Chapter 26 - The Boy Hunters by Mayne Reid
The Prong-Horns
The “butte” was one of those singular formations to be met with in the Great American Desert. It was not a mountain nor yet a hill. Its shape was different from either. It was more like a vast mass of rocky earth, raised above the prairie, perpendicular on all sides, and having a flat level surface upon its top. It was, in fact, one of those hills which in the language of Spanish America, are termed “mesas,” or tables—so called on account of their flat, table-like tops. They are generally argillaceous, and are common upon the Upper Missouri river, and throughout the vast desert regions that lie west of the Del Norte. Sometimes several of them stand near each other upon the plains, looking as though their tops had once been the level of the ancient surface, and the ground between had been worn away by disintegration—from rain and other causes—leaving them thus standing. To the eye of one accustomed to looking only upon rounded hills, or mountains with sharp peaks, these elevated “mesas” appear very singular, and form an interesting study for the geologist.
The top of the one beside which our adventurers halted, had a superficial area of some twenty or thirty acres; and its perpendicular sides rose nearly two hundred feet above the surrounding prairie. A thin growth of pine-trees covered it; while stunted pinons and cedars hung out from its cliffs. There were agaves, and yucca palms, and cacti, growing along its edges, giving it a very picturesque appearance.
Our travellers, after halting, and having satisfied their thirst, of course thought of nothing but remaining there to recruit both themselves and their animals. They saw around them the three requisites of a camp—water, wood, and grass. They commenced by cutting down some pinon-trees that grew by the foot of the cliff. With these a bright fire was soon made. They had still enough bear’s meat left to last them for several days. What more wanted they? But they discovered that even in this arid region Nature had planted trees and vegetables to sustain life. The pinons afforded their farinaceous cones, the agave yielded its esculent roots, and the prairie-turnip grew upon the borders of the runlet. They saw a small plant with white lily-like flowers. It was the “sego” of the Indians (Calochortus luteus), and they knew that at its roots grew tubers, as large as filberts, and delicious eating when cooked. Lucien recognised all these edible productions; and promised his brothers a luxurious dinner on the morrow. For that night, all three were too much fatigued and sleepy to be nice about their appetites. The juicy bear’s meat, to travellers, thirsty and hungry as they, needed no seasoning to make it palatable. So they washed themselves clear of the dust, ate their frugal meal, and stretched themselves out for a long night’s rest.
And a capital night’s rest they enjoyed—without having been disturbed by anything. One would have supposed that, after so much hardship, they would have got up somewhat wearied. Strange to say, it was not so, for they arose quite refreshed. This Lucien attributed to the bracing influence of the light dry atmosphere; and Lucien was right, for, although an arid soil surrounded them, its climate is one of the healthiest in the world. Many a consumptive person, who has crossed the prairies with flushed cheek, uttering his hectic cough, has returned to his friends to bear joyful testimony to what I now state.
All three felt as brisk as bees, and immediately set about preparing breakfast. They gathered a capful of the pinon cones—the seeds of which Lucien knew how to prepare by parching and pounding. These, with the bear’s meat, gave them a good hunter’s breakfast. They then thought of their dinner, and dug up a quantity of “segos” and prairie-turnips. They found also a mallow—the Malva involucrata—whose long tapering root resembles the parsnip both in taste and appearance. All these were baked with the bear’s meat—so that the dinner, in some respects, resembled ham, turnips, parsnips, and yams—for the root of the sego thus dressed, is not unlike the yam, or sweet potato (Convolvulus batatas).
Of course, our adventurers did not eat their dinner immediately after breakfast. A long interval passed between the two meals, which they employed in washing, scouring, and setting all their tackle to rights—for this had got sadly out of order in the hurry of the previous days. While thus engaged, they occasionally cast their eyes over the prairie, but nothing of the buffalo could be seen. Indeed, they did not look for them very earnestly, as they had made up their minds to stay a day or two where they were—until their animals should be well rested, and ready for rough work again. The latter enjoyed themselves quite as much as their masters. There was plenty of the “grama” grass growing along the banks of the rivulet, and that with the water was all they cared for to make them contented and happy. Jeanette appeared to be glad that she was no longer among the dark woods, where she had so nearly been torn to pieces by panthers and javalies.
Before evening came the boys had finished all the little jobs which had occupied them. Their saddles, bridles, and lassos, were put in thorough repair, and placed upon the dry rocks. Their guns were wiped out, and thoroughly cleaned—lock, stock, and barrel. The horses, too, had been washed by the spring; and Jeanette’s shanks had received a fresh “rub” with bear’s grease, so that if ever that celebrated article brought out hair upon anything, it was likely to do so for her.
