The "wallering" peculiarities of buffalo bulls--The first buffalohunt and its consequences--Crusoe comes to the rescue--Pawneesdiscovered--A monster buffalo hunt--Joe acts the part of ambassador. Fortunately the day that succeeded the drearynight described in the last chapter was warmand magnificent. The sun rose in a blaze of splendour,and filled the atmosphere with steam from the moistearth.
The unfortunates in the wet camp were not slow toavail themselves of his cheering rays. They hung upeverything on the bushes to dry, and by dint of extremepatience and cutting out the comparatively dry heartsof several pieces of wood, they lighted a fire and boiledsome rain-water, which was soon converted into soup.
This, and the exercise necessary for the performance ofthese several duties, warmed and partially dried them;so that when they once more mounted their steeds androde away, they were in a state of comparative comfortand in excellent spirits. The only annoyance was theclouds of mosquitoes and large flies that assailed menand horses whenever they checked their speed.
"I tell ye wot it is," said Joe Blunt, one fine morningabout a week after they had begun to cross the prairie,"it's my 'pinion that we'll come on buffaloes soon. Themtracks are fresh, an' yonder's one o' their wallers that'sbin used not long agone.""I'll go have a look at it," cried Dick, trotting awayas he spoke.
Everything in these vast prairies was new to DickVarley, and he was kept in a constant state of excitementduring the first week or two of his journey. Itis true he was quite familiar with the names and habitsof all the animals that dwelt there; for many a time andoft had he listened to the "yarns" of the hunters andtrappers of the Mustang Valley, when they returnedladen with rich furs from their periodical hunting expeditions.
But this knowledge of his only served towhet his curiosity and his desire to see the denizens ofthe prairies with his own eyes; and now that his wishwas accomplished, it greatly increased the pleasures ofhis journey.
Dick had just reached the "wallow" referred to byJoe Blunt, and had reined up his steed to observe itleisurely, when a faint hissing sound reached his ear.
Looking quickly back, he observed his two companionscrouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly descendinginto a hollow of the prairie in front of them,as if they wished to bring the rising ground betweenthem and some object in advance. Dick instantly followedtheir example, and was soon at their heels.
"Ye needn't look at the waller," whispered Joe, "fora' tother side o' the ridge there's a bull wallerin'.""Ye don't mean it!" exclaimed Dick, as they all dismountedand picketed their horses to the plain.
"Oui," said Henri, tumbling off his horse, while abroad grin overspread his good-natured countenance,"it is one fact! One buffalo bull be wollerin' like aenormerous hog. Also, dere be t'ousands o' buffaloesfarder on.""Can ye trust yer dog keepin' back?" inquired Joe,with a dubious glance at Crusoe.
"Trust him! Ay, I wish I was as sure o' myself.""Look to yer primin', then, an' we'll have tonguesand marrow bones for supper to-night, I'se warrant.
Hist! down on yer knees and go softly. We mightha' run them down on horseback, but it's bad to windyer beasts on a trip like this, if ye can help it; an' it'sabout as easy to stalk them. Leastways, we'll try.
Lift yer head slowly, Dick, an' don't show more nor thehalf o't above the ridge."Dick elevated his head as directed, and the scene thatmet his view was indeed well calculated to send anelectric shock to the heart of an ardent sportsman.
The vast plain beyond was absolutely blackened withcountless herds of buffaloes, which were browsing onthe rich grass. They were still so far distant that theirbellowing, and the trampling of their myriad hoofs, onlyreached the hunters like a faint murmur on the breeze.
In the immediate foreground, however, there was agroup of about half-a-dozen buffalo cows feeding quietly,and in the midst of them an enormous old bull wasenjoying himself in his wallow. The animals, towardswhich our hunters now crept with murderous intent,are the fiercest and the most ponderous of the ruminatinginhabitants of the western wilderness. The name ofbuffalo, however, is not correct. The animal is the bison,and bears no resemblance whatever to the buffalo proper;but as the hunters of the far west, and, indeed,travellers generally, have adopted the misnomer, we bowto the authority of custom and adopt it too.
