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Jack, the Young Ranchman: A Boy's Adventures in the Rockies

by George Bird Grinnell · English · Gutenberg #45720 · 442,196 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Jack, the Young Ranchman: A Boy's Adventures in the Rockies

Author: George Bird Grinnell

Illustrator: Edwin Willard Deming


        
Release date: May 22, 2014 [eBook #45720]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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Transcriber's note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

      In Chapter VII the Indian name "Ikuts tárush" is mentioned
      twice. The "u" in both words has a macron above it and is
      represented as [=u].





JACK, THE YOUNG RANCHMAN


  [Illustration: "JACK COULD NOT UNDERSTAND WHY THE CALF HAD NOT
  BEEN CHOKED TO DEATH."--_Page 101._]


JACK, THE YOUNG RANCHMAN

Or

A Boy's Adventures in the Rockies

by

GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL

Author of "Pawnee Hero Stories," "Blackfoot Lodge Tales," Etc.







[Illustration]

New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers

Copyright, 1899,
By Frederick A. Stokes Company

Nineteenth Printing

Printed in the United States of America




PREFACE.


Far away in the west, close to the backbone of the continent,
lies the sage-brush country where the happenings described in the
following pages took place.

The story is about real things and about real people, many of whom
are alive to-day. The ranch lies in the Rocky Mountains, in a great
basin, walled in by mountains on every hand, and 7,500 feet above the
level of the sea.

The life there was exciting. There was good hunting--antelope and
elk and bears and buffalo; and, far away--yet near enough to be very
real--there were wild Indians.

It is a pleasure to review those days in memory.




CONTENTS


    CHAPTER                                PAGE

         I. Jack Danvers                      1

        II. Prairie Wolves and Antelope      11

       III. The Road to the Ranch            21

        IV. A Grizzly Killed                 30

         V. Roping and Riding                37

        VI. An Ancient Massacre              49

       VII. Hugh Chased by Indians           62

      VIII. Jack's First Antelope            72

        IX. John Monroe, Halfbreed           89

         X. Cows in a Snow-drift             98

        XI. Jack's First Elk                107

       XII. Antelope Kids                   116

      XIII. Jack Kills a Lion               125

       XIV. Wolves and Wolf-hounds          136

        XV. Digging out a Wolf's Den        148

       XVI. Birds and their Nests           157

      XVII. Hunting on the Mountain         167

     XVIII. With the Horse Roundup          180

       XIX. Busting Broncos                 194

        XX. A Trip to Smith's Hole          206

       XXI. Jack's First Camp-fire          214

      XXII. A Load of Blacktail             225

     XXIII. Occupations of a Cripple        236

      XXIV. A Berrying Party                245

       XXV. An Elk Hunt                     254

      XXVI. Jack Rides a Wild Horse         263

     XXVII. A Mysterious Cave               274

    XXVIII. What the Cave Held              285

      XXIX. Swiftfoot in New York           297




ILLUSTRATIONS


 "JACK COULD NOT UNDERSTAND WHY THE CALF HAD NOT
  BEEN CHOKED TO DEATH."                            frontispiece

  "JACK CREPT UP PAST HUGH ... AND TOOK A CAREFUL
  AIM."                                                       84

  "THE ANIMAL LAUNCHED ITSELF FROM ITS PERCH FULL
  TOWARDS JACK."                                             130

  "RAISED HIS RIFLE TO HIS SHOULDER AND FIRED."              256




JACK, THE YOUNG RANCHMAN




CHAPTER I

JACK DANVERS


The door-bell rang, and from the library Jack heard the soft tread of
Aunt Hannah, as she walked through the hall to answer it. There was
a murmur of voices, and then Hannah's tones, loud and high pitched:
"Guns! no indeedy, chile, ye can't leave 'em here. Not here, chile.
Take 'em away. No, I don't keer if they is Mr. Sturgis'. Go 'way. I
won't take 'em. Gib 'em to the policeman; ye can't get me to tetch
'em. Go 'way."

"What is it, Hannah?" said Jack, as he went to the door.

"Don't ye come here, honey. This man here, he's got some guns he
wants to leave. Says they're for your Uncle Will. Don't ye go near
'em."

"These are two rifles that Mr. Genez has been sighting. Mr. Sturgis
told him to deliver them here to-day," said the messenger.

"All right; give 'em to me," said Jack, as he took them; and the
messenger ran down the steps.

"Oh look out, honey, look out," said Aunt Hannah, shrinking away from
Jack; "they'll go off and kill you, sure."

"Pshaw, Hannah," said Jack, "what are you talking about? They
wouldn't go off of themselves, and anyhow they ain't loaded."

"There, what'd I tell ye?" cried Aunt Hannah. "Do be keerful. Many's
the time I heard your grandpaw say them's the most dang'ous kind. He
allus did say that it was the guns that wan't loaded that went off
and killed folks. 'Deed he did."

Jack took the guns up to his uncle's room, and put them on the bed,
and went back to the library. He had hardly got there, and gone to
the window to look out into the darkening street, when he heard the
front door close and a quick, light footfall in the hall.

"Oh, Uncle Will," he said, "is that you?"

"Hello, Jack, are you there?" was the reply. "I want to speak to
you," and a moment later Mr. Sturgis entered the room and stepped
over to the fireplace.

"Well, Jack," said he, "are you ready to start in to-morrow to be a
cowboy?"

"Yes, Uncle Will, I'm all ready," was the reply.

"You're sure you don't want to back out now? You know," added Mr.
Sturgis, "that you may see some rough times. Some days you will be
wet and cold and hungry, and will wish that you were in a good house
and by a warm fire, with a hot meal ready for you. It isn't all fun
and play and good times out on the ranch."

"I know that, Uncle Will," answered Jack, "but there must be plenty
of fun, too, and I think I am going to like it."

"I believe so, too, my boy, but I want you to remember that there
are two sides to almost everything. You will have lots of fun on the
ranch, and that is what you think most of now, but you must remember
also that it will not be all pleasure and no pain."

"Why, Uncle Will, don't you suppose I know that? A fellow's bound to
be too hot or too cold sometimes, and to hurt himself now and then,
but I guess I can stand it, and I don't think you need feel afraid
that I'll want to come home before I have to." As he said this, Jack
looked quite injured, and stood very straight.

"No, no, my boy. I don't doubt your pluck; but I want you to
understand well before we start what it is that you have to look
forward to.

"Now," continued Mr. Sturgis, "everything is ready for our start, and
all we have to do to-morrow is to go to the train and get into the
sleeping-car."

"Let's sit down in front of the fire and talk a little, Uncle Will.
You have plenty of time before dinner, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have half an hour before it will be time to dress; I'll smoke
a pipe and talk to you for that time. Now, ask your questions."

Jack Danvers was a New York boy about fourteen years old. He lived
in East 38th Street, near Park Avenue, and Mrs. Danver's brother,
Will Sturgis, had a ranch out on the Plains, on which were many
horses and cattle. Mr. Sturgis spent the summer on the ranch, but
often came to New York for the winter. The ranch was in a wild
country, where there were bears and elk and deer and antelope, and
sometimes buffalo and Indians.

Jack was not a very strong boy. He was slim and pale and spent most
of his time reading, instead of playing out of doors as all boys
should. In the summer when he was in the country and in the open air
he grew brown and hearty, but through the winter he became slender
and white again.

Jack had no brothers and sisters, and his parents were often anxious
about his health. They had thought several times of moving to the
country to live, so that Jack might have an out-door life all the
year round, but Mr. Danvers' business was so confining that he was
obliged to be in town constantly, and Mrs. Danvers was not willing to
leave him.

Dr. Robertson, whom Mr. Danvers had consulted, had given much thought
to the boy's case, and at last had advised his mother to send him out
to his uncle's ranch for a year, or at least for a summer, telling
her that a few months of rough life in the open air would do him more
good than all the medicines in the world. When Dr. Robertson told
her this, Mrs. Danvers at first thought the advice dreadful. She
said, "Oh, doctor, I couldn't think of doing that. Why the life out
there is one of constant danger and hardship. There are cowboys and
Indians and wild animals of all sorts. I should never have an easy
moment while Jack was away."

"My dear madam," said the doctor, "medicine is often very unpleasant
to take, unpleasant for the patient and sometimes for his friends
as well. I can build your boy's system up from time to time with
tonics, but I can do him no permanent good. My medicines are only
palliatives; the real trouble is with his environment. If the
conditions of his life are changed, he will be certain to throw off
the lassitude and weakness which he now feels, and to become a stout
and hearty boy about whose general health you need have no farther
concern; but it is important that now, when eight or ten years of
schooling and study are before him, he should have a well-nourished
body. I know of nothing that promise so much in this direction as a
course of open-air life and vigorous exercise. Now he stays too much
in the house and cares for nothing but books. This is not natural for
a boy of his age. He ought to be full of animal spirits and to be
working them off by climbing trees, running races and fighting. Think
this matter over carefully, Mrs. Danvers, and let me know what you
and your husband decide."

After much thought and many long talks, the parents had at last made
up their minds to let their boy go. All preparations had been made,
and on the next day Jack and his uncle were to take the train for the
Far West.

"Well, Uncle Will," said Jack, "first, I want to know how long it
will take us to get out to the ranch?"

"Five days, unless something happens to delay us," said Mr. Sturgis.

"Next," said Jack, "I want to know what I can do on the ranch. I want
to help in the work, you know, but I don't know how to ride, or how
to do anything that you have to do out there among the cattle and
horses. I'll have to learn a great deal before I can be of any use."

"Yes, of course, you will have to learn. You will pick up riding
and roping readily enough, but to learn the ways of the prairie and
the mountains is not so easy, and unless you are with some one that
knows all that and tries to teach you, it will take you a long time
to learn. You can easily learn the cowboy part of your education from
almost any of us out at the ranch, but there is only one man there
who can teach you how to become a good mountain man; that is old Hugh
Johnson. He has lived on the plains and in the mountains for more
than forty years, and has hunted, trapped and fought Indians from
the Mississippi to the Pacific, and from the Saskatchewan to the Rio
Grande. He knows the plains and the mountains better than any one I
ever saw, and is like an Indian for reading sign."

"What do you mean by reading sign, Uncle Will?" said Jack.

"Sign is a word which may mean a great many things. Sign may be
the tracks of animals, or of people, or the smoke of fires, or an
old camp, or clothing dropped by some one who has passed along.
Anything that shows that animals or people have been in a certain
place is called sign. Sign may be old or fresh, and there is always
something about it that should tell you more than the mere fact that
whatever made it has been there. You ought to be able to tell when
the sign was made, and sometimes how it came to be made. Sometimes
the sign is merely the way the wild animals act. I remember years
ago, when the Sioux and Cheyennes were troublesome, I was travelling
alone with Hugh, and one night when we camped, he rode out to kill
a buffalo heifer. Before long he came back and told me that he had
seen Indian sign, and that as soon as it was dark we must start and
travel on all night. When I asked him what he had seen, he said that
the animals were uneasy and the buffalo were running, and that some
one was chasing them not far off. We hid our horses in a ravine and
crept on top of a near-by hill from which we could see a good stretch
of country. Sure enough, before long we saw buffalo running as if
frightened, and a little later we saw, far off, two Indians chasing
a little bunch. We lighted no fire that evening, but soon after dark
rode away, and did not rest till we had put forty miles behind us."

"Do you think they would have tried to kill you, if they had seen
you?" asked Jack.

"I don't know," said his uncle, "we were not taking any chances.

"Now, when you get to the ranch," he went on, "you will learn a lot
about the birds and animals, and if your tastes lie that way, and
you keep your eyes open, you will find out much of the life of these
wild things that few people know. Although I have been out there
so many years and have always tried to observe things, I see every
season something that I never saw before, and learn more and more how
little I really know about the beasts and the birds of the west--even
those that are most common about the ranch. Only last year I saw for
the first time a little blind coyote puppy dug out from a hole in a
ravine and was astonished to find that, instead of being yellow it
was dark blue, almost black in fact. You could get a great collection
of pets together at the ranch. Young elk, young antelope and deer and
wolves, possibly a buffalo calf, some foxes, and birds of a dozen
different kinds, grouse, ducks, magpies, young hawks. Why, you could
have a regular menagerie."

"Oh, what fun that would be," said Jack. "I should like that. But
how do you catch all these things? I supposed that young deer and
antelope could run so fast that they could not be caught. I thought
that they ran even faster than the old ones."

"They can run very fast and they are hard to catch as soon as they
are a few weeks old," said his uncle; "but when they are quite
young--for the first few days after they are born--they can scarcely
run at all. During this time the mother hides them, telling them,
I suppose, in her own language, to lie perfectly still until she
returns. The young one lies flat on the ground, and the old mother
goes off a little way--not far though--and feeds about. If she sees
any one coming, or if danger of any kind threatens, she runs away and
only returns after it is past. Meanwhile, the little one, lying there
among the grass or weeds or undergrowth, and keeping perfectly still,
is not noticed by the hunter or the wild animal that is passing
along, and when the mother returns, she finds it just where she left
it. It is said that at this time of their lives, these young animals
give out no scent, and so they are not found by the wolves, unless
these brutes happen to come right upon them."

"Well, but how do you catch them then?" said Jack.

"When we see an old doe antelope by herself on the prairie at about
the season of the year when the young are born, we watch her and we
can tell pretty well whether she has a young one or not. If we think
she has a kid, we can get some idea of where it is hidden by the
way the mother acts. Then the only way to find it is to go to the
place and search the ground over foot by foot, until the young one
is found or the task is given up. Usually both kids will be found
side by side, but sometimes they are three or four feet apart. When
they are taken up, they do not struggle or try to get away. They hang
perfectly limp, and if you try to make them stand up, their legs give
way under them and they sink down again. It is often twenty-four
hours before they seem to take any interest in what is going on
about them, but when they get hungry, and after they have once drunk
some milk, they are tame, and as soon as they become strong, very
playful. Young antelope are not always easily reared, but young deer
and elk are more hardy. If a buffalo calf is caught it can be given
to a cow to rear. Wolf or coyote puppies can be reared on a bottle.
Those animals do not easily become tame and trustful. They are likely
to be shy and to dodge and jump away if any sudden motion is made,
but when they are pleased, when any one in whom they have confidence
approaches them, they lay back their ears and wag their tails and
wriggle their bodies just like an affectionate dog. Once we had a
young bear at the ranch for a year and a half, and he was an amusing
pet. If you gave him a bottle of milk he would stand on his hind
legs, and holding the bottle in both hands he would tilt it up and
let the milk trickle down his throat until the bottle was empty, when
he would throw it away."

"Uncle Will, I think we're going to have a splendid time out west. I
don't feel as if I could wait for to-morrow to come."

"It will be here before you know it, old fellow; and we'll be at the
ranch before you know it too."




CHAPTER II

PRAIRIE WOLVES AND ANTELOPE


One morning, a few days later, a train was speeding westward among
the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, bearing the travellers towards
their summer home. The grey monotone of the prairie was unbroken by
any bit of colour. The soil, the sage-brush, the dead grass that had
grown the summer before, were all grey, unvaried except where a great
rock or a bush taller than its fellows cast a long black shadow. Now
and then the train passed close to some high butte, whose sides were
gashed and gullied by deep ravines, and whose summit was crowned by a
scattered fringe of black pines. Far off on either side, rose great
mountains, covered with a mantle of snow, the most distant looking
like far-off white clouds. From this snowy covering long fingers of
white ran down the narrow valleys and ravines, seeming like white
clasps holding the covering close in its place. The nearer foothills
were white towards their tops, and against the shining snow the black
pine trees stood out in strong contrast. Scattered over the grey
plain were horses and cattle, most of them in little herds, but now
and then a single cow was seen and near her a staggering calf, which
had just been born, to face the scorching heats and bitter colds of
the high plains.

Suddenly as the train rushed around a low knoll, a dozen animals were
seen, running swiftly along, parallel with the track, and less than
three hundred feet distant. In colour they were bright yellow, almost
red, with white patches and white legs, and two or three of them had
black and nearly straight horns. They were graceful, and ran very
swiftly, easily keeping pace with the train.

"Oh, Uncle Will," said Jack, grasping his uncle's arm, "what are
those? They're not deer, I am sure. They must be antelope. How pretty
they are, and see how fast they run! Why, they are going faster than
the train, I do believe. They just seem to skim over the ground."

"Yes, those are antelope, the swiftest animal on the plains. And yet
the coyotes catch a good many of them, just by running them down.
Now, how do you suppose they do that, Jack?" and his uncle smiled at
the boy's puzzled expression.

"I don't know. You said they were the swiftest animals on the plains,
and yet you say that the coyotes catch them. That seems to mean that
the coyotes are swifter. Doesn't it?" asked Jack.

"Not exactly," replied his uncle; "it only means that they are
smarter--more cunning. A single coyote who undertook to run down
a single antelope, would get very tired and very hungry before he
accomplished it, but when two or three coyotes are together, it
is quite a different thing. The coyotes do not all run after the
antelope together. They take turns, and while one runs, the others
rest, so at last they tire the antelope out."

"But I should think that when the antelope ran, it would leave all
the wolves behind, those that were resting even more than the one
that was chasing it."

"It would do so if it ran straight away and out of the country, but
this it does not do. Instead, it runs in large circles. When three
or four prairie wolves decide that they want antelope meat for
breakfast, one of them creeps as close as possible to the animal they
have selected, and then makes a rush for it, running as fast as he
possibly can, so as to push the antelope to its best speed and to
tire it out. Meantime his companions spread out on either side of the
runner, and get on little hills or knolls, so as to keep the chase
in sight. They trot from point to point, and pretty soon when the
antelope turns and begins to work back towards one of them, this one
tries to get as nearly as possible in its path, and as it flies by,
the wolf dashes out at it and runs after it at the top of its speed,
while the one that had been chasing the antelope stops running, and
trots off to some near-by hill, where, while the water drips off his
lolling tongue, he watches the race and gets his breath again. After
a little the antelope passes near another coyote, which takes up
the pursuit in its turn. And so the chase is kept up until the poor
antelope is exhausted, when it is overtaken and pulled down by one
or more of the hungry brutes."

"Why, I should think the coyotes would kill all the antelope after
awhile," said Jack.

"Of course the coyotes do not catch every antelope they start," said
his uncle. "Sometimes the game runs such a course that it does not
pass near any of the waiting wolves, and only the one that starts it
has any running to do. Then the chase does not last long; the wolves
give up. Sometimes the antelope is so stout and strong that it tires
out all its pursuers. Yet they catch them more frequently than one
would think, and it is not at all uncommon to see coyotes chasing
antelope, although, of course one does not often see the whole race
and its termination. Often if a wolf running an antelope comes near
to a man, he gives up the chase and that particular antelope is
saved. It is a common thing for a single coyote to chase an old doe
with her kids, just after the little ones have begun to run about.
At that time they are very swift for short distances, but have not
the strength to stand a long chase. In such a case a mother will
often stay behind her young, and will try to fight off the coyote,
butting him with her head and striking him with her forefeet. He pays
little attention to her, except to snap at her, and keeps on after
the kids. Several times I have seen a mother antelope lead her young
one into the midst of a bed of cactus, where the wolf could not go
without getting his feet full of thorns. If the bed is small, the
wolf will make fierce dashes up to its borders, trying to frighten
the little ones, so that they will run out on the other side and he
can start after them again, but usually the mother has no trouble in
holding them. I have several times killed young antelope whose legs
had been bitten up by coyotes, but which had got away. One hot day
last summer a gang of section-men were working in a railroad cut west
of here, when suddenly a big buck antelope ran down one side of the
cut, across the track and up the other side. His sudden dash into the
midst of them startled the men, and as they stood looking up where he
had crossed, a coyote suddenly plunged down the side of the cut, just
as the antelope had done. The readiest of the section men threw a
hammer at him, and the wolf turned and scrambled up the bank and was
not seen again.

"I wonder what the men thought?" said Jack.

