The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Camp in the Foot-Hills, by Harry Castlemon This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Camp in the Foot-Hills or Oscar on Horseback Author: Harry Castlemon Release Date: September 1, 2019 [EBook #60220] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAMP IN THE FOOT-HILLS *** Produced by Richard Tonsing, David Edwards, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) Tom Preston found. THE CAMP IN THE FOOT-HILLS OR OSCAR ON HORSEBACK BY HARRY CASTLEMON AUTHOR OF “GUNBOAT SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES,” “WAR SERIES,” ETC., ETC. PHILADELPHIA PORTER & COATES Copyright, 1893, BY PORTER & COATES. CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. At the Colonel’s Head-quarters, 1 II. Oscar’s Outfit, 10 III. Big Thompson, 20 IV. Picking out a Pony, 27 V. Laramie Plains, 36 VI. A Ride through the Sage-brush, 48 VII. Another Unexpected Meeting, 54 VIII. Tom Preston, 63 IX. Tom’s Story, 71 X. Tom Learns Something, 79 XI. Tom Becomes Desperate, 88 XII. Oscar Talks to the Colonel, 97 XIII. Oscar Writes a Note, 107 XIV. Left in the Sage-brush, 116 XV. The Hunting Party, 126 XVI. A Chase and a Captive, 137 XVII. Coursing and Still-Hunting, 149 XVIII. “Climb Down, Pard!” 160 XIX. The Stolen Mule, 173 XX. Inside the Dug-out, 183 XXI. The Ranchman Says Something, 193 XXII. The Camp in the Foot-hills, 202 XXIII. Hunting the Big horn, 212 XXIV. A Free Fight, 222 XXV. Oscar Discovers Something, 232 XXVI. The Rival Hunters, 244 XXVII. Big Thompson Follows a Trail, 256 XXVIII. “Old Ephraim,” 269 iii iv XXIX. A Lucky Shot, 280 XXX. Oscar has a Visitor, 292 XXXI. Tom and his Partner, 307 XXXII. The Wolfer’s Plan, 318 XXXIII. Lish Decides to Move, 329 XXXIV. A Climax, 340 XXXV. What Oscar’s Visitor Did, 354 XXXVI. The Tables Turned, 365 XXXVII. Big Thompson’s Hunting Dog, 378 XXXVIII. Farewell to the Hills, 389 THE CAMP IN THE FOOT-HILLS; OR, OSCAR ON HORSEBACK. “I CHAPTER I. AT THE COLONEL’S HEAD-QUARTERS. declare, I almost wish I was going with him!” It was our old friend Oscar Preston who said this. He was standing on the platform in front of the station at Julesburg, gazing after the stage-coach in which Leon Parker, the disgusted and repentant runaway, whose adventures and mishaps have already been described, had taken passage for Atchison. Oscar, as we know, had stumbled upon Leon by the merest chance, and fortunately he was in a position to render him the assistance of which he stood so much in need. By advancing him money out of his own pocket he had put it in Leon’s power to return to the home he had so recklessly deserted, and those who have read “Two Ways of Becoming a Hunter” know how glad the runaway was to accept his proffered aid. Up to this time Oscar had been all enthusiasm. There was no employment in the world that he could think of that so accorded with his taste as the mission on which he had been sent—that of procuring specimens for the museum that was to be added to the other attractions connected with the university at Yarmouth. His head was full of plans. So anxious was he to make his expedition successful, and to win the approbation of the committee who employed him, that he had been able to think of nothing else; but when he saw the coach moving away from the station he began to have some faint idea of the agony Leon must have suffered when he found himself alone in that wilderness, with no friend to whom he could go for sympathy or advice. In short Oscar was very homesick. In a few days, if nothing unforeseen happened, Leon would be in Eaton, surrounded by familiar scenes and familiar faces, while Oscar himself would, in a short time, disappear as completely from the gaze of the civilized world as though he had suddenly ceased to exist. Even with his inexperienced eye he could see that bad weather was close at hand. Perhaps before he reached the foot-hills the winter’s storms would burst forth in all their fury, blocking the trail with drifts, and effectually shutting him off from all communication with those he had left behind. He had never been so far away from his mother before, and neither had she ever seemed so dear and so necessary to him as she did now. And then there was Sam—impulsive, good-natured, kind-hearted Sam Hynes—who had so long been his chosen friend and almost constant companion! Oscar would have given much if he could have looked into his honest face and felt the cordial grasp of his hand once more. Some such thoughts as these passed through the mind of the young hunter as he stood there on the platform with his hands in his pockets, gazing after the rapidly receding stage-coach, and for a moment he looked and felt very unlike the happy, ambitious boy who had left Eaton but a short time before with such bright anticipations of the future. Then he dashed away the mist that seemed to be gathering before his eyes, pushed back his hat, which he had drawn low over his forehead, and took himself to task for his weakness. “A