Майн Рид
The Boy Hunters
Chapter Thirty Three.
Supping upon a Skeleton
Our young travellers had now arrived upon the great buffalo-path. Without halting, they turned their horses to the right, and followed the trail. It led directly towards the north, and they had no difficulty in following it, as the prairie, for a tract of miles in width, was cut up by the hoofs of the animals; and, in some parts, where the ground was softer and more loamy, the surface presented the appearance of having been turned up by the plough! At other places the hard green turf had resisted the hoof, but even there the grass was so beaten down, that the trail was a perfectly plain one. Without troubling themselves about the direction, therefore, the little party rode briskly forward, full of hope that they would soon overtake the buffaloes. But their hopes were not so soon to be realised. These animals had gone upon their annual migration to the north; and as they were keeping almost continually upon the run – scarcely stopping to rest or pasture themselves – it would be no easy matter to come up with them. At night our travellers were obliged to diverge from the trail, in order to get grass for their horses; for, upon a belt of at least four miles in width which the buffaloes had passed over, not a blade of grass was left standing.
But another want now began to be felt by the party – one that filled them with serious apprehensions. At the end of the second day their stock of dried bear’s meat gave out – not an ounce of it was left – and they lay down upon the prairie supperless and hungry. What rendered the prospect still more disheartening, they were passing through a region entirely destitute of game – where no animal is ever seen except the buffaloes themselves, an occasional antelope, or the ever-present prairie-wolf. It was a region essentially desert in its character; although the dry plains were covered with a sward of the famous “buffalo-grass” (Sesleria dactyloides), which forms the favourite pasture of these wild cattle. As for the antelopes, they love these desert solitudes; as their free open range affords them an opportunity, from their superior fleetness, of escaping from every enemy. But in these parts they are more than usually shy; and although several of them were seen on the way, our hunters vainly endeavoured to approach within shooting distance of them. Wolves they could have shot; but they were not as yet prepared to satisfy their hunger upon the flesh of these filthy, fox-like, creatures. That large troops of wolves had gone forward, hanging after the great herd, was evident. Every now and then our hunters saw proof of this, in the clean-picked skeletons of buffaloes that lay along the path. These they knew were such as had got disabled and separated from the drove; for numerous accidents of this kind – owing to the bulls goring one another, or being enfeebled by age and disease – take place during the migration of the vast herds. Were it not so, the wolves would never think of following them as they do; for a buffalo in good health can scatter a whole pack of these cowardly, skulking jackals. But the average accidents which occur when such numbers of buffaloes are together – the prospect of old ones, weak and weary, being separated from their companions – of numbers getting mired upon the banks of some muddy river, or drowned in crossing it – of cows heavy with calf falling behind, or with calves already on the hoof, loitering for the purpose of suckling them – the prospect of these chances, combined with the still more enticing hope that the buffaloes will be attacked by a party of Indian hunters, often carries a pack of wolves for hundreds of miles across the prairie on the heels of a great herd. In fact, some of these wolves, both of the white and prairie species, seem to have no fixed place of abode; but hang upon the skirts of the buffalo “gangs” throughout all their extended migrations.
I have said that, upon the second night after leaving the butte, our travellers went to sleep supperless. On the third day, they began to feel the cravings of hunger in good earnest. Neither beast nor bird appeared in sight upon the wild desert plains that stretched inimitably around them. About noon, as they were riding through a thicket of the wild sage (Artemisia tridentata), a brace of those singular birds, sage-cocks or prairie-grouse (Tetrao urophasianus), the largest of all the grouse family, whirred up before the heads of their horses. François, with his ever-ready gun, fired at them, but they were too distant for the shot; and the next moment both disappeared over the swells of the prairie. The sight only tantalised the unsuccessful hunters, and added to the hungry craving of appetites already sharp almost beyond endurance. They felt that there was no chance of getting anything to eat, before they should come up with the buffaloes. That was their only hope; and they spurred their horses afresh, and rode on as fast as the animals could travel.
