''Bring Me His Ears'' by Clarence E. Mulford (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

but with disastrous endings. One of the mules was an old mare, and her actions, even in the corral at Independence, told Hank all about her. He now took from a pack a bell and, riding up to the plodding, sedate pack animal, fastened it around her neck. Then he tied her to the rear of the second of Cooper's big wagons, until she should learn that this was to be her place under all conditions, and dropped back farther and farther while he watched the other seven. At the sound of the tinkling bell they had pricked up their long ears and rolled them forward; a certain important dignity came over each one and they went ahead with an air of satisfaction that was so apparent that it was ludicrous. Hank grinned and rode off to play rear guard all by himself, well knowing that his seven animals would follow the old bell-mare wherever she led, whether he was there or not. Later he rewarded her by changing her pack and substituting that of the dwindling food supply, which grew lighter after every camp. When he finally freed her from the wagon she moved up alongside the off-wheel mule, for whom she seemed to have an abiding affection, and from then on she would not stray from his side, nor her seven followers from her.

On this occasion when Tom returned and found his partner absent, he surmised that the trapper was off looking for an antelope to vary the monotony of their fare and to save their bacon and flour. Until the buffalo country was reached the caravan had to live on flour, bacon, and perhaps beans, of which each traveler had a limited supply. The chief reliance for food was the buffalo, and their range was still well ahead. Tom and Hank, however, not knowing what contingency awaited them on the Mexican end of the trail, had far exceeded the regular allowance per man, of fifty pounds of flour, same of bacon, dozen pounds of coffee, twenty-five pounds of sugar, and a goodly amount of salt. Topping one of the packs, and dwarfing the patient mule nearly hidden under the load, were two ten-gallon water casks, each with a few quarts sloshing around inside. At every stop these kegs were shifted a little so as to give each portion of them a soaking in turn. The powder, two twenty-five pound kegs covered with oiled cloth and over that with a heavy, greased bull-buffalo leather, were in the same packs with the bar lead and a reserve supply of caps and patches. The bullet molds, nipple wrenches, and other small necessaries were carried in their "possible" sacks, each being a beautifully beaded and quilled bag obtained in their trade with the Indians. Along with the ammunition each had packed a buffalo-hide bag, fitted with shoulder, breast, and head lines; and should it become necessary for them to disappear, without a mule, they were equipped to remain in the mountains and hills for a long time. Later on they would pack the big bags and keep them ready for instant use.

Tom found not only that his partner had gone, but that the city sports, tiring of aimless riding ahead, had fallen back to the train and were now riding leg to leg on both sides of Joe Cooper's small wagon, vying with each other in their endeavors to be entertaining to Patience. They were laughing uproariously when the plainsman appeared and one of them, Dr. Whiting, acknowledged his introduction to Tom with an ironical grin. Here, he thought, was a mountain yokel all ripe to play target for his shafts of satire. He would shine out resplendently against this ignorant plainsman and have a lot of fun in the bargain.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, his mouth open in pretended admiration. "Regular Daniel Boone! I suppose you know how to bark squirrels; and barking buffaloes must be an old trick with you by this time."

Tom regarded him thoughtfully. He did not mind the words, but the tone in which they were spoken was distinctly offensive. He smiled pleasantly. "Thar ain't no squirrels ter bark on th' prairies; but thar air some barkin' prairie dogs, though they mostly chatter 'stead o' bark. They set up an' make a lot o' noise, but don't amount to nothin'. Th' funny part o' it is, th' dumber they air th' more they chatter. As fer bein' Dan'l Boone, tenderfeet mostly find it a boon ter have a Dan'l handy afore this air trail is left." He gravely acknowledged the introduction to the others and looked at Patience again, and from her back to the saddled horse tied to the rear of the wagon. "Feel like a little ride, Miss Cooper" he asked. "Must be tirin' settin' up thar mile arter mile listenin' to th' chatterin'."

She nodded, holding back her laughter, and Tom led up the horse.

"But, Miss Cooper!" expostulated the doctor. "What are we going to do without you? We are desolate! Might I offer you a noble escort, six trusty, knightly blades to flash in your defense?"

She smiled sweetly but shook her head. "When we reach the Indian country I will be very glad to accept such an escort; but out here I would not think of imposing on your generosity. This seems to be Mr. Boyd's expedition; perhaps he may invite you."

Tom shook his head sadly. "Reckon I'll have all I kin do to look arter Miss Cooper in case we meets airy Injuns, without botherin' with six flashes. See you-all later, mebby."