pretty hunter I shall make if this is the way I am to feel!” was his mental exclamation. “I talked very glibly to Sam Hynes about going on a three or four years’ expedition to Africa to collect specimens, and here I am, homesick already, although I have been away from Eaton scarcely two weeks. This will never do. I must get to work at once.” Just at that moment the stage-coach reached the top of a high ridge over which the road ran, and Leon turned in his seat to wave his farewell to the boy who had befriended him. Oscar waved his handkerchief in reply, and, having seen the coach disappear over the brow of the hill, he sprang off the platform and bent his steps toward the fort. As he passed through the gate, the sentry respectfully brought his musket to a “carry.” He had seen Oscar in familiar conversation with all the high officers belonging to the post, and that made him believe that the visitor, young as he was in years, must be a person of some importance. He was well enough acquainted with the men who commanded him to know that they did not associate on terms of intimacy with everyone who came to the post on business. Oscar walked straight to the colonel’s head-quarters, and the orderly who was standing in the hall opened the door for him. The room in which he now found himself was not just such a room as he had expected to see in that wilderness. The open piano, the expensive pictures, the papered walls, and the richly upholstered easy- chairs that were arranged in order about the table made it look almost too civilized. And yet there were a good many things in it to remind one of the plains. There was no carpet on the floor, but there were rugs in abundance, although they were not such rugs as we have in our houses. They were made of the skins of the wild animals that had fallen to the colonel’s breech loader. The commandant was not only a brave soldier, a successful Indian fighter, and a daring horseman, but he was also an enthusiastic sportsman and a crack shot with the rifle. The walls of his room were adorned with numerous trophies of his skill as a hunter and marksman in the shape of antlers, skins, and deer heads (the latter not quite so well mounted as they ought to be, Oscar thought); and the brace of magnificent Scotch greyhounds, which were lying at their ease on an elk 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 skin in front of the blazing logs that were piled in the huge, old-fashioned fireplace, were fair specimens of the pack the colonel had imported for the purpose of coursing the antelope that were so abundant on the prairie. The weapons the colonel used in war and in the chase were conspicuously displayed, and beside them hung Indian relics of all descriptions. There was the shield that had once belonged to the hostile chief Yellow Bear, who had given the soldiers and settlers a world of trouble, and who was almost as celebrated in his day as Sitting Bull was a few years ago. It was ornamented with the scalps the chief had taken during his numerous raids, and exactly in the centre of it was the hole made by a bullet from the colonel’s rifle, which had put an end to one raid and terminated the career of Yellow Bear at the same time. Hanging on one side the portrait of a distinguished army officer was the strong bow, made of elk horn, and braced with deer sinews, which the colonel used when he went out to hunt coyotes; and on the other was the tomahawk he had wrested from the hands of the warrior who had rushed up to secure his scalp when his (the colonel’s) horse was shot under him. It was by no means the terrible-looking weapon that Oscar had supposed an Indian tomahawk to be. It was simply a plasterer’s hatchet, which the former owner had purchased of a trader. The colonel, who was sitting in an easy-chair, reading one of the papers which Oscar had laid on his table the day before, looked up as the boy entered and pointed to a seat on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Well, you have seen your friend off, I suppose?” said he. “You arrived in the nick of time, didn’t you? The doctor says he honestly believes that Leon would have died of homesickness if you had not come just as you did. He has told me the lad’s story, and I must say that, although I have often read of such things, I never really believed that any living boy could entertain notions so utterly ridiculous. Why, just look at it for a moment! You will begin your life on the plains under the most favorable circumstances. You will have the benefit of the experience of every hunter about the post, both professional and amateur, be provided with all the necessaries that money can buy, be looked after by a competent guide, and yet before the winter is over you will wish a thousand times that you were safe back in Eaton again. Leon could not hope for the aid and comfort that will be so cheerfully extended to you. He intended to go in on his own hook, using as a guide some trashy novel, written by a man who probably knows no more about life on the