Chapter 7

"Don't talk of Injuns," said Seth with a shiver and a shake. "That's the worst part of the hull thing, I reckon. If it warn't for them, the place would be a kinder paradise--it would so, sirree; but those Injuns spile it all."

"What he says is true enough," observed Mr Rawlings. "We are in the very heart of the Indian country, with Blackfeet, Crows, and Sioux, not to mention lesser fry, within striking distance; and if there should be a rising amongst them, as it is threatened this spring or summer, it would be a bad thing for the people in the sparse and scattered settlements in Dakota."

"But the United States' army has stations about here, eh?" inquired Ernest.

"Few and far between," replied Mr Rawlings. "As I told you some little time since, the nearest one to us is at least a hundred miles away. Besides that, the detachments quartered here and there are so attenuated in their numbers that five or six of the so-called companies have to be concentred together from the different outlying depots in order to muster any respectable contingent that could take the field against the Indians should they rise in force."

"An' them Sioux under Spotted Cloud, or whatever else they call their precious chief, ain't to be despised, I guess, in a free fight," said Seth.

"Pray don't talk any more about them," said the young engineer, laughing, as he took off his wideawake and ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. "I declare my scalp feels quite ticklish already."

"Them redskins 'ud tickle it a sight worse if they got holt of it," said Seth grimly, cocking his rifle as he spoke. "But I reckon I heerd somethin' russlin' about thaar to the back of yer, mister," he added suddenly, gazing intently in the direction he had intimated, to the rear of the young engineer, where the prairie-grass had already grown to some height.

"What was it?" said Mr Rawlings, likewise preparing his weapon, and telling Ernest to follow suit. "Did you see it at all?"

And he peered anxiously about to the right and left.

"Yes, jist for a minnit," responded the ex-mate. "It wer a longish sorter animale; a catamount or a wolf, maybe. Thaar! Thaar! I seed it again! Jerusalem! I have it!"

And he fired as he spoke, quick as lightning, as a dark object bounded from the cover and made a direct plunge at the young engineer, who was taken unawares, and came to the ground, as much from the suddenness of the shock as from the impulse of the animal's spring.

"Stay!" shouted Mr Rawlings, as Seth was rushing forwards with his clubbed rifle to where Ernest Wilton and his assailant appeared struggling together amidst the grass that almost concealed them from view. "I'll settle the beast, if you hold back a minute and let me have a clear aim."

But before he could get a shot, or Seth deal the deadly blow he contemplated with the butt-end of his rifle, Ernest Wilton uttered an exclamation that stopped them both--an exclamation of surprise and agonised entreaty.

"Don't fire!" he cried out in a voice which was half laughing, half crying. "Don't fire, Mr Rawlings. It is only Wolf."

"Wolf! who's Wolf?" said Mr Rawlings and Seth together, as Ernest Wilton rose to his feet; the ex-mate adding under his breath, with a whistle to express astonishment on his part, in his usual way when so affected, "Jerusalem! this beats Bunker's Hill, anyhow!"

"The dearest and most faithful dog, companion, friend, that any one ever had," said Ernest with much emotion, caressing a fine, though half-starved-looking Scotch deer-hound, that appeared in paroxysms of delight at recognising his master, leaping up to his neck with loving barks, and licking his face, to express his happiness and affection in the manner customary to doggydom, almost wild with joy.

"You never told me about him?" said Mr Rawlings.

"I couldn't. The subject was too painful a one," replied the other. "I brought him with me from England, and he never quitted my side day, or even night, I believe, for any appreciable time, until those rascally Crow Indians stole him from me, and made him into their favourite dog soup, as I thought, weeks ago. Poor Wolf, old man!" he added, speaking to the faithful creature, and patting his head, "I never thought I should see you again."

"He's a fine crittur!" said Seth, making advances of friendship towards Wolf, which were cordially reciprocated; "an' I wouldn't like to lose him if I owned him, I guess. I s'pose he broke loose and follered your trail?"

