The Magnificent Adventure, Emerson Hough [e ink epub reader TXT] 📗

lusty hands, hour after hour, but sometimes they could hardly hold the boats against the power of the June rise. The setting poles could not always find good bottom, but sometimes the men used these in the old keel boat fashion, traveling along the walking-boards on the sides of the craft, head down, bowed over the setting-poles—the same manner of locomotion that had conquered the Mississippi.

When sail and oar and setting-pole proved unavailing, the men were out and overboard, running the banks with the cordelle. As they labored thus on the line, like so many yoked cattle, using each ounce of weight and straining muscle to hold the heavy boat against the current, snags would catch the line, stumps would foul it, trees growing close to the bank’s edge would arrest it. Sometimes the great boat, swung sidewise in the current in spite of the last art of the steersmen, would tauten the line like a tense fiddle-string, flipping the men, like so many insects, from their footing, and casting them into the river, to emerge as best they might.

Cruzatte, Labiche, Drouillard—all the French voyageurs—with the infinite French patience smiled and sweated their way through. The New Englanders grew grim; the Kentuckians fumed and swore. But little by little, inch by inch, creeping, creeping, paying the toll exacted, they went on day by day, leaving the old world behind them, morning by morning advancing farther into the new.

The sun blistered them by day; clouds of pests tormented them by night; miasmatic lowlands threatened them both night and day. But they went on.

The immensity of the river itself was an appalling thing; its bends swept miles long in giant arcs. But bend after bend they spanned, bar after bar they skirted, bank after bank they conquered—and went on. In the water as much as out of it, drenched, baked, gaunt, ragged, grim, they paid the toll.

A month passed, and more. The hunters exulted that game was so easy to get, for they must depend in large part on the game killed by the way. At the mouth of the Kansas River, near where a great city one day was to stand, they halted on the twenty-sixth of June. Deer, turkeys, bear, geese, many “goslins,” as quaint Will Clark called them, rewarded their quest.

July came and well-nigh passed. They reached the mouth of the great Platte River, far out into the Indian country. Over this unmapped country ranged the Otoes, the Omahas, the Pawnees, the Kansas, the Osages, the Rees, the Sioux. This was the buffalo range where the tribes had fought immemorially.

It was part of the mission of Captain Lewis’s little army to carry peace among these warring tribes. The nature of the expedition was explained to their chiefs. At the great Council Bluffs many of the Otoes came and promised to lay down the hatchet and cease to make war against the Omahas. The Omahas, in turn, swore allegiance to the new flag.

On ahead somewhere lay the powerful Sioux nation, doubt and dread of all the traders who had ever passed up the Missouri. Dorion, the interpreter, married among them, admitted that even he could not tell what the Sioux might do.

The expedition struck camp at last, high up on the great river, in the country of the Yanktonnais. The Sioux long had marked its coming, and were ready for its landing. Their signal fires called in the villages to meet the boats of the white men.

They came riding down in bands, whooping and shouting, painted and half naked, well armed—splendid savages, fearing no man, proud, capricious, blood-thirsty. They were curious as to the errand of these new men who came carrying a new flag—these men who could make the thunder speak. For now the heavy piece on the bow of the great barge spoke in no uncertain terms so that its echoes ran back along the river shores. No such boat, no such gun as this, had ever been seen in that country before.

“Tell them to make a council, Dorion,” said Lewis. “Take this officer’s coat to their head man. Tell him that the Great Father sends it to him. Give him this hat with lace on it. Tell him that when we are ready we may come to their council to meet their chiefs. Say that only their real chiefs must come, for we will not treat with any but their head men. If they wish to see us soon, let them come to our village here.”

“You are chiefs!” said Dorion. “Have I not seen it? I will tell them so.”

But Dorion had been gone but a short time when he came hurrying back from the Indian village.

“The runners say plenty buffalo close by,” he reported. “The chief, she’ll call the people to hunt the buffalo.”

William Clark turned to his companion.

“You hear that, Merne?” said he. “Why should we not go also?”

“Agreed!” said Meriwether Lewis. “But stay, I have a thought. We will go as they go and hunt as they do. To impress an Indian, beat him at his own game. You and I must ride this day, Will!”

“Yes, and without saddles, too! Very well, I learned that of my brother, who learned it of the Indians themselves. And I know you and I both can shoot the bow as well as most Indians—that was part of our early education. I might better have been in school sometimes, when I was learning the bow.”

“Dorion,” said Lewis to the interpreter, “go back to the village and tell their chief to send two bows with plenty of arrows. Tell them that we scorn to waste any powder on so small a game as the buffalo. On ahead are animals each one of which is as big as twenty buffalo—we keep our great gun for those. As for buffalo, we kill them as the Indians do, with the bow and with the spear. We shall want the stiffest bows, with sinewed backs. Our arms are very strong.”