Buffaloes roam in countless thousands all over theNorth American prairies, from the Hudson Bay Territories,north of Canada, to the shores of the Gulf ofMexico.
The advance of white men to the west has driventhem to the prairies between the Missouri and the RockyMountains, and has somewhat diminished their numbers;but even thus diminished, they are still innumerable inthe more distant plains. Their colour is dark brown,but it varies a good deal with the seasons. The hairor fur, from its great length in winter and spring andexposure to the weather, turns quite light; but whenthe winter coat is shed off, the new growth is a beautifuldark brown, almost approaching to jet-black. Inform the buffalo somewhat resembles the ox, but itshead and shoulders are much larger, and are coveredwith a profusion of long shaggy hair which adds greatlyto the fierce aspect of the animal. It has a large humpon the shoulder, and its fore-quarters are much larger,in proportion, than the hind-quarters. The horns areshort and thick, the hoofs are cloven, and the tail isshort, with a tuft of hair at the extremity.
It is scarcely possible to conceive a wilder or moreferocious and terrible monster than a buffalo bull. Heoften grows to the enormous weight of two thousandpounds. His lion-like mane falls in shaggy confusionquite over his head and shoulders, down to the ground.
When he is wounded he becomes imbued with the spiritof a tiger: he stamps, bellows, roars, and foams forthhis rage with glaring eyes and steaming nostrils, andcharges furiously at man and horse with utter recklessness.
Fortunately, however, he is not naturally pugnacious,and can be easily thrown into a sudden panic.
Moreover, the peculiar position of his eye renders thiscreature not so terrible as he would otherwise be to thehunter. Owing to the stiff structure of the neck, andthe sunken, downward-looking eyeball, the buffalo cannot,without an effort, see beyond the direct line ofvision presented to the habitual carriage of his head.
When, therefore, he is wounded, and charges, he does soin a straight line, so that his pursuer can leap easilyout of his way. The pace of the buffalo is clumsy, andapparently slow, yet, when chased, he dashes away overthe plains in blind blundering terror, at a rate thatleaves all but good horses far behind. He cannot keepthe pace up, however, and is usually soon overtaken.
Were the buffalo capable of the same alert and agilemotions of head and eye peculiar to the deer or wildhorse, in addition to his "bovine rage," he would be themost formidable brute on earth. There is no object,perhaps, so terrible as the headlong advance of a herdof these animals when thoroughly aroused by terror.
They care not for their necks. All danger in front isforgotten, or not seen, in the terror of that from whichthey fly. No thundering cataract is more tremendouslyirresistible than the black bellowing torrent which sometimespours through the narrow defiles of the RockyMountains, or sweeps like a roaring flood over thetrembling plains.
The wallowing, to which we have referred, is a luxuryusually indulged in during the hot months of summer,when the buffaloes are tormented by flies, and heat, anddrought. At this season they seek the low grounds inthe prairies where there is a little stagnant water lyingamongst the grass, and the ground underneath, beingsaturated, is soft. The leader of the herd, a shaggy oldbull, usually takes upon himself to prepare the wallow.
It was a rugged monster of the largest size that didso on the present occasion, to the intense delight ofDick Varley, who begged Joe to lie still and watch theoperation before trying to shoot one of the buffalocows. Joe consented with a nod, and the four spectators--forCrusoe was as much taken up with theproceedings as any of them--crouched in the grass, andlooked on.
Coming up to the swampy spot, the old bull gave agrunt of satisfaction, and going down on one knee,plunged his short thick horns into the mud, tore it up,and cast it aside. Having repeated this several times,he plunged his head in, and brought it forth saturatedwith dirty water and bedaubed with lumps of mud,through which his fierce eyes gazed, with a ludicrousexpression of astonishment, straight in the direction ofthe hunters, as if he meant to say, "I've done it thattime, and no mistake!" The other buffaloes seemed tothink so too, for they came up and looked on with anexpression that seemed to say, "Well done, old fellow;try that again!"The old fellow did try it again, and again, and again,plunging, and ramming, and tearing up the earth, untilhe formed an excavation large enough to contain hishuge body. In this bath he laid himself comfortablydown, and began to roll and wallow about until hemixed up a trough full of thin soft mud, whichcompletely covered him. When he came out of thehole there was scarcely an atom of his former selfvisible!