plains than you do, and the consequence was that his want of experience got him into trouble at the very outset. That was a most fortunate thing for him, for if one of our Western ‘blizzards’ had overtaken him he never would have been heard of again. I hope his experience will be a lesson to him.” “I hope so, from the bottom of my heart,” said Oscar as he took the chair pointed out to him, and patted the head of one of the greyhounds, which arose from his comfortable couch, and, after lazily stretching himself, came up and laid his black muzzle on the boy’s knee. 7 8 9 “I CHAPTER II. OSCAR’S OUTFIT. have had your luggage taken in there,” continued the officer, nodding his head toward an open door, which gave entrance into a cosey bedroom adjoining the sitting-room, “for you are to be my guest as long as you remain at the post. Now I don’t want to hurry you away, for those letters you brought me will insure you a welcome here and good treatment as long as you choose to stay; but my experience as a plains-hunter tells me that if you want to reach a country in which game is abundant before the bad weather sets in you had better start pretty soon.” “I know it, sir,” replied Oscar. “I shall feel as though I was wasting valuable time as long as I stay here, and I am anxious to get to work without the loss of another day.” “Oh, you can’t do that!” said the colonel. “The time you spend here will not be wasted, because it is necessary that you should make due preparation before you start. I tell you it is no joke to spend a long, hard winter among the hills, no matter how well housed and provided with supplies you may be. You told me, I believe, that you had purchased a few things in St. Louis. Let me see them. When I know just what you have I can tell you what else you need.” As the colonel said this he arose from his seat and led the way into the bedroom which had been set apart for Oscar’s use. Producing a key from his pocket, the boy unlocked the small packing-trunk in which a portion of his outfit was stowed away, and brought to light two pairs of thick army blankets, which he handed over to the colonel. “They will pass muster,” said the latter, as he laid them upon the bed; “but those things,” he added, as Oscar drew out a pair of heavy boots with high tops, “you had better leave behind. You don’t want to load your pony down with articles that will be of no use to you.” “My pony! He can’t carry all my luggage. That box must go,” said Oscar, pointing to a large carpenter’s chest, which had once belonged to his father. “If I can’t take them with me I might as well stay at home.” “What’s in it?” asked the colonel. “A complete set of taxidermist’s tools, artificial eyes, a lot of annealed wire of different sizes, some strong paper for making funnels, pasteboard boxes and cotton for packing away the smaller specimens, and—oh, there are lots of things in it!” “I should think so! Are you going to put up your birds and animals as fast as you shoot them?” “No, sir. I couldn’t do that with the limited facilities I shall have at my command. I simply want to put the skins in such shape that I can mount them when I get home. I brought the eyes with me because it is easier to insert them when the specimen is first killed than it is to put them in after the skin is brought to life again.” “What do you mean by that? I’d like to see you restore a dead bird to life.” “I didn’t say I could do that,” answered Oscar, with a laugh. “But I can restore the skin to life.” “It makes no difference whether the body is in the skin or not, I suppose?” “None whatever. I don’t care if the body was cooked and eaten a year before the skin came into my hands. You see, it isn’t necessary that we should use any extra pains in caring for the skins of animals. No matter how badly rumpled the hair may become it can be combed straight at any time. When the body has been taken out, and the bones you need are nicely cleaned, and the eyes are inserted, and the skin has been thoroughly cured with arsenic, it is rolled up and packed away until we get ready to use it.” “I should think that if you left it for any length of time it would become as hard as a brick.” “So it does, but that doesn’t hurt it in the least. It is packed away in a box of wet sand, and in twenty- four hours it is as soft and pliable as it was when it was first taken from the animal. That is what I meant when I said I could bring a skin back to life.” “Oh! Ah!” said the colonel. “Bird skins require very different treatment,” continued Oscar. “The greatest pains must be taken with them. As soon as the specimen is killed the throat must be cleaned out and stopped with cotton, to keep the strong acid of the stomach from destroying the small feathers that grow about the base of the bill. It must then be put into a paper funnel shaped like the cornucopias that are sometimes hung on Christmas trees, and in that way it can be carried to camp without the ruffling of a feather. After the skin is taken off and cured it must be smoothly laid