 | CHAPTER XVI. The Crayon miscellany |  |
16. CHAPTER XVI.
A sick camp. The march. The disabled horse.
Old Ryan and the stragglers. Symptoms of
change of weather, and change of humours.
(Oct. 18.) We prepared to march at the
usual hour, but word was brought to the Captain
that three of the rangers, who had been attacked
with the measles, were unable to proceed, and
that another one was missing. The last was an
old frontiers-man, by the name of Sawyer, who
had gained years without experience; and having
sallied forth to hunt, on the preceding day,
had probably lost his way on the prairies. A
guard of ten men was, therefore, left to take care
of the sick, and wait for the straggler. If the
former recovered sufficiently in the course of
two or three days, they were to rejoin the main
body, otherwise to be escorted back to the garrison.
Taking our leave of the sick camp, we shaped
our course westward, along the heads of small
streams, all wandering, in deep ravines, towards
the Red Fork. The land was high and undulating,
or “rolling,” as it is termed in the west;
which is unusual in this part of the country,
and chequered with harsh forests of post-oak
and black-jack.
In the course of the morning, I received a
lesson on the importance of being chary of one's
steed on the prairies. The one I rode surpassed
in action most horses of the troop, and was of
great mettle and a generous spirit. In crossing
the deep ravines, he would scramble up the steep
banks like a cat, and was always for leaping the
narrow runs of water. I was not aware of the
imprudence of indulging him in such exertions,
until, in leaping him across a small brook, I felt
him immediately falter beneath me. He limped
forward a short distance, but soon fell stark
lame, having sprained his shoulder. What was
to be done? He could not keep up with the
troop, and was too valuable to be abandoned on
the prairie. The only alternative was to send
him back to join the invalids in the sick camp,
and to share their fortunes. Nobody, however,
seemed disposed to lead him back, although I offered
a liberal reward. Either the stories of Tonish
about the Pawnees had spread an apprehension
of lurking foes, and imminent perils on the
prairies; or there was a fear of missing the trail
and getting lost. At length two young men stepped
forward and agreed to go in company, so that,
might be one to watch while the other slept.
The horse was accordingly consigned to their
care, and I looked after him with a rueful eye,
as he limped off, for it seemed as if, with him,
all strength and buoyancy had departed from
me.
I looked round for a steed to supply his place,
and fixed my eye upon the gallant grey which I
had transferred at the Agency to Tonish. The
moment, however, that I hinted about his dismounting
and taking up with the supernumerary
pony, the little varlet broke out into vociferous
remonstrances and lamentations, gasping and almost
strangling, in his eagerness to give vent to
them. I saw that to unhorse him would be to
prostrate his spirit and cut his vanity to the quick.
I had not the heart to inflict such a wound, or to
bring down the poor devil from his transient vainglory;
so I left him in possession of his gallant
grey; and contented myself with shifting my
saddle to the jaded pony.
I was now sensible of the complete reverse
to which a horseman is exposed on the prairies.
I felt how completely the spirit of the rider depended
upon his steed. I had hitherto been able
to make excursions at will from the line, and to
gallop in pursuit of any object of interest or curiosity.
I was now reduced to the tone of the
patiently and slowly after my file leader. Above
all, I was made conscious how unwise it is, on
expeditions of the kind, where a man's life may
depend upon the strength, and speed, and freshness
of his horse, to task the generous animal by
any unnecessary exertion of his powers.
I have observed that the wary and experienced
huntsman and traveller of the prairies is always
sparing of his horse, when on a journey; never,
except in emergency, putting him off of a walk.
The regular journeyings of frontiers-men and
Indians, when on a long march, seldom exceed
above fifteen miles a day, and are generally about
ten or twelve, and they never indulge in capricious
galloping. Many of those, however, with whom
I was travelling, were young and inexperienced,
and full of excitement at finding themselves in
a country abounding with game. It was impossible
to retain them in the sobriety of a
march, or to keep them to the line. As we
broke our way through the coverts and ravines,
and the deer started up and scampered off to the
right and left, the rifle balls would whiz after
them and our young hunters dash off in pursuit.
