Wandering Will and his companions laid the reins on the necks of their half-tamed horses and galloped wildly away over the western prairie. Perhaps it was the feeling of absolute freedom from human restraints that excited them to the galloping and shouting condition of maniacs; perhaps it was the idea of sweeping over unbounded space in these interminable plains, or the influence of the fresh air around, the sunny blue sky overhead, and the flower-speckled sward underfoot—perhaps it was all these put together, but, whatever the cause, our three travellers commenced their journey at a pace that would have rendered them incapable of further progress in a few hours had they kept it up. Their state of mind was aptly expressed, at the end of one of these wild flights, by Larry, who exclaimed, as he reined in—
“Ah, then, it’s flyin’ I’ll be in a minit. Sure av I only had a pair o’ wings no bigger than a sparrow’s, I cud do it aisy.”
“Yoo’s a goose, Larry,” observed Bunco.
“Faix if I was it’s mesilf as would fly away an’ lave you to waller on the dirty earth ye belongs to,” retorted the other.
“Dirty earth!” echoed Will Osten, gazing round on the plains of bright green grass that waved in the soft air with something like the gentle heavings of the sea. “Come, let’s have another!”
They stretched out again at full gallop and swept away like the wind itself.
“Hooroo!” shouted Larry O’Hale, wildly throwing out both arms and rising in his stirrups; “look here, Bunco, I’m goin’ to fly, boy!”
Larry didn’t mean to do so, but he did fly! His horse put its foot in a badger-hole at that moment and fell. The rider, flying over its head, alighted on his back, and remained in that position quite motionless, while his alarmed comrades reined up hastily and dismounted.
“Not hurt, I hope,” said Will, anxiously.
“Och! ha! gintly, doctor, take me up tinderly,” gasped the poor man as they raised him to the perpendicular position, in which he stood for nearly a minute making very wry faces and slowly moving his shoulders and limbs to ascertain whether any bones were fractured.
“I do belave I’m all right,” he said at length with a sigh of relief; “have a care, Bunco, kape yer paws off, but take a squint at the nape o’ me neck an’ see if me back-bone is stickin’ up through me shirt-collar.”
“Me no can see him,” said the sympathetic Bunco.
“That’s a blissin’ anyhow. I only wish ye cud feel him, Bunco. Doctor, dear, did ye iver see stars in the day-time?”
“No, never.”
“Then ye’d better make a scientific note of it in yer book, for I see ’em at this good minit dancin’ about like will-o’-the-wisps in a bog of Ould Ireland. There, help me on to the back o’ the baste—bad luck to the badgers, say I.”
Thus muttering to himself and his comrades, half exasperated by the stunning effects of his fall, yet rather thankful to find that no real damage was done, Larry remounted, and all three continued their journey with not much less enjoyment, but with abated energy.
Thus much for the beginning. Availing ourselves of an author’s privilege to annihilate time and space at pleasure, we change the scene. The three travellers are still riding over the same prairie, but at the distance of a hundred miles or so from the spot where the accident above described took place.
It was evening. The sun was gradually sinking in the west—far beyond that “far west” to which they had penetrated. The wanderers looked travel-stained, and appeared somewhat fatigued, while their horses advanced with slow steps and drooping heads. Two pack-horses, which had been procured by them with an additional supply of necessaries at a solitary fort belonging to the fur-traders of that region, were driven by Larry, whose voice and action seemed to indicate that he and they were actuated by different sentiments and desires.
“Of all the lazy bastes,” he exclaimed, giving one of the horses a tremendous cut over the flank that startled it into temporary life, “I iver did see—but, och! what’s the use—there’s niver a dhrop o’ wather in this wilderness. We may as well lie down an’ die at wance.”
“Hush, Larry,” said Will Osten, “don’t talk lightly of dying.”
“Lightly is it? Well, now, there’s nothin’ light about me from the sole o’ me fut to the top o’ the tallest hair on me head, an’ the heaviest part about me is the heart, which feels like lead intirely. But cheer up, Larry, yer owld grandmother always said ye was born to be hanged, so of coorse ye can’t be starved—that’s a comfort, anyhow!”
“What think you, Bunco,” said Will Osten, turning to his dark-skinned companion, “shall we encamp on this arid part of the plain and go waterless as well as supperless to rest, or shall we push on? I fear the horses will break down if we try to force them much further.”
“Water not be far-off,” said Bunco curtly.
“Very well, we shall hold on.”
In silence they continued to advance until the sun was descending towards the horizon, when there suddenly appeared, on the brow of an eminence, the figure of a solitary horseman. Sharply defined as he was against the bright sky, this horseman appeared to be of supernaturally huge proportions—insomuch that the three travellers pulled up by tacit consent, and glanced inquiringly at each other.
