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THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN"
Western Novels by
ZANE GREY
Desert Gold
Sunset Pass
Forlorn River
To the Last Man
Majesty's Rancho
Riders of the Purple Sage
The Vanishing American
Nevada
Wilderness Trek
Code of the West
The Thundering Herd
Fighting Caravans
30,000 on the Hoof
The Hash Knife Outfit
Thunder Mountain
The Heritage of the Desert
Under the Tonto Rim
Knights of the Range
Western Union
The Lost Wagon Train
Shadow on the Trail
Betty Zane
Captives of the Desert
Deerstalker
Maverick Queen
Valley of Wild Horses
The Mysterious Rider
Twin Sombreros
The Rainbow Trail
Arizona Ames
Raiders of Spanish Peaks
The Border Legion
The Desert of Wheat
Stairs of Sand
The Drift Fence
Wanderer of the Wasteland
The Light of Western Stars
The UJP. Trail
The Lone Star Ranger
Robber's Roost
The Man of the Forest
The Call of the Canyon
West of the Pecos
The Shepherd of Guadaloupe
The Trail Driver
Wildfire
Wild Horse Mesa
Dude Ranger
Last Trail
Rogue River Feud
Spirit of the Border
ZANE GREY BOOKS FOR BOYS
Tappan's Burro
Ken Ward in the Jungle
The Young Pitcher
The Young Lion Hunter
Roping Lions in the Grand Canyon
The Last of the Plainsmen
The Shortstop
The Young Forester
The Redheaded Outfield
ZANE GREY
The Last
of the Plainsmen
GROSSET & DUNLAP
COPYRIGHT, 19O8, BY
OUXINC PUBLISHING
RIGHTS RESERVED
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
A. C. McCujRC & Co.
COPYRIGHT, 1936, BY
OREY
BY ARRANGEMENT WITH A. C. McCi-URG & Co.
PRINTED IN THE HALTED STATES, OF AMERICA
PREFATORY NOTE
>UFFALO JONES needs no introduction to
American sportsmen, but to those of my readers who
are unacquainted with him a few words may not be
amiss.
He was born sixty-two years ago on the Illinois
prairie, and he has devoted practically all of his life
to the pursuit of wild animals. It has been a pursuit
which owed its unflagging energy and indomitable
purpose to a singular passion, almost an obsession,
to capture alive, not to kill. He has caught and broken
the will of every well-known wild beast native to
western North America. Killing was repulsive to
him. He even disliked the sight of a sporting rifle,
though for years necessity compelled him to earn his
livelihood by supplying the meat of buffalo to the
caravans crossing the plains. At last, seeing that the
extinction of the noble beasts was inevitable, he
smashed his rifle over a wagon wheel and vowed to
save the species. For ten years he labored, pursuing,
capturing and taming buffalo, for which the West
gave him fame, and the name Preserver of the Amer-
ican Bison.
As civilization encroached upon the plains Buffalo
Jones ranged slowly westward; and to-day an iso-
lated desert-bound plateau on the north rim of the
Grand Canon of Arizona is his home. There his buf-
falo browse with the mustang and deer, and are as
free as ever they were on the rolling plains*
Prefatory Note
In the spring of 1907 I was the fortunate com-
panion of the old plainsman on a trip across the
desert, and a hunt in that wonderful country of yel-
low crags, deep canons and giant pines. I want to tell
about it. I want to show the color and beauty of those
painted cliffs and the long, brown-matted bluebell-
dotted aisles in the grand forests ; I want to give a
suggestion of the tang of the dry, cool air ; and par-
ticularly I want to throw a little light upon the life
and nature of that strange character and remarkable
man, Buffalo Jones.
Happily in remembrance a writer can live over
his experiences, and see once more the moon-blanched
silver mountain peaks against the dark blue skyj hear
the lonely sough of the night-wind through the pines j
feel the dance o wild expectation in the quivering
pulse y the stir, the thrill, the joy of hard action in
perilous moments; the mystery of man's yearning
for the unattainable.
As a boy I read of Boone with a throbbing heart,
and the silent moccasined, vengeful Wetzel I loved.
I pored over the deeds of later men Custer and
Carson, those heroes of the plains. And as a man I
came to see the wonder, the tragedy of their lives,
and to write about them. It has been my destiny-
what a happy fulfillment of my dreams of border
spirit ! to live for a while in the fast-fading wild en-
vironment which produced these great men with the
last of the great plainsmen.
ZANE GREY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER. PAGE
I THE ARIZONA DESERT . . 3
II THE RANGE 29
III THE LAST HERD .... 54
IV THE TRAIL .... 75
V OAK SPRING .... 99
VI THE WHITE MUSTANG . . . 109
VII SNAKE GULCH . . . .123
VIII NAZA I NAZA! NAZA I . . .141
IX THE LAND OF THE MusK-Ox . .152
X SUCCESS AND FAILURE . . .168
XI ON TO THE SlWASH . . .191
XII OLD TOM 213
XIII SINGING CLIFFS .... 234
XIV ALL HEROES BUT ONE . . . 253
XV JONES ON COUGARS . . . 273
XVI KITTY 284
XVII CONCLUSION . . . .311
CHAPTER I
THE ARIZONA DESERT
ONE afternoon, far out on the sun-baked waste
of sage, we made camp near a clump of
withered pinon trees. The cold desert wind
Came down upon us with the sudden darkness. Even
the Mormons, who were finding the trail for us across
the drifting sands, forgot to sing and pray ?t sun-
down. We huddled round the campfire, a tired and
silent little group. When out of the lonely, faelan*
choly night some wandering Nav^ajos stole* like
shadows to our fire, we hailed their advent with
delight. They were good-natured Indians, willing
to barter a blanket or bracelet; and one of tbem, a
tall, gaunt fellow, with the bearing of a chief, could
speak a little English.
" How," said he, in a deep chest voice.
"Hello, Noddlecoddy," greeted Jim Emmett, the
Mormon guide.
" Ughl " answered the Indian.
w Big paleface Buffalo Jones-^-big chief frfcffata
man," introduced Emmett indicating Jones.
3
The Last of the Plainsmen
*How," The Navajo spoke with dignity, and
extended a friendly hand.
"Jones big white chief rope buffalo tie up
tight," continued Emmett, making motions with his
,arm, as if he were whirling a lasso.
" No bigheap small buffalo," said the Indian,
holding his hand level with his knee, and smiling
'broadly.
Jones, erect, rugged, brawny, stood in the full
light of the campfire. He had a dark, bronzed,
inscrutable face; a stern mouth and square jaw, keen
eyes, half-closed from years of searching the wide
plains, and deep furrows wrinkling his cheeks. A
Strange stillness enfolded his features the tran-
quilly earned from a long life of adventure,
He held up both muscular hands to the Navajo,
and spread out his fingers.
u Rope buffalo heap big buffalo heap many
pne sun."
The Indian straightened up, but kept his friendly
smile.
" Me big chief," went on Jones, " me go far
north Land of Little Sticks Naza 1 Naza ! rope
musk-ox; rope White Manitou of Great Slaves*
Naza! Nazal"
14 Naza! 11 replied the Navajo, pointing to the
North Star 5" no *io/> *
The Arizona Desert
Yes me big paleface me come long way
toward setting sun go cross Big Water go Buck*
skin Siwash chase cougar."
The cougar, or mountain lion, is a Navajo god ,
find the Navajos hold him in as much fear and
reverence as do the Great Slave Indians the musk-ox.
" No kill cougar," continued Jones, as the Indian 5 *
bold features hardened. " Run cougar horseback*
run long way dogs chase cougar long time chase
cougar up tree! Me big chief me climb tree
climb high up lasso cougar rope cougar tie
cougar all tight"
The Navajo s solemn face relaxed
" White man heap fun. No."
" Yes/' cried Jones, extending his great arms,
** Me strong; me rope cougar me tie cougar; ride
off wigwam, keep cougar alive."
" No," replied the savage vehemently.
" Yes," protested Jones, nodding earnestly.
" No," answered the Navajo, louder f raising hb
dark head.
"Yes !"shouted Jones.
41 BIG LIE! " the Indian thundered.
Jones joinec good-naturedly in the laugh at Ms
expense. The *ndian had crudely voiced a skepticism
I had heard more delicately hinted in New
singularly enough, which had strengthened
The Last of the Plainsmen
our way West, as we met ranchers, prospectors and
cowboys. But those few men I had fortunately met,
who really knew Jones, more than overbalanced the
doubt and ridicule cast upon him. I recalled a
scarred old veteran pf the plains, who had talked to
-me in true Western bluntness :
* " Say, young feller, I heerd yer couldn't git acrost
,the canon fer the deep snow on the north rim. Wai,
ye're lucky. Now, yer hit the trail fer New York,
an' keep goin' ! Don't ever tackle the desert, 'spe-
cially with them Mormons. They've got water on
the brain, wusser 'n religion. It's two hundred an*
fifty miles from Flagstaff to Jones* range, an' only
two drinks on the trail. I know this hyar Buffalo
Jones. I knowed him way back in the seventies, when
he was doin' them ropin' stunts thet made him famous
as the preserver of the American bison. I know
tbout that crazy trip of his'n to the Barren Lands,
, after musk-ox. An' I reckon I kin guess what he'll
do over there in the Siwash. He'll rope cougars
sure he will an' watch 'em jump. Jones would rope
the devil, an* tie him down if the lasso didn't burn.
Oh! he's hell on ropin' things. An' he's wusser *n
/foeJI on men, an' bosses, an' dogs."
All that my well-meaning friend suggested madfc
me, of course, only the more eager to go with Jones,
Where I had once been interested in the old buffalo
8
The Arizona De&ert
hunter, I was now fascinated And now I was with
him in the desert and seeing him as he was, a simple*
quiet man, who fitted the tnountains and the silences,
and the long reaches of distance.
" It does seem hard to believe all this about
Jones," remarked Judd, one of Emmett's men.
" How could a man have the strength and the nerve ?
And isn't it cruel to keep wild animals in captivity?
Isn't it against God's word? "
Quick as speech could flow, Jcr^es quoted: " And
God said, ' Let us make man in our image, and give
him dominion over the fish of the sea, the fowls of
the air, over all the cattle, and over every creeping
thing that creepeth upon the earth ' ! "
"Dominion over all the beasts of the field!**
repeated Jones, his big voice rolling out He
clenched his huge fists, and spread wide his long
arms. " Dominion ! That was God's word 1 " 'The
power and intensity of him could be felt. Then he
relaxed, dropped his arms, and once more grew calm.
But he had shown a glimpse of the great, strange
and absorbing passion of his life. Once he had
told me how, when a mere child, he had hazarded
limb and neck to capture a fox squirrel, how he had
held on to the vicious little animal, though it bit his
hand through; how he had never learned to play
the games of boyhood: that when the youths of the.
ir
The Last of the Plainsmen
little Illinois village were at play, he roamed the
prairies, or the rolling, wooded hills, or watched *
gopher hole. That boy was father of the man: for
sixty years an enduring passion for dominion over
wild animals had possessed him, and made his life
an endless pursuit.
Our guests, the Navajos, departed early, and van-
ished silently in the gloom of the desert. We set-
itled down again Into a quiet that was broken only
by the low chant-like song of a praying Mormon.
Suddenly the hounds bristled, and old Moze, a surly
and aggressive dog, rose and barked at some real
or imaginary desert prowler. A sharp command
from Jones made Moze crouch down, and the other
hounds cowered close together.
" Better tie up the dogs," suggested Jones. " Like
& not coyotes run down here from the hills."
The hounds were my especial delight. But Jones
regarded them with considerable contempt. When
all was said, this was no small wonder, for that
,quintet of long-eared canines would have tried the
patience of a saint Old Moze was a Missouri hound
jthat Jones had procured in that State of uncertain
qualities; and the dog had grown old over coon-
trails. He was black and white, grizzled and battle-
scarred; and if ever a dog had an evil eye, Moze
was that dog. He had a way of wagging his tail-^
The Arizona Desert
an indeterminate, equivocal sort of wag, as if he real*
ized his ugliness and knew he stood little chance of
making friends, but was still hopeful and willing,,
As for me, the first time he manifested this evidence
of a good heart under a rough coat, he won me
forever.
To tell of Moze's derelictions up to that time
would take more space than would a history of the
whole trip; but the enumeration of several incidents
will at once stamp him as a dog of character, and will
establish the fact that even if his progenitors had
never taken any blue ribbons, they had at least
bequeathed him fighting blood. At Flagstaff we
chained him in the yard of a livery stable. Next
morning we found him hanging by his chain on the
other side of an eight-foot fence. We took him
down, expecting to have .the sorrowful duty of bury
ing him; but Moze shook himself, wagged his tail,
and then pitched into the livery stable dog. As a
matter of fact, fighting was his forte. He whipped
all of the dogs in Flagstaff; and when our blood*
hounds came on from California, he put three of them
hors de combat at once, and subdued the pup with a
savage growl. His crowning feat, however, made
even the stoical Jones open his mouth in amaze. We
had taken Moze to the El Tovar at the Grand
Canon, and finding it impossible to get over to the
The Last of the Plainsmen
>north rim, we left him with one of Jones's men,
> called Rust, who was working on the canon trail.
Rust's instructions were to bring Moze to Flagstaff
in two weeks. He brought the dog a little ahead of
time, and roared his appreciation of the relief it was
to get the responsibility off his hands. And he related
many strange things, most striking of which was how
Moze had broken his chain and plunged into the
raging Colorado River, and tried to swim it just
above the terrible Sockdolager Rapids. Rust and
his fellow-workmen watched the dog disappear in the
yellow, wrestling, turbulent whirl of waters, and had
heard his knell in the booming roar of the falls.
Nothing but a fish could live in that current; nothing
but a bird could scale those perpendicular marble
walls. That night, however, when the men crossed
on the tramway, Moze met them with a wag of his
tail. He had crossed the river, and he had come
back!
To the four reddish-brown, big-framed blood-
hounds I had given the names of Don, Tige, Jude
jmd Ranger; and by dint of persuasion, had succeeded
in establishing some kind of family relation between
them and Moze. This night I tied up the blood*
hounds, after bathing and salving their sore feet?
and I left Moze free, for he grew fretful and surly
under restraint
to
The Arizona Desert
The Mormons, prone, dark, blanketed figures, lay
on the sand. Jones was crawling into his bed. I
walked a little way from the dying fire, and faced
the north, where the desert stretched, mysterious and
' illimitable. How solemn and still it was I I drew i&
a great breath of the cold air, and thrilled with z
nameless sensation. Something was there, away to
the northward; it called to me from out of the dark
and gloom ; I was going to meet it.
I lay down to sleep with the great blue expanse
open to my eyes. The stars were very large, and
wonderfully bright, yet they seemed so much farther
off than I had ever seen them. The wind softly
sifted the sand. I, hearkened to the tinkle of the
cowbells on the hobbled horses. The last thing I
remembered was old Moze creeping dose to my side,
seeking the warmth of my body.
When I awakened, a long, pale line showed out of
the dun-colored clouds in the east. It slowly length-
ened, and tinged to red. Then the morning broke,
and the slopes of snow on the San Francisco peaks
behind us glowed a delicate pink. The Mormons
were up and doing with the dawn. They were stal-
wart men, rather silent, and all workers. It was
interesting to see them pack for the day's journey.
They traveled with wagons and mules, in the most
primitive way, which Jones assured me was
U
The Last of the PMnsmen
as their fathers had crossed the plains fifty years
before, on the trail to Utah,
All morning we made good time, and as we
descended into the desert, the air became warmer, the
scrubby cedar growth began to fail, and the bunches
of sage were few and far between. I turned often
to gaze back at the San Francisco peaks. The snow-
capped tips glistened and grew higher, and stood
out in startling relief. Some one said they could be
seen two hundred miles across the desert, and were
a landmark and a fascination to all travelers thither*
ward, ,
I never raised my eyes to the north that I did not
draw my breath quickly and grow chill with awe and
bewilderment with the marvel of the desert. The
scaly red ground descended gradually; bare red
knolls, like waves, rolled away northward; black
buttes reared their flat heads; long ranges of sand
flowed between them like streams, and all sloped
away to merge into gray, shadowy obscurity, into
wild and desolate, dreamy and misty nothingness.
41 Do you see those white sand dunes there, more
to the left ? " asked Emmett " The Little Colorado
runs in there. How far does it look to you? "
** Thirty miles, perhaps/' I replied, adding ten
mJles to my estimate.
"It's seventy-five. Well get there day after
The Arizona Desert
to-morrow. If the snow in the mountains has beguaa
to melt, we'll have a time getting across."
That afternoon, a hot wind blew in my face, carry*
ing fine sand that cut and blinded. It filled my
throat, sending me to the water cask till I wai
ashamed. When I fell into my bed at night, I nevefr
turned. The next day was hotter; the wind blew
harder; the sand stung sharper.
About noon the following day, the horses whin*
nied, and the mules roused out of their tardy gait
"They smell water," said Emmett. And despite
the heat, and the sand in my nostrils, I smelled it,
too. The dogs, poor foot-sore fellows, trotted on
ahead down the trail. A few more miles of hot sand
and gravel and red stone brought us around a low
m^sa to the Little Colorado.
It was a wide stream of swiftly running,, reddish*
muddy water. In the channel, cut by floods, little
streams trickled and meandered in all directions. The
main part of the river ran in close to the bank we
were on. The dogs lolled in the water; the horses
and mules tried to run in, but were restrained; the
men drank, and bathed their faces. According to my
Flagstaff adviser, this was one of the two drinks i
would get on the desert, so I availed myself heartily
of the opportunity. The water was full of sand? bat
cold and gratefully thirst-quenching.
13
The Last of the PMnsme
The Little Colorado seemed no more to me than
& shallow creek ; I heard nothing sullen or menacing
in its musical flow.
* 4 Doesn't look bad, eh?" queried Emmett, who
read my thought. " You'd be surprised to learn how
many men and Indians, horses, sheep and wagons
are buried under that quicksand."
The secret was out, and I wondered no more. At
once the stream and wet bars of sand took on a
different color. I removed my boots, and waded
out to a little ban The sand seemed quite firm, but
water oozed out around my feet; and when I stepped,
the whole bar shook like jelly. I pushed my foot
through the crust, and the cold, wet sand took hold,
and tried to suck me down.
" How can you ford this stream with horses? " I
asked Emmett.
" We must take our chances," replied he. " We'll
hitch two teams to one wagon, and run the horses.
IVe forded here at worse stages than this. Once
* team got stuck, and I had to leave it; another time
the water was high, and washed me downstream."
Emmett sent his son into the stream on a mule.
The rider lashed his mount, and plunging, splashing,
crossed at a pace near a gallop. He returned in the
same manner, and reported one bad place near the
other side.
1*
The Arizona Desert
Jones and I got on the first wagon and tried to
coax up the dogs, but they would not come. Emmett
had to lash the four horses to start them ; and other
Mormons riding alongside, yelled at them, and used
their whips. The wagoe bowled into the water with
a tremendous splash. We were wet through before
we had gone twenty feet The plunging horses were
lost in yellow spray; the stream rushed through the
wheels; the Moimons yelled. I wanted to see, but
was lost i:i a veil of yellow mist. Jones yelled in
my ear, but I could not hear what he said. Once
the wagon wheels struck a stone or log, almost lurch-
ing us overboard. A muddy splash blinded me. I
cried out in my excitement, and punched Jones in the
back. Next moment, the keen exhilaration of the
ride gave way to horror. We seemed to drag, and
almost stop. Some one roared: "Horse down!"
One instant of painful suspense, in which imagination
pictured another tragedy added to the record of this
deceitful river a moment filled with intense feeling,
and sensation of splash, and yell, and fury of action;
then the three able horses dragged their comrade
out of the quicksand. He regained his feet, and
plunged on. Spurred by fear, the horses increased
their efforts, and amid clouds of spray, galloped the
remaining distance to the other side.
Jones looked disgusted. Like all plainsmen, be
The Last of the Plainsmen
hated water. Emmett and his men calmly unhitched
INo trace of alarm, or even of excitement showed in
their bronzed faces.
" We made that fine and easy," remarked Emmett.
y So I sat down and wondered what Jones and
Emmett, and these men would consider really hazard-
ous, I began to have a feeling that I would find
out; that experience for me was but in its infancy;
that far across the desert the something which had
called me would show hard, keen, perilous life. And
I began to think of reserve powers of fortitude and
endurance.
The other wagons were brought across without
mishap; but the dogs did not come with them,
Jones called and called. The dogs howled and
howled. Finally I waded out over the wet bars
and little streams to a point several hundred yards
nearer the dogs. Moze was lying down, but the
others were whining and howling in a state of great
perturbation. I called and called. They answered,
ted even ran into the water, but did not start across.
" Hyah, Moze! hyah, you Indian! " I yelled, los-
ing my patience. " YouVe already swum the Big
Colorado, and this is only a brook. Come on ! "
This appeal evidently touched Moze, for he
barked, and plunged in. He made the water fly,
and when carried off his feet, breasted the current
The Arizona Desert
with energy and* power. He made shore almost
even with me, and wagged his tail Not to be out*
done, Jude, Tige and Don followed suit, and first
one and then another was swept off his feet and
carried downstream. They landed below me. This
left Ranger, the pup, alone on the other shore. Off
all the pitiful yelps ever uttered by a frightened and
lonely puppy, his were the most forlorn I had ever
heard. Time after time he plunged in, and with
many bitter howls of distress, went back. I kept
calling, and at last, hoping to make him come by a
show of indifference, I started away. This broke
his heart. Putting up his head, he let out a long,
melancholy wail, which for aught I knew might have
been a prayer, and then consigned himself to the
yellow current. Ranger swam like a boy learning.
He seemed to be afraid to get wet. His forefeet
were continually pawing the air in front of his nose.
When he struck the swift place, he went downstream
like a flash, but still kept swimming valiantly, I
tried to follow along the sand-bar, but found it
impossible. I encouraged him by yelling. He
drifted far below, stranded on an island, crossed it,
and plunged in again, to make shore almost out of
my sight And when at last I got to dry sand, there
was Ranger, wet and disheveled, but consciously
proud and happy,
It
The Last of the Plainsmen
After lunch we entered upon the seventy-mile
stretch from the Little to the Big Colorado.
Imagination had pictured the desert for me as ai
vast, sandy plain, flat and monotonous. Reality
showed me desolate mountains gleaming bare in the
'sun, long lines of red bluffs, white sand dunes, and
hills of blue clay, areas of level ground in all, a
many-hued, boundless world in itself, wonderful and
beautiful, fading all around into the purple haze of
deceiving distance.
Thin, clear, sweet, dry, the desert air carried a
languor, a dreaminess, tidings of far-off things, and
an enthralling promise. The fragrance of flowers,
the beauty and grace of women, the sweetness of
tnusic, the mystery of life all seemed to float on that
promise. It was the air breathed by the lotus-eaters,
when they dreamed, and wandered no more.
Beyond the Little Colorado, we began to climb
again. The sand was thick; the horses labored; the
drivers shielded their faces. The dogs began to limp)
and lag. Ranger had to be taken into a wagon ; and
then, one by one, all of the other dogs except Moze.
He refused to ride, and trotted along with his head
'down.
Far to the front the pink cliffs, the ragged mesas,
the dark, volcanic spurs of the Big Colorado stood
$p and beckoned us onward. But they were a far
13
The Arizona Desert
hundred miles across the shifting sands, and baked
clay, and ragged rocks. Always in the rear rose the
San Francisco peaks, cold and pure, startlingly clear
and close in the rare atmosphere.
We camped near another water hole, located in a
deep, yellow-colored gorge, crumbling to pieces, a
ruin of rock, and silent as the grave. In the bottom
of the canon was a pool of water, covered with green
scum. My thirst was effectually quenched by the
mere sight of it. I slept poorly, and lay for hours
watching the great stars. The silence was painfully
oppressive. If Jones had not begun to give a respect-
able imitation of the exhaust pipe on a steamboat, I
should have been compelled to shout aloud, or get
up ; but this snoring would have dispelled anything.
The morning came gray and cheerless. I got up
stiff and sore, with a tongue like a rope.
All day long we ran the gauntlet of the hot, flying
sand. Night came again, a cold, windy night I
slept well until a mule stepped on my bed, which was
conducive to restlessness. At dawn, cold, gray clouds
tried to blot out the rosy east. I could hardly get
up. My lips were cracked; my tongue swollen to
twice its natural size; my eyes smarted and burned.
The barrels and kegs of water were exhausted-
Holes that had been dug in the dry sand of a dry
stream-bed the night before in the morning yielded
19
The Last of the Plainsmen
& scant supply of muddy alkali water, which went to
the horses.
Only twice that day did I rouse to anything resem-
bling enthusiasm. We came to a stretch of country
showing the wonderful diversity of the desert land
A long range of beautifully rounded clay dunes bor-
dered the trail. So symmetrical were they that I
imagined them works of sculptors. Light blue, dark
blue, clay blue, marine blue, cobalt blue every shade
of blue was there, but no other color. The other
time that I awoke to sensations from without was
when we came to the top of a ridge. We had been
passing through red-lands. Jones called the place a
strong, specific word which really was illustrative of
the heat amid those scaling red ridges. We came
out where the red changed abruptly to gray. I
seemed always to see things first, and I cried out:
** Look ! here are a red lake and trees ! "
" No, lad, not a lake,*' said old Jim, smiling at me; ,
" that's what haunts the desert traveler. It's only ft '
mirage! "
So I awoke to the realization of that illusive thing,
the mirage, a beautiful lie, false as stairs of sand.
Far northward a clear rippling lake sparkled in the
sunshine. Tall, stately trees, with waving green foli-
age, bordered the water. For a long moment it lay
there, smiling in the sun, a thing almost tangiblej
20
The Arizona Desert
and then it faded. I felt a sense of actual loss. So
real had been the illusion that I could not believe I
was not soon to drink and wade and dabble in the
sool waters. Disappointment was keen. This is
what maddens the prospector or sheep-herder lost in
the desert. Was it not a terrible thing to be dying
of thirst, to see sparkling water, almost to smell it,
and then realize suddenly that all was only a lying
trick of the desert, a lure, a delusion? I ceased to
wonder at the Mormons, and their search for water,
their talk of water. But I had not realized its true
significance. I had not known what water was. I
had never appreciated it. So it was my destiny to
learn that water is the greatest thing on earth. I
hung over a three-foot hole in a dry stream-bed, and
watched it ooze and seep through the sand, and fill
up oh, so slowly; and I felt it loosen my parched
tongue t and steal through all my dry body with
strength and life. Water is said to constitute three
fourths of the universe. However that may be, oji
the desert it is the whole world, and all of life.
Two days passed by, all hot sand and wind and
glare. The Mormons sang no more at evening;
Jones was silent; the dogs were limp as rags.
At Moncaupie Wash we ran into a sandstorm.
The horses turned their backs to it, and bowed their
heads patiently. The Mormon* covered themselves*
The Last of the Plainsmen
I wrapped a blanket round my head and hid behind
a sage bush. The wind, carrying the sand, made a
strange hollow roar. All was enveloped in a weird
yellow opacity. The sand seeped through the sage
bush and swept by with a soft, rustling sound, not
unlike the wind in the rye. From time to time I
raised a corner of my blanket and peeped out.
Where my feet had stretched was an enormous mound
of sand. I felt the blanket, weighted down, slowly
settle over me.
Suddenly as it had come, the sandstorm passed.
It left a changed world for us. The trail was cov-
ered; the wheels hub-deep in sand; the horses, walk-
ing sand dunes. I could not close my teeth without
grating harshly on sand.
We journeyed onward, and passed long lines of
petrified trees, some a hundred feet in length, lying
as they had fallen, thousands of years before. White
ants crawled among the ruins. Slowly climbing the
sandy trail, we circled a great red bluff with jagged
peaks, that had seemed an interminable obstacle. A
scant growth of cedar and sage again made its
appearance. Here we halted to pass another night.
Under a cedar I heard the plaintive, piteous bleat of
an animal I searched, and presently found a little
black and white lamb, scarcely able to stand. I*<
tame readily to me, and I carried It to the wagon.
22
The Arizona Desert
9HMMB9aMnawunMmnmBai!)ManMiMMMei!9nMm!
" That's a Navajo lamb," said Emmett. " It'i
lost. There are Navajo Indians close by."
" 'Away in the desert we heard its cry,' f> quoted
one of the Mormons.
Jones and I climbed the red mesa near camp to
see the sunset All the western world was ablaze in
golden glory. Shafts of light shot toward the zenith^
and binds of paler gold, tinging to rose, circled away
from the fiery, sinking globe. Suddenly the sun
sank, the gold changed to gray, then to purple, and
shadows formed in the deep gorge at our feet. So
sudden was the transformation that soon it was night f
the solemn, impressive night of the desert. A still-
ness that seemed too sacred to break clasped the place j
it was infinite; it held the bygone ages, and eternity.
More days, and miles, miles, miles! The last
day's ride to the Big Colorado was unforgettable.
We rode toward the head of a gigantic red cliff
pocket, a veritable inferno, immeasurably hot, glar-
ing, awful. It towered higher and higher above us.
When we reached a point of this red barrier, we
heard the dull rumbling roar of water, and we came
out, at length, on a winding trail cut in the face of
a bluS overhanging the Colorado River. The first
sight of most famous and much-heralded wonders of
nature is often disappointing; but never can this be
said of the blood-hued Rio Colorado. H it had
The Last of the Plainsmen
beauty, it was beauty that appalled. So riveted was
my gaze that I could hardly turn it across the river,
where Emmett proudly pointed out his lonely home
an oasis set down amidst beetling red cliffs. How
grateful to the eye was the green of alfalfa and
cottonwood! Going round the bluff trail, the wheels
had only a foot of room to spare; and the sheer
descent into the red, turbid, congested river was
terrifying.
I saw the constricted rapids, where the Colorado
took its plunge into the box-like head of the Grand
Canon of Arizona ; and the deep, reverberating boom
of the river, at flood height, was a fearful thing to
hear. 1 could not repress a shudder at the thought
of crossing above that rapid
The bronze walls widened as we proceeded, and
we got down presently to a level, where a long wire
cable stretched across the river. Under the cable
fan a rope. On the other side was an old scow
moored to the bank.
" Are we going across in that? " I asked Emmett,
pointing to the boat.
" We'll all be on the other side before dark," he ,
replied cheerily.
I felt that I would rather start back alone over the
desert than trust myself in such a craft, on such ft
river. And it was all because I had had experience
2*
The Arizona Desert
(with bad rivers, and thought I was a judge of danger-
ous currents. The Colorado slid with a menacing
roar out of a giant split in the red wall, and whirled,
eddied, bulged on toward its confinement in the iron*
ribbed canon below.
In answer to shots fired, Emmett's man appeared
on the other side, and rode down to the ferry land-
ing. Here he got into a skiff, and rowed laboriously
upstream for a long distance before he started across,
and then swung into the current. He swept down
rapidly, and twice the skiff whirled, and completely
turned round; but he reached our bank safely. Tak-
ing two men aboard he rowed upstream again, close
to the shore, and returned to the opposite side in
much the same manner in which he had come over.
The three men pushed out the scow, and grasping
the rope overhead, began to pull. The big craft ran
easily. When the current struck it, the wire cable
sagged, the water boiled and surged under it, raising
one end, and then the other. Nevertheless, five min-
utes were all that were required to pull the boat oven
It was a rude, oblong affair, made of heavy planks
(oosely put together, and it leaked. When Jones
suggested that we get the agony over as quickly as
possible, I was with him, and we embarked together,
Jones said he did not like the looks of the tackle;
and when I thought of his by no means small
The Last of the Plainsmen
mechanical skill, I had not added a cheerful idea to
my consciousness. The horses of the first team had
to be dragged upon the scow, and once on, they
reared and plunged.
When we started, four men pulled the rope, and
Emmett sat in the stern, with the tackle guys in hand.
As the current hit us, he let out the guys, which
maneuver caused the boat to swing stern down
stream. When it pointed obliquely, he made fast
the guys again. I saw that this served two purposes :
the current struck, slid alongside, and over the stern,
which mitigated the danger, and at the same time
helped the boat across.
To look at the river was to court terror, but I had
to look. It was an infernal thing. It roared in
hollow, sullen voice, as a monster growling. It had
a voice, this river, and one strangely changeful. It
moaned as if in pain it whined, it cried. Then at
times it would seem strangely silent. The current
was as complex and mutable as human life. It boiled,
beat and bulged. The bulge itself was an incompre-
hensible thing, like a roaring lift of the waters from
a submarine explosion. Then it would smooth out,
and run like oil. It shifted from one channel to
another, rushed to the center of the river, then swung
close to one shore or the other. Again it swelled ncau
the boat, in great, boiling, hissing eddies.
20
The Arizona Desert
" Look ! See where it breaks through the moun-
tain I " yelled Jones in my ear.
I looked upstream to see the stupendous granite
walls separated in a gigantic split that must have
been made by a terrible seismic disturbance; and
from this gap poured the dark, turgid, mystic flood.
I was in a cold sweat when we touched shore, and'
I jumped long before the boat was properly moored.
Emmett was wet to the waist where the water had
surged over him. As he sat rearranging some tackle
I remarked to him that of course he must be a splen*
did swimmer, or he would not take such risks.
" No, I can't swim a stroke/' he replied; "and
it wouldn't be any use if I could. Once in there $
man's a goner."
" You Ve had bad accidents here ? " I questioned*
" No, not bad. We only drowned two men las']
yean You see, we had to tow the boat up the river,
and row across, as then we hadn't the wire. Jus?
above, on this side, the boat hit a stone, and the cur-"
rent washed over her, taking off the team and
men."
" Didn't you attempt to rescue them?" I askedj,
after waiting a moment,
" No use. They never came up,"
" Isn't the river high now? " I continued, shudder '
ing as I glanced out at the whirling logs and drifts
The Last of the Plainsmen
41 High, and coming up. If I don't get the other
teams over to-day I'll wait until she goes down. At
this season she rises and lowers every day or so,
until June; then comes the big flood, and we don't
cross for months."
v I sat for three hours watching Emmett bring over
the rest of his party, which he did without accident,
but at the expense of great effort. And all the time
in my ears dinned the roar, the boom, the rumble
of this singularly rapacious and purposeful river a
river of silt, a red river of dark, sinister meaning, a
Stiver with terrible work to perform, a river which
giever gave up its dead.
CHAPTER II
THE RANGE
A~TER a much-needed rest at Emmett's, w* 1
bade good-by to him and his hospitable*
family, and under the guidance of his man
once more took to the wind-swept trail. We pursued
a southwesterly course now, following the lead of
the craggy red wall that stretched on and on for
hundreds of miles into Utah. The desert, smoky
and hot, fell away to the left, and in the foreground
a dark, irregular line marked the Grand Canon cut
ting through the plateau.
The wind whipped in from the vast, open expanse,
and meeting an obstacle in the red wall, turned north
and raced past us. Jones's hat blew off, stood on
its rim, and rolled. It kept on rolling, thirty milefc
an hour, more or less ; so fast, at least, that we were
a long time catching up to it with a team of horses.
Possibly we never would have caught it had not a
stone checked its flight. Further manifestation of*
the power of the desert wind surrounded us on all
sides. It had hollowed out huge stones from the
cliffs, and tumbled them to the plain below; and
.29
The Last of the Plainsmen
sweeping sand and graveJ low across the desert
far $ had cut them deeply v until they rested on
lender pedestals, thus sculptoring grotesque an<?
Striking monuments to the marvelous persistence of
this element of nature.
Late that afternoon, as we reached the height of
the plateau, Jones woke up and shouted: "Ha!
there's Buckskin S"
Far southward lay a Iong y black mountain, covered
with patches of shining snow, I could follow the
sigzag line of the Grand Canon splitting the desert
plateau, and saw it disappear in the haze round the
end of the mountain* From this I got my first clear
impression of the topography of the country sur-
rounding our objective point Buckskin mountain
fas* it* blunt end eastward to the canon In fact,
formed a hundred miles of the north rime As it was
line thousand feet high it still held the snow, which
k&d occasioned our lengthy desert ride to get back of
the mountain. I could see the long slopes rising oof*
cf the desert to meet the timber*
As we bowled merrily down grade I noticed that
we were no longer on stony ground, and that a littfr
scant silvery grass had made its appearance. Then
ltde branches of green? with a blu^ flower, smiled ,
mt of the dayish sand
ft suddm jfcase$ sto&d np y md letmtz
The Range
Comanchc yell I was more startled by the yell than
by the great hand he smashed down on my shoulder^
ind for the moment I was dazed.
** There ! look 1 look ! the buffalo I Hi ! Hi! Hi 1 8t
Below us, a few miles on a rising knoll, a big herd
Of buffalo shone black in the gold of the evening sun*
I had not Jones's incentive, but I felt enthusiasm
born of the wild and beautiiij picture, and added
my yell to his. The huge, burly leader of the herd
lifted his head, and after regarding us for a few
moments calmly went on browsing.
The desert had fringed away into a grand rolling
pastureland, walled in by the red cliffs, the slopes of
Buckskin, and further isolated by the canoa Her
was a range of twenty-four hundred square mileg
without a foot of barb-wire, a pasture fenced in by
natural forces, with the splendid feature that the
buffalo could browse on the plain in winter, and
go up into the cool foothills of Buckskin in summer*
From another ridge we saw a cabin dotting the
rolling plain, and in half an hour we reached it. AM
we climbed down from the wagon a brown and blac&
dog came dashing out of the cabin, and promptly
Jumped at Mozee His selection showed poor di=>
crimination, for Moze whipped him before I could
separate them. Hearing Jones heartily greeting
some one* 1 turned ii? his direction, only it* fe$
The Last of the Plainsmen
distracted by another dog fight Don had tackled
Moze for the seventh time* Memory rankled in
Don, and he needed a lot of whipping, some of which 1 *
tic was getting when I rescued him.
Next moment I was shaking hands with Frank and
Jim, Jones's ranchmen* At a glance I liked them
both. Frank was short and wiry, and had a big,'
ferocious mustache, the effect of which was softened
by his kindly brown eyes. Jim was tall, a little
heavier; he had a careless, tidy look; his eyes were
searching, and though he appeared a young man, his
Iiair was white,
" I shore am glad to see you all," said Jim, in slow*
toft, Southern accent. v
** Get down, get down, 1 * was Frank's welcome 3
typically Western one, for we had already gotten^
down; "an* come in. You must be worked outJ
Sure youVe come a long way." He was quick of
Speech, full of nervous energy, and beamed with
hospitality.
The cabin was the rudest kind of log affair, with a 1
iuge stone fireplace in one end, deer antlers and
coyote skins on the wall, saddles and cowboys' traps
in a corner, a nice, large, promising cupboard, and ai
table and chairs. Jim threw wood on a smoldering
ire, that soon blazed and crackled cheerily.
I sank down into a chair with a feeling of blessed
3*
The Range
relief. Ten days of desert ride behind me I Promise
of wonderful days before me, with the last of the old
plainsmen I No wonder a sweet sense of ease stoic
over me, or that the fire seemed a live and joyously
welcoming thing, or that Jim's deft maneuvers in
preparation sf supper roused in me a rapt admiration,
" Twenty calves this spring! w cried Jones, punch-
ing me in my sore side. "Ten thousand dollars
wqrth of calves I w
/He was now altogether a changed man; he looked
4lmost young; his eyes danced, and he rubbed his big
hands together while he plied Frank with questions*
In strange surroundings that is, away from hit
native wilds, Jones had been a silent man; it had beei* w
almost impossible to get anything out of him. Bu^J
now I saw that I should come to know the real ma
In a very few moments he had talked more than j
all the desert trip, and what he said, added tc
little I had already learned, put me in P ssess jCanon
some interesting information as to his buffalo^
Some years before he had conceived the K
hybridizing buffalo with black Galloway cattle
with the characteristic determination and energ>
the man, he at once set about finding a suitable ra%: ^
This was difficult, and took years of searching. Al
last the wild north rim of the Grand Canon, a section ,
unknown except to a few Indians and mustas&f
The Last of the Plainsmen
hunters, was settled upon. Then the gigantic task
of transporting the herd of buffalo by rail from Mon-
tana to Salt Lake was begun. The two hundred and
ninety miles of desert lying between the home of the
Mormons and Buckskin Mountain was an obstacle
almost insurmountable* The journey was under-
taken and found ^even more trying than had been
expected. Buffalo after buffalo died on the way.
Then Frank, Jones's right-hand man, put into execu-
tion a plan he had been thinking of namely, to
travel by night It succeeded. The buffalo rested
in the day and traveled by easy stages by night, with
the result that the big herd was transported to the
1 ideal range.
^ Here, in an environment strange to their race, but
$0$uliarly adaptable, they thrived and multiplied.
Sure; hybrid f ^ Galloway cow and buffalo proved
$peecE eat success - Jones called the new species
hospital -" The cattalo took the hardiness of the
The '* an d never required artificial food or shelter.
Irugc .< u ld ^ ace t ' le Desert storm or blizzard and stand
fr still in his tracks until the weather cleared. He
quite domestic, could be easily handled, and
exceedingly fat on very little provender. The
folds of his stomach were so numerous that they
digested even the hardest and flintiest of corn.
He had fourteen ribs on each side, while
34
The Range
cattle had only thirteen; thus he could endure
rougher work and longer journeys to water. His
fur was so dense and glossy that it equaled that
of the unplucked beaver or otter, and was fully as
valuable as the buffalo robe. And not to be over-
looked by any means was the fact that his meat was
delicious.
Jones had to hear every detail of all that had
happened since his absence in the East, and he was
particularly inquisitive to learn all about the twenty
cattalo calves. He called different buffalo by name ;
and designated the calves by descriptive terms, such
as " Whitef ace " and " Crosspatch." He almost
forgot to eat, and kept Frank too busy to get any-
thing into his own mouth. After supper he calmed
down.
" How about your other man Mr. Wallace, I
think you said? " asked Frank.
"We expected to meet him at Grand Canon
Station, and then at Flagstaff. But he didn't show
up. Either he backed out or missed us. I'm sorry j
for when we get up on Buckskin, among the wild
horses and cougars, we'll be likely to need him."
** I reckon you'll need me, as well as Jim/' said
Frank dryly, with a twinkle in his eye. " The buffs
ate in good shape an' can get along without me for
a
The Last of the PMnsmen
64 That'll be fine. How about cougar sign on the
mountain ? >f
44 Plenty. IVe got two spotted near Oak Spring.
Comin* over two weeks ago I tracked them in the
snow along the trail for miles. We'll ooze over that
way, as it's goin* toward the Siwash. The Siwash
breaks of the canon there's the place for lions, I
met a wild-horse wrangler not long back, an 1 he was
tellin' me about Old Tom an' the colts he'd killed this,
winter,"
Naturally, I here expressed a desire to know more
of Old Tom.
** He's the biggest cougar ever known of in these
parts. His tracks are bigger than a horse's, an' have
been seen on Buckskin for twelve years. This wran
gler his name is Clark said he'd turned his saddle
horse out to graze near camp, an 5 Old Torn sneaked
in an' downed him. The lions over there are sure a
bold buncii. Well, why shouldn't they be ? No one
ever hunted them. You see, the mountain is hard to ;
get at. But now you're here, if it's big cats you want
we sure can find them., Only be easy, be easy
You've all the time there is. An' any job on Buck*,
skin will take time. We'll look the calves over, aa 1
you must ride the range to harden up. Then we'S
ooze over toward Oak. T expect it'll be boggy, atf
I hope the snow melts soon.**
The Range
" The snow hadn't melted on Greenland point,"
replied Jones. " We saw that with a glass from the
l Tovar. We wanted to cross that way, but Rust said
Bright Angel Creek was breast high to a horse, and
that creek is the trail."
" There's four feet of snow on Greenland," said
Frank. " It was too early to come that way. There's
only about three months in the year the canon can
be crossed at Greenland."
" I want to get in the snow," returned Jones.
a This bunch of long-eared canines I brought never
smelled a lion track. Hounds can't be trained quick
without snow. YouVe got to see what they're trail-
ing, or you can't break them."
Frank looked dubious. " 'Pears to me we'll have
trouble gettin' a lion without lion dogs. It takes a
long time to break a hound off of deer, once he's
chased them. Buckskin is full of deer, wolves, coy-
otes, and there's the wild horses. We couldn't go a
hundred feet without crossin 1 trails."
" How's the hound you and Jim fetched in last
year? Has he got a good nose? Here he is I like
his head. Come here, Bowser what's his name? 1 *
" Jim named him Sounder, because he sure has af x
voice. It's great to hear him on a trail. Sounder
has a nose that can't be fooled, an' he'll trail any-
thin' ; but I don't know if he ever got up a lion."
37
The Last of the Plainsmen
Sounder wagged his bushy tail and looked up affec-
tionately at Frank. He had a fine head, great brown
eyes, very long ears and curly brownish-black hair.
