The branches of the Cheyenne are not the only streams of the region, for many others, some of considerable dimensions and volume, and others mere tiny brooklets, wander in every direction through the country. The Black Hills are divided from the adjacent prairie by a series of valleys some two to three miles across; while, away back from the more elevated points, the land rolls off into a series of undulating plains, covered with gra.s.ses of every hue, and timbered along the banks of the rivers that transect them with the useful cottonwood tree, the ash and the pine, mingled with occasional thickets of willow and the wild cherry, and briars and brushwood of every description.

The operation of timbering the shaft making satisfactory progress, and Ernest Wilton's water-wheel, that was to do such wonders, having been "got well under weigh," as Seth expressed it, the chief members of the party determined to have an "outing" into the open land lying beyond their own especial valley, in search of game; for the cry for fresh meat had again arisen in the camp and urged them on to fresh exertions to supply the larder, quite apart from their own inclinations to have another day off the dreary work of the mine, which seemed to fall most upon Mr Rawlings and Seth, as it was at their mutual suggestion that they went a "hunting,"--as a shooting expedition is termed in the New World.

Having so determined, they carried their determination into effect, and started.

"I should think you had plenty of game here?" said Ernest Wilton, when they had left Minturne Creek some distance behind them, and entered upon an extensive prairie, that stretched before them, in waves of gra.s.s as far as the eye could reach, to the horizon.

"I should think so," said Mr Rawlings. "Why, it swarms with it."

"What sort?" asked the other. "Any deer?"

"Every variety you can almost mention. Deer, elk, moose--although these are to be found more to the northwards--antelope, mountain-sheep--as you know already--grizzly bears--if you relish such customers--and buffalo as soon as the sweet summer gra.s.ses crop up here, and the pasturage to the south loses its flavour for them."

"That's a pretty good catalogue," said Ernest, who was a keen sportsman.

"Any birds?"

"The most uncommon slap-up flying game, I guess, in creation," said Seth, "if yer cares to tackle with sich like; though I prefers runnin'

game, I does."

"Seth is right," said Mr Rawlings; "you will have a varied choice there likewise: grouse, partridge, prairie-fowl, wild geese, ducks--these two, however, are more to be met with in the winter months, and will be off to the Arctic regions soon--all sorts, in fact. And as to fishing, the salmon and trout--the latter of which you'll find in every stream in the neighbourhood--beat those of England."

"Well," said Ernest, laughing, "if your report be true, as I see no reason to doubt, you must have discovered those happy hunting-grounds to which all good Indians go when they die."

"Don't talk of Injuns," said Seth with a shiver and a shake. "That's the worst part of the hull thing, I reckon. If it warn't for them, the place would be a kinder paradise--it would so, sirree; but those Injuns spile it all."

"What he says is true enough," observed Mr Rawlings. "We are in the very heart of the Indian country, with Blackfeet, Crows, and Sioux, not to mention lesser fry, within striking distance; and if there should be a rising amongst them, as it is threatened this spring or summer, it would be a bad thing for the people in the spa.r.s.e and scattered settlements in Dakota."

"But the United States' army has stations about here, eh?" inquired Ernest.

"Few and far between," replied Mr Rawlings. "As I told you some little time since, the nearest one to us is at least a hundred miles away.

Besides that, the detachments quartered here and there are so attenuated in their numbers that five or six of the so-called companies have to be concentred together from the different outlying depots in order to muster any respectable contingent that could take the field against the Indians should they rise in force."

"An' them Sioux under Spotted Cloud, or whatever else they call their precious chief, ain't to be despised, I guess, in a free fight," said Seth.

"Pray don't talk any more about them," said the young engineer, laughing, as he took off his wideawake and ran his fingers through his curly brown hair. "I declare my scalp feels quite ticklish already."

"Them redskins 'ud tickle it a sight worse if they got holt of it," said Seth grimly, c.o.c.king his rifle as he spoke. "But I reckon I heerd somethin' russlin' about thaar to the back of yer, mister," he added suddenly, gazing intently in the direction he had intimated, to the rear of the young engineer, where the prairie-gra.s.s had already grown to some height.

"What was it?" said Mr Rawlings, likewise preparing his weapon, and telling Ernest to follow suit. "Did you see it at all?"

And he peered anxiously about to the right and left.

"Yes, jist for a minnit," responded the ex-mate. "It wer a longish sorter animale; a catamount or a wolf, maybe. Thaar! Thaar! I seed it again! Jerusalem! I have it!"

And he fired as he spoke, quick as lightning, as a dark object bounded from the cover and made a direct plunge at the young engineer, who was taken unawares, and came to the ground, as much from the suddenness of the shock as from the impulse of the animal's spring.

"Stay!" shouted Mr Rawlings, as Seth was rushing forwards with his clubbed rifle to where Ernest Wilton and his a.s.sailant appeared struggling together amidst the gra.s.s that almost concealed them from view. "I'll settle the beast, if you hold back a minute and let me have a clear aim."

But before he could get a shot, or Seth deal the deadly blow he contemplated with the b.u.t.t-end of his rifle, Ernest Wilton uttered an exclamation that stopped them both--an exclamation of surprise and agonised entreaty.

"Don't fire!" he cried out in a voice which was half laughing, half crying. "Don't fire, Mr Rawlings. It is only Wolf."

