Tracks of a Rolling Stone [63]
my journal:
'JULY 5TH. - Men sulky because they have nothing to eat but rancid ham, and biscuit dust which has been so often soaked that it is mouldy and sour. They are a dainty lot! Samson and I left camp early with the hopes of getting meat. While he was shooting prairie dogs his horse made off, and cost me nearly an hour's riding to catch. Then, accidentally letting go of my mustang, he too escaped; and I had to run him down with the other. Towards evening, spied a small band of buffaloes, which we approached by leading our horses up a hollow. They got our wind, however, and were gone before we were aware of it. They were all young, and so fast, it took a twenty minutes' gallop to come up with them. Samson's horse put his foot in a hole, and the cropper they both got gave the band a long start, as it became a stern chase, and no heading off.
'At length I managed to separate one from the herd by firing my pistol into the "brown," and then devoted my efforts to him alone. Once or twice he turned and glared savagely through his mane. When quite isolated he pulled up short, so did I. We were about sixty yards apart. I flung the reins upon the neck of the mustang, who was too blown to stir, and handling my rifle, waited for the bull to move so that I might see something more than the great shaggy front, which screened his body. But he stood his ground, tossing up the sand with his hoofs. Presently, instead of turning tail, he put his head down, and bellowing with rage, came at me as hard as he could tear. I had but a moment for decision, - to dig spurs into the mustang, or risk the shot. I chose the latter; paused till I was sure of his neck, and fired when he was almost under me. In an instant I was sent flying; and the mustang was on his back with all four legs in the air.
'The bull was probably as much astonished as we were. His charge had carried him about thirty yards, at most, beyond us. There he now stood; facing me, pawing the ground and snorting as before. Badly wounded I knew him to be, - that was the worst of it; especially as my rifle, with its remaining loaded barrel, lay right between us. To hesitate for a second only, was to lose the game. There was no time to think of bruises; I crawled, eyes on him, straight for my weapon: got it - it was already cocked, and the stock unbroken - raised my knee for a rest. We were only twenty yards apart (the shot meant death for one of the two), and just catching a glimpse of his shoulder-blade, I pulled. I could hear the thud of the heavy bullet, and - what was sweeter music - the ugh! of the fatal groan. The beast dropped on his knees, and a gush of blood spurted from his nostrils.
'But the wild devil of a mustang? that was my first thought now. Whenever one dismounted, it was necessary to loosen his long lariat, and let it trail on the ground. Without this there was no chance of catching him. I saw at once what had happened: by the greatest good fortune, at the last moment, he must have made an instinctive start, which probably saved his life, and mine too. The bull's horns had just missed his entrails and my leg, - we were broadside on to the charge, - and had caught him in the thigh, below the hip. There was a big hole, and he was bleeding plentifully. For all that, he wouldn't let me catch him. He could go faster on three legs than I on two.
'It was getting dark, I had not touched food since starting, nor had I wetted my lips. My thirst was now intolerable. The travelling rule, about keeping on, was an ugly incubus. Samson would go his own ways - he had sense enough for that - but how, when, where, was I to quench my thirst? Oh! for the tip of Lazarus' finger - or for choice, a bottle of Bass - to cool my tongue! Then too, whither would the mustang stray in the night if I rested or fell asleep? Again and again I tried to stalk him by the starlight. Twice I got hold of his tail, but he broke away. If I drove him down to the river banks the chance of
'JULY 5TH. - Men sulky because they have nothing to eat but rancid ham, and biscuit dust which has been so often soaked that it is mouldy and sour. They are a dainty lot! Samson and I left camp early with the hopes of getting meat. While he was shooting prairie dogs his horse made off, and cost me nearly an hour's riding to catch. Then, accidentally letting go of my mustang, he too escaped; and I had to run him down with the other. Towards evening, spied a small band of buffaloes, which we approached by leading our horses up a hollow. They got our wind, however, and were gone before we were aware of it. They were all young, and so fast, it took a twenty minutes' gallop to come up with them. Samson's horse put his foot in a hole, and the cropper they both got gave the band a long start, as it became a stern chase, and no heading off.
'At length I managed to separate one from the herd by firing my pistol into the "brown," and then devoted my efforts to him alone. Once or twice he turned and glared savagely through his mane. When quite isolated he pulled up short, so did I. We were about sixty yards apart. I flung the reins upon the neck of the mustang, who was too blown to stir, and handling my rifle, waited for the bull to move so that I might see something more than the great shaggy front, which screened his body. But he stood his ground, tossing up the sand with his hoofs. Presently, instead of turning tail, he put his head down, and bellowing with rage, came at me as hard as he could tear. I had but a moment for decision, - to dig spurs into the mustang, or risk the shot. I chose the latter; paused till I was sure of his neck, and fired when he was almost under me. In an instant I was sent flying; and the mustang was on his back with all four legs in the air.
'The bull was probably as much astonished as we were. His charge had carried him about thirty yards, at most, beyond us. There he now stood; facing me, pawing the ground and snorting as before. Badly wounded I knew him to be, - that was the worst of it; especially as my rifle, with its remaining loaded barrel, lay right between us. To hesitate for a second only, was to lose the game. There was no time to think of bruises; I crawled, eyes on him, straight for my weapon: got it - it was already cocked, and the stock unbroken - raised my knee for a rest. We were only twenty yards apart (the shot meant death for one of the two), and just catching a glimpse of his shoulder-blade, I pulled. I could hear the thud of the heavy bullet, and - what was sweeter music - the ugh! of the fatal groan. The beast dropped on his knees, and a gush of blood spurted from his nostrils.
'But the wild devil of a mustang? that was my first thought now. Whenever one dismounted, it was necessary to loosen his long lariat, and let it trail on the ground. Without this there was no chance of catching him. I saw at once what had happened: by the greatest good fortune, at the last moment, he must have made an instinctive start, which probably saved his life, and mine too. The bull's horns had just missed his entrails and my leg, - we were broadside on to the charge, - and had caught him in the thigh, below the hip. There was a big hole, and he was bleeding plentifully. For all that, he wouldn't let me catch him. He could go faster on three legs than I on two.
'It was getting dark, I had not touched food since starting, nor had I wetted my lips. My thirst was now intolerable. The travelling rule, about keeping on, was an ugly incubus. Samson would go his own ways - he had sense enough for that - but how, when, where, was I to quench my thirst? Oh! for the tip of Lazarus' finger - or for choice, a bottle of Bass - to cool my tongue! Then too, whither would the mustang stray in the night if I rested or fell asleep? Again and again I tried to stalk him by the starlight. Twice I got hold of his tail, but he broke away. If I drove him down to the river banks the chance of