It was extremely fortunate for us that we had secured Cody as guide. The whole western country bordering on the plains, as we afterward learned, from sorry experience, is infested with numberless charlatans, blazing with all sorts of hunting and fighting titles, and ready at the rustle of greenbacks to act as guides through a land they know nothing about. These reprobates delight in telling thrilling tales of their escapes from Indians, and are constantly chilling the blood of their shivering party by pointing out spots where imaginary murders took place. Without compasses they would be as hopelessly lost as needleless mariners. I have my doubts if one-third of these terribly named bullies could tell, on a pinch, where the north star is. Unless they chanced to strike one of the Pacific lines which stretch across the plains, a party, under their guidance, wishing to go west would be equally liable to get among the Northern Siouxs or the Ku-Klux of Arkansas.
A thousand miles east Young America's cherished ideal of the frontier scout and guide is an eagle-eyed giant, with a horse which obeys his whistle, and breaks the neck of any Indian trying to steal him. In addition to its wonderful master, the back of this model steed is usually occupied by a rescued maiden. At risk of infringing on the copyrights of thirty-six thousand of the latest Indian stories, we have obtained from an artist on the spot an illustration of the last heroine brought in and her rescuer, the rare old plainsman.[1]
Cody had all the frontiersman's fondness for practical jokes, and delighted in designating Mr. Colon as "Mr. Boston," as if accidentally confounding the residence with the name. In one instance, with a cry of "Come, Mr. Boston, here's a specimen!" he enticed the philanthropist into the eager pursuit of a beautiful little animal through some rank bottom grass, and brought the good man back in such a condition that we unanimously insisted on his traveling to leeward for the rest of the day.
While we thus journeyed, and, in traditional traveler's style, mused and pondered, Shamus came running back to say that we were wanted in front. "Such a goin' on in the ravine beyant as bates a witch's dance all holly!" We saw that the forward wagons had halted and the men were peering cautiously over the edge of the highland into the valley of Silver Creek, which stream wound along below, entirely out of sight until one came directly upon it. In this lonely land, the pages of whose history Time had so often turned with bloody fingers, an event slight as even this was startling. That hollow in the plain before us seemed to yawn, as if awaking in sleepy horrors, and we noticed a general tightening of reins and rattling of spurs. This maneuver was executed to prevent our horses running away again and thus rendering us incapable of supporting our advanced guard. If savages were around, our provisions must be protected, and we at once dismounted and scattered among the teams in such a way as to offer the most successful defense.
Our fears were groundless. In a few moments Cody came galloping back on Brigham, and said briefly that we should lose a fine lesson in natural history unless we hurried to the front. Truth compels me to say that we did not hanker after a close acquaintance with Lo on the rampage; yet we did earnestly desire to improve every opportunity of studying the other inhabitants of the plains, and a few moments accordingly found our whole party peering over the edge of the bluff into the valley below.
THE WILD DENIZENS OF THE PLAINS.
There, on a patch of bottom grass, half a dozen elk were feeding; a short distance away, a small herd of wild horses drank from the brook; while in a ravine immediately in front of us, three cayotes were attempting to capture a jackass-rabbit. What a wealth of animal life this valley had opened to us. From our own level the table-lands stretched away in all directions until striking its grassy waves against the horizon, with not a shrub, tree, or beast to relieve the clearly-cut outlines. Casting our eyes upward, the bright blue sky, clear of every vestige of clouds, arched down until resting on our prairie floor, and not even a bird soared in the air to charm the profound space with the eloquence of life. Casting our eyes downward, the earth was all astir with the activity of its brute creation.
Before we could make any effort at capture, the elk and horses winded us and fled away toward the opposite ridges, where stalking them would have been exceedingly difficult, if not impossible. Leading the mustangs was a large black stallion, which kept its position by pacing while the others ran. Buffalo Bill said this was an escaped American horse which had fled to solitude with the rider's blood upon his saddle. We noted the statement as one for future elucidation at our camp-fire. The rabbit chase in the ravine continued, and we watched it unseen for several minutes. The wolves were endeavoring to surround their victim, and cut in ahead of it whenever he attempted to get out of the ravine. Although such odds were against him, the rabbit had thus far succeeded by superior speed and quick dodging in evading his enemies; but escape was hopeless, as he was hemmed in and becoming exhausted. These tireless wolves, cowardly creatures though they are, might worry to death an elephant. A few shots terminated this scene, driving off the wolves, but killing the rabbit for whose protection they were fired. The Professor remarked that this was like a lawyer's rescue. He sometimes frightens away the persecutors, but the charges generally kill the client.