JACK AMONG THE INDIANS.

OTHER BOOKS

BY

GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL.

"Jack's gun was at his shoulder, he fired."—Page 174

JACK
AMONG THE INDIANS

OR

A BOY'S SUMMER ON THE BUFFALO PLAINS

BY

GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL

Author of "Jack, the Young Ranchman," "Pawnee Hero Stories,"
"Blackfoot Lodge Tales," "The Story of the Indian,"
"The Indians of To-day," etc.

Illustrated by

EDWIN WILLARD DEMING

NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1900,
By Frederick A. Stokes Company

My Dear Nephews and Nieces:—

A long time ago, before any of you were born, great herds of buffalo fed on the western plains, and wild Indians lived by hunting them. They ate the flesh, wore the skins as clothing, slept in lodges made from the hides, and fashioned tools from different parts of the buffalo's body.

There were few settlements, and as the buffalo roamed far and wide over the treeless land, the Indians followed them; for then both were free. Often a tribe was obliged to defend itself against the attacks of enemies; and its young men often made war journeys into hostile country. Though the daily life of the village was quiet and simple, yet sometimes it was interrupted by most exciting incidents and adventures both of hunting and fighting.

You listened attentively to the story of "Jack, the Young Ranchman," and I hope that you will like to learn what Jack did the next season, when he spent the summer with the buffalo eaters of the Northern Plains, hunted their game, fought their enemies and lived their life.

Your affectionate
Uncle.

New York, Sept. 1, 1900.

CONTENTS.

Jack Among the Indians.

CHAPTER I. BACK TO THE RANCH.

The train rushed down the hill, with a long shrieking whistle, and then began to go more and more slowly. Thomas had brushed Jack off and thanked him for the coin that he put in his hand, and with the bag in one hand and the stool in the other now went out onto the platform and down the steps, Jack closely following. The train had almost stopped, and Jack bent forward over the porter's head to try to see the platform and to learn who was there to meet him. Suddenly he caught sight of three horses grazing not far from the station, and he shouted, "Oh, there's Pawnee! Look, Thomas! that's my riding-horse; that brown with the saddle on."

"That's yours, is it, Master Jack? He's a good one; I can see that from here. Are you going to ride out to the ranch?"

"I don't know," said Jack, "but we must be, I guess." And then, as he jumped down off the step and saw Hugh walking toward him, he shouted, "Hello, Hugh! I'm glad you've come for me. Isn't this bully? Good-bye, Thomas." And, taking his bag, he started running to meet Hugh.

"Well," said the old man, as he gave him a cordial hand clasp, "I am sure glad to see you, son. You got here all right, and on time. Didn't have no accidents, I expect?"

"No," said Jack, "I'm all right. Isn't it great to be here again. I don't know when I've been so glad before. I've been thinking about this time ever since I left here last fall."

"Well," said Hugh, "we're all right glad to have you come back again. I don't expect you've got any baggage except this, and there ain't nothing to wait for; we might go over and put the bag on the pack-horse, and start. I've been here ever since last night, and I've had enough of this town."

"We're going to ride then, are we? That's better fun than going in the wagon. I thought when I saw Pawnee that maybe that was the way you'd fixed it."

"Yes," said Hugh, "I expect you ain't done much riding since you left here, and we've got a long way to go, and I thought maybe it would be a good thing to begin breaking you in to the saddle right off. How does it suit you?"

"Splendid," said Jack. "We can make better time on horseback than we could in the wagon, and I'm mighty anxious to get to the ranch and see everybody again. How's the elk?"

"He's all right; fat, and just about half shed off; he looks kind o' ragged, but before long, when his old coat's gone, he'll be smooth as silk and pretty as a picture."

"That's good, and how are the ducks?"

"They're all right, too," said Hugh, "barring a couple that got killed only a few days ago. I don't rightly know what 'twas that killed 'em, but I reckon 'twas a bob-cat. I seen the tracks of one in the brush the last snow we had, and a few days afterward one of your ducks disappeared one day while they was out down to the brook, and two days afterward the old black tom-cat was gone, and two or three days afterward another duck. I never did see anything of the ducks, but I found the bones of the old tom-cat up in the brush a little while afterward, and there was a lot of fur in his claws, and it was bob-cat hair. Since that second duck got taken I haven't let them birds out except when I was there to watch 'em, and keep my eye on 'em all the time."

"I'm sorry those ducks got killed," said Jack, "I was in hopes they'd breed this year, and we'd have a lot of young ones."

"Well, maybe they will, but they've got to be watched, or else they've got to have some sort of a pen built for 'em, because you see, they can't fly, and it's mighty easy for anything to catch 'em."

By this time they were close to the horses, and Jack ran up to Pawnee and began to talk to him and pat him. The horse put his ears forward and arched his neck over Jack's shoulder, rubbing his head against him, as if he really knew who it was and was glad to see the boy back again. Meantime, Hugh was gathering up the ropes, and coiling them and putting them on the saddles. He bridled his own horse, and Jack did the same for Pawnee, both throwing down the reins; then the cinches of the pack saddle were tightened, and the bag quickly lashed in place.

"You better put your gun in your scabbard, son, and put some cartridges in your pocket; might be such a thing as you'd see something you'd want to shoot." Jack did so, and then they mounted and started off at a good lope over the prairie. Jack's heart was swelling with delight as he felt the cool wind on his face, and smelt again the odour of the sage, and saw the familiar birds rising from the ground and flying ahead, and alighting again in the road before them.

"I saw quite a lot of antelope from the train as we came along this morning, Hugh," he said. "I suppose there are plenty of 'em out at the ranch."

"Oh, yes, there's plenty of antelope. That bunch that used to live over in the pasture have just come back, and will be there all summer, I expect."

"Have you killed much game this winter?" said Jack.

"Well, no," was the reply, "not what you'd call much. We've had fresh meat right along, elk and blacktail and antelope. Early in the winter, just before we had that big storm, I went over to Point-of-rocks and killed three sheep; that's about the only thing out of ordinary that's been done."

"Three sheep! I wish I could get a chance to kill one. I've never even seen a sheep, and I want to get a shot at one most awfully."

"Well," said Hugh, "likely while we're up north we'll get a chance to; there's plenty of sheep in the Missouri River bad lands, and in the bluffs of the Yellowstone, and of course in the mountains. The Piegans, you know, don't go much into the mountains, but they kill quite some sheep in the bad lands, and on some of the buttes. Now, the Sweet Grass Hills are a great place for sheep; we're likely after we get to the Piegans to camp close to them, and maybe we can make a hunt up there for two or three days. I ain't a mite afeared but what you'll have chances at sheep before summer's over."

"Gracious! buffalo and sheep! That would be enough hunting for one summer, I should think. You're sure that when we go north we'll have plenty of buffalo hunting?"

"Lord, yes," said Hugh, "there'll be buffalo a plenty long after you and I are both dead."

By this time they had passed through the breaks and crossed the river, and come up over the hill, so that they could see the great lone mountain, where the road turned off to the right. "Oh, there's Bent Rock Mountain! that looks good, don't it, with the gray rocks and the black cedars scattered all over it. Now, there are sheep there, Hugh; don't you ever hunt there?"

"No," said Hugh; "there's a little bunch of sheep there, but they're mighty hard to get at, and I don't bother with 'em."

They rode on down the hill at a swinging canter, splashed through the stream, turned to the right and went up by the mountain, past the place where about a year before Jack had seen his first grizzly, and then turning to the left, galloped along across the undulating sage-brush prairie. The pack horse all the time was following close at their heels; his load was light and he knew that he was going home, and required no driving.

Suddenly, as they rode over the crest of one of the prairie swells, which gave a little wider view than most of them, Jack saw quite close to them a cow running hard, with head down and tongue out, and right at her heels a big wolf, and a little behind that, another. Just as they came in sight, the leading wolf sprang forward and caught the cow by the flank, and though it seemed impossible that so small an animal should throw one so large, the cow fell prone upon the prairie. While all this was passing before Jack's eyes, Hugh's horse stopped, his rider swung out of the saddle, his gun came to his shoulder, and as the smoke leaped from it, the second wolf fell. Jack had not been long enough on the prairie to act quite as quickly as Hugh; it took him a second or two to drag his gun from its scabbard and to spring from his horse, but the wolf that had pulled down the cow had not run more than a few yards before he fired at it; it gave a dismal howl, but still kept on; he shot again, and again the wolf yelled, but still it ran. It was almost on top of the hill now, when Hugh fired, and it disappeared. They jumped into their saddles and rode to the place, and found the wolf just kicking in the death struggle.

"Well," said Hugh, "that's a good job, anyhow. There's been a heap o' wolves round this winter, and I'm glad we got these two. I wish we'd come a minute earlier, so's to have saved that cow."

"Do you think she's dead, Hugh?" said Jack.

