This was decided on at once, and men told off to do the work.
Then it was proposed to build three or four stout walls across the sloping path, all but just room enough for a man to glide by. These would be admirable means of defence to fight behind, if the enemy forced their way in past the first entry, and with these and a larger and stronger barrier at the top of the slope by the first turn, it was considered by the Doctor that with ordinary bravery the place would be impregnable.
So far so good; but then there were the horses and cattle, the former in the cavern-like stable, the latter in their stonewalled corral or enclosure.
Here was a difficulty, for now, however strong their defence might be, they were isolated, and it would be awkward in case of attack to have two small parties of men detailed for the guarding of these places, which the Indians would be sure to attack in force, in place of throwing their lives away against the well-defended mountain path.
“Couldn’t we contrive a gallery along the face of the mountain, right along above the ravine and the stables, sir?” said Bart. “I think some stones might be loosened out, and a broad ledge made, too high for the Indians to climb up, and with a good wall of stones along the edge we could easily defend the horses.”
“A good idea, Bart, if it can be carried out,” said the Doctor. “Let’s go and see!”
Inspection proved that this could easily be done so as to protect the horses, but not the corral, unless its position were altered and it were placed close alongside of the cavern stable.
After so much trouble had been taken in rearing this wall it seemed a great pity, but the men willingly set to work, while some loosened stones from above, and levered them down with bars, these fallen stones coming in handy for building up the wall.
Fineness of finish was not counted; nothing but a strong barrier which the cattle could not leap or throw down, if an attempt was made to scare them into a stampede, was all that was required, and so in a few days not only was this new corral strongly constructed, and the ledge projected fifty feet above it in the side of the mountain had been excavated, and edged with a strong wall of rock.
There was but little room, only advantage was taken of holes in the rock, which were enlarged here and there so as to form a kind of rifle-pit, in which there was plenty of space for a man to creep and kneel down to load and fire at any enemy who should have determined to carry off the cattle. In fine, they had at last a strong place of defence, only to be reached from a spot about a hundred feet up the sloping way to the summit of the mountain; and the road to and from the bastion, as the Doctor called it, was quite free from observation in the plain, if the defenders crept along on hands and knees.
Beneath the entrance to this narrow gallery a very strong wall was built nearly across the slope; and at Bart’s suggestion a couple of huge stones were loosened in the wall just above, and a couple of crowbars were left there ready to lower these still further, so that they would slip down into the narrow opening left in case of emergency, and thus completely keep the Indians out.
All these matters took a great deal of time, but the knowledge of the danger from the prowling bands of Indians always on the war-path on the plains, and also that of the large treasure in silver that was within their reach, made the men work like slaves.
Water had been found in a spring right at the top of the mountain, and after contriving a basin in the rock that it should fill, it was provided with an outlet, and literally led along a channel of silver down to where it could trickle along a rift, and then down by the side of the sloping paths to a rock basin dug and blasted out close to the entrance in the plain.
This was a good arrangement, for the water was deliciously pure, and gave an ample supply to the camp, and even to the cattle when necessary, a second overflow carrying the fount within the corral, where a drinking-place was made, so that they were thus independent of the lake upon the plain, or the necessity for contriving a way down to the river in the canyon. Attention had then to be given to the food supply, and this matter was mentioned to the Beaver.
For Bart had suggested that no doubt the Indians would find buffalo for them, instead of passing their time playing the part of mountain scouts and herdsmen when the cattle were driven to feed down in the rich pastures by the lake.
* * *
Chapter Twenty Three.
Off on a Hunt.
The Beaver did not often smile, but when Bart tried to explain his wishes to him that he should lead a little party out into the plains to shoot buffalo for the party, his stolid, warlike countenance began slowly to expand; there was a twinkle here and a crease there; his solemn, watchful eyes sparkled; then they flashed, and at last a look of joy overspread his countenance, and he said a few words eagerly to the interpreter.
“The Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth,” began the latter slowly, “says that it is good, and that we will go and hunt bison, for it is men’s work, while minding the grazing cattle here is only fit for squaws.”
The Indians immediately began their preparations, which were marked by their brevity. Rifles and ammunition were examined, girths were tightened, and small portions of dried meat tied to the pad saddles ready for use if required, though it was hoped that a sufficiency of fresh meat would soon be obtained.
Then it was reported to Dr Lascelles that all was ready.
At that moment it seemed as if there were two boys in the camp, and that these two were sun-blackened, toil-roughened Joses, and Bart.
For these two could not conceal their eagerness to be of the hunting party, and every now and then Joses kept stealing a quick, animal-like glance at Bart, while the latter kept glancing as sharply at the frontiersman.
Neither spoke, but their looks said as plainly as could be:
“What a shame it will be if he goes, and I have to stay in camp.”
The Indians had mounted, and were sitting like so many bronze statues, waiting for the Doctor’s permission to go; for military precision and discipline had of late been introduced, and regular guards and watches kept, much to the disgust of some of the Englishmen, who did not scruple to say that it was quite unnecessary.
Meanwhile the Doctor seemed to have been seized with a thoughtful fit, and stood there musing, as if he were making some plan as to the future.
