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saw a few buffalo in a grassy bottom, but on sighting us they had taken off,
and we didn't give chase.
Cotton killed three wild turkeys on the third day out, so we had a change
from the usual grub. That night it was windy and chilly, and there were
coyotes around. Jim was restless, and a little short of sundown he mounted up
and rode out. Hacker watched him go.
"There's a good Indian," he said. "You knownhim long?"
"Long enough," I answered. "He'll do to ride the river with."
Jim came back in time to take first guard, and I stood part of it with him,
for I was some restless myself. We'd been lucky so far, but I had no faith in
that, never being one to depend on luck. I knew Jim felt the same way, and
maybe the others did. Tom Hacker and Cotton had their watch, and then it was
Corbin's and my turn.
But when the night showed itself to be quiet, I had sent Corbin in to get
some sleep. I had a feeling we were going to need all the rest we could get. I
stood watch alone for the last two hours. When the stars were fading I came
into camp to stir the fire into life and put on the coffeepot.
The truth of the matter was that I liked being alone out there in the early
morning. I liked seeing the night pale and the stars wink out one by one, like
candles snuffed by a quiet wind. I liked seeing the pink color the east and
the dark trees begin to take on shape. At times like this I felt the way the
Indians must have felt, for this was a country to be alone in a broad,
beautiful land with the grass bending to the faint stirring of wind, and the
steers rising from the ground, humping their backs to stretch out the
stiffness of night, looking around and beginning to crop grass a little.
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I liked the sound of the grass being cropped, and thought this was a fine
land to rear children in, to see a man's sons grow tall, breathing deep of the
fresh air, drinking cold stream water, and smelling bacon frying.
Out there, I heard a stirring in the brush, and the cattle looked up, ears
pricked, wary against danger. I spoke to them softly, walking my horse through
them toward the sound, and then the brush parted and up from the stream came a
huge old buffalo bull, his great head shaggy and wild. He stood for a minute,
trying the wind and looking at us, but I held the buckskin still, not wanting
to spook the old fellow, who looked to have had trouble enough in his time.
After a moment he walked on, his big head swaying to his step, and then from
the brush came a cow and a yearling, and they followed him across the clearing
and out of the valley.
"Go ahead, old fellow," I said. "We could use the meat, but you belong to
this place more than I do, so go along, and the best of luck to you."
They walked solemnly ahead, seeming to guess that I held no designs against
them.
The cattle were up and day had come while I watched. A bird was twittering in
the bushes nearby, and I saw the bright crimson of a cardinal as it flitted
off.
Swinging my horse, I had started toward camp when I glanced once more toward
the buffalo. They were up on the low hill that bordered the basin where we had
camped and bedded the herd, and they had stopped there, heads up, peering off
toward the west. As I looked, they suddenly tossed their heads and turned,
trotting off toward the east.
My rifle slid into my hand and I walked the buckskin toward the place where
the buffalo had been. There I slid from the saddle, trailing the bridle reins.
My boots made hardly a sound in the grass, only the faintest of whispers. At
the crest of the hill I flattened out, and eased my head up beside a clump of
butterfly bush.
I saw a man out there, staggering roughly in my direction. As I looked, he
fell, lay still a moment, and then heavedhimself up and came on. His shirt was
bloody and he looked about gone; there was a familiar way about him that made
me come to my feet. Then he fell again, and a rider came over the hill.
The rider had not seen me. He came on down with his rifle ready, and it was
plain to see that he meant to kill the wounded man. I started toward them,
walking carefully. The wounded man was closer to me than to the other man.
When the killer was about thirty yards off, the wounded man tried to rise up.
"Leave me be!" he shouted hoarsely. "Leave me be, damn you!"
The rider drew up and lifted his rifle. "You're the last of them, old man, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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