At one time they made a grand burst after what
they supposed to be a gang of bears, but soon
pulled up on discovering them to be black
wolves, prowling in company.
After a march of about twelve miles we encamped,
a little after mid-day, on the borders of
a brook which loitered through a deep ravine.
In the course of the afternoon old Ryan, the
Nestor of the camp, made his appearance, followed
by his little band of stragglers. He was
greeted with joyful acclamations, which showed
the estimation in which he was held by his
brother woodmen. The little band came laden
with venison; a fine haunch of which the veteran
hunter laid, as a present, by the Captain's fire.
Our men, Beatte and Tonish, both sallied
forth, early in the afternoon, to hunt. Towards
evening the former returned, with a fine buck
across his horse. He laid it down, as usual, in
silence, and proceeded to unsaddle and turn his
horse loose. Tonish came back without any
game, but with much more glory; having made
several capital shots, though unluckily the wounded
deer had all escaped him.
There was an abundant supply of meat in the
camp; for, beside other game, three elk had
been killed. The wary and veteran woodmen
were all busy jerking meat, against a time of
scarcity; the less experienced revelled in present
abundance, leaving the morrow to provide for
itself.
On the following morning, (Oct. 19,) I succeeded
in changing my pony and a reasonable
It was a great satisfaction to find myself once
more tolerably well mounted. I perceived,
however, that there would be little difficulty in
making a selection from among the troop, for
the rangers had all that propensity for “swapping,”
or, as they term it, “trading,” which pervades
the West. In the course of our expedition,
there was scarce a horse, rifle, powder
horn, or blanket, that did not change owners
several times; and one keen “trader” boasted
of having by dint of frequent bargains changed
a bad horse into a good one, and put a hundred
dollars in his pocket.
The morning was lowering and sultry, with
low muttering of distant thunder. The change
of weather had its effect upon the spirits of the
troop. The camp was unusually sober and
quiet; there was none of the accustomed farm-yard
melody of crowing and cackling at day-break;
none of the bursts of merriment, the
loud jokes and banterings, that had commonly
prevailed during the bustle of equipment. Now
and then might be heard a short strain of a song,
a faint laugh, or a solitary whistle; but in general,
every one went silently and doggedly about
the duties of the camp, or the preparations for
departure.
When the time arrived to saddle and mount,
all the woods and thickets had been beaten up
for some distance round the camp. Several
rangers were despatched, to “skir” the country
round, in quest of them. In the mean time, the
thunder continued to growl, and we had a passing
shower. The horses, like their riders, were
affected by the change of weather. They stood
here and there about the camp, some saddled
and bridled, others loose, but all spiritless and
dozing, with stooping head, one hind leg partly
drawn up so as to rest on the point of the hoof,
and the whole hide reeking with the rain, and
sending up wreaths of vapour. The men, too,
waited in listless groups the return of their comrades,
who had gone in quest of the horses; now
and then turning up an anxious eye to the drifting
clouds, which boded an approaching storm.
Gloomy weather inspires gloomy thoughts. Some
expressed fears that we were dogged by some
party of Indians, who had stolen the horses in
the night. The most prevalent apprehension,
however, was, that they had returned on their
traces to our last encampment, or had started
off on a direct line for Fort Gibson. In this
respect, the instinct of horses is said to resemble
that of the pigeon. They will strike for home
by a direct course, passing through tracts of
After delaying until the morning was somewhat
advanced, a lieutenant with a guard was
appointed to await the return of the rangers,
and we set off on our day's journey, considerably
reduced in numbers; much, as I thought,
to the discomposure of some of the troop, who
intimated that we might prove too weak-handed,
in case of an encounter with the Pawnees.
| CHAPTER XVI. The Crayon miscellany | |