Читать книгу Trail and Trading Post; or, The Young Hunters of the Ohio - Stratemeyer Edward - Страница 6

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Two weeks had passed quietly at Fort Pitt when Dave suggested to Henry that they go out on a hunt for large game. In the meantime it was arranged that Rodney, Sam Barringford, and a number of others should journey to the east, taking little Nell and the twins with them. The start was to be made on the following Monday, and this was Thursday.

“You must be very careful,” said Mr. Morris, when the two young hunters set out on their quest for big game. “Run no needless chances, and if you see any unfriendly Indians lose no time in returning to this fort.”

It was the middle of September—a clear, cool day, with a faint breeze blowing from the northward. Dave and Henry had set out directly after breakfast, each armed with his long flint-lock musket and his day’s rations. Both wore their old army uniforms, which were much the worse for the hard usage received. But, as Dave remarked, anything was good enough for the forest, where nobody was likely to see them.

Three hours of tramping had brought them to a small body of water, called by the Indians Lake Kashaka. Here, drifting about, they came across an Indian canoe containing two good paddles. Without hesitation they entered the canoe and crossed the lake, where they came upon the track of several deer. They were deliberating upon whether to follow the trail or not when Henry chanced to look up the lake and see a buffalo near some rocks. The animal was gazing at them with lifted head, and almost instantly ran from sight behind some bushes.

“There’s our meat!” cried Henry, and dashed back to the canoe. Then he told of what he had seen, and the boys made after the game, as already described. Buffaloes were not so plentiful in this section of the country as they had been previous to the coming of the English and French hunters, and the idea of bringing down so much good meat at a single shooting filled the youths with keen enthusiasm.

It took the two young hunters but a few minutes to reach the spot where Henry had seen the buffalo. The game was not in sight, but the marks of his hoofs were plainly to be seen and some young and tender bushes showed where he had been browsing.

“’Tis only a question of how far he had traveled,” said Henry, who had always been considered the best hunter among the Morris boys. “It may be only a quarter of a mile, and then again it may be six or eight miles.”

“Let us follow the trail, at least for awhile,” answered Dave. “It is plain enough. He must be a pretty heavy fellow, by the depth of the marks he has left.”

“I imagine all full-grown buffaloes are rather heavy,” answered Henry. “Come on, and do not make any more noise than is necessary. We don’t want him to get scared again—if he is within hearing.”

The trail of the buffalo led up a small hill and then down into a bit of meadow, where the grass was thick and damp. As the youths progressed a flock of birds started up directly in front of them and presently they caught sight of three fair-sized rabbits.

“Now just look at that!” cried Dave, in vexed tones. “They seem to know that we are afraid to shoot at them, for fear of disturbing the bigger game.”

“Puts me in mind of what Ira Sanderson once said,” returned his cousin with a grin. “He argued that a fellow always saw the best game when he was out without his shooting-iron.”

“I reckon he was right, Henry; I’ve seen some fine deer when I didn’t have anything to shoot with.”

The two young hunters now relapsed into silence, as the meadow came to an end and they entered the forest. Here there was a buffalo trail well defined, having been used by the animals for many years. The trail in general was old, but the fresh hoofmarks of the single animal that had just passed were easily followed by Henry, who was as good on a trail as the average Indian.

The forest was a primeval one, with great trees stretching their branches in all directions. Monstrous roots lay sprawled over the trail, and they had to watch out that one or the other did not take a tumble. The air was filled with the songs and cries of birds, while here and there they heard the steady tap-tap of the woodpecker at his work. They could have brought down a dozen squirrels had they felt so inclined, and not a few chipmunks also showed themselves.

“That buffalo must have gone quite a way,” remarked Henry, as they came to a halt in the midst of a forest glade. “We have already covered a good mile and a half.”

“Don’t give up yet,” pleaded Dave, who had set his heart on returning to Fort Pitt with the news of laying low the bison.

“Oh, I’m willing enough to go on, Dave. But we have got to leave the regular trail now.”

“Where is the new trail?”

“Over yonder,” and Henry pointed with his hand.

