I say, all their little matters having been thus attended to, the young hunters were sitting upon three large stones near the spring, talking over their past adventures and their future prospects. Of course, the buffalo was the principal theme, as that was the object of their expedition. They did not fail to think of their good old father; and they congratulated themselves upon the pleasure he would have in listening to the story of their adventures when they should get back to tell it. Hugot, too, came in for a share of their thoughts; and Francois laughed over the remembrance of the tricks he had from time to time played upon the little corporal.

While thus enjoying themselves, the eyes of all were attracted to some distant objects upon the prairie.

"Ho!" exclaimed Francois, "what a string of wolves!"

Wolves were no unusual sight, and even at that moment several were sitting upon the prairie, not more than two hundred yards from the camp. They were those that had followed the party on their march, having kept along with it for days.

"The animals we see, yonder, are not wolves," joyfully added Basil. "They are better than that, I fancy—they are deer!"

"No, brother," rejoined Lucien, "they are antelopes."

This announcement caused both Basil and Francois to spring to their guns. Basil was particularly anxious to bring down an antelope, for he had never killed one. In fact, he had never seen one, as this animal is not met with near the Mississippi. Strange to say, its favourite range is the arid deserts that lie near the foots of the Rocky Mountains, where there is but little grass, and less water. In some of these it is the only ruminating animal, of any considerable size, to be met with. It is often found so far from water, that some naturalists have asserted it can live without this necessary element. They forget that what to them appears far from water, is to the antelope but a run of a few minutes, or rather I should say, a flight—for its bounding speed resembles more the flight of a bird than the gallop of a four-footed creature.

Antelopes differ but little from deer. The latter want the gall-bladder, which all antelopes have. Another distinction is found in the horns. The deer's horns are composed of a solid bony substance, which differs from true horn. The horns of the antelope are more like those of a goat. These are the principal distinctions. In most other respects deer and antelopes are alike. Naturalists say there is but one species of antelope in North America—the prong-horned (Antilope Americana). When the fauna of Mexico has been carefully examined, I think another will be found.

It is only upon the great prairies of the far west that the prong-horned antelope is met with; and there it is a most shy and timid creature, allowing the hunter only to approach it by cunning and stratagem. A herd is sometimes hunted by the Indians into a "pound," or "surrounded;" but even then their fleetness often enables them to escape; and so laborious an undertaking is it to capture them thus, that the plan is but seldom adopted, where any other game can be obtained. The easiest mode of taking the antelope is when it is found attempting to cross a river—as its slender limbs and small delicate hoofs render it but a poor swimmer. The Indians sometimes destroy whole herds while thus endeavouring to swim across the great streams of the prairies.

Although so shy, the antelope is as inquisitive as mother Eve was; and will often approach its most dangerous enemy to satisfy its instinct of curiosity. Our party were destined to witness a singular illustration of this peculiarity.

Basil and Francois had seized their guns, but did not attempt to move from the spot. That would be of no use, they judged; as there was not even a bunch of grass to shelter them in the direction whence the antelopes were approaching. They sat still, therefore, in hopes that the animals were on their way to the spring, and would come nearer of their own accord. In this conjecture the boys were right. The herd, about twenty in all, came on over the prairie, heading directly for the butte. They walked in single file, following their leader like Indians on a war-path! They were soon so near, that the hunters could distinguish every part of their bodies—their yellow backs—their white sides and bellies—the short erect manes upon their necks—their delicate limbs—their long pointed muzzles. They could even perceive the little black spots behind their cheeks, which emit that disagreeable odour—as with the common goat—and on account of which the hunting-trappers, in their unromantic phraseology, have given the name of "goats" to these most graceful animals.

All these peculiarities our young hunters observed as the herd approached. They had placed themselves behind some willow-bushes, so as not to be seen by the latter. They observed, too, that there was but one of them with horns, and that was the foremost, or leader. All the rest were does or young ones. The antelopes, as they came on, did not appear to regard the horses, that were browsing out upon the plain, though not directly in their way. They took the latter, no doubt, for mustangs—who are not their enemies in any sense—and, therefore, did not fear them.

They arrived at length close to the spring rivulet, where it ran out upon the prairie. They did not approach it to drink. They were evidently advancing towards the spring itself, perhaps with the intention of getting a cooler and more refreshing draught from the fountain-head. The young hunters lay concealed among the willows—each with his gun ready in his hand—determined to fire as soon as the unsuspecting creatures should come within range.

They had got nearly so—within two hundred yards, or less—when all at once the leader was seen to swerve suddenly to the right, and head away from the water! What could this movement mean? On looking in the new direction, several hairy objects were perceived upon the ground. They were odd-looking objects, of a reddish-brown colour, and might have passed for a number of foxes lying asleep. But they were not foxes. They were wolves—prairie-wolves—a sort of animals more cunning even than foxes themselves. They were not asleep neither, though they pretended to be. They were wide awake, as they lay squatted closely upon the grass, with their heads so completely hidden behind their bushy tails, that it would have been impossible to have told what they were, had not the boys known that they were the same wolves they had noticed but the moment before. There were about half-a-dozen of them in all, lying in a line; but so close were they, that their bodies touched one another, and at first sight appeared as one object, or a string of objects connected together. They lay perfectly still and motionless. It was this group that had attracted the leader of the antelope herd, and was drawing him out of his course.

Curious to witness the denouement, our hunters continued to lie quiet in their ambush among the willows.

The antelopes had all turned in the track of their leader, and were following him in the new direction, like soldiers marching in single file. They went slowly, with outstretched necks and eyes protruded, gazing steadfastly on the strange objects before them. When within a hundred yards or so of the wolves, the leader stopped, and sniffed the air. The others imitated him in every movement. The wind was blowing towards the wolves, therefore the antelopes, who possess the keenest scent, could benefit nothing from this. They moved forward again several paces, and again halted, and uttered their snorts as before, and then once more moved on. These manoeuvres lasted for some minutes; and it was evident that the spirits of fear and curiosity were struggling within the breasts of these creatures. At times the former seemed to have the mastery, for they would tremble, and start as if about to break off in flight. Curiosity would again prevail, and a fresh movement forward was the consequence.

In this way they advanced, until the headmost had got within a few paces of the wolves, who lay all the while as still as mice or as cats waiting for mice. Not any part of them was seen to move, except the long hair of their tails that waved slightly in the breeze; but this only excited the curiosity of the antelopes to a greater degree.

The leader of the herd seemed all at once to grow bolder. He was a stout old buck—what had he to fear? Why should he dread such creatures as these, without heads, or teeth, or claws, and evidently incapable of moving themselves? No doubt they were inanimate objects. He would soon decide that question, by simply stepping up and laying his nose upon one of them.

He was instigated, moreover, by a species of pride or vanity. He wanted to show off his courage before his followers, who were mostly does; many of them his wives too—for the old antelopes are shocking polygamists. It would never do to appear timid in the eyes of the fair does; and he was determined to cut a swagger. Under this impulse, he walked boldly up, until his sharp snout touched the hair of one of the wolves.

The latter, who had been all the time peeping from under his tail, waiting for just such an opportunity, now sprang to his feet, and launched himself upon the throat of the antelope. His comrades, uncoiling themselves at the same instant, followed his example; and the next moment the prong-horn was dragged to the ground, and worried by the whole pack!

The frightened herd wheeled in their track and scattered right and left. Some ran in the direction of the hunters; but so swiftly did they bound past, that the shots of the latter, aimed in haste, whistled idly over the prairie. Not one of them appeared to have been touched; and, in a few seconds, not one of them was to be seen. They had all escaped, except their leader, who was by this time dying under the teeth of the wolves.

"Well, we shall have him at all events," said Basil. "Load your guns, brothers! give the wolves time to kill him outright; we can easily run them off."

"Very kind of them," added Francois, "to procure us fresh venison for supper. Indeed we might not have had it but for their cunning. We have done them some service during our journey; it is almost time they should make us a return."

"We had better make haste, then," said Lucien, loading at the same time with his brothers; "the wolves appear to be very busy; they may tear our venison to pieces. See! what a scuffle!"

As Lucien said this, the eyes of all were turned upon the wolves. The latter were leaping about over the body of the antelope, now in a thick clump, now more scattered, but all the while apparently worrying the animal to death. Their jaws were already blood-stained, and their bushy tails swept about and above them in ceaseless motion. The hunters made all haste in reloading, lest, as Lucien had suggested, the wolves might spoil the venison. They were not more than a minute engaged in ramming down the bullets, and fixing the caps on the nipples of their guns. When this was done, all three ran forward together—Marengo in the advance, with outstretched neck and open mouth, eager to do battle with the whole pack.

It was but three hundred yards to the spot where the wolves were; and when our hunters had got within range, all three stopped, levelled their pieces, and fired. The volley took effect. Two were seen kicking and sprawling over the grass, while the others, dropping their prey, scampered off over the prairie. The boys ran up. Marengo leaped upon one of the wounded wolves, while the other was despatched by the butts of their guns. But where was the antelope? There was no such animal to be seen; but, in its stead, half-a-dozen fragments of mangled skin, a horned head and shanks, with a clump of half-picked, ribs and joints! And this was all that was left of the poor prong-horn—all that was left of that beautiful form that, only a few moments before, was bounding over the prairie in the full pride of health, strength, and swiftness!

