JOE, ROB, AND THE OLD TRAPPER—GENERAL CUSTER ARRIVES AT THE RENDEZVOUS—THE WOLF DENS—FIRST TUSSLE BETWEEN THE HOUNDS AND A WOLF—CINCH'S GREAT BATTLE
Themorning of the wolf hunt came at last. Before six o'clock, Mr. Tucker, four near neighbors, and the two Thompson boys rode out from Errolstrath toward the appointed rendezvous, at the mouth of the Oxhide.
As all dogs work better on an empty stomach, the hounds, Brutus and Bluey, had not been fed that morning, so that their appetites for the chase should be keen.
The little party from the ranche arrived at the mouth of the Oxhide before the contingent from Fort Harker. They did not have to wait many minutes, for they soon saw a cloud of dust on the Smoky Hill trail, and presently the General's four great hounds came bounding along. Closely following them was Custer on a magnificent animal. Colonel Keogh rode his favorite horse,Comanche, which had been wounded in the battle with the Cheyennes, on Mulberry Creek, when the command had a doubtful victory under General Sully. Comanche was destined to become more celebrated a few years later, when he and a single Crow Indian were the sole survivors of the unequal fight with the Sioux under the notorious Sitting Bull. It was there that Custer and all of the famous troopers with him went down to annihilation, in the valley of the Rosebud.
The General and Colonel Keogh greeted the party, and they rode on at a slow pace. They wanted to save the wind of both the horses and dogs, for the supreme moment when the wolves should give them all the excitement they might desire.
About seven miles from Errolstrath, the Smoky Hill makes a grand sweep to the southeast, the curve forming nearly half a circle. Bordering the river at that point is a series of immense limestone bluffs whose scarped sides come down to the water. The plateau which crowns the bluffs is honeycombed with holes, the dens of the big prairie wolf. They intended literallyto beard the ferocious beasts there, for the wolf prowls by night and remains in his lair in the daytime. The General, the Colonel, the old trapper, and the boys were in front, while the hounds trailed after the horses, and were not allowed to advance until the word was given for them to do so.
Custer's dogs were of rare breed, and had been presented to him by some English or Scotch nobleman. They were rough in coat, muscular, fleet of foot, and fully able to cope with the biggest wolf that dared tackle them.
The zigzag trail leading to the summit of the high bluff where the business was expected to begin, was reached about half-past seven, and the tedious ascent was commenced. Arriving on the top at a point where a heavy belt of timber skirted the edge toward the river, they all halted to rest a few moments before they went out into the open where the wolves were.
An occasional low growl and a snarl were wafted by the breeze toward them, where they were concealed among the great trees. The hounds listened with ears cocked up, and uttered a whine now and then, as they gazed wistfully into theirmasters' faces. They were impatient for the fray like the charger who "smelleth the battle afar," but the time had not yet come for them to do their work.
The morning was deliciously cool. The ground was just covered with a slight coating of frost, making friction enough to insure safety for the horses. They would be called upon to do some hard running, and the rough plain where the wolves were, was sandy and treacherous, from the constant digging and scratching of the quarrelsome beasts themselves.
"A perfect day for the fun," said the General, turning to the old trapper, who had dismounted and was cinching his saddle a little tighter.
"Yes, General," replied he, "we could not have a better morning. The wind is just right for the dogs' noses, though I suppose those beautiful hounds of yours run both by scent and sight?"
"They are fine specimens of their species, not very graceful or beautiful, perhaps, but for muscle and endurance, I don't believe that there is a wolf on the plains which can get the better of one of them in a fair fight. They have had several tussles single-handed, but so far havecome out without anything more serious than a few scratches. Their jaws are as powerful as a bull dog's, and they hold on with all that animal's tenacity. I look for some fine sport to-day; there will be some lively coursing if we succeed in getting the wolves out of their holes."
"Bluey," said Joe, who was sitting on his pony alongside of Custer, "is a great fighter; he has had three or four tussles with wolves, and came out on top every time. He has the most wonderful shaking powers I ever saw in any dog, and he has whipped two or three bull dogs in the neighborhood. They all give him a wide berth now, whenever they see him coming. Brutus is quite a young hound yet, and although he is good with rabbits, and did some splendid work when we had that fight with the lynx, he has never really shown what he can do. I guess he'll have a chance to show his mettle to-day."
"I advise all of you to cinch up your saddles," suggested the General, "as Mr. Tucker has already done, for you don't want to be tumbled off by a loose cinch. We'll make a break for the wolves in a few minutes; the hounds are uneasy, and I guess our horses are sufficiently rested now."
When the last saddle was cinched up, Custer gave the word "forward," and the party moved out of the timber. The hounds cavorted around when they saw signs of active work, but they were restrained from rushing too far ahead by a word from their masters.
