“There, I could see him reach down then and strike at a leaping wolf!” exclaimed Dick, showing signs of excitement, something he seldom did, since he had wonderful control over his emotions for a boy of his age.
“Just as I told you,” continued Roger, trembling all over with eagerness, “he has used up his arrows, and is trying to cut down the number of his four-footed enemies by other means.”
“There, listen to that howl!”
“Oh! he made a splendid strike that time, Dick!”
“Yes, and you can see what that clever brave is up to, if you notice the wild scuffle at the foot of the tree,” the other replied.
“Why, the wolves seem to be fighting among themselves, Dick. What makes them act that way, do you know?”
“I can give a guess. These mad animals are almost starving, though just how that should be, at this season of the year, I am not able to say. The scent of blood makes them wild, you see, and, every time the brave’s knife wounds one of the pack, the rest set upon the wretched beast to finish him.”
“In that way the Indian could clean them up in time, I should say, without any help from us,” Roger suggested, though he showed no sign that his intention of giving aid had changed in the least.
“But they might take warning, and stop jumping up at him,” Dick explained; “then his knife would be useless. And, too, other wolves hearing the noise are apt to hasten to the spot, so that there might be an increasing pack, a new one for every beast he helped to kill.”
“Dick, he is a brave fellow, even if his skin is red!”
“I agree with you there,” said the other, softly.
“Then are we not going to bring about his rescue, even if it does cost us some of our precious powder and shot?” Roger demanded.
“Yes, but I hope it will not be more than one load,” replied his cousin; for all their lives this question of a wastage of ammunition had been impressed on their minds as the utmost folly, and on that account they seldom used their guns except to make sure of worthy game.
“Come, let us rush forward with loud yells, waving our arms, and doing everything we can to scare the animals off before we begin to fire. After we get close up, and they are hesitating what to do, that is the time for us to blaze away.”
“A good plan, Roger, and worthy of our fathers’ old friend, Pat O’Mara. Only as a last resort will we use our fire-arms.”
“And you be the one to say when, Dick, remember!”
“Depend on me for that,” Roger was told quickly. “Just as soon as I see that something is needed to force the ugly beasts to make up their minds, I’ll call out to you to give it to them.”
“Give me one last word of advice before we rush them, Dick.”
“Yes, what is it, Roger?”
“If, instead of taking to their heels, the pack turns on us, and starts to fight, what must we do?”
“There isn’t one chance in ten it will happen that way,” said Dick, “for wolves are too cowardly. When they see us rushing boldly forward you’ll notice how every beast’s head will droop, and that he’ll begin to skulk away, showing his teeth, perhaps, but cowed and whipped.”
“But suppose it should?” urged Roger, as they paused, just before bursting out upon the strange scene.
“If it comes to the worst we may have to take to a tree just as the Indian brave has done,” Dick told him, “and then start to work killing them off as fast as we can load and fire. Now, are you ready to do a lot of yelling?”
“Just try me, that’s all, Dick!”
“Come on, then, with me!”
With the words Dick sprang boldly forth from his concealment, with his cousin alongside. Both of them started to make the woods ring with their strong young voices, and when two healthy boys yell and whoop they can produce a tremendous volume of sound!
Some of those predatory wolves must have conceived the idea that a whole company of the strange two-legged foes was rushing toward them, judging from the hasty manner of their exit from the scene. Others, however, either more bold or hungry, half crouched and, snarling, showed their white teeth in a vicious manner.
Evidently these leaders of the pack were not as yet quite convinced that the game had gone against them, despite all the noise made by the oncoming boys. On seeing this, Dick and Roger tried to shout louder than ever, while they waved their arms in the most frantic manner.
It devolved upon Dick to decide whether or not they should keep on in this fashion until they came to close quarters with the wolves that lingered, loth to give up their chance of a dinner. Rushing forward at this rate, they would be on the scene in half a dozen seconds, and might find the ugly beasts springing up at their throats.
Never before had the boys seen wolves acting in this manner, for as a rule their nature is cowardly. There was nothing for it but to fall back upon their guns for the finishing stroke, and so Dick gave the word.
“We must shoot, Roger—take that big fellow in front!” he gasped, for he was by this time fairly out of breath after all those strenuous exertions of running, thrashing his arms, and shouting at the top of his voice.
Accordingly both of them halted just long enough to throw their long-barreled rifles to their shoulders, and glance along the sights. They could actually hear the savage snarls of the defiant pack. Roger, always a bit faster than his companion, was the first to fire, and with the crash of his gun the big leader of the pack sprang upward, only to fall back again with his legs kicking.
Dick’s gun spoke fast on the heels of the first report, and he, too, succeeded in knocking over the beast his quick eye had selected.
Then with renewed shouts, Dick and Roger once more started forward, but there was a hasty scurrying of gray bodies, and presently not a wolf remained in sight save the pair that had gone down before the deadly fire of the guns.
The Indian up in the tree dropped to the ground, and the boys saw immediately from his manner of dress that he was, just as Roger had surmised, a Sioux warrior. From the fact that he was bleeding in various places the boys understood that he must have put up a valiant fight at close quarters against his four-footed enemies, before finally seeking refuge among the branches of the friendly tree.
