CHAPTER 3.
THE LAST HERD
Over gray No-Man's-Land stole down the shadows of night. The undulatingprairie shaded dark to the western horizon, rimmed with a fading streakof light. Tall figures, silhouetted sharply against the last goldenglow of sunset, marked the rounded crest of a grassy knoll.
"Wild hunter!" cried a voice in sullen rage, "buffalo or no, we halthere. Did Adams and I hire to cross the Staked Plains? Two weeks inNo-Man's-Land, and now we're facing the sand! We've one keg of water,yet you want to keep on. Why, man, you're crazy! You didn't tell us youwanted buffalo alive. And here you've got us looking death in the eye!"
In the grim silence that ensued the two men unhitched the team from thelong, light wagon, while the buffalo hunter staked out his wiry,lithe-limbed racehorses. Soon a fluttering blaze threw a circle oflight, which shone on the agitated face of Rude and Adams, and thecold, iron-set visage of their brawny leader.
"It's this way," began Jones, in slow, cool voice; "I engaged youfellows, and you promised to stick by me. We've had no luck. But I'vefinally found sign--old sign, I'll admit the buffalo I'm lookingfor--the last herd on the plains. For two years I've been hunting thisherd. So have other hunters. Millions of buffalo have been killed andleft to rot. Soon this herd will be gone, and then the only buffalo inthe world will be those I have given ten years of the hardest work incapturing. This is the last herd, I say, and my last chance to capturea calf or two. Do you imagine I'd quit? You fellows go back if youwant, but I keep on."
"We can't go back. We're lost. We'll have to go with you. But, man,thirst is not the only risk we run. This is Comanche country. And ifthat herd is in here the Indians have it spotted."
"That worries me some," replied the plainsman, "but we'll keep on it."
They slept. The night wind swished the grasses; dark storm cloudsblotted out the northern stars; the prairie wolves mourned dismally.
Day broke cold, wan, threatening, under a leaden sky. The hunterstraveled thirty miles by noon, and halted in a hollow where a streamflowed in wet season. Cottonwood trees were bursting into green;thickets of prickly thorn, dense and matted, showed bright spring buds.
"What is it?" suddenly whispered Rude.
The plainsman lay in strained posture, his ear against the ground.
"Hide the wagon and horses in the clump of cottonwoods," he ordered,tersely. Springing to his feet, he ran to the top of the knoll abovethe hollow, where he again placed his ear to the ground.
Jones's practiced ear had detected the quavering rumble of far-away,thundering hoofs. He searched the wide waste of plain with his powerfulglass. To the southwest, miles distant, a cloud of dust mushroomedskyward. "Not buffalo," he muttered, "maybe wild horses." He watchedand waited. The yellow cloud rolled forward, enlarging, spreading out,and drove before it a darkly indistinct, moving mass. As soon as he hadone good look at this he ran back to his comrades.
"Stampede! Wild horses! Indians! Look to your rifles and hide!"
Wordless and pale, the men examined their Sharps, and made ready tofollow Jones. He slipped into the thorny brake and, flat on hisstomach, wormed his way like a snake far into the thickly interlacedweb of branches. Rude and Adams crawled after him. Words weresuperfluous. Quiet, breathless, with beating hearts, the hunterspressed close to the dry grass. A long, low, steady rumble filled theair, and increased in volume till it became a roar. Moments, endlessmoments, passed. The roar filled out like a flood slowly released fromits confines to sweep down with the sound of doom. The ground began totremble and quake: the light faded; the smell of dust pervaded thethicket, then a continuous streaming roar, deafening as persistent rollof thunder, pervaded the hiding place. The stampeding horses had splitround the hollow. The roar lessened. Swiftly as a departing snow-squallrushing on through the pines, the thunderous thud and tramp of hoofsdied away.
The trained horses hidden in the cottonwoods never stirred. "Lie low!lie low!" breathed the plainsman to his companions.
