Chapter XXI.—Henri’s Gallant Deed.
WE must now return to the camp where Walter Cameron still guarded the goods, and the men pursued their trapping avocations.
Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night by wolves while grazing in a plain close to the camp, and on the night following a horse that had strayed was also torn to pieces and devoured. The prompt and daring manner in which this had been done convinced the trader that white wolves had unfortunately scented them out, and he set several traps in the hope of capturing them.
White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary wolves that prowl through woods and plains in large packs. They are much larger, weighing sometimes as much as a hundred and thirty pounds; but they are comparatively scarce, and move about alone, or in small bands of three or four. Their strength is enormous, and they are so fierce that they do not hesitate, upon occasions, to attack man himself. Their method of killing horses is very deliberate. Two wolves generally undertake the cold-blooded murder. They approach their victim with the most innocent-looking and frolicsome gambols, lying down and rolling about, and frisking presently, until the horse becomes a little accustomed to them. Then one approaches right in front, the other in the rear, still frisking playfully, until they think themselves near enough, when they make a simultaneous rush. The wolf which approaches in rear is the true assailant; the rush of the other is a mere feint. Then both fasten on the poor horse’s haunches, and never let go till the sinews are cut and he is rolling on his side.
The horse makes comparatively little struggle; he seems paralyzed, and soon falls to rise no more.
Cameron set his traps towards evening in a circle with a bait in the centre, and then retired to rest. Next morning he called Joe Blunt, and the two went off together.
“It is strange that these rascally white wolves should be so bold when the smaller kinds are so cowardly,” remarked Cameron, as they walked along.
“So ’tis,” replied Joe; “but I’ve seed them other chaps bold when they were in large packs and starvin’.”
“I believe the small wolves follow the big fellows, and help them to eat what they kill, though they generally sit round and look on at the killing.”
“Hist!” exclaimed Joe, “there he is, an’ no mistake.”
There he was undoubtedly—a wolf of the largest size, with one of his feet in the trap. He was a terrible-looking object, for, besides his immense size and naturally ferocious aspect, his white hair bristled on end and was all covered with streaks and spots of blood. In his efforts to escape he had bitten the trap until he had broken his teeth and lacerated his gums, so that his appearance was hideous in the extreme. And when the two men came up he struggled with all his might to fly at them.
Cameron and Joe stood looking at him in a sort of wondering admiration.
“We’d better put a ball in him," suggested Joe after a time. " Mayhap the chain won’t stand sich tugs long.”
“True, Joe; if it break, we might get an ugly nip before we killed him.”
So saying Cameron fired into the wolf’s head and killed it. It was found, on examination, that four wolves had been in the traps, but the rest had escaped. Two of them, however, had gnawed off their paws and left them lying in the traps.
After this the big wolves did not trouble them again. The same afternoon a bear-hunt was undertaken, which well-nigh cost one of the Iroquois his life. It happened thus:—
While Cameron and Joe were away after the white wolves, Henri came floundering into camp tossing his arms like a maniac, and shouting that “seven bars wos be down in de bush close by!” It chanced that this was an idle day with most of the men, so taking guns and knives they sallied forth to give battle to the bears.
Arrived at the scene of action, they found the seven bears busily engaged in digging up roots, so the men separated in order to surround them, and then closed in. The place was partly open and partly covered with thick bushes into which a horseman could not penetrate. The moment the bears got wind of what was going forward they made off as fast as possible, and then commenced a scene of firing, galloping, and yelling that defies description. Four out of the seven were shot before the other three were wounded, but made good their retreat.
The horsemen now dismounted and dashed recklessly into the bushes, where they soon discovered and killed two of the bears; the third was not found for some time. At last an Iroquois came upon it so suddenly that he had not time to point his gun before the bear struck him to the earth, where it held him down.
Instantly the place was surrounded by eager men; but the bushes were so thick, and the fallen trees among which the bear stood were so numerous, that they could not use their guns without running the risk of shooting their companion. Most drew their knives and seemed about to rush on the bear; but the monster’s aspect was so terrible that they held back for a moment in hesitation.
