_The "wallering" peculiarities of buffalo bulls--The first buffalo
hunt and its consequences--Crusoe comes to the rescue--Pawnees
discovered--A monster buffalo hunt--Joe acts the part of ambassador_.
Fortunately the day that succeeded the dreary night described in the
last chapter was warm and magnificent. The sun rose in a blaze of
splendour, and filled the atmosphere with steam from the moist earth.
The unfortunates in the wet camp were not slow to avail themselves of
his cheering rays. They hung up everything on the bushes to dry, and
by dint of extreme patience and cutting out the comparatively dry
hearts of several pieces of wood, they lighted a fire and boiled some
rain-water, which was soon converted into soup. This, and the exercise
necessary for the performance of these several duties, warmed and
partially dried them; so that when they once more mounted their steeds
and rode away, they were in a state of comparative comfort and in
excellent spirits. The only annoyance was the clouds of mosquitoes and
large flies that assailed men and horses whenever they checked their
speed.
"I tell ye wot it is," said Joe Blunt, one fine morning about a week
after they had begun to cross the prairie, "it's my 'pinion that we'll
come on buffaloes soon. Them tracks are fresh, an' yonder's one o'
their wallers that's bin used not long agone."
"I'll go have a look at it," cried Dick, trotting away as he spoke.
Everything in these vast prairies was new to Dick Varley, and he was
kept in a constant state of excitement during the first week or two
of his journey. It is true he was quite familiar with the names and
habits of all the animals that dwelt there; for many a time and oft
had he listened to the "yarns" of the hunters and trappers of the
Mustang Valley, when they returned laden with rich furs from their
periodical hunting expeditions. But this knowledge of his only served
to whet his curiosity and his desire to _see_ the denizens of the
prairies with his own eyes; and now that his wish was accomplished, it
greatly increased the pleasures of his journey.
Dick had just reached the "wallow" referred to by Joe Blunt, and had
reined up his steed to observe it leisurely, when a faint hissing
sound reached his ear. Looking quickly back, he observed his two
companions crouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly
descending into a hollow of the prairie in front of them, as if they
wished to bring the rising ground between them and some object in
advance. Dick instantly followed their example, and was soon at their
heels.
"Ye needn't look at the waller," whispered Joe, "for a' tother side o'
the ridge there's a bull _wallerin_'."
"Ye don't mean it!" exclaimed Dick, as they all dismounted and
picketed their horses to the plain. "Oui," said Henri, tumbling off
his horse, while a broad grin overspread his good-natured countenance,
"it is one fact! One buffalo bull be wollerin' like a enormerous hog.
Also, dere be t'ousands o' buffaloes farder on."
"Can ye trust yer dog keepin' back?" inquired Joe, with a dubious
glance at Crusoe.
"Trust him! Ay, I wish I was as sure o' myself."
"Look to yer primin', then, an' we'll have tongues and marrow bones
for supper to-night, I'se warrant. Hist! down on yer knees and go
softly. We might ha' run them down on horseback, but it's bad to wind
yer beasts on a trip like this, if ye can help it; an' it's about as
easy to stalk them. Leastways, we'll try. Lift yer head slowly, Dick,
an' don't show more nor the half o't above the ridge."
Dick elevated his head as directed, and the scene that met his view
was indeed well calculated to send an electric shock to the heart of
an ardent sportsman. The vast plain beyond was absolutely blackened
with countless herds of buffaloes, which were browsing on the rich
grass. They were still so far distant that their bellowing, and the
trampling of their myriad hoofs, only reached the hunters like a faint
murmur on the breeze. In the immediate foreground, however, there was
a group of about half-a-dozen buffalo cows feeding quietly, and in the
midst of them an enormous old bull was enjoying himself in his wallow.
The animals, towards which our hunters now crept with murderous
intent, are the fiercest and the most ponderous of the ruminating
inhabitants of the western wilderness. The name of _buffalo_, however,
is not correct. The animal is the _bison_, and bears no resemblance
whatever to the buffalo proper; but as the hunters of the far west,
and, indeed, travellers generally, have adopted the misnomer, we bow
to the authority of custom and adopt it too.
