_Evening meditations and morning reflections--Buffaloes, badgers,
antelopes, and accidents--An old bull and the wolves--"Mad
tails"--Henri floored, etc._
There is nothing that prepares one so well for the enjoyment of rest,
both mental and physical, as a long-protracted period of excitement
and anxiety, followed up by bodily fatigue. Excitement alone banishes
rest; but, united with severe physical exertion, it prepares for it.
At least, courteous reader, this is our experience; and certainly this
was the experience of our three hunters as they lay on their backs
beneath the branches of a willow bush and gazed serenely up at the
twinkling stars two days after their escape from the Indian village.
They spoke little; they were too tired for that, also they were too
comfortable. Their respective suppers of fresh antelope steak, shot
that day, had just been disposed of. Their feet were directed towards
the small fire on which the said steaks had been cooked, and which
still threw a warm, ruddy glow over the encampment. Their blankets
were wrapped comfortably round them, and tucked in as only hunters and
mothers know _how_ to tuck them in. Their respective pipes delivered
forth, at stated intervals, three richly yellow puffs of smoke, as if
a three-gun battery were playing upon the sky from that particular
spot of earth. The horses were picketed and hobbled in a rich grassy
bottom close by, from which the quiet munch of their equine jaws
sounded pleasantly, for it told of healthy appetites, and promised
speed on the morrow. The fear of being overtaken during the night was
now past, and the faithful Crusoe, by virtue of sight, hearing, and
smell, guaranteed them against sudden attack during the hours of
slumber. A perfume of wild flowers mingled with the loved odours of
the "weed," and the tinkle of a tiny rivulet fell sweetly on their
ears. In short, the "Pale-faces" were supremely happy, and disposed to
be thankful for their recent deliverance and their present comforts.
"I wonder what the stars are," said Dick, languidly taking the pipe
out of his mouth.
"Bits o' fire," suggested Joe.
"I tink dey are vorlds," muttered Henri, "an' have peepels in dem. I
have hear men say dat."
A long silence followed, during which, no doubt, the star-gazers were
working out various theories in their own minds.
"Wonder," said Dick again, "how far off they be."
"A mile or two, maybe," said Joe.
Henri was about to laugh sarcastically at this, but on further
consideration he thought it would be more comfortable not to, so he
lay still. In another minute he said,--
"Joe Blunt, you is ver' igrant. Don't you know dat de books say de
stars be hondreds, tousands--oh! milleryons of mile away to here, and
dat dey is more bigger dan dis vorld?"
Joe snored lightly, and his pipe fell out of his mouth at this point,
so the conversation dropped. Presently Dick asked in a low tone, "I
say, Henri, are ye asleep?"
"Oui," replied Henry faintly. "Don't speak, or you vill vaken me."
"Ah, Crusoe! you're not asleep, are you, pup?" No need to ask that
question. The instantaneous wag of that speaking tail and the glance
of that wakeful eye, as the dog lifted his head and laid his chin on
Dick's arm, showed that he had been listening to every word that was
spoken. We cannot say whether he understood it, but beyond all doubt
he heard it. Crusoe never presumed to think of going to sleep until
his master was as sound as a top, then he ventured to indulge in that
light species of slumber which is familiarly known as "sleeping with
one eye open." But, comparatively as well as figuratively speaking,
Crusoe slept usually with one eye and a half open, and the other half
was never very tightly shut.
Gradually Dick's pipe fell out of his mouth, an event which the dog,
with an exercise of instinct almost, if not quite, amounting to
reason, regarded as a signal for him to go off. The camp fire went
slowly out, the stars twinkled down at their reflections in the brook,
and a deep breathing of wearied men was the only sound that rose in
harmony with the purling stream.
Before the sun rose next morning, and while many of the brighter stars
were still struggling for existence with the approaching day, Joe was
up and buckling on the saddle-bags, while he shouted to his unwilling
companions to rise.
"If it depended on you," he said, "the Pawnees wouldn't be long afore
they got our scalps. Jump, ye dogs, an' lend a hand, will ye?"
A snore from Dick and a deep sigh from Henri was the answer to this
pathetic appeal. It so happened, however, that Henri's pipe, in
falling from his lips, had emptied the ashes just under his nose, so
that the sigh referred to drew a quantity thereof into his throat and
almost choked him. Nothing could have been a more effective awakener.
He was up in a moment coughing vociferously. Most men have a tendency
to vent ill-humour on some one, and they generally do it on one whom
they deem to be worse than themselves. Henri, therefore, instead of
growling at Joe for rousing him, scolded Dick for not rising.