"I expect so," said Hugh. "I've seen a heap o' cattle killed by just one bite from a wolf; often it didn't seem if 'twas a bad bite either. I've sometimes thought that maybe they was just scared to death. I expect, though, we'll find that cow dead." By this time the wolf had ceased to struggle, and Hugh, picking it up, threw it across his saddle, and they walked back to the cow and the other wolf, which lay within three feet of each other. As Hugh had thought, the cow was dead, though the wound in her flank did not seem to be a severe one. Evidently she had been chased for some distance, for on her neck and shoulders there was froth from the mouth, showing that she had run a long way. Hugh turned her over and looked at the brand on her side. "Well," he said, "it's one of Powell's cows. The wolves do seem to pick out his cows, and do him a heap o' harm. Nice cow, too; in good order. I hate to see this beef go to waste. I believe I'll butcher her, so she won't spoil, and maybe your uncle will want to send down a wagon to-morrow and bring the meat into camp. While I'm doing that, do you expect you could skin one of them wolves? I reckon you'd like to save them hides; they're in pretty fair order, for they haven't begun to shed out much yet. While you're doing it you might look and see where your bullets hit the wolf you shot at. I expect I can tell you why he didn't fall right off when you shot. You're out of practice, and you drawed your sight too coarse. You hit him both times, but kind o' creased him instead of hitting him where the life lay. You ain't forgot how to shoot, but you've got to learn your gun over again."

While Hugh was opening the cow and removing the entrails, Jack took out his pocket knife and began to skin the wolf. Luckily he had had his knife sharpened just before he left home, and so he worked pretty fast, and before Hugh had left the cow and begun to skin the other wolf, Jack was half through with his. They finished skinning at about the same time, and Hugh tied the two hides on the pack-horse; then he lit a pipe, sat down and smoked for a while.

"I don't grudge the time we took to kill these wolves," he said. "Killing wolves is part of the work on a ranch, just like taking calves out of a snow-bank, or branding colts is. It's something that's got to be did, and like all other work it takes time. Where did you find them bullet holes of yours, son?"

"I found them just where you said they'd be, Hugh. One of them had just cut the skin on the back, and the other went through just over the shoulders, and nicked one of the shoulder-blades."

"That's what I thought," said Hugh; "you've got to fire a few shots and learn over again just how to hold your gun, if you want to drive nails. Now, let's go along. I'd like to get to the ranch as near supper time as we can."

They mounted and rode on. The wind was now blowing so hard that, although they rode side by side, they could not talk to each other without shouting. The horses were fat and fresh, and mile after mile disappeared swiftly under their ringing hoofs. Every few minutes Jack saw some place that was familiar to him, and wanted to ask Hugh something about it, but a few attempts convinced him that it was useless to try to talk in the wind. Now and then a bunch of antelope were seen off to one side, or a jack-rabbit jumped up from under a sage brush, and raced off, or a single sage-hen rose from the ground and scaled off down the wind. As they climbed more slowly the divide which led up to the valley where the ranch was situated they passed through a village of prairie dogs. These had not long since awakened from their winter sleep, and were busy plucking the young grass, now just appearing above the ground, and only those nearest the road paid any attention to the horsemen. Now and then little bunches of horses were passed, still clad in their winter coats, which hung down a hand's breadth below their chins and necks and bellies. With them they could see now and then tiny colts, which kept close to their mothers' sides, feeling that only there were they out of danger. At the edge of the dog town a badger was seen, nosing along through the sage brush, and Jack reached down his hand to get his gun, but looking at Hugh saw him shake his head, and understood that he did not wish to wait.

The sun had nearly reached the western mountains when they rode down into the Swiftwater Valley, and though they galloped along at a good pace, it was long after dark before the lights of the ranch house met their eyes. A little later they halted before the barn.

"Now, son, you're here again, and this time I expect you don't need no looking after. We'll unsaddle here; you hang your things up on the old peg, and we'll leave the horses in the stalls to-night."

A few moments later, carrying their guns and Jack's bag, they stepped into the kitchen of the ranch, and were warmly welcomed by all hands.

CHAPTER II. A GLANCE BACKWARD.

It was late May at the Swiftwater Ranch; back in the east it would have been summer, but here the snow was falling heavily, and being whirled about the buildings by the high wind, piling up in drifts on the leeward side, and being swept off the ground to windward. Down in the bunk-house Jack Danvers and Hugh Johnson were sitting on the floor near the warm stove, looking over pack-saddles, cinches and ropes, for they were preparing to make a long journey.

Only the day before Jack had reached the ranch from New York, after an absence of seven months, and all his friends there were glad to see him again. During the winter he had succeeded in persuading his parents to consent to his making the long trip up north to the Piegan camp, of which Hugh and John Monroe had talked to him the year before. Mr. Sturgis, his uncle, wished to have him go, and had said that he was willing to let Hugh be absent from the ranch during the time needed for the journey and the stay in the Indian camp. This would be not less than four months, for it would take them a month to reach the camp, and nearly as much more to return, and it was not worth while to make so long a trip unless they were to stay with the Indians two or three months.

It will be remembered by those who have read the adventures of Jack during his summer spent on Mr. Sturgis' ranch, that he had learned a good deal about life in the west;—to ride and shoot and throw a rope—and had been taught by Hugh much of the knowledge required by one who lived the open-air life of mountain and prairie. Hugh had said, and Jack's uncle agreed with him, that they two could perfectly well make the journey to the north. There was only one possible cause of anxiety, and that was the chance that they might meet with some party of hostile Indians, in which case they might have to fight for their lives. There was not much danger that this would happen, for spring had but just opened, the grass was only now beginning to start; the Indian ponies, which are always thin in flesh at the end of the winter, would not have become fat; and so it was too early for war parties to be moving about much. On the other hand, the riding and pack animals taken by Hugh would be fat and in good condition, and so, well able to run away from any pursuers. It had been determined, too, to select horses that were fast, and when these precautions had been taken, and Hugh's great knowledge of Indians and their ways was considered, the danger of trouble appeared very slight.

Mr. Sturgis was extremely fond of Jack, and dearly loved his sister, and he would not for a moment have thought of letting the boy run any risks.

"I didn't hardly know you yesterday, son, when you got off the train; you seem to have changed a heap since you went away from here last fall. You're sure grown; you're a heap taller than you were, and you look kind o' white and bleached out, like you'd faded."

"I guess that's so, Hugh," replied Jack, "I know I've grown pretty near two inches, for I was measured last fall, when I entered school, and again this spring when I left, and of course I'm white, because I've been living in a house ever since I got back, and haven't been out of doors at all."

"Well, what did ye do all winter?" said Hugh; "went to school, I reckon, and learned a whole lot. Study hard?"

"Yes, I studied hard. Of course I wanted to do well, but after I'd been back a little while, I thought that maybe if I worked right hard at school, and got good reports right along, father would be more willing to have me come out here again and spend the summer with you."

"Well, that was pretty good sense. I expect ye tried to keep him pleased with your schooling right along."

"Yes, I did," said Jack. "I told Uncle Will about it soon after I started in at school, and he said it was a mighty good idea, and I'd better keep it up. I don't know whether they would have let me come or not, if it hadn't been for Uncle Will. When he left home in the spring I heard him say to mother, 'Jack's been working hard all winter, and he's getting to look pretty thin and white; I really think you'd better send him off to me again in a month or two, for that long trip that he and Hugh have been planning.' So along in April I spoke to father about coming out again. He said he was willing I should come if mother was, and that he'd talk to her about it; so after a while it got so that we all of us talked it over together, and at last father and mother both said that I could come; and here I am, and mighty glad to get back here, too, you bet."

"Well, you bet, we're mighty glad to see you, and we'd like to have you stop here right along; only I don't expect that would do, 'cause ye're young and ye've got a heap to learn; but it's sure mighty good for a boy to spend three or four months out here in the fine weather, and so to get ready for these long months when ye've got to live in a house all the time."

"There's one thing I did last winter, Hugh, that I think is going to be a lot of fun; I learned how to make a bird skin."

"Make a bird skin!" said Hugh. "How do ye make it?"

"I mean I learned how to skin a bird, and stuff cotton into it, and fix it up so that it looks just like a dead bird lying there with its legs stretched out. You know there are people who study birds and know all about all the different kinds. When they see a bird they can tell you in a minute just what its Latin name is, and where it lives in summer, and then where it goes to pass the winter, for of course there are lots of birds that go south in the fall, until the weather gets warm, and then come north again."

"Yes, that's so," said Hugh, "everybody knows that."

"Well," continued Jack, "of course there isn't any man who has been all over the world and seen all the birds that there are, alive; so the men that go to one place, kill and skin a lot of the birds that live there, and then when they get back they put these skins in a museum, where everybody can see them; and there are a lot of men doing this all the time; and so after a while the biggest museums come to have the skins of pretty nearly all the birds there are. There must be a lot of 'em in all. An ornithologist told me there were more than 750 in North America."

"What was it told you that?" asked Hugh.

"An ornithologist," said Jack.

