CHAPTER XIV
A SPORTING TRIP ACROSS THE PRAIRIES
There is nothing extraordinary to the English reader in a man’s making a sixteen-hundred-mile journey across lonesome prairies and mountain-ranges, where railways are almost unknown and fierce tribes of savages abound, merely for the sake of shooting big game; for if we do not take our pleasures sadly, we at least are proud to devote to our sports as much energy and self-discipline as another nation would bestow on its politics or monetary interests.
After a good deal of rambling through the eastern States, Mr. Henry Coke, brother of the second Earl of Leicester, found himself wandering one morning, in the year 1850, about the streets of St. Louis, already sickened of town life and eager for something more wholesome and natural. Generally it is only in story-books that a happy coincidence suddenly arises to help a man out of a difficulty; but real life also has its chance meetings and its odd bits of luck, and so Mr. Coke thought when, on turning a corner, he found his arm seized by an old Cambridge chum of whom he had heard nothing for three years.
“Why, man, what are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Packing up. I’m off for the Columbia River to-morrow, salmon-fishing. You’d better come and make a sixth; I’m travelling with four Canadian chaps; everything’s arranged: horses, waggons, mules, stores, and even a redskin guide.”
There was no resisting such a temptation, especially as Coke had never been farther west than Kansas City, had only caught salmon in Norway and Scotland, had never seen a bison or a grisly except in a show, and had never met with any Indians who were not perfectly respectable and law-abiding. Therefore he never dreamt of hesitating, but hastened away to make a few necessary purchases, and, the next morning, presented himself at his friends’ inn, where he found nine mules, eight riding-horses, and two waggons drawn up, and his friend’s valet vainly endeavouring to get into conversation with a particularly morose-looking Indian who sat on the front-board of one of the waggons.
The early days of the journey were occupied by the sportsmen, as such days generally are, in getting to know one another and in settling down to a novel mode of life. The young Canadians were the sons of a wealthy stock-breeder and were taking a year’s furlough in order to see the States; and no more valuable companions could have been found; for, if they were ignorant of the route, there was not much left for them to learn where prairie and forest life and the ways of Indians and wild beasts were concerned. For the first week or so the party managed each night to put up at some wayside inn or farm; but they no 177 sooner came on to the wilds of Kansas than the mere aspect of the country was sufficient to tell them that they had probably bidden good-bye to eastern civilisation. The way that now lay before them, if seen from a balloon, would have looked like a gigantic staircase whose treads sloped slightly upwards and whose uprights were low, ragged-faced bluffs that seemed to hint at the advisability of abandoning the waggons as henceforth useless, and teaching the horses and mules to take flying ten-foot jumps. The guide, however, seemed fairly confident in his ability to find suitable inclines, and at least for some fifty miles they were able to follow a very rough track that was a guide in itself.
But the Indian—one of the Crow tribe—grew more sullen and silent and discontented as each new platform of ground was reached; so much so, that George Dumont, the eldest of the Canadians, who was perfectly familiar with the Siouan tongue, began to question him closely as to the cause of his grumbling demeanour.
“It is no use trying to go any farther,” said the Crow moodily. “The next bluff is quite impassable.”
“Then why didn’t you say so before we left St. Louis?”
The Indian shelved the question. “And even if it were not, the country here is full of Comanches and Pawnees and Shoshonees. Did I not warn you of that?”
“Oh, if that’s all,” said the Canadian, laughing, “don’t frighten yourself. They won’t hurt us.”
The Indian shrugged his shoulders and said no more; but presently he stood up on the footboard and, attracting 178 Dumont’s attention, pointed triumphantly to a bluff about a furlong ahead, which had been hitherto concealed by a ridge of rising ground dotted with pine-trees. Coke, who had been riding some way in advance with his friend, now hurried back to Dumont’s side.
“What do you make of this?” he said, pointing to the bluff. “Fred’s ridden off to the right to try and find a slope, and I’m just off the opposite way.”
Dumont rode with him as far as the obstruction and examined it more carefully; it was a sheer precipice, twelve feet high.
“Right you are,” he said. “Try and find a slope, and I’ll wait here for the other fellows.”
