Read Ebook: Jack the Young Ranchman: A Boy's Adventures in the Rockies by Grinnell George Bird Deming Edwin Willard Illustrator

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Ebook has 2366 lines and 163052 words, and 48 pages

Suddenly as the train rushed around a low knoll, a dozen animals were seen, running swiftly along, parallel with the track, and less than three hundred feet distant. In colour they were bright yellow, almost red, with white patches and white legs, and two or three of them had black and nearly straight horns. They were graceful, and ran very swiftly, easily keeping pace with the train.

"Oh, Uncle Will," said Jack, grasping his uncle's arm, "what are those? They're not deer, I am sure. They must be antelope. How pretty they are, and see how fast they run! Why, they are going faster than the train, I do believe. They just seem to skim over the ground."

"Yes, those are antelope, the swiftest animal on the plains. And yet the coyotes catch a good many of them, just by running them down. Now, how do you suppose they do that, Jack?" and his uncle smiled at the boy's puzzled expression.

"I don't know. You said they were the swiftest animals on the plains, and yet you say that the coyotes catch them. That seems to mean that the coyotes are swifter. Doesn't it?" asked Jack.

"Not exactly," replied his uncle; "it only means that they are smarter--more cunning. A single coyote who undertook to run down a single antelope, would get very tired and very hungry before he accomplished it, but when two or three coyotes are together, it is quite a different thing. The coyotes do not all run after the antelope together. They take turns, and while one runs, the others rest, so at last they tire the antelope out."

"But I should think that when the antelope ran, it would leave all the wolves behind, those that were resting even more than the one that was chasing it."

"It would do so if it ran straight away and out of the country, but this it does not do. Instead, it runs in large circles. When three or four prairie wolves decide that they want antelope meat for breakfast, one of them creeps as close as possible to the animal they have selected, and then makes a rush for it, running as fast as he possibly can, so as to push the antelope to its best speed and to tire it out. Meantime his companions spread out on either side of the runner, and get on little hills or knolls, so as to keep the chase in sight. They trot from point to point, and pretty soon when the antelope turns and begins to work back towards one of them, this one tries to get as nearly as possible in its path, and as it flies by, the wolf dashes out at it and runs after it at the top of its speed, while the one that had been chasing the antelope stops running, and trots off to some near-by hill, where, while the water drips off his lolling tongue, he watches the race and gets his breath again. After a little the antelope passes near another coyote, which takes up the pursuit in its turn. And so the chase is kept up until the poor antelope is exhausted, when it is overtaken and pulled down by one or more of the hungry brutes."

"Why, I should think the coyotes would kill all the antelope after awhile," said Jack.

"Of course the coyotes do not catch every antelope they start," said his uncle. "Sometimes the game runs such a course that it does not pass near any of the waiting wolves, and only the one that starts it has any running to do. Then the chase does not last long; the wolves give up. Sometimes the antelope is so stout and strong that it tires out all its pursuers. Yet they catch them more frequently than one would think, and it is not at all uncommon to see coyotes chasing antelope, although, of course one does not often see the whole race and its termination. Often if a wolf running an antelope comes near to a man, he gives up the chase and that particular antelope is saved. It is a common thing for a single coyote to chase an old doe with her kids, just after the little ones have begun to run about. At that time they are very swift for short distances, but have not the strength to stand a long chase. In such a case a mother will often stay behind her young, and will try to fight off the coyote, butting him with her head and striking him with her forefeet. He pays little attention to her, except to snap at her, and keeps on after the kids. Several times I have seen a mother antelope lead her young one into the midst of a bed of cactus, where the wolf could not go without getting his feet full of thorns. If the bed is small, the wolf will make fierce dashes up to its borders, trying to frighten the little ones, so that they will run out on the other side and he can start after them again, but usually the mother has no trouble in holding them. I have several times killed young antelope whose legs had been bitten up by coyotes, but which had got away. One hot day last summer a gang of section-men were working in a railroad cut west of here, when suddenly a big buck antelope ran down one side of the cut, across the track and up the other side. His sudden dash into the midst of them startled the men, and as they stood looking up where he had crossed, a coyote suddenly plunged down the side of the cut, just as the antelope had done. The readiest of the section men threw a hammer at him, and the wolf turned and scrambled up the bank and was not seen again.

