CHAPTER XXI.
Wolves attack the horses, and Cameron circumvents the
wolves
--
A bear-hunt, in which Henri shines
conspicuous
--
Joe and the "Natter-list
"--
An
alarm
--
A surprise and a capture
.
We must now return to the camp where Walter
Cameron still guarded the goods, and the men
pursued their trapping avocations.
Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night
by wolves while grazing in a plain close to the camp,
and on the night following a horse that had strayed
was also torn to pieces and devoured. The prompt and
daring manner in which this had been done convinced
the trader that white wolves had unfortunately scented
them out, and he set several traps in the hope of capturing
them.
White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary
wolves that prowl through woods and plains in large
packs. They are much larger, weighing sometimes as
much as a hundred and thirty pounds; but they are
comparatively scarce, and move about alone, or in small
bands of three or four. Their strength is enormous,
and they are so fierce that they do not hesitate, upon
occasions, to attack man himself. Their method of
killing horses is very deliberate. Two wolves generally
undertake the cold-blooded murder. They approach
their victim with the most innocent-looking and frolicsome
gambols, lying down and rolling about, and
frisking presently, until the horse becomes a little
accustomed to them. Then one approaches right in
front, the other in rear, still frisking playfully, until
they think themselves near enough, when they make
a simultaneous rush. The wolf which approaches in
rear is the true assailant; the rush of the other is a
mere feint. Then both fasten on the poor horse's
haunches, and never let go till the sinews are cut and
he is rolling on his side.
The horse makes comparatively little struggle in
this deadly assault; he seems paralyzed, and soon falls
to rise no more.
Cameron set his traps towards evening in a circle
with a bait in the centre, and then retired to rest.
Next morning he called Joe Blunt, and the two went
off together.
"It is strange that these rascally white wolves should
be so bold when the smaller kinds are so cowardly,"
remarked Cameron, as they walked along.
"So 'tis," replied Joe; "but I've seed them other
chaps bold enough too in the prairie when they were
in large packs and starvin'."
"I believe the small wolves follow the big fellows,
and help them to eat what they kill, though they
generally sit round and look on at the killing."
"Hist!" exclaimed Joe, cocking his gun; "there he
is, an' no mistake."
There he was, undoubtedly. A wolf of the largest
size with one of his feet in the trap. He was a terrible-looking
object, for, besides his immense size and naturally
ferocious aspect, his white hair bristled on end and
was all covered with streaks and spots of blood from
his bloody jaws. In his efforts to escape he had bitten
the trap until he had broken his teeth and lacerated his
gums, so that his appearance was hideous in the extreme.
And when the two men came up he struggled with all
his might to fly at them.
Cameron and Joe stood looking at him in a sort of
wondering admiration.
"We'd better put a ball in him," suggested Joe after
a time. "Mayhap the chain won't stand sich tugs long."
"True, Joe; if it break, we might get an ugly nip
before we killed him."
So saying Cameron fired into the wolf's head and
killed it. It was found, on examination, that four
wolves had been in the traps, but the rest had escaped.
Two of them, however, had gnawed off their paws and
left them lying in the traps.
After this the big wolves did not trouble them again.
The same afternoon a bear-hunt was undertaken, which
well-nigh cost one of the Iroquois his life. It happened
thus:--
While Cameron and Joe were away after the white
wolves, Henri came floundering into camp tossing his
arms like a maniac, and shouting that "seven bars wos
be down in de bush close by!" It chanced that this
was an idle day with most of the men, so they all leaped
on their horses, and taking guns and knives sallied forth
to give battle to the bears.
Arrived at the scene of action, they found the seven
bears busily engaged in digging up roots, so the men
separated in order to surround them, and then closed in.
The place was partly open and partly covered with
thick bushes into which a horseman could not penetrate.
The moment the bears got wind of what was going
forward they made off as fast as possible, and then commenced
a scene of firing, galloping, and yelling that
defies description! Four out of the seven were shot
before they gained the bushes; the other three were
wounded, but made good their retreat. As their places
of shelter, however, were like islands in the plain, they
had no chance of escaping.
The horsemen now dismounted and dashed recklessly
into the bushes, where they soon discovered and killed
two of the bears; the third was not found for some
time. At last an Iroquois came upon it so suddenly
that he had not time to point his gun before the bear
sprang upon him and struck him to the earth, where it
held him down.
