Wild Kindred

by Jean M. Thompson

He had never encountered any real danger in his life as yet, never heard the swish of an Indian's arrow, or sighted a painted, brown body topped off with painted feathers, astride a loping pony. Once on the open plains he would soon find out about all these things for himself. Through the mouth of the sheltering canyon travelled Mogul, so full of courage and life that he gambolled and leaped playfully by the way; he would shake his huge, top-heavy head, and rip up great tufts of sage-brush with his sharp horns. Occasionally he halted, bellowing fiercely and stamping. A yellow, diamond-back rattlesnake presumed to coil and rattle at him impudently, right in his path. Knowing no fear, Mogul charged at it, sending it spinning high in the air, then stamping it out beneath his shining hoofs.

The sun baked down mercilessly upon his heavy coat out on the open plain, where there was no shelter. Almost he wished himself back in the canyon. Gnats bit right through his tough hide; he swung his great head incessantly and angrily, lashing them with his tail; still they clung, biting and stinging his flesh until blood flowed. The plains stretched on ahead with no companionship in sight. Poor, lonely Mogul! For days he had not tasted water. If he could but find a water hole, he would wallow and rid himself of the stinging pests. That night he reached a small, brackish pool of water and, dropping into a moist place, Mogul rolled about until he had made a fine hole about as long and wide as himself. Into this the water gradually oozed and, with a snort of joy, Mogul rolled his tormented body about, coating himself well with the wet clay which cured the biting stings. Early next morning a stray buffalo cow came to the pool; she was young and very pleasing, and Mogul's joy seemed complete, for he had found company. That night the pair caught up with the great herd and joined it. Black King, leader of the great herd, had never been crossed, but as soon as Mogul appeared he disapproved of him, because of his jealous disposition, for the old leader noticed that Mogul was fully as large as himself, and even more powerful—a born leader. The Black King was growing old; he feared this stranger might become a favourite with the herd, which might desert him, as they frequently did, for a younger leader. Whenever Mogul met Black King, the latter would charge savagely, bellowing mightily and throwing up great showers of earth with his hoofs and horns, to frighten Mogul. Then the eyes of Mogul would suddenly grow red with inner fires, and he would charge wildly at Black King. One day, somewhat to his surprise, the old leader actually backed off and away from Mogul, bellowing and calling his followers after him. Thus Mogul won a position of respect from the herd, a greater part of which took to following his leadership, others remaining loyal to Black King.

Grazing near the edge of a rocky canyon with a favourite cow and her calf one day, Mogul almost met his match in "Ezekiel," as the plainsmen had named the great grizzly bear—the terror of the Rockies. Ezekiel, full grown, and with four young cubs back in a den of the mountains with their mother, was seeking food. The young cubs needed fresh meat. Afar off, peering over the edges of the canyon, Ezekiel had sighted the three grazing figures of the buffaloes. Buffalo calf meat he intended to carry back to the waiting cubs. In and out crept the shambling figure of the great bear, taking care to keep low down among the underbrush, making for the site nearest the little calf, which was feeding somewhat apart from its mother's side.

With a snort, Mogul raised his heavy head; instantly he sighted the great hulking thing which was making its way towards the calf. With a wild bellow of rage, he charged straight for the waving underbrush, and as he came on Ezekiel, the terrible one, rose upon his great haunches and boldly faced Mogul, for the grizzly is absolute monarch of the plains, fearing no foe. For a moment Mogul, the fearless, was daunted by the sight of the tremendous creature facing him. With outstretched paws armed with great, razor-like claws, its wide, red mouth bared to show its cruel teeth, the bear came on with savage, thunder-like growls. It was unfortunate, however, that Ezekiel did not travel on all fours, for, seeing his advantage, the buffalo lowered its shaggy head, lunged straight for the unprotected stomach of the bear and, before it could even seize him in its terrible grasp, he had pinned its great body to earth, pressing his sharp horns, and making the bear howl for mercy. Then, after goring the bear well, without waiting to see whether Ezekiel was able to get up or not Mogul bellowed a summons; the cow and calf joined him, and they tore off to join the herd.