I say, all their little matters having been thus attended to, the young hunters were sitting upon three large stones near the spring, talking over their past adventures and their future prospects. Of course, the buffalo was the principal theme, as that was the object of their expedition. They did not fail to think of their good old father; and they congratulated themselves upon the pleasure he would have in listening to the story of their adventures when they should get back to tell it. Hugot, too, came in for a share of their thoughts; and François laughed over the remembrance of the tricks he had from time to time played upon the little corporal.
While thus enjoying themselves, the eyes of all were attracted to some distant objects upon the prairie.
“Ho!” exclaimed François, “what a string of wolves!”
Wolves were no unusual sight, and even at that moment several were sitting upon the prairie, not more than two hundred yards from the camp. They were those that had followed the party on their march, having kept along with it for days.
“The animals we see, yonder, are not wolves,” joyfully added Basil. “They are better than that, I fancy—they are deer!”
“No, brother,” rejoined Lucien, “they are antelopes.”
This announcement caused both Basil and François to spring to their guns. Basil was particularly anxious to bring down an antelope, for he had never killed one. In fact, he had never seen one, as this animal is not met with near the Mississippi. Strange to say, its favourite range is the arid deserts that lie near the foots of the Rocky Mountains, where there is but little grass, and less water. In some of these it is the only ruminating animal, of any considerable size, to be met with. It is often found so far from water, that some naturalists have asserted it can live without this necessary element. They forget that what to them appears far from water, is to the antelope but a run of a few minutes, or rather I should say, a flight—for its bounding speed resembles more the flight of a bird than the gallop of a four-footed creature.
Antelopes differ but little from deer. The latter want the gall-bladder, which all antelopes have. Another distinction is found in the horns. The deer’s horns are composed of a solid bony substance, which differs from true horn. The horns of the antelope are more like those of a goat. These are the principal distinctions. In most other respects deer and antelopes are alike. Naturalists say there is but one species of antelope in North America—the prong-horned (Antilope Americana). When the fauna of Mexico has been carefully examined, I think another will be found.
It is only upon the great prairies of the far west that the prong-horned antelope is met with; and there it is a most shy and timid creature, allowing the hunter only to approach it by cunning and stratagem. A herd is sometimes hunted by the Indians into a “pound,” or “surrounded;” but even then their fleetness often enables them to escape; and so laborious an undertaking is it to capture them thus, that the plan is but seldom adopted, where any other game can be obtained. The easiest mode of taking the antelope is when it is found attempting to cross a river—as its slender limbs and small delicate hoofs render it but a poor swimmer. The Indians sometimes destroy whole herds while thus endeavouring to swim across the great streams of the prairies.
Although so shy, the antelope is as inquisitive as mother Eve was; and will often approach its most dangerous enemy to satisfy its instinct of curiosity. Our party were destined to witness a singular illustration of this peculiarity.
Basil and François had seized their guns, but did not attempt to move from the spot. That would be of no use, they judged; as there was not even a bunch of grass to shelter them in the direction whence the antelopes were approaching. They sat still, therefore, in hopes that the animals were on their way to the spring, and would come nearer of their own accord. In this conjecture the boys were right. The herd, about twenty in all, came on over the prairie, heading directly for the butte. They walked in single file, following their leader like Indians on a war-path! They were soon so near, that the hunters could distinguish every part of their bodies—their yellow backs—their white sides and bellies—the short erect manes upon their necks—their delicate limbs—their long pointed muzzles. They could even perceive the little black spots behind their cheeks, which emit that disagreeable odour—as with the common goat—and on account of which the hunting-trappers, in their unromantic phraseology, have given the name of “goats” to these most graceful animals.
All these peculiarities our young hunters observed as the herd approached. They had placed themselves behind some willow-bushes, so as not to be seen by the latter. They observed, too, that there was but one of them with horns, and that was the foremost, or leader. All the rest were does or young ones. The antelopes, as they came on, did not appear to regard the horses, that were browsing out upon the plain, though not directly in their way. They took the latter, no doubt, for mustangs—who are not their enemies in any sense—and, therefore, did not fear them.
They arrived at length close to the spring rivulet, where it ran out upon the prairie. They did not approach it to drink. They were evidently advancing towards the spring itself, perhaps with the intention of getting a cooler and more refreshing draught from the fountain-head. The young hunters lay concealed among the willows—each with his gun ready in his hand—determined to fire as soon as the unsuspecting creatures should come within range.
They had got nearly so—within two hundred yards, or less—when all at once the leader was seen to swerve suddenly to the right, and head away from the water! What could this movement mean? On looking in the new direction, several hairy objects were perceived upon the ground. They were odd-looking objects, of a reddish-brown colour, and might have passed for a number of foxes lying asleep. But they were not foxes. They were wolves—prairie-wolves—a sort of animals more cunning even than foxes themselves. They were not asleep neither, though they pretended to be. They were wide awake, as they lay squatted closely upon the grass, with their heads so completely hidden behind their bushy tails, that it would have been impossible to have told what they were, had not the boys known that they were the same wolves they had noticed but the moment before. There were about half-a-dozen of them in all, lying in a line; but so close were they, that their bodies touched one another, and at first sight appeared as one object, or a string of objects connected together. They lay perfectly still and motionless. It was this group that had attracted the leader of the antelope herd, and was drawing him out of his course.
