Chapter Twenty One.

Chapter Twenty One.Wolves attack the horses, and Cameron circumvents the wolves—A bear-hunt, in which Henri shines conspicuous—Joe and the “Natter-list”—An alarm—A surprise and a capture.We must now return to the camp where Walter Cameron still guarded the goods, and the men pursued their trapping avocations.Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night by wolves while grazing in a plain close to the camp, and on the night following a horse that had strayed was also torn to pieces and devoured. The prompt and daring manner in which this had been done convinced the trader that white wolves had unfortunately scented them out, and he set several traps in the hope of capturing them.White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary wolves that prowl through woods and plains in large packs. They are much larger, weighing sometimes as much as a hundred and thirty pounds; but they are comparatively scarce, and move about alone, or in small bands of three or four. Their strength is enormous, and they are so fierce that they do not hesitate, upon occasions, to attack man himself. Their method of killing horses is very deliberate. Two wolves generally undertake the cold-blooded murder. They approach their victim with the most innocent looking and frolicsome gambols, lying down and rolling about, and frisking pleasantly until the horse becomes a little accustomed to them. Then one approaches right in front, the other in rear, still frisking playfully, until they think themselves near enough, when they make a simultaneous rush. The wolf which approaches in rear is the true assailant; the rush of the other is a mere feint; then both fasten on the poor horse’s haunches and never let go till the sinews are cut and he is rolling on his side.The horse makes comparatively little struggle in this deadly assault. He seems paralysed and soon falls to rise no more.Cameron set his traps towards evening in a circle with a bait in the centre and then retired to rest. Next morning he called Joe Blunt and the two went off together.“It is strange that these rascally white wolves should be so bold when the smaller kinds are so cowardly,” remarked Cameron, as they walked along.“So ’tis,” replied Joe, “but I’ve seed them other chaps bold enough too in the prairie when they were in large packs and starvin’.”“I believe the small wolves follow the big fellows and help them to eat what they kill, though they generally sit round and look on at the killing.”“Hist!” exclaimed Joe, cocking his gun, “there he is, an’ no mistake.”There he was, undoubtedly. A wolf of the largest size with one of his feet in the trap. He was a terrible-looking object, for, besides his immense size and naturally ferocious aspect, his white hair bristled on end and was all covered with streaks and spots of blood from his bloody jaws. In his efforts to escape he had bitten the trap until he had broken his teeth and lacerated his gums, so that his appearance was hideous in the extreme. And when the two men came up he struggled with all his might to fly at them.Cameron and Joe stood looking at him in a sort of wondering admiration.“We’d better put a ball in him,” suggested Joe after a time. “Mayhap the chain won’t stand sich tugs long.”“True, Joe; if it breaks we might get an ugly nip before we killed him.”So saying Cameron fired into the wolf’s head and killed it. It was found, on examination, that four wolves had been in the traps, but the rest had escaped. Two of them, however, had gnawed off their paws and left them lying in the traps.After this the big wolves did not trouble them again. The same afternoon, a bear-hunt was undertaken, which well-nigh cost one of the Iroquois his life. It happened thus:—While Cameron and Joe were away after the white wolves, Henri came floundering into camp tossing his arms like a maniac, and shouting that “seven bars wos be down in de bush close bye!” It chanced that this was an idle day with most of the men, so they all leaped on their horses, and taking guns and knives sallied forth to give battle to the bears.Arrived at the scene of action they found the seven bears busily engaged in digging up roots, so the men separated in order to surround them, and then closed in. The place was partly open and partly covered with thick bushes into which a horseman could not penetrate. The moment the bears got wind of what was going forward they made off as fast as possible, and then commenced a scene of firing, galloping, and yelling, that defies description! Four out of the seven were shot before they gained the bushes; the other three were wounded, but made good their retreat. As their places of shelter, however, were like islands in the plain, they had no chance of escaping.The horsemen now dismounted and dashed recklessly into the bushes, where they soon discovered and killed two of the bears; the third was not found for some time. At last an Iroquois came upon it so suddenly that he had not time to point his gun before the bear sprang upon him and struck him to the earth, where it held him down.Instantly the place was surrounded by eager men, but the bushes were so thick and the fallen trees among which the bear stood were so numerous, that they could not use their guns without running the risk of shooting their companion. Most of them drew their knives and seemed about to rush on the bear with these, but the monster’s aspect, as it glared round, was so terrible that they held back for a moment in hesitation.At this moment Henri, who had been at some distance engaged in the killing of one of the other bears, came rushing forward after his own peculiar manner.“Ah! fat is eet—hay? de bar no go under yit?”Just then his eye fell on the wounded Iroquois with the bear above him, and he uttered a yell so intense in tone that the bear himself seemed to feel that something decisive was about to be done at last. Henri did not pause, but with a flying dash he sprang like a spread eagle, arms and legs extended, right into the bear’s bosom. At the same moment he sent his long hunting-knife down into its heart. But Bruin is proverbially hard to kill, and although mortally wounded, he had strength enough to open his jaws and close them on Henri’s neck.There was a cry of horror, and at the same moment a volley was fired at the bear’s head, for the trappers felt that it was better to risk shooting their comrades than see them killed before their eyes. Fortunately the bullets took effect, and tumbled him over at once without doing damage to either of the men, although several of the balls just grazed Henri’s temple and carried off his cap.Although uninjured by the shot, the poor Iroquois had not escaped scatheless from the paw of the bear. His scalp was torn almost off, and hung down over his eyes, while blood streamed down his face. He was conveyed by his comrades to the camp, where he lay two days in a state of insensibility, at the end of which time he revived and recovered daily. Afterwards when the camp moved he had to be carried, but in the course of two months he was as well as ever, and quite as fond of bear-hunting!Among other trophies of this hunt there were two deer, and a buffalo, which last had probably strayed from the herd. Four or five Iroquois were round this animal whetting their knives for the purpose of cutting it up when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them perform the operation, quite regardless of the fact that his neck and face were covered with blood which flowed from one or two small punctures made by the bear.The Indians began by taking off the skin, which certainly did not occupy them more than five minutes. Then they cut up the meat and made a pack of it, and cut out the tongue, which is somewhat troublesome, as that member requires to be cut out from under the jaw of the animal, and not through the natural opening of the mouth. One of the fore-legs was cut off at the knee joint, and this was used as a hammer with which to break the skull for the purpose of taking out the brains, these being used in the process of dressing and softening the animal’s skin. An axe would have been of advantage to break the skull, but in the hurry of rushing to the attack the Indians had forgotten their axes, so they adopted the common fashion of using the buffalo’s hoof as a hammer, the shank being the handle. The whole operation of flaying, cutting up, and packing the meat, did not occupy more than twenty minutes. Before leaving the ground these expert butchers treated themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver in a raw state!Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they were indulging in this little feast.“Well, I’ve often seen that eaten, but I never could do it myself,” remarked the former.“No!” cried Joe in surprise; “now that’s oncommon cur’us. I’velivedon raw liver an’ marrow-bones for two or three days at a time, when we wos chased by the Camanchee Injuns and didn’t dare to make a fire, an’ it’s ra’al good it is. Won’t ye try itnow?”Cameron shook his head.“No, thankee; I’ll not refuse when I can’t help it, but until then I’ll remain in happy ignorance of how good it is.”“Well, itisstrange how some folk can’t abide anything in the meat way they han’t bin used to. D’ye know I’ve actually knowd men from the cities as wouldn’t eat a bit o’ horseflesh for love or money. Would ye believe it?”“I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with such persons myself; in fact, they are rather numerous. What are you chuckling at, Joe?”“Chucklin’? if ye mean be that ‘larfin’ in to myself’ it’s because I’m thinkin’ o’ a chap as once comed out to the prairies.”“Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can tell me about him as we go along.”“I think,” continued Joe, “he comed from Washington, but I never could make out right whether he wos a government man or not. Anyhow, he wos a pheelosopher—a natter-list I think he call his-self.”“A naturalist,” suggested Cameron.“Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six feet two in his moccasins, an’ as thin as a ramrod, an’ as blind as a bat—leastways he had weak eyes an wore green spectacles. He had on a grey shootin’ coat and trousers and vest and cap, with rid whiskers an’ a long nose as rid at the point as the whiskers wos.“Well, this gentleman engaged me an’ another hunter to go a trip with him into the prairies, so off we sot one fine day on three hosses with our blankets at our backs—we wos to depend on the rifle for victuals. At first I thought the Natter-list one o’ the cruellest beggars as iver went on two long legs, for he used to go about everywhere pokin’ pins through all the beetles, and flies, an’ creepin’ things he could sot eyes on, an’ stuck them in a box; but he told me he comed here a-purpose to git as many o’ them as he could; so says I, ‘If that’s it, I’ll fill yer box in no time.’“‘Will ye?’ says he, quite pleased like.“‘I will,’ says I, an’ galloped off to a place as was filled wi’ all sorts o’ crawlin’ things. So I sets to work, and whenever I seed a thing crawlin’ I sot my fut on it and crushed it, and soon filled my breast pocket. I coched a lot o’ butterflies too, an’ stuffed them into my shot pouch, and went back in an hour or two an’ showed him the lot. He put on his green spectacles and looked at them as if he’d seen a rattlesnake.“‘My good man,’ says he, ‘you’ve crushed them all to pieces!’“‘They’ll taste as good for all that,’ says I, for somehow I’d taken’t in me head that he’d heard o’ the way the Injuns make soup o’ the grasshoppers, an was wantin’ to try his hand at a new dish!“He laughed when I said this, an’ told me he wos collectin’ them to take home to belookedat. But that’s not wot I wos goin’ to tell ye about him,” continued Joe; “I wos goin’ to tell ye how we made him eat horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this Natter-list did, to load wi’ shot as small as dust a-most, and shoot little birds with. I’ve seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. An’ one day he drew it all of a suddent and let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin’, yellin’ out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed. He missed the bee, of coorse, cause it was a flyin’ shot, he said, but he sent the whole charge right into Martin’s back—Martin was my comrade’s name. By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got the length o’ his skin.“One day I noticed that the Natter-list had stuffed small corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. I wondered what they wos for, but he wos al’ays doin’ sich queerthingsthat I soon forgot it. ‘May be,’ thought I, jist before it went out o’ my mind,—‘may be he thinks that ’ll stop the pistol from goin’ off by accident,’ for ye must know he’d let it off three times the first day by accident, and well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, only the shot lodged in the back o’ a big toad he’d jist stuffed into his breeches’ pocket. Well, soon after, we shot a buffalo bull, so when it fell, off he jumps from his horse an runs up to it. So did I, for I wasn’t sure the beast was dead, an’ I had jist got up when it rose an’ rushed at the Natter-list.“‘Out o’ the way,’ I yelled, for my rifle was empty; but he didn’t move, so I rushed forward an’ drew the pistol out o’ his belt and let fly in the bull’s ribs jist as it ran the poor man down. Martin came up that moment an’ put a ball through its heart, and then we went to pick up the Natter-list. He came to in a little, an’ the first thing he said was, ‘Where’s my revolver?’ When I gave it to him he looked at it, an’ said with a solemcholy shake o’ the head, ‘There’s a whole barrel-full lost!’ It turned out that he had taken to usin’ the barrels for bottles to hold things in, but he forgot to draw the charges, so sure enough I had fired a charge o’ bum-bees, an’ beetles, an’ small shot into the buffalo!“But that’s not what I wos goin’ to tell ye yet. We comed to a part o’ the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for want o’ game, an’ the Natter-list got so thin that ye could a-most see through him, so I offered to kill my horse, an’ cut it up for meat; but you niver saw sich a face he made. ‘I’d rather die first,’ says he, ‘than eat it;’ so we didn’t kill it. But that very day Martin got a shot at a wild horse and killed it. The Natter-list was down in the bed o’ a creek at the time gropin’ for creepers, an’ he didn’t see it.“‘He’ll niver eat it,’ says Martin.“‘That’s true,’ says I.“‘Let’s tell him it’s a buffalo,’ says he.“‘That would be tellin’ a lie,’ says I.“So we stood lookin’ at each other, not knowin’ what to do.“‘I’ll tell ye what,’ cries Martin, ‘we’ll cut it up, and take the meat into camp and cook it withoutsayin’ a word.’“‘Done,’ says I, ‘that’s it;’ for ye must know the poor creature wos no judge o’ meat. He couldn’t tell one kind from another, an’ he niver axed questions. In fact he niver a-most spoke to us all the trip. Well, we cut up the horse and carried the flesh and marrow-bones into camp, takin’ care to leave the hoofs and skin behind, and sot to work and roasted steaks and marrow-bones.“When the Natter-list came back ye should ha’ seen the joyful face he put on when he smelt the grub, for he was all but starved out, poor critter.“‘What have we got here?’ cried he, rubbin’ his hands and sittin’ down.“‘Steaks an’ marrow-bones,’ says Martin.“‘Capital!’ says he. ‘I’msohungry.’“So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man pitch into anything like as that Natter-list did into that horseflesh.“‘These are first-rate marrow-bones,’ says he, squintin’ with one eye down the shin bone o’ the hind-leg to see if it was quite empty.“‘Yes, sir, they is,’ answered Martin, as grave as a judge.“‘Take another, sir,’ says I.“‘No, thankee,’ says he with a sigh, for he didn’t like to leave off.“Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an’ first-rate livin’ it wos; then we fell in with buffalo, an’ niver ran short again till we got to the settlements, when he paid us our money an’ shook hands, sayin’ we’d had a nice trip an’ he wished us well. Jist as we wos partin’ I said, says I, ‘D’ye know what it wos we lived on for a week arter we wos well-nigh starved in the prairies?’“‘What,’ says he, ‘when we got yon capital marrow-bones?’“‘The same,’ says I; ‘yon washorseflesh,’ says I, ‘an’ I think ye’ll sur’ly niver say again that it isn’t first-rate livin’.’“‘Yer jokin’,’ says he, turnin’ pale.“‘It’s true, sir, as true as yer standin’ there.’“Well, would ye believe it; he turned—that Natter-list did—as sick as a dog on the spot wot he wos standin’ on, an’ didn’t taste meat again for three days!”Shortly after the conclusion of Joe’s story they reached the camp, and here they found the women and children flying about in a state of terror, and the few men who had been left in charge arming themselves in the greatest haste.“Hallo! something wrong here,” cried Cameron hastening forward followed by Joe. “What has happened, eh?”“Injuns comin’, monsieur, look dere,” answered a trapper, pointing down the valley.“Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of the camp,” cried Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced every other, and turned confusion into order.The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen far down the valley, which was raised by a band of mounted Indians who approached the camp at full speed. Their numbers could not be made out, but they were a sufficiently formidable band to cause much anxiety to Cameron, whose men, at the time, were scattered to the various trapping grounds, and only ten chanced to be within call of the camp. However, with these ten he determined to show a bold front to the savages, whether they came as friends or foes. He therefore ordered the women and children within the citadel formed of the goods and packs of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was to be defended to the last extremity. Then galloping to the front he collected his men and swept down the valley at full speed. In a few minutes they were near enough to observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians, who were driving a band of about a hundred horses before them, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together that Cameron and his men were close upon them before they were observed.It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had already swept round and cut off their retreat. In this extremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got behind the horses and drove them towards the camp.At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the others and made for the mountain, with its mane and tail flying wildly in the breeze.“Marrow-bones and buttons!” shouted one of the men, “there goes Dick Varley’s horse.”“So it am!” cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, followed by Joe and two others.“Why, these are our own horses,” said Cameron in surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills from which they could not escape.This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides their own horses, they had secured upwards of seventy Indian steeds, a most acceptable addition to their stud, which, owing to casualties and wolves, had been diminishing too much of late. The fact was, that the Indians who had captured the horses belonging to Pièrre and his party were a small band of robbers who had travelled, as was afterwards learned, a considerable distance from the south, stealing horses from various tribes as they went along. As we have seen, in an evil hour they fell in with Pièrre’s party and carried off their steeds, which they drove to a pass leading from one valley to the other. Here they united them with the main band of their ill-gotten gains, and while the greater number of the robbers descended further into the plains in search of more booty, four of them were sent into the mountains with the horses already procured. These four, utterly ignorant of the presence of white men in the valley, drove their charge, as we have seen, almost into the camp.Cameron immediately organised a party to go out in search of Pièrre and his companions, about whose fate he became intensely anxious, and in the course of half an hour as many men as he could spare with safety were despatched in the direction of the Blue Mountains.

