THE flight of so immense a number of bison during the dry season would have filled the air with thick clouds of suffocating dust, but our friends were spared this infliction. It was not only early in the season, when the grass was green and the soil damp, but there had been a heavy rainfall a couple of days before.

After the rear of the herd had thundered past, bellowing, flinging their heels and putting forth their best exertions, as if Death himself were nipping at their heels, the little party having quieted their horses, remounted and gazed after the vanishing drove. A singular result of the shots of Deerfoot and Mul-tal-la showed itself. In neither case was the bison killed outright, but the one struck by the Shawanoe and four of those hit by the Blackfoot were so badly wounded that they wabbled and sagged down and were quickly crushed. Here and there, at varying distances, the dark humps were seen in the trampled grass, looking like mounds of brown dirt.

Since the four made it a rule to depend upon their rifles for food, they had no sooner reloaded the weapons than they set out to secure their dinner from the spoils before them. All had eaten bison meat before. Though some profess to relish it, the flesh is rather tough and sometimes so strong that it takes a hungry man to enjoy such a meal. The animal, however, like all others, has his choice portions.

Mul-tal-la was sure that no more palatable feast could be had than from buffalo tongue. Accordingly, he and Deerfoot, leaving the rest of the game untouched, provided themselves with those delicacies, which were well cooked by means of dried buffalo chips, and all declared themselves well satisfied.

Strange that only a comparatively short time ago millions of bison roamed over the prairies of the West, and to-day you never meet a specimen except the few that are preserved with difficulty in Yellowstone Park, and in several zoological collections. The last bison must soon disappear and the animal become extinct, all because of the wanton cruelty of men who called themselves sportsmen and butchered the creatures by the thousand.

The dinner was made without water, which was a small matter, for there was no need of the explorers suffering on that account, since streams were abundant and they did not have to travel far to obtain the element of the best quality.

It was about the middle of the afternoon that Deerfoot led the way up another of the numerous rises in the prairie, and halted to give the horses a needed rest. Although the pace was kept at a walk, traveling through the luxuriant grass was trying, and consideration was due the animals who did the work.

As usual, the four who dismounted scanned every part of the visible horizon. George Shelton often called his spyglass into use while riding over the plain, and thus gained the pleasure of being the first to announce certain discoveries; but the elevations, that were never of much extent, gave a more favorable view.

Directly westward, in a line with the course they were pursuing, all, without the aid of the glass, observed five or six animals cropping the grass. They were of delicate build, resembling deer, but looked more dainty and graceful. It was not until after Mul-tal-la and Deerfoot had studied them for several minutes through the glass that the former made known their nature. They were antelopes, one of the fleetest and most quick-sighted animals in the West.

Although they were fully a fourth of a mile away, they saw the travelers the instant they came up the rise of land. They tossed their heads and stared at the strangers while the latter were studying them. Then they dashed off with the speed of the wind, but did not go far when they stopped short, turned part way round and gazed at the horsemen, as if expecting them to follow. Seeing they did not, the antelopes resumed their grazing, the two most timid stopping every now and then to look up, as if in doubt whether they ought not to place a greater distance between them and the strange-looking creatures on the elevation.

“Would my brothers like to eat of antelope!” asked Mul-tal-la, addressing all three of his companions.

“I suppose it would taste good,” replied Victor, “for everything tastes that way in this part of the world, which I suppose is because I’m so plaguey hungry most of the time.”

“Mul-tal-la cannot get nigh enough to bring down the antelopes,” remarked Deerfoot, “for they go faster than any of our horses can run.”

“My brother Deerfoot cannot get near enough to shoot an antelope, but Mul-tal-la finds no trouble in doing so.”

The brothers were astonished by the audacity of this remark. Did the Blackfoot presume to think his fleetness of foot could be compared with that of the Shawanoe, who had never met his equal? They looked at Deerfoot to see how he took the slur. He was never troubled by such trifles.

“It will please the heart of Deerfoot to see his brother bring back one of the antelopes. Does he want Deerfoot’s gun?”

“No; it shall be done with Mul-tal-la’s bow and arrow,” was another surprising declaration.