He was not demonstrative, looked rather askance
it Jones, and avoided the other dogs.
"That dog will make a great lion-chaser, 5 ' said
Jones, decisively, after his study of Sounder, " He
and Moze will keep us busy, once they learn we want
lions."
" I don't believe any dog-trainer could teach them
short of six months," replied Frank. " Sounder is
no spring chicken; an' that black and dirty white
cross between a cayuse an j a barb-wire fence is an
old dog. You can't teach old dogs new tricks/
Jones smiled mysteriously, a smile of conscious
superiority, but said nothing.
" We'll shore hev a storm to-morrow," said Jim,
relinquishing his pipe long enough to speak. He had
been silent, and now his meditative gaze was on the
west, through the cabin window, where a dull after-
glow faded under the heavy laden clouds of night
and left the horizon dark.
I was very tired when I lay down, but so full of
'excitement that sleep did not soon visit my eyelids.
The talk about bufialo, wild-horse hunters, lions and
dogs* the prospect ot hard riding and unusual adven-
ture; the vision of Old Tom that had already begun
as
The Range
to haunt me, filled my mind with pictures and fancies.
The other fellows dropped off to sleep, and quiet
reigned. Suddenly a succession of queer, sharp
barks came from the plain, close to the cabin.
Coyotes were paying us a call, and judging from
%e chorus of yelps and howls from our dogs, it was
not a welcome visit. Above the medley rose one big,
deep, full voice that I knew at once belonged to
Sounder. Then all was quiet again. Sleep gradually
benumbed my senses. Vague phrases dreamily
drifted to and fro in my mind : " Jones's wild range
Old Tom Sounder great name great voice
Sounder ! Sounder ! Sound "
Next morning I could hardly crawl out of my
sleeping-bag. My bones ached, my muscles protested
excruciatingly, my lips burned and bled, and the cold
I had contracted on the desert clung to me. A good
brisk walk round the corrals, and then breakfast,
made me feel better.
" Of course you can ride? " queried Frank.
My answer was not given from an overwhelming
desire to be truthful. Frank frowned a little, as if
wondering how a man could have the nerve to start
out on a jaunt with Buffalo Jones without being a
good horseman. To be unable to stick on the back*
t>f a wild mustang, or a cayuse, was an unpardonable
sin in Arizona. My frank admission was made rela-
The Last of the Plainsmen
tively, with my mind on what cowboys held as a
standard of horsemanship.
The mount Frank trotted out of the corral for
me was a pure white, beautiful mustang, nervous,
sensitive, quivering. I watched Frank put on the
saddle, and when he called me I did not fail to
catch a covert twinkle in his merry brown eyes.
Looking away toward Buckskin Mountain, which
was coincidentally in the direction of home, I said to
myself: "This may be where you get on, but most
certainly it is where you get off ! "
Jones was already riding far beyond the corral,
as I could see by a cloud of dust; and I set off after
him, with the painful consciousness that I must have
looked to Frank and Jim much as Central Park
equestrians had often looked to me. Frank shouted
after me that he would catch up with us out on the
range. I was not in any great hurry to overtake
Jones, but evidently my horse's inclinations differed
from mine; at any rate, he made the dust fly, and
jumped the little sage bushes.
Jones, who had tarried to inspect one of the pools
formed of running water from the corrals
greeted me as I came up with this cheerful observa-
tion:
" What in thunder did Frank give you that white
nag for? The buffalo hate white horses anything
40
The Range
Vphite. They're liable to stampede off the range, or
chase you into the canon."
I replied grimly that, as it was certain something
was going to happen, the particular circumstance
might as well come off quickly.
We rode over the rolling plain with a cool, brac-
mg breeze in our faces. The sky was dull and
mottled with a beautiful cloud effect that presaged
wind. As we trotted along Jones pointed out to me
and descanted upon the nutritive value of three dif-
ferent kinds of grass, one of which he called the
Buffalo Pea, noteworthy for a beautiful blue blossom.
Soon we passed out of sight of the cabin, and could
see only the billowy plain, the red tips of the stony
wall, and the black-fringed crest of Buckskin. After
riding a while we made out some cattle, a few of
which were on the range, browsing in the lee of a
ridge. No sooner had I marked them than Jones
let out another Comanche yell.
" Wolf ! " he yelled ; and spurring his big bay, he
was off like the wind.
A single glance showed me several cows running
as if bewildered, and near them a big white woli
pulling down a calf Another white wolf stood not
far off. My horse jumped as if he had been shot;
and the realization darted upon me thaf here was
where the certain something began. Spot the mufr
41
The Last of the Plainsmen
tang had one black spot in his pure white snorted
like 1 imagined a blooded horse might, under dire
insult. Jones's bay had gotten about a hundred paces
the start. I lived to learn that Spot hated to be left
behind; moreover, he would not be left behind; he
was the swiftest horse on the range, and proud of
the distinction. I cast one unmentionable word on
the breeze toward the cabin and Frank, then put
mind and muscle to the sore task of remaining with
Spot. Jones was bora on a saddle, and had been
taking his meals in a saddle for about sixty-three
years, and the bay horse could run. Run is not a
felicitous word he flew. And I was rendered men-
tally deranged for the moment to see that hundred
paces between the bay and Spot materially lessen at
every jump. Spot lengthened out, seemed to go
down near the ground, and cut the air like a high-
geared auto. If I had not heard the fast rhythmic
beat of his hoofs, and had not bounced high jnto the
air at every jump, 1 would have been sure I was rid-
ing a bird. I tried to stop him. As well might I
have tried to pull in the Lusitania with a thread,
bpot was out to overhaul that bay, and in spite of
me, he was doing it. The wind rushed into my face
and sang in my ears. Jones seemed the nucleus of a
sort of haze, and nc grew larger and larger. Pres-
*Wly he became clearly defined in my sight; thf
The Range
violent commotion under me subsided; I once more
felt the saddle, and then I realized that Spot had
been content to stop alongside of Jones, tossing his
head and champing his bit.
" Well, by George ! 1 didn't know you were in
the stretch/' cried my companion. " That was a fine
little brush. We must have come several miles. I'd
have killed those wolves if I'd brought a gun. The
big one that had the calf was a bold brute. He
never let go until I was within fifty feet of him.
Then I almost rode him down. I don't think the
calf was much hurt. But those blood-thirsty devils
will return, and like as not get the calf. That's
the worst of cattle raising. Now, take the buffalo.
Do you suppose those wolves could have gotten a
buffalo calf out from under the mother? Never.
*
Neither could a whole band of wolves. Buffalo stick
close together, and the little ones do not stray. When
danger threatens, Ae herd closes in and faces it and
fights. That is what is grand about the buffalo and
what made them once roam the praiiies in countless,
endless droves/'
From the highest elevation in that part of th&
range we viewed the surrounding ridges, i^ts and
hollows, searching for the bu^aio. Ac length we
spied a cloud of dust rising from behind an
ing mound, then big black dots hove in sight.
43
The Last of the Plainsmen
" Frank has rounded up the herd, and is driving it
this way. We'll wait," said Jones.
Though the buffalo appeared to be moving fast,
a long time elapsed before they reached the foot of
our outlook. They lumbered along in a compact
mass, so dense that T could not count them, but I
estimated the number at seventy-five. Frank was
riding zigzag behind them, swinging his lariat and
yelling. When he espied us he reined in his horse
and waited. Then the herd slowed down, halted
and began browsing.
c< Look at the cattalo calves," cried Jones, in
ecstatic tones. " See how shy they are, hov close
they stick to their mothers."
The little dark-brown fellows were plainly fright-
ened. I made several unsuccessful attempts to photo-
graph them, and gave it up when Jones told me not
to ride too close and that it would be better to wait
till we had them in the corral.
He took my camera and instructed me to go on
ahead, in the rear of the herd. I heard the click
of the instrument as he snapped a picture, and then
suddenly heard him shout in alarm: "Look outl
look out I pull your horse ! "
Thundering hoof-beats pounding the earth accom-
panied his words. I saw a big bull, with head down,
tail raised, charging my horse. He answered Frank's
44
The Range
yell of command with a furious grunt. I was para-
lyzed at the wonderfully swift action of the shaggy
brute, and I sat helpless. Spot wheeled as if he were
on a pivot and plunged out of the way with a
celerity that was astounding. The buffalo stopped,
pawed the ground, and angrily tossed his huge head.
Frank rode up to him, yelled, and struck him with
the lariat, whereupon he gave another toss of his
horns, and then returned to the herd.
" It was that darned white nag," said Jones.
" Frank, it was wrong to put an inexperienced man
on Spot. For that matter, the horse should never
be allowed to go near the buffalo."
" Spot knows the buffs ; they'd never get to him,"
replied Frank. But the usual spirit was absent from
his voice, and he glanced at me soberly. I knew I
had turned white, for I felt the peculiar cold sensa-
tion in my face.
" Now, look at that, will you? " cried Jones. " I
don't like the looks of that."
He pointed to the herd. They stopped browsing,
!and were uneasily shifting to and fro. The bull
lifted his head; the others slowly grouped together.
" Storm ! Sandstorm ! " exclaimed Jones, pointing
desert-ward. Dark yellow clouds like smoke were
rolling, sweeping, bearing down upon us. They
expanded, blossoming out like gigantic roses, an<?
41
The Last of the Plainsmen
whirled and merged into one another, all the time
rolling on and blotting out the light.
" We've got to run. That storm may last two
days," yelled Frank to me. " We've had some bad
ones lately. Give your horse free rein, and cover
your face.'*
A roar, resembling an approaching storm at sea,
came on puffs of wind, as the horses got into theitf
Stride. Long streaks of dust whipped up in different
places; the silver-white grass bent to the ground\
round bunches of sage went rolling before us. The
puffs grew longer, steadier, harder. Then a shriek-
ing blast howled on our trail, seeming to swoop
down on us with a yellow, blinding pall. I shut
my eyes and covered my face with a handkerchief.
The sand blew so thick that it filled my gloves, peb*
bles struck me hard enough to sting through my
coat.
Fortunately, Spot kept to an easy swinging lope f
which was the most comfortable motion for me. But
I began to get numb, and could hardly stick on the
saddle. Almost before I had dared to hope, Spot
stopped. Uncovering my face, I saw Jim in the
doorway of the lee side of the cabin. The yellow,
streaky, whistling clouds of sand split on the cabin 1
tod passed on, leaving a small, dusty space of light
" Shore Spot do hate to be beat/* yelled Jim, as he
48
The Range
helped me off. I stumbled into tht cabin and fell
upon a buffalo robe and lay there absolutely spent
Jones and Frank came in a few minutes apart, each
anathematizing the gritty, powdery sand.
All day the desert storm raged and roared. The
dust sifted through the numerous cracks in the cabin,
burdened our clothes, spoiled our food and blinded
our eyes. Wind, snow, sleet and rainstorms are
discomforting enough under trying circumstances;
but all combined, they are nothing to the choking,
stinging, blinding sandstorm.
" Shore it'll let up by sundown," averred Jim.
'And sure enough the roar died away about five
o'clock, the wind abated and the sand settled.
Just before supper, a knock sounded heavily on
the cabin door. Jim opened it to admit one of
Emmett's sons and a very tall man whom none of us
knew. He was a sand-man. All that was not sand
seemed a space or two of corduroy, a big bone-
handled knife, a prominent square jaw and bronzed
cheek and flashing eyes.
" Get down get down, an* come in, stranger/*
said Frank cordially.
" How do you do, sir," said Jones.
" Colonel Jones, I've been on your trail for twelve
ftays," announced the stranger, with a grim smile*
(The sand streamed off, his coat in little white streaks
47
The Last of the Plainsmen
Jones appeared to be casting about in his mind.
"I'm Grant Wallace," continued the newcomer.
K I missed you at the El Tovar, at Williams and at
Flagstaff, where I was one day behind. Was half a
day late at the Little Colorado, saw your train cross
Moncaupie Wash, and missed you because of the
sandstorm there. Saw you from the other side of
the Big Colorado as you rode out from Emmett's
along the red wall. And here I am. We've never
met till now, which obviously isn't my fault."
The Colonel and I fell upon Wallace's neck.
Frank manifested his usual alert excitation, and said :
" Well, I guess he won't hang fire on a long cougar
chase." And Jim slow, careful Jim, dropped a
plate with the exclamation : " Shore it do beat hell ! "
The hounds sniffed round Wallace, and welcomed
him with vigorous tails.
Supper that night, even if we did grind sand with
our teeth, was a joyous occasion. The biscuits were
flaky and light; the bacon fragrant and crisp. I
produced a jar of blackberry jam, which by subtk
cunning I had been able to secrete from the Mormons
on that dry desert ride, and it was greeted with
acclamations of pleasure. Wallace, divested of his
sand guise, beamed with the gratification of a hungry
man once more in the presence of friends and food.
He made large cavities in Jim's great pot of potato
48
The Range
stew, and caused biscuits to vanish in a way that
would not have shamed a Hindoo magician. The
grand canon he dug in my jar of jam, however, could
not have been accomplished by legerdemain.
Talk became animated on dogs, cougars, horses
and buffalo. Jones told of our experience out on
the range, and concluded with some salient remarks.
" A tame wild animal is the most dangerous of
beasts. My old friend, Dick Rock, a great hunter and
guide out of Idaho, laughed at my advice, and goT 1
killed by one of his three-year-old bulls. I told him
they knew him just well enough to kill him, and
they did. My friend, A. H. Cole, of Oxford,
Nebraska, tried to rope a Weetah that was too tame
to be safe, and the bull killed him. Same with
General Bull, a member of the Kansas Legislature,
and two cowboys who went into a corral to tie up a
tame elk at the wrong time. I pleaded with them
not to undertake it. They had not studied animals
as I had. That tame elk killed all of them. He
had to be shot in order to get General Bull off his
great antlers. Yon see, a wild animal must learn to
respect a man. The way I used to teach the Yellow-
stone Park bears to be respectful and safe neighbors
was to rope them around the front paw, swing them
up on a tree clear of the ground, and whip them
with a long pole. It was a dangerous business,
The Last of the Plainsmen
grataass.....^. i, . - ~-~~mSsst
-looks cruel, but it is the .only way I could find to make
the bears good. You see, they eat scraps around the
hotels and get so tame they will steal everything but
red-hot stoves, and will cuff the life out of those who'
try to shoo them off. But after a bear mother has
had a licking, she not only becomes a good bear for
the rest of her life, but she tells all her cubs about
it with a good smack of her paw, for emphasis, and
teaches them to respect peaceable citizens genera-
tion after generation.
" One of the hardest jobs I ever tackled was that
of supplying the buffalo for Bronx Park. I rounded up
a magnificent * king * buffalo bull, belligerent enough
to fight a battleship. When I rode after him the
cowmen said I was as good as killed. I made a lance
by driving a nail into the end of a short pole and
sharpening it. After he had chased me, I wheeled
my broncho, and hurled the lance into his back, rip-
ping a wound as long as my hand. That put the
fear of Providence into him and took the fight all*
out of him. I drove him uphill and down, and across'
canons at a dead run for eight miles single-handed,
and loaded him on a freight car; but he came near?
getting me once or twice, and only quick broncho
work and lance play saved me.
" In the Yellowstone Park all our buffaloes have
become docile, excepting the huge bull which ledl
The Range
them. The Indians call the buffalo leader the * Wee-
tah,' the master of the herd. It was sure death to
go near this one. So I shipped in another Weetah,
hoping that he might whip some of the fight out of
old Manitou, the Mighty, They came together head
on, like a railway collision, and ripped up over a
square mile of landscape, fighting till night came on,
and then on into the night.
" 1 jumped into the field with them, chasing them
with my biograph, getting a series of moving pictures
of that bullfight which was sure the real thing. It
was a ticklish thing to do, though knowing that
neither bull dared take his eyes off his adversary for
a second, I felt reasonably safe. The old Weetah
beat the new champion out that night, but the next
morning they were at it again, and the new buffalo
finally whipped the old one into submission. Since
then his spirit has remained broken, and even a shild
can approach him safely but the new Weetah is in
turn a holy terror.
" To handle buffalo, elk and bear, you must get
into sympathy with their methods of reasoning. No
tenderfoot stands any show, even with the tame
animals of the Yellowstone."
The old buffalo hunter's lips were no longer
locked* One after another he told reminiscences of
his eventful life, in a simpk manner; yet so vivid and
The Last of the Plainsmen
gripping were the unvarnished details that I was
spellbound.
" Considering what appears the impossibility of
capturing a fdl-grown buffalo, how did you earn
the name of preserver of the American bison? "
inquired Wallace.
" It took years to learn how, and ten more to cap-
ture the fifty-eight that I was able to keep. 1 tried
every plan under the sun. I roped hundreds, of all
sizes and ages. They would not live in captivity.
If they could not find an embankment over which
to break their necks, they would crush their skulls
on stones, Failing any means like that, they would
lie down, will themselves to die, and die. Think of
a savage wild nature that could will its heart to
cease beating! But it's true. Finally I found I
could keep only calves under three months of age.
But to capture them so young entailed time and
patience. For the buffalo fight for their young, and
when I say fight, I mean till they drop. I almost
always had to go alone, because I could neither coay
nor hire any one to undertake it with me. Some*
times I would be weeks getting one calf. One day I
captured eight eight little buffalo calves! Never
will I forget that day as long as I live ! "
" Tell us about it," I suggested, in a matter of fact,
rf round-the-campfire voice. Had the silent plainsman
52
The Range
ever told a complete and full story of his adventures?
I doubted it. He was not the man to eulogize him-
self.
A short silence ensued. The cabin was snug an(5
warm; the ruddy embers glowed; one of Jim's pot?
steamed musically and fragrantly. The hounds lay
curled in the cozy chimney corner.
Jones began to talk again, simply and unaffectedly,
of his famous exploit; and as he went on so modestly,
passing lightly over features we recognized as won-
derful, I allowed the fire of my imagination to fuse
for myself all the toil, patience, endurance, skill,
herculean strength and marvelous courage and
unfathomable passion which he slighted in his narra^
tive.
CHAPTER III
THE LAST HERD
OVER gray No-Man' s-Land stole down the
shadows of night. The undulating prairie
shaded dark to the western horizon, rimmed
With a fading streak of light. Tall figures, silhou-
etted sharply against the last golden glow of sunset,
marked the rounded crest of a grassy knolL
" Wild hunter ! " cried a voice in sullen rage,
44 buffalo or no, we halt here. Did Adams and I
hire to cross the Staked Plains ? Two weeks in No-
Man VLand, and now we're facing the sand ! We've
one keg of water, yet you want to keep on. Why,
man, you're crazy! You didn't tell us you wanted
buffalo alive. And here you've got us looking death
in the eye ! "
In the grim silence that ensued the two men
unhitched the team from the long, light wagon, while
the buffalo hunter staked out his wiry, lithe-limbed
racehorses. Soon a fluttering blaze threw a circle
of light, which shone on the agitated face of Rude
tnd Adams, and the cold, iron-set visage of their
Brawny leader.
w It's this way," began Jones, in. slow, cool voices
54
The Last Herd
" I engaged you fellows, and you promised to stick
by me. We've had no luck. But I've finally found
sign old sign, HI admit of the buffalo I'm looE-
ing for the last herd on the plains. For two years
I've been hunting this herd. So have other hunters*
Millions of buffalo have been killed and left to rot.
Soon this herd will be gone, and then the only
buffalo in the world will be those I have given ten
years of the hardest work in capturing. This is the
last herd, I say, and my last chance to capture a calf
or two. Do you imagine I'd quit? You fellows go
fcack if you want, but I keep on."
"We can't go back. We're lost. We'll hav
to go with you* But, man, thirst is not the only risk
we run. This is Comanche country. And if that
herd is in here the Indians have it spotted."
" That worries me some, 1 ' replied the plainsma^
" but we'll keep on."
They slept The night wind swished the grassesi
dark storm clouds blotted out the northern stars;
prairie wolves mourned dismally.
Day broke cold, wan, threatening, under a
sky. The hunters traveled thirty miles by noon, and
halted in a hollow where a stream flowed in wet
season. Cottonwood trees were bursting into greenj
thickets of prickly thorn, dense and matted, showed
bright spring buds.
ss
The Last of the Plainsmen
" What is it? " suddenly whispered Rude.
The plainsman lay in strained posture, his ear.
against the ground.
" Hide the wagon and horses in the clump of cot-
iponwoods," he ordered, tersely. Springing to his
feet, he ran to the top of the knoll above the hollow,
where he again placed his ear to the ground.
Jones's practiced ear had detected the quavering
rumble of far-away, thundering hoofs. He searched
the wide waste of plain with his powerful glass. To
the southwest, miles distant, a cloud of dust mush-
roomed skyward. " Not buffalo," he muttered,
"maybe 'wild horses." He watched and waited
The yellow cloud rolled forward, enlarging, spread-
ing out, and drove before it a darkly indistinct, mov-
ing mass. As soon as he had one good look at this
he ran back to his comrades.
"Stampede! Wild horses! Indians! Look to
four rifles and hide ! "
Wordless and pale, the men examined their Sharps,
and made ready to follow Jones. He slipped into
#he thorny brake and, flat on his stomach, wormed
nis way like a snake far into the thickly interlaced
? web of branches. Rude and Adams crawled after
him. Words were superfluous. Quiet, breathless,
with beating hearts, the hunters pressed cloe to the
dry grass. A long, low, steady rumble filled the air,,
5?
The Last Herd
and increased in volume till it became a roan
Moments, endless moments, passed* The roar filled
out like a flood slowly released from its confines to,
sweep down with the sound of doom. The ground
began to tremble and quake; the light faded; the
smell of dust pervaded the thicket, then a continuous
streaming roar, deafening as persistent roll of thun-
der, pervaded the hiding place. The stampeding
horses had split round the hollow. The roar less-
ened. Swiftly as a departing snow-squall rushing on
through the pines, the thunderous thud and tramp
of hoofs died away.
The trained horses hidden in the cottonwoods
never stirred. " Lie low ! lie low 1 " breathed the
plainsman to his companions.
Throb of hoofs again became audible, not loud
and madly pounding as those that had passed, but
lew, muffled, rhythmic. Jones's sharp eye, through
a peephole in the thicket, saw a cream-colored mus
tang bob over the knoll, carrying an Indian. Another;
and another, then a swiftly following, close-packe4
throng appeared. Bright red feathers and white
gleamed; weapons glinted; gaunt, bronzed savages
leaned forward on racy, slender mustangs.
The plainsman shrank closer to the ground*
" Apache ! " he exclaimed to himself, and gripped
his rifle. The band galloped down to the hollow, and
67
The Last of the Plainsmen
slowing up, piled single file over the bank. The
leader, a short, squat chief, plunged into the brake
not twenty yards from the hidden men. Jones recog-
nized the cream mustang; he knew the somber, sinis-
ter, broad face. It belonged to the Red Chief of
( the Apaches.
" Geronimo 1 " murmured the plainsman through
his teeth.
Well for the Apache that no falcon savage eye
discovered aught strange in the little hollow ! One
look at the sand of the stream bed would have cost
him his life. But the Indians crossed the thicket too
far up ; they cantered up the slope and disappeared.
The hoof-beats softened and ceased.
" Gone ? " whispered Rude.
41 Gone. But wait," whispered Jones. He knew
the savage nature, and he knew how to wait. After
a long time, he cautiously crawled out of the thicket
and searched the surroundings with a plainsman's
eye. He climbed the slope and saw the clouds of
dust, the near one small, the far one large, which
told him all he needed to know.
" Comanches? " queried Adams, with a quaver 'in
his voice. He was new to the plains.
" Likely," said Jones, who thought it best not to
tell all he knew. Then he added to himself : " We've
no time to lose. There's water back here somewhere*
58
The Last Herd
The Indians have spotted the buffalo, and were run-
ning the horses away from the water."
The three got under way again, proceeding care
fully, so as not to raise the dust, and headed due
southwest. Scantier and scantier grew the grass; the
hollows were washes of sand; steely gray dunes, like
long, flat, ocean swells, ribbed the prairie. The
gray day declined. Late into the purple night they
traveled, then camped without fire.
In the gray morning Jones climbed a high ride
and scanned the southwest. Low dun-colored sand-
hills waved from him down and down, in slow, decep-
tive descent. A solitary and remote waste reached
out into gray infinitude. A pale lake, gray as the
rest of that gray expanse, glimmered in the distance.
" Mirage ! " he muttered, focusing his glass, which
only magnified all under the dead gray, steely sky,
"Water must be somewhere; but can that be it?
It's too pale and elusive to be real. No life >
a blasted, staked plain ! Hello ! "
A thin, black, wavering line of wild fowl, moving
in beautiful, rapid flight, crossed the line of his s
vision. " Geese flying north, and low. There's
water here," he said. He followed the flock with his
glass, saw them circle over the lake, and vanish in the
gray sheen.
' " It's water." He hurried back to camp. His
59
The Last of the Plainsmen
haggard and worn companions scorned his discovery.
Adams siding with Rude, who knew the plains, said:
" Mirage! the lure of the desert! " Yet dominated
by a force too powerful for them to resist, they fol*
lowed the buffalo-hunter. All day the gleaming lake
beckoned them onward, and seemed to recede. All
Iday the drab clouds scudded before the cold north
wind. In the gray twilight, the lake suddenly lay
before them, as if it had opened at their feet The
men rejoiced, the horses lifted their noses and sniffed
the damp air.
The whinnies of the horses, the clank of harness,
and splash of water, the whirr of ducks did not blur
out of Jones's keen ear a sound that made him jump.
It was the thump of hoofs, in a familiar beat, beat,
beat. He saw a shadow moving up a ridge. Soon,
outlined black against the yet light sky, a lone buffalo,
cow stood like a statue. A moment she held toward
the lake, studying the danger, then went out of sight
over the ridge.
Jones spurred his horse up the ascent, which was
rather long and steep, but he mounted the summit in
time to see the cow join eight huge, shaggy buffalo.
The hunter reined in his horse, and standing high in
his stirrups, held his hat at arms* length over his
head. So he thrilled to a moment he had sought for
two years. The last herd of American bison was
50
The Last Herd
jiear at hand. The cow would not venture far from
the main herd; the eight stragglers were the old
'broken-down bulls that had been expelled, at this
season, from the herd by younger and more vigorous
bulls. The old monarchs saw the hunter at the same
time his eyes were gladdened by sight of them, and
lumbered away after the cow, to disappear in the
gathering darkness. Frightened buffalo always make
straight for their fellows; and this knowledge con*
tented Jones to return to the lake, well satisfied that
the herd would not be far away in the morning,
within easy striking distance by daylight.
At dark the storm which had threatened for days,
broke in a fury of rain, sleet and hail. The hunters
stretched a piece of canvas over the wheels of the
north side of the wagon, and wet and shivering,
crawled under it to their blankets. During the mght
the storm raged with unabated strength.
Dawn, forbidding and raw, lightened to the whis-
tle of the sleety gusts. Fire was out of the question.
Chary of weight, the hunters had carried no wood,
and the buffalo chips they used for fuel were lumps
bf ice. Grumbling, Adams and Rude ate a cold
breakfast, while Jones, munching a biscuit, faced the
biting blast from the crest of the ridge. The middle
of the plain below held a ragged, circular mass, as
still as stone* It was the buffalo herd, with every
The Last of the Plainsmen
shaggy head to the storm. So they would stand,
never budging from their tracks, till the blizzard
of sleet was oven
Jones, though eager and impatient, restrained him-
self, for it was unwise to begin operations in the
atorm. There was nothing to do but wait 111 fared
the hunters that day. Food had to be eaten uncooked.
The long hours dragged by with the little group
huddled under icy blankets. When darkness fell,
the sleet changed to drizzling rain. This blew over
at midnight, and a colder wind, penetrating to the
very marrow of the sleepless men, made their condi-
tion worse. In the after part of the night, the wolves
howled mournfully.
With a gray, misty light appearing in the east,
Jones threw off his stifi, ice-incased blanket, and
crawled out. A gaunt gray wolf, the color of the
day and the sand and the lake, sneaked away, looking
back. While moving and threshing about to warm
his frozen blood, Jones munched another biscuit
His men crawled from under the wagon, and made
an unfruitful search for the whisky. Fearing it, ;
Jones had thrown the bottle away. The men cursed*
The patient horses drooped sadly, and shivered In the
lee of the improvised tent Jones kicked the inch-
thick casing of ice from his saddle. Kentuck, his
facer, had been spared on the whole trip for thil
The Last Herd
day's work. The thoroughbred was cold, but as
Jones threw the saddle over him, he showed that
he knew the chase ahead, and was eager to be off.
At last, after repeated efforts with his benumbed
fingers, Jones got the girths tight. He tied a bunch
of soft cords to the saddle and mounted.
" Follow as fast as you can," he called to his
surly men. " The buffs will run north against the
wind. This is the right direction for us ; we'll soon
leave the sand. Stick to my trail and come a-hum*
ming."
;' ' From the ridge he met the red sun, rising bright,
and a keen northeasterly wind that lashed like a whip.
As he had anticipated, his quarry had moved north*
ward. Kentuck let out into a swinging stride, which
in an hour had the loping herd in sight. Every jump
now took him upon higher ground, where the sand
failed, and the grass grew thicker and began t<X
bend under the wind.
In the teeth of the nipping gale Jones slipped close
upon the herd without alarming even a cow. More
than a hundred little reddish-black calves leisurely
loped in the rear. Kentuck, keen to his work, crept
on like a wolf, and the hunter's great fist clenched
the coiled lasso. Before him expanded a boundless
plain. A situation long cherished and dreamed of
had become a reality. Kentuck, fresh and strong,,
63
The Last of the Plainsmen
was good for all day. Jones gloated over the little
red bulls and heifers, as a miser gloats over gold
and jewels. Never before had he caught more than
two in one day, and often it had taken days to cap-
ture one. This was the last herd, this the last oppor*
tunity toward perpetuating a grand race of beasts.
And with born instinct he saw ahead the day of his
life.
At a tou:h, Kentuck closed in, and the buffalo,
seeing him, stampeded into the heaving roll so well
known to the hunter. Racing on the right flank of
the herd, Jones selected a tawny heifer and shot
the lariat after her. It fell true, but being stiff and
kinky from the sleet, failed to tighten, and the quick
calf leaped through the loop to freedom.
Undismayed the pursuer quickly -ecovered his
rope. Again he whirled and sent the loop. Again
it circled true, and failed to close; again the agile
heifer bounded through it. Jones whipped the air
with the stubborn rope. To lose a chance like that
was worse than boy's work.
The third whirl, running a smaller loop, tightened
the coil round the frightened calf just back of its ears.
A pull on the bridle brought Kentuck to a halt in
his tracks, and the baby buffalo rolled over and over
in the grass. Jones bounced from his seat and
jerked loose a couple of the soft cords. In a twinkling
The Last Herd
his big knee crushed down on the calf, and his big
hands bound it helpless.
Kentuck neighed. Jones saw his black ears go
up. Danger threatened. For a moment the hunter's
blood turned chill, not from fear, for he never felt
fear, but because he thought the Indians were return-
ing to ruin his work. His eye swept the plain. Only
the gray forms of wolves flitted through the grass,
here, there, all about him. Wolves! They were
ai fatal to his enterprise as savages. A trooping pack
of prairie wolves had fallen in with the herd and
hung close on the trail, trying to cut a calf away from
its mother. The gray brutes boldly trotted to within a
few yards of him, and slyly looked at him, with pale,
fiery eyes. They had already scented his captive.
Precious time flew by; the situation, critical and
baffling, had never before been met by him. There
lay his little calf tied fast, and to the north ran many
others, some oi which he must he would have. To
think quickly aad meant the solving of many a plains-
man's problem. Should he stay with his prize to
save it, or leave it to be devoured?
"Ha! you old gray devils!" he yelled, shaking
his fist at the wolves. " I know a trick or two."
Slipping his hat between the legs of the calf, he fast-
ened it securely. This done, he vaulted on Kentucky
and was off with never a backward glance. Certain
65
The Last of the Plainsmen
it was that the wolves would not touch anything,
alive or dead, that bore the scent of a human being.
The bison scoured away a long half-mile in the
lead, sailing northward like a cloud-shadow over the
plain. Kentuck, mettlesome, over-eager, would have
run himself out in short order, but the wary hunter^
strong to restrain as well a& impel, with the long
day in his mind, kept the steed I/i his easy stride,
which, springy and stretching, overhauled the herd
in the course of several miles.
A dash, a whirl, a shock, a leap, horse and hunter
working in perfect accord, and a fine big calf, bellow-
ing lustily, struggled desperately for freedom under
the remorseless knee. The big hands toyed with
him ; and then, secure in the double knots, the calf lay
still, sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes,
with the coat of the hunter tucked under his bonds to
keep away the wolves.
The race had but begun; the horse had but
warmed to his work; the hunter had but tasted of
sweet triumph. Another hopeful of a buffalo mother,
negligent in danger, truant from his brothers, stun>
bled and fell in the enmeshing loop. The hunter's
vest, slipped over the calf's neck, served as danger
signal to the wolves. Before the lumbering buffalo
missed their loss, another red and black baby kicked
helplessly on the grass and sent up vain, weak calls*
ea
The Last Herd
and at last lay still, with the hunter's boot tied to his
cords.
Four 1 Jones counted them aloud, and in his mind,
and kept on 1 Fast, hard work, covering upward of
fifteen miles, had begun to tell on herd, horse and
man, and all slowed down to the call for strength.
The fifth time Jones closed in on his game, he encoun-
tered different circumstances such as called forth his
cunning.
The herd had opened up ; the mothers had fallen
back to the rear; the calves hung almost out of sight
under the shaggy sides of protectors. To try them
out Jones darted close and threw his lasso. It struck
a cow. With activity incredible in such a huge beast, *
she lunged at him. Kentuck, expecting just such a
move, wheeled to safety. This duel, ineffectual on
both sides, kept up for a while, and all the time,
man and herd were jogging rapidly to the north.
Jones could not let well enough alone ; he acknowl-
edged this even as he swore he must have five.
Emboldened by his marvelous luck, and yielding
headlong to the passion within, he threw caution to
the winds. A lame old cow with a red calf caught
his eye; in he spurred his willing horse and slung
his rope. It stung the haunch of the mother. The
mad grunt she vented was no quicker than the velocity
which she plunged and reared. Jones had but
The Last of the Plainsmen
time to swing his leg over the saddle when the hoofs
beat down. Kentuck rolled on the plain, flinging his
rider from him. The infuriated buffalo lowered her
head for the fatal charge on the horse, when the
plainsman, jerking out his heavy Colts, shot her dead
in her tracks.
Kentuck got to his feet unhurt, and stood his
ground, quivering but ready, showing his steadfast
courage. He showed more, for his ears lay back,
and his eyes had the gleam of the animal that strikes
back.
. The calf ran round its mother. Jones lassoed it,
and tied it down, being compelled to cut a piece from
his lasso, as the cords on the saddle had given out
He left his other boot with baby number five. The
still heaving, smoking body of the victim called forth
the stern, intrepid hunter's pity for a moment, Spil]
of blood he had not wanted. But he had not been
able to avoid it; and mounting again with close-shut
jaw and smoldering eye, he galloped to the north.
Kentuck snorted; the pursuing wolves shied off in
the grass ; the pale sun began to slant westward. The
cold iron stirrups froze and cut the hunter's bootless,
feet.
When once more he came hounding the buffalo,
they were considerably winded. Short-tufted tails,
raised stiffly, gave warning. Snorts, like puffs of
eg
The Last Herd
escaping steam, and deep grunts from cavernous
chests evinced anger and impatience that might, at
any moment, bring the herd to a defiant stand.
He whizzed the shortened noose over the head of
a calf that was laboring painfully to keep up, and:
had slipped down, when a mighty grunt told him of
periL Never looking to see whence it came, he
sprang into the saddle. Fiery Kentuck jumped into
action, then hauled up with a shock that almost
threw himself and rider. The lasso, fast to the
horse, and its loop end round the calf, had caused the
sudden check.
A maddened cow bore down on Kentuck, The
gallant horse straightened in a jump, but dragging
the calf pulled him in a circle, and in another moment
he was running round and round the howling, kicking
pivot Then ensued a terrible race, with horse and
bison describing a twenty-foot circle. Bang ! Bang !
The hunter fired two shots, and heard the spats of
the bullets. But they only augmented the frenzy oi
the beast. Faster Kentuck flew, snorting in terror
closer drew the dusty, bouncing pursuer; the calf
spun like a top; the lasso strung tighter than wire*
Jones strained to loosen the fastening, but in vain.
He swart at his carelessness in dropping his knife
by the last calf he had tied. He thought of shooting
fthe rope, yet dared not risk the shot A hollow
The Last of the Plainsmen
^^^.X^BMM-SM. "*;
sound turned him again, with the Colts leveled.
Bang! Dust flew from the ground beyond the bisotu
The two charges left in the gun were all that
stood between him and eternity. With a desperate
display of strength Jones threw his weight in a back-
ward pull, and hauled Kentuck up. Then he leaned
far back in the saddle, and shoved the Colts out
beyond the horse's flank. Down went the broad
head, with its black, glistening horns. Bang! She
slid forward with a crash, plowing the ground with
hoofs and nose spouted blood, uttered a hoarse cry,
kicked and died.
Kentuck, for once completely terrorized, reared
and plunged from the cow, dragging the calf. Stern
command and iron arm forced him to a standstill.
The calf, nearly strangled, recovered when the noose
was slipped, and moaned a feeble protest against life
and captivity. The remainder of Jones's lasso went
to bind number six, and one of his socks went to
serve as reminder to the persistent wolves.
"Six! On! On! Kentuck! On!" Weaken-
ing, but unconscious of it, with bloody hands and
feet, without lasso, and with only one charge in his
revolver, hatless, coatless, vestless, bootless, the wild
hunter urged on the noble horse. The herd had
gained miles in the interval of the fight. Game to
backbone, Kentuck lengthened out to overhaul
The Last Herd
it, and slowly the rolling gap lessened and lessened.
A long hour thumped away, with the rumble growing
nearer.
Once again the lagging calves dotted the grassy
plain before the hunter. He dashed beside a burly
calf, grasped its tail, stopped his horse, and jumped.
The calf went down with him, and did not come
up. The knotted, blood-stained hands, like claws
of steel, bound the hind legs close and fast with a
leathern belt, and left between them a torn and
bloody sock.
" Seven! On I Old Faithful! We must have
another! the last! This is your day."
The blood that flecked the hunter was not all his
own.
The sun slanted westwardly toward the purpling
horizon; the grassy plain gleamed like a ruffled sea
of glass ; the gray wolves loped on.
When next the hunter came within sight of the
herd, over a wavy ridge, changes in its shape and
movement met his gaze. The calves were almost
done; they could run no more; their mothers faced
the south, and trotted slowly to and fro; the bulls
were grunting, herding, piling close. It looked as
if the herd meant to stand and fight
This mattered little to the hunter who had captured
seven calves since dawn. The first limping calf he
71
The Last of the Plainsmen *'
reached tried to elude the grasping hand and failed*
Kentuck had been trained to wheel to the right or
left, in whichever way his rider leaned; and as Jones
'bent over and caught an upraised tail, the horse
turned to strike the calf with both front hoofs. The
calf rolled; the horse plunged down; the rider sped
beyond to the dust. Though the calf was tired, he
i still could bellow, and he filled the air with robust
bawls.
Jones all at once saw twenty or more buffalo dash
in at him with fast, twinkling, short legs. With the
thought of it, he was in the air to the saddle. As the
black, round mounds charged from every direction,
Kentuck let out with all there was left in him. He
leaped and whirled, pitched and swerved, in a roar-
ing, clashing, dusty melee. Beating hoofs threw the
turf, flying tails whipped the air, and everywhere
were dusky, sharp-pointed heads, tossing low. Ken-
tuck squeezed out unscathed. The mob of bison,
bristling, turned to lumber after the main herd.
Jones seized his opportunity and rode after them,
yelling with all his might. He drove them so hard
that soon the little fellows lagged paces behind. Only
one or two old cows straggled with the calves.
Then wheeling Kentuck,, he cut between the herd
and a calf, and rode it down. Bewildered, the
tously little bull bellowed in great affright. The
The Last Herd
hunter seized the stift tail, and calling to his horse,
leaped ofL But his strength was far spent, and f-he
buffalo, larger than his fellows, threshed about and
jerked in terror. Jones threw it again and again.
But it struggled up, never once ceasing its louo
demands for help. Finally the hunter tripped it
up and fell upon it with his knees.
Above the rumble of retreating hoofs, Jones heard
the familiar short, quick, jarring pound on the turf.
Kentuck neighed his alarm and raced to the right.
Bearing down on the hunter, hurtling through the
air, was a giant furry mass, instinct with fierce life
and power a buffalo cow robbed of her young.
With hi? senses almost numb, barely able to pull
and raise the Colt, the plainsman willed to live, and
to keep his captive. His leveled arm wavered like
a leaf in a storm.
Bang ! Fire, smoke, a shock, a jarring crash, and
silence I
The calf stirred beneath him. He put out a hand
to touch a warm, furry coat. The mother had fallen
beside him. Lifting a heavy hoof, he laid it oveu
the neck of the calf to serve as additional weight.
He lay still and listened. The rumble oi the herd
died away in the distance. I
The evening waned. Still the hunter lay quiet
From time to time the calf struggled and bellowed.
The Last of the Plainsmen
Lank, gray wolves appeared on all sides; they
prowled about with hungry howls, and shoved black-
tipped noses through the grass. The sun sank, and
the sky paled to opal blue. A star shone out, then
another, and another. Over the prairie slanted the
first dark shadow of night.
Suddenly the hunter laid his ear to the ground, and
listened. Faint beats, like throbs of a pulsing heart,
shuddered from the soft turf. Stronger they grew, till
the hunter raised his head. Dark forms approached;
voices broke the silence; the creaking of a wagon
scared away the wolves.
** This way I " shouted the hunter weakly.
"Ha! here he is. Hurt?" cried Rude, vaulting
the wheel.
" Tie up this calf. How many did you find?"
The voice grew fainter.
" Seven alive, and in good shape, and all your
dothes."
But thq last words fell on unconscious ears,
CHAPTER IV
THE TRAIL
, what'll we do about horses? "
Jones* " Jim'll want the bay, and of course
you'll want to ride Spot. The rest of om
nags will only do to pack the outfit."
" I've been thinkinY' replied the foreman. " You
sure will need good mounts. Now it happens that
a friend of mine is just at this time at House Rock
Valley, an outlyin' post of one of the big Utah
ranches. He is gettin' in the horses off the range,
an' he has some crackin' good ones. Let's ooze over
there it's only thirty miles an' get some horses
from him."
We were all eager to act upon Frank's suggestion.
So plans were made for three of us to ride over
and select our mounts. Frank and Jim would follow
with the pack train, and if all went well, on the
following evening we would camp under the shadow
of Buckskin.
Early next morning we were on our way. I tried
to find a soft place on Old Baldy, one of Frank's
pack horses. He was a horse that would not have
75
The Last of the Plcdnsmen
raised up at the trumpet of doom. Nothing under
the sun, Frank said, bothered Old Baldy but the
operation of shoeing. We made the distance to the
outpost by noon, and found Frank's friend a genial
And obliging cowboy, who said we could have all
the horses we wanted.
While Jones and Wallace strutted round the big
corral, which was full of vicious, dusty, shaggy
horses and mustangs, I sat high on the fence. I !
heard them talking about points and girth and stride,
and a lot of terms that I could not understand.
Wallace selected a heavy sorrel, and Jones a big bay,
very like Jim's. I had observed, way over in the
corner of the corral, a bunch of cayuses, and among
them a clean-limbed black horse. Edging round on
the fence I got a doser view, and then cried out
that 1 had found my horse. I jumped down and
caught him, much to my surprise, for the other horses
were wild, and had kicked viciously. The black
was beautifully built, wide-chested and powerful,
but not heavy. His coat glistened like sheeny black
satin, and he had a white face and white feet and a
long mane.
\ " 1 don't know about giving you Satan that's his
name, 19 said the cowboy. ** The foreman rides him
often. He's the fastest, the best dimber, and the
best dispositioned horse on the range*
The Trail
" But I guess I can let you have him," he con*
tinued, when he saw my disappointed face.
u By George ! " exclaimed Jones. " You've got
it on us this time."
"Would you like to trade ?" asked Wallace, as
his sorrel tried to bite him. " That black looks sorfi
of fierce."
I led my prize out of the corral, up to the little
cabin nearby, where I tied him, and proceeded to get
acquainted after a fashion of my own. Though not
versed in horse-lore, I knew that half the battle was
to win his confidence. I smoothed his silky coat,
and patted him, and then surreptitiously slipped a
lump of sugar from my pocket. This sugar, which
I had purloined in Flagstaff, and carried all the way
across the desert, was somewhat disreputably soiled,
and Satan sniffed at it disdainfully. Evidently he
had never smelled or tasted sugar. I pressed it into
his mouth. He munched it, and then looked me
over with some interest. I handed him another lump,
'He took it and rubbed his nose against me. Satan
svas mine !
