The Hunters Feast | Page 5

fond almost to folly of a good horse, and
possessing one of the very best; not ill-looking in the face, and of
middle stature; costumed in a light hunting-shirt of embroidered
buckskin, with fringed cape and skirt; leggings of scarlet cloth, and
cloth forage-cap, covering a flock of dark hair. Powder-flask and pouch
of tasty patterns; belt around the waist, with hunting-knife and
pistols--revolvers. A light rifle in one hand, and in the other a
bridle-rein, which guided a steed of coal blackness; one that would
have been celebrated in song by a troubadour of the olden time. A deep
Spanish saddle of stamped leather; holsters with bearskin covers in
front; a scarlet blanket, folded and strapped on the croup; lazo and
haversack hanging from the "horn"--voila tout!
There are two characters still undescribed. Characters of no mean
importance were they--the "guides." They were called respectively,
Isaac Bradley and Mark Redwood. A brace of trappers they were, but
as different from each other in personal appearance as two men could
well be. Redwood was a man of large dimensions, and apparently as
strong as a buffalo, while his confrere was a thin, wiry, sinewy mortal,
with a tough, weasel-like look and gait. The expression of Redwood's
countenance was open and manly, his eyes were grey, his hair
light-coloured, and huge brown whiskers covered his cheeks. Bradley,
on the other hand, was dark--his eyes small, black, and piercing--his
face as hairless as an Indian's, and bronzed almost to the Indian hue,
with the black hair of his head closely cropped around it.
Both these men were dressed in leather from head to foot, yet they were
very differently dressed. Redwood wore the usual buckskin
hunting-shirt, leggings, and moccasins, but all of full proportions and
well cut, while his large 'coon-skin cap, with the plume-like tail, had an
imposing appearance. Bradley's garments, on the contrary, were
tight-fitting and "skimped." His hunting-shirt was without cape, and
adhered so closely to his body that it appeared only an outer skin of the
man himself. His leggings were pinched and tight. Shirt, leggings, and

moccasins were evidently of the oldest kind, and as dirty as a cobbler's
apron. A close-fitting otter cap, with a Mackinaw blanket, completed
the wardrobe of Isaac Bradley. He was equipped with a pouch of greasy
leather hanging by an old black strap, a small buffalo-horn suspended
by a thong, and a belt of buffalo-leather, in which was stuck a strong
blade, with its handle of buckhorn. His rifle was of the "tallest"
kind--being full six feet in height--in fact, taller than he was, and at
least four fifths of the weapon consisted of barrel. The straight narrow
stock was a piece of manufacture that had proceeded from the hands of
the trapper himself.
Redwood's rifle was also a long one, but of more modern build and
fashion, and his equipments--pouch, powder-horn and belt--were of a
more tasty design and finish.
Such were our guides, Redwood and Bradley. They were no imaginary
characters these. Mark Redwood was a celebrated "mountain-man" at
that time, and Isaac Bradley will be recognised by many when I give
him the name and title by which he was then known,--viz. "Old Ike, the
wolf-killer."
Redwood rode a strong horse of the half-hunter breed, while the
"wolf-killer" was mounted upon one of the scraggiest looking
quadrupeds it would be possible to imagine--an old mare "mustang."
CHAPTER TWO.
THE CAMP AND CAMP-FIRE.
Our route was west by south. The nearest point with which we expected
to fall in with the buffalo was two hundred miles distant. We might
travel three hundred without seeing one, and even much farther at the
present day; but a report had reached Saint Louis that the buffalo had
been seen that year upon the Osage River, west of the Ozark Hills, and
towards that point we steered our course. We expected in about twenty
days to fall in with the game. Fancy a cavalcade of hunters making a
journey of twenty days to get upon the field! The reader will, no doubt,
say we were in earnest.

At the time of which I am writing, a single day's journey from Saint
Louis carried the traveller clear of civilised life. There were settlements
beyond; but these were sparse and isolated--a few small towns or
plantations upon the main watercourses--and the whole country
between them was an uninhabited wilderness. We had no hope of being
sheltered by a roof until our return to the mound city itself, but we had
provided ourselves with a couple of tents, part of the freight of our
waggon.
There are but few parts of the American wilderness where the traveller
can depend upon wild game for a subsistence. Even the skilled hunter
when stationary is sometimes put to his wits' end