Billy the Buck
I fancy I assume an impregnable position in saying that real poetry istruth, presented in its most vivid and concise form. If the statementstands, I request that every line of English verse containing the words"Timid deer," or referring in any way to a presumed gentle, trusting,philanthropic disposition in the beast, be at once revised orexpurgated. I shall not except the works of William Shakespeare. Whenthe melancholy Jaques speaks of one of these ferocious animals, saying,"The big round tears coursed one another down his innocent nose inpiteous chase," I believe Jaques lied; or, if he lied not, and thephenomenon occurred as reported, that the tears were tears of ragebecause the deer could not get at Jaques, and as an extension, if hehad gotten at Jaques, he would have given said Jaques some cold factsto be contemplative about. After my experience, if I should see anymisguided person making friendly advances to one of these horneddemons, I should cry, "Whoa!" as Cassandra did to the wood horse of theGreeks, and probably with the same result. They would not falter untilthey had gathered bitter experience with their own hands.
Why? This is why. One day, when I was working on a Dakota ranch, theboss, a person by the name of Steve, urged me to take an axe, go forth,and chop a little wood, which I did.
The weather was ideal. A Dakota fall. Air vital with the mingledpleasant touch of frost and sun, like ice-cream in hot coffee, andstill as silence itself. I had a good breakfast, was in excellenthealth and spirits; the boss could by no means approach within a mileunperceived, and everything pointed to a pleasant day. But, alas! asthe Copper-lined Killelu-bird of the Rockies sings, "Man's hopes risewith the celerity and vigour of the hind leg of the mule, only todescend with the velocity of a stout gentleman on a banana peel."
On reaching the grove of cottonwoods I sat down for a smoke and aspeculative view of things in general, having learned at my then earlyage that philosophy is never of more value than when one should bedoing something else.
I heard a noise behind me, a peculiar noise, between a snort and aviolent bleat. Turning, I saw a buck deer, and, from the cord and bellaround his neck, recognised him as one Billy, the property of Steve'seldest boy. He was spoken of as a pet.
This was the touch needed to complete my Arcadia; the injection ofwhat, at the time, I considered to be poetry into the excellent proseof open air life. Who could see that graceful, pretty creature, andremain unmoved? Not I, at all events. I fancied myself as a knight ofold in the royal forest, which gave a touch of the archaic to myspeech. "Come here, thou sweet-eyed forest child!" I cried, and herehe came! At an estimate I should say that he was four axe-handles, orabout twelve feet high, as he upended himself, brandished his antlers,and jumped me. My axe was at a distance. I moved. I played knight toking's bishop's eighth, in this case represented by a fork of thenearest tree. A wise and subtle piece of strategy, as it resulted in adrawn game.
"A wise and subtle piece of strategy"]
My friend stood erect for a while, making warlike passes with his frontfeet (which, by the way, are as formidable weapons as a man would careto have opposed to him); then, seeing that there was no sporting bloodin me, he devoured my lunch and went away--a course I promptly imitatedas far as I could; I departed.
Hitherto, I had both liked and admired Steve. His enormous strength,coupled with an unexpected agility and an agreeable way he had oftreating you as if you were quite his own age, endeared him to me.When I poured out my troubles to him, however, rebuking him forallowing such a savage beast to be at large, he caused my feelings toundergo a change. For, instead of sympathising, he fell to uproariouslaughter, slapped his leg, and swore that it was the best thing he'dever heard of, and wished he'd been there to see it.
I concluded, judicially, that Steve had virtues, but that he was at thelast merely a very big man of coarse fibre. Perhaps I had been alittle boastful previously concerning my behaviour under tryingcircumstances. If so, I was well paid out for it. That night I hadthe pleasure of listening to an account of my adventures, spiced withfacetious novelties of Steve's invention, such as that my cries forhelp were audible to the house, and only the fact that he couldn't tellfrom which direction they came prevented Steve from rushing to myrescue, and that all the deer wanted was my lunch, anyhow. I wished Ihad kept the lunch episode to myself.
"An account of my adventures"]
There are probably no worse teases on earth than the big boys who chasethe cow on the Western prairies. They had "a horse on the kid," andthe poor kid felt nightmare ridden indeed. If I were out with them,someone would assume an anxious look and carefully scout around a bunchof grass in the distance, explaining to the rest that there might be adeer concealed there, and one could not be too careful when there werewild beasts like that around. Then the giggling rascals would pass thesuspected spot with infinite caution, perhaps breaking into a gallop,with frightened shrieks of "The deer! The deer!" while I tried to lookas if I liked it, and strove manfully to keep the brine ofmortification from rolling down my cheeks.
