Red Cloud, the Solitary Sioux: A Story of the Great Prairie

by Sir William Francis Butler

These were the wapiti, the giant red-deer of North America. The monarch of the group was evidently a gigantic specimen of his race, who, with the true kingship of nature, kept watch and ward over his weaker subjects, and did not, as in modern society, delegate that chiefest function of leadership to other less favoured mortals. And now how was this noble animal to be reached? The forest of antlers fixed and rigid showed that his gaze was fixed too upon the spot from whence an attack might be expected.

The Indian, surveying the ground for a moment, whispered to me, “We cannot approach him from this side; his suspicions are already aroused. And yet he is a noble prize, and well worth the trouble of the chase. There is only one way it can be done. Where the ground rises to the north, on the right of where we now stand, there is a large open expanse of prairie, once on that level plain it would rest with our horses to reach him; the few scattered clumps of trees growing upon it cannot hide him from our view; he must be ours. So far, he has neither seen nor winded us; he has simply heard a sound; he is watchful, not alarmed. Let us see what can be done.”

Having said this, he drew back a little, plucked the heads of a few long grasses growing near, and flung the dry light seeds into the air. They floated towards the east; the wind was from the west. “Now,” he said, having noted this, “we must retrace our steps along the path we have come for some distance, then it will be possible to get round yonder beast. We shall see.”

So saying, we fell back with easy and quiet footsteps, and, followed by Donogh, were soon a long way from the open glade and its denizens. Having gained the required distance, the Sioux stopped again to detail to us the further plan of attack; it was simply this. We were to make a long détour to the south; when the right position had been attained, we would advance in the direction of the herd, emerging upon the clearing full in view of the stag, whose course, the Indian said, would when alarmed at once lead up the wind, or towards the west. This, however, was not the direction in which the Indian wanted him to go. How then was it to be done? We shall presently see.

Striking from the trail towards the south, we pursued our way through mixed open and thicket country until the required distance had been gained, then bending round to the west we gradually drew nearer to the open ground on which the wapiti had last been seen.

When the neighbourhood of the open space was reached the Indian again stopped, and spoke his last directions to us. “Wait here until you hear a wolf cry twice; at the second call ride straight to the north at an easy pace. When you emerge upon the open you will be in sight of the big stag, but a long way from him; after looking at you for a moment he will trot away to your left; then you must ride straight up the hill until you gain the level plain on the summit; you will then see the stag not very far from you. I will be there too. Let the pack-horses follow quietly to the upper ground.” Having said this, the Indian turned his horse to the west, and was soon lost to sight in the thickets and undulations of the ground.

About a quarter of an hour passed; at length we heard the cry of a wolf sounding a long way off to north and west. We listened anxiously for the second signal. It soon came, and as it died away in the silence of space we put our horses into a trot and rode straightforward. Two minutes’ riding brought us to the edge of the prairie, on the other side of which, but now some miles distant, we had first looked upon the wapiti. As we entered upon the open ground we caught sight of the herd, still in the same spot. The chief had apparently ceased to reconnoitre, for his huge antlers no longer towered aloft; he was quietly feeding like the others. We now rode at a walk straight for the herd. Our presence in their area of vision was almost instantly detected, and all heads were lifted from the ground to examine the enemy; then the leader led the way, and the band, following his steps, filed off quietly towards the wind.

I was sorely disposed to follow, but, remembering the directions of the Indian I put my horse into a sharp canter, and held straight for the high ground, the edge of which was visible in our front. As we crossed the centre of the open space, a shot rang out some distance to our left, and then there came a faint Halloo! borne down the west wind. Still we held on our course, and climbing the steep ridge, gained the open prairie land above. As our heads topped the ridge, we beheld a sight that made our hearts beat fast with excitement. There, not half a mile distant, going full across the plain, was the herd of wapiti, still close grouped together; behind them, and not more than three hundred yards distant from them, rode the Indian, his horse held full within his pace but going at a free gallop across a level plain, on which the grass grew short and crisp under a horse’s hoof. I did not need the waving arm of the Indian to tell me what was to be done. My horse seemed to realize the work too; I shook free his rein, and was soon in fast pursuit of the flying stag.

There are many moments in wild life, the minute sensations of which are worth the oft-indulged recollections of after time—moments when every nerve is strained to action, when eye and ear and nostril are filled with the sound, the sight and the scent of nature’s freshness—and when the animate or inanimate thing that bears us, the horse or the canoe, become sharers in the keenness of our progress, and seem to quiver with the excitement of our impetuous onset; there are such moments in the wild life of the wilderness, amply sufficient to outweigh the hardships and privations of travel and exposure in a land where the sky is the roof, and the ground the bed, the table and the chair of the wayfarer.

Much toil and trouble had befallen us since that distant day when we had quitted the little roof of our far-away home; the goal aimed at had often seemed a long way off, and many had been the obstacles that had forced in between us and the wild life I had sought to reach; but now it was ours—fully, entirely ours; and as my horse, entering at once into the spirit of the chase, launched himself gamely along the level sward I could not repress a ringing cheer, the natural voice of freedom found, and of wild life fully realized.