Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Two.Preparations for Safety.The descent was almost more arduous than the ascent, but there was no danger save such as might result from a slip or wrench through placing a foot in one of the awkward cracks, and once more down in the plain, where the camp was as busy as an ant hill, the Doctor called the principal Englishmen about his waggon, and formed a sort of council, as he proceeded to lay his plans before them.The first was—as they were ready to defy the Indians, and to fight for their position there, to make the mountain their fortress, and in spite of the laborious nature of the ascent, it was determined that the tents should be set up on the top, while further steps were taken to enlarge the interior of the opening as soon as the narrow entrance was passed, so as to allow of a party of men standing ready to defend the way against Indians who might force themselves in.This was decided on at once, and men told off to do the work.Then it was proposed to build three or four stout walls across the sloping path, all but just room enough for a man to glide by. These would be admirable means of defence to fight behind, if the enemy forced their way in past the first entry, and with these and a larger and stronger barrier at the top of the slope by the first turn, it was considered by the Doctor that with ordinary bravery the place would be impregnable.So far so good; but then there were the horses and cattle, the former in the cavern-like stable, the latter in their stonewalled corral or enclosure.Here was a difficulty, for now, however strong their defence might be, they were isolated, and it would be awkward in case of attack to have two small parties of men detailed for the guarding of these places, which the Indians would be sure to attack in force, in place of throwing their lives away against the well-defended mountain path.“Couldn’t we contrive a gallery along the face of the mountain, right along above the ravine and the stables, sir?” said Bart. “I think some stones might be loosened out, and a broad ledge made, too high for the Indians to climb up, and with a good wall of stones along the edge we could easily defend the horses.”“A good idea, Bart, if it can be carried out,” said the Doctor. “Let’s go and see!”Inspection proved that this could easily be done so as to protect the horses, but not the corral, unless its position were altered and it were placed close alongside of the cavern stable.After so much trouble had been taken in rearing this wall it seemed a great pity, but the men willingly set to work, while some loosened stones from above, and levered them down with bars, these fallen stones coming in handy for building up the wall.Fineness of finish was not counted; nothing but a strong barrier which the cattle could not leap or throw down, if an attempt was made to scare them into a stampede, was all that was required, and so in a few days not only was this new corral strongly constructed, and the ledge projected fifty feet above it in the side of the mountain had been excavated, and edged with a strong wall of rock.There was but little room, only advantage was taken of holes in the rock, which were enlarged here and there so as to form a kind of rifle-pit, in which there was plenty of space for a man to creep and kneel down to load and fire at any enemy who should have determined to carry off the cattle. In fine, they had at last a strong place of defence, only to be reached from a spot about a hundred feet up the sloping way to the summit of the mountain; and the road to and from the bastion, as the Doctor called it, was quite free from observation in the plain, if the defenders crept along on hands and knees.Beneath the entrance to this narrow gallery a very strong wall was built nearly across the slope; and at Bart’s suggestion a couple of huge stones were loosened in the wall just above, and a couple of crowbars were left there ready to lower these still further, so that they would slip down into the narrow opening left in case of emergency, and thus completely keep the Indians out.All these matters took a great deal of time, but the knowledge of the danger from the prowling bands of Indians always on the war-path on the plains, and also that of the large treasure in silver that was within their reach, made the men work like slaves.Water had been found in a spring right at the top of the mountain, and after contriving a basin in the rock that it should fill, it was provided with an outlet, and literally led along a channel of silver down to where it could trickle along a rift, and then down by the side of the sloping paths to a rock basin dug and blasted out close to the entrance in the plain.This was a good arrangement, for the water was deliciously pure, and gave an ample supply to the camp, and even to the cattle when necessary, a second overflow carrying the fount within the corral, where a drinking-place was made, so that they were thus independent of the lake upon the plain, or the necessity for contriving a way down to the river in the canyon. Attention had then to be given to the food supply, and this matter was mentioned to the Beaver.For Bart had suggested that no doubt the Indians would find buffalo for them, instead of passing their time playing the part of mountain scouts and herdsmen when the cattle were driven to feed down in the rich pastures by the lake.

The descent was almost more arduous than the ascent, but there was no danger save such as might result from a slip or wrench through placing a foot in one of the awkward cracks, and once more down in the plain, where the camp was as busy as an ant hill, the Doctor called the principal Englishmen about his waggon, and formed a sort of council, as he proceeded to lay his plans before them.

The first was—as they were ready to defy the Indians, and to fight for their position there, to make the mountain their fortress, and in spite of the laborious nature of the ascent, it was determined that the tents should be set up on the top, while further steps were taken to enlarge the interior of the opening as soon as the narrow entrance was passed, so as to allow of a party of men standing ready to defend the way against Indians who might force themselves in.

This was decided on at once, and men told off to do the work.

Then it was proposed to build three or four stout walls across the sloping path, all but just room enough for a man to glide by. These would be admirable means of defence to fight behind, if the enemy forced their way in past the first entry, and with these and a larger and stronger barrier at the top of the slope by the first turn, it was considered by the Doctor that with ordinary bravery the place would be impregnable.

So far so good; but then there were the horses and cattle, the former in the cavern-like stable, the latter in their stonewalled corral or enclosure.

Here was a difficulty, for now, however strong their defence might be, they were isolated, and it would be awkward in case of attack to have two small parties of men detailed for the guarding of these places, which the Indians would be sure to attack in force, in place of throwing their lives away against the well-defended mountain path.

“Couldn’t we contrive a gallery along the face of the mountain, right along above the ravine and the stables, sir?” said Bart. “I think some stones might be loosened out, and a broad ledge made, too high for the Indians to climb up, and with a good wall of stones along the edge we could easily defend the horses.”

“A good idea, Bart, if it can be carried out,” said the Doctor. “Let’s go and see!”

Inspection proved that this could easily be done so as to protect the horses, but not the corral, unless its position were altered and it were placed close alongside of the cavern stable.

After so much trouble had been taken in rearing this wall it seemed a great pity, but the men willingly set to work, while some loosened stones from above, and levered them down with bars, these fallen stones coming in handy for building up the wall.

Fineness of finish was not counted; nothing but a strong barrier which the cattle could not leap or throw down, if an attempt was made to scare them into a stampede, was all that was required, and so in a few days not only was this new corral strongly constructed, and the ledge projected fifty feet above it in the side of the mountain had been excavated, and edged with a strong wall of rock.

There was but little room, only advantage was taken of holes in the rock, which were enlarged here and there so as to form a kind of rifle-pit, in which there was plenty of space for a man to creep and kneel down to load and fire at any enemy who should have determined to carry off the cattle. In fine, they had at last a strong place of defence, only to be reached from a spot about a hundred feet up the sloping way to the summit of the mountain; and the road to and from the bastion, as the Doctor called it, was quite free from observation in the plain, if the defenders crept along on hands and knees.

Beneath the entrance to this narrow gallery a very strong wall was built nearly across the slope; and at Bart’s suggestion a couple of huge stones were loosened in the wall just above, and a couple of crowbars were left there ready to lower these still further, so that they would slip down into the narrow opening left in case of emergency, and thus completely keep the Indians out.

All these matters took a great deal of time, but the knowledge of the danger from the prowling bands of Indians always on the war-path on the plains, and also that of the large treasure in silver that was within their reach, made the men work like slaves.

Water had been found in a spring right at the top of the mountain, and after contriving a basin in the rock that it should fill, it was provided with an outlet, and literally led along a channel of silver down to where it could trickle along a rift, and then down by the side of the sloping paths to a rock basin dug and blasted out close to the entrance in the plain.

This was a good arrangement, for the water was deliciously pure, and gave an ample supply to the camp, and even to the cattle when necessary, a second overflow carrying the fount within the corral, where a drinking-place was made, so that they were thus independent of the lake upon the plain, or the necessity for contriving a way down to the river in the canyon. Attention had then to be given to the food supply, and this matter was mentioned to the Beaver.

For Bart had suggested that no doubt the Indians would find buffalo for them, instead of passing their time playing the part of mountain scouts and herdsmen when the cattle were driven to feed down in the rich pastures by the lake.

Chapter Twenty Three.Off on a Hunt.The Beaver did not often smile, but when Bart tried to explain his wishes to him that he should lead a little party out into the plains to shoot buffalo for the party, his stolid, warlike countenance began slowly to expand; there was a twinkle here and a crease there; his solemn, watchful eyes sparkled; then they flashed, and at last a look of joy overspread his countenance, and he said a few words eagerly to the interpreter.“The Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth,” began the latter slowly, “says that it is good, and that we will go and hunt bison, for it is men’s work, while minding the grazing cattle here is only fit for squaws.”The Indians immediately began their preparations, which were marked by their brevity. Rifles and ammunition were examined, girths were tightened, and small portions of dried meat tied to the pad saddles ready for use if required, though it was hoped that a sufficiency of fresh meat would soon be obtained.Then it was reported to Dr Lascelles that all was ready.At that moment it seemed as if there were two boys in the camp, and that these two were sun-blackened, toil-roughened Joses, and Bart.For these two could not conceal their eagerness to be of the hunting party, and every now and then Joses kept stealing a quick, animal-like glance at Bart, while the latter kept glancing as sharply at the frontiersman.Neither spoke, but their looks said as plainly as could be:“What a shame it will be if he goes, and I have to stay in camp.”The Indians had mounted, and were sitting like so many bronze statues, waiting for the Doctor’s permission to go; for military precision and discipline had of late been introduced, and regular guards and watches kept, much to the disgust of some of the Englishmen, who did not scruple to say that it was quite unnecessary.Meanwhile the Doctor seemed to have been seized with a thoughtful fit, and stood there musing, as if he were making some plan as to the future.Bart kept on trying to catch his eye, but in vain. Then he glanced towards where the Beaver was seated upon his horse, with his keen black eyes fixed upon the youth, and his look seemed to Bart to say: “Are not you coming?”“I don’t like to ask leave to go,” thought Bart; “but oh, if I could only have permission! What a gallop! To be at the back of a drove of bison as they go thundering over the plain! It will be horrible if I have to stay.”He looked towards where Joses stood frowning heavily, and still the Doctor gave no orders. He seemed regularly absorbed in his thoughts. The Beaver was growing impatient, and his men were having hard work to quiet their fiery little steeds, which kept on snorting and pawing up the sand, giving a rear up by way of change, or a playful bite at some companion, which responded with a squeal or a kick.At last Joses began making signs to Bart that he should come over to his side, but the lad did not see them, for his eyes were fixed upon the Doctor, who at last seemed to start out of his musing fit.“Ah!” he said; “yes, you men had better go. Tell them, Bart, to drive the bison as near camp as they can before they kill them. It will save so much trouble.”“Yes, sir,” replied Bart, drawing in his breath in a way that sounded like a sigh. “Any other orders?”“No, my boy, no. Or, stop; they ought to have an Englishman with them perhaps. Better let Harry go; we can spare him. Or, stay, send Joses.”The frontiersman uttered a snort, and was about turning to go to the spot where his horse was tethered, when he stopped short, to stand staring at Bart, with a look full of commiseration, and Bart read it truly— “I’ll stop, my lad, if you can get leave to go instead.”Then came fresh words from the Doctor’s lips—words that sent the blood galloping through Bart’s veins, and made his nerves thrill and his eyes flash with delight.“I suppose you would not care to go upon such a rough expedition as this, Bart?” the Doctor said.“Oh, but I should, sir,” the lad exclaimed. “I’d give anything to go—if you could spare me,” he added.The Doctor looked at him in a half-thoughtful, half-hesitating way, and remained silent for a time, while Bart felt upon the tiptoe of expectation, and in a horrible state of dread lest his guardian should alter his mind.“Better stop, Bart,” he said at last. “Bison-hunting is very difficult and dangerous work. You might be run or trampled down, or tossed, or goodness knows what beside.”“I’d take the greatest care to be out of danger, sir,” said Bart, deprecatingly.“By running into it at every turn, eh, my boy?” said the Doctor, good-humouredly. “Then I’ll ask the opinion of Joses, and see what he says. Here, Joses!”The frontiersman came up at a trot, and then stood leaning upon his rifle.“What do you think?” asked the Doctor. “Would it be safe to allow Bart here to go with you after the bison?”“You mean buffler, don’t you?” said Joses, in a low, growling tone.“No; I mean bison,” replied the Doctor, sharply. “You people call them buffalo. I say, do you think it safe for him to go with you?”“Safe? Course it is,” growled Joses. “We shall want him too. He’s so light, and his Black Boy is so swift, that the hunting party will get on better and cut out more buffalo meat if he comes.”“Well, then, according to that, Bart,” said the Doctor, good-humouredly, “I suppose I must let you go.”“If you please, sir,” said Bart, quietly; and then, with a gush of boyish enthusiasm, “I’d give anything to go, sir—I would indeed.”“Then I suppose you must go, Bart. Be off!”The lad rushed off, followed by Joses, who seemed quite as much excited and as overjoyed, for he kept on slapping Bart upon the shoulder, and giving vent to little “hoorays” and “whoops”, and other inhuman cries, indicative of his delight; while no sooner did the Beaver realise that Joses and Bart would be of the party than he began to talk quickly to the interpreter, then to his followers, and at last sat there motionless, in dignified silence, waiting for what was to come.Stolid Indian as he was, though, he could not keep it up, but dashed his heels into his pony’s ribs after a few moments, and cantered to where Joses and Bart were making their preparations, and, leaping to the ground, he eagerly proffered his services.They were not needed, and he stood looking on, talking eagerly in his own language, putting in an English word wherever he could think of one, or fancied that it would fit, till all seemed ready, and Bart stood patting his little arch-necked black cob, after slinging his rifle over his shoulder.Just then the Doctor waved his hand as a signal to him of farewell, and reading it also as a sign that they might set off, Bart leaped into his saddle, Joses followed suit, and saying something to his pony which started it off, the Beaver seemed to swing himself out into a horizontal position over his steed’s back, and then dropped into his place, and they all then cantered up to where the rest of the Indians were impatiently waiting.“All ready?” cried Bart.“Ready we are, Master Bart,” growled Joses.“Off, then,” cried Bart, waving his hand, when, amidst a ringing cheer from the little crowd of lookers-on, the bison-hunters went off at full speed over the sandy plain, making for the left of the lake; and as Bart turned in his saddle to gaze back, the camp, with its round-topped waggons, the flat mountain, and the faintly shown track up to its summit, looked like some beautiful panorama, above which the great flag blew out in the brisk breeze, and flapped and waved its folds merrily as if flaunting defiance to every Indian on the plain. But as Bart gazed up at the flag, he could not help thinking what a mere scrap of coloured cloth it was, and what a very little the Indians would think of it if they determined to come down and attack the camp in their might.

