PLAY COMES AFTER WORK.
The two cabins built, wood for the winter cut and hauled, and the
planting all done, there was now nothing left to do but to wait and
see the crop ripen. Their good friend Younkins was in the same
fortunate condition, and he was ready to suggest, to the intense
delight of the boys, that they might be able to run into a herd of
buffalo, if they should take a notion to follow the old Indian trail
out to the feeding-grounds. In those days there was no hunting west of
the new settlement, except that by the Indians. In that vague and
mysterious way by which reports travel--in the air, as it were--among
all frontier settlements, they had heard that buffalo were plenty in
the vast ranges to the westward, the herds moving slowly northward,
grazing as they went. It was now the season of wild game, and so the
boys were sent across to Younkins's to ask him what he thought of a
buffalo-hunting trip.
Reaching his cabin, the good woman of the house told them that he had
gone into the tall timber near by, thinking he heard some sort of wild
birds in the underbrush. He had taken his gun with him; in fact,
Younkins was seldom seen without his gun, except when he was at work
in the fields. The boys gleefully followed Younkins's trail into the
forest, making for an opening about a half-mile away, where Mrs.
Younkins thought he was most likely to be found. "Major," the big
yellow dog, a special pet of Sandy's, accompanied them, although his
mistress vainly tried to coax him back. Major was fond of boys'
society.
"There's Younkins now!" cried Oscar, as they drew near an opening in
the wood into which the hot sunlight poured. Younkins was half
crouching and cautiously making his way into the nearer side of the
opening, and the boys, knowing that he was on the track of game,
silently drew near, afraid of disturbing the hunter or the hunted.
Suddenly Major, catching sight of the game, bounded forward with a
loud bark into the tangle of berry bushes and vines. There was a
confused noise of wings, a whistle of alarm which also sounded like
the gobble of a turkey, and four tremendous birds rose up, and with a
motion, that was partly a run and partly a flying, they disappeared
into the depths of the forest. To their intense surprise, the usually
placid Younkins turned savagely upon the dog, and saying, "Drat that
fool dog!" fired one barrel loaded with fine bird-shot into poor
Major.
"Four as fine wild turkeys as you ever saw in your life!" he
explained, as if in apology to the boys. "I was sure of at least two
of 'em; and that lunkhead of a dog must needs dash in and scare 'em
up. It's too pesky blamed bad!"
The boys were greatly mortified at the disaster that they had brought
upon Younkins and Major by bringing the dog out with them. But when
Charlie, as the eldest, explained that they had no idea that Major
would work mischief, Younkins said, "Never mind, boys, for you did not
know what was going on-like."
Younkins, ashamed, apparently, of his burst of temper, stooped down,
and discovering that Major's wounds were not very serious, extracted
the shot, plucked a few leaves of some plant that he seemed to know
all about, and pressed the juice into the wounds made by the shot. The
boys looked on with silent admiration. This man knew everything, they
thought. They had often marvelled to see how easily and unerringly he
found his way through woods, streams, and over prairies; now he showed
them another gift. He was a "natural-born doctor," as his wife proudly
said of him.
"No turkey for supper to-night," said Younkins, as he picked up his
shot-gun and returned with the boys to the cabin. He was "right glad,"
he said, to agree to go on a buffalo hunt, if the rest of the party
would like to go. He knew there must be buffalo off to the westward.
He went with Mr. Fuller and Mr. Battles last year, about this time,
and they had great luck. He would come over that evening and set a
date with the other men for starting out together.
[Illustration: THEY WERE FEASTING THEMSELVES ON ONE OF THE DELICIOUS
WATERMELONS THAT NOW SO PLENTIFULLY DOTTED THEIR OWN CORN-FIELD.]
Elated with this ready consent of Younkins, the lads went across the
ford, eager to tell their elders the story of the wild turkeys and
poor Major's exploit. Sandy, carrying his shot-gun on his shoulder,
lingered behind while the other two boys hurried up the trail to the
log-cabin. He fancied that he heard a noise as of ducks quacking, in
the creek that emptied into the Fork just below the ford. So, making
his way softly to the densely wooded bank of the creek, he parted the
branches with great caution and looked in. What a sight it was! At
least fifty fine black ducks were swimming around, feeding and
quacking sociably together, entirely unconscious of the wide-open blue
eyes that were staring at them from behind the covert of the thicket.
