Tracks Of A Rolling Stone by Henry J. Coke (free e reader txt) 📖

To Herd Her Cattle, 

Which Had Strayed A Long Distance Amongst The Rank Herbage By

The Banks Of The Platte.  The Heat Was Intense,  Well Over 120

In The Sun; And The Mosquitos Rose In Clouds At Every Step In

The Wet Grass.  It Was An Easy Job For Me,  On My Little Grey, 

To Gallop After The Cows And Drive Them Home,  (It Would Have

Been A Wearisome One For Her,) And She Was Very Grateful,  And

Played Dorothea To My Hermann.  None Of Our Party Wore Any

Upper Clothing Except A Flannel Shirt; I Had Cut Off The

Sleeves Of Mine At The Elbow.  This Was Better For Rough

Work,  But The Broiling Sun Had Raised Big Blisters On My Arms

And Throat Which Were Very Painful.  When We Got Back To

Camp,  Dorothea Laved The Burns For Me With Cool Milk.  Ah!

She Was Very Pretty; And,  What 'Blackguard'  Heine,  As

Carlyle Dubs Him,  Would Have Called 'Naive Schmutzig.'  When

We Parted Next Morning I Thought With A Sigh That Before The

Autumn Was Over,  She Would Be In The Seraglio Of Mr. Brigham

Young; Who,  Artemus Ward Used To Say,  Was 'The Most Married

Man He Ever Knew.'

Chapter 21 Pg 110

 

 

Sport Had Been The Final Cause Of My Trip To America - Sport

And The Love Of Adventure.  As The Bison - Buffalo,  As They

Are Called - Are Now Extinct,  Except In Preserved Districts, 

A Few Words About Them As They Then Were May Interest Game

Hunters Of The Present Day.

 

No Description Could Convey An Adequate Conception Of The

Numbers In Which They Congregated.  The Admirable

Illustrations In Catlin's Great Work On The North American

Indians,  Afford The Best Idea To Those Who Have Never Seen

The Wonderful Sight Itself.  The Districts They Frequented

Were Vast Sandy Uplands Sparsely Covered With The Tufty

Buffalo Or Gramma Grass.  These Regions Were Always Within

Reach Of The Water-Courses; To Which Morning And Evening The

Herds Descended By Paths,  After The Manner Of Sheep Or Cattle

In A Pasture.  Never Shall I Forget The First Time I

Witnessed The Extraordinary Event Of The Evening Drink. 

Seeing The Black Masses Galloping Down Towards The River,  By

The Banks Of Which Our Party Were Travelling,  We Halted Some

Hundred Yards Short Of The Tracks.  To Have Been Caught

Amongst The Animals Would Have Been Destruction; For,  Do What

They Would To Get Out Of One's Way,  The Weight Of The

Thousands Pushing On Would Have Crushed Anything That Impeded

Them.  On The Occasion I Refer To We Approached To Within

Safe Distance,  And Fired Into Them Till The Ammunition In Our

Pouches Was Expended.

 

As Examples Of Our Sporting Exploits,  Three Days Taken Almost

At Random Will Suffice.  The Season Was So Far Advanced That, 

Unless We Were To Winter At Fort Laramie,  It Was Necessary To

Keep Going.  It Was Therefore Agreed That Whoever Left The

Line Of March - That Is,  The Vicinity Of The North Platte -

For The Purpose Of Hunting Should Take His Chance Of Catching

Up The Rest Of The Party,  Who Were To Push On As Speedily As

Possible.  On Two Of The Days Which I Am About To Record This

Rule Nearly Brought Me Into Trouble.  I Quote From My

Journal:

 

'Left Camp To Hunt By Self.  Got A Shot At Some Deer Lying In

Long Grass On Banks Of A Stream.  While Stalking,  I Could

Hardly See Or Breathe For Mosquitos; They Were In My Eyes,  

Chapter 21 Pg 111

Nose,  And Mouth.  Steady Aim Was Impossible; And,  To My

Disgust,  I Missed The Easiest Of Shots.  The Neck And Flanks

Of My Little Grey Are As Red As If Painted.  He Is Weak From

Loss Of Blood.  Fred's Head Is Now So Swollen He Cannot Wear

His Hard Hat; His Eyes Are Bunged Up,  And His Face Is Comic

To Look At.  Several Deer And Antelopes; But Ground Too

Level,  And Game Too Wild To Let One Near.  Hardly Caring What

Direction I Took,  Followed Outskirts Of Large Wood,  Four Or

Five Miles Away From The River.  Saw A Good Many Summer

Lodges; But Knew,  By The Quantity Of Game,  That The Indians

Had Deserted Them.  In The Afternoon Came Suddenly Upon Deer;

And Singling Out One Of The Youngest Fawns,  Tried To Run It

Down.  The Country Being Very Rough,  I Found It Hard Work To

Keep Between It And The Wood.  First,  My Hat Blew Off; Then A

Pistol Jumped Out Of The Holster; But I Was Too Near To Give

Up,  - Meaning To Return For These Things Afterwards.  Two Or

Three Times I Ran Right Over The Fawn,  Which Bleated In The

Most Piteous Manner,  But Always Escaped The Death-Blow From

The Grey's Hoofs.  By Degrees We Edged Nearer To The Thicket, 

When The Fawn Darted Down The Side Of A Bluff,  And Was Lost

In The Long Grass And Brushwood,  I Followed At Full Speed;

But,  Unable To Arrest The Impetus Of The Horse,  We Dashed

Headlong Into The Thick Scrub,  And Were Both Thrown With

Violence To The Ground.  I Was None The Worse; But The Poor

Beast Had Badly Hurt His Shoulder,  And For The Time Was Dead

Lame.

