by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
THE PRAIRIE-WOLF AND WOLF-KILLER.
After crossing the Marais de Cygnes River the country became much moreopen. There was a mixture of timber and prairie-land--the latter,however, constantly gaining the ascendancy as we advanced farther west.The openings became larger, until they assumed the appearance of vastmeadows, inclosed by groves, that at a distance resembled great hedges.Now and then there were copses that stood apart from the larger tractsof forests, looking like islands upon the surface of a green sea, and bythe name of "islands" these detached groves are known among the huntersand other denizens of prairie-land. Sometimes the surface wasundulating or, as it is there termed, "rolling," and our road wasvaried, ascending or descending, as we crossed the gentle declivities.The timber through which we had up to this time been passing consistedof ash, burr oak, black walnut, chestnut oak, buck eye, the Americanelm, hickory, hackberry, sumach, and, in low moist places, the sycamore,and long-leaved willow. These trees, with many others, form theprincipal growth of the large forests, upon the banks of theMississippi, both cast and west.
As we advanced westward, Besancon called our attention to the fact, thatall these kinds of timber, one by one, disappeared from the landscape,and in their place a single species alone made up the larger growth ofthe forest. This was the celebrated "cotton-wood," a species of poplar(_Populus angulatus_). I say celebrated, because, being almost the onlytree of large size which is found throughout the region of the greatplains, it is well-known to all hunters and prairie travellers, whoregard it with a peculiar veneration. A grove of cotton-wood is alwaysa glad sight to those who traverse the limitless levels of the prairie.It promises shelter from the wind or sun, wood for the camp-fire, and,above all, water to slake the thirst. As the ocean mariner regards thesight of the welcome port, with similar feelings of joy the mariner ofthe "prairie-sea" beholds, over the broad waste, the silvery foliage ofthe cotton-wood grove, regarding it as his temporary home--his place ofrest and refuge.
After travelling through hundreds of small prairies, separated from eachother by groves of cotton-wood, we arrived at a high point on the watersof the "Little Osage," another tributary of the larger river of thatname. As yet we had met with no traces of the buffalo, and werebeginning to doubt the correctness of the information we had received atSaint Louis, when we fell in with a band of Kansas Indians--a friendlytribe--who received us in the most courteous manner. From them welearned that the buffalo had been upon the Little Osage at an earlierperiod in that same year, but that harassed and decimated by their ownhunters, they had roamed much farther west, and were now supposed to beon the other side of the "Neosho," or Grand River--a northern tributaryof the Arkansas.
This was anything but pleasant news. We should have at least anotherhundred miles to travel before coming up with our game; but there was nothought of going back, until we had done so. No. One and all declaredthat rather than give up the object of our expedition, we would travelon to the Rocky Mountains themselves, risking the chances of beingscalped by hostile Indians.
There was a good deal of bravado in this, it is true; but we were fullydetermined that we would not go back without our buffalo-hunt.
Thanking our Kansas friends for their courtesy, we parted from them, andheaded westward for the Neosho.
As we proceeded, timber became scarce, until at length it was found onlyon the banks of streams widely distant from each other. Sometimes not atree was in sight for the whole day's journey. We were now fairly onthe prairies.
We crossed the Neosho at length--still no buffalo.
We kept on, and crossed several other large streams, all flowingsouth-eastwardly to the Arkansas. Still no buffalo.
We began to yearn exceedingly for a sight of the great game. The fewdeer that were killed from time to time offered us but poor sport, andtheir meat was not sufficient for our supply.
Of bacon we were heartily tired, and we longed for fresh buffalo-beef.The praises lavished by our guides upon the delicacy of this viand--their talk over the camp-fire, about "fat cow" and "_boudins_" and"hump-ribs," quite tantalised our palates, and we were all eager to tryour teeth upon these vaunted tit-bits. No buffalo appeared yet, and wewere forced to chew our bacon, as well as our impatience, for severaldays longer.
A great change now took place in the appearance of the country. Thetimber became still more scarce, and the soil drier and more sandy.Species of cactus (_opuntia_) appeared along the route, with severalother plants new to the eyes of most of us, and which to those ofBesancon were objects of extreme interest. But that which mostgratified us was the appearance of a new herbage, different entirelyfrom what we had been passing over, and this was hailed by our guideswith exclamations of joy. It was the celebrated "buffalo grass." Thetrappers declared we should not have much farther to go until we foundthe buffaloes themselves, for, wherever this grass existed in plenty,the buffalo, unless driven off by hunting, were sure to be found.
The buffalo grass is a short grass, not more than a few inches inheight, with crooked and pointed culms, often throwing out suckers thatroot again, and produce other leaves and culms, and in this way form atolerably thick sward. When in flower or seed, it is headed by numerousspikes of half an inch in length, and on these the spikelets are regularand two rowed.