Buffaloes roam in countless thousands all over the North American
prairies, from the Hudson Bay Territories, north of Canada, to the
shores of the Gulf of Mexico.
The advance of white men to the west has driven them to the prairies
between the Missouri and the Rocky Mountains, and has somewhat
diminished their numbers; but even thus diminished, they are still
innumerable in the more distant plains. Their colour is dark brown,
but it varies a good deal with the seasons. The hair or fur, from its
great length in winter and spring and exposure to the weather, turns
quite light; but when the winter coat is shed off, the new growth is
a beautiful dark brown, almost approaching to jet-black. In form the
buffalo somewhat resembles the ox, but its head and shoulders are much
larger, and are covered with a profusion of long shaggy hair which
adds greatly to the fierce aspect of the animal. It has a large hump
on the shoulder, and its fore-quarters are much larger, in proportion,
than the hind-quarters. The horns are short and thick, the hoofs are
cloven, and the tail is short, with a tuft of hair at the extremity.
It is scarcely possible to conceive a wilder or more ferocious and
terrible monster than a buffalo bull. He often grows to the enormous
weight of two thousand pounds. His lion-like mane falls in shaggy
confusion quite over his head and shoulders, down to the ground. When
he is wounded he becomes imbued with the spirit of a tiger: he stamps,
bellows, roars, and foams forth his rage with glaring eyes and
steaming nostrils, and charges furiously at man and horse with utter
recklessness. Fortunately, however, he is not naturally pugnacious,
and can be easily thrown into a sudden panic. Moreover, the peculiar
position of his eye renders this creature not so terrible as he would
otherwise be to the hunter. Owing to the stiff structure of the neck,
and the sunken, downward-looking eyeball, the buffalo cannot, without
an effort, see beyond the direct line of vision presented to the
habitual carriage of his head. When, therefore, he is wounded, and
charges, he does so in a straight line, so that his pursuer can
leap easily out of his way. The pace of the buffalo is clumsy, and
_apparently_ slow, yet, when chased, he dashes away over the plains in
blind blundering terror, at a rate that leaves all but good horses
far behind. He cannot keep the pace up, however, and is usually soon
overtaken. Were the buffalo capable of the same alert and agile
motions of head and eye peculiar to the deer or wild horse, in
addition to his "bovine rage," he would be the most formidable brute
on earth. There is no object, perhaps, so terrible as the headlong
advance of a herd of these animals when thoroughly aroused by terror.
They care not for their necks. All danger in front is forgotten, or
not seen, in the terror of that from which they fly. No thundering
cataract is more tremendously irresistible than the black bellowing
torrent which sometimes pours through the narrow defiles of the Rocky
Mountains, or sweeps like a roaring flood over the trembling plains.
The wallowing, to which we have referred, is a luxury usually indulged
in during the hot months of summer, when the buffaloes are tormented
by flies, and heat, and drought. At this season they seek the low
grounds in the prairies where there is a little stagnant water lying
amongst the grass, and the ground underneath, being saturated, is
soft. The leader of the herd, a shaggy old bull, usually takes upon
himself to prepare the wallow.
It was a rugged monster of the largest size that did so on the present
occasion, to the intense delight of Dick Varley, who begged Joe to
lie still and watch the operation before trying to shoot one of the
buffalo cows. Joe consented with a nod, and the four spectators--for
Crusoe was as much taken up with the proceedings as any of
them--crouched in the grass, and looked on.
Coming up to the swampy spot, the old bull gave a grunt of
satisfaction, and going down on one knee, plunged his short thick
horns into the mud, tore it up, and cast it aside. Having repeated
this several times, he plunged his head in, and brought it forth
saturated with dirty water and bedaubed with lumps of mud, through
which his fierce eyes gazed, with a ludicrous expression of
astonishment, straight in the direction of the hunters, as if he meant
to say, "I've done it that time, and no mistake!" The other buffaloes
seemed to think so too, for they came up and looked on with an
expression that seemed to say, "Well done, old fellow; try that
again!"
