such situations--as if it gave them a pleasure to court danger, just as
a school-boy likes to luxuriate in perilous feats of agility."

"Are these the same that are called `big-horns' by the hunters?"
demanded Francois.

"The same," answered Lucien; "`cimmaron' is the name given by the
Spaniards--the earliest explorers of these regions.  Naturalists have
named them `argali,' from their resemblance to the argali (_Ovis
ammon_), or wild sheep of Europe.  They are not the same species,
however.  In my opinion, they are _not wild sheep at all_, but true
antelopes, as much so as the chamois of the Alps, or the prong-horns of
the prairie.  Indeed, to say that our common sheep sprung from the
argali seems a very absurd theory.  There is but little resemblance
between the two animals, except about the head and horns of the rams;
and, I think, no circumstances could have caused such a difference as
there exists between them in other respects.  I should say, then, that
the big-horns are not sheep, but antelopes--_mountain_ _antelopes_, you
might call them, to distinguish them from their prong-horned cousins,
who prefer to range over the plains, while they, on the contrary, spend
most of their time among the steep and craggy cliffs."

An exclamation from Basil, who was walking a few paces in advance, at
this moment summoned the attention of his brothers, and put an end to
this conversation.  They had arrived at the eastern end of the butte,
which on that side presented a different appearance from either of the
others.  There was a deep ravine that indented the cliff, and along its
channel a sloping path appeared to lead up to the top.  This channel was
filled with large loose rocks, surrounded by an underwood of cacti and
acacia thorns; and it seemed as though the slope was sufficiently easy
to be ascended by a person on foot.  Near the bottom of the ravine were
very large boulders; and a spring, more copious than the one where the
hunters had encamped, ran out from among them, and flowed south-eastward
through a fringe of grass and willows.

As the boys came up to the spring branch, some tracks in the soft mud
drew their attention.  They were of an oblong shape, and larger than the
footprints of a man; but the deep holes made by five great claws at the
end of each told what animal had made them.  They were the tracks of the
grizzly bear.  There could be no doubt of this, for there were the
prints of the long plantigrade feet, the tubercules of the toes, and the
holes where the curving claws had sunk several inches into the mud.  No
other animal could have made such marks--not even the black or brown
bear, whose claws are short in comparison with those of the grizzly
monster of the mountains.

For some moments our hunters hesitated under feelings of alarm; but, as
the animal that had made the tracks was not in sight, their fears
gradually subsided to some extent, and they began to consider what was
best to be done.  Should they go up the ravine, and endeavour to reach
the summit?  This would only be carrying out their original intention,
and they would have started upward without hesitation, had they not
discovered the bear-tracks.  Seeing these, however, had put a new aspect
on the matter.  If there were grizzly bears in the neighbourhood--and
this seemed very certain--the ravine was the most likely place to find
them in.  Its thick underwood, with the numerous crevices that, like
caverns, appeared among the rocks on each side, were just such places as
grizzly bears delight in.  Their lair might be in this very ravine, and
it would be a dangerous business to stumble upon it in passing up.  But
our young hunters were full of courage.  They had a keen desire to
ascend the butte--partly out of curiosity, and partly to get a shot at
the big-horns--and this desire triumphed over prudence.  They resolved
to carry through what they had begun; and at length commenced to ascend,
Basil taking the lead.

It was severe climbing withal; and now and again they had to pull
themselves up by laying hold of branches and roots.  They noticed that
_there was a trail_, which they followed upward.  No doubt the
big-horns, or some other animals, had made this trail as they passed up
and down--though it was only distinguishable by a slight discoloration
upon the rocks, and by the earth being packed firmer in some places, as
if by hoofs or feet.  A little better than half-way up the boys observed
a fissure, like the entrance of a cave, on one side of the ravine and
close to the trail.  Around this the earthy colour of the rocks, the
absence of herbage, and the paddled appearance of the soil, suggested
the idea that some animal made its den there.  They passed it in
silence, climbing as quickly as the nature of the ground would allow
them, and looking backwards with fear.  In a few minutes they had
reached the escarpment of the butte; and, raising themselves by their
hands they peeped over, and at once obtained a view of its whole
table-like summit.

It was, as they had conjectured, perfectly level upon the top, with an
area-surface of about twenty or thirty acres.  Pine-trees grew thinly
over it, with here and there a bush or two of acacia, the species known
as "mezquite."  There was plenty of grass among the trees, and large
tussocks of "bunch grass" mingling with cactus and aloe plants, formed a
species of undergrowth.  This, however, was only at two or three spots,
as for the most part the surface was open, and could be seen at a single
view.  The hunters had hardly elevated their heads above the cliff, when
the herd of big-horns became visible.  They were at the moment near the
western extremity of the table; and, to the astonishment of all, they
appeared leaping over the ground as if they were mad!  They were not
attempting to escape; for they had not as yet noticed the boys, who, on
getting above, had crept cautiously behind some bushes.  On the
contrary, the animals were skipping about in different directions at the
same time, and bounding high into the air.  After a moment it was
observed that only those with the large horns were taking part in this
exercise, while the others were browsing quietly near them.  It was soon
evident what the males were about.  They were engaged in a fierce
conflict; and their angry snorts, with the loud cracking of their horns,
told that they were in terrible earnest.  Now they backed from each
other--as rams usually do--and anon they would dash forward until their
heads met with a crash, as though the skulls of both had been splintered
by the concussion.  Sometimes two fought by themselves, and at other
times three or four of them would come together, as if it mattered
little which was the antagonist.  They all appeared to be equally the
enemies of one another.  Strange to say, the ewes did not seem to
trouble themselves about the matter.  Most of these were feeding
quietly, or if at times they looked up towards their belligerent lords,
it was with an air of nonchalance and indifference, as if they cared
nothing at all about the result.

Our hunters felt confident that they had the whole flock in a trap.
They had only to guard the pass by which they themselves had come up,
and then hunt the big-horns over the table at their leisure.  It was
agreed, therefore, that Lucien with Marengo should remain there, while
Basil and Francois stole up for a first shot.  They lost no time in
putting this plan into execution.  They perceived that the fight
completely occupied the attention of the animals; and, taking advantage
of this, Basil and Francois crept over the ground--sheltering
themselves, as well as they could--until they had got within easy range.
Both arrived together behind a little clump of acacias; and, by a
signal from Basil, they raised themselves together to take aim.  As they
did so, they saw one of the rams, who had been backing himself for a
rush, suddenly disappear over the edge of the cliff!  They thought he
had tumbled over--as his legs were the last of him they had seen--but
they had no time to speculate upon the matter, as both pulled trigger at
the moment.  Two of the animals were laid prostrate by their fire; while
the rest bounded off, ran out to a point of the table, and there halted.

Basil and Francois leaped to their feet, shouting for Lucien to be on
the alert: but, to their great surprise, the cimmarons, as if newly
terrified by their shouts, and finding their retreat cut off, sprang
over the precipice, disappearing instantly from view!

"They must be all killed," thought Basil and Francois; and, calling
Lucien to come up, all three ran to the point where the animals had
leaped off, and looked over.  They could see the plain below, but no
big-horns!  What had become of them?

"Yonder!" cried Francois; "yonder they go!" and he pointed far out upon
the prairie where several reddish-looking objects were seen flying like
the wind toward the far bluffs of the Llano Estacado.  Lucien now
directed the eyes of his brothers to several ledge-like steps upon the
cliff, which, no doubt, the animals had made use of in their descent,
and had thus been enabled to reach the bottom in safety.

As soon as the cimmarons were out of sight, the hunters turned towards
the two that had been shot--both of which, a male and female, lay
stretched upon the grass and quite dead.  The boys were about to
commence skinning them, when Basil and Francois remembered what they had
observed just before firing; and, curious to convince themselves whether
the big-horn had actually tumbled over the cliff by accident or leaped
off by design, they walked forward to the spot.  On looking over the
edge, they saw a tree shaking violently below them, and among its
branches a large red body was visible.  It was the cimmaron; and, to
their astonishment, they perceived that he was hanging suspended by one
of his huge horns, while his body and legs, kicking and struggling, hung
out at their full length in the empty air!  It was evident he had
tumbled from the top contrary to his intentions; and had been caught
accidentally in the branches of the pine.  It was a painful sight to
witness the efforts of the poor creature; but there was no means of
getting him off the tree, as he was far beyond their reach; and Basil,
having loaded his rifle, in order to put an end to his agony, sent a
bullet through his heart.  The shot did not alter his position--as the
horn still held on to the branch--but the animal ceased struggling and
hung down dead,--to remain there, doubtless, until some hungry vulture
should espy him from afar, and, swooping down, strip the flesh from his
swinging carcass!

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

BESIEGED BY GRIZZLY BEARS.

The young hunters now laid aside their guns, drew their knives, and
skinned the cimmarons with the dexterity of practised "killers."  They
then cut up the meat, so as the more conveniently to transport it to
their camp.  The skins they did not care for; so these were suffered to
remain on the ground where they had been thrown.

As soon as the "mutton" was quartered, each shouldered a piece, and
commenced carrying it toward the ravine, intending to return and bring
the rest at another load or two.  On reaching the point where the path
came up on the table, they saw that it would be difficult for them to
descend with their burdens--as it is more easy to climb a precipice than
to get down one.  Another plan suggested itself; and that was, to pitch
the pieces down before them to the bottom of the ravine.  This they
could accomplish without difficulty.  It would do the meat no harm--as
they intended to cut it up for jerking--and they could easily wash out
the dirt and gravel at the spring, when they had got it all there.

This plan was at once adopted; and, taking up piece by piece they flung
them down the chasm, and could see them lying among the rocks at the
bottom.  They then went back to the carcasses, took up fresh loads, and
returned with them to the ravine.

As they stepped forward to fling them over, a sight met their eyes that
caused each one to drop his load upon the spot.  Down near the bottom of
the ravine, and moving among the pieces of meat, was a hideous object--a
huge and ill-shaped animal.  Its great size--its long shaggy hair and
greyish brown colour--but, above all, its fierce aspect, left no doubt
upon the minds of our hunters as to what sort of animal it was.  There
was no mistaking the dreaded monster of the mountains--the _grizzly
bear_!

It was nearly twice the size of the common bear; and it differed from
the latter in other respects.  Its ears were more erect; its eyes, of
burnt sienna colour, looked more fiery and glaring; its head and muzzle
were broader--giving it an appearance of greater boldness and strength--
and its long crescent-shaped claws, protruding from the shaggy covering
of its feet, could be distinctly seen from the top of the cliff.  With
these it had just torn one of the pieces of mutton into smaller
fragments, and was eagerly devouring it as the boys arrived on the
height above.  It was so busily engaged that it did not notice them.

All three, as we have said, dropped their loads on the ground; and,
after pausing for a moment to look down, ran precipitately back for
their guns.  These they got hold of, and examined with care, looking to
their caps and nipples.  They had already loaded them, before commencing
to skin the cimmarons.  They now stole cautiously back to the ravine,
and again looked over its edge.  To their consternation, _not one bear,
but three of these horrid animals_ were busy with the meat below!  One
was smaller than either of the others, and differed from them in colour.
It was quite black; and might have passed for a full-grown bear of the
black species.  It was not that, however; but a large cub, of which the
other two were the parents.

All three were tearing away at the fresh meat, evidently in high glee,
and not caring to consider whence such a windfall had come, so long as
they were getting the benefit of it.  They occasionally uttered loud
snorts--as if to express their gratification--and at intervals the old
male one growled as the cub interfered with his eating.  The female, on
the contrary, as she tore the mutton into fragments, kept placing the
daintiest morsels before the snout of her black progeny; and with
playful strokes of her paw admonished it from time to time to fall to
and eat.  Sometimes they ate standing erect, and holding the meat
between their fore-paws.  At others they would place the piece upon a
rock, and devour it at their leisure.  Their jaws and claws were red
with the blood--that still remained in the hastily-butchered meat--and
this added to the ferocious aspect of the trio.

Our adventurers gazed down upon the scene with feelings of the utmost
terror; and no wonder.  They had heard such stories of the grizzly bear,
as would have inspired stouter hearts than theirs with feelings of the
kind.  They knew that no hunter, when dismounted, ever dares to attack
this animal; and, even when on horseback and armed with his trusty
rifle, he will only venture to do so when the ground is open, and he is
sure of escape through the fleetness of his horse.  They knew that
hunters, even when in large parties, are often chased by a single bear
of this kind, after each of them had given him a shot; for as many as
twenty bullets have been fired into the body of a grizzly bear without
bringing him to the ground.  All these facts came into the minds of our
boy hunters at the moment.  No wonder they felt fear.

They were in a most perilous situation.  The bears occupied the ravine.
There was no other path by which they could get down to their horses.
They had gone almost quite round the butte in their morning search.
They had seen that it was precipitous on all sides, and they had since
observed that the space between the ravine and their point of starting
was the same.  How, then, were they to get back to camp?  There was no
way but one--_down_ the ravine--and the bears would be certain to attack
them should they attempt to descend that way.

