Майн Рид
The Boy Hunters
The rider was flung from his seat, though not much hurt. He rose at once to his feet. Black Hawk struggled up at the same time, and stood still, his wet flanks rising and falling as he breathed and panted. He was not in a condition to gallop farther. But even had he been fresh, Basil saw that the chase was now at an end. The little hillocks, which he had just noticed, stood thick upon the prairie, as far as the eye could reach; and among these the wild horse was gliding off as swiftly as ever. When the hunter got to his feet again, the other was nearly a quarter of a mile distant, and at that moment sent back a shrill neigh, as if triumphing over his escape – for he had escaped beyond a doubt.
Basil saw this with chagrin. He saw that further pursuit was not only useless, but dangerous; for although he had never seen anything like these little mounds before, he knew very well what they were, and the danger of riding at a rapid rate among them. He had received a timely lesson – for he was just entering their borders when his horse fell – fortunately to rise again with sound limbs. He knew he might not get off so safely a second time, and he had no inclination to take the chances of another tumble. He was not going to risk the loss of his favourite Black Hawk for the white steed, even had he been certain of capturing the latter. But this was no longer likely. On the contrary, he might, instead of making a capture, lose his own horse, were he to continue the chase; and that he well knew would be a terrible situation. With the best grace he could, therefore, he abandoned the pursuit, leaving the mustang to scamper off alone. He watched him for several minutes, until the latter, far, far away, faded like a white cloud into the pale blue of the horizon.
The young hunter now bethought him of returning to his companions. In what direction was he to go? He looked around for the butte. There it was; but, to his astonishment, it lay directly before him, and nearer than when he last saw it! He had been all this while galloping towards it; but in his haste had not noticed this. Lucien and François must be behind, thought he, and would soon come that way. The best thing he could do, therefore, would be to wait until they should come up; and, with this intention, he sat down upon one of the little hillocks, leaving his horse to wander about at will.
Chapter Twenty Four.
A Dog-Town
Black Hawk strayed off to some distance in search of grass, for the latter was scanty near the spot; and what there was of it had been eaten as close to the ground, as if a thousand rabbits had been feeding upon it! Basil did not hinder his horse from going. He knew that he was too well trained to run away, and that he could recall him at any moment by a whistle. He sat still, therefore; now scanning the prairie to the eastward, and now endeavouring to kill time by examining the strange little mounds on the other side. Of these there were thousands – indeed, they covered the plain, both to the north and south, and west, as far as Basil could see. They were shaped like truncated cones, about three feet in diameter at the base, and not over two in height. Near the top of each was the entrance – a hole not much larger than would have been used by a rat. There was no grass immediately around this hole, although the sides and tops of the mounds were clothed with a smooth green turf that gave them the appearance of having been constructed a long time ago.
The inhabitants of these singular dwellings soon began to show themselves. They had been terrified by the thundering tread of the steeds, and had hidden at their approach. All was now silent again, and they thought they might venture abroad. First one little snout peeped out, and then another, and another until every hole had a head and a pair of sparkling eyes looking forth. After a while the owners of the heads became more courageous, and boldly stepped out-of-doors; and then could be seen hundreds of these strange creatures. They were of a reddish-brown colour, with breasts and bellies of a dirty white. Their bodies were about the size of the common grey squirrel; but their general appearance partook of the squirrel, the weasel, and the rat – all three of which they in some respects resembled, and yet were not like any of them. They were a distinct species of animals. They were Marmots, that species known by the fanciful appellation of “prairie-dogs,” (Arctomys ludoviciana). Their tails were very short, and not bushy as those of squirrels; and altogether their bodies had not the graceful symmetry of these animals. In a short time every mound had two or three on its top – for several individuals dwell together in the same house. Some sat upon all fours, while others erected themselves on their hind-feet, and stood up like little bears or monkeys – all the while flourishing their tails and uttering their tiny barking, that sounded like the squeak of a toy-dog. It is from this that they derive the name of “prairie-dogs,” for in nothing else do they resemble the canine species. Like all marmots – and there are many different kinds – they are innocent little creatures, and live upon grass, seeds, and roots. They must eat very little; and indeed it is a puzzle to naturalists how they sustain themselves. Their great “towns” near the Rocky Mountains are generally in barren tracts, where there is but a scanty herbage; and yet the inhabitants are never found more than half a mile from their dwellings. How, then, do thousands of them subsist on what little grass can grow in a pasture so circumscribed? This has not been explained; nor is it known why they choose these barren tracts for their dwelling-places, in preference to the more fertile prairies. All these things await the study and observation of the historian of nature.
