Wild Sports In The Far West

Conwell rolled himself in his blanket and fell asleep, still smiling at the recollection. I could not sleep; his story had recalled events of my own childhood, and I kept gazing at the strange and changing figures in the fire. Bearsgrease was lying close to me, with his head on my shoulder; he had raised it several times, and snuffed the air, and again lain down. At length he roused up and gave a slight growl. I thought I heard something, and looking up to the bank behind me, I was astonished to find two glowing eyeballs steadily fixed upon me. My head being between the fire and the animal, I could see them plainly just above the bank. It must be a panther, and, judging from the position, ready to spring. My rifle, as usual, lay ready; so, half raising myself, that I might have the fire in a line with the two sights, I aimed between the two fiery balls, and the rocks reëchoed the report.

Old Conwell was up like lightning with his rifle ready, and the dogs hunted about while I reloaded, but all was as silent as the grave. The old fellow shook his head, and asked what on earth I had been firing at. I finished loading without a word, then taking a brand from the fire and going about twenty paces to a slope in the bank, I mounted, and found an immense panther, quite dead. I threw him over, and C. dragged him to the fire; the ball had pierced his brain through the right eye. He was a very powerful beast, had enormous fangs, and when we cut him open, his stomach was found quite empty. He must have been attracted to the fire by hunger, and C. thought he might have smelt the venison; he would probably have ventured a spring as soon as the fire had burnt low; the dogs could not scent him, as he was so much above us. After skinning him we threw the carcass into the river below the camp, as the dogs would not touch it. We slept the rest of the night undisturbed.

A light rain fell next morning, which, in about an hour, moistened the dead leaves sufficiently for us to walk without making a noise; so I made haste to stretch the panther’s skin, and we set off, each as before taking a separate path. Before I had gone half a mile I saw two deer grazing; just at this moment Conwell’s gun was heard at some distance, and they both raised their heads and listened attentively, but perceiving nothing suspicious, they began to feed again. They were a doe and a year-old fawn, and when they were in a line I fired; the doe, which was nearest, fell at once, and the fawn after running about fifty yards. They were very fat, and I hung them up.

In hanging up deer it is necessary to take precautions against the vultures, which are a great annoyance to sportsmen. The best way of securing the deer, whose skin they would ruin with their beaks, is to hang them up by their heads, so that the vultures may have no point of support, and must content themselves with pecking at the skull. There is also a large crow, which tries to steal the fat; but they may be kept off by placing two peeled sticks crosswise on the deer – for the crows will not venture their heads between two such suspicious-looking objects.

Continuing my march, I came to the bank of a stream running into the Richland, when I saw a wolf spring out of a thicket on the opposite side, about eighty paces off; he ran about fifty yards and then stopped, but not long enough for me to take aim; finally he disappeared among some rocks. I crossed over to the thicket to see how Bearsgrease would take the scent of a wolf; all his hairs bristled up the moment he came to the yet warm lair.

Late in the afternoon, on my way to the camp, I struck a fresh bear’s trail, and followed it up, though it led me out of my way. Meantime it began to rain harder, and coming to a broad stream, which the bear had crossed, my dog lost the trail. As it was too late to return to the camp, I considered myself lucky in finding a cave, two feet deep in leaves driven in by the wind. Without making a fire, which would have been dangerous, I crept in, taking Bearsgrease for a pillow, who was much pleased thereby, and, spite of wet clothes, I slept well till morning, covered up with the leaves.

The morning was cold and wet, my clothes were still damp from yesterday’s rain, and I was as hungry as a lion; so altogether I did not feel quite so comfortable as I could wish. But walking quick to warm myself, in about an hour’s time I reached the place where I had left the two deer, hung the fawn over my shoulders, and not long after gained the camp.

The fire was burning bright which C. had only lately left, and it was no small quantity of venison that I put down to roast. Having appeased my appetite, and fed Bearsgrease, I laid down again to rest. After an hour’s time, as C. did not return, I set off again; it was still very cold. As I was passing a small ravine I saw a young buck feeding, without the slightest suspicion of danger. As I was within distance, I aimed and fired; he fell as if shot through the brain, but my ball had struck too high, so that at the moment when I came up to seize him he recovered himself, and rose on his forelegs. I saw on the instant that there was no time to lose, and threw myself upon him. The dog had also seized him, and I was in the act of drawing my knife to plunge in his throat, when he made a sudden effort, and we all three tumbled down a declivity of nine or ten feet. In falling I had dropped my knife, which fell among the stones, and I felt much pain in my head and left side; but neither I nor Bearsgrease had let go our hold. The poor animal made most desperate efforts to escape, and with our greatest exertions it was hardly possible for us to hold him. Without a knife there was but one method of securing him; a cruel one, indeed, but if I had to bite his neck through with my teeth I would not let him go. I threw him over on his side, and smashed his forelegs with a sharp stone. Thus crippled, Bearsgrease could hold him; I jumped up, found my knife, and ended the poor creature’s torments.

