The Boy Hunters by Mayne Reid (golden son ebook .TXT) 📗
- Author: Mayne Reid
Book online «The Boy Hunters by Mayne Reid (golden son ebook .TXT) 📗». Author Mayne Reid
Another method the Indians have of hunting the buffalo, is not unlike the last, but is still more fearful to witness.
Most of the region where the buffaloes range consists of high upland prairies, such as in Asia are called “steppes,” and in Mexico and South America “mesas,” or “table-lands.” Such plains are elevated from three to six thousand feet above the level of the sea. In many places on these table-lands there are deep rifts called “cañons,” or more properly “barrancas,” that have probably been formed by running water during rain-storms. These are often dry, and look like vast fissures opening down into the earth—often for a thousand feet or more—and extending away for scores of miles across the prairie. Sometimes two of them intersect each other, forming a triangular space or peninsula between; and the traveller on reaching this point is obliged to turn back, as he finds himself almost encircled by precipices yawning downward into the earth. Whenever the Indians get a herd of buffaloes near one of these cañons, they surround them on three sides, and guide them towards the precipice; and when they are near enough, gallop forward with wild shouts, causing the buffaloes to dash madly and blindly over. A whole herd will sometimes leap a precipice in this way—those in the front being forced over by the others, and, these in turn pressed, either to take the leap or be thrust by the spears of the pursuing horsemen. Sometimes when the Indians are not insufficient numbers to make a “surround” of buffalo, they collect buffalo chips, and build them in little piles so as to represent men. These piles are placed in two rows, gradually converging towards each other, and leading to one of the aforementioned bluffs. Between these two rows they drive the buffaloes, that, mistaking the piles of their own “chips” for Indians, are guided onwards to the edge of the precipice, when the hunters make their noisy rush, and force them over.
There are other methods of buffalo-hunting, such as pursuing them in the snow, when the hunters in their snow-shoes easily overtake and slaughter them. Some Mexican buffalo-hunters (in the southern prairies called “ciboleros”) capture the buffalo with the lasso; but this method is not often practised, except when they wish to catch the young calves alive for the purpose of raising them.
Now, all these methods were familiar to our three young hunters—that is, familiar from descriptions—as they had often heard about them from old trappers who came down among the settlements of Louisiana, and who sometimes spent the night under their father’s roof—for the Colonel liked very much to entertain these old trappers, and get a talk out of them. It was from this source then, that François derived his ideas of buffalo-hunting, which led him in the pride of his knowledge to exclaim, “Run them, of course.”
Basil and Lucien took a little time to consider it, all the while keeping their eyes fixed upon the three buffaloes. There was just one a-piece, which they could separate, and run down—they were far from any cover, and it might therefore be difficult to “approach” them—moreover the horses were fresh, for the day before had been Sunday, and our adventurers had always made it a rule to lie by on that day, to rest both themselves and their animals. This they did in accordance with a command given to them by their father at starting. All things considered, then, “running” was the best plan, and it was the one they resolved to adopt.
Jeanette was tied to a tree, and left behind with her packs, that had not yet been taken off. Marengo, of course, was taken along with them, as he might prove useful in pulling down one of the old bulls if wounded. Everything that might encumber the hunters was left with Jeanette; and all three rode out upon the prairie, and made direct for the animals. It was agreed that each should choose one of them, and then do his best with gun and pistols. François had put buck-shot into both barrels, and was full of confidence that he was about to “throw” his first buffalo.
As they drew nearer, a lustrous appearance upon the bodies of the strange animals attracted their attention. Were they buffaloes, after all?
The brothers rode quietly onward, observing them with attention. No, buffaloes they were not. The rough shaggy bodies of these would not shine so, for they glittered in the sun as they moved about. Buffaloes they could not be.
“That they are not,” said Lucien, after a deliberate look through his fingers.
“What are they then?” inquired François.
“Listen!” replied Lucien; “do you hear that?”
All three had drawn bridle. A loud “gobble—obble—obble,” proceeded from the animals, evidently uttered by some one of the three.
“As I live,” exclaimed François, “that’s the gobble of an old turkey-cock!”
“Neither more nor less,” replied Lucien, with a smile. “They are turkeys!”
“Turkeys!” echoed Basil, “turkeys taken for buffaloes! What a grand deception!”
And all three at first looked very blank at each other, and then commenced laughing heartily at the mistake they had made.
“We must never tell of this,” said Basil, “we should be laughed at, I reckon.”
“Not a bit of it,” rejoined Lucien, “such mistakes are often made, even by old travellers on the prairies. It is an atmospheric illusion very common. I have heard of a worse case than ours—of a raven having been taken for a buffalo!”
“When we meet the buffaloes then, I suppose we shall mistake them for mammoths,” remarked François; and the disappointed hunters now turned their attention to the capturing of birds instead of buffaloes.