We must now return to the camp where Walter Cameron still guarded the goods, and the men pursued their trapping avocations.

Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night by wolves while grazing in a plain close to the camp, and on the night following a horse that had strayed was also torn to pieces and devoured. The prompt and daring manner in which this had been done convinced the trader that white wolves had unfortunately scented them out, and he set several traps in the hope of capturing them.

White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary wolves that prowl through woods and plains in large packs. They are much larger, weighing sometimes as much as a hundred and thirty pounds; but they are comparatively scarce, and move about alone, or in small bands of three or four. Their strength is enormous, and they are so fierce that they do not hesitate, upon occasions, to attack man himself. Their method of killing horses is very deliberate. Two wolves generally undertake the cold-blooded murder. They approach their victim with the most innocent looking and frolicsome gambols, lying down and rolling about, and frisking pleasantly until the horse becomes a little accustomed to them. Then one approaches right in front, the other in rear, still frisking playfully, until they think themselves near enough, when they make a simultaneous rush. The wolf which approaches in rear is the true assailant; the rush of the other is a mere feint; then both fasten on the poor horse’s haunches and never let go till the sinews are cut and he is rolling on his side.

The horse makes comparatively little struggle in this deadly assault. He seems paralysed and soon falls to rise no more.

Cameron set his traps towards evening in a circle with a bait in the centre and then retired to rest. Next morning he called Joe Blunt and the two went off together.

“It is strange that these rascally white wolves should be so bold when the smaller kinds are so cowardly,” remarked Cameron, as they walked along.

“So ’tis,” replied Joe, “but I’ve seed them other chaps bold enough too in the prairie when they were in large packs and starvin’.”

“I believe the small wolves follow the big fellows and help them to eat what they kill, though they generally sit round and look on at the killing.”

“Hist!” exclaimed Joe, cocking his gun, “there he is, an’ no mistake.”

There he was, undoubtedly. A wolf of the largest size with one of his feet in the trap. He was a terrible-looking object, for, besides his immense size and naturally ferocious aspect, his white hair bristled on end and was all covered with streaks and spots of blood from his bloody jaws. In his efforts to escape he had bitten the trap until he had broken his teeth and lacerated his gums, so that his appearance was hideous in the extreme. And when the two men came up he struggled with all his might to fly at them.

Cameron and Joe stood looking at him in a sort of wondering admiration.

“We’d better put a ball in him,” suggested Joe after a time. “Mayhap the chain won’t stand sich tugs long.”

“True, Joe; if it breaks we might get an ugly nip before we killed him.”