I didn't let my emotions take the form of words, because I had witenough to know that I could not put a better barrier between myself anda real danger than those husky lads of the leather breeches and whitehats. For all that, I had a yearning to see one of them encounter thedeer at his worst. I did not wish anyone hurt, and was so confident oftheir physical ability that I did not think anyone would be; but I feltthat such an incident would strengthen their understanding.
This thing came to pass, and, of all people, on my arch-enemy, Steve.If I had had the arrangement of details, I could not have planned itbetter. Because of my tender years, the light chores of the ranch fellto my share. One day everyone was off, leaving me to chink up the"bull-pen," or men's quarters, with mud, against the cold ofapproaching winter. Steve had taken his eldest boy on a trip to pickout some good wood.
Presently arrived the boy, hatless, running as fast as he could tear,the breath whistling in his lungs. "Come _quick_!" was the message.It seems the deer had followed the couple, and when the boy fooled withhis old playmate, the deer knocked him down and would have hurt himbadly, but that his father instantly jumped into the fray and grabbedthe animal by the horns, with the intention of twisting his head off.The head was fastened on more firmly than Steve supposed. What he didnot take at all into account was that the buck was both larger andstronger than he. Though raised on a bottle, Billy was by long oddsthe largest deer I ever saw.
Steve got the surprise of his life. The battle was all against him.The best he could hope to do was to hold his own until help arrived; sohe sent the boy off hotfoot. Although his power for a short exertionwas great, Steve was in no kind of training, having allowed himself tofatten up, and being an inordinate user of tobacco. Per contra, thedeer felt freshened and invigorated by exertion. That's the deuce ofit with an animal--_he_ doesn't tire.
I knew that Steve was in plenty trouble, or he wouldn't have sent forhelp. The boy's distress denied the joke I suspected; I grabbed a ropeand made for the grove, the boy trailing me. I should have gotten agun, but I didn't think of it.
Those were the days when I could run; when it was exhilaration to sailover the prairie. The importance of my position as rescuer--whichanyone who has been a boy will understand--lent springs to my feet.
It was well for Steve that mine were speedy legs. When I got there hisface was grey and mottled, like an old man's, and his mouth had a weakdroop, very unlike devil-may-care Steve. The two had pawed up theground for rods around in the fight; the deer's horns, beneath wherethe man gripped them, were wet with the blood of his torn palms.Steve's knees, arms, and head were trembling as if in an ague fit. Hewas all in--physically; but the inner man arose strong above defeat."Here's--your--deer--Kid!" he gasped. "I--kept--him--for you!"
"'Here's--your--deer--Kid,' he gasped"]
I yelled to him to hold hard for one second, took a running jump, andlanded on Mr. Buck's flank with both feet. It was something of ashock. Over went deer,
man, and boy. I was on my pins in a jiffy,snapped the noose over the deer's hind legs, tangled him up anyhow inthe rest of the riata, and snubbed him to the nearest tree. Then Stevegot up and walked away to where he could be ill with comfort. And hewas good and sick.
When he felt better, he arose and opened his knife, swearing that hewould slit that critter's throat from ear to ear; but Steve, junior,plead so hard for the life of his pet that Big Steve relented, and Mr.Billy Buck was saved for further mischief.
That afternoon two of us rode out and roped him, "spreading" himbetween us as we dragged him home. He fought every step of the way.My companion, a hot-headed Montana boy, was for killing him ahalf-dozen times. However, feeling that the deer had vindicated me, Ihad a pride in him, and kept him from a timely end. We turned himloose in a corral with a blooded bull-calf, some milch cows,work-steers, and other tame animals. "And I bet you he has 'em allchewing the rag inside of twenty-four hours," said my companion.
That night Steve made ample amend for his former mirth. Indeed, hepraised my fleetness and promptness of action so highly that I wasseized by an access of modesty as unexpected as it was disorganising.
The next day Steve stood on the roof of the shed at the end of BillyBuck's corral. Suddenly he straightened up and waved his hat. "Deerand bull fight!" he called. "Come a-running everybody!" We droppedour labours and sprinted for the corral, there to sit upon the shed andwatch the combat. Steve didn't know what began the trouble, but when Igot there the young bull was facing the deer, his head down, blowingthe dust in twin clouds before him, hooking the dirt over his back inregular righting bull fashion, and anon saying, "Bh-ur-ur-ooor!" in anadolescent basso-profundo, most ridiculously broken by streaks ofsoprano. When these shrill notes occurred the little bull rolled hiseyes around, as much as to say "Who did that?" and we, swinging ourlegs on the shed roof, laughed gleefully and encouraged him to sail in.
