Buffalo Roost Part 18

"Do you mean those saucy little fellows with the white b.r.e.a.s.t.s that come with the first snows?"

"Those are the fellows," replied Ham, "and of course you need a lot of them. But, then, they are so easy to catch if you just get into a flock of them."

"How do you get them?" inquired Fat, who was always interested in anything new, so long as it had possibilities of something to eat in it.

"Well, it's a good deal of hard work and some inconvenience until you get started. But, O my! the eats the next day! Little fat fellows all stewed down until they're tender."

"Let's get a bunch," suggested Willis weakly, watching Ham for a cue.

"There isn't a gun in the crowd," laughed one.

"You could use clubs, couldn't you?" asked another.

"Well, it's just like this," continued Ham: "you pick out a couple of fellows for the trappers who are strong and husky, and who aren't afraid to do their share of the work." Ham smiled at Willis. "Then you place them one at each side of the canyon. You take a shovel, dig a deep hole in the snow for the trapper to stand in so he can work easily without stooping over. Of course, each trapper has a bag, a gunny-sack, or a common flour sack will do, and a lantern. You can use a candle all right, if you have no lantern. I've seen very successful hunts conducted by using candles. The trapper stands with his bag held open between his legs. It's a good scheme to tie the bag, a side to each knee, so you can keep the mouth open without using your hands. You'll need them for numerous other things, probably. The rest of the hunters divide into two parties, and each party climbs the opposite ridge of the gulch, working up the canyon without really going through it. In that way the birds are not disturbed. Then, at a given signal, both parties descend into the canyon and the hunt begins. Every man must be absolutely silent, for I've seen one mouthy fellow spoil a whole evening's fun. Now, if any of you fellows are sure you can't keep still for a little, even in a good deal of excitement, you better stay here. If we fail, it will be some one's fault." Ham noticed the sly glances that were going back and forth between Mr. Allen and Mr. Dean, but he was sure he could count on both of them, for they liked real fun as well as any of the boys.

"The hunters then move down the canyon in a skirmish line, thras.h.i.+ng the bushes with their pine boughs. As they advance the birds will awaken with a shrill little peep and scuttle off through the bushes down the canyon and directly toward the trappers. The birds take just little flights at a time, so you must keep them moving or they will swarm and fly away in a panic. If a flock panic on you, you might as well quit, for every bird in the canyon will follow. You see this is the game: s...o...b..rds live on little bugs that are found in great numbers around the great Northern Lights. When they see those candles flickering there in the great white quiet, the snow reflecting the long rays out between the dark tree trunks, they think it's the northern lights, and fly straight toward the candle. All the trapper has to do, then, is to take them in his hand and bag them. Sometimes they come in such great numbers that they fairly swarm into the bag. When each trapper has enough, he puts his mouth close to the snow and halloos to the drivers. At the signal they stop hunting and come into camp. Fun, why it's the most fun I ever had in my life! The foolish little birds are so easily caught. You see, instead of getting out and hustling for their food, they think it will all be provided for them by kind Providence or others," and Ham smiled.

"Did you ever eat quail on toast in some of these stylish restaurants?"

queried Fat, who had caught onto the game. "Well, all in the world they are is s...o...b..rds. I suppose there are any number of fellows who make a living by just that trick."

A general discussion followed. Every one was ready and anxious for the hunt to commence. Candles were gotten ready and a shovel found. Ham took Phil, Fat, and Mr. Dean to help him find some sacks that were supposedly down in the gulch, but in reality to explain to them just what he wanted them to do. My, what a laugh they did have when they reached the open.

Fat was instructed to offer his services as the holder of one bag and to suggest that Sleepy hold the other. They would plant Sleepy first, then Fat would go on with the bunch. Mr. Dean and Ham would hide themselves in the brush on either side of Sleepy. Fat would instruct his crowd what was to be done, and Phil would take charge of the other group. They would go down the canyon, over the ridge, then swing round and come back high on the hill, so as to completely lose Sleepy, who would be placed where both parties could see him by his light, but, of course, he could not see any of them out in the shadows and the night.

"If any fellow makes a stir," continued Ham, "the game is up. Remember, Phil, you are boss of that crowd."