out between layers of cotton. If it becomes wrinkled, or the plumage becomes displaced, it is almost impossible to make a good job of it.” “Well, I declare!” said the colonel. “Yours is not so easy a business, after all, is it? I had no idea that there was so much in taxidermy. How long does it take to learn it?” “A lifetime,” answered Oscar. “Then I don’t think I’ll bother with it; my hair is white already, and the span of life that is left to me is so short that I couldn’t master even the rudiments of the science. Now let’s go back to business. The hunters in this country generally travel on foot, and let the ponies carry their supplies; but you will need a light wagon, and a good, strong mule to draw it. Those boots you will find to be very uncomfortable things to wear in this country in winter. A pair of Indian leggings and moccasins, which you can purchase of the sutler, will keep you much warmer,” he added, as Oscar drew out of the trunk first the stock and then the barrel of a heavy Sharp’s rifle and proceeded to put them together. 10 11 12 13 14 15 The colonel, who admired a fine weapon as much as he admired a fast horse and a good hunting dog, examined the rifle with the greatest interest, now and then bringing it to his shoulder and taking aim at the different objects about the room. There were but few articles in Oscar’s outfit, and they consisted of two suits of durable clothing, a light rubber coat, a heavy overcoat, which was provided with a hood instead of a cape, a few fish lines, two dozen trout flies, a light axe, a hunting knife with belt and sheath, a frying-pan, some stout sacks in which to stow away his provisions, and lastly a neat little fowling-piece, which, being short in the barrel, and weighing but a trifle over seven pounds, was just the thing for use in thick cover or in the saddle. Every article passed muster except the frying-pan. That, the colonel said, would do well enough for city hunters, but it would take up just so much room in the wagon; and Oscar, before he had spent a month in the hills, would probably throw it away and broil his meat on the coals. “Now what else do I need?” asked Oscar, after the colonel had examined all the articles in his outfit and passed judgment upon them. “I shall want some provisions, of course.” “Certainly. You will need some salt, two or three sacks of hardtack, a little dried fruit, a small supply of tea, coffee, sugar, and corn meal, a pony, mule, and wagon, and a good plainsman to act as guide and cook.” “I suppose the sutlers can furnish me with everything except the last four articles,” said Oscar. “Where are they to come from?” “There will be no trouble about them. Orderly, tell Big Thompson I want to see him.” The orderly, who had entered the room in response to the summons, disappeared as soon as he had received his instructions, and the colonel went on: “The mule and wagon can be found in the village; there are always plenty of them for sale, especially at this season of the year, and the pony can be procured here at the post. Two weeks ago a party of young braves, who had been out on a stock-stealing expedition, came in, very penitent, of course, and profuse in their promises that they would not do so any more; but I took away their arms and dismounted them, and have orders from the government to sell their ponies. They have been appraised by the quartermaster, and you can get one, ranging in price from twenty to seventy-five dollars.” “They can’t be good for much,” said Oscar. “There’s right where you are mistaken,” answered the colonel, with a smile. “They are just suited to the plains, and would live where an American horse would starve to death. And as for speed—well, we have horses in the fort that would probably beat the best of them in a race of three or four miles, but beyond that it would be safe to back the endurance of the pony. This man, Big Thompson, whom I shall try to induce to act as your guide, is my favorite scout. He has been out with me on several campaigns, and I know him to be perfectly reliable. As he says himself, he isn’t much to look at, and, having been born and brought up on the plains, he is of course very ignorant, and has some queer notions. He is as superstitious as any Indian, and equal to the best of them in hunting and trailing.” “That reminds me of something,” said Oscar suddenly. “My friend Leon said that, just before Eben Webster robbed and deserted him, they were warned by one of the escort of a stage-coach that the Indians were on the war-path. I hope I shall run no risk of being discovered by them.” “You need not be at all alarmed. The Indians to whom he referred were a party of young braves, mostly boys, who broke away from their reservation and went out to raid a camp of their sworn enemies, the Pawnees. They got neatly whipped for their pains, and, on such occasions, they always try to console themselves by taking the scalps of any small party of whites who may chance to fall in their way. They don’t like to go back to their village empty-handed if they can help it. If they had happened to meet Eben and your friend they might have stolen everything they had, but it isn’t at all likely that they would have attempted any scalping so near the post. Some of my troops have them in charge, and they are probably safe at their agency before this time. Here comes Big Thompson now.” As the colonel said this, the footsteps of the orderly sounded in the hall, and a moment later the door opened, admitting the man who was to be Oscar’s companion and counsellor as long as he remained on the plains. 