The Boy Hunters, Mayne Reid [best love novels of all time .TXT] 📗
- Author: Mayne Reid
Book online «The Boy Hunters, Mayne Reid [best love novels of all time .TXT] 📗». Author Mayne Reid
“But some of the mounds look quite dilapidated,” observed François. “Look yonder, there are several of them caved in, and guttered by the rain! What is the reason, I wonder?”
“These are the ones in which the owls live,” replied Lucien. “See! yonder goes an owl into one this very moment! It is supposed that the owls have taken these from the marmots, and use them exclusively for their own dwellings; and, as you perceive, they do not keep them in repair. All they care for is the hole to take shelter in, leaving the outside works to go to ruin as they may. Certain it is that, although we have seen them and the dogs rush into the same hole together, it is because we came suddenly upon them. They do not live thus. The marmots have their own dwellings, and the owls theirs, which last are the ruined ones you have noticed.”
“But do not the owls eat the marmots?” inquired Basil. “The great owls of the woods prey upon animals as large. I have seen them kill rabbits in the dusk of the evening.”
“These do not,” answered the naturalist; “at least it is supposed they do not. Many that have been shot and opened proved to have nothing in their stomachs but insects and beetles—such as these we see upon the prairie. I think it is probable the owls make an occasional meal of the horned frogs and lizards; though I have no proof of this farther than that birds of this kind usually prey upon such reptiles.”
“But how live the rattle-snakes?” inquired François; “what do they feed upon?”
“Ah!” replied Lucien, “that is the puzzle of naturalists. Some assert that they are the tyrants of the community, and devour the old marmots. This can hardly be, as these snakes are not large enough to swallow them, in my opinion. Certain it is, however, that they prey occasionally upon the young, as many of them have been killed with young marmots in their belly?”
“Why, then,” rejoined François, “the snakes seem to have it all their own way. If they eat the young marmots, what is to hinder them from killing as many as they please? They can enter the burrows with as much ease as the marmots themselves!”
“That is true,” replied Lucien, “but not half so nimbly; and perhaps the latter can even escape them within. The rattle-snake is a very slow crawler; and, besides, only strikes his prey when coiled up. Perhaps, in these subterranean galleries, he is still less able to capture it; and the old marmots may, after all, have some mode of defending both themselves and their young from his venomous attacks. As yet very little is known of these creatures. The remote regions in which they are found place them beyond the observation of naturalists; and such of these, as have visited their towns, have been only allowed time to make a hurried examination of them. They are very shy; rarely letting you get within range of a gun. They are, therefore, seldom shot at. Moreover, it takes great trouble to capture them by digging—on account of the depth of their burrows—and as their skins are not very valuable, and their flesh but a bite at best, they are not often molested by the hunter.”
“But are they eatable?” inquired François.
“Yes,” answered Lucien; “the Indians are very fond of their flesh, and eat it whenever they can conveniently get it; but, indeed, they will do the same for almost every living creature.”
“What do marmots feed upon in winter, when there is no grass for them?” inquired François.
“They then lie torpid. They have nests in their subterranean chambers, and curious nests these are. They are constructed of grass and roots, are as round as a globe, and so firmly woven together, that one of them might be kicked over the prairie like a foot-ball. The nest is within, with a small hole leading into it, just large enough to admit your finger—for when the marmot goes inside, he closes all up, except this little hole, through which he gets all the air he requires. In these snug beds they lie asleep during the cold season, and at that time are rarely seen outside their burrows.”
Conversing in this way, the young hunters rode on, keeping as far from the edges of the mounds as possible, lest the hoofs of their horses might sink in the excavated ground. They had ridden full five miles, and still the marmot village stretched before them! still the dogs on all sides uttered their “Choo-choo”—still the owls flapped silently up, and the rattle-snakes crawled across their track.
It was near sun-down when they emerged from among the hillocks, and commenced stepping out on the hard, barren plain. Their conversation now assumed a gloomier turn, for their thoughts were gloomy. They had drunk all their water. The heat and dust had made them extremely thirsty; and the water, warmed as it was in their gourd canteens, scarcely gave them any relief. They began to experience the cravings of thirst. The butte still appeared at a great distance—at least ten miles off. What, if on reaching it, they should find no water? This thought, combined with the torture they were already enduring, was enough to fill them with apprehension and fear.
Basil now felt how inconsiderately they had acted, in not listening to the more prudent suggestions of Lucien; but it was too late for regrets—as is often the case with those who act rashly.
