The Daily Spy

From the New Orleans Picayune.

INSTINCT OF A HORSE.

AN INCIDENT OF THE BUFFALO GROUNDS.

We had now been several days in the buffalo range, living upon broiled tongues, marrow bones, and the like; we had scoured the country northwest of the double file or Santa Fe crossing of the great San Gabriel, had visited the Salado, and approached within sight of the wooden bottoms of Little River; we had ascertained that we were in the midst of a succession of herds, that we could find the huge monarchs of the prairie on any and every side of us, when we turned our course eastward among the ridges and across the numerous valleys which mark the meanderings of the smaller creeks between the larger streams mentioned above. On the morning in question, two immense bulls had been slaughtered—the Count had killed one by running upon him on a little Spanish tackey he had purchased at San Antonio, and another had been brought down by a combined shower of pistol bullets—when, somewhat tired with such stirring sport, we had made up our minds to seek a camp where we could find good shade and water for ourselves, and better grazing for our nags than they had had at the two previous encampments.

Our course led us along a ridge which divided two clear water creeks, and which commanded a fine view of the adjoining prairies in every direction—east, west, and south, small gangs of buffalo were seen, quietly grazing upon the short, sweet grass,—but north of us an immense herd was descried, fairly blackening the prairie swell which cut us off from the timber of Little River. There was a slight uneasiness too, observed in the body, a moving to and fro of the animals, which plainly betokened that enemies were upon their flanks. And at the time, one of our comrades remarked that a numerous party of Indians must be in our neighborhood.

We had already stripped our horses with the intention of 'mooning' in a little cove of prairie, partially surrounded by low trees and bushes, but on finding that we should be annoyed almost out of our lives by myriads of rascally ticks and other vile insects, we saddled up and sought more friendly shelter. We might have proceeded a mile, perhaps less, when a small gang of bulls was seen quietly feeding in a little valley which the ridge on which we were journeying overlooked.

One killing chase our English companion had already had that morning, and his wounded foot was still paining him not a little from the unwonted exercise, yet nothing could prevent him from dashing off again after the animals, more especially when they were so close to us.

At the very outset of the chase our friend, with another of the party who accompanied him, ran directly over an old she wolf with two or three whelps—but such game was not to be looked at when buffalo were in sight. After crossing a little stream, the party entered a piece of rough, hog wallow prairie, and now the chase commenced in real earnest. Going down hill, or across level hog wallow, the buffalo can run nearly as fast as a horse, but ascending on smooth ground they are easily caught, and in five minutes from the time the present chase commenced, the pursuers were well up. We halted our nags to watch the exciting scene, for, from the point where we stood we could command a view of the prairie in every direction.

No sooner had our companion reached the herd than he singled out one of the largest bulls, and took after him with all speed. He could not spur his horse, still but half trained to the sport, immediately alongside the buffalo, yet he was enabled to get near enough to lodge a pistol ball in his side, and now the chase became more exciting than ever. Maddened by pursuit and by the wound, the infuriated animal pressed onward; but choose what ground he would, his pursuer was close upon him, banging and blazing away as fast as he could load and fire. The buffalo would have led off in a line directly from us, but our English friend headed and turned him, and soon they were making immediately towards the spot where we had halted.

The creek was to be crossed again, and choosing the most matty and boggy place, the buffalo plunged and floundered through. This threw his pursuer a little behind, yet not so far but that he was soon up with him again. Onward they came, the pursued and his pursuer, up hill and down dell, the latter ever and anon charging up as close as he could induce his steed to approach, and shooting away at the buffalo, while coursing past.—Two of us started out to join into the chase, but by this time the hunted animal had been brought to bay, and when we reached the spot he was facing his pursuer, shaking his head threateningly, and lashing his short tail in rage. A fresh shower of bullets gave him a fresh series of wounds; but it often seems that nothing could induce a maddened bull to give up life. He started to run again, plunged off towards a skirting of timber which fringed the banks of still another small stream, and reached the creek in safety. Here he halted, and a single well directed ball, while he was standing in the water, put an end to his sufferings.

But to the horse of our English friend. Nobly had he carried himself in the chase, yet he was now white with foam and panting with the long races of the day. To cool and revive him as much as he could be, his master at once stripped off his saddle and commenced rubbing him with tufts of grass. Relaxing in his generous exertions for a moment, the horse walked quietly off. No one thought he would go far, that he would leave our horses, with whom he had held companionship for weeks; yet still he kept on across the prairie.—There was a singular wildness in his eye, yet we could not believe that an animal so social in his own nature would wander off alone. He continued onward, however, and we mounted to pursue him, but to catch the animal was impossible. If we approached within a few yards of him, he would start off on a gallop, and after following him a mile or two in this way, we relinquished the chase—reluctantly, it is true, but we had given up all hopes of being able to overtake him.

For five or six days we had been racing and chasing, twisting and turning in every direction, and as we were somewhat confused ourselves in relation to our course, we could not believe that the horse had a knowledge superior to our own. We watched him until he was but a speck upon the prairie. Occasionally he would stop, look around him in every direction, and then start off again and we began to retrace our steps in the direction of our companions, only when he was completely lost to sight. It was annoying to lose so good a steed, but as his owner had taken the precaution to purchase a spare animal, his flight did not prevent him from joining in the exciting sport on the morrow. We found our encampment after a long search, and while discussing a hearty meal of antelope meat, related the loss of our companion's horse. Night came, but we heard no tidings of him, the morrow passed, yet we saw nothing of the steed. That he had either joined a drove of mustangs, or would be picked up by Indians, was the opinion of many of the party—that his owner would ever see him again, was a hope which no one hardly dared entertain.

Four or five days after this, and when on our return to Austin, we reached the frontier settlement of Mr. Merrill, who has a station on the Brushy. There we found the horse of our companion securely tied, and on inquiry we learned that he came in on the evening of the chase. It was some two or three hours past meridian when he started, and the distance was over thirty miles; yet the horse had reached the friendly protection of this frontier settlement by sundown. A horse is certainly endowed with an instinct superior to the deepest cunning of man, for not one of the party, save those who knew the country well, could have taken a course so straight. The horse had passed this house a week before, and with all his racing his turning, and his twisting, his organ of locality had never for a moment become confused.