"I expect so," said Ernest Wilton; "but how he managed to track me through all my erratic course amongst these mountains--or hills, as you call them--puzzles me. See," he continued, "they must have tied up the poor fellow, as well as starved him, or he would have probably found me sooner! Here is a piece of hide rope round his neck, which he has gnawed through in order to get free,"--holding up the tattered fragment of the old rope, one end of which hung down to Wolf's feet, while the other was tightly knotted about his throat, like a cravat, so as almost to choke him.

"That must have been the case," said Mr Rawlings. "But hullo! what is Jasper coming after us for?"

"That durned nigger," exclaimed Seth, "is allers shirking his work. I told him he warn't to come with us this mornin', and here he is toting arter us with some slick excuse or other. Hullo, you ugly cuss!" he added, hailing the darkey, who was running after the party and had now got close up, "what the dickens do yer want here?"

"Me see fine dawg, lubly dawg, Massa Seth, sailin' round de camp; and me foller um up, Massa Seth. Um berry good dawg for huntin', sah, and me don't want to lose him; dat's all."

"Oh," said Seth, "that's all, is it? The dorg is here, right enough, with the gentleman theer, who's his master," pointing to Ernest Wilton and Wolf. "And now, you lazy lubber, as you have kinder satisfied yer mind, you can jist go back agin to that job I sot you on."

"Prey let him stop now," said Ernest, pleased with the interest which the negro steward had taken in Wolf's fate, "as he has come so far. If we kill anything, as I hope we shall presently, he'll be of use in helping to take the meat back to the camp."

"That's so," said Seth; and with this tacit consent to his remaining, Jasper joined the party, who now proceeded to look more carefully after game than they had previously done, the young engineer's allusions to "meat" having acted as a spur to their movements, besides, no doubt, whetting their appetites.

It was curious to observe, however, before they separated to hunt up a deer--of which there were but few traces about, when Wolf attached himself, like a proper sporting-dog, closely behind Ernest--how interested the animal seemed to be in Sailor Bill, who accompanied Seth, of course, on their leaving the camp. As soon as the dog had given, as he thought, ample testimony of his delight at rejoining his own master, he sniffed about the boy as if he also were well-known to him; and he was nearly equally glad to meet him again, only leaving him when Ernest Wilton gave him the signal to "come to heel."

It was singular; but no one paid much notice to it, excepting that Mr Rawlings regarded it as another instance of how dumb animals, like savages, have some sort of especial sympathy with those afflicted beings who have not the entire possession of their mental faculties, and seem actuated by instinct rather than reason, like themselves.

"Seems, mister, as if he war kinder acquainted with him?" said Seth.

"Yes," replied Ernest Wilton; "but that's impossible, as I've had Wolf ever since he was a puppy. My aunt gave him to me," he continued aside to Mr Rawlings in a confidential key, "and I ought to have been more thoughtful in writing to her, as you hauled me over the coals just now for not doing, if only in gratitude for all the comfort that dog has been to me since I left home. I suppose I'm an ungrateful brute--more so than Wolf, eh, old fellow?"--patting the latter's head again as he looked up into his master's face with his wistful brown eyes, saying as plainly as he could in doggy language how much he would like to be able to speak, so that he could express his affectionate feelings more explicitly.

"No," said Mr Rawlings, "not ungrateful, I hope and believe, only unthinking, that's all."

"Ah!" replied the other, "`evil is wrought by want of thought,'" quoting the old distich. "But," he added, shaking off the momentary feeling of sadness produced by reflection, as if he were ashamed of it, "if we don't look `smart,' as our friend Seth says, we won't get a shot all day; and then, woe betide the larder!"

STORY ONE, CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A CHANCE SHOT.

"Say, what precious fools we all air!" exclaimed Seth Allport all of a sudden, without any reference to anything they had been speaking about, when the hunting party stopped a moment to rest after a long and weary tramp over the seemingly-endless prairie, during which they had not caught sight of bird or beast worthy of a charge of powder and shot. "What precious fools we all air!" he repeated with the air of a Solon, and shaking his head solemnly with portentous gravity.

"Please speak for yourself," said Ernest Wilton jokingly. "Why this wholesale condemnation of our unfortunate selves? For my part, I should have thought that we were more to be pitied than blamed for our want of success."