Sandy thought them even more wonderful and beautiful than the young
fawn and his dam that he had seen on the Fort Riley trail. For a
moment, fascinated by the rare spectacle, he gazed wonderingly at the
ducks as they swam around, chasing each other, and eagerly hunting for
food. It was but for a moment, however. Then he raised his shot-gun,
and taking aim into the thickest of the flock, fired both barrels in
quick succession. Instantly the gay clamor of the pretty creatures
ceased, and the flock rose with a loud whirring of wings, and wheeled
away over the tree-tops. The surface of the water, to Sandy's excited
imagination, seemed to be fairly covered with birds, some dead, and
some struggling with wounded limbs. The other two boys, startled by
the double report from Sandy's gun, came scampering down the trail,
just as the lad, all excitement, was stripping off his clothes to wade
into the creek for his game.
"Ducks! Black ducks! I've shot a million of 'em!" cried the boy,
exultingly; and in another instant he plunged into the water up to his
middle, gathering the ducks by the legs and bringing them to the bank,
where Charlie and Oscar, discreetly keeping out of the oozy creek,
received them, counting the birds as they threw them on the grass.
"Eighteen, all told!" shouted Oscar, when the last bird had been
caught, as it floundered about among the weeds, and brought ashore.
"Eighteen ducks in two shots!" cried Sandy, his freckled face fairly
beaming with delight. "Did ever anybody see such luck?"
They all thought that nobody ever had.
"What's that on your leg?" asked Oscar, stooping to pick from Sandy's
leg a long, brown object looking like a flat worm. To the boys'
intense astonishment, the thing would not come off, but stretched out
several inches in length, holding on by one end.
Sandy howled with pain. "It is something that bites," he cried.
"And there's another,--and another! Why, he's covered all over with
'em!" exclaimed Oscar.
Sure enough, the lad's legs, if not exactly covered, were well
sprinkled with the things.
"Scrape 'em off with your knife!" cried Sandy.
Oscar usually carried a sheath-knife at his belt, "more for the style
of the thing, than use," he explained; so with this he quickly took
off the repulsive creatures, which, loosening their hold, dropped to
the ground limp and shapeless.
"Leeches," said Charlie, briefly, as he poked one of them over with a
stick. The mystery was explained, and wherever one of them had been
attached to the boy's tender skin, blood flowed freely for a few
minutes, and then ceased. Even on one or two of the birds they found a
leech adhering to the feathers where the poor thing's blood had
followed the shot. Picking up the game, the two boys escorted the
elated Sandy to the cabin, where his unexpected adventures made him
the hero of the day.
"Couldn't we catch some of those leeches and sell them to the
doctors?" asked the practical Oscar.
His father shook his head. "American wild leeches like those are not
good for much, my son. I don't know why not; but I have been told that
only the imported leeches are used by medical men."
"Well," said Sandy, tenderly rubbing his wounded legs, "if imported
leeches can bite any more furiously than these Kansas ones do, I don't
want any of them to tackle me! I suppose these were hungry, though,
not having had a taste of a fresh Illinois boy lately. But they didn't
make much out of me, after all."
Very happy were those three boys that evening, as, filled with roast
wild duck, they sat by and heard their elders discuss with Younkins
the details of the grand buffalo hunt that was now to be organized.
Younkins had seen Mr. Fuller, who had agreed to make one of the party.
So there would be four men and the three boys to compose the
expedition. They were to take two horses, Fuller's and Younkins's, to
serve as pack-animals, for the way to the hunting-ground might be
long; but the hunting was to be done on foot. Younkins was very sure
that they would have no difficulty in getting near enough to shoot;
the animals had not been hunted much in those parts at that time, and
the Indians killed them on foot very often. If Indians could do that,
why could not white men?
The next two days were occupied in preparations for the expedition, to
the great delight of the boys, who recalled with amusement something
of a similar feeling that they had when they were preparing for their
trip to Kansas, long ago, away back in Dixon. How far off that all
seemed now! Now they were in the promised land, and were going out to
hunt for big game--buffalo! It seemed too good to be true.
Bread was made and baked; smoked side-meat, and pepper and salt
packed; a few potatoes taken, as a luxury in camp-life; blankets,
guns, and ammunition prepared; and above all, plenty of coffee,
already browned and ground, was packed for use. It was a merry and a
buoyant company that started out in the early dawn of a September
morning, having snatched a hasty breakfast, of which the excited boys
had scarcely time to taste. Buffalo beef, they confidently said, was
their favorite meat. They would dine on buffalo hump that very day.