It is a species of _Sesleria_ (_Sesleria dactyloides_), but Besanconinformed us that it possesses characters that cause it to differ fromthe genus, and to resemble the _Chondrosium_.
The buffalo grass is not to be confounded with, another celebrated grassof the Texan and North Mexican prairies, the "gramma" of the Spaniards.This last is a true Chondrosium, and there are several species of it.The _Chondrosium foeneum_ is one of the finest fodders in the world forthe food of cattle, almost equal to unthrashed oats.
The buffalo grass forms the favourite and principal fodder of thebuffaloes whenever it is in season, and these animals roam over theprairies in search of it.
Of course with this knowledge we were now on the _qui vive_. At everynew rise that we made over the swells of the prairie our eyes were busy,and swept the surface on every side of us, and in the course of a fewdays we encountered several false alarms.
There is an hallucination peculiar to the clear atmosphere of theseregions. Objects are not only magnified, but frequently distorted intheir outlines, and it is only an old hunter that knows a buffalo whenhe sees one. Brothers a bush is often taken for a wild bull, and withus a brace of carrion crows, seated upon the crest of a ridge, wereactually thought to be buffaloes, until they suddenly took wing and roseinto the air, thus dispelling the illusion!
Long before this time we had encountered that well-known animal of thegreat plains--the "prairie-wolf,"--(_Lupus latrans_).
The prairie-wolf inhabits the vast and still unpeopled territories thatlie between the Mississippi River and the shores of the Pacific Ocean.Its range extends beyond what is strictly termed "the prairies." It isfound in the wooded and mountainous ravines of California and the RockyMountain districts. It is common throughout the whole of Mexico, whereit is known as the "coyote." I have seen numbers of this species on thebattle-field, tearing at corpses, as far south as the valley of Mexicoitself. Its name of prairie-wolf is, therefore, in some respectsinappropriate, the more so as the larger wolves are also inhabitants ofthe prairie. No doubt this name was given it, because the animal wasfirst observed in the prairie country west of the Mississippi by theearly explorers of that region. In the wooded countries east of thegreat river, the common large wolf only is known.
Whatever doubt there may be of the many varieties of the large wolfbeing distinct species, there can be none with regard to the _Lupuslatrans_. It differs from all the others in size, and in many of itshabits. Perhaps it more nearly resembles the jackal than any otheranimal. It is the New World representative of that celebrated creature.
In size, it is just midway between the large wolf and fox. With much ofthe appearance of the former, it co
mbines all the sagacity of thelatter. It is usually of a greyish colour, lighter or darker, accordingto circumstances, and often with a tinge of cinnamon or brown.
As regards its cunning, the fox is "but a fool to it." It cannot betrapped. Some experiments made for the purpose, show results that throwthe theory of instinct quite into the background. It has been known toburrow under a "dead fall," and drag off the bait without springing thetrap. The steel-trap it avoids, no matter how concealed; and thecage-trap has been found "no go."
Farther illustrations of the cunning of the prairie-wolf might be foundin its mode of decoying within reach the antelopes and other creatureson which it preys. Of course this species is as much fox as wolf, forin reality a small wolf is a fox, and a large fox is a wolf. To thetraveller and trapper of the prairie regions, it is a pest. It robs theformer of his provisions--often stealing them out of his very tent; itunbaits the traps of the latter, or devours the game already secured inthem.
It is a constant attendant upon the caravans or travelling-parties thatcross prairie-land. A pack of prairie-wolves will follow such a partyfor hundreds of miles, in order to secure the refuse left at the camps.They usually he down upon the prairie, just out of range of the riflesof the travellers; yet they do not observe this rule always, as theyknow there is not much danger of being molested. Hunters rarely shootthem, not deeming their hides worth having, and not caring to waste acharge upon them. They are more cautious when following a caravan ofCalifornia emigrants, where there are plenty of "greenhorns" andamateur-hunters ready to fire at anything.
Prairie-wolves are also constant attendants upon the "gangs" of buffalo.They follow these for hundreds of miles--in fact, the outskirts of thebuffalo herd are, for the time being, their home. They he down on theprairie at a short distance from the buffaloes, and wait and watch, inhopes that some of these animals may get disabled or separated from therest, or with the expectation that a cow with her new-dropped calf mayfall into the rear. In such cases, the pack gather round theunfortunate individual, and worry it to death. A wounded orsuperannuated bull sometimes "falls out," and is attacked. In this casethe fight is more desperate, and the bull is sadly mutilated before hecan be brought to the ground. Several wolves, too, are laid _hors decombat_ during the struggle.