“It’s a ghost at last!” muttered the superstitious Irishman, whose expression of countenance showed that he was not by any means in a jesting humour.
“Ghost or not, we must be prepared to meet him,” said Will, loosening a large hunting-knife in its sheath and examining the priming of his rifle.
The strange horseman had evidently observed the party, for he presently descended the rising ground and rode slowly towards them. In doing so he passed out of the strong light, and consequently assumed more ordinary proportions, but still when he drew near, it was evident that he was a man of immense size. He rode a black steed of the largest and most powerful description; was clad in the leathern hunting-shirt, belt, leggings, moccasins, etcetera, peculiar to the western hunter, and carried a short rifle in the hollow of his right arm.
“Good-evening, strangers,” he said, in a tone that savoured of the Yankee, but with an easy manner and good-humoured gravity that seemed to indicate English extraction. “Goin’ far?”
“To California,” said Will, smiling at the abrupt commencement of the conversation.
“H’m, a longish bit. Come far?”
“From England.”
“H’m, a longish bit, too. Lost and starvin’, I see.”
“Not exactly, but pretty nearly so,” said Will. “I had entertained the belief, presumptuous if you will, that I could find my way in any part of the wilderness by means of a sextant and pocket compass, and, to say truth, I don’t feel quite sure that I should have failed, but before I had a sufficient opportunity of testing my powers, one of our baggage horses rolled down the bank of a creek and broke my sextant. In trying to save him I rolled down along with him and smashed my compass, so I have resigned the position of guide in favour of my friend here, who, being a native, seems to possess a mysterious power in the matter of finding his way.”
“From the other side of the mountains?” asked the strange horseman, glancing at Bunco.
“Yoo’s right,” said Bunco, with a grin.
There was a slight touch of humour in the grave stern countenance of the stranger as he replied in a language which was quite unintelligible to Will and Larry, but which appeared to create wonderful sensations in the breast of Bunco, who for some minutes continued to talk with much volubility and eagerness.
“You appear to be old friends?” said Will, inquiringly, to the stranger.
“Not ’xactly,” he replied, “but I’ve trapped on the west side o’ the mountains, and the Redskin is excited a bit at meetin’ with a man who knows his nation and his name. I’ve heard of him before. He was thought a brave warrior by his tribe, but it is so long since he disappeared from the face o’ the ’arth that they’ve given him up for dead. His wife was alive last fall. I saw her myself, and she has steadily refused to marry any of the young braves—at least she had refused so to do up to the time I left; but there’s no calc’latin’ what these Redskins will do. However, I’ve comforted this one wi’ the news.”
“With your leave, Mister Trapper,” said Larry, breaking in impatiently at this point, “may I suggest that when you’re quite done talkin’ we should continue our sarch for grub an’ wather, for at present our stummicks is empty an’ our mouths is dry!”
“Have you no food?” asked the trapper.
“None,” answered Will; “we finished our last scrap of meat yesterday morning, and have been hoping and expecting to fall in with buffalo ever since, for the signs around show that they cannot be far distant.”
“You are right; I am even now followin’ their trail, for, like yourselves, I’m well-nigh starvin’. Not had a bite for three days.”
“Ye don’t look like it!” said Larry, gazing at the man in some surprise.
“Perhaps not, nevertheless it’s a fact, so we’ll push on an’ try to find ’em before sundown.”
Saying this, the stalwart trapper gave the rein to his stead and galloped away over the plains, followed as close as possible by the wearied travellers.
The pace was hard on the horses, but there was need for haste, because the sun was close on the horizon, and as far as the eye could reach no buffalo were to be seen. Ere long the character of the prairie changed, the arid ground gave place to more fertile land, here and there clumps of willows and even a few small trees appeared, while, in the far distance, a line of low bushes ran across the country.
“Water dere,” said Bunco.
“The Redskin’s right,” observed the trapper, slackening his speed a little; “’tis his natur’ to know the signs o’ the wilderness. Does his hawk-eye see nothing more?”
“Bufflo!” exclaimed Bunco, as he drew up and gazed intently at a particular spot in the wilderness.
“Ay, lad, it is buffalo an’ no mistake. I know’d I should find ’em there,” said the trapper, with a quiet chuckle, as he examined the priming of his rifle. “Now, friends, we’ll have to approach them quietly. You’d better catch up the halters o’ your pack-horses, Mister Irishman—”
“Larry O’Hale at your sarvice, Mister Trapper.”