"Two or three years ago I camped one afternoon near Rock Creek, and
as there was very little feed, we turned the horses loose at night
to pick among the sage-brush and grease wood. Early in the morning,
before sunrise, while the man with me was getting breakfast, I
started out to get the horses. They were nowhere to be seen, and I
climbed to the top of the hill back of camp, from which, as it was
the only high place anywhere about, I felt sure that I could see
them. Just before I got to the top of the hill an old doe antelope
suddenly came in view, closely followed by a coyote. Both of them
seemed to be running as hard as they could, and both had their
tongues hanging out as if they had come a long way. Suddenly, almost
at the heels of the antelope--much closer to her than the other
wolf--appeared a second coyote which now took up the running, while
the one that had been chasing her stopped and sat down and watched.
The antelope ran quite a long distance, always bearing a little to
the left, and now seeming to run more slowly than when I first saw
her. As she kept turning, it was evident that she would either run
around the hill on which I stood, or would come back near it. At
first I was so interested in watching her that I forgot to look at
the wolf that had stopped. When I did so, he was no longer in the
same place, but was trotting over a little ridge that ran down from
the hill and was watching the chase that was now so far off. He could
easily have cut across and headed the antelope, but he knew too well
what she would do to give himself that trouble. After a little, it
was evident that the antelope would come back pretty near to the
hill, but on the other side of it from where she had passed before,
and the wolf which I had first seen chasing her, trotted out two or
three hundred yards on the prairie and sat down. The antelope was now
coming back almost directly towards him, and I could see that there
were two wolves behind her, one close at her heels and the other a
good way further back. The first wolf now seemed quite excited. He no
longer sat up, but crouched close to the ground, every few moments
raising his head very slowly to take a look at the doe, and then
lowering it again so that he would be out of sight. Sometimes he
crawled on his belly a few feet further from me, evidently trying to
put himself directly in the path of the antelope; and this he seemed
to have succeeded in doing. As she drew near him I could see that
she was staggering, she was so tired, and the wolf behind could at
any moment have knocked her down, if he had wanted to, but he seemed
to be waiting for something. The wolf that was following him was now
running faster and catching up.

"When the antelope reached the place where the first wolf was lying
hidden, he sprang up and in a jump or two caught her neck and threw
her down. At the same moment, the two wolves from behind came up, and
for a moment there was a scuffle in which yellow and white and grey
and waving tails were all mixed up, and then the three wolves were
seen standing there, tearing away at their breakfast.

"Great Scott! that must have been exciting," said Jack.

"It was," said his uncle; "I had been so interested in watching this
thing, which after all had not taken more than ten or fifteen minutes
of time, that I had forgotten all about the horses. It only needed
a moment's looking to see them, a short distance down the stream,
and before I had got to them and brought them back to camp, I heard
Bill's voice singing out breakfast."

"I always thought," said Jack, "that the antelope could run so fast
that they could get away from all their enemies except hunters that
carried rifles. Is there any other wild animal besides the coyote
that catches them?"

"Yes, the golden eagles often kill them when they are quite young,
though if any old ones are near they will fight the birds and keep
them from catching the kids. Once in winter I saw an eagle attack
two kids that were feeding at a little distance from a big bunch of
perhaps a thousand antelope. At this time the young ones were seven
or eight months old, and so quite large and strong. The eagle had
been sitting somewhere on the hillside and flew down over the kids
to pounce on one of them. They immediately began to run to the herd,
and when the eagle made a dart at them, they both stopped, reared on
their hind legs, a good deal in the position of the unicorn that we
sometimes see fighting for the crown, and struck at the bird with
their forefeet. Perhaps the eagle was not very hungry, but at all
events this turned him and the kids ran on. He made two more swoops
at them before they reached the herd, but each time they fought him
off in the same way by rearing up and striking at him. Of course when
they got in among the other antelope the eagles left them and flew
away.

"You know that in old times, before they had horses or fire-arms, the
Indians used to catch antelope in traps."

"No, I didn't know that," said Jack, "how did they do it? I should
think it would have needed a pretty big trap to hold an antelope."

"It was something on the same plan as the way in which they trapped
the buffalo; they built two long straight fences which almost came
together at one end and were far apart at the other. At the end of
the fences where they almost came together, the Indians either built
a corral or dug a deep pit which they roofed over by slender poles on
which they put grass and dirt. Now you have heard that the antelope
is very curious. If he sees anything that he does not understand or
can't quite make out he is likely to go up closer to it, so as to
see what this object really is. The Indians took advantage of this
weakness of the antelope and by means of it decoyed bunches of them
into the space between the widely separated ends of these two fences.
Other Indians were hidden behind the fence, and as soon as the herd
got started down between these wings the Indians near the end of the
fence ran out and got behind the antelope, which were then forced to
run down towards the pit or the corral. If it was a pit, they broke
through the roof in running over it, or they ran into the corral
where they were killed by the Indians, who were hidden near-by.

"Down in Utah and Colorado, south-west of here, I have seen in
several places the remains of these fences and corrals. I do not know
that the Indians hereabouts ever caught the antelope in pits, but men
who have lived up north with the Blackfeet and Cheyennes, tell me
that up there they used the pits instead of the corrals.

"So you see, my boy, the antelope has his troubles like other people.
It isn't all cake and pie for him, even though he can run fast and
lives out on the prairie where he can see a long distance."

"That's so, Uncle Will," said Jack, "I never thought of all these
things."

While the two had been talking they had forgotten about the antelope,
and these had now been long left behind. Now the train with a long
groaning whistle plunged into the darkness of a snow shed, and a few
moments later ran out past the border of a large lake, the surface
of which was covered with ducks and geese which rose from the water
until the air was fairly dark with their numbers. The whistle of
the duck's wings and the clamour of the honking geese could be
heard, even though the car windows were shut, and the passengers all
gathered at the windows to look at the great flocks of birds.

When they had passed out of sight of the lake his uncle said to Jack:
"That is the Medicine Lake, and the next stop is our station. Better
ring the bell for the porter, so that he can have all our things
together ready to put off."

"Well, Thomas," he said to the smiling coloured man who came up,
brush in hand, "we are going to leave you now. Please get all our
things ready to throw off. You know the train does not stop long."

"All right sir, all right," said Thomas, "I'll see that nothing is
left. Hope you will have a good drive out, Mr. Sturgis. Nice day
you've got. Don't always have such nice weather, this time of the
year." And he brushed furiously.




CHAPTER III

THE ROAD TO THE RANCH


The little cluster of buildings which the travellers saw when they
stepped from the cars to the station platform was smaller than any
village that Jack had ever been in. There were the station, the
section house and the great round water tank, all painted red, and
on the other side of the track a row of five one-story houses, four
of unpainted logs, and one of boards, with large glass windows,
evidently a store. Standing on the platform were a man holding a mail
sack, two men wearing broad-brimmed hats, enormous fringed leather
trousers, and small high heeled boots with great spurs. Not far from
the platform stood a heavy spring-waggon, to which were hitched two
good-sized chestnut horses, very nervous, or else half broken, for
they were rearing and plunging and shying away from the train, yet
were perfectly controlled by their driver, a large stoop-shouldered,
white-bearded man. As the train drew out of the station, this team
made a wide circle and then drove up to the platform, and as it
reached it, the driver called out cheerily: "How are you Mr. Sturgis?
how are you, sir. Glad to see you;" and he reached out and caught
Mr. Sturgis' hand in a cordial grasp. "This your nephew? How are you,
my son? I'm glad you've come out into this country to visit with us.
We'll try to make a cowman of you before you go back."

"How are you, Hugh?" said Mr. Sturgis. "I am glad to see you, and
glad to get back again. I have had enough of the town for a little
while. Yes, this is my nephew, Jack Danvers. I want you to know him
and like him, for I hope that you two will see a good deal of each
other before snow flies. Jack has never been away from home before.
He has everything to learn about life in the mountains, and there is
no one who can teach him so well as you."

"Well, well," said Hugh, "I don't know as I'm much of a hand to break
in a cowboy. I took to it too late. But let's get your things loaded.
If you'll take these lines I'll pack the waggon."

In a very few moments the small trunks, bundles, gun-cases and bags
were stored in the deep box of the waggon, and Hugh, stepping in
again, took the lines and they drove off north over the rolling
prairie.

The horses, which started with a rush, for a little time occupied all
his attention. Old tin cans lying near the roads, and bits of paper
quivering in the wind, caused them to shy, and often they tried to
bolt, but the firm hand on the reins, and the low soothing voice soon
quieted them, and before long they were jogging steadily and swiftly
over the prairie road.

"They'll be a good team, Hugh, after a little driving," said Mr.
Sturgis.

"That's what;" replied Hugh. "They're good now, only they're a little
mite skeery yet, but they'll soon get over that. I don't know as I
ever saw a team that promised better. They're right quiet, too, when
you get 'em going." Just as he said this, a great bird rose with a
roar of wings, almost under the horses' feet, and the right quiet
animals, turning at right angles, bolted over the prairie, the waggon
bumping and bouncing over the sage-brush in a way that made the two
men hold on for dear life, while Jack, who was sitting between them,
clung to the back of the seat, somewhat uneasy lest he should be
thrown over the dashboard. Gradually Hugh checked the horses' speed
and turned them back to the road, and when they were again quiet, he
looked down at Jack and said to him, with a twinkle of fun in his
eye: "I expect this prairie isn't as smooth as some of your park
roads back in the States, my son."

"My, no! It bumped, didn't it? and I don't think your horses are so
very quiet yet, Mr. Hugh. But what was that big bird that made such a
noise when it flew up? Was it a partridge? I've heard about the noise
they make getting up, but I didn't suppose they were as big as that."

"That was a sage hen, my son. You'll see lots of them before night.
It's getting along towards nesting time for them, and maybe we'll
find some nests, and maybe get some young ones this spring. I've
raised a brood or two, but they always went off after they got big.
Along in the fall, say in October, just before it gets cold weather,
they get together in big droves, hundreds and hundreds together, and
stay like that all winter. They're big, but they ain't much account.
They taste too strong of the sage. The young ones about half grown
are good eating, though not near so good as the blue grouse or the
pheasant. Now, you take young blue grouse, just when they are feeding
on the little red huckleberries that grow on the mountains, and, I
tell you, they are tender and as nice tasting as any bird there is.
There's as much difference between them and these sage hens as there
is between a nice fat yearling mountain sheep in October and an old
buck antelope at the same time of the year."

As they went on, Mr. Sturgis and Hugh began to speak of matters on
the ranch, of cows and calves and horses and colts and brands, and of
places and people Jack had never heard of, so that he paid no heed
to their talk, but occupied himself in watching the prairie over
which they were driving, and the wild creatures which lived on it.
There were many of these, chiefly birds, and these of kinds new to
him, familiar only with the commoner birds of the sea-coast. Most of
them were small and dull-coloured, but not all; for, flying up from
the road, yet often standing close to it while the waggon passed,
were little birds with bright yellow throats and black chins, and
which seemed to have little black horns on either side of the head.
There were great flocks of these, and Jack determined to remember
and ask his uncle what they were. At one time a great, long-eared
animal sprang from under a bush by the side of the road and half
hopped, half ran off over the prairie. It was mostly white, and had
long ears, and Jack thought it must be a rabbit of some kind. When it
sprang into view, the horses gave a great bound and tried to run, and
not until they had again been brought down to a trot was he able to
ask what it was, and to learn that it was a jack-rabbit.

By this time they had gone quite a long way, and as they reached the
top of a ridge, Mr. Sturgis pointed toward a range of distant hills
which cut off the view, and asked his nephew how far off he thought
they were.

"Oh, I don't know, Uncle Will; how far are they?"

"They are about twenty miles distant, and we have to go ten miles
beyond them. Do you see that low place in the line of the horizon,
just to the right of the horses' heads? Well, we go through that.
There is a narrow valley there, and we go up that, and then over the
hill and down into the basin, where the ranch is."

"What makes those mountains look so grey, Uncle Will? They shine
almost like silver. In some places the mountain looks black, but it's
mostly grey."

"The black is the dark green of the growing pine timber, and the
grey is where the timber has been burned, and is dead. For the first
year or two after the fire has passed over the forest and killed
them, the trees are black or keep their bark. Then the wind and
rain and snow beating on the soft coating of charcoal, wear off the
charred surface and the bark, and the wood becomes grey from the
weather, just the colour of an old fence rail. The trees continue
to stand for a good many years, and give this grey colour to the
mountain side. Gradually the roots rot, and one by one the trees fall
to the ground. Often they lie across each other, six or eight feet
high, and this is the "down timber" which it is so hard to travel
through. Sometimes it is even dangerous to pass through a piece of
this dead timber. If it has been dead a long time, so that the roots
of many of the trees have become rotten and weakened, the trees are
easily thrown down by a high wind. I have seen a tall, thick tree
pushed over by a mule knocking its pack against it, and in a gale of
wind have seen the trees falling all around me. Of course, if one of
them fell on a horse it would kill him."

By this time the waggon had begun to go down into some low but very
rough and barren hills, cut up in every direction by ravines and
water-courses. There was no grass and the ground was bare, except for
low sage-brush here and there, and the rocks seemed to be bent and
twisted. Sometimes a little pointed hill was capped by a great broad
slab of stone, or again a narrow ridge was crowned with pinnacles
which looked like pyramids or church steeples, or men or animals.
It was a queer-looking place, and not like anything that Jack had
ever seen before. He asked his uncle about it, and he explained.
"These are what the old French trappers of early days used to call
_mauvaises terres_--bad lands--because no grass grows on them. The
soil is all sand or clay, and very dry. All this country you see was
once the bottom of a big bay where the tide rose and fell."

"Tide rose and fell, Uncle Will! How could that be? Where did the
tide come from? I didn't think that the ocean was within a thousand
miles of here;" said Jack.

"That is true to-day, Jack," said his uncle; "but the time I am
talking about was long, long ago, in what the men who study the
earth's history call Jurassic time. No one knows how many years ago
it was, but it is safe to say it was millions. In those times the
salt ocean, or an arm of it, lay just east of the Rocky Mountains and
the water in this bay where we are now was partly fresh and partly
salt. Great forests grew here, and strange animals lived among them
and fed along the shores of this bay. If we had time to get out and
look for them, we could find beaches, where the sand was washed up by
the waves, and shells, and the bones of these great animals. A big
book could be written about these bad lands here, just as big books
have been written about other bad lands."

"They're surely queer places," said Hugh. "I've seen it down in
Kansas, and down on Henry's fork of Green River, and up in Oregon,
where the ground was stuck full of bones and teeth. Some of the
leg-bones was nigh as thick as my body, and some of the big heads had
long teeth as long as my hand. They must have been big animals, and
mighty dangerous too, I reckon."

"What makes the dirt all those different colours, Uncle Will," asked
Jack; "In some places it's white, in others yellow or brown or black,
and in some, bright red, like bricks."

"That red colour," said Mr. Sturgis, "is where the earth has been
burnt. All through the soil here there are seams or veins of a
crumbly brown substance, which is called lignite. It is a sort of
coal about half made, and like coal it will burn. Sometimes a seam of
this lignite catches fire from some cause or other, and may burn for
years, baking the earth close to it. The heat turns it red, just as
bricks which have been burned turn red."

By this time they were passing out of the bad lands and down into a
flat through which flowed a broad river. There was no bridge over
it, and Jack wondered how they were going to get across, but when
they came to the water's edge the horses trotted in, were stopped
to drink, and then walked on across, although the water came up to
their bellies and washed and gurgled about the waggon, so that Jack
began to think that perhaps they might be swept away. Pretty soon
it grew more shallow, and then they came to the bank, and once more
the waggon started off down the valley at a brisk rate. Soon they
crossed a narrow little stream flowing between deep banks, climbed
another hill, and then turning away from the river, went up a narrow
valley, shut in on one side by a high wall of rock and on the other
by a great mountain dotted with cedars. On this mountain Hugh said
there were some mountain sheep, and he pointed out to Jack tracks
in the road where some of these animals had crossed that morning.
Further on, in a broad rolling valley, they saw some antelope, but by
this time the cold wind had made Jack chilly and tired, and his uncle
wrapped him up to the throat with blankets and robes, and propping
him up between Hugh and himself, told him to go to sleep. Just as
he was about to do this, something happened which woke him up very
thoroughly.




CHAPTER IV

A GRIZZLY KILLED


Jack was just dropping off to sleep when he heard, very faintly,
Hugh's voice, saying, "Got your gun handy, Mr. Sturgis, and some
cartridges? Get it out quick then, there's a bear coming down from
that bluff, and he's liable to cross the road a half mile beyond
here; I'll run the horses and we may get there as soon as he does; he
can't hear nor smell us in this wind." The last part of this sentence
sounded very loud to Jack, for the word, bear, had thoroughly waked
him up. When he opened his eyes, he seemed to have the seat all to
himself. His Uncle Will's head was down between his knees, and he was
feeling under the waggon-seat, while Hugh was half standing up and
putting the whip on the horses. They did not need much urging to make
them run, and in a minute the waggon was bounding along the road,
jumping and swaying so that Jack held on to the back of the seat as
hard as he could. His uncle had found his rifle, and was hurriedly
fumbling with the straps of the case, and at the same time muttering
questions to Hugh, asking where the bear was likely to cross.

In a moment more the rifle was pulled from its case, a cartridge
slipped into the breech, and then the waggon topped a little rise
of ground, and there before them, just crossing the road, was a big
brown animal that looked something like a big dog without any tail.
As they saw it, the horses tried to shy out to one side, but Hugh
was ready for them and held them firmly. Mr. Sturgis rose to his
feet and raised his gun to his shoulder, but Hugh said, "Hold on,
hold on; wait till we get to where he crosses and then jump out. You
will catch him as he rises the hill." Meantime the bear had crossed
the road and disappeared in a ravine, and in a moment more Hugh drew
up the horses, so that they almost reared, checked the waggon, Mr.
Sturgis jumped out, and at that moment the bear was seen only fifty
yards off, swiftly galloping up the hill. There was a shot, and then
another, and the bear turned over and rolled down the hill out of
sight. The horses danced, plunged, reared, and then ran some little
distance before Hugh could stop them. But Jack looking back saw his
uncle wave his hand and call out a cheery "All right!"

In a moment the horses stopped, and Jack jumped out and ran toward
his uncle, not heeding Hugh's call to him to wait. Before he had
reached Mr. Sturgis, however, the waggon had passed him, and when he
got to the spot his uncle and Hugh were unhitching the horses, and in
a moment had tied them to the hind wheels of the waggon.

"Where's the bear, Uncle Will," said Jack, "where did he go to?"

"I think he is down there in the ravine, my boy, but don't go down
there yet. We'll get out your gun and load it, and then we'll go down
and look for him."

"That is the way to do it," said Hugh. "Don't never go near no game
without your gun, and a load in it, and above all, when it is a bear.
Don't go near him, even if your gun is loaded, unless you can see him
plain and are sure that he is dead. It is better to stand off and
throw rocks at him for ten or fifteen minutes than to go up close and
have him jump up and hit you once."

Jack's gun was soon out of the waggon, and when it had been loaded,
he walked down the hill by his uncle's side, while Hugh, who was
unarmed, followed a little behind them. They soon reached a point
where they could see into the bottom of the ravine, and there lay the
bear, doubled up in a heap and apparently dead.

"Roll a rock down on him, Hugh," said Mr. Sturgis, "and let's see if
there is any life left in him."

Two or three big stones rolled down the steep slope caused no
movement in the bear, and very slowly they approached him, but he did
not now seem nearly so big to Jack as when he had crossed the road.

"He is only a yearling, Mr. Sturgis," said Hugh. "Say about fifteen
or sixteen months old, but he has surely got a nice hide, and he
will make a nice little robe for the boy here."

"Yes," said Mr. Sturgis, "but if we stop to skin him, it will bring
us mighty late to the ranch."

"Oh, Uncle Will," said Jack, "let's skin him; what difference does it
make whether we get to the ranch an hour sooner or later. Just think,
this is the first big animal I have ever seen killed. I think we
ought to take his skin along with us."

"All right, my boy," said Mr. Sturgis, "we will skin him; it won't
take more than half an hour. Take hold of his front paws, Hugh, and
drag him out to a level place, and we'll take his coat off; and Jack,
do you go down this ravine a little way and see if you can find any
water; before we get through we'll probably all want a drink, and
certainly some of us will want to wash our hands."

Jack wanted to wait there and watch the operation of skinning the
bear, but he did as he was told, and after walking down the ravine
a few hundred yards, he found a place where a little water was
trickling out of the side of the bank, and flowed away in a very thin
small stream. There was so little of it that it was impossible for
any one to drink, and there was no place where one could wash one's
hands. He followed it down a little way further, and presently it
fell over some rocks and into a little pool, almost as big as a water
bucket.

Walking in the sun had made him thirsty, and he stooped and took a
swallow or two of the water, but, although it was clear and cold, it
was very bitter, and a little of it was enough for him. As he started
back to where the bear lay, suddenly he saw coming down the side of
the ravine toward him, a yellowish dog, with a long bushy tail and
pricked ears, and he thought at once of the Indian dogs that his
uncle had described to him, and wondered whether perhaps there was a
camp of Indians somewhere near. In a moment after, the dog saw him,
paused for an instant, and then turning about, with long bounds, ran
up the hill, and after stopping a moment at the crest, it looked back
and then disappeared from view.

When he got back to where the men were at work he found that the bear
was already half skinned, and while he watched the finishing of the
work, he told them of the water that he had found and of the dog that
he had seen.

