The next morning the snow had ceased falling and the sun shone bright and clear. Hugh declared that it was just the day for putting out his coyote baits, which he intended to string along the mountains north of the house, to try to poison some of the coyotes that were watching the calves. These baits were blocks of wood in which one and a half inch augur holes had been bored to a depth of three inches. Into these holes melted tallow had been poured until the holes were full. The coyotes were expected to eat little balls of tallow containing strychnine scattered on the ground, and to remain near the blocks, licking at the tallow in the augur holes, until the poison which they had taken should act, so that they would die near the blocks. Thus the wolfer would get the skins of the animals that he killed.
Hugh put the blocks containing the baits in two sacks and lashed them on a pack horse, and soon with Jack and John he was riding through the snow north along the mountain-side. Soon after starting, Hugh tied a piece of elk-hide to one end of his rope, and taking a turn of the other around the horn of his saddle, dragged it behind him over the snow. This, he told Jack, was to lead the wolves to follow the trail, so that they might come to the baits. "Of course," he said, "they'd follow it up anyhow, but the smell of this hide'll keep 'em thinking about eating." After they had gone a few hundred yards, Hugh dismounted on top of a little ridge, and here threw down one of his pieces of wood, and about it scattered several balls of poisoned tallow and a handful of chips of dried meat, which he took from a sack. This he repeated at intervals of half a mile as they went along. When they reached the spot where the cows were, they found most of them feeding on a warm, sheltered hillside, which was almost free from snow. There were now many more calves than when they had seen them last. Hugh sat for a long time looking at the animals, while John Monroe rode to the top of a near-by hill, from which after a moment he called aloud, made some motions with his hands and pointed.
"That's good," said Hugh to Jack. "He sees them cows." They galloped up to John who motioned toward the mountains where a number of dark animals were seen standing in the snow.
"Well, John," said Hugh, "we've got to get them out. It's a bad place, too. There's a big drift there. I'll bet the snow's four feet deep."
Riding toward the cows, they saw that there were seven of them standing in the deep snow, which reached half way up to their backs. Two or three of them had moved a little, treading down the snow about them so that they had room to turn around; beside these, calves were standing. All the cows looked cold and hungry and fierce-eyed, and two or three shook their heads angrily as the horsemen pushed their way toward them through the ever-deepening snow.
"Well, now, boys," said Hugh, "we've got to break a road as near the critters as we can, and then rope 'em and snake 'em out. Son, you'll have to look out. Every one of them cows is fighting mad, and likely every one of 'em's got a calf, which will make her fight harder. John, you and me'd better take this nearest one first. Son, when we get the ropes on her, maybe you can get around and hurry the calf along close to her."
For a few moments Hugh, John and Jack rode back and forth through the deep snow, until they had broken a trail from a point where the snow was only knee-deep nearly to where the nearest cow stood. Each time when they got near her, she shook her head at them and looked as if she were going to charge. When the road through the snow was pretty well broken, John and Hugh rode up near to the cow, and then separating, each of them threw his rope. Hugh's settled fairly over both horns, but John's caught only one of them, slipped off and had to be gathered and thrown again. Then both men turned their horses toward the path and slowly dragged the cow over and through the snow. As the cow, bellowing and struggling furiously, passed along, a pitiful feeble cry came from the hole where she had stood, and Jack, spurring his horse up to the place, saw standing there a little weak staggering calf. The snow was deep, even where the cow had been dragged, and the calf could not get out of the hole. As Jack sat there gazing at it, suddenly a rope flew over the calf's neck, and looking, Jack saw John whirling his horse, and then saw the calf fly out of the hole and over the snow at the end of the rope. He followed to where Hugh sat on his horse by the cow, which lay on its side, all tangled up in the rope. There John loosed the calf, which, after a moment, staggered to its feet; and then Hugh, by a few jerks on his rope, freed the cow, which got up and began to lick the calf. Then, the two old men rode back to where the other cows stood in the snow. Jack could not understand why the calf had not been choked to death, nor how the cow had been tied, and then so suddenly untied. He determined that he would watch. He hurried back to where the men were breaking another path, but before he reached them they had roped the cow and were dragging it over and through the snow. The cow bellowed piteously, but moved along so steadily and fast that she could not struggle. Jack drew out of the way to let them pass, and then rode up to the hole, where he saw the little calf. This time he thought he would try his hand; he threw his rope twice and at last it went over the calf's head; then he very gently pulled it tight, and taking a turn of the rope over the saddle-horn, turned and rode slowly toward the others. He did not want to go fast, for he did not want to hurt the calf. Before he had gone far he met John riding back. He called to him: "Hurry! hurry! Ride more fast, else you're goin' kill 'im de calf. You choke it 'im." Jack hurried on then, and stopped when he was near Hugh, who, as before, was holding the tied cow. "Loose the calf as quick as you can, son, and let it get up." Jack dismounted and took the rope from the calf's neck, but it lay there perfectly still.
