“The upshot of it,” answered the seaman, “was that I’ve never touched a drop o’ strong drink from that day to this, an’ that I’m now blown entirely out o’ my old courses, an’ am cruisin’ arter the buffalo on the plains o’ Rupert’s Land.”
At this point, their minds being set free from the consideration of past history, they made the discovery that the buffalo runners were nowhere to be seen on the horizon, and that they themselves were lost on the grassy sea.
“What shall we do?” said the boy, when they had pulled up to consider their situation. “You see, although I came out here a good while before you did,” he added, half apologetically, “I’ve never been out on the plains without a guide, and don’t know a bit how to find the way back to camp. The prairie is almost as bad as the sea you’re so fond of, with a clear horizon all round, and nothing worth speaking of to guide us. An’ as you have never been in the plains before, of course you know nothing. In short, Jenkins, I greatly fear that we are lost! Why, what are you grinning at?”
The terminal question was induced by the fact that the tall seaman was looking down at his anxious companion with a broad smile on his handsome sunburnt countenance.
“So we’re lost, are we, Archie?” he said, “like two sweet babes on the prairie instead of in the woods. An’ you think I knows nothin’. Well, p’r’aps I don’t know much, but you should remember, lad, that an old salt wi’ a compass in his wes’kit-pocket is not the man to lose his reck’nin’. I’ve got one here as’ll put us all right on that score, for I was careful to take my bearin’s when we set sail, an’ I’ve been keepin’ an eye on our course all the way. Make your mind easy, my boy.”
So saying, the sailor pulled out the compass referred to, and consulted it. Then he pulled out a watch of the warming-pan type, which he styled a chronometer, and consulted that also; after which he looked up at the clouds—seamanlike—and round the horizon, especially to windward, if we may speak of such a quarter in reference to a day that was almost quite calm.
“Now, Archie, boy, the upshot o’ my cogitations is that with a light breeze on our starboard quarter, a clear sky overhead, an’ a clear conscience within, you and I had better hold on our course for a little longer, and see whether we can’t overhaul the runners. If we succeed, good and well. If not, why, ’bout-ship, and homeward-bound is the sailin’ orders. What say ’ee, lad?”
“I say whatever you say, Jenkins. If you’re sure o’ the way back, as I’ve no doubt you are, why, there couldn’t be greater fun than to go after the buffalo on our own account. And—I say, look there! Isn’t that somethin’ like them on the top o’ the far bluff yonder? A fellow like you, wi’ sharp sailor-eyes, ought to be able to make them out.”
“You forget, lad, that I ain’t a buffalo runner, an’ don’t know the cut o’ the brutes’ jibs yet. It does look like somethin’. Come, we’ll go an’ see.” Putting their horses to the gallop, the two curiously matched friends, taking advantage of every knoll and hollow, succeeded in getting sufficiently near to perceive that a small herd was grazing quietly in a grassy bottom between two prairie waves. They halted at once for consultation.
“Now, then, Archie,” said the sailor, examining the priming of his gun, “here we are at last, a-goin’ to begin a pitched battle. There’s this to be said for us, that neither you nor me knows rightly how to go to work, both on us havin’ up to this time bin trained, so to speak, on hearsay. But what o’ that? In the language o’ the immortial Nelson, ‘England expec’s every man to do his dooty.’ Now it seems to me my dooty on the present occasion is to lay myself alongside of a buffalo an’ blaze away! Isn’t that the order o’ battle?”