"I guess your dog was a coyote, Jack," said his uncle. "There are no
Indians about here now, are there, Hugh?"

"No, not yet, Mr. Sturgis. There's likely to be a camp or two
travelling along when summer comes, but they haven't started in to
move yet. The grass is not high enough and the ponies can't get any
feed. I expect your boy saw a coyote."

"Do you mean one of the little wolves that run down antelopes, Uncle
Will?" said Jack.

"Yes, one of those," said his uncle. "The smartest animal that
travels the prairie, aren't they, Hugh?"

"They surely are," said the old man, as he gave a last cut with his
knife, and then tore the hide free from the bear. "Well, now, Mr.
Sturgis," he continued, "I will take this hide up the hill and tie
it up, and then go down to the spring and wash up, and then we will
hitch up and roll. We have wasted considerable time here, but them
horses are able to travel good, and we ought to get to the ranch by
eight o'clock; before nine, anyhow."

Twenty minutes later the team was once more swiftly trotting along
the smooth road, and Jack, wrapped up in robes and blankets, was
cogitating on bear hunting as he dropped off to sleep.

Jack was awakened by a sharp jerk that nearly threw him from his
seat, to hear Hugh growl: "Well I didn't hit that crossing very well.
Lucky I slowed up."

The waggon was passing through a shallow brook, flowing down from
mountains which could be plainly seen in the bright moonlight to the
left of the road. Their sides were patched with glistening snow, and
one could follow the dark irregular outline of their crest, cutting
off the star-dotted sky, but Jack could not tell whether they were
near or far away. To the right there seemed a far stretching plain,
white in the moonlight. It was all strange, and for a little while
Jack hardly knew where he was, but gradually he recovered his wits,
and moved and stretched out his legs.

"Awake, Jack?" said his uncle. "We're almost there now. Only a few
miles more and we'll be at home and get some supper. You'll be ready
for that, I guess."

"Yes," said Jack, "I feel pretty hungry. It's cold too, isn't it?"

"Well," said Hugh, "you see it comes pretty near being winter yet out
here. We're pretty high up in the air, and summer comes on slow and
don't stay long when it gets here. I reckon you have heard the old
saying that we have in this country about the weather. They say it's
nine months winter and three months late in the fall. I expect that's
because we have frosts and snow-storms every month in the year. Last
summer in July we had a big hailstorm that cut down everything in
the garden even with the ground, and knocked all the leaves off the
quaking asps back of the house. The potatoes sprouted again and got
about four inches high when there came another storm and cut 'em down
again. So last year we didn't have no garden."

Before Hugh had finished this long speech, Jack had gone to sleep
again, not to awake until he was lifted from the waggon at the ranch
and was carried up to the house in Hugh's strong arms. The warmth and
light of the room they entered confused him and made him still more
sleepy, and he ate his supper in a daze and then went to bed.




CHAPTER V

ROPING AND RIDING


Jack Danvers' sleep was deep and dreamless during his first night at
the ranch, and when he was awakened next morning by his uncle's call,
he could hardly tell where he was. As he jumped out of bed he saw by
the dim light that came in through the small window that he was in
a little room, furnished only with a bed, a washstand, a chair and
his trunk. From the window he looked out on some level land, a grove
of small trees and beyond them a very high hill, rising sharply and
strewn with great stones. Gradually the drive of the day before and
its incidents came back to his memory, and he knew that he was at
the ranch. He dressed quickly, for he felt that there must be many
strange things to see, and he did not want to miss any of them.

As soon as he had finished dressing, he opened his door and stepped
out into another larger room, in which were chairs, a lounge, a
stove and a good many shelves with books on them. This was the ranch
sitting-room. There was no one here, but somewhere not far off he
could hear the rattle of dishes, and passing through another room,
he found himself in an open door-way looking into the kitchen where
a pleasant-faced young woman was cooking. She smiled at him as she
said, "Good-morning. Did you sleep well? I guess you did, and I don't
believe you remember much about getting here last night, do you? You
were dead tired and were almost asleep while you were eating supper,
and went sound asleep as soon as you were through."

"No, ma'am, I don't remember getting here at all. I remember the
drive and Uncle Will's killing the bear, and the horses and Hugh, but
I don't remember eating supper."

"Well," said Mrs. Carter, "you must be rested by this time, and now
we'll have breakfast pretty soon. Would you rather sit here till it
is ready, or go out doors?"

"I think I'll go out doors and look around, if there is time before
breakfast," said Jack.

"Oh, there's plenty of time," said Mrs. Carter. "You'll hear the horn
when breakfast is ready." So Jack opened the door and went out.

Standing in front of the low grey log-house, he looked down a little
valley, bounded on either side by low hills and soon spreading out
into a wide plain. Very far away on the other side of the plain were
high hills, some of them brown like the near-by prairie, others
white, like chalk. Over these distant hills the sun was just rising,
and all the broad plain was flooded with yellow light. Down on the
prairie not very far from the house some antelope were feeding, and
beyond them on a hillside some cattle. To the left were low log
buildings--stables, Jack supposed--and some high-walled pens. Near
the door of one of the buildings, hens were picking about, and close
to the house three or four of these were quarrelling with a lot of
black-birds over a bone lying on the grass, from which all the meat
had been picked. By one of the pens calves were standing, looking
through the bars, and now and then bawling to the cows that were
being milked within. Behind the house was a high mountain on which
grew pines, and high up on its side a number of small animals were
moving swiftly, and behind them, one a little larger than the rest.
As he looked at these animals they grew larger, and before long Jack
could see that they were horses, and that the last one was a man
on horseback, driving them. They came toward the house very fast
and soon were plainly seen, and a little later the rumble of their
galloping was heard, and they crowded into the corral. The man put
up the bars and rode to the stable and unsaddled. Just after this,
the horn sounded, and Jack saw his uncle, Hugh and two other men come
toward the house, and soon all were seated at breakfast.

After the meal was over, Mr. Sturgis said to his nephew: "Now, Jack,
I am going to ride out to-day to look for some horses, and I am going
to leave you and Hugh here to keep camp. Hugh is going over into the
pasture, and if he has time after he gets back, he will give you some
lessons in shooting. You had better go with him. You can ride Old
Grey for the present, until you begin to feel at home on a horse.
I am going out now to saddle up. Do you want to come down to the
corral?" They walked down toward the big pen into which Jack had seen
the horses driven, but before they got to it a cloud of dust rose
from it, and the horses were seen to be running around in it. Jack
asked:

"What is frightening the horses, Uncle Will?"

"The men are catching up their riding animals," said Mr. Sturgis.
"Run ahead and climb up on the fence, if you want to see them roping."

Jack ran on and clambered up on the top rail, just as another great
cloud of dust rose. He saw the horses all standing, huddled in one
corner of the pen, but one was following one of the men who held
the end of a long rope which was about the horse's neck. Just then
Hugh, carrying some ropes in his hand, came out of the stable, and
unhooking the gate of the pen, went in, hooked the gate behind him,
and walked toward the horses. As he saw Jack on the fence he called
out:

"You've come down to get your horse, have you? Before very long
we'll have you coming in here and catching him for yourself. You'll
have to learn to throw a rope." He walked slowly toward the horses,
and soon some of them started to run around the pen, always keeping
close to the fence. Hugh held the long rope in both hands, the part
in his left hand being in a small coil, while from his right hand a
long loop trailed behind him in the dust. Suddenly he threw his right
hand forward, the large loop flew out and settled over the head of
a small grey horse that was galloping by. The horse stopped short
and turned toward Hugh, who walked away toward the gate of the pen,
gathering up the rope until the horse was quite close to him. He led
the horse through the gate, tied him to the fence outside, and taking
another rope went back into the pen.

"Climb over," he said to Jack, "and come here. You might as well
get used to horses now as any other time." Jack climbed down the
bars into the pen, though it did seem to him as if it were rather
a dangerous place, for he did not feel at all sure that the horses
might not run against and knock him down, and then run over and
trample him to death. They seemed to rush about like a lot of wild
creatures. Just as he got to the ground, and was walking over to
Hugh, the gate opened again and his uncle came in, and he too had a
rope in his hand.

"That's right, my boy," said his uncle. "You can't begin too soon. I
see that Hugh has caught your horse; do you think that you can catch
his?"

"I don't believe he can do it the first time or two, Mr. Sturgis.
We'll have to practise a little on a post first, but I thought he
might as well get down here among the horses," said Hugh. "Now, son,
you watch me close. Notice everything I do, so that you'll remember
next time. Now, you see this rope is lying on the ground. Just watch
how I take it up and hold it."

Jack saw that Hugh took the loop of the rope with his right hand,
and the free end in a small coil in his left hand, holding the end of
the rope pressed against the palm of the hand with his little finger.
"Now, d'ye see," he said, "how I hold it? Your right hand must hold
both the loop and the free rope about a foot and a half from the
hondu--that's the eye the rope runs through. Then it will always keep
open and run free. Always give a twist to the rope as you gather it;
then it won't kink on you. Now, watch my right arm and the loop of
the rope." He moved his right arm a little forward, turning his hand
as he did so, and the loop flew forward and lay spread out open on
the ground just before him. It seemed very easy.

"Now," said Hugh, "I'll catch old Baldy, and we'll be going." He
walked toward the horses and they started to run, and as they
started, he began to swing the rope around his head, and the loop was
partly open. In a moment his hand reached forward, the loop flew out
and settled over three or four horses that were crowded together,
and they all stopped. Then a big bald-faced roan came out of the
group toward Hugh, and sure enough the rope was about his neck. Hugh
started toward the corral gate, leading the horse, and Jack was just
going to follow, when the horses started again, and, turning, he saw
his uncle swinging his rope, and in a moment he had his horse, and
they all went out of the corral together. The gate was left open so
that the horses that were not needed might go out on the prairie
again.

The two horses were led up to the stable door, and there Hugh dropped
the ropes on the ground, leaving them standing there, not tied to
anything. As he entered the door he said to Jack:

"Come in, son, and I'll show you your saddle and bridle and blanket.
You know every man here has his own saddle, and no one ever uses
it except the man that owns it. Your saddle is here, and you ought
always to hang it on its peg, and hang bridle, blanket and rope over
it, so that they won't get dirty or be gnawed by anything, and so
you'll always know where they are. You see, if you lose your things
you'll have to go without any. No one'll lend you theirs. Now, the
first thing you've got to learn is how to saddle your horse. I'll
saddle old Baldy first, and you watch me close and try to see what
I do. You see," he said, as he took down from a peg a great saddle
with a high horn and big wooden stirrups, "these saddles that we use
out here are different from the little flat things that they ride
in the States. I saw one of them once. An Englishman had it, and it
was queer for a fact. I thought the man would slip off it every time
the horse gave a jump, but he didn't. He stuck to it good. Only he
got all raw after he'd been riding it a month or two. Now, these
saddles are hard, made of wood and leather, so we have to put plenty
of blanket under 'em to keep the horse's back from getting sore. You
see, this blanket is folded so that it's just a little longer and a
little wider than the saddle. There's about three or four inches in
front of the saddle, and three or four behind. Now I throw it on old
Baldy, so that the front edge comes just about where the mane ends on
the withers, and then I pass my hand all over it to see that there
ain't any wrinkles in the folds. If wrinkles are there they're liable
to press on the horse's back and make it sore. When it's all smooth,
the saddle goes on like this," and grasping the heavy saddle by its
horn he swung it over the horse's back, so that stirrups and cinches
swung clear, and the saddle fell in its place. "Now, these cinches,
you see, come up to meet the latigo straps on this side. You reach
under the horse's chest and get hold of the forward cinch first, slip
the latigo through the ring, and then through the saddle ring, and
again through the cinch ring and saddle ring, and then pull, until
the cinch is tight, so, and tie the strap like that. The flank cinch
you don't pull so tight; if you pull on that too much, it is liable
to make your horse buck. Now, the bridle; always leave your reins
hanging down over the head when you get off, and then your horse
won't move.

"Now, I'll saddle up your horse. I guess you'll find those stirrups
about right. I fixed 'em for you last night when you was in bed.
I'll tie up your rope here to these strings. You won't need it with
Old Grey. He won't run away, even if you do get off and go and leave
him." Then he saddled the grey with Jack's saddle.

"Now, let's see you mount. Here, stand by your horse's left shoulder
and gather up your reins in your left hand. Now, catch hold of the
mane with the same hand. Now, face a little toward the saddle and
take the stirrup in your right hand, turn it so that the open end
is toward you, and put your left foot in it. Now, take hold of the
horn and pull yourself up from the ground. Go ahead, you won't fall;
that's it; now, put your leg over, and there you are. After two or
three times you'll be all right."

As he spoke thus, Hugh stepped into his own saddle and, stooping,
began to gather up his rope which was still on the ground, and then
lifting his bridle rein, his horse started to walk toward the house.
Jack sat on his horse, feeling a little queer and wondering what
he should do when his horse began to move. But it did not move; it
stood there with its head hanging down as if asleep. In a moment Hugh
looked around and called out, "Come on, son, lift your bridle rein
and put your heel against his side and he'll start." Jack did this,
and his horse seemed to wake up, and moved on.

As they rode on, side by side, Hugh explained to Jack which hand he
should hold his reins in, how to guide his horse, by moving his hand
to the left or to the right, so that the reins would press on the
side of the neck away from that toward which he wished to turn, and
how to hold on to his horse with his legs. He told him a good deal
about riding and roping and handling horses and cattle, but much of
it Jack hardly understood, and perhaps Hugh thought of this, for in
a little while he began to point out the different hills and stream
valleys, and to tell Jack the name of each. He showed him the points
of the compass, and explained to him how to guess the direction by
the position of the sun in the sky.

They were riding along the foot of the mountain, and crossing little
valleys with steep ridges between. Down each valley ran a foaming
brook and on each ridge grew sage-brush, and among the sage-brush
were many great rocks, most of them smoothed and polished. A little
way off, these big stones sometimes looked like animals lying down.

"We're going over to look at some cows that we've been keeping in
this pasture all winter," said Hugh, as they rode up one of the
hillsides. "They're right tame and we can ride right in among them.
They're beginning to have their calves now, and I like to go over
every day and look at 'em, to try to keep 'em together. There's lots
of coyotes around, and they take a calf now and then, if they can get
it and its mother away from the bunch. I put some baits out the last
heavy snow we had, and got five of 'em, and the next snow that comes
I'll put out some more. They're getting pretty smart though, and
don't take poison like they used to in old times."

"How do you manage to poison them, Hugh?" asked Jack. Hugh did not
answer, but pointed across a valley to a bit of hillside that had
just come in view, and said, "There's a bunch of coyotes now trying
to get a calf. Come on." And without a word more he galloped away.
Jack had just time to see that he was riding toward an animal about
which a lot of smaller animals were dancing, when suddenly old Grey
threw up his head and began to gallop after Hugh, and for a few
minutes Jack had all he could do to keep from falling off his horse,
as it wound in and out among the rocks and the sage-brush. It seemed
pretty rough riding, and he had an awful pain in his side, but pretty
soon his horse stopped galloping and began to walk, and he saw that
he was near Hugh, who was sitting on his horse, looking at a cow,
close by which stood a little tottering calf. The cow seemed angry
and shook her head as if she would like to charge on the horses.

"Look at that fool of a critter," said the old man, "she left the
bunch and came near losing her calf by coyotes, and now she wants
to fight us for driving them off. I always did say that cows had no
sense."

"Were those coyotes that were running around? I could not see very
well, because old Grey was going so fast, and I had a hard time to
keep from falling off," said Jack.

"Well, well, you'll have to learn to stick on to your horse. I forgot
that you wan't used to riding. We'll sure have to practise riding,"
said Hugh. "Now, let's drive this heifer over to the bunch. She's in
big luck that she didn't lose that calf, young as it is."

"I thought coyotes were little animals, and I should think that a
big cow could keep them away, and that all the calf would have to do
would be to stay close to its mother."

"That would be all right, son, if the cow and calf had just a little
bit of sense, but you see that's just what they ain't got. The
coyotes get around them, and first one and then another makes a dash
at the cow and tries to make her mad, or to scare her calf away from
her. If the calf leaves its mother only a little way it gets a bite,
and if the cow gets mad and begins to chase the coyotes, very likely
the calf gets left behind, and may be gets two or three bites, or
even gets pulled down. The only safe place for a calf is right close
by its mother's side. Now, I believe that cow has quieted down, so
that we can start her toward the bunch. You stop here till I see."

Hugh rode toward the cow, calling at her, and after a moment she
turned and walked away from him, the calf staggering at her side.
"Come on," called Hugh. "She'll go all right now."

They rode on behind the cow for a mile or two, and then, after
crossing a ridge, saw down in the flat before them more than a
hundred cows and calves. They rode down among them, when the cow that
they had been driving stopped, and then after Hugh had looked at some
of the animals, he said, "Now, I am going up there where there's a
warm spot to smoke. After that, we'll go back to the house."

A little way up the valley was a clump of trees, and near these the
two stopped, dismounted, and threw down their reins and sat down,
while the horses fed near by.




CHAPTER VI

AN ANCIENT MASSACRE


It was warm and pleasant where they sat, in the sun and out of the
wind, though on the mountain behind them great drifts of snow lay in
the ravines. Hugh had taken from his pocket a black wooden pipe and
a plug of tobacco, and was shaving off the tobacco into the palm of
his hand. Soon he had a pipeful, and crushing it between his palms,
he filled his pipe and lighted it. As he leaned back and blew out the
streams of white smoke from his nostrils, he pointed to a near-by
hill and said:

"We'll go around that hill going back, and I'll show you a place
where there was quite a killing of Indians a good many years back. It
was before my time in this country, more than forty years ago, but
I knew some of the men that was in the fight, if you can call it a
fight where there wasn't no fighting. There's lots of old lodge poles
and bones lying on the ground there yet, and I can remember years
ago, they was old rotten robes and all kinds of truck lying around.
The men that did the killing didn't carry anything away. They just
killed everything in the camp that was alive, and then went off and
left it."

"I think I've heard my uncle tell about that, but I wish you would
tell me the story, Hugh. I'd like to hear it," said Jack.

"I'll tell you all I've heard of it, but let's wait till we get to
the place. Now we've got to sit here and smoke, and then we'll go
home that way, and then this afternoon I want you to take your rifle
and come out and we'll see how it's sighted. Then maybe in two or
three days we'll go out and kill a buck antelope. That's about the
only meat that's good now. Well," he continued after a time, as he
knocked the ashes from his pipe, "let's be moving. Let's see you
mount now. That's good.

"Now, we'll have to ride a little faster if we're going to stop at
that old killing ground. So come on. Try to hold your saddle tight
between your legs, and swing with your horse. You'll get into it in
only a short while. Come on, now."

Hugh started his horse, and Jack did the same, and they galloped
off together. At first the boy bounced about a good deal, but after
a little he began to see what Hugh meant, and by sitting back a
little in the saddle and easing himself with his toes when the horse
struck the ground, he sat more comfortably, and before he had gone
very far he began to enjoy his ride. The cool wind blew against his
face and through his hair, the sun was bright, little birds rose
from the prairie as they galloped along, and it was very pleasant.
He looked up at Hugh, who was watching him with a kindly smile, and
laughed outright. "It's splendid, isn't it?" he said. Hugh answered
something, but the wind blew his words away.

Presently Hugh drew in his horse and they turned and rode up over a
little hill and stopped, looking across a narrow valley through which
a little stream flowed. On the other side, only a short way off, in
a half circle, rose another hill on which grew many cedar bushes
among the great rocks. In the valley many grey sticks were lying on
the ground, and here and there among the sticks were spots of white.
"There's the place," said Hugh, "where the camp was wiped out. Let's
'light down here, and I'll fill my pipe and tell you the story."

When his pipe was going well he turned to Jack, and said: "It was a
camp of fifteen lodges of 'Rapahoes, and the white men was a bunch of
thirty trappers. This is the way I heard it. It was more than forty
years ago that a war-party of 'Rapahoes attacked a small train of
emigrants and killed them all, except one young boy about as old as
you, who hid in the brush when the charge was made. A few days later
a couple of trappers came along that way and found the boy. He told
them the story, and when they looked around over the place where the
killing was done, they found that it was 'Rapahoes that done it.
These two men took the boy with them, and they made up their minds
that the 'Rapahoes had got to sweat for this, and when they got into
the Fort they told other men about it, and they all figured on it the
same way.