"Oh, Hugh, I'm afraid I've killed it," said Jack.
Hugh dismounted quickly, leaving the horse standing with the rope stretched tightly between the horn of the saddle and the cow, and walked to the calf.
"You choked it too long," he said. "But I guess we can fix it." He worked over the calf for a little while, and soon it began to breathe again without any help.
"There! He's all right now; but the next time you snake a calf by the neck, hurry him along. If you cut off his wind too long, he'll die on you."
"Why, the reason I went slowly was that I didn't want to hurt it. If Mr. Monroe hadn't told me to come faster, it would have been dead before I got here."
"It sure would," said Hugh. "If you're handling cattle you have to be quick about it often. It's easier on the critters, even if it does look rough. There, that calf can stand now, I guess. Let's drag it over to its mother and turn her loose. Now we've got to get the others out. I expect old John'll wonder what's keeping us."
He took the calf by the fore legs and dragged it over the snow to where its mother lay, then mounted his horse, and seeing that Jack also had mounted, quickly freed the cow from the rope. When she sprung to her feet, she ran to the calf and began to lick it, and in a few moments it stood up. Meantime Jack and Hugh had gone back and met John, who was slowly dragging a large cow over the snow. She struggled and fought, and the little pony that John was riding had his hands full to keep her moving in the right direction. As soon as Hugh's rope fell over her horns, and the two horses began to pull together, she moved swiftly and steadily along. Jack rode on to get the calf. At first he thought there was none there, but looking carefully he saw a foot and part of a leg sticking out from the snow where the cow had been standing. He dismounted, and digging away the snow, by pulling and pushing he brought to light a big strong calf, which at once stood up. This time, Jack did not try to be tender with the calf. He threw his rope over its head, took the turn of his rope over the saddle-horn, pulled the calf up out of the snow pit and then galloped back to where the cow lay. As soon as he cast the rope off the calf, which this time he did without dismounting, the animal stood up and bawled for its mother. Hugh turned her loose, and they all went back for another cow. In this way they pulled out all the cows and their calves, and before the middle of the day had started back to the ranch.
The weather had become milder, and now the snow was melting a little. "Might be such a thing, my son, as we'd find a coyote at some of these baits. 'Tain't likely though. Still we'll go back the same way we came."
"Snow on ground, maybe coyotes pretty hungry. Why you no make 'em trap like H'ingin?" said John.
"Ain't wolves enough for it, and besides that, I don't believe I ever thought of it before. Might be a good idea, though. Maybe I'll try it next winter, if coyotes is anyways like as plenty as they are now. Poison's no good any more."
"What kind of trap is that, Hugh?" asked Jack.
"Why, it's sorter like a pitfall trap that I've heard tell of. You kill a bull, and all around him build up a kind of a fence of poles close together, and all leaning toward each other at the top, where you leave quite a hole. Then you pile up rocks and dirt around your poles, so's to make a little mound for the wolves to walk on up to the hole. If they're hungry enough they'll jump down into the hole to get at the meat, but they can't jump out again because the hole is too high up. They can't climb up the poles and they can't dig through 'em. So there you've got 'em."
"Long time ago," said John, "he catch 'im plenty big wolves, plenty coyote that way, les shauvages. My grand'mère, when she was little girl, 'bout as h'ole as Jacques, H'ingins not make it beaver, not make it h'robes pour trade. H'only trade 'im wolf skin. Ver' curieuse."
"Oh, Mr. Monroe," said Jack, "is that a coyote off there?"
"No, that sinopah—what you say it, Hugh?" was the reply.
"Kit fox is what I call him, some calls 'em swift. I've heard folks say that they were the fastest thing that runs on the prairie, but it ain't so, by a long shot. There's just plenty of swifter animals. Still you can see easy enough where people get the idea that they run so fast. They're mighty level-gaited and seem to sort o' glide along instead of running. Just watch that fellow now and see how smooth he runs.
"Hallo, Hugh," interrupted John, "you get it one coyote?"
"Well, looks like it, don't it?" said Hugh. The little wolf lay near the block of wood, from the holes in which much of the tallow had been licked. It was a pretty creature, about as large as a small setter dog, yellowish grey in colour, and with thick heavy fur and a bushy tail. Its sharp nose gave it a wise, cunning look.