Swift and wide spread the word among the Sioux that the white chiefs would run the buffalo with their own warriors. Exclamations of amusement, surprise, satisfaction, were heard. The white men should see how the Sioux could ride. But Weucha, the head man, sent a messenger with two bows and plenty of arrows—short, keen-pointed arrows, suitable for the buffalo hunt, when driven by the stiff bows of the Sioux.

“Strip, Will,” said Meriwether Lewis. “If we ride as savages, it must be in full keeping.”

They did strip to the waist, as the savages always did when running the buffalo—sternest of all savage sport or labor, and one of the boldest games ever played by man, red or white. Clad only in leggings and moccasins, their long hair tied in firm cues, when Weucha met them he exclaimed in admiration. The village turned out in wonder to see these two men whose skins were white, whose hair was not black, but some strange new color—one whose hair was red.

The two young officers were not content with this. York, Captain Clark’s servant, rolling his eyes, showing his white teeth, was ordered to strip up the sleeve of his shirt to show that his hide was neither red nor white, but black—another wonder in that land!

“Now, York, you rascal,” commanded William Clark, “do as I tell you!”

“Yessah, massa Captain, I suttinly will!”

“When I raise this flag, do you drop on the ground and knock your forehead three times. Groan loud—groan as if you had religion, York! Do you understand?”

“Yassah, massa Captain!”

York grinned his enjoyment; and when he had duly executed the maneuver, the Sioux greeted the white men with much acclamation.

“I see that you are chiefs!” exclaimed Weucha. “You have many colors, and your medicine is strong. Take, then, these two horses of mine—they are good runners for buffalo—perhaps yours are not so fast.” Thus Dorion interpreted.

“Now,” said Clark, “suppose I take the lance, Merne, and you handle the bow. I never have tried the trick, but I believe I can handle this tool.”

He picked up and shook in his hand the short lance, steel-tipped, which Weucha was carrying. The latter grinned and nodded his assent, handing the weapon to the red-haired leader.

“Now we shall serve!” said Lewis an instant later; for they brought out two handsome horses, one coal-black, the other piebald, both mettlesome and high-strung.

That the young men were riders they now proved, for they mounted alone, barebacked, and managed to control their mounts with nothing but the twisted hide rope about the lower jaw—the only bridle known among the tribes of the great plains.

The crier now passed down the village street, marshaling all the riders for the chase. Weucha gave the signal to advance, himself riding at the head of the cavalcade, with the two white captains at his side—a picture such as any painter might have envied.

Others of the expedition followed on as might be—Shannon, Gass, the two Fields boys, others of the better hunters of the Kentuckians. Even York, not to be denied, sneaked in at the rear. They all rode quietly at first, with no outcry, no sound save the steady tramp of the horses.

Their course was laid back into the prairie for a mile or two before a halt was called. Then the chief disposed his forces. The herd was supposed to be not far away, beyond a low rim of hills. On this side the men were ranged in line. A blanket waved from a point visible to all was to be the signal for the charge.

Dorion, also stripped to the waist, a kerchief bound about his head, carrying a short carbine against his thigh, now rode alongside.

“He say Weucha show you how Sioux can ride,” he interpreted.

“Tell him it is good, Dorion,” rejoined Lewis. “We will show him also that we can ride!”

A shout came from the far edge of the restless ranks. A half-naked rider waved a blanket. With shrill shouts the entire line broke at top speed for the ridge.

Neither of the two young Americans had ever engaged in the sport of running the buffalo; yet now the excitement of the scene caused both to forget all else. They urged on their horses, mingling with the savage riders.

The buffalo had been feeding less than a quarter of a mile away; the wind was favorable, and they had not yet got scent of the approach; but now, as the line of horsemen broke across the crest, the herd streamed out and away from them—crude, huge, formless creatures, with shaggy heads held low, their vast bulk making them seem almost like prehistoric things. The dust of their going arose in a blinding cloud, the thunder of their hoofs left inaudible even the shrill cries of the riding warriors as they closed in.

The chase passed outward into an open plain, which lay white in alkali. In a few moments the swift horses had carried the best of the riders deep into the dust-cloud which arose. Each man followed some chosen animal, doing his best to keep it in sight as the herd plowed onward in the biting dust.

Here and there the vast, solid surface of a sea of rolling backs could be glimpsed; again an opening into it might be seen close at hand. It was bold work, and any who engaged in it took his chances.

Lewis found his horse, the black runner that Weucha had given him, as swift as the best, and able to lay him promptly alongside his quarry. At a distance of a few feet he drew back the sinewy string of the tough Sioux bow, gripping his horse with his knees, swaying his body out to the bow, as he well knew how. The shaft, discharged at a distance of but half a dozen feet,