_Wolves attack the horses, and Cameron circumvents the wolves_--_A
bear-hunt, in which Henri shines conspicuous_--_Joe and the
"Natter-list_"--_An alarm_--_A surprise and a capture_.
We must now return to the camp where Walter Cameron still guarded the
goods, and the men pursued their trapping avocations.
Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night by wolves while
grazing in a plain close to the camp, and on the night following a
horse that had strayed was also torn to pieces and devoured. The
prompt and daring manner in which this had been done convinced the
trader that white wolves had unfortunately scented them out, and he
set several traps in the hope of capturing them.
White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary wolves that prowl
through woods and plains in large packs. They are much larger,
weighing sometimes as much as a hundred and thirty pounds; but they
are comparatively scarce, and move about alone, or in small bands of
three or four. Their strength is enormous, and they are so fierce that
they do not hesitate, upon occasions, to attack man himself. Their
method of killing horses is very deliberate. Two wolves generally
undertake the cold-blooded murder. They approach their victim with the
most innocent-looking and frolicsome gambols, lying down and rolling
about, and frisking presently, until the horse becomes a little
accustomed to them. Then one approaches right in front, the other
in rear, still frisking playfully, until they think themselves near
enough, when they make a simultaneous rush. The wolf which approaches
in rear is the true assailant; the rush of the other is a mere feint.
Then both fasten on the poor horse's haunches, and never let go till
the sinews are cut and he is rolling on his side.
The horse makes comparatively little struggle in this deadly assault;
he seems paralyzed, and soon falls to rise no more.
Cameron set his traps towards evening in a circle with a bait in the
centre, and then retired to rest. Next morning he called Joe Blunt,
and the two went off together.
"It is strange that these rascally white wolves should be so bold when
the smaller kinds are so cowardly," remarked Cameron, as they walked
along.
"So 'tis," replied Joe; "but I've seed them other chaps bold enough
too in the prairie when they were in large packs and starvin'."
"I believe the small wolves follow the big fellows, and help them to
eat what they kill, though they generally sit round and look on at the
killing."
"Hist!" exclaimed Joe, cocking his gun; "there he is, an' no mistake."
There he was, undoubtedly. A wolf of the largest size with one of his
feet in the trap. He was a terrible-looking object, for, besides his
immense size and naturally ferocious aspect, his white hair bristled
on end and was all covered with streaks and spots of blood from his
bloody jaws. In his efforts to escape he had bitten the trap until he
had broken his teeth and lacerated his gums, so that his appearance
was hideous in the extreme. And when the two men came up he struggled
with all his might to fly at them.
Cameron and Joe stood looking at him in a sort of wondering
admiration.
"We'd better put a ball in him," suggested Joe after a time. "Mayhap
the chain won't stand sich tugs long."
"True, Joe; if it break, we might get an ugly nip before we killed
him."
So saying Cameron fired into the wolf's head and killed it. It was
found, on examination, that four wolves had been in the traps, but the
rest had escaped. Two of them, however, had gnawed off their paws and
left them lying in the traps.
After this the big wolves did not trouble them again. The same
afternoon a bear-hunt was undertaken, which well-nigh cost one of the
Iroquois his life. It happened thus:--
While Cameron and Joe were away after the white wolves, Henri came
floundering into camp tossing his arms like a maniac, and shouting
that "seven bars wos be down in de bush close by!" It chanced that
this was an idle day with most of the men, so they all leaped on their
horses, and taking guns and knives sallied forth to give battle to the
bears.
Arrived at the scene of action, they found the seven bears busily
engaged in digging up roots, so the men separated in order to surround
them, and then closed in. The place was partly open and partly covered
with thick bushes into which a horseman could not penetrate.
The moment the bears got wind of what was going forward they made off
as fast as possible, and then commenced a scene of firing, galloping,
and yelling that defies description! Four out of the seven were shot
before they gained the bushes; the other three were wounded, but made
good their retreat. As their places of shelter, however, were like
islands in the plain, they had no chance of escaping.
The horsemen now dismounted and dashed recklessly into the bushes,
where they soon discovered and killed two of the bears; the third was
not found for some time. At last an Iroquois came upon it so suddenly
that he had not time to point his gun before the bear sprang upon him
and struck him to the earth, where it held him down.