"He been two of it here, Hugh," said John, whose eyes was constantly wandering about over the snow. "Two coyote and sinopah."
"Yes; the other one's gone back along the trail to the ranch. They've eat up all the scraps I scattered here. Well, I'll put this one on the horse, and skin it at the house." Hugh thrust the coyote into one of the sacks on the pack horse, and they went on.
A mile or two further along on the trail they found where the second coyote had turned off toward the mountain, and both men said that this one had probably not eaten any of the poisoned tallow. That afternoon Hugh showed Jack how to skin a coyote.
The next two or three weeks were warm and bright and the snow melted fast. The little brooks that ran down from the mountains were full of water. Out on the edge of the hay meadows the men were working with ploughs, spades and hoes, mending the irrigation ditches, which would be used to turn the water on the hay land after all the snow water had run off and the dry season had come. There was much of this work to be done, and all were busy at it, except John Monroe and Jack, who rode together each day.
One morning they went out to look at the cows, and then on past them, and out to the end of the mountain. Here turning west, they followed a narrow winding trail up the hill, until they had reached the crest of the ridge and could look over much of the prairie below. Here they dismounted, and leaving the horses in a little hollow where they could feed, they clambered upon a high rock-crowned knoll and sat there looking over the prairie. It was a wide and beautiful prospect that they saw; fifteen or twenty miles of prairie, which from this height looked as if it were level, marked here and there with lakes that shone like silver in the sun, or with white patches of snow in the sheltered ravines. Beyond were mountains; those in front of them dotted with black pines and with white patches of rock; those to the right rising in brown foothills to peaks which were almost as red as blood. Suddenly, John, who had been smoking in silence, said: "My see 'im two h'elk."
"Two elk, Mr. Monroe; oh, where?" said Jack.
"You look on prairie, that a-way," said John, pointing, "just crossin' from Chalk Bluff there, two small little spots movin'. That h'elk."
Jack strained his eyes to find them, but he could see nothing. He had not yet learned how to look for objects on the prairie. Presently, just as he was going to tell John that he could not see them, he dropped his eyes to the prairie nearer the point of the mountain and saw two dark spots, which seemed to be moving.
"I see them now, Mr. Monroe," he exclaimed eagerly. "Are those elk? I don't see how you know. I can see that they move, and so they must be animals, but I should never know what they were."
"Yes, that's h'elks," repeated John. "Suppose you want it kill 'im one h'elk? Get it some meat?"
"Oh, wouldn't I like to? Could we get a shot, do you think? They're awful far off," said Jack.
"Maybe he comin' right up here. Suppose he comin' up one trail, he come to us. Suppose he take trail we come by, smell 'im horses, then goin' run off quick. Suppose we go to point of mountain, see 'im bote trails. Maybe we get it shot. Come."
They clambered down from the rocks and soon caught their horses. Jack mounted first, and sat there impatient to start. But John checked him, saying:
"Suppose no hurry. Good you fix it saddle." So Jack controlled himself, and remembering what Hugh had told him about taking care of his horse's back, he dismounted and tightened his saddle. John had done the same, and they mounted and rode off together, keeping on the crest of a ridge, on one side of which ran the trail they had followed up the hill. On the other side was a little valley overgrown with aspens, among which ran a brook.
If he had been alone, Jack would have galloped as hard as he could to the end of this ridge, so as to see the elk soon and to find out what they were doing, but he remembered again what Hugh had told him, and he remembered too, how he had lost the first antelope he had tried to hunt. So he asked no questions and rode quietly along, feeling pretty sure that John must know what he was doing. At length, when they had nearly reached what seemed the end of the ridge, John pointed to the valley where the brook ran, and said:
"Suppose he comin' h'up there, we get 'im suer." A little while afterward, he said, "Leave 'em horses here," and dismounted, and taking his gun from its scabbard, he walked forward toward the end of the ridge, where great rocks lay scattered over the ground. Jack, as he followed, noticed that John, as he walked, made no sound. The gravel did not crunch under his moccasins, his trousers did not rub against the weeds and bushes. As he made each step, his toe touched the ground first, then the ball of his foot, and then his heel. If he had been a cat walking over a carpet, he could not have made less noise. It seemed to Jack that every time he himself put down his foot, it made a loud rattling on the ground, the sides of his feet scraped against the bushes, and he made a great noise. Before they had gone very far, John turned and made a sign for Jack to stop. Then he cautiously went forward and peered over some rocks, and then slowly lowering his head, he beckoned Jack to come to him. When he had reached John, the old man pointed and said: "Suppose you look. See 'im h'elk comin' h'up this side?"