Two hours later the men met again; the two scouts had ridden ten miles along the cliff-foot either way, only to find that there was no spot where the waggons could possibly be raised. Meanwhile, two of the Dumonts had scooped footholds for themselves and climbed to the higher level, which they pronounced to be a beautiful grass plain, studded with little conical hills; and by the aid of a telescope they had seen large herds of bison going on ahead towards the Platte River.
“Then we must go on,” said Coke, “even if we have to haul the waggons after us, or cut a roadway.”
The others were of the same mind, but the sun had just set, and whatever their plans might be, they would have to stand over till to-morrow. The fire was lit and all were sitting down to supper when someone asked:
“Where’s the redskin?”
The redskin had gone, bag and baggage (someone else’s baggage).
“Why, he’s collared your new gun, Coke,” shouted Fred, who had jumped up into the waggon in which the Indian had ridden and was making a hurried search, “And—whew! my little valise as well.”
The gun was a large-bore rifle of a new pattern, which Coke had only obtained with difficulty at the last moment; but even this theft, annoying as it was, was of minor importance compared with the disappearance of the valise, which contained all such maps and charts as its owner had been able to procure, some money, and his letters of introduction to people in Washington and across the boundary.
“Mounted or on foot?” asked Paul Dumont, the youngest of the brothers.
“Horses and mules all here, sir,” reported the manservant after a brisk look round.
“Then come on, Coke; up with you,” said young Paul. “We’ll have him,” and taking the two best of the horses, they were soon galloping along the path by which they had come. In a few minutes they were past the ridge with its little belt of trees, beyond which all was plain sailing—or would have been if only the light could have lasted a little longer; for here was only a treeless, imperceptibly sloping plain where even an Indian could scarcely hope to conceal himself.
“Fellow must be a perfect ass to think he could get away from us here,” said Coke. “There you are; there goes the gentleman.”
A couple of miles ahead was a dark, moving dot, evidently the Indian trotting along at a good round pace.
“Ass enough to know that there’s precious little 180 twilight now, at any rate,” said Paul ruefully, as he urged on his horse. “And there’s no moon till after midnight.”
They rode the next mile in silence, and, at the end of it, were no longer able to distinguish the fleeing figure with any degree of certainty. In another few minutes they were at the spot where they had first seen the Indian, but there was hardly enough light for even the keen-sighted Canadian to detect any trail.
“It’s no use thinking of giving up,” he said. “We must have the bag if we ride all night for it.”
Again they spurred the horses to a gallop, peering all the while on either side of them; and in this manner they covered another few miles. Farther than this the Indian could not possibly have gone in the time.
“Better divide, and prowl round,” said Coke. “Fire a pistol if you see anything, and I’ll do the same.”
He rode away at a gentle trot, pausing now and then to listen. After half an hour of this he heard the pop of a pistol a good way behind him, yet distinct enough in the silent night air. Wheeling round, he looked steadily before him in the hope of seeing the flash of a second report. This came after a few seconds, and he at once responded to it.
But even before he saw the flash he had noticed something else of far more importance: a little glow of flame on the ground a few miles away, somewhere about in the direction which Dumont had started to follow. And now, coming towards him, was the steady thud of a horse’s hoofs.
“That you, Paul?”
“Ay; come on,” sounded from a mounted figure that was beginning to stand out indistinctly against the blue-black of the sky. The two young men were soon together again, and Dumont pointed towards the flame.
“Redskins. Thought I’d better come back and meet you first.”
“How many?”
“I could make out three. They couldn’t hear my shots with the wind this way; I didn’t hear yours; only saw the flash. Now for a little bit of spying. Are you well loaded up?”
They were soon within a pistol-shot of the fire, in the light of which shone the bodies of three Indians, naked as far as the waist. The Englishman’s heart beat with excitement, for as yet he had never been so close to Indians who were real savages. A few more steps and then the Indians, not to be taken altogether by surprise, sprang erect and stood with bowstrings stretched.
“Pawnees, I think,” said Dumont, reining up. He shouted some words in the Siouan dialect, and was answered by what seemed to Coke merely a series of grunts.
Again the Canadian spoke, and on receiving a brief reply moved on again.
“Come on,” he said triumphantly. “They’ve got him; they’ve got our man.”
As the two white men, stiff and hungry, got down from their saddles, the Pawnees advanced cautiously to meet them, their bows still bent. Paul, however, made some masonic motions with his hands which were 182 understood as meaning peace, and each returned his arrow to his quiver.