The boys contemplated his remains with feelings of disappointment and chagrin; for, although there was still plenty of bear-meat, they had anticipated supping upon fresh venison. But neither "haunch" nor "saddle" was left—nothing but torn and useless fragments—so, after sundry sharp ejaculations against the wolves, they left Marengo to make his best of the debris, and, walking back slowly to the camp, seated themselves once more upon the stones.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DECOYING AN ANTELOPE.

They had not rested more than five minutes, when their attention was again attracted to the prairie. Another herd of antelopes! Strange to say, it was; and, like the former, these were making directly for the spring. The hunters knew they were not the same; for this herd was much larger, and there were several males in it, easily distinguishable by their forked horns.

The guns were again loaded, and Marengo was called up—lest he might frighten them off.

These, like the others, marched in order, in single file—led by a large buck. There appeared to be about thirty or more in this herd. They had, no doubt, been pasturing all day on some far plain, and were now on their way to the water, determined to have a good drink before going to rest for the night.

When they had arrived within four or five hundred yards of the spring, they turned slightly to the left. This brought them at once to the rivulet—where they entered, and having drunk, went out again, and commenced browsing along the bank. It was evident they did not intend coming any nearer to the butte, or the grove of willows, where our hunters had concealed themselves. This was a disappointment. All three had once more set their minds upon an antelope supper; and now their chances of getting it seemed every moment growing less—as the animals, instead of coming nearer, were browsing away from them over the prairie. There was no cover by which they might be approached. What, then, could the hunters do, but leave them to go as they had come?

But there was an expedient which suggested itself to the mind of Basil. He had heard of it from old hunters; and the curious conduct of the first herd, so lately shown in regard to the wolves, recalled it to his remembrance. He resolved, therefore, to try this expedient, and secure an antelope if possible.

Cautioning his brothers to remain quiet, he took up one of the red blankets that lay near. He had already cut a long forked sapling, and sharpened it at one end with his knife. He now spread out the blanket, holding it up before him; and, with his rifle in one hand, and the sapling in the other, he passed out of the willows into the open ground—keeping the blanket between him and the animals, so that his body was completely hidden from them. In this way he advanced a few paces, walking in a bent attitude, until he had attracted the attention of the antelopes. He then stuck the sapling firmly in the ground, hung the blanket upon its forks, and knelt down behind it.

An object so odd-looking, both as regarded form and colour, at once excited the curiosity of the herd. They left off feeding, and commenced approaching it—halting at short intervals, and then continuing to advance. They did not move in single file—as the former herd had done—but first one, and then another of the bucks took the lead, each wishing to make a display of his courage. In a few minutes one of the largest was within range; when Basil, who was lying flat along the grass, took sight at the animal's breast and fired.

The buck leaped up at the shot; but, to the great disappointment of the marksman, turned in his tracks, and fled along with the rest of the herd, all of which had bounded off on hearing the crack of the rifle.

Basil beheld this with some surprise. He had taken deliberate aim; and he knew that when he did so, it was seldom that his rifle failed him. He had missed this time, however, as he thought, when he saw the antelope run off apparently unhurt; and, attributing his failure to the hurried manner in which he had loaded his piece, he took up the blanket, and turned with a mortified look towards his companions.

"Look yonder!" cried Francois, who still watched the retreating antelopes; "look at the wolves! Away they go after."

"Ha!" exclaimed Lucien, "you have wounded the buck, brother, else the wolves would never follow. See! they are running upon his track like hounds!"

Lucien was right. The animal was hit, or the wolves would not have embarked in a chase so hopeless as the pursuit of a prong-horn; for, strange to say, these cunning creatures can tell when game has been wounded better than the hunters themselves, and very often pursue and run it down, when the latter believes it to have escaped! It was evident, therefore, that Basil had hit the animal—though not in a deadly part—and the wolves were now following with the hope of hunting it down.

A new idea came into Basil's mind. He thought he might yet be in at the death; and with this idea he ran up to his horse, drew the picket-pin, and leaping upon his bare back, directed him after the chase. He was soon in full gallop over the prairie, keeping the wolves in sight as he went. He could see the antelope, he had fired at, some distance ahead of the wolves, but far behind the rest of the herd, and evidently running heavily and with pain.

It cost the young hunter a five-mile gallop; and, at the end of that, while he was yet half-a-mile in the rear, he saw the wolves come up with the wounded antelope, and drag it down upon the prairie. He made all the haste he could—putting Black Hawk to the top of his speed. In a few minutes he was upon the ground, and scattered the wolves as he galloped among them; but once more he had arrived too late. The body of the antelope was torn to pieces, and more than half devoured; while only half-picked bones and pieces of skin remained to reward him for his long ride!

With an ejaculation, which came very near being a French oath, the disappointed hunter turned his horse, and rode slowly back—wishing the wolves far enough as he went.

When he returned, Francois assisted him in his maledictions; for Francois was tired of the bear-meat, and was vexed at being thus a second time cheated out of something fresh for supper.

Lucien, however, assured them both that the flesh of the antelope, as he had heard, was "no great eating," after all; and this, in some degree, pacified them—so that, with a stew of the jerked bear and parsnips, and some pinon bread, which Lucien had prepared according to the Indian fashion, all three made a supper that was not to be sneered at under any circumstances. When it was eaten, they brought their horses closer to the camp—so as to have them near in case of necessity—and, having wrapped themselves in their blankets, they once more sought the refreshment of sleep.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

SCATTERING THE CIMMARONS.

This night they were not permitted to sleep without interruption. Two or three times their horses bounded about at the end of their trail-ropes, frightened by some prowling animal. It might be wolves, thought they; but the dog Marengo, who did not mind the wolves, showed symptoms of terror, growling savagely it intervals, but all the while keeping in by the camp. The mule Jeanette, too, came close up to the fire—as near as her rope would allow her—and our adventurers could see that she trembled, as if in fear of some well-known enemy! Several times they could distinguish, amidst the howling of the wolves, a strange sound, differing altogether from the voices of the latter. It was a kind of continued snort, uttered in a low and querulous tone; and when uttered, it always caused Jeanette to start, and Marengo to crouch closer to them. Could it be the voice of the cougar? or, more fearful thought still, the snort of the grizzly bear? The latter was not unlikely. They were now in a region where these fierce animals are to be met with; and just in such a spot as one or more of them would choose for their abode.

It was a fearful apprehension, and it would have banished sleep from the eyes of the young hunters had they been certain that grizzly bears were in their neighbourhood. They were not certain, however; still they resolved not to sleep all at one time, but to keep watch in turns. The fire was replenished with fresh wood, so that the blaze would enable them to see for a good distance around; and then two of them lay down to sleep again, while the third watched, sitting up with his piece in readiness for any sudden attack. Each took a two-hours' turn as sentinel until the morning broke, which put an end to their fears, as no enemy appeared to be near them.

They now bestirred themselves, let loose their horses upon the grass, performed their ablutions in the crystal water of the spring, and made ready their breakfast. They did not fail to observe, that their stock of the jerked meat could serve them but a day or two longer; for the wolves at their last camp had carried off a considerable portion of it. They were not without fears as to their future subsistence, as there seemed to be no game in that part of the country except antelopes; and their experience already taught them how little chance they had of capturing these. Should they not fall in with the buffalo, therefore, they might starve with hunger.

These thoughts occupied them while engaged in preparing and eating breakfast; and they resolved to go on half rations of the bear-meat, and economise the little of it that was left.

After breakfast they held a council as to their future route. Should they go north, south, east, or west, from the butte? They were of different minds. At length, however, they all agreed that before coming to any determination, it would be best to climb the butte, and from its top get a view of the surrounding country, which might enable them to resolve upon the best route to be taken. Perhaps they might see the buffaloes from its summit—as it, no doubt, commanded an extensive view of the prairie on all sides.

Shouldering their guns, and leaving their blankets and utensils by the spring, they started on foot to find a place where they might ascend the eminence. They went round by the western end, for their camp was near its north-east side. As they proceeded, they began to fear that there was no place where the hill could be climbed. On all sides it appeared to be a precipice rising perpendicularly from the plain! Here and there loose rocks lay at its base, as if they had fallen from above; and trees grew out of its face, clinging by their roots in the seams of the cliff. Scattered pines standing upon its topmost edge, stretched their branches out over the plain; and the aloe plants, the yuccas, and cacti, added to the wild picturesqueness of its appearance.

On reaching the westernmost point of the butte, a new object presented itself to the eyes of our adventurers. It resembled a range of cliffs, or low mountains, at a great distance off to the west, and running from north to south as far as they could see. It was, in fact, a range of cliffs—similar to those of the butte. It was the eastern escarpment of the famous "Llano Estacado," or "Staked Plain." The boys had often heard hunters speak of this tableland, and they recognised its features at a glance. The butte around which they were travelling was nothing more than an outlying "mesa" of this singular formation of the prairies.

