“Reckon we’ll have some of his meat, when them hosses have done rearing,” said the shooter. It took time to quiet the terror-stricken creatures, and, in the end, the driver was forced to give them their heads for a while; and they had hardly settled to their normal condition when a fresh incident occurred to trouble their peace.
A succession of single shouts from various directions sounded from beyond the hill which they were now passing, and suddenly swelled into a long, howling, shrieking chorus that was echoed by maddened bellowings as from a thousand bulls. With difficulty the horses allowed themselves to be held in, and as they were walked past the final spur of the hill, a truly wonderful sight broke on the spectators. They had come to the mouth of a pleasant, grassy valley, in the midst of which a herd of over two hundred bison were running hither and thither, butting each other, falling over, or trying furiously to reach the slopes; while, down the hill on either side, a great troop of mounted 219 Indians swept like a torrent; spears slung at their backs, arrows flying from the bows in their hands. With all the order and method of a cavalry brigade, they slackened their speed suddenly, and, spreading out, formed themselves into a huge circle; then straightway continued with their spears the work of slaughter which their arrows had begun.
For ever on the move, now to right, now to left, now charging into the heaving brown mass, they plied their lances untiringly, time after time avoiding, with no visible effort, the desperate charge of one or other of the bisons. To a man who loved sport, but not slaughter, it was a revolting sight; yet fascinating as well, by reason of the skill and pertinacity which these savages displayed in their task of blood. Now and then one or two energetic bulls would force a way through some opening in the line, in the fond hope of being allowed to flee over the hills; but there was always some vigilant horseman ready to give chase or else to send half a dozen arrows in rapid succession, and so to cut short the creature’s chance of escape. Not till every bison lay dead did the redskins stay their hands or condescend to turn an eye on the onlookers who had drawn up at the entrance to the valley.
Bartlett waited with curiosity to see what the Indians’ next move would be. As concerned himself they might be perfectly harmless; already he had come to the conclusion that the redskin is a very much maligned man; but, whether harmless or offensive, the hunters had now caught sight of the waggon, and to attempt to flee before men, mounted as well as they 220 were, would only be a ridiculous waste of energy. A few turned their horses his way, but the great majority continued to hunt down the game; but whatever work these had still to do, was very soon done; for, by the time their brethren had come up with the waggon, they were following in their wake.
From the teamsters Bartlett learned that the horsemen were Missouris—a branch of the Sioux—and accordingly he stood up in the waggon and began hesitatingly to address the foremost in what he had already mastered of the Siouan dialect. The effect should have been flattering; they didn’t give him “three cheers,” their education in that form of enthusiasm being as yet imperfect; but they smiled encouragingly and turned their spears points downwards, while the more demonstrative pressed up to him, patted his shoulders, his ribs, and his leggings, telling him that he was a great man, a wise chief, and a “good medicine”—whatever that might mean.
Three men who appeared, from their more ornate dress, to be rulers among the tribe, now turned and gave some directions to those who were coming up behind them; and, as these rode forward, Bartlett noticed that every man of the division that had stayed to cut up the carcases carried one or more semi-globular lumps of bison-beef on his saddle-bow; and it was to bestow some of these lumps on the stranger that the chief had called them. In a couple of minutes the footboard was like a butcher’s stall, for meat enough lay there to feed the four occupants of the waggon for about a month. On Bartlett’s asking where was the best place to cross the river, a chief told 221 him there was a ferry fourteen miles farther, to which the troop would have great pleasure in escorting him.
A Bison Surround
The Indians would surround a herd of bison and wantonly kill every member of it. They would cut off the hump only, leaving the rest of the carcase for wolves and coyotes.
“We have finished our hunting for the day, and are going home to our camp, which is a few miles this side of the river,” he said.