CHAPTER VII.
The "wallering" peculiarities of buffalo bulls--The first buffalo
hunt and its consequences--Crusoe comes to the rescue--Pawnees
discovered--A monster buffalo hunt--Joe acts the part of ambassador
.
Fortunately the day that succeeded the dreary
night described in the last chapter was warm
and magnificent. The sun rose in a blaze of splendour,
and filled the atmosphere with steam from the moist
earth.
The unfortunates in the wet camp were not slow to
avail themselves of his cheering rays. They hung up
everything on the bushes to dry, and by dint of extreme
patience and cutting out the comparatively dry hearts
of several pieces of wood, they lighted a fire and boiled
some rain-water, which was soon converted into soup.
This, and the exercise necessary for the performance of
these several duties, warmed and partially dried them;
so that when they once more mounted their steeds and
rode away, they were in a state of comparative comfort
and in excellent spirits. The only annoyance was the
clouds of mosquitoes and large flies that assailed men
and horses whenever they checked their speed.
"I tell ye wot it is," said Joe Blunt, one fine morning
about a week after they had begun to cross the prairie,
"it's my 'pinion that we'll come on buffaloes soon. Them
tracks are fresh, an' yonder's one o' their wallers that's
bin used not long agone."
"I'll go have a look at it," cried Dick, trotting away
as he spoke.
Everything in these vast prairies was new to Dick
Varley, and he was kept in a constant state of excitement
during the first week or two of his journey. It
is true he was quite familiar with the names and habits
of all the animals that dwelt there; for many a time and
oft had he listened to the "yarns" of the hunters and
trappers of the Mustang Valley, when they returned
laden with rich furs from their periodical hunting expeditions.
But this knowledge of his only served to
whet his curiosity and his desire to
see
the denizens of
the prairies with his own eyes; and now that his wish
was accomplished, it greatly increased the pleasures of
his journey.
Dick had just reached the "wallow" referred to by
Joe Blunt, and had reined up his steed to observe it
leisurely, when a faint hissing sound reached his ear.
Looking quickly back, he observed his two companions
crouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly descending
into a hollow of the prairie in front of them,
as if they wished to bring the rising ground between
them and some object in advance. Dick instantly followed
their example, and was soon at their heels.
"Ye needn't look at the waller," whispered Joe, "for
a' tother side o' the ridge there's a bull
wallerin
'."
"Ye don't mean it!" exclaimed Dick, as they all dismounted
and picketed their horses to the plain.
"Oui," said Henri, tumbling off his horse, while a
broad grin overspread his good-natured countenance,
"it is one fact! One buffalo bull be wollerin' like a
enormerous hog. Also, dere be t'ousands o' buffaloes
farder on."
"Can ye trust yer dog keepin' back?" inquired Joe,
with a dubious glance at Crusoe.
"Trust him! Ay, I wish I was as sure o' myself."
"Look to yer primin', then, an' we'll have tongues
and marrow bones for supper to-night, I'se warrant.
Hist! down on yer knees and go softly. We might
ha' run them down on horseback, but it's bad to wind
yer beasts on a trip like this, if ye can help it; an' it's
about as easy to stalk them. Leastways, we'll try.
Lift yer head slowly, Dick, an' don't show more nor the
half o't above the ridge."
Dick elevated his head as directed, and the scene that
met his view was indeed well calculated to send an
electric shock to the heart of an ardent sportsman.
The vast plain beyond was absolutely blackened with
countless herds of buffaloes, which were browsing on
the rich grass. They were still so far distant that their
bellowing, and the trampling of their myriad hoofs, only
reached the hunters like a faint murmur on the breeze.
In the immediate foreground, however, there was a
group of about half-a-dozen buffalo cows feeding quietly,
and in the midst of them an enormous old bull was
enjoying himself in his wallow. The animals, towards
which our hunters now crept with murderous intent,
are the fiercest and the most ponderous of the ruminating
inhabitants of the western wilderness. The name of
buffalo
, however, is not correct. The animal is the
bison,
and bears no resemblance whatever to the buffalo proper;
but as the hunters of the far west, and, indeed,
travellers generally, have adopted the misnomer, we bow
to the authority of custom and adopt it too.