Curious to witness the dénouement, our hunters continued to lie quiet in their ambush among the willows.
The antelopes had all turned in the track of their leader, and were following him in the new direction, like soldiers marching in single file. They went slowly, with outstretched necks and eyes protruded, gazing steadfastly on the strange objects before them. When within a hundred yards or so of the wolves, the leader stopped, and sniffed the air. The others imitated him in every movement. The wind was blowing towards the wolves, therefore the antelopes, who possess the keenest scent, could benefit nothing from this. They moved forward again several paces, and again halted, and uttered their snorts as before, and then once more moved on. These manoeuvres lasted for some minutes; and it was evident that the spirits of fear and curiosity were struggling within the breasts of these creatures. At times the former seemed to have the mastery, for they would tremble, and start as if about to break off in flight. Curiosity would again prevail, and a fresh movement forward was the consequence.
In this way they advanced, until the headmost had got within a few paces of the wolves, who lay all the while as still as mice or as cats waiting for mice. Not any part of them was seen to move, except the long hair of their tails that waved slightly in the breeze; but this only excited the curiosity of the antelopes to a greater degree.
The leader of the herd seemed all at once to grow bolder. He was a stout old buck—what had he to fear? Why should he dread such creatures as these, without heads, or teeth, or claws, and evidently incapable of moving themselves? No doubt they were inanimate objects. He would soon decide that question, by simply stepping up and laying his nose upon one of them.
He was instigated, moreover, by a species of pride or vanity. He wanted to show off his courage before his followers, who were mostly does; many of them his wives too—for the old antelopes are shocking polygamists. It would never do to appear timid in the eyes of the fair does; and he was determined to cut a swagger. Under this impulse, he walked boldly up, until his sharp snout touched the hair of one of the wolves.
The latter, who had been all the time peeping from under his tail, waiting for just such an opportunity, now sprang to his feet, and launched himself upon the throat of the antelope. His comrades, uncoiling themselves at the same instant, followed his example; and the next moment the prong-horn was dragged to the ground, and worried by the whole pack!
The frightened herd wheeled in their track and scattered right and left. Some ran in the direction of the hunters; but so swiftly did they bound past, that the shots of the latter, aimed in haste, whistled idly over the prairie. Not one of them appeared to have been touched; and, in a few seconds, not one of them was to be seen. They had all escaped, except their leader, who was by this time dying under the teeth of the wolves.
“Well, we shall have him at all events,” said Basil. “Load your guns, brothers! give the wolves time to kill him outright; we can easily run them off.”
“Very kind of them,” added François, “to procure us fresh venison for supper. Indeed we might not have had it but for their cunning. We have done them some service during our journey; it is almost time they should make us a return.”
“We had better make haste, then,” said Lucien, loading at the same time with his brothers; “the wolves appear to be very busy; they may tear our venison to pieces. See! what a scuffle!”
As Lucien said this, the eyes of all were turned upon the wolves. The latter were leaping about over the body of the antelope, now in a thick clump, now more scattered, but all the while apparently worrying the animal to death. Their jaws were already blood-stained, and their bushy tails swept about and above them in ceaseless motion. The hunters made all haste in reloading, lest, as Lucien had suggested, the wolves might spoil the venison. They were not more than a minute engaged in ramming down the bullets, and fixing the caps on the nipples of their guns. When this was done, all three ran forward together—Marengo in the advance, with outstretched neck and open mouth, eager to do battle with the whole pack.
It was but three hundred yards to the spot where the wolves were; and when our hunters had got within range, all three stopped, levelled their pieces, and fired. The volley took effect. Two were seen kicking and sprawling over the grass, while the others, dropping their prey, scampered off over the prairie. The boys ran up. Marengo leaped upon one of the wounded wolves, while the other was despatched by the butts of their guns. But where was the antelope? There was no such animal to be seen; but, in its stead, half-a-dozen fragments of mangled skin, a horned head and shanks, with a clump of half-picked, ribs and joints! And this was all that was left of the poor prong-horn—all that was left of that beautiful form that, only a few moments before, was bounding over the prairie in the full pride of health, strength, and swiftness!
The boys contemplated his remains with feelings of disappointment and chagrin; for, although there was still plenty of bear-meat, they had anticipated supping upon fresh venison. But neither “haunch” nor “saddle” was left—nothing but torn and useless fragments—so, after sundry sharp ejaculations against the wolves, they left Marengo to make his best of the débris, and, walking back slowly to the camp, seated themselves once more upon the stones.