"Wolf! who's Wolf?" said Mr Rawlings and Seth together, as Ernest Wilton rose to his feet; the ex-mate adding under his breath, with a whistle to express astonishment on his part, in his usual way when so affected, "Jerusalem! this beats Bunker's Hill, anyhow!"

"The dearest and most faithful dog, companion, friend, that any one ever had," said Ernest with much emotion, caressing a fine, though half-starved-looking Scotch deer-hound, that appeared in paroxysms of delight at recognising his master, leaping up to his neck with loving barks, and licking his face, to express his happiness and affection in the manner customary to doggydom, almost wild with joy.

"You never told me about him?" said Mr Rawlings.

"I couldn't. The subject was too painful a one," replied the other. "I brought him with me from England, and he never quitted my side day, or even night, I believe, for any appreciable time, until those rascally Crow Indians stole him from me, and made him into their favourite dog soup, as I thought, weeks ago. Poor Wolf, old man!" he added, speaking to the faithful creature, and patting his head, "I never thought I should see you again."

"He's a fine crittur!" said Seth, making advances of friendship towards Wolf, which were cordially reciprocated; "an' I wouldn't like to lose him if I owned him, I guess. I s'pose he broke loose and follered your trail?"

"I expect so," said Ernest Wilton; "but how he managed to track me through all my erratic course amongst these mountains--or hills, as you call them--puzzles me. See," he continued, "they must have tied up the poor fellow, as well as starved him, or he would have probably found me sooner! Here is a piece of hide rope round his neck, which he has gnawed through in order to get free,"--holding up the tattered fragment of the old rope, one end of which hung down to Wolf's feet, while the other was tightly knotted about his throat, like a cravat, so as almost to choke him.

"That must have been the case," said Mr Rawlings. "But hullo! what is Jasper coming after us for?"

"That durned n.i.g.g.e.r," exclaimed Seth, "is allers shirking his work. I told him he warn't to come with us this mornin', and here he is toting arter us with some slick excuse or other. Hullo, you ugly cuss!" he added, hailing the darkey, who was running after the party and had now got close up, "what the d.i.c.kens do yer want here?"

"Me see fine dawg, lubly dawg, Ma.s.sa Seth, sailin' round de camp; and me foller um up, Ma.s.sa Seth. Um berry good dawg for huntin', sah, and me don't want to lose him; dat's all."

"Oh," said Seth, "that's all, is it? The dorg is here, right enough, with the gentleman theer, who's his master," pointing to Ernest Wilton and Wolf. "And now, you lazy lubber, as you have kinder satisfied yer mind, you can jist go back agin to that job I sot you on."

"Prey let him stop now," said Ernest, pleased with the interest which the negro steward had taken in Wolf's fate, "as he has come so far. If we kill anything, as I hope we shall presently, he'll be of use in helping to take the meat back to the camp."

"That's so," said Seth; and with this tacit consent to his remaining, Jasper joined the party, who now proceeded to look more carefully after game than they had previously done, the young engineer's allusions to "meat" having acted as a spur to their movements, besides, no doubt, whetting their appet.i.tes.

It was curious to observe, however, before they separated to hunt up a deer--of which there were but few traces about, when Wolf attached himself, like a proper sporting-dog, closely behind Ernest--how interested the animal seemed to be in Sailor Bill, who accompanied Seth, of course, on their leaving the camp. As soon as the dog had given, as he thought, ample testimony of his delight at rejoining his own master, he sniffed about the boy as if he also were well-known to him; and he was nearly equally glad to meet him again, only leaving him when Ernest Wilton gave him the signal to "come to heel."

It was singular; but no one paid much notice to it, excepting that Mr Rawlings regarded it as another instance of how dumb animals, like savages, have some sort of especial sympathy with those afflicted beings who have not the entire possession of their mental faculties, and seem actuated by instinct rather than reason, like themselves.

"Seems, mister, as if he war kinder acquainted with him?" said Seth.

"Yes," replied Ernest Wilton; "but that's impossible, as I've had Wolf ever since he was a puppy. My aunt gave him to me," he continued aside to Mr Rawlings in a confidential key, "and I ought to have been more thoughtful in writing to her, as you hauled me over the coals just now for not doing, if only in grat.i.tude for all the comfort that dog has been to me since I left home. I suppose I'm an ungrateful brute--more so than Wolf, eh, old fellow?"--patting the latter's head again as he looked up into his master's face with his wistful brown eyes, saying as plainly as he could in doggy language how much he would like to be able to speak, so that he could express his affectionate feelings more explicitly.

"No," said Mr Rawlings, "not ungrateful, I hope and believe, only unthinking, that's all."

"Ah!" replied the other, "'evil is wrought by want of thought,'" quoting the old distich. "But," he added, shaking off the momentary feeling of sadness produced by reflection, as if he were ashamed of it, "if we don't look 'smart,' as our friend Seth says, we won't get a shot all day; and then, woe betide the larder!"

STORY ONE, CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A CHANCE SHOT.

"Say, what precious fools we all air!" exclaimed Seth Allport all of a sudden, without any reference to anything they had been speaking about, when the hunting party stopped a moment to rest after a long and weary tramp over the seemingly-endless prairie, during which they had not caught sight of bird or beast worthy of a charge of powder and shot.

"What precious fools we all air!" he repeated with the air of a Solon, and shaking his head solemnly with portentous gravity.

"Please speak for yourself," said Ernest Wilton jokingly. "Why this wholesale condemnation of our unfortunate selves? For my part, I should have thought that we were more to be pitied than blamed for our want of success."