The Beaver did not often smile, but when Bart tried to explain his wishes to him that he should lead a little party out into the plains to shoot buffalo for the party, his stolid, warlike countenance began slowly to expand; there was a twinkle here and a crease there; his solemn, watchful eyes sparkled; then they flashed, and at last a look of joy overspread his countenance, and he said a few words eagerly to the interpreter.

“The Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth,” began the latter slowly, “says that it is good, and that we will go and hunt bison, for it is men’s work, while minding the grazing cattle here is only fit for squaws.”

The Indians immediately began their preparations, which were marked by their brevity. Rifles and ammunition were examined, girths were tightened, and small portions of dried meat tied to the pad saddles ready for use if required, though it was hoped that a sufficiency of fresh meat would soon be obtained.

Then it was reported to Dr Lascelles that all was ready.

At that moment it seemed as if there were two boys in the camp, and that these two were sun-blackened, toil-roughened Joses, and Bart.

For these two could not conceal their eagerness to be of the hunting party, and every now and then Joses kept stealing a quick, animal-like glance at Bart, while the latter kept glancing as sharply at the frontiersman.

Neither spoke, but their looks said as plainly as could be:

“What a shame it will be if he goes, and I have to stay in camp.”

The Indians had mounted, and were sitting like so many bronze statues, waiting for the Doctor’s permission to go; for military precision and discipline had of late been introduced, and regular guards and watches kept, much to the disgust of some of the Englishmen, who did not scruple to say that it was quite unnecessary.

Meanwhile the Doctor seemed to have been seized with a thoughtful fit, and stood there musing, as if he were making some plan as to the future.

Bart kept on trying to catch his eye, but in vain. Then he glanced towards where the Beaver was seated upon his horse, with his keen black eyes fixed upon the youth, and his look seemed to Bart to say: “Are not you coming?”

“I don’t like to ask leave to go,” thought Bart; “but oh, if I could only have permission! What a gallop! To be at the back of a drove of bison as they go thundering over the plain! It will be horrible if I have to stay.”

He looked towards where Joses stood frowning heavily, and still the Doctor gave no orders. He seemed regularly absorbed in his thoughts. The Beaver was growing impatient, and his men were having hard work to quiet their fiery little steeds, which kept on snorting and pawing up the sand, giving a rear up by way of change, or a playful bite at some companion, which responded with a squeal or a kick.

At last Joses began making signs to Bart that he should come over to his side, but the lad did not see them, for his eyes were fixed upon the Doctor, who at last seemed to start out of his musing fit.

“Ah!” he said; “yes, you men had better go. Tell them, Bart, to drive the bison as near camp as they can before they kill them. It will save so much trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Bart, drawing in his breath in a way that sounded like a sigh. “Any other orders?”

“No, my boy, no. Or, stop; they ought to have an Englishman with them perhaps. Better let Harry go; we can spare him. Or, stay, send Joses.”

The frontiersman uttered a snort, and was about turning to go to the spot where his horse was tethered, when he stopped short, to stand staring at Bart, with a look full of commiseration, and Bart read it truly— “I’ll stop, my lad, if you can get leave to go instead.”

Then came fresh words from the Doctor’s lips—words that sent the blood galloping through Bart’s veins, and made his nerves thrill and his eyes flash with delight.

“I suppose you would not care to go upon such a rough expedition as this, Bart?” the Doctor said.

“Oh, but I should, sir,” the lad exclaimed. “I’d give anything to go—if you could spare me,” he added.

The Doctor looked at him in a half-thoughtful, half-hesitating way, and remained silent for a time, while Bart felt upon the tiptoe of expectation, and in a horrible state of dread lest his guardian should alter his mind.

“Better stop, Bart,” he said at last. “Bison-hunting is very difficult and dangerous work. You might be run or trampled down, or tossed, or goodness knows what beside.”

“I’d take the greatest care to be out of danger, sir,” said Bart, deprecatingly.

“By running into it at every turn, eh, my boy?” said the Doctor, good-humouredly. “Then I’ll ask the opinion of Joses, and see what he says. Here, Joses!”

The frontiersman came up at a trot, and then stood leaning upon his rifle.

“What do you think?” asked the Doctor. “Would it be safe to allow Bart here to go with you after the bison?”

“You mean buffler, don’t you?” said Joses, in a low, growling tone.

“No; I mean bison,” replied the Doctor, sharply. “You people call them buffalo. I say, do you think it safe for him to go with you?”

“Safe? Course it is,” growled Joses. “We shall want him too. He’s so light, and his Black Boy is so swift, that the hunting party will get on better and cut out more buffalo meat if he comes.”

“Well, then, according to that, Bart,” said the Doctor, good-humouredly, “I suppose I must let you go.”

“If you please, sir,” said Bart, quietly; and then, with a gush of boyish enthusiasm, “I’d give anything to go, sir—I would indeed.”

“Then I suppose you must go, Bart. Be off!”

The lad rushed off, followed by Joses, who seemed quite as much excited and as overjoyed, for he kept on slapping Bart upon the shoulder, and giving vent to little “hoorays” and “whoops”, and other inhuman cries, indicative of his delight; while no sooner did the Beaver realise that Joses and Bart would be of the party than he began to talk quickly to the interpreter, then to his followers, and at last sat there motionless, in dignified silence, waiting for what was to come.

Stolid Indian as he was, though, he could not keep it up, but dashed his heels into his pony’s ribs after a few moments, and cantered to where Joses and Bart were making their preparations, and, leaping to the ground, he eagerly proffered his services.

They were not needed, and he stood looking on, talking eagerly in his own language, putting in an English word wherever he could think of one, or fancied that it would fit, till all seemed ready, and Bart stood patting his little arch-necked black cob, after slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

Just then the Doctor waved his hand as a signal to him of farewell, and reading it also as a sign that they might set off, Bart leaped into his saddle, Joses followed suit, and saying something to his pony which started it off, the Beaver seemed to swing himself out into a horizontal position over his steed’s back, and then dropped into his place, and they all then cantered up to where the rest of the Indians were impatiently waiting.

“All ready?” cried Bart.

“Ready we are, Master Bart,” growled Joses.

“Off, then,” cried Bart, waving his hand, when, amidst a ringing cheer from the little crowd of lookers-on, the bison-hunters went off at full speed over the sandy plain, making for the left of the lake; and as Bart turned in his saddle to gaze back, the camp, with its round-topped waggons, the flat mountain, and the faintly shown track up to its summit, looked like some beautiful panorama, above which the great flag blew out in the brisk breeze, and flapped and waved its folds merrily as if flaunting defiance to every Indian on the plain. But as Bart gazed up at the flag, he could not help thinking what a mere scrap of coloured cloth it was, and what a very little the Indians would think of it if they determined to come down and attack the camp in their might.

