As spring approached and the snows melted, disclosing a short, rich grass refreshed by moisture, the herd began to mill about as if it wished to move to other ground. One morning as Rufous was grazing in the soft land between the twin pillars, with the warm sun on his back, one of the cows started nudging her way among the other cows and butting the older bulls. This was the cow that made important decisions for the herd and stood ready to fight any member at any time. It was as if the lead bull were the general in battle, the lead cow the prime minister in running the nation.
She now decided that it was time for the herd to move northward, and after butting others of her followers, she set out at a determined pace, leaving the twin pillars behind. She headed for a pass through the low chalk hills to the north, then led her charges up a draw to the tableland beyond. There she kept the herd for several days, after which she led them slowly and with no apparent purpose to the river that defined this plateau to the north. Testing the water at several places, she decided which crossing was safest and plunged in.
The water was icy cold from melting snow, but she kicked her legs vigorously, swimming comfortably with the current and climbing out at last to shake her matted hair, sending showers of spray into the sunlight. From the north bank she watched with a leader’s care as older cows nudged yearlings into the river, then swam beside them, keeping the younger animals upstream, so that if the current did overcome them, they would bounce against their mothers and thus gain security for the next effort.
When the main body of the herd was safely across, the old bulls grudgingly and sometimes with growls of protest entered the river, swimming with powerful kicks as the water threw their beards into their faces. When they climbed onto the north bank they shook themselves with such fury that they produced small rainstorms.
Rufous was one of the last to cross, and he did so carefully, as if studying this particular crossing against the day when he might have to use it in some emergency. He did not like the footing on the south bank, but once the lead cow was satisfied that the cows and calves were safely across, she ignored whatever bulls were left behind and set out purposefully for the grazing lands to which she was leading her herd.
When she reached this spot, less than a hundred miles from the twin pillars, she stopped, smelled the ground to assure herself that it was good, then turned the leadership of the herd back to the bulls, assuming once more the passive role of a mere cow. But if any decision of moment was required, she would again assert herself, and when she grew too old to assume this task the responsibility would pass to some other strongminded cow, for the leadership of the group was too important to be left to males.
It was now spring and the calving season was at hand. The sun would rise, as on a normal day, but some cow would experience a profound urge to be by herself, and she would move with determination toward some unknown objective, and if any other cow or a bull tried to interpose, she would knock the offender aside and pursue her course. She would seek some secluded area, even if it was only behind the brow of a low hill, and there she would lie on the ground and prepare for the birth of her calf.
This year a small black cow left the herd as soon as the new grounds were reached, for her time was at hand. As she passed two old bulls they nuzzled her as if to ask what she was about, but she repelled them brusquely and sought a spot not far from the river where trees gave her some protection. There she gave birth to a handsome black bull calf, and as soon as he appeared she began licking him and butting him with her head and goading him to stand alone. She spent two hours at this task, then began mooing softly to attract the attention of the others, but when they ambled over to inspect her new calf, nudging him with their snouts, she made a show of charging at them, as if to assert unequivocally that the calf was hers.
Among the bison that came to inspect the new calf was Rufous, and his nosy intrusion was an error he would regret. The newborn calf liked the smell of Rufous and for a few moments rubbed his small head against his leg. Some intuition told the calf that there would be no milk in that quarter and he returned to his mother.
Now came the days that would be crucial in the life of the little bison. Within a brief period he had to imprint on his mind the image of his mother, her smell, her feel, the taste of her milk, her look, the sound of her call. Because if he failed to make this indelible and vital connection, he might become unattached when the herd moved and be lost in the strangling dust. If this happened, he would survive only a few hours, for the wolves and vultures, seeing his plight, would close in.
Therefore the mother cow encouraged him to nuzzle her, to taste her milk, to smell her urine and to distinguish her cry. She attended the calf constantly, and when he moved among the other calves that were being born at this time she tried to train him to respond to her cry.
But the calf had proved his inquisitiveness by making friends with Rufous shortly after his birth, and he continued this behavior, moving from one adult to another and failing to establish an indelible impression of his own mother. She tried frantically to correct this defect, but her baby bull continued to stray.
Because one of his strongest memories was that of the smell of Rufous, he tried to associate more with the bull and less with his mother, trying even to get milk from Rufous. This irritated the bull, who knocked the confused infant away. The bewildered little fellow rolled over in the dust, and then ran after another adult bull.
At this point, a fairly large herd of strange bison from the north moved onto the feeding ground, and there was a general milling about of animals, so that the baby bull became lost at the edge of the swirling crush. The two herds were excited enough by their chance meeting, but now they detected strange movement to the west, and this triggered panic on the flank, which quickly affected the mass. A stampede began, and those calves that had been strongly imprinted by their mothers performed miraculously: no matter how swiftly their mothers ran or how deftly they dodged, the calves kept up with them stride for stride, their little noses often pressed against their mothers’ flanks.