"This killing was done in the summer, and the next spring, when the
men were coming in from their trapping they camped somewheres near
here in the hills, and stopped two or three days. Before they started
on into the Fort, one of the men who was out hunting saw a camp of
Indians coming--a small party--and he watched 'em until they camped,
and then crawled up close to the lodges. After he'd watched them
awhile, he made out that they were 'Rapahoes, and he took the news
to camp. The men there turned out, and during the night they got all
around the Indians and cached on the hillside among the cedars and
rocks. You can think how it must have been that night, the lodges all
standing here white in the darkness, and the men lying hid on the
hillside waiting for day. At last it began to grow grey in the east,
and then light, and pretty soon a smoke began to come from one lodge
and then from another, and then a man stepped out, or a woman started
down to the creek to get water, or a boy to bring in the horses, and
then the first shot came and the people began to run out, and to run
this away and that away, but as fast as they came out they were shot
down. After all the people were killed, they killed the dogs and
horses; everything that there was alive, and then they went away.
They never went down into the camp."

He paused to relight his pipe, and Jack said: "But how did they know
that these were the people who killed the emigrants?"

"They didn't," said Hugh, "but they knew that they were 'Rapahoes.
That's the way it used to be in them days; if a Piegan or a Sioux,
or a Cheyenne killed a white man, his friends killed the next Indian
they met of the tribe that had done the killing. The Indians did the
same, and many a man has been killed in revenge for something that he
had never heard of."

"That seems very unfair," said Jack, "I never heard of anything like
it before."

"Well, it don't seem just right; that's so," said Hugh, "but anyhow,
that's the way it used to be in old times. Come on now. Let's go down
to where the camp stood."

They rode down to the little flat and stopped their horses in the
middle of this old camp-ground. Hugh pointed to several spots where
there were a few broken, bent and weathered sticks, and said: "You
see, the lodges stood wherever you see those lodge poles. If you look
in the middle of each of those circles you will find the old ashes of
the fire and the stones that were around it. See here!" Dismounting,
he walked to one of the circles and picked up two or three pieces
of charred wood, which he held up. "That fire once cooked a man's
dinner, and look here!" he added, stooping down and feeling in the
dirt for something which he released with a hard pull "Here's a
knife, a regular old-fashioned bowie-knife; what we used to call an
Arkansas toothpick." He knocked the heavy blade against a stone, to
free it from the dirt which clung to it, and passed it to Jack.

"Why, what a big knife," said Jack. "It's almost like a sword; but it
isn't very sharp."

"Not very," said Hugh, "but notice how it's whetted, round on one
side and flat on the other. That's the way Indians always whet their
knives. Queer, isn't it? Let's look around for something more. Let
your horse go, after you've thrown down the reins; he won't move."
The two separated and began to look over the ground, and in a moment
Jack called out in a solemn way. "Oh, Hugh, look here; see what I
have found!" and as the old man came up to him, he pointed out a
human skull that lay half buried in the dirt in a little washout.
"That's one of 'em," said Hugh, as he picked it up. It was very old,
grey with weather, and all the teeth had fallen out. Higher up the
hill were splinters of bones and even some whole bones of legs and
arms, and sticking out of the ground among them was a long piece of
iron, which when dragged from its resting-place, proved to be a rifle
barrel.

"Well, now," remarked Hugh, "if we keep this up we'll have a
horse-load of truck to pack home with us."

They looked further, gathering up one thing after another, and at
length when they were ready to go home they had five Indian skulls,
the rifle barrel, the knife, an old-fashioned T. Gray axe, such as
was used in trade with the Indians in early days, some pieces of the
wood of saddles, a couple of elk-horn fleshers and a stone scraper.
All these things were very old; the iron deeply rusted, the bones
and wood grey and split with age and weather.

Hugh bundled these things into his coat and tied it on behind his
saddle, and they set out for the ranch. Just as they got to the
corral, the dinner horn sounded, and after unsaddling and putting
their treasures upon the roof, which Hugh easily reached from the
ground, they went to the house. Jack thought that he had never tasted
a dinner quite as good as that one, and when he had finished he felt
quite uncomfortable.

A little while after dinner, Hugh said to Jack: "Now, son, go in and
bring out your rifle, and let's see how it's sighted and how it pulls
off. A man always must learn how his gun shoots before he can expect
to kill anything. I've seen young fellows from the States come out
to hunt, and start in and shoot away a heap of ammunition without
hitting anything, and come to find out, they had never sighted their
guns, and didn't know anything about where they shot. 'Course they
couldn't hit anything. You get a box of ca'tridges and your gun, and
we'll try to find out just what it can do, and afterwards what you
can do."

When the gun was in his hands he explained its working to his hearer,
and then took it apart, put it together again, and told Jack to do
this, correcting his mistakes and telling him a good deal about guns
in general and this gun in particular. Then he proposed to go out on
the prairie to shoot at a mark, and told Jack to carry his gun and to
hold it so it would not point at any one. "I'm always scary about
a gun," he said, "and the older I get the more afraid of 'em I am.
I've seen a heap of accidents in my time from guns, and once, when I
was young, I came near killing my best friend, just by foolishness.
So I like to see everybody as careful of a gun as he knows how to
be. You've been told, I expect, never to point your gun at anything
except what you mean to shoot at. This business of sighting your
gun at people and animals, and saying to yourself, 'Oh, couldn't I
just hit that,' is just baby play, and I don't think there's any
need to tell you not to do that. There's another thing. Don't carry
a ca'tridge in your gun unless you're expecting game to jump up in
front of you any time. Don't carry your gun loaded on your horse.
Something may happen. You may kill the man you're riding with, or
his horse, or your own horse. In old times we had to carry our guns
loaded, but since we've got these britch-loaders it ain't needful.
I expect you'd feel mighty mean if you killed a man, just by your
carelessness, or if he killed you the same way. I came mighty near
getting killed that way once by an Indian I was travelling with. We
sat down side by side on top of a high hill to look over the country,
and he had his rifle across his knees with the muzzle pointing toward
me, and he was playing with the hammer of his gun, raising and
lowering it. I didn't like it very much, and got up and walked away,
thinking I'd come back and sit down on the other side of him. In less
than a minute after I moved, his gun went off, and if I had been
sitting there the ball would have gone through me. I was scared some
when I thought how near I'd come to being bored through, but I wasn't
a patch on the Indian. He was scared grey. You see it was known that
he and I were together, and if he had killed me by accident, it would
have been hard for him to prove it, and he'd likely have got killed
for murdering me.

"We'll try the gun at that hill over there. Do you see that white
rock, the small one to the left of that sage-bush? That's about a
hundred yards away. Load your gun and shoot at that. First sight at
the rock. See that the top of the foresight just shows over the notch
of the hind sight. Hold the gun tight to your shoulder and pull the
trigger slowly. Try to hold your gun steady on the mark, and when the
sight is on it, pull. Don't load it yet."

Jack had been listening carefully and trying to remember all that
Hugh had said to him, and now he raised the rifle to his shoulder and
sighted at the stone. He was surprised to see how large it looked
through the sights of the rifle, and how it seemed to jump about. He
could not hold the gun steady, and at last took it down, saying, "I
can't hold it still."

"Try it a few times, and then you can fire a shot. Put your gun up
and, as soon as the foresight is on the mark, pull." Jack did this
two or three times, and the last time said, "That time I think I
would have hit it." "Good," said Hugh. "Now put a ca'tridge in the
gun and shoot. Remember, you must keep the butt of your gun pressed
close to your shoulder. If you don't do that, the gun will kick your
shoulder and hurt. I don't want that to happen, it might spoil your
shooting." Jack put a cartridge in the gun, closed the breech, and
partly raised the gun to his shoulder.

"Haven't you forgot something?" said Hugh.

"I don't know; what?" answered Jack.

"We most generally cock our guns before we shoot," said Hugh, drily.
A little ashamed, Jack cocked his gun, aimed and fired. At the report
he was pushed back a little, but he was made glad by seeing a little
puff of dust rise from the ground somewhere near the stone.

"That was a right good shot," said Hugh earnestly. "If you can do
as well as that every time we'll be sending you out to get meat
for the ranch pretty soon. The ball struck the ground only two or
three inches to the left of the rock. That shot would have killed an
antelope if you'd aimed at his heart. Try another, and let's see if
you can do it again."

The second shot was not quite so good, and when Jack took down the
gun he said to Hugh: "It kicked harder that time."

"Not so," was the reply, "you forgot to hold the butt close to your
shoulder, as I told you to. You must always do that. After a little,
you will do it without thinking about it. Now let me fire two or
three shots. I want to see how the sights are myself."

He fired several shots, the first two striking a little above the
mark, the third just below it, while the fourth did not knock up any
dust, but seemed to jar the stone, and was followed by a curious
screaming sound, loud at first, and quickly dying away. "That was the
ball singing," said he, in answer to Jack's question. "The lead hit
the rock and glanced off and went sailing away over the prairie. You
must just see the tip of the foresight on the mark. Draw it fine. If
you pull the trigger when it's there, you will hit every time."

An hour more was spent in shooting at this mark, and before it was
over, Jack had come to understand a great deal about his gun, and
had received much praise from his teacher. "You're doing well, my
son, and it won't take you long to learn how to shoot. If you pick up
riding, roping and packing as easily as you do shooting, your uncle
will be hiring you to work for wages before snow flies. Now let's go
up to the house and wipe out the gun."

After Hugh had shown Jack how to clean his rifle, and had explained
to him the importance of keeping it clean, free from rust and sand,
and always ready for use under all circumstances, he said, "Of
course, in these days we don't have to look out for enemies like we
used to in old times. Nowadays the wars are pretty much over in these
parts, yet of course there's plenty of places where the Indians are
bad yet, and nobody knows when they'll make trouble anywhere. Why,
nobody will ever know how many people got killed there when they were
building the railroad back on the plains. I scouted from Julesburg
west to Cheyenne at that time, and it was an everyday matter to find
two or three graders stuck full of arrows along the track. That was
the time when the Pawnee scouts were guarding the road, and it was
fun to see them fellows get out when there was an alarm and chase the
hostiles. Them Pawnees just loved a fight, and they had never been
whipped when Major North was leading them, so they did not know what
fear was. They'd turn out at any time of the day or night and chase
the Sioux and Cheyennes as long as their horses could run. It was a
picnic for them.

"I had some good friends in that camp. One fellow, especially, that
they called Itching Buffalo, was brave, and he had powerful medicine.
They said he had been down into one of them houses where the medicine
animals have their councils. The others used to say that he couldn't
be killed, and it's sure that he was always in the front of the
fighting and never got hit. There's surely something queer about
Indian medicine. Take old Whirlwind, the Cheyenne, in that fight he
had with the Sacs. Every feather was cut from his war bonnet, but not
a bullet hit him, nor his medicine that he carried on it.

"But I'm forgetting that you don't know anything about these things.
It's likely you will though, if you and I are much together. What I
started to say was this. In old times a man's life often depended
on his having his gun ready for use. If he went out for his horse,
picketed close to camp, or went for wood, or down to the creek for
water, he carried his gun with him, and it was always in good order
and ready for use. It isn't that way here or now, but it may be so
yet. So you'd better learn to keep your gun clean, and to have it
with you always. It ain't much trouble to learn this, and it may save
your life sometime.

"Well, there comes the men with a bunch of horses. Let's go down to
the corral and look 'em over."




CHAPTER VII

HUGH CHASED BY INDIANS


Jack's first long ride had made him pretty sore; all his muscles
pained him. Hugh said he must keep riding and soon he would be all
right.

For several days after this, Hugh and Jack rode together, and each
day they went a little further and in a new direction. Each day Jack
found riding easier, and before long he felt perfectly at home on Old
Grey. Each day after they got home from the ride, they took the rifle
down on the flat in front of the house and fired a number of shots at
the white rock, and several times Jack hit it, and all his shots were
good ones, and the bullets struck close to the mark. Hugh was pleased
with the boy's steadiness and told him that before long they would go
out and take a hunt.

Besides the rifle-shooting Jack was learning something about horses
and how to use them. Now, when he went into the corral with Hugh,
he no longer felt afraid that the horses would run over him. The
day after their first ride, Hugh and Jack led Old Grey up to a big
section of a cottonwood log that Mrs. Carter used in mounting her
horse, and, standing on this, Jack saddled and bridled the grey.
Hugh showed him how to do it, and then stood by and watched, and when
Jack did anything wrong, he corrected him, and helped him change it.
After two or three days Jack understood how to saddle up so well that
Hugh no longer watched him.

One day Jack had his first lesson in roping--what he had always read
of as lassoing. Hugh called the rope a lassrope, or a reata--this
being a Spanish word meaning rope. The two took a rope and went into
the big corral, and for a time practised throwing at the snubbing
post, which stood in its centre. Hugh showed Jack just how it was
done, and after he had thrown the rope two or three times he handed
it to Jack, and told him to coil it and to throw it. In two or three
days Jack found that he could catch the post about half the time,
and that throwing the rope, which at first had seemed to him such
hard work, was very easy. Several times he caught Old Grey in the
corral. After he had come to understand as much as this, Hugh had him
practise on horseback, showing him how to throw from the saddle, and
how to fasten his rope by two or three turns about the horn, so as
to hold anything that he might catch with the noose. He warned him
how to handle his rope in taking the turns around the horn, with the
thumb and finger held up, not down, so that he should not get them
caught under the rope, for many men have lost their fingers in this
way, having them cut off between the rope and the horn when the
pull came in throwing a steer. So it was that as they rode along,
Jack would throw the rope at one sage-bush after another, pulling up
those which he caught and then gathering the rope for a fresh throw.
This was pretty good fun, and when he grew tired of it, he would coil
up his rope and hang it on his saddle by the loop that was fastened
there to hold it, and then he and Hugh would talk about the things
they saw, and those that Hugh had seen and heard in his long life on
the prairie.

The whole of each day was passed in the open air; and this life, so
different from that led by the boy in his city home, soon began to
affect his health and his spirits. His appetite increased enormously,
his flesh began to harden, and his face, under exposure to the keen
cool wind and the unshadowed rays of the sun, to take on a hue of
brown that it had never shown before. Each night he was heartily
and healthily tired, and an hour or two after supper he went to
bed, where he slept like a log until called next morning. Each day
began with the sun and was enjoyed through every hour. As he became
accustomed to his horse, Hugh taught him to mount from the right
side, as the Indians do, and urged him to learn to ride bareback,
telling him of the skill shown by the Indians in their war and
hunting trips, when they use no saddle, but cling to the naked horse.

After he had been a week at the ranch, his uncle told Jack that he
was going to send in to the railroad, and advised him to write to
his mother, and to tell her that it might be a month or more before
she would again hear from him, and the boy did so, sending a long
and enthusiastic account of the place and the people. Mr. Sturgis
also wrote to his sister and brother-in-law, telling what Jack's life
had been up to that time, of the marked interest felt by the boy in
all that he saw and did, and of his changed appearance and improved
health. These letters made two people in the distant city very happy.

One afternoon, after they had been practising with the rifle, and had
cleaned and put it away, Hugh said to Jack, "Now, son, to-morrow,
unless your uncle wants me to do something else, we'll ride over
toward Sand Creek and see if we can't kill something. Mrs. Carter
says we're about out of meat, and she wants me to kill an antelope.
Let me see that butcher knife of yours that I took off your belt the
other day. If it's a new one it'll need grinding, of course."

Jack ran and brought the knife, and Hugh looked at it and tried its
edge on his thumb. "Yes," said he, "it's just out of the shop and
we'll have to put an edge on it. No telling till I get it on the
stone what sort of a piece of steel it is. Come on and turn for me
and I'll find out."

They went down to the blacksmith's shop, and while Jack turned the
handle of the grindstone, Hugh ground the knife and afterwards
whetted it on the oil-stone until its edge was keen. "'Pears to me,"
he said, "that this is a pretty good knife. I expect your uncle
bought it for you! Most young fellows that come out here carry a dirk
knife with a big bone handle and a guard, that ain't no earthly use
except in a fight, and they don't expect to fight; they expect to use
the knife to butcher with. What you want is just a common skinning
knife, such as a butcher uses--what you've got here. Now put it back
in your sheath, and if we have any luck to-morrow, you'll have a
chance to try it."

When they had left the shop and walked up to the house, and Hugh
had seated himself on the ground in the sun, and Jack had thrown
himself down beside him, the boy said: "Hugh, you spoke the other day
about the Pawnees, and said you had seen them and had some friends
among them. I wish you'd tell me about them. I've read about them in
Cooper's novels. Don't you remember that Leather Stocking when he
got very old lived among the Pawnees, and had the young chief Hard
Heart, for his son. He must have been a splendid man. I remember the
description of the fight, when he killed the Dakota chief. It was
fine."

"Well," said Hugh, "I never knew any of them people; likely they were
before my time, but the story you read was likely true, for them
Pawnees has surely killed plenty Sioux. I expect there's nothing a
Pawnee likes better than to get at the Sioux. I have seen quite a
few Pawnees in my time, and I've stopped some in their villages, and
they're good people, no mistake about that. They are kind, and they
give you the best they've got; and they're brave. I don't want to be
with better people. Some of 'em helped me out of a bad fix once, and
I ain't never forgot it. That's the time I saw the prettiest horse
I ever looked at. It was while I was scouting up at the end of the
track that I saw him. He belonged to an Indian,--Sioux or Cheyenne, I
expect--anyhow they were hostiles, and they chased me, and if I had
had far to go, I expect they'd have caught me. They might have done
so anyhow if it hadn't been for them Pawnees.

"I had gone out from the graders' camp to see if I couldn't get an
antelope, for the camp was clean out of fresh meat. I rode up out
of the valley, and along on the high prairie, back from the creek,
but not too far back, for I expected likely I'd get jumped, and I
wanted to have a good show to make a run for it. There hadn't been
no Indians seen for quite a while, and the boys working on the track
were getting pretty bold. One of them even wanted to go hunting with
me. He didn't have no horse to ride, said he would go afoot, that he
could keep up, if I didn't ride too fast. I told him he had better
stop in camp if he wanted to keep his hair safe, and, anyhow, he
couldn't go with me. I knew that because Indians hadn't been seen,
that didn't signify there weren't none in the country. The more you
don't see them fellows--when you're in a hostile country--the harder
you've got to look out for 'em. And there was a company, or part
of a company, of Major North's Pawnees camped about ten or fifteen
miles further up the creek, and I expected that the Sioux, if there
was any about, would cut in behind the Pawnees, and likely tackle
the graders' camp, if they saw any show to get away with it. Well,
I hadn't gone more'n a couple of miles or so before I came over a
little rise, and saw a buck antelope feeding, in easy shot. I killed
him and tied him to the saddle, and started back to camp; but I
hadn't gone far when I saw three Indians come in sight, right between
me and the camp. They saw me as soon as I did them, and as soon as
they saw me, they charged. They were quite a ways off, maybe a mile
or more; but that did not give me much time to fool away. I cut loose
the meat from my saddle, and started for the bluffs, thinking I'd get
down into the creek valley, and either head them and get to camp, or
else ride for the Pawnee camp. When I got to the bluffs, looking all
the time for a place to get down, by George! I couldn't see one; it
was so steep, even in the best place, that you couldn't get no horse
down, without he had wings. Of course a man could have clumb down
afoot, but not a horse. Well, the Indians were a-coming all the time,
and one of 'em was nigh a half mile ahead of the other two; those
two had not gained much, but the fellow in the lead, he was surely
a-coming. While I was looking for a place to get down I'd noticed a
little point running out into the valley, with three pines on it, and
I made for them, for I says to myself, 'I ain't a-going to let them
fellows have this horse, and then get killed afoot.'

"I got to the trees and stopped and got off. The lead Indian kept
a-coming; and, sir, he surely had a good horse. It was a big
iron-grey, powerful and swift, I could tell by the way he overhauled
my horse, for mine wan't no slouch, and I hadn't let him linger
much by the way. Why, when that grey's foot struck the ground it
seemed like he was galloping on cushions, it was so easy. The Indian
came up to within about four hundred yards of the trees, and then
he wheeled his horse and rode off in a wide circle and met his
party, and they stopped and talked a while, and then they started
and charged straight at me. They did not worry me much, for I knew
they wouldn't come right close, and they couldn't get around me.
If they'd been able to circle in behind me, I expect they'd have
bothered me considerable. As it was, I kept watching that grey
horse, and thinking about him, and figuring to see if there wasn't
some way I could get hold of him; but I did not see any. The Indians
kept a-charging up and a-charging up, every time coming a little
closer. One of them had a gun, and every time they turned off, he
would shoot toward me; but they were too far off to hit anything. You
see, in them days, britch-loaders weren't very common anywhere, and
the Indians, of course, knew less about 'em than white people. They
calculated on my having a muzzle-loader, and were trying to tempt me
to shoot, so as to make a charge when my gun was empty, and finish
me before I could load. I had a little britch-loading Sharp's rifle,
with paper cartridges, but I could load pretty fast if I had to,
could beat a muzzle-loader all to death.

