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The Silver Canyon: A Tale of the Western Plains, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 26. Alone In The Plains |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. ALONE IN THE PLAINS Where were the hundreds of buffalo that had been thundering over the plain? Where was Joses? Where were the Indians? These were the questions Bart asked as he gazed round him in dismay. For the excitement of his gallop was over now, and, though they wanted meat so badly, he felt half sorry that he had shot the poor beast that lay stiffening by his side for he had leaped down, and had, as if by instinct, taken hold of Black Boy's rein, lest he should suddenly take it into his head to gallop off and leave his master in the solitude by himself. For a few minutes there was something novel and strange in the sensation of being the only human being in that vast circle whose circumference was the horizon, seen from his own centre. Then it began to be astonishing, and Bart wondered why he could not see either hunters or buffaloes. Lastly, it began to be painful, and to be mingled with a curious sensation of dread. He realised that he was alone in that vast plain-- that he had galloped on for a long while without noticing in which direction he had gone, and then, half-stunned and wondering as he fully realised the fact that he was lost, he mounted his horse and sat thinking. He did not think much, for there was a singular, stupefied feeling in his head for a time. But this passed off, and was succeeded by a bewildering rush of thought--what was to become of him if he were left here like this--alone--without a friend--hopeless of being found? This wild race of fancies was horrible while it endured, and Bart pressed the cold barrel of his rifle to his forehead in the hope of finding relief, but it gave none. The relief came from his own effort as he tried to pull himself together, laughing at his own cowardice, and ridiculing his fears. "What a pretty sort of a hunter I shall make!" he said aloud, "to be afraid of being left alone for a few minutes in broad daylight, with the sun shining down upon my head, and plenty of beef to eat if I like to light myself a fire." It was ridiculous, he told himself, and that he ought to feel ashamed; for he was ignorant of the fact that even old plainsmen and practised hunters may lose their nerve at such a time, and suffer so from the horror of believing themselves lost that some even become insane. Fortunately, perhaps, Bart did not know this, and he bantered himself until he grew cooler, when he began to calculate on what was the proper thing to do. "Let me see," he said; "they are sure to begin looking for me as soon as I am missed. What shall I do? Fire my rifle--make a fire--ride off to try and find them?" He sat upon his horse thinking. If he fired his rifle or made a fire, he might bring down Indians upon him, and that would be worse than being lost, so he determined to wait patiently until he was able to see some of his party; and no sooner had he come to this determination than he cheered up, for he recollected directly that the Beaver, or some one or other of his men, would be sure to find him by his trail, even though it had been amongst the trampling hoof-marks of the bison. The prints of a well-shod horse would be unmistakable, and with this thought he grew more patient, and waited on. It was towards evening, though, before he had the reward of his patience in seeing the figure of a mounted Indian in the distance; and even then it gave no comfort, for he felt sure that it might be an enemy, for it appeared to be in the very opposite direction from that which he had come. Bart's first idea was to go off at a gallop, only he did not know where to go, and after all, this might be a friend. Then another appeared, and another; and dismounting, and turning his horse and the bison into bulwarks, Bart stood with his rifle resting, ready for a shot, should these Indians prove to be enemies, and patiently waited them as they came on. This they did so quickly and full of confidence that there was soon no doubt as to who they were, and Bart at last mounted again, and rode forward to meet them. The Indians came on, waving their rifles above their heads, and no sooner did they catch sight of the prize the lad had shot than they gave a yell of delight; and then, forgetting their customary stolidity, they began to chatter to him volubly in their own tongue, as they flung themselves from their horses and began to skin the bison as it lay. Bart could not help thinking how thoroughly at home these men seemed in the wilds. A short time before he had been in misery and despair because he felt that he was lost. Here were these Indians perfectly at their ease, and ready to set to work and prepare for a stay if needs be, for nothing troubled them--the immensity and solitude had no terrors for their untutored minds. They had not been at work above an hour before a couple more Indians came into sight, and soon after, to his great delight, Bart recognised Joses and the Beaver coming slowly over a ridge in the distance, and he cantered off to meet them at once. "Thought we lost you, Master Bart," cried Joses, with a grim smile. "Well, how many bufflers did you shoot?" "Only one," replied Bart, "but it was a very big fellow." "Calf?" asked Joses, laughing. "No; that great bull that came over the ridge." "You don't mean to say you ran him down, lad, and shot him, do you?" cried Joses, excitedly. "There he lies, and the Indians are cutting him up," said Bart quietly. Joses pressed his horse's sides with his heels, and went off at a gallop to inspect Bart's prize, coming back in a few minutes smiling all over his face. "He's a fine one, my lad. He's a fine one, Master Bart--finest shot to-day. I tell you what, my lad, if I'd shot that great bull I should have thought myself a lucky man." As he spoke he pointed to the spot, and the Beaver cantered off to have his look, and he now came back ready to nod and say a few commendatory words to the young hunter, whom they considered to have well won his spurs. The result of this first encounter with the bison was that nine were slain, and for many hours to come the party were busy cutting up the meat into strips, which were hung in the sun to dry. Then four of the Indians went slowly off towards the miners' camp at the mountain, their horses laden with the strips of meat, their instructions being to come back with a couple of waggons, which Joses believed they would be able to fill next day. "How far do you think we are from the camp?" asked Bart. "'Bout fifteen miles or so, no more," replied Joses. "You see the run after the bison led us down towards it, so that there isn't so far to go." "Why, I fancied that we were miles upon miles away," cried Bart; "regularly lost in the wilderness." "Instead of being close at home, eh, lad? Well, we shall have to camp somewhere out here to-night, so we may as well pick out a good place." "But where are the other Indians?" asked Bart. "Cutting up the buffler we killed," replied Joses. "Faraway?" "Oh, no; mile or so. We've done pretty well, my lad, for the first day, only we want such a lot to fill so many mouths." A suitable place was selected for the camp, down in a well-sheltered hollow, where a fire was lit, and some bison-meat placed upon sticks to roast. The missing Indians seemed to be attracted by the odour, for just as it was done they all came straight up to camp ready to make a hearty meal, in which their white companions were in no wise behind hand. "Not bad stuff," said Joses, after a long space, during which he had been too busy to speak. "I never ate anything so delicious," replied Bart, who, upon his side, was beginning to feel as if he had had enough. "Ah, there's worse things than roast buffler hump," said Joses; "and now, my lad, if I was you I'd take as big and as long a sleep as I could, for we must be off again before daylight after the herd." "Shall we catch up to them again, Joses?" asked Bart. "Catch up to 'em? why, of course, they haven't gone far." A quarter of an hour later Bart was fast asleep, dreaming that he was hunting a bull bison ten times as big as the one he had that afternoon shot, and that after hunting it for hours it suddenly turned round and began to hunt him, till he became so tired that he lay down and went off fast asleep, when, to his great disgust, when he was so weary, Joses came and began to shake him by the shoulder, saying: "Come, Master Bart, lad, wake up. The buffer's been coming close in to camp during the night." _ |
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