The coat of mud thus put on by bulls is usually permittedby them to dry, and is not finally got rid ofuntil long after, when oft-repeated rollings on the grassand washings by rain at length clear it away.
When the old bull vacated this delectable bath,another bull, scarcely if at all less ferocious-looking,stepped forward to take his turn; but he was interruptedby a volley from the hunters, which scatteredthe animals right and left, and sent the mighty herdsin the distance flying over the prairie in wild terror.
The very turmoil of their own mad flight added to theirpanic, and the continuous thunder of their hoofs washeard until the last of them disappeared on the horizon.
The family party which had been fired at, however, didnot escape so well, Joe's rifle wounded a fat youngcow, and Dick Varley brought it down. Henri haddone his best, but as the animals were too far distantfor his limited vision, he missed the cow he fired at, andhit the young bull whose bath had been interrupted.
The others scattered and fled.
"Well done, Dick," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as they allran up to the cow that had fallen. "Your first shot atthe buffalo was a good un. Come, now, an' I'll show yehow to cut it up an' carry off the tit-bits.""Ah, mon dear ole bull!" exclaimed Henri, gazingafter the animal which he had wounded, and which wasnow limping slowly away. "You is not worth goin'
after. Farewell--adieu.""He'll be tough enough, I warrant," said Joe; "an'
we've more meat here nor we can lift.""But wouldn't it be as well to put the poor bruteout o' pain?" suggested Dick.
"Oh, he'll die soon enough," replied Joe, tucking uphis sleeves and drawing his long hunting-knife.
Dick, however, was not satisfied with this way oflooking at it. Saying that he would be back in a fewminutes, he reloaded his rifle, and calling Crusoe to hisside, walked quickly after the wounded bull, which wasnow hid from view in a hollow of the plain.
In a few minutes he came in sight of it, and ranforward with his rifle in readiness.
"Down, Crusoe," he whispered; "wait for me here."Crusoe crouched in the grass instantly, and Dickadvanced. As he came on, the bull observed him, andturned round bellowing with rage and pain to receivehim. The aspect of the brute on a near view was soterrible that Dick involuntarily stopped too, and gazedwith a mingled feeling of wonder and awe, while itbristled with passion, and blood-streaked foam droppedfrom its open jaws, and its eyes glared furiously.
Seeing that Dick did not advance, the bull charged himwith a terrific roar; but the youth had firm nerves,and although the rush of such a savage creature at fullspeed was calculated to try the courage of any man,especially one who had never seen a buffalo bull before,Dick did not lose presence of mind. He rememberedthe many stories he had listened to of this very thingthat was now happening; so, crushing down his excitementas well as he could, he cocked his rifle andawaited the charge. He knew that it was of no use tofire at the head of the advancing foe, as the thicknessof the skull, together with the matted hair on the forehead,rendered it impervious to a bullet.
When the bull was within a yard of him he leapedlightly to one side and it passed. Just as it did so,Dick aimed at its heart and fired, but his knowledge ofthe creature's anatomy was not yet correct. The ballentered the shoulder too high, and the bull, checkinghimself as well as he could in his headlong rush, turnedround and made at Dick again.
The failure, coupled with the excitement, proved toomuch for Dick; he could not resist discharging hissecond barrel at the brute's head as it came on. Hemight as well have fired at a brick wall. It shook itsshaggy front, and with a hideous bellow thundered forward.
Again Dick sprang to one side, but in doing soa tuft of grass or a stone caught his foot, and he fellheavily to the ground.
