CHAPTER SEVEN.
A WOLFISH WAY OF KILLING BUFFALOES DESCRIBED--BOUNCE BECOMESMETAPHYSICAL ON THE FINE ARTS--BUTCHERING ENLARGED ON--A GLORIOUS FEAST,AND SKETCHING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
One of the ancient poets has said that wandering through the wild woodsis a pleasant thing. At least, if one of them has not said that, heought to have said it, and, certainly, many of them must have thoughtit, whether they said it or not. Undoubtedly, if future historiansrecord faithfully all that has been said and written from thecommencement of time to the period in which they flourish, they willembalm the fact that at least one prose writer of the present day hasenunciated that incontrovertible proposition.
But we go a step further. We assert positively that wandering throughthe wild woods is a healthy as well as a pleasant sort of thing. Thefree air of the mountains and prairies is renovating, the perfumes ofthe forests are salubrious; while the constantly recurring necessity forleaping and scrambling is good for the muscles, and the occasionaltripping over roots, tumbling into holes, scratching one's face andbanging one's shins and toes against stumps, are good for--thoughsomewhat trying to--the temper.
Further still--we affirm that wandering through the wild woods is afunny thing. Any one who had observed our friends March Marston, andRedhand, and Bounce, and Big Waller, and Black Gibault, the trappers,and Bertram the artist, and Hawkswing the Indian, one beautifulafternoon, not long after the day on which they lost their canoe, wouldhave admitted, without hesitation, that wandering through the wild woodswas, among other things, a funny thing.
On the beautiful afternoon referred to, the first six individuals abovenamed were huddled together in a promiscuous heap, behind a small bush,in such a confused way that an ignorant spectator might have supposedthat Bounce's head belonged to Big Waller's body, and the artist'sshoulders to Redhand's head, and their respective legs and arms to noone individually, but to all collectively, in a miscellaneous sort ofway. The fact was that the bush behind which they were huddled wasalmost too small to conceal them all, and, being a solitary bush in themidst of a little plain of about a half a mile in extent, they had tomake the most of it and the least of themselves. It would have been arefreshing sight for a moralist to have witnessed this instance of man--whose natural tendency is to try to look big--thus voluntarilyendeavouring to look as small as possible!
This bundle of humanity was staring through the bush, with, as thesaying is, all its eyes, that is, with six pairs of--or twelveindividual--eyes; and they were staring at a wolf--an enormous wolf--that was slowly walking away from the bush behind which they wereensconced! It was a very singular wolf indeed--one that was wellcalculated to excite surprise in the breast even of trappers. There wassomething radically wrong with that wolf, especially about the legs.Its ears and head were all right, and it had a tail, a very good tailfor a wolf; but there was a strange unaccountable lump under its neck,and its fore legs bent the wrong way at the knees, and it seemed to havelong feet trailing behind its hind legs, besides being otherwisemisshapen. The mystery is explained when we state that this wolf wasnone other than Hawkswing, down on his hands and knees, with a wolf-skinover his back, and Bertram's blunderbuss-pistol in his hand. He wascreeping cautiously towards a herd of six or seven buffaloes thatchanced to be feeding quietly there, quite unconscious of the nearproximity of so dangerous an enemy.
"I hope the old pistol won't miss fire," whispered Redhand, as heobserved that the wolf paused, evidently for the purpose of examiningthe priming.
"I hope," added Bounce, "that the Injun won't miss his aim. He be'n'tused to pistols."
"Never fear," said March with a quiet grin. "If he aims within a yardo' the brute he's sure to hit, for I loaded the old blunderbuss myself,an' it's crammed nigh to the muzzle with all sorts o' things, includin'stones."
At this Big Waller stared, and said emphatically, "It'll bust!" Bertramfelt and looked uneasy, but Bounce shook his head.
"Them old things," said he, "never bust. I've been forty years, off an'on, in these parts, an' I've always obsarved that old irons o' that sort_don't_ bust; cause why? they'd ha' busted w'en they wos new, if they'dbin goin' to bust at all. The fact is, they _can't_ bust. They're toouseless even for that."
"How comes it," inquired Bertram, "that the buffaloes are not afraid ofa wolf? I have been led to understand that wolves are the inveterateenemies of buffaloes, and that they often attack them."
To this question March, whose head was in close proximity to that of theartist, replied--
"Ay, the sneakin' brutes will attack a single wounded or worn-out oldbuffalo, when it falls behind the herd, and when there are lots o' theirlow-minded comrades along with 'em; but the buffaloes don't care a strawfor a single wolf, as ye may see now if ye pay attention to whatHawkswing's doin'."