16 17 18 19 “H CHAPTER III. BIG THOMPSON. ow, kurnel!” exclaimed the newcomer. “How!” replied the officer. “Sit down.” “The race of giants is not extinct, after all,” thought Oscar, as his eyes rested on the tall, broad- shouldered man, who stepped across the threshold, carrying a soldier’s overcoat on his arm and a slouch hat in his hand. “I don’t wonder that he is called ‘Big’ Thompson.” He was big—that was a fact. He stood considerably over six feet in his moccasins, and must have weighed at least 250 pounds, although there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on him. He moved as if he were set on springs, and his tightly fitting jacket of buckskin showed muscles on his arms and chest the like of which Oscar had never seen before. He wore no weapon, and in fact the boy did not think he needed any, for he looked strong enough to battle empty-handed with anybody or anything. Like most big men he was good-natured,—his face testified to that fact,—and it needed but one glance at it to satisfy Oscar that the owner of it was a man who could be trusted under any circumstances. “Thompson,” continued the colonel, as the scout seated himself in the chair that was pointed out to him, and deposited his hat and coat on the floor, “this young gentleman is Mr. Oscar Preston, who has come out here from the States to spend the winter in hunting. He needs a guide who knows all about the country and the game that is to be found in it, and I have recommended you. Now see if you can strike a bargain with him.” The scout listened attentively, and when the colonel ceased speaking he turned and gave Oscar a good looking over. The boy thought he could not have been very much impressed with his appearance, for, after running his eyes over him from head to foot, he nodded his head slightly, said “How!” in rather a gruff tone—that was his way of saying “How do you do?”—and then settled back in his chair and turned his face toward the colonel again. The latter went on to explain the nature of Oscar’s business, and, as the scout knew no more about taxidermy or a museum than he did of chemistry or geology, the officer was obliged to make use of a good many words, and those of the simplest kind too, in order to make him understand what it was that brought the boy to the plains. There were two things, however, that Big Thompson did comprehend, viz., that Oscar intended to spend the winter in some good game country, and that he was able and willing to pay liberally for the services of an experienced plainsman to act in the capacity of guide and cook. The hunting Oscar intended to do himself. He hastened to explain this fact to the scout, adding that, when he presented his specimens for the inspection of the committee at Yarmouth, he wanted to be able to say that they had all fallen to his own rifle. “Then we’ll starve fur want of grub, an’ you won’t get none of them things,” remarked Big Thompson. “What things?” asked Oscar. “Them what-do-ye-call-’ems.” “Specimens? Oh, I hope I shall! I have a room full of them at home now.” “What be they?” “Birds, principally.” “Did you ever see a b’ar?” “Not a wild one.” “Nor a painter nuther?” Oscar replied in the negative. “What do ye reckon ye’d do if ye should see one o’ them varmints?” asked the scout. “I am sure I don’t know,” was the honest reply. “Wa-al, I kin tell ye. Ye’d take to yer heels an’ leave me to shoot him. I’ve been huntin’ with a heap of fellows from the States, an’ that’s what they all do.” “I know one fellow from the States who will not take to his heels at the sight of a bear or a panther,” said Oscar to himself. He did not speak the words aloud, for, being no boaster, he preferred to be judged by his actions. Before many weeks had passed over his head he had an opportunity to show what he was made of, and then Big Thompson found that he had been sadly mistaken in the boy. If Oscar’s courage had not been equal to his skill as a taxidermist the scout never would have seen Julesburg again. “I reckon ye wouldn’t mind if I should do a little huntin’ an’ trappin’ on my own hook, would ye?” said Big Thompson after a moment’s pause. “Certainly not. All I ask is that you will let me go with you and see how it is done. It is possible that I may make my living for years to come in that way, and I want to know how to go to work. Now let’s come to business. What wages do you expect, and do you want to be paid every month, or shall I settle 20 21 22 23 24 with you when we