"I wonder what the men thought?" said Jack.

"Two or three years ago I camped one afternoon near Rock Creek, and as there was very little feed, we turned the horses loose at night to pick among the sage-brush and grease wood. Early in the morning, before sunrise, while the man with me was getting breakfast, I started out to get the horses. They were nowhere to be seen, and I climbed to the top of the hill back of camp, from which, as it was the only high place anywhere about, I felt sure that I could see them. Just before I got to the top of the hill an old doe antelope suddenly came in view, closely followed by a coyote. Both of them seemed to be running as hard as they could, and both had their tongues hanging out as if they had come a long way. Suddenly, almost at the heels of the antelope--much closer to her than the other wolf--appeared a second coyote which now took up the running, while the one that had been chasing her stopped and sat down and watched. The antelope ran quite a long distance, always bearing a little to the left, and now seeming to run more slowly than when I first saw her. As she kept turning, it was evident that she would either run around the hill on which I stood, or would come back near it. At first I was so interested in watching her that I forgot to look at the wolf that had stopped. When I did so, he was no longer in the same place, but was trotting over a little ridge that ran down from the hill and was watching the chase that was now so far off. He could easily have cut across and headed the antelope, but he knew too well what she would do to give himself that trouble. After a little, it was evident that the antelope would come back pretty near to the hill, but on the other side of it from where she had passed before, and the wolf which I had first seen chasing her, trotted out two or three hundred yards on the prairie and sat down. The antelope was now coming back almost directly towards him, and I could see that there were two wolves behind her, one close at her heels and the other a good way further back. The first wolf now seemed quite excited. He no longer sat up, but crouched close to the ground, every few moments raising his head very slowly to take a look at the doe, and then lowering it again so that he would be out of sight. Sometimes he crawled on his belly a few feet further from me, evidently trying to put himself directly in the path of the antelope; and this he seemed to have succeeded in doing. As she drew near him I could see that she was staggering, she was so tired, and the wolf behind could at any moment have knocked her down, if he had wanted to, but he seemed to be waiting for something. The wolf that was following him was now running faster and catching up.

"When the antelope reached the place where the first wolf was lying hidden, he sprang up and in a jump or two caught her neck and threw her down. At the same moment, the two wolves from behind came up, and for a moment there was a scuffle in which yellow and white and grey and waving tails were all mixed up, and then the three wolves were seen standing there, tearing away at their breakfast.

"Great Scott! that must have been exciting," said Jack.

"It was," said his uncle; "I had been so interested in watching this thing, which after all had not taken more than ten or fifteen minutes of time, that I had forgotten all about the horses. It only needed a moment's looking to see them, a short distance down the stream, and before I had got to them and brought them back to camp, I heard Bill's voice singing out breakfast."

"I always thought," said Jack, "that the antelope could run so fast that they could get away from all their enemies except hunters that carried rifles. Is there any other wild animal besides the coyote that catches them?"

"Yes, the golden eagles often kill them when they are quite young, though if any old ones are near they will fight the birds and keep them from catching the kids. Once in winter I saw an eagle attack two kids that were feeding at a little distance from a big bunch of perhaps a thousand antelope. At this time the young ones were seven or eight months old, and so quite large and strong. The eagle had been sitting somewhere on the hillside and flew down over the kids to pounce on one of them. They immediately began to run to the herd, and when the eagle made a dart at them, they both stopped, reared on their hind legs, a good deal in the position of the unicorn that we sometimes see fighting for the crown, and struck at the bird with their forefeet. Perhaps the eagle was not very hungry, but at all events this turned him and the kids ran on. He made two more swoops at them before they reached the herd, but each time they fought him off in the same way by rearing up and striking at him. Of course when they got in among the other antelope the eagles left them and flew away.

"You know that in old times, before they had horses or fire-arms, the Indians used to catch antelope in traps."

"No, I didn't know that," said Jack, "how did they do it? I should think it would have needed a pretty big trap to hold an antelope."