“Benjamin Hicks at yours, Mister O’Hale, but I’m better known as Big Ben! And now,” he continued, “keep well in rear, all of you, an’ follow me down in the bottom there, between the ridges. Don’t out o’ cooriosity go exposin’ yourselves to the buffalo. In the meantime keep quiet, and let your mouths water at the thought o’ fat steaks and marrow-bones.”
Benjamin Hicks galloped along the bottom of the hollow for a considerable distance; then, dismounting, hobbled his horse by tying its two fore feet together with a piece of rope. Thus hampered, it could hop about in an awkward fashion and feed, while its master advanced on foot. With rapid strides he proceeded some distance further along the bottom, and then ascended the ridge in a stooping position. On nearing the summit he crept on hands and knees, and, on gaining it, he sank like a phantom into the grass and disappeared.
The party who followed him stopped on reaching the spot where the horse had been left, and for some time waited in excited and silent expectation, listening for the report of the hunter’s rifle. Despite the caution given them, however, they could not long refrain from attempting to see what was going on. After waiting a few minutes, Will Osten hobbled his horse and crept up the side of the ridge, which might be more correctly described as an undulating prairie-wave. Bunco and Larry followed his example. When they all lay flat among the grass on the summit and raised their heads cautiously, the sight that met their eyes sent a thrill of delight to their hearts.
It was still the boundless prairie, indeed, but its uniform flatness was broken by innumerable knolls and hillocks, of varied extent, which looked like islands in a green sea. Some were covered with clusters of white pines, others with low bushes. Rich grass waved gently in the evening breeze, giving to the whole scene an air of quiet motion. Not far distant flowed the little stream already referred to, and as this reflected the gorgeous golden clouds that were lit up by the setting sun, it appeared like a stream of liquid fire meandering over the plains, while, far, far away on the hazy and glowing horizon—so far that it seemed as if a whole world lay between—a soft blue line was faintly visible. It might have been mistaken for the distant sea, or a long low cloud of azure blue, but Will Osten knew that, however unlike to them it might appear, this was in reality the first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains! The pleasantest sight of all, however, was a group of ten or a dozen buffalo, which grazed, in all the lazy ease of fancied security, at the side of a knoll not more than three hundred yards distant. As our travellers lay, with bated breath and beating hearts, gazing at these animals, dreaming of feasting on fat things, and waiting for a shot, they became aware of a low murmuring sound somewhat resembling distant thunder, but softer and more continuous. On scanning the plains more intently they perceived that here and there were other scattered groups of buffalo, more or less concealed by knolls, while in the extreme distance a black line, which they had at first mistaken for bushes, proved to be an immense herd of living creatures, whose pawings and bellowings reached them like a faint murmur.
Suddenly the animals close to them sprang into the air as if they had received an electric shock. At the same instant a white cloudlet of smoke rose above the grass, and a few seconds later the sharp crack of the trapper’s rifle broke on their ears. The huge ungainly brutes bounded away, leaving one of their number behind. He writhed violently, and then lay gently down. A moment of suspense followed, for he might rise again and run beyond pursuit, as buffalo often do under a deadly wound! But no! he curled his tail, gasped once or twice, and rolled over on his side.
Knives were out in a moment, and the whole party rushed like wolves upon the prey. First, they rolled the animal upon his brisket, slit his hide along the spine, peeled it down one side, and cut off a piece large enough to form a wrapper for the meat. Next the flesh on each side of the spine was pared off, and the tongue cut out. The axe was then applied to his ribs—the heart, the fat, the tender loins and other parts were taken out; then the great marrow-bones were cut from his legs, and the whole being wrapped in the green hide, was slung on a pole, and carried by Will Osten and the trapper to the nearest suitable camping ground. This was on the edge of a grove of white pine by the side of the clear rivulet under the shade of a woody hill. Here, before darkness had completely set in, Will and his new friend kindled a great fire and prepared supper, while Larry and Bunco went off to fetch and tether the horses.
Now, reader, you must understand that it was no light duty which lay before the wanderers that evening. They had to make up for a good many missed meals. The word “ravenous” scarcely indicates their condition! They were too hungry to lose time, too tired to speak. Everything, therefore, was done with quiet vigour. Steaks were impaled on pieces of stick, and stuck up before the fire to roast. When one side of a steak was partially done, pieces of it were cut off and devoured while the other was cooking. At the expense of a little burning of the lips, and a good deal of roasting of the face, the severe pangs of hunger were thus slightly allayed, then each man sat down before the blaze with his back against a tree, his hunting-knife in one hand, a huge rib or steak in the other, and quietly but steadily and continuously devoured beef!
“Och! when did I iver ait so much before?” exclaimed Larry, dropping a peeled rib.