Frank and Jim came along early in the afternoon*
What with packing, changing saddles and shoeing
the horses, we were all busy. Old Baldy would not
be shod, so we let him off till a more opportune time,
By four o'clock we were riding toward the slopes of
77
The Last of the Plainsmen
Buckskin, now only a few miles away, standing up
higher and darker.
"What's that for?" inquired Wallace, pointing
to a long, rusty, wire-wrapped, double-barreled blun-
derbuss of a shotgun, stuck in the holster of Jones's
saddle.
The Colonel, who had been having a fine time with
the impatient and curious hounds, did not vouchsafe
any information on that score. But very shortly we
torere destined to learn the use of this incongruous
firearm, I was riding in advance of Wallace, and a
little behind Jones. The dogs excepting Jude, who
had been kicked and lamed were ranging along
before their master. Suddenly, right before me, I
saw an immense jack-rabbit; and just then Moze and
Don caught sight of it In fact, Moze bumped his
blunt nose into the rabbit When it leaped into
scared action, Moze yelped, and Don followed suit
Then they were after it in wild, clamoring pursuit
Jones let out the stentorian blast, now becoming
familiar, and spurred after them. He reached over,
pulled the shotgun out of the holster and fired both
barrels at the jumping dogs.
I expressed my amazement in strong language, and
Wallace whistled.
Don came sneaking back with his tail between his
legs, and Moze, who had cowered as Jf stung, circled
78
The Trail
round ahead of us. Jones finally succeeded in getting
him back.
" Come in hyah ! You measly rabbit dogs ! What
do you mean chasing off that way? We're after
lions. Lions ! understand? "
Don looked thoroughly convinced of his error, but
Moze, being more thick-headed, appeared mystified
rather than hurt or frightened.
" What size shot do you use? " I asked.
" Number ten. They don't hurt much at seventy,
five yards," replied our leader. " I use them as sort
of a long arm. You see, the dogs must be made to
know what we're after. Ordinary means would never
do in a case like this. My idea is to break them off
coyotes, wolves and deer, and when we cross a lion
trail, let them go. I'll teach them sooner than you'd
think. Only we must get where we can see what
they're trailing. Then I can tell whether to call them
back or not."
The sun was gilding the rim of the desert ramparts
when we began the ascent of the foothills of Buck-
skin. A steep trail wound zigzag up the mountain*
We led our horses, as it was a long, hard climb.
From time to time, as I stopped to catch my breath,
I gazed away across the growing void to the gorgeous
Pink Cliffs, far above and beyond the red wall which
had seemed so high, and then out toward the desert
The Last of the Plainsmen
The irregular ragged crack in the plain, apparently
only a thread of broken ground, was the Grand
Canon. How unutterably remote, wild, grand was
that world of red and brown, of purple pall, of vague
outline !
Two thousand feet, probably, we mounted to what
Frank called Little Buckskin. In the west a copper
glow, ridged with lead-colored clouds, marked where
the sun had set. The air was very thin and icy cold.
At the first clump of pinon pines, we made dry camp.
When I sat down it was as if I had been anchored.
Frank solicitously remarked that I looked " sort of
beat" Jim built a roaring fire and began getting
supper, A snow squall came on the rushing wind.
The air grew colder, and though I hugged the fire,
I could not get warm. When I had satisfied my hun-
ger, I rolled out my sleeping-bag and crept into it.
I stretched my> aching limbs and did not move again*
Once I awoke, drowsily feeling the warmth of the
fire, and I heard Frank say: " He's asleep, dead to
the world I"
" He's all in," said Jones. " Riding's what did it
You know how a horse tears a man to pieces."
" Will he be able to stand it? " asked Frank, with
$s much solicitude as if he were my brother. " When
>ou get out after anythin' well, you're heJL An*
think of the country we're goin 1 into. I know you've
80
The Trail
never seen the breaks of the Siwash, but I have, an*
it's the worst an' roughest country I ever saw. Breaks
after breaks, like the ridges on a washboard, headin*
on the south slope of Buckskin, an* runnin' down,
side by side, miles an' miles, deeper an' deeper, till
they run into that awful hole. It will be a killin 5
trip on men, horses an' dogs. Now, Mr. Wallace,
he's been campin' an' roughin' with the Navajos for
months; he's in some kind of shape, but "
Frank concluded his remark with a doubtful pause
" I'm some worried, too," replied Jones. " But
he would come. He stood the desert well enough;
even the Mormons said that"
In the ensuing silence the fire sputtered, the glare
fitfully merged into dark shadows under the weird
pifions, and the wind moaned through the short
branches.
"Wai," drawled a slow, soft voice, "shore I
reckon you're hollerin* too soon. Frank's measly
trick puttin' him on Spot showed me. He rode out
on Spot, an' he rode in on Spot Shore he'll stay.'*
It was not all the warmth of the blankets that
glowed over me then. The voices died away
(dreamily, and my eyelids dropped sleepily tight
Late in the night I sat up suddenly, roused by some
unusual disturbance. The fire was dead; the wind
swept with a rush through the pinons. From the
81
The Last of the Plainsmen
black darkness came the staccato chorus of coyotes,
Don barked his displeasure ; Sounder made the welkin
ring, and old Moze growled low and deep, grum-
bling like muttered thunder. Then all was quiet,
and I slept
Dawn, rosy red, confronted me when I opened my
eyes. Breakfast was ready; Frank was packing Old
Baldy; Jones talked to his horse as he saddled him;
Wallace came stooping his giant figure under the
pinons ; the dogs, eager and soft-eyed, sat around Jim
and begged. The sun peeped over the Pink CliSs;
the desert still lay asleep, tranced in a purple and
golden-streaked mist.
" Come, come ! " said Jones, in his big voicec
" We're slow ; here's the sun."
" Easy, easy, 11 replied Frank, " weVe all the time
there is."
When Frank threw the saddle over Satan I inter-
rupted him and said I would care for my horse hence-
forward. Soon we were under way, the horses fresh,
the dogs scenting the keen, cold air.
The trail rolled over the ridges of pifion and
scrubby pine. Occasionally we could see the black,
ragged crest of Buckskin above us. From one of
these ridges I took my last long look back at the
desert, and engraved on my mind a picture of the
red wall, and the many-hued ocean of sand The
The Trail
trail, narrow and indistinct, mounted the last slow-
rising slope; the piiions failed, and the scrubby pines
became abundant At length we reached the top,
and entered the great arched aisles of Buckskin
Forest The ground was flat as a table. Magnifi-
cent pine trees, far apart, with branches high and
spreading, gave the eye glad welcome* Some of these
monarchs were eight feet thick at the base and two
hundred feet high. Here and there one lay, gaunt
and prostrate, a victim of the wind. The smell of
pitch pine was sweetly overpowering.
44 When I went through here two weeks ago, the
snow was a foot deep, an' I bogged in places,*' said
Frank. " The sun has been oozin' round here some.
I'm afraid Jones won't find any snow on this end of
Buckskin."
Thirty miles of winding trail, brown and springy
from its thick mat of pine needles, shaded always by
the massive, seamy-barked trees, took us over the
extremity of Buckskin. Then we faced down into
the head of a ravine that ever grew deeper, stonier
and rougher. I shifted from side to side, from leg
to leg in my saddle, dismounted and hobbled before
Satan, mounted again, and rode on. Jones called
the dogs and complained to them of the lack of
snow. Wallace sat his horse comfortably, taking
long pulls at his pipe and long gazes at the shaggy
83
The Last of the Plainsmen
sides of the ravine. Frank, energetic and tireless,
kept the pack-horses in the trail. Jim jogged on
silently. And so we rode down to Oak Spring.
The spring was pleasantly situated in a grove of
oaks and pinons, under the shadow of three cliffs,
Three ravines opened here into an oval valley. A
rude cabin of rough-hewn logs stood near the spring.
" Get down, get down," sang out Frank. " We'll
hang up here. Beyond Oak is No-Man's-Land. We
take our chances on water after we leave here."
When we had unsaddled, unpacked, and got a
fire roaring on the wide stone hearth of the cabin,
It was once again nighi.
" Boys," said Jones after supper, " we're now on
the edge of the lion country. Frank saw lion sign
&n here only two weeks ago; and though the snow is
gone, we stand a show of finding tracks in the sand
and dust. To-morrow morning t before the sun gets
a chance at the bottom of these ravines, we'll be up
and doing. We'll each take a dog and search in
different directions. Keep the dog in leash, and when
he opens up, examine the ground carefully for tracks.
Kf a dog Tpens on any track that you are sure isn't
d lion's, pcoiish him. And when a lion-track is found,
hold the c*>g in, wait and signal. We'll use a signal
\ have trkd and found far-reaching and easy to yell.
That's it, Once yelled it means come.
The Trail
Twice means comes quickly. Three times means
come danger! "
In one corner of the cabin was a platform of
poles, covered with straw. I threw the sleeping-bag
on this, and was soon stretched out Misgivings as
to my strength worried me before I closed my eyes.
Once on my back, I felt I could not rise; my chest
was sore; my cough deep and rasping. It seemed
I had scarcely closed my eyes when Jones's impatient
voice recalled me from sweet oblivion.
" Frank, Frank, it's daylight. Jim boys ! " he
called.
I tumbled out in a gray, wan twilight. It was cold
enough to make the fire acceptable, but nothing like
the morning before on Buckskin.
" Come to the festal board," drawled Jim, almost
before I had my boots laced.
" Jones," said Frank, "Jim an* I'll ooze round
here to-day. There's lots to do, an' we want to have
things hitched right before we strike for the Siwash.
We've got to shoe Old Baldy, an' if we can't get him
locoed, it'll take all of us to do it."
The light was still gray when Jones led off with
Don, Wallace with Sounder and I with Moze. Jones
directed us to separate, follow the dry stream beds in
the ravines, and remember his instructions given the
night before.
The Last of the Plainsmen
The ravine to the right, which I entered, was
choked with huge stones fallen from the cliff above,
and pifions growing thick; and I wondered appre-
hensively how a man could evade a wild animal in
Such a place, much less chase it.
Old Moze pulled on his chain aad sniffed at coyote
and deer tracks. And every time he evinced interest
in such, I cut him with a switch, which, to tell the
truth, he did not notice.
I thought I heard a shout, and holding Moze
tight, I waited and listened.
" Waa-hoo waa-hoo ! " floated on the air, rather
deadened as if it had come from round the triangular
cliff that faced into the valley. Urging and dragging
Moze, I ran down the ravine as fast as I could, and
soon encountered Wallace coming from the middle
ravine.
" Jones," he said excitedly, " this way there's the
signal again."
We dashed in haste for the mouth of the third
, ravine, and came suddenly upon Jones, kneeling under
a pinon tree.
, " Boys, look ! " he exclaimed, as he pointed to the
ground. There, clearly defined in the dust, was a cat
track as big as my spread hand, and the mere sight
of it sent a chill up my spine. " There's a lion track!
fo* you; made by a female, a two-year-old; but I
*ft
The Trail
can't say if she passed here last night Don won't
take the trail Try Moze."
I led Moze to the big, round imprint, and put his
nose down into it. The old hound sniffed and
sniffed, then lost interest
"Cold!" ejaculated Jones. "No go. Try
Sounder. Come, old boy, youVe the nose for it."
He urged the relucant hound forward. Sounder
needed not to be shown the trail; he stuck his nose
in it, and stood very quiet for a long moment; then
he quivered slightly, raised his nose and sought the
next track. Step by step he went slowly, doubtfully.
All at once his tail wagged stiffly.
" Look at that! " cried Jones in delight " He's
caught a scent when the others couldn't. Hyah,
Moze, get back. Keep Moze and Don back; give
him room."
Slowly Sounder paced up the ravine, as carefully
as if he were traveling on thin ice. He passed the
dusty, open trail to a scaly ground with little bits
of grass, and he kept on.
We were electrified to hear him give vent to a deep
bugle-blast note of eagerness.
" By George, he's got Jt, boys! " exclaimed Jones,
as he lifted the stubborn, struggling hound off the
trail u I know that bay. It means a lion passed
here this morning. And we'll get him up as sure
$7
The Last of the Plainsmen
as you're alive. Come, Sounder. Now for the
horses."
As we ran pell-mell into the little glade, where
Jim sat mending some saddle trapping, Frank rode
up the trail with the horses.
" Well, I heard Sounder," he said with his genial
smile. " Something comin' off, eh ? You'll have to
ooze round some to keep up with that hound."
I saddled Satan with fingers that trembled in
excitement, and pushed my little Remington auto-
matic into the rifle holster.
u Boys, listen," said our leader. " We're off nov
in the beginning of a hunt new to you. Remember-
no shooting, no blood-letting, except in self-defense.
Keep as close to me as you can. Listen for the dogs,
and when you fall behind or separate, yell out the
signal cry. Don't forget this. We're bound to
lose each other. Look out for the spikes and branches
on the trees. If the dogs split, whoever follows the
one that trees the lion must wait there till the rest
some up. Off now! Come, Sounder; Moze, you
rascal, hyah! Come, Don, come, Puppy, and take
your medicine." i
Except Moze, the hounds were all trembling and
running eagerly to and fro. When Sounder was
loosed, he led them in a bee-line to the trail, with us
cantering after* Sounder worked exactly as before^
88
The Trdl
MM^BMMMMBNMMHMMMMI
only he followed the lion tracks a little farther up
the ravine before he bayed. He kept going faster
and faster, occasionally letting out one deep, short
yelp. The other hounds did not give tongue, but
cagfr, excited, baffled, kept at his heels. The ravine
long, and the wash at the bottom, up which the
had proceeded, turned and twisted round
bowlders large as houses, and led through dense
growths of some short, rough shrub. Now and then
the lion tracks showed plainly in the sand. For five
miles or more Sounder led us up the ravine, which
began to contract and grow steep. The dry stream
bed got to be full of thickets of poplar tall, straight,
branchless saplings, about the size of a man's arm,
and growing so close we had to press them aside to
let our horses through.
Presently Sounder slowed up and appeared at
fault We found him puzzling over an open, grassy
patch, and after nosing it for a little while, he began
skirting the edge.
" Cute dog ! " declared Jones. " That Sounder
will make a lion chaser. Our game has gone up here
somewhere."
Sure enough, Sounder directly gave tongue from
the side of the ravine. It was climb for us now.
Broken shale, rocks of all dimensions, pinons down
and pinons up made ascending no easy problem. We
89
The Last of the Plainsmen
had to dismount and lead the horses, thus losing
ground. Jones forged ahead and reached the top
of the ravine first. When Wallace and I got up,
breathing heavily, Jones and the hounds were out of
sight. But Sounder kept voicing his clear call, giving
us our direction. Off we flew, over ground that was
still rough, but enjoyable going compared to the
ravine slopes. The ridge was sparsely covered with
cedar and pifion, through which, far ahead, we pretty
soon spied Jones. Wallace signaled, and our leader
answered twice. We caught up with him on the
brink of another ravine deeper and craggier than the
first, full of dead, gnarled piiion and splintered rocks.
" This gulch is the largest of the three that head
in at Oak Spring," said Jones. " Boys, don't forget
your direction. Always keep a feeling where camp
is, always sense it every time you turn. The dogs
have gone down. That lion is in here somewhere.
Maybe he lives down in the high cliffs near the spring
and came up here last night for a kill he's buried
somewhere. Lions never travel far. Hark! Hark I
There's Sounder and the rest of them! TheyVe
got the scent; they've all got it! Down, boys, down,
and ride!"
With that he crashed into the cedar in a way that
showed me how impervious he was to slashing
branches, sharp as thorns, and steep descent and peril*
90
The Trail
Wallace's big sorrel plunged after him and the roll-
ing stones cracked. Suffering as I was by this time,
with cramp in my legs, and torturing pain, I had to
choose between holding my horse in or falling ofi.
so I chose the former and accordingly got behind.
Dead cedar and pifion trees lay everywhere, with
their contorted limbs reaching out like the arms of a
devil-fish. Stones blocked every opening. Making
the bottom of the ravine after what seemed an inter-
minable time, I found the tracks of Jones and Wal-
lace. A long " Waa-hoo! " drew me on; then the
mellow bay of a hound floated up the ravine. Satan
made up time in the sandy stream bed, but kept me
busily dodging overhanging branches. I became
aware, after a succession of efforts to keep from being
strung on pinons, that the sand before me was clean
and trackless. Hauling Satan up sharply, I waited
irresolutely and listened Then from high up the
ravine side wafted down a medley of yelps and barks.
" Waa-hoo, waa-hoo ! " ringing down the slope,
pealed against the cliff behind me, and sent the wild
echoes flying.
Satan, of his own accord, headed up the incline.
Surprised at this, I gave him free rein. How he
did climb ! Not long did it take me to discover that
he picked out easier going than I had. Once I saw
Jones crossing a ledge far above me, and I yelled our
91
The Last of the Plainsmen
signal cry. The answer returned clear and sharp;
then its echo cracked under the hollow cliff, and
crossing and recrossing the ravine, it died at last far
away, like the muffled peal of a bell-buoy. Again I
heard the blended yelping of the hounds, and closer
at hand. I saw a long, Jow cliff above, and decided
that the hounds were running at the base of it
Another chorus of yelps, quicker, wilder than the
others, drew a yell from me. Instinctively I knew
the dogs had jumped game of some kind. Satan
knew it as well as I, for he quickened his pace and
sent the stones clattering behind him.
I gained the base of the yellow cliff, buv lound no
tracks in the dust of ages that had crumbled in its
shadow, nor did I hear the dogs. Considering how
close they had seemed, this was strange. I halted
and listened. Silence reigned supreme. The ragged
cracks in the cliff walls could have harbored many a
watching lion, and I cast an apprehensive glance into
their dark confines. Then I turned my horse to get
round the cliff and over the ridge. When I again
stopped, all I could hear was the thumping of my
heart and the labored panting of Satan. I came to
a break in the cliff, a steep place of weathered rock,
and I put Satan to it He went up with a will. From
the narrow saddle of the ridge-crest I tried to take
my bearings. Below me slanted the green of pinon f
92
The Trail
with the bleached treetops standing like spears, and
uprising yellow stones. Fancying I heard a gun-
shot, I leaned a straining ear against the soft breeze.
The proof came presently in the unmistakable report
of Jones's blunderbuss. It was repeated almost
instantly, giving reality to the direction, which wa&
down the slope of what I concluded must be the
third ravine. Wondering what was the meaning of
the shots, and chagrined because I was out of the
race, but calmer in mind, I let Satan stand.
Hardly a moment elapsed before a sharp bark
tingled in my ears. It belonged to old Moze. Soon
I distinguished a rattling of stones and the sharp,
metallic clicks of hoofs striking rocks. Then into
a space below me loped a beautiful deer, so large that
at first I took it for an elk. Another sharp bark,
nearer this time, told the tale of Moze's dereliction.
In a few moments he came in sight, running with
his tongue out and his head high.
" Hyah, you old gladiator! hyah! hyah! " I yelled
and yelled again. Moze passed over the saddle on
the trail of the deer, and his short bark floated bacK
to remind me how far he was from a lion dog.
Then I divined the meaning of the shotgun
reports. The hounds had crossed a fresher trail than
that of the lion, and our leader had discovered it.
Despite a keen appreciation of Jones's task, I gave
03
The Last of the Plainsmen
way to amusement, and repeated Wallace's para-
doxical formula : " Pet the lions and shoot the
hounds."
So I headed down the ravine, looking for a blunt,
bold crag, which I had descried from camp. I found 1
it before long, and profiting by past failures to judge
of distance, gave my first impression a great stretch, i
and then decided that I was more than two miles'
from Oak.
Long after two miles had been covered, and I had
begun to associate Jim's biscuits with a certain soft
seat near a ruddy fire, I was apparently still the same
distance from my landmark crag. Suddenly a slight
noise brought me to a halt I listened intently. Only
an indistinct rattling of small rocks disturbed the
impressive stillness. It might have been the weather-
ing that goes on constantly, and it might have been
an animal. I inclined to the former idea till I saw
Satan's ears go up. Jones had told me to watch
the ears of rny horse, and short as had been my
acquaintance with Satan, I had learned that he always
discovered things more quickly than I. So I waited ^
patiently.
From time to time a rattling roll of pebbles, almost
musical, caught my ear. It came from the base of
the wall of yellow cliff that barred the summit of
all those ridges- Satan threw up his head and nosed
94
The Trail
the breeze. The delicate, almost stealthy sounds,
the action of my horse, the waiting drove my heart
to extra work. The breeze quickened and fanned my
cheek, and borne upon it came the faint and far-away
bay of a hound. It came again and again, each time
nearer. Then on a stronger puff of wind rang the
clear, deep, mellow call that had given Sounder his
beautiful name. Never It seemed had I heard music
so blood-stirring. Sounder was on the trail of some-
thing, and he had it headed my way. Satan heard,
shot up his long ears, and tried to go ahead; but I
restrained and soothed him into quiet.
Long moments I sat there, with the poignant con*
sciousness of the wildness of the scene, of the signifi-
cant rattling of the stones and of the bell-tongued
hound baying incessantly, sending warm joy through
my veins, the absorption in sensations new, yielding
only to the hunting instinct when Satan snorted and
quivered. Again the deep-toned bay rang into the
silence with its stirring thrill of life. And a sharp
rattling of stones just above brought another snort
from Satan.
Across an open space in the pifions a gray form
flashed. I leaped off Satan and knelt to get a better
view under the trees, t soon made out another deer
passing along the base of the cliff. Mounting again,
I rode up to the cliff to wait for Sounder.
The Last of the Plainsmen
A long time I had to wait for the hound. It
proved that the atmosphere v/as as deceiving in
regard to sound as to sight. Finally Sounder came
running along the wall. I got off to intercept him.
The crazy fellow he had never responded to my
overtures of friendship uttered short, sharp yelps
of delight, and actually leaped into my arms. But
I could not hold him. He darted upon the trail
again and paid no heed to my r.ngry shouts. With
a resolve to overhaul him, I jumped on Satan and
whirled after the hound.
The black stretched out with such a stride that I
was at pains to keep my ceat. I dodged the jutting
rocks and projecting snags; felt stinging branches in
my face and the rush of sweet, dry wind. Under
the crumbling walls, over elopes of weathered stone
and droppings of shelving rock, round protruding
noses of cliff, over and under pinons Satan thundered.
He came out on the top of the ridge, at the narrow
back I had called a saddle. Here I caught a glimpse
of Sounder far below, going down into the ravine
from which I had ascended some time before. I
called to him, but I might as well have called to the
wind.
Weary to the point of exhaustion, I once more
turned Satan toward camp. I lay forward on his
neck and let him have his will. Far down the ravine
as
The Tratt
1 awoke to strange sounds, and soon recognized the
cracking of iron-shod hoofs against stones then voices.
Turning an abrupt bend in the sandy wash, I ra
into Jones and Wallace.
" Fall in! Line up in the sad procession! w said
Jones. " Tige and the pup are faithful. The res
of the dogs are somewhere between the Grand Canon
and the Utah desert"
I related my adventures, and tried to spare Moze
and Sounder as much as conscience would permit*
" Hard luck ! " commented Jones. " Just as the
hounds jumped the cougar Oh! they bounced him
out of the rocks all right don't you remember, just
under that cliff wall where you and Wallace came up
to me? Well, just as they jumped him, they ran right
into fresh deer tracks. I saw one of the deer. Now
that's too much for any hounds, except those trained
for lions. I shot at Moze twice, but couldn't turn
him. He has to be hurt, they've all got to be hurt
to make them understand."
Wallace told of a wild ride somewhere in Jones*
wake, and of sundry knocks and bruises he had sus-
tained, of pieces of corduroy he had left decorating
the cedars and of a most humiliating event, where a
gaunt and bare pinon snag had penetrated under has
belt and lifted him, mad and kicking, off his horse,
" These Western nags will hang you on a limfr
The Last of the Plainsmen
every chance they get," declared Jones, " and don't
you overlook that. Well, there's the cabin. We'd
better stay here a few days or a week and break in
the dogs and horses, for this day's work was apple-
pie to what we'll get in the Siwash."
I groaned inwardly, and was remorselessly glad
to see Wallace fall off his horse and walk on one leg
to the cabin. When I got my saddle off Satan, had
given him a drink and hobbled him, I crept into the
cabin and dropped like a log. I felt as if every bone
in my body was broken and my flesh was raw. I
got gleeful gratification from Wallace's complaints,
and Jones's remark that he had a stitch in his back.
So ended the first chase after cougars.
CHAPTER f
OAK SPRING
MOZE and Don and Sounder straggled anto
camp next morning, hungry, footsore and
scarred ; and as they limped in, Jones met
them with characteristic speech : " Well, you decided
to come in when you got hungry and tired? Never*
thought of how you fooled me, did you? Now, the
first thing you get is a good licking."
He tied them in a little log pen near the cabin and
whipped them soundly. And the next few days
while Wallace and I rested, he took them out sepa-
rately and deliberately ran them over coyote and dees*
trails. Sometimes we beard his stentorian yell as s
forerunner to the blast from his old shotgun. Then*
again we heard the shots unheralded by the yell.
Wallace and I waxed warm under the collar over
this peculiar method of training dogs, and each of
tts made dire threats. But in justice to their implaca*
ble trainer, the dogs never appeared to be hurt;
never a spot of blood flecked their glossy coats, nor
did they ever come home limping. Sounder grew
wise, and Don gave up f but Moze appeared not to
-thange.
The Last of the Plainsmen
** All hands ready to rustle/ 5 sang out Frank one
morning, is Old Baldy's got to be shod.' 5
This brought us all, except Jones, out of the cabin,
to sec the object of Frank's anxiety tied to a nearby
oak, At first I failed to recognize Old Baldy, Van-
ished was the slow s sleepy, apathetic manner that
had characterized him; his ears lay back on his head;
fire flashed from his eyes When Frank threw down
a kit-bag, which emitted a metallic clanking, Old
Baldy sat back on his haunches ? planted his forefeet
deep in the ground and plainly as a horse could speak,
64 Sometimes he's bad, and sometimes worse,**
growled Frank*
" Shore he's plumb bad this morninV 1 replied Jim,
Frank got the three of us to hold Baldy's head and
pull him up, then he ventured to lift a hind foot over
his kneeo Old Baldy straightened out his leg and
sent Frank sprawling info the dirt. Twice again
Frank patiently tried to hold a hind leg, with the
game result; and then he lifted a forefoot Baldy
uttered a very intelligible snort, bit through Wallace's
'glove, yanked Jim off his feet, and scared me so that
I let go his forelook. Then he broke the rope whicte
held him to the tree. There was a plunge, a scatter*
Ing of men, though Jim still valiantly held on to
Bald/s head 8 and a thrashing of scrub pinon, wher*
100
Oak Spring
Baldy reached out vigorously with his hind feet But
for Jim, he would have escaped.
"What's all the row?" called Jones from the
cabin. Then from the door, taking in the situation,
he yelled : 4i Hold on, Jim 1 Pull down on the ornery
old cayuse ! "
He leaped into action with a lasso in each hand,
one whirling round his head. The slender rope
straightened with a whiz and whipped round Baldy's
legs as he kicked viciously. Jones pulled it tight,
then fastened it with nimble fingers to the tree.
" Let go I let go, Jim ! " he yelled, whirling the
other lasso. The loop flashed and fell over Baldy's
head and tightened round his neck. Jones threw all
the weight of his burly form on the lariat, land Baldy
crashed to the ground, rolled, tussled, screamed, and
then lay on his back, kicking the air with three free
legs. " Hold this ! " ordered Jones, giving the tight
rope to Frank. Whereupon he grabbed my lasso
from the saddle, roped Baldy's two forefeet, and
pulled him down on his side. This lasso he fastened
to a scrub cedar.
" He's chokin'!" said Frank.
" Likely he is, 1 * replied Jones shortly. " It'll do
him good." But with his big hands he drew the coil
loose and slipped it down over Baldy's nose, where
he tightened it again.
101
The Last of the Plainsmen
*' Now, go ahead," he said, taking the rope from
Frank,
It had all been done in a twinkling. Baldy lay
there groaning and helpless, and when Frank once
again took hold of the wicked leg, he was almost
passive. When the shoeing operation had been
neatly and quickly attended to and Baldy released
from his uncomfortable position he struggled to his
feet with heavy breaths, shook himself, and looked
at his master*
" How'd you like being hog-tied?" queried his
conqueror, rubbing Baldy's nose. " Now, after this
you'll have some manners."
Old Baldy seemed to understand, for he looked
sheepish, and lapsed once more into his listless, lazy
unconcern.
"Where's Jim's old cayuse, the pack-horse?"
-asked our leader.
" Lost. Couldn't find him this morning, an 1 had
a deuce of a time findin' the rest of the bunch. Old
Baldy was cute. He hid in a bunch of pifions an'
stood quiet so his bell wouldn't ring. I had to trail
him."
" Do the horses stray far when they are hobbled? "
inquired Wallace.
" If they keep jumpin* all night they can cover
some territory. We're now on the edge of the wild
102
Oak Spring
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
horse country, and our nags know this as well as we.
They smell the mustangs, an' would break their necks
to get away. Satan and the sorrel were ten miles
from camp when I found them this mornin*. An*
Jim's cayuse went farther, an' we never will get him.'
He'll wear his hobbles out, then away with the wild
horses. Once with them, he'll never be caught
again.'*
On the sixth day of our stay at Oak we had
visitors, whom Frank introduced as the Stewart
brothers and Lawson, wild-horse wranglers. They
were still, dark men, whose facial expression seldom
varied; tall and lithe and wiry as the mustangs they
rode. The Stewarts were on their way to Kanab,
Utah, to arrange for the sale of a drove of horses
they had captured and corraled in a narrow canon
back in the Siwash. Lawson said he was at our
service, and was promptly hired to look after our
' horses.
"Any cougar signs back in the breaks?" asked
Jones.
" Wai, there's a cougar on every deer trail, *
replied the elder Stewart, " an' two for every pinto
in the breaks. Old Tom himself downed fifteen
colts fer us this spring,"
" Fifteen colts ! That's wholesale murder. Why
Hon't you kill the butcher? "
The Last of the Plcdnsmen
** We've tried more'n onct. It's a tumble busted
up country, them brakes. No man knows it, an* the
cougars do. Old Tom ranges all the ridges and
brakes, even up on the slopes of Buckskin; but he
lives down there in them holes, an' Lord knows, no
dog I ever seen could follow him. We tracked him
in the snow, an* had dogs after him, but none could
stay with him, except two as never cum back. But
freVe nothin' agin Old Tom like Jeff Clarke, a hoss
rustler, who has a string of pintos corraled north of
us. Clarke swears he ain't raised a colt in two years."
" We'll put that old cougar up a tree," exclaimed
Jones.
u If you kill him we'll make you all a present of a
mustang, an' Clarke, he'll give you two each," replied
Stewart. " We'd be gettin' rid of him cheap."
" How many wild horses on the mountain now?"
" Hard to tell. Two or three thousand, mebbe.
There's almost no ketchin' them, an' they're growin*
al' the time. We ain't had no luck this spring. The
bunch in corral we got last year."
" Seen anythin' of the White Mustang? " inquired
Frank. " Ever get a rope near him? "
" No nearer'n we hev fer six years back. He can't
fee ketched. We seen him an' his band of blacks a
few days ago, headin' fer a water-hole down where
Nail Canon runs into Kanab Canon. He's so cun&ftf
104
Oak Spring
he'll never water at any of our trap corrals. An*
we believe he can go without water fer two weeks,
unless mebbe he hes a secret hole wcVe never trailed
him to."
" Would we have any chance to see this White
Mustang and his band? " questioned Jones.
" See him ? Why, thet'd be easy. Go down Snake
Gulch, camp at Singin* Cliffs, go over into Nail
Canon, an' wait. Then send some one slippin' down
to the water-hole at Kanab Canon, an* when the band
Cums in to drink which, I reckon will be in a few
days now hev them drive the mustangs up. Only
be sure to hev them get ahead of the White Mustang,
so he'll hev only one way to cum, fer he sure is
knowin'. He never makes a mistake, Mebbe you'll
get to see him cum by like a white stieak. Why, I've
heerd thet mustang's hoofs ring like bells on the
rocks a mile away. His hoofs are harder'n any iroii
shoe as was ever made. But even if you don't get
to see him, Snake Gulch is worth seeinV
I learned later from Stewart that the White Mas-
tang was a beautiful stallion of the wildest strain of
mustang blue blood. He had roamed the long
reaches between the Grand Canon and Buckskip
toward its southern slope for years ; he had been the
most sought-for horse by all the wranglers, and had
become so shx and experienced that nothing but &
105
The Last of the Plainsmen
glimpse was ever obtained of him. A singular fact
was that he never attached any of his own species to
his band, unless they were coal black. He had been
known to fight and kill other stallions, but he kept
out of the well-wooded and watered country fre-
quented by other bands, and ranged the brakes of
the Siwash as far as he could range. The usual
method, indeed the only successful way to capture
wild horses, was to build corrals round the water-
holes. The wranglers lay out night after night
watching. When the mustangs came to drink
which was always after dark the gates would be
closed on them. But the trick had never even been
tried on the White Mustang, for the simple reason
that he never approached one of these traps,
" Boys," said Jones, " seeing we need breaking
in, we'll give the White Mustang a little run."
This was most pleasureable news, for the wild
horses fascinated me. Besides, I saw from the expres-
sion on our leader's face that an uncapturable mus-
tang was an object of interest to him.
Wallace and I had employed the last -few warm,
sunny afternoons in riding up and down the valley
below Oak, where there was a fine, level stretch
Here I wore out my soreness of muscle, and gradu*
ally overcame my awkwardness in the saddle*
Frank's remedy of ^aple sugar and red peppef had'
106
Oak Spring
rid me of my cold, and with the return of strength,
and the coming of confidence, full, joyous appreci-
ation of wild environment and life made me unspeak-
ably happy. And I noticed that my companions were
in like condition of mind, though self-containeci
where I was exuberant. Wallace galloped his sorrel
and watched the crags ; Jones talked more kindly to (
the dogs; Jim baked biscuits indefatigably, and
smoked in contented silence; Frank said always:
" We'll ooze along easy like, for we've all the time
there is." Which sentiment, whether from reiter-
ated suggestion, or increasing confidence in the prac-
tical cowboy, or charm of its free import, gradually
.won us all.
" Boys," said Jones, as we sat round the campfire,
" I see you're getting in shape. Well, I've worn off
the wire edge myself. And I have the hounds com-
ing fine. They mind me now, but they're mystified.
For the life of them they can't understand what if
mean. I don't blame them. Wait till, by good luck,
We get a cougar in a tree. When Sounder and Don
see that, we've lion dogs, boys! we've lion dogs!
But Moze is a stubborn brute. In all my years of
animal experience, I've never discovered any othef
Way to make animals obey than by instilling fear and
respect into their hearts. I've been fond of buffalo,
horses and dogs, but sentiment never ruled me.
107
The Last of the Plainsmen
When animals must obey, they must that's all, and
no mawkishness ! But I never trusted a buffalo in
my life. If I had I wouldn't be here to-night. You
all know how many keepers of tame wild animals get
'killed. I could tell you dozens of tragedies. And 1
IVe often thought, since I got back from New York,
of that woman I saw with her troop of African lions.
I dream about those lions, and see them leaping over
her head. What a grand sight that was ! But the
public is fooled. I read somewhere that she trained
those lions by love. I don't believe it. I saw her use
a whip and a steel spear. Moreover, I saw many
things that escaped most observers how she entered
the cage, how she maneuvered among them, how shf
kept a compelling gaze on them ! It was an admi
rable, a great piece of work- Maybe she loves those
huge yellow brutes, but her life was in danger every
'moment while she was in that cage, and she knew
it. Some day, one of her pets likely the King of
Beasts she pets the most- will rise up aikl kill her.
That is as certain as death. 51
10*
CHAPTER VI
THE WHITE MUSTANG
FOR thirty miles down Nail Canon we marked^
in every dusty trail and sandy wash, the small,
oval, sharply defined tracks of the White
Mustang and his band.
The canon had been well named. It was long,
straight and square sided; its bare walls glared steel-
gray in the sun, smooth, glistening surfaces that had
been polished by wind and water. No weathered
heaps of shale, no crumbled piles of stone obstructed
its level floor. And, softly toning its drab austerity,
here grew the white sage, waving in the breeze, the
Indian Paint Brush, with vivid vermilion flower^
and patches of fresh, green grass.
" The White King, as we Arizona wild-boss wran^
Sjlers calls this mustang, is mighty pertickler about
Ills feed, an* he ranged along here last night, easy
like, browsin' on this white sage, 5 ' said Stewart
'Lifected by our intense interest in the famous mus-
tang, and ruffled slightly by Jones's manifest surprise
and contempt that no one had captured him, Stewart
iiad volunteered to guide us. " Never knowed him
The Last of the Plainsmen
to run in this way fer water; fact is, never knowed
Nail Canon hed a fork. It splits down here, but
you'd think it was only a crack in the walL An' thet
cunnin' mustang hes been foolin' us fer years about
this water-hole."
The fork of Nail Canon, which Stewart had
decided we were in, had been accidentally discovered
by Frank, who, in search of our horses one morning,
had crossed a ridge, to come suddenly upon the blind,
box-like head of the canon. Stewart knew the lay
of the ridges and run of the canons as well as any
man could know a country where, seemingly, every
rod was ridged and bisected, and he was of the
opinion that we had stumbled upon one of the White
Mustang's secret passages, by which he had so often
eluded his pursuers.
Hard riding had been the order of the day, but
still we covered ten more miles by sundown. The
canon apparently closed in on us, so camp was made
for the night. The horses were staked out, and
supper made ready while the shadows were dropping;
and when darkness settled thick over us, we lay under
our blankets.
Morning disclosed the White Mustang's secret
passage. It was a narrow cleft, splitting the canon
wall, rough, uneven, tortuous and choked with
fallen rocks no more than a wonderful crack in
no
The White Mustang
solid stone, opening into another canon. Above us
the sky seemed a winding, flowing stream of blue.
The walls were so close in places that a horse with
pack would have been blocked, and a rider had to
pull his legs up over the saddle. On the far side,
the passage fell very suddenly for several hundred
feet to the floor of the other canon. No hunter could
have seen it, or suspected it from that side.
" This is Grand Canon country, an' nobody knows
what he's goin* to find," was Frank's comment.
" Now we're in Nail Canon proper," said Stewart,
" an' I know my bearin's. I can climb out a mile
below an* cut across to Kanab Canon, an' slip up
into Nail Canon agin, ahead of the mustangs, an*
drive 'em up. I can't miss 'em, fer Kanab Canon
is impassable down a little ways. The mustangs will
hev to run this way. So all you need do is go below
the break, where I climb out, an' wait. You're sure
goin' to get a look at the White Mustang. But
wait. Don't expect him before noon, an' after thet,
any time till he comes. Mebbe it'll be a couple o
days, so keep a good watch."
Then taking our man Lawson, with blankets and a
knapsack of food, Stewart rode off down the canon.
We were early on the march. As we proceeded
the canon lost its regularity and smoothness ; it became
crooked as a rail fence, narrower, higher, rugged
ill
The Last of the Plainsmen
broken. Pinnacled cliffs, cracked and leaning, men-
aced us from abeve. Mountains of ruined wall had
tumbled into fragments.
It seemed that Jones, after much survey of different
corners, angles and points in the canon floor, chose
his position w&h much greater care than appeared
necessary for the ultimate success of our venture
Svhich was sifrply to see the White Mustang, and if
good for air ^ attended us, to snap some photographs
of this w'2d king of horses. It flashed over me that,
with his ruling passion strong within him, our leader
was laying some kind of trap for that mustang, was
indeed bent on his capture.
Wallace, Frank and Jim were stationed at a point
below the break where Stewart had evidently gone up
and out. How a horse could have climbed that
streaky white slide was a mystery. Jones's instruc-
tions to the men were to wait until the mustangs were
close upon them, and then yell and shout and show
themselves.
He took me to a jutting corner of cliff, which hid
us from the others, and here he exercised still more
care* in scrutinizing the lay of the ground. A wash
from ten to fifteen feet wide, and as deep, ran through
the canon in a somewhat meandering course. At the
corner which consumed so much of his attention, the
Sry ditch ran along the cliff wall about fifty feet out;
The White Mustang
between it and the wall was good level ground; o$
the other side huge rocks and shale made it hum-
mocky, practically impassable for a horse. It was
plain the mustangs, on their way up, would choosf
the inside of the wash; and here in the middle of the
passage, just round the jutting corner, Jones tied our
horses to good ? strong bushes. His next act was
significant. He threw out his lasso and, dragging
every crook out of it, carefully recoiled it, aid hung
it loose over the pommel of his saddle.
" The White Mustang may be yours before dark,"
he said with the smile that came so seldom. " Now
I placed our horses there for two reasons. The mus-
tangs won't see them till they're right on them. Then
you'll see a sight and have a chance for a great pic-
ture. They will halt; the stallion will prance, whistle
and snort for a fight, and then they'll see the saddles
and be off. We'll hide across the wash, down a little
way, and at the right time we'll shout and yell to
drive them up. 15
By piling sagebrush round a stone, we made a
hiding-place. Jones was extremely cautious to
arrange the bunches in natural positions. " A Rocky
Mountain Big Horn is the only four-footed beast,* 9
he said, " that has a better eye than a wild horse.
A cougar has an eye, too; he's used to lying high up
on the cliffs and looking down for his quarrj so as to
113
The Last of the Plainsmen
stalk it at night; but even a cougar has to take second
to a mustang when it comes to sight''
The hours passed slowly. The sun baked us; the
Itones were too hot to touch ; flies buzzed behind our
cars; tarantulas peeped at us from holes. The after-
noon slowly waned.
At dark we returned to where we had left Wallace
&nd the cowboys. Frank had solved the problem of
water supply, for he had found a little spring trickling
from a cliff, which, by skillful management, produced
enough drink for the horses. We had packed our
water for camp use.
" You take the first watch to-night," said Jones
to me after supper. " The mustangs might try to
slip by our fire in the night and we must keep a watch
for them. Call Wallace when your time's up. Now,
fellows, roll in."
When the pink of dawn was shading white, we
were at our posts. A long, hot, day interminably
long, deadening to the keenest interest passed, and
still no mustangs came. We slept and watched again,
in the grateful cool of night, till the third day broke.
The hours passed; the cool breeze changed to hot?
the sun blazed over the canon wall; the stoney
scorched; the flies buzzed. I fell asleep jn the scant
shade oi the sage bushes and awoke, stifled and moist.
The old plainsman, never weary, leaned with his back
114
The White Mustang
against a stone and watched, with narrow gaze, the
canon below. The steely walls hurt my eyes ; the sky
was like hot copper. Though nearly wild with heat
and aching bones and muscles and the long hours of
wait wait wait, I was ashamed to complain, for
there sat the old man, still and silent. I routed out
a hairy tarantula from under a stone and teased him
into a frenzy with my stick, and tried to get up a
light between him and a scallop-backed horned-toad
that blinked wonderingly at me. Then I espied a
green lizard on a stone. The beautiful reptile wa&
about a foot in length, bright green, dotted with
red, and he had diamonds for eyes. Nearby a purple
flower blossomed, delicate and pale, with a bee suck-
ing at its golden heart I observed then that the
lizard had his jewel eyes upon the bee; he slipped to
the edge of the stone, flicked out a long, red tongue,
and tore the insect from its honeyed perch. Here
were beauty, life and death; and I had been weary
for something to look at, to think about, to distract
me from the wearisome wait 1
"Listen I" broke in Jones's sharp voice. His
neck was stretched, his eyes were closed, his ear was
turned to the wind.
With thrilling, reawakened eagerness, I strained
my hearing. I caught a faint sound, then lost it.
** Put your ear to the ground," said Jones.
115
The Last of the Plainsmen
I followed his advice, and detected the rhythmic
beat of galloping horses.
" The mustangs are corning, sure as you're born ! "
exclaimed Jones.
"There! See the cloud of dust!" cried he a
minute later.
In the first bend of the canon below, a splintered
ruin of rock now lay under a rolling cloud of dust
A white flash appeared, a line of bobbing black
objects, and more dust; then with a sharp pounding
of hoofs, into clear vision shot a dense black band
of mustangs, and well in front swung the White
King.
" Look! Look! I never saw the beat of that
never in my born days! " cried Jones. " How they
move! yet that white fellow isn't half-stretched out
Get your picture before they pass* You'll never see
the beat of that'*
With long manes and tails flying, the mustangs
eame on apace and passed us in a trampling roar,
the white stallion in the front Suddenly a shrill,
whistling blast, unlike any sound I had ever heard,,
made the canon fairly ring. The white stallion
plunged back, and his band closed in behind him.