"What's that?" questioned Hugh; "it's a mighty long word, 'pears to me."

"It means a man that studies birds, and knows all about them."

"Well," said Hugh, "I'd hate to be called by such a name as that, even if I did know all about birds."

"Why," said Jack, "that word isn't anything to some of the Latin names these little birds have. I don't know what they are, many of them, at least, but they're all written down in Uncle Will's bird book, up at the house, and some of them are terrors, I can tell you."

"And this man told you there was 750 different kinds of birds in this country, did he?" said Hugh.

"That's what he told me," said Jack.

"Well," said Hugh, "of course this is a big country, and I make no doubt there's lots o' birds that I never saw, but I don't believe that there's fifty different kinds o' birds around this ranch."

"Oh, yes there are. I'll bet there's twice as many as that. Why just try and count 'em up for yourself; think of all the different kinds of ducks and geese that we saw last fall, and the grouse, and the robins and the gray jays. I'll bet you could count more than fifty yourself, if you had time to think about it."

"Well," said Hugh, "maybe I could; come to think about it; there's a heap o' different kinds o' birds. I never paid much attention to any of 'em, only the kinds that's good to eat; but say, I should think it would be mighty hard work skinning these little birds; their skin must be awful thin, and tear mighty easy."

"Well," said Jack, "that's just what I thought when I started in, but the fact is their skins are pretty tough. Of course you can't pull at them the way you would at a deer skin, but if you know how to do it, you scarcely ever tear a bird skin.

"Uncle Will put me up to this soon after I got home, and he took me down to a bird skinner and hired him to give me lessons. I used to go down there twice a week all through the winter and spring, and I have got so now that I can make a pretty good skin, and work pretty fast, too. I'm going to try to collect a few skins here, sometime when I can. If I come out another summer to stay here, I shall try to make a collection of all the birds that live here in summer."

"Well, I'd like right well to see you doing that work. It seems to me it would be mighty hard, but then there's a whole lot of things that we ain't none of us ever done that looks hard and yet are real easy after we know how to do 'em."

While all this talk was going on, they had been sorting over the material that was strewed on the floor, had picked out four good strong pack saddles, and the greater part of their riggings. Two of the lash cinches were in good order, the other two needed new hooks. Hugh stepped out of doors, and presently returned, bringing with him a small elk horn, from which he sawed off two lengths, each of which bore a prong. These he placed in a vice, shaped with a heavy rasp, and then passed over to Jack to fasten to the cinches. The smooth hook of horn was laced to the end of the cinch so that it hung down three inches below it.

All the straps of the pack saddle were now carefully looked over; any that were worn or in any way weak were renewed; sling ropes of just the right length were cut for each saddle, and new lash ropes took the place of one or two that showed signs of wear; four hackamores were made, one for each pack horse.

This work took up all the morning, and was not entirely finished when the horn blew for dinner.

CHAPTER III. GETTING READY.

When Hugh and Jack went back to the bunk-house, after dinner, the snow had ceased falling, and the sun was shining brightly. The little birds that had been hidden in the brush during the storm had come out, and were now hopping about on the wet ground, feeding, while some were cheerily singing from the tops of the fence posts. The mellow whistle of the meadow lark was heard alike from far down the valley and from the hillsides above them, and the black-birds were gurgling in the aspens behind the house. Jack stopped before entering the bunk-house and looked at the mountain, still white with snow, and stretched out his arms and drew a deep breath, and yelled aloud with pure delight. Hugh turned and looked back at him through the open door, smiling, as if greatly pleased, and said, "Seems good to get back, don't it? I tell ye there's no place like the mountains, and the longer ye stay among them the longer ye want to be there."

"I guess that's so, Hugh," said Jack; "it seems to me I never was so glad to be anywhere as I am to be here. Somehow I can't say what I feel, but I just seem to be all full in here," and he placed his hand on his breast.

"Yes, I know what you mean, although I can't say it no more than you can."

A few moments later the two were kneeling on the floor, unpacking the contents of a large box which had come to the ranch some time before. Hugh and Mr. Sturgis had thought that it might be a good thing for the travellers to take with them some articles to trade with the Indians. Of course a few presents would be needed, for, although Hugh, from his old acquaintance with the tribe, was sure of a hearty welcome, and Jack, as a friend of Hugh and John Monroe, would be gladly received, there would be times when it would be desirable to make to certain men small gifts; but besides this, it had occurred to Mr. Sturgis that perhaps they might buy a few horses, and furs enough to load them, and might bring them back on their return journey. Thus, the trip would be one of mingled business and pleasure, and there certainly was no possible objection to making a trading journey of the visit.

The different bundles that were taken out were labeled, and were put in piles on the floor. There were bolts of red and of blue cloth; and of gaily figured calicos; two or three bundles of bright handkerchiefs; boxes containing beads, selected with care as being the kind most prized by the Indians; there was quite a large bundle of cans of dry paint of different colors; and last, and perhaps most important of all, if one might estimate its value by the amount of pleasure it would give, a large bundle of tobacco.

"Quite a bunch of stuff, ain't it, son?"

"Yes, indeed," said Jack; "there's more than I thought there was. How are you going to divide it up?"

"Well," said Hugh, "these things look like more than they are. A lot of these bundles are bulky, and don't weigh much. I guess we'll get it all on two horses, and that will leave one horse for the grub and one for our beds and the mess outfit. Now, I expect the best thing we can do is to go up and see if we can't get Mrs. Carter to give us three or four seamless sacks, and make up packs of all this stuff, so that we can throw 'em right on and off the horses. Then we won't have to be gathering up a lot of little, small bundles every time we start to pack in the morning. Of course gunny sacks would do, but we want to keep all this stuff as clean as we can, so that when we get to the Indian camp and open it, even the outsides of the bundles will look pretty fresh and new; and besides that we've got to get a couple of mantas for these packs, for likely we'll have plenty of rain storms while we're on the road, and we want to keep these things dry if we can. The best way we can work it, we'll likely get them wet crossing some creek between here and the north, for all the creeks will be full now for the next month, and we'll likely have to do some swimming." Hugh went back into the dark store room and rummaged about for awhile, and then came out, carrying three or four nearly square pieces of canvas, which he threw on the ground.

"I thought we had some," he said in a satisfied tone, "but they ain't been used for a long time, and I didn't know but the boys had lost 'em."

"What are they for, Hugh?"

"Why, you see," said Hugh, "you throw a manta over your pack, after you get the load on, but before you put on your lash rope; the lash holds the manta in place, and it keeps everything below it dry.

"Well now, son, we've got everything except the blankets, and I believe it would be a good idea if you'd saddle up Pawnee and go out and drive in the horses that are in the pasture, and I'll show you what pack horses we've picked out, and then we'll put the saddles on 'em, and make sure that we've got everything."

"All right, Hugh, I'll do it;" and he went down to the stable, put the saddle on Pawnee, rode over into the pasture and gathered what horses were there, drove them into the corral, and shut the gate. Hugh had already carried down two of the pack saddles and blankets, and Jack, leaving Pawnee at the corral, started up to the bunk-house, but met Hugh coming with the other two saddles and their blankets.

"Now," said Hugh, as they reached the corral, "I'll show you what horses I've picked out for the trip. We want animals that are fat and strong and pretty tough, and pretty fast, too. I ain't going to take along any old plug pack horses, because, you see, it might be such a thing as we'd get chased, and have to run, and we don't want to have horses that we'll have to leave behind, and so lose our grub or our blankets or our goods. Your uncle, he said he was willing we should take two pretty good saddle horses for two of our pack animals, and I figured we'd take two of them young horses that you see Toney bust last year; they ain't well enough broke yet to be right good riding horses, but they're tough and strong, and by the time they've carried a pack a week or ten days they'll be plenty gentle.

"Take your rope now and go in and catch me that paint horse, and we'll put him in the small corral, and then I want that big dun over there, him they call the bucking dun, and then that black with the white hind foot; and then I reckoned we'd take either that star-faced bay or else that gray, I ain't quite made up my mind which. Which do you like the best?"

"Well, Hugh, if we were just going off on a trip I'd take the gray, because he looks the stoutest, and the best able to carry a load, but I should think the bay could run the fastest, if you're looking for speed."

"Well now, you ain't forgot all you learned last year, have you? That's a pretty good judgment. I expect we'll leave the gray here and take the bay, and we'll make him carry our beds and ammunition, because that's the lightest load, and them's the things we'd hate most to lose."

Jack caught the horses one by one, and was pleased to find that he had not forgotten how to throw a rope. He turned them into the small corral, and Hugh let the other horses out into the pasture; then, one by one, the horses were caught, the hackamores put on them, and then blankets and saddles. At first the cinches were drawn only tight enough to keep the saddles in place, but after all were saddled, they went over them again and drew both cinches up tight. To this operation the bucking dun objected strenuously, and, as the flank cinch was drawn tight, he broke away, and bucked vigourously about the small corral. When he had stopped they caught him again, and again drew up on the cinch, finally tying it; and then, fastening up the hackamore, turned the horse loose. The star-faced bay also bucked, but not so hard nor so long as the dun.