Chapter Twenty Four.Hints on Bison-hunting.“Ease off a bit, Master Bart,” cried Joses, after they had all been riding at full gallop for a couple of miles over the plains. “Whoo—hoop, my Injun friends! Whoo—hoop!”“Whoo-hoop! whoo-hoop! whoo-hoop!” yelled back the Indians, excitedly; and taking it as an incentive to renewed exertion, they pressed the flanks of their horses, which responded freely, and they swept on more swiftly still.“Tell Beaver to stop a bit,” cried Joses; “you’re nighest to him, my lad.” And Bart was about to shout some words to the chief, who was on his other side, riding with eyes flashing with excitement, and every nerve on the throb, thoroughly enjoying the wild race after so long a time of inaction in the camp. And it was not only the riders who enjoyed the racing; the horses seemed to revel in it, all tossing their massive manes and snorting loudly with delight, while swift as they went they were always so well-prepared that they would try to kick each other whenever two were in anything like close proximity.Bart shouted to the Beaver to check his pace, but he was misunderstood, and the party swept on, whooping with delight, for all the world like a pack of excited schoolboys just let loose for a holiday.“We shall have our nags regularly blown, my lad,” panted Joses;—“and then if we come upon unfriendly Injuns it’ll be the worse for us. Let’s you and me draw rein, then they’ll stop.”A pause in the mad gallop came without the inciting of Bart and his follower, for all at once one of the Indians’ horses planted his hoof in a gopher hole, cunningly contrived by the rat-like creature just in the open part of the plain; and unable to recover itself or check its headlong speed, the horse turned a complete somersault, throwing his rider right over his head quite twenty feet away, and as the rest drew rein and gathered round, it seemed for the time as if both pony and rider were killed.Bart leaped down to go to the poor fellow’s help, but just as the lad reached him, the Indian, who had been lying flat upon his back, suddenly sat up, shook his head, and stared round in bewilderment. The next moment he had caught sight of his steed, and leaped to his feet to run and catch the rein just as the pony was struggling up.As the pony regained its feet the Indian leaped upon its back, while the sturdy little animal gave itself a shake that seemed to be like one gigantic quiver, beginning at its broad inflated nostrils, and ending with the rugged strands of its great thick uncombed tail.Just then the Beaver uttered a yell, and away the whole party swept again, the Indian who had fallen seeming in no wise the worse for his encounter with the sandy earth.“That’s where the Indian gets the better of the white man, Master Bart. A fall like that would have about knocked all the life out of me. It’s my belief them Injuns likes it, and so you see they can bear so much that they grow hard to clear away; and in spite of our being so much more knowing, they’re often too much for us.”“But had we not better pull up, Joses?” cried Bart, for they were tearing along over the plain once more at a tremendous gallop.“It’s no use to try, my lad; the horses won’t stop and leave them others galloping on. You may train horses as much as you like, but there’s a lot of nature left in them, and that you can’t eddicate out.”“What do you mean?” panted Bart, for it was hard work riding so fast.“What do I mean, my boy? why, that horses is used to going in big droves together, and this puts ’em in mind of it, and they like it. You try and pull Black Boy in. There, I told you so. See how he gnaws at his bit and pulls. There’s no stopping him, my lad, no more than there is mine. Let ’em go, my lad. Perhaps we mayn’t meet any one we don’t want to meet after all.”Hardly had he spoken before the Beaver raised his arm, and his followers pulled up as if by magic, forming in quite a small circle close to him, with their horses’ heads almost touching him.The Beaver signed to Bart and Joses to approach, and room was made for them to join in the little council which was to be held, and the result was that being now well out in the plains far north of where they had originally travelled to reach the mountain, they now headed off to the west, the Indians separating, and opening out more and more so as to cover wider ground with their keen eyes, while every little eminence was climbed so that the horizon could be swept in search of bison.“Do you think we shall meet with any, Joses?” asked Bart.“What, buffler, my lad? Well, I hope so. There’s never no knowing, for they’re queer beasts, and there’s hundreds here to-day, and to-morrow you may ride miles and miles, and not see a hoof. Why, I’ve known times when I’ve come upon a drove that was miles long.”“Miles, Joses?”“Yes, Master Bart, miles long. Bulls, and cows, and calves, of all kinds, from little bits o’ things, right up to some as was nearly as big as their fathers and mothers, only not so rough and fat; and they’d go on over the plain in little bands. If you was looking at ’em from far off, it seemed like one great long drove that there was no counting, but when you rode nearer to see, you found that what you took for one big drove was only made up of hundreds of other droves—big families like of fathers, and mothers, and children, which always kept themselves to themselves and didn’t mix with the others. Then all along outside the flanks of the great drove of droves you’d see the wolves hanging about, half-starved, fierce-looking vermin, licking their bare chops, and waiting their chance to get something to eat.”“But wolves wouldn’t attack the great bison, would they?” asked Bart.“Only when they’re about helpless—wounded or old, you know, then they will. What they wolves is waiting for is for the young calves—little, helpless sort of things that are always being left behind as the great drove goes feeding on over the plains; and if you watch a drove, you’ll every now and then find a calf lying down, and its mother trying to coax it to get up and follow the others, while the old cow keeps mooing and making no end of a noise, and cocking up her tail, and making little sets of charges at the wolves to drive them back whenever they get too near. Ah, it’s a rum sight to see the lank, fierce, hungry beasts licking their chops, and thinking every now and then that they’ve got the calf, for the old mother keeps going off a little way to try and make the stupid cow baby get up and follow. Then the wolves make a rush, and so does the buffalo, and away go the hungry beggars, for a wolf is about as cowardly a thing as ever run on four legs, that he is.”“I should like to see a sight like that, Joses,” said Bart; “how I would shoot at the wolves!”“What for?” said Joses.“What for? Why, because they must be such cowardly, cruel beasts, to try and kill the calves.”“So are we cowardly, cruel beasts, then,” said Joses, philosophically. “Wolves want to live same as humans, and it’s all their nature. If they didn’t kill and keep down the buffler, the country would be all buffler, and there wouldn’t be room for a man to walk. It’s all right, I tell you; wolves kills buffler for food, and so do we. Why, you never thought, praps, how bufflers fill up the country in some parts. I’ve seen droves of ’em miles upon miles long, and if it wasn’t for the wolves and the Injun, as I said afore, there wouldn’t be room for anything else.”“Are there so many as you say, Joses?” asked Bart.“Not now, my lad. There used to be, but they’ve been killed down a deal. You see the Injun lives on ’em a’most. He cuts up and dries the beef, and he makes himself buffler robes of the skins, and very nice warm things they are in cold parts up in the mountains. I don’t know what the Injun would do if it wasn’t for the buffler. He’d starve. Not as that would be so very much consequence, as far as some tribes goes—Comanches and Apachés, and them sort as lives by killing and murdering every one they sees. Halloa! what’s that mean?”He pulled up, and shaded his eyes with his hand, to gaze at where one of the Indians was evidently making some sign with his spear as he sat in a peculiar way, right on their extreme left, upon an eminence in the plain.Bart looked eagerly on, so as to try and learn what this signal meant.“Oh, I know,” said Joses directly, as he saw the Beaver make his horse circle round. “He can see a herd far out on the plain, and the Beaver has just signalled him back; so ride on, my lad, and we may perhaps come across a big run of the rough ones before the day is out.”

“Ease off a bit, Master Bart,” cried Joses, after they had all been riding at full gallop for a couple of miles over the plains. “Whoo—hoop, my Injun friends! Whoo—hoop!”

“Whoo-hoop! whoo-hoop! whoo-hoop!” yelled back the Indians, excitedly; and taking it as an incentive to renewed exertion, they pressed the flanks of their horses, which responded freely, and they swept on more swiftly still.

“Tell Beaver to stop a bit,” cried Joses; “you’re nighest to him, my lad.” And Bart was about to shout some words to the chief, who was on his other side, riding with eyes flashing with excitement, and every nerve on the throb, thoroughly enjoying the wild race after so long a time of inaction in the camp. And it was not only the riders who enjoyed the racing; the horses seemed to revel in it, all tossing their massive manes and snorting loudly with delight, while swift as they went they were always so well-prepared that they would try to kick each other whenever two were in anything like close proximity.

Bart shouted to the Beaver to check his pace, but he was misunderstood, and the party swept on, whooping with delight, for all the world like a pack of excited schoolboys just let loose for a holiday.

“We shall have our nags regularly blown, my lad,” panted Joses;—“and then if we come upon unfriendly Injuns it’ll be the worse for us. Let’s you and me draw rein, then they’ll stop.”

A pause in the mad gallop came without the inciting of Bart and his follower, for all at once one of the Indians’ horses planted his hoof in a gopher hole, cunningly contrived by the rat-like creature just in the open part of the plain; and unable to recover itself or check its headlong speed, the horse turned a complete somersault, throwing his rider right over his head quite twenty feet away, and as the rest drew rein and gathered round, it seemed for the time as if both pony and rider were killed.

Bart leaped down to go to the poor fellow’s help, but just as the lad reached him, the Indian, who had been lying flat upon his back, suddenly sat up, shook his head, and stared round in bewilderment. The next moment he had caught sight of his steed, and leaped to his feet to run and catch the rein just as the pony was struggling up.

As the pony regained its feet the Indian leaped upon its back, while the sturdy little animal gave itself a shake that seemed to be like one gigantic quiver, beginning at its broad inflated nostrils, and ending with the rugged strands of its great thick uncombed tail.

Just then the Beaver uttered a yell, and away the whole party swept again, the Indian who had fallen seeming in no wise the worse for his encounter with the sandy earth.

“That’s where the Indian gets the better of the white man, Master Bart. A fall like that would have about knocked all the life out of me. It’s my belief them Injuns likes it, and so you see they can bear so much that they grow hard to clear away; and in spite of our being so much more knowing, they’re often too much for us.”

“But had we not better pull up, Joses?” cried Bart, for they were tearing along over the plain once more at a tremendous gallop.

“It’s no use to try, my lad; the horses won’t stop and leave them others galloping on. You may train horses as much as you like, but there’s a lot of nature left in them, and that you can’t eddicate out.”

“What do you mean?” panted Bart, for it was hard work riding so fast.

“What do I mean, my boy? why, that horses is used to going in big droves together, and this puts ’em in mind of it, and they like it. You try and pull Black Boy in. There, I told you so. See how he gnaws at his bit and pulls. There’s no stopping him, my lad, no more than there is mine. Let ’em go, my lad. Perhaps we mayn’t meet any one we don’t want to meet after all.”

Hardly had he spoken before the Beaver raised his arm, and his followers pulled up as if by magic, forming in quite a small circle close to him, with their horses’ heads almost touching him.

The Beaver signed to Bart and Joses to approach, and room was made for them to join in the little council which was to be held, and the result was that being now well out in the plains far north of where they had originally travelled to reach the mountain, they now headed off to the west, the Indians separating, and opening out more and more so as to cover wider ground with their keen eyes, while every little eminence was climbed so that the horizon could be swept in search of bison.

“Do you think we shall meet with any, Joses?” asked Bart.

“What, buffler, my lad? Well, I hope so. There’s never no knowing, for they’re queer beasts, and there’s hundreds here to-day, and to-morrow you may ride miles and miles, and not see a hoof. Why, I’ve known times when I’ve come upon a drove that was miles long.”

“Miles, Joses?”

“Yes, Master Bart, miles long. Bulls, and cows, and calves, of all kinds, from little bits o’ things, right up to some as was nearly as big as their fathers and mothers, only not so rough and fat; and they’d go on over the plain in little bands. If you was looking at ’em from far off, it seemed like one great long drove that there was no counting, but when you rode nearer to see, you found that what you took for one big drove was only made up of hundreds of other droves—big families like of fathers, and mothers, and children, which always kept themselves to themselves and didn’t mix with the others. Then all along outside the flanks of the great drove of droves you’d see the wolves hanging about, half-starved, fierce-looking vermin, licking their bare chops, and waiting their chance to get something to eat.”

“But wolves wouldn’t attack the great bison, would they?” asked Bart.

“Only when they’re about helpless—wounded or old, you know, then they will. What they wolves is waiting for is for the young calves—little, helpless sort of things that are always being left behind as the great drove goes feeding on over the plains; and if you watch a drove, you’ll every now and then find a calf lying down, and its mother trying to coax it to get up and follow the others, while the old cow keeps mooing and making no end of a noise, and cocking up her tail, and making little sets of charges at the wolves to drive them back whenever they get too near. Ah, it’s a rum sight to see the lank, fierce, hungry beasts licking their chops, and thinking every now and then that they’ve got the calf, for the old mother keeps going off a little way to try and make the stupid cow baby get up and follow. Then the wolves make a rush, and so does the buffalo, and away go the hungry beggars, for a wolf is about as cowardly a thing as ever run on four legs, that he is.”

“I should like to see a sight like that, Joses,” said Bart; “how I would shoot at the wolves!”

“What for?” said Joses.

“What for? Why, because they must be such cowardly, cruel beasts, to try and kill the calves.”

“So are we cowardly, cruel beasts, then,” said Joses, philosophically. “Wolves want to live same as humans, and it’s all their nature. If they didn’t kill and keep down the buffler, the country would be all buffler, and there wouldn’t be room for a man to walk. It’s all right, I tell you; wolves kills buffler for food, and so do we. Why, you never thought, praps, how bufflers fill up the country in some parts. I’ve seen droves of ’em miles upon miles long, and if it wasn’t for the wolves and the Injun, as I said afore, there wouldn’t be room for anything else.”

“Are there so many as you say, Joses?” asked Bart.

“Not now, my lad. There used to be, but they’ve been killed down a deal. You see the Injun lives on ’em a’most. He cuts up and dries the beef, and he makes himself buffler robes of the skins, and very nice warm things they are in cold parts up in the mountains. I don’t know what the Injun would do if it wasn’t for the buffler. He’d starve. Not as that would be so very much consequence, as far as some tribes goes—Comanches and Apachés, and them sort as lives by killing and murdering every one they sees. Halloa! what’s that mean?”

He pulled up, and shaded his eyes with his hand, to gaze at where one of the Indians was evidently making some sign with his spear as he sat in a peculiar way, right on their extreme left, upon an eminence in the plain.

Bart looked eagerly on, so as to try and learn what this signal meant.

“Oh, I know,” said Joses directly, as he saw the Beaver make his horse circle round. “He can see a herd far out on the plain, and the Beaver has just signalled him back; so ride on, my lad, and we may perhaps come across a big run of the rough ones before the day is out.”

