of
laughter.
“Vat you laugh at?” said Jan, looking down from the tree.
“At _you_, you great blunderhead,” replied Jules.
“_Vy_ you laugh at _me_?”
“Because I like to see a Dutchman run.”
“Ish he teat?” said Jan, looking at Ben.
“Dead as a pickled fish,” said Ben. “You may come down.”
Jan slid down from the tree, walked slowly to the place where Jules
sat on his horse, picked him off solemnly, and cast him down like an
untimely fig. The whole thing was done in such a deliberate manner
that Ben did not suppose any such action intended, and before he had
time to think, the Frenchman was down, and Jan’s big foot placed upon
his breast.
“What do ye mean?” shouted Ben. “Let him up, ye durned fool.”
“Vell, vat makes him laff at me ven I pe chase py a puffalo?” said
Jan. “I dink I dells him somet’ings. Lie dere vile I spoke mit you du
or drie dimes.”
“Take your foot from my breast!” said Jules, fiercely. “You cursed
Dutchman, I will kill you. Let me up!”
“You keep still little dimes,” answered Jan, coolly. “I dinks ven a
mans laff at anuder, he mus’ have a shance to ask him vy he does it.
Dat ish vat I dinks.”
“Jan,” cried Ben, sternly.
“Vat you expects?”
“Let him up.”
Jan removed his foot from the breast of the prostrate man and Jules
rose to his feet. His first movement was to draw a knife, and rush
at the immovable figure of the Dutchman. So sudden was the attack
that nothing on the part of the assailed party could have saved him,
but Ben suddenly threw up his rifle, separating them. So strong was
his arm, that while holding the rifle extended, the rush of the
Frenchman, excited though he was, could not bend it in the least.
“Keep back!” said Ben, “or I’ll be into you with somethin’ sharper
than a toothpick. What do ye want?”
“I’ll have his heart’s blood!” hissed Jules. “He has insulted me.”
“Come, it’s about an even thing. You made game of him, ye know. Then
don’t make any durned fuss about it. I ain’t goin’ to stand it. Shake
hands. Jan didn’t mean any thing.”
“I vas mat,” said Jan. “I’m sorry I did it now. Put vat makes him
laff at me?”
“Thar; he apologized. He says he’s sorry. He kain’t say no fairer
then that, kin he? Shake hands, Jule. Durn me ef I’m goin’ to hev a
man with me thet holds a grudge like thet thar. _Shake hands!_”
“He needn’t aff he don’t vants to,” added Jan. “I ain’t ’fraid of him
anyway. Put I pe villing to make vrents.”
Jules sullenly extended his hand.
“I’d never do it if it was not for Ben,” he said. “He’s been kind to
me. But if you ever lay a hand on me again I will kill you.”
“No growlin’,” said Ben. “Durn it, kain’t a man know enough to make
up with a feller and hev no back talk? Come; hyar’s lots of work.
We’ve got to cut up these buffler. Use yer knife on thet, not on a
human.”
“Shall we cut up the old one here?” said Jules, throwing off the
appearance of anger, although his cheeks glowed yet.
“No. I reckon we won’t want any of him but the hump and marrer-bones.
It’s jest as Jan says. It’s his buffler anyhow.”
“Mine!” ejaculated Jan.
“Yes, yours. Didn’t ye bring him hyar yerself, say? Of course he’s
yer own. I’ll show ye how to git his hump. Durn me ef ye don’t take
up the business of takin’ the pelt off a critter right handy.”
“I vas a _putcher_,” said Jan.
“Oh, that’s the reason. Wal, ye jest take the hide off’n this yer
beast, an’ we’ll go out an’ ’tend to the others. When ye git it off,
holler to me, an’ I’ll show ye how to git the hump an’ marrer-bones.”
They left him and proceeded to the place where the other animals had
fallen. Soon they were busily engaged in stripping the skins from
the game, and cutting it up for the convenience of carriage, as Ben
well knew how. In the mean time Jan worked away quietly, taking off
the skin in a way which none but a professional could do, and singing
in a low tone. As he stooped over, something fell at his feet. He
picked it up. It was an arrow, stained red on one side, and the
other scoured white as snow. Jan stood with the missile in his hand,
looking this way and that, not knowing whence it had come. The shape
was peculiar: the head was double, and of polished steel, flattened
as thin as a knife-blade, and as flexible. Jan went to the edge of
the woods and called Ben. He started at the sight of the weapon,
snatching it out of the Dutchman’s hand and looking at it with an
intentness which the others could not understand.