Up to this point Crusoe's admirable training hadnailed him to the spot where he had been left, althoughthe twitching of every fibre in his body and a low continuouswhine showed how gladly he would have hailedpermission to join in the combat; but the instant hesaw his master down, and the buffalo turning to chargeagain, he sprang forward with a roar that would havedone credit to his bovine enemy, and seized him by thenose. So vigorous was the rush that he well-nighpulled the bull down on its side. One toss of its head,however, sent Crusoe high into the air; but it accomplishedthis feat at the expense of its nose, which wastorn and lacerated by the dog's teeth.
Scarcely had Crusoe touched the ground, which hedid with a sounding thump, than he sprang up andflew at his adversary again. This time, however, headopted the plan of barking furiously and biting byrapid yet terrible snaps as he found opportunity, thuskeeping the bull entirely engrossed, and affording Dickan opportunity of reloading his rifle, which he was notslow to do. Dick then stepped close up, and while thetwo combatants were roaring in each other's faces, heshot the buffalo through the heart. It fell to the earthwith a deep groan.
Crusoe's rage instantly vanished on beholding this,and he seemed to be filled with tumultuous joy at hismaster's escape, for he gambolled round him, and whinedand fawned upon him in a manner that could not bemisunderstood.
"Good dog; thank'ee, my pup," said Dick, pattingCrusoe's head as he stooped to brush the dust from hisleggings. "I don't know what would ha' become o' mebut for your help, Crusoe."Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, waggedhis tail, and looked at Dick with an expression thatsaid quite plainly, "I'd die for you, I would--notonce, or twice, but ten times, fifty times if need be--andthat not merely to save your life, but even toplease you."There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt somethingof this sort. The love of a Newfoundland dog toits master is beyond calculation or expression. He whoonce gains such love carries the dog's life in his hand.
But let him who reads note well, and remember thatthere is only one coin that can purchase such love, andthat is kindness. The coin, too, must be genuine. Kindnessmerely expressed will not do, it must be felt.
"Hallo, boy, ye've bin i' the wars!" exclaimed Joe,raising himself from his task as Dick and Crusoe returned.
"You look more like it than I do," retorted Dick,laughing.
This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcass withno other instrument than a large knife is no easymatter. Yet western hunters and Indians can do itwithout cleaver or saw, in a way that would surprisea civilized butcher not a little. Joe was covered withblood up to the elbows. His hair, happening to havea knack of getting into his eyes, had been so oftenbrushed off with bloody hands, that his whole visagewas speckled with gore, and his dress was by no meansimmaculate.
While Dick related his adventure, or mis-adventure,with the bull, Joe and Henri completed the cutting outof the most delicate portions of the buffalo--namely,the hump on its shoulder--which is a choice piece,much finer than the best beef--and the tongue, anda few other parts. The tongues of buffaloes are superiorto those of domestic cattle. When all was readythe meat was slung across the back of the pack-horse;and the party, remounting their horses, continued theirjourney, having first cleansed themselves as well as theycould in the rather dirty waters of an old wallow.
"See," said Henri, turning to Dick and pointing to acircular spot of green as they rode along, "that is oneold dry waller.""Ay," remarked Joe; "after the waller dries, it becomesa ring o' greener grass than the rest o' the plain,as ye see. Tis said the first hunters used to wondergreatly at these myster'ous circles, and they inventedall sorts o' stories to account for 'em. Some said theywos fairy-rings, but at last they comed to know theywos nothin' more nor less than places where buffaloeswos used to waller in. It's often seemed to me that ifwe knowed the raisons o' things, we wouldn't be somuch puzzled wi' them as we are."The truth of this last remark was so self-evidentand incontrovertible that it elicited no reply, and thethree friends rode on for a considerable time in silence.
It was now past noon, and they were thinking ofcalling a halt for a short rest to the horses and a pipeto themselves, when Joe was heard to give vent to oneof those peculiar hisses that always accompanied eithera surprise or a caution. In the present case it indicatedboth.
"What now, Joe?""Injuns!" ejaculated Joe.
"Eh! fat you say? Ou is dey?"Crusoe at this moment uttered a low growl. Eversince the day he had been partially roasted he hadmaintained a rooted antipathy to Red-men. Joe immediatelydismounted, and placing his ear to the groundlistened intently. It is a curious fact that by placingthe ear close to the ground sounds can be heard distinctlywhich could not be heard at all if the listenerwere to maintain an erect position.