The old fellow did try it again, and again, and again, plunging, and
ramming, and tearing up the earth, until he formed an excavation
large enough to contain his huge body. In this bath he laid himself
comfortably down, and began to roll and wallow about until he mixed up
a trough full of thin soft mud, which completely covered him. When he
came out of the hole there was scarcely an atom of his former self
visible!
The coat of mud thus put on by bulls is usually permitted by them to
dry, and is not finally got rid of until long after, when oft-repeated
rollings on the grass and washings by rain at length clear it away.
When the old bull vacated this delectable bath, another bull, scarcely
if at all less ferocious-looking, stepped forward to take his turn;
but he was interrupted by a volley from the hunters, which scattered
the animals right and left, and sent the mighty herds in the distance
flying over the prairie in wild terror. The very turmoil of their own
mad flight added to their panic, and the continuous thunder of their
hoofs was heard until the last of them disappeared on the horizon. The
family party which had been fired at, however, did not escape so well,
Joe's rifle wounded a fat young cow, and Dick Varley brought it down.
Henri had done his best, but as the animals were too far distant for
his limited vision, he missed the cow he fired at, and hit the young
bull whose bath had been interrupted. The others scattered and fled.
"Well done, Dick," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as they all ran up to the cow
that had fallen. "Your first shot at the buffalo was a good un. Come,
now, an' I'll show ye how to cut it up an' carry off the tit-bits."
"Ah, mon dear ole bull!" exclaimed Henri, gazing after the animal
which he had wounded, and which was now limping slowly away. "You is
not worth goin' after. Farewell--adieu."
"He'll be tough enough, I warrant," said Joe; "an' we've more meat
here nor we can lift."
"But wouldn't it be as well to put the poor brute out o' pain?"
suggested Dick.
"Oh, he'll die soon enough," replied Joe, tucking up his sleeves and
drawing his long hunting-knife.
Dick, however, was not satisfied with this way of looking at it.
Saying that he would be back in a few minutes, he reloaded his rifle,
and calling Crusoe to his side, walked quickly after the wounded bull,
which was now hid from view in a hollow of the plain.
In a few minutes he came in sight of it, and ran forward with his
rifle in readiness.
"Down, Crusoe," he whispered; "wait for me here."
Crusoe crouched in the grass instantly, and Dick advanced. As he came
on, the bull observed him, and turned round bellowing with rage and
pain to receive him. The aspect of the brute on a near view was so
terrible that Dick involuntarily stopped too, and gazed with a mingled
feeling of wonder and awe, while it bristled with passion, and
blood-streaked foam dropped from its open jaws, and its eyes glared
furiously. Seeing that Dick did not advance, the bull charged him with
a terrific roar; but the youth had firm nerves, and although the rush
of such a savage creature at full speed was calculated to try the
courage of any man, especially one who had never seen a buffalo bull
before, Dick did not lose presence of mind. He remembered the many
stories he had listened to of this very thing that was now happening;
so, crushing down his excitement as well as he could, he cocked his
rifle and awaited the charge. He knew that it was of no use to fire at
the head of the advancing foe, as the thickness of the skull, together
with the matted hair on the forehead, rendered it impervious to a
bullet.
When the bull was within a yard of him he leaped lightly to one side
and it passed. Just as it did so, Dick aimed at its heart and fired,
but his knowledge of the creature's anatomy was not yet correct. The
ball entered the shoulder too high, and the bull, checking himself as
well as he could in his headlong rush, turned round and made at Dick
again.
The failure, coupled with the excitement, proved too much for Dick; he
could not resist discharging his second barrel at the brute's head as
it came on. He might as well have fired at a brick wall. It shook its
shaggy front, and with a hideous bellow thundered forward. Again Dick
sprang to one side, but in doing so a tuft of grass or a stone caught
his foot, and he fell heavily to the ground.
