Cruisings in the Cascades Part 10

And now for the two does. They are flying over the level stretch of prairie with the speed of an arrow, and are almost out of sure range now. You turn loose on that one on the right, and I will look after the one on the left. Our rifles crack together, and little clouds of dust rising just beyond tell us that, though we have both missed, we have made close calls. I put in about three shots to your one, owing to my rifle being a repeater, while you must load yours at each shot. At my fourth shot my left-fielder doubles up and goes down with a broken neck; and although you have fairly "set the ground afire"--to use a Western phrase--around your right-fielder, you have not had the good fortune to stop her, and she is now out of sight behind a low ridge.

But you have the better animal of the two, and have had sport enough for the first morning. We will take the entrails out of these two, lash them across our horses behind our saddles, go to camp, and rest through the heat of the day; for this September sun beams down with great power in midday, even though the nights are cool and frosty.

And now, as we have quite a long ride to camp, and as we are to pa.s.s over a rather monotonous prairie country _en route_, I will give you a point or two on flagging antelope, as we ride along, that may be useful to you at some time. Fine sport may frequently be enjoyed in this way.

If you can find a band that have not been hunted much, and are not familiar with the wiles of the white man, you will have little trouble in decoying them within rifle range by displaying to them almost any brightly-colored object. They have as much curiosity as a woman, and will run into all kinds of danger to investigate any strange object they may discover. They have been known to follow an emigrant or freight wagon, with a white cover, several miles, and the Indian often brings them within reach of his arrow or bullet by standing in plain view wrapped in his red blanket. A piece of bright tin or a mirror answers the same purpose on a clear day. Almost any conspicuous or strange-looking object will attract them; but the most convenient as well as the most reliable at all times is a little bright-red flag.

On one occasion I was hunting in the Snowy Mountains, in Northern Montana, with S. K. Fishel, the government scout, and Richard Thomas, the packer, from Fort Maginnis. We had not been successful in finding game there, and on our way back to the post camped two days on the head of Flat Willow creek, near the foot of the mountains, to hunt antelopes.

As night approached several small bands of them came toward the creek, but none came within range of our camp during daylight, and we did not go after them that night, but were up and at them betimes the next morning.

I preferred to hunt alone, as I always do when after big game, and went out across a level flat to some low hills north of camp. When I ascended the first of these I saw a handsome buck antelope on the prairie half a mile away. I made a long detour to get to leeward of him, and meantime had great difficulty in keeping him from seeing me. But by careful maneuvering I finally got into a draw below him, and found the wind blowing directly from him to me. In his neighborhood were some large, ragged volcanic rocks, and getting in line with one of these I started to stalk him. He was feeding, and as I moved cautiously forward I could frequently see his nose or rump show up at one side or the other of the rock. I would accordingly glide to right or left, as necessary, and move on. Finally, I succeeded in reaching the rock, crawled carefully up to where I could see over it, and there, sure enough, stood the handsome old fellow not more than fifty yards away, still complacently nipping the bunch-gra.s.s.

"Ah, my fine laddie," I said to myself, "you'll never know what hurt you;" and resting the muzzle of the rifle on the rock, I took a fine, steady aim for his heart and turned the bullet loose. There was a terrific roar; the lead tore up a cloud of dust and went screaming away over the hills, while, to my utter astonishment, the antelope went sailing across the prairie with the speed of a greyhound. I sprang to my feet, pumped lead after him at a lively rate, and, though I tore the ground up all around him, never touched a hair. And what annoyed me most was that, owing to some peculiar condition of the atmosphere, the smoke of each shot hung in front of me long enough to prevent me from seeing just where my bullets struck, and, for the life of me, I could not tell whether I was shooting over or under the game!

I went back over the hill to my horse, with my heart full of disappointment and my magazine only half full of cartridges. I loaded up, however, mounted, and, as I rode away in search of more game, I could occasionally hear the almost whispered "puff, puff" of Fishel's and Thomas's rifles away to the south and west, which brought me the cheering a.s.surance that they were also having fun, and also a.s.sured me that we should not be without meat for supper and breakfast.

I soon sighted a band of about thirty antelopes, and riding into a coulee dismounted, picketed my horse, and began another crawl. In due time I reached the desired "stand," within about eighty yards of them, and, picking out the finest buck in the bunch, again took a careful, deliberate aim and fired, scoring another clear miss. The band, instead of running away, turned and ran directly toward me, and, circling, slightly, pa.s.sed within thirty yards of me, drawn out in single file. It was a golden opportunity and I felt sure I should kill half a dozen of them at least; but, alas! for fleeting hopes. I knew not the frailty of the support on which I built my expectations. I fanned them as long as there was a cartridge in my magazine, and had to endure the intense chagrin of seeing the last one of them go over a ridge a mile away safe and sound.

