The Boy Hunters by Mayne Reid (golden son ebook .TXT) 📗

one had thought of keeping watch. When camping out at night, in their hunting expeditions in the swamps of Louisiana, they had not accustomed themselves to this habit, and they did not think of its being necessary here. It is the fear of Indians alone that causes the prairie traveller to keep sentry during the live-long night; but our young hunters had much less fear of them than might be supposed. There had been as yet no hostilities in this quarter between whites and Indians; besides, Basil knew that he carried a token of friendship should the latter come upon them.

They had not been more than half-an-hour asleep when a growl from Marengo awoke them. They all started up into a sitting posture, and looked anxiously out into the darkness. They could see nothing strange. The great trunks of the trees, with the long silvery moss of whitish hue, were glistening in the light of the still blazing fire. All the space between was gloomy and black as ebony. They could hear nothing that sounded strange. There was not a breath of air stirring, so that the trees were still and silent, as if asleep. Only up among their leaves and high tops, the tree-frogs (Hyloidea) and cicadas kept up their continuous music. Amid their numerous and varied calls could be distinguished the “ll–l–luk” of the tree-toad (Hyla versicolor); and from the aquatic plants, that lined the spring close by, came the merry chirrup of the Hylodes gryllus, or “Savanna cricket.” Far up among the leaves of the oaks the little green tree-frog repeated his tinkling bell-like note that fell with a pleasant sound upon the ear. But all these were the usual voices of the night—the voices of the southern forest—and they produced no strange impression upon the listening hunters. The call of the Hyla, indeed—loud and oft-repeated as it was—warned them that a rain-storm was near; and the darkness of the sky above confirmed the warning.

But it was not these sounds that had caused Marengo to spring up with such a savage growl; and the boys continued attentively listening to discover what it could have been.

The dark aisles of the forest sparkled with moving lights. The fire-flies were abroad in thousands; and their phosphoric lamps, more than usually luminous, also betokened the approach of a rain-storm.

As the young hunters gazed, other lights attracted their attention, causing them to hold their guns in readiness. These lights were very different from those of the insects. They were low down near the surface of the ground. They were round, of a fiery green lustre, and appeared in motion. Now they remained shining steadily for some moments, then they disappeared, but immediately shone out afresh in some other place. There were many of them moving about. They were not fire-flies.

Our hunters knew what they were—they were the eyes of animals—of wild beasts! This they knew, but no more. What sort of animals they might be was a thing about which they were all three ignorant; and this uncertainty very naturally filled them with dread. They might be bears, wolverines, or panthers.

The boys talked in whispers, looking to the locks of their pieces, and preparing themselves for the worst. They were, of course, already seen by the animals, sitting as they did in the light of the fire. Marengo stood by, looking into the darkness, and at intervals uttering the growl with which he was accustomed to hail the presence of an enemy.

The shining eyes appeared to multiply. All at once a dog was heard to utter three distinct barks. Was it a dog? No. The long and piteous howl that followed told that the animal was no dog, but a wolf—the barking-wolf (Canis latrans). The moment it had ceased, another took up the strain, and then another and another, until the woods rang on all sides with their hideous howls. This did not come from any particular side, but seemed everywhere; and as the boys looked into the dark aisles between the tree-trunks, they could perceive glancing eyes—a perfect circle of them all around!

“Bah!” cried Basil, now breaking silence, “it’s only a pack of prairie-wolves. Who cares for their howling?”

The minds of all were thus set at rest. They had no fear of prairie-wolves; which, though fierce enough when attacking some poor deer or wounded buffalo, are afraid of anything in the shape of man; and will skulk off, whenever they think the latter has any intention to attack them. This, however, is seldom the case, as the prairie hunter does not care to waste a bullet upon them; and they are often permitted to follow, and squat themselves unmolested around the hunter’s camp, within reach of his rifle.

The prairie-wolves are much smaller than any other species of wolf found in America. They are not much larger than English terriers, and quite as cunning as the English fox. They can hardly be caught or trapped in any way—though they can be easily run down with horses and dogs. They are of a dull, reddish hue, mixed with a grizzle of white hairs. This is their usual colour, though, like other animals, there are varieties. They have thick bushy tails, black at the tips, and one-third the length of their bodies. They resemble the dogs found among the prairie Indians, of which they are, no doubt, the progenitors. They are met with throughout all the regions from the Mississippi westward to the Pacific, and southward into Mexico. They hunt in packs, like the jackals; and will run down deer, buffaloes, or any other animals which they think they can master. They dare not attack a buffalo in the herd, though packs of them always follow a drove of these animals. They wait until some one gets separated—a young calf, or, perhaps, a decrepit old bull—which they fall upon and worry to pieces. They follow all parties of hunters and travellers—taking possession of a camp-ground, the moment its occupants have moved out, and devouring every scrap of eatables that may have been left behind. They will, even, sometimes steal into the camp by night, and appropriate the very morsel which the hunter had designed for his breakfast in the morning. This sometimes leads to a spirit of retaliation; and the indignant hunter, growing less provident of his powder and lead, cracks away until he has laid several of them stretched along the grass.