A difference of opinion had broken out among the rest while Ham and the others were getting the sacks, for Willis, in a sly way, had suggested that the game was a fake, but Sleepy scoffed at the idea.

"You do just as Ham says, and you'll see it's all true," cried Sleepy hotly. "He knows more about camping than all the rest of us put together.

If you don't want to go, stay here. I'll hold a sack myself, and if I don't get it full of birds before I come home I'll treat every one of you." Fat entered just in time to hear the foregoing conversation.

"I'm with you, Sleepy," he cried. "We'll have s...o...b..rds for breakfast in the morning."

"O shucks," scoffed some one, "there aren't enough s...o...b..rds in Colorado to fill a sack like that!"

"Well, of all the quitters," snorted Sleepy. "Just because you haven't seen the birds is no sign they aren't there. If you don't see and hear a lot of things to-night that you never saw before, I'm badly mistaken. All that's the matter with you fellows is you're afraid of a little work."

Ham sneezed several times in quick succession, and Fat suddenly hurried out, slamming the door behind him. Mr. Dean turned his face from the crowd and energetically poked the fire. From the smiles, it was evident that some had caught on and wanted to go along to see the fun, while others declared it was a trick, and wouldn't move a step.

"Too bad we haven't a dozen bags so we could give them all a chance,"

laughed Ham, as he and Fat entered the cabin.

Four remained, the rest trailed off to a little grove of young firs and cut themselves branches to drive s...o...b..rds with. Then up the slope they went, winding in and out among the tall, silent trees, over snowy logs and around great, jutting boulders, until the top was reached. Then they hurried along the narrow ridge until it ended in a stone cliff. Here they descended again through the trees until the trail on the south side was reached. Ham picked out an open place entirely surrounded with a heavy growth of young firs. Just at the edge of the little opening, its bulk back in the trees, stood a great stone, twelve or fifteen feet in height. Here Ham began to dig the pit for Sleepy's feet, explaining, as he worked, that the rock would reflect the light and keep the wind from blowing it out. Every hunter spoke in subdued whispers. When the hole was finished, Sleepy stepped into it, and Ham shoveled in the dirt and snow and tramped it tight about him in order to make room for the bag. It was fastened to each leg by a stout cord. Ham gave the parting instructions.

"Light your candle when we get out of hearing, then move it gently back and forth in front of your bag. The first few birds that come will probably scare you, but remember they are only s...o...b..rds and harmless."

The party then separated, filing off in either direction, and were soon swallowed up in the long black shadows. All that Sleepy could hear was the crunching of feet on the partly-crusted snow. He waited nearly breathlessly for all sound to cease, and when the last faint echo had died away it was a very shaky hand that lighted the first match. Of course Sleepy was not frightened--he was only cold! The greasy tip of the new candle sputtered and flared a moment, then went out. He tried again, but this time the match broke off. He felt himself getting excited. He had just two matches left. He must be extremely careful. He struck the third match on the stone behind him and shaded the candle tip with his hand; but his whole body was so nervous and his hands shook so that he could hardly hold candle and match together long enough to get the light.

At last he succeeded. He stuck the end of the candle in the snow in front of him while he turned up his collar and pulled his cap down tighter.

What was that? His body became rigid, his head went up, his eyes flashed.

Was it the s...o...b..rds? He listened intently for an instant, then he quietly relaxed. "Just the kids whacking the brush, I guess," he said, half-aloud. Then he leaned his back against his rock and waited. Every few moments he would gaze cautiously about him, then listen. Here and there back in the shadows he could see a huddled group of pale, straight forms. He knew they were only aspen trees, still he kept a watchful eye on them. The night was absolutely quiet and dark except for long, dimly-lighted alleys between the trees, where the candle rays were frolicking. Here and there he could see the dim outline of a black stump, its little snowcap perched upon its rim. He lifted the candle from its place in the snow and waved it gently before the bag, then he paused cautiously. His imagination had rallied from the cold and was now his closest companion. He saw strange shapes flitting here and there among the shadows. He heard every now and then a new, strange voice of the woods. The trees, it seemed to him, were murmuring their disapproval of such things as s...o...b..rd hunts. A myriad of unseen folk were peeping at him from limb and stump and shadow. He knew they were there, even if he couldn't see them, yet a strong feeling of loneliness crept over him. It seemed ages since the boys had left him there, still it had been only a few moments.

