CHAPTER FORTY THREE.
TAMING THE GREAT ELK.
"In the third year our beavers had increased to such numbers, that wesaw it was time to thin them off, and commence laying up our store offurs. They had grown so tame that they would take food from our hands.We had no difficulty, therefore, in capturing those we intended to kill,without giving alarm to the others. For this purpose we constructed asort of penn, or bye-pool, with raised mud banks, near the edge of thelake, and a sluice-gate leading into it. Here we were accustomed tofeed the animals; and whenever a quantity of roots of the swampsassafras was thrown into the pool, a large number of the beaverscrowded into it--so that we had nothing else to do but shut down thesluice-gate, and catch them at our leisure. We accomplished all thisvery quietly; and as none that we trapped were ever allowed to go backand `tell the tale,' and as at all other seasons the trap was open andfree, of course the surviving beavers, with all their sagacity, neverknew what became of their companions, and did not even appear to suspectus of foul play, but remained tame as ever.
"In our first crop of skins we laid by, at least 450 pounds worth, withmore than 50 pounds worth of `castoreum.' In our second year we wereenabled to do still better; and the produce of that season we estimateat 1000 pounds. Wanting a place to dry and store our furs, we built anew log-cabin, which is the one we are now living in. The old onebecame our store-house.
"The third year of our trapping was quite as productive as the second;and so with the fourth and fifth. Each of them yielded, at least, 1000pounds worth of furs and `castoreum;' so that our old cabin now contains4500 pounds of property, which we have taken care to keep in goodcondition. Besides, we estimate our livestock in the dam, which we cantrap at any time, at 2500 pounds more; so that, you see, we are worth inall 7000 pounds at this moment. Do you not think, my friends, that wehave realised the prediction of my wife, and _made a fortune in theDesert_?
"As soon as we began to collect these valuable furs, a new train ofthought was suggested to us--when and how we should bring them to amarket.
"Here was a grand difficulty that stared us in the face. Without amarket in which to dispose of them, our furs would be of no more use tous, than a bag of gold would be to a man dying with hunger in the middleof a desert. Although surrounded with plenty for all our wants andnecessities, we were still, in a manner, imprisoned in our little valleyoasis. We could no more leave it, than the castaway sailor could leavehis desert island. With all the animals that were subject to us, noneof them were beasts of burden or draught--that is, except Pompo. He wasold at the time that these reflections first occurred to us; and when weshould be ready to leave our valley in a few years more, poor Pompowould be still older; in fact, barely able to carry himself, let alone awhole family of people, with several thousand beaver-skins to boot.
"Although quite happy where we were--for we were always too muchoccupied to be otherwise--these thoughts would intrude upon us every nowand then, and they gave us a good deal of anxiety.
"As for Mary and myself, I believe we should have been contented toremain where we were, and lay our bones in this lovely, but lonely spot.But we had others to think of--our children. To them we had a duty toperform--the duty of their education. We could not think of bringingthem up ignorant of the world; and leaving them to such a wild andwayward fate as would be theirs. These reflections, I have said, attimes pressed heavily upon us.
"I proposed to my wife that I should take Pompo, and endeavour topenetrate the settlements of New Mexico--where I could obtain eithermules, horses, or oxen. These I should bring back to our valley, andkeep them until we required them for carrying us out of the Desert.Mary would not listen to this proposal. She would not consent that weshould be separated. `We might never,' said she, `see each otheragain.' She would not allow me to go.
"Indeed, when I reflected seriously on this matter I saw that it wouldhave been useless for me to make the attempt. Even could I have crossedthe Desert in safety, where was the money wherewith to purchase theseanimals? I had not enough to buy either ox or ass. The people of NewMexico would have laughed at me.
"`Let us be patient,' advised my wife. `We are happy where we are.When the time arrives, and we are ready to go forth, trust that the handwhich brought us here _can_ and _will_ guide us safely back again.'
"With such words of consolation my noble wife always ended ourconversation on that subject.
"I looked upon her words as almost prophetic; and so they proved in thiscase, as on many other occasions.
"One day--it was about the fourth year of our sojourn in the valley--wewere talking on this very theme; and Mary, as usual, had just expressedher firm reliance upon the hand of Providence to deliver us from ourstrange captivity, when our conversation was interrupted by Harry, whocame running into the house breathless with haste, and with looks fullof triumph.
"`Papa! mamma!' cried he; `two elks--two young elks--taken in the trap!Cudjo is bringing them on in the cart,--two beautiful young elks, aboutas big as year-old calves.'
"There was nothing very new or strange in this announcement. We hadcaptured elk in the pit-fall before; and we had several of them in ourpark--old ones. It was the fact of their being `young elk,'--a sort wehad not yet taken--which had put Harry into an unusual state ofexcitement.