Buffaloes roam in countless thousands all over the
North American prairies, from the Hudson Bay Territories,
north of Canada, to the shores of the Gulf of
Mexico.
The advance of white men to the west has driven
them to the prairies between the Missouri and the Rocky
Mountains, and has somewhat diminished their numbers;
but even thus diminished, they are still innumerable in
the more distant plains. Their colour is dark brown,
but it varies a good deal with the seasons. The hair
or fur, from its great length in winter and spring and
exposure to the weather, turns quite light; but when
the winter coat is shed off, the new growth is a beautiful
dark brown, almost approaching to jet-black. In
form the buffalo somewhat resembles the ox, but its
head and shoulders are much larger, and are covered
with a profusion of long shaggy hair which adds greatly
to the fierce aspect of the animal. It has a large hump
on the shoulder, and its fore-quarters are much larger,
in proportion, than the hind-quarters. The horns are
short and thick, the hoofs are cloven, and the tail is
short, with a tuft of hair at the extremity.
It is scarcely possible to conceive a wilder or more
ferocious and terrible monster than a buffalo bull. He
often grows to the enormous weight of two thousand
pounds. His lion-like mane falls in shaggy confusion
quite over his head and shoulders, down to the ground.
When he is wounded he becomes imbued with the spirit
of a tiger: he stamps, bellows, roars, and foams forth
his rage with glaring eyes and steaming nostrils, and
charges furiously at man and horse with utter recklessness.
Fortunately, however, he is not naturally pugnacious,
and can be easily thrown into a sudden panic.
Moreover, the peculiar position of his eye renders this
creature not so terrible as he would otherwise be to the
hunter. Owing to the stiff structure of the neck, and
the sunken, downward-looking eyeball, the buffalo cannot,
without an effort, see beyond the direct line of
vision presented to the habitual carriage of his head.
When, therefore, he is wounded, and charges, he does so
in a straight line, so that his pursuer can leap easily
out of his way. The pace of the buffalo is clumsy, and
apparently
slow, yet, when chased, he dashes away over
the plains in blind blundering terror, at a rate that
leaves all but good horses far behind. He cannot keep
the pace up, however, and is usually soon overtaken.
Were the buffalo capable of the same alert and agile
motions of head and eye peculiar to the deer or wild
horse, in addition to his "bovine rage," he would be the
most formidable brute on earth. There is no object,
perhaps, so terrible as the headlong advance of a herd
of these animals when thoroughly aroused by terror.
They care not for their necks. All danger in front is
forgotten, or not seen, in the terror of that from which
they fly. No thundering cataract is more tremendously
irresistible than the black bellowing torrent which sometimes
pours through the narrow defiles of the Rocky
Mountains, or sweeps like a roaring flood over the
trembling plains.
The wallowing, to which we have referred, is a luxury
usually indulged in during the hot months of summer,
when the buffaloes are tormented by flies, and heat, and
drought. At this season they seek the low grounds in
the prairies where there is a little stagnant water lying
amongst the grass, and the ground underneath, being
saturated, is soft. The leader of the herd, a shaggy old
bull, usually takes upon himself to prepare the wallow.
It was a rugged monster of the largest size that did
so on the present occasion, to the intense delight of
Dick Varley, who begged Joe to lie still and watch the
operation before trying to shoot one of the buffalo
cows. Joe consented with a nod, and the four spectators--for
Crusoe was as much taken up with the
proceedings as any of them--crouched in the grass, and
looked on.
Coming up to the swampy spot, the old bull gave a
grunt of satisfaction, and going down on one knee,
plunged his short thick horns into the mud, tore it up,
and cast it aside. Having repeated this several times,
he plunged his head in, and brought it forth saturated
with dirty water and bedaubed with lumps of mud,
through which his fierce eyes gazed, with a ludicrous
expression of astonishment, straight in the direction of
the hunters, as if he meant to say, "I've done it that
time, and no mistake!" The other buffaloes seemed to
think so too, for they came up and looked on with an
expression that seemed to say, "Well done, old fellow;
try that again!"