Naturally both lads immediately began to wonder why a Sioux brave should thus venture into the neighborhood of the Mandan village, since the two tribes had been at knives’ points for many years. Indeed, the preceding fall, when the boys had been aided by Beaver Tail and some of his Sioux warriors, who accompanied them later to their camp, it had required all the tact and diplomacy of which Captain Lewis was capable to prevent an open rupture between the old-time rivals.
“First we must make him let us look at his wounds,” suggested Dick, “because it is no child’s play to have the teeth of wolves draw blood. Some of his wounds look bad to me.”
“I think you are right, Dick,” agreed the other, always accustomed to leaving the decision to his cousin. “See if you can make him understand what we want to do. I’ll get some water in my hat, so you can wash the wounds.”
The boys always made it a practice to carry certain homely remedies with them, for in those pioneer days the family medicine chest consisted in the main of dried herbs, and lotions made from them, all put up by the wise housewife. Those who lived this simple life, and were most of the time in the open air, seldom found themselves in need of a doctor, and most of their troubles sprang either from accidents, or injuries received in combats with wild beasts of the forest.
So it was that they had with them a salve they always used to soothe the pain, as well as neutralize the poison injected by bites or scratches received in struggles at close quarters with carnivorous beasts.
The Indian was looking at them as though puzzled. Whites were rarely seen by the dwellers in these far regions beyond the Mississippi; indeed, most of the natives had never as yet set eyes on a paleface.
This brave, however, may have been in company with Beaver Tail, the friendly chief, at the time he aided the two boys, and, if so, he undoubtedly recognized Dick and Roger.
Unable to speak the Sioux tongue, of which they knew but a few words, it would be necessary for Dick to make use of gestures in conducting a brief conversation with the other. Still, the smile on his face, as well as the fact of his recent acts, would readily tell the red wanderer that he was a friend.
“Ugh! Ugh!” was all the Indian could say, but he accepted the hand that was extended, though possibly this method of greeting was strange to him.
Dick pressed him to sit down, and the brave did so, though with increasing wonder. He speedily realized, however, what the white boys meant to do, and without offering any remonstrance continued silently to watch their labor, as they proceeded to look after his injuries.
Roger fetched his hat full of cool water from a running brook close by, and one by one Dick washed the numerous scratches and ugly furrows where those wolfish fangs had torn the flesh of the stoical brave’s lower limbs.
He gave no sign of flinching, though the pain must have been more than a trifle. The boys knew enough of Indian character to feel sure that, if it had been ten times as severe, he would have calmly endured it, otherwise he could not have claimed the right to wear the feather they could see in his scalplock, and which signified that he was a warrior, or brave.
Finally the task was completed. There had been nothing further heard from the remnant of the baffled wolf pack all this while, proving that the loss of their powerful leaders must have taken the last bit of courage from the animals, known never to be very brave.
All the while the Sioux continued to keep those black eyes of his glued on Dick Armstrong. It was as though he was in search of some one and had made up his mind that, since there could be no other paleface boys within a thousand miles of the spot, these must be the ones he had been commissioned to find.
Just about the time Dick, with another of his rare smiles, indicated that the work of looking after his injuries had been completed, the Sioux fumbled in his snake-skin ditty bag, where he kept his little stock of pemmican, and numerous other necessary articles, perhaps his war paint as well. To the astonishment of the boys he drew out a small roll of birch bark, secured far to the north, and handed it to Dick.
Filled with curiosity, the boy opened it with trembling fingers, to find, just as he had anticipated, that it was covered with a series of queer characters, painted after the Indian fashion and representing men and animals.
“It’s Indian picture writing, you see, Roger!” Dick declared, “and must be meant for us, or else this brave would not give it over. He has been sent here from the far-away Sioux village to find us, and deliver a message.”
“Yes,” added Roger, excitedly. “And look, Dick, there is what seems to be the awkward but plain picture of a beaver at the end of the message. It must have been sent by our good friend, the chief of the Sioux.”
“You are right that far, Roger, for it is meant to be the signature of Beaver Tail, himself. Now to see if we can make out what it says!”
It was with the utmost eagerness that the two boys studied the strange characters depicted on the strip of bark. The hand that had drawn them there must have been accustomed to the task, and doubtless the story the message was meant to tell could have been easily read by the eyes of any Indian.
Dick and his cousin had seen samples of this queer picture writing before that time, and understood how the Indians depend on the natural sagacity of a woodsman, whether red or white, to decipher the meaning of the various characters. (Note 3.)
“What can it all stand for?” demanded Roger, as he gazed blankly at the several lines of characters. “Perhaps we may have to call on some of the Mandans in the village to explain it to us.”
“We will do that in the end, anyway,” Dick said, “in order to make certain; but, if we look this over closely, right now, we may get an idea of what Beaver Tail meant by sending it.”
“You don’t think then, Dick, it was intended just as a greeting to us, so as to let us know the chief has not forgotten his young paleface brothers?”
“No, I feel sure it has a more serious meaning than that,” the other declared. “In fact, Roger, something tells me it may be in the nature of a warning.”