He had seen our saddle horses. Then trembling,
whinnying, and with arched neck and high-poised
head, bespeaking his mettle, he advanced a few paccs 9
116
The White Mustang
and again whistled his shrill note of defiance. Pure
creamy white he was, and built like a racer* He
pranced, struck his hoofs hard and cavorted; then
taking sudden fright, he wheeled.
It was then, when the mustangs were pivoting,
with the white in the lead, that Jones jumped upon the
stone, fired his pistol and roared with all his strength.
Taking his cue, I did likewise. The band huddled
back again, uncertain and frightened, then broke up
the canon,
Jones jumped the ditch with surprising agility,
and I followed close at his heels. When we reached
our plunging horses, he shouted: " Mount, and hold
this passage. Keep close in by that big stone at the
turn so they can't run you down, or stampede you*
If they head your way, scare them back."
Satan quivered, and when I mounted, reared and
plunged. I had to hold him in hard, for he was
eager to run. At the cliff wall I was at some pains
to check him. He kept champing his bit and stamp-
ing his feet.
From my post I could see the mustangs fiying
before a cloud of dust. Jones was turning in his
horse behind a large rock in the middle of the canon,
where he evidently intended to hide. Presently suc-
cessive yells and shots from our comrades blended in
$ roar which the narrow box-canon augmented and
The Last of the Plainsmen
echoed from wall to walL High the White Mus-
tang reared, and above the roar whistled his snort
of furious terror. His band wheeled with him and
charged back, their hoofs ringing like hammers on
iron.
The crafty old buffalo-hunter had hemmed the
mustangs in a circle and had left himself free in
the center. It was a wily trick, born of his quick
mind and experienced eye.
The stallion, closely crowded by his followers,
moved swiftly, I saw that he must pass near the
stone. Thundering, crashing, the horses came on.
Away beyond them I saw Frank and Wallace. Then
Jones yelled to me : " Open up ! open up ! "
I turned Satan into the middle of the narrow pas-
sage, screaming at the top of my voice and discharg-
ing my revolver rapidly.
But the wild horses thundered on. Jones saw
that they would not now be balked, and he spurred
his bay directly in their path. The big horse, coura- >
geous as his intrepid master, dove forward.
Then followed confusion for me. The pound of
hoofs, the snorts, a screaming neigh that was fright-
ful, the mad stampede of the mustangs with a whir-
ling cloud of dust, bewildered and frightened me so
that I lost sight of Jones. Danger threatened and
passed me almost before 1 was aware of it. Out of
119
The White Mustang
the dust a mass of tossing manes, foam-flecked black
horses, wild eyes and lifting hoofs rushed at me
Satan, with a presence of mind that shamed mine,
leaped back and hugged the wall. My eyes were
blinded by dust; the smell of dust choked me. I felt
a strong rush of wind and a mustang grazed my
stirrup. Then they had passed, on the wings of the
dust-laden breeze.
But not all, for I saw that Jones had, in some ines-
plicable manner, cut the White Mustang and two o|
his blacks out of the band. He had turned them back
again and was pursuing them. The bay he rode
had never before appeared to much advantage, and
now, with hie long, lean, powerful body in splendid
action, imbued with the relentless will of his rider,
what a picture he presented! How he did runl
With all that, the White Mustang made him look
dingy and slow. Nevertheless, it was a critical time
in the wild career of that king of horses. He had
been penned in a space two hundred by five hundred
yards, half of which was separated from him by a
wide ditch, a yawning chasm that he had refused}
and behind him, always keeping on the inside,
wheeled the yelling hunter, who savagely spurred his
bay and whirled a deadly lasso. He had been cut
off and surrounded; the very nature of the rocks and
trails of the canon threatened to end his freedom or
The Last of the Plainsmen
his life* Certain it was he preferred to end the
latter, for he risked death from the rocks as he went
<over them in long leaps.
Jones could have roped either of the two blacks,
'but he hardly noticed them. Covered with dust and
splotches of foam, they took their advantage, turned
on the circle toward the passage way and galloped
by me out of sight Again Wallace, Frank and Jim
let out strings of yells and volleys. The chase was
narrowing down. Trapped, the White Mustang
King had no chance. What a grand spirit he
showed! Frenzied as I was with excitement, the
thought occurred to me that this was an unfair battle,
that I ought to stand aside and let him pass. But
the blood and lust of primitive instinct held me fast
Jones, keeping back, met his every turn. Yet always
with lithe and beautiful stride the stallion kept out
t>f reach of the whirling lariat
" Close in ! " yelled Jones, and his voice, powerful
with a note of triumph, bespoke the knell of the
king's freedom.
The trap closed In. Back and forth at the upper
end the White Mustang worked; then rendered
desperate by the closing in, he circled round nearer
to me. Fire shone in his wild eyes. The wily Jones
was not to be outwitted ; he kept in the middle,
always on the move, and he yelled to me to open up.
The White Mustang
I lost my voice again, and fired my last shot Then
the White Mustang burst into a dash of daring,
despairing speed. It was his last magnificent effort
Straight for the wash at the upper end he pointed
his racy, spirited head, and his white legs stretched
far apart, twinkled and stretched again. Jones gal-
loped to cut him off, and the yells he emitted were
demoniacal. It was a long, straight race for the
mustang, a short curve for the bay.
That the white stallion gained was as sure as his
resolve to elude capture, and he never swerved a
foot from his course. Jones might have headed him,
but manifestly he wanted to ride with him, as well as
to meet him, so in case the lasso went true, a terrible
shock might be averted.
Up went Jones's aim as the space shortened, and
the lasso ringed his head. Out it shot, lengthened
like a yellow, striking snake, and fell just short of
the flying white tail.
The White Mustang, fulfilling his purpese in a
last heroic display of power, sailed into the air, up
and up, and over the wide wash like a white streak '
Free ! the dust rolled in a cloud from under his hoofs,
and he vanished.
Jones's superb horse, crashing down on his
haunches, just escaped sliding into the hole.
I awoke to the realization that Satan had carried
The Last of the Plainsmen
me, in pursuit of the thrilling chase, all the way
across the circle without my knowing it.
Jones calmly wiped the sweat from his face, calmly
coiled his lasso, and calmly remarked :
" In trying to capture wild animals a man must .
never be too sure. Now what I thought my strong
point was my weak point the wash. I made sure
no horse could ever jump that hole."
CHAPTER VII
SNAKE GULCH
NOT far from the scene of our adventures
with the White Streak, as we facetiously
and appreciatively named the mustang, a
deep, flat cave indented the canon wall. By reason of
its sandy floor and close proximity to Frank's trie*
kling spring, we decided to camp in it. About dark 8
Lawson and Stewart straggled in on spent horses 5
and found awaiting them a bright fire, a hot supper
and cheery comrades.
"Did yu fellars git to see him?*' was the tall
ranger's first question.
i{ Did we get to see him? " echoed five lusty voices
ascne. "We did!"
It was after Frank, in his plain, blunt speech, had
told of our experience, that the long Arizonian gazed
fixedly at Jones.
" Did yu acktully tech the hair of thet mustang
with a rope?"
In all his days Jones never had a greater complk
ment. By way of reply, he moved his big hand to a
button of his coat, and, fumbling o^cr it, unwound
123
The Last of the Plainsmen
ft string of long, white hairs, then said : " I pulled
these out of his tail with my lasso ; it missed his left
Jiinrf hoof about six inches."
JTiere were six of the hairs, pure, glistening white,
and over three feet long, Stewart examined them
in expressive silence, then passed them along; and
when they reached me, they stayed.
The cave, lighted up by a blazing fire, appeared to
me a forbidding, uncanny place. Small, peculiar
round holes, and dark cracks, suggestive of hidden
vermin, gave me a creepy feeling; and although not
over-sensitive on the subject of crawling, creeping
things, I voiced my disgust.
" Say, I don't like the idea of sleeping in this hole.
I'll bet it's full of spiders, snakes and centipedes and
other poisonous things."
Whatever there was in my inoffensive declaration
to rouse the usually slumbering humor of the Ari-
zonians, and the thinly veiled ridicule of Colonel
Jones, and a mixture of both in my once loyal Cali-
fornia friend, I am not prepared, to state. Maybe
it was the dry, sweet, cool air of Nail Canon ; maybe
'my suggestion awoke ticklish associations that worked
'theirselves off thus; maybe it was the first instance
of my committing myself to a breach of camp
etiquette. Be that as it may, my innocently expressed
sentiment gave rise to bewildering dissertations on
Snake Gulch
entomology, and most remarkable and startling tales
from first-hand experience.
" Like as not," began Frank in matter-of-fact tone*
" Them's tarantuler holes all right An' scorpions,
centipedes an' rattlers always rustle with tarantulers.
But we never mind them not us fellers! We're
used to sleepin' with them. Why, I often wake up
in the night to see a big tarantuler on my chest, an'
see him wink. Ain't thet so, Jim? "
" Shore as hell," drawled faithful, slow Jirn.
" Reminds me how fatal the bite of a centipede
is," took up Colonel Jones, complacently. " Once 1
was sitting in camp with a hunter, who suddenly
hissed out : * Jones, for God's sake don't budge 1
There's a centipede on your arm ! ' He pulled his
Colt, and shot the blamed centipede off as clean as
a whistle. But the bullet hit a steer in the leg; and
would you believe it, the bullet carried so much
poison that in less than two hours the steer died of
blood poisoning. Centipedes are so poisonous they
leave a blue trail on flesh just by crawling over it,
Look there ! "
He bared his arm, and there on the brown-corded
flesh was a blue trail of something, that was certain.'
It might have been made by a centipede.
" This is a likely place for them," put in Wallace*
Emitting a volume of smoke and gazing round tfat
The Last of the Plainsmen
cave walls with the eye of a connoisseur. " My
archaeological pursuits have given me great experi-
ence with centipedes, as you may imagine, consider-
ing how many old tombs, caves and cliff -dwellings I
have explored. This Algonkian rock is about the
right stratum for centipedes to dig in. They dig
somewhat after the manner of the fluviatile long-
tailed decapod crustaceans, of the genera Thoracos*
traca, the common crawfish, you know. From that,
of course, you can imagine, if a centipede can bite
rock, what a biter he is."
I began to grow weak, and did not wonder to see
Jim's long pipe fall from his lips. Frank looked
queer around the gills, so to speak, but the gaunt
Stewart never batted an eye.
" I camped here two years ago," he said, " an'
the cave was alive with rock-rats, mice, snakes,
horned-toads, lizards an' a big Gila monster, besides
bugs, scorpions, rattlers, an' as fer tarantulers an*
centipedes say ! I couldn't sleep fer the noise they
made fightinV
" I seen the same," concluded Lawson, as noncha-
lant as a wild-horse wrangler well could be. "An*
as fer me, now I allus lays perfickly still when the
centipedes an' tarantulers begin to drop from their
holes in the roof, same as them holes up there. An
when they light on me, f never move, nor
126
Snake Gulch
breathe fer about five minutes. Then they take a
notion I'm dead an' crawl off. But sure, if I'd
Breathed I'd been a goner ! "
All of this was playfully intended for the extinc-
tion of an unoffending and impressionable tenderfoot
With an admiring glance at my tormentors, I
4 rolled out my sleeping-bag and crawled into it, vow*
ing I would remain there even if devil-fish, armed
with pikes, invaded our cave.
Late in the night I awoke. The bottom of the
canon and the outer floor of our cave lay bathed in
white, clear moonlight. A dense, gloomy black
shadow veiled the opposite canon wall High up
the pinnacles and turrets pointed toward a resplen*
dent moon. It was a weird, wonderful scene of
beauty entrancing, of breathless, dreaming silence
that seemed not of life. Then a hoot-owl lamented
, dismally, his call fitting the scene and the dead still-
ness; the echoes resounded from cliff to cliff, strangely
mocking and hollow, at last reverberating low and
pnournful in the distance.
How long I lay there enraptured with the beauty
of light and mystery of shade, thrilling at the lone*
some lament of the owl, I have no means to tell; but
I was awakened from my trance by the touch of
something crawling over me. Promptly I raised my
head. The cave was as light as day. There, sitting
127
The Last of the Plainsmen
sociably on my sleeping-bag was a great black taran-
tula, as large as my hand.
For one still moment, notwithstanding my con-
tempt for Lawson's advice, I certainly acted upon it
to the letter. If ever I was quiet, and if ever I was
cold, the time was then. My companions snored in
blissful ignorance of my plight. Slight rustling
sounds attracted my wary gaze from the old black
sentinel on my knee. I saw other black spiders run-
ning to and fro on the silver, sandy floor. A giant,
as large as a soft-shell crab, seemed to be meditating
an assault upon Jones's ear. Another, grizzled and
shiny with age or moonbeams I could not tell which
pushed long, tentative feelers into Wallace's cap.
I saw black spots darting over the roof. It was not
a dream ; the cave was alive with tarantulas !
Not improbably my strong impression that the
spider on my knee deliberately winked at me was the
result of memory, enlivening imagination. But it
sufficed to bring to mind, in one rapid, consoling
flash, the irrevocable law of destiny that the deeds
of the wicked return unto them again.
I slipped back into my sleeping-bag, with a keen
consciousness of its nature, and carefully pulled the
flap in place, which almost hermetically sealed me up.
" Hey ! Jones ! Wallace ! Frank I Jim 1 " I yelled,,
from the depths of my safe refuge.
128
JJ'ICUKG UTttlVfb
Wondering cries gave me glad assurance that they
had awakened from their dreams.
" The cave's alive with tarantulas ! " I cried, try-
ing to hide my unholy glee.
. " Til be durned if it ain't 1 " ejaculated Frank.
" Shore it beats hell 1 " added Jim, with a shake
of his blanket.
" Look out, Jones, there's one on your pillow 1 fl
shouted Wallace,
Whack ! A sharp blow proclaimed the opening of
hostilities.
Memory stamped indelibly every word of that
incident; but innate delicacy prevents the repetition
of all save the old warrior's concluding remarks:
"111 place I was ever in ! Tarantulas by the
million centipedes, scorpions, bats! Rattlesnakes,
too, I'll swear. Look out, Wallace! there, under
your blanket ! "
From the shuffling sounds which wafted sweetly
into my bed, I gathered that my long friend from
California must have gone through motions credit*
*ble to a contortionist An ensuing explosion from
/ones proclaimed to the listening world that Wallace
had thrown a tarantula upon him. Further fearful
language suggested the thought that Colonel Jones
had passed on the inquisitive spider to Frank, The
"reception accorded the unfortunate tarantula, no
The Last of the Plainsmen
doubt scared out of its wits, began with a wild yell
j^rom Frank and ended in pandemonium.
While the confusion kept up, with whacks and
blows and threshing about, with language such as
never before had disgraced a group of old campers,
I choked with rapture, and reveled in the sweetness
of revenge.
When quiet reigned once more in the black and
white canon, only one sleeper lay on the moon-
silvered sand of the cave.
At dawn, when I opened sleepy eyes, Frank, Jim,
Stewart and Lawson had departed, as pre-arranged,
with the outfit, leaving the horses belonging to us
and rations for the day. Wallare and I wanted to
climb the divide at the break, and go home by way
of Snake Gulch, and the Colonel acquiesced with the
remark that his sixty-three years had taught him
there was much to see in the world. Coming to
undertake it, we found the climb except for a slide
of weathered rock no great task, and we accom-
plished it in half an hour, with breath to spare and
BO mishap to horses.
But descending into Snake Gulch, which was only
a. tnile across the sparsely cedared ridge, proved to be
tedious labor. By virtue of Satan's patience and
skill, I forged ahead; which advantage, however,
meant more risk for me because of the stones set in
130
Snake Gulch
motion above. They rolled and bumped and cut into
me, and I sustained many a bruise trying to protect
the sinewy slender legs of my horse. The descent
ended without serious mishap.
Snake Gulch had a character and sublimity which
cast Nail Canon into the obscurity of forgetfulness.
The great contrast lay in the diversity of structure
The rock was bright red, with parapet of yellow, that
leaned, heaved, bulged outward. These emblazoned
cliff walls, two thousand feet high, were cracked
from turret to base ; they bowled out at such an angle
that we were afraid to ride under them. Mountains
of yellow rock hung balanced, ready to tumble down
at the first angry breath of the gods. We rode
among carved stones, pillars, obelisks and sculptured
ruined walls of a fallen Babylon. Slides reaching all
the way across and far up the canon wall obstructed
our passage. On every stone silent green lizards
sunned themselves, gliding swiftly as we came near
to their marble homes.
We came into a region of wind-worn caves, of all
sizes and shapes, high and low on the cliffs; but
strange to say, only on the north side of the canon
they appeared with dark mouths open and uninviting.
One, vast and deep, though far off, menaced us as
might the cave of a tawny-maned king of beasts j yet
it impelled, fascinated and drew us on*
131
The Last of the Plainsmen
" It's a long, hard climb," said Wallace to the
Colonel, as we dismounted. t
" Boys, I'm with you," came the reply. And he
ras with us all the way, as we clambered over the
immense blocks and threaded a passage between them,
and pulled weary legs up, one after the other. So
steep lay the jumble of cliff fragments that we lost
sight of the cave long before we got near it Sud-
denly we rounded a stone, to halt and gasp at the
thing looming before us.
The dark portal of death or hell might have
yawned there. A gloomy hole, large enough to
admit a church, had been hollowed in the cliff by
ages of nature's chiseling.
"Vast sepulcher of Time's past, give up thy
dead ! " cried Wallace, solemnly.
" Oh ! dark Stygian cave forlorn ! " quoted I, as ,
feelingly as my friend.
Jones hauled us down from the clouds.
" Now, I wonder what kind of a prehistoric animal
holed in here," said he.
Forever the one absorbing interest ! If he realized
the sublimity of this place, he did not show it. )
The floor of the cave ascended from the very-
threshold. Stony ridges circled from wall to wall
We climbed till we were two hundred feet from the'
v opening, yet we ^cre not half-way to the dome.
m
Snake Gulch
Our horses, browsing in the sage far below, looked
like ants. So steep did the ascent become that we
desisted ; for if one of us had slipped on the smooth
incline, the result would have been terrible. Out
voices rang clear and hollow from the walls. We
were so high that the sky was blotted out by the
overhanging square, cornice-like top of the door;
and the light was weird, dim, shadowy, opaque. It
was a gray tomb.
" Waa-hoo ! " yelled Jones with all the power of
his wide, leather lungs.
Thousands of devilish voices rushed at us, seem*
ingly on puffs of wind. Mocking, deep echoes bek
lowed from the ebon shades at the back of the cave,
and the walls, taking them up, hurled them on again
in fiendish concatenation.
We did not again break the silence of that tomb,
where the spirits of ages lay in dusty shrouds; and
we crawled down as if we had invaded a sanctuary
and invoked the wrath of the gods.
We all proposed names: Montezuma's Amphithe-
ater being the only rival of Jones's selection, Edio
Cave, which we finally chose.
Mounting our horses again, we made twenty miles
of Snake Gulch by noon, when we rested for luncE.
All the way up we had played the boy's game of spy-
ing for sights, with the honors about even. It was *
133
The Last of the Plainsmen
question if Snake Gulch ever before had such a
over. Despite its name, however, we discovered na
^snakes.
From the sandy niche of a cliff where we lunched
Wallace espied a tomb, and heralded his discovery
With a victorious whoop. Digging in old ruins
roused in him much the same spirit that digging in
old boc ks roused in me. Before we reached him, be
had a big bowie-knife buried deep in the red, sandy
floor of the tomb.
This one-time sealed house of the dead had been
constructed of small stones, held together by a
cement, the nature of which, Wallace explained, had
never become clear to civilization. It was red in
color and hard as flint, harder than the rocks it
glued together. Th<? comb was half-round in shape,
and its floor was A projecting shelf of cliff rock.
Wallace unearthed bits of pottery, bone and finely
braided rope, all of which, to our great disappoint-
ment, crumbled to dust in our fingers. In the case
t>f the rope, Wallace assured us, this was a sign of
remarkable antiquity.
In the next mile we traversed, we found dozens of
these old cells, all demolished except a few feet of the
walls, all despoiled of their one-time possessions.
Wallace thought these depredations were due td
Indians of our own time. Suddenly we came upon*
184
Snake Gulch
Jones, standing under a cliff, with his neck craned to
a desperate angle,
"Now, what's that?" demanded he, pointing
upward.
High on the cliff wall appeared a small, round
protuberance. It was of the unmistakably red color
of the other tombs ; and Wallace, more excited than
he had been in the cougar chase, said it was a sepul-
cher, and he believed it had never been opened.
From an elevated point of rock, as high up as 1
could well climb, I decided both questions with my
glass. The tomb resembled nothing so much as a
mud-wasp's nest, high on a barn wall. The fact
that it had never been broken open quite carried
Wallace away with enthusiasm.
" This is no mean discovery, let me tell you that,**
he declared. " I am familiar with the Aztec, Toltec
and Pueblo ruins, and here I find no similarity. Be-
sides, we are out of their latitude. An ancient race
of people very ancient indeed lived in this canon*,
How long ago, it is impossible to tell."
" They must have been birds," said the practical
Jones. " Now, how'd that tomb ever get there?
Look at it, will you ? "
As near as we could ascertain it was three hundred
feet from the ground below, five hundred from the
rim wall above, and could not possibly have been
135
The Last of the Plainsmen
approached from the top. Moreover, the cliff wall
was as smooth as a wall of hurnata make.
" There's another one," called out Jones.
" Yes, and I see another; no doubt there are many
of them," replied Wallace. " In my mind, only ^ne
thing possible accounts for their position. You
observe they appear to be about level with each
other. Well, once the canon floor ran along that
line, and in the ages gone by it has lowered, washed
away by the rains."
This conception staggered us, but it was the only
one conceivable. No doubt we all thought at the
same time of the little rainfall in that arid section of
Arizona.
" How many years? " queried Jones.
"Years I What are years?" said Wallace.
"Thousands of years, ages have passed sines th*
race who built these tombs lived-"
Some persuasion was necessary to drag our scien*
tific friend from the spot, where obviously helpless
*o do anything else, he stood and gazed longingly at
'he isolated tombs. The canon widened as we pro-
teeded; and hundreds of points that invited inspec*
tion, such as overhanging shelves of rock, dark
^fissures, caverns and ruins had to be passed by, for
lack of time.
Still, a more interesting and important discovery
13fi
Snake Gulch
was to come, and the pleasure and honor of it fell
to me. My eyes were sharp and peculiarly far-
sighted the Indian sight, Jones assured me; and I
kept them searching the walls in such places as my
companions overlooked. Presently, under a large,
bulging bluff, I saw a dark spot, which took the shape
of a figure. This figure, I recollected, had been pre-
sented to my sight more than once, and now it
stopped me. The hard climb up the slippery stones
was fatiguing, but I did not hesitate, for I was
determined to know. Once upon the ledge, I let out
a yell that quickly set my companions in my direction.
The figure I had seen was a dark, red devil, a painted
image, rude, unspeakably wild, crudely executed, but*
painted by the hand of man. The whole surface of
the cliff wall bore figures of all shapes men,
animals, birds and strange devices, some in red paint,
mostly in yellow. Some showed the wear of time;
others were clear and sharp,
Wallace puffed up to me,' but he had wind enough
left for another whoop. Jones puffed up also, and
seeing the first thing a rude sketch of what might
have been a deer or a buffalo, he commented thuss
" Darn me if I ever saw an animal like that ? Boys,
this is a find, sure as you're born. Because not even
the Piutes ever spoke of these figures. I doubt it
they know they're here. And the cowboys and
137
The Last of the Pldnsmen
wranglers, what few ever get by here in a hundred
years, never saw these things. Beats anything I ever
$aw on the Mackenzie, or anywhere else."
The meaning of some devices was as mystical as
chat of others was dear. Two blood-red figures of
men, the larger dragging the smaller by the hair,
while he waved aloft a blood-red hatchet or club,
left little to conjecture. Here was the old battle of
men, as old as life. Another group, two figures of
which resembled the foregoing in form and action,
battling over a prostrate form rudely feminine in
outline, attested to an age when men were as suscep-
tible as they are in modern times, but more forceful
and original. An odd yellow Indian waved aloft a
red hand, which striking picture suggested the
idea that he was an ancient Macbeth, listening to
the knocking at the gate. There was a character
representing a great chief, before whom many figures
lay prostrate, evidently slain or subjugated. Large
*ed paintings, in the shape of bats, occupied promi-
nent positions, and must have represented gods or
devils. Annies of marching men told of that blight
of nations old or young war. These, and birds
onnamable, and beasts unclassable, with dots and
marks and hieroglyphics, recorded the history of a
bygone people. Symbols they were of an era that
Had gone into the dim past, leaving only these
138
Snake Gulch
forever unintelligible; yet while they stood, century
after century, ineffaceable, reminders of the glory,
the mystery, the sadness of life.
"How could paint of any kind last so long?*'
ssked Jones, shaking his head doubtfully.
" That is the unsolvable mystery," returned Wai
lace. " But the records are there. I am absolutely
sure the paintings are at least a thousand years old.
I have never seen any tombs or paintings similar to
them. Snake Gulch is a find, and I shall some day
study its wonders."
Sundown caught us within sight of Oak Spring,
and we soon trotted into camp to the welcoming
chorus of the hounds. Frank and the others had
reached the cabin some hours before* Supper was
steaming on the hot coals with a delicious fragrance.
Then came the pleasantest time of the day, after a
long chase or jaunt the silent moments, watching
the glowing embers of the fire ; the speaking moments
when a red-blooded story rang clear and true; the
twilight moments, when the wood-smoke smelled
sweet
Jones seemed unusually thoughtful, I had learned
that this preoccupation in him meant the stirring of
old associations, and 1 waited silently. By and by
Lawson snored mildly in a corner; Jim and Frank
crawled into their blankets, and all was still, Wat-
is*
The Last of the Plainsmen
lace smoked his Indian pipe and hunted in firelit
dreams.
" Boys," said our leader finally, " somehow the
echoes dying away in that cave reminded m^- of the
mourn of the big white wolves in the Barren Lands.**
Wallace puffed huge clouds of white smoke, and
I waited, knowing that I was to hear at last the story
of the Colonel's great adventure in the Northland.
CHAPTER VIII
NAZA! NAZA! NAZA!
IT was a waiting day at Fort Chippewayan* The
lonesome, far-northern Hudson's Bay Trading
Post seldom saw such life. Tepees dotted the
banks of the Slave River and lines of blanketed
Indians paraded its shores. Near the boat landing
a group of chiefs, grotesque in semi-barbaric, semi-
civilized splendor, but black-browed, austere-eyed,
stood in savage dignity with folded arms and high-
held heads. Lounging on the grassy bank were white
men, traders, trappers and officials of the post
All eyes were on the distant curve of the river
where, as it lost itself in a fine-fringed bend of dark
green, white-glinting waves danced and fluttered. A
Jwie sky lay blue in the majestic stream; ragged,
spear-topped, dense green trees massed down to the
water; beyond rose bold, bald-knobbed hills, ia
remote purple relief.
A long Indian arm stretched south. The waiting
eyes discerned a black speck on the green, and
watched it grow. A flatboat, with a man standing
to the oars, bore down swiftly,
wi
The Last of the Plainsmen
TT> [-.^^Mii ^^^[i^^iii^^M^^BimirMMiiini^^iiM^iimmM^iii ""*
Not a red hand, nor a white one, offered to help
the voyager in the difficult landing. The oblong,
clumsy, heavily laden boat surged with the current
and passed the dock despite the boatman's efforts.
He swung his craft in below upon a bar and roped
it fast to a tree. The Indians crowded above him on
the bank. The boatman raised his powerful form
erect, lifted a bronzed face which seemed set in
craggy hardness, and cast from narrow eyes a keen,
cool glance on those above. The silvery gleam ia
His fair hair told of years.
Silence, impressive as it was ominous, broke only
to the rattle of camping paraphernalia, which the
voyager threw to a level, grassy bench on the bank.
Evidently this unwelcome visitor had journeyed from
afar, and his boat, sunk deep into the water with its
load of barrels, boxes and bags, indicated that the
journey had only begun. Significant, too, were a cou-
ple of long Winchester rifles shining on a tarpaulin,
The cold-faced crowd stirred and parted to permit
the passage of a tall, thin, gray personage of official '
bearing, in a faded military coat.
"Are you the musk-ox hunter? 1 ' he asked, in
tones that contained no welcome.
The boatman greeted this peremptory interlocutor
with a cool laugh a strange laugh, in which the
tnuscles of his face appeared not to play.
142
Naza! Naza! Naza!
** Yes, I am the man," he said.
" The chiefs of the Chippewayan and Great Slave
tribes have been apprised of your coming. They
have held council and are here to speak with you. 5 *
At a motion from the commandant, the line of
chieftains piled down to the level bench and formed
a half-circle before the voyager. To a man who
had stood before grim Sitting Bull and noble Black
Thunder of the Sioux, and 'faced the falcon-eyed
Geronimo, and glanced over the sights of a rifle at
gorgeous-feathered, wild, free Comanches, this semi-
circle of savages lords of the north was a sorry
comparison. Bedaubed and betrinketed, slouch y and
slovenly, these low-sratured chiefs belied in appear*
ance their scorn-bright eyes and lofty mien. They
made a sad group.
One who spoke in unintelligible language, rolled
out a haughty, sonorous voice over the listening mul-
titude. When he had finished, a half-breed inter*
preter, in the dress of a white man, spoke at a signal
from the commandant.
" He says listen to the great orator of the Chippe^
wayan. He has summoned all the chiefs of the tribes
south of Great Slave Lake. He has held counciL
The cunning of the pale-face, who comes to take
the musk-oxen, is well known. Let the pale-face
hunter return to his own hunting-grounds; let him
143
The Last of the Plainsmen
tarn his face from the north. Never will the chiefs
permit the white man to take musk-oxen alive from
their country. The Ageter, the Musk-ox, is their
god He gives them food and fur. He will never
come back if he is taken away, and the reindeer will
follow him. The chiefs and their people would
starve. They command the pale-face hunter to go
back. They cry Naza ! Naza ! Naza I "
44 Say, for a thousand miles I've heard that word
Naza ! " returned the hunter, with mingled curi-
osity and disgust "At Edmonton Indian runners
started ahead of me, and every village I struck the
redskins would crowd round me and an old chief
would harangue at me, and motion me back, and
point north with Naza I Naza ! Naza ! What does
it mean?"
44 No white man knows; no Indian will tell,"
answered the interpreter. "The traders think it
means the Great Slave, the North Star, the North'
Spirit, the North Wind, the North Lights and
Ageter, the musk-ox god."
44 Well, say to the chiefs to tell Ageter I have been
four moons on the way after some of his little
Ageters, and I'm going to keep on after them."
* 4 Hunter, you are most unwise," broke in the
commandant, in his officious voice. " The Indians
never permit you to take a musk-ox alive from
144
Nazaf Naza! Nazat
the north. They worship him, pray to him. It is
a wonder you have not been stopped."
"Who'll stop me?"
" The Indians. They will kill you if you do not
turn back."
" Faugh ! to tell an American plainsman that ! "
The hunter paused a steady moment, with his eyelids
narrowing over slits of blue fire. " There is no law
to keep me out, nothing but Indian superstition and
the greed of the Hudson's Bay people. And I am an
old fox, not to be fooled by pretty baits. For years
the officers of this fur-trading company have tried
to keep out explorers. Even Sir John Franklin, an
Englishman, could not buy food of them. The
policy of the company is to side with the Indians,
to keep out traders and trappers. Why? So they
can keep on cheating the poor savages out of clothing
1 and food by trading a few trinkets and blankets, a
little tobacco and rum for millions of dollars worth
of furs. Have I failed to hire man after man,
Indian after Indian, not to know why I cannot get
,a helper? Have I, a plainsman, come a thousand
miles alone to be scared by you, or a lot of craven
Indians? Have I been dreaming of musk-oxen for I
forty years, to slink south now, when I begin to feel
the north? Not I."
Deliberately every chief, with the sound of a hiss-
145
The Last of the Plainsmen
ing snake, spat in the hunter's face. He stood .
immovable while they perpetrated the outrage, then
calmly wiped his cheeks, and in his strange, cool
voice, addressed the intrepreter.
" Tell them thus they show their true qualities, to
insult in council. Tell them they are not chiefs, but
dogs. Tell them they are not even squaws, only
poor, miserable starved dogs. Tell them I turn my
back on them. Tell them the paleface has fought
real chiefs, fierce, bold, like eagles, and he turns his
back on dogs. Tell them he is the one who could
teach them to raise the musk-oxen and the reindeer,
and to keep out the cold and the wolf. But they are
blinded. Tell them the hunter goes north."
Through the council of chiefs ran a low mutter,
as of gathering thunder.
True to his word, the hunter turned his back on
them. As he brushed by, his eye caught a gaunt
savage slipping from the boat. At the hunters stern
call, the Indian leaped ashore, and started to run.
He had stolen a parcel, and would have succeeded in
eluding its owner but for an unforeseen obstacle, as
Striking as it was unexpected.
A white man of colossal stature had stepped in
the thief's passage, and laid two great hands on him.
Instantly the parcel flew from the Indian, and he
srnui in the air to fall into the river with a sounding
Naza! Nam! Nazal
splash. Yells signaled the surprise and alarm caused
by this unexpected incident The Indian frantically
swam to the shore. Whereupon the champion of the
stranger in a strange land lifted a bag, which gave
forth a musical clink of steel, and throwing it witb {
the camp articles on the grassy bench, he extended a f
huge, friendly hand.
" My name is Rea," he said, in deep, cavernous
tones*
"Mine is Jones," replied the hunter, and righ$
quickly did he grip the proffered hand. He saw in
Rea a giant, of whom he was but a stunted shadow.
Six and one-half feet Rea stood, with yard-wide
shoulders, a hulk of bone and brawn. His ponder-
ous, shaggy head rested on a bull neck. His broad
face, with its low forehead, its close-shut mastiff
under jaw, its big, opaque eyes, pale and cruel as
those of a jaguar, marked him a man of terrible
brute force.
" Free-trader ! " called the commandant " Better,
think twice before you join fortunes with the musk-ox
hunter.'*
"To hell with you an' your rantin', dog-eared
redskins ! " cried Rea. " I've run agin a man of
my own kind, a man of my own country, an' I'm
goin' with him."
With this he thrust aside some encroaching, gaping
The Last of the Plainsmen
Indians so unconcernedly and ungently that they
sprawled upon the grass.
Slowly the crowd mounted and once more lined
the bank.
Jones realized that by some late-turning stroke of
fortune, he had fallen in with one of the few free-
traders of the province. These free-traders, from
the very nature of their calling which was to defy
the fur company, and to trap and trade on their own
account were a hardy and intrepid class of men.
Rea's worth to Jones exceeded that of a dozen ordi-
nary men. He knew the ways of the north, the
language of the tribes, the habits of animals, the
handling of dogs, the uses of food and fuel. More-
over, it soon appeared that he was a carpenter and
blacksmith.
" There's my kit," he said, dumping the contents
of his bag. It consisted of a bunch of steel traps,
some tools, a broken ax, a box of miscellaneous things
such as trappers used, and a few articles of flannel.
"Thievin* redskins," he added, in explanation of
his poverty. " Not much of an outfit. But I'm the
man for you. Besides, I had a pal onct who knew
you on the plains, called you * Buff ' Jones. Old
Jim Bent he was."
" I recollect Jim," said Jones. " He went down
in Custer's last charge. So you were Jim's pal.
148
Naza! Naza! Na%a!
That'd be a recommendation if you needed one. But
the way you chucked the Indian overboard got me."
Rea soon manifested himself as a man of few
words and much action, With the planks Jones
had on board he heightened the stern and bow of
the boat to keep out the beating waves in the rapids ;
he fashioned a steering-gear and a less awkward
set of oars, and shifted the cargo so as to make more
room in the craft.
" Buff, we're in for a storm. Set up a tarpaulin
an' make a fire. We'll pretend to camp to-night.
These Indians won't dream we'd try to run the river
after dark, and we'll slip by under cover."
The sun glazed over; clouds moved up from the
north ; a cold wind swept the tips of the spruces, and
rain commenced to drive in gusts. By the time it
tfas dark not an Indian showed himself. They were
housed from the storm. Lights twinkled in the
tepees and the big log cabins of the trading company.
Jones scouted round till pitchy black night, when a
freezing, pouring blast sent him back to the protec-
tion of the tarpaulin. When he got there he found
that Rea had taken it down and awaited him.
" Off! " said the free-trader; and with no more noise
than a drifting feather the boat swung into the cur-
rent and glided down till the twinkling fires no longer
accentuated tH darkness.
149
The Last of the Plainsmen
By night the river, in common with all swift
rivers, had a sullen voice, and murmured its hurry,
its restraint, its menace, its meaning. The two boat*
men, one at the steering gear, one at the oars, faced
the pelting rain and watched the dim, dark line of
trees. The craft slid noiselessly onward into the
gloom,
And into Jones's ears, above the storm, poured
another sound, a steady, muffled rumble, like the roll
of giant chariot wheels. It had come to be a familiar
roar to him, and the only thing which, in his long life
of hazard, had ever sent the cold, prickling, tight
shudder over his warm skin. Many times on the
Athabasca that rumble had presaged the dangerous
and dreaded rapids.
"Hell Bend Rapids!" shouted Rea. * f Bad
water, but no rocks."
The rumble expanded to a roar, the roar to a boom
that charged the air with heaviness, with a dreamy
burr. The whole indistinct world appeared to be
moving to the lash of wind, to the sound of rain, to
the roar of the river. The boat shot down and sailed
aloft, met shock on shock, breasted leaping dim white
waves, and in a hollow, unearthly blend of watery
sounds, rode on and on, buffeted, tossed, pitched into
a black chaos that yet gleamed with obscure shrouds
of light. Then the convulsive stream shrieked out
Naza! Naza! Naza!
a last defiance, changed its course abruptly to slow:
down and drown the sound of rapids in muffling
distance. Once more the craft swept on smoothly,,
to the drive of the wind and the rush of the rain.
By midnight the storm cleared. Murky clouds
split to show shining, blue-white stars and a fitful
moon, that silvered the crests of the spruces and
sometimes hid like a gleaming, black-threaded pearl
behind the dark branches.
Jones, a plainsman all his days, wonderingly
watched the moon-blanched water. He saw it shade
and darken under shadowy walls of granite, where
it swelled with hollow song and gurgle. He heard
again the far-off rumble, faint on the night wind.
High cliff banks appeared, walled out the mellow
light, and the river suddenly narrowed. Yawning
holes, whirlpools of a second, opened with a gurgling
suck and raced with the boat.
On the craft flew. Far ahead, a long, declining
plane of jumping frosted waves played dark and
white with the moonbeams. The Slave plunged to
his freedom, down his riven, stone-spiked bed, know-
ing no patient eddy, and white-wreathed hi*
shiny rocks in spume and spray.
CHAPTER IX
THE LAND OF THE MUSK-OX
FAR cry it was from bright June at Port
- Chippewayan to dim October on Great Slave
Lake.
Two long, laborious months Rea and Jones
threaded the crooked shores of the great inland sea t
to halt at the extreme northern end, where a plunging
outlet formed the source of a river. Here they found
a stone chimney and fireplace standing among the
darkened, decayed ruins of a cabin.
"We mustn't lose no time," said Rea/ "I feel
the winter in the wind. An* see how dark the days
are gettin* on us."
" I'm for hunting musk-oxen," replied Jones.
" Man, we're f acin* the northern night ; we're in
She land of the midnight sun. Soon we'll be shut
m for seven months. A cabin we want, an' wood,
an* meat."
A forest of stunted spruce trees edged on the lake,
and soon its dreary solitudes rang to the strokes of
axes. The trees were smaU and uniform in size*
Black stumps protruded* here aod there, from the
The Land of the Musk-Ooe
ground, showing work of the steel in time gone by.
Jones observed that the living trees were no larger
in diameter than the stumps, and questioned Rea in
regard to the difference in age.
" Cut twenty-five, mebbe fifty years ago," said the
trapper.
" But the living trees are no bigger."
" Trees an' things don't grow fast in the north*
land."
They erected a fifteen-foot cabin round the stone
chimney, roofed it with poles and branches of spruce,
and a layer of sand. In digging near the fireplace
Jones unearthed a rusty file and the head of a whisky
keg, upon which was a sunken word in unintelligible
letters.
" We've found the place," said Rea. " Franklin
built a cabin here in 1819. An' in 1833 Captain
Back wintered here when he was in search of Captain
Ross of the vessel Fury. It was those explorin* parties
thet cut the trees. I seen Indian sign out there, made
last winter, I reckon ; but Indians never cut down no;
trees."
The hunters completed the cabin, piled cords of
firewood outside, stowed away the kegs of dried fish
and fruits, the sacks of flour, boxes of crackers*
canned meats and vegetables, sugar, salt, coffee,
tobacco all of the cargo; then took the boat apart
iss
The Last of the Plainsmen
and carried it up the bank, which labor took them
less than a week.
Jones found sleeping in the cabin, despite the fire,
uncomfortably cold, because of the wide chinks
between the logs. It was hardly better than sleeping
under the swaying spruces. When he essayed to stop
up the cracks a task by no means easy, considering
the lack of material Rea laughed his short " Ho i
Ho ! " and stopped him with the word, " Wait.'*
Every morning the green ice extended farther out
into the lake; the sun paled dim and dimmer; the
nights grew colder. On October 8th the thermome-
ter registered several degrees below zero; it fell a
little more next night and continued to fall.
"Ho! Ho!" cried Rea. "She's struck the
toboggan, an' presently she'll commence to slide.
Come on, Buff, we've work to do."
He caught up a bucket, made for their hole in
the ice, rebroke a six-incn layer, the freeze of a few
hours, and filling his bucket, returned to the cabin.
Jones had no inkling of the trapper's intention, and
iwonderingly he soused his bucket full of watei and
followed.
. By the time he had reached the cabin, a matter of
t *ome thirty or forty good paces, the water no longer
splashed from his pail, for a thin film of ice pre-
heated Rea stood fifteen feet from the cabin, his
154
The Land of the Mu$k-Oa?
back to the wind, and threw the water. Some ol
at froze in the air, most or it froze on the logs. The
simple plan of the trapper to incase the cabin with
ice was easily divined. All day the men worked,
:easing only when the cabin resembled a glistening
mound. It had not a sharp corner nor a crevice.
Inside it was warm and snug, and as light as when
the chinks were open.
A slight moderation of the weather brought the
snow. Such snow 1 A blinding white flutter of great
flakes, as large as feathers! All d?y they rustled
softly; all night they swirled, sweeping, seeping,
brushing against the cabin. "Ho! Ho!" roared
Rea. " 'Tis good ; let her snow, an' the reindeer
will migrate. We'll have fresh meat.** The sun
shone again, but not brightly. A nipping wind cut
down out of the frigid north and crusted the snow.
The third night following the storm, when the
hunters lay snug under their blankets, a commotion
outside aroused them.
" Indians," said Rea, " come north for reindeer.**
Half the night, shouting and yelling, barking ofi
dogs, hauling of sleds and cracking of dried-skin
tepees murdered sleep for those in the cabin. In the
morning the level plain and edge of the forest held
an Indian village. Caribou hides, strung on forked
poles, constituted tent-like habitacions with no dis
155
The Last of the Plainsmen
tinguishable doors. Fires smoked in the holes in the
snow. Not till late in the day did any life manifest
itself round the tepees, and then a group of children,
poorly clad in ragged pieces of blankets and skins,
gaped at Jones. He saw their pinched, brown faces,
staring, hungry eyes, naked legs and throats, and
noted particularly their dwarfish size. When he
spoke they fled precipitously a little way, then turned.
He called again, and all ran except one small lad
Jones went into the cabin and came out with a hand
ful of sugar in square lumps.
" Yellow Knife Indians," said Rea. " A starved
tribe ! We're in for it."
Jones made motions to the lad, but he remained
still, as if transfixed, and his black eyes stared
wonderingly.
" Molar nasu (white man good)," said Rea.
The lad came out of his trance and looked back
at his companions, who edged nearer. Jones ate a
lump of sugar, then handed one to the little Indian,
He took it gingerly, put it into his mouth and imme-
diately jumped up and down.
" Hoppieshampoolie ! Hoppieshampoolie ! " he
shouted to his brothers and sisters. They came on
the run.
"Think he means sweet salt," interpreted Rea t
* Of course these beggars never tasted sugar/*
15$
The Land of the Musk-Ox
The band of youngsters trooped round Jones, and
after tasting the white lumps, shrieked in such
delight that the braves and squaws shuffled out of the
tepees.
In all his days Jones had never seen such miserable
Indians. Dirty blankets hid all their person, except
straggling black hair, hungry, wolfish eyes and moc-
casined feet. They crowded into the path before the
cabin door and mumbled and stared and waited. No
dignity, no brightness, no suggestion of friendliness
marked this peculiar attitude.