Bart kept on trying to catch his eye, but in vain. Then he glanced towards where the Beaver was seated upon his horse, with his keen black eyes fixed upon the youth, and his look seemed to Bart to say: “Are not you coming?”
“I don’t like to ask leave to go,” thought Bart; “but oh, if I could only have permission! What a gallop! To be at the back of a drove of bison as they go thundering over the plain! It will be horrible if I have to stay.”
He looked towards where Joses stood frowning heavily, and still the Doctor gave no orders. He seemed regularly absorbed in his thoughts. The Beaver was growing impatient, and his men were having hard work to quiet their fiery little steeds, which kept on snorting and pawing up the sand, giving a rear up by way of change, or a playful bite at some companion, which responded with a squeal or a kick.
At last Joses began making signs to Bart that he should come over to his side, but the lad did not see them, for his eyes were fixed upon the Doctor, who at last seemed to start out of his musing fit.
“Ah!” he said; “yes, you men had better go. Tell them, Bart, to drive the bison as near camp as they can before they kill them. It will save so much trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Bart, drawing in his breath in a way that sounded like a sigh. “Any other orders?”
“No, my boy, no. Or, stop; they ought to have an Englishman with them perhaps. Better let Harry go; we can spare him. Or, stay, send Joses.”
The frontiersman uttered a snort, and was about turning to go to the spot where his horse was tethered, when he stopped short, to stand staring at Bart, with a look full of commiseration, and Bart read it truly— “I’ll stop, my lad, if you can get leave to go instead.”
> Then came fresh words from the Doctor’s lips—words that sent the blood galloping through Bart’s veins, and made his nerves thrill and his eyes flash with delight.
“I suppose you would not care to go upon such a rough expedition as this, Bart?” the Doctor said.
“Oh, but I should, sir,” the lad exclaimed. “I’d give anything to go—if you could spare me,” he added.
The Doctor looked at him in a half-thoughtful, half-hesitating way, and remained silent for a time, while Bart felt upon the tiptoe of expectation, and in a horrible state of dread lest his guardian should alter his mind.
“Better stop, Bart,” he said at last. “Bison-hunting is very difficult and dangerous work. You might be run or trampled down, or tossed, or goodness knows what beside.”
“I’d take the greatest care to be out of danger, sir,” said Bart, deprecatingly.
“By running into it at every turn, eh, my boy?” said the Doctor, good-humouredly. “Then I’ll ask the opinion of Joses, and see what he says. Here, Joses!”
The frontiersman came up at a trot, and then stood leaning upon his rifle.
“What do you think?” asked the Doctor. “Would it be safe to allow Bart here to go with you after the bison?”
“You mean buffler, don’t you?” said Joses, in a low, growling tone.
“No; I mean bison,” replied the Doctor, sharply. “You people call them buffalo. I say, do you think it safe for him to go with you?”
“Safe? Course it is,” growled Joses. “We shall want him too. He’s so light, and his Black Boy is so swift, that the hunting party will get on better and cut out more buffalo meat if he comes.”
“Well, then, according to that, Bart,” said the Doctor, good-humouredly, “I suppose I must let you go.”
“If you please, sir,” said Bart, quietly; and then, with a gush of boyish enthusiasm, “I’d give anything to go, sir—I would indeed.”
“Then I suppose you must go, Bart. Be off!”
The lad rushed off, followed by Joses, who seemed quite as much excited and as overjoyed, for he kept on slapping Bart upon the shoulder, and giving vent to little “hoorays” and “whoops”, and other inhuman cries, indicative of his delight; while no sooner did the Beaver realise that Joses and Bart would be of the party than he began to talk quickly to the interpreter, then to his followers, and at last sat there motionless, in dignified silence, waiting for what was to come.
Stolid Indian as he was, though, he could not keep it up, but dashed his heels into his pony’s ribs after a few moments, and cantered to where Joses and Bart were making their preparations, and, leaping to the ground, he eagerly proffered his services.
They were not needed, and he stood looking on, talking eagerly in his own language, putting in an English word wherever he could think of one, or fancied that it would fit, till all seemed ready, and Bart stood patting his little arch-necked black cob, after slinging his rifle over his shoulder.
Just then the Doctor waved his hand as a signal to him of farewell, and reading it also as a sign that they might set off, Bart leaped into his saddle, Joses followed suit, and saying something to his pony which started it off, the Beaver seemed to swing himself out into a horizontal position over his steed’s back, and then dropped into his place, and they all then cantered up to where the rest of the Indians were impatiently waiting.
“All ready?” cried Bart.
“Ready we are, Master Bart,” growled Joses.
“Off, then,” cried Bart, waving his hand, when, amidst a ringing cheer from the little crowd of lookers-on, the bison-hunters went off at full speed over the sandy plain, making for the left of the lake; and as Bart turned in his saddle to gaze back, the camp, with its round-topped waggons, the flat mountain, and the faintly shown track up to its summit, looked like some beautiful panorama, above which the great flag blew out in the brisk breeze, and flapped and waved its folds merrily as if flaunting defiance to every Indian on the plain. But as Bart gazed up at the flag, he could not help thinking what a mere scrap of coloured cloth it was, and what a very little the Indians would think of it if they determined to come down and attack the camp in their might.