“A warning, Dick! Do you mean the Sioux chief wants us to tell Captain Lewis it will be all his life is worth to keep heading into the land of the West, now that spring has come?”
“I was thinking only of ourselves when I said that, Roger.”
“And that the warning would be for our benefit, you mean? But, Dick! how could Beaver Tail, so far away from here, know of any danger that hung over our heads?”
“Let us examine the bark message, and perhaps we shall learn something that may explain the mystery. The first thing we see is what looks to be a man facing the sun that is half hidden by the horizon.”
“Yes, that hedgehog-looking half circle is meant for the sun, I can see that. And, further along, we find it again, only on the left side of the man who is now creeping toward it. What do you make that out to be?”
“It is plain that one represents the rising, and the other the setting sun,” Dick explained, with lines of deep thought marked across his forehead. “Now, an Indian always faces the north when he wants to represent the points of the compass, so it is plain that the first sun lies in the east.”
“And he wanted us to know that this man was heading into the east first of all; is that what you mean, Dick?”
“Yes, and look closer at the figure, Roger. It is not intended to be an Indian, you can see, for he has a hat on his head. It strikes me we ought to know that hat, cleverly imitated here; what do you say about it?”
“Oh! it must be the odd-looking hat that French trader, François Lascelles, always wore, Dick. He means that it was toward the rising sun François started last fall, just as we know happened. And now here he is, again, the same hat and all, creeping straight toward the setting sun. Does that mean the trader came back again, in spite of the warning Captain Lewis gave him?”
“I am sure it means that, and nothing else,” replied the other, calmly. “Stop and think, Roger. Only a little while ago, we were wondering whether such a thing had come about, because we found reason to believe some member of the expedition had been hired to do us an injury. Yes, that bitter Frenchman has dared to return, believing that he can keep out of the reach of our protectors, and manage in some way to get his revenge.”
“If that is what Beaver Tail is trying to tell us in this picture writing, Dick, the rest of the screed must simply go on to explain it a little further.”
“You notice that the same figure with the hat occurs always,” continued Dick, as he examined the message again. “Here is what must stand for a fire, and two persons are sitting beside it, as if cooking. In what seems to be a clump of bushes close by he has drawn that man again, this time lying flat.”
“That must mean that François is spying on the pair by the fire,” suggested Roger, “and as he has made both of them wear caps with ’coon or squirrel tails dangling down behind, I think they are meant to represent us.”
“There can be no question about it,” admitted the other, deeply interested. “And, going further, we see the snake in the grass creeping up as if he meant to surprise the two, who are now sleeping, for they lie flat on the ground.”
“Yes, even the fire burns low, for there is hardly any blaze,” added Roger, “which indicates that the hour is late. Why, Dick, we can read the story as easily as any sign in the woods we ever tackled.”
“Then comes another scene,” continued Dick, “where the creeper has evidently sprung with uplifted knife, upon his intended prey, taken unawares. After that, we can see him crawling away, and there are two figures lying stretched out on the ground close to the now dead fire. That needs no explanation, Roger; François Lascelles seeks our lives, because we baffled him in his scheme to win a fortune at the expense of our folks at home!”
The two boys looked at each other. Their eyes may have seemed troubled, but there was no sign of flinching about them. The lads had met too many perils in times past to shrink, now that they were face to face with another source of danger.
“Shall we keep on now for the camp, and show this message on the bark to Captain Lewis?” asked Roger.
“It would be the best thing to do, for he can advise us,” his companion admitted. “Besides, he will surely order every one in the camp to keep an eye out for François Lascelles.”
“We ought to take this brave with us, Dick, because he has come a long way, and is hardly fit to return without rest and food.”
Once again did Dick endeavor to make the Sioux warrior comprehend what he wished him to do. He urged him to get upon his feet, then thrust an arm through that of the brave, after which he nodded his head, pointed to the north, made gestures as though feeding himself, and then started to walk away, still holding on to the other.
Of course it was easy for the Indian to understand that they wished him to accompany them to their camp, where he would receive food and attention. He simply gave a guttural grunt, nodded his head, and fell in behind Dick, after the customary Indian method of traveling in single file. Then they moved along, Roger bringing up the rear.
Little was said while they tramped onward, heading for the camp. Dick occupied himself with making sure that he held to the right direction. He also found much food for thought in the startling information that Beaver Tail had taken the pains to send all these miles to his young friends.
In due time they came in sight of the camp where the expedition had passed the preceding winter. Rude cabins had sheltered them from the cold and the snow, both of which had been quite severe in this northern latitude. Some distance beyond lay the Mandan village, always a source of deepest interest to the two boys. It contained so many strange things, and the lads had never become weary of trying to understand the ways of these “White Indians.” (Note 4.)
Upon seeing the boys come in with a strange Indian in their company, many curious glances were cast in their direction. Going straight to the cabin where the two leaders of the expedition lived, the boys were fortunate enough to find Captain Lewis busily engaged in making up his log for the preceding day, though of course there was little that was new to record.
To the surprise of the boys the Sioux Indian produced another bark scroll from his ditty bag, which he handed to Captain Lewis. This fact convinced Dick that the brave must have been with the party in the fall, for he seemed to know that the white man he faced was the “big chief.”