The hunters rode slowly at first, until they had emerged from the timber. They then broke into a lope, separating to a distance of about fifty yards from each other. Custer was on the right, followed by the old trapper and Joe; while Rob and Colonel Keogh with the others of the party brought up the left.
Although they were out of the standing timber, there were a great many fallen trees scattered over the ground, and they were obliged to jump over these, as they could not afford to waste the time to go round.
There was one immense black walnut trunk over which all had gone very easily excepting Colonel Keogh and Rob. When these two reached the obstacle, Rob's buffalo pony took it flying, but as Comanche rose to make the leap, the effort burst the cinch of the saddle, and the Colonel was thrown. He fortunately struck onhis feet and held on to the bridle reins, so the animal did not get away. His orderly rushed up, and it did not take more than five minutes to change saddles, and give the Colonel a mount again.
By that time Custer and the others were far in advance, for they had increased their pace as the hounds sighted their quarry. Some were in full cry, the rest silent, according to the habits of their species. A huge wolf had come out of his hole to learn what the thud of the horses' hoofs meant, had seen the dogs, and immediately bristled up ready for battle.
The lean and hungry-looking brute stood motionless, awaiting the arrival of the pack of hounds. The hair along his spine stood erect like a mad cat's, and his tail swelled to twice its normal proportions. They were heading for him with tongues out and their long necks stretched, ready for the impending battle.
In another instant, when the shock came, there was a chaotic whirlwind of wolf, dog, hair, and blood, accompanied by snarls, growls, and squeals. This cyclone of enraged canines was enveloped in a cloud of dust which fairly obscured the combatantsfor a few seconds; but when it settled there was a dead wolf, literally torn to shreds, and a hound or two limping along, nearlyhors de combat, after the terrible struggle.
The noise of the fight caused a dozen or more of the denizens of the bluff to crawl out of their dens and look around to learn what was meant by this invasion of their sacred precincts.
Some just poked their heads up, and all you could see were their great ears. Others came up bristling with fight, and some, the cowardly ones, giving one look at the party of horsemen and the pack of hounds, tucked their bushy tails between their legs, and scooted off over the plateau, yelping like whipped curs!
In a moment, spying those wolves that had apparently accepted the wager of battle, the dogs made a grand rush for them, some in pairs, some singly.
General Sheridan owned a magnificent smooth-haired hound, named Cinch, from the fact that round his belly was a dark circle, resembling a saddle-cinch. He was a very powerful animal, and had been brought with the pack by General Custer, on account of his well-known stayingqualities. Cinch had selected a monstrous beast, a little larger than himself, as his victim, and forthwith attacked him singly.
The wolf stood firmly at the mouth of his den, awaiting the approach of Cinch with a sort of self-satisfied look, as though he would tear to pieces that civilized specimen of his own genus. With a growl and a snapping of their great white teeth they came together. How the hair did fly as they bit whole mouthfuls out of each other! It was an awful struggle for canine supremacy. Every one of the party abandoned his quarry elsewhere—although Bluey was making a glorious fight with another monster not a hundred yards away, and the rest of the pack were hard at work on a number that had attacked them in concert—to witness the battle royal between Cinch and the largest wolf that they had ever seen.
At last Cinch succeeded in getting a firm hold on his shaggy antagonist's throat. It proved to be a "knock-out," for when Cinch had done with him, the wolf was stretched out dead. The hound himself did not escape without serious wounds. His fore paws were bittenthrough and through. One of his eyes was badly torn, and great pieces of hide hung in strings from several parts of his body. He was nearly done for, so badly hurt, that the General told one of his orderlies to take the poor dog on the saddle in front of him, and carry him back to the fort for repairs.
They then turned their attention to Bluey. By the time they came up to him he had just finished his antagonist as completely as had Cinch. The wolf was dead, and the old hound was busy licking his own wounds, of which he had many.
The rest of the pack which had been fighting together had killed four, but two of their number had succumbed to the fierce attacks of their opponents, and were dead. Joe and Rob were delighted to know that Bluey and Brutus were all right after the several battles, excepting a few bites which would soon heal.
In taking an inventory of the number of wolves killed by the hounds, they found seven in all. Their hides were so badly torn that they were not worth skinning, so their carcasses were left just where they fell.
It was considered a good morning's work, as it was but eleven o'clock when Cinch had put the finishing touches on his victim. The men were tired after their rough ride, and the hounds slowly followed, tongues out, and many of them limping fearfully. In this way they rode together back to the mouth of the Oxhide, then separated and went to their respective homes.
A WILD TURKEY HUNT—THE TRIP TO MUD CREEK—THE TURKEY ROOST—THE SHOOTING BEGINS—COUNTING THE NUMBER KILLED—JOE SELLS TURKEYS
WhenMr. Tucker, Joe, and Rob arrived at Errolstrath, it was just one o'clock. The family had kept dinner waiting, and everything was ready to put on the table by the time the horses were fed and the hounds' wounds rubbed with witch-hazel. Mrs. Thompson used to prepare this remedy herself, and she considered it the best thing in the world for injuries.