"Now, I'll tell you what, son," said Hugh, "any of these horses we take along can be ridden, and they ain't none of 'em got loads so heavy but what three of 'em can carry all the stuff there is; so that if anything should happen to either of our riding horses we can still have a horse apiece to ride. Maybe it might be a pretty good thing to take along an extra saddle horse or two. I don't know as it would, and I don't know as it would. Of course for awhile we've got to picket all these horses, and when you've got to do that, every extra horse makes a lot of trouble, and makes another rope to lose. We'll have to think about that and I reckon I'll ask Jo if he knows of any one of these horses that's good to stay about camp; easy caught, and yet is pretty fast. You see, pretty nearly all these is new horses, and I don't know much about them."

By this time the afternoon was well advanced; the sun was still shining warmly, and the snow which had fallen in the morning was melting fast. Hugh and Jack went over to the sunny side of the bunk-house and sat down there on a log, and Hugh filled his pipe and smoked.

"There's one thing," he said, "we ought to have, but we ain't got it, and we ain't likely to get it; we ought to have some dried meat to take along. You see, we won't have no time to hunt, travelling steady, the way we will, and for a while we'll have to live on bacon. Of course there'll be a chance to kill an antelope now and then, but until we strike buffalo we can't expect much fresh meat. I'd like it right well if we had a little bunch of dried meat, but we ain't got it. If your uncle had thought best to send back and get some of that beef I butchered yesterday, we could have dried some of that, but he didn't want to eat another man's beef, and I don't know as I blame him much. If he did that this spring, somebody might kill a beef that belonged to him in the fall, just because he was hungry. Might be such a thing as we'd get a piece of beef over to Powell's; we'll about make his ranch to-morrow night, and then that'll be the last place we'll strike till we get way up north."

"Oh, do we go by Powell's?" said Jack; "I'd like to see all of them again, Charlie, Bess and Mr. and Mrs. Powell; they were nice to us last summer."

"Yes," said Hugh, "they're good people. Good neighbours. You know, don't you," he went on, "Powell bought thirty saddle horses from your uncle last fall, after you left; he paid fifty dollars a head for 'em, and sold 'em for sixty-five. He's quite a trader, Powell is."

As they sat there talking, the sound of a cow bell was heard at first faintly, and a long way off, but it kept getting nearer and nearer. Jack asked Hugh, "Who gets the milk cows now, Hugh?"

"Jo does. He often says he wishes he had you to send out to bring 'em in; but that ain't one of the milk cows coming now."

"Well, what is it? I thought it was old Browny's bell."

"No, that's the bell old Browny used to wear, but your elk wears it now, and that's him a-coming."

Sure enough; a moment afterward an elk stepped out of the brush above them on the hillside, and came toward the house; it wore a bell, and besides this, a great strip of red cloth was tied around its neck.

"What in the world is that he's got around his neck, Hugh?" said Jack; "it looks as if he had a sore throat and had a strip of red flannel tied around it."

"Well," said Hugh, "he's got the red flannel all right. This spring when we turned him out Jo was afraid that somebody would shoot him for a wild elk, so he put the bell on, and that red cloth, and then he told everybody he met, when he was riding, about it, and I expect there ain't no one in quite a scope of country but knows about that elk, and just how he sounds and looks."

Meantime the elk had been slowly approaching, and Jack got up and walked over toward it. It was just shedding out, and great patches of its body were smooth and yellow, while other patches were still covered with long, brownish hair, at the base of which a thick fur or wool could be seen. Hugh called out to Jack, "You want to look out for him, son; he's pretty handy sometimes with them fore feet of his, when he ain't in a good temper; he may strike at you." When Jack heard this he did not go very close to the elk, but contented himself with walking about it, while the animal followed him with its great mild eyes. A moment after, Hugh came up with some salt in his hand and held it out to the elk, which walked quietly up and licked the salt off his hand.

"I ain't got much use for a tame elk," said Hugh; "they're stupid critters, and 'most always mean; you never can trust 'em."

"I think just as you do, Hugh; that they're awful stupid; and I would never again take the trouble to pack a calf into camp."

Presently the elk put down its head and began to feed away from them, and they went back to their seat in the sun. A little later they went down to the corral, unsaddled the pack horses, turned them out into the pasture, and carried the riggings up to the bunk-house. It proved that Mrs. Carter had four seamless sacks that she could let them have, and with these they made up four side packs of the goods. The two centre packs they made up with gunny sacks and canvas, so that when they started they would only have to lift the packs onto the horses.

The remainder of the day was devoted to laying out their provisions and their mess-kit. Their cooking utensils were put in a wooden box to go on the load above their beds. Everything was made ready as far as possible, so that in the morning there would be nothing to do except to catch and saddle the horses, put the loads on them, and start.

The day had passed swiftly for Jack, and when night came he was pretty tired. After supper his uncle talked to him for a little while, impressing on him the necessity of caution, telling him of the responsibility that would rest on Hugh, who had charge of him for this long trip, and explaining to him that now he was starting off to act a man's part, and that he must exercise a man's discretion. He said, "Hugh feels very confident that you are old enough, and have had experience enough, to be trusted. He thinks that you will not be a cause of care or anxiety to him, but that you will understand that you must now use common sense and good judgment. I think that his estimate of you is a fairly just one, but I want you to try to be thoughtful and never let your boyish enthusiasm get the better of you. We all want you to have a good time on this trip, but we do not want you to have a good time at the cost of suffering of any sort to any older person."

"Well, Uncle Will," said Jack, "I have thought a good deal about that, too, and I know that there may be times when I'll have to use all the sense I have got, but I have made up my mind to follow Hugh's directions as closely as I can, and to try not to make a fool of myself."

"That's good," said his uncle; "if you can only keep that in mind all the time I shall not be anxious about you."

CHAPTER IV. THE START.

Although Hugh called Jack very early next morning, it already was daylight and the sun was just rising. Jack saddled Pawnee, rode out into the pasture and drove in the horses, and before breakfast they had cut out their pack animals and saddled them, and left them standing in the corral. The night before, Hugh had laid out their provisions, which were of the simplest kind; a sack of flour, some corn meal, oat meal, bacon, coffee, sugar and salt, were all they took. Their mess-kit consisted of two frying pans, a coffee pot, a small water bucket, a tin pan, a bake oven, tin plates and cups, and knives, spoons and forks. They took along, also, a dozen good butcher knives, a new axe and a small hatchet. Besides this, there was a coil of rope, from which lariats and lash ropes could be cut, in case of need.

Immediately after breakfast, Jack helped Hugh make up the loads, although really there was not much that he could do, except to look on and learn. They were to put the bedding and the mess outfit on one horse, the provisions on another, and the trade goods were to be carried by the two others.

Hugh said, "I wanted to get an early start this morning, if we could, because I expect likely the first day out we'll have some trouble with the horses. You see, they're fat and fresh, haven't been doing nothing all winter, and they won't want to travel away from home; so it's likely we won't go very far, and we'll have a long day. Now, you run down to the corral, son, and bring up the dun; we'll load him with some of this trade stuff and see how he does. Maybe you'd better let Jo pack on the off side this morning, 'cause we want to make these loads stay, if we can. You'll have plenty of chances to pack before we get back again, and I expect by the time we ride in here in the fall you'll be a regular old government packer."

Jack went down to the corral and got the horse. He could not help feeling a little disappointed that he was not to help put on the loads. He felt as if, from this morning until the time of their return, he would like to take an equal share in all the work that was to be done; still, he could see that what Hugh said was wise, and that it was important to have the packs well put on this morning, when the horses were all fresh; so he led the dun up to the bunk-house, and stood back and watched the packing, trying to follow each operation. While he did this, he realised that his memory of the few lessons in packing that he had had the fall before was not very fresh, and this quite reconciled him to seeing Jo handle the ropes.

The dun laid back his ears, and rolled his eyes, and humped up his back a little, as the saddle cinches were tightened, but stood quiet while the packs were put in place, and the manta thrown over them. He jumped a little as the lash rope touched his hips, when Hugh was preparing to throw it, but when the first pull was made by Jo, in tightening the lash cinch he bowed his back, put down his head, and made as if he would buck. Rube had him by the hackamore, however, and the men on either side clung to the ropes, and at last he was quieted until all the pulls had been made and the lash rope was fastened. But soon as Rube let go the hackamore, and he had taken a step or two and felt the swaying load on his back, he put down his head and began to buck in good earnest. Round and round he went, taking high jumps, and throwing his heels so far into the air that it seemed as if he must turn a somersault every time he struck the ground. Sometimes the load almost overbalanced, and he staggered, but the ropes held tight, and at last, tired of the hard work, he stood still. One of the men walked up to him and led him back to the bunk-house door, when the ropes were again tightened a little, and he was once more set free.