Basil was surprised to observe that the marmots were not alone the occupants of their town. There were other creatures moving about of an entirely different kind, and they also seemed to be perfectly at home. There were white owls, about the size of pigeons, of a species he had never seen before. These were the burrowing owls (Strix cunicularia), differing altogether from their blind cousins of the night who dwell in thick woods and old ruins. He saw these little owls gliding about on silent wing, or standing erect upon the tops of the houses, at a distance looking exactly like the marmots themselves.
Besides the marmots and owls there were other live creatures in sight. There were small lizards scuttling about; and crawling among the mounds was seen a hideous form – also of the lizard kind – the “horned frog” (Agama cornuta). These creatures were new to Basil; and their ugly earth-coloured bodies, their half-toad half-lizard shape, with the thorn like protuberances, upon their back, shoulders, and head, inspired him with disgust as he gazed upon them. He could see, too, the small land-tortoise (Cistuda) squatting upon the ground, and peeping cautiously out of its box-like shell. But there was another creature in this community more fearful than all the rest. This was the ground rattle-snake, which could be seen, coiled up, and basking in the sun, or gliding among the mounds, as if searching for his prey. Basil noticed that it was a different species from any of the rattle-snakes he had seen – differing from them in its shape and markings, but equally vicious in its appearance and habits. It was the Crotalus tergeminus– found only in barren grounds, such as those inhabited by the prairie-marmot.
Basil could not help falling into a train of reflection about this varied community of creatures. Were they friends to each other? or did they form a chain of destruction, preying upon one another? Friends they could not all be. The marmots lived upon grass; and the lizards upon insects and prairie-crickets, of which there were numbers around. Upon these, too, no doubt, the tortoises supported themselves; but upon what fed the owls and snakes?
These questions puzzled Basil. He could not satisfy himself about them; and he thought of Lucien, who understood the habits of these various animals better than himself. He began to think both of Lucien and François – for two hours had now passed, and they did not make their appearance! He was fast becoming uneasy, when a small group of objects was seen approaching from the eastward, which, to his joy, proved to be the party.
In half an hour afterwards they rode up greeting their brother with joyful shouts. They had been travelling briskly ever since the morning, and upon Basil’s tracks too, showing what a stretch of ground he must have passed over in his wild gallop. They saw at once that the white horse had got off; and Basil, in a few words, gave them an account of the chase and how it had come to an end.
As it was now afternoon, and the butte still appeared distant, they made but a short halt – just long enough to swallow a morsel of meat and take a drink from their water-gourds, which, owing to the intense heat, were now better than half empty. Their animals already suffered from thirst; so, without delay, the young hunters got into their saddles, with the intention of continuing their journey.
“Across the dog-town?” inquired François, who had mounted first. “Shall we ride through it or go round?”
Here was a difficulty, indeed. The dog-town lay directly between them and the butte. To keep straight forward they would have to ride through it. That would impede them to a considerable extent, as they could only ride slowly and in zig-zag lines without danger. To go round it, on the other hand, might lead them miles out of the way – perhaps many miles – for these marmot villages are frequently of large extent.
“Let us go south a bit,” advised Lucien. “Perhaps we may come to the end of it that way.”
They all turned their horses for the south, and commenced riding in that direction.
They rode for at least two miles, keeping along the border of the settlement: but they could still see it ahead, apparently stretching for miles farther.
“We have come the wrong way,” said Lucien; “we might have done better had we turned north. We must cross it now; what say you, brothers?”
All agreed to this; for it is not very pleasant to be going about, when the goal of one’s journey is within sight. So the heads of the horses were brought round once more facing the butte; and the party rode in among the mounds, and proceeded slowly and with great caution. As they approached, the little “dogs” ran to their hillocks, barked at the intruders, shook their short tails, and then whisked themselves off into their holes. Whenever the party had got past, a hundred yards or so, the marmots would come forth again, and utter their tiny cough-like notes as before; so that, when our travellers were fairly into the “town,” they found themselves at all times in the centre of a barking circle!
The owls rose up before them, alighting at short distances; then, once more startled, they would fly farther off, sometimes sailing away until out of sight, and sometimes, like the marmots, hiding themselves within the burrows. The rattle-snakes, too, betook themselves to the burrows, and so did the lizards and agamas. What appeared most strange, was, that all of these creatures – marmots, owls, snakes, lizards, and agamas – were observed, when suddenly escaping, sometimes to enter the same mound! This our travellers witnessed more than once.
Very naturally the conversation turned upon these things; and Lucien added some facts to what Basil had already observed.
