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SPRING1838
GREENRIVERVALLEY(FUTUREWYOMING)
Aknot of dread twisted Lorelei Collins’s middle as she studied the dark hump in the prairie ahead. The mound wasn’t the right color to be a rock. It could only be . . . a buffalo.
A very dead buffalo.
As much as she wanted to turn her mare, Annabelle, and gallop the other direction, she kept her horse pointed toward the motionless body. Drawn like an onlooker to a carriage accident.
Except she wasn’t coming to gawk. She had to see if the animal still lived. See if she could do something to save it, or at least ease its misery in these final moments.
Annabelle pricked her ears and slowed as they neared the buffalo. But when the mare tried to halt, Lorelei nudged her forward. “I know, girl. I don’t want to see it either. But we have to make certain.”
The trampled grass around them told the story clearly.A buffalo chase had occurred. Somehow the hunters must not have realized this animal had fallen. Or they planned to come back for it. Pursuers sometimes ran with the herd for miles, bringing down as many as they could. Her belly roiled at the thought, but she pushed the grotesque image from her mind. People had to eat, but she hated to think about the process of killing.
Her mission was to save—especially animals. She was the one who came along after the hunters and found the helpless, those not mortally wounded, or the innocent that had depended on those now lifeless.
She probably couldn’t do anything here, except pray the hunters came back and put the meat to good use filling hungry bellies and using skins to keep cold bodies warm through the winter.
As she guided Annabelle around the form so she could see its head, keeping a half-dozen strides away, she could see the protruding stem of an arrow near the beast’s heart. Two more just behind it had likely punctured a lung. There would be naught she could do to save this one, even if it did still breathe.
She reined her mare in and slipped to the ground, leaving her reins crossed over the horse’s neck. “Whoa, girl.” Annabelle would stay put until she returned or called for her.
Lorelei crept toward the lifeless form. These mammoth animals amazed her every time she drew near one. They possessed such massive heads, far larger than the cattle back in Virginia. And the hair . . . great curls so bushy and coarse. This must be a female, for she didn’t have the thick neck and chest that bulls developed. Nor any horns.
She focused her attention on the animal’s side, doing herbest to ignore the arrows and streams of blood dampening the hair. No rise and fall to show life.
Her own chest tightened. Why did God make a world where his creatures had to kill one another just to survive?
She moved to its shoulder and rested a hand there, stroking the matted curls. The body was still a little warm, which meant death hadn’t come long before. The animal felt so solid under her palm, a beautiful creature.Thank you for all you did while you lived.Probably giving life to young and ensuring this great species carried on.
She glanced down the length of the cow’s belly, toward her udder. The shadow beneath her leg hid a swollen teat. Panic pressed in Lorelei’s chest. The buffalo nursed a calf? She straightened and lifted her gaze around the area. Had the little one been carried onward with the herd? Or worse yet, been trampled under hundreds of massive hooves?
As her eyes searched for a small, dark form hidden in the tall grass, she nearly skipped over the pale shape standing fifty strides away. Her mind struggled to decipher what her eyes took in. This couldn’t be a buffalo calf. Buffalo always had dark hair—nearly black when they shed, or dirty brown when the sun faded the outer coat.
Yet the silhouette looked exactly like a buffalo calf, thicker through the neck than offspring of cattle.
And it was alive. The soft mournful bawl it released proved so.
This must be the poor orphan, which meant it wouldn’t survive now without a mother. The thing trembled on spindly legs, and she guessed it couldn’t be more than a week or so old. And was likely so confused about what was happening.
It released another bawl, and her chest ached.
She bent over the mother again, this time leaning toward the udder. If she got enough of the animal’s scent on her, the babe might allow her to approach. He wasn’t old enough to be overly fearful of strangers.
After standing, she kept herself low and her posture soft as she approached the little fellow. Itwasa fellow; one glance underneath made that easy to see.
When she came ten strides away, the calf backed up a step. She extended her hands out farther and gave a lowmaah, as close to the sound of a cow as she could manage.
The calf still kept a hesitant stance but didn’t flee as she eased forward. Five steps to go, then four.
Please, God, let me catch it.The Lord had the power to do anything.Let this be one of those miracles.
When she was almost an arm’s length away, she stopped walking and stretched her hand as far as she could reach. The little one must have smelled its mother’s scent on her, for it reached out to touch her finger with its nose, then took a tentative step forward, nosing along to her palm with its wet muzzle. Her heart melted at the sweet touch.
She kept her other hand outstretched. She would only have one chance to grab the babe. Ever so slowly, she shifted her body forward and over so she could come around to the calf’s side. He began licking her hand with his slimy tongue. Poor fellow must be hungry.
