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to the eagle on their standards; while, upon the other side of the Atlantic, it waves over the great nations of the United States and Mexico, as well as several of the smaller republics. Why, a general war among the nations of the world would be almost exclusively a war among the eagles! It is not improbable that the lion would insist upon having a claw in the quarrel; although his honesty and nobility of disposition are very much doubted, particularly by the jackal and some other animals. He is, therefore, no better qualified to act as the representative of a pacific people than the very worst of the eagles; but he fortunately has a wise keeper, called Public Opinion, who of late has held him under some restraint.

“What a chain of destruction!” exclaimed Lucien. “One creature preying upon another.”

“Ay,” added François; “and how curious it should begin with a bird and end with a bird. Look at the two together. Ha! ha!”

As François made this remark, he pointed to the little humming-bird and the great eagle—which had been laid side by side upon the grass, and, sure enough, presented in size and appearance a most singular contrast to each other.

“You forget, François,” said Lucien, “there were two other links to the chain, and perhaps many more.”

“What other links?” demanded François.

“The humming-bird, you remember, when attacked, was himself a destroyer. He was killing the little blue-winged fly.”

“That is certainly another link, but—”

“Who killed the eagle?”

“Ah, true! Basil, then, was the last link in the chain of destruction.”

“Perhaps the most criminal, too,” said Lucien, “because the least necessary. The other creatures were but following out their instincts to procure food, whereas Basil’s only motive was one of wanton destruction.”

“I beg to differ with you, Luce,” said Basil, interrupting his brother, sharply, “it was no such thing. I shot that eagle because he killed the kite, and robbed him of his prey, instead of using his industry and getting food for himself. That’s why I added a link to your chain.”

“In that sense,” replied Lucien, smiling at his brother—who seemed a little ruffled at being thus charged with unnecessary cruelty,—“in that sense you were, perhaps, justifiable; though it is difficult to understand why the eagle was more guilty than the kite himself. He took only one life, and so did the kite.”

“But,” rejoined Basil, “in addition to taking away the life of his victim, he robbed him. Robbery and murder both. Now the kite was guilty only of the latter.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Lucien and François together. “There is a distinction with a difference!”

“But, brother Luce,” inquired François, “what did you mean when you said there might be many more links to this chain?”

“Why, who knows but the blue-winged fly was preying upon some other creatures smaller than himself? And these again, upon others still less; who, though invisible to our eyes, possess life and organisation as well as we. Who knows to the contrary? And who knows the reason why a mysterious Providence has created those beings to be the food of each other? That is a question about which we can arrive at no satisfactory conclusion.”

“Who knows, brother,” said François, “since you are speculating—who knows but there may be an extra link at the other end of the chain? Ho, Basil! what say you? Suppose we fall in with grizzly bears.” And François laughed as he put the question.

“And supposing we do,” replied Basil, “you are as likely to form that link as anybody else.”

“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Lucien. “I hope that in all our travels we shall see neither a grizzly bear nor an Indian.”

“And I hope for nothing of the sort,” rejoined Basil. “I long to have a crack at a grizzly; and as for Indians, I haven’t the least fear of them, so long as I carry this.”

As Basil made this remark, he drew out the little beaded case from his bosom, held it up a moment, and then returned it to its place again.

“Now, brother,” cried François, “tell as about that pouch, and how it is to save us from Indians. I am really curious to know.”

“Not now, my boy,” replied Basil, with a patronising air. “Not now. We must prepare our supper, and get to sleep. We have lost half a day drying our rags, so we must make up for it by an early start in the morning. Then for the prairies!”

“Then for the prairies!” echoed François,—“the prairies—the wild horses—the big-horns—and the buffalo!”

Chapter Thirteen. Three Buffaloes with Wings.

Our travellers next morning resumed their journey, and for several days continued on without meeting any incident worth recording. They crossed many large streams, among which may be mentioned the Neches and Trinity of Texas.

On the “divide,” between the Trinity and Brazos rivers, an adventure befell them that came near having a painful result.

In hot weather it was their custom to halt during the noon hours, both to refresh themselves and rest their animals. This is the custom of most travellers through these wild regions, and is called “nooning.”

With this intention, one day, they drew bridle by the edge of a tract of prairie, and dismounted. Behind them was the forest through which they had just passed, and before them lay the prairie, which they intended to cross in the cool of the evening. The surface of the latter was quite level, covered with a green mantle of young buffalo-grass, with here and there an island of low timber that broke the monotony of the view. In the distance a thick forest of live oak bounded the prairie on the other side; and although the latter appeared only two or three miles distant, it was not less than ten—so deceptive is the pure atmosphere of these upland regions. The country in which they now were was what is termed “timber prairie”—that is, a prairie interspersed with groves and copses.