Chapter Twenty Five.Bart’s first Bison.Joses was wrong, for no sign was seen of buffalo that day, and so the next morning, after a very primitive kind of camp out in the wilderness, the Beaver took them in quite a different direction, parallel to the camp, so as to be within range, for distance had to be remembered in providing meat for so large a company.It was what Joses called ticklish work.“You must keep your eyes well skinned, Master Bart,” he said, with a grim smile, as they left the plain for an undulating country, full of depressions, most of which contained water, and whose gentle hills were covered with succulent buffalo-grass. “If you don’t, my lad, you may find yourself dropping down on to a herd of Apachés instead of buffaloes; and I can tell you, young fellow, that a buck Injun’s a deal worse thing to deal with than a bull buffler. You must keep a sharp look-out.”“I’ll do the best I can, Joses, you may be sure; but suppose I should come upon an Indian party—what am I to do?”“Do, my lad? Why, make tracks as sharp as ever you can to your friends—that is, if you are alone.”“But if I can’t get away, and they shoot at me?”“Well, what do you mean?” said Joses, dryly.“I mean what am I to do if I am in close quarters, and feel that they will kill me?”“Oh,” said Joses, grimly, “I should pull up short, and go up to them and give them my hatchet, and rifle, and knife, and say to ’em that you hope they won’t be so wicked as to kill you, for you are very fond of Injun, and think ’em very nice; and then you’ll see they’ll be as pleased as pleased, and they’ll make such a fuss over you.”“Do you mean that, Joses?”“Mean it, my lad? to be sure I do. A friend of mine did so, just as I’ve told you, for he was afraid to fight.”“And did the Indians make a fuss over him?” asked Bart.“To be sure they did, my lad; they took his weppuns, and then they set him on his knees, and pulled all the hair off his head to make an ornament for one of their belts, and then, because he hollered out and didn’t like it, they took their lariats and tethering pegs, and after fixing the pegs in the ground, they put a rope round each of his ankles and his wrists, and spread-eagled him out tight, and then they lit a fire to warm themselves, for it was a very cold day.”“What!” cried Bart, looking aghast at his companion, who was evidently bantering him.“Oh no, not to roast him,” said Joses, laughing; “they didn’t mean that. They lit the fire on purpose to warm themselves; and where do you think they lit it?”“In a hole in the ground,” said Bart.“No, my boy; they lit it on that poor fellow’s chest, and kept it burning there fiercely, and sat round it and warmed themselves; and the more that poor wretch shrieked for mercy, the more they laughed.”“Joses, it’s too horrid to believe,” cried Bart.“Well, it does sound too horrid; don’t it, eh? But it’s the simple, honest truth, my boy, for some of they Injuns is regular demons, and stop at nothing. They do any mortal thing under the sun to a white.”“Then you would not surrender?” said Bart.“Surrender? What! to an Indian? Not till I hadn’t got a bit o’ life in my body, my lad. Not before.”“But would you have me turn upon them and shoot them, Joses?” said the lad, with all a boy’s horror of shedding blood.“Bart, my lad,” said Joses, holding out his rough hand, which the boy readily grasped, “if you ask me for a bit of advice, as one who knows pretty well what unfriendly Injun is, I’ll give it to you.”“I do ask it, Joses, for it horrifies me to think of trying to take a man’s life.”“Of course it does, my lad; so it used to me. But here’s my bit of advice for you:—Whenever you meet Injun, don’t trust ’em till they’re proved to be of the right grit. Don’t hurt a hair of any one of their heads, and always be honest in dealing with them. But if it comes to fighting, and you see they mean your life, fight for it like a man. Show ’em that an English boy has got a man’s heart, only it’s young, and not full growed. Never give up, for recklect that if the Injuns get hold of you it means death—horrible death—while if you fight you may beat ’em, and if you don’t it’s only death all the same.”“But it seems so dreadful to shoot at a man, knowing that you may kill him.”“So it does, my lad, but it’s ever so much more dreadful for them to shoot at you. They’ve only got to leave you alone and it’s all right.”Just then the Beaver came cantering up to them, gently lying right down upon his horse.“Jump off, Master Bart,” cried Joses; “there’s buffler in sight, and we don’t want to scare ’em.”Setting the example, he slid from his horse, and stood behind it, Bart imitating his acts, and they waited there till the Beaver came up, and pointed towards an opening in the distance, where, for the moment, Bart could see nothing; but watching attentively, he soon made out what seemed to be a dark patch moving slowly towards them.“Are those bison?” he whispered to Joses; though the objects at which he gazed were miles away.“No, they aren’t,” growled Joses; “them’s buffler, and they’re a feeding steadily on in this way, so that we shall be able to get a good few, I hope, and p’r’aps drive two or three a long way on towards the camp, so as to save carrying them there.”“May we ride up to them now?” cried Bart.“I ain’t going to have anything to do with the hunt,” cried Joses, grimly. “Let the Beaver do it all; he’s used to it. I haven’t had anything to do with buffler-hunting for a many years.”“Are the bulls very dangerous?” said Bart then. “I mean may I ride pretty close up to one without getting gored?”“They ain’t half so dangerous as our own bulls used to be down at the ranche, my lad, and not a quarter so dangerous as them that have taken to a wild life after jumping out of the corral.”By this time the Beaver had signalled his followers to approach, and after giving them some instructions, they all rode off together into a bit of a valley, the Beaver and his English companions following them, so that in a few minutes they were out of sight of the approaching herd of buffalo, which came steadily on in profound ignorance of there being enemies in their neighbourhood.The country was admirably adapted for a hunt, the ground being unencumbered by anything larger than a scrubby kind of brush, while its many shallow valleys gave the hunters ample opportunity for riding unseen until they had reached a favourable situation for their onslaught.The Beaver was evidently a thorough expert in such a hunt as this, for he kept on dismounting and making observations, directing his followers here and there, and often approaching pretty near, making retrograde movements, so as to bring them forward again in a more satisfactory position.His last arrangement was to place his following in couples about a hundred yards apart, parallel with the line of march of the herd, which was still invisible to Bart, though on the other side of the ridge in whose valley he sheltered he could hear a strange snorting noise every now and then, and a low angry bellow.“We’re to wait his signal, Master Bart, and then ride up the slope here, and go right at the buffler. Don’t be afraid, my lad, but pick out the one you mean to have, and then stick to him till you’ve brought him down with a bullet right through his shoulder.”“I’ll try not to be afraid, Joses,” said Bart; “but I can’t help feeling a bit excited.”“You wouldn’t be good for much if you didn’t, my boy,” said the frontiersman. “Now then, be ready. Is your rifle all right?”“Yes.”“Mind then: ride close up to your bull, and as he gallops off you gallop too, till you reach out with your rifle in one hand and fire.”“But am I to ride right up to the herd, Joses?”“To be sure you are, my boy. Don’t you be afraid, I tell you. It’s only getting over it the first time. Just you touch Black Boy with your heels, and he’ll take you right in between a couple of the bulls, so that you can almost reach them on each side. Then you’ll find they’ll begin to edge off on both sides, and get farther and farther away, when, as I told you before, you must stick to one till you’ve got him down.”“Poor brute!” said Bart, gently.“Poor stuff!” cried Joses. “We must have meat, mustn’t we? You wouldn’t say poor salmon or poor sheep because it had to be killed. Look out. Here we go.”For the Beaver had made a quick signal, and in a moment the hunting party began to ascend the slope leading to the ridge, beyond which Bart knew that the bison were feeding, and most probably in a similar depression to the one in which the horsemen had been hidden.“Look out for yourself,” said Joses, raising his rifle; and nerving himself for the encounter, and wondering whether he really was afraid or no, Bart pressed his little cob’s sides with his heels, making it increase its pace, while he, the rider, determined to dash boldly into the herd just as he had been told.At that moment Bart’s courage had a severe trial, for it seemed as if by magic that a huge bull suddenly appeared before him, the monster having trotted heavily to the top of the ridge, exactly opposite to Bart, and, not ten yards apart, the latter and the bull stopped short to gaze at each other.“What a monster!” thought Bart, bringing his rifle to bear upon the massive head, with the tremendous shoulders covered with long coarse shaggy hair, while the short curved horns and great glowing eyes gave the bull so ferocious an aspect that upon first acquaintance it was quite excusable that Bart’s heart should quail and his hands tremble as he took aim, for the animal did not move.Just then Bart remembered that Joses had warned him not to fire at the front of a bison.“He’d carry away half-a-dozen balls, my lad, and only die miserably afterwards in the plain. What you’ve got to do is to put a bullet in a good place and bring him down at once. That’s good hunting. It saves powder and lead, makes sure of the meat, and don’t hurt the buffler half so much.”So Bart did not fire, but sat there staring up at the bull, and the bull stood above him pawing the ground, snorting furiously, and preparing himself for a charge.Truth must be told. If Bart had been left to himself on this his first meeting with a bison, especially as the beast looked so threatening, he would have turned and fled. But as it happened, he was not left to himself, for Black Boy did not share his rider’s tremor. He stood gazing warily up at the bull for a few moments, and then, having apparently made up his mind that there was not much cause for alarm, and that the bison was a good deal of a big bully without a great deal of bravery under his shaggy hide, he began to move slowly up the slope, taking his master with him, to Bart’s horror and consternation.“He’ll charge at and roll us over and over down the slope,” thought Bart, as he freed his feet from the stirrups, ready to leap off and avoid being crushed beneath his nag.Nine yards—eight yards—six yards—closer and closer, and the bison did not charge. Then so near that the monster’s eyes seemed to flame, and still nearer and nearer, with the great animal tossing its head, and making believe to lower it and tear up the earth with one horn.“If he don’t run we must,” thought Bart, at last, as Black Boy slowly and cautiously took him up to within a yard of the shaggy beast, whose bovine breath Bart could smell now as he tossed his head.Then, all at once, the great fellow wheeled round and thundered down the slope, while, as if enjoying the discomfiture, Black Boy made a bound, cleared the ridge, and descended the other slope at full gallop close to the bison’s heels.All Bart’s fear went in the breeze that swept by him. He felt ready to shout with excitement, for the valley before him seemed to be alive with bison, all going along at a heavy lumbering gallop, with Joses and the Indians in full pursuit, and all as much excited as he.His instructions were to ride right in between two of the bison, single out one of them, and to keep to him till he dropped; and Bart saw nothing but the huge drove on ahead, with the monstrous bull whose acquaintance he had made thundering on between him and the main body.“I must keep to him,” thought Bart; “and I will, till I have shot him down.”“If I can,” he added a few minutes later, as he kept on in the exciting chase.How long it lasted he could not tell, nor how far they went. All he knew was that after a long ride the bull nearly reached the main body; and once mingled with them, Bart felt that he must lose him.But this did not prove to be the case, for Black Boy had had too good a training with cattle-driving. He had been a bit astonished at the shaggy hair about the bison’s front, but it did not trouble him much; and without being called upon by spur or blow, no sooner did the bison plunge into the ranks of his fellows as they thundered on, than the gallant little horse made three or four bounds, and rushed close up to his haunch, touching him and the bison on his left, with the result that both of the shaggy monsters edged off a little, giving way so that Bart was carried right in between them, and, as Joses had suggested, there was one moment when he could literally have kicked the animals on either side of his little horse.That only lasted for a moment, though; for both of the bison began to edge away, with the result that the opening grew wider and wider, while, remembering enough of his lesson, Bart kept close to the bull’s flank, Black Boy never flinching for a moment; and at last the drove had scattered, so that the young hunter found himself almost all alone on the plain, going at full speed beside his shaggy quarry, the rest of the herd having left him to his fate.And now the bull began to grow daring, making short rushes at horse and rider, but they were of so clumsy a nature that Black Boy easily avoided them, closing in again in the most pertinacious manner upon the bull’s flanks as soon as the charge was ended.All at once Bart remembered that there was something else to be done, and that he was not to go on riding beside the bison, but to try and shoot it.Easier said than done, going at full gallop, but he brought his rifle to bear, and tried to get a good aim, but could not; for it seemed as if the muzzle were either jerked up towards the sky or depressed towards the ground.He tried again and again, but could not make sure of a shot, so, checking his steed a little, he allowed the bison to get a few yards ahead, and then galloped forward till he was well on the right side, where he could rest the rifle upon his horse’s withers, and, waiting his time, get a good shot.It might have been fired into the earth for all the effect it had, save to produce an angry charge, and it was the same with a couple more shots. Then, all at once, as Bart was re-loading, the poor brute suddenly stood still, panting heavily, made an effort to charge the little horse, stopped, ploughed up the ground with its right horn, and then shivered and fell over upon its flank—dead.Bart leaped from his horse in his excitement, and, running to the bison, jumped upon its shaggy shoulder, took off his cap, waved it above his head, and uttered a loud cheer.Then he looked round for some one to echo his cry, and he saw a widespread stretch of undulating prairie land, with some tufts of bush here, some tall grass there, and beneath his feet the huge game beast that he had fairly run down and shot, while close beside him Black Boy was recompensing himself for his long run by munching the coarse brown grass.And that was all.

