FIFTEENTH CHAPTER
THE HUNTING CAMP
We were up the next morning before the sun, and, after a hasty breakfast, the men went out to look for buffaloes. “The one we killed yesterday may have strayed from a herd,” Son-of-a-Star said. He was hopeful that they might find the herd near.
We women were getting dinner when the men returned, having seen no buffaloes. I had cut a green stick with prongs, on which I spread slices of fresh buffalo steak, and held them over the fire to broil. I had three juicy steaks, steaming hot, lying on a little pile of clean grass, when my husband came in. “Sukkeets—good!” he cried; and he had eaten all three steaks before I had the fourth well warmed through.
After dinner we broke camp and went on about five miles to Shell Creek Lake. In the afternoon of the following day we reached Deep Creek. We pitched our tent on a bit of rising ground from which we scraped the wet snow with a hoe. The weather was getting warmer. Ice had broken on the Missouri the day we killed the stray buffalo.
While we women busied ourselves with things in camp, the men went to hunt, and five miles farther on they discovered a herd of buffaloes crossing the Missouri from the south side. Our hunters, creeping close on the down-wind side, shot five fat cows as they landed. Buffaloes are rather stupid animals, but have keen scent. Had our hunters tried to come at them from the windward side, the herd would have winded them a half mile away. As it was, no more buffaloes crossed after the shots were fired, and some that were in the water swam back to the other side. A rifle shot at the Missouri’s edge will echo between the bluffs like a crash of thunder.
The hunters found an elm tree with low hanging branches, and under it they built a rude stage. Meat and skins of the slain buffaloes they laid on the floor of the stage, out of reach of wolves. Some of the meat they hung on the branches of the elm.
Son-of-a-Star brought back two hams and a tongue. I sliced the tough outer meat from the hams, to feed to my dogs. The bones, with the tender, inner meat, I laid on stones, around the fireplace, to roast, turning them now and then to keep the meat from scorching. The roasted meat we stripped off, and cracked the hot bones for the rich, yellow marrow.
The next morning Crow-Flies-High called a council, and we decided to cross over to the other side of the river. “The main herd is there,” said Crow-Flies-High. “We should hunt the buffaloes before they move to other pasture.” We thought he spoke wisely, and men and women seized axes to cut a road through the willows for our travois.
These we now loaded. The dogs dragged them to the water’s edge and we made ready to cross. There were two other bull boats in the party besides my own.