"At last the Indians came up so close that I made up my mind I would
give them a shot, and I thought I would try the man riding the grey,
just on the chance that if I killed him, the grey might keep on
towards my horse and I would get a chance to catch him. I stood up
against the tree and took a careful aim at the man, shooting plenty
high, for they were a long shot off. Just as I pulled though, the man
I was shooting at swung his horse, and my ball went by him and killed
the horse of the man behind him. It fell, and the rider jumped up and
ran off, jumping from side to side, like he was plenty scared I would
shoot at him. They all stopped away out of range and began to talk
again, when, all of a sudden, I saw six more men ride up in sight,
quite a long way off. Thinks I to myself, 'If these is more Sioux, I
am surely in for it now;' but in a moment I noticed that these six
men were coming in pairs, the way soldiers ride, and then I knew it
was a bunch of Pawnees. I ran to untie my horse and charge out, but
the Sioux had seen the Pawnees as soon as I did, and they had just
everlastingly lit out over the prairie. The Pawnees struck out after
the Sioux, and by the time I was in the saddle and riding, they were
a couple of miles ahead of me, and going hard. I knew it was no use
for me to run my horse down trying to catch them, so I rode out to
where I had dropped my meat, picked it up, and went back to the
graders' camp.

"The next day I went up to the Pawnee camp, for I kept thinking about
that grey horse, and if the Pawnees had captured him, I wanted to
buy him. I knew that they would understand just as well as I did how
good a horse he was, and I thought likely that if they had got him,
they would not sell him; but I was going to make a bluff at buying
him, anyhow. When I got to the camp I talked a while with Major
North's brother, who was in command there, and at last told him about
the chase that they had had yesterday, and how the Sioux had had me
cornered. I said I wanted to see one of the Indians that was in the
fight. When the head man of these six came to the tent, I saw that it
was old Ik[=u]ts tár[=u]sh, and I talked with him about the chase,
and asked him what they had done. He said that they had killed two of
the Sioux. Then I asked him about the grey horse, and whether they
had got it. He shook his head.

"'No,' he said, 'that horse got killed. The horse and the two men who
were riding him were both killed, and the other man and his horse
got away.' I don't know when I've been more sorry about the death of
any dumb beast, that wasn't a dog, than I was that time. Ik[=u]ts
tár[=u]sh was sorry too."




CHAPTER VIII

JACK'S FIRST ANTELOPE


After breakfast next morning, Hugh and Jack saddled their horses and
set out for Sand Creek. Before they started, Hugh brought out from
the house a gun sling which he fastened to Jack's saddle on the left
side. It was like a long narrow leather bag open at both ends, and
held by two long straps, one of which passed over the horn of the
saddle, while the other was tied behind the cantle, so that the bag
lay along the horse's side under the left hand stirrup leather, and
just below where the rider's knee would come. Then he slipped the
rifle in, so that the stock lay along the horse's shoulder and within
easy reach of the hand. This, he told Jack, was the best way to carry
his rifle, and although at first the gun seemed in Jack's way, and a
little uncomfortable, he soon got used to feeling it there.

The day was bright and pleasant, and skirting the base of the
mountain for two or three miles, they rode over the ridge which
separates the waters of Sand Creek from the Muddy. The prairie was
everywhere the same dull brown; a few cattle and horses were seen
feeding on the distant hillsides. Far away toward the Sand Creek,
Hugh pointed out a number of white dots on the prairie, which he told
Jack were antelope. He said to him:

"Now, son, when we get near those antelope, who is going to do the
hunting, you or me?"

"Why, I don't know, Hugh. I've been wondering about that. You know
what it is best to do, and if you will tell me, I'll try to do just
as you say."

"That's good, son," said Hugh, "I want you to kill the meat, if we
get any, but it's a heap better for you to start in right to learn
how to hunt than it is for you to kill anything. I guess the best way
is for me to do the hunting for a little while, so that you can watch
me and learn. Now, I'll tell you two or three things about hunting
that it's worth while for you to remember. When you're hunting,
always go alone if you can, or else with one other man, if you and he
understand each other. You'll never have any luck if you hunt with a
man who is always crazy to be ahead. If he acts that way, you just
quit him and don't go with him again. Such a man will everlastingly
scare away the game, and he'll wear out your patience, and make you
wish he was somewhere else a good many times before you get to camp.
If you're alone you'll have yourself to blame for any blunders you
make, and it's easy for you to forgive yourself for the fool things
you do, but it ain't easy to forgive any one else. If you're hunting
with a man who understands how to hunt better'n you do, let him do
the hunting, and, if he wants it bad, let him do the shooting too.
But I wouldn't hunt with a man that makes a hog of himself, if I was
you.

"If you're hunting with another man, always have it understood who is
to hunt and who is to shoot. Don't ever hunt side by side with any
one. Two men are twice as easy seen as one, and make twice as much
noise; so they are more likely to be noticed by the game. You can bet
that the game is always on the watch, and, do the best you can, it
is pretty likely to see you. So you want to go slow, and to be just
as careful as you know how. When you get to the top of the hill, go
mighty slow. Only take a step or two at a time, and look over every
inch of the ground that you can see beyond you, as your head rises.
Always take your hat off. A hat sticks up two or three inches higher
than your eyes, and can be seen before you can see whatever it is
that's looking at you. In the same way you'll see the horns of an elk
or an antelope that's over the ridge from you before you see his head.

"When you see any game, don't dodge down quick, so's to get out of
sight. Even if the animal seems to be looking right at you, don't
move, or, if you do, lower your head very slowly. The chances are
that the animal hasn't seen you, or if it has, that it don't know
what you are, and if you keep still, it won't notice you. Likely
after staring at you for a minute or two, it'll look some other way,
or put down its head to take a bite of grass. Then you must drop
down out of sight and begin to crawl to the top of the hill. You
must remember that when you see this head, there's the whole crest
of the hill between your shoulder, from which you must shoot, and
the antelope's heart that you must shoot at. You've got to see the
antelope's whole body before you can shoot, and you've got to get up
to the top of the hill before you can see his whole body. While you
are getting to the top of the hill, you must watch out and not show
yourself, either to the animal you have seen, or to any others that
there are with it. Likely as not there will be six or eight others in
the bunch, scattered about on the hillside, and all of 'em keeping
a good look-out. To get a standing shot, you must keep out of sight
of all of 'em. For a part of the way to the top of the hill you can
go stooping down low, then you'll have to get down on your hands and
knees and creep, and at last you'll have to drop flat on your belly
and crawl. If the grass is any way thick and high, you won't have
much trouble, but if it's short and thin, maybe the antelope will see
you and run off.

"Remember to keep your head down, and don't feel that you've got to
look every two or three minutes to see whether the game is there or
not. It won't run without it gets scared, and if it starts to run,
your looking won't stop it. When, by crawling as carefully as you
know how, you've got up so you can see your animal again, wait until
it puts its head down to feed, or looks away from you, and then raise
your head a little bit to see if there are any others with it, so as
to get an idea of the general situation. When you raise your head, if
you can see the whole body of your antelope, you had better shoot.
If the animal is broadside toward you, shoot at his heart; if head
toward you, at the point of his breast; if tail toward you, shoot
between the hams, about three inches below the tail; if quartering to
you, at the point of the shoulder, or, if quartering from you, at the
flank, just in front of the ham. You want your bullet to go through
the heart, and you must remember that the heart lies just back of the
fore legs, and low down. The life lies low. Don't forget that. There
is a little curl of hair on an antelope just back of the elbow, and
here the hair is thin, and the dark skin shows through and makes this
curl look black. That is the mark I always shoot at, if I can. An
antelope hit there don't go far.

"Now, it ain't much use for me to tell you all these things, because
you've got to see 'em done and to do 'em yourself before you can know
much about hunting, but maybe what I've told you will make it easier
for you to learn.

"There's one thing I ain't told you about, because I suppose you know
all about it without being told. That's the wind. All animals are
terrible keen smellers, and of course you can't never get up to them
from the windward side. You've always got to go to leeward. Let the
wind blow from them to you, not from you to them."

"I think I understand all that you've told me," said Jack, "and I'll
try to remember it. Do you think we'll get any game to-day?"

"Oh, we'll sure see some antelope," answered Hugh, "but maybe we
won't find what we want in a good place. You see, the does are going
to have young ones pretty soon now, and so I don't like to kill 'em.
The bucks are in better order, and if we can find one of them in a
place where we can get at him, we'll try to kill him."

As they rode on farther and farther, the country became more broken,
and they passed over one little ridge after another, with little
valleys between. They had almost reached the top of one of these
ridges, when Hugh suddenly stopped and looked intently toward the
right, where the valley widened out a little. Jack stopped and looked
too, but he could see nothing except the brown prairie.

"See 'em?" said Hugh, after a moment.

"No, I don't see anything," replied Jack.

"Look down on the hillside, just above that little alkali lake,"
said Hugh. "There's two antelope there--old does, I reckon. We won't
bother with them. Likely they'll get our wind after we've gone a
little further, and run up by us."

"Oh, yes, I see them now," said Jack. They crossed the next valley
and rode up over the ridge beyond, and as they went down that hill,
Hugh called out, "Here they come, sure enough;" and looking to his
right, Jack saw two antelope running towards them very fast. They ran
smoothly and evenly, and as easily and fast up hill as down, or on
the level. In a moment they were passing quite close in front of the
riders, and had run up the hill and disappeared over its crest.

"We've got to watch out now," said Hugh. "We're liable to run on an
antelope any minute. Don't ride up over these hills in a hurry, and
keep a good look-out."

The next hill they came to, Hugh checked his horse before he got to
the top, and looked carefully over the ground ahead. After doing
this, he lifted his bridle rein and let his horse take a few steps
forward, and then stopped again and looked. Then he went forward
again--quite to the top of the hill, and looked again. Nothing was
seen, and they went on down into the valley and across it. Jack
noticed that as he went up the hill old Baldy seemed to be looking
just as his rider was. His ears were pricked up; he moved slowly and
carefully and seemed to be expecting something all the time. Each
time they came to the crest of a hill the same thing was repeated,
but nothing was seen. At length, however, after one of the looks,
Hugh bent low over his horse's neck, and at the same time turned
him round and rode down the hill again. Jack, who had kept close to
Hugh's side, had seen nothing, for his head was a foot or two below
the old man's.

After they had got part way down the hill, Hugh spoke in a low tone
and said, "There's a couple of antelope on the side hill just above
here. They're lying down, and I guess we can get up within shot.
Throw down your rope and take your gun and come on."

In a moment Jack was off his horse, and had thrown down his bridle
rein and his rope. Then he pulled his rifle out of its case and went
to Hugh, who had taken his rifle from its case and stood waiting for
him. Jack was beginning to feel excited, and his heart was pounding
against his ribs, and as he ran up to Hugh, he was not looking where
he was going, and he caught his foot in a sage-bush, and would have
fallen flat if Hugh had not reached out his hand and caught him by
the shoulder.

"Steady, son: steady," said Hugh. "Don't be in such a rush. There's
plenty of time, and if you're going to do any hunting you mustn't go
ramming around this way. Go slow and easy. Those antelope ain't going
to run away unless we've scared 'em already, and if we've scared 'em,
they're out of shot by this time."

"Let's hurry, Hugh, and maybe we can get a shot at them."

"Easy, easy. Don't I tell you that you can't make anything by
rushing 'round. I want you to learn how to hunt, not to act like a
rattlehead. Now come with me and go slow and quiet, and we'll take a
look."

The two walked forward toward the mountain for a hundred yards or so,
Jack eagerly pressing forward, while Hugh walked slowly. The wind was
now blowing in their faces. At length Hugh pointed to their right and
ahead, and said to Jack, "Now, those antelope are over the ridge
there, lying down on the hillside. Do you want me to go up and find
'em, and then come back and get you, so's you can shoot at 'em, or
would you rather go up yourself and find 'em, and take the shot? You
can do just whichever you like."

"Oh, may I go up alone and do it all myself? That'll be splendid. I'd
rather do that than have any help," said Jack, "Can I start now?"

"Yes," said Hugh. "Go ahead, but mind and be careful, or else the
first thing you know you'll see them antelope a long way off. I'll
set here and smoke till I hear the shot." As he said this, Hugh sat
down on the ground, and putting his rifle beside him, felt in his
pocket for his pipe, while Jack went on towards the hilltop. He
walked very fast, keeping his eyes fixed on the crest of the hill
before him, and before he had come to the top of the ridge he was
breathing pretty fast. As he got nearer to the top, he began to be
still more excited. He remembered what Hugh had said about shooting
at a particular spot on the antelope, and he hoped he could hit it.
If he did, he felt sure that the antelope would drop. It would be
great to take the animal in and be able to say that he had killed it,
and not Hugh. Suddenly, as he was thinking of these things, he heard
a queer noise off to his left, and then he saw that he was on top of
the hill and could see over quite a good deal of the valley in front
of him. He thought that the antelope must be somewhere near here. He
began to look, very carefully, when suddenly he again heard this
curious noise, something like a person blowing his nose, and looking
hard in the direction of the sound, he suddenly saw two buck antelope
running away from him not very far off. They disappeared over a hill,
and in a moment were seen again much further off, running up a high
hill, on top of which they stopped and stood looking at him, again
making that curious sound. He felt sure that they were the antelope
he had been looking for, and he was so disappointed that he felt like
crying, only that would do no good. They were now much too far away
to shoot at. He watched them for a little while, and then began to
walk along the hilltop to make sure that there were no more antelope
there. He soon convinced himself of this, and then turned to go back
to Hugh. Before he had gone far, he saw him coming, riding his own
horse and leading the grey.

"Well," said Hugh, "I saw the antelope run off, and so I brought the
horses. What scared them?"

"I don't know, Hugh," was the answer, "but I guess I did. I got up
on the hill and was looking around, and suddenly I heard some queer
noises off there, and then I heard them again, and then two antelope
ran over the hill and up on the mountain there, and stopped and
looked."

"Well," said Hugh, "I expect you must have let 'em see you. You've
got to be mighty careful when you're crawling up on game."

Jack mounted his horse and rode off beside Hugh. For a little while
he kept still, thinking, and struggling with his disappointment;
then he spoke and said:

"Hugh, I tried to be smart just now, and so I lost those antelope.
Because you have taught me how to do a few things, I thought I could
creep up to those animals alone. I made a mistake and I know it now.
Don't let me make any more like it, please."

Hugh's face lighted up with pleasure as he heard these words, and he
answered, "Son, I'm mighty glad to hear you say this. You talk like
a man, and you're going to make a good one, I know it. I figured
quite a spell to-day before I made up my mind what I'd do about
them antelope, but I was a little mite afraid you was getting the
big-head, and I thought I'd try you the way I did. If you'd asked me
to take you up to the antelope, you'd have got the shot, and likely
now we'd have been butchering, but I expect it is better the way it
is. You've learned a lesson of one kind, and before the day's over
I'll give you a lesson in hunting. Come on, now, let's lope while we
can."

They went on, galloping across the little valleys and going slowly
up the hills. Before very long Jack again saw Hugh bend his head and
back away from the ridge, and then turn and ride a few yards down the
hill and dismount. Jack did the same, and as he drew his rifle from
its scabbard, Hugh said to him, "There's a big buck just over the
hill, and I think we can get him. Is your gun loaded?"

"No," replied Jack.

"That's right, but you'd better load it now and keep it at half-cock,
and then follow me and do just what you see me do."

Hugh walked quietly up the hill and Jack followed him. Again he was
excited, but this time he was not breathing fast, and now he felt
sure that he would get a shot. When Hugh had nearly reached the top
of the hill, he stopped, took off his hat and dropped it on the
ground, and putting his hand behind him motioned Jack to stop. After
a long look he took two or three steps forward and then stopped
again; then two or three more, and then he slowly lowered his head
and walked forward in a stooping position. Then he dropped to his
knees, and turning, beckoned Jack, who had imitated all his motions,
to his side. "The buck is just over there," he whispered, pointing to
the crest before him. "Creep up beside me, and look through the grass
and try to see him. Don't raise your head and don't hurry. There's
plenty of time."

On hands and knees they crept forward a few feet, and then Hugh
stretched out his hand and touched Jack, and motioned with his head.
The boy stared at the grass before them which was shivering in the
wind, but he could see nothing beyond it but the blue sky. At length
Hugh bent toward him and whispered, "Don't you see his horns?"
Instantly Jack saw that what he had seen several times and had
supposed were two black looking weed stalks were the slender horns
of an antelope. Hugh saw the change in his companion's face, and
whispered again, "Crawl up a few feet more and then get up slowly,
rest your left elbow on your knee, and aim just behind the shoulder
and low down." Jack crept up past Hugh, and, rising very slowly on
one knee, took a careful aim. The buck was lying on a point of the
hill, with his face toward the valley and his back toward Jack, who
aimed at the side just behind the shoulder and low down, and fired.
The buck sprang to his feet, and in half a dozen low, rabbitlike
jumps, disappeared over the hill.

Jack had not had time to wonder whether he had missed or not, when he
heard Hugh's voice at his ear saying, "Son, you done that well; no
one could have done it better. Now, let's go and get the horses."

"Well, but Hugh, where is the antelope? Did I hit him or did I miss?"
asked Jack.

"Why, you hit him, of course. Look where he ran. Don't you see that
if you'd missed him he would have been in sight before now, either
crossing that flat or running up on one of the hills. He ain't gone
far. He's our meat."

"Oh, I hope so," gasped Jack, who suddenly began to tremble as if he
were cold.

  [Illustration: "JACK CREPT UP PAST HUGH ... AND TOOK A CAREFUL
  AIM."--_Page 84_.]

When they had mounted, Hugh led the way to the place where the
antelope had been lying. Here he pointed out the hoof tracks and
followed them down the hill. Before long he stopped, and pointing
at the ground, said, "See there." Jack looked, and saw a dark
splash on the ground, and clinging to a tuft of the brown prairie
grass, several bright red drops. After a moment's hesitation, he
exclaimed, "Oh, that's blood, isn't it? Then I must have hit him."

"Yes, indeed, he is hit. Now, you see if you can follow that blood
trail. Don't keep looking at the ground just in front of you, look
ahead of you and don't try to go too fast." Jack looked on the ground
ahead of him, and saw other splashes, and starting on, soon saw that
he could follow the marks much more easily and quickly in that way
than he could by watching those which were close under his horse's
head. They went on for a hundred yards further, and then, as they
rounded the point of a little knoll, Hugh said, "There's your meat,"
and looking, Jack saw something white showing above the grass, and a
moment later he was looking down on his first antelope.

It was a splendid big buck, and Jack, jumping off his horse, ran
to it and for a moment could hardly believe his eyes. Then he tore
off his hat and threw it up in the air and just yelled and hurrahed
as loud as he could. Hugh meantime, smiling as if greatly pleased,
had thrown down the ropes of both horses and twisted them around a
sage-bush, and when he came up to the antelope, Jack was looking it
all over, opening its mouth, stretching out its slender legs, and
smoothing down its coarse rough hair.

"Isn't he pretty, though? And how slim his legs are! No wonder he can
run. And he's got a black tongue, just like a pure breed Alderney
cow. But he must be pretty old, for he hasn't got any front teeth
in his upper jaw. Do you think he'll be very tough? And see, he only
has two hoofs on each foot. Are all antelopes that way? Some caribou
that Uncle Will killed once in Canada had four hoofs on each foot,
two little ones and two big ones. Oh, ain't I glad I didn't miss. But
I never thought about missing. I just aimed as near as I could where
you told me to. I'm so glad I didn't just wound him. Oh, this is the
best day of my life." So Jack chattered on, until Hugh interrupted
him by taking hold of the animal and turning it over, saying as he
did so, "You done well, my son, mighty well. I watched you shoot and
you couldn't have done better if you'd been killing antelope as long
as I have. You were steady as a rock. Now, look a'here. You see this
little hole? That's where the ball went in; and this big one is where
it came out. You want to remember that; going in, the ball makes a
small hole, coming out, a big one. You ask a heap of questions, but
I'll try and answer some of 'em. You'll have to stop on the prairie
longer than I have to find an antelope with front teeth in his upper
jaw. They don't have 'em. No more does any other animal that I ever
saw that chews the cud. First chance you get, look at a cow's mouth,
or a deer's, or an elk's, or a sheep's. You'll see they're all alike
in that. A horse has upper front teeth, and so does a hog, but those
are about the only animals that eat grass that has 'em, in this
country. Now, we've got to butcher. I'll do that, because I know
how, and after a while you can learn to. I guess we'll take this
fellow in whole. You'd like to have 'em see him that way, I reckon."