At dinner the boys and the old trapper entertained the family with an account of the morning's hunt, telling them how splendidly both Bluey and Brutus had behaved in company with such thoroughbreds as Custer's hounds, and especially with General Sheridan's famous Cinch, who was supposed to be the finest animal of his kind in the country.
They all adjourned to the broad veranda afterdinner was over, excepting the girls who had to clear up the things. Mr. Tucker said that Colonel Keogh had told him that some of the officers' families who had just come from the East to Fort Harker were very desirous for wild turkey, which they had not yet tasted.
"He wanted me to ask you, Joe, if you cannot soon get them a few. I know that this is the very best time to hunt them, so let you, and Rob, and me go to that roost on Mud Creek this evening. It's full moon to-night, and we shall never have a better chance."
"All right," promptly spoke up both of the boys. "We'll have to take our ponies," said Joe, "for it's fully six miles. I was down there the other afternoon, and I should think that hundreds roost there."
"What time ought we to leave here?" inquired Rob. "You know that my month to herd and milk the cows is not out yet, and I want to do my work before I go; not that father would not do it willingly for me in a case of this kind, but I don't care to bother him; he has enough to do with the other stock."
"Oh!" said Joe, "we need not get away fromhere until long after supper. The birds won't come to their roost until it is nearly dark, and as we always have supper at six, and can ride down to Mud Creek easily in an hour, you will have ample time to do your chores, Rob, without hurrying a bit."
"Tell us something about the wild turkey, Mr. Tucker," said Rob. "You know all the habits of our beasts and birds."
"Well, Rob," said the old trapper, "the wild turkey is one of the indigenous birds of America. He once flourished from the most remote eastern boundary of the United States to every part of the far West. Now, through the wantonness of man, he is rapidly disappearing, as is nearly all of our large game. There are still plenty here in Kansas. The wild turkey makes his haunts in the timber, and being gregarious birds they keep together in large flocks, and roost in the same place for years, if not disturbed. All of our domestic turkeys have come from the wild stock, but the wild ones are still larger than the tame ones in many instances. I have shot them in nearly every place in the country where I have hunted. They are stupid in refusing to leavetheir roosts at night when shot at. They persistently fly back again to the same trees, when they could just as easily fly away out of danger. In such times they are almost as foolish as the sage hen, which in my opinion is the most stupid bird that flies. You can shoot at them until you hit them, if it takes a week; they won't move."
Just as the sun sank behind the hills beyond the Oxhide bluffs, Joe, Rob, and Mr. Tucker left Errolstrath for the turkey roost on Mud Creek. The old trapper rode Joe's buffalo pony, while Joe mounted the little roan which had brought his sister so safely from the Indian village; Rob rode Ginger, which Kate had kindly loaned him for the occasion.
They followed the trail up the creek for about a mile, then turned abruptly east over the hills toward Fort Sill military road, then over the open country for another mile, until they arrived at the head of Mud Creek.
The moon had risen in a cloudless sky, and it shines nowhere so brilliantly as in our mid-continent region. Every tree and bush cast a shadow, and the trail over the prairie waslightedup with a golden sheen, so soft and mellowthatyou could have seen a pin where the grass had been shorn away.
When they arrived at the edge of the woods in the centre of which was the resting-place of the birds, they tied their ponies to saplings, and then quietly walked on into the timber. As soon as they had come in the vicinity of the roost, they squatted on the ground behind the friendly shelter of a large elm, and waited for the coming of events.
They did not have long to wait. Before they had been there a half an hour, two large flocks came stealthily walking down the deep ravines leading into the sheltered bottom where great trees stood in thick clumps, under whose shadow were the unmistakable signs of an immense roost. At the head of each flock, as it unsuspiciously advanced, strutted a magnificent male bird in all the pride of his leadership. Upon his bronze plumage the moon's rays glinted like a calcium light, as its soft beams sifted through the interstices of the bare limbs of the winter-garbed forest.
Whenthe leader of the flock had arrived atthespot where his charge had been accustomedto roost, he suddenly stopped, glanced cautiously around him for a few seconds, then apparently satisfied that all was right, he gave the signal—a sharp, quick, shrill whistle. At that instant, every bird, with one accord and a tremendous fluttering of wing, raised itself and alighted in the topmost branches of the tallest trees.
In a few moments more, numerous flocks having settled themselves for a peaceful slumber, the old trapper said to the boys: "Now is our time; let's begin!"
Joe had his little Ballard rifle, that had never yet played him false on his hunts with the chief of the Pawnees; Rob had a shot-gun, and Mr. Tucker his never-failing old-fashioned piece which he had carried for twenty-five years.