Instantly the place was surrounded by eager men; but the bushes were
so thick, and the fallen trees among which the bear stood were so
numerous, that they could not use their guns without running the risk
of shooting their companion. Most of them drew their knives and seemed
about to rush on the bear with these; but the monster's aspect, as it
glared around, was so terrible that they held back for a moment in
hesitation.
At this moment Henri, who had been at some distance engaged in the
killing of one of the other bears, came rushing forward after his own
peculiar manner. "Ah! fat is eet--hay? de bar no go under yit?"
Just then his eye fell on the wounded Iroquois with the bear above
him, and he uttered a yell so intense in tone that the bear himself
seemed to feel that something decisive was about to be done at last.
Henri did not pause, but with a flying dash he sprang like a spread
eagle, arms and legs extended, right into the bear's bosom. At the
same moment he sent his long hunting-knife down into its heart. But
Bruin is proverbially hard to kill, and although mortally wounded, he
had strength enough to open his jaws and close them on Henri's neck.
There was a cry of horror, and at the same moment a volley was fired
at the bear's head; for the trappers felt that it was better to risk
shooting their comrades than see them killed before their eyes.
Fortunately the bullets took effect, and tumbled him over at once
without doing damage to either of the men, although several of the
balls just grazed Henri's temple and carried off his cap.
Although uninjured by the shot, the poor Iroquois had not escaped
scathless from the paw of the bear. His scalp was torn almost off, and
hung down over his eyes, while blood streamed down his face. He was
conveyed by his comrades to the camp, where he lay two days in a state
of insensibility, at the end of which time he revived and recovered
daily. Afterwards when the camp moved he had to be carried; but in
the course of two months he was as well as ever, and quite as fond of
bear-hunting!
Among other trophies of this hunt there were two deer and a buffalo,
which last had probably strayed from the herd. Four or five Iroquois
were round this animal whetting their knives for the purpose of
cutting it up when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them
perform the operation, quite regardless of the fact that his neck
and face were covered with blood which flowed from one or two small
punctures made by the bear.
The Indians began by taking off the skin, which certainly did not
occupy them more than five minutes. Then they cut up the meat and made
a pack of it, and cut out the tongue, which is somewhat troublesome,
as that member requires to be cut out from under the jaw of the
animal, and not through the natural opening of the mouth. One of the
fore legs was cut off at the knee joint, and this was used as a hammer
with which to break the skull for the purpose of taking out the
brains, these being used in the process of dressing and softening the
animal's skin. An axe would have been of advantage to break the skull,
but in the hurry of rushing to the attack the Indians had forgotten
their axes; so they adopted the common fashion of using the buffalo's
hoof as a hammer, the shank being the handle. The whole operation of
flaying, cutting up, and packing the meat did not occupy more than
twenty minutes. Before leaving the ground these expert butchers
treated themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver in a raw
state!
Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they were indulging in
this little feast.
"Well, I've often seen that eaten, but I never could do it myself,"
remarked the former. "No!" cried Joe in surprise; "now that's oncommon
cur'us. I've _lived_ on raw liver an' marrow-bones for two or three
days at a time, when we wos chased by the Camanchee Injuns an' didn't
dare to make a fire; an' it's ra'al good, it is. Won't ye try it
_now_?"
Cameron shook his head.
"No, thankee; I'll not refuse when I can't help it, but until then
I'll remain in happy ignorance of how good it is."
"Well, it _is_ strange how some folk can't abide anything in the meat
way they ha'n't bin used to. D'ye know I've actually knowed men from
the cities as wouldn't eat a bit o' horseflesh for love or money.
Would ye believe it?"
"I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with such persons
myself; in fact, they are rather numerous. What are you chuckling at,
Joe?"
"Chucklin'? If ye mean be that 'larfin in to myself,' it's because I'm
thinkin' o' a chap as once comed out to the prairies."
"Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can tell me about him as
we go along."
"I think," continued Joe, "he comed from Washington, but I never could
make out right whether he wos a Government man or not. Anyhow, he wos
a pheelosopher--a natter-list I think he call his-self--"
"A naturalist," suggested Cameron.
"Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six feet two in his
moccasins, an' as thin as a ramrod, an' as blind as a bat--leastways
he had weak eyes an' wore green spectacles. He had on a gray shootin'
coat an' trousers an' vest an' cap, with rid whiskers an' a long nose
as rid at the point as the whiskers wos."