By this time Jack had gone down and brought up the black horse, on which a load was put, but he stood quiet. The provisions were put on the paint horse, which also was quiet; but the rattling of the dishes in their wooden box set the bay horse to bucking, though he did not keep it up long.

"There," said Hugh, when the bay had been caught again, and his load inspected, "I expect that's about as good as we can make it. Now then, son, it's time for you and me to saddle up, and then we can roll."

Jack brought Pawnee up to the house, and Hugh soon rode up on old Baldy. Mr. Sturgis, Mrs. Carter, and Rube and Jo all stood there to watch the travellers start. Hugh tied a lariat to the hackamore of the bay horse, and, after shaking hands with every one, started off down the valley; while Jack, somewhat moved at the parting, shook hands very earnestly with all, and then, riding out on the hillside, drove the three pack horses after Hugh. Once or twice he turned about in his saddle and took off his hat and waved it to the little group standing together by the bunk-house, who waved their hands or their handkerchiefs in response.

"Dear me!" said Mrs. Carter, as the figures grew smaller and smaller, as they rode down the valley, "it does seem a shame to let a baby like that go off into the Indian country. I'll bet his ma don't know what risks he's taking."

"Pshaw," said Jo, "I tell you that boy's as good as a man; I'd rather have him for a partner than a heap o' men I know; and the old man's as good as two men, any day in the week. You bet they'll have an awful good time, and won't see no trouble. I just wish't I was goin' with 'em."

"No," said Mr. Sturgis, "I don't think they'll have any trouble; Jack's a level-headed fellow, with a good deal more discretion than most boys of his age. There's a bare chance of course that they may meet some hostile Indians, but they're well mounted, and I don't think they'll have trouble."

For the first two or three miles after their start the horses went on very well, but about the middle of the morning, those that Jack was driving began to give him a little trouble. They were now getting into a country away from their usual range, and began to try to turn about and go home, and for the next half hour Jack was pretty busily employed turning back one after another that fell out of line and tried to retrace its steps. At length Hugh halted and dismounted, and motioning Jack to drive the pack horses by him, they sat down, and while Hugh smoked, had a little talk.

"Are they bothering you much?" asked Hugh.

"Yes," said Jack, "they keep trying to go back all the time; and that Dun is the worst of the bunch; he just won't go on."

"Well, we'll have to try to shove him along as far as Powell's place, and when they get a little tired, toward afternoon, likely they'll go better. I wouldn't be surprised though if it wouldn't be a good idea for us to borrow a horse from Powell, for you to ride during the day. I don't want you to run Pawnee down, chasing horses; I want to bring him into the Piegan camp fat, because I expect you'll do all your buffalo running on him. He's fat and strong now, and you don't weigh much, but still its pretty hard work running here and there, trying to keep a bunch of horses together, even if there's only three or four of 'em."

"Yes," said Jack, "I want to keep Pawnee in good shape, but I think that after the horses get used to their loads, and get used to travelling together, they'll go better, won't they?"

"I expect they will, and we needn't make up our minds about getting any horse until we get to Powell's. Maybe to-morrow we'll get Charlie to ride out with us for two or three hours, and help drive them horses. I expect if we can get 'em started right to-morrow, they'll go along pretty good."

After fifteen or twenty minutes they mounted and started on again. The horses had been feeding busily all this time, and now when they were driven along after the lead horse, they went more quietly, and made less trouble. Still, the day seemed a long one to Jack. They passed plenty of antelope on the prairie, but he had no time to think of them; he felt obliged to watch the horses constantly, and to keep them as close behind Hugh as he could. The prairie was full of pleasant sights and sounds, but there was no chance for him to enjoy them.

He felt very glad when, late in the afternoon, the low buildings of the Powell place came in sight. Half an hour later they were near enough to see the men working about the house, and then to see two figures in skirts come to the door and look out at them, and then at last to hear the delighted whoop of Charlie and the cheery greeting of Mr. Powell, as they came forward to shake hands with them. The horses were quickly unpacked and put in the pasture, the loads put under cover, and then all the family gathered around Jack and Hugh to hear the news from the neighbouring ranch.

"So you're really going to make that trip you talked about, are you, Jack?" said Charlie. "I tell you I'd give all my old boots if I were going along."

"So would I mine, Charlie," Jack replied. "I'll bet we could have a good time together. It's a great chance. You see, we're going up into the buffalo country, and we're going to be with the Indians, and see what they do and how they live. There ain't many fellows have a chance like this, and I wish you could be one of 'em."

"Well," said Charlie, "I know I can't; I've got to stay here and chase around over this prairie, riding for stock and killing wolves, when I might be going up there with you. It seems pretty hard, but I don't know as I ought to complain. I know father needs me, and now we're just getting a good start in stock, and if I were to go away he'd have to hire somebody to take my place, and he couldn't afford to do that. You see, father ain't like your uncle; I expect your uncle's a pretty rich man, but father ain't got anything except what you see here, and what stock we've got out on the range; then, besides that," he added, "I don't believe mother would be willing to have me go; she thinks it's awful dangerous for you and Hugh to go up there alone. We talked about that often last winter, and she said she didn't believe your mother'd ever let you go."

"Well," said Jack, "I don't believe there's much danger, because if there was, Uncle Will wouldn't have been willing to have me go, and I know he wanted me to. He said from the start that it would be a mighty good thing for me; and then, besides that, Hugh knows so much about Indians; they say that he's smarter even than an Indian about reading the signs of the prairie, and telling who is about, and what's likely to happen. Uncle Will said that he never would think of letting me go with any one except Hugh, for he thinks Hugh can carry a person through all right anywhere."

"I guess that's so; everybody that I ever heard talk about him in this country says that he's the smartest mountain man that there is. Why, last fall, after you went away, old Jim Baker and his brother John passed through here, and they asked especially after Hugh, and when they learned that he was working over at your uncle's, they turned off and went over there, two days' travel out of their road, to see him. Jim Baker didn't say anything, he never talks at all, but John said that Hugh was one of the old kind; that there were only a few of them left now in the mountains, and he wanted to see Hugh, and so did his brother."

"Well," said Jack, "we're going to make the trip, and I believe we're going to get through all right, and not have a bit of trouble, and I wish you were going with us."

"So do I wish it, but I know I ain't, so it's no use crying over it."

Lying about the Powell house Jack saw two of the wolf puppies that he had helped dig out the summer before. They seemed tame enough, a good deal like big dogs, but they did not make friends with strangers, as dogs would have done, but instead, moved off out of the way. With Charlie and Bess, however, they seemed on very good terms, and very grateful for any petting or attention. The sight of these great beasts made Jack think a little sadly of his own wolf, Swiftfoot, far away in New York.

Bess, too, talked with Jack about the trip that he was making, and seemed to feel a little uneasy about its possible dangers, while Mrs. Powell said she thought it a shame that Jack should be allowed to go away off among the Indians, where she was sure he was going to be killed.

Hugh laughed at her doleful prophecies, and said, "Why, Mrs. Powell, there ain't a mite o' danger. I wasn't much older than Jack when I first came out into this country, and I've been travelling about now for more than forty years, and nothing's ever happened to me. It seems strange that a sensible woman like you should have such queer ideas."

The journey formed the principal topic of conversation that evening, but Hugh and Jack remembered to tell Mr. Powell about the cow that had been killed as they were riding out two days before, and about the swift punishment that had fallen on the two wolves. When bedtime came, Hugh and Jack spread their blankets on the kitchen floor, and were soon sleeping soundly.

Next morning Hugh asked Mr. Powell if he could spare them a saddle horse, and if he would let Charlie ride a few miles with them, until they learned how the animals could travel on this second day. If they went well, the horse could be sent back by Charlie, but if it was necessary to keep it, Jack would send back a note, asking his uncle to furnish Mr. Powell with a horse to take its place through the summer.

This morning the horses took their loads better. The Dun bucked a little, but not nearly so much as the day before, while the other horses, as soon as their loads were put on and they were turned loose, began to feed quite contentedly. Jack and Charlie packed on the off side, both pulling at the ropes, but Jack arranging them, under Charlie's direction. When they started, the animals fell into line very promptly, and walked briskly along close behind the lead horse. They gave no trouble whatever, and seemed to have made up their minds that they were going somewhere, and must follow Hugh. So about the middle of the morning Hugh told Charlie that it was not necessary for him to come any further, and that they would not need to take along the extra horse. So they shook hands there, and Charlie rode off back to the ranch at a gallop, while the pack train started on its journey north. Jack felt now as if they were really cut off, for he knew that they would probably not see a white face again until they reached the far-away Missouri River.

CHAPTER V. THE FIRST FRESH MEAT.