They saw that they must reach the butte as speedily as possible, for the night was coming on. If it should prove a dark night, they would be unable to guide themselves by the eminence, and losing their course might wander all night. Oppressed with this fear, they pushed forward as fast as possible; but their animals, wearied with the long journey and suffering from thirst, could only travel at a lagging pace.
They had ridden about three miles from the dog-town, when, to their consternation, a new object presented itself. The prairie yawned before them, exhibiting one of those vast fissures often met with on the high table-lands of America. It was a barranca, of nearly a thousand feet in depth, sheer down into the earth, although its two edges at the top were scarcely that distance apart from each other! It lay directly across the track of the travellers; and they could trace its course for miles to the right and left, here running for long reaches in a straight line, and there curving or zig-zagging through the prairie. When they arrived upon its brink, they saw at a glance that they could not cross it. It was precipitous on both sides, with dark jutting rocks, which in some places overhung its bed. There was no water in it to gladden their eyes; but, even had there been such, they could not have reached it. Its bottom was dry, and covered with loose boulders of rock that had fallen from above.
This was an interruption which our travellers little expected; and they turned to each other with looks of dismay. For some minutes they deliberated, uncertain how to act. Would they ride along its edge, and endeavour to find a crossing-place? Or would it be better to retrace their steps, and attempt to reach the stream which they had left in the morning? The latter was a fearful alternative, as they knew they could not pass the marmot hillocks in the darkness without losing time and encountering danger. It is discouraging at all times to go back, particularly as they had ridden so far—they believed that water would be found near the butte. They resolved, at length, to search for a crossing.
With this intention they made a fresh start, and kept along the edge of the barranca. They chose the path that appeared to lead upward—as by so doing they believed they would the sooner reach a point where the chasm was shallower. They rode on for miles; but still the fissure, with its steep cliffs, yawned below them, and no crossing could be found. The sun went down, and the night came on as dark as pitch. They halted. They dared ride no farther. They dared not even go back—lest they might chance upon some outlying angle of the crooked chasm, and ride headlong into it! They dismounted from their horses, and sunk down upon the prairie with feelings almost of despair.
It would be impossible to picture their sufferings throughout that long night. They did not sleep even for a moment. The agonising pangs of thirst as well as the uncertainty of what was before them on the morrow kept them awake. They did not even picket their horses—for there was no grass near the spot where they were—but sat up all night holding their bridles. Their poor horses, like themselves, suffered both from thirst and hunger; and the mule Jeanette occasionally uttered a wild hinnying that was painful to hear.
As soon as day broke they remounted, and continued on along the edge of the barranca. They saw that it still turned in various directions; and, to add to their terror, they now discovered that they could not even retrace the path upon which they had come, without going all the way back on their own tracks. The sun was obscured by clouds, and they knew not in what direction lay the stream they had left—even had they possessed strength enough to have reached it.
They were advancing and discussing whether they should make the attempt, when they came upon a deep buffalo-road that crossed their path. It was beaten with tracks apparently fresh. They hailed the sight with joyful exclamations—as they believed that it would lead them to a crossing. They hesitated not, but riding boldly into it, followed it downward. As they had anticipated, it wound down to the bottom of the barranca, and passed up to the prairie on the opposite side, where they soon arrived in safety.
This, however, was no termination to their sufferings, which had now grown more acute than ever. The atmosphere felt like an oven; and the light dust, kicked up by their horses’ hoofs, enveloped them in a choking cloud, so that at times they could not see the butte for which they were making. It was of no use halting again. To halt was certain death—and they struggled on with fast-waning strength, scarcely able to retain their seats or speak to one another. Thirst had almost deprived them of the power of speech!
It was near sunset, when the travellers, faint, choking, panting for breath, bent down in their saddles, their horses dragging along under them like loaded bees, approached the foot of the eminence. Their eyes were thrown forward in eager glances—glances in which hope and despair were strangely blended.
The grey, rocky bluff, that fronted them, looked parched and forbidding. It seemed to frown inhospitably upon them as they drew near.
“O brothers! should there be no water!”
This exclamation was hardly uttered, when the mule Jeanette, hitherto lagging behind, sprang forward in a gallop, hinnying loudly as she ran. Jeanette, as we have said, was an old prairie traveller, and could scent water as far as a wolf could have done her own carcass. The other animals, seeing her act in this manner, rushed after; and the next moment the little cavalcade passed round a point of rocks, where a green sward gladdened the eyes of all. They saw grass and willows, among whose leaves gurgled the crystal waters
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