"Well, this gentleman engaged me an' another hunter to go a trip with
him into the prairies, so off we sot one fine day on three hosses,
with our blankets at our backs--we wos to depend on the rifle for
victuals. At first I thought the natter-list one o' the cruellest
beggars as iver went on two long legs, for he used to go about
everywhere pokin' pins through all the beetles an' flies an' creepin'
things he could sot eyes on, an' stuck them in a box. But he told me
he comed here a-purpose to git as many o' them as he could; so says I,
'If that's it, I'll fill yer box in no time.'
"'Will ye?' says he, quite pleased like.
"'I will,' says I, an' galloped off to a place as was filled wi' all
sorts o' crawlin' things. So I sets to work, an' whenever I seed a
thing crawlin' I sot my fut on it an' crushed it, an' soon filled my
breast pocket. I cotched a lot o' butterflies too, an' stuffed them
into my shot-pouch, an' went back in an hour or two an' showed him the
lot. He put on his green spectacles an' looked at them as if he'd seen
a rattlesnake.
"'My good man,' says he, 'you've crushed them all to pieces!'
"'They'll taste as good for all that,' says I; for somehow I'd taken't
in me head that he'd heard o' the way the Injuns make soup o' the
grasshoppers, an' wos wantin' to try his hand at a new dish!
"He laughed when I said this, an' told me he wos collectin' them to
take home to be _looked_ at. But that's not wot I was goin' to tell ye
about him," continued Joe; "I wos goin' to tell ye how we made him eat
horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this natter-list did, to load
wi' shot as small as dust a'most, an' shoot little birds with. I've
seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. An' one day he drew
it all of a suddent an' let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin',
yellin' out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed. He missed the
bee, of coorse, 'cause it wos a flyin' shot, he said, but he sent the
whole charge right into Martin's back--Martin was my comrade's name.
By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got
the length o' his skin."
"One day I noticed that the natter-list had stuffed small corks into
the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. I wondered what
they wos for, but he wos al'ays doin' sich queer things that I
soon forgot it. 'Maybe,' thought I, jist before it went out o' my
mind--'maybe he thinks that'll stop the pistol from goin' off by
accident;' for ye must know he'd let it off three times the first day
by accident, an' well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, only
the shot lodged in the back o' a big toad he'd jist stuffed into his
breeches pocket. Well, soon after we shot a buffalo bull, so when it
fell, off he jumps from his horse an' runs up to it. So did I, for I
wasn't sure the beast was dead, an' I had jist got up when it rose an'
rushed at the natter-list.
"'Out o' the way,' I yelled, for my rifle was empty; but he didn't
move, so I rushed for'ard an' drew the pistol out o' his belt and let
fly in the bull's ribs jist as it ran the poor man down. Martin came
up that moment an' put a ball through its heart, an' then we went to
pick up the natter-list. He came to in a little, an' the first thing
he said was, 'Where's my revolver?' When I gave it to him he looked
at it, an' said with a solemcholy shake o' the head, 'There's a whole
barrel-full lost!' It turned out that he had taken to usin' the
barrels for bottles to hold things in, but he forgot to draw the
charges, so sure enough I had fired a charge o' bum-bees an' beetles
an' small shot into the buffalo!
"But that's not what I wos goin' to tell ye yit. We corned to a part
o' the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for want o' game, an' the
natter-list got so thin that ye could a'most see through him, so I
offered to kill my horse, an' cut it up for meat; but you niver saw
sich a face he made. 'I'd rather die first,' says he, 'than eat it;'
so we didn't kill it. But that very day Martin got a shot at a wild
horse an' killed it. The natter-list was down in the bed o' a creek at
the time gropin' for creepers, an' he didn't see it.
"'He'll niver eat it,' says Martin.
"'That's true,' says I.
"'Let's tell him it's a buffalo,' says he.
"'That would be tellin' a lie,' says I.
"So we stood lookin' at each other, not knowin' what to do.
"'I'll tell ye what,' cries Martin; 'we'll cut it up, and take the
meat into camp an' cook it without _sayin' a word_.'
"'Done,' says I, 'that's it;' for ye must know the poor critter wos no
judge o' meat. He couldn't tell one kind from another, an' he niver
axed questions. In fact he niver a'most spoke to us all the trip.
