The boys trembled as they realized how narrow their escape had been. Had they not paused for a few minutes, they would have been in the middle of the stream, just as the others came down to the edge of the water. In the light of their recent experience with the Winnebagos, they had not a particle of doubt that the three belonged to the same tribe and that they were fierce enemies. Had they not slain the boys, they would have made captives of both and conducted them to the main party. Then when it should have been found that one of the prisoners had the gun that once belonged to the Wolf, their fate would have been sealed.
The incident drove from the mind of Fred all wish to tarry on the road. He wished that they were many miles on their way to the camp in the Ozarks. They considered themselves members of the little party of hunters whom they could not reach any too soon.
“I obsarved while the spalpeens were wadin’,” said Terry, “that none of them wint lower in the water than their knees. Why didn’t they take off their shoes like dacent gintlemen, and cross as they should; but bein’ as they didn’t do the same, why, we’ll sit them the example.”
A minute later, the boys stepped into the stream, and, by using care, reached the other side, with all their garments dry. Their shoes were quickly replaced, and the two were off again, so moved by what they had seen, that for the time they forgot fatigue and every thing else.
“I tell you, Terry, that matters are beginning to look worse than even Deerfoot thought, and you know that when he left us he didn’t feel satisfied, by any means.”
“Could it be,” asked his companion, “that these spalpeens don’t belong to the same crowd that we saw?”
“I am quite sure they do; these three would not have been so separated from the others.”
“Where could they have come from?” asked the puzzled Terry.
“Where all the Indians come from—the woods. I suppose a large party of Winnebagos have been off on a tramp, and they are coming together with a view of going home or of making an attack on some place or persons.”
A random guess, like this, sometimes comes closer to the truth than a labored theory. The three Indians whom they had so narrowly escaped were members of Black Bear’s party and were on their way to meet him. Furthermore, there were more of them at no great distance.
“Me father lost his life by the Indians,” said Terry, in a soft voice; “but though it was not known what tribe the same belonged to, I don’t think they were Winnebagos; but Indians are Indians and are always ready to kill white people whiniver the chance comes along.”
“You are right; father doesn’t think there is the least danger or he wouldn’t have sent for me. He has hunted several seasons without any trouble with them, but he ought to have learned long ago to be forever on the watch.”
“Fred,” said the other, stopping short in his excitement; “do ye think they are goin’ to attack the sittlement?”
“Impossible! There’s the blockhouse and plenty of men to defend it against a thousand savages.”
“But the woods saam to be full of thim; there may be some kind of an Indian war that has broke out and these are the first part of the rid army that is to coom down and swaap us over the Rocky Mountains.”
But Fred could not share in this prodigious fear. He faced to the front again and laughed, as he resumed his walk.
“There couldn’t be any thing like that without warning reaching us; some of the runners would have come to Greville with the news; besides, Deerfoot would have been certain to know something about it.”
“That sittles it!” exclaimed Terry, with a sigh of relief; “ye are right in sayin’ the Shawanoe would have knowed about it; he would have larned it before the spalpeens that started out on the war path, and, bein’ as he didn’t say any thin’, I’m sure ye are right; but all the same, it looks bad for the Hunters of the Ozark, which maans oursilves as well as the men in the mountains.”
“There’s no use of denying that there is enough to make all of us anxious, but when I remember that father and Mr. Hardin and Bowlby have spent so many years in the Indian country, I can not help feeling hope that they will be able to take care of themselves. You know they are all good shots and they have a cabin strong enough to stand a rough siege.”
“I don’t forgit the same; but there’s a good many more rid than white men and Mr. Bowlby is lame.”
“What of that? He doesn’t expect to fight with his feet.”
“There are many scrimmages in which it’s handy to use yer faat. If Deerfut hadn’t popped along just as I keeled over the Wolf I’d jumped on him; then, do ye not mind that the men may take it into their heads to run away.”
“They have their horses,” said Fred, foreseeing and agreeing with the response that his young friend would make.
“Not one of ’em is worth a cint at such a time; a one-legged Indian could outrun the fastest; they would have to stick fast to the trail while the spalpeens would walk all around ’em.”
“All that is true, but if they could get a good start, it would be very handy for Mr. Bowlby to have one of the horses to ride.”
“I don’t see much chance of the same,” was the sensible comment of Terry; “but, me boy, have ye any idaa of what time it is?”
“It must be far beyond midnight: surely we are a long ways in advance of the Winnebago camp where we left Deerfoot.”
“They are not meaning to make a start tonight?”
“Of course not; they will not move until morning.”
“Thin I’m in favor of an adjournment sine die, at once and without waitin’ any longer.”
“What do you mean?” asked the puzzled Fred, stopping and looking around at his companion.
“I’m tired out.”
“So am I, but I made up my mind to keep walking till I dropped, before I would give in to you. It will be a sensible thing for us to rest, but we must get far enough from the trail, so that if any more stragglers come along this way, they won’t stumble over us.”
This was only simple prudence. They groped along for several rods, through the undergrowth and among the limbs, and were still walking, when Terry’s foot struck some obstruction and he fell flat.