return to the fort in the spring?” “Wa-al, pilgrim, we’ll settle up when we come back, an’ it’ll be afore spring too,” replied the scout, with a grin. “A kid like yourself, who has lived in the States his hull life, aint a-goin’ to stay all winter in the hills—leastwise not if he can get outen ’em. Ye hear me speakin’ to ye?” Without stopping to argue this point Oscar again broached the subject of wages, and at the end of a quarter of an hour the matter had been satisfactorily settled and all arrangements completed. Thompson was to be allowed three days in which to make ready for the journey. He was a married man, and his cabin was located twenty miles from the fort. He wanted to move his family nearer to the post, so that during his absence his wife could easily procure the supplies she needed from the sutler. It would not be long, he said, before travelling on the Laramie plains would be next to impossible, and while he was gone he wanted to know that his family was well provided for, and in no danger of being snowed up and starved to death. He would be at the post bright and early on the following Monday, and would expect to find Oscar all ready for the start. This much having been arranged, and the rate of the pay agreed upon, the scout put on his coat and hat and walked out, accompanied by the colonel and Oscar. 25 26 S CHAPTER IV. PICKING OUT A PONY. tanding in front of the door of the colonel’s head-quarters was a sleepy-looking sorrel pony, saddled and bridled. He looked very diminutive when contrasted with the heavy cavalry horse from which an orderly had just dismounted, and so light was his body and so slender his legs that it seemed as if an ordinary twelve-year-old boy would prove as heavy a load as he was able to carry. But to Oscar’s great surprise Big Thompson walked straight up to the pony and vaulted into the saddle, whereupon the little fellow’s head came up, his sleepy eyes opened, and, breaking at once into a gallop, he carried his heavy rider through the gate and down the hill out of sight. Oscar watched him as long as he remained in view, and then broke out into a cheery laugh, in which the colonel heartily joined. “That beats me!” exclaimed the boy as soon as he could speak. “I think it would look better if Thompson would get off and carry the horse instead of making the horse carry him. His great weight will break the beast down before he has gone a mile.” “You don’t know anything about an Indian pony,” replied the colonel. “I once had occasion to send Thompson to Fort Laramie with despatches, and he rode that same horse eighty-five miles in twenty- four hours without the least trouble.” “I shouldn’t have believed that little animal had so much strength and endurance,” said Oscar, still more astonished. “Thompson doesn’t seem to think much of my skill as a hunter, does he?” “You can’t wonder at it after the experience he has had with people from the States. He once shot four buffaloes for a gentleman living in New York, who cut off the tails of the game, took them home, and hung them up in his library as trophies of his own prowess.” “I don’t see how he could do that,” said Oscar almost indignantly. “I will gladly pay Thompson for any specimens I cannot procure myself, but I couldn’t have the face to pass them off as my own. He hasn’t a very high opinion of my courage, either. He thinks I shall be willing to come back to the fort before spring.” “That’s another thing you can’t wonder at. He knows what is before you, and you don’t. Now you have two days to spend in any manner most agreeable to yourself—this is Thursday, and you are not to start until Monday, you know—and, if you are not too weary with travel, I think I can put it in your power to obtain two or three fine specimens before you start for the hills. Do you ride?” “Yes, sir. I have broken more than one colt to the saddle.” “Then that is something you will not have to learn over again. Could you stand a fifteen-mile canter to- night?” “I should enjoy it,” replied Oscar with great eagerness. “All right. We’ll make up a little party among the officers, and spend the greatest part of to-morrow in coursing antelope. That is a sport you know nothing about, of course, and I tell you beforehand that your horsemanship, and skill with the revolver and lasso, will be pretty thoroughly tested.” “Lasso?” repeated Oscar. “I didn’t know that antelope were ever hunted with the lasso.” “Certainly they are; and it is the most exciting way of capturing them. You can’t imagine what hard riding it takes to enable one to slip a lariat over the head of a youngster about six months old. The little fellows run like the wind, and have a way of dodging and ducking their heads, just as the noose is about to settle down over their necks, that is perfectly exasperating. On Saturday we will pay our respects to the wolves. They are not worth a charge of powder, but we manage to get a little sport out of them by shooting them with the bow and arrow.” “Then I shall not get any,” said Oscar. “I don’t