Bertram became silent on observing that the Indian had approached towithin about pistol range of the buffalo without attracting particularattention, and that he was in the act of taking aim at its shoulder.Immediately a sharp click caused the buffalo to look up, and apprisedthe onlookers that the faithless weapon had missed fire; again Hawkswingpulled the trigger and with a like result. By this time the buffalo,having become alarmed, started off at a run. Once more the click washeard; then the wolf, rising on its hind legs, coolly walked backed toits comrades behind the bush, while the herd of buffaloes gallopedfuriously away.
The Indian solemnly stalked up to Bertram and presented the pistol tohim with such an expression of grave contempt on his countenance thatMarch Marston burst into an irresistible fit of laughter, therebyrelieving his own feelings and giving, as it were, direction to those ofthe others, most of whom were in the unpleasant condition of beingundecided whether to laugh or cry.
To miss a buffalo was not indeed a new, or, in ordinary circumstances, asevere misfortune; but to miss one after having been three days withoutfood, with the exception of a little unpalatable wolf's flesh, was notan agreeable, much less an amusing, incident.
"I'll tell ye wot it is," said Bounce, slapping his thigh violently andemphasising his words as if to imply that nobody had ever told anybody"wot" anything "wos" since the world began up to that time, "I'll tellye wot it is, I won't stand this sort o' thing no longer."
"It is most unfortunate," sighed poor Bertram, who thoroughly identifiedhimself with his pistol, and felt as much ashamed of it as if the faulthad been his own.
"Wall, lads," observed Big Waller, drawing forth his pipe as the onlysource of comfort in these trying circumstances, and filling it withscrupulous care, "it ain't of no use gettin' growowly about it, I guess.There air more buffaloes than them wot's gone; mayhap we'll splinicateone before we gits more waspisher."
It may, perhaps, be necessary to explain that Waller's last wordreferred to the unusually small waists of the party, the result of apretty long fast.
"I'll tell ye what it is," said March, advancing towards Bounce with aswagger and drawing his hunting-knife, "I quite agree with Waller'ssentiments. I don't mean to allow myself to get any more waspisher, soI vote that we cut Bounce up and have a feed. What say you, comrades?"
"All right," replied Bounce, laying bare his broad chest as if toreceive the knife, "only, p'r'aps, ye'll allow me to eat the first sliceoff myself afore ye begin, 'cause I couldn't well have my shareafterwards, d'ye see? But, now I think on't, I'd be rather a toughmorsel. Young meat's gin'rally thought the tenderest. Wot say ye tocuttin' up March first, an' tryin' me nixt?"
"If you'll only wait, lads," said Redhand, "till Mr Bertram gits a newflint into his pistol, we'll shoot the victim instead o' cutting him up.It'll be quicker, you know."
"Hah! non," cried Gibault, leaping a few inches off the ground, underthe impulse of a new idea, "I vill show to you vat ve vill do. Ve villeach cot hoff von finger. Redhand, he vill begin vid de thomb, et so ontill it come to me, and I vill cot hoff mine leetle finger. Each villdevour the finger of de oder, an' so've shall have von dinner vidoutcommitting mordor--ha! vat say you?
"
As Bertram had by this time arranged the lock of his pistol and reprimedit, the hungry travellers resumed their weary march without coming to adecision upon this delicate point.
It had happened that, during the last few days, the land over which theytravelled being somewhat barren, small game had become scarce, and thelarge game could not be approached near enough to be shot with suchweapons as the artist's antiquated pistols; and as the party possessednothing better in the shape of a projectile, they had failed to procuresupplies. They had now, however, again reached a rich country, and hadsucceeded in trapping a large wolf, under the skin of which Hawkswinghad made, as we have seen, an unsuccessful effort to shoot a buffalo.Soon after this failure the party came to a ridge of gravelly soil thatstretched across the plain like a wave.
The plain, or small prairie, to which we refer was in the midst of amost lovely scene. The earth was carpeted with rich green grass, inwhich the wild flowers nestled like gems. The ground was undulating,yet so varied in its formations that the waves and mounds did notprevent the eyes of the travellers ranging over a vast tract of country,even when they were down among the hollows; and, when they had ascendedthe backs of the ridges, they could cast a wide glance over a scene ofmingled plain and wood, lake and river, such as is never seen except inearth's remotest wilds, where man has not attempted to adorn the face ofnature with the exuberances of his own wonderful invention.