The boys gazed at each other with terrified looks, repeating what they
had to say in muttered whispers.  All three well understood the danger
of their position.  Would the bears, after they had satisfied their
hunger, go off and leave the ravine?  No.  The cave, which had been
noticed, was their lair, beyond a doubt.  Even if they should enter it,
what certainty was there that they would not rush out upon the boys as
they were clambering down?  If so, they would easily overcome the latter
among the loose rocks and bushes.  One or all would fall a sacrifice
should they attempt to descend.  Might the bears not go out upon the
plain?  Perhaps they might go out as far as the spring, either for
water, or led by some other want.  But even so, they would then be able
to see the hunters coming down, and could easily overtake them before
the latter could reach the camp, or their horses.  The horses had been
set loose, and were now a good distance off upon the prairie.  There was
but little consolation in this thought, and less in that which occurred
to them next; which was that the fierce brutes might not be satisfied at
what they had eaten, but might take it into their heads to clamber up to
the summit in search of more!  This apprehension was the most fearful of
all--as the boys knew that there was no place upon the table where they
could long conceal themselves; and to get down, if once discovered and
pursued, would be utterly impossible.

Filled with these appalling thoughts, they crouched upon their hands and
knees, now peering cautiously through the leaves of the aloes, and now
whispering to each other the various plans of escape that suggested
themselves.  But all these plans ended in the faint hope that the bears
might make a temporary absence from the ravine, and give them a chance
to pass down.  They could think of no other mode of extricating
themselves from their dilemma.

At times the idea occurred to Basil, of taking good aim, and firing at
one or other of the huge animals.  Francois applauded this idea, while
Lucien as strongly opposed it.  The latter argued that it would only
irritate the bears, and bring them up at once--that there was no chance
of killing any of them by a single bullet, unless it passed through the
brain or the heart; and this, aiming, as they must do, over a cliff, was
a very problematical affair.  Even should one fall, the others would
avenge the death of their comrade.  A volley would not be likely to kill
them all.

Lucien's arguments prevailed; and the less prudent brothers gave up
their idea of firing, and remained, silently gazing down as before.

They lay for nearly half-an-hour watching and waiting.  The bears
finished their meal, having devoured every bit of the meat.  Were they
satisfied?  No.  A shoulder of mutton is but a morsel to the ravenous
appetite of a grizzly bear; and it seemed only to have set theirs upon
edge.  They guessed whence their lunch had come--from above--and there
was the place to go in search of their dinner.  They looked up.  The
boys suddenly drew back their heads, hiding them behind the leaves.  It
was too late.  The bears had seen them, and the next moment were
galloping upward!

The first thought of our hunters was to fly, and with this intention
they all sprang to their feet.  But Basil, with a feeling of rage, was
determined to try whether a rifle-bullet might not serve as a check to
the advancing enemy.  He levelled down the pass, and fired.  His
brothers, seeing him do so, followed his example--Francois emptying both
barrels that had been loaded with buck-shot.  One of the bears--the cub
it was--tumbled back down the ravine but after the volley the largest of
all was seen clambering up, growling fiercely as he came.  The hunters,
not having time to reload, ran off over the table--scarcely knowing what
direction to take.

When they had got half-way across it, all three stopped and looked back.
The foremost bear was just rising above the cliff; and the next moment
his long body was stretched out in pursuit of them.  They had been in
hopes that the pieces of meat might have attracted his attention, and
drawn him aside.  This did not happen.  The meat was not directly upon
his path; moreover, the animal appeared infuriated as he approached.  He
had been stung by the shot, and was bent upon revenge.

It was a terrible moment.  The angry monster was within three hundred
yards of them.  In a few seconds he would be upon them, and one or the
other must become his victim.

In crises like these, bold minds are the most apt to conceive
expedients.  So it was with that of Basil.  On other occasions he was
rash and often imprudent, but in moments of extreme danger he became
cool and collected, even more so than his philosophic brother, Lucien.
A thought, which hitherto had strangely been overlooked both by himself
and his brothers, now in the hour of peril came into his mind.  He
remembered that the grizzly bear is _not a tree-climber_!  With the
thought he shouted out,--

"To the trees! to the trees!" at the same time embracing one of the
pines, and sprawling upwards as fast as he could climb.

Both Lucien and Francois imitated his example, each taking to the tree
that grew nearest him--for the bear was not twenty paces behind them,
and there was no time to pick and choose.  Before the latter could come
up, however, all three were perched in the pines, as high among the
branches as they could safely get.

The bear galloped forward, and seeing where they had gone, ran from tree
to tree, growling with rage and disappointment.  He rose upon his
hind-legs, and endeavoured to reach the lowermost branches with his
fore-paws--as if he intended to draw himself up, or drag the tree down.
One by one he assailed the pines, shaking them with violence, and with
his claws making the bark fly off in large pieces.  One in particular--
that upon which Francois had taken refuge--being a small tree, vibrated
so rapidly under the powerful efforts of the brute, that its occupant
was in danger of being dashed to the ground.  But the fear of such an
event caused Francois to put forth all his energies; and, encouraged by
the shouts of Basil and Lucien, he held on manfully.  The bear, after a
while, seeing he could not shake him off, gave it up; and again tried
his strength upon the trees that had been climbed by the others.  This
ended as before; except that the bear completely skinned off the bark as
high as he could reach, and made such an impression upon the trunks with
his teeth and claws, that the boys feared he might take it into his head
to cut down the trees altogether.  He could easily have accomplished
this; but, fortunately for them, the grizzly bear is not gifted with
reasoning faculties, else their fate would have been a terrible one
indeed.

When he found, at length, that he could neither drag down the trees, nor
shake the boys out of them, he gave up the attempt; and for a time
walked from one to the other, backwards and forwards, like a sentry, now
and then uttering a loud "sniff," and at intervals growling fiercely.
At length he stretched his huge body along the ground, and appeared to
sleep!

What had become of the female and the cub?  Had both fallen by the shots
fired at them?  Neither had as yet made their appearance on the summit--
for the boys from their perch could see every inch of its surface.  They
were still in the ravine then; but whether dead or alive could not be
determined.  The dog Marengo, by a wise instinct, had not attacked the
bear, but had escaped to one edge of the table, where he was crouching
and cowering with fear, taking care not to put himself in the way of
being seen.

The young hunters were now in a worse situation than ever.  They dared
not venture out of the trees without the certainty of dropping into the
jaws of the monster; and they were suffering pain as they sat straddled
across the slender branches of the pines.  Besides, they were thirsty--
thirsty to an extreme degree.  They had taken no water with them in the
morning.  The sun was fiercely hot; and, even while engaged in skinning
the big-horns, they had been complaining for want of water.  They now
began to suffer from thirst, more than from any other cause.  Should the
bear remain for any length of time, what would become of them?  They
must either drop down to be at once torn to pieces, or perish slowly
where they sat.  These were the alternatives!

They could make no change in their situation.  Their guns were upon the
ground, where in their haste they had flung them.  They dared not
descend to recover them.  They were utterly helpless; and could do
nothing but await the result.  As if to tantalise them, they now beheld
for the first time the objects of their far expedition--the animals they
had so long desired to come up with--_the buffaloes_!  Away to the
south-west a multitude of black bodies were seen upon the plain, like
crowds of men in dark clothing.  They were moving to and fro, now
uniting in masses, and now separating like the squadrons of an irregular
army.  Miles of the green prairie were mottled by their huge dark forms,
or hidden altogether from the view.  They seemed to be moving northward,
along the level meadows that stretched between the butte and the Llano
Estacado.  This proved to be the case; for in a few minutes the headmost
had pushed forward on a line with the butte; and our young hunters could
distinguish the shaggy, lion-shaped bodies of the bulls that formed the
vanguard of the "gang."  Under other circumstances this would have been
a glad sight indeed.  As it was, it only served to render their
situation more intolerable.  The buffaloes were passing to the north.
Even should they themselves escape, after a time they might not be able
to overtake them; and although they could distinguish none that were
_white_--for the main body was a great way off--it was highly probable
that in so large a herd one or more of these would be found.

As all three continued to watch the black multitudes rolling past, an
exclamation, or rather a _shout_ of joy, was uttered by Basil.  He was
upon a tree that stood apart from the others and gave him an
unobstructed view of the plains to the west.

"_Voila_! yonder! yonder!" he cried: "see! in the middle of the drove!
See, brothers!--it shines in the sun--white--white!  Huzza!--huzza!"

Basil's speech was scarcely coherent.  Neither was that of his brothers,
when they beheld the object to which he had alluded.  It could be
nothing else, all believed, than the object of their long wild hunt--a
_white buffalo_.  All three huzzaed loudly, and for a moment forgot the
peril of their position.  Their shouts started the grizzly monster
below, who, lazily rising to his feet, once more commenced growling and
shuffling about among the trees.  The sight of him soon restored the
hunters to a sense of the fearful realities that surrounded them.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

AN ESCAPE FROM THE BEAR-SCRAPE.

For hours they sat upon their painful perch--now glancing downward at
the fierce gaoler that watched unweariedly below--now gazing out upon
the plain, where the dusky droves still continued to move.  For hours
the buffaloes kept passing northward, until the setting sun glanced
redly from their brown bodies.  Once or twice again the boys thought
they saw white ones in the herd; but their eyes had grown dim with
watching, and the pain which they endured now rendered them indifferent
to aught else than their own misery.  Despair had conquered hope--for
they were choking with thirst--and death stared them in the face.

After a long while the bear again lay down, and placing his fore-paws
over his head appeared once more to sleep.  Basil could stand it no
longer; and now resolved to make an effort to escape.  At all events he
would try to bring about some change in their painful situation.

Cautioning his brothers to remain silent, he slipped down from his tree;
and, with the stealthy tread of a cat, crept over the ground in search
of his rifle.  He soon laid hands upon it; and then, returning to his
tree, climbed up again.  The shaking of the branches as he did so, awoke
the bear; who sprang to his feet, and rushed towards the tree.  Had he
been a moment sooner, it would have been ill for Basil, for the snout of
the animal, as he reared upward against the trunk, almost touched the
boy's feet.  It was an "inch of a miss as good as a mile," and Basil was
saved.  The next moment he was seated among the branches, and leisurely
loading his rifle!

Strange to say, the bear appeared to comprehend this movement.  As if
aware of his danger, he kept out farther from the trees; and, while
rambling about, now, for the first time, stumbled upon what remained of
the carcasses of the big-horns.  These he proceeded to tear up, and
devour.  He was still within range of the rifle, though not for a sure
shot; but Basil, who knew he could load again, was determined either to
force him farther off, or bring him within reach; and with this intent
he took aim and fired.  The bullet hit the bear in the fore-shoulder,
for he was seen to turn his head and tear at the spot with his teeth,
all the while growling with rage and pain.  Strange to say, he still
continued to devour the meat!

Again Basil loaded and fired as before.  This time the animal received
the shot about the head, which caused him to make fresh demonstrations
of his fury.  He dropped his prey, and galloped back among the trees,
first clutching one and then another, making repeated efforts to drag
them down.  He at length came to Basil's tree, and seized it in his
fierce hug.  This was exactly what the young hunter wanted.  He had
hastily reloaded, and as the bear stood upright under the branches, he
leant downwards until the muzzle of his rifle almost touched the snout
of the animal.  Then came the report--a stream of fire was poured into
the very face of the bear--and a crashing sound followed.  As the smoke
cleared off, the huge body was seen kicking and sprawling upon the
ground.  The leaden messenger had done its work.  It had passed through
the brain; and in a few seconds the shaggy monster lay motionless upon
the earth.

The boys now dropped from the trees.  Francois and Lucien ran for their
guns, and all three having loaded with care, proceeded toward the
ravine.  They stayed not to examine the enemy that had been slain.
Thirst urged them on, and they thought only of getting to the spring
below.  They were full of hope that the she-bear and her cub had been
killed by their first fire, and that they would now find the road clear.

What was their disappointment when, on looking down the ravine, they saw
the cub lying doubled up, near the bottom, and the old one standing
sentry over it!  The cub was evidently dead.  So much the worse--as the
mother would not now leave it for a moment, and both were directly in
the path.  The latter was moving backward and forward upon a ledge of
rock, at intervals approaching the cub and tossing its body with her
snout, and then uttering a low querulous moan, that was painful to
listen to!

The hunters saw at once that their situation was as bad as ever.  Their
retreat was cut off by the infuriated mother, who might remain where she
was for an indefinite time.  Should they fire down upon her, and take
the chances of once more escaping to the trees?  This was an alternative
which they had reason to dread.  Their painful experience decided them
against it.  What then?  Remain until after night-fall, and try to steal
past in the darkness?  Perhaps the bear might retire to her cave, and
give them an opportunity to do so.  But in the meantime they were dying
of thirst!