"Ha, mauvais dog! bad chien! vill you dare to look to me?"
Crusoe did look with amiable placidity, as though to say, "Howl away,
old boy, I won't budge till Dick does."
With a mighty effort Giant Sleep was thrown off at last, and the
hunters were once more on their journey, cantering lightly over the
soft turf.
"Ho, let's have a run!" cried Dick, unable to repress the feelings
aroused by the exhilarating morning air.
"Have a care, boy," cried Joe, as they stretched out at full gallop.
"Keep off the ridge; it's riddled wi' badger--Ha! I thought so."
At that moment Dick's horse put its foot into a badger-hole and turned
completely over, sending its rider through the air in a curve that an
East Indian acrobat would have envied. For a few seconds Dick lay flat
on his back, then he jumped up and laughed, while his comrades hurried
up anxiously to his assistance.
"No bones broke?" inquired Joe.
Dick gave a hysterical gasp. "I--I think not."
"Let's have a look. No, nothin' to speak o', be good luck. Ye should
niver go slap through a badger country like that, boy; always keep i'
the bottoms, where the grass is short. Now then, up ye go. That's it!"
Dick remounted, though not with quite so elastic a spring as usual,
and they pushed forward at a more reasonable pace.
Accidents of this kind are of common occurrence in the prairies. Some
horses, however, are so well trained that they look sharp out for
these holes, which are generally found to be most numerous on the high
and dry grounds. But in spite of all the caution both of man and horse
many ugly falls take place, and sometimes bones are broken.
They had not gone far after this accident when an antelope leaped from
a clump of willows, and made for a belt of woodland that lay along the
margin of a stream not half-a-mile off.
"Hurrah!" cried Dick, forgetting his recent fall. "Come along,
Crusoe." And away they went again full tilt, for the horse had not
been injured by its somersault.
The antelope which Dick was thus wildly pursuing was of the same
species as the one he had shot some time before--namely, the
prong-horned antelope. These graceful creatures have long, slender
limbs, delicately-formed heads, and large, beautiful eyes. The horns
are black, and rather short; they have no branches, like the antlers
of the red-deer, but have a single projection on each horn, near the
head, and the extreme points of the horns curve suddenly inwards,
forming the hook or prong from which the name of the animal is
derived. Their colour is dark yellowish brown. They are so fleet that
not one horse in a hundred can overtake them; and their sight and
sense of smell are so acute that it would be next to impossible to
kill them, were it not for the inordinate curiosity which we have
before referred to. The Indians manage to attract these simple little
creatures by merely lying down on their backs and kicking their heels
in the air, or by waving any white object on the point of an arrow,
while the hunter keeps concealed by lying flat in the grass. By these
means a herd of antelopes may be induced to wheel round and round an
object in timid but intense surprise, gradually approaching until they
come near enough to enable the hunter to make sure of his mark. Thus
the animals, which of all others _ought_ to be the most difficult to
slay, are, in consequence of their insatiable curiosity, more easily
shot than any other deer of the plains.
May we not gently suggest to the reader for his or her consideration
that there are human antelopes, so to speak, whose case bears a
striking resemblance to the prong-horn of the North American prairie?
Dick's horse was no match for the antelope, neither was Crusoe; so
they pulled up shortly and returned to their companions, to be laughed
at.
"It's no manner o' use to wind yer horse, lad, after sich game.
They're not much worth, an', if I mistake not, we'll be among the
buffalo soon. There's fresh tracks everywhere, and the herds are
scattered now. Ye see, when they keep together in bands o' thousands
ye don't so often fall in wi' them. But when they scatters about in
twos, an' threes, an' sixes ye may shoot them every day as much as ye
please."
Several groups of buffalo had already been seen on the horizon, but as
a red-deer had been shot in a belt of woodland the day before they
did not pursue them. The red-deer is very much larger than the
prong-horned antelope, and is highly esteemed both for its flesh
and its skin, which latter becomes almost like chamois leather when
dressed. Notwithstanding this supply of food, the hunters could not
resist the temptation to give chase to a herd of about nine buffaloes
that suddenly came into view as they overtopped an undulation in the
plain.
"It's no use," cried Dick, "I _must_ go at them!"
Joe himself caught fire from the spirit of his young friend, so
calling to Henri to come on and let the pack-horse remain to feed, he
dashed away in pursuit. The buffaloes gave one stare of surprise, and
then fled as fast as possible. At first it seemed as if such huge,
unwieldy carcasses could not run very fast; but in a few minutes they
managed to get up a pace that put the horses to their mettle. Indeed,
at first it seemed as if the hunters did not gain an inch; but by
degrees they closed with them, for buffaloes are not long winded.