I was dumb. If there had been anyone there to talk to, I don't think I could have found a word in the language to express my feelings. As before, the smoke prevented me from seeing just where my bullets struck the ground, but I felt sure they must be striking very close to the game. I sat down, pondered, and examined my rifle. I could see nothing wrong with it, and felt sure it must be perfect, for within the past week I had killed a deer with it at 170 yards and had shaved the heads off a dozen grouse at short range. I was, therefore, forced to the conclusion that I had merely failed to exercise proper care in holding.

I returned to my horse, mounted, and once more set out in search of game, determined to kill the next animal I shot at or leave the country.

I rode away to the west about two miles, and from the top of a high hill saw another band of forty or fifty antelopes on a table-land. I rode around till I got within about two hundred yards of them, when I left my horse under cover of a hill and again began to sneak on the unsuspecting little creatures. They were near the edge of the table, and from just beyond them the formation fell abruptly away into the valley some fifty feet. I crawled up this bluff until within about forty yards of the nearest antelope, and then, lying flat upon the ground, I placed my rifle in position for firing, and, inch by inch, edged up over the apex of the bluff until within fair view of the game. Again selecting the best buck--for I wanted a good head for mounting--I drew down on his brown side until I felt sure that if there had been a silver dollar hung on it I could have driven it through him. Confidently expecting to see him drop in his tracks, I touched the trigger. But, alas! I was doomed to still further disgrace. When the smoke lifted, my coveted prize was speeding away with the rest of the herd.

I simply stood, with my lower jaw hanging down, and looked after them till they were out of sight. Then I went and got my horse and went to camp. Sam and d.i.c.k were there with the saddles of three antelopes. When I told them what I had been doing, they tried to console me, but I wouldn't be consoled. After dinner, Sam picked up my rifle and looked it over carefully.

"Why, look here, you blooming idiot," said he. "No wonder you couldn't kill at short range. The wedge has slipped up under your rear sight two notches. She's elevated for 350 yards, and at that rate would shoot about a foot high at a hundred yards." I looked and found it even so.

Then I offered him and d.i.c.k a dollar each if they would kick me, but they wouldn't.

Sam said good-naturedly: "Come, go with me and get the head of the buck I killed. It's a very handsome one, and only two miles from camp."

I said I didn't want any heads for my own use unless I could kill their owners myself, but would take this one home for a friend, so we saddled our horses and started.

As we reached the top of a hill about a mile from camp a large buck that was grazing ahead of us jumped and ran away to what he seemed to consider a safe distance, and stopped to look at us. Sam generously offered me the shot, and springing out of my saddle I threw down my rifle, took careful aim and fired. At the crack the buck turned just half way round, but was unable to make a single jump and sank dead in his tracks.

Sam is ordinarily a quiet man, but he fairly shouted at the result of my shot. I paced the distance carefully to where the carca.s.s lay, and it was exactly 290 steps. The buck was standing broadside to me and I had shot him through the heart. Of course, it was a scratch. I could not do it again perhaps in twenty shots, and yet when I considered that I shot for one single animal and got him I could not help feeling a little proud of it. As we approached the animal, not knowing just where I had hit him, I held my rifle in readiness, but Sam said:

"Oh, you needn't be afraid of his getting up. One of those Winchester express bullets is all an antelope needs, no matter what part of the body you hit him in."

This old fellow had a fine head, and we took it off, and now as I write it gazes down upon me with those large, l.u.s.trous black eyes, from its place on the wall, as proudly and curiously as it did there on the prairie when I looked at it through the sights of my Winchester. His portrait adorns page 199 of this book, and though the artist has treated it with a master's hand, it does not possess the lordly beaming, the fascinating grace, the timid beauty that distinguished the living animal.

It was so late when we got this one dressed that we decided to return to camp at once.

The curiosity which is so prominent a feature in the antelope's nature costs many a one of them his life, and is taken advantage of by the hunter in various ways. When we reached camp that afternoon d.i.c.k told us how he had taken advantage of it. He had seen a small band on a level stretch of prairie where there was no possible way of getting within range of them, and having heard that if a man would lie down on his back, elevate his feet as high as possible, and swing them back and forth through the air, that it would attract antelopes, decided to try it. But the antelopes of this section had evidently never seen soap boxes or bales of hay floating through the air, and had no desire to cultivate a closer acquaintance with such frightful looking objects as he exhibited to their astonished gaze. And d.i.c.k said that when he turned to see if they had yet come within shooting distance they were about a mile away, and judging from the cloud of dust they were leaving behind them seemed to be running a race to see which could get out of the country first.

