We know that the process of jerking buffalo beef takes three days, and that with a hot sun, as the hunter has intimated. This, with the first day required for hunting, will keep us four days in the ravine!
The prospect is appalling. We feel that death or the extreme torture of thirst is before us. We have no fear of hunger. Our horses are in the grove, and our knives in our belts. We can, live for weeks upon them; but will the cacti assuage the thirst of men and horses for a period of three or four days? This is a question no one can answer. It has often relieved the hunter for a short period, enabling him to crawl on to the water; but for days!
The trial will soon commence. The day has fairly broken. The Indians spring to their feet. About one-half of them draw the pickets of their horses, and lead them to the water. They adjust their bridles, pluck up their spears, snatch their bows, shoulder their quivers, and leap on horseback.
After a short consultation they gallop off to the eastward. In half an hour’s time, we can see them running the buffalo far out upon the prairie: piercing them with their arrows, and impaling them on their long lances.
Those who have remained behind lead their horses down to the spring-branch, and back again to the grass. Now they chop down young trees, and carry faggots to the fires. See! they are driving long stakes into the ground, and stretching ropes from one to the other. For what purpose? We know too well.
“Ha! look yonder!” mutters one of the hunters, as this is first noticed; “yonder goes the jerking-line! Now we’re caged in airnest, I reckin.”
“Por todos santos, es verdad!”
“Carambo! carrajo! chingaro!” growls the cibolero, who well knows the meaning of those stakes and lines.
We watch with a fearful interest the movements of the savages.
We have now no longer any doubt of their intention to remain for several days.