Saying no more, the Blackfoot, bearing his long bow in his right hand, walked down the gentle slope and moved, not toward the antelopes, but to the south. The timid creatures noticed him at once, for he made no effort to conceal himself. All the six raised their heads and watched him with evident misgiving. The two that had shown so much fear from the first glanced first at him and then at the group on the rise in the prairie, as if uncertain which was the most to be dreaded.

Had Mul-tal-la walked directly toward the animals they would have been off like so many arrows, but he bore away as if they were not in his mind. As it was, however, three of the antelopes galloped a hundred yards or so to the north, when, seeing that their companions did not follow, they stopped and resumed their staring.

The warrior walked steadily until he was equidistant from his friends and from the antelopes. Still facing away from the latter, he now sank to the ground and began creeping toward the animals. Deerfoot, who, like the boys, was watching every movement, smiled.

“They will not let my brother come nigh enough to reach them with an arrow,” he remarked, not a little amused over what looked like the certain discomfiture of his companion, for, despite the tall grass, he was sure to be detected by the creatures.

Sure enough, he had advanced but a little way when the whole six bounded off as if they would never stop. Mul-tal-la ceased crawling, but did not rise.

“What is he doing?” asked the puzzled Victor, closely watching the red man, who could be plainly seen without the aid of the glass.

His action was curious. Still lying on his face, he raised one hand as far above his head as he could reach, and slowly waved it from side to side with a regular, pendulum movement. The antelopes that were bounding off abruptly stopped, wheeled part way round and stared at the oscillating hand. They stood for a little while, and then one of them began stepping cautiously toward the object. The others reluctantly imitated him, so that the singular sight of six antelopes marching carefully in Indian file was displayed. Deerfoot chuckled, for he now understood the trick.

Before long the leader paused, stared a moment, and then, whirling suddenly around, dashed off with an amazing burst of speed, only, however, to run for less than fifty yards, when the former performance was repeated. The foremost halted, turned once more and stepped gingerly in the direction of that hand, with the fringed covering for the arm, swaying from side to side. This time he approached nearer than before, though with frequent halts and bluffs at dashing off again.

Had Mul-tal-la varied his rhythmic swing or risen to a stooping posture even, or tried to creep nearer, the antelopes would have fled like so many birds on the wing. But his action was that of an automaton, and all the time he lay low in the grass, never removing his eyes from the game he had marked for his own.

First forward, then a halt, then a brief retreat, followed by a still closer approach, the little farce went on, until the interested Deerfoot and the boys saw that the foremost antelope was almost within reach of Mul-tal-la. Then for some time the issue looked doubtful.

But the same cause that has been the death of unnumbered antelopes proved the undoing of another on this particular afternoon. Five remained in the background, but one, and he the best of the bunch, kept slowly stepping, with frequent stops, until at last he crossed the dead line and sealed his fate.

The pretty creature seemed to awaken to the startling fact, for he abruptly wheeled to dash off. In the act of turning Mul-tal-la quickly drew his arrow to a head and launched it. The watchers caught a glimpse of the feathered missile as it rose from the grass, made a slight curve, and, while the antelope was turning, buried itself to the feather in his side, entering just back of the fore leg.

The victim made a leap straight up in air, spun around several times like a top, and then dived to the ground, rolled on its side, and, after some pawings, ceased to struggle. Never was game more fairly brought down.

The moment Mul-tal-la let fly with the arrow he sprang to his feet and hurried after it. The five antelopes were off at full speed, never pausing, and soon disappeared in the distance. The Blackfoot was seen to bend over his quarry and busy himself with his knife. Then he walked proudly toward his friends, bringing his prize with him. He had done what he promised, and all congratulated him.

It was still early in the afternoon and the party resumed traveling, deflecting a little to the south. Before it was dark they came to a small tributary of the Arkansas, where they decided to camp for the night. When the antelope meat was dressed, washed and broiled in the same way as their midday meal had been prepared, it proved rather disappointing. The animal was lean, the meat tough and not specially palatable. It was agreed that they would have done better by making use of the best portions of one of the bison which had been brought down.