Instantly the place was surrounded by eager men; but
the bushes were so thick, and the fallen trees among
which the bear stood were so numerous, that they could
not use their guns without running the risk of shooting
their companion. Most of them drew their knives and
seemed about to rush on the bear with these; but the
monster's aspect, as it glared around, was so terrible that
they held back for a moment in hesitation.
At this moment Henri, who had been at some distance
engaged in the killing of one of the other bears, came
rushing forward after his own peculiar manner.
"Ah! fat is eet--hay? de bar no go under yit?"
Just then his eye fell on the wounded Iroquois with
the bear above him, and he uttered a yell so intense in
tone that the bear himself seemed to feel that something
decisive was about to be done at last. Henri
did not pause, but with a flying dash he sprang like a
spread eagle, arms and legs extended, right into the
bear's bosom. At the same moment he sent his long
hunting-knife down into its heart. But Bruin is proverbially
hard to kill, and although mortally wounded,
he had strength enough to open his jaws and close them
on Henri's neck.
There was a cry of horror, and at the same moment
a volley was fired at the bear's head; for the trappers
felt that it was better to risk shooting their comrades
than see them killed before their eyes. Fortunately
the bullets took effect, and tumbled him over at once
without doing damage to either of the men, although
several of the balls just grazed Henri's temple and
carried off his cap.
Although uninjured by the shot, the poor Iroquois
had not escaped scathless from the paw of the bear.
His scalp was torn almost off, and hung down over his
eyes, while blood streamed down his face. He was
conveyed by his comrades to the camp, where he lay
two days in a state of insensibility, at the end of which
time he revived and recovered daily. Afterwards when
the camp moved he had to be carried; but in the course
of two months he was as well as ever, and quite as fond
of bear-hunting!
Among other trophies of this hunt there were two
deer and a buffalo, which last had probably strayed from
the herd. Four or five Iroquois were round this animal
whetting their knives for the purpose of cutting it up
when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them
perform the operation, quite regardless of the fact that
his neck and face were covered with blood which flowed
from one or two small punctures made by the bear.
The Indians began by taking off the skin, which
certainly did not occupy them more than five minutes.
Then they cut up the meat and made a pack of it, and
cut out the tongue, which is somewhat troublesome, as
that member requires to be cut out from under the jaw
of the animal, and not through the natural opening of
the mouth. One of the fore legs was cut off at the
knee joint, and this was used as a hammer with which
to break the skull for the purpose of taking out the
brains, these being used in the process of dressing and
softening the animal's skin. An axe would have been
of advantage to break the skull, but in the hurry of
rushing to the attack the Indians had forgotten their
axes; so they adopted the common fashion of using the
buffalo's hoof as a hammer, the shank being the handle.
The whole operation of flaying, cutting up, and packing
the meat did not occupy more than twenty minutes.
Before leaving the ground these expert butchers treated
themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver in
a raw state!
Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they
were indulging in this little feast.
"Well, I've often seen that eaten, but I never could
do it myself," remarked the former.
"No!" cried Joe in surprise; "now that's oncommon
cur'us. I've
lived
on raw liver an' marrow-bones for
two or three days at a time, when we wos chased by the
Camanchee Injuns an' didn't dare to make a fire; an' it's
ra'al good, it is. Won't ye try it
now
?"
Cameron shook his head.
"No, thankee; I'll not refuse when I can't help it,
but until then I'll remain in happy ignorance of how
good it is."
"Well, it
is
strange how some folk can't abide anything
in the meat way they ha'n't bin used to. D'ye
know I've actually knowed men from the cities as
wouldn't eat a bit o' horseflesh for love or money.
Would ye believe it?"
"I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with
such persons myself; in fact, they are rather numerous.
What are you chuckling at, Joe?"
"Chucklin'? If ye mean be that 'larfin in to myself,'
it's because I'm thinkin' o' a chap as once comed out to
the prairies."
"Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can
tell me about him as we go along."
"I think," continued Joe, "he comed from Washington,
but I never could make out right whether he wos
a Government man or not. Anyhow, he wos a pheelosopher--a
natter-list I think he call his-self--"
"A naturalist," suggested Cameron.
"Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six
feet two in his moccasins, an' as thin as a ramrod, an' as
blind as a bat--leastways he had weak eyes an' wore
green spectacles. He had on a gray shootin' coat an'
trousers an' vest an' cap, with rid whiskers an' a long
nose as rid at the point as the whiskers wos."