At this moment Henri, who had been at some distance engaged in the killing of one of the other bears, came rushing forward after his own peculiar manner.
“Ah! fat is eet—hay? de bar no go under yit?”
Just then his eye fell on the wounded Iroquois with the bear above him, and he uttered a yell so intense in tone that the bear himself seemed to feel that something decisive was about to be done at last. Henri did not pause, but with a flying dash he sprang like a spread eagle, arms and legs extended, right into the bear’s bosom. At the same moment he sent his long hunting-knife down into its heart. But Bruin, although mortally wounded, had strength to open his jaws and close them on Henri’s neck.
There was a cry of horror, and at the same moment a volley was fired at the bear’s head; for the trappers felt that it was better to risk shooting their comrades than see them killed before their eyes. Fortunately the bullets took effect, and tumbled him over at once without doing damage to either of the men, although several of the balls just grazed Henri’s temple and carried off his cap.
Although uninjured by the shot, the poor Iroquois had not escaped scathless from the paw of the bear. His scalp was torn almost off, and hung down over his eyes, while blood streamed down his face. He was conveyed by his comrades to the camp, where he lay two days in a state of insensibility, at the end of which time he revived and recovered daily. Afterwards when the camp moved he had to be carried; but in the course of two months he was as well as ever, and quite as fond of bear-hunting.
Among other trophies of this hunt there were two deer and a buffalo, which last had probably strayed from the herd. Four or five Iroquois were round this animal whetting their knives for the purpose of cutting it up when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them, quite regardless of the fact that his neck and face were covered with blood from punctures made by the bear.
The Indians began by taking off the skin, which certainly did not occupy them more than five minutes. Then they cut up the meat and made a pack of it, and cut out the tongue, which is somewhat troublesome, as that member requires to be cut out from under the jaw of the animal and not through the natural opening of the mouth. One of the fore legs was cut off at the knee joint, and this was used as a hammer with which to break the skull for the purpose of taking out the brains, these being used in the process of dressing and softening the animal’s skin. An axe would have been of advantage to break the skull, but in the hurry of rushing to the attack the Indians had forgotten their axes; so they adopted the common fashion of using the buffalo’s hoof as a hammer, the shank being the handle. The whole operation of flaying, cutting up, and packing the meat did not occupy twenty minutes. Before leaving these expert butchers treated themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver in a raw state!
Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they were indulging in this little feast.
“Well, I’ve often seen that eaten, but I never could do it myself,” remarked the former.
“No!” cried Joe in surprise; “now that’s oncommon cur’us. I’ve lived on raw liver an’ marrow-bones for two or three days at a time, when we wos chased by the Camanchee Injuns an’ did’nt dare to make a fire; an’ it’s raal good, it is. Won’t ye try it now?”
Cameron shook his head.
“No, thankee; I’ll not refuse when I can’t help it, but until then I’ll remain in ignorance of how good it is.”
“Well, it is strange how some folk can’t abide anything in the meat way they han’t bin used to. D’ye know I’ve actually knowed men from the cities as wouldn’t eat a bit o’ horseflesh for love or money. Would ye believe it?”
“I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with such persons myself; in fact, they are rather numerous. What are you chuckling at, Joe?”
“Chucklin’? If ye mean ‘larfin into myself,’ it’s because I’m thinking o’ a chap as comed out to the prairies.”
“Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can tell me about him as we go along.”
“I think,” continued Joe, “he comed from Washington, but I never could make out right whether he wos a Government man or not. Anyhow, he wos a pheelosopher—a natterlist I think he call his-self—”
“A naturalist,” suggested Cameron.
“Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six feet two in his moccasins, an’ as thin as a ramrod, an’ as blind as a bat—leastways he had weak eyes an’ wore green spectacles. He had on a gray shootin’ coat an’ trousers an’ vest an’ cap, with rid whiskers an’ a long nose as rid at the point as the whiskers wos.