On nearing the herd, the three men diverged from each other and
selected their animals. Henri, being short-sighted, naturally singled
out the largest; and the largest--also naturally--was a tough old
bull. Joe brought down a fat young cow at the first shot, and Dick was
equally fortunate. But he well-nigh shot Crusoe, who, just as he was
about to fire, rushed in unexpectedly and sprang at the animal's
throat, for which piece of recklessness he was ordered back to watch
the pack-horse.
Meanwhile, Henri, by dint of yelling, throwing his arms wildly about,
and digging his heels into the sides of his long-legged horse,
succeeded in coming close up with the bull, which once or twice turned
his clumsy body half round and glared furiously at its pursuer with
its small black eyes. Suddenly it stuck out its tail, stopped short,
and turned full round. Henri stopped short also. Now, the sticking out
of a buffalo's tail has a peculiar significance which it is well to
point out. It serves, in a sense, the same purpose to the hunter that
the compass does to the mariner--it points out where to go and what to
do. When galloping away in ordinary flight, the buffalo carries his
tail like ordinary cattle, which indicates that you may push on. When
wounded, he lashes it from side to side, or carries it over his back,
up in the air; this indicates, "Look out! haul off a bit!" But when he
carries it stiff and horizontal, with a _slight curve_ in the middle
of it, it says plainly, "Keep back, or kill me as quick as you can,"
for that is what Indians call the _mad tail_, and is a sign that
mischief is brewing.
Henri's bull displayed the mad tail just before turning, but he didn't
observe it, and, accordingly, waited for the bull to move and show his
shoulder for a favourable shot. But instead of doing this he put his
head down, and, foaming with rage, went at him full tilt. The big
horse never stirred; it seemed to be petrified, Henri had just time to
fire at the monster's neck, and the next moment was sprawling on his
back, with the horse rolling over four or five yards beyond him. It
was a most effective tableau--Henri rubbing his shins and grinning
with pain, the horse gazing in affright as he rose trembling from the
plain, and the buffalo bull looking on half stunned, and evidently
very much surprised at the result of his charge.
Fortunately, before he could repeat the experiment, Dick galloped up
and put a ball through his heart.
Joe and his comrades felt a little ashamed of their exploit on this
occasion, for there was no need to have killed three animals--they
could not have carried with them more than a small portion of one--and
they upbraided themselves several times during the operation of
cutting out the tongues and other choice portions of the two victims.
As for the bull, he was almost totally useless, so they left him as a
gift to the wolves.
Now that they had come among the buffalo, wolves were often seen
sneaking about and licking their hungry jaws; but although they
approached pretty near to the camp at nights, they did not give the
hunters any concern. Even Crusoe became accustomed to them at last,
and ceased to notice them. These creatures are very dangerous
sometimes, however, and when hard pressed by hunger will even attack
man. The day after this hunt the travellers came upon a wounded old
buffalo which had evidently escaped from the Indians (for a couple of
arrows were sticking in its side), only to fall a prey to his deadly
enemies, the white wolves. These savage brutes hang on the skirts of
the herds of buffaloes to attack and devour any one that may chance,
from old age or from being wounded, to linger behind the rest. The
buffalo is tough and fierce, however, and fights so desperately that,
although surrounded by fifty or a hundred wolves, he keeps up the
unequal combat for several days before he finally succumbs.
The old bull that our travellers discovered had evidently been long
engaged with his ferocious adversaries, for his limbs and flesh were
torn in shreds in many places, and blood was streaming from his sides.
Yet he had fought so gallantly that he had tossed and stamped to death
dozens of the enemy. There could not have been fewer than fifty wolves
round him; and they had just concluded another of many futile attacks
when the hunters came up, for they were ranged in a circle round their
huge adversary--some lying down, some sitting on their haunches to
rest, and others sneaking about, lolling out their red tongues and
licking their chops as if impatient to renew the combat. The poor
buffalo was nearly spent, and it was clear that a few hours more would
see him torn to shreds and his bones picked clean.
"Ugh! de brutes," ejaculated Henri.
"They don't seem to mind us a bit," remarked Dick, as they rode up to
within pistol shot.
"It'll be merciful to give the old fellow a shot," said Joe. "Them
varmints are sure to finish him at last."
Joe raised his rifle as he spoke, and fired. The old bull gave his
last groan and fell, while the wolves, alarmed by the shot, fled in
all directions; but they did not run far. They knew well that some
portion, at least, of the carcass would fall to their share; so they
sat down at various distances all round, to wait as patiently as they
might for the hunters to retire. Dick left the scene with a feeling
of regret that the villanous wolves should have their feast so much
sooner than they expected.
