The Buffalo Runners: A Tale of the Red River Plains by R. M. Ballantyne (e reading malayalam books .TXT) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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âAre you ill?â asked his wife, anxiously.
To this he vouchsafed no reply, as he raised the curtain and went out.
Little Bill also went out, and, sitting down on a package, watched him with his large solemn eyes, but said never a word until the half-breed had loaded his gun and mounted his horse. Then he said: âGood luck to you, François!â
La Certe did not speak, but with a grave nod of his head rode slowly out of the camp. Little Bill regarded him for a moment. He had his bow and a blunt-headed arrow in his hand at the time. Fitting the latter hastily to the bow he took a rapid shot at the retreating horseman. The arrow sped well. It descended on the flank of the horse with considerable force, and, bounding off, fell to the ground. The result was that the horse, to La Certeâs unutterable surprise, made a sudden demivolt into the airâwithout the usual persuasionâalmost unseated its rider, and fled over the prairie like a thing possessed!
A faint smile ruffled the solemnity of Little Bill at this, but it vanished when he heard a low chuckle behind him. Wheeling round, he stood face to face with Slowfoot, whose mouth was expanded from ear to ear.
âClever boy!â she said, patting him on the back, âcome into the tent and have some grub.â
She said this in the Cree language, which the boy did not understand, but he understood well enough the signs with which the invitation was accompanied. Thanking her with an eloquent look, he re-entered the tent along with her.
Meanwhile the buffalo-hunt progressed favourably, and the slaughter of animals was considerable.
But there were two members of that hunt whose proceedings were not in exact accord with the habits and laws of the chase, as usually conducted on the Red River plains. These were the seaman Jenkins and Archie Sinclair.
A mutual attachment having sprung up between these two, they had arranged to keep together during the chase; and when the signal for attack was given by Dechamp, as before related, they had âset sail,â according to Jenkins, fairly well with the rest. But they had not gone more than a few hundred yards when the boy observed that his nautical friend was hauling at both reins furiously, as if desirous of stopping his horse. Having a gun in one hand he found the operation difficult.
Archie therefore reined in a little.
âBad luck to it!â growled Jenkins, as his young friend drew near, âthe jaws oâ this craft seem to be made oâ cast-iron, but Iâll bring him to if I should haul my arms out oâ the sockets. Heave-to, my lad! Maybe heâll be willinâ to follow a good example.â
Archie pulled up, and, as the seaman had hoped, the hard-mouthed steed stopped, while the maddened buffalo and the almost as much maddened hunters went thundering on, and were soon far ahead of them.
âWhatâs wrong, Jenkins?â asked Archie, on seeing the sailor dismount.
âNot much, lad; only I want to take a haul at the main brace. Here, hold my gun a bit, like a good chap; the saddle, you see, ainât all right, anâ if it was to slew round, you know, Iâd be overboard in a jiffy. There, thatâs all right. Now, weâll up anchor, anâ off again. I know now that the right way to git on board is by the port side. When I started from Red River I was goinâ to climb up on the starboard side, but Dan Davidson kepâ me rightâthough he had a good laugh at me. All right now. Hand me the gun.â
âDo you mean to say, Jenkins, that you never got on a horse till you came to Red River?â asked Archie, with a laugh, as they galloped off in pursuit of the hunters, who were almost out of sight by that time.
âWell, youâve no occasion to laugh, lad,â returned the seaman. âIâve bin at sea ever since I was a small shaver, scarce half as long as a handspike, so I ainât had many opportunities, dâee see, for we donât have cavalry at sea, as a ruleâalways exceptinâ the horse marines.
âThen Iâm afraid youâll find runninâ the buffalo somewhat difficult,â returned the boy. âNot that I know anything about it myself, for this is the first time Iâve been out; anâ even now Dan wonât let me use a gun; but Iâve often heard the men talkinâ about it! anâ some oâ them have complained that they have found it uncommon difficult to load when at full gallopâspecially when the horse is hard in the mouth.â
âI make no manner oâ doubt youâre right, lad, but Iâve got my sea-legs on now, so to speak; leastwise Iâve got used to ridinâ in the trip out here, as well as used to steerinâ wiâ the tiller-ropes in front, which seems to me right in the teeth oâ naturâ, though I couldnât see how it could well be otherwise. But I confess that my chief difficulty is the ordnance, for it interferes a good deal wiâ the steerinâ. Howsâeverâânever venturâ never win,â you know. I never expected to take up a noo purfession without some trouble.â
As he spoke, the seamanâs horseâa large brown chestnutâput its foot in a hole, and plunged forward with great violence, barely escaping a fall.
âHold on!â shouted Archie in alarm.
âHold on it is!â sang out the sailor in reply.
And hold on it was, for he had the chestnut round the neck with both arms. Indeed he was sitting, or lying, on its neck altogether.