“What does all this mean, my boys?” asked the captain, looking puzzled.
“We met with an accident in the rapids, and had to swim out,” replied Dick. “Then, on the way back to camp, we came upon this Sioux brave in a tree with a dozen hungry wolves jumping up at him. We chased the wolves off, and looked after his wounds, when to our surprise he handed us this message from his chief, Beaver Tail.”
The captain examined the picture writing with considerable interest. He had been taking considerable pains since mingling with the Mandans to understand their ways, and this crude but effective method of communication had aroused his curiosity on numerous occasions.
“Read it to me, if you managed to make it out, Dick,” he told the boy, who only too willingly complied.
The captain frowned upon learning that, despite his solemn warning, the French trader had returned to the neighborhood. That look boded ill for François Lascelles, should he ever have the hard luck to be caught in the vicinity of the camp.
The captain’s own communication from the Sioux chief was merely meant for an expression of goodwill. Two figures, one plainly a Sioux chieftain, and the other a soldier, were seen to be grasping hands as though in greeting. Beaver Tail by this crude method of picture writing evidently intended to convey the meaning that he had not forgotten his friend, the white chief, and, also, that he had kept his word that the Sioux should remain on peaceful terms with the travelers.
“But you spoke of meeting with an accident in the rapids,” Captain Lewis presently remarked. “That is something strange for clever boys like you to experience. Did you miscalculate the danger, or was it something that could not be helped?”
“We closely examined our buffalo hide canoe yesterday, and it was in perfect condition, Captain,” said Dick. “Yet, with only a slight blow against a perfectly smooth rock, it split open, and we had to jump overboard. We managed to get through the rough water safely, and drew the damaged boat ashore. Imagine our surprise and consternation, sir, when we found that a sharp-pointed knife blade had been run along the bottom of the canoe, making a deep cut that had easily given way when we struck the rock.”
“You startle me when you say that, Dick,” remarked the captain, looking uneasy, though almost immediately afterward his jaws became set in a determined fashion, while his eyes gleamed angrily. “It must mean that we have a traitor in the camp; some one who has been bought by the gold of François Lascelles.”
“That was what we began to fear, Captain,” Dick continued, “and we believed it only right to let you know what happened to us. We hope you will send some of the Indians, and one of our men, for the canoe. It could be brought secretly to the camp and examined, without the guilty one knowing about it.”
“A good idea, my boy, and one I shall act upon at once. Say nothing to a single soul concerning this outrage. If we expect to catch the traitor napping, he must not be put on his guard. But none of us could feel safe, knowing we had a snake in our midst. Depend upon it, the truth is bound to come out, and, when once we learn his identity, the traitor will be kicked out of the camp, if nothing worse happens to him.”
With this assurance the two boys rested content. They knew Captain Lewis was a man of his word, and felt sure that the man who had sold his loyalty for a sum of money offered by the French trader would before long rue the evil day he allowed himself to be thus tempted.
Soon afterward they saw Captain Clark and his companion officer in conference, after which the former went over to the Mandan village, and, later on, vanished in the dense forest accompanied by two stalwart braves. They had gone, the boys knew to secure the hide canoe that told the story of treachery in the camp.
On the following day orders were given to prepare to start once more in the direction of the beckoning West. There was not much to be done, for, knowing that their departure would soon be ordered, the men had for some time past been getting things in readiness.
Dick and Roger had looked their few possessions over, and were ready to move on short notice. It gave the boys a little feeling of distress to realize that they would be thus placing additional ground between themselves and those dear ones left at home near the mouth of the Missouri.
“But we have embarked on the trip,” said Dick, when his chum was speaking of this as something he did not like very much, “and must see it through now. When we do get back home again, if we are so fortunate, think of all the wonderful things we shall be able to describe.”
The coming of Captain Lewis just then interrupted their confidential talk. Dick expected that their leader had something of importance to communicate, and he could give a pretty accurate guess concerning its nature.
Sure enough, the first words spoken by the President’s private secretary explained the nature of his visit to the cabin of the Armstrong boys.
“I had an opportunity to examine your canoe, and there can be no reason to doubt that some unknown miscreant planned to have you lose your lives in the rapids. It was cleverly done, and at night-time doubtless, when no one would be apt to notice him working with your boat. The knife went in just deep enough to weaken the whole skin of the bottom, and only a slight blow was needed to finish the treacherous work.”
“Of course you have not been able to place your hand on the guilty party, Captain, have you?” asked Roger, eagerly.
“Nothing has been found out so far,” came the reply. “One of my reasons for joining you just now is to ask if either of you have any suspicions. Although of course we could not accuse any one on such grounds alone, at the same time it might narrow our search, and focus attention on the guilty one, so that he could be watched, and caught in the act.”
“We do not feel able to say positively, Captain Lewis,” said Dick, “but when we came to look over the entire membership of the company we finally figured it out that it must lie between three men. All the others seemed to be above suspicion in our eyes.”
“Tell me who they are, so that I can have them watched,” demanded the commander.
