A STORY OF THE PLAINS.

Nelson Evening Mail, Volume XV, Issue 226, 15 November 1880, Page 4

A STORY OF THE PLAINS.

(From the Detroit Free Press.) What is that ! Look closer and you will see that it is a gaunt, grim wolf, creeping out oi he lit tie grove of cottonwoods towards a buffalo oalf gambling around its mother. Raise your eyes o Hitle more and you will see that tbe prairie beyond is alive with buffujo. Count them. You migbi ■iB w*-U try to count the leaves on a giant maple ! They are moving fooi by foot aB they crop the juicy grass, and living waves rise and fall as tbe herd elowly sweeps on. Afar out to right and left— mere specs on the plain —are the flankers, breve old buffaloes, which catch b bite of grass and then sniff the air and scan the horizon for intimation of danger. They are tbe sentinels of the herd, and right well can tbey be trusted. Tbe wolf creeps nearer. All the afternoon the great herd has fed in pence, end as it now elowlj moves towards tbe river it is oil unconscious tbat danger ia near. Look you well and watch the wolf, for you re going to see euch a sight as not one caau in ten thousand has ever beheld. Q rse p — craw! — tkulk — now behind a knoll — now drawing hioaeelf ov«.r the srBBB . — n ow raising its head above t» thistle to mark the locality of its victim. It is a lone, shambling, ekulking wolf, lame, and spiteful, and treacherous. Wounded or ailing, he has been left alone to get on as best he may, and bis green eyes light up with a fiercer blfa»e as he drawß nearer and near to his unconscious prey. There ! No, be is yet too far away. Creep, creep, creep. Now he is twenty

feet away, dow fifteen, now ten. He hugs the earth ; gathers his feet under him, and he bounds through the oir as if shot from a gun. He is rolling the calf over and over on the graes in three seconds after be springe. A cry of pain from the oalf— a furious bellow from the mother as sbe wheels and ohargeß tbe wolf—- a startled movement from a dozen of the nearest anim&le, and a rush begins. The one wolf iB magnified into a hundred, the hunched into a thousand. Short, sharp bellows, snorts of alarm, a rußh, und in fifty seconds after the wolf has wet his fangs with blood that living mass is io motion to get away from en unknown terror. The waves rise higher and higher as the confusion spreads. One instant it seems as if 10000 eolid acres of prairie were moving bodily away; Bgaiu waves rise and fall as the cowards tebiod rush upn those in front, who wait, sniff the* air, and learn the danger. In one minute the alarm runs down the hetd to the leaders — further than the eye csn ace— and tbe entire herd is going off at a mad gallop, beads down, eyes rolling, aod no thought but tht.it ot escape. If Lake Erie were to dash its If agaiust a wall tbe shock would beno greater than the awful crabh with which this mass of rattling hoofs, sharp horns and hairy bodies would meet it. The clatter of hoofs and rattle of home would drown the noise of a brigade ol cavalry galloping over a etom-paved road. Bide out on their trail. Htra where tbe stampede began tbe ground is torn and turrowedaßii a thousand cannon bad been firing solid shot at'targets. Here and thera are calves which have been gored or rushed — here and there old animals with broken legs and disabling wounds. Here, where the herd was fairly off, you might as well hunt for a gold dollar as a blade of graes. You look for three miles as you look aoross it. It is a trail of dirt, and dust, and ruts, and furrows, where helf an hour ago wes a carpet of gre&i grass and smiling flowers. The mast dreadful cyclone known to man could not have left more horrible scars behind. Miles away, on tbe bauks of the winding, growling river, are' three white-topped emigrant wagons. A camp-fire blezes up to boil the kettles; men, women, and children stand about, peering over tbe setting sun at the distant mountains end glad that their journey is almost, done. Butterflies come and go on lazy wing; the crickets chirp cheerily on the grass, and tbe eagles sailing in the blue evening air have no warning to give! Hark I is that thunder ? Men and wdmenturnin their tracks as they look in vain for a cloud in the sky. That rumble comes again, and they look into each other's faces. Ii grows louder as women turn pale and men reach for (heir trusty rifles. The ground trembles, and afar off comes a din whioh strikes terror (o tbe bean, " Indians! " they whieper. No ! A thousand timos better*. for them if savage Pawnees dared ride down where these long-barrellpd rifles could speak a defence of the peaceful camp. "A stampede of buffaloes J" gasps one of the men as he catches sight oi the advancement under the awful cloud of dust. Rifles are ready for a shot, and the children climb up on the heavy waggon wbeelß to see the strange procession gallop by. Here they como ! : Crack I crack I crack! from three riflee, and a shout as each bullet tells. Next instant o shaggy head followed by a dustbrowned body, rushes through tbe camp. Then another, and another. The men shout and wave their arms; the women and children turn paler yet. The roar and din shut out every other sound, und the waggons jar and tremble with the concussion. Now another shaggy -bead — another — half-a-dozen — a score — a bundled—- a great living wave which sweeps along with tbe power of a tornado, followed by others more fierce end strong, and the camp is tlatted off the face of the earth more completely than by any power of Heaven. Nothing to be seen — no shout to be beard. Wave followed wave acrosß the spot — over the. bank — into the stream across, and when the last of tbe herd bad passed the keenest hunter could find nothing on that spot of wood or iron, or cloth, or bone, or flesh, to prove that a dozen men, worn n, and children there were wiped out of existence, and reduced to shreds and dust.