They fired at first almost simultaneously, but after the first discharge each fired on his own hook. The turkeys fell like the leaves in October. The birds not killed at the first fire did not seem to have sense enough, as Mr. Tucker had said, to escape from their doom. They flew from tree to tree at every shot, persistently remaining in the immediate vicinity of the roost, with all the characteristic idiocy of the sage hen.
When it was time to think of going home, they gathered up their birds, and found they had killed fourteen—more than an average of four apiece. It was all they could do to pack the birds on their ponies, and they were compelled to walk them all the way to the ranche to keep the birds from falling off.
The next morning Joe took the turkeys to Fort Harker, where he disposed of them at a fair price, and received many thanks besides, for his prompt action in response to Colonel Keogh's request to go hunting for them.
HOW THE ROBIN CAME TO KANSAS—MOCKING-BIRDS—EATEN BY SNAKES—JOE LOSES HIS TAME ELK—THE LAST OF THE WOLVES—FINDING THE QUAIL'S NEST—JOE BUILDS A CAGE FOR THEM—RAISING CHICKENS
Thewinter was short, and soon came April, with its sunny skies. The robins, wrens, blue jays, and the mocking-birds made the woods melodious with their sweet notes. The violets by the brook side under the shade of the great trees were the first harbingers of the beautiful season, and the dining-table was made odorous with their blue blossoms at every meal. Both Kate and Gertrude loved flowers, and never failed to gather three times a day, a large bowl full of these poems of springtime.
Mr. Tucker surprised them one evening by paying them a visit after a solitary hunting expedition up the creek. The boys soon persuaded him to stay the night, and tell them a story until bedtime.
"What shall it be, hunting or fighting?" said Mr. Tucker, turning to Joe.
Before her brother could speak, Gertrude answered for him. "Tell us that legend about the robin, that you have promised us so often."
"Yes, the robin," said Joe. So they all settled into comfortable positions, and Mr. Tucker told them the following story:—
"The Delaware Indians claim that the robin followed them to Kansas. He has been in the eastern part of the state only since the establishment of their reservation within its limits, according to the legend of the tribe.
"The Delawares, you know, were those Indians with whom William Penn made a treaty, the provisions of which were religiously kept for many years.
"Among the Delawares the robin is sacred. From the gray-headed chiefs to the papoose just freed from the thongs of his hard cradle, they all listen with superstitious love and reverence to his warbling. The bird was once the favorite son of a great sachem of that powerful tribe, changed by the Manitou, but still loving man, and evincing it always by building his nest and singing near his abode.
"Once there was, ages ago, a great chief among the Delawares, who then lived in the far East. He was distinguished for his wisdom in the council, and his success in war. He had many wives, but they brought him daughters only, and he, as well as his nation, was dissatisfied, for he desired a son who should succeed to the honorable position of his father.
"One day when the chief was walking through the village, a dove lit on his shoulder, and then flew and nestled in the bosom of a young Indian maiden to whom it belonged. She was the daughter of the medicine-man of the tribe, and her father declared that the dove was a messenger from the Great Spirit, who had thus shown by that sign that the two should be one.
"The news imparted by the medicine-man was agreeable to the chief, for the girl was beautiful and virtuous. He married her, and she became the favorite wife, who, in due time, greatly to his and the joy of his people, presented him with a son. The boy was called Is-a-dill-a, and he grew up different from all the youth of his age; for he was fond of peace, would not mingle with the crowd who tortured prisoners doomed to death,and his father thought him a coward. One day the father upbraided his son for his peaceful inclinations, and Is-a-dill-a answered:—
"'Great chief of the mighty Delawares, my liver is not white, nor would my blood chill like snow before the enemy, but Is-a-dill-a prefers to gather the wild blossoms which grow upon the prairie, and chase the deer among the cliffs, to lying in ambush for the red man, and sending an arrow into his heart; the Great Spirit, who is father of all the red men, has told me in my dreams to love them all.'
"His father was about to respond angrily to the utterance of a homily so unbecoming a great warrior's son, and the future chief of a powerful tribe, when he saw a huge black bear approaching him with angry demonstrations. The chief was armed, as usual, with bow and arrows, and a stone axe. Is-a-dill-a, without any weapons, was ordered by his father to climb a tree, that he might escape the danger of the impending conflict. The chief, then resting upon one knee, and fixing a selected arrow to his bow, aimed at the eye of the bear, when only a few feet distant. The oscillating motion of the beast's head preventedit from taking fatal effect, and the arrow struck the skull, which was too thick and hard to be penetrated. The now infuriated animal, with a savage growl, sprang upon the chief who dealt it a fearful blow with his stone axe, but was seized in the ponderous paws of the bear, and a mortal struggle ensued. In a moment the chief was bleeding from a hundred wounds, and the animal's mouth was already at his throat, when Is-a-dill-a picked up his father's axe, dealt the beast a powerful blow over the eye, which completely destroyed it, and continued the work until the exhausted animal fell to the earth. But in his death agonies the bear succeeded in embracing Is-a-dill-a and tearing him dreadfully, so that he lay insensible by the side of the dead brute.