After gazing, for a moment, on the far-off bluffs, our young hunters continued on their course, keeping around the southern side of the eminence. Still the cliffs rose perpendicularly, and offered no slope by which they might be scaled. They appeared even higher on this side; and in some places hung over, with dark jutting rocks, and large trees growing horizontally outward.

At one place the boys had halted, and were gazing upward, when several strange-looking creatures suddenly appeared upon the edge of the precipice above them. They were animals, but such as they had never seen before. Each of them was as large as a common deer, and nearly of the same colour—reddish upon the back and flanks, though the throat, hips, and under parts, were of a whitish hue. They were nearly deer-shaped, though of somewhat stouter proportions, and to these they bore a strong resemblance in many other respects. In the form of their heads and general expression of their faces they resembled sheep more than any other animals. But the most singular part of them was the horns; and these enabled our hunters at a glance to tell what sort of animals they were. They were the "cimmarons," or wild sheep of the Rocky Mountains.

In regard to their horns, they differed very much from one another; and at first sight there appeared to be two distinct species of animals. Some of them had short horns—not over six inches in length—rising from the crown of the head and bending slightly backward, without widening much between the tips. These were the females of the flock. The males, however, presented an appearance altogether different, owing to the immense size of their horns. These grew out immediately over their eyes, first curving backwards, and then forwards again, until their points nearly touched the jaws of the animals on both sides. The horns of some were more than a yard in length, and quite half as much in circumference at the base, where they were deeply indented with ring-like grooves and protuberances, such as are seen in those of the common ram. These huge appendages gave the creatures a singular and imposing appearance, as they stood out upon the brink of the precipice outlined against the blue sky. There were about a dozen of them in all—both males and females,—but the males could be more plainly seen, as they were farther forward upon the cliff, looking down and snuffing the tainted air.

As soon as our young hunters had recovered from their first surprise at this novel sight, all three levelled their pieces with the intention of firing. But the cimmarons seemed to have guessed their design; for, as the guns were pointed upward, they wheeled, and were out of sight in a twinkling.

The boys remained on the spot for more than a quarter of an hour, in hopes that the animals would again make their appearance on the precipice above. The latter, however, did not return. They had satisfied their curiosity; or else, wiser than the antelopes, they were not going to let it lure them into danger. Our hunters, therefore, were at length constrained to leave the spot, and continue their search for a path that might lead upward.

They were now more anxious than ever to reach the summit of the butte. There was a flock of wild sheep upon it, and from these they hoped to replenish their larder. As they proceeded, every crevice or ravine that seemed to lead up the cliff was carefully examined; but upon all its southern front no practicable path could be discovered.

"There must be some way up," said Francois, "else how could the sheep have got there?"

"Maybe," suggested Basil, "they were bred up there, and have never been down to the plain."

"No," said Lucien, "that is not likely, brother. There can be no water, I think, upon the table above; and these animals require drink as well as others. They must descend occasionally to the spring for it."

"Then there is a path," said Francois.

"No doubt, for them there is," replied Lucien; "but for all that, we may not be able to follow it. These animals, although hoofed as sheep are, can scale a cliff like cats, or spring down one like squirrels. It is in that way they are enabled to escape from wolves, panthers, and other beasts who would prey upon them."

"I have heard," said Basil, "that they can fling themselves down for a hundred feet or more upon their horns, without receiving the slightest injury. Is that true, Luce?"

"Both the Indians and trappers affirm it, and intelligent travellers have believed them. Whether it be true or not is a question among naturalists, that remains to be cleared up. It is certain that they can leap downward for a very great distance—that they can alight on the narrowest shelves of a precipice without a hoof slipping—that they can spring across fearful chasms, and run swiftly along ledges where a dog or a wolf would not dare to venture. Indeed, they seem to delight in such situations—as if it gave them a pleasure to court danger, just as a school-boy likes to luxuriate in perilous feats of agility."

"Are these the same that are called 'big-horns' by the hunters?" demanded Francois.

"The same," answered Lucien; "'cimmaron' is the name given by the Spaniards—the earliest explorers of these regions. Naturalists have named them 'argali,' from their resemblance to the argali (Ovis ammon), or wild sheep of Europe. They are not the same species, however. In my opinion, they are not wild sheep at all, but true antelopes, as much so as the chamois of the Alps, or the prong-horns of the prairie. Indeed, to say that our common sheep sprung from the argali seems a very absurd theory. There is but little resemblance between the two animals, except about the head and horns of the rams; and, I think, no circumstances could have caused such a difference as there exists between them in other respects. I should say, then, that the big-horns are not sheep, but antelopes—mountain antelopes, you might call them, to distinguish them from their prong-horned cousins, who prefer to range over the plains, while they, on the contrary, spend most of their time among the steep and craggy cliffs."

An exclamation from Basil, who was walking a few paces in advance, at this moment summoned the attention of his brothers, and put an end to this conversation. They had arrived at the eastern end of the butte, which on that side presented a different appearance from either of the others. There was a deep ravine that indented the cliff, and along its channel a sloping path appeared to lead up to the top. This channel was filled with large loose rocks, surrounded by an underwood of cacti and acacia thorns; and it seemed as though the slope was sufficiently easy to be ascended by a person on foot. Near the bottom of the ravine were very large boulders; and a spring, more copious than the one where the hunters had encamped, ran out from among them, and flowed south-eastward through a fringe of grass and willows.

As the boys came up to the spring branch, some tracks in the soft mud drew their attention. They were of an oblong shape, and larger than the footprints of a man; but the deep holes made by five great claws at the end of each told what animal had made them. They were the tracks of the grizzly bear. There could be no doubt of this, for there were the prints of the long plantigrade feet, the tubercules of the toes, and the holes where the curving claws had sunk several inches into the mud. No other animal could have made such marks—not even the black or brown bear, whose claws are short in comparison with those of the grizzly monster of the mountains.

For some moments our hunters hesitated under feelings of alarm; but, as the animal that had made the tracks was not in sight, their fears gradually subsided to some extent, and they began to consider what was best to be done. Should they go up the ravine, and endeavour to reach the summit? This would only be carrying out their original intention, and they would have started upward without hesitation, had they not discovered the bear-tracks. Seeing these, however, had put a new aspect on the matter. If there were grizzly bears in the neighbourhood—and this seemed very certain—the ravine was the most likely place to find them in. Its thick underwood, with the numerous crevices that, like caverns, appeared among the rocks on each side, were just such places as grizzly bears delight in. Their lair might be in this very ravine, and it would be a dangerous business to stumble upon it in passing up. But our young hunters were full of courage. They had a keen desire to ascend the butte—partly out of curiosity, and partly to get a shot at the big-horns—and this desire triumphed over prudence. They resolved to carry through what they had begun; and at length commenced to ascend, Basil taking the lead.

It was severe climbing withal; and now and again they had to pull themselves up by laying hold of branches and roots. They noticed that there was a trail, which they followed upward. No doubt the big-horns, or some other animals, had made this trail as they passed up and down—though it was only distinguishable by a slight discoloration upon the rocks, and by the earth being packed firmer in some places, as if by hoofs or feet. A little better than half-way up the boys observed a fissure, like the entrance of a cave, on one side of the ravine and close to the trail. Around this the earthy colour of the rocks, the absence of herbage, and the paddled appearance of the soil, suggested the idea that some animal made its den there. They passed it in silence, climbing as quickly as the nature of the ground would allow them, and looking backwards with fear. In a few minutes they had reached the escarpment of the butte; and, raising themselves by their hands they peeped over, and at once obtained a view of its whole table-like summit.

It was, as they had conjectured, perfectly level upon the top, with an area-surface of about twenty or thirty acres. Pine-trees grew thinly over it, with here and there a bush or two of acacia, the species known as "mezquite." There was plenty of grass among the trees, and large tussocks of "bunch grass" mingling with cactus and aloe plants, formed a species of undergrowth. This, however, was only at two or three spots, as for the most part the surface was open, and could be seen at a single view. The hunters had hardly elevated their heads above the cliff, when the herd of big-horns became visible. They were at the moment near the western extremity of the table; and, to the astonishment of all, they appeared leaping over the ground as if they were mad! They were not attempting to escape; for they had not as yet noticed the boys, who, on getting above, had crept cautiously behind some bushes. On the contrary, the animals were skipping about in different directions at the same time, and bounding high into the air. After a moment it was observed that only those with the large horns were taking part in this exercise, while the others were browsing quietly near them. It was soon evident what the males were about. They were engaged in a fierce conflict; and their angry snorts, with the loud cracking of their horns, told that they were in terrible earnest. Now they backed from each other—as rams usually do—and anon they would dash forward until their heads met with a crash, as though the skulls of both had been splintered by the concussion. Sometimes two fought by themselves, and at other times three or four of them would come together, as if it mattered little which was the antagonist. They all appeared to be equally the enemies of one another. Strange to say, the ewes did not seem to trouble themselves about the matter. Most of these were feeding quietly, or if at times they looked up towards their belligerent lords, it was with an air of nonchalance and indifference, as if they cared nothing at all about the result.