"Oh, do you?" replied Seth gruffly--albeit he was as good-humoured as usual. "Then that's all you know about it. Don't you kinder think it raal smart neow for us to be a wearin' out shoe-leather when we've a heap o' mules eatin' their heads off and bustin' theirselves in that shanty o' theirn agin the house for want of work, I reckon?"

"Phew!" whistled Mr Rawlings through his teeth, his face assuming a mingled expression of surprise and amusement. "I declare I forgot all about the animals, I suppose because we have not lately had any occasion for their services. But they are in good condition, I've no doubt, as they have had literally nothing to do since they helped to carry our traps here in the fall, while they've fared better than us during the winter, for though forage has been scarce work has been scarcer, when our rations had sometimes to be limited. Oh, yes, they are certain to be filled out by this time, and been well looked after by our friend Jasper here," nodding kindly towards the negro steward as he spoke, that worthy having charge of the pack-mules amongst his other manifold duties as general factotum.

"Iss, Massa Rawlings," interposed Jasper, glad of the opportunity of joining in the conversation, "dey am prime. Dat obstropolus mule, Pres'dent Hayes, gib me one good kick in tummick dis marnin' when I'se feedin' him. Um jest as sassy as dat niggah Josh, iss, massa, and so is all de oder mules, sah."

"You'd better let your friend, that thaar mule, hove a shy with his heels at your woolly pate next time," said Seth in his customary grim way. "I don't think you'd kinder feel a kick thaar! But, I say, giniral," he added, turning to Mr Rawlings, "I don't see why we couldn't go a huntin' on hossback as well as afoot. It would be easier nor walkin', I guess, hey?"

"Certainly it would if we had any horses, which we haven't," said Mr Rawlings with a smile; "and mules--which are the only quadrupeds which we possess--are not exactly fitted for hunting purposes--at least I wouldn't like to try them. Besides, Seth, if I remember rightly, you do not shine quite so well on horseback as you do on a ship's quarter-deck, eh, old man? ha, ha, ha!"

And Mr Rawlings's smile expanded into a laugh at the reminiscence of one of the ex-mate's performances en cavalier soon after they came to Minturne Creek, causing Master Jasper to guffaw in sympathy with a heartiness that Seth did not at all relish, especially after Mr Rawlings's allusion to a matter which was rather a tender subject with him.

"You jest stow that, old ebony face," he said angrily to the negro, in a manner which proved that his equanimity was considerably disturbed. "You jest stow that, and hold your rampagious cacklin', or I'll soon make you rattle your ivories to another toon, I reckon, you ugly cuss!"

However, his passion had spent itself by the time he got out these words, for he said to Mr Rawlings a moment afterwards, allowing a smile to extend over his grim features to show that he was himself again, the usual easy-going Seth, and that his natural good temper had now quite got the better of its temporary attack of spleen,--"But I guess you're jist about right, Rawlings. I arn't quite fit fur to go saddlewise on them outlandish brutes; I ain't bred up to it like as I am hitched to the sea! When I spoke of riding, howsomedever, I warn't thinkin' o' myself, though, giniral, mind that; I thought as how you and our noo fren' here could kinder ride the deer down better if you wer mounted, that's all, I reckon."

"Very thoughtful of you," said Ernest Wilton drily; "but you see, old man, elk and wapiti--which are the only species of deer we are likely to meet with here, I think--can be better stalked than run down, as you suggest. However, the mules may come in handy for you, Mr Seth, to run down the buffalo, when they arrive from the southern plains here, as they'll probably do now in a week or two as the spring progresses. Look, Mr Rawlings," he added, "that buffalo grass, as it is called, there in front of you, is growing rapidly and will soon be breast high, don't you see?"

"That's right enough," said he. "But your remark reminds me of the old proverb about `live horse and you'll get oats.' I wish we could get something now to go along with until the buffalo do come northwards. I'm sure I am more sick than ever of that monotonous salt pork, after that taste of mountain mutton we had the other day."

