The Scalp Hunters Read online

  "Fellers! what d'ye call this anyhow? Beef or mutton?" asked one, as they began to eat.

  "Wolf-mutton, I reckin," was the reply.

  "It's dog-gone good eatin', I say; peels off as tender as squ'll."

  "It's some'ut like goat, ain't it?"

  "Mine tastes more like dog to me."

  "It ain't bad at all; better than poor bull any day."

  "I'd like it a heap better if I war sure the thing hadn't been up to yon varmint on the rocks." And the man who said this pointed to the skeleton of the Digger.

  The idea was horrible, and under other circumstances would have acted as a sufficient emetic.

  "Wagh!" exclaimed a hunter; "ye've most taken away my stammuck. I was a-goin' to try the coyoat afore ye spoke. I won't now, for I seed them smellin' about him afore we rid off."

  "I say, old case, you don't mind it, do ye?"

  This was addressed to Rube, who was busy on his rib and made no reply.

  "He? not he," said another, answering for him. "Rube's ate a heap o' queery tit-bits in his time. Hain't ye, Rube?"

  "Ay, an' afore yur be as long in the mountains as this child, 'ee'll be glad to get yur teeth over wuss chawin's than wolf-meat; see if 'ee don't, young fellur."

  "Man-meat, I reckin?"

  "Ay, that's what Rube means."

  "Boyees!" said Rube, not heeding the remark, and apparently in good humour, now that he was satisfying his appetite, "what's the nassiest thing, leavin' out man-meat, any o' 'ees iver chawed?"

  "Woman-meat, I reckin."

  "'Ee chuckle-headed fool! yur needn't be so peert now, showin' yur smartness when 'tain't called for nohow."

  "Wal, leaving out man-meat, as you say," remarked one of the hunters, in answer to Rube's question, "a muss-rat's the meanest thing I ever set teeth on."

  "I've chawed sage-hare-raw at that," said a second, "an' I don't want to eat anything that's bitterer."

  "Owl's no great eatin'," added a third.

  "I've ate skunk," continued a fourth; "an' I've ate sweeter meat in my time."

  "Carrajo!" exclaimed a Mexican, "what do you think of monkey? I have dined upon that down south many's the time."

  "Wal, I guess monkey's but tough chawin's; but I've sharpened my teeth on dry buffler hide, and it wa'n't as tender as it mout 'a been."

  "This child," said Rube, after the rest had given in their experience, "leavin' monkey to the beside, have ate all them critturs as has been named yet. Monkey he hain't, bein' as thur's none o' 'em in these parts. It may be tough, or it mayn't; it may be bitter, an' it mayn't, for what I knows to the contrairywise; but, oncest on a time, this niggur chawed a varmint that wa'n't much sweeter, if it wur as sweet."

  "What was it, Rube?"

  "What was it?" asked several in a breath, curious to know what the old trapper could have eaten more unpalatable than the viands already named.

  "'Twur turkey-buzzart, then; that's what it wur."

  "Turkey-buzzard!" echoed everyone.

  "'Twa'n't any thin' else."

  "Wagh? that was a stinkin' pill, an' no mistake."

  "That beats me all hollow."

  "And when did ye eat the buzzard, old boy?" asked one, suspecting that there might be a story connected with this feat of the earless trapper.

  "Ay! tell us that, Rube; tell us!" cried several.

  "Wal," commenced Rube, after a moment's silence, "'twur about six yeern ago, I wur set afoot on the Arkansaw, by the Rapahoes, leastwise two hunder mile below the Big Timmer. The cussed skunks tuk hoss, beaver, an' all. He! he!" continued the speaker with a chuckle; "he! he! they mout 'a did as well an' let ole Rube alone."

  "I reckon that, too," remarked a hunter. "'Tain't like they made much out o' that speckelashun. Well-about the buzzard?"

  "'Ee see, I wur cleaned out, an' left with jest a pair o' leggins, better than two hunder miles from anywhur. Bent's wur the nearest; an' I tuk up the river in that direkshun.

  "I never seed varmint o' all kinds as shy. They wudn't 'a been if I'd 'a had my traps; but there wa'n't a critter, from the minners in the waters to the bufflers on the paraira, that didn't look like they knowed how this niggur were fixed. I kud git nuthin' for two days but lizard, an' scarce at that."

  "Lizard's but poor eatin'," remarked one.

  "'Ee may say that. This hyur thigh jeint's fat cow to it-it are."

  And Rube, as he said this, made a fresh attack upon the wolf-mutton.

  "I chawed up the ole leggins, till I wur as naked as Chimley Rock."