At this moment a happy idea suggested itself to Lucien.  He saw the
cactus plants growing near.  There were large globes of the
echinocactus.  He remembered having read that these often assuaged the
thirst of the desert traveller.  The plants were soon reached, and their
succulent masses laid open by the knives of the hunters.  The cool
watery fibres were applied to their lips; and in a few minutes their
thirst was alleviated and almost forgotten.  Still the bear occupied the
ravine, and so long as she remained there, there was no possible chance
of their getting back to camp.  They saw, however, that they could do
nothing better than wait for the night, in hopes that the darkness might
bring about something in their favour.

Night soon came on, but not darkness.  It chanced to be a clear
moonlight; and they saw at once that it would then be quite as perilous
to go down the ravine as it had been during the day.  They could hear
the snorting and growling of the monster below; and they knew she still
held the pass.  Should they attempt to descend, she would discover them
long before they could get down.  She could hear them clambering among
the rocks and bushes.  The advantage would be hers, as she could attack
them unawares.  Besides, even had the coast been quite clear, they would
have found it difficult to get down the steep descent in the night.
They dared not attempt it.  After much deliberation, therefore, they
resolved to wait for the morning.

Throughout all the live-long night they kept awake.  They heard their
steeds neighing below--wondering, poor brutes, what had become of their
masters.  The hinny of Jeanette echoed wildly from the cliffs, and was
answered by the bark and howl of the prairie-wolf.  These sounds,
together with the more ominous snort of the bear, kept sleep from the
eyes of our adventurers.  They dared not go to sleep, unless by perching
themselves in the trees; as they knew not the moment the bear might come
up to the summit.  Sleeping upon the slender branch of a mountain pine
is more painful than pleasant; and all three preferred keeping awake.

Morning broke at length.  The first light showed that the shaggy
sentinel was still at her post.  She sat upon the same spot, as though
she was guarding her dead offspring.  The young hunters, but
particularly Basil, began to grow impatient.  They were hungry, though
there were still left some fragments of the wild mutton, which they
could have eaten.  But they were thirsty as well.  The juice of the
cactus allayed, but did not quench, their thirst.  They longed for a
draught of cool water from the spring below.  The buffaloes, too, were
gone northward, "on the run."  They might never overtake them.  They
might never again have such an opportunity of procuring that for which
they had endured all this suffering.  These thoughts influenced all
three, but Basil more than any.  Some attempt must be made to reach the
plain, and escape from their elevated prison.

Basil proposed provoking the bear, by firing upon her.  She would pursue
them, he urged, as the other had done, and meet with a similar fate.
This might have succeeded, but it would have been a dangerous
experiment.  Lucien suggested that two of them should go round the edge
of the precipice and examine it more carefully, while the third kept a
watch upon the bear.  Perhaps there might yet be found some other path
that led to the plain.  This offered but a faint hope; still it would
take only a few minutes to make the examination, and Lucien's proposal
was therefore agreed to.

"If we only had a rope," suggested Francois, "we could let ourselves
over the cliff, and then the old grizzly might stay there for ever, if
she pleased."

"Ha!" shouted Basil, as if some plan had suddenly come into his mind,
"what dunces we have been!  Why did we not think of it before?  Come,
brothers!  I'll get you down in the twinkling of an eye--come!"

As Basil uttered these words, he strode off towards the spot where they
had butchered the big-horns.  On reaching it he drew his hunting-knife;
and having spread out one of the skins, proceeded to cut it into strips.
Lucien, at once guessing his design, assisted him in the operation;
while Francois was sent back to the head of the ravine, in order to
watch the bear.

In a few minutes the brothers had cut up both of the hides, until the
ground was covered with long strips.  These they knotted firmly
together--placing cross-pieces of pine branches in the knots--until they
had made a raw-hide rope over one hundred feet in length!

They now proceeded to a convenient point of the cliff--where a pine-tree
grew near its edge--and tied one end of the new-made rope around the
trunk.  To the other end they fastened Marengo, the three guns--for
Francois had arrived upon the ground--and, along with these, a large
stone--in order to test the strength of the rope before any of
themselves should venture upon it.  All these things were now lowered
down until they could see them resting upon the prairie below.

The rope was next made taut above; and the weight of the stone--which
was too heavy for Marengo to move--kept all fast below.  Francois
slipped down the rope first.  There was but little difficulty in his
doing so; as the pieces of wood formed rests, or steps, that prevented
him from sliding too fast.  Lucien followed next, and then Basil; so
that in less than half an hour, from the time that this plan of escape
had occurred to them, all three found themselves safe upon the level of
the prairie!

They did not waste time when they had got there.  Marengo was released,
and the whole party hurried in the direction of their horses.  These
were soon reached, caught, and saddled; and our hunters, now that they
could mount at any moment they pleased, felt themselves safe.

They resolved, however, to remain no longer by the butte, but to ride
away from it, as soon as they had eaten a morsel.  A small fire was,
therefore, kindled; and a piece of bear-meat, hastily broiled, satisfied
their hunger.  Basil would have gone back on horseback, to attack the
old she-bear in the ravine; but the more prudent Lucien dissuaded him;
and, holding their horses in readiness, they packed their camp
equipments upon Jeanette, and once more took the route.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE VULTURES AND THEIR KING.

They turned their horses' heads westward.  It was their intention to
travel in that direction, until they should strike the tracks of the
buffaloes, when they would turn to the north, follow upon the trail of
these animals, and endeavour to come up with the great herd.  This was
clearly the best course they could adopt.

As they were riding past the western extremity of the butte, a flock of
large birds drew their attention.  They were vultures.  The boys now
remembered the cimmaron that had fallen over the cliff; and, looking up,
they beheld its body still swinging from the tree.  It was that which
had attracted the vultures.

There were many of them--over an hundred in the flock.  Some were
sailing about in the air.  Others had alighted on the top of the cliff,
or perched themselves on the branches of the pines, while a few hovered
around the carcass, occasionally settling a moment upon its stiffened
limbs, and endeavouring to penetrate the hide with their beaks.  They
had already torn out the eyes of the animal, but the tough skin of the
body still resisted their attacks.

These birds were larger than ravens, and of a dark colour--nearly black.
At a distance they appeared purely black; but, upon a nearer view, an
admixture of brownish feathers could be perceived, and this was apparent
in some of them more than in others.  To a careless observer they would
all have passed for birds of the same species, although that was not the
case.  There were two distinct species of them, the "turkey-buzzard"
(_Cathartes aura_), and the black vulture (_Cathartes atratus_).  Our
boys knew them well enough--for both kinds are common in Louisiana, and
throughout all the southern part of the United States.

I have said that a careless observer would mistake the one species for
the other.  They are nearly of the same size and colour, though the
carrion-crow is of a deeper black than the buzzard; but there are other
points of difference that would strike the eye of a naturalist at once.
The buzzard is a much more handsomely formed bird, and is more graceful,
both upon the ground and while sailing through the air.  His wings are
longer and more elegantly plumed, and his tail is more tapering.  The
skin of his naked head and neck, as well as that of his legs, is of a
reddish or flesh colour; while the same parts of the black vulture are a
mixture of black and grey--the black being caused by a down that grows
thinly over the skin.  They are easily distinguished in the air.  The
black vulture flies rather heavily--flapping his wings several times
with a quick repetition, and then holding them horizontally for a
hundred yards or so--while his short ill-proportioned tail is spread out
like a fan.  The buzzard, on the contrary, holds his wings at rest--not
in a horizontal position, but bent considerably upward.  In this
attitude he will skim along for a quarter of a mile, without a single
stroke of his wings, and that, too, not downward as may be supposed, but
along a level, or a line often curving upward!  How he executes this
upward movement is not known.  Some suppose that he possesses the power
of inflating himself with heated air, which enables him to soar upward
without using his wings.  This theory is not very clear, and requires
demonstration before it can be accepted as the true one.  Others say
that he is carried up by the impetus he has already obtained, by having
previously descended from an equal or greater height.  This is not true,
however, as the buzzard may be often seen to rise in this way after a
long flight along the level line.  It is just possible that the same
principle by which the New Holland savages direct their boomerangs, or
by which flat stones thrown horizontally often take an upward
direction--a fact known to every boy--I say it is just possible that
this principle, as yet but little understood, may be instructively acted
on by the buzzard, and have something to do with his flight.  Be the
facts as they may, it is an interesting sight to watch one of these
birds, with broad wings outlined against the blue background of the
heavens, now swimming in circles, now shooting off in horizontal lines,
and anon soaring upward or tracing the undulating curves of the ogee.
It is, to say the least of it, a striking and beautiful sight.

The turkey-buzzard is, upon the whole, a nobler bird than the black
vulture.  There is more of the eagle about him.  Both, it is true, are
carrion-feeders, like all vultures; but the buzzard also hunts after
other food, such as snakes, lizards, and small quadrupeds.  He will
attack young lambs or pigs, when a good opportunity offers.  So, too,
will the black vulture, but not so frequently.  Neither of them,
however, do much harm in this respect; and their preying on such animals
is an exception, and not a rule.  They only do so, probably, when driven
to it by hunger.  Both species are gregarious, although they do not
always appear in flocks.  The buzzards, particularly, are often seen
hunting alone, or in twos or threes; but their mode of life brings them
together in large numbers.  They often assemble--both buzzards and black
vultures--to the number of hundreds, over a single carrion.  The
buzzards, however, are not so plenty as the black vultures; and in one
of these flocks more than three-fourths will be found of the latter
species.  The buzzards are the shyer birds; and they are less disposed
to keep together in flocks.  It has even been said that these are not
gregarious, as they are often seen alone in the high regions of the air.
But it is certain that not only do numbers of them roost together at
night, but they even associate with the black vultures at such times.

In most countries the vulture is a privileged bird.  He is looked upon
as a cheap and useful scavenger, clearing away the carcasses of dead
animals, that would otherwise pollute the atmosphere.  This is a matter
of much importance in hot countries; and it is only in such countries
that vultures are commonly found.  What a beautiful illustration of the
completeness of Nature's laws!  As you get into high latitudes and
colder regions--where the air is not so readily tainted by putrid
substances--the necessity for such a scavenger no longer exists, and he
is rarely met with.  There the great vulture gives place to the croaking
raven, and the small carrion-crow.

Vultures, I have said, are privileged birds.  In most countries they are
protected by law.  This is the case with regard to the present species,
both in English and Spanish America, where there is a fine for killing
them.  The consequence is, they are seldom molested; and in many places
are so tame, that they will permit you to come within a few feet of
them.  In the cities and villages of the Southern States they alight in
the streets, and go to sleep upon the house-tops.  They do the same in
the cities of Mexico and South America, where both species are also
found.

As soon as our young hunters had got opposite the cliff where the
vultures were, they reined up, determined to remain awhile, and watch
the manoeuvres of the birds.  They were curious to see how the latter
would conduct themselves with a prey so singularly situated, as was the
carcass of the cimmaron.  They did not dismount, but sat in their
saddles, about an hundred yards from the cliff.  The vultures, of
course, did not regard their presence; but continued to alight, both
upon the escarpment of the precipice and upon the loose rocks at its
foot, as if no one was near.

"How very like the buzzards are to hen turkeys!" remarked Francois.

"Yes," rejoined Lucien, "that is the reason why they are called
`turkey-buzzards.'"

Francois' observation was a very natural one.  There are no two birds,
not absolutely of the same species, that are more like each other than a
turkey-buzzard and a small-sized turkey-hen--that is, the common
domestic turkey of the black variety, which, like the buzzard, is
usually of a brownish colour.  So like are they, that, at the distance
of a hundred yards, I have often taken the one for the other.  This
resemblance, however, extends no farther than to the general
appearance--the shape and colour.  In most other respects they differ,
as you may imagine, very materially.

"Talking of turkey-buzzards," continued Lucien, "reminds me of an
anecdote that is told in relation to one."

"Oh! let us have it, brother," said Francois.

"With pleasure," replied Lucien.  "It is intended to illustrate the
superior cunning of the white over the Indian race; and is a pretty fair
sample of the honesty and justice which the former has too often
observed in its dealings with the latter.  It is as follows:--

"A white man and an Indian went out together for a day's hunting.  They
agreed that the game should be equally divided at night, no matter who
had killed the largest share of it.  During the day the Indian shot a
turkey, and the white hunter a turkey-buzzard; and these two birds were
all that either of them were able to meet with.  The proceeds of the
day's hunt were brought together; and now arose a difficulty about an
equal division of the game.  Both knew well enough the value of a good
fat turkey; and both were as well acquainted with the utter
worthlessness of the buzzard--which was in fact _worth less than
nothing_, as its filthy odour was extremely repulsive.  It was evident
that the only way of making a fair division would have been to cut the
turkey in two equal parts, and each to take one of the halves.  The
white man, however, would not agree to this; but proposed that one of
them should take the whole turkey, and the other the buzzard.

"`It's a pity,' argued he, `to spoil the birds.  It's better for each of
us to take one.'

"`Very well,' said the Indian.  `Shall we draw lots for the choice?'

"`Oh, no,' replied the other.  `It's not worth while to do that.  I'll
deal fairly with you.  I'll take the turkey, and let you have the
buzzard; or, _you can take the buzzard_, and I'll keep the turkey.'