* * *
Chapter Twenty Four.
Hints on Bison-hunting.
“Ease off a bit, Master Bart,” cried Joses, after they had all been riding at full gallop for a couple of miles over the plains. “Whoo—hoop, my Injun friends! Whoo—hoop!”
“Whoo-hoop! whoo-hoop! whoo-hoop!” yelled back the Indians, excitedly; and taking it as an incentive to renewed exertion, they pressed the flanks of their horses, which responded freely, and they swept on more swiftly still.
“Tell Beaver to stop a bit,” cried Joses; “you’re nighest to him, my lad.” And Bart was about to shout some words to the chief, who was on his other side, riding with eyes flashing with excitement, and every nerve on the throb, thoroughly enjoying the wild race after so long a time of inaction in the camp. And it was not only the riders who enjoyed the racing; the horses seemed to revel in it, all tossing their massive manes and snorting loudly with delight, while swift as they went they were always so well-prepared that they would try to kick each other whenever two were in anything like close proximity.
Bart shouted to the Beaver to check his pace, but he was misunderstood, and the party swept on, whooping with delight, for all the world like a pack of excited schoolboys just let loose for a holiday.
“We shall have our nags regularly blown, my lad,” panted Joses;—“and then if we come upon unfriendly Injuns it’ll be the worse for us. Let’s you and me draw rein, then they’ll stop.”
A pause in the mad gallop came without the inciting of Bart and his follower, for all at once one of the Indians’ horses planted his hoof in a gopher hole, cunningly contrived by the rat-like creature just in the open part of the plain; and unable to recover itself or check its headlong speed, the horse turned a complete somersault, throwing his rider right over his head quite twenty feet away, and as the rest drew rein and gathered round, it seemed for the time as if both pony and rider were killed.
Bart leaped down to go to the poor fellow’s help, but just as the lad reached him, the Indian, who had been lying flat upon his back, suddenly sat up, shook his head, and stared round in bewilderment. The next moment he had caught sight of his steed, and leaped to his feet to run and catch the rein just as the pony was struggling up.
As the pony regained its feet the Indian leaped upon its back, while the sturdy little animal gave itself a shake that seemed to be like one gigantic quiver, beginning at its broad inflated nostrils, and ending with the rugged strands of its great thick uncombed tail.
Just then the Beaver uttered a yell, and away the whole party swept again, the Indian who had fallen seeming in no wise the worse for his encounter with the sandy earth.
“That’s where the Indian gets the better of the white man, Master Bart. A fall like that would have about knocked all the life out of me. It’s my belief them Injuns likes it, and so you see they can bear so much that they grow hard to clear away; and in spite of our being so much more knowing, they’re often too much for us.”
“But had we not better pull up, Joses?” cried Bart, for they were tearing along over the plain once more at a tremendous gallop.
“It’s no use to try, my lad; the horses won’t stop and leave them others galloping on. You may train horses as much as you like, but there’s a lot of nature left in them, and that you can’t eddicate out.”
“What do you mean?” panted Bart, for it was hard work riding so fast.
“What do I mean, my boy? why, that horses is used to going in big droves together, and this puts ’em in mind of it, and they like it. You try and pull Black Boy in. There, I told you so. See how he gnaws at his bit and pulls. There’s no stopping him, my lad, no more than there is mine. Let ’em go, my lad. Perhaps we mayn’t meet any one we don’t want to meet after all.”
Hardly had he spoken before the Beaver raised
his arm, and his followers pulled up as if by magic, forming in quite a small circle close to him, with their horses’ heads almost touching him.
The Beaver signed to Bart and Joses to approach, and room was made for them to join in the little council which was to be held, and the result was that being now well out in the plains far north of where they had originally travelled to reach the mountain, they now headed off to the west, the Indians separating, and opening out more and more so as to cover wider ground with their keen eyes, while every little eminence was climbed so that the horizon could be swept in search of bison.
“Do you think we shall meet with any, Joses?” asked Bart.
“What, buffler, my lad? Well, I hope so. There’s never no knowing, for they’re queer beasts, and there’s hundreds here to-day, and to-morrow you may ride miles and miles, and not see a hoof. Why, I’ve known times when I’ve come upon a drove that was miles long.”
“Miles, Joses?”
“Yes, Master Bart, miles long. Bulls, and cows, and calves, of all kinds, from little bits o’ things, right up to some as was nearly as big as their fathers and mothers, only not so rough and fat; and they’d go on over the plain in little bands. If you was looking at ’em from far off, it seemed like one great long drove that there was no counting, but when you rode nearer to see, you found that what you took for one big drove was only made up of hundreds of other droves—big families like of fathers, and mothers, and children, which always kept themselves to themselves and didn’t mix with the others. Then all along outside the flanks of the great drove of droves you’d see the wolves hanging about, half-starved, fierce-looking vermin, licking their bare chops, and waiting their chance to get something to eat.”
“But wolves wouldn’t attack the great bison, would they?” asked Bart.
The Silver Canyon Page 15