Towards night their hunger had increased to a painful degree; and the eyes of all wandered occasionally upon Jeanette and the dog Marengo. They began to contemplate the necessity of sacrificing one or other of these animals. It would be a sad alternative – as both the mule and the dog were looked upon more in the light of companions than slaves. Both had done good service during the expedition. But for Marengo, François might never have been found; and Jeanette, in addition to having satisfactorily accomplished the duty assigned to her, had saved them from an encounter with one of the cougars. But all these services must now be forgotten, when starvation was the alternative; and our adventurers began to talk seriously about which of these two faithful servants should be made the first victim. Neither was fat. Jeanette had never been so in all her life – at least so long as her present owners had been acquainted with her – and Marengo had grown gaunt and bony upon this lengthened expedition. Jeanette could not be otherwise than tough, and Marengo looked anything but tender. So far as that was concerned, it might be a toss-up which of them was first “put to the knife.”
But other considerations had their weight with the boys. Basil disliked parting with his hound, that for many years had been a great favourite, and the dog was endeared to all from late circumstances. His conduct at the time when François was lost – his usefulness as a sentinel at many a lonely camp-fire – and his valuable services rendered upon other occasions, had fixed him firmly in the affections of his young masters; and they would have endured hunger to the utmost extremity rather than sacrifice him. Jeanette, on the other hand, was but a mule – a selfish, wicked, kicking mule. This was true; but to them she had been a useful animal, and would not have kicked any one of them, although she would have kicked all the world besides. Still the feeling with which Jeanette was regarded was more a feeling of gratitude than of love. It was far different from the sentiment held towards Marengo.
With these considerations passing through the minds of our hungry hunters, it is easy to guess the result of their deliberations. The sentence was at length pronounced – a unanimous one —Jeanette must die!
Poor old Jeanette! She little knew what they were talking about. She little thought that her days were about being numbered – that the time was nigh when she should carry a pack no more. She little expected that she was about to kick up her heels upon the prairie for the last time – that in a few hours her life-blood would be let forth – and her old ribs be roasting and sputtering over a camp-fire!
Yes, it was decreed that Jeanette should die! but when and where this terrible tragedy was to take place, was not yet determined upon. At their first halting-place, of course; but where was that to be? for, after having resolved upon the death of Jeanette, they travelled on for miles without arriving at any place where it would be possible to halt for the night! No water appeared, and without water they could not with safety encamp. Early in the afternoon they had entered upon a strange tract, over which the road of the buffaloes led them. It was a part of the prairie – a series of low hills composed of pure gypsum. These extended around them, as far as our travellers could see, presenting on all sides a picture of alabaster whiteness. Neither plant, nor tree, nor any sign of vegetable life relieved the monotonous uniformity of the landscape. Turn to what side they might, their eyes were met by the lime-like surface of hill and dale, dazzling the sight with its milky whiteness. The sun, reflected upward, pierced their bodies, and parched them with thirst. They breathed a hot atmosphere filled with gypsum dust, that by the trampling of the buffalo herd had been reduced to an impalpable powder, and floated about suspended in the air. This added to the agony of their thirst; and it was difficult for them to tell whether they suffered most from the want of food, or the want of water!
How far might this singular tract extend? They could form no conjecture as to the distance. Lucien had heard that such formations sometimes stretched for many miles. If so, they might never be able to cross it – thirsty and exhausted as both they and the animals were – for, eager to come up with the buffalo, they had rested but very little during the previous days. They began to labour under serious apprehensions. The appetite of thirst became stronger than that of hunger – its cravings more difficult to be endured.
Guided by the buffalo-tracks, they rode gloomily on, in the midst of a white cloud that enveloped them throughout all that fearful journey. They had no difficulty in following the trail. The heavy dust showed where the drove had passed; and every here and there great circular hollows showed where the buffaloes had “wallowed.” The hope that these animals, guided by their usual instincts, had gone in the direction of water, to some degree sustained our travellers in their onward struggle.
