Centennial (13 page)

The water was icy cold from melting snow, but she kicked her legs vigorously, swimming comfortably with the current and climbing out at last to shake her matted hair, sending showers of spray into the sunlight. From the north bank she watched with a leader’s care as older cows nudged yearlings into the river, then swam beside them, keeping the younger animals upstream, so that if the current did overcome them, they would bounce against their mothers and thus gain security for the next effort.

When the main body of the herd was safely across, the old bulls grudgingly and sometimes with growls of protest entered the river, swimming with powerful kicks as the water threw their beards into their faces. When they climbed onto the north bank they shook themselves with such fury that they produced small rainstorms.

Rufous was one of the last to cross, and he did so carefully, as if studying this particular crossing against the day when he might have to use it in some emergency. He did not like the footing on the south bank, but once the lead cow was satisfied that the cows and calves were safely across, she ignored whatever bulls were left behind and set out purposefully for the grazing lands to which she was leading her herd.

When she reached this spot, less than a hundred miles from the twin pillars, she stopped, smelled the ground to assure herself that it was good, then turned the leadership of the herd back to the bulls, assuming once more the passive role of merely another cow. But if any decision of moment were required, she would again step forth and assert herself, and when she grew too old to assume this task the responsibility would pass to some other strongly opinionated cow, for the leadership of a large group was too important to be left to males.

It was now spring and the calving season was at hand. The sun would rise, as on a normal day, but some cow would experience a profound urge to be by herself, and she would move with determination toward some unknown objective, and if any other cow, or even a bull, tried to interpose, she would knock the offender aside and pursue her course. She would seek some secluded area, even if it were only behind the brow of a low hill, and there she would lie on the ground and prepare for the birth of her calf.

This year a small black cow left the herd as soon as the new grounds were reached, for her time was at hand. As she passed two old bulls they nuzzled her as if to ask what she was about, but she repelled them brusquely and sought a spot not far from the river where trees gave her some protection. There she gave birth to a most handsome black bull calf, and as soon as he appeared she began licking him, and butting him with her head and goading him to stand alone. She spent two hours at this task, then began mooing softly as if to attract the attention of the others, but when they ambled over to inspect her new calf, nudging it with their snouts, she made short and ineffectual charges at them, as if to prove that the calf was hers.

Among the bison that came to inspect the new calf was Rufous, and his nosy intrusion was an error he would regret. The newborn calf liked the smell of Rufous and for a few moments rubbed its small head against his leg. Some intuition told the calf that there would be no milk in that quarter, and he returned to his mother. But the damage had been done.

Now came the days which would be most crucial in the life of this little bison. Within a brief period it had to imprint on its mind the image of its mother, her smell, her feel, the taste of her milk, her look, the sound of her call. Because if it failed to make this indelible and vital connection, it might become unattached when the herd moved and be lost in the strangling dust. If this happened, it would survive only a few hours, for the wolves and vultures, seeing its plight, would close in.

Therefore the mother cow was careful to allow it to nuzzle her, to taste her milk, to smell her urine and to hear her cry. She attended the calf constantly, and when it moved among the other calves that were being born at this time she tried to train him to respond to her cry.

But the calf had proved its inquisitiveness by making friends with Rufous shortly after its birth, and it continued this behavior, moving from one adult to another and failing to establish an indelible impression of its own mother. She tried frantically to correct this defect, but her baby bull would wander.

One of its strongest memories was of the smell of Rufous, and as the days progressed it tried to associate more with the bull and less with its mother, trying even to get milk from Rufous. This irritated the bull, who knocked the confused infant away. The little fellow rolled over in the dust, got up bewildered and ran after another adult bull.

At this point, a fairly large herd of strange bison from the north moved onto the feeding ground, and there was a general milling about of animals, so that the baby bull became lost at the edge of the swirling crush. The two herds were excited enough by their chance meeting, but now they detected strange movement to the west, and this triggered precipitate action on the flank, which quickly communicated itself to the mass. A stampede began, and those calves which had been strongly imprinted by their mothers performed miraculously: no matter how swiftly their mothers ran nor how deftly they. dodged, the calves kept up with them stride for stride, their little noses often pressed against their mothers’ flanks.

But the handsome black infant had not been adequately trained and had no intuition of where its mother was, nor could it detect her cry in the confusion. It fell behind, far behind, then gave a little cry of joy, for it smelled a reassuring odor. It was not its mother; it was Rufous, lagging behind because he had been grazing on the sweet grass down by the river.

The bull had no intention of caring for a confused baby and rushed past, but the infant, catching a stronger whiff of the familiar smell, joined the gallop and clung to the older bull’s flank. This annoyed Rufous, who tried to kick at the pestering calf as they ran, but nothing would divert the baby bull. With a sense of total security, as great as if Rufous had been its mother, it clung to the galloping bull.

But now the wolves which always hung about the edges of a herd, hoping for a bit of luck, spotted the little calf. They had a good chance of picking it off, since the older bull was endeavoring to kick it to one side, so they closed in on the running pair, trying to insert themselves between the baby bull and the mature one.

They failed. Once Rufous recognized their strategy, he became a changed animal. It was his responsibility to protect calves, no matter how bothersome, no matter how distant the retreating herd. Accordingly, he scanned the terrain as he ran and spotted a small embankment which might afford protection.

Twisting his head abruptly to the right, he headed for the rocky bank. As if the young calf had been attached to him by vines, it turned at the same moment, and the two galloped to the refuge. There Rufous turned to confront his enemies, keeping the calf beside him and well protected by his large reddish flank.

The wolves closed in, eleven of them, but they were powerless against his horns and massive head, nor could they slip behind him to attack his tendons because he kept his rear tight against the rocks. If he had not been hampered by this irritating calf, he could have beaten back the wolves and returned to the herd, but with that encumbrance he could do no more than protect himself.

