Chapter 10: Buffaloes

We did not recover our spirits very readily after the tragedy of the night. Starboard Sam was much depressed, and said as he rode by my side:

“I ain’t afraid of anything, lad, that I can see, whether it’s pirates or Injuns; but this thing of slippin’ up on a man in the night and stickin’ a knife in him when he don’t see you ain’t jest to my taste.”

Nor was it to my taste, either. I had no consoling reply to make to Starboard Sam, so we rode on in gloomy silence. Before that morning I had felt to the acutest pitch the delight of pure physical enjoyment in this life in the wilds. The crisp, fresh air, the boundless sweep of the great plains, the gallop forward by day, the deep, dreamless sleep by night, and the freedom from care, had taken hold of me and enchanted me. I had begun to feel as if I would never care to return to civilization. But now I saw through another light. Everything was tinged with the dark stream of Allen’s blood, and the wilderness seen through this red haze became gruesome and repellent.

Pike’s taciturnity and look of abstraction showed that he was worried, and he became an exceedingly cautious leader. Every night when we camped the neighborhood was examined very closely. The horses were tethered almost at our feet, and a strict watch was kept.

But out on the plains, where the wind blows forever, it will blow care away eventually, and with slow certainty our spirits lightened.

We had just reached, about noon a day or two afterwards, the crest of a bit of rising ground. Henry was at the head of the file, and when he reached the highest point of the ridge he reined in his horse, his face shining with enthusiasm, and shouted to us:

“Buffaloes! Buffaloes!”

We had wondered why we did not meet buffaloes sooner, and all—Henry and I especially—were anxious to have a shot at these huge animals. We rode forward hastily and caught our first sight of the buffaloes, about an eighth of a mile beyond us. I stared at them with the greatest interest, and all of us sat motionless on our horses for a minute. There were about a hundred of the animals. They were scattered here and there, grazing on the short, succulent grass. Fortunately, the wind was blowing in our direction, and they had not scented us. We were full of eagerness to ride forward and begin the hunt, but as was appropriate, Pike took command of the hunt. We divided into two parties. Pike, Henry, Sam and I formed one. Then with diverging columns, in order to strike the herd on either flank and drive them towards a common centre, we bore down. We rode forward as swiftly as we could. I observed a very large buffalo, evidently an old bull, who was feeding nearest to us. But his head was turned in the other direction, and at first he did not see us. Soon he raised his head, as if he suspected or heard something. Then, evidently with suspicions lulled, he began to nibble at the grass again. A moment later, he threw up his head a second time, whirled around and saw us riding down upon him. He gave a loud snort, the whole herd took alarm, and in an instant were lumbering off,

“After ‘em, boys,” shouted Pike, “and look out for yourselves.”

I rode a good horse, and, wild with excitement, I was in the front of our party, dashing helter-skelter over the plain. The buffaloes had huddled up into a mass, but they were fleeing at a great rate. Nevertheless, we were overtaking them, and I had already selected my victim, a fine fat cow on the outskirts of the herd. I let the reins of my horse fall over the pommel of my saddle and raised my gun in both hands, seeking to obtain a good shot. The cow shied off, disturbing my aim, and I took my gun down from my shoulder to wait for a better opportunity. We had discussed buffalo-shooting before we had seen buffaloes, and Pike had told me to wait until I got close, and to plant the bullet in the heart.

The cow drew further away from the body of the herd and I followed. Once my horse stepped in a depression of the earth, stumbled and nearly threw me over his head. But with an effort I saved myself and my horse regained his lost ground. Steadily we drew up on the cow and soon we were galloping side by side. This was my opportunity. With as much care as I could exercise at that hard gallop I took aim and fired. I almost uttered a shout of joy, for the hunting fever was strong upon me, when the cow uttered a kind of gasp and plunged over on her head, stone dead.

I was about to dismount and examine my prize, when I heard a heavy tramp behind me. Looking around I saw the old bull who had given the alarm plunging down upon me. Somebody had given him a shot in the shoulder, for the blood had stained his huge hump to a gory hue. It was clear that the animal was mad with rage and pain, and it was equally clear that the wound had not robbed him of his strength. Instinctively I kicked my horse in the side and he bounded forward. I was much frightened. I am willing to say that now, though it was a sore subject with me for some time. The great bull charged after me and I imagined I could feel his hot breath upon me. My horse snorted with terror and shied so suddenly that I almost went over his side. The bull veered around after us and my horse curved again to avoid him. In these sudden turns I think the horse must have lamed himself in some manner, for otherwise he could have distanced the bull. As it was the bull was always a few feet behind us. The hunter was now hunted, and I realized it fully. I made desperate efforts to reload my rifle, but we were going at such a pace that I was unable to do so.