“The holes,” said he, “had we time to dig them up, would be found to descend perpendicularly for two or three feet. They then run obliquely for several feet farther, and end in a little chamber which is the real house of the marmot. I say the real house, for these cone-like mounds are only the entrances. They have been formed out of the earth brought up from below at the making of the burrows. As you see, this earth has not been allowed to lie in a neglected heap, such as rats and rabbits leave at the mouths of their burrows. On the contrary, it has been built up with great care, and beaten together by the marmots’ feet until quite firm and smooth; and the grass has been allowed to grow over it to save it from being washed down by rain. It is evident the animal does all this with design – just as beavers, in building their houses. Now, upon these mounds the marmots love to bask, and amuse themselves in the sun; and it is likely that they can watch their enemies better from this elevated position, and thus gain time to make good their retreat.”
“But some of the mounds look quite dilapidated,” observed François. “Look yonder, there are several of them caved in, and guttered by the rain! What is the reason, I wonder?”
“These are the ones in which the owls live,” replied Lucien. “See! yonder goes an owl into one this very moment! It is supposed that the owls have taken these from the marmots, and use them exclusively for their own dwellings; and, as you perceive, they do not keep them in repair. All they care for is the hole to take shelter in, leaving the outside works to go to ruin as they may. Certain it is that, although we have seen them and the dogs rush into the same hole together, it is because we came suddenly upon them. They do not live thus. The marmots have their own dwellings, and the owls theirs, which last are the ruined ones you have noticed.”
“But do not the owls eat the marmots?” inquired Basil. “The great owls of the woods prey upon animals as large. I have seen them kill rabbits in the dusk of the evening.”
“These do not,” answered the naturalist; “at least it is supposed they do not. Many that have been shot and opened proved to have nothing in their stomachs but insects and beetles – such as these we see upon the prairie. I think it is probable the owls make an occasional meal of the horned frogs and lizards; though I have no proof of this farther than that birds of this kind usually prey upon such reptiles.”
“But how live the rattle-snakes?” inquired François; “what do they feed upon?”
“Ah!” replied Lucien, “that is the puzzle of naturalists. Some assert that they are the tyrants of the community, and devour the old marmots. This can hardly be, as these snakes are not large enough to swallow them, in my opinion. Certain it is, however, that they prey occasionally upon the young, as many of them have been killed with young marmots in their belly?”
“Why, then,” rejoined François, “the snakes seem to have it all their own way. If they eat the young marmots, what is to hinder them from killing as many as they please? They can enter the burrows with as much ease as the marmots themselves!”
“That is true,” replied Lucien, “but not half so nimbly; and perhaps the latter can even escape them within. The rattle-snake is a very slow crawler; and, besides, only strikes his prey when coiled up. Perhaps, in these subterranean galleries, he is still less able to capture it; and the old marmots may, after all, have some mode of defending both themselves and their young from his venomous attacks. As yet very little is known of these creatures. The remote regions in which they are found place them beyond the observation of naturalists; and such of these, as have visited their towns, have been only allowed time to make a hurried examination of them. They are very shy; rarely letting you get within range of a gun. They are, therefore, seldom shot at. Moreover, it takes great trouble to capture them by digging – on account of the depth of their burrows – and as their skins are not very valuable, and their flesh but a bite at best, they are not often molested by the hunter.”
“But are they eatable?” inquired François.
“Yes,” answered Lucien; “the Indians are very fond of their flesh, and eat it whenever they can conveniently get it; but, indeed, they will do the same for almost every living creature.”
“What do marmots feed upon in winter, when there is no grass for them?” inquired François.
“They then lie torpid. They have nests in their subterranean chambers, and curious nests these are. They are constructed of grass and roots, are as round as a globe, and so firmly woven together, that one of them might be kicked over the prairie like a foot-ball. The nest is within, with a small hole leading into it, just large enough to admit your finger – for when the marmot goes inside, he closes all up, except this little hole, through which he gets all the air he requires. In these snug beds they lie asleep during the cold season, and at that time are rarely seen outside their burrows.”
Chapter Twenty Five.
A Night in the Desert
Conversing in this way, the young hunters rode on, keeping as far from the edges of the mounds as possible, lest the hoofs of their horses might sink in the excavated ground. They had ridden full five miles, and still the marmot village stretched before them! still the dogs on all sides uttered their “Choo-choo” – still the owls flapped silently up, and the rattle-snakes crawled across their track.
It was near sun-down when they emerged from among the hillocks, and commenced stepping out on the hard, barren plain. Their conversation now assumed a gloomier turn, for their thoughts were gloomy. They had drunk all their water. The heat and dust had made them extremely thirsty; and the water, warmed as it was in their gourd canteens, scarcely gave them any relief. They began to experience the cravings of thirst. The butte still appeared at a great distance – at least ten miles off. What, if on reaching it, they should find no water? This thought, combined with the torture they were already enduring, was enough to fill them with apprehension and fear.