A conversation began which, to the Englishman, was very much worse than any Greek, and so gave him leisure to look about him. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the glare of the fire, the first thing he saw clearly was the runaway guide, bound so tightly with thongs that the poor creature could not move an inch. Near him lay the stolen rifle and his friend’s valise, the latter disgorging papers through an opening which had been slashed along one side of it.
Regardless of a murmur of protest from the savages, young Dumont picked up the gun and handed it to its owner, and having satisfied himself that none of the papers were missing, strapped the bag across his own shoulder.
“You must pay us for them,” said the Pawnees discontentedly.
“Yes, yes; all right. Come to our camp in the morning, and we’ll give you what is reasonable. What do you propose doing with this man?”
“We shall take him to our camp.”
“I’ll swear you shan’t,” said Dumont in English; for he knew what sort of mercy a trespassing Crow might expect from the Pawnees.
“Tell them we’ll fight them or we’ll buy the chap of them, which they like,” said Coke, when the position was explained to him.
A debate followed in which Paul showed himself a shrewd bargainer. He and Coke totted up their available assets, and eventually about a quarter of a pint of whisky, a penknife, a steel watch-chain, and 183 four or five shillings’ worth of small silver were offered as the Crow’s ransom, and accepted, much to the astonishment of Coke, who, in his innocence, had been about to add a valuable ring and a pair of pocket-pistols to the purchase-money. He stooped and cut the prisoner’s bonds, and that worthy, in obedience to a threatening hint from Dumont, fled into the darkness.
The Indians were amicably inclined, and not only shared their supper of broiled deer’s meat with the travellers, but agreed to call for them at the camp in the morning and lead them to a point where the waggons could easily be drawn up to the higher platform; and on this good understanding the young men rode away. The new guides were as good as their word, and appeared on their little mustangs before Coke’s party had finished breakfast. They appeared to be one of several small scouting parties sent out from a main camp farther on to gather intelligence as to a reported advance of the Crow Indians against them; and were now returning to their head-quarters beyond the Platte River. Instructed by them, the sportsmen moved along the bluff to a place about three miles farther than Coke had ridden on the previous afternoon; and there found a tolerably easy incline, up which the waggons were soon dragged.
By the side of the first of the hills seen the day before, the noonday halt was made. The Pawnees still continued very friendly, the more so on discovering that nothing but the desire to do battle with bisons and grisly bears had brought the pale-faces so far.
“To-morrow we will show you many bisons,” they said; and they certainly kept their promise.
All that afternoon the sportsmen could trace the steady passage north-westwards of herd after herd of the animals; at that distance merely a brown, moving blur; and Coke wondered how the Indians ever proposed to come up with them.
“They will go no farther than the river,” said the Pawnees, when questioned.
On the afternoon of the next day, as the little procession came near to another of the mound-like hills, the guides called a halt.
“We are too few to attack a herd,” they said. “We must watch for the stragglers which may be grazing on the slopes. Go very quietly and do not raise your voices. Follow us and leave the waggons here.” They moved on their horses again at a quick walk, and the white men did the same, till they had gone nearly half round the base of the hill, when the Pawnees pulled up with a jerk, and one of them spoke hurriedly to George Dumont, who rode immediately behind the guides.
On the hillside about twenty bisons were grazing; and it seemed the easiest thing in the world to cut them off from the rest of the herd, which, to the number of three or four hundred, were moving slowly towards the river, now plainly to be seen flashing in the far distance.
“Look here,” said George, turning to the Englishmen, and speaking with evident embarrassment. “They mean to make us prove our pretensions to being mighty hunters. Two of them are going round the farther side to keep the bulls from wandering, and this chap is going to captain us. We’ve got to guard the valley and this side of the hill; but 185 as you fellows are new to it—if you’d rather not be in it——”
“Oh, bosh!” said Coke; “we’re going to stand by you and get our share of the fun.”
“Oh—of course; if you feel sure of yourselves. Well; keep an eye open for the game beyond. They have a nasty trick of coming to each other’s assistance.” He made a sign to the two foremost Indians, who galloped away without a word, and were soon invisible behind the loitering bisons. Then the Englishmen saw what sort of sport they were letting themselves in for. They were to stop the probable downward and sideward rush of twenty bulls, killing as many of them as they could, and be prepared at the same time for an attack by the remaining hundreds that, at the first gunshot, might turn on them in a body. Daily, for the past fortnight, both of them had zealously practised shooting with a rifle while at the gallop; but what sort of experience was that to bring to a task which the Canadians, used from boyhood to bison-hunting, admitted was a dangerous one?