"I thought nothing of it at the moment, but went out along with Mary andthe children to have a look at our new pets.
"While Cudjo and the boys were engaged in putting them into the park,all at once I remembered what I had read of, but which had hithertoescaped my memory--that the great American elk is capable of beingtrained as a beast either of draught or burden.
"I need hardly tell you, my friends, that this thought at once led to aseries of reflections. Could these elk be trained to draw a wagon?--to_draw us out of the Desert_?
"I lost no time in communicating my thoughts to my wife. She, too, hadread of this--in fact, in a London menagerie, had seen the elk inharness. The thing, therefore, was practicable. We resolved to useevery effort to make it so.
"Let me not weary you, my friends, with details. We set to work totrain our young elk. No man knew better than Cudjo how to break a pairof oxen to either plough or cart; and when the elk had grown big, Cudjoyoked them to the plough, and turned up several acres of ground withthem. During the winter, too, many a good load of dead-wood did Cudjomake them `haul' up to the wood-pile that supplied our fire. In short,they worked, both in the plough and cart, as gentle as oxen."
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.
CATCHING THE WILD HORSES.
"We had accomplished a great object. Nothing remained but to train asufficient number of elk for our purpose. We trapped several fawns; andCudjo proceeded in breaking them as he had done the others.
"At this time, however, an event occurred which verified my wife'sprediction still more clearly, and proved that the hand of God was overand around us.
"One morning, a little after daybreak, and just before we had risen, wewere all thrown into a state of consternation by a noise that came fromwithout. It was the trampling of hoofs--of many hoofs; and there was nodifficulty in perceiving that horses were about the house. Theirneighing proved this--for Pompo had neighed in his stable, and we couldhear a dozen of them uttering their loud responses.
"`Indians!' thought we: and we gave ourselves up for lost.
"We all ran to our arms. Harry, Frank, and I, seized hold of ourrifles, while Cudjo betook himself to his great spear. I opened one ofthe windows, and looked cautiously out. Horses they were, sure enough,but no horsemen! There they were--in all nearly a dozen of them--white,black, red, speckled and spotted like hounds! They were dashing aboutthrough the open ground, neighing, snorting, rearing at each other, andtossing back their long flowing manes, while their tails swept awaybehind them in beautiful luxuriance. There were they, without bridle orsaddle, or any other sign that the hand of man had ever touched them.And never had it. I saw at a glance what they were. They w
ere_mustangs_--the wild horses of the Desert.
"We were not long in resolving how to act. It was evident they had comeup the stream from the eastern plains; and, seeing the valley, had beentempted by its greenness, and had strayed into it. Our design, then,was at once formed, and that was to prevent them from getting out again.
"This could be accomplished very easily, by closing up the road whichled down to the valley; but, then, how were we to get to it withoutgiving them the alarm? They were playing directly in front of thehouse, and we could not pass out of the door without showing ourselves.This would at once set them off in a wild gallop, and we should neversee more of them. We knew they would not allow us to approach them--forwe had seen several bands of them while crossing the prairies, and thesewould not allow our hunters to get within less than a mile of them.This is a curious fact--that the horse, which you would suppose to bethe natural companion of man--once he has escaped from captivity, andgoes wild, becomes more shy of man than any other animal, and moredifficult to be approached. He seems to have an idea of what is wantedwith him, and is determined not to return to slavery. I have never seena drove of wild horses, but the thought occurred to me, that there wassome old `runaway' among them, who told the rest how he had been used,and cautioned them to keep clear of us. Certain it is, that the wildhorse is the wildest of all animals.
"How, then, were we to get out, and circumvent the drove? That was soondecided. Telling Cudjo to take his axe and follow me, I climbed out atthe back window of our cabin; and keeping the house between us and thehorses, we crept along past our store-house and stable, until we gotinto the woods in the rear. We skirted through the timber, and soonreached the point where the road runs out of the valley. Here Cudjo setlustily to work with his axe; and in half an hour we had felled a treeacross the track, completely blocking it up. We took care to make itsecure, by adding several rails, in such a way that no horse withoutwings could have leaped over it. This done, we gave ourselves nofarther concern about being seen by the mustangs; and, shouldering ourimplements, we marched leisurely back to the house. Of course, themoment the wild horses saw us, they galloped off into the woods; but wedid not care for that, as we could easily find them again. And findthem we did. Pompo was saddled and bridled; a lazo was made out ofraw-hide ropes; and in less than three days the whole _caballada_ ofwild horses--eleven in all--was shut up in our park.