“There is, first of all, Drewyer, the Canadian scout. He never seemed to be very friendly with us, for some reason or other, though we have had no quarrel. You are surprised to hear me mention his name, because you have always trusted him fully. And the chances are, Captain, that Drewyer is as faithful as the needle to the pole. I only include him because we know so little about him.”
“Who is the next one you have on your list?” asked Captain Lewis. “I count considerably on your natural sagacity to help in running this traitor to earth. You boys have learned pretty well how to judge men from their actions and looks, rather than from their fair speech. Tell me the other names, please, Dick.”
“Fields is the second man. I base my right to include him in the group from the fact that there was a time when my cousin, here, and Fields had hot words over something the trapper had been doing in the village, and which Roger took him to task for. Since that time they have been on speaking terms, but I do not think Fields likes us over much.”
“I should regret very much to learn that Fields had turned traitor, for I have in the past been ready to trust him to any extent,” remarked Captain Lewis.
“The third and last man is Andrew Waller,” continued Dick. “Now, we have never had a word with Andrew except in the best of ways. We have always looked on him as a loyal friend, and faithful to the trust you put in him. It has only been of late that both of us noticed that Andrew seems to try to avoid us, and when we do meet face to face he lets his eyes drop.”
“That is indeed a suspicious fact,” commented the other, quickly. “If money has tempted him to play the part of a traitor it is easy to understand how he cannot look you squarely in the eye. Conscience flays him every time he sees you near by. I shall certainly bear in mind what you have told me, and in due time results may spring from keeping a close watch on the movements of these three men.”
With that Captain Lewis left the boys, but they felt sure he would not allow the matter to drop. The man whom President Jefferson had personally selected to manage this big enterprise, and who had been his own private secretary, was accustomed to getting results whenever he attempted anything.
It was on the following morning that camp was broken, and the expedition once more started forward—down the Yellowstone to the Missouri, and up that muddy stream again. That was an event of vast importance in the lives of those daring souls who were thus venturing to plunge deeper into the mysteries of the country that up to then had never known the imprint of a white man’s foot.
Although filled with exultation, as were the rest of the travelers, Dick and his cousin looked back to see the last of the weird Mandan village which had long been a source of delight to their eyes. It was with considerable regret that they took their farewell view of the painted lodges, as well as the Indian cemetery on the side of the hill, where all those platforms, bearing their mummy-like burdens wrapped in buffalo hides, told of superstitions that were a part of the Mandan nature.
During that day they made considerable progress, and the first camp of the new trail was pitched on a ridge close to the river. Here the horses were put out to graze, and the boats drawn up on the shore, though a guard was constantly kept to insure against treachery.
Despite the apparent friendship shown by many of the Indian tribes they encountered on their long journey of thousands of miles, the two captains never fully put their trust in the red men. They believed them as a rule to be treacherous, and unable to resist pilfering if the opportunity offered. Especially was this true when the coveted object was a horse or a “stick that spat fire,” as the wonderful “shooting-irons” of the explorers were generally called.
Several days passed with nothing to break the monotony of the journey. Of course they often met with minor difficulties, but these were speedily overcome by a display of that generalship which had so far made the trip a success.
All this while the boys had not forgotten about the spy in the camp. Without appearing to do so, they kept a watch upon the three men upon whom suspicion had fallen. Had any one of them offered to leave camp after nightfall, he would have been trailed by Dick and Roger, bent on learning what could be the object of his wandering, and whether he had an appointment with François Lascelles, the Indian trader.
But, as the days drifted along, and nothing happened, they began to cherish hopes that perhaps the accident to their canoe had been rather an act of vandalism and malice than part of a deep plan to bring about their death.
A week after leaving the winter camp the party found itself on the border of a wide plain. Dick and Roger were mounted and were on a slight elevation down which they expected to pass to the level ground near the river, and await the coming of the boats. From here they could see for a considerable distance around.
“Look at the herds of buffaloes feeding here and there, Dick!” exclaimed Roger, whose hunting instincts were easily aroused. “It strikes me we heard Captain Clark say the fresh meat was getting low again. What do you say to trying to knock over one or two of those fine fellows?”
“We would have to go a considerable distance to do it, then,” the other told him, “and leave our horses in the bargain, because they are not used to approaching such fierce-looking animals as buffalo bulls.”
“But we might be lucky enough to get one or two yearlings,” persisted Roger, who dearly loved the excitement of the hunt, as well as the taste of the well-cooked meat when meal time came. “I think we could manage to load our animals down with the spoils, and easily reach the place where our friends mean to camp for the night.”
Dick looked around him before replying to this tempting proposal. He remembered that they had need to use particular care while away from the main body of explorers; but so far as indications went he could not discover the slightest sign of danger. Certainly there was nothing to be feared from François Lascelles out there on that wide stretch of plains, where in various places they could see timid antelopes and clumsy buffaloes feeding amidst the isolated stands of timber which dotted the landscape.
“I see nothing to hinder our making the attempt, Roger,” he finally remarked.
“Then you agree, do you, Dick?” eagerly demanded the other young explorer, as he caressed his gun, and cast a happy look over the panorama that was spread in front of them.
“Let’s figure out just where our best chance lies, before we make a start,” he was told. “We have to keep in mind that it’s necessary to hide our mounts, so we can creep up on the herd close to some motte of timber.”