So saying Cameron fired into the wolf’s head and killed it. It was found, on examination, that four wolves had been in the traps, but the rest had escaped. Two of them, however, had gnawed off their paws and left them lying in the traps.

After this the big wolves did not trouble them again. The same afternoon, a bear-hunt was undertaken, which well-nigh cost one of the Iroquois his life. It happened thus:—

While Cameron and Joe were away after the white wolves, Henri came floundering into camp tossing his arms like a maniac, and shouting that “seven bars wos be down in de bush close bye!” It chanced that this was an idle day with most of the men, so they all leaped on their horses, and taking guns and knives sallied forth to give battle to the bears.

Arrived at the scene of action they found the seven bears busily engaged in digging up roots, so the men separated in order to surround them, and then closed in. The place was partly open and partly covered with thick bushes into which a horseman could not penetrate. The moment the bears got wind of what was going forward they made off as fast as possible, and then commenced a scene of firing, galloping, and yelling, that defies description! Four out of the seven were shot before they gained the bushes; the other three were wounded, but made good their retreat. As their places of shelter, however, were like islands in the plain, they had no chance of escaping.

The horsemen now dismounted and dashed recklessly into the bushes, where they soon discovered and killed two of the bears; the third was not found for some time. At last an Iroquois came upon it so suddenly that he had not time to point his gun before the bear sprang upon him and struck him to the earth, where it held him down.

Instantly the place was surrounded by eager men, but the bushes were so thick and the fallen trees among which the bear stood were so numerous, that they could not use their guns without running the risk of shooting their companion. Most of them drew their knives and seemed about to rush on the bear with these, but the monster’s aspect, as it glared round, was so terrible that they held back for a moment in hesitation.

At this moment Henri, who had been at some distance engaged in the killing of one of the other bears, came rushing forward after his own peculiar manner.

“Ah! fat is eet—hay? de bar no go under yit?”

Just then his eye fell on the wounded Iroquois with the bear above him, and he uttered a yell so intense in tone that the bear himself seemed to feel that something decisive was about to be done at last. Henri did not pause, but with a flying dash he sprang like a spread eagle, arms and legs extended, right into the bear’s bosom. At the same moment he sent his long hunting-knife down into its heart. But Bruin is proverbially hard to kill, and although mortally wounded, he had strength enough to open his jaws and close them on Henri’s neck.

There was a cry of horror, and at the same moment a volley was fired at the bear’s head, for the trappers felt that it was better to risk shooting their comrades than see them killed before their eyes. Fortunately the bullets took effect, and tumbled him over at once without doing damage to either of the men, although several of the balls just grazed Henri’s temple and carried off his cap.

Although uninjured by the shot, the poor Iroquois had not escaped scatheless from the paw of the bear. His scalp was torn almost off, and hung down over his eyes, while blood streamed down his face. He was conveyed by his comrades to the camp, where he lay two days in a state of insensibility, at the end of which time he revived and recovered daily. Afterwards when the camp moved he had to be carried, but in the course of two months he was as well as ever, and quite as fond of bear-hunting!

Among other trophies of this hunt there were two deer, and a buffalo, which last had probably strayed from the herd. Four or five Iroquois were round this animal whetting their knives for the purpose of cutting it up when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them perform the operation, quite regardless of the fact that his neck and face were covered with blood which flowed from one or two small punctures made by the bear.

The Indians began by taking off the skin, which certainly did not occupy them more than five minutes. Then they cut up the meat and made a pack of it, and cut out the tongue, which is somewhat troublesome, as that member requires to be cut out from under the jaw of the animal, and not through the natural opening of the mouth. One of the fore-legs was cut off at the knee joint, and this was used as a hammer with which to break the skull for the purpose of taking out the brains, these being used in the process of dressing and softening the animal’s skin. An axe would have been of advantage to break the skull, but in the hurry of rushing to the attack the Indians had forgotten their axes, so they adopted the common fashion of using the buffalo’s hoof as a hammer, the shank being the handle. The whole operation of flaying, cutting up, and packing the meat, did not occupy more than twenty minutes. Before leaving the ground these expert butchers treated themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver in a raw state!

Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they were indulging in this little feast.

“Well, I’ve often seen that eaten, but I never could do it myself,” remarked the former.

“No!” cried Joe in surprise; “now that’s oncommon cur’us. I’velivedon raw liver an’ marrow-bones for two or three days at a time, when we wos chased by the Camanchee Injuns and didn’t dare to make a fire, an’ it’s ra’al good it is. Won’t ye try itnow?”

Cameron shook his head.

“No, thankee; I’ll not refuse when I can’t help it, but until then I’ll remain in happy ignorance of how good it is.”

“Well, itisstrange how some folk can’t abide anything in the meat way they han’t bin used to. D’ye know I’ve actually knowd men from the cities as wouldn’t eat a bit o’ horseflesh for love or money. Would ye believe it?”

“I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with such persons myself; in fact, they are rather numerous. What are you chuckling at, Joe?”

“Chucklin’? if ye mean be that ‘larfin’ in to myself’ it’s because I’m thinkin’ o’ a chap as once comed out to the prairies.”

“Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can tell me about him as we go along.”

“I think,” continued Joe, “he comed from Washington, but I never could make out right whether he wos a government man or not. Anyhow, he wos a pheelosopher—a natter-list I think he call his-self.”

“A naturalist,” suggested Cameron.

“Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six feet two in his moccasins, an’ as thin as a ramrod, an’ as blind as a bat—leastways he had weak eyes an wore green spectacles. He had on a grey shootin’ coat and trousers and vest and cap, with rid whiskers an’ a long nose as rid at the point as the whiskers wos.

“Well, this gentleman engaged me an’ another hunter to go a trip with him into the prairies, so off we sot one fine day on three hosses with our blankets at our backs—we wos to depend on the rifle for victuals. At first I thought the Natter-list one o’ the cruellest beggars as iver went on two long legs, for he used to go about everywhere pokin’ pins through all the beetles, and flies, an’ creepin’ things he could sot eyes on, an’ stuck them in a box; but he told me he comed here a-purpose to git as many o’ them as he could; so says I, ‘If that’s it, I’ll fill yer box in no time.’

“‘Will ye?’ says he, quite pleased like.

“‘I will,’ says I, an’ galloped off to a place as was filled wi’ all sorts o’ crawlin’ things. So I sets to work, and whenever I seed a thing crawlin’ I sot my fut on it and crushed it, and soon filled my breast pocket. I coched a lot o’ butterflies too, an’ stuffed them into my shot pouch, and went back in an hour or two an’ showed him the lot. He put on his green spectacles and looked at them as if he’d seen a rattlesnake.

“‘My good man,’ says he, ‘you’ve crushed them all to pieces!’

“‘They’ll taste as good for all that,’ says I, for somehow I’d taken’t in me head that he’d heard o’ the way the Injuns make soup o’ the grasshoppers, an was wantin’ to try his hand at a new dish!

“He laughed when I said this, an’ told me he wos collectin’ them to take home to belookedat. But that’s not wot I wos goin’ to tell ye about him,” continued Joe; “I wos goin’ to tell ye how we made him eat horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this Natter-list did, to load wi’ shot as small as dust a-most, and shoot little birds with. I’ve seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. An’ one day he drew it all of a suddent and let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin’, yellin’ out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed. He missed the bee, of coorse, cause it was a flyin’ shot, he said, but he sent the whole charge right into Martin’s back—Martin was my comrade’s name. By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got the length o’ his skin.

“One day I noticed that the Natter-list had stuffed small corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. I wondered what they wos for, but he wos al’ays doin’ sich queerthingsthat I soon forgot it. ‘May be,’ thought I, jist before it went out o’ my mind,—‘may be he thinks that ’ll stop the pistol from goin’ off by accident,’ for ye must know he’d let it off three times the first day by accident, and well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, only the shot lodged in the back o’ a big toad he’d jist stuffed into his breeches’ pocket. Well, soon after, we shot a buffalo bull, so when it fell, off he jumps from his horse an runs up to it. So did I, for I wasn’t sure the beast was dead, an’ I had jist got up when it rose an’ rushed at the Natter-list.

“‘Out o’ the way,’ I yelled, for my rifle was empty; but he didn’t move, so I rushed forward an’ drew the pistol out o’ his belt and let fly in the bull’s ribs jist as it ran the poor man down. Martin came up that moment an’ put a ball through its heart, and then we went to pick up the Natter-list. He came to in a little, an’ the first thing he said was, ‘Where’s my revolver?’ When I gave it to him he looked at it, an’ said with a solemcholy shake o’ the head, ‘There’s a whole barrel-full lost!’ It turned out that he had taken to usin’ the barrels for bottles to hold things in, but he forgot to draw the charges, so sure enough I had fired a charge o’ bum-bees, an’ beetles, an’ small shot into the buffalo!

“But that’s not what I wos goin’ to tell ye yet. We comed to a part o’ the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for want o’ game, an’ the Natter-list got so thin that ye could a-most see through him, so I offered to kill my horse, an’ cut it up for meat; but you niver saw sich a face he made. ‘I’d rather die first,’ says he, ‘than eat it;’ so we didn’t kill it. But that very day Martin got a shot at a wild horse and killed it. The Natter-list was down in the bed o’ a creek at the time gropin’ for creepers, an’ he didn’t see it.

“‘He’ll niver eat it,’ says Martin.

“‘That’s true,’ says I.

“‘Let’s tell him it’s a buffalo,’ says he.

“‘That would be tellin’ a lie,’ says I.

“So we stood lookin’ at each other, not knowin’ what to do.

“‘I’ll tell ye what,’ cries Martin, ‘we’ll cut it up, and take the meat into camp and cook it withoutsayin’ a word.’