Oscar, more cautious than the others, asked Younkins if they were sure
to see buffalo soon.
"Surely," replied he; "I was out to the bend of the Fork just above
the bluffs, last night, and the plains were just full of 'em, just
simply black-like, as it were."
"What?" exclaimed all three boys, in a breath. "Plains full of them,
and you didn't even mention it! What a funny man you are."
Mr. Howell reminded them that Mr. Younkins had been accustomed to see
buffalo for so long that he did not think it anything worth mentioning
that he had seen vast numbers of the creatures already. So, as they
pressed on, the boys strained their eyes in the distance, looking for
buffalo. But no animals greeted their sight, as they passed over the
long green swales of the prairie, mile after mile, now rising to the
top of a little eminence, and now sinking into a shallow valley; but
occasionally a sneaking, stealthy coyote would noiselessly trot into
view, and then, after cautiously surveying them from a distance,
disappear, as Sandy said, "as if he had sunk into a hole in the
ground." It was in vain that they attempted to get near enough to one
of these wary animals to warrant a shot. It is only by great good luck
that anybody ever shoots a coyote, although in countries where they
abound every man's hand is against them; they are such arrant thieves,
as well as cowards.
But at noon, while the little party was taking a luncheon in the shade
of a solitary birch that grew by the side of a little creek, or
runlet, Sandy, the irrepressible, with his bread and meat in his hand,
darted off to the next roll of the prairie, a high and swelling hill,
in fact, "to see what he could see." As soon as the lad had reached
the highest part of the swale, he turned around and swung his arms
excitedly, too far off to make his voice heard. He jumped up and down,
whirled his arms, and acted altogether like a young lunatic.
"The boy sees buffalo," said Younkins, with a smile of calm amusement.
He could hardly understand why anybody should be excited over so
commonplace a matter. But the other two lads were off like a shot in
Sandy's direction. Reaching their comrade, they found him in a state
of great agitation. "Oh, look at 'em! Look at 'em! Millions on
millions! Did anybody ever see the like?"
Perhaps Sandy's estimate of the numbers was a little exaggerated, but
it really was a wonderful sight. The rolls of the prairie, four or
five miles away, were dark with the vast and slow-moving herds that
were passing over, their general direction being toward the spot on
which the boys were standing. Now and again, some animals strayed off
in broken parties, but for the most part the phalanx seemed to be
solid, so solid that the green of the earth was completely hidden by
the dense herd.
The boys stood rooted to the spot with the intensity of their wonder
and delight. If there were not millions in that vast army of buffalo,
there were certainly hundreds of thousands. What would happen if that
great mob should suddenly take a notion to gallop furiously in their
direction?
"You needn't whisper so," said Charlie, noticing the awe-struck tones
of the youngsters. "They can't hear you, away off there. Why, the very
nearest of the herd cannot be less than five miles off; and they would
run from us, rather than toward us, if they were to see and hear us."
"I asked Younkins if he ever had any trouble with a buffalo when he
was hunting, and what do you suppose he said?" asked Oscar, who had
recovered his voice. "Well, he said that once he was out on horseback,
and had cornered a young buffalo bull in among some limestone ledges
up there on the Upper Fork, and 'the critter turned on him and made a
nasty noise with his mouth-like,' so that he was glad to turn and run.
'Nasty noise with his mouth,' I suppose was a sort of a snort--a
snort-like, as Younkins would say. There come the rest of the folks.
My! won't daddy be provoked that we didn't go back and help hitch
up!"
But the elders of the party had not forgotten that they were once boys
themselves, and when they reached the point on which the lads stood
surveying the sight, they also were stirred to enthusiasm. The great
herd was still moving on, the dark folds of the moving mass undulating
like the waves of a sea, as the buffalo rose and fell upon the surface
of the rolling prairie.
As if the leaders had spied the hunters, the main herd now swung away
more to the right, or northward, only a few detached parties coming
toward the little group of hunters that still watched them silently
from its elevated point of observation.
Younkins surveyed the movement critically and then announced it as his
opinion that the herd was bound for the waters of the Republican Fork,
to the right and somewhat to the northward of the party. The best
course for them to take now would be to try and cut off the animals
before they could reach the river. There was a steep and bluffy bank
at the point for which the buffalo seemed to be aiming; that would
divert them further up stream, and if the hunters could only creep
along in the low gullies of the prairie, out of the sight of the herd,
they might reach the place where the buffalo would cross before they
could get there; for the herd moved slowly; an expert walker could far
out-travel them in a direct line.