Up to this point Crusoe's admirable training had nailed him to the
spot where he had been left, although the twitching of every fibre in
his body and a low continuous whine showed how gladly he would have
hailed permission to join in the combat; but the instant he saw his
master down, and the buffalo turning to charge again, he sprang
forward with a roar that would have done credit to his bovine enemy,
and seized him by the nose. So vigorous was the rush that he well-nigh
pulled the bull down on its side. One toss of its head, however, sent
Crusoe high into the air; but it accomplished this feat at the expense
of its nose, which was torn and lacerated by the dog's teeth.
Scarcely had Crusoe touched the ground, which he did with a sounding
thump, than he sprang up and flew at his adversary again. This time,
however, he adopted the plan of barking furiously and biting by rapid
yet terrible snaps as he found opportunity, thus keeping the bull
entirely engrossed, and affording Dick an opportunity of reloading his
rifle, which he was not slow to do. Dick then stepped close up, and
while the two combatants were roaring in each other's faces, he shot
the buffalo through the heart. It fell to the earth with a deep groan.
Crusoe's rage instantly vanished on beholding this, and he seemed to
be filled with tumultuous joy at his master's escape, for he gambolled
round him, and whined and fawned upon him in a manner that could not
be misunderstood.
"Good dog; thank'ee, my pup," said Dick, patting Crusoe's head as he
stooped to brush the dust from his leggings. "I don't know what would
ha' become o' me but for your help, Crusoe."
Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, wagged his tail, and
looked at Dick with an expression that said quite plainly, "I'd die
for you, I would--not once, or twice, but ten times, fifty times if
need be--and that not merely to save your life, but even to please
you."
There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something of this sort.
The love of a Newfoundland dog to its master is beyond calculation or
expression. He who once gains such love carries the dog's life in his
hand. But let him who reads note well, and remember that there is only
one coin that can purchase such love, and that is _kindness_. The
coin, too, must be genuine. Kindness merely _expressed_ will not do,
it must be _felt_.
"Hallo, boy, ye've bin i' the wars!" exclaimed Joe, raising himself
from his task as Dick and Crusoe returned.
"You look more like it than I do," retorted Dick, laughing.
This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcass with no other
instrument than a large knife is no easy matter. Yet western hunters
and Indians can do it without cleaver or saw, in a way that would
surprise a civilized butcher not a little. Joe was covered with blood
up to the elbows. His hair, happening to have a knack of getting into
his eyes, had been so often brushed off with bloody hands, that his
whole visage was speckled with gore, and his dress was by no means
immaculate.
While Dick related his adventure, or _mis_-adventure, with the bull,
Joe and Henri completed the cutting out of the most delicate portions
of the buffalo--namely, the hump on its shoulder--which is a choice
piece, much finer than the best beef--and the tongue, and a few other
parts. The tongues of buffaloes are superior to those of domestic
cattle. When all was ready the meat was slung across the back of the
pack-horse; and the party, remounting their horses, continued their
journey, having first cleansed themselves as well as they could in the
rather dirty waters of an old wallow.
"See," said Henri, turning to Dick and pointing to a circular spot of
green as they rode along, "that is one old _dry_ waller."
"Ay," remarked Joe; "after the waller dries, it becomes a ring o'
greener grass than the rest o' the plain, as ye see. Tis said the
first hunters used to wonder greatly at these myster'ous circles, and
they invented all sorts o' stories to account for 'em. Some said they
wos fairy-rings, but at last they comed to know they wos nothin' more
nor less than places where buffaloes wos used to waller in. It's often
seemed to me that if we knowed the _raisons_ o' things, we wouldn't be
so much puzzled wi' them as we are."
The truth of this last remark was so self-evident and incontrovertible
that it elicited no reply, and the three friends rode on for a
considerable time in silence.
It was now past noon, and they were thinking of calling a halt for a
short rest to the horses and a pipe to themselves, when Joe was heard
to give vent to one of those peculiar hisses that always accompanied
either a surprise or a caution. In the present case it indicated both.
"What now, Joe?"
"Injuns!" ejaculated Joe.