All day long the two travelled steadily forward, stopping only once or twice to look at the packs, and to smoke. The pack horses followed their leader pretty well, and gave Jack little trouble, so that he was free to look about him and enjoy the bright sun, the cool breeze, and the birds and animals that from time to time showed themselves near them. There was no trail, but Hugh seemed to be travelling north without any land marks to guide him. During one of their halts Jack asked Hugh where they would camp that night.

"Well, we can camp most anywhere, for we'll find plenty of water toward the end of the afternoon. We'll either come on La Bonté, or on some little creek running into it. There's good feed anywhere, and wood enough for us, too. I reckon we'll have to picket all the horses to-night, and maybe every night for the next week, but after that it will be enough if we picket three of 'em, and let the other three drag their ropes. After they once get used to being together they ain't none of 'em likely to wander off, without the whole bunch goes."

"It would be pretty bad if we were to lose our horses, wouldn't it, Hugh?"

"It sure would," was the reply; "there's mighty few things that's worse than being left afoot on the prairie. I often wonder how it was in the old times, when one of the Companies would send a man off to go on foot two or three hundred miles, with no grub, and one blanket and a copper kettle, and maybe twelve balls."

"How do you mean, Hugh; twelve balls?"

"Why, don't you know," said Hugh, "in them days, when a man worked for one of the Fur Companies they only gave him just so much powder and lead. Of course, ammunition came high then, and they might send a man off to make a long journey on foot and not give him any grub, and just six or eight or ten charges for his gun, expecting him to kill whatever he ate. Travelling in this country in them days couldn't have been much fun."

"I should think not. But suppose such a man met Indians, and had to fight; what would he do then?"

"Well," said Hugh, "them men didn't calculate to fight; they calculated to keep out of sight; and then the Indians weren't right mean then. If they found a fellow travelling on the prairie they'd charge up to him and scare him about half to death, but likely they wouldn't hurt him. Maybe they'd just talk to him and let him go, or at worst they'd take his gun and his clothes, everything that he had, and turn him loose."

"But then I should think he'd starve to death."

"Well, I expect maybe a good many men did starve to death that nobody ever heard of. It's a sure thing that lots of men started out to go from one place to another, and never got to the other place."

"Did you ever have to do that, Hugh?" said Jack.

"No," said Hugh, "I never did. Fact is, I never worked regular for no fur company, I was always a free trapper, as they called it, until beaver went out, and trapping was over; then I hired out to the Government, and took parties of troops around over the country, fellows that were making maps; and some seasons I guided emigrant trains, and hunted for posts. One or two years I traded with Indians, working for Bent and St. Vrain. I liked that about as well as any work I ever did. Then presently the railroad came along, and I got work with them; and by-and-by I settled down to kind o' learn the cow-punching trade, and here I am to-day."

"My, Hugh! you must have seen an awful lot in all this time. How many years is it since you first came out?"

"It'll be forty-three years next August since I started from old Kentucky. I was sixteen years old then, and that same fall I got out to St. Joe, and I have been travelling the prairie ever since."

"Forty-three years ago!" said Jack, thoughtfully; "then you must be fifty-nine."

"Yes, I am fifty-nine years old, and I expect I look it, don't I?"

"Yes, you do look pretty old, but I think that's because your hair and beard are white; your face doesn't look old."

"Well, I'm old enough to have learned a heap, and I expect if I was fifteen years old to-day, and knowed as much as I know now, and was back in old Kentucky, I'd stop right there."

The sun was drawing toward the western horizon when, on riding over the crest of the hill, Jack saw a mile or two before him a long winding line of dark green, which he knew to be the timber that marked the course of a stream. Many antelope were feeding on the slope down which they passed, and these seemed to be quite fearless, and moved out of the way slowly as the train drew near them. The stream was a small one, but flowed through a wide, level bottom, and Hugh, directing his course toward a group of cottonwood trees, drew up under them, dismounted, and throwing down his bridle rein, said, "Let's camp."

In a very short time the loads were taken from the animals, and piled on the ground at the foot of one of the trees; the saddles were placed on the packs, and the blankets upsidedown on the saddles, so that any moisture on them might dry, and the mantas were thrown on the ground nearby, and would be used at night to cover the riggings and the goods, so as to protect them from wet in case of rain. A lariat was tied to the neck of each horse, and they were allowed to wander at will over the bottom, except old Baldy, whose rope was tied to a bush.

"It's a pretty good thing," Hugh explained, "to have one horse anchored where you know you can get at him. Might be such a thing that something would scare these horses and they'd all take off over the bluffs, but if we've got one riding horse where we can put our hands on him, we can get 'em back easy enough, while if we had to chase 'em afoot it might be a long, slow business. Now, son," he went on, "you take this kettle and get a bucket o' water, and I'll start a fire, and we'll have some supper."

Jack picked up the bucket and started down to the stream, but before he had taken a half dozen steps Hugh called him back.

"I guess you've forgot something, ain't you?" he said; and then when Jack looked puzzled, he went on to say, "Now, son, I've got to say over again to you something that I said last summer; that's a long time ago, and I don't much wonder you forgot it. We're going into a strange country now, and we may meet strange people, maybe enemies, so you'd better just get into the way of packing your gun around with you wherever you go, it ain't a very heavy load to carry, and you may want it bad some time."

Jack had not taken off his cartridge belt, and he stepped over and picked up his rifle, and then went and got the water. By the time he had returned, Hugh had kindled a fire and had brought quite a pile of wood, and Jack helped him to gather more; so that before long they had more than they could use during the night. It did not take long to cook their simple supper, which consisted only of bacon, bread and coffee. While they were doing it, Hugh remarked, "I don't believe it's going to rain to-night, and I don't think it's worth while to put up a tent, unless you want it."

"No indeed," said Jack, "I'd rather sleep in the open air, unless we're likely to have a storm."

"Well, let it go at that.

"Now, there's one thing we've got to do, and that is to keep a lot of picket pins on hand until these horses get wonted. I put a half dozen hard wood pins in the gunny sack in the mess box, but we'll be losing them right along, and I believe I'll go to work on an old lodge pole that's lying over here in the brush and make some pins for to-night. You might go out and get around them horses and start them back this way; they're working too far up the creek. Don't chase 'em or scare 'em; just go around 'em and drive 'em slowly until you get their heads turned this way. If you should see a buck antelope on the way, you might kill him, if you can, and we'll put him on one of the packs and take him along."

"I'd like to do that, Hugh, but there ain't much likelihood of seeing an antelope down in the bottom, is there?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Hugh; "you might see one; or you might jump a deer out of some of this brush. Don't kill a doe, though; she won't be no account to eat; and don't go too far, and mind you keep your eye out for signs. If you see any people, or sign of where people's been lately, get back to camp as quick as you can."

The horses had been feeding away from camp, and some of them were already hidden among the underbrush that grew in the valley. Jack walked over to the foot of the bluffs, and up the stream half a mile, and then, having got beyond the horses, he walked quietly toward them, turned them down the stream toward camp, followed them to the edge of the brush, and saw that they were now busily feeding in the right direction; then he turned about and walked up the stream.

He had not gone far when he saw in the sand at the edge of the creek the tracks of two deer, one set quite large, and the other rather small. He looked carefully about him in all directions but could see nothing, though the tracks seemed quite fresh. Keeping on up the stream, walking very quietly, stopping often to look all about him, he came to the edge of a little meadow, almost surrounded by bushes, and there, as he paused before stepping out of the brush, he saw near the other side, two deer.

Luckily for him, the gentle breeze was blowing down the stream, and so the deer did not smell him. When he first saw them their heads were down, and what first caught his eye was the rapid side-wise motion of the white tail of one of the animals. Almost as he stopped, the deer raised their heads, looked about for a moment, and then began to feed again. He could see that both of them had small horns, and yet one seemed quite a large deer. They were not far off, only about sixty yards, and Jack quietly dropped on his knee, slipped a cartridge into his gun, and made ready to fire. He hesitated a little, for both deer stood with their hips almost toward him, and he hoped that in a moment or two they might change their positions, so as to give him a broadside shot. Presently that very thing happened; the larger deer turned a little to the left, and then still more, so that its shoulder and side presented a fair mark. The next time that it raised its head and stood quite still, Jack drew a very fine bead on it, behind the shoulder and low down, and fired.

The deer leaped high into the air, and with two or three graceful bounds, disappeared into the underbrush, followed by its companion. "I wonder if I missed it," thought Jack; "it don't seem possible that I could have done that, for it was standing still, and I don't think I felt a particle nervous. I believe I'll go over there and try to follow their tracks a little way, anyhow."