"Now, my friends, I fear I have quite tired you with our adventures. Imight relate many more, and perhaps, at some future time, may do so. Imight tell you how we caught and tamed the wild sheep and theantelopes;--how we captured the young buffaloes on the upper plains, andtamed them, and made cheese and butter from their milk;--how we rearedup the kittens of the cougar and the cubs of the black bear;--how thewild geese, and swans, and cranes, and pelicans, migrated to our lake,and became quite tame with us;--how Cudjo and I with our horses made ajourney across the Desert to the `Camp of Sorrow,' as we called theplace where our friends had been massacred;--how we picked out two ofthe best of the wagons, and with the gunpowder which we took from thebomb-shells and many other useful articles, returned again to ourvalley. These, and many other adventures with wolves and wolverenes,with panthers and peccaries, and porcupines and opossums, I might detailto you; but no doubt you are already wearied with the length of mystory.
"It is now nearly ten years since our arrival in this valley oasis.During all that time, we have lived contented and happy; and God hasfavoured our efforts, and crowned them with success. But our childrenhave grown up almost wild, as you see,--with no other education thanthat which we ourselves have been able to impart to them; and we areanxious on their account once more to return to the civilised world. Itis our intention then to proceed to Saint Louis in the spring. For thispurpose, we have everything ready--our wagons, and horses, and furs--allexcept those which we intend to trap in the ensuing winter. I know notwhether we may ever return to this sweet spot--though it will be alwaysdear to us from a thousand memories. That will depend uponcircumstances arising in the future, and which we cannot now foresee.It is our intention, however, on leaving the valley, to throw open theirbars and set all our captives free--to let them return once more totheir wild independence.
"And now, my friends, I have but one request to make of you. It is latein the season. You have lost your trail; and, as you all know, it isvery perilous to attempt crossing the prairies in winter. Remain withme, then, until spring; and let us all go together. The winter will bea short one; and I shall endeavour to make it pass pleasantly for you.I can promise you plenty of hunting adventures; and, when the properseason arrives, we shall have a grand _battue_ of the beavers. Speak,then! What say you to remain?"
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I need hardly tell you, my young reader, that we at once accepted theproposal. Our friend McKnight, would of course remain on account of thelittle Luisa; and as for the rest of us, we knew well the hardships weshould have to encounter, should we travel the great plains duringwinter. We knew that in that latitude, as Rolfe had said, the winterwould be a short one; and therefore we should not lose much time bystaying until spring. The strange wild life which we should lead, hadcharms for all of us, and we willingly consented to remain.
As Rolfe promised, we had many hunting adventures; and among the rest,the _battue_ of beavers--nearly two thousand of which were trapped andtaken.
As soon as spring arrived, we made ready to set forth. Three wagonswere prepared--two of them loaded with furs and valuable castoreum. Thethird carried the females--while Rolfe and his sons rode upon horseback.The walls of the deer-park were broken down, and the aviaries thrownopen; and, after distributing plenty of food to the numerous pets, weleft them to themselves, and took our departure from the valley. Westruck northward for the old trail; and on reaching it, turned our facesfor Saint Louis--where we arrived in the month of May; and where Rolfesoon after sold his furs for a large sum of money.
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It is now several years since that time; and during the interval, I--thewriter of this little book--living in a distant country, heard nothingmore about Rolfe or his family. A few days ago, however, I received aletter from Rolfe himself, which gave me the gratifying intelligencethat they were all well, and in excellent spirits. Frank and Harry hadjust finished their college studies, and had come out accomplishedscholars and sterling men. Mary and Luisa--Luisa was still one of thefamily--had returned from school. Besides this, Rolfe's lettercontained some _very_ interesting intelligence. No less than _four_marriages were in contemplation in his family. Harry was about to wedthe little "dark sister," Luisa. Frank had come to an understandingwith a fine young lady, the daughter of a Missouri planter; and thefair-haired, blue-eyed, rosy-lipped Mary had enslaved a young "prairiemerchant," one of those who had spent the winter with us in the valleyoasis, and who had been very gallant to Mary all along the journeyhomeward. But who were to be the fourth couple? Ah! that question wemust leave for Cudjo and his "lubbly Lucy" to answer.
Rolfe's letter farther informed me, that it was their intention--as soonas the marriage festivities were over--to return to the valley oasis.All were going together--McKnight, new-married couples, and all. Theywere to take with them many wagons, with horses, and cattle, andimplements of husbandry--with the intention of settling there for life,and forming a little patriarchal colony of themselves.
It was a pleasant letter to read: and as I perused it over and over, andreflected on the many happy hours I had passed in the company of thesegood people, I could not help thanking the fate that first led me to the_Home in the Desert_.
THE END.
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