"The chief was the first to recover from the swoon in which he had fallen from loss of blood, and as he saw the body of his son lying beside that of the immense bear, it was some time before he could connect the circumstances, for it appeared impossible for a boy of his age to perform such an exploit. He was bitterly grieved, when he thought how pure was the filial affection of his son, and bitterly regretted the reproacheshe had often heaped upon him who was so worthy of honor and affection. He crawled to his son's body,—for he believed him dead,—but feeling that the heart was still beating, with much effort and great pain he succeeded in getting some water from a little spring near by, and applied it to the forehead and lips of the insensible Is-a-dill-a; in a few moments he gave a deep sigh, looked at his father with a glow of recognition, then again became unconscious.
"Fortunately at this moment, three squaws who had been gathering berries, approached, and seeing the condition of the chief and his son, hastened to the village for assistance. By careful nursing, both recovered, and the boy became the object of admiration and reverence; for since his exploit with the bear, none dare dispute his courage, which is the greatest virtue among the Indians.
"As I have already told you, it is necessary for all promising youths to retire into some solitary place, and submit to a long fast, that they may propitiate the Great Spirit. In a few years, Is-a-dill-a expressed his desire to attempt the ordeal. The chief made everything inreadiness, and soon Is-a-dill-a was alone in his little lodge in the wilderness, upon his bed of skin. He looked up with great confidence to the Great Spirit, and felt that the light of his countenance would rest upon him. Every morning his father visited him, and encouraged him to persevere, by appealing to his pride, his ambition, and his noble instincts. The ninth day came and passed, and also the tenth; on the morning of the eleventh Is-a-dill-a was dying with weakness, and his full, rounded muscles had shrunk and withered from the prostrating effects of the terrible ordeal.
"'Father,' said the almost expiring youth, 'I have fasted eleven days, a longer time than man ever fasted before; the Great Spirit is satisfied; give me something to eat that I may not die.'
"'To-morrow, my son, before the bright sun rises, I will bring you venison cooked by your mother; fast until then that your name may become mighty among the great chiefs of the Delawares.'
"The old man departed, proud of the fame his son would acquire; and the next morning, before the sun had risen, he was at the lodge of Is-a-dill-a,with a supply of the most tempting food, but he stood motionless before a strange sight within the lodge. There was a youth with golden wings and most beautiful features, having a halo of light around his head, painting the breast of Is-a-dill-a with vermilion, and his body brown. Then, in a moment, the winged youth was changed to a dove, and Is-a-dill-a to a strange and beautiful bird, and they both flew through the door of the lodge to a tree, and the strange bird thus addressed the chief of the Delawares:
"'Father, farewell. The Great Spirit, when he saw that I was dying from hunger, sent a messenger for me, and I am changed to this bird. I will always preserve my love for man, and will build and carol near his dwelling.'
"The two birds then flew away, but every morning the robin, during the lifetime of the chief, sang from the large oak tree that overshadowed his lodge.
"When the Delawares moved west of the Missouri, the faithful descendants of the strange bird followed them, and that is how the robins came to Kansas."
The mocking-bird, that sweetest of our featheredsongsters, is indigenous to the central region of the great plains, and his notes are heard when the day breaks. He seeks the highest points upon the dwellings, the ridge of the house, the barn, or the top of the windmill, if there be one, where, like the Aztecs of old, or their lineal descendants, the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico to-day, he greets the coming god in the east.
Like the robin, the mocking-bird loves the companionship of man. He builds his nest near their dwellings, in the garden, the orchard, or the trees close by. Kate and Gertrude had made several attempts to get hold of some little ones in their nests, but there was always something that seemed to thwart their plans. Last year they found a nest in a grapevine in the garden, and they watched it zealously day by day, from the laying of the last twig by the parent birds, to the hatching of the two white eggs. They saw the fledglings develop from week to week, until they were nearly large enough to be taken from the nest, when one morning, on going as usual to watch the progress of the little birds, what was their horror tosee a snake swallowing the last one. The other they knew, by the swelled body of the reptile, was hopelessly gone! Their disgust and sorrow may be imagined, and as it was too late in the season to think of finding another nest with young ones in it, they were forced to abandon their quest until another spring.
This April they were successful. A pair had built their nest in the vine-covered summer-house, a rustic little place that Mr. Thompson had erected out of the wild grape, for a retreat in which his wife and daughters might sit in the afternoons when they did not care to go as far as the deep woods. No harm came to the fledglings this time, and they were placed in a handsome cage bought by the girls from the proceeds of the eggs laid by their own brown Leghorn hens.