The old fellow did try it again, and again, and again,
plunging, and ramming, and tearing up the earth, until
he formed an excavation large enough to contain his
huge body. In this bath he laid himself comfortably
down, and began to roll and wallow about until he
mixed up a trough full of thin soft mud, which
completely covered him. When he came out of the
hole there was scarcely an atom of his former self
visible!
The coat of mud thus put on by bulls is usually permitted
by them to dry, and is not finally got rid of
until long after, when oft-repeated rollings on the grass
and washings by rain at length clear it away.
When the old bull vacated this delectable bath,
another bull, scarcely if at all less ferocious-looking,
stepped forward to take his turn; but he was interrupted
by a volley from the hunters, which scattered
the animals right and left, and sent the mighty herds
in the distance flying over the prairie in wild terror.
The very turmoil of their own mad flight added to their
panic, and the continuous thunder of their hoofs was
heard until the last of them disappeared on the horizon.
The family party which had been fired at, however, did
not escape so well, Joe's rifle wounded a fat young
cow, and Dick Varley brought it down. Henri had
done his best, but as the animals were too far distant
for his limited vision, he missed the cow he fired at, and
hit the young bull whose bath had been interrupted.
The others scattered and fled.
"Well done, Dick," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as they all
ran up to the cow that had fallen. "Your first shot at
the buffalo was a good un. Come, now, an' I'll show ye
how to cut it up an' carry off the tit-bits."
"Ah, mon dear ole bull!" exclaimed Henri, gazing
after the animal which he had wounded, and which was
now limping slowly away. "You is not worth goin'
after. Farewell--adieu."
"He'll be tough enough, I warrant," said Joe; "an'
we've more meat here nor we can lift."
"But wouldn't it be as well to put the poor brute
out o' pain?" suggested Dick.
"Oh, he'll die soon enough," replied Joe, tucking up
his sleeves and drawing his long hunting-knife.
Dick, however, was not satisfied with this way of
looking at it. Saying that he would be back in a few
minutes, he reloaded his rifle, and calling Crusoe to his
side, walked quickly after the wounded bull, which was
now hid from view in a hollow of the plain.
In a few minutes he came in sight of it, and ran
forward with his rifle in readiness.
"Down, Crusoe," he whispered; "wait for me here."
Crusoe crouched in the grass instantly, and Dick
advanced. As he came on, the bull observed him, and
turned round bellowing with rage and pain to receive
him. The aspect of the brute on a near view was so
terrible that Dick involuntarily stopped too, and gazed
with a mingled feeling of wonder and awe, while it
bristled with passion, and blood-streaked foam dropped
from its open jaws, and its eyes glared furiously.
Seeing that Dick did not advance, the bull charged him
with a terrific roar; but the youth had firm nerves,
and although the rush of such a savage creature at full
speed was calculated to try the courage of any man,
especially one who had never seen a buffalo bull before,
Dick did not lose presence of mind. He remembered
the many stories he had listened to of this very thing
that was now happening; so, crushing down his excitement
as well as he could, he cocked his rifle and
awaited the charge. He knew that it was of no use to
fire at the head of the advancing foe, as the thickness
of the skull, together with the matted hair on the forehead,
rendered it impervious to a bullet.
When the bull was within a yard of him he leaped
lightly to one side and it passed. Just as it did so,
Dick aimed at its heart and fired, but his knowledge of
the creature's anatomy was not yet correct. The ball
entered the shoulder too high, and the bull, checking
himself as well as he could in his headlong rush, turned
round and made at Dick again.
The failure, coupled with the excitement, proved too
much for Dick; he could not resist discharging his
second barrel at the brute's head as it came on. He
might as well have fired at a brick wall. It shook its
shaggy front, and with a hideous bellow thundered forward.
Again Dick sprang to one side, but in doing so
a tuft of grass or a stone caught his foot, and he fell
heavily to the ground.