I succeeded in slinging it with a great deal of trouble, my left side paining me exceedingly; however I managed to climb up the steep, recovered and loaded my rifle, and hobbled towards the camp, intending to remain quiet the rest of the day.

I found my old friend awaiting me. He had killed four bucks, and brought away their haunches, the rest not being good eating at this season. We settled to shoot towards the house next day, and then to take horses to carry home the game we had shot.

On our way homewards we only killed three turkeys. We caught the horses the same evening, and once more reposed our weary limbs among my old friend’s family circle.

At midnight it began to rain, and towards morning it poured in torrents. The game was not to be thought of, and we sat round the fire amusing ourselves with old stories and anecdotes. As we were talking of the prairies, Conwell told us one of his adventures after buffaloes.

“Not many years ago, when I lived in the Kickapoo prairie, in Missouri, four of us set out one morning to shoot buffaloes. It was bitter cold, and we rode rapidly over the frozen ground. On gaining an elevation, we descried a herd in the distance, and made towards them. When about half a mile from them they discovered us, and ran off, we after them helter-skelter. The hindmost was a cow, too fat to keep up with the others, so we all singled her out for our mark. After galloping for about a mile, she received all our balls, and fell, when we secured her. The wind was now blowing from the north-west, almost cold enough to freeze the marrow in our bones, and the dry buffalo dung, the only fuel in the prairies, made but a poor fire. The nearest wood was about a mile from the place where the cow fell, and a debate arose whether we should fetch the wood to the buffalo, or carry the buffalo to the wood. We thought the latter easier. One of the party, named Turner, began to strip off the skin; we offered to help him, but he would not permit it; so, willingly leaving the cold work to him, we made as good a fire as we could for him to warm his hands by. When the skin was off, we cut off the prime pieces, took the marrow-bones, packed them in the skin, threw them over a horse, and brought them to the nearest wood, where we luckily found water. Our four tomahawks soon cut wood enough, and we made a roaring fire; when it was burnt to charcoal we stuck in the marrow-bones, first one end, then the other; and certainly there is no more delicate eating for the backwoodsman than buffalo marrow, except bear’s ribs, and wild honey. The meat was rather tough, and nothing particular.

“It was now getting dark, and we began to prepare our camp. One of the party proposed, instead of each rolling himself separately in his blanket, that we should spread the skin, which was large enough to hold us all, and then lay all the blankets over us. But Turner objected, and maintained that as he had skinned the cow alone, he alone would sleep in it. It was all the same to us; we all had good blankets, and could make ourselves comfortable by the fire, which we closely surrounded, while Turner wrapped himself in his heavy skin, with the hairy side inwards; – and we were all soon asleep.

“The weather was extremely cold, and we were obliged to get up several times in the course of the night, to lay on fresh wood, though Turner never moved out of his warm skin. Towards morning the wind changed to north-east, and the sky threatening a snow-storm, we decided on returning home as soon as possible, to avoid the approaching storm, or at any rate to get better shelter than the open prairie afforded. So we swallowed our breakfasts quickly, and saddled the horses, which had been feeding on the dry grass, and now approached as close as they could to the fire. We called Turner several times to make him get up, but a slight motion of the hide was the only answer. At length, a half smothered cry for help issued from the skin. We rushed to Turner in alarm, fearing something serious, but burst into a roar of laughter, on finding that he was frozen in, and could not move a limb. We rolled him to the fire, to thaw the skin, and set him free; the rolling and the heat made him feel rather giddy, but a hot marrow-bone restored him; – and then loading the horses with the softened skin, and the remainder of the meat, we reached home before the storm, which came on that evening with tremendous force.”

The weather continued gloomy enough, the clouds hanging about the trees, as if they were seeking shelter from the wind, which was driving them from the rocky mountains. All the cattle collected near the house, with their tails to the wind, and pendant ears, looking very wretched. Luckily I found a few books, – such as “A Dialogue of Devils,” “The Life of Marion,” “The Life of Washington,” “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” “The United States’ Reader,” &c., and killed some of the time by turning over their leaves.