"Eh! fat you say? Ou is dey?"
Crusoe at this moment uttered a low growl. Ever since the day he
had been partially roasted he had maintained a rooted antipathy to
Red-men. Joe immediately dismounted, and placing his ear to the ground
listened intently. It is a curious fact that by placing the ear close
to the ground sounds can be heard distinctly which could not be heard
at all if the listener were to maintain an erect position.
"They're arter the buffalo," said Joe, rising, "an' I think it's
likely they're a band o' Pawnees. Listen an' ye'll hear their shouts
quite plain."
Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placed their ears to the
ground.
"Now, me hear noting," said Henri, jumping up, "but me ear is like me
eyes--ver' short-sighted."
"I do hear something," said Dick as he got up, "but the beating o' my
own heart makes row enough to spoil my hearin'."
Joe Blunt smiled. "Ah! lad, ye're young, an' yer blood's too hot yet;
but bide a bit--you'll cool down soon. I wos like you once. Now, lads,
what think ye we should do?"
"You know best, Joe."
"Oui, nodoubtedly.'
"Then wot I advise is that we gallop to the broken sand hillocks ye
see yonder, get behind them, an' take a peep at the Redskins. If they
are Pawnees, we'll go up to them at once; if not, we'll hold a council
o' war on the spot."
Having arranged this, they mounted and hastened towards the hillocks
in question, which they reached after ten minutes' gallop at full
stretch. The sandy mounds afforded them concealment, and enabled them
to watch the proceedings of the savages in the plain below. The scene
was the most curious and exciting that can be conceived. The centre of
the plain before them was crowded with hundreds of buffaloes, which
were dashing about in the most frantic state of alarm. To whatever
point they galloped they were met by yelling savages on horseback, who
could not have been fewer in numbers than a thousand, all being armed
with lance, bow, and quiver, and mounted on active little horses. The
Indians had completely surrounded the herd of buffaloes, and were now
advancing steadily towards them, gradually narrowing the circle, and
whenever the terrified animals endeavoured to break through the line,
they rushed to that particular spot in a body, and scared them back
again into the centre.
Thus they advanced until they closed in on their prey and formed an
unbroken circle round them, whilst the poor brutes kept eddying and
surging to and fro in a confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each
other, and bellowing furiously. Suddenly the horsemen made a rush, and
the work of destruction began. The tremendous turmoil raised a cloud
of dust that obscured the field in some places, and hid it from our
hunters' view. Some of the Indians galloped round and round the
circle, sending their arrows whizzing up to the feathers in the sides
of the fattest cows. Others dashed fearlessly into the midst of the
black heaving mass, and, with their long lances, pierced dozens of
them to the heart. In many instances the buffaloes, infuriated by
wounds, turned fiercely on their assailants and gored the horses to
death, in which cases the men had to trust to their nimble legs for
safety. Sometimes a horse got jammed in the centre of the swaying
mass, and could neither advance nor retreat. Then the savage rider
leaped upon the buffaloes' backs, and springing from one to another,
like an acrobat, gained the outer edge of the circle; not failing,
however, in his strange flight, to pierce with his lance several of
the fattest of his stepping-stones as he sped along.
A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from the blood and dust of
this desperate battle, and made off over the plains; but they were
quickly overtaken, and the lance or the arrow brought them down on the
green turf. Many of the dismounted riders were chased by bulls; but
they stepped lightly to one side, and, as the animals passed, drove
their arrows deep into their sides. Thus the tumultuous war went on,
amid thundering tread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain was
transformed into a sea of blood and mire, and every buffalo of the
herd was laid low.
It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare is invariably
waged without damage to the savages. Many were the wounds and bruises
received that day, and not a few bones were broken, but happily no
lives were lost.
"Now, lads, now's our time. A bold and fearless look's the best at all
times. Don't look as if ye doubted their friendship; and mind, wotever
ye do, don't use yer arms. Follow me."
Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and, bounding over the
ridge at full speed, galloped headlong across the plain.