Far away on the horizon the jagged forms and snowy peaks of the RockyMountains rose clear and sharp against the sky. For some days past thetrappers had sighted this stupendous "backbone" of the far west, yet soslowly did they draw near that March Marston and Bertram, in theirimpatience, almost believed they were a range of phantom hills, whichever receded from them as they advanced.
On reaching the summit of the gravelly ridge, Redhand looked along itwith an earnest, searching gaze.
"Wot's ado now?" inquired Bounce.
"There ought to be prairie-hens here," replied the other.
"Oh! do stand still, just as you are, men!" cried Bertramenthusiastically, flopping down on a stone and drawing forth hissketch-book, "you'll make such a capital foreground."
The trappers smiled and took out their pipes, having now learned fromexperience that smoking was not detrimental to a sketch--rather thereverse.
"Cut away, Gibault," said Bounce, "an' take a look at the edge o' yonbluff o' poplars and willows. I've obsarved that prairie-hens is fondo' sich places. You'll not be missed out o' the pictur', bein' only asmall objict, d'ye see, besides an ogly one."
The jovial Canadian acknowledged the compliment with a smile and obeyedthe command, leaving his companions to smoke their pipes and gaze withquiet complacency upon the magnificent scene. Doubtless, much of theirsatisfaction resulted from the soothing influence of tobacco on theirempty stomachs.
"I say," whispered Waller, removing his pipe and puffing from his lips alarge cloud of smoke, which rolled upwards in the form of a white ring,"I say, Bounce, I guess it's past my comprehension what he means by aforeground. How does _we_ make a capital foreground?"
Bounce looked at his companion in silence for a few seconds; then heremoved his pipe, pursed his lips, frowned heavily, looked at theground, and repeated slowly, "How does _we_ make a capital foreground?"
Waller nodded.
"Ay, that's it." Bounce resumed his pipe for a few seconds, and thensaid with an air of the utmost profundity--
"Don't you know?"
"No, I don't."
"Wot? Nothin' about it wotiver?"
"Nothin' wotsomdiver."
"H'm, that's okard," said Bounce, once more applying to his pipe;"'cause, d'ye see, it's most 'orrible difficult to explain a thing to afeller as don't know nothin' wotiver about it. If ye only had thesmallest guess o--"
"Wall, come, I does know _somethin'_ about it," interrupted Waller.
"Wot's that?" inquired Bounce, brightening up.
"I calc'late that I knows for certain it ain't got no place wotiver inmy onderstandin'."
"Hah!" exclaimed Bounce. "Come, then, I'll do my best for to explain itt'ye. Here's wot it is. D'ye see Mr Bertram, there?"
"Yes, I does."
"An' d'ye see yerself?"
"Wall, I does," replied Waller, looking complacently down at his hugelimbs.
"Good; then d'ye see the ground over there?" continued Bounce, pointingwith his pipe to the Rocky Mountains.
Waller nodded.
"Now then," said Bounce, in those deep earnest tones with which menusually attempt to probe the marrow of some desperately knotty question;"now, then, when Mr Bertram's a drawin' of, an' tries to look at theground over there, you an' me comes _before_ the ground, d'ye see; an'so we're, as ye may say, _before-grounds_. But men wot studies humannatur' an' langwidges, d'ye see, comes for to know that words is alwaysgittin' onnecessary bits chopped off 'em--sometimes at one end,sometimes at t'other. So they tuck off the B, d'ye see, an' made itforeground, and that's how we come to be foregrounds."
"Oh!" said Waller, with the vacant air of a man who feels himself aswise at the termination as he was at the beginning of an explanation.
"Yes," resumed Bounce, "that's how it is. I must confess, for my part,that I don't 'xactly see the advantage o' us in that light. I shouldha' thought it would ha' bin better to make us stand to one side, d'yesee, and let him see how the land lies. But there's no accountin' fortaste in this wurld--I've obsarved that, iver since I was three futtwo."
Having delivered himself of this graphic exposition of an abstrusesubject, Bounce relapsed into silence, and the whole party continued forsome minutes in a profound reverie. From this felicitous condition theywere awakened by the sudden appearance of Black Gibault, who darted outof the poplar bluff and made towards them at the top of his speed. Heuttered no cry, but, on coming near enough to permit of his featuresbeing clearly seen, it was observed that his eyes were eagerly wideopen, and that his mouth was engaged in the formation of words. Asecond or two more, and he was near enough to be heard uttering the word"buffaloes" in a hoarse whisper.