He did manage one other defense. He bellowed, several times, a low guttural cry that seemed to roll vainly across the vast prairies. But he was heard. The bison having outrun their fright, had stopped and were pointlessly milling around when the master fighter of the herd to which Rufous belonged, the large black bull, heard the cry of distress and doubled back to investigate. With him came the bull with the slanting left horn, and the closer they approached to the intermittent bellow, the faster they ran.

They came up to the encircling wolves in a rush, their hind feet digging in like brakes and throwing clouds of dust. In the first moment they perceived what was happening, saw Rufous trapped against the rocky bank with the calf beside him. With lowered heads and flashing hoofs they crashed into the wolves and sent them scattering. The black bull caught one on his horn, tossed him in the air, then stamped on him mercilessly when he fell to earth. The wolf was crushed and the others withdrew.

The three victorious bulls formed a miniature herd, with the calf in the center, and slowly they walked back toward the real herd, which had now stabilized. The calf, exhilarated by the adventure and the consoling smell of his savior Rufous, trotted happily inside the protective triangle.

When the calf regained the herd and the excitement caused by the wolves died down, it felt hungry—and there was the good smell of Rufous. It ran to the bull and tried to nurse, but Rufous had had enough. Lowering his horn, he caught the little fellow under the belly and tossed him well into the air. It uttered pitiful cries and crashed to earth. It rose bewildered, still smelled Rufous and still wanted to join him, but as he approached, Rufous lowered his head and gave the calf another toss in the air.

This time its cries reached the distraught mother; she recognized them and rushed to reclaim the infant she thought she had lost. She licked its coat and mussed it and did her best to bring it to her, but it still remembered the familiar smell of Rufous as they confronted the wolves.

Now the rutting season was at hand. Rufous and the other bulls began a strange but long-inherited chain of behavior. One morning, for no apparent reason, Rufous began suddenly charging at cottonwood trees along the riverbank, tearing into them with wild force as if they were living enemies, then stopping and cleaning his horns against their trunks. The next day as he was walking idly toward the herd he felt an uncontrollable compulsion to throw himself on the ground, twisting and turning in the dust a dozen times until he was laden with sand. Then he rose, urinated heavily in the wallow and threw himself into it again, smearing the muddy urine over his head and body as if to announce to the world, “When you smell that smell, remember. It belongs to Rufous.”

At this period of the rutting season he did not yet care to confront the other bulls; indeed, he stayed well away from them, as if he were unsure of his capacity to challenge them on equal terms, but he continued to fight the cottonwoods and to wallow excessively. He also stood by himself and threw out guttural threats, ignoring those that were being voiced by other bulls in the vicinity.

And then one morning, on a day no different from others that had preceded it, a quiet brown cow that had been inconspicuous felt an overpowering surge of vitality, and her entire personality changed within the passing of an instant. She became more rhythmic in her motions, gentler in her manner. She left the cows with whom she had been associating and kicked aside her last year’s calf when it endeavored to stay close to her, as she had so painfully taught it to do only a year ago.

She sought out the bulls on the edge of the herd and moved from one to the other until she came to its leader. He licked her coat and rubbed his head against hers. Often he rested his shaggy head in the hollow of her back as if it were an accustomed pillow. Wherever she moved, he stayed with her, waiting for the proper time for mating, two huge beasts caught in the throes of passion.

Now the drama of the rutting season began. A four-year-old bull that had not yet mated with any cow left the lesser bulls with whom he had for some time been sparring and marched boldly up to the courtship couple. Ignoring the cow, he took a stubborn stance so that his dark beard was close to that of the black bull. The latter, long prepared for such a challenge but unable to anticipate which bull would issue it, stared for a moment at the intruder.

Then, with shuddering force, the two animals leaped at each other, their shaggy foreheads meeting in a crack that could be heard across the plains. To the surprise of the older bull, this first shattering blow seemed to have no effect upon the young challenger, who. pawed the earth, lowered his head and drove with incredible force at the older one’s forehead. The black bull was tempted to sidestep and allow the young bull to slide harmlessly off his flank, but he sensed that this opening fight would be crucial, and he intended settling it unmistakably. So he braced himself, lowered his head and took the charge full on his forehead.

For an instant the horns of the two powerful beasts locked, and it looked as if the kinetic force of the younger must drive the older back, but the black bull had reserves of power. His back legs stiffened. His backbone absorbed the shock. And now he began applying pressure of his own. Slowly the younger bull had to retreat. He could not fix his legs.

With a sudden twist, the older bull turned his challenger aside, and as the younger bull’s belly was exposed, the old warrior lunged at it. He could hear ribs cracking beneath skin and then the cry of pain. The younger bull withdrew, shook himself to assess the damage, felt his ribs grating, and with no further desire for fight, retreated.

The older bull, victor once more, returned to the cow that he had rightfully won. By this process, wasteful and cruel, cows were assured that they would mate only with the strongest bulls and that the species would be preserved.

But this time it was not to be so easy, for no sooner had the victorious bull turned his back on the herd and resumed his attentions to the cow than he heard a belligerent snort. When he turned, be saw the bull Rufous headed toward him in a slow purposeful march. This was a more serious challenge.

When Rufous stood horn to horn with the older bull, the latter could smell the strong urine in which his challenger had rubbed himself that morning. It was the smell of a mature bull, one ready to assume his place among the leaders of the herd. So the black bull stood very still, made no movement of any kind, and stared into the eyes of his challenger. The two powerful beasts stood that way for more than a minute, then slowly Rufous broke the gaze, lowered his head, and without raising dust, backed away. This was not a good day for extending his challenge. There would be others more propitious.