" Starved ! " exclaimed Rea. " They've come to
the lake to invoke the Great Spirit to send the rein-
deer. Buff, whatever you do, don't feed them. If
you do, we'll have them on our hands all winter. It's
cruel, but, man, we're in the north 1 "
Notwithstanding the practical trapper's admoni-
tion Jones could not resist the pleading of the chil-
dren. He could not stand by and see them starve.
After ascertaining there was absolutely nothing to
eat in the tepees, he invited the little ones into the
cabin, and made a great pot of soup, into which he
dropped compressed biscuits. The savage children
were like wildcats. Jones had to call in Rea to assist
him in keeping the famished little aborigines from
tearing each other to pieces. When finally they were
all fed, they had to be driven out of the cabin.
The Last of the Plcdnsmen
u That's new to me^ s said Jones. " Poor little
beggars!*'
Rea doubtfully shook his shaggy head
Next day Jones traded with the Yellow Knives,
He had a goodly supply of baubles, besides blankets,
gloves and boxes of canned goods, which he had
brought for such trading. He secured a dozen of
the large-boned, white and black Indian dogs*
huskies, Rea called them two long sleds with har-
fc $ess and several pairs of snowshoes. This trade
fcnade Jones rub his hands in satisfaction, for during
all the long journey north he had failed to barter foe
such cardinal necessities to the success of his venture.
** Better have doled out the grub to them in
Nations," grumbled Rea.
Twenty-four hours sufficed to show Jones the wis*
dom of the trapper's words, for in just that time the
crazed, ignorant savages had glutted the generous
store of food, which should have lasted them foi
weeks. The next day they were begging at the cabin
door. Rea cursed and threatened them with his fists,
but they returned again and again.
Days passed. All the time, in light and dark, th$
Indians filled the air with dismal chant and doleful
incantations to the Great Spirit, and the turn ! turn I
turn! tarn! of tomtoms, a specific feature of their
fild prayer for food.
258
The Land of the Musk-Ox
But the white monotony of the rolling land and
level lake remained unbroken. The reindeer did
not come. The days became shorter, dimmer, darker.
The mercury kept on the slide.
Forty degrees below zero did not trouble the
Indians. They stamped till they dropped, and sang
till their voices vanished, and beat the tomtoms ever-
lastingly. Jones fed the children once each day 9
against the trapper's advice.
One day, while Rea was absent, a dozen braves
succeeded in forcing an entrance, and clamored so
fiercely, and threatened so desperately, that Jones
was on the point of giving them food when the door
opened to admit Rea.
With a glance he saw the situation. He dropped
the bucket he carried, threw the door wide open and
commenced action. Because of his great bulk he
seemed slow, but every blow of his sledge-hammer
fist knocked a brave against the wall, or through the
door into the snow. When he could reach two
savages at once, by way of diversion, he swung their
heads together with a crack. They dropped like
dead things. Then he handled them as if they were
sacks of corn, pitching them out into the snow. In
two minutes the cabin was clear. He banged the
door and slipped the bar in place.
" Buff, I'm goin' to get mad at these thievin*
159
The Last of ilie Plainsmen
skins some day," he said gruffly. The expanse of his
chest heaved slightly, like the slow swell of a calm
ocean, but there was no other indication of unusual
exertion.
Jones laughed, and again gave thanks for the
comradeship of this strange man. < (
Shortly afterward, he went out for wood, and as
usual scanned the expanse of the lake. The sun shone
mistier and wanner, and frost feathers floated in the
air. Sky and sun and plain and lake all were gray.
Jones fancied he saw a distant moving mass of darker
ihade than the gray background. He called the
trapper.
" Caribou," said Rea instantly. " The vanguard
of the migration. Hear the Indians! Hear their
cry: 'Aton! Aton!' they mean reindeer. The
idiots have scared the herd with their infernal racket^
an' no meat will they get. The caribou will keep to
the ice, an' man or Indian can't stalk them there."
For a few moments his companion surveyed the
lake and shore with a plainsman s eye, then dashed
within, to reappear with a Winchester in each hand
Through the crowd of bewailing, bemoaning Indians
he sped, to the low, dying bank. The hard crust
of snow upheld him. The gray cloud was a thou-
sand yards out upon the lake and moving southeast
If the caribou did not swerve from this course they
The Land of the Musk-Oce
would pass close to a projecting point of land, a half-
mile up the lake. So, keeping a wary eye upon
them, the hunter ran swiftly. He had not hunted
antelope and buffalo on the plains all his life without
learning how to approach moving game. As long
as the caribou were in action, they could not tell
whether he moved or was motionless. In order to
tell if an object was inanimate or not, they must stop
to see, of which fact the keen hunter took advantage.
Suddenly he saw the gray mass slow down and bunch
up. He stopped running, to stand like a stump.
When the reindeer moved again, he moved, and
when they slackened again, he stopped and became
motionless. As they kept to their course, he worked
gradually closer and closer. Soon he distinguished
gray, bobbing heads. When the leader showed
signs of halting in his slow trot the hunter again
became a statue. He saw they were easy to deceive ;
and, daringly confident of success, he encroached on
the ice and closed up the gap till not more than two
hundred yards separated him from the gray, bobbing,
entlered mass.
Jones dropped on one knee. A moment only his '
eyes lingered admiringly on the wild and beautiful
spectacle; then he swept one of the rifles to a level*
Old habit made the little beaded sight cover first the
stately leader. Bang! The gray monarch leapo
161
The Last of the Plainsmen
straight forward, forehoofs up, antiered head back,
to fall dead with a crash. Then for a few moments
the Winchester spat a deadly stream of fire, and when
emptied was thrown down for the other gun, which
in the steady, sure hands of the hunter belched death
to the caribou.
The herd rushed on, leaving the white surface of
the lake gray with a struggling, kicking, bellowing
heap. When Jones reached the caribou he saw
several trying to rise on crippled legs. With his
knife he killed these, not without some hazard to
himself. Most of the fallen ones were already dead,
and the others soon lay still. Beautiful gray crea-
tures they were, almost white, with wide-reaching,
symmetrical horns.
A medley of yells arose from the shore, and Rea
appeared running with two sleds, with the whole
tribe of Yellow Knives pouring out of the forest
behind him.
" Buff, you're jest what old Jim said you was,"
thundered Rea, as he surveyed the gray pile.
" Here's winter meat, an' I'd not have given a biscuit
for all the meat I thought you'd get."
"Thirty shots in less than thirty seconds," said
Jones, " an' I'll bet every ball I sent touched hair.
How many reindeer? "
" Twenty 1 twenty! Buff, or IVe forgot how to
The Land of the Musk-Ox
count. I guess mebbe you can't handle them shootin*
arms. Ho ! here comes the howlin' redskins."
Rea whipped out a bowie knife and began disem-
boweling the reindeer. He had not proceeded far
in his task when the crazed savages were around
him. Every one carried a basket or receptacle, which
he swung aloft, and they sang, prayed, rejoiced on
their knees. Jones turned away from the sickening
scenes that convinced him these savages were little
better than cannibals. Rea cursed them, and tumbled
them over, and threatened them with the big bowie*
An altercation ensued, heated on his side, frenzied
on theirs. Thinking some treachery might befall his
comrade, Jones ran into the thick of the group.
" Share with them, Rea, share with them."
Whereupon the giant hauled out ten smoking car-
casses. Bursting into a babel of savage glee and
tumbling over one another, the Indians pulled the
caribou to the shore.
" Thievin' fools 1 " growled Rea, wiping the sweat
from his brow. " Said they'd prevailed on the Great
Spirit to send the reindeer. Why, they'd never
smelled warm meat but for you. Now, Buff, they'll
gorge every hair, hide an 5 hoof of their share In less
than a week. Thet's the last we do for the damned
cannibals. Didn't you see them eatin' of the raw
innards? faugh 1 Pm calculatin' we'll <*ee no more
163
The Last of the Plainsmen
reindeer. It's late for the migration. The big herd
has driven southward. But we're lucky, thanks to
your prairie trainin'. Come on now with the sleds, or
we'll have a pack of wolves to fight."
By loading three reindeer on each sled, the hunters
were not long in transporting them to the cabin.
" Buff, there ain't much doubt about them keepin*
nice and cool," said Rea. " They'll freeze, an' we
can skin them when we want."
That night the starved wolf dogs gorged them-
selves till they could not rise from the snow. Like-
wise the Yellow Knives feasted. How long the ten
reindeer might have served the wasteful tribe, Rea
and Jones never found out The next day two
Indians arrived with dog-trains, and their advent was
hailed with another feast, and a pow-wow that lasted
into the night.
u Guess we're goin* to get rid of our blasted
hungry neighbors," said Rea, coming in next morning
with the water pail, " an 1 I'll be durned, Buff, if I
don't believe them crazy heathen have been told
about you. Them Indians was messengers. Grab
your gun, an* let's walk over and see."
The Yellow Knives were breaking camp, and the
hunters were at once conscious of the difference in
their bearing. Rea addressed several braves, but got
no reply. He laid his broad hand on the old wrin-
164
The Land of the Musk-Ox
kled chief, who repulsed him, and turned his back.
With a growl, the trapper spun the Indian round,
and spoke as many words of the language as he knew.
He got a cold response, which ended in the ragged
old chief starting up, stretching a long, dark arm
northward, and with eyes fixed in fanatical subjection,
shouting: " Naza! Naza! Naza! "
" Heathen! " Rea shook his gun in the faces of
the messengers. " It'll go bad with you to come
Nazain' any longer on our trail. Come, Buff, clear
out before I get mad."
When they were once more in the cabin, Rea told
Jones that the messengers had been sent to warn the
Yellow Knives not to aid the white hunters in any
way. That night the dogs were kept inside, and the
men took turns in watching. Morning showed a
broad trail southward. And with the going of the
Yellow Knives the mercury dropped to fifty, and th.
long, twilight winter night fell.
So with this agreeable riddance and plenty of meat
and fuel to cheer them, the hunters sat down in their
snug cabin to wait many months for daylight.
Those few intervals when the wind did not blotf
were the only times Rea and Jones got out of doors
To the plainsman, new to the north, the dim gray
world about him was of exceeding interest. Out of
the twilight shone a wan, round, lusterless ring thai
J65
The Last of the Plainsmen
Rea said was the sun. The silence and desolation
were heart-numbing.
u Where are the wolves? " asked Jones of Rea,
"Wolves can't live on snow. They're farther
south after caribou, or farther north after musk-ox/ 11
In those few still intervals Jones remained out as
long as he dared, with the mercury sinking to sixty
degrees. He turned from the wonder of the unreal,
remote sun, to the marvel in the north Aurora
borealis ever-present, ever-changing, ever-beautiful !
and he gazed in rapt attention.
" Polar lights," said Rea, as if he were speaking
of biscuits. " You'll freeze. It's gettin' cold."
Cold it became, to the matter of seventy degrees.
Frost covered the walls of the cabin and the roof,
except just over the fire. The reindeer were harder
than iron. A knife or an ax or a steel-trap burned
as if it had been heated in fire, and stuck to the hand.
The hunters experienced trouble in breathing ; the air
hurt their lungs.
The months dragged. Rea grew more silent day
by day, and as he sat before the fire his wide shoul-
ders sagged lower and lower. Jones, unaccustomed
to the waiting, the restraint, the barrier of the north,
worked on guns, sleds, harness, till he felt he would
go mad. Then to save his mind he constructed a
windmill of caribou hides and pondered over t$
The Land of the Musk-O&
trying to invent, to put Into practical use an idea he
2iad once conceived.
Hour after hour he lay under his blankets unable
to sleep, and listened to the north wind. Sometimes
Rea mumbled in his slumbers; once his giant form
started up, and he muttered a woman's name.
Shadows from the fire flickered on the walls, vision-
ary, spectral shadows, cold and gray, fitting the
north. At such times he longed with all the power
of his soul to be among those scenes far southward,
which he called home. For days Rea never spoke a
word, only gazed into the fire, ate and slept. Jones^
drifting far from his real self, feared the strange
mood of the trapper and sought to break it, but
without avail. More and more he reproached him-
self, and singularly on the one fact that, as he did
not smoke himself, he had brought only a small store
of tobacco. Rea, inordinate and inveterate smoker*
had puffed away all the weed in clouds of
then had relapsed Into gloonio
CHAPTER X
SUCCESS AND FAILURE
Ik T last the marvel in the north dimmed, the
/-\ obscure gray shade lifted, the hope in the
~ * south brightened, and the mercury climbed
tcluctantly, with a tyrant's hate to relinquish power.
Spring mather at twenty-five below zero! On
April 1 2th a small band of Indians made their appcar-
ince. Of the Dog tribe were they, an offcast of the
Great Slaves, according to Rea, and as motley, star-
ing and starved as the Yellow Knives. But they were
friendly, which presupposed ign ranee of the white
hunters, and Rea persuaded the strongest brave to
accompany them as guide northward after musk-oxen.
On April i6th, having given the Indians several
caribou carcasses, and assuring them that the cabin
was protected by white spirits, Rea and Jones, each
with sled and train of dogs, started out after their
guide, who was similarly equipped, over the glisten-
ing snow toward the north. They made sixty miles
the first day, and pitched their Indian tepee on the
shores of Artillery Lake. Traveling northeast, they
covered its white waste of one hundred miles in two
16*
Success and Failure
Jdays. Then a day due north, over rolling, mcnont*
onously snowy plain, devoid of rock, tree or shrub 3
brought them into a country of the strangest, queerest
little spruce trees, very slender, and none of them over
fifteen feet in height. A primeval forest of saplings*
" Ditchen Nechila 1 " said the guide.
" Land of Sticks Little," translated Rea.
An occasional reindeer was seen and numerous
foxes and hares trotted off into the woods, evincing
more curiosity than fear. All were silver white,
even the reindeer, at a distance, taking the hue of
the north. Once a beautiful creature, unblemished
as the snow it trod, ran up a ridge and stood watch-
ing the hunters. It resembled a monster dog, only it
was inexpressibly more ,vild looking,
" Ho ! Ho ! there you are ! " cried Rea, reaching
for his Winchester. "Polar wolf! Them's the
white devils we'll have hell witb."
As if the wolf understood, he lifted his white ?
sharp head and uttered a bark or howl that was like
nothing so mnch as a haunting, unearthly mourn c
The animal then merged into the white, as if he were
really a spirit of the world whence his cry seemed to
come.
In this ancient forest of youthful appearing trees*
the hunters cut firewood to the full carrying capacity
C$ the sleds. For five days the Indian gu?de drovs
169
The Last of the Plainsmen
his dogs over the smooth crust, and on the sixth
day, about noon, halting in a hollow, he pointed to
tracks in the snow and called out: " Ageter ! Ageterl
Ageter!"
The hunters saw sharply defined hoof-marks, not
unlike the tracks of reindeer, except that they were
longer. The tepee was set up on the spot and the
dogs unharnessed.
The Indian led the way with the dogs, and Rea
and Jones followed, slipping over the hard crust
without sinking in and traveling swiftly. Soon the
guide, pointing, again let out the cry : " Ageter ! lf
at the same moment loosing the dogs.
Some few hundred yards down the hollow, a
number of large black animals, not unlike the
shaggy, humpy buffalo, lumbered over the snow.
Jones echoed Rea's yell, and broke into a run, easily
distancing the puffing giant
The musk-oxen squared round to the dogs, and
*?ere soon surrounded by the yelping pack. Jones
came up to find six old bulls uttering grunts of rage
and shaking ram-like horns at their tormentors. Not-
withstanding that for Jones this was the cumulation
of years of desire, the crowning moment, the climax
and fruition of long-harbored dreams, he halted
before the -tame and helpless beasts, with joy not
unmixed with pain.
Success and Failure
" It will be murder ! " he exclaimed " It's like
shooting down sheep."
Rea came crashing up behind him and yelled?
"Get busy. We need fresh meat, an' I want the
ikins."
The bulls succumbed to well-directed shots* and
the Indian and Rea hurried back to camp with the
dogs to fetch the sleds, while Jones examined with
warm interest the animals he had wanted to see all
his life. He found the largest bull approached
within a third of the size of a buffalo. He was of a
brownish-black color and very like a large, woolly
ram. His head was broad, with sharp, small ears;
the horns had wide and flattened bases and lay flat
on the head, to run down back of the eyes, then curve
forward to a sharp point Like the bison, the musk-
ox had short, heavy limbs, covered with very long
hair, and small, hard hoofs with hairy tufts inside
the curve of bone, which probably served as pads or
checks to hold the hoof firm on ice. His legs seemed
out of proportion to his body.
Two musk-oxen were loaded on a sled and hauled
to camp in one trip. Skinning them was but short
work for such expert hands. All the choice cuts of
meat were saved. No time was lost in broiling &
steak, which they found sweet and juicy, with si
flavor of musk that was disagreeable.
171
The Last of the Plainsmen
" Now, Rea, for the calves," exclaimed Jones,
* and then we're homeward bound."
" I hate to tell this redskin," replied Rea. " He'll
fee like the others. But it ain't likely he'd desert
us here. He's far from his base, with nothin' but
thet old musket." Rea then commanded the atten-
tion of the brave, and began to mangle the Great
Slave and Yellow Knife languages. Of this mixture
Jones knew but few words. " Ageter nechila," which
Rea kept repeating, he knew, however, meant
" musk-oxen little."
The guide stared, suddenly appeared to get Rea's
meaning, then vigorously shook his head and gazed
at Jones in fear and horror. Following this came
an action as singular as inexplicable. Slowly rising,
he faced the north, lifted his hand, and remained
statuesque in his immobility. Then he began de-
liberately packing his blankets and traps on his sled,
which had not been unhitched from the train of dogs*
" Jackoway ditchen hula," he said, and pointed
south.
"Jackoway ditchen hula," echoed Rea. "The
damned Indian says ' wife sticks none.' He's goin*
to quit us. What do you think of thet? His wife's
out of wood. Jackoway out of wood, an' here we
are two days from the Arctic Ocean! Jones, the
-damned heathen don't go back! "
173
Success and Failure
The trapper coolly cocked his rifle. The savage,
who plainly saw and understood the action, never
flinched. He turned his breast to Rea, and there
was nothing in his demeanor to suggest his relation
to a craven tribe.
" Good heavens, Rea, don't kill him! " exclaimed
Jones, knocking up the leveled rifle.
"Why not, I'd like to know?" demanded Rea,
as if he were considering the fate of a threatening
beast " I reckon it'd be a bad thing for us to let
him go."
" Let him go," said Jones. " We are here on the
ground. We have dogs and meat. We'll get our
calves and reach the lake as soon as he does, and we
might get there before.' 1
"Mebbe we will," growled Rea.
No vacillation attended the Indian's mood. From
a friendly guide, he had suddenly been transformed
into a dark, sullen savage. He refused the musk-ox
meat offered by Jones, and he pointed south and
looked at the white hunters as if he asked them to go
with him. Both men shook their heads in answer*
The savage struck his breast a sounding blow and
with his index finger pointed at the white of the
north, he shouted dramatically: "Naza! Nazal
Naza!"
He then leaped upon his sled, lashed his dogs into
173
The Last of the Plainsmen
$ run, and without looking back disappeared over
i ridge.
The musk-ox hunters sat long silent Finally Rea
ihook his shaggy locks and roared. " Ho 1 Ho }
Jackoway out of wood! Jackoway out of wood!
Jackoway out of wood 1"
On the day following the desertion, Jones found
tracks to the north of the camp, making a broad
brail in which were numerous little imprints that sent
him flying back to get Rca and the dogs. Musk
oxen in great numbers had passed in the night, and
Jones and Rea had not trailed the herd a mile before
they had it in sight. When the dogs burst into full
cry, the musk-oxen climbed a high knoll and squared
about to give battle.
" Calves ! Calves ! Calves ! " cried Jones.
"Holdback! Holdback! Thet's a big herd, an*
they'll show fight."
As good fortune would have it, the herd split up
Into several sections, and one part, hard pressed by
the dogs, ran down the knoll, to be cornered under
the lee of a bank. The hunters, seeing this small
number, hurried upon them to find three cows and
five badly frightened little calves backed against the
bank of snow, with small red eyes fastened on the
fbarking, snapping dogs.
To a man of Jones's experience and skill, tfit
m
Success and Failure
capturing of the calves was a ridiculously easy piece
of work. The cows tossed their heads, watched tht
dogs, and forgot their young. The first cast of the
lasso settled over the neck of a little fellow. Jones
hauled him out over the slippery snow and laughed
as he bound the hairy legs. In less time than he had
taken to capture one buffalo calf, with half the effort,
he had all the little musk-oxen bound fast. Then he
signaled this feat by pealing out an Indian yell of
victory.
" Buff, we've got 'em, 55 cried Rea; " an 5 now for
the hell of it~gettin' 'em home. I'll fetch the sleds,
[You might as well down thet best cow for me, I
can use another skin. 5 *
Of all Jones's prizes of captured wild beasts--*
which numbered nearly every species common to
western North America he took greatest pride in
the little musk-oxen. In truth, so great had been
his passion to capture some of these rare and inao*
cessible mammals, that he considered the day's world,
the fulfillment of his life's purpose. He was happy*
Never had he been so delighted as when, the very
evening of their captivity, the musk-oxen, evincing
no particular fear of him, began to dig with sharp
hoofs into the snow for moss. And they found mos%
and ate it, which solved Jones's greatest problem.
He had hardly dared to think how to feed them % an4
175
The Last of the Plainsmen
here they were picking sustenance out of the frozen
snow.
" Rea, will you look at that ! Rea, will you look
at that! " he kept repeating. " See, they're hunting
feed."
And the giant, with his rare smile, watched him
play with the calves. They were about two and ar
half feet high, and resembled long-haired sheep. The
ears and horns were undiscernible, and their color *
considerably lighter than that of the matured beasts.
" No sense of fear of man," said the life-student
of animals. " But they shrink from the dogs."
In packing for the journey south, the captives were
strapped on the sleds. This circumstance necessi-
tated a sacrifice of meat and wood, which brought
grave, doubtful shakes of Rea's great head.
Days of hastening over the icy snow, with short
hours for sleep and rest, passed before the hunters
awoke to the consciousness that they were lost. The
meat they had packed had gone to feed themselves
and the dogs. Only a few sticks of wood were left.
" Better kill a calf, an* cook meat while weVe got
a little wood left," suggested Rea,
" Kill one of my calves ? I'd starve first ! " cried
Jones.
The hungry giant said no more.
They headed southwest All about them dared
376
Success and Failure
the grim monotony of the arctics. No rock or bush
or tree made a welcome mark upon the hoary plain
Wonderland of frost, white marble desert, infinitude
^of gleaming silences 1
t Snow began to fall, making the dogs flounder,
obliterating the sun by which they traveled. They
camped to wait for clearing weather. Biscuits
soaked in tea made their meal. At dawn Jones
crawled out of the tepee. The snow had ceased.
But where were the dogs? He yelled in alarm.
Then little mounds of white, scattered here and
there, became animated, heaved, rocked and rose to
fall to pieces, exposing the dogs. Blankets of snow
had been their covering,
Rea had ceased his " Jackoway out of wood,"
for a reiterated question : " Where are the wolves ? "
" Lost," replied Jones in hollow humor.
Near the close of that day, in which they had
resumed travel, from the crest of a ridge they
descried a long, low, undulating dark line. It proved
to be the forest of " little sticks," where, with grate-
ful assurance of fire and of soon finding their old
'trail, they made camp.
" WeVe four biscuits left, an* enough tea for one
drink each," said Rea. " I calculate we're two hun-
dred miles from Great Slave Lake. Where are the
wo?ves ? "
The Last of the Plainsmen
At that moment the night wind wafted through
the forest a long, haunting mourn. The calves
shifted uneasily; the dogs raised sharp noses to sniff
the air, and Rea, settling back against a tree, cried
out: " Ho ! Ho ! " Again the savage sound, a keen
wailing note with the hunger of the northland in it,
broke the cold silence. " You'll see a pack of real
wolves in a minute," said Rea. Soon a swift patter-
ing of feet down a forest slope brought him to his
feet with a curse to reach a brawny hand for his
rifle. White streaks crossed the black of the tree
trunks; then indistinct forms, the color of snow,
swept up, spread out and streaked to and fro. Jones
thought the great, gaunt, pure white beasts the spec-
tral wolves of Rea's fancy, for they were silent, and
silent wolves must belong to dreams only.
"Ho! Ho!" yelled Rea. "There's green-fire
eyes for you, Buff. Hell itself ain't nothin' to these
white devils. Get the calves in the tepee, an 5 stand
ready to loose the dogs, for we've got to fight."
Raising his rifle he opened fire upon the white foe.
A struggling, rustling sound followed the shots.
But whether it was the threshing about of wolves
dying m agony, or the fighting of the fortunate ones
over those shot, could not be ascertained in the
Confusion.
Following his example Jones also fired rapidly on
Success and Failure
the other side of the tepee. The same inarticulate,
silently rustling wrestle succeeded this volley.
" Wait ! " cried Rea. " Be sparin' of cartridges."
The dogs strained at their chains and bravely
bayed the wolves. The hunters heaped logs and
brush on the fire, which, blazing up, sent a bright
Jight far into the woods. On the outer edge of that
circle moved the white, restless, gliding forms.
" They're more afraid of fire than of us," said
Jones.
So it proved. When the fire burned and crackled
they kept well in the background. The hunters had
a long respite from serious anxiety, during which
time they collected all the available wood at hand.
But at midnight, when this had been mostly con*
sumed, the wolves grew bold again,
" Have you any shots left for the 45-90, besides
what's in the magazine?" asked Rea.
11 Yes, a good handful."
" Well, get busy,"
With careful aim Jones emptied the magazine into
the gray, gliding, groping mass. The same rustling,
shuffling, almost silent strife ensued.
" Rea, there's something uncanny about those
brutes. A silent pack of wolves ! "
*' Ho 1 Ho ! " rolled the giant's answer through
the woods.
179
The Last of the Plainsmen
For the present the attack appeared to have been
effectually checked. The hunters, sparingly adding
a little of their fast diminishing pile of fuel to the
fire, decided to lie down for much needed rest, but
not for sleep. How long they lay there, cramped
by the calves, listening for stealthy steps, neither
could tell ; it might have been moments and it might
have been hours. All at once came a rapid rush of
pattering feet, succeeded by a chorus of angry barks,
then a terrible commingling of savage snarls, growls,
snaps and yelps.
"Out!" yelled Rea. "They're on the dogs!"
Jones pushed his cocked rifle ahead of him and
straightened up outside the tepee. A wolf, large
as a panther and white as the gleaming <*now, sprang
at him. Even as he discharged his rifle, right against
the breast of the beast, he saw its dripping jaws, its
wicked green eyes, like spurts of fire and felt its hot
breath. It fell at his feet and writhed in the death
struggle. Slender bodies of black and white, whir*
ling and tussling together, sent out fiendish uproar.
Rea threw a blazing stick of wood among them,
which sizzled as it met the furry coats, and brandish-
ing another he ran into the thick of the fight. "Doable
to stand the proximity of fire, the wolves bolted and
loped off into the woods.
c< What a huge brute 1 M exclaimed Jones, dragging
180
Success and Failure
the one he had shot into the light. It was a superb
animal, thin, supple, strong, with a coat of frosty
fur, very long and fine. Rea began at once to skin
it, remarking that he hoped to find other pelts in the
morning.
Though the wolves remained in the vicinity of
camp, none ventured near. The dogs moaned and
whined; their restlessness increased as dawn ap-
proached, and when the gray light came, Jones found
that some of them had been badly lacerated by the
fangs of the wolves. Rea hunted for dead wolves
and found not so much as a piece of white fur.
Soon the hunters were speeding southward. Other
than a disposition to fight among themselves, the
dogs showed no evil effects of the attack. They
were lashed to their best speed, for Rea said the
white rangers of the north would never quit their
trail. All day the men listened for the wild, lone-
some, haunting mourn. But it came not.
A wonderful halo of white and gold, that Rea
called a sun-dog, hung in the sky all afternoon, and
dazzlingly bright over the dazzling world of snow,
circled and glowed a mocking sun, brother of the
desert mirage, beautiful illusion, smiling cold out of
the polar blue.
The forst pale CFening star twinkled in the east
*&en the hunters made camp on the shore of
TO
The Last of the Plainsmen
BBnHBHMHHWMBOMKM^HMHWl^BMKBHBMHHHHHHMMMBiiBMaHMMVB
lery Lake. At dusk the clear, silent air opened to
' the sound of a long, haunting mourn.
" Ho ! Ho ! " called Rea. His hoarse, deep voice
rang defiance to the foe.
While he built a fire before the tepee, Jones strode
*ip and down, suddenly to whip out his knife and
make for the tame little musk-oxen, now digging in
the snow. Then he wheeled abruptly and held out
the blade to Rea.
* What for? " demanded the giant
14 WeVe got to eat," said Jones. " And I can't
kill one of them. I can't, so you do it."
" Kill one o* our calves? " roared Rea. " Not till
hell freezes over ! I ain't commenced to get hungry.
Besides, the wolves are going to eat us, calves and
all."
Nothing more was said. They ate their last- bis-
cuit Jones packed the calves away in the tepee,
and turned to the dogs. All day they had worried
him; something was amiss with them, and even as
he went among them a fierce fight broke out Jones
saw it was unusual, for the attacked dogs showed
craven fear, and the attacking ones a howling, savage
intensity that surprised him. Then one of the vicious
brutes rolled his eyes, frothed at the mouth, shud-
dered and leaped in his harness, vented a hoarse
howl and fell back shaking and retching.
Success and Failure
" My God ! Rea ! " cried Jones in horror. " Come
here ! Look ! That dog is dying of rabies 1 Hydro
phobia ! The white wolves have hydrophobia ! "
"If you ain't right!" exclaimed Rea. "I seen
a dog die of thet onct, an* he acted like this* An'
thet one ain't alL Look, Buff! look at them green
eyes! Didn't I say the white wolves was hell?
We'll have to kill every dog weVe got."
Jones shot the dog, and soon afterward three more
that manifested signs of the disease. It was an
awful situation. To kill all the dogs meant simply
to sacrifice his life and Rea's; it meant abandoning
hope of ever reaching the cabin* Then to risk being
bitten by one of the poisoned, maddened brutes, to
risk the most horrible of agonizing deaths that was
even worse.
** Rea, we've one chance," cried Jones, with pale
face. " Can you hold the dogs, one by one, while I
muzzle them? "
" Ho 1 Ho ! " replied the giant. Placing his bowie
knife between his teeth, with gloved hands he seized
and dragged one of the dogs to the campfire. The
animal whired and protested, but showed no ill
spirit. Jones muzzled his jaws tightly with strong
cords. Another and another were tied up, then one
gyhich tried to snap at Jones was nearly crushed by
dbe giant's grip. The last, a surly brute, broke oul
183
The Last of the Plainsmen
into mad ravings the moment he felt the touch of
Jones's hands, and writhing, frothing, he snapped
Jones's sleeve. Rea jerked him loose and held him
in the air with one arm, while with the other he
swung the bowie. They hauled the dead dogs out
on the snow, and returning to the fire sat down to
await the cry they expected.
Presently, as darkness fastened down tight, ife
came the same cry, wild, haunting, mourning. But
for hours it was not repeated.
"Better rest some," said Rea; "111 call you if
they come."
Jones dropped to sleep as he touched his blankets.
Morning dawned for him, to find the great, dark,
shadowy figure of the giant nodding over the fire.
"How's this? Why didn't you call me?"
demanded Jones.
" The wolves only fought a little over the dead
dogs."
On the instant Jones saw a wolf skulking up the
bank. Throwing up his rifle, which he had carried
out of the tepee, he took a snap-shot at the beast
It ran off on three legs, to go out of sight over the
frank. Jones scrambled up the steep, slippery place,
and upon arriving at the ridge, which took several
moments of hard wort he looked everywhere for
the woir. In a moment he saw the animal^jstandmg
Success and Failure
still some hundred or more paces down a
With the quick report of Jones's second shot, the
wolf fell and rolled oven The hunter ran to the
spot to find the wolf was dead. Taking hold of a
front paw, he dragged the animal over the snow to
camp. Rea began to skin the animal, when suddenly
he exclaimed:
"This fellow's hind foot is gone! "
" That's strange. I saw It hanging by the skin
as the wolf ran up the bank. I'll look for it."
By the bloody trail on the snow he returned to the
place where the wolf had fallen, and thence back to
the spot where its leg had been broken by the bullets
He discovered no sign of the foot.
" Didn't find it, did you? " said Rea.
" No, and it appears odd to me. The snow is 9
hard the foot could not have sunk."
"Well, the wolf ate his foot, thet's what, 92
returned Rea. " Look at them teeth marks ! "
"Is it possible?' 1 Jones stared at the leg Rea?
held up.
"Yes, it is. These wolves are crazy at times l
You've seen thet. An' the smell of blood, an' nothin*
else, mind you, in my opinion, made him eat his own
foot. We'll cut him open."
Impossible as the thing seemed to Jones and he
could not but believe further evidence of his own
J85
The Last of the Plainsmen
eyes it was even stranger to drive a train of mad
dogs. Yet that was what Rea and he did, and lashed
them, beat them to cover many miles in the long day's
journey. Rabies had broken out in several dogs so
alarmingly that Jones had to kill them at the end of
the run. And hardly had the sound of the shots
died when faint and far away, but clear as a bell,
bayed on the wind the same haunting mourn of a
trailing wolf.
" Ho ! Ho! where are the wolves? " cried Rea,
A waiting, watching, sleepless night followed.
Again the hunters faced the south. Hour after
hour, riding, running, walking, they urged the poor,
jaded, poisoned dogs. At dark they reached the
head of Artillery Lake. Rea placed the tepee
between two huge stones. Then the hungry hunters,
tired, grim, silent, desperate, awaited the familiar
cry.
It came on tht cold wind, the same haunting
mourn, dreadful in its significance.
Absence of fire inspirited the wary wolves. Out
of the pale gloom gaunt white forms emerged, agile
and stealthy, slipping on velvet-padded feet, closer,
doser, closer. The dogs wailed in terror.
" Into the tepee! " yelled Rea.
Jones plunged in after his comrade. The despair-
ing howls of the dogs, drowned in more
186
Success and Failure
frightful sounds, knelled one tragedy and foreboded
a more terrible one. Jones looked out to see a white
mass, like leaping waves of a rapid.
" Pump lead into thet ! " cried Rea.
Rapidly Jones emptied his rifle into the white
fray. The mass split; gaunt wolves leaped high to
fall back dead; others wriggled and limped away;
3thers dragged their hind quarters; others darted
it the tepee.
" No more cartridges ! " yelled Jones.
The giant grabbed the ax, and barred the door
of the tepee. Crash! the heavy iron cleaved the
skull of the first brute. Crash ! it lamed the second.
Then Rea stood in the narrow passage between the
rocks, waiting with uplifted ax. A shaggy, white
demon, snapping his jaws, sprang like a dog. A
sodden, thudding blow met him and he slunk away
without a cry. Another rabid beast launched his
white body at the giant Like a flash the ay
descended. In agony the wolf fell, to spin round and
round, running on his hind legs, while his head and
shoulders and forelegs remained in the snow. His
back was broken.
Jones crouched in the opening of the tepee, knife
in hand. He doubted his senses. This was a night-
mare. He saw two wolves leap at once. He heard
ifce crash of the ax; he saw one wolf go down and the
187.
The Last of the Plainsmen
other slip under the swinging weapon to grasp the
giant's hip. Jones's heard the rend of cloth, and
' then he pounced like a cat, to drive his knife into the
body of the beast Another nimble foe lunged at
Rea, to sprawl broken and limp from the iron. It
was a silent fight The giant shut the way to his
comrade and the calves ; he made no outcry; he needed
but one blow for every beast ; magnificent, he wielded
death and faced it silent He brought the white
wild dogs of the north down with lightning blows,
and when no more sprang to the attack, down on the
frigid silence he rolled his cry: " Ho! Ho! "
" Rea! Kea! how is it with you? " called Jones,
climbing out
" A torn coat no more, my lad."
Three of the poor dogs were dead; the fourth and
test gasped at the hunters and died.
The wintry night became a thing of half-conscious
past, a dream to the hunters, manifesting its reality
only by the stark, stiff bodies of wolves, white in
the gray morning.
" If we can eat, we'll make the cabin," said Rea
u But the dogs an 1 wolves are poison."
" Shall I kill a calf? " asked Jones.
" Ho ! Ho ! when hell freezes over if we must ! lf
Jones found one 45-90 cartridge in all the outfit,
and with that in the chamber of his rifle, once more
183
Success and Failure
struck south. Spruce trees bsgan to show on the
barrens and caribou trails roused hope in the hearts
ot the hunters.
"Look! in the spruces," whispered Jones, drop-
ping the rope of his sled. Among the black tree!
gray objects moved.
"Caribou!" said Rea. "Hurry! Shoot! Don't
miss! "
1 But Jones waited. He knew the value of the last
bullet. He had a hunter's patience. When the carl-
} bou came out in an open space, Jones whistled.- It
was then the rifle grew set and fixed; it was then the
red fire belched forth.
At four hundred yards the bullet took some frac-
tion of time to strike. What a long time that was!
Then both hunters heard the spiteful spat of the lead
The caribou fell, jumped up, ran down the slope, and
fell again to rise no more.
An hour of rest, with fire and meat, changed the
ttorld to the hunters; still glistening, it yet had lost
\ts bitter cold, its deathlike clutch.
" What's this? " cried Jones.
Moccasin tracks of different sizes, all toeing north,
arrested the hunters.
"Pointed north! Wonder what thet means?'*
' Rea plodded on, doubtfully shaking his head.
Night again, clear, cold, silver, starlit, silent
189
The Last of the Plainsmen
night! The hunters rested, listening ever for the
haunting mourn. Day again, white, passionless,
monotonous, silent day ! The hunters traveled on .
on on, ever listening for the haunting mourn.
Another dusk found them within thirty miles of
their cabin. Only one more day now.
Rea talked of his furs, of the splendid white furs?
he could not bring. Jones talked of his little musk*
oxen calves and joyfully watched them dig for moss
in the snow.
Vigilance relaxed that night. Outworn nature
rebelled, and both hunters slept.
Rea awoke first, and kicking off the blankets,*
went out. His terrible roar of rage made Jones fly
to his side.
Under the very shadow of the tepee, where the
little musk-oxen had been tethered, they lay stretched
out pathetically on crimson snow stiff stone-cold,
dead. Moccasin tracks told the story of the tragedy.
Jones leaned against his comrade.
The giant raised his huge fist.
44 Jackoway out of woodl Jackoway out of
wood!"
Then he choked.
The north wind, blowing through the thin, dark,
weird spruce trees, moaned and seemed to sigh,
"NazalNazalNazal"
. 190
CHAPTER XI
ON TO THE SIWASH
asked Frank next morning, when we
were having a late breakfast. " Cause
I've a joke on somebody, Jim he talks in his sleep
often, an' last night after you did finally get settled
down, Jim he up in his sleep an' says: * Shore he's
windy as hell ! Shore he's windy as hell ' ! "
At this cruel exposure of his subjective wanderings,
Jim showed extreme humiliation; but Frank's eyes
fairly snapped with the fun he got out of telling it,
The genial foreman loved a joke. The week's stay
at Oak, in which we all became thoroughly
acquainted, had presented Jim as always the same
quiet character, easy, slow, silent, lovable. In his
brother cowboy, however, we had discovered in
addition to his fine, frank, friendly spirit, an over*
whelming fondness for playing tricks. This boyish
mischievousness, distinctly Arizonian, reached Its
acme whenever it tended in the direction of out
jserious leader.
Lawson had been dispatched on some mysterious
srrand about which my curiosity was all in vain,
191
The Last of the Plainsmen
The order of the day was leisurely to get in
readiness, and pack for our journey to the SiwasK
on the morrow. I watered my horse, played with the
hounds, knocked about the cliffs, returned to the
cabin, and lay down on my bed. Jim's hands were
white with flour. He was kneading dough, and had
several low, flat pans on the table. Wallace and
Jones strolled in, and later Frank, and they all took
various positions before the fire. I saw Frank, with
the quickness of a sleight-of-hand performer, slip
one of the pans of dough on the chair Jones had
placed by the table. Jim did not see the action;
Jones's and Wallace's backs were turned to Frank,
and he did not know I was in the cabin. The con-
. versation continued on the subject of Jones's big bay
horse, which, hobbles and all, had gotten ten miles
from camp the night before.
" Better count his ribs than his tracks," said
Frank, and went on talking as easily and naturally
as if he had not been expecting a very entertaining
situation.
But no one could ever foretell Colonel Jones's
actions. He showed every intention of seating him-
self in the chair, then walked over to his pack to
begin searching for something or other. Wallace,
however, promptly took the seat; and what began
to be funnier than strange, he did not get up. Not
192
On to the Smash
unlikely this circumstance was owing to the fact
that several of the rude chairs had soft layers of old
blanket tacked on them. Whatever were Frank's
internal emotions, he presented a remarkably placid
and commonplace exterior; but when Jim began to
Search for the missing pan of dough, the joker slowly
Sagged in his chair.
" Shore that beats hell ! " said Jim. " I had three
pans of dough. Could the pup have taken one? "
Wallace rose to his feet, and the bread pan clat-
tered to the floor, with a clang and a clank, evidently
protesting against the indignity it had suffered.
But the dough stayed with Wallace, a great
white conspicuous splotch on his corduroys. Jim,
Frank and Jones all saw it at once.
"Why Mr. Wai lace you set in the
dough ! " exclaimed Frank, in a queer, strangled
voice. Then he exploded, while Jim fell over the
table.
, It seemed that those two Arizona: rangers,
matured men though they were, would die of convul
lions. I laughed with them, and so did Wallace,
, while he brought his bone-handled bowie knife into
novel use. Buffalo Jones never cracked a smile,
though he did remark about the waste of good flour*
Frank's face was a study for a psychologist when
Jim actually apologized to Wallace for being so care*
193
The Last of the Plainsmen
less with his pans. I did not betray Frank, but I
resolved to keep a still closer watch on him. It was
partially because of this uneasy sense of his trickiness
In the fringe of my mind that I made a discovery.
My sleeping-bag rested on a raised platform in one
corner, and at a favorable moment I examined the
bag. It had not been tampered with, but I noticed
a string running out through a chime between tha
logs. I i"cund it came from a thick layer of straw
under my bed, and had been tied to the end of a
flatly coiled lasso. Leaving the thing as it was, I
went outside and carelessly chased the hounds round
the cabin. The string stretched along the logs to
another chink, where it returned into the cabin at a
point near where Frank slept. No great power of
deduction was necessary to acquaint me with full
details of the plot to spoil my slumbers. So I
patiently awaited developments.
Lawson rode in near sundown with the carcasses
of two beasts of some species hanging over his sad-
dle. It turned out that Jones had planned a surprise
for Wallace and me, and it could hardly have been
a more enjoyable one, considering the time and place*.
We knew he had a flock of Persian sheep on the
south slope of Buckskin, but had no idea it was
within striking distance of Oak Lawson had that
day hunted up the shepherd and his sheep, to return
194
On to the Siwash
to us with two sixty-pound Persian lambs. We
feasted at suppertime on meat which was sweet, juicy,
very tender and of as rare a flavor as that of the
Rocky Mountain sheep,
My state after supper was one of huge enjoyment
ind with intense interest I awaited Frank's first spai
for an opening. It came presently, in a lull of the
conversation.
" Saw a big rattler run under the cabin to-day,"
lie said, as if he were speaking of one of Old Baldy's
shoes. " I tried to get a whack at him, but he oozed
away too quick."
" Shore I seen him often,*' put in Jim. Good,
old, honest Jim, led away by his trickster comrade I
It was very plain. So I was to be frightened by
snakes.
" These oid canon beds are ideal dens for rattle
snakes," chimed in my scientific California friend,
" I have found several dens, but did not molest them $
as this is a particularly dangerous time of the year to
meddle with the reptiles. Quite likely there's a der
under the cabin."
While he made this remarkable statement, he had
the grace to hide his face in a huge puff of smoke.
He, too, was in the plot. I waited for Jones to come
out with some ridiculous theory or fact concerning
the particular species of snake, but as he did not
105
The Last of the Plainsmen
speak, I concluded they had wisely left him out of
the secret. After mentally debating a moment, I
decided, as it was a very harmless joke, to help Frank
to the fulfillment of his enjoyment.
"Rattlesnakes!" I exclaimed. "Heavens! I'd
die if I heard one, let alone seeing it. A big rattler
jumped at me one day, and I've never reco' " f red from
the shock."
