Our step was the "all-day jog-trot."
Presently father, looking around, missed Mr. Woolsey, and sent me back to look for him and bring him up. I went on the jump, thankful for the change, and finding Mr. Woolsey, I said, "What is the matter? They are anxious about you at the front." He replied by saying, "My horse is lazy." "Old Besho is terribly slow. Let me drive him for you," said I; and suiting the action to the word, I rode alongside and gave "Mr. Besho" a sharp cut with my "quirt." This Besho resented by kicking with both legs. The first kick came close to my leg, the second to my shoulder, the third to my head. This was a revelation to me of high-kicking power. Thinks I, Besho would shine on the stage; but in the meantime Mr. Woolsey was thrown forward, for the higher Besho's hind-quarters came, the lower went his front, and Mr. Woolsey was soon on his neck, and I saw I must change tactics. So I rode to a clump of trees, and securing a long, dry poplar, I came at Besho lance-like; but the cunning old fellow did not wait for me, but set off at a gallop on the trail of our party. Ah! thought I, we will soon come up, and I waved my poplar lance, and on we speeded; but soon Mr. Woolsey lost his stirrups and well-nigh his balance, and begged me to stop, and I saw the trouble was with my friend rather than his steed.
However, we came up at last, and were careful after that to keep Mr. Woolsey in the party.
This was Saturday, and we stopped for noon on the south side of Vermilion Creek, our whole larder consisting of two small ducks. These were soon cleaned and in the kettle and served, and five hearty men sat around them, and father asked Mr. Woolsey what part of the duck he should help him to. Mr. Woolsey answered, "Oh, give me a leg, and a wing, and a piece of the breast," and I quietly suggested to father to pass him a whole one.
As we picked the duck bones, and I drank the broth, for I never cared for tea, we held a council, and finally, at father's suggestion, it was decided that Peter and John (that is, myself) should ride on ahead of the party and hunt, and if successful, we would stay over Sunday in camp; if not, we would travel.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Bear hunt—Big grizzlies—Surfeit of fat meat.
In accord with the plan mentioned in last chapter, Peter and I saddled up sooner than the rest, and rode on. I will never forget that afternoon. I was in perfect health. My diet for the last few weeks forbade anything like dyspepsia—the horseback travel, the constant change, the newness of my surroundings, this beautiful and wonderful country. Oh, how sweet life was to me! Then the day was superb—bright sunshine, fleecy clouds, and intensely exhilarating atmosphere; everywhere, above and around us, and before and beneath us, a rich and lovely country—quietly sloping plains, nicely rounded knolls, big hills on whose terraced heights woodland and prairie seemed to have scrambled for space, and someone, with wonderful artistic taste, had decided for them, and placed them as they were; lakelets at different altitudes glistening with sun rays, and that quiet afternoon sleeping as they shone; the early autumn tinting the now full-grown grass and foliage with colors the painter might well covet. As I rode in silence behind my guide, my eyes feasted on these panoramic views, and yet I was sharply and keenly looking for some game that might serve the purpose of our quest.
When suddenly I saw a dark object in the distance, seeming to come out of a bluff of poplars on to the plain, I checked my horse and watched intently for a little and saw it move. I whistled to Peter, and he said, "What is it?" and I pointed out to him what I saw. Said he, "It is a buffalo." Ah! how my hunting instincts moved at those words. A buffalo on his native heath! Even the sight of him was something to be proud of. The plain this animal was crossing was on the farther side of a lake, and at the foot of a range of hills, the highest of which was called "Sickness Hill."