Hugh rapidly prepared the animal for transportation to camp, and
then, bringing up the horses and tightening the saddles on both, he
lifted the antelope on Old Grey, and tied it on behind the saddle
with the leather strings, tied its head up, so that the horns should
not strike the horse, and the legs to each of the cinch rings of the
saddle. Thus it was firm.

He looked at the sky for a moment, and then said, "Let's fill the
pipe." Sitting down, he lit his pipe, and while he smoked said:
"Antelope don't have no front teeth in the upper jaw, as I told you,
and they don't have no dew-claws like a deer or a steer. I can't tell
why they don't, but I can tell you what the Indians say about the
dew-claws. Now a deer ain't got no gall, and this is the way the deer
lost his gall and the antelope his dew-claws.

"A long time ago, they say, deer had galls and antelope had
dew-claws. According to the Pawnees tell, in those days all the
animals could talk to each other, and one day the antelope and the
deer met out on the prairie. They had quite a talk, giving each other
the news, and at last the deer got to bragging about himself, telling
how smart he was and how he could beat all the other animals running.
'Why,' says the antelope, 'you may be a pretty considerable fast
runner, but you couldn't beat me.' 'Bet you I can,' says the deer.
'Bet you ye can't,' says the antelope.

"Well, they bantered each other for quite a spell, and at last they
made it up that they'd run a race on the prairie, and they bet their
galls on the race. Whoever won was to take both. Well, at last the
day came for the race, and they ran, and the antelope beat the deer
all hollow. So the deer handed over his gall to the antelope. He
felt terrible bad, about it though, and seemed so broke up that the
antelope felt sorry for him and made him a present of his dew-claws,
to make his heart good."

As he finished the story, Hugh knocked the fire out of his pipe and
said, "Well, let's be going." They mounted and rode back toward the
ranch. Jack's heart was full of gladness, and he felt proud of what
he had done, and proud that Hugh praised him. As they rode by the
stables and up to the house, one of the cowboys called out to Hugh,
"Why don't you carry your meat instead of making the kid pack it?"
To which Hugh replied, winking at Jack, "The kid killed it, and the
kid's got to pack it." Jack thought this a very good joke.




CHAPTER IX

JOHN MONROE, HALF-BREED


When he looked out of the window next morning, Jack could see only a
little way, for it was snowing and blowing very hard, and the fine
snow-flakes filled the air and were whirled about in dense clouds.
The brush and the mountain behind the house could not be seen, and
even the stables and corrals were hidden.

After breakfast he sat for a little while by the window, looking out
and watching the snow-flakes, but he soon got tired of that. His
uncle was writing near the stove. There was no one to talk to, and
he did not feel like reading. At length he thought that he would go
down to the bunk-house where the men slept, and see what Hugh was
doing. He could see the outline of the house amid the whirling snow,
and supposed Hugh was there. He told his uncle what he was going to
do, and Mr. Sturgis looked up and said, "All right, go down to the
bunk-house, but go straight there, don't try to go anywhere else. It
is easy to get lost in this snow."

When Jack entered the bunk-house, a great cloud of snow blew in the
open door after him, and as he banged it to behind him, he saw Hugh
standing up plaiting a raw-hide rope, Reuben mending his saddle with
strings of wet raw-hide, which he took from a bucket of water beside
him, while Joe had his feet cocked up on the stove and was smoking
and talking to the others. Jack went up to the stove and sat down on
a box near Reuben, and watched him, and after a moment Joe went on
speaking.

"I seen Red Cahill yesterday when I was riding. He was going down
from Washakie to the Fort, and calculated he'd stop all night to
Powell's. He told me that there's five head of our horses ranging
up on Grey Bull. There's the old gotch-eared black mare, and her
three-year old, two-year old, and yearling, and that yellow gelding
that the boss traded for with them emigrants when they came through
here two years ago. You mind we ain't seen that gelding since his
feet got well, and I always thought he'd took the trail back the way
he come. But it seems not. I don't expect the roundup will fetch them
horses in, but it may. Anyhow we can go and get 'em 'most any time,
only it's a long way to ride for five head of horses.

"Did Red say anything about the Indians at Washakie?" asked Hugh.

"That's what he did," said Joe.

"He said we won't see no Indians down here this summer. You know
them Arapahoes that's up there to Washakie is kinder friends to them
Cheyennes that broke out last fall down in Kansas, and got took in
to Roberson, and then broke jail there, and most all got killed. He
says there's some Cheyennes staying up there with the Arapahoes and
they're all stirred up and uneasy over that killing down to Roberson."

"Yes," said Hugh, "and I don't wonder at it. It was a doggoned shame
the way they treated them Indians. It was all right to capture them
and bring 'em in and shut 'em up. That's war all right enough. But
after they'd got 'em locked up, to shut down on their grub and their
water was about the worst thing that I ever heard of this Government
doing, and it sure done some pretty bad things. I don't care so much
for the men. It's men's business to get into trouble and to fight and
get killed or to starve, but when I think of them women and young
girls and little children not having anything to eat or drink for
seven days I tell you it makes me mad. I expect if them folks back
east who pretends to think so much about Indians could know about
that, they'd raise quite a fuss. But they ain't never likely to hear
of it.

"What was it, Hugh?" said Jack.

"Oh," said Hugh, "it was just a killing of Indians, like plenty of
others that's happened out in this western country, only this time
the soldiers took away all the guns the Indians had and didn't give
them no food nor water for seven days and then they let 'em get out,
and killed 'em as they run. I believe they killed sixty or seventy of
them and all but about twenty was women and little children, but I
don't feel much like talking about it any more, so let's quit it."

Jack had never before heard Hugh speak as he spoke now; so sternly
and sharply that Jack had nothing to say and sat silent on his box,
watching the others work. At length Reuben ventured a remark and said:

"This here snow-storm'll do a heap of good to the meadows, and the
way it's blowing now it orter pile some of these ravines full of
snow, and make the water last a heap longer than it commonly does."

"Yes," said Hugh. "This is going to be a right good year, for feed,
and this here storm won't do no harm. It ain't cold enough to hurt
young calves and colts. It may make the coyotes a little hungry
though, and if any one of you boys rides to-morrow, he'd better
take some baits with him--I mean to put out some poison along the
mountains myself."

"That's a good idee," said Joe; "I believe I'll go out and mix up
some tallow now."

Joe took his feet down from the stove, yawned, stood up, and walked
to the window and looked out. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Gosh!" and
stepping out the door uttered a loud "Hallo-o-a." Jack ran to the
window and looked out. For a moment the storm had lulled; the wind
had stopped blowing, and the snow falling, and the boy saw, a few
hundred yards away, on the crest of a hill, a snow-covered horseman,
followed by two pack animals. Joe's shout had reached the rider, who
had stopped and was now looking toward the house. Then the wind again
began to howl and the snow to fly, and in an instant the whole scene
was blotted out.

Jack went outside and stood by Joe, who seemed to be listening. "What
is it, Joe?" he said.

"Didn't you see the way that fellow was going? He was plum lost,
heading straight for the mountains. If he's a pilgrim he'd a got
tangled up in the ravines and likely froze to death. Don't talk now;
listen." In a moment, the two were joined by Hugh and Rube, and all
stood listening. Presently someone said, "There he comes," and a
moment later, the little group of animals stopped in front of the
bunk-house. The rider stiffly dismounted, and began to take off the
packs from his horses. "Well, seh," he said, "my glad my get here."

Hugh stepped out into the snow to help unpack the stranger's horses,
and when the snow-covered man saw him, he exclaimed in surprise,
"Why, hallo, Hugh, h'ole man, my think you was dead long time."

"Why, I'm durned if it ain't old John Monroe," said Hugh. "Come in,
come in and get dry; the boys'll tend to your horses. Well, well; how
are you? Living up north, yet? How's the old man? Tell me all the
news."

"Well, seh," said old John, "this very curieuse. My comin' down here
pour veeseet my girl. She married one man, live on Bear River. Now my
goin' down there, meet h'ole Hugh. Bien curieuse," and he stared at
Hugh as if he could hardly believe his eyes.

Hugh laughed. "Why, son," he said, speaking to Jack, "this old man and
me has travelled together a good many years when I stopped up north
with his people. You see, he's a Piegan half-breed, raised in Canada
among the Crees and Frenchmen. His father came out into this country
long before I was born, must have been more'n sixty-five years ago.
The old man worked for the Hudson Bay Company in early days, and John
here has been working for fur companies all his life. He's one of the
best timber-hunters that ever was. I'm right glad to see him. We'll
have to get him to stop with us here for a while, I expect."

A moment later Hugh turned to John and spoke to him in some strange
language, and for a little while Jack sat there and watched the two
talking and making signs to each other. He had heard his uncle tell
of the sign language that the Indians used, and he felt sure that
this must be it. When he left them to go up to the house the two men
were still talking busily.

After dinner Jack again went down to the bunk-house. Hugh and John
were still giving the news to each other, but now they spoke a
language that Jack could understand--that is, Hugh did, but John's
English made up only a small part of his speech, which was partly
French and partly Indian, with a good many signs. Some parts of what
he said Jack could not understand at all.

"Well, son," said Hugh after awhile, "I have got a whole bag full
of news from up north, and I'm mighty glad to have it. I've got a
whole lot of friends in the Blackfoot camp, and I've got plenty of
questions yet to ask the old man.

"Tell me, John, are the young men going to war much these days? In my
time with the tribe the horse-stealing parties were out about all the
time, except in the worst winter weather," said Hugh.

"Yas," answered John, "plenty war-parties he goin' h'out h'all time,
take plenty horses. Goin' to Crow, h'Assinaboine, Gros Ventres, Pend
d'Oreilles, h'all peoples. Sometime goin' 'gainst white mans."

"And I suppose plenty of people come to war against them, too," said
Hugh. "If they take lots of horses, they lose lots too, I expect."

"Hoh' yas," said John, "plenty horses stolen. Last summer Crows he
take 'im 'bout two hundred, one night. Lone Person he loss 'bout
hundred. You know it Heavy Runner--white mans call 'im Brocky.
Well, seh, last summer, Crees he comin' down pour steal 'im horses.
Somebody see it, h'every body h'running try pour keel 'im Crees.
Young man, Wolf Eagle, Cree shoot it 'im in h'arm. Heavy Runner he
chase 'im one Cree; Cree jump in washout pour fight; shoot it 'im
Heavy Runner in forehead; Heavy Runner shoot it, keel 'im Cree. Heavy
Runner get well, may be bullet follow bone of his haid round, no go
through. Plenty dances over Cree his scalp. War now, not so good lak'
in h'ole days. Too much soldier now; chase it war-party, take away
horses."

"Yes, I expect it's a heap different up there now from what it used
to be; like it is everywhere in the country since the railroads come
and turned things upside down. There's too many people in the country
now, and they ain't the right sort of people either."

"Yas, Hugh, h'ole man, peoples lak' you an' me we can' change, we too
h'ole. We been loky we was borned in good times, mais we had bad lok
we lived too long."

"Well, anyhow, John, I'd like mighty well to go up north again, and
maybe I will some day. When you goin' back there?"

"My not know yet. Maybe one, two mont'. Suppose maybe you goin' back
sem time my go?"

John stopped talking, and taking his pipe from his fire bag, began to
clean and fill it. This was rather a long slow process, during which
nothing was said. After the pipe was going well, John sat back, and
casting his eyes about the bunk-house noticed the bear-skin hanging
against the wall. Pointing to it, he said, "You kill it' 'im bear,
Hugh?"

"No, the boss killed that fellow. It must have just come out, for it
was right fat. There is lots of bears here, John, but no buffalo.
We've got to go more'n two hundred miles to kill buffalo. Last year
I seen one dead one out on the prairie about twenty-five miles from
here, but that's the only one I've seen about here in a long time.
Plenty buffalo up north, I expect."

"Plenty," was the answer. "He trade it two store, Carroll. H'all
H'ingin' comin' trade; Cree, h'Assinaboine, Gros Ventres, Sircee,
Blackfeet, Blood, Piegan; got plenty whisky, trade plenty h'robe.
Sometime he faightin', _les chauvages_, when he bin dronk. Sometimes
he keel it two tree H'ingin' faightin: sometime in winter, cole he
keel it, froze 'im so he was die. You know it Calf Shirt, Blood
Chief; well, seh, he keel it 'im white mans. Calf Shirt he dronk,
want keel it white mans, one h'woman run quick tole um. When Calf
Shirt cornin' pour faight, white mans shoot it 'im, maybe six, seven,
ten time. Soon he daid."

"Well, well!" exclaimed Hugh, "It's like old times yet up north after
all."




CHAPTER X

COWS IN A SNOW-DRIFT


The next morning the snow had ceased falling and the sun shone bright
and clear. Hugh declared that it was just the day for putting out his
coyote baits, which he intended to string along the mountains north
of the house, to try to poison some of the coyotes that were watching
the calves. These baits were blocks of wood in which one and a half
inch augur holes had been bored to a depth of three inches. Into
these holes melted tallow had been poured until the holes were full.
The coyotes were expected to eat little balls of tallow containing
strychnine scattered on the ground, and to remain near the blocks,
licking at the tallow in the augur holes, until the poison which they
had taken should act, so that they would die near the blocks. Thus
the wolfer would get the skins of the animals that he killed.

Hugh put the blocks containing the baits in two sacks and lashed them
on a pack horse, and soon with Jack and John he was riding through
the snow north along the mountain-side. Soon after starting, Hugh
tied a piece of elk-hide to one end of his rope, and taking a turn
of the other around the horn of his saddle, dragged it behind him
over the snow. This, he told Jack, was to lead the wolves to follow
the trail, so that they might come to the baits. "Of course," he
said, "they'd follow it up anyhow, but the smell of this hide'll
keep 'em thinking about eating." After they had gone a few hundred
yards, Hugh dismounted on top of a little ridge, and here threw down
one of his pieces of wood, and about it scattered several balls of
poisoned tallow and a handful of chips of dried meat, which he took
from a sack. This he repeated at intervals of half a mile as they
went along. When they reached the spot where the cows were, they
found most of them feeding on a warm, sheltered hillside, which was
almost free from snow. There were now many more calves than when they
had seen them last. Hugh sat for a long time looking at the animals,
while John Monroe rode to the top of a near-by hill, from which
after a moment he called aloud, made some motions with his hands and
pointed.

"That's good," said Hugh to Jack. "He sees them cows." They galloped
up to John who motioned toward the mountains where a number of dark
animals were seen standing in the snow.

"Well, John," said Hugh, "we've got to get them out. It's a bad
place, too. There's a big drift there. I'll bet the snow's four feet
deep."

Riding toward the cows, they saw that there were seven of them
standing in the deep snow, which reached half way up to their backs.
Two or three of them had moved a little, treading down the snow
about them so that they had room to turn around; beside these, calves
were standing. All the cows looked cold and hungry and fierce-eyed,
and two or three shook their heads angrily as the horsemen pushed
their way toward them through the ever-deepening snow.

"Well, now, boys," said Hugh, "we've got to break a road as near the
critters as we can, and then rope 'em and snake 'em out. Son, you'll
have to look out. Every one of them cows is fighting mad, and likely
every one of 'em's got a calf, which will make her fight harder.
John, you and me'd better take this nearest one first. Son, when we
get the ropes on her, maybe you can get around and hurry the calf
along close to her."

For a few moments Hugh, John and Jack rode back and forth through
the deep snow, until they had broken a trail from a point where the
snow was only knee-deep nearly to where the nearest cow stood. Each
time when they got near her, she shook her head at them and looked
as if she were going to charge. When the road through the snow was
pretty well broken, John and Hugh rode up near to the cow, and then
separating, each of them threw his rope. Hugh's settled fairly over
both horns, but John's caught only one of them, slipped off and
had to be gathered and thrown again. Then both men turned their
horses toward the path and slowly dragged the cow over and through
the snow. As the cow, bellowing and struggling furiously, passed
along, a pitiful feeble cry came from the hole where she had stood,
and Jack, spurring his horse up to the place, saw standing there a
little weak staggering calf. The snow was deep, even where the cow
had been dragged, and the calf could not get out of the hole. As Jack
sat there gazing at it, suddenly a rope flew over the calf's neck,
and looking, Jack saw John whirling his horse, and then saw the calf
fly out of the hole and over the snow at the end of the rope. He
followed to where Hugh sat on his horse by the cow, which lay on its
side, all tangled up in the rope. There John loosed the calf, which,
after a moment, staggered to its feet; and then Hugh, by a few jerks
on his rope, freed the cow, which got up and began to lick the calf.
Then, the two old men rode back to where the other cows stood in the
snow. Jack could not understand why the calf had not been choked to
death, nor how the cow had been tied, and then so suddenly untied. He
determined that he would watch. He hurried back to where the men were
breaking another path, but before he reached them they had roped the
cow and were dragging it over and through the snow. The cow bellowed
piteously, but moved along so steadily and fast that she could not
struggle. Jack drew out of the way to let them pass, and then rode up
to the hole, where he saw the little calf. This time he thought he
would try his hand; he threw his rope twice and at last it went over
the calf's head; then he very gently pulled it tight, and taking a
turn of the rope over the saddle-horn, turned and rode slowly toward
the others. He did not want to go fast, for he did not want to hurt
the calf. Before he had gone far he met John riding back. He called
to him: "Hurry! hurry! Ride more fast, else you're goin' kill 'im de
calf. You choke it 'im." Jack hurried on then, and stopped when he
was near Hugh, who, as before, was holding the tied cow. "Loose the
calf as quick as you can, son, and let it get up." Jack dismounted
and took the rope from the calf's neck, but it lay there perfectly
still.

"Oh, Hugh, I'm afraid I've killed it," said Jack.

Hugh dismounted quickly, leaving the horse standing with the rope
stretched tightly between the horn of the saddle and the cow, and
walked to the calf.

"You choked it too long," he said. "But I guess we can fix it." He
worked over the calf for a little while, and soon it began to breathe
again without any help.

"There! He's all right now; but the next time you snake a calf by the
neck, hurry him along. If you cut off his wind too long, he'll die on
you."

"Why, the reason I went slowly was that I didn't want to hurt it. If
Mr. Monroe hadn't told me to come faster, it would have been dead
before I got here."

"It sure would," said Hugh. "If you're handling cattle you have to be
quick about it often. It's easier on the critters, even if it does
look rough. There, that calf can stand now, I guess. Let's drag
it over to its mother and turn her loose. Now we've got to get the
others out. I expect old John'll wonder what's keeping us."

He took the calf by the fore legs and dragged it over the snow to
where its mother lay, then mounted his horse, and seeing that Jack
also had mounted, quickly freed the cow from the rope. When she
sprung to her feet, she ran to the calf and began to lick it, and
in a few moments it stood up. Meantime Jack and Hugh had gone back
and met John, who was slowly dragging a large cow over the snow.
She struggled and fought, and the little pony that John was riding
had his hands full to keep her moving in the right direction. As
soon as Hugh's rope fell over her horns, and the two horses began to
pull together, she moved swiftly and steadily along. Jack rode on to
get the calf. At first he thought there was none there, but looking
carefully he saw a foot and part of a leg sticking out from the snow
where the cow had been standing. He dismounted, and digging away the
snow, by pulling and pushing he brought to light a big strong calf,
which at once stood up. This time, Jack did not try to be tender with
the calf. He threw his rope over its head, took the turn of his rope
over the saddle-horn, pulled the calf up out of the snow pit and
then galloped back to where the cow lay. As soon as he cast the rope
off the calf, which this time he did without dismounting, the animal
stood up and bawled for its mother. Hugh turned her loose, and they
all went back for another cow. In this way they pulled out all the
cows and their calves, and before the middle of the day had started
back to the ranch.

The weather had become milder, and now the snow was melting a little.
"Might be such a thing, my son, as we'd find a coyote at some of
these baits. 'Tain't likely though. Still we'll go back the same way
we came."

"Snow on ground, maybe coyotes pretty hungry. Why you no make 'em
trap like H'ingin?" said John.

"Ain't wolves enough for it, and besides that, I don't believe I ever
thought of it before. Might be a good idea, though. Maybe I'll try it
next winter, if coyotes is anyways like as plenty as they are now.
Poison's no good any more."

"What kind of trap is that, Hugh?" asked Jack.

"Why, it's sorter like a pitfall trap that I've heard tell of. You
kill a bull, and all around him build up a kind of a fence of poles
close together, and all leaning toward each other at the top, where
you leave quite a hole. Then you pile up rocks and dirt around your
poles, so's to make a little mound for the wolves to walk on up to
the hole. If they're hungry enough they'll jump down into the hole to
get at the meat, but they can't jump out again because the hole is
too high up. They can't climb up the poles and they can't dig through
'em. So there you've got 'em."