The prairie traveller may often look around him without seeing a singlewolf; but let him fire off his gun, and, as if by magic, a score of themwill suddenly appear. They start from their hiding-places, and rushforward in hopes of sharing in the produce of the shot.
At night, they enliven the prairie-camp with their dismal howling,although most travellers would gladly dispense with such music. Theirnote is a bark like that of a terrier-dog repeated three times, and thenprolonged into a true wolf's howl. I have heard farm-house dogs utter avery similar bark. From this peculiarity, some naturalists prefercalling them the "barking wolf," and that (_Lupus latrans_) is thespecific appellation given by Say, who first described them.
Prairie-wolves have all the ferocity of their race, but no creaturecould be more cowardly. Of course no one fears them under ordinarycircumstances, but they have been known to make a combined attack uponpersons disabled, and in severe weather, when they themselves wererendered unusually savage by hunger, as already stated. But they arenot regarded with fear either by traveller or hunter; and the latterdisdains to waste his charge upon such worthless game.
Our guide, Ike, was an exception to this rule. He was the only one ofhis sort that shot prairie-wolves, and he did so "on sight." I believeif it had been the last bullet in his pouch, and an opportunity hadoffered of sending it into a prairie-wolf, he would have despatched theleaden missile. We asked him how many he had killed in his time. Hedrew a small notched stick from his "possible sack," and desired us tocount the notches upon it. We did so. There were one hundred andforty-five in all.
"You have killed one hundred and forty-five, then?" cried we, astonishedat the number.
"Yes, i'deed," replied he, with a quiet chuckle, "that many dozen; forevery 'un of them nutches count twelve. I only make a nutch when I'vethrowed the clur dozen."
"A hundred and forty-five dozen!" we repeated in astonishment; and yet Ihave no doubt of the truth of the trapper's statement, for he had nointerest in deceiving us. I am satisfied from what I knew of him, thathe had slain the full number stated--one thousand seven hundred andforty!
Of course we became curious to learn the cause of his antipathy to theprairie-wolves; for we knew he had an antipathy, and it was that thathad induced him to commit such wholesale havoc among these creatures.It was from this circumstance he had obtained the soubriquet of"wolf-killer." By careful management, we at last got him upon the edgeof the stray, and quietly pushed him into it. He gave it to us asfollows:--
"Wal, strengers, about ten winters agone, I wur travellin' from Bent'sFort on the Arkensaw, to 'Laramie on the Platte, all alone by myself. Ihad undertuk the journey on some business for Bill Bent--no matter nowwhat.
"I had crossed the divide, and got within sight o' the Black Hills, whenone night I had to camp out on the open parairy, without either bush orstone to shelter me.
"That wur, perhaps, the coldest night this nigger remembers; thur wur awind kim down from the mountains that wud a froze the bar off an irondog. I gathered my blanket around me, but that wind whistled through itas if it had been a rail-fence.
"'Twan't no use lyin' down, for I couldn't a slep, so I sot up.
"You may ask why I hadn't a fire? I'll tell you why. Fust, thur wan'ta stick o' timber within ten mile o' me; and, secondly, if thur had beenI dasen't a made a fire. I wur travellin' as bad a bit o' Injun groundas could been found in all the country, and I'd seen Injun sign two orthree times that same day. It's true thur wur a good grist o'buffler-chips about, tol'ably dry, and I mout have made some sort o' afire out o' that; an' at last I did make a fire arter a fashion. I didit this a way.
"Seeing that with the cussed cold I wan't agoin' to get a wink o' sleep,I gathered a wheen o' the buffler-chips. I then dug a hole in theground with my bowie, an' hard pickin' that wur; but I got through thecrust at last, and made a sort o' oven about a fut, or a fut and a halfdeep. At the bottom I laid some dry grass and dead branches o' sageplant, and then settin' it afire, I piled the buffler-chips on top. Thething burnt tol'able well, but the smoke o' the buffler-dung woulda-choked a skunk.
"As soon as it had got fairly under way, I hunkered, an' sot down overthe hole, in sich a position as to catch all the heat under my blanket,an' then I was comf'table enough. Of coorse no Injun kud see the smokearter night, an it would a tuk sharp eyes to have sighted the fire, Ireckon.
"Wal, strengers, the critter I rode wur a young mustang colt, abouthalf-broke. I had bought him from a Mexikin at Bent's only the weekafore, and it wur his fust journey, leastwise with me. Of coorse I hadhim on the lariat; but up to this time I had kept the eend o' the ropein my hand, because I had that same day lost my picket pin; an' thinkin'as I wan't agoin' to sleep, I mout as well hold on to it.