"Ho! boy, wot is't?" cried Bounce in an equally hoarse whisper.
"Ba--buffaloes, hah! buffaloes," cried Gibault, panting violently as hecame up; "Where be de leetle gun? He! Monsieur Bertram, out vid it."
"Where saw ye them?" asked Redhand, seizing the two pistols, andexamining the priming.
"Jist oder side of de bluff. Ver' close to de bushes. Queek! queek!vite! mon garcon, you is so drefful slow."
The latter part of this sentence was addressed to Hawkswing, who wasquietly putting on his wolf-skin. Although too slow for the hastyspirit of Gibault, the Indian was quick enough for all useful purposes.In three minutes he was in the clump of poplar trees behind which thebuffaloes were reported to be feeding, and in another minute he was outupon the plain creeping towards his victims, while the rest of the partywere again huddled together behind a bush, looking on with deep interestand breathless attention.
Gradually and slowly the Indian crept towards the buffaloes, pausing andsnuffing about from time to time as if he were a veritable wolf insearch of something to eat. At last he had approached near enough tothe herd to attract their attention, but scarcely near enough to makesure of bringing one down. The huge unwieldy creatures looked upinquiringly for a moment, but, seeing only a solitary enemy, theyscorned to take further notice of him, and went on feeding.
Hawkswing paused within a few yards of the side of a fat sleek animal,and slowly raised his pistol. The trappers held their breath, andBertram uttered a low groan of anxiety. One moment more and a whitepuff was followed by a loud crack, and a bellow, as the horror-strickenbuffaloes tossed up their heels and fled wildly from the spot, leavingone of their number in the agonies of death upon the plain.
The knife of the Indian hastened its end, and with a rush and a yell ofdelight the whole party fell upon the luckless animal.
It was a wonderful sight to see, the way in which these experie
nced menflayed and cut up that buffalo! Hawkswing, without taking time toremove his wolf-skin covering, commenced upon the head and speedily cutout the tongue--a more difficult operation than inexperienced personswould suppose. Redhand and Bounce began at the shoulders, and BigWaller and Gibault fell to work upon the flanks. March Marston seizedhis axe, and hastening into the bluff felled a dead pine and kindled afire. As for Bertram, he sat down to sketch the whole with a degree ofprompt facility and gusto, that showed the habit had become secondnature to him.
The way in which these men wielded their bloody knives, flayed andsliced, dismembered and divided that buffalo, is past belief--almostbeyond description. Each man threw off his capote and tucked up hisshirt-sleeves to the elbows, and very soon each had on a pair of brightred gauntlets. And the bloody appearance of Hawkswing's mouth provedthat he had been anticipating the feast with a few tit-bits raw. Theothers were more patient.
In very nearly as short a time as it takes to tell, the buffalo wasconverted into a mass of fragments that were powerfully suggestive of abutcher's shop, and the trappers adjourned to a neighbouring rivulet towash their hands and arms.
"Now, I'll tell ye wot it is," observed Bounce while thus engaged, "Imeans for to have a most awful blow out, and then go to sleep forfour-and-twenty hours on end."
"Ditto," remarked Big Waller with a nod; to which old Redhand repliedwith a chuckle.
"An' who be go to vatch, tink you?" inquired Gibault, as they allreturned to the camp. "Perhaps de Injuns look out for us--vat den?"
"Ah ye may well ask that, Gibault," said Redhand; "the fact is I've beenthinkin' that now we're drawin' near to enemies we must begin to keepbetter watch at night, and to burn small fires o' dry wood, lest thesmoke should tell a tale upon us."
"Oh, don't talk bam, old feller," said Waller; "I guess we'll havewatchin' enough w'en we gits into the mountains. Let's take it easyhere."
"We'll have one good blow out to-night, anyhow," cried March Marston,heaving a fresh pile of logs on the already roaring fire. "Now, MrBertram, _do_ give up your scratchin' to-night, and let's see what youcan do in the eatin' way. I'm sure you've fasted long enough, at leastfor the good o' your health."
The poor artist had indeed fasted long enough to give to his naturallythin and lank figure a thread-papery appearance that might havesuggested the idea that he was evaporating. He smiled good-humouredlywhen March Marston, who had now become rather familiar with him, shut uphis sketch-book and set him forcibly down before the fire, all roundwhich steaks and hunks of meat were roasting and grilling, and sendingforth an odour that would have rendered less hungry men impatient ofdelay. But they had not to wait long. Each man sat before hisrespective steak or hunk, gazing eagerly, as, skewered on the end of asplinter of wood, his supper roasted hissingly. When the side next thefire was partially cooked, he turned it round and fell to work upon thatwhile the other side was roasting--thus the cooking and the eating wenton together.