  "Gollies! was it winter?"

  "No. 'Twur calf-time, an' warm enuf for that matter. I didn't mind the want o' the buckskin that a way, but I kud 'a eat more o' it.

  "The third day I struck a town o' sand-rats. This niggur's har wur longer then than it ur now. I made snares o' it, an' trapped a lot o' the rats; but they grew shy too, cuss 'em! an' I had to quit that speck'lashun. This wur the third day from the time I'd been set down, an' I wur getting nasty weak on it. I 'gin to think that the time wur come for this child to go under.

  "'Twur a leetle arter sun-up, an' I wur sittin' on the bank, when I seed somethin' queery floatin' a-down the river. When I kim closer, I seed it wur the karkidge o' a buffler-calf at that-an' a couple o' buzzarts floppin' about on the thing, pickin' its peepers out. 'Twur far out, an' the water deep; but I'd made up my mind to fetch it ashore. I wa'n't long in strippin', I reckin."

  Here the hunters interrupted Rube's story with a laugh.

  "I tuk the water, an' swam out. I kud smell the thing afore I wur half-way, an' when I got near it, the birds mizzled. I wur soon clost up, an' seed at a glimp that the calf wur as rotten as punk."

  "What a pity!" exclaimed one of the hunters.

  "I wa'n't a-gwine to have my swim for nuthin'; so I tuk the tail in my teeth, an' swam back for the shore. I hadn't made three strokes till the tail pulled out!

  "I then swum round ahint the karkidge, an' pushed it afore me till I got it landed high an' dry upon a sandbar. 'Twur like to fall to pieces, when I pulled it out o' the water. 'Twa'n't eatable nohow!"

  Here Rube took a fresh mouthful of the wolf-mutton, and remained silent until he had masticated it. The men had become interested in the story, and waited with impatience. At length he proceeded-

  "I seed the buzzarts still flyin' about, an' fresh ones a-comin'. I tuk a idee that I mout git my claws upon some o' 'em. So I lay down clost up agin the calf, an' played 'possum.

  "I wa'n't long that a way when the birds begun to light on the sandbar, an' a big cock kim floppin' up to the karkidge. Afore he kud flop up agin, I grupped him by the legs."

  "Hooraw! well done, by gollies!"

  "The cussed thing wur nearly as stinkin' as t'other, but it wur die dog-buzzart or calf-so I skinned the buzzart."

  "And ate it?" inquired an impatient listener. "No-o," slowly drawled Rube, apparently "miffed" at being thus interrupted. "It ate me."

  The laugh that followed this retort restored the old trapper to good humour again.

  "Did you go it raw, Rube?" asked one of the hunters. "How could he do otherwise? He hadn't a spark o' fire, an' nothing to make one out of."

  "Yur'n etarnal fool!" exclaimed Rube, turning savagely on the last speaker. "I kud make a fire if thur wa'n't a spark anywhar!"

  A yell of laughter followed this speech, and it was some minutes before the trapper recovered his temper sufficiently to resume his narration.

  "The rest o' the birds," continued he at length, "seein' the ole cock rubbed out, grew shy, and kep away on t'other side o' the river. 'Twa'n't no use tryin' that dodge over agin. Jest then I spied a coyoat comin' lopin' down the bank, an' another follerin' upon his heels, an' two or three more on the same trail. I know'd it wud be no joke gruppin' one o' them by the leg, but I made up my mind to try it; an' I lay down jest as afore, close up to the calf. 'Twur no go. The cunnin' things seed the float stick, an' kep clur o' the karkidge. I wur a-gwine to cacher under some bush that wur by, an' I begun to carry it
up, when all of a suddint I tuk a fresh idee in my head. I seed thur wur drift-wood a plenty on the bank, so I fotched it up, an' built a pen-trap roun' about the calf. In the twinklin' o' a goat's eye I had six varmints in the trap."

  "Hooraw! Ye war safe then, old hoss."

  "I tuk a lot o' stones, an' then clomb up on the pen, an' killed the hul kit on 'em. Lord, boyees! 'ee never seed sich a snappin', and snarlin', and jumpin', an' yowltin', as when I peppered them donicks down on 'em. He! he! he! Ho! ho! hoo!"

  And the smoky old sinner chuckled with delight at the remembrance of his adventure.

  "You reached Bent's then safe enough, I reckin?"