"It was something on the same plan as the way in which they trapped the buffalo; they built two long straight fences which almost came together at one end and were far apart at the other. At the end of the fences where they almost came together, the Indians either built a corral or dug a deep pit which they roofed over by slender poles on which they put grass and dirt. Now you have heard that the antelope is very curious. If he sees anything that he does not understand or can't quite make out he is likely to go up closer to it, so as to see what this object really is. The Indians took advantage of this weakness of the antelope and by means of it decoyed bunches of them into the space between the widely separated ends of these two fences. Other Indians were hidden behind the fence, and as soon as the herd got started down between these wings the Indians near the end of the fence ran out and got behind the antelope, which were then forced to run down towards the pit or the corral. If it was a pit, they broke through the roof in running over it, or they ran into the corral where they were killed by the Indians, who were hidden near-by.

"Down in Utah and Colorado, south-west of here, I have seen in several places the remains of these fences and corrals. I do not know that the Indians hereabouts ever caught the antelope in pits, but men who have lived up north with the Blackfeet and Cheyennes, tell me that up there they used the pits instead of the corrals.

"So you see, my boy, the antelope has his troubles like other people. It isn't all cake and pie for him, even though he can run fast and lives out on the prairie where he can see a long distance."

"That's so, Uncle Will," said Jack, "I never thought of all these things."

While the two had been talking they had forgotten about the antelope, and these had now been long left behind. Now the train with a long groaning whistle plunged into the darkness of a snow shed, and a few moments later ran out past the border of a large lake, the surface of which was covered with ducks and geese which rose from the water until the air was fairly dark with their numbers. The whistle of the duck's wings and the clamour of the honking geese could be heard, even though the car windows were shut, and the passengers all gathered at the windows to look at the great flocks of birds.

When they had passed out of sight of the lake his uncle said to Jack: "That is the Medicine Lake, and the next stop is our station. Better ring the bell for the porter, so that he can have all our things together ready to put off."

"Well, Thomas," he said to the smiling coloured man who came up, brush in hand, "we are going to leave you now. Please get all our things ready to throw off. You know the train does not stop long."

"All right sir, all right," said Thomas, "I'll see that nothing is left. Hope you will have a good drive out, Mr. Sturgis. Nice day you've got. Don't always have such nice weather, this time of the year." And he brushed furiously.

THE ROAD TO THE RANCH

The little cluster of buildings which the travellers saw when they stepped from the cars to the station platform was smaller than any village that Jack had ever been in. There were the station, the section house and the great round water tank, all painted red, and on the other side of the track a row of five one-story houses, four of unpainted logs, and one of boards, with large glass windows, evidently a store. Standing on the platform were a man holding a mail sack, two men wearing broad-brimmed hats, enormous fringed leather trousers, and small high heeled boots with great spurs. Not far from the platform stood a heavy spring-waggon, to which were hitched two good-sized chestnut horses, very nervous, or else half broken, for they were rearing and plunging and shying away from the train, yet were perfectly controlled by their driver, a large stoop-shouldered, white-bearded man. As the train drew out of the station, this team made a wide circle and then drove up to the platform, and as it reached it, the driver called out cheerily: "How are you Mr. Sturgis? how are you, sir. Glad to see you;" and he reached out and caught Mr. Sturgis' hand in a cordial grasp. "This your nephew? How are you, my son? I'm glad you've come out into this country to visit with us. We'll try to make a cowman of you before you go back."

"How are you, Hugh?" said Mr. Sturgis. "I am glad to see you, and glad to get back again. I have had enough of the town for a little while. Yes, this is my nephew, Jack Danvers. I want you to know him and like him, for I hope that you two will see a good deal of each other before snow flies. Jack has never been away from home before. He has everything to learn about life in the mountains, and there is no one who can teach him so well as you."

"Well, well," said Hugh, "I don't know as I'm much of a hand to break in a cowboy. I took to it too late. But let's get your things loaded. If you'll take these lines I'll pack the waggon."

In a very few moments the small trunks, bundles, gun-cases and bags were stored in the deep box of the waggon, and Hugh, stepping in again, took the lines and they drove off north over the rolling prairie.