"You bet," said Seth laconically, with much emphasis.

And then the party resumed their trudge over the billowy surface of the prairie, directing their quest towards a clump of trees they could perceive in the distance, at a place where the ground shelved downwards into a hollow, the certain sign of the near vicinity of some tributary of the Missouri coursing its way eastwards, amidst the recesses of whose wooded banks it was possible that traces of game might be found--that game which they were already well-nigh weary of seeking. To tell the truth, however, their want of success was not at all surprising, as the experience of the hunting party was extremely limited.

The Indian half-breed and Noah Webster, the two who were the most practically versed in the secrets of woodcraft, and thoroughly acquainted with all the various hunting dodges practised out on the prairie, had been left behind in camp, especially at Seth Allport's request, that amiable worthy wishing to distinguish himself by bringing home a deer "on his own hook," as he expressed it; although, as regards his shooting powers, he was far more dangerous to his friends than any object he might aim at, being likely rather to hit those behind or on either side of him than the animal at which he pointed his weapon in front; while, as for his skill in the stealthy approach of his prey in the fashion adopted by skilled deer-stalkers, it may be mentioned that he strode through the tall prairie-grass and brushwood as incontinently as if he were marching up and down the poop of the _Susan Jane_ in a gale of wind, alarming every winged and four-footed creature for miles round!

Touching the others, Mr Rawlings and Ernest Wilton were both good shots, although not very familiar with "the noble arte of venerie," as hunting the deer was styled in the days of Shakespeare, who is reported, by the way, to have been an adept in the pursuit: while, of course, Sailor Bill and Jasper were "out of the hunt" in the literal sense of the phrase.

"I tell you what, boys," said Mr Rawlings when they had reached the timber they had made for, "we must separate, and each of us try his luck on his own account. I'm sure we're never likely to come across anything as long as we are all in a body together like this."

The remark was made just at the right time, for they were in the likeliest spot to harbour deer they had yet tracked over; and if there was any occasion for their exercising caution and skill it was now.

The timber--mostly pine-trees and cottonwood, with low brush growing about their trunks, forming a copse--was on both sides of a small river, which seemed easily fordable, with bright green grass extending from the adjacent prairie down to the water's edge.

"Right you air, boss," said Seth, wading into the streamlet without any more ado as he spoke; "my motter's allers to go forrud, so I reckon I'll take tother side of this air stream ahead, an' you ken settle yerselves on this."

"A very good arrangement," said Mr Rawlings, not at all displeased at Seth's putting the river between them.

He and Ernest Wilton might possibly have a chance now of getting near a deer for a shot, which they could not have hoped to do as long as Seth remained along with them.

"But pray take care of the boy," he continued, as he saw Sailor Bill follow in Seth's footsteps and wade into the stream, which came up beyond his knees; "the river may be deeper than you think."

"Never fear," sang out the ex-mate lustily in response. "Thaar ain't water enough to float a cockboat; and I'm lookin' out keerful and feelin' my way afore I plant a fut, you bet."

"All right," answered Mr Rawlings.

And his feelings were soon afterwards relieved by seeing Seth and his protege reach the other side in safety.

A moment later, and they had ascended the opposite river-bank and were lest to sight, their movements being hidden from view by the clustering branches of the young pine-trees and spreading foliage of the brushwood and rank river grass, although their whereabouts was plainly betrayed for some time later by the tramp of Seth's heavy footstep and the crunching noise he made as he trod on the rotten twigs and dead wood that came across his path, the sound growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and finally dying away.

"Now," said Mr Rawlings to Ernest Wilton, who, with Jasper and the dog Wolf, still remained by his side, "we are rid of poor Seth and his blundering sportsmanship, and have the coast clear for a shot; which way would you like to go best--up or down this bank of the river?"

"Down," answered the young engineer promptly. "Seth, `I reckon'--as he would say himself--will be certain to startle any game on that side long before he gets near it; and as the deer will probably take to the water and cross here on their back track to the hills, I may possibly get a shot at one as they pass."

