The Dog Crusoe and his Master by R. M. Ballantyne (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📖

curious fact that by placing the ear close to the ground sounds can be heard distinctly which could not be heard at all if the listener were to maintain an erect position.

“They’re arter the buffalo,” said Joe, rising, “an’ I think it’s likely they’re a band o’ Pawnees. Listen an’ ye’ll hear their shouts quite plain.”

Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placed their ears to the ground.

“Now, me hear noting,” said Henri, jumping up, “but me ear is like me eyes; ver’ short-sighted.”

“I do hear something,” said Dick as he got up, “but the beating o’ my own heart makes row enough to spoil my hearin’.”

Joe Blunt smiled. “Ah! lad, yer young an’ yer blood’s too hot yet, but bide a bit; you’ll cool down soon. I wos like you once. Now, lads, what think ye we should do?”

“You know best, Joe.”

“Oui, nodoubtedly.”

“Then wot I advise is that we gallop to the broken sand hillocks ye see yonder, get behind them an’ take a peep at the Red-skins. If they are Pawnees we’ll go up to them at once; if not, we’ll hold a council o’ war on the spot.”

Having arranged this they mounted and hastened towards the hillocks in question, which they reached after ten minutes’ gallop, at full stretch. The sandy mounds afforded them concealment, and enabled them to watch the proceedings of the savages in the plain below. The scene was the most curious and exciting that can be conceived. The centre of the plain before them was crowded with hundreds of buffaloes, which were dashing about in the most frantic state of alarm. To whatever point they galloped they were met by yelling savages on horseback, who could not have been fewer in numbers than a thousand—all being armed with lance, bow, and quiver, and mounted on active little horses. The Indians had completely surrounded the herd of buffaloes, and were now advancing steadily towards them, gradually narrowing the circle, and, whenever the terrified animals endeavoured to break through the line, they rushed to that particular spot in a body, and scared them back again into the centre.

Thus they advanced until they closed in on their prey, and formed an unbroken circle round them, whilst the poor brutes kept eddying and surging to and fro in a confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each other, and bellowing furiously. Suddenly the horsemen made a rush, and the work of destruction began. The tremendous turmoil raised a cloud of dust that obscured the field in some places, and hid it from our hunters’ view. Some of the Indians galloped round and round the circle, sending their arrows whizzing up to the feathers in the sides of the fattest cows. Others dashed fearlessly into the midst of the black heaving mass, and, with their long lances, pierced dozens of them to the heart. In many instances the buffaloes, infuriated by wounds, turned fiercely on their assailants and gored the horses to death, in which cases the men had to trust to their nimble legs for safety. Sometimes a horse got jammed in the centre of the swaying mass, and could neither advance nor retreat. Then the savage rider leaped upon the buffaloes’ backs, and springing from one to another, like an acrobat, gained the outer edge of the circle, not failing, however, in his strange flight, to pierce with his lance several of the fattest of his stepping-stones as he sped along.

A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from the blood and dust of this desperate battle, and made off over the plains, but they were quickly overtaken, and the lance or arrow brought them down on the green turf. Many of the dismounted riders were chased by bulls, but they stepped lightly to one side, and, as the animals passed, drove their arrows deep into their sides. Thus the tumultuous war went on, amid thundering tread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain was transformed into a sea of blood and mire, and every buffalo of the herd was laid low.

It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare is invariably waged without damage to the savages. Many were the wounds and bruises received that day, and not a few bones were broken, but happily no lives were lost.

“Now, lads, now’s our time. A bold and fearless look’s the best at all times. Don’t look as if ye doubted their friendship; and mind, wotever ye do, don’t use yer arms. Follow me.”

Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and, bounding over the ridge at full speed, galloped headlong across the plain.

The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a loud yell announced the fact as they assembled from all parts of the field brandishing their bows and spears. Joe’s quick eye soon distinguished their chief, towards whom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yard or two of his horse’s head; then he reined up suddenly. So rapidly did Joe and his comrades approach, and so instantaneously did they pull up, that their steeds were thrown almost on their haunches.

The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He was a tall powerful savage, almost naked, and mounted on a coal-black charger, which he sat with the ease of a man accustomed to ride from infancy. He was, indeed, a splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark frown, for, although he and his band had visited the settlements and trafficked with the fur-traders on the Missouri, he did not love the “Pale-faces,” whom he regarded as intruders on the hunting grounds of his fathers, and the peace that existed between them at that time was of a very fragile character. Indeed, it was deemed by the traders impossible to travel through the Indian country at that period except in strong force, and it was the very boldness of the present attempt that secured to our hunters anything like a civil reception.

Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently, began by explaining the object of his visit, and spoke of the presents which he had brought for the great chief; but it was evident that his words made little impression. As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round the little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses and weapons with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable anxiety.

“Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face is true,” said the savage, when Joe paused, “but he does not choose to make peace. The Pale-faces are grasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes to the great mountains, and say, ‘There we will stop.’ But even there they will not stop. They are never satisfied, Mahtawa knows them well.”

This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts of the hunters, for they knew that if the savages refused to make peace, they would scalp them all and appropriate their goods. To make things worse, a dark-visaged Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri’s rifle, and, ere he was aware, plucked it from his hand. The blood rushed to the gigantic hunter’s forehead, and he was on the point of springing at the man, when Joe said in a deep, quiet voice—

“Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death.”

At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts of the circle of horsemen, and another chief rode into the midst of them. He was evidently higher in rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to the crowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drew little comfort from the appearance of his face, however, for it scowled upon them. He was not so powerful a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully formed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance.

“Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river that they should come to spy out the lands of the Pawnee?” he demanded.

“We have not come to spy your country,” answered Joe, raising himself proudly as he spoke, and taking off his cap. “We have come with a message from the great chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village far beyond the great river where the sun rises. He says, why should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight? They are brothers. The same Manitou (the Indian name for God) watches over both. The Pale-faces have more beads, and guns, and blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require; they wish to give some of these things for the skins and furs which the Red-man does not know what to do with. The great chief of the Pale-faces has sent me to say, ‘Why should we fight? let us smoke the pipe of peace!’”

At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the wily chief brightened for a moment. Then he said, sternly—

“The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has come here to trade for himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes that can see—they are not shut. Are not these your goods?” The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke.

“Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of an enemy’s camp,” returned Joe; “San-it-sa-rish is wise and will understand this. These are gifts to the chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him when the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said,—What message shall we take back to the great chief of the Pale-faces?”

San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.

“The hunting field is not the council tent,” he said. “The Pale-faces will go with us to our village.”

Of course Joe was only too glad to agree to this proposal, but he now deemed it politic to display a little firmness.

“We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not do to go back and tell the great chief of the Pale-faces that the Pawnees are thieves.”

The chief frowned angrily.

“The Pawnees are true—they are not thieves. They choose to look at the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall be returned.”

The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters rode off with the Indians towards their camp. On the way they met hundreds of women and children going to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their special duty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp. The men, considering that they had done quite enough in killing it, returned to smoke and eat away the fatigues of the chase.

As they rode along Dick Varley observed that some of the “braves,” as Indian warriors are styled, were eating pieces of the bloody livers of the buffaloes in a raw state, at which he expressed not a little disgust.

“Ah! boy, you’re green yet,” remarked Joe Blunt in an undertone. “Mayhap ye’ll be thankful to do that same yerself some day.”

“Well, I’ll not refuse to try when it is needful,” said Dick with a laugh; “meanwhile I’m content to see the Red-skins do it, Joe Blunt.”