“Are you hurt?” asked Fred.
“Hurt? No; that’s the way I always lay down, as me uncle obsarved whin he fell off the roof—call me early, Fred, and be sure ye don’t take up more of the bed—than—a—gintleman—”
The poor wearied fellow was asleep.
Fred smiled as he lay down beside him. The air was quite brisk, so he unstrapped his blanket and flung part of it over his friend and the rest over himself, the two lying back to back as they lay the night before in the cavern. The dried leaves made as soft a couch as they could want and Fred had only time to murmur a prayer to heaven, when he too became unconscious.
They slumbered for four full hours, when both awoke at the same moment, refreshed and strengthened. The sun was well up in the sky, and fortunately the weather continued clear, crisp and bracing. Indeed it could not have been more nearly perfect.
They laughed when they saw where they had made their bed, right in the open wood, just as any wild animal would have done when overcome by fatigue. There was no water within sight and no food at command. The blanket was quickly folded up into a neat parcel and strapped to the back of Fred and the two retraced their steps to the trail, which they hoped to follow until it took them to the camp at the foot of the Ozarks.
“I have found out one thing, that have I,” remarked Terry, with the air of one announcing a great discovery.
“What is that?”
“The hungriest young gintleman on the western side of the Mississippi is the handsome youth whom ye have the honor of walkin’ with this very minute.”
“I can feel for you on that question,” added Fred; “for it seems to me that I never wanted food so bad in all my life; we must be on the lookout for game. Do you know how to make that call that Deerfoot used to bring the turkey to him?”
�
��No, but I know how to use the turkey after the same is brought to me. If I should try the signal, it would scare all the turkeys and deer and foxes and bears and wolves and beavers out of the country, which bein’ the same, I won’t try it, principally because I don’t know how to begin to try it.”
“My gracious, Terry; if you could shoot like you can talk, we wouldn’t have to wait long for something to eat.”
“Whisht, Fred,” whispered Terry, in some excitement; “the wood just beyanst ye looks as if it wasn’t any wood at all.”
Fred Linden had noticed the peculiarity. The trees were becoming so scarce and far apart that it was evident they were approaching some extensive clearing where no trees grew at all. The next minute the two stood on the edge of an immense prairie, which revealed a sight that profoundly interested them.
CHAPTER XXVII
A Morning Meal
The two boys stood on the edge of a prairie which had a varying width of from one to three miles. Looking to the right and the left, neither end could be seen, so that there was no means of judging its length.
The trail led straight across to the wilderness on the other side, which at that point was all of two miles distant. You can understand that walking was so much easier on the open ground that any party of travelers would hasten to take advantage of such a chance. The hoofs of the half dozen horses had left such a distinct impression that the eye could follow the trail a long ways from the margin of the woods.
This prairie was entirely covered with a growth of succulent grass. The season was so late that it had lost most of its verdancy, but there was an abundance of nutriment in the blades and it was splendid feeding-ground—one of those breaks in the almost limitless forest of which grazing animals were sure to take advantage.
The boys had paused only a minute or two, gazing out on the almost level expanse, when Terry uttered an exclamation of delight and pointed to the right. Looking in that direction (as Fred had done at the moment his companion spoke), he saw a welcome sight indeed. A herd of buffaloes were cropping the grass within gunshot of the young hunters.
As I have said in another place, there were no such droves as have sometimes been seen on the vast prairies of the far west, numbering fully a hundred thousand, though a century ago some amazing collections of animals were met within sight of the Mississippi.
The herd upon which our friends looked with so much interest numbered little more than a hundred, and they were ruminating along the side of the prairie instead of cropping the grass in the middle of the plain. Some of them seemed to be browsing among the trees and undergrowth, but the major part were scattered over the prairie to a distance of two hundred yards, while they were strung to a still greater extent parallel with the course of the prairie itself. From this you will see they were much dispersed, none of them being close to another, except he may have brushed against him now and then.
The front of the drove was not less than two hundred feet away and others could be heard ruminating among the trees, where their huge bushy heads and big round eyes were often thrust into view. Some of them may have caught sight of the lads, but if so, they did not consider them worth attention, for they continued browsing and grazing, advancing step by step toward the spot where our young friends stood.
“Frederick,” said Terry, laying his hand on the arm of his companion, and speaking with the gravity of a judge, “whin ye swoop yer gaze on thim playthings out there, bear in mind that there’s our breakfast, as me grandmither obsarved whin the dinner table upsit and ivery thing rolled down cellar.”
“Our opinion is unanimous on that point; I have already selected my victim, and if you will go away and start a fire, it will hurry matters along.”
“It ain’t as bad as that,” said Terry in some surprise, “I’m not so near dead that I’m goin’ to die in ten minutes if I don’t git somethin’ to ate: I will stay and superintind the operations of shootin’ one of them little pets out there.”
“It isn’t the first buffalo I have killed—”
“I’m not aware that ye have killed that yit,” interrupted the Irish lad in his quizzical fashion.