Our hunters felt confident that they had the whole flock in a trap. They had only to guard the pass by which they themselves had come up, and then hunt the big-horns over the table at their leisure. It was agreed, therefore, that Lucien with Marengo should remain there, while Basil and Francois stole up for a first shot. They lost no time in putting this plan into execution. They perceived that the fight completely occupied the attention of the animals; and, taking advantage of this, Basil and Francois crept over the ground—sheltering themselves, as well as they could—until they had got within easy range. Both arrived together behind a little clump of acacias; and, by a signal from Basil, they raised themselves together to take aim. As they did so, they saw one of the rams, who had been backing himself for a rush, suddenly disappear over the edge of the cliff! They thought he had tumbled over—as his legs were the last of him they had seen—but they had no time to speculate upon the matter, as both pulled trigger at the moment. Two of the animals were laid prostrate by their fire; while the rest bounded off, ran out to a point of the table, and there halted.

Basil and Francois leaped to their feet, shouting for Lucien to be on the alert: but, to their great surprise, the cimmarons, as if newly terrified by their shouts, and finding their retreat cut off, sprang over the precipice, disappearing instantly from view!

"They must be all killed," thought Basil and Francois; and, calling Lucien to come up, all three ran to the point where the animals had leaped off, and looked over. They could see the plain below, but no big-horns! What had become of them?

"Yonder!" cried Francois; "yonder they go!" and he pointed far out upon the prairie where several reddish-looking objects were seen flying like the wind toward the far bluffs of the Llano Estacado. Lucien now directed the eyes of his brothers to several ledge-like steps upon the cliff, which, no doubt, the animals had made use of in their descent, and had thus been enabled to reach the bottom in safety.

As soon as the cimmarons were out of sight, the hunters turned towards the two that had been shot—both of which, a male and female, lay stretched upon the grass and quite dead. The boys were about to commence skinning them, when Basil and Francois remembered what they had observed just before firing; and, curious to convince themselves whether the big-horn had actually tumbled over the cliff by accident or leaped off by design, they walked forward to the spot. On looking over the edge, they saw a tree shaking violently below them, and among its branches a large red body was visible. It was the cimmaron; and, to their astonishment, they perceived that he was hanging suspended by one of his huge horns, while his body and legs, kicking and struggling, hung out at their full length in the empty air! It was evident he had tumbled from the top contrary to his intentions; and had been caught accidentally in the branches of the pine. It was a painful sight to witness the efforts of the poor creature; but there was no means of getting him off the tree, as he was far beyond their reach; and Basil, having loaded his rifle, in order to put an end to his agony, sent a bullet through his heart. The shot did not alter his position—as the horn still held on to the branch—but the animal ceased struggling and hung down dead,—to remain there, doubtless, until some hungry vulture should espy him from afar, and, swooping down, strip the flesh from his swinging carcass!



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

BESIEGED BY GRIZZLY BEARS.

The young hunters now laid aside their guns, drew their knives, and skinned the cimmarons with the dexterity of practised "killers." They then cut up the meat, so as the more conveniently to transport it to their camp. The skins they did not care for; so these were suffered to remain on the ground where they had been thrown.

As soon as the "mutton" was quartered, each shouldered a piece, and commenced carrying it toward the ravine, intending to return and bring the rest at another load or two. On reaching the point where the path came up on the table, they saw that it would be difficult for them to descend with their burdens—as it is more easy to climb a precipice than to get down one. Another plan suggested itself; and that was, to pitch the pieces down before them to the bottom of the ravine. This they could accomplish without difficulty. It would do the meat no harm—as they intended to cut it up for jerking—and they could easily wash out the dirt and gravel at the spring, when they had got it all there.

This plan was at once adopted; and, taking up piece by piece they flung them down the chasm, and could see them lying among the rocks at the bottom. They then went back to the carcasses, took up fresh loads, and returned with them to the ravine.

As they stepped forward to fling them over, a sight met their eyes that caused each one to drop his load upon the spot. Down near the bottom of the ravine, and moving among the pieces of meat, was a hideous object—a huge and ill-shaped animal. Its great size—its long shaggy hair and greyish brown colour—but, above all, its fierce aspect, left no doubt upon the minds of our hunters as to what sort of animal it was. There was no mistaking the dreaded monster of the mountains—the grizzly bear!

It was nearly twice the size of the common bear; and it differed from the latter in other respects. Its ears were more erect; its eyes, of burnt sienna colour, looked more fiery and glaring; its head and muzzle were broader—giving it an appearance of greater boldness and strength— and its long crescent-shaped claws, protruding from the shaggy covering of its feet, could be distinctly seen from the top of the cliff. With these it had just torn one of the pieces of mutton into smaller fragments, and was eagerly devouring it as the boys arrived on the height above. It was so busily engaged that it did not notice them.

All three, as we have said, dropped their loads on the ground; and, after pausing for a moment to look down, ran precipitately back for their guns. These they got hold of, and examined with care, looking to their caps and nipples. They had already loaded them, before commencing to skin the cimmarons. They now stole cautiously back to the ravine, and again looked over its edge. To their consternation, not one bear, but three of these horrid animals were busy with the meat below! One was smaller than either of the others, and differed from them in colour. It was quite black; and might have passed for a full-grown bear of the black species. It was not that, however; but a large cub, of which the other two were the parents.

All three were tearing away at the fresh meat, evidently in high glee, and not caring to consider whence such a windfall had come, so long as they were getting the benefit of it. They occasionally uttered loud snorts—as if to express their gratification—and at intervals the old male one growled as the cub interfered with his eating. The female, on the contrary, as she tore the mutton into fragments, kept placing the daintiest morsels before the snout of her black progeny; and with playful strokes of her paw admonished it from time to time to fall to and eat. Sometimes they ate standing erect, and holding the meat between their fore-paws. At others they would place the piece upon a rock, and devour it at their leisure. Their jaws and claws were red with the blood—that still remained in the hastily-butchered meat—and this added to the ferocious aspect of the trio.

Our adventurers gazed down upon the scene with feelings of the utmost terror; and no wonder. They had heard such stories of the grizzly bear, as would have inspired stouter hearts than theirs with feelings of the kind. They knew that no hunter, when dismounted, ever dares to attack this animal; and, even when on horseback and armed with his trusty rifle, he will only venture to do so when the ground is open, and he is sure of escape through the fleetness of his horse. They knew that hunters, even when in large parties, are often chased by a single bear of this kind, after each of them had given him a shot; for as many as twenty bullets have been fired into the body of a grizzly bear without bringing him to the ground. All these facts came into the minds of our boy hunters at the moment. No wonder they felt fear.

They were in a most perilous situation. The bears occupied the ravine. There was no other path by which they could get down to their horses. They had gone almost quite round the butte in their morning search. They had seen that it was precipitous on all sides, and they had since observed that the space between the ravine and their point of starting was the same. How, then, were they to get back to camp? There was no way but one—down the ravine—and the bears would be certain to attack them should they attempt to descend that way.

The boys gazed at each other with terrified looks, repeating what they had to say in muttered whispers. All three well understood the danger of their position. Would the bears, after they had satisfied their hunger, go off and leave the ravine? No. The cave, which had been noticed, was their lair, beyond a doubt. Even if they should enter it, what certainty was there that they would not rush out upon the boys as they were clambering down? If so, they would easily overcome the latter among the loose rocks and bushes. One or all would fall a sacrifice should they attempt to descend. Might the bears not go out upon the plain? Perhaps they might go out as far as the spring, either for water, or led by some other want. But even so, they would then be able to see the hunters coming down, and could easily overtake them before the latter could reach the camp, or their horses. The horses had been set loose, and were now a good distance off upon the prairie. There was but little consolation in this thought, and less in that which occurred to them next; which was that the fierce brutes might not be satisfied at what they had eaten, but might take it into their heads to clamber up to the summit in search of more! This apprehension was the most fearful of all—as the boys knew that there was no place upon the table where they could long conceal themselves; and to get down, if once discovered and pursued, would be utterly impossible.

Filled with these appalling thoughts, they crouched upon their hands and knees, now peering cautiously through the leaves of the aloes, and now whispering to each other the various plans of escape that suggested themselves. But all these plans ended in the faint hope that the bears might make a temporary absence from the ravine, and give them a chance to pass down. They could think of no other mode of extricating themselves from their dilemma.

At times the idea occurred to Basil, of taking good aim, and firing at one or other of the huge animals. Francois applauded this idea, while Lucien as strongly opposed it. The latter argued that it would only irritate the bears, and bring them up at once—that there was no chance of killing any of them by a single bullet, unless it passed through the brain or the heart; and this, aiming, as they must do, over a cliff, was a very problematical affair. Even should one fall, the others would avenge the death of their comrade. A volley would not be likely to kill them all.

Lucien's arguments prevailed; and the less prudent brothers gave up their idea of firing, and remained, silently gazing down as before.