I looked back and the bull was gaining upon us. His horns almost touched my horse’s flanks and I could feel the animal trembling with fright under me. I expected that in a minute my horse would be thrown down and I would be trampled to death by the infuriated bull, but at that moment there came a cheering shout. I heard a rifle-crack very near to me and the bull ran off at a tangent, whirled about a bit and then fell dead.

“Pull up! Pull up, Joe, you are safe now,” came Pike’s welcome voice, and I did pull up, with as thankful a heart as ever I had in my life.

“Close shave, that,” said Pike. “It won’t do to hunt these old bulls, ‘specially when your gun ain’t loaded.”

“But I never hunted him,” I exclaimed. “He hunted me.”

“I’m glad to see you’re so ready to tell the truth,” said Pike.

I flushed a little, but Pike said no more, though his remark was very pat. But the sting of my misadventure did not linger long, for I had brought down a buffalo and I was flushed with what I thought constituted the greatest triumph of my life. Pike rode back with me to look at the cow, and my pride swelled greatly when he complimented me on my shot.

“Right into the heart,” said he. “You’ll make a good a buffalo-hunter yet, Joe.”

And he quickly added:

“Thar’s one of the boys who’s having as bad a time as you did, Joe.”

He pointed over the plain, and sure enough, galloping along by the side of a bull, which turned every now and then to jab with his horns at the horse the hunter rode, was little Bonneau. The Frenchman had lost his rifle, and he was clinging with both hands to his horse’s mane. It seems that the horse, which he had bought at Fort Leavenworth, was a trained buffalo-hunter. That is, he had been taught to gallop along by the side of the hunted buffalo in the most approved fashion until his rider could take aim and bring down the game. The horse was acting up to his training, and was bringing Bonneau forward for a shot. Every time that the animal turned to jab at him the horse sprang nimbly aside, and though Bonneau was not in the same plight that I was, he was the hunter, because he could not help himself and because his horse compelled him to be.

Away horse and buffalo tore over the plain, and little Bonneau in his efforts to hold on had squirmed up on his horse’s neck. The other hunters were too much absorbed in the chase to notice him, and Pike and I set out in a gallop to rescue him. We overtook them and brought the buffalo down just as Bonneau’s horse gave a more than unusually vigorous leap and deposited his rider on the turf.

Bonneau sprang to his feet as agile as a rabbit, and, regaining his composure with wonderful quickness, ran to the dead buffalo, put his foot over him, stood in an attitude of triumph and exclaimed:

“Ah, my friends, you have deprived me of ze honaire. I was just going to shoot ze buffalo ven your fire brought ze great animal down.”

“You were, were you?” said Pike, dryly. “What were you going to shoot him with? You don’t seem to have your rifle with you.”

The Frenchman was disconcerted for a moment, but it was only for a moment Then he smiled and said, gayly:

“Zat is what you Americans would call ze joke on me. I confess. But I will kill a buffalo yet.”

Plucky little Bonneau. I said once before he was a game man, and so he was, and a cheerful little fellow, too. Everybody in the camp liked him. We recovered his horse and gun for him and trotted back to join the others. The hunt was over already. Everybody had killed a buffalo except Bonneau, and all were happy. Henry’s glee was undisguised, and I think he had a right to rejoice, for not many boys of sixteen have a chance to become successful buffalo-hunters.

Fortunately, we found water near by, and the evening that followed was by far the most cheerful since the death of Allen. Keen appetites and luscious buffalo steaks put us in a splendid humor with ourselves, and though Bonneau and I had to stand some joking we were able to do it very well under the circumstances. In his delight at concocting some new dishes out of buffalo tongue, which he said offered unlimited opportunities, Bonneau cared nothing at all about his misadventure.

“Sacré, what a dish this would make for Paris!” he exclaimed. “Wiz ze buffalo tongue I would have one grand restaurant zere and make my fortune!”

Starboard Sam concurred in all he said, and added that it was the best meat he had tasted since he ate roast pig in the Sandwich Islands, when he was out in the whaler, Nancy Bell, of Boston, twenty years ago.

The matter of my escape from the flight of the arrow and Allen’s death had quite passed out of my mind, and after eating I soon sank into a sound sleep. I was awakened from it at what hour of the night I know not by a tremendous crash that nearly split the drums of my ears and made every nerve in me tingle. I sprang to my feet in alarm, and there was a sudden blaze of light out on the prairie in front of us. The heavens seemed to open and dash down a great sheet of fire. I was blinded for a moment by the tremendous effulgence, and when my eyes cleared I saw the men huddled about in a state of great excitement. Again the thunder cracked and rolled and reverberated, and the lightning blazed across the heavens.