A STRANGE RIDE.
When the boys had eaten their fill, there was a quantity of meat left.
This was cooked still more over the coals, wrapped about with the
greenest leaves that could be got, and then packed in the bundle which
Terry Clark strapped to his back.
"There's enough of the same," he explained, "to presarve us from pinin'
away with starvation, which reminds me now that I promised ye that I'd
show ye the properest way in which to bring down a buffalo."
"I'm willing to wait until some other time," said Fred, who feared there
would be dangerous delay; "I am more anxious to get forward than I am to
see you make an exhibition of yourself."
"It will not take me long," replied Terry, who was sure there could be
no miss where the animals were so plentiful, while of course the delay
ought to be slight.
"If thim Winnebagos that we obsarved last night have started this way,
they ain' t any more than fairly goin', which puts thim at the laast
calculation a dozen good miles behind us; they won't walk any faster
than we do, so we'll git to the camp a long ways ahead of 'em."
"All this sounds reasonable, but you know we have learned that they are
not the only Winnebagos in these parts; but then they are under the eye
of Deerfoot and he would give us warning."
"That sittles it, as I previously remarked some time ago, in token of
which we will shake hands on the same."
The Irish lad had made such an enjoyable meal that he was in the highest
spirits. He extended his hand to his friend and shook it warmly, as he
was inclined to do for slight cause.
"Now stand still, obsarve, admire and remimber."
And with this high flown counsel, Terry with his gun in position began
moving toward an enormous bull. The latter really was not so close to
him as was a cow, but he thought it beneath his dignity to spend his
ammunition on such game as had served for their dinner.
Although Terry Clark's natural love of humor often led him to assume
what he failed to feel, he was hopeful in the present instance that he
would be able to carry out the little scheme in mind. He knew that the
weapon in his hand was a good one, and he was already so close to the
buffalo that he was sure of bringing it down at the first fire.
While he was willing to admit that Fred's shot could not have been
improved, so far as effectiveness was concerned, yet he was in earnest
in his intention of firing at the head. He knew that no animal is of any
account after its brain has been perforated, and it seemed to him that
it was more appropriate for a true sportsman to bring down his game by
that means instead of firing at its body.
Terry made a mistake from which his experience on the border ought to
have saved him. Had he driven his bullet into the eye of the buffalo, he
could have slain him, but he was almost certain to fail by firing
simply at the head. It would have been far better had he followed the
example that his companion set.
The bull upon which he had cast his eyes was about twenty yards from the
wood. He did not raise his head until this distance was diminished by
one half. Just then a cow showed some alarm of the approaching figure
and walked hastily away. This caused the bull to throw up his head and
stare at Terry.
"Obsarve!" called the latter to his friend, who began to feel uneasy
over the appearance of things.
A dozen spears of grass seemed to be dripping from the mouth of the
magnificent bull, who glared at the figure of the young man in the act
of leveling his gun as though he had some curiosity to know what was
going on.
Terry aimed at the head, making the part between and above the eyes his
target. This was probably the most invulnerable spot of the animal.
The bull was still staring at the intruder, when the latter, aiming at
the point named, fired. The bullet struck the bony ridge at the upper
part of the head and glanced off into space, inflicting no more real
injury than a paper wad.
But the impingement of the lead must have given the stupid brute an idea
that harm was meant. His anger was roused, and, dropping his head with a
savage bellow, he charged the young hunter at full speed.
This was giving the matter an unpleasant turn, but there was no time to
argue, and flinging his gun aside, Terry gave the finest exhibition of
running he had ever shown. No one could have realized better than did he
that the bull "meant business" and it would never do to allow himself to
be caught.
Fred Linden himself was so startled by the sudden onslaught of the
animal that he was flurried and fired without taking proper aim. He
struck him, but he was unable to check his charge: indeed he rather
added to his fury. Stepping back, so as to shield himself as much as he
could behind the nearest tree, he began reloading his weapon with the
utmost haste.
Meantime Terry, by desperate running, reached the tree at which he aimed
a few steps in advance of his formidable foe. He had no time to climb
the trunk, but believing the lowermost limb was within reach, he made a
leap, seized it with both hands and swung himself out of reach, just as
the bull thundered beneath like a runaway engine.
Finding he had missed his victim, the savage beast snorted with rage,
wheeled about, came back a few paces and was passing beneath the limb
again, when a singular accident gave an astonishing turn to the whole
business.
The limb which afforded Terry Clark his temporary safety was unable to
bear his weight, and, while he was struggling to raise himself to the
upper side and it was bending low with him, it broke like a pipe stem
close to the body of the tree.
