The Wild Man of the West by Robert Michael Ballantyne (classic novels for teens .TXT) 📖

reported to be feeding, and in another minute he was out upon the plain creeping towards his victims, while the rest of the party were again huddled together behind a bush, looking on with deep interest and breathless attention.

Gradually and slowly the Indian crept towards the buffaloes, pausing and snuffing about from time to time as if he were a veritable wolf in search of something to eat. At last he had approached near enough to the herd to attract their attention, but scarcely near enough to make sure of bringing one down. The huge unwieldy creatures looked up inquiringly for a moment, but, seeing only a solitary enemy, they scorned to take further notice of him, and went on feeding.

Hawkswing paused within a few yards of the side of a fat sleek animal, and slowly raised his pistol. The trappers held their breath, and Bertram uttered a low groan of anxiety. One moment more and a white puff was followed by a loud crack, and a bellow, as the horror-stricken buffaloes tossed up their heels and fled wildly from the spot, leaving one of their number in the agonies of death upon the plain.

The knife of the Indian hastened its end, and with a rush and a yell of delight the whole party fell upon the luckless animal.

It was a wonderful sight to see, the way in which these experienced men flayed and cut up that buffalo! Hawkswing, without taking time to remove his wolf-skin covering, commenced upon the head and speedily cut out the tongue--a more difficult operation than inexperienced persons would suppose. Redhand and Bounce began at the shoulders, and Big Waller and Gibault fell to work upon the flanks. March Marston seized his axe, and hastening into the bluff felled a dead pine and kindled a fire. As for Bertram, he sat down to sketch the whole with a degree of prompt facility and gusto, that showed the habit had become second nature to him.

The way in which these men wielded their bloody knives, flayed and sliced, dismembered and divided that buffalo, is past belief--almost beyond description. Each man threw off his capote and tucked up his shirt-sleeves to the elbows, and very soon each had on a pair of bright red gauntlets. And the bloody appearance of Hawkswing's mouth proved that he had been anticipating the feast with a few tit-bits raw. The others were more patient.

In very nearly as short a time as it takes to tell, the buffalo was converted into a mass of fragments that were powerfully suggestive of a butcher's shop, and the trappers adjourned to a neighbouring rivulet to wash their hands and arms.

"Now, I'll tell ye wot it is," observed Bounce while thus engaged, "I means for to have a most awful blow out, and then go to sleep for four-and-twenty hours on end."

"Ditto," remarked Big Waller with a nod; to which old Redhand replied with a chuckle.

"An' who be go to vatch, tink you?" inquired Gibault, as they all returned to the camp. "Perhaps de Injuns look out for us--vat den?"

"Ah ye may well ask that, Gibault," said Redhand; "the fact is I've been thinkin' that now we're drawin' near to enemies we must begin to keep better watch at night, and to burn small fires o' dry wood, lest the smoke should tell a tale upon us."

"Oh, don't talk bam, old feller," said Waller; "I guess we'll have watchin' enough w'en we gits into the mountains. Let's take it easy here."

"We'll have one good blow out to-night, anyhow," cried March Marston, heaving a fresh pile of logs on the already roaring fire. "Now, Mr Bertram, _do_ give up your scratchin' to-night, and let's see what you can do in the eatin' way. I'm sure you've fasted long enough, at least for the good o' your health."

The poor artist had indeed fasted long enough to give to his naturally thin and lank figure a thread-papery appearance that might have suggested the idea that he was evaporating. He smiled good-humouredly when March Marston, who had now become rather familiar with him, shut up his sketch-book and set him forcibly down before the fire, all round which steaks and hunks of meat were roasting and grilling, and sending forth an odour that would have rendered less hungry men impatient of delay. But they had not to wait long. Each man sat before his respective steak or hunk, gazing eagerly, as, skewered on the end of a splinter of wood, his supper roasted hissingly. When the side next the fire was partially cooked, he turned it round and fell to work upon that while the other side was roasting--thus the cooking and the eating went on together.

After a considerable time symptoms of satiety began to appear, in the shape of an occasional remark. Soon Bounce uttered a deep sigh, and announced his belief that, having taken the edge off his appetite, it was time to begin with the marrow-bones. Thereupon, with the marrow-bones he began, and his example was quickly followed by his companions. There was a business-like steadiness of purpose in the way in which that meal was eaten, and in the whole of the procedure connected with it, that would have been highly diverting to a disinterested spectator.

When the feast was concluded, the pipes made their appearance as a matter of course; and when these were lighted, and in full blast, the trappers found leisure to look round upon each other's faces with expressions of benignity.

"Dat be a monstrobolly goot supper," remarked Gibault Noir. Gibault spoke with an effort. It was quite plain that moderation was a virtue that he did not possess in a high degree--at least, not on the present occasion.