His opponent watched this performance with a carriage of the headwhich, for superciliousness, I never have seen equaled in man, woman,or beast. His war-cry was a tinny bleat: the cry of a soul burstingwith sardonic merriment. It was like the Falstaffian laughter of theduck, without its ring of honesty.
The bull, having gone through the preliminaries of his code, cocked histail straight in the air and charged. The buck waited until he waswithin three feet; then he shot sideways, and shot back again, hisantlers beating with a drum-stick sound on the bull's ribs. "Baw-aw!"said the bull. Probably that hurt. Again bull faced buck. This timethe bovine eye wore a look of troubled wonderment, while one could markan evil grin beneath the twitching nose of his antagonist; and hisbleat had changed to a tone which recalled the pointing finger andunwritable "H'nh-ha!" that greets misfortune in childhood. "I told youso!" it said. The bull, however, is an animal not easily discouraged.Once more he lowered his foolish head and braved forth like alocomotive.
But it would take too long to tell all the things Billy Buck did tothat bull. He simply walked all over him and jabbed and raked andpoked. Away went the bull, his erstwhile proudly erect tail slewedsideways, in token of struck colours--a sign of surrender disregardedby his enemy, who thought the giving of signals to cease fighting aprerogative of his office. Away went the old cows and the work-steersand the horses, in a thundering circuit of the corral, the horned stockbawling in terror, and Billy Buck "boosting" every one of themimpartially. We cheered him.
"Gad! I'm glad I didn't slit his windpipe!" said Steve. "He's acorker!"
Billy drove his circus parade around about six times before his proudsoul was satisfied. Then he took the centre of the ring, and belloweda chant of victory in a fuller voice than he had given before, whilethe other brutes, gathered by the fence, looked at him in stupefaction.
Only once more did Billy Buck figure in history before he left us for alarger field in town, and on this occasion, for the first and last timein his career, he got the worst of it.
A lone Injun came to the ranch--a very tall, grave man, clad incomic-picture clothes. A battered high hat surmounted his block ofmidnight hair, and a cutaway coat, built for a man much smaller aroundthe chest, held his torso in bondage. As it was warm on the day hearrived, he had discarded his trousers--a breech-clout was plentyleg-gear, he thought. He bore a letter of recommendation from a whitefriend.
"Plenty good letter--_leela ouashtay ota_," said he, as he handed themissive over. I read it aloud for the benefit of the assembled ranch.It ran:
"This is Jimmy-hit-the-bottle, the worst specimen of a bad tribe. Hewill steal anything he can lift. If he knew there was such a thing asa cemetery, he'd walk fifty miles to rob it. Any citizen wishing to dohis country a service will kindly hit him on the head with an axe.
"JACK FORSYTHE."
"Plenty good letter--_ota_!" cried the Injun, his face beaming withpride.
"Jimmy-hit-the-bottle"]
I coughed, and said it was indeed vigorous; Steve and the boys fled thescene. Now, we knew that Jimmy was a good Injun, or he wouldn't havehad any letter at all; that great, grave face, coupling the seriousnessof childhood and of philosophy, simply offered an irresistibletemptation to the writer of the letter. There was something patheticin the way the gigantic savage folded up his treasure and replaced itin his coat. I think Forsythe would have weakened had he seen it.Still, after we laughed, we felt all the better disposed toward Jimmy,so I don't know but it was a good form of introduction after all.Jimmy was looking for work, a subject of research not general to theInjun, but by no means so rare as his detractors would make out. Hegot it. The job was to clean out Billy Buck's corral. Steve foundemployment for the hands close to home for the day, that no one shouldmiss the result. It is always business first on the ranch, and apractical joke takes precedence over other labours. Steve hung aroundthe corral, where he could peek through the chinks. Hoarse whispersinquiring "Anything up yet?" were for so long answered in the negative,that it seemed the day had been in vain. At last the welcome shoutrang out, "Injun and deer fight! Everybody run!" We flew, breathlesswith anticipatory chuckles. We landed on top of the shed, to witnessan inspiring scene--one long-legged, six-foot-and-a-half Injun,suitably attired in a plug hat, cutaway coat, breech-clout, andmocassins, grappling in mortal combat a large and very angry deer. Thearena and the surrounding prairie were dreaming in a flood of mellowautumn light. It was a day on which the sun scarce cast a shadow, yeteverything sent back his rays clearly, softened and sweetened, like theanswer of an echo. It was a day for great deeds, such as were enactedbefore us; steel-strung frame pitted against steel-strung frame;bottomless endurance against its equal. And never were such jumpings,such prancings, such wild wavings of legs beheld by human eyes before.You cannot beat it into people's heads that the horned critters are thelords of brute creation; yet it is the fact. A bull chased a lion allaround the ring in the arena in Mexico, finally killing him with oneblow. In Italy they shut a buck deer and a tiger in a cage. There wasa brief skirmish, and the tiger slunk to the corner of the cage,howling.