His spirit was gradually becoming restless, and he began to wonder if there really were any such things as s...o...b..rds, after all. He wished he was back again in the cabin by the fire. If he thought they were playing a joke on him, he would slip back to the cabin and fool them. He had half a notion to do it anyway. What was the use of his standing there?

Which way was the cabin? He sighed and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It was just over there, wasn't it? No, that couldn't be. It must be over yonder. The trail ran through the grove to his right. That couldn't be, the stream was over there, for he heard it every now and then. He began talking half-aloud.

"If the stream is over there, the cabin is over here." He paused and drew his hand across his eyes. "No, no, if that were true, the stream would flow uphill, and, of course, it doesn't."

Far away he heard a series of little chirps, faint but unmistakable. He was alert in an instant. Yes, that was the s...o...b..rds, and they were coming. He wondered if Fat heard them and was ready. Where was Fat, anyway? How strange he felt, now he was almost afraid, for he was sure something was watching him. He shaded his eyes and peered into the gloom, but could see nothing. Far away in the timber it seemed to him he heard brush snapping--still he knew there was nothing bigger than a skunk or a rabbit in the whole valley. Still--and his breath came shorter; had not a mountain lion been killed on Black Mountain just day before yesterday? His imagination suggested hungry kittens searching for a lost mother, and a tremor ran over his body, making his muscles quiver. Was that a snarl? A whine far off, yet near to him? The candle slipped from his shaking fingers and fell in the snow beside him. He made a grab for it, and caught it just before it went out. The sound was now clearer. Was that the crunch of feet upon the snow? Yes, he heard it plainly. A twig snapped somewhere back of the big rock, then another, then another. There was an answering of the whine. He felt for his pocket ax; but, alas! it was at the cabin--he had no weapon, not even a jack knife. Why had Ham taken the shovel with him? Pshaw! was it really a sound at all, or was he still in his baby days? No, he was no baby, but--there it was, a low growl, coming nearer and nearer. It flashed upon him in a second--the hunters had scared up the animal, and it was coming toward him--toward the light! He felt faint, then sick; but it was no time to be sick! He swallowed at the big lump in his throat and wondered if the animal really would attack him. He could plainly hear the crunching in the snow now, and he fancied he saw two green eyes staring at him from the shadows. Yes, and there were voices! He could hear them laughing. Suddenly a twig near him broke, and another and another. He cried out in terror, shrill agonized, cries for help. He dropped the candle in the snow. Just how he got out of the hole where his feet were buried he could not tell. He started to run, but his legs were still tied to the bag, and at the first step he fell headlong. He was crying now--great sobs shook his frame. He tore the bag free with a jerk and started off as fast as the soft snow would let him, shouting "Help!" at the top of his voice. He stumbled on through the snow, following the line of least resistance. Finally he emerged from a dark thicket just in time to see three men and a great dog come out of an opposite thicket. They laughed heartily as they turned upward on the trail. The dog's eyes were gleaming green in the half-light, and the one man carried a heavy rifle on his shoulder. The dog turned, sniffed, then whined, but made no attempt to leave his masters.

The men had evidently not seen him. He stood for a second irresolute, his teeth chattering, his heart pounding, then, turning, he saw the sparks from the cabin chimney and in another moment he was safe inside.

Back in the woods where Sleepy had been planted the rest of the fellows were shouting and laughing.

"Yes, I'll take it back," cried Ham. "Sleepy can go when he gets started, but O my! what a lot it takes to start him! I don't believe he ever moved so fast before, do you? Mr. Dean, you're a wonder on the growling stunt--I felt kind of queer myself once or twice." Fat was too far gone to express himself, but stood leaning against the rock, half-choked with laughter. He had been behind the rock all the time, and had heard all that Sleepy said.

"I was dead sure I heard him laughing," said Phil, "and I thought he had caught on to the game." "So did I," said Mr. Dean. "I certainly did hear some one laugh."