“‘Done,’ says I, ‘that’s it;’ for ye must know the poor creature wos no judge o’ meat. He couldn’t tell one kind from another, an’ he niver axed questions. In fact he niver a-most spoke to us all the trip. Well, we cut up the horse and carried the flesh and marrow-bones into camp, takin’ care to leave the hoofs and skin behind, and sot to work and roasted steaks and marrow-bones.

“When the Natter-list came back ye should ha’ seen the joyful face he put on when he smelt the grub, for he was all but starved out, poor critter.

“‘What have we got here?’ cried he, rubbin’ his hands and sittin’ down.

“‘Steaks an’ marrow-bones,’ says Martin.

“‘Capital!’ says he. ‘I’msohungry.’

“So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man pitch into anything like as that Natter-list did into that horseflesh.

“‘These are first-rate marrow-bones,’ says he, squintin’ with one eye down the shin bone o’ the hind-leg to see if it was quite empty.

“‘Yes, sir, they is,’ answered Martin, as grave as a judge.

“‘Take another, sir,’ says I.

“‘No, thankee,’ says he with a sigh, for he didn’t like to leave off.

“Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an’ first-rate livin’ it wos; then we fell in with buffalo, an’ niver ran short again till we got to the settlements, when he paid us our money an’ shook hands, sayin’ we’d had a nice trip an’ he wished us well. Jist as we wos partin’ I said, says I, ‘D’ye know what it wos we lived on for a week arter we wos well-nigh starved in the prairies?’

“‘What,’ says he, ‘when we got yon capital marrow-bones?’

“‘The same,’ says I; ‘yon washorseflesh,’ says I, ‘an’ I think ye’ll sur’ly niver say again that it isn’t first-rate livin’.’

“‘Yer jokin’,’ says he, turnin’ pale.

“‘It’s true, sir, as true as yer standin’ there.’

“Well, would ye believe it; he turned—that Natter-list did—as sick as a dog on the spot wot he wos standin’ on, an’ didn’t taste meat again for three days!”

Shortly after the conclusion of Joe’s story they reached the camp, and here they found the women and children flying about in a state of terror, and the few men who had been left in charge arming themselves in the greatest haste.

“Hallo! something wrong here,” cried Cameron hastening forward followed by Joe. “What has happened, eh?”

“Injuns comin’, monsieur, look dere,” answered a trapper, pointing down the valley.

“Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of the camp,” cried Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced every other, and turned confusion into order.

The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen far down the valley, which was raised by a band of mounted Indians who approached the camp at full speed. Their numbers could not be made out, but they were a sufficiently formidable band to cause much anxiety to Cameron, whose men, at the time, were scattered to the various trapping grounds, and only ten chanced to be within call of the camp. However, with these ten he determined to show a bold front to the savages, whether they came as friends or foes. He therefore ordered the women and children within the citadel formed of the goods and packs of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was to be defended to the last extremity. Then galloping to the front he collected his men and swept down the valley at full speed. In a few minutes they were near enough to observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians, who were driving a band of about a hundred horses before them, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together that Cameron and his men were close upon them before they were observed.

It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had already swept round and cut off their retreat. In this extremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got behind the horses and drove them towards the camp.

At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the others and made for the mountain, with its mane and tail flying wildly in the breeze.

“Marrow-bones and buttons!” shouted one of the men, “there goes Dick Varley’s horse.”

“So it am!” cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, followed by Joe and two others.

“Why, these are our own horses,” said Cameron in surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills from which they could not escape.

This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides their own horses, they had secured upwards of seventy Indian steeds, a most acceptable addition to their stud, which, owing to casualties and wolves, had been diminishing too much of late. The fact was, that the Indians who had captured the horses belonging to Pièrre and his party were a small band of robbers who had travelled, as was afterwards learned, a considerable distance from the south, stealing horses from various tribes as they went along. As we have seen, in an evil hour they fell in with Pièrre’s party and carried off their steeds, which they drove to a pass leading from one valley to the other. Here they united them with the main band of their ill-gotten gains, and while the greater number of the robbers descended further into the plains in search of more booty, four of them were sent into the mountains with the horses already procured. These four, utterly ignorant of the presence of white men in the valley, drove their charge, as we have seen, almost into the camp.

Cameron immediately organised a party to go out in search of Pièrre and his companions, about whose fate he became intensely anxious, and in the course of half an hour as many men as he could spare with safety were despatched in the direction of the Blue Mountains.

Chapter Twenty Two.Charlie’s adventures with savages and bears—Trapping life.It is one thing to chase a horse; it is another thing to catch it. Little consideration and less sagacity is required to convince us of the truth of that fact.The reader may perhaps venture to think this rather a trifling fact. We are not so sure of that. In this world of fancies, to haveanyfact incontestably proved and established is a comfort, and whatever is a source of comfort to mankind is worthy of notice. Surely our reader won’t deny that! Perhaps he will, so we can only console ourself with the remark that there are people in this world who would denyanything—who would deny that there was a nose on their face if you said there was!Well, to return to the point, which was the chase of a horse in the abstract; from which we will rapidly diverge to the chase of Dick Varley’s horse in particular. This noble charger, having been ridden by savages until all his old fire, and blood, and metal were worked up to a red heat, no sooner discovered that he was pursued than he gave a snort of defiance, which he accompanied with a frantic shake of his mane, and a fling of contempt in addition to a magnificent wave of his tail; then he thundered up the valley at a pace which would speedily have left Joe Blunt and Henri out of sight behind if—ay! that’s the word,if! what a word thatifis! what a world of if’s we live in! There never was anything that wouldn’t have been something elseifsomething hadn’t intervened to prevent it! Yes, we repeat, Charlie would have left his two friends miles and miles behind in what is called “no time,”ifhe had not run straight into a gorge which was surrounded by inaccessible precipices, and out of which there was no exit except by the entrance, which was immediately barred by Henri, while Joe advanced to catch the runaway.For two hours at least did Joe Blunt essay to catch Charlie, and during that space of time he utterly failed. The horse seemed to have made up his mind for what is vulgarly termed “a lark.”“It won’t do, Henri,” said Joe, advancing towards his companion, and wiping his forehead with the cuff of his leathern coat. “I can’t catch him. The wind’s a-most blowed out o’ me body.”“Dat am vexatiable,” replied Henri, in a tone of commiseration. “S’pose I wos make try?”“In that case I s’pose ye would fail. But go ahead an’ do what ye can. I’ll hold yer horse.”So Henri began by a rush and a flourish of legs and arms that nearly frightened the horse out his wits. For half an hour he went through all the complications of running and twisting of which he was capable, without success, when Joe Blunt suddenly uttered a stentorian yell that rooted him to the spot on which he stood.To account for this, we must explain that in the heights of the Rocky Mountains vast accumulations of snow take place among the crevices and gorges during winter. Such of these masses as form on steep slopes are loosened by occasional thaws, and are precipitated in the form of avalanches into the valleys below, carrying trees and stones along with them in their thundering descent. In the gloomy gorge where Dick’s horse had taken refuge, the precipices were so steep that many avalanches had occurred, as was evident from the mounds of heaped snow that lay at the foot of most of them. Neither stones nor trees were carried down here, however, for the cliffs were nearly perpendicular, and the snow slipping over their edges had fallen on the grass below. Such an avalanche was now about to take place, and it was this that caused Joe to utter his cry of alarm and warning.Henri and the horse were directly under the cliff over which it was about to be hurled, the latter close to the wall of rock, the other at some distance away from it.Joe cried again, “Back, Henri! backvite!” when the massflowed overand fell with a roar like prolonged thunder. Henri sprang back in time to save his life, though he was knocked down and almost stunned, but poor Charlie was completely buried under the avalanche, which now presented the appearance of ahillof snow.The instant Henri recovered sufficiently, Joe and he mounted their horses and galloped back to the camp as fast as possible.Meanwhile, another spectator stepped forward upon the scene they had left, and surveyed the snow hill with a critical eye. This was no less than a grizzly bear which had, unobserved, been a spectator, and which immediately proceeded to dig into the mound with the purpose, no doubt, of disentombing the carcase of the horse for purposes of his own.While he was thus actively engaged, the two hunters reached the camp where they found that Pièrre and his party had just arrived. The men sent out in search of them had scarcely advanced a mile when they found them trudging back to the camp in a very disconsolate manner. But all their sorrows were put to flight on hearing of the curious way in which the horses had been returned to them with interest.Scarcely had Dick Varley, however, congratulated himself on the recovery of his gallant steed, when he was thrown into despair by the sudden arrival of Joe with the tidings of the catastrophe we have just related.Of course there was a general rush to the rescue. Only a few men were ordered to remain to guard the camp, while the remainder mounted their horses and galloped towards the gorge where Charlie had been entombed. On arriving, they found that Bruin had worked with such laudable zeal that nothing but the tip of his tail was seen sticking out of the hole which he had dug. The hunters could not refrain from laughing as they sprang to the ground, and standing in a semicircle in front of the hole, prepared to fire. But Crusoe resolved to have the honour of leading the assault. He seized fast hold of Bruin’s flank, and caused his teeth to meet therein. Caleb backed out at once and turned round, but before he could recover from his surprise a dozen bullets pierced his heart and brain.“Now, lads,” cried Cameron, setting to work with a large wooden shovel, “work like niggers. If there’s any life left in the horse it’ll soon be smothered out unless we set him free.”The men needed no urging, however. They worked as if their lives depended on their exertions. Dick Varley, in particular, laboured like a young Hercules, and Henri hurled masses of snow about in a most surprising manner. Crusoe, too, entered heartily into the spirit of the work, and, scraping with his forepaws, sent such a continuous shower of snow behind him that he was speedily lost to view in a hole of his own excavating. In the course of half an hour a cavern was dug in the mound almost close up to the cliff, and the men were beginning to look about for the crushed body of Dick’s steed, when an exclamation from Henri attracted their attention.“Ha! mes ami, here am be one hole.”The truth of this could not be doubted, for the eccentric trapper had thrust his shovel through the wall of snow into what appeared to be a cavern beyond, and immediately followed up his remark by thrusting in his head and shoulders. He drew them out in a few seconds, with a look of intense amazement.“Voilà! Joe Blunt. Look in dere, and you shall see fat you will behold.”“Why, it’s the horse, I do b’lieve!” cried Joe. “Go ahead, lads.”So saying, he resumed his shovelling vigorously, and in a few minutes the hole was opened up sufficiently to enable a man to enter. Dick sprang in, and there stood Charlie close beside the cliff, looking as sedate and unconcerned as if all that had been going on had no reference to him whatever.The cause of his safety was simple enough. The precipice beside which he stood when the avalanche occurred overhung its base at that point considerably, so that when the snow descended, a clear space of several feet wide was left all along its base. Here Charlie had remained in perfect comfort until his friends dug him out.Congratulating themselves not a little on having saved the charger and bagged a grizzly bear, the trappers remounted, and returned to the camp.For some time after this nothing worthy of particular note occurred. The trapping operations went on prosperously and without interruption from the Indians, who seemed to have left the locality altogether. During this period, Dick, and Crusoe, and Charlie had many excursions together, and the silver rifle full many a time sent death to the heart of bear, and elk, and buffalo, while, indirectly, it sent joy to the heart of man, woman, and child in camp, in the shape of juicy steaks and marrow-bones. Joe and Henri devoted themselves almost exclusively to trapping beaver, in which pursuit they were so successful that they speedily became wealthy men, according to backwood notions of wealth. With the beaver that they caught, they purchased from Cameron’s store powder and shot enough for a long hunting expedition and a couple of spare horses to carry their packs. They also purchased a large assortment of such goods and trinkets as would prove acceptable to Indians, and supplied themselves with new blankets, and a few pairs of strong moccasins, of which they stood much in need.Thus they went on from day to day, until symptoms of the approach of winter warned them that it was time to return to the Mustang Valley. About this time an event occurred which totally changed the aspect of affairs in these remote valleys of the Rocky Mountains, and precipitated the departure of our four friends, Dick, Joe, Henri, and Crusoe. This was the sudden arrival of a whole tribe of Indians. As their advent was somewhat remarkable, we shall devote to it the commencement of a new chapter.