The boys had more than once shot the great, shaggy animals that in those early days abounded in countless thousands on the prairies of the Far West. Their fathers had hunted buffaloes while on the trail from Virginia to the banks of the Ohio when boys no older than Dick and Roger. Hence they were familiar with the habits of the animals which they now meant to stalk.
Choosing their course so as to keep a patch of cottonwoods between themselves and the small herd they had picked out as their prey, the two boys urged their horses on at a smart pace. In several quarters they could see the swift-footed antelopes vanishing at a surprising pace, frightened by the approach of these strange animals, bearing riders on their backs, the like of which they possibly had never beheld before that day.
The buffaloes, however, were not so easily alarmed. Unless they saw an enemy for themselves, or scented something that caused them uneasiness, they were likely to hold their ground where they chanced to be feeding. (Note 5.)
Finally the boys decided it was no longer safe to take their horses with them. The animals were accordingly secured in a patch of timber, and the lads, still screened by the other motte, set forth on foot.
They had possibly a quarter of a mile to walk before reaching their intended shelter, from the other side of which they hoped to be able to fire upon some of the nearest of the herd. The old grass still lay on the ground, dead and brown; but shoots of the new spring crop had begun to thrust their heads up between. It was on this tender green stuff that the buffaloes were browsing, and, as it grew more freely in certain places, such a fact would account for their presence near the timber.
The one thing Dick and Roger had to be careful about was the chance of any straggler from the herd discovering them, and with a bellow giving the alarm. In order to avoid this if possible, Dick and his chum bent low as they advanced, and kept a wary lookout on either side of the timber.
The breeze blew from the trees toward them. This fact they had made sure of before starting, because, otherwise, such is the sense of smell in the buffaloes they would not have had the least chance of getting within shooting distance of the wary animals, who generally feed facing the wind.
When finally the boys arrived at the edge of the timber they believed everything was working as well as they could wish. As yet no sound had come to their ears that would indicate alarm on the part of their intended quarry; and Roger allowed himself to indulge in high hopes of a hunters’ feast that night, with buffalo meat in plenty as the main dish.
“Look, Dick, we are not the only hunters,” whispered Roger, as he tugged at the sleeve of his cousin’s tunic, and pointed with his rifle.
There was a slight movement in the undergrowth just ahead of them. Dick, looking in that direction, was surprised to see a crouching animal slink away. He instantly recognized it as a gray timber wolf, and knew the animal must have been hiding there in hopes of seizing upon some sort of game.
As a single wolf, however daring, would never attempt to attack a buffalo, Dick could not understand at first what the animal meant to do. He judged, however, that, as this was the spring of the year, possibly there were calves in the herd, which would be just the tender sort of food that the sleek prowler would delight to secure.
The animal drew back his lips at the boys, disclosing the cruel white fangs; but he knew better than to attack such enemies and slunk swiftly away. After he slid into a thicker part of the brush the boys lost sight of him, for the time at least.
Bent upon finding a place where they could get a fair shot at such animals as seemed best suited to their needs, the boys crept along. The patch of timber was not of any great size, and already they could see the open prairie between the standing trees.
Again did the keen-eyed Roger make a sudden discovery that caused him to grip once more the arm of his companion and point. This time, however, he did not speak even in a whisper, for they were very close to the edge of the motte, and for all they knew some buffalo might be lying within twenty feet of them.
What Dick saw, as he turned his eyes in the direction indicated, surprised him very much. Apparently the tempting bait had drawn another savage hunter to the spot in hopes of securing a meal.
It was no Indian brave who sprawled upon the lowermost limb of that tree, but the lithe figure of a gray animal which Dick instantly recognized as a panther, and an unusually big one at that.
The beast was staring hard at them. It did not move, or offer to attack them, but, just as the wolf had done, it bared its teeth.
The boys were not looking for trouble with a brute of this type just then. Food alone held their thoughts and governed their movements. On that account Dick did a very wise thing when, drawing his companion aside, he made a little detour.
The boys crept as softly as though born spies. Hardly a leaf fluttered as they moved along, and certainly no stick cracked under their weight, for these lads had long ago learned all that woodcraft could teach them.
Both cast many a curious glance to the right and to the left, as though wondering what next they would come upon in the way of hungry, envious beasts.
After a little while Dick turned again toward the front, and began to make his way to the edge of the timber. He had noticed that, at a certain point, the dead grass extended some thirty feet away from the trees, and offered splendid shelter to any one who knew how to utilize it.
Taking an observation after he had crawled forward to the very edge of the timber, Dick found that the nearest animals were some little distance away. He could count a dozen of them in sight, and there were two small calves frisking about their mothers.
Although the grass might be exceptionally fine close up to the trees, the temptation to feed in closer was resisted by the buffaloes. They seemed to know by some intuition that danger was apt to lurk where timber grew, especially for the tender calves.
In order to make sure of their shots, it was desirable for the boys to crawl out amidst that dead grass. Dick could see that it offered the finest kind of shelter, and, once they reached its furthermost limit, the chances of making sure shots would be just that much enhanced.
