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The Silver Canyon: A Tale of the Western Plains, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 23. Off On A Hunt |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. OFF ON A HUNT The Beaver did not often smile, but when Bart tried to explain his wishes to him that he should lead a little party out into the plains to shoot buffalo for the party, his stolid, warlike countenance began slowly to expand; there was a twinkle here and a crease there; his solemn, watchful eyes sparkled; then they flashed, and at last a look of joy overspread his countenance, and he said a few words eagerly to the interpreter. "The Beaver-with-Sharp-Teeth," began the latter slowly, "says that it is good, and that we will go and hunt bison, for it is men's work, while minding the grazing cattle here is only fit for squaws." The Indians immediately began their preparations, which were marked by their brevity. Rifles and ammunition were examined, girths were tightened, and small portions of dried meat tied to the pad saddles ready for use if required, though it was hoped that a sufficiency of fresh meat would soon be obtained. Then it was reported to Dr Lascelles that all was ready. At that moment it seemed as if there were two boys in the camp, and that these two were sun-blackened, toil-roughened Joses, and Bart. For these two could not conceal their eagerness to be of the hunting party, and every now and then Joses kept stealing a quick, animal-like glance at Bart, while the latter kept glancing as sharply at the frontiersman. Neither spoke, but their looks said as plainly as could be: "What a shame it will be if he goes, and I have to stay in camp." The Indians had mounted, and were sitting like so many bronze statues, waiting for the Doctor's permission to go; for military precision and discipline had of late been introduced, and regular guards and watches kept, much to the disgust of some of the Englishmen, who did not scruple to say that it was quite unnecessary. Meanwhile the Doctor seemed to have been seized with a thoughtful fit, and stood there musing, as if he were making some plan as to the future. Bart kept on trying to catch his eye, but in vain. Then he glanced towards where the Beaver was seated upon his horse, with his keen black eyes fixed upon the youth, and his look seemed to Bart to say: "Are not you coming?" "I don't like to ask leave to go," thought Bart; "but oh, if I could only have permission! What a gallop! To be at the back of a drove of bison as they go thundering over the plain! It will be horrible if I have to stay." He looked towards where Joses stood frowning heavily, and still the Doctor gave no orders. He seemed regularly absorbed in his thoughts. The Beaver was growing impatient, and his men were having hard work to quiet their fiery little steeds, which kept on snorting and pawing up the sand, giving a rear up by way of change, or a playful bite at some companion, which responded with a squeal or a kick. At last Joses began making signs to Bart that he should come over to his side, but the lad did not see them, for his eyes were fixed upon the Doctor, who at last seemed to start out of his musing fit. "Ah!" he said; "yes, you men had better go. Tell them, Bart, to drive the bison as near camp as they can before they kill them. It will save so much trouble." "Yes, sir," replied Bart, drawing in his breath in a way that sounded like a sigh. "Any other orders?" "No, my boy, no. Or, stop; they ought to have an Englishman with them perhaps. Better let Harry go; we can spare him. Or, stay, send Joses." The frontiersman uttered a snort, and was about turning to go to the spot where his horse was tethered, when he stopped short, to stand staring at Bart, with a look full of commiseration, and Bart read it truly--"I'll stop, my lad, if you can get leave to go instead." Then came fresh words from the Doctor's lips--words that sent the blood galloping through Bart's veins, and made his nerves thrill and his eyes flash with delight. "I suppose you would not care to go upon such a rough expedition as this, Bart?" the Doctor said. "Oh, but I should, sir," the lad exclaimed. "I'd give anything to go-- if you could spare me," he added. The Doctor looked at him in a half-thoughtful, half-hesitating way, and remained silent for a time, while Bart felt upon the tiptoe of expectation, and in a horrible state of dread lest his guardian should alter his mind. "Better stop, Bart," he said at last. "Bison-hunting is very difficult and dangerous work. You might be run or trampled down, or tossed, or goodness knows what beside." "I'd take the greatest care to be out of danger, sir," said Bart, deprecatingly. "By running into it at every turn, eh, my boy?" said the Doctor, good-humouredly. "Then I'll ask the opinion of Joses, and see what he says. Here, Joses!" The frontiersman came up at a trot, and then stood leaning upon his rifle. "What do you think?" asked the Doctor. "Would it be safe to allow Bart here to go with you after the bison?" "You mean buffler, don't you?" said Joses, in a low, growling tone. "No; I mean bison," replied the Doctor, sharply. "You people call them buffalo. I say, do you think it safe for him to go with you?" "Safe? Course it is," growled Joses. "We shall want him too. He's so light, and his Black Boy is so swift, that the hunting party will get on better and cut out more buffalo meat if he comes." "Well, then, according to that, Bart," said the Doctor, good-humouredly, "I suppose I must let you go." "If you please, sir," said Bart, quietly; and then, with a gush of boyish enthusiasm, "I'd give anything to go, sir--I would indeed." "Then I suppose you must go, Bart. Be off!" The lad rushed off, followed by Joses, who seemed quite as much excited and as overjoyed, for he kept on slapping Bart upon the shoulder, and giving vent to little "hoorays" and "whoops", and other inhuman cries, indicative of his delight; while no sooner did the Beaver realise that Joses and Bart would be of the party than he began to talk quickly to the interpreter, then to his followers, and at last sat there motionless, in dignified silence, waiting for what was to come. Stolid Indian as he was, though, he could not keep it up, but dashed his heels into his pony's ribs after a few moments, and cantered to where Joses and Bart were making their preparations, and, leaping to the ground, he eagerly proffered his services. They were not needed, and he stood looking on, talking eagerly in his own language, putting in an English word wherever he could think of one, or fancied that it would fit, till all seemed ready, and Bart stood patting his little arch-necked black cob, after slinging his rifle over his shoulder. Just then the Doctor waved his hand as a signal to him of farewell, and reading it also as a sign that they might set off, Bart leaped into his saddle, Joses followed suit, and saying something to his pony which started it off, the Beaver seemed to swing himself out into a horizontal position over his steed's back, and then dropped into his place, and they all then cantered up to where the rest of the Indians were impatiently waiting. "All ready?" cried Bart. "Ready we are, Master Bart," growled Joses. "Off, then," cried Bart, waving his hand, when, amidst a ringing cheer from the little crowd of lookers-on, the bison-hunters went off at full speed over the sandy plain, making for the left of the lake; and as Bart turned in his saddle to gaze back, the camp, with its round-topped waggons, the flat mountain, and the faintly shown track up to its summit, looked like some beautiful panorama, above which the great flag blew out in the brisk breeze, and flapped and waved its folds merrily as if flaunting defiance to every Indian on the plain. But as Bart gazed up at the flag, he could not help thinking what a mere scrap of coloured cloth it was, and what a very little the Indians would think of it if they determined to come down and attack the camp in their might. _ |
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