I say our adventurers had just dismounted, and were about to take off their saddles, when an exclamation from François drew the attention of his brothers.

Voilà!” cried he, pointing out to the open ground. “Buffaloes—buffaloes!”

Basil and Lucien looked in the direction pointed out. Three large dark objects were seen on the crest of a low swell in the prairie. They were moving about; and one was evidently smaller than the others.

“Of course they are buffaloes,” continued François. “Look at their size! Two bulls and a cow, no doubt.”

His brothers agreed with him. None of the three had ever seen buffaloes in their native wilderness; and of course had but an indistinct idea of how they might appear from a distance. Buffaloes they must be—elk or deer would look red—wolves red or white; and they could not be bears, as these last would not likely be out on the prairie in threes, unless, indeed, they might be grizzly bears—who do sometimes go out into the open ground to dig for the “pomme-blanche” and other roots. This, however, was not probable, as the grizzly bears are seldom or never found so far to the eastward. No. They were not “grizzlys.” They were not wild horses neither, that was plain enough. Buffaloes, then, they must be.

Like all who see buffaloes for the first time in their native pastures, our young hunters were filled with excitement—the more so, since to meet with these animals was the object of their expedition, of the long and perilous journey they had undertaken.

A hurried consultation followed as to how they should capture these three. It was true that none of them was a white buffalo; but no matter. Our hunters wanted to taste buffalo-beef; and the chase after these would give them practice, which might serve them afterwards. How, then, were they to set about it?

“Why, run them, of course,” counselled the ready François, with the air of an experienced buffalo-hunter.

Now, there are several methods of hunting buffaloes, practised upon the prairies, both by whites and Indians. The most common is that of which François spoke, “running.” This is done by simply overtaking the buffalo, galloping alongside of him—the hunter, of course, being on horseback—and shooting him through the heart while he runs. Shoot him in the region of the heart you must; for you may put twenty bullets into his great body elsewhere, and he will still manage to get away from you. The hunters aim a little above the brisket, and behind the fore-shoulder. The white hunters use the rifle, or sometimes a large pistol—which is better for the purpose, as they can load it more easily while going in a gallop. The Indians prefer the bow—as they can shoot arrow after arrow in quick succession, thus slaying many buffaloes in a single “run.” So expert are they with this weapon, that their arrows have been known to pierce through the bodies of large buffaloes, and pass clear out on the other side! At times the Indians use spears with which they thrust the buffaloes, while galloping alongside of them.

Another method of hunting these animals, is termed “approaching.”

“Approaching” buffaloes is nothing else than creeping stealthily on them until within range, when the hunter fires, often loads again and fires, and so on, until many of them are killed, before their companions take the alarm and scamper off. Indeed, the hunter will sometimes crawl up to a herd; and concealing himself behind the bodies of those he has already killed, fire away until many have fallen. In doing this he takes care to keep to leeward; for if otherwise, and these animals—who have much keener scent than sight—should happen to “wind” him, as it is termed, they are off in a moment. So keen is their scent, that they can detect an enemy to windward at the distance of a mile or more. In “approaching,” the hunter sometimes disguises himself in the skin of a wolf or deer; when the buffaloes, mistaking him for one of these animals, permit him to get within shooting distance. An Indian has been known to creep up in this manner into the midst of a buffalo herd, and with his bow and arrows, silently shoot one after another, until the whole herd lay prostrate! “Approaching” is sometimes a better method than “running.” The hunter thus saves his horse—often a jaded one—and is likely to kill a greater number of buffaloes, and get so many more hides, if that be his object, as it sometimes is. When he is a traveller only, or a beaver-trapper, who wants to get a buffalo for his dinner, and cares for no more than one, then “running” is the more certain mode of obtaining it. In this way, however, he can kill only one, or at most two or three; for, while he is shooting these, and loading between times, the herd scatters, and runs out of his reach; and his horse is apt to be too much “blown” to allow him to overtake them again.

A third method of hunting buffaloes is the “surround.” This is practised only by the Indians—as the white hunters of the prairies are rarely ever in such numbers as would enable them to effect a “surround.” The name almost explains the nature of this hunt, which is practised as follows:—When a hand of Indian hunters discover a herd of buffaloes, they scatter and deploy into a circle around them. They soon accomplish this on their swift horses, for they are mounted—as all prairie-hunters are sure to be, whether whites or Indians. As soon as the circle is formed, the Indians ride inward with loud yells, and drive the buffaloes into a thick clump in the centre. They then dash upon them with bows and lances—each hunter killing as many as he can. The buffaloes become confused, run to and fro, and but few of them in the end get off. A herd of hundreds, and even thousands, is sometimes slaughtered at one of these battues. The Indians make this wholesale destruction for two objects; first, to get the meat, which

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