Flattening themselves out upon the ground they crept along on their hands and knees. An inexperienced hunter could never have performed the task without attracting the attention of the feeding buffaloes, and causing a stampede; but the Armstrong boys had learned how to accomplish the feat.
Now and then a cautious observation was taken, and these glances painted the scene vividly on the minds of the creeping boys. They could see the coveted yearling cows that it was their object to secure, the other, older members of the herds, and, towering above all, the old bull who ruled the herd.
This last was a terrible object, with the shaggiest mane the boys had ever seen on a buffalo. He showed the scars of numerous fierce battles, and one of his short black horns had been twisted out of shape in some former combat, so that it gave him a peculiarly wicked appearance.
Of course, when picking out their game, neither of the hunters had the slightest idea of aiming for the patriarch of the herd. He would be much too tough a morsel for any one to chew, unless reduced to the point of actual starvation, when he might be preferable to slicing up one’s moccasins for soup.
The old fellow seemed to understand his business as acknowledged guardian of the herd. He moved hither and thither, and, every once in so often, stopped to look around him, as though in search of signs of trouble.
Then he would shake his great head, give a proud snort of conscious power, strike at the ground several times with one of his forefeet, and finally go on with his feeding.
By this time the hunters had arrived at the point where to proceed further would be to accept unnecessary risk of detection. They knew well that, once the alarm was given, the whole herd would quickly be in motion.
While they might possibly succeed in a shot taken at a moving target, the chances of a miss were much greater than they cared to take. So Dick concluded the time had come for them to pick out their quarry, take deliberate aim, and then fire as close together as possible.
A moving form attracted their attention close to the trees. It was the hungry wolf, possibly seeking some new shelter. If the feeding animals noticed the gray form at all they paid little heed to his presence, having contempt for a single wolf. It would have been at the risk of his life for the wolf to make a dash out toward the herd. Hungry though he probably was, the slinking beast must have known this, for, after giving a stretch to his head, as though longingly sniffing the air, he crept once more back into the shelter of the timber.
Roger chuckled to himself, though deep down in his boyish heart he felt sorry for that hunger-tempted wolf. He was also thinking that, if their plans turned out well, they would leave a feast behind sufficient to satisfy the appetites of both panther and wolf.
One last survey Dick took of the open stretch before them. He noticed that the old bull was sniffing the air suspiciously just then. Whether he had caught traces of their presence, or it was the fact of the prowling wolf that began to bother the bull, Dick could not say.
In fact, things had by now reached a stage where he did not think it mattered. Directly before them, and in plain sight, were two of the yearlings, one of them a fine, sturdy-looking young bull.
Dick, as soon as he clapped his eye on this animal, selected him as his intended victim. He knew that such a prize would be a choice morsel for the camp; and, for that reason, he meant that his aim should be particularly sure when the moment arrived to shoot.
“Leave the young bull to me, Roger,” he whispered under his breath.
“Just as you say, Dick,” came the equally cautious reply, as both rifles were brought slowly up to the boys’ shoulders.
The leader of the herd stamped his forefoot angrily on the ground and made the turf fly. Plainly his suspicions had been aroused.
Dick knew they must delay no longer. The bull acted as though about to give the alarm that would cause the whole herd to scamper wildly off. Now the guns were leveled, and the cheek of each hunter lay alongside the stock.
“Ready?” asked Dick, softly.
“Yes,” came the immediate reply.
“Then let go!”
Crash!
Both guns let go almost as one, and the feeding herd was thrown into a wild panic.
The first thing the boys noticed was the fact that two of the great beasts had gone down in answer to their shots. The camp was likely to have an abundance of fresh meat that night at least.
Then another thing drew their attention.
“Look at the bull!” cried Roger suddenly, as he noticed that the guardian of the herd was plunging in their direction as though bent on seeking a prompt revenge for the loss of his charges.
The predicament of the boys was not at all to their liking. Without a bullet in their guns, and with a maddened bull bearing down upon them at full speed, unless they made a rapid retreat to the timber they were in danger of being gored and trampled by the horns and hoofs of the beast.
“Run for the trees, Roger!” shouted Dick, as he himself turned and made for the timber.
Fortunately they were not far from shelter. Roger had before been, inclined to lament the fact that the mass of dead grass did not allow them to creep closer to the game, but he changed his mind now, when every yard counted against them.
Once Roger caught his foot somehow, and fell flat. Dick seemed to know it, although his back was turned to his chum at the time, for he instantly stopped in his headlong rush and whirled around. It was his intention to stand by his comrade, come what would, to divert, if necessary, the attention of the charging animal until such time as Roger could gain his feet.
It turned out that the sacrifice was not needed, for, nimble as a cat, Roger gained his feet like a flash, and, putting on a fresh spurt, succeeded in reaching the outermost trees as soon as Dick.
They were none too soon. The galloping buffalo was close at their heels. Had the friendly timber been ten paces further off there might have been a different story to tell.
Each boy chose a tree behind which he tried to shield himself. The bull rushed past, but immediately came to a halt, turned and started to chase Roger around the tree which he had taken for a guard.
“Faster, Roger, faster!” called Dick, alarmed lest the animal overtake the boy.