When he had reached the place where the deer had been standing, their hoof-prints were plain in the soil, and following the direction they had gone, he saw other deep tracks, where they had made long leaps. He was so interested in following these tracks, that he almost forgot the question of whether he had missed or not, but suddenly, to his surprise, as he was puzzling out the tracks, he saw that the leaves of the brush, through which he was passing, were smeared with blood. "By jimminy!" thought Jack, "I did hit him! And now I wonder if I can find him." Looking carefully both for blood and tracks, he soon saw that the deer was bleeding freely, and that he need no longer look for tracks, since the blood on the underbrush and the grass and weeds was a constant guide to him. He had gone only forty or fifty yards, though to him it seemed much longer, when suddenly he stepped out of the brush at the foot of the bluffs, and saw, lying a few yards before him, the deer, dead on the grass. The other deer was standing nearby, looking back, as if puzzled, and Jack was strongly tempted to take a shot at it, but he reflected that one deer was more than they could use, and that it would be wasteful as well as cruel to kill a second.

As Jack stepped out into the open, the other deer stood for a moment looking at him, and then trotted off up the slope, stopping once or twice within easy shot, and looking back, but at last disappeared over the hilltop. The deer on the ground was quite dead, and the position of the bullet hole showed that it must have been shot through the heart.

Jack drew his butcher knife from its sheath, bled the deer, and began to butcher it. He had often seen this done by other people, but this was the first attempt at it that he had ever made, and he found it not so easy as it looked. He worked slowly and awkwardly, and once was tempted to give the job up, and go back and get Hugh to do it. Still, he persevered, and although now the sun had set, he was still cutting and pulling, absorbed in his task, when a voice at his elbow said, "Well, you've got some meat, I see;" and looking up, he saw Hugh standing by him.

"I heard you shoot," said Hugh, "and when you didn't come back, I allowed you might have trouble getting your meat into camp, and so I came along. Now, it's getting late and you'd better let me finish that job."

"I wish you would, Hugh; it's the first animal I ever butchered, and though I've seen you do it a good many times, I find I don't know how."

"Well, it does look a little bit as if the rats had been gnawing at it." He took out his own knife and made a few quick cuts, which finished the work; then, cutting off the deer's head he laid his rifle on the ground, lifted the carcass on his back, and then, telling Jack to hand him the rifle, which he rested across the deer's legs before him, he strode off toward camp.

When they reached camp, Jack saw that the six horses were picketed close at hand; that the beds were unrolled and spread out on the ground, beneath one of the larger trees, and that the fire was burning cheerily.

"Now," said Hugh, as he threw the deer's carcass on the ground, "let's get the jacket off this fellow, and hang him up in the tree to cool."

The operation of skinning the deer and hanging it up did not take long, but before this was ended, night had fallen. Hugh lighted his pipe, and then sat by the fire for a little while, staring at it, and Jack lay at full length beside him, and as they sat there, told Hugh about how he had found and killed the deer.

"Well, son," said the old man, "I'm mighty glad we got that meat; it'll make things a heap more comfortable for us for the next few days. Now, we want to go to bed pretty quick, and get all the sleep we can. You know the nights are pretty short this time o' year, and we want to be up by daylight to-morrow morning and change them horses to fresh grass, and let 'em feed while we're getting breakfast; and then as soon as we're through, pack up and get started again. We've got a long way to go, and the quicker we get to the Piegan camp the better I'll be suited. We're likely to have plenty of delays on the road, and I want to make the best time I can."

CHAPTER VI. INDIANS OF OLD TIMES.

The next morning they were up bright and early. The horses were all standing where they had been picketed the night before, and after the fire was kindled, Jack and Hugh went to them, took up the picket pins, and moved each horse so that he might have fresh grass to eat; then while Hugh prepared breakfast, Jack rolled up the beds and prepared all the camp furniture except the mess kit for packing. When they loaded the horses the carcass of the deer was put on one of the packs, and presently they started off down the creek. That night they camped at the Platte River, and the next morning crossed it, and kept on north.

For many days they travelled northward, crossing some small streams, and then coming to the head of Powder River, and journeying along the divide on its east side. The marches that they made were not very long. The grass was good, there was plenty of water, and the loads were light; so that their horses kept in good condition and moved along briskly. After two or three nights Hugh picketed only four of the horses, permitting two to drag their ropes, and when morning came these two were found with the others. A little later he freed one more, and at last another one, so that finally there were only two horses confined at night. These were not always the same two, but usually the two riding horses were the ones on picket.

They made some slight changes in the packs, making two of them lighter and two heavier; and then, sometimes Jack, instead of riding Pawnee, let him carry a light pack, and rode the bay, while Hugh sometimes changed off to the dun or to the paint horse. One day when their stock of fresh meat was running low, since the deer had been almost eaten up, Hugh killed a buck antelope, which was in fair order; but they did no hunting, and travelled steadily.

One afternoon they camped on a small fork of Powder River, and after camp had been made and the horses picketed, Hugh proposed that they should take a little walk to the top of a high hill not far off, and see what could be seen. They started, going rather slowly, and stopping every now and then to look over the country with the field glass that Hugh carried. Nothing was seen except the wild animals of the prairie, and when they reached the top of the hill they sat down and took a long, long look. Hugh was carefully examining some distant object to the north when he felt himself pushed by Jack, and glancing around, saw that he was lying flat on the ground. Hugh very slowly lowered his head, and turning, looked in the direction in which Jack pointed. Coming up out of the ravine not far away, he saw a good sized grizzly bear, and following her, two little cubs. The cubs were still very small, and were cunning little creatures. They ran about fast yet clumsily, sometimes attacked each other and had a pretended fight, stood up on their hind legs and sparred at each other with their front paws, and then one chased the other as he ran wildly off over the hillside. Every now and then the mother would stop to look at them, and she seemed to take pleasure in their high spirits. Now and then she stood up on her hind legs and looked in all directions, and she was now so close to the top of the hill that they could see her wrinkle her nose as she sniffed the air. Jack whispered to Hugh, "Ain't they beauties! Wouldn't I like to have them back at the ranch. There's no way we could catch 'em and take 'em along, is there?"

"No," whispered Hugh; "the only thing you can do is to kill 'em."

"By Jove, I don't want to do that; they're too cunning."

The little family was now quite near the top of the hill, but was passing around it. Again the mother stood on her hind legs to look, and while she was doing this one of the cubs rushed up in front of her and sprang into the air, grasping her around the chest and the mother closed her arms about it and put her head down. The whole act seemed like the springing of a child into its mother's arms, and the mother kissing the child.

"The mother kissing the child."—Page 49

"By mighty!" said Hugh, "I can't shoot at that bear, and I don't believe you can either, son."

"Not much, we'll let them go."

They lay there and watched the bears go around the hill, and presently the old one saw the horses and the camp equipage far below in the valley. She stood on her hind legs and looked for a long time, evidently much puzzled as to what these strange objects were, but after looking for awhile she came down on all fours again, called her young ones to her by a low cry, trotted off around the hill out of sight, and then made her way back as she had come.

They watched her for a long time, until she was hidden behind the swells of the prairie, and then Jack sat up and said to Hugh, "That's the prettiest thing I ever saw, and I don't feel as if I ever could shoot at a bear again after seeing it."

"Well," said Hugh, "that's saying a good deal, but I tell you I wouldn't have shot at that bear for a farm."

The sun was low when they reached camp on their return. They had eaten when they made camp, but Hugh said that he believed that Jack could eat again, and they cooked a little meat and warmed up some of the coffee that was in the pot, and made up a good fire, by which they sat for a long time.

Hugh said, "I reckon this is about the last regular camp fire we can have. We're getting up into the country now where we're liable to run across Indians, and while I don't think there's a mite of danger to be looked for from any of 'em, still I'd just as leave they wouldn't see us."

"What Indians live in this country, Hugh?"

"Well," said Hugh, "the fact is it's Cheyenne country, but Sioux and Cheyennes live here, and Crows come into it; fact is, it's a kind of anybodys' country. The Piegans come down here and make war on the Crows and Cheyennes, and in old times the Pawnees used to come up here on their war journeys. You've got to keep your eye open here for all sorts of Indians."

"Well, Hugh, these Indians haven't always been hostile, have they?"

"Not so; there was a long time when they were friendly with everybody. It was only after white people began to come into the country and make trouble of one sort and another that the Indians got bad. You see, the white people didn't know nothing about Indians, and had a kind of an idea that the whites owned the whole country, and the Indians thought that they owned it, because they always had, up to that time; and then there was young men that stole white men's horses and likely some of 'em got killed; so that, on the whole, you can easy see how the wars began; they started about twenty-five years ago. Up to that time the tribes had been all pretty friendly. I won't say that there wasn't bad young men that did bad things, but the old men didn't approve of that, and when they could catch their young men doing anything o' that sort they'd punish them. Why, from 1851 to 1854, I was trading with Indians right along; that is, in winter."

"I wish you'd tell me about that, Hugh."