The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a loud yell
announced the fact as they assembled from all parts of the field
brandishing their bows and spears. Joe's quick eye soon distinguished
their chief, towards whom he galloped, still at full speed, till
within a yard or two of his horse's head; then he reined up suddenly.
So rapidly did Joe and his comrades approach, and so instantaneously
did they pull up, that their steeds were thrown almost on their
haunches.
The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He was a tall, powerful
savage, almost naked, and mounted on a coal-black charger, which he
sat with the ease of a man accustomed to ride from infancy. He was,
indeed, a splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark frown,
for, although he and his band had visited the settlements and
trafficked with the fur-traders on the Missouri, he did not love the
"Pale-faces," whom he regarded as intruders on the hunting-grounds of
his fathers, and the peace that existed between them at that time was
of a very fragile character. Indeed, it was deemed by the traders
impossible to travel through the Indian country at that period except
in strong force, and it was the very boldness of the present attempt
that secured to our hunters anything like a civil reception.
Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently, began by explaining
the object of his visit, and spoke of the presents which he had
brought for the great chief; but it was evident that his words made
little impression. As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round
the little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses
and weapons with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable
anxiety.
"Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face is true," said the
savage, when Joe paused, "but he does not choose to make peace. The
Pale-faces are grasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes to the
great mountains and say, 'There we will stop.' But even there they
will not stop. They are never satisfied; Mahtawa knows them well."
This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts of the hunters,
for they knew that if the savages refused to make peace, they would
scalp them all and appropriate their goods. To make things worse, a
dark-visaged Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle, and, ere
he was aware, had plucked it from his hand. The blood rushed to the
gigantic hunter's forehead, and he was on the point of springing at
the man, when Joe said in a deep quiet voice,--
"Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death."
At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts of the circle
of horsemen, and another chief rode into the midst of them. He was
evidently higher in rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to
the crowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drew little comfort
from the appearance of his face, however, for it scowled upon them.
He was not so powerful a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully
formed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance.
"Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river that they should
come to spy out the lands of the Pawnee?" he demanded.
"We have not come to spy your country," answered Joe, raising himself
proudly as he spoke, and taking off his cap. "We have come with a
message from the great chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the
village far beyond the great river where the sun rises. He says, Why
should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight? They are brothers. The
same Manitou[*] watches over both. The Pale-faces have more beads, and
guns, and blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require; they
wish to give some of these things for the skins and furs which
the Red-man does not know what to do with. The great chief of the
Pale-faces has sent me to say, Why should we fight? let us smoke the
pipe of peace."
[Footnote *: The Indian name for God.]
At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the wily chief
brightened for a moment. Then he said sternly,--
"The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has come here to trade for
himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes that can see; they are not shut.
Are not these your goods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he
spoke.
"Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of an enemy's camp,"
returned Joe. "San-it-sa-rish is wise, and will understand this. These
are gifts to the chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him
when the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said. What message shall we
take back to the great chief of the Pale-faces?"
San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.
"The hunting-field is not the council tent," he said. "The Pale-faces
will go with us to our village."
Of course Joe was too glad to agree to this proposal, but he now
deemed it politic to display a little firmness.
"We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not do to go back
and tell the great chief of the Pale-faces that the Pawnees are
thieves."
The chief frowned angrily.
"The Pawnees are true; they are not thieves. They choose to _look_ at
the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall be returned."
The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters rode off with
the Indians towards their camp. On the way they met hundreds of women
and children going to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their
special duty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp. The men,
considering that they had done quite enough in killing it, returned to
smoke and eat away the fatigues of the chase.
As they rode along, Dick Varley observed that some of the "braves," as
Indian warriors are styled, were eating pieces of the bloody livers
of the buffaloes in a raw state, at which he expressed not a little
disgust.
"Ah, boy! you're green yet," remarked Joe Blunt in an undertone.
"Mayhap ye'll be thankful to do that same yerself some day."
"Well, I'll not refuse to try when it is needful," said Dick with a
laugh; "meanwhile I'm content to see the Redskins do it, Joe Blunt."