One day, as the herd was contentedly grazing together, Mogul and his followers, upon a small plateau which ended in a high cliff, across the plains came a band of hunting Indians. Once the herd becomes frightened it usually starts a stampede. One buffalo cow snorted in alarm, then the whole herd suddenly lost their heads, which was just what the Indians had planned. Wheeling about, Mogul led his herd straight away from the cliff, off towards a canyon. Alas for Black King! The Indians were behind him, and, completely losing his head, he charged across the plateau, heading for the cliff. Like thunder was the roar of the thousands of hoofs, which fairly shook the earth as they madly ran, following their leader to certain destruction. Roaring, bellowing, raising the dust in clouds, they ran. Too late! When at the very verge of the cliff Black King saw their peril, he swerved, bravely trying to turn back. Like an avalanche the herd rushed upon him, a great brown waving mass of heads and flashing hoofs, and over the cliff they fell. When the Indians went back to their village they held a festival and gave the great "dance of the war shield" to celebrate their fine hunt. They had enough buffalo meat to feed all the dogs of the village, and skins enough to keep the squaws busy curing them for many moons. Afterwards they had a great feast, and there was joy in every wigwam of the village.

Mogul led his herd for many years, and a mighty herd it became, spreading in thousands far across the plain. The mighty thunder of its passing might be heard very far off, and the dust, when it moved, arose on high until it almost reached the sky. Gradually, but surely, the great herd began to diminish and thin out. Once a terrific drought killed many of them. For days and weeks they journeyed, the vast herd seeking old, well-remembered buffalo wallows over the trails, but when reached they were found dried out. The buffaloes pawed and dug deeply into the arid, salt-caked holes for moisture, but none came. They died by thousands. Afterwards the settlers came across stacks of their bleaching bones, lying just where they had fallen. So, weakened and hungry, for the drought had killed off the scant herbage, they travelled on, ever westward. Merciless Indians drove them farther on, and hunters of the plains, who coveted their valuable skins, made after them. Finally the great herd, all that was left of it, split, as by common consent, and chose a younger leader for their thinned ranks. One day Mogul, the king of the old herd, found himself deserted, and left to wander alone upon the great plains. In vain he tried to follow the herd, but they soon out-distanced him, and he came to realise that his company was no longer wanted. For many years he wandered, always alone, occasionally seeing scattered remnants of the great herd, but gradually they dropped off, either killed by Indians or dying from starvation. Somehow, old Mogul managed to escape the wolves, the skulking coyotes, the mountain lions and the Indians. One day, utterly lonely, he sighted a vast herd. At first he thought they were buffaloes, but on coming up with them he saw they were long-horned red cattle, which had now taken the place of his lost tribe. Because he longed for company, Mogul joined the red cattle, and they did not molest or drive him away.

Now, out on a reservation, somewhere in the West, herding with the long-horned cattle of the plains, grazes Mogul, the old buffalo leader. His teeth are broken, but he still crops at the grass, and when he lifts his head you may see that he has but one horn; he lost the other in a fierce battle for his life with a grizzly. Sometimes the old buffalo lifts his great shaggy head and gazes straight out across the broad plains with his old, dim eyes and lows deeply and longingly, perhaps remembering his lost tribe and other days. When the cowboys round up the cattle, they often point out to strangers from the East a solitary old buffalo, grazing, usually somewhat apart from the cattle, on the edge of the herd, and then they say, not without some pride: "See that old buffalo out there. He was once leader of a well-known powerful tribe, but he is old, just how old we cannot say, and he's now the last great buffalo left of a mighty herd."

CHAPTER XV
THE LAST PANTHER ON CUSHMAN RANGE

Tom and Ned Manning lived upon a farm in Northern Vermont. The Manning home was in a beautiful valley, and all about, as far as the eye could see, ranged the Green Mountains; the range which towered over this valley was called Cushman.