 

'For An Hour At Least I Hunted,  For My Pistol.  It Was Much

More To Me Than My Hat.  It Was A Huge Horse Pistol,  That

Threw An Ounce Ball Of Exactly The Calibre Of My Double

Rifle.  I Had Shot Several Buffaloes With It,  By Riding Close

To Them In A Chase; And When In Danger Of Indians I Loaded It

With Slugs.  At Last I Found It.  It Was Getting Late; And I

Didn't Rightly Know Where I Was.  I Made For The Low Country. 

But As We Camped Last Night At Least Two Miles From The

River,  On Account Of The Swamps,  The Difficulty Was To Find

The Tracks.  The Poor Little Grey And I Hunted For It In

Vain.  The Wet Ground Was Too Wet,  The Dry Ground Too Hard, 

To Show The Tracks In The Now Imperfect Light.

 

'The Situation Was A Disagreeable One:  It Might Be Two Or

Three Days Before I Again Fell In With My Friends.  I Had Not

Touched Food Since The Early Morning,  And Was Rather Done. 

To Return To The High Ground Was To Give Up For The Night;

But That Meant Another Day Behind The Cavalcade,  With

Diminished Chance Of Overtaking It.  Through The Dusk I Saw

What I Fancied Was Something Moving On A Mound Ahead Of Me

Which Arose Out Of The Surrounding Swamp.  I Spurred On,  But

Only To Find The Putrid Carcase Of A Buffalo,  With A Wolf

Supping On It.  The Brute Was Gorged,  And Looked As Sleek As

"Die Schone Frau Giermund"; But,  Unlike Isegrim's Spouse,  She

Was Free To Escape,  For She Wasn't Worth A Bullet.  I Was So

Famished,  That I Examined The Carcase With The Hope Of

Finding A Cut That Would Last For A Day Or Two; My Nose 

Chapter 21 Pg 112

Wouldn't Have It.  I Plodded On,  The Water Up To The Saddle-

Girths.  The Mosquitos Swarmed In Millions,  And The Poor

Little Grey Could Hardly Get One Leg Before The Other.  I, 

Too,  Was So Feverish That,  Ignorant Of Bacteria,  I Filled My

Round Hat With The Filthy Stagnant Water,  And Drank It At A

Draught.

 

'At Last I Made For Higher Ground.  It Was Too Dark To Hunt

For Tracks,  So I Began To Look Out For A Level Bed.  Suddenly

My Beast,  Who Jogged Along With His Nose To The Ground,  Gave

A Loud Neigh.  We Had Struck The Trail.  I Threw The Reins On

His Neck,  And Left Matters To His Superior Instincts.  In

Less Than Half An Hour The Joyful Light Of A Camp Fire

Gladdened My Eyes.  Fred Told Me He Had Halted As Soon As He

Was Able,  Not On My Account Only,  But Because He,  Too,  Had

Had A Severe Fall,  And Was Suffering Great Pain From A

Bruised Knee.'

 

Here Is An Ordinary Example Of Buffalo Shooting:

 

'July 2nd. - Fresh Meat Much Wanted.  With Jim The Half-Breed

To The Hills.  No Sooner On High Ground Than We Sighted Game. 

As Far As Eye Could Reach,  Right Away To The Horizon,  The

Plain Was Black With Buffaloes,  A Truly Astonishing Sight. 

Jim Was Used To It.  I Stopped To Spy Them With Amazement. 

The Nearest Were Not More Than Half A Mile Off,  So We

Picketed Our Horses Under The Sky Line; And Choosing The

Hollows,  Walked On Till Crawling Became Expedient.  As Is

Their Wont,  The Outsiders Were Posted On Bluffs Or Knolls In

A Commanding Position; These Were Old Bulls.  To My

Inexperience,  Our Chance Of Getting A Shot Seemed Small; For

We Had To Cross The Dipping Ground Under The Brow Whereon The

Sentinels Were Lying.  Three Extra Difficulties Beset Us -

The Prairie Dogs (A Marmot,  So Called From Its Dog-Like Bark

When Disturbed) Were All Round Us,  And Bolted Into Their

Holes Like Rabbits Directly They Saw Us Coming; Two Big Grey

Wolves,  The Regular Camp Followers Of A Herd,  Were Prowling

About In A Direct Line Between Us And The Bulls; Lastly,  The

Cows,  Though Up And Feeding,  Were Inconveniently Out Of

Reach.  (The Meat Of The Young Cow Is Much Preferred To That

Of The Bull.)  Jim,  However,  Was Confident.  I Followed My

Leader To A Wink.  The Only Instruction I Didn't Like When We

Started Crawling On The Hot Sand Was "Look Out For

Rattlesnakes."

 

'The Wolves Stopped,  Examined Us Suspiciously,  Then Quietly

Trotted Off.  What With This And The Alarm Of The Prairie

Dogs,  An Old Bull,  A Patriarch Of The Tribe,  Jumped Up And

Walked With Majestic Paces To The Top Of The Knoll.  We Lay

Flat On Our Faces,  Till He,  Satisfied With The Result Of His

Scrutiny,  Resumed His Recumbent Posture; But With His Head

Turned Straight Towards Us.  Jim,  To My Surprise,  Stealthily

Crawled On.  In Another Minute Or Two We Had Gained A Point

Whence We Could See Through The Grass Without Being Seen.