"The Indian reflected, that in either case the buzzard would fall to his
share; but the white man's proposition _seemed_ a just one; and, as he
could find no flaw in its fairness, he was constrained, though
reluctantly, to accept it.  The white hunter, therefore, shouldered his
turkey, and trudged off homewards, leaving the poor Indian supperless in
the woods."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Francois, "what a shallow Indian he must have been
to be so easily outwitted!"

"Ah!" said Lucien, "he was not the only one of his race, who has been
similarly deceived by white men.  Many a _pewter_ dollar has been passed
upon these simple sons of the forest, in exchange for their furs and
peltries.  I have reason to suspect that one very rich fur-trader, now
dead, laid the foundation of his immense fortune in this way; but my
suspicions do not amount to positive proof, and therefore I do not
assert it for a fact.  Perhaps some historian may one day assail even
the character of the _good_ Penn; who is said to have purchased from the
Indians a territory of three _square miles_, but took care to have it
measured off as _three miles square_!  I hope the story is not a true
one."

"Why, that," said Francois, "is almost the same trick as Dido performed
with the bull's hide."

"Yes," replied his brother; "so you see that dishonesty belongs
exclusively to no age or nation.  It has existed in the past, and will
continue to exist, until men, becoming more and more highly educated,
will be moved by nobler ambition than the mere spirit of gain.  I
believe there is such a time in the far future."

The conversation was again directed to the subject of the vultures.
These now formed a flock of at least two hundred; and others were still
arriving upon the ground.  As fresh ones came, they would wheel about
for awhile in the air, and then drop down and perch themselves on the
trees and rocks.  Some sat crouching with drooping wings, and heads
drawn in--so that their long naked necks were quite concealed under
their ruff-like collars.  Others stood erect, with both wings raised
from the body, half unfolded, and held "a-kimbo," as eagles are often
seen, and as they are sometimes represented upon coins and standards.
It is supposed that both vultures and eagles spread their wings in this
fashion to cool themselves when they are too warm, and sun themselves
when too cold--for they do so in cold, as well as warm weather; and in
this attitude they exhibit a singular and rather pleasing picture.

Some of the vultures could be seen descending from the very highest
regions of the air.  They could be noted like little specks against the
blue sky, gradually growing larger and larger, until their broad wings
cast moving shadows upon the sunlit sward, as the birds floated spirally
downward.  Others were observed approaching in a horizontal direction--
some of them seeming no bigger than sparrows, as they first caught the
eye upon the distant horizon.

"What a distance some of them must have travelled!" remarked Francois;
"and how do you think they know where to come?  There was not one in
sight when we killed those big-horns."

"They have been guided by their scent, of course," replied Basil; "they
have great power in that way."

"Not so, brother," interrupted Lucien; "that is one of the errors of
your closet-naturalists--your Buffons and Cuviers--propagated by them,
until it has become proverbial.  Strange to say, it is altogether
erroneous.  It has been proved that vultures possess the sense of smell
in a less degree even than most other creatures.  Dogs and wolves far
excel them in this respect."

"How, then, have they found this carrion, for instance?"

"By their sight--for that sense they possess in a high degree of
perfection."

"But how can that be, Luce?" rejoined Basil.  "See! yonder are some
coming from the eastward.  Now, as the butte is between them and the
big-horn, how is it possible they could have seen it?"

"I do not say they have; but they have seen others, who have seen
others, who in their turn have seen others, who actually _have_ seen the
carrion."

"Oh!  I understand; you mean that some one or more have first spied it;
and, while making towards it, have been observed by others at a greater
distance; and those again who have followed them have been followed by
others still more distant, and so on."

"Precisely so; and this at once accounts for the fabulous stories of
vultures scenting carrion at the distance of miles--none of which
stories are true, but have been propagated by men who, perhaps, never
saw a vulture in the air, but who, in order to make their books amusing,
have readily adopted the exaggerated tales of every Munchausen they
could meet with."

"Your theory is certainly the more probable one."

"It is the true one.  It has been proved to be so by numerous
experiments with vultures; all of which have gone to show, that these
birds have anything but a keen sense of smell.  On the contrary, it is
remarkably weak; and I think it is well for them it is so, considering
the sort of food they live upon."

"This flock must have gathered from all parts," remarked Francois; "we
see them coming in from every point of the compass.  No doubt some of
them have travelled fifty miles."

"As likely an hundred," rejoined Lucien.  "Such a journey is a mere
bagatelle to them.  Now, if I knew the precise moment at which the
carrion was discovered by the first one, I could tell how far each of
the others had come--that is, each of them whose arrival we are now
witnessing."

"But how could you do that, brother?" demanded Basil and Francois, in
astonishment; "pray tell us how?"

"I should make my calculation thus:--In the first place, they have all
started _at the same time_."

"At the same time!" interrupted Basil; "how can that be, if some of them
were an hundred miles off?"

"No matter what distance," replied Lucien; "it is all the same.  They
have all commenced their flight hither, not _exactly_, but _nearly_, at
the same moment.  Is it not plain?  These birds, while hunting for their
food, sweep through the air in great circles.  Each of these circles
overlooks a large tract of the earth's surface below.  Their
circumferences approach or intersect each other--so that, in fact, the
whole country is under a network of them.  Now, as soon as one of the
vultures, thus sailing about, discovers with far-seeing eye the carrion
below, he immediately drops from his high orbit, and wings his way
downward.  He is observed by that one circling nearest him; who, well
knowing the cause of the altered flight of his companion, at once
forsakes his own orbit and follows; and he, in his turn, is followed by
another; and so on to the end of the chain."

"But how can one of them tell that the other is gone in pursuit of
prey?" inquired Francois, interrupting Lucien in his explanation.

"Suppose you saw Basil at a great distance off on the prairie, could you
not tell by his actions when he had started game, and was in pursuit of
it?"

"Oh! yes!  I could easily."

"Well, then, the vultures, who have far keener sight than you,
understand each other's movements thoroughly--even to the shaking of a
feather--so that they can easily tell when one of their number has a
good dinner in sight.

"I think I have shown," continued Lucien, "that they all start within a
few seconds of the same time; and as they fly in a nearly direct line
towards the object, if we knew the rate at which they go, it would only
remain for us to mark the date of their arrival, to be able to tell how
far they had come.  Of course it is supposed that we have already noted
the time when the first one came upon the spot.

"If we suppose," continued Lucien, as he pointed up to the vultures,
"that the first of these has alighted here two hours ago, and we allow
them a flight of thirty miles an hour, we may then safely conclude that
some of those now coming in have made a journey of sixty miles this
morning.  What think you of my theory?"

"It is, to say the least of it, a curious one, brother," replied Basil.

"But what are they waiting for now?" demanded Francois; "why don't they
at once fall to, and enjoy it while it is fresh?"

Francois' interrogatory was a very natural one.  Most of the vultures,
instead of attacking the carrion, were, as we have already seen, sitting
perched upon rocks and trees--some of them in listless attitudes, as
though they were not hungry, and did not care to eat.

Basil proffered an explanation.

"No doubt," said he, "they are waiting until the flesh becomes putrid.
It is said that they prefer it in that state."

"And that," remarked Lucien, "is another assertion that has no
foundation in fact.  They do _not_ prefer it in that state.  On the
contrary, it is certain that vultures like their food better when fresh,
and eat it so when they can get it."

"And what hinders them now?" inquired Francois.

"The tough hide hinders them.  These birds do not possess the great
muscular power in their claws that eagles do, else you would soon see
the big-horn reduced to a skeleton.  They are waiting until its skin
becomes more tender, through decomposition, so that they may be able to
tear it open.  That is why they are waiting."

Such was evidently the true explanation; for each of the new-comers was
seen to attack the carcass; and, after finding he could make nothing of
it, fly off and settle quietly down on the rocks or trees.

As the boys watched them, however, some more eager than the rest
effected an incision--at the spot where Basil's bullet had entered the
body of the animal--and were rapidly widening it.  The others,
perceiving this, began to fly toward the spot; and, in less than five
minutes, the tree was black with the filthy birds, until they crowded
each other upon the branches.  Several perched upon the limbs and horns
of the animal itself, until there was not a space left for another to
stand upon.  But their united weight, combined with that of the carcass,
was too much for the roots of the pine.  A loud crash was heard,
followed by the sharp rat-like squeaking of the vultures, as they
flapped hurriedly away; and as the broken tree bent downwards, the body
of the big-horn was precipitated to the earth, and fell upon the rocks
below!

There was a great commotion among the assembled birds; and the sound of
their broad wings, hurriedly beating the air, could have been heard for
miles off; but their fright was soon over, and they all settled down
again near the carrion.

The accident was in their favour rather than otherwise.  The already
decomposing body, by falling from such a vast height upon the sharp
rocks, was mangled, and the skin burst open!  This the foul birds were
not slow in perceiving; and first one, and then another, flapped towards
it, and commenced their horrid meal.  In a few moments they were
crowding over the body, hissing like geese, striking at each other with
wings, beak, and claws, and altogether exhibiting such a scene of
ravenous hunger and angry passion as would be difficult to portray.
They soon got in among the entrails of the animal, and commenced
dragging them forth.  Sometimes two of them would seize a long string of
these, and each swallowing from opposite ends, would meet each other in
the middle of the piece.  Then would be witnessed a singular scene, as
the birds dragged one another over the ground, each trying to make the
other disgorge his filthy morsel!  The young hunters, amused by these
curious episodes, agreed to remain and watch them for awhile; and with
this intent they dismounted from their horses, so as to relieve the
animals of their weight.

A new object of interest now presented itself to their attention.
Francois discovered it.  Francois had been directing his eyes upward,
watching the graceful motions of such of the vultures as were still in
the air.  All at once he was heard to exclaim,--

"A _white_ buzzard! a _white_ buzzard!"

Lucien and Basil saw that Francois pointed to the sky overhead.  They
raised their eyes in that direction.  There, sure enough, was a _white
bird_; but of what species neither of them could make out.  It was
flying at a vast elevation--higher, apparently, than any of the
buzzards; but even at that great height it appeared larger than any of
them.  Like them, it seemed to sail about with great ease, as if the sky
was its natural home.

When first observed, it appeared about as large as a gull; and the boys
might have taken it for one--not knowing any other _white_ bird likely
to be flying about at such a height--but as there were several buzzards
near it, and evidently _below_ it, and as these looked no bigger than
swallows, what must be its size?  It was not only bigger than a buzzard,
but, at least, three times the size of any one of them.  Thus calculated
Lucien, and his calculation was not far from the truth.

The strange bird then could be no gull.  What was it?  A swan?  No.  Its
mode of flight answered that question at once.  It bore no resemblance
whatever to the short rapid flapping of the swan, nor to the flight of
any water-bird.  Was it a pelican? or perhaps a white ibis (_Tantalus
alba_)? or the white egret heron (_Ardea egretta_)?  No; it was none of
these.  The slow laborious flight of these great wading birds would have
been at once recognised by any of the boys, who were accustomed to see
them often hovering over the bayous of Louisiana.  But this bird flew
differently from any of these.  It used its wings more after the manner
of the buzzards themselves or the black vultures; but as the boys could
think of no _white_ bird of similar flight, they were puzzled as to what
it might be.  Its size and mode of flying would have led them to believe
it was an eagle; but its colour forbade this supposition.  There were no
white eagles, that ever they had heard of.

I have said that, when first seen by Francois, the strange bird appeared
about the size of a gull; but as the young hunters stood gazing up at
it, they saw that it was gradually becoming larger and larger.  They
knew from this that it was descending towards the earth, and, to all
appearance, directly over the spot occupied by themselves and the
vultures.  As they had all three grown very curious to know what sort of
a creature it might be, they were expressing their hopes that it would
continue its descent.  They knew that _it_ must have seen _them_
already; and it would, therefore, be useless for them to attempt
concealing themselves.  In fact, there was no cover for them, had they
wished to do so.

As they stood watching and waiting, an exclamation, uttered by all three
at the same moment, announced that _another white bird_ was in sight!
It was still high up, like a spot of snow upon the sky; but it, too, was
making downward, in the track of the former, and appeared to be of the
same species.  This soon became evident; for the one last seen,
descending more vertically, soon overtook the other; and both together
continued to sail downward upon a spiral curve.

In a few moments they had arrived within two hundred yards of the earth;
and now they circled slowly around, looking down as they flew.

They were directly over the spot occupied by the vultures; and as the
day was one of the brightest, the boys had an opportunity of beholding
two of the most beautiful birds they had ever seen.  They were not
entirely white--although, in looking at them from below, they appeared
so; but as, in sailing round the circle, they sometimes held themselves
sideways in the air, their backs at intervals could be seen distinctly.
It was then noticed that the upper part of their bodies was of a rich
cream colour, while their wings above--both plumes and coverts--were of
a glossy brown.  Their tails were tipped with black; but the whole of
the under part of their bodies was of a pure milk-like white.  But the
most singular appearance about these birds was presented on their heads
and necks.  These were entirely naked of feathers as far down as the
shoulders--where the neck was encircled by a large ruff that looked like
a tippet--and the naked skin of both head and neck exhibited the most
brilliant colours of orange and red.  These colours were not mixed nor
mottled together; but each belonged to separate parts of the membrane,
forming distinct and regular figures--according to the manner in which
the cartilaginous covering is itself most singularly divided.  Their
beaks were orange-red; and over their bases grew crest-like
protuberances, like the comb of a cock.  Their eyes had dark pupils and
white irides, encircled by rings of a deep red colour; and, in short,
the whole appearance of these beautiful creatures was such that, like
the peacock, when once seen, they could never be forgotten.

