The Best Ballantyne Westerns. R. M. Ballantyne

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СКАЧАТЬ Joe Blunt, it may be so; but I’m thankful I’m not used to this sort o’ thing yet,” exclaimed Varley. “Let’s have another gallop—so ho! come along, Crusoe!” shouted the youth, as he shook his reins, and flew over a long stretch of prairie on which at that moment they entered.

      Joe smiled as he followed his enthusiastic companion, but after a short run he pulled up.

      “Hold on, youngster,” he cried, “ye must larn to do as yer bid, lad; it’s trouble enough to be among wild Injuns and wild buffaloes, as I hope soon to be, without havin’ wild comrades to look after.”

      Dick laughed and reined in his panting horse. “I’ll be as obedient as Crusoe,” he said, “and no one can beat him.”

      “Besides,” continued Joe, “the horses won’t travel far if we begin by runnin’ all the wind out o’ them.”

      “Wah!” exclaimed Henri, as the led horse became restive; “I think we must give to him de pack-hoss for to lead, eh!”

      “Not a bad notion, Henri. We’ll make that the penalty of runnin’ off again; so look out, Master Dick.”

      “I’m down,” replied Dick with a modest air, “obedient as a baby, and won’t run off again—till—the next time. By the way, Joe, how many days’ provisions did ye bring?”

      “Two. That’s ’nough to carry us to the Great Prairie, which is three weeks distant from this; our own good rifles must make up the difference, and keep us when we git there.”

      “And s’pose we neither find deer nor buffalo,” suggested Dick.

      “I s’pose we’ll have to starve.”

      “Dat is cumfer’able to tink upon,” remarked Henri.

      “More comfortable to think o’ than to undergo,” said Dick, “but I s’pose there’s little chance o’ that.”

      “Well, not much,” replied Joe Blunt, patting his horse’s neck; “but d’ye see, lad, ye niver can count for sartin on anythin’. The deer and buffalo ought to be thick in them plains at this time—and when the buffalo are thick they covers the plains till ye can hardly see the end o’ them; but, ye see, sometimes the rascally Red-skins takes it into their heads to burn the prairies, and sometimes ye find the place that should ha’ bin black wi’ buffalo, black as a coal wi’ fire for miles an’ miles on end. At other times the Red-skins go huntin’ in ’ticlar places, and sweeps them clean o’ every hoof that don’t git away. Sometimes, too, the animals seems to take a scunner at a place and keeps out o’ the way. But one way or another men gin’rally manage to scramble through.”

      “Look yonder, Joe,” exclaimed Dick, pointing to the summit of a distant ridge, where a small black object was seen moving against the sky, “that’s a deer, ain’t it?”

      Joe shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed earnestly at the object in question. “Yer right, boy; and by good luck we’ve got the wind of him. Cut in an’ take your chance now. There’s a long strip o’ wood as’ll let ye git close to him.”

      Before the sentence was well finished, Dick and Crusoe were off at full gallop. For a few hundred yards they coursed along the bottom of a hollow; then turning to the right they entered the strip of wood, and in a few minutes gained the edge of it. Here Dick dismounted.

      “You can’t help me here, Crusoe. Stay where you are, pup, and hold my horse.”

      Crusoe seized the end of the line, which was fastened to the horse’s nose, in his mouth, and lay down on a hillock of moss, submissively placing his chin on his fore-paws, and watching his master as he stepped noiselessly through the wood. In a few minutes Dick emerged from among the trees, and, creeping from bush to bush, succeeded in getting to within six hundred yards of the deer, which was a beautiful little antelope. Beyond the bush behind which he now crouched all was bare open ground, without a shrub or hillock large enough to conceal the hunter. There was a slight undulation in the ground, however, which enabled him to advance about fifty yards further, by means of lying down quite flat and working himself forward like a serpent. Further than this he could not move without being seen by the antelope, which browsed on the ridge before him in fancied security. The distance was too great even for a long shot, but Dick knew of a weak point in this little creature’s nature which enabled him to accomplish his purpose—a weak point which it shares in common with animals of a higher order,—namely, curiosity.

      The little antelope of the North American prairies is intensely curious about everything that it does not quite understand, and will not rest satisfied until it has endeavoured to clear up the mystery. Availing himself of this propensity, Dick did what both Indians and hunters are accustomed to do on these occasions,—he put a piece of rag on the end of his ramrod, and, keeping his person concealed and perfectly still, waved this miniature flag in the air. The antelope noticed it at once, and, pricking up its ears, began to advance, timidly and slowly, step by step, to see what remarkable phenomenon it could be. In a few seconds the flag was lowered, a sharp crack followed, and the antelope fell dead upon the plain.

      “Ha, boy! that’s a good supper, anyhow,” cried Joe, as he galloped up and dismounted.

      “Goot! dat is better nor dried meat,” added Henri. “Give him to me; I will put him on my hoss, vich is strongar dan yourn. But ver is your hoss?”

      “He’ll be here in a minute,” replied Dick, putting his fingers to his mouth and giving forth a shrill whistle.

      The instant Crusoe heard the sound he made a savage and apparently uncalled-for dash at the horse’s heels. This wild act, so contrary to the dog’s gentle nature, was a mere piece of acting. He knew that the horse would not advance without getting a fright, so he gave him one in this way which sent him off at a gallop. Crusoe followed close at his heels, so as to bring the line alongside of the nag’s body, and thereby prevent its getting entangled; but despite his best efforts the horse got on one side of a tree and he on the other, so he wisely let go his hold of the line, and waited till more open ground enabled him to catch it again. Then he hung heavily back, gradually checked the horse’s speed, and finally trotted him up to his master’s side.

      “’Tis a cliver cur, good sooth,” exclaimed Joe Blunt in surprise.

      “Ah, Joe! you haven’t seen much of Crusoe yet. He’s as good as a man any day. I’ve done little else but train him for two years gone by, and he can do most anything but shoot—he can’t handle the rifle nohow.”

      “Ha! then, I tink perhaps hims could if he wos try,” said Henri, plunging on to his horse with a laugh, and arranging the carcase of the antelope across the pommel of his saddle.

      Thus they hunted and galloped, and trotted and ambled on through wood and plain all day, until the sun began to descend below the tree-tops of the bluffs on the west—then Joe Blunt looked about him for a place on which to camp, and finally fixed on a spot under the shadow of a noble birch by the margin of a little stream. The carpet of grass on its banks was soft like green velvet, and the rippling waters of the brook were clear as crystal—very different from the muddy Missouri into which it flowed.

      While Dick Varley felled and cut up firewood, Henri unpacked the horses and turned them loose to graze, and Joe kindled the fire and prepared venison steaks and hot tea for supper.

      In excursions of this kind it is customary to “hobble” the horses; that is, to tie their fore-legs together, so that they СКАЧАТЬ