This shout caused the bull to take notice of his other enemy, and he plunged directly toward Dick, who was compelled to make circles around his shelter at a lively pace, in order to keep from being impaled on those wicked-looking short black horns.
Having the inside track the boy of course was given an advantage, but it seemed as though that tough old monster would never tire. He kept on circling the tree, making savage prods at the legs of his intended quarry whenever Dick lagged a little, or, slipping, fell back a step or so.
Roger started just then to give tongue at the top of his voice, thinking that it was not altogether fair to have the game so one-sided. His generous intention was to attract the animal once more toward himself; and in this he fully succeeded.
Now it was Roger who danced a tune that was far from being a stately minuet. Lively boy that he was, that old rascal of a buffalo bull put him to his best paces in order to keep out of danger.
Roger was hard to subdue even at such a time as this. It would have seemed to be the part of wisdom to conserve every atom of his breath for the work before him, yet he was continually bursting out with shouts to his comrade.
“Did you ever see anything so mad as he is, Dick?” he called.
“Be careful, Roger; he almost got you that time, when he drove his head against the tree. It may seem like a frolic to you, but the danger is there all the same!”
“It’s the greatest race I ever had, barring none!” gasped the other, as he continued to dodge the horns that were forever trying to catch him off his guard.
“Better throw your gun away, for it’s likely to trip you!” advised Dick; and hardly had the words escaped his lips than there came another sudden change of tactics on the part of the charging bull, with Dick again doing the dodging.
Roger took this occasion to change his tree, selecting one that offered a little better chance for making a speedy circuit, for of course he anticipated soon coaxing the infuriated animal to turn back on him.
There had been another reason for his change of base which was made apparent a little later on. Dick was making splendid time around that trunk. He also managed to keep a close watch upon his shaggy antagonist, and was thus able to anticipate the latter when, with a sudden stop and a whirl the bull sought to catch him napping and come up in the rear.
“Dick, I’ve got a plan!” cried Roger.
“Tell me what it is then,” panted the other, plainly distressed for want of breath, for the constant struggle to avoid the horns of the bull was telling on him.
“I must get him started after me again, you see,” Roger commenced to explain.
“Yes, of course!” Dick managed to say as he found a few seconds of relief while the animal stood pawing the ground, and apparently debating within his mind what course he should take next.
“I’m a little the more agile, you see,” continued Roger, “and likely to tire him out in the end, if put to it.”
“All very well,” Dick told him, “but where do I come in?”
“Oh! I figured on your loading your gun, and fixing him in a hurry!” said Roger, with a laugh.
Dick even joined in that expression of merriment. Strange that up to then neither of them seemed to have given the first thought to the fact that he gripped a fire-arm in his hand, which it would take only a short time to put in serviceable condition.
“Well said, Roger! and, if you can coax the old fellow to make a change in his program, I’ll look after the gun part of the affair, I promise you.”
“Look out, he’s after you again, Dick!”
Dick knew that long before Roger could get the words of warning framed, and he was speedily making his rapid circuits around the tree with the snorting animal hot on his heels.
With the intention of carrying out his part of the arrangement Roger now started to shout and make all manner of derisive gestures by which he hoped to attract the attention, and excite the ire, of the raging animal.
It was some time before this maneuver met with the success Roger hoped for, but in the end he managed to coax the bull into making a dash toward his tree. Thereupon Roger exerted himself to keep the animal busy, so that Dick should not be interrupted in his task.
In order to do this the better he kept up his jeering cries, and, when he found the chance, even made thrusts at the beast with his long gun, once striking him smartly on the head.
The pace was beginning to tell on the buffalo. His powers of endurance had diminished since that eventful day when in mortal combat he had slain the old guardian of the herd, and usurped his position of trust.
Meanwhile Dick was far from being idle.
He had, as soon as the attention of the bull was diverted, swung his powder horn around, after removing the wooden stopper, and carefully measured out a charge. This he managed to pour down the barrel of his rifle, after which, from the cavity in the stock of the weapon, he took a greased patch in which the bullet was to be enclosed. After that the ramrod was used to punch the bullet down into the interior of the long barrel until it finally lodged snugly upon the powder charge.
Nothing remained but the priming, which was a brief matter at the most; and Dick was gladdened by the thought that now he held in his hand the means for terminating that ridiculous dance which the old bull was leading Roger.
A tree interfered somewhat with his view, and Dick ran a little closer, in order to make certain of his aim. Dropping on one knee after the fashion of expert marksmen of the day, he waited until there came a little lull in the mad chase.
“Now you can get him, Dick!” called Roger, between his gasps for breath, as the bull stopped short to strike again his hoof violently against the ground.
It was the opening the pioneer boy had been waiting for, and immediately the long gun shot out a puff of smoke as the report sounded. The buffalo had been hit in a vital spot, for he fell to the ground without even one jump.
Roger started to give a triumphant shout, when he cut it short, for something had leaped through the air; and, upon looking at the still-quivering body of the stricken bull, what was the boy’s surprise to see a crouching figure fastened upon it, and to hear the vicious snarl of the savage panther as, with ears pressed back against his head, he glared defiantly at the young hunter.