know how to use a bow.” “You can’t learn younger. The first thing, however, is to go down to the corral and pick out a pony. The quartermaster knows all about them, and we will ask him to go with us and make the selection. Orderly, tell Major Baker I want to see him.” The major, who was the acting quartermaster, made his appearance in a few minutes, and the three walked leisurely toward the gate, discussing the merits of the captured ponies as they went. At a sign from the colonel, accompanied by a pantomime that Oscar could not understand, a man who was sitting on the opposite side of the parade ground, with a blanket over his shoulders, arose to his feet and disappeared through an open doorway. When he came out again Oscar saw that he was an Indian, and that he had exchanged his blanket for a coil of rope, which he carried in his hand. He fell in behind the colonel and his two companions, and followed them down the hill toward the corral in which the ponies were confined. There were twenty-five or thirty of them in the enclosure, and they looked so very small, when compared with the cavalry horses that were picketed on the outside, that Oscar could hardly bring himself to believe that they were full-grown animals. They looked more like colts, and it did not seem possible that they could carry a rider for weeks at a time, with nothing but grass to eat, or beat a Kentucky thoroughbred in a race of twenty miles. The officers stopped when they had passed through the gate of the corral, and while the major was running his eyes over the herd in search of the particular pony he wanted to find, Oscar had opportunity 27 28 29 30 31 32 to take a good survey of the Indian. He was one of the Osage scouts attached to the colonel’s command, and though not so large a man as Big Thompson, he was taller than either of the officers, and the battered stovepipe hat he wore on his head made him look taller than he really was. He wore leggings and moccasins, a gray flannel shirt, a tattered officer’s dress coat, with a captain’s epaulet on one shoulder and a sergeant’s chevron on the other, and the band on his hat was stuck full of feathers. He did not look like a very formidable person, and yet, as Oscar afterward learned, he had the reputation of being the bravest man in his nation. He stood quietly by, with his lasso on his arm, awaiting the colonel’s further orders. “There he is! there he is!” exclaimed the major, laying his hand on his commander’s shoulder, and pointing toward the pony of which he was in search. “Come here, Preston, and tell me what you think of him.” “I don’t see him,” replied Oscar, stepping behind the major, and raising himself on tiptoe, so that he could look along the officer’s outstretched arm. “I can’t tell one from the other. They are all sorrels, and look exactly alike to me.” “But there is a big difference in them, all the same,” answered the major. “That fellow is a trained hunter, and worth fifty dollars of any man’s money. He will follow a buffalo, antelope, or elk over the roughest ground or through a prairie-dogs’ village without making a single misstep, and without the least guidance from the reins. I know that to be a fact, for I have seen him do it. If you want something a little handsomer and more fancy,” added the major, pointing to a pony that was trotting about on the outskirts of the herd, as if to show off the ribbons and feathers that were braided in his mane and tail, “there he is, and he is worth thirty dollars more.” “I don’t care for anything fancy,” replied Oscar. “I came out here to work, not to put on style. Those thirty dollars are worth more to me than they are to Uncle Sam.” “I think the buffalo hunter is the one you want,” remarked the colonel. “You will have two days in which to try him, and if he doesn’t suit you can bring him back and exchange him for another.” So saying he turned to the Osage, and pointing out the horse in question, told him to secure it. The Indian at once went in among the ponies, which had retreated to the furthest corner of the corral, and when he came out again, leading the buffalo hunter by his lasso, which he had twisted about the animal’s lower jaw, the rest of the herd turned and followed at his heels. The presence of the Indian seemed to quiet them at once. They stood in no fear of him; but the moment they caught sight of the white men, who were waiting in front of the gate, they wheeled in their tracks and ran back to the other end of the corral again. When Oscar came to take a good look at the animal he told himself that he was the homeliest thing in the shape of a pony he had ever seen. There were a dozen others in the corral, which, if left to himself, he would have selected in preference to this one. He was not at all pleased with the animal’s actions, either; for when he advanced to lay his hand upon him the pony snorted loudly, threw his ears close to his head, and retreated away from him as far as the length of the lariat would allow. He was vicious as well as homely. 33 34 35