A CLOSE CALL.
NOW you must not forget that most of the names of rivers, mountains and
settlements which I use in this story had no existence when Deerfoot and
his friends started on their journey across the continent. A large
number of these names were bestowed by Captains Lewis and Clark, who
came after the little party. Some of the titles have stuck, and a good
many have undergone changes. It was these explorers who gave the Rocky
(then known as Stony) Mountains their name, to say nothing of other
peaks and ranges. Lewis and Clark showed much ingenuity in making up the
long list, and it must be admitted that in many instances the change of
title since then was not an improvement.
Our friends left the Missouri some distance beyond old Fort Osage, where
the stream changes its course, and instead of flowing directly east,
comes from the north. They headed a little south of northwest, and when
we look upon them again the four were in the western part of the present
State of Kansas and below the Arkansas River. Had they turned south they
would have had to cross only a comparatively narrow neck of Oklahoma to
enter the immense State of Texas.
By this time it was early summer and the region was like fairyland. The
surface was rolling prairie, and the luxuriant grass was dotted with an
exuberance of wild flowers, brilliant, beautiful and fragrant, while the
soft blue sky, flecked here and there by snowy patches of cloud, shut
down on every hand. North, south, east, west, every point of the compass
showed the same apparently limitless expanse of rolling prairie, watered
by many streams and fertile as the “Garden of the Lord.”
The party had become accustomed to the varying scenery which greeted
them from the hour of leaving their distant home, and especially after
crossing the Mississippi, but they were profoundly impressed by the
wonderful loveliness on every hand. Mul-tal-la had passed over the same
ground before, but it was not clothed in such enchanting verdure. Not a
single tree was in sight, but the grass in some places brushed the
bellies of the horses, and no one needed to be told that at no distant
day the region would become one of the most prosperous on the continent.
At intervals the horsemen came to higher swells in the prairies, upon
which they halted and surveyed the surrounding country. While the
weather was warm, there was just a touch of coolness which made it ideal
for riding, walking or, in fact, living and drawing one’s breath.
The best of fortune had attended the little company thus far. There had
been some delays and checks in crossing the streams, and once Zigzag’s
stubbornness came within a hair of losing the contents of the pack
strapped to his back. Bug, the horse of Mul-tal-la, wandered off one
night, and he, too, developed such a spell of obstinacy that it was a
whole day before he was found again. Had he not been recovered just when
he was he would have been run off by a party of Pawnees, who seemed
disposed to make a fight for him. These warriors were large, finely
formed and numerous enough to wipe out the four, but the exercise of
tact finally adjusted matters, and nothing more of an unpleasant nature
occurred.
But, without dwelling upon these and other annoying incidents, we find
our friends in the section named on this bright, sunshiny forenoon in
early summer, riding at a leisurely gait toward the setting sun, for the
time had not yet come to turn northward and make for the hunting grounds
of the Blackfeet.
Deerfoot checked his horse on the crest of the moderate elevation, with
one of the brothers on either side of him, and Mul-tal-la farther to the
left. All carefully scanned the horizon and the grand sweep of prairie
that inclosed them on every side.
“Do my brothers see anything more than the stretch of plain?” asked
Deerfoot.
Naturally one of the first things done by George Shelton at such times
was to bring his spyglass to his eye. It was a good instrument and
proved of value to all. He had been thus engaged for several minutes
when the Shawanoe asked his question.
“No,” was the reply. “There seems to be no end to waving grass and
shining flower.”
“Let my brother look to the northward,” said Deerfoot, pointing in that
direction, “and tell me what he sees.”
George did as directed. At first he saw nothing unusual, but as he
peered he observed a change in the color of the landscape. Far off
toward the horizon he noted, instead of the variegated hue, a dark
sweep, as if the prairie ended on the shore of a dun-colored lake or
sea. It covered thirty degrees of the circle. His first thought was that
it was a large body of water, for as he studied it closer he perceived a
restless pulsation of the surface, which suggested waves, though there
was not a breath of wind where the company had halted.
“It looks to me like a big body of water,” said the boy, lowering his
glass.
“Let me have a squint,” remarked Victor, reaching for the glass, which
was passed to him.
Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la did not speak, but exchanged significant looks.
Victor held the glass to his eyes for several minutes, while the others
waited for him to speak.
“It looks like a body of water,” he finally said, without lowering the
instrument, “but, if it is, _it’s coming this way_!”
It was the Blackfoot who grinned and uttered the single word:
“Buffaloes!”
“So they are! You might have known that, George.”
“_You_ didn’t know it till Mul-tal-la told you.”
Very soon the animals were identified by the naked eye. Numbers had been
seen before, but never so large a herd as that upon which all now gazed
with rapt attention. There must have been tens of thousands, all coming
with that heavy, plunging pace peculiar to those animals. Sometimes an
immense drove would be quietly cropping the herbage, when a slight
flurry would set several in motion. Then the excitement ran through the
whole lot with almost electric suddenness, and all were soon plunging in
headlong flight across the plain.
The buffalo, or more properly the American bison, is a stupid creature
and subject to the most senseless panics. Thousands have been known to
dash at the highest speed straight away. Sometimes the leaders would
come abruptly to the top of a lofty bluff, perhaps overlooking a stream
deep below. In vain they attempted to hold back or to swerve to one
side. The prodigious pressure from the rear was resistless, and they
were driven over the cliff into the water, with the others piling upon
them, and those again borne under by the remainder of the herd until
hundreds were trampled, smothered and drowned in the muddy water
beneath. Only those at the extreme rear were able to save themselves,
and that not through any wit of their own.