Basil now felt how inconsiderately they had acted, in not listening to the more prudent suggestions of Lucien; but it was too late for regrets – as is often the case with those who act rashly.
They saw that they must reach the butte as speedily as possible, for the night was coming on. If it should prove a dark night, they would be unable to guide themselves by the eminence, and losing their course might wander all night. Oppressed with this fear, they pushed forward as fast as possible; but their animals, wearied with the long journey and suffering from thirst, could only travel at a lagging pace.
They had ridden about three miles from the dog-town, when, to their consternation, a new object presented itself. The prairie yawned before them, exhibiting one of those vast fissures often met with on the high table-lands of America. It was a barranca, of nearly a thousand feet in depth, sheer down into the earth, although its two edges at the top were scarcely that distance apart from each other! It lay directly across the track of the travellers; and they could trace its course for miles to the right and left, here running for long reaches in a straight line, and there curving or zig-zagging through the prairie. When they arrived upon its brink, they saw at a glance that they could not cross it. It was precipitous on both sides, with dark jutting rocks, which in some places overhung its bed. There was no water in it to gladden their eyes; but, even had there been such, they could not have reached it. Its bottom was dry, and covered with loose boulders of rock that had fallen from above.
This was an interruption which our travellers little expected; and they turned to each other with looks of dismay. For some minutes they deliberated, uncertain how to act. Would they ride along its edge, and endeavour to find a crossing-place? Or would it be better to retrace their steps, and attempt to reach the stream which they had left in the morning? The latter was a fearful alternative, as they knew they could not pass the marmot hillocks in the darkness without losing time and encountering danger. It is discouraging at all times to go back, particularly as they had ridden so far – they believed that water would be found near the butte. They resolved, at length, to search for a crossing.
With this intention they made a fresh start, and kept along the edge of the barranca. They chose the path that appeared to lead upward – as by so doing they believed they would the sooner reach a point where the chasm was shallower. They rode on for miles; but still the fissure, with its steep cliffs, yawned below them, and no crossing could be found. The sun went down, and the night came on as dark as pitch. They halted. They dared ride no farther. They dared not even go back – lest they might chance upon some outlying angle of the crooked chasm, and ride headlong into it! They dismounted from their horses, and sunk down upon the prairie with feelings almost of despair.
It would be impossible to picture their sufferings throughout that long night. They did not sleep even for a moment. The agonising pangs of thirst as well as the uncertainty of what was before them on the morrow kept them awake. They did not even picket their horses – for there was no grass near the spot where they were – but sat up all night holding their bridles. Their poor horses, like themselves, suffered both from thirst and hunger; and the mule Jeanette occasionally uttered a wild hinnying that was painful to hear.
As soon as day broke they remounted, and continued on along the edge of the barranca. They saw that it still turned in various directions; and, to add to their terror, they now discovered that they could not even retrace the path upon which they had come, without going all the way back on their own tracks. The sun was obscured by clouds, and they knew not in what direction lay the stream they had left – even had they possessed strength enough to have reached it.
They were advancing and discussing whether they should make the attempt, when they came upon a deep buffalo-road that crossed their path. It was beaten with tracks apparently fresh. They hailed the sight with joyful exclamations – as they believed that it would lead them to a crossing. They hesitated not, but riding boldly into it, followed it downward. As they had anticipated, it wound down to the bottom of the barranca, and passed up to the prairie on the opposite side, where they soon arrived in safety.
This, however, was no termination to their sufferings, which had now grown more acute than ever. The atmosphere felt like an oven; and the light dust, kicked up by their horses’ hoofs, enveloped them in a choking cloud, so that at times they could not see the butte for which they were making. It was of no use halting again. To halt was certain death – and they struggled on with fast-waning strength, scarcely able to retain their seats or speak to one another. Thirst had almost deprived them of the power of speech!
It was near sunset, when the travellers, faint, choking, panting for breath, bent down in their saddles, their horses dragging along under them like loaded bees, approached the foot of the eminence. Their eyes were thrown forward in eager glances – glances in which hope and despair were strangely blended.
The grey, rocky bluff, that fronted them, looked parched and forbidding. It seemed to frown inhospitably upon them as they drew near.
“O brothers! should there be no water!”
This exclamation was hardly uttered, when the mule Jeanette, hitherto lagging behind, sprang forward in a gallop, hinnying loudly as she ran. Jeanette, as we have said, was an old prairie traveller, and could scent water as far as a wolf could have done her own carcass. The other animals, seeing her act in this manner, rushed after; and the next moment the little cavalcade passed round a point of rocks, where a green sward gladdened the eyes of all. They saw grass and willows, among whose leaves gurgled the crystal waters of a prairie spring; and in a few seconds’ time, both horses and riders were quenching their thirst in its cool current.
