 | CHAPTER XXXI. The Crayon miscellany |  |
31. CHAPTER XXXI.
A hunt for a lost Comrade.
The morning dawned, and an hour or two
passed without any tidings of the Count. We
began to feel uneasiness lest, having no compass
to aid him, he might perplex himself and
wander in some opposite direction. Stragglers
are thus often lost for days; what made us the
more anxious about him was, that he had no provisions
with him, was totally unversed in “wood
craft,” and liable to fall into the hands of some
lurking or straggling party of savages.
As soon as our people, therefore, had made
their breakfast, we beat up for volunteers for a
cruise in search of the Count. A dozen of the
rangers, mounted on some of the best and
freshest horses, and armed with rifles, were
soon ready to start; our half-breeds Beatte and
Antoine also, with our little mongrel Frenchman,
were zealous in the cause; so Mr. L. and
myself, taking the lead, to show the way to the
scene of our little hunt, where we had parted
company with the Count, we all set out across
the prairie. A ride of a couple of miles
brought us to the carcasses of the two buffaloes
were already gorging upon them. At our approach
they reluctantly drew off, skulking with
a caitiff look to the distance of a few hundred
yards, and there awaiting our departure, that
they might return to their banquet.
I conducted Beatte and Antoine to the spot
from whence the young Count had continued
the chase alone. It was like putting hounds
upon the scent. They immediately distinguished
the track of his horse amidst the trampings
of the buffaloes, and set off at a round pace,
following with the eye in nearly a straight
course, for upwards of a mile, when they came
to where the herd had divided, and run hither
and thither about a meadow. Here the track of
the horse's hoofs wandered and doubled and often
crossed each other; our half-breeds were like
hounds at fault. While we were all at a halt,
waiting until they should unravel the maze,
Beatte suddenly gave a short Indian whoop, or
rather yelp, and pointed to a distant hill. On
regarding it attentively we perceived a horseman
on the summit. “It is the Count!” cried
Beatte, and set off at full gallop, followed by
the whole company. In a few moments he
checked his horse. Another figure on horseback
had appeared on the brow of the hill. This
completely altered the case. The Count had
missing from the camp. If one of these horsemen
was indeed the Count, the other must be an
Indian. If an Indian, in all probability a Pawnee.
Perhaps they were both Indians; scouts
of some party lurking in the vicinity. While
these and other suggestions were hastily discussed,
the two horsemen glided down from the profile
of the hill, and we lost sight of them. One
of the rangers suggested that there might be a
straggling party of Pawnees behind the hill, and
that the Count might have fallen into their hands.
The idea had an electric effect upon the little
troop. In an instant every horse was at full
speed, the half-breeds leading the way; the
young rangers as they rode set up wild yelps
of exultation at the thoughts of having a brush
with the Indians. A neck or nothing gallop
brought us to the skirts of the hill, and revealed
our mistake. In a ravine we found the two
horsemen standing by the carcass of a buffalo
which they had killed. They proved to be two
rangers, who, unperceived, had left the camp a
little before us, and had come here in a direct
line, while we had made a wide circuit about the
prairie.
This episode being at an end, and the sudden
excitement being over, we slowly and coolly retraced
our steps to the meadow; but it was some
the track of the Count. Having at length found
it, they succeeded in following it through all its
doublings, until they came to where it was no
longer mingled with the tramp of buffaloes, but
became single and separate, wandering here and
there about the prairies, but always tending in
a direction opposite to that of the camp. Here
the Count had evidently given up the pursuit of
the herd, and had endeavoured to find his way
to the encampment, but had become bewildered
as the evening shades thickened around him,
and had completely mistaken the points of the
compass.
In all this quest our half-breeds displayed that
quickness of eye, in following up a track, for
which Indians are so noted. Beatte especially,
was as staunch as a veteran hound. Sometimes
he would keep forward on an easy trot; his eyes
fixed on the ground a little ahead of his horse,
clearly distinguishing prints in the herbage,
which to me were invisible, excepting on the
closest inspection. Sometimes he would pull
up and walk his horse slowly, regarding the
ground intensely, where to my eye nothing was
apparent. Then he would dismount, lead his
horse by the bridle, and advance cautiously
step by step, with his face bent towards the
earth, just catching, here and there, a casual indication
In some places where the soil was hard,
and the grass withered, he would lose the track
entirely, and wander backwards and forwards,
and right and left, in search of it; returning occasionally
to the place where he had lost sight of it,
to take a new departure. If this failed he would
examine the banks of the neighbouring streams,
or the sandy bottoms of the ravines, in hopes of
finding tracks where the Count had crossed.
When he again came upon the track, he would
remount his horse, and resume his onward
course. At length, after crossing a stream, in
the crumbling banks of which the hoofs of the
horse were deeply dented, we came upon a high
dry prairie, where our half-breeds were completely
baffled. Not a foot print was to be discerned,
though they searched in every direction;
and Beatte at length coming to a pause, shook
his head most despondingly.
Just then a small herd of deer, roused from
a neighbouring ravine, came bounding by us.
Beatte sprang from his horse, levelled his rifle,
and wounded one slightly, but without bringing
it to the ground. The report of the rifle was almost
immediately followed by a long halloo from
a distance. We looked around but could see
nothing. Another long halloo was heard, and at
length a horseman was descried, emerging out
him to be the young Count; there was a universal
shout and scamper, every one setting off full
gallop to greet him. It was a joyful meeting to
both parties; for, much anxiety had been felt by
us all on account of his youth and inexperience,
and for his part, with all his love of adventure,
he seemed right glad to be once more among his
friends.
As we supposed, he had completely mistaken
his course on the preceding evening, and had
wandered about until dark, when he thought of
bivouacking. The night was cold, yet he feared
to make a fire, lest it might betray him to some
lurking party of Indians. Hobbling his horse
with his pocket handkerchief, and leaving him to
graze on the margin of the prairie, he clambered
into a tree, fixed his saddle in the fork of the
branches, and placing himself securely with his
back against the trunk, prepared to pass a dreary
and anxious night, regaled occasionally with
the howlings of the wolves. He was agreeably
disappointed. The fatigue of the day soon
brought on a sound sleep; he had delightful
dreams about his home in Switzerland, nor did
he wake until it was broad daylight.
He then descended from his roosting place,
mounted his horse, and rode to the naked summit
of a hill, from whence he beheld a trackless
the Grand Canadian, winding its way between
borders of forest land. The sight of this river
consoled him with the idea that, should be fail in
finding his way back to the camp, or, in being
found by some party of his comrades, he might
follow the course of the stream, which could not
fail to conduct him to some frontier post, or Indian
hamlet. So closed the events of our hap-hazard
buffalo hunt.
| CHAPTER XXXI. The Crayon miscellany | |