“Well, this gentleman engaged me an’ another hunter to go a trip with him into the prairies, so off we sot one fine day on three bosses, with our blankets at our backs—we was to depend on the rifle for victuals. At first I thought the natterlist one o’ the cruellest beggars as iver went on two long legs, for he used to go about everywhere pokin’ pins through all the beetles an’ flies an’ creepin’ things he could sot eyes on, an’ stuck them in a box. But he told me he comed here a-purpose to git as many o’ them as he could; so says I, ‘If that’s it, I’ll fill yer box in no time.’
“‘Will ye?’ says he, quite pleased like.
“‘I will,’ says I, an’ galloped off to a place as wos filled wi’ all sorts o’ crawling things. So I sets to work, an’ whenever I seed a thing crawlin’ I sot my fut on it an’ crushed it, an’ soon filled my breast pocket. I cotched a lot o’ butterflies too, an’ stuffed them into my shot-pouch, an’ went back in an hour or two an’ showed him the lot. He put on his green spectacles an’ looked at them as if he’d seen a rattle-snake. “‘My good man,’ says he, ‘you’ve crushed them all to pieces!’
“‘They’ll taste as good for all that,’ says I; for somehow I’d taken’t in me head that he’d heard o’ the way the Injuns make soup o’ the grasshoppers, an’ wos wanting to try his hand at a new dish!
“He laughed when I said this, an’ told me he wos collectin’ them to take home to be looked at. But that’s not wot I wos goin’ to tell ye about him,” continued Joe; “I was goin’ to tell ye how we made him eat horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this natterlist did, to load wi’ shot as small as dust a’most, an’ shoot little birds with. I’ve seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. An’ one day he drew it all of a suddent an’ let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin’, yellin’ out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed. He missed the bee, of course, ’cause it wos a flyin’ shot, he said, but he sent the whole charge right into Martin’s back—Martin was my comrade’s name. By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got the length o’ his skin.
“One day I noticed that the natterlist had stuffed small corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. I wondered what they wos for, but he wos al’ays doin’ sich queer things that I soon forgot it. ' Maybe,’ thought I, jist before it went out o’ my mind—' maybe he thinks that’ll stop the pistol from goin’ off by accident;’ for ye must know he’d let it off three times the first day by accident, an’ well-nigh bio wed off his leg the last time, only the shot lodged in the back o’ a big toad he’d jist stuffed into his breeches pocket. Well, soon after we shot a buffalo bull, so off he jumps from his horse an’ runs up to it. So did I, for I wosn’t sure the beast was dead, an’ I had jist got up when it rose an’ rushed at the natterlist.
“‘Out o’ the way,’ I yelled, for my rifle wos empty; but he didn’t move, so I rushed for’ard an’ drew the pistol out o’ his belt and let fly in the bull’s ribs jist as it ran the poor man down. Martin came up that moment an’ put a ball through its heart, an’ then we went to pick up the natterlist. He came to in a little, an’ the first thing he said wos, ‘Where’s my revolver?’ When I gave it to him he looked at it, an’ said with a solemcholy shake o’ the head, ‘There’s a whole barrelful lost!’ It turned out that he had taken to usin’ the barrels for bottles to hold things in, but he forgot to draw the charges, so I had fired bum-bees an’ beetles an’ small shot into the buffalo!
“But that’s not wot I wos goin’ to tell ye yit. We comed to a part o’ the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for want o’ game, an’ the natterlist got so thin that ye could a’ most see through him, so I offered to kill my horse, an’ cut it up for meat; but you niver saw sich a face he made. ‘I’d rather die first,’ says he, ‘than eat it;’ so we didn’t kill it. Bat that very day Martin got a shot at a wild horse an’ killed it. The natterlist wos in the bed o’ a creek at the time gropin’ for creepers, an’ he didn’t see it
“‘He’ll niver eat it,’ says Martin.
“‘That’s true,’ says I.
“‘Let’s tell him it’s a buffalo,’ says he,
“‘That would be tellin’ a lie,’ says I.
“We stood lookin’ at each other, not knowin’ what to do.
“‘I’ll tell ye what,’ cries Martin; ‘we’ll take the meat into camp an’ cook it without sayin’ a word.