After a considerable time symptoms of satiety began to appear, in theshape of an occasional remark. Soon Bounce uttered a deep sigh, andannounced his belief that, having taken the edge off his appetite, itwas time to begin with the marrow-bones. Thereupon, with themarrow-bones he began, and his example was quickly followed by hiscompanions. There was a business-like steadiness of purpose in the wayin which that meal was eaten, and in the whole of the procedureconnected with it, that would have been highly diverting to adisinterested spectator.
When the feast was concluded, the pipes made their appearance as amatter of course; and when these were lighted, and in full blast, thetrappers found leisure to look round upon each other's faces withexpressions of benignity.
"Dat be a monstrobolly goot supper," remarked Gibault Noir. Gibaultspoke with an effort. It was quite plain that moderation was a virtuethat he did not possess in a high degree--at least, not on the presentoccasion.
"You'll need a `monstrobolly' good sleep arter it," observed Bouncequietly.
"You will, jist," said Waller; "an' so will this coon, I cal--"
Big Waller was going to have "calculated," according to custom; butsleepiness overpowered him at the moment, and he terminated the wordwith a yawn of such ferocity that it drew from Redhand a remark of doubtas to whether his jaws could stand such treatment long.
Every member of that party seemed to be quite contented and amiable, butno one showed much inclination to talk, and ere many minutes had passed,half their number were under their blankets, their heads pillowed ontheir bundles and their eyes sealed in sleep. A few minutes later, andBig Waller, sinking into a very sprawling and reckless posture, with hisback against the stem of a large cotton-tree, dropped into a state ofslumber with his pipe hanging gracefully from his lips.
This seemed so picturesque to Theodore Bertram, who sat immediatelyopposite to the Yankee, on the other side of the fire, that he pulledout his sketch-book and began enthusiastically to sketch by theflickering light. While he was thus occupied, the others lay down, oneby one, and he was left, at last, the only waking member of the camp.
But Theodore Bertram was human, and this is tantamount to saying that hewas not capable of ignoring the somnolent influences of human nature.To his own extreme surprise his head fell forward with an abrupt nodwhile he was engaged in the act of depicting Big Waller's nose, and hefound, on resuming work, with an imbecile smile at what he deemed hisweakness, that that member of the Yankee's face was at least two feetlong, and was formed after the pattern of a somewhat irregular Bolognasausage. Indiarubber quickly put this to rights, however, and he set toagain with renewed zeal. Throwing back his head, and looking up as iffor inspiration, his wide-awake fell off, and it required a sudden andpowerful effort to prevent his head and shoulders falling in the samedirection.
Having replaced his hat and shaken himself a little, the persevering manonce more applied himself to his task of finishing the Yankee'sportrait, which, to say truth, now presented a variety of jagged andpicturesque outlines, that savoured more of caricature than anythingBertram had ever yet accomplished. For some time the pencil moved uponthe paper pretty steadily, and the artist was beginning to congratulatehimself on his success, when, to his horror, he observed that the treeagainst which the Yankee leaned was in the act of falling over to theright. The same instant he received a shock upon the left side, andawoke to find that he had fallen heavily upon poor Gibault's breast, andthat Waller and his tree were _in statu quo_. But Gibault cared not; hewas too deeply intent upon sleeping to mind such trifles.
Bertram smiled meekly as he resumed his sitting posture; but the smilefaded and was replaced by a gaze of mute astonishment as he observedthat he had depicted Waller's right eye upon his chin, close beneath hisnose! There seemed to be some sort of magic here, and he felt disposedto regard the thing in the light of some serious optical illusion, when,on closer inspection, he discovered Waller's mouth drawn altogetherbeyond the circle of his countenance, a foot or so above his head, onthe stem of the tree against which he leaned. This changed the currentof his thoughts and led him to believe that he must be dreaming, underwhich impression he fell back and went to sleep.
Of course, Bertram recollected nothing after that; but when Gibaultawoke next morning, he found him lying on his back, with his feet in theashes of the extinct fire, his tall brigandish wide-awake perfectly flatbeneath his shoulders, and his sketch-book lying open across his face.
The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains Page 7