It is one thing to chase a horse; it is another thing to catch it. Little consideration and less sagacity is required to convince us of the truth of that fact.

The reader may perhaps venture to think this rather a trifling fact. We are not so sure of that. In this world of fancies, to haveanyfact incontestably proved and established is a comfort, and whatever is a source of comfort to mankind is worthy of notice. Surely our reader won’t deny that! Perhaps he will, so we can only console ourself with the remark that there are people in this world who would denyanything—who would deny that there was a nose on their face if you said there was!

Well, to return to the point, which was the chase of a horse in the abstract; from which we will rapidly diverge to the chase of Dick Varley’s horse in particular. This noble charger, having been ridden by savages until all his old fire, and blood, and metal were worked up to a red heat, no sooner discovered that he was pursued than he gave a snort of defiance, which he accompanied with a frantic shake of his mane, and a fling of contempt in addition to a magnificent wave of his tail; then he thundered up the valley at a pace which would speedily have left Joe Blunt and Henri out of sight behind if—ay! that’s the word,if! what a word thatifis! what a world of if’s we live in! There never was anything that wouldn’t have been something elseifsomething hadn’t intervened to prevent it! Yes, we repeat, Charlie would have left his two friends miles and miles behind in what is called “no time,”ifhe had not run straight into a gorge which was surrounded by inaccessible precipices, and out of which there was no exit except by the entrance, which was immediately barred by Henri, while Joe advanced to catch the runaway.

For two hours at least did Joe Blunt essay to catch Charlie, and during that space of time he utterly failed. The horse seemed to have made up his mind for what is vulgarly termed “a lark.”

“It won’t do, Henri,” said Joe, advancing towards his companion, and wiping his forehead with the cuff of his leathern coat. “I can’t catch him. The wind’s a-most blowed out o’ me body.”

“Dat am vexatiable,” replied Henri, in a tone of commiseration. “S’pose I wos make try?”

“In that case I s’pose ye would fail. But go ahead an’ do what ye can. I’ll hold yer horse.”

So Henri began by a rush and a flourish of legs and arms that nearly frightened the horse out his wits. For half an hour he went through all the complications of running and twisting of which he was capable, without success, when Joe Blunt suddenly uttered a stentorian yell that rooted him to the spot on which he stood.

To account for this, we must explain that in the heights of the Rocky Mountains vast accumulations of snow take place among the crevices and gorges during winter. Such of these masses as form on steep slopes are loosened by occasional thaws, and are precipitated in the form of avalanches into the valleys below, carrying trees and stones along with them in their thundering descent. In the gloomy gorge where Dick’s horse had taken refuge, the precipices were so steep that many avalanches had occurred, as was evident from the mounds of heaped snow that lay at the foot of most of them. Neither stones nor trees were carried down here, however, for the cliffs were nearly perpendicular, and the snow slipping over their edges had fallen on the grass below. Such an avalanche was now about to take place, and it was this that caused Joe to utter his cry of alarm and warning.

Henri and the horse were directly under the cliff over which it was about to be hurled, the latter close to the wall of rock, the other at some distance away from it.

Joe cried again, “Back, Henri! backvite!” when the massflowed overand fell with a roar like prolonged thunder. Henri sprang back in time to save his life, though he was knocked down and almost stunned, but poor Charlie was completely buried under the avalanche, which now presented the appearance of ahillof snow.

The instant Henri recovered sufficiently, Joe and he mounted their horses and galloped back to the camp as fast as possible.

Meanwhile, another spectator stepped forward upon the scene they had left, and surveyed the snow hill with a critical eye. This was no less than a grizzly bear which had, unobserved, been a spectator, and which immediately proceeded to dig into the mound with the purpose, no doubt, of disentombing the carcase of the horse for purposes of his own.

While he was thus actively engaged, the two hunters reached the camp where they found that Pièrre and his party had just arrived. The men sent out in search of them had scarcely advanced a mile when they found them trudging back to the camp in a very disconsolate manner. But all their sorrows were put to flight on hearing of the curious way in which the horses had been returned to them with interest.

Scarcely had Dick Varley, however, congratulated himself on the recovery of his gallant steed, when he was thrown into despair by the sudden arrival of Joe with the tidings of the catastrophe we have just related.

Of course there was a general rush to the rescue. Only a few men were ordered to remain to guard the camp, while the remainder mounted their horses and galloped towards the gorge where Charlie had been entombed. On arriving, they found that Bruin had worked with such laudable zeal that nothing but the tip of his tail was seen sticking out of the hole which he had dug. The hunters could not refrain from laughing as they sprang to the ground, and standing in a semicircle in front of the hole, prepared to fire. But Crusoe resolved to have the honour of leading the assault. He seized fast hold of Bruin’s flank, and caused his teeth to meet therein. Caleb backed out at once and turned round, but before he could recover from his surprise a dozen bullets pierced his heart and brain.

“Now, lads,” cried Cameron, setting to work with a large wooden shovel, “work like niggers. If there’s any life left in the horse it’ll soon be smothered out unless we set him free.”

The men needed no urging, however. They worked as if their lives depended on their exertions. Dick Varley, in particular, laboured like a young Hercules, and Henri hurled masses of snow about in a most surprising manner. Crusoe, too, entered heartily into the spirit of the work, and, scraping with his forepaws, sent such a continuous shower of snow behind him that he was speedily lost to view in a hole of his own excavating. In the course of half an hour a cavern was dug in the mound almost close up to the cliff, and the men were beginning to look about for the crushed body of Dick’s steed, when an exclamation from Henri attracted their attention.

“Ha! mes ami, here am be one hole.”

The truth of this could not be doubted, for the eccentric trapper had thrust his shovel through the wall of snow into what appeared to be a cavern beyond, and immediately followed up his remark by thrusting in his head and shoulders. He drew them out in a few seconds, with a look of intense amazement.

“Voilà! Joe Blunt. Look in dere, and you shall see fat you will behold.”

“Why, it’s the horse, I do b’lieve!” cried Joe. “Go ahead, lads.”

So saying, he resumed his shovelling vigorously, and in a few minutes the hole was opened up sufficiently to enable a man to enter. Dick sprang in, and there stood Charlie close beside the cliff, looking as sedate and unconcerned as if all that had been going on had no reference to him whatever.

The cause of his safety was simple enough. The precipice beside which he stood when the avalanche occurred overhung its base at that point considerably, so that when the snow descended, a clear space of several feet wide was left all along its base. Here Charlie had remained in perfect comfort until his friends dug him out.

Congratulating themselves not a little on having saved the charger and bagged a grizzly bear, the trappers remounted, and returned to the camp.