Plainly, Frank was delighted to hear of my antipa-
thy and my unfortunate experience, and he proceeded
to expatiate on the viciousness of rattlesnakes, partic-
ularly those of Arizona. If I had believed the
succeeding stories, emanating from the fertile brains
of those three fellows, I should have made certain
that Arizona canons were Brazilian jungles. Frank's
parting shot, sent in a mellow, kind voice, was the
best point in the whole trick. " Now, I'd be nervous
if I had a sleepin'Jbag like yours, because it's just
the place for a rattler to ooze into."
In the confusion and dim light of bedtime I con-
trived to throw the end of my lasso over the horn of
a saddle hanging on the wall, with the intention of
augmenting the noise I soon expected to create; and
I placed my automatic rifle and .38 S. and W. Special
within easy reach of my hand. Then I crawled into
my bag and composed myself to listen. Frank soon
began to snore, so brazenly, so fictitiously, that I
196
On to the Siwash
wondered at the man's absorbed intensity in his
joke; and I was at great pains to smother in my
breast a violent burst of riotous merriment Jones's
snores, however, were real enough, and this made
me enjoy the situation all the more; because if he
did not show a mild surprise when the catastrophe
fell, I would greatly miss my guess, I knew the
three wily conspirators were wide-awake. Suddenly
I felt a movement in the straw under me and a faint
rustling. It was so soft, so sinuous, that if I had
not known It was the lasso, I would assuredly have
been frightened. I gave a little jump, such as one
will make quickly in bed. Then the coil ran out
from under the straw. How subtly suggestive of a
snake ! I made a slight outcry, a big jump, paused
a moment for effectiveness in which time Frank
forgot to snore then let out a tremendous yell,
grabbed my guns, sent twelve thundering shots
through the roof and pulled my lasso.
Crash ! the saddle came down, to be followed by
sounds not on Frank's programme and certainly not
calculated upon by me. But they were all the more
effective. I gathered that Lawson, who was not in
the secret, and who was a nightmare sort of sleeper
anyway, had knocked over ]lm\ table, with its array
of pots and pans and then, unfortunately for Jones,
had kicked that innocent person in the stomach.
197
The Last of the Plainsmen
As I lay there in my bag, the very happiest fellow
in the wide world, the sound of my mirth was as the
buzz of the wings of a fly to the mighty storm. Roar
on roar filled the cabin.
When the three hypocrites recovered sufficiently
from the startling climax to cairn Lawson, who
gwore the cabin had been attacked by Indians; when
Jones stopped roaring long enough to hear it was
only a harmless snake that had caused the trouble,
we hushed to repose once more not, however, with-
out hearing some trenchant remarks from the boiling
Colonel anent fun and fools, and the indubitable fact
that there was not a rattlesnake on Buckskin
) Mountain.
Long after this explosion had died away, I heard,
or rather felt, a mysterious shudder or tremor
of the cabin, and I knew that Frank and Jim were
shaking with silent laughter. On my own score, I
determined to find if Jones, in his strange make-up,
had any sense of humor, or interest in life, or feeling,
or love that did not center and hinge on four-footed
beasts. In view of the rude awakening from what,
no doubt, were pleasant dreams of wonderful white
and green animals, combining the intelligence of man
and strength of brutes a new species creditable to
his genius I was perhaps unjust in my conviction
as to his lack of humor. And as to the other ques-
ts
On to the Siwash
tion, whether or not he had any real human feeling
for the creatures built in his own image, that was
decided very soon and unexpectedly.
The following morning, as soon as Lawson got ifl
with the horses, we packed and started. Ratheti
sorry was I to bid good-by to Oak Spring. Taking
the back trail of the Stewarts, we walked the horses
all day up a slowly narrowing, ascending canon. The
hounds crossed coyote and deer trails continually, but
made no break. Sounder looked up as if to say he
associated painful reminiscences with certain kinds
of tracks. At the head of the canon we reached
timber at about the time dusk gathered, and we{
located for the night. Being once again nearly nine
thousand feet high, we found the air bitterly cold,
making a blazing fire most acceptable.
In the haste to get supper we all took a handt and
some one threw upon our tarpaulin tablecloth a tin
cup of butter mixed with carbolic acid a concoction
Jones had used to bathe the sore feet of the dogs,
Of course I got hold of this, spread a generous por-
tion on my hot biscuit, placed some red-hot beans on
that, and began to eat like a hungry hunter. At first)
I thought I was only burned. Then I recognized'
the taste and burn of the acid and knew something
was wrong. Picking up the tin, I examined it,
smelled the pungent odor, and felt a queen num&
The Last of the Plainsmen
)ense of fear. This lasted only for a moment, as I
well knew the use and power of the acid, and had
not swallowed enough to hurt me. I was about to
make known my mistake in a matter-of-fact way,
when it flashed over me the accident could be made
to serve a turn.
" Jones !" I cried hoarsely. "What's in this
butter?"
" Lord! you haven't eaten any of that. Why, I
put carbolic acid in it."
" Oh oh oh I'm poisoned ! I ate nearly all
of it! Oh I'm burning up! I'm dying! " With
that I began to moan and rock to and fro and hold
my stomach.
Consternation preceded shock. But in the excite-
ment of the moment, Wallace who, though badly
scared, retained his wits made for me with a can
of condensed milk. He threw me back with no
gentle hand, and was squeezing the life out of me
to make me open my mouth, when I gave him a jab
in his side. I imagined his surprise, as this peculiar
reception of his first-aid-to-the-injured made him
hold off to take a look at me, and in this interval I
contrived to whisper to him : " Joke ! Joke ! you idiot I
I'm only shamming. I want to see if I can. scare
Jones and get even with FranK. Help me <mtl
Cryl Get tragic!"
On to the Siwash
From that moment I shall always believe that the
Stage lost a great tragedian in Wallace. With a
magnificent gesture he threw the can of condensed
milk at Jones, who was so stunned he did not try to
dodge. "Thoughtless man! Murderer! it's too
late ! " cried Wallace, laying me back across his
knees. " It's too late. His teeth are locked. He's
far gone. Poor boy ! poor boy ! Who's to tell his
mother?"
I could see from under my hat-brim that the
solemn, hollow voice had penetrated the cold exterior
of the plainsman. He could not speak; he clasped
and unclasped his big hands in helpless fashion.
Frank was as white as a sheet This was simply
delightful to me. But the expression of miserable,
impotent distress on old Jim's sun-browned face was
more than I could stand, and I could no longer keep
up the deception. Just as Wallace cried out to Jones
to pray I wished then I had not weakened so
soon I got up and walked to the fire.
" Jim, I'll have another biscuit, please."
His under jaw dropped, then he nervously shov-
eled biscuits at me. Jones grabbed my hand and
cried out with a voice that was new to me : " You
can eat? You're better? You'll get over it? "
" Sure. Why, carbolic acid never phases me. I've
often used it for rattlesnake bites. I did not tell
201
The Last of ihe Plainsmen
mmm^***mmma*****m*^m****aii^mim^Hm^^^m******mumm
you, but that rattler at the cabin last night actually
bit me, and I used carbolic to cure the poison."
Frank mumbled something about horses, and
faded into the gloom. As for Jones, he looked at
me rather incredulously, and the absolute, almost
childish gladness he manifested because I had been
snatched from the grave, made me regret my deceit,
and satisfied me forever on one score.
On awakening in the morning I found frost half
an inch thick covered my sleeping-bag, whitened the
ground, and made the beautiful silver spruce trees
silver in hue as well as in name.
We were getting ready for an early start, when
two riders, with pack-horses jogging after them,
same down the trail from the direction of Oak Spring.
They proved to be JeS Clarke, the wild-horse wran-
gler mentioned by the Stewarts, and his helper.
They were on the way into the breaks for a string of
pintos. Clarke was a short, heavily bearded man, of
jovial aspect He said he had met the Stewarts going
Into Fredonia, and being advised of our destination,
tiad hurried to come up with us. As we did not
know, except in a general way, where we were making
.for, the meeting was a fortunate event
Our camping site had been close to the divide
made by one of the long, wooded ridges sent off by
Buckskin Mountain, and soon we were descending
202
On to the Smash
again. We rode half a mile down a timbered slope,
and then out into a beautiful, flat forest of gigantic
pines. Clarke informed us it was a level bench some
ten miles long, running out from the slopes of Buck-
skin to face the Grand Canon on the south, and the
breaks of the Siwash on the west. For two hours
we rode between the stately lines of trees, and the
hoofs of the horses gave forth no sound. A long,
silvery grass, sprinkled with smiling bluebells, cov-
ered the ground, except close under the pines, where
soft red mats invited lounging and rest. We saw
numerous deer, great gray mule deer, almost as large
as elk. Jones said they had been crossed with elk
once, which accounted for their size. I did not see
a stump, or a burned tree, or a windfall during the
ride.
Clarke led us to the rim of the canon. Without
any preparation for the giant trees hid the open
sky we rode right out to the edge of the tremendous
chasm. At first I did not seem to think ; my faculties
were benumbed; only the pure sensorial instinct of
k the savage who sees, but does not feel, made me take
note of the abyss. Not one of our party had ever
seen the canon from this side, and not one of us said
a word But Clarke kept talking.
" Wild place this is hyar r " he said. " Seldom any
One but horse wranglers gits ovsr this far. I've
203
The Last of the Plainsmen
a bunch of wild pintos down in a canon below fer
two years. I reckon you can't find no better place
fer camp than right hyar. Listen. Do you hear thet
rumble? Thet's Thunder Falls. You can only see
it from one place, an' thet far off, but thar's brooks
you can git at to water the bosses. Fer thet matter,!
you can ride up the slopes an' git snow. If you can
git snow close, it'd be better, fer thet's an all-fired bad
trail down fer water."
* 4 Is this the cougar country the Stewarts talked
about?" asked Jones.
" Reckon it is. Cougars is as thick in hyar as
rabbits in a spring-hole canon. I'm on the way
now to bring up my pintos. The cougars hev cost
me hundreds I might say thousands of dollars. I
lose bosses all the time ; an' damn me, gentlemen, IVe
never raised a colt. This is the greatest cougar coun-
try in the West. Look at those yellow crags ! Thar's
where the cougars stay. No one ever hunted 'em. It
seems to me they can't be hunted. Deer and wild
bosses by the thousand browse hyar on the mountain
in summer, an' down in the breaks in winter. The t
cougars live fat. You'll find deer and wild-boss
carcasses all over this country. You'll find lions's
dens full of bones. You'll find warm deer left for
the coyotes. But whether you'll find the cougars, I
can't say. I fetched dogs in hyar, an' tried to ketcH
204
On to the Siwash
Old Tom. I've put them on his trail an' never saw
hide nor hair of them again. Jones, it's no easy
huntin' hyar."
" Well, I can see that," replied our leaden " I
never hunted lions in such a country, and never knew
any one who had. We'll have to learn how. We've
the time and the dogs, all we need is the stuff in us."
1 " I hope you fellars git some cougars, an' I believe
you will. Whatever you do, kill Old Tom."
" We'll catch him alive. We're not on a hunt to
kill cougars," said Jones.
"What! " exclaimed Clarke, looking from Jones
to us. His rugged face wore a half-smile.
" Jones ropes cougars, an' ties them up," replied
Frank.
p m if he'll ever rope Old Torn,"
burst out Clarke, ejecting a huge quid of tobacco.
"Why, man alive! it'd be the death of you to git
near thet old villain. I never seen him, but I've
seen his tracks fer five years. They're larger
than any hoss tracks you tver seen. He'll weigh '
over three hundred, thet old cougar. Hyar, take
a look at my man's hoss. Look at his back. See
them marks? Wai, Old Tom made them, an 5 he
made them right in camp last fall, when we were
down in the canon."
The mustang to which Clarke called our attention
205
The Last of the Plainsmen
was a sleek cream and white pinto. Upon his side
and back were long regular scars, some an inch wide,
and bare of hair.
44 How on earth did he get rid of the cougar? 5 *
asked Jones.
" I don't know. Perhaps he got scared of the
dogs. It took thet pinto a year to git well. Old
Tom is a real lion. He'll kill a full-grown boss when
he wants, but a yearlin' colt is his especial likin*.
You're sure to run acrost his trail, an' you'll never
miss it. Wai, if I find any cougar sign down in the
canon, I'll build two fires so as to let you know.
Though no hunter, I'm tolerably acquainted with the
( varmints. The deer an' hosses are rangin' the forest
slopes now, an' I think the cougars come up over
'the rim rock at night an' go back in the mornin\
Anyway, if your dogs can follow the trails, you've got
sport, an' more'n sport comin' to you. But take it
from me don't try to rope Old Tom."
After all our disappointments in the beginning of
the expedition, our hardship on the desert, our trials
, with the dogs and horses, it was real pleasure to make
permanent camp with wood, water and feed at hand,
a soul-stirring, ever-changing picture before us, and
the certainty that we were in the wild lairs of the
Eons among the Lords of the Crags !
While we were unpacking, every now and then I
506
On to the Siwash
would straighten up and gaze out beyond. I knew
the outlook was magnificent and sublime beyond
words, but as yet I had not begun to understand it.
The great pine trees, growing to the very edge of
the rim, received their full quota of appreciation
from me, as did the smooth, flower-decked aisles
leading back into the forest
The location we selected for camp was a larg<?
glade, fifty paces or more from the precipice far
enough, fhe cowboys averred, to keep our traps from
being sucked down by some of the whirlpool winds,
native to the spot. In the center of this glade stood
a huge gnarled and blasted old pine, that certainly
by virtue of hoary locks and bent shoulders had
earned the right to stand aloof from his younger com-
panions. Under this tree we placed all our belong-
ings, and then, as Frank so felicitously expressed it,
we were free to " ooze round an* see things/'
I believe I had a sort of subconscious, selfish idea
that some one would steal the canon away from me if
I did not hurry to make it mine forever; so 1 sneaked
off, and sat under a pine growing on the very rirn.
At first glance, I saw below me, seemingly miles
, away, a wild chaos of red and buff mesas rising ou!
of dark purple clefts. Beyond these reared a long,
irregular tableland, running south almost to th
extent of my vision, which I remembered Clarke had
207
The Last of the Plainsmen
called Powell's Plateau. I remembered, also, that
he had said it was twenty miles distant, was almost
th?t many miles long, was connected to the mainland
of Buckskin Mountain by a very narrow wooded dip
of land called the Saddle, and that it practically shut
us out of a view of the Grand Canon proper. If '
that was true, what, then, could be the name of the
canon at my feet? Suddenly, as my gaze wandered
from point to point, it was arrested by a dark, conical
mountain, white-tipped, which rose in the notch of
the Saddle. What could it mean? Were there such
things as canon mirages? Then the dim purple of
its color told of its great distance from me ; and then
its familiar shape told I had come into my own
again I had found my old friend once more. For
in all that plateau there was only one snow-capped
mountain the San Francisco Peak ; and there, a hun-
dred and fifty, perhaps two hundred miles away, far
beyond the Grand Canon, it smiled brightly at me,
as it had for days and days across the desert
Hearing Jones yelling for somebody or everybody,
I jumped up to find a procession heading for a point
farther down the rim wall, where our leader stood
waving his arms. The excitement proved to have
been caused by cougar signs at the head of the trail
where Clarke had started down.
" They're here, boys, they're here, 1 * Jones kepfi
208-
On to the Smash
repeating, as he showed us different tracks. " This
sign is not so old. Boys, to-morrow we'll get up a
lion, sure as you're born. And if we do, and Sounder
sees him, then we've got a lion-dog! I'm afraid of
Don. He has a fine nose; he can run and fight, but
he's been trained to deer, and maybe I can't break
him. Moze is still uncertain. If old Jude only
hadn't been lamed ! She would be the best of the lot.
But Sounder is our hope. I'm almost ready to swear
by him."
All this was too much for me, so I slipped off again
to be alone, and this time headed for the forest
Warm patches of sunlight, like gold, brightened the
ground; dark patches of sky, like ocean blue, gleamed
between the treetops. Hardly a rustle, of wind in
the fine-toothed green branches disturbed the quiet
When I got fully out of sight of camp, I started to
run as if I were a wild Indian. My running had no
aim ; just sheer mad joy of the grand old forest, the
smell of pine, the wild silence and beauty loosed the
spirit in me so it had to run, and I ran with it till
the physical being failed.
While resting on a fragrant bed of pine needles s
endeavoring to regain control over a truant rnind,
trying to subdue the encroaching of the natural man
on the civilized man, I saw gray objects moving under
the trees. I lost them, then saw them, aad presently
The Last of the Plainsmen
so plainly that, with delight on delight, I counted
seventeen deer pass through an open arch of dark
green. Rising to my feet, I ran to get round a low
mound. They saw me and bouuded away with'*
prodigiously long leaps. Bringing their forefeet'
together, stiff-legged under them, they bounced high^
like rubber balls, yet they were graceful.
The forest was so open that I could watch them
for a long way; and as I circled with my gaze, a
glimpse of something white arrested my attention.
A. light, grayish animal appeared to be tearing at
an old stump. Upon nearer view, I recognized a
wolf, and he scented or sighted me at the same
moment, and loped off into the shadows of the trees.
Approaching the spot where I had marked him I
found he had been feeding from the carcass of a
horse. The remains had been only partly eaten, and
were of an animal of the mustang build that had
evidently been recently killed. Frightful lacerations
under the throat showed where a lion had taken fata] /
hold. Deep furrows in the ground proved how the '
mustang had sunk his hoofs, reared and shaken him-
self. I traced roughly defined tracks fifty paces to
the lee of a little bank, from which I concluded the
lion had sprung.
I gave free rein to my imagination and saw the
'forest dark, silent, peopled by none but its savage
210
On to the Siwash
denizens. The lion crept like a shadow, crouched
noiselessly down, then leaped on his sleeping 01
browsing prey. The lonely night stillness split to a
frantic snort and scream of terror, and the stricken
mustang with his mortal enemy upon his back, dashed
off with fierce, wild love of Iife As he went he felt
his foe crawl toward his neck on claws of fire; he saw
the tawny body and the gleaming eyes; then the*
cruel teeth snapped with the sudden bite, and the
woodland tragedy ended.
On the spot I conceived an antipathy toward lions.
It was born of the frightful spectacle of what had
once been a glossy, prancing mustang, of the mute,
sickening proof of the survival of the fittest, o the
law that levels life.
Upon telling my camp-fellows about my discovery,
Jones and Wallace walked out to see it, while Jim
told me the wolf I had seen was a " lof er, f f one of the
giant buffalo wolves of Buckskin; and if I .vould
watch the carcass in the mornings and evenings, I
would " shore as hell get a plunk at him "
White pine burned in a beautiful, clear blue flame,
with no smoke; and in the center of the campfire left
a golden heart But Jones would not have any sit*
ting up, and hustled us ofi to bed, saying we would
be " blamed " glad of it in about fifteen hours. I
crawkd into my sleeping-bag, made a hood of my
The Last of the Plainsmen
Navajo blanket, and peeping from under it, watched
the fire and the flickering shadows. The blaze burned
down rapidly. Then the stars blinked. Arizona
Stars would be moons in any other State! How
serene, peaceful, august, infinite and wonderfully
'bright! No breeze stirred the pines. The clear
tinkle of the cowbells on the hobbled horses rang
from near and distant parts of the forest. The
prosaic bell of the meadow and the pasture brook,
here, in this environment, jingled out different notes^
as dear ? sweet, musical as silver bells.
CHAPTER XII
OLD TOM
A~~ daybreak our leader routed us out. TKc
frost mantled the ground so heavily that it
looked like snow, and the rare atmosphere
bit like the breath of winter. The forest stood
solemn and gray; the canon lay wrapped in vapory
slumber,
Hot biscuits and coffee, with a chop or two of the
delicious Persian lamb meat, put a less Spartan tinge
on the morning, and gave Wallace and me more
strength we needed not incentive to leave the fire,
fmstle our saddles on the horses and get in line with
our impatient leader. The hounds scampered over
the frost, shoving their noses at the tufts of grass
and bluebells. Lawson and Jim remained in camp?
the rest of us trooped southwest.
A mile or so in that direction, the forest of ping
ended abruptly, and a wide belt of low, scrubby oa8>
trees, breast high to a horse, fringed the rim of the
canon and appeared to broaden out and grow wavy
southward. The edge of the forest was as dark and
regular as if a band of woodchoppers had trimmed
The Last of the Plainsmen
it. We threaded our way through this thicket, all
peering into the bisecting deer trails for cougar tracks
in the dust.
" Bring the dogs! Hurry! 9 ' suddenly called
Jones from a thicket.
We lost no time complying, and tound him stand-
ing in a trail, with his eyes on the sand. " Take a
bok, boys. A good-sized male cougar passed here
kst night. Hyar, Sounder, Don, Moze, come on ! "
It was a nervous, excited pack of hounds. Old
Jude got to Jones first, and she sang out; then
Sounder opened with his ringing bay, and before
Jones could mount, a string of yelping dogs sailed
straight for the forest.
M Ooze along, boys ! " yelled Frank, wheeling
Spot.
With the cowboy leading, we strung into the pines,
and I found myself behind. Presently even Wallace
disappeared. I almost threw the reins at Satan, and
yelled for him to go. The result enlightened me.
Like an arr<?w from a bow, the black shot forward*
Frank had told me of his speed, that when he found
his stride it was like riding a flying feather to be on
him. Jones> fearing he would kill me, had cautioned
me always to hold him in, which I had done. Satan
stretched out with long, graceful motions ; he did not
turn aside for logs, but cleared them with easy *n<i
214
Old Tom
'powerful spring, and he swerved only slightly foi?
the trees. This latter, I saw at once, made the dan*
gfir for me. It became a matter of saving my legs,
land dodging branches. The imperative need of this
jcame to me with convincing force. I dodged a
% branch on one tree, only to be caught square in the
middle by a snag on another. Crack ! If the snag
had not broken, Satan would have gone on riderless,
and I would have been left hanging, a pathetic and'
Drooping monition to the risks of the hunt I kept
ducking my head, now and then falling flat over the
pommel to avoid a limb that would have brushed me
off, and hugging the flanks of my horse with my
knees. Soon I was at Wallace's heels, and had Jones
in sight. Now and then glimpses of Frank's white
ihorse gleamed through the trees.
We began to circle toward the south, to go up and
down shallow hollows, to find the pines thinning out;
then we shot out of the forest into the scrubby oak.
Riding through this brush was the crudest kind of
svork, but Satan kept on close to the sorrel The
"hollows began to get deeper, and the ridges between
them narrower. No longer could we keep a straight
course.
On the crest of one of the ridges we found Jones
awaiting us, Jude, Tige and Don lay panting at his
feet. Plainly the Colonel appeared vexed.
215
The Last of the Plainsmen
" Listen," he said, when we reined in.
We complied, but did not hear a sound.
" Frank's beyond there some place," continued
Jones, " but I can't see him, nor hear the hounds any
more. Don and Tige split again on deer trails. Old '
Jude hung on the lion track, but I stopped her here.
There's something I can't figure. Moze held a bee-
line southwest, and he yelled seldom. Sounder
gradually stopped baying. Maybe Frank can tell
us something."
Jones's long drawn-out signal was answered from
the direction he expected, and after a little time,
Frank's white horse shone out of the gray-green of a
ridge a mile away.
This drew my attention to our position. We were
on a high ridge out in the open, and I could see fifty
miles of the shaggy slopes of Buckskin. Southward
the gray, ragged line seemed to stop suddenly, and
beyond it purple haze hung over a void I knew to
,be the canon. And facing west, I came, at last, to
understand perfectly the meaning of the breaks in
the Siwash. They were nothing more than ravines
that headed up on the slopes and ran down, getting
deeper and steeper, though scarcely wider, to break
into the canon. Knife-crested ridges rolled westward*
wave on wave, like the billows of a sea. I appro*
dated that these breaks were, at their sources, little
216
Old Tom
washes easy to jump across, and at their mouths a
mile deep and impassable. Huge pine trees shaded
these gullies, to give way to the gray growth of
stunted oak, which in turn merged into the dark
green of pifion. A wonderful country for deer and
lions, it seemed to me, but impassable, all but impossi-,
ble for a hunter*
Frank soon appeared, brushing through the bend-
ing oaks, and Sounder trotted along behind him,
" Where's Moze? " inquired Jones. t
" The last I heard of Moze he was out of the
brush, goin' across the pinon flat, right for the canon*
He had a hot trail. 1 '
"Well, we're certain of one thing; if it was a
deer, he won't come back soon, and if it was a lion,
he'll tree it, lose the scent, and come back. We've'
got to show the hounds a lion in a tree. They'd run
a hot trail, bump into a tree, and then be at fault.
What was wrong with Sounder? "
" I don't know. He came back to me. 5 *
** We can't trust him, or any of them yet Still,
maybe they're doing better than we know."
The outcome of the chase, so favorably started,
was a disappointment, which we all felt keenly.
After some discussion, we turned south, intending
to ride down to the rim wall and follow it back to
camp. I happened to turn once, perhaps to looK
217
The Last of the Plainsmen
again at the far-distant pink cliffs of Utah, or the
wave-like dome of Trumbull Mountain, when I saw
Moze trailing close behind me. My yell halted the
Colonel.
. " Well, I'll be darned ! " ejaculated he, as Moze
hove in sight. " Come hyar, you rascal ! "
He was a tired dog, but had no sheepish air about
him, such as he had worn when lagging in from deer
chases. He wagged his tail, and flopped down to
pant and pant, as if to say: "What's wrong with
you guys?"
" Boys, for two cents I'd go back and put Jude
on that trail. It's just possible that Moze treed a
lion. But well, I expect there's more likelihood of
his chasing the lion over the rim ; so we may as well
keep on. The strange thing is that Sounder wasn't
with Moze. There may have been two lions. You
see we are up a tree ourselves. I have known lions
to run in pairs, and also a mother keep four two-year-
olds with her. But such cases are rare. Here, in
this country, though, maybe they run round and have
parties."
As we left the breaks behind we got out upon a
level pifion flat. A few cedars grew with the pinons.
Deer runways and trails were thick.
" Boys, look at that," said Jones. M This is great
ilion country, the best I ever saw."
218
Old Tom
He pointed to the sunken, red, shapeless remains
of two horses, and near them a ghastly scattering of
bleached bones. " A lion-lair right here on the flat
Those two horses were killed early this spring, and
I see no signs of their carcasses having been covered
with brush and dirt. I've got to learn lion lore over
again, that's certain."
As we paused at the head of a depression, which
appeared to be a gap in the rim wall, filled with
massed pinons and splintered piles of yell'nv stone, I
caught Sounder going through some interesting
moves. He stopped to smell a bush. Then he lifted
his head, and electrified me with a great, deep-
sounding bay.
"Hi! there, listen to that!" yelled Jones,,
*' What's Sounder got? Give him room don't run
him down. Easy now, old dog, easy, easy I "
Sounder suddenly broke down a trail. Moze
howled, Don barked, and Tige let out his staccato
yelp. They ran through the brush here, there, every-
where. Then all at once old Jude chimed in with
her mellow voice, and Jones tumbled off his horse.
" By the Lord Harry! There's something here."
41 Here, Colonel, here's the bush Sounder smelt,
and there's a sandy trail under it," I called.
" There go Don an' Tige down into the break,**
cried Frank. " They've got a hot scent! "
The Last of the Plainsmen
Jones stooped over the place I designated, to jerk
up with reddening face, and as he flung himself into
the saddle roared out: " After Sounder 1 Old Tom!
Old Tom! Old Tom!"
We all heard Sounder, and at the moment of
Jones's discovery, Moze got the scent and plunged
ahead of us.
" Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! " yelled the Colonel Frank
sent Spot forward like a white streak. Sounder
called to us in irresistible bays, which Moze
answered, and then crippled Jude bayed in baffled,
impotent distress.
The atmosphere was charged with that lion. As
if by magic, the excitation communicated itself to all,
and men, horses and dogs acted in accord. The ride
through the forest had been a jaunt. This was a
steeplechase, a mad, heedless, perilous, glorious race.
And we had for a pacemaker a cowboy mounted on a
tireless mustang. [
Always it seemed to me, while the wind rushed, the'
brush whipped, I saw Frank far ahead, sitting his
saddle as if glued there, holding his reins looselj
forward. To see him ride so was a beautiful sight.
Jones let out his Comanche yell at every dozen jumps,*
and Wallace sent back a thrilling " Waa-hoo-o ! M
In the excitement I had again checked my horse, and
hen I remembered, and loosed the bridle, how the
220
Old Tom
noble animal responded! The pace he settled into
dazed me ; I could hardly distinguish the deer trail
down which he was thundering. I lost my comrades
ahead; the pinon blurred In my sight; I only faintly
heard the hounds. It occurred to me we were making
for the breaks, but I did not think of checking Satan.
I thought only of flying on faster and faster.
" On ! On I old fellow ! Stretch out I Never lose
this race ! We've got to be there at the finish I " I
called to Satan, and he seemed to understand and
stretched lower, farther, quicker.
The brush pounded my legs and clutched and tore
my clothes; the wind whistled; the pinon branches
cut and whipped my face. Once I dodged to the left,
as Satan swerved to the right, with the result that I
flew out of the saddle, and crashed into a pinon tree,
which marvelously brushed me back into the saddle.
The wild yells and deep bays sounded nearer. Satan
tripped and plunged down, throwing me as grace-
fully as an aerial tumbler wings his flight. I alighted
in a bush, without feeling of scratch or pain. As
Satan recovered and ran past, I did not seek to make
him stop, but getting a good grip on the pommel, I
vaulted up again. Once more he raced like a wild
mustang. And from nearer and nearer in front
pealed the alluring sounds of the chase.
Satan was creeping close to Wallace and Jones,
221
The Last of the Plainsmen
with Frank looming white through the occasional
pinons. Then all dropped out of sight, to appeal
again suddenly. They had reached the first break,
Soon I was upon it. Two deer ran out of the ravine,
almost brushing my horse in the haste. Satan wenf
down and up in a few giant strides. Only the narrow
ridge separated us from another break. It was up
and down then for Satan, a work to which he man-
fully set himself. Occasionally I saw Wallace and
Jones, but heard them oftener. All the time the
breaks grew deeper, till finally Satan had to zigzag
his way down and up. Discouragement fastened on
me, when from the summit of the next ridge I saw
Frank far down the break, with Jones and Wallace
not a quarter of a mile away from him. I sent out
a long, exultant yell as Satan crashed into the hard,
dry wash in the bottom of the break.
I knew from the way he quickened under me that
he intended to overhaul somebody. Perhaps becausel
of the clear going, or because my frenzy had cooled
to a thrilling excitement which permitted detail, I saw
clearly and distinctly the speeding horsemen down
the ravine. I picked out the smooth pieces of ground!
ahead, and with the slightest touch of the rein on his
neck, guided Satan into them. How he ran! The
light, quick beats of his hoofs were regular, pound-
fog. Seeing Jones and Wallace sail high inro the air,
222
Old Tom
I knew they had jumped a ditch. Thus prepared, I
managed to stick on when it yawned before me; and
Satan, never slackening, leaped up and up, giving me
a new swing.
Dust began to settle in little clouds before me;
Frank, far ahead, had turned his mustang up the side
of the break; Wallace, within hailing distance, now
turned to wave me a hand. The rushing wind fairly
sang In my ears; the walls of the break were confused
blurs of yellow and green; at every stride Satan
seemed to swallow a rod of the white trail
Jones began to scale the ravine, heading up
obliquely far on the side of where Frank had van-
ished, and as Wallace followed suit, I turned Satan.
I caught Wallace at the summit, and we raced
together out upon another flat of pinon. We heard
Frank and Jones yelling in a way that caused us to
spur our horses frantically. Spot, gleaming white
near a clump of green pinons, was our guiding star*
That last quarter of a mile was a ringing run, a ride
to remember.
As our mounts crashed back with stiff forelegs and
haunches, Wallace and I leaped off and darted into
the clump of pinons, whence issued a hair-raising
medley of yells and barks. I saw Jones, then Franks
both waving their arms* then Mozc and Sounder
running wildly, aimlessly about.
The Last of the Plainsmen
"Look there!" rang in my ear, and Jones 1
smashed me on the back with a blow, which at any
ordinary time would have laid me flat.
In a low, stubby pinon tree, scarce twenty feet
Irom us, was a tawny f orm. An enormous mountain-
lion, as large as an African lioness, stood planted
with huge, round legs on two branches; and he faced 1
us gloomily, neither frightened nor fierce. Hcl
watched the running dogs with pale, yellow eyes,|
waved his massive head and switched a long, black-
tufted tail,
"It's Old Tom! sure as you're born! It's Old
Tom I " yelled Jones. " There's no two lions like
that in one country. Hold still now. Jude is here,
and she'll see him she'll show him to the other
hounds. Hold still I "
We heard Jude coming at a fast pace for a lame
dog, and we saw her presently, running with her nose
down for a moment, then up. She entered the clump
of trees, and bumped her nose against the pinon Old
Tom was in, and looked up like a dog that knew hef
business. The series of wild howls she broke into
quickly brought Sounder and Moze to her side*;
They, too, saw the big lion, not fifteen feet over theh?
heads. *
We were all yelling and trying to talk at once, b
some such *tate as the dogs.
Old Tom
"Hyar, Moze! Come down out of that!"
hoarsely shouted Jones.
Moze had begun to climb the thick, many-
branched, low piiion tree. He paid not the slightest
attention to Jones, who screamed and raged at him.
" Cover the lion ! " cried he to me. " Don't shoot
unless he crouches to jump on me."
The little beaded front-sight wavered slightly as I
held my rifle leveled at the grim, snarling face, and
out of the corner of my eye, as it were, I saw Jones
dash in under the lion and grasp Moze by the hind
leg and haul him down. He broke from Jones
and leaped again to the first low branch. His mas-
ter then grasped his collar and carried him to where
we stood and held him choking.
" Boys, we can't keep Tom up there. When h
jumps, keep out of his way. Maybe we can chasv
him up a better tree."
Old Tom suddenly left the branches, swinging
violently; and hitting the ground like a huge cat on
springs, he bounded off, tail up, in a most ludicrous
manner. His running, however, did not lack speed,
tfor he quickly outdistanced the bursting hounds,
A stampede for horses succeeded this move, I had
^difficulty in closing my camera, which I had forgotten
tintil the last moment, and got behind the others-
Satan sent the dust flying and the piiion branches
225
Tlie Last of the Plamsmen
crashing. Hardly had I time to bewail my ill-luck
in being left, when I dashed out of a thick growth of
trees to come upon my companions, all dismounted
on the rim of the Grand Canon.
" He's gone down 1 He's gone down I " raged
Jones, stamping the ground. " What luck! What
miserable luck! But don't quit; spread along the
/rim, boys, and look for him. Cougars can't fly.
There's a break in the rim somewhere."
The rock wall, on which we dizzily stood, dropped
straight down for a thousand feet, to meet a long,
pinun-covered slope, which graded a mile to cut off
into what must have been the second wall We were
far west of Clarke's trail now, and faced a point
above where Kanab Canon, a red gorge a mile deep,
met the great canon. As I ran along the rim, look*
ing for a fissure or break, my gaze seemed impellingly
drawn by the immensity of this thing I could not
name, and for which I had as yet no intelligible
emotion.
Two " Waa-hoos " in the rear turned me back ia
double-quick time, and hastening by the horses, I
found the three men grouped at the head of a narrow
break,
" He went down here. Wallace saw him roun^
the base of that tottering crag."
The break was wedge-shaped, with the sharp end
Old Tom
oward the rim, and it descended so rapidly as to
appear almost perpendicular. It was a long, steep
jlide of small, weathered shale, and a place that no
nan in his right senses would ever have considered
oing down. But Jones, designating Frank and me,
said in his cool, quick voice :
" You fellows go down. Take Jude and Sounder
In leash. If you find his trail below along the wall, 1
yell for us. Meanwhile, Wallace and I wiL hang
over the rim and watch for him."
Going down, in one sense, was much easier than
had appeared, for the reason that once started we
moved on sliding beds of weathered stone. Each of
us now had an avalanche for a steed. Frank forged
ahead with a roar, and then seeing danger below,
tried to get out of the mass. But the stones were
like quicksand; every step he took sunk him in
deeper. He grasped the smooth cliff, to find holding
impossible. The slide poured over a fall like so
mrcu water. He reached and caught a branch of a
pinon, and lifting his feet up, hung on till the treach-
erous area of moving stones had passed.
While I had been absorbed in his predicament,
tny avalanche augmented itself by slide on slide, per-*
haps loosened by his; and before I knew it, I was
sailing down with ever-increasing momentum. The
sensation was distinctly pleasant, and a certain spirit*
227
The Last of the Plainsmen
before restrained in me, at last ran riot. The slide
narrowed at the drop where Frank had jumped, and
the stones poured over m a stream. I jumped also,
but having a rifle in one hand, failed to hold, and
plunged down into the slide again. My feet were
held this time, as in a vise. I kept myself upright
and waited. Fortunately, the jumble of loose stone
slowed and stopped, enabling me to crawl over to
one side where there was comparatively good foot-
ing. Below us, for fifty yards, was a sheet of rough
stone, as bare as washed granite well could be. We
slid down this in regular schoolboy fashion, and had
reached another restricted neck in the fissure, when
a sliding crash above warned us that the avalanches
had decided to move of their own free will. Only
a fraction of a moment had we to find footing along
the yellow cliS, when, with a cracking roar, the mass
struck the slippery granite. If we had been on that
slope, our lives would not have been worth a grain
of the dust flying in clouds above us. Huge sto^s,
that had formed the bottom of the slides, shot ahead, 1 ,
and rolling, leaping, whizzed by us with frightful
velocity, and the remainder groaned and growled its
way down, to thunder over the second fall and die
out in a distant rumble.
The hounds had hung back, and were not easily
coaxed down to us. From there on, down to the
228
Old Tom
base of the gigantic cliff, we descended with little
difficulty,
" We might meet the old gray cat anywheres along
here," said Frank/
The wall of yellow limestone had shelves, ledges,
fissures and cracks, any one of which might have
concealed a lion. On these places I turned darK :
uneasy glances. It seemed to me events succeedec
one another so rapidly that I had no time to think,
to examine, to prepare. We were rushed from one
sensation to another. (
" Gee ! look here," said Frank; " here's his tracks.
Did you ever see the like of that? "
Certainly I had never fixed my eyes on such enor
mous cat-tracks as appeared in the yellow dust at the
base of the rim wall. The mere sight of them was
sufficient to make a man tremble.
" Hold in the dogs, Frank," I called. " Listen.
I think I heard a yell."
From far above came a yell, which, though thinned
out by distance, was easily recognized as Jones's.
We returned to the opening of the break, and throw-
ing our heads back, looked up the slide to see him
coming down,
" Wait for me ! Wait for me ! I saw the lion go
in a cave. Wait for me ! "
With the same roar and crack and slide of rocks
The Last of the Plainsmen
as had attended our descent, Jones bore down on us,,
For an old man it was a marvelous performance,
He walked on the avalanches as though he wore
seven-league boots, and presently, as we began to
dodge whizzing bowlders, he stepped down to us,
whirling his coiled lasso. His jaw bulged out; a
flash made fire in his cold eyes.
" Boys, we've got Old Tom in a corner. I worked
along the rim north and looked over every place I
could. Now, maybe you won't believe it, but I heard
him pant. Yes, sir, he panted like the tired lion he
Is. Well, presently I saw him lying along the base
of the rim wall. His tongue was hanging out You
see, he's a heavy lion, and not used to running long
distances. Come on, now. It's not far. Hold in
the dogs. You there with the rifle, lead off, and keep
your eyes peeled."
Single file, we passed along in the shadow of the
great cliff. A wide trail had been worn in the dust.
" A lion run-way," said Jones. " Don't you smell
the cat?"
Indeed, the strong odor of cat was very pro-
nounced ; and that, without the big fresh tracks, made
the skin on my face tighten and chill. As we turned
a jutting point in the wall, a number of animals^
which I did not recognize, plunged helter-skeltap
down the canon slope.
Old Tom
" Rocky Mountain sheep I " exclaimed Jones.
"Look! Well, this is a discovery. I never heard
of a bighorn in the canon."
It was indicative of the strong grip Old Tom had
on us that we at once forgot the remarkable fact of
coming upon those rare sheep in such a place.
Jones halted us presently before a deep curve
described by the rim wall, the extreme end of which
terminated across the slope in an impassable pro-
jecting corner.
"See across there, boys. See that black hole.
Old Tom's in there."
" What's your plan ? " queried the cowboy snarply.
"Wait. Well slip up to get better lay of the
land."
We worked our way noiselessly along the rim-wall
curve for several hundred yards and came to a halt
again, this time with a splendid command of thc^
situation. The trail ended abruptly at the dark cave,
so menacingly staring at us, and the corner of the
cliff had curled back upon itself. l was a box-trap,
with a drop at the end, too great for any beast, a
narrow slide of weathered stone running down, and
the rim wall trail. Old Tom would plainly be com
pelted to choose one of these directions ii he left his #
cave.
" Frank, you and I will keep to the wall and stop
231
The Last of the Plainsmen
near that scrub pinon, this side of the hole. If I
rope him, I can use that tree."
Then he turned to me :
" Are you to be depended on here? "
" I ? What do you want me to do ? " I demanded,
and my whole breast seemed to sink in.
" You cut across the head of this slope and take
up your position in the slide below the cave, say
just by that big stone. From there you can command
the cave, our position and your own. Now, if it is
necessary to kill this lion to save me or Frank^ or, of
course, yourself, can you be depended upon to kill
him?"
I felt a queer sensation around my heart and a
strange tightening of the skin upon my face ! What
a position for me to be placed in ! For one instant
I shook like a quivering aspen leaf. Then because
of the pride of a man, or perhaps inherited instincts
cropping out at this perilous moment, I looked up
i and answered quietly :
"Yes. I will kill him 1"
" Old Tom is cornered, and he'll come out. He
can run only two ways : along this trail, or down that
slide. I'll take my stand by the scrub pinon there so
I can get a hitch if I rope him. Frank, when I give
the word, let the dogs go. Grey, you block the slide*
If he makes at us, even if I do get my rope on him*
232
Old Tom
kill him! Most likely he'll jump down hill then
you'll have to kill him ! Be quick. Now loose the
hounds. Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!"
I jumped into the narrow slide of weathered stone
and looked up. Jones's stentorian yell rose high
above the clamor of the hounds. He whirled his
lasso.
A huge yellow form shot over the trail and hit
the top of the slide with a crash. The lasso streaked
out with arrowy swiftness, circled, and snapped
viciously close to Old Tom's head. " Kill him ! Kill
him! " roared Jones. Then the lion leaped, seem-
ingly into the air above me. Instinctively I raised my
little automatic rifle. I seemed to hear a million
bellowing reports. The tawny body, with its grim,,
snarling face, blurred in my sight. I heard a roar
of sliding stones at my feet. I felt a rush of wind,
I caught a confused glimpse of a whirling wheel of
fur, rolling down the slide.
Then Jones and Frank were pounding me, and
yelling I know not what. From far above came
floating down a long " Waa-hoo ! " I saw Wallace
silhouetted against the blue sky. I felt the hot barrel
of my rifle, and shuddered at the bloody stones below
me then, and then only, did I realize, with weaken-
ing legs, that Old Tom had jumped at me, and had
jumped to his death.
CHAPTER XIII
SINGING CLIFFS
TOM had rolled two hundred yards
down the canon, leaving a red trail and bits
of fur behind him. When i had clambered
down to the steep slide where he had lodged.
Sounder and Jude had just decided he was no longer
worth biting, and were wagging their tails. Frank
was shaking his head, and Jones, standing above the
lion, lasso in hand, wore a disconsolate face.
** How I wish I had got the rope on him ! w
" I reckon we'd be gatherin* up the pieces of you
if you had," said Frank, dryly.
We skinned the old king on the rocky slope of his
mighty throne, and then, beginning to feel the effects
* of severe exertion, we cut across the slope for the foot
of the break. Once there, we gazed up in dismay.
That break resembled a walk of life how easy to
slip down, how hard to climb ! Even Frank, inured
as he was to strenuous toil, began to swear and wipe
his sweaty brow before we had made one-tenth of the
ascent. It was particularly exasperating, not to met**
Singing Cliffs
tion the danger of it, to work a few feet up a slide^
and then feel It start to move. We had to climb in
single file, which jeopardized the safety of those
behind the leader. Sometimes we were all sliding at f
once, like boys on a pond, with the difference that
we were in danger, Frank forged ahead, turning
to yell now and then for us to dodge a cracking stone.
