The Ranche on the Oxhide: A Story of Boys' and Girls' Life on the FrontierInman, Henry
General
The Ranche on the Oxhide: A Story of Boys' and Girls' Life on the Frontier
Inman, Henry
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.) -- Juvenile fiction; Kansas -- Juvenile fiction; Ranch life -- West (U.S.) -- Juvenile fiction
The hunters rode slowly at first, until they had emerged from the
timber. They then broke into a lope, separating to a distance of about
fifty yards from each other. Custer was on the right, followed by the
old trapper and Joe; while Rob and Colonel Keogh with the others of the
party brought up the left.
Although they were out of the standing timber, there were a great many
fallen trees scattered over the ground, and they were obliged to jump
over these, as they could not afford to waste the time to go round.
There was one immense black walnut trunk over which all had gone very
easily excepting Colonel Keogh and Rob. When these two reached the
obstacle, Rob's buffalo pony took it flying, but as Comanche rose to
make the leap, the effort burst the cinch of the saddle, and the Colonel
was thrown. He fortunately struck on his feet and held on to the bridle
reins, so the animal did not get away. His orderly rushed up, and it did
not take more than five minutes to change saddles, and give the Colonel
a mount again.
By that time Custer and the others were far in advance, for they had
increased their pace as the hounds sighted their quarry. Some were in
full cry, the rest silent, according to the habits of their species. A
huge wolf had come out of his hole to learn what the thud of the horses'
hoofs meant, had seen the dogs, and immediately bristled up ready for
battle.
The lean and hungry-looking brute stood motionless, awaiting the arrival
of the pack of hounds. The hair along his spine stood erect like a mad
cat's, and his tail swelled to twice its normal proportions. They were
heading for him with tongues out and their long necks stretched, ready
for the impending battle.
In another instant, when the shock came, there was a chaotic whirlwind
of wolf, dog, hair, and blood, accompanied by snarls, growls, and
squeals. This cyclone of enraged canines was enveloped in a cloud of
dust which fairly obscured the combatants for a few seconds; but when
it settled there was a dead wolf, literally torn to shreds, and a hound
or two limping along, nearly _hors de combat_, after the terrible
struggle.
The noise of the fight caused a dozen or more of the denizens of the
bluff to crawl out of their dens and look around to learn what was meant
by this invasion of their sacred precincts.
Some just poked their heads up, and all you could see were their great
ears. Others came up bristling with fight, and some, the cowardly ones,
giving one look at the party of horsemen and the pack of hounds, tucked
their bushy tails between their legs, and scooted off over the plateau,
yelping like whipped curs!
In a moment, spying those wolves that had apparently accepted the wager
of battle, the dogs made a grand rush for them, some in pairs, some
singly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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