Jack raised his head very cautiously and looked over the rock, and there, only a few hundred yards away, coming up the side of the ridge he saw two animals nearly as big as horses. Their bodies and legs were graceful and deer like, but they carried their heads and necks very awkwardly. Their noses pointed straight out in front, and they moved their heads slowly from side to side. They had no horns, but where the horns should have been were odd thick bunches, only a little longer than their ears. Their bodies were brownish yellow. He had hardly had time to see these things, when John touched him on the shoulder, and motioned him to come with him. They went back a little distance from the rocks, and entering a ravine that ran down to the valley, crept part of the way toward the timber, and then up the side of the ravine toward the elk. From the top of the ridge they could see the game coming directly toward them. The animals did not stop to feed, but walked straight on, as if they were going somewhere.
"Soon he comin' close. Suppose you shoot, try kill 'im daid. Suppose he wounded, maybe run far. Hard time catch 'im. That bad. Now wait."
For some minutes they sat there, John saying nothing and doing nothing, but Jack feeling very anxious. He remembered the great pair of elk antlers that his uncle had at home, and though these elk here had no horns, still they were the same kind of animals. He wanted very much to kill one, and his heart had been beating fast ever since he had started. While they sat there though, he seemed to quiet down a little; he still wanted just as much to kill the elk, but when he saw how calm John was, he felt a little bit ashamed that he should be so excited, and this made him cool down still more. At length John said: "Suppose h'elk pretty close. My goin' look now." He crept up and peeped over the ridge and then drawing back, motioned Jack to come to his side, which he did, creeping as close to the ground as possible. John signed to him to shoot. He crept up very carefully, raised his head slowly, and there he saw these two great animals about to cross the ravine, hardly forty yards below him. They were walking, but, before he raised his rifle to shoot, both elk stopped, and seemed to be looking over the country beyond the ravine. Jack aimed carefully behind the elk's shoulder and low down, and fired. Both elks slowly turned their heads and looked toward the hunters, but neither moved. "Shoot," whispered John, and Jack threw out his shell, loaded and shot again, aiming at the same place, and, as the second shot rang out, the elk fell on its side, and its companion turned and trotted swiftly away.
"Ha! You shoot good," said John, as he rose to his feet and walked toward where the elk lay. Jack wanted to shout out hurrahs, he was so glad, but he said nothing and walked along by John's side, trying to seem unconcerned, but with a broad smile of happiness upon his face. In a moment they had reached the great animal, which lay there with its slender brown legs outstretched, and its smooth yellow body glistening in the sun.
"Ha!" said John, "You make it good shoot. Good shoot," and he pointed to the elk's body, where, close behind the fore leg, were two tiny holes, not two inches apart, where both the boy's bullets had entered. Either shot would have killed him.
While Jack was looking at the elk, admiring his graceful, strong body, and wondering at the queer, soft warm bunches that grew out of his head, and which he knew must be the young growing horns, John sharpened his knife and prepared to cut up the bull. Bending its head back close to one of its shoulders, he turned the animal on its back, and propped it in position by placing a large stone under its hip. Before using his knife, however, he said to Jack, "Suppose you no want it skin, take it meat to house. Now, skin no good for moccasins. Biemby, be good."
Jack would have liked to carry in the whole elk, so that all might see what a splendid animal he had killed, but he was ashamed to say so to John, and returned a cheerful "All right," to his suggestion.
John's sharp knife quickly cut off the elk's hams and shoulders and then, turning the animal on its side, the long strips of meat lying on either side of the backbone—the sirloins—were torn out. Then very deftly John tied the hams together and threw them across Jack's saddle, fastening them to the cinch rings, put the shoulders and sirloins on his own horse, and they mounted and rode off down the mountain.
The ride toward the ranch was a happy one for Jack. He was glad that he had killed the elk, glad that he had made two such good shots, and he hummed a little song to himself as he rode along and every now and then reached down and smoothed the skin of the elk hams. He could not help thinking how badly he would have felt if he had missed the shot, and the elk had run away, or even if he had missed and John had killed it. This was much better.
Although this was only the second animal that he had killed, Jack was beginning to feel some confidence in his shooting, and was beginning too to understand that he knew nothing about hunting. He could not understand how it was that Hugh and John seemed to know exactly what to do. He could see though that they were never in a hurry, that they were not uneasy about whether the game was going to run away or not, that they were patient and took plenty of time. All this was just what Hugh had told him about hunting, and Jack determined that he would try hard to remember and always to act on it.