“Come on!” cried Basil, putting the spur to his horse, and riding forward. “Come on! It isn’t so bad a case after all—a good fat turkey for dinner, eh? Come on!”
“Stay, brother,” said Lucien, “how are we to get near them? They are out on the open ground—there is no cover.”
“We don’t want cover. We can ‘run’ them as we were about to do had they been buffaloes.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed François; “run a turkey! Why it will fly off at once. What nonsense you talk, brother!”
“I tell you, no,” replied Basil. “It is not nonsense—it can be done—I have often heard so from the trappers,—now let us try it ourselves.”
“Agreed, then,” said François and Lucien at once; and all three rode forward together.
When they had got near enough to distinguish the forms of the birds, they saw they were two old “gobblers” and a hen. The gobblers were strutting about with their tails spread like fans, and their wings trailing along the grass. Every now and then they uttered their loud “gobble—obble—obble,” and by their attitude and actions it was evidently an affair of rivalry likely to end in a battle. The female stalked over the grass, in a quiet but coquettish way—no doubt fully aware of the warm interest she was exciting in the breasts of the belligerent gobblers. She was much smaller than either of these, and far less brilliant in plumage. The males appeared very bright indeed—almost equal to a pair of peacocks—and as their glossy backs glanced in the sun with metallic lustre, our hunters thought they had never before seen such beautiful birds.
Taken up with their own quarrel, they would no doubt have allowed the hunters to get within shooting distance of them. The female, however, was upon the alert; and seeing these draw near, she raised her head with a loud “tweet!” which attracted the attention of her companions. In a moment their spread tails closed and came to the ground, their wings were shut up, and their long necks stretched into the air. Their forms underwent a complete change, and they now stood erect upon the prairie, Each of them full five feet in height!
“Beautiful creatures!” exclaimed Lucien.
“Yes,” muttered Basil. “They will not give us much longer time though. We had best make a dash. Take you the hen, Luce, your horse is the slowest. Now for it. For-ward!”
All three spurred their horses, and dashed forward together, Marengo leading the chase. In a moment they were within a hundred yards or so of the turkeys. The latter, thus suddenly set upon, ran a few paces, and then rose into the air, with a loud flapping of their wings. They took different directions, confused by being sprung in such haste. Each of the boys had selected the one he intended pursuing; and upon that one alone his eyes became fixed. Basil and François followed the gobblers, while Lucien rode at a quiet gallop after the hen.
Marengo, of course, took part in the chase, joining in with Lucien—whether because he deemed the hen to be “sweeter meat,” or that she was likely to be the easiest caught of the three.
She did not fly far before coming to the ground again; when she ran with all her might for the nearest clump of timber. Hither Lucien followed, Marengo leading the way, and occasionally uttering a sonorous yelp as he ran. As Lucien entered the timber, he saw the dog standing by the root of a large oak. He had “treed” the turkey, and was looking upward with glancing eyes, barking and wagging his tail. Lucien rode cautiously under the tree, where he perceived the turkey crouching among the moss, upon one of its highest branches. His rifle was up to his shoulder in a moment; and after the crack, the bird was heard tumbling and fluttering through the leaves. Marengo sprang upon it as it came to the ground; but his master, leaping from his horse, scolded him off, and took up the game which was found to be quite dead.
Lucien now remounted: and, as he rode out into the open ground, he could see Basil far off upon the prairies. He was going at full gallop; and the gobbler with outspread wings was seen some distance ahead of him, running like an ostrich! Both Basil and gobbler soon disappeared to his view—lost behind one of the timber islets. Lucien looked for François. The latter was nowhere to be seen—having pursued his gobbler in a direction where the groves were more thickly studded over the prairie. Thinking it would be of no use to follow either of them, Lucien rode slowly back to where Jeanette had been left upon the edge of the forest. Here he dismounted, and sat down to await the return of his brothers.
Basil’s chase proved a longer one than he had expected. He had chosen the biggest of the birds; and, no doubt, the strongest and toughest. His gobbler, at the first flight, made a clear stretch of nearly a mile; and, when he alighted again, ran like a scared cat. But Basil was not to be discouraged; and, keeping the spurs well to his horse, soon gained upon him. The turkey again took to his wings, dropping down another half mile in the advance. Again Basil galloped up; and once more the old cock rose into the air—this time flying only about a hundred yards before he alighted. Basil was soon up to him with his fleet horse; but the gobbler was now unable to fly any farther. He could run, however, at a good rate; and where there was an uphill in the prairie he ran faster than the horse. Downhill, the latter gained upon him; and thus they went, until the bird began to double and circle about, showing all the symptoms of weariness. Several times the horse ran over him, the turkey on these occasions turning and taking the back-track.
The chase was
Comments (0)