The next morning Sam and I went together and d.i.c.k alone in another direction. During the forenoon I shot a buck through both fore legs, cutting one off clean and paralyzing the other. Sam said not to shoot him again and he would catch him, and putting spurs to his horse was soon galloping alongside of the quarry. He caught him by one horn and held him until I came up. The little fellow pranced wildly about, and bleated pitifully, but a stroke of the hunting knife across his throat soon relieved his suffering.

We then got the head from the buck Sam had killed the day before, and returned to camp about 11 o'clock a. m.

In the afternoon we rode out together again, and had not gone far when we saw five of the bright little animals we were hunting on a hill-side.

They were too far away for anything like a sure shot, but were in such a position that we could get no nearer to them. They stood looking at us, and Sam told me to try them. I had little hope of making a hit, but dismounting took a shot off hand, holding for the shoulder of a good sized buck. When the gun cracked there was a circus. I had missed my aim so far as to cut both his hind legs off just below the knee. The buck commenced bucking. First he stood on his fore feet, got his hind legs up in the air and shook the stumps. Then he tried to stand on them and paw the air with his fore feet, but lost his balance and fell over backward.

He got up, jumped first to one side, then to the other, then forward.

Meantime Sam rode toward him, and he tried to run. In this his motions were more like those of a rocking horse than of a living animal. The race was a short one. Sam soon rode up to him, caught him by a horn and held him till I came up and cut the little fellow's throat. Then Sam said that was a very long shot, and he would like to know just what the distance was. He went back to where I stood when I shot, stepped the distance to where the antelope stood, and found it to be 362 paces.

We rode on a mile further and saw a young antelope lying down in some tall rye-gra.s.s. We could just see his horns and ears, and though he appeared to be looking at us he seemed to think himself securely hidden, for he made no movement toward getting up. I told Sam to shoot this time, but he said, "No, you shoot. I live in this country and can get all the shooting I want any time. You have come a long way out here to have some fun. Turn loose on him." And slipping off my horse I knelt down to get a knee rest, but found that from that position I could not see the game at all, and was compelled to shoot off hand again. Raising up I drew a bead on one of the horns, and then lowering the muzzle to where I thought the body should be, pressed the trigger. There was a lively commotion in the gra.s.s, but the buck never got out of his bed.

The ball went in at one shoulder and out at the opposite hip. On stepping the distance we found it to be only 125 yards.

And now, having in a measure wiped out the disgrace of the previous day's work and secured all the meat, skins, and heads that our pack-mules could carry, we returned to camp and the next day went back to Fort Maginnis.

These bright little creatures, though naturally timid, sometimes show great courage in defense of their young. I once saw a coyote sneak from behind a hill toward a herd of antelope. Instantly there was a grand rush of all the adult members of the band, male and female, toward the intruder, and when they had gotten in front of the kids they stopped, with bristles erect, ears thrown forward, and heads lowered, presenting a most warlike and belligerent appearance. The coyote, when he saw himself confronted with this solid phalanx, suddenly stopped, eyed his opponents for a few moments, and then, apparently overawed at the superiority of numbers and warlike att.i.tude of his intended prey, slunk reluctantly away in search of some weaker victim. When he was well out of sight, the older members of the band turned to their young, caressed them, and resumed their grazing.

The speed of the antelope is probably not excelled by that of any other animal in this country, wild or domestic, except the greyhound, and, in fact, it is only the finest and fleetest of these that can pull down an antelope in a fair race.

In the little village of Garfield, Kansas, there lived a man some years ago--the proprietor of a hotel--who had two pet antelopes. The village dogs had several times chased them, but had always been distanced. One day a Mexican came to town who had with him two large, handsome greyhounds. Immediately on riding up to the hotel he saw the antelopes in the yard, and told the proprietor gruffly that he had better put "them critters" in the corral, or his dogs would kill them. The proprietor said he guessed the "critters" were able to take care of themselves, especially if the dogs did not spring upon them unawares.

This aroused the Mexican's ire, and he promptly offered to wager a goodly sum that his dogs would pull down one or both of the antelopes within a mile. The challenge was accepted, the stakes deposited, the antelopes turned into the street, and the "greaser" told his dogs to "take'em."