The sun was just setting as they rode up to the house. Two of the men could be seen coming across the prairie, driving a bunch of horses before them, and Hugh was just coming down to the corral to let out the milk cows.
He smiled as he saw the meat on the horses, and called out, "Well, son, you've got some meat, I see."
"Yes, seh," said John, "Jack make it good shoot. Good shoot, my tellin' you."
"You killed it, did you, son? Why, that's good. Where'd ye hit it?"
"Good shoot my tellin' you," repeated John. "Plum centre. Il l'a brisé le cœur deux fois. Two time."
"You don't say! Why, son, you're goin' to make a sure enough hunter all right. Now, let's hang this meat upon the pole, where the flies won't bother it."
They took the meat off the horses at the foot of a tall pole that stood near the corner of the house, and by means of a pully at the top of the pole, it was hoisted far above the ground where it would be cool and dry, and out of the way of the flies.
A few days later John Monroe packed his horses, and started on to Bear River to visit his daughter. He said that he would return toward the end of the summer and see them again.
"Son, do you want to ride down to the lake with me," said Hugh one day in June, as they sat at dinner.
"Yes, Hugh, I'd like to go. Right after dinner?" said Jack.
"Yes, if your uncle don't want me, we might as well start right off. You get your gun and catch up the horses, and I'll come down and saddle up as soon as I can."
Jack caught the horses and took them to the barn, where he found Hugh waiting, and in a few moments they were on their way. When they had nearly reached the lake, Hugh turned to Jack and said, "Now, maybe we'll see some fun. This morning when I was in the pasture, I saw an old doe antelope down on the flat here, and I reckon she's got kids hidden somewhere. We can lie behind the hill and watch for them. Maybe we'll have company too; there's likely to be a coyote or two about, so you may as well fetch your gun with you."
They left the horses in a little hollow, and creeping up to the top of the hill, carefully looked over it. At first they could see nothing living, but after a moment Hugh said, "Look out! keep close! there's a coyote coming out of the gulch over there." They watched the cunning animal as it trotted out into the flat where the grass was up to its belly, and there it began to quarter the ground, just like a hunting dog, yet every moment or two it would pause and look up toward the hills, as if it were afraid of something that was coming. What this something was they soon saw, for presently a doe antelope came galloping over the hills toward the flat, and when she saw the coyote she ran faster, directly toward it. As soon as it saw the doe, the coyote dropped its head and tail and started to run away, at first slowly, but, as the antelope drew nearer to it, much faster, until presently it was running nearly as fast as the doe. Before it had crossed the flat the antelope had nearly caught it, and now the coyote was running as fast as it could, with its tail tucked between its legs, like a frightened cur. As the little wolf ran up to the hill on which they were lying, the antelope caught up with it, and several times struck it with her hoof, and each time she did so, the wolf yelled with pain, just as a dog would yell when struck with a whip. Wolf and antelope passed close by the watchers and soon disappeared over the next hill.
Then Hugh said to Jack, "Look out, now! that coyote has a partner somewhere about, and, unless I am mistaken, he will show up in two or three minutes." Sure enough, when they turned around and looked at the flat, there was a coyote just beginning to search through the grass, as the other one had done. It was evident that these two wolves were working together, and that while one led the doe away from the neighbourhood of her young ones, the other searched to try to find out where they were hidden. However, the old doe seemed to be pretty wise and did not chase the first coyote far; so that the one left on the ground had hardly time to begin his hunt before the antelope made her appearance again on the flat, and drove him off. As she began to do this, Hugh said to Jack, "Now, turn around and keep a good look-out for the other coyote; you may get a chance to kill him as he comes back." They had not been watching very long when the little wolf that had just been chased away came trotting unconcernedly around the base of the knoll, only a short distance from them. They sat quite still and he did not notice them, but went on until he reached the top of the rise from which he could see the flat. Here he stopped only about forty yards from Jack, and a careful shot dropped him in his tracks.
"Well," said Hugh, "that's a good shot, and a good job too. That other coyote will have to go now and hunt up another partner. I reckon we've saved them kids. Maybe if we lie here a little longer and watch, the old doe will go up to her young ones, and we'll see where they are hidden; then, if you like, we can catch them and take them home."
"Let's wait and see if we can find them," said Jack. "I'd like awfully well to see them and see what they look like, but I don't want to take them away from the old one; she's had trouble enough with these coyotes; let's leave her young ones with her."
"That suits me to a T," said Hugh. "Let's move down a little bit from the top of the hill and skin this coyote, and we can look at the old doe every little while, and if she isn't bothered, likely before long she will go to her young ones."