This took place so suddenly that the youth had not the slightest
warning. Indeed it would not have availed him had he known what was
coming, for the time was too brief in which to help himself.
Down he came with the limb grasped in both hands and fell squarely on
the back of the buffalo bull. Fortunately the bewildered animal had
just shifted his position, so that the lad fell with his face turned
toward the head instead of in "reverse order."
Even in that exciting moment Terry saw the grotesqueness of the
situation. His legs were stretched apart so as to span the animal just
back of his enormous neck. Letting go of the branch that had played him
the trick, he grasped the bushy mane with both hands and yelled in a
voice that might have been heard a mile away:
"_All aboard! off wid ye!_"
So far as a bull is capable of feeling emotion, that particular specimen
must have been in a peculiar frame of mind. He glared about him, here
and there, turned part way round, as if the whole thing was more than he
could understand, and then as his bulging eyes caught sight of the
remarkable load on his back and he felt the weight of the burden, he was
seized with a panic.
He emitted a single whiffing snort, and flinging his tail high in air,
made for the other side of the prairie as if Death himself was racing at
his heels. His actions were of that pronounced character that his
fright communicated itself to the rest of the herd. There was a general
uplifting of heads, and then, as the bulls and cows saw their most
eminent leader tearing across the prairie with a live boy astride of his
back, the sight was too much for them. A wholesale series of snorts and
bellows followed, tails were flirted aloft, and away the whole herd
went, fairly making the ground tremble beneath their tread.
By the time the alarmed Fred Linden had his rifle reloaded there was not
a buffalo within a hundred yards of him. The one that bore his friend on
his back was making as good time as the fleetest and was well toward the
head of the drove. The panic began like an eddy of the sea; there was a
surging of the animals toward the other side of the prairie and away
they went, as I have said, with their tails and heels in the air, as if
they meant to keep up their headlong flight for twenty miles, as is
sometimes the case, when an immense drove become stampeded on the great
plains of the west.
Whatever feelings of amusement might have been first aroused by the
figure that Terry cut on the back of the terrified bull were lost in the
dreadful fear of Fred that it would prove a fatal ride for his friend.
He could see him plainly for a fourth of a mile, but by that time the
trampling hoofs raised a dust in the dry grass which partly obscured the
herd and made it impossible to distinguish the figure of the lad
clinging to the mane of his novel charger.
"He will fall off," was the exclamation of Fred, "and will be trampled
to death by the others."
He recalled that the bull must have been wounded by his own shot, but
that knowledge gave him concern instead of relief; for if the bull
should give out, he would be trampled by those who were thundering so
close at his heels.
The buffaloes did not preserve the open order which marked them when
they were grazing, but crowded together, so that their backs looked like
brown dusty waves, rising and falling rapidly from the motions of their
bodies.
Fred quickly recovered from his astonishment. He had reloaded his gun,
but when ready to fire, was afraid to do so. Too many other buffaloes
interposed between him and the bull, and had he discharged his weapon,
he would have been as likely to hit Terry as to wound the brute that was
carrying him away with such speed.
Running to where the rifle of the boy lay, Fred picked it up, hastily
reloaded it, and started after the herd. He broke into a loping trot
such as an Indian shows when hurriedly following a trail. He kept his
eyes on the fast receding animals, his interest being now centered on
the moment when they should reach the wood on the other side of the
prairie.
"It will be the death of him if they dash among the trees," he thought;
"for he will be struck by some limb and have his brains dashed out."
But such a catastrophe did not take place. The fleeing animals must have
known that their headlong speed could not be kept up among the trees and
undergrowth; so, when those at the head of the drove were close to the
edge of the wood they swerved to the left, and the others followed with
the same furious swiftness with which they had sped across the open.
Fred Linden at this time was not a third of the way across the prairie,
and he stopped and viewed the sight. He could distinguish the animals
much better than when they were tearing straight away from him. They
ran, so to speak, from under the cloud of dust that had obscured his
vision, which, sweeping backward, left all in plain view.
What he saw, too, showed that the buffaloes possessed varying rates of
speed. A dozen were well to the front, still crowding close together,
while the rest, also in close order, were strung along at different
distances. Still, they were so far from Fred that his view was any thing
but satisfactory. Shading his eyes with his hand, he peered through the
autumn air in the search for his friend.
"There he is!" he exclaimed, but the words were hardly out of his mouth
when he saw he was mistaken. The distance was too great for him to see
clearly.
"How long will this keep up?" was the question which he would have been
glad to answer, for it included the fate of Terence Clark. If his steed
should grow weary and fall behind the others, possibly he would give his
rider a chance to leap to the ground and make off; but the likelihood of
that taking place was so remote that Fred could feel no hope.