âIt ainât an easy job,â he gasped, while he struggled to regain the saddle, âwhen a fellow gets hove on to the bowsprit this way, to git fairly back on the main-deck again. But a Jenkins never was beaten in fair fight. Thatâs all right. Now then, Archie, youâre an obleeginâ cove. Do git down anâ pick up the gun for me. You see, if I git down itâs a tryinâ job to git up againâthe side oâ this here craft beinâ so steep anâ so high out oâ the water. Thankâee; why, boy, you jump down anâ up like a powder-monkey. It ainât broke, is it?â
âNo. It seems all right,â answered the boy, as he handed the gun to its owner. âBut if you let it go like that often, it wonât be much worth when the runâs over.â
âLet it go, boy?â repeated the sailor. âIt was either let it or myself go, anâ when it comes to a toss up oâ that sort, Fred Jenkins knows how to look arter number one.â
It will be seen from all this that our seaman was not quite so much at home on the prairie as on the sea. Indeed, if the expression be permissible, he was very much at sea on that undulating plain, and did not take so kindly to the green waves of the rolling prairie as to the heaving billows of the restless ocean; but, as Archie remarked, he was fast getting broke in.
The incidents which we have mentioned, however, were but the commencement of a series of disasters to poor Jenkins, which went far to cure him of a desire to excel in the ânoo purfession,â and to induce a somewhat violent longing for a return to his first love, the ocean.
âI canât think what ever could have made you want to come out here,â said Archie, as they continued to follow up the still distant hunters.
âWhat was it made yourself want to come out, lad?â asked the sailor.
âIt wasnât me that wanted to come. It was father, you know, anâ of course I had to follow,â said the boy in a tone which induced his friend to say hastily, and in a tone of sympathyâ
âAh, poor lad, I forgot you was a orphing. Well, you see, I think it must haâ bin a love oâ change or a love oâ discontent, or suthinâ oâ that sort, as brought me cruising in these here waters, for I canât say what else it was. You see I was born a sort oâ roâohââ
âLook out! a badger-hole!â shouted the boy.
His warning would have been too late, but the chestnut fortunately leaped over the danger instead of stumbling into it, and its rider was only partially shaken out of his seat.
âItâs well,â he said, when fairly settled down again to an easy gallop, âthat the tiller-ropes are stout else Iâd haâ bin over the starn this time instead of out on the bowsprit. Let me see, what was I sayinâ of?â
âSomethinâ about your beinâ born a sort of âroâohâ,â though what that may be I havenât a notion.â
âAh! jist soâI was born a sort oâ rover (when this long-legged brute took the badger-hole), anâ Iâve bin to every quarter oâ the globe aâmost, but if Iâd lived to the age oâ Methooslum Iâd never haâ thought oâ cominâ here,âfor the good reason that I knowed nothinâ oâ its existence,âif I hadnât by chance in a furrin port fallen in wiâ AndrĂ© Morel, anâ took an uncommon fancy to him. You see, at the time, I wasâwell, I was no better nor I should be; pâraps a deal wuss, anâ Morel he meets me, anâ saysââHallo, my lad,â says he, âwhere away?â
âI looked at him gruff-like a moment or two, for it seemed to me he was raither too familiar for a stranger, but heâs got such a pleasant, hearty look with himâas you knowâthat I couldnât feel riled with âim, so âIâm goinâ on the spree,â says I.
ââAll right,â says he, âIâm with âee, lad. Dâye know the town?â
ââNo more than a Mother Careyâs chicken,â says I. âCome along, then,â says he; âIâll takâ âee to a fust-rate shop.â
âSo off we went arm in arm as thick as two peas, anâ after passinâ through two or three streets he turns into a shop that smelt strong oâ coffee.
ââHallo! mate,â says I, âyouâve made some sort oâ mistake. This here ainât the right sort oâ shop.â
ââO yes, it is,â says he, smilinâ, quite affable-like. âThe best oâ tipple here, anâ cheap too. Come along. Iâve got somethinâ very partikler to say to you. Look here, waiterâtwo cups oâ coffee, hot anâ strong, some buttered toast, anâ no end oâ buns, etceterer.â
âWiâ that he led me to a seat, anâ we sat down. I was so took aback anâ amused that I waited to see what would foller anâ what heâd got to say that was so partiklerâbut, I say, Archie, them buffalo runners has got the wind oâ us, anâ are showinâ us their heels, I fear.â
âNever fear,â returned the boy, rising in his stirrups and shading his eyes to look ahead. âThey do seem to be leavinâ us a bit, but you see by the dust that the buffalo are holdinâ away to the right, so if we keep still more to the right anâ cut round that knoll, I think weâll be safe to catch them up. Theyâre doinâ good work, as the carcasses weâve passed and the rattle oâ shots clearly show. But get on wiâ your story, Jenkins.â
âWell, it ainât much of a story, lad. What Morel had to say was that heâd arranged wiâ an agent oâ Lord Selkirk to come out to this country; anâ he was goinâ out wiâ a lot oâ his relations, anâ was beatinâ up for a few good hands, anâ he liked the look oâ me, anâ would I agree to go wiâ him?
âWell, as you may believe, this was a poser, anâ I said Iâd think over it, anâ let him know next day. You see, I didnât want to seem to jump at it too eager-like, though I liked the notion, anâ I had neither wife, nor sweetheart, nor father or mother, to think about, for Iâm a orphing, you see, like yourself, Archieâonly a somewhat bigger
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