"What can it be, Joe?" whispered Dick as they stood
at the tent door leaning on their rifles, and listening
intently.
"Dun'no'," answered Joe shortly.
Most of the numerous fires of the camp had gone out,
but the bright moon revealed the dusky forms of thousands of Indians,
whom
the unwonted sound had startled,
moving rapidly about.
The mystery was soon explained. The Indian camp
was pitched on an open plain of several miles in extent,
which took a sudden bend half-a-mile distant, where a
spur of the mountains shut out the farther end of the
valley from view. From beyond this point the dull
rumbling sound proceeded. Suddenly there was a roar
as if a mighty cataract had been let loose upon the
scene. At the same moment a countless herd of wild
horses came thundering round the base of the mountain
and swept over the plain straight towards the Indian
camp.
"A stampede!" cried Joe, springing to the assistance
of Pee-eye-em, whose favourite horses were picketed
near the tent.
On they came like a living torrent, and the thunder
of a thousand hoofs was soon mingled with the howling
of hundreds of dogs in the camp, and the yelling of
Indians, as they vainly endeavoured to restrain the
rising excitement of their steeds. Henri and Dick
stood rooted to the ground, gazing in silent wonder at
the fierce and uncontrollable gallop of the thousands of
panic-stricken horses that bore down upon the camp
with the tumultuous violence of a mighty cataract.
As the maddened troop drew nigh, the camp horses
began to snort and tremble violently, and when the
rush of the wild steeds was almost upon them, they
became ungovernable with terror, broke their halters
and hobbles, and dashed wildly about. To add to the
confusion at that moment, a cloud passed over the moon
and threw the whole scene into deep obscurity. Blind
with terror, which was probably increased by the din
of their own mad flight, the galloping troop came on,
and with a sound like the continuous roar of thunder
that for an instant drowned the yell of dog and man
they burst upon the camp, trampling over packs and
skins, and dried meat, etc., in their headlong speed, and
overturning several of the smaller tents. In another
moment they swept out upon the plain beyond, and
were soon lost in the darkness of the night, while the
yelping of dogs, as they vainly pursued them, mingled
and gradually died away with the distant thunder of
their retreat.
This was a
stampede
, one of the most extraordinary
scenes that can be witnessed in the western wilderness.
"Lend a hand, Henri," shouted Joe, who was struggling
with a powerful horse. "Wot's comed over yer
brains, man? This brute'll git off if you don't look
sharp."
Dick and Henri both answered to the summons, and
they succeeded in throwing the struggling animal on its
side and holding it down until its excitement was somewhat
abated. Pee-eye-em had also been successful in
securing his favourite hunter: but nearly every other
horse belonging to the camp had broken loose and joined
the whirlwind gallop. But they gradually dropped out,
and before morning the most of them were secured by
their owners. As there were at least two thousand
horses and an equal number of dogs in the part of the
Indian camp which had been thus overrun by the wild
mustangs, the turmoil, as may be imagined, was prodigious!
Yet, strange to say, no accident of a serious
nature occurred beyond the loss of several chargers.
In the midst of this exciting scene there was one
heart which beat with a nervous vehemence that well-nigh
burst it. This was the heart of Dick Varley's
horse, Charlie. Well known to him was that distant
rumbling sound that floated on the night air into the
fur-traders' camp, where he was picketed close to
Cameron's tent. Many a time had he heard the approach
of such a wild troop, and often, in days not long
gone by, had his shrill neigh rung out as he joined and
led the panic-stricken band. He was first to hear the
sound, and by his restive actions to draw the attention
of the fur-traders to it. As a precautionary measure
they all sprang up and stood by their horses to soothe
them, but as a brook with a belt of bushes and quarter
of a mile of plain intervened between their camp and
the mustangs as they flew past, they had little or no
trouble in restraining them. Not so, however, with
Charlie. At the very moment that his master was congratulating
himself on the supposed security of his position,
he wrenched the halter from the hand of him who
held it, burst through the barrier of felled trees that
had been thrown round the camp, cleared the brook at
a bound, and with a wild hilarious neigh resumed his
old place in the ranks of the free-born mustangs of the
prairie.
Little did Dick think, when the flood of horses swept
past him, that his own good steed was there, rejoicing
in his recovered liberty. But Crusoe knew it. Ay,
the wind had borne down the information to his acute
nose before the living storm burst upon the camp; and
when Charlie rushed past, with the long tough halter
trailing at his heels, Crusoe sprang to his side, seized
the end of the halter with his teeth, and galloped off
along with him.
It was a long gallop and a tough one, but Crusoe held
on, for it was a settled principle in his mind
never
to
give in. At first the check upon Charlie's speed was
imperceptible, but by degrees the weight of the gigantic
dog began to tell, and after a time they fell a little to
the rear; then by good fortune the troop passed through
a mass of underwood, and the line getting entangled
brought their mad career forcibly to a close; the mustangs
passed on, and the two friends were left to keep
each other company in the dark.
How long they would have remained thus is uncertain,
for neither of them had sagacity enough to undo a
complicated entanglement. Fortunately, however, in his
energetic tugs at the line, Crusoe's sharp teeth partially
severed it, and a sudden start on the part of Charlie
caused it to part. Before he could escape, Crusoe again
seized the end of it, and led him slowly but steadily
back to the Indian camp, never halting or turning aside
until he had placed the line in Dick Varley's hand.