"Well, this gentleman engaged me an' another hunter
to go a trip with him into the prairies, so off we sot one
fine day on three hosses, with our blankets at our backs--we
wos to depend on the rifle for victuals. At first I
thought the natter-list one o' the cruellest beggars as
iver went on two long legs, for he used to go about
everywhere pokin' pins through all the beetles an' flies
an' creepin' things he could sot eyes on, an' stuck them
in a box. But he told me he comed here a-purpose to
git as many o' them as he could; so says I, 'If that's it,
I'll fill yer box in no time.'
"'Will ye?' says he, quite pleased like.
"'I will,' says I, an' galloped off to a place as was
filled wi' all sorts o' crawlin' things. So I sets to work,
an' whenever I seed a thing crawlin' I sot my fut on it
an' crushed it, an' soon filled my breast pocket. I
cotched a lot o' butterflies too, an' stuffed them into my
shot-pouch, an' went back in an hour or two an' showed
him the lot. He put on his green spectacles an' looked
at them as if he'd seen a rattlesnake.
"'My good man,' says he, 'you've crushed them all
to pieces!'
"'They'll taste as good for all that,' says I; for
somehow I'd taken't in me head that he'd heard o' the
way the Injuns make soup o' the grasshoppers, an' wos
wantin' to try his hand at a new dish!
"He laughed when I said this, an' told me he wos
collectin' them to take home to be
looked
at. But that's
not wot I was goin' to tell ye about him," continued
Joe; "I wos goin' to tell ye how we made him eat
horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this natter-list
did, to load wi' shot as small as dust a'most, an' shoot
little birds with. I've seed him miss birds only three
feet away with it. An' one day he drew it all of a suddent an' let fly
at a
big bum-bee that wos passin',
yellin' out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed.
He missed the bee, of coorse, 'cause it wos a flyin' shot,
he said, but he sent the whole charge right into Martin's
back--Martin was my comrade's name. By good luck
Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver
got the length o' his skin."
"One day I noticed that the natter-list had stuffed
small corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his
revolver. I wondered what they wos for, but he wos
al'ays doin' sich queer things that I soon forgot it.
'Maybe,' thought I, jist before it went out o' my mind--'maybe
he thinks that'll stop the pistol from goin'
off by accident;' for ye must know he'd let it off three
times the first day by accident, an' well-nigh blowed
off his leg the last time, only the shot lodged in the
back o' a big toad he'd jist stuffed into his breeches
pocket. Well, soon after we shot a buffalo bull, so
when it fell, off he jumps from his horse an' runs up to
it. So did I, for I wasn't sure the beast was dead,
an' I had jist got up when it rose an' rushed at the
natter-list.
"'Out o' the way,' I yelled, for my rifle was empty;
but he didn't move, so I rushed for'ard an' drew the
pistol out o' his belt and let fly in the bull's ribs jist
as it ran the poor man down. Martin came up that
moment an' put a ball through its heart, an' then we
went to pick up the natter-list. He came to in a
little, an' the first thing he said was, 'Where's my revolver?'
When I gave it to him he looked at it, an' said
with a solemcholy shake o' the head, 'There's a whole
barrel-full lost!' It turned out that he had taken to
usin' the barrels for bottles to hold things in, but he
forgot to draw the charges, so sure enough I had fired
a charge o' bum-bees an' beetles an' small shot into
the buffalo!
"But that's not what I wos goin' to tell ye yit. We
corned to a part o' the plains where we wos well-nigh
starved for want o' game, an' the natter-list got so
thin that ye could a'most see through him, so I offered
to kill my horse, an' cut it up for meat; but you niver
saw sich a face he made. 'I'd rather die first,' says he,
'than eat it;' so we didn't kill it. But that very day
Martin got a shot at a wild horse an' killed it. The
natter-list was down in the bed o' a creek at the time
gropin' for creepers, an' he didn't see it.
"'He'll niver eat it,' says Martin.
"'That's true,' says I.
"'Let's tell him it's a buffalo,' says he.
"'That would be tellin' a lie,' says I.
"So we stood lookin' at each other, not knowin' what
to do.
"'I'll tell ye what,' cries Martin; 'we'll cut it up,
and take the meat into camp an' cook it without
sayin'
a word
.'
"'Done,' says I, 'that's it;' for ye must know the
poor critter wos no judge o' meat. He couldn't tell one kind from
another,
an' he niver axed questions.