The shades of evening were closing over the earth, and the alabaster hills were assuming an ashy blue colour, when the little cavalcade emerged from the dusty ravines of gypsum, and once more trod the green prairie. The country before them was still rolling, but they kept on along the well marked trail – their animals stepping more freely, as if inspired with new hope at the change which had taken place upon the surface. There was something in the appearance of the landscape ahead that led to the belief that water was not far distant; and, sure enough, it was not; for, on mounting the crest of a prairie-swell, over which ran the buffalo-trail, a small rivulet was espied in the glen below. At the sight, Jeanette, as well as the three horses, pricked up their ears; and, making an effort to trot, were soon at the bottom of the hill, and up to their knees in the water.
It was fortunate for them that it proved a freshwater stream. Had it been a salt one – and such are very common in the neighbourhood of these gypsum formations – they could never have gone farther. They would all have perished upon its banks.
But it was fresh water – cool and fresh – and our travellers first drank of it, and then bathed themselves in its flood, until they had washed their bodies free from the annoying gypsum dust. After this they set about making some arrangements for their night bivouac.
The copious draughts of water, which all of them had taken, in some measure relieved them from the painful sensations of hunger they had experienced; and they began to consider whether they might not be able to give Jeanette a respite – at least until the morning. While deliberating upon this, they noticed that Marengo had strayed away from them. They looked around, wondering what had become of him, or where he could have gone. They espied the hound at some distance up the stream, and apparently engaged with some object upon the bank. They all ran towards him. On arriving near the spot, they perceived that it was the skeleton of a large buffalo with which the dog was engaged. The poor brute, hungry as he was, could do but little else than lick it; for the wolves had not left as much meat upon it as would have filled the smallest of his teeth! Even the pieces of torn skin that lay around had been chewed dry by these ravenous animals; and the bones appeared as free from flesh as if they had been scraped by a knife. Had an anatomist been ordered to prepare the skeleton for a museum, he could not have cleaned it more effectually.
It was not very cheering to contemplate this useless skeleton; and the boys were about returning to their camping-place, when the idea occurred to Lucien that the bones might, at least, yield a soup. He, of course, communicated this idea to the others, and it was at once agreed that they should boil them and try. It was quite a happy thought. No doubt the bones, which were fresh, and not yet dry, would make an excellent soup; and all three at once set about preparing to cook it. François gathered sage-bushes to kindle a fire with, while Basil got hold of Lucien’s little hatchet, and set to work to separate the ribs and joints of the skeleton. Lucien, seeing that there were several kinds of plants growing on the margin of the rivulet, went down to examine them – in hopes that he might find the wild onion or the prairie-turnip among them, or perhaps some other root or vegetable that might help to enrich their pottage.
While all three were engaged in their separate duties, a loud exclamation from Basil drew the attention of his brothers. It was a shout of joy, followed by a wild laugh, like the laugh of a maniac!
François and Lucien looked up in affright – thinking that something disagreeable had happened – for they could not understand why Basil should be laughing so loudly at such a time, and under such gloomy circumstances.
As they looked at him he still continued to laugh, waving the hatchet around his head as if in triumph.
“Come here, brothers!” shouted he; “come here! Ha! ha! ha! Here’s a supper for three hungry individuals! Ha! ha! ha! What shallow fellows we are, to be sure! Why, we are as stupid as the donkey that preferred eating the hay with the bread and butter beside him. Look here! and here! and there! There’s a supper for you. Ha! ha! ha!”
Lucien and François had now arrived upon the ground; and seeing Basil point to the great joints of the buffalo, and turn them over and over, at once understood the cause of his mirth. These joints were full of marrow!
“Pounds of it,” continued Basil; “the very tit-bits of the buffalo – enough to make suppers for a dozen of us; and yet we were going to sleep supperless, or the next thing to it – going to starve in the midst of plenty! And we have been travelling among such treasures for three days past! Why, we deserve to starve for being so simple. But come, brothers! help me to carry these great joints to the fire – I’ll show you how to cook a supper.”