The horses, which started with a rush, for a little time occupied all his attention. Old tin cans lying near the roads, and bits of paper quivering in the wind, caused them to shy, and often they tried to bolt, but the firm hand on the reins, and the low soothing voice soon quieted them, and before long they were jogging steadily and swiftly over the prairie road.

"They'll be a good team, Hugh, after a little driving," said Mr. Sturgis.

"That's what;" replied Hugh. "They're good now, only they're a little mite skeery yet, but they'll soon get over that. I don't know as I ever saw a team that promised better. They're right quiet, too, when you get 'em going." Just as he said this, a great bird rose with a roar of wings, almost under the horses' feet, and the right quiet animals, turning at right angles, bolted over the prairie, the waggon bumping and bouncing over the sage-brush in a way that made the two men hold on for dear life, while Jack, who was sitting between them, clung to the back of the seat, somewhat uneasy lest he should be thrown over the dashboard. Gradually Hugh checked the horses' speed and turned them back to the road, and when they were again quiet, he looked down at Jack and said to him, with a twinkle of fun in his eye: "I expect this prairie isn't as smooth as some of your park roads back in the States, my son."

"My, no! It bumped, didn't it? and I don't think your horses are so very quiet yet, Mr. Hugh. But what was that big bird that made such a noise when it flew up? Was it a partridge? I've heard about the noise they make getting up, but I didn't suppose they were as big as that."

"That was a sage hen, my son. You'll see lots of them before night. It's getting along towards nesting time for them, and maybe we'll find some nests, and maybe get some young ones this spring. I've raised a brood or two, but they always went off after they got big. Along in the fall, say in October, just before it gets cold weather, they get together in big droves, hundreds and hundreds together, and stay like that all winter. They're big, but they ain't much account. They taste too strong of the sage. The young ones about half grown are good eating, though not near so good as the blue grouse or the pheasant. Now, you take young blue grouse, just when they are feeding on the little red huckleberries that grow on the mountains, and, I tell you, they are tender and as nice tasting as any bird there is. There's as much difference between them and these sage hens as there is between a nice fat yearling mountain sheep in October and an old buck antelope at the same time of the year."

As they went on, Mr. Sturgis and Hugh began to speak of matters on the ranch, of cows and calves and horses and colts and brands, and of places and people Jack had never heard of, so that he paid no heed to their talk, but occupied himself in watching the prairie over which they were driving, and the wild creatures which lived on it. There were many of these, chiefly birds, and these of kinds new to him, familiar only with the commoner birds of the sea-coast. Most of them were small and dull-coloured, but not all; for, flying up from the road, yet often standing close to it while the waggon passed, were little birds with bright yellow throats and black chins, and which seemed to have little black horns on either side of the head. There were great flocks of these, and Jack determined to remember and ask his uncle what they were. At one time a great, long-eared animal sprang from under a bush by the side of the road and half hopped, half ran off over the prairie. It was mostly white, and had long ears, and Jack thought it must be a rabbit of some kind. When it sprang into view, the horses gave a great bound and tried to run, and not until they had again been brought down to a trot was he able to ask what it was, and to learn that it was a jack-rabbit.

"Oh, I don't know, Uncle Will; how far are they?"

"They are about twenty miles distant, and we have to go ten miles beyond them. Do you see that low place in the line of the horizon, just to the right of the horses' heads? Well, we go through that. There is a narrow valley there, and we go up that, and then over the hill and down into the basin, where the ranch is."

"What makes those mountains look so grey, Uncle Will? They shine almost like silver. In some places the mountain looks black, but it's mostly grey."

"The black is the dark green of the growing pine timber, and the grey is where the timber has been burned, and is dead. For the first year or two after the fire has passed over the forest and killed them, the trees are black or keep their bark. Then the wind and rain and snow beating on the soft coating of charcoal, wear off the charred surface and the bark, and the wood becomes grey from the weather, just the colour of an old fence rail. The trees continue to stand for a good many years, and give this grey colour to the mountain side. Gradually the roots rot, and one by one the trees fall to the ground. Often they lie across each other, six or eight feet high, and this is the "down timber" which it is so hard to travel through. Sometimes it is even dangerous to pass through a piece of this dead timber. If it has been dead a long time, so that the roots of many of the trees have become rotten and weakened, the trees are easily thrown down by a high wind. I have seen a tall, thick tree pushed over by a mule knocking its pack against it, and in a gale of wind have seen the trees falling all around me. Of course, if one of them fell on a horse it would kill him."

