When we got back to
camp, Dorothea laved the burns for me with cool milk. Ah!
she was very pretty; and, what 'blackguard' Heine, as
Carlyle dubs him, would have called 'naive schmutzig.' When
we parted next morning I thought with a sigh that before the
autumn was over, she would be in the seraglio of Mr. Brigham
Young; who, Artemus Ward used to say, was 'the most married
man he ever knew.'
CHAPTER XXI
SPORT had been the final cause of my trip to America - sport
and the love of adventure. As the bison - buffalo, as they
are called - are now extinct, except in preserved districts,
a few words about them as they then were may interest game
hunters of the present day.
No description could convey an adequate conception of the
numbers in which they congregated. The admirable
illustrations in Catlin's great work on the North American
Indians, afford the best idea to those who have never seen
the wonderful sight itself. The districts they frequented
were vast sandy uplands sparsely covered with the tufty
buffalo or gramma grass. These regions were always within
reach of the water-courses; to which morning and evening the
herds descended by paths, after the manner of sheep or cattle
in a pasture. Never shall I forget the first time I
witnessed the extraordinary event of the evening drink.
Seeing the black masses galloping down towards the river, by
the banks of which our party were travelling, we halted some
hundred yards short of the tracks. To have been caught
amongst the animals would have been destruction; for, do what
they would to get out of one's way, the weight of the
thousands pushing on would have crushed anything that impeded
them. On the occasion I refer to we approached to within
safe distance, and fired into them till the ammunition in our
pouches was expended.
As examples of our sporting exploits, three days taken almost
at random will suffice. The season was so far advanced that,
unless we were to winter at Fort Laramie, it was necessary to
keep going. It was therefore agreed that whoever left the
line of march - that is, the vicinity of the North Platte -
for the purpose of hunting should take his chance of catching
up the rest of the party, who were to push on as speedily as
possible. On two of the days which I am about to record this
rule nearly brought me into trouble. I quote from my
journal:
'Left camp to hunt by self. Got a shot at some deer lying in
long grass on banks of a stream. While stalking, I could
hardly see or breathe for mosquitos; they were in my eyes,
nose, and mouth. Steady aim was impossible; and, to my
disgust, I missed the easiest of shots. The neck and flanks
of my little grey are as red as if painted. He is weak from
loss of blood. Fred's head is now so swollen he cannot wear
his hard hat; his eyes are bunged up, and his face is comic
to look at. Several deer and antelopes; but ground too
level, and game too wild to let one near. Hardly caring what
direction I took, followed outskirts of large wood, four or
five miles away from the river. Saw a good many summer
lodges; but knew, by the quantity of game, that the Indians
had deserted them. In the afternoon came suddenly upon deer;
and singling out one of the youngest fawns, tried to run it
down. The country being very rough, I found it hard work to
keep between it and the wood. First, my hat blew off; then a
pistol jumped out of the holster; but I was too near to give
up, - meaning to return for these things afterwards. Two or
three times I ran right over the fawn, which bleated in the
most piteous manner, but always escaped the death-blow from
the grey's hoofs. By degrees we edged nearer to the thicket,
when the fawn darted down the side of a bluff, and was lost
in the long grass and brushwood, I followed at full speed;
but, unable to arrest the impetus of the horse, we dashed
headlong into the thick scrub, and were both thrown with
violence to the ground. I was none the worse; but the poor
beast had badly hurt his shoulder, and for the time was dead
lame.
'For an hour at least I hunted, for my pistol. It was much
more to me than my hat. It was a huge horse pistol, that
threw an ounce ball of exactly the calibre of my double
rifle. I had shot several buffaloes with it, by riding close
to them in a chase; and when in danger of Indians I loaded it
with slugs. At last I found it. It was getting late; and I
didn't rightly know where I was. I made for the low country.
But as we camped last night at least two miles from the
river, on account of the swamps, the difficulty was to find
the tracks. The poor little grey and I hunted for it in
vain. The wet ground was too wet, the dry ground too hard,
to show the tracks in the now imperfect light.
'The situation was a disagreeable one: it might be two or
three days before I again fell in with my friends. I had not
touched food since the early morning, and was rather done.
To return to the high ground was to give up for the night;
but that meant another day behind the cavalcade, with
diminished chance of overtaking it. Through the dusk I saw
what I fancied was something moving on a mound ahead of me
which arose out of the surrounding swamp.