Throb of hoofs again became audible, not loud and madly pounding asthose that had passed, but low, muffled, rhythmic. Jones's sharp eye,through a peephole in the thicket, saw a cream-colored mustang bob overthe knoll, carrying an Indian. Another and another, then a swiftlyfollowing, close-packed throng appeared. Bright red feathers and whitegleamed; weapons glinted; gaunt, bronzed savage leaned forward on racy,slender mustangs.
The plainsman shrank closer to the ground. "Apache!" he exclaimed tohimself, and gripped his rifle. The band galloped down to the hollow,and slowing up, piled single file over the bank. The leader, a short,squat chief, plunged into the brake not twenty yards from the hiddenmen. Jones recognized the cream mustang; he knew the somber, sinister,broad face. It belonged to the Red Chief of the Apaches.
"Geronimo!" murmured the plainsman through his teeth.
Well for the Apache that no falcon savage eye discovered aught strangein the little hollow! One look at the sand of the stream bed would havecost him his life. But the Indians crossed the thicket too far up; theycantered up the slope and disappeared. The hoof-beats softened andceased.
"Gone?" whispered Rude.
"Gone. But wait," whispered Jones. He knew the savage nature, and heknew how to wait. After a long time, he cautiously crawled out of thethicket and searched the surroundings with a plainsman's eye. Heclimbed the slope and saw the clouds of dust, the near one small, thefar one large, which told him all he needed to know.
"Comanches?" queried Adams, with a quaver in his voice. He was new tothe plains.
"Likely," said Jones, who thought it best not to tell all he knew. Thenhe added to himself: "We've no time to lose. There's water back heresomewhere. The Indians have spotted the buffalo, and were running thehorses away from the water."
The three got under way again, proceeding carefully, so as not to raisethe dust, and headed due southwest. Scantier and scantier grew thegrass; the hollows were washes of sand; steely gray dunes, like long,flat, ocean swells, ribbed the prairie. The gray day declined. Lateinto the purple night they traveled, then camped without fire.
In the gray morning Jones climbed a high ride and scanned thesouthwest. Low dun-colored sandhills waved from him down and down, inslow, deceptive descent. A solitary and remote waste reached out intogray infinitude. A pale lake, gray as the rest of that gray expanse,glimmered in the distance.
"Mirage!" he muttered, focusing his glass, which only magnified allunder the dead gray, steely sky. "Water must be somewhere; but can thatbe it? It's too pale and elusive to be real. No life--a blasted, stakedplain! Hello!"
A thin, black, wavering line of wild fowl, moving in beautiful, rapidflight, crossed the line of his vision. "Geese flying north, and low.There's water here," he said. He followed the flock with his glass, sawthem circle over the lake, and vanish in the gray sheen.
"It's water." He hurried back to camp. His haggard and worn companionsscorned his discovery. Adams siding with Rude, who knew the plains,said: "Mirage! the lure of the desert!" Yet dominated by a force toopowerful for them to resist, they followed the buffalo-hunter. All daythe gleaming lake beckoned them onward, and seemed to recede. All daythe drab clouds scudded before the cold north wind. In the graytwilight, the lake suddenly lay before them, as if it had opened attheir feet. The men rejoiced, the horses lifted their noses and sniffedthe damp air.
The whinnies of the horses, the clank of harness, and splash of water,the whirl of ducks did not blur out of Jones's keen ear a sound thatmade him jump. It was the thump of hoofs, in a familiar beat, beat,beat. He saw a shadow moving up a ridge. Soon, outlined black againstthe yet light sky, a lone buffalo cow stood like a statue. A moment sheheld toward the lake, studying the danger, then went out of sight overthe ridge.