Joses was wrong, for no sign was seen of buffalo that day, and so the next morning, after a very primitive kind of camp out in the wilderness, the Beaver took them in quite a different direction, parallel to the camp, so as to be within range, for distance had to be remembered in providing meat for so large a company.

It was what Joses called ticklish work.

“You must keep your eyes well skinned, Master Bart,” he said, with a grim smile, as they left the plain for an undulating country, full of depressions, most of which contained water, and whose gentle hills were covered with succulent buffalo-grass. “If you don’t, my lad, you may find yourself dropping down on to a herd of Apachés instead of buffaloes; and I can tell you, young fellow, that a buck Injun’s a deal worse thing to deal with than a bull buffler. You must keep a sharp look-out.”

“I’ll do the best I can, Joses, you may be sure; but suppose I should come upon an Indian party—what am I to do?”

“Do, my lad? Why, make tracks as sharp as ever you can to your friends—that is, if you are alone.”

“But if I can’t get away, and they shoot at me?”

“Well, what do you mean?” said Joses, dryly.

“I mean what am I to do if I am in close quarters, and feel that they will kill me?”

“Oh,” said Joses, grimly, “I should pull up short, and go up to them and give them my hatchet, and rifle, and knife, and say to ’em that you hope they won’t be so wicked as to kill you, for you are very fond of Injun, and think ’em very nice; and then you’ll see they’ll be as pleased as pleased, and they’ll make such a fuss over you.”

“Do you mean that, Joses?”

“Mean it, my lad? to be sure I do. A friend of mine did so, just as I’ve told you, for he was afraid to fight.”

“And did the Indians make a fuss over him?” asked Bart.

“To be sure they did, my lad; they took his weppuns, and then they set him on his knees, and pulled all the hair off his head to make an ornament for one of their belts, and then, because he hollered out and didn’t like it, they took their lariats and tethering pegs, and after fixing the pegs in the ground, they put a rope round each of his ankles and his wrists, and spread-eagled him out tight, and then they lit a fire to warm themselves, for it was a very cold day.”

“What!” cried Bart, looking aghast at his companion, who was evidently bantering him.

“Oh no, not to roast him,” said Joses, laughing; “they didn’t mean that. They lit the fire on purpose to warm themselves; and where do you think they lit it?”

“In a hole in the ground,” said Bart.

“No, my boy; they lit it on that poor fellow’s chest, and kept it burning there fiercely, and sat round it and warmed themselves; and the more that poor wretch shrieked for mercy, the more they laughed.”

“Joses, it’s too horrid to believe,” cried Bart.

“Well, it does sound too horrid; don’t it, eh? But it’s the simple, honest truth, my boy, for some of they Injuns is regular demons, and stop at nothing. They do any mortal thing under the sun to a white.”

“Then you would not surrender?” said Bart.

“Surrender? What! to an Indian? Not till I hadn’t got a bit o’ life in my body, my lad. Not before.”

“But would you have me turn upon them and shoot them, Joses?” said the lad, with all a boy’s horror of shedding blood.

“Bart, my lad,” said Joses, holding out his rough hand, which the boy readily grasped, “if you ask me for a bit of advice, as one who knows pretty well what unfriendly Injun is, I’ll give it to you.”

“I do ask it, Joses, for it horrifies me to think of trying to take a man’s life.”

“Of course it does, my lad; so it used to me. But here’s my bit of advice for you:—Whenever you meet Injun, don’t trust ’em till they’re proved to be of the right grit. Don’t hurt a hair of any one of their heads, and always be honest in dealing with them. But if it comes to fighting, and you see they mean your life, fight for it like a man. Show ’em that an English boy has got a man’s heart, only it’s young, and not full growed. Never give up, for recklect that if the Injuns get hold of you it means death—horrible death—while if you fight you may beat ’em, and if you don’t it’s only death all the same.”

“But it seems so dreadful to shoot at a man, knowing that you may kill him.”

“So it does, my lad, but it’s ever so much more dreadful for them to shoot at you. They’ve only got to leave you alone and it’s all right.”

Just then the Beaver came cantering up to them, gently lying right down upon his horse.

“Jump off, Master Bart,” cried Joses; “there’s buffler in sight, and we don’t want to scare ’em.”

Setting the example, he slid from his horse, and stood behind it, Bart imitating his acts, and they waited there till the Beaver came up, and pointed towards an opening in the distance, where, for the moment, Bart could see nothing; but watching attentively, he soon made out what seemed to be a dark patch moving slowly towards them.

“Are those bison?” he whispered to Joses; though the objects at which he gazed were miles away.

“No, they aren’t,” growled Joses; “them’s buffler, and they’re a feeding steadily on in this way, so that we shall be able to get a good few, I hope, and p’r’aps drive two or three a long way on towards the camp, so as to save carrying them there.”

“May we ride up to them now?” cried Bart.

“I ain’t going to have anything to do with the hunt,” cried Joses, grimly. “Let the Beaver do it all; he’s used to it. I haven’t had anything to do with buffler-hunting for a many years.”

“Are the bulls very dangerous?” said Bart then. “I mean may I ride pretty close up to one without getting gored?”

“They ain’t half so dangerous as our own bulls used to be down at the ranche, my lad, and not a quarter so dangerous as them that have taken to a wild life after jumping out of the corral.”

By this time the Beaver had signalled his followers to approach, and after giving them some instructions, they all rode off together into a bit of a valley, the Beaver and his English companions following them, so that in a few minutes they were out of sight of the approaching herd of buffalo, which came steadily on in profound ignorance of there being enemies in their neighbourhood.

The country was admirably adapted for a hunt, the ground being unencumbered by anything larger than a scrubby kind of brush, while its many shallow valleys gave the hunters ample opportunity for riding unseen until they had reached a favourable situation for their onslaught.

The Beaver was evidently a thorough expert in such a hunt as this, for he kept on dismounting and making observations, directing his followers here and there, and often approaching pretty near, making retrograde movements, so as to bring them forward again in a more satisfactory position.

His last arrangement was to place his following in couples about a hundred yards apart, parallel with the line of march of the herd, which was still invisible to Bart, though on the other side of the ridge in whose valley he sheltered he could hear a strange snorting noise every now and then, and a low angry bellow.

“We’re to wait his signal, Master Bart, and then ride up the slope here, and go right at the buffler. Don’t be afraid, my lad, but pick out the one you mean to have, and then stick to him till you’ve brought him down with a bullet right through his shoulder.”

“I’ll try not to be afraid, Joses,” said Bart; “but I can’t help feeling a bit excited.”

“You wouldn’t be good for much if you didn’t, my boy,” said the frontiersman. “Now then, be ready. Is your rifle all right?”

“Yes.”

“Mind then: ride close up to your bull, and as he gallops off you gallop too, till you reach out with your rifle in one hand and fire.”

“But am I to ride right up to the herd, Joses?”

“To be sure you are, my boy. Don’t you be afraid, I tell you. It’s only getting over it the first time. Just you touch Black Boy with your heels, and he’ll take you right in between a couple of the bulls, so that you can almost reach them on each side. Then you’ll find they’ll begin to edge off on both sides, and get farther and farther away, when, as I told you before, you must stick to one till you’ve got him down.”

“Poor brute!” said Bart, gently.

“Poor stuff!” cried Joses. “We must have meat, mustn’t we? You wouldn’t say poor salmon or poor sheep because it had to be killed. Look out. Here we go.”

For the Beaver had made a quick signal, and in a moment the hunting party began to ascend the slope leading to the ridge, beyond which Bart knew that the bison were feeding, and most probably in a similar depression to the one in which the horsemen had been hidden.

“Look out for yourself,” said Joses, raising his rifle; and nerving himself for the encounter, and wondering whether he really was afraid or no, Bart pressed his little cob’s sides with his heels, making it increase its pace, while he, the rider, determined to dash boldly into the herd just as he had been told.

At that moment Bart’s courage had a severe trial, for it seemed as if by magic that a huge bull suddenly appeared before him, the monster having trotted heavily to the top of the ridge, exactly opposite to Bart, and, not ten yards apart, the latter and the bull stopped short to gaze at each other.

“What a monster!” thought Bart, bringing his rifle to bear upon the massive head, with the tremendous shoulders covered with long coarse shaggy hair, while the short curved horns and great glowing eyes gave the bull so ferocious an aspect that upon first acquaintance it was quite excusable that Bart’s heart should quail and his hands tremble as he took aim, for the animal did not move.

Just then Bart remembered that Joses had warned him not to fire at the front of a bison.

“He’d carry away half-a-dozen balls, my lad, and only die miserably afterwards in the plain. What you’ve got to do is to put a bullet in a good place and bring him down at once. That’s good hunting. It saves powder and lead, makes sure of the meat, and don’t hurt the buffler half so much.”

So Bart did not fire, but sat there staring up at the bull, and the bull stood above him pawing the ground, snorting furiously, and preparing himself for a charge.

Truth must be told. If Bart had been left to himself on this his first meeting with a bison, especially as the beast looked so threatening, he would have turned and fled. But as it happened, he was not left to himself, for Black Boy did not share his rider’s tremor. He stood gazing warily up at the bull for a few moments, and then, having apparently made up his mind that there was not much cause for alarm, and that the bison was a good deal of a big bully without a great deal of bravery under his shaggy hide, he began to move slowly up the slope, taking his master with him, to Bart’s horror and consternation.

“He’ll charge at and roll us over and over down the slope,” thought Bart, as he freed his feet from the stirrups, ready to leap off and avoid being crushed beneath his nag.

Nine yards—eight yards—six yards—closer and closer, and the bison did not charge. Then so near that the monster’s eyes seemed to flame, and still nearer and nearer, with the great animal tossing its head, and making believe to lower it and tear up the earth with one horn.

“If he don’t run we must,” thought Bart, at last, as Black Boy slowly and cautiously took him up to within a yard of the shaggy beast, whose bovine breath Bart could smell now as he tossed his head.

Then, all at once, the great fellow wheeled round and thundered down the slope, while, as if enjoying the discomfiture, Black Boy made a bound, cleared the ridge, and descended the other slope at full gallop close to the bison’s heels.

All Bart’s fear went in the breeze that swept by him. He felt ready to shout with excitement, for the valley before him seemed to be alive with bison, all going along at a heavy lumbering gallop, with Joses and the Indians in full pursuit, and all as much excited as he.

His instructions were to ride right in between two of the bison, single out one of them, and to keep to him till he dropped; and Bart saw nothing but the huge drove on ahead, with the monstrous bull whose acquaintance he had made thundering on between him and the main body.

“I must keep to him,” thought Bart; “and I will, till I have shot him down.”

“If I can,” he added a few minutes later, as he kept on in the exciting chase.

How long it lasted he could not tell, nor how far they went. All he knew was that after a long ride the bull nearly reached the main body; and once mingled with them, Bart felt that he must lose him.

But this did not prove to be the case, for Black Boy had had too good a training with cattle-driving. He had been a bit astonished at the shaggy hair about the bison’s front, but it did not trouble him much; and without being called upon by spur or blow, no sooner did the bison plunge into the ranks of his fellows as they thundered on, than the gallant little horse made three or four bounds, and rushed close up to his haunch, touching him and the bison on his left, with the result that both of the shaggy monsters edged off a little, giving way so that Bart was carried right in between them, and, as Joses had suggested, there was one moment when he could literally have kicked the animals on either side of his little horse.