"It must have been Fat trying to choke down his amus.e.m.e.nt," dryly added Chuck. "He couldn't keep from laughing at a funny thing on a bet."

"I am sure of one thing," said Mr. Allen, "and that is that hereafter Sleepy will do his part. I believe he has learned a lesson. You will have a hard time, though, to ever persuade him that he didn't see an animal."

"Just let him think he did see it," suggested Phil, "and we'll tell him it serves him right. If he hadn't been so dead anxious to get the easy job, like he is with everything, he would never have gotten into the mess to-night."

"Yes, that's it," added Ham; "we must be as solemn as we can and say to him that we didn't see or hear a bear, lion, or any other animal; then add, that if he had just been with us on the job, climbing up canyons, hunting birds, and doing his share, instead of just loafing, he wouldn't have gotten scared. But, rats! he must know that we have played a joke on him."

They finally agreed on a plan, then started back to camp. Ham was to do the talking. As they entered the cabin they found Sleepy sitting on a block of wood, looking meditatively into the fire.

"Well, you're a dandy," commenced Ham. "We heard you hollering 'Help'

and 'Murder.' We came tearing through the trees to where we left you, and you were gone. Please explain. Who did you think was going to catch those birds? You got tired working so hard, I suppose? Come, now, was there too much real work in it?"

Then Fat began in his most disgusted tone: "You might make sure if there was any real work to be done, Sleepy would get out of it someway. He always does. Work isn't in his vocabulary."

"Go easy," said Mr. Allen in a quiet tone. "Sleepy has made lots of mistakes, and he hasn't begun to do his share of the work here yet, but he's going to do different from now on, I'm sure. Why did you leave your post, Sleepy?" He came forward and laid his hand on Sleepy's shoulder.

Sleepy shaded his face with his hand, for the tears were trickling down his cheeks, and he spoke with real effort.

"They frightened me terribly," he said. "I'm sorry." Then he rose from his seat, took his cap from the table, and went into the night. The fellows crowded up to the fire to warm their cold feet and talk it over.

Mr. Allen was firm in his belief that Sleepy had good stuff in him, and he believed they were going to get it out at last.

"He knows he hasn't played fair, fellows, and he's out there now, squaring up with himself. To-night our friend, Sleepy, wins or loses a great fight in his life. If he loses, let's not be too hard on him. If he wins, let's help him. Remember, it's the 'Other Fellow First' in this bunch." They sat quietly looking into the fire for some minutes, then Ham broke the silence.

"Fellows, I believe I understand for the first time in my life an expression that always used to bother me. When my father invited me into the woodshed when I was a kid, he always prefaced each performance with this remark, 'Son, it hurts me a great deal more than it's going to hurt you.' After the performance I used to ponder that statement over and over and wonder how it could possibly be true. In fact, I didn't believe it then, but now I do. Sleepy needed a good punishment; but, O my, I feel mean, now that it's over!"

"We are often called on to do unpleasant things for the welfare of others," remarked Mr. Dean; "but if Sleepy finds himself to-night, and I believe he will, we will all be glad we did it, himself included." After a little time Sleepy came in. His step was steady and his manner easy.

Ham shot a curious glance at him from the corner of his eye. He saw that Sleepy was smiling, and he felt a strange thrill, for he knew Sleepy had won. Sleepy came to the fire, and in a clear voice addressed the crowd:

"Fellows, I have something I would like to say before we go to bed." It was very difficult for him to go on. "I am ashamed of myself to-night. I know I have never played fair with you fellows here, for I'm lazy--I always have been. You know I am the only child, and I have been spoiled, for I've been taught to always let some one else do the work. I'm sorry." He stopped, and in the pause he became confused.

"But--but--I'm going to do better, if you'll give me another chance. I've just had a little argument with Sleepy Smith outside, and I whipped him in a fair fight. There is no more Sleepy; after this it's George Smith, if you please. Sleepy and this crowd have had a falling out. Will you give me another chance?" he asked anxiously.

Ham was the first to cry out:

"Bet your life we will, old boy, put it there!" He rose and they shook hands.