Jones spurred his horse up the ascent, which was rather long and steep,but he mounted the summit in time to see the cow join eight huge,shaggy buffalo. The hunter reined in his horse, and standing high inhis stirrups, held his hat at arms' length over his head. So hethrilled to a moment he had
sought for two years. The last herd ofAmerican bison was near at hand. The cow would not venture far from themain herd; the eight stragglers were the old broken-down bulls that hadbeen expelled, at this season, from the herd by younger and morevigorous bulls. The old monarchs saw the hunter at the same time hiseyes were gladdened by sight of them, and lumbered away after the cow,to disappear in the gathering darkness. Frightened buffalo always makestraight for their fellows; and this knowledge contented Jones toreturn to the lake, well satisfied that the herd would not be far awayin the morning, within easy striking distance by daylight.
At dark the storm which had threatened for days, broke in a fury ofrain, sleet and hail. The hunters stretched a piece of canvas over thewheels of the north side of the wagon, and wet and shivering, crawledunder it to their blankets. During the night the storm raged withunabated strength.
Dawn, forbidding and raw, lightened to the whistle of the sleety gusts.Fire was out of the question. Chary of weight, the hunters had carriedno wood, and the buffalo chips they used for fuel were lumps of ice.Grumbling, Adams and Rude ate a cold breakfast, while Jones, munching abiscuit, faced the biting blast from the crest of the ridge. The middleof the plain below held a ragged, circular mass, as still as stone. Itwas the buffalo herd, with every shaggy head to the storm. So theywould stand, never budging from their tracks, till the blizzard ofsleet was over.
Jones, though eager and impatient, restrained himself, for it wasunwise to begin operations in the storm. There was nothing to do butwait. Ill fared the hunters that day. Food had to be eaten uncooked.The long hours dragged by with the little group huddled under icyblankets. When darkness fell, the sleet changed to drizzling rain. Thisblew over at midnight, and a colder wind, penetrating to the verymarrow of the sleepless men, made their condition worse. In the afterpart of the night, the wolves howled mournfully.
With a gray, misty light appearing in the east, Jones threw off hisstiff, ice-incased blanket, and crawled out. A gaunt gray wolf, thecolor of the day and the sand and the lake, sneaked away, looking back.While moving and threshing about to warm his frozen blood, Jonesmunched another biscuit. Five men crawled from under the wagon, andmade an unfruitful search for the whisky. Fearing it, Jones had thrownthe bottle away. The men cursed. The patient horses drooped sadly, andshivered in the lee of the improvised tent. Jones kicked the inch-thickcasing of ice from his saddle. Kentuck, his racer, had been spared onthe whole trip for this day's work. The thoroughbred was cold, but asJones threw the saddle over him, he showed that he knew the chaseahead, and was eager to be off. At last, after repeated efforts withhis benumbed fingers, Jones got the girths tight. He tied a bunch ofsoft cords to the saddle and mounted.
"Follow as fast as you can," he called to his surly men. "The buffswill run north against the wind. This is the right direction for us;we'll soon leave the sand. Stick to my trail and come a-humming."
From the ridge he met the red sun, rising bright, and a keennortheasterly wind that lashed like a whip. As he had anticipated, hisquarry had moved northward. Kentuck let out into a swinging stride,which in an hour had the loping herd in sight. Every jump now took himupon higher ground, where the sand failed, and the grass grew thickerand began to bend under the wind.
In the teeth of the nipping gale Jones slipped close upon the herdwithout alarming even a cow. More than a hundred little reddish-blackcalves leisurely loped in the rear. Kentuck, keen to his work, crept onlike a wolf, and the hunter's great fist clenched the coiled lasso.Before him expanded a boundless plain. A situation long cherished anddreamed of had become a reality. Kentuck, fresh and strong, was goodfor all day. Jones gloated over the little red bulls and heifers, as amiser gloats over gold and jewels. Never before had he caught more thantwo in one day, and often it had taken days to capture one. This wasthe last herd, this the last opportunity toward perpetuating a grandrace of beasts. And with born instinct he saw ahead the day of his life.
At a touch, Kentuck closed in, and the buffalo, seeing him, stampededinto the heaving roll so well known to the hunter. Racing on the rightflank of the herd, Jones selected a tawny heifer and shot the lariatafter her. It fell true, but being stiff and kinky from the sleet,failed to tighten, and the quick calf leaped through the loop tofreedom.