  "'Ee-es. I skinned the critters wi' a sharp stone, an' made me a sort o' shirt an' leggins. This niggur had no mind, comin' in naked, to gi' them thur joke at the Fort. I packed enough of the wolf-meat to last me up, an' I got there in less'n a week. Bill wur thur himself, an' 'ee all know Bill Bent. He know'd me. I wa'n't in the Fort a half an hour till I were spick-span in new buckskins, wi' a new rifle; an' that rifle wur Tar-guts, now afore ye."

  "Ha! you got Tear-guts thar then?"

  "I got Tar-guts thur then, an' a gun she ur. He! he! he! 'Twa'n't long arter I got her till I tried her. He! he! he! Ho! ho! hoo!"

  And the old trapper went off into another fit of chuckling.

  "What are ye laughin' at now, Rube?" asked one of his comrades.

  "He! he! he! What am I larfin' at? He! he! he! Ho! ho! That ur the crisp o' the joke. He! he! he! What am I larfin' at?"

  "Yes; tell us, man!"

  "It are this then I'm larfin' at," replied Rube, sobering down a little, "I wa'n't at Bent's three days when who do 'ee think shed kum to the Fort?"

  "Who? Maybe the Rapahoes!"

  "Them same Injuns; an' the very niggurs as set me afoot. They kum to the Fort to trade wi' Bill, an' thur I sees both my old mar an' rifle!"

  "You got them back then?"

  "That wur likely. Thur wur a sight o' mountainy men thur, at the time, that wa'n't the fellurs to see this child put down on the parairar for nuthin'. Yander's the critter!" and Rube pointed to the old mare. "The rifle I gin to Bill, an' kep Tar-guts instead, seeing she wur a better gun."

  "So you got square with the Rapahoes?"

  "That, young fellur, justs rests on what 'ee 'ud call squar. Do 'ee see these hyur nicks: them standin' sep'rate?"

  And the trapper pointed to a row of small notches cut in the stock of his rifle.

  "Ay, ay!" cried several men in reply. "Thur's five o' 'em, ain't thur?"

  "One, two, three; yes, five."

  "Them's Rapahoes!"

  Rube's story was ended.

  * * *

  A march of twenty miles brought us to the place where we expected to be joined by the band. We found a small stream heading in the Pinon Range, and running westward to the San Pedro. It was fringed with cotton-trees and willows, and with grass in abundance for our horses. Here we encamped, kindled a fire in the thicket, cooked our wolf-mutton, ate it, and went to sleep.

  The band came up in the morning, having travelled all night. Their provisions were spent as well as ours, and instead of resting our wearied animals, we pushed on through a pass in the sierra in hopes of finding game on the other side.

  About noon we debouched through the mountain pass into a country of openings-small prairies, bounded by jungly forests, and interspersed with timber islands. These prairies were covered with tall grass, and buffalo signs appeared as we rode into them. We saw their "roads," "chips," and "wallows."

  We saw, moreover, thebois de vache of the wild cattle. We would soon meet with one or the other.

  We were still on the stream by which we had camped the night before, and we made a noon halt to refresh our animals.

  The full-grown forms of the cacti were around us, bearing red and yellow fruit in abundance. We plucked the pears of the pitahaya, and ate them greedily; we found service-berries, yampo, and roots of the "pomme blanche." We dined on fruits and vegetables of various sorts, indigenous only to this wild region.

  But the stomachs of the hunters longed for their favourite food, the hump ribs and boudins of the buffalo; and after a halt of two hours, we moved forward through the openings.

  We had ridden about an hour among chapparal, when Rube, who was some paces in advance, acting as guide, turned in his saddle and pointed downward.

  "What's there, Rube?" asked Seguin, in a low voice.

  "Fresh track, cap'n; buffler!"

  "What number; can you guess?"

  "A gang o' fifty or tharabout. They've tuk through the thicket yander-away. I kin sight the sky. Thur's clur ground not fur from us; and I'd stak a plew thur in it. I think it's a small parairia, cap."

  "Halt here, men!" said Seguin; "halt and keep silent. Ride forward, Rube. Come, Monsieur Haller, you're fond of hunting; come along with us!"

  I followed the guide and Seguin through the bushes; like them, riding slowly and silently.

  In a few minutes we reached the edge of a prairie covered with long grass. Peering cautiously through the leaves of the prosopis, we had a full view of the open ground. The buffaloes were on the plain!

  It was, as Rube had rightly conjectured, a small prairie about a mile and a half in width, closed in on all sides by a thick chapparal. Near the centre was a motte of heavy timber, growing up from a leafy underwood. A spur of willows running out from the timber indicated the presence of water.

  "Thur's a spring yander," muttered Rube. "They've jest been a-coolin' their noses at it."

