Chapter 31 - The Scalp Hunters by Mayne Reid
A Buffalo “Surround”
A march of twenty miles brought us to the place where we expected to be joined by the band. We found a small stream heading in the Pinon Range, and running westward to the San Pedro. It was fringed with cotton-trees and willows, and with grass in abundance for our horses. Here we encamped, kindled a fire in the thicket, cooked our wolf-mutton, ate it, and went to sleep.
The band came up in the morning, having travelled all night. Their provisions were spent as well as ours, and instead of resting our wearied animals, we pushed on through a pass in the sierra in hopes of finding game on the other side.
About noon we debouched through the mountain pass into a country of openings—small prairies, bounded by jungly forests, and interspersed with timber islands. These prairies were covered with tall grass, and buffalo signs appeared as we rode into them. We saw their “roads,” “chips,” and “wallows.”
We saw, moreover, the bois de vache of the wild cattle. We would soon meet with one or the other.
We were still on the stream by which we had camped the night before, and we made a noon halt to refresh our animals.
The full-grown forms of the cacti were around us, bearing red and yellow fruit in abundance. We plucked the pears of the pitahaya, and ate them greedily; we found service-berries, yampo, and roots of the “pomme blanche.” We dined on fruits and vegetables of various sorts, indigenous only to this wild region.
But the stomachs of the hunters longed for their favourite food, the hump ribs and boudins of the buffalo; and after a halt of two hours, we moved forward through the openings.
We had ridden about an hour among chapparal, when Rube, who was some paces in advance, acting as guide, turned in his saddle and pointed downward.
“What’s there, Rube?” asked Seguin, in a low voice.
“Fresh track, cap’n; buffler!”
“What number; can you guess?”
“A gang o’ fifty or tharabout. They’ve tuk through the thicket yander-away. I kin sight the sky. Thur’s clur ground not fur from us; and I’d stak a plew thur in it. I think it’s a small parairia, cap.”
“Halt here, men!” said Seguin; “halt and keep silent. Ride forward, Rube. Come, Monsieur Haller, you’re fond of hunting; come along with us!”
I followed the guide and Seguin through the bushes; like them, riding slowly and silently.
In a few minutes we reached the edge of a prairie covered with long grass. Peering cautiously through the leaves of the prosopis, we had a full view of the open ground. The buffaloes were on the plain!
It was, as Rube had rightly conjectured, a small prairie about a mile and a half in width, closed in on all sides by a thick chapparal. Near the centre was a motte of heavy timber, growing up from a leafy underwood. A spur of willows running out from the timber indicated the presence of water.
“Thur’s a spring yander,” muttered Rube. “They’ve jest been a-coolin’ their noses at it.”
This was evident enough, for some of the animals were at the moment walking out of the willows; and we could see the wet clay glistening upon their flanks, and the saliva glancing down from their jaws.
“How will we get at them, Rube?” asked Seguin; “can we approach them, do you think?”
“I doubt not, cap. The grass ’ud hardly kiver us, an thur a-gwine out o’ range o’ the bushes.”
“How then? We cannot run them; there’s not room. They would be into the thicket at the first dash. We would lose every hoof of them.”
“Sartin as Scripter.”
“What is to be done?”
“This niggur sees but one other plan as kin be used jest at this time.”
“What is it?”
“Surround.”
“Right; if we can do that. How is the wind?”
“Dead as an Injun wi’ his head cut off,” replied the trapper, taking a small feather out of his cap and tossing it in the air. “See, cap, it falls plump!”
“It does, truly.”
“We kin easily git roun’ them bufflers afore they wind us; an’ we hev men enough to make a picket fence about them. We can hardly set about it too soon, cap. Thur a movin’ torst the edge yander.”
“Let us divide the men, then,” said Seguin, turning his horse; “you can guide one-half of them to their stands. I will go with the other. Monsieur Haller, you had better remain where you are. It is as good a stand as you can get. Have patience. It may be an hour before all are placed. When you hear the bugle, you may gallop forward and do your best. If we succeed, you shall have sport and a good supper, which I suppose you feel the need of by this time.”
So saying, Seguin left me, and rode back to the men, followed by old Rube.
It was their purpose to separate the band into two parties, each taking an opposite direction, and to drop men here and there at regular intervals around the prairie. They would keep in the thicket while on the march, and only discover themselves at a given signal. In this way, should the buffaloes allow time for the execution of the movement, we should be almost certain of securing the whole gang.