“‘Done,’ says I, ‘that’s it; for ye must know the poor critter wos no judge o’ meat. He couldn’t tell one kind from another, an’ he niver axed questions. In fact he niver a’most spoke to us all the trip. Well, we cut up the horse, an’ carried the flesh an’ marrow-bones into camp, takin’ care to leave the hoofs an’ skin behind, an’ sot to work an’ roasted steaks an’ marrow-bones.
“When the natter-list came back ye should ha’ seen the joyful face he put on when he smelt the grub, for he wos all but starved out, poor critter.
“‘What have we got here?’ cried he, rubbin’ his hands an’ sittin’ down.
“‘Steaks an’ marrow-bones,’ says Martin.
“‘Capital!’ says he. ‘I’m so hungry.’
“So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man pitch into anything like that natterlist did into that horse-flesh.
“‘These are first-rate marrow-bones,’ says he, squintin’ with one eye down the shin-bone o’ the hind leg to see if it wos quite empty.
“‘Yes, they is,’ answered Martin, as grave as a judge.
“‘Take another, sir,’ says I.
“‘No, thankee,’ says he with a sigh, for he didn’t like to leave off.
“Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an’ first-rate livin’ it wos; then we fell in with buffalo, an’ niver ran short again till we got to the settlements, when he paid us our money an’ shook hands, sayin’ we’d had a nice trip, an’ he wished us well. Jist as we wos partin’ I said, says I, ‘D’ye know wot it wos we lived on for a week arter we wos well-nigh starved in the prairies?’
“‘What,’ says he, ‘when we got yon marrow-bones?’
“‘The same,’ says I. ‘Yon wos horseflesh,’ says I; 'an I think ye'll surely niver say that it isn't first-rate livin’.’
“‘Ye're jokin’,’ says he, turnin' pale.
“‘It’s true, sir; as true as ye’re standin’ there.’
“Well, would ye believe it, he turned—that natterlist did—as sick as a dog on the spot wot he wos standin’ on, an’ didn’t taste meat again for three days!”
Shortly after the conclusion of Joe’s story, they reached the camp, and here they found the women and children flying about in a state of terror, and the few men who had been left in charge arming themselves in haste.
“Hallo! something wrong here,” cried Cameron, hastening forward, followed by Joe. “What has happened, eh?”
“Injuns comin’, monsieur; look dere,” answered a trapper, pointing down the valley.
“Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of the camp,” cried Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced every other, and turned confusion into order.
The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen far down the valley, which was raised by a band of mounted Indians who approached the camp at full speed. Their numbers could not be made out, but they were a sufficiently formidable band to cause much anxiety to Cameron, whose men, at the time, were scattered to the various trapping-grounds, and only ten chanced to be within call of the camp. However, with these ten he determined to show a bold front to the savages, whether they came as friends or foes. He therefore ordered the women and children within the citadel formed of the goods and packs of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was to be defended to the last extremity. Then galloping to the front he collected his men and swept down the valley at full speed. In a few minutes they were near enough to observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians, who were driving about a hundred horses, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together that Cameron and his men were close upon them before they were observed.
It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had already swept round and cut off their retreat. In this extremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got behind the horses and drove them towards the camp.
At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the others and made for the mountain, with its mane and tail flying wildly in the breeze.
“Marrow-bones and buttons!” shouted one of the men; “there goes Dick Varley’s horse.”
“So it am!” cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, followed by Joe and two others.
“Why, these are our own horses,” said Cameron in surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills from which they could not escape.
This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides their own horses, they had secured upwards of seventy Indian steeds. The Indians who had captured the horses belonging to Pierre and his party were a small band of robbers who had travelled, as was afterwards learned, from the south, stealing horses from various tribes as they went along. In an evil hour they fell in with Pierre’s party and carried off their steeds, which they drove to a pass leading from one valley to the other. Here they united them with the main band of their ill-gotten gains, and while the greater number descended into the plains in search of more booty, four of them were sent into the mountains with the horses already procured.
Cameron immediately organized a party to go out in search of Pierre and his companions, about whose fate he became intensely anxious, and in the course of half an hour as many men as he could spare with safety were despatched in the direction of the Blue Mountains.