"One of you boys will have to stay here by the stuff; the rest of us
will press on in the direction of the river as fast as may be," said
Uncle Aleck. The boys looked at each other in dismay. Who would be
willing to be left behind in a chase so exciting as this? Sandy
bravely solved the puzzle.
"Here, you take my shot-gun, Charlie," he said. "It carries farther
than yours; I'll stay by the stuff and the horses; I'm pretty tired,
anyhow." His father smiled approvingly, but said nothing. He knew how
great a sacrifice the boy was making for the others.
Left alone on the hill-top, for the rest of the party moved silently
and swiftly away to the northward, Sandy felt the bitterness of
disappointment as well as of loneliness while he sat on the grass
watching with absorbed attention the motions of the great herds. All
trace of his companions was soon lost as they passed down into the
gullies and ravines that broke the ground adjacent to the Fork to the
westward of the stream. Once, indeed, he saw the figures of the
hunters, painted dark against the sky, rise over a distant swell and
disappear just as one of them turned and waved a signal in dumb show
to the solitary watcher on the hill.
"If those buffalo should get stampeded," mused Sandy, "and make a
break in this way, it would be 'all day' with those horses and the
camp stuff. I guess I had better make all fast, for there may be a
gale of wind, or a gale of buffalo, which is the same thing." So
saying, the thoughtful lad led the animals down into the gully where
the noon luncheon had been taken, removed their packs, tethered them
to the tree, and then ran back to the hill-top and resumed his watch.
There was no change in the situation except that there were, if
possible, more buffalo moving over the distant slopes of the rolling
prairie. The boy stood entranced at the sight. More, more, and yet
more of the herds were slowly moving into sight and then disappearing
in the gullies below. The dark brown folds seemed to envelop the face
of the earth. Sandy wondered where so many creatures could find
pasturage. Their bodies appeared to cover the hills and valleys, so
that there could not be room left for grazing. "They've got such big
feet," he soliloquized aloud, "that I should think that the ground
would be all pawed up where they have travelled." In the ecstasy of
his admiration, he walked to and fro on the hill-top, talking to
himself, as was his wont.
"I wonder if the other fellows can see them as I do?" he asked. "I
don't believe, after all, that it is one-half so entertaining for them
as it is for me. Oh, I just wish the folks at home could be here now,
and see this sight. It beats all nature, as Father Dixon used to say.
And to think that there are thousands of people in big cities who
don't have meat enough to eat. And all this buffalo-meat running
wild!" The boy laughed to himself at the comicality of the thought.
"Fresh beef running wild!"
The faint report of a gun fired afar off now reached his ear and he
saw a blue puff of smoke rising from the crest of a timber-bordered
hill far away. The herd in that direction seemed to swerve somewhat
and scatter, but, to his intense surprise, there was no hurry in their
movements; the brown and black folds of the great mass of animals
still slowly and sluggishly spread out and flowed like the tides of
the sea, enveloping everything. Suddenly there was another report,
then another, and another. Three shots in quick succession.
"Now they are getting in their work!" shouted the boy, fairly dancing
up and down in his excitement. "Oh, I wish I was there instead of here
looking on!"
Now the herds wavered for a moment, then their general direction was
changed from the northward to the eastward. Then there was a swift and
sudden movement of the whole mass, and the vast dark stream flowed in
a direction parallel with the Fork instead of toward it, as
heretofore.
"They are coming this way!" shouted Sandy, to the empty, silent air
around him. "I'll get a shot at 'em yet!" Then, suddenly recollecting
that his gun had been exchanged for his brother's, he added, "And
Charlie's gun is no good!"
In truth, the herd was now bound straight for the hill on which the
boy maintained his solitary watch. Swiftly running down to the gully
in which the horses were tethered, Sandy got out his brother's gun and
carefully examined the caps and the load. They had run some heavy
slugs of lead in a rude mould which they had made, the slug being just
the size of the barrel of the shot-gun. One barrel was loaded with a
heavy charge of buckshot, and the other with a slug. The latter was an
experiment, and a big slug like that could not be expected to carry
very far; it might, however, do much damage at short range.
Running up to the head of the gully, which was in the nature of a
shallow ravine draining the hill above, Sandy emerged on the highest
point of land, a few hundred feet to the right and north of his former
post of observation. The herd was in full drive directly toward him.
Suppose they should come driving down over the hills where he was!
