Tracks Of A Rolling Stone - Henry J. Coke (novels in english .TXT) 📗

Chapter 21 Pg 113

Here We Rested To Recover Breath.  Meanwhile,  Three Or Four

Young Cows Fed To Within Sixty Or Seventy Yards Of Us. 

Unluckily We Both Selected The Same Animal,  And Both Fired At

The Same Moment.  Off Went The Lot Helter Skelter,  All Save

The Old Bull,  Who Roared Out His Rage And Trotted Up Close To

Our Hiding Place.

 

'"Look Out For A Bolt," Whispered Jim,  "But Don't Show

Yourself Nohow Till I Tell You."

 

'For A Minute Or Two The Suspense Was Exciting.  One Hardly

Dared To Breathe.  But His Majesty Saw Us Not,  And Turned

Again To His Wives.  We Instantly Reloaded; And The Startled

Herd,  Which Had Only Moved A Few Yards,  Gave Us The Chance Of

A Second Shot.  The First Cow Had Fallen Dead Almost Where

She Stood.  The Second We Found At The Foot Of The Hill,  Also

With Two Bullet Wounds Behind The Shoulder.  The Tongues, 

Humps,  And Tender Loins,  With Some Other Choice Morsels,  Were

Soon Cut Off And Packed,  And We Returned To Camp With A Grand

Supply Of Beef For Jacob's Larder.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 22 Pg 114

 

 

 

At The Risk Of Being Tedious,  I Will Tell Of One More Day's

Buffalo Hunting,  To Show The Vicissitudes Of This Kind Of

Sport.  Before Doing So We Will Glance At Another Important

Feature Of Prairie Life,  A Camp Of Sioux Indians.

 

One Evening,  After Halting On The Banks Of The Platte,  We

Heard Distant Sounds Of Tomtoms On The Other Side Of The

River.  Jim,  The Half-Breed,  And Louis Differed As To The

Tribe,  And Hence The Friendliness Or Hostility,  Of Our

Neighbours.  Louis Advised Saddling Up And Putting The Night

Between Us; He Regaled Us To Boot With A Few Blood-Curdling

Tales Of Indian Tortures,  And Of Nous Autres En Haut.  Jim

Treated These With Scorn,  And Declared He Knew By The 'Tunes'

(!) That The Pow-Wow Was Sioux.  Just Now,  He Asserted,  The

Sioux Were Friendly,  And This 'Village' Was On Its Way To

Fort Laramie To Barter 'Robes' (Buffalo Skins) For Blankets

And Ammunition.  He Was Quite Willing To Go Over And Talk To

Them If We Had No Objection.

 

Fred,  Ever Ready For Adventure,  Would Have Joined Him In A

Minute; But The River,  Which Was Running Strong,  Was Full Of 

Chapter 22 Pg 115

Nasty Currents,  And His Injured Knee Disabled Him From

Swimming.  No One Else Seemed Tempted; So,  Following Jim's

Example,  I Stripped To My Flannel Shirt And Moccasins,  And

Crossed The River,  Which Was Easier To Get Into Than Out Of, 

And Soon Reached The 'Village.'  Jim Was Right,  - They Were

Sioux,  And Friendly.  They Offered Us A Pipe Of Kinik (The

Dried Bark Of The Red Willow),  And Jabbered Away With Their

Kinsman,  Who Seemed Almost More At Home With Them Than With

Us.

 

Seeing One Of Their 'Braves' With Three Fresh Scalps At His

Belt,  I Asked For The History Of Them.  In Sioux Gutturals

The Story Was A Long One.  Jim's Translation Amounted To

This:  The Scalps Were 'Lifted' From Two Crows And A Ponkaw. 

The Crows,  It Appeared,  Were The Sioux' Natural Enemies

'Anyhow,' For They Occasionally Hunted On Each Other's

Ranges.  But The Ponkaw,  Whom He Would Not Otherwise Have

Injured,  Was Casually Met By Him On A Horse Which The Sioux

Recognised For A White Man's.  Upon Being Questioned How He

Came By It,  The Ponkaw Simply Replied That It Was His Own. 

Whereupon The Sioux Called Him A Liar; And Proved It By

Sending An Arrow Through His Body.

 

I Didn't Quite See It.  But Then,  Strictly Speaking,  I Am No

Collector Of Scalps.  To Preserve My Own,  I Kept The Hair On

It As Short As A Tooth-Brush.

 

Before We Left,  Our Hosts Fed Us On Raw Buffalo Meat.  This, 

Cut In Slices,  And Dried Crisp In The Sun,  Is Excellent. 

Their Lodges Were Very Comfortable,  Most Of Them Large Enough

To Hold A Dozen People.  The Ground Inside Was Covered With

Buffalo Robes; And The Sewn Skins,  Spread Tight Upon The

Converging Poles,  Formed A Tent Stout Enough To Defy All

Weathers.  In Winter The Lodge Can Be Entirely Closed; And

When A Fire Is Kindled In The Centre,  The Smoke Escaping At A

Small Hole Where The Poles Join,  The Snugness Is Complete.