That only lasted for a moment, though; for both of the bison began to edge away, with the result that the opening grew wider and wider, while, remembering enough of his lesson, Bart kept close to the bull’s flank, Black Boy never flinching for a moment; and at last the drove had scattered, so that the young hunter found himself almost all alone on the plain, going at full speed beside his shaggy quarry, the rest of the herd having left him to his fate.

And now the bull began to grow daring, making short rushes at horse and rider, but they were of so clumsy a nature that Black Boy easily avoided them, closing in again in the most pertinacious manner upon the bull’s flanks as soon as the charge was ended.

All at once Bart remembered that there was something else to be done, and that he was not to go on riding beside the bison, but to try and shoot it.

Easier said than done, going at full gallop, but he brought his rifle to bear, and tried to get a good aim, but could not; for it seemed as if the muzzle were either jerked up towards the sky or depressed towards the ground.

He tried again and again, but could not make sure of a shot, so, checking his steed a little, he allowed the bison to get a few yards ahead, and then galloped forward till he was well on the right side, where he could rest the rifle upon his horse’s withers, and, waiting his time, get a good shot.

It might have been fired into the earth for all the effect it had, save to produce an angry charge, and it was the same with a couple more shots. Then, all at once, as Bart was re-loading, the poor brute suddenly stood still, panting heavily, made an effort to charge the little horse, stopped, ploughed up the ground with its right horn, and then shivered and fell over upon its flank—dead.

Bart leaped from his horse in his excitement, and, running to the bison, jumped upon its shaggy shoulder, took off his cap, waved it above his head, and uttered a loud cheer.

Then he looked round for some one to echo his cry, and he saw a widespread stretch of undulating prairie land, with some tufts of bush here, some tall grass there, and beneath his feet the huge game beast that he had fairly run down and shot, while close beside him Black Boy was recompensing himself for his long run by munching the coarse brown grass.

And that was all.

Chapter Twenty Six.Alone in the Plains.Where were the hundreds of buffalo that had been thundering over the plain?Where was Joses?Where were the Indians?These were the questions Bart asked as he gazed round him in dismay. For the excitement of his gallop was over now, and, though they wanted meat so badly, he felt half sorry that he had shot the poor beast that lay stiffening by his side for he had leaped down, and had, as if by instinct, taken hold of Black Boy’s rein, lest he should suddenly take it into his head to gallop off and leave his master in the solitude by himself.For a few minutes there was something novel and strange in the sensation of being the only human being in that vast circle whose circumference was the horizon, seen from his own centre.Then it began to be astonishing, and Bart wondered why he could not see either hunters or buffaloes.Lastly, it began to be painful, and to be mingled with a curious sensation of dread. He realised that he was alone in that vast plain—that he had galloped on for a long while without noticing in which direction he had gone, and then, half-stunned and wondering as he fully realised the fact that he was lost, he mounted his horse and sat thinking.He did not think much, for there was a singular, stupefied feeling in his head for a time. But this passed off, and was succeeded by a bewildering rush of thought—what was to become of him if he were left here like this—alone—without a friend—hopeless of being found?This wild race of fancies was horrible while it endured, and Bart pressed the cold barrel of his rifle to his forehead in the hope of finding relief, but it gave none.The relief came from his own effort as he tried to pull himself together, laughing at his own cowardice, and ridiculing his fears.“What a pretty sort of a hunter I shall make!” he said aloud, “to be afraid of being left alone for a few minutes in broad daylight, with the sun shining down upon my head, and plenty of beef to eat if I like to light myself a fire.”It was ridiculous, he told himself, and that he ought to feel ashamed; for he was ignorant of the fact that even old plainsmen and practised hunters may lose their nerve at such a time, and suffer so from the horror of believing themselves lost that some even become insane.Fortunately, perhaps, Bart did not know this, and he bantered himself until he grew cooler, when he began to calculate on what was the proper thing to do.“Let me see,” he said; “they are sure to begin looking for me as soon as I am missed. What shall I do? Fire my rifle—make a fire—ride off to try and find them?”He sat upon his horse thinking.If he fired his rifle or made a fire, he might bring down Indians upon him, and that would be worse than being lost, so he determined to wait patiently until he was able to see some of his party; and no sooner had he come to this determination than he cheered up, for he recollected directly that the Beaver, or some one or other of his men, would be sure to find him by his trail, even though it had been amongst the trampling hoof-marks of the bison. The prints of a well-shod horse would be unmistakable, and with this thought he grew more patient, and waited on.It was towards evening, though, before he had the reward of his patience in seeing the figure of a mounted Indian in the distance; and even then it gave no comfort, for he felt sure that it might be an enemy, for it appeared to be in the very opposite direction from that which he had come.Bart’s first idea was to go off at a gallop, only he did not know where to go, and after all, this might be a friend.Then another appeared, and another; and dismounting, and turning his horse and the bison into bulwarks, Bart stood with his rifle resting, ready for a shot, should these Indians prove to be enemies, and patiently waited them as they came on.This they did so quickly and full of confidence that there was soon no doubt as to who they were, and Bart at last mounted again, and rode forward to meet them.The Indians came on, waving their rifles above their heads, and no sooner did they catch sight of the prize the lad had shot than they gave a yell of delight; and then, forgetting their customary stolidity, they began to chatter to him volubly in their own tongue, as they flung themselves from their horses and began to skin the bison as it lay.Bart could not help thinking how thoroughly at home these men seemed in the wilds. A short time before he had been in misery and despair because he felt that he was lost. Here were these Indians perfectly at their ease, and ready to set to work and prepare for a stay if needs be, for nothing troubled them—the immensity and solitude had no terrors for their untutored minds.They had not been at work above an hour before a couple more Indians came into sight, and soon after, to his great delight, Bart recognised Joses and the Beaver coming slowly over a ridge in the distance, and he cantered off to meet them at once.“Thought we lost you, Master Bart,” cried Joses, with a grim smile. “Well, how many bufflers did you shoot?”“Only one,” replied Bart, “but it was a very big fellow.”“Calf?” asked Joses, laughing.“No; that great bull that came over the ridge.”“You don’t mean to say you ran him down, lad, and shot him, do you?” cried Joses, excitedly.“There he lies, and the Indians are cutting him up,” said Bart quietly.Joses pressed his horse’s sides with his heels, and went off at a gallop to inspect Bart’s prize, coming back in a few minutes smiling all over his face.“He’s a fine one, my lad. He’s a fine one, Master Bart—finest shot to-day. I tell you what, my lad, if I’d shot that great bull I should have thought myself a lucky man.”As he spoke he pointed to the spot, and the Beaver cantered off to have his look, and he now came back ready to nod and say a few commendatory words to the young hunter, whom they considered to have well won his spurs.The result of this first encounter with the bison was that nine were slain, and for many hours to come the party were busy cutting up the meat into strips, which were hung in the sun to dry.Then four of the Indians went slowly off towards the miners’ camp at the mountain, their horses laden with the strips of meat, their instructions being to come back with a couple of waggons, which Joses believed they would be able to fill next day.“How far do you think we are from the camp?” asked Bart.“’Bout fifteen miles or so, no more,” replied Joses. “You see the run after the bison led us down towards it, so that there isn’t so far to go.”“Why, I fancied that we were miles upon miles away,” cried Bart; “regularly lost in the wilderness.”“Instead of being close at home, eh, lad? Well, we shall have to camp somewhere out here to-night, so we may as well pick out a good place.”“But where are the other Indians?” asked Bart.“Cutting up the buffler we killed,” replied Joses.“Faraway?”“Oh, no; mile or so. We’ve done pretty well, my lad, for the first day, only we want such a lot to fill so many mouths.”A suitable place was selected for the camp, down in a well-sheltered hollow, where a fire was lit, and some bison-meat placed upon sticks to roast. The missing Indians seemed to be attracted by the odour, for just as it was done they all came straight up to camp ready to make a hearty meal, in which their white companions were in no wise behind hand.“Not bad stuff,” said Joses, after a long space, during which he had been too busy to speak.“I never ate anything so delicious,” replied Bart, who, upon his side, was beginning to feel as if he had had enough.“Ah, there’s worse things than roast buffler hump,” said Joses; “and now, my lad, if I was you I’d take as big and as long a sleep as I could, for we must be off again before daylight after the herd.”“Shall we catch up to them again, Joses?” asked Bart.“Catch up to ’em? why, of course, they haven’t gone far.”A quarter of an hour later Bart was fast asleep, dreaming that he was hunting a bull bison ten times as big as the one he had that afternoon shot, and that after hunting it for hours it suddenly turned round and began to hunt him, till he became so tired that he lay down and went off fast asleep, when, to his great disgust, when he was so weary, Joses came and began to shake him by the shoulder, saying:“Come, Master Bart, lad, wake up. The buffer’s been coming close in to camp during the night.”

Where were the hundreds of buffalo that had been thundering over the plain?

Where was Joses?

Where were the Indians?

These were the questions Bart asked as he gazed round him in dismay. For the excitement of his gallop was over now, and, though they wanted meat so badly, he felt half sorry that he had shot the poor beast that lay stiffening by his side for he had leaped down, and had, as if by instinct, taken hold of Black Boy’s rein, lest he should suddenly take it into his head to gallop off and leave his master in the solitude by himself.

For a few minutes there was something novel and strange in the sensation of being the only human being in that vast circle whose circumference was the horizon, seen from his own centre.

Then it began to be astonishing, and Bart wondered why he could not see either hunters or buffaloes.

Lastly, it began to be painful, and to be mingled with a curious sensation of dread. He realised that he was alone in that vast plain—that he had galloped on for a long while without noticing in which direction he had gone, and then, half-stunned and wondering as he fully realised the fact that he was lost, he mounted his horse and sat thinking.

He did not think much, for there was a singular, stupefied feeling in his head for a time. But this passed off, and was succeeded by a bewildering rush of thought—what was to become of him if he were left here like this—alone—without a friend—hopeless of being found?

This wild race of fancies was horrible while it endured, and Bart pressed the cold barrel of his rifle to his forehead in the hope of finding relief, but it gave none.

The relief came from his own effort as he tried to pull himself together, laughing at his own cowardice, and ridiculing his fears.

“What a pretty sort of a hunter I shall make!” he said aloud, “to be afraid of being left alone for a few minutes in broad daylight, with the sun shining down upon my head, and plenty of beef to eat if I like to light myself a fire.”

It was ridiculous, he told himself, and that he ought to feel ashamed; for he was ignorant of the fact that even old plainsmen and practised hunters may lose their nerve at such a time, and suffer so from the horror of believing themselves lost that some even become insane.

Fortunately, perhaps, Bart did not know this, and he bantered himself until he grew cooler, when he began to calculate on what was the proper thing to do.

“Let me see,” he said; “they are sure to begin looking for me as soon as I am missed. What shall I do? Fire my rifle—make a fire—ride off to try and find them?”

He sat upon his horse thinking.

If he fired his rifle or made a fire, he might bring down Indians upon him, and that would be worse than being lost, so he determined to wait patiently until he was able to see some of his party; and no sooner had he come to this determination than he cheered up, for he recollected directly that the Beaver, or some one or other of his men, would be sure to find him by his trail, even though it had been amongst the trampling hoof-marks of the bison. The prints of a well-shod horse would be unmistakable, and with this thought he grew more patient, and waited on.

It was towards evening, though, before he had the reward of his patience in seeing the figure of a mounted Indian in the distance; and even then it gave no comfort, for he felt sure that it might be an enemy, for it appeared to be in the very opposite direction from that which he had come.

Bart’s first idea was to go off at a gallop, only he did not know where to go, and after all, this might be a friend.

Then another appeared, and another; and dismounting, and turning his horse and the bison into bulwarks, Bart stood with his rifle resting, ready for a shot, should these Indians prove to be enemies, and patiently waited them as they came on.

This they did so quickly and full of confidence that there was soon no doubt as to who they were, and Bart at last mounted again, and rode forward to meet them.

The Indians came on, waving their rifles above their heads, and no sooner did they catch sight of the prize the lad had shot than they gave a yell of delight; and then, forgetting their customary stolidity, they began to chatter to him volubly in their own tongue, as they flung themselves from their horses and began to skin the bison as it lay.