For some time after this nothing worthy of particular note occurred. The trapping operations went on prosperously and without interruption from the Indians, who seemed to have left the locality altogether. During this period, Dick, and Crusoe, and Charlie had many excursions together, and the silver rifle full many a time sent death to the heart of bear, and elk, and buffalo, while, indirectly, it sent joy to the heart of man, woman, and child in camp, in the shape of juicy steaks and marrow-bones. Joe and Henri devoted themselves almost exclusively to trapping beaver, in which pursuit they were so successful that they speedily became wealthy men, according to backwood notions of wealth. With the beaver that they caught, they purchased from Cameron’s store powder and shot enough for a long hunting expedition and a couple of spare horses to carry their packs. They also purchased a large assortment of such goods and trinkets as would prove acceptable to Indians, and supplied themselves with new blankets, and a few pairs of strong moccasins, of which they stood much in need.

Thus they went on from day to day, until symptoms of the approach of winter warned them that it was time to return to the Mustang Valley. About this time an event occurred which totally changed the aspect of affairs in these remote valleys of the Rocky Mountains, and precipitated the departure of our four friends, Dick, Joe, Henri, and Crusoe. This was the sudden arrival of a whole tribe of Indians. As their advent was somewhat remarkable, we shall devote to it the commencement of a new chapter.

Chapter Twenty Three.Savage sports—Living cataracts—An alarm—Indians and their doings—The stampedo—Charlie again.One day Dick Varley was out on a solitary hunting expedition near the rocky gorge, where his horse had received temporary burial a week or two before. Crusoe was with him, of course. Dick had tied Charlie to a tree, and was sunning himself on the edge of a cliff, from the top of which he had a fine view of the valley and the rugged precipices that hemmed it in.Just in front of the spot on which he sat, the precipices on the opposite side of the gorge rose to a considerable height above him, so that their ragged outlines were drawn sharply across the clear sky. Dick was gazing in dreamy silence at the jutting rocks and dark caverns, and speculating on the probable number of bears that dwelt there, when a slight degree of restlessness on the part of Crusoe attracted him.“What is’t, pup?” said he, laying his hand on the dog’s broad back.Crusoe looked the answer, “I don’t know, Dick, but it’ssomething, you may depend upon it, else I would not have disturbed you.”Dick lifted his rifle from the ground, and laid it in the hollow of his left arm.“There must be something in the wind,” remarked Dick.As wind is known to be composed of two distinct gases, Crusoe felt perfectly safe in replying “Yes,” with his tail. Immediately after he added, “Hallo! did you hear that?”—with his ears.Dick did hear it, and sprang hastily to his feet, as a sound like, yet unlike, distant thunder came faintly down upon the breeze. In a few seconds the sound increased to a roar in which was mingled the wild cries of men. Neither Dick nor Crusoe moved, for the sounds came from behind the heights in front of them, and they felt that the only way to solve the question, “What can the sounds be?” was to wait till the sounds should solve it themselves.Suddenly the muffled sounds gave place to the distinct bellowing of cattle, the clatter of innumerable hoofs, and the yells of savage men, while at the same moment the edges of the opposite cliffs became alive with Indians and buffaloes rushing about in frantic haste—the former almost mad with savage excitement, the latter with blind rage and terror.On reaching the edge of the dizzy precipice, the buffaloes turned abruptly and tossed their ponderous heads as they coursed along the edge. Yet a few of them, unable to check their headlong course, fell over, and were dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Such falls, Dick observed, were hailed with shouts of delight by the Indians, whose sole object evidently was to enjoy the sport of driving the terrified animals over the precipice. The wily savages had chosen their ground well for this purpose.The cliff immediately opposite to Dick Varley was a huge projection from the precipice that hemmed in the gorge, or species of cape or promontory several hundred yards wide at the base, and narrowing abruptly to a point. The sides of this wedge-shaped projection were quite perpendicular; indeed, in some places the top overhung the base, and they were at least three hundred feet high. Broken and jagged rocks, of that peculiarly chaotic character which probably suggested the name to this part of the great American chain, projected from, and were scattered all round, the cliffs. Over these the Indians, whose numbers increased every moment, strove to drive the luckless herd of buffaloes that had chanced to fall in their way. The task was easy. The unsuspecting animals, of which there were hundreds, rushed in a dense mass upon the cape referred to. On they came with irresistible impetuosity, bellowing furiously, while their hoofs thundered on the turf with the muffled continuous roar of a distant, but mighty cataract—the Indians, meanwhile, urging them on by hideous yell and frantic gesture.The advance-guard came bounding madly to the edge of the precipice. Here they stopped short, and gazed affrighted at the gulf below. It was but for a moment. The irresistible momentum of the flying mass behind pushed them over. Down they came, absolutely a living cataract, upon the rocks below. Some struck on the projecting rocks in the descent, and their bodies were dashed almost in pieces, while their blood spurted out in showers. Others leaped from rock to rock with awful bounds, until, losing their foot-hold, they fell headlong, while others descended sheer down into the sweltering mass that lay shattered at the base of the cliffs.Dick Varley and his dog remained rooted to the rock, as they gazed at the sickening sight, as if petrified. Scarce fifty of that noble herd of buffaloes escaped the awful leap, but they escaped only to fall before the arrows of their ruthless pursuers. Dick had often heard of this tendency of the Indians, where buffaloes were very numerous, to drive them over precipices in mere wanton sport and cruelty, but he had never seen it until now, and the sight filled his soul with horror. It was not until the din and tumult of the perishing herd and the shrill yells of the Indians had almost died away that he turned to quit the spot. But the instant he did so another shout was raised. The savages had observed him, and were seen galloping along the cliffs towards the head of the gorge, with the obvious intention of gaining the other side and capturing him. Dick sprang on Charlie’s back, and the next instant was flying down the valley towards the camp.He did not, however, fear being overtaken, for the gorge could not be crossed, and the way round the head of it was long and rugged; but he was anxious to alarm the camp as quickly as possible, so that they might have time to call in the more distant trappers and make preparations for defence.“Where away now, youngster,” inquired Cameron, emerging from his tent as Dick, taking the brook that flowed in front at a flying leap, came crashing through the bushes into the midst of the fur-packs at full speed.“Injuns!” ejaculated Dick, reining up, and vaulting out of the saddle. “Hundreds of ’em. Fiends incarnate every one!”“Are they near?”“Yes; an hour ’ll bring them down on us. Are Joe and Henri far from camp to-day?”“At Ten-mile Creek,” replied Cameron with an expression of bitterness, as he caught up his gun and shouted to several men, who hurried up on seeing our hero’s burst into camp.“Ten-mile Creek!” muttered Dick. “I’ll bring ’em in, though,” he continued, glancing at several of the camp horses that grazed close at hand.In another moment he was on Charlie’s back, the line of one of the best horses was in his hand, and almost before Cameron knew what he was about he was flying down the valley like the wind. Charlie often stretched out at full speed to please his young master, but seldom had he been urged forward as he was upon this occasion. The led horse being light and wild, kept well up, and, in a marvellously short space of time, they were at Ten-mile Creek.“Hallo, Dick, wot’s to do?” inquired Joe Blunt, who was up to his knees in the water, setting a trap at the moment his friend galloped up.“Injuns! Where’s Henri?” demanded Dick.“At the head o’ the dam there.”Dick was off in a moment, and almost instantly returned with Henri galloping beside him.No word was spoken. In time of action these men did not waste words. During Dick’s momentary absence, Joe Blunt had caught up his rifle and examined the priming, so that when Dick pulled up beside him, he merely laid his hand on the saddle, saying, “All right!” as he vaulted on Charlie’s back behind his young companion. In another moment they were away at full speed. The mustang seemed to feel that unwonted exertions were required of him. Double weighted though he was, he kept well up with the other horse, and in less than two hours after Dick’s leaving the camp the three hunters came in sight of it.Meanwhile Cameron had collected nearly all his forces, and put his camp in a state of defence before the Indians arrived, which they did suddenly, and, as usual, at full gallop, to the amount of at least two hundred. They did not at first seem disposed to hold friendly intercourse with the trappers, but assembled in a semicircle round the camp in a menacing attitude, while one of their chiefs stepped forward to hold a palaver. For some time the conversation on both sides was polite enough, but by degrees the Indian chief assumed an imperious tone, and demanded gifts from the trappers, taking care to enforce his request by hinting that thousands of his countrymen were not far distant. Cameron stoutly refused, and the palaver threatened to come to an abrupt and unpleasant termination just at the time that Dick and his friends appeared on the scene of action.The brook was cleared at a bound; the three hunters leaped from their steeds and sprang to the front with a degree of energy that had a visible effect on the savages, and Cameron, seizing the moment, proposed that the two parties should smoke a pipe and hold a council. The Indians agreed, and in a few minutes they were engaged in animated and friendly intercourse. The speeches were long, and the compliments paid on either side were inflated, and, we fear, undeserved; but the result of the interview was, that Cameron made the Indians a present of tobacco and a few trinkets, and sent them back to their friends to tell them that he was willing to trade with them.Next day the whole tribe arrived in the valley, and pitched their deerskin tents on the plain opposite to the camp of the white men. Their numbers far exceeded Cameron’s expectation, and it was with some anxiety that he proceeded to strengthen his fortifications as much as circumstances and the nature of the ground would admit.The Indian camp, which numbered upwards of a thousand souls, was arranged with great regularity, and was divided into three distinct sections, each section being composed of a separate tribe. The Great Snake Nation at that time embraced three tribes or divisions—namely, the Shirry-dikas, or dog-eaters; the War-are-ree-kas, or fish-eaters; and the Banattees, or robbers. These were the most numerous and powerful Indians on the west side of the Rocky Mountains. The Shirry-dikas dwelt in the plains, and hunted the buffaloes; dressed well; were cleanly; rich in horses; bold, independent, and good warriors. The War-are-ree-kas lived chiefly by fishing, and were found on the banks of the rivers and lakes throughout the country. They were more corpulent, slovenly, and indolent than the Shirry-dikas, and more peaceful. The Banattees, as we have before mentioned, were the robbers of the mountains. They were a wild and contemptible race, and at enmity with every one. In summer they went about nearly naked. In winter they clothed themselves in the skins of rabbits and wolves. Being excellent mimics, they could imitate the howling of wolves, the neighing of horses, and the cries of birds, by which means they could approach travellers, rob them, and then fly to their rocky fastnesses in the mountains, where pursuit was vain.Such were the men who now assembled in front of the camp of the fur-traders, and Cameron soon found that the news of his presence in the country had spread far and wide among the natives, bringing them to the neighbourhood of his camp in immense crowds, so that, during the next few days, their numbers increased to thousands.Several long palavers quickly ensued between the red men and the white, and the two great chiefs who seemed to hold despotic rule over the assembled tribes were extremely favourable to the idea of universal peace which was propounded to them. In several set speeches of great length and very considerable power, these natural orators explained their willingness to enter into amicable relations with all the surrounding nations as well as with the white men.“But,” said Pee-eye-em, the chief of the Shirry-dikas, a man above six feet high, and of immense muscular strength,—“but my tribe cannot answer for the Banattees, who are robbers, and cannot be punished, because they dwell in scattered families among the mountains. The Banattees are bad; they cannot be trusted.”None of the Banattees were present at the council when this was said; and if they had been it would have mattered little, for they were neither fierce nor courageous, although bold enough in their own haunts to murder and rob the unwary.The second chief did not quite agree with Pee-eye-em; he said that it was impossible for them to make peace with their natural enemies, the Peigans and the Blackfeet on the east side of the mountains. It was very desirable, he admitted, but neither of these tribes would consent to it, he felt sure.Upon this Joe blunt rose and said, “The great chief of the War-are-ree-kas is wise, and knows that enemies cannot be reconciled unless deputies are sent to make proposals of peace.”“The Pale-face does not know the Blackfeet,” answered the chief. “Who will go into the lands of the Blackfeet? My young men have been sent once and again, and their scalps are now fringes to the leggings of their enemies. The War-are-ree-kas do not cross the mountains but for the purpose of making war.”“The chief speaks truth,” returned Joe, “yet there are three men round the council-fire who will go to the Blackfeet and the Peigans with messages of peace from the Snakes if they wish it.”Joe pointed to himself, Henri, and Dick as he spoke, and added, “We three do not belong to the camp of the fur-traders; we only lodge with them for a time. The Great Chief of the white men has sent us to make peace with the Red-men, and to tell them that he desires to trade with them—to exchange hatchets, and guns, and blankets for furs.”This declaration interested the two chiefs greatly, and after a good deal of discussion they agreed to take advantage of Joe Blunt’s offer, and appoint him as a deputy to the court of their enemies. Having arranged these matters to their satisfaction, Cameron bestowed a red flag and a blue surtout with brass buttons on each of the chiefs, and a variety of smaller articles on the other members of the council, and sent them away in a particularly amiable frame of mind.Pee-eye-em burst the blue surtout at the shoulders and elbows in putting it on, as it was much too small for his gigantic frame, but, never having seen such an article of apparel before, he either regarded this as the natural and proper consequence of putting it on, or was totally indifferent to it, for he merely looked at the rents with a smile of satisfaction, while his squaw surreptitiously cut off the two back buttons and thrust them into her bosom.By the time the council closed the night was far advanced, and a bright moon was shedding a flood of soft light over the picturesque and busy scene.“I’ll go to the Injun camp,” said Joe to Walter Cameron, as the chiefs rose to depart. “The season’s far enough advanced already; it’s time to be off; and if I’m to speak for the Red-skins in the Blackfeet Council, I’d need to know what to say.”“Please yourself, Master Blunt,” answered Cameron. “I like your company and that of your friends, and if it suited you I would be glad to take you along with us to the coast of the Pacific; but your mission among the Indians is a good one, and I’ll help it on all I can. I suppose you will go also?” he added, turning to Dick Varley, who was still seated beside the council-fire caressing Crusoe.“Wherever Joe goes, I go,” answered Dick.Crusoe’s tail, ears and eyes demonstrated high approval of the sentiment involved in this speech.“And your friend Henri?”“He goes too,” answered Joe. “It’s as well that the Red-skins should see the three o’ us before we start for the east side o’ the mountains. Ho! Henri, come here, lad.”Henri obeyed, and in a few seconds the three friends crossed the brook to the Indian camp, and were guided to the principal lodge by Pee-eye-em. Here a great council was held, and the proposed attempt at negotiations for peace with their ancient enemies fully discussed. While they were thus engaged, and just as Pee-eye-em had, in the energy of an enthusiastic peroration burst the blue surtoutalmostup to the collar, a distant rushing sound was heard, which caused every man to spring to his feet, run out of the tent, and seize his weapons.“What can it be, Joe?” whispered Dick, as they stood at the tent door leaning on their rifles, and listening intently.“Dunno,” 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 further 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 stampedo!” cried Joe, springing to the assistance of Pee-eye-em, whose favourite horses were picketted 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, etcetera, 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 “stampedo,” 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 ye 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 over-run 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 there 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-trader’s camp where he was picketted 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 mindneverto 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 stampedo,” 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 re-assembled, 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.