“You soon will be, but I have been out with father before today and shot buffaloes: have you?”
“No; whin I goes out huntin’ yer fither has’t the proud distinction of bein’ taken along. Lucky for the buffaloes I niver took a notion to go out and kill siveral thousand: for that raison we find the drove out there so innocent and confidin’ that they don’t know enough to be afeard of us.”
“Maybe they have no cause to be.”
“But they can’t know that I’m not goin’ to shoot among them,—so why shouldn’t they be scared out of their siven sinses? Howsumiver, ye have me permission to show the animals that ye are actin’ under me own eye and orders and it will be an incouragement to yersilf to know the same.”
From what has been said, it will be understood that Fred Linden knew much more about buffaloes1 than did his companion. As he had said, this was not the first time he had hunted them, but with Terry Clark it was different. He had spent a good deal of his time in the woods and had gone in quest of wolves, bears and deer, but he had never brought down one of the lumbering animals for whose flesh he now yearned with a yearning that only the most ravening hunger can inspire.
Terry had formed a deep plot during the short conversation. He did not know the best manner in which to shoot a buffalo and he was too proud to ask instruction. He encouraged the scheme, therefore, of Fred making the first shot. That would give him a chance to see how it was done, so that when he came to exhibit his skill, he would make no mistake.
Although up to this time the animals had not shown that they cared a straw for the two beings who stood so near and were looking at them with loaded guns in their hands, yet they were liable to become stampeded at any moment. A snort and jump by a single animal were likely to set the whole drove on a dead run, in which all hope of a breakfast on buffalo steaks would be gone for that morning at least.
So, as a matter of prudence, Terry stayed where he was, but partly sheltered himself, so as not to startle any one of the animals that might come upon him suddenly. At the same time, Fred bent low and with loaded and cocked rifle began stealing toward the nearest buffalo.
As it happened this was a cow in fine condition. She was plucking a ribbon of grass that followed the edge of prairie. By some chemistry of shadow and sunshine, there was this little strip of unusually tender herbage, which the cow was eating in her quick, vigorous way, as though afraid that some of her companions would find and take it from her.
Fred singled out this one as his prize. Being so close to the wood, he could not have wanted a better chance to steal up to her. Indeed he had but to stand still, for she was coming a regular half step at a time as she clipped the grass in front of her; but the youth’s hunger would not allow him to wait the few minutes that would have been required.
When within fifty feet of the cow, Fred knelt on one knee and brought his rifle to a level. The cow was still advancing, “head on,” when he made a noise similar to that which comes natural to you when you wish to drive the hens out of your garden-patch. The cow stopped abruptly, threw up her head and stared at the hunter. The sight of the crouching figure must have suggested to the stupid animal that every thing was not right, for with a frightened whiff, she bounded short around with the intention of joining the other animals.
At the very moment she turned, Fred Linden fired, sending the bullet directly back of her fore leg, where it tore its way through flesh, muscles, bones and the heart, the battered bullet humming off through the air on the other side.
No shot could have been more effective. The cow made a couple of wild leaps and then lunged forward, her nose striking the earth with such force that her head doubled under her and she swung over on her back and side with a violence that made it seem as if she had fallen down a high precipice.
Following his old rule, Fred loaded his gun where he stood, before
moving out to examine his prize. It was at this juncture that a stampede of the whole drove was due. Now that the boys had secured their breakfast they would not have cared had the animals thundered off out of sight.
But the terror of the smitten creature was too brief to affect the rest, even though several were quite close to her at the time she gave the snort and rolled over on the ground. A cow grazing near did raise her head for a moment and look at her fallen friend as though she hardly understood it. She seemed to meditate plunging into the rest of the drove with head down and with tidings of the disaster, but she must have concluded that since the other cow was dead, it wasn’t worth while to make any fuss over it; for she dropped her head and resumed her grazing as though she had no further interest in the matter.
Even when Fred ran out, and, stooping down, began cutting a large slice from the shoulder of the victim, none of the others paid any attention to him. Close behind him came Terry, who was so desirous of examining the prize, that he postponed starting the fire.
“Terry, how will that do for a shot?” asked Fred, with some pride, as he plied his knife.
“Where did ye land the shot?”
“Right there, behind the fore leg; you can see the hole where it entered.”
Terry turned his head to one side, closed an eye and surveyed it as though he was measuring the height of a wall: then he shook his head.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked the impatient Fred.
“Ye are a sixteenth of an inch too far forward, be the token of which the ball wint through the upper part of the heart: whin ye kill a buffalo coow ye should always sind the ball through the lower instead of the upper part of the heart. Ye surprise me so much that I am graved with ye, me own Fred.”
The latter laughed.
“I suppose it would have done as well had I sent the bullet through her brain; but that takes the finest kind of marksmanship.”
“Av course, which explains why ye didn’t dare attimpt it: whin we have finished our dinner, supper and breakfast all in one, I’ll step out on the perarie, strike an impressive attitude and drop the biggest bull in the drove, just to tach ye the gintaal way of doin’ that same thing.”
The Edward S. Ellis Megapack Page 236
