alarmed by the shot, fled in all directions; but they did not run far. They knew well that some portion, at least, of the carcase would fall to their share, so they sat down at various distances all round, to wait as patiently as they might for the hunters to retire. Dick left the scene with a feeling of regret that the villanous wolves should have their feast so much sooner than they expected.
Yet after all, why should we call these wolves villanous? They did nothing wrong—nothing contrary to the laws of their peculiar nature. Nay, if we come to reason upon it, they rank higher in this matter than man, for while the wolf does no violence to the laws of its instincts, man often deliberately silences the voice of conscience, and violates the laws of his own nature. But we will not insist on the term, good reader, if you object strongly to it. We are willing to admit that the wolves are not villanous, but, assuredly, they are unlovable.
In the course of the afternoon the three horsemen reached a small creek, the banks of which were lined with a few stunted shrubs and trees. Having eaten nothing since the night before, they dismounted here to “feed,” as Joe expressed it.
“Cur’ous thing,” remarked Joe, as he struck a light by means of flint, steel, and tinder-box,—“curious thing that we’re made to need sich a lot o’ grub. If we could only get on like the sarpints, now, wot can breakfast on a rabbit, and then wait a month or two for dinner! Ain’t it cur’ous?”
Dick admitted that it was, and stooped to blow the fire into a blaze.
Here Henri uttered a cry of consternation, and stood speechless, with his mouth open.
“What’s the matter? what is’t?” cried Dick and Joe, seizing their rifles instinctively.
“De—grub—him—be—forgat!”
There was a look of blank horror, and then a burst of laughter from Dick Varley. “Well, well,” cried he, “we’ve got lots o’ tea an’ sugar, an’ some flour; we can git on wi’ that till we shoot another buffalo, or a-ha!”
Dick observed a wild turkey stalking among the willows as he spoke. It was fully a hundred yards off, and only its head was seen above the leaves. This was a matter of little moment, however, for by aiming a little lower he knew that he must hit the body; but Dick had driven the nail too often to aim at its body; he aimed at the bird’s eye and cut its head off.
“Fetch it, Crusoe.”
In three minutes it was at Dick’s feet, and it is not too much to say that in five minutes more it was in the pot.
As this unexpected supply made up for the loss of the meat which Henri had forgotten at their last halting-place, their equanimity was restored, and while the meal was in preparation Dick shouldered his rifle and went into the bush to try for another turkey. He did not get one, however, but he shot a couple of prairie-hens, which are excellent eating. Moreover, he found a large quantity of wild grapes and plums. These were unfortunately not nearly ripe, but Dick resolved to try his hand at a new dish, so he stuffed the breast of his coat full of them.
After the pot was emptied Dick washed it out, and put a little clean water in it. Then he poured some flour in, and stirred it well. While this was heating, he squeezed the sour grapes and plums into what Joe called a “mush,” mixed it with a spoonful of sugar, and emptied it into the pot. He also skimmed a quantity of the fat from the remains of the turkey soup, and added that to the mess, which he stirred with earnest diligence till it boiled down into a sort of thick porridge.
“D’ye think it’ll be good?” asked Joe gravely; “I’ve me doubts of it.”
“We’ll see. Hold the tin dish, Henri.”
“Take care of de fingers. Ha! it looks magnifique—superb!”
The first spoonful produced an expression on Henri’s face that needed not to be interpreted. It was as sour as vinegar.
“Ye’ll ha’ to eat it yerself, Dick, lad,” cried Joe, throwing down his spoon, and spitting out the unsavoury mess.
“Nonsense,” cried Dick, bolting two or three mouthfuls, and trying to look as if he liked it. “Try again; it’s not so bad as you think.”
“Ho—o—o—o—o!” cried Henri, after the second mouthful. “’Tis vinaigre. All de sugare in de pack would not make more sweeter one bite of it.”
Dick was obliged to confess the dish a failure, so it was thrown out after having been offered to Crusoe, who gave it one sniff and turned away in silence. Then they mounted and resumed their journey.
At this place mosquitoes and horse-flies troubled our hunters and their steeds a good deal. The latter—especially were very annoying to the poor horses. They bit them so much that the blood at last came trickling down their sides. They were troubled also, once or twice, by cockchafers and locusts, which annoyed them, not indeed by biting, but by flying blindly against their faces, and often narrowly missed hitting them in the eyes. Once particularly they were so bad, that Henri in his wrath opened his lips to pronounce a malediction on the whole race, when a cockchafer flew straight into his mouth, and, to use his own forcible expression, “nearly knocked him off de hoss.” But these were minor evils, and scarcely cost the hunters a thought.
CHAPTER TWELVE.
Wanderings on the prairie—A war-party—Chased by Indians—A bold leap for life.
For many days the three hunters wandered over the trackless prairie in search of a village of the Sioux Indians, but failed to find one, for the Indians were in the habit of shifting their ground, and following the buffalo. Several times they saw small isolated bands of Indians, but these they carefully avoided, fearing they might turn out to be war-parties, and if they fell into their hands the white men could not expect civil treatment, whatever nation the Indians might belong to.
During the greater portion of this time they met with numerous herds of buffalo and deer, and were well supplied with food, but they had to cook it during the day, being afraid to light a fire at night while Indians were prowling about.
One night they halted near the bed of a stream which was almost dry. They had travelled a day and a night without water, and both men and horses were almost choking, so that when they saw the trees on the horizon which indicated the presence of a stream, they pushed forward with almost frantic haste.
“Hope it’s not dry,” said Joe anxiously as they galloped up to it. “No, there’s water, lads,” and they dashed forward to a pool that had not yet been dried up. They drank long and eagerly before they noticed that the pool was strongly impregnated with salt. Many streams in those parts of the prairies are quite salt, but fortunately this one was not utterly undrinkable, though it was very unpalatable.
“We’ll make it better, lads,” said Joe, digging a deep hole in the sand with his hands, a little below the pool. In a short time the water filtered through, and though not rendered fresh, it was, nevertheless, much improved.
“We may light a fire to-night, d’ye think?” inquired Dick; “we’ve not seed Injuns for some days.”
“Pr’aps ’twould be better not,” said Joe, “but I daresay we’re safe enough.”
A