Yet, after all, why should we call these wolves villanous? They did
nothing wrong--nothing contrary to the laws of their peculiar nature.
Nay, if we come to reason upon it, they rank higher in this matter
than man; for while the wolf does no violence to the laws of its
instincts, man often deliberately silences the voice of conscience,
and violates the laws of his own nature. But we will not insist on the
term, good reader, if you object strongly to it. We are willing to
admit that the wolves are _not_ villanous, but, _assuredly_, they are
unlovable.
In the course of the afternoon the three horsemen reached a small
creek, the banks of which were lined with a few stunted shrubs and
trees. Having eaten nothing since the night before, they dismounted
here to "feed," as Joe expressed it.
"Cur'ous thing," remarked Joe, as he struck a light by means of flint,
steel, and tinder-box--"cur'ous thing that we're made to need sich a
lot o' grub. If we could only get on like the sarpints, now, wot can
breakfast on a rabbit, and then wait a month or two for dinner! Ain't
it cur'ous?"
Dick admitted that it was, and stooped to blow the fire into a blaze.
Here Henri uttered a cry of consternation, and stood speechless, with
his mouth open.
"What's the matter? what is't?" cried Dick and Joe, seizing their
rifles instinctively.
"De--grub--him--be--forgat!"
There was a look of blank horror, and then a burst of laughter from
Dick Varley. "Well, well," cried he, "we've got lots o' tea an' sugar,
an' some flour; we can git on wi' that till we shoot another buffalo,
or a--ha!"
Dick observed a wild turkey stalking among the willows as he spoke. It
was fully a hundred yards off, and only its head was seen above the
leaves. This was a matter of little moment, however, for by aiming a
little lower he knew that he must hit the body. But Dick had driven
the nail too often to aim at its body; he aimed at the bird's eye, and
cut its head off.
"Fetch it, Crusoe."
In three minutes it was at Dick's feet, and it is not too much to say
that in five minutes more it was in the pot.
As this unexpected supply made up for the loss of the meat which
Henri had forgotten at their last halting-place, their equanimity was
restored; and while the meal was in preparation Dick shouldered his
rifle and went into the bush to try for another turkey. He did not
get one, however, but he shot a couple of prairie-hens, which are
excellent eating. Moreover, he found a large quantity of wild grapes
and plums. These were unfortunately not nearly ripe, but Dick resolved
to try his hand at a new dish, so he stuffed the breast of his coat
full of them.
After the pot was emptied, Dick washed it out, and put a little clean
water in it. Then he poured some flour in, and stirred it well. While
this was heating, he squeezed the sour grapes and plums into what Joe
called a "mush," mixed it with a spoonful of sugar, and emptied it
into the pot. He also skimmed a quantity of the fat from the remains
of the turkey soup and added that to the mess, which he stirred with
earnest diligence till it boiled down into a sort of thick porridge.
"D'ye think it'll be good?" asked Joe gravely; "I've me doubts of it."
"We'll see.--Hold the tin dish, Henri."
"Take care of de fingers. Ha! it looks magnifique--superb!"
The first spoonful produced an expression on Henri's face that needed
not to be interpreted. It was as sour as vinegar.
"Ye'll ha' to eat it yerself, Dick, lad," cried Joe, throwing down his
spoon, and spitting out the unsavoury mess.
"Nonsense," cried Dick, bolting two or three mouthfuls, and trying to
look as if he liked it. "Try again; it's not so bad as you think."
"Ho-o-o-o-o!" cried Henri, after the second mouthful. "Tis vinégre.
All de sugare in de pack would not make more sweeter one bite of it."
Dick was obliged to confess the dish a failure, so it was thrown out
after having been offered to Crusoe, who gave it one sniff and turned
away in silence. Then they mounted and resumed their journey.
At this place mosquitoes and horse-flies troubled our hunters and
their steeds a good deal. The latter especially were very annoying to
the poor horses. They bit them so much that the blood at last came
trickling down their sides. They were troubled also, once or twice, by
cockchafers and locusts, which annoyed them, not indeed by biting,
but by flying blindly against their faces, and often-narrowly missed
hitting them in the eyes. Once particularly they were so bad that
Henri in his wrath opened his lips to pronounce a malediction on the
whole race, when a cockchafer flew straight into his mouth, and, to
use his own forcible expression, "nearly knocked him off de hoss." But
these were minor evils, and scarcely cost the hunters a thought.