"They're arter the buffalo," said Joe, rising, "an' Ithink it's likely they're a band o' Pawnees. Listen an'
ye'll hear their shouts quite plain."Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placedtheir ears to the ground.
"Now, me hear noting," said Henri, jumping up, "butme ear is like me eyes--ver' short-sighted.""I do hear something," said Dick as he got up, "butthe beating o' my own heart makes row enough to spoilmy hearin'."Joe Blunt smiled. "Ah! lad, ye're young, an' yerblood's too hot yet; but bide a bit--you'll cool downsoon. I wos like you once. Now, lads, what thinkye we should do?""You know best, Joe.""Oui, nodoubtedly.'
"Then wot I advise is that we gallop to the brokensand hillocks ye see yonder, get behind them, an' takea peep at the Redskins. If they are Pawnees, we'll goup to them at once; if not, we'll hold a council o' waron the spot."Having arranged this, they mounted and hastenedtowards the hillocks in question, which they reachedafter ten minutes' gallop at full stretch. The sandymounds afforded them concealment, and enabled themto watch the proceedings of the savages in the plainbelow. The scene was the most curious and excitingthat can be conceived. The centre of the plain beforethem was crowded with hundreds of buffaloes, whichwere dashing about in the most frantic state of alarm.
To whatever point they galloped they were met byyelling savages on horseback, who could not havebeen fewer in numbers than a thousand, all beingarmed with lance, bow, and quiver, and mounted onactive little horses. The Indians had completely surroundedthe herd of buffaloes, and were now advancingsteadily towards them, gradually narrowing the circle,and whenever the terrified animals endeavoured tobreak through the line, they rushed to that particularspot in a body, and scared them back again into thecentre.
Thus they advanced until they closed in on theirprey and formed an unbroken circle round them, whilstthe poor brutes kept eddying and surging to and froin a confused mass, hooking and climbing upon eachother, and bellowing furiously. Suddenly the horsemenmade a rush, and the work of destruction began.
The tremendous turmoil raised a cloud of dust thatobscured the field in some places, and hid it from ourhunters' view. Some of the Indians galloped roundand round the circle, sending their arrows whizzing upto the feathers in the sides of the fattest cows. Othersdashed fearlessly into the midst of the black heavingmass, and, with their long lances, pierced dozens ofthem to the heart. In many instances the buffaloes,infuriated by wounds, turned fiercely on their assailantsand gored the horses to death, in which cases the menhad to trust to their nimble legs for safety. Sometimesa horse got jammed in the centre of the swayingmass, and could neither advance nor retreat. Thenthe savage rider leaped upon the buffaloes' backs, andspringing from one to another, like an acrobat, gainedthe outer edge of the circle; not failing, however, in hisstrange flight, to pierce with his lance several of thefattest of his stepping-stones as he sped along.
A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from theblood and dust of this desperate battle, and made offover the plains; but they were quickly overtaken, andthe lance or the arrow brought them down on the greenturf. Many of the dismounted riders were chased bybulls; but they stepped lightly to one side, and, as theanimals passed, drove their arrows deep into their sides.
Thus the tumultuous war went on, amid thunderingtread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain wastransformed into a sea of blood and mire, and everybuffalo of the herd was laid low.
It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfareis invariably waged without damage to the savages.
Many were the wounds and bruises received that day,and not a few bones were broken, but happily no liveswere lost.
"Now, lads, now's our time. A bold and fearlesslook's the best at all times. Don't look as if yedoubted their friendship; and mind, wotever ye do,don't use yer arms. Follow me."Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and,bounding over the ridge at full speed, galloped headlongacross the plain.
The savages observed the strangers instantly, and aloud yell announced the fact as they assembled fromall parts of the field brandishing their bows and spears.
Joe's quick eye soon distinguished their chief, towardswhom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yardor two of his horse's head; then he reined up suddenly.