They lay for nearly half-an-hour watching and waiting. The bears finished their meal, having devoured every bit of the meat. Were they satisfied? No. A shoulder of mutton is but a morsel to the ravenous appetite of a grizzly bear; and it seemed only to have set theirs upon edge. They guessed whence their lunch had come—from above—and there was the place to go in search of their dinner. They looked up. The boys suddenly drew back their heads, hiding them behind the leaves. It was too late. The bears had seen them, and the next moment were galloping upward!

The first thought of our hunters was to fly, and with this intention they all sprang to their feet. But Basil, with a feeling of rage, was determined to try whether a rifle-bullet might not serve as a check to the advancing enemy. He levelled down the pass, and fired. His brothers, seeing him do so, followed his example—Francois emptying both barrels that had been loaded with buck-shot. One of the bears—the cub it was—tumbled back down the ravine but after the volley the largest of all was seen clambering up, growling fiercely as he came. The hunters, not having time to reload, ran off over the table—scarcely knowing what direction to take.

When they had got half-way across it, all three stopped and looked back. The foremost bear was just rising above the cliff; and the next moment his long body was stretched out in pursuit of them. They had been in hopes that the pieces of meat might have attracted his attention, and drawn him aside. This did not happen. The meat was not directly upon his path; moreover, the animal appeared infuriated as he approached. He had been stung by the shot, and was bent upon revenge.

It was a terrible moment. The angry monster was within three hundred yards of them. In a few seconds he would be upon them, and one or the other must become his victim.

In crises like these, bold minds are the most apt to conceive expedients. So it was with that of Basil. On other occasions he was rash and often imprudent, but in moments of extreme danger he became cool and collected, even more so than his philosophic brother, Lucien. A thought, which hitherto had strangely been overlooked both by himself and his brothers, now in the hour of peril came into his mind. He remembered that the grizzly bear is not a tree-climber! With the thought he shouted out,—

"To the trees! to the trees!" at the same time embracing one of the pines, and sprawling upwards as fast as he could climb.

Both Lucien and Francois imitated his example, each taking to the tree that grew nearest him—for the bear was not twenty paces behind them, and there was no time to pick and choose. Before the latter could come up, however, all three were perched in the pines, as high among the branches as they could safely get.

The bear galloped forward, and seeing where they had gone, ran from tree to tree, growling with rage and disappointment. He rose upon his hind-legs, and endeavoured to reach the lowermost branches with his fore-paws—as if he intended to draw himself up, or drag the tree down. One by one he assailed the pines, shaking them with violence, and with his claws making the bark fly off in large pieces. One in particular— that upon which Francois had taken refuge—being a small tree, vibrated so rapidly under the powerful efforts of the brute, that its occupant was in danger of being dashed to the ground. But the fear of such an event caused Francois to put forth all his energies; and, encouraged by the shouts of Basil and Lucien, he held on manfully. The bear, after a while, seeing he could not shake him off, gave it up; and again tried his strength upon the trees that had been climbed by the others. This ended as before; except that the bear completely skinned off the bark as high as he could reach, and made such an impression upon the trunks with his teeth and claws, that the boys feared he might take it into his head to cut down the trees altogether. He could easily have accomplished this; but, fortunately for them, the grizzly bear is not gifted with reasoning faculties, else their fate would have been a terrible one indeed.

When he found, at length, that he could neither drag down the trees, nor shake the boys out of them, he gave up the attempt; and for a time walked from one to the other, backwards and forwards, like a sentry, now and then uttering a loud "sniff," and at intervals growling fiercely. At length he stretched his huge body along the ground, and appeared to sleep!

What had become of the female and the cub? Had both fallen by the shots fired at them? Neither had as yet made their appearance on the summit— for the boys from their perch could see every inch of its surface. They were still in the ravine then; but whether dead or alive could not be determined. The dog Marengo, by a wise instinct, had not attacked the bear, but had escaped to one edge of the table, where he was crouching and cowering with fear, taking care not to put himself in the way of being seen.

The young hunters were now in a worse situation than ever. They dared not venture out of the trees without the certainty of dropping into the jaws of the monster; and they were suffering pain as they sat straddled across the slender branches of the pines. Besides, they were thirsty— thirsty to an extreme degree. They had taken no water with them in the morning. The sun was fiercely hot; and, even while engaged in skinning the big-horns, they had been complaining for want of water. They now began to suffer from thirst, more than from any other cause. Should the bear remain for any length of time, what would become of them? They must either drop down to be at once torn to pieces, or perish slowly where they sat. These were the alternatives!

They could make no change in their situation. Their guns were upon the ground, where in their haste they had flung them. They dared not descend to recover them. They were utterly helpless; and could do nothing but await the result. As if to tantalise them, they now beheld for the first time the objects of their far expedition—the animals they had so long desired to come up with—the buffaloes! Away to the south-west a multitude of black bodies were seen upon the plain, like crowds of men in dark clothing. They were moving to and fro, now uniting in masses, and now separating like the squadrons of an irregular army. Miles of the green prairie were mottled by their huge dark forms, or hidden altogether from the view. They seemed to be moving northward, along the level meadows that stretched between the butte and the Llano Estacado. This proved to be the case; for in a few minutes the headmost had pushed forward on a line with the butte; and our young hunters could distinguish the shaggy, lion-shaped bodies of the bulls that formed the vanguard of the "gang." Under other circumstances this would have been a glad sight indeed. As it was, it only served to render their situation more intolerable. The buffaloes were passing to the north. Even should they themselves escape, after a time they might not be able to overtake them; and although they could distinguish none that were white—for the main body was a great way off—it was highly probable that in so large a herd one or more of these would be found.

As all three continued to watch the black multitudes rolling past, an exclamation, or rather a shout of joy, was uttered by Basil. He was upon a tree that stood apart from the others and gave him an unobstructed view of the plains to the west.

"Voila! yonder! yonder!" he cried: "see! in the middle of the drove! See, brothers!—it shines in the sun—white—white! Huzza!—huzza!"

Basil's speech was scarcely coherent. Neither was that of his brothers, when they beheld the object to which he had alluded. It could be nothing else, all believed, than the object of their long wild hunt—a white buffalo. All three huzzaed loudly, and for a moment forgot the peril of their position. Their shouts started the grizzly monster below, who, lazily rising to his feet, once more commenced growling and shuffling about among the trees. The sight of him soon restored the hunters to a sense of the fearful realities that surrounded them.



CHAPTER THIRTY.

AN ESCAPE FROM THE BEAR-SCRAPE.

For hours they sat upon their painful perch—now glancing downward at the fierce gaoler that watched unweariedly below—now gazing out upon the plain, where the dusky droves still continued to move. For hours the buffaloes kept passing northward, until the setting sun glanced redly from their brown bodies. Once or twice again the boys thought they saw white ones in the herd; but their eyes had grown dim with watching, and the pain which they endured now rendered them indifferent to aught else than their own misery. Despair had conquered hope—for they were choking with thirst—and death stared them in the face.

After a long while the bear again lay down, and placing his fore-paws over his head appeared once more to sleep. Basil could stand it no longer; and now resolved to make an effort to escape. At all events he would try to bring about some change in their painful situation.

Cautioning his brothers to remain silent, he slipped down from his tree; and, with the stealthy tread of a cat, crept over the ground in search of his rifle. He soon laid hands upon it; and then, returning to his tree, climbed up again. The shaking of the branches as he did so, awoke the bear; who sprang to his feet, and rushed towards the tree. Had he been a moment sooner, it would have been ill for Basil, for the snout of the animal, as he reared upward against the trunk, almost touched the boy's feet. It was an "inch of a miss as good as a mile," and Basil was saved. The next moment he was seated among the branches, and leisurely loading his rifle!

Strange to say, the bear appeared to comprehend this movement. As if aware of his danger, he kept out farther from the trees; and, while rambling about, now, for the first time, stumbled upon what remained of the carcasses of the big-horns. These he proceeded to tear up, and devour. He was still within range of the rifle, though not for a sure shot; but Basil, who knew he could load again, was determined either to force him farther off, or bring him within reach; and with this intent he took aim and fired. The bullet hit the bear in the fore-shoulder, for he was seen to turn his head and tear at the spot with his teeth, all the while growling with rage and pain. Strange to say, he still continued to devour the meat!

Again Basil loaded and fired as before. This time the animal received the shot about the head, which caused him to make fresh demonstrations of his fury. He dropped his prey, and galloped back among the trees, first clutching one and then another, making repeated efforts to drag them down. He at length came to Basil's tree, and seized it in his fierce hug. This was exactly what the young hunter wanted. He had hastily reloaded, and as the bear stood upright under the branches, he leant downwards until the muzzle of his rifle almost touched the snout of the animal. Then came the report—a stream of fire was poured into the very face of the bear—and a crashing sound followed. As the smoke cleared off, the huge body was seen kicking and sprawling upon the ground. The leaden messenger had done its work. It had passed through the brain; and in a few seconds the shaggy monster lay motionless upon the earth.

The boys now dropped from the trees. Francois and Lucien ran for their guns, and all three having loaded with care, proceeded toward the ravine. They stayed not to examine the enemy that had been slain. Thirst urged them on, and they thought only of getting to the spring below. They were full of hope that the she-bear and her cub had been killed by their first fire, and that they would now find the road clear.