There are eight marrow-bones in the buffalo, containing several pounds of this substance. As Basil had heard from the old hunters, it is esteemed the most delicious part of the animal; and is rarely left behind when a buffalo has been killed. The best method of preparing it is by simply roasting it in the bone; although the Indians and trappers often eat it raw. The stomachs of our young hunters were not strong enough for this; and a couple of the shank-bones were thrown into the fire, and covered over with red cinders.
In due time the marrow was supposed to be sufficiently baked; and the bones having been cracked by Lucien’s hatchet, yielded up their savoury store – which all three ate with a great relish. A cup of cool water washed it down; and around the camp-fire of the boy hunters thirst and hunger were now contemplated only as things of the past. Jeanette was respited, without one dissentient voice.
Our adventurers were surrounded once more with the cheerful atmosphere of hope. There was still enough of marrow in the remaining bones to last them for two days at the least; for this marrow is a most nourishing food. Moreover, by following the buffalo-trail, they would be likely to fall in with other skeletons of these animals; and all apprehensions on the score of food now vanished from their minds. Another fact, which the skeleton of the buffalo revealed to them, added to their joyful anticipations. They had observed on first going up to it – that the bones were still fresh! The wolves had not been long gone from it. It could not have been a long time killed. All this showed, that the buffaloes themselves had but very recently passed over the ground, and could not be far distant. These were cheering thoughts; and for a while the young hunters sat around the sage-fire, revolving them in their minds, and conversing upon them. Then, having offered thanks to that Being who had so many times miraculously preserved them, they rolled themselves in their blankets, and, notwithstanding a heavy shower of rain that fell, once more found the solace of a good night’s sleep.
Chapter Thirty Four.
The Battle of the Bulls
Next morning the boy hunters were up and stirring at the “peep of day.” They felt refreshed and cheerful. So did their animals, for the grass was good. Jeanette was frisking about on her trail-rope and endeavouring to reach “Le Chat,” whom she would have kicked and bitten to a certainty, but that the lasso-tether restrained her. Jeanette little dreamt how near she had been to her last kick. Had she known that, it is probable she would have carried herself with more sobriety, not knowing but that a similar necessity might occur again. But Jeanette knew nothing of it; and, having eaten well and drunk plentifully, she was as frisky as a kitten.
A fire was kindled, and a fresh “marrow-bone” steamed and sputtered among the blazing branches of the sage. This was soon drawn forth again, cracked, and its rich contents rifled and eaten. The remaining joints were packed upon Jeanette; the horses were saddled, the hunters leaped into their seats, and rode joyfully off upon the trail.
The country over which they now travelled was what is termed a “rolling prairie” – that is, a country without trees, but nevertheless, far from being level. The prairie is not always a level plain, as some people imagine. On the contrary, it is often of very uneven surface, containing high hills and deep valleys. The word “prairie” means properly an open level country, though it is not necessary that it should be a dead horizontal level, to entitle it to the name. It may contain hills, valleys, and long ridges. It is not necessary either that it should be entirely destitute of trees; for there are the “timber prairies,” where trees grow in “mottes” or groves, sometimes termed islands – from their resemblance to wooded islands in the sea. The “prairie” is a term used to distinguish those vast meadow-like tracts of the earth’s surface from the forest, the mountain, and the ocean. The prairies themselves are distinguished by specific names, according to what covers their surface. We have seen that there are “timber prairies” and “flower-prairies.” The latter are usually denominated “weed prairies” by the rude hunters who roam over them. The vast green meadows covered with “buffalo” grass, or “gramma,” or “mezquite” grass, are termed “grass prairies.” The tracts of salt efflorescence – often fifty miles long and nearly as wide – are called “salt prairies;” and a somewhat similar land, where soda covers the surface, are named “soda prairies.” There are vast desert plains where no vegetation appears, save the wild sage-bushes (artemisia). These are the “sage prairies,” hundreds of miles of which exist in the central parts of the North American continent. There are prairies of sand, and “rock prairies,” where the “cut-rock” and pebble deposits cover the arid plains; and still another variety, called the “hog-wallow prairies,” where the surface for miles exhibits a rough appearance, as if it had been at some remote period turned over or “rooted” by hogs.