Up to this point Crusoe's admirable training had
nailed him to the spot where he had been left, although
the twitching of every fibre in his body and a low continuous
whine showed how gladly he would have hailed
permission to join in the combat; but the instant he
saw his master down, and the buffalo turning to charge
again, he sprang forward with a roar that would have
done credit to his bovine enemy, and seized him by the
nose. So vigorous was the rush that he well-nigh
pulled the bull down on its side. One toss of its head,
however, sent Crusoe high into the air; but it accomplished
this feat at the expense of its nose, which was
torn and lacerated by the dog's teeth.
Scarcely had Crusoe touched the ground, which he
did with a sounding thump, than he sprang up and
flew at his adversary again. This time, however, he
adopted the plan of barking furiously and biting by
rapid yet terrible snaps as he found opportunity, thus
keeping the bull entirely engrossed, and affording Dick
an opportunity of reloading his rifle, which he was not
slow to do. Dick then stepped close up, and while the
two combatants were roaring in each other's faces, he
shot the buffalo through the heart. It fell to the earth
with a deep groan.
Crusoe's rage instantly vanished on beholding this,
and he seemed to be filled with tumultuous joy at his
master's escape, for he gambolled round him, and whined
and fawned upon him in a manner that could not be
misunderstood.
"Good dog; thank'ee, my pup," said Dick, patting
Crusoe's head as he stooped to brush the dust from his
leggings. "I don't know what would ha' become o' me
but for your help, Crusoe."
Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, wagged
his tail, and looked at Dick with an expression that
said quite plainly, "I'd die for you, I would--not
once, or twice, but ten times, fifty times if need be--and
that not merely to save your life, but even to
please you."
There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something
of this sort. The love of a Newfoundland dog to
its master is beyond calculation or expression. He who
once gains such love carries the dog's life in his hand.
But let him who reads note well, and remember that
there is only one coin that can purchase such love, and
that is
kindness
. The coin, too, must be genuine. Kindness
merely
expressed
will not do, it must be
felt
.
"Hallo, boy, ye've bin i' the wars!" exclaimed Joe,
raising himself from his task as Dick and Crusoe returned.
"You look more like it than I do," retorted Dick,
laughing.
This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcass with
no other instrument than a large knife is no easy
matter. Yet western hunters and Indians can do it
without cleaver or saw, in a way that would surprise
a civilized butcher not a little. Joe was covered with
blood up to the elbows. His hair, happening to have
a knack of getting into his eyes, had been so often
brushed off with bloody hands, that his whole visage
was speckled with gore, and his dress was by no means
immaculate.
While Dick related his adventure, or
mis
-adventure,
with the bull, Joe and Henri completed the cutting out
of the most delicate portions of the buffalo--namely,
the hump on its shoulder--which is a choice piece,
much finer than the best beef--and the tongue, and
a few other parts. The tongues of buffaloes are superior
to those of domestic cattle. When all was ready
the meat was slung across the back of the pack-horse;
and the party, remounting their horses, continued their
journey, having first cleansed themselves as well as they
could in the rather dirty waters of an old wallow.
"See," said Henri, turning to Dick and pointing to a
circular spot of green as they rode along, "that is one
old
dry
waller."
"Ay," remarked Joe; "after the waller dries, it becomes
a ring o' greener grass than the rest o' the plain,
as ye see. Tis said the first hunters used to wonder
greatly at these myster'ous circles, and they invented
all sorts o' stories to account for 'em. Some said they
wos fairy-rings, but at last they comed to know they
wos nothin' more nor less than places where buffaloes
wos used to waller in. It's often seemed to me that if
we knowed the
raisons
o' things, we wouldn't be so
much puzzled wi' them as we are."
The truth of this last remark was so self-evident
and incontrovertible that it elicited no reply, and the
three friends rode on for a considerable time in silence.
It was now past noon, and they were thinking of
calling a halt for a short rest to the horses and a pipe
to themselves, when Joe was heard to give vent to one
of those peculiar hisses that always accompanied either
a surprise or a caution. In the present case it indicated
both.
"What now, Joe?"
"Injuns!" ejaculated Joe.