Faithful old Jude could not get up in some places,
so laying aside my rifle, I carried her, and returned
for the weapon. It became necessary, presently, to
hide behind clifi projections to escape the avalanches
started by Frank, and to wait till he had surmounted
the break. Jones gave out completely several times,
saying the exertion affected his heart What with
my rifle, my camera and Jude, I could offer him no
assistance, and was really in need of that myself-
When it seemed as if one more step would kill us, we
reached the rim, and fell panting with labored chests
and dripping skins. We could not speak. Jones
had worn a pair of ordinary shoes without thick
soles and nails, and it seemed well to speak of them
in the past tense. They were split into ribbons an$
hung on by the laces. His feet were cut and bruised
On the way back to camp, we encountered Moze
1 and Don coming out of the break where we had
started Sounder on the trail. The paws of both
Stoonds were yelJow with dust, which proved thej;
The Last of the Plainsmen
^MMMMHMMMi^BMMMMMlMHMMMMMMMBMMMMBMW
had been down under the rim wall. Jones doubted
not in the least that they had chased a lion.
Upon examination, this break proved to be one
of the two which Clarke used for trails to his wild
horse corral in the canon. According to him, the
distance separating them was five miles by the rim
wall, and less than half that in a straight line. There-
fore, we made for the point of the forest where it
ended abruptly in the scrub oak. We got into camp,
a fatigued lot of men, horses and dogs. Jones
appeared particularly happy, and his first move, after
dismounting, was to stretch out the lioji skin and
measure it
" Ten feet, three inches and a half ! " he sang
out.
" Shore it do beat hell 1 " exclaimed Jim in tones
nearer to excitement than any I had ever heard him
use.
" Old Tom beats, by two inches, any cougar I
ever saw," continued Jones. "He must have
weighed more than three hundred. We'll set about
curing the hide. Jim, stretch it well on a tree, anoj
we'll take a hand in peeling off the fat."
All of the party worked on the cougar skin that
afternoon. The gristle at the base of the neck*, where
it met the shoulders, was so tough and thick we could
not scrape it thin. Jones said this particular spot
236
Singing Cliffs
so well protected because in fighting, cougars
most likely to bite and claw there. For that
matter, the whole skin was tough, tougher than
leather; and when it dried, it pulled all the horseshoe
nails out of the pine tree upon which we had it
stretched.
About time for the sun to set, I strolled along the
rim wall to look into the canon. I was beginning to
feel something of its character and had growing
impressions. Dark purple smoke veiled the clefts
deep down between the mesas. I walked along to
where points of cliff ran out like capes and peninsulas,
all seamed, cracked, wrinkled, scarred and yellow
with age, with shattered, toppling ruins of rocks
ready at a touch to go thundering down. I could not
resist the temptation to crawl out to the farthest
point, even though I shuddered over the yard-wide
ridges ; and when once seated on a bare promontory,
two hundred feet from the regular rim wall, I felt
isolated, marooned.
The sun, a liquid red globe, had just touched its
under side to the pink cliffs of Utah, and fired *
crimson flood of light over the wonderful mountains,
plateaus, escarpments, mesas, domes and turrets of
he gorge. The rim wall of Powell's Plateau was
a thin streak of fire; the timber above like grass of
gold; and the long slopes below shaded from brigjat
237
The Last of the Plainsmen
to dark. Point Sublime, bold and bare, ran out
toward the plateau, jealously reaching for the sun,
Bass's Tomb peeped over the Saddle. The Temple
of Vishnu lay bathed in vapory shading clouds, and
the Shinumo Altar shone with rays of glory.
The beginning of the wondrous transformation,
the dropping of the day's curtain, was for me a rare
and perfect moment. As the golden splendor of sun-
set sought out a peak or mesa or escarpment, I gave
it a name to suit my fancy; and as flushing, fading,
its glory changed, sometimes I rechristened it Jupi-
ter's Chariot, brazen wheeled, stood ready to roll
into the clouds. Semiramis's Bed, all gold, shone
from a tower of Babylon. Castor and Pollux clasped
hands over a Stygian river. The Spur of Doom, a
mountain shaft as red as hell, and inaccessible, insur-
mountable, lured with strange light. Dusk, a bold,
black dome, was shrouded by the shadow of a giant
mesa. The Star of Bethlehem glittered from the
brow of Point Sublime. The Wraith, fleecy, feath-
ered curtain of mist, floated down among the ruins!
of castles and palaces, like the ghost of a goddess.
Vales of Twilight, dim, dark ravines, mystic homes
of specters, led into the awful Valley of the Shadow,
clothed in purple night.
Suddenly, as the first puff of the night wind fanned
my cheek, a strange, sweet, low moaning and sighing
238
Singing Cliffs
came to my e*^*. I almost thought I was in a dream.
But the canon, now blood-red, was there in over-
whelming reality, a profound, solemn, gloomy thing,
but real. The wind blew stronger, and then I was
listening to a sad, sweet song, which lulled as the
wind lulled. I realized at once that the sound was
caused by the wind blowing into the peculiar forma-
tions of the cliffs. It changed, softened, shaded,
mellowed, but it was always sad. It rose from low,
tremulous, sweetly quavering sighs, to a sound like
the last woeful, despairing wail of a woman. It was
the song of the sea sirens and the music of the waves;
it had the soft sough of the night wind in the trees,
and the haunting moan of lost spirits.
With reluctance I turned my back to the gor-
geously changing spectacle of the canon and crav ed
in to the rim wall. At the narrow neck of stor e I
peered over to look down into misty blue nothingness.
That night Jones told stories of frightened
hunters, and assuaged my mortification by saying
" buck-fever " was pardonable after the danger had
passed, and especially so in my case, because of the
great size and fame of Old Tom.
" The worst case of buck-fever I ever saw was on
a buffalo hunt I had with a fellow named Williams,* *
went on Jones. " I was one of the scouts leading
a wagon-train west on the old Santa Fe traiL This
The Last of the Plainsmen
fellow said he was a big hunter, and wanted to kit
& buffalo, so I took him out I saw a herd making
wcr the prairie for a hollow where a brook ran,
and by hard work, got in ahead of them. I picked
rot a position just below the edge of the bank, anc
we lay quiet, waiting. From the direction of tfc
buffalo, I calculated we'd be just about right to ge9
A shot at no very long range* As it was, ! sudden!}
fkeard thumps on the ground, and cautiously raising
my head, saw a huge buffalo bull just over w, ne$
if teen feet up die bank. I whispered to Williams
* For God's sake, don't shoot, don't move! ' Us
kill's little fiery eyes snapped, and he reared, i
thought we were goners, for when a bull comes down
on anything with his forefeet, it's done for. But hi
slowly settled hack, pedbps doubtful. Then, m
another buffalo came to the edge of die basil:, fack%
$ little way from us, die bull turned broadside, pre
renting a splendid target Then 1 whispered te
Williams: * How's your chance. Shoot! ' I waked,
'lor the shot, butmms came. Lodging at WHti&ms, !
he was white and trembling. Big drops of sweat
out on his brow? his tcith chattered, a&d H*
hands shook. He had forgotten he carried a rita*
* That reminds me, * said Frank, " They tefi a
story over at Kanab on a Dutchman named
was very fond of hunting an 9 1 giseg$
Singing Cliffs
good success after deer an* small game. One winter
he was out in the Pink Cliffs with a Mormon named
Shoonover, an' they run into a lammin' big grizzly
track, fresh an* wet. They trailed him to a clump
of chaparral, an' on goin' clear round it, found no
tracks leadin' out. Shoonover said Schmitt com-
menced to sweat. They went back to the place where
the trail led in, an' there they were, great big silver-
tip tracks, bigger'n hoss-tracks, so fresh thet water
was oozin' out of 'em. Schmitt said: * Zake, you go
in und ged him. I hef took sick righdt now.' "
Happy as we were over the chase of Old Tom,
and our prospects for Sounder, Jude and Moze
had seen a lion in a tree we sought our blankets
early. I lay watching the bright stars, and listening
to the roar of the wind in the pines. At intervals it
lulled to a whisper, and then swelled to a roar, and
then died away. Far off in the forest a coyote barked
once. Time and time again, as I was gradually sink-
ing into slumber, the sudden roar of the wind startled
*ne. I imagined it was the crash of rolling, weath-
ered stone, and I saw again that huge outspread fly-
ang lion above me.
I awoke sometime later to find Moze had sought
the warmth of my sidej and he lay so near my arm
that I reached out and covered him with an end of
the blanket I used to break the wind. It was very
The Last of the Plainsmen
cold and the time must have been very Jate, for the
wind had died down, and I heard not a tinkle from
the hobbled horses. The absence of the cowbell
music gave me a sense of loneliness, for without it
the silence of the great forest was a thing to be ielt.
This oppressiveness, however, was broken by a
far-distant cry, unlike any sound I had ever heard
Not sure of myself, I freed my ears from the
blanketed hood and listened. It came again, a wild
cry, that made me think first of a lost child, and then
of the mourning wolf of the north. It must have
been a long distance off in the forest An interval
of some moments passed, then it pealed out again,
nearer this time, and so human that it startled me,
Moze raised his head and growled low in his throat*
and sniffed the keen air.
" Jones, Jones," I called, reaching over to touch
the old hunter.
He awoke at once, with the clear-headedness of
the light sleeper.
" I heard the cry of some beast," I said, " and it
was so weird, so strange. I want to know what it
was."
Such a long silence ensued that I began to despair
of hearing the cry again, when, with a suddenness
which straightened the hair on my head, a wailing
shriek, exactly like a despairing woman might give
242
Singing Cliffs
in death agony, split the night silence. It seemed
yight on us.
" Cougar 1 Cougar ! Cougar ! " exclaimed Jones*,
, "What's up? " queried Frank, awakened by the
dogs.
Their howling roused the rest of the party, and
no doubt scared the cougar, for his womanish scream
was not repeated. Then Jones got up and gathered
his blankets in a roll.
"Where you oozin' for now?" asked Franlq
sleepily.
" I think that cougar just came up over the rim on
a scouting hunt, and I'm going to go down to the
head of the trail and stay there till morning. If he
returns that way, I'll put him up a tree."
With this, he unchained Sounder and Don, and
stalked off under the trees, looking like an Indian*.
Once the deep bay of Sounder rang out; Jones's
sharp command followed, and then the familiar
silence encompassed the forest and was broken no
more.
When I awoke all was gray> except toward the
canon, where the little bit of sky I saw through
, the pines glowed a delicate pink. I crawled out OR
4 the instant, got into my boots and coat, and kicked
Cjp the smoldering fire. , Jim heard me, and said:
" Shore you're up early."
43
The Last of the Plainsmen
" I'm going to see the sunrise from the north rirn
of the Grand Canon/' I said, and knew when I spoke
, that very few men, out of all the millions of travelers,
had ever seen this, probably the most surpassingly
beautiful pageant in the world. At most, only a
ifew geologists, scientists, perhaps an artist or two,
and horse wranglers, hunters and prospectors have
ever reached the rim on the north side; and these
men, crossing from Bright Angel or Mystic Spring
trails on the south rim, seldom or never get beyond
Powell's Plateau.
The frost cracked under my boots like frail ice,
and the bluebells peeped wanly from the white.
When I reached the head of Clarke's trail it was
just daylight; and there, under a pine, I found Jones
rolled in his blankets, with Sounder and Moze asleep
beside him. I turned without disturbing him, and
went along the edge of the forest, but back a little
distance from the rim wall.
I saw deer off in the woods, and tarrying, watched
them throw up graceful heads, and look and listen.
The soft pink glow through the pines deepened to
rose, and suddenly I caught a point of red fire. Then
I hurried to the place I had named Singing Cliffs,
and keeping my eyes fast on the stone beneath me,
Crawled out to the very farthest point, drew a long,,
deep breath, and looked eastward*
244
Singing Cliffs
The awfulness of sudden death and the glory of
heaven stunned me ! The thing that had been mys-
tery at twilight, lay clear, pure, open in the rosy hue
of dawn. Out of the gates of the morning poured
a light which glorified the palaces and pyramids,
purged and purified the afternoon's inscrutable clefts,
swept away the shadows of the mesas, and bathed
that broad, deep world of mighty mountains, stately
spars of rock, sculptured cathedrals and alabaster
terraces in an artist's dream of color. A pearl from
heaven had burst, flinging its heart of fire into this
chasm. A stream of opal flowed out of the $un, to
touch each peak, mesa, dome, parapet, temple and
tower, cliff and cleft into the new-born life of another
day. ^ .
I sat there for a long time and Knew that every
second the scene changed, yet I could not tell how. I
knew I sat high over a hole of broken, splintered,
barren mountains; I knew I could see a hundred miles
of the length of it, and eighteen miles of the width
of it, and a mile of the depth of it, and the shafts and
rays of rose light on a million glancing, many-hued
surfaces at once; but that knowledge was no help to
me. I repeated a lot of meaningless superlatives to
myself, and I found words inadequate and superflu-
ous. The spectacle was too elusive and too great It
was life and death, heaven and hell.
The Last of the Plainsmen
I tried to call up former favorite views of moun-
tain and sea, so as to compare them with this ; but the
memory pictures refused to come, even with my eyes
closed. Then I returned to camp, with unsettled,
troubled rnind, and was silent, wondering at the
strange feeling burning within me.
Jones talked about our visitor of the night bef ore<
and said the trail near where he had slept showed
only one cougar track, and that led down into the
canon. It had surely been made, he thought, by the
beast we had heard. Jones signified his intention of
chaining several of the hounds for the next few nights
at the head of this trail; so if the cougar came up,
they would scent him and let us know. From whicK
it was evident that to chase a lion bound into the
canon and one bound out were two different things.
The day passed lazily, with all of us resting on
the warm, fragrant pine-needle beds, or mending a
rent in a coat, or working on some camp task impos-
sible of commission on exciting days.
About four o'clock, I took my little rifle and
walked off through the woods in the direction of the
carcass where I had seen the gray wolf. Thinking it
best to make a wide detour, so as to face the wind, I
circled till I felt the breeze was favorable to my en-
terprise, and then cautiously approached the hollow
where the dead horse lay. Indian fashion, I slipped
246
Singing Cliffs
from tree to tree, a mode of forest travel not without
its fascination and effectiveness, till I reached the
height of a knoll beyond which I made sure was my
objective point On peeping out from behind the
last pine, I found I had calculated pretty well, for
there was the hollow, the big windfall, with its round,
starfish-shaped roots exposed to the bright sun> and
near that, the carcass. Sure enough, pulling hard at
it, was the gray-white wolf I recognized as my
"Men"
But he presented an exceedingly difficult shot,
Backing down the ridge, I ran a little way to come
up behind another tree, from which I soon shifted
to a fallen pine. Over this I peeped, to get a splendid
view of the wolf. He had stopped tugging at the
horse, and stood with his nose in the air. Surely he
could not have scented me, for the wind was strong
from him to me; neither could he have heard my soft
footfalls on the pine needles; nevertheless, he was
suspicious, Loth to spoil the picture he made, I
risked a chance, and waited Besides, though I
prided myself on being able to take a fair aim, I had
1 no great hope that I could hit him at such a distance.
Presently he returned to his feeding, but not for long.
, Soon he raised his long, fine-pointed hea<i, and trotted
away a few yards, stopped to sniff again, then went
back to his grewsome work.
2471
The : Lasi 'of the TMnsmen
At this juncture, I noiselessly projected my rifle
barrel over the log. I had not, however, gotten the
sights in line with him, when he trotted away reluc-
tantly, and ascended the knoll on his side of the
hollow. I lost him, and had just begun sourly to
call myself a mollycoddle hunter, when he reap-
peared. He halted in an open glade, on the very
crest of the knoll, and stood still as a statue wolf, a
white, inspiriting target, against a dark green back-
ground. I could not stifle a rush of feeling, for I
was a lover of the beautiful first, and a hunter sec-
ondly; but I steadied down as the front sight moved
into the notch through, which I saw the black and
white of his shoulder.
Spang! How the little Remington sang! I
watched closely, ready to send five more missiles after
the gray beast. He jumped spasmodically, in a half-
curve, high in the air, with loosely hanging head* '
then dropped in a heap. I yelled like a boy, ran down
the hill, up the other side of the hollow, to find hint
Stretched out dead, a small hole in his shoulder where
the bullet had entered, a great one where it had come
put
The job I made of skinning him lacked some hun-
dred degrees the perfection of my shot, but I accom-
plished it, and returned to camp in triumph.
"Shore I knowed you'd plunk him," said Jin*
Singing CUffs
very much pleased. " I shot one the other day same
way, when he was feedin' off a dead horse. Now
thet's a fine skin. Shore you cut through once oc
twice. But he's only half lofer, the other half is
plain coyote. Thet accounts fer his feedin' on dead
meat."
My naturalist host and my scientific friend both
remarked somewhat grumpily that I seemed to get
the best of all the good things. I might have retali-
ated that I certainly had gotten the worst of all the
bad jokes; but, being generously happy over my
prize, merely remarked: "If you want fame on
wealth or wolves, go out and hunt for them."
Five o'clock supper left a good margin of day, in
which my thoughts reverted to the canon. I watched
the purple shadows stealing out of their caverns and
rolling up about me base of the mesas. Jones came
over to where I stood, and I persuaded him to walk
with me along the rim wall. Twilight had stealthily
advanced when we reached the Singing Cliffs, and [
we did not go out upon my promontory, but chose a
more comfortable one nearer the wall.
The night breeze had not sprung up yet, so the
music of the cliffs was hushed.
"You cannot accept the theory of erosion to
account for this chasm?" I asked my companion,
referring to a former conversation.
249
The Last of ike Plcdnsmert
" I can for this part of it. But what stumps me
is the mountain range three thousand feet high, cross-
ing the desert and the canon just above where we
crossed the riven How did the river cut through
that without the help of a split or earthquake? "
" I'll admit that is a poser to me as well as to
you. But I suppose Wallace could explain it as
erosion. He claims this whole western country was
once under water, except the tips of the Sierra
Nevada mountains. There came an uplift of the
earth's crust, and the great inland sea began to run
out, presumably by way of the Colorado. In so
doing it cut out the upper canon, this gorge eighteen
miles wide. Then came a second uplift, giving the
river a much greater impetus toward the sea, which
cut out the second, or marble canon. Now as to the
mountain range crossing the canon at right angles.
It must have come with the second uplift. If so, /
did it dam the river back into another inland sea,
and then wear down into that red perpendicular
gorge we remember so well? Or was there a great
'break in the fold of granite, which let the river con*
tinue on its way? Or was there, at that particular
point, a softer stone, like this limestone here, which
erodes easily?"
" You must ask somebody wiser than L w
44 Well, let's not perplex our minds with its origin^
250
Singing Cliffs
It is, and that's enough for any mind. Ah! listen!
Now you will hear my Singing Cliffs."
From out of the darkening shadows murmurs
rose on the softly rising wind. This strange music
had a depressing influence; but it did not fill the
heart w/th sorrow, only touched it lightly. And
when, with the dying breeze, the song died away, it
left the lonely crags lonelier for its death.
The last rosy gleam faded from the tip of Point
Sublime; and as if that were a signal, in all the
clefts and canons below, purple, shadowy clouds mar-
shaled their forces and began to sweep upon the
battlements, to swing colossal wings into amphithea-
ters where gods might have warred, slowly to enclose
the magical sentinels. Night intervened, and a mov*
ing, changing, silent chaos pulsated under the bright
stars.
"How infinite all this is! How impossible to
understand I " I exclaimed*
" To me it is very simple," replied my comrade*
" The world is strange* But this canon why, we
can see It all ! I can't make out why people fuss so
over it. 1 only feel peace. It's only bold and beauti*
ful, serene and silent."
With fhe words of this quiet old plainsman, my
sentimental passion shrank to the true appreciation
of the scene* Self passed out to the recurring, so*
251
The Last of ike Plainsmen
strains of cliff song. I had been reveling in a species
of indulgence, imagining I was a great lover of
nature, building poetical illusions over storm-beaten
peaks. The truth, told by one who had lived fifty
years in the solitudes, among the rugged mountains,
under the dark trees, and by the sides of the lonely
streams, was the simple interpretation of a spirit in
harmony with the bold, the beautiful, the serene, the
silent.
He meant the Grand Canon was only a mood of
nature, a bold promise, a beautiful record. He meant
that mountains had sifted, away in its dust, yet the
canon was young. Man was nothing, so let him be
humble. This cataclysm of the earth, this play-
ground of a river was not inscrutable; it was only
inevitable as inevitable as nature herself. Millions
of years in the bygone ages it had lain serene under
a live moon; it would bask silent under a rayless sun,
in the onward edge of time,
It taught simplicity, serenity, peace. The eye that
saw only the strife, the war, the decay, the ruin, or
. only the glory and the tragedy, saw not all the truth.
It spoke simply, though its words were grand : " My
spirit is the Spirit of Time, of Eternity, of God.
Man is little, vain, vaunting. Listen. To-morrow
fie shall be gone. Peace I Peace t "
25*
CHAPTER XIV
ALL HEROES BUT ONE
Awe rode up the slope of Buckskin, the sunrise
glinted red-gold through the aisles of frosted
pines, giving us a hunter's glad greeting.
With all due respect to, and appreciation of, the
breaks of the Siwash, we unanimously decided that
if cougars inhabited any other section of canon coun-
try, we preferred it, and were going to find it We
had often speculated on the appearance of the rim
wall directly across the neck of the canon upon which
we were located. It showed a long stretch of breaks,
fissures, caves, yellow crags, crumbled ruins and clefts
green with pifion pine. As a crow flies, it was only
a mile or two straight across from camp, but to
reach it, we had to ascend the mountain and head the
canon which deeply indented the slope.
A thousand feet or more above the level bench,
the character of the forest changed; the pines grew
thicker, and interspersed among them were silver
fpruces and balsams. Here in the clumps of small
trees and underbrush, we began to jump deer, and
25*
The Last of the Plainsmen
In a few moments a greater number than I had ever
seen in all my hunting experiences loped within range
of my eye. I could not look out into the forest,
where an aisle or lane or glade stretched to any dis
tance, without seeing a big gray deer cross it. Jone*
said the herds had recently come up from the breaks,
where they had wintered. These deer were twice the
size of the Eastern species, and as fat as well-fed
cattle. They were almost as tame, too. A big herd
ran out of one glade, leaving behind several curious
does, which watched us intently for a moment, then
bounded off with the stiff, springy bounce that so
amused me.
Sounder crossed fresh trails one after another;
Jude, Tige and Ranger followed him, but hesitated
often, barked and whined; Don started off once, to
come sneaking back at Jones's stern .call. But surly
old Moze either would not or could not obey, and
away he dashed. Bang! Jones sent a charge of
fine shot after him. He yelped, doubled up as if
stung, and returned as quickly as he had gone.
" Hyar, you white and black coon dog/ 5 said
Jones, " get in behind, and stay there.* 1
We turned to the right after a while and got
among shallow ravines. Gigantic pines grew on the
ridges and in the hollows, and everywhere bluebells
shone blue from the white frost. Why the frost did
254
All Heroes But One
not kill these beautiful flowers was a mystery to me.
The horses could not step without crushing them.
Before long, the ravines became so deep that we
had to zigzag up and down their sides, and to force
our horses through the aspen thickets in the hollows.
Once from a ridge I saw a troop of deer, and stopped
to watch them. Twenty-seven I counted outright,
but there must have been three times that number. I
saw the herd break across a glade, and watched them
until they were lost in the forest My companions
having disappeared, I pushed on, and while working
out of a wide, deep hollow, I noticed the sunny
patches fade from the bright slopes, and the golden
streaks vanish among the pines. The sky had become
overcast, and the forest was darkening. The " Waa-
hoo " 1 cried out returned in echo only. The wind
blew hard in my face, and the pines began to bend
'and roar. An immense black cloud enveloped Buck-
skin.
Satan had carried me no farther than the nsxt
ridge, when the forest frowned dark as twilight, and
on the wind whirled flakes of snow. Over the next
hollow, a white pall roared through the trees toward
me. Hardly had I time to get the direction of the
1 trail, and its relation to the trees nearby, when the
storm enfolded me. Of his own accord Satan
stopped in the lee of a bushy spruce. The roar in
255
The Last of the Plainsmen
the pines equaled that of the cave under Niagara,
and the bewildering, whirling mass of snow was as
difficult to see through as the tumbling, seething
waterfall*
I was confronted by the possibility of passing the
night there, and calming my fears as best I could,
hastily felt for my matches and knife. The prospect
of being lost the next day in a white forest was also
appalling, but I soon reassured myself that the storm
1 was only a snow squall, and would not last long.
Then I gave myself up to the pleasure and beauty
of it I could only faintly discern the dim trees;
the limbs of the spruce, which partially protected me,
sagged down to my head with their burden; I had
but to reach out my hand for a snowball. Both the
wind and snow seemed warm. The great flakes were
like swan feathers on a summer breeze. There was
something joyous in the whirl of snow and roar of
wind. While I bent over to shake my holster, the
storm passed as suddenly as it had come. When I
looked up, there were the pines, like pillars of Parian
marble, and a white shadow, a vanishing cloud fled,
with receding roar, on the wings of the wind. Fast
on this retreat burst the warm, bright sun.
I faced my course, and was delighted to see,
Arough an opening where the ravine cut out of the
forest, the red-tipped peaks of the canon, and the
256
All Heroes But One
vaulted dome I had named St. Marks. As I started,
a new and unexpected after-feature of the storin
began to manifest itself. The sun being warm, even
hot, began to melt the snow, and under the trees a
heavy rain fell, and in the glades and hollows a fine
mist blew. Exquisite rainbows hung from white-
tipped branches and curved over the hollows. Glis-
tening patches of snow fell from the pines, and broke
the showers.
In a quarter of an hour, I rode out of the forest to
the rim wall on dry ground. Against the green
pinons Frank's white horse stood out conspicuously,
and near him browsed the mounts of Jim and Wal-
lace. The boys were not in evidence. Concluding
they had gone down over the rim, I dismounted and
kicked oil my chaps, and taking my rifle and Camera,
hurried to look the place over.
To my surprise and interest, I found a long sec*
tion of rim wall in ruins. It lay in a great curve
between the two giant capes ; and many short, sharp,
projecting promontories, like the teeth of a saw, over-
;hung the canon. The slopes between these points of
cliff were covered with a deep growth of pinon,
and in these places descent would be easy. Every*
where in the corrugated wall were rents and rifts;
cliffs stood detached like islands near a shore; yellow
crags rose out of green clefts; jumble of rocks, and
257
The Last of the Plainsmen
slides of rim wall, broken into blocks, massed under
the promontories.
The singular raggedness and wildness of the scene
took hold of me, and was not dispelled until the
baying of Sounder and Don roused action in me.
Apparently the hounds were widely separated. Then
I heard Jim's yelL But it ceased when the wind
lulled, and I heard it no more. Running back from
the point, I began to go down. The way was steep,
almost perpendicular; but because of the great stones
and the absence of slides, was easy. I took long
strides and jumps, and slid over rocks, and swung on
pinon branches, and covered distance like a rolling
stone. At the foot of the rim wall, or at a line
where it would have reached had it extended rcgu*
larly, the slope became less pronounced, I could
stand up without holding on to a support. The
largest pinons I had seen made a forest that almost
stood on end. These trees grew up, down, and out, ,
and twisted in curves, and many were two feet in
thickness. During my descent, I halted at intervals
to listen, and always heard one of the hounds, some*
times several. But as I descended for a long time,
and did not get anywhere or approach the dogs, I
began to grow impatient.
A large pinon, with a dead top, suggested a good'
outlook, so I climbed it, and saw I couJd sweep a
All Heroes But One
large section of the slope. It was a strange thing to
look down hill, over the tips of green trees. Below,
perhaps four hundred yards, was a slide open for a
long way; all the rest was green incline, with many
dead branches sticking up like spars, and an occa
sional crag. From this perch I heard the hounds;
then followed a yell I thought was Jim's, and after
it the bellowing of Wallace's rifle. Then all was
silent, The shots had effectually checked the yelping
of the hounds. I let out a yell. Another cougar
that Jones would not lasso! All at once I heard a
familiar sliding of small rocks below me, and I
watched the open slope with greedy eyes.
Not a bit surprised was I to see a cougar break
out of the green, and go tearing down the slide. Im
less than six seconds, I had sent six steel-jacketed
bullets after him. Puffs of dust rose closer and closer
tc him as each bullet went nearer the mark and the
last showered him with gravel and turned him
straight down the canon slope.
1 slid down the dead piiion and jumped nearly'
twenty feet to the soft sand below, and after putting
* loaded clip in my rifle, began kangaroo leaps down
the slope. When I reached the point where the
cougar had entered the slide, I called, the houndss
but they did not come nor answer me. Notwith*
standing my excitement, I appreciated the distance
259
The Last of the Plainsmen
to the bottom of the slope before I reached it. In
my haste, I ran upon the verge of a precipice twice
as deep as the first rim wall, but one glance down
sent me shudderingly backward.
With all the breath I had left I yelled: "Waa-
hool Waa-hoo! " From the echoes flung at me,
I imagined at first that my friends were right on my
ears. But no real answer came. The cougar had
probably passed along this second rim wall to a
break, and had gone down. His trail could easily
be taken by any of the hounds. Vexed and anxious,
I signaled again and again. Once, long after the
echo had gone to sleep in some hollow canon, I
caught a faint " Wa-a-ho-o-o I " But it might have
come from the clouds. I did not hear a hound bark*
ing above me on the slope; but suddenly, to my
amazement, Sounder's deep bay rose from the abyss
below. I ran along the rim, called till I was hoarse,
leaned over so far that the blood rushed to my head,
and then sat down. I concluded this canon hunting
could be^ some sustained attention and thought, as
well as frenzied action.
Examination of my position showed how impossi-
ble it was to arrive at any clear idea of the depth or
size, or condition of the canon slopes from the main
rim wall above. The second wall a stupendous,
yellow-faced cliff two thousand feet high curved to
All Heroes But One
my left round to a point in front of me. The i
vening canon might have been a half mile wide, and
it might have been ten miles. I had become disgusted
with judging distance. The slope above this second
wall facing me ran up far above my head ; it fairly
towered, and this routed all my former judgments,
because I remembered distinctly that from the rim
this yellow and green mountain had appeared an
insignifica&t little ridge. But k was when I turned
to gaze up behind me that I fully grasped the
immensity of the place. This wall and slope were
the first two steps down the long stairway of the
Grand Canon, and they towered over me, straight
up a half-mile in dizzy height. To think of climbing
it took my breath away.
Then again Sounder's bay floated distinctly to me,
but it seemed to come from a different point. I
turned my ear to the wind, and in the succeeding
moments I was more and more baffled. One bay
sounded from below, and next from far to the right;
another from the left. I could not distinguish voice
from echo. The acoustic properties of the* amphi-
theater beneath me were too wonderful for my com'
prehension.
As the bay grew sharper, and correspondingly
more significant, I became distracted, and focused a
strained vision on the canon deeps. I looked along
261
The Last of the Pldnsmen
the slope to the notch where the wall curved and
followed the base line of the yellow cliff. Quite sud-
denly I saw a very small black object moving with
i$nail-like slowness. Although it seemed impossible
for Sounder to be so small, I knew it was he. Having
something now to judge distance from, I conceived
it to be a mile, without the drop. If I could hear
Sounder, he could hear me, so I yelled encourage,
ment. The echoes clapped back at me like so manj
slaps in the face. I watched the hound until he
disappeared among broken heaps of stone, and long
after that his bay floated to me.
Having rested, I essayed the discovery of some of
my lost companions or the hounds, and began to
climb. Before I started, however, I was wise enough
to study the rim wall above, to familiarize myself
with the break so I would have a landmark. Like
horns and spurs of gold the pinnacles homed up.
Massed closely together, they were not unlike an
astounding pipe-organ. I had a feeling of my little-
ness, that I was lost, and should devote every moment
and effort to the saving of my life. It did not seem
possible I could be hunting. Though I climbed diag-
onally, and rested often, my heart pumped so hard
I could hear it. A yellow crag, with a round head
&ke an old man's cane, appealed to me as near the
place where I last heard from Jim, and toward it I
262
All Heroes But One
labored. Every time I glanced up, the distance
seemed the same. A climb which I decided would
aot take more than fifteen minutes, required an hour,
While resting at the foot of the crag, I heard more
baying of hounds, but for my life I could not tell
whether the sound came from up or down, and I
commenced to feel that I did not much care. Having
signaled till I was hoarse, ..nd receiving none but
mock answers, I decided that if my companions had
not toppled over a clifi, they were visely withholding
their breath.
Another stiff pull up the slope brought me under
the rim wall, and there I groaned, because the wall
was smooth and shiny, without a break. I plodded
slowly along the base, with my rifle ready. Cougar
tracks were so numerous I got tired of looking at
them, but I did not forget that I might meet a tawny
fellow or two among those narrow passes of shat-
tered rock, and under the thick, dark pinons. Going *
on in this way, I ran point-blank into a pile of
bleached bones before a cave. I had stumbled on the
lair of a lion and from the looks of it one like that
of Old Tom. I flinched twice before I threw a stone
into the dark-mouthed cave. What impressed me as
soon as I found I was in no danger of being pawed
and clawed round the gloomy spot, was the fact of
bones being there. How did they come on i
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The Last of the Plainsmen
slope where a man could hardly walk? Only one
answer seemed feasible. The lion had made his kill
one thousand feet above, had pulled his quarry to
the rim and pushed it over. In view of the theory
that he might have had to drag his victim from the
forest, and that very seldom two lions worked
together, the fact of the location of the bones was
startling. Skulls of wild horses and deer, antlers
and countless bones, all crushed into shapelessness,
furnished indubitable proof that the carcasses had
fallen from a great height Most remarkable of all
was the skeleton of a cougar lying across that of a
horse. I believed I could not help but believe that
the cougar had fallen with his last victim.
Not many rods beyond the lion den, the rim wall
split into towers, crags and pinnacles. I thought I
had found my pipe organ, and began to climb toward
a narrow opening in the rim. But I lost it The
extraordinarily cut-up condition of the wall made
holding to one direction impossible. Soon I realized
T was lost in a labyrinth. I tried to find my way
down again, but the best I could do was to reach the
verge of a cliff, from which I could see the canon*
Then I knew where I was, yet I did not know, so I
plodded wearily back. Many a blind cleft did I
ascend in the maze of crags. I could hardly crawl
along, still I kept at it, for the place was conducive
264
'All Heroes But One
'to dire thoughts. A tower of Babel menaced me
with tons of loose shale. A tower that leaned more
frightfully than the Tower of Pisa threatened to
build my tomb. Many a lighthouse-shaped crag
sent down little scattering rocks in ominous notice.
After toiling in and out of passageways under the
shadows of these strangely formed cliffs, and coming
again and again to the same point, a blind pocket, I
grew desperate. I named the baffling place Decep-
tion Pass, and then ran down a slide. I knew if I
could keep my feet I could beat the avalanche.
More by good luck than management I outran the
roaring stones and landed safely. Then rounding
the cliff below, I found myself on a narrow ledge,
with a wall to my left, and to the right the tips of
pifion trees level with my feet.
Innocently and wearily I passed round a pillar-like
corner of wall, to come face to face with an old
lioness and cubs. I heard the mother snarl, and at
the same time her ears went back flat, and she
crouched. The same fire of yellow eyes, the same'
grim snarling expression so familiar in my mind since
Old Tom had leaped at me, faced me here.
My recent vow of extermination was entirely for-
gotten and one frantic spring carried me over the
ledge.
Crash! I felt the brushing and scratching of
265
The Last of the Plainsmen
branches, and saw a green blur. I went down strad-
dling limbs and hit the ground with a thump. For*
tunately, I landed mostly on my feet, in sand, and
suffered no serious bruise. But I was stunned, and
my right arm was numb for a moment When I
gathered myself together, instead of being grateful
the ledge had not been on the face of Point Sub-
lime from which I would most assuredly have
leaped I was the angriest man ever let loose in the
Grand Canon.
Of course the cougars were far on their way by
that time, and were telling neighbors about the brave
hunter's leap for life; so I devoted myself to further
efforts to find an outlet The niche I had jumped
into opened below, as did most of the breaks, and 1
worked out of it to the base of the rim wall, and
tramped a long, long mile before I reached my own
trail leading down* Resting every five steps, I
climbed and climbed. My rifle grew to weigh a ton;
my feet were lead; the camera strapped to my
shoulder was the world. Soon climbing meant
trapeze work long reach of arm, and pull of
'weight, high step of foot, and spring of body.
Where I had slid down with ease, I had to strain
t and raise myself by sheer muscle* I wore my left
glove to tatters and threw it away to put the right
one on my left hand* I thought many times I could
266
All Heroes But One
not make another move ; I thought my lungs would
burst, but I kept on. When at last I surmounted the
rim, I saw Jones, and flopped down beside him, and
lay panting, dripping, boiling, with scorched feet,
aching limbs and numb chest
" IVe been here two hours," he said, " and I
*oiew things were happening below; but to climb up
*hat slide would kill me. I am not young any more,
and a steep climb like this takes a young heart. As
it was I had enough work. Look! " He called my
attention to his trousers. They had been cut to
shreds, and the right trouser leg was missing from
the knee down. His shin was bloody, " Moze took
a lion along the rim, and I went after him with all
my horse could do. I yelled for the boys, but they
didn't come. Right here it is easy to go down, but
below, where Moze started this lion, it was impossi*
ble to get over the rime The lion lit straight out
of the piiions. I lost ground because of the thick
brush and numerous trees. Then Moze doesn't
bark often enough. He treed the lion twice. I could
tell by the way he opened up and bayed. The rascal
coon dog climbed the trees and chased the lion out
That's what Moze did! I got to an open space and
saw him, and was coming up fine when he went down
aver a hollow which ran into the canon. My horse
tripped and fell, turning clear over with me before
267
The Last of the Plainsmen
he threw me into the brush. I tore my clothes, and
got this bruise, but wasn't much hurt. My horse is
pretty lame."
I began a recital of my experience, modestly omit-
ting the incident where I bravely faced an old lioness.
Upon consulting my watch, I found I had been
almost four hours climbing out. At that moment,
Frank poked a red face over the rim. He was in his
shirt sleeves, sweating freely, and wore a frown I
had never seen before. He puffed like a porpoise,
and at first could hardly speak.
" Where were you all? " he panted. " Say!
but mebbe this hasn't been a chase I Jim an' Wallace
an* me went tumblin' down after the dogs, each one
lookm' out for his perticilar dog, an 1 darn me if I
donV believe his lion, too. Don took one oozin*
dowr the canon, with me hot-footin' it after him.
An* tomewhere he treed thet lion, right below me, in
a box canon, sort of an offshoot of the second rim,
an* I wouldn't locate him. I blamed near killed
myself more'n once. Look at my knuckles I Barked
*em slidin* about a mile down a smooth wall. I
thought once the lion had jumped Don, but soon I
heard him barkin* again. All thet time I heard
Sounder, an' once I heard the pup. Jim yelled, an'
somebody was shootin*. But I couldn't find nobody,
or make nobody hear me. Thet canon is a migl? f y
All Heroes But One
deceivin' place. You'd never think so till you ga
down. I wouldn't climb up it again for all the lions
in Buckskin. Hello, there conies Jim oozin' up."
Jim appeared just over the rim, and when he got
ap to us s dusty, torn and fagged out, with Don, Tige
and Ranger showing signs of collapse, we all blurted
out questions. But Jim took his time.
" Shore thet canon is one hell of a place," he began
finally. " Where was everybody? Tige and the pup
went down with me an' treed a cougar. Yes, they
did, an' I set under a pinon holdin' the pup, while
Tige kept the cougar treed. I yelled an' yelled. '
After about an hour or two, Wallace came poundin'
down like a giant. It was a sure thing we'd get the
cougar ; an' Wallace was takin' his picture when the
Warned cat jumped. It was embarrassin', because he
wasn't polite about how he jumped. We scattered
some, an' when Wallace got his gun, the cougar was
humpin' down the slope, an' he was goin' so fast an 7
1 the pinons was so thick thet Wallace couldn't get a
fair shot, an' missed. Tige an' the pup was so
scared by the shots they wouldn't take the trail again.
I heard some one shoot about a million times, an*
shore thought the cougar was done for. Wallace
went plungin' down the slope an' I followed. I
couldn't keep up with him he shore takes long
steps an 5 I lost him. I'm reckonin' he went over
The Last of the Plainsmen
the second wall. Then I made tracks for the top.
Boys, the way you can see an' hear things down in
thet canon, an' the way you can't hear an' see things
is pretty funny."
" If Wallace went over the second rim wall, will
he get back to-day? " we all asked.
" Shore, there's no tellin'."
We waited, lounged, and slept for three hours,
and were beginning to worry about our comrade
when he hove in sight eastward, along the rim. He
walked like a man whose next step would be his last.
When he reached us, he fell flat, and lay breathing
heavily for a while.
" Somebody once mentioned Israel Putnam's
ascent of a hill," he said slowly. " With all respect
to history and a patriot, I wish to say Putnam never
saw a hill!"
" Ooze for camp," called out Frank*
Five o'clock found us round a bright fire, all cast-
ing ravenous eyes at a smoking supper. The smell
of the Persian meat would have made a wolf of a
vegetarian. I devoured four chops, and could not
have been counted in the running. Jim opened a
can of maple sirup which he had been saving for a
grand occasion, and Frank went him one better with
two cans of peaches. How glorious to be hungry
to feel the craving for food, and to be grateful for
270
ALL Heroes But One
it, to realize that the best of life lies in the daily
needs of existence, and to battle for them *
Nothing could be stronger than the simple enumer-
ation and statement of the facts of Wallace's expe-
rience after be left Jim. He chased the cougar, and
kept it in sight, until it went over the second rim
wall. Here he dropped over a precipice twenty
feet high, to alight on a fan-shaped slide which spread
toward the bottom* It began to slip and move by
jerks, and then started off steadily, with an increasing
roan He rode an avalanche for one thousand feet
The jar loosened bowlders from the walls. When
the slide stopped, Wallace extricated his feet and
began to dodge the bowlders. He had only time to
jump over the large ones or dart to one side out of
their way. He dared not run. He had to watch
them coming. One huge stone hurtled over his head
and smashed a pinon tree below.
When these had ceased rolling, and he had passed
down to the red shale, he heard Sounder baying near,,
and knew a cougar had been treed or cornered
Hurdling the stones and dead pinons, Wallace ran a
mile down the slope, only to find he had been deceived
in the direction. He sheered off to the left
.Sounder's illusive bay came up from a deep cleft
Wallace plunged into a pinon, climbed to the ground,
skidded down a solid slide, to come upon an impassa*
The Last of the Plainsmen
t>le obstacle in the form of a solid wall of red granite,
Sounder appeared and came to him, evidently having
given up the chase.
Wallace consumed four hours in making the
ascent. In the notch of the curve of the second rim
Wall, he climbed the slippery steps of a waterfall.
At one point, if he had not been six feet five inches ,
tall, he would have been compelled to attempt
retracing his trail an impossible task. But his
height enabled him to reach a root, by which h
pulled himself up. Sounder he lassoed a la Jones v
and hauled up. At another spot, which Sounder
climbed t he lassoed a pinon above, and walked up
with his feet slipping from under him at every step.
The knees of his corduroy trousers were holes, as
were the elbows of his coat. The sole of his left
boot which he used most in climbing was gonc t
and so was his hato
CHAPTER XV
JONES ON COUGARS
THE mountain lion, or cougar, of our Rocky
Mountain region, is nothing more nor less
than the panther. He is a little different in
shape, color and size, which vary according to his
environment. The panther of the Rockies is usually
light, taking the grayish hue of the rocks. He is
stockier and heavier of build, and stronger of 15mb
than the Eastern species, which difference comes from
climbing mountains and springing down the cliffs
after his prey.
In regions accessible to man, or where man is
encountered even rarely, the cougar is exceedingly
shy, seldom or never venturing from cover during
the day. He spends the hours of daylight high on
Jthe most rugged cliffs, sleeping and basking in the
sunshine, and watching with wonderfully keen sight
the valleys below. His hearing equals his sight, an4
>if danger threatens, he always hears it in time to
skulk away unseen. At night he steals down the
mountain side toward deer or elk he has located dur*
ing the day. Keeping to the lowest ravines and
The Last of the Plainsmen
thickets, he creeps upon his prey. His cunning and
ferocity are keener and more savage in proportion
to the length of time he has been without food. As
he grows hungrier and thinner, his skill and fierce
strategy correspondingly increase. A well-fed cougar
will creep upon and secure only about one in seven,
of the deer, elk, antelope or mountain sheep that he.
stalks. But a starving cougar is another animal. He
creeps like a snake, is as sure on the scent as a
vulture, makes no more noise than a shadow, and he
hides behind a stone or bush that would scarcely con-
ceal a rabbit. Then he springs with terrific force,
and intensity of purpose, and seldom fails to reach
his victim, and once the claws of a starved lion
touch flesh, they never let go.
A cougar seldom pursues his quarry after he has
leaped and missed, either from disgust or failure,
or knowledge that a second attempt would be futile.