Most of these names have been given by the trappers – the true pioneers of this wild region. Who have an equal right to bestow them? Scientific men may explore it – topographical officers may travel over it in safety with a troop at their heels – they may proclaim themselves the discoverers of the passes and the plains, the mountains and the rivers, the fauna and the flora – on their maps they may give them the names, first of themselves, then of their patrons, then of their friends, and, lastly, of their favourite dogs and horses. They may call stupendous mountains and grand rivers by the names of Smith and Jones, of Fremont and Stansbury; but men who think justly, and even the rude but wronged trappers themselves, will laugh to scorn such scientific coxcombry.
I honour the names which the trappers have given to the features of that far land; many of which, like the Indian nomenclature, are the expressions of nature itself; and not a few of them have been baptised by the blood of these brave pioneers.
We have said that our adventurers now travelled upon a “rolling prairie.” The surface exhibited vast ridges with hollows between. Did you ever see the ocean after a storm? Do you know what a “ground-swell” is? – when the sea is heaving up in great smooth ridges without crest or foam, and deep troughs between – when the tempest has ceased to howl and the winds to blow, yet still so uneven remains the surface of the mighty deep, still so dangerous are these smooth waves, that ships rock and tumble about, and sometimes lose their masts, or are flung upon their beam ends! That is what the sailors call a “swell.” Now, if you could imagine one of these billowy seas to be suddenly arrested in its motion, and the water transformed to solid earth, and covered with a green sward, you would have something not unlike a “rolling prairie.” Some think that, when these prairies were formed, some such rolling motion actually existed, by means of an earthquake, and that all at once the ground ceased its undulations, and stood still! It is an interesting speculation for the learned geologist.
The ridges of the prairie, upon which our adventurers were journeying, extended from east to west, and, of course, the valleys trended in the same direction. The route was northward; the path, therefore, which the travellers pursued was a continued succession of ups and downs.
Eagerly looking before them, anxiously scanning the valleys or troughs of the prairie as they surmounted each new swell, they rode onward full of hope that they would soon come in sight of the buffaloes. But they were not prepared for the sight was so soon to greet their eyes – a sight which one would have supposed would have filled them with joy, but which, on the contrary, had the effect of inspiring them with a feeling akin to terror.
They had just climbed one of the ridges that gave them a view of the valley beyond. It was a small deep valley, of nearly a circular form, and covered with a green turf. Near one side of it was a spring – the waters of which issuing forth ran nearly around the circumference of the valley, and then escaped through one of the troughs of the prairie. The course of this rivulet could be traced by the low trees – cotton-woods and willows – that fringed its banks; so that the central part of the valley presented the appearance of a small circular meadow almost surrounded by a grove.
It was in this meadow that a spectacle was offered to the eyes of our adventurers, which caused them to rein suddenly up, and sit gazing down upon it with singular emotions. The spectacle was that of a number of animals engaged in what appeared to be a mixed and terrible combat! There was not over a dozen of them in all, but they were large animals, of fierce aspect and furious bearing; and so desperately were they assailing one another, that the green turf around them was torn and furrowed by their hoofs. It was in the middle of the meadow that this indiscriminate contest was carried on – in the open ground – and a finer spot for such an exhibition they could hardly have chosen, had they wished to accommodate a large number of spectators. The valley itself, with the ridges that encircled it, was not unlike one of the great Spanish amphitheatres, where bull-fights are carried on; while the smooth, level surface of the meadow represented the arena. The combatants, however, were engaged in no mock encounter to gratify the curiosity of an idle crowd; nor did they apprehend that there were spectators present.
The contest in which they were engaged was a real fight; and their angry roars, their hurried rushing backwards and forwards, and the loud cracking of their skulls as they came together, proved them to be in earnest.