One day Dick Varley was out on a solitary hunting expedition near the rocky gorge, where his horse had received temporary burial a week or two before. Crusoe was with him, of course. Dick had tied Charlie to a tree, and was sunning himself on the edge of a cliff, from the top of which he had a fine view of the valley and the rugged precipices that hemmed it in.

Just in front of the spot on which he sat, the precipices on the opposite side of the gorge rose to a considerable height above him, so that their ragged outlines were drawn sharply across the clear sky. Dick was gazing in dreamy silence at the jutting rocks and dark caverns, and speculating on the probable number of bears that dwelt there, when a slight degree of restlessness on the part of Crusoe attracted him.

“What is’t, pup?” said he, laying his hand on the dog’s broad back.

Crusoe looked the answer, “I don’t know, Dick, but it’ssomething, you may depend upon it, else I would not have disturbed you.”

Dick lifted his rifle from the ground, and laid it in the hollow of his left arm.

“There must be something in the wind,” remarked Dick.

As wind is known to be composed of two distinct gases, Crusoe felt perfectly safe in replying “Yes,” with his tail. Immediately after he added, “Hallo! did you hear that?”—with his ears.

Dick did hear it, and sprang hastily to his feet, as a sound like, yet unlike, distant thunder came faintly down upon the breeze. In a few seconds the sound increased to a roar in which was mingled the wild cries of men. Neither Dick nor Crusoe moved, for the sounds came from behind the heights in front of them, and they felt that the only way to solve the question, “What can the sounds be?” was to wait till the sounds should solve it themselves.

Suddenly the muffled sounds gave place to the distinct bellowing of cattle, the clatter of innumerable hoofs, and the yells of savage men, while at the same moment the edges of the opposite cliffs became alive with Indians and buffaloes rushing about in frantic haste—the former almost mad with savage excitement, the latter with blind rage and terror.

On reaching the edge of the dizzy precipice, the buffaloes turned abruptly and tossed their ponderous heads as they coursed along the edge. Yet a few of them, unable to check their headlong course, fell over, and were dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Such falls, Dick observed, were hailed with shouts of delight by the Indians, whose sole object evidently was to enjoy the sport of driving the terrified animals over the precipice. The wily savages had chosen their ground well for this purpose.

The cliff immediately opposite to Dick Varley was a huge projection from the precipice that hemmed in the gorge, or species of cape or promontory several hundred yards wide at the base, and narrowing abruptly to a point. The sides of this wedge-shaped projection were quite perpendicular; indeed, in some places the top overhung the base, and they were at least three hundred feet high. Broken and jagged rocks, of that peculiarly chaotic character which probably suggested the name to this part of the great American chain, projected from, and were scattered all round, the cliffs. Over these the Indians, whose numbers increased every moment, strove to drive the luckless herd of buffaloes that had chanced to fall in their way. The task was easy. The unsuspecting animals, of which there were hundreds, rushed in a dense mass upon the cape referred to. On they came with irresistible impetuosity, bellowing furiously, while their hoofs thundered on the turf with the muffled continuous roar of a distant, but mighty cataract—the Indians, meanwhile, urging them on by hideous yell and frantic gesture.

The advance-guard came bounding madly to the edge of the precipice. Here they stopped short, and gazed affrighted at the gulf below. It was but for a moment. The irresistible momentum of the flying mass behind pushed them over. Down they came, absolutely a living cataract, upon the rocks below. Some struck on the projecting rocks in the descent, and their bodies were dashed almost in pieces, while their blood spurted out in showers. Others leaped from rock to rock with awful bounds, until, losing their foot-hold, they fell headlong, while others descended sheer down into the sweltering mass that lay shattered at the base of the cliffs.

Dick Varley and his dog remained rooted to the rock, as they gazed at the sickening sight, as if petrified. Scarce fifty of that noble herd of buffaloes escaped the awful leap, but they escaped only to fall before the arrows of their ruthless pursuers. Dick had often heard of this tendency of the Indians, where buffaloes were very numerous, to drive them over precipices in mere wanton sport and cruelty, but he had never seen it until now, and the sight filled his soul with horror. It was not until the din and tumult of the perishing herd and the shrill yells of the Indians had almost died away that he turned to quit the spot. But the instant he did so another shout was raised. The savages had observed him, and were seen galloping along the cliffs towards the head of the gorge, with the obvious intention of gaining the other side and capturing him. Dick sprang on Charlie’s back, and the next instant was flying down the valley towards the camp.