  This was evident enough, for some of the animals were at the moment walking out of the willows; and we could see the wet clay glistening upon their flanks, and the saliva glancing down from their jaws.

  "How will we get at them, Rube?" asked Seguin; "can we approach them, do you think?"

  "I doubt not, cap. The grass 'ud hardly kiver us, an thur a-gwine out o' range o' the bushes."

  "How then? We cannot run them; there's not room. They would be into the thicket at the first dash. We would lose every hoof of them."

  "Sartin as Scripter."

  "What is to be done?"

  "This niggur sees but one other plan as kin be used jest at this time."

  "What is it?"

  "Surround."

  "Right; if we can do that. How is the wind?"

  "Dead as an Injun wi' his head cut off," replied the trapper, taking a small feather out of his cap and tossing it in the air. "See, cap, it falls plump!"

  "It does, truly."

  "We kin easily git roun' them bufflers afore they wind us; an' we hev men enough to make a picket fence about them. We can hardly set about it too soon, cap. Thur a movin' torst the edge yander."

  "Let us divide the men, then," said Seguin, turning his horse; "you can guide one-half of them to their stands. I will go with the other. Monsieur Haller, you had better remain where you are. It is as good a stand as you can get. Have patience. It may be an hour before all are placed. When you hear the bugle, you may gallop forward and do your best. If we succeed, you shall have sport and a good supper, which I suppose you feel the need of by this time."

  So saying, Seguin left me, and rode back to the men, followed by old Rube.

  It was their purpose to separate the band into two parties, each taking an opposite direction, and to drop men here and there at regular intervals around the prairie. They would keep in the thicket while on the march, and only discover themselves at a given signal. In this way, should the buffaloes allow time for the execution of the movement, we should be almost certain of securing the whole gang.

  As soon as Seguin had left me, I looked to my rifle and pistols, putting on a fresh set of caps. After that, having nothing else to occupy me, I remained seated in my saddle, eyeing the animals as they fed unconscious of danger. I was full of anxiety lest some clumsy fellow might discover himself too soon, and thus spoil our anticipated sport.

  After a while I could see the birds flying up from the thicket, and the screamin
g of the blue jay indicated to me the progress of the "surround."

  Now and then, an old bull, on the skirts of the herd, would toss up his shaggy mane, snuff the wind, and strike the ground fiercely with his hoof, evidently labouring under a suspicion that all was not right.

  The others did not seem to heed these demonstrations, but kept on quietly cropping the luxuriant grama.

  I was thinking how nicely we were going to have them in the trap, when an object caught my eye, just emerging from the motte. It was a buffalo calf, and I saw that it was proceeding to join the gang. I thought it somewhat strange that it should be separated from the rest, for the calves, trained by their mothers to know the wolf, usually keep up with the herd.

  "It has stayed behind at the spring," thought I. "Perhaps the others pushed it from the water, and it could not drink until they were gone."

  I fancied that it moved clumsily, as if wounded; but it was passing through the long grass, and I could not get a good view of it.

  There was a pack of coyotes (there always is) sneaking after the herd. These, perceiving the calf, as it came out of the timber, made an instant and simultaneous attack upon it. I could see them skipping around it, and fancied I could hear their fierce snarling; but the calf appeared to fight its way through the thick of them; and after a short while, I saw it close in to its companions, where I lost sight of it among the others.

  "A game young bull," soliloquised I, and again I ran my eye around the skirting of the chapparal to watch how the hunters were getting forward with the "surround." I could perceive the flashing of brilliant wings over the bramble, and hear the shrill voices of the jay-birds. Judging by these, I concluded that the men were moving slowly enough. It was half an hour since Seguin had left me, and I could perceive that they were not half-way round as yet.

  I began to make calculations as to how long I would have to wait, soliloquising as follows:-

  "Diameter of the prairie, a mile and a half. It is a circle three times that: four miles and a half. Phew! I shall not hear the signal in much less than an hour. I must be patient then, and-what! The brutes are lying down! Good! There is no danger now of their making off. We shall have rare sport! One, two, three, six of them down! It must be the heat and the water. They have drunk too much. There goes another. Lucky devils! They have nothing else to do but eat and sleep, while I- no! eight down! Well! I hope soon to eat, too. What an odd way they have of coming to the ground! How different from anything of the bovine tribe I have yet observed! I have never seen buffaloes quieting down before. One would think they were falling as if shot! Two more alongside the rest! They will soon be all upon the turf. So much the better. We can gallop up before they get to their feet again. Oh, that I could hear that horn!"