“What! not goin’ to give in yet?” said Big Ben, setting up another rib to roast; “why, that’ll never do. You must eat till daylight, if you would be fit to travel in the prairie. Our wild meat never pains one. You may eat as much as you can hold. That’s always the way we do in the far west. Sometimes we starve for six or eight days at a time, and then when we get plenty, we lay in good store and pack it well down, always beginnin’ wi’ the best pieces first, for fear that some skulkin’ Redskin should kill us before we’ve had time to enjoy them. See here, you’ve only had the first course; rest a bit while I prepare the second.”
While he spoke, Ben was breaking up the marrow-bones with his hatchet, and laying bare the beautiful rolls of “trappers’ butter” within. Having extracted about a pound of marrow, he put it into a gallon of water, and, mixing along with it a quantity of the buffalo’s blood and a little salt, set it on the fire to boil. In a short time this savoury soup was ready. Turn not up your noses at it, “ye gentlemen of England, who live at home at ease,” (though, by the way, we doubt the reality of that “ease,” which causes so much dyspepsia amongst you that good food becomes unpalatable and strong food nauseous), but believe us when we tell you that the soup was super-excellent.
“Musha!” exclaimed Larry, when he tasted the first spoonful, “I feel exactly as if I had ait nothin’ at all yit—only goin’ to begin!” And with that he and his comrades attacked and consumed the soup until their faces shone again with grease and gladness.
“That’ll do now,” said Larry in a decided tone, as he rose and stretched himself, preparatory to filling his beloved pipe—“not a dhrop nor a bite more on any account.”
“Is you stuffed full?” asked Bunco.
“Pretty nigh,” replied Larry, glancing at his friend with an inquiring look; “seems to me that you have overdone it.”
“Me is pretty tight,” said Bunco languidly.
“Come, come,” cried the trapper, “don’t shirk your victuals. There’s one more course, and then you can rest if you have a mind to.”
So saying, the indefatigable man took up the intestines of the buffalo, which had been properly prepared for the purpose, turned them inside out, and proceeded to stuff them with strips of tender loin well salted and peppered. The long sausage thus hastily made was hung in festoons before the fire, and roasted until it was thoroughly browned. Portions were then cut off and set down before the company. When each thought of beginning he felt as though the swallowing of a single bite were utterly impossible, but when each had actually begun he could not stop, but continued eating until all was finished, and then wished for more, while Benjamin Hicks chuckled heartily to witness the success of his cookery and the extent of his friends’ powers.
Ah, it is all very well, reader, for you to say “Humph! nonsense,” but go you and wander for a year or two among the Rocky Mountains, acquire the muscles of a trapper and the digestion of an ostrich, then starve yourself for a few days, and get the chance of a “feed” such as we have feebly described, and see whether you won’t come home (if you ever come home) saying, “Well, after all, truth is strange, stranger than fiction!”
It need scarcely be said that the solace of the pipe was sought immediately after the meal was concluded by Will, Larry, and Bunco; but Big Ben did not join them. He had starved longer than they, and intended, as he said, to eat all night!
“Well,” observed Larry, as he extended himself at full length before the blaze, and resting his right elbow on the ground and his head on his hand, smoked in calm felicity; “I’ve often found that there’s nothin’ like tiredness to make a man enjoy rest, but, faix, it’s this night I’ve larned, as I niver did before, that there’s nothin’ like starvation to mak wan enjoy his victuals.”
“Eight, Larry,” said Will Osten with a laugh; “upon my word I think it would be worth while to live always on the plan of missing our meals each alternate day, in order to enjoy them more thoroughly on the other days.”
“If city men would go on that plan,” observed the trapper, gravely tearing the flesh from a rib with his teeth, and speaking at the same time, “there would be no use for doctors.”
“Ah, then, think of that now; wouldn’t it be a rail hard case for the poor doctors?” said Larry, with a sly glance at Will.
Bunco grinned at this, and observed that it was “time for hims be go sleep.” Whereupon he rolled his blanket about him and lay down with his feet to the fire. Will Osten also lay down and fell asleep almost immediately. Larry, too, stretched himself out in repose, leaving Big Ben still engaged with the buffalo beef.
The night was rather cold. In course of time Will Osten awoke, and called to the trapper to mend the fire, which he did, and then resumed his former occupation. Once or twice after that, one and another of the slumberers awoke, and, looking up sleepily for a few seconds, beheld the enduring man still hard at work. The last to lift his head that night was Larry. The puzzled Irishman gazed in mute amazement during the unusually long period of half a minute, for Benjamin Hicks still sat there, glittering in the light of the camp-fire, grave as a Redskin, and busy as ever with the bones!
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |