Opening my eyes and slightly turning I saw a large white wolf moving stealthily around the embers of our fire, with his nose close to the ground.Disengaging my hand from the blanket, I drew the cover from my rifle, which lay close at my side; the motion alarmed the wolf, and with long leaps he bounded out of the camp.Jumping up, I fired after him when he was about thirty yards distant; the melancholy hum of the bullet sounded far away through the night.At the sharp report, so suddenly breaking upon the stillness, all the men sprang up.
"You've killed him," said one of them.
"No, I haven't," said I; "there he goes, running along the river.
"Then there's two of them.Don't you see that one lying out yonder?"We went to it, and instead of a dead white wolf found the bleached skull of a buffalo.I had missed my mark, and what was worse, had grossly violated a standing law of the prairie.When in a dangerous part of the country, it is considered highly imprudent to fire a gun after encamping, lest the report should reach the ears of the Indians.
The horses were saddled in the morning, and the last man had lighted his pipe at the dying ashes of the fire.The beauty of the day enlivened us all.Even Ellis felt its influence, and occasionally made a remark as we rode along, and Jim Gurney told endless stories of his cruisings in the United States service.The buffalo were abundant, and at length a large band of them went running up the hills on the left.
"Do you see them buffalo?" said Ellis, "now I'll bet any man I'll go and kill one with my yager."And leaving his horse to follow on with the party, he strode up the hill after them.Henry looked at us with his peculiar humorous expression, and proposed that we should follow Ellis to see how he would kill a fat cow.As soon as he was out of sight we rode up the hill after him, and waited behind a little ridge till we heard the report of the unfailing yager.Mounting to the top, we saw Ellis clutching his favorite weapon with both hands, and staring after the buffalo, who one and all were galloping off at full speed.As we descended the hill we saw the party straggling along the trail below.
When we joined them, another scene of amateur hunting awaited us.Iforgot to say that when we met the volunteers Tete Rouge had obtained a horse from one of them, in exchange for his mule, whom he feared and detested.The horse he christened James.James, though not worth so much as the mule, was a large and strong animal.Tete Rouge was very proud of his new acquisition, and suddenly became ambitious to run a buffalo with him.At his request, I lent him my pistols, though not without great misgivings, since when Tete Rouge hunted buffalo the pursuer was in more danger than the pursued.He hung the holsters at his saddle bow; and now, as we passed along, a band of bulls left their grazing in the meadow and galloped in a long file across the trail in front.
"Now's your chance, Tete; come, let's see you kill a bull." Thus urged, the hunter cried, "Get up!" and James, obedient to the signal, cantered deliberately forward at an abominably uneasy gait.Tete Rouge, as we contemplated him from behind; made a most remarkable figure.He still wore the old buffalo coat; his blanket, which was tied in a loose bundle behind his saddle, went jolting from one side to the other, and a large tin canteen half full of water, which hung from his pommel, was jerked about his leg in a manner which greatly embarrassed him.
"Let out your horse, man; lay on your whip!" we called out to him.
The buffalo were getting farther off at every instant.James, being ambitious to mend his pace, tugged hard at the rein, and one of his rider's boots escaped from the stirrup.
"Woa! I say, woa!" cried Tete Rouge, in great perturbation, and after much effort James' progress was arrested.The hunter came trotting back to the party, disgusted with buffalo running, and he was received with overwhelming congratulations.
"Too good a chance to lose," said Shaw, pointing to another band of bulls on the left.We lashed our horses and galloped upon them.
Shaw killed one with each barrel of his gun.I separated another from the herd and shot him.The small bullet of the rifled pistol, striking too far back, did not immediately take effect, and the bull ran on with unabated speed.Again and again I snapped the remaining pistol at him.I primed it afresh three or four times, and each time it missed fire, for the touch-hole was clogged up.Returning it to the holster, I began to load the empty pistol, still galloping by the side of the bull.By this time he was grown desperate.The foam flew from his jaws and his tongue lolled out.Before the pistol was loaded he sprang upon me, and followed up his attack with a furious rush.The only alternative was to run away or be killed.I took to flight, and the bull, bristling with fury, pursued me closely.The pistol was soon ready, and then looking back, I saw his head five or six yards behind my horse's tail.To fire at it would be useless, for a bullet flattens against the adamantine skull of a buffalo bull.
Inclining my body to the left, I turned my horse in that direction as sharply as his speed would permit.The bull, rushing blindly on with great force and weight, did not turn so quickly.As I looked back, his neck and shoulders were exposed to view; turning in the saddle, Ishot a bullet through them obliquely into his vitals.He gave over the chase and soon fell to the ground.An English tourist represents a situation like this as one of imminent danger; this is a great mistake; the bull never pursues long, and the horse must be wretched indeed that cannot keep out of his way for two or three minutes.