The birds soon became very tame, and made the house resonant all day long with their brilliant notes. They knew the girls the moment they came near the cage, and would stretch their wings and gently pick at their fingers when they put them between the wires. They were a constant source of pleasure, for the girls loved petsof all kinds, and taught them to return their affection by means of gentleness and constant kindness.
Joe lost his elk this spring, and he was greatly disturbed by it. He had made arrangements with an old hunter, living near Fort Harker, to go out to the Saline Valley and capture another young one. He intended to break them both to harness, and expected to have a unique team to drive. The elk was so tame that he permitted it to roam at will through the woods on the margin of the Oxhide, where it browsed on the small bushes or grazed on the luxurious grass which grew in such profusion on the creek bottom. It always returned to the corral at night for its feed of corn, but one evening it failed to come up as usual. He wandered through the woods, looking for it, when, happening to come upon a camp near the mouth of the Oxhide on the trail westward, he saw to his indignation, that the emigrants, a very ignorant set from Missouri, had butchered his elk. He gave them a talking-to that was more emphatic than choice in its language. They told him they thought it was a wild one, but he became disgusted at theirfalsehood, and asked them if wild elks had blue ribbons on their necks as his had, and he pulled it from the hide which was lying near their wagons. The girls had sewed it on the elk for him not a week ago. He saw that the party was such a miserable set that he could do nothing with them, so he had to leave the place, as mad as a wet hen, and abandon his idea of ever having an elk team.
It was a relief for the family to feel that they could now go where they pleased without fear of marauding bands of Indians. The winter campaign had most effectually settled their propensities for murdering and scalping the settlers, so both the girls and boys made trips to the neighbors, and went on fishing excursions, or hunted whenever they cared to. Even the wolves, which had been such a terror to the whole neighborhood, had been so successfully thinned out in several "surrounds" by the men living on the various creeks, that the raspberry patch was no longer infested by them.
Kate and her sister went up there one morning, not expecting, of course, that the berries would be ripe as early as April. As neither ofthem had visited the place since Kate's capture, and everything was now perfectly safe, they thought they would like to go there again.
When they arrived at the well-remembered ledge of rocks, Kate pointed out to Gertrude the exact spot where she was standing when the savages swooped down on her; and they climbed to the top where they were attacked by the wolf.
They found the vines full of blossoms, promising a beautiful crop in June, and while strolling along the bank of the stream they suddenly came upon a quail's nest in which twenty-five eggs were just hatching out. As the quail runs the moment it breaks from the shell, the girls determined to take the little ones home and bring them up as they did their chickens. The old birds made a terrible fuss. They would run a short distance from the nest, and pretend to be very lame; apparently being hardly able to move. They thus tried to induce the girls to catch them—a ruse adopted by many other birds when their young ones are in danger. But Kate and Gertrude, who were well posted in the tricks of animals and birds, paid no attention to theantics of the old quails, but were intent on catching all of the little ones they could. Even then it was a hard job, for the baby quails run almost as fast as the parents, and hide in the grass where they lie quiet until all danger is past. They succeeded, however, in getting all but four of them, and walked hurriedly back to Errolstrath with the tender things in their aprons.
"If I didn't know they were quails," said Kate, "I should think that they were young brown Leghorn chickens. Did you ever see such a resemblance, Gert?"
"They do look exactly like the brown Leghorns, and do you know, Kate, that when I first saw a brood of Leghorns, I thought they were young quails."
"I expect we shall have little trouble in raising them, for Jenny Campbell had as many as a dozen of them in her cellar all last summer. Her brother caught them as we did these, in the spring, just as they were coming out of their shells. They will eat small grain like chickens."
"Well, we won't keep them in our cellar," said Gertrude; "we'll get Joe or Rob to buildus a big cage out of lath, and then we can make them as tame as the mocking-birds."
"Do you purpose to eat them?" inquired Kate.
"Certainly; why not? Mamma and papa love them broiled on toast, and so do I. I don't expect to make such pets of them that when the time comes to eat them, I shall think so much of them that I can't do it; and you must not either, Kate."
The girls arrived safely at the ranche with their charge, and Joe being begged to make a cage, set about it at once, and had it ready in less than an hour. The birds were put in it, and it was set on the veranda, where the little things could get plenty of air and sunlight. They picked up millet seed as readily as an old chicken, when Gertrude threw in a handful to them. In a few days they were contented in their confinement and became very tame.
Kate and her sister intended to raise a great many chickens this spring, and they set as many as forty hens; for their eggs and young broilers brought a good price at the fort and in the village. They had excellent luck at hatching time, but as the little ones began togrow, when the girls counted them every morning they found their number decreasing day by day. They could not divine the cause at first, so Rob was set to watch, and discover, if he could, what caused their disappearance. Some hens that had fifteen or sixteen would come around the yard next morning with only six or seven.
