Читать книгу Shaggo, the Mighty Buffalo: His Many Adventures - Richard Barnum - Страница 3

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“Hey, Shaggo! come on with us.”

“Yes, trot along and let’s see who will get there first.”

Two big boy buffalo calves that had started to run over the dry, dusty prairie, their hoofs sending up little showers of dirt, stopped in front of another buffalo, much larger than either of them.

“Come on, Shaggo,” again called the buffalo who had first spoken, in animal talk, of course. “We’ll have a lot of fun.”

“Where are you going?” asked Shaggo, and as he spoke, in a deep, rumbly voice, he got up from the ground where he had been lying chewing his cud, as a cow in the meadow chews hers. And when Shaggo stood up you could see how very big he was.

Shaggo was a mighty buffalo. He was the largest and strongest of all the Government herd in the big National Park, where these animals, which once roamed the prairies in countless thousands, are now kept. For there are not now many buffaloes; not nearly so many as there were a few years ago. The Indian hunters and the white hunters killed them for food, and to get the shaggy robes the buffaloes wore. These robes were good to put over one in cold weather.

Then, too, the building of the railroads out West had scattered the buffaloes, until it seemed they must all die or be driven away. Then the Government fenced in great parks, called preserves, where the big, shaggy animals, with heads and manes larger than any lion’s that ever lived, could be at peace.

It was on one of these preserves, or ranges, in a National Park, that Shaggo lived. Though he was not the oldest buffalo of the herd he was easily the largest and strongest. He seemed to grow faster than the others, and he could easily have been the leader of the herd if he had wished. But he let another, an older bull act as the leader. Shaggo was content to eat the sweet grass, drink the cool water, and wander around in the forest or over the prairies which formed part of the park.

“Are you coming with us, Shaggo?” asked one of the two buffalo calves, as they stopped near the mighty animal.

“Where are you going?” asked Shaggo.

“Over to the wallow,” was the answer. “It is hot, and the flies and bugs are so bothersome that we’re going to roll around in the wallow and get all muddy. Come along with us and we’ll have some fun.”

“Yes, do, please, Shaggo!” urged the other buffalo. “You’re so big you can roll around and make new holes in the mud.”

“All right,” agreed Shaggo, “I’ll come. But the flies don’t bother me very much.”

The two buffaloes who had invited this biggest, mighty member of the herd to come with them, looked at each other in some surprise.

“All I’ve got to say,” finally said the smaller of the two buffaloes, who was named Soako, “is that you must be very queer if you don’t mind the biting flies.”

“Maybe Shaggo has already been to the wallow and covered himself with mud,” remarked the other buffalo, who was named Poko, because he was always playfully poking others with his short, black horns.

“No, Shaggo hasn’t been to the wallow this morning,” said Soako, with a laugh; in animal fashion, as you can easily imagine. “If he had been, he’d be all covered with dried mud, and there isn’t any on him.”

“Yes, you’re right, Soako,” replied Shaggo, giving the other buffalo the name that suited him best, for Soako was always soaking himself in water whenever he could find any. “I haven’t yet been to the mud hole, but I’ll go along with you now. Though, to tell you the truth, the flies don’t bother me very much.”

“I guess Shaggo’s hide and hair are so thick that it takes the flies longer to bite through than it does with us,” said Soako, in a sort of whisper to Poko, as the three friends moved off together.

“Maybe,” agreed Poko. “Anyhow, don’t you think Shaggo is rather queer?” he went on, making sure that the mighty buffalo did not hear him. “He’s been acting in a very funny way the last week, so I heard old Wuffo say.”

“Now you speak of it, I do notice it,” said Soako. “And Wuffo ought to know, as he’s our leader. Whatever he says is right.”

Wuffo was the oldest buffalo of the herd, and one of the strongest. He had been leader for a number of years. When Shaggo grew up, and was much the larger and stronger of the two and thus might easily have made himself leader by fighting with Wuffo, Shaggo held himself back. He was content to let Wuffo remain the head of the herd.

So the three buffalo friends, shifting away from the rest of the herd, moved over the prairie end of the park toward the wallow. Soon they trotted up a little hill and came within sight of a hollow place.

“Oh, look at the lovely mud!” cried Soako. “Let’s see who will be the first in!”

“I can beat you!” bellowed Poko, and he gave a playful dig with his horns in Shaggo’s ribs.

Instead of taking it good-naturedly, as most of the buffaloes would have done, Shaggo grumbled:

“Here! What are you doing? Quit your fooling!”

“Oh, excuse me! I didn’t mean anything!” said Poko, for he knew better than to get Shaggo “mad.” More than one member of the herd had felt the strength of Shaggo’s mighty head, though the big buffalo had never done any real harm. Whenever any one plagued him, he just butted them head over heels, as a goat might do.

Down the slope ran Poko after Soako, and soon the two buffaloes were wallowing around in the mud hole. “Wallow” is just the word that tells what they did, and so the places where the buffaloes went on the prairies to get away from mosquitoes, gnats and flies came to be called “wallows.” You may read about them in stories of the old West.