"Long time ago," said John, "he catch 'im plenty big wolves, plenty
coyote that way, _les shauvages_. My grand'mère, when she was
little girl, 'bout as h'ole as Jacques, H'ingins not make it beaver,
not make it h'robes pour trade. H'only trade 'im wolf skin. Ver'
curieuse."

"Oh, Mr. Monroe," said Jack, "is that a coyote off there?"

"No, that sinopah--what you say it, Hugh?" was the reply.

"Kit fox is what I call him, some calls 'em swift. I've heard folks
say that they were the fastest thing that runs on the prairie, but
it ain't so, by a long shot. There's just plenty of swifter animals.
Still you can see easy enough where people get the idea that they run
so fast. They're mighty level-gaited and seem to sort o' glide along
instead of running. Just watch that fellow now and see how smooth he
runs.

"Hallo, Hugh," interrupted John, "you get it one coyote?"

"Well, looks like it, don't it?" said Hugh. The little wolf lay near
the block of wood, from the holes in which much of the tallow had
been licked. It was a pretty creature, about as large as a small
setter dog, yellowish grey in colour, and with thick heavy fur and a
bushy tail. Its sharp nose gave it a wise, cunning look.

"He been two of it here, Hugh," said John, whose eyes was constantly
wandering about over the snow. "Two coyote and sinopah."

"Yes; the other one's gone back along the trail to the ranch. They've
eat up all the scraps I scattered here. Well, I'll put this one on
the horse, and skin it at the house." Hugh thrust the coyote into one
of the sacks on the pack horse, and they went on.

A mile or two further along on the trail they found where the second
coyote had turned off toward the mountain, and both men said that
this one had probably not eaten any of the poisoned tallow. That
afternoon Hugh showed Jack how to skin a coyote.




CHAPTER XI

JACK'S FIRST ELK


The next two or three weeks were warm and bright and the snow melted
fast. The little brooks that ran down from the mountains were full of
water. Out on the edge of the hay meadows the men were working with
ploughs, spades and hoes, mending the irrigation ditches, which would
be used to turn the water on the hay land after all the snow water
had run off and the dry season had come. There was much of this work
to be done, and all were busy at it, except John Monroe and Jack, who
rode together each day.

One morning they went out to look at the cows, and then on past them,
and out to the end of the mountain. Here turning west, they followed
a narrow winding trail up the hill, until they had reached the crest
of the ridge and could look over much of the prairie below. Here they
dismounted, and leaving the horses in a little hollow where they
could feed, they clambered upon a high rock-crowned knoll and sat
there looking over the prairie. It was a wide and beautiful prospect
that they saw; fifteen or twenty miles of prairie, which from this
height looked as if it were level, marked here and there with lakes
that shone like silver in the sun, or with white patches of snow in
the sheltered ravines. Beyond were mountains; those in front of them
dotted with black pines and with white patches of rock; those to the
right rising in brown foothills to peaks which were almost as red as
blood. Suddenly, John, who had been smoking in silence, said: "My see
'im two h'elk."

"Two elk, Mr. Monroe; oh, where?" said Jack.

"You look on prairie, that a-way," said John, pointing, "just
crossin' from Chalk Bluff there, two small little spots movin'. That
h'elk."

Jack strained his eyes to find them, but he could see nothing. He had
not yet learned how to look for objects on the prairie. Presently,
just as he was going to tell John that he could not see them, he
dropped his eyes to the prairie nearer the point of the mountain and
saw two dark spots, which seemed to be moving.

"I see them now, Mr. Monroe," he exclaimed eagerly. "Are those elk? I
don't see how you know. I can see that they move, and so they must be
animals, but I should never know what they were."

"Yes, that's h'elks," repeated John. "Suppose you want it kill 'im
one h'elk? Get it some meat?"

"Oh, wouldn't I like to? Could we get a shot, do you think? They're
awful far off," said Jack.

"Maybe he comin' right up here. Suppose he comin' up one trail, he
come to us. Suppose he take trail we come by, smell 'im horses, then
goin' run off quick. Suppose we go to point of mountain, see 'im bote
trails. Maybe we get it shot. Come."

They clambered down from the rocks and soon caught their horses. Jack
mounted first, and sat there impatient to start. But John checked
him, saying:

"Suppose no hurry. Good you fix it saddle." So Jack controlled
himself, and remembering what Hugh had told him about taking care of
his horse's back, he dismounted and tightened his saddle. John had
done the same, and they mounted and rode off together, keeping on
the crest of a ridge, on one side of which ran the trail they had
followed up the hill. On the other side was a little valley overgrown
with aspens, among which ran a brook.

If he had been alone, Jack would have galloped as hard as he could to
the end of this ridge, so as to see the elk soon and to find out what
they were doing, but he remembered again what Hugh had told him, and
he remembered too, how he had lost the first antelope he had tried to
hunt. So he asked no questions and rode quietly along, feeling pretty
sure that John must know what he was doing. At length, when they had
nearly reached what seemed the end of the ridge, John pointed to the
valley where the brook ran, and said:

"Suppose he comin' h'up there, we get 'im suer." A little while
afterward, he said, "Leave 'em horses here," and dismounted, and
taking his gun from its scabbard, he walked forward toward the end of
the ridge, where great rocks lay scattered over the ground. Jack,
as he followed, noticed that John, as he walked, made no sound. The
gravel did not crunch under his moccasins, his trousers did not rub
against the weeds and bushes. As he made each step, his toe touched
the ground first, then the ball of his foot, and then his heel. If
he had been a cat walking over a carpet, he could not have made less
noise. It seemed to Jack that every time he himself put down his
foot, it made a loud rattling on the ground, the sides of his feet
scraped against the bushes, and he made a great noise. Before they
had gone very far, John turned and made a sign for Jack to stop.
Then he cautiously went forward and peered over some rocks, and then
slowly lowering his head, he beckoned Jack to come to him. When he
had reached John, the old man pointed and said: "Suppose you look.
See 'im h'elk comin' h'up this side?"

Jack raised his head very cautiously and looked over the rock, and
there, only a few hundred yards away, coming up the side of the
ridge he saw two animals nearly as big as horses. Their bodies and
legs were graceful and deer like, but they carried their heads and
necks very awkwardly. Their noses pointed straight out in front, and
they moved their heads slowly from side to side. They had no horns,
but where the horns should have been were odd thick bunches, only a
little longer than their ears. Their bodies were brownish yellow. He
had hardly had time to see these things, when John touched him on
the shoulder, and motioned him to come with him. They went back a
little distance from the rocks, and entering a ravine that ran down
to the valley, crept part of the way toward the timber, and then up
the side of the ravine toward the elk. From the top of the ridge they
could see the game coming directly toward them. The animals did not
stop to feed, but walked straight on, as if they were going somewhere.

"Soon he comin' close. Suppose you shoot, try kill 'im daid. Suppose
he wounded, maybe run far. Hard time catch 'im. That bad. Now wait."

For some minutes they sat there, John saying nothing and doing
nothing, but Jack feeling very anxious. He remembered the great pair
of elk antlers that his uncle had at home, and though these elk here
had no horns, still they were the same kind of animals. He wanted
very much to kill one, and his heart had been beating fast ever since
he had started. While they sat there though, he seemed to quiet down
a little; he still wanted just as much to kill the elk, but when he
saw how calm John was, he felt a little bit ashamed that he should be
so excited, and this made him cool down still more. At length John
said: "Suppose h'elk pretty close. My goin' look now." He crept up
and peeped over the ridge and then drawing back, motioned Jack to
come to his side, which he did, creeping as close to the ground as
possible. John signed to him to shoot. He crept up very carefully,
raised his head slowly, and there he saw these two great animals
about to cross the ravine, hardly forty yards below him. They were
walking, but, before he raised his rifle to shoot, both elk stopped,
and seemed to be looking over the country beyond the ravine. Jack
aimed carefully behind the elk's shoulder and low down, and fired.
Both elks slowly turned their heads and looked toward the hunters,
but neither moved. "Shoot," whispered John, and Jack threw out his
shell, loaded and shot again, aiming at the same place, and, as the
second shot rang out, the elk fell on its side, and its companion
turned and trotted swiftly away.

"Ha! You shoot good," said John, as he rose to his feet and walked
toward where the elk lay. Jack wanted to shout out hurrahs, he was
so glad, but he said nothing and walked along by John's side, trying
to seem unconcerned, but with a broad smile of happiness upon his
face. In a moment they had reached the great animal, which lay there
with its slender brown legs outstretched, and its smooth yellow body
glistening in the sun.

"Ha!" said John, "You make it good shoot. Good shoot," and he pointed
to the elk's body, where, close behind the fore leg, were two tiny
holes, not two inches apart, where both the boy's bullets had
entered. Either shot would have killed him.

While Jack was looking at the elk, admiring his graceful, strong
body, and wondering at the queer, soft warm bunches that grew out of
his head, and which he knew must be the young growing horns, John
sharpened his knife and prepared to cut up the bull. Bending its
head back close to one of its shoulders, he turned the animal on
its back, and propped it in position by placing a large stone under
its hip. Before using his knife, however, he said to Jack, "Suppose
you no want it skin, take it meat to house. Now, skin no good for
moccasins. Biemby, be good."

Jack would have liked to carry in the whole elk, so that all might
see what a splendid animal he had killed, but he was ashamed to say
so to John, and returned a cheerful "All right," to his suggestion.

John's sharp knife quickly cut off the elk's hams and shoulders and
then, turning the animal on its side, the long strips of meat lying
on either side of the backbone--the sirloins--were torn out. Then
very deftly John tied the hams together and threw them across Jack's
saddle, fastening them to the cinch rings, put the shoulders and
sirloins on his own horse, and they mounted and rode off down the
mountain.

The ride toward the ranch was a happy one for Jack. He was glad that
he had killed the elk, glad that he had made two such good shots, and
he hummed a little song to himself as he rode along and every now and
then reached down and smoothed the skin of the elk hams. He could
not help thinking how badly he would have felt if he had missed the
shot, and the elk had run away, or even if he had missed and John had
killed it. This was much better.

Although this was only the second animal that he had killed, Jack
was beginning to feel some confidence in his shooting, and was
beginning too to understand that he knew nothing about hunting. He
could not understand how it was that Hugh and John seemed to know
exactly what to do. He could see though that they were never in a
hurry, that they were not uneasy about whether the game was going
to run away or not, that they were patient and took plenty of time.
All this was just what Hugh had told him about hunting, and Jack
determined that he would try hard to remember and always to act on it.

The sun was just setting as they rode up to the house. Two of the men
could be seen coming across the prairie, driving a bunch of horses
before them, and Hugh was just coming down to the corral to let out
the milk cows.

He smiled as he saw the meat on the horses, and called out, "Well,
son, you've got some meat, I see."

"Yes, seh," said John, "Jack make it good shoot. Good shoot, my
tellin' you."

"You killed it, did you, son? Why, that's good. Where'd ye hit it?"

"Good shoot my tellin' you," repeated John. "Plum centre. _Il l'a
brisé le coeur deux fois._ Two time."

"You don't say! Why, son, you're goin' to make a sure enough hunter
all right. Now, let's hang this meat upon the pole, where the flies
won't bother it."

They took the meat off the horses at the foot of a tall pole that
stood near the corner of the house, and by means of a pully at the
top of the pole, it was hoisted far above the ground where it would
be cool and dry, and out of the way of the flies.

A few days later John Monroe packed his horses, and started on to
Bear River to visit his daughter. He said that he would return toward
the end of the summer and see them again.




CHAPTER XII

ANTELOPE KIDS


"Son, do you want to ride down to the lake with me," said Hugh one
day in June, as they sat at dinner.

"Yes, Hugh, I'd like to go. Right after dinner?" said Jack.

"Yes, if your uncle don't want me, we might as well start right off.
You get your gun and catch up the horses, and I'll come down and
saddle up as soon as I can."

Jack caught the horses and took them to the barn, where he found Hugh
waiting, and in a few moments they were on their way. When they had
nearly reached the lake, Hugh turned to Jack and said, "Now, maybe
we'll see some fun. This morning when I was in the pasture, I saw an
old doe antelope down on the flat here, and I reckon she's got kids
hidden somewhere. We can lie behind the hill and watch for them.
Maybe we'll have company too; there's likely to be a coyote or two
about, so you may as well fetch your gun with you."

They left the horses in a little hollow, and creeping up to the
top of the hill, carefully looked over it. At first they could see
nothing living, but after a moment Hugh said, "Look out! keep close!
there's a coyote coming out of the gulch over there." They watched
the cunning animal as it trotted out into the flat where the grass
was up to its belly, and there it began to quarter the ground, just
like a hunting dog, yet every moment or two it would pause and look
up toward the hills, as if it were afraid of something that was
coming. What this something was they soon saw, for presently a doe
antelope came galloping over the hills toward the flat, and when she
saw the coyote she ran faster, directly toward it. As soon as it saw
the doe, the coyote dropped its head and tail and started to run
away, at first slowly, but, as the antelope drew nearer to it, much
faster, until presently it was running nearly as fast as the doe.
Before it had crossed the flat the antelope had nearly caught it, and
now the coyote was running as fast as it could, with its tail tucked
between its legs, like a frightened cur. As the little wolf ran up
to the hill on which they were lying, the antelope caught up with
it, and several times struck it with her hoof, and each time she did
so, the wolf yelled with pain, just as a dog would yell when struck
with a whip. Wolf and antelope passed close by the watchers and soon
disappeared over the next hill.

Then Hugh said to Jack, "Look out, now! that coyote has a partner
somewhere about, and, unless I am mistaken, he will show up in two
or three minutes." Sure enough, when they turned around and looked
at the flat, there was a coyote just beginning to search through
the grass, as the other one had done. It was evident that these two
wolves were working together, and that while one led the doe away
from the neighbourhood of her young ones, the other searched to try
to find out where they were hidden. However, the old doe seemed to
be pretty wise and did not chase the first coyote far; so that the
one left on the ground had hardly time to begin his hunt before the
antelope made her appearance again on the flat, and drove him off.
As she began to do this, Hugh said to Jack, "Now, turn around and
keep a good look-out for the other coyote; you may get a chance to
kill him as he comes back." They had not been watching very long
when the little wolf that had just been chased away came trotting
unconcernedly around the base of the knoll, only a short distance
from them. They sat quite still and he did not notice them, but went
on until he reached the top of the rise from which he could see the
flat. Here he stopped only about forty yards from Jack, and a careful
shot dropped him in his tracks.

"Well," said Hugh, "that's a good shot, and a good job too. That
other coyote will have to go now and hunt up another partner. I
reckon we've saved them kids. Maybe if we lie here a little longer
and watch, the old doe will go up to her young ones, and we'll see
where they are hidden; then, if you like, we can catch them and take
them home."

"Let's wait and see if we can find them," said Jack. "I'd like
awfully well to see them and see what they look like, but I don't
want to take them away from the old one; she's had trouble enough
with these coyotes; let's leave her young ones with her."

"That suits me to a T," said Hugh. "Let's move down a little bit from
the top of the hill and skin this coyote, and we can look at the old
doe every little while, and if she isn't bothered, likely before long
she will go to her young ones."

They skinned the wolf, and every now and then either Hugh or Jack
went to the top of the hill and looked over at the antelope. The
coyotes bothered her no more; she fed about in the flat, and at
length went up on a little side hill and lay down for an hour or two.
Then she rose and began to feed again, and after wandering about in
rather an aimless fashion for half an hour, she walked over to a bare
hillside, where nothing seemed to be growing, and in a moment they
saw two tiny kids standing by her side.

"Now," said Hugh, "you notice well where those kids are, and we'll go
and get the horses and ride over to them. You will see that just as
soon as we show ourselves, the kids will disappear and the old one
will run off. You won't be able to see the kids until you're right on
top of them."

Sure enough, when they rode over the hills, and the old doe saw
them, she cantered away and no young ones were to be seen, but when
they reached the spot, two small grey objects looking at a little
distance like stones, lay on the ground there. Jack dismounted and
picked one up; its legs and head hung down as if it were dead; it
made no movement and uttered no sound, but its bright little eye was
full and round.

"That's the way it is with them," said Hugh. "Until they are a week
or ten days old they act just like that. I expect it's born in them
to act like they are dead until their mother tells them it's safe to
seem to be alive."

It was a little hard for Jack to leave the kids here. They were
such queer-looking little beasts that his wish to possess them
almost overcame the sympathy he had felt for their mother, but after
what he had said to Hugh he was ashamed to change; and so, rather
regretfully, he left the kids lying there on the hillside, for their
mother to find when she came back.

As they rode toward the house, talking of the animals they had
been watching, Jack was loud in his sympathy for the antelope, and
declared that if he could do so, he would kill every coyote in the
country. "Well, I don't know, son," said Hugh, "Coyotes are mean
and do right smart of mischief, but they've got feelings, just like
folks. Did ye ever think of that?"

"How do you mean, Hugh?" asked Jack.

"Why, I mean that they've got to eat and drink, and sleep, just like
the antelope, or, for the matter of that, just like us. They've got
little ones to look out for and feed, and I make no doubt the old
mother coyote thinks just as much of her young ones as the antelope
does of hers. I don't mean to say that I like coyotes; they're pesky
critters, and often I get mad with them and feel, like you do, that
I'd like to kill 'em all; but what I say is that it ain't no more
cruel for a coyote to kill an antelope, than it is for an antelope to
take a bite of grass."

"I never thought of it in that way, Hugh, but that is so. But you
can't help feeling sorry for the little kids and for the old ones,
too."

"That's all right enough, but what I say is, if you are going to feel
sorry for one thing, you've got to feel sorry for all. And what's
more, talking about coyotes, they're so almighty smart, that you
can't help admiring them, and thinking they earn all they get."

Talking about these things, they rode over the low hills till they
had come to the edge of the valley leading up to the house. Here Hugh
checked his horse and pointed to a small animal, walking about in an
aimless way near the gully through which the creek flowed. "There's a
badger," he said. "Now, if you like, we can get down into the creek
bed and creep up close to him and watch him for a spell. What do you
say?"

"That'll be bully; let's do it; but can we get close enough to see
him well?"

"There won't be any trouble about that, but we'll have to go back a
little ways," said Hugh. "Come on."

They rode back a short distance, and around a little hill, and
dismounting, walked down into the bed of the stream. The banks of the
narrow water-course were eight or ten feet high, and of course hid
them from anything on the level of the valley. After they had gone
some little distance, Hugh signed with his hand to Jack to wait, and
slowly raising his head above the bank, looked through a bunch of
grass growing on its edge. After a moment he motioned Jack to come
up beside him, and whispered to him, "He's right close, not twenty
feet away;" and he pointed. Jack looked carefully over the bank and
saw a queer short-legged grey animal with white stripes on his face,
walking about and smelling at some little piles of earth. The long
hair on either side of its body almost swept the ground, its face had
an expression of great cunning, and its nose was long and pointed.
It was a heavy, thickset animal, only about two feet long and very
broad, but it stepped lightly enough from place to place, snuffing
at each lump of earth or tuft of grass that it came to, not as if
it were very much interested in it, but as if it felt that it would
not do to pass by anything without examining it. Sometimes it would
scrape away a little dirt, and smell the ground, and then move on.
Often it lifted its head high and sniffed the air, moving its nose
about and wrinkling it, as if to catch the faintest scent.

Now and then it sat up on its haunches and looked about, as if to see
if any danger were near. When it did this, it held itself much as
Jack had seen a woodchuck. "He keeps a pretty good look-out, don't
he?" whispered Hugh.

"You bet," said Jack, "he looks as if he knew pretty well how to take
care of himself. How strong he seems to be, and what a sly, cunning
face he has."

A few moments later the badger suddenly sat up very straight, with
his fore legs hanging down by his side, and looked sharply toward a
hill away from the house. In a few seconds the animal dropped down
on all fours and galloped away toward a near-by hillside. "I expect
he hears something coming, and he's making tracks for his hole. Ah,
that's what it is," said Hugh, and he pointed to the hill toward
which the badger had looked. Over this hill a man came riding, and
about his horse were trotting half a dozen great, gaunt hounds. One
of them saw the badger, and instantly the whole pack swept down the
hill toward it, but just before the leading dog overtook it, the
badger disappeared, and the dogs checked themselves and stopped. "I
expect that's the Powell kid," said Hugh, as he climbed up the bank,
followed by Jack. "He has a lot o' hounds, and catches considerable
many coyotes."

As they walked back toward their horses, they met the rider, a boy
only a little older than Jack, who seemed to know Hugh very well, and
who shook hands with Jack, giving him a hard grip that almost hurt
him. "Well, kid," said Hugh, "did ye get any coyotes to-day?" "Yes, I
got three, and started two more, but they got so big a start on me
that I couldn't catch 'em. I got a kitfox too, but the dogs tore him
all to pieces. Like to have got that badger that was near you, but he
holed too quick."