They had three cats: one named Dame Trot, a pure tabby; one called Mischief, a white and gray; and Tortoise, because of her color. Tortoise had a litter of kittens which she kept under the front porch. Joe had suspected that the cats knew something of the disappearance of the little birds, and told Rob to keep his eyes on them. As he sat one evening on the veranda he saw Tortoise suddenly spring from behind a cherry tree and catch one of the young Leghorns in her mouth and carry it to her nest under the porch. Rob immediately crawled there, and to his surprise found the heads of more than twenty chickens. He ran into the house and told of his discovery. His father said that the cat must be killed at once; for when a cat gets a taste for chickens, it is impossible to break it of the habit, and Joewas commissioned to put the guilty Tortoise out of the way.
Kate cried and was in great distress, for Tortoise was her cat, and she begged her father to put off its death until to-morrow morning, when she would go and spend the day with Jenny Campbell. She could not bear to stay and see her favorite cat killed. Her request was granted, and Tortoise had a respite until morning, but she was shut up in a box so that she could not get any more of the chickens.
When morning came, Kate got Rob to saddle Ginger, but before she started she begged Joe to bury Tortoise in some out of the way place where she would never find her grave. Joe promised he would, and when his sister was out of sight down the trail, he took the cat out of her prison and went to the woodpile, and with one stroke of the axe cut off her head. Then he took her down into the woods and buried her under a bunch of wild plum bushes, where no one would ever see the grave.
After the death of Tortoise the chickens throve admirably, and no more were ever missed by reason of the cats having caught them.
THE PAWNEES RETURN—ANTELOPE HUNT WITH THE INDIANS—JOE MISSES—WHITE WOLF—TALK OF A WILD HORSE HUNT—THE SAND-HILL CRANES—THEIR WEIRD COTILLION
ThePawnees camped on the Oxhide that autumn earlier than usual, as one of the boys of the tribe had said they would.
The band arrived the first week in September, and Joe was again in his element. He spent every spare moment in the camp, but, much to his regret, learned that his old friend Yellow Calf was dead; he had died about a month before of sheer wearing out. He was nearer ninety than eighty, which he had given as his age to Joe. One of the younger of the principal men had been made chief in his place. He had been with the band every season when they camped on the creek, and also was a firm friend to Joe, so the boy had lost nothing except the presence of the old fellow who thought so much of him.
One morning about the middle of April while the Indians were still on the Oxhide, and Joe as usual was in the camp, a warrior came in and reported a large herd of antelope on the Smoky Hill bottom; he said there were at least eight hundred of them. He proposed to Joe that they should go after them, and the boy agreed without any hesitation.
The chief told them they had better take about half a dozen of the men with them; for if the antelope were out on the open prairie, they could not get near enough to them without a great deal of trouble. If they had some one to drive the herd toward them while they hid themselves in the tall grass, they could entice a number within range by using the usual strategy.
Joe and the Indian, whose name was the White Wolf, started, taking with them seven men of the band as drivers. When they got out into the opening beyond the timber on the Oxhide, they discovered the large herd unsuspiciously grazing about two miles away.
The seven Indians were then ordered to make a détour far beyond the animals, at least a mile from the far side of them, while Joe and WhiteWolf secreted themselves in a large patch of bunch-grass. This was out on the prairie about a hundred rods distant from the timber, and was pointed to by White Wolf so that his men would understand exactly what was required of them.
Joe and the Indian who had remained behind with him, then walked leisurely toward the bunch of tall grass. They had plenty of time to prepare themselves, as it would take at least an hour before the Indians could get beyond the herd to move it.
On the way to the prairie Joe had stopped at the ranch, to borrow the Spencer carbine for White Wolf, while he took his little Ballard rifle, that was only good for about a hundred and fifty yards, while the Spencer would carry a ball five hundred.
They reached their hiding-place in plenty of time, for they lay there fully fifteen minutes before they saw a commotion among the antelope. The herd were observed to raise their heads as if they winded danger, and then making a few of their characteristic stiff-legged bounds, they stood alert as if preparing for flight.
Joe knew by this that the animals had beenstartled by the Indians, though he could not see a sign of one of them.
The herd at first ran as swiftly as they could in an easterly direction, then they began to slacken their pace, and a few, having recovered their courage, commenced to nibble gingerly at the short buffalo grass again. At this juncture White Wolf tied a white rag around his head, and, standing on his knees, began to sway his body backward and forward with a steady oscillating motion. Presently the antelope saw him, and a few of them stopped short to gaze at the strange object.
In a few moments four or five of the inquisitive creatures moved slowly forward again, still attracted by the swaying white figure of the savage, which so excited their curiosity. Presently, as they came closer and closer, Joe told White Wolf not to fire until they came within range of his little gun. Soon the proper distance was attained, and Joe, drawing up his piece, said:—
"Now, White Wolf, fire away!"