In fact he niver a'most spoke to us all the trip. Well,
we cut up the horse, an' carried the flesh an' marrowbones
into camp, takin' care to leave the hoofs an' skin
behind, an' sot to work an' roasted steaks an' marrowbones."
"When the natter-list came back ye should ha' seen
the joyful face he put on when he smelt the grub, for
he was all but starved out, poor critter."
"'What have we got here?' cried he, rubbin' his
hands an' sittin' down."
"'Steaks an' marrow-bones,' says Martin."
"'Capital!' says he. 'I'm
so
hungry.'"
"So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man
pitch into anything like as that natter-list did into that
horseflesh."
"'These are first-rate marrow-bones,' says he, squintin'
with one eye down the shin-bone o' the hind leg to see if
it was quite empty."
"'Yes, sir, they is,' answered Martin, as grave as a judge."
"'Take another, sir,' says I."
"'No, thankee,' says he with a sigh, for he didn't
like to leave off."
"Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an' first-rate
livin' it wos; then we fell in with buffalo, an' niver
ran short again till we got to the settlements, when
he paid us our money an' shook hands, sayin' we'd had
a nice trip, an' he wished us well. Jist as we wos
partin' I said, says I, 'D'ye know what it wos we lived
on for a week arter we wos well-nigh starved in the
prairies?'"
"'What,' says he, 'when we got yon capital marrowbones?'"
"'The same,' says I. 'Yon wos
horse
flesh,' says I;
'an' I think ye'll surely niver say again that it isn't
first-rate livin'.'"
"'Ye're jokin',' says he, turnin' pale."
"'It's true, sir; as true as ye're standin' there.'"
"Well, would ye believe it, he turned--that natter-list
did--as sick as a dog on the spot wot he wos
standin' on, an' didn't taste meat again for three days!"
Shortly after the conclusion of Joe's story they
reached the camp, and here they found the women and
children flying about in a state of terror, and the few
men who had been left in charge arming themselves in
the greatest haste.
"Hallo! something wrong here," cried Cameron,
hastening forward, followed by Joe. "What has happened,
eh?"
"Injuns comin', monsieur; look dere," answered a
trapper, pointing down the valley.
"Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of
the camp," cried Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced
every other, and turned confusion into order.
The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen
far down the valley, which was raised by a band of
mounted Indians who approached the camp at full
speed. Their numbers could not be made out, but they
were a sufficiently formidable band to cause much
anxiety to Cameron, whose men, at the time, were
scattered to the various trapping-grounds, and only ten
chanced to be within call of the camp. However, with
these ten he determined to show a bold front to the
savages, whether they came as friends or foes. He
therefore ordered the women and children within the
citadel formed of the goods and packs of furs piled
upon each other, which point of retreat was to be defended
to the last extremity. Then galloping to the
front he collected his men and swept down the valley at
full speed. In a few minutes they were near enough to
observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians,
who were driving a band of about a hundred horses
before them, and so busy were they in keeping the
troop together that Cameron and his men were close
upon them before they were observed.
It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had
already swept round and cut off their retreat. In this
extremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their
steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were
safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the
trappers got behind the horses and drove them towards
the camp.
At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of
the others and made for the mountain, with its mane
and tail flying wildly in the breeze.
"Marrow-bones and buttons!" shouted one of the
men, "there goes Dick Varley's horse."
"So it am!" cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit,
followed by Joe and two others.
"Why, these are our own horses," said Cameron in
surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills
from which they could not escape.
This was true, but it was only half the truth, for,
besides their own horses, they had secured upwards of
seventy Indian steeds; a most acceptable addition to
their stud, which, owing to casualties and wolves, had
been diminishing too much of late. The fact was that
the Indians who had captured the horses belonging to
Pierre and his party were a small band of robbers who
had travelled, as was afterwards learned, a considerable
distance from the south, stealing horses from various
tribes as they went along. As we have seen, in an evil
hour they fell in with Pierre's party and carried off
their steeds, which they drove to a pass leading from
one valley to the other. Here they united them with
the main band of their ill-gotten gains, and while the
greater number of the robbers descended farther into
the plains in search of more booty, four of them were
sent into the mountains with the horses already procured.
These four, utterly ignorant of the presence of
white men in the valley, drove their charge, as we have
seen, almost into the camp.
Cameron immediately organized a party to go out in
search of Pierre and his companions, about whose fate
he became intensely anxious, and in the course of half-an-hour
as many men as he could spare with safety were
despatched in the direction of the Blue Mountains.