That the animals were buffaloes was apparent at first sight. Their great bulk, the lion-like form of their bodies, but, above all, their bellowing, that resembled the “routing” of enraged bulls, convinced our young hunters that they could be no other than buffaloes – and buffaloes they were – a “gang” of old buffalo bulls engaged in one of their terrible tournaments.
I have said that our hunters, on first seeing them, were influenced by feelings of terror. But why so? What was there in the appearance of a herd of buffaloes to frighten them, since that was the very thing they had so long been in search of? Was it the angry attitudes of the animals, or their loud roaring? Nothing of the sort? No. That was not what had inspired them with fear, or, as I should rather term it, with awe. No. The reason was very different indeed. It was not because they were buffaloes, or because they were engaged in a fierce battle, – it was because they were white buffaloes!
You will again ask, why this should have been a cause of terror. Was a white buffalo not the very object of the expedition? Should the sight of one not have produced joy rather than fear? So the sight of one would; but it was the sight of so many– the mysterious spectacle of nearly a dozen of these animals together – a thing unparalleled, unheard of – it was this that inspired our adventurers with awe.
It was some time before any of the three could find words to express their astonishment. They sat in silence, gazing down into the valley. They could hardly believe the evidence of their eyes. With the palms of their hands they shaded them from the sun, and gazed still a longer while. They saw, at length, there could be no deception. Buffaloes the animals were, and white ones too!
They were not all of an uniform white, though most of them were. A few were darker about the heads and legs, with broad white flakes upon their sides, giving them a mottled appearance. The general colour, however, was whitish; and, strange to say, there was not a black or brown one in the herd! – not one of the well-known colour that buffaloes usually are! It was this that rendered them such a mysterious band in the eyes of our adventurers.
The latter, however, soon got over their surprise. There could be no doubt that they had fallen in with a herd of white buffaloes. Perhaps, thought they, there is, after all, nothing so strange in such a number of them being together. Perhaps the individuals of that colour, so rarely met with, usually associate together in this way, and keep apart from the black ones. What better fortune could have happened for them then? If they could only succeed in killing one of these creatures, it would be all that they could wish for, and all they wanted. The object of their expedition would then be accomplished; and nothing would remain but to turn their horses’ heads, and take the shortest route homeward. With these ideas passing through their minds, they at once set about considering how they might kill or capture one or more of the herd.
They were not slow to decide upon a plan. The buffaloes, still continuing their angry conflict, had not noticed them as yet, nor were they likely to do so. The hunters resolved, therefore, that two of them should remain on horseback – so as to take the animals upon the “run” – while the third was to endeavour to “approach” them on foot, and get a sure shot before they should start off, taking his chance of joining in the chase afterwards. The latter duty was assigned to Basil; who, after dismounting from his horse, and looking to his trusty rifle, commenced creeping down into the valley. Lucien and François – still in their saddles – remained upon the ridge.
Basil reached the grove of willows without being observed; and, stealing silently through, found himself within less than fifty paces of several of the herd. They were still rushing to and fro, raising the dust in clouds, roaring furiously, parting from each other, and then meeting head to head with such force that each time their skulls cracked as though both had been broken by the terrible concussion. The hunter waited until one of the largest, and apparently the whitest of them, came very near; and then, taking aim behind the fore-shoulder, fired. The huge animal was seen to tumble over; while the others, hearing the shot, or scenting the presence of an enemy, immediately left off their contest; and, breaking through the willows, scrambled up the ridge toward the open prairie.
Without waiting to look after the one that he had fired at, Basil ran toward his horse – which, at his call, was already galloping to meet him. François and Lucien were now in pursuit of the flying herd; and Basil, hastily mounting, followed after. In a few minutes the three were side by side with the buffaloes; and then could be heard the cracking of guns and pistols until the weapons of all were empty; but, although not a shot had missed hitting the animals, the latter continued to gallop on, as though none of them had been hurt! Before the hunters could reload, they had the mortification to see the whole band far off upon the prairie, and running as briskly as ever!
