Hunting -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America -- West (U.S.); West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
These animals become as tame as dogs, and are of great value to the
borderer, as it costs nothing to rear them, and they can be put to any
work. For all that the wild horse is greatly detested in the vicinity of
a settlement, and many a noble brute has died there with a bullet in its
heart. The borderer cannot shut up his horses and mules in stables. They
must seek the food which nature offers them in such profusion, and hence
they have the gate of liberty always open; but they do not fly, because
they do not know what liberty is. But scarce do they see a troop of
their wild comrades dash past, ere they dart off too, never again to bow
their neck to the plough or the bit. They in such cases become the
wildest of the troop, and can always be recognised at its head. My black
stallion, whose wildly flowing mane I followed for a long distance over
the prairie, had, however, never yet bent his neck beneath the yoke of
man, for it displayed too fully the pride and strength which nature
imparts to liberty alone on its black curly forehead: these animals had
never seen the low roof, the simple palisade of a frontier house, and no
fugitive thence had ever complained to them about the fate he had
endured.
Czar was beside himself that he was not allowed to join in the race, and
tried for a long time to check the speed of the fugitives by his snorts;
he danced, threw his croupe from one side to the other, and furiously
tore at the bit, but it was all of no use, and serfdom still lay on his
broad neck, even though with rosy bonds.
The sun was rather low on the horizon when I found myself about five
miles from what seemed to be a very large forest, behind which rose the
mountains which I had noticed a few days previously in the azure
distance when I took my first glance at this valley. I leapt from my
horse, hobbled it, and crawled through the grass after two very old
stags, one of which was quietly grazing behind a fallen mosquito tree,
while the other, as if it had noticed something, thrust its thick neck
over the stump in my direction. I had left my hat with Czar in order to
attract less attention, and the sun shone hotly on my head; but what
will not a hunter readily endure if it enables him to draw nearer the
game? At length there were about one hundred yards between us, and I had
reached a small patch of flowering jalap trees which covered me. I
raised myself on one arm, and fired, aiming at the head. I saw that the
deer was hit close to the heart: it ran about fifty paces with its
comrade, and then fell dead.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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