"Eh! fat you say? Ou is dey?"
Crusoe at this moment uttered a low growl. Ever
since the day he had been partially roasted he had
maintained a rooted antipathy to Red-men. Joe immediately
dismounted, and placing his ear to the ground
listened intently. It is a curious fact that by placing
the ear close to the ground sounds can be heard distinctly
which could not be heard at all if the listener
were to maintain an erect position.
"They're arter the buffalo," said Joe, rising, "an' I
think it's likely they're a band o' Pawnees. Listen an'
ye'll hear their shouts quite plain."
Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placed
their ears to the ground.
"Now, me hear noting," said Henri, jumping up, "but
me ear is like me eyes--ver' short-sighted."
"I do hear something," said Dick as he got up, "but
the beating o' my own heart makes row enough to spoil
my hearin'."
Joe Blunt smiled. "Ah! lad, ye're young, an' yer
blood's too hot yet; but bide a bit--you'll cool down
soon. I wos like you once. Now, lads, what think
ye we should do?"
"You know best, Joe."
"Oui, nodoubtedly.'
"Then wot I advise is that we gallop to the broken
sand hillocks ye see yonder, get behind them, an' take
a peep at the Redskins. If they are Pawnees, we'll go
up to them at once; if not, we'll hold a council o' war
on the spot."
Having arranged this, they mounted and hastened
towards the hillocks in question, which they reached
after ten minutes' gallop at full stretch. The sandy
mounds afforded them concealment, and enabled them
to watch the proceedings of the savages in the plain
below. The scene was the most curious and exciting
that can be conceived. The centre of the plain before
them was crowded with hundreds of buffaloes, which
were dashing about in the most frantic state of alarm.
To whatever point they galloped they were met by
yelling savages on horseback, who could not have
been fewer in numbers than a thousand, all being
armed with lance, bow, and quiver, and mounted on
active little horses. The Indians had completely surrounded
the herd of buffaloes, and were now advancing
steadily towards them, gradually narrowing the circle,
and whenever the terrified animals endeavoured to
break through the line, they rushed to that particular
spot in a body, and scared them back again into the
centre.
Thus they advanced until they closed in on their
prey and formed an unbroken circle round them, whilst
the poor brutes kept eddying and surging to and fro
in a confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each
other, and bellowing furiously. Suddenly the horsemen
made a rush, and the work of destruction began.
The tremendous turmoil raised a cloud of dust that
obscured the field in some places, and hid it from our
hunters' view. Some of the Indians galloped round
and round the circle, sending their arrows whizzing up
to the feathers in the sides of the fattest cows. Others
dashed fearlessly into the midst of the black heaving
mass, and, with their long lances, pierced dozens of
them to the heart. In many instances the buffaloes,
infuriated by wounds, turned fiercely on their assailants
and gored the horses to death, in which cases the men
had to trust to their nimble legs for safety. Sometimes
a horse got jammed in the centre of the swaying
mass, and could neither advance nor retreat. Then
the savage rider leaped upon the buffaloes' backs, and
springing from one to another, like an acrobat, gained
the outer edge of the circle; not failing, however, in his
strange flight, to pierce with his lance several of the
fattest of his stepping-stones as he sped along.
A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from the
blood and dust of this desperate battle, and made off
over the plains; but they were quickly overtaken, and
the lance or the arrow brought them down on the green
turf. Many of the dismounted riders were chased by
bulls; but they stepped lightly to one side, and, as the
animals passed, drove their arrows deep into their sides.
Thus the tumultuous war went on, amid thundering
tread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain was
transformed into a sea of blood and mire, and every
buffalo of the herd was laid low.
It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare
is invariably waged without damage to the savages.
Many were the wounds and bruises received that day,
and not a few bones were broken, but happily no lives
were lost.
"Now, lads, now's our time. A bold and fearless
look's the best at all times. Don't look as if ye
doubted their friendship; and mind, wotever ye do,
don't use yer arms. Follow me."
Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and,
bounding over the ridge at full speed, galloped headlong
across the plain.
The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a
loud yell announced the fact as they assembled from
all parts of the field brandishing their bows and spears.