But the handsome black infant had not been adequately trained and had no intuition of where his mother was, nor could he detect her cry in the confusion. It fell behind, far behind, then gave a little cry of joy, for he smelled a reassuring odor. It was not his mother; it was Rufous, lagging behind because he had been grazing on the sweet grass down by the river.
The bull had no intention of caring for a confused baby and rushed past, but the infant, catching a stronger whiff of the familiar smell, joined the gallop and clung to the older bull’s flank. This annoyed Rufous, who tried to kick at the pestering calf as they ran, but nothing would divert the baby bull. With a sense of total security as great as if Rufous had been his mother, he clung to the galloping bull.
But now the wolves that always hung about the edges of a herd, hoping for a bit of luck, spotted the little calf. They had a good chance of picking him off, since the older bull was endeavoring to kick him to one side, so they closed in on the running pair, trying to insert themselves between the baby bull and the mature one.
They failed. Once Rufous recognized their strategy, he became a changed animal. It was his responsibility to protect calves, no matter how bothersome, no matter how distant the retreating herd. Accordingly, he scanned the terrain as he ran and spotted a small embankment that might afford protection.
Twisting his head abruptly to the right, he headed for the rocky bank. As if the young calf had been physically attached to him, he turned at the same moment, and the two galloped to the refuge. There Rufous turned to confront his enemies, keeping the calf beside him and well protected by his large flank.
The wolves closed in, eleven of them, but they were powerless against his horns and massive head, nor could they slip behind him to attack his tendons because he kept his rear tight against the rock. If he had not been hampered by this irritating calf, he could have beaten back the wolves and returned to the herd, but with that encumbrance he could do no more th
an protect himself.
He did manage one other defense. He bellowed several times—the low guttural cry seemed to roll vainly across the vast prairies. But he was heard. The bison having outrun their fright, had stopped and were aimlessly milling around when the master fighter of the herd to which Rufous belonged, the large black bull, heard the cry of distress and doubled back to investigate. With him came the bull with the slanting left horn, and the closer they approached the intermittent bellow, the faster they ran.
They came up to the encircling wolves in a rush, their hind feet digging in like brakes and throwing clouds of dust. Instantly they perceived what was happening, seeing Rufous trapped against the rocky bank with the calf beside him. With lowered heads and flashing hooves they crashed into the wolves and sent them scattering. The black bull caught one on his horn, tossed him in the air, then stamped on him mercilessly when he fell to earth.
The three victorious bulls, with the calf in the center, slowly walked back toward the herd, which had now stabilized. The calf, exhilarated by the adventure and the comforting smell of his savior, Rufous, trotted happily inside the protective triangle.
When the calf regained the herd and the excitement caused by the wolves died down, he realized he was hungry. Smelling Rufous, he ran to the bull and tried to nurse, but Rufous had had enough. Lowering his horn, he caught the little fellow under the belly and tossed him well into the air. He uttered pitiful cries and crashed to earth. He rose bewildered, and tried again to join Rufous, who lowered his head and gave the calf another toss in the air.
This time his cries reached the distraught mother, who recognized them and rushed to reclaim the infant she thought she had lost. She licked his coat and nursed him and did her best to bring him to her, but he still remembered Rufous as the adult closest to him.
Now the rutting season was at hand. Rufous and the other bulls began a strange but long-inherited chain of behavior. One morning, for no apparent reason, Rufous began suddenly charging at cottonwood trees along the riverbank, tearing into them with wild force as if they were living enemies, then stopping and cleaning his horns against their trunks. The next day as he was walking idly toward the herd he felt an uncontrollable compulsion to throw himself on the ground, twisting and turning in the dust a dozen times until he was laden with sand. Then he rose, urinated heavily in the wallow and threw himself into it again, smearing the muddy urine over his head and body as if to announce to the world, ‘When you smell that smell, remember. It belongs to Rufous.’
At this period of the rutting season he did not yet care to confront the other bulls; indeed he stayed well away from them, as if he were unsure of his capacity to challenge them on equal terms, but he continued to fight the cottonwoods and to wallow excessively. He also stood by himself and threw out guttural threats, ignoring those that were being voiced by other bulls in the vicinity.
And then one morning, on a day no different from others that had preceded it, a quiet brown cow that had been completely unassuming felt an overpowering surge of vitality, and her entire personality changed in an instant. She became more rhythmic in her motions, gentler in her manner. She left the cows with whom she had been associating and kicked aside her last year’s calf when it endeavored to stay close to her, as she had so painfully taught it to do only a year ago.
She sought out the bulls on the edge of the herd and moved from one to another until she came to its leader. He licked her coat and rubbed his head against hers. Often he rested his shaggy head on the hollow of her back as if it were a familiar pillow. Wherever she moved, he followed, waiting for the proper time for mating.
Now the drama of the rutting season began. A four-year-old bull that had not yet mated with any cow left the lesser bulls with whom he had for some time been sparring and marched boldly up to the courting couple. Ignoring the cow, he took a stubborn stance so that his dark beard was close to that of the black bull. The latter, long prepared for such a challenge but unable to anticipate which bull would issue it, stared for a moment at the intruder.