Bart could not help thinking how thoroughly at home these men seemed in the wilds. A short time before he had been in misery and despair because he felt that he was lost. Here were these Indians perfectly at their ease, and ready to set to work and prepare for a stay if needs be, for nothing troubled them—the immensity and solitude had no terrors for their untutored minds.

They had not been at work above an hour before a couple more Indians came into sight, and soon after, to his great delight, Bart recognised Joses and the Beaver coming slowly over a ridge in the distance, and he cantered off to meet them at once.

“Thought we lost you, Master Bart,” cried Joses, with a grim smile. “Well, how many bufflers did you shoot?”

“Only one,” replied Bart, “but it was a very big fellow.”

“Calf?” asked Joses, laughing.

“No; that great bull that came over the ridge.”

“You don’t mean to say you ran him down, lad, and shot him, do you?” cried Joses, excitedly.

“There he lies, and the Indians are cutting him up,” said Bart quietly.

Joses pressed his horse’s sides with his heels, and went off at a gallop to inspect Bart’s prize, coming back in a few minutes smiling all over his face.

“He’s a fine one, my lad. He’s a fine one, Master Bart—finest shot to-day. I tell you what, my lad, if I’d shot that great bull I should have thought myself a lucky man.”

As he spoke he pointed to the spot, and the Beaver cantered off to have his look, and he now came back ready to nod and say a few commendatory words to the young hunter, whom they considered to have well won his spurs.

The result of this first encounter with the bison was that nine were slain, and for many hours to come the party were busy cutting up the meat into strips, which were hung in the sun to dry.

Then four of the Indians went slowly off towards the miners’ camp at the mountain, their horses laden with the strips of meat, their instructions being to come back with a couple of waggons, which Joses believed they would be able to fill next day.

“How far do you think we are from the camp?” asked Bart.

“’Bout fifteen miles or so, no more,” replied Joses. “You see the run after the bison led us down towards it, so that there isn’t so far to go.”

“Why, I fancied that we were miles upon miles away,” cried Bart; “regularly lost in the wilderness.”

“Instead of being close at home, eh, lad? Well, we shall have to camp somewhere out here to-night, so we may as well pick out a good place.”

“But where are the other Indians?” asked Bart.

“Cutting up the buffler we killed,” replied Joses.

“Faraway?”

“Oh, no; mile or so. We’ve done pretty well, my lad, for the first day, only we want such a lot to fill so many mouths.”

A suitable place was selected for the camp, down in a well-sheltered hollow, where a fire was lit, and some bison-meat placed upon sticks to roast. The missing Indians seemed to be attracted by the odour, for just as it was done they all came straight up to camp ready to make a hearty meal, in which their white companions were in no wise behind hand.

“Not bad stuff,” said Joses, after a long space, during which he had been too busy to speak.

“I never ate anything so delicious,” replied Bart, who, upon his side, was beginning to feel as if he had had enough.

“Ah, there’s worse things than roast buffler hump,” said Joses; “and now, my lad, if I was you I’d take as big and as long a sleep as I could, for we must be off again before daylight after the herd.”

“Shall we catch up to them again, Joses?” asked Bart.

“Catch up to ’em? why, of course, they haven’t gone far.”

A quarter of an hour later Bart was fast asleep, dreaming that he was hunting a bull bison ten times as big as the one he had that afternoon shot, and that after hunting it for hours it suddenly turned round and began to hunt him, till he became so tired that he lay down and went off fast asleep, when, to his great disgust, when he was so weary, Joses came and began to shake him by the shoulder, saying:

“Come, Master Bart, lad, wake up. The buffer’s been coming close in to camp during the night.”

Chapter Twenty Seven.More Food for the Camp.For it was nearly day, and Bart jumped up, astonished that he could have slept so long—that is to say, nearly since sundown on the previous evening.A good fire was burning, and buffalo steaks were sizzling and spurting ready for their repast, while the horses were all standing together beneath a little bold bluff of land left sharp and clear by the action of a stream that doubtless flowed swiftly enough in flood time, but was now merely a thread of water.The party were settling down to their meal, for which, in spite of the previous evening’s performance, Bart felt quite ready, when the horses suddenly began to snort and show a disposition to make a stampede, for there was a rushing noise as of thunder somewhere on ahead, and as the Indians rushed to their horses’ heads, and he made for Black Boy, thinking that there must be a flood rolling down from the hills, he caught a glimpse of what was amiss.For, as Bart stood up, he could see over the edge of the scarped bank beneath which they had made their fire, that the plain was literally alive with bison, which, in some mad insensate fit of dread, were in headlong flight, and their course would bring them right over the spot where the party was encamped.The Beaver saw it, and, prompt in action, he made his plans:— Signing to several to come to his side, while the rest held the horses, he leaped upon the edge of the stream bed just as the bison were within a hundred yards, and Bart and Joses followed him. Then altogether, as the huge herd was about to sweep over them, they uttered a tremendous shout, and all fired together right in the centre of the charging herd.Bart set his teeth, feeling sure that he would be run down and trampled to death; but the effect of the sudden and bold attack was to make the herd separate. It was but a mere trifle, for the bison were so packed together that their movements were to a great extent governed by those behind; but still they did deviate a little, those of the front rank swerving in two bodies to right and left, and that saved the little party.Bart had a sort of confused idea of being almost crushed by shaggy quarters, of being in the midst of a sea of tossing horns and dark hair, with lurid eyes glaring at him; then the drove was sweeping on—some leaping down into the stream bed and climbing up the opposite side, others literally tumbling down headlong, to be trampled upon by those which followed; and then the rushing noise began to die away, for the herd had swept on, and the traces they had left were the trampled ground and a couple of their number shot dead by the discharge of rifles, and lying in the river bed, while another had fallen a few hundred yards farther on in the track of the flight.Fortunately the horses had been held so closely up to the bluff that they had escaped, though several of the bison had been forced by their companions to the edge, and had taken the leap, some ten feet, into the river bed below.It had been a hard task, though, to hold the horses—the poor creatures shivering with dread, and fighting hard to get free. The worst part of the adventure revealed itself to Bart a few moments later when he turned to look for Joses, whom he found rubbing his head woefully beside the traces of their fire, over which the bison had gone in enormous numbers, with the result that the embers had been scattered, and every scrap of the delicious, freshly-roasted, well-browned meat trampled into the sand.“Never mind, Joses,” cried Bart, bursting out laughing; “there’s plenty more meat cut up.”“Plenty more,” growled Joses; “and that all so nicely done. Oh, the wilful, wasteful beasts! As if there wasn’t room enough anywhere else on the plain without their coming right over us!”“What does the Beaver mean?” said Bart just then.“Mean? Yes; I might have known as much. He thinks there’s Injun somewhere; that they have been hunting the buffler and made ’em stampede. We shall have to be off, my lad. No breakfast this morning.”It was as Joses said. The Beaver was of opinion that enemies must be near at hand, so he sent out scouts to feel for the danger, and no fire could be lighted lest it should betray their whereabouts to a watchful foe.A long period of crouching down in the stream bed ensued, and as Bart waited he could not help thinking that their hiding-place in the plain was, as it were, a beginning of a canyon like that by the mountain, and might, in the course of thousands of years, be cut down by the action of flowing water till it was as wide and deep.At last first one and then another scout came in, unable to find a trace of enemies; and thus encouraged, a fire was once more made and meat cooked, while the three bison slain that morning were skinned and their better portions cut away.The sun was streaming down with all its might as they once more went off over the plain in search of the herd; and this search was soon rewarded, the party separating, leaving Bart, and Joses together to ride after a smaller herd about a mile to their left.As they rode nearer, to Bart’s great surprise, the herd did not take flight, but huddled together, with a number of bulls facing outwards, presenting their horns to their enemies, tossing and shaking their shaggy heads, and pawing up the ground.“Why don’t they rush off, Joses?” asked Bart.“Got cows and calves inside there, my boy,” replied the frontiersman. “They can’t go fast, so the bulls have stopped to take care of them.”“Then it would be a shame to shoot them,” cried Bart. “Why, they are braver than I thought for.”“Not they,” laughed Joses. “Not much pluck in a bison, my lad, that I ever see. Why, you might walk straight up to them if you liked, and they’d never charge you.”“I shouldn’t like to try them,” said Bart, laughing.“Why not, my lad?”“Why not? Do you suppose I want to be trampled down and tossed?”“Look here, Master Bart. You’ll trust me, won’t you?”“Yes, Joses.”“You know I wouldn’t send you into danger, don’t you?”“Of course, Joses.”“Then look here, my lad. I’m going to give you a lesson, if you’ll learn it.”“A lesson in what?” asked Bart.“In buffler, my lad.”“Very well, go on; I’m listening. I want to learn all I can about them,” replied Bart, as he kept on closely watching the great, fierce, fiery-eyed bison bulls, as they stamped and snorted and pawed the ground, and kept making feints of dashing at their approaching enemies, who rode towards them at a good pace.“I don’t want you to listen, my lad,” said Joses; “I want you to get down and walk right up to the buffler bulls there, and try and lay hold of their horns.”“Walk up to them?” cried Bart. “Why, I was just thinking that if we don’t turn and gallop off, they’ll trample us down.”“Not they, my lad,” replied Joses. “I know ’em better than that.”“Why, they rushed right over us at the camp.”“Yes, because they were on the stampede, and couldn’t stop themselves. If they had seen us sooner they’d have gone off to the right, or left. As for those in front, if they charge, it will be away from where they can see a man.”“But if I got down and walked towards them, the bulls would come at me,” cried Bart.“Not they, I tell you, my lad; and I should like to see you show your pluck by getting down and walking up to them. It would be about the best lesson in buffler you ever had.”“But they might charge me, Joses,” said Bart, uneasily.“Did I tell you right about ’em before,” said Joses, “or did I tell you wrong, my lad?”“You told me right; but you might be wrong about them here.”“You let me alone for that,” replied Joses, gruffly. “I know what I’m saying. Now, then, will you get down and walk up to ’em, or must I?”“If you’ll tell me that I may do such a thing, I’ll go up to them,” said Bart, slowly.“Then I do tell you, my lad, and wouldn’t send you if itwasn’t safe. You ought to know that. Now, then, will you go?”For answer Bart slipped off his horse and cocked his rifle.“Don’t shoot till they’re turning round, my lad,” said Joses; “and then give it to that big young bull in the middle there. He’s a fine one, and we must have meat for the camp.”“But it seems a pity; he looks such a brave fellow,” said Bart.“Never mind; shoot him. All the other bulls will be precious glad, for he’s the tyrant of the herd, and leads them a pretty life. Now then, on you go.”They were now some sixty yards from the herd, and no sooner did Bart take a step forward than Joses leaped lightly from his horse, and rested his rifle over the saddle ready for a sure shot when he should see his chance.Bart tried to put on a bold front, but he felt very nervous, and walked cautiously towards the herd, where ten or a dozen bulls faced him, and now seemed to be furious, snorting and stamping with rage.But he walked on, gaining courage as he went, but ere he had gone half-a-dozen steps six of the bulls made a headlong charge at him, and Bart stood still, ready to fire.“How stupid I was,” he said to himself. “They’ll go right over me;” and with his heart beating heavily he felt that he must turn and run.“Go on, my lad, go on,” shouted Joses, encouragingly; and in spite of himself, and as if bound to obey orders, the lad took a step forward again, when, to his utter amazement, the bison bulls, now not twenty yards away, stopped short, shook their heads at him, made some impotent tosses in the air, pawed up a little grass, and then turned altogether, and trotted back to take up their old position in front of the herd.“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Joses, behind him. “What did I tell you? Go on, my lad. You’ve got more heart than a bison.”This emboldened Bart, who went steadily on, reducing the distance between him and the herd; and it was a curious sensation that which came upon the lad as he walked nearer and nearer to the furious-looking beasts.Then his heart gave a tremendous throb, and seemed to stand still, for, without warning, and moved as if by one impulse, the bison charged again, but this time not half the distance; and as Bart did not run from them, they evidently thought that some one ought to flee, so they galloped back.Bart was encouraged now, and began to feel plenty of contempt for the monsters, and walking more swiftly, the beasts charged twice more, the last time only about the length of their bodies, and this was when Bart was so near that he could almost feel their hot moist breath.This was the last charge, for as they turned the leading bull evidently communicated his opinion that the young visitor was a stupid kind of being, whom it was impossible to frighten, and the whole herd set off at a lumbering gallop, but as they did so two rifle-shots rang out, and two bulls hung back a little, evidently wounded.Joses led up Bart’s horse as the lad reloaded, and put the rein in his hand.“There, off after your own bull, my lad. It was bravely done. I’m off after mine.”Then they separated, and after a short, gallop Bart reached his quarry, and better able now to manage his task, he rode up on its right side, and a well-placed bullet tumbled the monstrous creature over on the plain dead.Joses had to give two shots before he disabled his own bison, but the run was very short; and when Bart and he looked round they were not above a couple of hundred yards apart, and the Beaver and a couple of Indians were cantering towards them.That evening their messengers returned with a couple of the white men and two waggons, which were taken in triumph next morning to the camp, heavily laden with bison-meat; and as they came near the mountain, Bart drew rein to stay and watch the curious sight before him, for, evidently in pursuance of the Doctor’s idea to make the top of the mountain the stronghold of the silver adventurers, there was quite a crowd of the people toiling up the path up the mountain, all laden with packages and the various stores that had been brought for the adventure.“Been pretty busy since we’ve been gone, Master Bart,” said Joses, grimly. “Won’t they come scuffling down again when they know there’s meat ready for sharing out.”But Joses was wrong, for the meat was not shared out down in the plain, but a second relay of busy hands were set to work to carry the store of fresh food right up the mountain-side to a tent that had already been pitched on the level top, while as soon as the waggons were emptied they were drawn up in rank along with the others close beneath the wall-like rock.