The animal making the easiest prey for the cougar
is the elk. About every other elk attacked falls a
victim. Deer are more fortunate, the ratio being one
dead to five leaped at. The antelope, living on the
lowlands or upland meadows, escapes nine times out
of ten; and the mountain sheep, or bighorn, seldoF 1
falls to the onslaught of his enemy.
Once the lion gets a hold with the great forepa^
every movement of the struggling prey sinks the
Jones on Cougars
sharp, hooked claws deeper. Then as quickly as U
possible, the lion fastens his teeth in the throat of his
prey and grips till it is dead. In this way elk have
carried lions for many rods. The lion seldom tears
the skin of the neck, and never, as is generally sup-
posed, sucks the blood of its victim; but he cuts into
the side, just behind the foreshoulder, and eats the'
liver first. He rolls the skin back as neatly and
tightly as a person could do it. When he has gorged
himself, he drags the carcass into a ravine or dense
thicket, and rakes leaves, sticks or dirt over it to
hide it from other animals. Usually he returns to
his cache on the second night, and after that the
frequency of his visits depends on the supply of fresh
prey. In remote regions, unfrequented by man, the
lion will guard his cache from coyote and buzzards.
In sex there are about five female lions to one
male. This is caused by the jealous and vicious dis-
position of the male. It is a fact that the old Toms
kill every young lion they can catch. Both male and
female of the litter suffer alike until after weaning
time, and then only the males. In this matter wise,
animal logic is displayed by the Toms. The domes-
tic cat, to some extent, possesses the same trait. If
the litter is destroyed, the mating time is sure to come
about regardless of the season. Thus this savage
trait of the lions prevents overproduction, and breeds
The Last of the Plainsmen
a hardy and intrepid race. If by chance or that
cardinal feature of animal life the survival of the
fittest a young male lion escapes to the weaning
time, even after that he is persecuted. Young male
lions have been killed and found to have had their \
flesh beaten until it was a mass of bruises and un-
doubtedly it had been the work of an old Tom.
Moreover, old males and females have been killed,
and found to be in the same bruised condition. A
feature, and a conclusive one, is the fact that invari-
ably the female is suckling her young at this period,
and sustains the bruises in desperately defending her
litter.
It is astonishing how cunning, wise and faithful
an old lioness is. She seldom leaves her kittens.
From the time they are six weeks old she takes them
out to train them for the battles of life, and the 1
struggle continues from birth to death. A lion
hardly ever dies naturally. As soon as night
descends, the lioness stealthily stalks forth, and
because of her little ones, takes very short steps.
The cubs follow, stepping in their mother's tracks.
When she crouches for game, each little lion crouches
also, and each one remains perfectly still until she
springs, or signals them to come. If she secures the
prey, they all gorge themselves* After the feast the
mother takes her back trail, stepping in the tracks
87*
Jones on Cougars
she made coming down the mountain. And the cubs
are very careful to follow suit, and not to leave
marks of their trail in the soft snow. No doubt this
habit is practiced to keep their deadly enemies in
ignorance of their existence. The old Toms and
white hunters are their only foes. Indians never kill
a lion. This trick of the lions has fooled many a
hunter, concerning not only the direction, but par-
ticularly the number.
The only successful way to hunt lions is with
trained dogs. A good hound can trail them for
several hours after the tracks have been made, and
on a cloudy or wet day can hold the scent much
longer. In snow the hound can trail for three or
four days after the track has been made.
When Jones was game warden of the Yellowstone
National Park, he had unexampled opportunities to
hunt cougars and learn their habits. All the cougars
in that region of the Rockies made a rendezvous of
the game preserve. Jones soon procured a pack of
hounds, but as they had been trained to run deer,
foxes and coyotes he had great trouble. They would
break on the trail of these animals, and also on ellc
and antelope just when this was farthest from his
wish. He soon realized that to train the hounds was
a sore task. When they refused to come back at his
call, he stung them with fine shot, and in this man*
77
The Last of the Plainsmen
ner taught obedience. But obedience was not
enough; the hounds must know how to follow and
tree a lion. With this in mind, Jones decided to
catch a lion alive and give his dogs practical lessons.
A few days after reaching this decision, he dis
covered the tracks of two lions in the neighborhood
of Mt Everett The hounds were put on the trail
and followed it into an abandoned coal shaft. Jones
recognized this as his opportunity, and taking his
lasso and an extra rope, he crawled into the hole.
Not fifteen feet from the opening sat one of the
cougars, snarling and spitting. Jones promptly
lassoed it, passed his end of the lasso round a side
prop of the shaft, and out to the soldiers who had
followed him. Instructing them not to pull till he
called, he cautiously began to crawl by the cougar,
with the intention of getting farther back and roping
its hind leg, so as to prevent disaster when the
soldiers pulled it out. He accomplished this, not
without some uneasiness in regard to the second lion,
and giving the word to his companions, soon had his
captive hauled from the shaft and tied so tightly it
could not move.
Jones took the cougar and his hounds to an open
place in the park, where there were trees, and pre-
pared for a chase. Loosing the lion, he held his
hounds back a moment, then let them go. Within
278
Jones on Cougars
one hundred yards the cougar climbed a tree, and
the dogs saw the performance. Taking a forked
stick, Jones mounted up to the cougar, caught it
under the jaw with the stick, and pushed it out.
There was a fight, a scramble, and the cougar dashed
off to run up another tree. In this manner, he soon
trained his hounds to the pink of perfection.
Jones discovered, while in the park, that the
cougar is king of all the beasts of North Americao
Even a grizzly dashed away in great haste when a
cougar made his appearance. At the road camp,
near Mt. Washburn, during the fall of 1904, the
bears, grizzlies and others, were always hanging
round the cook tent There were cougars also, and
almost every evening, about dust, a big fellow would
come parading past the tent. The bears would grunt
furiously and scamper in every direction. It was
easy to tell when a cougar was in the neighborhood*
by the peculiar grunts and snorts of the bears, and
the sharp, distinct, alarmed yelps of coyotes. A lion
would just as lief kill a coyote as any other animal
and he would devour it, too. As to the fighting oi
cougars and grizzlies, that was a mooted question,
with the credit on the side of the former. ~f j
The story of the doings of cougars, as told in the,
ttiow, was intensely fascinating and tragical. Hoi^r
4hey stalked deer and elk, crept to within springing
279
The Last of the Plainsmen
mm mrmramn n ~T~"imrt i r i n Tuiniii
distance, then crouched flat to leap, was as easy to
read as if it had been told in print The leaps and
bounds were beyond belief. The longest leap on a
ievel measured eighteen and one-half feet Jones
trailed a half-grown cougar, which in turn was trail-
ing a big elk. He found where the cougar had struck
his game, had clung for many rods, to be dashed off
by the low limb of a spruce tree. The imprint of
the body of the cougar was a foot deep in the snow$
blood and tufts of hair covered the place. But there
was no sign of the cougar renewing the chase.
In rare cases cougars would refuse to run, or take
to trees. One day Jones followed the hounds, eight
in number, to come on a huge Tom holding the whole
pack at bay. He walked to and fro, lashing his tail
from side to side, and when Jones dashed up, he
coolly climbed a tree. Jones shot the cougar, which,
in falling, struck one of the hounds, crippling him.,
This hound would never approach a tree after this
incident, believing probably that the cougar had
sprung upon him.
Usually the hounds chased their quarry into a tree
long before Jones rode up. It was always desirable
to kill the animal with the first shot If the cougar
was wounded, and fell or jumped among the dogs,
there was sure to be a terrible fight, and the best dogs
always received serious injuries, if they were not
280
Jones on Cougars
killed outright. The lion would seize a hound, puD
him close, and bite him in the brain.
Jones asserted that a cougar would usually run
from a hunter, but that this feature was not to be
relied upon. And a wounded cougar was as danger-
ous as a tiger. In his hunts Jones carried a shotgun,
and shells loaded with ball for the cougar, and others
loaded with fine shot for the hounds. One day,
about ten miles from the camp, the hounds took a
trail and ran rapidly, as there were only a few inches
of snow. Jones found a large lion had taken refuge
in a tree that had fallen against another, and aiming
at the shoulder of the beast, he fired both barrels.
The cougar made no sign he had been hit. Jones
reloaded and fired at the head. The old fellow
growled fiercely, turned in the tree and walked down
head first, something he would not have been able
to do had the tree been upright. The hounds were
ready for him, but wisely attacked in the rear. Real-
izing he had been shooting fine shot at the animal^
Jones began a hurried search for a shell loaded with
ball. The lion made for him, compelling him to
dodge behind trees. Even though the hounds kepf
nipping the cougar, the persistent fellow still pursued
the hunter. At last Jones found the right shell, just
as the cougar reached for him. Major, the leadet
of the hounds, darted bravely in, and grasped the
TJie Last of the Plainsmen
leg of the beast just in the nick of time. This enabled
Jones to take aim and fire at close range, which
snded the fight. Upon examination, it was discov-
ered the cougar had been half-blinded by the fine
shot, which accounted for the ineffectual attempts
he had made to catch Jones.
The mountain lion rarely attacks a human being
for the purpose of eating. When hungry he will
often follow the tracks of people, and under favor-
able circumstances may ambush them. In the park
where game is plentiful, no one has ever known a
cougar to follow the trail of a person; but outside the
park lions have been known to follow hunters, and
particularly stalk little children. The Davis family,
living a few miles north of the park, have had chil-
dren pursued to the very doors of their cabin. And
other families relate similar experiences* Jones
heard ot only one fatality, but he believes that if the
children were left alone in the woods, the cougars
would creep closer and closer, and when assured there
was no danger, would spring to kill.
Jones never heard the cry of a cougar in the
National Park, which strange circumstance, consider-
ing the great number of the animals there, he believed
to be on account of the abundance of game. But
he had heard it when a boy in Illinois, and when a
man all over the West, and the cry was always the
282
Jones on Cougars
same, weird and wild, like the scream of a terrified
woman. He did not understand the significance of
the cry, unless it meant hunger, or the wailing mourn
of a lioness for her murdered cubs.
The destructiveness of this savage species was mur-
derous. Jones came upon one old Tom's den, where
there was a pile of nineteen elk, mostly yearlings.
Only five or six had been eaten. Jones hunted this
old fellow for months, and found that the lion killed
on the average three animals a week. The hounds
got him up at length, and chased him to the Yellow-
stone River, which he swam at a point impassable for
man or horse. One of the dogs, a giant bloodhound
named Jack, swam the swift channel, kept on after
the lion, but never returned. All cougars have their
peculiar traits and habits, the same as other creatures,
and all old Toms have strongly marked characteris-
tics, but this one was the most destructive cougai
Jones ever knew.
During Jones's short sojourn as warden in the
park, he captured numerous cougars alive, and killed
seventy-two.
CHAPTER XVI
KITTY
IT seemed my eyelids had scarcely touched when
Jones's exasperating, yet stimulating, yell
aroused me. Day was breaking. The moon
and stars shone with wan luster. A white, snowy
frost silvered the forest. Old Moze had curled close
beside me, and now he gazed at me reproachfully
and shivered. Lawson came hustling in with the
horses. Jim busied himself around the campfire.
My fingers nearly froze while I saddled my horse,
At five o'clock we were trotting up the slope of
Buckskin, bound for the section of ruined rim wall,
where we had encountered the convention of cougars,
Hoping to save time, we took a short cut, and were
soon crossing deep ravines.
The sunrise coloring the purple curtain of cloud
over the canon was too much for me, and I lagged
on a high ridge to watch it, thus falling behind my
more practical companions. A far-off " Waa-hoo I n
brought me to a realization of the day's stern duty,
and I hurried Satan forward on the trail.
84
Kitty
I came suddenly upon our leader, leading his horse
through the scrub pinon on the edge of the canon,
and I knew at once something had happened, for he
was closely scrutinizing the ground.
41 1 declare this beats me all hollow ! " began Jones.
** We might be hunting rabbits instead of the wildest
animals on the continent We jumped a bunch of
lions in this clump of pinon. There must have been
at least four. I thought first we'd run upon an old
lioness with cubs, but all the trails were made by
full-grown lions. Moze took one north along the
rim, same as the other day, but the lion got away
quick. Frank saw one lion. Wallace is following
Sounder down into the first hollow. Jim has gone
over the rim wall after Don. There you are ! Four
lions playing tag in broad daylight on top of this
walll Fm inclined to believe Clarke didn't exag-
gerate. But confound the luck! the hounds have
split again. They're doing their best, of course, and
it's up to us to stay with them. I'm afraid we'll
lose some of them. Hello! I hear a signal. That'j
from Wallace. Waa-hoo ! Waa-hoo ! There he is,
coming out of the hollow."
The tall Californian reached us presently with
Sounder beside him. He reported that the hound had
chased a lion into an impassable break. We then
joined Frank on a jutting crag of the canon wall
235
The Last of the Plainsmen
" Waa-hoo ! " yelled Jones. There was no answer
except the echo, and it rolled up out of the chasm
with strange, hollow mockery.
" Don took a cougar down this slide," said Frank.
44 1 saw the brute, an' Don was makin' him hump.
A ha! There! Listen to thet! "
From the green and yellow depths soared the faint'
yelp of a hound.
" That's Don I that's Don ! " cried Jones. " He's
hot on something. Where's Sounder? Hyar,
Sounder ! By George ! there he goes down the slide.
Hear him ! He's opened up ! Hi ! Hi ! Hi ! "
The deep, full mellow bay of the hound came
ringing on the clear air.
" Wallace, you go down. Flank and I will climb
out on that pointed crag. Grey, you stay here.
Then we'll have the slide between us. Listen and
watch! "
From my promontory I watched Wallace go down
with his gigantic strides, sending the rocks rolling
and cracking; and then I saw Jones and Frank crawl
out to the end of a crumbling ruin of yellow wall^
which threatened to go splintering and thundering
down into the abyss.
I thought, as I listened to the penetrating voice of
the hound, that nowhere on earth could there be a
grander scene for wild action, wild life. My position
86
Kitty
affordecl a commanding view over a hundred miles
of the noblest and most sublime work of nature. The
rim wall where I stood sheered down a thousand feet,
to meet a long wooded slope which cut abruptly off
into another giant precipice; a second long slope
, descended, and jumped off into what seemed the
grave of the world. Most striking in that vast void
were tfce long, irregular points of rim wall, protrud-
ing into the Grand Canon. From Point Sublime to
the Pink Cliffs of Utah there were twelve of these
colossal capes, miles apart, some sharp, some round,
some blunt, all rugged and bold. The great chasm
m the middle was full of purple smoke. It seemed
a mighty sepulcher from which misty fumes rolled
upward. The turrets, mesas, domes, parapets and
escarpments of yellow and red rock gave the appear-
ance of an architectural work of giant hands. The
wonderful river of silt, the blood-red, mystic and
sullen Rio Colorado, lay hidden except in one place
far away, where it glimmered wanly. Thousands of
colors were blended before my rapt gaze. Yellow
predominated, as the walls and crags lorded it over
the lower cliffs and tables; red glared in the sunlight j
green softened these two, and then purple and /iolet,
gray, blue and the darker hues shaded away into
dim and distinct obscurity.
Excited yells from my companions on the othea*
87
The Last of ike Plainsmen
crag recalled me to the living aspect of the scene.
Jones was leaning far down in a niche, at seeming
great hazard of life, yelling with all the power of his
strong lungs. Frank stood still farther out on a
cracked point that made me tremble, and his yel],
reenforced Jones's. From far below rolled up a
chorus of thrilling bays and yelps, and Jim's call,
faint, but distinct on that wonderfully thin air, with
its unmistakable note of warning.
Then on the slide I saw a lion headed for the rim
wall and climbing fast. I added my exultant cry
to the medley, and I stretched my arms wide to that
illimitable void and gloried in a moment full to the
brim of the tingling joy of existence* I did not con*
sider how painful it must have been to the toiling
lion. It was only the spell of wild environment, of
perilous yellow crags, of thin, dry air, of voice of
man and dog, of the stinging expectation of sharp
action, of life.
I watched the lion growing bigger and bigger. V
saw Don and Sounder run from the pinon into the
open slide, and heard their impetuous burst of wild
yelps as they saw their game. Then Jones's clarion
yell made me bound for my horse. I reached him ^
was about to mount, when Moze came trotting
toward me. I caught the old gladiator. When he
heard the chorus from below, he plunged like a mad
288
Kitty
bull. With both arms round him I held on. I vowed
never to let him get down that slide. He howled
and tore, but I held on. My big black horse with
ears laid back stood like a rock.
I heard the pattering of little sliding rocks below;
stealthy padded footsteps and hard panting breaths,
almost like coughs; then the lion passed out of the
slide not twenty feet away. He saw us, and sprang
into the pinon scrub with the leap of a scared deer.
Samson himself could no longer have held Moze.
Away he darted with his sharp, angry bark. I flung
myself upon Satan and rode out to see Jones ahead
and Frank flashing through the green on the white
horse.
At the end of the piiion thicket Satan overhauled
Jones's bay, and we entered the open forest together.
We saw Frank glinting across the dark pines.
"Hi! Hi !" yelled the Colonel.
No need was there to whip or spur those magnifi-
cent horses. They were fresh; the course was open,
and smooth as a racetrack, and the impelling chorus
of the hounds was in full blast. I gave Satan a loose
rein, and he stayed neck and neck with the bay.
There was not a log, nor a stone, nor a gully. The
hollows grew wider and shallower as we raced along,
and presently disappeared altogether. The lion was
running straight from the canon, and the certainty
The Last of the Plainsmen
that he must sooner or later take to a tree, brought
from me a yell of irresistible wild joy.
"Hi! Hi! Hi! " answered Jones.
The whipping wind with its pine-scented fra-
grance, warm as the breath of summer, was intoxicat*
ing as wine. The huge pines, too kingly for close
communion with their kind, made wide arches under
which the horses stretched out long and low, with
supple, springy, powerful strides. Frank's yell rang
clear as a bell. We saw him curve to the right, and
took his yell as a signal for us to cut across. Then
we began to close in on him, and to hear more dis-
tinctly the baying of the hounds.
" Hi ! Hi ! Hi 1 Hi ! " bawled Jones, and his great
trumpet voice rolled down the forest glades.
"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! " I screeched, in wild recog-
nition of the spirit of the moment.
Fast as they were flying, the bay and the black
responded to our cries, and quickened, strained and
lengthened under us till the trees sped by In blurs.
There, plainly in sight ahead ran the hounds, Don
leading, Sounder next, and Moze not fifty yardr
behind a desperately running lion.
There are all-satisfying moments of life. That
chase through the open forest, under the stately
pines, with the wild, tawny quarry in plain sight $ and
the glad staccato yelps of the hound? filling my ears
290
Kitty
and swelling my heart, with the splendid action of
my horse carrying me on the wings of the wind, was
glorious answer and fullness to the call and hunger
of a hunter's blood.
But as such moments must be, they were brief.
The lion leaped gracefully into the air, splintering
the bark from a pine fifteen feet up, and crouched on
a limb. The hounds tore madly round the tree.
" Full-grown female," said Jones calmly, as we
dismounted, " and she's ours. We'll call her Kitty.*'
Kitty was a beautiful creature, long, slender,
glossy, with white belly and black-tipped ears an<?
tail. She did not resemble the heavy, grimfacec
brute that always hung in the air of my dreams.
A low, brooding menacing murmur, that was not a
snarl nor a growl, came from her. She watched the
dogs with bright, steady eyes, and never so much as
looked at us.
The dogs were worth attention, even from us, who
certainly did not need to regard them from her per*
sonally hostile point of view. Don stood straight up>
with his forepaws beating the air; 'he walked on his
hind legs like the trained dog in the circus; he yelped
continuously, as if it agonized him to see the lion
safe out of his reach. Sounder had lost his identity.
Joy had unhinged his mind and had made him a dog
of double personality. He had always been unsoci
The Last of the Plainsmen
able with me, never responding to my attempts to
, caress him, but now he leaped into my arms and
licked my face. He had always hated Jones till
that moment, when he raised his paws to his master's
breast. And perhaps more remarkable, time and
time again he sprang up at Satan's nose, whether to
bite him or kiss him, I could not tell. Then old
Moze, he of Grand Canon fame, made the delirious
antics of his canine fellows look cheap. There was a
small, dead pine that had fallen against a drooping
branch of the tree Kitty had taken refuge in, and up
this narrow ladder Moze began to climb. He was
fifteen feet up, and Kitty had begun to shift uneasily,
when Jones saw him.
" Hyar I you wild coon-chaser! Git out of thatl
Come down ! Come down ! "
But Jones might have been in the bottom of the
canon for all Mozc heard or cared. Jones removed
his coat, carefully coiled his lasso, and began to go
hand and knee up the leaning pine.
" Hyar I dod-blast you, git down ! " yelled Jones,
and he kicked Moze off. The persistent hound
returned, and followed Jones to a height of twenty
feet, where again he was thrust off.
" Hold him, one of you ! " called Jones.
44 Not me," said Frank, "I'm lookm* out for
myself."
Kitty
X" Same here," I cried, with a camera in one hand
and a rifle in the other. " Let Mozc climb if he
likes."
Climb he did, to be kicked off again* But he?
went back. It was a way he had. Jones at last
recognized either his own waste of time or Moze'i
greatness, for he desisted, allowing the hound to
keep close after him.
The cougar, becoming uneasy, stood up, reached
for another limb, climbed out upon it, and peering
down, spat hissingly at Jones. But he kept steadily
on with Mozc close on (his heels- I snapped my
camera on them when Kitty was not more than fifteen
feet above them. As Jones reached the snag which
upheld the leaning tree, she ran out on her branch,
and leaped into an adjoining pine* It was a good
long jump, and the weight of the animal bent the
limb alarmingly.
Jones backed down, and laboriously began to climb
the other tree. As there were no branches low
down, he had to hug the trunk with arms and legs,
as a boy climbs. His lasso hampered his progress.
1 When the slow ascent was accomplished up to the
first branch, Kitty leaped back into her first perch.
Strange to say Jones did not grumble; none of his
characteristic impatience manifested itself here. I
Supposed with him all the exasperating waits and vex
The Last of the Plainsmen
atious obstacles were little things preliminary to the
real work, to which he had now come. He was
calm and deliberate, and slid down the pine 5 walked
back to the leaning tree, and while resting a moment,
shook his lasso at Kitty. This action fitted him,
somehow; it was so compatible with his grim assur*
ance.
To me, and to Frank, also, for that matter, it was
all new and startling, and we were as excited as
the dogs. We kept continually moving about, Frank
mounted, and I afoot, to get good views of the
cougar. When she crouched as if to leap, it was
almost impossible to remain under the tree, and we
kept moving*
Once more Jones crept up on hands and knees*
Moze walked the slanting pine like a rope performer.
Kitty began to grow restless. This time she showed
both anger and impatience, but did not yet appear
frightened. She growled low and deep, opened her
' mouth and hissed^ and swung her tufted tail faster
and fasten
" Look out, Jones ! look out ! " yelled Frank warn-
Ingly.
Jones, who had reached the trunk of the tree,
halted and slipped round it, placing it between him
and Kitty. She had advanced on her limb, a few
feet above Jones* and threateningly hung over.
Kitty
Jones backed down a little till she crossed to another
branch, then he resumed his former position.
" Watch below," called he.
Hardly any doubt was there as to how we watched
Frank and I were all eyes, except very high and
throbbing hearts. When Jones thrashed the lasso
at Kitty we both yelled. She ran out on the branch
tnd jumped. This time she fell short of her point,
clutched a dead snag, which broke, letting her
through a bushy branch from where she hung head
downward. For a second she swung free, then
reaching toward the tree caught it with front paws
ran down like a squirrel, and leaped off when thirtj
feet from the ground. The action was as rapid a
it was astonishing.
Like a yellow rubber ball she bounded up, ana
fled with the yelping hounds at her heels. The chase
was short. At the end of a hundred yards Moze
caught up with her and nipped her. She whirled
with savage suddenness, and lunged at Moze, but he
cunningly eluded the vicious paws. Then she sought
safety in another pine.
. Frank, who was as quick as the hounds, almost
rode them down in his eagerness. While Jone*
descended from his perch, I led the two horses down
the forest.
This time the cougar was well out on a low spread-
05
The Last of the Plainsmen
ing branch. Jones conceived the idea of raising the
loop of his lasso on a long pole, but as no pole of
sufficient length could be found, he tried from the
back of his horse. The bay walked forward well
enough; when, however, he got under the beast and
heard her growl, he reared and almost threw Jones*
Frank's horse could not be persuaded to go near the
1 tree. Satan evinced no fear of the cougar, and with*
out flinching carried Jones directly beneath the limb t
and stood with ears back and forelegs stiff.
" Look at that ! look at that ! " cried Jones, as the
wary cougar pawed the loop aside. Three successive
times did Jones have the lasso just ready to drop over
her neck, when she flashed a yellow paw and knocked
the noose awry. Then she leaped far out over the
waiting dogs, struck the ground with a light, sharp
thud, and began to run with the speed of a deer*
Frank's cowboy training now stood us in good stead,
He was off like a shot and turned the cougar from
the direction of the cafion. Jones lost not a moment
in pursuit, and I, left with Jones's badly frightened
3>ay, got going in time to see the race, but not to
assist. For several hundred yards Kitty made the
knmds appear slow. Don, being swiftest, gained
on her steadily toward the close of the dash, and
presently was running under her upraised tail. On
the next jump he nipped her. She turned and sent
206
' Kitty
him reeling. Sounder came flying up to bite her
flank, and at the same moment fierce old Moze
dosed in on her. The next instant a struggling mass
whirled on the ground. Jones and Frank, yelling
like demons, almost rode over it The cougar broke
from her assailants, and dashing away leaped on the
first tree. It was a half-dead pine with short snags
low down and a big branch extending out over $
ravine.
" I think we can hold her now," said Jones. The
tree proved to be a most difficult one to climb. Jones
made several ineffectual attempts before he reached
the first limb, which broke, giving him a hard fall
This calmed me enough to make me take notice of
Jones's condition. He was wet with sweat and cov-
ered with the black pitch from the pines; his shirt
was slit down the arm, and there was blood on his
temple and his hand. The next attempt began by
placing a good-sized log against the tree, and proved
to be the necessary help. Jones got hold of the
second limb and pulled himself up.
As he kept on, Kitty crouched low as if to spring
upon him. Again Frank and I sent warning calls
to him, but he paid no attention to us or to the
cougar, and continued to climb. This worried Kitty
as much as it did us. She began to move on the
snags, stepping from one to the other, every moment
297
The Last of the Plainsmen
snarling at Jones, and then^she crawled up. The
big branch evidently took her eye. She tried several
times to climb up to it, but small snags close together
made her distrustful. She walked uneasily out upon
two limbs, and as they bent with her weight she
hurried back. Twice she did this, each time looking
up, showing her desire to leap to the big branch.
Her distress became plainly evident; a child could
have seen that she feared she would fall. At length,
an desperation, she spat at Jones, then ran out and
leaped. She all but missed the branch, but succeeded
in holding to it and swinging to safety. Then she
turned to her tormentor, and gave utterance to most
savage sounds. As she did not intimidate her pur-
suer, she retreated out on the branch, which sloped
down at a deep angle, and crouched on a network of
small limbs.
When Jones had worked up a little farther, ht
commanded a splendid position for his operations.
Kitty was somewhat below him in a desirable place*
yet the branch she was on joined the tree considerably
above his head. Jones cast his lasso. It caught ou
a snag. Throw after throw he made with like result.
He recoiled and recast nineteen times, to my count,
when Frank made a suggestion.
" Rope those dead snags an' break them off.*'
This practical idea Jones soon carried out, which
Kitty
" ^y"
left him a clear path. The next fling of the lariat
caused the cougar angrily to shake her head. Again
Jones sent the noose flying. She pulled it off her
back and bit it savagely.
Though very much excited, I tried hard to keep
sharp, keen faculties alert so as not to miss a single
detail of the thrilling scene. But I must have failed*
for all of a sudden I saw how Jones was standing in
the tree, something I had not before appreciated.
He had one hand hold, which he could not use while
recoiling the lasso, and his feet rested upon a pre-
cariously frail-appearing, dead snag. He made
eleven casts of the lasso, all of which bothered Kitty,
but did not catch her. The twelfth caught her front
paw. Jones jerked so quickly and hard that he
almost lost his balance, and he pulled the noose off,
Patiently he recoiled the lasso.
" That's what I want. If I can get her front
paw she's ours. My idea is to pull her off the limb*
let her hang there, and then lasso her hind legs."
Another cast, the unlucky thirteenth, settled the
loop perfectly round her neck. She chewed on the
rope with her front teeth and appeared to have diffi-
culty in holding it.
" Easy ! Easy ! Ooze thet rope 1 Easy ! " yelled
the cowboy.
Cautiously Jones took up the slack and slowly
290
The Last of the Plainsmen
tightened the nose, then with a quick jerk, fastened
it close round her neck.
We heralded this achievement with yells of tri
umph that made the forest ring.
Our triumph was short-lived. Jones had hardly
moved when the cougar shot straight out into the
air. The lasso caught on a branch, hauling her up
short, and there she hung in mid air, writhing,
struggling and giving utterance to sounds terribly
human. For several seconds she swung, slowly
descending, in which frenzied time I, with ruling
passion uppermost, endeavored to snap a picture of
'her.
The unintelligible commands Jones was yelling to
Frank and me ceased suddenly with a sharp crack
of breaking wood. Then crash ! Jones fell out of
the tree. The lasso streaked up, ran over the limb,
while the cougar dropped pell-mell into the bunch of
waiting, howling dogs.
The next few moments it was impossible for me
to distinguish what actually transpired. A great
flutter of leaves whirled round a swiftly changing
ball of brown and black and yellow, from which
came a fiendish clamor.
Then I saw Jones plunge down the ravine and,
bounce here and there in mad efforts to catch the
whipping lasso. He was roaring in a way that madf
800
Kitty
all his former yells merely whispers. Starting to
run, I tripped on a root, fell prone on my face into
the ravine, and rolled over and over until I brought
up with a bump against a rock.
What a tableau riveted my gaze! It staggered
me so I did not think of my camera. I stood trans-
fixed not fifteen feet from the cougar. Sh* sat on
her haunches with body well drawn back by the
taut lasso to which Jones held tightly. Doa was
standing up with her, upheld by the hooked claws in
his head. The cougar had her paws outstretched;
,her mouth open wide, showing long, cruel, white
fangs ; she was trying to pull the head of the dog to
her. Don held back with all his power, and so did
Jones. Moze and Sounder were tussling round her
body. Suddenly both ears of the dog pulled out,
slit into ribbons. Don had never uttered a sound,
and once free, he made at her again with open jaws.
One blow sent him reeling and stunned. Then began (
again that wrestling whirl.
" Beat off the dogs! Beat ofi the dogs! " roared
Jones. "She'll kill them! She'll kill them I"
Frank and I seized clubs and ran in upon the con-
fused furry mass, forgetful of peril to ourselves. In
the wild contagion of such a savage moment the
minds of men revert wholly to primitive instincts.
We swung our dubs and yelled; we fought all over
301
The Last of the Plainsmen
the bottom of the ravine, crashing through the
tushes, over logs and stones. I actually felt the soft
fur of the cougar at one fleeting instant. The dogs
had the strength born of insane fighting spirit At
Jast we pulled them to where Don lay, half-stunned,
and with an arm tight round each, I held them while
Frank turned to help Jones.
The disheveled Jones, bloody, grit*: as death, his
heavy jaw locked, stood holding to the lasso. The
cougar, her sides shaking with short, quick pants,
crouched low on the ground with eyes of purple fire,
" For God's sake, get a half-hitch on the saplin' ! "
called the cowboy.
His quick grasp of the situation averted a tragedy.
Jones was nearly exhausted, even as he was beyond
thinking for himself or giving up. The cougar
sprang, a yellow, frightful flash. Even as she was
in the air, Jones took a quick step to one side and
dodged as he threw his lasso round the sapling.
She missed him, but one alarmingly outstretched paw,
grazed his shoulder. A twist of Jones's big hand
fastened the lasso and Kitty was a prisoner. While
she fought, rolled, twisted, bounded, whirled,
writhed with hissing, snarling fury, Jones sat mop-
ping the sweat and blood from his face.
Kitty's efforts were futile; she began to weaken
from the choking. Jones took another rope, and
Kitty
tightening a noose around her back paws, which he
lassoed as she rolled over, he stretched her out. She
began to contract her supple body, gave a savage*
convulsive spring, which pulled Jones flat on the
ground, then the terrible wrestling started again.
The lasso slipped over her back paws. She leaped
the whole length of the other lasso. Jones caught
it and fastened it more securely; but this precaution
proved unnecessary, for she suddenly sank down
either exhausted or choked, and gasped with her
tongue hanging out Frank slipped the second noose
over her back paws, and Jones did likewise with a
third lasso over her right front paw. Thess lassoes
Jones tied to different saplings.
" Now you are a good Kitty," said Jones, kneeling
by her. He took a pair of clippers from his hip
pocket, and grasping a paw in his powerful fist he
calmly clipped the points of the dangerous claws.
This done, he called to me to get the collar and
chain that were tied to his saddle. I procured them
and hurried back. Then the old bufialo hunter loos-
ened the lasso which was round her neck, and as soon
as she could move her head, he teased her to bite a
club. She broke two good sticks with her sharp
teeth, but the third, being solid, did not break
While she was chewing it Jones forced her head
back and placed his heavy knee on the club. In a
The Last of the Plainsmen
twinkling he had strapped the collar round her neck.
The chain he made fast to the sapling. After remov-
ing the club from her mouth he placed his knee on
her neck, and while her head was in this helpless
position he dexterously slipped a loop of thick coppei
wire over her nose, pushed it back and twisted it
tight Following this, all done with speed and pre '
cision, he took from his pocket a piece of steel rod,
perhaps one-quarter of an inch thick, and five inches
long. He pushed this between Kitty's jaws, just
back of her great white fangs, and in front of the
copper wire. She had been shorn of her sharp
weapons; she was muzzled, bound, helpless, an obietf
to pity.
Lastly Jones removed the three bssoes, Kitfy
slowly gathered her lissom body in a ball and lay
panting, with the same brave wildfire in her eyes.
Jones stroked her black-tipped ears and ran his hand
down her glossy fur. All the time he had kept up a
low monotone, talking to her in the strange language
he used toward animals. Then he rose to his feet*
"We'll go back to camp now, and get a pack-
saddle and horse," he saicL " She'll be safe here.
We'll rope her again, tie her up, throw her over a
pack-saddle, and take her to camp."
To my utter bewilderment the hounds suddenly
commenced figh^ng among themselves. Of all the
304
Kitty
MMMMMMM
vicious bloody dog-fights I ever saw that was the
worst. I began to belabor ther^ with a club, and
Frank sprang to my assistance. Beating had no
apparent effect We broke a dozen sticks, and them
Frank grappled with Moze and I with Sounder.
Don kept on fighting either one till Jones secured
him* Then we all took a rest, panting and weary.
"What's it mean?'* I ejaculated, appealing to
Jones.
" Jealous, that's all. Jealous over the lion."
We all remained seated, men and hounds, a sweaty,
dirty, bloody, ragged group. I discovered I was
sorry for Kitty. I forgot all the carcasses of deer
and horses, the brutality of this species of cat; and
even forgot the grim, snarling yellow devil that had
leaped at me. Kitty was beautiful and helpless.
How brave she was, too 1 No sign of fear shone in
her wonderful eyes, only hate, defiance, watchfulness,
On the ride back to camp Jones expressed himself
thus : " How happy I am that I can keep this lion
and the others we are going to capture, for my own!
When I was in the Yellowstone Park I did not get to
keep one of the many I captured. The military offi*
cials took them from me."
When we reached camp Lawson was absent, but
fortunately Old Baldy browsed near at hand, and
was easily caught Frank said he would rather takt
The Last of the Plainsmen
Old Baldy for the cougar than any other horse we
had. Leaving me in camp, he and Jones rode off to
fetch Kitty.
About five o'clock they came trotting up through
the forest with Jim, who had fallen in with them
on the way. Old Baldy had remained true to his
fame nothing, not even a cougar bothered him.
Kitty, evidently no worse for her experience, was
chained to a pine tree about fifty feet from the camp-
fire.
Wallace came riding wearily in, and when he saw
the captive, he greeted us with an exultant yell. He
got there just in time to see the first special features
of Kitty's captivity. The hounds surrounded her,
and could not be called off. We had to beat them.
Whereupon the six jealous canines fell to fighting
among themselves, and fought so savagely as to be
deaf to our cries and insensible to blows. They had
to be torn apart and chained.
About six o'clock Lawson loped in with the horses.
Of course he did not know we had a cougar, and no
one seemed interested enough to inform him. Per
hapa only Frank and I thought of it; but I saw a
merry snap in Frank's eyes, and kept silent. Kitty
had hidden behind the pine tree. Lawson, astride
Jim'o pack horse, a crochety animal, reined in just
abreast of the tree, and leisurely threw his leg over
306
Kitty
MMMMMMM
the saddle. Kitty leaped out to the extent of her
chain, and fairly exploded in a frightful cat-spit.
Lawson had stated some time before that he was
afraid of cougars, which was a weakness he need
not have divulged in view of what happened. Tha
horse plunged, throwing him ten feet, and snorting
in terror, stampeded with the rest of the bunch and
disappeared among the pines.
" Why the hell didn't you tell a feller? " reproach-
fully growled the Arizonian. Frank and Jim held
each other upright, and the rest of us gave way to
as hearty if not as violent mirth.
We had a gay supper, during which Kitty sat by
her pine and watched our every movement
"We'll rest up for a day or two," said Jones*
" Things have commenced to come our way. If I'm
not mistaken we'll bring an old Tom alive into camp.
But it would never do for us to get a big Tom in the
fix we had Kitty to-day. You see, I wanted to lasso
her front paw, pull her off the limb, tie my end of
the lasso to the tree, and while she hung I'd go dowf
and rope her hind paws. It all went wrong to-day,
and was as tough a job as I ever handled."
Not until late next morning did Lawson corral all
the horses. That day we lounged in camp mending
broken bridles, saddles, stirrups, lassoes, boots, trou-
sers, leggins, shirts and even broken skins.
307
The Last of the Plainsmen
During this time I found Kitty a most interesting
study. She reminded me of an enormous yellow
kitten. She did not appear wild or untamed until
approached. Then she slowly sank down, laid back
her ears, opened her mouth and hissed and spat, at
the same time throwing both paws out viciously.
Kitty may have rested, but did not sleep. At times
she fought her chain, tugging and straining at it, and
trying to bite it through. Everything in reach she
clawed, particularly the bark of the tree. Once she
tried to hang herself by leaping over a low limb.
When any one walked by her she crouched low, evi-
dently imagining herself unseen. If one of us walked
toward her, or looked at her, she did not crouch. At
other times, noticeably when no one was near, she
would roll on her back and extend all four paws in
the air. Her actions were beautiful, soft, noiseless,
quick and subtle.
The day passed, as all days pass in camp t swiftly
and pleasantly, and twilight stole down upon us
round the ruddy fire. The wind roared in the pinee
and lulled to repose; the lonesome, friendly coyote
barked; the bells on the hobbled horses jingled
sweetly; the great watch stars blinked out of the blue.
The red glow of the burning logs lighted up
Jones's calm, cold face. Tranquil, unalterable and
peaceful it seemed; yet beneath the peace I thought
Kitty
1 saw a suggestion of wild restraint, of mystery, of
unslaked life.
Strangely enough, his next words confirmed my
last thought.
" For forty years I've had an ambition. It's to
get possession of an island in the Pacific, somewhere
between Vancouver and Alaska, and then go to
Siberia and capture a lot of Russian sables. I'd put
them on the island and cross them with our silver
foxes. I'm going to try it next year if I can find the
time,"
The ruling passion and character determine our
lives. Jones was sixty-three years old, yet the thing
that had ruled and absorbed his mind was still as
strong as the longing for freedom in Kitty's wild
heart
Hours after I had crawled into my sleeping-bag,
in the silence of night I heard her working to get
ifree. In darkness she was most active, restless,
intense. I heard the clink of her chain, the crack of
her teeth, the scrape of her claws. How tireless she
(was. I recalled the wistful light in her eyes that
saw, no doubt, far beyond the campfire to the yellow
crags, to the great downward slopes, to freedom. I
slipped my elbow out of the bag and raised myself.
Dark shadows were hovering under the pines. I saw
Kitty's eyes gleam like soarks, and I seemed to see
The Last of the Plainsmen
in them the hate, the fear, the terror she had of the
clanking thing that bound her.
I shivered, perhaps from the cold night wind
which moaned through the pines; I saw the stars
glittering pale and far off, and under their wan light
the still, set face of Jones, and blanketed forms of
my other companions.
The last thing I remembered before dropping into
dreamless slumber was hearing a bell tinkle in the
forest, which I recognized as the one I had placed
on Satan,
CHAPTER XVII
CONCLUSION
KITTY was not the only cougar brought into
camp alive. The ensuing days were fruit-
ful of cougars and adventure. There were
more wild rides to the music of the baying hounds,
and more heart-breaking canon slopes to conquer, and
more swinging, tufted tails and snarling savage faces
in the pinons. Once again, I am sorry to relate, I
had to glance down the sights of the little Remington,
and I saw blood on the stones. Those eventful days
sped by all too soon.
When the time for parting came it took no little
discussion to decide on the quickest way of getting
me to a railroad. I never fully appreciated the
inaccessibility of the Siwash until the question arose
of finding a way out. To return on our back trail
would require two weeks, and to go out by the trail
north to Utah meant half as much time over the
same kind of desert. Lawson came to our
however, with the information that an occasional?
prospector or horse hunter crossed the canon from the
Saddle, where a trail led down to the river.
The Last of the Plainsmen
" IVe heard the trail is a bad one," said Lawson,
"an' though I never seen it, I reckon it could be
found. After we get to the Saddle well build two
fires on one of the high points an 1 keep them burnin 1
well after dark. If Mr. Bass, who lives on the other;
side, sees the fires he'll come down his trail nexfi
mornin' an 1 meet us at the river. He keeps a boat
there. This is tak:n' a chance, but I reckon it's
worth while."
So it was decided that Lawson and Frank would
try to get me out by way of the canon; Wallace
intended to go by the Utah route, and Jones was to
return at once to his range and his buffalo.
That night round the campfire we talked over the
many incidents of the hunt Jones stated he had
never in his life come so near getting his " everlast-
ing " as when the big bay horse tripped on a canon
slope and rolled over him. Notwithstanding the
irespect with which we regarded his statement we held
different opinions. Then, with the unfailing opti^
mism of hunters, we planned another hunt for thc^
next year.
" I'll tell you what," said Jones. " Up in Utah
there's a wild region called Pink Cliffs. A few poof
sheep-herders try to raise sheep in the valleys. They
wouldn't be so poor if it was n^ for the grizzly and
blask bears that live on the sheep. We'll go up
312
Conclusion
MWMMMMBMMMMI
there, find a place where grass and water can be had,
and camp. We'll notify the sheep-herders we are
there for business. They'll be only too glad to hustle
in with news of a bear, and we can get the hounds
on the trail by sun-up. I'll have a dozen hounds
then, maybe twenty, and all trained. We'll put every
black bear we chase up a tree, and we'll rope and tie
him. As to grizzlies well, I'm not saying so much. <
They can't climb trees, and they are not afraid of a
pack of hounds. If we rounded up a grizzly, got
him cornered, and threw a rope on him there'd be
some fun, eh, Jim?"
" Shore there would," Jim replied.
On the strength of this I stored up food for future
thought and thus reconciled myself to bidding fare-
well to the purple canons and shaggy slopes of Buck-
skin Mountain.
At five o'clock next morning we were all stirring,
Jones yelled at the hounds and untangled Kitty's
chain. Jim was already busy with the biscuit dough.
Frank shook the frost off the saddles. Wallace was
packing. The merry jangle of bells came from the
forest, and presently Lawson appeared driving in
the horses. I caught my clack and saddled him,
then realizing we were soon to part I could not resist
giving him a hug.
An hour later we all stood at the aead of the trail
The Last of the Plainsmen
leading down into the chasm. The east gleamed
rosy red. Powell's Plateau loomed up in the dis-
tance, and under it showed the dark-fringed dip in
the rim called the Saddle. Blue mist floated round
the mesas and domes.
Lawson led the way down the trail. Frank started
Old Baldy with the pack.
" Come," he called, " be oozin* along."
I spoke the last good-by and turned Satan into the
narrow trail. When 1 looked back Jones stood on
the rim with the fresh glow of dawn shining on his
face. The trail was steep, and claimed my attention
and care, but time and time again I gazed back.
Jones waved his hand till a huge jutting cliff walled
him from view. Then I cast my eyes on the rough
descent and the wonderful void beneath me. In my
mind lingered a pleasing consciousness of my last
sight of the old plainsman. He fitted the scene; he
belonged there among the silent pines and the yellow
crags.
THE END
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