"I have never seen one of them before," remarked Lucien, "but I have no
difficulty in telling what they are."

"What?" inquired Basil and Francois, impatiently.

"_King-vultures_."

As Lucien said this, the birds, that did not seem to regard the presence
of the party, swooped suddenly down towards the carrion.  The boys
followed them with their eyes--curious to witness what effect their
arrival would have upon the buzzards and black vultures.  To the
surprise of all, not one of the latter was now to be seen near the
carcass!  While the attention of the party had been directed to the
king-vultures, the others had been regarding them as well; and, knowing
from experience what these great birds were, both buzzards and black
vultures had scattered precipitately, and now sat upon the rocks at a
respectful distance!

The king-vultures, without seeming to heed their presence, hopped up to
the carrion, and commenced tearing it with their beaks.  In a few
minutes these creatures, that had appeared so clean and beautiful--for
the king-vultures are as proud of their plumage as peacocks, and usually
keep it in the best order--exhibited a picture of filth that was
disgusting to look upon.  The brilliant hue of their heads and necks was
changed into a dark blood colour; and their white breasts became dappled
with gore.  Their vulturous appetites rendered them regardless of all
else.

"Shall we fire, and kill one?" asked Francois.

"No," said Lucien, "it is not right to deprive the poor creatures of
life.  If you wish to get a nearer view of them, have patience, and your
wish may be gratified without the expenditure of powder and lead."

What Lucien said proved correct.  At the end of half an hour or so, the
birds appeared to have eaten as much as they could get into their
stomachs; and commenced stalking over the ground with a heavy sluggish
gait.  The boys, who had waited patiently, now ran forward; and, finding
that the vultures were unable to rise into the air, after a chase--in
which Marengo took a prominent part--secured them both.

But they did not hold them long; for the moment that Francois, who was
the most eager to seize them, laid his hands upon one, he let it go
again with an exclamation of disgust; and ran faster from the vulture,
than the latter could run from him!

The fetid odour of the creatures--which was quite as strong as that of
the carrion itself--was too much for the olfactory nerves of our heroes;
and they were all three glad enough to let the king-vultures off without
a second encounter.

As they returned to their horses, they observed that the buzzards and
black vultures were once more collecting about the remains of the
big-horn.  They had been joined by several prairie-wolves; and these
were snarling and snapping--now driving off the birds, and now receiving
a blow from the long wings of the latter, that caused them to growl more
fiercely than ever.  Our adventurers did not wait for the _finale_ of
this hideous scene; but remounting, once more headed their horses to the
prairie.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

MORE TALK ABOUT THE VULTURES.

They conversed about the vultures, as they rode away from the butte.
The naturalist of the party had much to say of these picturesque birds;
and the curiosity of Basil and Francois had been excited by the
appearance of a species new to them--the king himself.

"With regard to the vultures," observed Lucien, "the study of their
natural history has been considerably impeded by the closet-naturalists,
and particularly by the Frenchmen--who are fonder than all others of
making a parade of science, by the absurd multiplication of genera and
species.  This, in the absence of any real knowledge of the habits of
the animals, gives them an opportunity of adding something to what has
been already said; and leaves the reader under the impression that these
learned anatomists know all about the thing; and that is what such
gentlemen desire, and nothing more.

"There are not over two dozen species of vultures in the world; and yet
the French naturalists make almost as many genera of them, multiplying
high-sounding names to such an extent, that the mind of the student is
quite bewildered with what would otherwise prove a most simple study.

"All the vultures are so similar in their _physiognomy_ and habits, that
they might be treated as one genus.  Indeed, it would not lead to great
confusion in ornithological science, if they were generically classed
with the eagles--as both kinds have many points of similitude.  The
vultures often kill their prey as eagles do; and it is certain that they
do _not_ prefer it in a putrid state.  The eagles do not always kill
their prey, and many of them eat carrion.  Some of the vultures--such as
the lammergeyer--have almost all the habits of the eagle.  The
lammergeyer always kills what he eats, unless when pressed by hunger;
and there is a singular fact in relation to the food of this bird,--he
prefers certain parts of the bones of animals to their flesh!"

It is somewhat strange that the boy hunter, Lucien, should have known
this "fact," as I believe it is not in possession of the naturalists.
I, myself, was made acquainted with it by one of the "feeders" of the
superb collection in Regent's Park--who had observed this propensity for
bone-eating in a young African lammergeyer.  He had observed also that
the bird was always healthier, and in better spirits, on the days when
he was indulged in his favourite osseous diet.  These men usually know
more of natural history than the catalogue-makers and teeth-measurers of
the museum and the closet.

"Perhaps," continued Lucien, "one of the most essential points of
difference between the vulture and eagle lies in the claws.  The claws
of the vultures are less developed, and their limbs want the muscular
power that those of eagles possess.  Hence the former are less able to
kill a living animal, or tear the carcass of a dead one.  They are
unable, also, to raise a large prey in their claws; and the stories of
vultures carrying off deer, and full-grown sheep, are mere fables.  Even
the condor--the largest of the species known--cannot lift into the air a
weight of more than ten pounds.  A deer of that weight would be rather a
small one, I fancy.  Most of the wonderful stories about the condor were
propagated by the discoverers and conquerors of Spanish America; who, if
they were great conquerors, were also the greatest braggarts the world
ever saw.  The books they have left behind them fully prove my
assertion; and I believe that their accounts of the Mexican and Peruvian
nations, whom they subdued, are not a whit less exaggerated than their
stories about the condor.  Three centuries could not have so completely
swept away the vestiges of such a civilisation as they describe--leaving
scarcely a trace of it to attest the truth of their assertions.  It is
true, that in these countries are to be found monuments of a high state
of civilisation; but these were in ruins long previous to the discovery
of the Spaniards; and the feeble races who submitted so easily to the
latter, knew no more about the builders of these monuments than we do.
The same vestiges of a civilised people are found in the deserts of
North America; and yet the Spanish writers can tell nothing of them,
farther than that they existed at the period of the discovery just as
they are now."

"How many kinds of vultures are there in America?" inquired Francois,
whose mind ran more upon the present than the past; and who, as we have
already hinted, was a great boy for birds.

"There are five species well-known," replied Lucien; "and these are so
different from each other that there is no difficulty in distinguishing
them.  These species form two genera--_Sarco ramphus_ and _Cathartes_.
The _Sarcoramphs_ have a fleshy protuberance over the beak--hence the
generic name, which is a compound of two Greek words, signifying
_flesh_, and _beak_ or _bill_.  The _Cathartes_, or `purging-vultures,'
derive their name from a singular habit--that of throwing up their food
again, not only when feeding their young, but also when providing for
one another during the period of incubation.

"The condor is a true _Sarcoramph_--in fact, one of the most marked
features of this bird is the fleshy cartilaginous crest that surmounts
his head and part of his beak.  This, however, is only found upon the
males, as the female birds are not crested in a similar manner.  The
condor, when in full plumage, might be called a black-and-white bird.
His body underneath, his tail, shoulders, and the butts as well as the
outer margins of his wings, are all of a dark, nearly black, colour; but
his wings, when closed, give him a large space of greyish white from the
back to the tail.  The downy ruff around the breast and neck is
milk-white, and the naked wrinkled skin of the neck and head is of a
blackish red or claret colour, while the legs are ashy blue.  It is only
when full-grown--nearly three years old--that the condor obtains these
colours; and up to that time he is without the white collar around his
neck.  The young birds, for many months after they are hatched, have no
feathers, but a soft thick down, like young goslings or cygnets; and
even at two years of age their colour is not black and white, but a
dirty, brownish black.

"The full-grown condor usually measures about eight feet from tip to tip
of his wings; but there can be no question that specimens exist, and
have been seen by truthful travellers, that measured fourteen feet and
some inches!

"The condor, like other vultures, feeds principally upon carrion; but,
when pressed with hunger, he will kill sheep, lambs, vicunas, young
lamas, deer, and other animals.  The larger kinds he can master, by
attacking their eyes with his powerful beak--which is his principal
weapon.  That he can kill boys of sixteen years old, as Garcilaso de la
Vega asserts, is, like many other statements of that celebrated author,
simply untrue; but that he frequently attacks, and, according to the
Indians, sometimes _puts to death_ little children, is probable enough.
If he can kill full-grown sheep or vicunas, there is nothing remarkable
about his doing the same for a child five or six years of age; and,
indeed, it is certain that such instances have occurred.

"Almost any eagles can do as much, and would, provided they were hungry,
and children were left exposed in the neighbourhood of their haunts.
The condor, however, is one of the most ravenous of his species.  One in
a state of captivity has been known to eat eighteen pounds of flesh in a
single day!  But that this bird can raise into the air with his claws,
and carry off large animals, such as deer and sheep, as asserted by
Acosta, Desmarchais, and other French and Spanish writers, is altogether
fabulous.

"The condor, unlike the vultures of most countries, is not under the
protection of the law.  His destructive habits among the lambs, and
young lamas and alpacas, render him an object to be persecuted rather
than protected.  He is, therefore, either killed or captured, whenever
an opportunity offers.  There can be but little use made either of his
flesh or his feathers; but as he is an object of curiosity, he is often
kept as a pet about the houses of the Chilians and Peruvians.  Live ones
are frequently to be seen in the markets of Valparaiso, and other South
American cities.

"The natives who hunt the condor have various ways of capturing him.
Sometimes they lie in wait near a carcass, and shoot the bird when it
alights; but it is very difficult to kill them in this way, on account
of their strong thick feathers, as well as the tenacity of life which
they possess: it can only be done when the shot takes effect in a vital
part.  This method, therefore, is not much practised.  A second plan is,
to wait until the condor has gorged himself to repletion, when, like
most other vultures, he is unable to fly for some time after.  The
hunters then gallop up, and lasso him from their horses; or impede his
flight by flinging the `bolas' around his legs.  The `bolas' are thongs
of leather, with leaden balls at each end; and these, when adroitly
thrown, twine themselves round the shanks of the condor, and prevent his
escape.  A third mode is still a surer one.  The hunters build a large
penn, in which they place a quantity of carrion.  The palisades that
inclose this penn are made so high, that, when the bird has gorged
himself, he is unable either to rise into the air or get out of the
enclosure in any way; and he is then overtaken and captured, or beaten
to death with clubs.

"The Indians kill the condor by stones, projected from slings to a great
distance--a species of weapon which these people use with much
dexterity.

"Condors are taken alive in traps and snares; but there is an excellent
and somewhat curious method of capturing them alive, sometimes employed
by the Indians of the Sierras.  It is this:--The hunter provides himself
with the skin of some animal, such as an ox or horse, freshly taken off,
and with a piece of the flesh adhering to it.  With this he proceeds to
some open place, where the condors, wheeling high in the air above, may
readily see him.  Having chosen a spot, he crouches down upon the
ground, and draws the skin over him, with the fleshy side turned upward.
In this situation he remains; but not long, until some one of the
condors, with his far-piercing glance, espies the ensanguined object,
and comes swooping downward.  The bird, having no suspicion, hops boldly
upon the hide; and commences tearing at the piece of flesh.  The hunter,
underneath, now cautiously feels for one of its legs; and having assured
himself of this, grasps it firmly, folding the foot of the bird in the
soft loose flaps of the hide.  Having already provided himself with a
long rope, he adroitly nooses it around the ankle; and, taking the other
end in his hand, he now appears from under the skin, and shows himself
to his astonished captive.  Of course, during the operation of
`tethering,' the condor flaps and struggles with all his might; and were
it not for the hide which protects the hunter, the latter would be very
apt to come off with the loss of an eye, or be otherwise dreadfully torn
by the powerful beak of the bird.  When the hunter has fairly secured
his prize, he passes a leathern thong through its nostrils, and knotting
it firmly, leads the condor off in triumph.  In this same manner the
bird is kept chained, so long as he is wanted.  With the string through
his nostrils, and fastened by the other end to a picket-pin in the
ground, the captive can walk about freely within the area of a circle.
Sometimes forgetting that he is chained, he attempts to fly off; but, on
reaching the end of his string, the sudden jerk brings him to the ground
again; and he invariably falls upon his head!"

"But how is it," inquired Francois, "since the condors are hunted in
this way, and so easily captured, that they are not long since
exterminated?  They are so large, that any one can see them at a great
distance; and they can be easily approached, I believe; yet there are
still great flocks of them--are there not?"

