Deerfoot on the Prairies

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

Before long the leader paused, stared a moment, and then, whirling suddenly around, dashed off with an amazing burst of speed, only, however, to run for less than fifty yards, when the former performance was repeated. The foremost halted, turned once more and stepped gingerly in the direction of that hand, with the fringed covering for the arm, swaying from side to side. This time he approached nearer than before, though with frequent halts and bluffs at dashing off again.

Had Mul-tal-la varied his rhythmic swing or risen to a stooping posture even, or tried to creep nearer, the antelopes would have fled like so many birds on the wing. But his action was that of an automaton, and all the time he lay low in the grass, never removing his eyes from the game he had marked for his own.

First forward, then a halt, then a brief retreat, followed by a still closer approach, the little farce went on, until the interested Deerfoot and the boys saw that the foremost antelope was almost within reach of Mul-tal-la. Then for some time the issue looked doubtful.

But the same cause that has been the death of unnumbered antelopes proved the undoing of another on this particular afternoon. Five remained in the background, but one, and he the best of the bunch, kept slowly stepping, with frequent stops, until at last he crossed the dead line and sealed his fate.

The pretty creature seemed to awaken to the startling fact, for he abruptly wheeled to dash off. In the act of turning Mul-tal-la quickly drew his arrow to a head and launched it. The watchers caught a glimpse of the feathered missile as it rose from the grass, made a slight curve, and, while the antelope was turning, buried itself to the feather in his side, entering just back of the fore leg.

The victim made a leap straight up in air, spun around several times like a top, and then dived to the ground, rolled on its side, and, after some pawings, ceased to struggle. Never was game more fairly brought down.

The moment Mul-tal-la let fly with the arrow he sprang to his feet and hurried after it. The five antelopes were off at full speed, never pausing, and soon disappeared in the distance. The Blackfoot was seen to bend over his quarry and busy himself with his knife. Then he walked proudly toward his friends, bringing his prize with him. He had done what he promised, and all congratulated him.

It was still early in the afternoon and the party resumed traveling, deflecting a little to the south. Before it was dark they came to a small tributary of the Arkansas, where they decided to camp for the night. When the antelope meat was dressed, washed and broiled in the same way as their midday meal had been prepared, it proved rather disappointing. The animal was lean, the meat tough and not specially palatable. It was agreed that they would have done better by making use of the best portions of one of the bison which had been brought down.

Mul-tal-la, who knew all about these timid creatures, told his friends of their most striking peculiarity. While it is impossible to approach them by direct means, an appeal to their insatiate curiosity rarely or never fails. Even the wolves make use of this remarkable weakness. One of the cunning pests will lie in the grass, revealing just enough of his head or body to attract the notice of the antelopes in the distance. The trick is more difficult in this case than when a hunter plays it. Sometimes it is so prolonged, because of the suspicions of the game, that one wolf will relieve another before the victim is brought near enough to be seized.

A more common plan is for the wolves to attack the creatures when crossing rivers or large streams. They are poor swimmers, though among the fleetest of animals, and are helpless when thus assailed.