"By 'm by, however, I begun to feel drowsy. The fire 'atween my legspromised to keep me from freezin', an' I thort I mout as well take anap. So I tied the lariat round my ankles, sunk my head atween myknees, an' in the twinklin' o' a goat's tail I wur sound. I jestnoticed as I wur goin' off, that the mustang wur out some yards,nibbling away at the dry grass o' the parairy.
"I guess I must a slep about an hour, or tharabouts--I won't be sartinthow long. I only know that I didn't wake o' my own accord. I wurawoke; an' when I did awoke, I still thort I wur a-dreamin'. It would abeen a rough dream; but unfort'nately for me, it wan't a dream, but ajenwine reality.
"At fust, I cudn't make out what wur the matter wi' me, no how; an' thenI thort I wur in the hands o' the Injuns, who were draggin' me over theparairy; an' sure enough I wur a draggin' that a way, though not byInjuns. Once or twice I lay still for jest a second or two, an' thenaway I went agin, trailin' and bumpin' over the ground, as if I ha
d beentied to the tail o' a gallopin' hoss. All the while there wur a yellin'in my ears as if all the cats an' dogs of creation were arter me.
"Wal, it wur some time afore I compre'nded what all this rough usagemeant. I did at last. The pull upon my ankles gave me the idea. Itwur the lariat that wur round them. My mustang had stampedoed, and wurdraggin' me at full gallop acrosst the parairy!
"The barkin', an' howlin', an' yelpin' I heerd, wur a pack o'parairy-wolves. Half-famished, they had attacked the mustang, andstarted him.
"All this kim into my mind at once. You'll say it wur easy to lay holdon the rope, an' stop the hoss. So it mout appear; but I kin tell youthat it ain't so easy a thing. It wan't so to me. My ankles wur in anoose, an' wur drawed clost together. Of coorse, while I wur movin'along, I couldn't get to my feet; an' whenever the mustang kim to ahalt, an' I had half gathered myself, afore I laid reach the rope, awaywent the critter agin, flingin' me to the ground at full length.Another thing hindered me. Afore goin' to sleep, I had put my blanketon Mexikin-fashion--that is, wi' my head through a slit in the centre--an' as the drag begun, the blanket flopped about my face, an'half-smothered me. Prehaps, however, an' I thort so arterwurd, thatblanket saved me many a scratch, although it bamfoozled me a good bit.
"I got the blanket off at last, arter I had made about a mile, I reckon,and then for the fust time I could see about me. Such a sight! Themoon wur up, an' I kud see that the ground wur white with snow. It hadsnowed while I wur asleep; but that wan't the sight--the sight war, thatclost up an' around me the hul parairy wur kivered with wolves--cussedparairy-wolves! I kud see their long tongues lollin' out, an' the smokesteamin' from their open mouths.
"Bein' now no longer hampered by the blanket, I made the best use Icould o' my arms. Twice I got hold o' the lariat, but afore I kud setmyself to pull up the runnin' hoss, it wur jerked out o' my hand agin.
"Somehow or other, I had got clutch o' my bowie, and at the nextopportunity I made a cut at the rope, and heerd the clean `snig' o' theknife. Arter that I lay quiet on the parairy, an' I b'lieve I kindersort o' fainted.
"'Twan't a long faint no how; for when I got over it, I kud see themustang about a half a mile off, still runnin' as fast as his legs couldcarry him, an' most of the wolves howlin' arter him. A few of thesecritters had gathered about me, but gettin' to my feet, I made a dashamong them wi' the shinin' bowie, an' sent them every which way, Ireckon.
"I watched the mustang until he wur clur out o' sight, an' then I wurpuzzled what to do. Fust, I went back for my blanket, which I soonrekivered, an' then I follered the back track to get my gun an' othertraps whur I had camped. The trail wur easy, on account o' the snow,an' I kud see whur I had slipped through it all the way.
"Having got my possibles, I then tuk arter the mustang, and follered forat least ten miles on his tracks, but I never see'd that, mustang agin.Whether the wolves hunted him down or not, I can't say, nor I don't careif they did, the scarey brute! I see'd their feet all the way arter himin the snow, and I know'd it wur no use follering further. It wur plainI wur put down on the parairy, so I bundled my possibles, and turnedhead for Laramies afoot. I had a three days' walk o' it, and prehaps Ididn't cuss a few!
"I wur right bad used. Thur wan't a bone in my body that didn't ache,as if I had been passed through a sugar-mill; and my clothes and skinwere torn consid'ably. It mout a been wuss but for the blanket an' thesprinkle o' snow that made the ground a leetle slickerer.
"Howsomever, I got safe to the Fort, whur I wur soon rigged out in afresh suit o' buckskin an' a hoss.
"But I never arterward see'd a parairy-wolf within range o' my rifle,that I didn't let it into him, an' as you see, I've throwed a good wheenin their tracks since then. Wagh! Hain't I, Mark?"