What was their disappointment when, on looking down the ravine, they saw the cub lying doubled up, near the bottom, and the old one standing sentry over it! The cub was evidently dead. So much the worse—as the mother would not now leave it for a moment, and both were directly in the path. The latter was moving backward and forward upon a ledge of rock, at intervals approaching the cub and tossing its body with her snout, and then uttering a low querulous moan, that was painful to listen to!

The hunters saw at once that their situation was as bad as ever. Their retreat was cut off by the infuriated mother, who might remain where she was for an indefinite time. Should they fire down upon her, and take the chances of once more escaping to the trees? This was an alternative which they had reason to dread. Their painful experience decided them against it. What then? Remain until after night-fall, and try to steal past in the darkness? Perhaps the bear might retire to her cave, and give them an opportunity to do so. But in the meantime they were dying of thirst!

At this moment a happy idea suggested itself to Lucien. He saw the cactus plants growing near. There were large globes of the echinocactus. He remembered having read that these often assuaged the thirst of the desert traveller. The plants were soon reached, and their succulent masses laid open by the knives of the hunters. The cool watery fibres were applied to their lips; and in a few minutes their thirst was alleviated and almost forgotten. Still the bear occupied the ravine, and so long as she remained there, there was no possible chance of their getting back to camp. They saw, however, that they could do nothing better than wait for the night, in hopes that the darkness might bring about something in their favour.

Night soon came on, but not darkness. It chanced to be a clear moonlight; and they saw at once that it would then be quite as perilous to go down the ravine as it had been during the day. They could hear the snorting and growling of the monster below; and they knew she still held the pass. Should they attempt to descend, she would discover them long before they could get down. She could hear them clambering among the rocks and bushes. The advantage would be hers, as she could attack them unawares. Besides, even had the coast been quite clear, they would have found it difficult to get down the steep descent in the night. They dared not attempt it. After much deliberation, therefore, they resolved to wait for the morning.

Throughout all the live-long night they kept awake. They heard their steeds neighing below—wondering, poor brutes, what had become of their masters. The hinny of Jeanette echoed wildly from the cliffs, and was answered by the bark and howl of the prairie-wolf. These sounds, together with the more ominous snort of the bear, kept sleep from the eyes of our adventurers. They dared not go to sleep, unless by perching themselves in the trees; as they knew not the moment the bear might come up to the summit. Sleeping upon the slender branch of a mountain pine is more painful than pleasant; and all three preferred keeping awake.

Morning broke at length. The first light showed that the shaggy sentinel was still at her post. She sat upon the same spot, as though she was guarding her dead offspring. The young hunters, but particularly Basil, began to grow impatient. They were hungry, though there were still left some fragments of the wild mutton, which they could have eaten. But they were thirsty as well. The juice of the cactus allayed, but did not quench, their thirst. They longed for a draught of cool water from the spring below. The buffaloes, too, were gone northward, "on the run." They might never overtake them. They might never again have such an opportunity of procuring that for which they had endured all this suffering. These thoughts influenced all three, but Basil more than any. Some attempt must be made to reach the plain, and escape from their elevated prison.

Basil proposed provoking the bear, by firing upon her. She would pursue them, he urged, as the other had done, and meet with a similar fate. This might have succeeded, but it would have been a dangerous experiment. Lucien suggested that two of them should go round the edge of the precipice and examine it more carefully, while the third kept a watch upon the bear. Perhaps there might yet be found some other path that led to the plain. This offered but a faint hope; still it would take only a few minutes to make the examination, and Lucien's proposal was therefore agreed to.

"If we only had a rope," suggested Francois, "we could let ourselves over the cliff, and then the old grizzly might stay there for ever, if she pleased."

"Ha!" shouted Basil, as if some plan had suddenly come into his mind, "what dunces we have been! Why did we not think of it before? Come, brothers! I'll get you down in the twinkling of an eye—come!"

As Basil uttered these words, he strode off towards the spot where they had butchered the big-horns. On reaching it he drew his hunting-knife; and having spread out one of the skins, proceeded to cut it into strips. Lucien, at once guessing his design, assisted him in the operation; while Francois was sent back to the head of the ravine, in order to watch the bear.

In a few minutes the brothers had cut up both of the hides, until the ground was covered with long strips. These they knotted firmly together—placing cross-pieces of pine branches in the knots—until they had made a raw-hide rope over one hundred feet in length!

They now proceeded to a convenient point of the cliff—where a pine-tree grew near its edge—and tied one end of the new-made rope around the trunk. To the other end they fastened Marengo, the three guns—for Francois had arrived upon the ground—and, along with these, a large stone—in order to test the strength of the rope before any of themselves should venture upon it. All these things were now lowered down until they could see them resting upon the prairie below.

The rope was next made taut above; and the weight of the stone—which was too heavy for Marengo to move—kept all fast below. Francois slipped down the rope first. There was but little difficulty in his doing so; as the pieces of wood formed rests, or steps, that prevented him from sliding too fast. Lucien followed next, and then Basil; so that in less than half an hour, from the time that this plan of escape had occurred to them, all three found themselves safe upon the level of the prairie!

They did not waste time when they had got there. Marengo was released, and the whole party hurried in the direction of their horses. These were soon reached, caught, and saddled; and our hunters, now that they could mount at any moment they pleased, felt themselves safe.

They resolved, however, to remain no longer by the butte, but to ride away from it, as soon as they had eaten a morsel. A small fire was, therefore, kindled; and a piece of bear-meat, hastily broiled, satisfied their hunger. Basil would have gone back on horseback, to attack the old she-bear in the ravine; but the more prudent Lucien dissuaded him; and, holding their horses in readiness, they packed their camp equipments upon Jeanette, and once more took the route.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE VULTURES AND THEIR KING.

They turned their horses' heads westward. It was their intention to travel in that direction, until they should strike the tracks of the buffaloes, when they would turn to the north, follow upon the trail of these animals, and endeavour to come up with the great herd. This was clearly the best course they could adopt.

As they were riding past the western extremity of the butte, a flock of large birds drew their attention. They were vultures. The boys now remembered the cimmaron that had fallen over the cliff; and, looking up, they beheld its body still swinging from the tree. It was that which had attracted the vultures.

There were many of them—over an hundred in the flock. Some were sailing about in the air. Others had alighted on the top of the cliff, or perched themselves on the branches of the pines, while a few hovered around the carcass, occasionally settling a moment upon its stiffened limbs, and endeavouring to penetrate the hide with their beaks. They had already torn out the eyes of the animal, but the tough skin of the body still resisted their attacks.

These birds were larger than ravens, and of a dark colour—nearly black. At a distance they appeared purely black; but, upon a nearer view, an admixture of brownish feathers could be perceived, and this was apparent in some of them more than in others. To a careless observer they would all have passed for birds of the same species, although that was not the case. There were two distinct species of them, the "turkey-buzzard" (Cathartes aura), and the black vulture (Cathartes atratus). Our boys knew them well enough—for both kinds are common in Louisiana, and throughout all the southern part of the United States.

I have said that a careless observer would mistake the one species for the other. They are nearly of the same size and colour, though the carrion-crow is of a deeper black than the buzzard; but there are other points of difference that would strike the eye of a naturalist at once. The buzzard is a much more handsomely formed bird, and is more graceful, both upon the ground and while sailing through the air. His wings are longer and more elegantly plumed, and his tail is more tapering. The skin of his naked head and neck, as well as that of his legs, is of a reddish or flesh colour; while the same parts of the black vulture are a mixture of black and grey—the black being caused by a down that grows thinly over the skin. They are easily distinguished in the air. The black vulture flies rather heavily—flapping his wings several times with a quick repetition, and then holding them horizontally for a hundred yards or so—while his short ill-proportioned tail is spread out like a fan. The buzzard, on the contrary, holds his wings at rest—not in a horizontal position, but bent considerably upward. In this attitude he will skim along for a quarter of a mile, without a single stroke of his wings, and that, too, not downward as may be supposed, but along a level, or a line often curving upward! How he executes this upward movement is not known. Some suppose that he possesses the power of inflating himself with heated air, which enables him to soar upward without using his wings. This theory is not very clear, and requires demonstration before it can be accepted as the true one. Others say that he is carried up by the impetus he has already obtained, by having previously descended from an equal or greater height. This is not true, however, as the buzzard may be often seen to rise in this way after a long flight along the level line. It is just possible that the same principle by which the New Holland savages direct their boomerangs, or by which flat stones thrown horizontally often take an upward direction—a fact known to every boy—I say it is just possible that this principle, as yet but little understood, may be instructively acted on by the buzzard, and have something to do with his flight. Be the facts as they may, it is an interesting sight to watch one of these birds, with broad wings outlined against the blue background of the heavens, now swimming in circles, now shooting off in horizontal lines, and anon soaring upward or tracing the undulating curves of the ogee. It is, to say the least of it, a striking and beautiful sight.

