# The red book of animal stories/Fairy Rings; and the Fairies who make them

FAIRY RINGS; AND THE FAIRIES WHO MAKE THEM
Travellers along the great grassy plains that extend for hundreds of miles on the eastern side of the Rocky Mountains, to an immense distance north and south, have been surprised to see dotted about, circles of grass much greener and richer than the rest of the country, to which they have given the name of ‘fairy rings.’
They might watch for many moonlight nights without seeing the fairies making these rings in their dances, or if any traveller did happen to pass them by, he would not for one moment guess whose fairy feet tread made the grass so thick and bright. For the real fairies are huge clumsy creatures, with such enormous heads that it seems as if the animal must always be tumbling over from the weight, and they are covered from head to foot with very dark thick hair, which forms a dense shaggy mane over the head and shoulders. And these fairies have horns, not long, but very powerful, and are fond of fighting, which they have plenty of time for, as they are very sociable, and live together in large herds, sometimes, as many as three or four thousand at once. And they are known in the countries they inhabit by the name of bisons or buffaloes.
Now, it may be thought that the buffaloes which live on the prairies or plains on the borders of Texas and Mexico would lead a much easier and pleasanter life than their brothers far away up in Canada, but this is not so. ​After passing a winter amidst the deep snow of the north they are a great deal fatter and stronger than if they had been spending it in the sunny south. For the grass and juicy plants on which the buffaloes feed have been completely dried up during a long hot autumn, while in Canada the animals can generally manage to get good grass by scraping away the snow, which has kept the herbage wholesome and fresh under its white covering.
Still, in Canada, as well as in Texas, the summers are very hot, and the poor buffaloes, in their thick coats, suffer a great deal. So they seek out some low plain, where they know by experience that there is a chance of finding a marshy place left by the winter’s rains. What happiness for the poor tired creatures who have been walking perhaps for hours under the burning sun, carrying their huge bodies, which often weigh as much as 2,000 lb., to come on one of these little oases, as they would be called in Arabia or the Sahara! But even the prospect of a cool bath does not affect their good manners and sense of discipline. They all hold back and let the leader of the herd come forward. He sinks carefully on one knee in the soft green place, and putting down his head, stirs up the wet earth, so that the water gradually bubbles up, and a little pool is formed, though, to be sure, it is more liquid mud than anything else. When the bull has got all the water he thinks he is likely to have, he throws himself on his side, and turns himself round two or three times till he has made a circular pond large enough to cover him almost entirely. Then he feels comfortable again, and comes out, such a mass of mud from head to foot that it is wonderful how he manages to walk at all.
Sometimes it happens that the leader of the herd will not take the trouble to make the pool for himself, but suffers one of the other bulls to begin the work, which is the most difficult part. However, when this is done, the leader (who has been chosen by the rest as being stronger ​and a better fighter than any of the other bulls) comes forward, and goes straight into the bath that has been prepared for him. The remainder of the herd stand humbly by till he has had enough, and the moment he steps out, the bull of next importance steps in, and so on till all have had their turn. By this time the hole is often fifteen or twenty feet across, and two feet deep, and into this the water gradually bubbles up. In a few years’ time the place is covered with fresh green grass, that looks even greener by the contrast with the burnt-up stuff that surrounds it.
And this is how the fairy rings are made!
Perhaps the finest of all the bisons or buffaloes are those which inhabit the country now known as Dakota, where, fifty or sixty years ago, dwelt the Sioux Indians, a nation of mighty hunters. The animals are very useful for many purposes, and while their skins are of great value as beds or coverings, the flesh forms the principal food of the tribe. The hunting is almost always done on horseback, and the first thing necessary is to catch one of the small breed of horses which formerly roamed in bands over the prairies. This little creature—it never grows much larger than a pony—is carefully trained for some years in racing and jumping and other exercises, and in the end is able to outrun any other wild animal to be found on these western plains.
Sometimes it happens—or did, fifty or sixty years ago—that for a long time together no buffaloes will pass along a certain tract of country, and then the Indians of the district suffer from famine, and are even in danger of dying of starvation. Then what joy in the camp when a scout comes in one day with the news that a herd of buffaloes are grazing not many miles off. In a moment a hundred young ‘braves’ have thrown aside their shields and every other heavy thing they have about them, especially any part of their dress that might be a hindrance in running—for no one knows how a buffalo hunt may end.
​Armed only with a bow and five or six arrows, or else with long lances, they mount their strong and swift little horses, and dash off at full speed to the grazing ground of the buffaloes.
As the hunters draw near the herd they divide into two parties, so as to surround the animals completely. If the buffaloes were to form in line and charge the enemy their great strength and bulk might tell, and they would stand a good chance of getting through. But, instead,
HUNTING THE BISON
they lose their heads and are thrown into confusion; they tumble over each other, and cannot get up again, and the Indians close in, and, galloping past, plunge the lance or aim the arrow straight at the heart, and the buffalo falls dead where he stands.
If the Indian is hunting alone he carefully chooses some large fat bull, and manages to separate him from the rest by heading him off in the opposite direction. The horse knows quite well what its master wants, and when the buffalo is well away, gallops close to it on the right ​side so that, at the moment of passing, the rider can turn in his saddle and aim at the shoulder. Directly the horse feels that his master has had time to give the death-blow he sheers off at once, without giving a chance for a second shot, for horses are very nervous and timid creatures, and have a very keen sense of possible danger.
If the hunters are many, and the herd a large one, there are sure to be a number of accidents both to men and horses, and indeed the thick dust often makes it difficult to see clearly till it is too late. Often, too, both men and horses get so excited that they forget their prudence, and at last have to fling themselves from their horses and trust to their own legs, or save themselves only by tearing off the buffalo skin which forms a waistbelt, and dashing it over the eyes of the buffalo.
When a great hunt of this kind is over—and it is wonderful how short a time it lasts—the Indians lead their horses through the battlefield, drawing out their arrows from their dead prey, and seeing by the private marks on the arrows themselves how much of the spoil belongs to each man. This business settled, a council is called, and the hunters seat themselves in a ring on the ground, smoking their long, gaily decorated pipes. Then, men and horses having had a rest, they ride quietly back to the encampment.
The first thing to be done on reaching the village is to choose out some of the braves to inform the chief of the success of the expedition— how many buffaloes have been killed, and how many horses or men have been lost. Next, all the women and children are sent off to bring back the meat, and a hard task it is, for they have to skin the animals and cut them up, besides carrying them home, and it seems as if the weaker ones might die on the way.
In the winter, when the Indian is in need of meat, he has to trust to his own cunning to get it, for in the colder parts of the country the horse cannot be used at all for ​hunting. So out he goes on his snow-shoes, which prevent his sinking into the drifts, piled up by the wind to a great depth in the hollow places. The huge buffalo, which has no snow-shoes, conies thoughtlessly down from feeding on the grass tracts which the wind has blown bare, and flounders straight in. Once there he cannot get out again, and the Indian comes up and plunges his lance right into his heart, so that he is dead in a moment. Then his skin, always in its best condition during the winter, is sold to traders in fur, and the parts of the flesh which the hunter does not want, or cannot carry away, are left to the wolves.