Joe's quick eye soon distinguished their chief, towards
whom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yard
or two of his horse's head; then he reined up suddenly.
So rapidly did Joe and his comrades approach, and so
instantaneously did they pull up, that their steeds were
thrown almost on their haunches.
The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He was
a tall, powerful savage, almost naked, and mounted on
a coal-black charger, which he sat with the ease of a
man accustomed to ride from infancy. He was, indeed,
a splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark
frown, for, although he and his band had visited the
settlements and trafficked with the fur-traders on the
Missouri, he did not love the "Pale-faces," whom he
regarded as intruders on the hunting-grounds of his
fathers, and the peace that existed between them at
that time was of a very fragile character. Indeed, it
was deemed by the traders impossible to travel through
the Indian country at that period except in strong force,
and it was the very boldness of the present attempt that
secured to our hunters anything like a civil reception.
Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently,
began by explaining the object of his visit, and spoke
of the presents which he had brought for the great
chief; but it was evident that his words made little
impression. As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round the
little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses and
weapons with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable
anxiety.
"Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face
is true," said the savage, when Joe paused, "but he
does not choose to make peace. The Pale-faces are
grasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes to
the great mountains and say, 'There we will stop.'
But even there they will not stop. They are never
satisfied; Mahtawa knows them well."
This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts
of the hunters, for they knew that if the savages refused
to make peace, they would scalp them all and appropriate
their goods. To make things worse, a dark-visaged
Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle,
and, ere he was aware, had plucked it from his hand.
The blood rushed to the gigantic hunter's forehead, and
he was on the point of springing at the man, when Joe
said in a deep quiet voice,--
"Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death."
At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts
of the circle of horsemen, and another chief rode
into the midst of them. He was evidently higher in
rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to the
crowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drew
little comfort from the appearance of his face, however,
for it scowled upon them. He was not so powerful
a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully
formed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance.
"Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river
that they should come to spy out the lands of the
Pawnee?" he demanded.
"We have not come to spy your country," answered
Joe, raising himself proudly as he spoke, and taking off
his cap. "We have come with a message from the great
chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village far
beyond the great river where the sun rises. He says,
Why should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight?
They are brothers. The same Manitou[*] watches over
both. The Pale-faces have more beads, and guns, and
blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require;
they wish to give some of these things for the skins
and furs which the Red-man does not know what to
do with. The great chief of the Pale-faces has sent me
to say, Why should we fight? let us smoke the pipe of
peace."
At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the
wily chief brightened for a moment. Then he said
sternly,--
"The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has
come here to trade for himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes
that can see; they are not shut. Are not these your
goods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke.
"Trappers do not take their goods into the heart
of an enemy's camp," returned Joe. "San-it-sa-rish is
wise, and will understand this. These are gifts to the
chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him
when the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said. What
message shall we take back to the great chief of the
Pale-faces?"
[Footnote *: The Indian name for God.]
San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.
"The hunting-field is not the council tent," he said.
"The Pale-faces will go with us to our village."
Of course Joe was too glad to agree to this proposal,
but he now deemed it politic to display a little firmness.
"We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not
do to go back and tell the great chief of the Pale-faces
that the Pawnees are thieves."
The chief frowned angrily.
"The Pawnees are true; they are not thieves. They
choose to
look
at the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall be
returned."
The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters
rode off with the Indians towards their camp. On the
way they met hundreds of women and children going
to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their special
duty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp. The
men, considering that they had done quite enough in
killing it, returned to smoke and eat away the fatigues
of the chase.
As they rode along, Dick Varley observed that some
of the "braves," as Indian warriors are styled, were
eating pieces of the bloody livers of the buffaloes in a
raw state, at which he expressed not a little disgust.
"Ah, boy! you're green yet," remarked Joe Blunt in
an undertone. "Mayhap ye'll be thankful to do that
same yerself some day."
"Well, I'll not refuse to try when it is needful," said
Dick with a laugh; "meanwhile I'm content to see the
Redskins do it, Joe Blunt."