Undismayed the pursuer quickly recovered his rope. Again he whirled andsent the loop. Again it circled true, and failed to close; again theagile heifer bounded through it. Jones whipped the air with thestubborn rope. To lose a chance like that was worse than boy's work.
The third whirl, running a smaller loop, tightened the coil round thefrightened calf just back of its ears. A pull on the bridle broughtKentuck to a halt in his tracks, and the baby buffalo rolled over andover in the grass. Jones bounced from his seat and jerked loose acouple of the soft cords. In a twinkling; his big knee crushed down onthe calf, and his big hands bound it helpless.
Kentuck neighed. Jones saw his black ears go up. Danger threatened. Fora moment the hunter's blood turned chill, not from fear, for he neverfelt fear, but because he thought the Indians were returning to ruinhis work. His eye swept the plain. Only the gray forms of wolvesflitted through the grass, here, there, all about him. Wolves! Theywere as fatal to his enterprise as savages. A trooping pack of prairiewolves had fallen in with the herd and hung close on the trail, tryingto cut a calf away from its mother. The gray brutes boldly trotted towithin a few yards of him, and slyly looked at him, with pale, fieryeyes. They had already scented his captive. Precious time flew by; thesituation, critical and baffling, had never before been met by him.There lay his little calf tied fast, and to the north ran many others,some of which he must--he would have. To think quickly had meant thesolving of many a plainsman's problem. Should he stay with his prize tosave it, or leave it to be devoured?
"Ha! you old gray devils!" he yelled, shaking his fist at the wolves."I know a trick or two." Slipping his hat between the legs of the calf,he fastened it securely. This done, he vaulted on Kentuck, and was offwith never a backward glance. Certain it was that the wolves would nottouch anything, alive or dead, that bore the scent of a human being.
The bison scoured away a long half-mile in the lead, sailing northwardlike a cloud-shadow over the plain. Kentuck, mettlesome, over-eager,would have run himself out in short order, but the wary hunter, strongto restrain as well as impel, with the long day in his mind, kept thesteed in his easy stride, which, springy and stretching, overhauled theherd in the course of several miles.
A dash, a swirl, a shock, a leap, horse and hunter working in perfectaccord, and a fine big calf, bellowing lustily, struggled desperatelyfor freedom under the remorseless knee. The big hands toyed with him;and then, secure in the double knots, the calf lay still, sticking outhis tongue and rolling his eyes, with the coat of the hunter tuckedunder his bonds to keep away the wolves.
The race had but begun; the horse had but warmed to his work; thehunter had but tasted of sweet triumph. Another hopeful of a buffalomother, negligent in danger, truant from his brothers, stumbled andfell in the enmeshing loop. The hunter's vest, slipped over the calf'sneck, served as danger signal to the wolves. Before the lumberingbuffalo missed their loss, another red and black baby kicked helplesslyon the grass and sent up vain, weak calls, and at last lay still, withthe hunter's boot tied to his cords.
Four! Jones counted them aloud, add in his mind, and kept on. Fast,hard work, covering upward of fifteen miles, had begun to tell on herd,horse and man, and all slowed down to the call for strength. The fifthtime Jones closed in on his game, he encountered differentcircumstances such as called forth his cunning.
The herd had opened up; the mothers had fallen back to the rear; thecalves hung almost out of sight under the shaggy sides of protectors.To try them out Jones darted close and threw his lasso. It struck acow. With activity incredible in such a huge beast, she lunged at him.Kentuck, expecting just such a move, wheeled to safety. This duel,ineffectual on both sides, kept up for a while, and all the time, manand herd were jogging rapidly to the n
orth.
