Then he thinks of his warm teepee in that sheltered nook in the ravine, where his family has lived all summer, subsisting upon government rations, and he makes all haste to return to it before the snows of winter come to shut him up in the mountains.
CHAPTER VI.
A RIDE THROUGH THE SAGE-BRUSH.
The moment the repentant and plunder-laden warrior reaches his reservation he becomes one of the “good” Indians, and is entitled to all the privileges the government accords to them.
These privileges consist principally in drawing rations, riding stolen horses, dressing in stolen clothing, carrying stolen weapons, and wearing as an ornament on his shield the scalp of the unfortunate ranchman to whom the aforesaid stolen property once belonged. He does this too right before the face and eyes of the agent, who will not arrest him, and the troops dare not.
“It must be a fine thing to be an Indian,” said Oscar to himself as thoughts something like these passed through his mind—“nothing to do, and plenty to eat and wear. But, on the whole, I think I’d rather be a taxidermist. Now, where shall I go? I would explore one of these gullies if it were not for the associations connected with them. I should expect a band of hostiles to jump down on me at any moment. But I’ll go, anyway. A pretty hunter I shall make if I am afraid to ride into a ravine just because it is dark. It isn’t at all probable that I shall see a living thing.”
With this reflection to comfort him and keep up his courage Oscar urged his pony forward, and rode slowly along a well-beaten path that ran through a thicket of sage-brush and led in the direction he desired to go.
Then, for the first time since leaving the fort, he wished that he had brought his double-barrel with him, for he saw “specimens” on every side. They first appeared in the shape of a flock of sage-hens, which suddenly arose from the brush close in front of him, and sailed away toward the foot of the ridge.
They were a little larger than the ruffed grouse Oscar had so often hunted in the hills about Eaton, and their flight, though strong and rapid, was so even and regular that he would have had no trouble whatever in picking out a brace of the best birds in the flock.
True to his hunter’s instinct, Oscar marked them down very carefully, and while he sat in his saddle, looking first at the fort and then at the place where he had seen the birds settle to the ground, debating with himself whether or not it would be a good plan to go back and get his gun, something that looked like a yellowish-gray streak emerged from the sage brush, and ran with surprising swiftness down the path, which, at this point, happened to be perfectly straight. Just before it reached the first turn it halted suddenly, and gave Oscar a view of the first mule rabbit he had ever seen.
He did not wonder at the name it bore, nor did he any longer doubt the truth of the stories he had often read in regard to the attempts made by old plainsmen to pass the creature off on inexperienced pilgrims as a genuine mule. Its ears looked altogether too long for so small an animal, and Oscar wondered if they did not sometimes get in its way.