Mul-tal-la, who knew all about these timid creatures, told his friends of their most striking peculiarity. While it is impossible to approach them by direct means, an appeal to their insatiate curiosity rarely or never fails. Even the wolves make use of this remarkable weakness. One of the cunning pests will lie in the grass, revealing just enough of his head or body to attract the notice of the antelopes in the distance. The trick is more difficult in this case than when a hunter plays it. Sometimes it is so prolonged, because of the suspicions of the game, that one wolf will relieve another before the victim is brought near enough to be seized.

A more common plan is for the wolves to attack the creatures when crossing rivers or large streams. They are poor swimmers, though among the fleetest of animals, and are helpless when thus assailed.

The morrow proved as fine as the preceding two or three days. The sun shone bright and the few clouds drifting across the sky only served to make the deep blue softer and more beautiful. While the morning was somewhat cool, the weather was quickly modified by the rays of the sun. Even the horses seemed to catch the glow of high spirits and broke into an easy gallop without any urging on the part of their riders. Zigzag was the only one that objected, and he did it through simple stubbornness, for his burden was not onerous.

The afternoon of this day brought an experience to Deerfoot the like of which was never known before or afterward. He was thrown from his horse, and that, too, when his gait was a walk. It came about in this manner:

He was riding slightly in advance, as was his custom. He had swept the horizon with his eyes, as he always did at intervals, and seeing nothing unusual, allowed himself to sink into a reverie. This was not amiss, for such spells of meditation never lasted long and nothing of an alarming character could steal undetected upon them, even if he should forget his surroundings for an indefinite time. Mul-tal-la was always alert, and George Shelton was as fond as ever of appealing to his spyglass.

The horse Simon was walking easily forward when one hoof entered a gopher hole and he sank to his knee. The stop was so abrupt that Deerfoot, who was entirely off his guard, slid over the animal’s neck to the ground. He was taken completely by surprise, without a second for preparation, but even then he dropped upon his feet and turned to learn the cause of the mishap.

George and his brother smiled at the discomfiture of their friend, but ceased the next instant when they saw that his horse had been seriously hurt. He attempted to take a step, but checked himself with a moan of pain, and then rested on his three legs. The alarmed Deerfoot stooped and gently passed his hand over the injured portion. Simon moaned again and placed his nose on the shoulder of his owner, as if begging him to give him relief.

The young Shawanoe straightened up, patted the forehead of the suffering beast, and said in a choking voice:

“His leg is broken!”

And then he nerved himself to do the hardest thing of his life. With the eyes of the dumb animal fixed appealingly upon him, as if he read his purpose, Deerfoot brought his rifle to a level and sent a bullet through the brain of the horse.

It was an act of mercy, but it hurt the youth more than the victim. He stood with the smoking weapon in his hand, looked at Simon as he sank unconscious to the ground, breathing out his life as he did so with a single pitiful moan. Then Deerfoot turned away and, bowing his head, sobbed like a child.

Simon had always been a good animal, though he was not the equal, either in speed or intelligence, of many others; but a man and horse cannot be comrades very long without forming an affection for each other. Deerfoot’s kindness to such dumb beasts always drew them toward him, and he had learned to love this devoted horse who had borne him hundreds of miles from his home.

Neither George nor Victor Shelton spoke, for they sympathized so deeply with their friend that their voices would have broken had they tried to utter a word. They had reined up their own animals, and now quietly waited for the Shawanoe to speak. The Blackfoot had also halted and, instead of looking at his comrade, turned his face toward the west. Not a muscle of his face moved, and no one could have read his thoughts, but it cannot be doubted that he sympathized with the young Shawanoe. Unable to console him, Mul-tal-la held his peace.

It was several minutes before Deerfoot was able to master his grief. By and by he regained his self-control, but all saw the traces of tears when he faced his friends. He spoke in an even voice, but his words were remarkable:

“My brothers, Deerfoot has read the Bible through many times. He has searched every page, but has not yet found a place where it says that the poor animals like Simon shall not inherit the kingdom that awaits us. Deerfoot believes he shall meet Simon again in that country, and if my brothers think different let them not say so.”

And yet there are thousands to-day who hold the same sweet belief that was held by Deerfoot the Shawanoe.