Jones could not let well enough alone; he acknowledged this even as heswore he must have five. Emboldened by his marvelous luck, and yieldingheadlong to the passion within, he threw caution to the winds. A lameold cow with a red calf caught his eye; in he spurred his willing horseand slung his rope. It stung the haunch of the mother. The mad gruntshe vented was no quicker than the velocity with which she plunged andreared. Jones had but time to swing his leg over the saddle when thehoofs beat down. Kentuck rolled on the plain, flinging his rider fromhim. The infuriated buffalo lowered her head for the fatal charge onthe horse, when the plainsman, jerking out his heavy Colts, shot herdead in her tracks.
Kentuck got to his feet unhurt, and stood his ground, quivering butready, showing his steadfast courage. He showed more, for his ears layback, and his eyes had the gleam of the animal that strikes back.
The calf ran round its mother. Jones lassoed it, and tied it down,being compelled to cut a piece from his lasso, as the cords on thesaddle had given out. He left his other boot with baby number five. Thestill heaving, smoking body of the victim called forth the stern,intrepid hunter's pity for a moment. Spill of blood he had not wanted.But he had not been able to avoid it; and mounting again withclose-shut jaw and smoldering eye, he galloped to the north.
Kentuck snorted; the pursuing wolves shied off in the grass; the palesun began to slant westward. The cold iron stirrups froze and cut thehunter's bootless feet.
When once more he came hounding the buffalo, they were considerablywinded. Short-tufted tails, raised stiffly, gave warning. Snorts, likepuffs of escaping steam, and deep grunts from cavernous chests evincedanger and impatience that might, at any moment, bring the herd to adefiant stand.
He whizzed the shortened noose over the head of a calf that waslaboring painfully to keep up, and had slipped down, when a mightygrunt told him of peril. Never looking to see whence it came, he spranginto the saddle. Fiery Kentuck jumped into action, then hauled up witha shock that almost threw himself and rider. The lasso, fast to thehorse, and its loop end round the calf, had caused the sudden check.
A maddened cow bore down on Kentuck. The gallant horse straightened ina jump, but dragging the calf pulled him in a circle, and in anothermoment he was running round and round the howling, kicking pivot. Thenensued a terrible race, with horse and bison describing a twenty-footcircle. Bang! Bang! The hunter fired two shots, and heard the spats ofthe bullets. But they only augmented the frenzy of the beast. FasterKentuck flew, snorting in terror; closer drew the dusty, bouncingpursuer; the calf spun like a top; the lasso strung tighter than wire.Jones strained to loosen the fastening, but in vain. He swore at hiscarelessness in dropping his knife by the last calf he had tied. Hethought of shooting the rope, yet dared not risk the shot. A hollowsound turned him again, with the Colts leveled. Bang! Dust flew fromthe ground beyond the bison.
The two charges left in the gun were all that stood between him andeternity. With a desperate display of strength Jones threw his weightin a backward pull, and hauled Kentuck up. Then he leaned far back inthe saddle, and shoved the Colts out beyond the horse's flank. Downwent the broad head, with its black, glistening horns. Bang! She slidforward with a crash, plowing the ground with hoofs and nose--spoutedblood, uttered a hoarse cry, kicked and died.
Kentuck, for once completely terrorized, reared and plunged from thecow, dragging the calf. Stern command and iron arm forced him to astandstill. The calf, nearly strangled, recovered when the noose wasslipped, and moaned a feeble protest against life and captivity. Theremainder of Jones's lasso went to bind number six, and one of hissocks went to serve as reminder to the persistent wolves.
"Six! On! On! Kentuck! On!" Weakening, but unconscious of it, withbloody hands and feet, without lasso, and with only one charge in hisrevolver, hatless, coatless, vestless, bootless, the wild hunter urgedon the noble horse. The herd had gained miles in the interval of thefight. Game to the backbone, Kentuck lengthened out to overhaul it, andslowly the rolling gap lessened and lessened. A long hour thumped away,with the rumble growing nearer.