Their pieces were discharged simultaneously; it seemed like a single shot, so accurately had the triggers been pulled together. Two of thegraceful creatures rolled over on their sides, one White Wolf's, instantly killed, while Joe's was sprawling out, every limb quivering like an aspen leaf.
Both hunters dropped their guns and started out to cut the throats of their game, Joe was in the act of placing his hand on the neck of the one he had fired at, when, to his surprise, it jumped to its feet and ran off to join its not faraway companions, and the astonished boy never saw it again!
Which was the more surprised, the boy or the antelope, it would be difficult to determine. He turned to the savage, who was bewildered, too, and asked him what in the world was the cause of the animal's recovery after he had shot him.
"I aimed at his heart as he stood broadside toward me," said Joe, "and I don't know what it means."
"You only grazed him," answered White Wolf. "We Indians often catch wild horses in that way, when we can't get them in any other." Of course, they conversed in the Pawnee tongue, for the savage did not understand a word of English.
"Oh! I know what you mean, White Wolf," said Joe. "I just grazed his spinal cord with the ball; it paralyzed him for a moment, that's all. Yellow Calf told me how the Pawnees used to catch wild horses in that way, down on the Cimarron bottom, when the tribe lived on the Republican River."
"I'm soon going down there with some of my warriors. A Kaw brave told me the other day that there are a good many wild horses there yet; will you go, too?" asked White Wolf of his young friend.
"I'll go if my father and mother are willing, and I guess they will be," replied Joe. "I should so like to see a herd of wild horses. I have seen nearly all the other animals that live on the plains and in the timber, but have never seen wild horses, because they don't range as far east as Oxhide Creek. There are lots of them in Nebraska though, farther north, Mr. Tucker says."
As the prairie was too level for the hunters to hope to get near the antelope again, now that they had discharged their pieces, and as the other Indians were coming up to them, they decided to go back.
One of White Wolf's men packed the dead antelope on his horse, and they all rode slowly toward Errolstrath. When they arrived there, White Wolf insisted that Joe take half of the game. To this at first the boy did not agree, but as the chief insisted so persistently, he finally consented. So the antelope was divided fairly, one portion was carried into the house, and the other to the Indian camp down the creek.
At dinner Joe told his father that White Wolf was going to the Cimarron bottom in a few days to try to capture some wild horses which, so he learned from one of his Kaw friends, were roaming on the salt marshes of that region, and that the chief wanted him to go with him.
Mr. Thompson said that he had not the slightest objection now that the war was over and there was nothing to be feared from the savages, but he told Joe that if any animals were captured, he ought to be entitled to a share.
"I have made that all right with White Wolf already, father," said Joe. "He agrees to give me as great a proportion as his other warriors are entitled to. He hopes to capture at least one apiece, as the Kaw who told him about the herdsaid there were three or four hundred of them down there."
As soon as dinner was over, Joe jumped on his pony and loped off to the Indian camp to tell White Wolf that he could go to hunt wild horses with the band.
The chief said that he was glad of it, and that they would start by the first of the week. It was now Thursday, and that would give them all plenty of time to make ready. He told Joe that he would let him have a pony out of his herd, so that he could save his own the hard trip, for there would be severe work for all the ponies.
Joe started back to the ranche, and when he arrived at the foot of Haystack Mound, on the side of it farthest from the corral, he saw a squadron of sand-hill cranes circling around near the ground, and as he knew they were going to alight, he pulled up his pony. After turning loose his animal, which he knew would run right to the corral, he hid himself in the plum bushes which grew all over the bottom, to watch the strange antics of those curious birds.
They dance a regular cotillion when on theground. They chassez backward and forward, and waltz around, keeping time in a rude sort of way as they go through the mazes of their weird movements.
Presently they all came fluttering down, about forty of them, and immediately began their laughable capers. Joe had witnessed their performance a hundred times, but he could never resist looking at it again whenever the opportunity offered. They danced for more than half an hour, and then seeming to have enjoyed themselves sufficiently, they took flight, and soon were but as a wreath of dark blue far up in the sky.
Joe returned to the house, and puttered around until supper was ready. At the table he told of his stopping at Haystack Mound to witness the antics of a flock of cranes that had alighted on the sand knoll near there, and said he could sit and look at them all day.
Of course all the family had witnessed the performance of the cranes often, for in the season scarcely a day passed that a flock did not make its appearance somewhere on the ranche.
Kate said, "I used to watch them on the Canadian when I was in the Indian village, andthey were about the only things that I laughed at while there. After I had been there about a month and had got pretty well acquainted, one of the boys gave me a young crane for a pet. He became so tame that he would follow me all over the village.
"I kept him three months, when one morning, as I was walking down to the river with him, I saw him suddenly stop, put his head on one side, look up at the sky, and running a few steps, fly away. I watched him until he was out of sight. It was a flock of his own species that he had seen, and I did not even begin to hear their croaking until he was far out of sight."