He did not, however, fear being overtaken, for the gorge could not be crossed, and the way round the head of it was long and rugged; but he was anxious to alarm the camp as quickly as possible, so that they might have time to call in the more distant trappers and make preparations for defence.

“Where away now, youngster,” inquired Cameron, emerging from his tent as Dick, taking the brook that flowed in front at a flying leap, came crashing through the bushes into the midst of the fur-packs at full speed.

“Injuns!” ejaculated Dick, reining up, and vaulting out of the saddle. “Hundreds of ’em. Fiends incarnate every one!”

“Are they near?”

“Yes; an hour ’ll bring them down on us. Are Joe and Henri far from camp to-day?”

“At Ten-mile Creek,” replied Cameron with an expression of bitterness, as he caught up his gun and shouted to several men, who hurried up on seeing our hero’s burst into camp.

“Ten-mile Creek!” muttered Dick. “I’ll bring ’em in, though,” he continued, glancing at several of the camp horses that grazed close at hand.

In another moment he was on Charlie’s back, the line of one of the best horses was in his hand, and almost before Cameron knew what he was about he was flying down the valley like the wind. Charlie often stretched out at full speed to please his young master, but seldom had he been urged forward as he was upon this occasion. The led horse being light and wild, kept well up, and, in a marvellously short space of time, they were at Ten-mile Creek.

“Hallo, Dick, wot’s to do?” inquired Joe Blunt, who was up to his knees in the water, setting a trap at the moment his friend galloped up.

“Injuns! Where’s Henri?” demanded Dick.

“At the head o’ the dam there.”

Dick was off in a moment, and almost instantly returned with Henri galloping beside him.

No word was spoken. In time of action these men did not waste words. During Dick’s momentary absence, Joe Blunt had caught up his rifle and examined the priming, so that when Dick pulled up beside him, he merely laid his hand on the saddle, saying, “All right!” as he vaulted on Charlie’s back behind his young companion. In another moment they were away at full speed. The mustang seemed to feel that unwonted exertions were required of him. Double weighted though he was, he kept well up with the other horse, and in less than two hours after Dick’s leaving the camp the three hunters came in sight of it.

Meanwhile Cameron had collected nearly all his forces, and put his camp in a state of defence before the Indians arrived, which they did suddenly, and, as usual, at full gallop, to the amount of at least two hundred. They did not at first seem disposed to hold friendly intercourse with the trappers, but assembled in a semicircle round the camp in a menacing attitude, while one of their chiefs stepped forward to hold a palaver. For some time the conversation on both sides was polite enough, but by degrees the Indian chief assumed an imperious tone, and demanded gifts from the trappers, taking care to enforce his request by hinting that thousands of his countrymen were not far distant. Cameron stoutly refused, and the palaver threatened to come to an abrupt and unpleasant termination just at the time that Dick and his friends appeared on the scene of action.

The brook was cleared at a bound; the three hunters leaped from their steeds and sprang to the front with a degree of energy that had a visible effect on the savages, and Cameron, seizing the moment, proposed that the two parties should smoke a pipe and hold a council. The Indians agreed, and in a few minutes they were engaged in animated and friendly intercourse. The speeches were long, and the compliments paid on either side were inflated, and, we fear, undeserved; but the result of the interview was, that Cameron made the Indians a present of tobacco and a few trinkets, and sent them back to their friends to tell them that he was willing to trade with them.

Next day the whole tribe arrived in the valley, and pitched their deerskin tents on the plain opposite to the camp of the white men. Their numbers far exceeded Cameron’s expectation, and it was with some anxiety that he proceeded to strengthen his fortifications as much as circumstances and the nature of the ground would admit.

The Indian camp, which numbered upwards of a thousand souls, was arranged with great regularity, and was divided into three distinct sections, each section being composed of a separate tribe. The Great Snake Nation at that time embraced three tribes or divisions—namely, the Shirry-dikas, or dog-eaters; the War-are-ree-kas, or fish-eaters; and the Banattees, or robbers. These were the most numerous and powerful Indians on the west side of the Rocky Mountains. The Shirry-dikas dwelt in the plains, and hunted the buffaloes; dressed well; were cleanly; rich in horses; bold, independent, and good warriors. The War-are-ree-kas lived chiefly by fishing, and were found on the banks of the rivers and lakes throughout the country. They were more corpulent, slovenly, and indolent than the Shirry-dikas, and more peaceful. The Banattees, as we have before mentioned, were the robbers of the mountains. They were a wild and contemptible race, and at enmity with every one. In summer they went about nearly naked. In winter they clothed themselves in the skins of rabbits and wolves. Being excellent mimics, they could imitate the howling of wolves, the neighing of horses, and the cries of birds, by which means they could approach travellers, rob them, and then fly to their rocky fastnesses in the mountains, where pursuit was vain.

Such were the men who now assembled in front of the camp of the fur-traders, and Cameron soon found that the news of his presence in the country had spread far and wide among the natives, bringing them to the neighbourhood of his camp in immense crowds, so that, during the next few days, their numbers increased to thousands.

Several long palavers quickly ensued between the red men and the white, and the two great chiefs who seemed to hold despotic rule over the assembled tribes were extremely favourable to the idea of universal peace which was propounded to them. In several set speeches of great length and very considerable power, these natural orators explained their willingness to enter into amicable relations with all the surrounding nations as well as with the white men.

“But,” said Pee-eye-em, the chief of the Shirry-dikas, a man above six feet high, and of immense muscular strength,—“but my tribe cannot answer for the Banattees, who are robbers, and cannot be punished, because they dwell in scattered families among the mountains. The Banattees are bad; they cannot be trusted.”

None of the Banattees were present at the council when this was said; and if they had been it would have mattered little, for they were neither fierce nor courageous, although bold enough in their own haunts to murder and rob the unwary.

The second chief did not quite agree with Pee-eye-em; he said that it was impossible for them to make peace with their natural enemies, the Peigans and the Blackfeet on the east side of the mountains. It was very desirable, he admitted, but neither of these tribes would consent to it, he felt sure.

Upon this Joe blunt rose and said, “The great chief of the War-are-ree-kas is wise, and knows that enemies cannot be reconciled unless deputies are sent to make proposals of peace.”

“The Pale-face does not know the Blackfeet,” answered the chief. “Who will go into the lands of the Blackfeet? My young men have been sent once and again, and their scalps are now fringes to the leggings of their enemies. The War-are-ree-kas do not cross the mountains but for the purpose of making war.”

“The chief speaks truth,” returned Joe, “yet there are three men round the council-fire who will go to the Blackfeet and the Peigans with messages of peace from the Snakes if they wish it.”

Joe pointed to himself, Henri, and Dick as he spoke, and added, “We three do not belong to the camp of the fur-traders; we only lodge with them for a time. The Great Chief of the white men has sent us to make peace with the Red-men, and to tell them that he desires to trade with them—to exchange hatchets, and guns, and blankets for furs.”

This declaration interested the two chiefs greatly, and after a good deal of discussion they agreed to take advantage of Joe Blunt’s offer, and appoint him as a deputy to the court of their enemies. Having arranged these matters to their satisfaction, Cameron bestowed a red flag and a blue surtout with brass buttons on each of the chiefs, and a variety of smaller articles on the other members of the council, and sent them away in a particularly amiable frame of mind.

Pee-eye-em burst the blue surtout at the shoulders and elbows in putting it on, as it was much too small for his gigantic frame, but, never having seen such an article of apparel before, he either regarded this as the natural and proper consequence of putting it on, or was totally indifferent to it, for he merely looked at the rents with a smile of satisfaction, while his squaw surreptitiously cut off the two back buttons and thrust them into her bosom.

By the time the council closed the night was far advanced, and a bright moon was shedding a flood of soft light over the picturesque and busy scene.

“I’ll go to the Injun camp,” said Joe to Walter Cameron, as the chiefs rose to depart. “The season’s far enough advanced already; it’s time to be off; and if I’m to speak for the Red-skins in the Blackfeet Council, I’d need to know what to say.”

“Please yourself, Master Blunt,” answered Cameron. “I like your company and that of your friends, and if it suited you I would be glad to take you along with us to the coast of the Pacific; but your mission among the Indians is a good one, and I’ll help it on all I can. I suppose you will go also?” he added, turning to Dick Varley, who was still seated beside the council-fire caressing Crusoe.

“Wherever Joe goes, I go,” answered Dick.

Crusoe’s tail, ears and eyes demonstrated high approval of the sentiment involved in this speech.

“And your friend Henri?”

“He goes too,” answered Joe. “It’s as well that the Red-skins should see the three o’ us before we start for the east side o’ the mountains. Ho! Henri, come here, lad.”

Henri obeyed, and in a few seconds the three friends crossed the brook to the Indian camp, and were guided to the principal lodge by Pee-eye-em. Here a great council was held, and the proposed attempt at negotiations for peace with their ancient enemies fully discussed. While they were thus engaged, and just as Pee-eye-em had, in the energy of an enthusiastic peroration burst the blue surtoutalmostup to the collar, a distant rushing sound was heard, which caused every man to spring to his feet, run out of the tent, and seize his weapons.

“What can it be, Joe?” whispered Dick, as they stood at the tent door leaning on their rifles, and listening intently.

“Dunno,” 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 further 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 stampedo!” cried Joe, springing to the assistance of Pee-eye-em, whose favourite horses were picketted 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, etcetera, 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 “stampedo,” 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 ye 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 over-run 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 there 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-trader’s camp where he was picketted 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 mindneverto 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 stampedo,” 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 re-assembled, 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.

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