Meanwhile, Others Would Be Running About From Burrow To
Burrow, As If On Some Errand Of The Last Importance To Their
Subterranean Commonwealth.
The snakes were apparently the prairie
dog's worst enemies, at least I think too well of the latter to
suppose that they associate on friendly terms with these slimy
intruders, who may be seen at all times basking among their holes,
into which they always retreat when disturbed.
Small owls, with wise
and grave countenances, also make their abode with the prairie dogs,
though on what terms they live together I could never ascertain. The
manners and customs, the political and domestic economy of these
little marmots is worthy of closer attention than one is able to give
when pushing by forced marches through their country, with his
thoughts engrossed by objects of greater moment.
On the fifth day after leaving Bisonette's camp we saw late in the
afternoon what we supposed to be a considerable stream, but on our
approaching it we found to our mortification nothing but a dry bed of
sand into which all the water had sunk and disappeared. We
separated, some riding in one direction and some in another along its
course. Still we found no traces of water, not even so much as a wet
spot in the sand. The old cotton-wood trees that grew along the
bank, lamentably abused by lightning and tempest, were withering with
the drought, and on the dead limbs, at the summit of the tallest,
half a dozen crows were hoarsely cawing like birds of evil omen as
they were. We had no alternative but to keep on. There was no water
nearer than the South Fork of the Platte, about ten miles distant.
We moved forward, angry and silent, over a desert as flat as the
outspread ocean.
The sky had been obscured since the morning by thin mists and vapors,
but now vast piles of clouds were gathered together in the west.
They rose to a great height above the horizon, and looking up toward
them I distinguished one mass darker than the rest and of a peculiar
conical form. I happened to look again and still could see it as
before. At some moments it was dimly seen, at others its outline was
sharp and distinct; but while the clouds around it were shifting,
changing, and dissolving away, it still towered aloft in the midst of
them, fixed and immovable. It must, thought I, be the summit of a
mountain, and yet its heights staggered me. My conclusion was right,
however. It was Long's Peak, once believed to be one of the highest
of the Rocky Mountain chain, though more recent discoveries have
proved the contrary. The thickening gloom soon hid it from view and
we never saw it again, for on the following day and for some time
after, the air was so full of mist that the view of distant objects
was entirely intercepted.
It grew very late. Turning from our direct course we made for the
river at its nearest point, though in the utter darkness it was not
easy to direct our way with much precision. Raymond rode on one side
and Henry on the other. We could hear each of them shouting that he
had come upon a deep ravine. We steered at random between Scylla and
Charybdis, and soon after became, as it seemed, inextricably involved
with deep chasms all around us, while the darkness was such that we
could not see a rod in any direction. We partially extricated
ourselves by scrambling, cart and all, through a shallow ravine. We
came next to a steep descent down which we plunged without well
knowing what was at the bottom. There was a great crackling of
sticks and dry twigs. Over our heads were certain large shadowy
objects, and in front something like the faint gleaming of a dark
sheet of water. Raymond ran his horse against a tree; Henry
alighted, and feeling on the ground declared that there was grass
enough for the horses. Before taking off his saddle each man led his
own horses down to the water in the best way he could. Then
picketing two or three of the evil-disposed we turned the rest loose
and lay down among the dry sticks to sleep. In the morning we found
ourselves close to the South Fork of the Platte on a spot surrounded
by bushes and rank grass. Compensating ourselves with a hearty
breakfast for the ill fare of the previous night, we set forward
again on our journey. When only two or three rods from the camp I
saw Shaw stop his mule, level his gun, and after a long aim fire at
some object in the grass. Delorier next jumped forward and began to
dance about, belaboring the unseen enemy with a whip. Then he
stooped down and drew out of the grass by the neck an enormous
rattlesnake, with his head completely shattered by Shaw's bullet. As
Delorier held him out at arm's length with an exulting grin his tail,
which still kept slowly writhing about, almost touched the ground,
and the body in the largest part was as thick as a stout man's arm.
He had fourteen rattles, but the end of his tail was blunted, as if
he could once have boasted of many more. From this time till we
reached the Pueblo we killed at least four or five of these snakes
every day as they lay coiled and rattling on the hot sand. Shaw was
the St. Patrick of the party, and whenever he or any one else killed
a snake he always pulled off his tail and stored it away in his
bullet-pouch, which was soon crammed with an edifying collection of
rattles, great and small. Delorier, with his whip, also came in for
a share of the praise. A day or two after this he triumphantly
produced a small snake about a span and a half long, with one infant
rattle at the end of his tail.
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