"Better ride on up to the house and unsaddle, and get supper, and
stop," said Hugh. "It's too late for ye to get home to-night."

"All right," said the boy, and whistling to his dogs, he rode on.
Hugh and Jack soon overtook him, and when the three reached the barn,
the stranger's horse was put in a stall, while the others were turned
out. At the house young Powell was cordially welcomed by Mr. Sturgis,
and soon all were seated at the supper table.

That evening the two boys had a long talk, and afterward a
consultation with Hugh. Then Hugh went to Mr. Sturgis and asked him
if he was willing to have Jack and himself go over the next day to
the Powell ranch for two or three days, so that Jack might have a
chance to see the hounds run coyotes. Jack's uncle said that he
thought it a very good idea. So the next morning, just about sunrise,
they set out on the thirty-mile ride.




CHAPTER XIII

JACK KILLS A LION


As they started off this morning Jack felt good; he had been
promoted; he was riding a new horse. The grey, on which he had taken
his first lessons in riding, was old and steady and slow; very good
to travel over the prairie on, but past his usefulness for any
purpose except hunting or going after the saddle horses. So, a week
or two before, Hugh had caught up for him a new horse, and he had
tried it several times. It was a brown, seven years old, perfectly
gentle, yet with plenty of spirit. Hugh had ridden it a good deal,
and told him that it was one of the best horses at the ranch; kind,
gentle, very swift, and, better than all, a good hunting horse. He
had said, "You don't need to watch the Brown when you're riding over
the prairie, going anywhere, but if you ever start him after a bunch
of elk or a band of buffalo, look out for him, unless you want to
get right into the middle of them. He can catch elk too easy, and is
faster than any buffalo cow I ever saw."

Jack wanted a good name for the horse. He did not like to call him
merely Brown; he wanted a name that would mean something. Half a
dozen names had been suggested, but none of them seemed quite to
fit the horse. At last he decided that he would call the animal by
the name of some Indian tribe. Blackfoot seemed a pretty good name,
because the horse's feet were all black, but after thinking it over
with a good deal of care, he determined to call the horse Pawnee.

This morning when they mounted and rode away, young Powell was loud
in his praise of Jack's horse. He said, "I'll bet he's got the legs
of any of these three horses. Mine is pretty fast and keeps pretty
close to the dogs in the chase, but yours will run away from him as
if he was standing still."

"That's right," said Hugh, "he's an awful good horse, and what's
more, he's just as kind as he's good. You can get off him to hunt,
and leave him, and you'll feel sure when you come back he'll be
feeding in the same place. If you fire a shot, he puts up his head
and looks at you with his ears pricked up, to see whether you've
killed or not. Then, after you have butchered, if you lead him up
to an animal to put the meat on him, he'll snort and curve his neck
and look like he was terrible scared; but when you commence to lift
the meat to put it on his back, he'll kind of crouch down and lean
towards you, to make it easier for you to get it on. You can shoot
off him and he'll never move. Sometimes I've thought that when I
raised the gun to my shoulder to shoot he stopped breathing for a
minute. I know he always kind o' spreads his legs to hold himself
steady. You've got a good horse now, son, and I'd advise you to hang
on to him as long as you're here at the ranch."

The ride down the valley was a pleasant one. The blue iris stood
thick in the damp places. The brilliant red and yellow flowers of
the cactus dotted the hillsides. White poppy blossoms swung in the
wind, and, if one had been on foot the tiny blooms of the yellow
violets, which send their roots so far down into the hard dry soil of
the prairie, could have been seen thickly scattered on the slopes.
It was a time, too, of singing birds. The clear, sweet whistle of
the meadow-lark came from the hills near-by, and was answered from
other farther hills in a faint refrain, which sounded like an echo.
The little finches of the prairie rose from the ground high in air,
and then descended slowly on motionless wings, singing as if their
throats would burst. From far on high fell the tinkling notes of the
unseen prairie skylark floating above them. Little ground squirrels
and prairie dogs were busy everywhere, but as the horsemen and troop
of dogs drew near, they scattered to their holes, and, after a few
angry barks and squeaks, disappeared from sight. Now and then as
they passed over some swell of the prairie they startled an antelope
or two or three, which ran up on the neighbouring hills and stood
there stamping and snorting. The dogs would look at them eagerly yet
doubtfully, and would perhaps trot a little way toward them, but
young Powell always whistled them back. The prairie and the air
above it were full of pleasant sights and sounds.

Young Powell said to Jack, "The dogs had some hard runs yesterday,
and I don't want them to be chasing antelope to-day, and so far from
home. I don't run antelope often, anyhow, though I've got some with
these dogs, but I use them mainly for wolves and coyotes; and it's a
bad thing to have a lot of dogs think that they can run anything that
gets up before them on the prairie. If I was going to run antelope,
I'd have a special bunch of dogs for running them, and for nothing
else."

"Then they've caught antelopes, have they?" asked Jack. "It hardly
seems to me as if anything could catch an antelope, when it's really
running as hard as it can."

"Oh, I don't know," said Powell, "there's lots of difference in
antelopes. Some of them can run twice as fast as others. I almost
roped an old doe once in a fair chase, and I wasn't riding anything
but a slow cow pony at that. I never felt quite sure though whether
I could have caught her or not, or whether she was just fooling me.
I ran her and she took down a valley, and I caught up with her, and
got so close that I was just getting my rope ready to throw, when she
ran across a little green place where the grass stood pretty high.
I would not have tried to cross it if I hadn't been after her, for
it looked kind of wet, but I couldn't stop, and I put the spurs into
the old horse, and he jumped right into the middle of it and stayed
there, and I kept going and hit the hard ground on the other side.
When I got up and caught the horse, the antelope was out of sight.
Still, I know mighty well that there's a big difference in antelope.
You take an old buck, and even if you get a good start on him, the
dogs have a hard time to get up to him. You take an old doe, or a
yearling buck, and it's almost always caught a heap easier. You see
those two little blue dogs, the smooth ones, the two that are ahead?
They're the fastest dogs I've got. I always depend on them to stop a
coyote or a wolf. If they can catch him and throw him it's a mighty
short time till the other dogs get up, and then they all pitch in and
chew him. These two yellow, rough-haired dogs here, the biggest ones,
they're the fighters. They bring up the tail of the chase, but when
they get to the wolf they don't stop, they pitch right in. If it's
a coyote, one of them generally gets him across the chest and the
other in the flank, and then the rest of the dogs take hold wherever
they can, and they all pull in different directions. It don't take no
time at all to kill a coyote, but of course a big wolf is different.
I've had three dogs killed by wolves, and each one only had one bite.
They're terrible strong, powerful animals.

"I want to show you twelve pups that I've got at the ranch. They're
little fellows yet, but I expect to get some awful good dogs out of
them. I tell you a dog don't last any time at all at this sort of
work. Some of 'em get cut up by the wolves, and some break their legs
or sprain their shoulders, running, and some get hurt by the horses.
It's a pretty rough life on a dog; but while they last they've an
awful good time." Chatting thus, they covered mile after mile of
prairie. Jack's horse stepped along lightly and easily. From time to
time Hugh lit his pipe and smoked. Powell watched his dogs. The sun
was warm, the air clear and pleasant, and Jack thought that he had
never enjoyed a morning more.

Suddenly, just in front of the two blue hounds that were trotting
before them, a jack-rabbit bounced up and scurried away at top speed.
In an instant all the dogs were running for it, and Jack and young
Powell were close at their heels. It was a short run. The leading
blue dog pressed the rabbit hard; he dodged in front of the second
dog, and in a moment had to dodge again, which threw him into the
jaws of the first and he had run his last race. It was short but
exciting; doubly so to Jack who had never seen anything of the
sort. Powell jumped down among the hounds and cuffed and scolded
them, while he took from them the fragments of the rabbit, and then
mounted, and they all went on. A little later the dogs all broke away
again after a badger which showed himself on the side hill; but he
dodged into his hole before they reached him, and the dogs came back,
looking foolish. Powell now took from a pocket in his saddle a whip,
with a handle about a foot and a half long, and a lash of eight or
ten feet, and whenever a dog pressed forward ahead of the horses, he
struck at it, and after a little while the whole pack followed
obediently at his horse's heels.

  [Illustration: "THE ANIMAL LAUNCHED ITSELF FROM ITS PERCH FULL
  TOWARDS JACK."

    --_Page 131_.]

It was long past noon when they reached some high hills, rough and
scarred with broken bad lands, on which grew a few stunted pines and
cedars. They were climbing these hills, Jack a little in advance,
when he saw rise from a shelf in the rocks, a long, slim, yellow
animal, which began to sneak away up a ravine.

"Oh, Hugh, what's that?" the boy cried; and at the same time Powell
gave a yell, which started all the dogs forward. "A mountain lion,"
Hugh called back: "The dogs will tree him, sure! Look out for him!"
Jack hardly heard the words, for he was pressing forward close after
the dogs, not thinking of the rough ground over which he was riding,
but half wild with the excitement of the chase. The horses climbed
the steep scarp of the hills at a run, and in a moment Jack found
himself galloping over smooth, bare, yellow soil, fifty yards behind
the last of the hounds, while the two blue dogs seemed but a few
feet behind the lion. In a moment more the beast was safe among the
branches of a cedar, the dogs clustered about its trunk, leaping
into the air and showing the greatest excitement. When he was almost
at the foot of the tree, Jack drew up his horse, and the moment it
stopped, threw his gun to his shoulder and fired full into the chest
of the lion, which stood facing him snarling and angrily twitching
his tail this way and that. As the gun cracked, the animal launched
itself from its perch full toward Jack; and, as he looked up at it
and saw it flying toward him, with gleaming teeth and outstretched
paws, his heart jumped up into his throat. It looked about forty feet
long. He never knew whether he spurred Pawnee or whether the horse
started of its own accord, but it made three or four jumps, and when
Jack looked back, there was the lion on the ground surrounded by all
the dogs, which were pulling and tugging at it viciously. The beast
was still, and Jack rode back near to it, to be heartily scolded by
Hugh, who had just come up.

"Son," said he, "you done a fool trick that time. If you'd been on
any other horse you might have been badly scratched. If you wanted
to shoot at the lion, and I make no doubt you did, you'd ought to
have stopped further off. You'll never make no sort of a hunter if
ye don't think. It's all right for a man to take risks if there's
anything to be made by taking them, but a man who takes risks just
because he don't know no better is a fool. What's more, if you act
this way, you're liable to make a fool of me. I'd have looked nice,
wouldn't I, if you'd gone back to the ranch all scratched up. Now,
of course," he went on more mildly, "I know you ain't anything but
a boy, and you can't be expected to have a man's sense, but I want
you to get sense as fast as you can, and sense means experience. I'm
trying to give you as fast as I can the sense that it's took me forty
years to learn. Now, let's see where you hit that fellow. I expect
you made a right good shot, for I didn't see the critter stir after
he struck the ground."

Meantime young Powell had driven the dogs from the lion, and they had
all stretched themselves out in the shade of a cedar, where they were
lying, panting, with their tongues hanging far out of their mouths.
One of them, Jack noticed, had a long bright red cut, extending
nearly from shoulder to hip, from which the blood was dripping fast.
They turned the lion over and found the bullet hole in the middle of
the chest. It was a good shot, indeed, and the animal's wild spring
out of the tree was his expiring effort. He was a very large animal,
and quite old, as shown by the condition of his teeth.

"Well, son," said Hugh, "you certainly are in the biggest kind of
luck. It's seven years since I've seen a lion about here, and they're
never anyways common. Of course we wouldn't have got this fellow if
it hadn't been for the dogs; and it's great luck for you who have
only been out a month or two now, to have had such a chance as this.
You made a mighty good shot, too, and when you take this hide back
east you'll sure have something to talk about. I expect, though, your
Ma wouldn't have been very happy if she'd been here and seen that
lion come sailing out of that tree after you."

When they looked at the wounded hound they found that the long cut in
its skin was much less serious than it seemed at first; it was hardly
more than a scratch made by a last convulsive kick by the lion, and,
while it had cut the skin, and would leave a scar, it did not really
injure the dog. They skinned the lion, leaving the claws on the hide,
and rolled up the skin, tying it behind Jack's saddle, and then
started on their way.

The sun was low in the west when they came in sight of the Powell
ranch. They rode up to the barn and began to unsaddle, while the
dogs went straight to the house. Before they had stabled the horses
they heard a clear voice calling, "Why, Charley, what's the matter
with Blue Dan? He's all cut up." And when they reached the door of
the house they saw Mrs. Powell and Charley's sister, Bess, a little
girl of thirteen, bathing the wounded dog, which seemed proud of the
attention he was receiving. Hugh and Jack were cordially welcomed by
Mrs. Powell, and later by her husband, when he came in from riding;
and the story of the killing of the lion had to be told twice over.
Every one congratulated Jack on his good fortune, and it appeared
that this was the first time the dogs had ever seen a lion. "They
have killed plenty of wolves, foxes, and coyotes," said Mr. Powell,
"and two or three wolverenes, and of course a few bob-cats, but I
think they never chased a lion before."

After supper Charley took Jack out, and after considerable whistling,
succeeded in bringing up to the house two tame coyotes, pets of which
Charley was very proud. "We dug them out of a hole in the bank of a
gulch a couple of miles from here," he told jack. "There were three
of them, and they were so small that their eyes weren't open yet.
I had to kill one, for it took to killing chickens. I sort of hated
to do it, but I knew it was no use to try to keep him and hens both,
and I was afraid he would teach the other two his tricks, so I shot
him. These two fellows are all right. There's only one thing they do
that makes me mad. Sometimes they wander away off onto the prairie,
hunting for themselves; and two or three times I have gone after them
with the dogs, thinking that they were wild coyotes. They will run
and run as hard as they know how, and then, when the dogs are just
about catching up to them, they'll flop over on their backs and lie
there with their legs in the air until the dogs come up to them. Of
course when the dogs get up to them and smell them, they know them,
and won't touch them. Then the coyotes get up and play around and wag
their tails and jump about, like they'd been doing something almighty
smart. In that way they just have fun with us."

When bed-time came that night, Jack was ready for it. His thirty-mile
ride and the excitement of the day had made him very weary.




CHAPTER XIV

WOLVES AND WOLF-HOUNDS


At breakfast next morning Mr. Powell said, "I suppose you boys will
go out with the dogs to-day, and I wish you would go over east to
where the blue stallion's bunch ranges. There's two yearlings been
killed since I was over there last, and I believe it's wolves that
done it. If them worthless dogs of yours would kill a few wolves
instead of all these coyotes they'd come nearer earning their keep
than they do."

"Well, I don't know," answered Charley, "I don't think they've done
so bad. Seven wolves since Christmas is pretty good, I think; and the
coyotes does a heap of mischief, and are sure worth killing.

"Well, well," said his father, "do the best you can to get these
wolves. It's all right to kill the coyotes, but one wolf is worse
than ten of them little fellows."

"Well, what time are you boys going to start out," said Hugh. "I
expect you won't want to leave here till after dinner. I was thinking
I'd go with you, but the first thing I want to do is to stretch that
lion's skin, and I expect I've got to set and watch it till it
begins to get dry, or else them dogs of yours will be chewing and
tearing it."

"Oh," said Charley, "we'll have plenty of time to get over to the
blue stallion's range if we start after dinner, and of course it
might be such a thing as we'd run onto one of them wolves, if they
are there. Did you see any tracks, father? or was it just the way the
colts were killed?"

"No," said his father, "I didn't have no time to hunt around for
sign, but it wan't nothing but wolves that killed them yearlings.
If they'd only been one of them, he might have got out away from
the bunch and been cut off and killed by coyotes, but that wouldn't
happen twice in a few days. It's wolves, I tell you, and the chances
are they've got young ones somewheres not so very far off. There's
something that 'ud make it worth your while to hunt 'em. You might
get a nest of young pups."

"Great Scott!" said Jack, "that would be fine." While Hugh added,
"There's a chance for you, Charley, to get up the greatest pack of
wolf-dogs there ever was on earth. Get a lot of wolf pups, tame 'em
and train 'em to catch and kill the wild wolves."

After breakfast Charley took Jack down to the barn and showed him
two litters of greyhound puppies, both very small now, but likely to
be large enough next spring, Charley said, to be used with the old
dogs. They were queer, blunt-nosed, thick-legged little beasts, which
waddled about in most clumsy fashion.

From there the boys went down to the hen-house, where, with great
pride, Charley exhibited his chickens and some pigeons--the only ones
within thirty miles. He complained that the hawks killed the pigeons
if they ventured far from home, but said that from repeated frights,
the birds were learning to keep closer about the building.

When they reached the house again, they found Hugh busy pegging out
the lion's skin. He had skinned out the head, cut off every bit of
flesh and fat from the hide, and pierced a number of small holes
along its margin, and was now busy with a lot of sharp pointed wooden
pegs, stretching the skin on the grass, flesh side up, so that it
would dry and be preserved. This was new work to Jack, and he watched
it closely and asked a number of questions about it.

"You see," said Hugh in reply, "if the hide ain't stretched and
dried, it ain't no good. Some folks just take and nail up a hide any
way at all against the side of the house, and of course it will dry
that way, but it don't dry smooth, and it's apt to get twisted and to
be no account. If I take in two hides, one dried this way, and one
dried on the side of a house, and try to sell them to a dealer, he'll
give me more for the one that is smooth and square than he will for
one that is rough and crumpled and pulled to one side. After you know
how, it ain't much more trouble to do the thing right than it is to
do it wrong, so I think it pays better to do it right. There's lots
to drying a hide that a good many people don't know. Now, a thin
hide, like this one here, glazes over quick, and don't take no time
at all to dry, except maybe the lips, the feet, and the tail, but if
I had a bear hide, or a beef's hide, I wouldn't stretch it out here
in the hot sun to dry, or if I did, I'd build some sort of a shade
over it, so that it would dry slowly. You take them hides that's
right thick, and they're awful liable to burn if the sun's right hot.
Now you take it when they was beaver in the country; no man ever
thought of putting his fur out in the sun to dry. He hung his pelts
up in the brush or in trees in the shade, and let the wind do the
drying for him, and not the sun. There," he continued, as he pushed
in his last peg to hold the tail straight, "Now, in an hour or two
that hide will be set, so it'll hold its shape, and then you can take
it up and hang it up in the barn. Now I'm going over to the creek to
clean the meat off this skull. It's a big one, and you might as well
take it home with you, 'long with the hide."

The work of cutting the meat from the skull, and of removing the
brain, by breaking it up with a stick, did not take very long, but
while it lasted Jack and Charley were much interested in watching the
shoals of tiny fish which gathered in the stream, just below where
Hugh was working, and fed on and fought over the fragments of brain
and meat which floated down to them.

"Where in time did these fish all come from, Hugh?" asked Charley. "I
never saw any fish in the creek before. It seems like they ought to
be big ones here too. These little fellers are bound to grow up, I
expect."

"I guess not," said Hugh. "I guess these are the little kind that
don't never grow no bigger. You take these little chickadees or these
little brown ground birds; you never heard of them growing as big
as an eagle or goose, did you? I expect likely there's a good many
different sorts of fishes, just like there's a good many sorts of
birds and animals, and each sort has its own size that it grows up to
be, and it don't grow no bigger. These little fellows that you see
here have come from a long way down the creek. You see, the water
carries down the smell of the meat and the blood, and these fish
follow up the trail through the water, just the same as a dog or a
coyote will follow your trail over the prairie."

"Yes, I know that's so, Hugh," said Jack. "I've seen something just
like this, fishing for bluefish, down in Great South Bay."

"What's Great South Bay, and where's it at?" said Charley.

"Why, it's on the south shore of Long Island, and it opens out into
the ocean. If you could see far enough, and the world wasn't round,
you could look across from there to Europe."

"Jerusalem, down at the edge of the salt water!" murmured Hugh.

"Yes," said Jack, "I've been down there fishing. They anchor the boat
somewhere near the channel and then chop up a lot of bunkers, that's
a very oily fish, you know, and then they throw this chopped-up fish
overboard, a little at a time, and it floats down with the tide and
makes a long slick on the water. It looks like a long, shiny ribbon.
Well, the bluefish swimming around strike this slick, and follow it
up until they come near to the boat, where the fishermen have their
lines out with pieces of bunker on the hooks, then the fun begins. I
have seen 'em catch bluefish that were longer than my rifle barrel."

"Well, well," said Hugh; "I expect them fish is mighty good eating,
too. I'd like to catch one, but what I'd like better would be to
stand on the shore there, and look out over that big water and maybe
see the ships go sailing by."

After a last scrape and a last shake of the now partly cleaned skull,
Hugh turned to Charley and said, "Kid, have ye got any ant-hills
r

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