They would sweep down into the gully, stampede the horses, and
trample all the camp stuff into bits! The boy fairly shook with
excitement as the idea struck him. On they came, the solid ground
shaking under their thundering tread.
"I must try to head 'em off," said the boy to himself. "The least I
can do is to scare them a good bit, and then they'll split in two and
the herd will divide right here. But I must get a shot at one, or the
other fellows will laugh at me."
The rushing herd was headed right for the spot where Sandy stood,
spreading out to the left and right, but with the centre of the
phalanx steering in a bee-line for the lad. Thoroughly alarmed now,
Sandy looked around, and perceiving a sharp outcropping of the
underlying stratum of limestone at the head of the little ravine, he
resolved to shelter himself behind that, in case the buffalo should
continue to come that way. Notwithstanding his excitement, the lad did
not fail to note two discharges, one after the other, in the distance,
showing that his friends were still keeping up a fusillade against the
flying herds.
At the second shot, Sandy thought that the masses in the rear swung
off more to the southward, as if panic-stricken by the firing, but the
advance guard still maintained a straight line for him. There was no
escape from it now, and Sandy looked down at the two horses tethered
in the ravine below, peacefully grazing the short, thick grass,
unconscious of the flood of buffalo undulating over the prairie above
them, and soon to swoop down over the hill-side where they were. In
another instant the lad could see the tossing, shaggy manes of the
leaders of the herd, and could even distinguish the redness of their
eyes as they swept up the incline, at the head of which he stood. He
hastily dodged behind the crag of rock; it was a small affair, hardly
higher than his head, but wide enough, he thought, to divide the herd
when they came to it. So he ducked behind it and waited for coming
events.
Sandy was right. Just beyond the rock behind which he was crouched,
the ground fell off rapidly and left a stiff slope, up which even a
stampeded buffalo would hardly climb. The ground trembled as the vast
army of living creatures came tumbling and thundering over the
prairie. Sandy, stooping behind the outcropping, also trembled, partly
with excitement and partly with fear. If the buffalo were to plunge
over the very small barrier between him and them, his fate was sealed.
For an instant his heart stood still. It was but for an instant, for,
before he could draw a long breath, the herd parted on the two sides
of the little crag. The divided stream poured down on both sides of
him, a tumultuous, broken, and disorderly torrent of animals, making
no sound except for the ceaseless beat of their tremendous hoofs.
Sandy's eyes swam with the bewildering motion of the living stream.
For a brief space he saw nothing but a confused mass of heads, backs,
and horns, hundreds of thousands flowing tumultuously past. Gradually
his sense of security came back to him, and, exulting in his safety,
he raised his gun, and muttering under his breath, "Right behind the
fore-shoulder-like, Younkins said," he took steady aim and fired. A
young buffalo bull tumbled headlong down the ravine. In their mad
haste, a number of the animals fell over him, pell-mell, but,
recovering themselves with incredible swiftness, they skipped to their
feet, and were speedily on their way down the hill. Sandy watched,
with a beating heart, the young bull as he fell heels over head two or
three times before he could rally; the poor creature got upon his
feet, fell again, and while the tender-hearted boy hesitated whether
to fire the second barrel or not, finally fell over on his side
helpless.
Meanwhile the ranks of buffalo coming behind swerved from the fallen
animal to the left and right, as if by instinct, leaving an open space
all around the point where the boy stood gazing at his fallen game. He
fired, almost at random, at the nearest of the flying buffalo; but the
buckshot whistled hurtlessly among the herd, and Sandy thought to
himself that it was downright cruelty to shoot among them, for the
scattering shot would only wound without killing the animals.
It was safe now for Sandy to emerge from his place of concealment,
and, standing on the rocky point behind which he had been hidden, he
gazed to the west and north. The tumbling masses of buffalo were
scattered far apart. Here and there he could see wide stretches of
prairie, no longer green, but trampled into a dull brown by the tread
of myriads of hurrying feet; and far to the north the land was clear,
as if the main herd had passed down to the southward. Scattered bands
still hurried along above him, here and there, nearer to the Fork, but
the main herd had gone on in the general direction of the settlers'
home.
"What if they have gone down to our cabin?" he muttered aloud. "It's
all up with any corn-field that they run across. But, then, they must
have kept too far to the south to get anywhere near our claim." And
the lad consoled himself with this reflection.
But his game was more engrossing of his attention just now than
anything else. He had been taught that an animal should not bleed to
death through a gunshot wound. His big leaden slug had gone directly
through the buffalo's vitals somewhere, for it was now quite dead.