"Tide rose and fell, Uncle Will! How could that be? Where did the tide come from? I didn't think that the ocean was within a thousand miles of here;" said Jack.

"That is true to-day, Jack," said his uncle; "but the time I am talking about was long, long ago, in what the men who study the earth's history call Jurassic time. No one knows how many years ago it was, but it is safe to say it was millions. In those times the salt ocean, or an arm of it, lay just east of the Rocky Mountains and the water in this bay where we are now was partly fresh and partly salt. Great forests grew here, and strange animals lived among them and fed along the shores of this bay. If we had time to get out and look for them, we could find beaches, where the sand was washed up by the waves, and shells, and the bones of these great animals. A big book could be written about these bad lands here, just as big books have been written about other bad lands."

"They're surely queer places," said Hugh. "I've seen it down in Kansas, and down on Henry's fork of Green River, and up in Oregon, where the ground was stuck full of bones and teeth. Some of the leg-bones was nigh as thick as my body, and some of the big heads had long teeth as long as my hand. They must have been big animals, and mighty dangerous too, I reckon."

"What makes the dirt all those different colours, Uncle Will," asked Jack; "In some places it's white, in others yellow or brown or black, and in some, bright red, like bricks."

"That red colour," said Mr. Sturgis, "is where the earth has been burnt. All through the soil here there are seams or veins of a crumbly brown substance, which is called lignite. It is a sort of coal about half made, and like coal it will burn. Sometimes a seam of this lignite catches fire from some cause or other, and may burn for years, baking the earth close to it. The heat turns it red, just as bricks which have been burned turn red."

A GRIZZLY KILLED

Jack was just dropping off to sleep when he heard, very faintly, Hugh's voice, saying, "Got your gun handy, Mr. Sturgis, and some cartridges? Get it out quick then, there's a bear coming down from that bluff, and he's liable to cross the road a half mile beyond here; I'll run the horses and we may get there as soon as he does; he can't hear nor smell us in this wind." The last part of this sentence sounded very loud to Jack, for the word, bear, had thoroughly waked him up. When he opened his eyes, he seemed to have the seat all to himself. His Uncle Will's head was down between his knees, and he was feeling under the waggon-seat, while Hugh was half standing up and putting the whip on the horses. They did not need much urging to make them run, and in a minute the waggon was bounding along the road, jumping and swaying so that Jack held on to the back of the seat as hard as he could. His uncle had found his rifle, and was hurriedly fumbling with the straps of the case, and at the same time muttering questions to Hugh, asking where the bear was likely to cross.

In a moment more the rifle was pulled from its case, a cartridge slipped into the breech, and then the waggon topped a little rise of ground, and there before them, just crossing the road, was a big brown animal that looked something like a big dog without any tail. As they saw it, the horses tried to shy out to one side, but Hugh was ready for them and held them firmly. Mr. Sturgis rose to his feet and raised his gun to his shoulder, but Hugh said, "Hold on, hold on; wait till we get to where he crosses and then jump out. You will catch him as he rises the hill." Meantime the bear had crossed the road and disappeared in a ravine, and in a moment more Hugh drew up the horses, so that they almost reared, checked the waggon, Mr. Sturgis jumped out, and at that moment the bear was seen only fifty yards off, swiftly galloping up the hill. There was a shot, and then another, and the bear turned over and rolled down the hill out of sight. The horses danced, plunged, reared, and then ran some little distance before Hugh could stop them. But Jack looking back saw his uncle wave his hand and call out a cheery "All right!"

In a moment the horses stopped, and Jack jumped out and ran toward his uncle, not heeding Hugh's call to him to wait. Before he had reached Mr. Sturgis, however, the waggon had passed him, and when he got to the spot his uncle and Hugh were unhitching the horses, and in a moment had tied them to the hind wheels of the waggon.

"Where's the bear, Uncle Will," said Jack, "where did he go to?"

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