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THE old cow always wore the
bell. Early in the spring, when there were no flies or mosquitoes to
drive them up the cattle sometimes wandered off. At such times, when we
went to our chopping or work, we watched them, to see which way they
went, and listened to the bell after they were out of sight in order
that we might know which way to go after them if they didn't return.
Sometimes the bell went out of hearing but I was careful to remember
which way I heard it last.
Before night I would
start to look for them, going in the direction I last heard them. I
would go half a mile or so into the woods, then stop and listen, to see
if I could hear the faintest sound of the bell. If I could not hear it I
went farther in the same direction then stopped and listened again. Then
if I did not hear it I took another direction, went a piece and stopped
again, and if I heard the least sound of it I knew it from all other
bells because I had heard it so often before.
That bell is laid up with
care. I am now over fifty years old, but if the least tinkling of that
bell should reach my ear I should know the sound as well as I did when I
was a boy listening for it in the woods of Michigan.
When I found the cattle I
would pick up a stick and throw it at them, halloo very loudly and they
would start straight for home. Sometimes, in cloudy weather, I was lost
and it looked to me as though they were going the wrong way, but I
followed them, through black-ash swales where the water was knee-deep,
sometimes nearly barefooted.
I always carried a gun,
sometimes father's rifle. The deer didn't seem to be afraid of the
cattle; they would stand and look at them as they passed not seeming to
notice me. I would walk carefully, get behind a tree, and take pains to
get a fair shot at one. When I had killed it I bent bushes and broke
them partly off, every few rods, until I knew I could find the place
again, then father and I would go and get the deer.
Driving the cattle home
in this way I traveled hundreds of miles. There was some danger then, in
going barefooted as there were some massasauga [The prairie, or Michigan
variety of rattlesnake. Formerly abundant, as Nowlin notes, with the
settlement of the country they have tended to disappear. They are still
found in southern Michigan, however, and their possible presence is
still to be reckoned with by rural dwellers and visitors.] all through
the woods. As the country got cleared up they disappeared, and as there
are neither rocks, ledges nor logs, under which they can hide, I have
not seen one in many years.
One time the cattle
strayed off and went so far I could not find them. I looked for them
until nearly dark but had to return without them. I told father where I
had been and that I could not hear the bell. The next morning father and
I started to see if we could find them. We looked two or three days but
could not find or hear anything of them. We began to think they were
lost in the wilderness. However, we concluded to look one more day, so
we started and went four or five miles southeast until we struck the
Reed creek. (Always known as the Reed creek by us for the reason, a man
by the name of Reed came with his family from the State of New York,
built him a log house and lived there one summer. His family got sick,
he became discouraged, and in the fall moved back to the State of New
York. The place where he lived, the one summer, was about two miles
south of our house and this creek is really the middle branch of the
Ecorse).
There was no settlement
between us and the Detroit River, a distance of six miles. We looked
along the Reed creek to see if any cattle had crossed it.
While we were looking
there we heard the report of a rifle close by us and hurried up. It was
an Indian who had just shot a duck in the head. When we came to him
father told him it was a lucky shot, a good shot to shoot it in the
head. He said, "Me allers shoot head not hurt body." He took us to his
wigwam, which was close by, showed us another duck with the neck nearly
shot off. Whether he told the truth, or whether these two were lucky
shots, I cannot tell, but one thing I do know, in regard to him, if he
told us the truth he was an extraordinary man and marksman.
Around his wigwam hung
from half a dozen to a dozen deer skins; they hung on poles. His family
seemed to consist of his squaw and a young squaw almost grown up. Father
told him we had lost our cattle, oxen and cow, and asked him if he had
seen them. We had hard work to make him understand what we meant. Father
said—cow—bellstrap round neck—he tried to show him, shook his hand as if
jingling a bell. Then father said, oxen—spotted—white—black; he put his
hand on his side and said: black-cow—bell-------noise, and then said, as
nearly as we could understand, 'Ie see them day before yesterday," and
he pointed in the woods to tell us which way. Father took a silver
half-dollar out of his pocket, showed it to the Indian, and told him he
should have it if he would show us the cattle. He wiped out his rifle,
loaded it and said, "Me show." He took his rifle and wiper and started
with us; we went about half mile and he showed us where he had seen
them. We looked and found large ox's tracks and cow's tracks. I thought,
from the size and shape of them, they were our cattle's tracks. The
Indian started upon the tracks, father followed him, and I followed
father. When we came to high ground, where I could hardly see a track,
the Indian had no trouble in following them, and he went on a trot. I
had hard work to keep up with him. I remember well how he looked, with
his bowing legs, it seemed as if he were on springs. He moved like an
antelope, with such ease and agility. He looked as if he hardly touched
the ground.
The cattle, in feeding
round, crossed their own tracks sometimes. The Indian always knew which
were the last tracks. He followed all their crooks, we followed him by
sight, which gave us a little the advantage, and helped us to keep in
sight. He led us, crooking about in this way, for nearly two hours, when
we came in hearing of the bell. I never had a harder time in the woods
but once, and it was when I was older, stronger, and better able to
stand a chase, that time I was following four bears, and an Indian tried
to get them away. I was pleased when we got to the cattle. Father paid
the Indian the half-dollar he had earned so well, and thanked him most
heartily, whether he understood it or not. Father asked the Indian the
way home, he said, "My house, my wigwam, which way my home?" The Indian
pointed with his wiper, and showed us the way.
Father said afterward, it
was strange that the Indian should know where he lived, as he had never
seen him before. I never saw that Indian afterward.
The cattle were feeding
on cow-slips and leeks, which grew in abundance, also on little French
bogs that had just started up. We hallooed at them very sharply and they
started homeward, we followed them, and that night found our cattle home
again. Mother and all the children were happy to see them come, for they
were our main dependence. They were called many dear names and told not
to go off so far any more. |