They are more numerous than any other species of American wolves; and on this account—having so many mouths to feed, and so many stomachs to satisfy—they often suffer from extreme hunger. Then, but not till then, they will eat fruits, roots, and vegetables—in short, anything that may sustain life.

These wolves take their trivial name from their being met with principally on the great prairies of the west—although other species of American wolves are found in the prairie country as well as they. They are sometimes called “barking” wolves; because, as we have noticed, the first two or three notes of their howl resemble the bark of a dog. It ends, however, in a prolonged and disagreeable scream.

“I am glad it is they,” said Lucien, in reply to Basil’s remark. “It is well it is no worse. I was afraid it was our friends, the javalies, who had come to pay us a visit.”

“Bad enough as it is,” said Basil. “We shall now have to keep awake, and guard the meat, or these skulking jackals would not leave us an ounce of it by morning.”

“That is true enough,” replied Lucien; “but we need not all watch. You and François go to sleep. I’ll stand sentry.”

“No,” responded Basil. “Go you and François to sleep. Let me keep watch.”

“Brothers,” said François, “I am not a bit sleepy; let me be the sentry. I’ll keep ’em off.”

“No, no,” exclaimed Basil and Lucien, in a breath, “I—I.”

It was finally agreed that Basil should take the watch for a couple of hours or so—until he became sleepy—when he was to awake and be relieved by Lucien; who, in his turn, could arouse François. This being arranged, the two latter wrapped themselves in their blankets and lay down again, while Basil sat alone, now gazing into the fire, and then into the gloomy darkness beyond.

Both Lucien and François, notwithstanding the declaration of the latter, were soon snoring like a brace of tops. They had had an early awaking by the bear-scrape of the previous morning; besides, they had been at work all day, and were wearied. This they must have been, to have gone to sleep with such a discordant howling around them—enough to have kept an opium-eater awake. Basil was wearied as well as they; and he soon began to feel what a painful thing it is to keep awake when one is sleepy. The eyes of the wolves continued to glare upon him from all sides; but he did not dread them any more, than if they had been so many hares. There appeared to be a very large pack of them though. The odoriferous bear-meat had, no doubt, collected all there were for miles around—in addition to numbers that had been following the trail for days past. As Basil watched them, he saw they were growing bolder, and gradually approaching nearer. At length, some of them came upon the spot, where lay the bones of the bear at some distance out from the fire. These they attacked at once; and through the dim light Basil could see them rushing from all quarters to come in for a share. He could hear the bones cracking under their teeth, and could see them struggling and worrying the skeleton and each other in a moving mass. This soon ended. The bones were scraped clean in a twinkling; and the wolves now left them, and scattered over the ground as before.

“Come,” soliloquised Basil, “I must have more light; they may steal a march upon me;” and he rose up and threw several armfuls of wood upon the fire, which soon blazed up again, reflecting the yellow eyes of the wolves in dozens of pairs all around him. This helped to brighten Basil a little, and keep him awake; but he sat down again by the fire, and soon became drowsy as before. Every now and then he caught himself nodding; and, each time, as he shook himself awake, he noticed that the wolves had ventured nearer to the bear-meat. He could easily have shot any one of them, and thus drive them off for a time; but he did not wish either to waste his ammunition, or startle his companions.

As he sat cogitating how he would best keep awake, an idea came into his head, which caused him to leap to his feet, as if he intended to execute some purpose.

“I have it now,” said he to himself, placing his rifle against a tree. “I’ll get a good nap yet in spite of these filthy yelpers. Strange we didn’t think of the plan before.”

He took up a lasso, and, proceeding to the barbecue, which was close by, commenced laying all the pieces of bear-meat on one end of the rope. This did not occupy him long; and, when he had bundled all and looped them securely together, he flung the other end of the lasso over a high branch, until it hung down so that he could reach it. He now pulleyed up the meat—until it was ten feet or more from the ground—and then fastened his rope to a log.

“Now, gentlemen,” muttered he, fancifully addressing the wolves, “you may prowl about and howl till your throats are sore, but you don’t keep me five minutes longer from my rest—that you don’t.”

So saying, he laid himself down, and commenced wrapping himself in his blankets.

“Ha!” he continued, as he caught a glimpse of several of the animals running forward and looking upwards at the swinging meat; “Ha! Messieurs Loups, don’t you wish you may get it? Ha! ha! ha! Good night!”

So