Well, we cut up the horse, an' carried the flesh an' marrowbones into
camp, takin' care to leave the hoofs an' skin behind, an' sot to work
an' roasted steaks an' marrowbones."
"When the natter-list came back ye should ha' seen the joyful face he
put on when he smelt the grub, for he was all but starved out, poor
critter."
"'What have we got here?' cried he, rubbin' his hands an' sittin'
down."
"'Steaks an' marrow-bones,' says Martin."
"'Capital!' says he. 'I'm _so_ hungry.'"
"So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man pitch into
anything like as that natter-list did into that horseflesh."
"'These are first-rate marrow-bones,' says he, squintin' with one eye
down the shin-bone o' the hind leg to see if it was quite empty."
"'Yes, sir, they is,' answered Martin, as grave as a judge."
"'Take another, sir,' says I."
"'No, thankee,' says he with a sigh, for he didn't like to leave off."
"Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an' first-rate livin' it
wos; then we fell in with buffalo, an' niver ran short again till we
got to the settlements, when he paid us our money an' shook hands,
sayin' we'd had a nice trip, an' he wished us well. Jist as we wos
partin' I said, says I, 'D'ye know what it wos we lived on for a week
arter we wos well-nigh starved in the prairies?'"
"'What,' says he, 'when we got yon capital marrowbones?'"
"'The same,' says I. 'Yon wos _horse_ flesh,' says I; 'an' I think
ye'll surely niver say again that it isn't first-rate livin'.'"
"'Ye're jokin',' says he, turnin' pale."
"'It's true, sir; as true as ye're standin' there.'"
"Well, would ye believe it, he turned--that natter-list did--as sick
as a dog on the spot wot he wos standin' on, an' didn't taste meat
again for three days!"
Shortly after the conclusion of Joe's story they reached the camp,
and here they found the women and children flying about in a state of
terror, and the few men who had been left in charge arming themselves
in the greatest haste.
"Hallo! something wrong here," cried Cameron, hastening forward,
followed by Joe. "What has happened, eh?"
"Injuns comin', monsieur; look dere," answered a trapper, pointing
down the valley.
"Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of the camp," cried
Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced every other, and turned
confusion into order.
The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen far down the
valley, which was raised by a band of mounted Indians who approached
the camp at full speed. Their numbers could not be made out, but they
were a sufficiently formidable band to cause much anxiety to
Cameron, whose men, at the time, were scattered to the various
trapping-grounds, and only ten chanced to be within call of the camp.
However, with these ten he determined to show a bold front to the
savages, whether they came as friends or foes. He therefore ordered
the women and children within the citadel formed of the goods and
packs of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was to
be defended to the last extremity. Then galloping to the front he
collected his men and swept down the valley at full speed. In a few
minutes they were near enough to observe that the enemy only numbered
four Indians, who were driving a band of about a hundred horses before
them, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together that Cameron
and his men were close upon them before they were observed.
It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had already swept round
and cut off their retreat. In this extremity the Indians slipped from
the backs of their steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were
safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got
behind the horses and drove them towards the camp.
At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the others and made
for the mountain, with its mane and tail flying wildly in the breeze.
"Marrow-bones and buttons!" shouted one of the men, "there goes Dick
Varley's horse."
"So it am!" cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, followed by Joe
and two others.
"Why, these are our own horses," said Cameron in surprise, as they
drove them into a corner of the hills from which they could not
escape.
This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides their own
horses, they had secured upwards of seventy Indian steeds; a most
acceptable addition to their stud, which, owing to casualties and
wolves, had been diminishing too much of late. The fact was that the
Indians who had captured the horses belonging to Pierre and his party
were a small band of robbers who had travelled, as was afterwards
learned, a considerable distance from the south, stealing horses from
various tribes as they went along. As we have seen, in an evil hour
they fell in with Pierre's party and carried off their steeds, which
they drove to a pass leading from one valley to the other. Here they
united them with the main band of their ill-gotten gains, and while
the greater number of the robbers descended farther into the plains in
search of more booty, four of them were sent into the mountains with
the horses already procured. These four, utterly ignorant of the
presence of white men in the valley, drove their charge, as we have
seen, almost into the camp.
Cameron immediately organized a party to go out in search of Pierre
and his companions, about whose fate he became intensely anxious,
and in the course of half-an-hour as many men as he could spare with
safety were despatched in the direction of the Blue Mountains.