The turkey-buzzard is, upon the whole, a nobler bird than the black vulture. There is more of the eagle about him. Both, it is true, are carrion-feeders, like all vultures; but the buzzard also hunts after other food, such as snakes, lizards, and small quadrupeds. He will attack young lambs or pigs, when a good opportunity offers. So, too, will the black vulture, but not so frequently. Neither of them, however, do much harm in this respect; and their preying on such animals is an exception, and not a rule. They only do so, probably, when driven to it by hunger. Both species are gregarious, although they do not always appear in flocks. The buzzards, particularly, are often seen hunting alone, or in twos or threes; but their mode of life brings them together in large numbers. They often assemble—both buzzards and black vultures—to the number of hundreds, over a single carrion. The buzzards, however, are not so plenty as the black vultures; and in one of these flocks more than three-fourths will be found of the latter species. The buzzards are the shyer birds; and they are less disposed to keep together in flocks. It has even been said that these are not gregarious, as they are often seen alone in the high regions of the air. But it is certain that not only do numbers of them roost together at night, but they even associate with the black vultures at such times.

In most countries the vulture is a privileged bird. He is looked upon as a cheap and useful scavenger, clearing away the carcasses of dead animals, that would otherwise pollute the atmosphere. This is a matter of much importance in hot countries; and it is only in such countries that vultures are commonly found. What a beautiful illustration of the completeness of Nature's laws! As you get into high latitudes and colder regions—where the air is not so readily tainted by putrid substances—the necessity for such a scavenger no longer exists, and he is rarely met with. There the great vulture gives place to the croaking raven, and the small carrion-crow.

Vultures, I have said, are privileged birds. In most countries they are protected by law. This is the case with regard to the present species, both in English and Spanish America, where there is a fine for killing them. The consequence is, they are seldom molested; and in many places are so tame, that they will permit you to come within a few feet of them. In the cities and villages of the Southern States they alight in the streets, and go to sleep upon the house-tops. They do the same in the cities of Mexico and South America, where both species are also found.

As soon as our young hunters had got opposite the cliff where the vultures were, they reined up, determined to remain awhile, and watch the manoeuvres of the birds. They were curious to see how the latter would conduct themselves with a prey so singularly situated, as was the carcass of the cimmaron. They did not dismount, but sat in their saddles, about an hundred yards from the cliff. The vultures, of course, did not regard their presence; but continued to alight, both upon the escarpment of the precipice and upon the loose rocks at its foot, as if no one was near.

"How very like the buzzards are to hen turkeys!" remarked Francois.

"Yes," rejoined Lucien, "that is the reason why they are called 'turkey-buzzards.'"

Francois' observation was a very natural one. There are no two birds, not absolutely of the same species, that are more like each other than a turkey-buzzard and a small-sized turkey-hen—that is, the common domestic turkey of the black variety, which, like the buzzard, is usually of a brownish colour. So like are they, that, at the distance of a hundred yards, I have often taken the one for the other. This resemblance, however, extends no farther than to the general appearance—the shape and colour. In most other respects they differ, as you may imagine, very materially.

"Talking of turkey-buzzards," continued Lucien, "reminds me of an anecdote that is told in relation to one."

"Oh! let us have it, brother," said Francois.

"With pleasure," replied Lucien. "It is intended to illustrate the superior cunning of the white over the Indian race; and is a pretty fair sample of the honesty and justice which the former has too often observed in its dealings with the latter. It is as follows:—

"A white man and an Indian went out together for a day's hunting. They agreed that the game should be equally divided at night, no matter who had killed the largest share of it. During the day the Indian shot a turkey, and the white hunter a turkey-buzzard; and these two birds were all that either of them were able to meet with. The proceeds of the day's hunt were brought together; and now arose a difficulty about an equal division of the game. Both knew well enough the value of a good fat turkey; and both were as well acquainted with the utter worthlessness of the buzzard—which was in fact worth less than nothing, as its filthy odour was extremely repulsive. It was evident that the only way of making a fair division would have been to cut the turkey in two equal parts, and each to take one of the halves. The white man, however, would not agree to this; but proposed that one of them should take the whole turkey, and the other the buzzard.

"'It's a pity,' argued he, 'to spoil the birds. It's better for each of us to take one.'

"'Very well,' said the Indian. 'Shall we draw lots for the choice?'

"'Oh, no,' replied the other. 'It's not worth while to do that. I'll deal fairly with you. I'll take the turkey, and let you have the buzzard; or, you can take the buzzard, and I'll keep the turkey.'

"The Indian reflected, that in either case the buzzard would fall to his share; but the white man's proposition seemed a just one; and, as he could find no flaw in its fairness, he was constrained, though reluctantly, to accept it. The white hunter, therefore, shouldered his turkey, and trudged off homewards, leaving the poor Indian supperless in the woods."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Francois, "what a shallow Indian he must have been to be so easily outwitted!"

"Ah!" said Lucien, "he was not the only one of his race, who has been similarly deceived by white men. Many a pewter dollar has been passed upon these simple sons of the forest, in exchange for their furs and peltries. I have reason to suspect that one very rich fur-trader, now dead, laid the foundation of his immense fortune in this way; but my suspicions do not amount to positive proof, and therefore I do not assert it for a fact. Perhaps some historian may one day assail even the character of the good Penn; who is said to have purchased from the Indians a territory of three square miles, but took care to have it measured off as three miles square! I hope the story is not a true one."

"Why, that," said Francois, "is almost the same trick as Dido performed with the bull's hide."

"Yes," replied his brother; "so you see that dishonesty belongs exclusively to no age or nation. It has existed in the past, and will continue to exist, until men, becoming more and more highly educated, will be moved by nobler ambition than the mere spirit of gain. I believe there is such a time in the far future."

The conversation was again directed to the subject of the vultures. These now formed a flock of at least two hundred; and others were still arriving upon the ground. As fresh ones came, they would wheel about for awhile in the air, and then drop down and perch themselves on the trees and rocks. Some sat crouching with drooping wings, and heads drawn in—so that their long naked necks were quite concealed under their ruff-like collars. Others stood erect, with both wings raised from the body, half unfolded, and held "a-kimbo," as eagles are often seen, and as they are sometimes represented upon coins and standards. It is supposed that both vultures and eagles spread their wings in this fashion to cool themselves when they are too warm, and sun themselves when too cold—for they do so in cold, as well as warm weather; and in this attitude they exhibit a singular and rather pleasing picture.

Some of the vultures could be seen descending from the very highest regions of the air. They could be noted like little specks against the blue sky, gradually growing larger and larger, until their broad wings cast moving shadows upon the sunlit sward, as the birds floated spirally downward. Others were observed approaching in a horizontal direction— some of them seeming no bigger than sparrows, as they first caught the eye upon the distant horizon.

"What a distance some of them must have travelled!" remarked Francois; "and how do you think they know where to come? There was not one in sight when we killed those big-horns."

"They have been guided by their scent, of course," replied Basil; "they have great power in that way."

"Not so, brother," interrupted Lucien; "that is one of the errors of your closet-naturalists—your Buffons and Cuviers—propagated by them, until it has become proverbial. Strange to say, it is altogether erroneous. It has been proved that vultures possess the sense of smell in a less degree even than most other creatures. Dogs and wolves far excel them in this respect."

"How, then, have they found this carrion, for instance?"

"By their sight—for that sense they possess in a high degree of perfection."

"But how can that be, Luce?" rejoined Basil. "See! yonder are some coming from the eastward. Now, as the butte is between them and the big-horn, how is it possible they could have seen it?"

"I do not say they have; but they have seen others, who have seen others, who in their turn have seen others, who actually have seen the carrion."

"Oh! I understand; you mean that some one or more have first spied it; and, while making towards it, have been observed by others at a greater distance; and those again who have followed them have been followed by others still more distant, and so on."

"Precisely so; and this at once accounts for the fabulous stories of vultures scenting carrion at the distance of miles—none of which stories are true, but have been propagated by men who, perhaps, never saw a vulture in the air, but who, in order to make their books amusing, have readily adopted the exaggerated tales of every Munchausen they could meet with."

"Your theory is certainly the more probable one."

"It is the true one. It has been proved to be so by numerous experiments with vultures; all of which have gone to show, that these birds have anything but a keen sense of smell. On the contrary, it is remarkably weak; and I think it is well for them it is so, considering the sort of food they live upon."

"This flock must have gathered from all parts," remarked Francois; "we see them coming in from every point of the compass. No doubt some of them have travelled fifty miles."

"As likely an hundred," rejoined Lucien. "Such a journey is a mere bagatelle to them. Now, if I knew the precise moment at which the carrion was discovered by the first one, I could tell how far each of the others had come—that is, each of them whose arrival we are now witnessing."

"But how could you do that, brother?" demanded Basil and Francois, in astonishment; "pray tell us how?"

"I should make my calculation thus:—In the first place, they have all started at the same time."

"At the same time!" interrupted Basil; "how can that be, if some of them were an hundred miles off?"