As soon as Seguin had left me, I looked to my rifle and pistols, putting on a fresh set of caps. After that, having nothing else to occupy me, I remained seated in my saddle, eyeing the animals as they fed unconscious of danger. I was full of anxiety lest some clumsy fellow might discover himself too soon, and thus spoil our anticipated sport.
After a while I could see the birds flying up from the thicket, and the screaming of the blue jay indicated to me the progress of the “surround.”
Now and then, an old bull, on the skirts of the herd, would toss up his shaggy mane, snuff the wind, and strike the ground fiercely with his hoof, evidently labouring under a suspicion that all was not right.
The others did not seem to heed these demonstrations, but kept on quietly cropping the luxuriant grama.
I was thinking how nicely we were going to have them in the trap, when an object caught my eye, just emerging from the motte. It was a buffalo calf, and I saw that it was proceeding to join the gang. I thought it somewhat strange that it should be separated from the rest, for the calves, trained by their mothers to know the wolf, usually keep up with the herd.
“It has stayed behind at the spring,” thought I. “Perhaps the others pushed it from the water, and it could not drink until they were gone.”
I fancied that it moved clumsily, as if wounded; but it was passing through the long grass, and I could not get a good view of it.
There was a pack of coyotes (there always is) sneaking after the herd. These, perceiving the calf, as it came out of the timber, made an instant and simultaneous attack upon it. I could see them skipping around it, and fancied I could hear their fierce snarling; but the calf appeared to fight its way through the thick of them; and after a short while, I saw it close in to its companions, where I lost sight of it among the others.
“A game young bull,” soliloquised I, and again I ran my eye around the skirting of the chapparal to watch how the hunters were getting forward with the “surround.” I could perceive the flashing of brilliant wings over the bramble, and hear the shrill voices of the jay-birds. Judging by these, I concluded that the men were moving slowly enough. It was half an hour since Seguin had left me, and I could perceive that they were not half-way round as yet.
I began to make calculations as to how long I would have to wait, soliloquising as follows:—
“Diameter of the prairie, a mile and a half. It is a circle three times that: four miles and a half. Phew! I shall not hear the signal in much less than an hour. I must be patient then, and—what! The brutes are lying down! Good! There is no danger now of their making off. We shall have rare sport! One, two, three, six of them down! It must be the heat and the water. They have drunk too much. There goes another. Lucky devils! They have nothing else to do but eat and sleep, while I—no! eight down! Well! I hope soon to eat, too. What an odd way they have of coming to the ground! How different from anything of the bovine tribe I have yet observed! I have never seen buffaloes quieting down before. One would think they were falling as if shot! Two more alongside the rest! They will soon be all upon the turf. So much the better. We can gallop up before they get to their feet again. Oh, that I could hear that horn!”
And thus I went on rambling from thought to thought, and listening for the signal, although I knew that it could not be given for some time yet.
The buffaloes kept moving slowly onward, browsing as they went, and continuing to lie down one after another. I thought it strange, their stretching themselves thus successively; but I had observed farm cattle do the same, and I was at that time but little acquainted with the habits of the buffalo. Some of them appeared to toss about on the ground and kick violently. I had heard of a peculiarity of these animals termed “wallowing.”
“They are at it,” thought I. I wished much to have a clearer view of this curious exercise, but the high grass prevented me. I could only see their shaggy shoulders, and occasionally their hoofs kicking up over the sward.
I watched their movements with great interest, now feeling secure that the “surround” would be complete before they would think of rising.
At length the last one of the gang followed the example of his companions, and dropped over.
They were all now upon their sides, half-buried in the bunch grass. I thought I noticed the calf still upon its feet; but at that moment the bugle sounded, and a simultaneous cheer broke from all sides of the prairie.
I pressed the spur to my horse’s flank, and dashed out into the open plain. Fifty others had done the same, yelling as they shot out of the thicket.
With my reins resting on my left fingers, and my rifle thrown crosswise, I galloped forward, filled with the wild excitement that such an adventure imparts. I was cocked and ready, resolved upon having the first shot.
It was but a short distance from where I had started to the nearest buffalo. I was soon within range, my horse flying like an arrow.
“Is the animal asleep? I am within ten paces of him, and still he stirs not! I will fire at him as he lies.”
I raised my rifle, levelled it, and was about to pull the trigger, when something red gleamed before my eyes. It was blood!
I lowered the piece with a feeling of terror, and commenced dragging upon the rein; but, before I could pull up, I was carried into the midst of the prostrate herd. Here my horse suddenly stopped, and I sat in my saddle as if spell-bound. I was under the influence of a superstitious awe. Blood was before me and around me. Turn which way I would, my eye rested upon blood!