They skinned the wolf, and every now and then either Hugh or Jack went to the top of the hill and looked over at the antelope. The coyotes bothered her no more; she fed about in the flat, and at length went up on a little side hill and lay down for an hour or two. Then she rose and began to feed again, and after wandering about in rather an aimless fashion for half an hour, she walked over to a bare hillside, where nothing seemed to be growing, and in a moment they saw two tiny kids standing by her side.
"Now," said Hugh, "you notice well where those kids are, and we'll go and get the horses and ride over to them. You will see that just as soon as we show ourselves, the kids will disappear and the old one will run off. You won't be able to see the kids until you're right on top of them."
Sure enough, when they rode over the hills, and the old doe saw them, she cantered away and no young ones were to be seen, but when they reached the spot, two small grey objects looking at a little distance like stones, lay on the ground there. Jack dismounted and picked one up; its legs and head hung down as if it were dead; it made no movement and uttered no sound, but its bright little eye was full and round.
"That's the way it is with them," said Hugh. "Until they are a week or ten days old they act just like that. I expect it's born in them to act like they are dead until their mother tells them it's safe to seem to be alive."
It was a little hard for Jack to leave the kids here. They were such queer-looking little beasts that his wish to possess them almost overcame the sympathy he had felt for their mother, but after what he had said to Hugh he was ashamed to change; and so, rather regretfully, he left the kids lying there on the hillside, for their mother to find when she came back.
As they rode toward the house, talking of the animals they had been watching, Jack was loud in his sympathy for the antelope, and declared that if he could do so, he would kill every coyote in the country. "Well, I don't know, son," said Hugh, "Coyotes are mean and do right smart of mischief, but they've got feelings, just like folks. Did ye ever think of that?"
"How do you mean, Hugh?" asked Jack.
"Why, I mean that they've got to eat and drink, and sleep, just like the antelope, or, for the matter of that, just like us. They've got little ones to look out for and feed, and I make no doubt the old mother coyote thinks just as much of her young ones as the antelope does of hers. I don't mean to say that I like coyotes; they're pesky critters, and often I get mad with them and feel, like you do, that I'd like to kill 'em all; but what I say is that it ain't no more cruel for a coyote to kill an antelope, than it is for an antelope to take a bite of grass."
"I never thought of it in that way, Hugh, but that is so. But you can't help feeling sorry for the little kids and for the old ones, too."
"That's all right enough, but what I say is, if you are going to feel sorry for one thing, you've got to feel sorry for all. And what's more, talking about coyotes, they're so almighty smart, that you can't help admiring them, and thinking they earn all they get."
Talking about these things, they rode over the low hills till they had come to the edge of the valley leading up to the house. Here Hugh checked his horse and pointed to a small animal, walking about in an aimless way near the gully through which the creek flowed. "There's a badger," he said. "Now, if you like, we can get down into the creek bed and creep up close to him and watch him for a spell. What do you say?"
"That'll be bully; let's do it; but can we get close enough to see him well?"
"There won't be any trouble about that, but we'll have to go back a little ways," said Hugh. "Come on."
They rode back a short distance, and around a little hill, and dismounting, walked down into the bed of the stream. The banks of the narrow water-course were eight or ten feet high, and of course hid them from anything on the level of the valley. After they had gone some little distance, Hugh signed with his hand to Jack to wait, and slowly raising his head above the bank, looked through a bunch of grass growing on its edge. After a moment he motioned Jack to come up beside him, and whispered to him, "He's right close, not twenty feet away;" and he pointed. Jack looked carefully over the bank and saw a queer short-legged grey animal with white stripes on his face, walking about and smelling at some little piles of earth. The long hair on either side of its body almost swept the ground, its face had an expression of great cunning, and its nose was long and pointed. It was a heavy, thickset animal, only about two feet long and very broad, but it stepped lightly enough from place to place, snuffing at each lump of earth or tuft of grass that it came to, not as if it were very much interested in it, but as if it felt that it would not do to pass by anything without examining it. Sometimes it would scrape away a little dirt, and smell the ground, and then move on. Often it lifted its head high and sniffed the air, moving its nose about and wrinkling it, as if to catch the faintest scent.
Now and then it sat up on its haunches and looked about, as if to see if any danger were near. When it did this, it held itself much as Jack had seen a woodchuck. "He keeps a pretty good look-out, don't he?" whispered Hugh.
"You bet," said Jack, "he looks as if he knew pretty well how to take care of himself. How strong he seems to be, and what a sly, cunning face he has."