"Very good," said Mr Rawlings; "please yourself. You go that way, and I'll go this, and the sooner we separate and each follow his own course, the better chance of sport we'll have. Only, mind, Wilton, don't you shoot poor Seth and Sailor Bill at one discharge of your rifle, the same as you did those three mountain-sheep the other day, eh?"

And Mr Rawlings chuckled as he strolled off up stream with the negro.

"And don't you bring down Jasper under the idea he's a blackbird," retorted Ernest Wilton before Mr Rawlings had got out of earshot, as he started down the river-bank with Wolf following closely at his heels, in the manner befitting well-trained dogs of high degree like himself.

Then followed a long silence, only broken, as far as each hunter was concerned, by the rustling of leaves and trampling of twigs as he pursued his way through the thick undergrowth, pausing every moment to examine the ground beneath his feet and the thickets he encountered, in search of deer tracks to and from the water, and giving an occasional glimpse at the prairie beyond when the trees opened a bit and their branches lifted enough to afford a view of the surrounding country, which only happened now and then, as vegetation was vigorous along both banks of the river.

Mr Rawlings, it may be mentioned before going any further, was decidedly unlucky in his quest, not catching sight of a single moving creature, although the fact must be taken into consideration that the direction he took was somewhat over the same ground that the whole party had already traversed, and that whatever game might have been in the vicinity, must have been pretty well nearly scared away before he tried his sportsman's cunning alone; Ernest Wilton, however, was more successful.

Shortly after parting from Mr Rawlings and Jasper, as he was creeping stealthily through the tall prairie-grass that bordered the grove of fine trees along the bank of the river, with Wolf following closely behind him, he noticed suddenly a movement in the undergrowth amidst the timber, just like the branch of a tree being moved slowly up and down.

Watching the spot carefully, he subsequently thought he could distinguish two little round objects that glared like the eyes of some animal; so aiming steadily between these latter, after a brief pause he fired.

His suspicions proved correct; for, almost at the same instant that the report of his rifle rang out in the clear air, a magnificent wapiti stag, with wide branching antlers, leaped from the covert, and bounded across his line of sight towards the hills on the right; although from the halting motion of the animal he could see that his shot had taken effect.

"At him, Wolf!" cried he to the dog. But Wolf did not require any command or encouragement from his master: he knew well enough what to do.

Quick as lightning, as soon as the wounded stag had jumped out from amidst the brushwood the dog leaped after him, and, in a few strides, was at his quarters. The chase was not of very long duration, for Ernest's bullet had touched some vital spot; and, within a hundred yards of where he had been struck, the wapiti dropped on his knees, made a faint attempt to stagger again to his feet, and an equally unsuccessful effort to gore Wolf, who wisely kept without his reach; and then, with a convulsive tremor running over all his vast frame, fell over on his side, dead!

"Hurrah!" shouted Ernest, so loudly that Mr Rawlings, who was not very far off, heard his shout as well as Wolf's deep baying, and was soon on the spot, where mutual congratulations were exchanged at the noble game the young engineer had brought down so unexpectedly.

"Golly, massa!" exclaimed Jasper, his face expanding into one of his customary huge grins that seemed to be "all ivory and eye-balls," as Seth used to say--"why, um will serb de camp in meat um whole week!"

"You're not far wrong," said Mr Rawlings, as he surveyed the heavy carcase of the wapiti, which was as big as an ordinary-sized pony, with a splendid pair of branching antlers; "and you'll have to go back and fetch the small waggon and a team of mules, Jasper, to take it home. It's a very fine animal, Wilton," he continued, turning to the latter, "and I almost envy you your shot!"

The young engineer made some chaffing answer, ascribing the credit of taking the game to Wolf, who stood panting guard over his prostrate prey, when the attention of both Mr Rawlings and himself was suddenly distracted from all thoughts of hunting, and everything pertaining to it, by the faint echo of a rifle-shot in the distance, again followed rapidly by another; and then, immediately afterwards, the sound of Seth Allport's voice appealing to them for aid, in ringing accents that rose above the report of the last shot.

"Help! Ahoy, there! help!"

STORY ONE, CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

SAILOR BILL CAPTURED.