Splendid was the exhibition of strength and agility we looked upon,but, alas! its poetry was ripped up the back by the cutaway coat, theplug hat, and the unrelated effect of those long, bare red legstwinkling beneath.
Indirectly it was the plug hat that ended the battle. At first, ifJimmy-hit-the-bottle felt any emotion, whether joy, resentment, terror,or anything man can feel, his face did not show it. One of thestrangest features of the show was that immaculately calm face suddenlyappearing through the dust-clouds, unconscious of storm and stress. Atlast, however, a yank of the deer's head--Jimmy had him by thehorns--caused the plug hat to snap off, and the next second the deer'ssharp foot went through it. You will remember Achilles did not getexcited until his helmet touched the dust. Well, from what the cold,pale light of fact shows of the size and prowess of those ancientswaggerers, Jimmy-hit-the-bottle could have picked Achilles up by hisvulnerable heel and bumped his brains out against a tree, and thiswithout strain; so w
hen the pride of his life, his precious plug hat,was thus maltreated, his rage was vast in proportion. His eyes shotstreaks of black lightning; he twisted the deer's head sideways, andwith a leap landed on his back. Once there, he seized an ear betweenhis strong teeth and shut down. We rose to our feet and yelled. Itwas wonderful, but chaotic. I would defy a moving-picture camera toresolve that tornado into its elements of deer and Injun. We wereconscious of curious illusions, such as a deer with a dozen headsgrowing out of all parts of a body as spherical as this, our earth, andan Injun with legs that vetoed all laws of gravitation and anatomy.
Poor Billy Buck! He outdid the wildest of our pitching horses for ahalf minute; but the two hundred and odd pounds he had on his backtold--he couldn't hold the gait. Jimmy wrapped those long legs aroundhim--the deer's tail in one hand, the horn in the other, and the earbetween his teeth--and waited in grim determination. "Me-ah-a-aaaa!"said the deer, dropping to his knees.
Jimmy got off him. Billy picked himself up and scampered to the otherend of the corral, shaking his head.
The Injun straightened himself up, making an effort to draw a veil ofmodesty over the pride that shone in his eyes.
"H-nh!" he said. "Fool deer tackle Tatonka Sutah!" ("Tatonka-Sutah,"or Strong Bull, was the more poetic title of Jimmy-hit-the-bottle amonghis own kind.)
He then gravely punched his plug hat into some kind of shape andresumed his work.
We pitched in and bought Jimmy a shiny new plug hat which--which willlead me far afield if I don't drop the subject.
Well, he was master of Mr. Billy Buck. When he entered the corral, thedeer stepped rapidly up to the farther corner and stayed there.
Now came the broadening of Billy's career. A certain man in ournearest town kept a hotel near the railroad depot. For the benefit ofthe passengers who had to stop there a half-hour for meals andrecreation, this man had a sort of menagerie of the animals natural tothe country. There was a bear, a mountain lion, several coyotes,swifts, antelope, deer, and a big timber wolf, all in a wirenet-enclosed park.
It so happened that Steve met Mr. D----, the hotel proprietor, on oneof his trips to town, and told him what a splendid deer he had out atthe ranch. Mr. D---- became instantly possessed of a desire to own themarvel, and a bargain was concluded on the spot. Billy by this timehad shed his horns, and was all that could be wished for in the way ofamiability. We tied his legs together, and shipped him to town in awaggon.