"You'll need a `monstrobolly' good sleep arter it," observed Bounce quietly.

"You will, jist," said Waller; "an' so will this coon, I cal--"

Big Waller was going to have "calculated," according to custom; but sleepiness overpowered him at the moment, and he terminated the word with a yawn of such ferocity that it drew from Redhand a remark of doubt as to whether his jaws could stand such treatment long.

Every member of that party seemed to be quite contented and amiable, but no one showed much inclination to talk, and ere many minutes had passed, half their number were under their blankets, their heads pillowed on their bundles and their eyes sealed in sleep. A few minutes later, and Big Waller, sinking into a very sprawling and reckless posture, with his back against the stem of a large cotton-tree, dropped into a state of slumber with his pipe hanging gracefully from his lips.

This seemed so picturesque to Theodore Bertram, who sat immediately opposite to the Yankee, on the other side of the fire, that he pulled out his sketch-book and began enthusiastically to sketch by the flickering light. While he was thus occupied, the others lay down, one by one, and he was left, at last, the only waking member of the camp.

But Theodore Bertram was human, and this is tantamount to saying that he was not capable of ignoring the somnolent influences of human nature. To his own extreme surprise his head fell forward with an abrupt nod while he was engaged in the act of depicting Big Waller's nose, and he found, on resuming work, with an imbecile smile at what he deemed his weakness, that that member of the Yankee's face was at least two feet long, and was formed after the pattern of a somewhat irregular Bologna sausage. Indiarubber quickly put this to rights, however, and he set to again with renewed zeal. Throwing back his head, and looking up as if for inspiration, his wide-awake fell off, and it required a sudden and powerful effort to prevent his head and shoulders falling in the same direction.

Having replaced his hat and shaken himself a little, the persevering man once more applied himself to his task of finishing the Yankee's portrait, which, to say truth, now presented a variety of jagged and picturesque outlines, that savoured more of caricature than anything Bertram had ever yet accomplished. For some time the pencil moved upon the paper pretty steadily, and the artist was beginning to congratulate himself on his success, when, to his horror, he observed that the tree against which the Yankee leaned was in the act of falling over to the right. The same instant he received a shock upon the left side, and awoke to find that he had fallen heavily upon poor Gibault's breast, and that Waller and his tree were _in statu quo_. But Gibault cared not; he was too deeply intent upon sleeping to mind such trifles.

Bertram smiled meekly as he resumed his sitting posture; but the smile faded and was replaced by a gaze of mute astonishment as he observed that he had depicted Waller's right eye upon his chin, close beneath his nose! There seemed to be some sort of magic here, and he felt disposed to regard the thing in the light of some serious optical illusion, when, on closer inspection, he discovered Waller's mouth drawn altogether beyond the circle of his countenance, a foot or so above his head, on the stem of the tree against which he leaned. This changed the current of his thoughts and led him to believe that he must be dreaming, under which impression he fell back and went to sleep.

Of course, Bertram recollected nothing after that; but when Gibault awoke next morning, he found him lying on his back, with his feet in the ashes of the extinct fire, his tall brigandish wide-awake perfectly flat beneath his shoulders, and his sketch-book lying open across his face.


CHAPTER EIGHT.


A CACHE DISCOVERED--BERTRAM BECOMES VALOROUS--FAILURE FOLLOWS, AND A BRIEF SKIRMISH, FLIGHT, AND SEPARATION ARE THE RESULTS.

The sun was high, scattering the golden clouds in the bright sky, gilding the hilltops, flooding the plains, vivifying vegetable life, and gladdening the whole animal creation, when, on the following morning, our wearied trappers raised their heads and began to think of breakfast.

To do these trappers justice, however, we must add that their looks, when they became wide enough awake to take full cognisance of the scenery, indicated the presence of thoughts and emotions of a more elevated character, though, from the nature of their training from infancy, they wanted words to express their feelings.

It was otherwise with Bertram and March Marston. Their exclamations, the instant they arose, showed that both their hearts were keenly alive to the good and the beautiful which surrounded them--and their tongues were not altogether incapable of uttering the praise of Him who clothes so gorgeously the lovely earth and peoples it with millions of happy creatures--yes, happy creatures, for, despite the existence of death and sin and sorrow everywhere, and the croaking of misanthropes, there _is_ much, very much, of pure, overflowing happiness here below.

"Come, March--Mr Bertram, time presses," said Redhand, interrupting the two friends in the midst of earnest conversation; "we've got a long day before us, and, mayhap, a fight with redskins at the end o't, so it behoves us to make a good breakfast and set off as soon as we can. We're late enough already."

"Ah, Redhand!" exclaimed March, "you're a terrible fellow for duty an' business, an' all that sort o' thing. It's always `time to be off,' or `time to think o' this or that,' or `we