"Why, sure, I'll tell you all there is to tell. I hired out to old Corcoran one fall. He had a trading post down on the Platte, a little way east of the forks, and the Indians used to come in there sometimes, but there was other posts, and he didn't get as much trade as he thought he ought to; so he hired me to travel around to the camps, and stop with the Indians and trade with them, and fetch in what furs I got to the post. I started out that first winter with a big wagon, hauled by bulls, and with quite a lot o' trade goods, to find the Cheyenne camp. I remember we'd heard that they were up on Horse Creek, and I started up there. It took me a long time to get there, for bulls don't travel very fast, you know, and when I got there I found they'd moved over onto the Platte, so I had to follow 'em there, and when I got there they were just moving out to go further up the stream, to above where Fort Laramie stands, and I had to trail along with 'em. However, at last they got located for the winter, and I went into Spotted Wolf's lodge and lived there with him. After I got there and unpacked my goods, Spotted Wolf sent a crier out through the camp, and told the Indians that I was there and ready to trade, and before very long I had my store agoing."

"Well, what did you trade to them, Hugh?" asked Jack.

"Well, there's one thing I didn't trade to 'em, and that is whiskey. That was before the days when anybody thought of trading liquor to the Indians, though of course now and then in a fort they gave a man a dram, as they called it; but in them days there wasn't never no trading of liquor. I had tobacco and red cloth, and beads and little mirrors, and some silver coins that they used to hammer out plates from to wear on their heads."

"Oh, I know! I've seen pictures of Indians with great silver plates on their scalp locks, and big ones at the top and little ones running down to the end."

"That's it, that's just what I mean. Well, I lived pretty near the whole winter in that camp. The Indians had plenty of dried meat and back fat, and tongues, and we lived well. Once in a while I'd go out up into the hills and kill a deer, or a couple of antelope; and two or three times the buffalo came close to the camp, in good weather, so that we made a killing; so we had fresh meat during a good part of the winter. Along in the end of February or first of March I had all the robes and furs that my team could haul, and I started back. I'd taken a half breed boy with me to drive the bulls, and we got along all right till we got down pretty close to Scott's Bluffs. When we got there I noticed that one of the bulls was kind of sick. I didn't know what was the matter with him. We drove along till night, and camped, and the next morning that bull was dead. We went on, and the next day two more of the bulls seemed sick, and the next morning they were dead; so we couldn't go no further. I unloaded the wagon, piled up the bales of robes all around it, went into camp there, and sent the boy on to old Corcoran, to get some more bulls. I expected him back in about six or seven days, but I was eighteen days there in camp before he showed up again. I tell you, them was long days, too. Nothing to do except to sit there and watch them bales of fur, and cook three meals a day. I got terrible tired of it."

"After I'd been there about a week, one morning I saw an Indian dog on the prairie, about a hundred yards off. He was sneaking around, looking this way and that way, and when he saw me move about the camp, he just sat down and watched me. I walked outside my stockade and called to him, but he didn't pay no attention, just sat there. I was kind of uneasy when I saw him, for I thought maybe a party of Indians might be coming along, and if they did, and took a notion to them furs, there was nothing to stop them carrying 'em all off; but nobody showed up. The next morning the dog was still there. I went out and walked toward him, but as fast as I walked toward him, he walked away, and I couldn't get nearer than about a hundred yards; so I went back to the robes and figured what I should do. I wanted to get hold o' that dog, for I was powerful lonesome, and I thought he'd be kind o' company. I went back to the camp, and when I got there the dog had come back to the place where he was at first and was settin' there. I took a piece of dried meat and went out to where the dog was, and there I scattered a few chips of meat on the ground, and then went back to camp, and every few feet as I went I'd cut off a little piece of meat and drop it on the ground. When I got back, the dog had come to the place where I put the first meat, and was nosing around, picking it up, and after a while he struck the trail of meat toward camp, and came along pretty slowly, pretty shy and suspicious, until he was about half way between the place where he started and the stockade. He wouldn't come any further than that. I sat on the bale of robes and talked to him, and called him, and coaxed him, and he'd look at me and put back his ears and wag his tail, but he was afraid. I worked with that dog that way three days, before I could get him inside of the stockade, but on the fourth day he would come to me, as I sat by the fire, and take pieces of meat out of my hand, and after a while he lay down on the other side of the fire and went to sleep. That night I got my hand on him and patted him, and coaxed him, and then he saw that I was friendly, and from that time he wasn't afraid. I tell you he was good company to me, and I got to think a heap of him before that half breed got back. He was a pretty nice looking dog, too; had dark brown hair, so that he looked some like a beaver; so I called him Beaver. He got to know his name right soon, and he stayed with me for four years; and one time, when I was in the Cheyenne camp, he disappeared. I always believed some of them Cheyenne women got hold of him and killed him for a feast."

"Well, that's a good story, Hugh. I wish I could have been the boy that drove that team. I'd like to have spent a winter in an Indian camp; and above all, in those old times."

"Yes, son, I expect you'd have liked it right well. There was a heap o' difference between Indians then and now; they were right good people then, they hadn't picked up many white men's ways; so long as you treated 'em well they gave you the very best they had, and all you wanted of it. There wa'nt any beggars then, and the men you made friends with couldn't do enough for you. Of course when I went into old Spotted Wolf's lodge, and used it for a store and a boarding house, I made him some little presents, like two or three yards of red cloth, and three or four strings of beads and a mirror or two to his women. That is all it cost me to stop there all winter, board, lodging and mending all attended to for me."

"Well," said Jack, "I wish I could have seen some of those old days."

"You're going to see a heap this summer, son, that will be new to you, and you'll see a lot of old-time Indians and old-time Indian ways, up where we're going."

By this time darkness had fallen, and the sky was full of stars. The fire had burned down, and the air was growing cool. They spread their beds, and before long were sleeping soundly.

CHAPTER VII. AN INDIAN WAR PARTY.

When Hugh and Jack started next morning the sky was overcast, and a cold wind blew from the north. Before they had travelled far, it began to rain. Soon the rain changed to snow and it grew very cold. They put on their coats and slickers, and for an hour or two travelled through a howling snow-storm. Suddenly the wind ceased, the snow stopped falling, the sun came out, and it grew very warm. The snow which had covered the ground speedily melted, and again they travelled along over a summer prairie.

It was near mid-day when Hugh suddenly drew up his horse, and motioned to Jack to ride up beside him. He pointed to the ground, where Jack saw many old tracks of horses, and besides these, a half dozen ruts in the soil, like those made by wagon wheels, but irregular, moving from side to side as they proceeded, and looking as if something had been dragged along the ground, following in some degree the inequalities of its surface. Jack could see that these marks, as well as the hoof prints, had been made a good while before, yet after the grass had begun to grow in the spring. The trail pointed nearly in the direction which they were following, so that by keeping on, they would cross it at an acute angle.

"There, son," said Hugh, "there's been a camp of people along here."

"Indians?"

"Yes, quite a bunch of 'em. There was quite a band of horses, and the lodge poles and travois, as you see, make a pretty big trail. I expect there must be a dozen lodges of 'em at least; maybe more."

"Oh," said Jack, "I was wondering what those queer marks were; those are the travois, are they?"

"Yes, them and the lodge poles. You know, when they're moving over the prairie they tie a bunch of lodge poles on either side of the horse, over his withers, and the big ends of the poles drag on the ground; that's what's cut the prairie up this way. Them people are going pretty near the same way we're going, but it's three or four weeks since they've passed. I've a notion we'll follow this trail for a while, and see which way they're going. If they seem to be going the same way we are, we'll branch off and travel closer to the mountains, where the country is rougher and there's more timber."

Hugh rode on, close by the trail, and Jack followed, driving the pack horses. A mile or two further along, Hugh stopped again, and Jack rode up to him. Hugh pointed again to the ground before him, and then got off and carefully inspected a moccasin track in the trail that looked much fresher than the others. "Well," said he, as he stood up after looking carefully at it, "I don't like that very much. Somebody's been along here quite a while after the bulk of these people passed. It's hard to tell much about that track, because it's been rained on, but it looks to me as if it wa'n't more'n a day or two old. You go back and drive the horses on slowly, and I'll see whether I can make anything out of this fresh trail or not."

For an hour or two Jack followed Hugh, who went on quite slowly, frequently dismounting and looking at a track, and then sometimes going on foot for some little distance before mounting again. At length the trail bore off considerably to the right, and here Hugh left it and struck off sharply to the left. A little later, he called Jack up to him and said, "There seems to be seven or eight men following that trail on foot, and I expect likely it's a war party that's going to try to catch that camp and steal their horses. If that's so, you and me want to get as far away as we can, and I expect the best thing we can do is to strike off toward the mountains, and when we camp to-night to cache as well as we can; and maybe we'll take an early start to-night, after the horses have fed and got rested, and make a quick drive, camping pretty early in the morning, and starting out again just before night, and ride half the night. I don't want to get mixed up in no squabbles between any Indians that we're likely to meet here a way."

They rode on pretty rapidly. Down in a little hollow they stopped, looked carefully over the packs, tightened all the saddles, and then remounting, started at a still better pace, trotting wherever it was level or down hill, and only walking the horses on the steeper slopes. By this time it had become very hot. Jack had tied his slicker and coat on behind the saddle, but was still uncomfortable under the broiling rays of the sun.