The Prong-Horns.
The “butte” was one of those singular formations to be met with in the Great American Desert. It was not a mountain nor yet a hill. Its shape was different from either. It was more like a vast mass of rocky earth, raised above the prairie, perpendicular on all sides, and having a flat level surface upon its top. It was, in fact, one of those hills which in the language of Spanish America, are termed “mesas,” or tables—so called on account of their flat, table-like tops. They are generally argillaceous, and are common upon the Upper Missouri river, and throughout the vast desert regions that lie west of the Del Norte. Sometimes several of them stand near each other upon the plains, looking as though their tops had once been the level of the ancient surface, and the ground between had been worn away by disintegration—from rain and other causes—leaving them thus standing. To the eye of one accustomed to looking only upon rounded hills, or mountains with sharp peaks, these elevated “mesas” appear very singular, and form an interesting study for the geologist.
The top of the one beside which our adventurers halted, had a superficial area of some twenty or thirty acres; and its perpendicular sides rose nearly two hundred feet above the surrounding prairie. A thin growth of pine-trees covered it; while stunted pinons and cedars hung out from its cliffs. There were agaves, and yucca palms, and cacti, growing along its edges, giving it a very picturesque appearance.
Our travellers, after halting, and having satisfied their thirst, of course thought of nothing but remaining there to recruit both themselves and their animals. They saw around them the three requisites of a camp—water, wood, and grass. They commenced by cutting down some pinon-trees that grew by the foot of the cliff. With these a bright fire was soon made. They had still enough bear’s meat left to last them for several days. What more wanted they? But they discovered that even in this arid region Nature had planted trees and vegetables to sustain life. The pinons afforded their farinaceous cones, the agave yielded its esculent roots, and the prairie-turnip grew upon the borders of the runlet. They saw a small plant with white lily-like flowers. It was the “sego” of the Indians (Calochortus luteus), and they knew that at its roots grew tubers, as large as filberts, and delicious eating when cooked. Lucien recognised all these edible productions; and promised his brothers a luxurious dinner on the morrow. For that night, all three were too much fatigued and sleepy to be nice about their appetites. The juicy bear’s meat, to travellers, thirsty and hungry as they, needed no seasoning to make it palatable. So they washed themselves clear of the dust, ate their frugal meal, and stretched themselves out for a long night’s rest.
And a capital night’s rest they enjoyed—without having been disturbed by anything. One would have supposed that, after so much hardship, they would have got up somewhat wearied. Strange to say, it was not so, for they arose quite refreshed. This Lucien attributed to the bracing influence of the light dry atmosphere; and Lucien was right, for, although an arid soil surrounded them, its climate is one of the healthiest in the world. Many a consumptive person, who has crossed the prairies with flushed cheek, uttering his hectic cough, has returned to his friends to bear joyful testimony to what I now state.
All three felt as brisk as bees, and immediately set about preparing breakfast. They gathered a capful of the pinon cones—the seeds of which Lucien knew how to prepare by parching and pounding. These, with the bear’s meat, gave them a good hunter’s breakfast. They then thought of their dinner, and dug up a quantity of “segos” and prairie-turnips. They found also a mallow—the Malva involucrata—whose long tapering root resembles the parsnip both in taste and appearance. All these were baked with the bear’s meat—so that the dinner, in some respects, resembled ham, turnips, parsnips, and yams—for the root of the sego thus dressed, is not unlike the yam, or sweet potato (Convolvulus batatas).
Of course, our adventurers did not eat their dinner immediately after breakfast. A long interval passed between the two meals, which they employed in washing, scouring, and setting all their tackle to rights—for this had got sadly out of order in the hurry of the previous days. While thus engaged, they occasionally cast their eyes over the prairie, but nothing of the buffalo could be seen. Indeed, they did not look for them very earnestly, as they had made up their minds to stay a day or two where they were—until their animals should be well rested, and ready for rough work again. The latter enjoyed themselves quite as much as their masters. There was plenty of the “grama” grass growing along the banks of the rivulet, and that with the water was all they cared for to make them contented and happy. Jeanette appeared to be glad that she was no longer among the dark woods, where she had so nearly been torn to pieces by panthers and javalies.
Before evening came the boys had finished all the little jobs which had occupied them. Their saddles, bridles, and lassos, were put in thorough repair, and placed upon the dry rocks. Their guns were wiped out, and thoroughly cleaned—lock, stock, and barrel. The horses, too, had been washed by the spring; and Jeanette’s shanks had received a fresh “rub” with bear’s grease, so that if ever that celebrated article brought out hair upon anything, it was likely to do so for her.
I say, all their little matters having been thus attended to, the young hunters were sitting upon three large stones near the spring, talking over their past adventures and their future prospects. Of course, the buffalo was the principal theme, as that was the object of their expedition. They did not fail to think of their good old father; and they congratulated themselves upon the pleasure he would have in listening to the story of their adventures when they should get back to tell it. Hugot, too, came in for a share of their thoughts; and François laughed over the remembrance of the tricks he had from time to time played upon the little corporal.
While thus enjoying themselves, the eyes of all were attracted to some distant objects upon the prairie.
“Ho!” exclaimed François, “what a string of wolves!”
Wolves were no unusual sight, and even at that moment several were sitting upon the prairie, not more than two hundred yards from the camp. They were those that had followed the party on their march, having kept along with it for days.
“The animals we see, yonder, are not wolves,” joyfully added Basil. “They are better than that, I fancy—they are deer!”
“No, brother,” rejoined Lucien, “they are antelopes.”
This announcement caused both Basil and François to spring to their guns. Basil was particularly anxious to bring down an antelope, for he had never killed one. In fact, he had never seen one, as this animal is not met with near the Mississippi. Strange to say, its favourite range is the arid deserts that lie near the foots of the Rocky Mountains, where there is but little grass, and less water. In some of these it is the only ruminating animal, of any considerable size, to be met with. It is often found so far from water, that some naturalists have asserted it can live without this necessary element. They forget that what to them appears far from water, is to the antelope but a run of a few minutes, or rather I should say, a flight—for its bounding speed resembles more the flight of a bird than the gallop of a four-footed creature.
Antelopes differ but little from deer. The latter want the gall-bladder, which all antelopes have. Another distinction is found in the horns. The deer’s horns are composed of a solid bony substance, which differs from true horn. The horns of the antelope are more like those of a goat. These are the principal distinctions. In most other respects deer and antelopes are alike. Naturalists say there is but one species of antelope in North America—the prong-horned (Antilope Americana). When the fauna of Mexico has been carefully examined, I think another will be found.
It is only upon the great prairies of the far west that the prong-horned antelope is met with; and there it is a most shy and timid creature, allowing the hunter only to approach it by cunning and stratagem. A herd is sometimes hunted by the Indians into a “pound,” or “surrounded;” but even then their fleetness often enables them to escape; and so laborious an undertaking is it to capture them thus, that the plan is but seldom adopted, where any other game can be obtained. The easiest mode of taking the antelope is when it is found attempting to cross a river—as its slender limbs and small delicate hoofs render it but a poor swimmer. The Indians sometimes destroy whole herds while thus endeavouring to swim across the great streams of the prairies.
Although so shy, the antelope is as inquisitive as m............