As the seething host bore down upon the horsemen it was seen that the
front, which was spread out over an expanse of several hundred yards,
was coming straight for the elevation upon which our friends were
waiting and watching them. Bellowing mingled with the thunderous tread
of the mighty mass, and the sight was enough to awe the stoutest heart.
“They will trample us to death,” called the scared Victor, looking at
Deerfoot, who was calmly contemplating the approaching army. The horses
raised their heads, looked toward the brown, undulating mass, snuffed,
snorted and trembled with terror, for their instinct told them that the
peril was bearing down upon them with hurricane swiftness.
It would not do to wait, for the most frightful of deaths threatened the
party. Mul-tal-la slipped from his horse and whipped the blanket from
his back. Deerfoot also dismounted, but did not take his blanket with
him, though he carried his gun.
“Let my brothers come with me,” he said sharply to the boys, who
nervously sprang from their saddles and hurried to his side.
The Blackfoot ran a few paces in front of the three and began vigorously
waving the blanket over his head, shouting at the top of his voice. At
the same moment Deerfoot leveled his gun and fired at the nearest bison,
which was less than a hundred yards off. The bullet struck the gigantic
head, but the beast did not suffer the slightest harm. He plunged
forward with the same impetuosity as before.
Deerfoot caught the gun from George’s grasp and fired again, but with no
more effect than at first. The horses were snorting and rearing and in
danger of breaking off in the irrestrainable panic shown by the bison.
The Shawanoe reached for the rifle of Victor, and the lad eagerly passed
the weapon to him.
“Let my brothers look to the horses,” he called, still cool but under
restrained excitement. The boys ran to the animals and immediately found
their hands full, for a horse frantic with fear is one of the most
unmanageable of creatures.
Deerfoot did not discharge the third weapon, but awaited the chance to
make his shot effective. It was a waste of ammunition to launch a bullet
at the iron-like front of a bison. The surest avenue to his seat of life
is back of the foreleg. The heads were held so low by the plunging
brutes that they acted as shields to the vulnerable portions from that
direction, and the position of the Shawanoe did not allow a favorable
aim.
Mul-tal-la ran several steps toward the thundering herd, and then began
leaping into the air, swinging his blanket and shouting like a crazy
man. In any other circumstances his antics would have caused a laugh,
but this was no time for merriment. Deerfoot was the only tranquil
member of the party, and he stood with weapon half raised, unable to
decide what to do to avert the peril sweeping down upon them like a
hurricane.
Seconds were beyond value. Unless the bison were diverted at once the
breath of life would be crushed out of the four and out of their
animals. Wild bellowings filled the air, and peculiar crackling,
rattling sounds, limitless in number, were heard. These were caused by
the contact of the horns of the bison, which were crowded so close in
many places that the wonder was how they were able to move at all.
The last hope seemed to lie in the Blackfoot. Unless his shoutings and
contortions with the fluttering blanket, which threatened to be whipped
into shreds, checked the furious beasts, they could not be stayed at
all. He produced no more effect than the flicker of a straw in the wind.
At this appalling juncture, Deerfoot, with both arms outstretched, the
left hand holding the rifle of Victor Shelton, dashed toward the head of
the herd, which was only a few rods away. He was seen to make a
tremendous leap, which landed him on the back of an enormous bull.
Instead of firing the gun, he grasped it by the barrel and smote the
bison with the stock, the blow descending upon one of his eyes. The
youth’s strange position, which he managed to maintain, gave him the
first chance to make a telling shot. Like a flash he fired at the
nearest bison, sending the bullet down through the forepart of his body
and into a spot so vital that, with a frenzied bellow, he stumbled
forward and rolled over and over like a huge block of wood driven from
the throat of a giant piece of ordnance.
While executing his lightning-like movements, the Shawanoe added his
shoutings to those of his friend, and then laid about him with the
clubbed weapon. The unique performances of the two did the business. The
fall of one bison, the strange figure dancing as it seemed in mid-air,
injected a panic into that part of the herd, which split into two
divisions that thundered past the terrified group as if the elevation
formed a small island in the center of a rushing torrent.
Deerfoot allowed himself to be carried a number of yards on the back of
his frantic steed. When abreast of the horses he sprang from his perch
and ran up beside them, where the boys had all they could do to restrain
the animals. As if nothing unusual had occurred, the Shawanoe joined in
their efforts, and, by main force, restrained the brutes from breaking
away and diving among the bison, where they could not have survived more
than a few minutes.
The wedge having been inserted into the onrushing herd, nothing more
remained to be done. The dividing point not only was maintained, but the
bison began separating farther back, so that by and by the partition
point was twice as distant as at first.
None of the rifles was loaded, and no attempt was made to ram a charge
into them while the stampede continued. The Blackfoot, however, seemed
to catch the wild ardor of panic, and, dropping his blanket, brought his
bow into play. Arrow after arrow was launched at the bison. Though none
fell, a number were grievously hurt and, as they dived past, more than
one showed an arrow projecting like a giant feather from some part of
his body. So enormous was this herd of bison that nearly an hour passed
before the last galloped by and followed with undiminished speed the
thousands that were headed southward and running as if they would never
stop.
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