In the course of two days, they killed
thirty-two buffaloes, and collected their meat on the margin of a
small brook, about a mile distant.
Fortunately, a severe frost
froze the river, so that the meat was easily transported to the
encampment. On a succeeding day, a herd of buffalo came trampling
through the woody bottom on the river banks, and fifteen more
were killed.
It was soon discovered, however, that there was game of a more
dangerous nature in the neighborhood. On one occasion, Mr. Crooks
had wandered about a mile from the camp, and had ascended a small
hill commanding a view of the river. He was without his rifle, a
rare circumstance, for in these wild regions, where one may put
up a wild animal, or a wild Indian, at every turn, it is
customary never to stir from the camp-fire unarmed. The hill
where he stood overlooked the place where the massacre of the
buffalo had taken place. As he was looking around on the
prospect, his eye was caught by an object below, moving directly
towards him. To his dismay, he discovered it to be a grizzly
bear, with two cubs. There was no tree at hand into which he
could climb; to run, would only be to provoke pursuit, and he
should soon be overtaken. He threw himself on the ground,
therefore, and lay motionless, watching the movements of the
animal with intense anxiety. It continued to advance until at the
foot of the hill, when it turned, and made into the woods, having
probably gorged itself with buffalo flesh.
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