The rain lasted till the 12th January. The various streams had become cataracts and rivers, so we were obliged to remain at home two days longer. Meantime our store of meat had fallen very low, and there appeared little hope of being able to use that which we had left hanging in the forest. However we hastened away to save the skins, if there was yet time. The streams were still so swelled that we could only pass them on horseback. We reached our last camp about noon, and found, as we had expected, that the meat was tainted, and the greater part of it devoured by vultures. We stretched the skins, in the hope that the wind, with the help of a faint sun, which was peering bashfully through the clouds, might dry them.

As it grew late, and we had no other provisions than bread and salt, we set off with the dogs to look for turkeys, and came upon a gang just as they were making themselves comfortable for the night. We killed two, and might have shot more, but did not wish to increase the quantity of decaying meat in the neighborhood. On this account we removed our camp about half a mile off, stretched our blankets to keep off a light drizzling rain, hobbled the horses, and fed them with maize. The wolves made a dreadful noise all night at our old quarters. In the morning the rain held up, and the clouds separated a little; so I set off to try and steal a march on them, and spoil their howling. The leaves were wet, and going round to gain the wind, I crept for about two hundred yards on my knees up to a large tree, and counted eight of them. Although they were to windward of me, one of them raised his head and began snuffing the air, then turned sharp round, and they all made off with their peculiar long gallop for the bush. Now was my time or never; I aimed at one of the largest, which covered another with its body. When the smoke cleared away, not a wolf was to be seen; they had vanished like magic – but following up the trail, I found one dead, and signs of another being wounded; but I found nothing more of the latter, – he was probably torn to pieces by his comrades. I scalped my prize, and returned to the camp; the scalp is valued, as before stated, at three dollars.

Meantime Conwell had employed himself in roasting turkeys, and we made an excellent breakfast. We then started off again. When I came to the place where I had hung up the buck, whose capture nearly cost me my neck, I found that the wolves had succeeded in dragging it down, and eaten nearly all but the bones. I knocked over another, and also killed a wild cat; returning to camp in the afternoon, where Conwell had arrived before me. He had killed a couple of deer, and we decided on bringing them to the camp, as there were so many wolves about.

Finding no traces of bears, we determined to leave the Richland and try the Mulberry again; so next morning we loaded our horses, and set off on our return. As we were descending a hill, Conwell stopped suddenly at the foot of a large oak, and after examining the bark attentively, he said that a bear was either in the tree, or had very lately left it. The weather had improved, and it was again rather cold. We had nothing better than our tomahawks for cutting down the tree, and they were not very sharp; a few strokes proved the fact. Luckily for us it was hollow, and we set-to with a will.

After hacking at it for three hours, the tree began to crack. We seized our rifles, called the dogs, and hastened towards the direction in which the tree must fall, to be ready to receive him. A couple of small splinters broke first; then a larger one; then the top began to bend slowly down the hill; then with a loud crash, and smashing its branches in the fall, the tree measured its length on the ground. No bear appeared; the nest was empty, though there could be no doubt it had lately been tenanted, for the sides were beautifully smooth and clean. There was a bough about five feet below the hole, where the bear went in and out, on which an Indian must formerly have stood, and tried to make an opening with his tomahawk, but without success; probably the bear, disturbed by the blows, had made his way out in time. Judging by the bark, this must have occurred about four or five years ago.

While we were looking at it, Conwell asked what the dogs were about; they appeared to be very eagerly licking up something from the ground, and we found that, accidentally, we had cut down a tree with honey in it. The bees were all torpid with the cold, and the dogs were enjoying the honey, which the breaking boughs had brought to light. Our plans were soon arranged; Conwell went to look for a deer; I took my tomahawk to cut a trough, and was soon busy about the upper part of the trunk, which was sound enough. As it was freezing, and the honey would not run, there was no occasion to make the trough very deep; so it was soon finished, and I loaded it with great lumps of the frozen delicacy. This done, I collected wood and made a fire, expecting we should pass the night here; but just then I heard the report of Conwell’s gun quite near, followed by his hail: I answered, and was soon by his side. He had killed a large fat doe, which we hung up by the hind legs, made a cut above the haunch, and drew off the skin without another touch of the knife, except at the knees, hocks, and head; stopping the holes, we turned it with the hair outwards, and so made a bag to carry the honey. When it was all in, I mounted, Conwell handed it to me, and away we went homewards, leaving the greater part of the last deer behind.