My comrades closed in, yelling as they came; but their yelling suddenly ceased, and one by one reined up, as I had done, with looks of consternation and wonder.
It was not strange, at such a sight. Before us lay the bodies of the buffaloes. They were all dead, or quivering in the last throes. Each bad a wound above the brisket, and from this the red stream gurled out, and trickled down their still panting sides. Blood welled from their mouths and out of their nostrils. Pools of it were filtering through the prairie turf; and clotted gouts, flung out by the struggling hoof, sprinkled the grass around them!
“Oh, heavens! what could it mean?”
“Wagh! Santisima! Sacré Dieu!” were the exclamations of the hunters.
“Surely no mortal hand has done this?”
“It wa’n’t nuthin’ else,” cried a well-known voice, “ef yur call an Injun a mortal. ’Twur a red-skin, and this child—look ’ee-e!”
I heard the click of a rifle along with this abrupt exclamation. I turned suddenly. Rube was in the act of levelling his piece. My eye involuntarily followed the direction of the barrel. There was an object moving in the long grass.
“A buffalo that still kicks,” thought I, as I saw the mass of dark-brown hair; “he is going to finish him; it is the calf!”
I had scarcely made the observation when the animal reared up on its hind legs, uttering a wild human scream; the shaggy hide was flung off; and a naked savage appeared, holding out his arms in an attitude of supplication.
I could not have saved him. The rifle had cracked, the ball had sped. I saw it piercing his brown breast, as a drop of sleet strikes upon the pane of glass; the red spout gushed forth, and the victim fell forward upon the body of one of the animals.
“Wagh! Rube!” exclaimed one of the men; “why didn’t ye give him time to skin the meat? He mout as well ’a done that when he war about it;” and the man laughed at his savage jest.
“Look ’ee hyur, boyees!” said Rube, pointing to the motte; “if ’ee look sharp, yur mout scare up another calf yander away! I’m a-gwine to see arter this Injun’s har; I am.”
The hunters, at the suggestion, galloped off to surround the motte.
I felt a degree of irresolution and disgust at this cool shedding of blood. I drew my rein almost involuntarily, and moved forward to the spot where the savage had fallen. He lay back uppermost. He was naked to the breech-clout. There was the debouchure of a bullet below the left shoulder, and the black-red stream was trickling down his ribs. The limbs still quivered, but it was in the last spasms of parting life.
The hide in which he had disguised himself lay piled up where it had been flung. Beside it were a bow and several arrows. The latter were crimsoned to the notch, the feathers steeped in blood and clinging to the shafts. They had pierced the huge bodies of the animals, passing through and through. Each arrow had taken many lives! The old trapper rode up to the corpse, and leisurely dismounted from his mare.
“Fifty dollar a plew!” he muttered, unsheathing his knife and stooping over the body. “It’s more’n I got for my own. It beats beaver all hollow. Cuss beaver, say this child. Plew a plug—ain’t worth trappin’ if the varmint wur as thick as grass-jumpers in calf-time. ’Ee up, niggur,” he continued, grasping the long hair of the savage, and holding the face upward; “let’s get a squint of your phisog. Hooraw! Coyote ’Pash! Hooraw!”
And a gleam of triumph lit up the countenance of the old man as he uttered these wild exclamations.
“Apash, is he?” asked one of the hunters, who had remained near the spot.
“That he are, Coyote ’Pash, the very niggurs that bobtailed this child’s ears. I kin swar to thur ugly picters anywhur I get my peepers upon ’em. Wouwough—ole woofy! got ’ee at last, has he! Yur a beauty, an’ no mistake.”
So saying, he gathered the long crown locks in his left hand, and with two slashes of his knife, held quarte and tierce, he cut a circle around the top of the head, as perfect as if it had been traced by compasses. He then took a turn of the hair over his wrist, giving it a quick jerk outward. At the same instant, the keen blade passed under the skin, and the scalp was taken!
“Counts six,” he continued, muttering to himself while placing the scalp in his belt; “six at fifty—three hunder shiners for ’Pash har; cuss beaver trappin’! says I.”
Having secured the bleeding trophy, he wiped his knife upon the hair of one of the buffaloes, and proceeded to cut a small notch in the woodwork of his gun, alongside five others that had been carved there already. These six notches stood for Apaches only; for as my eye wandered along the outlines of the piece, I saw that there were many other columns in that terrible register!