For it was nearly day, and Bart jumped up, astonished that he could have slept so long—that is to say, nearly since sundown on the previous evening.

A good fire was burning, and buffalo steaks were sizzling and spurting ready for their repast, while the horses were all standing together beneath a little bold bluff of land left sharp and clear by the action of a stream that doubtless flowed swiftly enough in flood time, but was now merely a thread of water.

The party were settling down to their meal, for which, in spite of the previous evening’s performance, Bart felt quite ready, when the horses suddenly began to snort and show a disposition to make a stampede, for there was a rushing noise as of thunder somewhere on ahead, and as the Indians rushed to their horses’ heads, and he made for Black Boy, thinking that there must be a flood rolling down from the hills, he caught a glimpse of what was amiss.

For, as Bart stood up, he could see over the edge of the scarped bank beneath which they had made their fire, that the plain was literally alive with bison, which, in some mad insensate fit of dread, were in headlong flight, and their course would bring them right over the spot where the party was encamped.

The Beaver saw it, and, prompt in action, he made his plans:— Signing to several to come to his side, while the rest held the horses, he leaped upon the edge of the stream bed just as the bison were within a hundred yards, and Bart and Joses followed him. Then altogether, as the huge herd was about to sweep over them, they uttered a tremendous shout, and all fired together right in the centre of the charging herd.

Bart set his teeth, feeling sure that he would be run down and trampled to death; but the effect of the sudden and bold attack was to make the herd separate. It was but a mere trifle, for the bison were so packed together that their movements were to a great extent governed by those behind; but still they did deviate a little, those of the front rank swerving in two bodies to right and left, and that saved the little party.

Bart had a sort of confused idea of being almost crushed by shaggy quarters, of being in the midst of a sea of tossing horns and dark hair, with lurid eyes glaring at him; then the drove was sweeping on—some leaping down into the stream bed and climbing up the opposite side, others literally tumbling down headlong, to be trampled upon by those which followed; and then the rushing noise began to die away, for the herd had swept on, and the traces they had left were the trampled ground and a couple of their number shot dead by the discharge of rifles, and lying in the river bed, while another had fallen a few hundred yards farther on in the track of the flight.

Fortunately the horses had been held so closely up to the bluff that they had escaped, though several of the bison had been forced by their companions to the edge, and had taken the leap, some ten feet, into the river bed below.

It had been a hard task, though, to hold the horses—the poor creatures shivering with dread, and fighting hard to get free. The worst part of the adventure revealed itself to Bart a few moments later when he turned to look for Joses, whom he found rubbing his head woefully beside the traces of their fire, over which the bison had gone in enormous numbers, with the result that the embers had been scattered, and every scrap of the delicious, freshly-roasted, well-browned meat trampled into the sand.

“Never mind, Joses,” cried Bart, bursting out laughing; “there’s plenty more meat cut up.”

“Plenty more,” growled Joses; “and that all so nicely done. Oh, the wilful, wasteful beasts! As if there wasn’t room enough anywhere else on the plain without their coming right over us!”

“What does the Beaver mean?” said Bart just then.

“Mean? Yes; I might have known as much. He thinks there’s Injun somewhere; that they have been hunting the buffler and made ’em stampede. We shall have to be off, my lad. No breakfast this morning.”

It was as Joses said. The Beaver was of opinion that enemies must be near at hand, so he sent out scouts to feel for the danger, and no fire could be lighted lest it should betray their whereabouts to a watchful foe.

A long period of crouching down in the stream bed ensued, and as Bart waited he could not help thinking that their hiding-place in the plain was, as it were, a beginning of a canyon like that by the mountain, and might, in the course of thousands of years, be cut down by the action of flowing water till it was as wide and deep.

At last first one and then another scout came in, unable to find a trace of enemies; and thus encouraged, a fire was once more made and meat cooked, while the three bison slain that morning were skinned and their better portions cut away.

The sun was streaming down with all its might as they once more went off over the plain in search of the herd; and this search was soon rewarded, the party separating, leaving Bart, and Joses together to ride after a smaller herd about a mile to their left.

As they rode nearer, to Bart’s great surprise, the herd did not take flight, but huddled together, with a number of bulls facing outwards, presenting their horns to their enemies, tossing and shaking their shaggy heads, and pawing up the ground.

“Why don’t they rush off, Joses?” asked Bart.

“Got cows and calves inside there, my boy,” replied the frontiersman. “They can’t go fast, so the bulls have stopped to take care of them.”

“Then it would be a shame to shoot them,” cried Bart. “Why, they are braver than I thought for.”

“Not they,” laughed Joses. “Not much pluck in a bison, my lad, that I ever see. Why, you might walk straight up to them if you liked, and they’d never charge you.”

“I shouldn’t like to try them,” said Bart, laughing.

“Why not, my lad?”

“Why not? Do you suppose I want to be trampled down and tossed?”

“Look here, Master Bart. You’ll trust me, won’t you?”

“Yes, Joses.”

“You know I wouldn’t send you into danger, don’t you?”

“Of course, Joses.”

“Then look here, my lad. I’m going to give you a lesson, if you’ll learn it.”

“A lesson in what?” asked Bart.

“In buffler, my lad.”

“Very well, go on; I’m listening. I want to learn all I can about them,” replied Bart, as he kept on closely watching the great, fierce, fiery-eyed bison bulls, as they stamped and snorted and pawed the ground, and kept making feints of dashing at their approaching enemies, who rode towards them at a good pace.

“I don’t want you to listen, my lad,” said Joses; “I want you to get down and walk right up to the buffler bulls there, and try and lay hold of their horns.”

“Walk up to them?” cried Bart. “Why, I was just thinking that if we don’t turn and gallop off, they’ll trample us down.”

“Not they, my lad,” replied Joses. “I know ’em better than that.”

“Why, they rushed right over us at the camp.”

“Yes, because they were on the stampede, and couldn’t stop themselves. If they had seen us sooner they’d have gone off to the right, or left. As for those in front, if they charge, it will be away from where they can see a man.”

“But if I got down and walked towards them, the bulls would come at me,” cried Bart.

“Not they, I tell you, my lad; and I should like to see you show your pluck by getting down and walking up to them. It would be about the best lesson in buffler you ever had.”

“But they might charge me, Joses,” said Bart, uneasily.

“Did I tell you right about ’em before,” said Joses, “or did I tell you wrong, my lad?”

“You told me right; but you might be wrong about them here.”

“You let me alone for that,” replied Joses, gruffly. “I know what I’m saying. Now, then, will you get down and walk up to ’em, or must I?”

“If you’ll tell me that I may do such a thing, I’ll go up to them,” said Bart, slowly.

“Then I do tell you, my lad, and wouldn’t send you if itwasn’t safe. You ought to know that. Now, then, will you go?”

For answer Bart slipped off his horse and cocked his rifle.

“Don’t shoot till they’re turning round, my lad,” said Joses; “and then give it to that big young bull in the middle there. He’s a fine one, and we must have meat for the camp.”

“But it seems a pity; he looks such a brave fellow,” said Bart.

“Never mind; shoot him. All the other bulls will be precious glad, for he’s the tyrant of the herd, and leads them a pretty life. Now then, on you go.”

They were now some sixty yards from the herd, and no sooner did Bart take a step forward than Joses leaped lightly from his horse, and rested his rifle over the saddle ready for a sure shot when he should see his chance.

Bart tried to put on a bold front, but he felt very nervous, and walked cautiously towards the herd, where ten or a dozen bulls faced him, and now seemed to be furious, snorting and stamping with rage.

But he walked on, gaining courage as he went, but ere he had gone half-a-dozen steps six of the bulls made a headlong charge at him, and Bart stood still, ready to fire.

“How stupid I was,” he said to himself. “They’ll go right over me;” and with his heart beating heavily he felt that he must turn and run.

“Go on, my lad, go on,” shouted Joses, encouragingly; and in spite of himself, and as if bound to obey orders, the lad took a step forward again, when, to his utter amazement, the bison bulls, now not twenty yards away, stopped short, shook their heads at him, made some impotent tosses in the air, pawed up a little grass, and then turned altogether, and trotted back to take up their old position in front of the herd.

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Joses, behind him. “What did I tell you? Go on, my lad. You’ve got more heart than a bison.”

This emboldened Bart, who went steadily on, reducing the distance between him and the herd; and it was a curious sensation that which came upon the lad as he walked nearer and nearer to the furious-looking beasts.

Then his heart gave a tremendous throb, and seemed to stand still, for, without warning, and moved as if by one impulse, the bison charged again, but this time not half the distance; and as Bart did not run from them, they evidently thought that some one ought to flee, so they galloped back.

Bart was encouraged now, and began to feel plenty of contempt for the monsters, and walking more swiftly, the beasts charged twice more, the last time only about the length of their bodies, and this was when Bart was so near that he could almost feel their hot moist breath.

This was the last charge, for as they turned the leading bull evidently communicated his opinion that the young visitor was a stupid kind of being, whom it was impossible to frighten, and the whole herd set off at a lumbering gallop, but as they did so two rifle-shots rang out, and two bulls hung back a little, evidently wounded.

Joses led up Bart’s horse as the lad reloaded, and put the rein in his hand.

“There, off after your own bull, my lad. It was bravely done. I’m off after mine.”

Then they separated, and after a short, gallop Bart reached his quarry, and better able now to manage his task, he rode up on its right side, and a well-placed bullet tumbled the monstrous creature over on the plain dead.

Joses had to give two shots before he disabled his own bison, but the run was very short; and when Bart and he looked round they were not above a couple of hundred yards apart, and the Beaver and a couple of Indians were cantering towards them.

That evening their messengers returned with a couple of the white men and two waggons, which were taken in triumph next morning to the camp, heavily laden with bison-meat; and as they came near the mountain, Bart drew rein to stay and watch the curious sight before him, for, evidently in pursuance of the Doctor’s idea to make the top of the mountain the stronghold of the silver adventurers, there was quite a crowd of the people toiling up the path up the mountain, all laden with packages and the various stores that had been brought for the adventure.

“Been pretty busy since we’ve been gone, Master Bart,” said Joses, grimly. “Won’t they come scuffling down again when they know there’s meat ready for sharing out.”

But Joses was wrong, for the meat was not shared out down in the plain, but a second relay of busy hands were set to work to carry the store of fresh food right up the mountain-side to a tent that had already been pitched on the level top, while as soon as the waggons were emptied they were drawn up in rank along with the others close beneath the wall-like rock.

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