So rapidly did Joe and his comrades approach, and soinstantaneously did they pull up, that their steeds werethrown almost on their haunches.
The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He wasa tall, powerful savage, almost naked, and mounted ona coal-black charger, which he sat with the ease of aman accustomed to ride from infancy. He was, indeed,a splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a darkfrown, for, although he and his band had visited thesettlements and trafficked with the fur-traders on theMissouri, he did not love the "Pale-faces," whom heregarded as intruders on the hunting-grounds of hisfathers, and the peace that existed between them atthat time was of a very fragile character. Indeed, itwas deemed by the traders impossible to travel throughthe Indian country at that period except in strong force,and it was the very boldness of the present attempt thatsecured to our hunters anything like a civil reception.
Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently,began by explaining the object of his visit, and spokeof the presents which he had brought for the greatchief; but it was evident that his words made littleimpression. As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round thelittle party, and began to handle and examine their dresses andweapons with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerableanxiety.
"Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-faceis true," said the savage, when Joe paused, "but hedoes not choose to make peace. The Pale-faces aregrasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes tothe great mountains and say, 'There we will stop.'
But even there they will not stop. They are neversatisfied; Mahtawa knows them well."This speech sank like a death-knell into the heartsof the hunters, for they knew that if the savages refusedto make peace, they would scalp them all and appropriatetheir goods. To make things worse, a dark-visagedIndian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle,and, ere he was aware, had plucked it from his hand.
The blood rushed to the gigantic hunter's forehead, andhe was on the point of springing at the man, when Joesaid in a deep quiet voice,--"Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death."At this moment there was a movement in the outskirtsof the circle of horsemen, and another chief rodeinto the midst of them. He was evidently higher inrank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to thecrowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drewlittle comfort from the appearance of his face, however,for it scowled upon them. He was not so powerfula man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefullyformed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance.
"Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great riverthat they should come to spy out the lands of thePawnee?" he demanded.
"We have not come to spy your country," answeredJoe, raising himself proudly as he spoke, and taking offhis cap. "We have come with a message from the greatchief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village farbeyond the great river where the sun rises. He says,Why should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight?
They are brothers. The same Manitou[*] watches overboth. The Pale-faces have more beads, and guns, andblankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require;they wish to give some of these things for the skinsand furs which the Red-man does not know what todo with. The great chief of the Pale-faces has sent meto say, Why should we fight? let us smoke the pipe ofpeace."At the mention of beads and blankets the face of thewily chief brightened for a moment. Then he saidsternly,--"The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He hascome here to trade for himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyesthat can see; they are not shut. Are not these yourgoods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke.
"Trappers do not take their goods into the heartof an enemy's camp," returned Joe. "San-it-sa-rish iswise, and will understand this. These are gifts to thechief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting himwhen the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said. Whatmessage shall we take back to the great chief of thePale-faces?"[Footnote *: The Indian name for God.]
San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.
"The hunting-field is not the council tent," he said.
"The Pale-faces will go with us to our village."Of course Joe was too glad to agree to this proposal,but he now deemed it politic to display a little firmness.
"We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will notdo to go back and tell the great chief of the Pale-facesthat the Pawnees are thieves."The chief frowned angrily.
"The Pawnees are true; they are not thieves. Theychoose to look at the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall bereturned."The rifle was instantly restored, and then our huntersrode off with the Indians towards their camp. On theway they met hundreds of women and children goingto the scene of the great hunt, for it was their specialduty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp. Themen, considering that they had done quite enough inkilling it, returned to smoke and eat away the fatiguesof the chase.
As they rode along, Dick Varley observed that someof the "braves," as Indian warriors are styled, wereeating pieces of the bloody livers of the buffaloes in araw state, at which he expressed not a little disgust.
"Ah, boy! you're green yet," remarked Joe Blunt inan undertone. "Mayhap ye'll be thankful to do thatsame yerself some day.""Well, I'll not refuse to try when it is needful," saidDick with a laugh; "meanwhile I'm content to see theRedskins do it, Joe Blunt."