 

At The Entrance Of One Of These Lodges I Watched A Squaw And

Her Child Prepare A Meal.  When The Fuel Was Collected,  A Fat

Puppy,  Playing With The Child,  Was Seized By The Squaw,  And

Knocked On The Throat - Not Head - With A Stick.  The Puppy

Was Then Returned,  Kicking,  To The Tender Mercies Of The

Infant; Who Exerted Its Small Might To Add To The Animal's

Miseries,  While The Mother Fed The Fire And Filled A Kettle

For The Stew.  The Puppy,  Much More Alive Than Dead,  Was Held

By The Hind Leg Over The Flames As Long As The Squaw's

Fingers Could Stand Them.  She Then Let It Fall On The

Embers,  Where It Struggled And Squealed Horribly,  And Would

Have Wriggled Off,  But For The Little Savage,  Who Took Good

Care To Provide For The Satisfactory Singeing Of Its

Playmate.

 

Considering The Length Of Its Lineage,  How Remarkably Hale

And Well Preserved Is Our Own Barbarity!

 

Chapter 22 Pg 116

 

We May Now Take Our Last Look At The Buffaloes,  For We Shall

See Them No More.  Again I Quote My Journal:

 

'July 5th. - Men Sulky Because They Have Nothing To Eat But

Rancid Ham,  And Biscuit Dust Which Has Been So Often Soaked

That It Is Mouldy And Sour.  They Are A Dainty Lot!  Samson

And I Left Camp Early With The Hopes Of Getting Meat.  While

He Was Shooting Prairie Dogs His Horse Made Off,  And Cost Me

Nearly An Hour's Riding To Catch.  Then,  Accidentally Letting

Go Of My Mustang,  He Too Escaped; And I Had To Run Him Down

With The Other.  Towards Evening,  Spied A Small Band Of

Buffaloes,  Which We Approached By Leading Our Horses Up A

Hollow.  They Got Our Wind,  However,  And Were Gone Before We

Were Aware Of It.  They Were All Young,  And So Fast,  It Took

A Twenty Minutes' Gallop To Come Up With Them.  Samson's

Horse Put His Foot In A Hole,  And The Cropper They Both Got

Gave The Band A Long Start,  As It Became A Stern Chase,  And

No Heading Off.

 

'At Length I Managed To Separate One From The Herd By Firing

My Pistol Into The "Brown," And Then Devoted My Efforts To

Him Alone.  Once Or Twice He Turned And Glared Savagely

Through His Mane.  When Quite Isolated He Pulled Up Short,  So

Did I. We Were About Sixty Yards Apart.  I Flung The Reins

Upon The Neck Of The Mustang,  Who Was Too Blown To Stir,  And

Handling My Rifle,  Waited For The Bull To Move So That I

Might See Something More Than The Great Shaggy Front,  Which

Screened His Body.  But He Stood His Ground,  Tossing Up The

Sand With His Hoofs.  Presently,  Instead Of Turning Tail,  He

Put His Head Down,  And Bellowing With Rage,  Came At Me As

Hard As He Could Tear.  I Had But A Moment For Decision,  - To

Dig Spurs Into The Mustang,  Or Risk The Shot.  I Chose The

Latter; Paused Till I Was Sure Of His Neck,  And Fired When He

Was Almost Under Me.  In An Instant I Was Sent Flying; And

The Mustang Was On His Back With All Four Legs In The Air.

 

'The Bull Was Probably As Much Astonished As We Were.  His

Charge Had Carried Him About Thirty Yards,  At Most,  Beyond

Us.  There He Now Stood; Facing Me,  Pawing The Ground And

Snorting As Before.  Badly Wounded I Knew Him To Be,  - That

Was The Worst Of It; Especially As My Rifle,  With Its

Remaining Loaded Barrel,  Lay Right Between Us.  To Hesitate

For A Second Only,  Was To Lose The Game.  There Was No Time

To Think Of Bruises; I Crawled,  Eyes On Him,  Straight For My

Weapon:  Got It - It Was Already Cocked,  And The Stock

Unbroken - Raised My Knee For A Rest.  We Were Only Twenty

Yards Apart (The Shot Meant Death For One Of The Two),  And

Just Catching A Glimpse Of His Shoulder-Blade,  I Pulled.  I

Could Hear The Thud Of The Heavy Bullet,  And - What Was

Sweeter Music - The Ugh! Of The Fatal Groan.  The Beast

Dropped On His Knees,  And A Gush Of Blood Spurted From His

Nostrils.

 

Chapter 22 Pg 117

'But The Wild Devil Of A Mustang? That Was My First Thought

Now.  Whenever One Dismounted,  It Was Necessary To Loosen His

Long Lariat,  And Let It Trail On The Ground.  Without This

There Was No Chance Of Catching Him.  I Saw At Once What Had

Happened:  By The Greatest Good Fortune,  At The Last Moment, 

He Must Have Made An Instinctive Start,  Which Probably Saved

His Life,  And Mine Too.  The Bull's Horns Had Just Missed His

Entrails And My Leg,  - We Were Broadside On To The Charge,  -

And Had Caught Him In The Thigh,  Below The Hip.  There Was A

Big Hole,  And He Was Bleeding Plentifully.  For All That,  He

Wouldn't Let Me Catch Him.  He Could Go Faster On Three Legs

Than I On Two.

 

'It Was Getting Dark,  I Had Not Touched Food Since Starting, 

Nor Had I Wetted My Lips.  My Thirst Was Now Intolerable. 

The Travelling Rule,  About Keeping On,  Was An Ugly Incubus. 

Samson Would Go His Own Ways - He Had Sense Enough For That -

But How,  When,