The dogs sprang at the antelopes, but the latter had by this time reached a vacant lot across the street. They started off down the river.

For a distance of four miles the river bottom was an open prairie, and as level as a floor. As the quartette sped over this grand natural race-course, the whole populace of the town turned out _en ma.s.se_ to see the race. Men and boys shouted, and ladies waved their handkerchiefs.

Betting was rife, the natives offering two to one on the antelopes, the Mexican and the few other strangers in town being eager takers. It was nip and tuck, neither animals gaining nor losing perceptibly, and when at last the four went round a bend in the river four miles away, and were hidden by a bluff, the game was, as nearly as could be seen by the aid of good field-gla.s.ses, just about the same distance ahead of the dogs as when they left town.

Some hours later the dogs returned, so tired they could scarcely walk.

The Mexican eagerly looked for hair on their teeth, and although he could find none, was confident that his dogs had killed the antelopes. A mounted expedition to search for the carca.s.ses and settle the question was agreed upon, but as it was too near night to start when the dogs returned, it was arranged to go in the morning. But when the parties got up the next morning they found the antelopes quietly grazing in the hotel yard. The Mexican left town in disgust followed by his lame, sore-footed dogs, and muttering that he "never seed no varmints run like them things did."

The antelope, one of the brightest and most graceful and beautiful of all our Western game animals, is fast disappearing from our broad plains, owing to the ceaseless slaughter of it that is carried on by "skin hunters," Indians, "foreign n.o.blemen," and others who come to this country year after year and spend the entire summer in hunting. Hundreds of them are killed every summer by this latter cla.s.s, and left to rot where they fall, not a pound of meat, a skin, or even a head being taken from them. I have seen with my own eyes this butchery carried on for years past, and know whereof I speak.

Nearly all the Territories have stringent laws intended to prohibit this cla.s.s of slaughter, but in these spa.r.s.ely settled countries the provisions for enforcing them are so meagre that these men violate them day after day and year after year with impunity. This is one of the instances in which prohibition does not prohibit. And what I have said of the antelope is true of all the large game of the great West. The elk, deer, mountain sheep, etc., are being slaughtered by the hundreds every year--tenfold faster than the natural increase. And the time is near, _very_ near, when all these n.o.ble species will be extinct. The sportsman or naturalist who desires to preserve a skin or head of any of them must procure it very soon or he will not be able to get it at all.

CHAPTER XXIV.

BUFFALO HUNTING ON THE TEXAS PLAINS.

The "Texas boom" was at its height in 1876, and there was a grand rush of emigrants of all nationalities and conditions of people to the then New Eldorado. Thousands of men went down there to make money. Many of them had not the remotest idea how this was to be done, but from the glowing stories afloat regarding the resources of that wonderful country, they felt sure it could be done in some way. The little town of Fort Worth was then on the frontier--that is, it was one of the most westerly towns having railroad communication, and was therefore one of the important outfitting points for parties going into the wilds. A great many were going further west, on all kinds of expeditions, some in search of minerals, some in search of choice lands, some to hunt the large game which was then abundant.

The village consisted of a public square, around and fronting on which were a row of cheap, one-story, log and frame buildings, most of which were occupied as saloons and gambling houses. But there were a few respectable general stores, half a dozen so-called hotels, shops, etc.

The town was full to overflowing with gamblers, rustlers, hunters, cowboys, Mexican rancheros, northern sight-seers, adventurers, commercial travelers, etc.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AT BAY.]

All day and all night could be heard the call of the _croupier_ at the gambling-table as he announced the numbers and combinations that the wheel or cards produced in the course of the manipulations to which his deft fingers subjected them.

Hot words often came from fortunate and unfortunate gamesters, and the short, sharp report of the six-shooter, the shouts of combatants, the groans of wounded or dying men, the clatter of heavy boots or spurs on the feet of stampeded spectators were sounds that, nearly every night, greeted the ears of the populace.

Mob law reigned supreme, and there was little effort on the part of the village authorities to punish offenders. Sometimes Judge Lynch's court was convened on short notice, and someone who had committed an unusually flagrant violation of the "law of honor" and had killed a man without due provocation, was hurriedly tried and strung up to the nearest tree.

One evening in the month of November, the excitement was varied by the arrival of a "bull-train"[1] of ten wagons loaded with buffalo skins.

They drove to the warehouse of the largest trader in the place to unload, and were quickly surrounded by a crowd of eager inquirers who sought for news from the front.