A few moments later the badger suddenly sat up very straight, with his fore legs hanging down by his side, and looked sharply toward a hill away from the house. In a few seconds the animal dropped down on all fours and galloped away toward a near-by hillside. "I expect he hears something coming, and he's making tracks for his hole. Ah, that's what it is," said Hugh, and he pointed to the hill toward which the badger had looked. Over this hill a man came riding, and about his horse were trotting half a dozen great, gaunt hounds. One of them saw the badger, and instantly the whole pack swept down the hill toward it, but just before the leading dog overtook it, the badger disappeared, and the dogs checked themselves and stopped. "I expect that's the Powell kid," said Hugh, as he climbed up the bank, followed by Jack. "He has a lot o' hounds, and catches considerable many coyotes."
As they walked back toward their horses, they met the rider, a boy only a little older than Jack, who seemed to know Hugh very well, and who shook hands with Jack, giving him a hard grip that almost hurt him. "Well, kid," said Hugh, "did ye get any coyotes to-day?" "Yes, I got three, and started two more, but they got so big a start on me that I couldn't catch 'em. I got a kitfox too, but the dogs tore him all to pieces. Like to have got that badger that was near you, but he holed too quick."
"Better ride on up to the house and unsaddle, and get supper, and stop," said Hugh. "It's too late for ye to get home to-night."
"All right," said the boy, and whistling to his dogs, he rode on. Hugh and Jack soon overtook him, and when the three reached the barn, the stranger's horse was put in a stall, while the others were turned out. At the house young Powell was cordially welcomed by Mr. Sturgis, and soon all were seated at the supper table.
That evening the two boys had a long talk, and afterward a consultation with Hugh. Then Hugh went to Mr. Sturgis and asked him if he was willing to have Jack and himself go over the next day to the Powell ranch for two or three days, so that Jack might have a chance to see the hounds run coyotes. Jack's uncle said that he thought it a very good idea. So the next morning, just about sunrise, they set out on the thirty-mile ride.
As they started off this morning Jack felt good; he had been promoted; he was riding a new horse. The grey, on which he had taken his first lessons in riding, was old and steady and slow; very good to travel over the prairie on, but past his usefulness for any purpose except hunting or going after the saddle horses. So, a week or two before, Hugh had caught up for him a new horse, and he had tried it several times. It was a brown, seven years old, perfectly gentle, yet with plenty of spirit. Hugh had ridden it a good deal, and told him that it was one of the best horses at the ranch; kind, gentle, very swift, and, better than all, a good hunting horse. He had said, "You don't need to watch the Brown when you're riding over the prairie, going anywhere, but if you ever start him after a bunch of elk or a band of buffalo, look out for him, unless you want to get right into the middle of them. He can catch elk too easy, and is faster than any buffalo cow I ever saw."
Jack wanted a good name for the horse. He did not like to call him merely Brown; he wanted a name that would mean something. Half a dozen names had been suggested, but none of them seemed quite to fit the horse. At last he decided that he would call the animal by the name of some Indian tribe. Blackfoot seemed a pretty good name, because the horse's feet were all black, but after thinking it over with a good deal of care, he determined to call the horse Pawnee.
This morning when they mounted and rode away, young Powell was loud in his praise of Jack's horse. He said, "I'll bet he's got the legs of any of these three horses. Mine is pretty fast and keeps pretty close to the dogs in the chase, but yours will run away from him as if he was standing still."
"That's right," said Hugh, "he's an awful good horse, and what's more, he's just as kind as he's good. You can get off him to hunt, and leave him, and you'll feel sure when you come back he'll be feeding in the same place. If you fire a shot, he puts up his head and looks at you with his ears pricked up, to see whether you've killed or not. Then, after you have butchered, if you lead him up to an animal to put the meat on him, he'll snort and curve his neck and look like he was terrible scared; but when you commence to lift the meat to put it on his back, he'll kind of crouch down and lean towards you, to make it easier for you to get it on. You can shoot off him and he'll never move. Sometimes I've thought that when I raised the gun to my shoulder to shoot he stopped breathing for a minute. I know he always kind o' spreads his legs to hold himself steady. You've got a good horse now, son, and I'd advise you to hang on to him as long as you're here at the ranch."