“It seems to me he left the regular trail rather suddenly,” remarked Dave, walking over to the spot indicated. “Don’t you think so?”

“I do.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know, excepting that something must have scared him—some rabbits in the brush, or something like that.”

Once more the two young hunters pushed forward, the trail now leading among some rocks, where walking was anything but agreeable. In some places there were sharp brambles which scratched them not a little.

“Henry, that buffalo didn’t come this way for nothing,” whispered Dave.

“Just what I think. He was scared, and scared good and proper too. I wish I knew what did it.”

“Can there be any other hunters around here?”

“That isn’t impossible. A number of the men who were at the fort have gone away in the last few days. Some of them may be in this vicinity.”

“If they are I trust we shoot that buffalo first.”

They now reached another rise of ground, beyond which was a depression encircled by bushes and rocks. As they mounted the rise they heard a peculiar snort.

“Listen!” whispered Henry, and held up his hand.

“It’s the buffalo!” answered his cousin. “And hark! Some other animal is there!”

“I think I know what it is, Dave. Be careful now and don’t make any more noise.”

Guns to the front, they crawled up the rise and peered through the fringe of brushwood. A sight met their gaze that thrilled them to the heart.

The buffalo was there, heavy-set and shaggy as to head and shoulders, and with a look of fierceness in his staring eyes. He was crouched beside a rock, and directly in front of him was a small she-bear, standing on her hind legs, and with her jaws dripping with blood. Behind the bear were two half-grown cubs, both whining because of wounds in their sides.

To Henry’s practiced eye the scene told its own story. In leaping over the rise of ground the buffalo had come close to the den of the bear and had stepped on both of the cubs, who were probably playing around at the time. This had aroused the ire of the mother bear, and she had sprung to the rescue and bitten the buffalo in the flank. The big beast, unable to proceed on his flight, had turned around and struck the bear in the side. Then both had separated, and were now getting ready to renew the contest between them.

Both had separated, and were now getting ready to renew the contest.—Page 15.

The mother bear now uttered a peculiar sound, and at this the cubs retreated to a hole under some rocks, which was their home. The next instant the buffalo charged once more, hitting the bear squarely on the head and knocking her over. But as she tumbled, she caught her enemy by the neck and sank her teeth deeply into the buffalo’s throat.

“What a fight!” whispered Dave. “What shall we do?”

“Wait—but be ready to shoot,” answered Henry. “I think the buffalo will try to run for it in another minute.”

There was a snarl and a snort, and the buffalo did his best to throw the bear off. But the latter clung fast, in the meantime clawing rapidly with her hind feet at the bison’s forequarter. Then the buffalo swung around, knocking the smaller beast against the rocks with such force that the two young hunters heard the ribs of the bear crack. She fell to the ground and the buffalo struck at her repeatedly with his hoofs.

“It’s all over with the bear,” whispered Dave. “Hadn’t we better shoot at the buffalo?”

Before Henry could reply, the bison swung around once more and made a leap which, for the instant, took him out of sight of both youths. His instinct told him of more danger in that vicinity, and he sprang up on some rocks to get a better look around. This movement brought him face to face with Dave and Henry.

Crack! It was the report of Henry’s gun, and the bullet hit the bison on the side of the head, not far from the left eye. But the shot was merely a glancing one and did little damage. Then Dave fired, hitting the beast in the fleshy part of the neck.

The fight with the bear had left the buffalo in anything but a good humor and the two shots from the young hunters only added to his ugliness. He paused to glare at the pair and then made a savage leap towards Henry, lowering his horns as he did so.

“Look out!” screamed Dave, and Henry sprang to one side. The movement was so quick that he could not calculate on where he was going and he slipped into a hollow, his right foot going down between two heavy stones in such a fashion that his ankle was badly wrenched.

The buffalo now turned upon Dave and he too leaped away. With unloaded gun he could do nothing, and as quickly as possible he started to put in a fresh charge and fix the priming. In the meantime the buffalo swung around once more, gave Henry and the bear another look, and then sprang for the brushwood and was out of sight in a twinkling.