University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.

We left the camp of the wild horse about a
quarter before eight, and, after steering nearly
south for three or four miles, arrived on the
banks of the Red Fork, at, as we supposed,
about seventy-five miles above its mouth. The
river was about three hundred yards wide, wandering
among sand bars and shoals. Its shores,
and the long sandy banks that stretched out into
the stream, were printed, as usual, with the
traces of various animals that had come down
to cross it, or to drink its waters.

Here we came to a halt, and there was much
consultation about the possibility of fording the
river with safety, as there was an apprehension
of quicksands. Beatte, who had been somewhat
in the rear, came up while we were debating.
He was mounted on his horse of the
half wild breed, and leading his captive by the
bridle. He gave the latter in charge to Tonish,
and without saying a word, urged his horse into
the stream, and crossed it in safety. Every
thing was done by this man in a similar way,

promptly, resolutely, and silently, without a previous
promise or an after vaunt.

The troop now followed the lead of Beatte,
and reached the opposite shore without any
mishap, though one of the pack-horses wandering
a little from the track, came near being
swallowed up in a quicksand, and was with
difficulty dragged to land.

After crossing the river, we had to force our
way, for nearly a mile, through a thick canebrake,
which, at first sight, appeared an impervious
mass of reeds and brambles. It was a
hard struggle; our horses were often to the
saddle-girths in mire and water, and both horse
and horseman harassed and torn by bush and
brier. Falling, however, upon a buffalo track,
we at length extricated ourselves from this morass,
and ascended a ridge of land, where we
beheld a beautiful open country before us;
while to our right, the belt of forest land, called
“The Cross Timber,” continued stretching away
to the southward, as far as the eye could reach.
We soon abandoned the open country, and struck
into the forest land. It was the intention of the
Captain to keep on south-west by south, and
traverse the Cross Timber diagonally, so as to
come out upon the edge of the great western
prairie. By thus maintaining something of a
southerly direction, he trusted, while he crossed

the belt of forest, he would at the same time
approach towards the Red River.

The plan of the Captain was judicious; but
he erred from not being informed of the nature
of the country. Had he kept directly west, a
couple of days would have carried us through
the forest land, and we might then have had an
easy course along the skirts of the upper prairies,
to Red River; by going diagonally, we
were kept for many weary days toiling through
a dismal series of rugged forests.

The Cross Timber is about forty miles in
breadth, and stretches over a rough country of
rolling hills, covered with scattered tracts of
post-oak and black-jack; with some intervening
valleys, that at proper seasons would afford
good pasturage. It is very much cut up by deep
ravines, which, in the rainy seasons, are the beds
of temporary streams, tributary to the main rivers,
and these are called “branches.” The
whole tract may present a pleasant aspect in
the fresh time of the year, when the ground is
covered with herbage; when the trees are in
their green leaf, and the glens are enlivened by
running streams. Unfortunately, we entered
it too late in the season. The herbage was
parched; the foliage of the scrubby forests was
withered; the whole woodland prospect, as far
as the eye could reach, had a brown and arid

hue. The fires made on the prairies by the Indian
hunters, had frequently penetrated these
forests, sweeping in light transient flames along
the dry grass, scorching and calcining the lower
twigs and branches of the trees, and leaving
them black and hard, so as to tear the flesh of
man and horse that had to scramble through
them. I shall not easily forget the mortal toil,
and the vexations of flesh and spirit, that we
underwent occasionally, in our wanderings
through the Cross Timber. It was like struggling
through forests of cast iron.

After a tedious ride of several miles, we came
out upon an open tract of hill and dale, interspersed
with woodland. Here we were roused
by the cry of buffalo! buffalo! The effect was
something like that of the cry of a sail! a sail!
at sea. It was not a false alarm. Three or
four of those enormous animals were visible to
our sight grazing on the slope of a distant hill.

There was a general movement to set off in
pursuit, and it was with some difficulty that the
vivacity of the younger men of the troop could
be restrained. Leaving orders that the line of
march should be preserved, the Captain and two
of his officers departed at a quiet pace, accompanied
by Beatte, and by the ever forward Tonish;
for it was impossible any longer to keep
the little Frenchman in check, being half crazy

to prove his skill and prowess in hunting the
buffalo.

The intervening hills soon hid from us both
the game and the huntsmen. We kept on our
course, in quest of a camping place, which was
difficult to be found; almost all the channels of
the streams being dry, and the country being
destitute of fountain heads.

After proceeding some distance, there was
again a cry of buffalo, and two were pointed
out on a hill to the left. The Captain being absent,
it was no longer possible to restrain the
ardour of the young hunters. Away several of
them dashed, full speed, and soon disappeared
among the ravines: the rest kept on, anxious to
find a proper place for encampment.

Indeed we now began to experience the disadvantages
of the season. The pasturage of
the prairies was scanty and parched; the pea-vines
which grew in the woody bottoms were
withered, and most of the “branches,” or streams
were dried up. While wandering in this perplexity,
we were overtaken by the Captain and
all his party, except Tonish. They had pursued
the buffalo for some distance without getting
within shot, and had given up the chase, being
fearful of fatiguing their horses, or being led off
too far from camp. The little Frenchman,

however, had galloped after them like mad, and
the last they saw of him, he was engaged, as it
were, yard-arm and yard-arm, with a great
buffalo bull, firing broadsides into him. “I tink
dat little man crazy—somehow,” observed Beatte,
dryly.