Sandy stood beside the noble beast with a strange elation, looking at
it before he could make up his mind to cut its throat and let out the
blood. It was a young bull buffalo that lay before him, the short,
sharp horns ploughed into the ground, and the massive form, so lately
bounding over the rolling prairie, forever still. To Sandy it all
seemed like a dream, it had come and gone so quickly. His heart
misgave him as he looked, for Sandy had a tender heart. Then he gently
touched the animal with the toe of his boot and cried, "All by my own
self!"
[Illustration: HE GENTLY TOUCHED THE ANIMAL WITH THE TOE OF HIS BOOT AND
CRIED, "ALL BY MY OWN SELF."]
"Well done, Sandy!" The boy started, turned, and beheld his cousin
Oscar gazing open-mouthed at the spectacle. "And did you shoot him all
by your very own self? What with? Charlie's gun?" The lad poured forth
a torrent of questions, and Sandy proudly answered them all with,
"That is what I did."
As the two boys hung with delight over the prostrate beast, Oscar told
the tale of disappointment that the others had to relate. They had
gone up the ravines that skirted the Fork, prowling on their hands and
knees; but the watchers of the herd were too wary to let the hunters
get near enough for a good shot. They had fired several times, but had
brought down nothing. Sandy had heard the shots? Yes, Sandy had heard,
and had hoped that somebody was having great sport. After all, he
thought, as he looked at the fallen monarch of the prairie, it was
rather cruel business. Oscar did not think so; he wished he had had
such luck.
The rest of the party now came up, one after another, and all gave a
whoop of astonishment and delight at Sandy's great success as soon as
they saw his noble quarry.
The sun was now low in the west; here was a good place for camping; a
little brush would do for firing, and water was close at hand. So the
tired hunters, after a brief rest, while they lay on the trampled
grass and recounted the doings of the day, went to work at the game.
The animal was dressed, and a few choice pieces were hung on the tree
to cool for their supper. It was dark when they gathered around their
cheerful fire, as the cool autumnal evening came on, and cooked and
ate with infinite zest their first buffalo-meat. Boys who have never
been hungry with the hunger of a long tramp over the prairies, hungry
for their first taste of big game of their own shooting, cannot
possibly understand how good to the Boy Settlers was their supper on
the wind-swept slopes of the Kansas plains.
Wrapping themselves as best they could in the blankets and buffalo-robes
brought from home, the party lay down in the nooks and corners of
the ravine, first securing the buffalo-meat on the tree that made
their camp.
"What, for goodness' sake, is that?" asked Charlie, querulously, as he
was roused out of his sleep by a dismal cry not far away in the
darkness.
"Wolves," said Younkins, curtly, as he raised himself on one elbow to
listen. "The pesky critters have smelt blood; they would smell it if
they were twenty miles off, I do believe, and they are gathering round
as they scent the carcass."
By this, all of the party were awake except Sandy, who, worn out with
excitement, perhaps, slept on through all the fearful din. The mean
little prairie-wolves gathered, and barked, and snarled, in the
distance. Nearer, the big wolves howled like great dogs, their long
howl occasionally breaking into a bark; and farther and farther off,
away in the extremest distance, they could hear other wolves, whose
hollow-sounding cry seemed like an echo of their more fortunate
brethren, nearer the game. A party of the creatures were busy at the
offal from the slain buffalo, just without the range of the firelight,
for the camp-fire had been kept alight. Into the struggling, snarling
group Younkins discharged his rifle. There was a sharp yell of pain, a
confused patter of hurrying feet, and in an instant all was still.
Sandy started up. "Who's shot another buffalo?" he asked, as if
struggling with a dream. The others laughed, and Charlie explained
what had been going on, and the tired boy lay down to sleep again. But
that was not a restful night for any of the campers. The wolves
renewed their howling. The hunters were able to snatch only a few
breaths of sleep from time to time, in moments when the dismal
ululation of the wolf-chorus subsided. The sun rose, flooding the
rolling prairies with a wealth of golden sunshine. The weary campers
looked over the expanse around them, but not a remnant of the
rejected remains of the buffalo was to be seen; and in all the
landscape about, no sign of any living thing was in sight, save where
some early-rising jack-rabbit scudded over the torn sod, hunting for
his breakfast.
Fresh air, bright sunlight, and a dip in a cool stream are the best
correctives for a head heavy with want of sleep; and the hunters,
refreshed by these and a pot of strong and steaming coffee, were soon
ready for another day's sport.