Cavallo

Cavallo refers to the expedition’s riding horses as they appear across a succession of ordeals rather than to a mount given a distinct personal history. The horses bear William Andrews and the other hunters across the plains, through the valley hunt, and into the winter storm. Their usefulness is never abstract: they tire, startle, stumble, and require food and attention. The expedition depends on their movement, while repeatedly pressing them toward the limits of it.

Identity and Function

The narrative does not single out one horse as a stable individual named Cavallo. Instead, riding horses recur as working animals within a party whose wagon is drawn by oxen. The horses transport the hunters and allow Miller to scout and direct the expedition; they are distinct from the oxen that pull the wagon. This division of labor becomes especially clear when the expedition’s progress fails: horses carry the men while the men themselves have to push the wagon and coax the oxen forward.

The horses are also integral to the practical organization of hunting. At the edge of Bison Valley, Miller has the men place their horses behind his and keep them moving straight toward the herd, on the principle that a direct approach will not alarm the bison. Before riding out, he prepares a forked branch as a rifle rest and checks his rifle, while William Andrews follows close beside him. The horses bring the hunters within shooting range, but they must be controlled carefully so their movement does not disrupt the approach.

Thirst, Strain, and the River

During the crossing of the dry plains, Miller refuses to stop while the party and its animals can still move. With very little water left, he soaks a handkerchief in the remaining contents of a small keg and wets the horses’ mouths. By nightfall the animals are still being driven onward. William Andrews, nearly unable to hold himself upright in the saddle, rides in a state between delirium and acute pain. When an ox falls and cannot rise, the exhausted men dismount, haul it upright, and push the wagon’s wheels until the oxen can start it again. The scene shows the horses carrying riders through the crisis, but not sparing them from its effects.

The arrival at water brings no immediate calm. Miller warns the men to restrain the animals because they will sense the river and lose control. As the horses surge toward the water, William Andrews’s mount bolts. Andrews pulls hard on the reins; the animal rears onto its hind legs and kicks into the air, and he folds forward into its mane to avoid being thrown. At the river, Miller orders the riders to dismount and let the horses go. Andrews is thrown as his released horse springs forward; when he gets up, the animals are already at the shallows, lowering their muzzles to drink. Relief arrives as a rush of animal need, not as a measured halt.

The Hunt and the Herd’s Charge

Once the party reaches the valley, the horses become essential to the hunters’ repeated movement between camp and the bison. William Andrews rides out carrying a small keg of water and a spare rifle, galloping toward the distant gunfire. He dismounts near Fred Schneider, who is asleep, then circles along the valley to reach Miller, still firing from the grass. The horse makes this delivery possible, while the keg and rifle show how riding supports the daily labor of the hunt as well as its pursuit of game.

The horses also place the hunters in the path of danger when the bison charge. William Andrews initially cannot believe that the shots from his small rifle could turn the approaching herd. His horse resists: it advances a few steps, then draws back. Andrews drives his heels into its sides, strikes its trembling hindquarters with the rifle butt, and at last the animal surges forward. He steadies it enough to fire repeatedly at the herd; when the bison turn across the valley toward Miller, he spurs the horse alongside them and continues shooting. The horse’s forced advance becomes part of the hunters’ attempt to redirect the stampede. Its power is indispensable, but the scene also makes plain how human urgency is imposed on an animal already responding to overwhelming danger.

Snowbound and Kept Alive

During the blizzard, the horses carry the party away from the wagon and through a landscape whose familiar landmarks disappear behind blowing snow. Miller rides with Charley Hoge behind him, while William Andrews and Fred Schneider follow. The horses move close together as Miller urges his mount onward; despite the bitter cold, its flanks shine with sweat. Snowdrifts force them to slow, and the animals struggle through snow reaching their knees. William Andrews loses his sense of direction and can see little beyond the horses and the hunched figures of his companions. Miller rides with his eyes closed against the wind, and the others follow him, relying on the horse beneath him to hold a course they cannot see.

After the storm, care for the horses becomes a practical measure of whether the expedition can continue. Miller inspects them and judges them to be in reasonably good condition given what they have endured. He finds the half-sack of grain carried to supplement their grass diet, feeds a small amount to his own horse, and tells Fred Schneider to do the same with the others. He then lets his horse move freely around camp so it can stretch its muscles and recover. Only after scraping ice and snow from the saddle and tightening the girth does Miller mount again, setting out to inspect the pass. Even this return to riding is cautious: the horse lifts its forefeet from the holes in the snow and places them delicately on the thin crust.

Narrative Significance

Cavallo’s importance lies in the expedition’s dependence on animal strength, not in a sentimental portrait of a named companion. The horses carry people and equipment, enable the approach to the herd, and keep the party mobile when the route becomes dangerous. Yet they are themselves vulnerable to thirst, exhaustion, panic, cold, and deep snow. Their reactions repeatedly interrupt human plans: a horse rears at the river, balks before the oncoming herd, and labors through drifts under the blizzard’s force.

That dependence complicates the hunters’ effort to treat the valley as a space they can master. Miller’s directions govern the party’s movement, but neither rider nor horse can make the plains yield water, command a stampede, or see through the storm. In the aftermath, grain, rest, and careful footing matter as much as resolve. Through these working animals, the journey’s costs appear as bodily facts: movement must be carried, rationed, and recovered before the expedition can move again.