Sometimes An Old Bull Would Step Forward, And
Gaze At Me With A Grim And Stupid Countenance; Then He Would Turn And
Butt His Next Neighbor; Then He Would Lie Down And Roll Over In The
Dirt, Kicking His Hoofs In The Air.
When satisfied with this
amusement he would jerk his head and shoulders upward, and resting on
his forelegs stare
At me in this position, half blinded by his mane,
and his face covered with dirt; then up he would spring upon all-
fours, and shake his dusty sides; turning half round, he would stand
with his beard touching the ground, in an attitude of profound
abstraction, as if reflecting on his puerile conduct. "You are too
ugly to live," thought I; and aiming at the ugliest, I shot three of
them in succession. The rest were not at all discomposed at this;
they kept on bellowing and butting and rolling on the ground as
before. Henry Chatillon always cautioned us to keep perfectly quiet
in the presence of a wounded buffalo, for any movement is apt to
excite him to make an attack; so I sat still upon the ground, loading
and firing with as little motion as possible. While I was thus
employed, a spectator made his appearance; a little antelope came
running up with remarkable gentleness to within fifty yards; and
there it stood, its slender neck arched, its small horns thrown back,
and its large dark eyes gazing on me with a look of eager curiosity.
By the side of the shaggy and brutish monsters before me, it seemed
like some lovely young girl wandering near a den of robbers or a nest
of bearded pirates. The buffalo looked uglier than ever. "Here goes
for another of you," thought I, feeling in my pouch for a percussion
cap. Not a percussion cap was there. My good rifle was useless as
an old iron bar. One of the wounded bulls had not yet fallen, and I
waited for some time, hoping every moment that his strength would
fail him. He still stood firm, looking grimly at me, and
disregarding Henry's advice I rose and walked away. Many of the
bulls turned and looked at me, but the wounded brute made no attack.
I soon came upon a deep ravine which would give me shelter in case of
emergency; so I turned round and threw a stone at the bulls. They
received it with the utmost indifference. Feeling myself insulted at
their refusal to be frightened, I swung my hat, shouted, and made a
show of running toward them; at this they crowded together and
galloped off, leaving their dead and wounded upon the field. As I
moved toward the camp I saw the last survivor totter and fall dead.
My speed in returning was wonderfully quickened by the reflection
that the Pawnees were abroad, and that I was defenseless in case of
meeting with an enemy. I saw no living thing, however, except two or
three squalid old bulls scrambling among the sand-hills that flanked
the great ravine. When I reached camp the party was nearly ready for
the afternoon move.
We encamped that evening at a short distance from the river bank.
About midnight, as we all lay asleep on the ground, the man nearest
to me gently reaching out his hand, touched my shoulder, and
cautioned me at the same time not to move. It was bright starlight.
Opening my eyes and slightly turning I saw a large white wolf moving
stealthily around the embers of our fire, with his nose close to the
ground. Disengaging my hand from the blanket, I drew the cover from
my rifle, which lay close at my side; the motion alarmed the wolf,
and with long leaps he bounded out of the camp. Jumping up, I fired
after him when he was about thirty yards distant; the melancholy hum
of the bullet sounded far away through the night. At the sharp
report, so suddenly breaking upon the stillness, all the men sprang
up.
"You've killed him," said one of them.
"No, I haven't," said I; "there he goes, running along the river.
"Then there's two of them. Don't you see that one lying out yonder?"
We went to it, and instead of a dead white wolf found the bleached
skull of a buffalo. I had missed my mark, and what was worse, had
grossly violated a standing law of the prairie. When in a dangerous
part of the country, it is considered highly imprudent to fire a gun
after encamping, lest the report should reach the ears of the
Indians.
The horses were saddled in the morning, and the last man had lighted
his pipe at the dying ashes of the fire. The beauty of the day
enlivened us all. Even Ellis felt its influence, and occasionally
made a remark as we rode along, and Jim Gurney told endless stories
of his cruisings in the United States service. The buffalo were
abundant, and at length a large band of them went running up the
hills on the left.
"Do you see them buffalo?" said Ellis, "now I'll bet any man I'll go
and kill one with my yager."
And leaving his horse to follow on with the party, he strode up the
hill after them. Henry looked at us with his peculiar humorous
expression, and proposed that we should follow Ellis to see how he
would kill a fat cow. As soon as he was out of sight we rode up the
hill after him, and waited behind a little ridge till we heard the
report of the unfailing yager. Mounting to the top, we saw Ellis
clutching his favorite weapon with both hands, and staring after the
buffalo, who one and all were galloping off at full speed. As we
descended the hill we saw the party straggling along the trail below.
When we joined them, another scene of amateur hunting awaited us. I
forgot to say that when we met the volunteers Tete Rouge had obtained
a horse from one of them, in exchange for his mule, whom he feared
and detested.
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