"You are quite right," answered Lucien; "they are still numerous, both
in the Andes of Chili and Peru.  I think I can explain this.  It is
because they have a safe place, not only to breed but to retire to,
whenever they feel inclined.  Numerous peaks of the Andes, where these
birds dwell, shoot up far above the line of perpetual snow.  Away up on
these summits the condor breeds, among naked rocks where there is no
vegetation.  No one ever thinks of ascending them; and, indeed, many of
these summits are inaccessible to the human foot.  Not even animals of
any species are found there, nor birds--except the condor himself.  He
is the sole lord of that region.  Therefore, unlike most other
creatures, these birds have a retreat where no enemy can come near them,
and where they may bring forth their young, and rear them in perfect
security.  Still more, they can go to rest at night without fear of
being disturbed, unless by the crash of the falling avalanche, or the
roar of the loud thunder that often reverberates through these Alpine
regions.  But the condor is not in the least afraid of these noises; and
he heeds them not, but sleeps securely, even while the red lightning is
playing around his eyrie.

"Now, it is very evident that birds, or any other wild animals,
possessing a secure place, both to bring forth their young or escape to
in time of danger, will not easily be extirpated.  It is because their
places of breeding and retreat are accessible--not only to man but to
hosts of other enemies--that such creatures as eagles and the like are
so scarce.  Not so with the condor.  His race can never become extinct
so long as the Andes exist; and that is likely to be for a good long
period, I fancy."

"What sort of nests do they build?" inquired Francois.

"They do not build nests," replied Lucien, "they choose a cavity in the
rocks, or in the soil around them, where they lay two large white oval
eggs, and hatch them just as other vultures do.  Strange to say, very
little is known of their mode of life in their elevated haunts; but this
is because the natives of the Sierras rarely venture up to the high
regions where the condors dwell.  All they know of them is what they
see, when these great birds descend upon the plateaux, or inhabited
mountain-valleys, in search of food--which they do only in the mornings
and evenings.  During mid-day the condor usually perches upon some high
rock, and there goes to sleep.  When pressed by hunger, they sometimes
extend their range down to the hot coast lands of the Pacific Ocean; but
they are evidently birds that can bear cold much better than heat.

"The _King-vulture_," continued Lucien, "is the next species that claims
our attention.  He is also a Sarcoramph (_Sarcoramphus Papa_), and the
only one of that genus besides the condor.  He is unlike the condor in
many respects.  He is not much of a mountain bird, but prefers the low
savannas and open plains.  He prefers heat to cold, and he is rarely met
with outside the tropics, although he makes occasional visits to the
peninsula of Florida and the northern plains of Mexico; but in these
places he is only a rare and migratory bird.  He feeds principally upon
carrion, and dead fish that have been left by the drying-up of ponds and
lakes; but he will also kill and eat serpents, lizards, and small
mammiferous animals.  Bartram states that in Florida he only appears
after the savannas have been on fire, when he is seen to pass over the
ground amidst the black ashes, hunting for and devouring the snakes and
lizards that have been killed by the fire.  Bartram, therefore, infers
that his food must consist altogether of _roasted_ reptiles; but as it
would be sometimes difficult for him to procure a supply of these
ready-cooked, I think we may safely conclude that he does not object to
eating them _raw_.  The fanciful ideas of these old naturalists are
sometimes very amusing from their very absurdity.

"The king-vultures live in pairs as eagles do--though they are often
seen in flocks, when a carcass or some other object has brought them
together.

"This bird has been called the `painted' vulture on account of the
brilliant colours upon his head and neck, which do, in fact, present the
appearance of the most vivid painting.  He derives his name of a
`King-vulture,' not from the possession of any noble qualities, but from
the manner in which he tyrannises over the _common_ vultures (_aura_ and
_atratus_), keeping them from their food until he has gorged himself
with the choicest morsels.  In this sense the name is most appropriate;
as such conduct presents a striking analogy to that of most human kings,
towards the _common_ people.

"Next to the condor in size," continued the naturalist, "and, perhaps,
quite equal to him, is the great _Californian vulture_--the `condor of
the north.'  He is classed among the purging-vultures (_Cathartes
Californianus_).  This bird may be called black, as he is nearly of that
hue all over the body; although some of the secondary wing feathers are
white at the tips, and the coverts are brown.  Black, however, is the
prevailing colour of the bird.  His naked head and neck is reddish; but
he wants the crest or comb, which the condors and king-vultures have.
On the posterior part of his neck, long lance-shaped feathers form a
sort of ruff or collar, as in other birds of this kind.

"The Californian vulture derives his name from the country which he
inhabits--the great chain of the Californian mountains--the Sierra
Nevada--which extends almost without interruption through twenty degrees
of latitude.  That he sometimes visits the Rocky Mountains, and their
kindred the Cordilleras of the Sierra Madre in Mexico, there can be
little doubt.  A large bird occasionally seen among these mountains, and
pronounced to be the condor, is far more likely to have been the
Californian vulture.  As far as size is concerned, this mistake might
easily be made, for the latter bird is nearly, if not quite, as large as
the former.  A specimen of the Californian vulture has been measured,
which proved to be four feet eight inches in length, and nine feet eight
inches between the tips of the wings!  Now, this is actually larger than
the average size of the condors; and it is not improbable, therefore,
that individuals of the Californian species may yet be found quite equal
to the largest of the South American birds.

"The Californian vulture has been seen as far north as the thirty-ninth
parallel of latitude.  He is common in some parts of Oregon, where he
makes his nest in the tops of the tallest trees, constructing it of
coarse thorny twigs and brambles, somewhat after the manner of eagles.
As many of the great spruce and pine-trees of Oregon and California are
three hundred feet in height, and twenty feet thick at the base, this
vulture is almost as secure among their tops as the condor on his
mountain summit; but to render himself doubly safe, he always selects
such trees as overhang inaccessible cliffs or rapid rivers.  The female
lays only two eggs, which are nearly jet-black, and as large as those of
a goose; and the young, like those of the condor, are for many weeks
covered with down instead of feathers.  Like other vultures, the food of
this species is carrion or dead fish; but he will follow after wounded
deer and other animals, and commence devouring them as soon as they have
dropped; and a score of these birds will devour the carcass of a deer,
or even of a horse or mule, in about one hour's time, leaving nothing
but a well-cleaned skeleton!  While eating, they are strong enough and
bold enough to keep at a distance wolves, dogs, and all such animals as
may attempt to share with them.

"Perhaps no bird of the vulture species is so shy and wary as this one.
Except when he is gorged with eating, he will never allow the hunter to
approach within shot; and even then, his thick heavy plumage renders him
most difficult to be killed.  His wings are full and long, and his
flight is most graceful and easy, not unlike that of his congener the
turkey-buzzard.

"I have said," continued Lucien, "that naturalists make out five species
of American vultures.  The remaining two, the turkey-buzzard and black
vulture, or, as he is sometimes called, the `carrion-crow,' we have
already had before us; but, I believe, there are more than five species
on the continent of America.  There is a bird in Guayana called the
`gavilucho,' which I believe to be a vulture differing from all these;
and, moreover, I do not think that the `red-headed gallinazo' of South
America is the same as the turkey-buzzard of the north.  He is, more
probably, a distinct species of _cathartes_; for, although he resembles
the turkey-buzzard in shape and size, his plumage appears to me of a
purer black, and the skin of his head, neck, and legs, of a much more
vivid red--having an appearance as if these parts had been painted.  I
think naturalists will yet discover, that besides the great Californian
vulture, there are three if not _four_ species of the smaller
_cathartes_."

So much for the vultures of America.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

SUPPING UPON A SKELETON.

Our young travellers had now arrived upon the great buffalo-path.
Without halting, they turned their horses to the right, and followed the
trail.  It led directly towards the north, and they had no difficulty in
following it, as the prairie, for a tract of miles in width, was cut up
by the hoofs of the animals; and, in some parts, where the ground was
softer and more loamy, the surface presented the appearance of having
been turned up by the plough!  At other places the hard green turf had
resisted the hoof, but even there the grass was so beaten down, that the
trail was a perfectly plain one.  Without troubling themselves about the
direction, therefore, the little party rode briskly forward, full of
hope that they would soon overtake the buffaloes.  But their hopes were
not so soon to be realised.  These animals had gone upon their annual
migration to the north; and as they were keeping almost continually upon
the run--scarcely stopping to rest or pasture themselves--it would be no
easy matter to come up with them.  At night our travellers were obliged
to diverge from the trail, in order to get grass for their horses; for,
upon a belt of at least four miles in width which the buffaloes had
passed over, not a blade of grass was left standing.

But another want now began to be felt by the party--one that filled them
with serious apprehensions.  At the end of the second day their stock of
dried bear's meat gave out--not an ounce of it was left--and they lay
down upon the prairie supperless and hungry.  What rendered the prospect
still more disheartening, they were passing through a region entirely
destitute of game--where no animal is ever seen except the buffaloes
themselves, an occasional antelope, or the ever-present prairie-wolf.
It was a region essentially _desert_ in its character; although the dry
plains were covered with a sward of the famous "buffalo-grass"
(_Sesleria dactyloides_), which forms the favourite pasture of these
wild cattle.  As for the antelopes, they love these desert solitudes; as
their free open range affords them an opportunity, from their superior
fleetness, of escaping from every enemy.  But in these parts they are
more than usually shy; and although several of them were seen on the
way, our hunters vainly endeavoured to approach within shooting distance
of them.  Wolves they could have shot; but they were not as yet prepared
to satisfy their hunger upon the flesh of these filthy, fox-like,
creatures.  That large troops of wolves had gone forward, hanging after
the great herd, was evident.  Every now and then our hunters saw proof
of this, in the clean-picked skeletons of buffaloes that lay along the
path.  These they knew were such as had got disabled and separated from
the drove; for numerous accidents of this kind--owing to the bulls
goring one another, or being enfeebled by age and disease--take place
during the migration of the vast herds.  Were it not so, the wolves
would never think of following them as they do; for a buffalo in good
health can scatter a whole pack of these cowardly, skulking jackals.
But the average accidents which occur when such numbers of buffaloes are
together--the prospect of old ones, weak and weary, being separated from
their companions--of numbers getting mired upon the banks of some muddy
river, or drowned in crossing it--of cows heavy with calf falling
behind, or with calves already on the hoof, loitering for the purpose of
suckling them--the prospect of these chances, combined with the still
more enticing hope that the buffaloes will be attacked by a party of
Indian hunters, often carries a pack of wolves for hundreds of miles
across the prairie on the heels of a great herd.  In fact, some of these
wolves, both of the white and prairie species, seem to have no fixed
place of abode; but hang upon the skirts of the buffalo "gangs"
throughout all their extended migrations.

I have said that, upon the second night after leaving the butte, our
travellers went to sleep supperless.  On the third day, they began to
feel the cravings of hunger in good earnest.  Neither beast nor bird
appeared in sight upon the wild desert plains that stretched inimitably
around them.  About noon, as they were riding through a thicket of the
wild sage (_Artemisia tridentata_), a brace of those singular birds,
sage-cocks or prairie-grouse (_Tetrao urophasianus_), the largest of all
the grouse family, whirred up before the heads of their horses.
Francois, with his ever-ready gun, fired at them, but they were too
distant for the shot; and the next moment both disappeared over the
swells of the prairie.  The sight only tantalised the unsuccessful
hunters, and added to the hungry craving of appetites already sharp
almost beyond endurance.  They felt that there was no chance of getting
anything to eat, before they should come up with the buffaloes.  That
was their only hope; and they spurred their horses afresh, and rode on
as fast as the animals could travel.

Towards night their hunger had increased to a painful degree; and the
eyes of all wandered occasionally upon Jeanette and the dog Marengo.
They began to contemplate the necessity of sacrificing one or other of
these animals.  It would be a sad alternative--as both the mule and the
dog were looked upon more in the light of companions than slaves.  Both
had done good service during the expedition.  But for Marengo, Francois
might never have been found; and Jeanette, in addition to having
satisfactorily accomplished the duty assigned to her, had saved them
from an encounter with one of the cougars.  But all these services must
now be forgotten, when starvation was the alternative; and our
adventurers began to talk seriously about which of these two faithful
servants should be made the first victim.  Neither was fat.  Jeanette
had never been so in all her life--at least so long as her present
owners had been acquainted with her--and Marengo had grown gaunt and
bony upon this lengthened expedition.  Jeanette could not be otherwise
than tough, and Marengo looked anything but tender.  So far as that was
concerned, it might be a toss-up which of them was first "put to the
knife."

But other considerations had their weight with the boys.  Basil disliked
parting with his hound, that for many years had been a great favourite,
and the dog was endeared to all from late circumstances.  His conduct at
the time when Francois was lost--his usefulness as a sentinel at many a
lonely camp-fire--and his valuable services rendered upon other
occasions, had fixed him firmly in the affections of his young masters;
and they would have endured hunger to the utmost extremity rather than
sacrifice him.  Jeanette, on the other hand, was but a mule--a selfish,
wicked, kicking mule.  This was true; but to them she had been a useful
animal, and would not have kicked any one of them, although she would
have kicked all the world besides.  Still the feeling with which
Jeanette was regarded was more a feeling of gratitude than of love.  It
was far different from the sentiment held towards Marengo.