The ride down the valley was a pleasant one. The blue iris stood thick in the damp places. The brilliant red and yellow flowers of the cactus dotted the hillsides. White poppy blossoms swung in the wind, and, if one had been on foot the tiny blooms of the yellow violets, which send their roots so far down into the hard dry soil of the prairie, could have been seen thickly scattered on the slopes. It was a time, too, of singing birds. The clear, sweet whistle of the meadow-lark came from the hills near-by, and was answered from other farther hills in a faint refrain, which sounded like an echo. The little finches of the prairie rose from the ground high in air, and then descended slowly on motionless wings, singing as if their throats would burst. From far on high fell the tinkling notes of the unseen prairie skylark floating above them. Little ground squirrels and prairie dogs were busy everywhere, but as the horsemen and troop of dogs drew near, they scattered to their holes, and, after a few angry barks and squeaks, disappeared from sight. Now and then as they passed over some swell of the prairie they startled an antelope or two or three, which ran up on the neighbouring hills and stood there stamping and snorting. The dogs would look at them eagerly yet doubtfully, and would perhaps trot a little way toward them, but young Powell always whistled them back. The prairie and the air above it were full of pleasant sights and sounds.
Young Powell said to Jack, "The dogs had some hard runs yesterday, and I don't want them to be chasing antelope to-day, and so far from home. I don't run antelope often, anyhow, though I've got some with these dogs, but I use them mainly for wolves and coyotes; and it's a bad thing to have a lot of dogs think that they can run anything that gets up before them on the prairie. If I was going to run antelope, I'd have a special bunch of dogs for running them, and for nothing else."
"Then they've caught antelopes, have they?" asked Jack. "It hardly seems to me as if anything could catch an antelope, when it's really running as hard as it can."
"Oh, I don't know," said Powell, "there's lots of difference in antelopes. Some of them can run twice as fast as others. I almost roped an old doe once in a fair chase, and I wasn't riding anything but a slow cow pony at that. I never felt quite sure though whether I could have caught her or not, or whether she was just fooling me. I ran her and she took down a valley, and I caught up with her, and got so close that I was just getting my rope ready to throw, when she ran across a little green place where the grass stood pretty high. I would not have tried to cross it if I hadn't been after her, for it looked kind of wet, but I couldn't stop, and I put the spurs into the old horse, and he jumped right into the middle of it and stayed there, and I kept going and hit the hard ground on the other side. When I got up and caught the horse, the antelope was out of sight. Still, I know mighty well that there's a big difference in antelope. You take an old buck, and even if you get a good start on him, the dogs have a hard time to get up to him. You take an old doe, or a yearling buck, and it's almost always caught a heap easier. You see those two little blue dogs, the smooth ones, the two that are ahead? They're the fastest dogs I've got. I always depend on them to stop a coyote or a wolf. If they can catch him and throw him it's a mighty short time till the other dogs get up, and then they all pitch in and chew him. These two yellow, rough-haired dogs here, the biggest ones, they're the fighters. They bring up the tail of the chase, but when they get to the wolf they don't stop, they pitch right in. If it's a coyote, one of them generally gets him across the chest and the other in the flank, and then the rest of the dogs take hold wherever they can, and they all pull in different directions. It don't take no time at all to kill a coyote, but of course a big wolf is different. I've had three dogs killed by wolves, and each one only had one bite. They're terrible strong, powerful animals.
"I want to show you twelve pups that I've got at the ranch. They're little fellows yet, but I expect to get some awful good dogs out of them. I tell you a dog don't last any time at all at this sort of work. Some of 'em get cut up by the wolves, and some break their legs or sprain their shoulders, running, and some get hurt by the horses. It's a pretty rough life on a dog; but while they last they've an awful good time." Chatting thus, they covered mile after mile of prairie. Jack's horse stepped along lightly and easily. From time to time Hugh lit his pipe and smoked. Powell watched his dogs. The sun was warm, the air clear and pleasant, and Jack thought that he had never enjoyed a morning more.
Suddenly, just in front of the two blue hounds that were trotting before them, a jack-rabbit bounced up and scurried away at top speed. In an instant all the dogs were running for it, and Jack and young Powell were close at their heels. It was a short run. The leading blue dog pressed the rabbit hard; he dodged in front of the second dog, and in a moment had to dodge again, which threw him into the jaws of the first and he had run his last race. It was short but exciting; doubly so to Jack who had never seen anything of the sort. Powell jumped down among the hounds and cuffed and scolded them, while he took from them the fragments of the rabbit, and then mounted, and they all went on. A little later the dogs all broke away again after a badger which showed himself on the side hill; but he dodged into his hole before they reached him, and the dogs came back, looking foolish. Powell now took from a pocket in his saddle a whip, with a handle about a foot and a half long, and a lash of eight or ten feet, and whenever a dog pressed forward ahead of the horses, he struck at it, and after a little while the whole pack followed obediently at his horse's heels.