They drew rein and waited for the crawling column to pass them, smiling and nodding in reply to the cheerful salutations of the wagoners and traders. Pedro, the slender Mexican, who took such a deep interest in the doings of Tom Boyd, removed his wide hat and bowed, in true cavalier fashion, showing his gleaming teeth in a pearly smile. The interest the plainsman was showing in his pretty companion was an assurance that Tom Boyd would need no further persuasion to enter the Mexican settlements. Franklin, the leader of the third division, temporarily the second section of Tom's column, allowed himself the luxury of a sullen smile. He knew his part in the scheme of Pedro and Schoolcraft perfectly and had no thought of deviating from it, but he could not help admiring the upstanding plainsman, who was a man after his own heart. They were bound together by a common interest, the safety of the caravan, and until they were met by the escort of Mexican cavalry, somewhere near Rock Creek or the Canadian River, Franklin gave little heed to personal grudges. All he was supposed to do was to see that the plainsman did not leave the caravan for good before the escort met it.

The two four-pounders trundled along their rumbling way, only one man to each gun, the rest of their crews off with the advance guard. Tom glanced at the all but deserted weapons and frowned. Franklin, noticing it, frowned in reply. It was not because full cannon crews were needed on this part of the trail, but because both men knew that it would be the same all the way.

After the last wagon had passed, Tom and his companion rode forth and turned when half a mile from the column, riding ahead on a course parallel with it. The prairie was studded with the earlier flowers of spring, in some places a rich carpet of delicate colors. Suddenly Tom pointed to a gray object nearly covered with earth, dried grass of the year before, and the fresh greenery of this season's slender blades pushing up through it.

"Buffalo skull," he explained. "Let's look at it; it may tell us something interesting."

They rode close to it and the plainsman nodded in quick understanding.

"That bull was killed by an Indian," he said. "Notice that it faces the west? They place them that way to propitiate their gods. A skull hardly lasts more than three years on the prairie, which means that this animal was killed about that long ago. It is more than likely that he was an old, renegade bull, wandering far from the herd to die alone. The significant fact is, however, that not more than three years ago he grazed here and was here killed by an Indian; coupled to that is another significant fact, about one hundred thousand buffalo skins are taken to the settlements every year. Remembering both those facts and adding another, that it will be some days before we see even such a bull on the very outskirts of the buffalo range, what does it mean? And here is a fact I nearly overlooked; those hundred thousand skins taken each year are from cow buffalo." He shook his head sadly. "The day of the buffalo, countless as their numbers still are, is fast setting. Their range is shrinking hour by hour, almost; and a comparatively few years more will see them gone. Wait till you witness the brainless slaughter when the herds are met with. Ah, well, we are a prodigal race, Miss Cooper, spending our natural heritage with almost a drunken recklessness. If it were drunken there might be found some excuse for us; but we are doing it in our sober senses. Excuse me, when I get to thinking along those lines I'm afraid I get a little fanatical. There's something more interesting," he said, pointing to the north. "See it?"

After a moment's intense scrutiny she shook her head, and looked up at him inquiringly.

"I forget that you haven't a plainsman's eyes," he laughed, "accustomed to focussing for long distances. Why, over there, well beyond that series of flat-topped prairie swells, is a red handkerchief waving lazily in the air. It is fastened to a ramrod, and I'm willing to bet that it belongs to Hank Marshall. He has been grumbling about a steady diet of bacon. Now that we are getting into antelope country, his disappearance from his trained mules is easily explained. I can promise you and Uncle Joe antelope meat tonight. He never would have planted that flag if he hadn't seen his victim; and while we are a long way off, let's ride on so he won't be able to blame us if he fails to get his shot."

Patience was laughing heartily, and hurriedly explained the cause of her mirth.

"I saw him tie the bell to that old mule's neck. The sudden pride she showed, the quick alertness of the other seven, and the satisfaction shared equally by the mules and your partner was one of the most ludicrous sights I've ever seen. When Uncle Joe, who was in his best vein, explained the whole affair, I laughed until I cried. Is it true that the seven worshipers won't leave her?"

Tom, laughing in sympathy with her mirth, nodded. "Picket her, with her bell on, and we can let the others graze without hobbles or ropes. They won't leave her. Don't ask me why, for if you do I can only answer by saying that they have been trained that way; why it is possible for them to be trained in such a way, and so easily, is beyond me. When we left Independence Hank and I caught many a scornful glance directed at our atejo, for I must confess that it was made up of eight scarecrows; but handsome is as handsome does, and now our pack train troubles are confined solely to packing and unpacking the animals. We don't even have to remember what pack or aparejo belongs to each mule; they know their own unerringly, and will shower kicks on any careless or stupid companion who blunders up to the wrong pack. Perhaps you've heard that mules are stupid; that's something that you can discount heavily. They