Then, with shuddering force, the two animals leaped at each other, their shaggy foreheads meeting in an explosive crack that could be heard across the plains. To the surprise of the older bull, this first shattering blow seemed to have no effect upon the young challenger, who pawed the earth, lowered his head and drove with incredible force at the older one’s forehead. The black bull was tempted to sidestep and allow the young bull to slide harmlessly off his flank, but he sensed that this opening fight would be crucial, and he intended to settle it unequivocally. So he braced himself, lowered his head and took the charge full on his forehead.
For an instant the horns of the two powerful beasts locked, and it looked as if the kinetic force of the younger must drive the older back, but the black bull had reserves of power. His back legs stiffened. His backbone absorbed the shock. And now he began applying pressure of his own. Slowly the younger bull had to retreat. He could not stand fast.
With a sudden twist, the older bull turned his challenger aside, and as the younger bull’s belly was exposed the old warrior lunged at it. He could near the ribs cracking beneath skin and then the cry of pain, The younger bull withdrew, shook himself to assess the damage, felt his ribs grating and, with no further desire to fight, retreated.
The older bull, victor once more, returned to the cow that he had rightfully won. By this cruel process, cows were assured that they would mate only with the strongest bulls and that the vigor of the species would be preserved.
But this time it was not to be so easy, for no sooner had the victorious bull turned his back on the herd and resumed his attentions to the cow than he heard a belligerent snort. When he turned, he saw the bull Rufous headed toward him in a slow, purposeful march. This was a more serious challenge.
When Rufous stood horn to horn with the older bull, the latter could smell the strong urine in which his challenger had wallowed that morning. It was the smell of a mature bull, one ready to assume his place among the leaders of the herd. So the black bull stood very still, made no movement of any kind, and stared into the eyes of his challenger. The two powerful beasts stood that way for more than a minute, then slowly Rufous broke the gaze, lowered his head and, without raising dust, backed away. This was not a good day for extending his challenge. There would be others more propitious.
The black bull did not raise his voice in triumph, nor did he make any move to follow Rufous to demonstrate once and for all his supremacy. He seemed quite content to have resolved this particular challenge in this way. He, too, sensed that a more likely day would come, a day he could not escape, and that then the issue would be resolved.
As the rutting season progressed, only three bulls served the cows: the black leader, the bull with the slanted horn and the brown bull with the heavy hair over his eyes. Each was challenged repeatedly by younger bulls; each retained his prerogatives, and it seemed as if the summer would end with the three in ascendancy.
And then, as the mating season drew to a close, Rufous experienced the antagonisms he had not felt before. No amount of charging cottonwood trees satisfied him, and rolling about in the mud and urine gave him no release. So one bright morning he sought out an old wallow, which he had known favorably before. It was a prairie-dog town, where the little squirrel-like animals had piled up much used sand. Plodding his way to it, he thrust himself into the soft earth, ignoring the protests of the little animals as they watched their homes destroyed. He wallowed for a long time, till his hair was well filled with dust. Then he rose, urinated copiously and threw himself into it with a fierceness he had not shown before. Now when he got up, his body was well muddied and the matted hair about his head exuded a powerful scent.
With strong determination he marched back to the herd, seeking whichever older bull was courting that day. It was the ugly brown bull. He was with a fine cow, well along in heat, and had it not been for the arrival of Rufous, the two might soon have been mating.
This time Ruf
ous did not waste his time staring into the eyes of his enemy. As soon as he arrived at the scene he lowered his head and charged at the brown bull, but his tactic was not successful because the little bull calf that had adopted him as his mother had caught the scent of the urine-covered body as he passed through the herd and now galloped to suckle. This interrupted Rufous’s charge and allowed the brown bull to slash at him as his attack was shorted. A serious gash appeared on Rufous’s shoulder and blood began to spurt out.
This enraged him, and he vented his wrath on his would-be son. With a violent toss of his head he caught the persistent calf and threw him high into the air and some distance away. Without pausing to see where he fell or how, he rushed at the brown bull in such a way as to catch him unprepared. There was a resounding clash, and the brown bull fell back.
Instantly Rufous leaped at him, boring in with his powerful horns until he struck the right hip of the brown bull. With a ripping sound he swept his horn along the hip, wounding his enemy severely. Encouraged, he swarmed all over the brown bull, jabbing and thrusting and applying constant pressure. It was as if the brown bull were being attacked from all sides, and in time the pressures began to tell. He fell back further, tried to make one last counterattack and failed. Knowing that defeat was inevitable, he backed off and left the area.
Lowing triumphantly, Rufous took over the waiting cow and licked her coat. He was about to lead her into the cottonwoods when the little calf, recovered from his flight, returned to the strong smell of his supposed mother. Sidling up to Rufous, he again tried to nurse, but this time the victorious bull gently nosed him away. He had other matters on his mind.
Creatures of the Kingdom: Stories of Animals and Nature Page 12