To resume the story: After Tete Rouge had alarmed the camp, no further disturbance occurred during the night.The Arapahoes did not attempt mischief, or if they did the wakefulness of the party deterred them from effecting their purpose.The next day was one of activity and excitement, for about ten o'clock the men in advance shouted the gladdening cry of "Buffalo, buffalo!" and in the hollow of the prairie just below us, a band of bulls were grazing.The temptation was irresistible, and Shaw and I rode down upon them.We were badly mounted on our traveling horses, but by hard lashing we overtook them, and Shaw, running alongside of a bull, shot into him both balls of his double-barreled gun.Looking round as I galloped past, I saw the bull in his mortal fury rushing again and again upon his antagonist, whose horse constantly leaped aside, and avoided the onset.My chase was more protracted, but at length I ran close to the bull and killed him with my pistols.Cutting off the tails of our victims by way of trophy, we rejoined the party in about a quarter of an hour after we left it.Again and again that morning rang out the same welcome cry of "Buffalo, buffalo!" Every few moments in the broad meadows along the river, we would see bands of bulls, who, raising their shaggy heads, would gaze in stupid amazement at the approaching horsemen, and then breaking into a clumsy gallop, would file off in a long line across the trail in front, toward the rising prairie on the left.At noon, the whole plain before us was alive with thousands of buffalo--bulls, cows, and calves--all moving rapidly as we drew near; and far-off beyond the river the swelling prairie was darkened with them to the very horizon.The party was in gayer spirits than ever.We stopped for a nooning near a grove of trees by the river side.
"Tongues and hump ribs to-morrow," said Shaw, looking with contempt at the venison steaks which Delorier placed before us.Our meal finished, we lay down under a temporary awning to sleep.A shout from Henry Chatillon aroused us, and we saw him standing on the cartwheel stretching his tall figure to its full height while he looked toward the prairie beyond the river.Following the direction of his eyes we could clearly distinguish a large dark object, like the black shadow of a cloud, passing rapidly over swell after swell of the distant plain; behind it followed another of similar appearance though smaller.Its motion was more rapid, and it drew closer and closer to the first.It was the hunters of the Arapahoe camp pursuing a band of buffalo.Shaw and I hastily sought and saddled our best horses, and went plunging through sand and water to the farther bank.We were too late.The hunters had already mingled with the herd, and the work of slaughter was nearly over.When we reached the ground we found it strewn far and near with numberless black carcasses, while the remnants of the herd, scattered in all directions, were flying away in terror, and the Indians still rushing in pursuit.Many of the hunters, however, remained upon the spot, and among the rest was our yesterday's acquaintance, the chief of the village.He had alighted by the side of a cow, into which he had shot five or six arrows, and his squaw, who had followed him on horseback to the hunt, was giving him a draught of water out of a canteen, purchased or plundered from some volunteer soldier.
Recrossing the river we overtook the party, who were already on their way.
We had scarcely gone a mile when an imposing spectacle presented itself.From the river bank on the right, away over the swelling prairie on the left, and in front as far as we could see, extended one vast host of buffalo.The outskirts of the herd were within a quarter of a mile.In many parts they were crowded so densely together that in the distance their rounded backs presented a surface of uniform blackness; but elsewhere they were more scattered, and from amid the multitude rose little columns of dust where the buffalo were rolling on the ground.Here and there a great confusion was perceptible, where a battle was going forward among the bulls.We could distinctly see them rushing against each other, and hear the clattering of their horns and their hoarse bellowing.Shaw was riding at some distance in advance, with Henry Chatillon; I saw him stop and draw the leather covering from his gun.Indeed, with such a sight before us, but one thing could be thought of.That morning Ihad used pistols in the chase.I had now a mind to try the virtue of a gun.Delorier had one, and I rode up to the side of the cart;there he sat under the white covering, biting his pipe between his teeth and grinning with excitement.
"Lend me your gun, Delorier," said I.
"Oui, monsieur, oui," said Delorier, tugging with might and main to stop the mule, which seemed obstinately bent on going forward.Then everything but his moccasins disappeared as he crawled into the cart and pulled at the gun to extricate it.
"Is it loaded?" I asked.
"Oui, bien charge; you'll kill, mon bourgeois; yes, you'll kill--c'est un bon fusil."
I handed him my rifle and rode forward to Shaw.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Come on," said I.
"Keep down that hollow," said Henry, "and then they won't see you till you get close to them."The hollow was a kind of ravine very wide and shallow; it ran obliquely toward the buffalo, and we rode at a canter along the bottom until it became too shallow, when we bent close to our horses'
necks, and then finding that it could no longer conceal us, came out of it and rode directly toward the herd.It was within gunshot;before its outskirts, numerous grizzly old bulls were scattered, holding guard over their females.They glared at us in anger and astonishment, walked toward us a few yards, and then turning slowly round retreated at a trot which afterward broke into a clumsy gallop.