"No matter what distance," replied Lucien; "it is all the same. They have all commenced their flight hither, not exactly, but nearly, at the same moment. Is it not plain? These birds, while hunting for their food, sweep through the air in great circles. Each of these circles overlooks a large tract of the earth's surface below. Their circumferences approach or intersect each other—so that, in fact, the whole country is under a network of them. Now, as soon as one of the vultures, thus sailing about, discovers with far-seeing eye the carrion below, he immediately drops from his high orbit, and wings his way downward. He is observed by that one circling nearest him; who, well knowing the cause of the altered flight of his companion, at once forsakes his own orbit and follows; and he, in his turn, is followed by another; and so on to the end of the chain."

"But how can one of them tell that the other is gone in pursuit of prey?" inquired Francois, interrupting Lucien in his explanation.

"Suppose you saw Basil at a great distance off on the prairie, could you not tell by his actions when he had started game, and was in pursuit of it?"

"Oh! yes! I could easily."

"Well, then, the vultures, who have far keener sight than you, understand each other's movements thoroughly—even to the shaking of a feather—so that they can easily tell when one of their number has a good dinner in sight.

"I think I have shown," continued Lucien, "that they all start within a few seconds of the same time; and as they fly in a nearly direct line towards the object, if we knew the rate at which they go, it would only remain for us to mark the date of their arrival, to be able to tell how far they had come. Of course it is supposed that we have already noted the time when the first one came upon the spot.

"If we suppose," continued Lucien, as he pointed up to the vultures, "that the first of these has alighted here two hours ago, and we allow them a flight of thirty miles an hour, we may then safely conclude that some of those now coming in have made a journey of sixty miles this morning. What think you of my theory?"

"It is, to say the least of it, a curious one, brother," replied Basil.

"But what are they waiting for now?" demanded Francois; "why don't they at once fall to, and enjoy it while it is fresh?"

Francois' interrogatory was a very natural one. Most of the vultures, instead of attacking the carrion, were, as we have already seen, sitting perched upon rocks and trees—some of them in listless attitudes, as though they were not hungry, and did not care to eat.

Basil proffered an explanation.

"No doubt," said he, "they are waiting until the flesh becomes putrid. It is said that they prefer it in that state."

"And that," remarked Lucien, "is another assertion that has no foundation in fact. They do not prefer it in that state. On the contrary, it is certain that vultures like their food better when fresh, and eat it so when they can get it."

"And what hinders them now?" inquired Francois.

"The tough hide hinders them. These birds do not possess the great muscular power in their claws that eagles do, else you would soon see the big-horn reduced to a skeleton. They are waiting until its skin becomes more tender, through decomposition, so that they may be able to tear it open. That is why they are waiting."

Such was evidently the true explanation; for each of the new-comers was seen to attack the carcass; and, after finding he could make nothing of it, fly off and settle quietly down on the rocks or trees.

As the boys watched them, however, some more eager than the rest effected an incision—at the spot where Basil's bullet had entered the body of the animal—and were rapidly widening it. The others, perceiving this, began to fly toward the spot; and, in less than five minutes, the tree was black with the filthy birds, until they crowded each other upon the branches. Several perched upon the limbs and horns of the animal itself, until there was not a space left for another to stand upon. But their united weight, combined with that of the carcass, was too much for the roots of the pine. A loud crash was heard, followed by the sharp rat-like squeaking of the vultures, as they flapped hurriedly away; and as the broken tree bent downwards, the body of the big-horn was precipitated to the earth, and fell upon the rocks below!

There was a great commotion among the assembled birds; and the sound of their broad wings, hurriedly beating the air, could have been heard for miles off; but their fright was soon over, and they all settled down again near the carrion.

The accident was in their favour rather than otherwise. The already decomposing body, by falling from such a vast height upon the sharp rocks, was mangled, and the skin burst open! This the foul birds were not slow in perceiving; and first one, and then another, flapped towards it, and commenced their horrid meal. In a few moments they were crowding over the body, hissing like geese, striking at each other with wings, beak, and claws, and altogether exhibiting such a scene of ravenous hunger and angry passion as would be difficult to portray. They soon got in among the entrails of the animal, and commenced dragging them forth. Sometimes two of them would seize a long string of these, and each swallowing from opposite ends, would meet each other in the middle of the piece. Then would be witnessed a singular scene, as the birds dragged one another over the ground, each trying to make the other disgorge his filthy morsel! The young hunters, amused by these curious episodes, agreed to remain and watch them for awhile; and with this intent they dismounted from their horses, so as to relieve the animals of their weight.

A new object of interest now presented itself to their attention. Francois discovered it. Francois had been directing his eyes upward, watching the graceful motions of such of the vultures as were still in the air. All at once he was heard to exclaim,—

"A white buzzard! a white buzzard!"

Lucien and Basil saw that Francois pointed to the sky overhead. They raised their eyes in that direction. There, sure enough, was a white bird; but of what species neither of them could make out. It was flying at a vast elevation—higher, apparently, than any of the buzzards; but even at that great height it appeared larger than any of them. Like them, it seemed to sail about with great ease, as if the sky was its natural home.

When first observed, it appeared about as large as a gull; and the boys might have taken it for one—not knowing any other white bird likely to be flying about at such a height—but as there were several buzzards near it, and evidently below it, and as these looked no bigger than swallows, what must be its size? It was not only bigger than a buzzard, but, at least, three times the size of any one of them. Thus calculated Lucien, and his calculation was not far from the truth.

The strange bird then could be no gull. What was it? A swan? No. Its mode of flight answered that question at once. It bore no resemblance whatever to the short rapid flapping of the swan, nor to the flight of any water-bird. Was it a pelican? or perhaps a white ibis (Tantalus alba)? or the white egret heron (Ardea egretta)? No; it was none of these. The slow laborious flight of these great wading birds would have been at once recognised by any of the boys, who were accustomed to see them often hovering over the bayous of Louisiana. But this bird flew differently from any of these. It used its wings more after the manner of the buzzards themselves or the black vultures; but as the boys could think of no white bird of similar flight, they were puzzled as to what it might be. Its size and mode of flying would have led them to believe it was an eagle; but its colour forbade this supposition. There were no white eagles, that ever they had heard of.

I have said that, when first seen by Francois, the strange bird appeared about the size of a gull; but as the young hunters stood gazing up at it, they saw that it was gradually becoming larger and larger. They knew from this that it was descending towards the earth, and, to all appearance, directly over the spot occupied by themselves and the vultures. As they had all three grown very curious to know what sort of a creature it might be, they were expressing their hopes that it would continue its descent. They knew that it must have seen them already; and it would, therefore, be useless for them to attempt concealing themselves. In fact, there was no cover for them, had they wished to do so.

As they stood watching and waiting, an exclamation, uttered by all three at the same moment, announced that another white bird was in sight! It was still high up, like a spot of snow upon the sky; but it, too, was making downward, in the track of the former, and appeared to be of the same species. This soon became evident; for the one last seen, descending more vertically, soon overtook the other; and both together continued to sail downward upon a spiral curve.

In a few moments they had arrived within two hundred yards of the earth; and now they circled slowly around, looking down as they flew.

They were directly over the spot occupied by the vultures; and as the day was one of the brightest, the boys had an opportunity of beholding two of the most beautiful birds they had ever seen. They were not entirely white—although, in looking at them from below, they appeared so; but as, in sailing round the circle, they sometimes held themselves sideways in the air, their backs at intervals could be seen distinctly. It was then noticed that the upper part of their bodies was of a rich cream colour, while their wings above—both plumes and coverts—were of a glossy brown. Their tails were tipped with black; but the whole of the under part of their bodies was of a pure milk-like white. But the most singular appearance about these birds was presented on their heads and necks. These were entirely naked of feathers as far down as the shoulders—where the neck was encircled by a large ruff that looked like a tippet—and the naked skin of both head and neck exhibited the most brilliant colours of orange and red. These colours were not mixed nor mottled together; but each belonged to separate parts of the membrane, forming distinct and regular figures—according to the manner in which the cartilaginous covering is itself most singularly divided. Their beaks were orange-red; and over their bases grew crest-like protuberances, like the comb of a cock. Their eyes had dark pupils and white irides, encircled by rings of a deep red colour; and, in short, the whole appearance of these beautiful creatures was such that, like the peacock, when once seen, they could never be forgotten.

"I have never seen one of them before," remarked Lucien, "but I have no difficulty in telling what they are."

"What?" inquired Basil and Francois, impatiently.

"King-vultures."

As Lucien said this, the birds, that did not seem to regard the presence of the party, swooped suddenly down towards the carrion. The boys followed them with their eyes—curious to witness what effect their arrival would have upon the buzzards and black vultures. To the surprise of all, not one of the latter was now to be seen near the carcass! While the attention of the party had been directed to the king-vultures, the others had been regarding them as well; and, knowing from experience what these great birds were, both buzzards and black vultures had scattered precipitately, and now sat upon the rocks at a respectful distance!

The king-vultures, without seeming to heed their presence, hopped up to the carrion, and commenced tearing it with their beaks. In a few minutes these creatures, that had appeared so clean and beautiful—for the king-vultures are as proud of their plumage as peacocks, and usually keep it in the best order—exhibited a picture of filth that was disgusting to look upon. The brilliant hue of their heads and necks was changed into a dark blood colour; and their white breasts became dappled with gore. Their vulturous appetites rendered them regardless of all else.