With these considerations passing through the minds of our hungry
hunters, it is easy to guess the result of their deliberations.  The
sentence was at length pronounced--a unanimous one--_Jeanette must die_!

Poor old Jeanette!  She little knew what they were talking about.  She
little thought that her days were about being numbered--that the time
was nigh when she should carry a pack no more.  She little expected that
she was about to kick up her heels upon the prairie for the last time--
that in a few hours her life-blood would be let forth--and her old ribs
be roasting and sputtering over a camp-fire!

Yes, it was decreed that Jeanette should die! but when and where this
terrible tragedy was to take place, was not yet determined upon.  At
their first halting-place, of course; but where was that to be? for,
after having resolved upon the death of Jeanette, they travelled on for
miles without arriving at any place where it would be possible to halt
for the night!  No water appeared, and without water they could not with
safety encamp.  Early in the afternoon they had entered upon a strange
tract, over which the road of the buffaloes led them.  It was a part of
the prairie--a series of low hills composed of pure gypsum.  These
extended around them, as far as our travellers could see, presenting on
all sides a picture of alabaster whiteness.  Neither plant, nor tree,
nor any sign of vegetable life relieved the monotonous uniformity of the
landscape.  Turn to what side they might, their eyes were met by the
lime-like surface of hill and dale, dazzling the sight with its milky
whiteness.  The sun, reflected upward, pierced their bodies, and parched
them with thirst.  They breathed a hot atmosphere filled with gypsum
dust, that by the trampling of the buffalo herd had been reduced to an
impalpable powder, and floated about suspended in the air.  This added
to the agony of their thirst; and it was difficult for them to tell
whether they suffered most from the want of food, or the want of water!

How far might this singular tract extend?  They could form no conjecture
as to the distance.  Lucien had heard that such formations sometimes
stretched for many miles.  If so, they might never be able to cross it--
thirsty and exhausted as both they and the animals were--for, eager to
come up with the buffalo, they had rested but very little during the
previous days.  They began to labour under serious apprehensions.  The
appetite of thirst became stronger than that of hunger--its cravings
more difficult to be endured.

Guided by the buffalo-tracks, they rode gloomily on, in the midst of a
white cloud that enveloped them throughout all that fearful journey.
They had no difficulty in following the trail.  The heavy dust showed
where the drove had passed; and every here and there great circular
hollows showed where the buffaloes had "wallowed."  The hope that these
animals, guided by their usual instincts, had gone in the direction of
water, to some degree sustained our travellers in their onward struggle.

The shades of evening were closing over the earth, and the alabaster
hills were assuming an ashy blue colour, when the little cavalcade
emerged from the dusty ravines of gypsum, and once more trod the green
prairie.  The country before them was still rolling, but they kept on
along the well marked trail--their animals stepping more freely, as if
inspired with new hope at the change which had taken place upon the
surface.  There was something in the appearance of the landscape ahead
that led to the belief that water was not far distant; and, sure enough,
it was not; for, on mounting the crest of a prairie-swell, over which
ran the buffalo-trail, a small rivulet was espied in the glen below.  At
the sight, Jeanette, as well as the three horses, pricked up their ears;
and, making an effort to trot, were soon at the bottom of the hill, and
up to their knees in the water.

It was fortunate for them that it proved a freshwater stream.  Had it
been a salt one--and such are very common in the neighbourhood of these
gypsum formations--they could never have gone farther.  They would all
have perished upon its banks.

But it was fresh water--cool and fresh--and our travellers first drank
of it, and then bathed themselves in its flood, until they had washed
their bodies free from the annoying gypsum dust.  After this they set
about making some arrangements for their night bivouac.

The copious draughts of water, which all of them had taken, in some
measure relieved them from the painful sensations of hunger they had
experienced; and they began to consider whether they might not be able
to give Jeanette a respite--at least until the morning.  While
deliberating upon this, they noticed that Marengo had strayed away from
them.  They looked around, wondering what had become of him, or where he
could have gone.  They espied the hound at some distance up the stream,
and apparently engaged with some object upon the bank.  They all ran
towards him.  On arriving near the spot, they perceived that it was the
skeleton of a large buffalo with which the dog was engaged.  The poor
brute, hungry as he was, could do but little else than lick it; for the
wolves had not left as much meat upon it as would have filled the
smallest of his teeth!  Even the pieces of torn skin that lay around had
been chewed dry by these ravenous animals; and the bones appeared as
free from flesh as if they had been scraped by a knife.  Had an
anatomist been ordered to prepare the skeleton for a museum, he could
not have cleaned it more effectually.

It was not very cheering to contemplate this useless skeleton; and the
boys were about returning to their camping-place, when the idea occurred
to Lucien that the bones might, at least, yield a _soup_.  He, of
course, communicated this idea to the others, and it was at once agreed
that they should boil them and try.  It was quite a happy thought.  No
doubt the bones, which were fresh, and not yet dry, would make an
excellent soup; and all three at once set about preparing to cook it.
Francois gathered sage-bushes to kindle a fire with, while Basil got
hold of Lucien's little hatchet, and set to work to separate the ribs
and joints of the skeleton.  Lucien, seeing that there were several
kinds of plants growing on the margin of the rivulet, went down to
examine them--in hopes that he might find the wild onion or the
prairie-turnip among them, or perhaps some other root or vegetable that
might help to enrich their pottage.

While all three were engaged in their separate duties, a loud
exclamation from Basil drew the attention of his brothers.  It was a
shout of joy, followed by a wild laugh, like the laugh of a maniac!

Francois and Lucien looked up in affright--thinking that something
disagreeable had happened--for they could not understand why Basil
should be laughing so loudly at such a time, and under such gloomy
circumstances.

As they looked at him he still continued to laugh, waving the hatchet
around his head as if in triumph.

"Come here, brothers!" shouted he; "come here!  Ha! ha! ha!  Here's a
supper for three hungry individuals!  Ha! ha! ha!  What shallow fellows
we are, to be sure!  Why, we are as stupid as the donkey that preferred
eating the hay with the bread and butter beside him.  Look here! and
here! and there!  There's a supper for you.  Ha! ha! ha!"

Lucien and Francois had now arrived upon the ground; and seeing Basil
point to the great joints of the buffalo, and turn them over and over,
at once understood the cause of his mirth.  _These joints were full of
marrow_!

"Pounds of it," continued Basil; "the very tit-bits of the buffalo--
enough to make suppers for a dozen of us; and yet we were going to sleep
supperless, or the next thing to it--going to starve in the midst of
plenty!  And we have been travelling among such treasures for three days
past!  Why, we deserve to starve for being so simple.  But come,
brothers! help me to carry these great joints to the fire--I'll show you
how to cook a supper."

There are eight marrow-bones in the buffalo, containing several pounds
of this substance.  As Basil had heard from the old hunters, it is
esteemed the most delicious part of the animal; and is rarely left
behind when a buffalo has been killed.  The best method of preparing it
is by simply _roasting it in the bone_; although the Indians and
trappers often eat it raw.  The stomachs of our young hunters were not
strong enough for this; and a couple of the shank-bones were thrown into
the fire, and covered over with red cinders.

In due time the marrow was supposed to be sufficiently _baked_; and the
bones having been cracked by Lucien's hatchet, yielded up their savoury
store--which all three ate with a great relish.  A cup of cool water
washed it down; and around the camp-fire of the boy hunters thirst and
hunger were now contemplated only as things of the past.  Jeanette was
_respited_, without one dissentient voice.

Our adventurers were surrounded once more with the cheerful atmosphere
of hope.  There was still enough of marrow in the remaining bones to
last them for two days at the least; for this marrow is a most
nourishing food.  Moreover, by following the buffalo-trail, they would
be likely to fall in with other skeletons of these animals; and all
apprehensions on the score of food now vanished from their minds.
Another fact, which the skeleton of the buffalo revealed to them, added
to their joyful anticipations.  They had observed on first going up to
it--that the _bones were still fresh_!  The wolves had not been long
gone from it.  It could not have been a long time killed.  All this
showed, that the buffaloes themselves had but very recently passed over
the ground, and could not be far distant.  These were cheering thoughts;
and for a while the young hunters sat around the sage-fire, revolving
them in their minds, and conversing upon them.  Then, having offered
thanks to that Being who had so many times miraculously preserved them,
they rolled themselves in their blankets, and, notwithstanding a heavy
shower of rain that fell, once more found the solace of a good night's
sleep.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

THE BATTLE OF THE BULLS.

Next morning the boy hunters were up and stirring at the "peep of day."
They felt refreshed and cheerful.  So did their animals, for the grass
was good.  Jeanette was frisking about on her trail-rope and
endeavouring to reach "Le Chat," whom she would have kicked and bitten
to a certainty, but that the lasso-tether restrained her.  Jeanette
little dreamt how near she had been to her last kick.  Had she known
that, it is probable she would have carried herself with more sobriety,
not knowing but that a similar necessity might occur again.  But
Jeanette knew nothing of it; and, having eaten well and drunk
plentifully, she was as frisky as a kitten.

A fire was kindled, and a fresh "marrow-bone" steamed and sputtered
among the blazing branches of the sage.  This was soon drawn forth
again, cracked, and its rich contents rifled and eaten.  The remaining
joints were packed upon Jeanette; the horses were saddled, the hunters
leaped into their seats, and rode joyfully off upon the trail.

The country over which they now travelled was what is termed a "rolling
prairie"--that is, a country without trees, but nevertheless, far from
being level.  The prairie is not always a _level plain_, as some people
imagine.  On the contrary, it is often of very uneven surface,
containing high hills and deep valleys.  The word "prairie" means
properly an open level country, though it is not necessary that it
should be a _dead horizontal_ level, to entitle it to the name.  It may
contain hills, valleys, and long ridges.  It is not necessary either
that it should be entirely destitute of trees; for there are the "timber
prairies," where trees grow in "mottes" or groves, sometimes termed
islands--from their resemblance to wooded islands in the sea.  The
"prairie" is a term used to distinguish those vast meadow-like tracts of
the earth's surface from the forest, the mountain, and the ocean.  The
prairies themselves are distinguished by specific names, according to
what covers their surface.  We have seen that there are "timber
prairies" and "flower-prairies."  The latter are usually denominated
"weed prairies" by the rude hunters who roam over them.  The vast green
meadows covered with "buffalo" grass, or "gramma," or "mezquite" grass,
are termed "grass prairies."  The tracts of salt efflorescence--often
fifty miles long and nearly as wide--are called "salt prairies;" and a
somewhat similar land, where soda covers the surface, are named "soda
prairies."  There are vast desert plains where no vegetation appears,
save the wild sage-bushes (_artemisia_).  These are the "sage prairies,"
hundreds of miles of which exist in the central parts of the North
American continent.  There are prairies of sand, and "rock prairies,"
where the "cut-rock" and pebble deposits cover the arid plains; and
still another variety, called the "hog-wallow prairies," where the
surface for miles exhibits a rough appearance, as if it had been at some
remote period turned over or "rooted" by hogs.

Most of these names have been given by the trappers--the true pioneers
of this wild region.  Who have an equal right to bestow them?
Scientific men may explore it--topographical officers may travel over it
in safety with a troop at their heels--they may proclaim themselves the
discoverers of the passes and the plains, the mountains and the rivers,
the fauna and the flora--on their maps they may give them the names,
first of themselves, then of their _patrons_, then of their friends,
and, lastly, of their favourite dogs and horses.  They may call
stupendous mountains and grand rivers by the names of Smith and Jones,
of Fremont and Stansbury; but men who think justly, and even the rude
but wronged trappers themselves, will laugh to scorn such _scientific
coxcombry_.

I honour the names which the trappers have given to the features of that
far land; many of which, like the Indian nomenclature, are the
expressions of nature itself; and not a few of them have been baptised
by the blood of these brave pioneers.

We have said that our adventurers now travelled upon a "rolling
prairie."  The surface exhibited vast ridges with hollows between.  Did
you ever see the ocean after a storm?  Do you know what a "ground-swell"
is?--when the sea is heaving up in great smooth ridges without crest or
foam, and deep troughs between--when the tempest has ceased to howl and
the winds to blow, yet still so uneven remains the surface of the mighty
deep, still so dangerous are these smooth waves, that ships rock and
tumble about, and sometimes lose their masts, or are flung upon their
beam ends!  That is what the sailors call a "swell."  Now, if you could
imagine one of these billowy seas to be suddenly arrested in its motion,
and the water transformed to solid earth, and covered with a green
sward, you would have something not unlike a "rolling prairie."  Some
think that, when these prairies were formed, some such rolling motion
actually existed, by means of an earthquake, and that all at once the
ground ceased its undulations, and stood still!  It is an interesting
speculation for the learned geologist.

The ridges of the prairie, upon which our adventurers were journeying,
extended from east to west, and, of course, the valleys trended in the
same direction.  The route was northward; the path, therefore, which the
travellers pursued was a continued succession of ups and downs.