"Hallo, pup! where have ye bin? How did ye bring
him here?" exclaimed Dick, as he gazed in amazement
at his foam-covered horse.
Crusoe wagged his tail, as if to say, "Be thankful
that you've got him, Dick, my boy, and don't ask questions
that you know I can't answer."
"He must ha' broke loose and jined the stampede,"
remarked Joe, coming out of the chief's tent at the
moment; "but tie him up, Dick, and come in, for we
want to settle about startin' to-morrow or nixt day."
Having fastened Charlie to a stake, and ordered
Crusoe to watch him, Dick re-entered the tent where
the council had reassembled, and where Pee-eye-em--having,
in the recent struggle, split the blue surtout
completely up to the collar, so that his backbone was
visible throughout the greater part of its length--was
holding forth in eloquent strains on the subject of peace
in general and peace with the Blackfeet, the ancient
enemies of the Shirry-dikas, in particular.
Plans and prospects--Dick becomes home-sick, and Henrimetaphysical--Indians attack the camp--A blow-up.
On the following day the Indians gave themselves
up to unlimited feasting, in consequence of the
arrival of a large body of hunters with an immense
supply of buffalo meat. It was a regular day of rejoicing.
Upwards of six hundred buffaloes had been killed
and as the supply of meat before their arrival had been
ample, the camp was now overflowing with plenty.
Feasts were given by the chiefs, and the medicine men
went about the camp uttering loud cries, which were
meant to express gratitude to the Great Spirit for the
bountiful supply of food. They also carried a portion
of meat to the aged and infirm who were unable to hunt
for themselves, and had no young men in their family
circle to hunt for them.
This arrival of the hunters was a fortunate circumstance,
as it put the Indians in great good-humour, and
inclined them to hold friendly intercourse with the
trappers, who for some time continued to drive a brisk
trade in furs. Having no market for the disposal of
their furs, the Indians of course had more than they
knew what to do with, and were therefore glad to exchange
those of the most beautiful and valuable kind
for a mere trifle, so that the trappers laid aside their
traps for a time and devoted themselves to traffic.
Meanwhile Joe Blunt and his friends made preparations
for their return journey.
"Ye see," remarked Joe to Henri and Dick, as they
sat beside the fire in Pee-eye-em's lodge, and feasted on
a potful of grasshopper soup, which the great chief's
squaw had just placed before them--"ye see, my calc'lations
is as follows. Wot with trappin' beavers and
huntin', we three ha' made enough to set us up, an it
likes us, in the Mustang Valley--"
"Ha!" interrupted Dick, remitting for a few seconds
the use of his teeth in order to exercise his
tongue--ha! Joe, but it don't like
me
! What, give up a
hunter's life and become a farmer? I should think not!"
"Bon!" ejaculated Henri, but whether the remark
had reference to the grasshopper soup or the sentiment
we cannot tell.
"Well," continued Joe, commencing to devour a large
buffalo steak with a hunter's appetite, "ye'll please yourselves,
lads, as to that; but as I wos sayin', we've got a
powerful lot o' furs, an' a big pack o' odds and ends for
the Injuns we chance to meet with by the way, an'
powder and lead to last us a twelvemonth, besides five
good horses to carry us an' our packs over the plains;
so if it's agreeable to you, I mean to make a bee-line for
the Mustang Valley. We're pretty sure to meet with
Blackfeet on the way, and if we do we'll try to make
peace between them an' the Snakes. I 'xpect it'll be
pretty well on for six weeks afore we git to home, so
we'll start to-morrow."
"Dat is fat vill do ver' vell," said Henri; "vill you
please donnez me one petit morsel of steak."
"I'm ready for anything, Joe," cried Dick; "you are
leader. Just point the way, and I'll answer for two o'
us followin' ye--eh! won't we, Crusoe?"
"We will," remarked the dog quietly.
"How comes it," inquired Dick, "that these Indians
don't care for our tobacco?"
"They like their own better, I s'pose," answered Joe;
"most all the western Injuns do. They make it o' the
dried leaves o' the shumack and the inner bark o' the
red-willow, chopped very small an' mixed together.
They call this stuff
kinnekinnik
; but they like to mix
about a fourth o' our tobacco with it, so Pee-eye-em tells
me, an' he's a good judge. The amount that red-skinned
mortal smokes
is
oncommon."
"What are they doin' yonder?" inquired Dick, pointing
to a group of men who had been feasting for some
time past in front of a tent within sight of our trio.
"Goin' to sing, I think," replied Joe.
As he spoke six young warriors were seen to work
their bodies about in a very remarkable way, and give
utterance to still more remarkable sounds, which gradually
increased until the singers burst out into that
terrific yell, or war-whoop, for which American savages
have long been famous. Its effect would have been appalling
to unaccustomed ears. Then they allowed their
voices to die away in soft, plaintive tones, while their
action corresponded thereto. Suddenly the furious style
was revived, and the men wrought themselves into a
condition little short of madness, while their yells rang
wildly through the camp. This was too much for ordinary
canine nature to withstand, so all the dogs in the
neighbourhood joined in the horrible chorus.
Crusoe had long since learned to treat the eccentricities
of Indians and their curs with dignified contempt.
He paid no attention to this serenade, but lay sleeping