Over and over, and around and around in the mud rolled Soako and Poko. They sank themselves down in the deep wallow until only their nose tips stuck out, so they could breathe. They covered themselves with mud. And if their fathers or mothers could have seen them, instead of telling them to come out, the older buffaloes would have gone into the mud themselves.

For this was the only way the buffaloes had of getting rid of the biting flies. The big, shaggy animals would cover themselves with a coating of mud, and as long as this stayed on they were in comfort. The flies and mosquitoes could not bite through the dried, caked mud.

“Come on, Shaggo!” cried Soako, tumbling about in the hole which was kept wet by a nearby spring. “Hurry! The mud’s fine to-day!”

“Yes, you’re missing it!” added Poko, who was beside Soako.

“I think there’ll be enough mud left for me,” answered Shaggo easily, and he went down the slope without any signs of hurrying. Once again Soako and Poko looked at each other.

“He certainly is queer,” said Poko in a whisper.

“I should say so!” agreed Soako, pawing around on the bottom of the wallow. “I remember when he was always the first in the mud. Now he doesn’t care whether he’s last or not. I wonder what is the matter with Shaggo that he acts so queerly?”

By this time the biggest buffalo of the herd was at the edge of the wallow, and the other two could not talk about him without being overheard. So they splashed about, and soon Shaggo was also covering himself with mud to keep away the flies.

But though Shaggo rolled himself around in the black sticky mud as did his friends, the mighty buffalo did not seem to be enjoying himself. He did not play tricks and jokes as he had been wont to do. He did not butt the others with his immense head, nor splash mud on them, nor roll them over so that their noses went under. He just covered himself with mud and then came out on the bank.

“You aren’t going to quit so soon, are you?” asked Poko.

“Let’s have a game of mud tag,” suggested Soako. “This is our best chance. We have the wallow to ourselves now. Pretty soon Wuffo and the other bulls will be coming here for their bath, and we’ll have to skip out. Come on, Shaggo! I’ll be it for a game of tag! Look out! I’m coming!”

Soako rushed up from the mud wallow and trotted toward Shaggo. But the latter, instead of running away, as he often did, and keeping out of Soako’s way, as he easily could have done (for Shaggo was the best runner in the herd) just stood still and let Soako tag him.

“Now Shaggo is it!” bellowed Soako, running over to join Poko, who also came up out of the cool wallow.

“I’m not going to play,” said Shaggo.

“Not going to play!” echoed Poko and Soako.

“No,” went on Shaggo. “I don’t feel like playing tag. Besides, it will make the mud dry quicker and drop off, and then I’ll have to go into the wallow again.”

“Well, that’s only fun!” said Soako, and again he and Poko looked at each other. They said nothing, but they thought that Shaggo was acting very strangely indeed. Not to play tag!

“Is there any other game you’d like to play?” asked Poko, as he nibbled a bit of grass at the edge of the spring.

“No,” answered Shaggo, in a grumbling sort of voice. “All I want is to be left alone. I’m going for a walk. It’s too hot to play tag.”

It was hot, there was no denying that. But then there was the cool wallow to soak in when one was warm after running. And there was also a shady forest which was farther up the National Park preserve. Soako and Poko shook their heads. They could not understand Shaggo.

“Let him go,” whispered Poko, as the big animal started off by himself.

The two friends were just going back to the wallow when, all of a sudden, along came running one of the smaller calves of the herd. He seemed much excited.

“Oh, you ought to see ’em! You ought to see ’em!” he cried, in buffalo talk, as was natural. “They’re fighting like anything.”

“Who are fighting?” asked Poko.

“Rumpo and Bumpo, the twins,” was the answer. “They’re knocking each other all over the prairie. Come on, it’s lots of fun!”

Rumpo and Bumpo were twin buffalo brothers, and they often had what the other buffaloes called “fights.” But they were only in fun, as dogs and boys wrestle to grow stronger. Rumpo and Bumpo knocked each other all over the soft grass of the prairie, but neither hurt the other. And it was always fun to see them “fight,” as it was called. Most of the other buffaloes would leave what they were doing at any time to see Rumpo and Bumpo at their game of knocking each other around.

“Did you hear that, Shaggo?” called Poko, as he and Soako prepared to follow the little calf buffalo over the prairie.

“Hear what?” asked the mighty buffalo, turning partly around.

“Rumpo and Bumpo are fighting again, in fun,” said Poko. “Come on! Let’s go and see ’em!”

“I don’t think I care to,” answered Shaggo. “I’m going off by myself.”

This time the three buffaloes looked at one another.

“He certainly is queer!” declared Soako. “This is the first time I ever knew him not to want to see Rumpo and Bumpo at play.”

“Well, come on,” said Poko, “or we’ll miss the fun!”

Then the three rushed off together toward that part of the Park from which came the sound of heavy blows and loud bellowing. Rumpo and Bumpo were having a great “fun fight.”

“Let them go,” said Shaggo to himself. “I’m tired of such nonsense! I don’t like it here any more. I wonder what’s the matter with me! I’m tired of everything! I feel very queer! I don’t know just what the matter is, but I think something is going to happen!”