Low as the voices had been, the stragglers had heard them and were beginning to look nervously from side to side. Suddenly a white streak darted through the air, and with an awful bellow one of the bisons fell, pierced through the eye by an arrow, and began to roll helplessly down the grassy slope. The remaining Pawnee had drawn first blood. But a second after, the four Canadians brought their guns to the shoulder and fired one after the other; two beasts fell dead and two more showed by their groaning that they were badly wounded.
“Here goes,” said Fred; and in another moment he had shot his first bison.
“Get more to your left, or they’ll bolt yet,” shouted Dominique Dumont; and Coke, with an uncomfortable impression that the whole herd was charging upon him from the rear, nevertheless spurred his horse sidewards for several yards; then fired at a bull which was endeavouring to flee down the near side of the hill; and with a thrill of pride saw him fall on his knees and then roll over.
The excitement of the hunt was on him now and he thought no more of the herd behind him. Had he looked back he might have seen that alarms on that score were groundless; for, contrary to their usual custom, at the first shot they had fled in a body. But it was their desertion that made the loiterers so determined to escape and rejoin them. Three more of their number had fallen dead or disabled before the arrows of the Pawnees on the farther side, who could now be seen pressing the game more closely; and, at a sign from the other Indian, the party in the valley now spurred up the hill, the six guns all crashing out together.
In despair the remaining bulls sought the only sure escape open to them, and charged up the hill. Fred, the best mounted of the white men, was soon ahead of the rest, and, deaf to a laughing shout of “Whoa! Don’t be in a hurry,” from Paul Dumont, was soon on the heels of the biggest of the bisons. He had but one barrel loaded; the bullet took the animal in the hindquarters, making him stop and turn. The next thing Fred knew was that he was lying bruised 187 and giddy, on his back, within a very few yards of the maddened brute; for his horse, young and easily confused, had suddenly reared at sight of the monster’s motion towards him and had thrown his rider.
Almost a Tragedy
Fred had fired at the bison, but only hit it in the hind-quarters. It stopped and turned, frightening the horse, which threw its rider within a few yards of the maddened brute. His friends were powerless to help him, but a Pawnee on his wiry little mustang galloped up between them and with a couple of arrows brought the monster down.
Coke had reloaded by this time, but at first his aim was baulked by the prancing horse.
“Shoot the confounded horse; he’ll kick him to death,” yelled George Dumont in his ear, at the same time frantically pushing a cartridge into the empty breech of his own gun; but just then the horse swerved and fled down the hill towards the waggons. The bull, meanwhile, seeing his enemy at his mercy, had paused just for a moment as though to take breath; and now, with his nose to the ground, was making a wild dash towards him.
Coke pulled up, took good aim, and fired; but unluckily, the bullet which was meant for the bison’s shoulder caught him on the frontlet, his most hopelessly invulnerable part. The three younger Dumonts, unaware of the accident, were now over the brow and out of sight. George had almost pulled his trigger, when the Pawnee who had been riding near him galloped between him and the bull. The little Indian horse, more used to climbing than the heavily-built hacks of the white men, shot up the slope like a chamois, and, joining his whinny to the rider’s howl, flew between the prostrate man and the bull.
Fred, who had been too unnerved for the moment to do anything but try feebly to roll away out of danger, was conscious suddenly of a good deal of clattering close to him; then, looking up, he saw that the bull had turned to flee and that the shaft of an arrow was 188 protruding from his ribs. The bull was struggling up the hill, too startled and confused to attempt to battle with his new assailant, who, in hot pursuit, was sending a second arrow after the first.
“No, no; hang it; let the redskin finish him,” said Dumont as Coke made ready to fire again.
The bull did not require much more “finishing.” Already the Indian had wounded him in two places and was getting a third arrow ready for him; and the final rush up-hill, together with loss of blood, was weakening him at every step. The mustang, not to be outraced, was soon abreast of him; and one more arrow from the persevering Indian brought the luckless beast on to his knees.
Mr. Coke and his friend saw and shot a good many bisons after that, but never again one that so nearly turned their trip into a tragedy.