Eagerly looking before them, anxiously scanning the valleys or troughs
of the prairie as they surmounted each new swell, they rode onward full
of hope that they would soon come in sight of the buffaloes.  But they
were not prepared for the sight was so soon to greet their eyes--a sight
which one would have supposed would have filled them with joy, but
which, on the contrary, had the effect of inspiring them with a feeling
akin to terror.

They had just climbed one of the ridges that gave them a view of the
valley beyond.  It was a small deep valley, of nearly a circular form,
and covered with a green turf.  Near one side of it was a spring--the
waters of which issuing forth ran nearly around the circumference of the
valley, and then escaped through one of the troughs of the prairie.  The
course of this rivulet could be traced by the low trees--cotton-woods
and willows--that fringed its banks; so that the central part of the
valley presented the appearance of a small circular meadow almost
surrounded by a grove.

It was in this meadow that a spectacle was offered to the eyes of our
adventurers, which caused them to rein suddenly up, and sit gazing down
upon it with singular emotions.  The spectacle was that of a number of
animals engaged in what appeared to be a mixed and terrible combat!
There was not over a dozen of them in all, but they were large animals,
of fierce aspect and furious bearing; and so desperately were they
assailing one another, that the green turf around them was torn and
furrowed by their hoofs.  It was in the middle of the meadow that this
indiscriminate contest was carried on--in the open ground--and a finer
spot for such an exhibition they could hardly have chosen, had they
wished to accommodate a large number of spectators.  The valley itself,
with the ridges that encircled it, was not unlike one of the great
Spanish amphitheatres, where bull-fights are carried on; while the
smooth, level surface of the meadow represented the arena.  The
combatants, however, were engaged in no mock encounter to gratify the
curiosity of an idle crowd; nor did they apprehend that there were
spectators present.

The contest in which they were engaged was a _real_ fight; and their
angry roars, their hurried rushing backwards and forwards, and the loud
cracking of their skulls as they came together, proved them to be in
earnest.

That the animals were buffaloes was apparent at first sight.  Their
great bulk, the lion-like form of their bodies, but, above all, their
bellowing, that resembled the "routing" of enraged bulls, convinced our
young hunters that they could be no other than buffaloes--and buffaloes
they were--a "gang" of old buffalo bulls engaged in one of their
terrible tournaments.

I have said that our hunters, on first seeing them, were influenced by
feelings of terror.  But why so?  What was there in the appearance of a
herd of buffaloes to frighten them, since that was the very thing they
had so long been in search of?  Was it the angry attitudes of the
animals, or their loud roaring?  Nothing of the sort?  No.  That was not
what had inspired them with fear, or, as I should rather term it, with
awe.  No.  The reason was very different indeed.  It was not because
they were buffaloes, or because they were engaged in a fierce battle,--
it was because _they were white buffaloes_!

You will again ask, why this should have been a cause of terror.  Was a
_white_ buffalo not the very object of the expedition?  Should the sight
of one not have produced _joy_ rather than _fear_?  So the sight of
_one_ would; but it was the sight of _so many_--the mysterious spectacle
of nearly a dozen of these animals together--a thing unparalleled,
unheard of--it was this that inspired our adventurers with awe.

It was some time before any of the three could find words to express
their astonishment.  They sat in silence, gazing down into the valley.
They could hardly believe the evidence of their eyes.  With the palms of
their hands they shaded them from the sun, and gazed still a longer
while.  They saw, at length, there could be no deception.  Buffaloes the
animals were, and _white ones_ too!

They were not all of an uniform white, though most of them were.  A few
were darker about the heads and legs, with broad white flakes upon their
sides, giving them a mottled appearance.  The general colour, however,
was whitish; and, strange to say, there was not a black or brown one in
the herd!--not one of the well-known colour that buffaloes usually are!
It was this that rendered them such a mysterious band in the eyes of our
adventurers.

The latter, however, soon got over their surprise.  There could be no
doubt that they had fallen in with a herd of white buffaloes.  Perhaps,
thought they, there is, after all, nothing so strange in such a number
of them being together.  Perhaps the individuals of that colour, so
rarely met with, usually associate together in this way, and keep apart
from the black ones.  What better fortune could have happened for them
then?  If they could only succeed in killing one of these creatures, it
would be all that they could wish for, and all they wanted.  The object
of their expedition would then be accomplished; and nothing would remain
but to turn their horses' heads, and take the shortest route homeward.
With these ideas passing through their minds, they at once set about
considering how they might kill or capture one or more of the herd.

They were not slow to decide upon a plan.  The buffaloes, still
continuing their angry conflict, had not noticed them as yet, nor were
they likely to do so.  The hunters resolved, therefore, that two of them
should remain on horseback--so as to take the animals upon the "run"--
while the third was to endeavour to "approach" them on foot, and get a
sure shot before they should start off, taking his chance of joining in
the chase afterwards.  The latter duty was assigned to Basil; who, after
dismounting from his horse, and looking to his trusty rifle, commenced
creeping down into the valley.  Lucien and Francois--still in their
saddles--remained upon the ridge.

Basil reached the grove of willows without being observed; and, stealing
silently through, found himself within less than fifty paces of several
of the herd.  They were still rushing to and fro, raising the dust in
clouds, roaring furiously, parting from each other, and then meeting
head to head with such force that each time their skulls cracked as
though both had been broken by the terrible concussion.  The hunter
waited until one of the largest, and apparently the whitest of them,
came very near; and then, taking aim behind the fore-shoulder, fired.
The huge animal was seen to tumble over; while the others, hearing the
shot, or scenting the presence of an enemy, immediately left off their
contest; and, breaking through the willows, scrambled up the ridge
toward the open prairie.

Without waiting to look after the one that he had fired at, Basil ran
toward his horse--which, at his call, was already galloping to meet him.
Francois and Lucien were now in pursuit of the flying herd; and Basil,
hastily mounting, followed after.  In a few minutes the three were side
by side with the buffaloes; and then could be heard the cracking of guns
and pistols until the weapons of all were empty; but, although not a
shot had missed hitting the animals, the latter continued to gallop on,
as though none of them had been hurt!  Before the hunters could reload,
they had the mortification to see the whole band far off upon the
prairie, and running as briskly as ever!

Seeing that there would be no chance to come up with them again, they
all turned their horses, and commenced riding back to make sure of the
one which Basil had knocked over by his first shot.  He was still in the
valley they knew, and as they had all seen him lying prostrate, they
felt certain they had secured one at least, and that was all they
wanted.

On reaching the ridge that overlooked the valley, what was their
surprise to see the buffalo once more upon his feet, and surrounded by a
score of snapping, snarling wolves!  These were rushing upon him from
all sides at once; while the wounded bull was turning briskly about, and
endeavouring to keep them at bay with his horns.  Some of the wolves
were seen stretched out on the ground--to all appearance dead--while
their companions kept up the attack with unrelenting fury.  The eyes of
the buffalo flashed fire, as, wheeling round and round, he endeavoured
to keep his assailants in front of him.

It was evident, however, that the wolves were gaining upon him; and, had
they been left to themselves, would soon have brought him down.  Our
hunters at first thought of allowing them to accomplish this feat; when
all at once it occurred to them that, if they did so, the _skin might be
spoiled_!  The wolves with their fierce teeth would tear it to pieces.
This thought decided them upon a different plan; and all three galloped
down the ridge and out into the meadow--surrounding the buffalo as they
came up.  The wolves scattered in every direction; and the great bull,
now perceiving his new enemies, commenced rushing from one to the other,
endeavouring to carry their horses upon his horns.  It was with great
difficulty that they could keep out of his reach; but at length another
well-directed shot from Basil's rifle entered the heart of the animal;
and, after balancing himself upon his spread limbs, and rocking awhile
from side to side, the huge creature fell forward upon his knees and lay
motionless, with a stream of blood pouring from his lips.  In a few
moments he was dead!

Having made sure of this, our hunters flung themselves from their
horses, drew their skinning-knives, and made up to the noble quarry.
You may fancy their astonishment as well as chagrin, when, upon getting
close to the animal, they discovered that what they had taken for a
white buffalo was no white buffalo after all, but a _black one painted
white_!  Neither more nor less.  The thing was too plain.  The lime-like
coating which covered the huge animal all over was now apparent; and as
they passed their hands through the long hair, a white substance
resembling pulverised chalk came off upon their fingers!

What could have caused the strange phenomenon, they asked one another.
But the explanation was soon found.  They remembered the gypsum hills
over which they had ridden on the preceding day.  They remembered, too,
that it had rained in the night.  The buffaloes had been among these
hills; and, according to their usual habit, had rolled and wallowed
about in the wetted dust-heaps.  The white, alabaster-like mud had
adhered to their skins--thus giving them the colour which had so much
deceived and mystified our hunters!

"Well," exclaimed Basil, giving a kick to the body of the dead bull,
"even _black_ buffalo is not so bad after all.  At the worst we shall
have fresh meat for dinner; and with that let us console ourselves for
the disappointment."

So saying, Basil made signs to his brothers to assist; and all three set
about preparing to skin the animal.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE MYSTERIOUS WALLET.

That day our hunters dined, for the first time, on fresh buffalo-beef.
After dinner they were not idle, but spent the remainder of the evening
in drying a portion of the meat over a fire.  They had resolved to
encamp on the spot for the night, and follow up the trail in the
morning.  They therefore busied themselves, until a late hour, in
preparing as much broiled buffalo-meat as would last them for several
days.

It was near midnight before they thought of retiring to rest.  As they
had done upon like occasions before, it was agreed that one should keep
watch--so as to keep off the wolves from the meat--while the other two
slept.

Their camp was in the open ground, near the spot where the buffalo had
been skinned.  At a little distance off their animals were browsing upon
the grass.  The wolves were in great force--both prairie-wolves, and
those of the large grey species.  The scent of the broiling meat had
attracted them from afar; and throughout the night they kept up a
continuous howling, trotting all over the meadow around the camp.

Francois kept the first watch, and Lucien the second; Basil's turn came
next, and it was to extend till daybreak, when all were to be aroused--
so that they might pack up at a very early hour, and continue the
journey.  They did not wish to lose a moment more than was necessary--as
they knew that every hour the migrating herd would be gaining upon them,
and thus prolong the pursuit.

Basil's watch was a long one; and, having sat up so late, he felt
sleepy.  He was, therefore, in no very friendly humour with the wolves--
upon whose account he was thus compelled to keep awake.  Every now and
then, as he saw them sneaking about in the darkness, he could not help
muttering an angry ejaculation; and he had made up his mind, as soon as
morning came, to empty his gun at one of the pack, by way of satisfying
his feelings.

After a spell of watching, that lasted nearly three hours, he perceived
the first streaks of dawn in the east.

"By the time we get breakfast cooked," thought Basil, "there will be
light enough to follow the trail; so I'll rouse Frank and Luce; and, by
way of a change, I'll give them a _reveille_ with my rifle.  Let me pick
out the largest of these sneaking wolves; I'll put one of them at least
from keeping anybody awake hereafter, I guess."

Basil, as he reflected thus, raised himself upon his knees, and looked
around to select a victim.  Strange to say, the wolves, as if they had
guessed his intention, had scattered away from the neighbourhood of the
fire, though several could still be seen stealing along the edge of the
willows.  Basil chose one of these which appeared in the dim light to be
a large grey one; and, levelling his piece, fired at it.  As he was not
very anxious whether he killed the animal or not, he fired carelessly.

Following the shot there was heard a loud scream, that was answered by
fifty others, from all sides of the valley.  It awoke the sleeping
hunters; who, along with Basil, sprang to their feet.  It was not the
scream of wolves they had heard, but a cry of far different import.  It
was the yell of human voices--_the war-cry of Indians_!

All three stood speechless with terror; but, even could they have
spoken, there was scarcely time allowed them to have uttered a word;
for, almost simultaneous with the yells, there was a rushing forward of
dark forms; and the next moment fifty tall savages were around them.
Basil, who had been farthest out from the fire, was knocked senseless by
a blow; while Lucien and Francois, who did not think of using their
guns, were seized by the brawny arms of the Indians and held fast.  It
was fortunate for them that they did not make any resistance, else the
savages would have killed all three upon the spot.  As it was, even,
they seemed for a while undetermined whether to do so or not--as it was
one of their number that Basil had mistaken for a wolf, and the shot had
wounded the Indian, which, of course, exasperated them greatly.
Perceiving, however, the small force of the party, and that the boys
made no farther resistance, they gave up the idea of killing them on the
spot, but bound the arms of all three behind their backs; and then,
after having mounted them on their horses, and gathered up their guns
and blankets, led them out of the valley.  At a short distance off, the
Indians reached a spot where their own horses were tied.  Here they
halted for a moment--until each had got into his saddle--and then the
whole party, prisoners and all, set off at a brisk trot over the
prairie.

In about an hour they arrived at a large encampment upon the bank of a
broad shallow river.  There were nearly an hundred lodges standing upon