Once again the lagging calves dotted the grassy plain before thehunter. He dashed beside a burly calf, grasped its tail, stopped hishorse, and jumped. The calf went down with him, and did not come up.The knotted, blood-stained hands, like claws of steel, bound the hindlegs close and fast with a leathern belt, and left between them a tornand bloody sock.
"Seven! On! Old Faithfull! We MUST have another! the last! This is yourday."
The blood that flecked the hunter was not all his own.
The sun slanted westwardly toward the purpling horizon; the grassyplain gleamed like a ruffled sea of glass; the gray wolves loped on.
When next the hunter came within sight of the herd, over a wavy ridge,changes in its shape and movement met his gaze. The calves were almostdone; they could run no more; their mothers faced the south, andtrotted slowly to and fro; the bulls were grunting, herding, pilingclose. It looked as if the herd meant to stand and fight.
This mattered little to the hunter who had captured seven calves sincedawn. The first limping calf he reached tried to elude the graspinghand and failed. Kentuck had been trained to wheel to the right orleft, in whichever way his rider leaned; and as Jones bent over andcaught an upraised tail, the horse turned to strike the calf with bothfront hoofs. The calf rolled; the horse plunged down; the rider spedbeyond to the dust. Though the calf was tired, he still could bellow,and he filled the air with robust bawls.
Jones all at once saw twenty or more buffalo dash in at him with fast,twinkling, short legs. With the thought of it, he was in the air to thesaddle. As the black, round mounds charged from every direction,Kentuck let out with all there was left in him. He leaped and whirled,pitched and swerved, in a roaring, clashing, dusty melee. Beating hoofsthrew the turf, flying tails whipped the air, and everywhere weredusky, sharp-pointed heads, tossing low. Kentuck squeezed outunscathed. The mob of bison, bristling, turned to lumber after the mainherd. Jones seized his opportunity and rode after them, yelling withall his might. He drove them so hard that soon the little fellowslagged paces behind. Only one or two old cows straggled with the calves.
Then wheeling Kentuck, he cut between the herd and a calf, and rode itdown. Bewildered, the tously little bull bellowed in great affright.The hunter seized the stiff tail, and calling to his horse, leaped off.But his strength was far spent and the buffalo, larger than hisfellows, threshed about and jerked in terror. Jones threw it again andagain. But it struggled up, never once ceasing its loud demands forhelp. Finally the hunter tripped it up and fell upon it with his knees.
Above the rumble of retreating hoofs, Jones heard the familiar short,quick, jarring pound on the turf. Kentuck neighed his alarm and racedto the right. Bearing down on the hunter, hurtling through the air, wasa giant furry mass, instinct with fierce life and power--a buffalo cowrobbed of her young.
With his senses almost numb, barely able to pull and raise the Colt,the plainsman willed to live, and to keep his captive. His leveled armwavered like a leaf in a storm.
Bang! Fire, smoke, a shock, a jarring crash, and silence!
The calf stirred beneath him. He put out a hand to touch a warm, furrycoat. The mother had fallen beside him. Lifting a heavy hoof, he laidit over the neck of the calf to serve as additional weight. He laystill and listened. The rumble of the herd died away in the distance.
The evening waned. Still the hunter lay quiet. From time to time thecalf struggled and bellowed. Lank, gray wolves appeared on all sides;they prowled about with hungry howls, and shoved black-tipped nosesthrough the grass. The sun sank, and the sky paled to opal blue. A starshone out, then another, and another. Over the prairie slanted thefirst dark shadow of night.
Suddenly the hunter laid his ear to the ground, and listened. Faintbeats, like throbs of a pulsing heart, shuddered from the soft turf.Stronger they grew, till the hunter raised his head. Dark formsapproached; voices broke the silence; the creaking of a wagon scaredaway the wolves.
"This way!" shouted the hunter weakly.
"Ha! here he is. Hurt?" cried Rude, vaulting the wheel.
"Tie up this calf. How many--did you find?" The voice grew fainter.
"Seven--alive, and in good shape, and all your clothes."
But the last words fell on unconscious ears.