Steve did not trick Mr. D----. He told him plainly that the deer was adangerous customer, and that to be careful was to retain a whole skin;but the hotel proprietor, a little, fat, pompous man with a big bassvoice--the kind of a man who could have made the world in three daysand rested from the fourth to the seventh, inclusive, had it beennecessary--thought he knew something of the deer character. "Thatbeautiful creature, with its mild eyes and humble mien, hurt anyone?Nonsense!" So he had a fine collar made for Billy, with his name on asilver plate, and then led him around town at the end of a chain, beinga vain little man, who liked to attract attention by any availablemeans. All worked well until the next fall. Mr. D---- was lulled intofalse security by the docility of his pet, and allowed him the freedomof the city, regardless of protest. Then came the spectacular end ofBilly's easy life. It occurred on another warm autumn day. Thepassengers of the noon train from the East were assembled in the hoteldining-room, putting away supplies as fast as possible, the train beinglate. The room was crowded; the darkey waiters rushing; Mr. D----swelling with importance. Billy entered the room unnoticed in thegeneral hurry. A negro waiter passed him, holding two loaded trays.Perhaps he brushed against Billy; perhaps Billy didn't even need aprovocation; at any rate, as the waiter started down the room, Billysmote him from behind, and dinner was served!
When the two tray-loads of hot coffee, potatoes, soup, chicken, and therest of the bill of fare landed all over the nearest table of guests,there was a commotion. Men leaped to their feet with words that showedthey were no gentlemen, making frantic efforts to wipe away thescalding liquids trickling over them. The ladies shrieked and weretearful over the ruin of their pretty gowns. Mr. D----, on the spotinstantly, quieted his guests as best he could on the one hand, andberated the waiter for a clumsy, club-footed baboon on the other.Explanation was difficult, if not impossible. Arms flew, hard wordsflew; the male guests were not backward in adding their say. Then,even as I had been before, the coloured man was vindicated. Suddenlytwo women and a man sprang on top of the table and yelled for help.Mr. D---- looked upon them open-mouthed. The three on top of the tableclutched one another, and howled in unison. Mr. D----'s eye fell onBilly, crest up, war-like in demeanour, and also on a well-dressed manbacking rapidly under the table.
A flash of understanding illumined Mr. D----. The deer, evidently,felt a little playful; but it would never do, under the circumstances."Come here, sir!" he commanded. Billy only lived to obey such acommand, as I have shown. But this time Mr. D---- recognised adifference, and went about like a crack yacht. He had intentions ofreaching the door. Billy cut off retreat. Mr. D---- thought of thewell-dressed man, and dived under the table. Those who had stooduncertain, seeing this line of action taken by one who knew the customsof the country, promptly imitated him. The passengers of the Easternexpress were ensconced under the tables, with the exception of ahandful who had preferred getting on top of them.
Outside, three cow punchers, who chanced to be riding by, wereperfectly astonished by the noises that came from that hotel. Theydismounted and investigated. When they saw the feet projecting frombeneath the cloths, and the groups in statuesque poses above, theyconcluded not to interfere, although strongly urged by the victims."You are cowards!" cried the man with the two women. The punchersjoyfully acquiesced, and said, "Sick 'em, boy!" to the deer.
Meanwhile, the express and the United States mail were waiting. Theconductor, watch in hand, strode up and down the platform.
"What do you suppose they're doing over there?" he asked his brakeman.
The brakeman shrugged his shoulders. "Ask them punchers," he replied.
The conductor lifted his voice. "What's the matter?" he called.
"Oh, come and see! Come and see!" said the punchers. "It's too goodto tell.'"
The conductor shut his watch with a snap.
"Five minutes late," he said. "Pete, go and hustle them people overhere. I start in three minutes by the watch."
"Sure," said Pete, and slouched across. Pete was surprised at thesight that met his gaze, but orders were orders. He walked up andkicked Billy, at the same time shouting "All aboard for the West! Gita wiggle on yer!"
The man owed his life to the fact that the deer could get no footholdon the slippery hardwood floor. As it was, Billy tried to push, andhis feet shot out; man and deer came to the floor together, thebrakeman holding hard. The passengers boiled out of the hotel like amountain torrent. The punchers, thinking the brakeman in danger,sprang through the window and tied the deer. Pete gasped his thanksand hustled out. No one was left but Billy, the punchers, the darkeywaiters, and Mr. D----.
The punchers to the rescue]
"This your deer?" inquired the punchers of the latter.
"It is," said Mr. D----. "Take him out and hang him--don't shoothim--hang him!"
"All right," replied the punchers. They took Billy out and turned himloose in the deer-pen.
"Reckon the old man'll feel better about it to-morrow," they said.
And it came to pass that the old man did feel better; so Billy wasspared. Perhaps if you have travelled to the West you have seen him--anoble representative of his kind. Well, this is his private historywhich his looks belie.